Sap warning. This one's full of it, and I make no apologies for being far too melodramatic for my own good. Gratuitous sentimentalists will be thrilled.

This story takes place immediately after "The Deliverer." If you haven't seen that, this won't make sense. Send all feedback to sledgecramp.

A Helping Hand
© 1997 sledgecramp.

She sat huddled on her bedroll, head hung low, silent as she'd been since we returned from the decimated temple of Dahok. I had to carry her from the ruins and set her on Argo's back. She clung to me when I tried to put her down to walk, so I pushed her gently onto the horse's back, climbed into the saddle and leaned her back against my chest, bracing her with my arms. We rode in silence -- in fact, I don't think she said a word all through supper. Now I sat sharpening my sword, as much to give my hands something to do as anything, and trying to discretely keep an eye on my bard. She sat motionless: no movement, no sound, not even the small sobs that kept escaping her earlier. Perhaps she had finally cried herself out.

I caught myself looking at her hands. I never thought those hands could kill. The very idea of Gabrielle taking a life -- I couldn't wrap my mind around the concept. Hope kept reasserting itself in my breast. It was an accident. It had to be. Had to be self-defense. She couldn't deliberately kill. Not my Gabrielle.

I started. Her hands. They still bore the priestess' blood. Why hadn't she washed them? I shook my head in grim determination and rose to gather a bowl and washcloth. I poured a small ration of our precious water supply into the bowl and heated it for a few minutes over the fire to warm it. Rising from the fire, I scooped up the small bar of soap we had made last week and carried the lot over to Gabrielle's pallette. She did not look up as I approached. Kneeling, I quietly set the materials down and waited patiently for her acknowledgement.

She didn't move or speak, or make any other indication that she knew I was there. After a moment, I carefully set my hand on the crown of her head, uncertain. Gabrielle is the one fluent in the language of emotion; I always find myself blundering about and stumbling when it comes to these things. I don't always know what to do. She has been my teacher and helper; now it was my turn to help her, as best I could in my clumsy, blunt fashion.

I spoke softly, stroking her fine light hair. "Gabrielle." No response. "Gabrielle, please let me see your hands."

She only buried her face further into her crossed arms and shook her head. I persisted. "I need to see your hands, Gabrielle. Please." I took her fingers in mine and tugged gently. "It's important."

She curled her fingers around mine, but let her hand be pulled from under her arm. I took both her hands in mine and held them firmly for a moment before retrieving the washcloth. I dipped the cloth in the warm water, squeezed out the excess, and slowly began the task of washing the blood from her hands. It had dried hours ago and was stubborn to clean. I rubbed some soap into the cloth and tried again. This time the blood began to flake and clump, and slid off her flesh more easily. Slowly, trying not to hurt her with the rough cloth, I washed her hands thoroughly; first one, then the other. So intent on my task I was that I didn't noticed her watching me until I turned from rinsing the washcloth and found myself looking into intense green eyes.

"Hi there," I said softly, wrapping the cloth around her hand again and continuing to rub the blood from her skin. I brushed a thumb along one cheek and continued, "Glad to see you awake. I thought you'd flaked out on me."

She only shook her head and stared back down at the ground. I hesitated and leaned in slightly, ducking my head to see her face. "Gabrielle, why didn't you wash your hands?"

I was wrong. She hadn't cried herself out. The tears welled up fresh and spilled down her cheeks, and then she spoke for the first time in hours, in a shattered, whispered half-sob that broke my heart:

"It was no use. My hands will never be clean again, Xena."

I swallowed my own tears and reached out for her, pulling her into my arms as I have done so many times before. This time, though, she did not relax into my embrace. She jerked away, turning from me and huddling into a crouch, head buried in her arms once more, this time sobbing openly. "Don't touch me ... please don't touch me..."

Could she have been remembering when that beast violated her in the temple? I pushed the old rage down inside me -- I would deal with it later -- and reached for her again, this time only grasping her shoulder. Her body shook with weeping under my touch, but she did not pull away. Perhaps, I thought, there was something going on other than a bad flashback. I kept my grip on her shoulder and leaned close to her ear. "Gabrielle, what is it? Why won't you let me help you?"

She swung her head up and met my gaze with incredulity. "Help me? You want to *help* me?" There was anger and hurt and fear in her voice, all mixed in together.

I was bewildered. "Of course I want to help you, Gabrielle. What makes you think I wouldn't?"

She pulled away and shoved my hand from her shoulder. "Look at me, Xena! I've killed! I've taken a human life! Why on earth would anyone want to help me, or even be near me?" She took a deep breath. "I'm a murderer!" She paused and closed her eyes. "I'm a murderer," she repeated in an broken whisper.

I couldn't help chuckling dryly. "And just what do you think I am, hmm?"

She opened her eyes and shook her head violently. "It's... it's not the same..."

"Of course it is. What makes it any different?" I rubbed her shoulder casually, thankful when she didn't pull back again.

"Xena, for as long as we've been together I've heard you tell me that my blood innocence is the most important thing in my life. You told me to hang onto it at all costs. You told me I could never kill, that I was too good a person to do it. And I never did. Until today." Tears coursed anew down her face. "Now I've lost my blood innocence. I've taken the life of another human being. How can you stand to be around me after that?"

I couldn't stand it. I grabbed her by the wrists and in one swift motion pulled her into my arms, pinning her to me despite her struggles. "Now you listen to me," I growled in her ear. "I am not about to let you sit there and crucify yourself over this, especially since you haven't even told me what happened. If you think I'm going to desert you, or hate you, or think you're not still the most wonderful person I've ever known -- all because of this -- you'd better think again. Hard. I'm not letting you go. Not now, not ever. So get it into your blonde head right this instant."

I held her little body tight against me, her struggles slowly diminishing until she lay in my embrace, spent. I whispered against her hair, "Tell me what happened, Gabrielle. Tell me now."

So she did. She closed her eyes, rested her head wearily on my shoulder and began to cry for real. And as she wept, she sobbed out the story of what really happened in that temple. I rocked her gently and stroked her hair as she clung to me, trying to decipher her broken half-sentences and stuttered words. Slowly the story began to take shape. I saw the circle formed by the priests of Dahok. I saw the ritual turn chilling with the words "sacrifice of blood." I saw Khrafstar, his head leaned back on the altar, screaming for Gabrielle to save him. And I saw the little bard break free from her captors and fight for that bastard's life until the moment the dagger sank into Meridian's belly and her blood gushed forth onto Gabrielle's hands. I saw it all -- and I didn't care about any of it. All I cared about was the weeping girl in my arms who was shaking with guilt.

"Self defense, Gabrielle. It was self defense."

"No... I -- I killed -- her ..."

"Hush, Gabrielle, hush. You did what you had to do. You were trying to save Khr-- that man's life. You were doing what you always do: helping people."

I continued to stroke her hair over and over while she lay curled against me, almost in a fetal position. The motion seemed to calm her somewhat; the jerking of her body subsided until she lay still once again.

Idly I twirled my a blonde curl around my fingers, then brushed the strand from her face. Her breath came heavy and damp against my shoulder. I wiped tears from her cheeks with the back of one hand and drew a deep breath to steady myself.

"Xena?" A tiny voice from just beneath my chin.

"Yes, my friend?" I soothed her sudden trembling with one hand on her back.

"You heard everything I said?" A sniffle.

"Yes, Gabrielle."

"And... you don't mind?" Sniff.

"No, Gabrielle."

"Xena... why? How can you overlook what I did?"

I drew her closer to me. "Because you overlooked it for me, Gabrielle. Because you forgave me my past when I couldn't forgive myself and helped me realize that I could start over. You can start over, Gabrielle. The past can't be changed -- for better or worse, it stays. But you can leave it in the past. That's where it belongs." I paused. "You taught me that, Gabrielle. Now it's your turn to hear it."

I felt her body truly relax for the first time since I carried her out of the temple that afternoon. She snuggled down in my arms as I continued.

"What happened was tragic, but you can't go on blaming yourself. Khrafstar used you for his own means. You were drawn into this, Gabrielle, by a very clever manipulator. It wasn't your fault that he used your good nature against you. Please, please try to begin to forgive yourself." I paused, out of breath.

"Xena, I don't think I've heard you talk this much since the Furies put you under their spell." She giggled weakly. I smiled and swatted her lightly on the nose. "That's what you get for trying to martyr yourself around me, Miss Bard. Let's have no more of it."

She giggled again, a little stronger this time, then grew quiet. I waited for her to gather her thoughts.

"Xena..." She was hesitant. "It means a lot to me, what you said. But I'm not sure I can forgive myself. Not yet. I still took a life, and that will never change."

"No, it won't. It won't be easy, but, Gabrielle, we'll make it. We'll get through this like we always have: together. You and me, back to back. We'll make it. We must." She didn't speak a word, but merely put her arms around me and held on. I bent my dark head over her fair one and held her close to me.

"Thank you, Xena," she whispered. "I love you, you know."

I felt the emotion rising in my throat and choked out, "I love you too, Gabrielle. You'll never know how much."

"No, Xena... I already do. I already do."

The fire burned itself out before we moved again.

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