What Dreams May Come

by Amaris Twins

Post-Stars, Usagi, Mamoru, and the Senshi are living their best lives. Simply biding their time until fate unravels and Crystal Tokyo comes to pass. They don't expect the new unseen enemy that pulls them all into a series of unimaginable nightmares in which Mamoru is the only one that always remembers who he is. Epic romance, strange worlds, and fun twists ensue.

8. Chapter 8: Ruthless in Heels Part 2

A/N: Hey guys! Twitch here! Apologies again for not posting on Saturday. It was quite a busy weekend. I hope you're all enjoying this dream: Ruthless in Heels. We know this is a particularly dark dream and we hope you're sticking with us through this one. Poor Mamoru is definitely taking a hit in this one. But trust us; he's strong enough to get through it.

Trigger Warnings still apply: Gun Violence, Language, Death, Gore.

Part 2

He'd figured, based on what he'd witnessed in this world so far, that the address Makoto had given him would lead him somewhere isolated. He was not disappointed when he stepped onto the property of an industrial lot, secluded and eerily quiet.

He wasn't sure where he was supposed to go. The red, steel slat shipping containers that lined the yard, pressed against tall, inescapable, chain-link fences topped with coiled barbed concertina wire, did nothing to calm his racing heart. He couldn't stop the nervous churning in the pit of his stomach as he hesitantly stepped forward, the soles of his shoes thudding against the pavement, echoing, almost deafeningly loud, throughout the silence.

He heard them approach before he saw them; two armed, broad-shouldered brutes slinking from the shadows with matching stern, hardened expressions; menacingly dangerous glints flashing from hard-set eyes. They weren't anyone he recognized, and for a moment, it occurred to him that meeting here, based on a cryptically received text message, was probably a bad idea.

It was too late to turn back, though, so he froze, lifted his hands in surrender, and fixed an amused half-smirk on to his face. "Hey guys," he exclaimed lightly. "Nice place you have here."

In retrospect, his attempt at humor was in poor taste. But it was the first thing that popped into his head. Though it did nothing to alleviate the painfully fast way that his heart was beating nervously in his chest. Nor did it faze the men, who halted without saying a word. They easily towered over him, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

It was admittedly a tense couple of moments while they sized him up, their gazes slightly vacant as they swept over him in what he imagined was an intimidating manner.

He wished, more than anything, that this world granted him the abilities of Tuxedo Kamen, and he was beginning to wonder if he should make a run for it; try texting Makoto again, when brute number one grunted sharply, gesturing with his head —that looked to be made up of more muscle than brain— towards one of the red shipping containers behind him.

This did not look good, and if he didn't know that he was wading through another nightmare, he would have definitely made a different decision in this situation. As it stood, he shrugged with forced nonchalance and moved forward to follow behind brute one as he led him around the side of the container.

He could feel brute two following closely behind him. So close, in fact, that his breath was hot against the back of his neck. This was the part of the action movie where the well-meaning undercover cop was discovered and tortured to death. He was sure of it, and he bit back a slightly hysterical bark of laughter at the absurdity of it all when they abruptly stopped.

He wished that the brutes would say something, maybe an indication of what the hell he was supposed to be doing. He only briefly glimpsed the side of a sleek black car as brute one leaned forward and slid open the door of the shipping container, the screeching sound of protesting, rusty metal ricocheting across the yard. Brute number two unexpectedly — and quite forcefully— shoved him over the threshold, then slammed the door shut behind him.

He stumbled into the hollowed storage space lit up by a flickering, half-broken bulb fixture, hanging haphazardly from the ceiling. His breath hitched, and his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, the blood draining from his face as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting as he scanned the interior of the small space.

Fuck. He was going to die here.

At least, that was what it felt like because while there were broken chairs and half-opened crates filled with rubbish, what really made his blood freeze in his veins was the sight of plastic. There were plastic sheets that covered every inch of the interior of the room. He could only think of one reason to cover everything in plastic, and the thought made him shudder with dread as he hesitantly took a step forward.

Would Usagi and the others be stuck in a never-ending gangster loop if he died here right now? And what would happen to his consciousness? Would he wake up strapped to a gurney in a lab?

He was mulling over the morbid thoughts when the rusted door squealed again as it slid open. He swiveled around on his heels, jaw clenched, stance tightened, and poised to defend himself when she stepped through the door.

Just like always, the sight of Usagi took his breath away. Even this darker, more menacing version of her, in another curve-molding black dress, impossibly high stilettos, and red painted lips. She still mesmerized him, and at that moment, he internally vowed that if he ever got them out of here, he'd never take her for granted again. He'd forget every single introverted insecurity that had plagued their relationship in the past, and he'd laugh with her, communicate, and tell her how much he loved her. Every fucking day. For now, though, he needed to save her— save them all— from this role that she was being forced to play.

It was difficult to stomach the look on her face as she gracefully stepped toward him, cold, calculating, with a terrifying smirk that made him cringe. Slender fingers curled around the handle of another gun. China-blue eyes fixed onto him curiously.

Her cold smile widened as she stopped a couple of steps away, a golden brow arched as her gaze hungrily swept over him. "I can see the appeal," she practically purred, and he tensed at the un-Usagi-like sound, his fingers balling up into fists. "You are extraordinarily handsome." She giggled, sickly sweet, as the hand reverently palming the gun gestured around the room. "Don't be put off by the setting. See, there are only two people I trust in this world—" she began, taking another step toward him. "My brother and my best friend."

His heart began to race because there was an intensity laced into the way that the Usagi of this world spoke. Her words were edged with icy anger that terrified him.

She paused for only a second, pleased that he hadn't opted to interrupt her. "You see, I grew up with Makoto, and I've come to depend on her ability to be honest with me," Usagi's gaze narrowed shrewdly, and her lips pressed into a hard line as she searched his face. This time there was confusion etched there. "So, you can imagine my surprise to hear that Makoto is suddenly very interested in saving your life."

She took another step towards him, so close that if he wanted to, he could reach out and touch her. "Make no mistake," she whispered, and he couldn't breathe because she was so damn mesmerizing. "If not for her, you would be dead already."

She leaned forward in a slow and calculated movement until her lips hovered just above his ear. Her breath was warm against the skin of his neck, and he fought back the urge to grasp her waist and bury his face in her hair. "Because someone told the cops about our last little rendezvous," she drawled quietly. "I hope, for Makoto's sake, that it wasn't you."

With a breathy, practiced laugh, she stepped back again, her eyes flashing brightly. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, suddenly feeling angry because she knew exactly how she affected him. It was written into the curl of her lips, the confident, steady sway of her hips, the hard glint of satisfaction shining in her eyes.

He wanted his Usako back, and for the first time, he wasn't sure how he was going to get through to her.

He fixed his hardened gaze onto her face, searching for some kind of indication that this wasn't what she truly wanted. "Nephrite," he blurted suddenly, without thinking. "The other worker in the warehouse. What happened to him?"

Her eyes widened, and her lips curled into a smug smile. "In my experience, men are fairly simple-minded, and they tend to squeal with the least amount of pressure," she explained with a pop of her lips and a snap of her fingers. It made his stomach turn violently. "I couldn't let you both live. Lucky for you, Makoto chose to vouch for you instead of him."

His heart stopped at Usagi's horrifying admission. To have made Makoto, her friend, choose between him and Nephrite… it didn't matter that gangster Usagi had no idea what that would have done to her. And for the first time since this had begun, he felt a flare of anger towards her unfurl in his chest. For just a minute, he forgot to remind himself that this wasn't her. His Usako would have never done something so inherently atrocious to anybody. All he felt in that moment was a painful wistfulness, grieving for the woman he loved and, without thinking, like a blur, he closed the gap between them.

She didn't have time to react as his right hand wrapped around her gun-holding wrist, and the fingers of his left hand laced forcefully, painfully almost, into the hair at the nape of her neck. He forcibly tugged her head until her face was tilted up towards his, her eyes wide, filled with a mixture of confusion and shock as he steadily met her gaze. Their faces mere inches apart.

She sucked in a sharp breath of air, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the expression on his face or the raw intensity that sizzled between them.

He'd made many reckless decisions in their shared nightmares. This was probably one of them. It didn't matter, though, because he couldn't stand to see her this way. To hear the callous atrocities forced to spill from her lips.

It felt like time stood still for a second as he peered down at her. "Is this really you?" he demanded raspily. "Do you really like the person that you are?"

It was such a dumb fucking thing to say to a ruthless gangster that was holding a gun pointed at his chest with her finger poised on the trigger. But he had to know that wasn't the only person he was talking to. That the bright, shining love of his life was buried under there somewhere.

It was fleeting, but for a moment, her eyes widened, and there was a flash of vulnerability in the sapphire pools of her gaze. The hope that had been waning painfully in his chest unfurled and washed through him in dulcet waves of relief.

His reaction to glimpsing a piece of his Usagi was instantaneous. The common sense that he should have been using quickly slipped away. It was idiotic, without reasonable thought, and, damn, he really couldn't afford to be making any mistakes right now, especially in this type of nightmare, where Usagi's role was dangerous and volatile. But he was human too, and the truth wasn't complicated. He fucking missed her.

One second he was peering into her eyes, and in the next, his lips were on hers. It was desperate, bruising, and hell, she could have literally shot him. But before he knew it, she was kissing him back. And her movements were just as unforgiving as his were. It was nothing like the kisses he'd shared with his Usako. This was harsh, angry, blissfully painful. But he could feel her underneath all of that, and in an instant, he knew exactly how he was going to get through to Usagi in this world.

He'd barely had time to bask in the excitement of his epiphany when her slender fingers curled into the hair at the back of his head, and with an angry growl, she yanked hard, forcefully pulling his face away from hers.

It stung slightly, where she'd tugged, but the flushed look on her face, and the swollen curve of her lips, even as her eyes flared with hardened rage, was worth it.

She took a graceful step back, her chest heaving like she was out of breath, and lifted the revolver in her hand. He was disappointed to see that her hand was steady, not a visible shake in sight. But he wasn't deterred. If he hadn't affected her, he'd already be dead.

Her expression was murderous as she fixed her eyes on him. "If you ever do that again, I'll put a bullet in your brain. Without a second thought," she snarled icily, rosy lips curling over her teeth into a rage-filled sneer.

She was the terrifying gangster again, but this time, he wasn't the least bit afraid. He knew her better than she knew herself.

He bit back a smile, kept his expression appropriately contrite, and nodded mutely.

Without taking her eyes off of him, she craned her neck to the side, tilting her head back. "Kaito! Asahi!" she barked loudly, and brute one and two were instantaneously striding through the door. Usagi's cold stare slid onto him again. "You'll be staying with us for a little while, Chiba Mamoru," she began, and her tone no longer held the mocking playfulness that it had before. It was steady, dangerously quiet, almost. And it sent shivers running down his spine. "If for any reason you prove yourself to be exactly who my brother thinks you are, a filthy gutter rat with a big mouth, I'll gladly kill you. You and Makoto, both."

There wasn't time for her threat to register because she turned on her impossibly high heels and slipped gracefully through the door. It was only when she was gone that he exhaled deeply, releasing a strained breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

The brutes didn't say a single word as they escorted him out into the night and to the sleek black sedan that he'd glimpsed earlier.

Brute two slid into the driver seat, and number one, in all of his oversized, lumbering glory, ducked into the back seat with him. He wasn't sure where they were going, and honestly, he didn't really care. All he knew was that he was in. Which meant that even though he had his work cut out for him, he was determined to get them out.

oOo

He was sure that the ensuing silence in the vehicle was some kind of method to intimidate him. Or, if the attempt at menacing sullenness on Brute one's face was any indication, at the very least, make him feel uncomfortable. If that was their intended goal, they'd failed miserably, and with a tired sigh, he laid his back against the leather headrest and closed his eyes.

He didn't realize how exhausted he was until he unwillingly drifted off to sleep. The next thing he became aware of was a sharp jab in the ribs that instantly jolted him awake. Brute one was glaring at him, probably irritated that he'd dared to fall asleep in the first place.

He exhaled slowly, blinking the bleary remnants of his impromptu nap from his eyes, as he craned his neck sideways to peer out of the window. At some point, the sun must have risen, because it hung just above the horizon; emanating a harsh red and orange-streaked glow across the early morning sky.

He didn't recognize the area, and his brows drew together into a puzzled frown as he inwardly cursed himself for having given into his exhaustion when Brute two sharply turned left. He was vaulted forward into the back of the driver's seat as the car turned down a dirt road, the wheels bouncing into the divots and potholes as Brute two drove way too fast over them. The road wound and twisted around bends, and Mamoru noted that the foliage was thickening, pressing in closer to the road that narrowed beneath a canopy of towering cherry blossom trees.

He clutched the door handle —not quickly enough, apparently— to keep from being jostled again when they hit another pothole. He sucked in a pained breath through his teeth, glaring at the back of Brute two's head as he ran his fingers over his elbow that had just connected sharply to the door, due to the brute's apparent inability to drive over rough terrain. He grasped the leather seat on either side of him in a vain attempt to steady himself as they pulled into a clearing and the car screeched to a grinding halt.

Mamoru had barely glanced out of the window, when brute one leaned over, roughly grabbed the handle of his door, and pushed it open. "Get out," he snapped, his tone low, harsh and brooding, and Mamoru resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was more than happy to be exiting the cramped confines of the car without being ordered to do so.

Wordlessly, he pulled himself out, ignoring Brute one sliding out behind him, and froze. His eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat because nestled in the middle of Kyoto's famous, towering, bamboo forest, almost completely hidden, was a vast manor that loomed imposingly above him. It looked like a traditionally built mansion, standing tall on intricately carved posts and lintels supporting layers of gently curved roofs that extended far beyond the walls; a red-stoned, thatched roof, precise and strategically placed, covering vast wooden verandas.

It was such a strange mixture of old and modern Japanese architecture, but more importantly, it was lavish, enormous, and, by the group of armed men that he could see patrolling the property, well-protected, too.

He supposed that for a family of gun-smugglers that were, according to Ami, more dangerous than the Yakuza, this was a fitting location. He wondered where Usagi was, or if she was even here, when Brute two jabbed him sharply, once again, in the back, urging him forward with an annoyed grunt.

With a sigh of irritation, Mamoru took a step forward without resistance. "You know, there's this saying," he murmured, his tone laced with annoyance. "You catch more bees with honey than with vinegar. So, words instead of grunts? Might be a good place to start."

It was a muttered statement that he didn't really expect a response to. He did catch the wisp of a smirk from Brute one who was striding briskly beside him, though. Which was a small victory that Mamoru gratefully accepted.

They made their way up to a cobblestone pathway, the landscape lush and well maintained. The aroma from the cherry blossom trees was almost overwhelming when they stopped in front of the house. Upon closer inspection, it was even bigger than he'd first surmised, and he was feeling a little out of his depth when the front doors slid open with a whirring slam that echoed around them.

He sighed with relief, the tenseness uncoiling from the muscles in his shoulders, at the sight of Makoto. Though she was casually dressed, her hair pinned up in her signature Jupiter ponytail, the grim look on her face was severely out of place. Her lips pressed into a hard line, her face pale, and her movements brisk and hurried.

His stomach turned because he could tell that something had happened. Something was horribly wrong. And he knew it was because of how hard it was for Makoto to differentiate between who Usagi was with what she was being forced to do.

Makoto stopped in front of them, her gaze sweeping past him and over the twin brutes as she propped her fists confidently on her hips and steadily met their gaze. "It's fine, Kaito, Asahi," she snapped, her tone harsh and commanding. "I can handle it from here."

He thought that they would protest, but they nodded respectfully and wordlessly —no surprise there— twisted on their heels and disappeared. They lumbered off the pathway to join the rest of the quiet, shifty-eyed, armed men that lingered where the property's rolling, perfectly manicured lawn stopped and edged into the unimaginably tall reeds of the bamboo forest.

His breath hitched as he lifted his gaze, met Makoto's hardened eyes, and leaned forward, his movements filled with urgency. "Makoto—" he whispered desperately because he needed to know what was happening. Where were they? Was Usagi here?

The brunette interrupted him with a sharp shake of her head and a silencing look in her eyes. "Not here," she replied brusquely, and curled slender fingers around his wrist, her grip unsurprisingly strong. "Come on."

She tugged him forward, her movements just as brisk and hurried as the sharp tone that seemed to be etched into her voice. He watched her from the corner of his eye as they walked, studying the hardened edges of her profile and noting suddenly that she had a gun holstered to her hip.

He grimaced. "A gun?" he murmured, brow raised in disbelief. "Really?"

The glance that she shot him over her shoulder made his heart clench painfully in his chest. Her lips curled up into a miserable smile, and the shine that was prevalent in all of the Senshi's eyes, dulled and tinged with sadness that he didn't want to understand.

"Everyone has a gun in this place, Mamoru," she replied brokenly, her tone harsh and condemning. "I'm glad she didn't use her's on you."

He didn't respond, and by the way that Makoto pulled him through the door, gaze fixed firmly ahead, she didn't really expect him to.

The interior of the mansion was more modern looking than the exterior. Sleek fixtures, polished floors all bathed in the sunlight that poured in from floor to ceiling windows, probably double-paned and bulletproof by the look of them. Surprisingly, it wasn't empty; men with guns, women in cleaning uniforms, coming and going, as they swept by them without saying a word.

It was only when they made it to the bottom of a grand staircase, and a small blonde scurried by them, that he realized that they were all looking at Makoto with fear; their gazes were all respectfully averted, flashing with terror and deference. His brow furrowed into a contemplative frown. Makoto was entrenched more deeply into this then they'd previously assumed.

It was apparent to him by the hard, unyielding way in which Makoto held herself as he followed her up the staircase, her jaw clenched tightly, her fingers curled into fists, that she was very aware of the role that she'd been forced to play in this nightmare.

It was the epitome of cruelty to have placed Makoto in this role. The tough, unyielding fighter whom everyone scurried away from in fear. He knew that this had been one of her biggest insecurities before Usagi had met her and pulled her into the bright, shining light of her love. So, to have Usagi, the bubbly, sweet savior that had drawn them all together, be the very reason that Makoto was looked at this way here… It was fucking cruel, and it filled him with rage. The monsters had upped their game.

He was getting worked up, the pain and anguish bubbling in his chest as they made their way through a maze of halls, passing door after door, until Makoto stopped abruptly in front of one, leaned forward, opened it, and promptly pulled him over the threshold.

The room was dark until Makoto flicked a switch and it lit up brightly. It was a small, plain room with white painted walls; completely bare, except for a thickly laid tatami floor mat on one side of the bedroom, and a small dresser, with bamboo inlay, on the other.

He glanced over at Makoto, who'd stopped, her eyes narrowed as she carefully scrutinized the room.

He frowned, thoroughly puzzled, and took a step towards her. "Makoto—"

She swirled towards him, eyes wide, and pressed an index finger to her lips, promptly silencing him again. He snapped his mouth shut, tilting his head in confusion as Makoto strode towards the far end of the room, knelt down, and carefully ran her fingers along the baseboard. He shook his head, his brow furrowed, when she stopped suddenly, pried a piece back and carefully lifted a small mechanical device from behind it.

It dawned on him then, and he grimaced as he watched her. With a grim expression, she pressed it into her palm, fiddling with it until he heard a tiny 'click' that indicated that she'd either broken it or managed to turn it off.

He watched as the tension melted away from her posture, and the stiffened set of her shoulders slumped as if all of the gumption had been swept out of her. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her lower lip trembled as she stared miserably down at the device in her palm.

"From now on," she whispered brokenly, curling her fingers around it, "assume that every single room in this house is bugged."

He was at a loss for words, unable to speak because he'd never witnessed her like this before. His breath caught in his throat, and the blood drained from his face as she tilted her head up, and her haunted gaze met his.

"Mamoru," she began, "I hope you have a plan, because… because…" she choked on the words, and the sob that bubbled up in her throat was painfully raw. It snapped him out of his confused daze.

With a shaky breath of shared pain, he leaned forward and pulled the brunette into his arms. She buried her head in her hands, her sobs muffled by her palms that were pressed to her lips. His arms shook too because this was more than a nightmare. It was the first time one of the Senshi who'd managed to stay awake had been affected so severely, and it broke his heart all over again.

It took several minutes before Makoto managed to control her emotions, and she was quick to pull away, furiously swiping at the remnants of the tears on her flushed cheeks. When she met his gaze again, she seemed to have rediscovered her strength.

She took a deep, steadying breath. "Look, I don't know how you're going to do this," she began, and he was relieved that her voice held more of that Jupiter confidence that he was used to. "That person that should be Usagi is a monster, Mamoru." Her words weren't unexpected, given what she'd probably seen here, but that was still his Usako. And, whatever she'd done, was not her fault. "I don't know how you plan on prying a confession of love from her. She doesn't love anybody. She's cold, dark, practically ev—"

This time, Mamoru interrupted her, "Enough," he snapped angrily, his expression darkening with an angry scowl. "I'm going to need you to stop right there, Makoto," he demanded, and Makoto pressed her lips together, her eyes flashing with pain and anger that he needed to fix right now. "What did I tell you before you left the motel?"

She said nothing, her jaw clenched tightly, her fists pressed into her sides, her eyes flashing stubbornly.

He shook his head sharply, frustrated because he needed Makoto to be on his side right now. He needed her to understand. "Everything that's happening here isn't real," he whispered harshly. "And everything that Usako has done would kill her. It probably is killing her, Makoto. None of this," he gestured angrily with his hands, "is her fault. It's our job to save her."

Her expression softened, her eyes glossing over as she miserably mulled over his words.

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Makoto, I don't know what happened with Nephrite," he murmured, and his heart twisted when she flinched, "but I promise you that Usagi is in there. Please," he pleaded hoarsely. "I need your help."

It was another minute as he watched an array of expressions cross over the delicate features of her face. He could have wept with relief when the determined resolve that he recognized as the Senshi of Jupiter etched, finally, into her facial expression.

She took a deep, cleansing breath, and nodded. "Right," she replied, and the despondency that had been so clearly laced into her tone before was gone now. "I'm sorry. Of course she's in there. God," she swallowed. "Mamoru. We need to get out of here. I want her back."

He nodded in agreement, feeling the determination building in him as well. "We will," he replied resolutely. "Tell me what you know."

Makoto promptly began to relay the inner workings of the Tsukino family, and it was difficult not to weep, or howl with rage, with every horrifying detail that she'd learned since coming back to the house after the failed sting operation. The Tsukino's were dangerous, terrifyingly so, and they led a veritable army of armed thugs with iron fists that left little to no room for mercy.

They were not only gun smugglers, but they were also embezzlers with an intricate web of well-paid politicians, police officers, and Yakuza families in their back pockets. They were practically untouchable, and anyone who had dared an attempt to expose them wound up either missing or dead. The fact that he was still breathing was only as a favor, one that Usagi did not usually grant, for Makoto.

He was on thin ice, though, and the only reason he'd been pulled into the mansion where Usagi, Kunzite, and their endless army of thugs resided, was so that they could keep a close eye on him.

Makoto's expression was grim when she finished. "Don't slip up, Mamoru," she pleaded. "Kunzite is unstable and fiercely protective of Usagi. He'll kill you without blinking. It's hard to watch." She grimaced, lost in her thoughts, and he grit his teeth. Makoto took a deep breath, stepped towards him, and grasped his hand. "Mamoru, you've done this before, right? We're going to get her out of here?"

He peered down into her pleading face, his throat constricted with emotion, and nodded, hoping that his expression conveyed confidence that he wasn't entirely sure he felt.

He must have reassured her because she exhaled with relief, and the corners of her lips quirked up into a small, grateful smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of the bedroom door swinging open, the movement eliciting a gust of air, startled them.

Makoto sucked in a sharp intake of breath, her face whitening even more, as she pulled her hand away from his arm as if he'd burned her. He swiveled around, muscles tense, and bit back a gasp at the sight of Usagi leaning casually against the door jamb.

Like always, she knocked the breath from his lungs, and his gaze swept up the length of her. From her high-heeled clad feet, up to the bared, creamy-white expanse of smooth, endlessly long legs, to her arms crossed casually across the tightly cinched dress covering her midsection. The loose, glossy blonde locks of her hair tumbled over her shoulder that was pressed up against the door frame, a mocking smirk curled up on ample, red lips.

She chuckled, arching a blonde brow in amusement as her eyes flicked back and forth between him and Makoto. "Oh, don't let me interrupt," she chimed brightly, but Mamoru knew Usagi well enough, even like this, to catch the hard glint of jealousy that flashed briefly in her eyes. "I knew there was a reason you wanted me to spare him, Mako-chan," she said in a forced airy tone as she gracefully pushed away from the door, and took a slow, calculated step into the room.

Makoto's breathing hitched in panic beside him, and the brunette stepped forward, hands raised in supplication. "Usa, I'm sorry. I just—"

Usagi sharply raised her hand, effectively silencing her with a flick of her wrist. "Oh, Mako-chan," she practically purred, a sly smile curled onto her lips. "Don't apologize. I can definitely see the appeal," she drawled, before closing the gap between them. His breath was stuck in his throat, once again, as she slowly ran her index finger up his chest, along the length of his jaw, before swiping it across his lips. "He's an excellent kisser," she murmured, her malicious gaze sliding onto Makoto's stunned face.

Fuck. Usagi had mistakenly assumed that Makoto had pleaded for his life on a romantic inclination, and, damn, she was trying to hurt her because of it. If Usagi was conscious inside of the cold shell that she was being forced to play, she was probably screaming in agony right now, and that realization pissed him off enough that his expression darkened and, without thinking, he firmly grabbed her hand that had settled against his chest and shoved it away.

"Don't," he practically snarled. "Cruelty isn't an attractive quality."

He heard Makoto groan in dismay beside him, but there was a flash of something in Usagi's eyes. Another momentary glimpse of vulnerability that was his Usako, and he exhaled with relief; reassured that she was still there.

Usagi swallowed angrily and took a step back, barely regaining control of her emotions before the mask of faux-impassiveness fell back into place. "Your loss, Chiba," she hissed, shooting Makoto a seething glare. "Better get some rest. I want you to join me tomorrow for a little visit. So we can see if you're worth keeping around."

She sneered, twisting on her heel, but before she left the room she stopped, casually tossing her hair over her shoulder before coldly meeting Makoto's gaze. "Oh, Mako-chan," she chimed. "The next time you disable a bug because you want to fuck one of our guests, run it by me first, okay?"

They didn't have time to respond, and his stomach churned violently at her words before she disappeared into the hall, slamming the door shut behind her.

oOo

He'd barely slept the night before, his eyes opened and fixed onto the foreign shapes outlined in the darkness of the room that he'd been assigned to. His thoughts raced with colliding visions of Usagi. One of her bright-eyed and laughing, playfully twirling around in front of him, and the next one a horrifying mixture of all the roles that she'd been forced to play.

He'd never wanted to save her as badly as he did now, and after she'd left the room last night, he'd made a determined vow with Makoto. They were going to end this game by any means necessary.

He'd finally drifted off to sleep in the hazy, early hours of the morning, and it felt like he'd just closed his eyes, when he was awoken, once again, by a painfully sharp jab in his side. He opened his eyes and blinked with irritation up into Brute one's face. His permanently fixed scowl glared down at him, the tip of his shoe still perched at the edge of the tatami mat indicating that the jerk had kicked him.

Mamoru sighed loudly, raking his palm across his eyes in an attempt to clear the bleary remnants of sleep from his vision. "I thought we talked about this," he snapped with exasperation. "Remember? Honey? Vinegar? The crazy idea that you can use words rather than continuously jabbing me in the side?"

The brute said nothing —shocker— and Mamoru propped himself up onto his elbows as he slowly pulled his body up into a sitting position. The sunlight was pouring in through the window, its rays weaving through the reeds of the forest outside before piercing through the pane and bathing the room in dusky oranges. It had barely risen, and he sighed, shaking his head to forcibly clear it of exhaustion as the brute took a step back.

The hulking figure was pretty intimidating, and Mamoru was definitely at a disadvantage; prone on the tatami mat at his feet, bare torso, the thin sheet he'd been provided tangled around his waist.

He didn't feel an inkling of fear, though, and that was probably why he couldn't help the irritation from seeping into his expression as he raised an eyebrow and fixed his gaze onto the man. "Well?" he asked, irritation brewing in his voice. "What do you want…what was your name again? Are you Asahi or Kaito? Because I'm going to be really honest here. Right now, I refer to you as Brute one in my head."

At this point, he was pretty sure he was talking to a wall, so he was startled when Brute one's lips quirked up into an amused grin. "Asahi," he replied simply, his tone tinged with laughter. "You're pretty mouthy for a Shatei," he mused, and Mamoru barely held back a frown at the title. "Kumicho Tsukino wants to see you."

He didn't know much about Yakuza, though as Tuxedo Kamen, he'd run into the occasional non-supernatural criminal. So the titles that Asahi had uttered, he knew, had something to do with a mafia family hierarchy.

He couldn't help the way his heart began to race in his chest, a mixture of dread and anticipation. He'd managed to get Usagi's attention. Now he just needed to break through this bone-chilling barrier to save her, and he was anxious to start doing that.

He was quick to rise after that, and Asahi allowed him enough time to use the facilities as well as dress into a fresh, surprisingly well-fitted outfit that had magically appeared on his dresser. Though, if he had to venture a guess, it was probably courtesy of one of the many uniformed women that he'd witnessed flitting about the mansion with terror imprinted onto their carefully averted gazes.

He had more time to study the interior of the house as he let Asahi guide him, and he was torn between awe, marveling at the sheer beauty and elegance of every fixture in this place, and feeling appalled, because the money to fund this type of building had probably been procured in an unsavory manner.

They were joined shortly by Brute two, or Kaito, as they slipped through double wide cedarwood doors that were etched with intricate, extremely detailed scenes of burning dragons. He had to forcibly pull his eyes away from the beautiful designs as they stepped into a large, brightly lit room that housed an extravagantly long dining room table.

He halted, sandwiched between Kaito and Asahi, forcibly keeping his expression neutral as his gaze locked onto Usagi seated at the end of the table, a vast array of fruit and pastries spread out in front of her. Today, she was dressed in a form-fitting, V-necked, white dress with an elegant flower-patterned lace overlay. She looked every bit the picture of refined elegance and purity, and it almost brought him to his knees. It reminded him of his Serenity, minus the odangoed hairstyle that he solely associated with her. Instead, her hair was swept back into an equally elegant hairstyle that took his breath away.

She hadn't noticed them yet, as she was currently arguing with a stout, pale-faced man, whose lips were pursed in open disapproval. "Kumicho Tsukino, I truly mean no disrespect, but as your Saiko-komon, it is my duty to advise you in these matters. Would it not be more prudent to wait for Oyabun Tsukino to accompany you?"

Mamoru's brow furrowed into a curious frown as he watched Usagi crane her neck to the side, a slow, dangerous smile curled onto her lips as her shrewd gaze coolly perused the advisor beside her. "My brother is currently indisposed," she enunciated slowly, her eyes flashing angrily. The advisor's face paled even more, and he visibly gulped. "He's probably tangled up with his new, blonde-haired plaything," she added, then her lips widened into a terrifying smile as she arched a golden brow. "You can, however, be the one to interrupt him," she offered.

The tone of her voice and the sharp inhale from the man beside her as he practically shuddered at the thought was a clear indication that this was not in his best interest.

The advisor cleared his throat and vehemently shook his head. "No, of course not, Kumicho Tsukino," he stuttered, and it irritated Mamoru to see the look on Usagi's face. She was so clearly relishing in the man's discomfort. "I only meant that perhaps you might wait until…"

Usagi had apparently reached the limit of her patience because her expression darkened. "Enough," she bellowed harshly, and everyone in the room shuddered. Which, to Mamoru, was ridiculous. This was still his Usako. The sweet, beautiful girl that had wept when he'd accidentally hit a squirrel with his car. He couldn't wait to dig that girl out of Kumicho Tsukino. "I am perfectly capable of handling a business transaction with a minor, insignificant member of a barely prominent Yakuza family, Hinata. Don't question me again," she commanded angrily, and Hinata conceded, bowing respectfully before taking a step back to stand amidst a line of hard-eyed men.

Usagi straightened, her fierce expression melting into a satisfied one as her gaze finally swept over them. He noted that the china-blue of her eyes lingered for a moment on his face and he wished, more than anything, that he could glimpse his Usagi again.

She perched her elbows on the edge of the table, daintily propping her chin in her palms, "Besides," she mused brightly, "I'll have these three brooding men to protect me. Won't I, Asahi, Kaito..." her gaze flicked from each one of them before stopping on him. "Mamoru?"

The way she whispered his name, purposefully soft and enticing, made his heart flutter and it was difficult to keep his expression neutral and stand still in front of her when all he wanted to do was shake her until she remembered, then pull her into his arms and bury his face in her hair.

He barely managed a nod of affirmation with the others when Usagi sat up, her smile widening as she gestured to the spread of food in front of her. "Good, now eat," she commanded imperiously. "When we've finished breakfast, we can go."

Usagi leaned back in her chair, a self-satisfied smirk on her lips as he followed suit with Asahi, Kaito and a few of the other men that gratefully moved forward to pick at the food on the table.

He absentmindedly picked up an apple, his eyes locked firmly onto Usagi who was also watching him. Her eyes were bright, flashing with curiosity as she boldly let her gaze sweep over him.

He thought, for just a second, that this may not be as impossible as he'd assumed when Hinata stepped forward to take a castella cake off of the table. Usagi's gaze immediately snapped back onto the advisor. "Not you," she hissed icily, and Hinata's eyes widened fearfully as a cold smile slid vengefully onto her lips. "In fact, I don't want to see you eat for… hmm…" she pursed her lips, gazing upwards in contrived contemplation. "Four days," she whispered coldly, and he had to hold back the appalled look that threatened to wash over his face. Because surely, she wasn't serious.

She was though, and the silence that fell over the room was an indication that everyone knew it, including Hinata who visibly swallowed back his terror. "Four is the number of times that you dared to question me this morning, and four is the number of days that you will not consume a single ounce of sustenance."

Usagi waved her wrist, dismissing Hinata before daintily plucking a strawberry off of the table, sighing with pleasure as she bit into it.

Hinata nodded slowly, his eyes downcast as he stepped away from the table. "Yes, Kumicho Tsukino," he whispered miserably, his voice trembling. "My apologies."

Mamoru let the apple fall back onto the table with a dull thud, unable to stomach the cruelty, and, just like it had probably done to Makoto after witnessing her like this, the hope began to wane painfully in the cavity of his chest.

That was until Usagi's eyes met him.

He didn't shy away from her gaze, and he didn't hide the contempt for what she'd just done, either. The flame of hope roared back to life at the way her satisfied smirk faded from her lips, as her eyes narrowed in confusion, and then, suddenly, there it was; a flash of self-hatred, and a glint of remorse.

oOo

There was a thick mist that hung in the air. Ominous gray clouds gathered in the sky above them when the sleek black sedan that Mamoru had been forced into yesterday pulled onto yet another isolated, winding dirt road that was roughly an hour away from the Tsukino's hidden manor.

The time he spent in the black car this time was admittedly much more enjoyable than the day before. Instead of being wedged between the door and the sullen-faced brute that spent most of the drive glaring miserably ahead, he was comfortably nestled beside the blonde-haired, ruthless gangster, who still smelled like lavender and vanilla. It was overwhelming, and he wished, more than anything, he could pull her into his arms and forget all about what was currently happening.

He forcibly ignored the unbidden impulse, though, as silence settled thickly in the car between them.

There seemed to be an unspoken understanding that you could not speak to Kumicho Tsukino unless she deigned to talk to you. The brutes seated in the front of the vehicle, Asahi in the driver's seat this time, never made direct eye contact with Usagi.

It was something he'd noted was common with every underling they'd encountered as she'd swept out of the mansion, chin tilted up haughtily, as she gracefully maneuvered impossibly high, white-heeled stilettos as they'd trailed behind her.

He knew that it was important that he tried to appear subservient. Usagi, the one in this world, anyway, was incredibly dangerous. Still, he found that he could not abide by the same rules as the others, and it was practically impossible to keep his gaze from lingering on the bared, slender legs delicately crossed in the back seat of the car. Or, the exposed slight curve of her neck as it bent forward, her eyes glued to her phone perched delicately in her hand.

She'd caught him staring more than once in that hour, and he was sure that if it had been anyone else, she'd have already threatened him with the gun that she always carried with her. The one that he'd watched her strap to her thigh beneath the billowing folds of her lacy, white dress as she peered at him seductively over her shoulder. As it stood, she seemed thrilled by every lingering look he couldn't help, and her smirk widened smugly, her eyes smoldering with a promise that made his heart skip a beat, despite himself.

He made a concerted effort not to look at her after that and instead fixed his gaze on the passing scenery outside of his car window.

The Usagi in this world was used to getting what she wanted, and he'd seen enough to know that she liked the attention. He didn't intend to give in to her that way because the only time he'd managed to catch a glimpse of his Usako was when he'd dared to defy her.

The manor they pulled up to this time was considerably smaller than the one that the Tsukino's owned. Though, he noted that this one was just as well protected, with one pronounced difference. The men that they drove past were not armed, not with guns, anyway. This was not a surprise to him, because as far as he knew, even the Yakuza did not handle firearms, preferring other means of protection instead.

He knew that this made the Tsukino's a dangerously rare exception and, not for the first time on the drive over, he wondered what the hell they were walking into today.

When Asahi smoothly pulled the car into park, Kaito was quick to exit the vehicle and open the door for Usagi, who imperiously held her hand out, uncrossed her legs, and carefully slid out of the car onto a well-maintained pavilion.

Asahi spared him only a brief glance before he slid out of the car and jerked his head in a beckoning gesture, which Mamoru understood to be a silent command to follow suit.

He pressed his lips into a hard line, a feeling of dread uncoiling in the pit of his stomach as he moved to stand beside Usagi. Something didn't feel right. Though, he wasn't sure if it was because something awful was about to happen or if he was just generally uncomfortable with the unsavory nature of this visit. Whatever it was, Usagi appeared unfazed as she stood, a look of irritation etched onto her face, arms crossed as she impatiently tapped one of her high-heeled shoes.

Asahi and Kaito also seemed unconcerned, though, honestly, it was hard to tell because the brutes always seemed tense and ready to fight.

Finally, the more traditional, paper-thin doors that were more common in this type of structure, soundlessly slid open, and his breath hitched in his throat because he recognized the man that stepped out onto the veranda and peered coldly down at them. It was Jadeite. The short, sandy mop of blonde hair was slicked back, dressed just as suavely as Kunzite had been, his shoulders squared, and a smirk curled onto his lips.

He felt Usagi stiffen beside him, and he risked a furtive sideways glance at her. Her expression darkened, her lips pursed with irritation as she glared up at him.

Jadeite's smirk only widened at her petulant expression. "Sorry to have kept you waiting, Usagi-san," he apologized politely, though his tone was clearly contrived.

It was very clear to Mamoru that Jadeite despised Usagi, and he couldn't help the way his heart quickened nervously, and every protective instinct inside of him was screaming in protest, begging him to shield her from Jadeite's venomous stare.

He shook his head sharply to clear it. That was ridiculous, of course. The Usagi of this world was perfectly capable of protecting herself.

The mist around them seemed to thicken, and a light drizzle settled over them like the sky was threatening to begin raining in earnest when an icy smile that perfectly mirrored Jadeite's curled onto her lips. "Oh, it wasn't too long at all, Jed," she purred, and the forced mask of polite welcome fell momentarily from his face as his eyes glinted with a brief flash of fury. "Aren't you going to invite us in? This was, after all, your idea."

Mamoru's trepidation only heightened as six tattooed, clearly trained members of the Yakuza family filtered out onto the veranda behind Jadeite.

Jadeite nodded in response, his smile so obviously filled with hatred. "Of course," he murmured apologetically, bowing respectively. "I will, of course, ask that you hand over your cellular devices and any firearms that you might have on your person to the gentleman over here," he demanded, gesturing towards the men that had just poured out behind him.

Mamoru swallowed nervously because he hated a gun just as much as the next person, but without that clear defining weapon that gave them the slight upper hand, their small group would clearly be at a horrible disadvantage. Couldn't Usagi tell that they were in danger?

Apparently, she couldn't. Or she was too damn arrogant. Either way, he practically growled out in protest when she nodded in acquiescence, leaned over, and inched the bottom seam of her dress up slowly to pull the gun from her thigh. He was sure he could hear the furious panic-induced pounding of his heart in his ears when two of the tattooed men stepped forward to divest them of their only means of protection, as well as communication. What the fuck?

Asahi and Kaito had complied just as quickly as Usagi, and he was at a loss for words when one of the men stopped just in front of him. His expression was as sour as the smell on his breath. "Gun, phone," he demanded frostily. "Now."

Mamoru shook his head, "I have neither," he snapped back, still in disbelief, and the man growled with irritation, roughly running his hands along the length of him, briskly frisking him. Mamoru instinctively shoved him away. "I already told you, I don't have anything!"

The man reared up, his eyes flashing menacingly when Usagi interrupted, brightly chiming in. "He's not armed," she supplied, her eyes flicking over to Jadeite. "He's one of our more… simple Shatei's."

He wasn't able to stop himself from rolling his eyes, but, surprisingly, Jadeite nodded curtly, and bad-breath backed off.

"I'm sure you understand what would happen if you were to lie to me, Usagi-san," Jadeite threatened and, despite the awful person that Usagi was in this nightmare, his hands clenched into angry fists as he stepped forward protectively.

It didn't go unnoticed by Usagi, who frowned in confusion before she shook her head and refocused her attention on Jadeite. "And I'm sure you know exactly what would happen if something were to happen to us here."

Something flashed through the green irises of Jadeite's eyes, then, and Mamoru couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it did not reassure him.

The general nodded curtly, twisted on his heel, and gestured them forwards, inviting them to follow him into the manor.

His vision blurred, his breath quickening because, hell, this wasn't right. Though he hadn't been granted the abilities of Tuxedo Mask's transformation here, he knew, with every fiber of his being, that his instincts were never wrong. Usagi was in danger, and there was no way he could let her walk into that house.

Which was why his arm shot out, blocking her way when she stepped forward to follow. "Something's wrong," he whispered, his tone raspy and filled with panic. "You can't walk into that house unarmed, Usako."

He was so focused on the potential danger that the term of endearment just slipped from his lips. Her eyes widened, glistening with confusion, and if she really had been only the cold-hearted gangster that enjoyed death and pain, she probably would have sneered at him mockingly.

Instead, she tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowed as she gently laid her hand on his arm, perfectly manicured fingers curling gently around his wrist. "Mamoru," she murmured softly. "This is normal. It's a formality. I promise you that if a member of the Yakuza family even thought about harming me, or the people under my protection, my brother would destroy them."

It was evident by the startled looks of confusion on Asahi and Kaitos' faces that Usagi did not make it a habit to explain her actions to anyone, let alone a lowly underling. She must have realized her mistake, too, because her eyes narrowed angrily and her face reddened with embarrassment.

She angrily shoved his arm away. "Get back in line, Chiba," she practically hissed under her breath before she smoothed out her dress, cleared her throat, and collected herself, taking a confident step forward.

He bit back an exasperated sigh and ignored the sideways glances from the Brutes, who were seemingly impressed and perhaps slightly suspicious now, as he was forced to follow behind them. The hairs rose on the back of his neck in alarm as they stepped over the threshold onto the tatami mat-covered floor.

Jadeite's family apparently opted to live very traditionally, and they all removed their shoes. Usagi was now several inches shorter without the impractical heels as they pressed onward into the house.

He fought the urge to pull her into his arms as a measure of safety when they stepped into what appeared to be a modestly sized tea room with red pine supporting pillars and lintels opposite a small alcove and a simple hanging scroll pinned to the wall beside a lone, partially opened window.

Jadeite gestured to a tea mat, inviting Usagi to sit, and he couldn't help the panic coursing through him as she complied, gracefully lowering herself onto the mat, curling her legs beneath her and primly adjusting her dress on her lap.

She appeared completely unconcerned as her fingers fiddled with a seam on her dress, but he couldn't help but scan the occupants of the room.

It didn't go unnoticed by him the way that the men who'd confiscated their weapons were now suddenly blocking their only exit, and he stepped closer to Usagi, his heart pounding as his eyes narrowed onto Jadeite's face that bore the same hardened expression he'd worn for a brief moment outside.

He knew that he was right when Jadeite's lips curled into a hatred-filled smile of victory as he held his hand out to his men. Fuck. This was bad.

The only other way to leave this room was through that window, and he'd have to shatter it to break through.

Bad breath's smile matched Jadeite's as he stepped forward and reverently handed him Usagi's gun. Asahi and Kaito must have figured it out simultaneously as he had because they rushed toward Jadeite even as he closed the gap between him and Usagi.

Usagi was still confused, and she shot him an annoyed glare over her shoulder as Jadeite lifted the revolver, finger poised on the trigger, and pointed the barrel at Asahi and Kaito, who both stopped in their tracks.

Usagi inhaled sharply, her shoulders stiffening, her expression murderous when she finally realized what was happening. "Jadeite," she hissed in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

Jadeite's gaze flicked from the brute, frozen in place, onto Usagi, and he chuckled darkly, his expression practically manic. "What does it look like, oh holy spawn of the Tsukino family?"

Mamoru's adrenaline was picking up now as his eyes frantically scanned the room. There was no way they were going to get through the line of men at the door… they might be able to manage a fight, based on the twin brutes' sheer size, but not with Jadeite holding Usagi's gun.

Usagi was still sitting on the tatami mat on the floor, frozen in disbelief. "Are you crazy?" she demanded. "Jadeite, if you do this, you're going to die."

He wasn't sure what he expected his former general to say. Maybe laugh callously and reveal his diabolical plan to escape like the villain in every terrible superhero movie. But Jadeite wasn't the villain in this game. Usagi was. And it was evident by the determined, thoroughly resigned look on Jadeite's face that he was well aware of that fact. More than that, he'd accepted his fate.

Usagi must have seen it too because she slowly shook her head; even as Jadeite twisted and trained the gun down at her, the barrel aimed directly at her heart.

"Why?" she rasped, and the desperation in her voice terrified him.

Jadeite's laugh echoed around them, and it was tinged with a dangerously desperate hysteria. This wasn't business for him; it was personal.

"Because you killed her," he whispered hoarsely, his eyes glistening with anguish. "She didn't do anything wrong. She was good." His voice broke with emotion, and Mamoru swallowed around the lump of pain in his throat. He didn't want to hear this. "She was a Shinto priestess, and all she did was happen to be standing in the wrong fucking place at the wrong time."

Mamoru clenched his eyes shut for a moment, wracked with pain because he was torn between anguish for his former friend and Usagi, who was still everything to him, despite everything she'd done. He inhaled sharply with a sudden realization. There was a reason that the monsters had placed them in these specific roles. They wanted him to turn on Usagi. Why?

Usagi had yet to respond, and it infuriated Jadeite even more. "God," he gasped in a ragged breath. "You cold, heartless bitch. You don't even know who I'm talking about."

It was evident by the way Usagi pressed her lips together, her eyes flashing up at Jadeite belligerently, that she, in fact, did not know who Jadeite was talking about.

Jadeite stepped forward, too close, and Asahi and Kaito crowded closer to Usagi protectively. The general stopped as he flicked his eyes onto the twin brutes, the fire in his gaze cooling into a look of calm contemplation. "You three," he began, and his tone had steadied. "You don't have to die for her." Mamoru frowned because Jadeite's eyes had briefly scanned over him, too. "I'll let all three of you leave. I don't have any issues with any of you, and nobody else should die because of her."

He gestured towards the men at the door with a nod of his head. They parted, leaving an opening that would allow them to walk out of this room.

Mamoru's posture stiffened angrily because fuck the monsters that had put them here. He'd never give up on Usagi, no matter how many twisted, horrible things they forced her to do. He'd languish here, live with her as a hardened criminal before he'd ever leave her.

Asahi and Kaito, though, had no such qualms, and he heard Usagi's sharp intake of breath as the brutes exchanged a quick look and nodded. They were going to accept Jadeite's offer.

Usagi fell forward angrily, her palms pressing into the mat, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulder as she glared up at them. "Bastards," she hissed because she'd seen the look they'd exchanged too.

Jadeite chortled as, without a look backward, the brutes slipped away, fleeing from the room. His former general's eyes fell onto him, and he raised an eyebrow in question.

Usagi's head fell forward with a whimper, her shoulders trembling, and Mamoru knew it was because she'd wrongly assumed that he would leave her, too.

Mamoru held Jadeite's gaze for a second longer before he swiftly knelt down, grasped Usagi around the waist, and hauled her to her feet. She gasped, startled and bewildered, as he stepped in front of her small, shuddering form, shielding her from Jadeite's pointed gun.

Jadeite's face fell with disappointment, and his eyes filled with regret. "Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked softly. "I don't really want to kill you, but I will if you don't leave right now."

Mamoru didn't falter. It wouldn't be the first time he'd died for Usagi. He didn't say a word, only took another step backward. He felt Usagi's hands clutch at the fabric at the back of his shirt.

Jadeite sighed miserably. "You know that she's a monster, right?" he pressed, cocking the gun. "It's not worth it. Walk away."

Mamoru only had seconds now to figure out how he was going to get them out of this. A glint of sunshine on the pane of the partially opened window just behind Jadeite caught his eye, and he knew what he was going to do. It was stupid, and it might not work. He had no idea what was on the other side of that window, and if it did work, it was going to hurt like hell. Either way, he was going to die if he just stood here.

So, he took a deep breath in preparation and met Jadeite's eyes with a determined look of his own. "You're wrong," he rasped. "She is worth it."

In one swift movement, he twisted around to face Usagi. Her eyes were wide and filled with terror, and he wrapped one arm around her waist as the other one pressed along her back, his hand tucking her head beneath his chin. With a deep, steadying breath, he propelled them backward.

Just like he'd hoped, it caught Jadeite off guard as they collided with him. Mamoru was extremely grateful that Jadeite hadn't accidentally fired his gun as he clutched onto Usagi more tightly and thrust his shoulder into the window.

There was a possibility that the windowpane was too thick, and, like an idiot, he could have hit it with a dull thud, only managing to knock himself out. Luckily, though, this whole thing was exactly like a stupid action movie. Just like he'd hoped, the glass shattered, and he clenched his eyes shut, sucked in a breath of air as he curled around Usagi in an attempt to protect her from the shards of glass he could feel cutting into the skin of his arms and the back of his neck.

The fall from the window, thankfully, was not a high one. Though it knocked the wind out of him and sent stars dancing at the edges of his blurred vision when his back hit the dirt ground with a dull, aching thud. Usagi's total body weight landed on top of him, pressing the air from his lungs.

He groaned, craning his neck sideways where he noted that the house happened to sit on the edge of a sprawling hillside that dipped low, sloping steeply into the dense, thick foliage of wild camellias and bamboo fronds below. The sound of gunshots ringing above him and the sharply uttered expletives from Jadeite and his men snapped him out of his pained daze. Without a second thought, he curled his arms around Usagi, took a deep breath, dug his heels into the ground, and propelled them sideways, forcibly rolling them over the edge.

They were a mass of tangled limbs, blonde hair, and mutual groans of pain as they twisted, bumped and flailed down the rough terrain. When they finally stopped rolling, he grunted as he fell onto his back with a final jarring thump. Usagi's elbow connected painfully in his ribs, and he bit his tongue as the crown of her head smashed into the bottom of his chin as she landed, with a whimpered moan, squarely on top of him.

He took a moment to catch his breath, their breathing labored, chests heaving, his whole body aching, though it was dulled from the adrenaline that still coursed through his veins. He didn't have much time to take stock of his or Usagi's injuries, though, because the muffled shouts from where they'd just fallen indicated that they were being pursued. If they didn't get the hell out of there, they were going to lose their head start.

With another burst of adrenaline and strength, he turned them onto their sides, then vaulted onto his feet, pulling Usagi up with him. He heard the sharp intake of ragged breath that hissed through her teeth at the movement, and for a second, he swayed dizzily, too.

His eyes met hers, and, dear God, she was a hot mess.

She definitely looked the way he felt, her hair a tangled mass falling over her shoulders, half of it still clumped into the clip at the nape of her neck. There were curled tendrils sticking to her face that was cut in several places, the shadow of a bruise visible on her left cheekbone. Her dress, previously a pristine white masterpiece, was torn, blood and dirt smeared on the skirt.

What really made his breath catch in his throat, though, was the wide, doe-eyed look of vulnerability glistening in her eyes. "Come on," he whispered hoarsely, grasped her wrist, and pulled her into the snarled, thickening branches of cypress trees. "We have to run."

He wasn't sure how long they ran, his fingers curled around her wrist, as he tugged, yanked, and maneuvered her through what seemed to be a never-ending maze of widening boughed pines, thickening shrubbery, and a vast, endless forest of maple and pine trees.

They were both barefoot, and the twigs, jagged rocks, and other forest debris were definitely beginning to take their toll on the soles of his feet. So, he imagined that Usagi was also feeling the pain. She didn't complain, though, and she pressed onward with him until, finally, his muscles seized, screaming painfully in protest, his lungs expelling molten lava rather than air, and he couldn't go any further.

Usagi had reached her limit at the same time as him, and she collapsed to her knees, heaving, her breath ragged, in the middle of a clearing. He collapsed beside her.

"Usako," he gasped through his teeth that were gritted in pain. "Just a bit more, okay?"

She was on her knees, leaning back on her haunches, her palms pressed into the dirt in front of her as she craned her neck sideways to meet his gaze. Tears trailed through the dirt, and blood smeared on her cheeks.

She shook her head. "I can't," she croaked, her chest rapidly rising and falling with each labored breath. "I can't take another step."

He leaned towards her, the corners of his lips curling up into a smirk. "Yes, you can," he reassured. "You can do anything."

There was enough conviction in his words that she nodded, grimacing with determination. With a pained whimper, she pulled herself to her feet. The muscles in his legs twitched, the tendons popping with agony, but he followed suit, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her as they slowly limped out of the clearing before collapsing at the base of a particularly wide oak tree; safely hidden in the density of some camellia bushes.

He leaned his head back against the rough bark, clenched his eyes shut, and focused on slowing his breathing while still keeping an ear out for any indication that they'd been tracked this far.

When he could finally catch his breath, and it didn't feel like his heart was going to burst through his chest, he opened his eyes and turned towards Usagi. She'd curled her arms around her bare, scraped legs that she tucked into her chest. Her head buried in her knees, blonde hair rippling around her like a protective curtain long enough to sweep along the ground.

He exhaled slowly, the cold air curling around his lips. "Usako," he began, his tone crisp. "Do you know if there's anything nearby?"

He was very aware of their current predicament, now. Shoeless, weaponless, and phoneless. Meaning they were utterly defenseless in the middle of nowhere.

Which did not really bode well because the mist had thickened around them. He supposed that was beneficial in keeping them hidden, but everything was damp, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was very aware of the cold that was seeping through his torn clothing. So was Usagi, too, because she shivered as she lifted her head, her misery-filled eyes locking onto his.

"The closest place is Kinkakuji temple, and it's at least six miles away," she responded blandly, her tone filled with despondency. "And that's if we make our way back to the road. If we stay in the forest, it's further."

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers hit a particularly tender spot on his scalp. Things were indeed looking grim.

"How long before you can walk again?"

She grimaced, her nose wrinkling adorably at the thought. "I don't know," she admitted miserably.

Mamoru nodded with understanding, not looking forward to standing himself. "Okay," he conceded quietly. "We'll stay here for a little bit, catch our breath, and then we'll make our way to the temple."

He'd been there once or twice in the real world, and it was a popular tourist location. There was bound to be someone there with a phone.

Usagi nodded, and then it fell silent between them. The only sounds were the leaves from the trees whistling, the creaking of the boughs moving in the wind, and the occasional bird chirping.

Everything seemed to slow down, and it felt like he finally had a moment to process everything that had just happened in Jadeite's manor. The implications of how badly the cords of this ruthless, cold-hearted character had been woven in the brightly lit ribbons of his Usako twisted his heart in his chest.

He knew that ultimately, it didn't matter. Even if this was the nightmare, the one that he failed to save her, and she continued down this path of pain and cruelty. He'd still stay, and he would always love her until his very last breath left his body. He hoped that it didn't come to that, though, and he couldn't help but wonder…

"Did you do it, Usagi?" he asked softly, gaze firmly fixed on the partially broken stem of a flower on the ground in front of him. "Did you kill the priestess?"

She didn't say anything right away, so he was reasonably sure that she wasn't going to respond. Mamoru wasn't sure how he felt about that. After all, she had no way of knowing that the priestess was Rei, anyway. Still, he wanted to know what he was dealing with. Could he bring her back from this?

Finally, she shifted beside him, and he held his breath when she cleared her throat to answer. "I don't know, Mamoru."

He did turn towards her, then, his eyes flashing angrily as he locked his gaze onto her face. "You don't know?" he demanded, and that answer, more than anything, broke his heart. "Have you killed so many people, innocent people, that you don't remember her?"

His tone was harsh and condemning. This wasn't Usagi. This wasn't her.

Her expression darkened, and the hardened contours that he'd become accustomed to in the past couple of days reappeared as she boldly faced him. "How dare you judge me!" she snapped, her eyes filled with rage. "You have no idea what I've had to do. The things I've had to give up to survive," she hissed, her arms trembling, her lower lip quivering. "Do you think I was some spoiled little rich kid that was handed a wealthy family dynasty on a fucking silver platter?"

Her eyes were wild with a mixture of sorrow and rage now, and he wasn't sure if it was because she was exhausted, physically and emotionally, but either way, it was what he wanted. To break open the hardened shell encased around her heart.

He didn't say a word, and his silence spurred her to continue. "Do you think that I wanted to be this way?" she whispered, the chords of her voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. "Trust me. It was either kill or be killed, Mamoru. I survived and built something from nothing."

He laughed, the sound pained and humorless, and shook his head in disbelief. "What did you build, Usagi?" he scoffed. "I can tell you exactly what I see when I look at the person you claim that you needed to become." Her eyes widened, lips parted in shock as he leaned towards her. "I see an empire built purely out of fear. There is not a single person that is loyal to you. They'd throw you to the wolves before risking anything for you. Look at Asahi and Kaito." His tone was ragged, filled with churlish desperation. "Is that what you want? A ton of blood money, surrounded by people who hate you?"

It was harsh, though not nearly as savage as the things she'd done. But, damn, it was effective because her eyes welled with tears, and she visibly swallowed before briskly averting her gaze.

He took a deep breath, his heart aching because of the painful way this nightmare had been crafted to torture them when she spoke again. "I can walk now," she whispered. "I want to go home."

His heart clenched at the word 'home' because this wasn't home. It wasn't where she belonged, and he blinked back his own tears, swallowed, and wordlessly moved to stand. His legs practically screeched in protest, still not fully recovered, as he held his hand out to help her up.

For a second, he thought she wasn't going to take it, but, gaze still averted, she grasped his wrist and leveraged it to stand. She sucked in a pained breath, and he barely gripped her waist in time to keep her from falling.

Her arm instinctively curled around his neck, and her fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

She nodded, pulling away, wobbling and wincing as she steadied herself. "I'm fine," she replied. "My legs just hurt."

He nodded, though his gaze swept the length of her to make sure there wasn't any visible wound that he'd missed. She wrapped her arms around her midsection, and she twisted away from him, slowly making her way out of the brush and back into the clearing.

He followed her with a sigh of resignation, and they began to slowly hike through the forest towards what he assumed was the temple.

They were both in pretty rough condition, so it took most of their concentration just to focus on putting one step in front of the other. So he wasn't concerned that they'd spent the past forty minutes trekking quietly.

He was surprised, though, that she was the first one to break the silence. "Why did you stay, Mamoru?"

She'd whispered it, a breathy question filled with a raw vulnerability that had him glancing at her to study her profile. Her expression was stoic as she stared ahead, but the sorrow carved into her movements and the slump of her shoulders had his heart racing with hope.

He knew what she was asking. She wanted to know why he hadn't left with Kaito and Asahi when given a chance. He wanted to tell her the truth. It was because he loved her. Even this version of her. Instead, he smiled and shrugged.

"Maybe I see what you could be, instead of what you think you have to be, Usako."

She frowned, mulling over his response, before laughing drily in disbelief. "And what do you think I could be, Mamoru?" she demanded, her tone tinged with sarcasm, her shoulders stiffening defensively.

Mamoru smiled wryly. "Oh, I don't know," he murmured. "What about a warrior of justice and love?"

It was meant to be a joke. Truly, it was. But he choked on the words because he'd give anything to have his bright, beautiful Moon Senshi fall clumsily into his arms right now.

She snorted, sputtering in disbelief. "You're not serious?"

His smile was wistful, now, and he shrugged again. "No, I guess I'm not," he replied, still steadily moving towards their intended destination. "You can be good, though, Usagi. There is so much beauty inside of you."

He knew that because he knew her, of course. But Usagi stumbled, halting, frozen in her tracks at his words. He turned towards her, brow raised, and she shook her head. Her eyes were wide and filled with confusion.

"How could you possibly know that there is anything beautiful inside of me?" she whispered hoarsely, though his heart skipped a beat because there was a hope tinged in there too. Something he hadn't heard since waking up here. "You barely know me."

His responding smile was tender this time as he studied her face, carefully considering his next words. "Do you think that there is beauty inside of you, Usako?"

Once again, his question startled her, and he watched as a vast array of facial expressions crossed her face. The nightmare version of Usagi had never been forced to face herself or the things she'd done before. And, just like he knew it would, the bright shining cords of light that belonged to his Usagi won, and her eyes welled with tears at the horrifying self-realization of who she was.

She swallowed as she shook her head. "No," she replied miserably. "There is nothing beautiful worth saving inside of me."

He inhaled sharply, and just because he couldn't stand it any longer, the desolate misery in her voice breaking his heart, he lifted his hand and gently caressed the side of her face.

"You're wrong, Usako."

He stepped towards her, closing the gap between them, and his breath hitched as she curled her fingers into the fabric at the front of his shirt, tilting her chin upwards, lips parted, eyes wide and filled with anticipation as he lifted his arms and gently cradled her face in his hands. The pads of his thumb tenderly swiped over the bruise on her cheekbone.

His lips were mere inches away from pressing onto hers, their breath weaving hotly in between them when a piercing cry of rage resonated loudly through the silence.

"Usagi!"

They both twisted towards the source of the sound, and he was startled to realize that they'd made it to the road. The realization was short-lived, though, because barreling towards them with a fierce rage contorted darkly onto his face was Kunzite.

He opened his mouth to speak but didn't get the chance to utter a single word. Kunzite raised his gun and violently smashed the butt of the handle onto the base of his skull. Mamoru crumpled to the ground, and the last thing he heard before everything went black was Usagi's cry of dismay.

oOo

He was getting used to waking up with a dull ache throbbing in his head, but this was a whole different level of headache. The sharp stabbing sensation that coursed through the back of his skull when he opened his eyes elicited a feral groan that resonated painfully loud around him. Damn. Was he dead? He definitely felt like death, and it took a moment, with images of Kunzite's murderous expression popping into the forefront of his mind, before he managed to open his eyes again.

He was back in the mansion; that much was evident by the familiar, neutrally painted walls that he recognized from the plain room that he'd been assigned to.

He blinked, grimacing as he propped himself up onto his elbows, then his brows furrowed. It looked like the room that Makoto had shown him to yesterday, but it wasn't. The layout was slightly different. Not to mention that he was currently laying on the thick, plush surface of a mattress resting on a twin-bed frame rather than the less than comfortable tatami mat he'd been assigned to the night before.

The room was dim, the lights off, and it was only the waning daylight peeking through the coarse brown shutters of the lone window in the bedroom. It barely lit up the room, casting shadows against the walls.

With less difficulty than he expected, though every limb in his body was still throbbing, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing when the muscles in his thighs screeched in protest as he ran his fingers through his hair.

He noted then that not only was he bare-chested, but his arms and torso were bandaged, presumably from cuts and scrapes courtesy of the sharp glass of the window that he'd barreled through. Or the jagged rocks that had torn through his clothing when he'd rolled himself down the hillside with Usagi tucked in his arms.

The thought of Usagi elicited another sigh, this one pained and exhausted as he propped his elbows onto his knees and buried his head in his hands. He'd been getting somewhere. He was sure of it, and if not for Kunzite's interruption, he would have… what? Kissed her again? Magically pulled the webbed, implanted cords of the cruel and vile gangster out of her with just his lips?

He choked back a bark of pained, self-deprecating laughter; when had the nightmares ever been that easy?

He was finding this one particularly tricky. Although, the fact that he was in a room, his wounds professionally treated, was a good sign. He wondered where Usagi was or if she was okay when the door to his room slid open. The sound of the wood scraping across the floor was unimaginably loud.

He ignored the pain in his body and twisted his torso around to face the door. It was Makoto that stepped over the threshold, her face pale and her expression just as grim as it had been the last time he'd seen it.

She froze mid-stride when her gaze fell onto him and visibly relaxed. "Oh, thank God," she breathed, relieved as she shut the door behind her. "You're awake."

He grinned ruefully with an apologetic shrug. "I'd say that it looks worse than it feels," he began wryly. "But I'd be lying."

Makoto rolled her eyes, crossed her arms, and exhaled with a sigh of exasperation. "Just out of curiosity, what happens if you die?" she snapped, her tone pained and laced with worry. "Does that mean I have to get Usagi to fall in love with me?" she demanded sarcastically, "or am I stuck in this hell hole of a life with friends who've been brainwashed worse than that time you were brainwashed by Beryl?"

She frowned, lost in thought, as she tapped a slender finger against her lips in contemplation. "Hmm… or that time with Dark lady. Then, actually, there was Nehelenia…" she trailed off at the scowl on his face.

When she put it like that, it did seem like a lot...

Makoto raised an eyebrow. "It's a bit ironic that you're the only one that isn't under some kind of spell, actually," she murmured, almost as if wondering out loud. "You get brainwashed quite a bit. If you think about it—"

He lifted his hands in surrender, interrupting her through gritted teeth. "Point taken, Makoto!"

He shook his head, annoyed, the sharp movement slightly painful. That was the last thing he wanted to be reminded of right now.

Makoto rolled her eyes, then waved her hand dismissively. "Regardless, what does happen if you die here? Because, I'm not going to lie, Mamoru," she admitted sharply. "That was a terrifying couple of hours."

Mamoru shifted on the bed, wincing with the movement as he stretched out his arm, testing its strength. Other than overall aching, some bandaged superficial wounds, and the headache courtesy of Kunzite, he'd managed to survive that ordeal relatively unscathed.

"I don't know, Makoto," he replied with a frown. "Guess I'll have to make sure we don't find out." He flexed his fingers tentatively before lifting his eyes back up to the brunette. "What happened to Usagi? Is she okay?"

Makoto's expression hardened, and her shoulders visibly tensed, which made his heart drop into the pit of his stomach in disappointment.

Makoto swallowed, shifted her weight from one foot to the other before shrugging with forced nonchalance. "She's fine. All things considered," she began, her tone hard and unyielding. "Kunzite took care of all of those who followed Akiyama-san," her eyes darkened. "Which means that they're all dead. They were a part of the Yakuza's Aizu Kotetsu-kai. Which is a smaller group, but they were supposedly allied with the Tsukino's."

Mamoru's heart twisted painfully in his chest at the thought of a broken-hearted Jadeite, staring down the barrel of a gun, his eyes haunted and filled with hatred for Usagi. It wasn't her fault. But it hadn't been his, either.

Makoto's eyes were filled with cold apprehension as she paused, swallowed, before continuing. "I've been tasked with searching out and finding Kaito and Asahi," she stated coldly. "Apparently, I'm a skilled tracker and an equally skilled murderer."

Mamoru inhaled sharply, "Who ordered that?"

He already knew the answer before it spilled from Makoto's lips. There was no way that one small interaction in the middle of the woods would undo all the damage the monsters had done to Usagi's psyche. It was still unbearably disappointing to hear, though.

"Kumicho Tsukino ordered it, of course," Makoto replied sardonically, a humorless half-smirk on her lips. "Who else?"

Mamoru cursed, grinding his fist into the mattress in frustration. Had he made any kind of impact? He needed to see her.

"You must have done something right, though, Mamoru," Makoto exclaimed. "Looks like you've moved up in the ranks, Kyōdai Chiba." She laughed drily, and Mamoru hated to see Makoto like this. "She sent me to see if you were well enough to join the sordid affair they call dinner."

Mamoru stood then, infinitely relieved that he was wearing pants as he tested the weight on his limbs, found that the dull ache in his legs was manageable, and closed the gap between him and Makoto.

She didn't move as he approached; her expression was cold, tired, and slightly wary. "Makoto," he began softly, his expression sympathetic. "I know that this sucks, but I've made some progress, and I promise you that I will get us out of here."

Her expression didn't soften, but there was a flash of hope in her eyes. "I know, Mamoru," she responded brokenly. "It's just tough to see her like this, you know?" She choked on her words, and his heart flipped because he definitely knew. "If there is any Usagi left in there, she'd hate that she was doing these things. It would kill her if she knew."

He nodded in agreement and opted not to tell Makoto about Rei. He'd get them out of here before she found out. Now that he knew that he could appeal to Usagi's humanity, that was precisely what he intended to do. She wasn't as cold and ruthless as she'd have everyone believe.

Makoto exhaled slowly and stepped back towards the door. "Look, you better get dressed and get to the dining hall. I have to head out and find these traitors, and I'm kind of hoping that you get us out of here before I do."

He nodded as she twisted the handle on the door. Dread began to pool uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach as he watched her go. "Oh, Mamoru," she whispered, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Watch out for Kunzite. He's out for blood, and he likes Usagi this way."

The warning was chilling, and it rang hollowly in the room before she twisted around and strode through the door, her shoulders squared and confident like the ruthless fighter she was being forced to play.

He tried not to let the hopelessness seep in as his eyes remained fixed on the empty doorway where she'd just disappeared. He hoped that when this was over, when they'd erased this nightmarish world from existence, that Makoto's memories of this nightmare would be erased, too.

oOo

Mamoru wished that he'd paid more attention when Asahi had guided him through the endless, similar-looking halls that all seemed to twist and bend the same way. How was it even possible that this house was that big? And why had he suddenly been granted the privilege of roaming through it on his own?

Not that he was complaining or anything. He'd made headway in that aspect of this world at least, which would make getting around undetected much easier without the constant, annoyingly watchful eyes of the twin Brutes that had been assigned to him. The reminder that Asahi and Kaito had been branded traitors and were being hunted by Makoto, no less, instantly sobered him just as he rounded the corner towards what he now recognized as the hall where the dining room was located.

He'd run through different scenarios in his mind; what he would say and do the next time he faced Usagi. He felt like he was relatively prepared to see her, as he was certain that he'd made at least some sort of difference in her cold disposition. There was no way she'd been faking that emotion in the woods. He should have known that things never tended to go his way, though, and he halted in his tracks as she rounded the corner at the end of the hall.

It was as if nothing had happened, dressed in another sleek black, tightly-cinched, low-cut, layered chiffon dress. Damn. Despite himself and his resolve to save his pure-hearted, pink-cheeked, naively innocent Moon Princess. He couldn't help but be affected by her dressed like a seductive, hardened criminal.

There were simply no words to describe the way his pulse quickened at the sight of her like this. Though he could do without the ruthlessness, she was still stunning; a tall, perfectly sculpted masterpiece of perfection moving gracefully across the floor in another pair of stilettos. If not for the shadow of a bruise on her face, and the discreetly covered bandage peeking out from beneath an intricate sleeve of lace, you'd never know that she'd spent any time barefoot, barreling through the debris of the forest with him.

She was alone, though, given what had happened to her, he was sure that wouldn't last long. He took a deep, determined breath and ignored the lingering pain in his legs as he widened his strides to close the gap between them.

He didn't take his eyes off of her face as he approached, and with every step, his heart fell a little further. There was nothing in her eyes, but a hardened, shrewd stare of cool curiosity and the hint of a smirk curled onto blood-red lips. He wanted to reach out and wipe the gaudy lipstick away.

He stopped in front of her, brow furrowed, suddenly feeling unsure, "Usako—"

She scowled and lifted a delicate hand, a sharp flick of her wrist, to interrupt him. "You've proven yourself valuable, Chiba," she snapped steadily, her voice that bone-chilling trill that made his blood run cold. "As compensation for your loyalty, I am happy to have you as a part of the Kyodai." He was sure that the frustration was evident on his face when she stepped towards him, her smirk widening as she tilted her head to peer up at him coldly. "But, if you ever address me by anything other than Kumicho Tsukino or mention anything that transpired in those woods, I'll make good on my promise to put a bullet in your brain."

It was a hissed demand with a pop of her lips, and his stomach turned as his heart clenched painfully in his chest. He hadn't made a difference. It was a crushing realization that ripped him apart. She was just as cruel and unreachable as ever. He wanted to hit something. Or scream with rage while forcibly shaking the viciousness out of her. Because this fucking sucked, and he wanted his Usagi back. He'd made a promise to Makoto, and, more than anything, she was his goddamn reason for breathing, and he needed to save her.

Instead, he snapped his mouth shut, jaw clenched, and nodded curtly. What the hell was he going to do now? There had to be a way to get through to her. There was always a way.

The hopelessness began to seep through, still frozen in front of her when a sharply uttered command pulled him from his thoughts.

"Usagi!"

The silver-haired General wore a murderous expression as he stepped through the dragon etched doorway and into the hall. There was a fleeting flash of exasperation on Usagi's face as she stepped back until she was standing beside her brother.

The corners of her lips curled up into a reassuring smile as she laid a delicate hand on his arm. "There's no need to shout, brother," she murmured softly. "I was just about to come in."

It was apparent that Usagi was trying to appease her hot-headed sibling that stood tall, his muscles coiled tensely as if in preparation to fight, his icy-blue stare fixed angrily on Mamoru's face. Not for the first time since the nightmares had begun, Mamoru was tempted to wipe Kunzite's callous expression away with his fist.

Instead, he fought against the urge, his expression impassive as he steadily kept eye contact with the general that seemed to expect him to back down. Which Mamoru did not intend to do.

"We've been waiting for you, Usa," Kunzite practically growled. "I'm not sure why you're wasting your time speaking to the help."

Mamoru raised a brow in amusement, which, as expected, infuriated the general even more. Unsurprisingly, as Kunzite was pretty much unhinged, the general growled; it was a feral sound as he reached for the gun on his hip. Did they need to carry those things everywhere?

Usagi tsked soothingly, effectively calming him with a smile and squeeze of her hand on his wrist. "The help that did save my life, Kunz."

Mamoru watched in amazement as it cooled Kunzite's blazing temper. His expression had settled into a petulant scowl as he flicked his gaze from Usagi back onto Mamoru. "I don't trust him, Usa," he spat.

Mamoru was getting really tired of being spoken about as if he weren't standing right here.

Usagi laughed, a low, breathy sound that was sultry, un-Usagi-like, but sent shudders down his spine all the same. "Well, I do," she emphasized, and Mamoru's breath hitched hopefully in his throat. "Besides," she continued with a scornful smile he couldn't stand to see. "I was just putting him back in his place."

He swallowed with barely restrained disgust, hopes dashed, throat constricted angrily as Kunzite nodded, appeased, as he possessively clasped Usagi's wrist and pulled her through the doorway into the brightly lit dining room, leaving him no choice but to follow desolately behind them.

The dining room was relatively full; the long, cherry wood varnished table was covered with various dishes, the delicious aroma making his mouth water. There were approximately six other men seated in the room, and, like Asahi and Kaito, they were bruting, sullen-faced, and, unsurprisingly, armed with guns.

There were a couple of exceptions; women, uniformed, flitting in and out of the room. Presumably serving dinner, and Hinata, the man Usagi had punished the day before, standing along the wall with another man that he'd never seen.

The conversation in the room was loud and boisterous before Usagi and Kunzite walked in. Then, it was as if their very presence sucked the sound from the room, replacing it with the chilled chords of fear instead. Usagi was the picture of power as she made her way around the table, and when her gaze coolly swept over the table's occupants, the grown, muscled men literally sunk in their seats. Their eyes respectfully averted. Hinata, Mamoru noted, was gaunt and more terrified than the rest.

He wasn't sure what the etiquette of a kyodai —whatever the hell that was supposed to be— entailed. So, he opted to stay standing, his eyes glued to Usagi's lithe form as she moved to sit at the head of the table.

Her eyes met his for a moment, and she arched a golden brow, tilting her head slightly towards an empty chair beside brute number… seven? Eight? He'd never keep them all straight in his head, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he stepped forward and lowered himself into the seat she'd indicated.

From this angle, he had a perfect view of Usagi, and while the others forcibly focused their eyes on anything but her, he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the contours of her face. The slight curve of her neck, the soft angled edges of her cheekbone...

This nightmare was torture.

"At ease, gentlemen," Kunzite exclaimed, his tone laced with amusement. "Jadeite and the gutter rats that followed him are dead, and my beautiful sister, Kumicho Tsukino, is home, safe and sound," Kunzite cheered, though there was a razor-sharp edge to his words that made Mamoru's fingers curl into fists under the table. "Eat! Laugh! Celebrate!" he roared boisterously, and the men around him cheered.

They'd been given permission to eat, and Mamoru's stomach churned because he felt like he was surrounded by a pack of cruel and savage animals that filled their plates and spoke lightly about how they'd violently and slowly ended Jadeite's life.

Kunzite, he noted, liked to talk, and he could barely manage to keep the disgust from showing on his face as he listened to the banter around him. This world and everything about it made him sick.

He couldn't manage to muster up an appetite, and the idea that Usagi might be trapped here, like this, doing these things forever, dimmed the hope that he'd been holding onto so tightly up until this moment. He'd been moving forward in this nightmare with the firm and unwavering belief that he could appeal to the most beautiful staples of Usagi's personality as he knew it. It had worked in every horrible world so far. But what if it didn't work here because the ultimate goal of all of this was to destroy everything good about her?

His heart involuntarily quickened at the painful thought, and his breath hitched because the idea that she was really gone tore him up inside.

He couldn't hear what Kunzite and the others were saying anymore. The other Kyodai had attempted to engage him in conversation several times. Though, they'd given up when he didn't reciprocate. He couldn't manage words, even if he tried; his eyes were fixed firmly on Usagi.

She'd been mostly silent, her expression painfully unreadable as she absentmindedly pushed the food around on her plate, yet another thing that was unlike his Usako.

He wondered how he was going to adjust to life with her like this. Though it was painful to consider, there was no question about it. He was going to stay with her, regardless of the outcome.

He was lost in thought, wistfully studying her profile, when she unexpectedly looked up and craned her neck to the side. His brows drew together into a puzzled frown because she was focused, suddenly, on something across the room.

She didn't realize that he was watching her, so his breath caught in his throat, and the faint wisps of hope roared back to life when a softened expression that was more reminiscent of his Usagi, and less Kumicho Tsukino, fell onto her face.

Her brow creased slightly into a slight, uncertain frown, and she tilted her head to the side; her lower lip poised between her teeth as she appeared to be considering something. He followed her gaze, and his heart stopped; breath hitched nervously in anticipation when he realized she was watching Hinata.

The gaunt-faced, trembling advisor, eyes downcast, stood with a couple of other outcast men along the wall on the other side of the table. This moment felt like it was one of monumental importance, and Mamoru's gaze snapped back to Usagi, whose eyes briefly swept over him.

It was there again. The vulnerability that he was sure he'd imagined, and his fisted hands shook underneath the table when she spoke.

"Hinata."

The dominant chords of her tone effectively stopped the conversation in the room. Even Kunzite frowned as he glanced over at his sister with curiosity. On the other hand, Hinata looked terrified, wide-eyed, face pale and trembling, just like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. It was painful to see someone cower like that in front of her.

It must have been painful for Usagi, too, because her face flashed with remorse for just a split second. It was enough to make Mamoru want to leap from his seat, a shouted exclamation of victory on his lips. There was no way he'd imagined that look this time, and he waited with bated breath to see what she was going to do.

Usagi cleared her throat, tilted her chin up imperiously, and waved towards an empty seat at the end of the table. "Sit," she demanded, though there was a softened tone underlying the sharpness of her voice. "I'd like for you to eat."

Hinata shook his head slowly in disbelief, his eyes wildly flicking from her to Kunzite, whose expression had turned from mild curiosity to darkened, anger-tinged, confusion. "Usagi," Kunzite laughed darkly. "You can't be serious."

Usagi's eyes narrowed coolly as she gracefully twisted her torso to meet Kunzite's eyes. "Have you ever known me to say something jokingly, brother?"

You could hear a pin drop, the silence in the room deafening and filled with tension as all of its occupants were frozen as they watched the scene unfold, varying expressions of confusion, horror, and surprise written on their faces. None were as startled as Kunzite, though, who was definitely not used to being challenged by his sister. He seemed to consider his options for a moment, and Mamoru could see him mulling over the possibilities and the outcomes from what he would say next.

He opted to smile, force a laugh, and leaned back in his chair with a dismissive wave. "Of course not, beautiful sister," he responded with a light airiness that was so transparently forced. Mamoru knew he wasn't the only one to see through it. "By all means, Hinata," Kunzite's ice blue eyes fell onto the advisor, "eat."

Kunzite's jaw was clenched tightly, and all of the eyes in the room fell onto Hinata, who was practically trembling now, his gaze darting wildly between Usagi and Kunzite.

He wisely decided to listen to Usagi, as he hesitantly stepped towards the table, bowed respectively, before seating himself. "Thank you, Kumicho Tsukino," he murmured reverently as he gratefully leaned forward to slowly fill his plate.

Usagi nodded in response, straightening in her seat. "In the future, please don't be… afraid to advise me. I'll heed your words more carefully next time."

He didn't miss the outburst of whispers and gasps that broke out across the room. This seemed to be enough for Kunzite, who laughed loudly. "Well, then!" he chortled, though it was tinged with fury. "Enough of the silence! Celebrate!"

It was an order, and the conversation around the room resumed, though the atmosphere was filled with more tension than it had been before.

Mamoru's heart was racing because there was no way that Usagi had chosen that specific word, subtly telling Hinata that she didn't want him to be afraid if the things he'd said in the woods hadn't affected her.

His gaze met hers, and he decided that he wanted to take a chance. He needed to know. So, instead of carefully guarding his expression, his eyes filled with tenderness, and his lips curled up into a small, approving smile.

It was just a fleeting wisp that was fleeting, but a pink blush swept across her cheeks and, for just a moment, she returned his smile before her expression became shuttered once again, and she turned back to her plate.

Mamoru's smile only faded when he felt another pair of eyes trained on him, and he turned to meet Kunzite's gaze. He inwardly grimaced because if looks could kill, he'd be dead.

oOo