Rating: PG (ONE nude scene--and she really didn't mean it--and you can't see nothin' anyhow!)

Joxer was making good time. He figured it was two hours before sundown; if he hurried, he could make the next village before nightfall. Not that he had any money to rent a room or anything. He was most likely going to have to forage in the forest for food, and find a empty stable or doorstep to sleep tonight. He would go looking for work in the morning. There were rumors of a bandit ring working this region, and he was confident. Somebody must have need of a mighty warrior around these parts? He hitched his sword belt a little higher and started humming a few bars of his song.

"No!" he heard from a nearby copse of trees, and his eyebrows shot up. A cry for help!! Then he heard the unmistakable crack of wood against bone. Whoever it was, they needed help. Help he was more than willing to give. He fixed his helmet and rushed into the trees.

He attempted one of his famed 'mighty warrior' entrances, but he was badly interrupted by a flying body whizzing past his head.

"Ah--excuse me! I believe--WHOA!!" Joxer shouted as he fell to the forest ground, to avoid yet another body flying through the air. He looked up towards the directions the bodies were flying from. For a second, he couldn't believe his good fortune. Gabrielle! He saw the staff flying, then he realized that Gabby, though trained by Xena and the Amazons, wasn't that good with the staff. First off, the staff was a good deal longer than Gabby's, almost a cubit's worth. And this woman used the heavy oak staff not as a weapon, but as an extension of her body. Joxer looked at the unconscious man next to him. His jaw lay at an odd angle, and Joxer winced. That has got to hurt, he thought. The man stirred, trying to rise. Joxer rapped him firmly on the head with the pommel of his sword, still transfixed by the battle before him. He had to admit...she may not have been Gabby, but this girl had a serious case of style.

She was engaging two bandits, using both ends of the staff to perfection. Joxer saw she was dressed in an outfit nearly identical to Xena's bard, hence his initial mistake. Her skirt and midriff revealing top were both deep rust brown, and she was revealing far more midriff than Gabby could ever dream of. Granted, it was because she easily would have towered over Gabby. She wasn't quite as tall as Xena, but somewhere in between. Her skin was the same interesting coppery tone as her clothes, and her hair was glossy and dark. The sunlight filtering through the trees brushed her curly locks with reddish lights. Joxer watched the muscles of her abdomen ripple as she brought the low end of her staff across the jaw of the opponent in front of her. He went flying across the glade, landing at Joxer's feet. Nice, he thought, both of the move, and the rippling muscles. He rapped the fallen man on the head, to make sure he couldn't help his friend, whom the girl dispatched before Joxer finished. She never followed through on her first blow, and simply brought the end of the staff back, right into the face of the last bandit, who clutched a suddenly broken nose. She looked over her shoulder to make sure he was down, then kicked him in the stomach with her heavy booted foot, to make sure he stayed down.

Joxer whistled. This was not someone he wanted on his bad side. Then he ducked again as he felt something whiz by his face. She spun around. "Who are you?" she demanded, her body coiled for action. He noticed the dagger sheaths on the belt around her waist. Big difference from Gabrielle.

Joxer quickly put his sword down. "I'm a friend... a traveler. I heard the fuss. I thought I could offer some help, being a warrior and all," he said, proudly, slowly rising to his feet.

A warrior? she thought. You have got to be kidding me. He was all mismatched armor, with a circular breastplate that looked like it was originally a pot lid, stolen from his mother's kitchen. And that helmet. Was it a helmet? It looked like a water pail that lost a good fight with somebody's foot. He looked like an idiot.

Then she though about it for a minute. She'd been fighting the same four men for about ten minutes, before they started dropping. They kept coming back, before she could land good, solid, bonebreaking blows... then that problem conveniently went away. He probably did knock them out after I sent them flying, she thought, lowering her stance.

She searched his face. She considered herself a good judge of character. In her business, she had to be. His earnest face was filled with boyish exuberance, but colored with something else-- she didn't know. A broken heart? A lost soul? She locked eyes with him. Loam brown, nearly as dark as her own, playful-- deep. There were things that ran through this man that could make the most faithful of friends ashamed. He could be loyal, and devoted, and generous to a fault. She smiled at him, making her decision. She walked up to him, her hand outstretched.

"Hi," she said. "My name's Rochelle. Of Armer---Corinth. But you can call me Ro."

Joxer didn't know what to say for a moment. She was studying him so intently. Her eyes were the same deep brown as her hair, and they passed through him. Through the metal, as well as the mental, armor he put up around himself. They pierced his heart, and when she smiled, he thought his heart would stop. That smile--Joxer could die now, and be satisfied with life, after having a woman look at him with a smile like that on her face. He took her hand, and gave it a firm shake.

"Joxer the Mighty," he said grandly. "Or Joxer the Magnificent. You may have heard of me."

She thought a moment, her hand hiding her grin. "Nooo," she said. "I can't say that I have." She gave him a sad little smile as she watched his face fall in disappointment. "But, I'm new to these parts," she added quickly. "I haven't heard much local gossip yet."

He nodded gravely, knowing the real reason why she'd never heard of him. "Well, you can just call me Joxer," he said.

She flashed him another one of those heartstopping smiles. "Well, Joxer," she drawled, "can I have my hand back?"

He looked down at their still joined hands, then quickly let go, his face turning slightly pink. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Not a--oh no!" she said, rushing past him and to a nearby tree.

Joxer turned, and watched her pick up two halves of a lute. He watched her face as she assessed the damage to the instrument. "Oh-- oh-- bother!" she said hotly. "There goes the meal ticket," she muttered.

"Look, Rochelle," he said. "I think perhaps we should get out of here, before your friends here wake up." He gestured to the men on the ground. "I'm sure they're not going to be happy about being beaten to a pulp by a girl."

She nodded. "You're right." She reached up to retrieve her dagger, sticking out of the tree. She turned to pick up her pack, to find it in Joxer's hand. "Gimme that," she said.

"It's OK," he said grandly. "I've got it. You're going to need two hands for that," he noted, nodding at the lute. "Unless you've got extra strings?"

She snorted. "What kind of minstrel doesn't carry extra strings? Let's go."

The men on the ground began to shimmer and they formed little blobs of sparkly light. Then they merged together into the form of Cupid, the god of love. He smiled at his handiwork. Ever since his meddling mother, Aphrodite, and son Bliss had practically ruined Joxer's chance of a normal love life, he felt obligated to try and fix some of the damaged his little family had unwittingly (in his and Bliss' case) or wittingly, (in Aphrodite's) caused. 'Besides,' Cupid thought, 'I kind like the little goofball. He's got a good heart.' He hoped that if Joxer could fall in love with Gabrielle on his own, then he could fall in love with somebody far worthier, in Cupid's opinion, of his attentions. Cupid smiled as he watched them walk down the path together. 'I wonder if I have time to catch some waves with Mom down in Cyprus, before I have to check in on those two again,?' he mused as he shimmered away.

They managed to get to the village just after sundown. They went to the local tavern, where Rochelle started inspecting the lute.

"Your sound box's fine," Joxer noted, taking off his helmet.

She looked over at him, noticing that he looked much better without that silly thing on his head. "You know about lutes?" she said, pushing the two pieces at him.

"A little," he said cautiously. "My mom made me take lessons when I was a kid." He carefully inspected the break. It was nothing a few nails and some delicate hammering wouldn't fix.. "Could you hand me my pack, please?" He was sure there were some copper tacks he used to affix his breastplate to the leather jerkin left in there that he could use. She handed it to him, and watched him work on her precious instrument.

His face changed altogether when he was concentrating. His visage was very serious as he pulled out a small hammer, and began to knock the finger board and soundbox back together. A lock of his dark brown hair fell over his eyes, and Ro's fingers itched to push it back into place. The transformation was amazing: from this angle, he was actually quite handsome. His eyes seemed to look through the lute, to its basic structure. "Nice lute," he mumbled, as he began to reattach the broken fingerboard.

"It was a present," she said. Lessons as a kid, my foot, she thought. The kind of care he was taking, the businesslike manner he took in checking and rechecking his repairs, meant one of two things: either he was a master luthier, or he had intimate knowledge of how the instrument worked, and could make the kind of repair only a good player knew how to. She didn't have the heart to tell him that she was easily capable of fixing her own lute, but he was trying so hard to be helpful. And he was, so far, a perfect gentleman.

A grin split his face as he finished tapping in the last nail. He rocked the long piece of wood back and forth to check his repair. Seeing it didn't move, he quickly ran his fingers across the strings, to check the tuning. She grabbed her own pack. The last time the fingerboard had broken , she lost the top two strings. As expected , they snapped, and she wordlessly handed Joxer the replacements. He re-strung the instrument faster than she ever could, hummed a note to himself and quickly tuned the nine strings.

He let his fingers gently strum the lute, not quite sure what to do. Then, he began playing a complex and intricate tune that made Rochelle's head spin. She was good. She'd been playing since she was five... but she was a rank amateur compared to this so-called warrior. She could hear not one, but two folk tunes, being woven together like they had been meant to do just that from the beginning of time. As he finished, he looked up at her, a smug grin perched on his face.

The metamorphosis was complete. He had gone from Joxer the Buffoon to Joxer the Sort-of-Nice, to Joxer the Amazing in the span of a three minute lute solo. She knew one thing for sure--- if Joxer the Mighty had been a lutist, she would have heard of him years ago.

She stood, and bowed low to his obvious skill. "I, sir, am thoroughly impressed," she breathed.

He shrugged. "I've always wanted to try that," he said, a little self conscious. "My lute only has--had--seven strings."

She grinned at his cover. "Right," she drawled. She reclaimed her lute, and began to strum it gently, working through a melody that had been haunting her for a few days. "If you ever give up the warrior gig, find me," she said. "I'd give my left arm, and most of my earnings, to learn that."

A large burly man appeared next to them. "You two minstrels?" he demanded.

"She is," Joxer said, pointing at Ro.

"I just want the one who just finished playing," he said. "I like having a good minstrel around. Keeps the patrons calm. Calm patrons mean less fights."

"Uh--no--really, you should talk to her," Joxer insisted. "She's the--"

"As Zeus glanced down Olympus' stair,
he saw below a maiden fair,
Europa, Grecian daughter, there,
Among the flowers of Athens' hills."

The entire room came to a dead stop as Ro began singing the story of Zeus and Europa. It was a well known one-- Hercules was no stranger to these parts. But, the girl's voice was like a clarion call of the gods...like a Siren had settled among them for a moment, holding them in her hypnotic presence. Her voice was clear and pure, untrained as birdsong, but with a quality that compelled you to listen, dared you to turn away for a moment, and miss the story of a lifetime unfold within your hearing.

"White bull, white bull, a prize to behold
Just the thing to tempt a maid.
Away! Away! the white bull flew...
Europa's path, forever laid."

Joxer was astounded. His mother didn't really have to make him take those lute lessons... he loved music, and he had an excellent ear. He had always though Xena was the best singer he had ever heard.

This girl made Xena sound like a Corinthian fishwife.

Ro hummed the melody of the last verse, accompanying herself with a intricate harmony than baffled Joxer. She was double and triple plucking strings, a technique his teacher had tried to pass on, but Joxer never quite got the hang of. The entire room exploded in applause before the note died in the room.

The tavern keeper wiped a tear from his eye. "Thirty dinars for both of you, for the week. Plus room."

"Fifty each, room and board," she amended. Joxer could tell she was in her element here.

"Forty," he said.

"Sixty-five. Apiece," she said smugly. She had the advantage, and she knew it. Every man in that room wanted to hear her sing, and she knew once they got a good look at him, every single girl in town would flock to hear Joxer play.

"Fifty-five?" he said hopefully.

She snorted. "Sixty-five. Not one dinar under," she said.

He turned to Joxer. "She's trying to bankrupt me!" he wailed.

She tapped the table next to his hand. "Hey, I've got the lute. If I walk, it goes with me. He can't play, and you're out the best minstrels this side of the Aegean."

The tavernkeep wrung his hands. She had him over a barrel, and he knew it. "Sixty each, room and board. That's my final offer, missy," he pleaded.

She nodded knowingly. "Deal," she said, holding out her hand. The tavernkeep shook it, sealing the agreement. "I'm Rochelle of Corinth. My associate, Joxer," said the minstrel. The barkeep nodded at him.

"I'm Mikosican," he said. "Are you two hungry? I like to keep my employees well fed. I get more work out of them that way."

"Starved," she said.

"I've got some goat roasting," he said.

Joxer and Rochelle looked at each other, their faces a collective green. "Ah, that's OK, Mikosican," she said. "I'm a little on the delicate side--" she stammered.

"And I--ah--I don't like goat," he said. "Besides, all the grease on my fingers will-ah--ruin the lute strings. Yeah. Don't want to ruin those strings."

Mikosican shrugged. "Suit yourselves. I've got a bean stew going too, if you want that. And all the lushes around here call me Miko."

"That's sounds great, Miko," Joxer said. "Ro?"

"Just fine," she nodded. When Miko turned to gather their food, Joxer leaned over.

"How did you do that?" he asked. "You just managed to snag me more money playing, than I could in a month of fighting!"

She smiled, another of those radiant grins that rocked Joxer to his feet. "People are willing to pay for talent, Jox. And we've got it in over abundance."

"What did you just call me?" he asked.

"Oh, sorry," she said. "Bad habit. I hate my name, I assume everybody hates theirs, too. I tend to shorten things where they're long, lengthen them when they're short. Like my own personal nickname. I won't do it, if it bothers you."

He smiled. A nickname. People only gave their friends nicknames. "No. Don't stop on my account. I like it."

She smiled and patted his hand. "Then Jox it is." She paused. "Now you'll know when I mean business, 'cause I'll start calling you 'Joxer'."

He nodded. "You got it, Rochelle."

She shuddered. "Ro," she said firmly.

"What's wrong with 'Rochelle'?" he demanded.

She sniffed. "It sounds stupid," she announced. "It doesn't even mean anything."

"Like Joxer does?" he scoffed. "Besides...I think it's a very lovely name. Very musical."

"Huh?"

"It sort of rolls off the tongue-- y'know. Rrrrro-ssshell-lll."

She shivered as Joxer rolled the first letter of her name. She had never heard anything so-- delicious before.

Miko set two heaping plates in front of them. "My missus made this stew," he said. "Funny. Even though she never puts meat in it, like the other places in town, we always manage to outsell them. By the way, no getting drunk on duty," he said firmly. "You're hear to keep the peace, not add to the turmoil."

"I almost never touch the stuff," Ro said. "Bad for the voice."

"Yeah, reflexes too," added Joxer.

Miko laughed. "This I have to see. Minstrels that don't drink?? I think they'll crowd in, just to see you two sober. Ah, about your room--"

"Rooms," they said in unison. Firmly.

Miko held up his hands. "Just checking. I'll give you rooms across the hall from each other."

"Thank you, Miko," said Rochelle gratefully.

"You'll probably hate me by the end of the week," he grinned. "I can be a hard master."

"Be as hard as you like, just pay me-- us-- and we promise to like it," she said sweetly.

Miko slapped Joxer on the back. "Ha ha! I like this girl, Joxer! How'd you get so lucky, finding such a clever partner?"

Joxer smiled, digging his spoon into his stew. "I was just wondering that myself," he said, winking at his new partner.

Cupid changed back to his own form as he left the tavern. So far, so good, he thought. He didn't fail to see the gazes of admiration they had given each other during their performances, and the way the girl had so cleverly haggled for them both, as if they'd been partners for years---that was genius. Cupid hummed a few bars of music to himself as he traveled home to his wife and son.

The rooms Miko gave them were on the top story of the tavern, away from the noise of the barroom. They were clean, the beds in each room neatly made. Ro kicked her bed, and the only thing that fell out of it were a few wood chips.

"No bugs?" She was astonished.

"My wife uses rosemary in the ticking," Miko said proudly. "Bugs hate the stuff. We've got the cleanest rooms for ten leagues in any direction."

"I don't know about you," Joxer said, yawning, "but I'm about ready to fall into my very clean bed," he said, stretching. His armor jangled discordantly.

Miko smiled. "I'll let you get your rest, then," he said. You'll meet my wife, Lilae, tomorrow. She's visiting her mother with my two sons, across the way." He walked down the hall. "Goodnight, my merry minstrels."

"G'night, Miko," Ro called out. "Don't let the bedbugs bite."

Miko laughed loud and hard. "In this place? You must be kidding?!" They could hear his laughter down the hall and the stairs.

Ro looked at Joxer's armor. "Don't you have any regular clothes, Jox?" she asked, looking at his armor.

"Well, yeah," he said, "but I--"

"Wear them," she said firmly.

"But--" he started to say.

She held up her hand. "I don't know what you were planning on doing this week, but it seems the Fates decided to throw us together. I can't keep this job without you, but you've got to look the part. And minstrels don't-- wear-- armor," she said, poking him in the middle of his breastplate.

"But, Ro--"

"Joxer--"

He recognized that tone. It was usually the one that Gabby used, right before she grabbed his nose and pulled. He backed up quickly. "OK, OK, I'll lose the armor!" he insisted. "Happy?"

She smiled. "Blissful." She turned to the door of her room. "By the way," she said turning back, "Thanks."

"Huh?" Joxer could count on one hand the amount of times anyone had thanked him for anything--besides leaving.

"Thanks. For fixing my lute. And knocking those guys on the head." She turned to open the door. And thought of something else.

"And saying my name was pretty."

In the dim light of the lamp she was holding, all images of Gabrielle were banished from Joxer's brain. They were all replaced by this wisp of a woman, holding his gaze with onyx eyes and gentle voice. Her smile was like nothing he had ever seen, and he wanted to find a way to make her smile like that at him every single day. They stood there for a few moments, and Joxer reached over and took her free hand, and bowed deeply at the waist.

"My supreme and humble pleasure, my dear lady," he sighed. He stood back up. "Good night, Rochelle."

"Good night, Jox," she said. "Sweet dreams."

"See you tomorrow," he answered back at her closing door.

She stuck her head back out. "Without the armor," she admonished.

He nodded obediently. "Without the armor," he repeated.

"Night, Jox," he heard, muffled, through the door.

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