By LadyKate

x x x

On Saturday, Gabrielle persuaded Xena to celebrate their reunion with an outing to Central Park. It was a sunny day cooled by a summery breeze. As they walked down the path eating ice cream, navigating past parents with children, young couples, boisterous teenagers, and stylish elderly ladies with little dogs, Gabrielle found herself thinking that her friend had changed. There was something different about the way she carried herself, as if being fully aware of her life as the Warrior Princess had given her a new awareness of her body as well. In her faded gray jeans and sleeveless dark green top, Lynn looked both casual and striking, completely relaxed and charged with strength.

"Let's sit," Gabrielle said, pointing to a spot on the lawn not far from a young couple with a toddler and a slightly older boy. They went over and sat down on the bristly warm grass, stretching out their legs and kicking off their sandals. The wind made ripples in the sparkling silky green of the trees, caressed her bare arms, gently stirred her dress. It was a good day to be alive.

Except that, two days ago, she was supposed to be dead; and she still had no idea what had happened. She didn’t want to think about it; not now.

After a brief silence she asked, "If you had a choice, to live now or go back to that time, what do you think you'd choose?"

Xena gave her a thoughtful look. "What about you?"

"Well, there was more adventure, wasn’t there...” She trailed off. She had a feeling that, somehow, her question had struck a painful chord in Xena. Maybe it was because Lynn's -- Xena's -- memories of that life were still, two thousand years later, tainted with guilt. To Lynn Doyle, Xena had been a hero; to Xena, she would always be a criminal. For a moment, Gabrielle’s thoughts drifted to her own new memories: She had killed, not once but many times. Maybe there was a good reason normal people didn’t remember past lives. It was a past that wasn’t truly her own, Gabrielle reminded herself; a different time, a different world. She would move on; but could Xena ever do that?

"On the other hand, we have much better sanitation," she said, trying to lighten the mood. "And cars. Much better than horses. Cars don't have a mind of their own."

"You should have tried driving my first car."

"And ice cream." Gabrielle swallowed the last of her cone and licked her fingers. "And computers. It’s a lot easier to write."

"You did a pretty good job with parchment and quills."

"Thanks. And air travel. Did I tell you I spent two weeks in Australia the summer before I graduated? They have these wildlife parks where you can pet kangaroos and koalas and things… It's kind of sad, you know? To live your whole life and never even know there is such a thing as a kangaroo."

Xena raised an eyebrow. "Tragic."

Gabrielle chuckled and nudged Xena's bare foot with hers.

"And we have movies. And refrigeration. And, and – Band-Aids. Much better than making a poultice."

Xena gave her a mock glare. "Hey, don’t knock my many skills.”

They both laughed; and then the silence between them filled with the din of the crowd, the laughter and squeals of children, the barking of dogs, the chirping of birds, the snatches of music that mingled with the voices. This time everything will turn out all right, Gabrielle thought. She touched Xena's arm.

“We found each other.”

Xena turned to her, a tender, anxious look in her eyes. “And I almost lost you,” she said in a near-whisper.

The silence now had an edge of tension, and Gabrielle could no longer hold back. “What do you think happened to me?"

"You know what the doctors think," Xena said guardedly.

"I know. But does it make any sense to you? I mean, you heard what Artie said…”

“Yeah,” Xena said evenly. “I called him last night. Poor guy, he thinks he’s going nuts and hallucinated the whole thing. Except – I know he didn’t.” She paused and added, “You know, there’s something about him -- ”

Gabrielle glanced at her, surprised. “Artie? What? He’s a really sweet guy.”

Xena shook her head. “Never mind. I – I’m not sure.”

“Anyway, look – it’s not just Artie. I talked to the paramedic who was with me in the ambulance. She said my vital signs were barely there -- she was sure I was going to die. And then it turns out I have no injuries at all? And it was all a mistake? Is that what you think?"

"Well, what am I supposed to think?"

"Xena." Gabrielle gasped and sat up straight. "What if it was -- him?"

Xena met her eyes with a hard stare. "Ares."

"Well, who else? I bet he’s watching you, right?" Xena's expression didn't change. By the gods, Xena, you can be so frustrating. "Maybe he wanted to save me for you. Again."

Xena pondered this, her features softening a little. "But he can't. Remember? With Athena's death, the gods lost the power to heal."

"Oh. Well … maybe he got it back somehow?"

“Maybe,” Xena said curtly.

Just then, it struck Gabrielle how surreal this was: the two of them here in Central Park in 2005 -- Lynn and Jackie, Xena and Gabrielle -- talking matter-of-factly about the Olympian gods, about things they had lived through nearly two thousand years ago. They stared at each other silently until a curly-headed blond girl of about seven, racing from or after something, slammed into Xena with a peal of breathless laughter. Gabrielle gasped in shock and a man shouted, "Watch where you're going, Ashley!"

The girl ran off and they were quiet again, until Gabrielle blurted out, “Have you seen him?”

“Not since Greece.”

“He’ll show up,” Gabrielle said confidently. She realized that she was hoping Ares would be back. In the other time, she had at best grudgingly accepted Ares' place in Xena's life. But now… now, Ares was the only person around who shared her and Lynn's -- her and Xena's -- memories of a world long gone; much as, she suddenly realized, after their twenty-five year sleep in their other lifetime, he was one of their few links to the world they'd left behind. He and Aphrodite... After two thousand years, Ares' love had awakened Xena, the real Xena, as much as she had awakened him. No way he'd give up on her now.

“Are you going to say anything to your dad?" she asked.

Xena gave her a startled look. "My dad… I’m going to see him tonight. I – I don't even know where to begin."

"Would he think you'd gone insane?"

"Actually -- I'm not sure he would."

"Lucky you. My parents would probably try to have me committed."

She tried to imagine telling her parents -- New England college professors, he of economics and she of literature, whose attitude toward any notions of things supernatural was one of bemused irony -- that she had been Gabrielle, Bard of Potadeia, in a previous life. Thankfully, she had been able to reach them on their cell phone before they had picked up the voice mail message from the hospital; she had assured them that she was fine, and had managed to convince them, far better than she'd managed to convince herself, that the whole thing had been some kind of mix-up. She had mentioned nothing else.

Gabrielle sighed and leaned toward Xena, their shoulders brushing. She wanted to ask if Xena thought Aphrodite was still around; but then she didn't want to talk about the gods or about their past anymore.

"Hey," she said, "want to go to the zoo?”

Xena turned her head brusquely, snapping out of the thoughts that had swirled in her mind for the last few minutes: about Ares, about the enigma of Gabrielle’s near-death and recovery. It was as if she had solved one puzzle only to find that it led to a labyrinth of others. But there was no point in dwelling on that.

“It's pathetic,” Gabrielle said. “I've been in New York for a year and I still haven't been to the Central Park zoo. I want to see the polar bears. And the penguins."

"The penguin house smells."

"Aha -- so you've been to the penguin house, Ms. Warrior Princess!"

"Hmm. I kind of like the polar bears, myself."

"You would."

Xena grinned and squeezed Gabrielle’s arm. No matter what else happened, they were together again, and it felt good. "Just think. Back then, we lived our whole lives without ever seeing polar bears or penguins. How did we manage?"

"Well, we can make up for it now. Come on."

"Right. The zoo it is."

She rose and held out her hand to help Gabrielle up; and, together, they walked back to the path.

And then Xena froze for a moment, the breath almost knocked out of her; because straight ahead of them was a tall, muscular, dark-haired man in black leather pants and boots, and a black T-shirt.

But even before they caught up with him, she knew it was a false alarm.

x x x

They were on their way back from the zoo, and walking along Fifth Avenue, when a slender, earnest-looking girl with Asian features approached them holding a clipboard and a stack of leaflets and asked if they’d sign a petition in support of the people of Huandong. The huge letters at the top of the black-and-white leaflet said, “China’s Forgotten War,” and there were grainy photos of ravaged villages. Huandong, a remote mountainous province, had been one of the world's worst danger spots ever since the collapse of the communist regime in China had led to the country's breakup. U.N., Russian, and Coalition troops had pulled out of the region in 2002 after the grotesquely named Spring Festival Day Massacre, leaving it to the mercies of several rival warlords. Gabrielle had recently read an article about it in The New Yorker, by a free-lance reporter who had managed to spend a month in Huandong. It was not a happy story.

As they walked on, Gabrielle said, "You know, this is the kind of stuff we used to fight against."

"What?"

"Warlords on a rampage -- innocent people with no one to help them -- "

Xena gave her a sharp look. "So, what do we do? Steal my chakram from Mario, get you a couple of sais -- brush up on our kickboxing -- and hop on a plane to China to take on a bunch of warlords with machine guns?"

"I don't know. We're still -- the people we were."

"And what’s that? Who are we?"

"Well…” Gabrielle thought about it for a moment. “I'm a bard. Kind of minus the 'battling' part. You … you're a warrior trapped in the body of a college professor."

"Oh, funny,” Xena said. “Very funny.” There was a touch of bitterness in her voice, and Gabrielle wished she hadn't brought up the subject.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” she said. “I’m starved.”

They walked silently for a few moments. Glancing at Xena, Gabrielle noticed that she seemed far away. She put a hand on her arm. "Are you okay?"

Xena sighed. "Gabrielle … it's such a different world. Maybe the time of lone heroes has passed, just like … just like the time of the old gods."

“Well, Ares is still here.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“And that’s a good thing… right?” Gabrielle teased.

"Well, maybe he can help us figure it all out," Xena said evenly, staring ahead.

Suddenly, Gabrielle wanted to laugh; she felt mischievous and young. She lightly punched her friend's arm. "Are you sure that's the only reason?"

Xena turned and fixed her with a mock glare; and Gabrielle grinned at her in response. "I see you still don't do girl talk."

x x x

On the train back to New York, Xena felt restless. The evening had passed and of course she had still told her father nothing. (“You look great,” he had said, and added, “You know, you had me worried a couple of weeks ago”; and she had lied, “Just tired from the trip, I guess.”) She tried to shut out the sounds around her, the snatches of conversation, the empty plastic soda bottle rattling around the floor.

Outside the window, the night was black; as the train rolled on, islands of bright lights shimmered into being and then fell back into the void, dotted with other, more distant lights at the horizon. Her face was reflected in the glass, and for a long moment Xena studied her own features – a face she had seen for so many years, without ever pausing to think of the vague resemblance to murals and statues of the Warrior Princess. She had never believed in fate; but maybe itwas fate that she and Gabrielle were reborn at the same time, had met and gone to Greece together, had freed Ares. And now she was back – and where was he? What if she had scared him off, back in Thessaloniki, and he had given up – on Lynn – on Xena? He wouldn’t, not so easily, not now …

And just then, she felt it, and knew.

All the other sounds fell away. She leaned back and closed her eyes and allowed a tiny, catlike smile to curve in the corner of her mouth.

“I know you’re there,” she said, not caring who else would hear her or what they’d think. “I want to see you. Now.”

Nothing happened at first, of course.

She opened her eyes and watched the doors of the car, the breath caught in her throat.

There was the sound of the vestibule door sliding open behind her at the other end of the car; and there were steps, coming closer. She thought she felt a hot breath brush her hair, making the warmth spread slowly to her neck, her arms –

The steps stopped and the leathery seat creaked and sagged slightly as he sat down next to her; and when she turned her head, there he was.

He was dressed in modern clothes, simple pants and a T-shirt, the familiar pendant a touch of silver on black; his expression a hint of a quizzical smile.

"Hello, Xena," he said.

When she could breathe again, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him or to hit him -- an old familiar feeling.

“About time you showed up.”

He was silent for a moment. “I was waiting for you.”

“I thought I was waiting.”

“You weren’t quite yourself,” he said quietly.

She thought of their encounter at the hotel, that moment when she pushed him away in mortal panic, terrified of herself more than of him. It must have hurt badly, when he had finally found her after all that time. Maybe he had been right to wait -- to let her find herself first.

"And now?"

“Oh yeah,” he said. “You’re back. Don’t you think I’d know that?” He reached out and took her hand, weaving his fingers around hers. “I see you found your little friend, too.”

Little friend. The words jolted Xena back to reality; she had to ask him. “You’ve been watching us all this time, haven’t you?”

“Define ‘all.’ Not every minute of -- ”

She cut him off, impatient. “Gabrielle’s accident. The way she recovered – more like came back from the dead. Did you have something to do with that?”

“I heard you talking about it. Nice of Blondie to give me credit, but – no. It wasn’t me.”

“So what was it?”

Ares gave her a thoughtful look, as if trying to figure something out. Then he shook his head. “Like you said -- my healing powers are gone." His words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and Xena half-expected him to say something else, but he didn’t. He had no reason to lie to her, certainly not about this. That meant the puzzle of Gabrielle’s recovery was still there, still nagging at her. But that could wait.

Xena moved her leg and her sneaker-clad foot pressed lightly against his boot. The sensation was a shock, as if it were her bare skin, alive and hot from his touch.

"I hope you bought a ticket,” she said.

His mouth creased in amusement, the shade of wariness gone. "And if I didn't?"

"I'll have to turn you in to the conductor, then."

"Catching fare-beaters? Hardly a task worthy of the Warrior Princess."

"You should talk. The God of War, picking up girls on the local train."

"One girl,” he said.

x x x

As it turned out, Ares was able to produce a ticket, though Xena strongly suspected that it didn't come from the ticket machine. After the conductor shuffled on, he moved closer and wrapped an arm around Xena's shoulder, and eventually, without even noticing, she relaxed and leaned against him. She thought of a time when they sat like this on a gray rocky beach under a pale sky, and there were waves crashing in cascades of white foam, and a craggy cliff overhead.

Together, like any other couple, they got off the train and walked side by side, past the tired late-night commuters still ambling around Penn Station, out into a city barely cooled by the evening, into a night flooded with bright lights and dominated by green-and-gold spire of the Empire State building. It was there that Xena stopped abruptly and turned, and stared at Ares; and he was just as real as the city around them. He stood still, his eyes locked on hers -- anxious, tender, questioning -- his lips open slightly. Her heart was beating too fast, and there was a catch in her voice as she said, "Here we are… "

When they kissed, it was gentle at first, his tongue barely parting her lips; then they responded to each other's hunger, and his kiss became greedy, claiming her mouth, bruising her lips -- making her want more, filling her with a heat that was much more than mere arousal. Eventually, they had to stop, and when they did they both laughed, breathless and happy. Later, there would be questions to ask, things to resolve. Now, there was only them.

She could have asked him to whisk her back to her place. Surely there was some empty street corner nearby where the sight of two people vanishing in a blue glare wouldn't scare the wits out of some New Yorker who thought he'd seen everything, like the wiry dark-skinned man hawking the late-night edition of The New York Post who now eyed them with jaded amusement. She thought about it for a moment. But instead, she said, "Let's go."

They started down Seventh Avenue. The shops and even most of the restaurants were closed by now, and there were only a few people hurrying along and cars whooshing by; a lonely sidewalk musician with a saxophone, slouched by the floodlit lobby of a bank, was pouring out a heart-tugging jazz tune. She glanced at Ares and wondered what it was like to see the city as he did.

"What do you think?" she said softly.

He shrugged. "It's not what it used to be."

"What is?"

"You know." He glanced at her wryly. "The mortal world."

"Really. Chariots that run without horses -- machines that fly -- all this -- " she swept her arm across the air, indicating the skyscrapers, the lights, the city itself -- "and you're not impressed?"

"Well, that's exactly it. Where's the fun in being a god when any mortal with a gadget can do all that?"

His tone was mocking and nonchalant, but all the bravado couldn't quite disguise the fact that he wasn't joking. It struck Xena that he was far more lost here than she was, a stranger in a world where the ancient gods were nothing more than fairy-tales and tourist attractions. The joy she had felt was dulled by a quiet sadness. But no, she was not going to give in to that, not tonight. He had done this for her, he had found her -- they had found each other -- and the night was theirs.

She stopped and turned to face him, curving the corner of her mouth in a small smile. "Oh -- I'm sure you'll get the hang of it."

Again they faced each other silently. Then, slowly, he brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek, her mouth, her jaw, as if he were a blind man trying to memorize her features, or perhaps to recognize them. Even back in the days when she knew she had to fight him, she could never quite resist that, the way his touch was so light and gentle on her face. She leaned forward and brought her mouth to his.

When she drew back, he looked at her with such dazed adoration that she wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or to cry, or to kiss him again.

"You know," she said, "if I'd known I was going to have a date..."

He grinned, regaining his composure. "Is that was this is."

" -- I would have worn something different."

"Leather?"

"No." She chuckled. "Not leather."

He studied her for a moment and put his hands on her shoulders. The warm air seemed to swirl around her, and when he took his hands away, something felt different. Xena looked down at herself. She was now wearing a slender long dress, red with a slash of black, with a silver buckle on the belt and a small scattering of silver sparkles on the bodice. She gaped at him, momentarily speechless.

"Something like this?" he asked.

"Where did you -- "

He cleared his throat and jerked his head slightly toward the shop window next to them. There stood a mannequin wearing nothing but high-heeled strapless shoes and an onyx bracelet, and a rather insulted look on its vacant face.

"Ares." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Put it back."

"It looks good on you."

"It looked even better before it was stolen."

He sighed. "What have you got against fun?"

"Put it back."

"Okay, okay" -- he sighed and lazily drew a hand across the glass; a burst of blue smoke formed around the mannequin, and when it cleared the dress was back -- or maybe an identical dress, because Xena was still wearing one too. She suddenly remembered how she had come to his temple in a red or maybe even pink dress, and with roses and (good God!) a teddy bear.

"Better?"

"Much," she said, smiling wickedly, advancing on him until his back was to the glass and there was no more than a hair's width between their bodies, a predicament he didn't seem to mind. "Much -- " she seized his lips in a quick, teasing kiss -- "much" -- and another kiss that made him gasp and press into her -- "better."

His arms were around her now, his hand sliding down her back, his lips hot on her face and her neck; and then he whispered huskily into her ear, "You think we're going to be -- some place private -- anytime soon?"

"Oh -- " She pulled back and opened her eyes. A young man in oversized pants and baseball cap turned backwards passed by and gave them a dirty look. Belatedly, Xena caught herself hoping that no one had been around to see all those tricks with the dress.

"Soon," she said. "Very soon."

x x x

After all this, back at her place, they did not rush things. Xena told Ares to wait for her in the main room, and he waited, his excitement a slow burn that felt almost like an odd kind of calm.

He looked around. The room, lit by a pair of bronze lamps -- decorated, rather to his amusement, with bronze statuettes of Xena with Gabrielle and Argo -- was hardly bigger than the main room of that farmhouse near Amphipolis, though admittedly it was in far better shape. His eyes wandered over the walls, bare except for a couple of small paintings of Greek and Roman ruins; the armchair with a pile of books and papers on it; the square desk, with more books and papers. An unruly leafy plant was perched on top of some bookshelves, and there was one of those television boxes that served as home theaters for people these days; and there was also a rather large couch.

Suddenly, he felt ridiculous -- here in this apartment, in a city that did not exist when he had last walked the earth; in an apartment that looked inhabited not by Xena but by Lynn, the half-stranger he had met in Greece. If he could have taken her to a temple instead… He walked over to the desk and saw a framed picture of a younger Xena -- Lynn -- with short hair and a slightly wistful smile, standing in front of some castle next to an older man. Her father, of course.

She was back. Ares turned around and saw that she was carrying a bottle and two glasses, not quite up to the gold- and gem-decked goblets from the old days. She poured out the wine, her fingers grazing his as she handed him a glass. They stood facing each other; and, by the Fates, she was Xena, real -- alive -- so beautiful nothing else mattered. The glasses clinked, and the deep red wine gleamed in the lamplight, and they drank, silently.

The wine had a tart taste, with a hint of sweetness. He thought of tasting it on her lips -- tasting the soft skin of her neck, and trailing his mouth down to her naked breast --

"So," he said, his voice tight. "This is where you live."

Xena drank quickly and lowered her glass. "Yeah," she said. Her eyes looked strangely dark, her parted lips glistened softly, and it dimly occurred to Ares that if he had never seen her before he would have fallen in love with her right now, as she was.

Almost sharply, she reached for the bottle to refill her glass. His mouth was dry, and he took another sip of wine.

"Funny, to think of you living in one place. Especially a place like this."

"What, as opposed to a fortress?"

"Maybe. Or a farmhouse."

She chuckled in response. Then she asked, "Have you been here before?"

"No. I figured I'd -- give you your space."

Her eyebrow arched slightly. "Space? Doesn't sound like the Ares I know."

"Gods can change, remember?" Tartarus -- he was dying here, and she was bantering. He gulped down the rest of the wine and put the glass down on the desk. "I figured if I came here, it would be -- "

"By engraved invitation?" She too put down her glass and came closer.

"Well -- I don't know about engraved -- "

Now she was so close that their breaths mingled, and he couldn't say another word, couldn't go on another moment without kissing her -- couldn't move. He thought he saw a flash of fear in her eyes; and then it dissolved into pure desire and tenderness. Her hand clasped on the back of his neck, and he heard her whisper, "This is an invitation."

With that she kissed him.

He didn't know exactly how they ended up on the couch; only that they kissed for a long time, Xena lying on top of him, his hands moving over her body, sliding under her dress to caress her legs and hips -- sweet Fates -- he was still afraid to believe it was real. She pulled back and pushed up his shirt, and trailed her lips down his bare chest, sucking his nipple, teasing with her tongue and teeth until he bucked under her and clutched at her hair. She pushed the shirt higher, and he helped her along as she got it off him. It was real -- after all the waiting, all the dreaming, it was real, and there was something terrifying about that, too. Once, they had known each other perfectly. Now --

"Come here," he said hoarsely. "Xena -- "

He pulled her up into another frantic kiss, reaching for the back of her dress -- no buttons, just one of those zipper things that opened all the way down -- that was easy -- she sat up to let him peel off the top and it fell loosely around her waist. The black breast-band underneath had some sort of tiny hooks in the back, and, dammit -- he tugged at it, and tried again and was just about ready to give up and make it vanish -- and just then she gave a gasping laugh and arched back to help him and the accursed thing fell away.

He had missed her so, all of her; the sight of her like this, strong and sensual in her supple grace, her nakedness so unashamed and somehow vulnerable -- defenseless -- just like her face was defenseless now as she looked down at him, as she guided his hands to her breasts. The sounds she made were low and soft and maddening, and he wanted more, wanted to make love to her with his mouth and to be inside her and see her eyes blur in delight. She swept down to seize his lips in a hungry kiss, and he slid his hand up her thigh and touched her through her thin undergarment -- so warm, so wet, needing him as he needed her -- now she was kissing his face and lips, quick hot tender kisses that left him breathless -- her fingers tugged at the button on his pants, and again -- more than god or mortal could take.

"Hey," he managed, "I could get rid of this -- "

"Shh -- " she stopped him by slipping her tongue in his mouth, her teeth grazing his lower lip; the button undone, she stroked and squeezed lightly through the rough fabric and he was lost to everything but her touch and her kiss -- her hand fumbled at the zipper and he would have begged for mercy when she gave a frustrated huff -- "Do it."

At his wish, their clothing melted away; now it was just skin on bare skin and her breasts on his chest and his cock pressed against her stomach, the heat of her melting into every fiber of his flesh, overwhelming his senses.

Regaining some control, he moved to flip her over on her back, but she stopped him, her palm flattened on his chest.

"Wait," she whispered, "wait."

He groaned, very near desperation -- "Xena" -- and she silenced him with another kiss, this one gentle and sweet and long; and then she guided him inside her and slid down, and the waiting was over. There was the first exquisite shock of it, and the lovemaking after that -- looking into her eyes, wide and hazy with pleasure -- knowing that no matter what might ever divide them, right now their union was complete -- knowing that it was her, not an almost-Xena who had been her in another life, but his love, his love --

He could feel the shudders in her body, her movements more frantic, her undoing near. "I love you," he said, his voice thick, his hands gripping her shoulders, "Xena -- I love you -- "

"Ares -- " she leaned down to kiss him and he felt her moan vibrate in his throat; and then, moments later, she was crying out, the spasms inside her clenching around him until she took him with her into wave after wave of hot bliss.

Then he lay still, wonderfully drained, feeling the last of her little tremors, enveloped in her warmth. Xena raised her head and looked at him, her face transformed by tenderness.

"I love you," she said.

x x x

"What?"

Xena chuckled softly and sat down next to Ares, handing him a glass of wine. "Nothing," she said. She couldn't really tell him that she was smiling because, looking at him sprawled on her couch like that, she had thought of the phrase, "beautiful as a Greek god." He was naked and relaxed, his arm hanging lazily off the couch, the pose of complete rest somehow only bringing out the power of his form. He was perfect, and something about that made her feel a sudden twinge of sadness. She pushed it away and took a slow sip of wine.

He lifted his arm and touched a strand of her hair, running it through his fingers. She took his hand and pressed it to her face, closing her eyes to bask in his touch, and then brought her mouth to his palm. It pleased her to hear his gratified sigh.

It occurred to her that she -- Lynn -- the woman she had been her whole life -- should have felt awed or shocked at the thought that she had just made love to the God of War. Or maybe crazy. Or reckless, considering that in this life she was only seeing him for the second time ever; the third if you counted the tomb. But there was none of that; only the quiet knowledge that everything was as it should be.

Well, not everything. She was hungry, for instance; and the thought of leftover pasta or slightly stale bread and cheese was singularly unappealing right now.

"I'll be right back," she said.

In the kitchen, there were some slightly withered yellowish grapes in the fruit bowl. They'd have to do.

When she returned to the living room with the grapes, Ares gave her an amused look. "What's that?"

She sat down next to him and put the plate down on the coffee-table. "Grapes," she said, a little defensively, as if she was going to stand up for the honor of supermarket fruit.

"Grapes," he repeated; and then, at the casual motion of his hand, the tabletop was buried under a heap of grapes, green with a blush of gold, fresh and bursting with ripeness. Even that didn't come as much of a shock. Ares looked at her, a wry smile twinkling at the corner of his mouth.

"There," he said. "Those are grapes."

"Hah." She took a grape and slipped it in her mouth, savoring its taste. "Icould always order pizza, you know -- "

"Don't look at me," he said placidly. "I don't do that stuff."

She smirked, picking another grape off its stem; and then she found herself thinking of the fortress where they used to spend their nights together, and of moon-glazed rocks by the sea. But that was long past.

She picked up the remote control and turned on the television.

" -- fighting has resumed after a three-day truce -- " said the blonde anchorwoman, and Xena felt a vague unease nudging inside her -- "after rockets fired by Eritrean forces killed twenty-five people in the Ethiopian village of Kuchu. Please be advised that this report contains graphic footage that may be distressing to some viewers."

Tensely, Xena glanced at Ares. She remembered it too well -- how, waking up in bed with him once, she saw him watching a battle in a portal -- the flare of torches in the night, the gleam of metal, the dark glitter of blood, the cacophony of horses' neighs and human screams and clashing swords -- and that awful look of pleasure on his face as he looked on -- until the sight of a wounded man in mortal agony sickened him, changed as he was by his own time as a mortal. Now, his eyes were half-lidded and she could see nothing in his face. Somewhere, a part of her was afraid, again.

The CNN reporter in Kuchu was saying something about the attack while people scurried back and forth behind her. There was a shot of bodies on the ground, and blood -- and an Ethiopian soldier in khakis, with a machine gun slung across her muscular shoulder and blood on her face, gestured angrily and spoke in agitated broken English.

And then the screen switched to, of all things, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers whirling around a dance floor in sparkling black and white, to the gorgeous music of "Cheek to Cheek" -- and I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together --

Startled, she sat up, and then saw Ares' hand on the edge of the couch, his finger twitching, and realized that he had changed the channel.

"I didn't know you liked musicals," she muttered.

He gave her a mocking look. "Right."

She took a deep breath. "Back there -- " She gestured toward the screen where, at the moment, Fred was dipping Ginger. "Did it -- "

"Xena." He sat up next to her and put his arm around her, and as always she shivered at his touch. "These aren't my wars."

Dance with me --

She tossed her head. "You feel -- nothing."

I want my arms about you --

"They're not even my kind of wars," he said emphatically. "Funny thing…" He was touching her hair. "The rule of the old gods fell and -- the love and peace thing didn't really work out, did it."

"People have free will. At least they're not being manipulated by -- some god with an oversized ego." She said it with just enough of a playful touch; but it still brought back echoes of the time when, even as her lover, he was always her adversary, the God of War. Then she felt a tug of guilt: he had done all this so they could be together -- and now, they were -- and here she was, giving him a hard time over something she'd made her peace with a long time ago. Two thousand years.

And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak --

She squeezed his hand, lightly stroking his palm with her fingertips, and he chuckled and kissed her shoulder.

"No -- usually just by some mortal with an oversized ego. Big improvement."

When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek…

And now there was only the melody pouring out, beautiful and too sweet and heartbreaking. She grabbed the remote and changed the channel again.

" --really big story of the day," said a bright-eyed redhead in the studio of some late-night entertainment show, and the screen filled with an image of the blonde, curly, beaming Venus Madison -- "is Venus pregnant?"

For some reason Ares reacted to this with uncontrollable mirth. Xena gave him a startled look while the peppy voice went on, "Our favorite screen goddess, who's been having a whirlwind romance with hunky co-star Tom Reese, has been keeping to herself for over a week -- "

And, in a flash, it was so obvious that she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before.

"Aphrodite."

"Yep," he said, and Xena found herself laughing with him. Aphrodite as a Hollywood diva … well, it actually made sense. It was about as close to being worshiped as the Goddess of Love as one could get these days.

"I guess that means she's not pregnant."

"My sister? I wouldn't put anything past her."

"Does she know you're -- "

"Oh yeah " -- he sighed dramatically -- "nothing like family reunions. I thought I'd never get away long enough to see you."

She shook her head and grinned. It was good to know that Ares had found his sister here in this world, just as she was there once to keep him company on an Olympus left deserted by the Twilight; and, despite his flippancy, she knew he was glad too.

The television flickered out, and they sat together quietly. Those images from Ethiopia (may be distressing to some viewers…) forced themselves back into Xena's mind, and she thought of her conversation with Gabrielle in the park.

"Ares… do you think the time of lone heroes has passed?"

Ares turned and looked at her. She wasn't sure why she had asked him; there were things she couldn't expect him to understand. He touched her cheek lightly, his eyes searching her face.

"Don't," he said softly. "Not tonight."

He leaned closer and took her in his arms, drawing her toward him. She closed her eyes, and when his lips brushed against hers and then captured her mouth, she didn't want there to be anything else except the tender warmth of this kiss. The fever inside her rose again, and spread, making her arch toward him. She reached down to touch him but his hands locked gently on her arms, easing her down.

"Just -- lie back," he said.

She sighed and closed her eyes, running her fingers through his thick soft hair as his kisses trailed down to her breasts.

x x x

She spent a fevered, half-remembered night; dozing off in his arms, in the bed where they had moved at some point, and waking up to make love again -- basking in the touch of his hands and mouth and his body against hers -- responding with her own caresses, and loving his shudders and the sounds he made; his whispered words hot on her skin. She slept and dreamt of him, wild dreams in which they faced each other as both enemies and lovers, in anger and in joy -- their blades clashing in the Furies' temple, their fingers touching on a ravaged mountaintop as she looked into his bruised mortal face -- his hands sliding up her thighs as she sat on his altar in a red dress -- and then she woke up next to him and they reached for each other again, dream and reality dissolved in the dark colors of night.

Some time before dawn she must have fallen, finally, into a deep sleep; because when she woke up, lying on her stomach, there was day streaming in through the curtains, and she squinted at a sunspot on the beige wall and wondered for an instant if last night had been real -- and then his hand lay on her back, flat and warm and heavy, and it was good.

Xena turned and looked at Ares. The sunlight glittered in the dark hair on his chest and lent his face a soft glow; or maybe it was the hint of a smile in his eyes, in the slight curve of his mouth. It came back to her, then, how much she'd always been moved by that look of quiet happiness in his face: because it was not a look one would expect to see in the face of a war god; and because she loved him. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, a short tender kiss that held the promise of more, and then pulled away to look at him.

"Good morning," she said.

He touched her face, a hint of mischief in that near-smile. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," she said. "Not much. But well."

Ares chuckled and drew her back toward him, until her breasts were pushed up against his chest. "Come here."

As they lay still, looking at each other, she became aware of the aching protest of the muscles in her back, and realized that she could no longer ignore the other demands of her body.

"Hold that thought," she said.

In the bathroom, Xena looked at herself in the mirror. She could see the traces of his hard kisses on the skin of her neck, on her bright, puffy lips. She bent down to splash water on her face, and felt its fresh trickle on her chest. There seemed to be something different about the self that stared back at her from the mirror; her eyes seemed bluer, somehow, her hair darker, her features stronger than before. Or maybe she was just seeing herself with different eyes. She touched her fingertips to her reflection in the cool glass.

"Xena of Amphipolis," she whispered.

She came back to the bed and stood over Ares, smiling down at him. He lifted a hand and slowly traced a line up her thigh and her hip, and she shivered with pleasure, still wanting him --

And the phone rang, and rang again, its shrill sound startling and insistent.

"I could zap that thing," Ares said nonchalantly. "Or -- you could ignore it."

"No," she said, flustered. "No, I -- "

As she picked up, she heard Ares say, "Great. Now she can interrupt even when she's not around"; and, sure, enough, it was Gabrielle's voice at the other end.

"Xena?" Gabrielle sounded apologetic. "Am I, uh -- interrupting?"

"Interrupting what?"

"Well, uh … I -- I take it you're not alone."

"Wait … how did you -- ?"

"No, I'm not psychic." Gabrielle laughed nervously. "You'll never believe who's here."

"Aphrodite,” Xena said, much to her relief.

Ares shot her a look of mock disgust and rolled his eyes.

"She said Ares -- well, she said you and Ares -- "

"I don't think I want to know what she said."

"Well -- she kind of wants to come over. Right now. Are you, um -- is that okay with you?" After a brief pause Gabrielle continued, embarrassed, "Look, I'm sorry -- it's just, you know, if I hadn't called -- she was all set to -- no, Aphrodite, wait -- "

She trailed off, to be replaced by a familiar voice and silvery laugh. "Hey, Warrior Babe!"

"Hi, Aphrodite."

"Tell Ar to stop glowering. Noooo, I'm not watching you but I know he's glowering, so tell him to cut it out. Look, I'm like so happy for you crazy kids, okay? So don't tell me I can't come over and, like, congratulate you in person. Come on, it'll be fun -- just like old times -- you know?"

"Give us … give me fifteen minutes," Xena said, resigned. "I was just about to take a shower."

Aphrodite giggled. "Sure you were. Okay, okay. I'll give you some room. Fifteen minutes."

The phone clicked off. Xena put it down and gave Ares an amused headshake. "Blame your sister."

"Oh, believe me -- I do. But at least she didn't just show up sitting on the bed."

He rose and stood facing her, and they embraced again and wouldn't let go, breaking a kiss only to dive back for more, covering each other's faces and lips with hungry kisses that both answered their yearning and made it more acute.

"We'll have time," she whispered. "Later."

He gave her an odd look, then touched her cheek and nodded. "All right."

She wondered what he was thinking.

x x x

By the time Xena came out of the bedroom, presentable enough in jeans and a T-shirt, her hair still damp, Gabrielle, Aphrodite and Ares were already waiting in the living room. It all looked like a shockingly ordinary scene -- except that Ares, sprawled casually in an armchair, was in his leathers and twirling a dagger, which caused Gabrielle to cast nervous glances in his direction. Aphrodite, perched on the couch next to Gabrielle, wore a spangled yellow-and-green monstrosity with a puffed skirt and a tiny top that probably cost more than all of Xena's possessions combined.

"Warrior Babe!" She rose to greet Xena with a perfume-drenched hug. "It's so good to see you! Come here, sit with us -- have some breakfast, brunch, whatever -- "

She pulled Xena toward the couch and sat her down in the middle, and waved at the table which now displayed a steaming coffeepot along with an impressive array of pancakes, pastries and donuts.

"Good grief," Gabrielle said. "My cholesterol level is going through the roof just looking at this."

"Honey -- " Aphrodite bit into a donut and giggled -- "you can'timagine how good it feels to be the only chick in Hollywood who doesn't have to worry about weight gain."

"Speaking of which," Ares said, "what's this about you being pregnant?"

"As if! Not that I mind the rumors, of course -- nothing like a bit of mystery to help you in this business -- "

"You have no idea what a scare she gave me," Gabrielle said, gingerly taking a pastry. "I mean -- I come in and there's Venus Madison in my living room."

Aphrodite laughed, shaking her blonde curls. "What, you were expecting Brad Pitt?"

Ares adopted an air of conspicuous boredom and materialized a good old-fashioned goblet of wine in his hand, from which he sipped slowly, occasionally glancing at Xena.

"So," Xena said. "Hollywood. You found a way to be a love goddess after all."

"You bet. And hey, not for the first time, either! Come on, guess." She tilted her head playfully. "Nineteen-forties, fifties -- "

Exasperated by their denseness, she huffed and shook herself slightly; the air around her seemed to shimmer softly, and then she was someone else – a subtly different face, different body, a different shape of blond curls. It was Gabrielle who gasped, "You were Laura Manderley?"

Aphrodite laughed, satisfied at last, and with the same quick shake and shimmer turned herself back into Venus Madison. Xena had never been much of a fan of 1940s and '50s movies, but it was impossible not to know Laura Manderley, the pop culture icon and sex symbol; a scene in the 1952 movie Beauty on the Beach in which she emerged from the water with the top of her swimsuit half off was considered extremely daring for its time.

"So -- you didn't actually die in that boating accident!" Gabrielle exclaimed.

"Well, d'uh!" Aphrodite rolled her eyes. "I mean -- I totally couldn't have them wondering why the fabulous Miss Manderley wasn't growing any older, right? So what was I supposed to do, age gracefully and, like, play Cary Grant's mom? Eww -- gross!" She laughed and reached for another pastry. "But -- a movie star in her prime, lost at sea … ooh! The tragedy -- the glamour… I am such a visionary!"

"My grandma said she cried for days when you died," Gabrielle said accusingly.

"Aw, honey -- " Aphrodite patted her hand. "That's sweet."

"Honey, that's sweet" -- Ares made a face. "Can't you two have your love-fest some place else?"

"Ar, come on. This is like a reunion. You and the Warrior Babe -- me and my friend Gabby – you know, we go way, way back, don’t we, Gabs?”

Way back… Watching them, Xena was truck by a sudden thought, so obvious that she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it until now. All along, she thought that Ares might have healed Gabrielle. But what if –

"Aphrodite," she said. Something in her voice made Ares turn and look, and actually stopped Aphrodite's chatter.

“Yes, babe?”

"Three days ago, Gabrielle was -- in an accident. A bad accident." She spoke steadily, trying not to think of how it could have ended, would have ended, if not for -- what? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gabrielle flinch. "And then she just -- recovered. As if by divine intervention." She paused again. "Was it?"

"Honey, don't look at me!" Aphrodite laughed. "I couldn't have done it if I wanted to. I mean -- not that I wouldn't have wanted to if I could, but -- well, you know what I mean." And then to Gabrielle, "What happened? Don't tell me you got hit by a car or something!"

"Yeah," Gabrielle muttered. There followed an awkward silence. Gabrielle fidgeted, sighed, and poured more coffee into her cup, which jangled slightly on the saucer. Then she shifted her eyes to Xena and Aphrodite, her lips twitching as if she were working up the courage to say something.

"I-it's happened again," she said finally.

Xena froze, knowing, in spite of herself, exactly what Gabrielle meant. "What?"

"You got hit by a car again?" Ares asked genially and clucked his tongue in mock disapproval. Xena shot him a sharp look.

"Sweet pea," Aphrodite exclaimed, "you gotta be more -- "

"Look," Gabrielle said resolutely, getting up. She looked around, marched to the kitchen and came back a moment later with one of Xena's stainless-steel knives, and before anyone could say a word she slashed, wincing, at her index finger.

"Gabrielle!" Xena cried, leaping to her feet, and Aphrodite let out an "Owie!"; but Gabrielle held up her finger and said, "Watch." The crimson liquid swelled and began to drip ("Gross," Aphrodite complained), and Gabrielle picked up a napkin and wiped it off, exposing the whitish edges of the small wound; and then, the skin began to turn pink and whole, the cut healing before Xena's eyes as if it were nothing more than makeup erased by a wet cloth. She had seen this before, she realized: on the immortal Callisto.

"I cut myself in the kitchen last night," Gabrielle said. "And, well -- then it was just -- gone."

Ares stared at her intently, and then gave a slight nod as if he understood; and Xena whirled around on him, a sudden suspicion flashing through her mind.

"You." Her voice shook a little. "You made her immortal? Because you want me to be im- "

Their eyes met and she broke off in mid-word.

"No," he said heavily.

"Whoa" -- Aphrodite tossed her head -- "major trust issues, bro," and Xena felt guilty.

"Guys?" Gabrielle said in a small voice. "Am I -- am I -- immortal? Immortal as in -- eternal life?"

"Sure looks like it, sweet pea. What a trip, huh?"

"Aphrodite … wait." Gabrielle held up a hand, pleadingly. "This is all a little -- disorienting. How could this just -- happen?"

Ares studied her, thinking something over. "Back there in the crypt, when you two" -- he cleared his throat -- "woke me up. You didn't look around and take anything from a hiding place in the rock, did you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The crypt. Under the temple." He spoke as if explaining something to a small child. "The wall of the cave, by the entrance. You happen to take anything from there and -- you know, pop it in your mouth?"

"Of course not!" Gabrielle said indignantly, as if Ares had accused her of filching a piece of candy. "Why -- what was in there?"

"Ambrosia," Ares said matter-of-factly. "I put a stash there, just in case -- " he trailed off.

"In case you needed a pick-me-up?" Aphrodite teased.

The realization hit Xena with a blast of hot desert air, and when that first moment passed she was dry-mouthed and soaked in sweat. She leaned on the bookshelves, almost knocking over the plant. I could have stopped her.

"The water," she whispered. "I'm -- I'm so sorry, Gabrielle."

The three of them stared at her in shock, and then Gabrielle managed a stifled, "The -- water?"

"The water," she repeated dully, hearing her voice as if it came from somewhere else. "It must have gotten into the water. There was water dripping from the rock, next to the doorway -- some kind of hidden source -- spring… and you gathered a bit of it in your hand and drank. Remember?"

The look on Gabrielle's face told her that she did, and she was heartsick.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I should have stopped you…"

After a moment Gabrielle asked, "Do you think that's even possible? I mean, for the ambrosia to get into the water like that?"

"Well, what else could it be?"

"Okay," Gabrielle said mechanically. She walked over to the couch and sat down, her face blank. She picked her coffee cup and took a few slow sips, then put it back on the table. Xena walked over and sat next to her; but she didn't know what to say or to do.

"Come on, little one." Aphrodite beamed and squeezed Gabrielle's shoulders. "I know it's a shock at first, but once you -- "

"Am I a god?" Gabrielle interrupted.

"No!" Xena blurted out, taken aback by her own vehemence. Ares looked at her, and she couldn't tell if his expression was sympathetic or bitter.

"No," he said. "You're just immortal."

x x x

As the subway train hummed along, Gabrielle stared at the murky reflection of her face in the window, where the dark walls of the tunnel were streaked with lights. She tried to understand what she felt, and came up empty.

Aphrodite had offered to take her home before zapping off to Los Angeles to shoot a commercial for her new perfume, "Venus"; but she had refused, and had also declined Xena's offer to go home with her. There was something oddly comforting right now about riding the subway by herself, just one person among others in a half-empty train on a Saturday afternoon. One person among others; except that they would all die -- the blue-haired old lady in an impeccably tailored suit, the teenagers in baggy pants yelling and laughing at the other end of the car, the balding potbellied man in the gray T-shirt, the brown-skinned, doe-eyed little girl in the frilly pink frock -- and she wouldn’t.

Her eyes fell on a copy of The New York Times someone had left on the bench next to her. "Supermouse Heralds Longevity Breakthrough," said a front-page headline. Almost mechanically, she picked it up. A team of scientists had succeeded in breeding a mouse with a lifespan almost twice as long as normal. The supermouse, sitting on the hand of a smiling middle-aged woman in a white lab coat, was staring from the page with a befuddled look. Twice as long as normal. Gabrielle choked back a bitter laugh.

Deep down, she realized, she had never quite abandoned the childlike belief that she would live forever. Now, she had suddenly found out that she would, and her reaction was a numb disbelief. Forever.

Unbidden, the memory of her final moments from her other life flashed through her mind. She had gone East, hoping to find Eve and tell her of her mother’s death; and, while traveling through Ch’in, had offered to help defend a village from a warlord. Maybe the truth was that a part of her had wanted to die; or, at least, that her will to live had weakened. She remembered a battle in the night – red lanterns that made the rainwater run like blood -- the harsh face of a warrior with a thin, black, long mustache, and hair pulled tightly in the back of his head -- the clanging of swords and the patter and splash of water -- a long hard battle, and the wet chill of the night, and her own stinging cuts and aching muscles -- and a part of her not caring anymore. There was a glistening blade slashing through the rain; and that was it. At least it was quick -- a warrior's death, quick and in battle, and for a good cause. At least she did not see her body afterwards. She shivered and hunched her shoulders.

Two thousand years ago, Ares had offered Xena immortality at his side, and Xena had refused, knowing that if she accepted she would lose a part of her cherished humanity, a part of what made her herself. And now, Xena was still mortal but she -- Gabrielle -- Jackie Lyons -- had had immortality thrust upon her, without a chance to choose. It hit her suddenly that Xena would grow old and die, and she would have to spend eternity without her; or maybe, like Ares, resign herself to searching for Xena reborn into another body, another person. The stab of pain at this thought jolted her out of her half-stupor. She sat up straight and shook her head, as if she could just toss away the knowledge of what had happened. An eternity without her. Unless, of course, Xena --

To distract herself, she picked up the paper again, skimming past a full-page report on the congressional scandals, an analysis of the upcoming elections in Egypt and a piece about the fruitless manhunt for the elusive "King of Hackers." There was an op-ed column titled "The Shame of Huandong." Gabrielle thought back to her conversation with Xena the other day. Could they, somehow, pick up their old life in today's world, fighting evil and war, defending the helpless? An eternity of what?

The train pulled into Seventy-Second Street. It wasn't her stop yet, but at the moment walking twelve blocks seemed like a better idea than sitting on the train and brooding. She rose so brusquely that the blue-haired lady gave her a startled look.

Outside, the city lived; the sky was a soft blue and the buildings on Broadway were bathed in the bright sunlight, and living forever felt almost right. Gabrielle stopped, letting the warm summer breeze caress her arms and ruffle her skirt. "Beautiful day, huh?" said a dark-haired bearded man in his thirties as he passed by; and suddenly, in the middle of the noisy street, Gabrielle felt completely alone. The sunlight seemed to fade, though the sky was still cloudless. As she crossed the street and walked uptown, she wondered if she would ever be able to take anyone else into her life.And Xena… Ares was sure to try, once again, to persuade Xena to accept immortality. Would she agree this time, fearing that if she didn't Gabrielle would face an eternity alone? Her heart beat faster as she walked. She shouldn’t have left Xena alone with Ares now, not without talking to Xena first -- she couldn't let Xena do that for her --

Preoccupied and restless, Gabrielle almost missed her block. She stopped and took a deep breath, and told herself to get a grip. Xena knew what she was doing.

She heard the phone ring when she was opening the door and raced to get it, almost tripping on the rug.

"Hello, dear."

It wasn't Xena.

"Hi, Mom."

"How are you?"

"Uh -- fine. Fine," she said again. "I just came back from Xe- from Lynn's. How's -- everything with you?"

"Are you sure you're all right? You sound agitated."

And then she blurted out, "Something -- really weird just happened."

She regretted it instantly. After a pause, her mother said, guardedly, "Oh?"

I'm immortal. Oh, and I was Gabrielle of Potadeia in a previous life. No way.

"I, uh -- I just met this girl on the subway and -- and she said she was sure knew me at Wellesley," she lied furiously, "and I -- I didn't remember her at all." Her mother was clearly waiting for more, and she continued, "She said she was in my Homer seminar. E-except she thought my name was something else. Gabrielle," she added in a flash of inspiration.

"And that's all?" Her mother sounded both puzzled and relieved.

"Yeah." She felt flushed and sick with shame. "I don't know, mom -- it just really freaked me out. Sorry."

"Really, dear, you're overreacting. It's perfectly normal for people to get mixed up about these sorts of things."

"Yeah … I'm sure you're right."

"Well, if you ask me, I think you're under a lot of stress," her mother said authoritatively. "What with that trip to Greece, and the Xena book -- yes, I know, it's wonderful and exciting, but I think it's taking a lot out of you -- and that accident, and those stupid people at the hospital -- well, you know what I mean. You really should come out here for a while. The weather's beautiful, it's so much better than being cooped up in New York -- "

Gabrielle promised to come over for the Fourth of July and stay a few days, and then they talked a bit about the book, and ("speaking of Xena," her mother added) about the Amore e Guerra DVD that her parents had finally gotten to watch, and about the Renoir exhibition in Boston. Her mother mentioned, in a somewhat accusatory tone, that her ex-boyfriend Simon (the boy two doors away) had just been promoted to Northeast regional director for the Environmental Defense Fund, and she said, "Oh, that's nice." After she hung up, she wondered what she should do next. She walked aimlessly around the apartment, then sat down at her desk and turned on the computer and surfed the Internet for a while, only half-aware of what she was reading. She did an image search under "Xena and Gabrielle" and sat for a while staring at a 19th century painting that looked nothing like them, a statuesque, wild-haired, square-jawed Xena and a too-fragile dreamy Gabrielle.

Then, on an impulse she couldn’t quite understand, she picked up the phone again and called Artie. He was at home, and overjoyed to hear her voice.

"Oh, nothing new -- just spending a quiet afternoon at home, watching tennis -- how's it going with you?"

"I feel bad," she said. "I never really got a chance to thank you."

"Oh -- what for?"

"Taking me to the hospital back then. Looking out for me. Being a true friend."

After a brief silence he said, in a slightly stifled voice, "Really?"

"Yeah." And, just like that, she knew it. A very old friend. Gabrielle’s eyes tingled, and it was a few moments before she could speak again. "Come on" -- she managed to sound light-hearted -- "let's go out to Edgar's Café. My treat."

He was briefly speechless, and then stammered out something incoherent that added up to "I'd love to"; a short while later they were having cappuccino and cake under the café's high, sloping orange ceiling with the Art Deco chandelier, Edgar Allan Poe gazing at them morosely from the painting on the wall. The conversation dragged and stumbled along, with Artie for some reason giving her a long and confusing synopsis of some horror movie he'd seen; and then, out of nowhere, she looked up at him and asked, "Artie, what would you do if you suddenly found out you were immortal?"

"Huh?" He stared, the fork with a piece of cheesecake frozen halfway to his mouth. "Immortal? Like, how?"

"I don’t know … I mean, it doesn't matter. Like, if you had taken some pill and you didn't know about it at the time but then it turned out that it made you immortal."

He pondered this for a moment, a bright grin spreading across his face. "Hey, is this like -- one of those ethics questions they’ve got in philosophy classes? I took one in college -- a philosophy class, you know -- it was only for my humanities requirement, but it turned out to be some really great stuff about, umm -- the meaning of life and everything -- anyway, the prof used to give us these questions, like if there was a ship going down or, or -- a fire, and you could either save your best friend or a world-famous scientist who's, you know, about to find a cure for cancer -- "

"It's not an ethics question," she said. "I'm just curious. Just -- something I was reading about today."

"Oh. What if I found out I was immortal, huh? I guess I'd be a pretty happy camper, why not?"

"It wouldn’t scare you? I mean, think about it. Living forever. Eternity."

"Well, maybe I wouldn’t think of it like that," he said. "Just -- living one day at a time, you know?"

One day at a time. Maybe that was it. Suddenly, she felt light and happy, and she wanted to lean over and kiss Artie, who had gone back to polishing off his cheesecake.

"So," Artie said, his mouth half-full, "if you were on a ship and it was going down, who would you save? Your best friend or the world-famous scientist?"

x x x

"Here we are," Ares said.

And there they were; back in the temple where, two thousand years ago, he had held on to his last memories of her before sinking into the deathlike sleep of the gods; in the chamber where, on the mural, the Warrior Princess still rode in all her beauty.

Now, she stood there in the low shimmering torchlight he had willed into being; her body stiff, her hands clenched in front of her, her face chiseled and hard. Even in these clothes, the rough blue pants and the faded shirt, she was Xena. The torchlight wavered, making the shadows sway around her, and there was a fleeting, frightening thought that perhaps she was merely a creation of his will, a long-dead illusion.

"Show me," she said, her voice harsh and strange under the low ceiling of the vault. "I have to know."

Oh, it was her all right. She was angry over Gabrielle's little problem; angry at herself, and probably, deep down, at him. But Xena being pissed off at him was nothing he couldn't deal with. Just like old times.

"From God of War to water inspector. Talk about decline and f-- "

She stopped him with a glare, and he raised his hand, directing his concentrated power at the stone slabs that sealed the crypt. The stone trembled, filling the chamber with a low vibration, and the doors began to slide apart, exposing the chilly blackness inside. Another wave of his hand dispelled the dark with a flare of crimson torchlight.

"I still got it." Ares grinned and turned toward Xena, and was startled to see the look on her face as she stared at him -- tender, shocked, almost scared.

"Ares…" she whispered.

He understood. The crypt; what he'd done after losing her. Maybe the reality of it hadn't fully hit home for her until now.

He brushed his knuckles over her face. "Now -- you don't want to go all sappy on me."

She gave him a small tense smile and said again, "Show me," her voice gentler this time.

Together, they walked through the doorway. There it was, the trickle of water from the rock, sparkling with reflections from the torches. With Xena standing next to him, Ares cupped his hand, gathering a tiny pool of water, and drank. A mortal might not have noticed the faint trace of that unique bittersweet tang.

"Yeah," he said. "Of course."

Her face hardly flinched. After a moment she said, "There's nothing you can do to take this away," a statement more than a question.

"What makes you think she wants me to? You've got scientists playing around with mice hoping they'll find some way to double the mortal lifespan. She has -- "

"She has no choice! If she wanted you to take it away -- could you?"

He shook his head.

She extended her hand and held it under the dripping water; and then, before he realized what was happening, she brought it to her mouth.

"What are you -- ?"

He tried to grab her wrist, but she pushed him off, the palm of her other hand flattened against his chest, and it was like being back on that wreckage-littered beach and watching her drink death from a vial: You can't stop me this time. Only this time, she was drinking life, not death, and he didn't know why he would try to stop her -- why it still felt as if he were losing her forever.

He seized Xena's arms and pulled her toward him, almost frantic. She opened her eyes; in the shadows, they were a deep gray, with tiny flickers of gold from the firelight.

"You tried to stop me…" she said, a touch of puzzlement in her voice.

He had no idea what to say. In the silence, he was acutely aware of the quiet hiss of the torches, the water's trickle -- the hitch in Xena's breath -- the beating of his own heart.

"It's what you wanted," she said, with no bitterness.

What he wanted. I won't be myself anymore, she had told him once. He wasn't sure if he felt anything all, or too much at once to make any sense of it.

"Xena…" he said hoarsely.

She took his face in her hands and stopped him abruptly with a kiss.

x x x

Gabrielle had tried calling Xena four or five times; had paced around her apartment wondering if Xena was out with Ares -- in some fortress if he still had any left, or in some Fifth Avenue penthouse with a sleek ultra-modern black interior, or in Rome for all she knew; had thought about eating ice cream and wondered if immortals could still get fat. Then the buzzer rang, and yes, it was Xena; waiting for her to come up, Gabrielle thought about what she was going to say. She had made peace with her fate… no, that sounded like she had resigned herself to a death sentence. She would be fine. She would just live her life one day at a time.

Only, after a short span of time, it would have to be life without Xena. She felt sick at the thought; somehow, until now, she had managed to keep it at bay.

There was a way, of course. But she wouldn't, couldn't ask for that; couldn't even let Xena go ahead with it if Xena volunteered. Xena had never wanted immortality. Even for love -- it was too much to ask.

She opened the door just in time to see Xena coming down the hallway, her step brisk, her determined expression softened by a touch of wistfulness.

"Xena, now listen -- I've been thinking about this and -- please don't blame yourself, okay? Please. And don't worry about me, I'll be fine, I -- "

Xena stopped at the door, facing her. "We'll be fine."

Something about the way she said it was unnerving.

"Xena -- ?"

"Come on." Xena squeezed her shoulder. "You don't want to talk about this out here."

The door closed behind them with a dull thump, and then Gabrielle turned abruptly. "Xena, if you're thinking about -- "

"I'm not."

"But -- "

"Gabrielle. It's over."

"What?"

"I'm immortal."

Gabrielle stood still, letting it sink in; but maybe she had known all along.

"Why?" she asked helplessly, already knowing the answer. Then another thought cut into her confusion. "Wait -- did Ares -- " Dimly, she knew that blaming Ares would be easier; easier to think that he had pushed Xena into this.

Xena made a vague motion with her head. "It was what I wanted." She smiled and looked almost happy; though there might have been tears in her eyes, or perhaps only in Gabrielle's own. "I'll always be here for you."

Then they were holding each other; and, her eyes half-lidded, Gabrielle felt Xena's lips touch her cheek. When they broke apart and she looked at Xena again, she was almost ready to believe that everything would fine.

After a moment she said, "I can't believe you did that. It's just…" She shook her head, speechless. "I had no right to ask -- "

"You didn't ask." Xena put a hand on her arm. "It was my choice. Gabrielle… in our other… I mean, back then -- you once told me your path was with me, no matter what. Well -- my path is with you."

Gabrielle fought back the warm rush of tears. "I wouldn't have traded my life with you for anything."

Xena nodded. "Neither would I."

Maybe there had been no other choice.

They looked at each other silently for a while, until finally, Gabrielle managed a grin. "You want some cherries?"

"Sure."

And so they sat on the living room couch and ate cherries; Gabrielle had put on a CD of Rhapsody in Blue, and its soaring melody filled the room with its unique beauty of life and melancholy and joy.

"You know," Gabrielle said, "I've figured something out."

"Yeah?"

"I know it's kind of scary to think about eternity, but the thing is -- you don't have to. You just -- live your life one day at a time."

The rich, exuberant sound of music poured into the silence between them. "One day…" Xena murmured to herself pensively. Then she turned and grinned at Gabrielle. "Always the philosopher."

"But of course." Gabrielle grinned back at her.

After a moment's pause she said, "You know, I always used to think about all the books I'd never get a chance to read, the great art I'd never get to see…"

"So much culture, so little time?"

Gabrielle chuckled. "Yeah. Well, now I have all the time I could ever want. It feels … " she paused, wonderingly. "It feels -- weird."

"Yeah."

"So. What did you do with Ares?"

Xena shot her a wry glance. "Oh -- just dropped him off at NYU for a sensitivity training workshop."

"Ha, ha." Gabrielle elbowed her good-naturedly in the ribs, and was elbowed back.

"He's at my place," Xena said unflappably, as if talking about an ordinary boyfriend, not the God of War. "If he stays put."

"Great. You know, he'll probably redecorate your apartment in skulls and swords."

"Mm -- I could host faculty parties. I bet it'd be popular. A statement about the brutality and meaninglessness of modern life, or something -- "

"Or, more likely, he'll break your DVD player or -- "

The music subsided, and over its softer chords Gabrielle heard the distinct sound of the doorbell.

"Huh. I wonder who that could be."

"Let's just hope it's not another god."

"Gods don't use doorbells."

Gabrielle put the disc on pause and went to get the door. It was Artie who announced himself from the other side, and when she opened he stood there holding a wriggling, whimpering ball of fluff, a golden retriever puppy so adorable that her "Oh my God!" was much too close to a squeal.

"Hey." Xena came up behind her. "What's this?"

"Notwhat!" Gabrielle gave her a teasing reproachful look. "Who."

"Oh hi, Lynn." Artie beamed at them both. "It's, well -- he's -- hold still -- you see, Jasper's now a proud daddy and -- " he patted the pup's fluffy head as it tried to flick its pink tongue over his hand -- "I thought I'd get you one for your birthday. I know it's a little early -- "

"Three and a half months early," Gabrielle said, moved and amused.

"Hey, who's counting, right? Aw, look at him -- isn't he sweet. He's the runt of the litter -- I figured you'd root for, you know, the underdog." He chuckled at his own joke. "You're smitten, aren't you? Now, don't deny it -- "

Gabrielle smiled back at him. "Completely smitten. Thank you, Artie, that was -- very sweet." Smitten indeed, she stroked the puppy's head, letting it nibble on her fingers, and then took it from Artie, the furry little body warm and so alive in her hands.

"Hey," he said, "maybe you can call him something from those Xena stories. You know, like Ares."

Gabrielle caught Xena's amused look and smirked as she lifted the puppy up, baby-fat paws splayed in the air. "Nooo, he doesn't really look like an Ares type to me. Anyway, don’t you worry – I’ll find him a good name." She hugged the puppy to her side, then said "Ow!" and laughed because it was chewing on her hair, and gave Artie an awkward one-armed hug, leaning against him as he gingerly put his arm around her shoulder.

"Well," she said. "Now I have everything I need."

Xena gave her a questioning look; and, truth be told, she herself wasn't sure what she meant, only that she was happy.

x x x

She stood outside the door, key in hand; wondering if he was inside, and knowing deep down that she didn't need to wonder. It was the oddest thing, to think that they were together now, with was nothing to divide them -- that she could walk into her apartment and expect, as a matter of course, to find him there.

And there he was, sprawled comfortably in her armchair, reading a book; the blaze of sunset in the window touched his hair with gold and gave a soft shine to the black of his leathers. He looked up when she came in, unsurprised, a twinkle of warmth in his eyes. As he closed the book, she saw that it was Xena, Warrior Princess: Mystery, History, and Myth, the 1998 collection of essays which included her own highly acclaimed contribution, "Xena and Livia: A Historical Puzzle."

"Brushing up on your history," she said.

Ares tilted his head, one eyebrow raised slightly in quizzical amusement. "You still don't cut me any slack, do you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said; knowing full well, of course, that they both understood perfectly.

"Let's see… " he reopened the book and leafed through it nonchalantly, then pointed at the page. "In using Gabrielle's scrolls as a source, the historian encounters several major problems: the gaps in the record; unreliable copies of lost original scrolls; and, of course"-- he made the words drip with irony -- "the need to separate facts from romantic fairy-tales about the gods."

She came up and stood over him, feeling a small, warm shiver of desire at the nearness of his body, at the way he gazed up at her, his lips parted slightly, his eyes suddenly intense. The book slid out of his hand and landed on the rug with a muffled thud.

"At least I said they were romantic," she said. "You should read Sally Lamierina's 'Ares in the Xena Scrolls: A Symbol of Phallic Power.'"

"Mmm." He ran his hands, slowly, up the sides of her legs, then rested them on her hips and pulled her closer. "That -- doesn't sound so bad."

She lowered herself in his lap, straddling his legs, her hands on his shoulders. "It's bad," she said huskily, her eyes half-closed, leaning in toward him, hungry to taste his mouth. "Very" -- her lips almost touching his -- "very bad."

She gave him a quick, hot, teasing kiss and pulled away; and when she dove back he stopped her, his fingers at her lips, his eyes locked on hers.

"So," he said. "It never occurred to you that it could all be real. Must have been quite a shock."

That was, of course, an understatement. But somehow, Xena realized, the whirl of emotions she had felt then -- disbelief, bewilderment, terror, confusion -- no longer seemed quite real, as if those were the memories from another life. It startled her for a moment; then, she put it aside.

"I thought I was crazy," she said. "Or dreaming."

"Still think so?" he asked quietly, his knuckles brushing her cheek.

"I don't care," she said, and leaned down to kiss him again.

x x x

The New York Times

October 15, 2005

Section: Arts and Ideas

A Trip to Greece Changes a Scholar's Career

By Liz Scott

Until recently, Lynn Doyle was a rising academic star. At 33, she was a full professor of history at New York University, with rumored offers of a position at Yale or Harvard. A much sought-after conference speaker and the author of numerous journal articles, she had landed an impressive book contract with a commercial publisher, Alfred P. Knopf, for a book on the life of Xena, the legendary "Warrior Princess" of Thrace. The book was eagerly anticipated by academics and lay history buffs alike as the first full-length Xena biography in over 30 years.

Then, two months ago, Dr. Doyle left it all behind.

Today, having given up her Manhattan apartment and her university job, she lives in Ilion, New York (population 8,612), in a house she recently bought. She has a horse. She doesn’t mind that New York City is a three-hour drive away (much longer than that on horseback, she points out wryly). And while the Xena book is still in the works, with free-lance writer Jacqueline Lyons as Dr. Doyle's co-author, it has been revamped into a blend of history and fiction written as the joint memoirs of Xena and her chronicler and companion Gabrielle, the "Battling Bard of Potadeia." This book is now expected to incorporate, in addition to historical data and research, a lot of mythological embellishments that have always clung to Xena's story: for instance, the tales of the Warrior Princess's battles against the Olympian gods and their eventual downfall at her hands, and -- ever popular with the romantic types -- of Xena's tempestuous relationship with the god of war, Ares.

The irony of this turnabout escapes no one. Dr. Doyle, as her bewildered former colleagues and many former students will attest, has always been harshly critical of the tendency to mix scholarship with "romanticism" in Xena-related studies. As NYU history department chair Norah Kay Lefler put it, "A lot of us would just like to ask Lynn: What happened?"

When the question is posed to Dr. Doyle, she shrugs. "I was drawn to the story of Xena ever since I was a child," she says. "And then at some point I began to wonder if I was trying to strip her story of all the things that made it so fascinating to people -- including myself."

Dr. Doyle is rather taciturn, not to say cagey, on the subject of her epiphany. She mentions only that she began to have doubts about the direction of her career on a trip to Greece with Ms. Lyons last May, to examine what is unquestionably the archeological find of this still-young century: a large stash of the original scrolls of Gabrielle of Potadeia. During our conversation, the renegade academic seemed far more interested in discussing her and Ms. Lyons's other joint project, the Huandong Rescue Committee dedicated to helping victims in the war-torn province.

Ms. Lyons, 27, seems a far better fit for the fictionalized biography of Xena she is now co-writing with Dr. Doyle. Her first book, "The Virgin of the Terror" (Random House, 2002), a biography of French Revolution heroine Charlotte Corday, enjoyed a commercial success but was harshly criticized by some scholars for romanticizing the material and placing a good yarn over factual accuracy; writing in The New Republic, historian Robert Sgriccia conceded that the book was "entertaining, even absorbing at times" but dismissed it as "the Harlequin Romance approach to history." Ms. Lyons is also the co-author, with Dr. Renee Ryan, of the current best-seller "No Pain, No Gain: How to Eat Like a Gourmet and Stay Fit."

Ms. Lyons freely concedes that when she and Dr. Doyle first met, Dr. Doyle was somewhat skeptical of her approach. Both of them, however, strongly deny that the change in Dr. Doyle's outlook had anything to do with Ms. Lyons' influence.

On the subject of Dr. Doyle's transformation, Ms. Lyons is far more talkative than Dr. Doyle herself. "It was amazing," she says with unrestrained enthusiasm, recalling their trip to Macedonia. "We got to hold Gabrielle's actual scrolls in our hands. We saw Xena's chakram. We saw the excavations of a temple to Ares where Xena herself may once have stood before the altar. It was like touching living history -- living myth. I think it was a turning point for Lynn, like a religious experience."

This kind of talk, understandably, makes some of Dr. Doyle's former associates nervous. Anonymously, some have described her epiphany in such disparaging terms as "premature mid-life crisis." Others speculate that her decision to make her book a semi-fictional work was due at least partly to financial motives, including the prospects of optioning the movie and television rights. At NYU, in particular, there is considerable bitterness as well as consternation over her decision. These ill feelings are exacerbated by the fact that Dr. Doyle's bombshell resignation left the department scrambling to find a replacement to teach her Xena seminar in the fall term, when the class was filled to capacity due to publicity over the discovery of Gabrielle's scrolls. While Dr. Doyle expresses regret over letting her colleagues down, she is adamant that she could no longer teach the course with the perspective, and the detachment, it required.

About her bigger change of course, Dr. Doyle clearly has no regrets. "I am very proud of my career as a historian," she says. "I'm proud of the work I've done. Now I have reached a point in my life where I need something different." By that she means not only the book -- scheduled for publication by the end of next year, with talk of movie rights -- but also her activism on behalf of civil war victims in Huandong. (While the organization will have its official launch in January, it has already accomplished the minor miracle of getting Hollywood diva Venus Madison, the committee's honorary chair, involved in a social cause.) Says Dr. Doyle, "Jackie and I decided that if we're going to write about two people whose lives were dedicated to -- as old-fashioned as it may sound -- the greater good, we should try to practice what we write."

Don’t expect her, however, to take up the sword.

"Whyever not?"

Xena turned her head from the computer to look at Ares. He was lounging on the couch, bare-chested and in black pajama bottoms, a newspaper in one hand and a coffee mug in the other.

"Why not what?"

"Take up the sword." He flicked his finger at the newspaper.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," she said, reaching for her own coffee mug. "Until they locked me up in the loony bin."

He chuckled and folded the newspaper, letting it drop to the floor.

"Well," he said, "that was interesting."

She watched him sip his coffee and smiled, because he looked so domestic right now; then she remembered Ares on a farm as a mortal man long, long ago, and a small sadness crept up inside her chest but dissipated quickly. She would be happy.

"Come here," he said.

"Not now," she said, half teasing, half meaning it. "I have things to do."

"You and your work."

She grinned at him. "You should get a job."

"Oh yeah." He put down his empty coffee mug and stretched. "Something in the international arms trade?"

"Very funny."

"Just don't expect me to follow in my sister's footsteps and be a movie star."

"Oh, I don't know." She rested her chin on her palm and smirked. "Maybe you'd get to use a sword…"

"And have flunkeys to fetch my coffee." He picked up the mug and waved it at her.

"I see the brew of soldiers' boots is growing on you."

"Well, like you said -- " he held the cup and stared at it with half-lidded eyes, and in a moment it was filled to the brim with the hot dark liquid -- "it builds up the fighting spirit."

Xena shook her head, smiling. "Who are you going to fight with?"

He shrugged. "You know what they say. For a true warrior, a fight is always just around the corner."

“Who says that? You?”

Before he could answer, there was a burst of faint barking from the outside, and the sound of the door opening and closing; the barking grew louder, accompanied by an excited tap-dance of light paws on the floor, and then Gabrielle's voice said, "Walter! Walter -- stay!"

A moment later the dog bounded into the living room with a breathless "woof," full of gawky adolescent energy; he paused for a moment, then made a dash toward Ares, ears flopping and tail wagging, and rose up on his hind legs, digging his still-chubby front paws into Ares' knees. Xena laughed and shook her head.

"I see you're still popular with dogs."

"Get that mangy mutt off me," he growled in mock protest, patting the dog's head.

"Hey! Watch what you call my dog!"

Gabrielle came in hugging a paper bag with groceries, which she put down on a chair. "I got you muffins," she said to Xena, "good luck finding bagels in this wilderness. Walter -- come here!"

Walter sprinted toward her, then toward Xena (who pretended to ignore him as usual, though she wasn't above slipping him treats when no one was looking); then he spun around and pranced back to Ares, finally coming to a rest at his feet.

"Looks like you have a rival," Xena said.

Gabrielle made a face at her. "So, you read the article?"

"I did." Xena raised an eyebrow. "A religious experience, huh?"

"Well, you kissed a god. In a temple."

"Somehow, I think that making out in a temple is not what people have in mind when they think of a religious experience."

Ares smirked at her. "Obviously, they never made out with me.”

"So." Gabrielle came up behind Xena and put a hand on her shoulder, glancing at the computer screen where her latest book chapter was now up. "What are you doing?"

"Oh -- just talking about how Ares should get a job."

Gabrielle laughed. "That'll be the day. Wait, maybe Ares can run a football team. You know that American football is just a glorified metaphor for war, right?"

"More like – a lame and boring metaphor for war,” Ares said.

"Sure." Xena patted Gabrielle's hand. "And then you're going to start a committee to combat violence in team sports."

"There's an idea. Listen, all joking aside, we need to get some work done. I'm heading back to New York around two o'clock -- having dinner with Artie."

"A date?" Xena said good-naturedly.

Gabrielle gave her a wrinkle-nosed grin. "I thought you didn't do girl talk."

"That was two thousand years ago."

"Hmm… Suddenly, I'm not so sure I'm going to like the new you."

"Oh yes you will. So? Is it a date?"

Gabrielle was about to say something, but Walter stirred, yelped and raced toward the French windows where he pawed agitatedly at the glass, his attention obviously riveted by something outside.

"Walter! Quiet," Gabrielle said, going over to the window. "Oh -- it's just some squirrels."

"You should let him outside or we'll never get a moment's peace," Xena said. "I still can't believe you called the poor thing Walter. It’s so dorky.”

"Like you would know anything about doggy names." Gabrielle managed to pull Walter away from the window and leaned down, patting him on the scruff of the neck. "I told you -- he's named after Walt Whitman. It just came to me when we were walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, and I thought about his poem…”

"More poets," Ares said. "Figures."

"Hey, just be glad I didn’t call him Matthew or Arnold," Gabrielle shot back; and, turning to Xena, "You know, for Matthew Arnold. Victorian poet. The one who wrote that 'Dover Beach' poem I read to you the other day, remember?” She smirked. “You liked it."

Xena remembered, and felt a strange hush inside. "Yes,” she said. “I did."

Ares gave her an amused look. “That must be some poem.”

Gabrielle stood up straight, her hands clasped in front of her, as if she were a performing bard at some ancient festival, the colors of a sunny autumn day behind her in the window like a backdrop; and then began to recite.

"Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new -- "

Gradually, her voice dropped from a dramatic sing-song to a quiet, reflective, almost wondering tone, as if she herself had just been struck by the meaning of these lines.

" -- Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night."

Normally, Xena would have made a joke of this, and Ares would have ribbed Gabrielle about her passion for poetry. But this time, she didn't feel like joking; and Ares looked thoughtfully at Gabrielle and raised his coffee mug in a gallant, only slightly ironic gesture that could have been a toast or a salute.

x x x

The girl woke up with a jolt, and fidgeted a little; she could feel the hard ground underneath the blanket. She shivered and moved a little closer to her boyfriend, who was snoring quietly nearby. It had been a pretty dumb idea, she thought belatedly, to make a bet with the others in their group to spend a night in the Roman forum. It had seemed like a pretty cool thing to do on a semester abroad, and hiding among the ruins to stay after closing time had been a cinch, but now … well, it was uncomfortable and pretty chilly, even in a sweater and jacket. Besides, the place looked kind of eerie, away from the city lights; the curia was lit up with projectors but otherwise the forum was dark, except where the broken columns and battered statues were washed in milky moonlight.

The girl wondered groggily if it was some sound or movement that had startled her out of her sleep, or just lack of comfort. She closed her eyes, wrapped the blanket tightly around herself and resolved to try to sleep again.

This time, the sound was unmistakable -- a strange "whoosh" that was definitely not a gust of wind. And then, a voice.

She lay still, fear coiling tightly inside her. Dumb, dumb idea.

Finally, she worked up the courage to open her eyes. There they were, maybe thirty feet away, a man and a woman; there were flecks of moonlight gleaming in metallic studs on the man's vest, and in something at his belt that looked like … the hilt of a sword.

The girl felt herself breaking out in a sweat. Maybe it was a dream.

She nudged the boy a couple of times and, trying to make no noise, whispered, "Jason! Jason -- wake up!"

"Huh? Mel?" The boy stirred; before he could say anything, the girl clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Look," she breathed into his ear, near-soundlessly. "Over there -- do you see?"

He squinted and finally whispered back, "Yeah."

The man and the woman strolled away, arm in arm, their voices faintly audible but too distant to make out whatever they were saying. The girl breathed a little easier.

"Did you see that the guy had a sword?" she asked.

"Yeah, well, probably some kind of a replica. Don't worry -- "

The boy stopped in mid-word because just then, the projector lights around the curia went out, and in spite of the moon and the distant lights of the city, the darkness seemed pitch-black for a moment. That was unnerving; and somehow, she felt certain that it had to do with those two people.

"What happened?" the girl whispered plaintively; but before the boy could say anything, the light was back -- a different, warmer light that somehow felt more alive. Only those lights weren't just around the curia; now they were flickering all over the forum, in rows and in clusters, finally flaring up on a wall nearby. Torches, the girl realized. She had stopped wondering what was going on and just waited, numb, for whatever would happen next.

She saw the man and the woman again, standing in an open space that had probably been a temple once. The man said something and the woman laughed and shook her head; then he held out both hands, and the flame-lit air around her seemed to waver and part and turn smoky, and then to solidify into something else. She was now wearing a leather skirt and armor that gleamed gold in the torchlight. She looked herself over as if surprised, and then straightened up and reached behind her shoulder and drew a sword.

Then, just as suddenly, she spun around and swung her arm in a swift, graceful motion, and her sword met that of the man.

They moved in an intricate weave, charging, retreating, dodging right and left, spinning and leaping and kicking out like dancers; their swords slicing through the night air and clashing and making sparks fly. The girl was so terrified that she couldn't have moved if she wanted to; and yet some part of her also wanted this to go on.

"It's like a movie," the boy whispered next to her.

The girl wondered feebly if this could be a film shoot. But no, there were no cameras in sight and no crew; only those two.

Their peculiar dance brought them closer to where the girl was, and for a few moments she had a clear view of the woman's features, chiseled and beautiful, her eyes bright, lips parted slightly in a hint of a dangerous smile as she deftly blocked a thrust of the man's sword. As they circled each other, the girl got only a glimpse of his face; what she did see was that he and the woman moved as if they were one, mirrored in each other, each perfectly anticipating the other's moves.

There was a moment when it seemed as if the man was winning, and the woman only blocking his thrusts as she backed away toward a crumbled wall; she took a few steps back, her sword extended to hold him off, and when it seemed she had nowhere else to go, she sprinted forward and leaped, flying high in the air with a piercing, singing cry, vaulting over the man's head and landing behind him. She laughed exultantly as she charged him again, just in time for him to spin around and meet her sword.

On and on they fought, the torchlight gleaming in their dark leathers and in the metal of their swords. With a dazzling spin, she kicked the sword out of his hand, crying out in triumph; too soon because his boot caught her in the midsection, making her stagger back, and he snatched up his weapon in mid-flight with a harsh grunt and they continued.

And then, with their swords crossed and the tips of the blades nearly touching the ground, they stood still. Once again, they were close enough for the girl to see the woman's face. She was smiling. A gust of wind blew through the forum, making the flames of the torches quiver, swirling in the woman's long hair.

The man said something, and the woman answered, but the girl couldn’t make out any words. Slowly, they moved closer to each other, their swords still crossed; and then he drew his left arm around her shoulder and pulled her toward him, and their lips met in a long kiss.

When they pulled apart, the woman said something again, her mouth almost at the man's ear; and the girl thought, with a fresh stab of fear, that they both glanced in her direction. If she lived through the night, she was going to kill Jason for talking her into that bet.

The man and the woman sheathed their swords and kissed again, their arms locked around each other, the woman's hand clutching at the man's neck. A pale blue light flared up around them and enveloped them, and when it dissolved in a burst of sparks, they were gone.

The torches went out all at once, and because the moon had hidden behind a cloud all that was left was the pitch-black night. A second later, the projectors lighting the curia went on again, and everything was as before, as if nothing had disturbed an ordinary quiet night on the ancient forum.

The girl sat up, her heart slowing down. When she took a deep breath, her throat hurt and there was a prickle of pain in her chest.

"Did we see that?" she said, her voice a raspy half-whisper.

The boy sat up next to her and coughed.

"I -- guess so," he said hesitantly. "You okay?"

The girl took another breath. "Yeah."

They looked at each other in the near-dark, and then the boy said, "Whoa. The guys will think we're nuts if we tell them about this."

"We're not gonna tell them. They'll think we're making it up. I mean… ancient ghosts on the forum? Right."

"You think they were ghosts?"

"I don’t know," the girl said. Now that her fear was receding, she somehow knew that they were incredibly lucky to have seen -- whatever it was. If nothing else, it was one part of their trip that they would never forget.

They sat quietly for a moment. Then the boy said, as if echoing her thoughts, "They were awesome."

THE END