Till death do us part
(c) 2023 by ihatemilk
_October 2013
When he opened up a portal and saw her smoking outside the New York United Nations headquarters, right next to the knotted-muzzle-revolver Non-Violence sculpture, he couldn't help himself. Gods, he needed to go there if only just to take a picture of it. She was alone, luckily. Must have sneaked out for a smoke while the pacifist sidekick was in a job interview — the Department of Peacebuilding Affairs, no doubt.
Wiping the remaining laughter off his face, making sure there was no one around her, he snapped his fingers; it was time to pay her a long-overdue visit.
And there she was, alone, just her. Godsdamn, she looked nothing like she did weeks ago at the conference. She didn't look quite like her original self either. Her hair was black again, slicked back in a high-rise ponytail, sharpening her features in a way that made his throat dry. The black suit, clinging to her body in the way her leathers never did, revealed a sneak-peak of a beige dress shirt and, gods... a black tie. His heart raced as he undressed her with his eyes, imagining finding what had to be black lace underneath. How come he never pictured her in lingerie before?
He wasn't counting on a warm welcome, realizing that last month's conference might have left a sour aftertaste — and well, he didn't get one. He knew she was going to narrow her eyes at him, just the way she did.
"What do you want?" she asked dryly, but without the usual animosity. How pathetic, for it to feel heartwarming.
"Oh, we would need at least all night for that," he bit his lip, looking her up and down, "but right now — to see you wearing just heels and that tie."
There it was, the quivery flutter of her lashes, the shallow breath, dilated pupils, the hint of color to her cheeks; her body had always been honest with him. He was using all his willpower to stop himself from grabbing her and materializing them out of there and into his New York penthouse.
"How about the heel in your face, would that do?" she hissed with that little venomous smile of hers that drove him crazy.
"Whatever makes you juicy, baby," he took a step closer, biting down a grin at the abrupt rise of her chest. She rolled her eyes at him, as if she could fool him.
"You look hilarious with that thing in the background, you know that?" he laughed, and she turned to look in the direction he pointed to. They both gazed at the revolver sculpture for a while. For a second there, he considered snapping his fingers to untie the knotted muzzle, just for the heck of it. Oh, that would irk her beautifully.
"Quite a blasphemy, don't you think?" he tore his gaze away from the sculpture to gauge her reaction.
"357 Magnum," she mused, squinting her eyes in the sun, utterly oblivious that she couldn't be saying things like that, standing there looking the way she did, testing his self-control like that.
"I love it when you talk dirty."
Maybe she wasn't that oblivious, after all; the devilish half-grin she flashed him sent a wave of heat over him. He should either look away or change the subject if their communication was supposed to remain just verbal.
"You here for a job interview?"
"And you're here for what, again?" she shot back at him, and he didn't know what to say to that.
"I wanted to see you," he said casually, surprising himself. He was even more puzzled when he noticed that this time, it was her who was at a loss of words. It was an ultra-rare sight to see her uneasy. Of course, it didn't last another second before she regained her composure and her beautifully softened eyes narrowed down at him again.
"What for?" she asked, so ruthlessly matter-of-factly that it felt like a bucket of cold water over his head.
Sighing, he frowned and just stared at her. What could he tell her now that would make any difference and not make him look like an idiot? He couldn't do it, it was hopeless. He couldn't go anywhere beyond that stupid banter with her, without feeling unarmed.
Then, her expression changed; her eyes softened again, her lips relaxed.
"Hey... you okay?" she asked softly, in a way that made him want to grab her and — but then — gods, how pathetic did he have to look, for her to ask this...
This was a mistake, coming here; he wasn't ready for that, not as ready as he assumed.
His fists clenching, he was a second away from snapping himself out of there, when something in the background made him stop. There she was, the blonde sidekick, the permanent sliver under his nail.
He didn't know where the following question came from, but staring at Gabrielle's nearing silhouette sent a very unpleasant tingle down the back of his head, and the words just left his mouth.
"Are you and Gabrielle a couple?"
He regretted the question as soon as he asked it. It would only be logical that the two of them were together — they'd been married since back when Xena was still in Joxer's body. It shouldn't surprise him. It actually didn't, really. But her silence, it made it real, brutal, unbearable.
He smirked to cover up how something in his midsection contracted sharply, freezing him in his spot when he needed to leave so badly.
And that look in her eyes — tender, almost apologetic; so sickening.
"Well, in that case — wouldn't wanna disturb your marital bliss."
With a snap of his fingers, he was in his New York penthouse. Why the fuck did he have to say that — open his mouth and humiliate himself further...
He didn't know why he did what he did later, either. He never knew himself to be a masochist, and yet he opened the portal, just to rub it in; just in time to see it — their greeting kiss, on the lips.
Why the fuck did it even bother him? Didn't he used to fantasize about seeing the two of them together? Well, here it was, the real thing — making him sick, the softness of the kiss turning his knuckles white, until he wasn't sure whether he wanted to kill just the blonde or both of them.
After all, she was going to die sooner or later, so if she couldn't be his, he might as well just bury her now and get the fucking nightmare over with.
Bury both of them.
Or, just bury the sidekick, and see what happens.
#
November 2013
Damn Aphrodite.
She was unbelievable, really, pestering him on and on, for days, for weeks now. And here she was again, stretched over the abhorrently pink settee she produced in the middle of his living room, wreaking his personal space, his comfort zone, depriving him of solitude that he needed like he needed to breathe.
"Do you have a death-wish, really?"
"Ar, come on..."
"Just go."
"Come on, you haven't been out for—"
"Just get lost, will you?"
"I'm not leaving you here."
"I said, get the hell out..."
"Honey, don't do this. I know you love pretending you don't have feelings but it's time to grow out of it. I can see what's going on just by looking at you..."
"What's going on is I'm really losing my patience here, sis—"
"I hate seeing you suffer, Ar—"
"Here's a great remedy for it — get the fuck out."
"Will you at least tell me what happened?"
He couldn't win with her. No one, no one in the whole wide world was a bigger pain in the ass than his sister.
"I don't know… take a fucking guess."
"I think you went to talk to her and tried to be nice this time, and she still told you to get lost because she has trust issues after all the crap you've pulled since she left you."
He gritted his teeth hard. "Oh yeah, how do you figure?"
"Well, it's not—"
"Since she left me? You mean since she fucked our brother and decided that war is bad?"
"Ar, please, don't—"
"What the fuck do you want, seriously? To rub it in again? Is that why you came here?"
"Fight fire with fire, that's what you need."
"What?"
"You need somebody new."
"Gods, I'm gonna—"
"That's not the healthiest way to cure a heartbreak — but it's fast and it works, trust me."
"Fine, if you're not leaving, I am."
And he did. He snapped his fingers before even thinking where to go.
Quite randomly, for some fucked up reasons, he found himself to be standing outside the New York UN headquarters where he last saw her.
Seriously, he really was a fucking masochist, even if just subconsciously.
He was about to snap himself into his Manhattan penthouse — in case his sister was still at his Dubai place — when the entrance door opened. The very same doorstep that carried a sour memory of Gabrielle walking out of it just weeks ago, now presented a long-legged, long-haired sight that — although equally blond - didn't make him frown at all.
Well, not until she asked him to hold her after. What was it with women and cuddling after sex, anyway? Why on earth would he want to do that?
But maybe Aphrodite was right.
Maybe it was time to move on.
He did miss the times when life was about living, not enduring existence without the one woman he couldn't have. And, for fuck's sake, he was going to get that life back.
If he wanted a woman, there were billions of others. Statistically, maybe five percent of them could present a challenge and had a chance to make him want to look at them again —which was still a vast array to choose from. If he was now so emotionally evolved that he was in need of a relationship, there was no reason why he couldn't look for it anywhere else.
A woman who would worship him, appreciate him for who he was — sounded definitely more promising and healthy than wasting his life chasing after some ungrateful bitch only to get frowned upon. Gods, where the fuck had his dignity been for all those years? His self respect? He really was a damn masochist.
Fuck it, he was right.
It was time to move on.
#