Author's Note: Aaaaand...we're back to "Space Lion."

------------------------------------

When the pale eyes opened again, the first thing they saw was the too-white institutional ceiling tile. Tiles again, he could have cursed. There's even tiles in Hell.

Or laughed until he cried.

And there at his bedside was a mane of blue-black hair, dripping with honey-slowness over a pair of forearms, folded on the mattress. He lifted one wire-encumbered hand and gently stroked the fringe of hair to one side, revealing the sleeper's face. Gren. But he'd known that.

A dreamy, groggy blue eye slid open, followed by the other. They fixated on him wtih mild disbelief, and a slender hand flickered up to brush the errant strands out of the way with impatience. "Vicious...?" He asked, hesitantly.

"Mm." Trying to speak reminded him that his shoulder hurt, and his eyes squeezed momentarily in pain.

"Hey...you've been out for more than a week. The doctors say…you're going to be just fine…"

He caught the hesitation of the younger man's voice. "And Spike…?"

Gren's gaze dropped to the sheet, which he smoothed absently. Vicious refused to be put off.

"And Spike…?" he asked again, more firmly.

"I…they don't know. Faye said…he had internal bleeding even before you…I mean…"

"…tried to kill him."

Gren winced, but didn't continue on the topic. "He's still asleep. I checked on him this morning." He dropped a gentle hand on the man's good shoulder. "You should go back to sleep."

"Julia is dead."

The three words drilled through Gren's heart like a laser blast…like the point of Vicious' sword. He closed his eyes, and refused to let the silver-haired man push him away with them.

"I know."

"Then why-"

"Because I don't blame you, that's why I'm here."

"You should."

"Why? You didn't pull the trigger."

"You don't understand." Vicious turned his face away, towards the window. Gren studied his profile, glowing in the warm light even as the sun glinted across his lovely silver hair. Such a tortured soul… "What don't I understand?"

"I wanted her to die," The bedridden man answered, without turning from his examination of the pink sky beyond the window, "you don't know how much I hated her."

Daybreak rose, absurdly golden-bright. He snarled silently at the light to go away...to never return...

Gren propped his chin on one palm, and rested cool fingers on Vicious' forearm. "Oh, don't underestimate me that much," he retorted, voice gently chiding, "I knew why you took her away from me. And don't give me that bullshit line about orders. Sure, you had to bring her back to the Syndicate when she ran…but you really relished getting to kidnap her, didn't you?"

"I wasn't trying to hurt you, if that's what you're getting at." He still had yet to turn, but the clench of his jaw hinted at what was going on in his head.

"That is not what I was getting at," Gren continued softly, "you were trying to protect me from her…weren't you?"

"That woman was poison."

"I know. But at least she meant I wasn't alone."

"She was the reason I was alone." Vicious shifted a little, recoiling from the man at his bedside, and grunted in pain. "I wanted to see her watch Spike die…I wanted to see a part of her die. Just the way she watched me die. Spike was the only thing she really cared about."

"She didn't care about you." Gren added calmly. Icy blue eyes snapped onto his. "I don't need a therapist."

"I don't claim to be one. But seeing as I have your full and enforced attention, I intend to get some answers. And if along the way, you find some, too...well, the better for both of us."

Vicious sighed in exasperation, but the conclusion was foregone. They spent the better part of two hours battling back and forth with words like an insane, unseen game of chess. They took turns, bashing at each other's long-standing walls of defense, withdrawing, and charging again, even as their own battlements crumbled around them. Finally, down to chasing each other's kingpieces around the conversation, Gren called in his knight and pinned his opponent.

"Tell me why you don't need comrades."

Vicious blinked. "You…remember me saying that?"

A nod. "How could I not? And I've been wanting an answer to that for years."

-

It had been a long night. Vicious knew that in the morning, the battalion would be headed home…and that a trial awaited Eckener, even though the poor youth had no idea what was about to befall him. Vicious knew what he had to do. Had to make Eckener hate him. It would be so much easier for the black-haired man to deal with, if he no longer trusted the other soldier.

Neither one pretended that their relationship didn't exist, and the rest of the men seemed to take it fairly well, provided that they were spared from watching.

He calculated the timing of his words to hurt the most, and steeled himself for what he had to do.

"You do realize that this is the last time." He murmured coldly, as Gren fell panting against the army-issued pillow. Around and below them were the gentle, deep snores of their bunkmates. The younger soldier tried to draw Vicious down to lie with him, but the other had already moved away, legs dangling over the edge of the upper bunk.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Gren asked, yanking the thin sheet around his shivering form as he suddenly felt very, very exposed. Vicious raised his eyes to bore into the innocent blue.

-

The man had never looked so fragile before, and even now, the memory of his wide-eyed expression of horror was burned into Vicious' mind.

"I…"

-

"This is the last time we're going to…do this." He'd let his voice drip with feigned disgust, his lip curl ever so slightly. An ironic tendril of thought as he wondered why he'd never become an actor. A dagger twisted in his soul as the weight of his words sank in, and as Gren's face became a contortion of anger, fear, and suicidal sorrow.

Betrayed. But as always, the youth had clung to hope, however impossible. "But I thought…"

"Thought what?" The cold was going to kill him, but nevertheless, he held to the ice just as Gren clung to hope; forced it into his voice, forced it into the very air around him. "Thought that things were never going to change? You're an idyllic idiot, but you always were."

Gren flinched and drew away with a little moan of denial, and inside, Vicious was screaming. He turned away, face washed to silver by the starlight filtering through the skylights in the bunk tent.

"I thought that you were my friend. My comrade." The obvious hurt in the words made him grit his teeth.

"Comrades are for those with the luxury to trust."

"So you don't trust me?"

"I never did," Every nerve burned with dissent, begging him to refute the words he never meant. If he didn't leave soon, he was going to break down completely. "trust is for the weak."

"And so comrades are for the weak."

"Now we understand each other. Goodbye, Eckener."

He left Gren alone then, and returned to his own bunk, where he quietly went insane. It was impossible to sleep when the muffled sobs over his head began.

-

"I…"

"Go on." Gren's voice was patience itself. He'd obviously been waiting for this chance for a long, long time. A few more minutes of hesitation wouldn't kill him.  Vicious took a deep breath, jaw clenching at the dull ache in his shoulder.

"I never meant any of it. I did it…because I needed you to hate me."

"So you thought I could just hate you…just like that?" Gren snapped his fingers.

"It would have made my betrayal easier."

"You're doing it again. You're being cold about it. How can you think that your betrayal could ever be easy on me?"

"Sorry."

"You're sorry?" The musician echoed in surprise.

"I've been sorry ever since I did it, damnit!" He was pushed far past caring about his reputation. He didn't need it now, Lord knew. "You don't know how much it hurt to lie. To hear you crying...know it was my fault. It would hurt worse if you found out when you thought I still…" his voice refused to take any more abuse, and his throat closed.

"When I thought you still? Vicious, I never thought you did! I thought you were just…using me." He swallowed hard enough for the other man to hear.

Vicious gulped. "Can you remember…any time other than that night…when it seemed like I was just…using you?" His voice dripped with distaste, as if even the thought was revolting. Gren's eyes lit with hope. "No…"

"There's your answer, then." The silver-haired soldier leaned back, spent. Just as the musician rose to his feet and leaned over him. "No, it's not. If you go cold on me again, so help me, I'll…"

Vicious lifted his chin, recovering his old humor, and produced a smirk. "You'll what?"

A fall of blue-black hair curtained his jaw as Gren proceeded to demonstrate exactly what he would do.

A step was made. A small step towards forgiveness…one to the other, and Vicious to his own soul. And as Gren slid to sit on the mattress beside him and wrapped his arms gingerly around the other's neck, the pain of the years passed away.

The pain of the years...

Dark hair tangled with light, as lips sought lips in the shelter of the musician's mane.

It was a small start. Not much, but with time...

...even fallen angels could find heaven once more.

See You Space Cowboy...

-------------------

Final Note from the Author: It seemed like a good time to end the original story here. After all...it's got to end some time, and isn't it an interesting role reversal that the fiction began with Gren being loomed over by Vicious?

I do, however, have a sequel in mind. Already started. Not a long one, but long enough. The questions I didn't answer here will be answered there, I sincerely promise. ^_^