She must've drifted off for a bit, because when her eyes opened to the exquisite, richly candlelit interior around her, it took her a second to figure out where she was. It was when her eyes fell on the intricately chiseled patterns of the mahogany crib next to the bed that she her eyes widened in fear.

Eve.

She jumped out of bed.

"She's asleep," his voice reached her from behind, from somewhere around the doorway.

With the storm gone, it was so quiet that she could hear the sound of his feet stepping across the stone floor. Somehow, it puzzled her for a moment, that he was barefoot.

It felt somewhat unreal, all of it; even that Eve was really there, nestled in the crib, the little chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm of her slumber; unlike her own heartbeat.

"Do you really think I would do something like that?" his voice resounded right behind her. "Bring you here and hurt your child?"

Her fingers locked on the warm, wooden edge of the crib. Was there hurt in his voice? She turned around; there was, in his face.

"Now you're playing innocent? After all the shit you've put me through over the years?" she said bitterly; more out of habit than anything else. She didn't want to throw the past in his face again; she was tired of it. Or, maybe it just hurt to remember, now that he slipped into her mind somehow, rousing the thoughts that startled her, that should've never been there, that hadn't been there; not until recently.

He was who he was, an adversary, someone who represented what she stood against, the nemesis who made the dark flashbacks of her past haunt her, someone she once gave her life to, back when she hadn't known better. But she couldn't help it, the way he was acting now got to her, resonating with the soft, foolish part of her that longed to give second chances, the part that believed even a monster could change; wasn't she the best example, anyway?

Wasn't he?

He looked aside, blinking rapidly, then cast his eyes down, chest rising; his jaw twitching like it did when he was furious, but there was more, something she couldn't quite pinpoint; something in his posture; some resignation, regret, maybe.

Maybe she was unfair. Maybe it wasn't a game. He did seem different; vulnerable, somehow. Maybe they both felt the same, not knowing how to handle it; maybe he was as freaked out as she was. They never coped with vulnerability well.

Or maybe she just wanted to believe it, that he changed. Maybe it was all there was to it; her trying to fool herself there was goodness in there somewhere, in him; something that would make it less terrifying that she longed for him the way she did.

Maybe she was going insane.

She was definitely was about to right now, with him suddenly charging at her, rage and lust in his face when he closed the distance between them and grabbed her by the waist, so hard it cut off her breath, sending a contraction over her stomach and pelvis, her hands clutching his head, nails sinking into his scalp, their foreheads pressed together.

"You would forgive your worst enemy before you would forgive me, why?" he said, panting angrily; they both were.

"You are my worst enemy…" She whispered on the last of her breath, sighing softly when he lifted her up and carried towards the window, snapping their clothes off on the way.

"I'm not your enemy..." he whispered against her face, the marble surface of the window sill cold against the back of her thighs, a contract to his breath on her skin, hot and wild, his fingers digging deep into the bare flesh, like he meant to leave marks; and gods, how she was dying for him to.

He pulled away, stepped back, taking her in, his eyes roaming over her chest, his mouth parting, eyes hazy with what she was dying for him to say out loud, which she knew he wouldn't, a result of all the times she'd ridicule him when he did, when he told her she took his breath away.

Impatiently, she hooked her leg around his hips, pulling him close, squeezing her eyes shut when he bit into her neck, his hands roaming all over her, claiming and greedy, making her mind blur for those several torturous moments when he teased her, hard flesh sliding around her entrance, the thickness of him making her queasy before, taking her voice away, he slowly buried himself inside her.

"I'm not your enemy… adversary, yes, but not the enemy. And I don't wanna be that, either. Not anymore," he whispered, his voice shaky as they clutched onto each other, his arm tightening around her back.

"Why, you're bored already? Tormenting me isn't fun enough anymore?" she uttered with similar effort, grabbing a fistful of his hair.

"You know why."

"Oh, I do. You're scared for your life, that's why."

"Xena, for fuck's sake… I care about you, dammit…"

"You don't."

"I do."

"If you care about someone, you don't ask for a collateral."

"I'm a god, Xena. And I have everything to lose, my eternal life, my home, my family. Would you risk all that without a guarantee?"

"I would… because it's what you do when you love someone… that's how I know you don't," she said, catching her breath, trying to keep emotion out of her voice. "You've never done a single thing that would prove anything other than—"

"I haven't… but I want to… to make you believe me…" he said, the pace of his thrusts unhurried, lazy almost; his thumb finding her ear, stroking along the outer edge, the gentleness of his touch overwhelming as much as his words, his voice, the heat of him inside her.

"No…"

"If I was lying, it wouldn't be so hard for me to say it to you, would it?"

"Say what to me?" she whispered, a wave of warmth flooding her chest and stomach.

He cast his eyes down, his brows furrowing slightly.

"You don't even have the guts to say it."

"I don't," he said, so genuinely that her breath hitched, that she regretted the contempt in her tone. "Not for you to hear," he added, barely above a whisper.

"Why?" she asked quietly, overwhelmed by how soft and defenseless his gaze was.

"You don't believe anything I say, anyway."

"You only have yourself to thank for that."

"Xena…" he breathed against her throat, her name so soft on his lips, his thrusts growing deeper, maddening; and, no matter how much she tried to scold and ridicule herself for it, no matter how stupid it made her feel, the anticipation of hearing the words she knew were about to leave his lips made her lightheaded, her insides burning, melting. "I don't know how long I have left, but this is how I wanna spend it… feeling that you want me… that you need me… as much as I do…"

Her heart thudding, she swallowed with effort, forcing her eyes shut, willing the tears to go away; why the fuck was she crying? With a quiet sniffle, she pressed her forehead to his shoulder, but it didn't help; when she felt his mouth on her neck, the moisture seeped through her lids, wet drops trickling down his chest.

"What's wrong?" He took her face in his hands, making her face him.

She smirked; what was wrong? Everything. Everything, and — the wrongest of the wrong — the fact that this — him — didn't feel wrong at all — that it felt so right she wanted to cry. "Nothing." She shut him up with a kiss, crushing his hips with her thighs, heat starting to coil in her lower abdomen as he entrapped her in his arms tightly, little currents running down her legs, spreading up to her chest, her thighs starting to shudder as she buried her face in his neck, clawing at his back, breath hitching in her throat.

He cupped her face and made their eyes meet. "Look at me," he whispered, catching air through open mouth, his eyes cloudy, drunk with pleasure; the sight she knew by heart; and which hit so different now, so strong, so hard she felt herself losing it.

"Now…" she whispered, her voice breaking, her grip tightening on his hair; and she didn't need to finish, he knew what she was asking for, and he did, never breaking his gaze, seized her hips and sheathed himself deep inside her roughly; and she didn't know what drove her further over the edge — this, or his throaty whisper and the way his eyes fluttered when his mouth opened and she heard it, the words that caused a new fire to scorch her all over in waves, recurring and never ending, when he then whispered it against her lips, her cheek, her eyelids, until it was all she could hear, all that existed; until something snapped in her and it all poured out, pleasure and pain, flooding her with a force that left her half-conscious in his arms till long after he carried her to bed.

Her lids falling shut, the soothing heaviness of his arm around her, she forced herself to take in the surroundings one last time; the soothing quiet of the night outside, the smouldering embers of the fireplace, the green, silken canopy above their heads, which she could swear wasn't there before. Or maybe it was; she didn't trust her senses anymore. Her mind wasn't reliable anymore.

If it had been, it wouldn't have led her here, into his arms, his bed; wouldn't have let it feel so good to fall asleep on his chest, in a place that felt like — that could've been their home, if they were a regular couple; if he was mortal, if he wasn't who he was, if she could trust him; if their lives were different. If she had the guts to stop lying to herself. If he had the guts to convince her he was worth it.

She blinked hastily, tears welling up in her eyes.

The storm outside; it was gone.