Chapter Text
You've got to take me with you, she'd said to Xena, once. Teach me everything you know.
Gabrielle dabbed blood from a soldier's face with a wet cloth. There was little more she could do for him now, except hope. He was resting. They were all resting, for now; she'd done what she could. She'd given them water, she'd given them food, ignoring both Xena's orders and the heaviness of guilt in her gut. They needed sustenance just as much as the men on the wall, preparing to fight. Just because they couldn't wield a sword did not mean they'd suddenly lost their worth altogether. At least not to Gabrielle.
I'm going to be a warrior like her, she’d said to Lila, just before she left. Now all that was in doubt; the warrior she’d seen today was not a warrior she wanted to be.
The water in the bowl was dirty. Gabrielle wrung out the cloth, squeezing it tighter and tighter, almost enough to snap the wiry fabric in two. Angry red welts sprang up on her hands, but she paid them no mind.
Fear was a flame in her chest, quickly gaining strength. It flickered and burned where it touched; it left her little room to sit in comfort. Not that there was much comfort to be had in this room of ailing and sickness, nor yet in the fortress that was quickly threatening to become a mass tomb. In some part, Gabrielle thought she understood Xena. She understood that the situation was dire; she understood that death stood on the doorstep, impossibly close. Xena was a warrior. This was what warriors did, surely — they danced with death and did what they had to do. They were strong and just, and harsh when necessary.
Gabrielle understood that Xena was doing what she could to survive, and still, she could not help that she was afraid. Her harshness now felt more like cruelty, and for the life of her, Gabrielle could not understand why.
Someone called out to her, pleading for water. She went; she saw to the man's needs, holding his hand until he rested.
It was easier when she had something to do. When her hands were occupied and her mind was worrying about the health of someone laid out before her, she had no room to think of the fear burning in her heart. Tying bandages meant she wasn't thinking about the fact that Xena had scared her. Fetching water meant that she wasn't thinking about the coldness that had settled in Xena's voice; soothing an ailing soldier meant that she wasn't replaying the words 'my troops' in her mind, over and over.
My troops.
Chills ran down Gabrielle's spine. Or perhaps it was cold sweat.
Gabrielle caught her lip between her teeth and sat down on a stool, resting her chin on her hand. She could not settle; she felt as though she couldn't properly breathe.
Everything had been going so well. Slowly, yes, but it had been going well. Xena had seemed more open with each passing day; there'd been touches, glances, lingering looks more in just the past week. Even that morning had been so fine. Casual, easy; laughter and fun.
Until they'd found the body, of course. And then it'd just been downhill to a place Gabrielle desperately wanted to get out of. Not just the fortress, not just the danger they were in; more than anything Gabrielle wished they could get away before Xena got worse. It was bad enough that she was slipping into old habits — it was worse that Xena seemed aware, and unwilling to care.
"No, she doesn't know," Gabrielle muttered, picking at her shoelaces. "It's bloodlust. The songs speak of it. She's blind. I just need to…"
But even as she spoke the words, she felt they were weak. She had no answer to what she needed to do, because she did not know.
The fear did not leave her. By the time the conflict was over and danger had passed, the fear had grown roots in Gabrielle's heart. It had settled within; it flickered whenever she looked at Xena, no matter how hard she tried to focus on other things. Truly, she did try. Xena had apologized. She'd seen the truth, she'd understood that she'd been wrong; she'd understood that Gabrielle was right. She'd even said as much.
Yet still Gabrielle found she could no longer trust her, not entirely.
My troops.
Just two words, and something tender, something fragile had broken. Perhaps broken irreparably; the thought of it made Gabrielle's heart ache.
It wasn't that she was afraid of Xena. It wasn't that. She was afraid for Xena, as though there were two versions of her, each battling for dominance. On this day, the villain had been winning. Though the hero sat in Xena's posture and behavior now, Gabrielle couldn't help but think that, in some way, the villain had won.
"Gabrielle?"
Xena's hand was warmth on her shoulder. Gabrielle jumped, not having heard Xena approaching; a concerned furrow settled into Xena's brow.
"Are you alright?" she asked, leaning closer. With her so close Gabrielle could just about recall every moment that she'd been closer still — tentative kisses left undiscussed, hugs that had stretched over into lingering embraces. Hands reaching, fingertips brushing.
Gabrielle swallowed, and forced the urge to kiss Xena out of her mind. She couldn't want that, not now. "I'm fine, Xena—"
She tried to move past Xena. She really did. But Xena's hand was still on her shoulder, and with the other she turned Gabrielle's face back to her, so that she could look at her properly.
"You're upset," Xena said, quietly. It wasn't a question. Nor was it a demand; it was a statement, the words shrouded in guilt.
One half of Gabrielle wanted to be nowhere near Xena. The other wanted nothing more than to sink into her arms. She wanted to fall and she wanted for it to be Xena who caught her; this she wanted more than anything, this she had wanted more than anything for weeks. Months, even.
This is war, Gabrielle. What did you expect?
This Xena, now, before her, was the Xena she knew. The kind Xena, the honorable, heroic Xena; this was the Xena who she wanted to fall for.
Who she had fallen for.
Yet even as Gabrielle looked at Xena, she saw flickers of the other. Fragments of the villain; echoes of cold words, shadows of cruelty. Were they footprints in the sand, or had they already been etched into memory and habit alike?
"I'm just tired," she muttered, nudging Xena's hand away. Her fingertips burned where they had touched Xena; when she pushed past her, she felt Xena's shoulder leave an impression on her own, however brief the contact had been.
Gabrielle settled down on the bedroll by the fire. It was a warm night, but still she felt cold; shivering, she pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and wrapped herself in it. She watched the flickering fire through her lashes and felt weariness crawl over her mind, nudging her closer to falling asleep.
It wasn't as though she meant to pay attention. She listened without intending to, and heard Xena's footsteps approach; heard her undo the clasps of her armor and set it aside; heard her settle down on the bedroll that lay beside hers. Then it was silent, but the silence was heavy, wanting; Gabrielle could imagine what Xena might want to say, and could almost hear the words said, the thoughts dancing up in the air between them. Everything felt thick, the air, the silence, her tongue, her thoughts.
Gabrielle thought she heard a slight noise. She thought she felt a ghosting touch on her back, a faint warmth; she heard Xena clear her throat, and the warmth retreated.
"I'm sorry, Gabrielle," Xena whispered, swallowing. "I lost my way today."
She didn't need to ask if Gabrielle was awake. Gabrielle knew Xena could tell; she'd made no attempt to hide that she wasn't asleep.
"It's okay," she muttered, adjusting the blanket despite it laying on her just fine. She swallowed her fear and turned a little, so that she could meet Xena's gaze. Her eyes were dark in the night's shadow; in the low light, all her features were reduced to a shaded silhouette. Gabrielle felt herself lingering and could not help herself, for the sight of Xena, in that moment, invited a deep, comforting warmth in her chest. She felt it, and then again she ached.
"Try not to lose your way any more, yeah?" she asked, her voice thick. "It happens, but it…"
The thought of moving to lay in Xena's arms danced over Gabrielle's thoughts and drew them into stillness. She forgot what she was saying; she forgot her point altogether. She shook her head and gave a smile before settling back to lay as she had been. The blanket had slipped, and suddenly Gabrielle felt Xena's hand, reaching to pull it back up over her shoulder. Even though Xena did not touch her directly, the gesture was enough to cast ripples into the stillness that Gabrielle's mind had fallen into. Ripples, and waves — again, she ached.
"I'll try, Gabrielle."
In the days following their confrontation with the Horde, Xena gave Gabrielle her space. This was much to her credit, and Gabrielle should have been grateful for it; her mind was truly unsettled, and though instinct drew her to warmth and kindness with Xena almost at once, there was still that hesitation, never too far in the background. She should have been glad that Xena gave her space and followed her lead, eyeing her in that one specific way that she did, with the silence that spoke more than it withheld.
And yet, against all reason, Gabrielle hated it.
She hated that Xena was treading carefully, because it reminded her that something was wrong. She hated that there was now this distance, this chasm; she hated that she had not the words to speak of it. Or, perhaps she had the words, but not the courage to speak them. Her faith in Xena's care for her had taken a severe blow, and with it, her trust in that fragile something that had been growing between them had crumbled to nothing. Perhaps it wasn't as immense as she felt. Perhaps Xena was curious, but not particularly pressed. Perhaps she wanted Xena more than Xena wanted her.
Thinking threatened to drive Gabrielle crazy, and she did all she could to avoid it. Fate saw this, and laughed; the days that followed were dull, with nothing to mark them. There was only the everyday walking and space for talking, of which there was little. There were no missions, no troubles — there was, it seemed, an abundance of space for thinking, and only thinking. Always thinking, and worrying.
When a couple of bandits attacked them one evening, Gabrielle found herself wholly distracted in the fight. She watched Xena more than she watched herself; she almost got sliced because of it. Xena's dagger finished that bandit off, and the similarity of the dagger to the axe in the back was so stark that Gabrielle was left speechless in the midst of battle. Of their six attackers, two were left dead in the end. Gabrielle thought she saw hesitation when Xena went to lay out the dead; she thought she saw that flicker again, somewhere in the depths of her eyes.
Yet when the warrior crossed the distance of the clearing and swept Gabrielle up into a tight embrace, one hand on the back of Gabrielle's head pressing her face into her shoulder, all thought slipped away.
"What's gotten into you?" Xena demanded, pulling away but not letting go. "I almost lost you, just now. Are you alright?"
She was holding Gabrielle's face and Gabrielle thought she might collapse entirely. Of all things, she didn't expect that she might cry; Xena, too, seemed wholly surprised when a few tears slipped down Gabrielle's cheeks. She pulled her in again and held her. Gabrielle wrapped her arms around Xena's waist, the feeling of it such completion that a sob broke through her facade; her composure cascaded into nothing.
"Were you scared?" Xena was asking, her hand gently smoothing Gabrielle's hair. "Is that what this is?"
Gabrielle had no answer. She didn't know what the tears were for, not really; all she knew was that she felt horrible, and that being in Xena's arms was the feeling of completion. It was safety, it was home — it was a warmth she'd not even known she could need.
A while and more passed. Gabrielle knew little of time; she clung to Xena and her gentleness and wished it'd never slip away.
"Gabrielle, sweetheart."
Gabrielle managed some noise of acknowledgement. She felt she must look awful; her face, she was sure, was all red and puffy.
"It looks like rain. We should—"
"Yeah, I'm…" Gabrielle sniffled and wiped at her nose, stepping out of Xena's embrace. "I'm good now," she managed to say. She flashed a weak smile. "Thank you."
The concerned furrow in Xena's brow did not ease. "You're worrying me."
"I was just scared," Gabrielle lied. "Or shocked. By the…he could have killed me."
Xena flexed her hand at her side. There was a tightness in her jaw; a vein in her neck was visible as though she'd suddenly gone all tense. "I know."
"Thank you."
"Any time," sighed the warrior. A faint, careful smile danced to her lips; the glimmer of light in her eyes caught Gabrielle's breath in her throat.
"Was it only that? Shock?" Xena asked, seeking reassurance. There was an opening there, room for more; it was carefully laid out, and though Gabrielle saw it, she did not want to take it.
"Just shock," Gabrielle affirmed. She felt too raw and vulnerable to be having any deeper conversation now. She was too afraid of the conversation altogether; they'd already discussed it once, back at the fortress, and the result of that discussion had been wounds, still bleeding in her heart.
"Come on," Xena said, taking Gabrielle's arm firmly. "Let's go find somewhere to shelter before the storm hits."
"Gabrielle."
A hand was on her shoulder, shaking gently. Gabrielle phased from sleep to waking, only to immediately begin to drift back. Everything was swaying. She slipped back into sleep.
"Gabrielle—!"
Gabrielle awoke to find Xena's face mere inches from her own. The ship was swaying, as was the hammock she lay in; Xena's one hand was on the edge of it, keeping it still so that she wouldn't hit her where she knelt.
"What?" Gabrielle mumbled. Her mouth felt dry; her lips were cracked from the salty air.
"You were having a nightmare," Xena said quietly. There were others in the other hammocks, also asleep; it seemed that only she and Gabrielle were awake. Nausea swirled in Gabrielle's gut, and she feared she was going green. Xena noticed, as she always did; her fingertips were gentle as they pressed the point on Gabrielle's wrist that eased the nausea away.
Warmth remained where Xena's touch had lingered.
"Was I…" Gabrielle swallowed. Her eyes searched the cabin; as if guessing her intention, Xena reached for a waterskin and offered it to her. A drink of water eased the dryness of her mouth, but not the chill in her mind. "Was I loud?"
"No," Xena assured her, her smile soft. Even in the low light it was radiant, Gabrielle thought. "No, I don't think anyone else noticed."
"But you did."
Xena shrugged and took back the waterskin, taking a sip of her own. Gabrielle wondered if Xena was prolonging the moment of silence before she had to answer.
"So what?" she finally said, shrugging again. "I pay attention to you."
The words seemed defensive. On a whim, Gabrielle reached out and laid her hand on Xena's arm. Blue eyes flickered between her hand and her face; they spoke the question well before Xena actually said it.
"How are you feeling?" Xena asked, laying her own hand atop Gabrielle's. It was warmth and a whisper of safety; Xena's hand against her own was like a tether, tying them both together.
Gabrielle wanted to feel Xena's fingers entwined with her own. Gods, she'd never felt such desire for something as simple as holding someone's hands, and yet now she ached at the thought. She ached because the thought came with many others; she ached because holding hands was a promise of more.
She was tired. Worry and sea-sickness and general exhaustion had gotten the better of her. Perhaps that was why her inhibitions were so low, and why she reached out to brush her fingertips along Xena's cheek. Fear prevented her from seeking more, but it did not halt the words that fell from her lips, easy as breathing.
"I need you, Xena. You are my friend. You know that, right?"
She shut her eyes, and so she did not see the pain that passed over Xena's face when she withdrew her hand. She did not see the shaky sigh, though she heard it; she did not see Xena reach over, though she did feel her hand when it grasped her own, clasping it tightly. For a moment Gabrielle wondered if her wish had been heard — a moment only, for the very next the touch was gone again.
"I'm not going anywhere," Xena assured her, settling to sit beside Gabrielle's hammock, her back against a crate. "I'm here."
The ship swayed in the ocean's embrace. The hammock swayed back and forth, gently; Gabrielle stared into the darkness and wished she had more courage. More than anything she wished she had the ability to unwind the knot in her stomach and the tangled thoughts in her mind. Xena was doing good, now. She was stupidly committed to ensuring that Cecrops's curse was lifted. By Hades, she'd refused Poseidon's offer to let them both go free. Here she was, championing for love and for goodness, and Gabrielle still couldn't shake the memories of that coldness in her eye. What good was she as a friend or anything more, if she couldn't bear the fact that Xena was a woman of many facets? It wasn't as though Xena's past was anything of a secret. If anything, she confronted it daily, and always in the end she chose the right path. That was what Gabrielle had to trust in, surely.
My troops.
Gabrielle grimaced, the words climbing up from the depths of her memory to haunt her again. She knew now why they hurt so much; she understood the wound they'd cut. Xena had spoken of her troops and had left her out of those thoughts entirely. When she'd referred to her own troops, she'd spoken as one from her past, as one who'd never known Gabrielle. She'd spoken as one who didn't need Gabrielle; she'd spoken as one who, perhaps, had no want for her, either.
In that moment, Gabrielle had felt like a nuisance. She'd felt like she was in the way.
Suddenly the cabin felt small, too small to bear. Gabrielle scrambled up and out of the hammock, out of the cabin, paying no heed to the fact that she woke a handful of sailors in passing. Gabrielle didn't want to care if Xena followed, but of course she did. Gabrielle also knew Xena would follow. She was sure of it somewhere in the depths of her heart; the forefront of her mind tried to convince her that Xena wouldn't, but in her heart, she knew she would.
The night sky overhead was vast, the ocean ahead endless. Gabrielle leaned on the railing and tried to steady her breathing, the salt of the air a balm to her aching lungs; she shut her eyes and just tried to be calm. In, and out, she told herself. In, and out—
Xena's hand was between her shoulderblades, rubbing firmly. Warmth bloomed under the skin where she touched; warmth bloomed in Gabrielle's heart when she knew Xena was there with her. Yet somehow the result of that warmth was a tightening in her chest and a slight whimper that she couldn't stifle; she felt the hand stiffen, and then withdraw.
"Nausea?" Xena asked, her doubt evident in the cadence of the word.
Gabrielle should have nodded. It was an easy enough explanation. But it would have been a lie, and in that moment, Gabrielle had no desire for lying.
She was afraid, still. Surely Xena didn't want her the way she wanted her; surely Xena did not ache after her with bated breath, as she did. She was interested, but perhaps not enough. Not enough to reach, or to pursue.
"I am your friend, right?" Gabrielle asked. Xena was leaning on the railing at her side, and she turned to look at her, pleading for the right response.
"Of course," came the answer, easily, effortlessly. "Why, Gabrielle? What's wrong?"
"Do you…" Gabrielle paused, briefly, to gather courage. "Do you still need me around?"
She didn't dare look in Xena's direction, and so looked away, her gaze trailing out to sea. She thought she heard the warrior moving, turning to face her; she thought she felt her hand come to rest on the railing, just inches from her own arm.
"Of course I do, Gabrielle," Xena said, the words so firm they left no room for doubt. "Gabrielle, have I— have I done something to make you doubt that?"
Now Gabrielle looked, because there was such a deep plea and hurt in Xena's voice that she couldn't help herself. She looked, and instantly lost herself; she looked, and fell all over again.
"It's just a thought that comes to my mind, sometimes," she said quietly. "Since you don't actually need me—"
"I do. Never doubt that, please," Xena said firmly. "Please," she repeated, her hand on Gabrielle's arm, her eyes searching Gabrielle's own. "Gabrielle, you're my best friend. I couldn't do half the things I've done without you there. I…when I waver, you're there to remind me where I'm supposed to go. Can't you see that?"
There it was again. Best friend. Gabrielle pushed past the sting of those words and instead tried to allow the warm reassurance of the rest to envelop her. She smiled, shyly; she gave Xena's hand a light squeeze.
"I do," she assured Xena. "This'll pass, Xena. It's just some thoughts. Some worries."
"I wish you didn't worry," Xena muttered. She leaned back against the railing and stared out into the nonexistent horizon, the invisible line between sea and sky. The wind caught her hair, tossing it, and Gabrielle caught her tongue between her teeth to stop the rush from her heart.
There wasn't much to say. She turned and stared at the same nonexistent horizon, into the same distance, and lost herself to thought.
Anger.
That was what Gabrielle felt. Anger, and frustration, wrapped tightly in a shroud of annoyance. It was the kind of anger that nailed her where she stood; her brow almost ached from the depth of its furrow.
A man lay at Gabrielle's feet. He was dead. The fact that he was dead wasn't what made her so angry. Nor was it the fact that Xena had killed him. He'd been inches from slicing her throat; in that, at least, Gabrielle had to accept that there'd been little else to do.
No, she was angry because Xena had tortured his friend. She had watched, frozen in place, as Xena put the damned pinch on the other man; she'd watched as he struggled to breathe, refusing to answer. Xena had released him, briefly, only to push him back again.
She'd pleaded with her, then. Having to beg had made her feel weak; from that feeling had arisen the anger that now sat solidly in her heart.
"Xena."
The warrior waved her off. "Not now, Gabrielle. We have to go get the rest of this band."
"The rest?" Gabrielle demanded. She'd not yet moved from where she stood. Blood was beginning to pool on the ground near her feet; a few moments more, and her shoes would be stained.
"Yes, the rest of them," Xena snapped. "What part of that is confusing to you?"
She was still running high on the rush of the fight. That was what it was, surely; it couldn't have been anything else.
"Why, Xena? Can't we just go? We don't even know if there are more. They're not threatening a village, they're not actively doing any harm—"
"They attacked you, didn't they?"
Gabrielle couldn't tell if Xena was angry, annoyed, or both. She couldn't tell if Xena was angry at her, or the bandits, but whatever the truth, she did not like the thought of Xena running off to do anything in this state. She wasn't thinking clearly, again. It wasn't her usual way to chase down bandits until every last one of them was dead.
"I'm not going anywhere with you like this again," Gabrielle muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
"You said something," Xena said, frowning. "What is it?"
Xena fetched her dagger from a nearby tree; Gabrielle noticed that her chakram had gotten bloody, though she'd not seen it flying at any point during the fight.
"I just don't see why we need to chase them down," Gabrielle argued. "They're not a threat now. They attacked us, sure. That's…fine, it was defense," she hesitated, glancing at the dead man at her feet. "But if we chase them down, we'd be the ones attacking them, Xena. Is that right?"
Xena stared at her from across the clearing. She definitely looked annoyed. Gabrielle rubbed at her forehead; she was starting to get a headache.
"Gabrielle, your shoes are going to get bloody."
Somehow Xena had come up right beside her without Gabrielle noticing. She felt a light touch of Xena's hand on the small of her back; she allowed Xena to guide her further away. It was as if something had changed, the scene shifting in the blink of an eye — her Xena was here again, gentle, a worried scrunch in her eyebrow, her hand still lingering on her back. Perhaps the annoyance hadn't been annoyance at all; perhaps it had only been the same concern that Gabrielle saw now, clear as day, in Xena's eyes and the set of her mouth.
"Alright," Xena said. "Alright, we'll do what you want. Do you want to stay here?"
Gabrielle shook her head. "Can't we lay him out somewhere and go?"
Xena looked over at the dead man. "His friends will come for him, I think, once we're gone. There’s a few in the bushes there."
She whistled for Argo. Gabrielle reached for Xena, her hand touching on her waist; Xena looked down at her with a question on her lips, but said nothing.
"Are you okay?" Gabrielle asked. A confused furrow settled in Xena's brow; the question she held shifted from one to another.
"Why do you ask?"
"You weren't yourself, just now." Again.
Xena's jaw clenched, and Gabrielle wondered if she'd just bit her tongue.
"I just did what I needed to," muttered the warrior, gently moving Gabrielle's hand away from where it rested on her waist. Argo had come up to them, and Xena swung herself up into the saddle; she extended a hand out to Gabrielle.
Gabrielle hesitated, briefly. She felt the sting of rejection in Xena's words, despite them not speaking of any; it was the wall they'd put up that had rejected her, and it was the wall that hurt her, now.
"Aren't you coming up?"
Xena's voice tilted slightly. The facade broke; the wall showed cracks, and from within Gabrielle thought she heard the clear ring of need, the tone of a plea. Anger might have sat with her still, but there was no way Gabrielle would have said no. She took up Xena's hand and let her pull her up. Always she went with such ease, feeling as though she weighed nothing at all; always she settled down so gently, Xena's hand holding her firm until she was safely in place.
Gabrielle wrapped her arms around Xena's waist and allowed herself to smile, knowing Xena wouldn't be able to see.
"Where to?" Xena asked, reaching back to adjust Gabrielle a little, pulling her closer against herself. The gesture drained all thought from Gabrielle and cast heat under her skin; she cleared her throat, but found no ease from doing so.
"Somewhere," she answered. "Wherever we were going, before."
They'd been riding for some hours and the day was stretching long. There wasn't much of anywhere to go, and Xena didn't seem eager to make camp where they were; it was back-country, and Gabrielle figured Xena thought it too dangerous to risk a night.
"There's a sheltered cove a few hours away," Xena told her when they stopped for a break. She was stretching, making beautiful moans and groans that threatened to turn Gabrielle's whole face pink. It wasn't fair that her shoulders looked that good, or that her arms were so firm. It wasn't fair that her thighs drained all thought from Gabrielle's mind; it wasn't fair that the sound of Xena's voice shifting from a sigh into a satisfied moan was enough to make her go weak.
"You look tired," Xena observed, a slight tilt to her brow.
Gabrielle was about to argue, but her words were swallowed by a yawn. Xena was right as usual; she was tired. She'd not slept well since they crossed paths with Eros; there were a few too many unsavory memories that had grown roots in her dreams, leaving her distressed when she slept, and tired when she didn't. Memories of Xena kissing Draco; memories of Xena openly lusting after him; memories of the moments after the haze had cleared, when Xena had pulled her aside. Nobody had seen them, then. Nobody had seen the way Xena had cupped her face, and held her gaze; no one but Gabrielle had heard the apology she’d spoken, then.
She’d not explained it any further, either. Xena had only said the words of an apology and slipped away; Gabrielle had been left wondering, confused, with a heat burning within her with nowhere to release it.
"Ride in front of me for the rest of the way," Xena said firmly, guiding Gabrielle back towards Argo. "You can sleep, and I won't need to worry about you falling off."
"I'll be fine," Gabrielle yawned. She didn't argue, however; she would have been a fool to do so. Xena's hands were on her waist, firm as they lifted her up into the saddle. In the next second Xena settled in behind her, an arm sliding around her waist, her warmth enveloping Gabrielle entirely. Xena sighed as if from relief as she did so; Gabrielle echoed that sigh, her exhale softly easing her further into Xena's embrace.
Gabrielle just about fainted when Xena laid her chin on her shoulder. Then she spoke, and her voice was so close to Gabrielle's ear that she squirmed; shivering heat ran over Gabrielle's mind then, a kind of pleasure she hadn't yet known, ever.
“You can relax,” Xena told her. “There's still a few hours of riding ahead of us.”
Gabrielle's breath quickened, and suddenly she found herself desperately hoping that Xena had other things to notice than the sudden rise in tension that her voice had caused. Her fingers fiddled with Xena's vambraces, feeling the edge where it lightly pressed into the skin of her arm.
"Are you still angry with me?" Xena asked. She moved her head a little, and Gabrielle turned hers to meet her gaze. Their faces were so close. Too close for comfort; Gabrielle could see the depths of Xena's eyes, and felt her breaths on her lips. If she only moved an inch or two, their lips would touch.
"No," Gabrielle said, quickly turning her face away. It wasn’t entirely a lie. She was too tired to be angry, now.
"But you were angry, weren't you?"
Xena's arm squeezed a little tighter around Gabrielle's waist. In that moment, all Gabrielle wanted was to give in and to be caught; she wanted to lean back into Xena's embrace, to rest her head on Xena's shoulder, and for Xena's lips to be on her neck, her hand in Xena’s hair—
"Gabrielle?"
"Hmm?"
"You were angry earlier, weren't you?"
"Yeah, a little," Gabrielle answered. She moved to trace her fingers on the stitches of the saddle, her hands unwilling to settle; she was desperate to fight the relaxing waves of desire that were flooding her entire being. Her mind was begging to wander, and she was determined to not allow it. It was bad enough feeling Xena's thighs against her own, Xena's front against her back. and her arm around her waist, firm...
"Why?"
"I just didn't like the way you tortured that man," Gabrielle said quietly. "You didn't need to."
Xena's breath was heat on Gabrielle's shoulder. She moved again, and Gabrielle thought she felt Xena's lips brush against her skin; she bit her tongue to silence the sigh that wanted to push through.
"I needed to know if there were many more of them over the next rise," Xena explained. She paused, as if hesitating, before she added: "Maybe you're right. I didn't need to torture him."
Gabrielle nodded. "I'm glad you see that," she said after seeking the words for a while. She had nothing more to say, and as Xena remained quiet also, she soon found herself dozing off. Xena had sat up again, her chin gone from Gabrielle's shoulder; when Gabrielle's head began to droop, Xena moved her a little, guiding her head to lay back against her, her other hand holding her head up. Xena could guide Argo without the reins, Gabrielle knew. It was comfort, being in Xena's arms like this; she felt entirely secure, and knew she wouldn't fall.
Xena felt it when Gabrielle finally fell asleep. She went a little slack, so that Xena had to tighten the hold she had around her waist, whilst her head settled against Xena's shoulder. One of Gabrielle’s hands fell to the side, landing so that it rested atop Xena's thigh.
Nerves danced under Xena's skin where Gabrielle's hand lay, fingertips just on the edge of skin along the hem of her skirt.
Weariness was creeping quietly on Xena's mind. For now she was well able to nudge it away, and knew she had time still before she had to stop and rest. It was at least an hour before they would get to where she wanted to camp. An hour of riding meant an hour of holding Gabrielle. An hour of Gabrielle almost as close as Xena wanted her; an hour of feeling Gabrielle’s waist under her arm, of her soft breaths against her skin. It was closeness and it was bliss, but it was not quite enough — even now there was a faint ache in Xena's heart, a craving for more.
But she couldn't have more. Not now, not when she knew that in waking Gabrielle wouldn't have been in her arms like this; not when she knew that once awake, that wall would settle between them again, keeping a distance between them. It was a wall of Gabrielle's making, and Xena respected it, though she could not for the life of her understand the true reason why. She had her guesses and her thoughts, but for the most part she avoided the subject altogether. It was easier to try and ignore the ache, and to try and forget the pain. She kept telling herself that she needed only to be patient – that things would settle, eventually, if only she gave them time.
Gabrielle shifted a little in Xena's arms. She turned her head, so that her face was now more in Xena's neck; Xena thought she could feel the ghost of a smile against her skin. Her need and ache crested a wave in her heart and flooded it, and suddenly it was all too much. She felt as though she were choking, and held Gabrielle a little tighter still.
"I'm sorry for today," Xena whispered, knowing full well Gabrielle wouldn't hear. She kissed the top of Gabrielle's head and rested her cheek there, feeling her heart ache even more. It would have been so easy to move her hand down to Gabrielle's jaw, to tilt her face upward, to guide her so that she could kiss her as she truly wanted to; it would have been so easy. Yet she could not; she would not.
"I'll do better," Xena added, her words trailing into the night sky, wound with promise. "I swear."
She stared at the road ahead and fell into thought. She did not notice the slight twitch of Gabrielle's hand on her thigh, or the rapid rise in her breaths that lasted only a moment. Had she noticed, she might have guessed that the bard had been awake, if only briefly.
When an hour later they arrived at the cove, she woke Gabrielle and helped her down off Argo. Little was said then, for by then they were both weary — yet when Xena settled down to sleep, she found Gabrielle settling down with her, her head on Xena’s shoulder, her arm over Xena’s waist.
"I'm cold," Gabrielle muttered, as if that answered all. She yawned; a little whimper escaped her lips at its end. It wasn't the first time they'd shared a bedroll. By the gods, it was not the first in the slightest; they'd settled into a routine of doing it almost nightly, right up until their meeting with the Horde. Since then, Gabrielle had slept on her own, and Xena had spent every night quietly hoping, but daring not to cross the invisible boundary that seemed to lay on the ground between their two beds.
She'd lost something of Gabrielle, that day with the Horde. Something had broken; the Gabrielle she'd known since had been unpredictable, almost irrational at times. The Gabrielle she'd been with since had not been the Gabrielle she'd known.
This Gabrielle, now, in her arms — this was her Gabrielle. Xena sighed and adjusted the blanket so that it covered them fully; she pulled Gabrielle closer, cradling her head with her hand, and wished with all her heart that this Gabrielle, her Gabrielle, would not slip away again. That she would stay; that whatever had been broken, would begin to mend.