Miyuki's Zetsuai Page Zetsuai 1989/Bronze
Under the Moonlight, Part 8
By miyuki-chan

Nadeshiko Nanjo, alias Mina Sakaki. She'd chosen the pseudonym herself.

Like Takasaka before her, Nadeshiko was good at her job. She was a diligent worker and, though she was quietly attractive, she was unassuming. She was good both at the job of secretary she had taken as a cover, she was also good at spying. As far as Nadeshiko knew, nobody she worked under was even aware there was a mole in their organisation and whilst she wouldn't have been above suspicion should such a thing have been suspected, she would not have been seen as the most obvious threat to security.

Her face was not known. Nadeshiko, despite her famous family, was a quiet person and had never courted publicity. For Koji and, to a certain degree, to Akihito, publicity drew them like a moth to a candle flame. Nadeshiko had never sought that. As the youngest member and a girl in a highly traditional family where very little was expected of women, she had been at best a shadowy personality. The biggest stir she was likely to have caused would be through her debut into society, her engagement and ultimate marriage. Nadeshiko was, as yet, too young for any of these things.

She remained an unobtrusive cog in the apparatus of state, or to be more precise, a Trojan Horse in a personal computer, insidious as well as co-operative. In her position – Nadeshiko had managed, unlike Eri, to gain employment as a personal assistant, or something very similar – she saw and heard a lot; while not all of it proved useful, it all had a place.

***

Standing in the lobby, cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, Katsumi ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to get some of the snow out of it before it melted. Snow was just delayed-action rain in that respect; his hair was already slightly damp, not to mention it was hot in here. The central heating was horribly efficient. Still, he liked it. He hated being too cold. Holding his coat in one hand he absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder with the other; for some reason the cold made it ache. Stupid thing. His shoulder was a lot more trouble than it was worth right now.

He'd been back in the city just under a week, he and Yoshiya both, that was. Odd, that. Katsumi had expected to be taken off active service when it became apparent that he'd never regain full mobility in his left arm – though the condition was mildly aggravating, he was secretly rather grateful for it – but Yoshiya was still perfectly healthy. He suspected someone, somewhere, of pulling some strings. He suspected it was his uncle. He certainly hadn't asked for it, for all that he was pleased about it. He'd have to remember to get him for at some point.

Technically both he and Yoshiya were still soldiers. Katsumi thought he was more like a camouflaged Office Lady. He really didn't understand how it was it had been worked out, he just knew it had and that was all he'd needed to know. He supposed the theory was that this way his uncle could keep an eye on him. They couldn't risk sending him back to the front anyway, even if he wasn't on active duty, so they'd downgraded him and given him an administrative job. At least they'd actually given him something to do. Anything that stopped him from thinking too hard was fine by him.

Still, offices were… he found them strange. Some of the younger secretaries barely seemed to know there was a war on at all; they were more preoccupied with make-up, gossiping and scheming to get married (some of these schemes involved Yoshiya on the grounds that he was young, single and a man. Yoshiya wasn't the flirtatious type and found this decidedly unnerving. Katsumi had been relieved to discover that he was still a child in their eyes and therefore not considered to be husband material). He didn't see how it was possible for people to live out their whole lives seemingly untouched by the war. They had to know people who'd died, they had to know girls whose fiancés and husbands and brothers had been conscripted, gone missing in combat, been killed… or who had come back from active duty as totally different people, confrontational, passive, fearless or fearful. They had to know people like that. They had to know boys like him. Young, frightened, scarred for life.

You got all sorts in the army. Violator and violated on the same troop train.

***

Koji coughed in the cold and looked disinterestedly round the latest base he was meant to be inspecting. After a while it had all begun to merge into one: sentry towers, clapboard and concrete. Shivering soldiers, men and women and conscripted kids in their mid teens but with one bored and hostile face between them, all of whom he was sure thought this was just as big a waste of time as he did, stood rank on rank in parade grounds in wind and squalls of snow. Barracks, blockhouses, bunkers, barbed wire. Commanding officers sweating in spite of the cold; anxious, irritated, on edge. This tour thing was the pits. It really, really stunk. He hadn't wanted to do it but Hirose had insisted. Hirose could really be very persuasive when he chose to be: his older brother had patiently explained the alternatives to him and Koji had realised that he had no choice in whether he went or not. But he really hadn't wanted to go and there had been only one reason for that.

Izumi.

He hadn't wanted to leave him alone. It wasn't safe in the house when Koji was there so it certainly wouldn't have been with him gone. He wouldn't have trusted the boy not to attempt to run and certainly wouldn't have trusted Akihito or someone not to go poking round and find him. Koji had to look after Izumi, that much was for sure, or if not look after him then at least keep him alive. Minamimoto had noticed, as Koji had always suspected she would, his sudden indifference to her and had correctly guessed the cause – a new lover. She had always been possessive, and it just hadn't occurred to her that Koji would tire of her too as he had with all his other lovers. She'd thought she was somehow different to all the others, that she was the one making the running, that he would never wish to leave her because she was Minamimoto, a woman from a powerful family, confident, beautiful, sexy. She may have been all those things, but one thing she wasn't was different. Izumi was different, but Minamimoto wasn't to know that and if Koji had his way she never would. Izumi had to come too. Wherever Koji went, Izumi would have to go.

He'd told Hirose that Izumi was a bodyguard. Ha, that was a laugh. If he had been attacked Izumi would just have stood by and let it happen, would probably have watched it happen with a smile on his face. It had been enough to get Izumi out of the house with him, but it hadn't been enough to allay Hirose's suspicions. He'd insisted Koji go with a 'proper' bodyguard which had turned out to be, amongst others, Akihito and Kurosaki (maybe Izumi would have been safer at home after all? Considering that Akihito was here…). God knew why. There were plenty of soldiers who could have gone, plenty who had gone by the looks of it, just to make sure he was safe. So why then send a handful of secret policemen as well? In case there was a sudden rash of treachery and attempted defections by the soldiers accompanying them? In case there was a real pressing need to take political prisoners? Because no party was complete without a couple of men and women in black uniforms lurking unobtrusively on the sidelines making sure that no one said anything improper about Hirose?

Oh, Koji knew why they were there alright. They weren't there to protect him. They were there to make sure he didn't try anything stupid, to keep tabs on him, report back to Hirose if he were to do anything suspicious. Akihito had been looking for an excuse to have him arrested for years and it was clear that he hoped to find one during this tour. It looked less obvious if Koji was with a family member, though. As for Kurosaki, this was probably his idea of a great holiday. Speaking of secret policemen and Kurosaki, where had that ghastly, bloodthirsty ghoul gotten to? He'd been gone for a while now, and Akihito had been looking perturbed at the sudden absence of his pale shadow. Not that Koji minded. He relished Akihito's discomfort at Kurosaki's disappearance. He wondered if something had happened to the man, even hoped that it had. He hoped it wasn't anything minor.

A few feet away Izumi glared angrily at nothing at all before turning his attention back to Koji. The man trusted him enough to let him out in public – it was sad, really, for what it said about his perceived ability to fight back – but there wasn't anything he could do about it. He couldn't have attacked Koji. He told himself this was because they were surrounded by soldiers; should he have even attempted to attack Koji, even if he had only intended to try to slap him, he'd probably have been shot on the spot or failing that arrested (however badly off he was, he wasn't a prisoner in the strictest sense of the word. There was that to be thankful for). And running, even though his own country was so close, less than a days' walk for a man in good physical condition, was not an option. It may have been a short distance to walk, but it was too dangerous to try. It wasn't a walk over level terrain under good conditions. The ground was frozen, churned up and ravaged by slit trench and shell hole and tank track, covered in patches of ice and drifts of snow, riddled with barbed wire, ruined houses, villages and towns, deserted front-line bases; shot through with mines. A day's walk in distance, but you wouldn't make it back. Katsumi would never had made it back behind the lines alive if it hadn't been for his getting shot. Yoshiya, though he had been healthier and stronger than his companion (albeit not by much), probably would have died as well.

There was such a thing as self-preservation, and though Izumi hadn't always been that kind of person, he was determined to survive now.

"What if I ran?" he asked. Intellectual curiosity perhaps.

Koji smiled humourlessly, not even looking at him. "You wouldn't get far in this weather." It had to be frustrating for him, Koji realised. His own people were so close.
"No." Izumi replied tersely. "No, I don't suppose I would." He hated Koji, God he hated him, more than he'd ever hated anyone before. He hated what he did, hated what he stood for, just hated him. And hated what he did to him, and hated his own inability to do anything at all to stop him. That boy Shibuya's situation had been far more dangerous than Izumi's own was, but there was no way it could have been nearly as frustrating as this.

"Besides." Koji hadn't finished talking yet. "Besides, even if you did run, I wouldn't let you escape. I like you just where you are."

Oh, of course. You belong to me and all that nonsense. Nonsense? If only. It was accurate. "Well I don't like it. I hate it."

Izumi had long since discovered that Koji genuinely didn't mind if he spoke his mind. Koji even seemed to get some kind of perverse pleasure out of it. He supposed that it figured, in a strange sort of way. The man was surrounded by yes-men, nodding donkeys who probably secretly hated him but sucked up to him because he could do them and their careers some good. That kind of man loved his career more than anything, more than integrity definitely, which they'd gladly have sold their souls for. Had Mephistopheles showed up in their apartments and offered them the world, anything they so desired, they'd have chosen career success over beautiful women and fabulous wealth; the career (so they thought) would give them all that anyway. Koji probably found the idea of someone articulating their real opinions about him pretty thrilling.

"You will learn to like it." Koji said bluntly. It wasn't as if he was giving Izumi the choice either way. He would learn to like it or he would go mad trying.

And, Koji added mentally, you will learn to like me. At the very least you will learn to like me.

***

Kai Kurosaki wasn't noted for getting himself into stupid situations, nor was he, despite appearances, the kind of person to take unnecessary risks, which made his current position all the more embarrassing. He knew he'd never forgive himself for this. Ever. Especially not if he managed to get himself killed or ended up in prison for the rest of his natural, which wouldn't be much better and would probably be a lot worse. This was a bad situation to be in, bad bad bad, worse for someone with a job like his. If anyone tried to interrogate him he'd… oh, this was fucking ludicrous. He had no intention of getting interrogated by anyone, ever. He knew what it was like and that made him all the more determined to avoid it at all costs. Kurosaki had heard of irony and wished it would go and pick on someone else.

It didn't help that his head was killing him. How the hell he'd managed to get into this totally absurd situation anyway was completely beyond him. His memories of the events leading up to it were vague to say the least (the headache explained that – by the feel of it he'd taken a blow to the back of the head, probably more than one, and he knew what that could do). He knew he'd been on that tour and somehow he'd got separated from the rest of the group – to be precise he'd got lost; if things could get any more embarrassing he didn't want to know about it – and ended up in… well, he was at the front line anyway, and he'd somehow gotten up close and personal with the war.

The wound in his side wasn't that bad, it looked much worse than it really was. He'd been injured more severely than this and coped just fine. Kurosaki suspected that he'd been hurt worse than this and picked himself up and carried on as if nothing was at all wrong with him. That said, it did hurt like nobody's business. But the pain wasn't the problem, not really, it was the damn wound that was. If it hadn't been for it he wouldn't have been in the situation he was in now. He'd been hospitalised, but by the enemy. If he got out of this alive, Kurosaki was going to slap himself in the face. Hard.

***

"My uncle did something very weird a couple of nights ago." Katsumi said to Yoshiya one lunch hour. He had been gazing out of the window at the falling snow and abstractedly tracing the pattern of sutures and scar tissue on his left shoulder through the thin cotton of his uniform's shirt, but turned and leant on the windowsill when he heard Yoshiya approach, wincing as he jarred his injured arm and shifting position slightly in order to take the weight off it. His tie was working its way loose again and his shirt was untucked. He looked more like a mildly delinquent high-school student than a soldier, but he'd probably never enter a classroom again.

"What?" Yoshiya asked. He'd been unsurprised to hear Katsumi was living with his uncle, at least for the interim. "How do you mean weird?"
"Well." Katsumi was frowning slightly, clearly perplexed. "You… you know… I don't sleep well at the moment, right?"
Yoshiya nodded. "Right. If it bothers you why don't you go to a doctor?"
"That's not what's bothering me and I've seen plenty of doctors recently, I think I'm owed a break." He smiled slightly; a genuine smile for all that it was gone in a moment. "See, a couple of nights ago… I, well, I woke up because… well, I don't know why. And my uncle was in my room and just stood there looking at me. It freaked me out." Katsumi could still be very childish in the way he articulated things; it surprised Yoshiya somewhat. Occasionally he forgot that his friend was barely seventeen. As he watched, the boy shook his head in confusion, frowning. "What I don't understand is… I mean, why? It's just so… well, it's not like him at all."
Yoshiya hesitated slightly before replying. "How sure was he that you'd been killed?" he asked finally.
"What?" Katsumi blinked.
"A lot of the time when a soldier's down as missing in combat it means they're dead. Sounds like he'd convinced himself you were dead and hasn't quite got used to the fact you're not."
Katsumi turned back to the window. "Hell, I haven't got used to that… and every time I wake up I'm worried I'm back there. You see why he freaked me out?"
Katsumi didn't need to explain where 'there' was; Yoshiya knew the feelings well enough. He had exactly the same problems – insomnia, paranoia, nightmares. He had the same memories; they'd lived through it together. He knew what it felt like.

"Hey Takafumi." Katsumi lowered his voice and changed the tone of the conversation with it. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you… I mean, I've been so caught up with all my problems…" Gods, he thought, I've been so selfish. "and you've been… you've been amazing, but…" But you're sad and scared too and I didn't notice because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself!

"What's the matter?" Yoshiya asked. He was all but whispering too. Unconsciously they'd moved closer together, so close they were almost touching. He didn't know what Katsumi was talking about but he understood the mood well enough.
"Did they… did they do… I mean, the way you act sometimes, 'specially round the girls… it wasn't just me--" Katsumi broke off, trying to work out how to phrase the question he hadn't even wanted to ask, then looked down, addressing the floor. "Don't cry, sweetheart," he murmured. Would Yoshiya understand? he wondered. He hoped not. He wanted to be told to talk sense.
"Smile," Yoshiya replied. "Just relax. It won't…" His voice tailed off; Katsumi had flinched slightly.
"When?" the boy asked, finally looking up to meet his friend's eyes. Distant like his own.
"Two days after you told me about it. You weren't around."
"I know the day you mean. Why didn't you tell me? I…" Katsumi swallowed. "I've been there too. You know I have…"
"Hey, conspiracy theorists. What's the big secret?"

The pair turned, both looking slightly guilty as if they'd been caught doing something they shouldn't, to find themselves looking at a girl, a cheerful, optimistic creature. A teenager like Katsumi had been three months ago. She was young, delicate and attractive, her long black hair was straight and unadorned, her eyes wide – reminding Katsumi slightly of a blonde girl who'd once flirted with him at a party, what had her name been again? – but intelligent. She was dressed smartly and becomingly in a wine-red suit; they'd both seen her round before. She stood out like a creature from another planet amongst the aging officers and harassed bureaucrats, the young soldiers in their drab grey uniforms and the heavily made-up office ladies.

"Hullo," she said to fill the silence, smiling disarmingly. "Are you two new?"

"Um…" Yoshiya began anxiously. He wasn't quite sure what to say, how he could switch between discussing something incredibly personal with someone he felt he knew inside out to exchanging trivialities with a total stranger, no matter how sweet she seemed. Gods, how much had she overheard? Had she understood any of it?
"I guess you could say that." Katsumi giggled. Yoshiya spotted the hysteria, the newcomer didn't.
"I didn't think I'd seen you before," she said, taking a couple of paces towards them. "I'm sure I would have noticed you. This place is such a bore… everyone here's so old. It's so nice to see I'm not the only young person here." Her speech patterns were strangely old-fashioned for such a young girl. She looked like she came from a highly traditional family, which probably meant a rich one. You didn't see many families like that any more.
"That's… not such a bad thing," Katsumi finally said, hesitantly. "You'll, um, you'll find it easier to concentrate." Unthinkingly he grabbed Yoshiya's hand and squeezed it, little caring if the girl saw or not. He could tell his friend was even more unnerved by this girl walking in than he had been. It had been a bad time to choose to ask that question, but he'd wanted, he'd needed to know. Yoshiya had been strong for the both of them and that made Katsumi feel terribly sad.
The girl laughed as if he'd said something incredibly witty, then turned to Yoshiya, who flushed slightly under her scrutiny. "Is your friend all right? He's very quiet."
"Fine!" Yoshiya replied a little to quickly.
Katsumi nodded. "Yeah. We've…" he groped for the correct phrase. "We've been at the front… we only got back a week ago." He'd heard the expression used from infancy to excuse all kinds of behaviour. Surviving front-line soldiers were generally considered to be a little touched in the head. Combat shock was what they called it. What it meant was that people normally left you alone, no questions asked.
Yoshiya gave Katsumi a small smile, then spoke. "We like it up here. It's quiet. Don't you think so, Miss… um, miss…"
The girl lifted one hand to her mouth in surprise. "Oh, didn't I introduce myself? I'm sorry. My name's Mina Sakaki. And you two are…?"

She knew them already. She didn't need to ask who they were. Her brothers had told her about this boy, she'd already read his personnel files. 078364419 Shibuya, K., 17 years, private, grade B2. She knew Yoshiya, she'd seen them together before and decided to find out more about Shibuya's companion as well. 20 years, private, grade A1. She had a good memory, did Nadeshiko Nanjo.

They were home, but they weren't safe.

***

He had to get out, and do it quickly. Kurosaki didn't know why it was he hadn't been hauled off as a POW straight away, but it was probably only because of his injuries. That was called humanitarian. He didn't give any quarter to injured enemies, but these people were more compassionate, less knowledgeable about basic human nature. Give an inch and they take a mile… they take more, they take as much as they can grab! He didn't know how much he'd been given but it would be enough. He adapted fast; always had done. Obstacles were there to be overcome at worst and destroyed at best.

So… where was he? In a room in a hospital, a field hospital he guessed, probably in a base pretty similar to the ones he'd been dragged round. If he listened he could still hear gunfire, he wasn't as far from the front line and his own people as he'd initially feared he was. There was a guard on the door, which was closed. He'd watched for a while through half-closed eyes, feigning sleep or unconsciousness, he didn't care which they took him to be, and it had quickly become obvious that the only people who were allowed to go in and out doctors, nurses and orderlies – and they all had to show a pass. Of course he didn't have his gun any more, still he could always try to overpower the guard on the door if it was necessary. But he was injured and he'd probably have been overpowered himself. It had to be some other way and it had to be soon; he wouldn't get a better chance than this.

Sliding carefully out of the bed, Kurosaki crouched by the locker. They'd thoughtfully left his clothes in it. He almost laughed at that. Stupid, stupid behaviour! Making sure not to make any unnecessary noise, he dressed quickly – it didn't hurt that much, clearly the wound wasn't as bad as he'd assumed at first and a little pain he could handle, would have to handle if he wanted to stay alive and valued his freedom – then got back into bed and rifled through the pockets of his jacket, a smile spreading across his features. Clearly they hadn't thought to carry out a proper search of his belongings… Stupid.

Kai Kurosaki had always had an eye for detail. It surprised him how many people here seemed to take things for granted, didn't double-check things, in some cases didn't even bother checking in the first place. He'd always looked for subtexts, for the things people might like to try to hide. Maybe he was suspicious, but there was nothing wrong with that. He'd always seen suspicion as a positive attribute. He would never have given himself this much leeway. It was almost as if they'd wanted him to try and escape. He wasn't about to disappoint them. All he needed now was for someone to walk into the room, and a short while later they did.

The boy who entered the room, a nurse or orderly or something, couldn't have been more than sixteen years old. He was smaller than Kurosaki was, slightly thinner and maybe a little too attractive, but one thing he did not seem to be was at all formidable. Yes, he'd do very nicely. A lot of people were sappy about women and kids for some reason, and that could only work to his advantage. A girl or a young woman would have been better still but in Kurosaki's situation you couldn't afford to be picky, a boy who was still a child would do. The boy hummed slightly as he walked over to the windows, closing them against the weather and the night and drawing the blinds, his mind clearly not in the room. He didn't even seem to know that the room's inhabitant was classed as dangerous. That was stupid behaviour too. Maybe he hadn't been told. On top of everything else the guard on the door seemed no more than half awake. No, he wouldn't ever get a better chance than this.

Kurosaki slid one hand beneath the pillows and carefully pulled out the knife he'd hidden there then watched to see if the boy had noticed his slight movement. Kurosaki needn't have worried; he carried on about his mundane tasks without even looking at the room's inhabitant until he made his way over to the side of the bed, frowning slightly at the sight of the locker, its door slightly ajar. Kurosaki waited until he had crouched beside the bed, in order to close the locker presumably, before he sat up and, leaning over the side of the bed, pressed the knife to the teenager's throat.

"Don't move," he whispered.

Kimie Mori froze.

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