From The Ashes Chapter 20: A Paper Moon, a sakura wars fanfic

Rating: PG-13

"FROM THE ASHES" – A Paper Moon

"Hey, kid… kid! You all right?"

Vincenzo moaned and turned his head, opening his eyes slowly. He was looking up into a circle of strange faces from where he lay on the street. The back of his head was throbbing. He touched it gingerly and looked at his fingers. No blood. Small favour. One of the strangers reached out a hand and helped Vincenzo to his feet.

"Hit yer head?" the man asked him and Vincenzo nodded. The stranger looked around, confused. There was nothing and no one in sight. "On what?"

Vincenzo wasn't prepared to answer questions, and his brain wasn't working quickly enough to try. Instead, he stood, gripping his head, and affected a greater pain and nausea than he truly felt.

"Hey, hey—easy, now. You gonna be all right?" the stranger asked, distracted from his original question.

Vincenzo nodded and thanked the man.

"Siddown, we'll get the restaurant to getcha a steamer," the man said and gestured the woman with him – presumably his wife – to go to the doorman. Vincenzo sat down on the curb, grateful for the unexpected benevolence.

New Yorkers. They knew the nastiest and most horrible ways to kill and torment each other – and the fastest ways to be loyal and steadfast to each other as well.

Vincenzo wasn't sure what Lupo's retaliation would be for his interference. Lupo was a different family entirely, and Benedetta Luna was a favourite of the Ignazio family. At worst, his interference might strain relations, perhaps stall the negotiations for Douglas-Stewart research funding… but somehow, that seemed beneficial as well. They'd get through. Of that, he was sure. Now he just hoped Maria and the Japanese woman made it to safety. No one recognizable was anywhere in sight or earshot.

Somehow, Vincenzo had the feeling that perhaps the Kazuar would never been in his sight again, and that realization made him a bit more wistful than he'd anticipated.

At a quarter after nine o'clock, Silvio arrived at the abandoned tenement hall. Picking his steps carefully, he climbed to the seventh floor, to an old room he'd chosen yesterday.

A long-barrelled rifle slithered out from under his trenchcoat and he rested it against the wall next to the broken-out window. He exhaled and stood in the line of sight with the balcony of the restaurant, seeking his target.

After a few seconds of seeking, he began to be concerned. Lupo and the Russian girl were not on the balcony.

After another ten minutes, it became clear that they were not going to be arriving on the balcony any time soon. Fifteen more minutes and Silvio gave up, his window of time having passed. He had no idea when or how the plan had changed, but there was no one on the balcony to shoot. First order of business was to find the boss and ask him what had happened.

"It seems we both have a minor problem," Brent Furlong leaned back in the leather chair, his elbows rested on the arms and his fingers steepled before him.

Joseph Ignazio was pacing back and forth on the oriental rug in front of Furlong's desk. "Yeah, I'd say so. Your rescuer is dead, and my rescuee is gone. I gotta admit, this seems like a bit of a failure on the part of Douglas-Stewart…"

"Might I remind you," Furlong began, kindly but firmly, "that it was your own men who were attempting to kill the one we were trying to rescue…"

"'Ey, Lupo's gang are NOT my own men. I have no idea who gave them the order. I'm just glad you found out about it."

"And do you know where she's gotten off to?"

Joseph walked to the window and shook his head, pocketing his hands and gazing out across the vast expanse of midtown New York City. "No idea. Lupo and one of his guys chased them for a while. Name was Grigori. He tripped over a trash can and gave up the chase. Yeah. Trash can."

Furlong rolled his eyes heavenward. "My kingdom for employees with any sense."

"It's really very new technology, Mr. Valentinov, I'm not so sure you want to be jumping right in and volunteering for this…" A rather bookish and nervous-looking bespectacled young man with his briefcase clutched to his lap. His cold and sterile chair was set near the window of the dim hospital room. In the bed lay Major Valentinov, his left arm holding up a lit cigar, and his right arm… gone.

"I have faith in you… and your company," Valentinov spoke as smoke sputtered from his lips with the breath of his words. He looked up from his careful examination of the finely rolled cigar and set his cold, steely gaze upon the man in his hospital room. "I need my right arm."

"Well, it won't be a replacement… not exactly… I don't want you to get your hopes up too high… It's a mechanical prosthesis. It's original intent was not as a replacement for a biological arm, but an enhancement. Cybernetic empowerment of a soldier's endurance and strength. It's the first step toward an even bigger dream of a full suit of body armour with mechanical enhancements. The chief is calling the sketches 'Star Kai,' but it's years until production. We can't even perfect the cybernetics yet…"

"Allow me to help you… in your research," Valentinov grinned. "In exchange… you keep me… up to date on developments."

The man seemed doubtful, still. "I'm not sure there's anything you can do to h—"

"Five thousand American dollars. And my arm."

"Th-that… that would be a big help, yes…." the small man's eyes went round behind his spectacles.

"Then we are agreed."

No one answered when Ayame knocked on Maria's cabin door. After a moment, she knocked again, a bit louder, and called Maria's name through the door. Still no answer came. She might have let the girl be, believing her simply to want privacy. She had, after all, just lost everything for the second time in her life. But part of Ayame worried that perhaps something had happened in the past hour. The ship had only just weighed anchor, a bit late in departing, and she felt guilty for leaving the girl alone when someone might still have boarded after her. But the girl had requested privacy.

And Ayame, too worried to do otherwise, would break it now.

Maria's cabin door was locked. Ayame, having paid for both cabins, had the key to both cabins. She prayed the girl was safely inside hers as she turned the key.

Ayame paused at what she saw.

The cold, heartless killer was curled on the bed, her arms wrapped around her pillow, asleep.

Her face was peaceful, lacking the hard glare and tightly thinned lips that usually comprised her entire expression. Her short blonde hair was splayed across the pillow, thin swaths over her eyes, as if she'd been tossed onto the bed like a rag doll. She clung to the pillow as if it were a child's favourite stuffed toy. Her cheeks were flushed with the memory of tears, but her eyelashes were dry. She was wearing her blouse, pants and socks. Her coat, jacket and gloves lay in a pile near the mirror. Her boots were toppled at the side of her bed as if she'd kicked them off in her sleep.

Ayame sat gently on the edge of the bed, feeling almost maternal. She laid a hand on Maria's shoulder. "Maria… Maria."

She woke with a start – sitting bolt upright and whipping her gun – which had been in her hand under her pillow – to bear almost pressed between the eyes of the intruder, her bleary and nightmare-ridden unconsciousness slow to leave her. She did not know where she was, nor who was in her cabin. She only managed to call upon the instinctinve reflexes of self-defense and self-preservation.

Ayame was awake, though, and had a soldier's reflexes. She disarmed Maria in the blink of an eye, snatching the gun from her by the barrel, breaking open the breach-loading revolver and dumping five bullets onto the blankets between them.

Ayame did not look angry at all – only automatic. And Maria looked horrified at what she had almost done.

"S-sorry…" she gasped, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them.

Ayame shook her head dismissively. "It was may fault – I would leave you alone, but I worry."

"Thank you," Maria answered, though it seemed an inane thing to say. It was very novel to have someone be concerned about her.

Ayame took up the bullets and handed them, and the gun, back to Maria. "I… I came to make an additional offer… to you."

Maria's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, she was not certain if she could process any more new information and retain her sanity. Her salvation had not even sunk in yet – which explained the confusion upon waking.

"You are allowed to refuse, of course. We are not so strict a regiment as yours in Russia."

Maria lowered her gaze, wondering precisely how much of her past in Russia this woman had dug up.

"What was your rank… with the Revolutionaries?" Ayame asked.

"Second Lieutenant," Maria answered immediately, automatically, and though she had not uncurled physically, a part of her mind snapped to attention. Maria the soldier. Maria the robot.

Ayame was visibly impressed. "An officer. Excellent. To the Imperial Assault Unit, I am Vice Commander. Above me is General Yoneda. Our financial support is Count Hanakoji."

"And I, Vice Commander?"

"That is the offer I have. We have now four enlisted women, including you. And they need a Captain."

"…captain?" the Russian whispered, stunned. Yuri's title. Was this not his dream for her? "Your second in command?"

"No," Ayame shook her head. "I am General Yoneda's second. You will be no one's second. You alone will be a sort of field commander for the girls. You have the military background, the strategy, the tactics. You've given orders before, correct?"

"Yes, but—"

"Don't answer now," Ayame lifted a hand to stop Maria's protest. "Think about it for as long as you need. But you truly are by far the most qualified. We would fall back, if you refused, upon Kirishima Kanna, the karate expert. But she is… far too passionate. I do not believe you suffer from impetuosity," Ayame smiled.

Quite the opposite, Maria thought, I suffer from hesitance.

"Other than stunned," Ayame's voice softened in deference to the delicate nature of the new subject she was broaching, "how are you?"

"Fine, Vice Commander," she answered as if she'd been asked her opinion of the accomodations provided to her. "Thank you."

"Fine?" Ayame's brows lifted. "If that is so, you are the strongest person alive. Or the most unfortunate."

"Vice Commander?"

"Let me explain our… weaponry… to you, Maria. You will be the pilot… of your own Koubu. A Koubu is nearly a robot – large as three steam automobiles. It is powered by steam… and… by you."

Maria looked perplexed.

"Those with extraordinarily strong… spirits… can will the Koubu to move, to obey their commands. You must open your spirit, Maria, to access the power you have within. So I ask you again, Maria. How are you? Are you open? Or are you locked down?"

"I do not understand, Vice Commander."

Ayame pursed her lips, gentled her voice. "What does your heart tell you?"

"What do you mean, Vice Commander?"

Now fully tired of the robotic responses, Ayame snapped, "Maria, I did not call you to attention, please stop addressing me like I did. I am asking you the nature of your spirit, your heart, your emotions."

Maria stared at her. Questions like these were not asked of her.

"I will order you to respond if you do not."

"What do you want me to say?" Maria asked.

"It doesn't matter what I want you to say, Maria! I want you to tell me what you want to say!"

"I have nothing to say." The placidity of the icy surface of the lake that was Maria's soul was unbroken.

"If you have no answer to the question of the content of your heart, then we have chosen poorly. You would be a failure as a soldier in the Imperial Assault Unit. You wouldn't be able to move the weaponry. You would ruin us."

Maria glared, having been insulted and then told she would fail at something she had not yet been given a chance to try.

"There – what are you feeling?" Ayame opened her hands, almost imploring the girl to show something… anything…

Maria tried to imagine what Ayame would want to hear, trying to summon some phrase, something to fake, something to pretend, something to appease her – as if she were acting. "I don't underst—"

"Don't understand! Just tell me!" Ayame's voice grew louder, leaning forward on the support of her hands, crowding Maria back against the corner of the walls, causing the girl to curl tighter in a protective ball, but giving her nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.

"Tell you what—?"

"What do you feel? What hurt you, Maria? What is your past? What do you dream? Tell me!"

Maria flinched against the onslaught, her eyes closing. "I do not h—"

"Look at me!" Ayame lifted Maria's chin with a hand and Maria tried to pull her head away. "I order you to look at me!"

Maria obeyed, but walls of furious ice slammed into place behind her narrowed eyes.

"Have you been hurt, Maria? Answer!"

"Yes, Vice Commander!" Maria growled.

"Attention!" Ayame barked, and Maria scrambled, standing beside her bed at attention, and Ayame stood to join her, looking up at the taller girl. Maria's gaze was fixed, straight forward over Ayame's head. "Look at me!" and Maria did. "Answer me now, what is in your heart?"

Maria's mouth opened, but she faltered, still not understanding the desired response.

"You said you were hurt, Maria, so is there pain?"

"Yes, Vice Commander!" she'd been cued and she responded.

"Stop telling me what you think I want to hear! Tell me what you know is true! Maria Tachibana! What is left in your heart?"

"Nothing, Vice Commander!" Maria's voice broke over the yelled response, but it was the first response she'd given that Ayame did not feed to her first.

Ayame paused a moment, observing the girl, now trembling at attention, holding herself together with every ounce of her strength. A bit more gently, she continued. "Who do you have left, Maria? Anyone?"

"No, Vice Commander!"

"What are your dreams? Are they still alive? Do you remember being a child, Maria? Were you ever a child, Maria?"

"No, V—"

"What was your future with the Mafia? They were trying to kill you! And what did you think Valentinov would d—"

"Leave me alone, please!" Maria squeezed her eyes closed and covered her ears with her hands.

Ayame reached up and yanked Maria's hands away from her ears. Gently, she responded, "You were alone, Maria…"

Unshed tears gleamed on Maria's eyelashes, her jaw gritted resolutely.

"You lost your parents… you watched your lover die in battle… is that correct?" Ayame did not release Maria's hands, and the ungloved, icy cold fingers tightened around hers, clinging to something instinctively – like a baby's hand closes around the fingers which touch its palms – even though her mind told her not to hold on to anything at all.

Maria's voice was a whisper. "Yes, Vice Commander."

Ayame nodded and released Maria. "In that… you are not alone. I watched the man I loved die in battle as well. …in the very battle I ask your help in winning."

Maria blinked in surprise. Ayame turned aside and waved her off. "At ease." Maria did not move. She wanted to apologize, or to say something to the officer who had saved her life, and was attempting to save her soul. But she could think of nothing.

"So you see, Maria… there is someone who understands you. Someone who knows how much you probably want to die. But let me be your evidence that there can be life, still." Ayame turned back to look at Maria. "Tell me your story, Maria. And I promise you… I will tell you all of mine. Then neither of us will be alone."

"My story?" softly Maria responded, then sat again on the edge of the bed after Ayame had done the same. Ayame made note of Maria's subconscious obedience, doing only what was ordered to her, or shown to her, speaking only when asked, very diplomatic, very soldierlike… and very dangerous. Ayame would release her from these chains, or she could not be a leader. It would take time to heal this broken girl, but she would succeed.

"Yes, your story. Who are you? What has happened to you? Where has life taken you, and where will you take life? What are your dreams, what do you love? What do you fear?"

Maria curled back against the wall again, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around her bent knees. "All of those things?"

Ayame nodded. "I will keep your secrets – and I will even give you mine as proof of my trust. And I expect you to keep them, too."

Maria exhaled and looked down, shifting slightly as if she were as physically uncomfortable as she was emotionally uncomfortable – as if she had longer limbs than she knew what to do with, slouching and curling to hide any bit of her she deemed was extraneous. The physicality was a mirror of the contortions her soul was performing, a control Ayame noted she would later need and put to excellent use inside a Koubu. Maria began simply, softly. "Was born on nineteen of June, 1903, in Kiev…"

Three weeks of travel were spent with Ayame paying Maria back for the favour of her confidence by answering every question Maria had about the army, her duties as Captain (she had finally accepted the position), teaching her a greater fluency in Japanese, and explaining the need for secrecy and a cover… as a theatre troupe.

"…Imperial Theatre?"

Ayame nodded as the steam powered automobile rolled to a stop in front of the headquarters of the Capital's Imperial Assault Unit. "You did say you can sing, right?"

Maria was white with terror. The stage! She stepped out of the cab and the driver got the brand new suitcase out of the trunk (Ayame had provided for Maria to buy some necessities from the ship and from Calais when they'd stopped there.)

"Come inside," Ayame smiled. "I will explain."

"…and the current production is Romeo and Juliet," Ayame continued explaining as she lead Maria upstairs inside the theatre, to a wing of offices. "I am hoping you will consent to play the role of Romeo."

Maria halted as Ayame was about to open the door of the first office. "…Romeo?"

Ayame nodded, smiling secretly as she noticed that Maria was intrigued. Then she pulled open the door and gestured for Maria to precede her inside.

Behind a desk sat an old man with round spectacles perched on his nose. Three girls sat in the chairs before his desk, but they stood and turned to face her when she entered. A dark-skinned girl with a tousled shock of red hair – taller even than Maria, and looked to be twice as strong – grinned broadly.

Ayame indicated her. "Kirishima Kanna."

A beautiful young woman, diminutive, with expertly groomed hair and perfectly painted makeup folded her arms and smiled elusively. Her purple silk dress hung nearly off her delicate shoulders and draped to just above her toes. "Kanzaki Sumire," Ayame said.

A very small girl, fair and obviously a Westerner like Maria, clung more tightly to a large stuffed teddy bear, blushing shyly and burying her face up to the nose in the bear – large blue eyes peering up at the tall and intimidating Russian woman over the brown fuzzy bear head. "Iris Chateaubriand."

"And of course," Ayame gestured to the man seated at the desk, "General Ikki Yoneda."

Maria took one step forward, rigidly at attention. She'd met each of the girl's gazes stonily as they were introduced to her, but now her eyes were fixed over the seated General's head. And Ayame introduced her.

"This is Maria Tachibana."

"Captain," the girls said, saluting her. Maria was encased in enough ice to accept the respect despite how strongly she wanted to flee, and how uncomfortable she felt.

General Yoneda stood and saluted Maria as well, and she returned the gesture.

"Reporting for duty, Commander," she whispered, her cold, low voice the Hanagumi's first impression of their new captain.

"At ease, Captain."

Maria dropped her hands, and her gaze, meeting the General's eyes.

Then Yoneda smiled gently, his eyes gleaming and creasing at the corners. "Welcome home, Maria."

THE END