Title: Four Mistakes

Author: skadoo

Series: Xena: Warrior Princess

Rating: T for violence and some language

Disclaimer: These characters are mine but may remind you of some characters owned by those folks at Universal/MCA, Renaissance Pictures, etc. No copyright infringement is intended. Please do not copy or cite this story without express permission of the author. Thank you.

Summary: An AU Xena, Gabrielle & Joxer set in present time with very vague bits of memories of who they were before.

Feedback: Is always appreciated, welcomed and encouraged.

Author's Note: My first fanfic, written August 1999 and recently found on an old backup CD. Thanks to L. McJohn who beta'd a half dozen versions of this story all those years ago until it came out as this. Originally published to Lala & Netgyrl's Tavern Wall.

I might have saved her if I'd have trusted my instincts and if I'd been faster. That was my first mistake, not listening to myself. I felt something was wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I mean, what could go wrong in the middle of a Catholic Church?

It was a cold morning as I strolled into the church on Edward and Virginia, stomping my feet and rubbing my hands. The weather seemed to have dropped ten degrees during my ten minute walk and it was starting to get bad. It was a large church, always cold and badly in need of renovating. The center aisle seemed to stretch on to forever. That Monday morning it was mostly empty.

As I walked in I took a few minutes to make nice with our next door neighbor. He always sat near the back. He was a well-meaning but bumbling war vet complete with a cane. I think if he'd been just twenty years younger he'd have asked me out on a date. Lucky for me it wasn't an issue. He was a nice guy but always fancied himself some kind of hero or something. I think he forgets he has a cane and can't move as fast as he used to. He sometimes annoyed me so much I wanted to grab him by his checkered lapels and shake him until his little brain fell out of his head. But he'd always come through for us; when we needed something, he was there. The only man in our lives we could depend on. I couldn't beat up such a nice old guy; besides, when he wasn't ticking me off, I loved him to pieces.

Not too far away from him was a younger man. I couldn't see his face but what I could see looked good. He was the only other parishioner under the age of 40 besides us. By us, I mean my sister and I. The younger members and parents who come to daily mass usually attend the 8am deal, it gives 'em time to get the kids to school. The 6am Mass is for the insomniacs, early birds and those of us who had to be at work before 7.

Connie and Father Mark Donavan were trying to reform me and I played along by attending daily mass before trudging off to work. Sometimes I still felt like such a kid and at 5' 2" I guess I wasn't much taller than one. I was a lapsed Catholic, she the closest thing to a saint I knew. Which is why it always puzzled me that her husband was such a sonavabitch.

I know, you're thinking... a saint? BORRRRRING! Nope, you're wrong there, full of practical jokes, riddles and fun, if ya want a sidekick while you dance the night away, she's your girl. Hanging out with her means you'll have fun AND you won't end up in jail at the end of the night. Trust me... that's no fun.

Connie usually served as Eucharistic minister, that's the person who helps the priest hand out the body and blood of Jesus in the form of bread and wine. It's hard to believe and understand, I still get confused. But Catholics believe that Jesus is present in the Eucharist, body, blood, soul and divinity.

So that little host thingy is Jesus and so's the wine. It's a really big deal if it ever falls and hits the ground. That's a big no-no. Yeah, yeah, I know... bread and wine, flesh and blood, eeww. No, Catholic's aren't cannibals, but it's not something that this dimwit can explain in just a couple of sentences.

I knew one thing; watchin' Connie made me want to be like her. When you look at her you can see that she shines with the love of God, yet she didn't stuff it down your throat like some sanctimonious preacher on the street corner.

"REPENT, sinners, you're going to Hell!"

Like that's supposed to make me wanna get religion? While I didn't quite get it, I knew her world was a better one than the ooze I'd been drawn into.

Besides... I owed her. She was like a Mom to me when we were kids. No... she WAS my Mom growin' up. Our Mother was dead and Dad was always in his cups. Connie had no choice but to wipe my snotty nose and drag me around with her. I'd always been a royal pain and I think she almost wrote me off when I got involved with a really rough crowd. I can still jump-start a car in less than a minute. While I might have been the butt of her practical jokes, she'd never given me any bad advice when we were kids and I knew as an adult she wouldn't steer me wrong.

It was just before 6am when Father Donavan walked up to our pew. Father Mark crouched down and explained, he had no helpers, could I or Connie fill in? I shook my head no, I wasn't one to pay attention to detail and knew I'd just mess it up somehow. Connie playfully slapped me on my shoulder and we spent a few moments poking each other in the ribs, giggling. He stood there drumming his fingers on the pew and whistling quietly until Connie sheepishly volunteered. That earned us a smirk and a megawatt smile before he turned to leave.

I thought of Mark as the GQ priest and watched him as he walked away. He could be Mr. February in one of those hunky fundraising calendars. Just before the start of Mass, Connie started to ease out of the pew to head for the altar.

I leaned into Connie and whispered to her, "I wonder what Father Mark is wearin' under his vestments?"

"Under his clothes? He's naked." She smiled at me with a two-can-play-that-game look and chuckled quietly.

She'd taken the wind out of my sails. I'd forgotten, while Connie might be religious, she also had a mind almost as bad I did. She turned to look at the clock up on the choir loft and take a quick look at the size of the crowd. They were scattered throughout the church with stragglers still comin' in. I continued to imagine what Mark's 'Mr. February' pose might be.

Suddenly, she turned pale and froze. She gripped my arm like a drowning man and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, "He's here."

Her grip was painful and brought me out of my daydreams. I looked up, and brushed my mop of blonde hair out of my eyes, "What?...Where?" I started to turn, to look behind me.

"Don't turn around," she hissed. Connie tightened her grip on my forearm and I winced in pain as I tried to look casual.

She didn't have to tell me who 'He' was. I knew instantly it was her psycho husband. He'd taken to showing up in the same places she'd be. How he found out where I'm not sure. He was just there... stalking her. He'd never said or did anything to her, he usually ended up leaving quietly. It always struck me as odd. She swore up and down she wasn't afraid of him. I couldn't decide whether it was some kind of bizarre head game he was playin' or if he just couldn't figure out what the hell to do with himself without someone to cook his meals and dress him up. He's was never an intellectual genius; more of an asswipe. I started carrying a gun not long after he started stalking her. I wasn't a good shot but I figured just the sight of it would make him pee on himself.

The bastard was jealous of me. Well, of me, of Father Donavan and the other friends Connie spent a lot of time with. He thought she was banging the priest and I was helping them out by being their cover and providing her with an alibi. What bullshit! He was her confessor, not her lover. I mean, if anyone was gonna make it with a priest it would be me. Come on, there's just something sexy about all that black and then there's the celibacy. 'Course, it helps that Father Mark looks just like Gabriel Byrne. You know... the actor.

"Do you think he'll try anything here?" I said.

"No, no way."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"You THINK so?" I said.

She shushed me with a look and waved her hand at me to tell me to shut up, Mass was about to start. I reached out and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and she turned and walked to the altar.

My second mistake was doing nothing, when she'd given me such a noncommittal answer. It would cost me the only mother I'd ever known, my sister, my best friend.

Mass progressed quickly. As Father Donavan consecrated the host, I glanced briefly at Connie. Outwardly she looked calm. The only indication that she was upset was the absence of expression on her face. Her normal smile and cheery disposition were gone. Her face guarded and blank.

When I went up to receive the wine, I made a point to wink at Connie before taking a swig from the cup. It loosened her mood a little and she smiled at me. After receiving, I watched the rat bastard and the other parishioners as they got closer and closer to her. I could tell our neighbor hadn't noticed the jerk behind him. If he had he woulda created a big stink here in church. "Oh great, now I gotta make sure he doesn't create a scene and embarrass Connie." I whispered under my breath. She was always worried about what the neighbors might think. Heck, the neighbors can just kiss my ass, well, all but one. Numbnuts still looked quiet. I figured he'd leave right after communion. I saw the nice looking guy, I noticed earlier, was leaving too. "Dammit, I'll probably never see him again." I mumbled under my breath.

I knelt and tried to watch the loser without being seen. He was last in line and with only five more parishioners to go, Connie ran outta wine. She quietly stepped aside and returned the chalice to the altar. I saw her sigh in relief, the tension slowly seeping out of her body. I guess she'd decided that she wouldn't have to deal with him since he'd probably disappear after Mass. He'd taken to doing this, showing up and then disappearing without saying a word. I relaxed too. Looked like he wouldn't confront her and say something ugly. I thought he was holding true to form. That was my third mistake, taking my eyes off the stupid jerk and thinking he'd leave quietly.

I didn't see him pull out the gun, but I heard it go off. I jumped up at the loud report. I saw Father Mark as the chalice he was holding was jerked out of his hand by the force of the bullet slamming into his chest. It almost seemed to be suspended in mid-air as his body slipped to the floor like a deflated balloon. In that moment, I knew he'd come to kill her too.

Time seemed to slow to a trickle as I watched Connie dive to catch the chalice. I leapt up, bumping into others who were trying to run away from the madman. Connie looked like a third basemen sliding across the grass trying to catch a foul ball. She caught it and kept the hosts from tumbling out onto the carpet. I ran between her and the gun, intent on putting my body between them. My fourth mistake. I know now that I should have just tackled him or, better yet, grabbed the damn gun outta my purse. I might not be that big, but at least it would have bought us some time. Instead, he swatted me aside like a gnat and fired a bullet in my direction. It hit me in the shoulder and knocked me flat on my ass. That brought more screams as more people scrambled out of the church. I failed to see or hear my good Samaritans as they attempted to stumble past the fear-stricken people on their way to the altar.

I could see Connie lying on the floor with her hands clasped lovingly around the cup. "Run!" I screamed.

But she just lay there with the most serene look on her face. It was devoid of any fear, she knew she was gonna die and she wasn't afraid. I, on the other hand, had plenty of time to be terrified. I remembered the gun except the damn purse seemed to be a few miles away. I crawled over to grab it. I had feared this would happen but she thought I was overreacting. Wish I'd been wrong.

I couldn't see past the tears streaming down my face as I used my good arm to scrounge through my purse. I frantically dumped the damn thing out on the pew. I had a hard time grabbing the gun with my trembling hands. The pain in my shoulder was agony. I thought I was gonna faint as I stood up.

He pumped three bullets into her body before I got the fucking gun out.

I howled out his name in fury as he turned to look at me with a beautiful smile upon his face. The gun was still in his hands. It was enough to put me over the edge. I wanted him gone. I wanted him dead. I wanted his brains splattered across the altar. I wanted to be the one to make him pay. I calmly raised the gun and pulled the trigger over and over until it dry-fired. Not every bullet hit its target, but I got the job done. I lost interest in his corpse once he slumped to the floor and I promptly leaned over and tossed up my breakfast.

I finally heard the running footsteps. It had all taken a few seconds but it seemed like an eternity. I felt someone behind me gently grab me by my arms. I violently jerked away, jarring my shoulder and dropping the gun. I stumbled over the bodies, the altar appeared to swim in blood and I thought I was gonna get sick all over again. I cried silently as I fell on my knees and knelt by her side. I used my good arm to pull her head into my lap. I pried the chalice from her hands and laid it upon the altar. Then I gently brushed the hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. If it hadn't been for the crimson stains upon her chest I would have thought she was sleeping.

Now I too was guilty of murder. Would they put me away? I remembered another woman kneeling next to an altar with bloodied hands and... a knife? Confused, I knew she was me, yet not me. Was I losing my mind?

I looked up to see the stranger, one of my good Samaritans. It had taken a few scant minutes and if he had only been sitting closer instead of leaving the church he might have been able to help me. My other rescuer, my neighbor, hadn't been able to move fast enough to be much help.

Guilt seemed to cross the stranger's face as his piercing blue eyes stared into mine. I still don't understand what he meant as he said: "Oh, Gabrielle, I've failed you again, haven't I?"

How did he know my name? I didn't know this man, how could he fail me? Yet his eyes are as familiar as my own.

Confused, I tore my gaze from him and looked down into my sister's face, lightly caressing her cheek, "I'm sorry, Connie, but I'm glad he's dead. I'm so glad I killed him."

He used a handkerchief to apply pressure to my injured shoulder. Then he grasped my chin gently and tilted my head to look at him, "It was self defense. Just let me talk to them."

I couldn't tear my eyes away from his face as I shook my head. "No."

"I saw everything." My neighbor butted in. "It was self defense and that's what I'm gonna tell them. You have the wound to prove it." He gasped. "You just let him deal with the police, Gabby."

He was racked with sobs as he leaned against the first pew a few feet away attempting to catch his breath. I wondered if he'd have a heart attack and die too.

My eyes took in the scene: the blood, the bodies, the sun streaming through the stained-glass windows. If I tried hard enough I could convince myself that all of the red was just an illusion of light through colored glass. I felt numb. In a few moments my life had been turned upside down. It was in shambles. I could hear the sound of sirens in the distance and I realized that I didn't care. Their help could only come too late.

My hands will always be covered in blood. Oh, no one else can see it, but I know it's there.

The only thing I did right that day was let him take me into his arms and comfort me.

FINIS