Requiem

ForevaXena's FanFic . . .

Disclaimer: Xena, Gabrielle etc belong to MCA/Universal and Ren Pics, and anyone else who has an interest in Xena Warrior Princess, not me.

Copyright © 2000: The characters in here belong to me. All rights reserved. No part or whole of this work may be copied or used in any shape, form, or manner whatsoever without the author's express written consent. If you want to use them, all you have to do is ask ... nicely.

Violence disclaimer: Nope.

Love/Sex warning: This story depicts a love/sexual relationship between two consenting adult women. If you are under 18 years of age or if this type of story is illegal in the state or country in which you live - move along, move along, nothing for you here ...

Major vote of thanks to my ever-patient beta reader ForevaXena for taking valuable time out to read this. Without her, I am eternally grammatically and spelling stuffed :-) Special thanks also go to Enoon, Maureen, Deb K and dee for suggesting titles for this little piece!

I stand here on what I’ve always considered to be the edge of the earth.

My parents first brought me here when I was quite young, about eight or so. I think back to that time, the first time I ever saw Kurnell, south of Sydney, in the great land of Oz. From one side of the national park you can look out and see the port of Botany, and if you keep following the coast around, all the way to Cape Solander, you finally stand at the mouth and beyond of the bay. Straight across the water is New Zealand, quite a swim we always say to tourists who don’t seem to understand why you can’t just look across the Tasman at another country.

It’s about an hour or so off sunset, and I hesitate to look up at the sky. I just don’t want to know about it anymore.

It’s just like any other Sunday afternoon. A calm weekend, filled with the strains of my favorite music, fanging around on my motorcycle, just like always. Today I rode down to Kiama and back via the coast road, saying goodbye to all the things I grew up with. Every place is so loaded with memories. Terror of falling off the black rocks at the blowhole (where I might add a long gone girlfriend dumped me), seeing the green fields, the funny smell of Port Kembla, watching the inhabitants of Wollongong travel into their ridiculously small city (spans about two streets and one bit of it is one way -- how progressive, right?).

Out here, I can see the greenish grey coastal trees drifting in the gentle wind, and the seagulls insist on annoying me like they always have in the past (what, do I look like I have CHIPS tattooed to my forehead?). I remember this is where I stole a kiss from my beloved, beautiful wife when she first agreed to go out with me, then finally after months of nagging to marry me.

The memory brings a soft smile to my lips, and a tear to my eye. I can feel her soft lips, and it’s as though a part of me is missing. We were always together -- in addition to being lovers, we were also great friends, and I don’t think I ever told her I loved her enough to satisfy myself. I’m at a loss, and death is such a final thing. I won’t see her anymore in this lifetime, but if karma smiles down on me, I might be lucky to see her in the next.

Thoughts of her green eyes sparkling at me, her long blonde hair, and I’m gone. I wipe the tears away from the corners of my eyes with the heels of my hands, and suddenly it becomes too painful for me to continue. Out here where there is wind and rain and the fading sun, memories of her are the strongest. I used to hate my job (now I positively loathe it), and she used to hold me each Sunday evening while we had a quiet ice cream out here on the cliffs (not an easy thing to carry on a motorcycle, I might add), and tell me that it was okay. Live each moment, she always said, and know that I loved you yesterday, I love you today and I will certainly love you tomorrow.

I climb the barrier, and walk down to the edge of the cliff, still trying to avoid noticing the falling twilight, and hold my arms out to embrace the night. Soon the stars will appear and she’ll come back to me in my memory again; I just can’t do that to myself. She’s gone and my tears won’t bring her back, nor will any of my aching and pleading.

It’s my last goodbye to the rough blue of the ocean, and I breathe deeply of the salty air. So many memories I have to leave behind: playing on the rocks with my beloved pet dog, examining the starfish, trying to find crabs, dreaming of my career in chemistry which never actually materialized.

"Goodbye Sweetie, I love you," I whisper, and the wind pulls the words from my lips. I can but hope that one day it will reach her ears.

I close my eyes against the tears, aching, taking a deep breath.

I turn and walk the short distance back to my bike. I love riding, but I loved it most when she was on the back with me. A pillion in a million, I could never feel her there. All she did was hold me and stayed with the bike, and I could always feel the grin plastered to her face.

I slip my helmet on over my head, and start the bike up. I’ll take the corners at a good speed, even though the camber of the road is all wrong in places, and make my way back to the city of Sydney, via the place I once called home, in the deep south of the city.

It takes me about twenty five minutes to reach my parents’ house through the darkened streets I learned to ride on, and as I pull up, I’m again brought back into my past. Bushfires almost destroying my home, my most beloved pet terrier I had as a child, dawn walks and bike rides.

I can’t bear to go into the house, so I pull away on my bike. She’s there too, and since I’m hurting too bad to stop and be still, I have to keep riding. I’ll go on into the city, because I don’t want to go home yet. I’ll probably head to the office for a while, because I’m supposed to be there anyway.

God I hate it there. It’s also my last night there, and that causes a wry smile to emerge on my face. Where do I want to go next? Is it to be Victoria, Western Australia or Queensland? I know her family was in Queensland, so maybe I’ll go there -- to try and get a feel for her again. I need her in my life and with our wedding vows we had both assumed it was to be for the rest of our natural lives, but we didn’t know what was to happen in the future. If only it had been something as simple as divorce that tore us apart, then I could at least know she was still in the world happy, even if she wasn’t by my side, but I wasn’t that lucky.

I miss her. It seems to be the only thing left in me to feel, apart from terror and seething hatred for my superiors. The unstoppable restlessness is also killing me, as is my sense of duty, keeping me at my post. I so wanted to leave, but they wouldn’t let me.

They wouldn’t let me.

I miss her.

I want so much to feel her soft touch, her gentle lips, her quiet hug of encouragement and support. But I can’t. Please, just one last time.

She’s gone.

I miss her.

I want her back. All I want is just one touch, just one sight of her. Just to talk to her one last time. Is it too much to ask?

Yes, they would say.

Tears are hell on the eyes, and I decide it would be best if I were to take my life into my own hands and pull up by the side of the Princes Highway in Sylvania, behind a parked car. If anything squashes me, it would only be a relief. Besides, tears are horrible when riding in the wind and I need to blow my nose before I disgrace myself at a set of traffic lights.

Task discharged, I try to compose myself and not see ghosts of her all around me, as I pull my gloves on and remount my trusty steed.

As I continue to roar down the highway towards the city, I pull back hard on the throttle, trying my hardest to silence the yammering ghosts that are snapping at my heels. I round the sweepers just before Tom Ugly’s Bridge, the disembodied voice of my mother yelling at me to go faster. "You don’t need to slow down for these, just accelerate through them you silly kid!"

My bike is nimble and well known, and I do Mum proud now, taking them at ninety. Despite myself, I have a broad grin plastered on my face as I continue on the highway, through the sweepers around Carss Park that once cost me a broken knee. I stop off at the lights so I can cut across to The Grand Parade that will take me right along the bay through Brighton Le Sands so I can see Port Botany and Kurnell side by side out into the mouth of the ocean.

It’s night now, but I’m trying to ignore it. I am frightened of the dark and she’s not here to comfort me.

Riding ever faster, struggling not to get blown backwards off Garrett (that’s my beloved motorcycle), I scream down the road as fast as I dare, hunkering down over the tank, feeling her absence behind me, missing her yell of joy and pleas to go faster.

At the speed I’m going, it’s an eye blink to travel through General Holmes tunnel, and past the airport. There’s an overpass that goes straight towards South Dowling Street, right next to the airport, and it affords the best view of the city in all of Sydney. I stop there now, and I begin to ache again wanting to share this with her so badly. I slump and more tears come to my eyes. We often joked that we’d like to buy just this section of road and put a house on it. The view of the city skyline would alone make the place worth a fortune, and stuff the traffic hassles it would cause.

Again the pain and restlessness that drives me pushes me forward and I keep riding. It’s just over to Link Road where I’m going to pay my last respects to the place I live but is too painful for me to visit. Even just riding here is killing me. Down that way will take me to the driving range (her passion was golf and I used to love sitting with her late on a Friday night watching her swear and carry on about how bad her driving was. One memorable time, she insisted on doing Michael Jackson’s moonwalk while warming up and I nearly fell out of my seat I was laughing so hard). If I keep going left after I hit those traffic lights I’ll end up home, but I don’t ever want to see that old and decrepit flat again.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to be strong and keep heading into the city via Elizabeth Street. Choking back the tears may keep the eyes dry, but it sure as hell leaves the world’s worst lump sitting in the back of one’s throat.

Another fifteen minutes and I’m on the road alongside Hyde Park. I don’t spare it a second glance. I’m going to stew in my own juices there by the old fountain for most of the night, and I don’t want to that before I’ve taken the corners of the Cahill Expressway at too high a speed and onto the Sydney Harbour Bridge one last time. I’m heading to North Sydney to do the last thing I will ever do for them, flick a switch.

Riding with my grief, I pull up in front of the building. Thanks, but I think I’ll park on the footpath. If a copper books me, then I’m going to deck him or her. Since they lowered the standards for entrance to the Police force, most of what you see behind the wheel of cruisers are short, dumb blondes who think they look great in a uniform, and if you hit them hard enough they cry. Stuff them! I simply don’t care anymore. I have more important things to do.

The office is dark, and I walk to my desk. On it there’s a picture of her, of us, and the pain of seeing it is too much for me. With a trembling hand, I pick it up and stuff it into my motorcycle jacket for my time under the stars tonight. We’ll talk more, but until then I have a small job to do.

Walking into the server room, I flick a switch.

That’s it. Job discharged. Done. I owe them nothing now. And fuck them all! They took her away from me and I’ll never forgive them for it.

I’ll never see this place again, I think with relief, as I charge down the fire stairs back to Garrett.

As I burst out of the building, I can see him sitting there, minus a parking ticket. Yeah baby! Looks like the universe has decided to give me one small, lousy break.

It doesn’t take long, and I’m back in the full night of Hyde Park. My bike finally comes to a stop, and I shut him off for the last time. I feel an instant of pride. He was a good bike and served me well, the one friend I have left, now that she’s gone.

I force myself to lie down and look at the stars.

God, how I hate them, their cold twinkling.

I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow morning, because I won’t be around for it. I reach into my pocket, and pull out the capsule.

They told me it would be quick, probably around fifteen seconds or so. Should I just take it now and be done with it? No, I don’t think so -- I still have some peace I need to make.

The tears I feel for her and for me are never far from the surface, and it’s time to let them all go now. They stream from me unhindered to tickle my cheeks and ears as I lie back on the cold grass, fingering the capsule.

I’m in an empty city on an empty planet.

There is no one here now. They’re all gone.

I stare sourly at the stars, hoping to catch some glimpse of her.

I’m the last one left. My sole purpose in life, and the reason I was left behind was to flick a switch to record the last night of planet Earth, Terra, whatever you want to call it. Why couldn’t this be done remotely, you ask?

Easy, they would say (good, because being a humble technician, I never really understood any of this).

The Sun is to explode tomorrow, shortly after dawn, and even now the radiation streaming down to this doomed world is wreaking havoc with communications. If someone were to try and remotely start the cameras, they would have to stay close and therefore would never be able to escape the decimation of our humble solar system. The reasoning was simple -- we are a doomed people, and as so precious few of us are to survive, why should we risk even seven of those precious few in a spacecraft when one person can be left behind on the planet?

No one, of course, wanted the honor.

What honor is this anyway? Flick a feed that will throw pictures of what amounts to a cosmic train wreck to a legion of slobbering scientific ghouls fucking their scientific instruments in space and tugging themselves over how they managed to save the people of the earth? Well, they certainly didn’t save us, did they? The worst thing is that they probably won’t even get their precious photos because of the savage radiation. Sorry, no pretty pictures of boiling oceans and melting iron bridges from this little dust ball.

In the end we drew straws.

Naturally, I drew the short one.

She wasn’t pleased when she found out. I can still see her face as the soldiers tore her from my arms, tears streaming from her eyes, and her last forlorn farewell to me.

We should have been together, but we’re not.

I know she’s gone, even if I can’t reconcile myself to that fact, but at least I know she’s still alive somewhere.

How long, I wonder, will it take for her to forget me? Have they already forced her into marriage with someone she does not want, for the sole purpose of increasing our numbers? Is she calling herself a widow yet? Does she still remember me? Probably not -- I know that the memories of all the survivors were wiped as they left here, so they would not be tortured by memories of things they once had.

All I want is to feel her in my arms, for her to stroke my hair and to tell me it’s going to be okay, and that she still loves me. She should have been with me for the next seventy years.

One year.

One was all we had, and I should be grateful for it, shouldn’t I?

I love her, I miss her and I want to be by her side again, but I can’t.

I think it’s time to take the capsule. There is not much life left to me anyway, and I’ve done my job. Now I just want to rest and wait for her to come back to me.

Most methods of death are ones I don’t care to think about -- imagine feeling yourself torn apart limb by limb by a semi trailer, or being burned from the inside out by Chlorine gas turned to hydrochloric acid by the moisture in your lungs? If I don’t take this pill, then what awaits me is a true baptism of fire. I don’t want it.

I’m going to take the pill now, because if it doesn’t work then at least I can find some way to do myself in before dawn.

I pop the pill into my mouth with shaking fingers, and chew it. There’s time for one final look at the picture that once sat on my desk. You and I laughing into the camera at our wedding. You’re so alive and you’re so beautiful -- certainly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I remember it like it was yesterday.

Goodbye my love, I will be with you wherever you end up, and we will meet again.

THE END

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