Breaking Chains, Part 1

Breaking Chains

Part 1

by Rooks

Disclaimer: These characters are mine, but they are based upon characters from the show Xena Warrior Princess, which is the sole copyright property of MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures. The movie Dead Again is the sole copyright property of Paramount Pictures.

No copyright infringement was intended in the writing of this story.

Sex Warning: This story contains a depiction of an intense sexual relationship between two consenting gay women. It’s definitely explicit. Hey, I’ve written my share of non-explicit stories, now I’m trying my hand at explicit ones. Besides, LN told me I should use my alt. graphic skills more. Who am I to disobey her?

Uber Warning: Is this even really Xena Fan Fiction any more? It seems like uber stories have taken on a life of their own. Hey, I just go where my muse takes me. Yes, this is an uber story. In a way this story is sort of an homage to the entire uber genre. But it isn’t at all linked to my other two uber stories. Totally new characters.

Violence Warning: Some violence. Worse than what you’d find on the show, but manageable.

Acknowledgements: Many thanks go to Helen and Elaine for their thorough beta reading jobs. I'm truly indebted to you guys.

Other stuff you might want to know: This story is based on the movie Dead Again, written by Scott Frank and directed by Kenneth Branagh. Apologies to them – it’s intended as the sincerest form of flattery. For more on this, see my note at the end of the story. For those of you who have seen the movie, read on. The plot is mostly the same, but the characters are definitely different.

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"Sometimes nothing is really over. It just keeps coming back around, but it’s wearing a different face. It’s the same underneath."

Gabrielle of Poteidaia

•••

Prologue

Murder.

Nadia Wilson had been writing pieces for the LA Times about the murder for almost a year now. She had been covering the trial from the beginning. But it was days like this when she wished she had never written that first story about it at all.

The air was chill against her skin as she walked down death row, hurrying from one circle of gray light to the next. Her heels clicked and echoed against the concrete floor. As she passed by each new cell, she could feel a set of eyes watching her. She did her best to keep her face straight forward.

The last time Nadia had been to death row had been in nineteen forty-eight. That had been for a follow up story to a follow up story, and she had been inexperienced and nervous. Now, three years later, supposedly accomplished and capable, she still felt just as nervous as she had then. More, actually. The sensation of clammy moisture on her palms and the burn of anxiety inside her stomach were strong, and quite unsettling.

Almost as unsettling as the person she was here to visit.

Arriving at the final cell at the far end of the corridor, Nadia unceremoniously wiped her hands on her skirt and took a deep breath before knocking twice on the cold metal door. It rang cavernously into the chamber beyond before the lock clacked and the door swung outward, held by a burly guard who wore a stern expression.

Nadia entered the cell and adjusted her pillbox hat. It was a tiny room, lit only by a small ceiling lamp that shone over a tiny wooden table and chair. On the table was a pile of newspaper clippings, and it was with some shock that Nadia realized they were all clippings of her own articles from the newspaper, the topmost one dated November 11th, 1950...almost a year ago. It read ‘Actress found murdered!’. Others read: ‘Blythe Dawson stabbed to death’...’Josephina Wright main suspect in scissor killing.’...and ‘Missing necklace linked to murder.’ Two more read ‘Wright trial begins today.’ and ‘Josephina Wright found guilty!’

There was even a picture of Blythe Dawson amongst the clippings, a smile on her face and her golden hair falling around her shoulders. Nadia smiled sadly.

The light shone past the table and fell in a diagonal line along the far wall, exposing the end of a cot, and above that on the wall was taped a lone clipping, just the headline actually, which read, ‘Wright gets Death.’

And just past the far end of the cot, in the shadowy corner of the cell, was where she sat.

The guard shut and locked the door, then walked silently to the figure in the corner, picking up a pair of scissors from a side table and standing behind her. Nadia’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim surroundings of the cell, but she still couldn’t make out the woman’s face, hidden in a strip of shadow. She shifted from foot to foot nervously.

"Don’t mind him, Miss Wilson. He’s just here to give me one last trim."

In response, the guard snip-snipped the scissors, and a few strands of dark hair fluttered into the shaft of light near the prisoner’s feet.

"Please. Have a seat."

Her voice was deep and contralto. It was a quiet purr... devoid of emotion, but Nadia imagined she heard a faint mocking tone behind the satin words.

Easing herself into the tiny, haloed chair, Nadia mustered her courage. "You wanted to see me, Miss Wright?"

"Yes..." The prisoner let the word draw out into a sibilant whisper. The scissors snip-snipped. A long ebony lock twirled to the floor.

Nadia felt her heart beating rapidly in the uncomfortable silence. As her eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, she began to make out two pricks of reflected light in the shadow, which could only be the prisoner’s eyes. They shone an icy blue, and stared straight at her.

"I want you to print something for me Miss Wilson. You see..." a hand gestured to the clipping on the wall, "...I’ve become quite a fan of your work."

At this last word, the prisoner leaned forward and the light fell across her features. Sharp cheekbones, arching eyebrows. An expression of predatory amusement was hinted by the upturned corner of a full lip. And deep blue eyes that stared straight into her soul. Nadia felt her blood go cold. The woman was downright intimidating.

"And after all the stories you’ve written about me, Miss Wilson, I’m quite sure you won’t mind printing one more."

Then the face disappeared into darkness again, sitting up straight, back rigid, hands on her knees. The guard’s scissors snipped.

"What is it?" Nadia demanded shakily, not at all enjoying the way this woman was toying with her. "What do you want me to write?"

Nadia could see the prisoner gently squeezing her thighs with her long fingers. Even under the smoke-gray sleeves of the prison uniform, tight muscles were visible in the prisoner’s forearms. Nadia began to perspire.

"I want you to print that I said that I loved Blythe Dawson."

Nadia’s eyebrows rose. Had she heard correctly? "You want me to print that you loved Blythe Dawson."

The icy pricks of her eyes never wavered. The satin voice whispered: "Yes. And that I will love her...forever."

Nadia blinked, confused. This was not what she had expected.

"Can you do that for me, Miss Wilson?"

Nadia hesitated, then finally nodded. "Forever. All right," she said quietly.

"Thank you," came the whisper.

Nadia leaned forward, her reporter’s curiosity getting the better of her. "Aren’t you afraid to die, Josephina?"

The eyes closed and were followed by a profound sigh. "Better to die, and sleep...the never-waking sleep, than linger on... and dare to live when the soul's life is gone"

Nadia was piqued. "Is that a line from your play?"

The prisoner chuckled. "It’s from Sophocles, Miss Wilson. A writer such as yourself would do well to study her Greek playwrights. But then, I suppose, ancient Greeks don’t pay the bills, do they?"

Nadia didn’t miss the sarcasm. She snorted softly. "You don’t really believe it’s better for you to die, do you?" she asked dubiously. The scissors snipped.

"What I believe," the prisoner said, rising slowly, gracefully from her seat as the guard put down the scissors, "...is that this is only the beginning."

Josephina stepped into the light. Nadia was once again amazed by the raw strength concealed in her every muscle. The prisoner’s hair was cut close about her ears but was just as inky black as it had ever been, and seemed to absorb all light in the confining cell. She found herself holding her breath at the powerful beauty of the woman. Josephina stared down at her without reserve.

"Did you really kill her?" Nadia asked suddenly, realizing that after all the stories she had written, she had never asked the prisoner that question.

Josephina smiled secretly...perhaps sadly. The guard unlocked the door and stood in the hallway.

"Time to go Wright."

Josephina nodded, but turned back to Nadia, still seated in the tiny chair. The guard watched as the prisoner slowly bent and brought her face close to Nadia’s ear. His eyes narrowed.

Josephina whispered something that made Nadia’s eyes widen.

Josephina straightened to her full height and smiled quietly again, as Nadia stared at her, lips parted in confused amazement. The prisoner headed out the door with the guard, leaving the reporter alone in the cell, with only her thoughts to occupy her.

A guard flanked Josephina on either side as she walked down the corridor towards the brightly lit room at the end. The room with the chair that would take her to meet her destiny. The hallway was long and it seemed to twist and writhe in her vision. The air suddenly seemed to be filled with a dream-like heat. Prisoners screamed her name as she walked by. She smiled and fingered the cool edge of the guard’s scissors, carefully concealed along the back of her forearm.

Ahead the people parted, leaving only the bright room with the chair. But in the center of the doorway stood a figure. Josephina’s face hardened. No. This wasn’t happening. Not now. Something was wrong.

The figure stepped forward. They faced each other. She had a lissome, curving figure and a delicate face. Golden hair cascaded down her shoulders. Warm sea-blue eyes stared up with the most perfect expression of love. Her name slipped unbidden into Josephina’s mind. Blythe...

The guards disappeared to either side. Josephina’s pulse raced. The scissors dropped into her hand. She raised them above her head in a fist. The point gleamed wickedly in the cold, prison light. Blythe’s eyes widened as Josephina cried:

"This is for you!"

Then she brought them stabbing down...down...down...

"Oh God Please No!!" the young woman screamed, kicking the bedcovers off her small, sweat-covered body.

She thrashed on the bed... anguished, ragged screams tearing from her throat. "No!...No!." Her own hands clutched at her heart, holding a terrible, dream-induced wound of half-imagined agony. Tears poured down her cheeks as she gasped to be free of the nightmare.

Then gentle hands were holding her down. "It’s alright child! Shh...you’re safe..." an elderly nun’s voice soothed her. The dream, the scissors, the lights...all faded away. She finally drifted into sleep, as gentle, wrinkled hands smoothed her gold-blonde bangs out of her face.

Chapter 1

"Wait. Let me get this straight Faith. Are you actually telling me you spent New Years Eve by yourself?" Stephany demanded incredulously.

Faith grumbled something under her breath. She hadn’t wanted this to come up. Stephany would never let her hear the end of it. She brushed an annoyed hand through her shoulder-length black hair and stretched out her long legs to rest on the office’s coffee table. Stephany was her friend and all, but sometimes...

"Faith? Answer me."

"Hey, I’ll have you know my head doesn’t need any shrinking, doctor Jackson," Faith snapped. "Just drink your damn coffee."

Stephany held up her hands in surrender and leaned back in her desk chair. "All right, all right. Suit yourself. I’m just trying to help

here."

"Well quit it."

"You just better not do the same thing next year at the millennium new year party."

"Steph!"

"Ok ok, I get it. You were saying you located that guy’s family?"

"I finally did yeah." Faith sighed. "It took a lot of digging, but I found them. In San Bernardino."

"So have you told him yet?"

"No. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. D’you think you could talk with him a bit first? I don’t think the kid’s ready to meet his real parents just yet. He seemed a bit too bitter to me."

"Aw, that’s sweet of you, Faith," Stephany teased.

"Whatever," Faith muttered. "It was just something I noticed."

"You...the excellent judge of character."

Faith nodded. "Of course."

Stephany smiled absently, then said, "You know, you just could have called me on New Year’s. Henry and I would have been happy to have you join us."

Faith blew out an exasperated breath. "God. Will you just drop it please Stephany?! Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve been saying?" Faith’s voice rose a notch.

Stephany sighed and tucked a lock of wayward, curly red hair behind her ear. "Of course I have. But Faith... I’m worried about you. You’ve seemed a bit distant lately. Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Is it doctor-client privilege?" Faith asked sarcastically.

"Come on. This is your friend talking."

Faith sighed. "Ok look. It’s no big deal all right? I just hadn’t made any plans and everyone I know is coupled-up and they were all going to their own parties. I would have felt worse if I had been a tag-along."

"So you’re admitting that you felt bad in the first place?"

"No."

"You know what you need?" Stephany wagged a finger at her. "You need someone to hold you at night."

"I thought you were going to say I needed a good fuck."

Stephany rolled her eyes. "Not everything is about sex you know, Faith."

"It isn’t?"

Stephany glared at her.

Faith smiled. "I thought sex was what you psychiatrists related everything to."

"You’ll never take my career seriously, will you?"

"Nope," Faith replied, before taking a sip of coffee.

Stephany grabbed the rolodex off of her desk. "Ok, since you’re so enthusiastic, let’s see who we can pair you up with."

Faith paled. "No no no no," she protested. She held up her palms.

"C’mon. You haven’t had a date in years."

"That’s right, and thanks for reminding me by the way."

"Oh...sorry..."

"It’s fine. I’m perfectly happy," Faith said flatly. She’d just as soon not re-live those parts of her life anyway.

"I know you think you’re happy. But helping other people will only do so much for you Faith. Sooner or later, you have to help yourself," Stephany said seriously. "It’s not good to keep everything bottled up."

"Oh no you don’t. Don’t get that big brain of yours started on me."

Stephany took a sip of coffee. "I’ll have you know, Faith, that I’ve already analyzed you to death. You are my most intriguing friend. You’re a psychiatrist’s dream."

"Thanks. I think."

"I’m serious. Orphan... ex-cop... fear of commitment..." Stephany ticked off Faith’s ‘issues’ on her fingers. "Not to mention all the problems you must have had when you realized you were gay..."

"Waitaminnit!" Faith cried. "What’s wrong with being an ex-cop?"

Stephany giggled. "You’d be surprised at the phobias and neuroses of ex-cops. They’re a superstitious bunch."

"Not me. I was glad to get out of there. Buncha Kafka-worshipping line-toers, the lot of them."

"Whatever makes you happy." Stephany replied shortly. She’d had her own problems with the LAPD ever since she had been unable to flirt her way out of a speeding ticket.

"So you’ve analyzed me to death then, have you?" Faith smirked, and arched one dark eyebrow. "And what is your professional opinion?"

"My educated, professional opinion? Is that you are one fucked-up woman."

Faith grinned and Stephany burst out laughing. Faith’s beeper went off.

"Aw...there aren’t always people missing in this city, aren’t there?" Stephany commented petulantly, unhappy their lunch might be cut short.

"’fraid, so," Faith replied, glancing at the number. "Can I use your phone?"

Stephany watched Faith’s face as the tall woman listened to the message. The pale gray eyes registered surprise.

"What is it?" She asked, when Faith hung up.

"It was Father Andrew. The guy who practically raised me. Didn’t say what he needed, other than my help." Faith straightened. "I gotta go Steph. Sorry."

"It’s ok," she glanced at her watch, "My one o’clock is soon anyway. You want me to make an appointment with that guy whose family you located?"

"Yeah, that’d be great," Faith paused, "I wouldn’t normally ask but, I’m just...not sure he’s ready to face them yet. He was pretty upset when I talked to him."

Stephany smiled genuinely. "No problem."

Faith grabbed her jacket from the hat rack and displayed it. "You like it? I treated myself to a Christmas gift." She slid her arms into the leather sleeves.

Stephany nodded. "It suits you."

Faith grinned. "I’ll be in touch." She shrugged the jacket onto her shoulders and headed out of the office.

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God, it’s been a long time, thought Faith, as she pulled her Mazda Miata convertible up in front of St.Sebastian’s home for girls. She got out of the car and leaned against the door, staring up at the place.

The convent hadn’t changed that much since she had last been there, just under two years ago. It was a large, converted church on Adams street, with a high, iron-wrought fence surrounding the green lawn. There was a new bird-bath under the big willow in the yard that Faith didn’t remember.

Faith smoothed back her wind-tousled hair and took a breath, wondering what it was that Father Andrew had wanted. She hadn’t spoken to the man in over a year. She headed up the walk and hoped that he wouldn’t ask what her church-going habits...or distinct lack thereof...had been like since she had left.

"So, have you been making it to church regularly?" Father Andrew asked as the two of them walked through the chapel towards his office.

She quirked her lip. "Not as regularly as I’d like," Faith wondered if that counted as a lie.

Father Andrew grunted non-committally and held the door to his office open for her. Inside, seated in a uncomfortable-looking chair, was a nun whom Faith didn’t recognize. In her leather jacket and tight-fitting jeans she felt oddly out of place with these two.

"You’re probably wondering why I asked you here, Faith," Father Andrew began, motioning her towards the couch in front of his mahogany desk. He leaned himself on the edge and folded his arms. "I know you’re very busy, but I was hoping you could help us. Sister Margaret?"

Sister Margaret smiled at her. "Two nights ago, we found a young woman trying to climb over the gate to get into the yard. When we tried to ask her name, we found she couldn’t speak. She was terrified of something...what, we don’t know.

"We’ve tried to communicate with her, through writing, or anything else, but it seems she’s forgotten who she is. I don’t know what happened to her, only that it must have been something terrible. She doesn’t seem to be physically injured in any way, but she still doesn’t even remember her name. During the day she’s very gentle and sweet, but every night she screams with violent nightmares. Sister Annabella had to pull the girl’s own hands away from her throat last night."

Sister Margaret stopped to take a breath. Father Andrew said, "We were hoping you could locate her family."

Faith poked her tongue around in her cheek. "Have you called the police?"

Father Andrew glanced at Sister Margaret. "They want to take her down to county."

Faith nodded resignedly. Those bastards. It was times like this when she was glad she had quit the force. She knew what a madhouse it was down there at county.

She thought for a moment. There really didn’t seem to be much to go on and one more case was just what she didn’t need right now. "Ok listen. I know the woman who runs the Lancaster street women’s shelter. I can give her a lift down there. I really can’t do much more than that right now."

Father Andrew frowned disapprovingly.

Faith sighed. "Ok, all right, how about before I do, I get my friend Simon at the paper to take her picture and run it in the Saturday morning edition?"

"Oh yes, thank you," Sister Margaret gushed happily.

"Of course, we can’t offer you any money," Father Andrew added quickly.

"Ah that’s all right," Faith smiled crookedly. "Consider it repayment for putting up with me for fifteen years."

"That particular debt will never be repaid," Father Andrew teased, with a straight face.

"Why don’t you go on up and take a look at her things?" Sister Margaret suggested. "I think she’s taking a shower right now, but I’ll bring her in to meet you as soon as she’s finished."

The room they had put this mystery woman in was small and very spartan. The sheets on the beds looked like you could bounce a dime off them. The hardwood floor creaked under Faith’s feet.

Faith took a quick look at the clothes the woman had been found in... a cream silk shirt... chocolate corduroy slacks. Simple, white undergarments. Nothing out of the ordinary. In the pocket of the pants was a small film case filled with about three dollars in change. There was also a small silver chain necklace with a tiny blue stone.

"Miss Dickinson?"

Faith looked up. Sister Margaret was there, and behind the nun was...her.

She was petite, but fit. Her gold-blonde hair was cropped short. It was wet and slicked back against her head. She clutched a plush white robe across her chest for warmth. The robe hugged her rounded hips closely, and Faith felt slightly guilty for noticing. There was no denying that she was quite beautiful.

And if she hadn’t been sure it was impossible, Faith would have sworn that her heart lurched.

She just as quickly chided herself. The young woman must have been feeling frighteningly vulnerable, not even knowing who she was. Faith cleared her throat.

"Hello, I..." Her mouth was open, and Faith was bewildered when no sound came out. Now this was new. She hadn’t been tongue-tied since school.

The woman’s lips turned up in a small, curious smile. Her eyes were unfathomably green.

Faith finally found her voice, cracking a bit as it came into use. "Faith Dickinson," she said, striding forward and gently taking the blonde’s soft hand in her own. She was pleased to note that, despite its size, the handshake was firm.

The woman didn’t say anything. Just held her hand and looked at her. Faith wasn’t sure she recognized the expression on her fair face.

Faith looked away first, then shifted awkwardly, unsure of how to interact with someone who couldn’t talk. "Well. I’ll um...I’ll let you get dressed," she stammered. "And then we can go."

She knew the blonde’s gaze was on her as she shuffled out of the room with Sister Margaret, but she didn’t look up. She felt like an idiot.

Once they were out in the hallway, Sister Margaret shut the door, gave Faith a long meaningful look and walked away. Faith took a deep breath and wondered why the damn nuns kept it so hot in here.

Chapter 2

The muscles in Faith’s neck ached from the effort it was taking her to keep her head face-forward, and not stare at the blonde beauty in the car seat beside her. She had control over her tongue again, but felt nervous and awkward, like a teenager out on a first date. She needed something to say, to have an excuse to look over. But so far she had drawn a blank.

Finally, Faith couldn’t help but glance over fleetingly. The woman was staring out the side at the passing buildings.

"Don’t worry. We’ll find your family. And your memory will come back too. It just takes time."

The woman turned to her and smiled. Faith noticed wonderful little smile-lines around her eyes. Her heart started thumping.

"I... I worked...I..." Faith looked straight forward. Shit. She tried again. "I worked in missing persons for a long time. Half the time, a picture in the paper is all it takes."

Hearing no answer, she glanced sideways. The woman was still smiling.

"Man, I wish you remembered how to talk," Faith said, half to herself.

That got a curious look.

"I just...I’m not used to uh... carrying conversations on my own. I’m incapable of small talk."

She jumped when a soft touch landed on the back of her hand that was holding the gear-shift. The blonde patted her knuckles and smiled. The touch said, don’t feel uncomfortable... just relax. Fingers curled around to hold her hand.

Faith glanced at the fingers, then at her new companion. She squeezed the gearshift uncomfortably, not sure what she was supposed to do in reaction. The woman seemed content to simply hold her hand. It wasn’t something Faith was used to.

Another risked glance told her that the blonde was still smiling at her out of the corner of her mouth. Faith swallowed, and floored it.

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"Are you really going to just dump her off at Lancaster?" Simon asked incredulously, swishing the slowly developing photo through the fixing solution. "Geez...give her to me if you don’t want her."

"Shhh. Simon she’s just in the next room. Just because she can’t talk doesn’t mean she can’t hear."

"There..." Simon said as the picture came into view. "Wow. She is a looker isn’t she? Women with short hair always turn me on."

"Will you knock it off?" Faith hissed.

Simon frowned at her through the red haze of the darkroom. "What’s your problem? I’m only kidding. I’m sure Miss Mystery out there appreciates a good joke."

Faith chewed on her lip. "I didn’t think it was funny."

Simon grinned at her and nudged her with his elbow. "So you getting anywhere with her?"

"Simon! I just met her for Christ’s sake."

"So? Don’t you believe in love at first sight?"

But Faith had turned thoughtful. "You know...I can’t just dump her at Lancaster. The conditions there are no good." She couldn’t really bear the thought of leaving the blonde with strangers either.

"So what are you going to do?"

Faith shook her head. "I don’t know."

"You should take her back to your place." Simon suggested innocently. "Oh wait...that’s only what you do with women who want to get laid."

"Shut up!" She punched him in the shoulder, mortified at the possibility that the woman in the next room might hear them.

"Ow...fuck! Where’s your sense of humour tonight? Get out of here will you? Here," he handed her some scissors and a roll of film, "go cut up these negatives will you? Make yourself useful."

Faith slipped out of the dark room and into the office. Faith’s eyes flew to the face of the young woman who was leaning against the wall near the desk, but it didn’t look like she had heard anything the two of them had said. Faith let out a small sigh of relief.

"Don’t worry," she said, walking towards her, "We’ll be out of here soon enough." Then what do I do with you?

As Faith walked near, the young woman’s eyes focused on the scissors in Faith’s hand. She let out a sudden gasp of fear and pressed herself flat against the back wall, trying to back away in panic. A look of absolute terror washed over her face.

Faith dropped the scissors and film on the desk and ran to her side, "What is it? Are you ok? What’s wrong?"

A small hand gripped Faith’s bicep. The other was held against a heaving chest. She took deep breaths. Finally she looked up, nodding that she was alright.

Faith’s eyes filled with concern. No, she definitely couldn’t just leave her at some shelter.

"You know," said Simon, backing out of the dark room, "We should come up with a name to call you while you still can’t remember your own. Much better than calling ‘Hey you!’ all the time, don'tcha think?"

The blonde looked up and smiled weakly.

"What about Jessica?" Simon suggested, sitting down at his computer to write the caption for the photo. He adjusted his glasses and ran a hand over his thinning hair.

Faith said, "No," simultaneously with the blonde’s wrinkled nose.

Simon looked at Faith in amusement. "I always liked the name Jessica," he said absently. "Ok...how about Sara?"

She shrugged, unimpressed.

"Ok, um...what about..."

"Gabrielle," Faith said. The others both turned to her. The blonde smiled and nodded.

A slow, smug grin appeared on Simon’s face as he regarded the two of them. "Gabrielle it is then," he said quietly. "Well you’re in good hands Gabrielle. Faith is the best there is. She can find anyone."

They weren’t listening to him though. Gabrielle was looking up curiously at Faith.

"I always liked the name," Faith explained, with a shy shrug. "It reminds me of the sun."

"Ok you two, enough flirting," Simon piped. Gabrielle dropped her eyes and Faith reddened. She sent him an oh-are-you-ever-going-to-pay-for-that look.

"Ah heh heh. Just lemme finish up with this caption and then you two can be on your way."

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Faith unlocked the door to her small apartment and flicked on the light. She looked around the room and her throat constricted. God, the place was a mess.

"I hope you’ll find this a bit nicer than the Lancaster shelter," she said over her shoulder as she hurriedly moved newspapers into a pile in the corner. She stood and stared dumbly at the dirty dishes covering the kitchen table. "Uh... sorry the place isn’t more um... presentable. I don’t have company very often." She was really embarrassed.

Gabrielle just smiled and looked around the room. It was a small apartment, with a joint living area/kitchen. Papers from many of Faith’s old cases were strewn over the coffee table and the chairs. She wasn’t much for book keeping.

Faith cleared her throat. "Well... the ah, bedroom is this way."

Faith led Gabrielle to a room with a double bed in one corner and a small dresser against the wall.

"There’s some clothes in there, if you need something to change into tomorrow," Faith said, "although I doubt anything I own would fit you very well. But there’s an old shirt in there if you want something to...um...sleep in."

Gabrielle nodded and put her hand on the knob. Faith noticed that her smile was gone, and her expression was distant.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" Faith asked softly, "...anything at all?"

Gabrielle just stared at her.

"Um, all right then... uh well...g-good night."

Gabrielle shut the door and Faith smacked her forehead. I’m really not such an idiot all the time, she imagined herself explaining. I don’t usually stammer and stutter and worry about whether or not the place is clean.

Faith wandered back into the living room and flopped onto the couch. She folded her arms over her chest and closed her eyes, sighing in frustration with herself. She would be just as happy when Gabrielle had recovered her memory and had found her family. Then maybe whatever strange emotion had taken control of her would leave.

Yeah, that was what she hoping for. Faith closed her eyes, and did her best to put the image of the blonde beauty in the next room out of her mind, so that she might actually be able to get some sleep.

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Gabrielle frowned and gritted her teeth in sleep. The pillow was soaked through with her sweat. Her fist balled in the sheets.

Something was wrong.

"Jo?..."

There was someone in the bedroom. Blythe sat up in bed, eyes wide. The sheets slid away from her silk nightgown. Her golden hair tumbled down her shoulders. She stared in fright towards the corner.

Gabrielle moaned quietly. She tossed and turned, her feet kicking.

The shadows fell over the doorway, leaving it bathed in darkness. But someone was there. Blythe could see the silhouette. Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the dark outline of the figure. But not long enough to reveal the person’s face. Thunder cracked.

The figure stepped out of the shadows. The cold moonlight lit on the scissors in her hand. The point gleamed wickedly.

Blythe stared at the face as the light revealed it. Long black hair. Two sparkling blue eyes. It was Josephina...

The scissors lifted up, ready to stab.

"This is for you!"

"No!!!!" Gabrielle screamed, her hands clutching at her heart. "Oh God Please No!!"

Faith burst into the room. She stared, horrified, at Gabrielle thrashing and almost choking herself screaming. She couldn’t believe such an awful sound could come from someone so small.

She leapt onto the bed and pried Gabrielle’s hands away from herself. Gabrielle flung them around Faith’s neck, and let out a strangled cry.

"Shh...you’re ok. It’s ok. It was just a dream. Shhh," Faith soothed.

Gabrielle, who had never quite woken up, responded to the ministrations, and sunk back into the bed with a choked moan. Faith eased her down gently. Actually, she was pulled down with her, as Gabrielle still hugged her tightly around the shoulders.

"That’s it. It’s ok. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me." Faith whispered.

She lay silently, as her heart slowed down, and waited to be sure that Gabrielle was all right. Soon, she could hear the young woman’s breathing slow and become more steady.

After a moment Faith realized she had a new problem... that of extricating herself from Gabrielle’s embrace. The curves of Gabrielle’s body were pressing against her in a very nice way, and she couldn’t stop from focusing on them.

Faith cursed herself. Her mind was at war with her body. After all that Gabrielle had been through, she definitely shouldn’t have had to deal with the effects of Faith’s out-of-work libido.

But Gabrielle smelled so good, like daisies and the sun. She was only wearing an old shirt; her legs were completely bare. And the way her body was fitting against Faith’s...so naturally. Like she belonged there. There was something immensely comforting in that.

Before she knew it, or had a chance to do anything about it, Faith was fast asleep.

•••

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