Autolycus breathed in relief as the warrior and the bard departed the tavern. He'd managed it, more or less, without revealing what he wasn't allowed to—not telling Gabrielle that he knew already of Xena's overwhelming passion for her, not reminding Xena about what he'd once said of Gabrielle's own passion. The potion he'd added to their ale would work not as Cupid's arrows usually did—that wasn't needed here—but rather in a way that showed them more vividly what was already in their own and the other's hearts. With any luck the two would come to their senses—sooner rather than later, though all that was nothing he could do anything about. He'd sensed the (not very rational, in his opinion) reservations that held Xena back, and he thought Gabrielle was being far too understanding and acquiescent about it all.
None of my business anymore, he reminded himself.
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"Dude, you're brilliant at this. I don't think you even needed the potion."
Autolycus shrugged. "Glad to help in a good cause."
"The poetry—that was rockin'!" Cupid's face lit up with his enthusiasm.
"Well—" Autolycus found his modesty begin to turn false. He too thought that the poetry had been a stroke of genius.
"I'm going to have to tell mom about this Sappho chick. She'll appreciate another contributor to the cause."
"Ah, don't tell her it was my idea. In fact, don't mention me at all."
"You don't trust us gods?" Cupid asked knowingly.
"Uh, nothing personal, but no. It's all just a little too complicated for my simple life."
"Let me tell you confidentially—I'm with you on that. You know what it was like being raised in a family like ours?"
Autolycus regarded the young immortal with genuine sympathy, remembering tales Cupid's uncle Hercules had shared. "I can imagine."
"So, you don't want any token of thanks? I could arrange something for you with someone you fancy-"
"No. I want such things in my life to be, uh, spontaneous and—to come from the person in question."
Cupid smiled, and Autolycus sensed his approval. He had heard from Hercules that Cupid had refused to use his own arrow to win over his beloved Psyche.
"You have my gratitude, and if you ever need a favor you can call on me."
Warily, Autolycus accepted Cupid's words, and the conversation was over, and no immediate danger of a giant chicken this time. He shuddered at the memory.
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Cupid and Psyche were watching their brightly mischievous son Bliss run and fly wildly through the enchanted glade, trying to imitate the butterflies.
"How was your day, dear?" Psyche asked, playing with her beloved's hair.
"Lovely. Xena and Gabrielle are bound to fall into each other's arms sooner or later, now, thanks to the help of that thief—and the potion you made for me."
"Then why do you still look pensive?"
"I want to do something to thank him, but he said he didn't want anything. He's served me before, you know—set up his girlfriend with that prince, and they're deliriously happy."
"You'll think of something," she said confidently and lovingly. Cupid looked down at his beloved and smiled.
"Yes, I think I will," he said, and turned his full attention to her.
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The conversation in the tavern had been in early, early spring, winter's deep cold making staying in a town so much more comfortable than making camp. Now, though, it was early summer. Autolycus had taken care of several matters in some northern villages—and conducted a masterful theft, which storytellers were already embellishing. He'd lifted a fantastically adorned ancient crown out of the spoils of a warlord (as well as other, less showy treasures). After quietly relocating that wealth, he was ready to relax and enjoy the mild summer coming on, when he heard a rumor that Xena and Gabrielle were nearby.
He investigated casually and found what path he could travel where he would likely intercept them. He was curious what he would find.
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It was a pleasant evening in Gabrielle and Xena's camp, the fire for cheer and cooking instead of warmth. Autolycus listened to Gabrielle's enthusiastic stories, and told a few of his own, which neither she nor Xena seemed to believe. Nevertheless, while Xena rolled her eyes and seemed to barely listen, Gabrielle leaned forward eagerly, and asked questions, and after gave him pointers on his storytelling.
"But you don't believe me," he said.
Gabrielle gave him a look. "Of course I don't. But that's not always the point of a good story—whether it actually happened—if you can draw your listeners in-" Autolycus was amused—that one had actually been true—well, mostly.
So far, he could see little indication of any change in the two of them, though he couldn't be entirely sure. They disagreed, teased each other, fussed over how to season the rabbit they'd caught—all no different than other times he'd been a guest in their camp.
But then there were things that made him wonder. Like how Gabrielle let her hands rest on Xena's shoulders, or the look Xena gave to Gabrielle as the bard left the camp—amused and also—was that a certain hunger he saw?
Hmm. Well, he wasn't going to intrude, and so he thanked them for their hospitality and got up to head down the path.
"Oh, why don't you camp here with us?" Gabrielle said. "No point in you making a separate fire, and—well, I'd appreciate it if you rescued me from Xena's cooking tomorrow morning," she said, with a pointed look at Xena, who scowled, but not too fiercely.
He mentioned some grain and nuts he had that he could share, and for Gabrielle that seemed to settle it.
Xena just shrugged at being off of breakfast duty the next morning. Autolycus did wonder at how graciously Xena took the Gabrielle's grousing about her cooking—but, that had always been happening, hadn't it?
He found a soft spot of ground on the other side of the fire, and began preparing for sleep.
Then, he saw them matter of factly bed down together, Gabrielle wrapped in Xena's arms, in a way not at all required by the mildness of the evening. He turned away to hide the grin on his face, hoping this meant what he thought it did.
But by the next morning, he realized all he could see were ambiguities. Xena was in a distant, amused mood, Gabrielle as lively and cheerful as ever. He knew what he wanted to see—but that didn't mean it was there; Xena's distance could mean her impatience with his very presence, wanting time alone with Gabrielle, or it could mean—she was being Xena. Similarly, Gabrielle's ebullience could be the result of the joy of Xena finally fully acknowledging their love—or it could just be Gabrielle.
Gabrielle seemed a bit disappointed when he took his leave later that morning, but Xena—did not. He should have realized that there was something up with the remoteness he saw in Xena directed his way.
He walked away, resigned to not knowing—at least for now—the outcome of his and Cupid's little plot.
