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*****
When she woke up and looked at herself, it was hardly a surprise.
For the past week or so, her body had been showing signs of developing a mind of its own. There was the way she seemed to have to remind her feet what direction she wanted to walk in each day. The way she'd had to fight down urges to hunt squirrels in the backyard when she got hungry. And just last night while talking on the phone, she'd looked down to note with muted concern that her hand was busily scribbling on the message pad. And it wasn't in English, either - it could have been Greek for all she knew.
So, in that regard, waking up to find that her body had left her behind to get dressed and admire itself in the mirror wasn't so out of the blue.
The body was pinning its hair up, squinting at its reflection as if trying to decide whether the straight brown hair looked better up or down. As she stared at it (wow, i look better in those jeans than i thought i did) the body seemed to focus its stare in the mirror, then turned to face her. "Oh, good, you're awake!" it said cheerfully, a smile that she didn't really think looked like her own stretching across its mouth.
What's going on? she tried to ask. The words were echoey, and she knew without being told that nothing had been said aloud. But then, that too was hardly a surprise, since she had no mouth. The mouth in question was still on the body, and still being used to smile that not-quite-her-own smile.
The body heard her anyway, and said apologetically, "Sorry about this. I have some unfinished business to take care of - I'll be out of your way in no time. I just need to find someone." It paused, then said, "I realize I didn't give you a lot of choice in the matter, but I promise, it won't take long."
This explanation wasn't exactly covering all the bases; there were still a number of questions that needed answering, in particular how it was the body had unfinished business that she had nothing to do with, but she couldn't seem to muster the panic she felt she probably would need to do anything about it. The body took no real heed to her confusion, and instead left its hair down and swept out the bedroom door.
She rose, with the intent of following, and found that she didn't even need to move her legs anymore. Instead, she moved in a funny sort of drift, along after the body which was putting out all the effort. I could get used to this, she thought with a mild amused calmness, and drifted her way along.
*****
It didn't take a whole lot of time to realize that the body was undertaking someone else's unfinished business, and not her own. She felt silly (as much as i can anyway) for not realizing this sooner - it was obvious in retrospect. After all, something had to have forced her out of her body, so obviously there was an external presence involved. A presence that was now directing the body, giving it an aggravated look and the energy to stay on its feet and run about town all day, as if it knew exactly what it was looking for.
She wished she'd been the one to figure that out on her own, but really, it had been shown to her. In an odd way, actually - she'd found that when she stared at the body, instead of the straight shoulder-length brown hair, slight physique, and olive complexion she was used to seeing in the mirror she'd come to believe she was staring at a blonde, about two inches shorter than she was, her hair short and layered, her body athletic and well-toned. It was disconcerting to say the least.
I hardly recognize myself, she thought. Such a strange thing, to see another woman walking in my blue jeans.
The act of thinking sparked another metaphysical pondering, something she'd been engaging in all day. It was rather a new experience to find oneself relegated to a spirit form, after all, and she'd been questioning the relations of the body to the mind all day. It now occurred to her - what was the difference between thinking and talking? She had no mouth to express her intended spoken words, so was there any difference between private and public thoughts?
"No," said the body in a distracted voice, tossing the comment over its shoulder as it walked. "I can hear you either way."
She considered this, and decided she was glad she liked the body enough to have refrained from thinking nasty things about it. This sparked another metaphysical consideration, this time about whether it was possible to truly dislike one's own body even while separated from it - outside of the general everyday dissatisfaction everyone felt with their own body, that was - and this kept her interest for another quarter
hour or so.
The body, which seemed to have gotten use of all the strong emotions along with all the physical stuff, (there's another funny mental/physical debate to be found in there, i'm sure) was growing steadily more irritated. She tried to ignore it, but it had started muttering under its breath, and was walking even faster. She had to drift more quickly to keep up, and she had discovered after the first two hours or so that drifting wasn't as easy as it seemed. She took a deep non-existant breath and drifted more quickly after the body, which was muttering something like "I should've expected this... it's just like him to be this way" as it searched. She wished she knew what they were looking for - it really didn't seem fair for her own body to look for something without telling her.
They started down another street, and she had to evade a few people who were walking right for her - passing through living bodies was an experience she'd had to undergo twice now and didn't want to repeat - then hurry up to drift along with the body as it went, searching the street and often popping its head into the establishments on the street.
The sour expression on the body's face lifted when they reached a particular dance club. "Finally," it said, and paid its way inside. She was amused as she passed the bouncer - she felt like she was cheating him and the rest of his club. No cover on Tuesdays for spirits, she said/thought as she passed, and the body laughed briefly without looking at her.
She was quickly getting tired. As the day had waned, she'd found that not only was it tiring drifting, it was tiring just hanging in the air. She wanted to relax, she thought as she floated upwards onto the top of a cabinet near the table where the body sat, just relax and take some of this tension away.
"It is tiring," the body's voice floated up and took a seat next to her on the cabinet top, "mostly because your spirit wants to go on to the afterlife now that it's separated from its physical form. Try to hang on - I promise, I won't be much longer, and then you'll be fine," it finished, then smiled self-consciously at a man who was passing and giving her a puzzled look. This bit of information at least got her alert again, for the time being.
The body was scanning the crowd from the small table it was seated at. Its eyes fell on a man sitting alone at another table, across the room, and it frowned. She looked, too - he was tall, black, his hair cut close, glasses on his face. An attractive man (attractive nothing, he's -hot-) but she couldn't figure out the body's interest in him. She'd never seen him before, but the body hadn't seemed to pick him out at random.
Already, the body was standing and approaching him. She made her ghostly way down from the cabinet, and followed, as the body came near the table the black man was sitting at and smiled hesitantly. He smiled back. Good start, she said/thought, but please tell me you're not just using my body because you wanted to flirt one last time...
The body ignored her. "Joxer...?" it asked hesitantly. "Joxer - it's me."
The black man frowned slightly. "I'm sorry, miss, I think you have me confused with someone else."
Leaning forward, the body looked him in the eyes, then repeated "Joxer," in a firm, no-nonsense kind of voice. Listening, even she wanted to do what the body told her to, even though she had nothing to do with it.
"I - miss, I'm sorry, but I'm not your friend. I'm not Joxer," the man said, standing up. He looked slightly nervous, now. "If you're supposed to meet him here, maybe you can go leave a message at the bar-"
The body's hand shot out, grabbed him by the wrist. "Joxer. It's Gabrielle. I know you're in there. Come on, Joxer, talk to me."
The black man yelled in alarm, pulling against the hand that held him, but the body's grip was strong. At the same time, she could see something inside pushing, and the black man stumbled at the pushes. A crowd was turning to watch, as the body stared, determined, and the man fell back, and their eyes never left each other.
And suddenly, the black man was standing beside his body, looking perplexed and disoriented, and his body was blinking and staring at the body whose hand was holding so tight.
"Gabrielle...?" he said, and his brown eyes were soft, and his straight brown/black hair was soft, and his pale (pale?) skin was soft, and his voice was the softest of all.
The body, Gabrielle, grinned and nodded in relief. "It's me, Joxer. Thank the gods - I was afraid I'd made a mistake."
She shook her non-existant head in wonder. At least it was all finally nearly done, and soon she could get back to her normal life and walk, not drift. She looked across at the ethereal black man, who looked almost panicked. No surprise really - he hadn't had the time leading up to this that she'd had. She caught his eye, smiled and waved, and he nodded politely while looking even more perplexed.
The two bodies were hugging now, and speaking in lower voices. She had to move closer to hear them.
"...been trying to find you all day. How is it that when I don't want you around, you're at every turn, but when I do..."
"...have a life this time, Gabby. But I'm so glad ours intersected, I missed you so much -"
"Joxer," Gabrielle said, pulling back from his embrace to look him in the eyes. "We don't have a lot of time. I've been using this body improperly this time - this isn't just a past life remembrance, this is me in here."
The black/white man looked impressed. "Wow. How'd you do that?"
Gabrielle shrugged. "Meditation technique. I did some looking into it years after you were killed. I needed peace of mind."
"So - this isn't just a social call."
"No. Well, kind of. In a sense." Gabrielle took a deep breath, frowning and looking angry somehow. "I don't really know where to start. I... I sort of acted without thinking exactly what I was going to tell you when I saw you."
If Gabrielle had expected Joxer to tell her what to say, it was a false hope. The man simply sat there, staring at her expectantly. With a sigh, Gabrielle spoke again, trying to put her feelings into words.
"Joxer... after you were killed... life got very, very strange for a while. Very hectic. Xena and I travelled all over the place, sometimes with Eve, sometimes with Virgil, and sometimes just on our own. And as a result, I... I had an excuse not to think of you. But after a while, it all calmed down, and suddenly you were all I could think of, no matter how hard I tried differently. I spent two years keeping you completely out of my mind, then another five with you practically haunting me. And do you know why?"
"Um..."
"Don't worry. I don't expect you to. In some ways, I still don't know, myself. But that's a big part of why I started meditating again - to try and figure things like that out. And I came to one conclusion.
"I never... I never let myself..." Gabrielle started, brokenly, and slipped out of Joxer's embrace to sit down at his table. "I never let myself... love you... the way I should have."
Joxer was silent for a few moments. Finally he muttered, "Oh," and sank into the chair across from her.
"I wasted our time together. I'm so sorry, Joxer. When I started dreaming of you, I knew I'd made a mistake - not just in not loving you, but in not telling you what I really felt - before I lost you. That's why I'm here." Gabrielle paused, then said, "I'm here to tell you. That in our dreams, we see what we need. I need you." Another
pause, one which clearly expected a reaction, but got none. A cough. "You really had the right idea - telling me when you did. With no strings. At least you didn't have it hanging over your head after that."
Joxer finally reacted, with a chuckle. "Well, it took you dying twice for me to figure out that I had to get it said... There was only the one with you, and no second chances."
Gabrielle smiled and reached for his hand. "I wish I'd let myself love you, Joxer. In our lives, love has hid her face, to keep her heart from breaking. Into pieces... into feeling. I always felt I couldn't afford to love anyone but Xena, couldn't feel anything strongly for anyone but her." The borrowed eyes grew misty, and Joxer reached over and cupped Gabrielle's cheek.
"Save your tears for the rain," he might have said - she couldn't tell, he nearly whispered it, and the music in the club was loud.
"Kiss me," Gabrielle told him, so he did, full on the lips. She looked away from the couple - it felt strangely voyeuristic to watch something like that. She didn't look back until she heard murmurings between them again.
They were sitting with their heads bent together, clasping hands, and talking quietly. After a few moments, they chuckled. She looked around and found the ethereal black man, who from the look on his non-existant face had just had someone walk through him for the first time. She smiled in sympathy, and tried to catch his attention. Just as she did, however, the bodies stood up, holding hands. Her body turned to her, smiling, her eyes a little red.
"I'm done," it said. "Thank you. I needed this."
She wasn't sure what to say in return, so she half-shrugged. You're welcome?
The body smiled, ducking its head self-consciously. "I know - I didn't exactly give you a choice."
Again, she didn't know what to say to that. She skimmed over it. Um - how do we - Her attempt at asking how to put things right was cut short, as the Joxer-possessed body caught her own in an unexpected, but highly passionate, kiss.
And, of course, that was when they switched.
The first thing she was aware of was that she definitely had lips again, because they were being kissed quite firmly. After that, she felt arms around her waist - a masculine chest beneath her own hands, brought up in front of her - and just a general physical presence that she hadn't experienced all day.
I definitely like this guy, she thought as both she and the black man stepped back, embarrassed, from the clinch they'd ended up in. To her pleasure, despite the shock of being forced into a romantic embrace with a woman he knew nothing about, he recovered his composure and smiled.
She hoped it meant that he liked her, too, because after all that had just happened she had a sudden urge to get to know him a lot better.
*****
© 2001 by Xebbie
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