Her hands had always seemed so warm. Despite the calluses that toughened them, and the scars that marked her life, her hands always remained warm. At least to me. They say that our hands tell us a lot about ourselves. Some say our life's essence can be felt through our hands. I don't know if she ever felt it, but I did. I'd like to think that I was the only one who felt it, that those hands that had killed so many were warm just to me. Sort of a sign that we were meant to be together. I knew in my mind that we were, but it was always nice to have a physical reminder that it was predetermined by the gods that we would be together.

Three years together since the first day that she rescued me, and her hands were always the same. Even when she was yelling at me, the dowdy village girl, her hands were warm. She had a way of just barely resting her hand on my arm, usually as a warning of impending danger, but that one touch would electrify me, sending currents of her warmth through my body until I felt it everywhere. It was so strange, it used to scare me. I thought that maybe she had some kind of magic or power that allowed her to send bolts of warm electricity through someone's body. I envisioned her rendering her enemies helpless by merely touching them. I knew it was impossible, but it seemed like a nice fantasy, and it was certainly more innocent than my other fantasies. My other day dreams involved her hands too, but in a much different way.

There were times in the beginning when I would be left alone while she galloped to save some village. Walking the quiet country side, knowing that I'd eventually find her, I let my mind wander much more than I should have. At first I chastised myself, telling myself that I was crazy, I shouldn't think about things like that. But, as more time passed, the small stories I imagined to myself were so real, and so possible, that I allowed myself to be engulfed by them more and more.

In this fantasy, she still used her hands, but rather than use them to render an enemy helpless, she used them for me. In my mind, I could see her stoic face as she bent down to wake me up. Rather than just nudging my shoulder as she normally did, I saw her bring her hands up and caress my face. I felt the electric jolt of her fingers on my cheeks, and in that instant, I felt a warmth growing between my legs. It was useless to try to ignore it. She smiles at me, knowing the power of her hands. I returned the smile, not at all afraid, a willing participant. In my dream, she used her hands and mouth to bring me to the very stars.

Afterwards, she held me in her arms, her hands smoothing my face as I struggled to catch my breath. I would replay this scene in my head, each time getting more detailed, but never forgetting her hands.

Three years and I have seen her hands in so many ways. I've seen them crossed over her chest in the pose of death, I've seen them kill, then moments later, I've seen those same hands tend the wound of another. Those hands brought life into this world in the same lifetime they took lives. I felt them on me as my blood spilled from my body, and I felt them stitch me back together, keeping me alive. I felt them pounding on my chest, an anguished cry coming from her, the cry of a wounded animal. But I still didn't ever feel them the way I wanted in my dreams.

It was tormenting sometimes to be so close and yet not be able to reach out and place those hands where I so badly needed them. I turned to another, only to find that his hands weren't as gentle as hers, and compared to hers they were cold. That was a disappointment. I told myself that her hands weren't special, they were just hands. I could find that same warmth from anyone else, I just had to look. But, I was wrong. I know now it was silly to try to fool myself. I only needed one person, and her hands were the ones that could touch my soul.

Then one night it happened. Sitting across the fire from her, I watched her hands as she sharpened her sword. It was mesmerizing. I could have watched her all night. Then the hands stopped. She held them still and I felt myself looking up into the bluest eyes ever known on this earth. Her eyes were wide, starring back at me in question. I had never told her that I loved her, I had never told her that I wanted to know the feel of her hands on my body. I never felt that I could.

But at this moment, she seemed totally open to me. Like she was laying herself into MY hands. I looked again at her hands loosely holding her sword, and then I looked at my own hands. Could I? Was I strong enough to admit to her my feelings? Could MY hands ever bring her the pleasure I wanted from her?

A boiling feeling took up residence in my body, like I was barely under control. At any minute I thought I would finally lose my poise and do something I thought she'd regret.

"Gabrielle?" She was beside me now, kneeling next to where I sat, the fire no longer between us.

I looked into her eyes again, seeing her concern there. I knew I answered her at some point, probably saying something like "Yes?" in response. But I don't remember. All I remember is her hands reaching out to brush against my cheek, leaving a fiery trail everywhere she touched. I think I gasped, because the next thing I remember, she picked me up, cradling me against her. I did feel light headed, but not for the reason she imagined.

"I knew we should have waited before we moved you." She was murmuring to herself, reminding us both of the arrow that had been temporarily lodged in my body. She sat down with me in her lap. Her hands started to move over my body as she reassured herself that I was there.

I couldn't help it, I moaned louder as her hands sent tremors up my body. She must have thought I was in pain because she stopped. The groan of disappointment must have let her know that it wasn't pain that was causing me to react.

She once again reached out and touched my face, but this time her touch was different. There as something purposefully sensual about it. I leaned into her hand, grateful that the warmth was back.

"Are you sure?" She whispered into my ear, her breath tickling the sensitive lobe.

"Please Xena.." was all I could say. I was under her control, and if she chose to stop, I knew I wouldn't protest, but I just prayed that she wouldn't stop.

Once again she was standing with me in her arms and this time she set me down on her bedroll. Hands that I had dreamt about started to undress me. A voice that was more familiar to me than my own talked to me, and I responded. We both knew this was what we wanted. When her hands touched me that night in that way I had only dreamt about, I knew without a doubt that we were meant to be together. Her hands talked to me, as they had from the beginning, but this time their message was clear.