From the Ashes: A New Beginning

This is the sequel to Flight of the Phoenix. For some strange reason, I couldn't let go of the characters from that first story just yet.

DISCLAIMER: Xena, Gabrielle and the characters in XWP do not belong to me, I just borrowed them. Enjoy!!

Xena was dead. The reality of it was that simple. As Gabrielle sat on the ship, looking out over the water, she felt the cool ceramic of the urn in her hands. She was sailing west, away from Japa, away from the nightmare of it all.

Herselfish sidestill tormented her. She should have put Xena's ashes in the Fountain of Strength. She should have brought Xena back, in spite of her objections. She should have found a way to save her friend. She should have, she should have, she should have.

The 'should have's' kept coming and each one was another knife in her heart. She couldn't cry any more. She had run out of tears, if that was possible.

The crew of the ship had given her a wide berth when they saw her and what she carried. A dead body, in any form, was usually a bad omen before setting out to sea. Then as they watched her suffer, day after day, during the long voyage, they simply respected her privacy and let her mourn in peace.

She stood at the same place on the deck, looking back east every morning, watching the sun rise and climb into the sky. Her hands clutched that urn as if it held her own life essence.

No, it was better to avoid the young warrior in brown leather. Aside from the grim demeanor, her weapons were formidable. In each sturdy boot, a sai rested, and a circular weapon that none aboard had ever seen hung from a hook at her waist. Opposite that was a weapon that should not have been carried by a woman foreign or native to Japa. The lacquered wood of her sword sheath gleamed like fresh blood. For a woman to bear a katana of the samurai was unheard of. The fact that this young woman did so spoke highly of her skill and determination. The brilliant tattoo of a dragon stretched across her bare shoulders, snaking down her back. Its scales gleamed like polished jade, and its countenance was so lifelike that many thought it was a living thing unto itself, enslaved by the young woman's power. Its brilliant golden eyes seemed to peer from within her flesh, and the jaws opened as if they would engulf all who came too close.

Some of the crew began to believe that the dragon was alive, for not even the stealthiest of them could approach this woman undetected.

Was she a sorceress? A warrior? A great seer? Did she have the esteem of the royal houses of Japa? Such were the silent questions and soft whispers among the crew.

Gabrielle did not care about any of this. She didn't care about what they thought. If anything, the fear had garnered a respect from the men. It was a respect she was more than comfortable cultivating, for it maintained her self imposed exile from others.

As she stood watching another sun rise, a grim smile had just barely touched the corners of her mouth. When she had first met Xena, many menhadapproached her, or tried to do something to her, just because she was young, blonde and quite beautiful. Her green eyes had been full of innocence and naiveté back then.

Now, when people looked in her eyes, they saw something else. Few were the men that could long endure that gaze, especially when she wished for solitude. Her eyes could go from the warmth of a summer grasses, to the coldness of a glacier.

One of the citizens in Hidochi, an old wise man, had placed his hand on her head and blessed her before she set off.

"Fare well, Jade Dragon" he had said in his own tongue. "May the Gods stand between you and harm, in all the empty places you must travel."

Gabrielle had boarded the ship without a word or a glance back.

Now two days from the coast of Egypt, her demeanor had not changed. She was still grim and silent.

When the ship finally docked, she paid the balance of her passage and departed, again without a word.

She purchased some supplies and water skins for the long trek across the desert into the land of the Pharaohs and set out that very night. No one followed her. No bandit marked her as prey. If anything, the general populace avoided her outside the realm of doing business.

The sun beat down upon her during the days, and the nights brought the frigid cold of the desert. She slept close to a small fire, wrapped in animal skins, occasionally looking out at the stars wheeling in the heavens above, and crying silent tears when she was able to cry at all.

On the fourth day from the city of Thebes, she passed into the region known as Saquarah. The pyramids and temples of the dead rulers stood silent and neglected in the biting desert winds. She passed through a small temple complex and took shelter there during a sandstorm. The wind bit her flesh and the sand scratched her. She huddled in her blanket in spite of the heat, waiting for the fury of the desert to exhaust itself.

The next day she stayed in the temple ruins until the heat of mid day had passed and then resumed her march. Her limbs were sore and the exhaustion of days in the elements was beginning to take their toll. Her flesh was red and painful. Her water was almost gone, and her rationing of it had left her in a constant state of thirst. She no longer walked with determined steps. Instead, she simply trudged doggedly onward, not knowing where she was going or why. She moved mechanically, as if she were sleepwalking. While her feet were baked in her boots by the desert sands, her mind wandered in the green fields of Greece.

As she passed over another series of trackless dunes she came upon a sight that surprised her. There, in the middle of the desolation was a ramshackle old wooden structure. It stood low in the sand, nearly buried on one end.

She studied it andnoticed the unusual lean of the roof, sloping down at a gentle angle. It was then that she realized the structure was notsome shack, but an elaborate cover for another object. In any event it was shelter for another night. She began to move towards it, her hand on the hilt of her katana.

She was ten paces from the entrance when a wizened voice sounded behind her.

"Nice artwork," it said, referring to the tattoo on her back.

In a flash she had turned with her sword in her hand. At the same instant, the man behind her had raised a weapon of his own.

"Ah,ah," the old man said. He was tall and proud, despite his advanced age. He was dressed in faded old pants and tunic, with a tattered vest of thick material covering his body. All of it covered in a thin layer of dust that blew off him like smoke in the desert wind. His weapon was compact but menacing looking, like a cross bow with the bow removed, still the confidence of the man holding it told Gabrielle she should respect him and the situation.

The man's eyes were a deep thoughtful brown, filled with youthful clarity, while his skin was dark from years in the sun and had the look of old parchment. His thick beard was a pale gray, almost white and unkept and his long gray hair was tied back in a thick tail that fluttered in the breeze.His right hand, which gripped the handle of his weapon, had a silvery steel glint, and Gabrielle saw the jointed fingers of an armored glove.

His confident expression slowly gave way to wonder and surprise as he looked at her. His dark eyes studied Gabrielle closely, and his confident smirk began to transform into a smile.

"We have got to stop meeting like this," he finally said in a soft, somewhat tired voice. Gabrielle frowned in puzzlement.

The man released his hold on the front of his weapon, and passed his hand thoughtfully over his head.

"What happened to your hair?" he continued. "It looked much nicer when it was long."

Gabrielle blinked.

"Got rid of the giant toothpick, I see," the man continued. Then he frowned at Gabrielle's clothing. "Though I'm not too sure about the outfit." He finished in a tone that was more fatherly disapproval than mocking challenge. "Or the tattoo."

Gabrielle looked down at her clothing. Brown leather halter and leather belt over short breaches.

"How?" She stammered before she could stop herself.

The man was still staring at her in wonder.

"Not a day older," he said to himself. His weapon finally lowered, and his left hand came out in a staying gesture. "Easy now," he said in a calm gentle voice.

Gabrielle stopped breathing and the world suddenly snapped into crystal clarity in spite of her exhaustion. She remembered that voice! Her hand wavered and then she lowered the sword slowly, studying the man closely. Through the thick whiskers of his beard, she could see the remnants of some scarring on the right side of his face. As if he had been through a fire of some kind in the past. She couldn't remember ever meeting him before and yet there was something about him. Something deep in the recesses of her mind that spoke to a familiarity. A sense of trust existed between her and this stranger though she couldn't understand why.

The man looked at her for a few moments longer and then let his weapon swing all the way around and hang at his back, his knowing smile grew.

"Bugging the daylights out of you, isn't it?" he said.

"Who are you?" Gabrielle finally asked.

The man smiled and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. Then he looked ather again.

"A friend you don't know you have." He said, raising an eyebrow.

At those words, Gabrielle's eyes went a touch wider in surprise. She wasn't about to relax completely yet. Her eyes narrowed.

"That didn't answer the question," She said suspiciously.

The man shrugged and laughed out loud. "It's like listening to a recording. Same dance, different song." he said and then he broke into a severe fit of coughing. Once he gained control of himself he pointed to Gabrielle.

"Do you still have that little gift," he said. "The one Mavon gave you at Cyerna?"

Again, Gabrielle caught her breath. "How do you know about that?"

"Have you got it here?" the man persisted.

Gabrielle reached into her bag and removed an old, beaten wooden case, about the size of a spice box, and held it up.

"I'm amazed that you never had to use it," the man said. "I figured a year or two at most and you'd have opened it for sure."

Gabrielle looked at the box, and then at the man. She nodded knowingly. "You're a member of the Order of the Phoenix." she said.

The man stared ather for a moment and then burst out into a long fit of good natured laughter. He let himself settle onto the ground and kept on laughing for what seemed a long time, amused by some personal joke, only occasionally saying "Mavon, oh Mavon, you're killing me."

"The Order of the Phoenix?" he continued once he had regained his composure enough to speak. "Is that what that reject of the dramatic arts told you? Oh, that's rich." And he laughed again.

Gabrielle looked so genuinely hurt at this that the man stopped laughing as quickly as he could.

"He returned Xena's chakram," Gabrielle protested. "When we had no idea where it had gone. He justshowed up at Cyerna and returned it to her."

"He swiped it from you." The man corrected her. "And then gave it back in a manner that would reinforce the sincerity of his actions. He was always a sneaky little bastard."

"Then this box was never really dangerous?" Gabrielle asked. With everything that she had been through, what was one more disappointment.

Still, she had been so careful not to lose it, or let anyone else know about the box, for fear it might be something akin to the box that Pandora was fated to bear. She had more than lived up to the obligation that Mavon had entrusted her with, only now to find that it was all an elaborate hoax.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." The man said quickly, seeing the look on Gabrielle's face. His voice softened sympathetically. "That little box could have been quite dangerous if used casually. For all of us." He shrugged. "Unless the time was right."

"What's init?" Gabrielle asked, looking down at the old beaten box in her hand.

The man smiled.

"Open it, and find out," he said. He got to his feet and watched her intently.

Gabrielle looked at him and down at the box in her hand. When she looked back up her expression was uncertain. The man only shrugged.

"It's your choice, Gabrielle." He said. "But now, after thirty years, I think you need to know what's inside."

Gabrielle stared into the strangers' eyes, measuring him carefully but he only smiled, nodding once. "Go on."

Gabrielle looked down at the box again. It was battered and tarnished. The fine finish and ornate workings were all but rubbed away. The wax seal that had closed it originally was barelyvisible now. Only time had sealed the hinge on the lid, keeping it from falling open.

With her heart thumping in her ears, she grasped the box in both hands, closed her eyes, and gently forced the lid up.

Nothing happened. There was only the expectant silence and the shifting of the desert sands

Gabrielle opened one timid eye, and then the other as she stared down at the contents.

There was a small cylindrical object, about the length and diameter of her middle finger, tarnished almost black with time, and beneath that, a small, square piece of clear dusty glass.

She lifted the cylinder and turned it over in her fingers curiously. Then she looked at the man, he merely shrugged. "Dead power cell," he said. "It wasn't meant to wait thirty years." He took it from her and mulled it over in his own fingers thoughtfully.

Then Gabrielle removed the other object.

It was lighter and smoother than glass, and did not have the characteristic coolness of it, nor did it feel brittle as glass tended to be. In fact, it felt extremely durable. She pried it out with her fingernail and looked at it. On the reverse side were markings that she had never seen before, and to her amazement, an image of herself. As she studied this, she noted a series of thick and thin lines at the bottom, packed closely together forming a pattern. That pattern seemed to reach out and hold her attention.

Her eyes widened as she looked at it and then a whirlwind arose in her mind. It was like a dam bursting. The thoughts, experiences,and memoriesbehind that wall were flooding through her brain. There was a sharp pain, and she clasped the sides of her head and doubled over, a cry burst from her lips. She dropped to her knees.

One hand planted itself in the soft earth, and a groan of effort emanated from Gabrielle as if she were struggling with a heavy burden. Her breath came in rasps and her whole body shivered.

"Gods," she managed to gasp.

The man said nothing. He simply watched Gabrielle intently, not moving to assist her.

"No," Gabrielle gasped. Her breathing was slowing now, but her face was still turned towards the ground.

"Too much," she gasped. "Just too much all at once." Her fingers flexed in the sand a few times and then she rose to her knees. Her eyes were shut tight and her face was taught from the strain of something deep within.

"Gabrielle?" The man stepped over and knelt down beside her.

Gabrielle was pale, either from shock, or from some unholy revelation.

She heaved a deep breath. "It's like being blind, and then suddenly, you can see everything. Colors, details, the sunlight shining in your face, all at once." She gasped. Her hand reflexively found the man's shoulder and she opened her eyes wearily. "I'm alright," she said. Then her eyes widened.

A look of dawning crossed her face as she stared at him. A hopeful smile appeared.

"Tyrion?" she asked. "Tyrion Darquefyre? Is that you?"

The man held his arms out expectantly. He had a warm smile behind his thick whiskers.

Gabrielle practically leapt into his waiting arms, hugging him as tightly as she could. There were tears in her eyes.

"Hey, Sweets," Tyrion whispered in her ear. He lifted her from the ground. A sob burst from Gabrielle's lips at the sound of her old nicknameand she squeezed him even harder. "Been a while."

He finally let her feet back to the ground, and Gabrielle looked at his face, as if taking it all in. Then she felt cold metal on her cheek, and her own hand strayed from his face to cover his, and felt the metal. She looked down at his hand and realized that it was a prosthetic limb. The metal continued down his forearm and vanished into the sleeve of his shirt.

Gabrielle's eyes widened as she realized what she was looking at.

"Tyrion," she said in horror. "What have you been through?"

Tyrion's gaze softened. "Long story." He shrugged.

Gabrielle let her hand travel up his arm and to his shoulder. She felt hard, unyielding metal through his shirt.

She looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with emotion. Suddenly the hell she had lived through in Japa seemed years away.

Tyrion pulled her to him again and held her. "Damn, it is so good to see you again." He whispered fiercely.

When they finally parted again, Tyrion looked at her face closely.

"How do you feel?" he asked. "What do you remember?"

Gabrielle was smiling. Her hand reached up and caressed Tyrion's cheek and then her smile faded and was replaced with a haunted expression.

"I remember everything," she said in a fearful whisper. "By the Gods, I remember it all! I remember Cyerna! I remember Tantarus Drift, Karl, Silas, Nicky, I remember everything!"

"That's good," Tyrion said softly. "Looks like Nicky did her job well." He stepped back, his hands still on her shoulders and looked her up and down. He saw the chakram hanging at her side, different from the one that Xena had held all those years ago.

"Where do you find those things?" he asked, smiling.

"It was Xena's," Gabrielle said dropping back into the shadow of her despair.

Tyrion saw this.

"Gabrielle?" he asked gently. "Where's Xena?"

Gabrielle reached into her bag and drew out the urn. She placed it in Tyrion's hands.

Tyrion looked down at the container and then back up into Gabrielle's eyes.

Gabrielle only nodded as fresh tears began to form.

"She's dead," she whispered in a choked voice. The tears streamed down her cheeks and she covered her mouth.

Tyrion pulled her against his chest reflexively, the reality still sinking in. His sadness mingled with disbelief.

"I could have brought her back," Gabrielle sobbed. "But she wouldn't let me do it."

After that, Gabrielle said nothing for a long time. She just stayed in his embrace while the emotion poured out of her.

Tyrion let his good hand stroke her hair and rocked her gently.

After a long while, Tyrion led Gabrielle towards the shack. She was completely spent and followed him like a weary child. The walls of the shack covered the hull of the ship that lay half buried in the desert sands. Tyrion stepped through the hatch and led Gabrielle to a small berth in the rear of the cabin. In it sat a simple cot and some miscellaneous odds and ends.

Gabrielle didn't resist. Her spirit was so drained from everything she had been holding in. She let her self be led to the cot, and lay down. Tyrion sat down next to her and leaned her weapons against the wall. Then he covered the woman in a warm blanket.

"Rest," he said gently. She looked up at him with such childlike need that it broke his heart. Her strength was sapped and her will had finally given over completely to grief.

"Go to sleep, Sweets," Tyrion said in a voice so gentle it made her lids heavy. "I'll be here if you need anything." And he began to hum a soft tune that Gabrielle remembered from long ago and many miles away. Her eyes closed and she fell into a deep sleep.

The lights were strobing to the rhythm of booming music as she moved into the cavernous hall. All about her, people were dancing with abandon, or seated around illuminated tables, sipping drinks. She felt the bass rhythms reverberating in the pit of her stomach. All the people were cloaked in shadows, and the light splashing along the walls was the color of blood.

Some faces seemed demonic, lit from the illumination of pale blue inside the surface of the glass tables. Faces stared out at her from the shadows.

She edged her way through the throng, watching as men and women leapt and danced, writhing to the rhythm of the music. It was music unlike any she had ever heard in the past. Rich and loud, like incessant thunder of varying pitch and tone.

As she passed through a final clot of patrons, she saw the bar at the far end. Behind the bar were two figures. One was a massive dark skinned bald man whose frame seemed to be a mass of powerful muscles. His head bobbed to the music as he served drinks with his meaty hands. The other was a short petite red haired girl, about her age, with green eyes and delicate features.

"Nicolla? Silas?" Gabrielle mouthed.

Nicolla looked up and saw Gabrielle standing amidst the crowd. She waved her hand, gesturing for the warrior to come forward. Several other people sat at the bar, sipping drinks or talking.

Silas looked up and his grin spread across his face.
"Hey, Sweets!" he greeted her in his booming voice, and he motioned her forward.

Gabrielle stepped up towards the place, smiling in relief. The world about her seemed to slow down to a crawl. She looked to the right and saw Felix and Mavon seated there, nursing drinks. A fifth figure sat between them, her back to Gabrielle while she conversed with Mavon. Mavon smiled at something the person said, then looked up and saw Gabrielle.

At the same moment, Felix also saw her and nodded in greeting. He gave the person next to him a nudge.

The figure was tall and lithe, with thick raven hair. She wore a simple black jacket and blue denim pants. Her boots were black beneath the cuff of the jeans. She turned to face Gabrielle. Those familiar blue eyes stared at her in wonder and delight and Gabrielle stopped dead.

"Xena?" she asked. Her voice seeming to drown in the cacophony around her. She saw Xena's blue eyes staring back into hers, and she smiled in greeting so warm that Gabrielle felt a lump in her throat.

"Gabrielle."

Gabrielle cried out and sat upright on the cot.

"Xena!"

A hand fell on her shoulder.

"Easy now," Tyrion said softly.

She looked up at him, still sitting where he had been when she fell asleep.

She looked up at him, a hint of desperation in her eyes, and then they began to fill with tears again.

"It was just a dream," Tyrion said softly. "Go back to sleep."

She lay back down and looked at Tyrion's wizened face for along moment.

"Have you been there this whole time?" she asked.

Tyrion shrugged and nodded. "Sleep," he said firmly.

Gabrielle stared at him for a while longer and then closed her eyes again.

Tyrion sat there, studying her face as she slept. She was still so much a child, even more so now in his advancing years. In spite of her skills and experience, she was still a child.

"So much like Lynette, it's scary," he thought. "If Lynette had lived, I'd probably have grandchildren her age by now. He smiled at that. A man like him, with as much blood on his hands as he had spilt, playing granddad to someone's children. That was a laugh. He let his good hand brush the hair from her face and listened to her breathing, now slow and steady. Then he shut off the dim light in the berth and leaned back against the wall. Eventually his own eyes closed as well.

When Gabrielle awoke the second time, she was alone in the tiny room. A first, her memory of the previous day was a bit fuzzy. Then it all came into focus. She stared about the tiny berth in confusion before rising and moving out into the main cabin.

Tyrion was there, bustling about in the small cooking station. There were already several plates of food on the table.

"Did you sleep?" Gabrielle asked in a tired voice.

"When you get to be my age," Tyrion said, not looking back at her. "You tend to stay awake. There's always the off chance that sleeping will feel so good, you won't want to wake up."

There was a sizzling sound, and a toothsome smell filled the room. Gabrielle sat down at the small table, across from Tyrion, trying to look over his shoulder.

"I'm not that much younger than you," she said.

Tyrion looked at her quizzically and then smiled. "It must not be the age then," he said. "It must be the mileage."

"You saved her," Gabrielle said in a subdued voice. "You saved us both."

Tyrion turned back to face Gabrielle, sitting there staring at the table top.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Tyrion put a hand on hers. "It's okay." He said. "It was a long time ago, and far away. It's all over now."

"Not for me," Gabrielle said grimly. "For me, it was just a few years ago."

Tyrion looked up at her and frowned.

"It's been damn near thirty years, Sweets," he said. He set a plate of thin cakes down betweens them and turned back to the cooker.

"Thirty years since I last saw you two." He finished. "How is it you don't look a day older?" He looked back at Gabrielle and continued. "And what in the hell happened to your hair?"

Gabrielle smiled and sighed. "That's another long story."

"Well," Tyrion said. The next tray had thin slices of cooked meat. "Then we have a great deal to catch up on." He spun back to the cooler and procured a pitcher of orange liquid. He set a glass of it in front of Gabrielle, then seeing her expression he sighed. "Would you like something a little stronger?" he asked.

"Would it help?" She asked.

"Probably not," Tyrion replied.

Gabrielle smiled and took a small sip of the juice.

"So, Tyrion," Gabrielle asked. "What are you doing out here?"

"Retired," Tyrion said simply. He began dishing out the morning repast between the two of them. "Did my duty and called it quits abouttwenty years ago." He took a drink of juice and looked around at the room. "Took my pension and bought this."

"What about the Phoenix?" Xena asked.

"Got shot right out from under me." Tyrion replied easily.

"What about the others?" Gabrielle pressed. "Silas, Mavon, Felix, and Nicolla?"

Tyrion leaned back thoughtfully. "Well, no one has seen Mavon for about twelve years. He packed up one day and just vanished. Probably went bush somewhere, like me. Felix is doing well, got married and had a couple of children. Last I heard, he was living on Megelia. Has a small farm or something. Terrorizing his grandkids." He shrugged. "Nicolla passed away about ten years ago. The mental strain can take its toll on a telepath. She went to sleep one night and just didn't wake up." He sighed. "We had a good twenty years together."

Gabrielle looked down sadly. She had loved Nicolla. In the short time they had known one another the two of them had become friends. Then she smiled. "She finally got you, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah," Tyrion smiled. "She cornered me one night and the rest was history."

"What about Silas?"

"Silas died when the Phoenix crashed," Tyrion said. "Three years after we helped you out."

Gabrielle felt the emotion rising again. She could see Silas's face, dark skinned and grinning. It had been Silas who had started calling Gabrielle 'Sweets'. He had been a massive man, built like any three, with bulging arms and a strength that Gabrielle had always believed rivaled even Hercules. Despite all his size and ferocity, he had been a teddy bear where Gabrielle had been concerned. Once she had convinced him, he had becomea defacto uncleto her. She remembered fondly their long conversation on the way back from Tantarus Drift. He had a deep booming voice and a laugh that shook walls.

"He never stopped thinking about you," Tyrion said quietly. "He was the last one to leave when we got you back to your camp that morning. I didn't think he was going to come back with me."

"You were there?" Gabrielle asked. "When we woke up that morning?"

Tyrion nodded. "I needed to know that you two were going to be alright. So we waited and watched. That was when I heard you two bitching about the chakram gone missing." He looked at Gabrielle and smiled. "I thought we were in trouble at that point. Mavon told me later, what he and Nicolla had actually done." He chuckled. "I could have strangled them both."

"Because you weren'tsupposed to interfere," Gabrielle said.

"They bothfelt that, in your case, an exception was required," Tyrion nodded. "After I finished ranting at them about it, I realized I was mad because I hadn't thought of the idea." He sighed. "Two years later, the Confederated Systems broke up, and we had a real busy time."

"Broke up?" Gabrielle said. "How?"

Tyrion shrugged. "Politics have never been my strong suit," he admitted. "It just went to hell real fast. Old Number Seven rolled with it, working evacs on several worlds for the better part of that next year. Then at Ganamine, we went in for a civilian evac and caught ground fire on the way down. That was when Silas bought it and I got this." He held up his prosthetic hand. "Mavon and Felix got me out of there and we jumped the next drop ship that made it down. I spent three months in the Care center at Tantarus before the surgeries and rehab were done. That's where Nicky finally cornered me."

Gabrielle caught her breath at the mention of Silas's death and a tear fell down her cheek.

Tyrion put his live hand over hers. "The last thing he said before we ditched was: "I guess Sweets doesn't get another ride in this old tub." Can you imagine that? Talking about my ship that way." He smiled.

Gabrielle laughed in spite of her tears.

At that point, Tyrion decided that a change of subject was in order.

"What about you?" he asked suddenly. "What are you going to do now?" He looked at her. "I still want to know how it is that you haven't aged, and I'm falling apart at the seams?" He smiled. Then another fit of coughing overcame him for a moment.

"Are you alright?" Gabrielle asked, looking at the old man in concern. Something in the rattle of his cough made her nervous.

"Fine, fine," Tyrion said, breathing deeply. "It's just that whole growing old thing."

Gabrielle smiled, though her eyes still showed the concern. "You're not that old."

"Girl," Tyrion retorted. "I'm sixty-four years old. That's well worn in on any planet."

"Well," Gabrielle shot back. "I'm about fifty, I think."

"And never did I see a finer looking middle aged woman," Tyrion retorted.

Gabrielle smiled again but there was no genuine humor in it.

Tyrion sat down across from her and put his hand on hers.

"It'll take some time, Sweets," he said sympathetically. "But eventually, you will be alright."
Gabrielle looked at him with pain in her expression. "It doesn't feel that way."

"How does it feel?" Tyrion asked.

"Empty," Gabrielle replied darkly. "Completely empty. There's this blackness in my soul, like someone took the best parts of me and ripped them out." She sniffed. "She didn't have to do that." She said.

"And because she did," Tyrion said evenly. "You're angry with her."

"No!" Gabrielle said in shock. "I could never be angry with her. She did the right thing! It saved the souls of so many people!" It sounded like a stump speech, and Tyrion knew it to be just that.

"But not yours," Tyrion said again. "It left youwounded in a way you didn't think possible."

"Yes," Gabrielle hissed. She got to her feet and paced about for a few moments, then she turned to face him again. Her green eyes blazed suddenly. "Why did she do it? Why?" her voice suddenly rose in pitch and fury. She stood up from the table and resumed pacingas a flood of emotion suddenly fed the adrenaline into her system.

"After everything we'd been through, she just gave it up!" she stammered. "She just left me! I loved her and she left me!"

"And now you hate her," Tyrion said. "Just a little bit. Because she put something else first, ahead of you?"

"Yes!" Gabrielle shouted. Tyrion rose and stepped over to her.

"I hate her," Gabrielle whispered. The haunted look was in her eyes again, this time with tragic realization. "Gods, Tyrion, a part of me hates her for it." It was the kind of betrayal that never would have been conceived by her in a million years, but there it was laid out in the open for all to see, just like her soul. The pain was etched into her face as she fell back into one of the seats, staring at her own hands as if she had been the one to end her best friends' life.

"What have I done?" she asked aloud.

Tyrion knelt down in front of her, watching the tears flowing from her eyes again. "How can I say that I loved her when I hate her so much right now?"

Tyrion wiped a tear from her cheek and smiled gently.

"I don't think you hate her, Sweets," he said quietly. "You never did and you never will. I know you loved her with all your heart."

"Then why do I feel this way?" Gabrielle asked desperately. "I just want to – " she couldn't put it into words. It was so all consuming that she simply clenched her fists until her nails bit into the flesh of her palm. The sudden pain of that caused her to stop. She looked down and saw the blood in the small wounds on her open hand, and then up at Tyrion, desperate for the grief to be over.

"You want to lash out at everyone and everything," Tyrion said gently. "You don't hate Xena. You hate the fact that Xena isn't with you anymore." He touched the wounds on her hand.

"This pain takes your mind off of it," he continued. "It gives the feeling form and substance. Something you can see and understand. That's why people get like Xena used to be when they lose someone they love."

He looked up at her pained face.

"It tells you that you really did love her, with everything that makes up who you are," he continued. "And the best parts of you are crying from the torment of it. You haven't lost anything, baby. You couldn't, even if you wanted to."

Perhaps she had been too worn from her journey or too weak from lack of food and sleep. Maybe the substance of what she felt hadn't found its proper expression or the correct time for release. Or maybe all the things in her soul had finally reached some kind of critical mass. Whatever the cause, Gabrielle let out a wailing cry as she fell into Tyrion's embrace once again. She wept and screamed and struck at the unyielding steel of his arm, feeling the jolt of fire in her hand with each hit, letting all the sorrow flow freely for the first time. In spite of his advanced age, Tyrion's strength had not diminished over the years. Tyrion held her tightly and let her wear herself out in her grief.

After what seemed like a small eternity, her cries died to soft exhausted sobs and she lay like a child in his arms. When she pulled away from his chest, she saw crimson stains on his tunic, and Tyrion saw the red around her eyes was actually blood. He reached up and took a small cloth from the table and gently wiped the blood from her face.

"That's how I know you don't hate her," he whispered, and he let her lay back against his chest. After a time, she again fell into exhausted sleep. He lifted her from the floor and carried her back to the tiny berth that was his bedroom and lay her there. He paused at the hatch and looked down at her, wondering how many more times she would exhaust herself like this before she would begin to heal.

She didn't know how long she had slept this time around, or how many more times the grief would overwhelm her like that. All Gabrielle knew when she awoke, was that she hurt, physically hurt. She rolled over and sat up on the cot, trying to work through the exhausted stiffness in her limbs. Then she got slowly to her feet and staggered to the refresher stand. The reflection in the small mirror surprised and frightened her. She was pale and drawn out, almost haggard. And around her eyes was nothing more than dark purplish bruises. As she looked more closely, she could see tiny pinpoints of dark red on the surface of the skin, just beneath her eyes. Her exposed skin was a deep red from the sun and it was blistering in many places. Every movement of her body sent tiny rivulets of pain through her.

She splashed cool water on her face and looked back up, weary to the bone.

A self deprecating smile touched her lips.

"Who's the brave one now," she whispered in a hoarse voice.

"You always were," another voice said quietly, and a hand touched her shoulder, coll and comforting.

Looking up in the mirror, she saw Xena, standing beside her and looking at her with a mixture of pride, touched with pity. She smiled.

"I'll never leave you Gabrielle," she said. "And even though I can't always be there for you the way that I was, I will always be with you."

Gabrielle smiled weakly. "Knowing that helps," she said. "But it isn't enough."
Xena stroked her hair. "I'll be waiting for you, Gabrielle. We are destined to be together, and we always will be. Don't mourn me any more. You wouldn't want me to do this if our places were reversed, would you?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "No."

"Right," Xena said.

"I don't know if I can go on alone," Gabrielle admitted.

"You have to," Xena answered softly. "You have to carry on. Otherwise what we did in the past, everything we've been through, doesn't mean anything."

Gabrielle smiled sardonically. "No pressure."

Xena smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry it had to be this way, Gabrielle. Please don't blame yourself. You did everything right. You always have. I love you, Gabrielle."

When Gabrielle looked up again, Xena was gone.

She washed her face off, and moved out into the cabin of the ship. Tyrion was nowhere to be seen, but she heard voices beyond the hatch, drifting in from outside.

She looked out and saw Tyrion speaking with another man, a trader of some kind. They gesticulated for a few minutes before the trader handed Tyrion a bundle of cloth, then he made off, trailed by two camels, tied on tethers.

Tyrion took the cloth and made his way back towards the ship. He stopped and doubled over in a fit of coughing that frightened Gabrielle. She darted out into the setting sun and helped the old man up.

"Tyrion?" she asked. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Tyrion said. "Just old person issues."

"Old person issues?" Gabrielle repeated.

"Yeah," Tyrion replied. "I'm an old person, and I have issues." He winked and forced a smile.

Gabrielle helped him back into the ship. Once Tyrion had seated himself and had some water he sighed. Then he reached into a small cabinet. After rummaging about for a while, he found what he was looking for - a small paper box. He drew out a cigarette and lit it.

Gabrielle looked at him, her eyes still puffy and dark underneath from the previous morning.

"Tyrion," she said. "Please don't play strong with me right now. I need to know what's going on?"

Tyrion sighed. "I'm old, Sweets. You know what tends to happen when people get old."

Gabrielle finally realized what he was saying. She sat down and stared at him.

"How long?" she asked.

Tyrion shrugged. "A month, a year, who knows?"

"Don't you have medical equipment on this ship, like the stuff you had on the Phoenix?"

Tyrion smiled. "Sweets, technology can only do so much." He lifted his prosthetic hand up to make his point. "That's why I chose this area. The dry air makes it easier for me to get by."

Gabrielle stared at him for a long moment. "I don't want to lose any more friends, Tyrion."

Tyrion shrugged. "You've skipped a generation," he said. "It can't be helped."

Gabrielle was about to protest when Tyrion held up his hand.

"I don't want to argue with you, Sweets," he said. Then he smiled. "But I do want to know how it is that you've stayed so young?"

Gabrielle smiled and launched into a complete recount of her travels since the battle of Cyerna, so long ago.

It was evident that the telling of those tales was painful for her, as she relived everything she and Xena had experienced up to Xena's death on Japa. When she finished, Tyrion took down a dusty bottle of amber liquid and fill two small glasses.

"Here," he said. Then he settled back and sipped at his thoughtfully, absorbing all the news he had just heard.

Gabrielle sniffed the liquid and smiled in recognition.

"Old Number Seven?" she asked.

"Absolutely." He replied. "This little bit here, is all that's left of Silas's personal stash. It should go down much easier since it's had thirty years to age."

Gabrielle took a sip, and grimaced. The taste was still strong and alkaline, but much smoother than before. Once she got past the initial bite, the flavor was actually quite good.

"Why are we drinking this now?" she asked.

"Because it's the only time we can drink it." Tyrion replied. He lifted the bottle and looked at it, remembering. "This can only be openedon two very special occasions. First, when members of Old Number Seven get together after a break, it's a tradition.And second, when someone new joins up." Then he looked at Gabrielle, smiling. "It may have been thirty years ago when you dressed down the biggest man in the unit. But you did join. It's why Mavon gave you that box."

They finished the drinks in silence, then Tyrion pushed the bottle across the table in front of her.

"Take it," he said. "Traditions are best when they're passed on."

"Tyrion," Gabrielle said. "You're not going to die. We can find a way to get through whatever it is."

Tyrion sighed, and then motioned for Gabrielle to follow him. They went to the far end of the room, and Tyrion manually cranked open a hatch that sounded like it hadn't moved in years. After several good cranks on the lever, the hatch reluctantly slid aside revealing darkness beyond.

"After you," Tyrion gestured.

Gabrielle stepped into the room. The air was thick with dust and the forward section of the room, which was where the pilots couch used to be, was half buried in sand that had poured in from one of the shattered observation ports. Above and behind the pilots station, to Gabrielle's right, there stood a single medical couch and all the pertinent equipment that accompanied it.

As Gabrielle surveyed the neglected room, she noted that the monitors had all been smashed and the equipment destroyed as if someone had gone through the place and systematically broken each individual component with a hammer, or other blunt instrument.

"Tyrion?" she turned to him. When she saw the look on his face, she knew.

"I can't live forever, Gabrielle," he said. "And I never wanted to try. I've known for a while that this was going to happen. When I got here, ten years ago, I continued using the treatments that I had, and for a while it worked."

Her eyes were talking on a haunted look.

"Please," Tyrion pleaded. "Sweets, you need to understand. I'm tired. I've been through one side of Hell all the way to the other and back again. Everything I knew, everyone I loved is gone now, or might as well be. I want to be with them and I can't do that being some old fossil in the middle of a desert."

He put let his fingers stroke her cheek. "Everything has a time and place. My time is over, and my place to rest is right here."

Gabrielle looked to be on the verge of tears again, but Tyrion's face brightened suddenly. "Hey," he said. "None of that. I still have some time left. Don't worry about what's to come, enjoy what's here and now."

He put his arm around her shoulder and led her back out of the room.

They had a small meal in silence. Gabrielle looked at Tyrion closely. She suddenly saw the lines of age in his face, the weariness behind his eyes. He had a stiffness to his movements, like so many elder people she had seen in her travels. There was a sense of acceptance in his thoughtful eyes. She realized for the first time, the he was at peace, possibly for the first time in his long life.

"What are you looking at?" he asked with a smile.

"Nothing," she answered quickly. He smiled at her, and the grin became infectious.

She smiled back, and for the first time, she actually did feel something akin to joy.

After that, conversation began and continued without cessation for hours. They spoke of the old, the new, what might be, what had been.