Chapter Three
The Two of Us (On Our Way Home)

"And you boogied like a minx on crack!" Arran staggered a little, running into Zena who merely growled.

"You were supposed to sober up so you can drive home!"

"Aaah," Arran waved a hand, "I can walk home!"

Gabrielle frowned with disbelief, "Arran! It's two miles down the highway!"

"I be fine!" Arran shook himself, taking a deep breath in, "I can pull myself together."

Joxer cocked a brow, "I sure hope so. Here's my car. Um," he turned to Gabrielle, jingling his keys nervously, "This has been the most - amazing night..."

Gabrielle smiled, nodding, her heart tearing at having to be away from him, "I know - I don't want it to end."

"Me neither..." he sighed.

She looked around herself, a mischevious twinkle in her eyes. She pulled Joxer aside, a softness in her smile. "W- I know this is incredibly forward but-"

"Yes," Joxer said huskily, lifting her chin up, "Whatever you're asking, yes."

She laughed, her fingers wrapping around the hand at her face, "Joxer, you don't know what I'm asking - I could be dumping you for all you-"

He cocked a brow, "You wanna dump me?"

She giggled, "No, of course not."

He nodded with a wise-ass smirk, "Then what is it?"

She swore he was taking great delight in her nervousness, and she leant forward into his arms, fingering his collar ever so innocently, "I - I wanna come home with you."

Joxer gulped, tilting his head, "Very do-able," he said, "Your car around here or..."

"I'll drive it to your place?"

Joxer nodded, "'Kay... you follow me, the address is... dammit," He pulled out a scrap of paper, "Here's my address and here," he turned it over, "Is my number."

She took the dirty smudged paper, and ran her fingers over the numbers, "There's kisses there."

"All for you," he smiled, winking, and he opened the door of his car, "See you soon, Gabrielle."

She grinned, "Goodbye, Joxer."

She stepped back, rejoining Zena and Arran, a delirious smile on her face. Zena rolled her eyes, shaking her head, "One day and you're in his bed."

Gabrielle blushed, "No, it's not like that."

"Oh?" Zena pursed her lips as they began to stroll again down the road, the cafe and club strip behind them, "Kinda looks like that to me..."

Gabrielle sighed, "Zena - I - I can't explain it! There's something about him... I feel like I've known him all my life!"

"Yeah, and you could totally trust him and that you can almost read his mind," she said with a rolling of her hand.

Gabrielle frowned, "Zena, this *is* different. I wish you'd trust my judgement on this..."

"I see my best friend totally cock-whipped," she said matter of factly, pulling a joint out of Arran's hand and stuffing it in her pocket. He frowned.

"Hey!"

"Arran," she growled.

He sighed, looking to Gabrielle. "I'm not that gone."

"Coulda fooled me," Gabrielle said as politely as she could, terribly failing. The comment washed over Arran, his face not twitching or moving at all.

"What the hell am I going to do with you?" Zena sighed, "You're pissed beyond reproach."

Arran raised a brow, "I'm perfectly fine, thank you!"

"My car," Gabrielle said, reaching a small toyota, "Thanks for turning up tonight, Zena, I really appreciate it."

Zena shrugged slightly, "Is okay - I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

Gabrielle looked to her feet, grinding the wet bitumen with her toe, "I um... I know you're not too fond of this whole Joxer thing..."

"Just be careful," Zena said, putting a hand on her best friend's shoulder, "You never know."

Gabrielle smiled, looking up to Zena, "I don't know why, but with Joxer, I do." She stepped forward, hugging Zena tightly, "I love you."

"Love you too," smiled Zena, ruffling her friend's hair, "Look after yourself. Got a taser?"

"In my purse," Gabrielle smirked, "Along with the condoms."

"Good girl," grinned Zena. "I better get this idiot home."

Gabrielle nodded, turning and pulling out her car keys. Unlocking the door to her car, she winked at her best friend, leaping into the front seat. The car was still for a moment, but the lights cracked the darkness, the car's engine whirring into life. The red automobile backed out, Zena and Arran stepping back as it angled out onto the road. With a quick honk of the horn, the car sped off down the road.

"Juss you an me now," Arran said.

Zena eyed him and sighed, "Yes, just you and me."

They were silent for a moment, and she could feel the odd bump of Arran's muscled shoulder running into hers as he staggered. She sighed, trying to quash the worry she felt within her. Why was she worried about what this idiot did? HE was the one wasting his life on beer and women. Somehow, she felt herself softening inside, her hard-assed veneer always seemed to crumble around him. Maybe it was because he was so incredibly masculine, and therefore virtually impossible to look tough around. Something in him seemed to revel in her cold treatment of him, another part was like a young boy who yearned for love and attention.

"Why d'you hate me?"

Zena frowned at him, "Huh?"

"You," he said, a funny pout on his face that made him look vulnerable, "You hate me."

She scoffed, "Hate's a strong word. I - Um," she bit her lip, "I tolerate you."

"You hate me," he said again, "I know I'm not very good... I'm bad..."

"You're not bad," she said, wrapping her trenchcoat around her tighter, "You're just stupid." He went silent, his dark brown eyes fixed on the road ahead. She shrugged, "I had fun dancing with you - if that makes any difference."

He gave her a long look, it seemed to say nothing about what he was feeling and it drove her crazy. "You're beautiful."

Zena blushed, hiding her face behind her hand, "I know - just - watch where you're walking."

"I waited years and years and years for you," he said, "Years and years and I never found you. Thought I never would."

Zena frowned, cocking a lip in incomprehension, "What?"

He shook his head, "Never min'."

Zena shook her head. He was spouting stuff - stupid romantic crap probably. Then again something about the whole night creeped her out. It was too weird. She really did like the Joxer fella but - he creeped her out too. And not in the scary bad guy kinda way. In the blinding sense of deja vu way.

"I drink 'cause I'm sad," Arran said, his eyes clearing for a moment, "And I'm sad, because I can never have you."

Zena's brow twitched down, her mouth turning, "Says who?"

He gave a sad smile, "You, beautiful princess."

Zena shuddered, grabbing Arran's hand and yanking him onwards towards her car in the lot, "I'm getting you home and to bed so you can stop freaking me out!"

She threw him into the back seat, and the guy was oddly silent. She expected him to make some wise crack about sadomasochism or something. He just lay there in the back seat, gazing quietly out the back window. She buckled herself in, starting up the engine. Glancing back, she pulled out a blanket and threw it over Arran.

"Ar..."

"Hmm?"

"You okay man?"

He turned his head, his large brown eyes meeting hers, and said nothing. She put her foot down on the pedal, backing the car out onto the highway, keeping an eye out for traffic. Her heart seemed to thump, that worry from before raging. She couldn't stand the man sometimes, yet... something in her was fiercely protective of him. She sighed, trying her best to remain rational. At the looming of the apartment building she knew he lived in, she slowed down, taking time to roll up the driveway.

"Ar, we're here."

Nothing.

"Ar... Arran!"

"Uuh - Huh?! Whah?"

She sighed with relief, throwing off her seatbelt and tugging the car keys out and into her pocket, "We're here, Arran."

He nodded, "'Kay. You fight the best."

She nodded, "I know. Can you walk?"

"Sure... one foot two foot - not hard."

Zena slammed and locked the doors, checking the car before striding over to Arran and sliding under his arm, supporting him. He frowned.

"What you doing?"

"Helping you inside, you moron."

"Oh..."

She helped him inside, his heavy booted feet making long round steps, his hands dangling laxly at her shoulders.

"You don't wear the sword anymore."

Zena screwed up her face in disbelief, "What?"

"I shouldn't say," he said, "I shouldn't mention it."

"Mention what?!" she said, trying to hold back the reigning confusion. Upon reaching the elevator, she pushed him in.

"Well," he shook his head, "No no... I won't."

"Do," she shouted firmly, "Or DON'T! Just STOP screwing with my head!"

"Sorry," he shook his head again, "Sorry sorry, I din' mean to."

She pulled him out of the elevator, stomping down the corridor to the room on the end. She'd only been there once before. Arran had once offered to be her sparring partner, and it gave her a chance to kick his ass. After seeing the beautfully set out lair he called his apartment, she made a point to meet him at the rectreation centre rather than at his home. Even on his modest wages as a bartender and kung fu instructor, he managed to decorate the room in an alluring style, something about it as tempting as he was. She pushed open the door after managing to pry the keys from Arran's fumbling fingers. She smacked on the light, letting Arran walk slowly into the centre of the room. She watched him for a long moment. He seemed more depressed than pissed. She sighed.... what a Friday.

"Well, are you going to be al-"

Arran sighed and lay down on the couch. She rolled her eyes, closing the door behind her, slipping on the locks and striding over to him. She stood in front of him with a risen brow.

"What are you doing?"

"Sleeping," he said.

"In all that leather?"

He opened one eye a crack, and looked down, "Ow..."

"Yeah ow," she said, pushing him up to his feet from behind, leading him into his bedroom. She kicked close the door, leading him to the bed. He flumped himself down again. She sighed. "UP!"

Arran rolled over, looking at her with groggy eyes, "Huh?"

"UP!"

He frowned, doing as she said, standing in front of her, wavering a little. She yanked off his jacket with a mother's speed, trying not to eye the deliciously muscled body that was being uncovered underneath the layers of clothing. Under the black jacket was a tight black t-shirt that she helped him peel off, and pushing him onto the bed she yanked off his boots. He just lay back, his body stretched out, his eyes close, long lashes sitting against elegant cheekbones. She always marvelled at what petit hands and feet this guy had. She shrugged, pulling him up again.

"You got undies on?"

He frowned at her, "Yeah!"

"Okay - I never know with you," she mumbled, undoing his belt and throwing it aside. "Take your pants off and get into bed."

He nodded, pulling the leather togs off, his muscled form curving as he bent over to tug off the pants. She took her bottom lip between her teeth, blushing furiously. The man tumbled into bed, laying there in dark grey jocks. She clamped her eyes shut at the sight of his mostly naked body, and taking the edge of the blanket on his bed she pulled it up over him, tucking him in and pushing wisps of his fringe from his face.

"There," she sighed, "All better."

"Don't go..."

She turned, her head, a frown on her face, "Ar - I gotta."

"It's Friday," he said, "Where you gotta be tomorrow?"

"Home, and - with Agnes..."

Arran said nothin, just looked up at her from the bed. She sighed, shaking her head and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"What do you expect me to do?" she said, "Sit and watch you sleep?"

"Talk to me," he said, "We never talk. We just grunt at each other."

"You don't make a lot of room for intelligent conversation," she muttered.

"I know," he nodded, "I'm always so bad at saying things I mean. It scares me."

She frowned, "Scares you? Why?"

"It's weak," he said, "Soft people need other people. Makes you vulnerable to adversaries."

Zena climbed over him, settling on the other side of the bed, laying back and looking at the ceiling, "Arran, you don't have any adversaries."

"Sure I do," he said, "I got - workmates, Jett, Callista... you sometimes."

She turned her head and looked to him, battling the affection that swelled within her. "I'd never seriously hurt you, Ar. You know that."

"I don't know anything anymore," Arran sighed, "I know what I knew, and now what there is. It doesn't seem to connect. This place - this city is all mixed up. I'm too used to things being simple."

Zena frowned. She wasn't sure what he was talking about. "They are," she offered, "When you trust yourself - your friends. You have friends you know."

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and smirk, "Yeah, friends. I see you three days a week so you can kick my ass, and Gabrielle on the weekends when you both come in for your weekly piss-up."

"Some people don't even have that," Zena said.

"It wouldn't be so bad if you didn't act like you can't stand me."

Zena felt the corner of her mouth lift, "It doesn't help that you behave like a pig. You drink yourself silly when you get the chance. Then there's the pot - you should definitely quit that."

"You took some too..."

She eyed him, "That's the first time I've smoked some in about a year and a half. I'm a professional kickboxer stupid. I got my health to maintain. Which brings me back to how amazing it is that you haven't got a pot belly and a shithouse memory by now."

Arran shrugged, "Just lucky I guess."

Zena pursed her lips and sighed, "Whatever."

"You know...you almost sound like you care about me."

She rolled onto her side, watching him gaze at the ceiling for a long moment. When he wasn't smirking like a self-assured buffoon, or gawking at some scantily clad woman at a bar... he had a definite artistic quality to his features. His lips, round and full, held a beautiful blush of purple to them, the goatee he kept accentuating the succulent flesh there perfectly. His nose turned up a little, and his eyes, large and soulful, sat under dark brooding brows that gave him a sulky quality that she hated to admit was endearing.

"You're annoying," she said, "You're a pain in the ass, you're even stupid..."

"I take back my last comment," he mumbled.

"But... you're not a bad person," she said, "You just - you're a little self centred sometimes."

"So are you," he said, "We're two of a kind."

She frowned softly, "Perhaps." After taking in his gentle expression a moment longer, she sat up, looking away, her hair falling down off her bare shoulders exposed from her dark grey singlet top, folding her legs up against herself. She closed her eyes, the erupting flush of - affection perhaps, yes - flooding her mind, making her giddy. She heard the shifting of the sheets, and a warmth at her back. The soft wet touch of what she knew was his lips brushed her shoulder, a terrified shiver running through her.

"Arran..."

She could feel a hand on her back, another sliding around to her other arm, pulling her backwards into his arms. He turned her over, cradling her top half like a baby, running his fingers through her long jet black hair with careful deliberation. He seemed to savour the sensation of the silkly locks skimming over his fingers. He shifted, laying her down next to him, his every move thick with care and tenderness.

"I've seen you go through women before," she huffed.

"You're not other women," he said in a low growl, running the backs of his fingers over the plane of her cheek. She felt a shiver take her again, his hand slipping down over her breast, not kneading it or clutching it. His thumb brushed lightly over the hardened bump of nipple, his lips descending and pressing onto the pulse of her neck. She gasped softly, pulling him back, the hot spill of something on her face blurring her vision. Tears - why tears? He frowned, his brows tilted up, his hand cradling her face delicately. "Zena," he said, his voice husky and low, "Don't fear me."

"I don't!" she said, "I don- oh..."

He closed the distance between them, his silky lips pressing down over hers with such delicious suction, the skilled caresses easing her own open with a slow langourous pumping. A soft moan grew within her, tears spilling again. Arran broke away, running his lips over her cheek, ear. He took a long breath in, luxuriating in the musky perfume she wore. He ran his tongue over her skin, licking away the tears, and she felt his breath brush her ear...

"I love you, Zena..."

She groaned, arching her body up, her arm clutching onto his shoulder and pulling him down. Something in her broke as the words were muttered, so beautifully with such sincerity. Maybe *she* was the cock-whipped one. At that moment, she didn't care. The both of them had shared something that night, something she'd never spared him before. A little understanding perhaps, maybe patience. Had she known he'd reward her with a little spark of humanity she would have changed her tack long ago. Maybe... oh God...

She idly wondered about the tears that had fallen, why she felt so - full - of something when he'd finally pressed his lips onto her skin. Had she been waiting for that? He'd made passes at her before, but there was something about him tonight... something so fragile. A bizarre sense of relief barraged her soul when she gave in to him, and damn her if she knew why, but it felt so right. She bucked, trying to wriggle out of her clothes, her lips roving over Arran's shoulders. She grunted, mumbled, gasped as Arran slid his hand up underneath her singlet. He sat her up, and sliding his hands up, under her arms and up them, he bundled the thin singlet top and pulled it from her body. She brought her arms down, behind her, flicking undone the clasp of her bra and letting the collection of black lace fall in her lap. Arran pulled her up, burying his face to her chest, pressing soft tender caresses over her satin skin. He lay her down, now yanking her shoes off, easing the denim pants from her luscious curves. As she kicked the pants off her legs, her thighs shuddered, and Arran ran his hand up the soft plane of her inner thigh. He met her frantic gaze, deep brown eyes alive with mischief. He settled between her legs, nudging at the damp mound shrouded in tight-fitting black satin.

"Hauuuuh..." Zena moaned, bucking her hips, "Arran you damn tease!"

She heard a muffled snigger, though it suddenly went quiet as something latched onto the crotch of her panties. With a tug Arran pulled them down with his teeth, Zena tilting her hips up to help him along.

"That's it," she panted, "That's it - oh God..."

Arran let out an impatient puff, grabbing the knickers and ripping them off.

"ARR!" she gasped, "Those panties cost me fifty dollars!"

"Oh... whoops... Um..." He looked up at her apologeticly, "I'll buy you more. Lots more."

Zena tilted up a brow in bewilderment, but before she could vocalize any thought she had Arran had swooped in, bringing a guttural squeak from her throat.

"Unh, oh God... uhn... Ar- ArraN!"

She heard his contented little grunts, his hands running up her sides with gentle caresses. She tilted her hips, pushing them forward, running her fingers through Arran's dark peppered hair. The rising well of passion within her was mindblowing. She'd pushed him back for months and now... oh God... now he was here and damn it all it was wonderful. He moaned as he took a hold of her centre, laving it with a concentrated fervour. Zena tilted her head back, her jaw falling open, gripping the sheet underneath her with sweet delirium.

"Ahh! AHH!! Oh God... oh Arran..." She panted, running a hand through her mussed locks, "Huhhh... Arran..."

He crawled up between her legs, poising himself over her, his lips dipping down and caressing hers. Zena ran her hands up the sides of his face, jutting her leg up and rolling him over roughly. She plunged into his mouth, thrusting her moist groin against his lightly haired stomach. He let out a soft squeak, a deep chuckle following it.

"Your turn huh? Oh... woah..."

She moaned with a predatory glint in her eyes, spreading herself out over him, languorously exploring each inch of his flesh over his ample pectorals. Any reservations she had about shamelessly giving herself to this seemingly complicated man were ripped away with her fifty dollar underpants, and she was glad, very very very glad. She smiled as she laved one of his nipples, idly wondering what her best friend was up to at that moment. Not that she had to guess. But she couldn't talk, not anymore. She was here fucking the biggest jerk they'd both ever met. Damn he was hot.

Car engine off. Open door. Get out of car. Sit down and relax for five minutes and hope the bruising from the seatbelt will not show for at least another 10 hours. UNDO seatbelt. Get out of car.

Simple commands that were a total shambles in the young writer's brain as she fumbled with her keys, locking up her car and eying the strange apartment building. She clutched the scribbled on paper in her hands, crossing the residental road with a clatter of her heels on bitumen. Her heart was pounding madly, her skin tingling and aching for the man she knew was waiting for her inside. She got to the small alcove in front of the doorway to the building, and pressed the button. She knew this was crazy. Very very crazy. She was a wait three or four dates before heavy-petting kinda gal, not a 'take me now you luscious hunk of musician man you' kinda gal. Though the latter had too much appeal for her to give up on now.

"Hello?" came the tinny voice, tenderness in it's tone.

"Hey... Joxer?"

There was a silence, then an amused, "Yeaaah..."

She placed a sudden huskiness to her voice, "What underwear have you got on?"

A cackle came through the intercom, "Black and frilly," he said in a camp tone.

Gabrielle grinned and said sing-song, "I'm coming uuuuup..."

"I'll be waiting," he said with the comical deep husky voice directed back at her.

Gabrielle giggled, running inside and to the elevator. She'd not felt so excited in years. Not since she hid behind the garden shed with Peter when she was twelve and kissed him for hours and hours. Though the redness of their lips caused some concern to her parents, namely the possibility of a very severe strain of some sort of cold sore breaking out in the two children. She stepped out of the elevator finally, counting down the doors. Up ahead was the number, and looking at her piece of paper, his scribbles on it, she fingered the grubby torn edges. Taking a long breath in, her mind awash with unplayed fantasies, she knocked on the door. There was a bumping, and the door opened with a small 'skree'.

"Hey!"

Gabrielle felt a grin splash on her face, "Hey!"

Joxer posed in the doorway, flicking a dangling lock of dark hair out of his face and consequently knocking his head on the frame, "Ow!"

"Oh!" she laughed, "You okay?"

"Um," he rubbed his head, "Yeah... let me try that again..." He posed again, a farcical lust on his features, "Welcome to my..." He did a silent snarling gesture with his teeth, "Humble.. abooode..."

Gabrielle fell into giggles, "You're nuts."

"I am," he nodded, opening the door for her, "Totally insane - you sure you wanna come in?"

She looked to him, a seriousness in her green eyes, "Yes, I am."

He met the gaze, almost looking humbled for a moment, "Great...um... come in..." He ducked inside, Gabrielle traipsing in behind him, fiddling with the paper still in her hands. Joxer reappeared from the kitchen, closing his apartment door behind her.

"Um... this is the living-room..."

"You live here alone?" Gabrielle asked.

"Yeah," he nodded, "As you can see it's um - small."

Gabrielle shrugged, "I don't know - it's nice."

Joxer smiled, "It's something. Uhh... " He held up a bottle, "I don't have alcohol... I just drink coke most of the time..."

How cute, she thought, "That'll do fine."

Gabrielle sank down onto a nearby bean-bag, wrapping her arms around her knees. She kicked off her pumps, letting her feet snuggle onto the shaggy rug. The room was small, the walls a warm creamy white. There was a single framed poster of Jimi Hendrix hanging on the wall and a carved sculpture of a horse in mid-buck on top of a reasonably old stereo. The TV set was off, and under it was a neatly stacked pile of videos next to the vcr. Next to the couch in a stand was the guitar that the talented man had played on earlier. The white painterly words 'Fender' splashed along the top bit she didn't know the name of. She wasn't a musician, so guitar terminology was a bit of a mystery to her. Upon seeing the incredibly spartan set up of the room, she suspected something very strongly. This man was tidy. Very tidy. She turned to see what the kitchen was like around the corner. From what she could see... spotless. She frowned - this was a young bachelor's pad... what anomalie was this man?

"Here..."

She looked up, recieving the coke from Joxer in a tall frosted glass, "This is probably a good idea - I've had far too much to drink tonight..."

"Me too," Joxer smiled, plopping down onto the floor next to her. Gabrielle smiled a little nervously.

"I - I can't tell you how much I enjoyed myself tonight. Hell I'm HERE, in your apartment, I ..."

Joxer smiled, "You know um, Gabrielle. It was amazing when you danced. I can't tell you enough! It was the first time I felt like anyone really understood what I was doing up there. I mean - dancing in front of all those people..."

"You were giving of yourself," she said, a soft seriousness returning to her, "Creating something from what you feel. I wanted to give you something back."

Joxer nodded, a thoughtful look on his face, "I think I want to kiss you now."

Gabrielle sighed hotly, "I thought you'd never ask!"

Without much further ado she launched herself onto him, Joxer slipping his arms around her with ease, claiming her lips in a long supple kiss, his hands running magic with loving strokes of her skin. She sighed contentedly, every inch of her alive with a sense of celebration. His hands ran up under her skirt, then roaming over the lovely ripples of the muscles in her back. She gave a vocal sigh, pushing Joxer's jacket off him, his shirt fast being unbuttoned. Joxer laid her down on the bean bag, settling next to her and leaning on his arm, gazing at her.

"You're amazing," he sighed, taking up her hand and planting feather-light kisses on her knuckles. Gabrielle blushed, running her other finger's through Joxer's tousled locks.

"You know what?" she smiled. Joxer shook his head, the kisses on her fingers travelling up her arm. "When I first saw you, I wanted to jump on you right there and make mad crazy love to you."

Joxer gave a long happy moan, "Crazy love... that's the best kind."

Gabrielle chuckled, tilting her head, "You're so much fun."

Joxer grinned, "I know."

"And modest too!" she grinned, pulling him down into a passionate kiss.

She felt her whole body relax, her heart fluttering beautifully at the sensation of the wet silky lips exploring and caressing her own. God, she loved him... She loved him?!

Something inside her - broke. All her thoughts came to a screeching halt in one dawing moment, as if every moment she'd lived she'd been dreaming, and all of a sudden she was awake. She broke away from the kiss, panting, glaring - something ripped through her...

"Uaaagh!"

Gabrielle flung her head back, her eyes snapping open. She blinked, glancing around her.

"Gabrielle - you okay?"

She turned her head, running her hands over her hair, feeling a strange sense of shock to find it flowing past her shoulders. She took a long breath in, trying to collect wildly jarring thoughts. She gazed at him, the recognition spilling through her, shocking her soul.

"J-Joxer?"

Joxer's eyes were wide with concern, his arms still around her. He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his hand cradling her jaw. She narrowed her eyes again, swallowing, her soul falling through a jumble of images and faces. Why was she expecting her hair to be short - where the hell was she? Her mind fell into memories, places she had been, people she'd known... but they were all wrong, all old, different limitations, different freedoms.

"Wh - I'm... I'm sure I've known you before..."

Joxer tilted his head, a nervous laugh coming from him, "Maybe I dunno - I've played a lot of gigs around town..."

"No," she shook her head, her voice sounding woosy, "Not here, not now - another time. Another... damn it - whuh - oh God..." She bent over, cradling her head, tears falling down her face, "Pain!"

Joxer sputtered, "Uh - damn - you want an aspirin?"

She glared up at him, "What? No! Not that kind of pain! Emotional pain!"

The man pouted, his top lip jutting out ridiculously as he frowned at her tone. Gabrielle blinked at him, a sudden laugh taking her.

"You would always do that!" she said, cradling his face, "That stupid pout! And those rubbery lips!" She pressed his lips between her fingers affectionately, "And I loved you..." She paused, swallowing back tears, her words paced and tender, "I was in love with you... And I never told you till it was far too late."

Joxer had gone silent, his eyes searching her, the whole thing seeming to deeply disturb him. He looked around himself for a moment, then held her shoulders carefully a unsettled look in his eyes.

Gabrielle's eyes searched the room, her mind rushing, finally making sense of it all, finally understanding who she was - who she used to be. As she closed her eyes she could see him, his face wrinkled, the life that was there slowly seeping away, and her heart becoming cold. So very cold. Opening them again the beautiful vision of that same man, young and vibrant, bombarded her senses. She could feel him, smell him, HEAR him... and it *was* him! Despite the fact he couldn't remember, it WAS Joxer!

"Joxer..," she sighed, cradling his face tenderly, "I don't know why or how this has happened - I know you probably think I'm insane but please..." She winced, a fresh spring of tears spilling down her face, "Please remember me... please!"

He frowned, "I... I don't know."

"No," she shook her head, desperation gripping her, "Think! In the alley back in Greece! With the crossbow and the staff! I had the staff, I knocked you out! Remember?!"

The musician frowned, opening his mouth to speak but saying nothing. God dammit all!

"Oh God," she sighed, pulling herself up, pacing around the room, "We - Oh YOU! YOU SANG! Joxer the Mighty! He's really tidy!" She began swaggering around pretending to tip a hat. The young man seemed to become very still.

"How - how did you know about my song?"

She turned, scratching her head groggily, "What?"

"I wrote that song - when I was a kid... about a hero I used to pretend to be... I sang it to myself when I was scared."

"Yes!" she strode back to him, pulling him into her arms, "You, and me! We were heroes! We'd have adventures together! And you died for me... and I never - I never felt happy again."

He saw the sadness in her eyes... no it was worse than sadness. The soul was broken with grief and he - somehow fixed that. The unfamiliarity in his eyes killed her, her heart breaking as she feared losing him all over again. As if giving him the kiss of life, she pressed her lips down onto his again.

"Mmph," he pulled his head away, "Gabrielle - come on, I think you should maybe sit do-Hmmph mmmppH!" He moaned, Gabrielle pushing him down, her hands roaming under his maroon shirt. He felt his eyes loll back, "Oh Gods... oh God... Oh - come on - Gabrielle now - " He pulled her off.

"Dammit," she whimpered, wiping back tears, "I love you! After all that damned time I LOVE you!" She fell forward, taking his lips in hers, nudging at him with tender moans, "I love you..."

"Gabrielle now - mmph," he pulled his head away, "Mmph, Gab-"

She wasn't sure what came over her. His resistance to her broke any self control she had, and her hand went flying as she slapped him sharply.

Joxer's face snapped to a side, and he cradled his face with a wounded look in his large brown eyes. Confusion broiled in them, a terrifyingly familiar confusion that she began to feel guilty for. The guilt soon died away as her heart snapped in her chest in peices at the pain she'd brought the perfect young man. She watched his eyes scanning the front of her green dress for answers, and as his dark brows dipped down to his doe-like heavy-lidded eyes, something in him shifted. He glared at her, his brow tilting up, "Ga- Gabby?"

She swallowed, fear taking her, barely able to whisper, "Joxer..."

Joxer put his hands to his temples, his jaw hanging as if he were in pain.

"GODS," He clamped his eyes shut, "Damn, AAH!"

"Joxer..."

He looked up, his hands still cradling his head, his eyes meeting hers. He stilled.

"I love you," she said.

"W-wuh," he glanced around him, then looked back to hers, his brown eyes ringing with recognition, "Yeh - Gabby..."

She grinned, tears spilling down her face, "Hey dopey!"

He let out a strangled gasp, pulling her into a tight embrace, burying his face into her long silky gold locks, saying nothing, just breathing, holding her, savouring her.

She returned the hug with all she had, pulling him over onto the beanbag, soft sobs falling from her, "I missed you!"

"I missed you Gabby," he sighed, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I - I am SO sorry..."

She felt a smile lift her lips, "Don't be sorry," she brushed Joxer's shaggy bangs from his forehead, planting fevered kisses on his face, "Mmm, mm oh Gods..."

A renewed energy seemed to fill the young man, his hands travelling over her body, as if to make sure she was real, "Oh man... oh you danced for me..."

She tilted her head, cradling his face tenderly, "Yeah... no rain but nearly there, huh?" She tugged at the maroon shirt, slipping it down over his shoulders, kisses following where her hands went, her breath skimming over his skin. She let her hands work at his belt, her mouth travelling back up to Joxer's where it settled, exploring his wet depths with a grinding of her hips. "I'm going to have your babies," she mumbled possessively, sighing as he laved her neck, "My Joxer now."

Joxer chuckled, lifting his lips from her neck and sinking them into hers, "Yeah," he said around her caresses, "I'm all -mmph- yours, no one else this -hmmm- time."

She moaned, "God, I love you..."

"I know," he nodded, sliding her dress up, his breaths feeling suddenly thick. She shuddered at the warm tingling of his hands running up her body, the palms pressing against the swells of her breast a sweet moment before slipping the green dress up over her head. She watched it get thrown aside. Joxer gasped softly. "Oh.... man... you were dancing without a br- I mean..."

Gabrielle grinned, taking his hands and running them up her body again, settling the palms at her nipples. She yanked away his belt, and with a frantic moan she tugged at the pants. "Pants off, pants off!"

"Pants off," Joxer nodded, wriggling out of them as if they were filled with bugs, "Gabby on..."

"Gabby on," she nodded, "Definitely me on..."

With a triumphant roar Gabrielle managed to rip the pants from his legs, throwing them over her shoulder. She pulled off the boxers he wore with as much vigour as she stepped out of her panties, kicking them away. She glanced to the couch next to them, spotting the blanket, and she flapped it open, covering their legs.

"Cold," she muttered before falling into Joxer's arms again, the delightful warmth of his body free of clothing against hers a heaven sent sensation. She kissed him hungrily, cradling his face, nudging her hips against him. She panted impatiently, too much skin to caress in too short a time - she wanted him all at once. She felt the hardness that bumped her groin, a low growl developing in her throat. She angled herself down, meeting Joxer's anxious gaze as she met the tip of his member with her waiting entrance. Taking her bottom lip in her teeth she brought her weight down on it, the long mass sinking into her. She dropped her head back, a gasp leaving her.

"God-damn," she sighed, "Oh finally!" She assumed Joxer shared the sentiment, a grateful look plastered on his features. Gabrielle let out a strangled moan of delight as he thrust into her, the unusual invasion pushing impossibly beautiful feelings to the pores of her skin. His lips sought out hers, his arms cradling her so tenderly. How she had longed for this all those nights! How beautiful it was, far far superior to any dream tryst she could have imagined. And how perfect it was, knowing his joy, his total joy in recieving her finally after all this time. The hot tingling friction grew inside her, and the frantic grinding of her centre on his pubis was pushing her far past the point of no return. "Joxer!"

"Mmm?"

"I'm nearly there," she breathed, laying her head on his chest, watching her hands fondle his pectoral, "Oh Gods... so close..."

His fingers dove into her long silky tresses, cradling her head as he rolled her over carefully, lunging into her with abandon. He propped himself on one arm, letting the other hand slide down, seeking out the slick little bud under her venus mons, pulling back the flesh so he pressed and rubbed against it fully. Gabrielle let out a heady cry of ecstacy, clasping Joxer to her between her legs, pushing him into her with crossed ankles on his creamy round buttocks.

"Jah," she moaned, "Oh Joxer... damn!! I missed you, I did I... Ohhh OHhh!! GODS!! MMMPH!" She pulled him in, kissing him fiercely, "MMMPHH!! OOOAAh!!!"

Joxer panted, a hot groan leaving him as he gave long, laboured lurches, "Gaah! Gaabbeeeh!"

"Joxer," she whispered, pulling him to her in a tight embrace as he slowed this pumps into her. He gave a last thrust, his member finished the last of its release, and he caressed her leg tenderly, planting a kiss on her knee as he got up to stand. She let out a short giggle as Joxer stood, his legs a little shaky, taking her hands and pulling her up with him. She grabbed onto him as she stumbled, his hands grasping at her.

"Whoops," he breathed, "Steady..."

She grinned, "You took a lot out of me..."

"You too," he smiled, kissing her before moving behind her.

He manouvred behind her, leading her by the shoulders past the kitchen into a short hallway.

"Where are you taking me?" she smiled.

"To the bedroom," he said, his lips against her ear, "A wonderful little 21st century concept."

She flicked back a hand, smacking him in the face with a wry grin, "Smart ass!"

Joxer chuckled, pulling her up over his shoulder. He staggered into his bedroom, dropping her on the bed, a naughty grin taking his face. With a growl he launched himself onto the bed, pulling her into his arms and planting lusty kisses on her chest. She moaned softly, wriggling under the sheets. She pulled Joxer to her, the exertion of the move obviously in her half-lidded eyes.

A tender smile touched her features, "Now I know... I know why I was so happy when I found you again..."

Joxer sighed, burying his face into the nape of her neck, "I do - I remember now... I can't believe I ever forgot."

"It's okay," She let her fingers dive into his hair, her lips settled against his forehead, "You were right though, when you were saying goodbye in my dream... they gave us another life... for us."

Joxer glanced up to her, "I - I don't think it was a dream, I mean..."

"You remember that?"

He nodded, "I didn't want to leave you. I waited for you for all that time. I didn't want to lose you again."

Gabrielle felt a worry rise within her, "This isn't supposed to happen is it? I mean, us remembering."

Joxer shrugged, "I don't know... maybe it is."

She looked down at him nestled at her chest, "Joxer..."

He looked up, "Yeah?"

"Everyone's here... Xena, Callisto, my sister. Your brothers... even Ares is here..."

Joxer swallowed, "Xena is with Ares right now isn't she?"

"Yeah but - he's human, he's harmless," she said.

"You sure?"

Gabrielle smirked, "I've watched him get smashed week after week - I know! He's been bruised before from Xena's sparring with him, he's bled from glass cuts... he's mortal all right. Or fallible at least."

The words didn't seem to affect Joxer. His eyes were focused on the skin he rested his cheek on, his fingers running up and down the curve of her breast,"I'll squish you here... half on top of you like this."

"I like Joxer squishes," the bard smiled, "I love them. That time I lived without you I yearned for them so don't you hold out on me."

"Plenty coming your way," he said with a soft grin, dropping a feather kiss on her shoulder blade.
 

Chapter Four
Honey, is that You?

She took a long breath in, rolling over and running her hand over the sheets. She expected the empty softness of her double bed, but instead got ripples of muscle. Running her hand up and down again, part of the ripple seemed to rise. She blushed through the confusion, one eye cracking open.

The burly fellow in the bed next to her looked down to his crotch with interest, in particular the hand that seemed to be frozen there. He looked over to her, rubbing an eye.

"Morning," he said.

She frowned, sitting up and shifting herself, covering her nakedity with the silky sheet on the bed.

"Modesty," he cocked a brow, "Cute. And I must say this is the nicest surprise I've ever had."

"Euuh," she blustered out a whimper, "What the hell ... God... what was I thinking?"

Arran looked back down to his crotch and tilted his head, "Hmm, I wonder..."

"Shut up!" she hissed, "Just -"

She eyed the tent of fabric and blushed furiously. She gulped, her cheeks burning, her mouth feeling incredibly hot. She shifted her hand that laid by her side, tugging back on the sheet with her fingers, a determinate look on her features. Arran merely watched her hand, leaning back on propped elbows. The fabric slipped off his chest, and she clamped her eyes shut, her heart thumping in great jolts of energy. Gripping the sheet, she opened them, turning to meet Arran's self-satisfied leer. And for a moment, the smugness dropped from the features, as if the look was tamed by her calling gaze.

He didn't even wait for her next move. Sliding his arm around her shoulders, he kissed her roughly, stroking her tangled hair from her face, running his fingertips down her arms, weaving his fingers in hers. He ran his lips over her cheek, nuzzling her possessively. Zena responded in kind, rolling over and slipping her leg around one of his.

She met his torrid gaze, "You think you can just... ohh... fuck me and assume I'm open for business twentyfour-seven?!"

Arran smiled at her, a surprisingly tender gesture, kissing the round of her shoulder. "You started it this time."

She frowned, swallowing back gasps as he licked at her neck, "Did you mean it?"

Arran lifted his head, meeting her worried glare. "Mean what?"

"You said you loved me. Last night. Did you mean it?"

The brown eyes softened, vulnerability splashing on his face again, "I did. I meant it."

He nearly flinched as her hand moved to his face, her fingers tracing the elegant bones of his jaw, cheek, brow. Her eyes were the the kindest he'd ever seen them, a deep blueness that gleamed in the golden morning light.

"Say it," she whispered, her brows tilting up.

"I love you," he said, "I always have."

She sighed, letting a whispered, "I love you," fall out as her lips closed over his, a moan soon following it.

"We're going to have sex again aren't we," mumbled Arran around Zena's prying lips.

"Yes we are," she said, "So shut up."

A sudden digital chirruping disturbed the lusty pants and moans, and Zena narrowed her eyes.

"Ignore it."

Arran ran his lips over her chin, "Mmm - can't..."

"Why not?"

"Might be work," he replied. He reached out, his lips still roving over her face, his hand grabbing the telephone, "Hello?"

"Hey! Is Zena there? It's Gabrielle."

"I know it's ... Gabrie- Gabrielle..." Arran struggled to speak, Zena's tongue running circles over one of his nipples, "What you doing calling so early?"

"Oh God - did I get you at a bad time?"

Arran clenched his teeth, "No..."

Zena frowned around the mouthful of chest, "That's Gabrielle? My Gabrielle? Give it to me!" Her hand shot out for the phone, which Arran pulled away, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Is that Zena?!" called Gabrielle over the phone.

Arran tried to wipe a smirk off his face, miserably failing, "Why yes yes it is..."

Zena hissed, "You bastard I'm gonna - GIMME!"

Gabrielle paused awkwardly, "Um... can I speak to her?"

"Gimme that you son of bitch!" Zena growled, crawling over Arran and slipping, landing square on top of him. Arran sniggered, pulling the phone away.

"Oooh, why should I? Hmm?"

"Cause if you don't I'll rip your head off, and I'm not talking the one on your shoulders!" she snarled. Arran gulped, freezing.

"You wouldn't..."

She glared at him. He let loose a weak smile, handing her the black shiny reciever. She put it to her ear.

"Yello."

"Zena," Gabrielle's voice was vibrant, "We have to meet for lunch today - Gods - I had the best night last night!"

Zena frowned, "Gods?"

There was a sudden silence, "Um - er - Yeah I was watching this show about polytheism - kinda rubbed off on me."

Zena frowned, "Okaayyy...."

"Anyway - lunch, today, my place."

Zena sighed, "Okay okay - what time?"

Again, silence, "Lunch time I presume..."

Zena narrowed her eyes, "I'll be there at one."

"'Kay."

Zena frowned for a moment, "Hey - how did you know to ring here?"

"Well, you weren't at home, so..."

"So you assumed I was at Arrans, that'd be right..." Zena growled, "Well - nothing funny happened! I just made sure Arran got settled and-"

"Hey," she said, a definite smugness in her tone, "You don't have to explain anything to me."

"Goodbye," Zena muttered, handing the phone to Arran.

"Seeya," Arran added before placing down the reciever. He looked to Zena who sat with arms crossed, sheets sitting around her hips, a dark scowl marring her elegant features. "What?"

"She thinks I was up to funny things with you."

Arran lifted the corner of his mouth, his brown eyes glowing, "You are up to funny things with me."

"Yeah but," she sighed, Arran sliding an arm around her hips, "I don't think she really needs to know."

"What... you 'fraid to admit you think I'm a big hunk of sexy man?" he said from next to her navel. She glared at him, till he kissed the curve of her hip-bone, his tongue flicking out after it. Her eyes half-lidded and she curled her top lip.

"Talented you may be," she said, "Big hunk of sexy man you ain't."

"Oooh, I'll change your tune," he said, his voice thick and husky, his lips travelling down the top of her thigh.

"Like hell..."

Arran cocked a brow, his eyes raking over her tanned amazon form. With a sudden yank he pulled at her legs, splaying them and yanking her under him. She let out a savage "Raaaaaah!"

He leant on his elbows that were either side of her head, her eyes wide and feral. A grin flashed in her face, and her legs clamped his torso, flipping him over on the mattress, his legs now flailing in the air. Their heated breaths filled the room as they began a violent dance of domination, Zena landing on his rippled lightly haired abdomen, pinning him down with his legs. He jabbed at her with his hands, but she blocked him with a swift left-right action that brought sweat up on her olive skin. Her breasts swayed, the muscles straining behind them, and with a snaking of her arms she slapped his down flat, up behind his head. She had him immobile, splayed under her, his face inches from hers. She could feel his struggled breaths brush her face, his chest rising and falling, running against hers. Her skin raged on fire, the movement of his hair against her breasts bringing her nipples up firm, the sensation driving her mad. He grinned a little, angling his head down and running the tip of his tongue over her nipple, guiding it into his mouth with wet thrusts. She growled, shifting, bucking and pinning him flat.

"So," he lifted an eyebrow, "You have me - what are you gonna do with me?"

The corner of her mouth crept up, and she swept her lips down onto his, plundering his wet depths with a playful kick to his side as he lurched up underneath her.

She placed down the reciever of the phone beside the bed, a long sigh leaving her. She couldn't quite believe it. After the past 24 four hours she thought she should have been ready for anything freaky life pulled at her. She just rediscovered an identity that had been dormant in her for 25 years of her life, but constantly alive and growing, she was united with her long lost love from thousands of years ago, and he COOKED and CLEANED for himself. Not only that he was an amazing singer. So... she had scored beyond belief, and life was grand, so things were unusual beyond belief. However she would have never, ever expect for Xena, or Zena as she was in this life, to succumb to Ares after all this time. Well, maybe she could. She just couldn't believe it decided to happen the night she remembered everything, when it would be the biggest shock to her system. Though, thinking back to when Zena and Arran were just Zena and Arran, it would have been pretty shocking then too. Though probably more amusing than anything. She sniffled, wiping her nose, the gorgeous smell of frying eggs invading her senses. Wrapping the sheet around her she padded out of the bedroom, smiling as she was met with a gorgeous look that set her soul alight.

"Hey," Joxer grinned warmly, wiggling a fry-pan, wearing only a slack pair of jeans and an open burnt orange shirt, "Aren't you glad there's so much food around these days?"

Gabrielle gave a suspicious smile, "Those *are* hens eggs aren't they?"

Joxer smirked, "No, they're goose, just like you like 'em."

Her face fell.

Joxer shook his head, "I'm kidding Gabby, sheesh! I don't even know where you'd GET geese eggs in this day and age!"

Gabrielle lifted an eyebrow, "From a goose?"

Joxer looked up from the pan, a level look on his face, "2000 years and your sense of humour hasn't improved?"

"Ha-ha," she muttered, stepping over to him and flicking his ear.

"Ah-how!" he rubbed his ear, a good-natured smile on his features, "Here, try my eggs..." He forked out some of the scrambled yellow morsels and held it up to Gabrielle's mouth. She wrapped her lips around the fork, and pulling off the egg she chewed, closing her eyes.

"Mmm!" she sighed, "That's so good."

"The best, got better." He winked at her.

She shook her head, leaning back on the sideboard opposite the stove. Fingering the edge of the sheet she wore she raised a brow with a smirk. Joxer looked over his shoulder, a fascinated smile on his features. It soon spread to cheeky as she loosened a tucked in corner of sheet. She pulled back the sheet suddenly, flashing him, and covered herself again with the other half of the sheet, back, forth, Joxer's eyes flicking side to side at the fast motion.

"That's it!" he hissed with a grin, dropping the cooking utensils and diving for Gabrielle who squealed with a giggle.

She wasn't quite sure what it was about uptown cafe's that annoyed her so, but she knew it had to be a vast range of things. Perhaps, it was the fact that Zena rang back and insisted that they meet at one after waiting half an hour at Gabrielle's apartment to be greeted by a silent and dour white gold number-bedecked door. Or perhaps that she had to rip herself away from the arms of her brand spanking new old ancient lover which she was rather getting used to having around her. One morning and she remembered it all like it was the other day. Though it was most likely the restrained and practiced courtesy the waitress was giving her as she gave Gabrielle the lunch and coffee menu that ticked her off, and the way everyone around her also seemed to be retreating behind their black shiny sunglasses in the absurd LA sun. The groggy tingle of alcohol from the night before lagged her every movement, and as the fresh steaming coffee was put under her nose, she gave a hearty sigh of gratitude. The waitress ignored her.

Al fresco dining. What a stupid idea. The Europeans were full of ridiculous and stupid ideas. The Scots for example. Her father was proudly Scot. With a name like 'Charlton Baird' you'd hope to be.  Though it was rather fortunate a last name for her - Gabrielle Baird has a wonderful ring to it and was easily remembered as a writer's name. It also seemed strangely ironic to her that her profession of the past was a bard. Bizarre. She huddled in the badly designed fancy chair under the umbrella of the small cafe table, shrinking away from the light and the noise around her. She heard a sudden scuffle, and Gabrielle started, glaring up. A dark angular brow lifted at her.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice barely audible with fear.

Zena pressed her light-grape-coloured lips together, sinking into the chair across from her best friend.

"I really am," she continued, "I just - I was - I totally forgot the time and-"

"You were busy fucking Jock," she nodded, "I know, it's okay."

Gabrielle sighed, cradling her head in her hands, "I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Zena said in a rough tone, snatching up the menu and tilting her head down as featureless black shiny Nana Mascouri glasses reflected back the neatly printed words and prices.

Gabrielle lifted a brow. "You forgive me?"

"No," Her friend sniffed gruffly, "Your apologizing is just pissing me off more."

The bard sighed again, burying her heads in her hands, "Gods..."

Zena dropped her menu suddenly, her lips set stonily at the blonde, "Why the hell do you keep saying that?"

"Force of habit after that documentary," laughed Gabrielle nervously.

"Well quit it will you - it's driving me nuts."

Gabrielle took her bottom lip in her teeth, looking away with the submissive cringe of an animal dominated. Zena eyed her movements, the uneasiness between them breaking her steely resolve.

"Okay okay I forgive you," she growled, "Fuck knows why I sit and watch you get cock-whipped."

"Ffft!" Gabrielle snorted, "You can talk."

Zena glanced up at Gabrielle, "I beg your pardon?"

"You are so crazy for Arran," smirked Gabrielle, sipping her coffee as she shook her head.

"I am not!" Zena gasped quietly, glaring at the waitress as she approached her. "Flat black!" She poured herself a glass of water.

"I'm sorry but with the banter I heard this morning, coupled with the fact you didn't get home last night..."

"Did you see how fucked he was?" Zena said, a few patrons glaring at her colourful language, "He could barely walk straight! I made sure he got home okay!"

"I'm sure you did."

"Gabrielle..."

The blonde looked up, raising her brows innocently. The look of guilt settling on Zena's face nearly startled her, and as the brunette woman leant her head on splayed fingers, Gabrielle felt a definite sense of worry become her.

"Zena... is everything all right?"

Zena shook her head, pulling off her sunglasses with a rough yank, looking to the clanking business of the cafe interior, "Arran said he loved me last night."

Gabrielle shrugged, "Sure, so?" She wasn't sure if the feigned casualness was particularly convincing, inside she was gob-smacked.

The blue eyes struck green with alarm, a fear flashing in them, "Gabrielle - he meant it. He really meant it!"

"Is this your commitment fear coming out to haunt you or..."

"No," Zena shook her head, "Nuh-uh, something different, something - okay look this sounds totally bizarre right?"

Gabrielle felt her body stiffening. "Go on..."

"I feel like - I've known him before."

A strange laugh burst from the writer like that of a person who'd fallen on that particular sore spot on their bottom cheeks that somehow invoked laughter when in actual fact in was incredibly painful. She shook her head, sipping the coffee, avoiding Zena's sharp gaze.

"That's um - that's just natural," she nodded, "You know - you feel like that when you know someone a long time. Yes?"

Zena leant back as the waitress placed her flat black in front of her with two trendy looking paper tubes of sugar. Zena spared a harsh glare at the woman before ripping at the paper tubes and emptying their contents into the black brew in front of her. Zena spoke, her words rough, soft, haunting in a way Gabrielle couldn't quite make sense of.

"Gabrielle, this is something - different." She clamped her eyes shut, shaking her head, "I should-I should stop it, break it up with him."

"No!" Gabrielle felt herself yelp, a few heads of the other cafe patrons turning to her and giving her a stiff look of disapproval of such an unfashionable outburst, "Zena, no."

Zena frowned, "I hadn't realised the relationship meant so much to you."

"No, it's not that," Gabrielle sighed, "I don't know, I feel like that you should stay with him. I don't know why... just, trust me on this."

"I trusted you to be at your place at one."

Ouch, the writer cringed, Zena held no punches. She sighed again and nodded.

"I know, I know but - please Zena - if you trust your crazy feelings, for a moment can you trust mine?"

A dark cloud of doubt seemed to have settled around the unbeknownst Warrior-Princess before her, and the woman slowly nodded.

"I'm trusting you here," she said, "Don't you let me down, or I swear..."

Gabrielle took a hold of her best friend's hands, smiling, "I know... I love you Zena."

Zena glanced up, a little taken aback at the expression of affection. She smiled uncomfortably, blushing slightly and glancing around her.

"Sure," she mumbled, "You mean a lot to me too Gab..."

Gabrielle patted her friend's hand as a waitress sauntered over to them in a little tight black tee-shirt and sleek black pants.

"Are you ready to order?" she asked in a tone that was rude in a totally hip way.

"Yes!" Gabrielle smiled brightly, taking the menu in her hands, "The pesto salad with chicken thank you!"

The waitress merely glanced at Zena as a sign she was waiting for her order.

"Foccacia," she said, "Sun-dried tomatoes and fresh parmesan and artichoke hearts included please."

The waitress rolled her eyes about as she stuffed her pad and pencil into her dark-grey apron. Zena watched Gabrielle hand the menu over to the woman, and with a twitch of the corner of her mouth she spoke.

"How did things go with Jock last night?"

Gabrielle grinned at the mention of the name, a delirious glint in her jade pools, "Oh Zena... it was incredibly dreamy!"

"You screwed him, didn't you?"

Gabrielle knew she was going to say that. She pushed past the offense she felt and pursed her lips prettily, "We didn't screw. We made love."

"Love?" Zena snorted, "You only met him yesterday!"

"I know," Gabrielle nodded, fighting back the blush she got whenever she lied, "But - it's one of those destiny things. You know..."

"I don't know," Zena said pointedly, "No one does."

"Well," Gabrielle shrugged, "I feel like I do. Like, for once in my life, God's saying 'Hey Gab - it's your turn for a little bit of happiness, here's a slab of destiny and don't eat it all at once'."

Xena gagged on the rough tasting coffee and glared at her friend, "You haven't been smokin' anything funny have you?"

Gabrielle blinked. "No!"

"Okay," her friend nodded slowly, "Just checking."

It was at this point as her little red toyota cruised down Santa Monica Boulevard that Gabrielle thought maybe, perhaps, any semblance of self-respect she had got thrown out the window the second she saw Joxer's ass wrapped in black denim like a pack of chicken breasts on show at the specialty butcher's. Her actions of the past 48 hours would have been deemed appalling by her own self not 72 hours previous. She was a woman of morals, of high values. Love before sex, marriage before babies, beer before beernuts. Of course she also had a perfect track record of standing by high morals then throwing them out the window like yesterday's dirty knickers the second a tall gorgeous person had walked into the room.

When she had walked down the street towards her favourite shop in South Bend, the tall leggy woman had stepped from a shaken wreck of an old yellow ford that had gotten to that state over a time of negligence, flicking her long jet black locks from her high-boned face. She was exotic, beautiful, powerful. She had looked down at her own dumpy form, her legs wearing leggings in a very very calm shade of grey, her ankles bound in white socks and sneakers, her curvaceous top half hidden in a large blue t-shirt that had an alien face crudely printed on the front in an offensive green, with pretend tour-dates on the back naming the many planets of the solar system and several ridiculous years of visitation. She'd thought it funny when she got it from the novelty t-shirt shop. At that moment she wished she could curl up and hide.

It was too late. The woman folded up her sun glasses and strode over to her, introducing herself, and eying a scary looking black man in the distance also stepping out of a car, a sleek grey number. Her calm unruffled eyes seemed to flutter slightly with a call for help.

She'd fled South Bend with Zena in the space of a month, found an agent in LA and by a miracle of God (or what Zena said was the blatantly inevotable) sold some stories to a major publishing company.

Then, she remembered, was the wonderful little night they'd met Arran in Frostbites. Somehow, he'd managed to talk her into a shot of tequila. Sure, she'd sworn to herself she'd never touch alcohol, she thought she hated losing control. Arran said quite matter of factly that it's an illusion that we have any control, that in fact we are all quite lost in the currents of our follies. Deep, she'd thought. And enough of an excuse to try the innocent looking clear beverage. She watched the trace of salty powdery goodness get trailed on the peach coloured curve of the edge of her hand, bracing herself. Zena just knocked back her whiskey with a dark amusement, her eyes never leaving that of Arran's, an accustomed despising in the sharp pools. Lick, gulp, bite - AARRRGH! Gabrielle had let out an incredible whoop as she gulped for air. Her tongue burned, her head felt like it'd been slapped about with an angry lemon. She then staggered off her stool and promptly collapsed for a full two minutes. When she gained consciousness, Arran suggested a strawberry daquiri. She groggily accepted.

So just as she'd felt she'd made a new life for herself here in the sunny dank dirty town of Los Angeles, palm trees slapped around the terrain like they were nobody's business, lining avenues and roadways like spiked bowing warriors at bay, that stupid scruffy-haired good boy she'd spent half her God-damned life avoiding in South Bend rocks up. Oh... he had joined the army. Perfect. Just - PERFECT!

Then, he laid on the idealism thing. She hated how idealism was her weakness. It was like her very own narcotic that no-one else knew of.  Other women, they had diets, they had fitness products. They had shopping, dresses, shoes, wigs, make-up, bath products, or like Zena - obscure ancient weaponry.

Gabrielle had religions. She had a shelf in her spacious apartment totally crammed with books detailing numerous philosophies. There was the way of the Great Goddess Anne of the Moon, the way of Light, the way of Love, the way of Christ, the way of the Pagan Horned God, the way of the Earth, the way of Krishna, the way of Mohammed, the way of Buddha, the way of the Nik-Nik tribe of some weird little place in Africa. All of them said so many things to her - she never knew which one to choose, which one to follow, which one to be. She felt incredibly annoyed with the universe, and the many religions, that she *had* to choose at all. What was the big deal wth that?

Nonetheless, she collected the self-help books, the Celestine System, the aura guides, the palmistry instruction manuals. Peace, not war. Love, not hate. These things she maintained.

And in walked Peter.  All trussed up in his army fatigues looking all scrumptious and different. His large brown eyes seemed to call her, and she got angry. She hit him - how dare he risk his life for bloodshed?  The smart ass came out with the right answer - giving of himself. He had to give of himself because he had nothing in his life now that she had left South Bend. Bastard.

So he leaves her in waiting for months, leaves her weeping and wailing and writing Viking stories of lost love, Civil War stories of lost love, French Revolution stories of lost love, until her publishing company brought her in and asked her very nicely to stop giving them such depressing stories because they'd not be very good for business and could she just make the endings a little happier so they'd sell better? With a sudden wail and cry of hurt artist integrity she stormed out of there. The next day she called up and apologized rather meekly and asked if they'd forgive her for such an unfashionable display because her boyfriend was out of town and it was getting her down.

Gabrielle turned down an exit, swearing out at a man behind her sixties styled black sunglasses. She recieved a waggling rendition of the bird.

So, when he came back, she married him. Biggest mistake of her life, that was for sure. The sex was great she thought. Now she knew better God-dammit all. Peter was like... a warm blanket next to a burning fire. Except your feet are cold, and you just don't get quite warm enough to feel content. Joxer had been like - the splashing of melted chocolate over your writhing naked body with it having laviciously licked off inch by inch. She blinked, swirving the car.

"Shit!"

Pay attention to the road you silly bitch, she thought to herself, eying the green volvo she'd narrowly missed. It had destroyed her to hear that Peter had lost himself in some grotty little section of Somalia. The destroyed little peices jumped up in revolt and terrible anger when she heard from one of Peter's relatives that he'd returned to South Bend with a nubile negro number with perkier tits than a Renoir rendition of the ideal woman. Back went his things, smash went his portraits and then in a blind rage she'd attacked the bonnet of his car with the pulled out length of dowel from a mop. She quietly thanked God for the existence of her growing wealth and access to shifty no-good lawyers that happened to be on her side.

Needless to say her parents were exceedingly disappointed in her. If they only saw who she was involved with now. Not that she cared. Stuffy parents weren't going to marr *her* destiny, not in the rerun life of the combined Star Trek series'!

The specially renovated out warehouse Gabrielle was after seemed to elude her for now, and her eyes roved over building numbers in the hope of finding the right one.

Joxer had astounded her. As soon as she'd taken stock of the repetitious life she'd found herself in, (in which she was convinced was proof that Joxer and her were *supposed* to be together *and* remember everything), she was completely blown away by Joxer's talents. She remembered the stumbling idiot he'd been in less than hygenic Ancient Greece (he was the cleanest warrior *she* knew, Xena included), and marvelled at the powerful soul he had blossomed into. Maybe two thousand years of spiritual evolution did him some good.

The thing was, Joxer had never been a very good warrior. In fact, he'd been terrible. Really really bad. It never occured to her that shoved away in a dark little corner was that phenomenal talent of voice and lute, in fact she'd never thought twice about this aspect of him after the adventure with the Bacchae. She was just glad to have her healthy complexion back, and the damned ridiculous sized black claws off her hands. A thought settled in her mind, soft and nudging. Jace... he'd been so hard towards Jace. At first she thought it was just blatant homophobia. At a more enlightened and knowing perspective... it had been the music. How could she have not seen that? Jace was what Joxer wished he wasn't so ashamed to be - a musician. Joxer tried to be something else and failed. He never was a warrior in the technical sense - he had always been a musician, battling to hide a side of himself that fed his soul but was something he had been tortured by.

And now! Now - he was like a fish that had wiggled off the docks from a fisherman's grasp and leaped into the wild crashing sea. Flitting and spreading crystaline fins that moved him with such subtlety and grace he hand never known on the land, a place of warriors. His place was in the feirce passionate currents of the arts... at her side.

Finally, after yet another convoluted side-street, she spotted the converted warehouse, "Guitar-Suite Studios" splashed on the side. She could hear the muffled thumping of drums slip through the front door of the studio, augmenting her heartbeat so renewed and inspired. She locked her car door, hefting her hand back over her shoulder. She dug into it a moment, her hand running over something rough. She pulled it out.

One one side, the stencilled words of "Guinness" floated in an oval shape. She turned the procured coaster over, and on the reverse side of a soft gold hue was the wild frenzied marks of her black pen that seemed to hug the emerging shape of Joxer milking the violent tender strains of his music from the wailing guitar. She smiled, stuffing it back into the bag.
 

Arran stretched on the bed, the sounds of Saturday morning in the energetic city filtering in through the window of the modest bedroom of his apartment.  He felt a smile float across his face as he arced his muscled body in a languid roll, a tanned rippled arm reaching up and adjusting his bedside clock so he could see it. Hmm... 1 pm. He was thoroughly glad they didn't need him at the club that night.

He yawned, long and wearily, the shit-eating smile unable to leave his handsome features. A song tumbled through his mind, and he hummed in his easily sensual tone, wrapping the black silk sheets up around his lower torso for no other reason than the slippery fabric felt luxurious. Dropping it as he opened to door to his bathroom, he stepped inside, looking forward to a long warm shower. He looked at his mussed form in the mirror, a day's worth of stubble catching up to his small goatee. He grabbed his toothbrush, stepping into the small shower recepticle, trying to pick out of the mess of his thoughts some sembelance of a plan for that day. He was forgetting something... No - no it was nothing otherwise he'd remember.

One thing he definitely knew was that after Zena had eaten with her bubbly friend, he would meet her at the gym, have a few bouts of kickboxing, and then probably nuzzle her all the way to his house to have more sex again. Bugger the nightclub - he had the woman of his dreams now.

His seemingly immortal bout of afterglow that was thoroughly wrapped up in plans of Zena was cracked as one name flashed into his mind.

Aphie.

Shit shit shit SHIT, he swore to himself, squirting out some men's shampoo rather aggressively and rubbing it into his hair. This was not good, not good at all. His damned SISTER was coming around this afternoon - and he really couldn't let her down. Not just any sister, no, the blonde one with all the charm of a power-drill. She even had the audacity to keep the name her mother gave her, instead of changing it like every other sane sibling of theirs had. Aphrodite, Aphrodite. How incredibly self-aborbing, he thought. Her and her dinky little boutique with perfumes - sorry - parfums - and lingere and flowers and soaps and little sachets of aphrodesic herbs. Okay, so her boutique wasn't so little. It was a chain. A chain of them. And she was doing pretty well.  It all the more served to inflame his irritation of her.

Not that he didn't love her - she was his sister. And of all his siblings (the many many siblings) she was one of the few to kind of stand up for him every now and again. In a round about way. Usually a small word here, or a buttering up of Daddy there, and the heat would be off.

He stepped out of the shower, towelling himself off briskly, worry growling in his belly alongside hunger. Damn... he had to call Zena, explain to her. He would still have the evening to be with her.

"YooohoooooO!!"

He clenched his jaw, clamping his eyes shut and shooting a sigh through his nose.

"In a minute!" he called, racing through the bathroom door, promptly sliding across the bedroom floor on the folds of black satin bedspread he'd carelessly left lying there and into his similarly black wardrobe. Ow.

"You gonna let me in?"

"Yeah!!"

He staggered through to his front door, wriggling into the slacks and shirt he'd grabbed on his way. The door squeaked in complaint as he opened the door after wrestling with the locks.

"Wow," the woman blinked indignantly, "Don't rush or anything! Sheesh!"

"I was in the shower," Arran said, closing the door behind his sister.

Her straight golden slivers of hair fell in a layered bob around her jawline, flicking up at the sides in seventies vogue. She wore a light pink silk shirt that hung around her voluptuous frame, and a leopard print skirt that clung to her rounded hips.

"So!" She turned around, perching herself on his predictably black leather couch, "Is there a reason why you've been avoiding your own family?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes and walking past his sister to collapse onto his couch, "I've been kinda busy."

"Yeah," nodded Aphrodite, earrings bobbling, "Getting into that butch chick's knickers."

"Zena," Arran said, "Her name is Zena."

"Yeah Tina shmina whatever," she waved a hand and sank onto the couch next to him, "Point is, Dad's pissed."

"Dad's always pissed," Arran said, "And ninety percent of the time it's with me, I'm used to it."

"Well it's not like you've had to most inspiring of existences," she said, "Like - beer, and women, and more beer, and drugs, and women."

"Never the heavy drugs," Arran said, "And I always work out."

"Arran," Aphie looked him dead in the eyes, "You're in your mid 30's. You're still single, and you're still working at that damned loser bar!"

"It's a club," said Arran, "And I'm the head bouncer, as well as managing the bar after 9 o'clock. I worked hard for that."

She sighed, shaking her head, "What are you doing with your life here? With this chance you've been given?!"

Arran met her alarmed gaze, reading it carefully, "Waiting for her."

"For Xena?!" Aphrodite exclaimed, "You've been waiting for her forever!"

"And I found her, Aph," he said, his voice husky but even, every seriousness in his tone, "She's mine again."

The woman blinked, her jaw lax with doubt, "No way."

"It's true..."

"Nuh-uh," Aphrodite shook her head, "It can't be that simple or -"

"It is," Arran said, "It just - all fell into place."

"Man!" She sighed, standing up suddenly, taking a stride around the room, "Sheesus! After all this time..."

"Yeah well," he sighed back at her, "This is my one chance to work things out you know? To sort myself out and stuff."

Aphrodite's eyes lost the harshness of before, the fluid warmth of understanding overflowing in the blue orbs. She turned back to him, walking over to him and sinking herself into his lap with a small pout.

"You're really crazy on her - you waited all this time?"

Arran nodded, blushing slightly as Aph pulled him into a hug, his face being pressed to her chest.

An audible 'thunk' filled the room, and Arran glanced up, nearly jumping out of his skin at the dark figure looming in the doorway.

"Who the HELL is that?!"

"Zena!" Arran leapt out from under his sister, wriggling away from her before striding to the doorway, "Babe."

The woman at the couch burst into a fit of giggles, "Her name is ZENA?! Oh my GOD! That's so funny."

"Yeah hilarious," growled the towering brunette, "Who the FUCK is SHE?"

"M-M-" Arran clamped shut his eyes, his cheeks burning red.

"Relax, toots," the blonde woman pulled herself up off the couch in a ripple of curves, "I'm his sister, Aphie."

The anger came to a screeching halt on Zena's hard features. She swallowed.

"Oh."

"Yeah," Aph nodded, spotting a familiar bound book on Arran's bookshelf and sliding it out. She flipped through it, stealing a glance to the blanched sibling clutching his chest as he lowered himself onto his couch. "Heeere we go - family dinner, four years ago."

Zena looked at the photo in the book, the hair of the woman much more frizzed and curly then. She pouted, flipping back the pages, seeing the faces grow younger, but 'Aphie' being present in many of the photos. She blushed, flicking back some long black hair, toeing the ground.

"Sorry."

"Hey, chill," the blonde grinned infectiously, "It's cool! I just came to say hi to my big bro here! He didn't tell me he'd have company!"

Arran shot a weary look at his sister, who propped her hands on her hips.

"I'm - I'm sorry," Zena said, pointing her thumb at the door timidly, "I can go..."

"Aww no way," said Aph, "Stick around! Arran's told me a whole bunch about you!"

Zena cocked a lip, "He has?"

Arran sank down lower onto the couch, going positively beetroot red.

"Oh totally!" she said brightly, "Has he told you about the time he sat in a plastic lego tub and his cousin Herman had to pull him out?"

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