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There was a sudden sound, like water rushing past his ears, and Grayson simply stared. His hands tightened around Jude's shirt, now bunched up and halfway toward being discarded, and he stared. Not at the tattoo, not at the battered body that spoke of struggle and victory, not even at Jude's face. He simply stared where Jude was without seeing him, thoughts a veritable whirlwind. Tristan came in behind him, started shoving wet towels at him, and he turned slowly, naked shock in his face.

"Jude saved your life?"

It wasn't that he didn't believe Jude would do it - far from it. Jude was Sailor Sagittarius, even when he shoved his henshin pen into Grayson's hand. Jude was a Zodiac, and that meant he fought against evil, even when evil had a face he knew and the victim was someone he may never see again. No, it wasn't that he didn't believe it could happen, just that he didn't know how to respond to him, knowing that it had.

Tristan may have answered, he wasn't sure. Grayson's eyes were all for Jude, and there was a raw gratitude in them that had certainly never been there before, a naked appreciation in his face. He grabbed the towels, and though his hands shook, he wrung the water over the wound, not caring as it streamed pink and soaked his bed. Though he knew it would hurt, he touched the towel to Jude's side as gently as he could, cleaned the wound as quickly as possible.

It was difficult, but he tore his gaze away from Jude's face, raked his eyes over the wound. It had bled a lot, but it wasn't too bad. He didn't need the hospital. This kind of thing - Grayson had patched this kind of wound before, in the not so distant past.

But he'd never been tending the wound of someone who had saved his brother's life.

His voice sounded surreal to his own ears as he said, "Tristan, go away, please."

He was grateful - there could be no mistake.

He was, perhaps, more grateful in that moment than he had ever been, even when his own life had been restored to him.

But, warring with the powerful admiration he suddenly felt for Jude was a terrible, smothering guilt.

Jude Lawson had saved his brother's life.

While Grayson was in the shower.

While Sailor Leo was in the shower.

Grayson ignored Jude's struggles to keep from crying out as best he could; commanded a sharp Now, Tristan when his brother hesitated. That was all the encouragement the younger Graves needed, and he was gone in an instant, the door closing with a damning click behind him. Tristan had seemed fine, so he wasn't Grayson's main concern. Once he had Jude taken care of, he would talk to his brother, see what he knew, help him forget what he didn't need to remember. Just then, his priority was cleaning Jude's side, then seeing if he had something to help with that fever.

His face was a mask of concentration, though there was obvious strain around his mouth as he ruthlessly continued to clean the wound. When it was satisfactory, he reached under his bed, pulling out a storage box full of bandage and gauze - at least some things remained the same - and wordlessly fished around for ointment.

He squeezed some on his fingers, eyes flicking to Jude's face. "Sorry," he breathed, and smeared it along his side.

Grayson wasn't good at doctoring wounds. He was decent, if decent meant it would allow Jude to limp along until someone better could take care of him. But he would do what he could, and as quickly as he could. He didn't let the shallow gasps, the oaths that had been bitten off at the last second, deter him - he simply taped gauze to his side, pressed his fingers to the edges of it to make certain that it adhered.

Then, when the worst was over, he looked back at Jude again, finally. This was not the look Grayson normally gave Jude; it wasn't even the look Leo normally gave Sagittarius.

This was the quiet, still look of a man who was truly seeing the person before him for the first time.

"You saved Tristan's life." Though his voice was rough, it wasn't from unshed tears; there would be no tears.

There was a moment of silence, and he said abruptly, "I'm giving you Tylenol." and he was reaching in his medical supply box again, pulling out a container of pills and a bottled water.

He set the water next to Jude, shook pills out into his hand. "Take them."

There was a spark of Jude there, but it was too small, oppressed beneath the fatigue and pain that came from battle and sickness. He hadn't even been able to jostle the pills, and Grayson's brow creased. Normally, he would have let Jude be stubborn.

Normally, Jude was not lying on his bed, breathing shallowly, his blood soaked through Grayson's clean cotton sheets.

Without waiting for him to acquiesce, Grayson forced the pills past his lips, held up the bottled water with an expression that wasn't judging, but was still so very still. So very unlike Grayson.

"Swallow, Jude."

That was probably something Jude had never really wanted to hear from Grayson, all things considered.

Grayson had half-expected to be bitten.

Of course, half-expecting it as he was, he was also half not expecting it.

Hissing, he snatched his hand away, curling his fingers against the hollow of his throat as he frowned at Jude. While he wanted to snap, he bit his tongue, knowing that Jude was in pain, and above all, was still Jude. He should have never thought for a moment that Sagittarius would submit to being tended, not without a struggle.

At least he'd swallowed the pills. Even if he'd choked on them.

Grayson set the water bottle down, brushed his hand along one of the cuts on Jude's shoulder. Superficial, but still there. Had it been caused fighting the youma? Possibly. Would it heal? Certainly, and faster than many of the others.

Still, he knew he would remember every nick, every graze that stood out harshly against pale flesh. He would remember, because Jude had sustained injury protecting his brother.

"I..." Jude might have been staring at him, but Grayson's eyes were only for the wounds. He dropped his hand to the bed, curled his fingers in the sheets around Jude.

For once, it seemed like Grayson was having difficult articulating himself.

How strange.

"Thank you." Finally, his eyes rose to Jude's, a solemnity in them.

What came next wasn't planned, couldn't have been anticipated by his own parents.

"I love you." A breath. "Thank you."

It wasn't romantic; it wasn't anywhere near. It was quiet and serious, as horrifying as it was honest. Because Jude had saved Tristan's life, Grayson loved him. He didn't like Jude particularly well, still didn't even consider him a friend, though that was more to do with Jude's reservations than his own. No, this was not the sort of love that Jude and Hero had, this was not even the sort of love that Tristan and Grayson had.

This was love born of gratitude, of admiration, of a bone-deep debt. This was a love that said in exchange for what you've brought back to me, I would give my own life in return.

Not because Jude meant that much to him.

Jude didn't mean much to him at all, really.

Because Tristan meant that much to him.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Grayson had known they wouldn't be well received. He didn't even flinch when Jude spewed venom at him, fought against the hurt that seized his chest. They weren't friends - certainly not, Jude hated him - but that was all right.

It didn't change the fact that Grayson would, from that moment on, owe him more deeply than he did any other human being. That was fine. Whether Jude hated him, or felt nothing for him at all, he would still love him. He would still fight beside him, in front of him, behind him - wherever he could. Nothing had changed, really, in the way Grayson would treat him, in civilian or senshi form.

But everything had changed. Grayson now cared about Jude Lawson, and not just Sailor Sagittarius.

It cost him, but he kept his expression even, his voice level when he responded to Jude. "You can hate me if you like."

That was nothing new, right?

Well. It probably was.

There was such anger emanating from Jude that it was almost tangible. Grayson rose, one hand slipping behind his neck, massaging it beneath his unbound, wet hair.

It was probably easier for both of them that he didn't look at Jude.

"I should go." This was his room; he was leaving? "You need to sleep."

He paused at the door, hand curling around the tarnished brown knob. He hardly expected Jude to listen to him, to stay in his home when he was so obviously repulsed by him. Still, that didn't change the concern, didn't alter the hope that he would remain. "Take care of yourself, would you, Jude?"