All Soul's Night.

Disclaimers in Chapter One. Note: The author sincerely apologizes for having taken so long, but getting hit by a car and suffering protracted angst and anxiety is guaranteed NOT to be conducive to writing.

Busy as she was over the next several hours, Xena's suspicions were instantly alerted when Madrigail let her have free reign of the kitchen and bowed completely out of sight, quiet as you please. This, Xena wondered, was the same housekeep who had bullied, cursed, and stuffed them like Thanksgiving turkeys over the past two days?

Wrist deep in tofu, she fought her natural instinct to search the old woman out and *demand* to know why she set her hackles on such edge. Not that such an instinct, which led her to work the tofu all the more intently, was itself all that welcome an addition. Could there be such a thing as too *vivid* a memory?

She continued her preparations, instinct alerting her to Gabrielle's eventual awakening. She was resolved that her bard would not wake to a lonely bed and empty room.

Nor was she going to risk having Madrigail de-rail all her well laid plans by giving Gabrielle so much as slice of apple. Hence her deliberate haste in the kitchen. Hence the *large* amount of food she prepared with such haste.

Xena just wished the vegetables would hurry up and finish cooking so she could get back upstairs. Gabrielle, while notoriously predictable where sleeping patterns were concerned, was someone she had learned not to underestimate. The bard had lately taken to "ambushing" her at all hours, usually when she was right at the point of nodding off, and continuously torment her until they were both so exhausted that Xena had no chance to reciprocate.

Damned if she'd let *that* continue!

The vegetables chose that moment to come to a boil, matching Xena's thoughts perfectly.

******

It was only minutes later that Xena was ascending the stairs, the tray she'd prepared in a death-grip in her hands. The whiteness of her knuckles, coupled with the set of her eyes and jaw, might have been taken as determination. Perhaps it was bitter resolve to see a thing through, given the hardness of those blue eyes of her's.

It could just as easily be fear which caused that slight tremor in her hand. But that would be an absurd idea; what could so formidable a woman (her steady march and hard eyes spoke as much) have to fear from a worn slip of girl as lay on the other side that door?

Or so Xena told herself, her every nerve screaming for flight, the twin questions plaguing her all the while.

How could she do this?

How could she *not* do this?

The sounds of shifting linen and the groan of bedsprings put the debate to rest. Xena marched forward, head high, and nudged the door open with one hip. She addressed the room's occupant with so cheery and wide a smile it simply *had* to genuine; after all it was Gabrielle, not her, who had years and years experience on the stage.

Pity it all really was just show. She could have used some genuine cheer.

"Good morning," Xena declared, the force of it causing the bed's occupant to jump so hard she fell out. The undignified "thud" of Gabrielle's landing was comical enough; the little known Amazon expletive she issued left Xena with a genuine smile. "My," she remarked mildly. "Such language."

That earned her a glare. To which she replied "Back into bed with you, young lady. You are in no condition to be trying to move yet." The authority in that voice was sufficient to command the Queen of the Amazons back onto the mattress, though it did nothing to deflect the rebellion and promises of physical violence in those beautiful eyes.

Xena cared not a whit, setting the tray before her. Gabrielle had crossed her arms under her generous breasts generally looked sulky. Sounded it, too, asking "What's this?"

"Lunch."

"Well, obviously." Was that venom in that melodious voice of hers?

"Now, eat." Xena said, ignoring the withering stare directed at her, her feelings only slightly singed by the accompanying glare of fire. To underline the point, she practically forced a fork into the smaller woman's hand.

"*You* aren't eating anything," Gabrielle cooly observed, fooling no-one. Now, Xena wondered, could one sound both so sulky, so challenging, and yet completely calm all in the same breath? Fortunately, she'd anticipated this. With pointless drama, she picked up a slice of fruit and dropped it in her mouth.

Gabrielle watched, the false sneer no cover for the frank intensity of her eyes...and the fire behind them.

Still watching, her eyes soon caught by Xena's own, Gabrielle raised and swallowed a forkful of the tray's fare. Another followed, though she chewed this one...and went utterly still.

As did Xena's breath.

******

Gabrielle felt here eyes dragged down to the tray straddling her lap as though by gravity itself. Only *that* implacable and universal force could have forced her to break gaze with Xena right then. If only she could blame her sudden paralysis on something as convenient...

...rather than the rush of memory that accompanied the taste of rare meat filling her mouth.

Very, *very* rare meat.

The salty-sweet juices coating her tongue awoke the Thirst in her, causing her fangs to spring out. Yet Gabrielle did nothing to stop or cover this reaction; in truth, her thoughts were so very far away she was no more aware of her fangs than she was of her shuddering and increasingly frantic breathing.

Those thoughts, which were memory most pure and consuming, left her breathless and heartsick. Memories of a campfire cooking beneath open stars and sky.

Of how the warrior chose *that* night to cook, chasing the bard away.

Of a secret...*the* secret...no longer hidden because the warrior was clever enough to find it and force it out.

Of the wild and furious love that flowed between the warrior and her bard that night, and how they gave full vent to their shared passion every night after.

"Finish your meal, love."

Gabrielle jumped again, because the words were not of memory, but spoken aloud...the tone and timing as exact now as then.

And now, as then, she began to choke on the meat as her eyes choked with tears. She did not look up, lest the simple *possibility* of this impossible thing vanish.

"I know my cooking is bad..." said the memory-made-real again. Were those tears she heard in her? It was insane...*impossible*! She couldn't look up and see the eyes...because those weren't...she could be...

"Gabrielle?" Fear in that voice now. Gabrielle could no more resist the plea than she could turn wine to water by will alone. Gabrielle looked up, and beheld eyes she had known only a year...and longer still...tears of fear which clouded them. Fear, Gabrielle knew, of denial and rejection. *That* emotion had no place here! Oh, she knew perfectly well its origin, fearing the same thing herself. But...

"Xena?" She'd meant it as an acknowledgement, as reassurance, as a greeting a year delayed, no questions asked...

It came out a plea...a desperate plea...an absolute *need*...she knew Xena would hate her for it...she hated herself...*hated* the way her arms threw *themselves* open...reaching out for...for...

She nearly screaming when strong arms enfolded her, and was certain she *did* scream when she felt lips press against her hair. She knew those lips so well. She pulled tightly against the strong body beside her, grasping hard to every inch she could reach.

She screamed and wept and screamed and wept, on and on...until she could no longer scream. The tears did not stop, nor did she slacken her grip even a little. Gabrielle found she could not speak through the rawness of her throat, and managed a weeping laugh at the irony. Now, when she needed her bardic talents most, when there were a thousand and ten questions to be asked and things to be said...now she was struck dumb. Gods, how she loathed herself for this failure!

Perhaps Xena sensed this, which was why she murmured nonsense words into her hair, words Gabrielle had used herself to calm the warrior when her nightmares denied her the least rest. The effect was as strong upon her as it had been for Xena, and her tears eventually calmed and stilled. She managed a ragged breath and dared to unfold one arm from its circling of Xena. If anything, the small bard pressed even closer to her love, as though trying to absorb her into herself.

Running shaking fingers through her hair, Gabrielle raised her eyes to look upon Xena more fully. Xena met her gaze, her own eyes uncertain... afraid...such an alien sight for those eyes.

What could they say that had not been said between them a thousand times before?

What needed to be said that they had not already spoken...with their eyes...with their hearts?

******

It had been easy enough to offer the comforting words, which she was pleased to see did their work. Gabrielle calmed and no longer screamed into her shoulder, what Xena took as the rage of betrayal stilling to words she herself was not sure exactly *what* she spoke. Xena groped for words that might speak her heart, that could explain herself and her return.

She groped and reached, but found nothing. Not a single word.

And that failure spelled her doom, of that she was certain, for Gabrielle could never forgive what could only appear as deception as this now looked. Better she leave now...retreat...before the one she loved spoke the words of rejection she knew full well would strike her dead.

Xena pried her arms from where they circled her bard, her muscles rebelling against the loss of contact between them, her heart splintering and dying piece by piece with each inch that separated them.

How she managed to choke back the tears and still her trembling hands she would never be sure. Shock, most likely.

If the Fates were merciful, it would last forever.

Xena did not allow herself to look to Gabrielle's eyes, even if only to confirm the accusation she knew would be there. The very *idea* that she might still want her...Xena might have laughed...had she still voice enough. As it was, she could only just draw one breath after another.

This was actually a good thing. It kept her from issuing even the smallest sound, something so easily misinterpreted, when Gabrielle spoke. She even wondered if she'd even heard it at all, so...impossible....were the words that they were not to be believed.

"Stay with me."

Xena looked across the distance to her bard, cringing beneath the sight of love and acceptance in those eyes. Disbelief and desperate hope warred in her then, the contest over the instant it began, her surrender immediate...and complete.

She moved without thought, her feet taking her back to her bard's arms...bringing her home.

Somehow...through the pounding of their two hearts in time that by right should have left them deaf...somehow the warrior spoke the words...words that had eluded her earlier. But her voice was so low and husky with emotion, she could barely hear them herself.

"I'm not going...anywhere..."

Whether heard aloud or not, whether understood or not, both *knew* what was said...what was meant. The tears they shed then were the sort they would only shed from that day on: ones of joy. Neither cried again, for there was no reason to. No more words were spoken, either in reassurance or explanation; there would be time enough for such things later.

Xena could only close her eyes to the tight grip Gabrielle put upon her, savoring the press of skin to skin, her senses filled with Gabrielle. There was still so much to say, so much very much to try and explain.

But, for now, to be in each other's arms once more...that was enough.

After a short wile of this, Gabrielle asked the simple, perfect question. "Is it you?" Xena heard the thousand and ten hopes and fears which rode upon the answer, and marveled once more at her bard's courage. By contrast, she was the basest coward.

"It's me." She shifted herself to give Gabrielle a more comfortable position against her. The bard's head found its familiar nook in her shoulder, her body perfectly aligning at her side, all tension melting from their bones.

They only distantly heard the crash of the tray as it was sent tumbling to the floor by their moving and shifting all about. Gabrielle's sweet laugh echoed through the room, as did Xena's tiny giggle. They quickly quieted, Morpheus stealing them away once more.

******

The noise of the tray and silverware being upturned and clattering against itself, the hollow gong of its final impact with the floor, these were clearly heard in the kitchen, where Madrigail sipped her tea and awaited her guest.

She'd cleaned the remnants of Xena's culinary efforts and put the tea on the instant the tall woman left the room, her nerves on edge at the energy now fairly crackling in the house. She'd managed to search out nominal cause: the golden dagger, its three-pointed blade sparkling in the late morning light. Simply touching it gave the old housekeep the sensation of grasping a live wire, the small hairs covering her neck and arms raising. She'd set to cleaning and boiling the tea in such a frenzy so to burn off the rush of energy such a simple connection gave her.

She counted herself lucky the broadsword, which she handled reverently upon recognizing the runic inscription hidden along the blade, did not carry the same kind of charge. Otherwise she'd never have been able to put it away and out of sight, though the idea of trying to explain its presence to the rest of the staff (never mind Marcous and company) struck her as rather comical.

And worrying, should any of the Table's kin be among them. Gabrielle's very presence had a tendency to attract them like flies to sugar. Even if they didn't recognize the blade itself, it was sure to recognize *them*. Madrigail had no wish to speculate on what might follow from *that*.

Madrigail resolved to deal with one problem at a time. The dagger was her most immediate concern, even though it sat but inches away on the table before her. She recognized this weapon as well, though more by rumor than established fact, and wondered what had befallen its creator. She was, to be perfectly honest, stumped at to what do with the damned thing short of tossing it in the river and letting the sprites deal with it.

The dilemma was solved when the back door opened. The visitor who swept in was a complete stranger to Madrigail, yet one she recognized, again by story and rumor alone. A smile crept across her face as she nodded to the chair opposite her and said "Come t'claim your lost property?"

The newcomer simply shrugged and took her seat. She sipped her tea and studied the dark liquid. "They upstairs?" Hope asked without looking up.

"Aye," Madrigail nodded. "You waiting for them?"

Hope shook her head. "Not now. Soon perhaps." She cast an unreadable glance towards the threshold to the stairs. "They deserve a bit of peace."

"And ye don't?" Madrigail attended the shadows that crossed over the old one's features, seeing the play of tension and emotions crossing her hooded eyes. Hope had kept her eyes on the dagger before her, not daring to meet the housekeep's eyes, which would tear her secrets from her as a surgeon might remove a malignant tumor from a body. The silence stretched between them for some minutes, neither fully knowing what passed between them, their tea cooling to the air.

Hope abruptly stood and gathered her weapon. "Take care of them," was all she said before moving to the doorway. Madrigail's quiet voice held her at the threshold.

"She forgave ye years ago. Ye've died for them more times than they 'ave for each other." The old housekeep stood, but made no more towards her. "Can't ye forgive yourself?"

Her voice spoke of her centuries and weight she shouldered. "No."

And she was gone.

Madrigail shook her head, more in wonder than despair. She sat back down, and wondered how she was going to clean the mess her warrior and bard were certain to leave upstairs. The thought brought a smile to her wrinkled cheeks.

How she *loved* those two.

******

Hope leaned against one of the tallest trees in the wood, letting the eternal rhythm of the Life about her wash through her, settle her disquiet and drown away the lingering terror of Awaking once more from her false death.

No, she could not forgive herself. But perhaps it was time she face those she loved and cherished from afar. Perhaps, if only so the past might finally be resolved and put to rest.

Perhaps.

But, for now, she was content to wait and see their reunion. What, after all, was a few more days to an immortal?

The single tear upon her cheek was the only sign of her *true* feelings on the matter. Feelings which cursed her for a coward.

Hope could not help but agree.

******

Helios never shone as brightly as he did that day, and warmed the chilled land and life beneath him.

******