Title: Watching Gabrielle
Rated: PG-13 I imagine, it outlines a sexual relationship between to women
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me, I don’t know why, but they don’t, they should do though (grin). The characters are not mine, I claim no rights to anything concerning the programme, you can sue me but all I own are Xena tapes, a laptop and a three day old chicken bagel.
Timeline: - seasons 1 - 2, nothing above that. I have tried to capture the innocence and simplicity of the early seasons - let me know if I succeeded.
Feedback: - Please do leave feedback, I appreciate any comments and will reply to all emails.
I watch her as she ambles down the road, her boots kicking a small stone causing dust to rise from the ground in small clouds, she looks up at me and laughs; her arms gesturing melodramatically as she tells her tale.
Her hips sway to a silent melody. She glances around every now and again as she speaks to empathise a detail. Her left hand masterfully swings her staff drawing attention to her slightly muscled arm with creamy soft skin. Argo obediently follows Gabrielle seemingly as entranced with her as I. She continues to talk, this time chuckling softly at something, her right arm landing on my leg as she giggles.
Her hair falls forward, her smile hidden but her shoulders continue to shake in little eruptions of laughter. Her eyes peer up at mine, beautiful sea blue eyes.
‘Well’ I say in response to her story. ‘I guess he was very lucky then, foolish but lucky’.
She ducks head, once again her soft shinny hair tumbles around her face, she sighs and tells me its not luck but destiny. She tells me about optimism and the fact I see and say things as nondescript as I can so not to get expectations up.
‘Xena, its like you deliberately sway towards pessimism so you don’t have to be disappointed. Its like I see this waterskin and I see it half full, but you see it half empty, you see life half empty sometimes Xena’ She pauses and tilts her head
‘I should write that down’.
Sometimes Gabrielle is so exhausting, endlessly chatting, always fiddling with something, asking questions, doing things I repeatedly told her not to do. But even though I sometimes pray to the gods to give me just 2 minutes without the bizarre questions and her hyperactivity - I cherish these things about her. Her childlike mannerisms masking her inner maturity and wisdom, her delicate movements and girlish tones portray eternal innocence and divine pureness.
When she lays in bed at night, the top half of her body on my chest after making love she still has a glow of everlasting purity, completely unblemished - motives and actions pure. She is attentive and caring when she makes love to me, exploring slowly and thoroughly, soft baby kisses and sometimes-hard needy kisses fuelled by passion and love.
Remembering the love bite she gave me yesterday I smile, she does that regularly, I’m never surprised to find small red patches on my stomach, neck and inner thighs. Although I playfully told her off for the obvious red mark on my neck I found myself inwardly smiling with pride and love when Joxer asked pointedly if it was in deed a hickey on my chest.
She buries her face in my neck when I reach down and caress her intimately, she doesn’t utter a sound when she climaxes, instead she gasps into my hair and slowly smiles in ecstasy, her lips moving against my neck, sighing into my skin.
She stops now and picks up a small smooth amber coloured rock and turns it over in her hands, inspecting it profusely and reaches behind her to put it in her bag.
She looks at me, frozen in place her hand inches away from the bag
‘We don’t really need that, do we?’
In all fairness I do usually let her get her own way and silently shake my head in bemusement when she places unusual shells or a stupid bit of washed up sea rock in her bag, telling me poker faced that it closely resembles Mount Olympus. And then every moon or so, she will toss these items away as if they were nothing, complaining about the lack of room and the weight. She will then turn to me and tell me ‘I’m not putting anymore useless stuff in this bag Xena, its going to be for important things, so don't you go putting Argos apples in here either’
I remind her of this now and she explains how this isn’t the same thing, because if you look really closely this red rock is shaped like a heart. Pondering silently, her mind analytically sifting through stories and memorised scrolls until she finds a story that will fit the use of this rock, thus justifying the need to have this useless bit of gravel with us.
I try and look displeased but inside I melt just a little bit more than I have already.
It gets dark fairly soon and I set up camp, building the fire, catching the food, setting out the blankets while Gabrielle potters around digging small holes in the dirt with the end of Ephiny's Staff. I imagine that if it wasn't Gabrielle doing that, the act would annoy me no end.
She does annoying things like that all the time; prods the fire with twigs, picks at the end of blankets and more importantly my leather skirt until she frays them. But surprisingly it doesn’t really bother me. I watch her and it strangely warms my heart, just watching this complex and magnificently warm person carry out these weird little traits of hers.
However when Joxer sits there and stabs the fire with his sword or whatever I strongly have to resist the urge to throttle him. You see, Joxer is just plain annoying, Gabrielle is annoying with grace and elegance.
I remember Marcus, and think about how I loved him, and I did love him greatly, but somehow it’s not the same. Although it was hard, I let Marcus go back to the underworld, but watching Gabrielle now I realise, without a doubt, I would never let her go. I would have stood next to her and let her be immortal, sod the entire world.
I also know that if Gabrielle died, I wouldn’t continue being good, no matter how I tried or promised her, if she were taken everyone would feel my wrath and not even the Gods would be able to inflict worse upon human kind. I loved Marcus, but I loved him and other men in my life like I love swimming and adventures. I mourned the loss, but it didn't affect me that much.
Now Gabrielle I love her with all that I am. My heart beats out her name in rhythm, my head swims with her voice and my very soul smiles in her presence. She is me, I am filled with her very essence, she is my morning, noon and night. The air I breathe, the life I live and the good that I do.
I look up at her from where I sit and whisper ‘Gabrielle…’ she stops and turns towards me ‘…I love you’.
She smiles and turns away again continuing to dig holes ‘I know’ she says.
I watch her some more and pick up my sword and start sharpening it, she comes and sits next to me, not quite touching. She picks up her quill and scroll and begins to write.
‘Xena…’ she says.
I turn to look at her, and she gives me a sweet kiss ‘Me too.’