Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive)

Chapter 4

//anything between slashes are thoughts//

------

"Prince!" everyone shouted at once, Malachi catching him before he could faceplant.

He reached one hand up to check for a pulse. "He'll be okay, guys. He's just fainted."

The other three men sighed in relief.

"Does anyone else have a killer headache?" Neff said, massaging his temple. He had learned so much in the span of less than fifteen seconds; he had found out about two entire lifetimes he'd known nothing about.

The others grunted in agreement. The experience had both been pleasant and terribly UNpleasant.

"Well, look on the bright side, guys," Jed chirped. He flapped his brown cape dramatically. "We've got snazzy uniforms!"

"You'll be a hit at the Halloween cabaret," Neff noted sarcastically.

"You laugh now, but wait 'till I win first prize."

"I hate to cut into your fun and all, guys, but I think we'd better get out of here." Zory cast a nervous look around. It would only be a matter of time before other students dared to venture nearby. "Or at the very least, we need to revert back to our normal forms."

"I opt for doing that anyway," said Neff. "As cool as it is to have shiny armour and all, it wouldn't be a good idea to walk around looking like this."

Jed chuckled. "You just don't have a sense of adventure."

"This from the man who has streaked through the frathouse wearing nothing but a party hat," Zory commented, as his armour faded into jeans and a Stanford t-shirt.

Jed said nothing in response; he merely blushed, as his armour, too, reverted into casual clothes.

Malachi carefully scooped Mamoru up in his arms and stood, allowing his uniform to vanish. Despite being nearly as tall as Malachi, the Japanese man was surprisingly light. "Shall we go, then?"

As they made their way back to the frathouse, Malachi could not help but smile to himself when he noticed how the other three remained close to him, keeping a protective eye on the burden he carried. Not five minutes as Shitennou, and already they were acting like guardians again.

But then, he was noticing a change in himself too, wasn't he? Though he and Kunzite were very much the same person, the two years they had spent apart had created slight differences in their personalities. Kunzite, for example, after spending five minutes in Malachi's head, came to the conclusion that his human counterpart had horrid taste in music.

He would have to dedicate some time later to explaining to this multiple hundreds-of-years-old being that there was nothing wrong with Great Big Sea or Young Dubliners; he was obviously going to have plenty of time to do so.

As Zory opened the door to their frathouse, he was greeted by three hungover men lying in his path. Thinking it futile, he halfheartedly nudged them with his foot in order to clear the way.

Apparently not knowin his own strength, all of the men rolled harmlessly out of his way, groaning as they did so.

"..." Zory looked down at his foot; it didn't seem all that different. "Mamoru failed to mention that all these memories came with bionic limbs."

"We'll have to look into what kinds of powers we have now. You know, so someone doesn't accidently fry himself while making coffee or something." At this Jed looked at Neff.

"Hey, I only did that once."

They had almost made it safely to Malachi's room when the four men nearly ran over a squirrely little liberal arts student. "Oh, uh... hi Malachi," he said hesitantly, throwing a questioning glance at the unconscious Japanese man in his arms.

"Hello Billy," Malachi answered cooly, pointedly pretending said Japanese man did not exist.

The boy shifted uncomfortably, obviously itching to ask about the obvious, but having no idea how to do so. "So, uh... how's it going?"

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old." Malachi shifted Mamoru's weight in his arms unconsciously. "Studying, partying. Yourself?"

"I have a Linguistics exam later today, and...uh..." Billy adjusted his Coke bottle glasses nervously. "Who's that?"

"Who?"

Billy coughed. "The, um, man in your arms."

"Oh, him?" Malachi shrugged. "A friend."

"He doesn't look like he's from this house..."

"Mamoru's not much of a frat guy," Jed explained. "You know. He's one of those types who actually studies, and that kind of nonsense."

There was a stretched out silence, where no one seemed willing to comment on the fact that Malachi was carrying a man around in a most compromising way. Billy couldn't stand it any longer. He had to know. "So what's he doing hooked up with Malachi, then?"

"'Hooked up?'" Malachi raised an eyebrow, wondering where the weasely pledge was going with that train of thought.

"Is that why you never go out with the sorority girls, Malachi?" Neff asked under his breath.

He did not say it quietly enough, however, because both Zory and Jed broke into hysterical laughter. Malachi shot them a vicious glare, but the look only made them laugh harder.

Mamoru stirred in his sleep, and the white-haired man automatically shifted his weight, protectively drawing him closer. He narrowed his eyes at the little twit in front of him, then smirked. "So what if he is?"

Billy cowered beneath Malachi's chilling, steady gaze, seeming to notice for the first time how intimidating the tall man was. "Uh, well, no reason."

"Good. Don't you have an exam to be studying for, Billy?"

"Um, yes. Good to see you then, er, yes." Before Malachi could reciprocate the sentiment - not that he probably would have - the squirrely boy disappeared down the hall and around the corner.

"He should take a picture," he muttered, as soon as he heard the sound of a door slam. "It'll last longer."

"Man, what's Mamoru's fiancé gonna say when she finds you you've got the hots for OW!" Jed rubbed the back of his head. "Zory, you don't have to hit me that hard."

"I blame you for this one, Neff," Malachi snarled, not the least bit amused.

Neff smiled innocently. "Don't be so upset, Malachi. Look on the bright side--by the time the rest of the frat house hears about this, you might actually get a date."

"You're lucky my hands aren't free. Otherwise I'd pound your head through the wall." Seething, he turned and headed towards his bedroom.

"...he doesn't really mean that, does he?" Jed whispered, leaning in close to Zory.

"If he's referring to you? Yes."

Jed made a deflated noise that sounded something like a sigh. "Why does everyone always pick on ME?"

Neff chuckled. "Do you want the short or the long answer?"

"Nngh?" Mamoru stirred slightly as Malachi got him comfortable on the bed. "Ma--"

"Shh." Malachi cut him off, propping his head up with all the pillows he could find. "Just relax. You've been running on fumes for almost a day now. You need to take it easy."

"Bu--"

"Do I have to make that an order, Prince?" The smirk on Malachi's face was unmistakable.

"I--" Mamoru tried to sit up, but he felt as though a great weight was on him, pinning him down.

"Shh." Malachi gently laid a hand on his forehead, and after a moment Mamoru visibly relaxed, a sudden sense of calm washing over him. "You need to sleep, Prince. Don't worry about anything. Just rest." Mamoru blinked, trying to keep his eyes open, but his eyelids felt so heavy. He soon gave in, allowing them to close, and before long he had fallen into a deep sleep.

Malachi remained there a moment longer, watching his Prince's face. // He looks so tired,// he thought. //As though he hasn't slept in ages.//

"How is he?" Jed asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Malachi glanced up at him, then moved to retrieve the blanket that was folded on the couch. "He's dead exhausted."

"I suppose pulling out the Golden Crystal and reviving dead guardians is not recommended by the Surgeon General for people who have just dusted clone Senshi."

"Not usually." Malachi carefully draped the blanket over the sleeping man. He looked solemnly at him for a moment, to make sure he was not going to start flailing in pain, and then turned around.

"Not to mention that I feel like someone dropped an anvil on my head." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "And it's sitting there, talking to me."

"Talking anvils, huh?" Jed smiled. "I know the feeling. Thousands of years of memories take up quite a lot of space up here." For emphasis, he tapped his temple with one finger.

"Normally, I'd make some crack about how there wasn't much up there to begin with, but I'm too tired."

He sank into the chair by his desk, massaging his forehead.

"I'll second that," Neff amended, brushing past Jed and flopping onto the couch. Zory followed him in, and the two halfheartedly bickered about who got how much space, before they somehow settled into a position that was moderately comfortable. All the seats having been taken, Jed sat on the floor, his back against the closed door.

"It's like suddenly having an entire library at your disposal," Zory sighed, "and the only way to figure everything out is to pick out books at random and read through them one by one. I can't even make sense of half the stuff in my head right now."

"Fortunately, normal libraries don't talk," Neff said, resting his chin in his hand, strands of hair flopping in front of his eyes. "Especially in my head."

"It's just like they said to us last night." Jed hit his head against the wood door, partially out of frustration. "Every last thing. But it's all the little details, too. The sights, the sounds, God even the smells! Everything we'd forgotten."

"Not 'forgotten,'" Zory corrected. "'Never been told.' These bodies weren't theirs; they were created without ever knowing what came before them."

"Were they? I haven't gotten that far yet. I'm still a few centuries back." Jed winced. "And I think I just recalled hitting puberty."

Neff snickered. "You hit puberty?" Being that he was out of arm's reach, Jed found a pencil and threw it at him.

"I think so," Zory continued thoughtfully. "I don't know, I still can't remember anything from my--I mean, Zory's--perspective. I can only work it out from what Zoisite knows."

He paused. "I just referred to myself in third person. Damn, this IS weird."

There was silence for a few moments, as everyone tried to catch up to the same place in their memories. But some had been in places that others weren't, and they soon realized it would be impossible to get to exactly the same spot within the span of a few minutes.

Malachi was the first to break the reverie. Something he saw - rather, remembered - made him pull back and shudder.

"Malachi?" Neff raised an eyebrow in concern, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. "What is it?"

Malachi shook his head, not meeting his friend's gaze. "I--It was nothing." It was an outright lie and they all knew it, but if Malachi did not want to talk about it, they would not force him. They had enough to worry about.

Malachi sat back, gripping the arms of the chair. He was beginning to understand why Kunzite carried around so much more emotional baggage than the other three, and it did not only have to do with the Prince. Being the highest of Beryl's servants--no, not servants--slaves had come with certain tasks that had nothing to do with finding a sparkly chunk of crystal.

He had assumed that no one else knew about the ... favors he'd given Beryl, but he was wrong. Zory saw the look of disgust and self-loathing on his face, and recalled the time that Mala--Kunzite had come stumbling out of the throne room, beaten and exhausted and sore. He knew what had happened on those occasions, but he'd cut his own tongue out before letting his friend know how much he really remembered.

"No wonder our former selves sound so depressed," Jed said, placing his hands face-up on his knees and staring at his palms like they were fascinating. "God, what WERE we?"

"Monsters." Nephrite sounded like he wanted to vomit, or roll over and die. "That's...that's all there is to it. We were monsters. Puppets. Puppet monsters. Like Muppets, only disgusting and vile and from an alternate universe."

"If we're going to be Muppets, I'm not Miss Piggy," Zory said, smiling weakly. "The first person to suggest a resemblence to that violent prima donna swine gets a mobile phone up their--"

"Hey, I wouldn't suggest it. You're very much more like the Swedish Chef."

"...and how did you figure that out?"

"Simple. When was the last time you cooked something edible?"

At any other time, Malachi would have found the concept of being compared to a Muppet quite amusing, but at the moment he could not even work up the effort to smile. He was far too preoccupied with his newfound memories, and the horrible queasiness they brought to his stomach. The thought of even touching that thing was nauseating in and of itself. But to think of the the depths to which he had sank to please his "queen"...

Suddenly it was no longer a question of feeling nauseous. He knew he was going to be sick. His three friends watched dumbfounded as he abruptly leapt from his chair and charged into the little half-bathroom attached to his room, slamming the door behind him. After a few seconds it became apparent why he had been in such a rush.

"What's got him so upset?" Jed asked softly, his voice filled with worry. The other two knew that he had darn good reason to worry, too. Because Malachi simply did not get upset. Not about anything. He was the most stable person they knew, and if he was crumbling at a time like this, then they were most definitely in trouble.

"Mamoru was probably right to be wary about sharing all of...all of this," Zory said, waving with his hand to indicate around him. "It's just too much. Even I don't know what to do with myself, and I probably don't know half the stuff Malachi does."

"And if he's throwing up over it, what's in store for the rest of us?" Neff palmed his face with his free hand. "Quite the mess we've gotten ourselves into."

"If only we could've taken it in doses." Jed ran his hand through his hair. "It's like downing a whole bottle of rum in one shot."

"Which you know from experience."

"Excuse me, but I'm not the one who drank ten shots in the span of an hour last night."

"It's just that there's so much of it," Zory continued incredulously. "You can't even begin to come to terms with one memory before five others show up. If I could just find a pause button, it would make things a whole lot easier."

"I'm sorry..."

The three remaining men jumped a foot in the air when Mamoru's voice was heard. At first, they all assumed they had woken him up, but the prince rolled over, muttering in his sleep. "I'm sorry, I didn't know..."

"He even guilts himself in his sleep." Neff snorted. "He's amazing, isn't he?"

The two blondes made noises of agreement.

"He's always cared more about us, about the Princess, than he does for himself." Zory covered his face with both of his hands, massaging the sore eyes delicately with his figners. "The other memories I could take, but...there's that one..."

Neff and Jed nodded, looking down at their shoes or up at the ceiling. They knew which one the small man had been referring to.

//I had him pinned to the ground, and he spat in my face.// Jed stared up at the hastily plastered ceiling like it was fascinating. //I've never, ever seen him so mad at me before. Not that I could hardly blame him.//

Neff shivered, remembering that day all too well. //I nearly decapitated him, but he was too quick for me. He always was better with a sword.//

Zory drew his knees up onto the couch, hugging himself. //He tried so hard to make us see the truth. God, if only we'd listened.//

The silence drew out for a long time as each man was faced with his own personal hell: the betrayal of their Prince. Only the soft sound of Mamoru's rhythmic breathing could be heard above the drumming conflict in their minds. That small sign of his presence was a comfort in light of what they remembered, reminding them that the past, as horrible as it may have been, was far behind them now. Even in his sleep, he seemed to act only for the sake of his friends.

"We can really help him now." Neff was the one to break the quiet. "We can help him fight these evil Senshi. We know so much more now..."

"As stones and bodies seperately, we were essentially useless," Zory agreed. "But now we've got our memories. We've got real, corporeal bodies."

"And we've got thousands of years worth of fucking up to make up for." Jed smirked. "Think we can do it, guys?"

"You I'm not so sure about." Neff ducked as Jed grabbed one of Malachi's misplaced shoes and threw it at his head. It hit the wall with a dull clunk.

"C'mon, Jed, you know I'm kidding."

"Yeah. I know."

"We really can do this." Neff nudged Zory's arm with his own. "You, too, skinny."

Zory smirked up at him. "Hey big guy, I could take you on."

"What'll you do, strangle me with your ponytail?"

"You're one to talk. Think you can see the battle through all that hair?"

Neff snorted haughtily and pushed a stray auburn lock behind his ear, unable to hide the small smile on his face. Their friendly teasing seemed to restore some level of normalcy to the room.

"We should check on Malachi," Zory said, looking anxiously at the bathroom door. They hadn't heard a sound out of him in several minutes.

They found him on the floor, his back against one wall, his side leaning on another. He looked ridiculously big in the cramped area, even though his knees were bent to accommodate his height. He did not stir when they opened the door, but went on gazing past them into nothingness.

"Malachi!" Zory shoved past the others, dropping to his knees so he could get a grip on the older man. He gave his friend's shoulders a light shake, but when that was unsuccessful, he shook the white haired man harder. "Malachi! Dammit, say something!"

Still the man gave no response. The blonde checked for a pulse - he sighed in moderate relief when he found one. Malachi was still breathing, as well, and though those were small victories, Zory would take whatever he could.

He stood up to get out of the way. "Neff, get him out of that puddle of vomit and on the couch. If he doesn't come to, I'm calling 911."

Neff carefully gathered the white-haired man into his arms and lifted him off the cold tile. Zory found a washcloth and ran cold water over it, trying to bite back the panic rising in his throat. //Dammit, we should never have left him alone. Not at a time like this.// He hurried out of the bathroom and sat on the edge of the couch, next to Malachi's unmoving form. The other two men watched nervously as he gently wiped the sweat and vomit from Malachi's face, before moving on to his neck and collar bone.

"Stay with me Malachi," he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. "Stay with me."

After a few agonizing moments, Malachi groaned and began to stir.

"Malachi, what happened?" Zory put his hand behind Malachi's head in an attempt to prop him up. "Were you trying to throw up to death?"

The white haired man blinked a few times; each time his eyes opened, they flickered back from green to grey. A cold clench settled in Zory's stomach; Kunzite's memory was too much for his body, and it was waging a confused war on itself.

"Shit," he hissed. Louder, shrilly, he said, "Malachi, say something! What's going on?!"

Malachi's eyes--a dull, metallic silver--followed the sound of Zory's voice and stared at him blankly, not recognizing him. The blonde gasped when he saw the look in his friend's eyes that could only be described as haunted. It was such a look of intense despair and emptiness that he had to resist the urge to turn away in horror.

"Oh God, Malachi..."

And then, like clouds giving way to sunshine, the deep imperial green that Zory had come to know so well began to seep back into his irises, until only the outer edges kept their colorless tint. Like a steel-tipped rose.

"Zory?" he muttered.

The blonde nodded, almost imperceptible. "I-I'm here, Malachi. Right here. You've got to stay awake."

"Can't..." Malachi's mouth sounded - and felt - like it was full of marbles. "I can't, I..."

Zory inclined his head toward the bed, and Neff took one no the pillows Mamoru was not currently snoring on. While the blonde held Malachi's head up slightly, he put the pillow underneath it.

Malachi winced as he was laid back against the pillow, and Zory realized how much his head must hurt. He folded the cloth up and laid it across the man's forehead, hoping it would ease the pain a bit. Malachi sighed, seeming to relax a little, but Zory could still see the newly formed lines in his face, the way that his eyebrows were anxiously drawn together. He seemed to have aged ten years in the span of a half hour.

"Zory...the things I did for her..." Malachi shuddered violently. Jed and Neff exchanged a look of confusion undetectable by the room's other occupants; Zory bit his lip, sympathy washing all around him.

"I know. I know." He held one of Malachi's hands - it was as cold as ice - in his own. "But they've passed now, Malachi. We're serving the Prince again. Beryl's long dead. It's all behind you."

"I sold my soul to her, Zory... she said no matter how many times I came back... that I'd always be hers..."

"That's a lie," Jed said gently. "She can't control you anymore. The Prince is the only one you serve."

"I have no right to be serving the Prince. How could he ever begin to trust me again? And why should he?"

"Because he loved you enough to nearly kill himself bringing you back," Neff replied shortly.

"And because he already has trusted you, Malachi," continued Zory. "He was practically putting his life in your hands when you two were almost strangers. And you know as well as I do that the Prince doesn't put his trust in just anybody."

"You don't think it destroys him to think about what these memories do to you? To all of us?" Zory knelt down, almost nose to nose with the white haired man. "You're strong enough to deal with this, Malachi. I know you. I've known you for lifetimes. You're stronger than all the rest of us. You can move past this."

Not quite hidden in the shadow the blonde cast over his face, a single tear fell down Malachi's cheek. "I...I can't..."

"What kind of bullshit talk is that?" Neff folded his arms across his chest. "She did terrible things to you, Malachi, and I won't deny it. But I know you're courageous enough to forgive yourself and move on."

"You might not be able to do it for yourself, but you can sure as heck do it for him." Jed pointed at the man sleeping on the bed, the person who they had crossed lifetimes to protect. "He needs you, Malachi. Don't you see how much he's depending on us right now? How can you possibly hope to protect him in such a state?"

Malachi turned away, seeming to find the pattern on the couch profoundly interesting. "I... you're right. This isn't the time for me to be wallowing in self-pity."

Zory placed a soft, friendly kiss on Malachi's cheek. "I believe in you, Malachi. We'll protect him together - all of us - like we always do. In the end, that's what matters."

Malachi tried not to blush. "R-right."

Jed and Neff snickered quietly under their breaths, trying desperately to cover it up with coughs.

They were, of course, not the least bit successful, and only stopped after Malachi had sat up and thrown his pillow at them. "Think that's funny, do you?"

"First Mamoru and now Zory. Getting around, aren't you Mala--HEY!" Jed yelped as Zory kicked him in the shin.

Neff sat down next to Malachi and slung an arm around his shoulders. "Are you sure you're alright, Malachi?"

Malachi gave him a halfhearted smile. "Not really. I think it'll be a long time before I can really get past this. But I'm not gonna let it dominate my life."

"Man, I know I give you a lot of crap, but you know you can always talk to me, right?"

For only the second time Malachi could recall - the first being the other night, when the whole story was explained to him - Neff's face was entirely serious. One thing could be said about him: when it came right down to it, he was as hardworking and loyal as the three other guardians, no matter what attitude he gave off during the rest of his waking hours.

"I know. Thanks, Neff."

"We mean it, Malachi." Jed said, suddenly serious himself. "Don't go locking yourself in the bathroom whenever you feel like this. Talking to us would definitely preferable to passing out next to the toilet."

"Yeah, save that for drinking binges." Neff smirked.

"Hey, you're the only ones who go on drinking binges. I stop after two beers."

"Not everyone has a stomach cavity lined with lead," Zory said, flipping his ponytail over his

shoulder.

"I'd watch it if I were you, lightweight. You get rosy after one shot!"

"It's not my fault I'm genetically incapable of getting smashed and acting like a gorilla."

"You're just jealous because you can't drink like a man."

Zory rolled his eyes. "Excuse me while I swoon over your awe-inspiring masculinity."

"Hey, at least I didn't get mistaken for a waitress last time we went to the bar."

"No, you just accidently started hitting on someone named Fred."

At this, Neff's face flushed red as a tomato. "I plead the Fifth."

Jed chuckled. "You've got to admit, Neff, he was kind of cute."

Everyone was silent for a moment, and then stared incredulously at Jed.

"What?" he said, blinking his eyes in an attempt to look innocent.

Neff raised his eyebrows suspiciously. "I've still got his phone number if you'd like to call him up."

"Hey, I didn't say that I'd like him," he said defensively. "But you two DID make an awfully cute couple. I especially liked the part where you offered to walk him home. The look on your face when he told you the name of his fraternity was priceless."

"You know," Zory interjected, before Neff could come up with a comeback, "this is all fascinating and enlightening and what the heck ever, but let's take it outside. I think both the Prince and Malachi deserve some peace and quiet."

Jed scratched his head sheepishly. "Yeah."

"Saved by the pipsqueak," Neff muttered, as he turned to exit. He was rewarded with a sharp kick to the back of his knee, courtesy one pipsqueak. "OW!"

Zory smirked, brushing past the taller brunette as he left the room.

Malachi watched the door close behind them, grateful for the silence. He leaned back against the couch, rubbing his eyes. As tired and drained as he felt, he knew he could not possibly sleep right now. Every time he closed his eyes, the memories buzzed through his head, threatening to overwhelm him again. He pushed them back, to a dark corner of his mind where they would be less harmful. He'd deal with them later, when he could. For now, all he could do was hold them at arm's length.

//It's a good thing Mamoru's asleep,// Malachi thought, turning over on his side to watch the prince occupying his bed. //He'd guilt to next Thursday if he knew what just happened. I can't fault him for sharing those things with us; they are, whether we like it or not, rightfully ours.//

//That doesn't make it any more pleasant.// Slowly, as though he was weighed down by bags os sand, he stood and walked to the bed. Mamoru rolled over with a quiet sigh, unconsciously

brushing some stray bangs from his eyes.

"Prince..." Malachi put out his hand carefully, delicately holding the other man's face. "I promise, I won't let you down. You deserve the best we have to give."

The black-haired man stirred, feeling the brush of Malachi's hand on his face. Malachi had not intended to wake his Prince up, but he was nevertheless rewarded with those striking blue eyes. "Prince?" He said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Mamoru blinked up at him, confusion written on his face. "...Kunzite?" He asked warily, not altogether sure who he was looking at.

Malachi smiled. He had, after all, been two seperate beings a few hours ago. "It's me, Prince." He was about to say something more, but any words he would have said died before ever reaching his lips, because at that moment Mamoru sat bolt upright and pulled the silver haired man into a tight embrace. The show of emotion was so unexpected from the normally aloof Japanese man that at first Malachi could do nothing but sit awkwardly, too stunned to move.

"You're here! You're really here!" Mamoru blurted into his hair. "I thought... God, I thought I dreamed it..."

Malachi finally recovered from his initial shock, and wrapped his arms around him. "I'm here, Prince."

"I thought I'd lost you..." Mamoru knew how silly it sounded; he'd had those stones in his pocket for more than two years and had never misplaced them. But it wasn't just their souls he needed; he had to be able to see them, to hold them like he was now. Just having the holograms wasn't enough.

"You brought us back, Prince." It was not long before Malachi's shoulders was feeling wet. //He can't be...!//

Kunzite had lived in Mamoru's pocket for two years. He had watched over him as he slept, had seen him come stumbling home from near-fatal battles, had sat near him as he dealt with all the painful issues in his life. In all that time, not once had Kunzite ever seen his Prince cry. Not when he became stressed, not when he thought of his parents death, not even when he and Usako had issues. Kunzite had suspected that he was simply not the kind of person to cry when emotional. He saw now how wrong he was.

"I missed you so much..."

Malachi gently pulled away, drawing Mamoru off his shoulder. He took Mamoru's face in both his hands and looked directly at him, their noses almost touching. "We will never abandon you again, Prince. I promise you, you'll never have to be alone again."

Mamoru reached up and cupped his hands over the ones that held his face. "Thank you."

They sat that way for what seemed like hours, indescribably relieved that both of their nightmares of solitude were over. After awhile, Mamoru noticed something.

"Is it just me, or does this seem like the point where we're supposed to fall in a passionate, flaming liplock?"

"Well, let's see. Are we in the middle of a cheesy B-movie?"

"Not last time I checked."

"Then probably not."

Mamoru lowered his hands. "Oh good. Because for a moment there I thought Haruka would have a reason to beat me senseless with a wrench."

Malachi wiped the tears off his friend's cheek with the edge of his shirt. "She needs a reason for that?"

Mamoru snickered. "No, probably not. But it would be nice to know that I'm not in the wrong while my head is being slammed against the pavement."

"Speaking of Haruka, didn't you hang up on her a few hours ago?"

He winced. "Shit, I forgot all about that. And Usako's probably worried, too."

Malachi smiled gently. "Go outside and call her. I'll distract the other guys with booze until you're finished."

"Thank you," Mamoru said, retrieving his cellphone from his otherwise empty pocket. "I'd hate to think what kind of pleasant, intelligent things they'd have to say while I'm making long-distance kissy noises to my fiancé."

Rather than try out his amazing spy tactics in trying to avoid frat boys on the way out the front door, Mamoru opted for climbing out Malachi's window. Once he was safely outside of hearing distance, he leaned against the side of the building, and with a determined sigh, speed-dialed his princess.

"Hello?! Mamochan?!" She answered frantically.

Mamoru immediately felt a pang of guilt in his chest. //All this time she's been worrying about me, and here I've been unconscious like a selfish bastard.//

"Usako, I--"

"Oh, Mamochan, I was so afraid something terrible had happened to you!" she sobbed into the phone. "I don't care what awful things Haruka-san was saying, I knew you were in trouble, and, and--"

"Usako, it's okay now. I'm fine. The threat's over," he said quietly. //For now.//

"Oh thank goodness!" She bawled. "All Haruka-san would tell me was that you were a dirty liar and a cheat and... and..."

"Usako, Usako! Everything's okay. Please, there was just a misunderstanding between Haruka-san and me, everything's alright, I promise."

"Okay. I'm just glad you're alright," she sniffled. "Mamochan, why didn't you call me earlier?"

//Crap.// "Well, an interesting story, that. I've been having quite a lot of problems with--"

"Mamoru-san, I've been looking all over for you!"

//No. No, not now. Go away. Don't even come near me.//

"Mamochan, who was that?" Usagi sniffed, a hint of suspicion in her voice. "There isn't another woman with you, is there?"

"Well, there wasn't five seconds ago," he grumbled as Lunette came jogging toward him at full speed.

"You took off so fast last night! Why haven't you called me?"

Usagi was not the most fluent in English. In fact, if it were not for Ami's expert coaching, she would have likely failed high school English by now. But Ami, fortunately, had studied alongside her for hours, painstakingly helping her through such difficult words such as "last," "night," and "called."

"...Mamochan?" she squeaked tearfully.

"Usako, I'm sorry, I've just been interrupted," he said, reassuringly. He cupped his hand over the bottom of his phone. "Look, Lunette, this is a bad time. I'm trying to apologize to my fiancé. Can we save this for later?"

Lunette looked down at her shoes. "Oh, did I interrupt a private moment? I'm sorry, I, I didn't mean to."

On Usagi's end, all she could catch was, "bad ... apologize ... save for later," followed by, "did ... private." She was getting more and more worried by the way this other conversation was going.

She had never found a reason to mistrust Mamoru. Even when he had been in the Dark Kingdom, even when he hadn't contacted her after weeks of supposedly being at Harvard, she still placed all of her faith in her love for him. But Haruka-san had painted such a dismal picture of him after their last conversation had been cut short...

"Mamochan, I demand you tell me what's going on right now!"

"Everything's alright, Usako, it's just--"

"Then why are you saying things like that to a strange girl?" She said shrilly. "And where have you been all day? Why did Rei-chan say you sounded so tired when she called? Why did Haruka-san say you've been lying to her? Why haven't you been calling me, Mamochan?"

"Usa, please, I--"

"I've been sitting in this hospital all day, waiting for you Mamochan! Everyone kept telling me that you were being suspicious, but I defended you! I..." To Mamoru's utter horror, she fell to sobbing into the phone, and while he would have loved nothing other than to hold her tight, he could do little other than clutch the cellphone to his ear.

Throughout all this, Lunette watched with a deviant look in her eye. While Mamoru tried desperately to calm his Usako down, she strolled up to him, a prominant sway in her hips. Before he even noticed how close she was, she had put her lips close to his--just as close to the phone he was speaking into--and whispered a choice Japanese phrase.

Mamoru's eyes widened. He was certain she had not learned that in class.

"Mamochan!" Usagi shrieked. Oh, she had dared trust him, and now he was off with some hussy who was whispering explicit things to him! While he was on the phone with his fiancé, no less! "I can't believe you, behind my back..."

"Get off me!" Mamoru bellowed, as Lunette's hand had begun to snake its way around to his backside. He elbowed her violently aside, and she fell with a pride-filled "humph!" on her dainty rear-end.

"Usako--"

"No, I don't want to hear it! I'm too mad at you to accept any cock and bull explainations!"

Mamoru didn't have time to wonder where Usagi had learned the phrase "cock and bull." Haruka, most likely.

"But Usako, please listen--"

"No, I'm through listening to you!" she half sobbed, half screamed into the phone. "All this time I've been worrying for you, afraid you were dead, and you've really just been off whispering sweet nothings to other women! You LIED to me when you said you would only have eyes for me! Is this ring a lie, too?"

"No, Usa, listen--"

"I'm sorry I couldn't be as exciting as those American girls," Usagi spat bitterly. "I guess all this time I've just been holding you back. Maybe my friends have been right all this time and I've been too blind to see it. Maybe you really are nothing but a two-timing good-for-nothing liar!"

Mamoru's breath caught in his throat. She was right, he hadn't been entirely truthful these past few days. And once he thought about it, hadn't he been leading this Lunette woman on? He had even found himself thinking about her on more than one occasion! Granted, his thoughts usually had to do with how much she looked like Usako, but still! Wasn't that like cheating?

He had been too afraid to tell her the truth; the truth about the Shitennou, the truth about the evil Senshi, and the truth about Lunette.

"Run out of quick excuses?" she snapped.

Mamoru noticed that the hand clenched around his cellphone was trembling. That was all he could give her now. Excuses. He had been dancing around the truth, in the hopes that he could sugar-coat it, to keep her from worrying. Or that was what he told himself he was hoping. What had he really wanted all this time?

Usagi's righteous anger dissipated slightly when there was silence on the end of the line. Maybe she had gone too far. Maybe there was a logical explaination. Maybe--

"...I'm sorry, Usa. You're right."

"I am?" she said, not masking her incredulous tone in the slightest.

"The Senshi were right to say those things to you. I...I'm not good for you. I can't tell you the truth without becoming afraid."

Usagi listened silently. What was he saying?

"You don't deserve someone who lies to you, Usa. I'm sorry you wasted your time with me." Before she could say another word, he hung up on her and chucked the phone at the ground. It bounced once, skidded across the pavement, and finally came to rest half-submerged in a puddle.

"Mamoru-kun?" Lunette said softly, watching him warily.

"Get away from me, Lunette." His voice was so quiet that she could barely hear him. But even then, she could hear how much it was shaking.

"I... I'm sorry..."

"Get away from me."

With a moment of hesitation, the blonde skittered to her feet. She gave Mamoru a pleading, apologetic look before turning on her heels and running off in the direction of ... well, he didn't particularly care WHERE the direction was headed, though the road to Hell was looking mighty pleasurable.

With a sob of defeat, he crumpled against the aging plaster building as his knees gave way. In the span of one phonecall, he had neatly ruined everything that was good in his life.

//Not many people could boast that kind of achievement,// he thought, somewhere between rage and despair. //God, I can just see the smirk on Haruka's face when she finds out she was right...//

It was a beautiful afternoon, with the sun peeking from between dappled clouds in the deep azure sky. Its beauty was lost on one miserable individual who slumped alone against the side of the frathouse, thinking about how the one beautiful, perfect thing in his life was now gone. He sat there by himself for a long time, his blue eyes staring vacantly ahead.

The sound of footsteps brushed through the grass, but Mamoru did not bother to look up. If an enemy was coming to kill him for good, they could go right ahead and be done with it.

"Um, I take it the conversation didn't go as planned?" Malachi said hesitantly, crouching down next to his prince.

"It's over. All this time, we've been working so hard, trying to keep our love in tact for the sake of each other, for the future...I've ruined everything."

Malachi noted, not without concern, that it sounded very much like he was talking with a zombie. There was absolutely no emotion in his voice; it sounded as though it were weighed down with lead blocks.

"What could you have possibly done to 'ruin everything?'" he asked, somewhat skeptical. "Forgive me, Prince, but you do have the tendency to paint yourself a much darker picture than..."

The sentence died before Malachi could finish it, mostly because the other half of his conversation wasn't listening. Mamoru tucked his head between his knees, quietly sobbing.

"Prince...?" Malachi put a hand on his back, but Mamoru was too miserable to notice. He shook his head incredulously. How could his Prince go from crying with elation to sobbing with inexplicable despair in a matter of minutes?

He slid down against the wall and wrapped his arms around Mamoru, who was shaking with quiet sobs. Malachi gently drew him closer, until the distraught man was leaning against him, his face buried in Malachi's shirt. "Shh. It's okay," he muttered, holding his Prince.

It made no sense! The Usagi that Malachi knew - knew OF, not personally, at any rate - would never leave her prince in such a quivering, emotional mess. She loved him too much for that, didn't she?

Well, if Mamoru had been reduced to a whimpering heap, the answer was probably "no." This left the white haired man without any explaination for the events of the phonecall, except that something had gone very wrong on this side of the Pacific.

Mamoru could not remember having ever been comforted while crying before. For that matter, he was fairly sure that he had never cried in the presence of another person before, yet here he was, blubbering away in front of Malachi for the second time that day. He would normally have felt foolish like this, but after having his heart ripped in two and run over by a semi-truck, he was beyond caring what other people thought of him. And it was rather comforting to have a shoulder to lean on for once.

It never crossed his mind that perhaps he was overreacting. That Usagi went off into jealous rages like this frequently - all he had to do was look at a woman, or even a man, and she would fly off the handle and pout and cry like there was no tomorrow. No, apparently that wasn't important - she had finally told him off, as Mamoru had expected she would for many, many a month.

It occured to Malachi, however. And he was very, very nervous. Because, as he now remembered from experience, his prince had the tendency to do very stupid things when his love was involved.

Like dying, as an example.

Malachi loved his prince, and respected him to no end. But he knew very well that only the Princess could make the normally calm, intellegent, rational man become reduced to a bumbling idiot in a matter of seconds. It was moments like that that Mamoru really needed protecting. The times when he was too blinded by his love to see the twenty-foot wall of fire--or whatever proverbial lethal entity it happened to be--about to crush him.

In light of his exhaustion from the events of the last two days, Mamoru's crying was short-lived, and before long he had slipped into a restless sleep, his breathing punctuated by the occasional mild sob. Malachi brushed a few stray black bangs off his face. //Thank God the others brought me to my senses. I can't imagine him being out here all by himself.//

"C'mon, Prince. Let's go inside," Malachi said quietly, grabbing the discarded cellphone before carefully scooping Mamoru up in his arms. After a moment of deliberation, he decided to go through the front door. Firstly, he didn't want to dump his prince through the window, in the event that the sudden drop would startle him and, very likely, hurt him. Secondly, it seemed rather unecessary to break into his own room.

"I take it the conversation didn't go so well," Jed commented, quite seriously, when Mamoru was redeposited on Malachi's bed.

"I think, if I hadn't gone out there, he would have found any sharp object laying on the ground and done away with himself." Malachi massaged his temple roughly. "A lover's quarrel is the last thing he needs right now."

He was so busy thinking about Mamoru and how much is head was hurting, that at first he did not notice how somber the other three looked. But when he glanced up at the trio gathered on the couch, Malachi immediately felt his heart sink as he saw the looks on their faces. The most disconcerting, however, was Jed, who looked as though he would follow his Prince's lead and collapse in a sobbing heap. "What is it now?" He asked wearily.

Neff and Zory glanced at each other dismally. "We think we've figured out how we got here," Neff replied shortly.

"How we got here?" Malachi repeated, not following.

"How are bodies got here," Zory clarified. "Neff and Jed suddenly remembered a few things, and we got to talking, and... well, it's starting to make sense, I guess."

"And I'll take a wild guess and say it was not some just as simple as Mamoru idly wishing we had bodies on afternoon, over a cup of coffee?"

"Not even close." Neff suddenly reached over and squeezed Jed's wrist - his whole arm had begun to shake.

"I know, Jed," he said, so quietly he might as well have mouthed it. "I know."

Malachi pulled up his desk chair and sat down, more than a little worried about where this was going. Anything that could make the normally clownish blonde this upset was cause for concern, especially if it had to do with their memories, which, as he himself had discovered, were potent enough to make one physically ill. One thing was certain--they could not take these memories lightly.

Keeping one hand on Jed's, Neff turned to Malachi. "Do you remember what happened to our bodies after the Sailor Senshi killed us?"

"Yes." Remember it? He could draw that place blindfolded. The little room of dark stone that smelled of mildew, streaks of water damage running down the walls. The three glass coffins containing the charred, decaying remains of his dead friends. The two candles that burned incessantly, their flames flickering in whisps of wind with unknown origin. Few places in the Dark Kingdom remained in his mind so clearly. But he had spent so many hours there, especially after the appearance of the Ginzuishou...

"And yours?" Zory asked, not masking the curiosity in his voice. He looked as though he was trying to work out the details of an especially difficult algebra problem.

Malachi shook his head. "I can't really tell you that, but I can only assume it went to the same place as the others."

"It did," Jed said softly, startling all of them. "There were four coffins."

"How do you...?"

"Believe me, I'd be just as happy never knowing." He shuddered, trying very hard to keep his emotions - whether it was sadness or anger, it was hard to tell from Malachi's perspective - in check. "The first thing I remember is waking up in that coffin, with someone prying at the lid. I was so afraid I was going to suffocate, but I was too weak to do anything but lay there and hope whoever it was had quick fingers."

Normally, that kind of phrase would have earned the blonde a rough and playful smack upside the head. However, this was definitely not normal. Normal had been left hitchhiking quite a few miles back on the side of the highway.

Malachi stared at him. "Wait, you mean those bodies were revived?"

Neff nodded. "Remember that day leading up to the final battle with Metallia? When Princess Serenity stabbed the Prince with the Moon Sword and then turned it on herself?"

Malachi nodded, surpressing a shudder. He remembered few things from that battle, but one of them was the immense pain that had torn throughout his soul as he used every ounce of his strength to take the the blade in place of his Prince. It was amazing how four little rocks could absorb the blow of a two-foot sword being stabbed through the chest.

"When that happened," Zory continued, "the two parts of the Ginzuishou united. While they were still in the Dark Kingdom."

"So when the Ginzuishou's light filled the Dark Kingdom, it brought those dead bodies back to life, is that what you're getting at?"

"While our stones were already conveniently situated in Mamoru's pocket, completely oblivious to their other halves."

"We didn't have much time to get out of the Dark Kingdom, before it was decimated," Jed said quietly, scrunching his fingernails into the folds of his pants. "I...I remember being picked up, because I was too weak to walk, and being carried away..."

"All of us were." Neff held his friend's hand in a reassuring grip. "Most of our bases were destroyed or uninhabitable already, but while the last strains of Dark Kingdom energy were dying, we ended up teleported here. I guess the youma figured we'd be safe at the base, since there was now a university on top of it--"

"Wait," Malachi interrupted. "Youma? We were carried here by youma?"

"Oddly enough, yes. Remember how I kept saying that most of the youma here were more loyal to me than they were to Beryl? There was... one in particular who was oddly against Beryl's ideals. Her name was Tethys."

Jed made a small whimper at the name and leaned against Neff's arm, half-burying his face in the taller man's sleeve. Malachi looked at them blankly, clearly not understanding some important point. "Tethys?"

"You were usually too busy to pay much attention to all the gossip going on in the Dark Kingdom," Zory said carefully. "I guess you wouldn't remember the rumors surrounding her and Jadeite."

"Namely, that she was infatuated with him," Neff cut in. "She was one of the highest ranking youma serving him. But her... oddly human emotions were the talk of the underground. And while I'm sure it was quite flattering having a blue-skinned woman with spikes on her arms have a crush on you, he didn't exactly feel the same way."

"I treated her like dirt," Jed spat, the bitterness evident in his voice.

"Jed, you've got to understand - that's what most of them were. Dirt. They were expendable." Zory sighed. "I'm not condoning it, but among the rest of the things we did, I'd say--"

"You'd say what, Zory? You were so busy pining over him--" Jed's outburst was only stopped briefly as he gestured toward Malachi "--that you didn't pay any attention to the youma you created."

"Ex-CUSE me?" Zory's voice was calm only by millimeters. "Where do you get off, saying I was pining over Malachi?"

"Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, I guess," Jed snapped angrily.

"Jed, either finish your story or shut up," Neff snapped back. "Don't take out your frustrations on Zory. He didn't do anything to you."

"Sorry," Jed grumbled, though Malachi could still see the hurt expression on Zory's face. He knew the reasons that the blonde had sought him out in the Dark Kingdom, and it really did not have anything to do with sexual desire. The need for some sense of human warmth--even if it did come from a heartless bastard--had never completely frozen over in Zory.

"Anyway," Neff continued, throwing a glare at Jed, "when her affections became too much for him, I did Jadeite a favor by having her transferred over to my base here in exchange for a couple low-rank sludge monsters. Personally, I think I got the better end of the deal," he added.

"She still loved me. That's what I don't understand. Even after I shuttled her over here, she still spent her last hours alive by saving me..." That did it. The dams broke, the walls gave way, and Jed broke down into hysterical tears. He fell over into Neff's lap, weeping, and it was all the brunette could do to rub his back sympathetically.

"Tethys oversaw the plan to bring us here," Neff said quietly. "We were put down in front of the frat house, and as the youma disintegrated without Metallia's energy to hold them together, Tethys gave Jed one last kiss before ... dying, I guess."

So that was it, then? Their presence in California, their forged documents, their enrollment in Stanford... all because of a single youma? She had taken care of all of them, had given them lives--real lives without Metallia--when she could just as easily have left them to die in their coffins. The Greeks had called Tethys a goddess of motherhood. How appropriate her name seemed now.

Malachi reached out and ran his fingers through Jed's hair, finally understanding how the blonde felt. To suddenly discover that someone he had treated as a slave--less than that; an object, even--had devoted the last moments of her life to saving him, that was enough to make anyone cry. They all owed their lives to Tethys.

No one said anything for quite some time; Neff and Malachi comforted Jed as he continued to weep, curled over Neff's lap in a mixture of extreme sadness and self-loathing. Zory was content to sit back and let them do as they would - not that he himself didn't want to offer his sympathy, but two things were holding him back. Firstly, as the lean blonde touched his cheek, still slightly tender from their earlier war of words, he decided that he didn't want to run the risk of upsetting his friend any further.

Secondly, he wanted to think about Malachi. Rather, Jed's comment about his feelings for Malachi.

Had he really pined for his older friend, his leader, all those years in the Dark Kingdom? It hadn't really been lust, or even romantic love, though he had his moments wishing for either to be reciprocated. But as far as Zory knew, he was the only one out of the Shitennou who had never been completely decimated by Beryl's mindwipes. He still wanted companionship. He still wanted comfort. And he wanted the real Kunzite back. Not the one that manhandled him--Zoisite, rather--every time he wasn't treated with respect, not the one who was the puppet and tool and sex slave to an arrogant, ruthless witch - no, the one that laughed all the way up to his eyes, the one that offered hugs, the one who was tangible and real and still human.

The one who was gathering Jed into his arms and holding him while he cried.

There had been countless times in the Dark Kingdom when Zoisite had wanted to be held like that. When he would have given anything for that moment of human warmth and unashamed compassion. Kunzite had tolerated his occasional fits of clinginess if only for the sake of having something to kick around. Zoisite had known this, but still he kept going back to Kunzite. He had been that desperate.

Zory watched the white-haired man as he comforted his friend, gently stroking his back and rocking him. Malachi seemed to have forgotten that barely an hour ago, he had been lying half-conscious in a puddle of vomit and self-loathing. That was the Malachi he knew. The one who took care of his friends, who thought of himself last. When someone was hurting, he was the first to comfort them. When someone was in trouble, he was the first to come to their aid. When something was wrong with one of them, nothing else in the world seemed to matter to Malachi except that person's well-being.

Malachi glanced up at Zory, wondering how he was coping with all this. What bothered him was how quiet the blonde had been. Zory was, quite frankly, the most openly emotional person he knew. This did not make the boy weak, by any means, but it did mean that if he felt like crying, then by God he was going to cry, and if you did not like it then you could go to Hell, thank you very much. The fact that he had not shown any emotion since regaining his memories was beginning to worry him.

Finally, Jed's tears subsided, and he sat up. "I'm sorry, guys," he shakily tried to apologize, but Neff would have none of it.

"No sorry necessary, Jed. We understand. Well, as best we can." The brunette helped him to his feet. "I think you could use some sleep, my friend. Come on; I'll stand guard to keep it quiet outside. Anyone who comes within three feet of the door, who isn't sitting in this room right now, will regret ever doing it."

Jed nodded silently, for fear he'd start bawling again. He and Neff - Jadeite and Nephrite, if he was going all the way back - had always competed with each other. They had always fought like small children; it seemed, to any outsider, that they held each other in very little esteem. That was, in fact, the exact opposite. Neff cared as much for his friends as he did for his Prince, even as arrogant and self-interested as he appeared most of the time.

The two exited the room, Jed leaning on Neff's arm for support. No sooner had the door closed than Malachi sank onto the couch, looking for all he was worth like he had just run a twenty-mile marathon. He and Zory slid down to lean against either armrest, so that both lay half-curled on the two ends of the couch, looking at each other over the amalgamation of knees that hovered between them.

"How are you doing, Malachi?" Zory sighed casually.

"All things considered? I guess you could say I'm surviving." After a moment he added, "how about you?"

"I'm just fine."

"Zory," Malachi said, his tone oddly paternal. "The truth. How are you really doing?"

"I'm fi--"

"Don't lie to me!" Malachi hadn't intended to shout it so loudly. "Zory, I nearly vomited to death in the bathroom an hour ago, and yet you haven't once even cried this whole time! You're holding something in!"

"You're going to wake up Mamoru," Zory said, scarily calm despite his sudden white-knuckled death grip on the couch. "For God's sake, keep your voice down."

Malachi took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. What was wrong with him, yelling at Zory? It was not as though he had done anything wrong. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry," he said, much more quietly. "I didn't mean to yell at you like that, Zory. I'm just worried about you, alright?"

The blonde gave him a wan smile. His grip on the couch loosened a little. "Keep worrying like that and you'll give yourself an aneurysm. Between Jed, the Prince, and me, you've done nothing but worry all day. Next I'm sure you'll have Neff crying on your shoulder."

"When that happens, I think we can safely say the End of the World is upon us."

"Hey, I said that about Jed crying, too, and we've shot that one all to pieces. Anything is possible now. You're not planning to declare your undying love for me now, are you?"

Malachi cleared his throat. "Well, now that you've spoiled the surprise...OW!"

"That's what you get for teasing." Zory smirk was flimsy at best, and his white haired companion suspected idly that he'd hit a nerve.

"Zory, you can't honestly tell me you're 100% fine with all of this. You know just as much as the rest of us, and if there's one thing I've learned about you, it's that you don't take emotional baggage lightly." Malachi reached out and put his hand on the blonde's knee. "Please? I don't want you to feel like, just because we've got all these memories back, our friendship is the same as it was before. I'll listen to you this time, I promise."

What was left of Zory's smirk faded altogether, and he absentmindedly picked at the fabric on the couch. "I don't know what to tell you, Malachi. I guess... I feel numb right now, like I've lost my ability to feel anything. I want to cry, but..." he sighed. "Maybe I'm still in shock from all this. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to just let it out like Jed did. But right now... God, Malachi, I can't even tell you what I feel."

Malachi nodded, but was not at all appeased. Seeing the normally flamboyant blonde act so emotionless under the circumstances was unsettling to say the least.

He likened it to their roles being reversed; Zory had blocked out all of his emotions, and Malachi was feeling them tenfold. It was a terribly unamusing cosmic joke, by his estimation.

"Is there anything I can do?" he offered, knowing there was probably very little.

Zory sighed again. "I don't know. I don't know anything right now. I can't tell you how I feel, I can't tell you what I need; it feels like I've got...I don't know, a blockage or something."

"Zory," Malachi sat up all the way so he could face his companion directly. "I know that there were a lot of things that went on in the Dark Kingdom. And in every memory I have of you, I treated you horribly. You don't know how sorry I am for that."

"That's not--"

"Please, Zory. I don't..." He took a breath, collecting his thoughts. "I don't want you to think I'm that person. I don't want you cringing every time I look at you, half-expecting me to hit you. I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me anymore."

"It's not your fault, Malachi." Zory put his hand over his friend's. "You aren't that Kunzite any more, and I know it. I would never be afraid of you."

"I wish I could believe that," Malachi said, looking away. "But I just can't. Every memory - do you understand? Every one! The only time I can't picture you on the floor, whimpering over a black eye, is after you were de...you were de..."

"I'm not condoning what you did, Malachi, but that wasn't you! The Shitennou of the Dark Kingdom weren't real people. They were puppets. They were all abused by a psychotic, self-centered, spoiled queen who did anything and everything to get what she wanted."

"I just can't help feeling like I'm the one who did this to you." He had said it so softly it was barely audible, but Zory still caught its meaning.

The blonde sat up and pulled the taller man into his arms, burying his face in the silken silver hair. He did not mind how Malachi leaned heavily against him, weary from the raw emotion that left him scathed and bruised. Their roles did indeed feel reversed.

"You can't keep blaming yourself for all the bad things in the world, Malachi. Believe it or not, you really aren't responsible for every little thing that goes wrong."

"No, but I am responsible for what Kunzite--what I--did to you. That won't just go away. And..." There was silence for a moment. "I'm afraid I could do it again, Zory. I couldn't live with myself if I hit you."

"Malachi, you're more likely to hit a person who called me a pussy than actually hit me. You know that as well as I do." Zory massaged his friend's back slowly, reassuringly.

"I'm not sure what I really know anymore," Malachi said, strained. "I...I can't tell the difference between my own memories and Kunzite's! I try to think of something simple, like our Advanced Sedimentary Dating midterm, and I end up with a lecture from Beryl about Jadeite's failure and we're going to do much better, aren't we?"

"Malachi, you may have been that person at one time, but you're not that person now, and you're never going to be that person again. You said yourself that these memories have changed nothing between us. You're still the same Malachi that you were yesterday." He drew back so that he could look up into his friend's face, and was again stricken by how much older Malachi seemed. The past centuries seemed to weigh heavily on him. "You're still Malachi, but now you're Kunzite too. Not Beryl's Kunzite, not the one who was controlled and manipulated and forced to do horrible things. The real Kunzite would never do all those things."

Zory reached up and stroked his hair, curling a white strand behind his ear. "I'll tell you why I haven't cried yet, Malachi. Because even though I have so many bad memories from the Dark Kingdom, I suddenly have so many good ones from before that. We were so happy then, Malachi. Do you remember that? These past two years of living together in this frat house, joking together, getting into trouble, helping each other cram for exams, it's been just like it was then. And now we've got the one thing that's been missing. We've got him back." Zory did not need to indicate who "him" was. "We're not what Beryl tried to make us out to be. We're what we've always been deep down inside."

//...I sound like an afterschool special,// Zory thought, smiling a little. //If Malachi says, "Thanks, man," I'm afraid I'll have to--//

"Thanks, man."

//...kill myself.// Zory couldn't help it. He giggled quietly, under his breath. "Any time, Malachi. You're always here for me, and it only seems fair that I be on the giving end for a change."

"Here I intended to comfort you, and you ended up comforting me." Malachi smiled at the irony. "Not quite sure how that happened."

Zory was about to say something in response, but was interrupted by a small "Usa..." Mamoru rolled over in his sleep, curling into a ball beneath the covers.

"We should take this outside. I'm surprised we haven't woken him already."

Zory nodded his agreement. "With all that's been going on, he needs all the sleep he can get."

Slowly untangling themselves from the mess of limbs they had managed to get into, the pair left the room, but not before pausing for a concerned look over their shoulders.

"He's going to be okay, isn't he?" Zory asked, slipping out into the hallway.

"As long as we're here." Malachi shut the door behind him without as much as a click.

----

"Mamochan, please help me!"

Her tortured screams rang through his head, but no matter how hard he searched, he could not see her through the dense fog. "Usa!" Where was she? Why couldn't he find her?

"Mamochan...!"

He desperately tried to wave the fog away from his eyes, but to no avail. Everything past his nose was hidden from sight.

"He's not going to help you." A rich, female voice. Powerful, angry. "He's too lost to help you. Too stupid."

"Usa, I'm here!" Mamoru shouted. "Usa!"

But where was here? Some random, foggy field? A dreamscape? Hell?

"Mamochan!"

"The greatest Sailor Crystal in the galaxy will belong to me. I can see the shine now..."

"Mamochan!" Usagi cried, echoing all around. "Mamochan, come save me!"

"You think he can save you?" the female voice asked, amused. "He doesn't have the power to save you. He doesn't have any power at all."

"Usa!" He stumbled around at random, but no matter where he went the voices became neither louder nor softer, but continued to echo all around him.

"Mamochan, please!"

"Look how weak he is!" The voice laughed. "He can't even find you, let alone help you."

"Mamochan!"

"What beautiful light that Sailor Crystal will hold. All this time you've wasted that light on him. He doesn't deserve that light."

"Mamocha--"

Usagi's plea for help was cut short. There was a flash of golden light, followed by an ear-splitting scream as the Ginzuishou was ripped from her chest.

"USA!" Mamoru groped blindly in the fog, hoping for some clue that would lead him to Usagi before it was too late.

Finally, after a few agonizing seconds, he saw one translucent pigtail draped on the ground. He dropped to his knees, picking up the fading girl as best he could.

"Mamochan, why? Why couldn't you find me?" she asked, tears pouring down her face.

He tried to say something, tried to tell her how much he loved her and how sorry he was, but his voice refused to come to him.

She looked up at him, her crystal blue eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. "Mamochan... I..." Before she could get the words out, her voice began to fade, taking the rest of her body with it. He tried to hold her tight, to pull her close to him, but found himself hugging only empty air. White motes of light danced around him, drifting away from him into the fog.

"USAKO!"

"Too late, Prince."

Unsuspecting, Mamoru was kicked in the head by a golden boot. His vision dipped in and out of darkness as he toppled over.

Sailor Galaxia stepped into his line of sight, Ginzuishou in hand. "It's such a pity. You tried so hard..."

"Bitch," he growled through gritted teeth.

"Dear boy, flattery will get you nowhere."

He stared at the brilliant white crystal in the golden queen's hand. So many times he had seen that light in her eyes, had felt it wash over him the moment she flashed him one of her gorgeous smiles. "Usa..." He sobbed, hardly daring to believe she was gone.

Galaxia smirked. "It's so pretty, isn't it? You never were deserving of a light such as this."

"Give her back!" Mamoru jumped to his feet angrily, fists waving. "Give back my Usako!"

"You know, I was originally tempted to take your crystal," Galaxia drawled, looking at the shining orb in her hand. "I would have every Sailor crystal in the galaxy! No one could ever rival my power! But what would you do if you were all alone, the only person left who knew of your disgrace? The only person who knew how you failed your princess?"

"GIVE HER BACK!" Mamoru swung for Galaxia's face, but she easily dodged out of his way. She clutched his outstretched arm and, with very little effort, flipped him head over teakettle. He landed roughly on his back a few feet away.

"Besides, your crystal has so little to offer me. Not much power within your chest; you were unfairly blessed with the life of this planet." Galaxia clutched the Ginzuishou in her hand, and it disappeared into space. "What good will it do anyone now? I have taken your planet. Everything you love now belongs to me. I will lay waste to this blue star within a matter of seconds."

She grabbed him roughly by the collar and hauled him up until he was facing her. "Silly boy." Her golden lips drew up into a vicious grin. "You actually thought you had the strength to protect this planet. To protect HER." She clucked her tongue patronizingly. "My, what a foolish notion. And now you get to live on without either, knowing that the loss of both was all your fault."

"NO! USA!"

Mamoru sat up in bed, his chest heaving, beads of sweat pouring down his face. "Usa..." he panted. Half of his mind told him that it was all a dream, that his Usako was perfectly safe, and that Galaxia was no longer a threat. The other half was reeling madly, and it came as no surprise to him when he realized that his face was wet with tears.

//Of course Usako is safe. That was just a nightmare.// He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. //However, all things considered, I'm not sure whether it's worse than my current reality.//

Either way, Usagi was gone. Unlike the nightmare, she was alive, and that was a blessing. But much like it, he was alone - subjectively alone, anyway. He had the Shitennou now, and as happy as that should have made him, that paled in comparison to the fact that his fiancé didn't care for him anymore. The one person he had lived for the past few years had left him.

Worst of all, he deserved it.

Galaxia's words echoed through his mind. "He doesn't deserve that light." She was right--he didn't deserve that light, had never deserved it, and now he had screwed up royally and got the one thing that he really did deserve: no Usako.

With trembling fingers, he reached for his wallet, containing the one image he had of his belo--ex-beloved. As he pulled it out, another object slid from his pocket and tumbled onto the floor. A stack of letters, tied together with pink ribbon.

Mamoru felt a sob rise in his throat when he saw the messy, childish handwriting, the "Mamochan" written on the top envelope in large, curly Romaji with a black felt marker, the little heart punctuating his name. Never again would those little hearts be drawn for him, never again would he see his name written so lovingly by the hands of a golden-haired goddess. All of that was gone now. He had destroyed everything.

If his thoughts sounded like an overlydramatic romance novel, he didn't notice. He had sunk too far into the quicksand of his own angst to realize he was overreacting just a tad.

The rational part of his brain screamed, "Just because you had a little misunderstanding doesn't mean your relationship is done for! Give the girl some time to cool off, call her back, explain it all out!"

Of course, Mamoru wasn't listening to that part of his brain. He never did, when self-depreciation was involved.

He began to open his wallet, but stopped himself. The last thing he wanted to see right now was a photograph of the face he would never see again. It was difficult enough to see her handwriting, for goodness sake.

He realized that he was squeezing the wallet in a death grip, and that it was slowly bending beneath his white-knuckled fingers. As he released it from its choke-hold and dropped it on the bed, he noticed how stifling Malachi's room felt. He had to get out, had to move around, had to get some fresh air to clear his head.

Leaving the black wallet and sheaf of letters where they lay, he walked to the door and peered outside. He knew that if the Shitennou saw him leave, they'd want to come with him, most likely to protect him from himself. It was kind of them to be so concerned, but right now he wasn't sure he deserved it. He just needed to think.

Neff was at the end of the hallway, leaning against Jed's door like an angry bouncer. Well, almost like an angry bouncer - he was currently distracted by a spider making a web directly over his head. Malachi and Zory could be heard in the kitchen, and by the light rukus they were making, Mamoru assumed they were attempting to make coffee. If he was quiet enough, they'd never hear him leave.

//Oh good. Now you're going to sneak around them, too? When did you develop this penchant for lying?// he berated himself. //Idiot.//

Nevertheless, he wanted--no, needed--to get outside, and the last thing he wanted right now was for someone to show up and try to cheer him up. He'd just be quiet as he left. After all, he was not exactly sneaking, he just happened to be walking very discretely, and if no one saw him, it was merely because they did not happen to hear him, not because he was intentionally avoiding them. That having been established, he soundlessly closed Malachi's door and tiptoed down the hallway, keeping a careful eye on Neff.

Somehow he made it to the front door without incident, but his hand froze on the doorknob when he heard Zory's voice. "Neff! Do you want some coffee?" Neff shouted back an affirmative yes. "Well, come get it, then. I don't deliver."

"C'mon Zory, I'm busy here."

"I wouldn't define standing around, aimlessly staring at walls as busy."

"Hey, no one's disturbed Jed yet," Neff countered, stalking toward the kitchen.

"Except you three!" Jed bellowed.

With the four men distracted, Mamoru had a clear avenue to escape. More carefully than he'd ever opened a door in his life, he twisted the knob and slipped outside. The cool, early evening air felt good after being in the cramped, stuffy room.

//The sun's almost setting.// He looked around, surprised. //Was I really asleep that long?//

He stumbled down the front steps, not entirely sure where to go. It didn't matter, really. Choosing a direction at random, he ambled down the street with only a minimal sense of where his feet were taking him.

It was a dreary walk. Such thoughts as "I'm never going to walk down the street like this with my arm around her again" or "Usa always liked that kind of flower--too bad I won't be able to give some to her" or merely "I'm such a loser" played through his head in a continuous mantra of self-depreciation. All this really served to do was make him feel worse, but Mamoru hardly felt he deserved the solace of not having someone put him down on a constant basis--even if that someone was himself.

He couldn't have been walking long--not more than ten minutes--when he came upon an empty playground, the setting sun reflecting off the metal equipment. Well, he was walking at random; this seemed like a random enough place to stop and consider what a mess his life was. His shoes crunched softly in the sand as he walked, shoulders slumped, toward a set of swings.

The sky had turned flaming orange, with a smattering of magenta and purple clouds here and there. Mamoru made himself as comfortable as possible on the little kiddie swing, watching the sun disappear into the hills. When the day started, he'd had a fiancé. At it's end, he now had four guardians instead. Somehow, that seemed like an entirely unfair trade.

He dug the tips of his shoes into the sand, slowly pushing the swing back and forth. What was he going to do with himself? He could apologize to his professors for all the class he had missed--they would probably excuse him, if he said he was having a hard time recovering from the fire in his dorm--but after that? He would finish out his years of undergraduate medicine, and then...go back to Japan? That wasn't a good idea: the Senshi would find him, and very likely castrate him. Move on to postgraduate education, become a doctor in America? It was a possibility, but at the moment, it didn't seem particularly exciting.

To tell the truth, at the moment, nothing seemed particularly exciting.

It was not that he didn't like the Shitennou. He absolutely loved them, and would just as eagerly lay down his life for them as they would for him. But for years Usagi had been the only thing that made life worth living. She was his strength, his light. He could not even imagine a life without her. All those Pre-Usako years of his life seemed so empty, so meaningless, compared to the glorious two years with her.

He leaned his head against one of the chains from which his swing was suspended. Nothing mattered without Usako. Not becoming a doctor, and not saving the world. Let the world be taken over by evil Sailor Senshi or aliens or giant squid. This is one prince who will not be stopping them.

//"Giant Alien Squid Senshi Devour Tokyo, Have Yokohama for Desert,"// he thought. //I bet that would make the news.//

As the last of the sun disappeared into the Pacific and the shadows became immeasurably long, the old lights on the playground flickered to life.

//What do I do with the rest of my life? Damn it, this was so much easier when I was just the Token Prince...//

From out of the shadows, a little face appeared. She stepped out into the light of a flickering lamp, teddy bear in tow. Her black hair went all the way down her back in two identical braids, complete with purple bows. Her purple eyes were enormous, like hand-painted doll eyes.

A really creepy, horror movie doll, anyway. Stepping through the sand in her tiny black Mary Janes, she approached Mamoru with some confusion.

"What's wrong, mister?"

For one thing, he was certain that he could now kiss the notion of Crystal Tokyo goodbye. Of course, there was always the possibility that Usagi would just find another king to conveniently take his place. He was not overly sure that King Endymion was all that necessary anyway--she could just as easily be a futuristic Elizabeth.

Mamoru started. He had been so wrapped up in misery that he had not even seen the girl approaching. She paused in front of him, childishly digging the toe of her boot into the soft sand. She was clad in a black dress that, if the skirt were any poofier, would almost resemble the tutu from some bizarre hellish ballet. The neckline was square-cut, and lined with black lace that accented her pale porceline skin.

She tilted her head girlishly, punctuating her question.

"I..." What could he possibly say? That the most beautiful woman in the world never wanted to see him again? She was such a sweet child, the way she dragged that teddy bear behind her. Somehow, she reminded him of Chibi Usa.

Suddenly a thought so horrid and so distressing wormed its way into his mind that it was all Mamoru could do to keep breathing.

Chibi Usa.

If he never married Usagi, if there was no Crystal Tokyo, if they never... got together, there may never be a certain wonderfully adorable pink-haired princess.

If his day had not been a total ruin five seconds ago, it definitely was now. So not only had he condemned himself to a life of solitude and misery, he had wiped his unborn daugther from the timeline. Stab knife, then twist. He gripped the swing's chains until his knuckles nearly popped off his hand. "No...Not, not Chibi Usa..."

"Aw, gee, Mister, it can't be that bad." The little girl pulled her teddy bear forward, which seemed far too heavy for her to carry. "Teddykins 'n I can make it better, I bet."

She lifted the teddy bear--which was nearly as big as she was--into both hands and held it out, so that it was inches from his face. It politely flopped forward, the gentle smile sewn on its muzzle never fading.

Even something so adorable could not phase Mamoru, however. Because of him, Chibi Usa would never be born. He had killed her! His own daughter, the only thing that could match Usako's light in his life, had been murdered by him!

The little girl frowned as he began to sob uncontrollably. "Don't you want to play with Teddykins?"

That was it. He had effectively ruined everything. Crystal Tokyo would not exist. Chibi Usa would not exist. The knowledge that he had his guardians back could not even begin to soothe him now. He let go of the swing and crumpled forward, head in his hands.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" the little girl chirped, putting the teddy bear down in the sand. "My name's Harmony! My mama says I shouldn't talk to strangers, but you're so sad, an' I wanna help sad people! What's your name?"

Mamoru was far beyond paying attention to the little girl. Part of him hoped she was one of those giant alien squid Senshi in disguise, and she would just pop out a third stomach and eat him already.

"Mister?" She bent down a bit to try and look him in the face, but Mamoru had sunk far too deeply into his own depression to take notice.

Harmony straightened, smoothing the ruffles of her skirt with her delicate little hands. Her immense purple eyes sparkled as a small smile played across her lips. "Don't worry, Mister," she said softly. "I can make it all better. Just leave it to Teddykins an' me. We'll make sure you never feel sad again."

Without so much as a word, the little girl's black dress disappeared, and was replaced by a strange, malformed Sailor uniform with more black lace and bows than could possibly be deemed necessary. Her Silence Glaive glowed faintly in the sick, green lamplight.

"That sounds nice, doesn't it, Mister?" she asked, turning the blade back and forth. "No more pain. No more joy. Just silence. Silence sounds nice now, doesn't it?"

Something in her voice faintly caught Mamoru's attention. He sat up a little to look at her, though his vision was too blurred by tears to be of much use. All he could see of her was a blob of black and purple, but the image was immediately replaced by a violent flash of purple light. Pain exploded in Mamoru's chest as he tumbled backwards off the swing. The world did a sickening flip-flop, and suddenly Mamoru was laying in the sand, struggling to catch his breath despite the sharp pain in his chest.

Harmony jumped on the unsteady swing, Glaive waving carelessly as though it wasn't one of the most dangerous weapons known in the universe. "Oh, did I mention pain? Pain and silence. Nothing but pain and silence!"

As if her unadultered childhood glee were not enough, at the thought of pain and silence, she giggled. "Sanura-mama says I'm psychotic. I dunno what it means, but I think I'd like it."

Mamoru tried to sit up, but it was of no use. Even so much as the slightest movement felt as though his skin were being flayed off. Which, on a list of things to be feeling like, was not very near the top.

Arriving right on time to compound his problems, a loud mechanical roar began to sound, and was increasing in volume by the second. Just as the din escalated to a nearly ear-shattering level, a Harley Davidson skidded across the playground and sent a shower of sand over Mamoru. It circled dangerously close to Mamoru's head, and came to rest next to the merry-go-round.

"Sanura-mama!" Harmony squealed.

"Thought I'd come check up on yah, squirt," a deep, tenor voice said. "Not that I'd want to interrupt your playtime or nothin'."

"You're just in time for fun!" Harmony giggled. "He's just so sad, Sanura-mama! Do you think we can bring him pain and silence?"

"That's our job, kid." The smell of carbon monoxide and cigarette smoke wafted through the air. "Let me know when you're done with him, and I'll finish it off."

"Goody!" Harmony swung the Glaive down, picking Mamoru up by the shirt collar and barely avoided taking his head off in the process. "See, Mister, we just want to help you. You wanna die, and we're gonna help you!"

Mamoru really did not have much room to argue about that. He just wished his death would not involve being sliced open by a giant can opener. When he decided he wanted to die, he was thinking more along the lines of a nice, quiet passing. Like the kind you get from drug overdoses.

Harmony giggled devilishly as her Glaive began to glow purple. Mamoru did not have time to see the blast charge from the tip of the blade where it collided with his chest, because he was too busy being hurled across the playground in a state of extreme pain. Fortunately, the big metal slide stopped him when he crashed into it, nearly cracking his skull and creating a fair amount of pain throughout his head and back.

The little girl clapped her hands excitedly. "Isn't this fun?"

Mamoru was really in no room to argue, considering that his head had just colided at full warp speed with a metal slide, and he was seeing six of everything. Six merry-go-rounds, six demon children, and six tan girls with green mohawks.

Yes, green mohawks.

Sanura took a long drag from her cigarette, unceremoniously adjusting her leather thong while she was at it. "'S really too bad, Prince. You were kinda sexy, in a self-loathin', mis'rable sorta way."

"Unngghn," would have to suffice as, "Gee, thanks" was currently impossible. The man slid uncomfortably down the slide and down to the sand, leaving a faint crimson smear along the surface.

"Sanura-mama, it's your turn!"

The green-haired biker woman smirked, perching her cig precariously between her teeth. "Goody. Dead Scream."

If the close encounter with a children's slide was painful, the freakish biker woman's attack was doubly so. He felt as though it were trying to rip him apart piece by piece. Somehow, though, he still seemed to have all his parts intact when it faded away in a flurry of crimson light.

Mamoru lay on the ground, too weak and hurt to even bother looking up at the ones who were effectively killing him. He was seized by a coughing fit from the sand that filled his nose and mouth. A hand suddenly closed around his throat and pulled him upright. "Yer a whole lot easer ta beat than I expected." He did nothing but wheeze painfully in response. Sanura sneered at him, then planted a fist in his face, letting him again drop to the ground.

He tasted the bitter sting of blood from his split lip almost immediately; combined with the rest of his injuries, the ringing in his ears and stars of pain in his eyes were definitely not making the whole concept of being alive very easy.

"Just a sack of blood 'n organs without yer princess, arencha, Prince?" A sharp stiletto boot came thundering down into his chest, puncturing right through and brushing a rib. Mamoru wheezed in surprise as blood began to seep out, and then spurt as Sanura roughly removed her heel from his chest. "Seems too easy. But you like pain, doncha? You like it when people kick you 'round. You like being worthless."

//"You like being worthless." I...I guess I do.//

But even as he thought it, he was not entirely certain the statement was true. Because while he did nothing but lay there while these girls beat him to death, there was still that tiny, nearly insignificant desire to fight back. Even through his many injuries he could feel it, like a nearly imperceptible itch. It was an itch he refused to scratch.

Sanura swung her boot and one of his ribs made a sickening crack as her foot collided with his side. "This is goin' faster 'n I thought, munchkin," she called, kicking him a second time. "Maybe we can get us some ice cream after."

In a futile attempt to get some air in his lungs, Mamoru took a deep breath, but was rewarded only with body-shaking coughs that sprayed blood all over his shirt.

//My medi-sense tells me that's a bad sign,// he thought, somewhat detatched. //Can't be much longer for me now, I suppose...//

//Coward!// an unknown voice barked at him. //What would Usagi think, if she knew you were going down without a fight because you're more melodramatic than every soap opera ever written?//

//"Ding, dong, the witch is dead?"//

//...I'm going to pretend you didn't say that.//

"Goody, ice cream!" Harmony skipped over to Mamoru's broken, bleeding body cheerfully, pigtails swinging wildly.

The little girl frowned critically at the man at her feet. "I think you got the pain part, Saruna-mama, but I don't think we gave him silence yet."

"Hmm..." Saruna experimentally prodded Mamoru's head with her toe. He groaned as his head flopped to the side, and began coughing up more blood. "Looks like yer right, darlin'. How's about you take a stab at it?"

"Yay!"

//Look, I know you're all broken up over this,// the strange voice continued persistantly, //but I hardly think letting yourself get killed is going to solve matters any. In fact, it's going to make everything much, much worse.//

//I don't mean to be rude or anything,// Mamoru thought wearily, //but I'm hardly going to take advice from the voices in my head. Especially considering how many times I've hit my head recently.//

He winced as the Silence Glaive again narrowly missed beheading him, catching his shirt and dangling him in the air as though he were a fish on a hook. A beam of purple light caught him under the chin and sent him sailing, half-conscious, through the air.

By the time Mamoru landed, falling through the branches of a relatively large maple tree, he could hardly see past his nose, especially for all the blood that was pouring out various orfices. And the little lacey brat was advancing on him again. He tried to support himself by clinging to the branches, but even such simple motor skills such as holding things seemed beyond his grasp.

"It's almost over now," Harmony said, huge purple eyes sparkling with joy. "Pretty soon, you'll have nothing but silence around you. That sounds good, doesn't it? You won't feel sad about losing your princess, 'cause you can't feel -anything-. You want that, don't you, Mister?"

//No, you do NOT want that,// growled a very insistant voice, but Mamoru was quite beyond listening to the voices in his head.

With a neat overhead slash, she sliced through one of the thick boughs that held him, and, squealing with surprise, dodged out of the way before the branch, laden with a 150 pound prince, dropped on her head.

Harmony giggled at the game and pranced back over to Mamoru, who lay groaning in a heap of twigs and leaves. "You're awfully fun to play with, Mister!"

"Fnnnrrghnugh," Mamoru gurgled eloquently, leaving more blood stains on the ground. He had no idea what he had intended to say to his assailant, but most of it was lost in translation.

"You're awful silly, too, Mister!" A quick underhand slash scooped the prince up, nearly sliching his shirt (and his back) to shreds, and tossed him face-first into another tree trunk. There was a quiet crunch as Mamoru's nose hit the tree-trunk, leaving yet another smattering of blood. He managed to turn around just in time to see Harmony rushing at him, bloodied Glaive headed straight for his chest.

"Been nice knowin' yah, Prince," Sanura called from across the playground. "Well, okay, not really!"

//Last chance, Mamoru,// the voice drawled as the little girl drew closer and closer, razor-sharp blade headed straight for his heart. //I assure you, this will cause more pain to those you love.//

Mamoru said nothing. He closed his eyes and waited.

"Goodbye," Harmony said quietly, as her feet ground to a halt. There was the sound of metal cutting flesh; then, louder than anyone could have predicted, a scream of pain that shook every last leaf on the tree, every piece of playground equipment that was not firmly nailed to the ground.

--------

What's that, you say? That was the most terrible, awful ending in the entire world? Fear not, dear lambs, this is far from the end.

But the first person who says "HURRY UP WITH CHAPTER 5! MORE MORE MORE MORE" gets hit with a stick. In fact, that is more likely to make us go SLOWER, not faster. We are busy college students, and we DID write this 32 page chapter in a span of three weeks. Read that again - 32 pages in three weeks. Some fanfics stay untouched for a year or more. Please keep that in mind while reviewing.

Also, please send all angry cliffhanger-related flames care of The White House, District of Columbia, United States. Thank you.

~Spirit-hime and AngelAnne