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There’s no room for interpretation. She can feel the intention behind the words.
I love you, Xena.
Being dead is strange.
She’s done it before. Vacationed in the realm of the dead. But half-dead, almost dead, and dead through mystical and reversible means, are different from internal-bleeding, organs-shutting-down, giving-up-the-fight Dead.
She swims through the ether, immersed in an orange-pink sky, untethered to anything but Gabrielle’s thoughts and the less tender thoughts of others. She hears Iolaus’s grief, and subsequently that of Hercules. She feels the Amazon Nation mourning her. But Gabrielle is the loudest, the most constant, the most devastating.
Did Xena know? she hears Gabrielle ask, and she claws at the heavy air around her, tries to tear through this dimension to tell Gabrielle, Yes, I did! and, No, I didn’t! because both are true and neither explains why she couldn’t say anything while her heart was still beating.
But when would she have said it? She’d never have crossed that line before Gabrielle asked her to. And what would she have said? Marrying this man is not what you want. I know you — I’ve known you — and I’m what you want. No. She wouldn’t have believed her own words, even if they did turn out to be true.
The chronic contradiction: she knew it, the whole time she knew it, yet she never believed it. She’d seen the way Gabrielle looked at her the first day they met — her shining green eyes wide with something akin to wonder; her cheeks flushed rosy pink with something like shame, or maybe passion; the words rushing out of her mouth — You’ve got to teach me... You’ve got to take me with you... Teach me everything you know.
No, Xena knew. From the very first moment, she knew. Gabrielle had said, I’m not cut out for this village life, and Xena read between the lines, even if Gabrielle herself hadn’t an inkling of what she was saying.
But she never let herself believe it, not even with all the evidence stacking up, higher and higher — Gabrielle’s hands on her body, Gabrielle’s hands reaching for her, Gabrielle’s hands pinned down behind her to stop herself from touching Xena.
Xena watches from above as Gabrielle’s shaking hands press down on the bronze detailing of her casket.
And she did this to Gabrielle. She gave up the fight. She might have lived, but she chose to let go. Because she thought she was done. She thought she had lived enough of a life — too much of a life.
But Gabrielle loves her, and her work isn’t done. She’s tired — she’s so tired — but her work is not yet done.
She doesn’t hear Gabrielle’s thoughts just before dropping the torch, but she hears Gabrielle’s cry, part elation, part confoundment, It’s Xena!
Gabrielle’s voice sounds different in Autolycus’s ears. Xena resists the urge to rub them, to clear out whatever is blocking her from hearing Gabrielle’s voice clearly.
In that moment she’s too busy saving her cold corpse from the flames. She doesn’t bother to ask Autolycus for permission; she just takes control.
Later, she asks. For a conversation with Gabrielle, her student, her lover, her friend. Autolycus hasn’t given any indication that he can hear her thoughts or feel her desperation, but he allows her control of his body, sensing, somehow, that this is even more important than cremationem interruptus.
The first thing Gabrielle does is try to touch her. There’s no time to marvel at that, no time to bask in Gabrielle’s affection, no time to think, and she holds her hands out in front of her to stop Gabrielle. The ghost sensation of Gabrielle’s hands on her body has already tormented her for so long. If Gabrielle touches her here, will she feel it, or will it be like another torturous memory?
She watches Gabrielle cry, just inches away, a lifetime away. She’s never been good with words, so she waits for Gabrielle to speak.
Why? Gabrielle says. Why did you leave me?
(Xena doesn’t have time to tell her, Because you don’t need me. Or, You left me once, too, or, I was ready to die before I met you.)
Gabrielle says, There are so many things I want to say to you.
Xena says, Gabrielle, you don’t have to say a word.
(She doesn’t have time to say, I knew I couldn’t live without you, but dying without you was so much worse.)
She’s trying not to smile, but it’s real. It’s real. It’s real. And she can’t stop herself, even though she knows it will hurt like pressing down on a yellowing bruise. She’s always wanted too much. Pulled by her want, she kisses Gabrielle.
And it’s just like a torturous memory.
Xena.
Xena drags her tired consciousness toward the voice slowly, slowly, as her body begins to wake up.
Xena, if you can hear me, come back.
She begins to feel the pull of her body as the ambrosia takes effect. She can’t return fast enough, and her cold, dead lips are aching to form the three most important syllables she’s ever spoken.
She’s so close, so close, and now she can feel Gabrielle’s hand burning heat into her own. Warmth floods her body, and she doesn’t know if it’s the blood stirring in her veins, the pleasure of being alive in her own body, or Gabrielle’s love covering her like a blanket.
Please come back.
Her eyes slowly flutter open, and the blurry but unmistakable sight of Gabrielle kneeling over her starts her heart again. She takes her first breath, and the air around her is Gabrielle. Juniper and smoke and sweat and earth.
Gabrielle cups her face in her hands and holds her up, cradles her, and Xena is reborn, and she grins and says the three syllables she’d worried her mouth would never form again.
“Gabrielle.”
She doesn’t yet have the energy to say more, but she doesn’t need to. Gabrielle knows, and she says as much.
Then Gabrielle says, “Let’s get you out of here,” and Xena is impressed with Gabrielle’s strength as she lifts her out of her coffin and helps her take her first steps back into the world of the living.
Gabrielle wraps her arm around Xena’s waist and makes her promise not to die on her again.
Xena promises with a wry smile. But they both know the truth. With the life they live, it could happen tomorrow.
What she wants to say is, I promise I’ll never give up on you again. What she should say is, I promise I’ll never give up on myself again. But she doesn’t want to lie to Gabrielle any more than she has to. And why complicate things with such a serious conversation?
She sharpens her sword and quietly savors the warm weight of Gabrielle’s arm draped across her lower back.
How did she ever live without this woman? How did she ever breathe without Gabrielle in her atmosphere? How did she ever walk without Gabrielle walking alongside her, sometimes jogging to keep up with her long stride, talking a mile a minute about her latest story or the scenery around them or a new philosophy she’s been considering?
As Gabrielle tells her about what it was like to be her — warm, friendly, loving, and in a fight, of all things! — Xena watches the forest around them out of habit. They won’t be ambushed tonight. She can hear Autolycus getting further and further away. Soon, they’ll be completely alone.
Doubt tugs at her. Are you sure this is what she wants?
I’m sure, she tells herself. I heard Gabrielle’s thoughts. I felt her love. I’ve seen her passion. I’m what she wants.
Doubt isn’t so easily swayed. Are you sure this is what’s best for her?
But Xena wants. She wants too much. As Gabrielle rests her head on Xena’s shoulder, all giddiness and warmth, Xena pushes her doubts away, lays down her sword, and wraps her arms around Gabrielle.
She kisses the top of Gabrielle’s head and closes her eyes. Gabrielle hums against her, and she thinks, ironically, Now I can die happy.