Till death do us part
(c) 2023 by ihatemilk
_September 2015
She knew she was in trouble when it started to feel like she was fifteen again; when she would catch herself daydreaming about him with her eyes closed and her heart pounding; and when she realized the fantasies weren't sexual in the least.
She would catch herself on those stupid little things, like tracing her fingers along her left palm and imagining it was him touching, asking about the scars there. He never asked. He never touched her hands, ever.
One time, he did. That one night he stayed over. The night when he came to her broken, after weeks of silence, after all the solemn promises she made to herself that she would never, under no circumstances, answer a phone call from him ever again. But when she saw the incoming call, she pressed the green receiver before she knew it; and when she heard his voice, raspy and wounded, it was too much. When she opened the door and saw his face, she felt her eyes well up. That night was the first time she saw him drunk. She couldn't stay sober herself either; obsessing over what could've brought him to such misery and the fact she couldn't ask him about it were making her lose her mind. Did the brunette break up with him? It had to be at least that. Did she cheat on him? What could she have done to destroy him like that?
That night, for the first time, he stayed over. In her bed. He didn't hold her, but he was there, next to her, so close she could smell him. It took her ages to fall asleep. Then, it woke her up; a heavy arm encircling her waist, a huge hand locking around hers; her heart stopped. She thought it would burst. It was only when she heard the words muttered into the back of her head that she realized it wasn't meant for her, any of it. And yet still, she stayed there, frozen. A fraud, a passive thief of love meant for someone else, clutching onto that blissful moment of error like her life depended on it. She never realized it was possible to cry without a single movement.
She bugged his phone that night. To hear his voice whenever she wanted, she told herself; not in a masochistic fit of craving to spy on his relationship with the woman she envied with her every blood cell. The woman he talked to in his sleep, the woman who hurt him, who treated him like trash. The woman who brought a man like that to a state Julia had never seen any man in.
But then, when she didn't catch them talking not even once over the next few weeks, and noticed subtle changes in his demeanor, it all started to make sense. There was still a shade of heavy aura about him, but also a vibe of some quiet resignation, like mourning; he was distant, and not as rough as usual. He'd often drift away, even mid-sentence. Could it be...? Humanitarian missions took their toll at times, it wouldn't be unusual if the brunette got swiped out of the picture this way. The uncertainty was maddening, burning her alive. She had to know. There were means to find out. There were people for hire for such situations.
Why hadn't she thought about it before?
#
But just days later, before she even heard from the private investigator, there was no doubt anymore.
She remembered it was Monday, because she hated Mondays, and she loved how that one started; how he took her to his place, how she made him laugh with her scolding Bill over the phone, how he let her ride him slow, kiss him, how their eyes met for just seconds, his face clouded with need, eyes burning into hers for just seconds, but enough to send her over the edge.
It came as a shock when he suddenly pushed her off, jumping out of bed like a madman.
"Work calls, gotta run, see yourself out," he uttered hastily, leaving her, disoriented, nude and alone in his huge bed.
Business call. No business would be able to shake him up to such an extent. There was only one thing, one person, able to get him this agitated. The person Julia just spent weeks hoping was gone from their life.
She made a move to climb out of bed but the crushing heaviness in her chest pinned her back down.
After what seemed like ages, back in Brooklyn, she turned on the TV, sank into the comfort of the red velvet sofa in the dimly lit living room and pulled the old patchwork blanket over her, trying to watch the news, drinking it all down with a newly opened bottle of chardonnay she found hidden in one of the kitchen cabinets when she looked for coffee; she wondered how many more bottles of different kinds of liquor her mother had stashed here, for her baby girl to find, like a fucking Easter hunt. But she was glad to find this one, she needed it now.
He was like a disease. No distraction worked, nothing could stop him from burning in the back of her mind; alcohol dimmed it out a bit for the time being, but the pesky presence was far from gone.
When she suddenly remembered she'd had his phone bugged, her head almost exploded; panting, her hands shaking, she started digging through all the little temporary storage spaces around the house in search for the receiver she'd thrown aside days ago. All sweaty, her heart pounding, she found it and turned it on, ignoring a voice in her head telling her she was going to regret it.
The voices were muffled, his phone likely in his pants pocket. She muted the TV. A deep voice sounding like him. The brunette's voice; she only heard it once, but it was unmistakable. A third voice was male, unfamiliar, in the background.
"I'll leave you two for a while," said a shy sounding stranger.
"Xena, I'm sorry... I'm an idiot..." he said in a strange, broken voice she'd never heard before, addressing the brunette by a name Julia hadn't heard before, apologizing, what was he apologizing for? God, was he crying? No, it had to be her.
"Trust me, I've noticed," the brunette's steely voice cut through the sniffles.
"When I saw you leave the clinic—"
"It's okay..." the brunette's muffled voice cut in, but the sound that followed was made by him, unmistakably. Julia felt her heart drop.
At that point she didn't know what the full picture was yet, it was now still just an abstract scene; but something about it made her stomach muscles contract in a stifled sob. She held a hand to her chest, feeling her heart thud in her palm, and then it all poured out. She didn't wipe her face, she let it flow, until the edge of her jaw felt ticklish.
She wiped her face with both her palms, rubbing furiously, swallowing down a scream that she knew would only come back stronger. Maybe, if she wasn't a fucking psycho-masochist, she would've chosen this moment to turn the receiver off, smash it against the wall, crush it with her heel. Then, she would've taken her phone, blocked his number, and moved back to London. If only she could access her reason, survival instinct, and self-respect, any of the three; if she wasn't who she was. But she couldn't, it was too late, she was in too deep to back out, and she knew she wouldn't if her life depended on it. What was it that managed to bring a man like him to his knees like that?
At some point, she could no longer tell if the sobs were just hers or if it was the three of them together. It was too absurd to be real.
What came next was too absurd to be real. His voice, her voice, the stranger's voice, echoing, filling the ether with words she hoped she misheard, that she had to be making up in her head, her drunk mind playing tricks on her.
"...the baby's fine..."
"...we're going to have a daughter..."
Reaching for the wine bottle and discovering it was empty, she smashed it against the edge of the table. She didn't know what hurt more, his reaction to the news or the fact that this — it was one thing she could never give him.
"...go back to your girlfriend..." she said, but he wouldn't; instead, he called her his wife and took her home; and every next little detail cut deep and then deeper.
This wasn't the man Julia knew; the man she knew wouldn't say those things, the man she knew didn't call women baby and buy them menstrual pads, didn't beg them to start a family with him. It almost felt like dating married men all over again, only that she never envied the wife before. She never cared about the husband. She couldn't care less if the woman kept him hanging, caused him pain, or didn't deserve him in the slightest. And now she did. And the brunette was a woman who caused him pain and didn't deserve him in the slightest.
The woman he would be better off without.
#
She was here.
For the little while that he spent downstairs — after the beans got delivered to the kitchen, Sofia wouldn't let him go without showing him the little fluffy dog she just got for her birthday; it reminded him of Horace — and for that little while, he completely forgot who was waiting for him upstairs. Gods, she was here. On his way up, he glanced at his phone which wouldn't stop vibrating for the last ten minutes, and, slowly, he stuffed it back into his pants pocket. Now that she was here, everything else could wait.
She was here, and it was now up to him to play his cards right. He shouldn't let the hurt part of him take the stage, that was one thing he knew. Although, the more reality sank in, the harder it was. He was still elated, high from the news, but the thought that she wanted to get rid of their child behind his back was bringing back feelings that weren't helping now. If she was now going to tell him to take her home, he would lose it. Gods, this woman was more frustrating that Zeus and Hera together.
But when he saw her asleep on the terrace sofa, all those thoughts dispersed. Her face was turned to the side, her hand resting on her belly; now when she was flat on her back, it struck him how much she was showing already; he longed to touch her, feel her with his palm. Gods, it was surreal. Like a dream he dreaded he would soon wake up from.
His sister's voice reverberated in his head. Exhaling, he headed back inside and snapped himself to the suite upstairs.
"Now's not a good time, Dite," he said, lowering his voice before realizing he didn't need to.
"I would say it's quite the opposite..."
Of course, she was keeping herself up-to-date behind his back, but he didn't mind; not anymore. He trusted her not to meddle. As long as it was just spying, he could live with it. Since David made him realize in one of their sessions that his sister's nosy interest in his life was simply her way of showing love, it didn't even irk him that much anymore.
He looked aside; he knew Aphrodite wasn't going anywhere for a while. He wasn't even mad, he just didn't feel like having company. The previous anger gave way to resignation, a dreadful, sinking feeling gnawing at his stomach. He tried to compose himself, summon back the anger, not very successfully.
Producing a glass of scotch in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth, he walked over to the huge wall window overlooking the creek. He didn't want her to see him like that.
"Ar, seriously, how can smoke this crap...? It smells worse than a—"
"I'm not in the mood, Dite."
"Hey, what's wrong?" he heard her steps behind him, the rosy floral scent mixing with the tobacco in the air. "I thought you'd be happy... You've wanted this child so much..."
"She didn't want it."
"She panicked, and then calmed down and decided she wanted it."
"No, Dite, you don't know her like I do. She didn't want it, and she —"
"She kept it."
"Yeah, telling herself it's not the child's fault who the father is or other crap along those lines."
"What does it matter? She wants it now — she was scared to death when she thought she could lose it!"
He frowned, thinking back to the events of the afternoon and realizing his sister was there to witness it all.
"Yes, I saw you guys at the hospital. And yeah, I know you hate it when I snoop, but I was scared, too, okay? And by the way, Ar, kudoz for admitting your fault and apologizing — she tried to hide it but it really hit the spot, babe; I told you, that's the way to earn trust."
"What are you on about?"
"When you apologized for being an idiot."
"Oh, gods..." he rolled his eyes, his sister's happy giggle resounding in the background.
He refilled his glass, taking a hit of the newly lit cigarette. "She doesn't want to be with me, Dite."
"Honey, she already wanted to be with you months ago!"
"Oh yeah? Well, not enough to try to keep herself alive."
"See, that's the problem — you try to force things to be your way, and then lose it and act like an idiot when it hits the—"
"What the fuck is wrong with me not wanting her to die?"
"Absolutely nothing—"
"So, I'm not following..."
"Look, I don't get it either, but it's her philosophy — if you wanna love her, you have to respect it and let her do her thing. I'm sorry, Ar, it's the whole package. It's either this or back to how it used to be."
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" he threw his head back in a growl. "I'm so fucking fed up with it I just fucking can't...!"
"But I don't think you'll have to worry about it for the time being... Maternal instinct is the strongest force in the universe."
"I don't know, is it? She lives alone, has no one to take care of her, and she could hardly stand on her own today — and she'd still refuse to let me take care of her…"
"Gods, you don't get it..."
"What again..."
This was getting exhausting, he needed a break. Hopefully she was still asleep on the terrace. Well, he locked the entrance door from the inside anyway; she would hit the roof if she knew, that was for sure. But he couldn't take any risks here.
"Okay, I'll switch perspectives for you. I'm in love with a guy, we hit it off, and then he goes no contact for 3 months and only shows up when learns I'm pregnant—"
"I didn't know she was pregnant, I went to her when I felt something was wrong—"
"Yeah, well, the result is the same — you show up — the guy shows up, discovers I'm pregnant, and wants to get back together like nothing happened..."
"So?"
"What do you mean, so? Gods, you are so thick sometimes... Wait! Lemme finish — so, to answer your question — I would totally tell the guy to get lost! Like, if I love him, I want him to wanna be with me, not show up after months and wanna be with me just because I'm pregnant with the child he always wanted..."
"And how the fuck do you think the guy would feel if he saw you went to kill his child behind his back—"
"I know, hon — I'm just—"
"'Cause I don't think three months is enough time to let that one slide, you know?"
"Ar, I am just telling you how it looks from her perspective — you disappear, ignore her when she tries to call you and tell you she's pregnant — yes, I caught that one, and don't you roll your eyes at me — and then you show up out of the blue months later and want to move in with her — like, honey, think about it... Not to mention throwing Julia in her face every time you had a chance. From her point of view, you're in it for the child you've always wanted from her. That's why she'll keep her distance and she has every right to. Unless you change her mind. Talk to her, tell her your side of the story, and listen to hers. And babe — don't yell."
He let out the air from his lungs in a loud swoosh. Aphrodite was right, they needed to talk, and he had to make her understand why he disappeared; he loved her, for fuck's sake, pregnant or not. So simple. Why the hell couldn't he just come up with it himself? What was so hard about something so obvious that — but whatever, he knew what he had to do. The anticipation was eating him alive. He had to go.
"Thanks, Dite."
"Anytime, babe. And Ar — break up with Julia. Don't sigh, don't roll your eyes. It's the right thing to do."
"Bye, Dite!"
He stared at the rose petals falling to the floor where his sister stood just seconds ago. Oh, for fuck's sake... No, he couldn't be thinking about Julia now. First things first.
A while later he materialized himself on the terrace downstairs.
And she wasn't there.
Swallowing, he let out a breath, forcing himself to calm down. She couldn't have left. The doors were locked. The bathroom. She was probably being sick.
When he discovered she wasn't in the guest bathroom either, he closed his eyes to localize her. Somehow, in the momentary turmoil, he completely forgot he could do it.
Fishing the ringing phone out of his pocket, he frowned seeing the screen. No fucking way. And what the hell was up with her calling him like that? It wasn't like Julia at all.
And then he found her. With his heart up in his throat, he stepped onto the black fur rug that took up almost all of his bedroom floor, and stood there in awe.
Stopping himself from snapping his clothes off and joining her, he sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake her. She stirred and turned, squinting at him.
"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."
"It's okay, I'm about to be sick anyway," she uttered sleepily.
"Well, thanks."
They both chuckled simultaneously.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking you to the bathroom, what does it look like?"
"Ares... I'm capable of walking on my own."
"Too bad, cause I kinda like carrying you around."
She rolled her eyes, but didn't fight him.
"Thanks, can I have some privacy now?" she raised an eyebrow at him, amusement playing at the corner of her lip.
Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes in mock-exasperation, flashing her a grin before closing the bathroom door behind him.
Gods, it was good, it was fine. If he made her smile like that, there was a chance they could make it to have a talk and make her change her mind about staying.
He snapped himself to the upper-floor suite as a sudden idea dawned on him.
#
She was still in the bathroom when he came back, so he headed out to the terrace for a smoke. The phone vibrated in his pocket.
Godsdammit, what the hell?
"Yes? What is it? I can't talk right now, I'll call you tomorrow."
He hung up just when he heard the steps getting near. Fuck, if she heard it — he was fucked. And oh, he was going to hear about it.
Turning around, it was a deja vu; her on the terrace doorstep, her hair wet, the thin beige towel wrapped around her. His eyes stopped at the visible roundness at her waist, his heart skipping a beat.
"Xena... we need to talk."
"Yes, we do."
"We do?"
He didn't like the tone of her voice.
"You just said so, didn't you?" she said in a way that left little doubt as to whether she knew who just called him.
He took a long breath, but it was hard to stay calm when he saw how pissed off she was.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" she asked, in the unsettlingly calm manner that irked the shit out of him.
How the fuck did she even do that? He was a God, for fuck's sake, and she was just a grain of sand of his immortal existence, and even now, even wearing nothing but a fucking towel, she made him feel like a kid who fucked up real bad and was now in for hours of hell with his parents.
He had to change the dynamics here if this was going to play out in his favor.
"It wasn't what you think."
"What?"
"Well, it was, but it doesn't mean anything. She doesn't mean anything."
"Your personal life is not my concern."
"Xena—"
"Co-parenting doesn't involve me knowing who you fuck and what it means to you."
He squeezed his eyes shut. Not losing it now was close to impossible. No, he couldn't afford it, not at this stage, no. This was doable, he just needed to take breathers, and remember what he learned in therapy — she's saying that cause she's hurting, he needs to address the hurt and fix it. And maybe tell her all that — throw her off guard.
"I know you don't mean it, Xena."
"Wanna bet?"
"You're hurt, so you're trying to hurt me in return."
He waited for it to settle in; just as he thought, it stunned her for a while. She expected verbal combat and sharp retorts, not psychological insight and understanding. Take that, Xena.
"I wanted to hurt you, too. I wanted you to be jealous, I wanted you to feel the way I did when I found out that you and Gabrielle were together—"
"We weren't—"
"Or when you fucked blonde wimps from the Delegate Lounge," he thought back to the time he saw her with the— "Wait, what?"
It was now his turn to lose his voice.
"Me and Gabrielle, we weren't more than friends. And the guy from the Delegate Lounge is my brother, you idiot..."
"What?" And he indeed couldn't feel more like an idiot.
He needed a drink.
Producing the bottle of scotch and a glass, he poured himself one, downed it in one swig and refilled the glass. Placing the bottle on the wooden railing, he lit up a cigarette, took another sip and stared in front of him, into the desert fog densing over the city basked in the warmth of the sun about to set.
"That's why you went no contact..." her voice reached him from very near, too near.
So, she just played him her usual style. It wasn't the first time, only this one hurt on some deeper level, so annoying, unbearable. "So, it was your plan all along, act it out with Gabrielle to get me to leave you alone..."
He put his elbows on the railing for support, her voice soft and sickening in his ears.
"Ares, no... It wasn't deliberate. When you disappeared, I — this wasn't my intention. I'm sorry if you were... well, hurt in the process."
Huffing, he poured himself another glass.
"Hurt in the process? he turned to face her. The pity in her eyes should make him sick, make him livid, but it only made him shake his head with a smirk of disbelief. "Hurt in the process? Well, let's not get dramatic. But hey, I moved on just like you always wanted me to."
He regretted the tone of his voice as soon as her expression hardened. Gods, he was an idiot; got her almost crawling only to fuck it up in one second.
"Sorry about your brother; thought he was your fuck date."
"I figured that had to be why you acted like a dumb asshole. But no, I don't bring my fuck dates to the Delegate Lounge." Her face hardened more, her lips tightening in a grimace.
"She was a business contact! And yes, I fucked her, I fucked her for months to forget about you! And thought of you every time I did!"
"Oh, should I feel flattered or sorry for you?"
"Oh, hell no, Xena, you don't get to be jealous when you didn't give a fuck about me until she came along!"
"Well, I do give a fuck now, so just fucking deal with it!"
A wave of what felt like electric current ran through him head to toes, covering his arms in goosebumps.
This was it, she said it, gods, she said it; she was willing to give him a chance, despite Julia, despite everything. It was hard to fight the urge to crush her in his arms when she was just steps away, her face flushed, so beautifully mad at him. Her chest rising and falling rapidly, she fell into his embrace with a gasp, her hands running up the back of his head, her baby bump between them, pressing into him softly, and he didn't want to cry in front of her again, but blinking caused the excess liquid to spill over. Apparently, the power to make the world tremble at his feet wasn't enough to withstand what this one mortal did to him.
"You're the only one that ever mattered, Xena. You make me feel things... things that drive me insane..."
Her touch was so soft on his face, making a lump grow in his throat.
"I love the way I feel when I'm with you," she grazed his cheekbone with her thumb. "And I see that you're trying to change. But I need to feel safe around you, Ares, to know I can trust you."
"Xena..."
"In every aspect, Ares. It can't work if I have to read through your motives every time."
"She means nothing to me, Xena, she's nothing, it was just—"
"It's not just that. I need your complete honesty, at all times—"
"Xena..."
"And you can't push me. I do things at my own pace—"
"We'll take it slow—"
"And no talk about us working together."
"Not even if it ends up swaying things your way?"
There it was — the confused brow raise.
"Like what?"
"Like keeping the battlefield kids-free?"
Contently, he watched her every little facial muscle morph her expression into one of stark bewilderment. Damn, he didn't mean to ever bring it up, but the sudden impulse won. And gods, the look on her face made up for all the awkwardness.
"You didn't..."
"I did."
"Why...?" her eyes turned glossy.
As much as he loved what his confession did to her, he didn't want to answer. The very admitting to it was well outside his comfort zone.
He expected her to push, but she didn't. Instead, she stroked up and down his upper arm, eyeing him with this tender disbelief that made it all worth it, everything, all of it.
She didn't say anything, and he didn't follow up either, their breaths filling the air like a silence after a storm.
"I swear you won't regret it," he brushed his lips against her forehead, his hand pressing into her lower back.
"We'll see about that... By the way, you do know what a monogamous relationship is, right?"
"A what?" he asked, enjoying her wide-eyed look, grinning as she narrowed her eyes at him. "You mean, it should ring a bell?"
"Don't push your luck..."
"I love it that you're jealous," he whispered, giving her a sultry look.
"I… am… not jealous..."
"Xena, whatever I did — I did it to forget you. I wanted to move on, and nothing worked. I thought if I stayed with someone long enough, I would—"
"Well, it doesn't work like that."
"Oh yeah, and how would you know?"
"You're not the only one who wanted to move on."
A brief image of what her attempts at moving on might have looked like crossed his mind. None of it mattered; she was here now, and she was his.
"Was that jealousy in your eyes?" she teased.
He grabbed her so hard she gasped. "You're mine. If I see you with anyone else, I'll kill him on the spot, for you to see."
He expected various reactions, but what happened next wasn't one of them.
"I'm glad we're on the same page here..." she said, her breath hot on his ear, her hands on him exploring and demanding. She wanted him, wanted to be with him, to be his, gods — it was happening, after all those years, all the games, the bad blood — it was happening — he wasn't dreaming this — she was here in his arms — almost nude and hot for him — and he had no idea how he managed to pull back and halt her.
"Xena... wait, the doctor said—"
"He said no regular sex, he didn't say I can't come..." she nuzzled him like a cat in heat, driving him crazy. "Just make me come, I don't care how," she licked his earlobe, both the caress and the plea in her voice making him delirious.
"Was that what you had in mind?" he nibbled on her shoulder afterwards, not really expecting an answer other than the soft little moans filling the quiet of the room; he loved having her inarticulate like this, relaxed in his embrace for once, not escaping it. If this was how it was going to be between them, it was already worth all the years she took from him.
The sandy walls turned glowy orange in the late sunset light, giving the room the lazy afternoon vibe. He'd seen millions of sunsets, but this one now hit different. His eyes traced back to the woman in his arms, and he touched her head, brushing the dark hair away from her forehead, and it felt so real, so rich, the touch, the smell; he nuzzled her forehead, inhaling the musky, sweaty essence of her, the scent he was never going to lose again, not if his life depended on it.
His life. It was unlivable without her, anyway.
They needed to settle the living arrangements. He couldn't imagine not having her here to stay; he had to act fast to sell her the compromise he had in mind.
As if sensing his thoughts, she opened her eyes.
"I wanna show you something."
#
"Ares..." she sighed, looking around what was practically the smaller version of the downstairs suite but with the terrace facing the other side.
"I don't use this floor, apart from the gym and the studio," he kissed the back of her head and walked to the huge glass wall overlooking the still foggy cityscape. He glanced back to gauge her reaction. She was conflicted, but far from a definite no. He decided to keep the distance between them before saying what he wanted to say next.
"I'm serious, Xena," he said, standing with his back to her. "I'm not pushing, I'm just showing you options. I'd be more than glad if we lived together, but I don't want it if you don't."
Tempted as he was to see her reaction, he forced himself to keep his gaze roaming through the window instead. He probably looked too smug now anyway. "But I want you to feel at home here. And we both need our space. This is practically an independent apartment, got everything you need here. You're more than welcome anywhere else on both floors, but this is just yours — I won't trespass, not unless you ask me to."
She was silent.
"Only the housekeeper will bother you here, but it's just once a week. Though, if you go on puking your way around, we might wanna make it daily," he grinned, sensing her smile behind his back.
She was still silent; he hoped it was a silence of approval.
Slowly, he turned around.
He was quite proud of himself; she might not have expressed it verbally, but seeing her expression assured him that it was a good move to try to make her feel comfortable in his space. He knew it was what he would need in such a situation, and knowing how similar they were, he figured she might appreciate it too.
He smirked, realizing that it was actually one of the things he learned in therapy, and just applied unconsciously. On the one hand, he knew he should see it in terms of progress, on the other — maybe he should be more careful with this reprogramming himself, if it had the power to make him act in such an unfiltered manner. But either way, working on this whole empathy thing was a good call, it seemed to be a good card to play when it came to her.
And not pressuring her into things seemed to work miracles, Aphrodite was right. Though, it wasn't any less miraculous that he was able to go against his nature and pull it off the way he did.
"You work from home these days anyway. Besides, I can give you a lift to NYC whenever you need." He swaggered towards her with a smug grin, he couldn't hold it in anymore. She tried hard not to smile herself; like she could fool him.
"Well?" he seized her hips, pulling her towards him.
"I don't know," she clicked her tongue. "What's in it for me?"
"You mean, apart from living with the man of your dreams?"
"Well, I guess there are worse things than having you as a neighbor..." she paused, her forehead frowning in thought. "Though, can't think of any at the moment."
Looking at her now, at the impish little smile in those blue eyes mocking him mercilessly, he had never been as sure of anything as he was sure that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
"What are you thinking?" she snapped him back to the present.
"Why?"
"You don't look too smart, was just checking if the brain was still there."
"I think you need some discipline."
Sliding a hand over her backside, he smacked her, a bit harder than he meant to. He froze when his eyes met hers — wild with such need that it sent a hot current through him.
"Ou," she uttered in a slow whisper, bringing her face to his and stopping last second to burn him with that gaze from up close.
"Gods, you're unreal," he breathed, torn between the wild urge to kiss her and the compulsion to keep burning in that fire in her eyes. He stroked the spot he smacked seconds ago, patting and rubbing it gently, eliciting the vocal reaction that made it hard not to take her right then and there. He needed to cool them both off before it got out of control.
She licked the corner of her mouth in a way that thwarted his plans in a split second. "Is being disciplined by the landlord a part of the package?"
"Gods, I'll lose it if you don't stop..."
"I love it when you lose it," she grazed her nails down his chest, and he groaned, grabbing her wrists. For a moment, he wondered if it was a reference to their first time; as always, it both aroused him and put him off.
"Xena... let's wait... it's just several days. The doctor said—"
"I know what the fucking doctor said!" she snapped, walking over to the window.
"Well, it's all the more reason for you to stay."
"You can bet that if I stay, it will be for this one single reason only..."
"To sexually exploit me?" he stepped behind her, pulling her against his chest. "I don't know if I'm ready to live with that..."
"Ares..."
"Mm?"
"Are you serious about all this? It's a huge change to what we're used to..."
"Xena, if you think I'm gonna change my mind — I can marry you in front of the Fates right now."
Silence; silence meant different things depending on the context, but it always said a lot.
Was she doubting him, or was she doubting herself? Was she thinking of the time he tried to force her into marriage? What if she couldn't make it to settle down? She'd always been restless like that. He assumed it would be different with the kid in the picture but actually, why should it?
Letting go, he stepped to stand next to her.
"Staying in one place freaks you out, doesn't it..."
"I've never really done it, Ares..." she paused, "not in my real lives."
That much he knew. And it's not like he'd had any prior experience in settling down, either; hell, he'd never even considered anything as absurd before.
There was silence. Then, she spoke, so quietly he wouldn't hear it if he wasn't close. "I've never really been with anyone this way..."
His heart was thudding in his ears. It was the most intimate she'd ever been with him, but the uncertainty lurking between the lines was eating him alive.
She turned to face him, running a hand up his chest. "But it doesn't mean I don't wanna try." Then, briefly, softly, she pressed her lips against his. "But I can't make promises I might not be able to keep."
Of course, it was all she was going to offer him, a maybe. He tried to not be affected, tried to will the hurt away. "No pressure," he said, both the words and his voice sounding awkwardly foreign to him.
But then she kissed him again, and he wasn't able to think of anything else anymore.
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