A/N- Okay, this is a compilation of five drabble-like things that occur right before the events in the songfic series. Please enjoy the angst. Also, the next chapter of CtM is halfway through, so yay! Enjoy the read, and I look forward to any reviews.

Makoto didn't normally drink. Tonight, though, she thought she might have a glass of red wine with the pasta she'd whipped up. So she opened a bottle of Chianti (yes, she knew how cliché that was, she just didn't care; Chianti really does go well with pasta) and set the table. For one. As always.

She sighed. Honestly, she didn't know why she didn't just eat out of the pot. Really, there was no reason to dirty her serving dishes. Still… It was just more civilized, she thought. Even if it was lonely.

She ate the pasta, enjoyed the tang of the light tomato basil sauce, drank her wine. Drank more wine. Drank wine until the bottle was less than halfway full. As she looked at her fifth glass of wine a little hazily, she could admit to herself why she'd opened the bottle. I miss him. She hated acknowledging that. He betrayed me, broke my heart, tore apart our kingdom, killed me, and…I miss him. She carefully set the glass down before she drooped forward and cradled her head in her hands, elbows on the table.

It was the same battle every time. Fight not to remember, fight not to care, fight not to cry. Fight her heart with her head. Sometimes she won; most times she lost. This time was one of the latter. She felt the heat of her own tears and despised herself for them even as she couldn't stop. I shouldn't, I shouldn't miss the bastard…

But she did. She missed his voice, the soft, mellow tones of it like melted chocolate. She missed his eyes, the warmth and distant look of dreaming always in them. The memory of his hands, his soft, gentle hands, still haunted her with occasional phantom touches on her shoulder, hand, cheek. And the worst thing of all? No matter how many men she tried to date, that ephemeral caress was the one she craved, and could never again have.

"Damn you, Nephrite," she whispered, her voice thick with the tears she'd cried, the ones she knew she'd cry again. Slowly, almost painfully, she rose from the table and swiped at her eyes briefly, rubbed out the last traces of her hurt. Her cleanup wasn't as brisk as it normally was, but it did get done. When all that was left was the mostly empty bottle of wine she stopped for a moment and looked at it. Then she corked it and stuffed it in the fridge to use in cooking later; she wouldn't waste anything she didn't need to. With that, she went to bed, and to dreams that left tears on her pillow.

000

Rei tried to resist. Every night she came to meditate, and every night she struggled against the self-destructive urge that came upon her. Just one more time, that's all, just once more…became her chant as she reluctantly gave in to it, the promise one she'd made many times.

Her hands went through the familiar motions, and the fire flared. There he stood, wreathed in flame. "Jadeite…" her whisper came hoarse and yearning. Hair golden as the sun, eyes bluer than the hottest flame, and that smile that melted her heart even as she loathed him for it. Straight as an arrow he stood in her fire, a perfect image, statue still. I won't make it worse, this time, she vowed, I won't, I won't… She stayed strong for a minute or so before she crumbled. Just once more...

A flicker of will, and the statue came to life. Eyes flashed with the spark of life and laughter, mouth quirked in that sardonic smile, a hand swept through short hair. His arms opened and he looked at her, called her name in a silent mockery that broke her heart all over again. Anger, longing, hate, grief, and love burst in her chest, and she staggered to her feet, took a single step towards him.

Emotion flashed across her face for an unending moment as she wavered before this reflection of the man she'd loved, still loved. Finally she fell to her knees, and banished his likeness from her fire with a slashing motion. Only then did she realize she was crying as her fingers danced across her wet cheeks. She looked at the moisture on her fingertips briefly, then clenched her hands into fists, uncompromisingly hard. The pain of nails biting into flesh was nothing compared to the raging feelings that whirled inside her heart. So much anger, so much furious anger...she couldn't hold it all in, it was going to claw out of her... She bent her head, breathed in, and exhaled. False calm settled over her; it was enough for now.

She left the fire, settled into bed. Her eyes closed, and she knew what she'd dream of tonight. This was the last time, she murmured to herself, but she knew. She knew she'd torture herself tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. She even knew why. Because as much as she hated doing it, much as she wanted to hate him…she couldn't help but bring him to life for that one transitory moment each night; it was all she would ever have of him again, and she wouldn't give that up. She sighed, and turned over, and as her hand reached out to the man she never expected to truly see again, she slipped into sleep.

000

Ami swam harder. She pushed her body, goaded her muscles into more, more, more. Her form cut through the water ruthlessly as each breath burned in her chest. Stroke, stroke, harder, faster. She flipped, feet braced against the wall of the pool, and thrust. One more lap, one more…

When she reached the other end of the pool she surfaced, gasped. It's not working…it never works… She shook her head, flung water everywhere. Tried to pretend that the droplets on her cheeks were from the pool. Hands on the rough edge, she pulled herself up, turned to sit with her legs in the water. Bent over to cover her face with her hands.

Why can't I forget? I just want to forget…these memories are too cruel. She wearily dropped her hands, the light from the pool reflecting up at her, those lights the only illumination in the building. The apartment staff had turned off all the other lights at ten as they always did; no one knew about her midnight swims, nor did she want them to. Using the indoor pool allowed her privacy, and the fact that being inside a building meant no one would hear her splashing was also pertinent.

Blue eyes stared down into the depths of the water, but they didn't see the bottom of the pool. A man stood there, a man with wavy, strawberry blond hair held back in a ponytail, a man with laughing green eyes and a mischievous smile. She saw him sitting quietly with a book, bent over schematics furrowing his brow, laughing with his friends and comrades in arms, holding a hand out to her, holding her close, kissing her… She closed her eyes against the memories. No…

Her breath hitched briefly. "Remembering you hurts so much, Zoisite…" Her confession echoed off the walls, surrounded her with his name. She wrapped her arms around herself, tried to pretend it was him. "I miss you, love…" A broken admission, drawn from her reluctantly. My fault, her mind whispered viciously. My fault he's gone, didn't protect him well enough, didn't explain things well enough, didn't show him I loved him enough… Her knees drew up, and she hugged them to her as she lowered her forehead to them, eyes still closed.

"I'm sorry…" She said it every night, that tear-choked apology. She didn't say it near enough. When she could breathe again around the guilt, she reached out a hand for her towel and stood up, dried off, and made her way back to her apartment. There she showered and dressed in her pajamas, then slipped into bed and turned off the lights, another night gone without him.

000

Minako pounded on the bag. Left, right, kick, left, right, kick… Sweat dripped off her, and the only reason it didn't get in her eyes was because of her neon orange headband. Though it wasn't working as well as usual, she tried to tell herself as her sight blurred. Left, right, kick, left, right, kick… She breathed in rhythmic puffs, and the sound of impact on leather filled her ears.

Left, right, kick, switch, right, left, kick, right, left, kick… Each blow sent tremors through her, quivers of reaction to the thoughts she attempted to suppress. She centered herself in her physicality, stubbornly refused to think. Right, left, kick, right, left me, left me, he left me…dammit! Mina exploded against the bag, then sagged against it as it swung back towards her. She thumped one fist against the black surface half-heartedly. Damn it. Her forehead rested on the bag and she closed her eyes against the sting in them.

Set free, her thoughts transformed her reality. The leather of the bag she leaned on became the firm surface of his chest in his armor, the ache in her muscles became the aftermath of an afternoon of loving. Then everything twisted; the burn in her lungs caused by his sword through her, the salt on her lips no longer of sweat but of blood. She wrenched her eyes open with a muffled cry.

"Kunzite…" His name was a low moan, infused with anguish. She blinked slowly, cleared her head of the sensations of memory, bittersweet and so there that it took her a minute to shake them off. A sob wracked her for the split second they lingered before she asserted her steely control once more. She gazed soberly at the black leather in front of her face. Enough for today, I think. It won't make a difference, anyways, if I keep going. Already did my work out, and it's not going to keep the thoughts away. As if it ever does… She pushed away from the bag and wiped an arm across her brow, by all appearances back in possession of herself. She gathered her things and walked out of the gym as if her heart weren't breaking as it did every day she lived without him, and made her way home to her empty bed, where she lay herself down and prayed not to dream.

000

Usagi looked out the window and sighed.

Mamoru looked over his paper at her, slightly bemused by the sight of his wife so dramatically disconsolate and posing on the window sill. "Is there something the matter, Usa?" She turned surprisingly somber blue eyes on him, and he immediately straightened, now honestly worried. "Usa? Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

She slid off the sill and walked over to him, pushed the paper aside so she could sit in his lap and look up at him earnestly. He traced a finger down her cheek, and gave her his full attention. "Mamo-love," she hesitated, "I've been thinking…" He nodded and kept silent, waited for her to expand the sentence. Her eyes as she gazed at him were serious and sad, and made him want to cuddle her. He settled for stroking a hand down her silky hair.

"The girls, ever since they got their memories back, they've all been so distracted…Mako cooks more than ever, Rei is snappier than normal, Ami always looks so tired, and Mina…" Her face crumpled with apprehension. "It's like looking at a sunlamp rather than the sun; she still smiles, but they aren't her smiles anymore." She sighed, and leaned her head against him. "And I think I know why."

Mamoru rubbed her arms comfortingly, wanting so much to take away the hurt he saw in her eyes. He hadn't noticed about the girls…and he should have. He felt the guilt worm its way into his stomach, unsettling him. "Why, Usa?"

She tucked her head on his shoulder, and danced her fingers across his chest in a nervous fidget. "Because they remember their soul mates, and they miss them."

It took all he had not to jolt upright, and as it was he jerked slightly, which caused Usagi to squeak and grab hold of him so she didn't fall off his lap. His eyes were wide as he looked down at his wife, pupils dilated so that only a thin band of midnight blue showed around black. "They remember?" he whispered. She nodded. "All of it?" She nodded again. He closed his eyes and groaned, and held Usagi to him tightly. "Oh, god… The girls…" Then the rest of her statement hit him. "They remember all of it…and they miss them?"

The smile Usa gave him was small, secret, and almost sad. "Yes. They remember everything…and it doesn't matter." She pressed her forehead to his, locked their eyes. He drowned in summer sky blue as she spoke softly. "Their hearts reach out for the ones they remember, and it's tearing them apart. The future we're building needs to have my soldiers happy, Mamo-love. I need them happy. Please, call Setsuna and let us bring your generals back. With your stones, we can, I know we can. Ami will help, I'm sure. Will you do this for me, love? For the girls?"

She waited for his answer; his mind swirled with so many thoughts he couldn't think. The girls know…but don't care? Or maybe it's not that they don't care, but can forgive? I forgive them, they know that, I still listen to their stones, but if Usagi and Setsuna can bring their bodies back…don't the girls deserve that? Hell, don't my men deserve that? If we can give them the same happiness that Usa and I share…we should. We should. His decision made, he looked at the woman on his lap, this caring, loving woman, and smiled. "Let's call Setsuna, love. I'll go get their stones out for you."

Her beaming smile was all the reward he could ever want, and the joy that filled him at the thought of regaining his friends, his confidants, his generals, made the world seem brighter. I look forward to welcoming you home, my brothers.