Hestia, whom he hasn't seen for twenty-seven years and Persephone, who is in his basement.
...
Persephone doesn't say a word.
Hades remains silent as well.
The tension between them is stronger than the force over surface area of an elephant standing on one foot in a pointe shoe. It's almost unbearable.
Hades coughs awkwardly. He considers bursting into full-on Spanish swear mode.
A little something-something he's picked up along the way.
Persephone breaks into his reverie.
"So."
"So."
He can't stop looking at her. Her hair is still a mess, there's a smudge of mascara on the corner of her eye, and her dress is even worse than before he kidnapped her. But she sits there, still as a rock, calm as the eye of a tornado. Her eyes are almost judgemental, her fingers are laced together. She politely glances around his throne room.
"Nice decor," she remarks.
Hades tears his eyes away from her. "I suppose."
It's black. Obsidian upon obsidian upon obsidian. Just a lot of black rock.
"Thanatos decorated."
"It looks like a bachelor pad."
"A what?"
Persephone flicks a strand of hair off her shoulder. "Never mind."
Hades grunts, "Would you like something to drink?"
She shakes her head.
"What about something to eat? Anything at all?"
"No," she says. "I'd like to get cleaned up, if you don't mind. Do you have any extra clothes?"
Hades is astounded. Why is she so calm? His drunken mind is still a little fuzzy, so he nods in accordance and gestures for a ghost to take her to a guest bedroom.
...
Hades awakens. There's a banging on his door, he's sick to his stomach, his skin is fucking burning and his hair is plastered to his pounding forehead.
"Shut up!!" He growls, to whoever was at his door.
A mumbling takes place, quiet and high-pitched and unearthly.
"Speak the fuck up!"
"Sir," the voice squeaks, "sir, the goddess is gone. The one with red hair in the third bedroom on the fifth floor? She's gone."
Hades has never moved quicker in his life.
His scythe skitters on the polished floors, his hooded clock trailing. He reaches Persephone's room and with a single sweep of his arm the door clatters open loudly and the sound reverberates through his empty fortress. The room is empty, the bed not slept in.
With every bit of melodrama as a clichéd action movie, he bellows a command that disintegrates the ghost behind him.
"Find her!"
...
Hades cannot stop pacing.
Every step is an ebbing flow of darkness, spider-webbing across his throne room, dangling off of every surface like the dreaded arachnid itself. A drop of perspiration hangs off his brow - he doesn't bother brushing it off. He's got thick eyebrows knitted together in paranoia; after all, there's a goddess of life wandering around blindly in the realm of the dead. One whom he was given specific instructions not to go near, one he couldn't help but kidnap when he was intoxicated.
Kidnap was too strong a word, right? He can't possibly be blamed for it. She was right there, alone and beautiful in the woods. Could a man help himself?
He almost laughs. Of course he could. He should've.
"You're going to get wrinkles," a voice comes from behind him.
Persephone stands there. Three undead guards stand behind her, remnants of their tight hold on her arms imprinted with bony handprints. Her red hair is a tangled nest on her head, her dress torn in more places than can count. There are dirt smudges all over her pale skin and red scratches all over her limbs. Hades' chest tightens.
"You shouldn't have run," he says monotonously.
She snorted. "You shouldn't leave your prisoner alone in a room with every opportunity to."
Something clicks in Hades' mind. "You think you're a prisoner?"
"Am I not?"
"No. You are a guest."
She throws up her hands, tossing her head back and letting out a crazed laugh. Hades can finally see the fear in her eyes.
"If I am a guest then I would be free to leave. Am I free to leave?"
Hades stays silent.
She laughs again. "You are just like mother says." Her voice is cruel. "You are a lonely, pathetic, creepy stalker just waiting to sink your talons into me."
Something in Hades snaps.
"Am I?" He roars, "You knew I was watching. You knew the entire time. You loved to skitter about exactly where I could see you, taunting me. You knew just how to flip your hair so I could smell wildflowers, and you knew just how to laugh so I could hear it. Didn't you? Didn't you? You wanted my attention, now you have it. You wanted to play me for my every card, now you're here. Is this what you wanted, you spoiled bitch!?"
It's Persephone's turn to stay quiet. Soundless tears well in her eyes.
Hades sighs. He turns to his undead servants.
"Take her to the dungeons. Chain her up. Make sure she can't escape."
...
Hades can hear sobbing all the way from his bedroom.
He groans.
He tears off his shirt, throws his scythe across the room and buries his face into his pillows.
"Why so down, darling?"
Hades jerks up so quickly a force radiates from the obsidian palace and vaporizes a few dozen undead servants.
Standing in front of him is Hestia, whom he hasn't seen for twenty-seven years, and all he can think about is Persephone, who is in his basement. Bawling her eyes out.
Shit.
