#and all their friends are just sitting around relieved and xena and gabrielle are on the altar thing with the light on them

[andsotheuniverseended]

i feel like i just ran a marathon

[girl4music]

My favourite WayHaught scene? The sacrifice scene.

I’m just so much more into emotional content between WLW couples than sexual content. I just really feel the depth of love and devotion in scenes where one has to or decides to sacrifice themselves for the other’s safety or freedom or well being or life. Because think about it. How much love do you have to feel for the other person to be to be able to do that? To have the courage and strength to sacrifice for them?

See that’s the thing with Xena and Gabrielle that I’ve written about many times before. Because they couldn’t show physical intimacy between them much and they had to leave the nature of their relationship ambiguous, what they did instead was amped up the emotional content where no matter how hard you tried, you could not not see how much they loved each other, whether it be as only friends or as lovers. You could interpret for yourself whether it was platonic or romantic but you absolutely could not deny their love and devotion to each other. It was deeply felt. Visceral.

It’s a declaration of commitment as well as love with WayHaught because it’s not just sacrifice what Nicole does in becoming the Angel’s Shield. It’s a way of binding herself to Waverly to always protect her. Binding herself not just to her future wife but to the supernatural being that’s been tasked with protecting the Garden of Eden and thus the entire Ghost River Triangle that surrounds it. By Nicole becoming the Angel’s Shield, she has said: “Let me be and do it.”

It’s a sacrifice FOR her but also a commitment TO her.

And okay yeah, it doesn’t relieve Waverly of the role entirely, but what it does do is puts a defensive wall around Eden so that she does not have to immediately follow through with sitting on the throne as Guardian. So they do not have to be separated from each other. Nicole becoming the Angel’s Shield is a statement of: “Stay here with me and I’ll protect all this with you”because otherwise Waverly would have to leave her and she can’t have that happen. Not again. Not ever.

It’s beautiful. You don’t see that often enough in TV art/entertainment with WLW representation. That wholly encompassing depth of love and devotion to each other through sacrifice. And the reason why is because it requires seasons of narrative set up and build up for it to really work and hit as a climax and conclusion. You don’t get it because the WLW couple are NEVER main characters nor last that long to be able to depict scenes of epic love and romance and to represent emotional content that is this compelling to watch and doesn’t feel forced or contrived because there’s sufficient backstory and foundation behind it.

I’m being completely honest that the only other time I’ve really ever seen it is with Xena and Gabrielle despite them not being confirmed as a couple in the show. It’s hard to express or articulate how much this doesn’t matter when the creators agree with you anyway. When they absolutely see the them this way and do what they can under the restrictions to show it. To represent a love without defining the nature of that love other than a few less-than-subtextual tentative kisses where you can read into it whatever you want.

[swanqueeneverafter]

The Once & Future Queen Pt.3

Storybrooke. The Dragon's Lair. (Regina stands behind the bar with her arms folded, deep in conversation with her daughter, Maria.) Regina: "I know what you're thinking. You think I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Well you're wrong. (Maria sticks out her tongue:) And no, I'm not keeping busy, either. I offered to open the place up this morning to show Robin and Zelena my appreciation for looking after you so much recently. (Maria gurgles:) Yes, I know I should've talked to you about how I'm feeling sooner, but we can't all be perfect like you now, can we? (Maria blows a raspberry and giggles:) Well, exactly. (Hearing the door to the bar being pulled violently, calls out:) We're not open yet! (The jostling of the door continues:) Right..." (Regina reaches under the bar and retrieves a baseball bat. Striding to the door, she opens it ready to swing.) Henry: (Steps over the threshold and immediately puts his hands up:) “Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey, it’s me! I woke up this morning and the house was empty. So I came looking for you.” Regina: “Sorry. (Walking back to the bar:) Never can be too careful.” Henry: “Geez. What’s got you all revved up?” Regina: (Sighs:) “Where do I start?”

Henry: (Takes a seat at the bar. To Maria:) “Hey, cutie.” Regina: “I’ve thought about all the possible ways of going back in time to find Emma. The Apprentice's door, making my own spell, a curse.” Henry: “A curse?” Regina: (Continues:) “But they’re all too risky. All I can do is have faith that Emma will find her way back.” Henry: “Well let me say on behalf of the town how relieved we are you chose not to cast another curse.” Regina: “Yeah, well, now I can’t even go to Granny’s because Ruby will be there to try an ambush me with some sort of group counseling session. And Snow’s hired some new reporter who you just know is going to be sniffing around for an interview.” Henry: “So naturally you’re hiding out here.” Regina: “I don’t like being powerless, Henry. It doesn’t sit well with me at all.” Ella: (Enters:) “Regina. I am so glad you're here.” Regina: “Hey, uh, what's up?” Ella: “It's, um it's been a big night. Tiana and I, uh, we sort of bought a food truck.” Regina: “Well, that's great!” Ella: “It needs a lot of work, and don’t have any tools. Do you have any?” Regina: “Hm, lucky for you, when I owned this place it was always falling apart, so... (Starts looking under the bar and pulls out a large red toolbox:) I should have all the tools you'll need.” Ella: (Taking it:) “You are a lifesaver.” (Goes to leave.) Henry: (Speaking up:) “Well, hey. Um, If you need some help, I'm pretty good around engines, you know, for a writer.” Ella: “No, I'm fine.” (She leaves.) Regina: “What was that? Are you two still having problems?” Henry: “Hey, not all issues are so easily swept under the rug you know.” Regina: “Ella accused me of murdering her mother.” Henry: “Exactly. Some things are more complicated than others.” Regina: (Sceptically:) “Uh huh.”

Camelot. Council Chamber. (The council is gathered around a weeping woman.) Guinevere: “What’s happened to her?” Agravaine: “Her village was attacked.” Guinevere: “By who?” Agravaine: “Not entirely clear, Your Majesty.” (Guinevere approaches the weeping woman.) Guinevere: “What’s your name?” Drea: “Drea.” (Guinevere steps closer and the girl tenses. Guinevere puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and speaks softly.) Guinevere: “Drea. (She uncertainly makes eye contact:) I’m Guinevere. Don’t be frightened. Tell me what happened.” Drea: “My mother, my father, my litter sister, they’re…” (She starts weeping again.) Guinevere: “It’s all right. It’s all right. (Drea nods:) Someone attacked them. (She nods again:) Who?” Drea: “There was no one. Just…shapes.” Guinevere: “You didn’t see their faces?” Drea: “They had no faces. (Guinevere looks uncertainly at a few councilmen. Lancelot turns at the sound of something behind him:) I– I keep telling you. They were there, but…they weren’t there. They moved so quickly. It was as if they weren’t real, but…they must’ve been. I could hear the people screaming. And then…silence. They were all…dead.” (Drea breaks down and Guinevere comforts her.) Guinevere: “Hey. Thank you. (To those gathered:) Where is this village?” Xena: (Arriving alongside Gabrielle:) “Not far. (Everyone turns to them:) It’s to the east of the White Mountains, no more than half a day’s hard ride.” Gabrielle: “We’ve just come from there.” Guinevere: (To Lancelot:) “Ready the men.”

Enchanted Forest. Past. (After reuniting with Tiger Lily, Emma and Mulan discuss plans to return home.) Tiger Lily: "Tink's still a novice fairy at this point. It'll take time to train her fully, but I'm fairly confident she can get us home." Emma: "That's great news. (Relieved:) I was worried I'd have to contact Rumplestiltskin again and I already did that the last time I went back in time." Mulan: "Haven't we gone back further in time than your last visit? If we did have to ask him for help, technically it would be for the first time." Emma: "Yeah, I suppose so, but anytime you ask the Dark One for help, it always comes with a price." Tiger Lily: "You know, the Darkness was around for hundreds of years. It really makes you appreciate living in a time where it no longer exists." Emma: "Well, you're welcome, but I know Marian won't appreciate me being late for work, so I better get going. (Catching Mulan's smirk:) What? It's all right for you, you get to be part of Robin Hood's gang." Mulan: "You think I like being back in the Merry Men? Once was bad enough, but now it's like half of them have never even held a sword, much less fought with one." Tiger Lily: "I thought Robin said he wasn't in that line of work anymore?" Mulan: "That was him being cautious. After watching me deal with the drunks at the tavern, Robin thought my skills would be put to better use training his men." Emma: "Well have fun kicking butt while I get mine groped all day in the tavern!" (Emma hurries back to the tavern to find Marian behind the bar waiting for her.) Marian: "You're late." Emma: (Removing her cloak:) "Yeah, sorry I was-" Marian: "How can you be late for work when you live upstairs? (Emma tries to explain but Marian talks over her:) You have a customer waiting." Emma: "I- really?" Marian: "Yes. They've been asking for you. (Places two flagons of mead on the bar:) Table six. Go on." (Emma takes the flagons and heads over towards the table. Negotiating carefully through the crowded room, she manages to place the flagons on the table without spilling a drop.) Emma: "There you are. Thank you for waiting." Regina: (Smiling up at her:) "Not a problem." Emma: (Surprised to see her:) "Regina?" Regina: "What are the odds, huh?" Emma: (Smiling:) "Of all the taverns in all the towns in all the world, you walk into mine." Regina: "Join me?" Emma: (Glances back at Marian, who is now busy:) "Sure, I could use a break."

Storybrooke. Present. Main Street. (Henry and Regina walk down the street, carrying Maria between them.) Henry: "You okay, Mom? You've been quiet since we left the bar." Regina: (Nods:) "Yeah, just thinking about Emma." Henry: "Of course." Regina: "You know, I told your mother just recently about how I've never been as happy as am with her? I mean, aside from the years you and I-" Henry: (Smiles:) "Mom, relax, I get it. The connection you and Emma have, you won't find between mother and son. Although all three of us have shared True Love's Kiss, so... I'm not quite sure what my point was going to be." Regina: (Chuckles:) "No, me neither." Henry: (Smiles:) "Well, what I meant to say is that we both know what Emma is capable of. She'll come back to us as soon as she's able." Regina: "Yeah." Henry: "And until then, you still have Maria and me." Regina: "Hm. About that... (Gently taking Maria's carrier from him:) We'll go solo. Your afternoon is already full.” Henry: “Is it?” Regina: “Mmhmm. (They turn a corner and see Ella working on the second food truck a short distance away:) I would do anything to have your mother back with us right now. But since I can’t do anything about that, I’m concentrating on what I can do, which is putting you and Ella back together. Go ask her out.” Henry: (Takes a deep breath:) “Sometimes I guess you just got to accept when Mom knows best.” Regina: “Now, be charming, and don't slouch.” Henry: (Nods:) “Wish me luck.”

Granny’s Diner. (Will Scarlett sits alone at a booth in the diner. Looking around, he pulls a flask out of his jacket and adds the contents to his coffee. When returning the flask to his pocket, a hand stretches out and pulls the coffee cup away.) Will: “Hands off. That's me lunch and dinner.” Robin: “Sorry, friend, but I need to pick your brain. And I need you sober as Friar Tuck on a Sunday when I do it.” Will: “I'm not sure Sunday's ever made any difference for that man. What's happening?” Robin: “I need to understand more about Robin Hood. The Robin Hood all these people seem to know and admire.” Will: “Funny. I often forget you’re not the man I betrayed way back when.” Robin: “No, but I’m sure the weight of your guilt will work in my favour.” Will: “Ah, well, that sounds more like the Robin I knew. So, what's so important about learning about the other version of yourself?” Robin: “I feel as though I’m living a lie. I’m in a relationship with the woman who tricked the other Robin into sleeping with her and bore his child. I regularly visit with Little John and Roland and continue to confuse the boy more and more.” Will: “Hm. A sticky situation indeed. I might just have an idea.” Robin: “Excellent.” Will: “But I'm gonna need me lunch and dinner back. (Robin sighs and passes the cup back:) See, you ain't been in this town as long as I have. There wasn't always magic, but when it came, it started at one place... The clock tower. See, for twenty eight years, them hands didn't move. Time stood still. Then one day, tick-tock, it bloody did.” Robin: “I'm afraid you've lost me, Will.” Will: “Do you know what's under that magical clock tower?” Robin: “No.” Will: “A library.” Under The Food Truck. (Ella is working when she hears music playing. Rolling out from under the truck, Ella sees Henry standing there with a boombox over his head.) Ella: “What's that?” Henry: (Lowers his arms:) “Uh, The English Beat. ‘Save it for Later.’” Ella: “I know what it is. (Sits up:) Why are you playing it?” Henry: “Oh, I always just liked the '80s. You know, John Hughes movies. New Wave music. A little New Order, a little Adam Ant. You know, I always used to make these amazing mix tapes, and I was-”

Ella: (Stands:) “You are making less sense than normal, Henry Swan-Mills.” Henry: “Yeah, right. Uh... (Clears throat and puts down the boombox:) Last time I was single, mix tapes always worked when I wanted to ask a girl out, so-” Ella: “You're asking me on a date now? You sure it's me you want to ask out?” Henry: “Yes! Yes! Because the thing with Drizella, that was a mistake. I mean, it wasn't, like, a mistake mistake, - because nothing happened, but -” Ella: “Sorry. I get it. It was a little odd hearing about it from Drizella rather than you but, I guess that’s what sisters are for. I get it. You don't have to explain.” Henry: “But I do! I do because I find myself wanting to explain all kinds of things to you, like like, I don't know, like why pancakes are appropriate for dessert, why the English Beat is so culturally relevant, why I can't stop thinking about you.” Ella: “Wow. You sure have seen a lot of John Hughes movies. (They both laugh:) What if I explained to you that I have a new small business and very little time?” Henry: “Well, then I'd say, I'm a cab driver and a failed writer with nothing but time. So, whenever you have some, I'd, uh I'd love to take you on a date. See if you could learn to like me again?” Ella: “Okay. What about now?” Henry: “Now? Like... Like, here?” Ella: “Well, you said you're good with cars, right? And yeah, mix tapes always work.” (Ella turns around to fetch something which allows Henry to celebrate like Judd Nelson at the end of The Breakfast Club. Catching a glimpse of Henry’s antics, Ella smiles and hands him a socket wrench.) Henry: “Yeah, thanks.” (Awkwardly, Henry kneels beneath the truck.) Ella: “Um, I'm just gonna...” (Ella turns up the volume of the boombox and then joins Henry under the truck.) Henry: “All right. Let's see what we got going on.” Ella: “Okay. I'm going to test you now.” Henry: “Oh, yeah. There's the problem. (Ella chuckles:) - I see it already.” Enchanted Forest. Past. Tavern. (With very few patrons remaining, the volume of conversation inside the tavern has decreased significantly. Which is perfect for the two women currently talking at a small table by the window, where they have been most of the evening.) Emma: "I still can't believe you snuck out to see me dressed like that." Regina: "What, this? This is one of my father's old hunting jackets." Emma: (Laughs:) "Did he ever catch anything while wearing it?" Regina: "Only a cold. (Smiles:) But it seems to be working much better for me." Emma: "Oh that was very smooth, Your Majesty." Regina: "Stop." Emma: "What?" Regina: "I'm sorry. Just... please don't call me that. I don't... I never wanted..." Emma: "I understand. Sometimes it's nice to forget all of your responsibilities." Regina: "Nice is an understatement." Emma: (Smiles, unable to stop herself:) "Do you ever think about what your life would have been like if-" Regina: "If the King hadn't chosen me? If my mother hadn't killed my fiance?" Emma: (Winces:) "Sorry, forget I asked." Regina: "No, it's perfectly fine for you to ask. (Sighs:) The truth is I don't know why I agreed to marry the King. With my mother banished to another land I could have easily walked away from it all. I guess in the end, I just felt like there was nothing left out there for me." Emma: "You will find love again, Regina. I promise you." Regina: "I'm starting to think that way too." (Regina slowly reaches out, taking Emma's hand and interlaces their fingers. Emma is about to reply when the tavern door swings open. Two stern looking palace guards enter and stand either side of the door.) Snow White: (Entering behind the men lowering her hood, looks around and spots the two women:) "Regina! There you are, I was so worried about you!" (Regina quickly withdraws her hand and stands to greet Snow White as Emma turns to stare at the young girl destined to become her mother.)

[faveficarchive]

I, Conqueror: Part 7

By SwordnQuil

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: The best Conqueror tale I’ve ever read, this story follows a similar line to Remember Nothing (No violence alt-universe Xena). Gabrielle wakes up to find herself in a universe where Xena has conquered Greece, Callisto is her right-hand, and the world trembles at her feet. Can she set to rights this world turned upside-down?

Reality resolved itself in slow motion and Xena blinked into the bright sunshine, tightening her hold on Gabrielle, whose knees buckled beneath her. "Where are we?"

Swallowing several times to clear the nausea in her belly, the bard looked around at the vast, empty field they were currently standing in the middle of. "I don’t know," she replied finally, grateful for the support of Xena’s warm, strong body behind her.

Xena tightened her grip again, causing Gabrielle to gasp in pain. "What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’? You sent us here."

"Well, technically, I sent us to a ‘when’. Not exactly a ‘where’. I think." I hope.

Spinning the smaller woman in her arms, the Conqueror grabbed Gabrielle’s shoulders and shook her. "Explain yourself, Amazon. Now."

"I will, I promise—Xena, hurting me isn’t going to do anything but make me pass out right now, so if you could just loosen up a little..." She sighed in relief as the harsh grip on her shoulders lessened just slightly. A cool wind blew across the field, bending back the golden grasses and causing her to break out into gooseflesh. She spied a small copse of trees to the west and gestured with her head. "Could we just go over there for now?"

Looking in the indicated direction, the Conqueror’s eyes narrowed. Trees were where the Amazons felt most at home. "Why."

"Because it’s cold and I’m naked. I’d like to go somewhere where I’m not quite so exposed."

Staring into the trees, Xena extended her senses, tasting, listening and smelling for danger. Though she was acutely wary, all seemed quiet. Releasing Gabrielle’s shoulders, she spun the woman again, and, taking her upper arm in a firm grip, her free hand on her chakram, she marched her captive toward the copse, eyes ever vigilant for danger.

Gabrielle questioned her choice as soon as they stepped within the leafy shelter of the small wood. The grove was seeded with bramble bushes which tore at her unprotected flesh. "Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea," she mumbled, pulling a thorn the size of her thumb out of her bare thigh.

After a final, and thorough, examination of the area, Xena released her healer and, sighing, pulled her cape from the epaulets on her shoulder-guards. "Lift your arms."

As Gabrielle did so, the Conqueror twirled the cape in the freshening breeze, then wrapped it around the bard’s body like a sheath, pinning it closed over her right breast with the bejeweled throat closure.

Because of their vast differences in height, the cape fell to below Gabrielle’s knees, but at least she was protected from the ire of the woods, and just a bit warmer in the bargain. She smiled her thanks, smoothing the silk against her body.

"Now talk, Amazon. No diversions. No games. The truth. Now."

"Alright..."

"Now, Amazon. Where are we? Where is Alcmene?"

Gabrielle scratched at the back of her neck. "Well, you see, Alcmene isn’t exactly a ‘where’. It’s a ‘who’. A very pregnant ‘who’. At least I hope she is."

"Enough of this foolishness!"

"Xena, please. I’m not being foolish. It’s just...hard to explain. If you would just relax a moment and give me time to think..." She looked deep into icy, glaring eyes. "Or not."

Gabrielle took in a deep breath. "The stone transported us into the past. I think it’s about thirty years ago, maybe thirty five. I can’t be too sure. We’re - well I’m here to try and prevent Callisto from killing Alcmene."

The Conqueror’s eyes narrowed again. "Callisto? That’s not possible."

"Yes, Xena, it is possible. Remember, Callisto gave the Cronus Stone to you. That was after she had finished using it to murder Alcmene and change the tapestry of time."

"Explain." The command was sharp and brooked no argument.

Gabrielle breathed deeply again. "Callisto is - was - from another reality. A reality in which you, like she said, killed her family."

"How? How did I kill her family?"

"She’s from Cirra."

Xena’s eyes clouded as she sifted through her memories. The village name sounded familiar. Then she remembered. Once, on a raid, her men had accidentally set the town ablaze. She couldn’t recall any survivors and told Gabrielle as much.

"Maybe not in this reality, but where Callisto’s from, she survived. She blamed you for the death of her family and dedicated her life to hunting you down and killing you to make you pay for what you’d done."

"A very interesting tale, Amazon."

"It’s a true tale, Xena." Turning slightly, Gabrielle saw a fallen log and walked over to sit down. Her wound was throbbing and she felt weak and light-headed. She ran a hand over her brow, relieved to find it cool and dry. Then she looked back up at her impatient listener. "For whatever reason, instead of attacking you outright this time, she obtained the Cronus Stone, went back in time to where we are now, and killed Alcmene."

"And what purpose did this killing serve?"

"It changed the course of history."

Xena smiled slightly. "And how did it do that."

Gabrielle crossed her arms, hugging her body to try and ward off the coolness of the breeze. "Alcmene is a very beautiful woman. The bards say that Zeus was so enamored with her that he took the form of her husband and impregnated her. She bore a son who she named Hercules."

The Conqueror nodded. "Hercules. The same mythical demigod you used to regale my men in the healing tent." Her tone conveyed her disbelief.

"He’s not a myth. Or maybe he is, here. But I’m telling you, he did exist, before Callisto changed history by killing his mother."

"I’ll ask you again, Amazon. How did the death of one man, mythical beast slayer or not, supposedly change history?"

"There could be any number of ways, I suppose. But I only know of one for sure."

Xena raised an eyebrow. "And that was?"

A sudden rustling was heard in the treetops, and Xena looked up, her chakram already in her hand. A flock of birds set down to roost, and the Conqueror relaxed marginally, her weapon still at the ready. She stared down at the seated woman. "Your compatriots certainly seem in no great hurry to collect you, Amazon."

The young woman sighed, rubbing her arms to ward off the chill. "For the last time, Xena, I have no compatriots. It’s just me here, hoping against hope that I’ve done the right thing." She looked down, digging fitfully at a partially exposed root with her bare toe. "Anyway, getting back to your question. About four years or so ago, Hercules came upon a warlord who attempted to gain even more power by pitting him against his best friend and making off with the spoils." She looked up at the Conqueror, who, despite her demeanor, was listening intently. "It didn’t work. The warlord left, defeated."

Xena snorted. "Of course he did. With his tail between his legs while the enterprising duo was left to fight another day. That’s always the way these foolish tales end. With good yet again winning out over evil." Her eyes became diamond chips. "That doesn’t happen in reality, Amazon. Any reality."

Gabrielle decided that ignoring Xena’s snide remarks was the best strategy, for if she rose to the bait being dangled, Callisto would carve Alcmene in little pieces while she and the Conqueror will still arguing in the woods. "Some time passed and Hercules met the warlord again, though this time under much different circumstances. He found the warlord alone, after she," the bard took in a deep breath, "after she had been forced to run the gauntlet of her own army for saving a baby." White teeth were displayed as the bard pensively chewed at her lower lip. "The warlord was known as Xena: the Warrior Princess."

The world rushed crazily by as Gabrielle felt herself hauled to her feet by the front of her impromptu garment. Her face was so close to the Conqueror’s that she could smell the warm scent of Xena’s breath. "How do you know these things, Amazon? How!"

"You’ll have your answers if you put me down and let me finish the story."

Xena spun at a sound behind her, dropping the bard and unsheathing her sword. In the near distance, running as if for her very life, the Conqueror spied a very pregnant woman. The woman’s legs tangled in the remnants of her long peasant skirt and she tripped, disappearing from sight beneath the tall, swaying grasses. "Alcmene, I presume."

Gabrielle, who had never seen the woman before, could only hope and nod.

A split second later, a familiar form materialized as if from the very air, threw back her head, laughed, and, extending one thin arm, lit the grasses sheltering Alcmene aflame with a bolt that flew from her fingertips.

The bard rubbed at her chin. "Um, there’s something I forgot to mention about Callisto."

"So it would seem."

"She’s a god now."

Feeling Callisto turn to glance her way, Xena drew behind the thick trunk of a sheltering tree, her silvered eyes narrow and thoughtful.

"Now do you believe me?" Gabrielle asked, pressing herself flat behind the Conqueror.

"It will take a great deal more than that light show to make a believer out of me, Amazon." Xena’s body was tense as she cautiously peered around the trunk, watching intently as Callisto, laughing again, aimed another bolt at the now wildly running Alcmene. The bolt missed, but not by much.

If the Conqueror knew her second, and she did, Callisto was merely toying with the woman, having her sport before committing the act which would permanently end her enjoyment of the chase.

"Believer or not, we need to rescue her," Gabrielle whispered.

"And why is that," Xena returned, not taking her eyes off the action.

"Why?" Gabrielle repeated, stunned. "Xena, in case you didn’t notice, that woman is pregnant. And helpless against Callisto, god or not! She’s going to die!"

"Death happens, Amazon."

The bard gritted her teeth and gathered the cloak around her more tightly. "Not while I’m around to stop it."

Xena wrapped an arm around her before Gabrielle could even think to move away from the trees.

"Let me go!" she hissed.

"Be quiet," the Conqueror intoned, watching as the fleeing woman changed direction, now heading directly toward them as if drawn to their position.

Giggling delightedly, Callisto flicked out her finger and scorched the very tree Xena and Gabrielle were hiding behind.

"By the gods, that was close!" Gabrielle breathed, stepping back to allow Xena to get away from the smoking bark.

Turning from the tree, sword in hand, Xena bowed her head, her lips brushing Gabrielle’s ear. "Your friend is heading this way. When she enters the wood, grab her and run. I’ll deal with Callisto."

The bard clutched at Xena’s arms. "You can’t do that! Callisto’s a god! She’ll kill you too!"

One corner of the Conqueror’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. "Didn’t seem to stop you from wanting to do the very same thing a moment ago, did it."

Gabrielle scowled. "That’s different."

"We’ll discuss that later. Just do as I say."

"That’s not different," Gabrielle grumbled half under her breath as she pulled away from Xena. "Fine. Do you have any general direction in mind?"

Alcmene stumbled into the wood. Grabbing the nearly spent woman, the Conqueror thrust her into Gabrielle’s arms. "Just go!"

The bard clamped a hand over Alcmene’s mouth before the other woman had a chance to scream. "We’re here to help. I know you’re tired, but you need to run with me as fast as you can. We’ll get you to safety, I promise."

Alcmene’s eyes were wide with panic, but after a moment, she nodded.

Removing her hand from Alcmene’s mouth, Gabrielle smiled, and grabbed the other woman’s hand. "Great. Let’s go."

Xena waited until Gabrielle had left the wood, their guest in hand, then turned and stepped deliberately around the tree trunk and out into the brilliant sunshine. "Hello, Callisto," she purred, her sword tip resting against one broad shoulder.

The blonde goddess pulled up short, her dark eyes wide with shock. "Xena! Not that it isn’t a pleasant surprise, but what are you doing here?"

The Conqueror smiled. "I could ask you the same question, Callisto."

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that." Peering around Xena’s shoulder, she looked into the darkness of the wooded glen. "Where’s your beloved little bard brat? Somewhere safe, I trust?" Callisto smiled mockingly, tilting her head to one side. "I know how tethered through the nose she has you, poor dear."

Xena filed the apparent non-sequitor away for future reference and leveled the point of her sword at the hollow of Callisto’s neck.

Reaching up with disdain, Callisto merely flicked the blade away. "Oh, please. Surely you haven’t forgotten your little ambrosial gift to me already, have you, Xena? You can’t possibly think you could hurt me with that thing. Be a dear and put it away before someone gets hurt, won’t you?"

Xena’s mind was awash with confusion, knowing full well that she had never even seen ambrosia, and if she had, Callisto would be the last person to receive such a gift from her. Determined not to let that confusion show, she flipped the sword back to the blonde’s neck. "I thought, perhaps, a little sparring? For old times’ sake?"

Grinning, Callisto stepped back and withdrew her own sword. "Oh, why not. I never could resist a challenge, Xena. Especially not one from you. You always did bring out the worst in me."

She danced forward and their blades met, a waterfall of sparks raining down to skitter across the ground. They broke apart, then engaged again, their faces almost touching as their hilts locked and brute strength came into play.

The Conqueror was a bit taken aback when Callisto’s ambrosia-imbued strength matched hers, measure for measure, but she kept her grip locked tight against her adversary, determined not to yield.

Callisto giggled. "Oh Xena," she purred, licking her lips, "if I had known this was the way to get you grunting and straining, I would have stolen some ambrosia years ago!"

Shaking her head, Xena relaxed the slightest bit, and when Callisto responded, quickly broke the lock of their blades, dancing away from the goddess’ downstroke.

"Oh, very good, my sweet."

Xena trilled out her battle cry.

Callisto responded with a scream.

Soon the sounds of metal on metal overtook even wailing of the wind, which seemed to howl its approval of the combat taking place.

Xena ran toward Callisto, and, at the last second, flipped high above her head, forcing the goddess to turn and put her back to the trees. The Conqueror landed solidly, knees flexed, her blade ready to engage the enemy.

Grinning, Callisto waggled a finger in Xena’s direction. "As much as I’ve relished this little dance, my dear, I’ve allowed you to delay me long enough. I simply must dash. Business first, and all that." She pouted. "You’d think you could at least be happy for me, Xena. After all, I’m doing this for you."

"Oh you are, are you?"

"But of course, my darling! Without Hercules meddling in your affairs, all this will be yours!" She grinned. "And you’ll have me to thank for it." Dark eyes narrowed in challenge. "And what does your precious little Gabrielle have that could even begin to compete with that, hmm? All she offers is that scrawny little body of hers. While I, dear Xena, I offer you the world!"

While Callisto’s assertions weren’t making very much sense to a puzzled Conqueror, her words did serve to, at least in part, confirm some of the unbelievable stories Gabrielle had been telling her. Xena wondered anew if perhaps she hadn’t been right in her first assumption, that the two women were somehow in collusion with one another, working in tandem to instill some form of madness into her which would cause her downfall.

Shaking her head, she fought to regain her focus as Callisto stared at her, grinning wildly.

"So. Do I get a ‘thank you’ kiss?"

"Dream on, Callisto."

"I thought as much." The goddess flicked a bored finger, smirking as a bolt of blue light shot from it. "Just a little something to remember me by, darling."

Xena just managed to bring her sword up in time to deflect the blow. With blind luck, the Conqueror’s weapon sent the bolt back to its originator, blowing Callisto off her feet and knocking her into the very tree she had scorched earlier. The goddess slumped to the ground, unconscious, her leather smoking around the charred hole that was already starting to heal near her navel.

With steps borne of caution, Xena made her way to Callisto, prodding the fallen woman with the tip of her boot. When there was no reaction, Xena raised an eyebrow. "I’m gonna to have to remember that little trick."

Toeing Callisto once more for good measure, and nodding in satisfaction, Xena sheathed her sword and set off into the woods, keen eyes already scanning the leaf-strewn ground for signs of the two fleeing women.

***

When Alcmene stumbled for the third time in as many minutes, Gabrielle pulled the winded woman to a stop, looking at her with concern. "Are you alright?"

Alcmene leaned over, hands on her knees, trying desperately to get some air back into her straining lungs. "I think so. Just give me a minute to get my breath back." A bolt of pain shot through her middle. "Ow!"

"What is it? Are you alright?"

The pain receded. Then came again, doubled in its intensity. "I’m - ow! Not sure. I think the baby’s wanting out."

Gabrielle spun Alcmene around. "Are you sure?!"

"Well, I’ve never had a baby before, but that’s sure what it feels like."

The bard ran a hand through her hair. "Ok, ok. Um...we’ll just have to find a place for you to rest."

"That sounds—by the gods this kid has a tough kick!—really great right about now."

Nodding, the bard looked around. In the desperate flight, she’d led them down from the meadow and into a more rocky area bisected by a long ravine whose rocky walls towered menacingly over their heads. A narrow entrance was just visible to her, and she pointed, directing Alcmene’s gaze that way. "I doubt it’ll be very comfortable in there, but at least we’ll be out of the wind."

Gathering up her tattered skirt, Alcmene started forward. "What are we waiting for then? Let’s go!"

Shaking her head in bemusement, the bard broke into a quick trot so as to not be left behind.

***

"There," Gabrielle said, lowering Alcmene behind a natural rock barrier which would protect her from the bright sun shining down from overhead, its heat magnified within the natural bowl-effect of the ravine. "It’s not exactly a luxury suite in Athens’ best Inn, but it’s the best we’re gonna get on short notice."

Alcmene smiled, and the bard could readily see the woman’s soon-to-be son in the open expression. "It’s a grand place, um...I’m afraid I don’t know your name."

"It’s Gabrielle," the younger woman replied, reaching down to clasp Alcmene’s hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Not half as pleased as I am," Alcmene replied, returning the clasp. "I was sure my baby would never see life with that woman chasing after me. Do you have any idea who she was?"

"Her name is Callisto. Not a very nice person."

Alcmene laughed. "You can say that again. Those things she did...is she a god? Why does she want to hurt me? I’m sure I haven’t done anything to offend her. I’ve never seen her before today."

"It’s not you. Not really. It’s her. She’s a very angry, very bitter woman."

"Well, your friend is very brave, staying behind like that to fight her so that I could get away. I hope she can find us. I’d like to thank her."

"She’ll be here." I hope. Oh, Xena, please be careful.

"You have a lot of faith in her."

"She’s worth it."

Alcmene nodded at the conviction in her young savior’s voice, then gasped as she felt something decidedly strange. "Gabrielle?"

Turning her head from the entrance, the bard noted the unusual expression on the other woman’s face. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"I - I, um, think my water just broke."

Gabrielle squatted quickly. "Please tell me you’re kidding."

"Well, unless a spring suddenly opened up underneath me, I’m not kidding."

"Oh, boy."

Suddenly, a slight shuffle was heard from the entrance to the ravine. Gabrielle jumped to her feet. "Xena!" she cried out in relief.

The Conqueror nodded, eyeing the place the Amazon had chosen, impressed despite herself.

"Go to your friend, Gabrielle. I’ll be ok here."

The bard bent down, placing a warm hand on Alcmene’s arm. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. The pain seems to have disappeared for the moment, and I think it’s best if I just tried to relax. The worst is yet to come, right?"

Smiling in empathy, Gabrielle gently squeezed Alcmene’s arm, and when the young woman nodded, rose back to her feet and stepped around the rock shelter, walking to meet Xena halfway between the shelter and the entrance.

"Interesting choice," the Conqueror commented.

"Well, I figured it was easily defensible." Hand to the back of her neck, Gabrielle looked around. "Or it would be, if Callisto wasn’t a god." She gazed back at Xena. "Speaking of which, where is she?"

"Taken care of. For now. And the woman?"

"Safe."

"For now."

Gabrielle tensed at the warning tone in Xena’s voice. "What do you mean?"

"Callisto told me some interesting things while we were engaged."

"Interesting, huh?"

"Very interesting."

"Would you mind sharing?"

Xena’s face hardened. "That would be a job better left to you, Amazon. What, exactly, happened when your ‘Warrior Princess’ met Hercules."

"Well, you - she - Xena joined forces with Hercules and Iolaus to defeat Darfus’ attack against a nearby village. Xena killed Darfus, but Ares raised him from the dead and made him more powerful than before."

"But they managed to kill him again."

"Exactly."

Xena nodded. "And then?"

Gabrielle looked at the dirt under her feet. "Well, you - she - was always pretty quiet about what happened after, but she did say that he unchained her heart." She looked up again, her eyes blazing, intense. "Xena, Hercules made you see that you didn’t need to walk in the darkness any longer. He showed you that it was okay to be good; to help others instead of hurting them. You thanked him and left to make your own path in this world. A path of goodness. You call it ‘The Greater Good’."

"That Xena never existed, Amazon. Except in your fevered imagination."

"You’re wrong, Xena. That person does exist." She lifted her hand, placing her fingers on the warm flesh of the Conqueror’s chest. "Right here. In your heart. All you have to do is let her out."

Teeth bared, Xena grabbed Gabrielle’s wrist in a harsh grip and pulled the younger woman’s hand away. "It appears Ares was right."

Gabrielle refused to let the pain show. "About what?"

"You are my enemy. Because if what you say is true, and this Hercules is allowed to be born, I will lose my throne. I’ll lose everything I’ve spent my life fighting to gain."

"Xena, it’s not like that..."

"Who rules Greece in your reality, Amazon?"

"Well, no one, but..."

"Exactly. You’ve come to take Greece from me." Flinging Gabrielle away, Xena reached down and removed a dagger from her boot. "That’s not going to happen."

Gabrielle jumped back to her feet, watching in horror as the Conqueror moved unerringly toward Alcmene’s resting place, her knife hand swinging with every step she took.

Looking around desperately, the bard stooped down and grabbed a rock that fit comfortably in her hand. Straightening and drawing back her arm, she prayed to Artemis for true aim, and let fly the rock, watching as it sped toward its intended target.

Who turned at the last possible second, and caught the rock with her free hand, her angry strength crushing it to dust as she stared at Gabrielle with murderous intent. After a moment, however, Xena opened her hand, let the dust fall to the ground, and turned back toward her primary goal.

"Xena! Don’t!!"

Then came a bolt of blue fire which hit the target Gabrielle missed, sending the knife spinning away to shatter against one of the ravine’s rocky walls. With the bolt came an enraged scream which echoed off the walls and caused both women to stop and turn toward the source of the sound.

"Isn’t that just like you, Xe-na. Kicking a woman when she’s down, then walking away without a second glance." Callisto grinned. "You honestly didn’t think I was going to let you get away with that little slight to me, did you?"

The Conqueror stood ramrod straight and said nothing, her empty hands clenching and unclenching with the effort to contain her anger.

Callisto turned her head slightly. "Well hello, Gabrielle! I just knew you had to be around here somewhere, sniffing up Xena’s skirts. I believe you’re holding something of mine?"

"Forget it, Callisto," the bard snarled.

"Wish I could, dear. But the truth is, I can never forget the look on my mother’s face as her dress caught on fire and took the rest of her with it. Every time I close my eyes, I can hear her screaming. Begging for someone to help her." The goddess rubbed her chin with the back of her hand as her eyes gained their focus once again. "So be a dear and bring me Zeus’ little whore, would you?"

"You’ll have to go through me first, Callisto," Gabrielle warned.

The goddess beamed. "I was hoping you’d say that!"

A lick of fire shot from Callisto’s fingertip, but the bard was prepared and dropped to the ground, rolling to avoid the blow.

Missing its target, the bolt struck the rock shelter, and Alcmene screamed as the boulders exploded, littering her body with jagged pieces of debris.

Stopping her desperate roll, Gabrielle reversed direction and dove behind the shelter, covering the cowering woman’s body with her own as the air continued to rain rocks down over her.

Callisto’s laughter echoed again as she turned her head. "And here’s a little something to pay you back for being such a naughty girl, Xena."

Another bolt flew.

The Conqueror just managed to deflect it with the chakram that appeared in her hand.

Blue fire flicked again, and Xena deflected the bolt back to its owner, only to have Callisto dart out of the way. "Oh, Xena. You didn’t think I’d fall for the same trick twice, did you?"

Xena shrugged minutely. "It was worth a shot."

"True. It’s good to know some things never change, my darling. Always striving for the upper hand. Even in hopeless situations, like this one."

Both women released their weapons at the same time. Xena’s chakram impacted directly with Callisto’s energy bolt, and both combatants ducked as their own weapons ricocheted back on a direct path toward their heads.

The chakram hit the closest wall, showering sparks and loosening some small stones to roll to the floor below, before rebounding and heading back to its owner.

Callisto’s bolt hit the wall very near the entrance to the ravine, exploding the rockface and making the entire wall rumble threateningly.

Behind the much reduced rock shelter, Alcmene pushed Gabrielle off of her. "The baby’s coming!" she screamed, clawing at her hair in pain. "The baby’s coming!"

As Gabrielle scrambled over to try and help, Callisto laughed. "Did you hear that, Xena? Your destiny is being birthed before your very eyes. How many people can say that?" She grinned, raising her arms. "Last chance, Xena. You know what Hercules will do if he’s allowed to be born. Let me kill him, and the world will be yours!"

"And have to live knowing I’m beholden to you for my crown? Not a chance, Callisto."

The goddess shrugged. "Have it your way, then. I’ll just have to rule it without you."

She clenched her right hand tightly, then opened it to show a glowing, white ball which crackled, sending out fat sparks. "Goodbye, dear Xena. I wish I could say it’s been fun, but it hasn’t. Remember me fondly to Hades when you see him, won’t you?"

Thrusting out her hand, Callisto threw the energy ball.

Xena held her chakram in front of her, and when the blow hit, the power of it blew her off her feet, the chakram slipping from her hand as she flew the length of the ravine. She collided with the far wall and slumped to the ground, barely conscious.

"And now, for my prize. Come out, come out wherever you are, Alcmene. Time to face the music, my dear."

Gabrielle squatted next to the laboring woman, paralyzed with indecision. She desperately wanted to go to Xena, who lay unmoving against the ravine wall, blood streaming down her face, her eyes dazed and glassy.

Her absolute devotion to the greater good, however, stayed her steps, and as Callisto came closer, she rose to her feet and grabbed the chakram which had landed on what remained of the rock wall sheltering Alcmene. Her face was stony; her eyes, chips of jade shining with determination.

Callisto stopped, and smiled. "Well, well, well, if it isn’t brave little Gabrielle making a stand against the big, bad goddess." She cocked her head. "Put Xena’s toy away before you hurt yourself with it, hmmm?"

"You won’t win, Callisto."

"And just how do you intend on stopping me, dear?"

Behind her, Alcmene screamed in agony and Gabrielle turned, watching as the tendons in the woman’s neck stood out with the force of her pushing.

The bard turned back. "I’ll give up my life to see that Hercules has a chance to be born."

Callisto nodded. "And that’s exactly what I’ll take from you." She held out an arm, then dropped it suddenly, a slow smile blooming over her face. "No, killing you this way would be too easy." Reaching back, she pulled her sword and twirled it once. "I think I’d rather do this the old fashioned way. And this way, you and your dear dead husband can bear matching death wounds."

With a piercing shriek, Callisto attacked. Gabrielle defended herself, using the chakram to ward off the sword strikes that seemed to be coming from all directions at once.

Her arm burned in agony as the tip of Callisto’s sword traced a line across her flesh and, Alcmene’s pain filled cries pushing her on, the bard redoubled her efforts, deflecting stroke after stroke as she looked for a way to penetrate the goddess’ own defenses.

"Gabrielle! Help me! Please!" Alcmene wailed as her insides turned to flame with the strength of her contractions.

Gabrielle was weakening, and she knew it. Her heart was torn in too many directions and Callisto’s ambrosia-induced strength was becoming overwhelming. Gritting her teeth, her muscles bulging and straining with effort, she continued to deflect the blows until a lucky shot knocked the chakram from her hand.

"Game over, Gabrielle."

Gabrielle stood, chin lifted, staring Callisto straight in the eye as the goddess raised her sword for the final blow.

And then, with an almost mystic sense she’d developed over the years, she dropped flat to the ground as an airborne body flew directly over her and slammed, boots first, into Callisto’s stomach, sending the other woman flying across the ravine and to her own meeting with a rocky wall.

Xena landed, stooped, and grabbed her chakram, which she then flung at the barrier which had already been weakened by its meeting with Callisto’s bolt.

Thunder rumbled through the narrow ravine as the wall began to collapse, sending huge boulders toppling toward the ground at immense speeds.

Looking up, Callisto screamed.

Catching her weapon, Xena turned and pulled Gabrielle up from the ground. "Run!" she shouted to be heard over the din of the approaching rockslide.

"Not without Alcmene!"

"Run!" The Conqueror shouted again, giving the bard a healthy shove in the right direction.

The boulders began to close in, and Xena ran behind Gabrielle, who stopped, and turned. "You can’t just leave her there, Xena. She’s an innocent woman. Please. You have to help her."

Shoving Gabrielle once again, the Conqueror darted to her right, bent low, and scooped Alcmene up in her strong arms. The laboring woman squirmed in her arms, almost causing Xena to lose her balance and fall victim to the oncoming rocks. "Stay still, or I’ll kill you myself."

The threat was an empty one, however, as Xena regained her balance and just managed to step out of the path of destruction.

Like a flooded river, the boulders continued past, rumbling across the ravine floor until they met the far wall, where they crashed, were shattered, and lay still.

Then all was quiet, save for the dust that fell like rain, and the sounds of Alcmene’s urgent panting.

"Bring her over here!" Gabrielle pointed to a relatively level space of ground.

Xena walked her burden over to the area indicated, and laid her on the ground, before quickly turning away and scanning the area for Callisto’s presence.

Gabrielle quickly went to her knees, clasping Alcmene’s hand and wincing at the strength of the other woman’s ferocious grip.

"Oh gods...it’s coming...please...please...help me."

"Alright," the bard crooned, "it’s alright. Here, open your legs and let me see, ok?" Kneeling in between Alcmene’s cocked legs, she saw the head beginning to crown. "You’re doing great, Alcmene. I can just see the head. You’re doing fine."

"Can I push?"

"Yes. Give it all you’ve got. A great big push. Now."

As Alcmene bore down with all her might, Gabrielle slipped her hands under the head as it came forward, quickly followed by the rest of the body.

Alcmene screamed out her relief and Gabrielle laughed, holding the squirming infant in her hands. "It’s a boy!"

"Is he...is he alright?"

Confirmation was heard in the form of a loud, indignant wail.

"Oh, thank the gods."

At the sound of the infant’s cry, the Conqueror spun, staring down at the tiny, squalling body in Gabrielle’s hands. Her hand slowly went to her chakram and she took it from its hook on her leathers, her intense gaze focused on nothing but the child. The child who would take away everything that she was, everything she’d fought for, everything she’d gained. The sounds, scents and sights of many a bloody battle raced behind her eyes, her body responding to war’s seductive call.

The baby wailed again, shaking his fists, and Xena blinked, coming back into herself. He looked up at her with large, unblinking eyes as she remembered other times, other infants. The one she saved, causing her to walk the Gauntlet of her own army’s men. Her own son, Solon, placed in the strong, capable arms of the Centaurs as the son of their hero, Borias; only to be killed by the Amazons in their war with the Centaurs; a war that only ended with Velasca’s death and the decimation of the Amazons as a race.

She’d never allowed herself to mourn the loss of so tiny and so precious a life, knowing that to do so would only distract her from her ultimate focus: the conquest of Greece.

She allowed her gaze to move from infant to mother. Alcmene stared at her, her expression unsettled. Why should I allow your son to live when I let mine die without even a tear to mark his passing? Does the child of Zeus deserve more of a right to live than the child of a monster?

The Conqueror looked back at the tiny innocent held so tenderly in the arms of his deliverer. Will you be my ending? Or truly my beginning? If I lose all that I am, what is there to be gained?

She fingered the chakram absently, callused thumb playing over the razor-sharp edge, wondering why such a simple decision had become suddenly so hard.

Gabrielle eyed the Conqueror warily, unable to read the display of emotions in the chiseled face. "Xena?"

Xena slowly raised her gaze to meet deep green eyes looking calmly back at her. So many emotions in those beautiful eyes. So many. What do you see when you look at me, Amazon? Do you see the person I am? Or do you see the person you think I could become.

"Who are you?" she asked finally. And, more importantly, who am I?

"I’m Gabrielle. A woman who loves you."

"You...you love me?"

Nothing but absolute devotion shone from Gabrielle’s face. "Yes. And I always will."

"The greatest weakness."

Gabrielle shook her head. "No. The greatest strength Your greatest strength."

The Conqueror shook her head once, as if to negate the words, and, raising her weapon, stepped forward, her jaw tightly clenched, teeth gleaming white in the dusty air.

With a groan of pain, she brought the chakram down.

And severed the cord still tethering the infant to his mother.

Reaching down, she ripped a piece of fabric from Alcmene’s tattered skirt and quickly tied off the stump of the cord before stepping back once again, powerful emotions finally freed from the prison where she’d kept them locked tightly for so many dark and dangerous years.

The emotions overwhelmed her and brought the mighty Conqueror to her knees, her chakram falling from her hand to land on the dusty ground.

Gabrielle quickly handed Hercules off to his mother, then rushed to kneel before her soulmate. "Xena?" she asked again, quietly.

Xena’s head slowly lifted. In her eyes, a lost, broken soul cried out for comfort, and this Gabrielle gave without reservation, pulling Xena into a tight embrace and resting the taller woman’s head on her shoulder. "I’m here, Xena. I’ll always be here. Always."

After a moment, Xena pulled away. The smile she mustered was tiny, but it managed to reach her tear-sparkling eyes. "Thank you, Gabrielle," she whispered hoarsely.

The bard sobbed at the sound of her name, and reached up, gently guiding Xena’s lips to hers in a kiss of absolution, of devotion, of deep and utter love.

And the world went black once again.

***

When Gabrielle regained consciousness, it was to the sensation of warm, soft lips still pressing against her own. Lips whose taste was finer than the best Grecian wine, attached to a face that was more beautiful than any Olympian goddess, and a body that was just as stunning, and just as...naked?

The bard kept her eyes tightly shut, her hands continuing their unknowing trek down Xena’s smooth-muscled back. Yup. Naked.

Large hands roaming with sensual grace down her own body convinced Gabrielle that she was in a similar state of undress.

And laying on her back.

Partially covered by a thick, soft fur.

Her eyes popped open, huge with shock as her mind finally caught up to her raging hormones.

Loathe to break the passionate kiss, but helpless to do anything else, Gabrielle pushed Xena away and scrambled up from the bedroll, her entire body turning in circles as she scanned the wooded clearing she suddenly found herself in.

High above her head, birds twittered cheerfully, courting in the leafy canopy that sheltered the sun dappled grove. Off to her left, Argo threw her head and whinnied a cheerful, if grass-strewn, greeting her way. Behind her, a well-laid campfire burned its last, the fragrant smoke tickling her nostrils pleasantly.

She looked back down to see Xena, half on the bedroll, looking back up at her, an expression of tolerant amusement covering her face. "Was it something I said?" the low voice rumbled.

Gabrielle blushed a brilliant pink, and she shook her head, still unable to believe she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. "Um, no."

The warrior nodded slowly, her face creasing into a half smile. Gabrielle’s breath caught in her throat as the love shining from Xena’s so-pale eyes caused her heart to skip several beats.

Slowly lowering herself to her knees, Gabrielle reached out a shaking hand. Xena grasped the hand immediately, bringing it to her lips and brushing a gentle kiss against the bard’s palm. "Are you alright?" she murmured, using her free hand to tenderly cup Gabrielle’s cheek, trying to read the emotions flashing through the vibrant eyes.

"I’m...not sure. I think so. It’s just..." She took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I love you, Xena."

The smile she received made her heart soar. "I love you too, Gabrielle."

"Say it again."

"I love you?"

"Well, that too. But I really meant my name. Say my name again?"

Xena’s eyebrow hid beneath her bangs, but she complied. "Gabrielle."

And suddenly found her arms full of warm, laughing, and crying bard. "By the gods, it’s good to be home!"

Xena allowed herself to be bowled over by her young lover, not understanding in the least what had just happened, but happy that, whatever it was, Gabrielle was warm, and safe, and whole in her arms.

As fervent lips melded to hers, the Warrior Princess stopped thinking of anything at all, and simply surrendered to the boundless love that enveloped her, heart and soul.

And somewhere, high above, the Fates continued their spinning, reweaving a world that had been torn asunder by hatred, and mended by the strongest force of all.

Love.

The End

[faveficarchive]

Three Naked Bards … Oh My!

(The Quill is Mightier—The Director’s Cut)

By Anima

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: An enchanted scroll has Xena juggling a lot of naked Gabrielles. 

Prologue~

Once, long ago, in a land of warriors and bards, Gods and Goddess, and enchanted scrolls, lived a warrior named Xena. She traveled hill and dale, hither and yon, righting wrongs and grumbling a lot to her faithful bard (who kept time to the beat of Xena’s trusty horse Argo by clapping two wooden cups … er, sorry, wrong story). Anyway, she was off fishing when, unbeknownst to her, a sinister spell was cast upon an innocent scroll. This is the part of the story that was never told …

~~~~~

One foot in front of the other. The wagon wheels creaked as Xena and her bounty of fish made its way a little further down the road. Now that she had caught all this she was bound and determined to get back. She could find no specific reason for this compulsion to fish; much less the strange visit to her oldest friend. That had been awkward. Now, if she could just keep her mind on the road.

The greenness of the land highlighted the brown path that she trudged along. She figured there was at least another’s day journey before making it back to the small village where Gabrielle would be waiting for her. She hated to spend another night away but noticed a cave that would be perfect for her to store the wagon in with plenty of room for herself and a small fire. The decision made, she maneuvered the wagon in backwards, was busy with that, when she heard the snapping of twigs not far off. An ignorant traveler, unaware of the announcement they were making with their careless footfall.

Not overly concerned, but careful nonetheless, the warrior circled around the small clearing in front of the cave and came up behind the intruder. She nearly dropped her sword when she saw a naked blonde figure with a terrifically familiar backside.

"Gabrielle?"

The blonde turned and wrinkled her nose up at Xena. Gabrielle walked up to her and threw her arms around the warrior’s neck. Then with a wink, lifted up on tiptoes and planted a big, wet kiss on Xena’s lips.

"What are you doing?" She saw the rather dazed look on the bard’s face. "What’s wrong, Gabrielle? Are you okay?" She glanced down at the blonde’s body. "And why are you naked?"

The bard just sort of smiled up in that same dazed fashion before kissing the confused warrior again. She grabbed Gabrielle’s arms and pushed them down to her sides. Looking down at the exposed flesh of her friend, she took Gabrielle by the hand and led her back to the cave.

Once she had Gabrielle dressed with the only other piece of clothing she had with her, a sleeping shift, she left the bard in the cave and turned to the task of building a fire. As she was gathering wood she tried to figure out what could have happened. Gabrielle didn’t seem traumatized; rather she seemed like a blank. Like someone had removed the most vital part of Gabrielle from her body.

When she came back with the firewood, the bard was naked again and dancing around the cave. Arms flailed up and down, her torso vibrated and hips undulated … it was quite a sight. She pulled the shift back over Gabrielle’s head, which wasn’t the easiest thing to do because the woman refused to stop moving.

Now exasperated and extremely concerned, Xena sat down with a huff and watched the dancing bard. Something must have happened. A spell, or … Gods. Please don’t let it be henbane again. Xena cradled her head in her hands. A sassy Gabrielle floated by and ruffled the disgruntled warrior’s hair.

"That’s it," grumbled a fed up Xena. "Sit!" She pulled the bard down onto her bedroll and slipped the shift over her head again. "You. Stay here. I’ll be right back. KEEP THE SHIFT ON. DON’T MOVE. STAY PUT." She gestured to the witless blonde as though this would make her demands understood. But the bard simply continued to look at her blankly.

Xena turned one last time to see the bard starting to stand up. "Uh, uh, uh." And Gabrielle sat again at the verbal warning. "Don’t make me tie you up, Gabrielle."

She made her way through the foliage, found a spot to relieve herself (bard problems, or not, some things needed to be attended to) and tried to concentrate away from all that dancing. She was on her way back when she spotted a patch of wild berries and decided to grab a handful. The closer she got, the clearer the humming became. An upbeat melody. She parted the bushes to find Gabrielle, stark naked yet again, picking berries and popping them into her mouth; never interrupting the steady humming that came from deep down in her throat. Upon seeing Xena, she licked her index finger and waved at her, a wink included in the package.

Xena’s mouth hung open. From across the bush a hand darted out, grabbed the warrior by the breastplate, and yanked her across the foliage to meet humming, bardly lips.

Okay, I don’t know what’s wrong here. Or why, in Hades, she keeps kissing me. But if a kiss is what she wants …And Xena gave her one to knock her socks off …had she actually been wearing any socks.

The kiss ended, leaving Xena dizzy. The bard simply raised her eyebrows at the stunned warrior and danced off. She shook her head and followed quickly after Gabrielle, knowing in her current state that all sorts of harm could come her way. She threw the squirming figure over her shoulder and headed back to the cave.

As she approached the opening she noticed movement inside. She held Gabrielle tighter and edged closer only to find Gabrielle still in the cave. Yes, naked again and still dancing, but nevertheless in the cave. She felt the body in her arms, swung the woman off of her shoulder and looked at the blonde bard standing in front of her. Had she been the fainting type…

Had she finally snapped? Did all those years as a warlord, wrestling with her demons, her all-to-oft-mentioned darkness, finally send her over the edge? Gabrielle, the hummer, threw her arms around Xena and nibbled on her neck. It was damn distracting, especially when she made her way up to a sensitive earlobe.

"All right … Okay, let’s just keep our hands next to ourselves, shall we?" Xena held Gabrielle’s arms pinned to her body but that only drew her attention to the naked midriff and then further down…

"You. Move over there with the other you." Xena gently pushed her in the direction of the fire where the other bard was dancing. Soon they were dancing together.

Two Gabrielles. She couldn’t even begin to think up an explanation for this. The only thing that appeared certain is that neither seemed to be the real Gabrielle. Somewhere, she just knew, the real one, her Gabrielle, was okay. She could feel it. When did this start happening? This invisible connection to the bard? She supposed it was over time that they grew so…intertwined. None of this felt dangerous to Xena, but rather silly and a touch annoying. Though it was oddly comforting to have these … copies, of the bard here; she had really missed Gabrielle these past few days. She watched the dancing bards. There was something else sort of nice about this too, she thought as she cleaned the fish and prepared them for the fire. She could look at these Gabrielle’s anyway she liked, for as long as she wanted, whenever she wanted. They didn’t seem to mind or have a clue. And whoever, whatever, they were, they sure seemed interested in her. And, she had to admit, she really hadn’t minded all that kissing.

She prepared a couple of makeshift plates for the bards. They ate it, so she assumed they needed food. One sat near Xena’s leg with her head resting on the warrior’s thigh. Xena casually ran her hands through the blonde hair and realized how much she was enjoying the physical contact. She had often wanted to reach out and touch Gabrielle, but always held back, or else cut the contact short. Why had she done that? She recalled always pushing that question back to someplace deep within her. But now, with these … pretend bards (maybe she’s really gone crazy? Could crazy be an isolated cave with a wagon full of fish and a couple of naked bards?) She allowed herself to excavate the questions and attempted to answer them.

The other bard came around behind her and sat just off to the side. She nibbled at her fish and occasionally Xena’s neck. The warrior flinched at first then decided to just get through the meal as quickly as possible, neck nibbling and all. Soon her head was back, eyes half closed, as the humming Gabrielle nuzzled her neck and the other ran warm fingers down her thigh. Her plate clattering to the ground brought her to her feet.

"Okay. This isn’t working." She was concocting a way to tie up the bards for the night, so all of them could safely share the space, when a shadowy outline appeared at the mouth of the cave. In the flicker of two bard’s eyelashes, Xena had sword firmly in hand.

The figure danced its way into the cave.

"Oh, dear Gods." Xena sat on the nearest rock, dejected as yet a third Gabrielle made her way, with a bump and a grind, into the cave to join her sisters. Sure enough, a wink for Xena.

"This is a nightmare," the warrior muttered. What was she going to do with three naked, dancing, sexually promiscuous Gabrielle’s? And did she have that much rope?

Whatever forces had concocted this odd situation, she could do nothing about it tonight. And though none of them were actually the real Gabrielle, something about her likeness running so vulnerably around the countryside was much too disconcerting. She would have to keep them there for the night and bring them along in the morning. She wondered at how they naturally sought her out, and how successful they had been.

Then there was the problem of the fish beginning to smell. She considered moving the wagon back outside of the cave, but it would make an excellent barrier if she were to maneuver it effectively. Then she could sleep without having to worry that the bards would dance off in the middle of the night. Better to put up with the smell. The warrior sighed. It was going to be a long night.

* * * * *

Xena laid the only blanket she had with her along side the bedroll. There would be no covers but at least none of them would lie on the dirt.

If only lying down on the dirt was the problem. The real dilemma was how to get the bards, with their endless amounts of energy, down for the night.

Xena sat near the fire on a rock next to the bedroll and watched as the bards revolved around her in an orbit. Much like counting sheep, the passing bards acted as a tranquilizer, and the warrior found herself getting very drowsy. She lay down on the bedding with her arms behind her head thinking she would rest while she waited for the bards to tire. Of course, she realized, not knowing what they actually were, this might never happen. But, she reasoned, if they got hungry then there was a good chance they would eventually get sleepy.

The warrior thing to do was not to fall asleep until everyone else was asleep. For safety reasons. This was a fact of Xena’s existence and not something easily laid aside. But those bards just kept going around and around and around … she was so sleepy, felt her eyes closing. Opening. Closing. A blonde head curled into her shoulder and, like that, the sheer comfort of it put her to sleep.

She awoke with a start. The fire was burning low. How long had she slept? The blonde head was still on her shoulder. There was a slight movement and she noticed another blonde head on her abdomen. Further down was more body heat as another blonde head rested on her leg, an arm curled around the limb, this last sleeping bard lying between her thighs.

Xena’s whole body was kept warm by the body heat of the bards, so that, though the fire burned low, she felt no chill from the air. She could barely breath the sensation was so strong. She had never realized Gabrielle’s physical presence could effect her so profoundly. Yes, she had felt the fluttering before when Gabrielle was near, when they touched. She wasn’t blind to the attraction, having had her share of lovers. And she most certainly wasn’t blind to Gabrielle’s beauty. But there was something else that kept Xena at a distance.

Honor.

The one thing she never had before Gabrielle. The one thing she would not forfeit. One of the bards ran her fingers along the bare skin of Xena’s thigh.

Honor was hanging by the skin of its teeth.

She had to move. As she shifted, the hand that softly caressed her leg manifested lips that trailed along after it, planting little kisses along the inside of her thigh. That movement seemed to trigger the bard on her stomach, who tightened her grip around the warrior’s torso, pulling her into an embrace. Which seemed, in turn, to trigger the blonde head lying on her shoulder and soon those lips were kissing her throat. Her cheek. Her mouth. Xena moaned into the kiss as she felt Gabrielle’s lips part to meet her tongue. Grabbing tufts of blonde hair, Xena arched into the kiss. When she finally pulled away to look at this new lover, she was met with a blank stare.

Her heart dropped like a rock being thrown to the ground.

This was not Gabrielle. This fact could not be any clearer. Gabrielle was all eyes. All that she was, every part of her, from head to toe, could be found in those green eyes. These eyes looking back at Xena, were not those of the woman she wished was with her right now. The woman she did not want to lose. The woman, whose body, she could not pull her hands away from.

It was not Gabrielle. But maybe this was for the best. She could touch her skin, feel her lips, without doing the dishonorable thing. And then maybe her need for the bard would be quenched and things could go on as they had been before. She knew this was a lie. That with the first touch of her lips onto Gabrielle’s, imposter or not, nothing would ever be the same. But her skin burned with the contact and what she had before her was lust. A hunger that grew from her love, but which was not equal to it.

So her hands traveled up Gabrielle’s shoulder and entangled in blonde hair as she took another kiss from the familiar looking lips. At the same time, three sets of hands descended upon her, striping her of her leather and her undergarments. It was all a haze, how it was achieved. The sensation of so much happening at once was overwhelming, even for someone as experienced in sexual nuances as Xena. Hands seemed to be everywhere, parting her thighs, smoothing her belly, palming her breasts. Then lips and tongues … in her mouth, softly lapping at a nipple, and nuzzling her thighs. It was slow, methodical, like a dream where you try to run fast but you can barely manage a step forward. It was excruciating in its pace. It was sublime. If there was ever a thought of stopping this trickling stream, the hypnotic nature of the seduction had put a stop to that. She was brought along on a journey that pulled her in its wake. None of the women seemed to do anything quickly, so unlike their earlier dancing that had been wild and spontaneous. This lovemaking was slow and detailed, as though they would cover every stretch of her body in warm, wet need.

Blank stares aside, the need of these women, who were taking her body inch by inch, was apparent. Their bodies reacting to the arousal, as well. Soon the cave whispered with dense breathing and quiet sighs.

But Xena’s needs were changing gears and she raised her hips and pushed her tongue deeper into the mouth that was shaped exactly like Gabrielle’s. A blonde head suckled her breasts, bringing her nipples to an aching peak before nibbling on them in the same, slow fashion. She felt herself wiggling underneath the woman who lay on top of her, without the control she had hoped to retain. The fire in her belly was rising as she went well past all reasonable thought. Grabbing the Gabrielle she was kissing, she pulled the blonde on top of her, displacing the other two. She needed to know what Gabrielle’s body felt like running the length of her own. Her head felt drunk with it. It wasn’t Gabrielle, but it was. And she could feel her hands running down the smooth back, down to the full, soft ass, and she knew what Gabrielle felt like under her hands.

She turned the fake Gabrielle over and attacked her neck, her shoulders, and then her breasts with a frenzy she could not control. Felt nipples stiffen, Gabrielle’s nipples, as she sucked them hard. Heard a gasp from the woman underneath her, which pushed her even harder. Then hands, soft on her hips, pushed them upward as silky hair fell upon her backside. Delicate fingers trailed up her thigh so that she threw her head back in pleasure, the breasts she had been nursing, forgotten. The bard beneath her took advantage and wiggled down further until she had Xena’s breasts between her lips.

Now she was on all fours as a hand played with her behind, tickling her cleft and toying with the opening there. The warrior moaned as the remaining bard cradled Xena’s face in her hands, kissing her deeply.

She was feeling her need build, and didn’t have to wait, as a hand palmed and caressed her, running fingers through the length of her, before slowly entering. The sensation of being filled by Gabrielle was exquisite. The thought of whose hands were inside her, caused her hips to jerk and beg for more. Another finger …another, stretching her and making her even more aware of the bard’s sensuous pumping. The need was so great and the tempo so languorous, that Xena thought she would go mad if it didn’t speed up; feared she would go mad if it ended. She was caught between need and desire.

The decision was made for her when the bard nuzzling and sucking her breasts began to play with her clit. Lightly at first, then with a surer hand, jostling it about until it grew so large with need that she could feel it straining outward. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold out. The sensation of Gabrielle seemed to be over every inch of her body. From mouth to breasts, to being blissfully filled by her, to having her release controlled by Gabrielle. Her body tingled with the sensation of being completely over taken by the beautiful woman she loved. And it was more than bliss, more than sex, rather like a baptism into heaven … For her, Gabrielle was heaven.

She held out as long as she could, but she was so wet that when the next finger was added, she could hold back no longer. She pushed into those fingers and felt the fingers on her clit moving faster. She looked up at the blonde kissing her. Needing to look into those green eyes. The blonde let Xena pull away from the lips that had never stopped pleasuring her. Xena searched those green eyes, looking for signs of her bard, the Gabrielle she had come to love. Blankness stared back. As her hips thrust, and the orgasm hit like a thunderbolt, her eyes filled with tears. She knew in that instant that she loved Gabrielle. And this was not Gabrielle.

She rode out the waves and then collapsed onto the blanket, rolling onto her back. Her hair was damp with sweat as the bards took their rest on her body. Arranging themselves in the order in which she found them upon waking up.

Xena stared at the dark ceiling above her. She wanted Gabrielle, the real Gabrielle, in her arms. The pain of her absence, in that particular moment, was piercing. Like nothing she had ever felt before. With three bodies pressed against her, she was the loneliest she had ever been.

A tear ran down her cheek and the bard at her shoulder looked up at her. She leaned over to kiss the warrior’s lips, ready to begin lovemaking once more. Xena shook her head and cradled the face in her hands. She wasn’t Gabrielle, but she looked so much like her. She touched those pretend lips with her fingers and couldn’t resist kissing them again, despite the emptiness.

* * * * *

"Xena?"

"Hmm?" The warrior snuggled into the blonde hair near her nose. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think I’m doing?" Xena purred seductively and caressed the bare flesh of the bard’s shoulder.

"Xena!"

"What!" Xena’s eyes snapped open and she knew, just knew in the pit of her stomach, who she would find gazing down at her.

A bard. A bard dressed in clothing. With a staff. And with a very large expression on her face.

"Gabrielle!" Xena expelled and sat up, causing bards to roll off her in all directions.

"Apparently one of many." The real Gabrielle raised a quizzical eyebrow at the naked warrior.

"Yeah … Well, I…" Xena couldn’t believe it, but she actually heard herself laugh nervously. "I found them, one by one, yesterday. Or rather, they found me."

"So it would seem." Gabrielle’s face gave nothing away as she crossed her arms and studied her naked likeness in triplicate. She ended her surveillance by giving Xena’s naked form a once over.

Gabrielle’s nose wrinkled up. "My Gods, that smell."

"Don’t look at me! It’s the fish." Xena reached for her clothing, frantically searching for her dignity along with them. She settled for a change of subject. "What do you know about them?"

"That they have a keen sense of direction?"

Xena gave Gabrielle a look. "I meant, how did this happen?"

"Oh that." Gabrielle smirked. She was enjoying herself. "Joxer somehow caused it."

"Joxer?" Xena curled her lip. With her leathers partially on, she was beginning to feel more confident.

"It’s a long story."

"Make it short."

"Aphrodite enchanted a scroll. Everything written on it eventually comes true. Well sort of … Anyway, we’ve been trying to get you to come back, but everything I write causes more problems."

"Hard to imagine."

Gabrielle was able to put aside what she had just stumbled upon once she was caught up again in her dilemma.

"It still doesn’t explain why I found three naked Gabrielle’s wandering the countryside."

"Well that’s … I’m not really sure. I think he was looking at me when he wrote something on the scroll."

"Uh-huh, that explains it," Xena said to the still perplexed Gabrielle.

"What?"

"Xena!" Ares voice boomed from outside the cave.

"Ares," the warrior sneered. "What’s he doing here?"

"I’ll tell you all the details on the way. Basically, there’s this warlord—"

"Wait. What about them?" Xena gestured to the three bards, who had curled up and fallen asleep again.

"I guess we’ll just leave them here. Once we figure out how to reverse the enchantment, they should just disappear."

"No. I don’t like that idea. They’ll be here, unprotected, and who knows how long it will take to reverse all this."

Gabrielle looked at the warrior with a smug smile.

"What?" Xena spat defensively.

"You’re worried about them."

"Gabrielle."

"That’s sweet, Xena."

"Let’s just go." Xena glared a warning that neither of them took seriously. "They won’t stay clothed, so they’ll have to travel like they are. You okay with that?" She inquired in a low, gentle tone. She didn’t want Gabrielle to be uncomfortable.

"You mean, am I okay with everyone in Greece knowing what I look like in the buff?" She shrugged. "I can’t say I’m crazy about the idea, but what are our options? They probably wouldn’t be safe here." Gabrielle walked over to the sleeping bards and rapped her staff on the ground, creating a loud echo effect in the cave. "Come on, girls! Let’s go!"

One by one, they seemed to obey Gabrielle’s command. Rubbing sleepy eyes and combing fingers through mussed up blonde hair, they each made their way towards the cave’s opening, kissing Xena full on the lips as they passed her by. The warrior tried awfully hard to pretend it wasn’t a strange, kinky, thing to be kissed by three naked representations of her best friend while the real woman looked on.

Gabrielle sauntered up to her, hands on hips, head cocked to the side, her face registering that familiar ‘explain yourself’ expression that Xena had come to know all too well.

The warrior’s eyebrows shot upward, but this time in feigned innocence as she rocked back and forth on her heels. "Well … better get going."

~~~~~~

Epilogue~

In the end, Xena fought the warlord (who knew the fish would come in so handy?). Aphrodite and Ares, who had lost their godhood due to a certain bard’s propensity for waxing poetic, found themselves on Mt. Olympus once again, as the enchantment on the scroll was reversed. And Xena watched, with a certain poignancy, as the three, naked bards faded into nothingness. Though Xena’s melancholy faded as the real Gabrielle slipped her gentle hand into the warrior’s.

By that evening, only the warrior and one lone bard sat by the fire. What happened later that night after a lengthy, umm, discussion, is a story for another time. It would be fair to say that Xena would have her share of ‘first times’ with her beloved Gabrielle.

And all was well with the known world. Well … for the most part.

~THE END~

[faveficarchive]

The Secret Histories: Part 3

Shadows of the Living

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Mel/Janice

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Set soon after All the Colors of the World, an old flame wanders back into Mel’s life, and threatens a relationship already wrought with unspoken problems. Janice is sent off to Bavaria to work with the Monuments Men, and Mel isn’t far behind. Will their shaky relationship withstand the test of distance, violence, and ancient obsession?

Life itself is but the shadow of death, and souls departed but the shadows of the living....The sun itself is but the dark simulacrum, and light but the shadow of God.

—Sir Thomas Browne

November, 1945

Fall. He brooded, watching the leaves gently disengage themselves from the trees outside his townhouse window. He loved the season when he was younger, welcoming the crisp air, a renewed feeling of purpose, of vigor. Now, as an old man, he dreaded it—it meant the onslaught of the cold weather that would settle in his bones, and the painful chilblains he would get...and now, recovering from his recent stroke, Anton Frobisher truly felt the season of aging, of death and decay was upon him. He could only groan in response.

"Are you all right?" The voice was gentle, soft. With a Southern accent. Before he could look in her direction, Melinda had laid a hand on his arm.

And here, inside his home, a young woman he loved was about to gently disengage herself from his life. Perhaps not permanently; who could tell? The war was over, they kept reminding themselves, but the world was just as unpredictable, violent, and crazy as ever. With the bombs dropped on Japan only a scant two months ago, he was more than convinced of that fact.

Anton looked at Melinda. Her familiar frown, that serious, intent look that she always wore, except in the presence of Janice Covington, was directed at him. Damn you, Covington, you better not get yourself killed.

He gave a wry smile. "I'm fine," he rumbled in a deep voice, hoping to convince her. She managed a small smile in return. "By God, it feels good to speak again." Slowly, after his stroke, his ability to speak—to formulate sentences—had returned.

"I bet it does."

He eyed the small black suitcase that sat in the corner of his den, near the door. "So you're off, then?"

She nodded, then pushed her sliding glasses up along the ridge of her nose with a long index finger. One of her "nervous scholar tics," as Covington called it. He could still see and hear—quite vividly—the golden-haired woman laughing gently as she teased her tall and sometimes too-serious companion. "I'm...off," she said quietly.

"I shall miss you very much, you know," he said, with David Niven bravado, the fighter pilot going down nobly in his fiery plane.

"Yes, I will miss you too. But I'll be back." Optimistic words, but the chasm of doubt in her voice threatened to swallow them both.

"You will," he said, taking her hand, "and so will Janice."

After the stroke, when he could not speak, he felt as if he had been trapped underwater, under an ice floe, separate from the world, his senses refracted. He could witness everything going on around him, but could neither understand it clearly nor express himself. When he could finally tell Melinda—or rather, show her, via the report—what he had discovered about Catherine Stoller, he felt that he had finally broken through. But it took almost a week before he could tell her of his discovery, and how he had come to it: How he had been more than a little suspicious of Stoller when she showed up at his office; how she seemed to know exactly what she wanted, and how her single-minded intensity sent off alarms in his head. He had called in a favor from a friend in the OSS, and obtained a file on the elusive agent. The war, he thought cynically, had been, for him, nothing more than trading favors to obtain information and get his way.

But that wasn't the worst of it. "They knew," Anton had told her one evening as they sat in his den.

She didn't want to believe it. "What?"

"The OSS knew about her activities. Did you look at the date of the report I showed you?"

"No," Mel had admitted guiltily, knowing she should have noticed such a crucial detail.

"It was written approximately two weeks before she came to my office, looking to 'recruit' you."

Anton saw the change, saw the blue eyes darken, saw the muscles in her jaw ripple. She was greatly mysterious to him at times; as much as he loved her, he saw depths in her that he was afraid of—afraid he could never reach them, or understand them. Only one person seemed capable of that. "How could they?" she whispered.

He carefully continued his discourse. "I don't know exactly what the agency is up to, Melinda. Obviously, they want something from Catherine. They're watching her, hoping that she will lead them to something. What, I have no idea."

"Lead them to something?" She fought her rising panic. Like Janice's dead body? she thought.

"Yes. That's all I can get out of my contacts. Right now their orders are simply to monitor Stoller." He blew on a cup of steaming tea. "Unfortunately, they were simply unaware of her relationship to you—and, now, Janice."

She sat in an overstuffed chair in his study, her longs legs drawn up against her chest, chin on her knees. In such instances she reminded him of the lanky girl she used to be. Despite the girlish pose, her body emanated a strength and grace she was barely aware of. Absentmindedly she bit into the dark wool trousers covering her knee, deep in thought. "Do you think the OSS could use some help in watching Catherine?" she asked softly.

He raised an eyebrow. He admired her determination. "My dear," he replied, placing the cup back on its saucer, "it never hurts to ask."

And that was how she ended up in the halls of the OSS headquarters. pacing, awaiting a meeting with an OSS official. Mel wore her best suit, a somber navy blue wool skirt and jacket with a white blouse, dark stockings, and black heels. Much to her chagrin Janice had always referred to the ensemble as "the librarian outfit." She found it uncanny (and annoying) that both Janice and the archaeologist's former girlfriend, Mary Jane Velasko, had similar reactions to this particular suit.

The rhythmic, ringing echo of her heels against the hard, shiny floor soothed her. When in doubt, pace. Janice always did so when agitated, and perhaps, just perhaps, mimicking the archaeologist's habits would somehow bring her back, and fix everything that went wrong between them. She folded her arms against her chest as she walked, remembering the time just after they had met, when they were in the U.S. Embassy in Athens. Mel had lost her passport, and was nervously awaiting new papers as she paced in a similar cavernous hallway. Melinda the metronome Janice had called her, as her heels had clacked along the marble hallway with stormtrooper precision. It hadn't been that she was really upset about the passport—she knew the officials would find some way to ship home an essentially useless (in their eyes) American woman—but that her feelings for Janice...were moving beyond mere friendship, engendering an intensity that she felt powerless to stop. As she waited that day in the Embassy, she had wondered to herself how it all happened. She had reached no answer then. Three years later, despite all that she had learned about Xena and Gabrielle, she still didn't have one.

***

1942

Well, missy, you wanted some excitement, she thought to herself.

Mel stood in a dusty road devoid of travelers, deep in the agrarian heart of a unknown country, in torn and sweaty clothes, exhausted. To her right, alongside the road, was a motorcycle that refused to operate. And her new friend, Janice Covington, who was rather...attractive in a unique way, was throwing a somewhat butch version of a what was known among Southern ladies as a hissy fit.

The engine of Janice's motorcycle, after a sudden spurt and gasp, died, and they had coasted to a gentle stop along the barren road (thanks to Janice's skill in handling the thing). The fair-haired archaeologist had jumped off the bike and unleashed a barrage of obscenities. Actually, first she threw her fedora on the ground, stomped around it a bit as if she were attempting some bastardized American version of a Mexican hat dance, and angrily kicked at a tire—she missed, and fell down. Then the swearing began in earnest. Mel had not heard such cussing ever since the time she encountered a group of sailors on leave one time during a trip to the French Quarter in New Orleans. (Which had prompted her 12-year-old self to innocently ask her father what a "cocksucker" was. She had been quite pleased at making her verbose father speechless.)

Mel was, on one hand, relieved at the motorcycle's death: She had hated sitting in its sidecar. It was ill-suited for someone of her height, and she had gotten terrible cramps in her calves from being in it for a mere hour, exacerbated by the fact that she'd had Janice's heavy rucksack on her knees as well. But now they were without transportation. And Janice didn't even seem to be remotely close to regaining her senses.

"Janice—" she attempted.

"Motherfucker!" screamed Janice Covington.

Mel blanched. Oh, that's a new one on me. Rather awful sounding. "I know you're upset—" she pressed on.

"Shit!"

"But we have to think about how to get to Athens."

"Goddammit to hell!!"

"I recall there was a farm a couple miles near here. I saw it on the drive down. Perhaps I should walk there and see if I can get us some help."

Mel's calm, reasoning tone finally managed to seep through Janice's fury. The small woman caught her breath, and swallowed. She picked up her hat, and banged the battered, dirty fedora against her knees. "Yes. Melinda. Mel. That would be terrific." She leaned against the defunct motorcycle, panting lightly from the exertion. "I'm sorry about that. I don't usually—well, actually, I do lose my temper on a regular basis—but this was different."

Now that Janice was acting a tad more normal, Mel gingerly approached her. "Why?" she asked gently. "What's bothering you? Other than the fact we're stuck in the middle of nowhere."

Janice chuckled in spite of herself. "I didn't tell you...I guess I didn't know how to tell you...." She took a deep breath. "Jack Kleinman took the scrolls. I don't know if it was by accident or on purpose. But I need to catch that dumb bastard and get them back."

"What?" Mel was surprised at the admission; Jack, while certainly a little on the duplicitous side, did not seem like the type to deliberately do something so blatantly...wrong. But if he did, I think I'll kill him myself. "Oh my, Janice...I'm...sorry. I know it took a lot of work for you to find them."

"I know." Her clear green eyes clouded over in anger. "Son of a bitch. My father spent his whole life looking for those things. And I had them, Mel. I had them." She closed her eyes in an effort not to cry in front of this woman she had just met.

"You did, Janice. And you'll get them back. I'll help you in any way I can."

The words of the Southerner—and the warm hand that touched her forearm—were a tonic. She did not cry. "Thanks," she said wistfully. "Because you know something?"

Mel shook her head.

Those green eyes ensnared her in their gaze. "They belong to you as much as to me."

Mel smiled. And Janice returned the smile. My, what a beautiful smile. And I think we're having a moment! One of those girl-bonding things; yet instead of talking about makeup or clothes, we're talking about...scrolls. Well, you take it however you get it, I suppose. But the Southern scholar's courage gave out and she looked away. "Well! I best get going then!" she declared in her best "go-getter" tone, developed at Miss Evangeline's charm school in Columbia.

"Wait a minute." Janice pulled out a handgun from her leather jacket, and offered it to Mel, handle first. The scholar could not contain her aghast expression. "Go on, take it," Janice, oblivious, encouraged her. "For protection."

"Ah, no, thank you anyway," Mel said politely, as if refusing a plate of pig's feet.

"Come on, now, I'll worry about you if you don't have something." Mel shook her head vigorously, like a wet dog. "Okay, okay, but...be careful, Mel." Tucking the gun back into her waistband, Janice took off the worn jacket and rolled up her sleeves, revealing the subtle musculature of her tanned arms. Mel blinked. Okay. I didn't notice that. I am not noticing that. "I don't think the Krauts have penetrated this deep into the countryside, but you can never know for sure." The archaeologist discarded her hat for a moment and ran a hand through her red-gold hair, just the color of a sunset, Mel thought giddily. She hadn't realized before how lovely Janice's hair was...uh-oh. The archaeologist scrunched up her face in concern as Mel suddenly grew pale. "Is something wrong? You want me to come with you?" she asked.

Yes, come with me, you blonde devil! Let’s drink ouzo and dance barefoot under the sun. I’ll whisper to you how lovely you are.... "N-no, I'm fine. B-but you keep the gun. You need protection too," Mel added. Protection from me, if I keep this up. What is wrong with me?

Janice grinned, and spun the .38 around in her hand, like an outlaw. "Don't worry. Usually I just wave it around, fire off a few shots maybe, and people leave me alone."

"Nazis aren't people, Janice," Mel replied sternly, in her best schoolteacher-spinster mode.

The archaeologist continued to flash her too-dazzling white teeth, as if auditioning for a toothpaste advertisement. "Really?"

"Well, you know what I mean," the Southerner amended stupidly.

As the light hit Janice in all the right places, illuminating the red highlights in her blonde hair, making her green eyes glitter like rare emeralds, and deepening the golden tone of her strong, smooth forearms, Mel felt dizzy. And ditzy. I hate feeling this...unbalanced. So she’s attractive. So what? She turned on her heel and started walking as fast as her long legs would take her. Which was pretty fast.

It was a classic pastoral scene: A young shepherd, tending his flock. Except that the boy, who looked about 16 or 17, was cursing violently in Greek at the immobile animals, who blocked the road. The shepherd, with his curly black hair and huge dark eyes, framed by silky long eyelashes, was very attractive, Mel admitted to herself, and he almost made her forget Janice.

Almost.

Mel came across him about 3 miles away from where she had left Janice. And she was never so glad to see sheep in her life. Her feet ached with blisters, and she had no illusions about how she must have looked to this boy: Torn dirty clothes, limping, and I don't even want to think about my hair. When he first saw her, his mouth formed a wide "O" of surprise. He cried out for protection from God. But then she rapidly began to explain, in Greek, her predicament.

It didn't take much. Her beauty (he saw past the obvious, quite fixable flaws) and her peculiar accent (a mishmash of ancient and modern syntax, superimposed by a Carolinian drawl) charmed him, not to mention the fact that she waved around a wad of cash. He eagerly agreed to drive them to Athens. First he had to borrow his uncle's truck; it would only take a few minutes, he said. "Wait with the sheep," he ordered her, as he ran up a hill and disappeared over its sloping crest.

His departure triggered some distress among members of the flock: There were bleats all around, and one angry ewe kept butting her head against Mel's hip, as if trying to displace her from their simple sheep lives. At one point it succeeded in knocking Mel down. Perhaps it was all some sheep-plot to kill her? She imagined the gossip this would engender among the D.A.R. back home: Did you hear about Melinda Pappas? Stampeded to death by a bunch of sheep in some silly foreign country like Hungary or something! I swear, that girl never did a normal thing in her life, it just makes perfect sense she would meet her maker in such a way.

Almost an hour passed. The sheep began to ignore her. She sat down carefully in the grass nearby, resting her tired feet. When she heard the roar of an engine, she jumped up, started to jog toward the road (insofar as one can jog in heels), and promptly slid into a pile of dung. Luckily the damage was minimal and her stockings took the brunt of it. When the boy pulled up to her in a dark green pickup truck, she was pulling off the smelly stockings as discretely as she could manage. His eyes became riveted on her shapely, bare legs.

She sighed at his interest. "It's like you've never seen a woman's legs before," she muttered in English, then realized he probably hadn't, except maybe a sister or his mother. She tossed the ruined stockings to the side of the road—something for you to remember me by—she thought, glaring at the sheep. He offered her a hand as she climbed in the truck, and they drove off to pick up Janice.

When they arrived on the scene, Janice was sitting on top of the sidecar, smoking a cigar. As they slowed to a halt she leapt off the sidecar, and ran toward the truck. She jumped on the running board and leaned in the open window as the vehicle slowed to a halt. "Mel, you're great!"

"Just lucky," Mel replied, while the boy stared at Janice in amazement. A pretty woman dressed as a man? Americans were just too strange.

"I could just kiss you!" Janice was grinning, revealing those perfect white teeth again. But before Mel could even dream of responding to that, Janice was off the truck, and running back to the motorcycle to get her hat and her bag.

"What did she say?" the boy asked, craning his head to watch Janice gallop down the road.

"Nothing important," Mel replied dreamily, her eyes upon the same prize.

"Ha!" he laughed. "She said 'kiss'. She wants to kiss me, right?" He grinned.

"Why, you're absolutely right. In fact, I should go sit with her and restrain her from making any more advances to you. You know how American women are."

"Yeah, I know! From the movies! So ask her if she wants to sit up front with me!"

Mel shook her head sadly.

"But I like you too!" Again, his eyes drifted down to her legs.

"I think we'll both sit in the back," she replied primly, exiting the truck. With some awkwardness—in order to avoid tearing her skirt even more—she climbed into the bed of the truck. The archaeologist had made herself at home, using the rucksack as a pillow. "What, you're not gonna ride up front?" Janice asked from her lounging position, as she struck a match and lit one of her foul cigars.

"No. I'm getting rather tired of that boy staring at my legs."

Janice laughed. "Don't blame you." The truck started again, and they were on their way, under the canopy of Greek twilight. "Hey," Janice mumbled, wrinkling her nose, "I smell—"

"Don't even say it, Janice Covington. It smells no worse than your cigar."

It was during that trip on the truck that Mel realized that her passport was missing. She immediately knew where it was: trapped in a tomb with the God of War. She dimly recalled the sensation of the slender document slipping out of what she thought was a secure pocket inside her suit. But this happened during the possession of her body by Xena, who was too busy turning somersaults and trying to skewer Ares with a sword in order for her to do anything about it. Sure, Xena defeated the God of War, but she also ruined my outfit, broke my glasses, and lost my passport.

She put off telling Janice of this development. The archaeologist had gotten crabby on the remainder of the drive, as she had time to focus once again on the missing scrolls, and the shock of being a descendent of Gabrielle, "the stupid sidekick." Also, she was starving, but she was "sick of Greek food and dying for a good roast beef sandwich"....

Mel endured these tirades, then timidly asked Janice if she had a place to stay in Athens.

"Uh, no. I had been sleeping on site, you know. Camping. I'm sure I'll find something, though."

"Well, er, um..."

"What, Mel?" Always cuts to the chase. How Yankee-like of her.

"You're, ah, quite welcome to share my hotel room for the evening." Common sense sent out a rather hysterical alarm. Are you absolutely mad? Are you trying to torture yourself by having this woman in close proximity to you? Take it back! I don't care if your stupid Southern manners won't allow you to retract an invitation, take it back!

By this time it was dark out, and she could barely make out Janice's features in the dim starlight. But she thought she caught a gleam of white teeth. "That's really nice of you," Janice replied softly.

"It's my pleasure," she replied. Of course it is, you masochist.

"No, really, I mean, you're so...nice to me! I've been nothing but a pain in the ass all day. Complaining, yelling at you, nearly getting you killed. Then you arrange our ride here, now you're offering me a place for the night.... What did I do to deserve this?"

"Nonsense. You deserve to be treated nicely, just like anyone else. You've had a rather rough day, too, I might add."

"I won't argue with that."

"Then don't," Mel said with surprising firmness. More to quash the objections inside herself than Janice's.

There was no response. Just a soft laugh in the dark.

The hotel was mediocre, but it had been the best Mel could manage on short notice, after she had made the impulsive decision to come to Macedonia. At least, she thought, it was clean, and that was all that really mattered to her.

The little archaeologist flopped right down in the bed with her boots still on. "Ah!" Janice cried with relief. "I could sleep for days." She looked up to see Mel scowling at her feet. "Oh—shoes. Right." She sat up and set to the task of unlacing the boots. After pulling them off and discarding them, she noticed that the tall Southerner was still frowning. "Hey, everything okay? I'm not gonna sleep in the bed, y'know. I just wanted to relax for a few minutes. I can take the floor, if you don't mind sparing a blanket—"

"No!" Mel exclaimed impetuously. "You can sleep in the bed." Did I just say that?

"With...you?" Janice asked innocently, green eyes wide.

"With...me," Mel affirmed, painfully colliding with a table, its sharp edge sinking into her smooth thigh.

"That's, uh, fine by me..." Janice rubbed the back of her neck.

"I'm, ah, g-glad to feel—uh, I m-mean, hear that..."

"You know, you stammer sometimes." Janice lit a cigar and scrutinized her friend.

No kidding, Sherlock Holmes. "Uh, yes, I do sometimes. When I get nervous or upset—"

"Well, what the hell is wrong?" she grunted around the cigar.

"I, oh..." Mel moaned. I'm having dirty thoughts about you! In spite of that disgusting cigar! "I lost my passport."

Janice sat up, concern evident on her lovely face. "Really? Where? Do you know?"

"Yes, I do. It's back on the site. In the tomb," she mumbled grimly.

"Shit, Mel. I'm sorry." Then Janice started to laugh, causing Mel to scowl even more fiercely than she did at shoes on the bed.

"What's so darned funny, Janice?"

"Looks like no one will be using it, except maybe Ares." Her laughter sounded like cascading water. "If he gets out of the tomb, that is. Then he could use it. He could shave his beard, dress in drag, and pass himself off as you—"

Mel felt herself smiling in spite of it all. "I don't think I'm particularly vain, but I'd like to think I'm somewhat better looking as a woman than Ares would be."

"Oh, without a doubt," Janice replied quickly. "But you know how dim those passport officials are."

Mel started to laugh, but it sputtered to a halt once she saw that Janice was beginning to take off her clothes. She peeled off the dirty khaki shirt, revealing a white, sleeveless man's undershirt. The ribbed white fabric gleamed against her tan and outlined her sleek torso; obviously, Janice spent a lot of time in the sun—in a skimpy little undershirt. She could just imagine the reaction this must cause among her on-site workers—this beautiful woman running around in a flimsy, sleeveless shirt. She certainly knew what reaction it was causing in herself—her throat constricted and dry, her whole body a flushed, fiery patch of nerves. Then Janice undid her belt, and her pants dropped to the floor. Her short, muscular legs were tanned as well, at least as far as Mel could see, up to the edge of the baby blue boxer shorts.

"So, tell me...." Janice was saying, snapping her out of her lustful reverie. "What do Southern belles wear to bed? Frilly pink nighties?"

What do...? Mel's mouth hung open in surprise. In her haste to leave home, she had neglected to pack anything to wear for bed. Not that she always wore something to sleep in; sometimes, when it was very hot, she did not wear anything at all (which caused the housekeeper a great deal of confusion when she did the laundry). And usually when it was cold she wore old pajamas that had been her father's. But it wasn't cold here.

No, she gulped, letting herself look at Janice Covington's body once again, it was definitely not cold here. She wished she could erect the Walls of Jericho, just like Claudette Colbert did in It Happened One Night. But that might make her pint-sized Clark Gable unduly suspicious. (After all, why put up the wall if there's no threat?) She realized that Janice was staring at her, awaiting an answer to her facetious question.

"Well," Mel mumbled haughtily, "you'll just have to wait and see." With that, she headed into the bathroom. And collapsed against the door. All right. A slip. I'll just have to wear my slip. She washed up, trying to drag out the process as much as possible, combed her hair, undressed slowly, and threw on a slip from the valise that sat in the corner of the bathroom. Luckily, the delay produced the anticipated result: Janice was sound asleep by the time she crawled into bed. Lord, get me through this night, she prayed as she turned out the light, her body hovering near the edge of the bed.

Gabrielle...

Mel awoke, as if the sudden flitting of the bard's name across her subconscious were an alarm clock. Her sleepy eyes adjusted to a mass of red-gold hair near her face. Very close to her face; in fact, she was practically nuzzling Janice's hair. Her head lifted from the pillow in alarm. Oh my God.

Janice was spooned against her tightly, the archaeologist's firm buttocks pressed into her hips, shoulders against breasts, Mel's arm around her midriff, Janice's hand clutching it, as if she didn't want Mel to move. What on earth...? I'm such a pervert, I can't even trust myself when I sleep!

With the accumulated stealth of a lifetime spent in libraries, she managed to disengage herself from Janice. She did not awaken, and Mel breathed a sigh of relief as she scooted, once again, to the furthest corner of the bed. Then the smaller woman emitted a peeping sound, almost like a mewl, and rolled over, right back into Mel's arms. A tanned arm was flung around her waist, and the exquisite torture didn't stop there: Janice pressed her face against Mel's chest, and within seconds was snoring into her cleavage.

Perhaps this is a sign from God? Mel thought hopefully. No, I couldn't be so lucky. Again, she began the careful practice of extracting herself from Janice. The triumph she felt as she slid away successfully diminished rapidly once she fell out of the bed and onto the floor with a heavy thud and an "oof!"

The noise woke Janice. Who sleepily peered over the bed at her friend, sprawled on the floor in her slip. "Mel? Whaddya doin' down there? You woke me up," she grumped with gentle irritation.

"Uh, nothing, Janice."

"I was taking up too much space, wasn't I? Come back up. I promise I won't push you out again." Janice rolled over to the other side of the bed.

"It's okay, Janice. I'm getting up anyway. I've got to get to the consulate."

"Oh yeah, your passport. Maybe I'll come with you..." And then Janice was asleep again.

Melinda Pappas lay on the scratchy gray rug of the floor, staring up into ceiling cracks, and cursing—in a non-profane, genteel Southern way, of course—whatever fate that was torturing her.

***

London, 1945

And so they went to their separate lives, with some inexplicable, ineffable thread now connecting them. Janice did find Jack ("I didn't hurt him, just smacked him around a little," she had reassured Mel through a crackling, long-distance phone connection) and the scrolls, but—given the war and its consequential dangers to one perpetually in motion as Janice was—she opted to leave the majority of the scrolls with him, believing it to be the safest location for the time being: Who would expect precious, priceless artifacts to be in...New Jersey? But, in time, many of the documents found themselves on their way down South, into the hands of a certain lovestruck translator.

Mel was still smiling wistfully, recalling that first night when she literally slept with Janice, when a heavy wooden door opened and a grim British officer with a crewcut motioned her inside his office. As put off as she was at his severe, soldierly look, she was ever optimistic and believed his gruffness, like Anton's, was all for show.

She was rather wrong.

Major Pendleton (for that was his name) seemed to think she was nothing more than some little American idiot looking for adventure. (Perhaps true three years ago, she thought, but not now.) He was, however, both impressed and perturbed that she knew classified information. She took the blame for that, and said she went through Anton's papers while he was sick. It seemed to assuage him a bit. "I assure you," he reiterated smugly, "we have the situation quite in hand."

If, by the situation, he meant Catherine, she doubted it: "If that is true, why haven't you captured her? What do you want from her?"

He sighed. "You know I can't tell you that."

"I know." It just doesn't hurt to ask. Like Anton said. She frowned. And idea occurred to her, yet she wasn't sure if she could pull it off. "I could help you," she said, hesitantly.

He snorted. "Miss Pappas, how on earth could you help us? Do enlighten me. The fact that you know her and went to university with her is of little use to me."

"It wasn't just that I knew her as a friend. You could say I knew her very...intimately." She let her voice dip into huskiness. She knew how aroused Janice became when she spoke like this, and while it was not her intention to excite this man, she wanted to convey a very certain message to the major about herself, and Catherine. She crossed her long legs for emphasis, and was suddenly glad she opted to wear a skirt instead of pants, when she noticed how his eyes traveled up and down her legs.

He then blinked in confusion as he digested her words, and groped for a meaning that he knew was hidden. "So you were...very good friends?"

"It went beyond friendship." She forced her voice to retain a vaguely sexy tone.

"Beyond...?" he trailed off. She was beginning to think she would have to resort to some crude phrasing a la Covington (I fucked her, Major) when she noticed his eyes narrow and his jaw slacken. "Good Lord. I never would have pegged you for that type."

"That's why she came to me recently, Major." Again, the confused look. She sighed. "She wants to renew our...involvement."

"I see." Actually, he didn't. Weren't women like this usually in prisons, or wearing men's clothing, or something like that?

She moistened her dry lips. "I'm offering myself as bait, Major." Do I need to be any plainer?

His admiration of her legs stopped, and he scrutinized her closely. "Why?"

"I have a friend at Neuschwanstein. Stoller knows this. I think my friend's life is in danger; that Catherine will hurt her in some way, as retaliation against me."

"Because you rejected her?"

"More or less."

"And you have another...'friend'?" He sneered a little, caught between fascination and disgust. "Another woman?" he asked, almost incredulous.

Mel nodded.

"British?"

"American. A WAC."

"You certainly get around, don't you?"

I'll endure your insults all day if I have to. "If that's what you want to think."

He leaned back in his leather chair and idly drummed his fingers. "I never thought this operation would turn into some love triangle amongst inverts." He contemplated the matter further, then stood up and walked around the desk until he was right beside her. "All right. I would like to have your help. But you must remember: This is not about you, nor your...women. We have a mission to do. Play your part, and everything will be fine." His hand strayed and he touched her hair. She did not flinch, but he saw her nostrils flare. He took the warning and withdrew. "You're quite lovely. It's a shame, really."

Yes. It's a shame the world finds me a freak just because I love. Just because I'm flesh and blood. Like you.

She stared at the bottle of bourbon upon the table. The rich amber liquid was pretty to look at. She had never drank bourbon in her life; indeed, in past few years she had drank very little. She recalled having a rum and coke with Jack Kleinman at her hotel in New York almost two years ago, and a glass of champagne at a New Year's party a year before that...She had grown leery of alcohol, since her excessive drinking at Cambridge, even though she attributed the ill effect it had on her more to the problems between her and Catherine, and the latter's self-destructive influence, than to anything else.

And Janice? Janice drank a lot; it was hard not to when much of her social life in the military was spent in pubs and the like. But she knew how to pace herself, and she knew when to stop. Mel had only seen her companion really drunk on one occasion, and that was the evening before she left for Germany.

And tomorrow I go to Germany. I hope I find you there. Alive. She wanted to fly out today, but the briefing with the OSS took longer than she anticipated, and they insisted that she wait until morning, until they organized a transport for her. So tonight I'll drink to you, my love. Perhaps this will help me sleep. And not dream that you're dead. Or lost to me somehow. She took a crystal tumbler from the liquor cabinet and poured a sliver of bourbon in it. She drew a deep breath, as if preparing to run a mile, then grabbed the glass and downed the shot. The bourbon burned a path down her esophagus, and the aftertaste, to her palate, held a tinge of vomit. She groaned in hoarse disgust. How does Janice drink this stuff? I should just stick to champagne. Or Earl Grey, better yet.

There was a knock at the door. Her heart lurched. Could it be... She jumped up, almost knocking over the glass before snaring it with her long hand. ...she's come back... She walked to the door, unconsciously smoothing back her already sleek hair. ...to me? She opened it. It was indeed a woman in uniform, but not Janice. This WAC was slender and dark-haired: A friend of Janice's. Mel had met her once. But she could not recall the woman's name.

"Hiya, Mel!" the woman greeted her.

It was also disconcerting to be called Mel by someone other than Janice. She wasn't sure if she liked that. "Hi," Mel responded meekly. "I'm sorry, but I don't recall your name..."

The woman extended a hand, laughing. Mel took it and was jerked forward by the powerful handshake. "You don't remember? I'm Sally Phillips. How are ya?"

"Ah, yes, you're Janice's friend. I'm fine, thank you—"

"No, you're not. You look like hell, if you don't mind my sayin'." Automatically Mel inspected her immaculate clothes and felt around her bun for stray hair. Did she have something in her teeth? "It's your eyes," Sally supplied. "Bags. Of course, if we all looked as bad as you on your worst day, the world would be a damn sight more attractive, if ya don't mind my sayin' so."

Mel blushed.

"Not that I'm a dyke or anything, but if anyone could make me swing, it'd be you." Sally's eyes bulged in embarrassment and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Then slowly removed it. "Jesus, I haven't even had anything to drink and I'm already acting like an asshole. Better not tell Janice I said that or she'll punch me out."

"She's really not that much of a brute," Mel countered, feeling the need to defend (or defuse) Janice's reputation as a hothead. "So, er, Sally, how can I help you?"

The WAC held up a satchel. "Well, ya see, when Janice got transferred she left behind some stuff. Nothing big. Just some papers, mostly. Before she took off she asked me if I would take 'em over to you."

Mel wanted to weep. If I ever see her again! But instead she said: "Thank you. I'll keep it for her." Sally handed the bag to her. She noticed the WAC eyeing the bottle of bourbon on the table. Oh, confound it all, manners. "Would you like a drink before you go?"

"Love one!" Sally chortled enthusiastically. They walked over to the table and Mel produced a clean glass for her guest.

"Would you do the honors?" Mel asked, nodding at the bottle. The sergeant grinned, and poured generous amounts in both tumblers. "I never figured you for the drinking type, if ya don't mind my saying so."

"I'm not. Just thought I would...you know..." The scholar trailed off lamely. Drink myself into unhappy oblivion before I traipse off after someone who may not be in love with me anymore? And maybe get myself killed? And get her killed as well?

Sally blinked at her. "No, I don't know."

"Never mind," Mel sighed, raising her glass. "Cheers."

A loud clink Then Sally drained the tumbler in two seconds flat. "Damn! That hits the spot." She looked at Mel, who sipped at the bourbon as if it were hemlock-laced tea.

"I guess I was right. You aren't the drinking type. Well, looky, I gotta get back to base. You tell that girl of yours to keep in touch with us, okay? "

"I will," Mel mumbled. With a hearty backslap that left Mel feeling as if she would cough up a lung, the sergeant departed.

She closed the door and stared at the satchel—it was actually a medic's bag—containing Janice's personal items, things that she had carried with her through the war. Mel opened it, all the while feeling a sense of violation—should I be looking at this stuff? Even though she asked Sally to give it to me.... Maybe she found something about the scrolls? Despite everything else, we still have that interest. That bond. Her curiosity won out and she opened the flap. Admit it, you fraud, you wanted to look, she chastised herself.

The first items she pulled out of recesses of the bag were a crushed, half-empty pack of Gauloises and, to Mel's horror and disgust, an old crust of moldy bread, wrapped in wax paper. Both items were promptly flushed down the toilet. After scrubbing her hands vigorously, she returned to the bag. There she found a bunch of loose papers in a book—a French dictionary—wrapped together with twine. And a hair clasp. Mel's hair clasp, one of her favorites: old pearl, faded to whorls of smoky gray and creamy white. She had been wearing it the night they first made love, back in Charlotte. She had never been able to find it afterwards. And this was why. She smiled. Of course. She took it. That thief. That beautiful little thief. The sensation of holding it in her hand brought the moment back to her: They were in her kitchen, with Janice kissing her, mouth warm and sweet and insistent, the tanned hands in her hair, the clasp loosening and that little anal retentive part of her waiting to hear the clasp clatter on the floor, but it didn't, and she didn't know where it went, time felt suspended somehow as she waited to hear the sound, and then her hair was unfurled and Janice was running her hands through it, fingers delicately brushed against her scalp, the tingles along her body which mellowed into a deep throbbing somewhere on their journey down her spine. And then it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered, except what was happening to her: Falling. Falling in love.

It's a wonder we made it to the bedroom that night, she thought. She remembered suggesting it to Janice that they take it upstairs, and to her surprise the little archaeologist had agreed. Naturally, Mel had expected that, as a lover, Janice would be as stubborn as she normally was, as both a friend and professional colleague. It had been pleasing to discover...otherwise. She smiled, and gently pulled on the thread that held together papers—old duty rosters, maps, and, tucked inside the dictionary, a piece of paper, folded in thirds like a letter. It was a letter, she discovered, reading her own name at the top:

September 25, 1944

Dear Melinda,

I don't know why I never call you that. It's a beautiful name.

So we shall see with this letter if I am indeed descended from a bard—if words fall from my cheap pen the way they flowed from Gabrielle's quill. I'll confess here—something I never had the guts (or time) to tell you—that Gabrielle is the real thing. Her words are a thing of beauty. It took your translations to make me see that—my own renderings were flat and sank like a stone. It took you to make me see a lot of things. Maybe someday I'll tell you.

I write this from a hospital unit. I was wounded—a Nazi soldier shot me in the leg. I was lucky and found by GIs before I bled to death on a road near Reims. Believe it or not, this was not the worst part: I saw one of my oldest friends die before my eyes on that day as well. I must have mentioned Dan Blaylock to you, somewhere along the way. I'm sure I did. I hadn't seen him since the war started, until I got to London and found out he was stationed there. Well, he's dead now. I watched him die, and I could do nothing about it.

I think I'm rambling a little. I'm not telling you this so you're sorry for me. I don't know why I'm telling you this, or why I'm even trying to write to you. I can imagine that you probably never want to hear from me again, and I can't say that I blame you. But if you've read this far, maybe you do care, maybe you still feel something for me.

I am sorry I ran away from you the way I did. There was a part of me that wanted so badly to stay in that bed, that room, that house, with you, forever. I was frightened by the power of what I felt. You see, I was already terribly in love with you (that sounds really British—I guess I've spent too much time in London). I should have told you then, instead of running from you like a thief in the night. (And I was a thief too, since I took that thingy that you wore in your hair. It was pretty, and it smelled like you. You know how archaeologists are. We're always after the artifacts. And sometimes we lose sight of the real objective.)

I've been lying around here for almost two goddamn weeks (now that sounds more like me, doesn't it?), and I've had a lot of time to think. I've been transferred to a medic unit in Brittany, because they're planning on shipping me back to London. It's pretty here—well, I think it's pretty, anyway; most of the guys here think it's gray and ugly. The landscape is bare, and the coast is rocky. It has a sparse kind of beauty. This place is run by nuns. Can you believe it? I'm in a fucking convent. Some major breezed through here yesterday and said something about my getting a commendation. For what? I wanted to ask. For watching someone die? It's not the bullets in the leg that bother me, but this whole place. This whole situation. This whole war—I am sick with it.

And what makes it worse is that day by day I miss you more and more. I thought if I broke it off with you and joined the army, I would forget you. I was hoping something would kill me — maybe not a literal death, but that something would kill the part of me that loved you, the part that I thought was weak because I needed you so much. It turns out, now, that this is the best part of me — you're the best part of me. Because this whole thing has been a sham: I can't forget you. If I said that I never want to see you again, if I said that I don't want you, if I said that if I would not surrender my soul to you in second — I'd be lying. Every time.

I love you like crazy. The world, the scrolls, even our ancestors be damned. Sacrilege, isn't it? But my love for you breaks every rule.

J.

After reading it, Mel laid back on the bed for a long time. She felt strangely elated, and curious: A letter never sent. Why? But...she's sending it to me...now. That's why she sent Sally over here with this bag. She wanted me to see it. Didn't she? Again, the old hesitancy. The old doubts. But she closed her eyes, and the questions stilled as she brushed the paper against her lips.

***

I have chased you through the centuries.

Sometimes you eluded me. Sometimes not. Who slit your throat in a brothel, as you lay, sated by sex and lulled by opium? Distracted, were you? Because the whore you chose had golden hair and green eyes, and the moment you laid eyes on her you felt like you knew her forever? That was Constantinople, in the last century. (Strange, how did such an Aryan-looking sex toy end up at the gateway to the Muslim world? She must've been very popular, don't you think?) She, your precious one, could not save you—in fact, she watched you die, and that was most pleasing to me. And you could not save yourself. Even better. But then, who snapped my neck in a Venetian cul-de-sac three hundred years before? You, of course. We've been doing this routine forever, we're doomed to it. I scratch your back, you stab mine...remember?

Something had to give. I hated you for so long that I think I fell in love with you somewhere along the line. We came full circle. Make no mistake, in whatever incarnation, you've always been beautiful. I even thought that when you laid waste to my home—at the beginning of our history. I thought, who is that magnificent stranger, with blue eyes and black hair, with her fancy armor? I remember how your hair flitted across your face—like black smoke, then revealing the clear blue day of your eyes—as you surveyed my ruined village, my dead life. Nonetheless, I wanted to be like you. You looked so strong, I thought nothing could ever hurt you. It was a child's idle wish. But lo and behold, I did become like you, like the ruthless bitch you were at the height of your infamy.

This has long been my secret, something I could not even tell myself: I hated you, but I loved you too. This time...I wanted to love you entirely, completely. I wanted it to be different—in the hopes that it would bring an end to this history of ours. And you did fall in love with me this time, to my astonishment. Would it all end, the hate? The anger? After a while I wasn't sure that I really cared. It felt too good. It was different this time, wasn't it? It felt different for a while.

But nothing really changed. I would wake up in the morning with you in my bed, like a beautiful prize, a gift from the gods, and there were moments when I just wanted to slit your throat and be done with it again. Again. I wanted to kill you with a kiss. I wanted to be your Judas. And when I left you I thought I had ruined you, even for her: The bard. The whore. The archaeologist. Whoever she is this time.

I was stupid. I still am, because I want you back. The compulsion to continue the game usually outweighs my weariness of it all.

Usually.

Do you remember the sacrifice she made for you? It was all so, very, very long ago. But you remember, don't you? As she fell, I saw the way she looked at you. Her descent seemed fast and slow all at once. Or that's the way I remember it. Perhaps that's only because as human beings we have this thing called memory—which works like a camera, that great modern invention. You can play it any way you like. If you choose to dwell on that expression, it goes slow. If you cannot bear the anguish, it goes fast. And when you write it down, when you transcribe it...well, it seems that when we write down these memories, they become a history, somehow, however informal. I've had a lot of years to think about this, you know. So this is our secret history. This is what you are. This is what I am. And then there is the woman—your woman—who always comes between us. And here we are again. And again. We are all just shadows of those who lived before us.

Catherine opened her eyes. The dreams, that voice, those thoughts...again. I want them to stop. I hope they will—once I have done what I planned. I crave peace. Oblivion. The plane had tilted; they were about to land in Berlin, where they would be taken to Bavaria.

Covington was asleep too, or maybe just pretending to be: Her eyes were closed, but her body was erect, tense. But as the plane began its descent in earnest, the sea-green eyes of the WAC were upon her.

"We're here," Catherine announced.

"So I gathered," grunted Janice with a full-body stretch.

"You'll be going straight to the castle. Without me. I'm needed in Munich."

Janice scratched her cheek and pretended indifference. Hurray! "I don't understand why we didn't fly directly to Munich."

"The runway at Munich suffered much damage during the war. They like to avoid having large planes, bombers like these, landing there, until they have rebuilt it." Catherine braced herself in for the landing. "Sergeant Lowry, from Neuschwanstein, will be escorting you there. He should be here to meet us."

Indeed, as they disembarked from the plane, a jeep was pulling up to them. A young American sergeant jumped out and saluted smartly.

"Good day, Sergeant," drawled Catherine in greeting. "Sergeant Lowry, this is Lieutenant Covington."

"Lieutenant!" he barked, knocking off another salute.

Janice jumped. Oh yeah, I'm guess I'm an officer now, I get saluted and shit. "Hiya, kid!" she said, slapping him on the back. He looked rather hurt; he had expected a steely gaze, a terse greeting, and, gosh darn it, a salute. Instead, this woman had the nerve to treat him like an equal.

Catherine was amused by the young man's disappointment; he could not hide it. "Lowry, would you get my bag out of the cargo hold?" The sergeant nodded, then walked away to the back of the plane. "You'll have to forgive Lowry. He's only been in the military for three months. He's never seen anyone blown to bits before, so the glamour of military life has remained intact." Lowry returned with the bag. "Isn't that right, Lowry?"

The young man, returning with the bag, blinked. "Ma'am?"

"Never mind." Catherine picked up her bag, grinning. "All right, to the train station."

"Er, ma'am..."

Catherine sighed the sigh of the impatient, the put-upon. "What is it, Lowry?"

"Colonel Brinton instructed me to avoid the train station, ma'am. He said Werwolf activity on the rails has increased in the past month, and he doesn't want to risk anyone getting injured."

Janice, who had been leaning against the jeep with arms folded during the exchange, echoed, "Werwolf?"

The blonde OSS turned to her. "The Werwolf are Nazi partisan fighters. Guerrillas who specialize in sabotage. And assassination."

"But the war is over. They're fighting a battle already lost."

Catherine laughed. "Not according to the Werwolf." Just as quickly, her laughter receded and she turned back to Lowry, glaring. "And Brinton thinks we'll be safer on the open road? He's a fool. There's more security on a train. More people, more military personnel."

More things that they can sabotage: engines, tracks, wheels... Janice thought.

"Ma'am," Lowry mumbled in reply. Is that all that kid can say? Janice wondered.

"Well, Lieutenant, what do you think?" Catherine asked mildly.

Janice arched an eyebrow. "This is your show, Stoller. I mean, I hate to see the kid get in trouble..." she nodded toward Lowry. The young sergeant squirmed at being called a "kid."

"Yes, we don't want little Lowry to be court-martialed." She sighed. "very well. We'll drive. It won't be as quick as the train."

Lowry frowned. "Ma'am, if you feel more comfortable on the trains, than I suggest we take them."

"Heavens, Lowry, and they call women fickle!" Catherine grinned flirtatiously at the boy. Janice rolled her eyes. "Shall we take the train, Lieutenant?"

"For Christ's sake, let's do something," Janice complained.

Catherine arched an irritated eyebrow at Janice. "The train it is, then." The jeep headed to the Berlin train station. As they drove through the streets, and a none too surprising amount of checkpoints, Janice witnessed the devastation of Berlin. She was, at this point, no stranger to the manifold damages of war. But this...the rubble, the hollow, hungry faces...the sheer amount of the damage alone took it to a new level.

Stoller, she saw, was unusually quiet for a while. They stopped at a corner for a truck to pass in the opposite direction, and witnessed a small gang of youths chasing a middle-aged man down the street. Verräter! Schwein! The screams drifted back to them and Janice watched the activity, craning her neck and turning around in her seat. She was almost tempted to jump out and intercede in the fray, but, as if Stoller could read her mind, the OSS agent laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. "Leave it, it is not our concern," she commanded crisply. As the pursuant group rounded the corner, Lowry pulled the jeep away. Guiltily, Janice mentally kicked herself for letting herself be forced into passivity.

Catherine observed Janice's baleful look out the window. Interfering little fool. She decided a diversionary tactic was in order. "You've been to Berlin before, Lieutenant Covington."

Janice glared at her suspiciously. "Once, maybe twice."

"Two times, both in 1938, both with your father," Catherine corrected proudly. "Once in July, then three months later, in October. On your second trip you kept company with a certain cabaret singer named Sally Bowles, who, at various times, was thought either to be a Nazi informant or a British intelligence agent." Catherine wanted to laugh at the stunned expression and slackened jaw of Covington. "Despite Miss Bowles's strong preference for those of the opposite sex, it was reported that she did seem...inordinately fond of you."

Jesus Christ, is nothing sacred? wondered Janice. "So you guys have a file on me," she growled.

Catherine chuckled. "We have a file on everybody. Especially you. Surely you knew that your father was suspected of being a Nazi sympathizer, because of his dealings with the Ahnenerbe. And naturally it was assumed you might have similar inclinations."

"He sold a few things to them. That didn't make him a Nazi." Janice paused, recalling the violent rows she'd had with Harry about that; that was why she had tagged along to Berlin in '38, in the hopes of dissuading him from selling some artifacts, most notably a sword that may or may not have belonged to the Warrior Princess. But he was broke—the last of his money was used on her schooling. "Just like your being part German doesn't make you a Nazi...necessarily," she added pointedly.

Catherine raised an eyebrow in surprise. "And did you get hold of a file on me?"

"No. Mel told me, of course." See, I dare to bring up the name of the woman we both love.

"Do you always call her that?"

"Huh?"

"Mel." Catherine repeated emphatically, making a long, horse-face of distaste.

"Yeah. I guess I do."

"Pity. Melinda is a much nicer name, don't you think?"

"It is. But life's too short to waste on extra syllables. So," Janice continued, returning bluntly and inelegantly to the German question, "you are part German?"

"I am," Catherine acknowledged. "I grew up in Berlin. This was my home..." she trailed off. "And it's nothing now. It's ruins." Her voice was as flat and dead as the cityscape they surveyed.

"I'm sorry." Janice meant it.

"You are, aren't you?" The blonde gave her a surprised look. "I don't expect sympathy from you, Covington."

How about a smack in that smug kisser of yours? "We're here, and we have to get along, don't we?"

The OSS agent smirked. They were quiet as jeep rolled along. Janice's fingers drummed against its door. "You'll pardon my asking..."

Catherine laughed. "You want to know what a Berlin-loving German is doing in the OSS. Right?"

Janice nodded.

"My parents were British citizens. When the Nazis came to power, we moved back to London. And when war broke out, I offered my services to OSS. I could speak German, of course, and I knew Berlin like the back of my hand. It would have been stupid of them not to use me."

"Agreed," Janice conceded.

"Yes. It's nice to agree on something, isn't it?"

The Berlin train station was a skeleton of its former elegant self, but nonetheless still functional. Currently it was overrun with military: Soviet, American, and British. Security was tight. Catherine flashed papers at a checkpoint at the station's entrance, and the trio were granted entrance. Janice and Lowry trailed behind Catherine, who strode through the crowd with authority. They reached the edge of the mass, which revealed a long black, battered train sitting on a track, smoke curling from under its wheels.

"Here it is," Catherine said. "I must get us boarding passes. Wait here, or—" she nodded at the almost empty train car, "go sit inside the train. They may let you wait there, since it is cold out. I'll be back in ten minutes." Without waiting for a response, the OSS agent disappeared back into the crowd.

Janice sat on the steps leading up into the train. She lit a cigarette. She did not mind the cold, but soon noticed that Lowry, who was only wearing a thin, summer-issue jacket, was hopping up and down to keep himself warm. She suddenly decided that she liked him: He had a sweet-natured lack of self-consciousness, and seemed more interested in the world, she thought—watching him eagerly scan his surroundings despite his coldness—than in himself. Like Mel, she realized. It's getting pretty sad when even some dopey kid greener than the grass of home remind me of you, Mel. "C'mon, kid," she said, "let's sit inside."

The car was empty, and it made Janice the slightest bit nervous. There was something surreal about an empty train car, she decided. It was quiet, ornate, waiting for possession. Lowry sat down with a happy sigh, warm once again, and she settled in across from him. "Is there no one else on this whole train?" she wondered aloud.

"I dunno, Lieutenant. Do you want me to look around?"

"Maybe," she replied. "Give me a minute." She looked out the window, hoping to see Stoller. While there were many people on the platform, most of them were military, and so it was relatively easy to pick out a tall, black-haired woman, wearing a fur-lined coat, striding purposefully through the station. She sat up. "Mel!" Her hand slammed against the window. Unfortunately, there was no way of opening it. "Damnit!" she snarled.

"Lieutenant...?" Lowry began uneasily.

"I'll be right back!" She bolted from her seat, ran down the aisle, and was gone. From the window he saw her blend into the crowd; it looked like she was following some tall woman.

"Aw geez, Lieutenant!" he cried in dismay, and took off after her. His initial feeling—that Lieutenant Covington was going to be a little bit hard to handle—was turning out to be true.

She ran through the station to catch up with Mel. She even shouted Mel's name a few times, to no avail; the din was too much for even her crass Yankee voice to carry. She bobbed and ducked through the crowd like a boxer, pummeling through them until her prize was in sight. She snagged Mel's arm, and spun her around. "Hey!" she cried joyously, as the blue-eyed beauty stared at her in shock. Mel's hair was down past her shoulders, and she wasn't wearing glasses. Janice assumed that she was having one of those days where she was so preoccupied with something in her head that she forgot to put her glasses on before stepping out into the world (a common occurrence) or she simply misplaced them (ditto).

A huge grin lit up her tall companion's face. They stood smiling at each other for what seemed like forever, until Mel seized her arm and dragged her away from the crowd, into an out-of-order restroom, marked as such in about four different languages. They burst into the dimly lit urinal. The tall woman kicked the door shut with a powerful thrust from a long, limber leg, slammed Janice against a wall, and kissed her savagely.

Janice surrendered into the kiss, putting aside her initial surprise; while Mel could be quite aggressive while making love, she never indulged in anything that bordered on this kind of impropriety in a public space (the lone exception being a frantic kiss-and-grope session in Kew Gardens a few months back), and certainly not with this measure of roughness. Her heart hammered wildly as persistent hands untucked her shirt. Mel pulled back as Janice gasped for air. Then the familiar face broke into a strange, predatory grin—something which made Janice tense with apprehension. Her sense of foreboding was well founded, for the voice which spoke to her possessed not a drawl of the American South, but a British working-class accent: "Hello, love."

"Shit! Meg!" she screamed. The Nobel Prize in Sheer Stupidity? Right here, guys.

"Remember me then, eh?" Meg Edmondson could not wipe the lascivious smile off her face.

"Oh, shit...." Janice buried her face in her hands.

"Here now, you already said that. You're glad to see me, aren't you? You sure did seem glad a minute ago..." The Englishwoman's large, wandering hands stroked Janice's hips.

"What the hell are you doing in Berlin?" Janice spat.

"I'm engaged!" Meg announced proudly. "My fiancé, he's a liaison offer here. I'm visitin' him."

"Fiancé?"

"Yeah. Good bloke. Pots of money, treats me nice...and he's not too bad in the sack," she said wistfully, as if conjuring him out of thin air. But once again she turned her ravenous attentions on Janice. "But he don't kiss as well as you do." Her hands wandered up to Janice's shoulders. "I still remember the first time you kissed me. You almost brought me to my knees. In fact, I reckon I did end on my knees later, didn't I?" She leaned in for another assault on Janice's lips.

"Stop!" Janice shrieked, blocking the woman with her hands, and hating the hysterical edge in her voice. I am not going to do this again. However tempting it may be. "You're engaged!" And such a pertinent detail like this has stopped you...when?

Apparently such minutiae meant little to Meg as well. "So? I ain't married yet, Janice, and I sure ain't dead. And I can prove it to you." She pinned Janice's arms down against her sides and kissed her fully, once again.

A boom filled their ears, shattering glass, rattling buildings, and rumbling through the ground. They stumbled and fell forward, with Janice falling on top of her ardent admirer, who moaned. An explosion outside, Janice's mind registered. She looked down at Meg, who stared back up at her with dazed blue eyes and a rather silly smile. "Are you all right?" she asked the Englishwoman.

"Christ all mighty, they always say that the earth is supposed to move, but this is ridiculous."

The door burst open. "Lieutenant!" It was Lowry, gun drawn. "Are you...injured?" He trailed off lamely at the sight of Janice atop a gorgeous woman.

Janice rolled off of the too-willing Meg. "I'm fine, I'm fine. What the hell happened?"

"A bomb, Lieutenant. On our train," he supplied tersely. She saw the fear and relief in his drawn face.

Our train. She sat there, numb. And how coincidental was that? Plus the fact that Stoller wasn't anywhere near the train. Just what the hell is going on? Or am I being totally paranoid?

"Hey!" Meg said to Janice, breaking her frantic chain of thought. "You're a bloody lieutenant now! Congratulations!"

"Yeah, thanks." The women stood up, Janice dusting herself off, and Meg scowling with dismay at dirt on her very expensive coat. "Come on. We've got to find Stoller," Janice said to Lowry.

The sergeant nodded, and moved through the doorway.

Janice started to follow him, but took a moment to watch Meg fuss with her coat. "You're a lifesaver, you know that?" she said quietly.

"What?" The Englishwoman looked up at her.

"Nothing. I gotta go. See you in the funny papers."

Meg grabbed Janice's hand. "Wait!"

The contact was intoxicating. "Look, I've got to go," Janice repeated nervously. I just have to remind myself...however much you like Mel, you are not her.

"I have a hotel room," the dark-haired woman proclaimed in a low voice. Of course, that accent is so sexy. Jesus, give me a woman with an accent and I'm practically in bed with my legs in the air.

"In case you haven't noticed, a fucking bomb just went off. It's not exactly the time for romance," Janice snapped. But adrenaline was pumping through her, courtesy of the explosion...and she felt like either getting into a fight or getting laid. And while the former was a battle she would certainly lose with this strong, scrappy woman, the latter was one where they would both win...big time.

"All the better. You only live once, my girl." With one long step she was pressed against Janice, a warm, inviting hand on the archaeologist's arm.

"I have orders. I'm going to Bavaria."

Her touch glided along Janice's arm, her voice supremely confident. "You can spare a few hours, can't you?" As if she could smell her impending victory.

Janice knew that she could. It would be all so easy: A nice room. A bottle of wine. A warm bed. A willing woman. A rough pleasure. But somehow it was not enough. Not anymore. "I can't. You know I like you, Meg. You know that. And we could have a hell of a good time together. But I...can't," she repeated.

The Englishwoman, dropping her hand from Janice's arm, seemed more curious than disappointed. "Why?"

"Do you remember...I told you once, that you looked like someone I knew back home?" Meg nodded. "That person...well, I love her more than anything. I've hurt her and screwed her over too many times. I'm not going to do it again." She smiled ruefully. "Even though she may never want to see me ever again."

Meg looked shocked. "Bloody hell, Janice. You've gone all noble on me!"

"It...has nothing to do with being noble...I, uh..." She felt embarrassed, wearing her heart on her sleeve like this. Articulation fled from her mind and her mouth. "Do...do you understand?"

Meg grinned in such a way that it reminded her of Mel. "Oh God, you damned fool. You're in love. And here I thought you were a practical girl, like me." She shook her head, laughing. "All right, all right. I understand. Now get going, and try not to get that pretty head of yours blown off, all right?"

"Yeah." Janice smiled back. "And you...get outta here too. This place is dangerous."

The Englishwoman snorted in disdain. "Whole bloody country is dangerous. Don't worry, love, it would take a lot to kill me."

"Somehow I believe that." She started for the door.

"Janice?"

"Yeah?" The archaeologist paused in the doorway.

"This woman—whoever she is. She's real lucky."

God, a real compliment from Meg! Other than "Hey, you screw pretty well for a girl."

"No," Janice said, smiling. "I'm real lucky." She left the bathroom. Lowry stood right outside, his tense posture somewhere between standing at attention and feeling constipated. His cheeks were reddened with embarrassment.

She sighed. "All right, kid, what did you hear?"

"Nothing that concerns me, Lieutenant."

She stroked her chin thoughtfully, while regarding the smoky train station, which had grown even more chaotic in her brief absence. "That's a good answer, Lowry." She started to walk toward the crowd.

"Thank you, ma'am." Lowry replied with a tiny grin, and fell into step behind her.

A hole had been ripped from the train they had been on. She saw no dead bodies, just dazed patrons, some lying on the ground, some sitting. The cacophony of languages rippled through the air, a Tower of Babel made anew: German, English, even some of the dreaded (to Janice) French. And Russian. Not a lot of blood. Good. But that blast...damn, it was strong. They saw a familiar blonde head approaching them, and she and the sergeant picked up their pace.

A smear of dirt ran across Catherine's forehead, and her wrist was bandaged, although a blot of blood had seeped through the white gauze.

"Christ, Stoller, are you okay?" Janice asked, hands on hips, looking Catherine over.

The OSS agent nodded dismissively. She returned Janice's visual evaluation with one of her own. "I'm fine...just a little, how do you say—knocked up?"

Janice bit the inside of her cheek. "Not quite. Knocked around is the expression."

"Ah, yes. And I see you are both fine. I'm glad you ignored my request to stay near the train — " She turned around to look at the smoky husk of the train. "Otherwise, there is no telling what may have happened to you."

"Do they know where exactly the bomb was?" Janice asked.

"I think it was in the third car."

And we were in the second. "So we might have been dead ducks. 'Cause it was a hell of a blast."

"Yes," Catherine assented, then smiled strangely. "Dead ducks. Americans have such an intriguing way with language." Her eyes met Janice's. Then, just as suddenly, she broke off the inscrutable gaze and looked toward an exit. "Well! I don't know about the both of you, but I have had more than enough excitement for one afternoon. Lowry, get a damned jeep and additional military escort for us. We're driving to Fussen."

The sergeant nodded, saluted, and disappeared. Leaving the two women staring at the wrecked train.

"Who do you think did this?" Janice remarked casually, all the while watching the OSS agent warily.

"The Werwolf, of course. Who else?"

"Why this train? Why here?"

Catherine tucked a strand of loose, curling blond hair around her ear. "You ask that as if you expect me to know."

"It just doesn't make sense to me. Lowry and I seemed to be the only people on that train."

"Are you suggesting that you are a target?" Amusement tickled the OSS agent's voice.

Janice's false laughter rang like a dissonant bell. "Yeah, pretty funny, isn't it? I mean, who would want me dead?"

Catherine's already dark eyes grew even blacker. "Not me," she replied firmly.

Her hands rode on her hips, a skeptical sneer on her face. "Shit, lady, am I really supposed to believe that?"

Catherine's hand flew up to Janice's face so quickly that the archaeologist barely had time to flinch. But instead of the blow that Janice had expected once she saw the fleshy blur, the hand gently cupped her chin. "I would be the first to admit that Melinda would look quite fetching in widow's weeds. But competing with a dead lover is a thousand times harder than a living, flesh and blood rival."

Despite many widely held beliefs to the contrary, Janice Covington was no fool. She could smell the danger in this woman, the violence underneath the cool exterior, waiting to be unleashed, and hence she made no attempt to remove Stoller's hand from her face. But — Janice being Janice — she did not shut up. "All the same, I'm not a great believer in coincidence," she retorted calmly.

Catherine dragged a thumb along the lieutenant's smooth, red lips. Feeling the tremor of disgust, and knowing the thin line between it and desire. I could bring you to your knees, if I wanted to. Everything is so black and white with you, isn't it, Covington? No in-between. No shadows. "Believe what you will. All the same, you are among the living."

[faveficarchive]

All the Colors of the World: Part 1

The Bard Brat

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Mel/Janice, Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: After meeting once again post-Macedonia, Mel and Janice come to terms with their feelings for one another, while also coming to terms with who they are individually.

Personal note: Vivian Darkbloom is probably my favorite author out of all of these that I’ll ever post. From an editorial point of view, I barely have to proofread. From a reader’s point of view, her style is playful without being ham-handed and her voice is clear and strong, and denotes a skill and talent not often seen among fanfiction writers. I fucking love reading her stories, and I hope you enjoy them, too.

It was a hot, late afternoon day in June of 1943. Melinda Pappas sat on the expansive porch of her home in Charlotte, eagerly awaiting the arrival of her guest, due any minute now, from the train station. As she fanned herself in her wicker chair, the Reverend Dupree, his wife, and two of their young daughters emerged onto their porch, to Melinda's left. "Good afternoon, Melinda," called the young Reverend. "Care to join us for lemonade?"

"Why, that's very kind of you, Reverend," drawled Mel, "but I am expecting someone very shortly..." and your two little brats look like they'd sooner drink poison than let me have any of their lemonade, she thought. The wife looked a little relieved as well; Melinda, beautiful, rich, aristocratic, was nonetheless viewed as terribly eccentric by the upper crust of Charlotte, due to her single status, living alone in her late father's home, her seeming lack of interest in men, and her scholarly inclinations.

The Reverend, however, believed that there was no harm in trying. Especially with such an attractive woman...he blushed as Melinda smiled at him. "I understand completely. Well, if your guest does arrive soon...perhaps you can bring her over for a nice cool drink."

Maybe if you offer scotch on the rocks, she'd like that, Mel thought. She was about to respond when she saw a yellow cab swerve violently onto their street and careen down the block, halting dramatically in front of her home. From their respective porches the Duprees and Mel watched the drama unfold. They saw the driver turn in his seat, red-faced, to yell something at his passenger. His door swung open and he stomped out. The rider in the back seat was, the Reverend and his family thought, a young man dressed in a rather rugged fashion: a rumpled fedora and a brown leather jacket. As the cabbie opened his trunk, a back door swung open and a loud female voice could be heard: "It's not my damn fault you got lost!" The figure emerged. The Duprees emitted a collective gasp as the man pulled off the fedora, revealing a mass of red-gold hair and a decidedly feminine face. Mel smiled at the sight, her heart even skipping a beat, as Janice Covington slapped the old fedora against her khaki pants.

The cabbie ungraciously threw her bag on the street. "Son of a BITCH!" roared Janice. Mel cast a sideways glance at her neighbors. She could feel them go pale with shock. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Be careful with that!" the red-haired archaeologist shouted.

"Too late now," sniped the cabbie. He stood defiantly, arms crossed. Angrily, she put her hat back on.

"Too late for a decent tip as well," retorted the archaeologist. She tossed a dime at him.

It hit his barrel chest and fell to the street. He shook his head. "Thanks," he sneered.

"GO TO HELL!" she yelled as he climbed in the cab and drove off. She grabbed the bag off the street and sauntered up the walk, shaking off her bad mood. Catching sight of Mel, and oblivious to the shocked Duprees, she grinned.

Climbing up on the porch, Janice dropped the bag, tilted up her fedora, and bellowed in her crassest Yankee fashion, "Well sweetheart, glad to see me?"

She was. But then she glanced over at her neighbors, flummoxed. Mrs. Dupree had tried to shelter the children behind her abundant hips. The Reverend's face was the reddest she'd ever seen, even redder than when he first saw her in a bathing suit so many years ago.

Mel remembered very little of her mother, who died when she was very young. However, one thin memory clung to her like gossamer: her mother, smelling of perfume, lowering her lovely face to Mel and saying, "Honey, the best advice I can give you, as a Southern lady, is this: When in doubt, faint."

And, on that hot July day, under the scrutiny of her neighbors and a woman she was, she had to finally admit it to herself, having the most illicit thoughts about, she finally took her mother's advice. The last thing she saw was Janice's face. Thanks, mama, she thought, as the world went dim.

*****

Without opening her eyes Mel could tell that she was lying on the divan in her drawing room; the soft velvet fabric that crunched gently underneath her was soothing. Tentatively, she opened her eyes, and saw Janice peering anxiously down at her. Then a panoply of emotions crossed Janice's face: the anxiety melted into concern, then relief, then a wide, relaxed grin. Oh Lord, I'm going to faint again, Mel thought. That beautiful face, lit even brighter by a smile, was more than she could bear.

It had been almost a year since Mel had met the young archeologist. They kept in touch with letters and the occasional phone call, but had not seen each other since their initial meeting in Macedonia. Nonetheless, to Mel's consternation, Janice Covington remained a dominating presence in her mind. She found herself thinking of Janice whenever her mind was not engaged in other matters; and even as she continued her work on the Xena scrolls, she could barely wait to tell Janice of her new discoveries. Often, sending off a letter to Janice was the first thing she did as her work progressed as she found out more about Xena, Gabrielle, and their adventures.

And it was just a month ago that Janice suggested a visit. She had discovered another scroll, she said, and wanted Mel to work on it. So the archaeologist packed a bag and came down South.

And now, Janice smiled down upon her. "Well, Melinda, that was a hell of a how-do-you-do," she growled pleasantly. Then Mel heard the reverend's voice behind Janice: "Melinda, honey, are you all right? Your...friend...and I managed to carry you in, my goodness, you are a big girl, I always forget..."

"How could you forget? She's almost six goddamn feet tall!" Janice threw the comment over her shoulder, then quickly leaned down and whispered to Mel: "It was mostly me who carried you, believe it or not." Mel grew dizzy again at the closeness of the beautiful young woman, and the thought that she had been cradled in Janice's arms...and, kicking herself mentally, she had not even known it.

The Reverend clucked audibly. "Really, Miss Covington! The language!"

"It's Dr. Covington, Mr. Dupree."

"Reverend Dupree."

"Get the point?" she shot back.

The Reverend frowned. Ignoring her, he reached down and patted Mel's hand. "Melinda, if you need anything, please do call. My wife has sent over some lemonade, that should cool you off a bit, and maybe you should take a cold bath."

Mel's eyes had wandered down Janice's khaki shirt front, and lingered on the unbuttoned expanse that revealed soft skin and tempting cleavage. She cleared her sandpapered throat. "Why...yes, Reverend, I think a cold bath would be in order right about now," she said hoarsely.

"Wonderful! I could draw a bath for you, if you like!" the Reverend offered too enthusiastically.

Janice glowered at him. My, she really doesn't like him, Mel thought. He means well, but he's just a bit silly. But then Janice doesn't suffer fools very well.

"Er, that's quite all right, Reverend, I'm sure Janice can handle it," Mel replied.

Crestfallen, the reverend offered a goodbye, and headed home.

"Jesus, I thought he'd never leave! He's got it bad for you, Mel." Janice reached for a cigar. Popping it in her mouth, she was about to light up when she looked at Mel and noticed that her friend was sweaty, disheveled, and still a bit green around the gills. Reluctantly she tucked away the stogie for a later time. "C'mon, let's get you something to drink, then I'll prepare a bath for you. How's that sound?" Mel nodded, sitting up. "Hey, don't get up," Janice said, rising from her kneeling position on the floor and heading to the kitchen. "I'll bring it to you."

Mel slumped back and sighed. So far concealing her feelings for her friend wasn't progressing very well. She had fainted the moment she laid eyes on Janice again, and her stomach fluttered at the thought of the woman merely preparing a bath for her. Yet Janice's friendship meant too much to her; Janice was strong, independent, and smart. And they had the same interests. Mel had always longed to have a friend like that, let alone a lover, a companion...no. She could not reveal this attraction. The risk was too great. Just because her father had understood didn't mean that Janice would. Her father was an exceptional man, well-traveled and urbane, who truly understood differences among people and cultures. Who never judged.

*****

She remembered that day he brought her into his study. She was 20 and home for Christmas, from Vanderbilt. Joshua Davis, her steady beau from high school, scion of one of Charlotte's oldest and most respected families, had proposed to her the day before. He looked dapper and handsome in his army uniform; he was already a captain. As a rare snow fell, they galloped around the town square in an old-fashioned, horse-drawn carriage and he asked her to marry him. She said no, keeping her eyes fixed on the delicate flakes that swirled around them, and the puffs of icy breath emanating from their mouths. "No, Joshua...I'm not ready yet."

"When, Melinda, when?" he urged her gently.

"I don't know." They rode home in silence. He helped her out of the carriage after it drew in front of her home, kissed her hand, and drove off.

It was a small town. News of her rejection of Joshua spread quickly. And a day later, when her father called her into his study, she was certain he was going to reprimand her, in his usual gentle yet stern fashion. But...it was strange, she recalled. He was awkward, almost shy.

"I take it...you turned down the young man?" he asked softly.

She nodded.

He, too, nodded, as if he had expected it. He stood behind his desk, and as he continued too speak, he paced a little. "Melinda...love is a strange thing." he stated flatly. Idly he plucked a large black volume from one of the shelves that lined one wall from ceiling to floor. His large hands cradled it gently.

She frowned, wondering where he would go with this.

He cleared his throat. "We never know whom we shall love, or what or why someone attracts us. This can be a frightening thing for many people. And when people are frightened, they react blindly with emotion, which prevents them from truly understanding the differences among people..." he sighed.

"Daddy...?" she asked tentatively, unease gripping her.

He smiled, and, as usual, it seemed tinged with a melancholy. "I know I'm rambling my dear. I'm sorry." He placed the large book in front of her and tapped the cover. "Perhaps this might explain things...of course, you may have already read it, you are always reading so much." He chuckled.

She did not have her glasses on, and she just barely made out the name on the spine: Havelock Ellis.

Her father placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, a quick kiss from his lips bussed the top of her head. "Know this, Melinda," his voice deep above her, "no matter what, I shall always love you very much." Another squeeze, then, "Goodnight." He left her alone.

She spent the night reading through the book; it sprawled in her lap as she sat by the fire in his study. As dawn stripped away the night, this book stripped away her own blindness, and she burned with recognition.

When the morning came, she was awakened from a light sleep by her father, in his robe, handing her a cup of fresh coffee. Wordlessly she took it from him, and as she drank it greedily, as if she spent a night wandering in a desert, her eyes never left his.

His eyes were as blue as hers. They waited, expectantly.

She put the cup down with a clack. "How did you know?" she blurted.

Again, his sad, wise smile. "You are my daughter. I know you. And I've seen you in the world. You know many men, in fact you have many male friends, but their beauty did not move you. I could see it in your eyes. At a party, when you would walk into a room with Joshua Davis, all the women would be looking at him, the most handsome young man in Charlotte. Except you."

"I was looking at Muffy Crassdale," she whispered.

He rolled his eyes. "My dear, you can do better than that. I'm sure that girl hates you, you took Joshua away from her." He sipped his own coffee. "Besides, I am certain that blonde hair of hers is quite artificial."

"Father!" she squeaked, scandalized. It was inconceivable. She was sitting here with her father, talking about women...in that way.

For his part, he laughed. "This is funny, isn't it?" He gave his daughter a wry, loving look. "Think of it as something else we have in common, Melinda: An appreciation of women."

*****

She stood up, wobbly on her long legs like a newborn colt, and head to the kitchen. She wondered what her father would have thought about Janice Covington. Very attractive, my dear, she has potential, but don't you think she should be cleaned up a bit? She mimicked his suave voice in her head.

What to do about Janice...she sighed as she entered the kitchen, and saw Janice peering suspiciously into the pitcher of lemonade that the Reverend had left. "The Bible Brats brought this over...d'ya think it's safe to drink?"

In spite of herself Mel giggled. "Janice, you are such a heathen." Janice grinned, and placed ice from the freezer into two glass tumblers, then poured the lemonade. "How are you feeling?" she asked, peering critically at Mel and shoving a glass toward her.

Mel sat down and drank the cool beverage with a sigh of approval. "Mmmmm...much better. Try some, it's good."

Janice grunted, then took a sip. "Not bad. Of course, we may be dead in minutes..."

Again, Mel laughed, and Janice beamed with delight at making her friend laugh. Then Mel felt the intense scrutiny of the green eyes on her, though, and in a panic she gulped her drink.

"Sure you're all right?" Janice asked again, her face clouding over with concern.

"Yes, yes...I'm fine. Why don't you tell me a little about this scroll."

Janice downed the remainder of the lemonade, wishing that she had some vodka to add to it. "This one was sent to me by a friend in the Greek consulate. He smuggled it out. Didn't want it to fall into the Nazis' hands." Her thumb stroked the cool side of the glass, and once again she allowed her eyes to skitter over Mel's long, languorous form; the Southern beauty, with her tussled hair, flushed face, and rumpled white shirt, looked as if she had been ravished. She must be as beautiful as Xena once was, Janice thought. A sigh escaped her; she might as well deliver the disappointing news...well, the news was disappointing to her; she knew Mel would appreciate any find, any scroll relating to Xena--her scholar's mind was that fine and inquisitive. "Well, this scroll doesn't detail any adventures of Xena, as far as I can tell. In fact, she seems kinda secondary. It involves Gabrielle and the Amazons in some sort of way."

"Ah!" Mel murmured with approval. "Wonderful! I wanted to know more about Gabrielle's link with the Amazons; the scrolls we have only mention them in passing. It's odd. If Gabrielle was an Amazon, why was she born in Potedeia and raised by a non-Amazon family?" Mel rubbed her hands together with relish and anticipation. "We know so little of Gabrielle's background--"

"Well, why should we?" Janice interjected. "She was just a bard. Just a tagalong." This earned a dark glare from Mel. "Come on, I'll admit she was a talented storyteller and writer, but that's about the extent of it. She was basically Xena's Boswell. Nothing more."

"You neglect the fact that Boswell was an intriguing man himself, Janice," retorted Mel.

The archaeologist rolled her eyes.

"You remember what Xena said to you. In the tomb," Mel prompted.

"Of course. But she was just saying that to make me feel better..."

Mel slammed her glass on the table. The gesture startled both of them. "Stop that right now," Mel commanded, her voice dropping an octave. She leaned forward in her chair. Tiny hairs rose on the back of Janice's neck at her this thrilling, low voice, this voice that her friend had never used before. It was almost as if its dark, deep tones drowned Mel's accent. "Gabrielle meant a hell of a lot to Xena. More than you know." Then, the brooding expression lifting from Mel's face, she settled back in chair, blinking.

"Jesus Christ, Mel..."

"I'm sorry about that outburst. I don't know what got into me." Or do I? Mel thought.

"It's okay. But...you swore, Mel. You actually used a curse word."

Mel blinked. "Did I?"

"Lemonade's loosening your tongue, eh?" Janice teased. "Son of a bitch!" she swore gently, with admiration.

*****

After dinner that evening, Mel settled down in the study that was once her father's, and now hers. She sat at the huge mahogany desk, the lamp bathing the scroll and sprawling books with a golden light. Janice glanced at the bookshelves, while rolling around the ice in a glass of scotch. She picked a well-thumbed volume of Ovid's verse and sat in the leather chair near the dormant fireplace. But soon her mind drifted, and she fell into a light, dreamless sleep, that ended abruptly when she heard a soft yet distinct "oh my!"

Janice's lolling head snapped to attention. "What? What is it?" She looked at the clock on the wall. It was a quarter past eleven, and she had been asleep for three hours, much to her chagrin. "Jesus, Mel, why did you let me sleep so long?" She looked at Mel, who was staring intently, with open-mouthed awe, at the document before her. Instinct kicked in, and excitedly Janice joined her friend at the desk.

Mel looked nervously at the expectant young woman. For a frantic, delusional moment she thought she could lie to her friend about what she found; she did not know how Janice would react to it.

"Well?"

"Janice, I don't know how accurate my translation is..."

"Don't give me that bullshit. You're damned good and you know it."

"You're very kind, but really, give me a few more days..."

"You've had over FOUR hours now, you should at least have the gist of it!" Janice growled impatiently. Part of her was queasy with worry...Mel didn't want to tell her something. "Out with it!" she commanded.

Mel took a deep breath to calm the butterflies in her stomach. "This scroll begins with a love poem. It's rather...explicit."

Janice cocked an eyebrow. "Gabrielle wrote poetry too, eh? And dirty stuff at that--"

"Erotica," corrected Mel haughtily.

"Oh great," she muttered sarcastically. "So I'm half-impressed. Probably to some stupid teenager she met on the road, right? What's it called, 'Ode to a Pimply-Faced Stableboy'?"

"Er, actually no, Janice. It's addressed to a woman." Mel paused as Janice's face registered surprise. "And I think the woman is Xena."

*****

My desire for you is longer than the night

that stretches before us.

The fire of day has burned and Helios departs

but the flames within me rage

and your visage is burned brightly into my soul.

In the glow of firelight you strip before me

and I permit my eyes to do what my hands cannot:

they caress your body

and your face,

they are ensnared in your hair,

they glide over your muscled shoulders

and your smooth breasts

they ride over your rippling stomach

and cup your buttocks

they enter you

they pleasure you

they are drenched with your richness.

And then I do this again,

this time using eyes for mouth,

in my imaginary possession of you.

In this fashion, warrior, night passes for me.

*****

"I think it's my turn to say 'oh my,' " Janice whispered with astonishment.

"Indeed," Mel agreed, breathy. "It's very...well written, don't you think?"

"What about the rest? How far did you get?" Janice managed to ask, ignoring the warmth crawling up her body.

"Not very. From there Gabrielle writes of a trip to the Amazons. For a royal ceremony." Mel saw that her words fell on deaf ears; Janice was eerily quiet. "Janice? Are you all right?"

With a shudder Janice ended whatever revery she was in. Awkwardly, she rubbed the back of her neck. "Uh, yeah. Guess I'm more tired than I realized. It was a long trip, and now this..."

"Janice!" Mel said urgently She desperately wanted to right things again, to make Janice as ease. It was as if her own secret desire for her friend had seeped into the poem, into the words she had nervously recited to the archaeologist. And Janice must be shocked to know that her ancestor was a deviant...like me, Mel thought miserably.

"Huh?" Janice replied.

"You know," she stammered, "homosexuality was er, much more common and tolerated in ancient societies...they didn't know any better" --I can't believe I'm saying this-- "and after all, Gabrielle was a young woman, living a lonely life on the road, she was very impressionable, or so I've gathered from my readings of her scrolls thus far." An inner voice protested all this.

Janice smiled weakly. "Come on, Mel, I don't need to rehash History 101, or Psych 101 for that matter." She stood up, stretching. "I think I'll go to bed, if you don't mind."

"Of course not. The guest room is the third bedroom on the left, at the end of the hall. Alice"--the housekeeper, who had laid out the simple cold dinner for them--"took your things up earlier. There should be fresh towels on the bed."

"Great." She paused. "Thanks for everything, Mel. Good night."

"Good night," Mel replied. She watched the young woman saunter gracefully out of the study and up the stairs, the fiery red-gold head bowed, almost as if in prayer. "Sweet dreams," she added in a whisper.

Upstairs, Janice closed the door and virtually collapsed against it in exhaustion, "Jesus Christ," she moaned to herself, "these damned feelings are genetic." Again in her mind she pictured Mel, lovely in the lamp light, reciting the poem. She shook off a tingle of desire. "That goddamned bard brat."

*****

Normally, Gabrielle thought, they would keep to the main road. Because it was safer, for them anyway, not necessarily safer for those travelers who bore the steely gaze of the Warrior Princess. But this time they took a different route to Amazonia, a rough path that cut through a rather dense and magnificent forest. She wouldn't say to Gabrielle if it were a shorter route, or why she wanted to go this way in the first place, or how she came to know this road. But by this time Gabrielle could guess: Many winters ago Xena led a band of men (surely not an army, the road was too narrow and rutted for that, even Argo was having a time of it) down this road, on some clandestine raid, to pillage/conquer/destroy any number of villages along the way...blah blah blah. She stole a look at her friend atop Argo. It would only be a matter of filling in the details, wouldn't it, Gabrielle thought, almost cynically.

Suddenly the blue eyes were on her. "Are you tired?" the warrior asked, her voice rumbling from above.

"No, I'm fine," the bard replied. "It's good weather for walking. Cool, but sunny. Although we're not getting much sun through these trees."

A dark eyebrow rose.

"Not that I'm complaining or anything," Gabrielle amended hastily. "This is such a beautiful area, so lush and green, and quiet." She surveyed the woods, the peaceful verdant depths mirroring her own eyes. "Xena, what do you know of this rite-of-passage ceremony?"

"Not much more than you," replied the warrior. "It's supposed to occur approximately one summer after a new Queen's ascension to the throne. They're very secretive about it."

"That they are," the bard complained. "I have no idea what to expect."

Xena smirked. "That's the idea."

With a mock scowl, the bard decided to grill her friend. "Why did we come this way? How do you know this route? It's very untraveled."

"No reason..."

"That is such a lie. Warrior princesses never do anything without a reason."

This brought much mirth to Xena, as she repressed a guffaw. "Relax, bard. All shall be revealed to you in due time," she responded cryptically.

As the sky began to fade, they decided to make camp for the night. "We'll make the Amazon village tomorrow by mid-day," Xena estimated, as she settled down for the evening with her sword and whetstone. As she fell into the rhythmic sharpening of the blade, Gabrielle relaxed on her bedroll, a scroll unfurled in front of her. She tapped the quill against the paper. Xena seemed in a good mood, she thought; the warrior hummed as she worked the stone against the blade. Gabrielle allowed herself some surreptitious gazes at Xena, watching her graceful strokes, the tiny flexing of muscles in her arms, the blue eyes that glittered in the fire.

Suddenly the hissing of the whetstone stopped. "Xena?" Gabrielle asked quietly. Did the warrior hear something? Was someone approaching their campsite?

"By the gods, it's warm tonight," Xena muttered. She stood up and quickly shed her leather battledress and breeches, the armor having been discarded earlier. She used the leather as a seat and eased her nude form upon it.

Much to Gabrielle's simultaneous agony and delight, Xena had always been very comfortable and un-self-conscious about her body, and thought nothing of being naked in front of the bard. "Yes...it is very hot," Gabrielle gulped, even though goosebumps ran down her body. She flattened her hands against the parchment for a moment in the hopes they would cease shaking. She took a deep breath as the sword sharpening resumed, and picked up her quill, giving herself over to the words that would take her where she wanted to be.

*****

Before she opened her eyes, Janice smelled coffee. Real coffee, the good stuff she could find in Greece, or at least in a good coffee shop in New York before the war. Maybe I'm dreaming, she thought. Only one way to find out. She rose, washed up, dressed, and descended the staircase.

The rich smell grew stronger as she approached the kitchen. Mel, to her astonishment, was frying eggs. The coffee awaited her on the table. She sighed with pleasure.

This caught her hostess's attention, and Mel turned to her, startled. "Goodness Janice, I thought you'd never get up," she said by way of greeting.

"Good morning to you too," Janice replied sarcastically. Then she softened. "Mel, that smells like real coffee."

"It is."

"Where the hell did you get it?"

The raven-haired beauty shot her a mischievous grin. "I have my sources."

Janice smiled in turn. "I can accept that." She looked around the clean, orderly kitchen. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, y'all just sit down. I'm about ready here."

They settled down to a meal of eggs, buttermilk biscuits, coffee, and juice. Mel smiled at the small woman's appetite. "Would you like a tour of Charlotte today?" Mel asked.

"No," Janice replied through a mouthful of egg. "I want you to work on that damn scroll."

"Ah, I don't know why I even bothered to ask." Mel grinned again. There was a companionable silence as Janice made short work of the biscuits on her plate. Mel decided to risk the mood as she tentatively asked, "So I trust this means you're feeling...better about the content of the scroll thus far?"

Janice's busily chewing jaw stopped abruptly as she tried to formulate an answer. She decided to take the diplomatic approach and avoid either outright condemnation of the bard's lustful thoughts for her best friend, or praise of her admirable writing skills and no doubt good taste, for Xena of Amphipolis was frequently described by her contemporaries as a great beauty. "I'm not a prude, Mel. I can handle it. I'd like to see where the kid goes with it."

"Goes with what?"

"You know, see how she deals with these feelings. Does she tell the Warrior Princess? Does Xena find out somehow? Is it...even remotely possible that Xena may have felt the same way?"

Mel could have sworn she detected a tinge of hope in the archaeologist's voice. "I think it's...possible," she ventured nervously. "Even though Xena had a child, and many of her affairs with men were legendary, that does not preclude bisexuality on her part."

Janice snorted. "No, probably not. She was on the road a long time, it must have been difficult for her to find someone for...pleasure at times. So having the bard as a bedwarmer may have been a last resort."

Mel scowled. "’Last resort'?" she asked. "Why do you always think so little of Gabrielle?"

Having finished her breakfast, Janice pushed herself back from the table. "Force of habit," she replied, plucking a cigar from her breast pocket and clenching it between her teeth. "Since I think of myself in the same way." As she searched her pockets for a light, Mel snatched the stogie from under her nose.

"Janice Covington, you are a big pain in the ass." Janice stared at her, Mel instinctively clamped her hand over her mouth, then removed it. "See, you made me swear again! Janice, I'm going to prove you wrong about Gabrielle. And about yourself too." She stood up, determined, and started to clear the breakfast dishes. With a glance that was admiring, fearful, and sweet, Janice stood up and helped her.

*****

Water was dripping on her face.

Gabrielle moaned, semi-conscious. Another summer storm, her mind supplied. Well, I can sleep through it, can't I?

Not unless you want to get totally drenched, another thought supplied.

I could care less, her stubbornness threw in.

Wait a minute, desire spoke seductively. Xena will get wet too. Her hair will be damp and slicked back from her face...you love that look on her, don't you?

"I'm there," the bard mumbled aloud.

Hey, practicality piped up, if it's really raining, then why is your face the only part of your body that feels wet?

Her eyes snapped open. She was looking directly at a very familiar pair of boots that were not her own. "Good morning, Gabrielle," the warrior's voice said from on high. Slowly Gabrielle's vision trailed up the long legs, past the skirt (don't look up the skirt, propriety screamed inside her) to the armor-clad torso and arms, which held two large trout fresh from the stream directly over the bard's head.

"Ugh, fish water!" she spat, sitting up.

"If it's good enough for the fish, it's good enough for you," Xena said, heading toward the fire.

The bard stood up with a stretch. "Hang on, I can clean them."

"No, that's okay. I can do it. Go wash up."

Pleasantly surprised, Gabrielle removed a linen towel and soap from her satchel, and went to the stream. The forest opened onto a clearing where the stream gurgled beneficently. As she placed the towel and soap on a rock, she prepared to strip...and heard a rustling behind her. But before she could even think of what to do next, a bag was thrown over her head; it was moist with some chemical which made her sleepy, and as she slipped from consciousness she felt arms gently cradling her body in the air.

*****

Solari sauntered through the woods toward the campsite, where Xena sat on a stone, placing trout in a skillet about to go on the fire. Before she could even announce her approach to the warrior's back, Xena's voice rumbled at her: "Hades' balls, Solari, couldn't you wait until I fed her breakfast at least?"

The Amazon stopped dead in her tracks. "How did you know it was me and not Gabrielle?" she demanded.

"Look, you know the line..."

"I know, I know, many skills and all that..."

"So why did you even bother to ask?" Disgusted, Xena struck a flint against some wood. The fire didn't take. Growling, she stood up and spun around to face Solari in one fluid motion. "You didn't hurt her, did you?" It was more a threat than a question.

Solari released a breath of exasperation. "No, Xena. I used the plant you gave me. Lydia knew how to prepare the drug. Gabrielle never knew what hit her."

"All right then," Xena said tersely. "I'll be in the Amazon village by midday. By tomorrow morning I will expect to hear from you. Your runner better be fast...and Solari," she paused for menacing effect, "if I don't get a message I'll be coming along to break up this little ceremony, sacred or not. Got me?"

The Amazon rolled her eyes. "Xena, please, this will be over quicker than you imagine. I guarantee you Gabrielle will be in the village tomorrow, if not sooner."

This response seemed to satisfy the warrior. She nodded reluctantly.

"Hey, Xena?"

"What?"

"You gonna eat all that fish?"

*****

"Your father was certainly a well-read man," Janice commented as she completed yet another scan of the books in the study.

"Mmmm," Mel murmured. Her dark head was bent intently over the ancient parchment.

Janice shook her head. The woman was so thoroughly engrossed in the scroll, she could not even muster the barest of her Southern civilities. "Yep...let's see here...everything from Kant and Kirkegaard to Gone with the Wind and the Kama Sutra," Janice stole a quick look at her friend to see if Mel noticed the spurious volumes--the latter two--that her imagination had inserted into the collection. No response. She let her fingers trail over the smooth leather volumes, riding the rough ridges and indentations, until her fingers stopped suddenly: Havelock Ellis. Kraft-Ebing. Oh my. Dr. Pappas knew his stuff. Wonder if would've been able to diagnose me on the spot?

Janice cast yet another glance at Mel. Jesus Christ, has Mel read this stuff? She wondered. And if so, has she figured me all out? I am sort of a walking bulldagger at times...the clothes, the cigar...God, I have to get out of here for a while. Unwilling to break Mel's concentration, Janice opted to exit quietly, without a word, and go for a walk.

She got no further than the door's threshold when she heard Mel call her name softly.

"Yes, Mel?"

"Where are you going?" The scholar removed her glasses, her blue eyes touching Janice like a flame.

"Just out for a walk, to get some air. Do you mind?"

"No, of course not." She put on the glasses once again. Janice turned to leave.

"Janice?" The voice sounded darker, silkier.

"Yes?" The young archaeologist froze, her hand lingering on the doorknob.

"My daddy hated Gone With the Wind and he kept his copy of the Kama Sutra so well hidden I didn't find it until last year."

Without a word, Janice and her blush walked out.

[swanqueeneverafter]

What Dreams May Come, Pt.37

Kingdom Of Valencia. (Richard and Roberta stand together in the throne room as Henry enters.) Henry: "Let's saddle up. It's time for battle.” Richard: (Surprised:) “Henry. You’re back!” Henry: “As I promised I would be, friend.” (They clasp forearms.) Richard: “Then I am ready for war. And not just to sit in a comfy chair and watch up on a hill while eating cucumber sandwiches, although that was delightful. No, I am actually ready to stand next to you and fight.” Henry: “Sounds like you found your manhood, Richard.” Richard: “Bobby found it... A bunch of times, if you know what I'm saying, huh?” Henry: “Unfortunately, I do. (Extends his hand to Roberta:) Pleased to meet you, Bobby.” Roberta: “Oh, er, Roberta. Only Richard calls me Bobby.” Henry: (Smiles:) “Of course. (Jasmine enters:) Are the troops ready?” Jasmine: “As they’ll ever be. I’m just so relieved you and your family are back. Now we might just have a chance.” Henry: (Chuckles:) “Hey, that’s the spirit.” (Henry and Jasmine leave the room.) Richard: (To Roberta:) “Strange being in this room again. It seems like a lifetime ago I sat on that throne. So much has changed. Ah, if I ever got the chance to be a king again, I would do things so differently.” Roberta: “Richard, I have to tell you something.” Richard: “Hmm?” Roberta: (Clears throat:) “Um... It's hard to say, but, um... I can't go into battle with you.” Richard: “What are you talking about?” Roberta: “Richard, you're not a fighter, and I love you too much to watch you die. And... You will die. Horribly. Mutilated. Crying blood.” Richard: (Scoffs:) “Okay.” Roberta: “Having soiled yourself with people trying to cut off your head.” Richard: “Ooh.” Roberta: “People pointing and laughing, gloating on the battlefield. It's gonna be hideous.” Richard: “Okay.” Roberta: “It can be quite fun, but not for you.” Richard: “Got it.” Roberta: “I can't be part of that. It'll destroy me.” Richard: “My darling, you worry too much. I'll be fine. Yes, perhaps a bit less confident after your very charmingly graphic description, but believe me, I'll be fine.” Roberta: “No, let's forget this whole battle and leave and go and build a life for ourselves. My aunt has a farm across the lonely sea, in the shadow of mount spinster. It's so beautiful. Lots of cats. We can be happy there. I can get us one-way tickets, and...” Richard: “Bobby. I have to do this. I can't let Henry and Ella down.” Roberta: “And I can't watch you die.” Richard: “So, what are we saying?” Roberta: “I think we're saying goodbye.” (Roberta turns and leaves the room, Richard watching her go.)

Mount Fuji. (Gabrielle holds the urn containing Xena’s ashes over the water, removing the lid. She is about to pour when Xena’s ghost stops her.) Xena: “No, Gabrielle.” Gabrielle: “Xena.” Xena: “No.” (Takes the urn and places the lid back on top.) Gabrielle: “Xena... (Glances behind her:) the sun is setting.  I have to bring you back to life.” Xena: “No. Not if it means condemning the souls of the 40,000 who burned at Higuchi.” Gabrielle: “But the souls are free?” Xena: “They’re free from Yodoshi’s grasp. But for those souls to be released into a state of grace, they must be avenged. I must stay dead.” Gabrielle: “But if I bring you back to life-” Xena: “Those souls will be lost forever.” Gabrielle: (Tears in her eyes:) “I don’t care. You’re all that matters to me.” Xena: “Don’t you know how much I wanna let you do this? I can’t come back. I can’t.” Gabrielle: “But, this is not right. I love you, Xena. How am I supposed to go on without you?” Mulan: (Reaching the summit:) "Gabrielle is right, Xena." (Xena and Gabrielle both turn towards Mulan who is now helping Ruby reach the top.) Xena: "Who the hell are you?" Mulan: "We were sent to find the women who wield the chakram."

Gabrielle: "Xena..." Xena: "That's you now, Gabrielle." Ruby: "Actually, it's both of you. There is a battle looming, with many lives at stake." Mulan: (To Xena:) "Unlike the thousands of souls you have given your life for, our people will die without your help." Ruby: "Those 40,000 souls are already lost, Xena. It was a terrible accident, which was not your fault." Xena: "Who are you? (To Mulan:) Your armour bears the markings of warriors from Chin, not Egypt." Mulan: (Glances quickly to Ruby:) "We have come a long way to find you both." Ruby: "Please, we don't have much time. Won't you help us?" (Before Xena can respond, a surge of energy pulses though her. Clutching her chest, Xena feels her heart beating once more. Tossing aside the now empty urn, Gabrielle stalks past a shocked looking Xena.) Gabrielle: (To Mulan and Ruby:) "We will help you." Xena: "Gabrielle, what have you done?!" Gabrielle: "Trust me, Xena. We will be having many discussions about your plans to leave me forever, but they can wait. Because for now, (Turns back to Mulan and Ruby:) we fight."

Kingdom of Valencia. (It is the night before the battle. Having given a rousing speech to everyone, Tiana stands among the other leaders as a ball is taking place.) Tiana: "Hosting a ball before a battle certainly is a bold choice." Zelena: "And very alliterative." Regina: "What's the use of travelling through the night to get to the battlefield when we can simply use magic to get ourselves there in the morning?" (Regina smiles at Emma who is stood with her parents going over battle plans.) Tiana: "I suppose, but it's still very unusual." Zelena: "Hang around us long enough and you'll find unusual is our specialty." Regina: "Don't worry, Tiana. No alcohol is being served." Zelena: "Ugh, you mean this is just orange juice? (Puts down her glass, disgusted:) You could've warned me." Regina: "This is a chance for Emma and I- (Zelena coughs:) And our entire family, to thank those who've made the choice to stand with us tomorrow.” Facilier: (Appearing in a cloud of smoke:) "My, my. How pretty you all look. (Removing his hat:) Enchantée, Tiana." Tiana: "Facilier? What are you doing here?" Facilier: "You mean I'm not invited to the ball? (Chuckles:) I came to remind you all of the rules of the game. (Holds up the cards:) Even if your feeble excuse for an army does manage to win tomorrow, you still have Morpheus' Empress to contend with." Ella: (Stepping forward:) "We're not afraid of Madelena. Some of us are relishing the thought of taking her on." Facilier: (Smiles:) "Careful with this one, Henry. You've got a real spitfire on your hands." Regina: "Don't you dare speak to my son." Facilier: "Ah. How lovely to see you again, Regina." Regina: "I wish I could say the same."

Facilier: (Smiling over at Emma who stands frozen:) "When I heard what Lord Morpheus had planned for you two, I begged him to allow me to be a part of it. Unfortunately for me, I was needed elsewhere. Such a shame too as I regularly replay our time together in my mind, Emma. Alas, it was not meant to be. (To Regina:) Ingenious use of fairy magic to switch bodies by the way, I was very impressed." Regina: "If you're the real Facilier, why aren't you rotting somewhere in the Underworld?" Facilier: (Smiles:) "Because I convinced Lord Morpheus I would be invaluable to him. (Looks over to Emma:) Given our history. (To Regina:) And you were left trapped, reliving a pale imitation of what Emma's life was like under the curse. (Approaching:) Only Emma and I know how special our time together truly was. (Reaching up to stroke Regina’s face with the back of his hand:) But, if you play your cards right, I can give you a glimpse, if you'd like." Emma: "Enough! Everyone, leave." David: "Emma, we're not leaving you alone with this man." Facilier: (Chuckles:) "Listen to your father, Emma. You know you can't control yourself around me." Emma: "Stop talking. Please, I need everyone to leave Regina, Facilier and I alone, right now." Facilier: "Seems your family and friends don't trust you to do the right thing, Emma." (At this, the group begin to disperse, voicing their support for Emma as they leave the room. Hearing the door close, Emma addresses Facilier once more.) Emma: "You always did know how to push people's buttons." Facilier: "I most certainly do." Emma: "You're not welcome here." Facilier: "Hmm. Your friends are gone now. You can stop pretending you're not happy to see me." Emma: "I needed them gone because I didn't want them to see this." Facilier: (Grins at Regina:) "But you'd like your wife to watch? Now that is kinky." Emma: "Regina's here because she is the only one I have trusted with the knowledge of what you did to me. She's been with me through it all, the tears, the sleepless nights. Without her, I may not be standing here right now. You managed to get inside my head and made me feel things about myself that almost broke me, Facilier." Facilier: (Smiles:) "Almost?" Emma: (Looking to Regina:) "Her love pulled me through. My family's love and the love of those around me made me realise that those feelings you tapped into weren't true. The feelings that I've been carrying around with me for my whole life, they're not true anymore and perhaps they never were." Facilier: "Well hallelujah. Sounds like you've been saved, Emma. Is this what you had to clear the room for? Seems to me your family would have liked to have heard that." Emma: "No. I cleared the room because, while I may not listen to those voices anymore, I still carry some darkness inside me. (Regina watches as Emma transforms into the Dark Swan:) The only way to move past something is to confront it and Facilier, your time has come." (Facilier takes a step backwards while Regina takes a seat, eager to watch Emma's catharsis unfold.)