All Soul's Night.

Disclaimers in Chapter One. Note: The author sincerely apologizes for having taken so long, but getting hit by a car and suffering protracted angst and anxiety is guaranteed NOT to be conducive to writing.

Xena lingered between awareness and oblivion for a long while. She was only distantly aware of the wind having gone away. It was a small thing, much like knowing she was still breathing, and of as much importance to her disordered thoughts. The grit biting into her chin had more significance.

It must have been well past sunrise before Xena fully regained consciousness, and past noon before she felt confident enough about Gabrielle's condition (and, were she completely honest, her own powers of locomotion) to risk moving her.

Xena lay there for some time, assessing their situation with senses sharpened through a hundred lifetimes and peaked to crystal clarity by the equally-sharp images of the previous night. They were alone now, of this she was sure, and had been for some time. Gabrielle's breathing was even, but shallow, her heartbeat was steady, and the numerous cuts and tears in her flesh (each and every one threatening the calm she...they...needed so desperately just now) no longer openly bled, but hadn't completely closed either.

Extreme caution would be needed in moving her, and so it took nearly the full day to reach the surface. There were no stairs after all, and it was one devil of a climb to try and make with someone as wounded as Gabrielle was right then. Xena had covered the wounded woman as best she could, tearing her shirt into crude bandages and carefully wrapping her within her trenchcoat. Still, it proved slow going, Xena having to inch her way upwards, Gabrielle's wrists bound together about her neck with a spare bit of shirt and her weight laid fully across her back. This alone made the tunnel a tight enough fit, to say nothing of massive broadsword in one hand and a metre-long dagger, with *three* razor-sharp points, jammed into one's belt.

Not once did Xena allow herself to think of the dagger's former owner, nor what might had befallen her. Her *only* priority right then was getting Gabrielle to safety.

The tunnel that had been hewn in the chamber's ceiling had been filled back in somehow while she'd been unconscious. Fortunately, the same had not been done to the grave-opening Xena and Hope had used the previous night; Xena hadn't really wanted to consider what would have happened if it had.

The final light of dusk had just vanished over the horizon when Xena essentially dragged (though it was a *very* gentle dragging, and this was only after she'd tossed both the sword and dagger up and out of the grave's opening in the first place; dammed if she was going to take any chances with this!) Gabrielle up and through the grave. It turned out not to be that far a drop, and the walls of the shaft provided more than adequate handholds. That night had fallen was both a good a bad thing to her mind.

Good, because Xena had to worry far less about being confronted with uncomfortable questions concerning what she was doing in an open grave with a woman who had clearly been badly beaten at this time of night.

Bad, because now she had to worry about bacchae, gang-bangers, and similar night stalkers seeing her and Gabrielle as easy prey, not to mention the police. This was really more of an annoyance than an actual worry, Xena being perfectly willing and able to tear anyone or anything even *remotely* threatening to shreds...though she was equally willing to use the sword and dagger if it proved easier. Still, anything which delayed her getting Gabrielle safely home, whether mortal or otherwise, was simply *not* good.

Fortunately, nothing (save an exposed root or two) got in her way as she carried Gabrielle to the Corvette, which was still parked on the secluded bit of curb she'd left it at the previous night. To that point, Xena had cringed at the thought of having to call Max for a ride home...or, worse, for bail. She knew she'd never live it down.

By some nod of fate, only speed limits were left damaged as Xena guided them both safely home.

******

The staff proved surprisingly calm and quiet about Gabrielle's condition the days following Xena's sudden return, keeping their distance and not voicing their questions aloud about the sudden quantities of medical supplies she all but demanded. They wondered entirely too and among themselves, all while carefully deflecting Marcous and others who came calling for the redhead. Even the unflappable Madrigail took to silently wondering at the sheer amount of antiseptic and gauze strip Xena was constantly demanding. She reasoned it must be for Gabrielle, as Xena herself only sported a few wraps on both forearms, this giving her some small concern. One night years ago, she had seen her employer accidentally slice the side of her hand open over dinner, remaining calm as Madrigail frantically tried to convince her to have it attended to, only to see the same wound a healed scar the following morning.

She wondered equally at the bandages which constantly wrapped Xena's forearms, bandages almost always crimson from wrapping *fresh* cuts on *both* arms.

Madrigail, more aware of her employer's background than she let on, resolved to wait and see if her own skills would be needed. Not an easy resolution to reach, for her's was a charge passed from parent to child for longer than history had been recorded by mortal hand. Her every instinct screamed for her to put *both* her charges to bed and nurse the pair of them until the final trumpet sounded and the Titan's themselves came knocking.

It might be worth showing them the tattoo between her breasts-two strands weaving themselves into a simple cross, the two forever becoming one-simply to see their faces.

She'd wait a week, no more, before taking matters into her own hands.

Still, just to be on the safe side, a few phone calls were in order.

******

Back in that pit, Xena (understandably) had been too distracted to closely examine the extent of Gabrielle's wounds. Now, safely away from those killing grounds and having cleaned off the blood and juices, she was given an unimpeded view of the damage that had been inflicted upon her.

It was almost...beautiful.

This wasn't any random attack, Xena reflected. Every cut too precise a stroke to be anything save planned far in advance. It reminded Xena of a close examination of an oil painting, the brush-strokes looking ugly individually, yet beautiful in total. And so it was here. The scars collectively formed a riot of red swirls and sigils against the creamy smoothness of Gabrielle, the patterns seeming to flow into one another as seamlessly as if moving before her eyes. It was almost erotic, and Xena felt a flicker of heat settle in her groin.

She was appalled by her fascination and disgusted by her arousal, as though she needed more reason for anger against herself.

She had hardly slept or eaten, as attested by her jerky movements and sunken eyes. Exhaustion was making her jumpy as well, and not in a healthy way. Every shadow and crack in the ceiling was starting to take new and dangerous significance...as the hiding place of unspeakable terrors and horrors defying all description!

Until she managed to swallow another cup of coffee or a take a bite of a muffin gone stale, that is.

When she wasn't tending to Gabrielle's wounds or staring down some imaginary pair of eye in the room's corner, Xena found herself pacing and wringing her hands, her mind's eye blind from the unending sequence of half-images which played themselves out in all their random clarity there.

One moment it was Millie teasing her...the next Lenny screaming at her...the next she sat at table with the powdered wig kissing her hungrily...the next she was covered in filthy rags of a cloak...the next Callisto was screaming and clawing in quicksand...the feel of the Roman dagger in her hand and Pompey chattering in her ear...the warmth of Gabrielle's teeth sinking into her neck...the sickening crack of Ephany's arm breaking beneath her fist...the weight of M'llila as they napped in her cabin...watching Gabrielle walk away from her as Solon and Hope's pyres burned low...the wind in her hair as she raced across the countryside, first on Argo, then Nutbread, then...Gabrielle cry of "I hate you!" as they fell into the waters of Illusia...lungfuls of air rich with the stink of burning flesh...

There was no order to these tumbling, tangible moments. Their assault at once a distraction and a comfort for it. With reserves of strength left dormant for too long, Xena braced and weathered every moment's tastes and taunts, not one the same as the last. To do so was no easy thing. The hundreds of moments which make up but one lifetime, if recalled in broken succession, would quickly break the mind from which they'd come.

Xena had known lifetime upon lifetime, a thousand and more generations, and so these flashes were never ending in originality...and as maddeningly indecipherable.

The blood loss certainly didn't help any, Xena having taken to opening the veins in her forearms and pressing the flow to Gabrielle's pale lips. She did this every morning *and* evening, and, like the rest of her ministrations, it was all taking its toll of her. Xena knew full well she was fast reaching her limits. Reaching, and fast exceeding them, if she were honest about it.

Fatigue had been a constant companion since minute one of her vigil. Delirium joined in around the fourth. By the evening of the fifth day it was only the stickiness of her skin and her own naked fear for Gabrielle which was keeping her semi-conscious. And even the tiny bit of strength this gave proved fleeting. Xena was, to be perfectly frank, terrified of the possibility of closing her eyes for even a moment, of her guard slipping for no more than a heartbeat.

Xena had good reason to be so vigilant. It wasn't the remnants of the pack the Elders had surrounded themselves with which so worried her; the mess she'd left at Hillcrest would either warn them off pursuing her, or provide adequate feeding for a nice long while. Whatever few she'd missed were doubtlessly gluttons by now, and so of no real concern.

No, it was the last member of the Circle whose presence she feared. The most conspicuous and ancient of the lot...who had been conspicuously absent during the fun-and-games she'd played with the others.

"The Dead One" he...she...*it* was known in certain circles. More myth than reality to most.

In her delirium, Xena found herself wondering why the shadows around them seemed to *move* when she wasn't fully looking. She wondered if she *only* imagined the flicker of movement outside their bedroom window, and if the omnipresent stink of dirt and rot were *just* in her mind.

"Gabrielle?" Xena croaked as twilight fell that night, her voice raw from disuse. She had just let Gabrielle drink of her again, kneeling at the bedside, and was somewhat relieved to feel the bard actually sucking at and swallowing the precious lifeblood this time. Xena leaned in, close to her love's ear, her lips trembling. "Please...come back to me..." Her eyes began to blink rapidly, tears fogging her sight.

Xena recognized the signs, though all consciousness was fast slipping away. But she could not sleep...*could**not* let herself...herself slip... away...who gave her legs permission to climb up onto the mattress?...were the pillows really so soft...she could...*would**not*...

"Come back..."

Xena heard her voice intone, drifting to her as though from across a barren distance. It was across that same distance that she realized her arm encircled Gabrielle's slight form, entirely of its *own* accord. Xena had intended to reprimand this renegade limb of her's, only to hear said reprimand come out as "...protect you..."

Her thoughts soon joined the words in their slow drift away into the ether of oblivion.

******

Gabrielle knew nothing of herself.

Peace, warmth, emptiness...these were all she knew, and all she wished to know.

To try to think of anything else *hurt*. It hurt her *all**over* to more than float in this calm. So Gabrielle let herself float and didn't think of anything.

But...*not* thinking hurt as well. Only it was a different kind of hurt. Not sharp and sudden and all over. It was dull and constant and deep down inside her. It was like...like...a hole in her chest that throbbed and didn't fit right inside her, so every time it beat it pounded harder and harder against her insides.

All this convinced Gabrielle that she was actually alive, not dead, as had been her previous assumption. There was no way even the lowest depths of Tartarus could hurt this much. She knew this from experience and it really *hurt* bad when she decided this, because it too *so**much* *thinking*.

Gabrielle then decided she preferred to keep drifting away, rather than be hurt some more simply because she decided to take another breath.

The ache inside her didn't let her drift very far, however. In fact, the longer she dwelled in this warm and empty place, the harder her chest hurt.

Other things disturbed her. Every now and then, she'd hurt for no reason. She didn't move or think, but first she'd get impossibly cold, then warm again. Then cold, then warm, again and again. But *not* all over. It was just an arm, or her legs, or her neck which suffered this torture, one after the other until every part of her was encased once again in this soft and secure feeling, so complete in its comfort as to be actually physical.

And then, sometimes, something thick and salty would invade her mouth and snake its way down her throat. It was something Gabrielle found herself wanting very much and liking very, *very* much. Strangely, it never *hurt* to want this. In fact, it felt...good?

But how could this be? How could she feel anything?

And why didn't it *hurt* to think about these things?

Nevertheless, this good drink visited her more and more often. Its taste, though she could not put a name to it, never entirely left her. The pain in her chest didn't diminish, but it now hurt far less when she shifted or wondered at her awareness.

Which allowed Gabrielle to freely wonder...what had happened to her?

It came flooding out and into her mind, and explosion of memory and sensation which burned away all comfort and security. Every limb was alive with the pain of it all while her very skin burned her to the bone. Her loins burned with an entirely *different* fire, one her mind refused to acknowledge even when it ignited over and over and over again, lancing her deepest core each time.

So sudden and consuming were all these things that Gabrielle had no time to even murmur her distress. She could taste blood in her mouth once more, and to her eternal shame, she drank deeply of it this time.

She recognized the taste of it now: harsh and sweet, scalding to her tongue and smooth in her throat. It was as familiar to Gabrielle as her own skin.

*Xena*!

It could be no other. *Her* Xena had returned!

Gabrielle was sure she wept with the realization, all the pain and horror of her suffering forgotten for the joy of this moment. Even the loss of the flow of the salty sweetness could not cloud or diminish her silent celebration, only hardening her previously unconscious resolve to rejoin her love.

She swam furiously against the disorientation that layered her every thought. She grasped desperately to the knowledge of Xena's presence, and that *one* thought gave her all the strength needed to swim-crawl-reach out to the dim and distant light of consciousness. Relief filled her as her dream-fingers just brushed that marvelous light which is clarity and awareness.

This relief proved short-lived, however.

A weight, one Gabrielle would have sworn was twice that of the entire world, suddenly fell full upon her chest. All creation chose that moment to go spinning into a directionless vortex that dragged her away from consciousness just as it had been within her grasp.

It all quickly stole her breath, all consciousness quickly following and casting the Ancient once more into oblivion.