The first kill should have been an easy one. Their initial charge took both animals completely by surprise and Hercules was able to launch his first javelin with determined strength, aiming it to pierce its target's heart. But the beast reacted with remarkable speed, leaping straight into the air so that the missile slid under its barrelled chest to embed itself, quivering, into the gnarled truck of the tree. The manticore roared with anger at having been disturbed, its wings flapping to lift it higher into the air; as it rose, its tail curled up and round - then back again with a savage flick. Iolaus swung the shield round just in time to deflect the resultant volley of spikes.

The second beast bounded down from the branches with a snarl and crouched to leap. Hercules was already unlimbering a second javelin, and the two men took a pace sideways and back, trying to keep both creatures in front of them while he lined up his target.

Wait for it ...

Iolaus had a limited field of view from behind the massive shield and his eyes darted this way and that, trying to keep track of what was happening. The first creature was winging in to strike from the air. The second was poised to pounce. He felt a quick tap on his left shoulder and he swung right, crossing in front of his partner and striking up with the shield as he did so. Claws scraped across the angled surface, the impact of the swoop reverberating down the length of his extended arm. The manitcore snarled; he could smell the rankness of its breath as it hovered over them both - and then he dropped the shield a little so that he could drive its metal rim hard up into the creature's jaw. The beast winged back with a howl, allowing him to twist away, and he completed the circular dance, spinning round behind his companion to end up back on his left side. Just in time. A volley of spikes launched by the second monster rattled off the metalled plates, each one striking with considerable force.

"Nice move," Hercules acknowledged, hefting the third of the heavy javelins. His second throw had missed as well; the weapon was now angled deep into the grass at the foot of the tree.

"Thanks," Iolaus gasped, taking the moment to recover his breath. "You're welcome. Think you can hit one next time?"

The son of Zeus threw him a pained look. "Go left," he growled, sidestepping in the requested direction. "I think I've got the timing of it now."

They crabbed sideways, circling round so that the shield remained a barrier between them and both of the manticores. The first had returned to the ground and the two beasts paced and padded in the space beneath the tree, measuring their enemy and looking for the right moment to pounce. Iolaus watched them warily, poised to react whenever they did.

Whenever you're ready, Herc ...

Another tap to his shoulder; the right one this time. He stepped left just as the nearest of the beasts broke into a forward lope. His reaction was automatic; he twirled the weight of metal and hide over, seized the bottom strap with his free hand, and swung the now practically horizontal shield firmly into the charging creature's face.

The collision was brutal; it stopped the manticore clean in its tracks and sent it staggering away. Pain hammered through the hunter's forearms as the force of the impact agitated through muscle and bone. He dropped to one knee for a moment, reeling a little from the shock.

Whoo ...

A pace or two behind him Hercules had stepped back, lifting the javelin up over his shoulder. As the barrier dropped, he'd taken one stride forward and thrown the heavy weapon with all of his not inconsiderable might. The length of wood and iron hurtled forward, the air protesting its passage with a whistling scream. Its aim was true. It struck the first monster clean in the chest, just below its neck, and went on travelling, driven through hide and muscle and bone to emerge, bloody and triumphant between the creatures wings. The beast gave out a startled gurgle and collapsed in a limp heap.

"Think he got the point," Hercules quipped, reaching to haul his partner upright as the remaining monster recovered from its daze and snapped its tail round for another attack. Iolaus hurriedly brought the shield to bear and the spikes thudded harmlessly against its surface.

They retreated a little, giving the son of Zeus time to unlimber another of the heavy barbed javelins. The manitcore paced across to sniff warily at its dead companion, then let out a ferocious roar and took to the air, lifting itself up to get a better angle of attack. "Stand firm," Hercules advised, stepping in close behind the shield and angling the javelin up like a spear. "It can't have that many spikes left. Once it's used those it'll have to charge."

Iolaus nodded, twisting sideways so that his friend could step a little closer behind the safety of their armoured barrier. The creature was rising rapidly, the bulk of its body stark against the sky. Hercules was tense, his whole attention focused on that dark shape as it loomed above them. Somewhere, distantly, the hunter thought he heard someone call his name.

Pol?

He turned his head, risking a glance past his partner's shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of the Spartan and his chariot, both of which should have been safely waiting in the distance.

His heart skipped a startled beat.

The chariot was still in place, silhouetted against the hillside - but between it and them a dark shape had appeared, moving in his direction with a long low lope. A cat like shape, with a heavy body and a air of stubby wings folded down against its flanks.

There was a third manticore.

And it was charging to the attack ...

It's often said that during a crisis time seems to slow to a crawl. That when the moment comes for momentous decision there is a point when the victim of circumstance develops a sense of perfect clarity. That might well be the case - but if it's true, then Iolaus undoubtedly used up that moment making sense of what was he was looking at. For him everything seemed to be happening at once; the crack and flick as the airborne monster unleashed the last of its barbed spikes - and the echo of the same sound as the one on the ground launched its own attack.

There was no time to think, no time to weigh options or consider alternatives. Death was whistling in from both directions. He moved almost before he was aware of doing it; his arm extended, pushing the shield up towards the onslaught from the sky and, at the same time, he stepped back and sideways, putting himself between the vulnerability of his friend's broad back and the threat of the third monster. Just a small, deliberate pace, taken - not with considered thoroughness - but almost without thought, a reaction born from instant, inward instinct.

And, as he felt the barbed points pierce his skin, sinking into side, hip, thigh and buttock like slivers of red hot iron, he finally had his answer to Polontius' question.

Why? the man had asked. Why would you give him the Sheildbearer's gift, without thought, without hesitation?

It was obvious.

So blindingly obvious that he wondered why he'd struggled so hard to put his finger on it.

Aphrodite had been wrong. It wasn't that he ' loved her brother to death' as she'd so pertly put it. The feelings he had for him went much deeper than that. They went beyond death. His life was the ultimate gift he could give his friend, and he gave it willingly, without regret or hesitation.

And it wasn't because everything he was had been shaped by the man's presence in his life.

Nor was it because - in terms of destiny and influence - the world needed Hercules a lot more than it would ever need him.

It wasn't even because losing him would tear a wound so deep that his soul would probably bleed to death long before his heart stopped beating.

It was just plain because ...

The pain was brief. Numbness followed, a cold, creeping numbness that ate into his side and leg and dragged nothingness after it. He shifted his weight onto the other foot, swinging round so that the shield now served to offer the defence that his body had been forced to provide.

"There's another one - behind us," he warned, bracing himself for the inevitable impact as the creature charged. He wondered how long it would take for the poison to reach his heart - and if he'd even have the strength to care by the time it got there.

I'm sorry, Herc, he found himself thinking, hoping that the man would forgive him for what he'd had to do. But I wouldn't have it any other way ...

The manticore's hide offered no protection from the impact of the heavy javelin - not with the full thrust of Olympian strength driving it home. Hercules attacked upwards with determined speed, striking the creature just under the angle of his right forelimb and thrusting the weapon up until it pierced the creature's heart. "Right with you, buddy," he called over his shoulder, mindful of his friend's anxious warning. He heard the scrabble of claws as they hit metal and turned on his heel, using the javelin to lift the now dead monster up and over his head.

"Bite on this," he advised, slamming the corpse over the rim of the shield and straight down onto the snarling beast it was holding at bay. Limbs and wings tangled and the still living creature squirmed away, wrestling with its dead companion. The action ripped the end of the javelin from his hands and he groped for another, motioning Iolaus to step back so that he had room to strike.

Where did this one come from? he wondered, his eyes focused on the one-sided struggle as the new arrival wriggled free from dead weight. Another volley of spikes rattled off polished bronze and he grinned softly to himself as he heard his partner utter a soft curse of annoyance. There was no question in Hercules' mind that Iolaus was earning the bruises that were the probable cause of his complaint. He knew how heavy and awkward a shield like that was to handle; so far the hunter had managed it with admirable speed and agility.

The manticore bounded free from the tumbled corpse and immediately pounced forward, opening its wings to add height to its momentum. The leap was designed to bring the creature's full weight down onto its intended victim, but it also exposed its vulnerable underbelly. Hercules pulled back his arm and threw, sending the last javelin screaming across the narrow distance. It hit hard, the impetus of the throw intersecting with the monster's forward motion; the beast practically impaled itself.

He stepped back as the now dead manticore crashed to the ground in front of him. Its wings and tail twitched once, and then it shuddered and went limp.

That wasn't so hard ...

Hercules paused to throw an anxious glance around the landscape in case a fourth monster materialised out of nowhere. There was no indication that one might, and he saw Polontius already whipping up his team to come galloping down and across the hill. He waved him in, deciding that it was safe to do so, and turned to share a smile of triumph with his mortal partner, who was, he had no doubt already working on the story this little incident would make.

The smile froze.

Iolaus was just - standing there, his face as white as a sheet. As Hercules had turned, he'd let the figure of eight shield slip from his arm and it had landed with a clatter at his feet. The hunter looked down at it with bemusement, then up to meet his friend's bemused gaze. He quirked a small and rueful grin, took half a pace forward - and promptly collapsed in a heap as his legs gave out from under him.

"Iolaus?" the son of Zeus questioned, then - with a sense of dawning horror: "Iolaus!" He covered the distance like lightning. They'd been barely four or five paces apart and he arrived in time to catch the man's shoulders just before they hit the ground. "Hey," he tried to jest, frowning down at his partner's ashen features, "I know that thing was heavy, but ..." His voice trailed off. The warrior's whole body was shaking. Horror became stark heart stopping certainty. "No," he whispered, shaking his head with hopeless denial. "No ..." He stared at his friend, his eyes darting down the length of his compact frame, looking for damage, praying desperately that he wouldn't find what he was looking for.

"Where were you hit?" he demanded brusquely, his sense of terror adding a harshness to his voice that he didn't intend. Iolaus winced.

"Right side," he confessed, vaguely waving the relevant hand in the relevant direction. Hercules carefully lowered trembling shoulders to the ground and reached to take a look, gently running one hand up the leather clad curve of a tense leg and using the other to push away the hunter's ragged jerkin. The damage was easy enough to locate; there was blood slowly spreading across both leather and skin, oozing its way out of half a dozen puncture wounds.

Deep puncture wounds. The vague hope that one of the beasts had somehow got its claws past the bronzed shield evaporated with chilling comprehension. The spikes had penetrated practically to their full length, but searching fingers quickly found the evidence of their presence.

"Gods," Hercules breathed. "Iolaus - why didn't you say something?"

Blue eyes focused on his with an effort; their owner managed a small shrug. "Ouch?" he suggested, the word packed with apology along with a hint of remorse.

For one insane moment, the son of Zeus didn't know whether to gather his friend into a hug - or to pick him up and shake him. They'd discussed how dangerous this hunt was going to be. He'd known the thing to avoid at all costs was getting even the slightest scratch from the poisonous spikes. And there he was, lying there, with half a dozen of the things imbedded in his side and leg - and he was sorry?

Sorry!

The howl that filled a half immortal heart was one spawned by anguish and anger and denial. He didn't want his friend to be sorry. He wanted him to be safe.

A team of horses slewed to a halt somewhere behind him, their driver barely pausing to hitch the reins before he vaulted from the chariot. Hercules barely registered their older friend's arrival. He was wrestling with the insane desire to bodily haul his partner up off the ground and tell him exactly what he thought of him.

"What in Hades name were you thinking of?" he demanded, sitting back on his heels and frowning at his wounded friend. His heart was shattering in slow motion; the pain came out in shards of anger, each one piercing his soul like a white hot dagger. "Iolaus, you knew how dangerous these things were. I can't believe you just - got in the way."

"Herc - " the hunter began to say, breaking off as a shudder swept through him. Polontius reached down to curl a firm hand around his shaking shoulder.

"Save your strength, little fish," he advised softly. "Let me tell him what you did."

"Don't - call me little," Iolaus gasped, a reflex response to the old nickname. The Spartan hadn't called him that in years.

"He made a mistake," Hercules acknowledged, his desperate sense of anger adding a tightness to his words. "It happens." Polontius gave him a distraught look.

"Maybe," he said softly. "But not this time. Hercules - Iolaus made a choice. It was your life or his." His free hand reached out to catch the warrior's gauntlet, linking the three of them together. "And he chose you. I saw him do it.

"He didn't just get in the way - he put himself there."

What?

It was as if the man had plunged a spear of ice clean through his heart. The breath froze in Hercules’ lungs. His blood went cold. And the anger - such as it was - simply vanished, leaving him empty and numb, staring at his best friend with a sense of devastated bewilderment.

"Deliberately?" he questioned, knowing that the Spartan spoke the truth but needing to hear it from his partner's own lips. "Iolaus - is that true?"

The hunter grimaced, turning his head so as to avoid his friend's eyes. "Come on, Herc," he muttered, struggling for the breath to speak. "I said I'd be your shieldbearer. What else was I supposed to do?"

What else?

Hercules shivered, meeting the look that the Spartan was giving him, seeing - in those bleak and anxious eyes - the enormity of what his friend had done.

The shieldbearer's gift is always a gift of the heart, Chiron had explained, a long time ago in days when he and the world were young and full of promise. Few earn the right to it. Fewer still have the strength to give it.

He closed his eyes for a moment, replaying the events of the hunt in his mind. At every twist and turn, Iolaus had been there protecting him, using the shield to deflect the deadly spikes ...

There's another one. Behind us, he'd said. Had he been dying even then, the poison from the second beast painting itself across the bronze while that of the third burned its way into his blood? There'd have been no time to think about it. Just a moment in which to make the choice.

Would I have chosen differently, if I'd had the shield and he'd been the one in danger?

Of course not.

But knowing that - knowing that he would give everything to keep this man safe - only added to the pain that now seared his soul. His friend had freely given him his life - but what good was living, if he wasn't going to be a part of it?

Maybe he can still be saved ...

His drowning heart grasped at that slender hope, knowing it was mere illusion but stubbornly refusing to accept events the way the Fates were spinning them. While the man lived, there would be a chance. And after that?

I'll find a way, he vowed silently, staring down at the hunter's ashen features with determination. No matter what it costs …

"We've got to get him to a healer," he realised, suddenly wondering what he was doing just sitting there while his best friend's life ebbed away. "Maybe - "

"No." Polontius hastily moved to intercept him as he reached to scoop the wounded man off the ground. "No, we can't risk moving him. It'd just speed the spread of the poison. He'd be dead before we could reach the village."

"But we must do something," Hercules insisted. "Pol - he's dying."

"I know." The Spartan's voice was as bleak as his eyes. "Look - " He reached out and snagged the abandoned shield, tugging it closer and turning it over. "You make him comfortable. I'll go for help."

There won't be time.

They both knew it. It had been too late the minute the first of those spikes had sunk home.

"Don’t - you - dare," Iolaus gasped, fighting for the strength to shape the words. His hand sank into the folds of the old warrior's tunic, preventing him from getting to his feet. "Pol -"

"I told you to save your strength, little fish." Polontius' words were tight. "All you have to do is hold on, you hear me?"

"Too late," the hunter whispered, finding him a warm if effort filled smile. "Can't feel my legs anymore. Hands are going - numb. C-cold," he added, almost apologetically.

"I'll get you my cloak," the Spartan offered. "Hercules - "

"I'm on it." He reached to complete the gesture the older man had interrupted, gently scooping his comrade off the ground and placing him, just as gently, into the cradle of the upturned shield. Polontius stepped back from his chariot and silently passed down a cloak which Hercules carefully laid over the hunter's trembling frame. It was the charioteer's old campaign cloak, a heavy, woollen weave that had once been dyed a deep dark red and had long since faded into soft vermillion. Next to its rich colour Iolaus' pallid features seemed whiter than ever, his normally golden tan reduced to a pale shadow that barely coloured ashen skin.

It only took a moment to tuck the man in, wrapping shivering limbs in the warmth of the wool. Iolaus' hands were ice cold and Hercules had to resist the desire to chafe the warmth back into them. Polontius was right; the poison would be slowly moving through its victims bloodstream and any attempt to move him or encourage his circulation would only serve to speed its progress. He contented himself with gently laying one hand across its owner's stomach under the weight of the wool - and keeping the other tight within both his own.

"Hey," Iolaus offered wanly, finding him a grateful smile that turned his heart over. Limp fingers struggled to apply reassuring pressure, and he gently returned both the squeeze and the smile.

"Hey," he echoed, needing the word to encompass an eternity of conversation. A lifetime of it. For one strange moment he was back in a rain besieged cave somewhere in Macedonia, sitting beside a young man with a cracked skull and a broken collar bone, desperately hoping that the friendship they shared had not been equally shattered by the impact of war.

We’ve come a long way since that day, you and I …

The tapestries that made up their lives had been woven from the same threads, sometimes with joy and sometimes with despair, but always running strong and sure. They had shared adventure and peril and pain in equal measure. Over time their friendship had matured into a deep and committed sense of brotherhood; the terror which had gripped a young demigod's heart that day on the battlefield was nothing compared to the unbearable anguish that now savaged his soul. A piece of his own heart lay dying beside him, and there was nothing he could do but sit and watch.

"How ya doin, little fish?" Polontius had moved to crouch on the opposite side of the shield, his expression mirroring that same sense of helplessness.

Iolaus threw him an effort filled grin that wasn't about to fool anyone. "Been - better," he admitted, trying to make a joke of it. "Pol?"

"Yeah?"

Azure eyes danced with an unexpected twinkle of triumph; the smile that went with it was strained, but somehow also dazzling. "I - figured it out," the hunter whispered. "I know the answer."

The old warrior's face took on a stricken look. "That doesn't matter now," he murmured. His voice was choked.

"Does too," the hunter insisted, making an absurd effort to lift himself up. Hercules felt his fingers tighten their grip the barest amount, as if he could draw strength from the hands that enfolded them. "Only thing that - does."

"Okay, okay," Polontius assured him softly, his hand resting lightly on the dying man's shoulder to encourage him to keep still. "So? What did you decide?"

Iolaus grinned at him, somehow managing a soft giggle that sent a shiver right through his partner's heart. "There's no reason - and there's every reason," he confided with confidence. "It's just the way we are…"

"Gods," the old warrior breathed, his hand tightening almost convulsively. "Iolaus, I - " His voice cracked and he had to turn his head and swallow hard. Hercules stared at him, wondering what the question had been - and why the man might react to that answer with such depth of feeling. Polontius took a deep breath. "Good answer," he said, his expression relaxing into haunted smile. The look held genuine affection; Iolaus reacted to it with more than a hint of embarrassment.

"Only one there is," he muttered, turning to study his anxious partner with an equally affectionate look. "Only one I needed ..."

The words were barely a breath. The hunter's face was stark white and a shimmer of sweat painted his skin. He shivered, and it went no further than his shoulders; the poison was clearly getting the upper hand. Gods, Hercules moaned inwardly, his hands tightening on the limp fingers they surrounded. This isn't happening. He can't die. Not like this.

It was a howl of utter helplessness. His mind was racing as he considered - and rejected - option after option, desperately searching for a way to cheat the Fates. He knew that his father wouldn't help him, not this time. And he'd used up all the favours Hades might owe him on the last occasion this precious soul had been precipitously snatched from his side.

Who else? He wracked his brains for an answer, subconsciously echoing each effort filled breath as if - by matching that failing struggle for life - he could help the man hold on by strength of will alone. There had to be someone in his family that he could turn too for help. He didn't care who it was or what it might cost. Who else?

A cascade of light appeared beside him; Aphrodite materialised almost as if on cue.

"Dada!" she carolled with happy triumph, throwing both arms wide with dramatic emphasis. "Behold the conquering heroes ..." Her voice trailed off, and she stared down at the tableaux that confronted her with utter bemusement. "Did I miss something?" she questioned. "Because - oh no," she realised, her puzzlement replaced by something more akin to indignation. "Curly - you didn't. Did you?" She took a step forward and dropped to one knee, ignoring her brother to frown at his dying partner with more than a hint of exasperation. "You weren't supposed to actually do it," she complained. "Like - what's the point of proving a point, when the point of the point is that you would - when you did? Does that make any sense to you?" she immediately went on to ask, puzzling over her own words.

"None of this makes any sense," Hercules growled tightly, staring at her with sudden - and distraught - suspicion. Polontius just stared.

"Well, whatever," the goddess continued blithely, her attention still fixed on the hunter's ashen face, "I guess you figured it out, anyway. You did, didn't you?" she prompted anxiously, offering an encouraging smile. Iolaus echoed it with a small, effort filled quirk of his lips.

"Yeah," he breathed. "You were right ..."

"Yes," she reacted, a moment of gleeful triumph that collapsed into despondent realisation. "You know," she admitted a little reluctantly, "maybe I should have picked something a little less - poisonous. You think?"

Suspicion gave way to horrified comprehension: Hercules very carefully laid the limp hand he'd been cradling down onto the dark red wool - and then lunged forward, seizing his sister by her shoulders and turning her towards him with decided force. "What have you done?" he demanded angrily. "What have you got to do with all of this?"

Good question, Herc.

Actually, Iolaus had a pretty good idea what the answer might be. He should have known that Aphrodite wouldn't leave well enough alone: Polontius' question - and his reaction to it - must have been way too tempting a challenge for her. She'd as much as admitted that she'd been trying to prove her point ...

The goddess' expression was hovering halfway between embarrassed guilt and apologetic chagrin. "Ah - well, um ..." she hedged. "I - kinda overheard Curly and his friend here having this - um - discussion, and I just thought the easiest way to settle the question was to arrange a little practical demonstration, only - " She glanced down at him and a frown briefly flitted across her perfect features.. "He wasn't supposed to actually do it," she protested, turning back to her brother's furious consideration. "I mean - he just needed to see that he would. If he had too." Understanding dawned as she spoke; she turned back towards Iolaus and looked at him with wary respect. "You had too, didn't you?"

If he'd had the strength he would have laughed out loud. Her face was an absolute picture. He wanted to ask if she really thought he'd be lying there like that if he hadn't - but his whole existence had narrowed to his effort filled need to breathe, and he had nothing to spare for any further words. He did manage another wry smile though, conveying the thought if not the question. Aphrodite sighed.

"That's - like - too bad," she decided, biting at her lower lip and looking at him with sympathy. "Total bummer, huh?"

Hercules jerked her shoulders, regaining her attention - along with a protesting pout which he ignored. "Dite," he demanded through clenched teeth, clearly trying to keep his temper under control, "were you the one responsible for those manticores being here?"

"Duh," she reacted. "Like - how long did it take to figure that? I didn't have time to hang about until you two got yourselves into a real situation. So I - uh - created one. Knew you'd never resist something that dangerous to the public at large."

The look in her brother's eyes held echoes of their father's thunder; it was obvious to Iolaus that Hercules was struggling against a strong desire not just to hurt her, but to tear her apart. An action his partner knew he'd have cause to regret later, however justified it might be. Had it been Ares sitting there, admitting guilt (and probably revelling in it) then the hunter would be cheering him on - but this was Dite, and she had been trying to help ... "Herc," he managed to gasp, the word half plea and half warning. It earned him a sideways glance filled with desperate anguish - but it served to dissipate some of the threatening storm.

Hercules drew in a slightly shaky breath and fixed the goddess with a determined stare. "Do you realise what you've done?" he asked tightly. "He's dying, Dite. Because you wanted to prove a point?"

"Hey," she protested, looking hurt. "You think I don't care or something? I didn't mean this to happen. I don't want him to die anymore than you do."

"Then do something about it!" There was both passion and impatience in the demand; Hercules wanted action and he wanted it now. Iolaus had no arguments against that; time was running out on him, and he knew it. His strength and his awareness of self had ebbed away in equal measure. The numbness had spread to engulf his entire existence and he could feel practically nothing beyond the faltering beat of his heart. Each breath was a struggle. So was the need to focus his eyes. The entire world was going fuzzy at the edges.

At least it doesn't hurt, he considered distantly. Everything seemed distant now ...

"I can't." Aphrodite's answer was apologetic. "Hey," she went on defensively, "I don't have power over life and death stuff. That's not my jag, you know?" Hercules wasn't buying it, and she squirmed a little before his determined frown. "Really. There's nothing I can do - well," she corrected unhappily, " I could, I guess - if - no, I couldn't. See," she struggled, wrestling to pin down the thought that had occurred to her, "there is some kinda get out clause I might have been able to use, only - it's the whole 'gift of love' thing, and since that's exactly what he's just done -" She paused to take a breath and, at the same time, darted a glance of warm remorse in the hunter's direction.

It's okay, Iolaus wanted to reassure her. I know you didn't mean this to happen.

He tried to smile, but his lips were too numb to answer the demand; he rolled his eyes as best he could, hoping she could read the forgiveness he was packing into them. Hoping - at the same time - that his partner would catch the look and understand it. He knew he was dying. He also knew why he was dying - and that it was way too late for anger or recriminations. Aphrodite might have created the danger, but when the moment came he'd been the one making the choice. He'd given the gift of his life freely, and without regret …

"Gift of love?" Hercules was asking, a sudden note of hope in his voice. "Are you saying - you could take me in his place?"

The question refocused the hunter's drifting attention with instant alarm; he desperately fought to rally strength he no longer had.

Herc! Don't you dare …

That wasn't an acceptable solution - although, Iolaus had to admit, had the situation been the other way round, he'd probably have been the first one suggesting it.

Aphrodite rolled her eyes. "Duh," she reacted. "Like - no. He just did the sacrifice thing, okay? You can't just give a gift like that back. Besides - you know perfectly well he'd just demand I swap you over again. We'd be here forever trying to figure that one out. Like I said - there's nothing I can do."

"But - Dite. There has to be. You did this. This is your fault!"

"No," a firm voice interrupted with quiet authority. "It's mine."

Pol? The hunter had long since lost any awareness of how the Spartan's hand had stayed supportively on his shoulder, but he hadn't forgotten that the man was there. He'd actually been vaguely thinking that it was good that there'd be - someone - afterwards who'd be there to take care of his friend. The man's interjection, though, was unexpected - and what he said was plain ridiculous.

Hercules clearly thought so too. "Don't be absurd, Pol. You've no fault in any of this. If anything, you tried to dissuade us both from facing the beasts in the first place."

Polontius ignored the protest and confronted Aphrodite's puzzled frown instead, staring at her with disconcerting intensity. "My fault," he repeated, somehow managing to make it both an admission and accusation in the same breath. "I was the one that asked that stupid question - and insisted Iolaus think about his answer. You overheard us, didn't you." A statement of fact, not a question. "You were trying to help."

The goddess managed a you got me kind of shrug, which couldn't have been easy since the son of Zeus still held her shoulders in an iron grip. "He was making out it was no big deal - when I could see you'd sent him all of a flather. I just thought - "

"You never think," Hercules interrupted tightly. "Pol - what is all this about? What question? And how does - this - " He glanced in his partner's direction and his voice faltered for a moment. "Answer it?"

Hey, Iolaus reacted, struggling to offer some sign of reassurance and failing miserably. I'm still with ya, big guy.

He didn't think that would be the case for much longer. He was completely paralysed, his body nothing more than a dead weight he could no longer feel. The fuzziness in front of his eyes seemed to be creeping into his brain; he could still hear the conversation, but the words were becoming muffled and indistinct. He was drowning in nothingness, eaten up by it, swallowed by absence and slowly drifting away.

Hold on, Iolaus, he told himself sternly. Don't let go until you have to.

Better yet - don't let go at all ...

Polontius had been heaving a quiet sigh. "Seems so stupid now," he said. "We were talking - about him and you and ... " He shook his head, dismissing the temptation to launch into a long explanation. "Hercules - I knew - know - that he loves you beyond life's last breath. And I asked him - I asked him if he knew why."