Happy And Sad At The Same Time

Up on the imperial podium,Caracalla and Geta slouched on their purple cushions. Caracalla was mindlessly playing with one of his gold ring,snickering at something Macrinus had whispered in his ear, while Geta watched the arena with a bored, heavy lidded expression, waiting for the predetermined execution to be over.

They were so sure of her end that they hadn't even given her a proper weapon to defend herself. She tilted her head back, staring straight up at the imperial box, her voice cutting through the ambient roar of the stands with absolute clarity, knowing that at this point she had nothing left to lose: "At least a sword,Augusti. Or is your Achilles afraid to lose?"

​A split second of dead silence hit the stadium, and then the imperial box erupted into laughter. Caracalla leaned so far over the marble railing he nearly lost his footing, pointing a finger down at her while shaking with hysterical amusement: "Give her one! Give her a gladius! Did you hear the nerve on this girl? Let her play her part properly,she’ll bleed much better with steel in her hand!" Geta offered a dry,amused smirk,nodding to the attendants to let the farce play out. Everyone in the arena was certain she would lose within seconds, sword or no sword. None of them, of course, knew that her father had trained her in the blade since she was a child, wanting to make sure she knew how to defend herself.

​The crowd roared as the gate slid open and the veteran gladiator chosen to play Achilles strode out. He was encased in heavy body armor, but his head was completely bare. The master of the games had purposefully left him without a helmet; according to the poetry,Achilles had to look upon Penthesilea’s face the moment she died, and a massive bronze helmet would have ruined the theatrical visibility for the emperors and the senators. He moved in for the scripted, brutal kill, swinging his massive blade in a lethal arc meant to shatter her guard and end the myth instantly.

The sharp,metallic ring of iron against iron echoed through the stadium: she had parried it. She hadn't moved an inch from her stance, legs firmly planted in the sand, her eyes locked onto the man's face. The fake Achilles lunged again, furious that his easy target was resisting, but she dodged, stepped into his blind spot, and deflected the heavy blade with effortless timing. The predetermined death everyone had gathered to watch was turning into a real clash where the outcome no longer seemed so certain.

​Up on the royal box, the amusement vanished instantly. Geta’s bored smirk froze on his face, his entire body stiffening as he leaned forward, his sharp eyes suddenly tracking her every movement. Caracalla stopped laughing entirely; his jaw slackened,his unblinking eyes following the rhythmic snaps of her blade against the veteran's one. The Colosseum was falling into a stunned silence.

Then,she suddenly shifted from defense to absolute offense.

​It happened in a single, blinding flash. A lightning fast feint to the champion's ribs made him drop his guard, and with a fluid rotation of her hips, she swung her blade in a clean yet unforgiving arc. Because the director’s theatrical vanity had left the gladiator’s neck completely exposed without a helmet’s guard,the steel sliced through his bare flesh with terrifying efficiency.

The head of Rome's Achilles was severed from his shoulders,hitting the sand a second before his massive body collapsed into the dirt,kicking up a cloud of dust. She had completely broken the myth and she knew it.

​An eerie, lifeless silence fell over the fifty thousand spectators. She looked down at the decapitated body, observing it for a few silent seconds with a certain detachment. She crouched down slightly over the fallen champion and with an enraged tone whispered: "It seems I was Achilles after all." Then, she picked up the head by its bloody hair. Spinning slowly on her heels to face every tier of the amphitheater.

"You wanted entertainment?" her voice rang out, sharp, ironic, and completely devoid of fear. "There you go! I believe a plot twist is always pleasant!" she shouted, hoping to be heard by as many people as possible.

Then, with a sudden flick of her wrist, she tossed the heavy head back onto the sand and began rubbing her hands together, wrinkling her nose in an expression of theatrical yet genuine disgust.

The stadium exploded into absolute madness. Plebeians screamed her name, patricians waved their togas from the balustrades, and soldiers beat their fists against their shields. Yet, among the roar, a few traditionalist senators and elite citizens in the lower tiers murmured in bitter disappointment, scowling and crossing their arms. They were purists of the theater, annoyed that this arrogant girl had ruined a classic Homeric tragedy, robbing them of the somber ending they wanted to see.

But their whispers were drowned out by the imperial podium. Caracalla was practically climbing over the marble perimeter, his face flushed with a manic and feverish excitement as he clapped frantically like a child with a new toy, "Did you see that?! Geta, did you see what she just did?! She rewrote the poets! She cut his head off and then wiped her hands! She is magnificent!"

Geta stood up slowly beside him, his composure shattered but his cynical mind working fast. His immediate political instinct was to order the praetorians to cut her down on the spot; after all she had openly defied an imperial execution, subverting Rome's sacred myths. Allowing her to live was a dangerous precedent. And yet, as he stared down at her standing calmly in her blood splattered dress,a very small, subtle part of him was deeply intrigued by her sheer audacity.

More importantly, Geta looked at his brother, who was currently shouting and cheering for her like a madman. Geta knew that if he ordered her death right now, Caracalla would throw a violent, public tantrum, protesting his decision in front of fifty thousand citizens. He wanted to avoid a massive conflict at all costs; showing the crowd any sign of division or weakness between the co-emperors was political suicide.

​Suppressing his irritation, Geta forced a cold smile onto his face and nodded toward the arena,silently acknowledging that this girl had just won the first round of a much more dangerous game.

Caracalla suddenly grabbed Macrinus by the sleeve, pulling him down with a feverish giggle, his eyes wide and completely unblinking as he stared at the sand. "Macrinus. Did you see? She changed the ending. The poets lied, Achilles is dead!" His voice abruptly dropped into a flat, chilling whisper,his fingers twitching against the marble railing. "I want her. Wash the blood off her. Put her in my wing. If anyone else touches her, I’ll have their skin."

Macrinus didn't even blink,his face a mask of bureaucratic calm as he glanced down at the girl...he just saw a new toy to keep him occupied. "The crowd expects her to stay in the ludus, Caesar."

"The crowd will watch what I tell them to watch!" Caracalla snapped, his head jerking sideways as his voice cracked into a sharp, infantile hiss. "She’s mine. Move her."

Geta didn't turn his head, keeping his chin resting on his hand,his profile tight with aristocratic disgust. "She just slaughtered our best asset and mocked the imperial box, Caracalla. Do you really think such a dangerous mind belongs in your bed, rather than under a headsman's axe?" He finally shifted his gaze down toward the arena,his eyes narrowing as he studied the girl's posture among the blood. A cold,slow smile crept onto his lips. "And yet...one must wonder what else that sharp tongue of hers can do besides rewrite Homer. Don't you agree?"

Caracalla’s smile vanished instantly, his face turning an ugly, blotchy red. He violently yanked his hands away from the marble railing,his breathing turning ragged as he stared at his brother with paranoid venom.

"No! No,you don't!" Caracalla shrieked, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, desperate defensive stance. "You always do this! Every time I find something beautiful, every time I find a new toy, you try to put your filthy hands on it! Nothing is ever just mine!"

He lunged slightly closer to Geta,his fingers clawing at the air between them,his eyes wide and trembling with manic fury. "She is mine, Geta! Mine! I saw her first! If you look at her again with that disgusting smile, I will have the praetorians tear your eyes out of your skull!"

Geta didn't flinch,though his eyes darkened into two chips of black obsidian. Slowly, he raised a silk handkerchief to dab away a stray fleck of his brother’s spit from his cheek. He did not yell back; instead, he leaned just an inch closer, his voice dropping into a velvet purr that was entirely for Caracalla’s ears.

"Be careful, brother" Geta whispered, a mocking sharpness beneath his calm exterior. "The crowd is watching. Keep screaming like a coddled child, and you will lose the throne before you even touch her."

Dr. Jack Abbot. Night shift attending in the ED. He had interrupted one of your evening meals, and seemed put out when he found his spot already taken. His annoyance seemed to fade when you offered him a home made cookie. After that, you found yourself cooking for two. 

***

“You know, you can just tell me what you want to eat and I’ll make it” you said, handing him the Tupperware container full of pasta salad. 

“You’re not my personal chef, green beans. Besides, I like the surprise” Jack said, taking the plastic tub, his fingers brushing yours. 

“Suit yourself” you murmured, but couldn’t help the tiny smile that bloomed when you heard your newest nickname. Every night you saw him, you got a new one to add to your list. 

“Thanks, peanut”

“What you got tonight, tiramisu?”

“Not bad, apple pie”

You munched on your food quietly, looking out at the darkening Pittsburgh skyline. You and Jack worked different shifts; you were ending your day while he was starting his, but you never minded staying an extra hour or two if it meant you got to watch the sunset with him. 

“You never thought of culinary school?” Jack asked after a moment.

“At one point, I guess. But it’s so stressful. Like, ‘The Bear’ or something” you said, shrugging slightly. 

Jack looked over at you, the red glow of the evening dusting his salt and pepper hair with copper. His silence told you everything; he had no clue what you were talking about. 

“The Bear. You’ve never seen it? It’s a show about a restaurant and the main guy is like- super stressed and… just watch it, Jack. First season is good” you said, trying to keep your amusement off your face. 

“You say it like this isn’t super stressful” Jack said, motioning down to the hospital below them. 

“Well, I mean… it is. But, I know what I’m doing” you said, shrugging again.

“You’re one confident doctor” he smirked, enjoying your nonchalance. 

“Oh, like you’re not? I know what they call you down there, cowboy” you laughed quietly. 

“So you’d be a confident chef too” he said, nodding quickly. 

“The second someone sent back a plate, I’d lock myself in the freezer. At least if you don’t like something, you’ve never said it” you snorted, glancing down at his mostly finished container. 

“You’ve never made anything I don’t like. Your cooking is the best” Jack said quietly, his voice low and gruff as usual. 

“You’re sweet” you murmured, and looked back at the skyline, hoping that the slowly growing orange dusk disguised the flush rising to your face.. 

A silence fell over you both as you both finished up your meals. Jack always tucked everything back into your little reusable grocery bag neatly, and that night was no exception. Again, your fingers brushed as he took your container from you. 

“You gonna watch that with me then?” Jack asked after a long moment. 

You look over, a bit surprised. But he’s looking right back at you, his gaze steady. 

“You want to watch The Bear with me?” You asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, green beans. And then we can go out for a dinner you don’t have to cook” he continued, still looking at you seriously. 

You paused, blinking quickly. Was Jack asking you out? For real? 

“Now, don’t think I’m being a creepy old man-” he began, huffing quietly, his eyebrows quirking up. 

“No, no I don’t think that at all- that sounds good. Sorry, I was just surprised-” you said quickly, feeling your heart rate spiking in your chest. 

Jack scoffed quietly and looked back at the skyline for a moment before looking back at you. 

“I’m not that old, I know what a Netflix and chill is, and this isn’t it-”

“What?” You laughed suddenly, taken aback.

“Yeah, I know. You put on a show and invite a girl over- but I’m a grown man, we can go out for dinner because I like you, green beans, and I’d like to do this properly-” he said. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a buoyancy fill you as you took in his words.

“I like you, green beans” 

Jack frowned at you, as if offended by your laughter. 

“I’d love to watch The Bear and go to dinner with you” you said, unable to keep the smile from your face. You turned back to the view, still feeling the warmth of your blush on your face. 

“Alright then, we’ll go. Figure out our schedules” Jack said, looking out at the view as well. 

“God, lookin’ at me like I spit out your food” he mumbles after a moment, shrugging slightly.

“I was just surprised, I told you” you said, a quiet chuckle leaving you.

“I don’t know how. I wasn’t climbing these stairs every night just for dinner, I like hanging out with you too, you know-” Jack continued, his eyebrows raising again.

“I know, I know, I like hanging out with you too” you said reassuringly. 

A brief silence fell over you again. Comfortable, like usual between the two of you. 

“You know, it’s not even on Netflix. It’s on Disney” you quipped.