BONDING

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Xena, Gabrielle and Ares belong to Universal Studios, Pacific Renaissance, Rob Tapert, the writers of Xena: Warrior Princess, and anyone else but me. This little ficlet is a self-parody of my own fanfic novel, Equal to the Gods (see author's profile for a link) and is a product of too much way-post-midnight madness. Warning: contains a huge spoiler for Equal to the Gods. Also refers (non-graphically) to a sexual situation between a man and two women (guess who). Is that enough warnings? Well, read on, then. Or don't. Oh, and this is dedicated to JustSayNotoNutbread.

A hint of a contented smile on her face, Xena slept on the large bed in her old room on her grandparents' farm. She didn't even wake up when Gabrielle rolled right over her so that she could snuggle next to Ares. It wasn't like Xena to sleep so soundly, Gabrielle reflected. Being in bed with two people as the main center of attention had to be exhausting. Gabrielle wondered how long they could keep this up before Xena had no energy left to fight for the Greater Good. Then again, Xena herself had said that in everyone's life there are certain things that go beyond the Greater Good.

While the Bard was pondering all this, Ares was eyeing her with a goofy expression that she deciphered as a mix of carnal desire, alarm, and general confusion. "Um … what are you doing?" he inquired carefully, glancing across her shoulder at the sleeping Warrior Princess.

"Oh, yeah," Gabrielle remembered. "I think we need to make out."

"We do?"

"Yeah," she said. "That was the point, you know -- the three of us going to bed to work out the issues in this whole love triangle thing? For us to bond and discover that we can love each other too so we can all be together?"

Since it was about 2,000 years early for an "I love you, you love me" Barney crack, Ares didn't make one. Instead he said, "You sure it's a good idea? I mean, we're not exactly made for each other. I generally don't do short blonde chicks who are into peace and poetry. And the only guys you've ever been interested in were the wussy sensitive type."

Gabrielle considered pointing out that Ares had come a long way toward "wussy and sensitive" ever since he'd become Xena's lovesick puppy. But that probably wasn't going to help with the bonding a whole lot.

"We have a lot in common," she said.

"Like what?"

She motioned toward Xena, who was still fast asleep. "Well, we're both obsessed with her. And we have no life."

"Uhh -- we don't?"

"Well, think about it. Right now, I could be a famous playwright in Athens, being interviewed for the Athenian Theater Review, buying overpriced clothes from Guccius and deciding whether my next date will be Sophocles or Sappho. You could be a god on Olympus, with lots of priests groveling before you and lots of warlords and hot babes at your beck and call, including hot warlord babes. Instead, we're about to spend Fates know how many years following Xena around, sleeping in fleabag country inns or on the ground by a campfire which really isn't that romantic after the first month or two, joining her on missions to help people who are too dumb to help themselves and too cheap to hire good cops. Let's face it, Ares, if either of us had to put together a résumé, the only occupation we could list would be 'Full-Time XenaTail.' Not that either of us is going to need a résumé unless Xena kicks it in some self-sacrificial blaze of glory for the Greater Good, which of course is not likely to happen now because, well, I might have let Xena die for the Greater Good, but now we've got you around and you wouldn't know the Greater Good if -- "

She was interrupted with a kiss that took her breath away. Having someone's tongue shoved in your mouth in the middle of a sentence will do that.

Breaking the kiss, Ares said, "Let's make out."

"I guess I was convincing, huh?" Gabrielle said, rather pleased with herself.

"Weeeeelll…" Ares raised an eyebrow. "You may be on to something with this bonding thing." Besides, he reflected, this is probably the only way to shut her up.

The End. Or rather, strategic fade-out.