Till death do us part
(c) 2023 by ihatemilk
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Unsurprisingly, he found it hard to focus on work these last few days.
The thought he was going to come back home to find her there — even if she was upstairs in her private quarters — it was still mind-blowing, and got him so stupidly excited he had to calm himself down every single time before entering the apartment.
But that day, he wasn't ready for what he saw when he walked into the usually empty living room.
She was sprawled on the sofa, cheeks flushed, her eyes glued to the TV screen where two guys were beating the crap out of each other; the sight that knocked him out no less than how Khabilov was about to knock out Pichel in just mere seconds. Of course, he remembered — it was a rerun of the Russian's first UFC fight, short and spectacular.
"Nice first-round knockout, huh?" he said, although the sight of her mesmerized him way more than the fight itself.
"Nice? He flipped him over like a rag doll and punched his head into a pulp…"
"The head punches were wicked — and why am I not surprised it's your favorite part?" He walked over to the sofa, chuckling.
"I just appreciate the spirit," she dismissed his comment nonchalantly, raising her eyebrows.
"Why am I not surprised you love MMA?" he shook his head in amusement, joining her on the sofa.
"What's not to love?" she asked absent-mindedly, still consumed by the screen, her face glowy, and he just stared, struggling to find the words.
"I was just thinking the same about you," he said, watching the corner of her lip twitch in response. Gods, he was so in love with her it was dizzying. He wanted to grab her and eat her alive, crush her in his arms, and fuck her till she begged him to stop; no, not fuck her; he wanted to make love to her, love her for hours, bring her to tears, like the night they came back from the pub. He still wasn't quite sure what the tears meant, but she'd never been his as much as she had been that night.
"What are you doing?" she tensed when he scooched up behind her.
"Just following the doctor's orders," he pulled her close to his chest, encasing her hips with his thighs, his heartbeat going wild for some reason, but so did hers. Finally, she eased into his embrace and leaned back, resting her head against his shoulder. Strange, how it felt so natural, as though they did it all the time, even though it was one of the very few things he'd never done in all of his eons of existence.
He ran his hand down her arm, his fingers accidentally brushing the swell of her belly, making him suddenly short of breath. Gently, he let his hand move to the side of her belly.
"Still hurts?" he asked when she gasped at his touch.
"No," she said, but drew in another sharp breath when he moved his hand to the middle.
"You sure?" he queried, moving his hand back to her hip, not entirely convinced as he felt her breath get heavy when he touched her.
Covering his hand with hers, she guided him back to where he touched before. Her heart was thudding so loud he could feel it pulsate in his ears.
"You okay?" he nuzzled the side of her head.
"Mmm... it just feels good..."
"It does?" He let his hand roam down and then up her belly, their shallow breaths intermingling. Gods knew he had tried every single drug that humans had ever invented, but this didn't compare. If this was how it felt to be with her, it was worth every single minute of all the years he spent in agony of being without her.
"I love it when you hold me like this," she pushed back against him, nuzzling his face with the side of her head.
"Oh good, 'cause I love holding you like this," he muttered, burying his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.
"Mmm… I can tell," she purred when he pressed against her lower back.
"Well, this is what you do to me, baby…" he nibbled on her earlobe. She'd always had this effect on him but now, with her body so deliciously curvy, she drove him more crazy than ever. He sighed when she reached back and buried her fingers in his hair, closed his eyes when she ran her fingertips against his scalp. He stroked down from her elbow, past her armpit, stopping at the swell of her breast, making her arch into his hand with a moan.
Her sensitivity to his touch made his blood boil, and honestly, he had no idea how he was going to last those several days without being inside her.
Moving down to the floor, he tugged at her sweats to pull them down her legs.
"What are you doing?" she panted, her eyes clouded, so beautiful, her thigh trembling under his lips. "I'm still bleeding…" she protested feebly.
"I'm gonna lick you clean," he whispered, drunk with the urge to love her with his mouth. She was his, all of her, always, and he was going to show her just how much.
Some of their days were like this.
But just when things were starting to feel alright, Aphrodite would butt in and nag him about Julia.
"Ar, listen to me, please..."
"I don't get it, Dite — what's it to you?"
"Well, first of all, you're being an asshole for keeping her hanging like this—"
"We've never been a couple."
"That might not be exactly what she thinks..."
"And how do you know what she thinks?"
"I'm a love goddess, honey — in case you forgot."
"Fine, I'll talk to her."
"That's what you keep saying..."
"I've been busy!"
"It's important, Ar. For more than one reason…"
"Dite... what's wrong?"
"She's dangerous, Ar."
He laughed heartily; seriously, his sister hadn't made him laugh like that in ages.
"Did you know she killed both her husbands?"
"Aphrodite..." he laughed. "Well, it's a good thing I'm not her husband, then. And that I'm immortal. That kinda gives one a leverage, you know?"
"I've got a bad feeling about this, Ar..."
"Dite, please... I'll talk to her, I will, just stop busting my balls about it daily..."
He loved his sister but she had those moments when she'd get so ridiculous he couldn't believe it.
He would talk to Julia. He was starting to get fed up with constant missed calls anyway. Actually, it was somewhat odd. It wasn't like her. Maybe she really was losing her marbles. Maybe Aphrodite was onto something.
But it could wait.
He now had his plate full of the only woman that mattered.
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And then, some days were heavy.
They still got along pretty well overall, considering her mood swings, but when it got heavy, it was heavy. Sometimes she'd get triggered by something so absurd that he'd just laugh — and regret it the very next second. Other times, she'd bring up shit from their past and when he wasn't in the mood to talk, she'd go ballistic. The two floors were a good thing.
The first couple of nights they slept separately; it was easier to avoid sex this way when it was still unsafe. Then, the bleeding stopped, and they went for the scheduled check-up, where they learned that everything was fine; and the thought of finally making love to her and having her in his bed made his head spin. But then, the way back home was hell — after the doctor had told her that some kind of French cheese that she loved was forbidden during pregnancy — he had to bite his lip not to laugh at how the poor guy's face went pale under her gaze. Then they took a cab to the beach — he figured it might chill her out — she was stuck indoors for the last several days — they sat on the sand and it was nice for a while, until two women walked past, laughing — and she tensed, burying her face in her hands. He didn't ask, he knew; he also knew he had to get used to Gabrielle accompanying them this way. But the unpleasant feeling in his chest wouldn't go away until long after.
Until she said "Let's go home" — and it hit him so hard he had to take a deep breath. It likely wasn't more than just a figure of speech, but hearing her say it — calling his home hers — making him realize it wasn't just his anymore, it was now theirs — it struck him in a way he didn't want her to see.
Then, when they got back, she opened her laptop to a work email — he sneak-peeked it was about Yemen — and he knew, even before she said anything, that he was going to be dragged into this, and hear all about what he didn't want to hear about, the shit that always drove a wedge between; and right then — he was close to just leaving. He should get back to work anyway — he left things unsupervised for days.
"Ares..." There it was, the start of yet another fruitless argument over what would always make them adversaries.
"Xena, please — why do you insist on—"
"Is that — did you do this?" she asked, her gaze fixed on the screen, shock etched all over her face. Gods, no, not again — what the fuck did he do this time? Sighing heavily, he walked over to where she was seated, leaning down to look over her shoulder.
"What is it?" He scanned the text hurriedly; it seemed to be a report on the current situation in Aden. He read through the half when he reached the paragraph about the decrease in mortality rate among civilians. Due to our dedicated staff's efforts resulting in establishing multiple mobile medical centers... Oh, damn it, not this... And those fuckers — they didn't have shit to do with it whatsoever.
Groaning at the screen, he shifted his eyes to her — she was now staring at him expectantly, her mouth agape — and he didn't regret it anymore, fuck it. He sighed, clenching his teeth; he'd rather not comment on it, but from the look on her face he knew she was going to squeeze it out of him, one way or another.
He rolled his eyes, letting out another sigh. "Fine, yes — now can we change the subject?"
Then, he looked towards her; she snapped the notebook lid close and placed it aside on the sofa. She sat still for a longer while, and he was silent. He knew she wasn't going to let it go, of course not; no, she was going to subject him to reliving the embarrassment he felt every time he remembered how she'd managed to guilt-trip him into doing what he did those several months ago.
He was about to tell her he needed to attend a work thing, when she stood up, walked up to him, cradled his face in her hands and kissed him in a way that made all his thoughts disperse into nothingness. On second thought, the work thing could wait.
Kissing her back hungrily, he slid his hands up and down her back, seizing her waist and picking her up to carry her to the sofa.
"No," she broke the kiss, panting. "The terrace."
Gods, the way she said it, the need in her voice, the realization that he could finally have her — it was all too much; stepping out on to the terrace, he laid her down on the sofa, on the damn sofa he'd spent ages on without her, snapped off their clothes and, feeling how ready she was for him, lost his mind completely.
"Why did you do it?" she asked afterwards, when they could breathe again.
"What?" he eyed her, stupefied, his brain still slow.
"Medical tents."
"Why the fuck does it matter?" he groaned, exasperated.
"It does to me."
"Why, so you can feel less guilty about being with me?" he blurted, and regretted it the next second, frowning at how whiny he sounded, and besides — gods, he really had enough of their arguing for today.
But she didn't respond.
Curious, he turned to look at her. He expected to see anger, hostility, but her eyes were so soft.
"You're ashamed of it..."
"It's not exactly in my job description, you know?"
"Ares, what you did — it's — it makes me wanna be with you."
He swallowed, the knot forming in his throat. He still wasn't used to her saying those things; it still cut his breath short every time.
"Well, that makes it a bit less cringy," he closed his eyes, grazing her shoulder with his fingers; realizing it was in fact a lie. But, cringy or not, it was still worth it.
Later in the afternoon, when he dragged her out to the terrace to watch the sunset, under the pretext of smoking, naturally — it was a fact that he never felt as comfortable around anyone as he did in her company, but the God of War didn't watch sunsets — it was bad enough that she saw him cry, and not once — but when they were sitting there, her snuggled up against his side, he couldn't help himself.
"You wouldn't believe how many times I used to imagine it."
"Imagine what?"
"Us sitting here like this," he said.
She was silent for a while; a while that was enough to make him regret opening his mouth.
After what felt like ages, she grabbed his chin, a sparkle of playful mischief in her eyes.
"So... does it live up to your expectations?"
"It's not bad."
"Not bad?" she brushed her finger along his lower lip, before she leaned in and their lips met, sending a surge of hot current through him. His hand glided up her bare thigh, the black silk robe parting when she threw a leg over his lap to straddle him.
"How about now?" She nibbled on his earlobe, making him shiver as he stroked up to her hips, up her back, the black silk under his fingers taking him back to the dream that used to plague him, the dream he never wanted to share with her as badly as he did now.
"That's more like it," he let his hands roam up her chest.
"Is that what you pictured?" she breathed, closing her eyes.
"No. Just sitting here, smoking."
It was so weird, saying what came to his mind, without pre-filtering, and even weirder how good it felt... gods, was he going crazy? What was she doing to him?
"I love it that you're such a sap," she brushed her lips against his forehead, stroking up and down the back of his head.
"And I love your one-track mind..." he whispered, burying his face in her cleavage.
"Oh, I can feel it."
"Gods, you feel so good..." he stroked up and down her hips, seizing her waist, letting her take him in at her own pace, and realizing that really, honestly — all he ever imagined was them smoking here; no wonder she laughed at him.
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"We need to talk," she said one afternoon, when they were lounging in bed after quite exhausting two hours — and by the gods, he loved it how insatiable she was — but that sequence of words never meant anything good.
"What about?" he wanted to ask casually, but was pretty sure it sounded anything but.
"About... three months ago."
"What's there to talk about?" he sneered, sitting up. Seriously, what was there? She hadn't told him about the pregnancy – because she didn't want his child – he didn't want to be reminded of that. Few things hurt as much as this one did.
"What are you thinking?" she asked softly, squeezing his hand in his.
He snorted, shaking his head, the words stuck in his throat.
She pulled him down to lie down next to her, which he did reluctantly, his grudge softening a bit when she cradled his cheek with that soft but decisive touch of hers that always disarmed him.
"Ares, we have to be able to get through rough shit like that, if we wanna make this work," she said, making his heart leap, making him realize that he wanted this — them — to work, wanted it more than anything, and now that she wanted it too, he couldn't ask for more. If reliving his trauma and exposing himself was a price to pay for it, fuck it, it was still worth it. It had to be.
He drew in a breath and exhaled tiredly. "When I saw you enter that clinic… I was afraid I would lose it and hurt you if I go there… by the time I cooled off, I saw you leave the building... I thought I was too late…" he paused, exhaling, trying to shake off the memory clutching at his throat, "If I had gone to you then, I would've killed you on the spot," he clenched his teeth, the old rage and hurt cruising in his veins anew.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that," she sniffled, her palm warm against his face, her touch calming him.
"I shouldn't be surprised you didn't want to have my child," he swallowed, the unwanted memories from their past life flashing before his eyes. "I just wish I hadn't been there to see you act on it."
The air was heavy with her breathing, her fingers sinking into his shoulder.
"When I found out I was pregnant, I… we hadn't seen each other for months..."
"That was your choice."
"What?"
"Xena, you knew what I wanted, the ball was in your court. I told you I was done chasing after you. All you had to do was call."
She swallowed, closing her eyes.
"Did you really think I was going to run after you forever? I spent years doing that, and then months in therapy to fix how fucked up that got me. When I figured you and Gabrielle were together, that was it, I knew I had to remove you from my life," he said, sighing. "But when I saw you in that vest… for fuck's sake — I couldn't let you do it…"
"I'm glad you didn't…" she said.
"Yeah, and the only thing it got me was the never-ending torture of waiting for something to happen to you…"
"Ares… you've always known I was mortal."
He smirked. "You know, when I saw you on that street… it was like you were your old self again."
"The one you wanted back so much?"
"That was what I always thought, but believe me, it totally cock-blocked me to see you like that."
"But you fucked me anyway."
"Hey, I didn't fuck you, it was you who fucked me, and you were a real bitch about it by the way."
"Is that why you put me in the hospital and disappeared?" she asked, a twinkle of amusement twisting the corner of her mouth. "You were sulking?"
"I kept an eye on you for a while after that."
"And paid my year's rent in advance…"
"It was the least I could do… I didn't know if you had means to live, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to get housing expenses out of the way."
"I still didn't get to pay you back…"
"Oh, you have, trust me," he grinned against the inside of her wrist. He pressed his lips to the spot, moving towards her palm, kissing her fingers as her breath got shallow.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you…" she said in a thick whisper, making him look up at her, drunk with her confession.
"Gods, Xena… I spent weeks locked in here, wasted…"
"You did?" she asked softly, sniffling, stroking his face with her fingertips. "Why did you stay away?"
He clenched his jaw, thinking back to why he did stay away, a cold current running him through at the memory of Gabrielle's death and the aftermath. He had avoided her afterwards; he used to tell himself it was to give her time to grieve, but who was he kidding — he wasn't able to look her in the eye for months after; and if she knew why, they wouldn't be here now; he would never see her again. But before that, she would use all the power she had over him to destroy him to the point he would never recover from.
"I didn't think you'd wanna see me," he said, and it wasn't even a lie.
"You would've been surprised..." she let her hand slip down his chest, her fingers combing through his chest hair. So, all this time when he was dying, trying to forget her—
"Xena, why didn't you call me?"
"Why didn't you?"
He opened his mouth, raising his eyebrows. "Well, fair enough."
"Luckily, the Delegate Lounge happened and the problem solved itself..."
"Gods, what a fucking nightmare that was... I couldn't get you out of my head for months."
"Served you right."
"I'm glad we met in Yemen, though. The second time."
"The first time wasn't all that bad, either," she kissed the side of his chest, making him close his eyes, taking him back to Sana'a, the stale-aired cellar stuffed with TNT; the memory as much arousing as it was cringeworthy.
"I wish our first time was different, though..." he grunted, feeling her mouth on his neck.
"I thought we've already made up for that…" she uttered against his parted lips, breathing heavily under the touch of his hand roaming up her chest.
"I wanna spend the rest of my life making it up to you…" he breathed before claiming her lips, making her moan into his mouth, making her struggle for breath as he went on to devour her softly. The rest of his life; she wasn't going to give him that, not unless she changed her mind about immortality. But now was not the time to busy his head with it; the time would come.
The pesky thought lingered, though, refusing to leave even long after, making her nude body feel so fragile in his arms. She could take care of herself like no one else, that was unquestionable, but in today's world none of it mattered in the face of a well-placed bullet.
He tried to fight off the thought as the drowsiness made his lids heavy.
"I wasn't ready to be a mother," her voice jolted him fully awake.
Blinking, he eyed her in sheer bewilderment. "What...?"
"That's why you saw me at the clinic. It wasn't really about you. I mostly just didn't think I was fit to be a mother."
"Why on earth would you think that? You were—"
"Yes, back in the old day, when life was simple. Ares… this time around, I'm not quite who you remember me to be…"
"What do you mean?"
"After you brought me back at that damn conference, I had to start my life over from scratch, and I didn't even know where to start... by the time I got it together I was on my first mission in Africa—"
"Darfur…"
"Darfur, Congo, Sierra Leone… And you know that I'd seen all the faces of war there were to see back in the day, but what I saw there over just several months… I never thought anything could break me like that. I got back to New York for several weeks, and Gabrielle got sick and we uhm…" she paused to catch a breath, blinking, "… we decided to take a sabbatical—"
"Got sick?"
"Cancer," she closed her eyes. "We didn't know how long she had left, so when I got deployed to Yemen…" she paused to catch a breath.
"So, you took her with you…" he said automatically, the meaning of her words slowly settling in.
"It was bad by then. Gabrielle was getting worse, and I had to watch kids lose their limbs in bombings day and night when all I could think of was if I'd see her again in the morning..."
He closed his eyes, not wanting her to finish. His chest felt heavy. He should be feeling like this; Gabrielle wouldn't have lived much longer anyway, even without his contribution. He shortened her life by just months, not years.
Feeling her shake against his side made the heaviness in his chest painful. He locked her in a tight embrace and held her until he could breathe again.
"You're sweating…" she said with mild disbelief, her fingers brushing along his forehead, then stroking down his cheek, her thumb brushing his lower lip. He seized her hand, nuzzling the inside of her palm, unable to look her in the eyes.
"It's just a tip of the iceberg of what you do to me..."
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