Break
It was the second evening of trial and they'd spent the afternoon rebutting the pictures. "There is no evidence of blame in these images," Zoicite had said, and the judge had remained neutral.
"We'll leave copies with the plaintiff and the defense and keep a set here," she had said, and gave the photographs to her bailiff. While the pictures had shown action and occasional blurs of light, they were taken from a disadvantage – the photographer could not get very close to the scene and the constant movement made even the clearest figures blurry.
That evening in the research room, they were reading through the books from the shelves. Ami had never been very interested in law and so hadn't read most of them – Zoicite, though, was in heaven. He'd never seen such a collection and was pouring through every volume and taking notes on a yellow legal pad.
She snuck a few glimpses at him, smiling and humming to himself as he scribbled sharp black words on the yellow paper. The lamplight touched his hair and brought out red highlights from the gold. His glasses kept sliding down his nose and he pushed them back up absently, absorbed in what he was reading.
Eventually, he put his pen down and stretched. His eyes were closed in the ecstasy of easing tight muscles and she took the moment to admire his long, lean body. When his eyes opened, he looked at her inquisitively. "Food?"
She nodded with a faint smile. "Food."
They went to the kitchen together, sitting at a counter across from the busy chef Makoto, who turned and popped an appetizer into Ami's mouth for her opinion. When the smaller girl smoothly requested the entire tray, Makoto laughed and gave them to her, willing and able to make more before dinner.
Ami and Zoicite dug into the tidbits while a lesser cook made them sandwiches, and Makoto talked to them while she prepared the royal family's food. She asked about their research and progress with the case, eyes shadowed when she thought about it, but was reassured with their confidence of victory – a confidence that was far more illusory than they let on.
When their sandwiches were set before them – crisp lettuce, tomato, and turkey on wheat bread for Ami and thick slices of sourdough trapping hot mustard and roast beef for Zoicite – a side door to the kitchen opened and a man with long brown hair stepped inside, eyes sliding hesitantly to the familiar woman by the cutting board.
He nodded politely to Ami and Zoicite and sat down, not willing to surprise Makoto with a six-inch blade in her hand. Especially not after their fight.
Neither Ami nor Zoicite were brave enough to introduce themselves, but Nephrite recognized Zoicite from court and struck up a conversation.
There was instant chemistry. Ami felt left out of the conversation when Zoicite, engrossed in the topic at hand and laughing at a joke, turned his full attention toward Nephrite, shoulders facing the man so that Ami could only see his back.
Refusing to acknowledge the tears prickling her eyes, she left the rest of her sandwich uneaten and slipped out of the kitchen, going back to the research room where she could bury her unhappiness in the papers and texts.
Makoto, this whole time, had only glanced behind her at the sound of his voice and then turned disdainfully back to her celery. She would have him thrown out of the kitchen the moment Zoicite left, she fantasized, and he would land on his butt in the grass.
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"Why did you come back?" Makoto asked without turning around, a peculiar mixture of softness and venom in her voice. Nephrite was admiring the way her skirt moved with her hips and the long, tanned columns of her legs.
"I couldn't give you up without a fight," he said softly, eyes catching in the waves of her hair and caressing her.
"You should have thought of that before you betrayed us."
"I did my job, Mako," he told her, leaning forward earnestly. "What was I supposed to do? It doesn't affect you anyway – what are the Sailor Senshi to normal people like us? You can get a job at any of the restaurants in town you want. Head chef for the Queen doesn't make for a bad reference."
She turned around and her eyes were snapping. There were so many things she wanted to yell at him that she was speechless for a moment. Then she took a deep breath, calmed herself, and decided to say none of it. "I told you I was done with you the other night. Get out."
"Mako," he pleaded, but she just threatened to call the guards. "Fine," he bit out, fury in his eyes. "But if you wake up all alone at night and wish you hadn't done this, don't think you can just call me up and make me come crawling back."
"I wouldn't dream of it," she replied, dead serious.
There were angry tears in both their eyes as he left.
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Minako went to Kunzite's every night. The third morning as they drank coffee together, he'd given her a key to his apartment, "in case he had to work late."
The night after the first trial, eight days since she began sleeping at his apartment, he woke up to a warm, sniffling body crawling into bed next to him. She snuggled against him and fell asleep quickly, but it was an uncomfortable night for Kunzite because he couldn't roll over or move without getting tangled in all her long blonde hair – but as it was, the second night he just grabbed a ribbon off of his My-Size Sailor V doll and had it ready to tie her hair back himself when she joined him. It was too dark in his room to see her expression when he did, and she just curled into him again and went to sleep. (He might have thought those nightly visits a little erotic if she hadn't gotten snot all over his pillow, crying in her sleep.)
But even with her hair tied back, it still fanned out and got stuck in his armpits. When he woke up to the smell of coffee and a precisely folded red ribbon joining the dried snot on his pillow, he joined Minako in the kitchen and looked at the offending blondness sullenly.
"Tonight, I'm learning how to braid," he muttered, and Minako laughed. The sound drove away his annoyance and shot a pleasant contentment through him. She hadn't laughed like that in days.
"Do you watch the trials?" he asked her one evening when the lights were out and she was curled next to him under the warm blankets. Neither of them could sleep, so they had been talking softly in the dark.
"I've seen them," she replied, her voice husky with repressed emotion.
"Hn." He wanted to reach out and hold her, pull her close, but refrained. "Do you think what they're doing is right?"
"Who?"
"Anybody. Chief Harris, the Senshi, anybody."
She paused for a long moment. "They did kill Kevin," she replied uncertainly.
He was annoyed. "Right. I guess I forgot." He rolled away from her and closed his eyes.
"Kunzite," she pushed herself up on her elbow. "You don't know the Sailor Senshi. They might be jerks -- you can't let what you think of them blind you to what they are."
"And what are they, huh?" he asked, sitting up. "You haven't seen them, Minako. You didn't see Sailor Venus catch Kevin's body, or the way her hand shook when she touched him. She was upset."
"For herself!" Minako cried back, angry. "She's vain and arrogant, just like all of them! Just afraid of how much trouble she's going to get into!"
"If she was that vain, why would she be afraid? She'd theorize that nothing could touch her – I mean, she's the queen's personal guard!"
"And the queen is helping her, but it's not really doing any good, is it?" she lashed back. "Maybe she deserves to be punished for killing him."
Kunzite growled and grabbed Minako, burying his head in her throat and pushing her legs apart with his knee as he lay her back, kissing and biting and growling into her peach-sweet skin. "God, Minako, don't argue with me," he rumbled, taking his frustration out on her physically.
She only moaned in response.
Eventually, though, he stopped kissing her and just held her lightly, refusing to give in to his own body's demands. Somehow, he knew that this had changed things between them and that her crawling into his bed would not be so innocuous an act in the future.
The next night, she softly took up the couch again, but Kunzite had one parting request. With a gentle smile, he asked to braid her hair. She sat obediently on the arm of the couch as he stood behind her, fingers moving carefully through the long golden strands. She closed her eyes at the feel of his hands, gentle and almost caressing, and suppressed a shiver. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. Her breath caught when he placed a soft kiss on her throat and reluctantly left her. She didn't open her eyes until he was gone, and had to concentrate on returning her breathing to normal.
It was hard for both of them to sleep that night.
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The cameras were hard, black, and unblinking as Detective Kunzite took the stand.
"Detective, you were at the scene of your partner's death, correct?"
"Yes, sir," Kunzite replied. He was cool and imperturbable.
"Can you tell the court, in your own words, what happened?"
He paused to gather himself, knowing they would ask him this, and replied, "The guns weren't doing anything." He glanced up, eyes hard and grey, and his voice traveled like water back to the past. He saw again the great black beast, sizzling with energy and swinging its great jowls to crush helpless pedestrians. "We unloaded clip after clip, but it just annoyed the monster. Kevin was beside me, cursing – he could curse like a sailor's whore – and I had to reload." He paused, lost in his memories. "The senshi arrived and took it farther from us – they were doing well enough. There were no pedestrians left in the vicinity. Not alive, anyway." Another pause. "I don't know what happened first – whether Venus shot at it or whether it picked up Kevin, but it suddenly had him and held him up here," he put his hand to his forehead. "Whether to throw him at them or shield itself, I don't know, but." He turned his head away, a bitter flavor in his mouth.
"Detective Kunzite," the prosecutor said after a full minute of silence, going back and picking up a folder, then brandishing it. "Can you tell the court the name of the woman who has been staying with you every night for the past several weeks?"
Kunzite looked up, startled. They hadn't told him about this – they hadn't said anything about bringing Minako into it. What did she have to do with anything?
"You must answer," the judge told him.
He glanced up at her, his face blank, but he was starting to pull himself back together. "Aino Minako," he told the prosecutor, still stunned.
"Will the court please note that the girlfriend of the deceased is named Aino Minako. Detective, did you know that she was seeing your partner when he died?"
There were murmurs all through the room and the Sailor Senshi looked at each other, trying not to show their surprise. Venus only looked straight ahead, at Kunzite. Beside her, Zoicite did the same, frowning slightly and trying to predict where they would go with this. He didn't like what he came up with.
Kunzite shook his head to clear it. "Yes, I'd met her a little while before."
"And yet you had no qualms about having a liaison with her that very night. You must have been jealous, then?"
Kunzite flushed with anger, half standing and growling at the prosecutor, "There were no liaisons! I let her into my home because she needed somewhere to go!"
"She couldn't go home?" He raised one eyebrow, skeptical.
"She didn't want to go home." He looked at the judge desperately. "What does this have to do with anything?"
Zoicite stood up briefly. "I agree, your honor. There seems to be no point. I'd also like to contest the fact that the defense was not aware of this turn the questions would take."
The judge nodded. "Make your point quickly, councilor. And afterwards we'll have an hour's recess for the defense to arrange their strategy." She leaned forward, giving him a blistering glare. "I warned you about springing surprises on the court. I don't like surprises."
"Yes, your honor. Forgive me – we were only just briefed of this information ourselves."
"Then wrap it up."
"Has Aino Minako resided only on your couch during her stay, detective?"
He paused. "No," he said reluctantly. "Sometimes during the night, she gets . . . scared or sad. I'm not sure which. But she's slept in my bed a few times."
"Alone?"
"Like I said, I think she was scared. She didn't want to be alone." He was getting edgy and angry.
"So, to clarify, she slept in your bed with you?"
"Yes," he grated.
"Have you ever had sexual relations with Aino Minako?"
"No," he replied, a miasma of fury coming off of him that only Mars could see. The prosecutor took a step back. "And I resent the implications. She's a friend – I'd never touch a grieving woman."
"Hurry up, councilor. You're testing my patience," the judge said. "Get to the point, now."
"Detective, do you have romantic feelings toward Aino Minako?" His voice was clipped and tense now, trying to hurry.
Kunzite glared even harder and struggled against the choking feeling in his chest and throat. "What!"
He repeated the question.
The judge told him to answer.
"I . . . You can't expect me to . . ."
The prosecutor looked at him. "Yes or no, detective."
"Yes," he said finally. Venus looked down, her breath constricting, but nobody noticed.
"And how long have you had these? Since before Kevin's death?"
"I . . ." he shook his head. "She's a good woman."
He rephrased the question. "Did you love her before your partner's death?"
Kunzite met his gaze and the grey eyes were stronger – like chips of steel. "She's a good woman. Yes, I started to realize that before Kevin died. But I would never do anything to hurt my friend, alive or dead."
The whole room was quiet, watching the fire in his eyes and the tense bunching of muscles in his body.
"Have you ever met Sailor Venus?" the prosecutor asked.
"No," Kunzite replied, settling back a little at the change of topic but still wary.
The prosecutor looked surprised. "But your room," he said, pulling a glossy photo from his folder and showing it to Kunzite before passing it on to the judge, "is a shrine to her."
Kunzite's aura flamed so suddenly that Mars flinched. His body was stiff with tension – he was horrified, but more than that, he was angry. Furious. "You went . . . in my home?" His voice was quiet and dangerous and made the prosecutor step back again. "You went . . . in my home."
"Can we get someone to restrain him?" the prosecutor said, his voice tight with nervousness.
"Bailiff," the judge said softly. "Stand near." Louder, she said. "We'll investigate if these were taken illegally. If they were," and her words were for Kunzite alone, "they will feel the full force of my anger." She watched him calm down a little and then looked at the white-faced prosecutor. "While this would all make a very good soap opera, I will not have my court used as a tool to provoke witnesses – so, councilor, you will tell me what exactly your purpose is here. Because your questions seem to have no relevance to the case, and I'm about to throw you and this whole testimony out."
"The purpose, your honor, is to prove that Detective Kunzite had a motive in aiding the premeditated murder of his partner. We think that he was an accomplice." His cool demeanor was soon shattered.
"What!" Kunzite lunged from his chair and the bailiff moved to restrain him, but the detective didn't move any farther than the railing of the stand, where he leaned and gripped it as if he'd like it to be the prosecutor's neck. "You think I would hurt Kevin!" he roared. "You think I would hurt my partner!"
The judge was banging her gavel. "Order!" she cried. "Order! Detective, SIT DOWN! I will have order in this court!"
The prosecutor was hiding behind some guards, the white showing in his eyes.
The bailiff, very carefully, gripped Kunzite's arms and whispered for him to please sit back down. It took a moment for the tall man to calm the tension in his body and take his seat again.
"We will begin a two hours recess now, and you will continue your questions afterward." She banged her gavel and people began to shift and murmur.
"Come with me, detective," she said, and had the bailiff escort him into her chamber. Soon, the lawyers had joined them as well. "Detective Kunzite," she said, sitting down behind her desk. "You will keep your temper in my courtroom. Otherwise, I will have you arrested for contempt. Do you understand?"
"Yes, your honor." He bowed his head.
"Gentlemen," she said. "The defense, under my supervision, will have an hour to talk to and question the witness. However, I'm allowing you all this extra hour to calm down and get your questions lined up. I want everyone ready and calm when you get back in here. Do you understand?"
"Yes, your honor," they said.
"Be back here in an hour," she repeated and released them.
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"Detective," the prosecutor said, standing with hands folded, "you are a fan of the Sailor V TV show, correct?"
"Yes," Kunzite replied, calm again.
"So if you met the girl who played Sailor V, you would naturally know her immediately, correct?"
"No, sir," Kunzite replied. "Because Aino Minako played Sailor V, and I didn't recognize her right away." The crowd murmured, but one bang of the judge's gavel and they quieted.
"When did you realize who she was?"
"When she first came by my apartment. I was walking her to Kevin's and I'd forgotten some paperwork for him, so she was there briefly and," he sighed and smirked, "she saw my room."
"Your room with the shrine to Sailor Venus," the prosecutor clarified.
"My room with my Venus and V collection," Kunzite replied easily. "I'm also a fan of Sailor V."
The prosecutor accepted this with a thinning of his lips. "And what was her reaction?"
Kunzite couldn't repress the smile, folding his arms across his chest. Dryly, he told the man, "She laughed."
"And that didn't upset you?"
He shook his head. "It embarrassed me. But I wasn't angry. She was . . . curious. I answered any questions she had and it was . . . okay."
"So you found out who she was before Kevin died. And you weren't jealous of him? He was dating one of your idols."
Kunzite shook his head again. "He was dating an actress. My idol was the real V. The show just gave me something to latch onto. I was more interested in the girl they never showed on camera."
The prosecutor frowned. "No more questions."
"The defense may question the witness," the judge said.
Zoicite got up and brought his yellow legal pad with him. Frowning down at it, he ignored the cameras and the crowd and brought his focus on one quiet, self-contained individual.
Zoicite smiled. "Detective. In your opinion, was the death of your partner and friend an accident?"
Kunzite nodded, feeling at ease with this lawyer. "I'm sure it was."
"Objection!" the prosecutor cried, standing up. "He's biased."
Zoicite turned to the judge. "Your honor, I believe that Detective Kunzite has more loyalty to a long-trusted friend and ally than to a woman that – while he very much admires her – he has never met before in his entire life."
"Kunzite," the judge said, turning to him. "If Sailor Venus – or Sailor V – approached Kevin and killed him in cold blood, would you defend her?"
"No, your honor. I admire V and Venus because of their just hearts. If they proved capable of injustice, I would lose all respect for them."
She nodded. "Overruled."
"Detective," Zoicite said, going on, "do you know of an organization known as The Official Sailor V Fan Club?"
"I do."
"Could you define for the court your level of association with the club?"
Kunzite fought a smile. "I'm the treasurer."
More murmurs among the crowd and the black-eyed cameras kept staring.
"Your honor, I am placing before you testimonies of the president, vice president, and secretary of The Official Sailor V Fan Club. In these, they attest to the normalcy and health of Detective Kunzite's interest in both Sailor V and Sailor Venus. They describe him as a harmless fan and personal collector. I would have had a psychologist examine him, but we didn't have time." He glanced back at the table and his father glared at him over steepled fingers.
She nodded and flipped through them. Zoicite allowed her to read one or two – they were short – and she finally allowed him to go on.
"Sir, how would you define your interest in Sailor V and Sailor Venus?"
Kunzite let out a breath. "A long-term hobby. I put my spare time into it – collecting books, toys, photos."
"So you would consider your hobby – and your interest in these two legendary women – healthy?"
"It keeps me from being bored." When Zoicite kept looking at him, he said, "Yes. I would consider it healthy."
Zoicite nodded and looked at his notebook. "Sir, I've had each of the senshi draw me a diagram of the battle scene. Would you look over these four images and tell me if they are correct?" He handed Kunzite a packet of four drawings. One of them had drawn the monster in fancy scrawls and the senshi in dramatic poses. Another had the monster as a big ugly blob with fire coming out of its mouth and the policemen as stick figures in the corner. The senshi were stick figures with their symbols scribbled in their blank round heads. Still another was clinically correct, marking out the proportions of figure and the distances between buildings, people, and the monster.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember the scene – where everyone had been. He looked back at the clean, well-mapped one. "This one is the best," he said, and tried to hand them back.
Zoicite had him keep them for a moment. "But is it right?" he asked. "Sailor Mercury tried to recreate the scene, but you have to tell me if it's right."
"Yes," Kunzite finally said. "Yes. I could barely see Venus. My line of sight was better than Kevin's because he was further behind the monster."
"Do you think, from those angles, that it would be hard for Venus to notice the monster reaching behind itself?"
"It had to turn, but it never looked at us. Just grabbed. Its arms were amazingly long. But it kept looking at Venus the whole time and when it swung back around," he paused, closing his eyes and thinking hard. The whole room was quiet. "Kevin wasn't in Venus' line of sight in the first place. Even if she attacked it after it grabbed him, it hadn't brought him up yet. In fact, she probably attacked right as it was bringing him forward. He wasn't in the way yet." He shook his head. "But whether she was able to see him or just didn't notice him, I don't know."
"How did Sailor Venus react when she realized that she'd killed a police officer?" His voice was gentle.
"She was shaking – she cradled his head. There are things you can tell from facial expression, you know, but sometimes you can tell even more through posture. She was . . . I won't even say 'distraught' because it's not right." He thought for a moment. "She was in shock. She was grieving."
"Thank you, detective. That's all, your honor." Zoicite took the diagrams and gave them to the judge, leaving it open to Sailor Mercury's.