Chapter 7
Gabrielle gathered up her belongings to start on the road.
She'd had the dreams again. Since those first few days, her
sleep had been less troubled, but that in turn only made her
waking moments more unendurable.
The smells and images of blood had passed from her sleep,
only to make way for something much worse.
Joxer.
He pervaded her dreams now. But it wasn't that they were
unpleasant. Quite the contrary, they were too good. In her
dreams, she was with Joxer. Joxer as she knew him. Alive,
funny, loving. Everything about him was right. His looks,
his actions, even his smells were 100% perfect.
And how she enjoyed those dreams. How many times she had
cried out with relief that he was all right? And how many
times did she apologize profusely for how she had treated
him, and sought to make up for it through song and verse,
and myriad other ways...? Yes, in her dreams she had
realized what her waking mind would not attest to:
That she had been, and still was, in love with him.
And oh, such joy she experienced in those dreams! The things
they did, the time they shared. Never before had she felt so
giddy, so happy. And therein lay the seeds of her despair.
For while in the height, the very midst of their
togetherness, some small, malignant part of her mind told her
that it was just a dream, and she would wake up to find none
of it true.
And the pain, the unmitigated anguish that would come with
that realization. No! No! It had to be real, it had to be!
No! Please! Don't take him away again! Please! I don't want
to wake up, please don't let me wake up! Let me stay, let me
stay! And she would pray, to whomever might be out there,
with every fiber of her soul to please let it be. To not
take him back.
And then the veil of sleep would start to lift, and Joxer and
everything around her would start to slip away. And she
would stretch - oh how she would stretch! To touch him, to
maintain contact. Tears streaming down her face, she would
call out his name and huddle into a heap amid the nothingness
about her. And she would wake to find herself still crying.
Her day would be unbearable. She sought only the reprieve of
sleep, in order to recapture his face. His form. His self.
And thus she would stumble through the day, wishing only for
the night to come ever sooner, to ease the pain she felt in
her breast. Thus the cycle would continue, day in and day
out.
This did not go unnoticed by Xena, who could do nothing but
sit back and watch her friend slowly slipping away from the
land of the living.
Gabrielle gathered up her belongings to start on the road.
She'd had the dreams again. Since those first few days, her
sleep had been less troubled, but that in turn only made her
waking moments more unendurable.
The smells and images of blood had passed from her sleep,
only to make way for something much worse.
Joxer.
He pervaded her dreams now. But it wasn't that they were
unpleasant. Quite the contrary, they were too good. In her
dreams, she was with Joxer. Joxer as she knew him. Alive,
funny, loving. Everything about him was right. His looks,
his actions, even his smells were 100% perfect.
And how she enjoyed those dreams. How many times she had
cried out with relief that he was all right? And how many
times did she apologize profusely for how she had treated
him, and sought to make up for it through song and verse,
and myriad other ways...? Yes, in her dreams she had
realized what her waking mind would not attest to:
That she had been, and still was, in love with him.
And oh, such joy she experienced in those dreams! The things
they did, the time they shared. Never before had she felt so
giddy, so happy. And therein lay the seeds of her despair.
For while in the height, the very midst of their
togetherness, some small, malignant part of her mind told her
that it was just a dream, and she would wake up to find none
of it true.
And the pain, the unmitigated anguish that would come with
that realization. No! No! It had to be real, it had to be!
No! Please! Don't take him away again! Please! I don't want
to wake up, please don't let me wake up! Let me stay, let me
stay! And she would pray, to whomever might be out there,
with every fiber of her soul to please let it be. To not
take him back.
And then the veil of sleep would start to lift, and Joxer and
everything around her would start to slip away. And she
would stretch - oh how she would stretch! To touch him, to
maintain contact. Tears streaming down her face, she would
call out his name and huddle into a heap amid the nothingness
about her. And she would wake to find herself still crying.
Her day would be unbearable. She sought only the reprieve of
sleep, in order to recapture his face. His form. His self.
And thus she would stumble through the day, wishing only for
the night to come ever sooner, to ease the pain she felt in
her breast. Thus the cycle would continue, day in and day
out.
This did not go unnoticed by Xena, who could do nothing but
sit back and watch her friend slowly slipping away from the
land of the living.