The Curtain

Henri Nouwen

After all the noise of the fight, and the inner-city prison which rang with the hoarse shouts of drunken men, and then the yelling of the crowd as she was pushed into the courtroom – after all that, the silence unnerved her.

The voices of the lawyers seemed lost in the enormous room. It seemed something like a play, with all the earnestness of a child’s game. Who were these people, and what were they arguing over? She turned her dazed eyes to the robed judge. He looked unhappy, and she wondered vaguely why. She’d heard judges earned a lot of money.

It happened rather quickly after that. Her lawyer looked pleased, while the other one seemed about to cry. Then they were taken into some kind of waiting room. A couple of police guards took Ares and Dagnon off, and she nodded at them dully. Ares grabbed her hand, and looked at her with something like guilt in his eyes, before moving on. She didn’t even bother looking after him.

She leant back on the hard wooden bench, and stared across at the desk, where two women were stealing covert glances over at her, then whispering about her.

“Can’t believe she got off . . . they thought they had her at last with this one . . . cold-blooded murder, and she didn’t even get manslaughter –“

"How on earth did she get out of that -"

"The police didn't announce themselves, just burst in, so technically . . . oh, there's no justice for the dead . . ."

“Not just the dead, but . . . that one had half his brain blasted out . . . what kind of life is that –“

Xena let her eyes narrow and her lip curl in a snarl. The women stopped whispering after that.

What did they know? What did they know? Had they ever have half a dozen cops burst into their own place, guns blazing, cutting down friends who’d saved you a thousand times, who’d been there for you in situations these old hags never ever dreamed about? What did they know? Draco was gone, now, and so was Darphus, and they’d killed Tori as well. Who was mourning their deaths? The cops hadn’t bothered to announce their arrival properly, so they got what they deserved.

She shifted a little in her seat. It was a pity about that other cop. Dagnon had probably botched that. The two she’d got were well and truly dead.

“Hi, you must be Xena.”

She started at the voice. A big man – taller than her, and she was tall – was walking towards her, hand outstretched. She rose to meet him, placing her hand awkwardly in his, and managing not to wince as he applied pressure. He was a big man.

“I’m Herc, and you’ve been placed in my custody to serve out your community service sentence.” The man informed her, looking down at the sheets of paper in his hand.

Oh. So that was what it was all about. She vaguely remembered something in the trial that the other lawyer had argued furiously over. She’d got off, completely, while the other two obviously had to serve out some lesser charge or other. Possession, probably.

Hope flickered briefly within her. Community service? So she had to feed the homeless in some soup kitchen somewhere, or teach a bunch of delinquents how to throw a ball. A small smile crossed her lips. She always managed to land on her feet. These inner-city shelters always had a lot of action going on, she knew that. She’d be able to restart the business in no time, and . . .

“What’s this?”

Herc had led her to a large van, with a picture of a sun alongside a large logo: GREATER GOOD COMMUNITY.

“This is our new van.” Herc told her proudly. “Isn’t it great! We fundraised for nearly a year to get the money – not the van itself, but all the modifications and so on . . .”

Xena froze. “Modifications?”

Herc paused, and eyed her cautiously. “Didn’t they tell you anything?” He looked at her again. “Evidently not.”

Xena dropped her bag on the pavement, and raised an eyebrow.

“The Greater Good Community is where people with and without disabilities live together, sharing all the ordinary tasks of that we all take for granted. It was started when a group of families decided to create an alternative to institutionalised life for their children . . .”

“Institution – “ Xena spluttered. “What, you mean a madhouse? Retards? I’m not going there, you must be crazy!”

She expected cajoling, or an appeal to her better nature, but Herc didn’t waste words.

“What are you afraid of?”

He no longer wore a grin on his face; instead, his expression issued a challenge. Would she rather spend six months in prison, or the equivalent time in a community for people with disabilities?

There was no way she could say the idea frightened her far more than a bunch of murderers and thieves.

“I’m afraid of nothing.” She replied finally, picking up her bag. “But you should be. Do you really want to set the wolf among the sheep?”

The drive seemed to take forever. They took the highway right out of the city, towards the river. The familiar noise and bustle of the city gave way to a silence and a kind of dark that unnerved Xena. She was unaccustomed to living in an area where cows outnumbered people, and stars were the brightest light at night.

“Here – we’ll be just in time for dinner.” Herc told her, turning into a wide driveway and coming to a stop outside a large building. It was a broad, double-storey timber house with a long verandah, and big windows. Light poured from the main room, and Xena could see figures moving dimly behind curtains, and a babbling of noise.

“Come on in, and I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Herc told her, grabbing her bag casually. She pulled the case from his hand, and moved swiftly in front of him, so that he had to step back.

“Listen here, and listen good. You know who I am. I need no introduction, you know the trial. I’m a killer, a dealer, I’m everything you have nightmares over. And now I’m in your house.”

He didn’t falter, though, and simply looked back at her directly.

“I know you’re all that, Xena. I also know that’s not all you are.”

And then he moved towards the house, and opened the front door.

“Come on in, out of the cold.”

She dreamt about that dinner, that night up in her little room on the second floor. Except that in the dream, the people sitting around the table weren’t strangers. There was Darphus, and Tori, and Draco; there was Ares and Dagnon. When she walked in, they looked up at her with a grin, but refused to say a word. When she sat down to eat, they turned their heads and looked at her, watching her attempts to fork up the stew and eat, while they stared at her. Then the cops burst in the room, and shot them up all over again . . .

It was the sun’s light that woke her, spilling through the window and across her bed. She’d never been one for oversleeping, and so she got up and moved aside the curtain to see the place in the light.

It was pretty, she had to admit. The house was set on a little piece of land by the river. There were gardens, well-tended it seemed to her, and the place was edged with a small wood.

“It’s like something in a book.” She whispered involuntarily, then caught herself. There was a rap on the door.

“Are you up, Xena? Breakfast is ready.”

She started. It was Tom’s voice, she decided as she ran a brush through her dark hair. The retarded one. What had they called it? Down syndrome. She couldn’t remember all the words Herc had said. She just knew what she saw. Some of them could feed themselves and some couldn’t. Some of them could talk and some couldn’t. A lot of them dribbled and made a mess. Their faces looked different, and they made odd noises. The strangest part to her was the fact that everyone seemed to be ignoring how peculiar everyone was.

What on earth was she doing here? So far from civilisation, so far from where everything was going on? And what did they expect her to do? Feed the cows, weed the garden?

She met Herc on the stairs and he stopped her.

“Oh, you’re up! Great. Listen, I want to take you down to see someone.”

“I’ve seen enough already.” She muttered, but followed Herc. Didn’t want him to think she was scared or anything.

He led her to a room on the lower floor, and gave a brisk nod.

“Hey, Gabrielle! I’ve brought someone to meet you.”

Lying on the bed was the most disabled person Xena had ever seen.

“So this is what they mean when they say vegetable.” She murmured, staring at the girl.

Herc stiffened at that, but ignored her. “Xena, this is Gabrielle. You’ll be helping her with her morning routine from now on.”

Xena stared blankly at Herc, then at Gabrielle. She watched as Herc lifted Gabrielle gently up, and stroked her stiffened legs to relax them. Then he put her into her chair, and showed Xena the various splints and straps that kept her head up and her legs in the correct position.

“What, are you kidding! You expect me – me, of all people – to waste my time looking after a complete spastic? Why?”

Herc frowned at her.

“Come on, she can’t understand what I’m saying. She’s not even human – she’s completely useless, a waste of food and air and – oh. So that’s why you wanted a murderer in your house.”

Herc gave her a push with a single free hand and send her flying across the room and out the door.

Xena escaped to the gardens and wandered around them, muttering furiously to herself. People like that ought not exist. They made you feel horrible, they made you feel . . .

It was troubling her that now all she could remember of the girl was her long golden hair.

Morning routine? What did that mean? She mentally reviewed her own usual routine. Getting out of bed. Showering. Getting dressed. Having breakfast. Brushing teeth. She usually visited the bathroom somewhere within all of that . . . she shuddered. They expected her to –

“Xena!”

She swung around but Herc grabbed her fist before she could slam it into him.

“Just wanted to confirm that you aren’t here as a murderer.”

She stared at him. He was laughing, he was actually laughing!

“Becoming my personal assassin isn’t a form of community service, not as far as I’m aware.” He added, “and if so there’d be a few others on the list way way ahead of Gabrielle.”

“Look, you can’t expect me to spend my time with that – thing. What on earth would be the point? Come on. She can’t talk, she can’t walk, she can’t feed herself – someone should just knock her on the head and put her out of her misery.”

“Xena, there was a time when you couldn’t walk, talk, feed yourself – or take yourself off to the bathroom. And no one put you out of your misery – in fact, I suspect that you haven’t felt so loved since.”

Xena stared at him in bewilderment – then it dawned.

“Oh. You mean when I was a baby.”

“Babies exist for no other purpose than for people to wonder over them, adore them, love them. Gabrielle can’t do much, but we love her because of who she is.”

“But she isn’t a baby. She’s spastic, or retarded or whatever name you want to call it – she’s a vegetable.”

Herc’s eyes became very cold, then. “Gabrielle isn’t just a person with cerebral palsy, any more than you are just a murdering drug-dealer –“ He stopped himself, and then grinned a little. “A murdering drug-dealer with potential, but –“

Then he sighed. “Look, once you’ve helped out Gabrielle, you’re free for the rest of the day. That’s not the kind of deal you’ll get in prison.”

Xena considered that, and checked out the woods. Maybe there’d be something to hunt, there – “Isn’t there anything I can kill?”

Herc considered this. “Well, you could cut the head off the chickens, when we need them. Tom hates that job.”

“Why can’t I just do that?”

Herc laughed. “You’re supposed to be completing community service, you know, not living out your fantasies. Come on –“

He took her back to the house then, but the breakfast didn’t settle the strange feeling in Xena’s stomach at all. She couldn’t understand why Herc’s summation of her both hurt, and made her feel good, all at once.

The morning routine began, then. After she got herself up, she went down to Gabrielle’s room, and got her out of bed. Sometimes that was easy, and sometimes, when her limbs were particularly stiff, it took a very long time.

After that was the bathroom, and a shower sitting in a special chair. Then she picked out clothes for her and put her in her wheelchair, and took her across the main room, where she spooned breakfast into her mouth. The aim was to have it with everyone else; but sometimes the routine took so long it was nearer morning tea than breakfast.

It was strange at first. She didn’t know where to look, and she found herself calling out for help every few minutes when Gabrielle startled, or she forgot how to place a splint.

Soon it became as much routine for her as for the girl. She found that she liked to run a comb through Gabrielle’s long hair, and tie it back with side plaits. The bathroom routine didn’t embarrass her any longer, and then she found she was no longer just muttering sarcastic comments every few minutes. She was actually making them to Gabrielle.

Once her tasks were finished, she went spent the rest of the day alone, either in the woods, or hitching a lift into town and to the local bar. Somehow she always managed to make her way back; she told herself she didn’t need to, but still she found herself at Gabrielle’s door each morning.

“The blue one? Oh yeah, you wore blue yesterday, I forgot. I guess you could go for red, but for some reason green seems more like you, don’t you think?”

“Having fun in there?” Herc stuck his head round the corner.

“Just – um – finishing up.” Xena muttered, blushing. Gabrielle couldn’t understand her, after all. Why bother talking to her, like she was a real person? “I don’t even know if you are a girl, or a woman, you’re so small.” She told her, tightening the straps on her chair. “Maybe you’d better eat a bit more.”

She took her out to the dining room, which was empty.

“Missed it again. Ah well, maybe we’ll break the record and actually arrive here after lunch for once.” She got Gabrielle’s breakfast from the kitchen and tucked a napkin into her collar. Gabrielle’s particularly green eyes stared at her, but for once she didn’t begin spooning the mixture in immediately. Instead, she began remembering the dream, the strange dream . . .

They were all at the table again – Dagnon and Ares and the rest – when, suddenly, Gabrielle came in. In the dream she’d just walked in, and it didn’t seem strange – and she grinned, crinkling up her nose, and sat down next to Xena.

But then Dagnon picked up a gun, and blasted her through the head, and she was on the floor in a pool of blood. She was still alive, though – she could hear her moaning, and her green eye fluttered a little like a mark on the wing of a bird . . .

“Uh!”

Xena jerked out of her reverie. “Oh, sorry Gabrielle, here you are . . .”

Then she froze. Gabrielle swallowed her first spoonful with obvious enjoyment, then waited.

“You – I mean – you –“

Xena had heard the sounds Gabrielle had made before, the whole variety of them, but had never attached any meaning to them. But now, when she held the food just out of reach, she made the sound again.

“Uh!”

“You – you want the food!” Xena breathed, and then shouted out loud. “Hey, I can understand you, I understand you!”

She gave her another mouthful excitedly, and then waited for Gabrielle’s exclamation before feeding her again. And when she was done, she jumped up and gave her a hug, not even caring that Herc saw her.

“Hey, I got Gabrielle to talk. Not bad for a murderer, hey?” She grinned, going up to her room.

But when she closed the door, she fell on the floor and cried. She didn’t know why, but it felt like something was broken inside her, and whatever it was hurt.

It was only after that day that she noticed Gabrielle had been talking to her all along.

She stiffened when Xena placed her down in an uncomfortable position, and she made a sharp cry if the water was too hot. She laughed when Xena spoke to her, and she looked longer at the outfits that she particularly liked. Xena wasn’t surprised that she preferred green.

“Your routine’s got me in routine, too.” She told her friend. “Morning with you, then out with Tom to kill a chicken for dinner – notice how often we seem to have chicken, now? Oh, and –“

“Xena?”

She looked up from Gabrielle’s breakfast. “What – “

Herc’s expression warned her, and she tensed.

“Ares has been released.” He told her, holding out a scrap of paper with a phone message on it. “Shortened sentence for good behaviour.”

Xena nodded blankly. If it had been Dagnon, then –

But it wasn’t. It was Ares. He’d killed more than any of them; he’d taken her when she was young, made her who she was. If he saw her now . . .

She shivered, and let Herc finish feeding Gabrielle.

If it had been Dagnon – but it wasn’t.

She took the piece of paper out to the gardens and stared at it. So he was out, so? Didn’t mean he’d come looking for her. It wasn’t as if she owed him –

Wasn’t as if she owed him everything. As if she’d been a slut on the streets and he’d rescued her, given her some pride, taught her how to defend herself. Seen potential in her.

“A murderous drug-dealer – with potential.” The words came back to her, and she shook her head. Funny, that Herc shone with goodness and yet here it was Ares making her heart beat faster. Didn’t make any sense.

She crumpled up the paper in her fist and strode out towards the woods. She knew him. He’d come after her. Like a hawk after a mouse. Well, she was no mouse, and she wouldn’t be his prey.

She felt him before she saw him, and waited till he spoke before turning around.

“Hey, Xena. Life’s a joke, isn’t it?”

She started at that, and turned.

He looked different. His trademark beard had been trimmed, and she noticed it hid a new scar. He looked paler, too, as though – well, as though he’d been in prison for a while.

“Yeah, Ares.” She replied quietly. “Life’s a joke.”

It was kind of a code for them, kind of a link to their shared past. He’d got her high, once, on some strange street concoction which had spun her out further than she’d ever been. He’d stayed with her through it, though, or who knows what she might have done – and strangely enough, he’d begun to make sense to her at last in the haze.

“Nothing makes sense, there isn’t any meaning. It’s just a joke, a game. And then – we die.”

She understood a little what he wanted of her, after that, and what he wanted of himself.

“So there isn’t any point, unless we beat life, and mould it, and make it in our own image –“

He looked tired, now, and she gestured for him to sit down beside her.

“How’s Dagnon?” She asked carefully.

Ares shrugged. “His usual self. Got into a few fights on the first day, and a few more on the second – I don’t think he’ll be out for a while.”

Xena nodded, understanding suddenly. No one would have dared to pick a fight with Ares. His good behaviour spoke more of his ability to instil fear than an ability to conform.

“Out for good behaviour, huh? What’ll that do for your image?”

He smiled a bit at that. “Let me worry about that, OK? My parole officer was very excited about the idea of me hanging about here for a while, even if you were here too. I think that got me a couple of months off.”

“You, here at the farm?” Xena snorted, then shook her head. “Listen, I’m not giving up killing the chickens for you, whatever you say. That’s my job.”

He laughed at that.

“No, Herc wanted me to work on Tom’s new project – doesn’t he want to pull down the old wood-shed and make a summer-house?”

Xena stared. Then – “Have you met Tom?”

“Saw him as I came in, yeah.” He paused. “My older brother had Down syndrome, did I ever tell you?”

No, he hadn’t, and as usual he’d managed to surprise her once again. She felt herself fill with indignation, she felt herself glow hot with shame. What she had expected – what she’d expected was more and worse of what she herself had experienced. The disgust, the callous talk, the ignorance. Well, he wasn’t her.

“Come on.” She told him. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

She saw him walking towards her, the next afternoon, and so she waited on the hill behind the house, where the woods met the back fields. There was a fallen tree, an old pine log, scattered about with wildflowers. She waited for him there, watching him as he came towards her.

“Hey, Xena. Life’s a –“

“Not any more.”

He stopped then, just out of reach. For a moment she felt like leaping forward, kicking, punching, pushing him to the ground.

“How many did you kill?”

Ares looked at her sharply.

“At the house, do you mean? Because –“

“I know, you didn’t get any there.” She interrupted him. “I shot two, and Dagnon blew away the third cop, who – survived – “ She paused a moment.

“I killed two men that day, but you know what I have nightmares over, you know what I think about all the time? That third cop. I keep wishing I’d shot him . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I can’t feel anything for what I’ve done, but what Dagnon did makes me feel sick inside, makes me feel – makes me angry.”

“Regret.” Ares spoke, finally. “That feeling – it’s regret.”

“Even though I know it couldn’t have happened any other way.”

“Still.”

“Still.” And Xena sighed. “It’s because of Gabrielle, I think, but that’s why I don’t understand it –“

“Because you’re glad she’s alive, and you wouldn’t wish her dead. But you’re wishing the third cop dead.”

“Sometimes I wish the whole world dead, except for us, and the people we know – what does that make me? Apart from a murderer, I mean . . .“

Ares shrugged, and started pulling apart a flower. “It means you wouldn’t have to think about it any longer. Dead’s dead. There’s nothing left to hope for. There’s nothing that can change. It’s over, and everything else has to go on.”

“But it isn’t over for him.” Xena whispered, and looked fiercely away for a moment before the tears pricking at her eyelids were allowed to fall. “And so – it isn’t over for me, either.”

She turned her head determinedly away, letting the trees on the horizon blur a moment, and holding her breath so that it could not betray her with a hesitation, the least sound of a sob. But he took her hand anyway, and pressed it hard. She wondered how it could be that the one who opened the door for her to become the woman she had been was now helping close it. But so many of the true things in her life were paradoxical.

“How many did I kill.” Ares said suddenly. “Before I came here? I can’t tell you that, how could I know? The ones I shot directly, or the ones who died because I taught you to shoot – you, and Tori and Draco and the rest? How could I know how many have died because of me?”

There was a tap at the door, and she groaned.

“Not morning yet –“

“No, it’s me.”

She raised her head as Ares slipped quietly into the room, and sat beside her bed.

“Hey.”

She lay on her stomach, her head in her hands. She looked at him, his long form resting against the wall, and tossed him a blanket.

“What’s up?’

He was quiet a while.

“Look, you can have the chickens if you really want them.”

He grinned. “And ruin the highlight of your day –“

She waited a little longer, but he didn’t speak. So she drifted off beside him, listening to his regular breathing, comfortable with his familiarity.

He came in a couple of nights out of the week, just sitting and watching her, or looking out the window at the dawn. She had the feeling he had something to say, but she had no idea what it was, or whether she wanted to hear it. So she just exchanged a few lines with him before sleeping beside him, night after night. It seemed strange to her that the nights he was there the nightmares stopped.

Late afternoon found Xena heading back towards the house, although there were still a few good hours of daylight left. A thousand things to do within it. Somehow, though, she’d forgotten exactly how to enjoy the solitary life. The sight of the house and the sounds coming from it attracted her, and she moved more quickly as though there was something pleasant awaiting her.

She paused a moment at the front door, looking in at the main room. He was there. He was there, playing cards with Gabrielle. He had his own stack, and he was holding out a pair of cards to the girl, and was following her eyegaze.

“You sure, now? All right, take the ace, what do I care.” He grumbled. He heard the sound of her boots at the door and looked up. “Come on in, Gabrielle’s thrashing me.”

She laughed at that, and Gabrielle turned at the sound, turned towards her and reached out a hand.

“Hey, Gabrielle.” She grinned, moving across and grabbing her hand. She planted a quick kiss on it and then sat down opposite, staring meaningfully at the pile of cards.

“Come on, hand ‘em over.” She ordered Ares. “If you’re going to be beaten, you better be beaten good.”

The light tap sounded on the door again that night.

“Hey.”

She sat up, pulling up her knees, and eyeing him thoughtfully.

“Here – sit down.”

“No, I –“

She grabbed his hand and pulled him down next to her on the bed. Then she grabbed his chin and turned his head until he faced her directly.

“Tell me.”

His gaze didn’t waver, but his eyes looked sadder, somehow.

“It wasn’t Dagnon, it was me.”

She felt her mouth drop open, and her body stiffen. She felt cold, suddenly, and sadder than she’d ever felt before.

“You were in the kitchen when the cops came in, I know. But I was on the couch. The door burst open and the gunshots began. If they said anything, I never heard it. All I saw was Darphus and Tori falling – Draco was right in the doorway, with a weapon and had got it straight away. It’s why they started shooting first, I guess. Anyway, Dagnon was fumbling with an automatic. I grabbed it off him and I shot at the first guy who stepped in. I didn’t even see his face –“

He hesitated. “I didn’t know who they were until the next lot came in, yelling out their usual crap. But they were there because of me. They knew I’d be there, and they wanted to bust me, so much, that they forgot everything and died.”

Xena shivered, but she knew she couldn’t break eye contact, not then. “I was in the kitchen when I heard the noise.” She agreed. “I had the gun in my pocket, you know I didn’t trust a soul. I saw Tori fall, and the first cop. I got the next two. I killed the next two.” She corrected herself. “Then somehow I was down on the ground, being arrested for murder. And now, somehow, I’m here.”

“You were there because of me; the gun was in your pocket because of me.”

It was true, Xena knew it; but she had pulled the trigger, both times, and all the times before that.

“I think – I need to go to him.” Ares said finally. “I need to see what I did. To say – that I feel regret –“

“At least you can do that.” Xena whispered. “You can look him in the eye and – but for me, it’s over. They were once alive, and now they’re dead. Because of what I did.”

Then his hand found hers, and pressed it hard.

“Somehow, you were there. And now, somehow, you’re here.”

“I don’t know how you can even look at me after what I’ve done.”

Herc pulled up the last potato, and, brushing it off, added it to the bowl. He turned his head, eyeing his brother perched on an up-turned bucket.

“Maybe you still can’t.” Ares went on. “But – what you did for her – I can’t thank you enough.”

Herc inclined his head, once.

“See, the thing is – if she hadn’t met me, she’d be still innocent. But if she hadn’t met you, she’d probably be dead.” He swallowed then, and looked away. “Knowing that sickens me. To my soul –“

But Herc shook his head. “You ask how I can look at you. Well, I know the answer to that, and it’s the same one I gave Xena not so long ago. You think I changed her? It wasn’t me. It was Gabrielle. When that girl sees Xena, she doesn’t see a murderer. She sees someone who brings ease when she’s uncomfortable, who soothes her pains, who brings food which she’s hungry. Who listens to her, who makes her laugh. When I see Xena through Gabrielle’s eyes – well, when I do that, I know I see truly, anyway.” He hesitated. “And it’s the same for you, too. Whatever you’ve done.”

“You don’t know the worst of it –“

“I’d rather know the best.” Herc cut him off, and then got up, brushing the soil from his knees. Then he looked at his brother directly. “It took me a long while to see Xena through Gabrielle’s eyes. Funny thing is, I think you’ve always seen her like that.”

Something jolted in Ares, and he frowned. But Herc had gone already. He picked up the bowl of forgotten potatoes, and headed to the kitchen.

Xena waited for the tap at the door that night, but it didn’t come. Finally, impatiently, she headed over to Ares’ room.

“Yeah?”

She put her head around the door, noting that his room pretty much mirrored her own. Narrow bed under the window, wood floors, the battered chest of drawers beside the door.

“Damn. I hoped your bed would be bigger.”

Ares raised an eyebrow.

“You’re hopeful.” Then he stretched out a hand. “Ah, we’ll make do.”

She grinned and took his hand, threading her fingers through his, then bringing his hand to her mouth for a light kiss.

“That was all you were after?” Ares complained, then smiled as she dipped her head to his for a kiss. “That’s better.” He murmured, pulling her down onto his lap, and entangling his fingers in her dark hair.

“Much better.” Xena echoed, settling herself in his arms, and deepening the kiss. His tongue cautiously meeting her own. She ran her hands lightly over his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat accelerate under her touch. “That’s nice, too . . .”

Then she was speechless, as he pulled her down onto the narrow bed and kissed her face, her throat, the soft skin above her breasts. Words fled; she could only sigh. Then she pulled him back to her and looked carefully at his eyes. She smiled, loving that although the shadows remained, so did something of the light. Then she lifted her face again to be kissed.

His hands moving over her made it hard to breathe, made it impossible to think, just feel. She found herself blushing, her skin bright with heat as though each of his fingers was a flame. When he tasted gently the flesh of her inner thigh, she had to bite down on her own hand in order to muffle her cry. When his tongue explored even further she was lost, her hands on his shoulders, her head flung back, his name an echo in the night.

“Ahh – oh, Ares.” She murmured, pulling him up to her, needing to see his eyes again. “How sad Gabrielle can never experience this.”

“Are you kidding?” He replied, moving aside a lock of her hair with his thumb. “It’s taken thirty years to discover the secret Gabrielle’s lived with her whole life.”

Then his mouth moved to her ear, and whispered what he knew;

“Love. Oh, love.”

...h.o.m.e...
bleeding-heart[dot]net