Author's Notes: Okay. Hehe. I know, I know. You guys are all long past fed
up with my failing to post on at least a fairly regular basis. I'm SORRY.
Gomen nasai, gomen nasai, GOMEN NASAI. Did I mention that I'm now in eighth
grade? And that I just took my high school placement test thinga-ma-jigs?
I'm more than stressed. But anyway, read this story and tell me what you
think! Hopefully this prologue will hold some of you over, or at least
maybe 'till I post more chapters for my other stories. ~ . ^
ææææææ
The look her commanding officer gave her tempted her to commit suicide. It was so flagrant a look, her liver lurched wretchedly.
She was vaguely aware of the headache caused by the bullet that had creased her skull. In fact, her whole mind and body seemed numb, drifting in a kind of unreality, not yet wholly comprehending the horror of all that was happening.
It was her fault, Usagi thought bitterly, staring straight ahead.
He had been trying to save her, that's all. He had loved her.
But now he was dead. Deader than a doornail.
It wasn't rare, or even uncommon, to lose a partner. Shit! It happened constantly! But it was not supposed to happen to her! It just...wasn't.
Even whilst her mind cried furious outrage, betrayal, and denial, her heart wept. The forlorn dread that had crept into her stomach the instant she had grasped Mamoru's head, and held him, and realized he was dead, returned.
Seiya, understanding her sorrow and knowing that she was blaming herself, said, "Usagi, you should go home and rest."
"No!" she cried immediately. Her very being protested leaving the hospital. She wanted to be as close to Mamoru as possible.
Seiya's countenance did a 360 -- from unusually compassionate to frighteningly dark and stern. In the small time it took to survey him, he was practically on top of her. He took her chin in his hand brutally; the navy seas piercing her appeared hurricanes.
"Usagi, you are going home. You fulfill nothing in your current state."
This, apparently, was a dismissal.
Naught else was left, save to go home.
So she trudged the streets, blindly searching. For what, who knew? When she eventually reached home, she closed the door defeatedly, and defeatedly, slumped to the carpeted floor. She cried so hard and long, she could scarcely cry any more.
Soon thereafter, she was anguished...and angry. She was of opinion that what had occurred was unfair; but no one had ever promised life to be fair. Acknowledging this merely intensified the rage boiling, ready to catch fire.
She chucked her gun at the apholstered sofa, and her badge. The badge gleamed mockingly. It was scorning her inability to have saved Mamoru.
She dispiritedly wiped her tears dry. But they resisted, and didn't cease. So she discovered she was still quietly crying only minutes later.
She removed her coat, travelled to the upstairs bathroom and changed into pajamas and a night-robe. The apartment was pleasantly warm, but she was chilled to the brink of illness. She avoided looking into the mirror, but finally did as she reached to retrieve her tooth-brush.
Long golden hair; blue eyes; creamy complexion. She wondered if maybe she hadn't been so pretty, she wouldn't have caught Mamoru's eye, and he wouldn't have become a police officer just to try and be her partner, and he wouldn't have fallen in love with her, and he would still be alive.
She eventually squashed the notion, yearning for sleep to come and inky peace to envelop her. Her bed pillows and sheets were cool against her skin, and normally a welcome softness, but not tonight. Tonight, she couldn't sleep for anything, and that inky peace to which she aspired never came.
When she flipped on the lamp light on her night-stand, the alarm clock read '3:14 A.M.'
"Ugh..." She couldn't believe it was so late. She was sure Bonny, her boss and Cheif of Police, wouldn't expect her at work tomorrow, but she had hoped to go anyway and avert her concentration. Work always got her mind off of things that were bothering her, because when at work and on the streets, every sense of awareness was needed. There was no spare time to dwaddle.
But now, if she tried to waltz into her own office tomorrow morning, Bonny would probably usher her outside with the suggestion of a vacation. A long vacation.
Since that option was scratched, she supposed she really did need a vacation. A short one. And it will only be for a while, she assured herself, and then once I'm over this I can start work again.
So she mentally shifted through old memories of people and places. Her parents? No. Her mom would know she wasn't taking a vacation for pure pleasure and toss her a million questions about what had drove her to visit. Shingo? Sure, he was all grown up now and had two kids and a wife, but if any reason at all that was why she didn't want to go there -- she didn't want to intrude on them.
Only then did a familiar face materialize. A face she had grown up with. A face she could trust. The face of someone whom she hadn't realized she missed until now.
She removed the phone by her alarm clock from its cradle, and dialed. Only then did it occur to her that her friend might have moved, or changed the number. She prayed he hadn't. It took precisely four rings before a calm, complaisant voice answered, "Hello?"
Relief filled her, but she swallowed a bit of pride before responding, "Hello? Quatre? It's me..."
ææææææ
The look her commanding officer gave her tempted her to commit suicide. It was so flagrant a look, her liver lurched wretchedly.
She was vaguely aware of the headache caused by the bullet that had creased her skull. In fact, her whole mind and body seemed numb, drifting in a kind of unreality, not yet wholly comprehending the horror of all that was happening.
It was her fault, Usagi thought bitterly, staring straight ahead.
He had been trying to save her, that's all. He had loved her.
But now he was dead. Deader than a doornail.
It wasn't rare, or even uncommon, to lose a partner. Shit! It happened constantly! But it was not supposed to happen to her! It just...wasn't.
Even whilst her mind cried furious outrage, betrayal, and denial, her heart wept. The forlorn dread that had crept into her stomach the instant she had grasped Mamoru's head, and held him, and realized he was dead, returned.
Seiya, understanding her sorrow and knowing that she was blaming herself, said, "Usagi, you should go home and rest."
"No!" she cried immediately. Her very being protested leaving the hospital. She wanted to be as close to Mamoru as possible.
Seiya's countenance did a 360 -- from unusually compassionate to frighteningly dark and stern. In the small time it took to survey him, he was practically on top of her. He took her chin in his hand brutally; the navy seas piercing her appeared hurricanes.
"Usagi, you are going home. You fulfill nothing in your current state."
This, apparently, was a dismissal.
Naught else was left, save to go home.
So she trudged the streets, blindly searching. For what, who knew? When she eventually reached home, she closed the door defeatedly, and defeatedly, slumped to the carpeted floor. She cried so hard and long, she could scarcely cry any more.
Soon thereafter, she was anguished...and angry. She was of opinion that what had occurred was unfair; but no one had ever promised life to be fair. Acknowledging this merely intensified the rage boiling, ready to catch fire.
She chucked her gun at the apholstered sofa, and her badge. The badge gleamed mockingly. It was scorning her inability to have saved Mamoru.
She dispiritedly wiped her tears dry. But they resisted, and didn't cease. So she discovered she was still quietly crying only minutes later.
She removed her coat, travelled to the upstairs bathroom and changed into pajamas and a night-robe. The apartment was pleasantly warm, but she was chilled to the brink of illness. She avoided looking into the mirror, but finally did as she reached to retrieve her tooth-brush.
Long golden hair; blue eyes; creamy complexion. She wondered if maybe she hadn't been so pretty, she wouldn't have caught Mamoru's eye, and he wouldn't have become a police officer just to try and be her partner, and he wouldn't have fallen in love with her, and he would still be alive.
She eventually squashed the notion, yearning for sleep to come and inky peace to envelop her. Her bed pillows and sheets were cool against her skin, and normally a welcome softness, but not tonight. Tonight, she couldn't sleep for anything, and that inky peace to which she aspired never came.
When she flipped on the lamp light on her night-stand, the alarm clock read '3:14 A.M.'
"Ugh..." She couldn't believe it was so late. She was sure Bonny, her boss and Cheif of Police, wouldn't expect her at work tomorrow, but she had hoped to go anyway and avert her concentration. Work always got her mind off of things that were bothering her, because when at work and on the streets, every sense of awareness was needed. There was no spare time to dwaddle.
But now, if she tried to waltz into her own office tomorrow morning, Bonny would probably usher her outside with the suggestion of a vacation. A long vacation.
Since that option was scratched, she supposed she really did need a vacation. A short one. And it will only be for a while, she assured herself, and then once I'm over this I can start work again.
So she mentally shifted through old memories of people and places. Her parents? No. Her mom would know she wasn't taking a vacation for pure pleasure and toss her a million questions about what had drove her to visit. Shingo? Sure, he was all grown up now and had two kids and a wife, but if any reason at all that was why she didn't want to go there -- she didn't want to intrude on them.
Only then did a familiar face materialize. A face she had grown up with. A face she could trust. The face of someone whom she hadn't realized she missed until now.
She removed the phone by her alarm clock from its cradle, and dialed. Only then did it occur to her that her friend might have moved, or changed the number. She prayed he hadn't. It took precisely four rings before a calm, complaisant voice answered, "Hello?"
Relief filled her, but she swallowed a bit of pride before responding, "Hello? Quatre? It's me..."