This work of fiction is owned by the author and may not be reproduced in any fashion without the author’s express written permission. Xena: Warrior Princess is owned by Renaissance Pictures, MCA/Universal, and USA Studios. Apologies to The Usual Suspects, a 1995 movie owned by PolyGram Filmed Entertainment, Spelling Films International, Blue Parrot/Bad Hat Harry Productions, and Bryan Singer. No copyright infringement is intended. All other rights available under the law belong to the author.

This takes place prior to “Maternal Instincts”. Warnings for language, violence, and explicit m/m, f/f, and m/f sex.

This work of fiction was published in Whatever Gets You Through The Night #3 by Sockii Press in March 2000.

“That’s it? That’s the plan?” shouted Gabrielle, her eyes huge with shock, as she stared at the dark-haired warrior princess. Her best friend, her confidante, and . . . sometimes . . . her lover.

From time to time.

Like on boats and other places that were unreasonably moving about for no purpose whatsoever.

“That’s it.”

Damn her, how can she be so calm about this? “Xena, that can’t be it. That just can’t be the whole plan!” Gabrielle shook her head violently in a definite negative motion, unable to believe what she was hearing. “It just can’t!!”

“Me too,” echoed the bone of contention from his nearby seat on the ground. Probably trying to figure out the instructions for walking or something again. Who cares? He is not going in there by himself -- he’ll get killed, or worse, he’ll get Xena killed and then I’ll have to kill him -- Her thoughts stopped running rampant as she belatedly realized that Xena was talking again. I can’t believe she would risk her family --- ewwww, did I just think that? -- like this? The reddish-blonde bard struggled to control her own feelings and tuned back in to her friend’s words.

“-- But this is the best way, Gabrielle. She knows all of us, but Joxer at least has a semi-friendly history with her.” Xena did her utmost to be reasonable, to be calm, to make her best friend, her partner, realize that she really was thinking about this. “At the very least, she believes that he’s harmless.” Mostly harmless, anyway. “It’s the best way, Gabrielle.”

“No, it isn’t,” the bard cried out. “Joxer could get killed!!”

His eyes widening, Joxer sat up and paid attention at that point. “Hey, Gabby, I didn’t know you cared. If I’d known that, I’d’ve --”

“Of course I care, you moron,” she interrupted. “I don’t want anybody to get killed . . . not even you.”

“Oh.” Joxer cut himself another piece of fish and settled back to munch on its flaky white flesh, dripping with lemon juice and wild greens. “It’s such a warm fuzzy feeling to know that someone cares, ya know, guys . . . .”

Xena hid a smile, watching Gabby . . . errr, Gabrielle, now struggle to explain her way out of that innuendo. Joxer was a nice guy . . . sometimes, when he wasn’t being an idiot . . . which he was most of the time. But he truly cares for Gabrielle. And me. She withheld a sigh, certain that if she released what she was feeling she’d have to explain it, at least to Gabrielle. That -- odd as it sounds -- makes him family . . . and I don’t like having to risk his life any more than she does. Joxer doesn’t seem too upset about it, though. Hmmm. I wonder what’s up with that.

A few hours later, after dinner was finished and the camp cleaned, after Joxer had had his face slapped for asking for a goodnight kiss, and after Gabrielle had stormed off into the forest to settle down, Xena decided it was time to figure out why Joxer was so okay with this. It wasn’t normal.

But then Joxer wasn’t exactly normal, either.

Xena sat down next to where Joxer was sprawled on the ground, rubbing the side of his face where a bright red handprint shone as bright as the sun. “Joxer, I want the truth. Why doesn’t this bother you at all? You do realize it’s likely to be dangerous, don’t you?”

He puffed himself up, clearly entering Warrior Mode, and she sighed inwardly again. “Joxer the Mighty fears nothing and no one,” he shouted, his high tenor ringing through the forest. “Nothing excites me more than a dangerous mission!! Ha-ha!!” Xena fought to hold back a giggle, it was soooooo undignified, but the idea of any mighty warrior -- which Joxer was most definitely not by any stretch of the imagination -- being laid out flat by a tiny woman like Gabrielle was ludicrous. Almost as ludicrous as any mighty warrior proclaiming his strength with a mark like that on his face.

After rolling her eyes in exasperation, Xena tried again. “Joxer, you did understand the plan, right?” She paused and watched him bob his head up and down. “You’re going after Callisto” -- again!! and this time that bitch better stay dead, or better yet, this time I’ll kill her myself, slow and painfully -- “on your own, on her turf.”

He nodded again and then, eyeing her, shook his head in resignation. The floppy patch of dark hair fell slightly over one eye, giving him a sort of rakish look. “Look, Xena, I understand the plan. I walk into Callisto’s lair and tell her I’m tired of doing what you want all the time, tell her that I want what’s mine. Then I report back to you so that we can capture her.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

Joxer snorted. “Of course it bothers me.” His gaze seemed resolute, their eyes locked. “I want the bitch as much as anyone.” He paused. “Whatever it takes.”

Satisfied, Xena nodded and stood up to go back to her bedroll. She gave him a last look, scrutinizing the man’s appearance closely -- the scruffy clothes he wore under the patchy makeshift armor, the longish chestnut-colored hair, the soulful dark eyes, the line of his jaw -- and in the firelight, Joxer looked almost . . . cute. “Oy, I need sleep more than I thought,” she muttered to herself, and left quickly before she did something she would definitely regret in the morning.

Having kicked the wannabe warrior-fool to his own campfire a safe distance away, Xena was already comfortable in the bedroll by the time Gabrielle arrived, panting, out of breath, and dripping with sweat. “Done killing innocent trees?” she asked wryly, knowing her friend’s noted hostility toward plant life when she was in a bad mood.

Her red hair lank with sweat, Gabrielle dropped exhausted onto the bedroll next to her friend and gave the warrior princess an evil look. “Trees, bushes, and several innocent shrubs all bit the dust, pretending to be a certain idiot of the male species.” That last was delivered with a rude gesture totally unexpected of the lithe bard in Joxer’s direction, but it was easy to forget that Gabrielle was no longer the innocent village girl she had been only a year or so ago.

Although, the gesture did give Xena an idea. “Speaking of that,” she began casually, and then cleverly pulled the younger woman to her in a kiss. She tasted like salt and exotic spices from the far east and something else that was uniquely Gabrielle, something she couldn’t place. Their tongues entwined for a moment, searching to bind to each other for just a moment, a moment that could last an eternity or two. Seeking to take advantage of the moment, the tall brunette trapped the bard underneath her body and carefully began removing any clothing in the way. It was nice to have clear objectives sometimes, she thought irrationally, and then Gabrielle did something with her fingers that took her breath away, not to mention irrational thoughts.

“Wait a second, let me get cleaned up,” protested Gabrielle, freeing her mouth and savoring the taste on her tongue. “I’m all sweaty,” she managed to explain before gasping at the feel of hands on her back, massaging her aching muscles, touching her in a way that was almost like one of Zeus’ lightning bolts, only continuous pleasure. God, it feels soooo good when she does that . . . .

“Good,” whispered Xena, her voice shaking slightly with emotion. “Just the way I like you . . . we can be sweaty together . . . .” Gabrielle relaxed into her lover’s arms and they curled up in the bedroll, facing each other. The small redhead took the initiative, using slender fingers and questing tongue to seek the deepest parts of her lover, delighting each moment in the gasps and trembles with which each act of devotion was met. Still flushed hot with arousal, the warrior princess immediately returned her love to her younger partner. Teasing the small nipples on the pert breasts with her fingers and tongue, tauntingly, achingly, moving toward Gabrielle’s seat of womanhood, a pearl framed by flame-colored curls. Thrilled to shake her lover, this delectable woman made of fire, to her bones, Xena kissed her way up and down the beloved body until she felt that trembling of sensuous release take her lover away into that wondrous place where lovers go.

“I love you, Xena.”

“I love you too.”

Bathed in a warm glow from their lovemaking, the couple settled in to the hard ground and found their way to sleep.

The next morning, Joxer was already gone on his ‘mission’ but had left a note. Or something masquerading as a note, anyway. Gabrielle examined it for the twentieth time as they hiked toward the tavern just outside of Oikhalia where Joxer was to meet them that evening for dinner. They hadn’t left until it was almost dark, knowing that the alehouse was not that far away, but it was just far enough so that Callisto wouldn’t think to look for them this close even if she suspected Joxer of complicity. “It must be something about all men, something in their blood, that makes them all have lousy handwriting.” Gabrielle waved the scroll haphazardly in Xena’s direction. “And he used one of my scrolls to leave this chicken scratch we can’t even read!”

Her partner took the scroll, unrolling it carefully, and read as she walked, trying not to bump into either the palomino mare on one side or Gabrielle on the other. Turning the parchment from side to side and then around in a circle, Xena finally managed to decipher some of the message. “He says that he’ll meet us at the assigned time and the assigned place.”

Gabrielle gave her a look of disbelief. “It doesn’t really say that, does it?”

“More or less.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”

Seated at a corner table, Xena and Gabrielle had just finished most of their light dinner of ales, bread, cheese, and olives when Joxer came running into the establishment. He was a little out of breath, and had obviously run all the way there in an attempt to keep the meeting on time. Xena was horrified at the slip -- he might as well have been wearing a sign that screamed ‘I’m here to help kill you’ in plain Greek. “Joxer,” she hissed, “Sit down before someone notices you.”

Collapsing in the nearest chair, the lanky man stole an olive and Gabrielle’s draught of ale, struggling to breathe and get back the power of speech. He didn’t just look exhausted, Xena reflected while Gabrielle was back getting another ale from the tavernkeeper; Joxer looked as if he’d been one on ten thousand with the Persian Army and every Bacchai in Greece besides.

Absolutely drained of energy, all but unconscious on his feet.

Xena waited until the man’s breathing had settled and until Gabrielle was back in her chair before voicing her concern. “What happened?” She forced down her worry that he had been hurt and gave herself a stern order to put business first; obviously Joxer was fine because here he was, nowhere near on time, but here he was in the right place. He would make a lousy strategist, she thought, he couldn’t keep to a time-table to save his own life. Biting back the evil realization, the tall brunette took a hurried gulp of her ale and scanned the crowd, turning back in time to catch his reaction.

Joxer flinched.

A faint red haze swam over Xena’s vision. Callisto didn’t believe it and worked him over for information. Fuck!!!

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he whispered.

His pain now evident underneath the exhaustion, Xena controlled her rage, nodded in acknowledgment and held up a hand, forestalling the bard’s questions. “What were you able to learn?” Slowly. Stay calm.

“Y-you’re not going to believe it,” he whispered. “I didn’t.”

“Why are you whispering?” interjected Gabrielle.

Joxer glanced around nervously, clearly wishing he was anywhere but where he was. His voice, when it finally came, was pitched so low the two women had to strain to hear it. “Belen.”

The warrior princess froze, lost in whispered rumors passed on by dying lips, in insistent gasps by blood-streaked friends and enemies, in cries of revenge screamed by those left behind to bury the dead and to rebuild the shattered lives. “Drink up,” she ordered, pushed on by the urgency. “Let’s go.” This just got a lot more dangerous.

A few hours later, camped for the night near a small stream, Xena decided it was time to find out exactly what was happening. “What’s this about Belen?”

“He’s involved. Callisto’s not the boss this time -- she’s working for him.”

Shit.

“Who’s Belen?”

Xena sighed unhappily. “Gabrielle, he can’t really be explained that simply. All I can tell you is what I’ve heard from others, usually with their dying breaths. Belen is a major warlord who works in shadows and twilight and has spies everywhere.” She shrugged. “He’s unpredictable and extremely dangerous: he’s an amoral, antisocial, scheming son of a bitch who kills without compunction for the sheer joy of killing. He’s into every dirty business that pays dinars -- murder, robbery, kidnapping, you name it.”

“What does he look like?”

“No one knows or, if they know, they aren’t telling. I’ve heard that he’s tall and dark-haired, but that applies to half the men in Greece. He might be Persian, might be Greek, might be Oriental.” She shrugged, showing that she didn’t always have all the answers all the time. “He’s a legend, a ghost, a fantasy . . . but I believe he exists.”

“Me too,” volunteered Joxer, still pale with fear.

“How long’s he been around?”

“Past five or six years, and to my knowledge, I never worked for him. I ran across some people who did, though.”

“Most people who work for him don’t even know it,” commented Joxer thoughtfully. “I remember Jett telling me that he pulled a couple of contracts that he later found out were for Belen. Scared him half to death, too.”

“Did Jett ever see him?”

“Nope.”

“What else happened to you?” Gabrielle asked.

Joxer fidgeted like a small child caught trying to avoid a punishment. “Well,” he began hesitantly, “I had no trouble getting in -- Callisto remembered me . . . a little too well. I started my spiel and she started asking me questions.” He swallowed nervously, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the movement. “A lot of questions. I did the best I could to answer them in a way I thought she would believe, but . . .” His voice trailed off suddenly and he stared off into the distance.

“But what, Joxer? She didn’t believe you?”

He swallowed and turned his gaze onto the ground. “No, she believed me. It was just . . . just that, well . . .”

“Well, what?” Gabrielle was getting impatient and her words earned her a glare from her partner’s dark eyes. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“It’s okay, it’s just that . . . she wanted me to prove it.”

His voice broke on the last couple words. A blank silence followed during which the two women exchanged angry glances over the young man’s bowed head. Xena knelt next to their softly crying friend and took his hands in her own. “What did Callisto want you to do?” While the young bard gently soothed Joxer’s tense muscles, offering comfort, Xena steeled herself for his answer.

“She brought in a little girl -- no older than five years old!! -- and told me . . . told me --” he swallowed hard “-- told me to draw my sword and kill her for the privilege of serving Callisto in battle.” He dropped his head in defeat and misery. “I couldn’t do it, Xena.”

“I know.”

"I failed."

Xena grabbed him by the shoulders, seeing but ignoring his flinch in her desperate need to nip this guilt in the bud before it bloomed into something worse. "You didn't fail."

"I did so."

"You didn't," she and Gabrielle insisted in chorus. "You got us more information than we had yesterday and that's enough," continued Xena firmly, "plus you got back alive, which was the most important thing on the agenda."

"Really?"

His whisper was barely audible.

"Yes, Joxer. Really. You're family -- we don't want to see you hurt."

Gabrielle cleared her throat. "What happened next," she asked softly.

“Then she started getting mean. Really mean.” Xena noticed with alarm that he was shaking with remembered terror. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” he turned to her, his voice pleading. “Do I have to talk about it?”

Catching the blonde’s eyes with a look, Xena replied in a low soothing voice, “No, you don’t have to talk about it.” Working together, the couple eased him gently into his bedroll. As he dozed off to a lullaby Gabrielle had learned from her aunt, the warrior princess softly finished her thought. “But when you’re ready to talk about it, we’ll both be here.”

Moving away toward the stream, trying not to wake him, Xena turned to Gabrielle and allowed her to see the barely contained anger held in her eyes. “We’re taking them both down . . . they’re both going to pay for this.” Gabrielle merely nodded, resting a hand on her friend’s shoulder, offering comfort and support. “Whatever it takes,” the dark warrior declared softly, the metal in her voice promising blood, smoke, and victory.

Joxer lay in his bedroll, feigning sleep, and allowed his thoughts to drift back to the previous afternoon . . .

“. . . So,” Joxer asked, “what happens now?”

“Now,” Callisto purred, “now, I torture you, horribly and cause you great pain.” Seated at a finely carved metal table, she had treated her guest to a sumptuous midday meal of roast lamb, vegetables, and fresh hot bread. The meat had been drenched in a sauce of its own juices and a fine red wine, with more of the same fruity wine decanted for the meal. A flurry of conversation had accompanied their feast, and now it was time for the main event.

He grinned like a shark, and pounced, dragging her from the gleaming silver chair down to the hard wooden floor, trapping the hissing blonde warrior-goddess underneath his body. “Torture me and cause me great pain? Only if you intend to take me to your bed for the next few weeks.”

“Been there, done that.”

Joxer kissed her roughly, pulling her hair tight in one hand and wrapping his other arm around her waist. She tasted glorious, the essence of smoke and blood -- all bronze and gold -- she tasted of death and victory mixed with the delicate scent of her -- flowers and herbs. It was a heady mixture, one on which he could become drunk on in the right circumstances. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth and felt her respond with the same hurried need that had gripped him since the moment he first saw her. It had, after all, been far too long since they’d last pleasured each other this way.

Breaking the kiss, he reached for a nearby bear pelt that had caught his eye. She lay watching him, sprawled lasciviously on her back, propped up on her elbows, an evil smile curving her face and stirring his blood. “Here,” she purred, her voice throaty with arousal, “on the floor?”

Joxer did not bother to answer, but only growled low in his throat in reply, his need driving him to a point beyond words. She laughed, a sound like the singing of insane birds, and pulled him to her. “Well, lover, we’ve done it here before,” she whispered softly, her dark eyes flashing eerie sparks of light in their depths.

They undressed each other hurriedly, flinging their clothing around the sparsely decorated room to land where it may. Joxer traced arcane patterns on her body with the edges of his fingernails, sinking his tongue into her sweet mouth, feeling her arms wrap around him, stroking roughly down his back muscles. His long fingers and tongue swept over her strong slender body, stroked her nipples, cupped each perfect breast, and made their way down to a flat belly, muscled inner thighs and that delicate jewel nestled in golden curls. Hearing his lover’s screaming from the edge of the Underworld brought an evil grin to Joxer’s face, his wet lips singing with the taste of her, his nose tingling with her musk that was so uniquely like his golden warrior-demon.

Quick as the Furies, Callisto unseated him from where he was crouched to reach the deepest heart of her beauty. “Now,” she purred, her body wet with juices and their combined sweat. “Now, your punishment begins.”

“I look forward to it.”

“You always have, Boss.”

She pushed Joxer onto his back, and slithered slowly, sensuously, like a great wild cat, onto his outstretched body, her eyes focused on him with a disturbing intensity he enjoyed. Callisto slowly flicked her needy tongue at the head of his already weeping cock. Joxer moaned, reaching one head up, wanting only to sink himself inside her, to be one with that surging heat that burned with each touch. She laughed again, the ringing of bells, their clappers soaked and muffled by the blood of the dead, and continued her panther-stalk onto Joxer’s body until she sat astride his abdomen, their sweat-drenched bodies panting with their arousal.

He stroked her wonderful body, every delicious inch of her, while Callisto lowered herself, slowly, deliberately, tantalizingly, onto him. Her inferno enveloped him with one stroke, and he pressed the heels of his hands onto her firm ass, plunging his fingers down, seeking an even tighter place where pleasure was found. Her incoherent shriek of fiery lust sent another jolt of arousal through him, causing her to bend erotically down upon him, her erect nipples brushing his chest. She devoured his mouth, her tongue caressing each of his teeth individually, his tongue stroking along her palate, his fingers continuing to kiss the soft skin of her back, her breasts, and everywhere within armslength of his desire.

Callisto wrapped her long muscled legs around Joxer’s body, and together, they pushed against each other, matching each other cry for cry, touch for touch, thrust for thrust. Taking their pleasure without words, they moaned and gasped together, pushing each other toward the brink until they fell over together into a sea of ecstasy. They continued to pleasure each other, finding new and original ways in which to reach that summit and the too-short-but-well-worth-it plunge into a lovers’ haze . . .

. . . Joxer sighed, remembering the thrill of her hands on his body, wishing he had Callisto here now, wishing he could bury himself in her scent, in her luscious body. Yes, Joxer thought, with some considerable glee. Whatever it takes.

By the time the sun had directed its bright gaze down upon the world, the trio had well begun their journey to Karesh. At least that was what Joxer thought he overheard, Xena considered. It was impossible to tell -- perhaps he had been meant to hear that snippet of information. Callisto might be baiting a trap, even now.

There was a trap, Xena knew. Unfortunately, she had not the slightest idea where or what it was. I could have pressured Joxer for more details, to see what else he remembers . . . . Xena lowered her dark eyes, presumably to search for faint impressions in the dirt of their quarry, but instead recalling her young friend's fear.

No, Xena couldn't blame Joxer for not wanting to talk about his experience. She didn't especially want to hear about his torture at that bitch's hands. After all, Hades knew she'd sent enough innocents to their death via that same painful route. Xena knew it all too well.

A lesson Joxer shouldn't have had to learn.

Damn Callisto anyway.

Why Joxer of all people? Sure, he was a klutz and could be really annoying at times, but he was as staunch a friend as anyone could ever hope to find. Joxer didn't deserve to become Callisto's toy.

The man who was barely able -- on a good day -- to defend himself had been willing to protect Argo, a horse not even his own, from as dangerous an enemy as that blonde bitch, and Xena had to admit that took guts. Hardened warriors ran like rabbits from Callisto, and yet Joxer -- an untrained, untested, and unskilled wanna-be, and that was a kind description - stood up to her to protect an animal.

It shouldn't have been necessary, none of it. Why couldn't that bitch stay dead? As soon as Callisto got her hands on that golden apple, Xena knew, the whole world was doomed and things just went downhill from there. It just got worse when she managed to get to that ambrosia -- might as well just pitch all of Greece into the sea.

Xena mentally ground her teeth, remembering that moment. Surely it might be wise to send for reinforcements; ideally, she'd send Gabrielle and Joxer to fetch Hercules and Iolaus. It would get them both safely out of the way, far out of the way, so that neither would be at risk.

However, that idea produced two big problems. First, Hercules was too far away. Last she'd heard, he was in Athens, on the other side of Greece, and by the time he arrived, it would be too late and Callisto would have already accomplished whatever her objective was this time. Second, there was no way Gabrielle would leave. Not now. Joxer might . . . until he found out Gabrielle was determined to stay.

And Xena had no doubt that Gabrielle would want to stay. Well, tough. This will be my fight, vowed the warrior princess, and my fight alone.

The trio walked in silence for several more hours. Gone were the jokes, the conversation, and the occasional insults that usually marked their travels. Everyone lost themselves in their own somber thoughts, trudging the last steps over the final hill to Karesh.

"We should be able to see one of the homesteads from the top," muttered Gabrielle. It was clear, though, from her exhausted and distracted tone that her heart wasn't really in it. She moved forward, only to be stopped cold by an outstretched arm flung across her chest. The redhead glared up through her bangs at her tall lover. "What's the problem here?"

Her gaze firmly remaining on the road ahead, Xena didn't answer for a few moments, slowly dropping her arm. "Smoke." A quick nodding gesture toward Kalesh, and Xena swung onto the palomino mare and galloped away in a cloud of dust. After sharing a quick glance, the stragglers hurried after, each privately bemoaning the past few days' events.

Xena halted Argo with a start at the summit, and peered down into a section of Tartarus above ground. No one remained alive at the small homestead, its rooms dark and cold, the absence of sound eloquent only in its unbearable silence. While riding slowly through the ruins, she noted the sequence of what must have happened. Two young men lay sprawled outside the farm, their swords fallen from cold hands. Another man, gray and bent under the weight of his experience, lay crumpled by a small stone wall, a long-bladed scythe clutched in both hands.

After waving the pair to check out the smoldering ruins of the barn, Xena dismounted and entered the small thatched house. Her heart -- an organ she'd long thought hardened to evil deeds -- clenched at the sight of two women and several small children crumpled dead on the floor, their faces contorted in remembered agony.

Strange, this torn-up feeling must be Gabrielle's influence on me. Only a few years ago, I wouldn't have been bothered by blood and lifeless bodies of defenseless children...only a few years ago, I would have made them that way. Now it's all I can do not to cry at the waste before my rage takes control. Shaking away this sudden fit of contemplation, Xena set about searching for any kind of clue. Not that I need one -- it's clear as water to me that Callisto did this. Finding nothing of importance, Xena placed the bodies together, including those outside the house, and set the structure aflame.

Joxer met her outside, his eyes wide and moist with unshed tears. "All the livestock we could find are dead. If there were any more, they've escaped or been driven off." He would not meet her eyes, she noticed.

"What is it?" Xena forced herself to gentle her voice, even though her need to know was becoming imperative. She did it simply because the situation warranted it. Joxer warranted it; he was important enough, even if she rarely showed him so, and he'd been through too much as it was lately.

The dark-haired wanna-be swallowed hard before answering, his eyes refusing to meet hers. "In the barn . . .." He got no further before a tear trickled down his cheek, releasing a flash flood of sorrow. Xena waited long enough to see him wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand before hurrying to the barn.

From the doorway, she saw Gabrielle standing over a pile of rags and brown cloth, tears glistening in streaks down her face. As she approached closer, the pile took on the shape of a young child huddled in a corner, hoping the meager protection of a nearby haystack would be enough. It clearly hadn't been. A lance protruded through the little girl's back, pinned in a slumped sitting position to the rough-hewn wooden floor below her tiny body. "There was nothing you could do." Xena tried to offer what solace she could, certain that it wouldn't be enough.

"If I had been here --" Her tears wet her voice.

"You probably would have been killed too."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," snorted the strawberry blonde. She moved away, pushing off Xena's comforting hand.

"Gabrielle," sighed Xena. "You know what I meant." Sending yet another prayer for her lover's protection, she pulled the bard closer to her and hugged her tight. "We've had this conversation before. As much as it hurts, you can't save everyone. No one can."

"I know . . . but knowing that doesn't make it any easier."

"I know." Releasing Gabrielle from her arms, Xena was now able to see a detail, which had previously escaped her notice. The little girl had died clutching a small brown dog, also impaled on the bloody lance, clearly a child's desperate effort to protect a favorite pet.

Gabrielle's wistful voice startled her out of her task of tossing around the decaying hay and back to the real world. "I hope they're happy together, running and playing in the Elysian Fields."

Xena was never more grateful for a change of subject. "I'm sure they are."

"Do dogs go to the Fields?"

"I don't see why not."

"If not, maybe Hades would be willing to make an exception in this case." Xena would have bet anything that the bard was writing her story even as they spoke. She could practically see the quill flowing over the parchment.

"Maybe he would." Xena tossed a torch at the dry hay. Gabrielle's only response at this point was a busied hum, her eyes all but spinning with the intensity of mental planning. In spite of the grim situation, Xena couldn't help but allow a wry smile to surface. Some things never changed.

The couple met Joxer in front of the matching pyres, which not long before had been a family home overflowing with love and laughter, and continued their journey south. Through Kalesh, Hollia, Thernos, Arenn, and Denos, the scenery changed and yet nothing changed. No one and nothing alive, buildings scorched to the earth. Even Hollia's famed groves, rows upon rows of bright green trees brimming with clusters of red berries, had been burned beyond saving.

The strain of the past six days showed, thought Xena, as she watched Joxer quietly cook dinner, turning the fish this way and that in the flames with all the care of an Athenian chef. No one is handling this carnage well, and everyone has his or her own method. Xena knew all too well how she appeared lately. She could picture her own face, still as stone, only her eyes alive with pain and bitter remembrance.

And regrets.

Many, many regrets.

Joxer sat silent, his eyes huge but shuttered, clearly trying not to feel any more pain, any more fear, any more anything. Ever revealing, the lines in his face said that he nonetheless understood what was happening, what had happened, and what horrors were still to come. His dark eyes, considered Xena, had probably seen more suffering than he ever bargained for two years ago when he first began tagging along as a sometime-sidekick. Her other companion was another story. Although she managed to hold herself together, Gabrielle had been visibly upset for days. Snapping abruptly at her companions or abnormally silent, the bard's writing had stilled, heavily burdened with her own pain and guilt. I wish I could send them away, sighed Xena, watching the pair weave about each other, keeping their thoughts as silent as the corpses they'd passed on the trail. I wish they could be safe, far away from here. They don't need to be here. Her eyes hardened, looking out to the horizon where the sun sank below the faraway mountains, the sky aflame in rose and gold and gray. The coming battle is mine alone.

"Another hour, another village," chuckled Callisto, surveying her handiwork in what had formerly been the town of Lanais. The small fishing village on the rocky southern coast still burned, black smoke billowing from every hut, barn, boat, and corpse. Dead bodies littered the streets, stacked like cordwood for sale. The very air stank of burning, combining to create a stench so gut-wrenching that nostrils sought to close their windows in horror.

For Callisto, the goddess' nose was tickled by a gentle perfume as delicate as a lace rose. A tiny noise whispered in her ears, her sharpened senses leading her to a chicken coop outside of the village. Largely unscathed by flame, the small crosshatched and wooden structure seemed barely big enough for someone to squeeze in to hide.

How could I have missed anyone? She wondered, annoyed at her own carelessness and at this little mortal's audacity to defy her. And here I thought I'd read Lanais' life signs as nil . . . . Callisto faced the building, kneeling, her eyes peeking up into its depths. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" When no reply reached her ears, the blonde warrior shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of resignation, but her blue eyes burned with an unholy fire, glowing with a strange light of their own. Callisto lazily raised an arm and shot flame at the far corner of the coop, causing the tiny building to crumble.

Three quick steps to the rubble and the goddess snatched up a small blonde girl, who lay dazed in the wreckage of wood and wire. Shaking the pre-teen roughly, Callisto couldn't help but take a good look at the child: skin like pale cream, long golden hair tied back with a leather thong, tattered dirty clothes, red burns on her hands, and an expression all too familiar to the goddess. She reminds me of me, from before . . . she looks like me . . . perhaps I should save her like Xena saved me . . . or turn her to my purpose . . . .

A wail brought Callisto out of her reverie, and a sharp slap ended the child's weeping. The goddess of vengeance pulled the girl close and shook her viciously until her eyes widened and her mouth closed. "Listen to me, little mortal," the warrior goddess purred, her voice soft with menace. "Do as I say, exactly as I say, and I'll let you live." Callisto shifted her position, moving lower, to stare into the frightened girl's eyes. A tiny nod signaled the goddess to continue. "I want you," punctuated with an emphatic shake, "to find Xena...you do know Xena? --" reassured by frantic whispers and promises "-- and tell her that I'll be waiting for her in the Temple of All Fires." She examined the terrified child sternly, her eyes boring into her captive's heart. "Do you understand me, little mortal?"

"Yes." The whisper was so slight that Callisto almost missed it.

"Yes, what?"

Afraid for her life, for her very soul, the girl trembled as she answered. "Yes, my lady goddess."

Mollified by this showing of proper respect, Callisto decided to go ahead with the plan. "Go. Find Xena and deliver that message...or I'll find you . . . and no one will ever find you again." The child's running footsteps proved a delightful accompaniment to the crackle and pop of flame.

Still, the child's survival bothered Callisto. Will she hunt me in six years' time? Will I even care? She shrugged. I don't care now...but I cared then. The black-clad goddess decided to check her domain personally, striding up the long hill to the temple where she would await the attack she knew would come, the victory she knew would be hers. Every step fueled her brain, forcing her memories of the road that had led her to this point to sit up and demand attention.

Xena killed my village, my parents, and almost killed me. I was nearly twelve years old, battered, torn, and completely alone. My parents were farmers, proud tillers of the soil, and they had told me, time and time and time again, that war was evil. Funny how war killed them, my parents the pacifists who abhorred violence.

I, the only survivor of my village, walked alone across practically all of Greece to reach the only relatives I knew existed. I had no shame - shame was a luxury only the wealthy could afford -- and I did whatever was necessary to get where I could be safe again. I begged, I borrowed, I stole. I had been lucky, being a somewhat plain little girl, and no man wanted me to share his bed, but I had been willing to whore my body for payment. Nothing was too evil, no matter what I had been taught by my parents; they were dead and couldn't protect me anymore. Now, only I mattered, because I was all I had.

My aunt and uncle lived on the island of Delos, in its major town of the same name. Every day, every hour, every waking minute of my journey, I planned what I would do to the warrior princess who ruined my life. It didn't matter what horrible thing I was doing at the time; every heinous act I committed on my trek fed the fires inside me and lit the rage that showed me the path ahead of me.

Once at Delos, making my way to the palace was easy. Its stone spires could be easily spotted from the docks, but getting inside the massive walls was hard. After I convinced the guard of my urgency, I met my Uncle Kalen and my Aunt Jenetra for the first time, and they welcomed me with open arms. He stood tall and stern, grizzled and coarse from years of leading men and boys to war, hardened from years of blood and gore and death. Aunt Jenetra was my mother's elder sister. My mother had fled the family home years before, barely more than a child herself, to stay away from the family's deadly business. She married my father, and they lived happily until Xena and her armies killed them. How ironic that their deaths were caused by exactly what Mother tried to escape. How even more ironic that her precious only daughter escaped their fates only to become that which Mother herself had feared in her youth. My aunt wore her dark hair in an elaborate style, ridged with silver and rubies, like spatters of blood, and her clothes like an Athenian socialite, but her demeanor was that of a despot. He, a warlord, and she, a warlord's wife, ruled the island with iron fists. Nothing was taken for granted. Everything was for keeps.

That same day, I met my cousins for the first time -- all eleven of them. Clearly Uncle Kalen planned to leave his title and his fortune to his only sons, but only one of them was eligible to inherit. At the age of sixteen, the eldest was already gaining prestige in his chosen occupation. The middle son wasn't really capable of maintaining the family business. Although his insanity merited him points in his favor, he could not be deemed competent with a problem involving ladies' clothing, olive oil, and one of the family's prize geldings. In fact, Jayce was not discussed, not even by family members, so I rarely saw him.

Process of elimination left the youngest to inherit, even though I felt his talents in music suited him far better than the sounds of conflict. Joxer had always possessed a wonderful singing voice. I can still hear him singing in his smoky tenor about princesses and dragons, eternal love and undying passion, his long fingers cleverly picking out a melody on his lyre. We often met in the center hayloft -- at least it was private -- where he would sing to me, with golden strands of hay floating down on us from the loft above, sparkling in the late afternoon sunshine.

We became confidantes that summer, and became lovers by fall of the same year. No subject was taboo in our talks, no subject too painful that we could not discuss it. Joxer held me while I wept -- the last time I ever cried -- over my parents' senseless deaths. He listened patiently while I raged wildly, screaming my agony to the world, vowing destruction to anything and anybody in my path, and exposing the hatred that overwhelmed my being for all to see. He held me in his arms, making me whole, if only for a time, and I responded to his gentle caresses with caresses of my own. The eve of my twelfth birthday we joined our bodies for the first time, and I melted into his soul, and he mine. From that moment on, we knew we wanted only each other, wanting only to scream a staccato tune to his groaning melody, pounding our song to a passionate beat only we could see and hear.

Joxer made me safe after I had never thought to be safe again.

We both knew that his parents wanted us to marry, when we were both old enough and when he had established himself as his father's rightful heir. He knew how much I hated Xena, and how much I wanted her dead. One day, three years later, shortly after I had turned fifteen, Joxer arrived home with a plan. After hearing it, we proposed the idea to Uncle Kalen. He was delighted with our skill -- our proposal required a great deal of work and planning and time, most of all, but it was elegant in its simplicity. Allowing for several back-up plans to be used in succession, the master plan also had the advantage of flexibility so that it could be changed as needed on the run. We opted to take no chances, and we were nothing if not cautious.

That same caution will pay off very soon, observed Callisto coolly. No one will be spared my vengeance. The golden goddess stared down into the ceremonial pit, its dancing light reflecting redly off her face. The sparks bounced off her eyes with malicious glee, spinning in joyful spirals at their long-awaited freedom. Lava bubbled far below the blackness, promising certain death to the unlucky mortal whom it devoured. "Yes", Callisto whispered to the flame, leaning over the gaping maw to feel the rising warmth, "this should do nicely."

Staring into the fire, Joxer sighed, wondering if it held the answers he sought. Knowing it didn't -- couldn't -- he grumbled and pretended not to notice how closely together Xena and Gabrielle were sitting on the other side of the fire, their thighs touching, their fingers exploring out of range of his eyes. I don't have to see it to know what's happening. Do they think I'm blind or just stupid? Recalling the role he had devised and played all these years, Joxer grunted. Probably both. Well -- he rose to his feet -- best give them some privacy . . . not that I wouldn't mind watching. "Um, Xena, I'm going to wash up in that lake over there, okay?" As he figured, the two women practically shoved him into the bushes.

"Sure. Just be careful."

Joxer puffed himself up, right on cue. "I am Joxer the Mighty -- I fear no man!" The nose twist came faster than expected, bringing him nearly to his knees, rubbing his poor abused nose in dismay. "But maybe women." The warrior fool made his retreat towards the lake to the sound of their laughter.

The deserted grotto was exactly as he remembered it, from long ago travels, and he spent several minutes just watching the nocturnal waterbirds feeding on their hapless prey. After a hurried scrub in the cold waters, Joxer dried himself with a cloth and stood naked on the green shore, bathing himself in the shimmery moonlight. Removing his dagger from his pile of clothes, the warrior began his plea, pricking the flesh of his forearms as he spoke. "Great Ares, god of war, hear my prayer! Furies, mistresses of vengeance, protectors of family justice, hear me! Grant me the strength and the endurance to complete these acts, for I must avenge the brutal murders of my aunt and uncle! Hear me, I beg you!"

Arms clad in black leather pressing around his waist came as no surprise to the young warrior. "Oh, I hear you, Joxer, and I love it when you beg me", whispered Ares, his mouth barely inches from his human prey's ear. "But I have far better uses for your mouth than praying . . . ."

"Do you?" Joxer loved this game they played, one that had begun with his initiation into the arts of death and destruction at the age of thirteen. They had played all kinds of games since then, and each one was a study in strategy and skill and lust. Turning to face the god he worshipped, Joxer licked one finger enticingly and slid his tongue down its length before tracing the outline of his god's leather vest. "What might that be?"

"What do you think?" The harshness in Ares' voice betrayed the effect his games were having, if the bulge Joxer could feel pressing into his groin was any indication. "You know what I want...and I always get what I want."

"Always?" Joxer knew this might be pushing the papyrus a bit, but walking the knife edge was part of the thrill. After all, this quality was what had drawn the god to him in the first place.

Impatient, Ares gripped the younger man by the shoulders and roughly pushed him to the ground. On his knees, Joxer grinned up at the scowling god, pressing into his most personal space. "I always do," hissed the dark god, "whether or not they give willingly."

Slowly, slowly unlacing the pants displayed in front of him, the warrior allowed his fingers to grope within, trailing the ends of the leather laces, smiling at the sound of his sometime-lover grinding his teeth. Joxer lightly ran his fingers along the heavy shaft, defining each blue vein with his fingertips, committing the flesh to his memory. Sweeping his tongue luxuriously over the same path his fingers had traced, Joxer felt Ares tremble under his touch and heard him moan softly in approval. Strong fingers stroked his forehead in time, running over his scalp and through the dark chestnut tangle of hair, holding him tightly, urging him on to the union of their bodies.

Now driven with passion, all teasing gone from his mind, he wasted no time, flicking his tongue from root to slit. While his right hand continued to pleasure Ares' cock in concert with his mouth, Joxer allowed his other hand to move of its own accord, shifting between encircling balls and teasing ass in a masterful stroke, conducting a symphony of lust to its crescendo.

Several minutes later, after Ares had regained his presence of mind and kissed Joxer senseless, the god prepared to leave. "While I have to admit you're talented . . . in many ways -- and this is a cliche so old I can't believe I'm saying it -- you won't get away with this plan. It would work with anyone else, but not Xena. She's too sharp." The god of war finished lacing his pants and watched his favorite protege closely, waiting for his reaction. "As much as I would enjoy seeing her fall from her high-and-mighty perch, Xena will tumble to it eventually."

"She may, in time," Joxer agreed completely. He knew Xena possessed both intelligence and cunning and was fully appreciative of the virtues of patience and subtlety. Most of all, Ares had trained them both - which made the warrior princess a worthy enemy. "But, by that time, it'll be too late," he continued, his voice hard with determination. "She may be the daughter of a god, but I'm the heir of a warlord -- and I'm on the side of justice." Even though his voice carried only as far as Ares' ears, Joxer nonetheless knew the other gods heard every word. "It changes nothing."

It was early in the morning when Gabrielle awakened to the sound of a weeping child. At first, the bard wondered if some bored god had delivered to her a vision of troubles to come. When a soft murmuring she knew well reached her ears, however, she knew this was no vision. Something had happened.

Something bad.

And in situations such as this, there was only one way to get the information she craved. Eavesdropping, finished Gabrielle decisively, hoping there would be further conversation now that she was awake and could listen shamelessly. After all, it's not as if Xena tells me anything of value. I have to do everything I can to get the information I need so that I can watch her back. Happily, the gods must have been listening, for the child's cries and Xena's comforting voice in its most gentle tone raised in pitch enough so that Gabrielle could hear.

What she learned horrified her. Surely, it shouldn't have, given that it was Callisto with whom they were dealing and that whole villages had been massacred already. Now, to learn that those villagers had died for the sole purpose of leaving a trail for Xena to follow . . . it was almost too much to bear.

Gabrielle lost all pretense of sleep and concentrated instead on not losing the contents of her stomach. After withstanding several minutes, she waited until the weeping withdrew to the sounds of a third party whose voice she didn't recognize. A relative, probably. I hope so. Every child should have someone they can depend on when the dinars are down.

The unknown voice was too high-pitched to be Joxer's and also had a quavering quality that the warrior fool's didn't have. Grandmother? Elderly aunt? Although after hearing what Joxer hadn't said about his torment at Callisto's hands, the man had a right to a shaky voice as far as she was concerned. Usually, you couldn't gag him fast enough, but lately he barely spoke at all. And he absolutely refused to discuss what had happened.

But that was all right.

Maybe he wanted to forget.

That was all right too. Sometimes things should be forgotten, better left to the oblivion of someone else's memory. Gabrielle wanted to forget lots of days, including the ones when that blonde bitch entered her life and killed Perdicus, who hadn't ever heard of his murderer before this. She knew Xena wished the deed that made Callisto could be undone. Too bad it wasn't that easy. Closing her eyes, Gabrielle imagined her lover's face at the moment: her mouth set in a closed line but saying all the appropriate things, her eyes cold as ice and burning from within yet still sparking with enough animation, her expression outwardly calm and serene but inwardly roiling with fury, her will tightly reining in the scarlet horse that neighed incessantly inside her skull.

Xena would not give in to the crimson demon, Gabrielle knew. Others, possessing of lesser wills, screeched and howled the scarlet creature into a frenzy, soaking up its energy through their souls, screaming murder through the countryside until the horse drank from the red froth which dripped from its flanks. Instead, the warrior princess merely nudged with heel and whip and tongue, guiding her powerfully muscled steed to her own needs.

How often had Xena said it? 'Don't let your anger get the better of you. It might fuel your energy, but it saps away your reason.' Anger gives you nothing because it's no help to be fueled when you're scattered in itty bitty pieces all over the ground. Still, the bard wondered, what did Callisto hope to gain?

"Revenge."

Gabrielle stared at her tall lover in amazement. "How do you do that?"

"Professional secret," smiled Xena. "And before you ask," she continued, holding out a hand to stop all protests, "you and Joxer are staying here."

"No way."

"Yes way, and that's final."

"But --"

"No."

"Why --"

"No, Gabrielle." Xena's tone brooked no arguments and some quality she couldn't discern promised that some rules of warfare would be broken tomorrow. Some new ground would be covered and, with Callisto involved, the travel was sure to be deadly. "You and Joxer will stay here and neither of you will follow me. If I haven't returned in two days, you're to get Hercules and Iolaus and tell them what happened." Xena paused, her blue eyes burning with intensity. "Do you understand me?"

"Yeah," muttered the bard in a sulky tone. Xena has always called the shots, it's always her way or the roadway. Why is she always in charge? Not follow, huh? Gabrielle's mood lightened during her fit of rebellion. We'll see about that!

She vaguely heard Xena repeat her speech to Joxer, but his version was considerably shorter and contained considerably less 'no's. In the end, he said he understood also, and didn't fight her on anything. But he probably doesn't want to face Callisto again, not so soon after what happened last time, considered Gabrielle. "I wonder why none of the other gods have done anything about Callisto. She's a rogue, after all."

Joxer answered her question. "I guess they find her useful so they let her live." He appeared lost in thought for a moment before continuing, a behavior so unlike the Joxer she knew that it left her dumbstruck. "The gods use her for nefarious deeds they can't do themselves because of Zeus' rules, so they keep her alive in order to go around the rules."

The bard looked at him curiously. "You are Joxer, aren't you?"

"I hope so. I'm wearing his underwear."

"Must have been a rare display of intelligence."

"Must have."

Of course, ten minutes after the warrior princess had galloped away to battle the blonde bitch, Gabrielle busily began trying to convince her companion that Xena needed their help, no matter what she had said. "You do want to help Xena, don't you?"

"You know I do," sighed the warrior wanna-be. "But she told us to stay here and the best way to help Xena is to do what she says." Joxer looked at her with an expression of contentment. "Don't you remember what happened last time we didn't do what she said?"

"Which time?"

"Last time."

"No."

"Neither do I", finished Joxer happily, "but Xena did since we were both knocked out and tied up like chickens at market, and she said it was because we didn't obey her."

Exasperated, Gabrielle threw up her hands. "Of course she would say that!" What more could I say . . . oh, I know . . . . "Don't you realize that all great warriors make their own rules rather than doing what they're told?"

He didn't appear especially convinced by that argument. "Xena told me that great warriors need to learn to follow orders before they dare give them."

"And you believe that?" Gabrielle couldn't believe that Joxer, of all people, who had the brains of a rock, hung on Xena's every word. Didn't he care what she thought any more? She turned away briefly, wondering whether he'd found someone else. "Do you believe everything Xena tells you?"

"She also told me that you were her best friend in the world."

The words rocked the strawberry blonde to her core. She didn't tell him, did she? She couldn't have! The refrain repeated itself a few more times, as Gabrielle frantically watched his expression. Seeing no indication that their secret had been breached, she relaxed a little and tried to salvage her side of the argument. "And that's why, as her best friends in the world, we", gesturing with both hands at him and herself, "have to go help her." Gabrielle boldly walked several paces without hesitation before coming to a halt, turned, and delivered her final question. "Are you coming or not?"

A long bewildered sigh answered her. "I guess so." Joxer suddenly grinned, and puffed himself out a bit, like he used to, and Gabrielle smiled to see it. "After all, with Xena on point, it falls to me to protect you."

Joxer had stumbled five times already in the past hour of their journey. True, Gabrielle probably thought it was just poor dumb clueless Joxer, same old, same old, tripping over his own toes. That was exactly what she was meant to think, and the precise opposite of the truth. Well, maybe not precisely opposite.

In all truthfulness, he'd actually been quite klutzy as a child, as had his other siblings, and they'd all eventually grown out of it. The dance lessons Mother had insisted upon had actually helped, as had the acrobatic and fighting lessons which Father had demanded of all three sons. He'd even arranged for a Chin instructor, to make sure the boys learned the moves properly.

His skill with acrobatics -- which came in handy even now, knowing how to fall without injury -- and his natural deviousness had attracted the God of War to him in the first place. An especially grueling practice had left him winded and trying to soothe aching muscles by repeated stretching exercises. It had made little sense to thirteen-year-old Joxer, but Shing had insisted that all practices end with these exercises, and they usually worked. Ares had been intrigued with the boy's flexibility and had desired to test that ability in an entirely different fashion.

So why was the war god finding fault with his plan at this critical juncture? Joxer couldn't help but feel somewhat betrayed by this sudden lack of faith; after all, Ares had always praised his protege's efforts in the past. It must be because Ares thinks Xena is one of his bastards, the warrior decided. Not that it makes any difference to me. She still has to pay for what she's done. He paused, still trying to reconcile Ares' actions in the past with those of the late present. Unfortunately, the only explanation that came to mind was not an option his mind cared to consider, but Ares' potential betrayal of him to Xena had to be examined in minute detail.

Details and unexpected behavior had to be taken into consideration when at the planning stage. It wasn't a perfect plan, admittedly, but there was no such thing as a perfect plan. Joxer believed, however, that this one came pretty close, allowing for practically every contingency and for maximum flexibility. Even if something went wrong in the last minutes, the time frame could be expanded, giving them later chances to attack.

First, he had taken on the persona of a clumsy warrior wanna-be, annoying and obnoxious, but possessed of a good heart. 'Joxer the Mighty' was someone trying to find a way into the war business, and Xena would feel bound to save him from himself in an attempt to repent her own dark past. Thus, Joxer reflected, he was essentially using himself as bait.

Only then he had felt safe enough to begin building his criminal empire. Using a pseudonym proved the best method. An assassin couldn't kill a man who had never been seen and the threat of unknown territory made a fence that needed no tending. He frequently used the 'Mighty' persona to run messages to 'Belen's' lieutenants, using the alter's stupidity as a shield. Most of the crooks didn't dispute it, probably since those who threatened Belen's personal messenger either vanished or were otherwise punished. After all, who better than an idiot to run such incriminating messages - an intelligent man was far more likely to commit treachery than a well-paid fool was. So, Joxer ran his own messages -- nothing in print, ever, so all the orders came from his own mouth, presented so as to appear memorized.

In the meantime, Callisto had been perfecting her skills under Ares' tutelage. No doubt he taught her a great many other things as well, Joxer thought. When they were both ready, Callisto made her conspicuous debut, leaving Xena's name plastered all over the death and destruction, a tactic certain to get the warrior princess' attention. At the same time, Gabrielle found herself repetitively subduing a clumsy warrior, who had been trying to kidnap her. Did Xena really think their arrival on the scene together had been sheer coincidence? Weren't they the slightest bit suspicious that Callisto hadn't killed the idiot on the spot after directly refusing an order, as she had done to others for the same transgression?

Yes, she did.

And, no, they weren't.

Xena performed precisely as he expected her to behave, taking the helpless fool Joxer into her little family, treating him as neither a subordinate nor an equal but rather as a devoted pet. The deceiver tagged along after the pair, trying to help but more frequently as a nuisance underfoot. Joxer knew his alter's apparent inability to defend himself against practically anyone would prevent Xena from abandoning him on the roadside. After all, Joxer fought to hold in a sneer, Xena now fancied herself a protector of the weak.

Introducing himself to Hercules and Iolaus had only lent further credence to his story, proving his lack of common sense and apparent inability to protect himself. Iolaus had been so taken in by the ruse that he had, on the sly, tried to interest the other man in new lines of work, all of which had failed disastrously. Joxer still wasn't certain how Iolaus had gotten tangled in the weaving loom to this day, but the mess had taken hours to repair and had left the hunter practically naked in front of the whole town.

On the other hand, having a few special talents -- with no relation whatsoever to wartime pursuits -- had proved very handy. Joxer knew himself to be an excellent cook, and did much of the meal preparation whenever he traveled with Xena and Gabrielle. Carving objects and other useful items out of wood or soft stone might have been useful, but his reputation as a klutz usually led someone to grab any sharp-edged tools out of his reach. Music had long been a passion, a crowning achievement, and a pleasant reminder of his childhood. Skilled on the lyre, flute, and harp, Joxer had reveled in making Orpheus' acquaintance, finding it a superb opportunity to prove his alter’s worth to the warrior princess. All in all, the whole episode had been an unqualified success on many levels, and was easily explained to Iolaus the next time they met. Common knowledge of his crush on Gabrielle -- who despised him -- and careful disregard of her secret relationship with Xena only gave him a sorrowful air, the lovesick fool trying to impress a girl who couldn't care less.

Even his brother's involvement and capture had been part of the plan. Jett was so well known and so sought after in his line of work that Xena would eventually run afoul of him. After some thought, it had been deemed best to get that particular stumbling block out of the way as soon as possible. Always amenable where money or family was concerned, Jett played his role brilliantly, strengthening Joxer's fable tenfold by concocting a fictional childhood taunt that mocked the melody of Joxer's ever-present theme song. Together, the whole scheme inspired such pathos and sympathy that Xena had been moved to plead for leniency on Jett's behalf -- because she wanted to spare Joxer as much pain as possible -- and Jett was not executed as he should have been. Both brothers knew, in any case, that Jett would not be imprisoned long; 'Belen' would see to that. After all, the man claiming to be his father in Marimas prison was only a well-paid substitute for Kalen.

Gabrielle's strident voice intruded on his musings. "We're here."

Joxer looked up and up and up at the imposing stone structure built into the side of a mountain, of an active volcano. Naturally rough outside, its only decorations were windows venting the earth's own fires and black smoke into the blue sky. An imposing silvery door led the pair down a short hallway where it ended in a choice of right or left turns, its cavernous rooms and byways chiseled out of the living mountain. A tiny disturbance in a carefully balanced rock pile apparently prompted Gabby to suggest the right corridor. A steep rock staircase led them to another narrow passage, the way ahead lit by small torches high above their heads. Joxer felt his companion push her way past him, and he immediately halted her. "Hang on, Gabby, we don't want to rush in and distract her. She might have the upper hand right now."

She frowned for a moment, thinking it over, before acquiescing. "Let's wait here, so we don't distract Xena."

"Okay", he nodded.

"Glad I thought of it."

Joxer said nothing at her self-satisfied tone. There was nothing to be said between them, and soon there would be even less. He merely waited. Patience had always been one of his greatest virtues.

Quiet as the proverbial mouse, Xena crept into the large main chamber, her broadsword at the ready, her other hand prepared to snatch the metallic chakram at her waist. Sneaking does no good. She knows you're coming. Glancing around, she noted the features of the room, a habit that had served her well. A large round well stood as the main altar, positioned off-center in the room, and Xena knew its flaming maw led to the River of Fire. To her left, the stone wall displayed a curious circular arrangement of swords, their hilts outward, and their blades gleaming with blood innocence. Across from her, on the opposite side of the fire altar, the wall boasted a series of colorful shields lined up in a row, in some arcane sequence with which the warrior princess was unfamiliar. The remaining two walls had been decorated with heavy wall hangings, woven from a variety of materials and colors to form beautiful patterns with unknown meanings, draped across the walls like curtains.

Her face darkened in annoyance, the doomed scents of brimstone and smoke reaching her nose. Maybe I can catch her unawares and end this quick, but, she realized, it is not to be, spotting Callisto standing motionless near the far drape, half-hidden in its folds, her long sword slung casually over one shoulder. The golden warrior quietly strode over to the lava well and watched the bubbling molten heat pop and explode, her expression that of concentration, as if trying to inhale each burst of energy. "Have you noticed", she noticed, "that you and I are just two sides of the same dinar?"

Xena ground her teeth, painfully aware of the painful clench in her jaw muscles, not wanting to admit that they indeed had many things in common. "I'm nothing like you." She advanced closer to her enemy, hoping to lull the woman into a false sense of security with this easy familiarity.

Callisto cocked her head, her eyes widening. "Oh, yes, you are and you know it." She smiled, a chilling expression -- a child's lips and a murderer's eyes, both components of an angel's face. "In fact, if things had been different, our roles might have been reversed now." The blonde sighed wistfully, peering up at her foe with wide eyes. "Wouldn't that have been fun?"

The warrior princess deigned not to reply to that incongruous question. If I didn't already know this bitch was insane, then I'd say the shock of goddesshood had sent her over the edge. In spite of it all, Xena had to admit to herself that her adversary's words contained some small amount of potential truth.

"You know what would be even more fun?"

"What?" I'm tired of these games.

"Killing you," screamed Callisto, lunging out simultaneously with her sword. Xena easily met the lunge and parried it skillfully. The two women circled around each other in an elaborate dance of death, exchanging insults and threats in-between muttered oaths. Neither cared about the usual rules of dueling; this was a battle to end all battles and destinies would be decided here this day. The flame watched this battle royal with pure objectivity, caring nothing for the outcome, having borne witness to thousands of sacrifices in its bloody past.

Xena's attention had narrowed to encompass only her most hated adversary and the chosen battleground. After several minutes of fighting during which neither gained the upper hand, Xena opted toward an old trick. She held Callisto at bay, her arm outstretched, using her focus and inner strength to force the rogue goddess into the far wall. Strange and disturbing - no fireballs in a place eminently designed for them. She's up to something . . . but what? A sharp whistle in three notes interrupted her thought, and Xena read the glee in Callisto's maniacal eyes.

Barely audible scuffling, crashes and muffled oaths from the doorway behind her caused Xena to turn halfway, torn between her fears and her need to keep her eyes on the blonde bitch. Having taken advantage of her momentary confusion, Callisto's sword arm shot out to knock Xena's arm off balance as the dark warrior's fears were realized.

Joxer appeared in the narrow doorway, gripping a frightened Gabrielle by her long hair, holding his tiny knife to her throat. That can't be Joxer, she thought, stunned. What in Tartarus happened? Dammit, I told them to stay at camp!! Xena grimly took in the purplish-red bruises on her young lover's right cheek and arms, and discovered the answer she sought. Joxer's dark eyes were blank, empty, and totally devoid of emotion. The warrior princess sucked in a deep breath, certain her own sword had impaled her in the gut of its own accord, and wheeled to face a smirking Callisto. "What did you do to him, you bitch?" The knife bit into Gabby's skin, sending blood trickling down to feed the stone below their feet. She made a small squeaking sound of protest, otherwise holding her tongue, but her eyes cried out to Xena for help.

"Nothing you'll need to worry about for much longer."

The casual reply drove Xena's nerves farther on edge, and she grit her teeth again in barely controlled rage. "What. Did. You. Do." She hoped her even tone suggested that she still retained some control of the situation, even if it looked increasingly bleak.

"Made him mine."

Xena couldn't think of a way out of this mess, as it stood now. I'm at swordpoint, Gabrielle is a hostage, no one knows we're here, and Joxer can't help anyone -- not even himself. Damn her! There has to be a way out. "What do you want?" she ground out.

"What do you think?"

Xena tried not to notice the malicious joy in Callisto's answer, and sighed. "All right . . . just don't hurt them."

"Xena, no!" A vicious yank on her hair cut off Gabrielle's horrified shout, dropping the bard to her knees, moisture dripping from her pained wide eyes. Rabid, Joxer snarled at them both, baring his teeth in warning.

That clinched it -- the gentle man they knew had been buried under Callisto's evil influence, turning him into little more than an animal. "Hush, Gabrielle." After watching Callisto motion to Joxer, telling her servant to back off, Xena gave up her weapons. She couldn't let Gabrielle die, and she couldn't let Joxer be the one to kill her, even if he wasn't in his right mind, assuming he'd had one in the first place. It was her only option right now, and she was all too aware of in how many ways and how many things could go wrong. Maybe the Fates will be kind and allow us to find a way out of this.

Triumphant, Callisto held her prisoners at bay and enjoyed the moment, as Joxer lowered a heavy iron cage from high above and guided it to the floor. His jerky movements reminded Xena of a puppet, a mindless automaton lacking control over its own actions. Both women stepped into the prison, maintaining their pride in their still demeanors, and watched without comment as the door was soldered shut with a brief touch of the golden goddess' fingertip. No one spoke until the warrior princess and her young lover hung high in the air, suspended above a fiery pit.

"I'm going to make you sacrifices . . . to myself," the rogue goddess announced. Joxer looked on with empty eyes, silent and still as a neglected grave, as she caressed his cheek with a wandering finger. "And my first worshipper is right here, pliant and submissive, mine for the plundering . . . ." That final taunt flung, Callisto led a serene Joxer from the room and vanished into the veil of darkness, where their mortal eyes could not follow.

********** ********** ***********

"What in Tartarus is going on?"

Xena hadn't seen Gabrielle so upset in a long time. Her body quivered like a candle flame in a draft with suppressed rage and tension. Taking her lover's hands into her own, Xena gently rubbed along the edges of the delicate muscles there until the clenched fists relaxed their grips. A grip that was presumably intended to be around Joxer's throat.

The warrior princess sighed, and tried to contort her body into a more comfortable position. Her smaller lover was petite enough so that she was perfectly proportioned for the cramped space, but she herself wasn't so lucky. Xena crouched on her haunches, ignoring the sailors' knot gnarling in her left side and the aches rippling through her leg muscles.

"What's going on," repeated Gabrielle, her tone that of a lost child, her face a study in confusion. "I thought Joxer was on our side."

"Joxer is on our side," the warrior princess insisted, hoping she could make Gabrielle understand. "In the time Joxer was being held, I think Callisto bewitched him so that he would follow her instructions when he heard a certain cue." Unbidden, her own thoughts turned to the many times she'd heard tales of men and women driven to acts they would never have otherwise done. Hadn't Hercules himself fallen victim to such an enchantment, driven by madness to murder his beloved wife and children?

Comprehension chased worry across the bard's face. "The whistle. After we heard that, he changed . . . like he became someone else."

Inwardly upset at having her suspicions confirmed, Xena nodded. "She's influenced him to do what she says without question. Joxer doesn't realize what he's doing because he's been turned into a brainless --"

"That shouldn't have been too hard."

"Gabrielle!"

Apparently having noted her lover's dark glare, the petite strawberry blonde decided to forego that line of discussion. This was a good thing. Bashing Joxer -- as enjoyable as it was sometimes -- was not going to help. "Okay, okay, so it's not Joxer's fault. How are we going to get out of here?"

Mollified, Xena turned her attention to their metal prison and the surrounding room, examining every detail for something they could use against Callisto. There were a few problems, though. First, neither of them were armed. That could be dealt with, as swords and shields decorated the walls; surely, one or two could be borrowed so long as they remembered to make an appropriate sacrifice later. However, that left Joxer -- who would have to be disabled without hurting him . . . much -- and Xena wasn't sure how to do that. Hurting the man, especially when his actions weren't intentional, would be like kicking a puppy. Unfortunately, it had to be done and there was no way around it. "I don't know if any of them will work, but I have a few ideas."

"Good. Let's hear 'em." A small frown crossed Gabrielle's face, and Xena immediately knew what her lover was thinking. The blonde looked toward the heavy wooden doors, trying to peer beyond them into the darkened hallway. "What do you think that maniac is doing to him?"

They had barely made it halfway down the long hallway before Callisto made her move. Knowing that neither of their prisoners would be able to see or hear them at this distance, the golden goddess wheeled about and pinned Joxer to the wall. Pressing her body against his, making tiny circular motions with her hipbones and abdomen, she licked her way into his unprotesting mouth. Responding immediately to her kisses, his arms escaped her grip and came down to embrace her. Several minutes of hurried groping in near-silence left them both breathless, and they broke away, acknowledging that the need for oxygen had become imperative.

"I'm not sure leaving them like that is a good idea." His voice was quiet, his tone certain, but the undercurrent of menace could not be denied.

Callisto shrugged. "It'll give them a chance to make their peace before I send them both to Tartarus." And, she considered happily, it'll make them suffer, make them think long and hard about what they did to me, what they deserve.

"It'll give them time to think of a way out," he hissed, "that's what it'll do." Joxer grabbed his lover's arm and pulled her closer to him, caressing her jawbone with the cup of his hand. "We should kill them now."

She nuzzled at his earlobe, delighted to feel him squirming with suppressed excitement under her body, and delivered a response guaranteed to grab his attention in all the right places. "I can think of other little deaths that are far more interesting at the moment." Not that I expect too much from him tonight. He's been too damn busy to work up a good head of steam, especially after last time. Who knew all the interesting games you can play with olives? She buried her mouth in his skin, right where the throat and the shoulder-blade kiss, and growled a sharp demand in the language of lust.

Gripping her ass with both hands, Joxer replied with the same tongue by parting her legs and molding her body against his own, sweeping her up in a crazed embrace and carrying her with an urgency that fired his veins. It pleased her no end to hear his growled whispers of barely coherent words, animalistic snarls, and an ancient pet name she hadn't heard in forever. "Callie . . . Callie . . . Callie . . . ." Something tight and empty uncurled in a tiny piece of her heart, pouring bright sunshine on an empty garden nestled in a dank woods and weeds.

Birds sang warmth in the back of her brain.

It was a nice feeling.

The thump in the small of her back knocked the wind out of her, as Joxer sat her ass on the edge of her throne, spread her legs, efficiently stripped off her underpants, and nailed her deeply in one long stroke. In a second, the world faded to dull pastels before disappearing completely. All that mattered was Joxer, and the pleasure, and the pain, and the delicious fullness of their union, screaming in tandem with his moans, slamming their hearts, souls, and bodies together in a whirl of color that exploded before their eyes. They panted in unison, taking pleasure in this hurried cruelty. Life is pain and love hurts, but lust is underrated.

Much later, Callisto found herself wondering what direction to take her life, once the warrior princess and the annoying little sidekick had been disposed of. Could I really go back to being a warlord's wife? Surely Joxer would rather have a partner-in-crime, a leather lover with whom to share his triumphs and rewards. Her busy fingers traveled a path she knew so well, over their tangled bodies roughened with dirt and dried sweat and other fruits of Aphrodite's labors. Unhappily, he did not stir in spite of her gentle teasing, and the goddess sighed before tracing a pattern on their bodies.

In the midst of toying with her belly, internally considering Joxer's oft-expressed desire to see a golden charm at her navel, a new sensation staggered Callisto. It was such that she would have dropped to the floor if she hadn't been there already. No. Not possible. It can't be . . . .

But it was.

Life.

Staring absently into the air at the golden ceiling over her head, Callisto smiled, caressing her lover with one hand and her belly with the other. I'm pregnant . . . .

Gabrielle had just barely settled herself in her lover's arms when their captor -- captors? -- entered the room. It had been a hard night, not daring to snuggle or kiss, but simultaneously needing to do so, just in case the worst happened. Joxer followed behind the blonde goddess like an obedient puppy, trailing at her ankles, waiting for her commands. It hurt to see him like this, it hurt so badly. I don't love him, I love Xena, but he loves me and I don't know how to tell him, or whether I want to tell him and lose that attention. Shifting to one side so that Xena could stand, the bard could only hope that their plan to stop the rogue would work. So much depended on it.

Everything depended on it.

"Xena," began Callisto, her voice strong with contempt, "I formally challenge you to a duel. The winner gets to live." She swung her blade from side to side in a flagrant display of strength. "I'm only offering this because I'm in a good mood, you understand. What do you say? This offer is for a limited time only."

"I accept."

"What!" The words were out of her mouth before the thought bounced off the back of her brain. Gabrielle couldn't believe it. Their plan demanded that Xena get out of the cage, but this was too easy. The bitch is up to something, something nasty, I just know it. A low growl from Joxer answered her, and he sounded like something less than human yet more than that of a mere animal. That realization frightened her. In fact, the realization that Joxer was no longer the sweet innocent she knew nearly made her want to decorate the floor with her lunch.

If she'd had any, that is.

"Gabrielle, don't argue with me." Xena's firm voice yanked the bard out of her daze, but the fight for their future began before she could muster another argument. There were no longer any words to say, the time for that was gone.

The only word left is survival, and Gabrielle watched in helpless silence as the paired combatants lunged and parried and argued with each other. Every attempt to draw out the Joxer she knew failed flat; he merely stood there, mute, framed in reds and greens of a tapestry. His only words -- if they could be called words at all, with Joxer baring his teeth like a rabid predator -- left his mouth when she tried to pick the heavy lock holding her prisoner.

Dodging a vicious slash, one that surely would have been fatal had it connected, Xena slipped under her adversary's outstretched sword arm and snatched her chakram from Callisto's waist. After a quick glance around the room, she whipped it on its way towards freedom.

Ignoring the fight going on below her, Gabrielle watched, entranced, as the circular weapon bounced across the room, hitting walls, sparking off metal, and slicing long holes in the tapestry. Watching the chakram spin on its merry way was definitely preferable to watching her tall lover fight for their lives. It ricocheted this way and that before cutting the thick steel lock on the cage door and bouncing up to slice the heavy drapery free from its clips.

Joxer looked up at the ceiling just in time to see the brightly colored tapestry fall to the floor, trapping the would-be warrior underneath its weight. In spite of all that had happened, Gabrielle couldn't help but worry that he'd been injured when it nailed him. He's not moving under there, so it must have knocked him out. Well, at least we don't have to worry about him attacking Xena from behind. It's bad enough she has to worry about Callisto attacking from the front.

Callisto screamed her rage in a long keening note that raised the hair on the back of the bard's neck, and poured her anger into a lashing of riotous blows and punches. Fireballs flew in all directions, starting fires everywhere they touched. She continued to howl her fury at the skies, at the seas, at the universe itself, searing the world with her words, burning its message of hatred into life's own essence. Clearly, any semblance of self-control the rogue goddess might have retained had evaporated in the burning fires of her insane soul.

Spotting flames licking at the weave that buried her friend, Gabrielle snatched a shield off the nearby wall, dragged it off Joxer's motionless body, and began beating the red and gold flickertips into submission. In the back of her mind, she vaguely heard them taunting each other, Callisto's high-pitched screech and Xena's even tones, both trying to force the other into a stupid or reckless move that she would regret. Faith, I have to have faith, Xena's smart, Xena's strong, she will prevail. The bard sharply shook her doubts from her head. She has to.

Movement to her right caught her attention and she swung around to make sure it wasn't an attack. Far from it. Joxer was coming around, shaking his head as if from a long deep sleep. Just she opened her mouth to ask if he was all right, a scream from behind her seized her heart and squeezed. Gabrielle whirled to face her fears and saw Callisto lose her balance, pushed up against the altar by her statuesque lover. Helped over the edge, the rogue goddess had fallen into the fiery well of souls, thrown to her endless fate in a river of fire, alive but caught in the abyss, forever trapped with the knowledge of dying, never finding the peaceful rest of the dead.

Relief swept over Gabrielle like a palpable thing, rolling over her like a sea wave over sand. She left Joxer shaking his head to clear the cobwebs from what he laughingly called a brain, and walked over to meet Xena next to the altar. Her dark lover was peering closely into the pit, just out of range of the flames. "Well, at least that's over."

Xena looked at her and said nothing for several moments, her face a mask of resigned sorrow. Finally, when she spoke, her voice was weighed down by the suffering of thousands. "No . . . it'll never be over."

******** ******** *******

The bubbles appeared to be crying.

In the ruins of the Temple, Joxer stood before the burning altar, surrounded by the wreckage of what should have been their crowning victory. He watched the lava boil up to the surface, its very existence mirroring the thoughts that bubbled to the forefront of his brain.

What had gone wrong?

Their plan should have worked. The only thing that made any sense was that Callie had vented her anger too soon and had lost herself to the rage, instead of using the hatred to fuel her violence as they had both been taught. Xena's trick with the chakram had been anticipated, but no one could have figured it would work so well. Even the warrior princess had looked somewhat askance at the weapon, after that. Callisto had been overconfident -- he'd warned her of that and he'd been correct to do so -- and that flaw had surely been a factor. Good thing this backup plan was in place, now we have another chance to make it right. Next time -- and there will be a next time -- nothing will get in our way. Damn Xena anyway. Damn her and her twittering little rhymer bitch.

Unbidden, the memory of Callie's spontaneous decision to re-fight a battle they'd already won came back to him. Why did she do that? What purpose would it serve? Perhaps her need to gloat overrode her common sense for a few minutes, and the traitor's insults drove her to punish. It had taken all his self-control not to break his cover and stop her from pursuing that line of revenge, forcing all his hatred down underneath the mask he wore each day like a second skin, sliding impassivity over the clown suit and the layered truth beneath them both.

After all that, his first instinct had been correct. We should have killed them when we had the chance. I let one head overrule the other, and I won't make that mistake again.

A bright flash to his right told him that someone had arrived. Probably Ares . . . he's right on schedule . . . 'hmmm, gloating over Joxer at 11 am, check that one off today's to-do list'.

"Sorry for your loss."

Joxer turned to see the God of War standing there, holding a bouquet of peculiar flowers. That in itself made a sight to behold, but the warrior had never before seen flowers like these. They were long-stemmed with wide green leaves and large-petaled blooms of an orangey-yellow color. Each bloom's center was a bright orange color; all in all, the flowers appeared to be flame made flora. "Save it. At least you dressed for the occasion."

Shrugging, Ares tossed the flowers over one shoulder and strode forward to join his young protege at the fire pit. "What would you have me do?"

"I wouldn't have you do anything," Joxer snapped, "I wouldn't want to owe you anything just yet. Besides," he sighed, forcing himself to relax, "Callie isn't dead."

"She might as well be."

"She isn't dead. She's a goddess, and it takes more than that to kill her. Fire's her element, remember?" Joxer wondered absently whether he was trying hardest to convince Ares or himself, and whether the distinction really mattered. Faith, I have to have faith, I have to believe she'll come back to me. "Callisto isn't dead, Ares. She's just sleeping . . . and dreaming of her revenge to come."

Doubling back a few steps, Joxer retrieved the orange flowers from the floor where Ares had thrown them and tossed the bouquet into the altar's gaping maw. He stood calmly by and watched the bright blooms flicker, shrivel and burn before his eyes, knowing that their ashes would reach his cousin, his lover, his fiancée. A wedding garland to you, my dearest, my adored, my beacon through the raging waves of life. "Dream well, cousin. Vengeance will be ours . . . even if it takes forever."

Channeling his hate and rage into a tiny speck, mirroring it with his desire and lust, focusing on his task, Joxer paused for a moment to savor the images of the past few days and imaging the days of their reunion. "I can wait."

Don't forget to feed the Muses!

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