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Only the stars cut through the darkness, and only the sounds of Xena’s sword against her whetstone and Gabrielle’s quill against her scroll break the silence. Gabrielle’s eyes flicker to Xena every once in a while, stealing glances at the way her muscles tense as she runs the stone down the blade, admiring those strong arms’ commitment to protecting her, noting the twinges of remorse that rise within her when the fire illuminates a scar that Gabrielle knows Xena got protecting her. She’d write a love letter just to that tanned skin, those firm muscles, if she could. If she knew she could get away with it, more like. Xena already rolls her eyes any time she looks over Gabrielle’s shoulder and finds her adding a few extra adjectives to the scrolls that she claims are objective representations of their travels. If she caught Gabrielle writing romantic sonnets about her appearance, she’d never hear the end of it (or worse – never see that scroll again). Even her current scroll takes a few liberties she doesn’t dare to allow in her recounting of their battle, and she worries what Xena will say if she ever bothers to read it.
But this is meant to be their legacy. Not that of their adventures. Not of their achievements. Simply of the two of them, of two women who loved each other enough to die side by side, content in the knowledge that they would never have to miss one another. When their bodies are found (if their bodies are found, Gabrielle reminds herself, she doesn’t know what the Romans will do to the remains of someone they hated so deeply and prefers not to think about it lest she begin to fear this fate), their skeletons will have mingled so closely that it’ll be impossible to distinguish one’s bones from the other. The scroll may be all that’s left of them, kept safe underground between them, and those who find it will know who they are.
As long as she does them justice.
Gabrielle reads back over what she just wrote – a recounting of an encounter with some bandits they had a few weeks ago that wasn’t significant other than that Gabrielle wanted to immortalize the shine of Xena’s skin under a light sheen of sweat – and finds it lacking. Of course it is. No words can ever really do justice to the way she sees her warrior, though she’s dedicated her life to trying to find some that might (especially now that Xena’s threatening to run off to Rome, now that Ephiny’s gone, now that the fate Gabrielle was fool enough to think they could avoid knocks on their doorstep).
She scratches out a few lines. The story isn’t working. Better to move on. Better to start something else rather than try to put into words the greatest love she will ever know – the greatest anyone will ever know, though it may be conceited to think of it as such.
Gabrielle slides the scroll down on her legs, the abandoned pieces now dangling haphazardly off her lap, and adjusts the way she’s holding the pen like her grip alone is the thing keeping the words from flowing. Xena shoots a sidelong glance her way, and she meets it with a shy little smile. “Writers’ block,” she explains, hoping it’s enough of an answer to placate her inquisitive warrior.
It isn’t. Before she knows it, Xena’s settling down next to her, peering over her shoulder no matter how Gabrielle tries to shift and maneuver to block her view. Something about admitting this to Xena sends little waves of anxiety nagging at the part of her brain that still fears that if she were to tell Xena just how wonderful she is, the other woman would flee. Xena nudges her with her shoulder. “Come on. That’s not it.”
Gabrielle looks down at the scroll again. For a moment, she weighs the merits of crumpling the whole thing up and throwing it into the fire. It wouldn’t do anything. Knowing Xena, she’d stick her hand into the flame to try to recover it, and all she’d have to show for her efforts would be burnt skin and a pile of ash. “It’s nothing, really.”
“It’s bothering you. Means it’s got to be something.” Gabrielle has to admire her doggedness. When something bothers Gabrielle, Xena gnaws on it and pries until Gabrielle comes clean and admits just what plagues her. She’s long given up on trying to keep secrets from Xena; even if she wanted to, the other woman turns her transparent.
Gabrielle admits defeat. “I wasn’t lying. Not really. It is writer's block.”
“Haven’t been heroic enough for you lately? I’ll try to do better next time.” Xena injects an air of levity into her tone as she always does when she fears Gabrielle’s about to slip away from her.
“It’s not that.” She can’t even bring herself to look at Xena.
“Then what?”
She takes a deep breath. Sharing secrets with Xena is one thing. Inviting her into the world of her writing is another. Xena’s never taken much of an interest in Gabrielle’s scribblings. She often fails to see the point of escapism – why deal with history or a fantastical world when there are people who need their help in the here and now? – and, no matter how Gabrielle tries, she can’t get Xena to suspend her disbelief long enough to listen to a story without interrogating it.
But how can she capture every facet of the love she and Xena share without asking Xena how she sees her?
The quill hovers above the page now. Ink threatens to drip from the nib onto the unstained parchment. Xena catches it on her finger right before it dribbles off. She smears just enough of it on Gabrielle’s shoulder to cut through the quiet darkness threatening to encroach on their peace. “Come on. You’ll feel better once you talk about it. You always do.”
“Fine. But you have to promise not to laugh at me.” Gabrielle jabs her pointer finger into Xena’s chest.
Xena holds up her hands in surrender. “I would never.”
“Yes, you would. You’ve done it before.” A few memories spring to the forefront – most notably, the time that Gabrielle tried to recount Xena’s defense of her against the Persian army and apparently muddled countless details. She chalks it up to the poison. As it turns out, it’s very hard to provide an accurate account of something witnessed only in a fevered haze and marked by the belief that you weren’t going to make it out alive. Xena peeked at the first draft of the scroll and burst out laughing. She spent the rest of the night amending all the things that Gabrielle exaggerated or frankly misremembered (though she made sure to inform Gabrielle that, factual or not, it was a damn good story).
“You’re stalling.” Xena tugs at her hand, tethering her to reality once more.
“I want to tell our story.” Saying it in such plain terms is like taking her pulpy, beating heart out and placing it in Xena’s hands without regard for whether she’ll cherish it or crush it.
“Why?”
Gabrielle shrugs. Why tell any story? She never bothers to question what motivates her to write the things she did; when a tale comes to her, she has no choice but to write it down. The words take her captive. In those first few months, she spent every moment she could spare tucked away somewhere with a scroll, each day another story. She bought new parchment in nearly every town they visited. Several mornings, Xena had to rouse her from where she fell asleep sitting up, a quill still nestled between her fingers.
She’s more selective now, or at least, she tries to be. The longer they’ve spent together, the less time she’s had. Not only that, but as she’s seen more of the world, it’s gotten harder to romanticize. People hurt in ways that she never believed possible. Betrayal runs rampant. Men seek nothing but to harm one another. Those aren’t the sorts of heroes she wants to devote energy to.
Maybe her relationship with Xena isn’t always perfect. They fight, they tear each other to pieces, they disagree on things that, under any other circumstances, should’ve pushed them away from one another forever. She still refuses to think about the days leading up to their time in Illusia, the ways that they cut wounds that may never truly heal.
But their mosaic love is still the most beautiful thing she’s ever known.
It’s the kind of story that, when she was a child, she would’ve read until the ink faded to the point of illegibility. For that alone, she has to do everything in her power to tell it.
“I just do,” she says, though the three simple words fall short. “And anyway, it’s hard to write this when I only know half the story.”
Xena leans back a little, her arms coming up to rest behind her head. “Would’ve thought you knew me well enough to figure out just what I’m thinking.”
Gabrielle scowls at her. “Yeah, I do now. But when I first met you? You made it impossible to figure out what was going on in that head of yours.”
“You ever think maybe I did that on purpose?” Her eyebrows flash upward in that infernal little smirk Gabrielle knows so well.
“Oh, I know you did.” Gabrielle’s no stranger to Xena’s walls; she takes pride in being one of the few people able to make her way behind them. “It makes it very difficult to accurately write what you first thought of me.”
If at all possible, Xena’s mouth twists even further up into her smirk. “All the way back to first impressions, huh?”
“Stories have to start at the beginning.”
“You go first.” Gabrielle fights the urge to roll her eyes. Xena always pulls something like this when she’s asked to be vulnerable – something about it being hard for her, and that it’s better when she tries to follow Gabrielle’s example.
“Just because you asked so nicely,” she grumbles, tapping the tip of Xena’s nose with her pointer finger. Xena starts at the touch. She reaches up and seizes Gabrielle’s wrist. “Careful. I need that to write, you know.” Gabrielle’s eyes flick pointedly from Xena’s hold on her back to the scroll.
With a grumble, Xena releases her and folds her arms, waiting impatiently for Gabrielle to speak. “Go on, then,” she adds when Gabrielle takes a moment longer than she wants.
“Hold on. I’m thinking.” To tell the truth, Gabrielle doesn’t need to dive that far into the depths of her mind to remember just how she felt when she first met Xena. Every time she meets that steely, starry blue gaze, the very sight of her throws Gabrielle back in time, back into the body of a terrified young girl who looked at Xena and saw her first glimpse at a life she could build for herself, not one she was prescribed. I want so much to be like you, she had said, not realizing that what she meant was, I want so much to be with you. The context didn’t matter; she can’t lie to herself and say that she intended to fall for Xena from that first moment. It wasn’t part of the plan, not really. She just wanted someone to show her that there was more to the world than farming and a husband she couldn’t love and producing a child resigned to the same fate as her. Falling in love came later, in silent shared moments and in the glimmer of those beautiful eyes when Xena flashes the smile she saves just for her.
“You really have to think for that long?” Xena asks, snapping Gabrielle back to reality. “Would’ve thought it’d be easier to remember.”
Gabrielle rolls her eyes. “It’s hard to put into words.”
“You’re telling me.”
Gabrielle begins to speak before she’s even found the right words. “You were…potential.”
“Clearly.” She drops a quick kiss on Gabrielle’s cheek.
Gabrielle scowls. “Not like that. Not immediately, at least.” She hesitates for a moment before continuing, “Obviously, I thought you were beautiful. I mean, look at you.” Gabrielle takes a second to drink in the sight of Xena sitting in front of her, the twist of her mouth as she watches Gabrielle speak like there’s nowhere she’d rather be than sitting in front of her bard, listening to her spin a tale.
“You made that pretty clear early on.” Gabrielle flushes bright red at all the reminders of the times she blurted out compliments without thinking – a time that she was drugged comes to mind first (perhaps the worst offender of this early tendency of hers, and certainly the one that Xena’s the least willing to let her live down). Xena nudges her. “I never said I didn’t appreciate it.”
She continues like Xena never spoke. “But you lived the kind of life I thought was off-limits to me. Watching you…I envied your courage. Your strength. The way that you chose things for yourself rather than letting someone else tell you how to live your life.”
“You shouldn’t have wanted to be like me.” Her voice goes quiet, as it always does when she remembers all the people who wanted to emulate her when she was at her darkest.
“You were free, Xena. And look at you now. Imagine how stupid you’d have to be not to want to be like you. Strong, smart, beautiful, and above all else – you’re good, Xena. A hero, whether you admit it or not.” She tilts Xena’s chin so the other woman has no choice but to look at her. To her surprise, Xena doesn’t try to flinch away. “I’m lucky you bothered to take a chance on me.”
Xena snorts. “You act like you gave me a choice. I think I could’ve turned you away four more times and you would’ve found your way back to me anyway.”
Readying her quill, Gabrielle straightens. “Perfect transition. Your turn.”
“You told me that you wanted to be like me, when we first met. You want the truth, Gabrielle?”
“Always.” She braces herself. Though she puts on a brave face, there’s always a part of her that worries that, when she asks Xena to be honest with her, that honesty will come with the revelation that Xena doesn’t care for her nearly as deeply as she loves Xena.
“I wanted to be like you.” Xena reaches over and tangles her fingers in Gabrielle’s free hand, bringing them up to her lips and brushing a soft kiss against her knuckles. “I didn’t understand it yet, but looking back, there’s no other explanation.”
This catches her off guard. “Really?” Gabrielle never saw herself as a role model; not even the other children in the village bothered to look to her as any sort of guide.
Xena nods. She doesn’t release Gabrielle’s hand (which does make writing a bit hard, but Gabrielle will never complain about Xena wanting to touch her). “You fought for what was right without a second thought. There was no way for you to know I was there when you told those slavers just to take you. All that mattered was making sure the people you loved didn’t suffer. Selfless.”
“Stupid, if you ask my mother.” Gabrielle can’t keep the hint of resentment out of her voice as she reflects on the way her mother treats her now that she’s taken up with Xena, like this incredible woman is a phase she’ll grow out of someday.
“And then you invited me into your home.”
“You were hurt. It was the right thing to do.” She doesn’t look up from her scribbling.
“I could see your heart from the moment we met, Gabrielle.” Xena’s voice turns tender. Her hold on Gabrielle’s hand tightens, pulling her attention from the scroll. Gabrielle runs her thumb along Xena’s calloused skin, cataloguing every little mark that Xena surely can’t remember the origin of anymore. “You were so good without even trying. I hoped some of it would rub off on me if I let you come with me.”
“And you found me irresistible. I’m writing that in.” Her pen scratches against the scroll, making the most delightful sound she’s ever heard (or at least one of the top three. She can name a few noises she’s coaxed out of Xena that she certainly prefers).
“I never said that.”
“Doesn’t matter. I know it’s true.” She pops up again, studying Xena’s face for any signs that this experience has grown taxing rather than enjoyable. “Can I ask you something else, or would you rather go to bed?” She hopes beyond hope that Xena will be honest with her; she has a tendency, every once in a while, to push herself too far just to make Gabrielle happy. She calls herself selfish so often that Gabrielle worries she overcompensates in the name of pleasing her lover, unwilling to recognize that all Gabrielle wants is her. Even now, she weighs every possibility like she’s strategizing before going into battle. “It won’t hurt me if you want to rest. It’s been a long day.”
Xena shakes her head. “Ask me something else. You’ve got a story to write.”
She didn’t expect to get permission so easily. One question nags at the back of her mind – though she’s beginning to fear the answer. She shouldn’t worry, not really. Xena’s not as verbal as she is. Even getting the details of their afternoons apart out of her tends to be a chore. It took months to get her to admit that she even enjoyed Gabrielle’s presence, let alone that she loved her – but then again, once she said it that first time, it was like a floodgate bursting. She was open, vulnerable. Her feelings spilled out of her like water, deep enough that Gabrielle thought she might drown in all the love Xena harbored for her.
But since Gabrielle returned from hell, since Xena found out Gabrielle was destined to die with a confession on her lips, Xena hasn’t dared to say it at all. Like refusing to acknowledge it would make it less true. Like she could convince Gabrielle to stop loving her, to turn the feelings off as easily as turning off a faucet.
And though she knows it’s foolish, she wonders if it’s indicative of something far deeper.
She swallows her fear and asks anyway. No matter the answer, perhaps the clarity will give her peace. “When—when did you—” She stammers over her words. She’s supposed to be good at this; why she’s struggling with it now is beyond her.
“Fall in love with you?” Xena finishes. Gabrielle nods, struck once again by Xena’s ability to pierce her like an arrow. Xena shrugs. “Easy. I couldn’t help it.”
Gabrielle sets the quill down and sends a defanged glare Xena’s way. “That’s not helpful. As sweet as it is.”
“Oh.” Xena thinks for a moment, and Gabrielle’s heart rushes into her throat. Is this Xena’s way of telling her that she doesn’t love her anymore? She braces herself for the end, for this endless falling to finally stop and her back to shatter against the ground. “Then I don’t know.”
Gabrielle bites her lip to hold herself together. “I see.” She keeps her eyes downcast, looking everywhere but at Xena. She sets the scroll aside. “Maybe that’s enough for tonight. You’ve already helped me so much, and - ”
A finger under her chin guides her back to the woman in front of her. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything,” Gabrielle lies.
“You’re always thinking something.” Xena squints at her. Gabrielle’s muscles cry out for her to flee, but something anchors her in place. “Right now, you’re convincing yourself I don’t love you.” Gabrielle’s face betrays everything. She curses how easy she is to read. Xena’s eyes soften just enough for Gabrielle to realize how wrong she is, and for her to realize that she was a fool for ever daring to doubt Xena’s devotion. “Oh, sweetheart,” Xena whispers, pulling Gabrielle onto her and into a crushing hug.
“I’m okay, really, you just hadn’t said it in a while and I was worried - ” Gabrielle starts, but Xena shakes her head against her.
“Never think that.” She tightens her hold on Gabrielle. “I can’t tell you a specific moment because it didn’t happen all at once.”
“When did it start, then?” Gabrielle asks, her voice still soft and shy. She slides far enough back to press her forehead to Xena’s, relishing in the gentleness of the other woman’s breath against her skin, the tiny reminder that they’re both alive (though she won’t let herself consider how much longer that’ll be true).
“The first time I lost you.” Xena lets the information slip more readily than Gabrielle would’ve imagined. It shouldn’t surprise her as much as it does; Xena still doesn’t like to talk about that day, and Gabrielle knows she harbors guilt for the bruises she left all over her bard’s body as she fought to bring her back. They didn’t linger. Gabrielle doesn’t hold it against her. What’s a bit of pain if not a reminder that you’re still alive? What’s a bruise but a reminder that someone cares enough to fight for you?
Still, the revelation and Xena’s willingness to admit it catch Gabrielle off guard like a blow from an unseen enemy. “It was that early?”
Xena nods. “You scared me. I didn’t know anyone could do that.”
Gabrielle runs her hand down Xena’s arm, nails grazing her skin just enough to elicit a little sigh from the other woman. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know you didn’t.” Xena places a kiss on Gabrielle’s temple. “But I was so used to being untouchable. Fearing nothing. Then I lost you – and it hit me. I was terrified of a world you weren’t in.” She waits for another moment before adding, “And then knowing how much I cared about you just scared me more. So I stayed quiet and hoped it went away.” She offers Gabrielle a shy smile in lieu of an apology. “Besides, I never dreamed you’d reciprocate.”
Gabrielle can’t help but laugh, though she quells it when she catches sight of the wounded look in Xena’s eyes. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she says. “I thought you were smarter than that, Xena.”
“Than what?” There’s a challenge laced through the way Xena’s eyebrow arches, in how her lips twist into a playful little smirk. For as tough as she is, Xena adores nothing more than hearing reminders of Gabrielle’s adoration of her.
Gabrielle humors her anyway. “Than to think I could ever not want you.” She steals a kiss, the softness of it all surprising her. The electricity of her lips against Xena’s takes her back to another place, another time, another question she wants answered. As soon as she pulls away, she asks, “Then why did you kiss me? If you didn’t think I would ever want you?”
“You were lugging my body around the country. Not the kind of thing you do if you don’t love someone. Figured I’d take a chance.”
“Hey, I could’ve just been being a good friend.”
“And I heard you tell Iolaus you loved me.”
“Nosy. That was a private conversation, you know.” She smiles and adds, “I loved you long before that.”
Xena’s face drops. “You did?”
“I thought it was obvious, really. A part of me loved you from the moment I met you. I just didn’t think I had a chance. I wasn’t exactly your type.” Sometimes, Gabrielle lets herself drift back to those first few months with Xena, when the two of them found new potential lovers in every town they went to. Despite the attention she received from men on the road, Gabrielle would lay awake at night, watching the twitch of Xena’s hands in her sleep, wondering if she could still the warrior’s racing mind by giving her something to hold. She should’ve known something was amiss when she never dreamed of the men she met, not even Perdicas, even after she claimed she fell for him. They showered her in compliments, offered her kisses and comfort, and yet every time she let herself indulge in a fantasy, it was long raven hair and olive skin that brought her the most pleasure.
“And I thought you knew better than to ever think that about yourself.” There’s a somberness to Xena’s voice that gives Gabrielle pause, a vulnerability that she’s only heard a few times before (usually as she lingers between wakefulness and sleep, as for a while, Xena couldn’t bring herself to love Gabrielle out loud, fearing that to hold her heart was a death sentence). “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“We wasted so much time.” Gabrielle doesn’t allow herself anger. Not toward Xena, not right now, not when they don’t know how much longer they have together before their destinies catch up with them. There’s no point wasting their precious moments burning themselves alive with rage when they could set themselves ablaze with passion instead, spend their time in a love so deep future generations will quiver at the thought of it.
“I know.” Xena tugs Gabrielle closer, encouraging her to rest her head on her shoulder. Gabrielle always marvels at how she fits perfectly into the crook of Xena’s neck, how Xena’s side feels like the place she was always meant to be. “I’m just lucky I found you.” The way they’re sitting, Xena’s words reverberate through Gabrielle, echoing and echoing until they’re all she remembers.
“Lucky you didn’t scare me off.” Gabrielle tilts her head just enough to press a lingering kiss on Xena’s neck. She’s not seeking anything but tenderness, the kiss nothing but an overflowing of feelings that she thinks would kill her to keep inside. A soft sigh of pleasure blooms beneath her touch. Xena’s palm splays flat against her back, pressing just enough to let Gabrielle know that she should stay right where she is. “I love you, Xena,” she murmurs without moving, the words lost in the column of Xena’s neck.
“I love you, too.” They stay like that for a moment before Xena says, “Weren’t you supposed to be writing all this down?”
Gabrielle shrugs, not moving from her place. “I spend so much time writing about us. Rereading anything I’ve ever written, it’s clear just how we feel about each other. I’ve been putting it in since the moment we met, whether I meant to or not. And maybe some things should just be ours.”
“You just wanted to get information out of me. Minx.” Xena swats at Gabrielle, though there’s no malice behind the gesture. Gabrielle rewards her with another kiss, this time to the exposed skin of her shoulder, right on one of the little scars there.
“Maybe I did. You’re the one who gave it all up. Should’ve thought about that before you started talking.” She gets to her feet, a little whimper escaping Xena as soon as she’s deprived of the warmth of Gabrielle against her. Gabrielle shoots her a look. “Pitiful. The great conqueror brought to her knees by her lover’s momentary absence. I’ll write that down in my next one, if you aren’t careful.”
“Anyone who reads your scrolls will know you’re my one weakness, anyway. You don’t have to spell it out for them.”
Gabrielle grabs the scroll on which she started spinning the tale of her and Xena. Steeling her nerve with a whispered apology, she tears it down the middle, then casts the pieces of it into the fire. Xena watches her with wide eyes. “It may as well keep us warm, if it’s not going to make it to an audience.” The fragments of papyrus curl up in the heat before fading into ashes, little snatches of words visible for split seconds before the flame consumes them.
“Oh, I don’t think we’ll need any help keeping warm.” Xena reaches up and grabs Gabrielle’s waist, tugging her closer. Something hungry glimmers in her eyes, making Gabrielle’s heart race against her ribcage. Her hands grip Gabrielle like, if she doesn’t hold her, something’s going to pull her away (as if something could ever rip her from Xena’s side). “You’ve been so good with your words today. Why don’t I show you what all my mouth’s good for?” She pushes Gabrielle’s skirt up, nipping at the soft skin on the inside of her thigh and drawing a hiss out of Gabrielle, then soothing the pain with her tongue.
With Xena’s mouth trailing upward and her hands pulling her ever closer, Gabrielle decides there truly are some things that are better left for just the two of them to remember.