Divine Job Benefits

This story/series was on the site under a different name a while back. I chewed on it and figured why not revise and tweak it and post it again? Readers may see common themes and set-ups to my other stories, which I hope is a positive. I'm here for the fun. In keeping with that, the story will be heavier on indulgence and fun than on plot, but you'll find enough of both.

rosa-blanca.ru up front: Aphrodite, goddess, fantasy, magic, enhancement, mature, revenge, male-female sex, wish fulfillment..

*****

Scott woke up to a world of pain. He lay in dry grass on a cool night, his shirt torn, his pants tangled around his knees, and his jacket gone. His face, wet with his own blood, hurt like hell. His ribs hurt. His stomach felt like one big bruise. Greater pain burned and ached in lower parts. He shivered and gasped, realizing he was drenched in beer.

His knuckles hurt, too. He gave as good as he got for the first few moments, but a four on one fight was more than anyone could ask of him. His classmates—enemies would be a better word now—didn't know about his health problems. Even without the injuries they'd inflicted, a strain like that was dangerous for Scott. Still, he fought back, for all the good it did. He never pleaded with his attackers, no matter how much they tried to beat it out of him.

Overcoming his shivers and pain, Scott reached between his legs for the empty glass bottle they'd stuck in him. As much as it hurt, he would hurt less with it gone. He couldn't do anything to help himself before he pulled it out. At least it wasn't broken. Relieved despite the new pain, Scott managed to pull his jeans up to his hips. A little more warmth was better than none.

He wondered if he would die out here alone on the other side of the world from home. This was supposed to be a high point in his young life. He'd never been out of the country, and barely even out of state except for a couple of school field trips. Scott only ever got by on hustling through every grant, scholarship, and aid application he could find when he wasn't working. He didn't have family to rely upon. Managing this trip was supposed to be a moment of hope. A turning point. He pulled off the funding and the travel and the classwork. What more could he accomplish?

Twenty-one years old, Scott was pushing through college with the same uncertain future as everyone else and the same widening pit of debt. He had no family and couldn't always trust his own body. He couldn't let go and have fun like other people. Life wouldn't let him.

This would've worked out had there been a different crowd of classmates on the trip.

They'd beaten him, taunted him, and worse. The insults they flung were largely off the mark, but it hardly mattered to those guys. It didn't matter that Scott wasn't gay himself; he stuck up for others who were. That, apparently, was more than enough.

Scott tended not to complain about things. He focused on the positives. He'd led an active if precarious life. He had many friends. Despite what the doctors predicted, he was healthy more often than not. He got to see Greece before he died somewhere in a field outside of Athens.

"Guess I'm gonna miss the flight tomorrow," he mumbled as he struggled with his clothes. He didn't quite get his pants secured around his waist, let alone manage to rise, before he blacked out again.

"You brought me out here for this?"

"Apollo, you must help him."

"Hunh?" Scott mumbled. He tried to open his eyes. They didn't cooperate.

"You really want this one?" asked a disbelieving male voice. "It's been forever since you took on a mortal man, and you're choosing him?"

"Look at where we are," said a woman. "I owe him, Apollo. He fights for me. He fights for love."

"It doesn't look like he did a very good job. Your tastes have changed."

Scott finally managed to open his eyes. A woman with strawberry blonde hair in a white dress knelt over him with concern. Her beauty was intense enough to make him almost forget his pain. Hurting or not, his injuries and his disorientation left him unable to do much more than blink and breathe. Someone else stood over him, too—a man with golden skin and a perfect physique under a white tunic.

"He has a strong heart," she said.

"He has exactly the opposite of that."

"The muscle is weak. The heart is strong, or we wouldn't be here. You owe me this favor," said the blonde to the golden man. "Don't leave the job half-finished, either. He deserves more than a slapdash effort. You know what I mean."

"Oh, fine! He'll be in the peak of health when he wakes. Will that satisfy you?"

"I don't want him dwelling on this," she pressed. "Help him get past the emotions and the memories, too."

"Then it will be done," sighed the golden man. "By morning, he'll be able to run marathons as a casual effort. He won't know a moment of disease in his life. And he'll have no need for a therapist or whatever the mortals call it these days, either."

"Good. I don't want that getting in the way."

"Wait, wha...?" Scott mumbled, but faded out again.

* * *

He awoke without pain. He wasn't cold anymore, nor did he lie on cold, hard ground. The bed was warm and comfortable. Some nearby machine gave a slow, steady beep. Scott's eyes fluttered open to reveal the inside of a hospital room.

The lights were dim, but not so dim that he couldn't see. He'd spent enough time in hospitals to be used to it. The signs on the walls confirmed his location. He couldn't read the letters, but after a week in the country he could at least recognize Greek when he saw it. He could also read a clock.

"Shit," he rasped to the ceiling. "Guess I missed my flight." On the bright side, he figured, he got to live through the fallout over all this. Yay.

"You are awake," said a gravelly voice, harsh but not hostile. Scott wondered how he could possibly have missed the guy seated in the corner. He was big and hard-faced, with a dark-stubbled scalp and muscles like thick steel cables. His black shirt and dark pants gave no clue to his identity.

"Yeah," Scott nodded. He tried to stretch, but found that difficult for his left arm what with the IVs attached to him. He sat up a little. "I thought I was really hurt."

"You were beaten and tortured. Mortally wounded," said the other man. "My half-brother saw to your recovery. No mere doctor could have saved you."

Scott let that process. He had to exercise some nerve to look the other man in the eye. Something about the stranger seemed larger than life. Scott didn't understand how he could know that...but he knew. He knew this was more than an ordinary man. And then he remembered the others. "I remember someone with golden skin, but I thought I was dreaming."

"No dream. That was Apollo. I am Ares."

Scott swallowed hard. The man didn't glow. He didn't shimmer with magic, he wasn't wreathed in flames, and there was no incredible entrance music or ominous rumble...but Scott knew the man wasn't joking.

"You are no warrior," said Ares.

The beeping of the machine betrayed Scott's rising heart rate. He didn't break eye contact with the casually frightening god looming over him. Maybe if Ares was actually trying to be scary it may have been a different story, but Scott could muster the courage for a neutral conversation, at least. "No. The military wouldn't take me. Medical stuff."

"But you have heart."

"I had a heart attack in football tryouts," he said. "Kind of limited my options for being a soldier. Or an athlete. Or a lot of other things."

"And what will you do now?"

"Not let 'em get away with it, that's for sure," Scott answered readily. He wondered if this was a test of some sort. "I don't plan to cover anything up from the police. If they handle it, fine, but if that doesn't get anywhere...I don't know. I can't beat all four at once. I have to figure something out. But I'm not letting it go."

The faintest grin appeared on the god's lips. "My brother's touch has remedied your injuries and your fragile health. Your courage is all your own. Without that, I'd never have agreed to this." Ares reached behind his back to pull out two nasty black daggers. He flipped the daggers in his hands and offered them to Scott. "Hold these firmly."

Not knowing where this would go, Scott accepted the daggers. Then he yelped as Ares slapped his hands down onto the blades, impaling himself through each palm. Ares grabbed tightly onto Scott's hands, keeping his fists clenched tight around the handles. The god managed it with little more than a grunt of pain. Scott felt like he might jump out of his own skin.

"Whoa!" Scott blurted. "What're you doing? Oh my god, your hands!"

Ares forced Scott to keep a tight grip around the daggers long enough for his blood to flow, and then yanked his hands free. At that, Scott dropped the blades and looked at his stained hands and wrists in shock. Ares calmly retrieved his weapons and tucked them back under his belt. His hands showed no sign of injury.

"I lay no obligations upon you," said Ares. "This is my payment for a debt to another. Should battle comes upon you again, know that you will never find yourself lacking in talent or skill. No matter the battlefield. No matter the enemy."

Still shocked, Scott couldn't quite form words to say fast enough to stop Ares from walking out. The big man stopped only long enough to look over his shoulder. "When you face your enemies again, they will wish for far more than four men." With that, he was gone.

Scott looked at his hands again and found the blood quickly vanishing, like water evaporating under time-lapse video. The blankets weren't even stained. Every drop was gone by the time someone else appeared in the doorway. "Are you awake?" asked the man with a thick Greek accent. "I am the nurse. How do you feel?"

Scott blinked, unsure of how to answer. Ironically, the truth seemed convenient enough. "I feel great."

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Scott. Scott Murphy."

* * *

"The police found your wallet nearby. Your insurance card noted a heart condition, but we never found any sign of one," said the doctor. His English was accented like everyone else's, though he was more precise than most. He stood next to Scott's bed beside a local detective and a lady from the US Embassy who both arrived in the morning. "Do you think your doctor might have made a mistake?"

Scott knew better. He couldn't really tell anyone why without ending up in the psych ward or whatever they called it in Greece. He'd have thought himself crazy, too, but for the conditions the doctor described and the way he felt now. His heart attack on the football tryout field hadn't been imagined, but he didn't want to explain why he wasn't worried about it anymore. "I guess it's possible," Scott shrugged.

"Well. I think when you get home to America, you should find a new doctor and have new tests. This is not something you want to get wrong. But you seem to be healing well. You have only been here for a day and night, and yet..." He gestured to Scott with open hands. Scott's wounds amounted to little more than ugly bruises and scrapes. Even the swelling around his eye was mostly gone. "We must keep you one more night for observation, but then I think you can go."

"Thank you, doctor," Scott said with a smile. "I really appreciate it."

With the doctor's exit, Scott's other visitors stepped up closer. The American was a black woman from the embassy, somewhere in her mid-forties with a kind face. The Greek man with her wore a suit and a somber expression. "Mr. Murphy," said the Greek detective, "we have checked up on the names you gave us. They all have, erm..." he looked to the woman beside him. "Ms. Simmons?"

"An alibi," she explained. "More than just each other. Those guys were all packed and ready to get on the flight yesterday morning and they had plenty of witnesses saying they were in a restaurant when you were attacked. Including your Professor Winston. "

"I'm not sure what to say about that," Scott frowned. "It's not like they wore masks. Doug Peters, Frank McAlister...all of them."

"Oh, I believe you," said the detective. "Your teacher was more annoyed than worried, which says much. I bet these boys paid for their alibis. They seem to have plenty of money, no? But my country does not have so much money for a long time now. My boss says he cannot charge them on what we have."

"Or deal with extradition," chimed in Ms. Simmons. "Like you said, they come from money. They'll get lawyered up fast and it will get ugly. You can't take them to an American court for this, either. They have to be extradited here, and you'd have to be here as part of the case. It would get very expensive for you very fast."

"I do not want to let them get away with this," the detective went on. "These men all belong in prison. They broke our laws and hurt a guest in our country. If your teacher helped them, he is guilty, too. But if we cannot prove them guilty, then you will go through even more trouble for nothing."

"Yeah," Scott sighed. "Yeah, I understand. Don't beat yourself up over it," he added, and then winced. "Okay, I didn't mean that as a joke. Sorry. Bad turn of phrase."

It was ugly, and should have been truly demoralizing, but Scott didn't feel all that bad. He felt none of the trauma that he knew should likely follow such a crime. Even the thought of the inevitable financial problems from all this didn't stress him right now. Instead, his mind kept coming back to the strangers that visited him before.

He'd rather live his life looking forward than backward, anyway.

"Your hotel still had your luggage and passport," said Mrs. Simmons. "I've spoken with the airline, and I think we can swing you a trip back to California at no extra cost. They've been very understanding. In the meantime, Professor Winston wasn't helpful with your emergency contact information. I'm sure you have some people you want to call. Do you know the numbers? I know your phone was smashed, but if you need help getting hold of family...?"

"Not family," Scott shook his head. "I've got housemates to call. Friends. Just not family."

* * *

"Holy shit. I'm glad you're okay now, at least," said Jack.

"You are okay, right?" asked Heather. "I mean we're not jumping to a conclusion there?"

"Yeah, I'll be alright," Scott said into the phone. "It's just observation for tonight. I got jacked up pretty bad, but nothing is broken and I guess I even avoided stitches."

He'd been glad to catch any of them at all, let alone two of them on speakerphone. A 7pm call from Greece hit at 9am in Orange County. All five residents of the Boathouse led busy lives; at any point, day or night, at least one of them was out working or at school or something else. Usually it was two or more. They didn't exactly live the high life, either; they only called their five-way-split rented home the Boathouse by virtue of the holed and useless canoe the landlord left in the backyard. It was a symbol for how well he took care of the rest of the home.

At least the rent was affordable. All any of the current residents needed was the help of four other young adults scraping by to put the rent together every month. Heather and Jack were a couple sharing one bedroom, as were the other roommates. Scott's room probably wasn't meant to be a bedroom, but as long as the rent was paid, the landlord didn't care.

"What's the damage gonna be like for the hospital bills?" Jack asked hesitantly. "I know you're always struggling with that shit."

"I had to pay a healthcare coverage charge for the trip, but that bought me into the national system. Even with all the economic problems, everything's covered. It's like a civilized country or some crazy thing. I dunno, apparently I won't have to declare bankruptcy yet."

Jack and Heather laughed. "That's good to hear," said Heather. "So when are you due back?"

"Day after tomorrow, looks like. I forget what time I get in. Don't worry about getting me a ride, I know people have plans or work or whatever. It's fine."

"Are you gonna go back to school next week?" asked Heather. "With those guys still in your classes?"

"Yeah. They won't try anything at school. As for the rest...I'm working on it."

* * *

He awoke in the middle of the night, surprised that he'd fallen asleep at all. He wasn't tired. Several times, he'd gotten up to walk around. The doctor approved the removal of his IV before he fell asleep, given that it was only a precaution against dehydration in the first place. Scott spent much of the evening after that watching television—all in Greek, of course, so he hardly understood a word of it.

He'd been the victim of a horrible assault. He was angry, but he knew he should also feel humiliated and afraid. Instead, his anger was entirely under control, put aside for now until he could do something about it. The rest hardly never really came. He didn't think he was calm enough to fall asleep, but waking up in the darkened hospital room proved him wrong there. Scott let out a yawn, stretched, and then realized he wasn't alone.

"You've been waiting for me," she said. She sat in one of the chairs by the window near his bed. Her long and slightly curled strawberry blonde hair seemed to almost reflect the mild light in the room. Her face took his breath away, as did her body. She wore the sort of white dress he normally only saw in cheesy movies about Greek mythology, which looked great on her. Then again, she could probably make a mu-mu look good.

"I was hoping...?" Scott joked. He sat up in his bed, thinking he must look like a complete mess. It was a hospital room, after all. Though they'd cleaned him up when he came in, it wasn't the same as getting a shower. His short, dark hair had to look ridiculous.

He saw amusement, endless confidence, and even affection in her smile. A man could die for a smile like that, he thought.

"You're a smart one, Scott. That's one of the things I like about you. And you know who I am, too, don't you? You're not trying to guess which goddess or whether to use the Greek name or the Roman?"

"No," Scott answered, shaking his head. "I know the mythology. Read a lot of it as a kid. You're Aphrodite."

"Yep."

"You sound different than the others."

"I'm more of a people person than they are," she winked. "I roam around in the mortal world now and again. It keeps me hip."

"You saved me on that hill, didn't you?" Scott asked.

"Yes. Well, Apollo is the real healer, but I dragged him out there. You weren't far from one of my old shrines. I felt your presence and I understood what was happening. You stood in defense of love. In return I called in some favors owed to me. Without Apollo's help, you'd have died. Even if mortal medicine could save you, you would have wound up here in this hospital for weeks, and then you'd have all sorts of emotional trouble to sort through along with all the physical stuff. He spared you from all that at my request. Don't worry about this sneaking up on you like some repressed memory. I didn't want you to carry those scars."

"Thank you," he said. "I'm glad you're here so I can say that."

"Aw, so humble. Thoughtful. Sweet. And I can read every one of those deliciously dirty thoughts that are running around in the back of your mind while you look at me, too," she grinned, and then laughed as he blushed. "Oh, don't worry about it. I get that from everyone. Let your imagination run free. I won't be insulted. From you, it's perfectly welcome.

"In fact, it's better if you let your guard down. I'd prefer it. I want to speak plainly with you. I'm not here to hit on you, but this conversation may get a little dirty," she added slyly, "if you don't mind."

That made him tilt his head a bit. "This is surreal."

"Isn't it?"

He just laughed. Her beauty and composure would probably intimidate many people, but he felt at ease. Perhaps that was some effect she had, or perhaps it was because she'd said she wasn't here to make a pass. He wasn't getting his hopes up, anyway. He could never reach that high.