By Absinthe Disclaimers: See the Prologue! Chapter 12: The scent of stir-fry greeted Maia when she made her belated entrance into Sarah's home. Maia made her apologies for her tardiness. The truth was that she'd had to run home and shower, scrubbing her body from head to foot to be sure to remove any tracking devices Amanda or Ops might have seen fit to plant. It was an action Maia herself had performed on many occasions, and she knew that she was not above such surveillance. It was doubtful that anyone was. Once Maia handed over the obligatory bottle of red wine, she stripped off her coat and gloves. She followed her hostess into the kitchen, her appreciative eyes taking in the apartment's ingenious design and opulent decoration. "Smells great." Maia inhaled contentedly. She peered over the blonde's shoulder at the sizzling vegetables. "Thanks." Goose bumps rose on her skin in response to the proximity of Maia's body. Sarah picked up the wok and turned, forcing the dark woman to back up. Mentally sighing with relief, Sarah said, "This doesn't keep real well. Hope you're ready to eat." Over dinner, Maia couldn't keep her eyes off of the little blonde. They talked with a strange familiarity ; Maia's concerns seemed to become lighter in Sarah's presence. "Have you actually seen the Xena Scrolls?" the blonde asked over a forkful of rice. "What are they?" Maia asked, baffled. "You mean..." Sarah trailed off, "They're a bunch of scattered parchments written by an ancient Greek bard about a warrior woman named Xena. I've read a few of them, but they're widely held as being pure fiction with no basis in fact." "What about them?" "Well, they were discovered in the late '30's by Dr. Mel Pappas; I think he was your great grandfather?" "More like great-great I think." Maia nodded, "Yeah, I do think I remember hearing about them, but my parents never talked about the family." She shrugged. "Really? Well, did you know that the Covingtons and Pappases have a history together? At first, they were sort of archeological competitors." Sarah laughed, took a sip of wine and continued, "My great-great grandfather was a dealer in black market artifacts, and Mel Pappas was a University based archeologist. They were both in search of the Xena Scrolls." Maia grinned. "So what was in these ‘Xena Scrolls' that's so interesting?" "Some of the stories...contradict and refute current historical beliefs. Frankly, if they were true, the historical world would be turned on its ear." Sarah shrugged and pushed her empty plate aside. "I actually have a copy of one of them if you're interested..." "Perhaps some other time, but I would like to see the painting?" Maia arched one of her perfect brows teasingly. "Oh. Yeah, it's out here." Wine glass in hand, Sarah led the way into her living room. She had tactfully removed the portrait from its normal location and set it out on an antique easel. For the first time since she'd seen it, Sarah felt awkward about the painting. Until Maia was really standing there in front of her nude picture, it had been merely a piece of art to be viewed with some objectivity. She blushed vividly as she watched the dark woman study her portrait. Maia felt like she was seeing through a tunnel. She knew I was a murderer, and she hated it. But...she still took the fall for me... The blood drained from her face. Reaching out, she brushed her painted face with calloused fingertips. Sarah became painfully aware of her state of fifth-wheelness. "It...It didn't look like this when I saw it last." Maia breathed. She didn't like the idea that Sarah and whoever she had chosen to show this artwork to had gotten such a clear look at Maia's soul. The painting was too true, and she realized that it was dangerous both to herself and to Sarah. "Has this been on display anywhere?" She asked, letting her arms drop to her sides. "No. I've kept it here. Not many people have seen it." Because I don't get laid all that frequently. Sarah did not add. She walked towards the kitchen, calling, "I'll be outside when you're done." "I've seen enough." Maia followed her, "Thank you for letting me have a look. It meant a lot." Sarah sat down on the plush couch, and gestured for her guest to join her. She refilled Maia's glass and sank back into the soft cushions. Thankfully, they could see only the back of the easel from where they sat. "Why did you really invite me here tonight? It would have been easier to show it to me at the gallery." Maia twirled the stem of her wine glass between two supple fingers. "Why did you accept the invitation?" Sarah volleyed. "Ah ah, you first." Maia smiled, but it did not touch her eyes. She lowered her head, still staring at Sarah's lovely face. "Fine." Sarah replied in mock irritation, "I don't really know." "Fair enough. I don't really know either." Maia mockingly returned. "That was enlightening." "You never answered my other question. How did you know my name? It's nowhere on that piece of canvas." Maia sat up straight, her long black hair whispered over her shoulders. "Oh. Um. I..." Sarah stuttered, "I took a trip to Trinity." "You went to Trinity? Just to find out who I was?" Maia laughed genuinely, the melancholy momentarily banished from the ice of her eyes. "Well, not exactly. I went to find out who the painter was, maybe to try to convince her to consign with Ishtar. Needless to say, that was futile." the blonde shrugged, "There was something about that place though. It had a sort of....I don't know, unpleasant atmosphere to it. And that Sheriff, God, it was like he'd just pop up out of nowhere..." Maia shuddered visibly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Sarah trailed off at the look on Maia's face. "No, it's all right. Other than that, you didn't have any...problems... did you?" "No." "What did they tell you about her?" Maia asked, silently hoping that Gillian's friends did not believe her capable of murder. "Not much really, I did, however, find these." Sarah stood up and pulled a heavy album off of the end table. She opened it and handed it to Maia. The dark woman scanned the articles quickly and handed the book back. She swallowed her entire glass of wine. "You probably want to know what really happened." "Not if you don't want to tell me." Sarah smiled faintly. It was true, her sense of urgency had dissipated, as if Maia's presence were enough for the moment. Out of loyalty to Gillian, Maia felt obligated to make the truth known. "I know. But if that," she gestured to the clippings, "Is all you know...you should hear the whole story." Maia stretched out her long legs and began her tale with an apology, "I'm not very good with words. I...I was in that town recuperating from an injury. We met the first day I was there." Maia proceeded to give as accurate a recounting of the months she had spent loving Gillian as she could. She carefully avoided much of what had gone on, like how she'd broken that ankle, and what she was doing hanging around with Buck in the first place. She slowed down for another drink when she reached her second night under Dr. Crower's care for a gunshot wound. "When I woke up strapped to that hospital bed, I didn't know if I wanted to live or die. Buck told me that it was either me or Gillian that would take the blame for some old man's murder-" "His last name was Davis." Sarah pointed out. "Oh." she fell silent for a moment, "Gillian came to see me, though they wouldn't let us talk alone. She knew I hadn't killed him, she said she was going to talk to Buck herself. I knew what she was going to do. I tried to confess but... they gave me something and when I woke up I was in Charleston and it was all over. There was nothing I could do, so I never went back. When I found out about the riots..." Maia trailed off, her head cradled in her hands. She didn't tell Sarah about how she had lain in that bed, fighting the restraints, screaming her head off for someone to come and take down her confession. The deputy left to keep an eye on her didn't seem to believe her, so Maia had resorted to threats in a desperate attempt to be allowed to talk to the Sheriff. The noise attracted a few nurses, who were ordered to sedate their irate charge. Her struggles had reopened the sutures and undone much of the doctors' careful orthopedic work. Once in Charleston, she hadn't even gone back to Trinity to retrieve the car that had belonged to her late father. It was another long month before she lost patience with the therapists and surgeons who were trying to repair her leg. Crippled, Maia was not much use on foot. Because of her marksmanship and amazing skill behind the wheel, she could perform a few select jobs from the driver's seat of a car. Furious and in agony, she was nearly as deadly as before under the right conditions. Frustrated, Maia turned to bigger and more dangerous games. "I'm sorry." Sarah said, breaking the silence. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I don't regret meeting her, I regret meeting sheriff Buck. Without him, who knows what might have happened? He was powerful. He knew things; things that most people don't dare to think about." Maia shrugged, "It was all a part of his plan." "Plan?" "Mhmm." Maia sighed, but did not elaborate. Sarah stood up and stuck a Madonna album into the stereo. Maia watched her turn and start back towards the couch, lamplight reflecting in a soft glow from her fine, well groomed hair. She felt a jolt of recognition, and for a brief moment, everything seemed to make sense, like it had all happened before. But then it was gone. "I think this calls for the heavy stuff." Sarah produced a 3/4 full bottle of bourbon. "How tacky, bourbon in a wine glass." Maia gave a full throated, nearly hysterical laugh. "My mother would tan my hide." Sarah replied, shamelessly filling both their glasses. Conversation went around the world after that. They talked about bad first date experiences, setting things on fire stories, and cackled over ex lovers like they had known each other all their lives. Of course, Sarah did most of the talking, but then, Maia was an excellent listener. Sarah was a breath of air to her drowning lungs. She was so accustomed to artificiality, that the heartfelt emotions and candid speech of the art dealer shocked her; and comforted her. A few hours later, it made perfect sense that they both stumbled into Sarah's bedroom and burrowed into the generous layers of blankets on the sleigh-bed. That night, Maia slept like a woman that had never had her heart broken or her tongue silenced, a woman that had lived only one life. Back to Chapter 11 Back to the Beginning Back to the Fic Page
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