On a cold starless night, in a dirty hotel room, in a city without a name, they relived the past once more. This would be the last time.

He had been shot, then pushed out a window, but he was alive. He was invincible, this man, Spike Spiegel. Nothing could stop him, and nothing could kill him, except for the pair of hands currently tearing at his shirt.

Vicious looked down at him, his eyes piercing into to his, and he kissed him. It was rough, and there was not only tongue but also teeth, but that was one of the things about the man that Spike had missed so much during his time on Bebop.

His pale lips bit into Spikes, drawing blood, and then he made his way down his chest, kissing him ferociously. It had been to long, and they both were starving.

Hands grabbed, caressed, and scratched flesh. Mouths kissed, licked, and pierced.

"It's not enough." Vicious growled in his ear.

Pants were thrown to the floor, and wounds were reopened. Vicious had the injured man on his knees, and fucked him hard. It was the most painful thing imaginable, making love with him, but it was one of the things Spike had been dying for during his time on Bebop.

They both had been starving.

The sheets were filthy, sticky, and wet, but they just lied there, next to each other. Neither of them would say it, they never had.

So they just remained silent, secretly praying the night would never end.

As the first rain of sunlight crept its way through the window, into there dark world, the blonde lifted himself from the bed. He gathered his clothes from the floor, and reluctantly put them back on.

Neither of them would say it, they never had. So hoping was pointless.

Vicious smiled and looked down at him. Bruised, bandaged, bloody, his dark messy hair covering half his face. He reached down and brushed it away, then kissed his eyelid, the one covering the eye that was in the past. Spike's past, there past.

He placed two of his fingers over the other, putting pressure on it, wanting to rip it out. To keep him out of the present, so that he would only see what Vicious wanted him to see. And that was him.

"That wouldn't change anything, now would it?"

He placed his head on the other man's chest, and listened to him breath. A slight smile spread across his face, there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

He stood then, picking up his sword from the side of the bed. "You know I'm awake." Spike's eyes now open; he looked up to see nothing but the back of his head, his long blonde hair slightly damp from sweating last night.

"I'll never let her have you." Vicious whispered, so that it almost went unheard. Spike smiled, and reached his hand out to him "You can have it if you want." He pointed to his eye. The eye that saw the present. It was the present that was keeping them apart.

Why did they never say it?

"I guess you don't want it then." Spike looked down to see his gun in his hand. "You were always watching out for me, weren't you?"

"I was always watching you." Vicious replied, already half way out the door.

"Next time I see you, you'll be dead." He tightened his grip around the sword, then turned to see Spike now standing, leaning on the edge of the bed. The sun was already about to rise, the night was over.

"I'll be looking forward to it." Spike was smiling now as he watched his old partner walk out the door. Spike just listened as the sound of his footsteps grew fainter. He poured himself some whisky, and laughed at how everything had ended up.

"We never could just the word 'love', could we?"