Xena lingered between awareness and oblivion for a long while. She was only distantly aware of the wind having gone away. It was a small thing, much like knowing she was still breathing, and of as much importance to her disordered thoughts. The grit biting into her chin had more significance.
It must have been well past sunrise before Xena fully regained consciousness, and past noon before she felt confident enough about Gabrielle's condition (and, were she completely honest, her own powers of locomotion) to risk moving her.
Xena lay there for some time, assessing their situation with senses sharpened through a hundred lifetimes and peaked to crystal clarity by the equally-sharp images of the previous night. They were alone now, of this she was sure, and had been for some time. Gabrielle's breathing was even, but shallow, her heartbeat was steady, and the numerous cuts and tears in her flesh (each and every one threatening the calm she...they...needed so desperately just now) no longer openly bled, but hadn't completely closed either.
Extreme caution would be needed in moving her, and so it took nearly the full day to reach the surface. There were no stairs after all, and it was one devil of a climb to try and make with someone as wounded as Gabrielle was right then. Xena had covered the wounded woman as best she could, tearing her shirt into crude bandages and carefully wrapping her within her trenchcoat. Still, it proved slow going, Xena having to inch her way upwards, Gabrielle's wrists bound together about her neck with a spare bit of shirt and her weight laid fully across her back. This alone made the tunnel a tight enough fit, to say nothing of massive broadsword in one hand and a metre-long dagger, with three razor-sharp points, jammed into one's belt.
Not once did Xena allow herself to think of the dagger's former owner, nor what might had befallen her. Her only priority right then was getting Gabrielle to safety.
The tunnel that had been hewn in the chamber's ceiling had been filled back in somehow while she'd been unconscious. Fortunately, the same had not been done to the grave-opening Xena and Hope had used the previous night; Xena hadn't really wanted to consider what would have happened if it had.
The final light of dusk had just vanished over the horizon when Xena essentially dragged (though it was a very gentle dragging, and this was only after she'd tossed both the sword and dagger up and out of the grave's opening in the first place; dammed if she was going to take any chances with this!) Gabrielle up and through the grave. It turned out not to be that far a drop, and the walls of the shaft provided more than adequate handholds. That night had fallen was both a good a bad thing to her mind.
Good, because Xena had to worry far less about being confronted with uncomfortable questions concerning what she was doing in an open grave with a woman who had clearly been badly beaten at this time of night.
Bad, because now she had to worry about bacchae, gang-bangers, and similar night stalkers seeing her and Gabrielle as easy prey, not to mention the police. This was really more of an annoyance than an actual worry, Xena being perfectly willing and able to tear anyone or anything even remotely threatening to shreds...though she was equally willing to use the sword and dagger if it proved easier. Still, anything which delayed her getting Gabrielle safely home, whether mortal or otherwise, was simply not good.
Fortunately, nothing (save an exposed root or two) got in her way as she carried Gabrielle to the Corvette, which was still parked on the secluded bit of curb she'd left it at the previous night. To that point, Xena had cringed at the thought of having to call Max for a ride home...or, worse, for bail. She knew she'd never live it down.
By some nod of fate, only speed limits were left damaged as Xena guided them both safely home.
The staff proved surprisingly calm and quiet about Gabrielle's condition the days following Xena's sudden return, keeping their distance and not voicing their questions aloud about the sudden quantities of medical supplies she all but demanded. They wondered entirely too and among themselves, all while carefully deflecting Marcous and others who came calling for the redhead. Even the unflappable Madrigail took to silently wondering at the sheer amount of antiseptic and gauze strip Xena was constantly demanding. She reasoned it must be for Gabrielle, as Xena herself only sported a few wraps on both forearms, this giving her some small concern. One night years ago, she had seen her employer accidentally slice the side of her hand open over dinner, remaining calm as Madrigail frantically tried to convince her to have it attended to, only to see the same wound a healed scar the following morning.
She wondered equally at the bandages which constantly wrapped Xena's forearms, bandages almost always crimson from wrapping fresh cuts…on both arms.
Madrigail, more aware of her employer's background than she let on, resolved to wait and see if her own skills would be needed. Not an easy resolution to reach, for her's was a charge passed from parent to child for longer than history had been recorded by mortal hand. Her every instinct screamed for her to put both her charges to bed and nurse the pair of them until the final trumpet sounded and the Titan's themselves came knocking.
It might be worth showing them the tattoo between her breasts - two strands weaving themselves into a simple cross, the two forever becoming one - simply to see their faces.
She'd wait a week, no more, before taking matters into her own hands.
Still, just to be on the safe side, a few phone calls were in order.
Back in that pit, Xena (understandably) had been too distracted to closely examine the extent of Gabrielle's wounds. Now, safely away from those killing grounds and having cleaned off the blood and juices, she was given an unimpeded view of the damage that had been inflicted upon her.
It was almost...beautiful.
This wasn't any random attack, Xena reflected. Every cut too precise a stroke to be anything save planned far in advance. It reminded Xena of a close examination of an oil painting, the brush-strokes looking ugly individually, yet beautiful in total. And so it was here. The scars collectively formed a riot of red swirls and sigils against the creamy smoothness of Gabrielle, the patterns seeming to flow into one another as seamlessly as if moving before her eyes. It was almost erotic, and Xena felt a flicker of heat settle in her groin.
She was appalled by her fascination and disgusted by her arousal, as though she needed more reason for anger against herself.
She had hardly slept or eaten, as attested by her jerky movements and sunken eyes. Exhaustion was making her jumpy as well, and not in a healthy way. Every shadow and crack in the ceiling was starting to take new and dangerous significance...as the hiding place of unspeakable terrors and horrors defying all description!
Until she managed to swallow another cup of coffee or a take a bite of a muffin gone stale, that is.
When she wasn't tending to Gabrielle's wounds or staring down some imaginary pair of eye in the room's corner, Xena found herself pacing and wringing her hands, her mind's eye blind from the unending sequence of half-images which played themselves out in all their random clarity there.
One moment it was Millie teasing her...the next Lenny screaming at her...
the next she sat at table with the powdered wig kissing her hungrily...
the next she was covered in filthy rags of a cloak...
the next Callisto was screaming and clawing in quicksand...
the weight of her first john for Lenny atop her, stinking sweaty and drunk…
the feel of the Roman dagger in her hand and Pompey chattering in her ear...
the warmth of Gabrielle's teeth sinking into her neck...
the wind in her hair as she clung to Scooter's filthy undershirt, flat expanses of desert on either side…
the sickening crack of Ephiny's arm breaking beneath her fist...
the weight of M'llila as they napped in her cabin...
watching Gabrielle walk away from her as Solon and Hope's pyres burned low...
the wind in her hair as she raced across the countryside, first on Argo, then Nutbread, then...
Gabrielle cry of "I hate you!" as they fell into the waters of Illusia...
lungfuls of air rich with the stink of burning flesh...
There was no order to these tumbling, tangible moments. Their assault at once a distraction and a comfort for it. With reserves of strength left dormant for too long, Xena braced and weathered every moment's tastes and taunts, not one the same as the last. To do so was no easy thing. The hundreds of moments which make up but one lifetime, if recalled in broken succession, would quickly break the mind from which they'd come.
Xena had known lifetime upon lifetime, a thousand and more generations, and so these flashes were never ending in originality...and as maddeningly indecipherable.
The blood loss certainly didn't help any, Xena having taken to opening the veins in her forearms and pressing the flow to Gabrielle's pale lips. She did this every morning and evening, and, like the rest of her ministrations, it was all taking its toll of her. Xena knew full well she was fast reaching her limits. Reaching, and fast exceeding them, if she were honest about it.
Fatigue had been a constant companion since minute one of her vigil. Delirium joined in around the fourth. By the evening of the fifth day it was only the stickiness of her skin and her own naked fear for Gabrielle which was keeping her semi-conscious. And even the tiny bit of strength this gave proved fleeting. Xena was, to be perfectly frank, terrified of the possibility of closing her eyes for even a moment, of her guard slipping for no more than a heartbeat.
Xena had good reason to be so vigilant. It wasn't the remnants of the pack the Elders had surrounded themselves with which so worried her; the mess she'd left at Hillcrest would either warn them off pursuing her, or provide adequate feeding for a nice long while. Whatever few she'd missed were doubtlessly gluttons by now, and so of no real concern.
No, it was the last member of the Circle whose presence she feared. The most conspicuous and ancient of the lot...who had been conspicuously absent during the fun-and-games she'd played with the others.
"The Dead One" he...she...It was known in certain circles. More myth than reality to most.
In her delirium, Xena found herself wondering why the shadows around them seemed to move when she wasn't fully looking. She wondered if she only imagined the flicker of movement outside their bedroom window, and if the omnipresent stink of dirt and rot were just in her mind.
"Gabrielle?" Xena croaked as twilight fell that night, her voice raw from disuse. She had just let Gabrielle drink of her again, kneeling at the bedside, and was somewhat relieved to feel the bard actually sucking at and swallowing the precious lifeblood this time. Xena leaned in, close to her love's ear, her lips trembling. "Please...come back to me..." Her eyes began to blink rapidly, tears fogging her sight.
Xena recognized the signs, though all consciousness was fast slipping away. But she could not sleep...could not let herself...herself slip... away...who gave her legs permission to climb up onto the mattress?...were the pillows really so soft...she could...would not...
"Come back..."
Xena heard her voice intone, drifting to her as though from across a barren distance. It was across that same distance that she realized her arm encircled Gabrielle's slight form, entirely of its own accord. Xena had intended to reprimand this renegade limb of her's, only to hear said reprimand come out as "...protect you..."
Her thoughts soon joined the words in their slow drift away into the ether of oblivion.
Gabrielle knew nothing of herself.
Peace, warmth, emptiness...these were all she knew, and all she wished to know.
To try to think of anything else Hurt. It hurt her All Over to more than float in this calm. So Gabrielle let herself float and didn't think of anything.
But...not thinking hurt as well. Only it was a different kind of hurt. Not sharp and sudden and all over. It was dull and constant and deep down inside her. It was like...like...a hole in her chest that throbbed and didn't fit right inside her, so every time it beat it pounded harder and harder against her insides.
All this convinced Gabrielle that she was actually alive, not dead, as had been her previous assumption. There was no way even the lowest depths of Tartarus could hurt this much. She knew this from experience and it really HURT BAD when she decided this, because it took So MUCH THINKING.
Gabrielle then decided she preferred to keep drifting away, rather than be hurt some more simply because she decided to take another breath.
The ache inside her didn't let her drift very far, however. In fact, the longer she dwelled in this warm and empty place, the harder her chest hurt.
Other things disturbed her. Every now and then, she'd hurt for no reason. She didn't move or think, but first she'd get impossibly cold, then warm again. Then cold, then warm, again and again. But Not all over. It was just an arm, or her legs, or her neck which suffered this torture, one after the other until every part of her was encased once again in this soft and secure feeling, so complete in its comfort as to be actually physical.
And then, sometimes, something thick and salty would invade her mouth and snake its way down her throat. It was something Gabrielle found herself wanting very much and liking very, Very much. Strangely, it never HURT to want this. In fact, it felt...good?
But how could this be? How could she feel anything?
And why didn't it HURT to think about these things?
Nevertheless, this good drink visited her more and more often. Its taste, though she could not put a name to it, never entirely left her. The pain in her chest didn't diminish, but it now hurt far less when she shifted or wondered at her awareness.
Which allowed Gabrielle to freely wonder...what had happened to her?
It came flooding out and into her mind, and explosion of memory and sensation which burned away all comfort and security. Every limb was alive with the pain of it all while her very skin burned her to the bone. Her loins burned with an entirely different fire, one her mind refused to acknowledge even when it ignited over and over and over again, lancing her deepest core each time.
So sudden and consuming were all these things that Gabrielle had no time to even murmur her distress. She could taste blood in her mouth once more, and to her eternal shame, she drank deeply of it this time.
She recognized the taste of it now: harsh and sweet, scalding to her tongue and smooth in her throat. It was as familiar to Gabrielle as her own skin.
Xena!
It could be no other. Her Xena had returned!
Gabrielle was sure she wept with the realization, all the pain and horror of her suffering forgotten for the joy of this moment. Even the loss of the flow of the salty sweetness could not cloud or diminish her silent celebration, only hardening her previously unconscious resolve to rejoin her love.
She swam furiously against the disorientation that layered her every thought. She grasped desperately to the knowledge of Xena's presence, and that one thought gave her all the strength needed to swim-crawl-reach out to the dim and distant light of consciousness. Relief filled her as her dream-fingers just brushed that marvelous light which is clarity and awareness.
This relief proved short-lived, however.
A weight, one Gabrielle would have sworn was twice that of the entire world, suddenly fell full upon her chest. All creation chose that moment to go spinning into a directionless vortex that dragged her away from consciousness just as it had been within her grasp.
It all quickly stole her breath, all consciousness quickly following and casting the Ancient once more into oblivion.
It is said by some cultures that certain souls are destined to find each other no matter their form. The bitterest enemies in one life become the most passionate of lovers in the next. A poet who once courted a maiden might becomes the subject of their suitor's music when they rejoin.
Only forms and roles change, never the essence that is them.
What, then, would come of a meeting of such essences, unclothed of their corporeal forms and drifting in that nameless place as far from death as it is from life?
That place where the Choir of Lost Voices forever weaves its eternal song.
Xena remembered...
...when the air was filled with the smoke and scent of ruin, her eyes misting with the tears she had shed in sorrow in over twenty winters.
The child she cradled in her arms could not have been even a single moon old. She was so small and perfect...and so completely still and silent. Xena's senses were all so alive from the battle raging about her, she'd felt the babe breathe her last, her heart still...all while still a dozen paces away.
Xena lost herself to her rage then, her sight consumed by fierce red and entire form alight with her sire's fire. Her sword, swung with but one hand while her other cradled the infant, sliced through raider after raider after raider. Leather, cloth, flesh, and bone were all cleft as though no more solid than the air itself.
When she emerged from her rage, long after the last of the attackers had fallen, Xena was the only thing left living in that wasted village. Gathering herself, she set about burying the villagers deep into the hard soils they had toiled over in life, that their death might nourish that which had nourished them. This proved difficult work, and sweat eventually glistening across her brow and sleek muscles.
The infant she buried last, as though the child might awake as if from its afternoon nap with delay...or she might simply stave off the inevitable good-bye. With a single kiss to the nameless child's smooth forehead, Xena covered the tiny body, her tears moistening the stubborn dirt.
Xena did no such favors for the raiders who had caused this tragedy. She left their torn bodies for the scavengers who even then stalked nearby. Hungry as they might have been, these were not foolish creatures and knew better than to risk themselves where a presence far wilder and deadlier than they stood. They waited until it was far away before coming forward.
Xena cared nothing for the wise caution of scavengers. Her only thought as she left the dead village behind was to seek out her lost half, the brilliant and eternal noonday sun to her equally eternal night.
She had left her bard many a season ago, arrogantly believing herself the stronger one. Now? Now she would happily serve the daughter of Bacchus as a serving wench, or a pleasure slave, anything Gabrielle would have her as. The daughter of Ares (may He burn in whatever realm awaits the passage of gods) knew herself too weak to live on without her stronger half.
She would rather fell upon her own sword than live another moon alone.
Gabrielle remembered...
...music and colors filled the air. Ceaseless chatter, impossible to either listen to or completely escape, hammered her hearing and thoughts mercilessly. The effort it took to just remain standing was almost too much, and she of all things seemed to be the star attraction.
Dignitaries in fine dress, their breasts weighted down with metals and ribbons, and courtiers of both sexes fairly gravitated towards her, the celebrated storyteller and actress. They listened attentively to her relating some half-remembered tale of...somewhere. Her voice worked entirely of its own volition.
Gabrielle knew many here saw her as little more than a potential conquest, or an evening's amusement. Centuries of performing on the stage had taught her the folly of expecting too much of her audience. She was there to amuse and distract. Yet, Gabrielle never gave up the hope that some might take away the lessons she sought to impart them, and so she persisted.
Still, she had been alone, adrift, for years now. The loneliness had only become harder to bear, not easier, with each passing season. Oh, there was never a lack of companions, though each to a one only had designs for her wealth. That was expected, so it didn't hurt (too much) when she found them out.
What hurt was so few of them were...honest...about it.
Millennia of life, and her optimism proved every bit as stubborn as her will to live. She supposed it was an admirable quality. Still, one could take only so many disappointments before the whole, sad game got too tiring to play. Gabrielle had lost count of how often she'd considered finding a driad bone and retiring from the stage. What point was there to continuing?
Yes, she had wealth, position, property, off-spring to carry her legacy. And none of it gave her a single decent reason to continue this farce of a life. Her children were all established enough to survive whatever came their way. The money and properties meant less to her than a pebble found on the side of a road.
Gabrielle continued for the same reason she hadn't sought the bones of a Driad. True, most of her companions were simply seeking an easy life at her expense. But, without fail, any moment she considered ending her existence, there would be one who came to her not for their own benefit, but solely for her's. They would be her comfort and her strength, giving all that was needed and asking nothing of her. It was solely for these few that the Ancient bard endured and would continue to endure the tricks and falsehoods whispered in her ears by the rest.
But that night was different, her strength draining from her as if bleeding from an open wound. Those few who sustained her were not the cooling night to her fiery day. Deep and enduring as they were, they were not the one she had lived and loved for so long. Perhaps all those centuries with her lost warrior had given her some of fire that had burned so fiercely in the warrior's blood. Gods knew she'd drank enough of her warrior that some mixing of them was inevitable.
But she, Gabrielle, immortal bard, was not one who could long stand such fire within her. She compensated by releasing it on the stage. But there was another sort of release, one she denied herself for far too long. It was a bizarre sort of self-inflicted torture, but necessary and one never compromised on. She was many things, but Gabrielle would never do the harm such a joining would to another, however willing they might be.
Her story done, Gabrielle made her excuses and took her leave. It was, she was sure, a violation of some unwritten rule these people lived by and would make her the talk of many a tea luncheon tomorrow, as if wearing jeans to this absurd function weren't reason enough. As it was, Gabrielle knew she needed to leave, to have Max drive her about until she was driven to mind-numbed exhaustion that she could sleep through night, lest she show these peacocks surrounding her what she truly thought of them!
Perhaps she might find a momentary distraction of her own out there on the streets. Perhaps, but Gabrielle considered it no more likely than she might find her dead warrior awaiting her on the street corner.
When the essence of darkness and of illumination do finally meet, what might happen? Simply, nothing...and everything.
Darkness is nothing without the light to give it boundary, just as illumination is undefined unless limited by the shade. And so the passions a warrior must be tempered by the gentleness and teachings of a bard, just as the teachings of a storyteller must be given vigor by the warrior's passions. For one to exist without the other leaves the warrior defenseless against the seeming pointlessness of death, and make the bard's lessons nothing but empty air.
Joined together, all things are possible.
Here, in this place where the eternal choir sings, the warrior and the bard remembered themselves.
Here their essences did join once more. Met and mingled, knowing each other as intimately as they now knew themselves, until each only began with the other. Such as it had always been.
There are no words to describe what came of it, no more than mere words might describe the beauty of sunrise or a winter's morning to the blind. Imagine such things for yourself, and that will be enough.
Xena opened her eyes to the familiar dim light of dawn, her foggy sight confronted by an equally familiar pair of clear emerald eyes.
"Good morning," Gabrielle murmured, a weak smile the only sign of the heaviness and vague pain suffusing her every inch.
"Good morning," Xena murmured, capturing the woman's lips with her own.
Their tears mingled, their eyes not once breaking contact throughout. The kiss eventually broke when Gabrielle let out in involuntary moan of discomfort. Xena moved to get off the bed, only to be stopped by Gabrielle's hand on her arm and the unspoken plea in her eyes. The tired grip on her arm ended Xena's momentary hesitation. She lay back down, maneuvering one arm over Gabrielle's supine form, unwilling to close her eyes until Gabrielle did so.
They drifted off once more, this time without pain or objection, and slept the day through. The only disturbance was Xena needing to get up twice to relieve herself; Gabrielle did not wake either time, but tossed and turned as a child might when plagued by the Horse of Ill Nights, quieting only when Xena returned. They lay side-by-side, pressing close, shifting and rearranging against each other in perfect synch.
If either dreamed, they were only peaceful ones.
Madrigail looked in on them several times, shooing away Marcous and others who came calling, determined nothing would disturb either of them until morning. Then, she promised herself, then they'd really be in for it!
Surprisingly, it was Gabrielle who woke first on that seventh morning. She shifted a bit, prompting Xena's own rather startled awakening. It took the taller woman some moments to remember where she was and who was beside her. Gabrielle couldn't help but wonder if this was how she herself appeared to Xena every morning. If so, she marveled at the woman's absolute control over herself; she was ready to laugh herself silly at the scene, but lacked the strength right then.
Instead, she murmured "Hungry." and settled back. The command was clear enough, as was the clear mixture of amusement, annoyance, concern, and undisguised lust Xena threw at her in response. Still, she moved off the bed and hurried to the door, intent on summoning breakfast.
Xena only narrowly avoided colliding with Madrigail as she threw open the door. The older woman had been balancing a large tray, heavily layered with steaming food (the scent of which did very nasty things to Xena's stomach), with one hand while reaching for the doorknob with the other. She showed no surprise or concern at the near accident. Rather, she pushed past the startled Xena and moved to the bed with such speed and grace she might have simply floated there.
"Ah, you're awake," she declared, seeing Gabrielle wrestle herself into sitting upright. "Goo't. Now, you will eet all this and not miss a crumb!" It was mildly amusing how her accent became all the more pronounced at times like this.
"And you," she addressed Xena, eyes pinning her where she stood. "You will go and soak in de bath I jus' ran...and not come out until I say. You smell like a swine farm!" This was all such a departure from their normally retiring and quiet maid that neither woman immediately moved, both too shocked to do more than blink.
Madrigail's angelic patience chose that moment to expire and she bellowed "MOVE!"
Gabrielle began shoveling (there is no other way of putting it) forkfuls of eggs, toast, oatmeal, and the like into her mouth, swallowing mouthful after mouthful. It helped considerably that she was already half-starved. Throughout this scene of justified gluttony, Gabrielle kept her eyes firmly fixed on the tray before her; the thought of inviting Madrigail's wrath was insanely terrifying right then.
Xena herself jumped and gave a startled squeak at the bellowed order. As embarrassing as this was, it was nothing compared to the deep rose shade she turned when, after throwing a look of promise to Gabrielle, she managed to sprint down the hall and to the bathroom...where she promptly slipped on the damp tiles and landed on her firm hindquarters. Her curse, muffled as it was by the steamy air, was clear enough to leave even the saltiest sailor ashamed.
Like Gabrielle, Xena had no wish to risk Madrigail's ire; at least, not yet. So she quickly stripped down and stepped into the bubble-topped tub. The scented water was so warm and soothing, it melted away the tension that had been knotting her entire form as easily as it cleaned her skin of eight days of sweat and grime. It was so glorious, Xena decided she'd only knock the old woman through two walls instead of three.
Fully awake now, Xena's thoughts turned towards what she had termed (unconsciously) as "the moment". She slid beneath the foam, down into the blissful liquid warmth, to keep her schoolgirl giggles from being easily heard. It simply wouldn't do to give herself away just now.
She stayed under, mind scheming and rehearsing, until her lungs began bothering her for air and the bath water had noticeably chilled. Xena emerged to hear Madrigail's declaration of "Yes! You will finish de platter! NOW EAT!" She had to quickly submerge again, laughter threatening.
It was Gabrielle who was laughing later that day.
Madrigail had fed her more than even her huge appetite could handle, and had not allowed her to so much as fidget without laying in like the grandmother from Tartarus. Amazingly, Gabrielle actually finished it all, the many courses filling her and leaving her drowsy once more. She therefore offered no resistance to Madrigail's changing her dressings, and only murmured when she slipped on her softest silk nightshirt.
Gabrielle knew she should feel at least a little embarrassed by this; weak as she was, she was more than capable of dressing herself. As it was, the Ancient was too full and tired to do more than let the old woman fluff her pillows and tuck her in deeply beneath the sheets. Dreams and peaceful darkness took hold immediately.
She awoke when Madrigail's voice lashed out "No! You vil get into that bed and STAY THERE!"
"I will not!" hissed an all-too-familiar voice in an all-too-familiar tone. Gabrielle had heard neither in over a century. It brought a grin, not tears, to her.
"You are in no condition' to stand watch over a desk, ne'er mind her!" There was a sniffing sound, followed by "And you still smell like a pig. Act, what to you want? To kill 'er WI' your stink?"
Was that the sound of fists being clenched? "I. Do. Not. Smell!"
More sniffing. "No you don't. You stink."
"You..."
"You," the older woman cut in with undeniable authority, "will go and take another shower, 'den you will get into bed and stay there until I say otherwise."
"I..."
"No arguments, or I'll you toss into de bath and scrub you myself!"
At this point, Gabrielle had to cover her head with a pillow before her laughter broke. This filtered out whatever response Xena came up with as effectively as it covered the giggles. The combined effort of both moving and laughing left her dizzy, as though she'd been spinning wildly one way then the other for hours at a stretch.
None of which saved her from hearing Madrigail's admonishing "And you go back to sleep!"
Gabrielle couldn't help but comply, too spent from this new ordeal. She preferred sleeping right now, anyway. It gave her time to...plan.
Madrigail proved every bit the tyrant. After Xena emerged from her third shower, Madrigail hounded her into first eating, then climbing once more into bed. Gabrielle blearily awoke to their arguments, even attempting to join in to defend her lover, but neither proved a match to her vocal assaults which mercifully sent them once more into Morpheus' realm. The old woman took in the sight of her adopted charges peacefully wrapped in each other's arms, an almost-grin of success creasing her worn features.
Truth be told, she was worried...and not about a certain beaten-up bard, who's wound had gone from a mass of bleeding sores and cuts to traces of fast-fading welts, all in the space of less than ten hours.
But Xena...now there was something altogether different. Her own wounds had closed some time ago and were largely healed, otherwise Madrigail would never have allowed her anywhere near warm bath water, stinking or not. And to the untrained eye, Xena had lost none of her natural grace or stride to these recent trials. But Madrigail's eyes were very well trained, and so picked out signs, each leaving her more disquieted than the last did.
The iron determination behind her arguments, the way her eyes blazed with almost constant annoyance, the scowl she threw about like a pitcher would a curve ball, the swagger in her walk, the tone not of petulant defiance, but of hardened steel, suspicious glances at everyone and everything...all these things were alien to the face she'd known for over a year.
This Xena, the one who had gone tearing into the night with a sword in hand and fire in her eyes, only to return the following night with her clothes stained black with blood and the equally bloodied body of Gabrielle in her arms, was not the same one who had bickered with and gently bullied the staff over the past year. This Xena yelled, demanded, and did so with such authority that suggested it would be suicide to refuse her wishes.
Still, Madrigail recognized this new Xena. Among the oldest heirlooms in her family was a daguerreotype photograph dating back to the 1880s. Two women were in the photo, one towering over the other, the untamed wilderness of Canada behind them. There was a scowl on the tall woman's face and defiance to her stance, yet seemed more to shield her smaller companion than dominate her; Madrigail had seen quite a lot of these traits of late. Moreover, the same could be seen in portraits and reproductions she'd seen dating well back to the Middle Ages. In some it was merely the tall woman with raven hair and wild eyes, or her tow-haired companion alone. But when together the tall one would scowl and defy the world to touch either of them.
Madrigail knew she should feel overjoyed by these developments, but could only feel apprehension for it.
To have that Xena living in this house...keeping house with a wild boar in residence would doubtlessly prove easier, and far more attractive.
The virtues of feral pigs as house guest aside, neither patient gave the old housekeep reason to complain or curse over the next day. They slept as ordered and ate what she put in front of them. This acquiescence only served to raise Madrigail's hackles, particularly where a certain raven-tessled tower of feminine wiles was concerned.
If the glint she caught in those clear sapphire eyes of her's was any clue, a war of wits was in the offing. One Madrigail was wise enough to admit she'd already lost...damned if she'd admit it to anyone save herself!
Still, she'd milked this quiet manner of theirs for all it was worth, allowing Marcous and his ilk only the briefest of visits and letting her charges rise and move about with threats of the direst consequences should they overtire themselves. Both had the good grace not to laugh in her face at this, their eyes speaking of sights far worse than any she might offer.
Madrigail knew her cause was already lost, their recovery every bit as complete as it was speedy. No doubt they would be up and away from any influence she might bring against them within a day, a thought as heartening to her as it was saddening. She simply didn't have the energy to match wits and wiles with the two of them as she once might have.
So, the old housekeep had to ask herself, where do we go from here?
A question Xena found herself asking on an almost minute-to-minute basis, each successive repetition more desperate than the last. Gabrielle's constant presence certainly wasn't helping her deliberations any.
The confusing visions had stopped after her first restless night in bed. Whether this was through sleep, Gabrielle's presence, or the two in tandem, she didn't have any argument with the results. This peace of mind only heralded a new battle to be fought: that of telling a painful truth to one who had suffered more than her share, and damned if she'd add to the burden.
All the same, not saying anything would be tantamount to lying through her teeth; and equally unacceptable option on the simple practical ground that she'd never be able to maintain such a front for more than a second. Those emerald eyes would dismantle her at first glance.
Caution was needed; Gabrielle had, after all, survived a very long time by sheer wit backed up by almost unparalleled strength. She was not one to accept any claim, however honest or earnest, simply at face value. To even risk it was an invitation to a cooked hide. Something Xena had no wish to repeat.
Then again, avoiding the issue altogether only invited stresses and strains to their lives she knew neither of them could survive. The scars their bodies had healed, but Xena's trained ear heard the hollow ring to Gabrielle's laughter, her eyes picking out every tremor and well-covered shudder brought on by the merest touch. Thank gods it didn't reach to her unconscious, which let her sleep peacefully in her arms. Xena doubted she herself could have survived the past week without that comfort.
But how to explain without shattering her delicate bard? "Her bard"... Xena felt it strange for her to even think such things, when she herself had been only so much chattel and property to others for so long. The thought of...owning another...even if it were only their heart (Xena snorted a laugh at that; there was nothing "only" about the heart in question)...her breakfast threatened to revisit her and make the acquaintance of the carpet.
There was no sign of this as she leaned against the bay windows that overlooked the woods, her thoughts turning to an entirely different track. Had it only been a week ago when she'd last run those trees? Last terrorized the squirrels and bugs with her knife-throwing? Seven days ago she'd been an innocent, no crimes to her name save those she'd committed herself.
Xena shook her head from such pointless musings. She looked across the wide bedroom, to where a crown of darkly golden hair, topping a column of rich blue satin and sun-kissed skin, lay reposed atop creme cotton and soft pillows. Slits of hazel and emerald regarded her, a teasing grin being answered with one of her own.
Could she do this thing? No, not now, with her throat constricting and nearly strangling her.
And yet...how could she not? Her legs turned traitor, carrying her to the bedside entirely of their own leave. How could she refuse?
Gabrielle had fully opened her eyes, was staring with such clear (and hungry) intent, Xena was nearly undone by the gaze alone. A single hand, reaching out and catching her's, and she knew all resistance was a lost cause.
Her knees bent of their own volition, lowering her to the smaller woman's gaze, though Gabrielle herself needed to sit up so their eyes came level to each other. Even kneeling, Xena still towered over her.
Gabrielle trembled as she closed the small distance between them, which to other eyes would have been a sign of purest want. But Xena saw the truth there, in those wide and brilliant eyes: fear, so strong to be bone chilling and paralyzing to a lesser soul. Fear of the desire burning within her, and where it would lead. Fear of the memories of what had happened, and how they were sure to overwhelm what was about to happen.
Fear that what had been taken from her by violence was lost...and with it, all hope that they might become whole again.
Xena remembered the morning so long ago, when her own memories of her new "owner" and her whips and play overwhelmed her before Gabrielle's eyes. Xena marveled at her bard's courage to risk this, courage she herself only now remembered. She marveled, but would not allow it to finish its fool's errand.
"Gabrielle?" she managed with her husky voice, the sheer effort needed to speak it making it come out sharper than she wished.
Clearly Gabrielle drew her own conclusions from this, given how quickly she released Xena's hand and turned away, curling into a fetal ball as she did. Xena's sharp ears picked out the broken sob of despair, that short sound a dagger to her own heart.
"I...I don't want..." The words tumbled out of her mouth, poor vessels to explain herself and her confused emotions with.
Too poor to stand against Gabrielle's soft, teary voice. "Me!" You don't want me anymore! those tears accused as clearly as if spoken aloud into silence.
"No!" Xena exclaimed, only to quiet seeing Gabrielle's jump at her denial. "I don't want to hurt you..." she continued in a quieter tone, desperation and love mingling there, her own despair creeping in seeing the stiff set to Gabrielle's shoulders. The bard would hear no more words, whether whispered or shouted, however desperate or reasoned. She curled even tighter into herself, as though to make herself a smaller target to whatever hurtful words Xena might hurl at her.
Damnit! This simply wasn't working! Xena felt panic grip her as never before, the courage of all her years deserting with that thought, only to return like troops rallying to the sound of trumpets. With it came realization of her mistaken efforts. Words were not what were needed here, but action; deeds that would put to rest any doubt the bard might harbor.
Xena stood and backed up a half-step; it was the longest, most difficult step she had ever taken, her every muscle fighting the movement.
There was no such struggle to issue the command which came next.
"Gabrielle, look at me."
The tone, more than the words themselves, were what penetrated the haze of her misery. Only a handful of times had Gabrielle become so lost within herself - after the death of Solon and Hope; when Xena had stormed away from her amid the frosty ashes of Nor'Kapp; those months alongside Ancelyn and his band, when she could barely speak and could only hear Xena's accusations ring in her ears...
But this time...
Compared to what they'd done, Dahok's invasion had been a gentle seduction.
Too much had happened, too much she refused to allow herself to remember...because if she remembered, she would have to tell Xena...and then Xena wouldn't want her any more, because then she'd see how ugly they'd made her...who would want to be with someone so ugly?
But Xena already knew. That was why she pulled away now. She could see...maybe she'd seen what they'd done to her. Gabrielle had no idea how she'd gotten home, never mind what had happened to her erstwhile kin. She had some hazy recollection of screams...and of being carried. Perhaps it was Xena who'd carried her up to the bedroom...which was probably how she knew...which was why she pulled away...
She'd forced herself to laugh earlier, so she wouldn't start crying, hearing the voice of the one person who she simply could not face any more. The argument had been pointless, hilarious in its own right, but all humor had been lost to her since awaking. Only her bone-deep weariness, the millennia she'd survived suddenly crushing her down, and that desperate, primal need to cling to the one thing she actually felt safe with had kept Gabrielle in Xena's arms these past days.
But since that first moment she fully woke, Gabrielle knew their time together was done. That kiss had told her volumes: weariness, stress beyond measure, and all limits passed. This last day had been a final gift, she knew. Her presence was a last gesture of concern between a strong woman for a weak one before they parted company. Awaking to the emptiness of the bed beside told her as much. Still, Gabrielle appreciated the gesture, and so mustered her courage to reach out and offer herself to this ebony-haired woman she'd surrendered all of herself for. Her body was all she had left to offer.
Her heart? Her soul? Those were lost to her, stolen and gone forever, though Gabrielle would have willingly surrendered them, too.
But Xena wanted nothing to do with her. She'd said something after admitting it, but Gabrielle herself was too far away to hear or really care what was said.
But she heard the tone spoken to her, its power and melody cutting to her very core, forcing her to responded as she always had. Even with the unspoken choice offered beneath the words, Gabrielle would have answered the same.
Gabrielle turned, to look one last time upon this ghost of her soul's lost half.
Xena stood there, her black satin slip a puddle of shinning material at her feet. She stood there, nude, her arms a bit from her sides, hands open and palms outwards, as though in supplication.
The instant their eyes met, Xena's voice became quiet and absolute. "You are mine, bard. Not theirs. And I am yours alone." Xena cast her gaze to the floor, kneeling as she did. Resting her firm buttocks on her heels, Xena looked back up, meeting Gabrielle in the eye and asked "What do you want me to do?"
The silence was deafening, stretching between them like a desert plain of a thousand leagues.
There was nothing in those eyes that held her...save trust and patience. She would do nothing, say nothing...until told to do so. All control was in her hands and voice now.
The realization alone filled her with awareness of Xena's presence before, and nearly undid her fragile control.
How tempting it was to take out all her Rage upon this strong woman who knelt before her. The thought of hurting her...as she had been hurt...of using her and punishing her and...breaking her...
Gabrielle became moist and aroused by these thoughts, her fangs extending from her arousal, her skin and core flushed from the very thought of a broken and pleading Xena..."Please," she would beg... eventually, "No more"...laying at her feet in her own blood and cum... afraid to look up...tears washing her face...tears of fear...
...the mental sight of which turned Gabrielle cold, leaving her shaken and disgusted with herself. How dare she even dream of such things. Hadn't Illusia taught her anything? Or Nor'Kapp? Or Solon and Hope? Hadn't she suffered enough to be more than...Them...?
She stood, letting her own slip fall away. Xena had given her control, surrendering herself as she had tried to...but for all the right reasons, where her's had been for the wrong ones. She'd be damned if she'd abuse this gift given in love and trust.
Gabrielle couldn't keep her hands from opening and clenching at her sides as she stood there, as bare as Xena herself, this marking her uncertainty and fear. She owed her love this moment of vulnerability; owed her more than could ever be repaid...not that she wouldn't try. With a conscious effort, Gabrielle stilled her hands, and took a single step forward.
Xena was sure to smell her musk, her pubic thatch easily level with her nose. Gabrielle could feel the tall woman's forced stillness, and the fire trembling behind it. She closed her eyes and basked in this sensual heat, her neck reclining slightly as it washed over her... through her...setting her aflame once more...
"Take me." Was it with voice or only thought that she said the words? Gabrielle would never be certain. Nor did she care.
The world narrowed down to the powerful arms which wrapped about her hips and back...arms which lifted one leg and set it across a broad and steady shoulder...and the soft, knowing lips which kissed and licked and tickled and teased and nipped and took her away from the memories... slowly teasing her higher and higher...oh so higher and higher...to that glorious place where she'd melt gods please don't stop don't stop don't stop...promising and teasing and taunting and taking her to the edge... keeping her at the edge...oh...
"...gods..." Gabrielle heard her weak voice raise in desperation. "Oh gods...oh gods...ohgodsohgodsohgodsssssss..." She could say no more...every muscle clenching tight...those lips giving her no rest...her entire being exploding into Xena's open and ready mouth...not an inch of her able to be still...
A wail, stronger than a score of Banshees might manage, filled the room and her frail body. And still those glorious, mighty arms wouldn't release her. Gabrielle felt silken threads of midnight hair become tangled in her fingers...fingers that couldn't help but tighten and grip and pull at those long and soft locks...she would fly apart if she let go...
And when this sensual storm passed, it took all strength with it. Only those arms, strong as granite, gentle as a morning's breeze, only they held her upright. Gabrielle would have spoken words of love, of devotion, of worship and servitude had she the voice. She could not even murmur the least sound of thanks as Xena gathered her up and carried her to the bed once more.
Distantly, Gabrielle would wondered if it was but a dream that she lay beside a body so strong and powerful, whose feather-light hands stroked and brushed against her cooling skin in patterns complex and soothing. It was an idle thought, for too soon the darkness claimed her, taking her beyond dreams and memories both good and ill. Leaving her in that place where there is only tranquil and eternal peace.
Xena waited for some time after Gabrielle's breathing calmed and stilled before daring to move. Only the sounds of her own breath disturbed the silent air as she pulled on clothes and fairly crept from the bedroom. There was much for her to do before her bard awoke...
Again, her muscles rebelled against her chosen course, aching to return to the bed and to Gabrielle's now empty arms. Again, Xena marshaled her will and continued on her chosen course, but not without a last look to the bed, tears threatening and silent words of love tumbling from her lips.
As silently as she wept, so too did the door close behind her, cutting her away from the late morning's light and the glorious sight it lit.
Busy as she was over the next several hours, Xena's suspicions were instantly alerted when Madrigail let her have free reign of the kitchen and bowed completely out of sight, quiet as you please. This, Xena wondered, was the same housekeep who had bullied, cursed, and stuffed them like Thanksgiving turkeys over the past two days?
Wrist deep in tofu, she fought her natural instinct to search the old woman out and demand to know why she set her hackles on such edge. Not that such an instinct, which led her to work the tofu all the more intently, was itself all that welcome an addition. Could there be such a thing as too vivid a memory?
She continued her preparations, instinct alerting her to Gabrielle's eventual awakening. She was resolved that her bard would not wake to a lonely bed and empty room.
Nor was she going to risk having Madrigail de-rail all her well laid plans by giving Gabrielle so much as slice of apple. Hence her deliberate haste in the kitchen. Hence the large amount of food she prepared with such haste.
Xena just wished the vegetables would hurry up and finish cooking so she could get back upstairs. Gabrielle, while notoriously predictable where sleeping patterns were concerned, was someone she had learned not to underestimate. The bard had lately taken to "ambushing" her at all hours, usually when she was right at the point of nodding off, and continuously torment her until they were both so exhausted that Xena had no chance to reciprocate.
Damned if she'd let that continue!
The vegetables chose that moment to come to a boil, matching Xena's thoughts perfectly.
It was only minutes later that Xena was ascending the stairs, the tray she'd prepared in a death-grip in her hands. The whiteness of her knuckles, coupled with the set of her eyes and jaw, might have been taken as determination. Perhaps it was bitter resolve to see a thing through, given the hardness of those blue eyes of her's.
It could just as easily be fear which caused that slight tremor in her hand. But that would be an absurd idea; what could so formidable a woman (her steady march and hard eyes spoke as much) have to fear from a worn slip of girl as lay on the other side that door?
Or so Xena told herself, her every nerve screaming for flight, the twin questions plaguing her all the while.
How could she do this?
How could she not do this?
The sounds of shifting linen and the groan of bedsprings, with them the strangled sob that sounded equal parts betrayal and despair, put the debate to rest. Xena marched forward, head high, and nudged the door open with one hip. She addressed the room's occupant with so cheery and wide a smile it simply had to genuine; after all it was Gabrielle, not her, who had years and years experience on the stage.
Pity it all really was just show.
"Good morning," Xena declared, the force of it causing the bed's occupant to jump so hard she fell out. The undignified "thud" of Gabrielle's landing was comical enough; the little known Amazon expletive she issued left Xena with a genuine smile. "My," she remarked mildly. "Such language."
That earned her a glare. To which she replied "Back into bed with you, young lady. You are in no condition to be trying to move yet." The authority in that voice was sufficient to command the Queen of the Amazons back onto the mattress, though it did nothing to deflect the rebellion and promises of physical violence in those beautiful eyes.
"You still here?" the small blonde demanded. Xena cared not a whit, setting the tray before her. Gabrielle had crossed her arms under her generous breasts generally looked sulky. Sounded it, too, asking "What's this?"
"Lunch."
"Well, obviously." Was that venom in that melodious voice of hers?
"Now, eat." Xena said, ignoring the withering stare directed at her, her feelings only slightly singed by the accompanying glare of fire. To underline the point, she practically forced a fork into the smaller woman's hand.
"You aren't eating anything," Gabrielle cooly observed, fooling no-one. Now, Xena wondered, could one sound both so sulky, so challenging, and yet completely calm all in the same breath? Fortunately, she'd anticipated this. With pointless drama, she picked up a slice of fruit and dropped it in her mouth.
Gabrielle watched, the false sneer no cover for the frank intensity of her eyes...and the fire behind them.
Still watching, her eyes soon caught by Xena's own, Gabrielle raised and swallowed a forkful of the tray's fare. Another followed, though she chewed this one...and went utterly still.
As did Xena's breath.
Gabrielle felt here eyes dragged down to the tray straddling her lap as though by gravity itself. Only that implacable and universal force could have forced her to break gaze with Xena right then. If only she could blame her sudden paralysis on something as convenient...
...rather than the rush of memory that accompanied the taste of rare meat filling her mouth.
Very, very rare meat.
The salty-sweet juices coating her tongue awoke the Thirst in her, causing her fangs to spring out. Yet Gabrielle did nothing to stop or cover this reaction; in truth, her thoughts were so very far away she was no more aware of her fangs than she was of her shuddering and increasingly frantic breathing.
Those thoughts, which were memory most pure and consuming, left her breathless and heartsick. Memories of a campfire cooking beneath open stars and sky.
Of how the warrior chose that particular night to cook, chasing the bard away.
Of a secret...the secret...no longer hidden because the warrior was clever enough to find it and force it out.
Of the wild and furious love that flowed between the warrior and her bard that night, and how they gave full vent to their shared passion every night after.
"Finish your meal, love."
Gabrielle jumped again, because the words were not of memory, but spoken aloud...the tone and timing as exact now as then.
And now, as then, she began to choke on the meat as her eyes choked with tears. She did not look up, lest the simple possibility of this impossible thing vanish.
"I know my cooking is bad..." said the memory-made-real again. Were those tears she heard in her? It was insane...impossible! She couldn't look up and see the eyes...because those weren't...she could be...
"Gabrielle?" Fear in that voice now. Gabrielle could no more resist the plea than she could turn wine to water by will alone. Gabrielle looked up, and beheld eyes she had known only a year...and longer still...tears of fear which clouded them. Fear, Gabrielle knew, of denial and rejection. That emotion had no place here! Oh, she knew perfectly well its origin, fearing the same thing herself. But...
"Xena?" She'd meant it as an acknowledgement, as reassurance, as a greeting a year delayed, no questions asked...
It came out a plea...a desperate plea...an absolute need...she knew Xena would hate her for it...she hated herself...hated the way her arms threw themselves open...reaching out for...for...
She nearly screaming when strong arms enfolded her, and was certain she did scream when she felt lips press against her hair. She knew those lips so well. She pulled tightly against the strong body beside her, grasping hard to every inch she could reach.
She screamed and wept and screamed and wept, on and on...until she could no longer scream. The tears did not stop, nor did she slacken her grip even a little. Gabrielle found she could not speak through the rawness of her throat, and managed a weeping laugh at the irony. Now, when she needed her bardic talents most, when there were a thousand and ten questions to be asked and things to be said...now she was struck dumb. Gods, how she loathed herself for this failure!
Perhaps Xena sensed this, which was why she murmured nonsense words into her hair, words Gabrielle had used herself to calm the warrior when her nightmares denied her the least rest. The effect was as strong upon her as it had been for Xena, and her tears eventually calmed and stilled. She managed a ragged breath and dared to unfold one arm from its circling of Xena. If anything, the small bard pressed even closer to her love, as though trying to absorb her into herself.
Running shaking fingers through her hair, Gabrielle raised her eyes to look upon Xena more fully. Xena met her gaze, her own eyes uncertain... afraid...such an alien sight for those eyes.
What could they say that had not been said between them a thousand times before?
What needed to be said that they had not already spoken...with their eyes...with their hearts?
It had been easy enough to offer the comforting words, which she was pleased to see did their work. Gabrielle calmed and no longer screamed into her shoulder, what Xena took as the rage of betrayal stilling to words she herself was not sure exactly what she spoke. Xena groped for words that might speak her heart, that could explain herself and her return.
She groped and reached, but found nothing. Not a single word.
And that failure spelled her doom, of that she was certain, for Gabrielle could never forgive what could only appear as deception as this now looked. Better she leave now...retreat...before the one she loved spoke the words of rejection she knew full well would strike her dead.
Xena pried her arms from where they circled her bard, her muscles rebelling against the loss of contact between them, her heart splintering and dying piece by piece with each inch that separated them.
How she managed to choke back the tears and still her trembling hands she would never be sure. Shock, most likely.
If the Fates were merciful, it would last forever.
Xena did not allow herself to look to Gabrielle's eyes, even if only to confirm the accusation she knew would be there. The very idea that she might still want her...Xena might have laughed...had she still voice enough. As it was, she could only just draw one breath after another.
This was actually a good thing. It kept her from issuing even the smallest sound, something so easily misinterpreted, when Gabrielle spoke. She even wondered if she'd even heard it at all, so...impossible....were the words that they were not to be believed.
"Stay with me."
Xena looked across the distance to her bard, cringing beneath the sight of love and acceptance in those eyes. Disbelief and desperate hope warred in her then, the contest over the instant it began, her surrender immediate...and complete.
She moved without thought, her feet taking her back to her bard's arms...bringing her home.
Somehow...through the pounding of their two hearts in time that by right should have left them deaf...somehow the warrior spoke the words...words that had eluded her earlier. But her voice was so low and husky with emotion, she could barely hear them herself.
"I'm not going...anywhere..." was her vow.
Whether heard aloud or not, whether understood or not, both knew what was said...what was meant. The tears they shed then were the sort they would only shed from that day on: ones of joy. Neither cried again, for there was no reason to. No more words were spoken, either in reassurance or explanation; there would be time enough for such things later.
Xena could only close her eyes to the tight grip Gabrielle put upon her, savoring the press of skin to skin, her senses filled with Gabrielle. There was still so much to say, so much very much to try and explain.
But, for now, to be in each other's arms once more...that was enough.
After a short wile of this, Gabrielle asked the simple, perfect question. "Is it you?" Xena heard the thousand and ten hopes and fears which rode upon the answer, and marveled once more at her bard's courage. By contrast, she was the basest coward.
"It's me." She shifted herself to give Gabrielle a more comfortable position against her. The bard's head found its familiar nook in her shoulder, her body perfectly aligning at her side, all tension melting from their bones.
They only distantly heard the crash of the tray as it was sent tumbling to the floor by their moving and shifting all about. Gabrielle's sweet laugh echoed through the room, as did Xena's tiny giggle. They quickly quieted, Morpheus stealing them away once more.
The noise of the tray and silverware being upturned and clattering against itself, the hollow gong of its final impact with the floor, these were clearly heard in the kitchen, where Madrigail sipped her tea and awaited her guest.
She'd cleaned the remnants of Xena's culinary efforts and put the tea on the instant the tall woman left the room, her nerves on edge at the energy now fairly crackling in the house. She'd managed to search out nominal cause: the golden dagger, its three-pointed blade sparkling in the late morning light. Simply touching it gave the old housekeep the sensation of grasping a live wire, the small hairs covering her neck and arms raising. She'd set to cleaning and boiling the tea in such a frenzy so to burn off the rush of energy such a simple connection gave her.
She counted herself lucky the broadsword, which she handled reverently upon recognizing the runic inscription hidden along the blade, did not carry the same kind of charge. Otherwise she'd never have been able to put it away and out of sight, though the idea of trying to explain its presence to the rest of the staff (never mind Marcous and company) struck her as rather comical.
And worrying, should any of the Table's kin be among them. Gabrielle's very presence had a tendency to attract them like flies to sugar. Even if they didn't recognize the blade itself, it was sure to recognize them. Madrigail had no wish to speculate on what might follow from that.
Madrigail resolved to deal with one problem at a time. The dagger was her most immediate concern, even though it sat but inches away on the table before her. She recognized this weapon as well, though more by rumor than established fact, and wondered what had befallen its creator. She was, to be perfectly honest, stumped at to what do with the damned thing short of tossing it in the river and letting the sprites deal with it.
The dilemma was solved when the back door opened. The visitor who swept in was a complete stranger to Madrigail, yet one she recognized, again by story and rumor alone. A smile crept across her face as she nodded to the chair opposite her and said "Come t'claim your lost property?"
The newcomer simply shrugged and took her seat. She sipped her tea and studied the dark liquid. "They upstairs?" Hope asked without looking up.
"Aye," Madrigail nodded. "You waiting for them?"
Hope shook her head. "Not now. Soon perhaps." She cast an unreadable glance towards the threshold to the stairs. "They deserve a bit of peace."
"And ye don't?" Madrigail attended the shadows that crossed over the old one's features, seeing the play of tension and emotions crossing her hooded eyes. Hope had kept her eyes on the dagger before her, not daring to meet the housekeep's eyes, which would tear her secrets from her as a surgeon might remove a malignant tumor from a body. The silence stretched between them for some minutes, neither fully knowing what passed between them, their tea cooling to the air.
Hope abruptly stood and gathered her weapon. "Take care of them," was all she said before moving to the doorway. Madrigail's quiet voice held her at the threshold.
"She forgave ye years ago. Ye've died for them more times than they 'ave for each other." The old housekeep stood, but made no more towards her. "Can't ye forgive yourself?"
Her voice spoke of her centuries and weight she shouldered. "No."
And she was gone.
Madrigail shook her head, more in wonder than despair. She sat back down, and wondered how she was going to clean the mess her warrior and bard were certain to leave upstairs. The thought brought a smile to her wrinkled cheeks.
How she loved those two.
Hope leaned against one of the tallest trees in the wood, letting the eternal rhythm of the Life about her wash through her, settle her disquiet and drown away the lingering terror of Awaking once more from her false death.
No, she could not forgive herself. But perhaps it was time she face those she loved and cherished from afar. Perhaps, if only so the past might finally be resolved and put to rest.
Perhaps.
But, for now, she was content to wait and see their reunion. What, after all, was a few more days to an immortal?
The single tear upon her cheek was the only sign of her true feelings on the matter. Feelings which cursed her for a coward.
Hope could not help but agree.
Helios shone brightly that day, and warmed the chilled land and life beneath him.
The minute they entered Jerrod's, Xena knew they were being watched, and this time by who. By the time the first course arrived, she knew exactly where the watcher was and for how long.
Which was why she didn't raise so much as an eyebrow at the bottle of champagne that was delivered to their table, all with the requisite flourish from their Maitre'd and his underlings. "What's this?" Gabrielle was quick to pipe up, her favorite sport of 'Xena-watching' being so rudely interrupted.
"A gift, madam," was the only answer the waiter gave, his confidence instantly evaporating under the very intense gaze Xena graced him with.
Xena managed not to laugh at his change in demeanor, the ersatz penguin looking anxious to be elsewhere else entirely. 'Let him earn the bribe,' she chuckled silently to herself and said "From...?" She let her voice trail off and raise a single eyebrow. All of which caused the man to flush a little and reach for a suitable answer.
"From...an admirer," he managed with some dignity.
"An admirer," Xena repeated, her eyes distant as though giving the answer careful consideration, her flat tone communicating neither belief nor disbelief. After a moment or two of this, which Gabrielle observed with rapt attention, Xena made a small noise of indifferent acceptance and said "You may open it."
The waiter surely broke speed records in opening and pouring the champagne, if such records existed, and in excusing himself. Xena half considered calling him back, intending to draw the game out a little longer, but decided against it upon seeing how suspiciously Gabrielle was eyeing the sparkling liquid.
"What do you think?" Gabrielle asked, eyes widening as Xena took a measured sip from her own glass.
"Hmm," she hummed, swallowing, and then declared "I think...this is a pretty decent vintage. Dom Pergeon." She smacked her lips with flourish. "'72, I'd wager."
Gabrielle's mouth fell open. "Xena," she hissed dangerously.
"Gabrielle," was Xena's grinning reply. She leaned closer, appearing to any who might be watching as though she were about to whisper endearments of the triple-X rated variety into her companion's ear. When she spoke, her voice was low and deadly serious. "Your fangs are showing." Gabrielle's mouth closed with an audible 'clack', which gave Xena sufficient reason to sit back and look pleased with herself.
Winner, and still champion. cheered the silent crowd.
There had been many such confrontations over the past several days, almost from the moment they'd awakened from their abortive 'lunch'. Xena was somewhat relieved to see Madrigail had snuck in while they slept and managed to silently clean away the mess, though she cringed in feigned horror at the thought of the 'talking to' she would likely be subjected to once the old housekeep caught up with her.
A glance downwards convinced her an irate Madrigail was the very least of her problems.
The hazel and emerald eyes that regarded her just then were flint hard and spoke of danger. So, too, did the solid set of her jaw. To say nothing of the stone-like grip she encircled Xena's waist with, cutting off any escape she might attempt in the face of what both knew was to come.
"How?" Such a simple question, demanding answers and brooking no distraction.
Xena closed her eyes and focused her thoughts. How could she explain that which she barely understood herself? "I...rebuilt myself," was the best she could offer, only to catch the look in Gabrielle's eye. Before the bard could speak the words, Xena cut it. "No, Hades had nothing to do with it," she vowed with clear venom in her voice. "Nor did Ares, Artemis, Aphrodite, or any of the rest of them. We own them nothing!" She met Gabrielle's eyes. There was fire there now, a slow-burning flame who's century-long absence made it all the more real. Whatever doubts Gabrielle had held or nursed to that point were consumed by the fire...and with them, all inhibitions. The bard spread herself full over her love's body, pressing down with every once of strength she dared, her lips capturing the larger woman's.
Xena was past putting up any resistance, and surrendered herself willingly.
The questions didn't stop. Gabrielle didn't let Xena out of her sight, nor did she miss the smallest moment or chance to question or prod a detail here or there.
"Not like the pheasant you cooked for us on Mikonnos, eh?"
"You wore those same colors when we first moved to Paris, didn't you?"
"I realize the house is larger than the one we lived in...where was it? The one by the lake in Norway?"
"Of course I don't like that suit. It looks too much like the outfit I had to wear to my coronation."
Xena missed not a one, answering each clearly, even adding details Gabrielle herself had forgotten so casually that the bard wondered if she wasn't in fact getting old.
It became almost a game to them, this back-and-forth play of words, neither showing signs of wishing it to end. The bard was quickly becoming hard-pressed to think up incidents and moments of their life to quiz her on, only to find herself being questioned about the damnest things. For example:
While up to her elbows in bread dough, she asked "You like both walnut and peanut in your nutbread, right?"
To the suggestion she wear something in dark leather to an opening they were to attend, Xena gave her a very level look and said "The only way I will deck out in black leather again is if you dig out that atrocious green top and brown kilt you wore for twenty winters and wear them for the next gallery opening. Deal?"
And when news arrived of her a newborn colt coming to her... their... breeding farm in Connecticut, Xena adamantly refused to allowing him to be named 'Argo'. Her explanation: "Argo was a female, my love, or had you forgotten?"
These many hints appeared enough for the bard, who rewarded Xena each night with such devoted ministrations of her body as to leave the warrior breathless. Oddly, such attentions, while not unwelcome, were never allowed to be reciprocated. Indeed, while Gabrielle was forever impatient to divest her of both clothes and control, she had become quite, well, modest. If anything, she was nearly paranoid about the least display of her own skin. She had taken to wearing long nightgowns to bed, to showering alone, dressing quickly and always only when her back was turned.
Nor did she appear to be sleeping anywhere near as peacefully as before, frequently tossing and turning, flinching from even the merest brush against her. This gave Xena many a sleepless night of her own, her efforts to get her to speak aloud of all this always rebuffed with a chuckle and skillful seduction, her well-practiced fingers and tongue quickly derailing all her efforts at resistance.
The warrior faced the discomforting truth before her: that while her bard was whole in mind and body, her soul remained in tatters. And for all her strength, Xena had not the faintest idea how she might mend these wounds. Her one comfort was that her bard was no neglectful of her body's needs, eating and resting with at least some regularity. All she could do, at least until a better idea occurred to her, was wait.
Patience, as the saying goes, is the virtue of men and gods. But Xena Alexandran was neither, and she would wait only so long.
But such concerns seemed distant and unimportant right then. They had finished their first glass of the gift, and were having their second one poured when Xena broke the silence that had reigned since its arrival. Gabrielle had gone back to her second-favorite recreation ('Xena-glaring'), but didn't risk opening her mouth again lest her fangs make another surprise appearance. Xena, being Xena, simply held her tongue and enjoyed the bubbly liquid. The other patrons were picking up on all this, and were unconsciously bracing for the storm to break.
Xena's voice was gentle and exact as she addressed the waiter. "Send a bottle of the L'Quer '75 to the young woman sitting alone in the corner table."
To his credit, not a drop was spilled at this sudden and expensive request. "Madam, that year is over six-hundred dollars a bottle," he said, as was his obligation to point out.
Xena watched him out of the corner of her eye. "Six hundred and seventy-four. And you have the year in stock, yes?" Seeing him nod, she said "Then send one to the young lady as I instructed." She was pleased to see even the corner of her eye still constituted a convincing weapon.
Once the waiter was well away, Gabrielle leaned over and hissed "How do you know the price of the wines here?"
Xena smiled. "I have many skills."
Gabrielle scowled at that. The sort of scowl that is patently false and used only to conceal the most riotous of laughter. She communicated her true feelings through her eyes, which sparkled and spoke of the delicious reprisals to come. Insolence like this simply could not be tolerated.
The fact Xena had finally uttered those four magical words didn't hurt in the least.
Hope realized she was blown when she spied the waiter's approach. Granted, the champagne had been an extravagant gesture, and she doubted either would really appreciate the antiquity or the rarity of the vintage selected. Still, it was the thought that counted.
She'd made it a point not to watch or even look in their general direction, knowing their sharp senses could and would pick out such surveillance directed their way. It already took all her not-inconsiderable will to remain seated where she was, hidden away in a corner, and not bolt and disappear for another century or two as she was inclined to. Hope was her mother's daughter, after all, and such cowardice would be fought all the harder for it.
Hope watched them all the same, stolen glances speaking volumes. The warrior had clearly returned, though there remained clear sign of her 'second childhood'. She actually seemed...relaxed. Her shoulders were relaxed and loose, she smiled, even chuckled softly to some joke her ears alone heard, and there was a rare sparkle to be caught in her eye. To Hope, this only made the warrior all the more dangerous. What could be more dangerous than a warrior who fights not with sword and Chakrum alone, but with heart as well?
The old one had just decided to leave before she could be discovered when she spotted the waiter who had been serving Xena and Gabrielle weave his way directly towards her table, a single bottle clenched gently in his hands. She knew immediately that she had nowhere, nowhere left to flee to, and could only sit there and wait her fate. It was comforting in a way, knowing now that they knew. A relief even. If only waking from yet another false death could bring her such peace.
"Madam?" the waiter murmured gently, drawing Hope away from her inner musings. "A gift from the ladies across the room." Hope graced him with a smile and quiet thanks, nodding for him to open the bottle. She sipped the expensive vintage with relish, letting it coat her tongue with its tart sweetness.
She'd underestimated Xena yet again. It was no difficulty admitting this, but then who expected a hardened warrior and former prostitute to know much about the intricacies of vintage and wine houses? She poured herself another glass and contemplated her next move, not there was all that much to contemplate.
As in the Circle's den, there had never been any choice.
That thought in mind, Hope rose from her seat and signaled the waiter.
Xena felt herself tense instinctively upon seeing the young-looking woman's approach. She'd changed subtly since disappearing in that cave. Her hair was lighter, her stride longer. She was leaner than before, making her look weaker than Xena suspected she truly was. But her eyes remained the same subdued hazel-green mix, clearly marking her maternity better than any face or manner might.
Old habits die hardest, else Xena would not have struck such an aggressive pose. True, this one was the instrument of the death of so many. But then, who was she to judge another?
Her tension must have been clearly communicated, as the old one slowed her pace, the waiter immediately behind her matching this. Xena forced herself to relax, unwilling to ruin the moment for feelings long past their time. She'd spoken the words of forgiveness long ago, after all. Wasn't it time she put them to action?
Gabrielle watched with rapt attention what must have been a fascinating sequence of emotion flow through her. No doubt she already knew who approached, and so deliberately focused her attention elsewhere.
Xena didn't blame her in the least. It was taking a fair bit of effort not to glare, and she found herself wishing she could be elsewhere right then.
There was no way to ignore the soft voice which asked of them "May I join you?"
Xena shrugged her acquiescence, while Gabrielle stayed silent. Neither could really think of a thing to say just then. What does one say to one's child after centuries upon centuries of alternating silence, hatred, and uncertain love? How does one speak words of love when the clearest memories were ones of death delivered by the mother's very hand? Did such words even exist?
Gabrielle clearly had none, and all Xena could think to say was "Thank you for..." only to have the once-child raise her hand and still all words.
"You have nothing to thank me for, warrior." She spoke in a Greek dialect that had not been heard since the days of Saint Augustine. "I have taken too much from you to ever repay." She turned her eyes to her mother, slowly and with visible effort. "Too much from both of you."
Xena had nothing to say to this. Gabrielle by contrast found her voice again. "Oh?" she queried. "And I haven't taken as much from you?"
"My blood, such as it is, has never been on your hands, moth... Gabrielle." Sensing the words to come, Hope added "Nor yours, Xena. My fate..."
"I don't believe in 'fate'!" Xena hissed, unwilling to hear another word. Damn it! Every conversation she'd tried to start lately went downhill from word one.
"Even after meeting the Three?"
"I'd sooner tear the entire loom apart than let them weave another thread."
"How typical of you." There was a trace of contempt to her voice now. "You'd sooner condemn all creation to chaos than allow the smallest..."
Gabrielle's soft voice silenced them both. "You're changing the subject, Hope." She hadn't raised her eyes, and her voice was but a whisper. She might as well have screamed seven hells for the effect it had.
Hope was tensed, though Xena could see it was more for flight than fight. A pointless effort, as neither she nor Gabrielle would allow her out of their sight, and certainly not like this. Something Hope, like Xena herself, doubtlessly knew, hence her effort at inciting the latter's temper and being forced away. It was a clever strategy, one worthy of their eldest daughter. Xena held herself as responsible for what had become of Gabrielle's first daughter as her own sire was, and so was actually pleased to see the centuries had taught her a thing or two.
Gabrielle spoke again, her words causing a flinch to her daughter's already pinched brow. "I'm the one who should be begging your forgiveness."
"You saved me..." Hope began, only to have Gabrielle interrupt, the flat tone with which she spoke every bit as alien as the admission itself.
"I murdered you, time and again." Gabrielle leaned forward, her eyes as dead as her voice. "I poisoned you and left your body to rot in Greece. I ignored your cries in those caves under Newfoundland and tried to hack you to pieces when you came to me in London. I would have burnt you to ashes if you hadn't run from us in Nippon." Each admission cracked another shard from the shell over her eyes, the tears and emotions denied far too long welling and threatening to spill over. "How can you sit there and...and..."
"How can you stand to be anywhere near me? Either of you?"
Xena chose that moment to speak. "You protected your brothers and sisters over the centuries, haven't you?" It was a statement, spoken as though seen with her own eyes. She leaned in closer. "You've come to us now because of the Circle. It was you in that cavern, wasn't it? And in our bedroom, with that sword and looking like the Spirit of Vengence itself. Even here, at the restaurant, two weeks ago tonight."
"I murdered your son, warrior! I cut him down in cold blood without giving him even a chance to defend himself. How can you forgive that?"
Xena flinched at the mental vision, still sharp after all this time. She issued no curse nor retribution for this, but instead sat back and refused to look away. "Whether I forgive or not isn't the issue. It's whether or not you forgive yourself."
"Now who's changing the subject?"
Xena's reply was as level as her gaze. "I forgave you a very long time ago, as did Solon. Do you really think yourself so unredeemingly evil? And remember exactly who is asking this, young lady."
Hope could only hold those sapphire eyes a moment longer before tearing her gaze away, only to be captured by her mother's equally strong and unyielding eyes. She was held still as much by the wild and volatile mix of numb fear and steel determination in those twin seas of green and hazel as by the painful grip Gabrielle applied to her forearm.
"Please, stay," was the whole of her spoken plea. The rest of it was communicated by her eyes and through her desperate grip.
Hope looked down at the strong fingers wrapped about her arm. Xena found herself imagining a time when those same fingers would have been wrapped about the child's neck, and her's alongside them. The image of the child this one had once been, and the spawn she'd then become... there was nothing of either to be seen now in the woman she'd grown into. She cringed at the memory of her actions at Hope's birth. Knowing she had been right, being proven right, doing what should have been for the best...all those things had cost too much from the start.
Damned if she'd repeat her mistakes here.
She watched, heart breaking slowly, as Hope forced Gabrielle's hand to relinquish her arm and carefully placed it back on the table, though she refused to show it as visibly as Gabrielle did. The bard looked every bit as devastated and vulnerable as Xena herself did. Only her utter refusal to acknowledge the building despair kept her hands from shaking as they otherwise might. She'd won too many battles that should have been lost to surrender the chance for this one.
Hope's voice, gentle and calm as ever, demolished whatever strategy or plans she might have brought to bear. "I can't come with you..."
"Can't or won't?" Xena heard herself hiss with venom. This, at least, was a battle she could fight, and one she would not loose. She would not!
Hope looked her square in the eye, the resignation there ending all argument. "Cannot," she clearly enunciated. "As in 'I cannot go home with you two right now.' As in 'I cannot forgive myself for the things I have done.'" She looked at Gabrielle. "Give me time, Gabrielle. I need time to...to understand myself...to accept what I've done..."
"You've had centuries," was her mother's reply, the accusation laid bare.
"As have you." With that, Hope stood and turned away. She might as well have been moving quicker than Mercury himself, though in fact she moved rather slowly and deliberately, given the paralysis which gripped both warrior and bard right then. Neither moved to stop her. Neither could move, and not because Hope refused to allow them to, though this was easily within her power.
Hope gathered up the bottle of wine and managed a few steps before the urge to turn back one last time became overwhelming. Her eyes laying her soul bare, the air carrying her voice to their ears alone. This was as it should have been.
"I love you, Momma. Both of you."
She said nothing more. There was simply nothing more to say.
She was gone long before either could summon the energy to even breathe again. Their hands joined and held tight, as though the other might by torn away at any moment and consumed by the silent misery that engulfed them both. Oh, they understood their daughter's reasoning only too well, and loved her all the more for it. How could they not?
She was, after all, her mother's daughter.
Xena awoke with a start, finding herself alone in their wide bed. Blind panic gripped her and she looked about the bedroom, expecting to signs of a struggle. To her immediate relief, she saw Gabrielle standing by the enormous French doors, one shoulder pressed against the threshold and head gently inclined upwards. The moonlight traced the contours of her magnificent body through the silk nightgown she wore, painting her in light of purest silver.
Xena could see the tracks of tears at her eyes and across her cheeks, and felt her heart shudder once more. For a moment, she hated their daughter for having brought this upon them. Xena was fully used to loathing herself, and so had little care whether she was given one more excuse to do so. But for Gabrielle, who had already suffered so much since this madness began...whether she fully understood Hope's decision or not was immaterial. Xena knew her bard too well not to know what she was doubtlessly thinking and why. She had failed her daughter again. That there was no failure here...that the decision had not been her's to make...such things didn't really enter into it did they? Her daughter was still out there, alone, and she could do nothing to protect her.
Gabrielle had become even more distant than usual upon leaving the restaurant. She had all but attacked Xena upon returning to their bedroom, loving her with a fury that surely would have broken another, her eyes becoming golden and her fangs extending. Xena had seen the vacant flatness in those same eyes, unafraid of her bard's silent rage and weathering anything her grieving bard saw fit to inflict until she lay spent and shuddering atop her.
What could she do? She, who had the strength of the gods and a thousand skills to command and kill, could do nothing...save stand here and hold this precious woman to her. And love her. And pray that their daughter might find peace enough to return to them.
Xena stood and walked over to where her love and soulmate stood, pressing herself against the bard's back and encircling her in strong arms.
She waited patiently for her bard to return to her, as she always had.
It was so comfortable to be in Xena's arms once more. So very comfortable. Gabrielle leaned back into them, her muscles unknotting and her head finding its familiar nook in her shoulder.
Her Xena. Gabrielle marveled at the notion, still not fully believing it. Her Xena, with whom she'd shared her bed for over a year now, and not even realized it. She chuckled silently to the Fate's brand of humor.
Sleep had eluded her that night, as it had for many nights now, her dreams vague and disquieting. Their lovemaking upon returning from the restaurant had not been particularly gentle. Gabrielle found herself unable to gain satisfaction from tenderness now, and this worried her no end. Xena so far had made no complaint, despite the bruises and aches she found herself inflicting on that sturdy frame more and more often now.
She found her thoughts turning to Hope, hence her late night's vigil at the window. Xena had told her on the way home of what had happened after she'd been taken away (with a few comments concerning her dreamscape appearance, each delivered deadpan, and a few other comments concerning her willingness to surrender herself without a fight, which were not delivered deadpan but with the promise of utter mayhem should she even think of doing so ever again!) and of the fight in the cavern. Gabrielle herself could remember little, and even then only fleeting images that her mind quickly shied away from. That Hope had proven so deadly had been no surprise; that she had proven so in her defense...in both their defense...left Gabrielle wondering still more about her darkest and most enchanted daughter.
Had Hope truly forgiven her for her crimes? If so, why had she not come home with them? How could she forgive the one who had hurt her so, and yet not forgive herself?
The questions were too much. It was all too much. Xena's return, the Circle, Hope...it all left her dizzy and disorientated. Only Xena kept her from collapsing. Her hardened, gentle warrior princess. Gabrielle leaned upon her as she once had her staff, as Xena herself often had, knowing her warrior would not let her fall.
Whatever more questions she might imagine, whatever horrors might visit them in the nights to come...they were together once more.
This was enough for them. It always had been.
Hope stood once more in the woods beyond the house, the Life welcoming her. She could not stand to be closer to the house...or those precious two within.
Her sharp eyes picked out the two figures in the distant window. The night was a chill one, which perhaps explained why tears welled in her eyes at the sight. She wiped angrily at them, as one might an annoying insect or a stubborn stain on a favorite shirt.
In the end, she could not stop them falling. Nor did she truly try.
Tears were a poor apology to those long dead because of her. But, she knew, it was enough for now.
And when the tears stilled, Hope looked to her mother's house. They still stood there in the window, waiting, watching. For her, and her alone.
She would not keep them waiting long. Just a little while.
There was time enough for them all.
Nothing Ends…
(coming soon: Yuletide Rites)
Closing note: there is a tendency of readers to automatically assume that when a writer brings up the subject of abuse, particularly of a physical or sexual nature, that they are speaking from personal experience. Such is not the case with myself, though I've had my share of lumps. I nevertheless have striven to present the topic with the seriousness and care it deserves. I consider both rape and abuse the most vile of all crimes, deserving of the maximum penalty. I can only hope I have succeeded in this respect.