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I can't close my eyes. Sleep is shattered by the images seared on my mind's eye - the sight of her lying on the altar table, my hands covered in her blood as I sew up wound after wound. This is my Tartarus, come before death. I don't want her blood on my hands, but what I want doesn't matter. I am as responsible for what happened as if I'd plunged the sword into her myself.
I open tortured eyes and look at her again for the thousandth time so far this night. She sleeps fitfully, her chest struggling to rise as she painfully sucks air into lacerated lungs banded by broken ribs. Her brown Amazon shirt bears testimony to the flesh and blood struggle she's gone through - ripped, and with crimson petals of blood blooming on the rough fabric, standing out starkly against the white bandages which I wrapped around her torso two days ago. Was it only two days ago?
And her face. Deathly pale and waxy with a sickly pallor, the firelight dancing off her skin gives no rosy hue and casts no softening shadows tonight. It just accentuates the dark smudges beneath fluttering eyes. Bloodless lips are slightly parted as she fights for each breath and I can see the strain etched onto her young face and it makes me want to cry, knowing that the pain she has gone through has come because of me. She is my living Tartarus.
For the thousandth time, I check her bandages, then smooth damp hair from her forehead, tucking the soft strands behind her ear. If I could give her the blood and the breath from my body, I would. I would give anything to have her back with me again, whole and bouncing - the way she used to be. All of the earth's life, bundled into one small, irrepressible form. Not this shadow, this flickering life, exploding and guttering as a candle burning through the wick. "I'm so sorry. I wish we'd taken the southern route." My voice, whispering low and fearful, breaks slightly.
"It's not your fault." The halting words barely reach my ears - I thought she was asleep. She is reaching out to me, comforting me. She doesn't blame me - she never blames me. But it's my fault.
"Ssh. Go back to sleep." I stroke her brow and try to settle her back down, but she has grown restless.
"Not your f... fault. Don't carry this... it... it was my decision. To go out. My decision."
How can she be so forgiving? My guilt is causing her more pain; she turns haunted eyes up to me and tries to rise - I have to push her back onto the blanket and hold her, but she is really too weak to struggle against me. "Go to sleep, Gabrielle. We'll talk about this when you're stronger." I gather her into my arms carefully, hoping that my strong heartbeat pressed against her ear will stimulate the continuation of her own, and I gently rub her back as I croon her to sleep. Gradually she drifts off. "Please don't leave me again." I whisper, clinging to the warm, life filled body like a drowning man clings to a tree branch.
She is my anchor. I've only just learned how much I need her to hold me fast to this life I am leading and the changes I am trying to make. They mean nothing without her. Cut adrift, I was horrified at how quickly the raw emotions tore through me, lacerating the thin skin of control I had grown over them. She makes me stronger - each smile and touch she gives me is nourishment to my long starved soul. Her love is the shining beacon amidst the swirling seas of my self doubt, guiding me past the rocky outcrops into the sheltering cove where my feet may once again touch solid sand.
I gaze down onto her face as it lays upon my breast. She is sleeping soundly now and I tell myself that perhaps she is absorbing some of the strength from my body. She is safe only as long as she is in my arms - I realise this with a start, and pull her closer. I'm never going to let her go again. She whimpers in pain and reluctantly I release her but she stays where she is and eases herself closer. Again, I fold her in an embrace, my arms as gentle as a kiss, and I close my eyes and seek sleep.
Her warmth pressed against my breast and the feel of her breath gently caressing my skin chases the nightmare pictures I have and instead I conjure up other pictures of a laughing, golden haired girl. It's going to be tough - she needs time to heal, and I need time to adjust. I'm not used to needing people and part of me is already kicking against this, but I know it'll be alright. Because I know she needs me too.
I drop a kiss onto her honey-streaked hair; I feel her smile grow against my breast and she snuggles closer as she says "I won't leave you. I came back for you... I love... I love you Xena."
I owe Hades a debt. My throat tightens at her words and the only reply I can make is "Ssh. Go to sleep now." We both drift off, woven together in a tapestry of bodies and souls. We need each other. It'll be alright.
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