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Epione knocked twice, rapidly, on the door to Asclepius’ office.
“‘Sclep?” she called, cracking the door open. “Are you alright, sweetheart? It’s been a while and I—”
Epione stopped, her breath hitching as her husband’s figure came into view.
Asclepius was usually put together; his lab coat never had creases, his hair was always close-cropped and his beard always nicely trimmed. It was a miracle really, Epione knew, with the amount of paperwork he often found himself drowning in, that he never looked disheveled. Even back when they were newlywed, and they had a handful of young, rambunctious, deities rushing about their home, Asclepius chiton was always smooth, fibulae always polished. Even when he was upset, he maintained an aura of composure that juxtaposed the tears rushing down his face.
This was the first time she’d seen the tears win. He was hunched over his desk, sobbing to the point where his breathing was just little hiccups and, if he were mortal, Epione would have seriously been concerned about the probability of him hyperventilating. Spike, Asclepius’ beloved python, was draped over his shoulders, his tail wrapped around Asclepius’ torso squeezing slightly to apply pressure, but it didn’t seem to be helping.
Spike had glanced up the moment she had walked in, his eyes filled with confusion and bewilderment. He didn’t even need to speak to her to convey his point: I have no idea what’s happening.
Epione made her way swiftly over to her husband, perching herself as best she could on the edge of his chair and wrapping her arms around him as best she could without disrupting Spike. She poured every ounce of soothing magic she could into her hug—though she was much more a goddess of soothing physical wounds than mental—trying to convey wordlessly that she was there.
It took a while, even with her powers, to calm him down, and she summoned a box of tissues for him. Sure, he, or she, could magic away his snot, but there was something cathartic about being able to non-magically clear your sinuses. Epione had no idea what the psychology behind that was, but she was certain it existed.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she said softly, moving back slightly so she was crouching by his chair as he blew his nose.
Spike, too, untangled himself from Asclepius’s torso and rested himself across his shoulders as he normally did when he wasn’t wrapped around the staff. Asclepius inadvertently leaned into the python’s touch. “Hey.”
She placed her hand on his. “You know I love you?”
He nodded once, letting Spike slither his way onto their conjoined hands, not caring how gigantic he was to Asclepius and Epione’s currently mortal sizes.
“Good,” she said.
Neither of them spoke for a minute, until Asclepius slipped his hand out from underneath hers and dug through the pile of files on his desk for a second before sliding over a piece of paper. It was the cover page from a fax; clearly labeled to Dr. Asclepius and the fax number he and their daughters had set up for Epidaurus in the 1970s, from someone named Will Solace. Epione slid the cover page aside to find the actual letter.
My name’s Will Solace (the letter began, after formally addressing her husband) and I am a demigod son of Apollo, your half-brother, I guess, studying at Camp Half-Blood under the tutelage of Chiron. As you are currently at Epidaurus, and Chiron was unsure how much you are aware of the world right now, I asked him for your contact information to send you a message, and he gave me this fax number. I truly hope this is the right number, or I may end up in a psych ward, if whoever can track this to me.
Firstly, we won against Gaea! The Olympian gods, including Dad, fought with the prophesied seven in Athens while us at Camp Half-Blood dealt with the aftermath, plus some crazy great-something or other nephew of ours from Rome who got it in his head to attack the Greek camp while we were down. Luckily, he got off his rocker and was able to see the battle for what it truly was. Though, he was shot out of an onager and died, but that’s neither here nor there. Good news is your Physician’s Cure worked! After months of everyone thinking he was dead, Leo Valdez, who told me he and you were homies, though I’m not quite sure I fully believe him, came back to camp alive and surprisingly healthy. It truly didn’t look like he exploded or anything. Oh right, Gaea was destroyed because Leo turned himself into TNT and basically blew her up, with the help of Piper’s charmspeak, Jason’s storm, and one Octavian (our Roman nephew) projectile.
Now, onto the bad news: Dad’s mortal. And not like when Grandfather turned him mortal the last two times quasi-mortal where he retained his powers, but like, truly, 100% mortal. I tried to give him ambrosia when he first arrived at camp and he started smoking. I have never been more terrified in my life. He apparently woke up in a dumpster as a sixteen year old with an ID naming him Lester Papadopoulos and an extremely fickle memory. And to make matters worse, the oracles have been overtaken by Python and the worst of the old Roman emperors are back. Joy.
Dad just left west with Leo Valdez and Calypso (who’s off her island now) to try and figure out this whole debacle, and I thought I should let you know. We managed to tell the rest of our godly half-siblings via Chiron’s allotted time with Chariclo per year since Olympus is closed, IMs are down, and the internet is so fickle that this fax might not even send, but I had to try to reach you.
If you see this, could you please send a message back? If nothing comes through, I’ll assume it either this message failed, or my impending time at the psych ward is near.
Respectfully,
Will Solace
Camp Half-Bloods Head Healer
Epione read through the letter a second, and then a third time, before looking up at her husband; he was watching her carefully, his neutral expression trying to shine through the red-tintedness of his eyes.
“I knew it was coming,” Asclepius said softly. “I knew he was going to be turned mortal; I saw it.”
Epione took his hand back in hers.
“I could feel that something would be different in his health, but I didn’t—” his voice faltered, “I thought it would be like last time. At Troy.”
Epione remembered Apollo’s second time mortal well; Asclepius hadn’t been too upset then; worried? A bit. But upset? No.
“It’s my fault, isn’t it?”
“What?” Epione tried to keep the shock out of her voice. “No, of course not, sweetheart.”
“I should have known something terrible would happen when I have those three kids the Cure. But the girl—I told you.”
He had; he explained one night over a cup of tea while Iaso and Panacea fought over who got the hang their newest—thousandth—phD right above the mantel and who needed to put theirs beside the closet. Aphrodite’s daughter had a way with words, and despite knowing he shouldn’t, he made and gave them a Physician’s Cure.
“That’s not your fault,” Epione said softly.
“It was the first time.”
“No,” Epione said sternly. “It wasn’t. Apollo’s first punishment was because he killed the Cyclopes.”
“Which he did because I had died, which was because Hades complained about me ruining the status quo of the underworld so Grandfather struck me.”
Epione squeezed his hands. “Your dad made his own choices,” she said.
Spike made his way to lightly squeeze Asclepius’s abdomen in comfort, hissing a few words of solace that echoed her own thoughts.
After a moment, Asclepius lifted their raised hands and brought it closer to him. “I still feel guilty.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”
“He’s fully mortal,” he mumbled. “He has blood. Ambrosia and nectar burn him.”
Epione put her hand that he wasn’t cradling on his knee, rubbing calming circles. She didn’t speak—just let Asclepius ramble.
“And I can’t heal him. Grandfather has me under lock and key, Eppie, I’ll be smited again if I go. And you and the children… I can’t do that. But, Dad—”
“Apollo is one of the bravest, most resilient, deities I know,” Epione finally spoke. “You and I both know better than most that nothing is ever guaranteed, but if I were to put a statistic to it, my bet on Apollo’s chance of survival would be ninety nine point nine nine. And I promise you, if he comes back, I will get you to see him; your grandfather be damned.”
“Eppie—”
Epione only gave him a small smile in response.
Asclepius sighed, slouching back into his chair. “Spike, would you?”
The python slithered off Asclepius’s torso and made his way to wrap himself around Asclepius’ rod, which had laid abandoned against the wall.
“Thank you,” he whispered, soft enough that Epione knew it was for her, and not for Spike.
Epione tugged slightly on his hands to get him to stand up, so she could wrap her arms around him and pull him into a tight hug. After a long while, she let go and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. She pulled back ever so slightly, pressing her forehead against his. “Promise me you’ll remember I’m here for you next time,” she said. “Next time you feel guilty over things that you can’t control, or you just need to cry. Sweetie, I’m the goddess of soothing pain, remember?”
Asclepius chuckled, though the remnants of tears echoed with it. “I remember,” he said. “And I promise.”
Epione pulled away, tucking her hand safely into one of his. “Come on, Aegle’s making supper and you know how she gets when no one’s there to taste her ambrosia stew.”
Asclepius grabbed his staff with his other hand, and let Epione lead him out of his office.