Second installment in my little Bebop series. This one is from Vicious's pov, reflecting on a turning point in his relationship with Spike. The setting is the infamous episode five, as anyone who has seen the series will probably notice, and anything between slashes (/ /) is a direct quote of dialogue from the ep. Not mine, I'm not claiming it.

Characters aren't mine either, just so there's no confusion. (As if there could be, right?) And the slash warning needs to be upped a little from last time, as things are a bit more blatant. Only a bit, though. This is pretty tame, folks.

~*~

Mere minutes, now.

Moments.

That's all that stood between them.

And strangely, all that remained.

His lips twitched in the ghost of a bitter smile.

Vicious stood at the head of the black, battered cathedral, head bowed in a sort of reverence to the unearthly glow of the stained glass at his back. Light reflecting against the matte silver of his hair, he looked almost angelic.

/When angels are forced out of heaven, they become devils./

Almost.

Such time had passed, and it ached strangely at the base of his spine to think the gap so rapidly, so suddenly closing. He wanted to move, could feel the proximity of it pulling at him from every direction and also pushing back in the same moment. Jump into the chasm or step away from the edge. Throw down and run or stand and fight.

Anything but this.

The smile widened, the corners of his mouth lifting to press against the thick, dark air weighing heavily on his face.

When was the last time he'd had that thought?

Ah yes.

That night.

*The* night.

It had been a particularly bloody battle, but oh was Spike ever good company in a fire fight. The man had a way with a gun, that much was undisputable. And as the last enemy fell and his friend kissed him casually, if not customarily on the cheek in blazing-eyed celebration, something just snapped inside Vicious.

More like shattered, maybe.

Broken pieces, protruding from his flesh.

He turned his head suddenly, catching with his mouth the offhanded graze of lips intended for the opposite side of his face. Spike froze for only a second, his attitude shifting in a way Vicious could sense by the sharp crane of his elegant neck. Predatory, hunting. Tasting. Devouring.

/Do you have any idea what you look like right at this moment, Spike?/

The kiss was just a breath too long to ever be thought accidental. Spike pulled away, his chest rising and falling in a sort of hard, measured deliberation. His brown eyes focused into sharp points of *something*, something raw and dangerous, but Vicious couldn't even begin to make a more specific guess.

Anger. Lust. Triumph. Defeat.

There was a smile lingering in that fired brown, a blatant arrogance Spike held inside himself and just barely away from the straight line of his lips.

Restraint. Who would have thought.

He blinked, a slow and oddly solemn gesture, before turning to leave the alley, hands stuffed deep in his pockets and head hung low in his usual posture. His shoes tapped softly against the wet pavement, carrying him away.

So close.

So close...

But to what?

That much had never been quite clear.

And here he was again, so close.

The heavy door of the cathedral labored open, loud creaks echoing between the pews and against that great barrier of rosy glass.

Moments, and now nothing.

He smiled faintly again, just as Spike stepped into the light.

Yes. Nothing indeed.

~*~