Her breath still ragged, she pushed him off.
Throwing her shift on was easy, putting her feet on the floor and trying to stand up — doable, once she grabbed the bedpost for balance. Gods, her head was spinning.
"Xena… what're you doing?"
He jumped out of bed and caught her right before she hit the floor. Scooping her up in his arms, he brought her back to bed. "You shouldn't walk yet. Tell me what you need, I'll get it."
She curled up on the bed with her back to him, just in time before his question made her eyes watery. What was she supposed to tell him?
That she needed for him to stay someone he would soon stop being, and since it wasn't an option, she needed to get the fuck away before she broke down in front of him? Or maybe put it mildly, like, that she thought they could just fuck, but she fell in love with him instead? By the gods, what the fuck was wrong with her?
"It's not anything you can get me," she said quietly.
She could feel his angry stare piercing her through her back. "Xena, why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?" She knew what she was doing as well as he did. But this wasn't a good time to have a heart-to-heart, not when she was such a mess.
"This! Running away."
"I'm just tired."
"Well, you're not going anywhere."
#
What the fuck was up with that? He knew what she was doing. She'd allowed herself to give in, and now that she had her kicks, she was going to run away, suddenly remembering how bad he was for her.
Fuck no, she wasn't going anywhere; not anymore, not now, not ever — not after what he just saw, how she burned to be his in the way that made him close to losing his mind again.
He pulled her by the shoulder to make her face him, but she curled up some more. He sighed and picked her up in his arms, wondering what to do with her.
He glanced over the bed. It was a fucking mess, with or without the blood. The old hag was going to make him wash the sheets again tomorrow.
Securing her with one arm around her back, he swooped all of the bedsheets and bundled them up into a make-shift cushion against the headrest. He reclined in a half-sitting position and pulled her to his chest, one arm around her waist, his other hand on her head.
Amazing, how her body felt so fragile, almost small, without her usual leathers and armor. It made him want to tighten his hold on her.
He felt her shake. Was she crying? There was no sound.
Wrapping his arms tighter around her, he pressed his nose to the top of her head, breathing in.
„I can't do this," she said, sniffling.
„Do what?"
„Can't you see what it's doing to me?"
„What's doing what to you?"
„This. You. All of it."
He almost said something along the lines of how he got a very different impression just minutes ago, but bit his tongue. He didn't want to piss her off. They finally had a unique chance to talk one on one without the blonde-haired interruptions, time pressure and the usual animosity, and she was opening up to him. He wasn't going to fuck it up. Not when it still made sense to try.
„Look, whatever it is, I'm sorry," he said, nuzzling her hair. He didn't know what he was apologizing for, but it felt good to say it; like it lifted some of the heaviness he only now realized he had carried in his chest. And he didn't care if that made him weak in her eyes, not anymore — being with her like this felt too good to care about anything else.
She was now sobbing into his chest and it made him want to hold her even closer; but no close was close enough, leaving him frustrated.
It was strange; so unlike her. This was not the thick-skinned warrior he'd known for all those years. He wasn't sure what to make of it. Somehow, he felt that such weakness should irk him — but somehow, the fact that she let herself be so defenseless in front of him did something strange to him, of which he didn't understand much; like she paradoxically overpowered him this way, made him weak, too. At the same time, holding her in his arms now when she was this weeping mess, it made him feel like she needed him; and this made him feel stronger than ever.
Maybe for mortals, weakness was contagious, in a way.
"What are you thinking?" she interrupted his reflections.
"About how weakness is contagious, when you're mortal," he responded. "And how strange it feels not to be disgusted by it anymore, even though if you keep it company it drags you down with it."
"Drags you down?"
"When you're a god, you're immune to it. It annoys you to see it."
"You look down on it."
"Yeah."
"So, when you saw me cry before, you used to think I was weak and pathetic?" she stated rather than asked, her voice turning bitter.
"I might have. Though, I don't think I've ever seen you cry, now that you mention it…"
She smirked. "And how does it make you feel now?"
He hesitated, briefly assessing the risk of potential further honesty. "It's kinda exhausting. For one part, it annoys the fuck out of me to see you like this," he sighed, "and not know what to do… how to fix it." He tightened the embrace, running his fingers through her hair lazily. "Maybe I should just, I dunno, smack you to snap you out of it, but somehow…" he paused, "I just wanna do this instead."
She sobbed some more; his chest hair felt soaking wet by now. Then, she sniffled and shifted a bit until her face was next to his. "You're doing it right," she said, placing her palm on his chest where it was wet with her tears, and, softly, with a feather-like touch, pressed her lips to his cheek. His chest expanded with something unnamed that felt so fucking good that his eyelids shut on their own.
"Am I?" he asked, his mind hazy.
"You are," she whispered and kissed him again; and he no longer knew what they were talking about; he just knew he needed to—
It was a slow, almost innocent kiss, their lips brushing softly; strange. He held the back of her head, and they only pulled apart when they both ran out of air. It was then that he realized how violently his heart was beating under her palm. Instinctively, he took her hand in his and removed it from his chest, bringing it up to his mouth.
"But this is not who you are, Ares. That's why I need to stay away from you."
"What are you talking about?" he frowned, confused by how little sense her words made. Was it the concussion?
"This is not who you really are. Once you're a god again, you'll be back to being—"
"A manipulative asshole?" he offered.
"That's a light way to put it."
"Still, I'd say that's a bit melodramatic way of saying that I'm a strategist."
"There are things in life you won't get by manipulation and blackmail."
"Xena, everything I got in life I got by strategy — or by force."
"You didn't get me."
"Yeah, apart from you. That was a first."
"Sorry to ruin your life's philosophy," she retorted bitterly. "Ares, that's not how it works when you love someone…"
"Xena, I don't know how—"
"I know…" she interrupted him, placing a soft kiss on the side of his neck. "I know." In the sudden silence, he felt his heart thumping.
"Tell me how to do this," he said quietly, and felt her press her head into the crook of his neck, her body tensing. He pulled away, cupping her face to see her eyes, but she kept dodging him. "Don't run," he whispered, kissing her cheek. Why the fuck was she doing this?
Or, maybe it was just him. Maybe she didn't feel what he did. Somehow, he assumed she did, she just denied it. Maybe she didn't.
He huffed under his breath. "So, you're just gonna fuck me and leave."
"Well, at least I wasn't going to fuck you and kill you,"
His jaws clenched as he shut his eyes, his breath suddenly short. "When I thought I killed you… For the first time in my life, I wanted to just die," he said, his eyes still shut.
"It wasn't your fault, it was the Furies," she said, putting a hand on his cheek. "I'm sorry," she added after a moment. He loved how her arm went around his chest; it made him want to kiss her face. "Ares… you are now just starting to experience your mortality. Things probably feel different than what you were used to—"
"Oh, I've had my share of mortality the last several days, believe me," he interrupted her with raised eyebrows.
"I know, I can see it, and you being like this, it's just..."
He tensed.
Somehow, he'd always assumed that his being mortal would be a perk in her eyes. It never occurred to him it might not be the case. Then again, she'd never spent that much time around his mortal self before, and in just two days she'd already seen him at his most pathetic, to put it mildly.
"Just admit it Xena, you miss the good ol' God of War more that you would've thought," he said, attempting at a joke to cover the feeling of unease creeping over him.
"I was just used to how much of an asshole you've always been is a better way to put it."
"Oh, I miss that too. And hey, that's my personality you're talking about," he said, making her chuckle.
"It was easier to handle you and your predictable pain-in-the-assery when you were a god. Now that you're acting so different, it's—"
"Pathetic," he offered.
"Gods, you can be so thick sometimes… You really don't have a clue, do you..."
"About what?" he stirred, making her slide off his chest a bit.
She sighed, readjusting herself in his embrace. "Ares… remember when, in Tartarus, you told me if you were to be mortal, you could live out your life with me?"
Oh, that he did — it was the most pathetic he'd ever been to try to get to her, well, one of several instances. "Oh yeah, that was right before I decided to grow some self-respect."
She rolled her eyes. "Well, whether you meant it or not—"
"I did mean it, for fuck's sake!" he snapped all of a sudden, surprising himself a bit. But fuck, he was godsdamn fed up with her not believing him.
"Oh yeah, too bad it shortly after turned out to be a transaction to give you a child in return — not to mention you trying your shit on Gabrielle in the meantime," she spat.
He gritted his teeth. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Oh, please..."
He swallowed, taking a breath. "The Gabrielle thing was just to piss you off — believe me, Xena, I'd sooner touch Athena than Blondie," he grimaced, before reluctantly adding, "I, uhm, wanted to — look, I was pissed, ok?!" he fired, seeing her glare at him with a frown. He was pissed off now too; at her, for making him relive the times when he was an idiot, and at himself, for having been one in the first place.
"Fuck, Xena — you have no idea how it felt, okay? To have all those fucked up feelings for you, trying to get through to you, and have you sneer at me the way you did…" He sighed. "I had to get my pride back somehow, so I made a deal out of it… it made me feel less of a loser," he paused, smirking. "Although, it made me lose you in the end," he finished in a lower voice.
She exhaled noisily.
"I guess I knew I'd lose you if I make the demands that I did, but it was easier to stomach you rejecting me for being an asshole than for being a sap I was in Tartarus; that was when I knew you would never respect me if I let myself go soft like that again."
"Too bad you never had the guts to just be honest," she said bitterly.
"I'm sorry, what? Whenever I tried to, you never believed me, until all it did was make me feel weak; and as a god — I couldn't afford that. You wouldn't understand."
"You don't need to be a god to hate feeling weak, Ares. It's like removing your armor when the blade is about to plunge into your chest… no one wants to do that."
He furrowed his brows, taken aback by the striking accuracy of the comparison.
"And that was exactly what you were asking of me, Ares; to remove my armor and be weak for you — and I couldn't afford that, and even less so if you weren't willing to do the same for me."
He was at an impasse. She had just admitted she had feelings for him, but she wouldn't act on them for the very same reason he had guarded his. At least it was finally starting to make sense; although it didn't make it all any less hopeless.
"It wouldn't have worked anyway — we could never work — because you're a god."
"What if we both just drop the blade?"
"The thing is, Ares — when you're a god, you are the blade. That's why I've always had to stay away from you in the first place. I still do."
"Oh, I thought it was because I was bad for you," he smirked, rolling his eyes.
"That too."
"You didn't say it until I reminded you, Xena — I must be losing my touch…"
He felt her shake. Was she crying again? He scooped up her chin to make her face him.
"Are you laughing at me?" He frowned, and dove in to bite the nape of her neck, which made her squirm and laugh more; chuckling, they wrestled for a bit.
Then, his thoughts drifted back to her words from before. "So, wait, what — so — so you're saying it wouldn't work — we couldn't be together — because I'm a god, as in — it could work if I was mortal?" He wanted to make sure he followed her logic.
"Ares… human is more than just mortal."
"Yeah, yeah, human — and that's what all this fucking hell I'm going through right now is called, right? You just said it yourself."
"I know, and I lov— like you this way, but it doesn't matter if—"
He was curious why she thought it didn't matter but that had to wait. Abruptly, he grabbed her and threw her on her back. This whole conversation made him want to devour her.
"Oh, it does matter to me," he panted, diving into her neck, lifting the hem of her shift.
"Ares." She took a hold of his shoulders. "It doesn't matter if—"
"If what?"
"If you're not going to stay mortal."
"You mean, like — for good?" he asked, stunned. He didn't mean to run off in search of ambrosia right now, but getting his godhood back eventually was — it wasn't a matter of question, it was — inevitable. She was asking him to — give up his life for good?
She didn't answer.
He rolled onto his back and inhaled deeply.
He used to think he would've done everything for her, anything.
But maybe there was a limit, after all.
