Without You

I broke glass like chocolate in my hand,
I sliced these fingers for not being able to touch you,
I looked into those faces and couldn't forgive
That they don't have you, and yet
They can live.

Nautilus Pompilius, "I Want To Be With You"

Xena climbed the hill to the portico of the villa. It was late, long after all the occupants – and Livia – would have gone to sleep. She didn't think she could face her daughter right now, not as Semra, and a tiny fear in Xena's heart whispered that she didn't want to face her at all. The brief hope she'd had that morning was a distant memory, but the flogging and crucifixions, and Livia's unrepentant look, were only too fresh in her mind.

Maybe it really was too late.

The doors were locked of course, and it hardly seemed worthwhile to wake the steward. Instead, Xena took a lungful of crisp night air, measured the height with a practiced eye – and made a running jump up to the balcony. Her hands slammed down hard on icy marble, she hung by her fingers a moment and groaned, scrambling for a grip. Knees came up, finding purchase between the struts that held the railing. Xena reached up, flipped over, and found herself on the terrace.

To her left, past the marble, the world dropped away into the black nothingness of the sea. Ahead and to her right, dots of firelight winked in the thinner blackness of the city. There, partially hidden by walls and buildings was a column of smoke, dense in the windless night. The old soldier's pyre, burning down. By morning, it would hold nothing but hot ashes.

Xena opened the door and went into the house. The movement had done her good. Her body was awake again, her heart beating loudly in the hushed corridor. In the confines of the house, the smell of smoke in her hair and clothes was overpowering; she'd spent too long near the fire. She began to unbuckle her armour as she walked, couldn't wait to be free of it. There was no point in wishing for a bath.

The crash of shattered pottery made her stop. It had come from up ahead.

Another noise followed it. Not a mouse or a rat; this was soft and low, a human sound. The corridor was all blue shadows, but there was a wavering line of gold light under the door which led to Livia's sleeping quarters. Xena came closer, listening. There it was again!

She rapped on the door quietly. "Livia?"

There was no answer, then the noise came again, clearer – and Xena thought she knew what it was. She rested her hand on the door. "Livia?" Decision made, Xena gave it a slight push; it opened with a long whine.

Livia did not turn immediately. The room was large and well-appointed, but ultimately just a sleeping cubicle, the same as Xena's own. There was a bed with a night-table beyond it, and lavish murals of sea gods in shades of blue and green on the walls. There were no windows, just an air vent above the bed. Livia knelt on crumpled covers, her hair loose over her nightgown, looking down at her hands. They were covered with blood.

She sobbed again.

"Livia!"

Xena forgot all her doubts, even the day's horrors were tossed aside – she rushed to her daughter's side, frantic with dread. Her wrists!

Livia's head came up; Xena thought the surprise in her eyes was at the unexpected intrusion, but then she held out her hands, streaming red, and said, "Mama?"

A pace away, Xena stopped dead. No... No, she didn't know—

"Mama..." Livia repeated, sitting up a little way, "Look."

Automatically, Xena's eyes darted to the hands held out to her – she knew what she'd find, black ragged scars that could not be closed...

But there were no scars. Xena blinked, confused; came closer. There were bluish circles under Livia's eyes, forgotten kohl smudged over skin damp with tears. Her eyes were glassy and vacant – and it suddenly made sense.

Xena looked past the bed, and sure enough, the shattered wine jug was there, terracotta shards frozen in a purple-red splash, the same colour as Livia's hands. Slowly, Xena looked back to the night table. There was a pouch, the dark green powder of crushed herbs spilling from it. She took some on a fingertip, sniffed it. It brought back sharp, sickening memories of the bacchanalia at the Imperial palace in Rome.

"Oh, Eve..."

Giddy relief turned swiftly to anger; Xena forgot all caution, dropped the role of Semra completely. She shook Livia's shoulders, staring into her face – "What in Tartarus are you doing?! I thought you'd—"

Livia was oblivious. "I broke it..." she whispered. "I didn't mean to."

The fight went out of Xena, she sank onto the edge of the bed. "It's just a jug."

"You don't understand," Livia was shaking her head, "I didn't mean to do it."

"It doesn't matter now..."

"What do you know about it?" Livia's eyes focused on Xena, their haunted depth gone. Her lip curled back over her teeth. "You're not my mother! You're a fucking Amazon!"

Xena sat still, speechless with shame. Her child. How could she have wanted to never see her again, to abandon her, even for a moment? Gabrielle never gave up on me. But who'd believe in Livia, if even she couldn't, after everything she had done? She had to tell her daughter the truth.

"I'm not..."

"No, you're not," Livia cut her off. "I don't have a mother. I don't need one." She laughed harshly and without humour, as though the wine had been nothing at all. "Do you know when I found out, Semra?"

Xena shook her head mutely.

Livia's gaze softened slightly, lost in a memory. Xena waited.

"I was six, or seven... The Emperor came to see me – it was a great honour. They made me take a bath and curled my hair. I had to curtsey and keep quiet like a good Roman girl, and call the Emperor 'Divine Caesar'. I thought it was a stupid nickname, and told him so."

Xena could not help a smile, and Livia smiled, too, absently.

"He laughed. He said I could have anything I wanted. I said I wanted a real mother – Drusilla whipped me later for my cheek. Augustus took my face in his hands and said, 'Rome is your mother.'" She looked up, and there were tears in her eyes. "He was right."

"No, no..." Xena could stand it no longer, she crushed her daughter into an embrace; Livia's cheek was wet against her own. "He was wrong, about everything."

Livia did not resist, but her body trembled slightly, whether with strain or the effect of the drugs Xena didn't know. Her hair smelled like the herbs; Xena brought one hand up to stroke it, whispering into it. "You do have a mother, and she loves you."

Xena felt Livia shaking her head, "I don't. Marcus told me; she was dead when they found me."

So that's who the soldier was! Marcus – she should have guessed! Xena held her daughter tighter, wishing she knew what to say.

"He thought I was some kind of gift from the gods... He of all people was a fool to die for it!" Livia's voice broke. "I'm nothing but a Thracian foundling. Not even a Roman."

She sat back, moving away from Xena. "Why are you here, Semra?"

It wasn't the question that surprised Xena, but Livia's tone – not defensive but puzzled. As though she really wanted to know.

"I thought..." Xena smiled slightly, through the tightness in her chest. "I thought you could use a friend."

Livia rubbed at her wine-stained hands, and Xena could not help noticing that her fingers were shaking.

"My friend is dead," Livia said finally, dully. Then – "Semra?"

"Yes?"

"It's strange. I don't think I can avenge him." Livia's hands fell into her lap, she sat back on her knees. Tentatively, almost as though voicing a foreign thought, she said, "Marcus wouldn't have liked it."

Afraid to hope, Xena said softly, "Marcus believed in you."

"He didn't. What they said about me, Amazon? That was the truth. It's who I am."

"No," Xena's voice rose with urgency, "It's what you do. There is a difference, Marcus knew that."

Livia turned away, then lay down, curling her arm under her cheek. Xena made as if to rise, but Livia's voice stopped her. "Can you sing?"

Surprised, Xena nodded. "A little."

"I want to hear an Amazon song." Livia drew the covers over herself, and her voice became slurred, on the verge of sleep. "You must've ... sung for your daughter."

"I did," Xena murmured. She shifted a little on the edge of the bed, caught up in her own, too-recent memories. She could do it – sing. If she closed her eyes.

She tried it.

...Hush now, my little one, please don't you cry,

Rest your head on my shoulder and sigh...

Livia's breathing deepened into sighs, and her body loosened, became relaxed – and only then did Xena realise what it meant. She trusted her! Somehow, she'd won her daughter's trust. Perhaps there really was a chance.

...Sun's gone away, mama will pray...

And then, without any warning, Xena felt a deeper voice join hers:

... Silence will keep all the while you're asleep...

She didn't bother to open her eyes; he was invisible anyway, yet somehow still warm beside her, warmer still where their shoulders and hips touched. She didn't want Ares to see her, not when she could not stop the grief pouring from her, not when there wasn't even any anger ... But their voices coiled into each other as easily as if they'd done this many times before, and Xena felt powerless against the song's current.

... In your dreams see the sun,

Morning will come,

Chase midnight's darkness away...

The song ended. Xena opened her eyes to look at her daughter – and found Ares sitting there on the edge of the bed, visible after all. He looked absurdly boyish, embarrassed and pleased at the same time, as though she'd just let him hold the baby. Xena's throat closed up painfully, and a bitter heat rose to her eyes. That was so long ago...

"You're crying ..."

"No," she said – but she was, and she turned away so that he wouldn't see it; dug her nails into the bedding so that he wouldn't notice the voiceless sobs racking her body.

It had been such a long time since she'd cried.

Ares raised one hand a little awkwardly to the back of Xena's armoured shoulder. He wasn't sure how to comfort her, what to say, or do. When she didn't move away, he touched her hair gingerly, stroking its silky warmth. She was so close that he could smell the faint traces of smoke on her skin, feel her uneven breaths.

"Xena," he managed, in a voice that sounded too hoarse to be his, – "I'm not, you know. Proud."

She turned around, frowning, her eyes reddened, but still beautiful. A strand of her hair slipped through his fingers as she moved back from him, and he felt a wave of loss and relief.

"Not proud of what?"

Ares glanced back over his shoulder at Livia – Eve. Asleep, she looked small and broken, nothing like the Livia of the battlefield.

"What ... my daughter," he stumbled on the word, "did, out there."

They looked at each other uncomfortably. Finally, Xena's eyes slid away. "Our daughter."

He nearly said it, nearly asked her for another chance – but the words seemed stuck somewhere in his gut, squeezing it into a hard lump, fluttering wildly. Dimly, he recalled what it was like to be mortal and afraid – but he wasn't either of those things now! He only ever felt like this around Xena, when she looked at him with that unreadable stare, like she was doing now, and he wanted to say something, anything, just to see her face change, to feel solid ground again.

The silence lengthened. The Amazons, Ares thought. He could tell Xena about them, tell her all their plans; to Tartarus with the war!

But in the next instant Xena's eyes went to Livia's sleeping form, and when she looked at him again her expression had hardened; Ares could all but feel her withdrawing from him. Another minute and she'd be telling him to get out.

He saved her the trouble, and took himself to Olympus before she could say it.

"Ares?" Xena asked softly.

She waited a moment, but he did not return. It was just as well. He'd said he wasn't proud of Eve. Maybe a few crucifixions just weren't enough to make him proud. Or maybe he really did understand... She didn't want to ask, didn't want to think of it now. There was her daughter, looking so fragile, lost in her sleep among the spilt wine and the mind-numbing herbs. Ares probably gave them to her, she thought savagely, but could not quite force herself to believe it. No, Livia got them from Rome... from her mother.

That was the cruelest thing of all, Xena thought. Every moment of hatred in her daughter's life, every memory given over to drugs or blood was there because of Ares – because of the ice, because he was immortal, because he was War – and she could not blame him. She wanted to. She wanted to hate him for it, for burying her while Eve lived, for the things he'd screamed at her on the beach: So now she's my daughter? But the truth was, it wasn't just Ares. Eve was hers. If there was darkness in her soul, then so, too, was there darkness in the soul of her mother, locked away behind a door that had to be guarded and latched. Ares may have opened it, but it had been Eve who'd walked through. Just as her mother had done.

Silently, Xena rose and left the room. There were a few hours left before dawn, and she needed to sleep. In the morning the Roman army and their Amazon guide would be marching east, and there was a long, long road ahead.

* * *

She had abandoned the plan. There was no point pretending otherwise, and Gabrielle did not bother. Sitting cross-legged beside the fire, she felt alone with the night, and the maps. She put down the heavy parchment, unfolded her legs and leaned back until she was lying down, stretched out on the cool, prickly grass, head resting on her hands.

The stars were bright and countless out here. Gabrielle felt a sharp stab of loss at the sight. There had been a time when she and Xena would lie on their backs just like this, and watch the sky. Or maybe only she watched it, and Xena slept... It didn't matter, really. Back then, the little circle of light and warmth around them seemed safer than any fortress, and she'd felt more at home than in any other place in her life, before or since. She'd had peace, then.

Perhaps, Gabrielle mused, there was only so much peace in the world, just so much and not a bit more, and everyone had their little dollop of it, like rations in a besieged city. She was suddenly, pointlessly, angry at herself for trying to find peace in India, for dragging Xena through everything, just so she could wake up one morning and not imagine blood on her hands, her thighs, her pallet... Hope's blood. Her own blood, shed for every baby she'd never hold. It had been so wrong, so very wrong to search for peace at any cost – like stealing another's ration in that doomed city. Maybe her own ration of peace had run out a long time ago.

And maybe that was why she was preparing the Amazons for a war, instead of following their plan.

"Gabrielle?"

She sat up just as Varia sat down, so that they were eye-level, an audience of two for the fire. Varia half-turned and nodded at the maps – "The southern tribes are on their way; the others have already started training."

"Good." Gabrielle dragged the topmost map into her lap, and ran her hands over her face and hair, willing herself awake. The only thing she could do now was to ensure that Varia's ambitions didn't ruin the Amazons. Perhaps Xena could handle the Romans and Livia on her own, and they'd never make it here. Perhaps.

Varia leaned over to look, fire-bright eyes following Gabrielle's finger as it traced the coastline of the Euxine sea. "All this land," Gabrielle swept her hand over the western half of the seaboard, "Is under our control. The Romans aren't expecting that." And neither is Xena...

"What exactly are they expecting?"

"Scattered tribes. Here, on the Thermodon in the South, Prothoë's people; here, the Thracian and Greek Amazon lands; and here, the Northern tribes – and the Scythians."

"That's Centaur country!" Varia exclaimed, affronted.

"I know." Gabrielle felt too tired to argue. "Cyane's people have signed a treaty with the Centaurs. That means all of us have."

"So what? We don't need to involve them. This is our fight!"

"Would you rather they negotiated with the Romans?" Gabrielle pointed to the map.

Varia looked startled – then shook her head slowly. "You're right. They would do that." The remaining hostility in her tone seemed more like embarrassment than anger. "I should've thought of that."

Gabrielle nodded. Looking at the map, she was mesmerised all over again by the vastness of it. Allied, the tribes were indeed a force to be reckoned with. And she was supposed to lead this force against Rome – and Xena? She didn't have to, of course. But that would be like releasing the reins on a chariot hurtling downhill. It wouldn't stop; she'd just lose what little control she had left.

Varia frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing." Gabrielle pushed the map away. "Go ahead and ratify the treaty."

"All right." Varia rolled it up, then paused and looked over at Gabrielle. "You're an odd one, Gabrielle. You're good at this. How can you not love it?"

"What?"

"This," Varia hefted the rolled-up map. "Campaigning."

Gabrielle sighed. "War, you mean."

Varia's eyes narrowed. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Isn't it?"

Varia looked surprised. "What's wrong with defending your land? Doesn't it thrill you: the rush of battle, the terrified faces of your enemies, being everything that stands between your home and chaos? Come on, Gabrielle – I can see you're no stranger to warfare. Why else remain a warrior for so long?" She grinned, eyes sparkling in the firelight. "Admit it – you do love it."

"Blood, destruction, suffering, death..." Gabrielle shook her head. "I don't fight because I love those things, Varia. I fight because I don't."

Only here, it didn't make the slightest difference.

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