A/N: This could go with just about any version of JCS (except possibly the old movie, cause Ted Neeley's Jesus might be a bit too stately).

Slash warning? You'd have to squint hard. But you could.

What brings me back to myself is a scream and a thud. I open my eyes slowly.

Judas is there, not six inches from my face, scowling. "Yes," he anticipates, "You did it. Except one of the girls fainted and fell on her face." He shoves me. "How many times have I told you, you can't work wonders in front of pregnant women! Now everyone is worried about her!"

If this woman needs help, my own problems can wait a moment. I quickly and silently clear it with God first, then assure: "She's going to be fine. Just... give her some air, get her a drink of water..."

Judas shakes me a little. "There is no water, you ass - you just made it all into wine!"

Oh. Right.

He's obviously anxious about something, and it's not the woman. I'm not sure what, though; I'm not quite up to sleuthing just yet. I still feel glassy-eyed and out of it, and Judas as usual jumps on the opportunity to play big brother. "Hey: low profile, remember? Remember?" He cuffs me on the back of the head as if I'm some kind of unruly child... which, when I'm not this disturbed, I usually find adorable. "We talked about this. You have to be careful."

"You talked about it," I correct. "I listened, and didn't agree. For the last time, Judas: I know what I'm doing." I go around saying things like that, and it's no wonder he treats me like a child.

He helps me to my feet, but slowly, as if he knows my knees are stiff. I must have been praying for a long time. "Are you all right?"

The question surprises me. "Of course."

"You were... there for a while," he explains, hesitant and troubled. "Before you even asked Him about the wine. You were just..." I can feel myself trying to shrink back out of his grasp, to pull away gently, but he hangs on. "You looked upset. Tell me what's going on." I won't, so he begs, "Then just tell me everything's going to be all right."

But I won't tell him that, either. Not after what I just saw. All I can say is that everything will be as God wills it.

After a moment he nods. "You're right," he says. "God's watching over you; everything will be fine. I'll try to stop worrying." He kisses me on the cheek and wipes my forehead - praying in this heat is a sweaty business - and for one brief moment, until sadness and guilt make me run as far away from Judas as possible, I hide my face in his shoulder.

The End

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