WINGED ₁

45

WHEN MADELEINE AETOS WAS SCHEDULED TO LEAVE FOR CAMP HALF-BLOOD IN TWO DAYS, she had a visitor.

⎯⎯ ୨ winged ୧ ⎯⎯

Apollo had been lingering around her kitchen when she got home from school. Winter break had ended just as she had gotten back to California, and she hadn't expected any company, so the god sitting on her counter sipping a Coke had startled her a little more than she would have liked to admit.

He had stayed with her until she fell asleep the night before, but really, she had figured her father had insisted. Hermes had always promised he would look out for her, and Madeleine was aware that the two were close, at least by godly standards. 

She didn't expect anything more than that from Apollo, though. She had learned, brutally, that expecting things was shit.

So when he was casually lounging around her kitchen like he owned the place, burgers on the grill, Madeleine wasn't sure whether to kick him out or hug him and insist that he not let go.

Instead, she set her schoolbag down and asked, "Aren't you supposed to be controlling the sun? It's still daylight."

"Hardly," he told her, which was true enough. It was only four, but the sun was sinking fast. It was one of the many cons of winter.

"Besides," Apollo continued, a glimmer in his blue eyes. "Gods can split their essence. So, sure, I'm in my sun chariot. But I'm also here."

"That sounds like a headache," Madeleine told him primly. She joined him in the kitchen, snagged the Coke from his nimble fingers with her own. "Did my father send you here?"

Apollo raised his perfect eyebrows. "No. I do what I want."

Madeleine wasn't sure how much she believed that, but she decided to play along. "Okay. What brings you here, then?"

"You," he told her simply, as if that was an obvious answer.

Madeleine laughed tiredly and took a sip of his Coke. There was liquor in it, she knew that immediately―what kind, she wasn't sure, but she decided that didn't particularly matter. 

"Apollo," she said, "why are you drinking an alcoholic beverage in my kitchen?"

"I do what I want," he repeated, plucking the Coke back from her. "And you're too young for that."

"You're also breaking and entering," she argued. "Can gods even get drunk?"

Apollo just gave her a coy smile and took a sip of Coke. "I'm making burgers."

"You can cook?" she asked, a little surprised; though she probably shouldn't be. Apollo had been alive long enough to learn anything he wanted to.

"Summoning food is easier," he told her, "but I thought you might appreciate the sentiment."

"Why are you here?" she asked again. "And don't just say me. That's cliche, and I'm not in the business of falling in love."

"I don't want to fall in love with you," Apollo said in agreement. "Every time I fall in love with anyone, mortal or not, they just die. Your father would kill me."

Madeleine secretly thought, lately, that dying may not be so bad, but she just nodded and took the Coke back from Apollo. "Go finish the burgers and explain while you do it."

"Or?" Apollo asked, but he obligingly slid off the counter.

"Or I'll finish your Coke," Madeleine told him.

"How upsetting that would be," Apollo said. He took the patties from the grill and shelved them into their respective buns. "Toppings?"

"Whatever you think is best," Madeleine said, sipping Apollo's makeshift cocktail.