It had been a hard battle. The warlord and his group of seasoned mercenaries had been craftier than most, and that crazy priest had convinced them that they had Hera on their side, so they had figured victory was guaranteed.

So much for putting your trust in the gods.

Herc and Iolaus had rallied the town, quickly teaching the tricks that made up the art of survival in battle, and they'd won. Many of the mercenaries had been killed, leaving the rest, and the warlord who had led them, to be marched away to prison.

Herc and Iolaus had headed to the port to catch the first ship back to the mainland. Gods, they were tired, both of them. Iolaus was bruised and sported a number of scrapes and cuts, and even Herc had suffered a shoulder wound from an arrow, one of a flurry that had come at them, when the demigod had been unable to catch them all.

So, here they were, on the deck of the heavy masted merchant ship, leaning on the rail as they watched the island recede from view. It would be good to have almost two full days at sea, with nothing to battle but a few hungry and determined seagulls. Herc stretched a bit, then rubbed at his shoulder, frowning at the continued ache and the occasional stab of pain.

Catching the move, and the expression, Iolaus turned to fully face his friend, legs wide and braced against the roll of the ship. His eyes narrowed as he took in the uncharacteristically pale and gaunt look of his best friend's face, and the clear evidence that the wound was still bothering Herc as he rubbed his left shoulder, easing his right hand under the sling to massage the muscle. "Still bothering you?" Iolaus asked quietly.

Hercules just nodded briefly as he looked out over the horizon. "Yeah, a little," he admitted, before bringing his eyes back to his partner's as he tried a wan smile, "but, it's nothing serious."

Iolaus cocked his head, not buying the forced smile. It wasn't like Herc to suffer a flesh wound long. His powers of recovery normally had such injuries half healed by the time they could be treated. "Maybe you should go to back to the cabin...get some rest," he suggested.

Herc thought about the suggestion a moment, then decided it was probably a good idea. There was no reason to hang around out here on the deck, and the truth was, he felt exhausted. "Yeah, maybe you're right," he murmured, placing a warm hand on Iolaus' shoulder for a moment before he turned and moved away.

Iolaus watched him go with a frown of worry. Herc was moving slowly, almost awkwardly, as he made his way to the cabin that was one of two framed on the deck, not far from the mast. The hand he'd lightly placed on Iolaus' shoulder had radiated heat. And, there was something else that wasn't quite right...Herc tended toward introspection, and it wasn't unusual for him to be quiet, even silent, for long periods, but the exhaustion wasn't normal. Nor was the air of sadness that had started to almost radiate from him over the past hour. He seemed more than tired. He seemed discouraged. But, there was no reason for it. They'd won, with few casualties on their side. Herc rarely actually celebrated a victory, but he wasn't usually sad about it.

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he turned back to the sea, Iolaus watched the island vanish from view, sinking below the horizon. He'd let Herc rest a couple of hours, then check on him. Maybe Hercules was just tired...he was allowed, even entitled, to be tired. Gods knew, the trouble had been coming at them in a seemingly endless stream for months now. Iolaus sighed with impatient concern as he leaned his back against the ship's rail, his arms crossed, and stared thoughtfully at the closed cabin door no more than fifty feet away.

Biting his lip, he wondered about the arrow. It had seemed ordinary enough, no cause for alarm. It was a superficial wound that shouldn't be causing this much trouble.

But, frowning again, he remembered that crazy priest and the man's conviction that Hera would grant the victory to her followers. Hera didn't usually care all that much about which mortals triumphed over which other mortals...war wasn't her main preoccupation. Rubbing the back of his neck, feeling his anxiety grow, Iolaus wondered now if the obvious victory hadn't been Hera's plan at all...if maybe she had had an entirely different objective...the usual objective...the death of Hercules.

He had to fight the urge to go to the cabin and check on Herc. The last thing his buddy needed was someone fussing over him when he was trying to get some rest. Iolaus paced the deck for the next hour or so, trying to tell himself that he was over-reacting. Herc was just tired. Finally, casting a quick look across the bow, not even registering the bank of fog they were sailing toward, he gave in to his nagging anxiety and decided to go and check on his friend. If Herc was sleeping, he'd just slip out again, no harm done.

And, sure enough, he found Hercules slumbering away, tossing a little restlessly with the light fever. Iolaus watched his friend for a few minutes, then decided it really was best not to disturb him. Restless, he went back out to the open deck, softly closing the door behind him.

Looking forward, this time he did notice the fog lying heavily on the water no more than half a league ahead.

* * *

Hercules tossed fitfully in the bunk, his sleep disturbed by bizarre dreams. In the nightmare, they were still on the ship, but it was becalmed out on the open sea, surrounded by a thick, gray fog, the sails hanging limply, the damp heavy air completely still. Herc felt a deep forboding as he stood at the rail, the hairs along the back of his neck bristling as he peered back the way they'd come, trying to pierce the heavy gloom that held them in thrall. Iolaus was standing beside him, half turned away, also concentrating on the hidden sea behind them.

It was eerie, completely silent. Gradually, he became aware that something was coming toward them out of the fog. It took awhile for him to make out the shape of another ship, draped in the wisps of the gray shroud which hung over and around her. It was a derelict, badly holed at the water line, such that Hercules couldn't figure out how it could still be afloat, let alone drifting past them. He wanted to move, to call out, but he felt as if he was frozen in place. The flag on the mast was black with a white skull and crossbones insignia. Over the water, cutting through the silence, came the low sound of moans, and then the air was shattered by a scream of despair. But, still he couldn't move.

As the ship drifted closer, running parallel to their own, he was able to make out faces and forms...and his breath caught in his throat. Darphus, Xena's former evil second in command, was glaring at him across the intervening sea. And, ranged behind the old enemy, a shade who had been mobilized in death by Ares' power, but finally utterly destroyed by Ares' mad, bloodthirsty hound, stood others Herc recognized with a growing horror. Men and monsters he had killed over the years, all leering at him, many still dripping blood from their mortal wounds. All gray, and haggard, with death.

As the ship came closer still, he caught the stench of death. He wanted to reach out, and touch Iolaus' shoulder, but couldn't seem to move. His eyes narrowed as he watched the ship drift closer, and straining to listen, finally he could distinguish words in the low moans of torment, words which whispered across the silent, still air to grip his heart.

"Murderer!" they hissed. "We are death," rumbled others. "There is no escape!" shrieked another. "Die, die, godspawn, before you wreak more death..." cursed a final voice as the ship slid past and disappeared into the fog.

Hercules gripped the rail of the ship, his knuckles white, as he stared after the disappearing apparition, his blood cold, his heart racing. He could feel himself trembling and his mouth was dry. Turning his head, he saw Iolaus staring up at him, his eyes wide and blank, blood spilling from his lips, his face ashen, as he murmured, "You'll lead me to death...." And, then his buddy reached out a bloody hand before sliding slowly to the deck at Herc's feet.

* * *

"NOOOO!!!!" Hercules screamed, thrashing as he tossed in the grip of the fevered dreams.

"Easy, Herc...take it easy!" Iolaus soothed, laying firm and steady hands on his friend's shoulders, alarmed by the heat blasting from the demigod's body. "Wake up, Herc...you're having a nightmare," he called as he shook Hercules lightly, ducking away from a flailing fist.

"What!...Iolaus....NO!" Hercules cried out, struggling back to consciousness, panting for breath. "What? I...." he muttered, as his gaze focused on Iolaus, and he gripped his friend's shoulder hard with his right hand, to make certain his buddy was warm, alive...real.

"Easy...you're burning up," Iolaus said, trying not to wince at the steel bite of the fingers digging into his shoulder, as he reached up to pry the hand loose, then held it in his own. "You were dreaming, Hercules... it's okay...it wasn't real...."

Herc sighed and sagged back against the bunk, frowning as he pressed his eyes closed against the hammering in his head. "It was...awful," he whispered, pulling his hand from Iolaus' grip, to rub at the shoulder that was aching worse than before. "So many dead....old enemies...you...." He licked his lips and, swallowing hard, tried to force moisture into his parched mouth.

Catching the gesture, Iolaus turned and poured some water from the flask on the low bunkside table into a chipped porcelain mug, then supported Herc's head while he held the mug to his friend's lips. "Here, Herc, drink some of this," he said quietly, deeply worried.

After Hercules had taken a few sips, and turned his head away, Iolaus eased his friend's head back onto the straw pillow, and placed the mug back onto the table that was bolted to the cabin's deck. He hitched one hip up onto the bunk beside Hercules and bent to brush the sweat dampened hair back from Herc's flushed face. Then, he pulled the blanket up high under the demigod's chin, tucking it around his shoulders, feeling as he did so the shivers of fever coursing through his buddy's body.

"It was just a bad dream, Herc," he murmured, but saw the shake of protest as Herc felt the desolation of the dream pervade his mind. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly.

Hercules frowned at the dreadful memory. "We were on this ship...stuck in a fog. There was another ship, full of ghosts...Darphus, monsters...cursing me. Iolaus...you were dead...." Herc muttered, tormented by the fragments of remembered horror which still haunted him.

"I'm not dead, Herc...it's okay," Iolaus reassured him again, laying a gentle hand on the blanket over his friend's chest. "There must have been something on that damned arrow, something that's causing an infection. But, I've checked the wound, and it's clean. You'll feel better by morning," he said with more confidence than he felt.

Herc was slipping back to sleep, muttering, "Cursed...."

'Gods, I hope not,' Iolaus thought, his brows furrowed, his normally sparkling eyes clouded with worry.

He poured some of the water into a basin, and after soaking a rag in it, and wringing it out, he wiped the sweat from Herc's face. Hera was behind this, Iolaus would bet on it. Dammit. Biting his lip, he studied his friend's face, caught by the expression of utter despair written upon it.

"Fight it, Herc," he whispered, wishing he didn't feel so helpless. They were miles away from anywhere, becalmed on the fogshrouded sea. Whatever was going on, they were far from any help and Iolaus knew it was up to him to help Hercules battle his way through whatever was assailing him.

"Fight, Herc," he whispered again.

* * *

"My fault," Hercules mumbled in his sleep, lost again in the grips of another nightmare. He had the sense of being trapped on a voyage to nowhere. The fog was oppressive, damp and chilling, giving everything a surreal, hazy appearance, as if this ship too had become a ghost. Only, this time, he wasn't frozen in place. He could pace the deck with a feeling of increasing agitation. He was looking for someone...Iolaus. He was looking for Iolaus. Every once in a while, he'd catch a glimpse of his partner on the farside of the ship, and Herc would stride in that direction, only to have the image of his buddy shimmer and fade...and he'd turn, to see Iolaus in another place, always turned away from him, half obscured by tendrils of fog.

He couldn't ever seem to get any closer to his buddy, nor did there seem to be anyone else on this accursed ship. Frustrated, he paused at the rail and stared into the soupy shadows which obscured the sky and the horizon. Startled, he noticed another ship had appeared while he'd been chasing after the spectre of Iolaus. This time, the other ship was more distinct, and it looked less battered, more seaworthy. But, it was as silent, as ghostly as the last ship had been.

Again, as he strained to listen, he heard angry rumbles of voices, jeers and catcalls, that became clearer, more distinct as the ship passed more closely. His lips parted as he made out the forms enshrouded by the fog...battlescarred mercenaries, weapons drawn and held up in threat, monsters pressing close to the rail, reaching out across the sea towards him, some with clawed, grasping fingers, others with tentacles dripping with slime. Instinctively, he stepped back a pace, though he knew they were still too far away to touch him.

"We're here," they called out to him. "We're always surrounding you...we always will be. You will never find an end to us...we're waiting for you, always, forever. We're waiting for you, in ambush...ready to kill you and whoever stands with you. You'll never win...you can't win. There are too many of us. We are all your todays...we are your life." The voices were insistant, strident, crashing together, rising in a thick miasma of sound that surrounded him, filling his ears and heart with a sense of overwhelming weariness and despair.

It would never end. He'd always have to fight. There could be no other life for him. A wave of overwhelming weariness, hopelessness, washed over him, making him shiver in the dampness.

The ship came closer and the beings on it fought one another for a place at the rail, to lurch out toward him, reaching, grasping, shrieking in their maddened desire to destroy him. It all happened so fast, shards of sight and sound, yet he felt he couldn't move, as they came ever closer, their eyes glittering with evil intent.

Suddenly, he was shoved backwards hard, so that he staggered, as Iolaus pushed his way between Hercules and the threat that was advancing toward him. At that moment, one of the damned, a horrific monster, slashed out across the narrow space between the ships, claws raking across the body of the small warrior, causing Iolaus to scream out in pain as he spun away, turning toward Hercules, one hand pressed against the gaping bloody wounds on his chest, the other reaching out toward his friend.

Iolaus' eyes were wide with shock, filled with pain and sorrow. "I tried, Herc...I'm sorry...I tried," he choked, then collapsed at Herc's feet, as the other ship moved past and away.

* * *

"GODS, NO!!!" Hercules screamed out in denial of the nightmare's vision. "IOLAUS!" he cried out in utter despair and guilt.

"I'm here, buddy," Iolaus called to him, one hand squeezing his friend's shoulder. "Shhh, I'm right here...it's okay, Herc."

Hercules was breathing fast and shallow, his features twisted in fear as he struggled in the grip of the dream, reaching toward the voice that called to him. "Iolaus," he whispered, distraught. It was his fault Iolaus had been killed, it was his fault...gods, how could he have let this happen? How could he have just stood there and watched? Tears trickled from his tightly closed lids, as a sob rose in his throat.

The blond warrior again wiped the sweat from Herc's brow, the tears from his face. Gods, it had been hours with no change, as Herc had slept fitfully. But now, if anything, Hercules seemed to be getting worse. He seemed almost tormented, crying out in choked despair, weeping tears of inutterable sadness.

"Let it go, Herc" Iolaus crooned soothingly to his buddy, "it's just a bad dream...."

But, Iolaus felt his gut twist with fear, wondering if this was the work of an insidious poison, or if indeed his friend had been cursed by the gods. He snorted in wry disgust, thinking to himself, 'Well, that's a stupid thought...Herc's been cursed since the day he was born.'

Hercules felt the gentle hands ministering to him, and forced his heavy lids to open. Gods, he was hot, and he felt as if he'd just fought a great battle, trembling with exhaustion. "Thirsty," he muttered. Iolaus quickly held the mug to his lips, supporting his head while he drank.

Sighing, Hercules focused on the room, wincing at the sense of dizziness and disorientation. "Iolaus?" he whispered again, more alert.

"I'm right here, Hercules," Iolaus assured him, patting his shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You should leave me," Hercules murmured, fear clear in his eyes as the memory of the nightmare came back to haunt him. "I'm going to get you killed."

Iolaus gave him a reassuring smile and shook his head. "It was just another dream, Herc...just a dream."

"No...you pushed me out of the way...you were killed protecting me," Hercules responded doggedly, still caught by the vision of blood, the sound of the scream of agony. Unable to escape the nightmarish visions, the demigod couldn't get past the idea Iolaus was going to die if he couldn't make Iolaus leave him. "Only a matter of time...." he whispered, his eyes drifting away to stare vacantly at the ceiling, unable to fight off the desolation which was claiming his heart.

Iolaus frowned, wishing he knew what visions were haunting his friend, so that he could fight them more effectively. He could feel Hercules withdrawing from him, shutting him out.

"Hercules, listen to me," he ordered, gripping Herc's right hand with one hand, his voice clear and firm, as the fingers of his other hand gently brushed the damp hair from Herc's forehead, "the damned arrow was poisoned. It's giving you terrible nightmares...but they aren't real."

Herc turned his gaze back to his partner, his eyes deeply troubled, as he studied Iolaus. Gods, he couldn't let Iolaus die because of him...for him. He felt as if his heart was breaking. Trembling, he gripped his best friend's hand, desperate to make him understand. His voice tight, he insisted, "Yes, they are real...not the dreams maybe, but the messages in the dreams. Iolaus...you can't stay with me. The evil will never end...and you'll be killed trying to help me...it's hopeless. It's all hopeless."

"That's not true, Herc...the poison is clouding your mind, making you feel that way. But, you have to fight it, Hercules. You can beat this, I know you can," Iolaus replied, his voice imploring, trying to make Herc realize his fears weren't real...that they were only terrible illusions. Gods, whatever had been on that damned arrow was dragging Hercules into an emotional pit of despair, clouding his mind, confusing him...breaking his spirit.

Iolaus swallowed hard against the lump of fear in his throat, as he fought to maintain an air of reassuring, confident, calming strength. But, Herc was fading in front of his eyes, growing weaker, more despondant. And the damned ship wasn't going anywhere. They'd been stuck here all night, no wind, the sea as flat as glass, the fog seeping into everything, its clinging dampness fouling the air. Iolaus tried to keep Herc awake by talking to him, by arguing against the dream-inspired illusions...but, Herc's eyes grew more distant, his lids heavier as he succumbed to the overwhelming weariness that claimed his mind and heart, drifting off into a restless sleep.

The fog held them all in thrall. The crew was spooked, and the blond warrior could hear their nervous mutterings through the thin wall of the cabin. They were certain this was the work of the gods, that they were all somehow doomed. Iolaus had heard the captain yelling at them more than once, calling them fools...that it was just the sea, and the fog would lift with the dawn. Iolaus hoped he was right.

Restless with the fever, Hercules drifted in and out of consciousness, muttering unintelligible phrases, his face a ghastly gray under the unhealthy blush of heat in his cheeks. Iolaus bathed his friend's body, over and over, trying to fight the fever, bring it down. Disgusted, he wished he'd stocked up on his meagre supply of herbs before they'd left the port, but he had nothing with him that could help. And the ship's stores were just as bare. It was supposed to have been a quick sail...they should have reached the port at Corinth before dusk tomorrow. But, they were stuck out here on the empty sea, drifting slowly on the unseen current.

Weary, growing ever more frightened, feeling helpless, Iolaus gazed down at his friend, trying to make sense of the disjointed phrases, but Herc was lost in a delirium and seemed to be sinking lower with each passing hour. The fever really wasn't that high, and it shouldn't be causing this degree of disorientation and despair. Iolaus had no doubt that the poison, whatever it was, was affecting Herc's mind as much as it was his body, eroding his confidence, aggravating his greatest fears, dragging him into despair...destroying his will to live.

And that thought terrified him. Gods, how could he make Herc fight back?

* * *

Deep in his dreams, Hercules recognized the empty deck with a groan of despair. It was unchanging, seemingly eternal. Shadowed and grim, cold, the fog relentless, growing thicker, wrapping itself like a shroud around the ship, obscuring the top of the mast and the far reaches of the bow and stern. The silence was maddening, oppressive, unnatural. There should have been the creak of wood, the gentle slap of water against the hull, the echoes of sailors' voices...but there was nothing. Just the ship, the fog and the silence.

Stricken with fear and dread, Hercules prowled the vessel, searching for other signs of life. His anxiety grew with each passing moment. Iolaus should be here, somewhere...he had to be here. Iolaus would never leave him, not when there was trouble lurking beyond the tendrils of mist.

But, then he froze, the terror twisting in his soul. If he found Iolaus, his buddy would die. He should stop looking for him. Should hope Iolaus was somewhere far away, safe. Looking out into the shifting haze that held the ship in thrall, Herc again saw the shape of a ship loom over the still water as it emerged from the fog. It had a cold sleekness, its bronze armour dulled in the mist. A pirate's ship? A vessel of war? The short, blunt forms of cannon took shape along it's deck, and behind them, sailors stood ready to fire, torches flickering in their hands, bringing flashes of distant light to this world of relentless gray.

With helpless dread, Hercules watched it come ever closer, passing as silently as had its sisters, wreathed in the tendrils of the timeless fog. He shivered, knowing he should fight...somehow. But, there were no weapons, no cannon on this ship. It sat still and floundering in the water, waiting for a future that brought only death and destruction.

Again he heard the murmurs, threats and promises, that rose as the ship drew closer. "We've killed them all...all those you cared for, but one. There is no hope, no refuge. All who follow you are doomed to die. Because of you...death is coming...because of you!"

Cannon boomed, thundering in the silence, and Hercules ducked to avoid the shrapnel and leaden balls which broached the ship. Smoke filled the air and the vessel trembled under the onslaught, quaking as the mortar hit and ripped through the wood of the deck behind him. Cannon roared again, and again, as the ship of death slid closer.

Hercules felt something hit him hard in the back, driving him to the shuddering deck, a heavy weight laying on top of him. Shouting, he rolled, pushing back against whatever had landed on him, and then cried out in horror. Bile rose in his throat and tears blinded his eyes. Iolaus was lying there, broken and bleeding, his body scored by the shrapnel which had penetrated deeply, tearing its way through frail flesh.

Hercules lurched forward and pulled the limp, lifeless form into his arms. Iolaus' head lolled back against his arm, his buddy's eyes wide and staring, empty, blood on his lips and in his hair from the deep wound in his scalp. Gods! Iolaus was dead! Killed saving Hercules' life, from wounds that should have been on Herc's body.

Hercules sobbed as he crushed the cold body of his best friend against his chest. This shouldn't have happened...Iolaus should never have had to die. It was his fault. All his fault. Better he should have died himself, than cost Iolaus his life. Gods, why was he still alive? Why hadn't he given up before it was too late?

His heart crushed, his soul overwhelmed with hopeless desolation, Hercules wished desperately that he might have died first, to have saved Iolaus from this fate. Gods, all he wanted to do was die. He deserved to die. There had never been any point to any of it. His life was a sham...a morass of death. Better that he should have died before he'd even been born...all he'd ever brought was despair to those who loved him.

All he'd ever brought was death to those who deserved to live.

He choked on his self-loathing, crying out his best friend's name in a wail of endless torment.

* * *

Frightened, Iolaus shook Hercules and dragged him up, to help him breathe. Herc was choking, gasping, tears washing down his face. "Iolaus," he moaned, "Gods, no...please, no...."

"DAMN YOU, HERA!" Iolaus raged, as he held his friend tightly, his arms around Herc's body, his buddy's chin on his shoulder. "Come on, Herc... FIGHT! You have to breathe, buddy, come on... WAKE UP!" he shouted, pounding on Hercules' back with one hand, trying desperately to rouse his friend from the depths of the nightmare that seemed to be killing him.

Lightning had been flashing sporadically, and thunder had been rumbling overhead for the past several minutes. The wind had picked up and was tearing at the sails while the ship wallowed in the suddenly heavy seas.

They lurched in the bunk as a massive wave hit the ship, rising out of the flat sea like an enraged monster. Where there had been no wind, now there was a tempest, howling through the night, tearing at the shrouds that only an hour before had been hanging limply from the yardarm.

Iolaus found himself sprawled over Hercules, both of them having been pressed hard against the wooden hull by the violent pitching of the vessel. As the ship lurched again under the assault of another massive wave, he pulled Herc back to the centre of the bunk, while Herc struggled, appearing to fight him, then screaming out his name in abject horror. Iolaus remained lying half over his friend, sheltering him, holding him steady as the ship rolled and heaved in the angry sea.

Iolaus could hear sailors scream out to one another as they pounded over the deck, grabbing for the lines. He heard the captain curse over the wail of the wind, and the crash of thunder, as he fought the tiller, bringing the ship around to face the full brunt of the storm.

Herc lay limp and still, but his eyes were open and he was staring up at Iolaus as if he was looking at a ghost. "You're dead...." he whispered.

Iolaus laughed weakly. "Nope...not yet, anyway. A storm has hit, Herc...feels pretty rough," he explained, investing his voice with more calm and confidence than he felt. Hercules was as pale as death, and though his fever had finally broken, his skin was cold, clammy...his eyes distant, cloudy. Herc's breathing was ragged and he seemed disconnected.

Iolaus felt fear twist in his gut...Herc was slipping away from him. Wasn't fighting...was giving up.

Dying.

"Don't do this, Herc! Come on, big guy...you can't quit on me!" Iolaus said hoarsely, a knot in his throat, as he shook Herc's shoulders, dragging his attention back. "Please, Herc...don't let go like this!"

"You'll die..." Hercules murmured, his eyes haunted. "My fault...have to save you...." Tears of grief filled Herc's eyes at the thought of his best friend's death. He couldn't stand it. Couldn't face it.

Iolaus shook him harder, then laid a hand on Hercules' sweatsoaked brow. "NO! I won't let you give up! Dammit, Herc... YOU HAVE TO FIGHT!" he cried, desperate.

"Hopeless," mumbled Hercules, his eyes slipping away to stare blindly at the far wall. "No point...only get you killed...."

Iolaus cupped Herc's face, drawing the troubled, blue eyes back to his own. His own breath caught at the depth of desolation he saw there. One hand gripping the bunk to hold himself steady against the rough pitching of the ship, he held Herc's eyes with his own.

"Listen to me, please listen to me, Hercules," he called above the shriek of the tempest, "You're letting Hera win. She poisoned you with something that's twisting your mind. It's not hopeless...you make a difference, an important difference, in all the lives you touch. You save lives, Herc...you've never hurt an innocent soul in your whole life. Please, buddy...I don't want to lose you. I need you. Herc...if you won't fight for yourself, fight for me! Gods, Herc, don't you dare die on me!"

The ship lurched and floundered under the pitiless onslaught of the storm, the hellish wind tearing at the canvas of the sails, twisting the resilient wood of the mast beyond its limits. Lightning blasted from the sky striking the mast with a fearful crash. With a terrible rending, as if the wood itself was crying out in agony, the mast split and shattered down its length, one half breaking away to fall heavily toward the pitching deck.

Iolaus was flung across the cabin to the edge of the door by the force of waves pounding at the ship and Herc was tossed like a broken doll from the berth, as the lightning blasted mast crashed down and through the flimsy wooden slats of cabin's walls, pinning Iolaus beneath it's massive weight.

Icy rain poured in, lashing them, and lightning flickered again and again as the thunder crashed around them.

Stunned by the violence of the storm, Herc lay in a sheltered space beside his bunk, below the splintered mast. The rain was shockingly cold on his already clammy skin, and the rage of the storm blew through the mists shrouding his mind, drawing him back to urgent reality...but he felt confused, disoriented, the sounds of the storm mingling with the remembered sounds of cannon in his dream.

Iolaus struggled under the weight of the mast, and gasped at the pain in his chest. He couldn't move it...it was too heavy. He was trapped, helpless. Worse, he couldn't see Hercules, didn't know what had happened to him...if he was all right. Groaning softly at the crushing weight on his chest, he tried to push back his fear, tried to concentrate on how to get free to help Hercules.

Hercules heard the low moan under the scream of the wind, and the shouts of the crew.

Iolaus.

Between the bursts of lightning, it was dark in the wreck of the cabin, the single lantern that had hung on the wall blown out by the wind. Desperate to find his friend, knowing he was hurt, Hercules fought off the muffling disorientation and paralysing fatigue. He struggled out from under the mast, pulling the sling off his left arm with a growl of impatience and then Hercules dragged himself along the rough wooden length until he touched rain sodden curls.

Iolaus heard the movement, heard Herc's curse as he fumbled along the length of the mast, searching for him, relieved that at last Hercules seemed to be fighting off the debilitating despair and hopelessness of his poisoned dreams.

"Iolaus!" Hercules cried out, peering through the gloom, stricken with gutwrenching fear by the lack of motion, the lack of response from his friend. Another burst of lightning illuminated the bloody gash at Iolaus' hairline, and his buddy's eyes were closed against the rain pelting down upon his face. Gods, was the nightmare coming true? Was Iolaus dead?

"IOLAUS!" Hercules shouted again, terror gripping his heart as he felt around the splintered mast, trying to find out how badly Iolaus was hurt. When his hand pressed against his buddy's side, Iolaus moaned again, and his eyes flickered open.

"Herc?" he whispered, breathlessly.

"I'm here, Iolaus...I'm going to get you out of this. Just hold on!" Hercules replied, wishing he didn't feel so weak, so disoriented. Iolaus needed him. He had to shake off the lethargy, had to get with the program. He was about to stand, to examine the ruin of the mast, to determine how best to lever it off his buddy's body, when Iolaus reached out and weakly grabbed his arm.

"No...no point," Iolaus murmured so softly, Herc had to strain to hear him below the fury of the storm. "You're dying... I don't want to live...without you...."

"Don't SAY that!" Hercules shouted, distraught. "Don't you give up on me! YOU HEAR ME?"

"Hopeless," Iolaus whispered, just loud enough to be heard. "You've given up...no reason to live...."

"Gods, Iolaus, there's every reason! People need you, I need you. You can't just quit on me!" Hercules shouted, unconsciously echoing his buddy's words to him, trying to make Iolaus respond, willing his best friend to live.

"You...quit on me...." Iolaus gasped, his hand falling limply from Herc's arm to the deck.

Hercules grabbed onto that hand, holding it tight, as his other hand brushed Iolaus' dripping hair from his face, away from the wound. "I was wrong. Gods, Iolaus...it was the poison...I didn't know what I was saying! Please, you have to believe me! Hang on!" Herc was panting with fear, desperate to make Iolaus believe him, make Iolaus fight to live.

Iolaus looked up at him, frowning a little as his gaze searched Herc's eyes in the flickering light of the storm. "You're sure...you're not giving up? You're not going to die?"

"I'm sure, buddy...I'm not going anywhere without you," Hercules choked out the assurance, oblivious to the rain and the howl of the storm, braced against the lurching deck.

Iolaus grinned then, the sparkle back in his eyes. "Alright, then...get this thing off me!"

Hercules blinked at the grin, at the strength in the voice, confused. Iolaus squeezed his hand, then let go, shoving at Herc to get him moving. "It's alright, Herc," he said then, "I'll be okay...but I can't get out from under this by myself."

Hercules didn't know whether to laugh or pound his friend silly. Snorting, he wedged a shoulder under the heavy beam, and heaved up, while Iolaus squirmed out from under the broken mast, hissing a little in pain.

"You were faking!" Hercules accused, overwhelmed with relief and with the simultaneous desire to shake Iolaus for having scared him so badly.

Iolaus looked up at him, his face innocent, "And, your point would be...what exactly?"

"You tricked me! You made me believe you were hurt!" Hercules said, letting the mast settle again, then moving to kneel by Iolaus, his right hand gripping Iolaus' shoulder.

"Well, I am hurt...a little. My ribs are killing me!" Iolaus protested, but at the stricken look on Herc's face, he amended quickly, "Well, maybe not killing me...but I think a couple might be cracked."

"Gods, you scared me half to death! Why did you do that...pretend to be giving up?" Hercules demanded, still caught by the shock of all that had happened.

Iolaus' face was suddenly very solemn as he looked away into the stormfilled night. "I was losing you...I didn't know what else to do," he said softly. He brought his eyes back to Herc's as he continued, "I knew that even if you wouldn't fight for yourself, you'd always fight to save me. I'm sorry...I know I scared you. But, Herc...the poison, the illusions it was creating in your mind, was killing you. You'd given up, believing you would be saving my life by dying yourself. I had to show you it was all a lie. I had to give you a reason to fight it off."

When the ship lurched again violently, Iolaus rolled, groaning at the pull on his ribs. Herc caught him and pulled him back, holding him securely in the crook of his strong right arm, his left hand resting lightly on Iolaus' bruised chest. They were both shivering, soaking wet, and lightning was flashing almost continuously, creating a brilliance that shattered through the dark gloom of the storm tossed night.

But, it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered so long as this vessel could hold herself together. They were both alive and they would both be just fine. Herc couldn't resist a grin as he looked down at his buddy and shook his head.

"What?" Iolaus asked, puzzled by the grin, and the chuckle that rippled softly from Hercules.

"Only you, Iolaus," Hercules snickered, "only you would see getting pinned down by a blasted mast, almost crushed in the process...only you would see that as a chance to save my life." Herc couldn't help himself. He hugged Iolaus tightly against him, whispering, "Thanks, buddy...thanks for always being there when I need you."

"Works both ways, Herc," Iolaus muttered, relieved that Herc had broken through the power the poison had held over his mind, "works both ways."

* * *

The storm finally passed off, leaving a bleary dawn in its wake. Despite its fury, there had been no loss of life and no serious injuries. The sailors cleared the clutter from the deck, and rigged a sail to what remained of the mast. The wind, gentle now but steady, caught at the canvas, and the captain steered them toward land.

The ship rolled heavily in the seas as it limped toward its destination. Hercules had found some supplies and had bound both the gash on Iolaus' head and his ribs, relieved that his own shoulder seemed as good as new.

One of them disabled at a time was enough.

Looking slightly battered, but grinning irrepressibly nevertheless, Iolaus was leaning against the rail of the ship, watching the sailors as they clambered over the ship, cleaning up the rest of the debris from the night's battle with the elements, tying down cargo, and finally heaving the wreck of the mast from the ship. Iolaus wasn't sorry to see it sink unceremoniously beneath the waves.

"You know, after the way you scared me half to death last night, I should be throwing you in right after it," Herc muttered, feigning a frown, as he too watched the ruined mast slip from sight.

Iolaus giggled, "Scared you back to life, you mean. Come on, big guy, I know you'd never hurt a guy with cracked ribs and wounded head. Who's faking now?"

Herc cocked a brow at him, fighting to maintain his stern look. "Don't push it, Iolaus," he warned, pretending to stalk toward his friend threateningly.

Iolaus wrapped his arms around his body, scrunched up his face and groaned dramatically. "I'm hurt bad, Herc...you have to be nice to me!"

Hercules gazed at Iolaus, taking in his buddy's posture of abject pitiful misery, and a grin tugged at his lips. Snorting in ridicule at this display of histrionics, he said with a slow smile, "Gods, Iolaus...you are such a bad actor!"

Iolaus raised his brows in the innocent, 'who me?' look, staving off his own grin at the relief of knowing everything was back to normal.

There had been dark moments during the past night when he hadn't thought he'd ever have the chance to tease Herc again, to see that easy golden smile, to hear that warm laughter, to see those clear blue eyes dancing with mirth.

Knowing that if he kept up the game, he'd soon have Herc in stitches, Iolaus couldn't resist milking this moment for all it was worth. He wrapped his arms more tightly around himself, half doubling over, a clownishly exaggerated spasm of pain on his face. Herc was fighting off the urge to snicker at the melodramatic display being put on for his amusement.

The ship rocked and a voice moaned theatrically from the rail.

Finis

Disclaimer: If I could have used a last line of my own creation, it would have read, 'Hercules couldn't help it...he howled with laughter, holding one side as his other hand gripped the ship's rail for balance...and Iolaus, losing his own control, laughed right along with him.'