![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dollsomeTitle: A Day In The Life, Part II: And Baby Makes Three
Pairing/Characters: Xena/Gabrielle, ft. Eve and Joxer
Word Count: 3,000
Rating: PG
Summary: Xena and Gabrielle experience the highs, lows, and impromptu musical duets of motherhood.
Author's Note: OH, JOYFUL SHOW OF MY HEART. This is totally cracky, and doesn't really pay any attention to the fact that Eve's babyhood was full of constant Twilight of the Gods drama (except when they had to take a break to have Selma Blair's Adventures With Amazons, of course!), but considering the most recent episode I rewatched was "In Sickness And In Hell," well. I don't feel that bad. No show has ever been cracky like this show. Anything is possible. Including, alas, "Married With Fishsticks."
+
IT WAS THE BEST OF TIMES …
Xena’s exhausted: the good kind, though. The sky is full of stars and a kind round moon. Its light mingles with the orange-gold glow from the fire, playing in Gabrielle’s hair and over her face. She has Eve in her arms; she insisted that Xena take a break, and try to get some sleep. Xena can feel sleep coming – her eyelids are getting pleasantly sluggish – but she finds she doesn’t want to look away. Not just yet.
Gabrielle looks up, and the quiet joy on her face goes right to Xena’s heart. She looks so untarnished. So perfectly happy. You wouldn’t know, looking at her now, that she’d ever felt a single moment’s pain in her life.
“Can you imagine anything more beautiful?” she marvels softly, tracing Eve’s cheek with one awed finger.
“No,” Xena says, smiling sleepily. “Nothing in the world.”
SLEEPING TIGHT
For such a tiny human being, Eve can make a lot of noise. Nor is she very traditional: she certainly doesn’t show the slightest bit of respect for what average human beings would call Hours In Which You Should Be Sleeping Because It’s The Middle Of The Night.
“Shhh,” Gabrielle says, serenely ignoring the I’ll rise, but I refuse to shine part of her as it cries out in protest. Motherhood is a sacred calling that completely trumps petty things like wanting to sleep through the night uninterrupted.
“Shhhh, sweetheart,” Xena adds, sounding every bit as tranquil.
They catch each other’s eye and exchange an understanding smile. Eve screams on, but – Gabrielle is certain – not for long.
“Shhhh,” she and Xena say together. Very soothingly.
SLEEPING TIGHT, TWENTY MINUTES LATER
“Eve,” Gabrielle says, very seriously, “if you stop crying, Xena and I will give you a thousand dinars.”
Which, sure, sounds good in theory, but: “Where are we going to get a thousand dinars?”
“We’ll rob a king,” Gabrielle invents. Off Xena’s look, she adds, with an emphatic wave of her hands, “It will be fine! We’ve done a lot of good. Surely robbing one king won’t set us back that much, morally speaking.”
“This theoretical king,” Xena says, “he kind of a scumbag?”
“Oh, the scummiest,” Gabrielle assures her. “He eats orphans for breakfast, and puts people in the stocks for fishing.”
“I could work with that,” Xena decides.
“You hear that, Eve?” Gabrielle coos. “Your mommies are going to rob a scumbag king for you and give you a thousand dinars, if you stop crying. We’ll put it toward your education. I bet the Academy of the Performing Bards in Athens will just love to have you—”
“The Academy of the Performing Bards?”
“She’s got a storyteller’s spirit,” Gabrielle says sagely. “I can tell.”
Xena wrinkles her nose. She can’t help it. “Really?”
Gabrielle’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong with barding? You don’t want her to grow up to be a warrior, do you? ‘Cause I hate to break it to you, Xena, but it’s not exactly the comfiest of lifestyles.”
“Of course I don’t want her to be a warrior.” Xena doesn’t add the part where she’d been wondering earlier if toddlers were too young to benefit from chakram lessons. Might as well put the terrible twos to good use, right? Something to look forward to. “It’s just – don’t you think she should go for something that will put food on the table?”
“Art is the food of the soul,” Gabrielle announces grandly.
“Okay, good, her soul’s covered. What about her stomach?”
“And I suppose you’d just have her sit in front of an abacus all day long??”
“I’m just saying, you’ve been scribbling stuff down for years, and we’re not exactly rolling in money.”
“Maybe that’s because it’s awfully difficult to throw myself into my work when we’re getting into life-threatening scrapes all the time, thank you very much—”
Eve lets out an extra large shriek, as if to remind them that she ought to be the center of attention. Xena has to admit, she admires her persistence. The kid drives a hard bargain.
“Two thousand dinars?” she offers hopefully.
“And a pony!” Gabrielle entices.
A DIAPER IN TURMOIL CRIED OUT FOR A HERO
For such a tiny human being, Eve can also stink up a forest when she sets her mind, and her digestive tract, to it. They take a break from trekking through the woods to rest her on the ground and change her. It’s really no big deal.
But it also really smells like one.
“By the gods.” Gabrielle balks. “What have you been feeding her?”
Xena gives her a what do you think? look.
Gabrielle sighs tormentedly, and demands of Xena’s breasts, “What did I ever do to you?”
“It’s just changing a baby, Gabrielle,” Xena sighs. She’s not exactly rushing to do it, though.
“Yeah – your baby.”
Xena frowns. “I thought she was our baby.”
“She’ll be ours again once she doesn’t smell like that,” Gabrielle jests. At the look on Xena’s face, she’s quick to atone: “I’m sorry – she’s my smelly baby too. You’re my smelly baby too—” Gabrielle leans down to kiss Eve’s forehead, “—aww—augh—”
“I thought you had a lot of experience with this,” Xena says. “I know you’ve talked about babysitting back in Potidaea.”
“Yes, but it’s been a while! I’m rusty. And besides, there’s a reason I ran away with you. I didn’t want the quiet village life with marriage and babies, remember?” Her heart still flutters a little at the memory: Xena bursting into her life like firelight, making the whole world glow with possibility.
“I remember,” Xena says; judging by the look on her face, her thoughts are wandering down a similar path. “Any regrets?”
Gabrielle can’t help smiling. “What do you think?”
“Let’s meet this the way we’ve met all the hardships that have come to us before,” Xena suggests.
“Together?”
“Exactly.”
They return their attention to Eve. Xena goes for the left diaper pin, so Gabrielle takes the right. And reminds herself that they’ve faced off against ancient gods, warlords, and kings. Not to mention how long they’ve been putting up with Joxer.
“At least she’s not a boy,” Gabrielle says, figuring it’s good to stay optimistic, “so there’s no chance that she’ll p—”
But before Gabrielle can even get out the phrase ‘pee in our faces,’ Eve somehow, incredibly, does.
“How is that even physically possible?” Gabrielle demands in a sputter.
“Many skills,” Xena says faintly.
Argo’s whinny sounds suspiciously like laughter.
CHIVALRY’S DEAD, BUT A GOOD PUNCH LIVES FOREVER
“So,” says the skuzzy guy that approaches them in the next tavern where they stop (no tavern is complete without at least a few skuzzy guys), “can I interest whichever of you fine ladies is single in a tankard? On me.” He wriggles his eyebrows, making On me sound like the least appealing entendre ever. Gabrielle gets the bulk of the eyebrow wriggle – probably because Xena is the one with Eve in her arms right now.
“I’m with her,” Gabrielle says, tilting her head toward Xena.
“She’s with that,” says Skuzzy Guy, pointing at Eve.
“And so am I,” Gabrielle replies with a tight, go-away-now smile.
“Oh,” Skuzzy Guy says, his eyes widening. He grins. “I see. I get it. I heard of Zappho.”
“Sappho,” Gabrielle mutters, pained.
“—So. Which one of you is the dad?”
“The father is no longer with us,” Gabrielle says.
“Must have been some guy!”
“Yes,” Xena says dryly, “she really was.”
Skuzzy Guy looks baffled by that, but it doesn’t put him off for long. “So my chances of getting lucky with either of you …” His eyes light up. “Or, hey, both of you— find a babysitter—”
Xena punches him in the nose – but almost daintily, really. It’s nothing next to her usual pugilistic displays toward tavern perverts. It still gets the job done.
“I don’t think he was even bleeding,” Gabrielle marvels as their suitor scurries off with his sleeve pressed to his nose, swearing.
“What can I say?” Xena smirks. “Motherhood’s turning me soft.”
GABRIELLE’S GIFT IS HER (BUDDY JOXER’S) SONG
… MAYBE SHE SHOULD TAKE IT BACK
“Joxer the mighty – roams through the countryside—”
If it were possible to raise her eyebrow all the way to her hairline, Xena would. “Really?”
“What?” Gabrielle demands, abandoning her little musical performance for Eve. Complete with accompanying dance moves. “It’s the only thing that she likes.”
Xena’s not sure about that. “Did you try—”
“Yes.”
“And—”
“Yes.”
“How about—”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I should sing to her,” Xena speculates, staring down at her daughter.
Gabrielle folds her arms over her chest. “What are you saying?”
“Just that … I’ve always been slightly more comfortable with the whole singing thing than you are.”
“Oh, what? Just because I’m not necessarily prepared to warble out a poignant funeral dirge at a moment’s notice, I can’t even sing a baby to sleep?”
“I don’t warble!”
“You warble a little,” Gabrielle retorts. Then her expression softens, and she adds earnestly, “You make warbling very attractive, of course.”
“Shut up,” Xena grumbles, not without affection. Gabrielle reaches over to run a hand through her hair. They exchange a look that’s as effective a peace treaty as Xena’s ever known.
Then, in the kind of unison that comes from years fighting side by side (and complete, again, with accompanying dance moves): “Joxer the mighty – roams through the countryside …”
Eve waves her hands in approval. It’s a pretty decent performance, Xena has to admit. They’re even harmonizing a little by the end.
Kind of.
FOOT IN MOUTH VS. MOUTH ON MOUTH
Xena is standing by the side of the lake, naked, considering her reflection with an expression of gloom so pronounced that Gabrielle can spot it dozens of feet away. She retrieves Xena’s long black coat from the big rock it’s resting on and brings it to its owner, draping it over her shoulders.
“You’ll have your body back in no time,” she consoles.
The way Xena tenses under her hands makes Gabrielle suspect that maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say. More like one of those lines that sounded a lot better in her head.
“That makes one of us,” Xena snarls.
“Hey,” Gabrielle says, staring with bafflement down at her own (perfectly toned – or so she thought, until two seconds ago) abdomen, “don’t bring my body into this.”
“I wasn’t,” Xena says with piercing faux sweetness, and stomps off.
“What?” Gabrielle says, and then: “Oh.”
Then it’s her turn to stare gloomily into the lake.
Gabrielle gets to sleep on the log that night.
+
Well, for a half hour, anyway. Then Xena shuffles over to her, says, “Oh, come on,” and drags her back to their bedrolls. Eve is awake – and not crying, for once. As Gabrielle settles down beside her, Eve reaches up and catches hold of one of her fingers. Gabrielle has seen and done so many incredible things, and she’s imagined even more, but she’s not sure anything compares to this: a baby’s new, sure grip.
“She’s happy to see you,” Xena observes, smiling.
“Right back atcha,” Gabrielle tells Eve, pressing a kiss into the soft down of her hair. Xena wraps one arm around Gabrielle, and uses the other to trace fond little circles over Eve’s tummy and murmur nonsense until Eve laughs – Eve laughs, and—
“Okay,” Gabrielle says, smitten, “that’s the best thing she’s ever done.”
“So far,” Xena says, beaming.
“So far,” Gabrielle agrees happily.
MAKING TIME FOR ROMANCE IS IMPORTANT
Joxer shows up out of nowhere, in typical Joxer style, and seems a little overwhelmed by the joyous reception he gets. It’s just: nothing sounds quite as good as a babysitter right now, and Joxer will have to do.
“We’re just going to go for a little walk,” Xena says. “Not far.”
“All you’ll probably have to do is watch her,” Gabrielle says. “She should sleep the whole time. She’s getting good at it.”
“But if she wakes up,” Xena says, “just sing her a verse or two of Joxer the Mighty. It’ll settle her down.”
“A verse or two?” Joxer says, his face lit up like it’s Solstice morning. “Try a verse or twelve. Never fear, my friends! Joxer the Mighty is well endowed! … with verses of ‘Joxer the Mighty.’ Among … other … things?”
Xena and Gabrielle exchange a glance that says, rather affectionately, What a dweeb. They thank him again and they go, leaving behind the increasingly distant strains of, “Joxer the Mighty, fearsome entertainer, and before you ask, it’s a breastplate, not a strainer— dangit! Stupid syllables—important to get that across—no one ever gets it—“
They’ve already worked out that a half hour is probably the longest amount of time they can realistically leave Eve with Joxer without some sort of disaster descending – odds are, upon Joxer – and so they don’t waste any time. As soon as they’ve wandered far enough to ascertain that they won’t be seen or heard, Gabrielle (sparkling and wicked and totally gorgeous) pounces with enough force to drive them both back against the nearest tree. Xena definitely isn’t complaining—
Until an arrow whooshes by and lands in the trunk, inches from her head.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Gabrielle groans.
“Five minutes,” Xena promises, kisses her neck, and whips out the chakram.
Divvying the pack of thugs between them, they actually get it done in four and a half.
“Whoever said women can’t have it all was crazy,” Gabrielle declares, returning her sais to her boots and her attention to Xena. They can hear one of the thugs howling in the distance as he runs as fast as his feet can carry him. Not your traditional mood-setter, but it kind of works for Xena. Her blood’s still pulsing. “Fighting evil, raising a daughter, finding some alone time … we’ve struck a nice balance, don’t you think? We can do this. We’re doing this.”
“Always looking on the bright side,” Xena praises, pulling Gabrielle back into her arms. “Have I ever mentioned I love that about you?”
“Oh yeah?” Gabrielle says, beaming cheekily. “What else do you love?”
“Hmm,” Xena purrs, her hands just itching to answer (if her mouth doesn’t get there first), “where to begin—”
+
When they come back, Joxer’s bouncing Eve up and down in his arms. They make a pretty adorable duo.
“Wow,” Joxer says, taking in the sight of them. And, okay, maybe they’re a little flushed and giddy around the edges, and maybe Xena’s hair looks like some very enthusiastic hands have recently been hanging out there. “That musta been some walk.”
Gabrielle shrugs, her cheeks pink; Xena bites back a smile.
“You’re glowing!” Joxer proclaims. “Man. Motherhood sure agrees with you guys.”
“Can’t argue there,” Xena says, and reaches for Eve.
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS IN AN ICE CAVE (PLUS A FEW MONTHS) LATER
Eve has gotten better at sleeping through the night, but not by much. Xena wonders if she was always this fitful, or if it’s the guilt that makes her whimper and twitch. Speaking of bad dreams: sometimes this still feels like one. All those years lost. Joxer’s blood on her daughter’s hands. Enough blood on her daughter’s hands to fill whole seas. It still shocks her, that those hands have gotten so big and done so much.
And as for Xena’s hands – as for whose blood is on hers—
She looks at Gabrielle and it hurts. Less than it’s been hurting – it’s getting better. But still.
“Maybe ‘bard’ wouldn’t have been such a bad line of work for her after all,” Xena says softly, and tries to sound like it’s a good joke. It doesn’t really come out that way. Too brittle, like she’s about to snap. She hadn’t meant to say anything at all.
“She could still be a bard,” Gabrielle answers. She takes Xena’s hand in hers, a touch so familiar and beloved that it feels more like home than any place. “She’s starting over. She can be anything.”
I killed you, Xena tries not to think. I spilled your blood. I spilled your blood and didn’t pause. How can this be a mother’s love? What I feel for this girl, this stranger – can I trust it, if it drives me to that— if it pulls me away from you—
She stops there. There is no away from you, not with Gabrielle. She might not be sure of a lot, but that – that, she’ll always know.
“She’s still young, Xena,” Gabrielle says softly. “And so are we. We have no idea what the future has in store for any of us. But we’ve got all the time in the world.”
“Always looking on the bright side,” Xena says, her eyes hot. She closes them, and a tear sneaks down. “Have I ever mentioned I love that about you?”
Gabrielle swipes the tear away with her thumb. I’m listening, her face says, and I am always, always here.
“It was supposed to be the three of us,” Xena admits, the words barely more than a breath, “for the rest of our lives.”
“It still is,” Gabrielle says simply.
Eve whimpers, loud, the sound like a knife through the heart. Xena reaches down and brushes her fingers against that unfamiliar red-brown hair.
“Shhh, sweetheart,” she murmurs; Eve quiets and stills. Gabrielle rests her head on Xena’s shoulder, anchoring her here.
Pairing/Characters: Xena/Gabrielle, ft. Eve and Joxer
Word Count: 3,000
Rating: PG
Summary: Xena and Gabrielle experience the highs, lows, and impromptu musical duets of motherhood.
Author's Note: OH, JOYFUL SHOW OF MY HEART. This is totally cracky, and doesn't really pay any attention to the fact that Eve's babyhood was full of constant Twilight of the Gods drama (except when they had to take a break to have Selma Blair's Adventures With Amazons, of course!), but considering the most recent episode I rewatched was "In Sickness And In Hell," well. I don't feel that bad. No show has ever been cracky like this show. Anything is possible. Including, alas, "Married With Fishsticks."
+
IT WAS THE BEST OF TIMES …
Xena’s exhausted: the good kind, though. The sky is full of stars and a kind round moon. Its light mingles with the orange-gold glow from the fire, playing in Gabrielle’s hair and over her face. She has Eve in her arms; she insisted that Xena take a break, and try to get some sleep. Xena can feel sleep coming – her eyelids are getting pleasantly sluggish – but she finds she doesn’t want to look away. Not just yet.
Gabrielle looks up, and the quiet joy on her face goes right to Xena’s heart. She looks so untarnished. So perfectly happy. You wouldn’t know, looking at her now, that she’d ever felt a single moment’s pain in her life.
“Can you imagine anything more beautiful?” she marvels softly, tracing Eve’s cheek with one awed finger.
“No,” Xena says, smiling sleepily. “Nothing in the world.”
SLEEPING TIGHT
For such a tiny human being, Eve can make a lot of noise. Nor is she very traditional: she certainly doesn’t show the slightest bit of respect for what average human beings would call Hours In Which You Should Be Sleeping Because It’s The Middle Of The Night.
“Shhh,” Gabrielle says, serenely ignoring the I’ll rise, but I refuse to shine part of her as it cries out in protest. Motherhood is a sacred calling that completely trumps petty things like wanting to sleep through the night uninterrupted.
“Shhhh, sweetheart,” Xena adds, sounding every bit as tranquil.
They catch each other’s eye and exchange an understanding smile. Eve screams on, but – Gabrielle is certain – not for long.
“Shhhh,” she and Xena say together. Very soothingly.
SLEEPING TIGHT, TWENTY MINUTES LATER
“Eve,” Gabrielle says, very seriously, “if you stop crying, Xena and I will give you a thousand dinars.”
Which, sure, sounds good in theory, but: “Where are we going to get a thousand dinars?”
“We’ll rob a king,” Gabrielle invents. Off Xena’s look, she adds, with an emphatic wave of her hands, “It will be fine! We’ve done a lot of good. Surely robbing one king won’t set us back that much, morally speaking.”
“This theoretical king,” Xena says, “he kind of a scumbag?”
“Oh, the scummiest,” Gabrielle assures her. “He eats orphans for breakfast, and puts people in the stocks for fishing.”
“I could work with that,” Xena decides.
“You hear that, Eve?” Gabrielle coos. “Your mommies are going to rob a scumbag king for you and give you a thousand dinars, if you stop crying. We’ll put it toward your education. I bet the Academy of the Performing Bards in Athens will just love to have you—”
“The Academy of the Performing Bards?”
“She’s got a storyteller’s spirit,” Gabrielle says sagely. “I can tell.”
Xena wrinkles her nose. She can’t help it. “Really?”
Gabrielle’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong with barding? You don’t want her to grow up to be a warrior, do you? ‘Cause I hate to break it to you, Xena, but it’s not exactly the comfiest of lifestyles.”
“Of course I don’t want her to be a warrior.” Xena doesn’t add the part where she’d been wondering earlier if toddlers were too young to benefit from chakram lessons. Might as well put the terrible twos to good use, right? Something to look forward to. “It’s just – don’t you think she should go for something that will put food on the table?”
“Art is the food of the soul,” Gabrielle announces grandly.
“Okay, good, her soul’s covered. What about her stomach?”
“And I suppose you’d just have her sit in front of an abacus all day long??”
“I’m just saying, you’ve been scribbling stuff down for years, and we’re not exactly rolling in money.”
“Maybe that’s because it’s awfully difficult to throw myself into my work when we’re getting into life-threatening scrapes all the time, thank you very much—”
Eve lets out an extra large shriek, as if to remind them that she ought to be the center of attention. Xena has to admit, she admires her persistence. The kid drives a hard bargain.
“Two thousand dinars?” she offers hopefully.
“And a pony!” Gabrielle entices.
A DIAPER IN TURMOIL CRIED OUT FOR A HERO
For such a tiny human being, Eve can also stink up a forest when she sets her mind, and her digestive tract, to it. They take a break from trekking through the woods to rest her on the ground and change her. It’s really no big deal.
But it also really smells like one.
“By the gods.” Gabrielle balks. “What have you been feeding her?”
Xena gives her a what do you think? look.
Gabrielle sighs tormentedly, and demands of Xena’s breasts, “What did I ever do to you?”
“It’s just changing a baby, Gabrielle,” Xena sighs. She’s not exactly rushing to do it, though.
“Yeah – your baby.”
Xena frowns. “I thought she was our baby.”
“She’ll be ours again once she doesn’t smell like that,” Gabrielle jests. At the look on Xena’s face, she’s quick to atone: “I’m sorry – she’s my smelly baby too. You’re my smelly baby too—” Gabrielle leans down to kiss Eve’s forehead, “—aww—augh—”
“I thought you had a lot of experience with this,” Xena says. “I know you’ve talked about babysitting back in Potidaea.”
“Yes, but it’s been a while! I’m rusty. And besides, there’s a reason I ran away with you. I didn’t want the quiet village life with marriage and babies, remember?” Her heart still flutters a little at the memory: Xena bursting into her life like firelight, making the whole world glow with possibility.
“I remember,” Xena says; judging by the look on her face, her thoughts are wandering down a similar path. “Any regrets?”
Gabrielle can’t help smiling. “What do you think?”
“Let’s meet this the way we’ve met all the hardships that have come to us before,” Xena suggests.
“Together?”
“Exactly.”
They return their attention to Eve. Xena goes for the left diaper pin, so Gabrielle takes the right. And reminds herself that they’ve faced off against ancient gods, warlords, and kings. Not to mention how long they’ve been putting up with Joxer.
“At least she’s not a boy,” Gabrielle says, figuring it’s good to stay optimistic, “so there’s no chance that she’ll p—”
But before Gabrielle can even get out the phrase ‘pee in our faces,’ Eve somehow, incredibly, does.
“How is that even physically possible?” Gabrielle demands in a sputter.
“Many skills,” Xena says faintly.
Argo’s whinny sounds suspiciously like laughter.
CHIVALRY’S DEAD, BUT A GOOD PUNCH LIVES FOREVER
“So,” says the skuzzy guy that approaches them in the next tavern where they stop (no tavern is complete without at least a few skuzzy guys), “can I interest whichever of you fine ladies is single in a tankard? On me.” He wriggles his eyebrows, making On me sound like the least appealing entendre ever. Gabrielle gets the bulk of the eyebrow wriggle – probably because Xena is the one with Eve in her arms right now.
“I’m with her,” Gabrielle says, tilting her head toward Xena.
“She’s with that,” says Skuzzy Guy, pointing at Eve.
“And so am I,” Gabrielle replies with a tight, go-away-now smile.
“Oh,” Skuzzy Guy says, his eyes widening. He grins. “I see. I get it. I heard of Zappho.”
“Sappho,” Gabrielle mutters, pained.
“—So. Which one of you is the dad?”
“The father is no longer with us,” Gabrielle says.
“Must have been some guy!”
“Yes,” Xena says dryly, “she really was.”
Skuzzy Guy looks baffled by that, but it doesn’t put him off for long. “So my chances of getting lucky with either of you …” His eyes light up. “Or, hey, both of you— find a babysitter—”
Xena punches him in the nose – but almost daintily, really. It’s nothing next to her usual pugilistic displays toward tavern perverts. It still gets the job done.
“I don’t think he was even bleeding,” Gabrielle marvels as their suitor scurries off with his sleeve pressed to his nose, swearing.
“What can I say?” Xena smirks. “Motherhood’s turning me soft.”
GABRIELLE’S GIFT IS HER (BUDDY JOXER’S) SONG
… MAYBE SHE SHOULD TAKE IT BACK
“Joxer the mighty – roams through the countryside—”
If it were possible to raise her eyebrow all the way to her hairline, Xena would. “Really?”
“What?” Gabrielle demands, abandoning her little musical performance for Eve. Complete with accompanying dance moves. “It’s the only thing that she likes.”
Xena’s not sure about that. “Did you try—”
“Yes.”
“And—”
“Yes.”
“How about—”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I should sing to her,” Xena speculates, staring down at her daughter.
Gabrielle folds her arms over her chest. “What are you saying?”
“Just that … I’ve always been slightly more comfortable with the whole singing thing than you are.”
“Oh, what? Just because I’m not necessarily prepared to warble out a poignant funeral dirge at a moment’s notice, I can’t even sing a baby to sleep?”
“I don’t warble!”
“You warble a little,” Gabrielle retorts. Then her expression softens, and she adds earnestly, “You make warbling very attractive, of course.”
“Shut up,” Xena grumbles, not without affection. Gabrielle reaches over to run a hand through her hair. They exchange a look that’s as effective a peace treaty as Xena’s ever known.
Then, in the kind of unison that comes from years fighting side by side (and complete, again, with accompanying dance moves): “Joxer the mighty – roams through the countryside …”
Eve waves her hands in approval. It’s a pretty decent performance, Xena has to admit. They’re even harmonizing a little by the end.
Kind of.
FOOT IN MOUTH VS. MOUTH ON MOUTH
Xena is standing by the side of the lake, naked, considering her reflection with an expression of gloom so pronounced that Gabrielle can spot it dozens of feet away. She retrieves Xena’s long black coat from the big rock it’s resting on and brings it to its owner, draping it over her shoulders.
“You’ll have your body back in no time,” she consoles.
The way Xena tenses under her hands makes Gabrielle suspect that maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say. More like one of those lines that sounded a lot better in her head.
“That makes one of us,” Xena snarls.
“Hey,” Gabrielle says, staring with bafflement down at her own (perfectly toned – or so she thought, until two seconds ago) abdomen, “don’t bring my body into this.”
“I wasn’t,” Xena says with piercing faux sweetness, and stomps off.
“What?” Gabrielle says, and then: “Oh.”
Then it’s her turn to stare gloomily into the lake.
Gabrielle gets to sleep on the log that night.
+
Well, for a half hour, anyway. Then Xena shuffles over to her, says, “Oh, come on,” and drags her back to their bedrolls. Eve is awake – and not crying, for once. As Gabrielle settles down beside her, Eve reaches up and catches hold of one of her fingers. Gabrielle has seen and done so many incredible things, and she’s imagined even more, but she’s not sure anything compares to this: a baby’s new, sure grip.
“She’s happy to see you,” Xena observes, smiling.
“Right back atcha,” Gabrielle tells Eve, pressing a kiss into the soft down of her hair. Xena wraps one arm around Gabrielle, and uses the other to trace fond little circles over Eve’s tummy and murmur nonsense until Eve laughs – Eve laughs, and—
“Okay,” Gabrielle says, smitten, “that’s the best thing she’s ever done.”
“So far,” Xena says, beaming.
“So far,” Gabrielle agrees happily.
MAKING TIME FOR ROMANCE IS IMPORTANT
Joxer shows up out of nowhere, in typical Joxer style, and seems a little overwhelmed by the joyous reception he gets. It’s just: nothing sounds quite as good as a babysitter right now, and Joxer will have to do.
“We’re just going to go for a little walk,” Xena says. “Not far.”
“All you’ll probably have to do is watch her,” Gabrielle says. “She should sleep the whole time. She’s getting good at it.”
“But if she wakes up,” Xena says, “just sing her a verse or two of Joxer the Mighty. It’ll settle her down.”
“A verse or two?” Joxer says, his face lit up like it’s Solstice morning. “Try a verse or twelve. Never fear, my friends! Joxer the Mighty is well endowed! … with verses of ‘Joxer the Mighty.’ Among … other … things?”
Xena and Gabrielle exchange a glance that says, rather affectionately, What a dweeb. They thank him again and they go, leaving behind the increasingly distant strains of, “Joxer the Mighty, fearsome entertainer, and before you ask, it’s a breastplate, not a strainer— dangit! Stupid syllables—important to get that across—no one ever gets it—“
They’ve already worked out that a half hour is probably the longest amount of time they can realistically leave Eve with Joxer without some sort of disaster descending – odds are, upon Joxer – and so they don’t waste any time. As soon as they’ve wandered far enough to ascertain that they won’t be seen or heard, Gabrielle (sparkling and wicked and totally gorgeous) pounces with enough force to drive them both back against the nearest tree. Xena definitely isn’t complaining—
Until an arrow whooshes by and lands in the trunk, inches from her head.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Gabrielle groans.
“Five minutes,” Xena promises, kisses her neck, and whips out the chakram.
Divvying the pack of thugs between them, they actually get it done in four and a half.
“Whoever said women can’t have it all was crazy,” Gabrielle declares, returning her sais to her boots and her attention to Xena. They can hear one of the thugs howling in the distance as he runs as fast as his feet can carry him. Not your traditional mood-setter, but it kind of works for Xena. Her blood’s still pulsing. “Fighting evil, raising a daughter, finding some alone time … we’ve struck a nice balance, don’t you think? We can do this. We’re doing this.”
“Always looking on the bright side,” Xena praises, pulling Gabrielle back into her arms. “Have I ever mentioned I love that about you?”
“Oh yeah?” Gabrielle says, beaming cheekily. “What else do you love?”
“Hmm,” Xena purrs, her hands just itching to answer (if her mouth doesn’t get there first), “where to begin—”
+
When they come back, Joxer’s bouncing Eve up and down in his arms. They make a pretty adorable duo.
“Wow,” Joxer says, taking in the sight of them. And, okay, maybe they’re a little flushed and giddy around the edges, and maybe Xena’s hair looks like some very enthusiastic hands have recently been hanging out there. “That musta been some walk.”
Gabrielle shrugs, her cheeks pink; Xena bites back a smile.
“You’re glowing!” Joxer proclaims. “Man. Motherhood sure agrees with you guys.”
“Can’t argue there,” Xena says, and reaches for Eve.
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS IN AN ICE CAVE (PLUS A FEW MONTHS) LATER
Eve has gotten better at sleeping through the night, but not by much. Xena wonders if she was always this fitful, or if it’s the guilt that makes her whimper and twitch. Speaking of bad dreams: sometimes this still feels like one. All those years lost. Joxer’s blood on her daughter’s hands. Enough blood on her daughter’s hands to fill whole seas. It still shocks her, that those hands have gotten so big and done so much.
And as for Xena’s hands – as for whose blood is on hers—
She looks at Gabrielle and it hurts. Less than it’s been hurting – it’s getting better. But still.
“Maybe ‘bard’ wouldn’t have been such a bad line of work for her after all,” Xena says softly, and tries to sound like it’s a good joke. It doesn’t really come out that way. Too brittle, like she’s about to snap. She hadn’t meant to say anything at all.
“She could still be a bard,” Gabrielle answers. She takes Xena’s hand in hers, a touch so familiar and beloved that it feels more like home than any place. “She’s starting over. She can be anything.”
I killed you, Xena tries not to think. I spilled your blood. I spilled your blood and didn’t pause. How can this be a mother’s love? What I feel for this girl, this stranger – can I trust it, if it drives me to that— if it pulls me away from you—
She stops there. There is no away from you, not with Gabrielle. She might not be sure of a lot, but that – that, she’ll always know.
“She’s still young, Xena,” Gabrielle says softly. “And so are we. We have no idea what the future has in store for any of us. But we’ve got all the time in the world.”
“Always looking on the bright side,” Xena says, her eyes hot. She closes them, and a tear sneaks down. “Have I ever mentioned I love that about you?”
Gabrielle swipes the tear away with her thumb. I’m listening, her face says, and I am always, always here.
“It was supposed to be the three of us,” Xena admits, the words barely more than a breath, “for the rest of our lives.”
“It still is,” Gabrielle says simply.
Eve whimpers, loud, the sound like a knife through the heart. Xena reaches down and brushes her fingers against that unfamiliar red-brown hair.
“Shhh, sweetheart,” she murmurs; Eve quiets and stills. Gabrielle rests her head on Xena’s shoulder, anchoring her here.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-01-09 09:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-09 06:36 pm (UTC)