The Contract : Chapter Two
Into the Lions Den
Matoko
She spent the train ride huddled in a corner as far from the other passengers as possible. Shy and reclusive by nature, even on a good day she would not have wanted to talk to anyone—today the thought of having to make pleasant conversation made her stomach twist unpleasantly. Honest to a fault, with everyone including herself, she admitted within five minutes that she was avoiding the world. She also knew that this would induce brooding, and by brooding she sentenced herself to a long spell of depression. She knew very well that this, her most prominent failing, would end only if she was strong and forced it to. She was aware of her weakness.
But it was hard to be strong when one is alone.
She, for once in her life, welcomed her flaw. She leaned her head against the window, the cool glass startling against her face, and thought, remembering. One minute, it had seemed, the war was over, and Mina bubbled with plans of political ascension, the next those damn letters had arrived and they had been thrown into chaos. Their carefully constructed lives came crashing down about their ears, hitting all of them one way or another. Rei had been angry—the week after the news came, she stayed locked in her room, fasting and meditating, until Wren's pleas brought her out, starving, not a pinch of fat on her. Ami had been logical and calm, justifying everything that happened, staying up until the early hours of the morning researching their new life as extensively as she could. She had never cracked the tight shell around herself in front of them, though one early morning Mako had witnessed choked sobs as she crouched before her computer. Ami had not seen her intrusion, and they never spoken of it.
Mina had suffered in a way as well, and she was naturally so happy the change had been most marked in her. That first day, she had wandered about the house with a terrible lost look in her eyes, and when Mako or Wren had approached her she would look at them without knowing who they were. After that day, she, too, locked herself in her room, though she came out for meals. It had been terrible to watch someone usually so enamored with life go on autopilot, to see her movement and conversations become mechanical, as she buried herself away.
Their mourning was nothing compared to Wrens, though. She had kept up a façade of cheer, so well that Mako was sure no one else had noticed the cracks, as caught up as they were in their own grief. But Mako had noticed, seen the large clumps of hair in the bathroom after Wren would quit it, she heard the retching sounds late at night, saw the usually healthy girl loose weight until she became practically a walking skeleton. When questioned, though, Wren brushed it off, put on her smile and went on helping the others out of despair. Mako had thought at the time that she didn't realize what was going on, that she had pushed her grief so deep it had taken root in her body, whereas the others all felt it in their minds.
Mako smiled sardonically at that. The others, huh? As in, not you? How about you, Matoko, how did you grieve?
She didn't have an answer.
She had spent the weeks, as she had spent all her time in the apartment, looking after the others. When Rei had come out, she had fed her. When Ami had clamped shut, she had let her be until the girl asked for company, ignoring the urge to push her out of her spell. With Minako she had done everything she could to engage her in the world, drawing her into those terrible, motorized conversations, and with Wren—with Wren she had watched, as helpless as she had ever been. The most she could do was cook for her, cook everything and anything she wanted, trying to pull her wasted body along so they could all survive.
Beyond caring for her friends, there had been the normal chores to do. The house needed to be cleaned, and the laundry done, and the mail to be got and responded to. She had even, two days after the tidings came, scheduled a press conference so Wren could tell the public she'd be on a long vacation to celebrate the victory, and would probably not be available for comment for some time.
All in all, Mako thought despondently in the train car, I behaved just as I had for months previous. Nothing changed, not one thing.
The train pulled into the station, and she was doused in darkness.
Rei
Rei stared straight ahead into the dark cushion of the seat in front of hers, hands clenched in her lap, determined not to look at her watch, or the letter that burned a hole in her mind. Taking deep, frustrated breaths, which she paced with her racing heart beat, she tried to ignore the twisted feeling in her stomach, or at least allot it to the almost sickening descent of the plane. She was not, was not, nervous. There was no way this–after months of writing speeches that would be broadcast across the world–this, a simple meeting, would make her nervous. She had always been calm, always collected, and, except for the rare instance of flaring temper, she had been the grounded one people came to for advice. Now she felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under her, as if she were drifting loose. It was the first time she had felt like this. She didn't like it.
It made her angry.
Anger made her loose her resolve.
Cursing in fury, she dove a hand into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Smoothing against her thighs, she read it for the third time that day.
Dear Ms. Hino,
As we have two weeks appointed to us for vacation, I have decided to actually take it. I assumed, when I bought tickets, that you would wish a break for yourself as well, and I have taken the liberty of sending you one (electronic conformation, of course), in hopes that you would join me.
Rei snorted. As if she had a choice.
The needed information for you to take such a flight is below, we are going to be disembarking in Hawaii, a location I thought appropriate. As I will be arriving first, due to closer starting location, I will have the opportunity to wait for you and take you back to the hotel room. Don't worry about finding me, I'll know you. I've tracked down several pictures of you and your friends, though they weren't clear as to who was who, I would know any of you upon sight, so it should not plague us.
I hope your journey goes well. Remember, I will be waiting.
Fond wishes,
And then the plane hit the ground with a wrenching lurch. Rei, smoking at her weakness in reading the (stupid, pointless) email transcript again, crammed it in her pocket, wrinkling it again. The words, as they had after previous readings, unsettled her. She didn't like his flowery way with words. "I will be waiting!," she muttered darkly beneath her breath, "who the hell writes crap like that?"
She made an angry grab for her carry-on, just as the captain's voice resounded through the compartment "Please leave any bags stowed beneath you seats as they are, you may get them when we land." Rei glared at where she thought the speakers would be, and, defiantly, pulled the purse into her lap, relishing the sleek leather against her skin. Returning to her previous line of thought, she growled, "He'd better be waiting, that's all I have to say. He'd just better."
The old woman sitting next to her turned, looking austere, and sent a pompous frown down her nose in Rei's direction. Not one to be stared down, Rei promptly screwed up her face in an exaggerated imitation, and the woman turned away in disgust. Rei heard her growl something to the effect of "Youth these days!"
God, Rei thought, what is it with people around here. Was there a proper English course I missed out on in High School? Or is it just the degree of snobbishness required to go, or send someone, to Hawaii?
The captains voice sounded again, and Rei eagerly unhooked her seatbelt. She had flown often enough to know what was coming. This is your captain...we hoped you enjoyed your flight...welcome to Hawaii...temperature is a balmy eighty degrees, because everything is perfect here...if you would, please make your way to the exit at the front of the plane...thanks for choosing whatever sucky airline this is...yada yada blah blah. Her inner monologue was pretty much spot on, except he topped off his speech with 'aloha'.
She almost gagged.
The disgust at the pilot occupied her mind as she gathered her luggage, and carried it out to the terminal. As she was about to exit, that anger faded, and she remembered why she was here. She stopped dead.
A man behind her made a noise of protest, and she dazedly made her way to the edge, to let others by. As they walked past, Rei realized–for the first time in a long time actually realized–what she was about to do. Her throat was suddenly dry. She swallowed. Her knees trembled. She put a hand out to steady herself. Her vision blurred. She blinked several times, hoping she wasn't ill.
A woman passing, awkwardly clutching a child and three bags to her as two little boys ran ahead, stopped next to her. "Excuse me, do you need some help?"
Rei looked at her, surprised. Seeing the expression, the woman continued. "Is something wrong? You look sick, or nervous."
At that Rei straightened stiffly. Her? Nervous? Never. She glared into space for a moment, before recalling the woman, and blushing. "No, but thank you, so much." Looking at her, noticing the children she was dealing with, Rei added, "Are you sure you don't need help?"
The woman smiled, she was very pretty, and hoisted her child a little higher on her hip. "Yes. Thank you, tho–Sammy! Sammy! Stop that!" She began to walk away, then turned and called a hurriend 'good bye' before rushing after the little terror. Rei smiled at her retreating back, then pulled her shoulders and lifted her chest–correcting already perfect posture. She would meet this thing head on, and she would overcome it, and she would do it with dignity and grace.
Thus thinking, she walked from the airplane, and into the bright sunlight of the airport.
Minako
There was no answer. Perplexed, Mina knocked again. Of all the possible events following her arrival, she had not anticipated this. Frowning perversely at the door, as if it were the object's fault, she hissed through her teeth. "What am I supposed to do now, huh? I'm soaking wet," she glared at it, "in case you hadn't noticed. And it's cold in here." Shivering, she knocked again.
No answer.
"Well. I know one thing. I don't want to wait any longer." Looking up again, she murmured, "at least he's expecting me. So it really should be no problem if I" she tried the handle, which turned easily, admitting her to a dark little hallway, "let myself in."
She stepped over the threshold softly, nervous; the room she entered was unfamiliar, and she felt a stranger. There was a long table along the wall, on it a bowl that held a set of keys. An umbrella, still wet, leaned between it and a coat rack; here Mina hung her raincoat and hat. She also took of her shoes, and proceeded into a large living room, her stomach writhing in her gut. Someone had turned the heat on, she noted with relief as the goose bumps fled from her shoulders.
She looked around, taking in the place she would call home with a detached sort of wonder. There were two large couches, facing each other, and a low coffee table, and three huge black and white photographs that dominated one wall–sand dunes, mountains, a forest–and a white rug, all of which she approved of. At least he has good taste.
Across from the pictures was one of the bars that had become so popular in modern design, and beyond that a large kitchen that struck Mina as sterile. She walked along the counters, trailing one hand along the smooth surface, and flinched when her hand knocked a stainless steel coffee mug into the sink. She froze, muscles tense, ready to bolt at a moments notice, but there was no reaction from the quiet about her. When the crash stopped ringing in her ears, she sighed, and moved on, this time taking care not to touch anything.
A breakfast nook held a cute, wrought iron table that would belong on a patio if there was one available, and five matching chairs. Mina stared at it for a while, her nerves still jumping from the mug incident, letting her eye follow the flowers cast in the metal, and her breathing return to normal. When she was composed, she continued, making sure to pick up the cup on her way out.
A single step and a door let her into a small, sparse bedroom. A twin bed was pushed up against the wall on a rickety metal frame. The blanket spread across it was a faded, sunny yellow, and looked as if it had been hastily smoothed. She sat on it, and sank into it, and lay back, her hands coming up behind her head. She was tired, bone-tired—being constantly in a state of nerves, denial or anger through the past few weeks had finally taken its toll, and for a while she was content to let exhaustion wash over her. Relaxation was something she—something none of them had been able to enjoy for a long time. It felt nice.
It felt very nice. Mina yawned, and snuggled a little deeper into the softness of the mattress. She managed to maneuver her shoes off without needing her hands, and they fell to the floor–thunk, thunk. She pulled the yellow blanket around her–inhaling the scent that came from line drying something, which reminded her of the way Wren would insist their blankets smelt, the cause of long hours in front of the clothesline.
That little thought of home made her forget that she was in the apartment of a man she didn't even know for an instant. That moment of lowered defenses was enough for her body to send her into a deep oblivion.
Serenity
Wren started awake, blinking dazedly, her eyes sore in that way that comes after crying yourself to sleep. Yawning, she stretched, then looked around, searching for what had jarred her out of the pleasant dream she'd been having. Finding nothing amiss, and still very tired, she began to lay back down, when a pounding noise made her jump. Growling under her breath, she pulled her dressing robe over her pajamas, and made her way into the living room, and towards the front door.
Blearily, she peered down at her watch, at least she should be able to berate whoever it was for waking her. 5:29. "Goddamnit all! First decent sleep I've had in weeks" she muttered, becoming more coherent as she came awake, "and some looser", turning the knob, "decides to wake up and play 'let's knock on the door and wake up poor–Hello!"
The door had swung open to reveal a man, standing on the poorly lit doorstep, tapping his hands against his thighs impatiently. When he saw her, though, he froze–not a frightened paralysis, but mild surprise coupled with a sharp gaze as he looked her over.
Becoming suddenly intensely aware of her less-than-stellar attire, she drew back into shadows of her home, staring at him in turn. He was tall, much taller than she, and fairly well built–not the cover a romance novel, by any means, but fit. She only gave his face a passing glance, which told her he was attractive, and had nice eyes. He was well dressed; wearing black pants and a well cut, dark green shirt, and he held a leather suitcase in one hand.
As she noticed that detail, her head snapped up. "What are you doing here?"
He was obviously shocked by that, but he responded quickly enough, with an awkward little laugh. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"Are you serious?" She peered up at him, raising her eyebrows. "I don't know who you are! And it's five thirty in the morning!"
He looked a little embarrassed at that. "I know, I'm sorry for the time. My flight just got in." He shook his head, as if to clear it, then looked down at her with an almost perplexed expression. "You really don't know who I am?"
"No." Now she was confused. Why would she know him?
"Have you been checking your mail lately?"
The way he said it made her sink into dread.
She turned quickly, sick fear rising in her stomach, remembering the arrival that had torn her family apart. She practically ran to the table where she had dumped the unopened letters for the past few days—too deep in mourning even to look at them. No, not me too. He followed her, leaning on the doorframe to watch her panicked motions as she sifted through them. Please, please not–and then she found it. A plain, white envelope stared up at her, the clear, black letters seemed to march before her dizzy vision.
Serenity Tsukino
Nothing else. Some distant part of her brain noted that it must have been delivered by hand. Fingers shaking, she tore it open, and pulled out the folded paper within.
Dear Ms. Tsukino,
As you have seen four other letters like this, I will cut the pleasantries and get to the main point. Like your friends before you, we feel that your continued political involvement, and the success that would stem from it, would endanger our own security in the dignified affairs of this country and the world. Therefore, we have managed, by circumstances you know well, to maneuver you into the position you find yourself in now–if you do not do as we wish, we will destroy your image and your life. Since you are so self-sacrificing, though, you must also realize that we could and would seek out those close to you and use them against you. If you make it necessary, we will also be able to spark negative dealings between the countries you fought so hard to win peace for, plunging the world into another war. We know your famous thoughts on death, and how this would affect you. If you do not, therefore, obey the following contract to the letter, the resulting deaths will hang on your conscious.
The contract is really quite simple. You don't even need to sign, though you can, by all means, if it formalizes this agreement for you. All that you must do is consent to marriage with Mamoru Chiba–don't worry about a ceremony; we have enclosed a completely valid license. You two will live at your current place of residence, until you decide to relocate, and can take up whatever profession you like. The only true requirement is that you stay married, until such time as you both have died from natural or uncontrollable causes, if we find that you have tampered with the life of your partner, you will face the consequences mentioned above. Taking that into account, we hope you have a very happy marriage, and a pleasant life.
The Augustus Company
P.S. Don't attempt to run from us, or Mamoru. We will find you, and you will suffer. Best wishes, Mrs. Chiba.
It was as if she had been plunged in a bucket of freezing water. She began to shake uncontrollably; the letter trembled in her hands. Throwing a hand against the wall for support, she turned to look at him. "Thi–Wha–I–" He regarded her, his eyes sympathetic, as she stuttered for a while, before her mind closed around the facts of the letter, and then she said the only thing that seemed reasonable. "You must be Mamoru Chiba."
He nodded. "Yes."
"And this" she held the enclosed license, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch, aware that she sounded manic, "means we're married." She laughed because it was a stupid thing to say, and because if she didn't laugh she might cry, and she didn't want him to see her cry.
"Yes." If she had been looking at him, she would have seen his almost pained look, as if he wanted to reach out and comfort her, but did not know how.
She leaned against the wall and slid down it, wrapping her hands around her knees and hugging them to her. "Oh my god."
He came over to her, and sat down as well. "My sentiments exactly."
End
a.n.: it's up. Thank god. I hope you liked it, it was fun to write. I think this is all the set up I'll need, now that I've introduce Mamo-chan I can get to the rest of the guys, and then the story can start puttering along. Chapter three should be up within the week.
Also have continued the reformatting. Yay.
Cheers,
DF
Into the Lions Den
Matoko
She spent the train ride huddled in a corner as far from the other passengers as possible. Shy and reclusive by nature, even on a good day she would not have wanted to talk to anyone—today the thought of having to make pleasant conversation made her stomach twist unpleasantly. Honest to a fault, with everyone including herself, she admitted within five minutes that she was avoiding the world. She also knew that this would induce brooding, and by brooding she sentenced herself to a long spell of depression. She knew very well that this, her most prominent failing, would end only if she was strong and forced it to. She was aware of her weakness.
But it was hard to be strong when one is alone.
She, for once in her life, welcomed her flaw. She leaned her head against the window, the cool glass startling against her face, and thought, remembering. One minute, it had seemed, the war was over, and Mina bubbled with plans of political ascension, the next those damn letters had arrived and they had been thrown into chaos. Their carefully constructed lives came crashing down about their ears, hitting all of them one way or another. Rei had been angry—the week after the news came, she stayed locked in her room, fasting and meditating, until Wren's pleas brought her out, starving, not a pinch of fat on her. Ami had been logical and calm, justifying everything that happened, staying up until the early hours of the morning researching their new life as extensively as she could. She had never cracked the tight shell around herself in front of them, though one early morning Mako had witnessed choked sobs as she crouched before her computer. Ami had not seen her intrusion, and they never spoken of it.
Mina had suffered in a way as well, and she was naturally so happy the change had been most marked in her. That first day, she had wandered about the house with a terrible lost look in her eyes, and when Mako or Wren had approached her she would look at them without knowing who they were. After that day, she, too, locked herself in her room, though she came out for meals. It had been terrible to watch someone usually so enamored with life go on autopilot, to see her movement and conversations become mechanical, as she buried herself away.
Their mourning was nothing compared to Wrens, though. She had kept up a façade of cheer, so well that Mako was sure no one else had noticed the cracks, as caught up as they were in their own grief. But Mako had noticed, seen the large clumps of hair in the bathroom after Wren would quit it, she heard the retching sounds late at night, saw the usually healthy girl loose weight until she became practically a walking skeleton. When questioned, though, Wren brushed it off, put on her smile and went on helping the others out of despair. Mako had thought at the time that she didn't realize what was going on, that she had pushed her grief so deep it had taken root in her body, whereas the others all felt it in their minds.
Mako smiled sardonically at that. The others, huh? As in, not you? How about you, Matoko, how did you grieve?
She didn't have an answer.
She had spent the weeks, as she had spent all her time in the apartment, looking after the others. When Rei had come out, she had fed her. When Ami had clamped shut, she had let her be until the girl asked for company, ignoring the urge to push her out of her spell. With Minako she had done everything she could to engage her in the world, drawing her into those terrible, motorized conversations, and with Wren—with Wren she had watched, as helpless as she had ever been. The most she could do was cook for her, cook everything and anything she wanted, trying to pull her wasted body along so they could all survive.
Beyond caring for her friends, there had been the normal chores to do. The house needed to be cleaned, and the laundry done, and the mail to be got and responded to. She had even, two days after the tidings came, scheduled a press conference so Wren could tell the public she'd be on a long vacation to celebrate the victory, and would probably not be available for comment for some time.
All in all, Mako thought despondently in the train car, I behaved just as I had for months previous. Nothing changed, not one thing.
The train pulled into the station, and she was doused in darkness.
Rei
Rei stared straight ahead into the dark cushion of the seat in front of hers, hands clenched in her lap, determined not to look at her watch, or the letter that burned a hole in her mind. Taking deep, frustrated breaths, which she paced with her racing heart beat, she tried to ignore the twisted feeling in her stomach, or at least allot it to the almost sickening descent of the plane. She was not, was not, nervous. There was no way this–after months of writing speeches that would be broadcast across the world–this, a simple meeting, would make her nervous. She had always been calm, always collected, and, except for the rare instance of flaring temper, she had been the grounded one people came to for advice. Now she felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under her, as if she were drifting loose. It was the first time she had felt like this. She didn't like it.
It made her angry.
Anger made her loose her resolve.
Cursing in fury, she dove a hand into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Smoothing against her thighs, she read it for the third time that day.
Dear Ms. Hino,
As we have two weeks appointed to us for vacation, I have decided to actually take it. I assumed, when I bought tickets, that you would wish a break for yourself as well, and I have taken the liberty of sending you one (electronic conformation, of course), in hopes that you would join me.
Rei snorted. As if she had a choice.
The needed information for you to take such a flight is below, we are going to be disembarking in Hawaii, a location I thought appropriate. As I will be arriving first, due to closer starting location, I will have the opportunity to wait for you and take you back to the hotel room. Don't worry about finding me, I'll know you. I've tracked down several pictures of you and your friends, though they weren't clear as to who was who, I would know any of you upon sight, so it should not plague us.
I hope your journey goes well. Remember, I will be waiting.
Fond wishes,
And then the plane hit the ground with a wrenching lurch. Rei, smoking at her weakness in reading the (stupid, pointless) email transcript again, crammed it in her pocket, wrinkling it again. The words, as they had after previous readings, unsettled her. She didn't like his flowery way with words. "I will be waiting!," she muttered darkly beneath her breath, "who the hell writes crap like that?"
She made an angry grab for her carry-on, just as the captain's voice resounded through the compartment "Please leave any bags stowed beneath you seats as they are, you may get them when we land." Rei glared at where she thought the speakers would be, and, defiantly, pulled the purse into her lap, relishing the sleek leather against her skin. Returning to her previous line of thought, she growled, "He'd better be waiting, that's all I have to say. He'd just better."
The old woman sitting next to her turned, looking austere, and sent a pompous frown down her nose in Rei's direction. Not one to be stared down, Rei promptly screwed up her face in an exaggerated imitation, and the woman turned away in disgust. Rei heard her growl something to the effect of "Youth these days!"
God, Rei thought, what is it with people around here. Was there a proper English course I missed out on in High School? Or is it just the degree of snobbishness required to go, or send someone, to Hawaii?
The captains voice sounded again, and Rei eagerly unhooked her seatbelt. She had flown often enough to know what was coming. This is your captain...we hoped you enjoyed your flight...welcome to Hawaii...temperature is a balmy eighty degrees, because everything is perfect here...if you would, please make your way to the exit at the front of the plane...thanks for choosing whatever sucky airline this is...yada yada blah blah. Her inner monologue was pretty much spot on, except he topped off his speech with 'aloha'.
She almost gagged.
The disgust at the pilot occupied her mind as she gathered her luggage, and carried it out to the terminal. As she was about to exit, that anger faded, and she remembered why she was here. She stopped dead.
A man behind her made a noise of protest, and she dazedly made her way to the edge, to let others by. As they walked past, Rei realized–for the first time in a long time actually realized–what she was about to do. Her throat was suddenly dry. She swallowed. Her knees trembled. She put a hand out to steady herself. Her vision blurred. She blinked several times, hoping she wasn't ill.
A woman passing, awkwardly clutching a child and three bags to her as two little boys ran ahead, stopped next to her. "Excuse me, do you need some help?"
Rei looked at her, surprised. Seeing the expression, the woman continued. "Is something wrong? You look sick, or nervous."
At that Rei straightened stiffly. Her? Nervous? Never. She glared into space for a moment, before recalling the woman, and blushing. "No, but thank you, so much." Looking at her, noticing the children she was dealing with, Rei added, "Are you sure you don't need help?"
The woman smiled, she was very pretty, and hoisted her child a little higher on her hip. "Yes. Thank you, tho–Sammy! Sammy! Stop that!" She began to walk away, then turned and called a hurriend 'good bye' before rushing after the little terror. Rei smiled at her retreating back, then pulled her shoulders and lifted her chest–correcting already perfect posture. She would meet this thing head on, and she would overcome it, and she would do it with dignity and grace.
Thus thinking, she walked from the airplane, and into the bright sunlight of the airport.
Minako
There was no answer. Perplexed, Mina knocked again. Of all the possible events following her arrival, she had not anticipated this. Frowning perversely at the door, as if it were the object's fault, she hissed through her teeth. "What am I supposed to do now, huh? I'm soaking wet," she glared at it, "in case you hadn't noticed. And it's cold in here." Shivering, she knocked again.
No answer.
"Well. I know one thing. I don't want to wait any longer." Looking up again, she murmured, "at least he's expecting me. So it really should be no problem if I" she tried the handle, which turned easily, admitting her to a dark little hallway, "let myself in."
She stepped over the threshold softly, nervous; the room she entered was unfamiliar, and she felt a stranger. There was a long table along the wall, on it a bowl that held a set of keys. An umbrella, still wet, leaned between it and a coat rack; here Mina hung her raincoat and hat. She also took of her shoes, and proceeded into a large living room, her stomach writhing in her gut. Someone had turned the heat on, she noted with relief as the goose bumps fled from her shoulders.
She looked around, taking in the place she would call home with a detached sort of wonder. There were two large couches, facing each other, and a low coffee table, and three huge black and white photographs that dominated one wall–sand dunes, mountains, a forest–and a white rug, all of which she approved of. At least he has good taste.
Across from the pictures was one of the bars that had become so popular in modern design, and beyond that a large kitchen that struck Mina as sterile. She walked along the counters, trailing one hand along the smooth surface, and flinched when her hand knocked a stainless steel coffee mug into the sink. She froze, muscles tense, ready to bolt at a moments notice, but there was no reaction from the quiet about her. When the crash stopped ringing in her ears, she sighed, and moved on, this time taking care not to touch anything.
A breakfast nook held a cute, wrought iron table that would belong on a patio if there was one available, and five matching chairs. Mina stared at it for a while, her nerves still jumping from the mug incident, letting her eye follow the flowers cast in the metal, and her breathing return to normal. When she was composed, she continued, making sure to pick up the cup on her way out.
A single step and a door let her into a small, sparse bedroom. A twin bed was pushed up against the wall on a rickety metal frame. The blanket spread across it was a faded, sunny yellow, and looked as if it had been hastily smoothed. She sat on it, and sank into it, and lay back, her hands coming up behind her head. She was tired, bone-tired—being constantly in a state of nerves, denial or anger through the past few weeks had finally taken its toll, and for a while she was content to let exhaustion wash over her. Relaxation was something she—something none of them had been able to enjoy for a long time. It felt nice.
It felt very nice. Mina yawned, and snuggled a little deeper into the softness of the mattress. She managed to maneuver her shoes off without needing her hands, and they fell to the floor–thunk, thunk. She pulled the yellow blanket around her–inhaling the scent that came from line drying something, which reminded her of the way Wren would insist their blankets smelt, the cause of long hours in front of the clothesline.
That little thought of home made her forget that she was in the apartment of a man she didn't even know for an instant. That moment of lowered defenses was enough for her body to send her into a deep oblivion.
Serenity
Wren started awake, blinking dazedly, her eyes sore in that way that comes after crying yourself to sleep. Yawning, she stretched, then looked around, searching for what had jarred her out of the pleasant dream she'd been having. Finding nothing amiss, and still very tired, she began to lay back down, when a pounding noise made her jump. Growling under her breath, she pulled her dressing robe over her pajamas, and made her way into the living room, and towards the front door.
Blearily, she peered down at her watch, at least she should be able to berate whoever it was for waking her. 5:29. "Goddamnit all! First decent sleep I've had in weeks" she muttered, becoming more coherent as she came awake, "and some looser", turning the knob, "decides to wake up and play 'let's knock on the door and wake up poor–Hello!"
The door had swung open to reveal a man, standing on the poorly lit doorstep, tapping his hands against his thighs impatiently. When he saw her, though, he froze–not a frightened paralysis, but mild surprise coupled with a sharp gaze as he looked her over.
Becoming suddenly intensely aware of her less-than-stellar attire, she drew back into shadows of her home, staring at him in turn. He was tall, much taller than she, and fairly well built–not the cover a romance novel, by any means, but fit. She only gave his face a passing glance, which told her he was attractive, and had nice eyes. He was well dressed; wearing black pants and a well cut, dark green shirt, and he held a leather suitcase in one hand.
As she noticed that detail, her head snapped up. "What are you doing here?"
He was obviously shocked by that, but he responded quickly enough, with an awkward little laugh. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"Are you serious?" She peered up at him, raising her eyebrows. "I don't know who you are! And it's five thirty in the morning!"
He looked a little embarrassed at that. "I know, I'm sorry for the time. My flight just got in." He shook his head, as if to clear it, then looked down at her with an almost perplexed expression. "You really don't know who I am?"
"No." Now she was confused. Why would she know him?
"Have you been checking your mail lately?"
The way he said it made her sink into dread.
She turned quickly, sick fear rising in her stomach, remembering the arrival that had torn her family apart. She practically ran to the table where she had dumped the unopened letters for the past few days—too deep in mourning even to look at them. No, not me too. He followed her, leaning on the doorframe to watch her panicked motions as she sifted through them. Please, please not–and then she found it. A plain, white envelope stared up at her, the clear, black letters seemed to march before her dizzy vision.
Serenity Tsukino
Nothing else. Some distant part of her brain noted that it must have been delivered by hand. Fingers shaking, she tore it open, and pulled out the folded paper within.
Dear Ms. Tsukino,
As you have seen four other letters like this, I will cut the pleasantries and get to the main point. Like your friends before you, we feel that your continued political involvement, and the success that would stem from it, would endanger our own security in the dignified affairs of this country and the world. Therefore, we have managed, by circumstances you know well, to maneuver you into the position you find yourself in now–if you do not do as we wish, we will destroy your image and your life. Since you are so self-sacrificing, though, you must also realize that we could and would seek out those close to you and use them against you. If you make it necessary, we will also be able to spark negative dealings between the countries you fought so hard to win peace for, plunging the world into another war. We know your famous thoughts on death, and how this would affect you. If you do not, therefore, obey the following contract to the letter, the resulting deaths will hang on your conscious.
The contract is really quite simple. You don't even need to sign, though you can, by all means, if it formalizes this agreement for you. All that you must do is consent to marriage with Mamoru Chiba–don't worry about a ceremony; we have enclosed a completely valid license. You two will live at your current place of residence, until you decide to relocate, and can take up whatever profession you like. The only true requirement is that you stay married, until such time as you both have died from natural or uncontrollable causes, if we find that you have tampered with the life of your partner, you will face the consequences mentioned above. Taking that into account, we hope you have a very happy marriage, and a pleasant life.
The Augustus Company
P.S. Don't attempt to run from us, or Mamoru. We will find you, and you will suffer. Best wishes, Mrs. Chiba.
It was as if she had been plunged in a bucket of freezing water. She began to shake uncontrollably; the letter trembled in her hands. Throwing a hand against the wall for support, she turned to look at him. "Thi–Wha–I–" He regarded her, his eyes sympathetic, as she stuttered for a while, before her mind closed around the facts of the letter, and then she said the only thing that seemed reasonable. "You must be Mamoru Chiba."
He nodded. "Yes."
"And this" she held the enclosed license, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch, aware that she sounded manic, "means we're married." She laughed because it was a stupid thing to say, and because if she didn't laugh she might cry, and she didn't want him to see her cry.
"Yes." If she had been looking at him, she would have seen his almost pained look, as if he wanted to reach out and comfort her, but did not know how.
She leaned against the wall and slid down it, wrapping her hands around her knees and hugging them to her. "Oh my god."
He came over to her, and sat down as well. "My sentiments exactly."
End
a.n.: it's up. Thank god. I hope you liked it, it was fun to write. I think this is all the set up I'll need, now that I've introduce Mamo-chan I can get to the rest of the guys, and then the story can start puttering along. Chapter three should be up within the week.
Also have continued the reformatting. Yay.
Cheers,
DF