Till death do us part
(c) 2023 by ihatemilk
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It had to be the middle of the night when her piercing scream made him bolt right up.
The full moon gave the otherwise dark room an eerie vibe, and it felt quite dreamlike to see her there, in his bed, curled up next to him. Blinking, shaking his head to snap out of the sleepy blur, he gazed at her moonlit silhouette for a while before he realized that it wasn't just an impression, and that she was shaking, for real.
"I love you…" she mumbled in a broken whisper, in between the sniffles.
His heart stopped; but then it dawned on him — a dream about Gabrielle, of course. He smirked, feeling an unpleasant sensation spread inside his chest.
She wouldn't break down like that for him.
Exhaling, stroking up and down her arm, he found her hand and enclosed it in his. She seemed to calm down under his touch, but then startled him when she jumped up with a gasp, panting. For a second their eyes met, hers shiny and terrified, and then, exhaling, she pulled him close, burying his face in her neck with such frenzy that he thought he was still dreaming. He stroked her hip, up her side and then up over her shoulder blade, pinning her to his chest, and held her tight, their rapid breaths intermingling. His heart was about to jump out of his chest, and gods, he wanted to feel like this forever.
He knew she wouldn't tell him what the dream was about, but he now had no doubt; it had to be, and if it was, she would never admit it.
She pulled away before she spoke. "I was on the street in Jeddah, and there was this guy in the crowd... the bomb went off before I could—"
"Xena, if you're trying to get me to take you back to Aden—"
"…and you gave up your immortality to save me."
"Did I? That sounds nothing like me," he half-smiled, tracing the wet trails on her cheek with his fingers, thinking back to that moment on Olympus, back in their other life, when he did exactly that.
"Don't ever do it again," she demanded in a whisper, closing her eyes.
"I can't promise you that..." he pushed the strands of dark hair off her forehead, running his fingers along the sweaty hairline above. He wished she would wear her bangs up, she looked so beautiful with her face uncovered.
"You got shot," she said quietly, her eyes still closed.
He took a slow deep breath, trying to shake off the impact it hit him with; this feeble evidence that she cared, that silent tear sneaking down her temple, revealing that she didn't want to lose him either. He blinked rapidly to disperse the wetness stinging his eyes.
Maybe there was a chance for them, maybe they could still work it out. He would drop Julia like a nasty habit, he would never touch another woman, gods, he would — so the words indeed weren't meant for Gabrielle, they were meant for him… Swallowing the lump in his throat, he fought to even out his breath, so she didn't see how shaken he was.
He cleared his throat. "You know you talk in your sleep, right?" he forced himself to say, and then grinned inwardly when he saw her eyes widen in panic.
"No…" she breathed, bewildered, her brows furrowing, and he wondered if it was a genuine answer or just denial.
"Well, not just talk. Your scream would have woken up the dead."
"Sorry about that..."
He knew the curiosity to know what she said in her sleep was killing her, but he also knew she wasn't going to ask, because she most likely knew what it was that she said. And he wasn't going to bring it up if she didn't ask.
"I don't think sorry will cut it…" he said, closing his eyes, brushing his nose along the side of her face.
"I don't think so, either…" she whispered, turning to face him, locking her eyes on his as she slowly moved her lips down his chest in a gesture of apology that left him breathless.
It was long after, when she was asleep on his chest, that the intoxication of having her in his arms slowly gave way to the sinking feeling that this was their last night together. She was still under the spell of the last two days, but he could feel her guilt building up. Of course, he forgot that in her sick mind she didn't deserve happiness, not as long as there was at least one person suffering in the world. First thing in the morning, whether tomorrow or the day after, she was going to tell him she needed to go back; like nothing happened, like last night meant nothing, like none of it mattered, like they could just carry on living without each other; and everything he would say was going to be used against him, as always; because naturally, he was always going to come last after the well-being of all the victims of all the wars going on in the world; the victims, the number of which he contributed to, which made him even less deserving of anything other than contempt. By the gods... He couldn't win this. It was seriously hopeless, he was an idiot to think otherwise.
He clenched his jaw, his heart racing angrily.
It was a mistake to bring her here.
And last night — getting drunk with her, and all that followed — was a huge fucking mistake on its own.
Pushing her off him gently, he snapped himself out to the terrace. In fact, he needed to get out of there and fast; get himself to a place where his rage wouldn't wake her.
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For a moment or two, he tried to pretend it wasn't morning already; that it wasn't real, any of it.
Breathing through the heaviness spreading in his chest, he opened his eyes to see the sunlit silhouette to his right, curled up on the other side of the bed. Fighting the urge to pull her against his chest, he climbed out of bed reluctantly.
Producing a pen and a piece of paper, he went on to scribble a note that would save him the pain of facing her now. He didn't have time for it anyway; he should pick up where he left off with the US Embassy in Kabul while the iron was still hot.
It was already late afternoon when he came back. He wasn't surprised to see her all geared up and ready to go. His heart went up his throat, but when she then opened her mouth, it was the last straw.
„Take me back," she asked bluntly. "To Aden."
He didn't plan to even honor it with an answer. No, it was too much; he didn't have strength for this.
"Ares — there are matters in Aden I must go back to. If you take me to Jeddah, I will go back to Aden anyway, which is more dangerous than if you now take me there directly to navigate from the inside."
"You mean, like you did two months ago, when I found you almost dead in a pile of debris? Xena, there are now five fronts all over the city—"
"Oh yeah, you should know — this is your carefully planned board game, after all."
He bit his lip, deciding to ignore her teasing and try reasoning with her, though he knew it was pointless when it came to her fucking heroism.
"You're asking me to send you on a suicide mission," he clenched his fists. "And you think it's fine — to ask that of me, of all people."
"For fuck's sake, Ares — you of all people created this mess, so yes, I think its more than appropriate that—"
"It's my fucking job in case you haven't noticed, what part of it don't you understand?"
"A part when kids the age of my son run around with rifles?" she spat, her eyes shimmering.
So, that was what got to her that much. Were there children fighting in Yemen? He didn't look into such details. So, that was the deal, his newest transgression — seeing those kids she saw the son she lost in another lifetime. And, naturally, as everything else, that was his fault as well.
"Xena, I'm sorry about your son, but this war — it has nothing to do with it."
He braced himself for another accusation to be thrown into his face, but she just looked down, smirking.
"You wouldn't understand what it's like to lose a child."
He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling. "I've watched you die four fucking times in total, so you don't get to lecture me on what loss feels like."
Of course, all those times he had his heart ripped out of his chest was just nothing, he didn't have any feelings to hurt; everyone was worthy of her compassion and understanding but not him; what a classic. What a fucking hypocrite she was. "But yeah, you never gave any fuck about that, did you?"
He cringed when she came up and touched him.
"I'm sorry. I know what it had to feel like," she said quietly, putting her hands on his chest. He closed his eyes, not sure if he wanted to hold her or strangle her.
"You don't know shit if you're about to make me go through it again," he snapped, pushing her away.
"Don't," she pulled him close, and this time he didn't have the heart to shake her off, so they just stood there, chest to chest, and it hurt as fuck.
"We both know what loss feels like. But we're not the only ones, Ares — you're not the only one — people in Yemen know it, too — even passing second, someone out there is mourning a loss of a loved one."
He didn't want to listen to this, couldn't listen to this, couldn't let her little brainwashing session get to him. He had a job to do, his mantle; without it he was nothing, there was no him to begin with. War was an integral part of human nature, a catalyst for development. This was something the damn hippies refused to understand, but that she didn't get it was preposterous.
He'd been fooling himself that she would get it. She didn't. They didn't have a future if she didn't.
Finally, he got out of her embrace, pushing her away gently.
"But you don't see this side of war, do you... it's doesn't carry the power and glory you're after; it's just a miserable backstage that someone else has to clean up after you..."
Oh, for fuck's sake, there she went again. He didn't have to put up with this, he should put an end to it now. But he knew that whatever he said now would only antagonize her more. Though, did it even matter at this point? When they hit the wall they would've hit sooner or later?
"I was made this way, Xena, you damn well know it — this is my mantle, it's my job. I wouldn't be able to do it if I felt sorry for every casualty — of all people, you should understand, for fuck's sake..."
Her eyes were absently focused on some nonexistent point in the distance, and she went on as if she didn't hear him.
"Your fucking war doesn't just kill people on the battlefield — it deprives people of homes, food and medical help — causing civilians to die of even basic infections, causing women to die at childbirth like in the Middle Ages—"
"Xena, this is not—"
"No, you shut up and listen to me — Ares, for fuck's sake — how would you feel if it was me? If I died giving birth to our child?"
"What..." he swallowed, blinking, his heart racing, waves of heat and cold washing over him at once. His throat was so dry he was surprised to hear the voice leave his mouth. It felt like his knees would give up if he didn't do something, say something, to confirm what was lingering in that sentence.
She walked up to him, the torture of her slow pace sending a tingle up his back, and then down his arms when she touched him.
"I'm not pregnant, I was just making a point," her words slashed through the silence.
Closing his eyes with a frown, he let out the breath he was holding. Slowly, he removed himself from within her reach. "Gods, Xena... don't do it again."
Trying to shake off the vision that refused to leave his mind, he walked over to the bar cupboard and poured himself a glass of the copper liquid. Of course, she wasn't pregnant. She wouldn't sleep with him without taking precautions.
"Didn't mean to scare you like that."
He huffed without looking at her.
"Ares..." she started, but he couldn't, couldn't listen to her anymore, he needed to be alone.
"Come on, I'll take you back," he said, turning around.
She was pressing her fingers against her temples, eyes closed, her brows furrowed. He put the glass back.
"Hey," he put a hand on her cheek. "You okay?"
"Just a headache," she grunted. Not thinking twice, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the sofa.
Propping her against the cushions, he noticed wet trails on her cheeks.
"It hurts that much?" He leaned in and their noses almost brushed; her hand closing around his forearm softly.
"Yes," she whispered in between the sniffles, catching her breath through the open mouth. "Yes..." she breathed as he pressed his lips to her forehead, then down to the salty cheek.
Her hand clasped at the back of his head, her mouth so warm and soft, seeking him. The kiss was so feather-like it sent a wave of goosebumps through him. And then, inhaling her, breathing her, it was too much; and he lost it, he just fucking lost it.
"Gods, I love you, I have no words for how much I fucking love you," he said, a wave of fever spreading through him, his heartbeat thudding in his ears as she stroked through his hair, along his jaw, down his chest, tugging at his belt.
Snapping their clothes away, he sank into her impatiently, making them both lose their breath, making her sob into his neck.
"Ares..."
"Yes, baby," he nuzzled her face, breathing with effort, stroking up and down her leg.
Always kissing him, her lips were all over his face, kissing him in that tender, desperate way that made his chest contract, like last night; and like last night, her temples were salty with tears that kept coming, her eyelids tightly shut, among the feverishly whispered things that could only be said now, and it all made him lightheaded.
"I love being with you," she breathed against his cheek, clutching onto the back of his neck, and he had to halt himself because gods, when she said things like that, he felt he was about to lose it fast; he tried using his powers to calm himself, in vain; he was too unhinged to tap into anything now.
"Stay with me..." he swallowed, catching his breath, brushing his lips across her closed eyelids.
"Ares..."
"I need you, Xena, I can't lose you again..."
"Ares..."
"It doesn't make sense if you're not here..."
She cradled his face in her hands, her eyes hazy, wild, and so defenseless. "I need you — I need you to be good for me."
"I will, baby, I'll do anything... gods, I'll do anything if you stay..."
"No..." she breathed, moaning, then pushed her forehead against his shoulder, digging her nails into his back. "Yes... yes..."
And then, he couldn't let go of her, not even after their second shared cigarette; not even when she wanted to go pee. She eventually did, and he used that moment to sneak out to the terrace for another smoke. To get a grip.
She would leave now, any minute now, would ask him to take her back, and he couldn't be thinking about that; it made his breath short, the lump in his throat almost choking. He was pathetic, really. Be a man about it, for fuck's sake. Spreading his hands wide on the railing, he clutched onto the rough, warm surface, squeezing his eyes shut to will this damn weakness away.
Get this over with, this is what he should do; rub those pitiful emotions off his face and take her back. Act like a man; not have her walk in on him breaking down like a fucking wimp. Of course, he could already hear his therapist arguing with him on that one; but David didn't know Xena.
Squeezing the stub in one of the black, stone ashtrays spread around the terrace, he turned around when he heard the footsteps. For a second, she stopped on the threshold. Her hair was wet, a bright, sandy towel hugging her tightly. Then, she came up straight to him, putting a hand on his cheek, making him close his eyes.
"You okay?" her quiet question made him snap his eyes open and reach for his face in panic. It was dry, so it must've been the pathetic look on his face that now made her study him with this fucking tenderness in her eyes. And now the lump in his throat was back — a last-second warning to look away, keep his dignity.
"I'll take you back when you're ready," he said, turning his back on her. Next second, he snapped his clothes back on, but it didn't change how utterly naked he felt in front of her; irreversibly, forever. He wouldn't mind feeling this way if she stayed; but it felt unbearable, insufferable when she was about to leave.
"I need to get pills for the headache."
He took a slow inhale. "There's a pharmacy downstairs." Gods, what an idiot he was. "No, forget it — I'll take care of it."
"It's fine, just take me there—"
"Lay down, I'll be back in five," he said on the way out.
Normally, he wouldn't use elevators, but this building was the exception; from time to time, he loved to take a ride at a speed that made his stomach flutter.
Getting off on the ground level, he stopped to locate the pharmacy when a familiar female voice reached him from behind. Great, just what he needed now.
"Oh, for fuck's sake..."
"Well, thanks, happy to see you, too!" his sister's shrill voice pierced through his ears.
"Dite, I'm in the middle of something, if you don't mind..."
"That's exactly why I'm here, hon."
"Have you been — no, you gotta be fucking kidding me..."
"There you go, see — every time you're hurt, you get aggressive and act like a total douche and screw things up, so you should be thanking me that I came here to save you now."
He clenched his teeth, taking a calming breath. In moments like this, he really hated it how well his sister knew him.
"Save me from what…?"
"From screwing up by being your dumbass self, duh…?"
"There's nothing to save," he said as the sudden numbness overcame him. Aphrodite was right. This was how he dealt with pain; he'd figured it out in therapy, as well. Nothing soothed the pain like good old rage. And right now, it hurt as nothing else.
"Babe, I know what's up, I've been keeping myself up to date — now don't get mad — you wouldn't keep me in the loop so a Love Goddess gotta do what a Love Goddess gotta do—"
"I can't do it now, Dite, I'm—"
"I'm only here for support—"
"I said not now, for fuck's sake — I gotta pick up the damn headache pills, she's in pain — now why the fuck are you crying now?"
"You really do love her..." she sniffled, gazing at him with huge watery eyes. "Come here," she pulled him into a tight hug that he didn't have the heart to get out of. They were close, he loved his sister dearly, but they never did that. She always respected his personal space and reluctance to be touched. But now, he didn't even mind, and after a moment, it started to feel so good, too good, until the growing lump in his throat cut his breath off and no matter how hard he forced his eyes shut, he couldn't hold it in anymore.
"It's okay, honey, it's okay... it's good to let it out, it's okay," she echoed, stroking the back of his head in a way that made him feel even worse with how motherly it felt, but at the same time he welcomed it quite desperately. When he finally pulled back, he saw her face was shiny, too. He didn't know why — maybe because of how red her nose was — but he chuckled, and she laughed back nervously, both sniffling, and the longer he stared at her, the more it hit him — his ditsy sister that he would always either push away or make fun of — she got him — got his back, was always there for him when no one else was. She loved him, and despite who he was; the way Xena never would.
"I love you, Dite," the words left his mouth as if of their own accord, surprising him, surprising them both.
His sister's face turned red as she burst out crying, out in the open; and now it was him who pulled her close, shielding her from the curious eyes of random spectators.
When she finally got her breath back, she pulled away and slapped him on his arm. "Next time you wanna pull something like this, can you please choose a location without the audience?" she asked in her usual ditsy voice, making him laugh at her horrified expression when she saw herself in the golden mirror that suddenly appeared in her hand out of thin air. She should be more careful with godly tricks in public, he told her countless times — the wisdom which clearly avoided her.
Gods, his chest felt so much lighter now. He could breathe normally.
"Gotta go, Dite. I'll catch you later."
She responded with a pouty face. "Promise?"
"Only if you stop snooping on me."
"Well, never mind then," she giggled, disappearing in the shower of pink sparks. How the hell did that escape everyone's attention — he had no idea.
He was on his way back to the elevator when a sudden flash reminded him what he came here for in the first place. Pharmacy.
With three jars of different pills — though each of the names seemed to start with an A and end with an L — he got in the elevator, and when the door closed, he snapped himself back into the apartment. It only saved him about half a minute, but with how long he was gone, he didn't want to waste even a second.
She was curled up on the sofa in the living room, her eyes closed, brows furrowed. Producing a glass of water, he sat down next to her.
"Didn't know which one works best so got you all these."
"Thanks," hurriedly, she opened one of the jars and popped two pills in, drinking them down with all the water in the glass.
"How long till they kick in?" he asked, seeing her wince.
"Half hour max."
Kicking off his shoes, he snuggled up next to her, nesting her head on his shoulder, stroking up and down her back.
"Mmm... it's nice when you do it," she muttered, snaking a hand across his chest.
The pills must have kicked in sooner, or maybe she was just that tired, because within roughly fifteen minutes she was passed out in his arms. With his right hand he reached into his pants for his work mobile that was on mute since he came back from work today; 35 missed calls, 3 out of which urgent and to be returned ASAP. Then, when he locked the screen, it lit up anew with another incoming call. Well, this one he wasn't going to either answer or return; not until the only woman that mattered was here with him. Careful not to wake her up, he stuffed the phone back into his front pocket.
"I don't get it — why haven't you broken up with Julia yet?" Aphrodite's question rang in his ears again.
To break up what, for fuck's sake — their business relations? She was a convenient ally to have, the networking she did for him saved him heaps of time. And well yes, he fucked her while he was on it — an added incentive — why the hell not? If Xena really wanted him, if she was serious about him, if she respected his feelings, he would make the phone call right now. But if she just wanted to fool around in between her damn suicide missions, she could go to hell — he wasn't going to turn his world upside down for her. She didn't deserve it.
He looked down; she stirred, but he could tell she was sound asleep. She didn't wake up even when he picked her up and transported them to the bedroom. He didn't like it. It wasn't like her; he remembered that due to years in the army tent and on the road, her eyes would snap open at the slightest of movements. Maybe it was due to the accident, or the pills she took.
Passing through the living room on his way to his study, he grabbed the jar of pills she left open on the coffee table. One tablet every six hours, it said.
He tried to do some work but it was pointless; knowing that she was sleeping in his bed had his mind wandering all over the place. Giving up, he went to join her. He could use some sleep, as well — his head needed a rest.
She was lying on her right side, her breath slow and steady amidst the quiet humming of the air conditioning. He stopped at the foot of the bed. He longed to hold her, but there was something about watching her like this, so peaceful in his bed, that kept him frozen in the spot; as if his standing there could keep this moment from ending.
He should leave. Waking up with her this morning was heavy enough. It was insane, how he got used to her, to having her here, how unbearable it was to think she wouldn't be here tomorrow.
Gods, he should get his shit together, stop brooding like a lovesick wimp, and face the facts — maybe she even loved him, but so what — she didn't care enough to stay with him, to stop risking her life. But the thought of losing her now when he knew how it could be if she stayed was unbearable as much as it was unavoidable.
He should leave now. Come back to get her to Jeddah tomorrow morning, and then cut himself off before he lost what was still left of his sanity.
He should go; looking at her asleep in his bed was only making it worse. He needed to go and get himself into a nice bloodbath or two, to take his mind off all the damn mushiness.
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It was late morning when he came back.
His bed was empty, sheets disheveled, her scent everywhere. He collapsed on the bed, tucking a pillow under his head, and drew in a hit of a newly lit cigarette, waiting for the shower water to stop running and for the bathroom door to open.
Staying out didn't change shit; if anything, it only gave him a headache to imagine her reaction if she knew how he spent the night. He wasn't proud of it himself, but what annoyed him even more was realizing that a while ago he wouldn't give a single fuck about how many mortals perished purely for his enjoyment when he needed to unwind. Why the fuck should he? There were hundreds of new mortals born around the globe every single day. And she was one of them, for fuck's sake. And he let this one mortal turn his life upside down like that. And for what? What the fuck was in it for him?
But then the bathroom door opened and his throat clenched, his trail of thought gone. Her hair was wet and slicked back, with absolutely nothing shielding her shimmering nudity from his eyes.
"I could get used to mornings like this..."
"You mean like this?" she straddled him as he snapped his clothes off, and for the life of him, he couldn't remember where the resentment rattling in the back of his head came from, but it was of little importance now that she overfilled every fiber of his body. He'd once told her he burned inside her; little did he know it would end up being reversed. Sometimes he thought that she couldn't be a mere mortal, she had to be some kind of witch; maybe it was something she got from that wretched shamaness she used to hang out with back in her warlord days; there had to be some explanation, because what she made him feel was too much like a spell to be real. He once even suspected Aphrodite — but no, she wouldn't dare; she wouldn't do it to him.
But then none of it mattered when she shuddered, delirious and sweaty in his arms; just her and no world around them.
"I think you need another shower," he said, licking the sweat off her chest, then picking her up and carrying her to the bathroom, where he lost himself in putting off the inevitable some more. Maybe he just shouldn't stop fucking her; get her so weak she wouldn't leave. But then, at some point he couldn't focus anymore, her request to bring her to Aden ringing in his ears. The thought was starting to make him livid.
It had to end in an argument, and it did; the biggest one they ever had. Gods, he hated her so much he could feel the tips of his fingers heat up with fire, a breath away from burning her alive and putting this nightmare to an end.
"Ares, it's not about you, or me, it's about people who suffer real suffering, people who are living a nightmare at the moment…"
"Oh, trust me — I noticed it's not about me, 'cause you never gave a fuck about my feelings — but it is in fact very much about you, Xena — it's always been about you — you and your fucking savior complex…"
"Ares, why are you doing this…?"
"You know – I used to think you actually did all this selflessly… but no, you're just drunk on this bottomless sense of guilt that drives you to risk your life for others, 'cause that's how you get your kicks, isn't it, Xena? Danger, risking your life — it turns you on as much as it always did, only now you put a nice new label on it."
"You don't even know what selfless means..."
"You clearly don't, either, so let me enlighten you… You see, Xena — selfless is when you do it for others without thinking of yourself, while all you actually think of is how much more points you need to score to redeem yourself."
"Why doesn't it surprise me you can twist everything into your sick self-serving philosophy?"
"At least I don't disguise my motifs like some fucking gutless hypocrite."
"Ares, why are you doing this?"
"I'm sorry, what? Me? Why am I doing this? Okay, you know what — it's pointless."
She cast her eyes down, blinking. "I can't be with someone who doesn't respect what I'm about, Ares. I was a fool to think you might try to—"
"You're right — I don't respect your pathological disregard for yourself — I never will. I don't respect the fact that a random stranger is more deserving of your feelings than I am. I tried, Xena, I tried — to broaden my perspective, understand what I did wrong, to work things out between us — but as of now I give up. You were right all along. This can't work."
"We are just wired differently, you and I..."
"Yeah, maybe we are."
"Ares..."
"I'll take you back."
"Wait..."
"I got things to do, so either we go now, or—"
"Let's go now."
It burned to feel her arms around him when they traveled through the ether.
They were both silent when he dropped her off at the US Embassy in Jeddah. He disappeared at that very instant, without looking at her, without thinking where he was going.
Her last words resonated in his head long after he reappeared in Aden, realizing that — quite subconsciously — he materialized himself at the exact pile of debris where he found her a week ago.
Enveloped in the hot air of the city, he felt a chill run over him, covering his arms in goosebumps.
A huge part of him wanted to turn the whole place into one big pile of debris and burned flesh.
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