Saturdays are for the boys.

Derrek's head throbbed. In the months since his power had awoken he hadn’t even slept in, regardless of how much he drank, but now his head throbbed. The pain spread out from the spot where he cracked his head on the floor the night before, spreading through him like a spider web made of pain, his bruised side shouting with pain. It was worse than any hangover he’d had as a mortal, and it made him nostalgic for a time when he could die with relative ease. His stomach churned like lava, constantly teasing his windpipe. His only comfort was the lavish bed he found himself in.

He managed to pry his eyes open, only to wince away at the few sun rays peeking through the blinds. He blinked repeatedly until he could stand to keep them barely open. Progress, he thought. Moving would be a beast of a different breed, but he decided he had all day to work up to it.

Derrek felt the sheets shift beside him. If he had any energy, he would have jumped in surprise as a mass of green turned to face him. He blinked a few more times. Deep brown eyes stared into his, as clear and aware as he was dim and dull.

“Good morning,” Terra purred, “how do you feel?”

Derrek managed a weak smile, despite the pain it caused him. “Like a watermelon at a Gallagher show.”

Terra’s brows rose and she smiled back at him. “I believe someone spiked the ale with ambrosia, it can leave one in a very sorry state once it wears off, especially those who aren’t gods. How on earth do you know that reference?”

Derrek chucked. “My adoptive father has a soft spot for physical comedy. I never understood the appeal myself, but I did end up getting dragged by him to a Gallagher tribute show, Gallagher 3.”

Terra laughed. It was a wonderful sound, ringing in Derrek's ears in such a pleasant way he forgot his pain for a moment. He laughed with her, and within seconds he remembered the pain and clenched his eyes shut. The burning in his stomach was rising, and he knew what was coming. He opened his eyes again, casting about desperately for a place to store his bile, but the room was a blur, he couldn’t focus.

Terra continued to laugh, and pointed to a door-shaped blob on the wall opposite to his side of the bed. He sprung from the luxurious sheets and stumbled toward what he hoped was a door as fast as he could. He struggled with the knob, covering his mouth with the other hand, and finally burst into what he could only assume was a bathroom, what with the toilet that greeted him as he dropped to his knees and spewed the godly concoction, or what was left of it leastways.

As he filled the bowl with the contents of his stomach, he was struck by the memory of the last time he vomited, at the Schadenfreude hotel. He had spent that night nursing an excellent bottle of whiskey, sharing the last half with a French pianist whose name he could not summon at the moment. Compared to what he felt now, it may as well have been a stubbed toe.

When his retching finally subsided, he sat on the cold tile and realized he was stark naked. He considered finding something to wear. Instead, he laid on his back, splayed spread eagle on the bathroom floor, the cold tile soothing his burning skin. He didn’t know how long he stayed there, gently groaning, but when he opened his eyes, he saw Terra smirking down at him from the doorway, wearing a robe loosely in a way that would have been quite enticing if his head didn’t feel ready to burst. He managed to crack a thin smile back at her, the taste of vomit bitter on his tongue.

“Give us a kiss, will you?” He said, meekly puckering his lips, kissing the air with a pitiful sound. She gave that enchanting laugh again, and Derrek felt that roiling in his stomach again. He scrambled to his knees as quick as he could, and resumed filling the toilet. There wasn’t much left at that point, little more than a kind of sour drool, but his body wouldn’t stop dry-heaving.

He felt something soft and warm draped over him. He struggled to resist the demands of his guts and straightened, and felt a pleasant pressure on his back as arms wrapped around his chest.

“I kept it warm for you,” Terra whispered in his ear, “Make sure you flush twice when you’re finished, Ambrosia tends to stain.” She kissed him on the cheek, which was thankfully unsullied by vomit, and soundlessly rose. Derrek managed to turn to see her go, and realized she gave him her robe. Even in his current state, he was still a little enticed at the way her hips swayed as she sauntered out of the bathroom.

When his upset stomach, and the rest of him for that matter, finally subsided, he decided his first rest upon the tile was so pleasant that he laid down for another trist. He was prepared to stay there, sprawled on the bathroom floor for the entire day until he smelled it. The unmistakable aroma of sizzling bacon.

He wasn’t sure how long it took him to work himself to his feet, but it was at least a thousand years. When he finally did, he clutched the robe around himself, treasuring the remnants of Terra’s warmth, catching a whiff of her deep earthy, floral scent, which fortified him enough to venture beyond the bedroom. He stumbled through the familiar yet foreign labyrinth of a floor plan Shale called a house. He wondered where the old man had ended up in last night's ruckus.

An answer was soon forthcoming. When he maneuvered himself downstairs and to the kitchen, he found none other than Shale at the dining table, laughing along with Terra, who had found another robe. Derrek found it hard to concentrate on anything other than the plate of bacon and eggs placed at an empty seat. He assumed it was for him, and decided to dig in before anyone else claimed it. Before he realized he was even eating, he had turned the smiley face into a confused cyclops, and did not notice when his dining companions stopped their conversation to look at him.

“He lives!” Shale said, raising a glass of orange juice in what felt like a mocking toast. It may have been genuine, but Derrek was far too concerned with his breakfast.

“Long morning,” he heard Terra half-whisper to Shale as he finished the final eye of his bacon-and-eggs-smiley-face, and was dejected to find himself face to face with an empty plate. He looked up with what he hoped was a convincing puppy-eyes routine.

“There’s plenty more,” Will said as he rose from his seat. He scooped up Derrek's plate and went to the stove, piling more bacon and eggs onto his plate. He brought it back to Derrek, and the plate was promptly cleaned by his insatiable hunger.

Definitely not insatiable. Derrek knew that now. He could not begin to put words to the satisfaction the feast had brought him. He was beginning to remember why life was worth living, and that maybe continued existence wasn’t such a curse. When he finally looked up, it was to a pair of grinning faces.

“Did I do something funny?” He asked, only partly as a joke. They both laughed. Derrek didn’t quite get the joke. Will stopped laughing first.

“I was just telling the story of that Galligar 3 show we saw,” he said, “I was about to bring out the piece of rind I kept in a jar of formaldehyde.”

“Please don’t.” Derrek raised his hand as he stared back down at his plate, silently willing the crumbs to form another piece of bacon. “I think I’ve been humiliated enough today.”

Shale grinned. “Champion by night, sick as a leper by morning. Life truly finds its own balance.” Terra hummed in agreement as she sipped a glass of milk.

“Wish I could remember it,” Derrek mumbled. “Where did you go last night anyway? I didn’t see you after nine.”

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Shale raised an eyebrow. “I was asleep. It was past my bedtime.” He checked his watch. “Oh my, I must be off. I've got a meeting with my campaign manager in fifteen minutes.” As he rose, he chugged the remainder of his orange juice, leaving the glass in the sink as he went for the door. He stopped before exiting, and said to Terra, “Your taxi is waiting out front, don’t even consider worrying about the fare, my treat.” Before any objections could be raised, he was gone, off to change the world. Just another day for William Shale.

Terra polished off her milk in much the same way Shale had done with his OJ and went to place the glass in the sink. “You’re leaving already?” Derrek couldn’t help the whining note that entered his voice. Terra just smiled.

“Alas, even old gods with dead worshipers have responsibilities to tend to. I’m a licensed doula,” she said the word ‘licensed’ like it tasted sour on her tongue, “and I have three births to attend today, four if Bernice has Indian for lunch.”

That’s right, she was the goddess of fertility. It seemed even gods had day jobs.

“I hope everything goes well, then.” That whining tone again. The reapers touch was supposed to keep his emotions in check, keep him cool and collected no matter the stress hoisted upon him. He had stared down death several times without so much as a tremble, but the idea of Terra leaving ate at him. He longed for her, even though she stood only a few feet away from him. Was this… love?

“It will, as long as I'm there.” She walked toward him, still smiling, hips swaying under her robe. She leaned over the table and planted a kiss on his cheek. Warmth flowed through him. “I really have to go, hopefully we can spend more time together next time.”

Next time. Those two words banished every trace of worry from Derrek's body. He didn't want her to leave, but he could stand it as long as she would be there in his future. He found himself smiling back at her. “Next time, then.”

Terra smiled with clear satisfaction. She pivoted and tossed off her robe, draping it over Derrek's head. When he removed it, he saw she was fully dressed, wearing a sort of macrame poncho-skirt-combo, charms and necklaces piled upon her breast. In effect, she looked like the quintessential doula. “Until next time, Derrek.” She walked out the door, and left him alone with the leftovers.

Alone.

“Hell of a party, huh?”

All of a sudden, Discord was sitting across from him, dipping a piece of bacon into the yolk of an egg. He loved doing that, appearing out of thin air. One time Derrek had been looking at an empty chair, blinked, and suddenly he was there. He always timed it perfectly, always waited until no one was in the room except exactly who he wanted to talk to. He doesn't want to talk to Terra.

“What's up with you and Terra?”

The bacon hovered inches away from Discords’ mouth and the man sat rigid. He closed his mouth and slowly sat down the bacon. He took a deep breath, looked at Derrek, and grinned.

“You're real sharp, nobody could say otherwise. I thought I was being super chill about it too, nice and low-key,” he picked the bacon back up and pointed at Derrek with it, “You're hungover as Churchill on Easter and still locked and on target, ain't no fooling you!” he laughed and took a bite of the bacon.

“Quit blowing smoke up my ass,” Derrek took the other piece of bacon from Discords plate, dipped in his yolk, and bit into it. “You completely disappeared whenever she came near. You usually try your hardest to piss everyone off, and I’ve never once seen you avoid anything. Not once.”

Discord chewed his bacon intently. It took several seconds for him to respond. “We were together, way back in the day. Twelfth or thirteenth century, if I remember right. We both happened to be in Peru, backing different royal factions. I won that particular bout, for the record, my guy died as the ruler of the Cuzco kingdom. Terra hates losing, but she likes winners more. We spent maybe thirty years together, but then good old Gengis started up his legacy and I just had to get in on it.” He produced a flask and emptied it into his almost-empty orange juice, taking a sip of the ‘mixed drink.’ “I handled it poorly. Burned that bridge, salted the earth and executed the masons. She hates me, and I deserve it.”

They stared at each other for a moment. They had been together for thirty years. Derrek was only twenty seven himself. They had been together longer than he had been alive. He took a deep breath and let it out slow.

“Is that it?”

Discord blinked. “Is what it?”

“You dated eight hundred years ago? You didn't burn her house down? Kill all her worshipers? Put a curse on all her kin?”

Discord looked down at his eggs sheepishly. “I mean, I’ve done all of that, but not to her.”

“Then that's it. It's quite literally ancient history.” Derrek sipped his non-alcoholic orange juice. “Now is now, then is then. If you can reconcile with the Devourer, I can handle the fact you used to be with the woman I’m in love with.”

Discord looked up. “In love?”

He hadn't meant to say it, but he realized it was true. He wouldn't deny it even if he wanted to. He felt a smile crawl across his face.

“That's right, I’m in love.” he put up his hand before Discord could say anything. “Before you say it, I know she’s attracted to me because I’m rich and powerful. I know I measure the time I’ve known her in hours. I know she’s a goddess and that comes with complications beyond my understanding. I know she was using magic to charm me all last night. I don’t care about any of it. I’m in love, and that's that.”

Discords’ eyebrows shot up. “You knew she was charming you?”

“I noticed it after we danced. I canceled it out and just played along.”

Discord was quiet for a moment. He grabbed his beverage and slowly poured half of it into Derrek's orange juice, then sipped what was left. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

Derrek's smile became a smirk as he sipped his now-alcoholic OJ. A little hair of the dog was just what he needed. “It wasn't so hard. I sensed it as a kind of spiritual signal, all I had to do was send out a negating signal. I don't think she even noticed.”

Discord waved away the achievement Derrek was so proud of. “No, not that, that's bush league. I didn’t know you could feel love, the real stuff. Not with the reaper's touch.” He smiled. Not his usual shit-eating grin, but something warmer. More genuine. “I keep thinking of you as the Devourer, not the person it's in. You're just chockablock full of surprises.”

Derrek was too hungover to feel awkward about the bare sincerity. This too, was a favorite trick of Discords’, letting down all his walls, appearing vulnerable and inviting vulnerability from others. He aimed for the impression of letting the real him show, not the high-flung murderous jester persona he wore, but Derrek always felt this was nothing but another mask slipped on, rather than a mask removed. Trick or not, it tended to work. Derrek raised his drink, which was close enough to a screwdriver, and Discord met it in a toast.

“So glad you see me as a person,” Derrek said with a sly grin, “I feel so actualized.”

The shit-eating grin was back. “Glad to hear it, you'll need to be well and actualized for what we've got in store.”

“No no no,” Derrek waved a hand around, “No way in hell am I doing anything today! I'm hungover!”

Discord arched an eyebrow meaningfully, “Are you?”

Derrek realized with a jolt his head didn't hurt anymore. The pain in his arms and ribs had faded almost entirely. The nausea was completely gone. He felt downright well-rested! He glared at Discord.

“Is this me, or did you drug me again?”

Discord looked offended. “You drug a guy one time and he holds it over your head forever! I didn't put anything in your cup but vodka.” He took a sip and muttered into his cup, “made from panacea potatoes.”

Derrek stared at him. “You're fucking with me.”

That grin again. “Had to try. All you needed was a good breakfast. The immune system of a cockatrice is intrinsically linked with its digestive system. They can rapidly digest their food and gain a massive immunity to toxins and diseases. They had to eat some weird shit somewhere along the evolutionary tree, and this allowed them to eat exactly whatever the hell they want. I had a feeling you picked that trait up after you ate one, and that in conjunction with your baseline physiology cleared up all of last night's excitement.”

“You never miss a chance to exposit.”

Discord shrugged, “I prefer my bullshit to have a little substance, sue me.”

“I've already mailed the papers.” Derrek sighed “Where are we going and how much of my day are you going to take up?” It was easiest to go ahead and ask the right questions.

“A small town in Montana, and most if not all of it.”

Derrek closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You are such an asshole, you know that?”

“It’s been said. But you know the deal.”

Derrek sighed and said in reluctant unison with Discord, “Saturdays are for the boys.”