Author's Note: This chapter responds well to Yoko Kanno's "Blue."

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"Not much further now..." The trio piled out of the elevator as the door slid back. They stood in some kind of barren lobby, and across the room was yet another door, leading to yet another room.

They crept as one to the rim of the portal, and gazed out at the backs of several stunned Red Dragon agents. A figure was marching with resolute slowness down a flaring staircase beyond them. A familiar figure.

As if in slow motion, Jet and Faye watched in horror as the Cowboy pushed past the massive ornate doors of the throne room. He looked as though he'd been steeped in his own blood, and moved as if even breathing hurt. But a self-satisfied smirk played over his features, and he pointed a quivering, weaponless hand toward the members of the syndicate that remained.

"Bang."

The hand lowered, followed by a shock of fuzzy green hair and sightless, bicolored brown eyes.

As he fell facedown onto the stairs, gunfire erupted from the far door.  Faye and Jet dashed for Spike's fallen form in the ensuing silence, ignoring the bloody chaos they'd just created.

Gren dashed right past them on the staircase, allowing himself only a single sideways glance to catch Faye's startled expression.

That's right, Faye. What did you think I was doing this for?

The main hall was just as dark as the emergency staircase had been, but rasping breathing led him to the body he sought.

Vicious, sprawled on the raised dais beside the three empty thrones. Appropriate place for a fallen king. Gren fell to his knees beside the still form, and fumbled for a pulse.

There it was, fluttering weakly. Thank God that Spike's aim had been off. The musician hoped for Faye's sake that her Cowboy hadn't bought the farm. He raised Vicious' shoulders from the floor and drew the older man's upper half into his lap.

"Vicious..."

"Gren...?" The soft word held a note of disbelief.

"You look like hell." Gren's mouth quirked in a halfhearted attempt at a smile.

"What are you...doing here...?" Still dazed, as though the pale blue eyes expected Gren's form to melt away even as they beheld him.

"Thought it was my turn to repay the favor and brood by your bedside for the next three weeks."

"It's a little...late for that."

"Don't say that."

Wordlessly, Vicious reached for one of Gren's hands and dropped it listlessly over the bloodsoaked bullet hole below his shoulder. For all his dealings with blood in the past, the younger man winced.

"Jet's got an ambulance headed out here. They'll take care of you." Gren soothed, even though he was sure Vicious hadn't a clue who "Jet" was.

"I bet they will." Came the dryly sarcastic response, and Vicious sighed heavily in defeat. "Is...Spike...?"

"I don't know."

"Oh." Vicious let his head fall to one side, eyes beginning to slide closed once more. Gren's grip on his good shoulder tightened.

"Don't you go away. Don't you dare go away from me, Vicious!"

A short, gutteral laugh. "Haven't had...revenge yet...?"

"That's right. I intend to get my revenge for being rescued when I wanted to die...for forcing me to live, even though I was done with living..."

"Life wasn't...done with you..." His breaths were coming even shorter, and Gren prayed that the paramedics would be there soon. "No," he agreed, "and it isn't done with you, either."

"Damn. I don't...even have...control of that...do I?"

"No."

-

Vicious looked up, into that pair of concerned, earnest blue eyes. Maybe he wasn't done with life, either...his lips curled into the ghost of a smile...

...his guardian smiled back...

...and the last thing he saw before blackness consumed him was the door flying open behind Gren's shoulder, white-garbed avenging angels dashing into the room to claim him as every corner flooded with divine light.

Funny...they should be devils...

He registered the red crosses on their sleeves...smiled again...and passed out.