Chapter Text
"You mustn't worry about so much." the tiny, squeaky voice murmured to the man by her side, their hands entwined as they walked. The man himself seemed unabated by the words, and after a moment of probable waiting, the woman spoke again. "I truly mean it. We can handle things on our own for one day. You don't need to worry about it all..." her voice trailed off into a silence she seemed to not much desire, and as her gaze floated out to the horizon before them, one certain man behind the pair, one whose focus hadn't left them for over an hour now, rolled his eyes, tried to properly behave.
Admittedly, he had always had a problem with her.
That was where this story began. That was where this story had to begin. She had always been annoying, plain and simple. She had always been a bothersome thorn in the side of their group, primarily the group's frontman, the group's leader of sorts. Judas had always despised that word, "leader". It felt too concrete, too holy, perhaps, though Mary never have had a problem with treating the man as such. Or at least she never seemed to have a problem with it. All of those nights sleeping by his side, all of those days spent walking at his side, holding his hand. It was absolutely sickening. From the start, she had been like that. The same old, prostitute she's always been, Judas had said once, unfortunately within earshot of a few of the others.
"Leave her alone."
"Stop whining, would you?"
Needless to say, Judas learned to keep his jealous remarks to himself.
Occasionally, though, when the majority of the group was far off or away enough to not hear his every word, he would mention his distaste to Mary herself. He didn't mean to offend, only meant to express his slight anger and annoyances. Peter wouldn't listen, Simon never listened to anyone, much less Judas. John was out of the question; he would be judged too much then, he was sure of it. Jesus was also out of the question; he would be lectured, told to not hold such malice in his heart. He didn't want a lecture and he surely didn't want to be judged. And so, the little bit of logic in his mind pointed to talking directly to the source of it all. That made perfect sense, didn't it? Surely she would listen, surely she would take in account the friendship that their leader and he shared. Surely, things would change.
"I'm simply repaying the favor." she would explain. Always something along those lines. Always in that same compassionate, eerily soft tone. Always in a quiet, forgiving voice that practically screamed "Stop picking on me!"
"I'm helping him since he helped me."
"He deserves it."
"He saved me, Judas."
He wouldn't argue. It was wrong to disrespect a woman of any profession, of any age and of any race or ethnicity. Sure, he couldn't stand that she once sold her body for coin. Sure, he couldn't stand how very close she was becoming with his best friend. And sure, he couldn't stand that annoying, irritating tone of hers. But he still wouldn't argue with her. He would just mumble something, mutter a sarcastic, witty response and go about his way. He wouldn't look back to her, not always. He didn't need to see her roll her eyes again, he didn't need to see that obviously annoyed expression spread across her face.
He didn't need to see how he had upset her.
He had seen that all before, a few times when he had been either too curious or too dumb to watch her react to his words. It hurt a little, the sight of it all.
Ah, who was he kidding? It hurt a lot. Too much, actually, and he didn't like it.
She was dirt, filth, grime. She was to be below him
(not like that damn it)
and nowhere near as important as him. She was to be just another friend, just another sister. Even if she crawled beneath his skin and (he swore it to be) purposely poked and prodded at him with her little voice of false innocence and manufactured dignity and pride, she was still meant to be below him
(damn it stop that)
and less important. Yes, that was what it was. Less important. Not more important, as she seemed to believe. As Jesus seemed to believe. As everyone seemed to believe.
"Judas?" a tiny voice caught his attention, and as light eyes shot to meet dark, he actually caught a glimpse of a smile. It wasn't a friendly, polite one, though. No, it was the sort of smile a scheming, mischievous little child would show to an older sibling. Still, it held a strange sense of gentleness, of compassion. Why she insisted on showing him such things even after all that had occurred was beyond him, but he wouldn't protest. Not now, anyway.
"Yes?"
"We're setting up camp soon. I think we all need to rest."
He gave her a knowing nod, a quiet, nearly inaudible sigh. A smile once she looked away. It all felt so strange, so odd, so secretive. Maybe a good night's sleep would make it all go away. Probably not, he thought, but maybe.