Waiting for Tomorrow



Pic  # 11
Disclaimer – Story mine. Characters not.


Gabrielle lets the last of the drink settle in her stomach, swirling around with other dark things.
It mixes with feelings best left alone.
She is not one to ignore emotions, at least not normally. Normally, Gabrielle sits down with herself and asks the hard questions. She expects answers.
But tonight, with more ale in her body than sense, Gabrielle lets sleeping terrors stay underground.

Catching them in flashes, the words and visions trying to be seen…
Gabrielle waits. And waits some more.
She waits for the thoughts to stop, for the numbing buzz to continue, for the music to keep playing and drift her out of this tavern.
Into the streets, boots into the mud and Gabrielle will leave.
She will turn her back on this town.
She will turn her back on Xena.
And Gabrielle will just fade away.

It was not always like this. And yet, Gabrielle cannot remember what it was like before this.
She has always been in love with Xena. Even when others flattered and fawned, Gabrielle knew where her heart was going. It followed Xena, followed those bloody footsteps everywhere and anywhere.
Gabrielle can mark territories by the scars upon her poor heart.
Greece is littered by her love for Xena.
And Xena is too much for one person to handle. At least, that is how the warrior sees herself. That is how Xena wants to be seen, bigger than life and a whirlwind and untamed.
Gabrielle sees more.
And Gabrielle doesn’t let on.

The first time, anxious and fearful, after climbing from the abyss of heat and stone. Xena made these frantic sounds… as if Gabrielle could not be close enough, could not touch enough and could not go deep enough.  Xena held her tightly, not letting go for days and days.
It is written in a scroll, one Gabrielle reads when the distance between them is too great.
She reads this when Xena leaves and takes another lover, when the ‘plan’ calls for seduction and only Xena can be the master of that particular domination.
Gabrielle knows it is jealousy.
But no deals with the God of War this time.
Just a drink. Or two. Or five.
Then she forgets. Gabrielle forgets everything without losing anything.

Her head feels nice, pillowed on the sticky table.
She can smell smoke and lemons and alcohol.
Past those pungent tones, she can smell sweat and musk and desperation and loneliness.
Gabrielle wonders which ones cling to her now.
Any other day, she would expect an answer to come.
Instead, Gabrielle just waits.
Waits for the question to disappear, waits for this place to close, for the ground to swallow her up and cradle her to slumber.
Waiting for tomorrow and the chance to do it all over again.



Story by: SPHEERIS1
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