A.N.: The senshi start out pretty dead in this fic, but I promise that they'll come back. The cats also won't make much of an appearance at first, but they, too, will come into the story. Also, Serena didn't meet Darien yet, at least not until the end of chapter one.
************************************************************************
"The Others"
CHAPTER ONE
The silence was terrible, deafening.
Her world seemed enveloped in this all-encompassing stillness. A hush had fallen over the entire planet, had fallen over life itself.
Even the birds were silent.
The entire world was quiet, waiting, as it was, for the return of its saviors, for the return of the ways things had once been. The planet was waiting for the return of innocence, but that innocence would be slow in coming—if it ever did.
And the silence continued.
Serena feared the silence more than anything else. It was too pronounced, too still—too unnatural. The world should not have been this quiet, not even after the planet's guardians had fallen.
Serena both hated and respected the silence. She knew the quiet had only come as a monument to the sacrifice of her guardians, but she felt that it continued to set her apart from the rest of humanity. The silence isolated her, kept her walled within her grief, and she feared it for that, feared it as she would not have done before her friends had been slaughtered for a cause she had not fully believed in herself.
The world had changed when the senshi died. Their sacrifice had altered the very course of the stars, had taken some of the hope from the world. Though their deaths had ensured the survival of everything that was good in this universe, the loss of the senshi had also stripped the world of the light that was so essential to joy, to love. The earth was swathed in a darkness that could not lift until the senshi breathed again.
Serena understood the silence, though she was still unnerved by it. The entire earth, she felt, knew of the losses she had endured—knew, and mourned with her. The world shared in her pain, and this silence was the manifestation of its sorrow. It grieved for the loss of her senshi as deeply as she.
She did not question this stillness. She knew the magnitude of what this world had lost, just as she knew the universe would never completely recover. This heartache was too great.
Still, she wondered that the humans could not sense the darkness that had descended upon this world when its champions died, could not feel it as she did. The mortals seemed not to notice, seemed not to consider the earth's pain. They were blissfully unaware, and she almost envied them for that lack of concern.
She shook her head at the world's folly. How could they not know? How had they escaped this sorrow? She felt it at all times, would continue to feel it for the remainder of her life. She would carry the burden of this loss for the rest of her days, would carry the guilt and responsibility for the actions that had resulted in this pain. It was only fitting, after all, that she be punished for what she had done.
She could feel the pain of this world pressing down on her, but she accepted the burden willingly. She was responsible for the planet's anguish, and she must bear the brunt of the grief. This had become her responsibility the moment she had allowed the senshi to die.
Still, she had not expected the intensity of the pain currently burning into her soul. She was to blame for everything that had happened, but she had not expected this. She had not expected her heart to break again under the strain, had not expected her soul to die with her friends. She had not been prepared for this anguish.
Grief rose in her, and a bitter taste filled her mouth. She silently scolded herself for protesting, even so briefly, against this agony. Was it not fitting that she feel the world's pain? The destined saviors of this earth had died for her, because of her. They had died to protect her. She deserved this punishment for allowing the senshi to sacrifice themselves for her sake.
She could still hear their screams, still taste their blood in the air. She could still see the horror and regret on their faces as they'd died, horribly, deliberately—knowing exactly what it was they were dying for but still believing in her in spite of that knowledge. Always, they had believed in her.
She only wished that belief had not been so utterly betrayed.
What was she without them? They'd been her source of courage, her hope. They'd been the ones to chase away her fears with comfort and sympathy. They'd been the ones to defend what she could not.
They'd been her saviors, along with the world's, and she had needed them.
They had needed her, as well, but she had failed them, had allowed them to fall at the hands of an enemy that only lived because Serena herself had been weak. Serena had become prey to her own doubts, and those doubts and misgivings had cost the lives of the four people she loved most in this world.
Serena slowly lifted her graceful, lovely head from the tear-stained pillows of her bed. She stared out her bedroom window, not seeing the rain-darkened sky or the tall skyscrapers of her city. Her pain had blinded her to this world.
She had changed with the death of her senshi. The light of joy had faded from her face, from her eyes, leaving her as soulless as the friends she was to bury this day. Her gaze, the same gaze that had once infused her companions with love and purpose, was now as vacant as the place they'd left in her heart.
She was empty.
Serena sighed, her expression weighted by the tears she would no longer allow herself to shed. She knew she could not give into her sorrow, into her pain or her guilt. She could not allow herself to weaken further, not now. To do so would make their deaths meaningless, and she would not stand for that.
All for me, she thought, feeling an ache begin behind her eyes. All of this for me, because of me… How can I go on, knowing this is my fault? I lost them, all because I wasn't strong enough, because I wasn't good enough.
She sighed again, letting her vacant gaze drift back to the world outside her window. She felt hollow, numb. Any other person would have been screaming with grief, weeping. She could not. She could only stare out the window, letting this ice inside take control.
Her life had become a nightmare, a waking evil that must be faced every moment of every day. She was losing the battle to this nightmare, losing the battle to her grief and her guilt. She was strong, but she had never been strong enough for this.
A light knock sounded at her door, and she started abruptly. Her heart skipped a beat with the sudden, irrational fear that rose in her, but she suppressed it as she woodenly slid across her bed and pushed herself to her feet.
She moved slowly towards the door, feeling a lump of grief rising in her throat. Swallowing with difficulty and pulling the door aside, she could not speak as she met the concerned, shuttered gaze of her mother.
"It's time," her mother said, voice muted with her own pain.
Serena nodded silently, though her face had fallen. It was time, she thought with terrible sadness. Time to bid a final farewell to the friends she'd lost, to the life she'd almost resurrected. Time to let those friends enjoy the rest they'd earned so many times over. Time to accept that she would be alone forever.
Time to let go.
Serena felt the tears rising to her eyes once more, and she angrily dashed them away with one hand. She followed her mother down the stairs of their small house, moving with the hesitant numbness of one who has lost everything.
Her father and small brother joined the two grieving women at the front door of their home. Serena nodded in wordless gratitude as her father helped her into her coat, as her brother held the door aside for her.
Even now, their eyes were filled with questions.
Serena ignored them. They had tried to comfort her, had tried to make her speak. They had tried to help her, but she had kept her grief to herself. She knew they would not understand, and she did not want to add to their pain.
They could not understand.
************************************************************************
The rain started shortly after the funeral began. Icy drops fell on a sea of black umbrellas, on an ocean of grieving faces. Countless eyes filled with tears as a man in the black robe of a priest spoke softly of divine comfort and eternal purpose. His voice was heavy with an intense sorrow and an even more intense hope.
So, too, did the rain continue to fall on the four brown coffins in the center of that grieving circle, wilting the flowers arranged at the heads of those caskets. The rain slid into the open graves, blurred the names carved into the marble tombstones. It mingled with the tears streaming down so many faces.
Of the gathered mourners, only one girl did not weep. She stood beside the priest, and her lovely face was both pale and haunted. Her eyes were blank and almost emotionless, but the young man standing opposite her could see the horror lingering in her expression. This girl, he knew, was grieving more deeply than any of them.
She made a beautiful, tragic picture, Darien Chiba mused silently, watching her. She was truly lovely, with delicate features and large eyes that had become only more large and gem-like in contrast to her pale skin. Her face seemed almost ethereal, her beauty otherworldly in its perfection. She appeared to be more a grieving angel than a mortal being.
She was young, and very slender, and the black dress she wore only emphasized this. She seemed even more tiny beside the tall, black-robed priest, and her face was far too pale. He could detect an intense weariness in her expression, a sadness that did not come even from the deaths of her friends.
She did not carry an umbrella, but she seemed not to notice the rain plastering her long, golden hair to her face and body. She simply stared at the four caskets before her, appearing not to hear the words of comfort the priest offered to everyone else. This girl was beyond comfort.
Darien sighed as he finally ripped his gaze from the girl's pale, lovely face. I should not be here, he thought. He had not known any of these girls, did not know any of the men or women gathered here to mourn for them. He had not known them in life, and so did not belong here. He felt that he was intruding on their loved ones' grief.
His eyes drifted once more to the girl. He seemed unable to tear his gaze from her for long, though the expression in her heavy-lidded gaze also tore something in his soul. He had never seen this girl before, but he felt as if he recognized the numb grief in her eyes. He, too, had felt the pain that could come only from the deaths of loved ones.
The words of the priest blended together in his ears, and Darien stopped listening. He did not believe in the empty solace the man offered, and his attention was focused almost solely on the slender girl still staring with stricken eyes at the caskets.
He lost track of time as he watched her, unaware of anything but her face. She must have felt his eyes on her, however, because she suddenly lifted her gaze to his. Their eyes locked, and his heart lurched. The power of her eyes was such that he felt as though he had been kicked in the chest. He could not look away.
He almost winced as she turned her face back to the caskets, not appearing to have been as affected by him as he was by her. She did not look at him again, but he continued to watch her. She seemed…familiar, though he couldn't place that familiarity. He felt as though he would have recognized her in any crowd, would have noticed her wherever she was and whatever she was doing. He felt as though he knew her.
Darien glanced at the priest's face as the sermon finally ceased. There was an intense silence for a moment, and Darien looked to the girl once more. She had withdrawn even more deeply into herself, had lost whatever awareness she might have had. She was no longer in this world.
Darien knew that look. He had seen it in his own reflection, in the faces of other men or women who had lost something so deeply loved as to be vital to their existence. He knew this girl would not return to herself for many years, if she ever did. Her pain ran too deeply.
The priest placed a light hand on the girl's shoulder, and she glanced mutely at him. He smiled softly at her, enveloping her with his own compassion. She stirred, and her eyes filled with such gentle sadness that Darien felt his heart breaking for her.
The funeral was over. The crowd began to drift away singly or in groups, leaving only a handful of individuals behind. Within a few moments, only the priest, the girl, and the immediate families of the deceased remained. Darien moved to a discreet distance, giving the mourners a final moment with their daughters.
The girl watched, face inscrutable, as each of the family members wordlessly embraced her. She hugged them fiercely, and a small portion of her grief slipped into her eyes. She was crying openly now, though her expression was as numb as ever.
Darien sighed, knowing that he had intruded on yet another private moment. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to be a witness to their agony. Had he not made a promise to both the girl's father and his own superiors, he would have left long ago.
Soon enough, only the girl and the priest remained beside the graves. Darien stepped closer, catching the girl's eye once again. Acknowledgment flared in her gaze, but she said nothing as her eyes shifted back towards the open graves. She was, once again, lost to her grief.
Darien sighed, turning away and leaving the girl to the priest's care. The holy man, Darien mused, might just succeed where all others had failed. Darien himself could not help her, at least not until he had gained a greater understanding of her loss and the circumstances behind it.
Frowning, Darien made his way towards the line of cars parked outside the cemetery. Most of the vehicles had already departed, of course, but a few people lingered, not wanting to leave. They did not want to leave the four girls alone in this place of death and solitude.
Darien knew from experience that they would not find the comfort they sought by remaining. Death did not allow for comfort or peace, and it did not allow for hope. Those four young women, cut down before they'd really had a chance to live, would soon become nothing more than a painful ache in the hearts of their families and friends. Eventually, their loved ones would have to accept their loss, and the girls would be almost forgotten.
Life, almost in spite of itself, would continue.
Darien sighed again as he crossed the cemetery lawn, nodding with polite sympathy to those mourners still gathered by the roadside. Though he could only imagine the extent of their loss and their pain, he still wished for the ability to ease their suffering. There was, he felt, already enough pain in this world without a tragedy such as this.
Darien's superior was waiting for him at the edge of the cemetery road, leaning against an appropriately black car. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was scowling terribly. That scowl only deepened as Darien approached.
"Well?" the man demanded gruffly, not wasting time or words with the pleasantries that had little place in a cemetery. Darien looked away, shrugging in answer to the man's unspoken query.
Darien struggled to find words that would accurately express his sudden conviction. He had discovered nothing categorically useful, nothing that would make his time here worthwhile or appropriate, though he hesitated to abandon that girl altogether. His mind sought the words necessary to convince this man to continue his own search.
"I don't know," Darien finally admitted. "I didn't get much from her, though I can't believe she had anything to do with their deaths. Whatever else she is, she's not a murderer."
Darien's superior sighed, nodding absently. "I know," he agreed. "From what I've already learned of her, she's not capable of killing, even by accident or in self-defense. She certainly didn't slaughter her four best friends in cold blood."
Darien shook his head, wincing slightly as the movement sent several drops of frozen rain down his spine. He knew, somehow, that Serena Tsukino had not murdered her friends. Though she'd adamantly refused to speak with any sort of law enforcement officer, she did not have the look of a killer. The grief in her eyes was far too real, her pain too pronounced. She was not responsible for this slaughter.
Darien turned his eyes back towards the girl, slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket as he, too, leaned against the car. "She's not a killer," he repeated, unaware that his voice had attained a degree of steel.
His superior merely shrugged, also allowing his eyes to drift to the slender girl still standing beside the graves, motionless. The priest had stepped away, leaving the girl alone with the bodies of her friends. He had given her a final chance to mourn and say good-bye.
The two men watched as she approached the caskets, placing a gentle hand on each of the coffins. Then, stepping back, she murmured a few words of farewell. Her voice was soft enough that her two observers could not hear.
Darien turned back to his superior as the girl walked away slowly, slipping into one of the cars on the other side of the cemetery. That car pulled away, leaving the two men alone. "What do we do now?" the young man asked, still hesitant to abandon this girl entirely.
His superior shrugged again, pushing his body away from his car and walking slowly around to the driver's side. He slid the door aside, pausing to glance at his subordinate before entering the vehicle. "We wait," he answered, grunting eloquently. "She may not have killed them, but she knows more than she's letting on. If we want to save her, we have to learn her secrets."
He sighed, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "I still think she's innocent," he said, "but the government is calling for blood. These murders have terrified a lot of people, and that girl is our only hope of finding what we need to hunt down the true killers."
He shook his head, disgusted with the suspicions being placed on the innocent Tsukino girl. "The people want answers, and they're just as likely to turn on her if she doesn't speak. The girl's suffered enough—we need to clear her name before she's forced to endure more than she already has."
Darien nodded absently, knowing better than most just how violent the government—and the general public—could become. The people wanted to regain their sense of safety, false though it may have been, and they would soon be more than willing to sacrifice this innocent girl in an attempt to do so. If Darien did not interfere and save the girl from herself, she would be punished for that unknown killer's sins.
He sighed, and his boss smiled faintly. "Keep on her," the older man told him. "Spend as much time with her as you must, get her to trust you. We need to know what Serena knows."
Darien nodded again, watching mutely as his employer climbed into his car and drove slowly away. The young man watched him go, sighing profoundly. He turned and made his own way from the cemetery, glancing quickly at the sodden graves as he departed.
The rain continued to fall.
