Work Text:
Palm Springs was even hotter than usual when Apollo arrived, which, considering the heat that normally bathed the landscape, was a feat in itself.
There were no clouds in the sky to block the sun and despite the many times he had been asked, no Apollo did not control how hot it was in one specific place. Just because some people occasionally got a sunburn because he drove the Sun Chariot a little too low didn’t mean he controlled the temperature. There were simply too many factors, like wind, snow, rain. People thought just because they saw the sun a lot meant that all the weather was managed by him, which no thank you, Apollo could imagine what a living nightmare that task would be.
He walked around as Lester, the form most of the residents knew him as. The one time he’d mistakenly came in a different form, the Meliai had shrieked at him and attacked. As invulnerable as he was as a god, Apollo was still stuck in the mindset of being mortal and screamed and ran— ahem, tactically retreated. Meg relentlessly teased him for it afterwards, and he remembered her laughing after he changed back to Lester and explained the situation. Truly, she was heartless and unsympathetic to his difficult plights.
This time no one spared him a glance, looking over him like he was part of the natural scenery. Palm Springs’s most well-known features: palm trees, dryads, and wild Lesters walking around. In the past he would’ve been horrified at this behavior, but in the present Apollo was glad for the convenience. Surprisingly, he didn’t miss the crowds of adoring fans listening to his concerts, now played perfectly with his godly power. It got a tiring after the one thousandth time someone fainted from seeing him as a god.
Apollo found Meg sitting in the shade when she would’ve normally been gardening. Perhaps the heat had been too much even for her, or she’d been forcibly dragged back inside because of it. Judging from the way she was scowling at the gardens, it could’ve been either option. Apollo walked to her side and she perked up when she noticed him.
“It’s too hot to garden today,” Meg told him in a tone that very much said she didn’t agree and would be ready to brave the heat if she could.
“You’d get a sunburn,” Apollo pointed out. Not that it would be the first time. Even on a regular day, Meg would usually get some overheated in some way, to Aloe Vera’s frustrations. The times she’d gotten so stubborn about it that she fainted, Apollo had had to lay her down and put ice-packs on top of her head. In some way, he was glad that the most Meg had to worry about her life was overheating and plants dying, and not evil, immortal emperors and murderous monsters hunting her down.
They went inside, chatting along the way about anything. How the cacti were growing, the latest songs, Meg’s stepsiblings, different instruments. Meg was enjoying the piano. She was a fast learner, one of the best students Apollo had had, not that he had taught people frequently. Before turning into a mortal, he’d been too busy with his own music to teach any to anyone else. He still remembered Crest the pandos, who’d loved music so much he’d wanted to learn ukelele, his last student before Meg, and he’d died playing music.
“What do you look like when you’re goddy?” Meg asked all of a sudden.
Apollo snapped out of his thoughts. “What do you mean?”
“Like, you always look Lester when you’re here,” she gestured to his acne and flab self, “but you always talked about how you looked like before you were Lester.”
Ah, yes, Apollo could recall that clearly. It hadn’t even been a full year since then, which was barely any time for a god. Somehow, it still felt like a distant dream. He’d been so desperate just by seeing his appearance back then. That version of him would’ve stood no chance against Python.
“Well,” he began, “I have eight-pack abs.” Meg snorted. “I’ll have you know, Meg, that eight-pack abs are an essential to any quest. We could’ve avoided almost all our problems if we both had an eight-pack. All heroes should have the minimum requirement of an eight-pack before going out on a quest.”
“Right.” She was smiling. “What else?”
“A tan,” Apollo said. “Golden hair.”
“Like Will?”
He nodded. “Sometimes I leave it long and tie it up.”
Meg’s eyes lit up, which usually meant she had an idea. What that idea was usually ranged from trying crochet or trying to parkour across moving trucks while launching fireballs at people. Meg was unpredictable in that way.
“Show me?” she suggested.
Apollo hesitated. He’d tried to avoid showing Meg that form. After all they’ve been through together, being with her as anything other than what he’d been through all his trials as didn’t feel right. Not to mention, he was hesitant on how she would react. Showing up in his old form in front of the friends he’d made as Lester felt like returning to his old ways, a betrayal to his promise to Jason.
“Are you sure—”
“Yes,” Meg said.
He knew there was no changing her mind when she spoke like that. Apollo turned to the form he used with the other Olympians. He felt himself grow taller, his hair grow longer, and his entire body feeling more sculpted as if he was a statue taken straight from a museum. It was, all in all, completely goddy, as Meg would say. Apollo waited for her response.
“I have to get something,” she said and left the room.
For a brief moment, Apollo anxiously wondered if she was using an excuse, but Meg wasn’t the indirect type. She was who he counted on to give her direct, honest opinion whether he liked it or not. If she didn’t like how he looked at as a god, she would’ve said so in the most Meg way possible.
Meg came back carrying a basket of flowers. She sat down next to him, her height way shorter in contrast. Apollo’s Lester form was still taller than Meg but his current form was the one that stood out in crowds. Lester was average, overlooked and blending in, a skill Apollo had begun to appreciate, and his current form was made to shine. Apollo’s hair was silky and golden, falling below his shoulders. It didn’t require any washing; gods could be naturally clean unless their domain was dirtied in some way.
Meg shuffled to be behind him, dragging the basket of flowers with her across the floor.
“What are you doing?”
She shushed him. The audacity. “Wait and see.”
Apollo huffed, but didn’t say another word. He could feel her fingers going through his hair with the same gentleness Meg used in taking care of a plant. It was comforting, in the way only Meg could be. Shifting a bit, he tried to turn his head.
“Stay still. You’re moving too much,” Meg complained.
He stayed still, letting her poke something into his hair and then move that something around a little. The movement repeated and continued for about another couple minutes. Neither of them spoke. Apollo guessed that Meg was too focused, and he himself was content with the peaceful silence. The small moments were something to be treasured, he’d learned.
Finally, Meg stood up, satisfied with her work. She gave him a mirror, which probably came from the basket with the flowers.
Apollo stared at it. Flowers were scattered in his hair. Sunflowers, daisies, hyacinths, and more that he knew Meg had carefully chosen. In his thousands of years of immortal life, only a few, limited number of people had done something like this for him, and very little had done it in such a fashion.
A smile grew on his face. “Meg, thank you. It’s beautiful.”