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Forgiveness

Summary:

Apollo is home. He's talked with Grace a little bit, but there's three others who were by Grace's side for weeks, waiting for him to come home. . . and it's time to face the music.

Notes:

Hey loves,
This fic is NOT the fluff that I like to write. There's a lot of sad thoughts that happen here. Nothing explicitly TW-level extreme, but if you need to avoid this story to take care of your own mental health, please do. Apollo has some really top notch supportive people around him, and I hope you do too.

Work Text:

It’s been two weeks since Apollo and Grace arrived back home. They don’t talk much about what happened, focusing more on what to do next, where to go. Do they stay here or do they retreat from the public eye? If they stay, how do they make it easier for him? They think they have a plan.

Now, the only thing that’s left is to face the music from the others he left behind.

Hermes was the easiest, offering a simple: “That was a pretty rough go, but we get it. You were essentially ganged up on, and honestly? I probably would’ve run, too. We’re just glad you’re back. . . you know you can talk to us any time, right?”

Oracle - well, Grace must’ve gotten to her first, because all she said was, “Don’t do it again or Grace forgiving you won’t be enough to keep you safe from how furious I was that you had my best girl that upset. We’re here for you, Paul. You just gotta let us be.”

He'd saved Persephone for last because he knew she was going to be harshest on him, no matter what Grace did or didn’t tell her. Whatever she deals, he knows he deserves it. . . doesn’t mean that he’s any less anxious to face her, though.

He makes his way through the empty clubhouse. He’s not sure if it’s more daunting because it’s empty or because he knows who’s waiting for him on the other side. He approaches the office door and takes a deep breath to steady himself before he knocks, sounding far more sure of himself than he feels.

The door swings open and Persephone stands in the doorway, feet planted shoulder-width apart, hands planted firmly on her hips as she rakes her eyes over him. “I wondered when you’d show up,” she says. Rather than stepping back to let him into the office, she strides by him and pours a drink at the bar. She holds the glass toward him in silent offering. 

“I’ll, uh, just do water,” he says. “But thanks.”

She silently fills a glass with ice water and slides it toward him, keeping the glass she’d poured previously for herself. 

“Does that mean you’re. . . not? . .  mad?”

“No, brother. It was a test.” 

His head sags forward. “Of course it was.” He takes a long drink. 

“Congratulations, you passed,” she deadpans, taking a sip of her drink. A pause, then: “I tried to help you.”

“I was going to call her, Persephone, I swear.”

She sets her glass down hard on the counter. “But that's not what you did, is it? You ran. Not just from her, from all of us. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I. . . wasn’t. . . It’s just -” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “There were so many of them, all talking over each other -” His heartbeat picks up, pounding hard through his veins. “None - none of them were - were listening.” His voice becomes tighter. “I-I was just t-trying to clear my h-head, then c-call her, b-but then, they-” And then his voice strangles itself out entirely. 

Persephone watches as his eyes begin to dart around, frantic, panicked. “Shit,” she swears under her breath, jumping over the counter and planting her hands firmly on each of his shoulders. 

“Apollo, look at me,” she says forcefully. Then, gentler: “Look at me. It’s just you and me here, brother.”

Anxious green eyes meet steady magenta orbs and the goddess makes a show of breathing in and out deeply over the next several minutes, keeping her brother grounded in the present. 

This was something new for him. The Apollo she knew would have taken the bait, would have exploded on her. But this Apollo, the prodigal returned home, seems to have lost that. She never thought she’d see the day the god of the sun had a panic attack, of all things. 

He follows her lead, and - slowly but surely - his heart and mind slow down and return to the empty clubhouse: the bar, his sister, his seat.

He turns away from her eventually and empties his glass in three big gulps, letting a bit of ice fall into his mouth. His head drops to stare at his hands on the bar as he pushes the frozen cube around his mouth until it’s melted into nothing. 

Behind the bar once more, Persephone shoots off a quick text then refills his glass.

“Has this. . . happened before?” she asks, brows knitted together in concern.

He nods, gratefully accepting the refill and taking another long drink. 

“After -?” she’s too afraid to bring up the ambush again, so she stops herself short.

He nods again.

“More than once?”

A third nod. 

“Does Grace know?”

He shakes his head. “How many more people am I going to hurt, Persephone?” he laments. “I did nothing when you needed me most. I got Calliope murdered. I can’t even begin to count how many people I tried helping with prophecies and instead ruined their lives. Now, I’ve abandoned Grace, too. Maybe a more sensible man would -”

“Don’t,” she interrupts him, shaking her head, totally changing her attitude after his panic attack. “Don’t.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts,’ Apollo. You’re home now. Let’s not forget that you were a victim this time, too, and you’re a victim of your own mind far more than whatever anyone else has done based on what they thought a prophecy meant. You need to give yourself some grace.”

“First, ‘what the hell were you thinking?’ Now, ‘give yourself grace.’ What do you want from me, sister?”

“I was mad - no, furious - that you disappeared without a word, with hardly a trace; angry that you abandoned Grace without saying anything, angry that you were gone for months without any sort of contact.” She rants, but then uncrosses her arms, her posture softening. “But more than that, I was scared,” she admits quietly. “For those first couple of months, I saw a positive change in you. You smiled more. You laughed. You left that dingy little hut you lived in -”

“Which looks much better now, thanks to you.”

“You’re welcome, but that’s beside the point. Then, just as quickly, you started regressing, falling back into old mannerisms. You were still coming out, but then you were drinking, not really talking to anyone, hiding in the darkest corner in the place all by yourself. When you disappeared on us, I was afraid you would never come back.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I guess I looked pretty bad from the outside, huh?” 

“‘Pretty bad’ is an understatement. . . and seeing you now. . . You should really talk to Grace, by the way, about -” she doesn’t finish the statement, trusting he gets the gist. She takes another drink and meets his eyes somberly. “I should’ve stepped in earlier, brother. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Just then, the doors swing open and Grace enters, eyes flitting around the room until they land on the two Idols at the bar. 

Apollo turns when he hears the doors and quickly finds his girlfriend. “Hey, you,” he greets, a tired smile on his face. 

“Hey,” she returns, wrapping him in a hug. He holds her tightly, and she makes eye contact with Persephone over his shoulder, a question in her eyes.

She shrugs, almost imperceptibly. Things have improved greatly since she texted her 10 minutes ago, but the air is still heavy.

“Have you two ever thought about taking a vacation?” Persephone asks, totally changing the subject. 

Apollo eases his grip on Grace, but keeps one arm around her, holding her gently at his side. They exchange glances and Grace blows a raspberry. “All I’ve been doing is traveling. . . but it would be nice to have you with me -” she gives her boyfriend a squeeze, “- and it would be nice to be a tourist and enjoy the time instead of passing through so quickly.” 

“I just spent two months roaming the countryside, but I was a little too lost to appreciate any of it,” Apollo comments sheepishly. 

“Lost -” Grace starts, sweeping her hand across an imaginary horizon, “- or lost ?” she lightly taps his head just above his temple. 

He doesn't have to say anything. The way he deflates answers her question loud and clear. 

“Sounds like we need to create some happier memories, then,” she says, wrapping him back into a full hug and placing a lingering kiss on his forehead. 

“That's exactly why I proposed it,” Persephone seconds. “I think it would do both of you good to have some proper time away from here, away from everyone.”


Back at home, Apollo beelines for the couch, taking a seat at an angle. 

Grace sits to his side, swings her legs to rest over his, and wraps her arms around him. She presses a kiss onto the crease between his furrowed brows, then one on his cheek, another on his jaw, and finally, one on his shoulder before she props her chin there, blinking up at him. 

He wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly, taking slow, deep breaths. 

They sit like that for several minutes before he finally speaks. “That morning - before all those people showed up - I was going to call you… I missed you and was dealing with it in the wrong way. Persephone had just told me off - she was right, of course, so I was going to call you, but my head was in a bad place that morning and I didn't want to spoil your day, so I tried to go for a walk to clear my head first, but - well, you know what happened.” He bows his head sheepishly. 

She reaches up and brushes a lock of hair behind his ear. “I don’t actually know if I’ve told you this yet or not, but I forgive you, Apollo.” She presses a kiss against his temple. “And I’m so glad you’re home again.”

The arm that’s not around her moves to lay his hand over hers on his chest. “I truly don’t deserve you,” he laments. 

Yes, you do,” she counters softly. “You deserve good things, babe. I wish you would let yourself feel them.” 

He turns slowly to look at her, oceans brimming in his eyes. “But after all of the people I’ve hurt -”

“Apollo,” she breathes. “What about all of the people you’ve helped ? You got Oracle off of the streets years ago, and now she has an apartment of her own. You’ve helped Aphrodite find the courage to keep living. And where do I even start talking about how much you’ve helped me?” She brings her hands up to frame his face, holding his eyes with hers. “When we first met, I was sentenced to die - likely within the hour. . . and here we are - almost nine months later. You helped me find the truth. You helped me stand up to Athena. You’ve helped me prepare for what becoming Calliope would be like. Those are just the big things you did. You also help me all the time when I’m too short to reach something. You help me with all of the little things around the house. When I have a tough day, you’re quick to be there, and sometimes a hug is all I need.” 

She touches her nose to his and he uses it as a pivot point to rest his forehead on hers. “You’re a good man, darling. The way you care so deeply makes you so special to so many people. I just wish you could see that in yourself.”

A tear slips from each of his eyes and she kisses each of them away in turn. “I forgive you, Apollo. We all do. Please forgive yourself.”

He finds himself unable to speak, emotion forming a boulder impossible to swallow in his throat, and he tightens his grip around her, crushing her against himself, and he cries.

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