Till death do us part
(c) 2023 by ihatemilk
_October 2015
She very soon learned that bugging his phone was the worst idea she had in a long time.
Mostly because, just like with everything else in life, small doses didn't do it for her.
What started off as innocent, occasional audio-voyeurism of his arguments with the woman Julia hoped would keep on turning him down, soon turned her life into a series of sleepless, exhausting hours of sexual delirium, of listening to how the man she'd been sleeping with for the past several months now made love to the woman who shouldn't exist, how he held her after, how he told her he wanted to spend the rest of his life making love to her – and other lines that would make her cringe at movies, that now cut deep; the lines she imagined were meant for her, not the brunette.
But the more it hurt, the more she couldn't stop. She would close her eyes and lose herself for hours, imagining it was her he loved in all those ways.
And that he then held her after.
"I love holding you like this..."
It was barely audible, muffled, like his mouth was in her hair, his breath shallow; it was maddening to imagine different ways he had to be holding her to leave them both so breathless.
That particular one cut deeper than anything else; maybe because whenever she tried to snuggle up with him, he would push her away. He said he wasn't a cuddly type.
And the sick self-torture would've went on for God knows how long, but one day something just snapped in her and the words from one of their arguments from several days before ricocheted back and started playing in her head on repeat.
"...she's nothing... she's worthless..."
The familiar word pierced through her head, ringing in her ears, making her heart break for the 16-year-old girl that was never supposed to hear it again, the girl that she failed again. She was worthless, indeed.
She turned off the receiver mechanically. Worthless. You're worthless. She picked up the receiver and sent it smashing against the wall.
"...I ended it... she's nothing..."
Maybe all men were liars. Gutless liars. All married men were. Telling the wife they ended the affair, what a pathetic classic.
She was so sure he was different. But doesn't every woman in love fool herself like that?
And why the hell did it even bother her? She wasn't the one being lied to.
But she couldn't make it to process any of it at the moment.
Like she used to do when she was a kid, she hit the back of her head against the wall several times, letting the pain stun her into soothing numbness as she softly sank to the floor.
#
October 2015
She blinked as the sunlit room slowly came into view.
Like the rest of the place, the bedroom was a sandy cavern and smelled like incense and some woody, musky, animalic notes; like him. But when she reached behind her she only found the pleasant roughness of raw cotton bedsheets.
So, there it was. She came here for a day and now, weeks later, she was disappointed to wake up without him. In a place that, no matter how much she denied it in her head, she could no longer imagine leaving.
As always after she climbed out of bed, she walked over to the window, mesmerized by the view she knew by heart. The sun was high up, but she stopped scolding herself for sleeping in; all the never-ending nausea and fatigue had dysregulated her biological clock and it was pointless to fight it. Besides, for the first time since she can remember, she could actually afford to sleep in without consequences other than feeling well-rested. She still worked — from home — being on maternity leave with a ban on gym drove her mad after two days — but hours were flexible so she could puke or nap whenever she needed.
And him. Sometimes, she looked at him and felt guilty. Before herself, before Gabrielle — because, even if she let herself fall into his trap, she didn't want a way out. Yes, he was still arrogant, annoying the hell out of her, still Ares — but she couldn't fool herself anymore.
And he brought her breakfast to bed.
Though, it did have a downside to it — the food was always accompanied by a glass of sewage water that he forced into her daily. It didn't taste half that bad, but looking at it made her nauseous. She didn't want to know what was in it — whatever it was, it was good for pregnancy – she trusted him with this ever since she overheard him and the doctor discussing the importance of following a strictly balanced diet till the end of pregnancy, with special emphasis on calcium and magnesium levels — since then, she stopped questioning the contents of her plate — the baby's health came first.
She couldn't help being disarmed with how involved and organized he was with everything, including keeping track of doctor's appointments and other details she either neglected or was mostly just too exhausted to think of. Come to think of it, he was actually, surprisingly, just... reliable. Having to supervise everyone else's actions was a strong habit of hers, but he made it redundant with the way he just... took care of things. At first it just puzzled her, then it grew to be charming. In moments like this one, it was a nail to the coffin of her already fragile emotional state.
Sniffling, she downed the rest of the sewage.
To her relief, he just eyed her silently. Her random mood swings annoyed the hell out of her as it was, so she was grateful he stopped asking what it was every single time she cried.
He took the glass from her and placed it on the tray which he then put away on the nightstand, and joined her in the sheets, nestling her in his arms. When he held her like that, it made her fall apart more, and she forgot what she wanted to say, dissolving in the soothing warmth of his embrace.
"This feels so good..."
"Does it? You could've fooled me..."
She stirred to look up at him. He was gazing at her, amused.
Sighing, she put her head back down. "I guess it's just hard to get used to... being able to count on you."
"Is it just me or are you saying you miss the old times?"
She rolled her eyes, sighing. Gods, she even liked his stupid sense of humor.
"This would be so much harder without you," she placed a hand on his chest, brushing the soft hair with her fingertips. He covered her hand with his, squeezing it hard.
"It would all be meaningless without you..." he said in a hoarse whisper, massaging her scalp with the tips of his fingers. She wanted to look up, see his face, but she just wrapped herself around him and sank her nails in his arm to stop the words from leaving her mouth.
A wave of warmth flooded her from head to toe when he tightened his hold on her. "Yes," she breathed, and he moved his mouth from her forehead to her cheek, to her lips, softly at first, then hungrily, rolling her to her side, sinking his teeth in the nape of her neck; and for the next while, the world didn't exist.
It was some time after that her mobile rang.
"Work," she reached for the phone, switching it to mute.
His phone rang right after, and he did the same, surprisingly so — she knew he was supposed to leave a while ago, and judging by how high up the sun was, it must have been past noon already. But she didn't mind it one bit that he tossed the phone aside and adjusted himself behind her, pulling her close. For the next several minutes they just lay there in silence, him stroking up and down her outer thigh, her trying not to wonder what his work call was about.
"How did you end up with the UN?"
She turned to face him, surprised by the sudden question. "It was the closest to our former lives that we could think of."
"Xena, please… I'll never believe you didn't think about special forces."
She drew in a breath, hesitating. She did give up some career choices to have a life with Gabrielle, of course he realized it.
"Navy SEALs?" he asked, making her smile despite herself. He lifted himself on his elbow, looking at her with a smug grin.
"You know me too well," she grinned back at him. He did know her well; and gods, it felt so good now that she didn't have to anticipate him using it against her.
"Dammit, I knew it!"
"A sniper."
"Oh, I love it when you talk dirty," he brought her face to his, planting a few short kisses along her chin. For the first time ever, it felt good to share this part of herself with him. He didn't try to lure her back into his domain anymore, didn't use what they had in common to push her buttons; instead, they could just share it, casually, as a common hobby, and there was no need to sweat about it anymore, and gods, nothing felt better than this.
"You would look so hot with such a long rifle…" he purred, kissing down to her neck, making her moan with how good it felt, all of it, his lips on her, sharing her past with him, laughing and talking guns, and how at ease she could finally feel around him.
"I do look hot with any kind of firearm, for your information."
"Oh, I bet you do… In fact, it's making me hard just to think about it…" he sank his teeth into her shoulder, the evidence of his desire pressing against her hip, making her crave him again.
Once he finally left, she brought her laptop to the bedroom and somehow, despite the recurring nausea and the annoying, distracting longing for him, managed to get some work done over the next few hours.
Work. It made her think back to Yemen, and it gnawed at her gut; women and children, the bombings, children being born into this hell; all while she was sheltered here, in a place the market value of which could house and feed that country for years... it felt wrong no matter how much she tried to rationalize it. But she couldn't be there now, not with the baby on the way. And once the baby was born, there was no way she would come back out there. He would lose it if she even as much as mentioned it. She smiled under her nose; there was something so disarming about how protective he was of her that she couldn't be mad.
And she had to admit it – gods, it felt good not to be doing this alone. To not have to be on the run and watch her back 24/7, with half the Olympian pantheon on her tail. Now it was just him, and he was on her side. He always had been, in a way. In the end, he chose her over his family, letting her kill almost every last one of them. Did he ever miss them? He never mentioned it, and she wouldn't ask. But there was one thing she knew — god or not, he wasn't as tough as she'd always assumed him to be. Sometimes — the absurdity of it brow-raising — she had a feeling he was more emotional than she was. Had he hidden it so well for all those years? If so, he wasn't any good at hiding it anymore, especially when it came to the baby; and this vulnerable side of him softened her as nothing else did. Anger was still his primary reaction to their conflicts and it edged her on as it always had, but whenever she saw hurt in his eyes, when she knew she was the cause of it – and she always was – it was hard to bear.
It was comforting to know that Aphrodite was still around. He did love his sister; there was something so disarming about it. She never forgot the look on his face when she'd found him in a Roman prison cell, when he'd thought he was going to lose his sister forever, the look on his face when Aphrodite was back alive, mortal but alive. Those several months when he'd been mortal, not loving him was the hardest it had ever been. It was only for Gabrielle's sake that she managed to keep him at safe distance. But then, he got his godhood back and was back to his usual self, back to getting on her nerves with his little war campaigns. The last bit didn't change — and she didn't even want to know the full scale of his involvement in current affairs — but there was something about him that had changed; too genuine for it to just be an act.
"...you would be surprised by the change you can inspire in a man... or a god..."
She would've never thought his empty words from her other lifetime would ever gain real meaning; and it wasn't just the way he cared for her, the way he handled her moods, though that alone made her guard so weak it was barely there — but it was what he did in Yemen that tipped the scale — medical aid, keeping children off the battlefield — things he did behind her back, things he was so ashamed of that he'd get aggressive whenever she tried to touch the subject; things that meant there might be a future for them.
It was already after sunset when he she heard the entrance door unlock.
She hated it when he appeared out of the blue, they had argued about it — about how it was a drag to unlock the door eight times a day — until he eventually gave in and started using the door at all times. She'd rather die than admit to it, naturally, but deep inside it never ceased to charm her that he did it for her. Even the very sound of the key turning in the lock stirred her; and no matter how many different reasons she would come up with to explain the warmth spreading in her stomach every time — she very well knew that the reason was only one. He, on the other hand, didn't hide it at all. He always had that look in his eyes, a mix of relief and excitement, and would kiss her like he hadn't seen her in weeks, every time. But he didn't need to know that she missed him just the same.
But then, he would join her in bed or on the sofa and it wouldn't matter anymore.
Like now, when he reached the bedroom, stopping at the doorway. Leaning against the door frame, he stared at her for a while, his face lit up with a smile; she loved that smile, gods how she loved that smile, the one that, in all the years she'd known him, she never knew until recently.
"You look happy…"
"You should see yourself," his grin widened as he sat himself on the bed, reaching for her foot and putting it on his lap.
"Oh gods, don't stop," she gasped as he run his thumbs along the sole.
Then, in moments like this, she would feel guilty again. Being with him felt so good, as nothing ever had. How could she be so happy without Gabrielle? Those thoughts made her heart sink, and roused the part of her that still expected to wake up one day to him being back to his old self, telling her what he'd once said when she was pregnant with Eve, "I thought you might be more naive in your present condition…"
It was already dark when she opened her eyes. She reached behind her and relaxed. They must have both dozed off.
"Ares..."
"Mm?"
She turned around and smiled; he looked so damn adorable when he was sleepy. "I need to get my gun."
"Oh, fuck yes, baby..." he forced his eyes open, blinking, his face lit up with a grin. "From where?"
"The safe at my place in Brooklyn — where else?" she rolled her eyes, stretching her back before climbing out of bed.
"I don't know, you can be pretty creative..." he trailed off as she approached the dresser. Predictably, seconds later she closed her eyes, feeling his breath on her shoulder.
"You know we'll never leave here if you keep walking around naked..." a little shiver run her through when his mouth brushed her shoulder, his hands stroking her hips as she arched herself into him; gods, it was unreal, it was never enough with him. She turned around, giving him a quick kiss on the lips before retrieving the black robe from the chair next to the dresser. He was eyeing her with a clouded gaze, but once she slipped the robe on and tied the belt, the look in his eyes changed.
"What is it?"
He shook his head. "Just a deja vu."
"Mm?"
"I uhm... used to have this dream—"
"Didn't you once say gods don't dream?"
"They don't. I never did... before." He blinked, looking down, clenching his jaw; like he always did whenever he got apprehensive. It was rare to see him so uneasy but when it happened, it disarmed her to pieces. She reached up to stroke his cheek.
"What was it about?"
There it was, again, another sigh, teeth gritting. He wasn't eager to share it. It burned her to know why, but she didn't want to push. "When did it start? The dreams?"
"A while ago. Why?"
"Just curious."
"When you were in a coma," he said, avoiding her eyes. His mouth twitched slightly; it must have been a sore memory for him. Aphrodite mentioned he didn't handle it too well.
She let out a breath, trying to exhale the heaviness that spread over her chest whenever she thought back to it – him sitting at her bed for weeks, only for her to leave him two days after she woke up.
She exhaled, wiping the tip of her nose. How was it possible for him to act so human when he was still a god? There was such vulnerability on his face, the way he parted his lips slightly and then pressed them together, the corners of his mouth twitching in that way that made her chest well up with the urge to pull him close and just hold him; hold him and not let go; not ever.
"When do you wanna go to Brooklyn?" he asked, obviously to change the subject.
"No rush, it's just something I wanna get done."
"We'll go when you feel better," he said, stroking her head, his eyes softening.
"What're the gun laws in here?" she asked promptly, furrowing her brows to mask the wave of emotions flooding her over.
"I'll get you all sorted, don't worry about it."
"And the actual gun laws?" she lifted an eyebrow at him, making him smile.
"They're better than New York."
"Anywhere's better than New York."
"Touche. But trust me, I'll get it done. And no, I won't be breaking the law. I'll just... accelerate the process."
"Now, why don't I wanna know what that means?" she asked, rolling her eyes with a sigh, suppressing a grin. "How long does it take anyway?"
"Give me two days and you're all set."
"Ares... I'm just too tired not to trust you with this..."
"You know, that's a rather asshole way of telling me you trust me."
It was hard not to smile when he was grinning at her like that. "Which is still a huge progress, so you'd better not fuck it up — I'm too exhausted as it is — this child of yours is draining life out of me..." she grunted, putting a hand over her stomach.
"It's because you're mortal..."
"And she's half-blood..." she whispered hurriedly in a sudden realization. "Does that make her immortal?"
"It's not exactly a bad thing, you know?"
She felt her head starting to spin. "Ares — not now."
"We'll have to talk about it, Xena..."
As much as she dreaded it, she knew it was inevitable — the moment when her mortality would become an issue of a now even bigger caliber than ever before. Having her daughter watch her grow old and die — and him? — he was right, she'd never considered his feelings. Somehow, she'd always seen his desire to make her immortal as selfish and shallow — his little whim to keep himself entertained with her presence for eternity. Why didn't it seem selfish anymore?
And then, she looked at him and she knew. Like him, she also had a dream that plagued her for months. She only told him about it the first time it happened, when she'd stayed at his place for those two days after she woke up from a coma. She hardly ever remembered dreams, and only dimly if so, but this one was sharp every time; the smells, the sounds, the shock and ripping pain when the bomb went off, all going white as he poured his godhood into her to keep her alive right before the bullet tore his chest open… It wouldn't have happened if she'd been immortal.
She kept stroking her belly absent-mindedly. "Ares," she looked up at him. "My mortality puts us both in danger."
He froze, his mouth agape. Slowly, he walked over to the chair and sank down onto it, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on her.
"I didn't see it that way before, but now when it's not just the two of us..." she paused, out of breath, the snaps from the dream flashing before her eyes, "...if something happens to me and you give up your godhood to save me, you put your life at risk..."
"Worked like a charm so far."
"Ares, I'm serious."
"Is it because of that dream you once had, when I got shot or something?"
She pressed her teeth together, irked by how dismissive he sounded. "Ares... I keep having that dream ever since." She didn't want to tell him how often she used to wake up sweaty, with his name on her lips.
She couldn't breathe. The car alarms went off all around. She saw her arms and legs, but it didn't feel like her body at all. She couldn't move. So, this was it. She won't see Gabrielle again. Shivering, she flinched at the touch on her arms, but then, forcing her eyes open, she felt a surge of warmth at the sight of him.
"Ares…" It felt good when he held her, and she needed to tell him about Gabrielle when she still could. She couldn't see him anymore, everything went white.
„Gabrielle's still in Aden, bring her to Jeddah..." she whispered, coughing. "Please…" she breathed, before everything blanked out.
And then, he was grabbing her shoulders, shaking her, and she wondered whether they both died.
"Come on, we gotta get moving," he rushed her, and it slowly dawned on her. He gave up his immortality to bring her back…
"What the hell have you done…"
„I'm sorry, Xena — I'd rather be mortal than babysit Blondie."
„Ares…"
„You're not leaving me behind this time."
"I'm not…" she whispered, clutching his head desperately, pulling him close. She knew they had to make themselves scarce as they were out in the open, in the middle of the street, and he was mortal, but she just wanted to hold him and tell him that she wasn't afraid anymore, wanted to tell him they would make it work somehow.
Then, he pulled back, and grabbed her hand to help her up, and it was then, when, in slow motion, she caught a movement on the roof of the faraway building to their right, and, turning her head, she saw the bullet advance inch by inch. She wanted to push him out of the trajectory, there was still time; but her moves were slowed down too, too slow… and then she couldn't breathe, she was holding him and choking.
There was only one other time when a dream haunted her that often; Gabrielle and her dying up on a snowy mountain, on Roman crosses. It had only taken weeks for it to stop being a dream.
"Do you tell me that you love me every time?" his voice brought her back to the present.
"What?"
"In that dream. You said it right before you woke up," he said, cutting her breath short. "I told you that you talk in your sleep..."
She chewed on the inside of her cheek, the heat spreading in her face. "If you're trying to piss me off — you're doing a hell of a job..."
"Come here," he pulled her onto his lap, encasing her in his arms, and her anger subsided like under a spell; it always did when he held her like that. She sometimes hated herself for it, for how his touch made her melt every time.
"Nothing's gonna happen, baby. It's just a dream," he nuzzled her neck, the warmth of his whisper sending a tingle down her back. What he said didn't convince her one bit, but the way he said it, the protective feel of his embrace, it wrapped her in a warm blanket of safety that she hadn't felt in ages. It wasn't that she needed it, but gods, it worked wonders on her nerves.
"Don't worry, you're not gonna get rid of me that easy. But speaking of your mortality..." he pulled back and looked her in the eyes, his tone turning serious. "I didn't want to pressure you, but Xena — there's not a day I don't think about it..." he exhaled, anxiety shimmering in his eyes. "Nothing would make me happier than knowing that you're safe at all times..."
"Is it reversible?" she asked, and saw him hesitate.
"I don't know how it works for mortals," he spoke after a long pause, his voice genuine, honest, slightly anxious. She snaked a hand around his neck, cradling the back of his head. He could've lied, he had a perfect opportunity, she had no way of verifying the truth.
"Xena..." he stroked her cheek, catching the tear she failed to keep under her lid.
"You could've lied, and you didn't."
"See, this is what hanging out with you does to a person. You know, sometimes I really think that you might actually be that bad company my parents always warned me about—"
"Ares, I..." she inhaled through open mouth, sniffling. "I wanna do it."
Suddenly, it was like a bolt hit him. He eyed her with a cloudy gaze, his mouth parted, his heavy breathing filling the silence between them. She ran her fingertips around his face, feeling new tears forming; this time she didn't know why. But when he grabbed her hand and pressed his mouth against her knuckles, his eyes were glossy, too.
"Whenever you're ready..."
"Not yet."
"You have no idea how much it means to me..." he uttered, his breath warm on her knuckles, but the way he looked at her... no, this wasn't selfish — his eyes shone with such gratitude that her chest tightened.
It might not have felt like the right thing to do at the moment, but she knew it was. For their daughter. For him.
For the three of them.
#
But there were moments when he brought her very close to losing it — and some of them so bad that she would have in fact lost it — if it hadn't been for him.
She was in the midst of her last work email for the day, after an hour of them having ignored one another after one of those arguments about — they weren't even about anything in particular, just angry rants that triggered one thing after another, until one of them slammed the doors. This time it had been him; came back after an hour and was now smoking on the terrace, and drinking, straight from the bottle. Sometimes she had a feeling that he did it for a show, to wind her up; but whatever his motivation was, and however she tried to ignore it, the pang of guilt would always sting her eventually, once she calmed down. She hadn't been her best self recently. It was unfair of her to bring up the past as much as she did; it was just hard to stop herself with her hormones all over the place.
"Ares…"
She expected him to ignore her. But he didn't. Lazily, he squashed the stub in the ashtray, appearing in the doorway. She wanted to apologize for earlier, but the words got stuck in her mouth, the post-argument resentment mixing with the need to have him close.
"Let's go shooting together."
There was nothing she missed more than guns these days. And with their more and more frequent arguing, the thought of a shooting range was recently the only thing that calmed her nerves.
"You can't shoot when you're pregnant."
"Says who?"
"Uhm, the doctor?"
"Why, you asked him?"
"Well, no, but—"
"So, call and ask."
Sighing with exhaustion, he rubbed his palms against his face. "Fine, here you are," angrily, he got the phone out of his pants pocket and dialed the number. "Help me out here, doc, will you? My wife would like to know if she can shoot firearms when pregnant."
She closed her eyes, trying to dismiss the fuzzy warmth she felt in her stomach whenever he called her that. With rage subsiding, she suddenly felt empty and disoriented. But then, when he put the call on speaker and she heard how inhaling lead particles might harm the fetus — she felt a new wave coming — the burning frustration of being imprisoned, her life being taken away from her — and she froze, her eyes fixed on her forearm covered in goosebumps. She should go upstairs before it would get ugly, while he was still on the phone. He wouldn't come after her; he respected the arrangement they had. In the last couple of days she'd come to resort to it more and more often.
But it was too late.
"Xena..."
"I can't… I can't do this…"
"I'm afraid none of your favorite pastimes qualify as pregnancy-safe…"
"It's not fucking funny!" she slammed the laptop shut and threw it aside, luckily it fell on the sofa; although in the murderous mood she was in, she really couldn't care less. She missed shooting, gods how she missed it; the pleasant heaviness of a rifle in her arms, pushing back against her shoulder, the finger brushing the trigger, holding her breath — for fuck's sake — gods, she wanted to howl.
"Are you crying?" he leaned in, touching her face, and gods, in that very moment she would gladly shoot him as well.
"Don't touch me," she snapped his hand away, but he grabbed her before she could react, squishing her in his arms. The tears blurred her vision as she wondered what she wanted more, to bite his head off or have him hold her like this forever.
"I need to kill something…" she closed her eyes, out of breath, chill running down her arms.
"That can be arranged without guns. We'll go bow hunting," he rubbed his face against her head. "It's okay, baby, it's just a few months..."
A few months… it's half a year for fuck's sake, she wanted to scream, but the tone of his voice made her break down completely, and she let it go, let him hold her until she was spent.
"Fucking hormones..." she exhaled afterwards, wiping her face angrily. "Sorry you have to put up with this."
"I'm sorry — did you just apologize?"
Gods, he really was a clueless idiot sometimes, there was no other explanation. "You really don't know when to stop, do you..." she breathed in and out through clenched teeth as the wave of rage washed over her again.
"Xena, it's okay not to be badass 24/7, you know?"
"Would you stop fucking psychoanalyzing me?"
"I like it when you're soft around me."
And just like that, he managed to reset her brain before she could catch a breath.
"When I'm what...?"
"When you're... emotional."
"Oh, I'll show you emotional—" she made a move to grab his throat and he half-dodged it, rolling her over on her back, and they wrestled for a while, until he pinned her wrists above her head and his mouth found hers, and for the next short moment she couldn't think of anything else anymore.
"You know it was your tough side that got me hooked, but when I first saw you with Eve... it was when I knew I loved you for real."
She swallowed, feeling her chest contract, her heart coming up her throat as she watched his lips twitch slightly, the memory of him cradling Sophia in his arms hitting her again, with double force, until she had to bite her tongue. "I love it when you're emotional, too," she traced his chin with her thumb, her vision blurring.
He rolled onto his back, sighing. "Well, it's all your doing... You fucked me up like this."
"I'm glad I did..." she whispered, finding his hand and placing it on her belly. "We couldn't be doing this otherwise..."
He drew in a sharp breath when he touched her, but she lost her breath too; seeing his strong hand touch her so gently always made her heartbeat quicken.
"I can't believe it's real..." he said, his gaze following the movement of his hand, "...that she's real…" he whispered, glancing up at her briefly. She blinked hastily, sinking her nails in her palm, covering his hand with her own. At times she couldn't believe it was real either — that he was the father of the child that she wanted more than she ever wanted anything, and that it felt so right it made her eyes well up.
"Xena, I... I've never done it before..." their eyes met again, and he looked at her with such raw apprehension that her tears just fell.
"You'll make a good father," she said, running her fingers along his jawline.
"You think so?"
He sounded nonchalant, but she knew him too well not to see how desperately he tried to hide the impact her words hit him with; and it disarmed her even more.
"I know so," she outlined his eyebrow with her fingertips, watching his lashes flutter. "I knew it when I saw you with Sofia."
"That kid — she really is something, isn't she?" he grinned.
"Ares..."
"Mm?"
"No matter what happens between us..." she said with effort, the knot forming in her throat, "I want our daughter to love you…"
"Xena..." he breathed, blinking.
"I want you to love her and take care of her, and if anything happens to me, you have to promise—"
"Nothing will happen to you, not as long as I live..."
"Ares, nothing is a given. Some women don't make it through the labor even in the best of conditions."
"I won't leave your side for a second..."
"Ares, if you're there, a big chance is that it'll be you who won't make it through the labor..."
"You think a little bloodbath is gonna scare me?"
"Fine, you win," she sighed, and she didn't want to smirk but she couldn't help herself. She inhaled deeply, slowly, the air filling her lungs with calm and some sort of relief; and it felt so good, so light.
"Well, I'm glad we have that settled," he lifted himself on his elbow, leaning in to meet her lips, and kissed her, deep and gentle, the way she never thought she'd grow to love that much; or maybe it was just because it was him; she wasn't sure anymore.
And then, it was like a lightning bolt hit her. She pulled back, catching a breath.
"Fishing!"
"What?" he blinked, frowning.
"We'll go fishing."
"Please tell me you're joking…"
"What? It's safe and it's awesome."
He raised his head, raised his brows, and broke into laughter. "You are impossible, you know that?"
"Is that a yes?"
"Is that spoiling you too much if I say yes?" he dived into her neck.
"No, it's just showing that you love me."
"Good, cause I wanna show you that in every way possible..." he traced his lips down to her collarbone. "Though I would've thought twice if I knew the list included fishing..."
"You're gonna love it."
"Hey — I agreed to taking you fishing, not doing the deed myself."
"You're gonna love it."
"Trust me, I won't," he assured, but somehow couldn't wipe the grin off his face.
#
The brown wooden bar counter ran alongside the ceiling-high windows of the kitchen area. It had five barstools along it and, sitting on one of them now, he realized that in all the years he lived here, he'd never sat here before. How many things had he done for the first time recently? It seemed like the list wouldn't stop growing.
Then, one look at his phone screen wiped the smile off his face. Julia. He placed the phone back on the countertop, face-down. He had to take care of this. She'd been acting weird recently and playing nice was getting exhausting. This whole situation was starting to be a nuisance.
Dimly registering the sound of metal spoon clinking against the ceramic mug resounding behind his back, he kept drowning in the grayness behind the window, compulsively following the drops that kept trickling down the glass in serpent-like patterns, never straight; very frustrating, for some reason.
"You want sugar in it?"
But when he finally looked over his shoulder, towards the soothing sound of the voice, nothing ailed him anymore. "I don't know." He didn't know — he'd only tasted it once before, when he took a sip from her mug the other day.
He loved that black robe on her; short enough to leave most of her legs bare, the silky shine subtly outlining the curves he knew by heart, but, contrary to all logic, the familiarity of which only made him crave her more and more. Was it going to last like that? Would he get bored with her eventually? Would she?
She turned back to look at him, a smile playing in the corner of her mouth. "You don't know?"
"Did you put sugar in it the last time?"
Seeing her smile like that was such a relief in between all their recent fighting. He'd stopped enjoying their arguments a long time ago. If she hadn't been pregnant, most of those would end up being swordfights, but at the moment they didn't have that luxury; all he could do to pacify her was either sex or waiting for it to pass. And, as of recently, after several instances of their arguments turning quite sour, he empirically familiarized himself with the notion of not being in the mood — gods, was he turning into a woman? — which resulted in them spending more time separately. It wasn't her, it was the hormones — but knowing it didn't make it any more bearable, really.
And so, the rare relaxed moments like this one — he came to cherish them as never before.
"Ares — you know I don't use sugar."
He walked over to where she stood by the counter. "Just do it like the last time," he said, kissing her shoulder, breathing her in greedily as she arched into him. "I loved it the way you did it the last time…"
"I love the way you're saying it…" she said in the tone that never failed to raise his pulse. But right now, the arousal gave way to something else.
"And I love what you're doing…"
"Ares, it's just coffee."
"You've never done it for me before."
"I'm glad it's so easy to make you happy."
She went on making fun of him, and he couldn't stop grinning.
Then, she gasped and froze, grabbing his hand and pressing it below her breast, making him freeze as well.
"She's moving…" he uttered out of breath, pressing his both palms flat on her belly, as if to make sure it wasn't an illusion, but the next second he had no doubts anymore. He opened his mouth, but his voice was gone. He rested his forehead on her shoulder, and they stood like that for a while, him stroking her belly, listening to her shallow breath, a sudden rush of fear gripping his throat. She had to eat the ambrosia, he couldn't go on like that.
"Ou," she stirred in his arms, wincing.
"What's wrong?"
"She has a wicked kick…"
"Oh, I can feel that…"
"Trust me, you don't feel the half of it," she winced.
"It hurts that much?"
"It does when she kicks in the ribs…"
"I wonder where she gets that from…"
They stood there for another while, his hands roaming over her belly, her head resting against his shoulder. He wasn't sure what he was feeling anymore, he just knew that he could spend hours like this, and it still wouldn't be enough. He didn't want to go to Yemen today. It was starting to worry him, actually, because it wasn't the first time. And it wasn't just Yemen.
"Ares…"
"Mm?" He loved hearing his name on her lips, even when she said it like this, trailing off, announcing there was a talk coming. Little did he know what kind of talk was coming.
"Why Yemen?"
He almost flinched. "What?"
"Why did you choose Yemen?"
He sighed. "Not because of you, if that's what you mean. I didn't know you were there."
"I know. So, why?"
"Whatever happened to not talking about our jobs?"
"I reconsidered," she said, exactly like… his heart skipped a beat as the vivid memory.
"Whatever happened to not telling me how to do my job?"
"I reconsidered."
"Let me guess — I'm too much of a pigheaded idiot to let me work on my own?"
"Well, I'm glad we have that settled..."
"You okay?" she asked, turning around to face him.
"You already said that… we already had that talk… "
"We did?"
He told her. And she listened, her eyes distant, wistful. Finally, she looked at him, raising an eyebrow.
"I like the way you dream about me," she flashed him one of those wicked little smiles of hers, her palm sliding up his chest.
"So, is this where this conversation is going?" he slid his hands around her waist, stroking her lower back, his fingers grazing the curve below.
"You mean, me losing the robe?" she run her thumb across his nipple, reaching up to trace her fingers along his collarbone. It was enough to make him lose the plot. "Well, being in your company usually ends up this way, sooner or later…" she brushed her thumb along his lower lip, her own lips parting slightly. Gods, how he wanted to ravage her. But he loved it when she teased him, loved it too much to stop her.
"Why Yemen?" she asked, snapping him out of his high. Gods… Yemen was the last thing he wanted to talk about. He was intrigued that she asked about it, but knowing her and knowing where their conversations on such topics usually led, he had every right to have a bad feeling about this.
But she asked. And he couldn't not share it now; it felt too much like the old times to resist. She might not be conquering the world in his name anymore, but the thrill of talking war with her was just as sweet as he remembered it.
So, he told her. Why did she want to know? He had no idea. But, contrary to his expectations, it wasn't to blame him. She seemed genuinely just curious. Having a civil conversation with her on war and geopolitics — it was too good to be true, and about Yemen on top of that… this couldn't really be happening.
"It won't end in a year, Ares…" she said, adjusting herself against the sofa cushions, bending her leg, causing the robe to reveal her thigh in full. He had to avert his eyes if this talk was to go on. He grabbed her foot for diversion, but hearing her purr of approval only made it worse. "Not in a year, not in the foreseeable future—"
"Several months, a year tops."
"For the fights to stop — maybe, for the country to reset the system — not doable."
"How does that make sense, again?"
"Ares, even if you withdraw your support this very moment, it will be decades before any of what you mentioned will have a chance to even—"
"With the Houthis gone, there will be—"
"Gone? What are you gonna do with them, snap your fingers to make them vanish?"
"Why, would you rather blow them up?" he couldn't help himself. She threw him a murderous glare. "With the Houthis gone, there's nothing in the way of forming new government and unified state army."
"The Houthis are just a part of the reason why Yemen was so well-suited for your needs — the country's been a mess for decades…"
"Because of strong anti-government movements…"
"…which the Houthis are just a fraction of," she said impatiently. "Yemen is tricky that way. It's not just one against the other, it's tribes and clans versus the very notion of one centralized government — which you would know if you did your homework…"
"Is this the part when you call me a pigheaded idiot?" he opened his mouth in a grin.
She blinked slowly, raising an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curling up. "We're getting there…"
Clasping his fingers around her ankle, he brought her foot to his mouth. "You know — this is not exactly what I had in mind when I wanted you to make my dreams come true," he said, brushing his lips against the sole of her foot.
"Well, that's all I have for now..." she uttered breathlessly, in a way she did when she was ready for him. He placed her foot on his lap, making her gasp. "But you don't seem too unhappy to me…"
"I guess it turns me on when you patronize me..." he uttered as she teased him with her foot, and he closed his eyes, under the weight of both arousal and some sudden excitement he didn't know the source of. He felt so light, so free. "Xena… if we worked together… just think about it…"
"Ares…"
"If we worked together and you shared such intel with me, I might have played things differently."
"No, you wouldn't, Yemen was the only option checking all the boxes of your mission objective — you would still choose it."
"Not if you convinced me otherwise," he said, opening his eyes to her confused gaze.
It was a long silence; but as far as long silences went, this one was pretty charged. Was she actually considering it? Sharing this part of his life with her would be more than a dream come true… by the gods, he wouldn't ask for anything else, not ever.
Then, listening to her soft grunts as he started working his thumbs against the cushioned part of her foot, looking up her legs and stopping at her belly, he felt that lightness again, and felt that nothing could spoil it, nothing could disappoint him now. Not even if she said no.
"Ares…"
"Yeah…" he sighed, bracing himself for what was to come — a lecture on why he was an asshole for doing the job he was born to do.
"What are those dreams you want to come true?" she asked, sounding half-amused, half-curious, taking him completely off guard.
He constricted his facial muscles, stopping the smile from spreading all over his face.
Weeks ago, he wouldn't have answered, would've guarded his ego more. But at the moment, it all felt so right, so natural; and so much that he didn't care if she laughed at him.
"I want us to have more kids…" he trailed off, touching her belly, enjoying how her eyes widened in sheer terror, "…and a dog… and a house by the sea."
But she didn't laugh. She blinked rapidly, her eyes softening, lips parting, her quickened breath both audible and visible.
"A house — you mean, so we don't have to walk the dog?"
He crawled up her body, brushing his nose along her neck. "I knew it you would catch my drift."
She buried her hand in his hair, guiding him lower, gasping as he reached her cleavage. "About kids, though — you'll change your mind after we have this one, trust me."
He pulled back to look at her. "And that's it?" he frowned, "you're not gonna make fun of me?"
She closed her eyes, smiling. "Okay… a dog — seriously?" she raised her eyebrows, making them both chuckle simultaneously. "Are we gonna name him Horace?" she teased, referring to the mutt he once made friends with when he was mortal, back at her grandparents' farm where he was hiding from bounty-hunters.
"I'm afraid that's not up for discussion…"
"Brings back good memories..." she said, making him scoff inwardly. Good memories, of rotting in the place she hid him at because he was mortal and couldn't fend for himself, brought him there, played house with him for three days and left, with damn Gabrielle of course, leaving him behind, like a dog in a fucking shelter. For the whole following week, he tried to drink himself to death, and failed even at that. If only he had known back then – that there would come a time when she would be his, carrying his child, that he would come home to her… not a word of complaint would have left his mouth for the whole of two millennia.
"Well, I'm glad we have that settled," he said, shutting his eyes. He closed them at her touch, as she stroked along his jaw, but the sudden wave of emotions made his lids too heavy to lift them back up. Was she even remotely aware of what she did to him? Did she feel even just a fraction of what he was feeling?
Kissing her finger that brushed his lips, he forced his lids open and met her gaze.
Maybe she did.
Then, the back pocket of his pants vibrated.
#