Hey everyone! Well, here's the next chapter!! Sorry- it took a while to get this out, and it will be revised after my AMAZING editor/beta Sailor Europa is done with it, but this chap heralds the end of the first "volume" so to speak, and wraps up by coming up from the other side to meet the end of the previous chapter (you'll get it when you read it). That said, I want to send out a HUMONGOUS shoutout to my wonderful reviewers Wild hild, Chibi J-sama, hayleyserenity, crozo-bobo, Sun+Moon,Earth+Sky, Steelheartrose, A.O.Y.U., Lara1876, mhnbfkgj, dayfreshie, Transcendant Pig, Forever His, BeckyJoe3689, aqua, cyjj, and Leira1. Thank you all SO much---and please keep reading and reviewing- love you guys!

* * * * *

He didn't even realize it, but suddenly he was outside in the biting cold, riding away on Storm, his cloak billowing in the wind. Impossible to tell if the pounding was that of the majestic black horse's hoofs on the powder-white ground, or maybe it was just that of his own heart, begging him to turn back.

There was soft, fairy-like snow on every tall tree and bush, and the overall effect was one of delicate crystalline beauty, but this wondrous atmosphere was entirely lost on him.

"You monster..."

Everything was a blur inside his mind, which was always so perfectly clear and sharp. Now there was only a cloud- a looming, gray cloud that threatened to break at any moment, and let forth a torrent of rain, or was it tears?

Tears...tears flowing down those frighteningly pale cheeks, so rosy and soft

A little demon pricked his eyes from behind, making them sting painfully, but that didn't matter, the fiery hot ache in his eyes.

Eyes so full of joy and mischief, now filled with only anguish and pain that made his own so small

He had to forget...had to cast those limpid blue eyes, that porcelain face aside...forget it all. How was he going to explain to the king and the others that he couldn't ever return- that he had put the mission in jeopardy from sheer carelessness...in a moment of neglect such as he had never displayed in his life?

He wasn't terribly worried about the task itself; after all, he had already obtained almost every piece of information needed to make his conclusions, and he was perfectly sure that Lord Tsukino and his family were completely innocent.

Innocent...and blue, sparkling with laughter, shining with unshed tears

He shivered involuntarily.

And he rode on, valiantly trying his best to not think at all, for thoughts of any sort were treachery.

He absently looked down at Storm's thick, black mane and closed his eyes. He felt a pair of small, sweet hands combing passionately through his own ebony hair as he kissed the soft breath from pink...no!

He had meant to tell her. God, yes, how badly he had wanted to. How could he not? A face that innocent and yet cutely impish could worm secrets from any flesh-and-blood creature, and the sweetness of the personality behind it- it was enough to drive a man to madness. He had sworn to himself that night that he would one day tell her...that night, which was now millions of miles away. He had waited, having made a promise that he would, yet not knowing when to carry it out; no moment seemed right, though he had waited for so long. It was too early, his mind said, day after day. And yet, how ironic, that a heartbeat later it was too late...

But perhaps they were far better off like this, both of them. Yes, after all, emotions, passion and love (if indeed it existed, which was quite unlikely) were ephemeral. They'd end up living a lie their whole lives, or discover that their desire was fleeting, and feel empty and cheated forevermore.

Emotions, passion, love- those were all just synonyms for weakness; he knew it, he'd been raised on it. The king was a firm believer in that principle, and had coldly brought up his only protégé with that same theory. There had been little laughter or warmth in Darien's life before he met the four who would become his brothers, but he was glad, for it had provided him with immense strength of mind and body, and the cool guile that ran as blood in his veins.

The only thing he could truly count on was his duty; his life-long promise to protect king and country was the sole entity he could cling to, for it was the only thing that would last. What he felt...had felt...for Serena was undoubtedly beautiful, but it was only a matter of time before it would disappear, and what then?

After all, his parents must have felt something for him when he was born, but clearly it hadn't been enough to keep them from abandoning him when he was barely a few months old. The king never pretended any such affection for him, yet he had dutifully brought him up, made him what he was now. No, love had nothing to do with it. It hadn't any meaning, just a bunch of romantic nonsense that people tried to warm their lonely souls with. Serena's words were just words.

Then why do I feel so hollow? It's so cold, oh gods, it's so cold!

He'd forgotten what it was, that icy emptiness inside that he'd been going around with for so long. Basking in the glow of an ethereal, artificial love, he'd let the wits on which he prided himself waltz right out of his head.

But he needn't worry about that anymore, he laughed ironically to himself, as he dismounted and tied up Storm's reins. She had forbidden him the house, shut him out of her life forever, so he needn't worry about that dangerous, dizzying intoxication (which she called love) ever again...

Intoxication? By god, now that he thought about it, that sounded awfully appealing!

As was his instinct, he melted into the shadows that the tavern cast upon the ground under the moonlight, and stepped inside. After subtly, almost imperceptibly flashing the usual signal, he gracefully disappeared down the narrow staircase, and harshly shoved away the memory of a broken stair and a furious maiden that immediately sprang to his mind.

Kunzite, Nephlyte and the king were sitting huddled together at the wooden table, speaking in low tones, and their heads shot up abruptly upon his entrance.

"It's over," he said, walking over to the table, his voice hoarse and rough, "It's done. There's no tax fraud, they're innocent, and it's over."

Upon seeing their startled expressions, he raked his hair back with a frustrated hand, and grasped something in the side pocket of his cloak.

"You want details? Here!" he tossed the leather-bound journal onto the table.

"Take it, read it, do whatever the hell you want with it, but don't ever, EVER let me see it again!" and the harsh, raw bitterness in his tone would have made any lesser man tremble.

"Darien, what-" Nephlyte began slowly.

"I don't wish to discuss it."

Then, turning to the tavern-keeper who had discreetly come down to ask if the men needed anything, he remarked, "I'd like a glass of the strongest ale you've got."

"Y-yes, sir, it'll be right down," the tavern-keeper said a little shakily, as he stumbled up the stairs with the stunted brutishness that became those of his ilk. There was a frightening inscrutability in the handsome face of that black-haired man downstairs, more so than usual, even. And he wanted a drink- not just any, but the 'strongest ale you've got.' That made no sense at all- he had always refused liquor of any kind during the many mysterious meetings in the basement. Oh well, so be it, it was none of his concern, the short, rotund little man resolved finally, as he sloshed a full mug of the frothy stuff in the green bottle. Aye, if he wanted the strong stuff, that's what he'd get.

Darien took the heavy mug and sank into a chair with a complete lack of his usual lazy, arrogant grace; his clumsiness was most unsettling to Kunzite and Nephrite- he hadn't even started drinking yet, they thought, alarmed.

To add to their growing unease, he started to chug down the strong, bitter ale as though it were water.

It burned as it went down his throat- so bitterly sour it stung his mouth, but he welcomed it. As long as he could feel that, he'd know he hadn't gone mad. And far better to concentrate on that harsh, stinging sensation than the dull, and thus infinitely more frightening pain deep within him- that had to be forgotten, ignored.

"Darien, why are you doing this? What's the matter with you?" Kunzite asked carefully, approaching the other man slowly, and trying to take the mug from the seemingly desperate grasp Darien had on its handle.

His blue eyes flashed, and he snarled, "Kunzite, you are my best friend, and till today I've never raised my hand against you except in jest. But I warn you, if you so provoke me, I just might kill you tonight. STAY BACK." He emphasized none of the words, but there was a whiplash in his voice that caused the implacable Kunzite to flinch slightly.

He soundlessly sat back down, clearly startled as he exchanged glances with an equally shocked Nephrite. They both looked to Diamond for guidance, but the King's eyes were fixed intently on the 19-year-old man he had raised, whose nature he knew as well as he knew his own. But not tonight.

"Well, why are you just sitting there staring at me? Talk, discuss, continue with all the folderol we usually waste our time with here. You look rather stupid just gaping at me, you know...terribly stupid, in fact," Darien remarked, eyes half open as he smirked at his three companions. The King's face lost a little of its color and his eyes become somewhat colder, but he said nothing.

"What's terribly stupid?" a voice asked from behind Darien. Nephrite, Kunzite and Diamond turned and looked up, but Darien remained seated with his back to the doorway.

"Nothing you would understand," he replied lazily as Jadeite and Zoicite pulled chairs up to the round wooden table. His offhand dismissal surprised both the blond men; something was clearly amiss, but what was it?

Jadeite tried to ignore his friend's curt, lazily insolent manner, considering it an aberration. This was how he treated those he disliked or had no respect for; but these, these were the people he was closest to in the world, except for...maybe that was it!

"Something the matter, *cofflikeSerenacoff*?" He inquired, in an attempt at levity.

At the mention of that name, Darien stopped dead. He set his mug down on the table with care.

"Funny you should mention her," he said softly, his tone implying that somehow it was really not all that humorous.

"Very funny, indeed," he continued, a wry smile playing upon his lips; the smile of a broken man who grins at the ironic joke that is life.

"Funny in the, uh, 'accidentally falling on a knife and having it go right through your heart' type of funny, mind you, not quite so much the 'Ha ha, that's bloody funny!' way," he amended, with a drunken laugh.

Jadeite and Kunzite looked across the table at each other, completely unnerved; never in the entire fourteen years that they had known him had he ever been less than perfectly calm, eloquent, and perfectly in control of the situation and his mind. What was happening to him?

Crash!

Shards of glass and drops of liquid went flying and four pairs of eyes widened in horror. None of them had even realized it, but Darien's grip around his mug had been intensifying tenuously, and finally his powerful hand had crushed the mug in his hand entirely, sending the glass and its contents into the air. As for his hand, it was covered in blood, and there were tiny pieces of glass embedded in it.

Zoicite, Nephrite, Kunzite and Jadeite cursed vehemently as they sprung into action. Zoicite swore yet again with even more fervor as he accidentally overturned the small lamp that was their only light in the cellar; the little room was suddenly steeped in darkness.

The four men stumbled about in the dark, one trying to summon for the tavern keeper, another attempting to find something with which to clean up the mess of glass, ale and blood, another trying to light a candle in the pitch-black darkness.

And as the others frantically tried to provide light and clean up his wounds and the mess on the table and floor, Darien remained seated, staring blankly at his hand as ale seeped into the amazingly painful wounds, and blood streamed out of the cuts in his right palm, trailing down his arm in long crimson streaks. He had not yet made a move or, indeed, a sound of any kind, when before he had always been the first one to carefully assess any situation and coolly, silently implement the quickest, most effective solution.

Yet there was another figure, too, who made no move to clean up the mess, provide light, or help the wounded man. He quietly slipped out of the room and out of the tavern, unnoticed by any of the others in the darkness.

He had made his decision.

Soon, light had been restored to the small room, the mess of glass and ale cleaned up, and Darien was absently holding an old rag to the persistently bleeding wound in his palm. The other four sat around him, more or less relieved but still wary of any further explosions from Darien's direction. They did not have to wait long.

He gave a raucous, harsh laugh as though something amused him greatly. He had called for another ale, despite his friends' panicked expressions, and now took a long swig from the mug.

"What the hell?" he said now, shaking with silent laughter as he set it on the table. They all tensed and leaned forward slightly, prepared to listen to every word.

"What the hell brought this on?" he swallowed another mouthful and relished the burn that matched that of his hand, and for that matter, of his heart...

"What is her problem anyway, huh? What was I doing to do? Just say 'I'm sorry, Serena, but I'm a spy... a bloody awful one at that," he laughed harshly, drunkenly again without humor, "yet that's what I am. That's the only reason I'm here, only...only...," he lost his train of thought, and stared blankly into the wall for a few moments. There was a little silence. Then he stood abruptly, staggering a little as he took his mug and walked across the tiny floor space.

"So I can't love you....and even, even if I could I couldn't, I don't know how...not that there's anything to know, of course...you can't know something that doesn't exist."

He finished the remaining liquid in his mug and shouted for some more. Jadeite rose to protest, but a warning look from Kunzite made him sit down again. The tavern keeper came rushing down and ran back up the stairs just as quickly with the empty mug to get more. Good god, what was going ON tonight?

"Because it really doesn't exist," Darien continued as though there had been no interruption. "You know that, right? That it simply doesn't exist??" he demanded suddenly of Zoicite, pulling him out of the chair by his collar. The bewildered man, as brilliant as he was, had no idea what his dark-haired friend was talking about in that slurred, hazy voice, but the frightening gleam in those eyes made him simply nod dazedly. Darien seemed satisfied by this response, and released him.

"Hate, yes, but love...NEVER...so it's- it's safe now, because she hates me, and that's real," he had stumbled over to the small window and it seemed as though he was speaking to the moon, his back turned to the concerned, apprehensive faces of his friends.

Somewhere, in the far recesses of his mind that remained yet untouched by the alcohol, he knew he was making a fool of himself; knew, and was disgusted. But at least this way, with his face to the window, he could preserve what remained of his dignity- they wouldn't see the warm, salty tear that slowly fell down his broad, tanned cheek. The tear that had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with the deep, painful cuts in his right hand; the tear that was followed by more, all acidic, burning reminders of...

He straightened, wiped the moisture from his face with a weary arm, and turned.

"So now I'm safe, she's safe, and maybe, maybe not tonight...now, but she'll be happy...it takes so little to make her happy...she'll be happy, complete, perfect someday...now I'm gone."

He unsteadily walked back towards the table, and sank once again into a chair as the tavern keeper returned with another couple of mugs and a full decanter of ale. Darien saluted him clumsily with a half-smile as the short man stumbled back upstairs. He awkwardly sloshed the liquid into a mug and gulped some more down as his friends exchanged agonized glances once again; for perhaps the first time in their lives, they were powerless to help, powerless to do anything save watch as their best friend, their brother drowned himself in liquor.

"And besides, they're all the same," the handsome man with now inflamed, bloodshot eyes continued, inconsequently, "she's just like 'vry other...bubbly, giggly...blonde...pretty girl- so are the rest. Charm- well I suppose they've all got it, though Jed here would know more about that than me!" he chuckled as he clumsily slapped the other man on the back with surprising force.

"Yes sir, all the same..." his voice growing more and more slurred, "just I was forced into close...close stalls? No...no, tha's not right...close quarters! Ah, tha's it! Just I was forced into close quarters with this...this particular...Serena."

His eyes closed and for a brief moment, he left them completely, alone in his own dark universe of memories, pain and everlasting loneliness. Then the bloodshot eyes opened once more, and he carefully rose from his seat, trying to keep from falling over.

"It's been a great pleasure, gentlemen, but I'm 'fraid I must bid you farewell. So, farewell," he gave a mocking bow, turned, and wobbled over to the stairs.

"Darien, where are you going?" Kunzite rose as well, alarmed, though he struggled to keep his voice level.

"Ah, shut up Kunz, don't think you always know what's best for me...no one knows what's best from me...hell, not even I know what's best for me," Darien replied, smirking as he jabbed a finger into his own chest for emphasis. Once again, he turned and staggered up the narrow steps.

"Shit!" Jadeite and Nephrite cursed simultaneously. They all ran after him, for while he was roaringly drunk, Darien was still about as fast on his feet as a man could be.

"Darien, you aren't in your right mind!" Jadeite yelled out warningly once they were outside. He struggled to block the other man from the tall black horse he was trying to mount, but was shoved out of the way with a force that sent him falling back towards the gravel.

"Maybe not, but then, I haven't been for a good while, have I?" he sarcastically saluted them once more and rode off.

Jadeite was about to follow, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"He's going off on Crescent Moon Road, Jed! Don't you see? He wants- he needs to go fix things with Serena, though he doesn't even realize it! I don't think he has the faintest idea what he's doing or where he's going...but that's where his instinct is taking him. Let him be," Zoicite advised him calmly.

"Zoicite is correct, Jed," Kunzite said, "The best thing we can do is stay out of his way. Let him do what he needs to do, once he figures out what that is," he murmured the last part quietly, almost to himself.

And with that, they went their separate ways, back to the Scarletvale estates, and the women they were growing to love. But one man was still not satisfied, and after going about a mile along Hikawa Lane, he turned back around, and his horse galloped in the icy snow back towards the Crossroads tavern. Something just wasn't right- his instincts had never been wrong, and by God, he knew something wasn't right. He only hoped he wasn't too late.

* * * * *

It had started to snow again, as though there wasn't enough icy whiteness covering the ground already. He slowed Storm to a gentle gallop. The alcohol's effects were still in full force- no surprise, considering that he had taken in about eight full shots of ale- or was it more?

Ah, who knew, who cared? Ironic, that the image of that sweet, tear-streaked face was what had made him start chugging the stuff down in the first place, and now that was the only thing that his poor, mixed-up brain could even focus on. Those eyes- god, those eyes! Would they never cease being a red-hot brand on his head, wiping out all else?

He rode along, gazing at the bleak sameness that surrounded him, that covered every tree, every single entity in sight; he gazed, and yet he saw none of it. The ice that fell persistently on his shoulders, on his head, was bitingly cold, but he was uncaring. The icy daggers of cold easily penetrated his cloak and shirt, rendering his body completely numb, but he felt nothing. Whatever cold he felt was inside, impossible to tell if it was because of the snow that just kept falling, or something else.

The ice fell on his hands, and melted into freezing water that seeped through the thin makeshift bandage around his bleeding palm. The cold gnawed at the cuts until it seemed as though his hand would explode from raw pain, but it didn't matter. He was just temporarily residing in this aching, cold body; it was distinct, unconnected, detached from HIM.

He looked up then, and in the distance there were black shadows, and as they neared, he could see that there were six of them. Six black shadow riders that seemed to be coming closer and closer, although it was hard to tell in the raging, persistent white blizzard that obscured everything.

But no, they were definitely there. Above the din of falling snow and wind that furiously rushed through his ice-covered ebony hair, he heard the muted pounding of hoofs on snow, and the riders came closer...closer

Something was wrong...dizzy and disoriented as he was, he knew inside that something was terribly wrong, and this instinct grew as they came closer and closer...much too close...

* * * * *

Gods, he would never forgive himself if he were too late, he thought as he raced forward, fiercely riding against the wind along Crescent Moon Road. He'd wanted to get back to Sacred Flame, to Raye, tell her the truth while he still had the chance, hadn't even thought of...until now. But no matter, there wasn't any point in regretting it.

He looked for hoof prints, footprints, anything, even- dare he think it? - blood, to tell him that his dearest friend was ahead. But the snow, the cursed whiteness that drowned out everything, covered any possible signs of Darien's presence there. He rode on.

Then his ever-sharp, alert ears caught a faint sound in the distance. What was that? The fury of the snowstorm made it too indistinct to be identified. He rode faster.

Something WAS going on up ahead...something-- violent.

He spurred the horse on even more urgently. As he neared the scene he had vaguely observed from the distance, he witnessed with growing horror just what that violent something was.

Without stopping, without breathing, without thinking, he leapt off the horse and did what came naturally. Five minutes later, four bodies had one by one painfully, painstakingly joined the two dead already buried in the snow.

"Gods, Darien! What...how...what the hell?! What the hell?!" he whispered furiously, frantically. As he leaned over his friend's motionless figure in the snow, he went cold all over. Grabbing the still man's wrist, he felt desperately for a pulse. Yes, it was there; so terribly faint, barely present, but it was there! Thank all the gods, he was still alive-- somehow. How could a man bleed so much, withstand such cold, and remain alive?

He closely examined the wounds he had glanced over before, when there hadn't been any time to pause. So much blood! His shirt was torn, and there was a horrible wound in his abdomen, where a knife had stabbed him; warm, crimson blood flowed in a stream onto the delicate, pure white snow. A gash was open on his forehead, marring his perfect features, his lip bled profusely, bruises were already forming on the upper part of his hard, lean chest- god only knew what weapon had created those. God, how was he still alive?

No time to think of that now, it only mattered that he was. But where to take him? He briefly debated taking him back to Raye's, where the raven-haired priestess would be only too happy to heal her best friend's love...or past love...as was her nature. But no, Sacred Flame was too far away. The nearest place that he could think of was...

With some effort, he lifted the other man's broken body onto Storm, tied the horse's reins to his own, and rode carefully but quickly, so as not to injure his friend even further. But they had to be quick, for he didn't know how long before life would leave the ebony-haired man's body.

He rode steadily and cautiously to Lunaria, where it had all begun.

* * * * *

Please send all questions, comments, flames and fluff to priyajasmine@hotmail.com