Till death do us part

(c) 2023 by ihatemilk

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November 2015

For the whole of next week they almost didn't argue.
He learned to bite his tongue; he had to. He couldn't risk getting her riled up again; it chilled him to think something might happen to the baby. But, whether it was because of that, or because she was starting to feel better and they went out more, something changed in her since they'd spent the night at her place upstairs. It was subtle; the way she touched him, the way she held him when they lounged together; and it was charming; she'd never been the cuddly type. Maybe that was why it moved him so. "I could spend a whole day like this," she'd once said when they woke up; he had to go to the ENOC board meeting that morning, but when he felt her cheek on his chest, her supple warmth clinging to his side, he just wanted to tell the world to go to hell; the world didn't even feel real at that moment.

On Monday they went to New York for her work event.

As much as he wasn't thrilled to go – not only was it New York, but damn United Nations on top of that – yet somehow, despite of all that, he was almost even happy to be there, however little sense that made. And he was happy that, contrary to what he half-expected, she didn't tell him to get lost after they landed, and from what it seemed, she didn't seem opposed to him accompanying her to the venue either – not that he wanted to get anywhere near the place, but he wasn't leaving her alone for a second if he could help it.

He announced they were going to Central Park first – his idea – and then laughed at her expression when she realized he wasn't joking.

"Been here before?" he asked; but of course she'd been there, she lived in New York for years.

"No, and now I understand why," she looked around, raising her brows in a frown. He couldn't help but laugh.

"Are you seriously telling me you don't like it?"

"What's there to like?"

"Nature? Fresh air?"

"Oh, that. Oh yeah, look – grass. Look, more grass. Look, here's a tree – damn, you were right…"

He wiped his eyes, catching a breath as the last wave of laughter ebbed. "I fucking love you, you know that?"

"You wouldn't bring me here if you did – oh look, the pond. How exciting," she said flatly, keeping a poker face for seconds but then broke and chuckled herself, joining him. "The stone bridge is cool, though. That makes it a solid – two out of ten overall. Can we go now?"

"You should leave a review on Google."

"I will, to save people from wasting time here while they could be shooting rifles at Woodhaven."

"Gods, I can't wait to go shooting with you…"

"Don't fucking remind me…" she hissed, and he pulled her hand, stopping her.

"You need to be fed," he grabbed her by her waist, grinning, "you get cranky when you're hungry."

"I'm not a damn pet," she grimaced, pulling away and punching his shoulder.

"You are to me," he pulled her close, whispering into her ear, feeling her shiver in response. "Rolling Stones wrote a song about it – I'll play it to you later."

And there it was, her hands on his face, the way she cradled his head and pressed her face against his. "Have I ever told you how damn annoying you are?" she said, her breath hot over his ear.

"Is that your way of telling me you love me?" he teased, pressing his hand against her lower back.

"Why, did I mix up the words?" she teased back.

She'd never told him she loved him; he realized it now, suddenly, and shooed the thought away with a grimace, embarrassed.

"Hey," her voice brought him back; her hand was on his cheek again, her touch soothing, as always. And the look in her eyes; actually, she didn't have to say anything, it was all there. Gods, when she looked at him like that, he would – did she even realize what power she had over him? He hoped not.

Slowly, he leaned in to kiss her, and she closed her eyes; he loved it when she did that, it made him feel she trusted him enough to let her guard down; such a contrast to all the years they'd known each other; the years he wasted on being a clueless idiot who'd only push her away. It now felt surreal, the ancient Greece – like another lifetime. Well, it was another lifetime, technically – before he spent two thousand years in a tomb and woke up a century ago – though, it was only now when he felt he was really born anew, making their past seem more distant than ever. Although, somehow – she did remember his every single fuckup like it happened yesterday. Just the other day, he had to listen to – for the millionth time, for fuck's sake – how she'd once almost killed her mother because of him – okay, so he'd fucked with her mind a bit, got the Furies to drive her insane, big deal – he knew she would snap out of it eventually, and he was right, she did, and all ended well, no mothers killed – but he might be as well saying it to a wall – similar effect, only the wall didn't glare back at him with contempt.

"What are you thinking?" she asked. Yeah, right, like he would open the damn Pandora box again.

"That – as much as you're having a blast – we need to feed you before the meeting. And I need to smoke."

"And I need to sit," she left his embrace, heading towards the nearest bench.

He lit up a cigarette, never taking his eyes off her.

There was this annoying feeling, at the back of his head, in the pit of his stomach, in the background of his every thought; irrational, but he couldn't help it. It would go away once she ate the ambrosia – that much he knew – and which she still refused to do, which was gradually starting to drive him insane. He was restless whenever they were out; his eyes were around his head every time, at all times.

He looked towards where she was staring – the little stone bridge in the distance – and wondered where her mind was at; was she having a flashback from Greece? He wasn't sure why he thought that in particular; maybe because of the pensive look in her eyes. Gabrielle. She never mentioned Gabrielle, but he knew it every time, it was all over her face; and every time, he hated it double – not only did the blonde still creep in between them, but doing so she made him feel like she was pointing a finger at him, silent – he could see it – how she was staring at him, knowingly, with a silent smirk on her face, letting him know that she knew what he knew; that only Xena didn't know.

He shrugged, an abrupt shiver snapping him out of the vision. It wasn't real, it was just his sense of guilt speaking – the guilt that shouldn't be there in the first place – another thing that was wrong with him now that she was in his life. One of many things that were wrong. But, in all honesty, even all of them together didn't outweigh the one thing that was finally right – being able to look at her, sitting on that bench, and knowing that hours from now, he would be taking her home; that she would make him that coffee he liked; that he would then join her on their living room sofa, massaging her feet, torn between looking at her and the TV screen with a UFC fight of her choice on; that they would then shower; he would sit her on the edge of the tub and shave her legs, and take her to bed, where they would make love or read or both, or she would read and he'd start kissing her feet, and go on until she'd toss the book away – and that – there was nothing in the world that would be too much of a price to pay for that.

And there she was, on the bench, the distant look on her face gone. She was smiling. Not at him; she wasn't looking his way. At some people passing her by. He tensed at the close proximity but relaxed once he saw their faces. They were smiling too, looking towards where she was looking – a boy – judging by the color blue – mortals and their ridiculous habit of dressing their offspring either blue and green or pink and purple – he didn't know which hurt the eyes more – speaking of which, the boy was accompanied by a much smaller child wearing the other set of colors – and it looked like he was trying to lift his sister up by her hands, for whatever reason – quite likely because she didn't seem too successful at walking on her own.

He looked back to her. She was smiling, looking like she was about to cry; probably thinking about her younger brother. Lyceus, his name was, back in their other lifetime, where she'd lost him when they were both kids; and she was strong, but he knew she never recovered from it. It was good that she had him with her this time around. Sean. He only met him briefly once – enough to know they'd never be buddies – the very memory of the guy still irked him, for whatever reason – but Sean was important for her. Like Aphrodite was to him.

Aphrodite. Somehow, looking at those kids made him now smile, too.

And then, she got up and their eyes met. And he couldn't just stand there anymore.

"You okay?" he cradled her face, brushing the wetness away with his thumbs.

"More than you know," she shut her eyes, rubbing her nose against his softly, making him wish they didn't have to go to the damn UN thing and could just go home instead. He put his hands on the sides of her belly, the scene they'd just witnessed replaying in his head.

"Xena…"

"Mm?"

"Let's have another child."

"Ares… how about we have this one first, huh?" she said, trying to turn it into a joke, which contrasted with the tears she fought to keep under her lids.

"I know you're thinking the same…"

She closed her eyes, the tears falling; and he knew she felt the same.

"I guess it's good to have a brother," she sniffled, smiling faintly.

"You think Aphrodite thinks so, as well?"

"I'm sure she does. She adores you," she stroked his cheek, brushing her lips against the tip of his nose.

"You know, I recently realized that she's actually the only person in my life that's ever cared about me."

"She's not the only one," she cradled the back of his head.

He felt the knot blocking his breath as her words settled in. "You have no idea what you're doing to me…" he brushed his cheek against the side of her head, because she had no damn idea, really, she couldn't have, and he couldn't tell her the whole truth – that he was neglecting his job and losing his powers as a result – that he hardly even made it to teleport them here. She didn't need more worries than she already had on her plate.

"Would you just fucking stop making me cry?" she softly sniffled into his ear. "It's a nightmare in this cold."

"Let's get you to warm," he put his arms around her shoulders, pressing his mouth to her forehead; her skin was cold against his lips, bringing up the wretched memory of placing her body inside the ice coffin on Mt Etna in their other lifetime; two thousand years later it still chilled him to the bone. He couldn't afford having to go through it again, not now, not ever. But for that, he needed his powers.

They went to grab a bite to eat, and he tried to get the thought out of his head for the time being; she was going to ask, she could read him like an open book. Luckily, her phone rang; it was her brother, so he had several minutes to get a grip.

Roughly an hour later, they were standing outside the damn UN headquarters, in front of the damn knotted-muzzle revolver, once again, only two years later.

What if he hadn't given up on her then? Where would it have taken them? If he'd known then that she had feelings for him, Yemen wouldn't even have happened. But it didn't matter. He was here now, with her, and for the first time in his life, he felt complete. Everything was in place, just the way it should be. He had everything, really; things that he'd longed for but never believed were available, not to him – things, that now gave a new meaning to his life. And nothing, no one could take it away from him.

Instinctively, he looked towards the sound of the entrance door opening.

He froze in his tracks when he saw what she now had to be seeing too.

Walking out of the building, among the little crowd walking their way, was Julia, and there was no room for doubt; the roundness around her waist was unmistakable against the rest of the skinny silhouette. He tried to look to his left but couldn't; seeing her face would kill him now, and there wasn't much life left in him now.

The last time he felt this paralyzed was when he'd seen Xena in a suicide vest. Gods, what a fucking idiot he was – this wouldn't be happening if he hadn't been a wimp back when he was supposed to fix the situation – and it was her damn fault, she'd made him soft in the first place. But none of this mattered anymore, there was no going back from this, from the fucking end of the world about to happen. Never had he wished for reality to be just a dream he would wake up from, a nightmare that would be gone once he snapped himself awake – gods, he'd never wished for anything as much as he wished for it now.

But it wasn't a dream. It really was happening, damn fucking Julia, walking towards them, smiling in a way that made him want to hurl a fireball at her and burn her alive; he had to ball his fists not to.

He felt a pull on his left hand and unclenched it reflexively, a knot rising in his chest when he felt fingers weaving in between his; he glanced down to make sure it was real, that she was really squeezing his palm, stroking it with her thumb. When their eyes met and she tightened the hold on his hand, the knot in his chest spread up to his throat. "I got this," she said with that ruthless confidence that he loved, the calm, smug tone that always meant she had a plan; only that now – which now meant – she wasn't leaving him on his own – she was in it with him – that, he didn't expect. Funnily, it now moved him more than the upcoming calamity. And reinforced him more than anything.

Julia was standing in front of them, and it felt like watching a movie in slow motion, like watching a scene from behind the glass wall, only that he was now in the middle of it, and the only thing he wanted to do was the one thing he couldn't do, and it was starting to feel unbearable. Aphrodite was right; this woman was insane, how had he not seen it? The madness in her eyes was chilling, and she wasn't even looking at him; her eyes were on Xena, and this chilled him to the bone.

"Do I know you?" Xena asked, and he squeezed her hand uncontrollably.

"Not really… but your friend does," Julia smiled innocently, looking at him, then at Xena again. "Julia," she extended a hand, and retracted it hastily when the gesture wasn't reciprocated.

"Julia…" Xena echoed, turning to him. "Is she the one you couldn't fuck without thinking of me?"

He almost choked.

If Julia's eyes held madness before, now they were ablaze.

"Sorry, just trying to put a face to a name," Xena smiled sweetly. "Congratulations on the baby – IVF?"

Julia was trying to put on a fake smile so hard he was starting to feel sorry for her. "No, it was—"

"You're lucky – I heard it's close to impossible to conceive naturally at your age."

He had no idea how he made it to hold back laughter; gods, she was so damn good.

"Would love to stay and chat but am running late for my ultrasound…" Julia said with a fake smile as she moved to pass them by.

"Was nice to meet you, Julia. Oh, and a – just a friendly advice – stay away from my brother, if you know what's good for you."

The mad sound of the heels against the sidewalk was fading until it merged with the city noise; she never looked back.

They were alone again, just the two of them, her hand so warm in his. He squeezed it hard, the urge to take her in his arms fading under the weight of some paralyzing uneasiness creeping in; instead of letting out a breath of relief, he felt his throat contract with fear than was growing at the thought of looking her in the eyes. When he finally looked to his left, she was pale as a ghost.

"I need to lie down," she said hastily, frowning.

He thought about taking her to the Manhattan penthouse but dismissed the idea; they needed to go home. They couldn't teleport with people around, so he snaked his arm around her waist, throwing her arm over his shoulders. "Hold on, we'll just walk around that corner."

It was the first time since she moved in when coming back home filled him with dread. He placed her down on the sofa, stuffing an extra cushion behind her back, producing a glass of water in his hand but she waved it away with a grimace. When she threw her head back with a groan, holding onto her belly, he didn't think twice; he gathered her in his arms and teleported them to the hospital the very next second.

It was a déjà vu; the hospital bed, him at her side, staring at her face, her closed eyes, the frustration, the helplessness eating him alive. After what felt like ages, when he was on the verge of losing his mind, the doctor said the danger was finally gone; the contractions passed once the tranquilizer kicked in. Seeing the calm rise and fall of her chest, he felt his own breath return to normal. Her eyes were closed, from drowsiness, or because she didn't want to look at him; likely both. Her hand felt warm and soft in his; he missed the feel of it on his face, gods, he would give everything to feel her touch on his face now, even if she was to slap him. It would still feel better, anything would, even if she spat in his face, anything would hurt less than this. He squeezed her hand softly; she didn't react.

Feeling his pants pocket vibrate, he reflexively reached for the phone and his breath stopped. The text message contained a picture. An ultrasound picture.

"Hey," her soft voice brought him back to the present. She was looking at him, and her eyes weren't angry, just tired, her hand squeezing his; and maybe the pregnancy hormones were contagious – that had to be it, or he was turning into a woman – but he thought he was about to cry. He broke their gaze in fear his tears would fall.

"Hey, yourself," he brought her hand to his mouth, smelling her knuckles, kissing them. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I'm gonna be sick."

"You can puke on me, I don't mind."

"Don't tempt me…"

"Xena…"

"No," she closed her eyes. "It's fine."

"What?"

"It's okay, we'll talk later."

"No. We'll talk now. She's not pregnant, she's faking it."

"You can't know it."

"I do, I'm sure of it," he said, ignoring the stubborn little voice in his head that claimed there was a big chance it was otherwise.

He closed his eyes when she gave his hand a light squeeze.

"Ares…"

"I'll prove it to you—"

"Don't…" she paused, her breath becoming labored. "Don't hurt her…"

His head felt heavy. This was absurd, this wasn't really happening.

Her lids seemed to be getting heavy, until her eyes closed for good; she was breathing fast and shallow, tightening her hold on his hand as she spoke. "It's your child, Ares – deserves to know you."

For fuck's sake, only her – only she was able to come up with something as fucked up as that – at a moment when she should be either telling him to off Julia or be on her way to do it herself. He groaned inwardly, squeezing his eyes shut as the sinking feeling settled in his stomach. He hadn't been able to bring himself to lay his hands on Julia before; the thought of doing it now – what if she really was pregnant? – but even if she was, so what? – he didn't want this child, couldn't let it ruin his life with the woman without whom his life didn't make sense – and this woman was asking him to let it happen. And he knew her too well to doubt whether she really meant it. He also knew her well enough to know he would lose her if anything happened to Julia now, and this – the thought was making him livid. He had to leave, to get out and vent somewhere; his head would explode otherwise.

"Get some rest for now, I'll be back to pick you up later. Call me if you need anything."

She didn't move, her eyes still closed; either ignoring him or just asleep, he couldn't tell.

Slowly, he let go of her hand and vanished.

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