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Part II
It's not easy, readjusting to this life; I've spent
so much time now waiting to be dead, it's nearly
impossible to dedicate myself to living. But I do
live, and I don't regret it anymore. I miss Xena
terribly, but I will have my chance soon enough, and
for Joxer I try to forget the pain. He continues to
sit with me each day, and as I advance in my healing,
he walks with me around the yard. He doesn't wear the
armour now, since we are staying at Althaea's, and
thankfully it improves his balance immeasurably. I
grip his arm as I walk, and lean against his shoulder.
The healer herself is quite chatty, and insists that
we aren't a nuisance. Evidently while Joxer isn't
with me, he does chores- although Althaea won't let
him near the kitchen, not even to wash the dishes.
"He breaks things," she confides in me one day, as if
I'd never noticed it on my own. I can't resist a
smile.
Within another two weeks, we know it is time to
leave. Althaea clucks over me for days before we go,
insisting that I'm not walking well enough on my own
yet, and Joxer tells me privately that she told him I
remind her of her daughter. Suddenly, I regret having
to leave.
Joxer's gives me his solution to the walking dilemma
one day, as a gift: a staff, thick and sturdy, one
which bears a strong resemblance to my old one. He
grins as I look it over. "It's... wonderful," I say,
but it still brings up old memories. It's a
beautiful, nostalgic gift, but I don't know if I can
take it. "I... Joxer, I don't think I can use it."
His face sets firmly. "You need to, Gabrielle.
Althaea said so. You need a walking stick, 'cause I'm
not always going to be able to be it."
"It's not-"
"Come on." Now he sounds stern. "It's not the
original. And you're going to have to use something."
He's right. I look at the staff, run my hand along
it, and decide I can cope. I offer a smile to show my
acceptance.
We leave the next day, and the money that Joxer gives
Althaea doesn't feel like it's nearly enough, although
she tells us it's too much. She gives us some
supplies as reimbursement, and waves us off in that
same bustling manner she's always used. Her eyes are
wet, and she returns into her hut before we are out of
sight.
"Poor old girl," Joxer mutters as we walk.
I nod, leaning on the staff as little as possible.
My right arm is still in a sling, and Joxer walks on
my left, so that he can catch me if I stumble without
jostling the injury. "She's lonely out here," I say.
"It must be hard- I wonder how many people come to
her?"
"She gets a few customers. Mostly for potions and
the like, though," Joxer replies knowingly. "A lot of
return business. I think she's really popular around
here." We walk in silence for a while, and I notice
that his armour is still as creaky as ever. It brings
a little smile to my face. "So, where are we going?"
I shrug. "Do you have any place in mind?"
"Nah. You're the one who thought we should leave."
"I got restless," I admit. "And I still think we
were in Althaea's hair a bit too much."
He laughs. "Restless, huh?"
"What's so funny about that?" I quirk an eyebrow at
him.
Grinning, he replies, "Me too." His eyes linger on
me, and for a moment they're full of laughter. Then,
with a blink, it's changed; an eternity's worth of
pain is behind them, although the smile never leaves
his face. He looks away then, and down, and his pace
speeds up a bit.
I know what he just thought: Eleven months.
I think it all the time, myself.
*****
Joxer tries to make travelling just like old times,
at first, but we both know it doesn't work. With my
arm in the sling, I can't write; I wouldn't, anyway.
I have no urge, even though Joxer thoughtfully
provided me with scrolls. My muse was Xena, and she's
dead. Joxer carries the scrolls with him, regardless.
Another difference is the silence that seems to
pervade our campsites most of the time. I rarely make
efforts at conversation, and Joxer's own attempts run
out by the evenings. He tries to tell jokes, but they
don't work; his suggestion at keeping watches in
shifts fell flat, since neither of us seems to have
the focus to stay awake on our own. Instead we just
fall asleep in silence, night after night, facing each
other on either side of the fire.
We both feel Xena's absence, though neither of us can
bring ourselves to say so. Then again, we don't have
to; it's unspoken, and when Joxer crashes through the
brush with an armful of kindling for the fire, his
eyes keep searching the camp even after he sees me.
He doesn't speak of love anymore. I know it hasn't
changed, because every time he looks at me I can see
it written across his face; but he never says it, and
I think it's because he's trying to let it go before I
go.
And, worst of all, I'm dreaming. It's the same each
night, and at times I wonder if it's a dream at all.
In it, I can't see Xena. I feel her all around me, I
know she's near, and sometimes I'm sure she's just
behind me. But no matter where I look or how I run, I
can't see her.
When we start running low on food, Joxer volunteers
to fish for us. I remember him telling me once, a
long time ago, that he liked fishing; so I let him.
He cleans his catches expertly, and I cook them; it
will do until I'm well enough to catch some rabbit.
Time passes, and the routine changes, almost
imperceptibly, until one day I notice that we're
comfortable with each other again. I'm healing much
more quickly than is normal, and within another week I
don't need the staff to walk anymore. I keep it
anyway.
Joxer has a lute with him, and he starts writing
songs in the evening- just to pass the time, he says.
I welcome the change, even though I expect songs along
the lines of "The Ballad of Joxer the Mighty", but he
surprises me. His songs are thoughtful, soft, often
slow. They're not all that good at first, often
dealing with farmers' daughters for some reason, but
then one night he picks out a few notes and then plays
a full tune, instrumentally; after he plays it through
twice, I am nearly asleep, and he starts singing
lyrics, softly.
The effect on my dreams is startling. His words are
uncertain, but about a man who sacrifices everything
for the woman he loves. I know who it's about, of
course, even though his details are all vague. He has
an amazing grasp of metaphor, I think, as my
half-asleep mind fills with images of a tall, dark
warrior holding me in his arms. Joxer sings it
through again, making a few revisions, and I dream of
his embrace being as warm as his love.
It ends all too soon, and the dream is back. This
time it's worse, as it seems like a fire has gone out,
and I can't see Xena, and I don't even feel her as
well anymore. In the end I huddle into a ball and
cry.
I wake up, and Joxer has gone to sleep long since.
The fire is dimming, and I can barely see him beneath
the furs he's curled beneath. I remember the first
dream, the first different dream I'd had since he
brought me back.
"Joxer?" I feel bad, prodding him awake, but I don't
think he'll mind my request.
He blinks, sleepily, and his hair is sticking up in
the front. "Yeah?" he says, a level of deliberate
attention in his voice that's borne of a need to
protect me.
I hesitate for a moment, not sure what to say, then
slide my good arm beneath the cover of his bed roll.
"Hold me," I mumble, and all sleep vanishes from his
face as he obliges. I lie down, and we face each
other for a few moments.
His heart is hammering in his chest- I can feel it
against my shoulder. "Wh-what should I... do?" he
asks nervously.
I shake my head. "Nothing. Just hold me. I have
nightmares."
"Oh," he says, and if there's a note of
disappointment in his voice, I can't blame him. I
know how he feels for me- he's made no secret of it
ever since he told me, and he's gone to great lengths
to make it clear I don't need to feel strange about
it. But I know he'll do anything for me. As if to
prove my thoughts, he says, "Whatever you want," and
puts his arms around me gently.
And just like in my dream, his arms are warm, and so
is his love.
*****
After that, I sleep in his bedroll each night, and if
he minds he doesn't say anything. It keeps the dreams
away, most times, although it doesn't save me from the
loneliness in the day. Ten and a half months, I tell
myself, and then forever. Joxer fills the void for
me, and I decide to take advantage of his willingness
to comfort me when I feel empty.
I notice things about Joxer now, things I never saw
before. He has lovely eyes, for one thing, and when I
hold his hand I notice there's a callous on several of
the fingers from when he plays the lute. It's pink
now, from recent use, but obvious well-developed from
earlier years. A few nights after the first time he
sang that beautiful song, I ask him to sing it again.
"I thought you were asleep," he tells me, surprise
filling his deep brown eyes.
I give him a quiet smile. "I heard it in my sleep."
"Oh." He doesn't seem to know what to make of this,
but I can tell he's pleased. "Um, give me a minute to
remember the lyrics."
The idea that he might forget the lyrics to a song
like that bothers me, so I dig through his pack until
I find the scrolls he'd bought for me.
"What are you doing??"
"I'm going to write the lyrics down for you," I
reply, searching my own pack now for a quill. It's
not exactly writing, after all, just dictation- and
the idea of future people being deprived this song
because of Joxer's lousy memory bothers me. I look
up, and he's giving me an odd look. "My arm feels
fine now," I assure him.
He quirks a smile. "No, it's not that. I'm just...
never mind."
"What?"
With a halted chuckle, he says, "I just never thought
you'd use a scroll on me."
I think I'm blushing at that. "Yeah, well, don't get
any ideas," I tease him.
"Never," he says softly, and his eyes are deep pools
of love. Then he sings, and I write. And I write
down his other songs, as well, as he sings them to me.
The sheer number that are about me stuns me. Except
for the ones about farmers' daughters, of course. By
the end, I have him sing "Joxer the Mighty" to me,
just for the sake of completion. He sings it with an
air of embarrassment, and it occurs to me with a touch
of sadness just how much he's changed, in the past two
months alone.
That night, I lay down and he wraps his arms around
me from behind, and embraces me protectively. It's
the same as always, and yet I feel something
different, something deep within myself. My need for
comfort, perhaps, or something else- I don't know. I
only know his arms around me are more welcome than
ever before, not just because they're protective, but
because they're Joxer's. I press backwards, as close
against him as I can manage, and he tightens his
embrace reflexively and kisses my hair. I think he's
asleep.
I don't fall asleep for some time that night.
*****
Ten months left, I tell myself as the next moon cycle
begins, but I don't tell myself as often. Joxer and I
continue to travel, occasionally stopping in town, and
when we sleep in an inn I share his room. I talk him
into performing on his lute in taverns, and his new
songs go over well in some, but they're usually the
ones about the farmers' daughters.
"Those are the ones I'd rather play in public
anyway," he says to me one night, and I think I
understand even though he doesn't elaborate.
I take him shopping, and he buys me things with the
money he picks up while minstreling.
"You should wear this in your hair," he says, handing
me a carved wooden flower. It's nice, but the colours
are gaudy.
I laugh. "You have terrible taste." He pouts in
response, and to make it up to him I throw my arms
around him and kiss his cheek. "Don't pout," I say in
a whisper.
The look he gives me is full of surprise- and
longing. "O-okay," he says, awkwardly, and although I
wish he would put his arms around me in return, he
doesn't.
We move along, farther, and I emerge from the
shopping trip with a few pieces of dried meat, enough
apples to last a week, a hairband (the like of which I
haven't worn in years), a blue-jeweled necklace, and
two new scrolls. This time, the scrolls were my idea,
just in case. I give him another hug as a thank-you,
and this time he puts a wooden arm around me and pats
my back in response. It puzzles me; I don't know what
reaction I'm aiming for, but this isn't it.
After deciding to stay one more night in the town, we
have dinner, and Joxer tries another tavern to get a
few more dinars. Then, beat, we go to our room in the
inn.
I spend a while trying on the hairband. "Do you
really think I should have gotten this? I haven't worn
one in so long, and my hair's still a lot shorter..."
"I always liked them," he says, not quite helpfully.
I try to arrange it properly without any reflective
glass to check in. "Does this look okay?"
He nods. "Looks fine."
"Should it be back more? It doesn't feel right."
I would swear he rolls his eyes. "Gabby, it looks
fine."
It's the first time he's called me Gabby in weeks,
and it doesn't escape me. I smile; somehow the
once-irritating nickname is a comfort now. "Okay," I
say, putting the hairband aside and moving to arrange
my hair. "You ready for bed?"
"Uh... yeah," he says quietly, an odd touch to his
voice. As I move about the room, extinguishing
candles, he comes closer and closer behind me. My
movements slow down; I can feel him there, feel the
nervousness and the need radiating from him, and when
he puts his arms on my shoulders from behind me, I
don't jump. I stand still as he runs his fingertips
gently down the back of my neck. "Gabrielle," he
murmurs, "I love you so much."
I know I'm trembling. "Joxer, don't," I manage,
although it's not what I feel. "You can't do this to
yourself- it's not good for either of us."
His voice is a husky, frightened whisper just behind
my right ear. "I think we both need this, Gabrielle.
Need each other." I can hear the desire in him, as
well as the soft sadness. He kisses my jaw, softly,
and all I can do is surrender to the moment, just
surrender. I turn in his arms, and his lips cover
mine, and it keeps the nightmares away.
*****
Oh, Zeus, whatever I did to deserve this, thank you.
We didn't get too serious that night, or any night
after- just kisses, but they were amazing, she was
amazing, it was- almost too good to be real. I
thought about it, and decided I didn't need to get
more serious than that- it was enough, it was
wonderful. I'd never have even kissed her if I hadn't
thought- well, hoped... Well, from the signs she'd
been putting out that day, and the energy I thought I
felt between us... Oh, Gods, thank you again.
I couldn't stop thinking about it the next day, the
way she'd twisted in my embrace, and happily accepted
my kiss... the way we'd fallen onto the bed, arms
firmly entwined around each other... When we'd
stopped, nearly two hours later, my lips had felt
numb. Then, we'd gone to sleep as if everything were
normal.
I didn't know how to react when I woke up- was it a
mistake? Would she regret it? So I watched her
sleeping, hoping, but dreading. Finally, she stirred,
and I wasn't sure if I should pretend that I was
asleep or not. I was looking around, embarrassed,
when she turned in my embrace and snuggled against my
chest.
"'Morning," she mumbled, and kissed it.
I could have died right then.
Instead I put a finger under her chin and lifted her
face to be level with mine. "Good morning," I sighed,
as I kissed her. And kissed her, and kissed her, and
kissed her.
*****
As I said, it continued like this, most nights. I
didn't dare make a move beyond what we were doing
already, but I didn't feel I needed to. And it wasn't
just at night, either- she kissed me in public, in
taverns after I sang, when we were out getting food,
as we shopped. Of course, when we were alone, it was
better, because then we didn't have to stop.
Oh, make no mistake, she didn't love me. I knew
that. Maybe she felt sorry for me, or maybe she
needed the physical comfort. Maybe there was more to
her and Xena's relationship than I ever knew about,
and I was filling some kind of void. But it wasn't
love. That didn't stop me from promising her my heart
every day and every night, however. I told her every
chance I got, softly against the skin of her neck, out
loud when we were shopping together, even whispered
when she was asleep against my chest. She never told
me to stop, but she never answered, either. Sometimes
she smiled; other times she got a sad, empty look in
her eye, and turned away. But she never told me not
to say it.
No matter what Michael said, I knew I was in Paradise
for the first couple of weeks. But slowly, gradually,
it began to dawn on me that this wasn't going to last.
So what, I'd say to myself. Enjoy it while it does.
But that excuse worked less and less often as time
went by, and for the first time I began to wonder if
this was actually such a good idea. What would I do
when she was gone? This wasn't saying goodbye, it was
involving myself even more. Worse than that, I was
getting a taste of a beginning, and it made me want
more. The fact that she didn't return my love still
didn't bother me- it was the fact that she probably
never would that hurt.
I kept it out of my thoughts as best I could, because
I wasn't about to give up what I had now. Part of me
chuckled over the obvious evidence that I was
incapable of thinking ahead- not only had I given up
my afterlife, but in the end I'd be no better off than
I was now.
But... In some small way, this made it almost worth
it. I'd never even have had this, if not for my
sacrifice.
I held her closer that night, trying to memorize her
smell and the way she felt against my body as she
slept, and wondered if I should dare to take the next
step.
*****
Since that night, more and more I find I'm almost
starting to enjoy myself again. There is still a part
of me that's empty, and always will be, but when I
open myself up to Joxer I find I can almost forget.
I don't see anything wrong with taking my comfort in
his arms, and his lips. He offers it so willingly,
and although at first I thought it was a bad idea for
us to get involved, more often now I think it feels
amazingly right. He makes it so easy to pretend that
nothing's wrong; he's so silly and clumsy and
downright sweet.
We're back on the road, and he's still playing in
taverns sometimes. I keep the groupies away- or I
would, if he had any. He jokes sometimes that maybe I
should take a night off and we'll see just how many
groupies he could really amass without me clinging
to him before and after every performance.
I don't love him, and sometimes I feel sorry for
that. It's worse, at times, because he tells me how
he feels so often. I think he knows I don't return
it- in fact, I'm sure of it, but that doesn't make me
feel any less guilty from time to time. I want to
love him. But I don't think I can; with Xena gone,
any part of me that could feel that kind of love is
gone with her.
It doesn't always hurt to hear him pledge his heart
to me, though. Sometimes it's a comfort; sometimes I
can remember what he said, so long ago now, when he
first told me how he felt- no strings attached, he
just wants me to know. I think it's the same.
Besides, he doesn't seem unhappy- quite the opposite.
Most days, Joxer fairly glows as we walk.
And at night, he kisses me in so many different ways,
for so long, that the dreams don't dare to come to me.
I'd never see them.
Our time together passes, still too slowly, I regret
to say- for much as I enjoy Joxer's company now, and
not just for his physical affection, it's Xena who I
am longing to see. I can't pretend against that much.
It's what- nine and a half months now?
Did I really lose track?? Joxer must be distracting
me better than I thought.
After a time, however, he begins to grow quieter.
The past two months, I've come to know him well- much
better than before. And Joxer wears his emotions on
his sleeve, anyway. Something is obviously wrong, and
I know enough of him to know that he's scared of
something. What I don't know is, what? He has me, or
at least a good part of me, and he can't be worried of
losing me yet- there's still nearly a year left for
him.
And then, one night, he tells me... Or rather, asks
me.
We've been locked in a fervent embrace for nearly an
hour, this one borne of an almost furious need on both
our parts. It won't be much longer, I have a feeling,
before we begin to move beyond just kissing. Still,
for tonight, our lips part- reluctantly, admittedly-
and I stare into his lovely eyes for a few moments.
He looks shy. I love it when he looks shy... He
reminds me of a young boy, the way his brow furrows
and he ducks his head. I can't help playing with his
hair a little, because when it's sweaty it spikes
easily. So I lie next to him and make spiky tufts out
of his hair, while he stares at me with love openly
written all over his face.
This is usually the moment where he says it, so I'm
expecting to hear some variation of "I love you" when
he opens his mouth. It's one of those times where I
want to hear it, I'm not afraid, but instead he
hesitates and closes his mouth again. I look at him,
puzzled, a little frown on my face, and he smiles
fondly and leans to kiss me. It's so light, his lips
just barely touching mine, and it has to be one of the
sweetest kisses I've ever been given- by the Gods, I
don't want it to end or change at all.
But it does end, of course, and afterwards he says
only, "Goodnight, Gabrielle."
Okay, I think, and roll over to go to sleep. As
expected, he curls up behind me and molds his body to
mine, nuzzling his face into my hair, and my
consciousness begins to drift into a contented
slumber.
"Marry me," he says quietly, into my hair, and the
words jar me from sleep.
It's a long moment before I can answer, and then all
I can manage is, "W-what?"
He pauses, too, then repeats it. "Marry me,
Gabrielle. Please." His voice is high and boyish
from fear, and now I notice his trembling against me.
I should turn around. I should answer, at least.
But all I can do is swallow, and stare wide-eyed ahead
of me. I should have expected this, shouldn't I? The
man is desperately in love with me, and has less than
a year to accomplish what he wanted out of a lifetime
with me. But marriage? Can I marry someone I don't
love? Can he be married to someone who doesn't love
him, more importantly- is that fair to Joxer?
I don't think it is.
Regret pains me as I draw a breath to answer him.
"It's not... It's not because of you, Joxer," I begin,
and the trembling hand resting across my waist
tightens into a fist and slides off my body. He rolls
over, turning his back to me, his shoulders rounded as
he curls in on himself. "Oh, don't- don't," I say,
turning to face him myself. "Joxer, please, it's
not... I'm not rejecting you. Oh, don't... please
listen. Are you sure this is what you want? It's not
forever, Joxer, you know that in advance. Are you
sure?"
I have to wait for him to respond. The first thing I
hear is a sigh, and then he slowly uncurls. Sitting
up, he looks at me seriously, and the light from the
dying campfire makes his eyes seem liquid. "I've
never been more sure of anything in my life," he says
simply, deeply, and something deep inside my heart
melts.
"Then yes," I answer softly. I touch the gentle
smile that spreads across his face, and he kisses my
fingertips, and pulls me close.
*****
keep goin' -->
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