I'm unsure which 'fandom' this properly belongs in; large portions of it were undeniably inspired by the musical Jesus Christ Superstar. However, it isn't actually telling the story of that musical, nor am I specifically referencing any particular cast or production. By the same token, the original story is of course lifted from the bible, but I have taken liberties with that story as well. But then, since the official accounts don't all agree, who knows how it actually happened? If people really think I've placed this in the wrong category, please review and I'll switch it over to JC Superstar.

I am not going to defend the slash; this is a character study in betrayal as much as it is anything. I'm speculating on the motivations of a man (Judas Iscariot) who may or may not have lived more than 2000 years ago. Those who are going to gain anything from this will do so despite the slightly bent implications; those who are going to be turned off simply because of those implications are not in my experience interested in debate or opening their minds. Should you be one of the rare exceptions, I am of course willing to discuss the subject.

DISCLAIMER: I seriously don't own these guys. Pretty sure they're property of God these days.

One Little Kiss

Judas sighed as he sank wearily to a bench in the public gardens. Jesus and the other disciples were only a few houses away, lodging with another of the interminable hordes of supporters. Judas snorted. Supporters. They'd turn on him in a second; he didn't know why Jesus couldn't see it. They'd jump on the next inspiring speaker, the next bandwagon that happened along. And if Jesus didn't keep his head out of the clouds, their defection would probably hurt him deeply.

"Judas?"

Judas sighed. He supposed it really had been too much to ask that the other man wouldn't follow after him; they'd been too close for too long for Jesus not to have noticed his preoccupation.

"Yes?" Judas called, not bothering to get up.

Jesus sank onto a neighbouring bench. "What's the matter?"

Judas shook his head. "It's nothing."

"It's something, or you wouldn't have stormed out like that. Tell me? You've always spoken your mind to me. I'd be sorry to lose that."

Judas looked up into the kindest, most earnest, loving brown eyes he'd ever seen in his life, the eyes that had first made him follow this strange man, and sighed again. No way what he was about to say wouldn't change, even destroy, their friendship.

"Do you even see what's happening around you?" Judas wondered quietly.

Jesus blinked. "What do you mean?"

"They're calling you the son of God!" Judas exploded. "The son of God, Jesus! And you believe them! You've become a figurehead instead of a teacher, an empty vessel instead of a man! It can't end well. And you're starting to believe them! All it will take is one wrong word, one wrong move, and their admiration will turn to hatred. They'll hurt you. Because it's their image of YOU that matters now, not the things you say. Not to them."

"I -" Jesus paused. "I can't change it, Judas. This is how it has to be. It's what I'm meant for."

"Oh, damn your fate!" Judas cried. "Better if you'd never left Nazareth, and become a carpenter like your father! Do you think I'd have admired you less? Do you think your words would have been less worthy, coming from a carpenter than from the Messiah? You're just a man, Jesus!"

"I'm not," Jesus murmured. "Not anymore. You're right about that. They say I'm not. They make me what I am, as much as God does. It has to happen this way. Will you come join us? We're planning a trip to Jerusalem next week."

Judas shrugged. "I'll come in a moment." He waited till Jesus had moved out of the garden, out of earshot, before shaking his head. "They'll hurt you, and I can't bear that. If your followers don't, our oppressors in Rome will just to keep another sect from popping up. I just want us to live… just to live."

He quietly left the garden. If the man wouldn't listen to reason, then Judas would just have to stick to him like glue and make sure he came through this in one piece.

***

Easier said than done, Judas discovered when he got back to the town square and saw the crowds gathered to meet the man they were calling Saviour, Messiah, all sorts of names. He'd lost track of them all a few months ago. The bloody apostles were the worst of the lot, as far as he was concerned; oh, they believed in the message, but they were too awed by Jesus to see him as one of them, just a man who had bitten off more than he could chew.

Jesus was strange today; Judas hung in the background, watching as he met with the crowd. And then the woman appeared. She was a whore, Judas could see that from her clothing and the way she held herself. But Jesus didn't seem to care, allowing her to wash his face for him as though she was the lady of a great house. Judas snorted, and moved forward.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly.

"Hmm?" Jesus wondered.

"You can't have missed what she is," Judas hissed. "Do you ever think about what your actions look like to others? The Romans only need a small excuse to throw us all in jail, and here you are consorting with prostitutes!"

Jesus glared at him. "Listen to yourself! As if you have fewer sins on your soul than she does!" his voice rose. "Let anyone with a clean slate cast the first stone! None of us here are sinless! And it isn't as if any of you would care if they came for me!"

Judas paled and stepped back in shock, not joining in as the others protested. Not care if they came for Jesus of Nazareth? How could he think that? Judas would sooner cut out his heart and hold it warm in his hand than see this man imprisoned, chained. Couldn't Jesus see that? Couldn't he see that Judas did everything, said everything for his sake?

Judas closed his eyes. Not that he could blame the other man. What had he done recently but criticize Jesus' decisions and try to force him back into obscurity, away from the adoration of the crowds? Judas probably looked like the most jealous, worthless friend imaginable. And of course he was, but not in the way that Jesus had to be assuming. He'd never been jealous of the attention paid his friend. Never wanted it for himself, not the crowds, not the praise, not the attention, and definitely not the women. But he was jealous; jealous that those same things he had never wanted took Jesus farther from the quiet man he'd been when this started. Farther from the man Judas had first learned to love. Farther from Judas' side.

Well. He'd just have to control it, as he'd been controlling it for years. Stuff his petty jealousy back into whatever dark corner of his soul it had first sprung from, hide the depth of what he felt for this man, and go on as his right hand advisor. No other action was possible; beside Jesus and ignored was better than apart from him.

He turned back inside in time to see the whore – Mary, he thought her name was – anointing Jesus' feet with fine oil, oil she must have made herself. The raw ingredients wouldn't have cost her much more than a week's groceries, but the finished product would sell for a great deal more in the right markets.

"What are you doing?" he cried, storming over, good intentions forgotten entirely. Damn her for showing up just now, just when he was unsettled enough for her to force such childish reactions from him! "Woman, what are you doing? Your ointments are fine; we could have raised as much as three hundred silver pieces for the poor!"

Mary shrank from his anger, but Jesus stood to face him. "Do you think we can save the poor from their lot with three hundred pieces of silver? With three thousand, even? There will always be poor, Judas! Look around you!" he turned away, and offered a gentle hand to the woman.

Judas snarled and stormed from the room again, not sure where he was going and not sure he cared anymore. Maybe there would always be poor, but for a few days there could have been several families with enough bread to feed their children. Wasn't that why he'd loved Jesus in the first place? Because he did what he could, every little tiny insignificant gesture of charity that no one else cared to make? If even that had changed… if his new fame and renown had turned him into a man who didn't care that they could have fed even a few of those who needed it… or was it just that the size of what he was trying to do had finally sunk in? Was it not that he didn't care, but that he cared too much and was trying to save something of himself from the task he'd become? Judas just didn't know anymore.

"God," he whispered, slowing as his anger drained from him and turning back to the house that had offered them lodging. "I don't know what to do anymore… it's all falling apart, just as it should be coming together. And I can't control it anymore… I can't watch him in pain, being pulled in so many directions by so many people, and do nothing. I can't."

After several block of silence, he shrugged. God obviously had no answer for him. "I'll give it until Jerusalem. Next week. If nothing has improved by then, I will talk to him, tell him my concerns without shouting the way I have been. Just let me make it till then without losing my mind…"

***

Nothing could have prepared him for what met them when they entered the gates of Jerusalem. The crowds shouting and waving palm fronds before them, cheering the arrival of the King of the Jews with a voice that rose and rose, echoing, deafening, impossible to escape.

Judas tightened his lips and his hands on the rope of Jesus' mule, determined to bring him safe through the throng. They'd been offered lodging at Gethsemane, as usual when they came to the city; if he could just get them there…the others were too concerned with smiling and waving, stopping to speak to individuals who reached out to them. Judas couldn't be so relaxed; any one of these people could be a Roman, and any one of them could harm Jesus while the rest of them had their heads turned. He didn't care that it made him look cruel; if it got Jesus through alive, that was all that mattered. After the last week, throwing quiet fits of temper every time that woman was near – and she was always near – he didn't think his reputation could sink any lower, anyway.

They stopped at the temple to pay their respects, then moved on to the house at Gethsemane. It hadn't changed much since their last visit, but now it was crowded with people. And Jesus wouldn't turn any of them away. It was all Judas could do to grit his teeth and not throw them out, to let him rest; he didn't know what was going on, but Jesus had been getting tenser and tenser as they approached the city. Maybe after a few days, it would die down a bit. For now, all he could do was ensure that the Messiah found a bed before he fell on his face, then seek his own, too exhausted to dream.

"I'm going to the temple," Jesus announced the next morning. "I don't want anyone to come with me. There are things I have to do."

Judas frowned. "I don't like it. Someone should be with you."

Jesus shrugged. "Some things, I have to do alone. I'll be fine. Nothing can actually hurt me in my father's temple, you know."

Judas, who had seen more than one crime carried out on holy ground, snorted. But he let him go. What else could he do? He went to brush the donkey; it needed doing, and it would help him clear his head. There were just so many people, so many things that had never mattered before that suddenly mattered. They'd reached Jerusalem, and the problems he'd seen were no better, but what was he to do? Jesus would not listen if he tried to speak of them. There was an almost manic energy about the man these days, as if he had too much to do and too little time to do it in. Judas was almost afraid.

***

Tuesday. Another day, another endless stream of well-wishers, hangers-on, and idiots. Those who wanted him to cure them, to fix their lives. It drove Judas mad; not just that they thought they had the right, but that the ones who were clamouring the loudest for his help were not the ones who needed it most. Those who truly, desperately needed aid came quietly, if they came at all. He had to get away, just for an hour or two. Away from the crowds and the craziness and the desperation of seeing the man he admired so much, loved so much, buried under it all. Away somewhere where he could hear himself think.

Unfortunately, as was becoming common this week, what he needed and what he got were substantially different.

"Judas!" a voice called out, halting him in his tracks. "Judas Iscariot, it is you!"

Judas' breath left him in a huff of irritation. "Caiaphas. How… nice to see you," he greeted the other man.

Caiaphas snorted. "I doubt that. But come, I've just gotten out of a council meeting, and Annas is holding a bottle of wine for me. He'll be delighted to see you again."

Judas shuddered. There wasn't much he wanted less than to spend time with the two Pharisees, but he could think of no good excuse. He followed Caiaphas into a nearby tavern, somewhat grateful that the thick walls cut off the sound of the crowds. He wasn't sure how much more of any of this he could take. He missed the look exchanged between the other two as he slumped into his chair.

"You look like a man with a problem," Annas murmured sympathetically.

Judas snorted. "You have no idea."

Annas handed him a glass. "Here. Tell us about it."

Judas sipped the wine, debating internally how much he could say to these two, how far he could trust them. "It's the crowd out there. It's just so big."

Caiaphas made a sound of agreement. "Almost uncontrollable. There have been mutterings from the Roman governors. That's what the council meeting was about; we were trying to find some way of dealing with this Jesus fellow." Caiaphas suddenly perked up. "Say, you know him, Judas! You could help us!"

Judas blinked at him slowly, and put the wine down. "With?" he asked.

"Well, you could tell us where he's lodging."

"Why?" Judas asked. "What do you want with him?"

"Nothing bad," Annas assured him. "We've a writ for his arrest; we just want to hold him for a few days until the furor dies down a bit. It'll save a lot of Jews from feeling Roman whips."

Judas bit his lip. He didn't trust these men, but what they said was true. The kind of spectacle he'd just walked through… it was just the sort of thing that would send their Roman conquerors down here to deal with the "Jewish problem". What were a few nights in jail, compared to the safety of their people? And yet… how could he send Jesus to prison? The man had done no wrong. And Judas believed in him. Trusted him. Loved him.

"No," Judas decided. "Prison won't work. The crowd wouldn't calm down. He'd just become a martyr, a cause to rally them, even more so than he is now. He's not really in control of them anymore; he can't tell them to quiet. They stopped listening weeks ago; they revere him, but at the same time they can't see past their own narrow vision of who he is. He's like a child's toy, passed about from person to person, not allowed to be himself anymore."

The priests looked seriously at him, and Judas cursed himself. What was wrong with him this week? Why couldn't he control his mouth? He'd been doing just fine for years now, keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself! Why now, why when it was most important and most vital that he shut up and support Jesus as closely as possible, was he breaking down? He loathed himself for it.

"So he's not in control anymore?" Caiaphas wondered.

Judas sighed. He'd already said it; it couldn't possibly do worse harm confirming it. "Could anyone be in control of that mob? Did you even see the size of the crowd that came to meet us?"

"Tell us where he's staying," Annas asked gently. "We'll go have a word, arrest him if we have to, but it'll all be very quiet. Maybe we can get some kind of control back, without a big stir."

Judas, looking down at the table and troubled by his own thoughts, missed another sly look passing between the Pharisees. "Gethsemane," he murmured. "He'll be at Gethsemane on Thursday night." He was there now, but Judas hoped the day and a half in between would be enough to convince Jesus to leave, or go into hiding. Something, anything to save him.

A bag chinked onto the table in front of him. "For your trouble," Annas said.

"What's this?" Judas pulled his attention back forcefully. "Money?"

"For information," Annas confirmed.

Judas paled. "No. Oh no. What have I done? You wouldn't pay me just for telling you where he could be found."

"Consider it a donation," Caiaphas murmured reassuringly. "We know what you've been trying to do with the poor, funding food programs for them. Well, use this to help them while we're talking to Jesus, and maybe it will quiet things down more quickly."

Judas frowned. He was missing something, but… but there were so many who were starving, and this could at least feed the children. And Jesus really had lost control; would it be so bad if he was removed to the temple or something for a couple of days? Just until the crowd was less manic? Judas didn't know anymore. He had a funny feeling, like the walls were closing in on him. Every way he turned, it was the wrong way. The wrong choice, the wrong time, the wrong place. At least with this money, he might finally be able to do some good.

***

The meal Thursday night was simple; Judas was grateful for it. He didn't think his stomach could have handled anything heavier. He'd done his best to get Jesus to leave, but the Messiah had only smiled that curious sad smile of his and shaken his head, then gone back to his fans. Judas had given up now; he'd started looking for places to purchase good, cheap food with the money he'd been given. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be soon enough for everything, soon enough to start trying to save the world a loaf of bread at a time. For tonight, he would have a pleasant meal with friends. A pleasant meal with Jesus.

"This is the last meal I'll share with you," the man himself said, destroying Judas' equilibrium entirely.

"What?" they all chorused.

"It is. The wine you drink tonight is my blood, shed for you. The bread is my body, broken on your behalf. They'll come for me tonight. One of you will deny me; another will betray me."

The shock and outrage was clear on every face as they all rushed to deny any such thing, demanding to know what he was talking about. All but Judas; he sat silently, a headache rising behind his temples. Betrayal? Did Jesus mean him? But they were only going to hold him for a few days! Was that such a betrayal?

"Peter will deny me," Jesus continued serenely. Judas wondered if anyone else saw the pain in his eyes. "Three times. And another will leave to betray me in just a little while."

Judas couldn't take it anymore, either the other apostle's protestations of innocence or Jesus' quietly accusing gaze. "Don't be so dramatic. You know very well who it is," he snapped, anger rising as it had so often in the past couple of weeks. Anger at himself or Jesus, he didn't know. The table fell silent.

"Why don't you just go?" Jesus asked, voice finally starting to crack from its calm serenity.

"Do you want me to?" Judas snapped back. "Do you want me to betray you? Just get up and go?"

"They're waiting for you!" Jesus cried. "I know they are!"

"You know so much," Judas sneered. "Don't you know why? Why I do it?"

"I don't CARE why!" Jesus shouted, standing to face him. "You liar!"

At that Judas stood. "I have never lied to you!" he cried, well aware that he sounded hysterical. "You WANT this to happen! What if I just stay here? Stay here by your side? What then? Will the world stop turning? You set this in motion!" he couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. It was so clear now; Jesus knew his heart. Possibly better than Judas himself did. He'd used that, used that knowledge to drive Judas into the one act he alone of all the apostles could commit. The ultimate betrayal, justified by love, committed to save Jesus the only way he knew how. And prison was not the end; Judas couldn't believe he'd been desperate enough to believe that. None of them would come out of this alive.

"Hurry, you fool!" Jesus screamed back. "Save me your speeches, there's no time! Just go!"

Judas drank him in with eyes that suddenly shimmered with tears he'd never let fall, then turned and ran from the hall. It had all gone wrong, gotten so out of hand, and he didn't know how to salvage it. It was just so out of hand.

Caiaphas and Annas were waiting for him down the street, a company of Roman soldiers with them, and Judas shuddered. No temple confinement, this; the Romans would take him and his friends would never see him again. Judas couldn't even look at them.

"Is he there?" Annas asked.

"Yes," Judas murmured. "And all the apostles. He'll be there for several hours yet."

"We'll wait a while, then," Caiaphas decided. "Let them worry. Then you can lead us in."

Judas just shrugged. It didn't matter anymore. None of it mattered.

At last whatever hour they'd been waiting for seemed to come, and they nodded to Judas. He lead them forward, toward the house at Gethsemane where he'd spent so many content hours on visits before this one.

"Wait," Caiaphas stopped him before they passed through the entryway. "How will we know which is Jesus?"

Judas blinked at him, astonishment and hope rising. Did they really not know? But then, had any of them ever seen him? Most of them had just heard his name, shouted in the streets. Could Judas give one of the others up in Jesus' place? Save him?

Judas sighed. No. He couldn't. Jesus must have manipulated him to this for a reason; he couldn't go against the man's wishes, however mad he thought they were. And he would never be able to live with himself; giving Jesus up because, for some reason, Jesus wanted him to was one thing. Giving another innocent man up to this, to save the man he loved… Jesus would never forgive him, and he'd never forgive himself.

"A kiss of greeting," Judas decided. "By my kiss you will know."

Before they could respond he had gone ahead through the door, making his way swiftly into the dining room. The apostles were all flopped against the table, drunk or sleeping, he couldn't tell. Jesus himself was standing in the doorway to the gardens, as if he'd been waiting. He probably had.

"Did none of them stay awake with you?" Judas asked brokenly. "Did none of them wait?"

Jesus smiled bitterly. "They didn't believe me. Thought I was getting maudlin from all the attention. You know that none of them are close enough to see something was wrong. Not like you are."

"Better if one of them had betrayed you," Judas whispered. "They'll be here soon, to take you. Please, tell me why."

Jesus' eyes – those beautiful eyes that he'd always gotten lost in – softened. "Because none of them loves me as much as you, dear Judas. Because only someone who loved Jesus the man more than Jesus the Messiah would believably try to stop the things I was doing, try to keep me safe from the crowds. Safe from everything I was setting in motion."

Judas nodded. Somehow, he'd known that was the answer. "I don't want to do this," he whispered, hearing the guards enter the hallway at his back.

"I know," Jesus smiled slightly, proud and sad and wonderful. "But you will."

"I will," Judas confirmed. "Because you ask it." He moved forward before he could stop himself again, the other apostles stirring as the soldiers clanked into the room.

He intended it to be a light kiss, just a greeting between friends. The same token of affection he'd often shared with the other apostles after a long time apart, although never before this moment with this man. But Jesus' lips were soft under his, and Judas couldn't help leaning in, kissing the other man with a passion he'd been hiding somewhere deep in his soul for all the years they'd known each other. He held onto the moment, hand against the beloved face and lips locked together the only points of contact between them, until he heard the sound of drawing steel. He pulled back reluctantly, and Jesus' sorrowing eyes met him.

"Must you betray me with a kiss, Judas?" he asked softly, his voice carrying in the silence. "Put up your swords," he said, turning to the other apostles. "It's over, don't you see? It's all over, as I said. Put them up."

He walked calmly into the midst of the soldiers, allowing them to shackle him and escort him out. Judas fled; he couldn't face the others, couldn't face himself, couldn't face any of it. How could one endless moment of perfection be stolen from the midst of such horror?

He had some vague idea that it would look better in the morning, but nothing could have been further from the truth. He woke to cries, shouts in the street as people rushed past him to the square. He caught the names of Pontius Pilate and Herod, and shoved himself up off the bench he'd spent the night on. Nothing with their names attached could be good this morning. He followed the crowd, hiding in shadows to keep away from the apostles. He didn't know what they had said about Jesus' absence, and he didn't care to. He didn't know if Peter had denied him yet, and he didn't care about that either.

He could not in a thousand lifetimes have imagined the sight that met his eyes; Jesus beaten and bloody before the crowd. And those people, who the day before had cheered him and begged for his healing touch, today under the gaze of Rome cried for his bloody crucifixion. Judas turned from the scene; he couldn't bear it. Every welt he could see on Jesus' skin felt like it was branded onto his own soul in fire. How could a man be that beaten and still stand? And how could Jesus ever forgive the friend who sent him to such a fate?

All his life, the temple had been a refuge. Lonely, sad, in pain, poor, starving, and finally successful, he had always sought out the temple. First for his own salvation, later for the salvation of others. Now he ran to it, desperate for some kind of forgiveness.

Somehow he wasn't surprised to meet Caiaphas and Annas in the entryway. He wondered if they'd been present when Jesus was whipped, or if they were too cowardly to view with their own eyes the results of their actions. He threw the bag of silver he was still carrying at their feet.

"It's blood money!" he shouted. "Take it back, I don't want it! I never did want it!"

"Judas?" Caiaphas blinked, surprised at his appearance.

"My God," Judas gasped, the horror of it catching up with him. "I've just seen him. They beat him so badly I couldn't look! And I don't think he knows that my intentions were good! I'd have suffered for him if I could!"

"Now you're filled with remorse?" Annas sneered. "You didn't think of that when you were telling us where to find him, nor when you led us right to him. Thirty pieces of silver – pretty good price for one little kiss. Even one as passionate as that!"

Judas wished he could punch the smirk off Annas' face. As if the man had any idea what he felt for Jesus!

"Come now Annas," Caiaphas murmured mildly. "We should be praising Judas, not condemning him! After all, his actions have saved Israel!"

"Damn Israel!" Judas cried. "Damn the nation and damn you and damn me as well! Christ, I only did what you wanted me to! I only acted for the good of all, at your direction! God, forgive me, forgive me, my hands are red with innocent blood!"

Annas was opening his mouth to speak again, but Judas couldn't listen to whatever would come out. He fled again, back the way he'd come, back past the screaming crowd in time to see a crown of thorns pressed to Jesus' head. Blood matted the soft hair Judas had felt against his fingers only hours before, and pain clouded the eyes he still loved. He gasped and fled again, before he could see the crucifix lifted up to that flayed back.

Back farther in time, back to the last place he'd had even momentary happiness, the garden of the house at Gethsemane. The place was deserted, the others fled to save themselves – whether by going into hiding or joining the crowds trickling away to Calvary, Judas didn't care.

"I loved him," Judas whispered, hoping someone – God, maybe – would hear his confession. "I don't know why. He's not a God, he's not a King. He's just a man… just the same as any man I know. And yet he's so very different. And I loved him. He scared me so, made me feel things I'd never felt, think about things I'd never contemplated. God, did he love me at all? Or was he using me all along, just waiting for the moment when he could send me to bring his death? I've been used, by him, by God… God, why did you choose me for you crime? This evil crime!"

He wasn't sure he was actually thinking as he got a length of rope from the garden shed. His mind was playing tricks, replaying the moment he'd kissed Jesus, melding it into looking into his eyes as the crown of thorns cut into his skin. Could that even have been the same man? But of course it was. Judas had the rope around one of the sturdier tree branches by now. God wouldn't forgive him, that he knew. How could He? Judas couldn't forgive himself. He didn't care how necessary Jesus thought it had been. He'd take it all back if he could, suffer any torment himself, do anything rather than see Jesus as he was now.

"I loved him," Judas whispered again. Then there was only the wind blowing through the garden, and the creak of a rope that bore the full weight of a man's body as it swung in the breeze.

***

It was grey, that was all Judas knew. Not dull grey, but kind of silvery pearly grey. He floated in it. Nothing that had happened before that moment seemed remarkable; he could sort of remember that there was a before, if he tried, but it was misty and dim. Nothing that was to come mattered; he knew time moved forward, but somehow he seemed not to be moving anywhere with it.

Gradually he became aware of a lighter patch of grey. And then, as soon as he was consciously aware of it, it brightened beyond all belief. So bright it should have been painful to look at, and then brighter still, but still he stared into it. Just at the point where he thought he'd go blind it faded, and a man he felt he should know smiled at him.

"Judas," the man whispered quietly.

Judas gasped, and suddenly the grey space was replaced by a vista of beauty such as he'd never imagined, a vista that paled in comparison to the beauty of the figure standing before him in heavenly raiment, a crown of light upon his brow where last Judas had seen quite a different adornment. Only the eyes were the same, the bottomless, beautiful brown eyes.

"My Lord," Judas whispered. He'd never believed it, never wanted to believe it, but the man standing before him could be no other than the son of God. He knelt, averting his eyes.

"Judas, get up," Jesus commanded, and the voice was the same too, the same blend of affection and exasperation Judas was used to from their frequent debates.

He stood, looking into those eyes to block out the rest of their surroundings. "Where are we?"

"Heaven," Jesus smiled. "My father's place."

Judas shook his head. "I betrayed you. I sold you to the Romans."

"You did what I asked, what I commanded. How could you be condemned for following the will of God, for acting to save mankind? Whether or not you knew what you did, Judas, your actions have saved humanity. How could you be condemned?"

"But I betrayed you," Judas whispered again. Whatever else had come about because of his actions, he was guilty of that. Betraying not only the man he loved but the son of God, the Messiah he'd never believed in even while Jesus stood before him and preached about his father's kingdom.

"Oh Judas," Jesus murmured, smiling at him sadly. "Will you ever forgive yourself for what I forced you into?"

Judas shook his head numbly, but it was as much a denial of their present location as a denial of forgiveness. It was too much. He couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"What happens now?" Judas wondered.

"Now?" Jesus shrugged fluidly. "I return to earth for a while, to finish what I started. To make sure that they believe the message I brought. And then I return here, and rule at my father's side."

"And to me?" Judas wondered quietly. "Where am I to go?"

"Here," Jesus smiled. "All Heaven is open to you, Judas. Forever. For all eternity. There is no one here in need of salvation, no one going hungry, no one being abused. You may live in peace at last."

"By your side?" Judas wondered.

"If that is your wish," Jesus bowed his head. "But, Judas… I can never be what you once dreamed of me as. I couldn't have been that on earth, and I can't be that here."

Judas smiled humourlessly. "Perhaps that is my punishment, as much as it is my reward. Heaven and Hell together, as it were. It is enough. Just tell me… did you love me? Even a little?"

"Oh Judas," "Jesus smiled at him. "I have always loved you, just as I love all mankind. But you perhaps a bit more, for being a friend to me when I was just a man." His gaze grew distant as if he focused on something in the far distance. "I have to go back, for a little while. But I'll return soon," Jesus promised, smiling at him before he vanished as suddenly as he'd appeared.

Judas smiled sadly, and set about wandering slowly over his new home.

THE END