Morning came - and went, the start of the day marked by a horrendous downpour that effectively pinned the exhausted men inside the shelter of their suspect sanctuary. Jodaran took one look at the weather, sighed, made a quiet remark about 'only madmen and the sons' of gods' and went back to his bedroll, leaving terse instructions that he was to be woken only if the rain stopped - or when the cave was in danger of being flooded. Many of the men sought similar refuge, snatching the opportunity to return to sleep. Hercules confirmed the Commander's assessment of the situation by going out and taking a look around. Polontius - who'd wandered over to sit with Iolaus once Jodaran had gone back to sleep - jokingly questioned which category the young man belonged to, and developed a decidedly wary frown when told - in all seriousness - that it happened to be the second and not the first.

Iolaus certainly had no objections to the enforced rest, although he knew, as they all did, that the longer they lingered in the area the more likely it was that the enemy would discover them. His headache had finally begun to subside and over the morning the pain in his shoulder went from crippling complaint to a numbing ache that was a lot easier to bear. He tackled the breakfast Polontius handed him with caution; by the time lunchtime rolled around he was able to devour his portion of the meager rations with decided appetite.

After which they went on the run.

Hercules' scouting had clearly identified what Jodaran had feared: they had been cut off, the enemy troops surging past their hiding place to occupy the swathe of land that lay between them and friendly territory. Marching his men straight across it would have been tantamount to committing suicide, so the Commander proposed a more circuitous route, one that took them deeper into the hills and then round, through woods and wild lands rather than open territory. He was honest - the odds were not good ones - and he announced that any man wanting to break with the group and chance his own route to safety was welcome to do so. He looked a little pointedly at the two young men who were not under his command as he did so, but Hercules merely glanced down at his partner, who had simply shrugged (a little one sidedly) in return. 'We're in," the son of Zeus announced with confidence and after that so were all the rest.

It took them four days.

Four days of furtive nerve stretching travel, the armed and armoured men sidling through the waterlogged countryside in scattered clumps while wary eyes scouted the trail ahead. On the first day it was Hercules who took point, leaving Iolaus walking beside Jodaran and his well being under Polontius' watchful eye. By the time that darkness fell, and they'd found a suspect and uncomfortable refuge in a thicket somewhere, the young hunter was itching with impatience and frustration. The Spartans were soldiers, not woodsmen. They were doing their best to sneak, but the need for it did not sit well with either their natures or their training. Twice Hercules had had to hastily double them back as enemy patrols loomed out of the mist and the misery of the day, and they were grumbling about it, as anxious and tired men will.

"I don't know this land well enough," the son of Zeus sighed, collapsing down into the semi-dry spot his friend had save for him. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, kid," Jodaran assured him. "I doubt there's anyone could do better in the circumstances."

A single glance said it all - and Iolaus, who'd begun to think his partner had forgotten about him - broke into a broad grin.

"I can," he said, the boast reassured by the tired nod of admission with which Hercules acknowledged the fact. Two startled heads turned in his direction.

"You, little fish?" Polontius sounded sceptical. "You could barely walk this morning."

"That was this morning," Iolaus shot back. "I feel fine now - and I don't need both arms to scout, so that won't be a problem."

Jodaran frowned. "I don't know," he considered slowly. "It's dangerous work and - "

"Hey," the young warrior interrupted with indignation, "I live for danger. Your troop's in trouble and I can do something about it. If you don't want my help, well, that's fine. But Hercules here only knows a smidgeon of the old hunter's tricks my grandfather taught me - and I'm small and I'm sneaky, and I'm good. I'm probably the best chance you've got."

Polonitis threw Jodaran an amused look. The Commander's frown deepened. "Well," he growled, "you certainly don't have a small opinion of yourself, do ya? Okay, kid," he sighed wearily. "You're elected. But this friend of yours backs you up every step of the way, capice?"

Hercules stretched out his long legs and grinned up at his partner with warm assurance. "All the way to Tarterus if I have to," he announced with certitude.

It wasn't quite that bad, but in the days that followed Iolaus had to work hard to prove the truth behind his confident boast. He led the men up into the mountains, and down again into the thickly wooded slopes that mantled their feet, finding them as safe a trail as he could in a countryside thick with enemy encampments and patrols. The weather was appalling, which helped in some ways and not at all in others. The young hunter spent almost as much time on his belly as he did on his feet, crawling through waterlogged undergrowth to check out enemy movements, or squirming along tree branches to count the numbers in a passing patrol. If the odds were overwhelming he'd wriggle away and look for a better route; where the troop were outnumbered, or the risk of alarm too great, he'd slink back to where Hercules crouched in wary readiness and send word for the men to wait; only if the way was clear would he signal the advance and plunge on ahead, scouting the safest trail he could. Sometimes, if the enemy were few, or the woods deep enough to swallow the clamour of combat, he'd send back a different signal, and the Spartans would surge in to attack.

Which gave him chance to assess the truth of Polontius' bold claim - as well as the opportunity to watch veteran warriors in action. Mostly from the vantage point of a tree somewhere; the first time Iolaus had initiated such an ambush Hercules had appeared behind him and hauled them both up out of harms way as the troop thundered through. "Jodaran's orders," the son of Zeus had frowned when his friend protested at being hoiked so arbitrarily out of the action. "They're expendable. You're not."

"So how about you?" Iolaus had asked, and Hercules had sighed.

"I'm your backup, remember?"

"So you're not expendable either, huh?" They'd looked at each other for a moment and then Iolaus had grinned. "Think he's afraid we'll show him up? Or just that we'll get in the way?"

"Both, probably. But right now he's in command - so we do as he says. At least until we know we're needed."

"Okay," the hunter had agreed affably, and swung round to watch the progress of the fight. He was actually quite glad to be out of it; all this woods work was proving hard on his injured shoulder and he was more fatigued than he cared to admit. The chance for a break was a welcome one.

So that day - and for the few such skirmishes that followed - he and Hercules formed a fascinated audience rather than the usual enthusiastic participants. They kept score and they yelled warnings as if they were attendees at a games - although it was no game and they both knew it. Men died in those battles; most of them were not the war hardened Spartans, although two men were lost from the troop before they finally regained friendly ground.

Their observations led to a number of thoughtful conclusions; that on the battlefield Jodaran and his partner were a force to be reckoned with, that desperate men do not fight fair - and that they still had a lot to learn about the reality of war.

The journey was a hard one; hard on the nerves, tough on the body, and demanding on both skill and confidence. It was a bone weary, bedraggled bunch of men who finally trudged down the last hill and lined up on a rain slicked road outside the palisade of the Macedonian encampment. They were caked with dirt; the gleam of metal trappings had been a danger right from the start and they'd slicked down their gear with raw earth, turning themselves into a troop of mudmen. Even Hercules - who by some quirk of his divine heritage usually managed to relatively untouched by the demands of the environment - was filthy from head to toe, and Iolaus looked as if he were a piece of the forest floor that had somehow got up and walked away. The soldiers that rode out to meet them were members of the Macedonian Royal guard, mounted on the gleam of matching white horses and all wrapped up in deep red cloaks beneath their high plumed polished helmets.

"So what do we have here?" their commander had sneered, looking down at the Spartans with amused disdain. "The pig farmer's elite?"

The rest of his squad had laughed; Jodaran had thrown his partner a tight look, marched forward - and heaved the man out of his saddle and off his high horse in one deceptively easy motion. "I," he growled, "am Commander Jodaran, and this," he indicated his men with a commanding sweep of his hand, "is the Ninth Mobile Infantry division of the Spartan Brigade under the command of General Doxilion. What remains of them, anyway," he concluded, glancing back towards his troop as he did so. The look swept past the two young men who stood a little way apart from the ordered ranks of his command and a small smile tugged at his lips. "Oh yeah," he added, turning back towards the indignant officer who was climbing warily to his feet, "they're - uh - our escort: the first cohort of the Corinthian Volunteers. Are you the ranking officer here?"

"Captain Marcelus," the man responded, frowning at the dishevelled figure in front of him. "King Ligyanda's personal bodyguard … Wait a minute. Doxilon's battalion was left to defend the Damaesian valley. He was taken prisoner five days ago. The enemy control the Macepeon pass now."

"We noticed," Polontius remarked to no-one in particular; most of the men exchanged wry smiles and Iolaus giggled - a reaction he swallowed with difficulty when Hercules elbowed him in the ribs. The Captain's frown deepened into wary puzzlement.

"So - " he queried. "If you are survivors of that battle - however did you get through?"

Jodaran reached up and tugged off his helmet, shaking his dark curls out into the soft impact of the rain. The smile that had touched his lips curled into a knowing grin. "We walked," he said with a small shrug. "That's why they call us the mobile infantry. Troop - 'ten hut!"

The Spartans snapped to attention as one man.

"Thata way," their Commander ordered almost lazily. "Hot bath, clean sheets - and I want everyone back on parade by sundown. Full kit," he added, eliciting a soft groan from his men. Marcelus stepped back as the troop marched past him, staring in disbelief as the mud soaked soldiers executed a parade perfect manoeuvre. Hercules grinned at his partner and tilted his head towards the waiting gate. Iolaus grinned back, propped his sword over his shoulder and they strolled into camp behind the Ninth division as if the two of them owned the world …

They'd stayed with the Spartans for the rest of that particular campaign, gathering together the few remaining members of their volunteer force to help serve as scouts and runners for the seasoned Commander and his battle tempered men. They were there when Jodaran remade his oath of alleigiance to the Macedion king, they fought alongside the troop when they broke the seige at Kallillith and rescued the young prince Pelidon, they formed a vital part of the tactical raid that pierced deep into the enemy's camp and freed General Doxilon from captivity (not to mention Polontius' cherished chariot and its team of fiery horses) - and the first cohort, Corinthian Volunteers had stood proudly beside the ranks of the Ninth mobile infantry as Pelidon had stamped his father's seal on the peace treaty that finally ended the war.

They'd learned a lot from the experience; truths about war, about the best and the worst in men, about themselves - and about the dark eyed Roman born Commander and his lanky Spartan partner. The revelation as to the intimate nature of their relationship had been a little bit startling, but - knowing the men concerned - not that much of a surprise. The truth was they were friends first and lovers after, a situation that Jodaran had carefully explained, one long and anxious night while they waited for Polontius to reappear after they'd been separated during a skirmish. Those long damp days had forged a bond of treasured friendship that had lasted down through the years, and Iolaus had never forgotten the lessons the experience had taught him.

Not least of which was the fact that friendship itself was a precious commodity and that a true friend was worth far more than mere gold …

"You miss him," Iolaus observed softly, watching the way that the torchlight played over Polontius' chiselled features. Jodaran had died the year before, victim of a vicious fever that had attacked him in the spring and left him to fade through a long and weary summer. He'd never recovered his strength, and his partner had devotedly nursed him right up to the very end, when death had arrived as a relief rather than an unwelcome guest. The two men had retired from army life only a few years earlier; their Spartan pension had purchased a small plot of land and the rights to run horses up in the hills behind it. They'd built a house, acquired half a dozen mares and put the two stallions that had pulled their chariot out to pasture. The result had been a small but successful business raising and training horses fit for warriors and warlords: Jodaran's untimely death had left his partner managing the entire enterprise.

"I miss him," Polontius echoed softly, framing the words with a sigh. "He was everything to me. My heart, my world, my life … I was his Shieldbearer for thirty years. I guarded his back and I fought by his side - and you know something?" He threw a wry glance in his company's direction. "Even with all that - we were never as close as you and Hercules are. Never the two halves of one whole."

The hunter grimaced, unsure if he'd just been complimented or not. "Come on, Pol," he protested a little embarassedly, "Don't exaggerate here. You and Jo - well, you know."

"I know." The Spartan was looking at him with shrewd consideration. "But that's got nothing to do with it. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Jordaran was my friend, my brother, my partner and my lover. But for you - Hercules is your god. Don't deny it, Iolaus. He includes you in his divinity, just as you gift him with mortal virtues he might otherwise lack. Courage. Tenacity. Spirit. He gets all of those from you."

"So?" Iolaus questioned. He still wasn't sure where this was leading.

"So - either you're an incredibly generous, forgiving, and tolerant friend - or there's much more to it than that. I look at the two of you and I see devotion. Not just loyalty. Devotion. You'd follow him to the ends of the earth and beyond. You'd die for him if he asked you - even if he didn't, you'd still put yourself between him and the fate that threatened him. He's the son of Zeus; he can take care of himself, and yet - yet - you happily risk your own life time and time again trying to defend him, trying - the Fates help you, Iolaus - to defy the very gods in order to keep him safe.

"Sheildbearer. You deserve the title far more than I ever did."

Now Iolaus really was embarrassed.

"You're seeing things that aren't there, Pol. Herc and I - okay we're close, but … that's - well, that's a given, you know? We've been hanging around each other so long, we treat each other like brothers; you have to. It comes with the fighting back to back stuff. You have to trust your partner."

Polontius chuckled softly, a reaction of amused disbelief, and Iolaus glowered at him. He still wasn't sure what the older man was trying to imply. "Look," the hunter continued, "I owe Hercules my life. Not once but - probably hundreds of times. I pay him back occasionally. That's what friends are for. We're friend's Pol. That's all there is to it. I don't know what you're getting at."

"Would you die for him?" the Spartan asked softly, turning to look at the younger man with a challenging intensity. "Would you give him the Sheildbearer's gift, without thought, without hesitation? I know you would. So do you. I'm just asking you to think about why."

Gods …

Iolaus stared at him, feeling a little as if his friend's words had just pulled his entire world out from under his feet. Think about it? He never really had thought about it; just accepted it, just let his relationship with his semi-divine partner develop and deepen over the years without pausing to analysis the whys and the wherefores behind it. Yet that relationship was important to him - more than important; it was a part of him, of who he was, and what gave his life meaning. There were no words adequate enough to express the depth and the intensity of it, let alone describe the implicit faith that underpinned it: a faith that, over time, had enabled the relationship to not just survive, but also to grow. There'd been occasions - misunderstandings, conflicting priorities, moments of emotion, matters of pride - when their friendship had been challenged, and yet the resolution of those challenges had somehow served to strengthen the bond that they shared. He knew that; knew that - from his side at least - there had always been something driving him to ride out those storms, even in circumstances that would have shattered a lesser brotherhood beyond all saving.

It had been that something which had kept him at Hercules' side on that cold wet battlefield all those years ago. In more recent history, that same something had listened to his friend's words despite overwhelming anger and enabled him to see the truth of how Xena had used them both.

It was also that something which had worked through the bitterness of what might have been seen as a second betrayal - and allowed him to accept the Warrior Princess, not just as a friend, but as someone his friend cared for very deeply.

Polontius was asking what that something was.

And Iolaus couldn't answer him …

"People - see things, hear things," the Spartan continued gently, clearly aware of the sudden turmoil that had risen in his company's eyes. "Nobody jumps to conclusions entirely without evidence - even if that evidence is just hearsay and rumour. But if you go around dealing with those conclusions the way you did tonight - every time you react with anger - you do two things. First, you probably confirm some of those prejudices, because they're expecting to get a rise out of you, and secondly - " He heaved a quiet sigh. "Secondly - you deny the truth along with the lie. You keep on doing that - and you'll end up no longer being sure what the truth is.

"I know how deeply your feelings run where Hercules is concerned. I know how deeply he feels about you. I don't want you losing any of that just because of misplaced pride. Don't rise to the bait Iolaus; answer the sneers and the innuendoes with a smile. Let them think what they like. As long as you know the truth, what does it matter?"

Iolaus frowned, still wrestling with the implications of the earlier question. As long as I know the truth …

But did he? Did he really know what defined the foundations of his friendship with Hercules? He ought to know. Whatever he might protest, whatever he might prove in his own right, when it came down to it, one of the primary things that defined him was the fact that he was - and had been for nearly his entire life - best friend to the son of Zeus.

"Just think about it," the Spartan advised softly, rising to his feet and studying his friend with quiet sympathy. His head tilted towards the interior of the pillared building. "If you want some time, this place'll be pretty quite tonight. I'll -uh - get back and stoke up the fire. I won't wait up. See you in the morning?"

"Uh - sure." Iolaus barely noticed as the man patted his shoulder and then walked away; his mind was whirling, trying to give substance to something he'd never even considered before. His usual response now sounded glib, an excuse, not an explanation. He'd often expressed it, never giving it a moment's thought. I love Hercules, like a brother …

But what exactly did that mean? Flesh and blood brothers didn't automatically develop that kind of committed connection; you only had to look at Ares to realise that. And Iphicles had spent years being jealous of his younger brother before circumstances had allowed them to work all that out. He and Hercules were closer now, but not that close.

Then again, Herc loves his brother dearly. Always has done. Because he's his brother.

The hunter sighed, wondering what it was he was getting so worried about. Back in the tavern it hadn't been the question of his sexual leaning which had sparked his temper; he'd reacted to the sneer at his height and the subsequent insult to his honour. He knew what Polontius was getting at, and he didn't really think that was as much of a problem as his friend was suggesting it might be. Normally he didn't care less what people assumed went on between him and his sword brother; that was nobody's business but their own.

But the man's question had unsettled him - because he'd never stopped to ask it of himself.

Why?

"He's right, you know," a soft voice observed with amusement, practically in his ear. Iolaus jumped.

"'Dite!" he gasped in startled protest, whirling round to find himself looking straight into the laughing eyes of the Goddess of Love. His heart - which had flipped into overdrive by the unexpected nature of her arrival - skipped a beat and began to race for entirely different reasons. He dragged in a few quick breaths - breathe, Iolaus, it really helps if you breathe - and wrestled to get it back to a more acceptable rhythm. One that didn't feel as if his ribcage were about to break in two …

"Don't do that," he remonstrated with irritation, his eyes flicking around for a point of reference that wouldn't be quite so - distracting. It took a moment's struggle - and ended with him turning his head and staring out into the darkened square. She was crouched right next to him; the scent of her perfume and the warmth of her presence impinged on his senses and set them spinning.

"Do what?" she wondered, shifting round and perching herself on the base of the pillar so that they were sitting side by side. "Oh - " she giggled, as if suddenly realising what he meant. "Sorry, sweetcheeks. I didn't mean to startle you. But if you will discuss subjects like that sitting right outside my temple, whatyda expect? Huh?"

"Your temple?" He'd not really registered where Polontius had led him; now he glanced into the shadowed interior of the building, catching glimpses of flickering torch light, and the voluptuous statue that stood behind the altar. "Oh. Hey - " he realised, throwing her a look of indignation. "Were you listening to all that?"

She smirked at him. "Like - yeah," she affirmed, as if that were pretty obvious. "I get two studly guys discussing three of my favourite subjects right outside my door and I'm not gonna listen? Get real, Curly."

Iolaus frowned, trying to work out what she was talking about. He couldn't think of anything in the earlier conversation that could possibly have caught her attention …

"My 'butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-mouth' brother," Aphrodite enunciated, taking pity on his confusion. "His stud muffin partner and - " she savoured the final item, smiling at the thought of it before ticking it off on her delicate fingers. "The whole 'you got it and you got it bad, baby' deal."

"What?" he questioned, considering her in disbelief. She laughed at the expression on his face.

"Listen up, Curly," she confided with a decided grin. "I don't put limitations on the Lurve thing. Course - this one's more Cupid's area of expertise rather than mine, but - hey, I can go there. I think it's kinda cute."

"What?" he repeated, disbelief being overwhelmed by outright astonishment. "Dite, surely you don't think - "

She silenced him by putting her fingers to his lips. "Uhuh. I don't think, sweetcheeks. I know, okay?"

"Know - what?" he asked suspiciously. He liked Aphrodite a lot - a lot - but he didn't trust her, and he was never certain of her motivations, except for knowing that they usually required outcomes that benefited her. When it came to sorting out his feelings for her half-mortal brother, the very last person he wanted muddying the waters was the goddess of love.

Because, if she'd heard what Polontius had been suggesting, she might have latched onto the wrong idea entirely …

"'Bout you and the big guy," she grinned, tapping his nose with a proprietary finger. "Don't look at me like that, Curly. You've been tagging along at his heels like a faithful puppy dog ever since you and those baby blues of yours first laid eyes on him. You - like uh - connected, right?"

"I guess." Iolaus quirked an involuntary smile, inevitably recalling those early days and the way two headstrong and stubborn boys had somehow become an indivisible partnership. "He was just a kid, you know? Full of dreams and crazy ideas about the world; he needed someone to knock some sense into him. Come on," he defended at the amused look this statement engendered, "I am older than he is, you know. Everyone always assumes that he took me under his wing - and it wasn't like that at all. Not to start with," he concluded warily. Aphrodite's expression suggested she knew otherwise.

"Do you know," she asked warmly, "why he was so eager to be your friend back then? Because you inspired him."

Oh, sure … He reacted with a snort of disbelief and she laughed.

"It's true," she insisted. "You were everything he wanted to be; outgoing, outspoken, unashamed, unafraid … So certain of yourself. He never had that - not until you came along. Course," she went on thoughtfully, "he saw through the act eventually - but - uh - that just sealed the deal really. Knowing where you were coming from. Knowing there was more to you than what you let show." The goddess gave him a shrewd look that sent a small shiver down his spine. "A lot of it is still an act, right?"

"Maybe," he allowed a little warily. That was the trouble with the gods. Their petty deeds and selfish obsession with themselves tended to overshadow their attributes and aspects; sometimes you forgot how powerful and perceptive they really were.

"Thought as much," Aphrodite smirked, giving him a little punch on his shoulder. "He knows that, of course. But you still inspire him. Matter of fact, he thinks you're pretty cool." She grinned at the look that crossed his face and punched him again - a little harder this time. "He does too! You two got a great mutual admiration thing going. You worship the ground he walks on and he can never quite believe he's deserving of such a great friend. Especially when that friend happens to be you."

Iolaus adopted a decidedly embarrassed frown, unsure of what she was leading up to and still wrestling with the possibilities that Polontius had stirred into uncomfortable life. "Herc's got friends practically everywhere," he pointed out. "He's a pretty easy guy to like, you know?"

"Yeah, right," she reacted, rolling her eyes skywards with decided impatience. "And how many of them actually know him, huh? How many of them have nursed him through sickness, or put up with his moody silences? How many of them feel confident enough to argue with him when they think he might just be wrong for once? How many are willing to tag along after him, even when they don't think its such a good idea? And how many of them take him fishing, huh? You are one sweet sidekick, sweetcheeks and don't you dare deny it."

I guess, if you put it that way …

"Well," he allowed warily, "I like the guy too. That doesn’t mean - "

"No," Aphrodite interrupted, once again silencing him with a determined finger, "it doesn't. But it just so happens that you love my brother to death, and you just don't want to admit it, 'cos you've got this idea in your head that there's something wrong with that, and that admitting it would make it mean something else, right? Curly," she announced with a touch of patient sympathy, "get real here, huh? That stuff you're getting yourself in knots over trying not to even think about? That's not love. That’s just the fun stuff. Icing on the cake. Now me - I like icing. Every colour and every flavour going. But that's not to say it has to be included in every successful recipe." She paused to analyse her simile, sticking her tongue in her cheek while she thought the comparison through. "Yeah," she smiled. "That's how it is. What you and the big guy have got is more like - fruit cake," she decided firmly - then realised what she'd actually said. "Well, maybe not fruit cake," Aphrodite backtracked embaressedly, "but something more substantial than a sponge. Or an angel cake. You know what I mean," she concluded, expressing irritation at her inability to express herself.

"Dite," Iolaus sighed, shaking his head at her with patient confusion. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

Her eyes rolled heavenwards for a moment; when she looked at him again it was with a decidedly challenging look. "Okay," she said, using both hands to emphasis her point, "bottom line here. You and the big guy are in - I dunno - some kind of trouble. Overwhelming odds. Mortal danger - you know the kind of thing. Suddenly, you realise that the only thing between my brother and the end of the line - is you. You got a choice: you either save yourself and try to save him, even though the chances are next to zero - or you stay right where you are and bite the dirt in his place. Which would it be, Curly? When it came down to it, whose life would you value more? His or yours? Answer that, and you got the answer to your friend's question - not to mention all of your own."

It's not that simple, Iolaus realised, thinking about what she'd said. That wasn't what Pol asked. He knew the answer to that - and I guess I do too. He asked me why - and I don't know the answer.

I just don't know …

"Look," he said, reluctant to sound ungrateful even if all she'd succeeding in doing was confusing him further, "I know you're trying to help here, but - what Pol said - it's just not that big a deal. Herc and I are friends and - maybe I lose my temper a little more often than I should. Pol's the one with the broken heart and - he's just reading more into things because he and Jo … well, you ought to know about that, I guess. Just forget it, okay? I'm sure you've got much more important things to worry about."

His half smile was strained and the look behind it probably didn't carry any conviction at all, but it the best he could manage. He curled his fingers into a soft fist and applied the gentlest of punches - more love tap than impact - to her shoulder in echo of her earlier contact. "I - oughtta catch up with Pol," he told her. "But if you've got any fair maidens that need rescuing - well," he allowed with a more genuine grin, "I'm sure you'll know where to find me."

"Uhuh," Aphrodite nodded, watching him with amused sympathy. He stood up and walked away, conscious of the way her eyes stayed on him as he left the square. She waited until the shadows had swallowed the last of him before she climbed to her feet, a determined look in her eye. "Some people," she concluded knowingly, "just can't see what's right in front of them. Well - if it's proof you need, hero - then I'm just going to have to prove it to you …"

There was a brief flicker of golden light in the atrium of the temple, a shower of fragrant rose petals - and the goddess was gone.

Hercules was in a good mood as he strode up the road to Polontius' farm. The weather was warm, the air was fresh, and he'd just managed to escape three days worth of speeches in his honour, which was an event definitely worth celebrating.

And what better way to celebrate than with good wine and good company?

The place ahead of him promised both, even if it no longer sheltered the dark eyes and roguish smile that might once have welcomed his arrival. Polontius would try and make up for his partner's absence, and the son of Zeus was looking forward to seeing the long limbed Spartan again - not least to reassure himself that the man was coping after his tragic loss. The fact that Hercules was also expecting to meet his partner at the farm was another reason to be cheerful; he'd not seen Iolaus for over a month; not since Iphicles had asked for help in delivering some letter or other to the King of Thessaly right at the moment that a frantic messenger had arrived in Corinth with news of a rampaging Cyclops somewhere in Arcadia. They'd tossed a dinar for who took what and he'd last seen the hunter hot footing it for Thessaly, Iphicles' missive securely tucked into his belt. Sorting out the Cyclops had proved to be an interesting problem and he'd sent word to his brother to warn Iolaus that he might be a while. The message that had come back had been simple in the extreme - 'meet me in Agraia' - but had served as a timely reminder that they'd promised to visit Polontius before the year was out.

The plea of 'previous commitment' had proved the perfect excuse to escape the grateful populace once the business with the Cyclops was complete, and the journey back from Arcadia had been both pleasant and uneventful.

Not to mention boring.

There were times - just occasional ones - when Hercules savoured the opportunity to strike out on his own, to have time to spend with his thoughts and his memories. The first few days of such solitude were always heady; striding through the wilderness with nothing but the wind and the wildlife to keep him company. He had the freedom to go where he wanted, to linger in the admiration of a view or to choose where he wanted to camp just as the mood took him.

Then - inevitably - the novelty would begin to pall. The silences would grow too long; he'd turn to share a thought and there'd be nobody there to share it with, and even the views seemed less breathtaking without someone there to echo his appreciation of them. Camping alone quickly lost its appeal and dealing with roadside bandits became a tedious chore, one that he wanted over and done with as quickly as was possible. He wasn't by nature a gregarious animal, but he was a social one, and as time wore on his enjoyment of solitude always became replaced by a nagging sense of missing something.

Or someone.

It wasn't just company that he craved: he often had that and would still be aware of that whisper of absence lurking at the back of his mind. Strangers he met on the road might travel with him; people in search of his help would often tag along at his heels - but he'd still feel that sense of incompleteness. There were those that could bridge that gap for a while; Salmoneous, for instance, although keeping his amenable company also brought with it a need to be both protective and constantly on guard. Autolycus was another - much as Hercules hated to admit the fact. Life was never dull when he was around.

But bridging the gap and filling it were two different things. There was only one particular individual who managed to fulfil that requirement. It had been two once, but Hercules had long since resigned himself to accepting that the Deianeira shaped hole in his heart was there to stay. In many ways, the fact that it was there had made the need to keep the other space occupied even more important to him; Iolaus wasn't just his best friend, he was family.

Which fact probably went a long way towards explaining the son of Zeus' good mood as he strolled up the faintly rutted grass track that marked the way to Polontius' home. The prospect of finding his partner's unmistakable grin waiting for him at the end of it had put a lightness back into his steps that had been missing for the past couple of weeks.

The farm lay right on the edge of a quiet town, practically on the border between Corinth and the province of Agraria. The house was built on Agrarian land, but the horses roamed freely across the borderline. Both Milos, the King of Agraria and Iphicles regularly sent mares to stud among the rolling hills, as well as purchasing colts from the Spartan's own brood mares. Hercules well recalled the day he'd first brought his brother to see the quality of the herd for himself, not long after Iphicles had accepted the Corinthian crown. They'd arrived at the farm unannounced and had disturbed its owners sharing a decidedly passionate clinch in the hay pile at the back of their main paddock. He'd gone pink, Iphicles had gone a little pale, and Jodaran had burst out laughing at the look on both their faces. Iolaus - being Iolaus - had simply tilted his head to one side, studied the pair half buried in the hay for a moment, then shrugged and made some comment about the poor horses that were going to have to eat the hay later.

Hercules smiled at the memory, treasuring it as one that stood out amidst so many he had of the friends he had made on a rain soaked battlefield all those years before. Jodaran's down to earth gruffness and Polontius' quiet wisdom had helped open his eyes to a great many things - not to mention teaching him the true value that lay in friendship and loyalty. The news of the Roman born warrior's passing had been heartbreaking and he'd found it hard to express the depth to which it had affected him; his heart had gone out to the man's partner, understanding only too well the grief that would have taken hold of him. The Spartan claimed to be coping with his loss, but Hercules - well aware that it had been the support of his friends, and especially that of his partner, that had helped him through the turmoil of his wife's death - had made a point of insisting on these visits, just to keep a friendly eye on his situation.

The house seemed to be deserted when he arrived; a thin trickle of smoke was drifting up from the chimney but a cheerful hello delivered through the doorway provoked nothing but a flurry of disturbed chickens. There was the scent of stew in the air and half a loaf of fresh baked bread lay broken on the table in the main room, so he helped himself to both - a handful of bread dipped in the simmering pot rewarded him with a much needed breakfast - and then strode out to locate his friends, munching on the feast as he went.

He found the two of them in the paddock, Iolaus perching on the top rail of the fence while the lanky Spartan worked a nervous colt on the end of a long lunge rein. Polontius had a certain magic when it came to horses and the son of Zeus knew better than to disturb him while he was employing it; he strolled along the line of the fence to where Iolaus was sitting, leant his weight against a handy post and threw his partner a nonchalant nod of recognition. The hunter nodded back, an offhand and comfortable acknowledgement of his presence - and that was it. Nothing more was needed; no words, no gestures, no declarations. A single glance, a casual nod, and Hercules' world was back the way it should be.

"How's he doing?" he asked, pitching his voice low so as not to disturb the Spartan's concentration. Iolaus shrugged.

"He's - ah - okay, I guess. A little unfocused but - whadya expect?"

Hercules accepted that with a comprehending grimace; he'd been there. So had Iolaus. Both of them had been able to find purpose in their lives after their respective losses - but then again, they'd each had the other on hand to help them find it.

"He’ll be okay," he decided, the words as much hope as they were certainty. The hunter nodded.

"Yeah, sure," he agreed off-handedly. His partner frowned.

What's bugging him?

It was instinct more than perception; something about the glance that his friend threw in his direction, the vague hint of anxiety that lurked in his eyes, or perhaps the note of pre-occupation that backed his dismissive response. Whatever it was that alerted him, it was clear to Hercules that Iolaus was busy wrestling with an issue he was not at all comfortable with. He wasn't just distracted, he was distracted bigtime - enough to submerge his normally sunny disposition beneath an introspective cloud.

The frown became wary consideration as the son of Zeus deliberately returned his attention to the Spartan and the elegant animal he was schooling. If his friend had a problem then he'd either deal with it, or get round to talking about it - eventually. He knew better than to pry - at least, not until the situation demanded it - but he couldn't stop the vague knot of concern that began to tie itself in the pit of his stomach. The last time he recalled Iolaus having that look on his face it had been the day the hunter had returned early to camp to find his best friend intimately engaged with a woman who, only a short time previously, had used him abominably.

Xena had been the one to resolve those issues, proving the genuineness of her wish to change along with her deep regret for what she had done, but it hadn't been until after that business with Prometheus that Iolaus had finally felt able to express the hurt he'd felt about his partner's actions that day. And he'd done it with typical Iolausian logic - apologising for not having seen what had been so obvious to his friend: the innate worth that lay behind Xena's blinding hate and her very real desire to make up for past deeds.

That sweet kid - Gabrielle. She can see it. Why couldn't I?

Because you had, Hercules had pointed out, wrestling between his uncomfortable sense of guilt and trying hard not to laugh at the puzzled, plaintive note in his friend's voice. You're hardly the sort who'd fall in love with a genuine monster …

Oh, Iolaus had responded in an I hadn't thought of that kind of way, and they'd shared a thoughtful silence for several leagues of their journey.

At the end of which Hercules had offered a deep and heartfelt apology for his thoughtless behaviour - and Iolaus had giggled at his stumbling attempts at sincerity and punched his arm so as to stop the situation getting too serious. Which had been a roundabout way of pointing out that he'd long since forgiven the offence along with both offenders, and they could just forget it ever happened, because everything was a-okay with him.

Hercules hadn't forgotten it, and he doubted that Iolaus had either. He just hoped that that anxious look on his friend's face wasn't sitting there because of something he'd done …

"Hey," Polontius called, having finally spotted that his company had acquired company. "Hercules! Good to see you!"

"You too," he called back, giving the man a friendly wave. "Looks like a good one."

The Spartan's face lit up. He loved his horses, and he loved it even more when someone noticed their quality. "Oh yeah," he breathed, flicking the end of his whip and making the animal take a high prancing step forward. "Fit for a king. Or a hero," he grinned, knowing that Hercules was not a horseman, and that he only rode if he absolutely had too.

"Count me out," the son of Zeus shot back with amusment. "He'd never take my weight."

"I wasn't talking about you," Polontius retorted archly, turning his smile towards the man on the fence. "I think he's ready to be given his head - want to try it?"

Iolaus immediately perked up at the suggestion. "Sure," he said, throwing his partner one of his more usual and decidedly dazzling grins. "Hang onto the gossip until I get back, okay?"

"Okay."

Hercules watched as the compact and agile hunter bounced off the fence, ran a few short paces and bounced back onto the colt's back; the horse half reared up in startlement, Polontius unhooked the lunge rein, and then man and animal were plunging headlong towards the low fence and the open land that lay beyond it. Iolaus was a horseman, although it wasn't a talent he employed very often; when he had the chance - like now - he always seized it with enthusiasm.

"Bring him back in one piece!" Polontius yelled as the horse vaulted the barrier and danced away, his rider wrestling to bring him under control.

"He will," the son of Zeus assured him puzzledly. The Spartan grinned.

"I was talking to the horse."

Ohhh …

Hercules broke into a comprehending laugh and strode forward to clasp his friend's forearm firmly, while clapping him equally firmly on the shoulder. Polontius returned the gesture with feeling.

"Good to see you," he said warmly. "Good to see you both," he added, glancing at the now distant shape of man and animal as they vanished into the landscape. He turned back with a smile. "You look good."

"I was about to say the same of you."

"I keep busy. You know how it is."

"Yeah," Hercules agreed, only too aware of what lay behind that simple statement. "I know. So - how's business?"

"Good. I've sold all bar four of last year's colts and I've offers on the rest. Three mares are in foal again and your brother's sent down six to put to stud." Polontius grinned. "Iolaus brought 'em. I thought he'd taken up rustling when he arrived." The grin got a little wider. "Especially since all six are taller at the shoulder then he is."

Hercules laughed, picturing his friend arriving at the farm on the back of one of Iphicles' brood mares - with five more in tow. Hardly his normal mode of travel …

"Pol?" the son of Zeus asked quietly, "Do you know what's bothering him?"

"Mmm?" The Spartan had started to gather up the lunge rein and the look he threw his friend was momentarily puzzled. Then he grinned, almost embaressedly. "Oh - yeah. Well - he and I … Uh - I just asked him a question, that's all. He's still working on the answer."

That must have been some question …

"Anything I can help with?"

Polontius gave him an odd look - and burst out laughing. "I - umm - no. I don’t think so. This is something he needs to work out for himself. Look - uh - I hate to put you to work the minute you arrive, but there's a cart load of oats that I need to get into the barn before the weather turns. Do you mind giving me a hand?"

"Sure." Hercules had no fear of hard work, and he was always happy to give a friend a hand. Even so - "Umm - if this job is that urgent, why were you and Iolaus - ah ?" He gestured at the paddock and the Spartan chuckled, grabbing his shoulder and tugging him towards the barn.

"Because," he explained warmly, "Iolaus and I spent most of yesterday up on the barn roof fixing the holes that had forced me to move the oats out in the first place. Jo's first rule of command - and my first rule of horse management," he added since his companion was obviously trying to work out why that was an explanation. "You know - work them hard -"

"-but don't flog them to death." Hercules capped with a grin. "Okay. I get it. Let's go move some oats."