The simplest thing would have been to kill him at the outset.
Sailor Jupiter paced around the wine cellar of Kino Makoto's small restaurant, her heels clicking nerve-wrackingly on the stone tiles. Every now and again she would, without conscious thought, try to gnaw on her fingernails, only to stop when she found herself chewing on the fabric of her gloves instead. All the while she kept shooting angry glances at her captive, who was presently bound to a chair, blindfolded and unconscious.
That thunderbolt she'd hit him with in a panic, had, perhaps, been a bit strong, but she'd been in rather a state of shock.
It had been almost as bad as the first time. Finding out that Nephrite had been reborn… resurrected…whatever you called it, after his death at the hands of Zoisite, and had through fate's bizarre and somewhat sick sense of humor been the one who'd stepped larger than life from the slick red car, ushering a strange but beautiful woman into the new art gallery next to her restaurant, well…it had rattled her so badly, she'd nearly driven up onto the sidewalk.
Then it was shock. She refused to call it jealousy…even though she'd floored her van just then, taking almost indecent satisfaction in the grinding crunch and screeching tear of metal as the old battle wagon of a catering truck collided with his bright cherry-colored Ferrari. She'd even managed to back up and hit it a second time, mangling it beyond all help, before he'd run out at the sound of wanton destruction, whereupon she'd played confused and innocent of intent as the police arrived. It had even been worth the outrageous increase in her insurance premiums just to savor the look on his face when he saw the sad remains of his overpriced toy. And to know that the artsy-tartsy bimbo had left that day and not returned.
It had taken years for the full memories to come, but whatever the cause of the delay, all of the senshi had, in the fullness of time, regained their full memories of the Silver Millennium…both of life and death. She had vividly remembered another life in which she'd fallen for the smoothly charming Terran astrologer, their clandestine romance all the more tempting because it had been forbidden. She'd also recalled the draining of her life's energy at his hands on the eve of the fall of the Moon Kingdom. She'd welcomed him in with open arms expecting love, but found cunning cloaked death.
By the time she'd even realized what he was doing, his foul intent, it had been too late. Lost in his embrace, she only noticed as the very last of her formidable strength ebbed away. She hadn't even had strength to voice the question, though it must have been visible in her dying eyes. "For the glory of Metallia, pretty little pet," he'd cruelly whispered in her ear before he dropped her cooling body, bearing not a single scratch, no more than a half hour before the final battle.
While the others had fought valorously, the Senshi of Protection's body had been lying crumpled on the cold marble floor of her bedchamber like a broken doll, useless to her princess, discarded when he tired of his game. It would have been less painful to her pride if he'd stabbed her outright. That humiliating knowledge of how easily he had taken her out still churned her gut when she thought about it. At least the others had the chance to go out fighting, dammit!
So finding out that the damned traitor had somehow been given a third chance at life had pissed her off so much and scared her so badly and pissed her off some more for being scared, that she'd almost given in to the urge to electrocute him on first sight.
Only the fleeting thought that it was probably what Sailor Uranus would have done had stopped her…cold. Much as she admired the other woman, there was a part of Uranus that she also feared becoming. Kami knew, she'd been with Serenity long enough to know that redemption was possible. So she'd refrained from killing him just then, much as her fingers had itched to call down the storm on his infuriatingly gorgeous head. Destroying his precious sports car (he always did have a passion for flashy transportation…once upon a time it had been half wild horses) had to suffice.
Being the good senshi she was, she'd followed dutifully reported his existence to her leader, Venus, and been stunned to receive the assignment of monitoring him. Even when she'd gone toe to toe with Minako, the evil blonde had been unswerving. He was, she insisted, Makoto's problem and her decision. The only consideration was that, whatever else, Serenity would be protected. That, Makoto had fumed, was a given. She would not fail her princess a second time.
So she'd monitored. It had given her lonely nights purpose. So convinced had she been that he was up to some evil, that she'd all but stuck an ankle bracelet on him, she'd followed so closely. Aside from a talent for finessing a soufflé to fluffy new heights of glory, subtlety never had been her strong point. But when he'd realized that he'd somehow acquired an auburn-headed shadow and asked her point blank what she wanted, she'd been momentarily at a loss, flustered and embarrassed. He'd made a sly crack about her wanting to take out his replacement vehicle too and she'd almost shrieked at him like a fishwife. But then inspiration had struck and she'd given him the only answer that might have possibly explained her watchful presence in his life. She'd asked him out.
Somewhat to her surprise, he'd accepted, his dark espresso eyes warming to molten chocolate as he flashed her one of those lazy heartbreaker grins that always had and still made butterflies swarm in her stomach. And with that it had begun, Kami-sama preserve her.
For several months they'd been dating exclusively and she'd been spying on him for any hint that he had an evil agenda.
She'd found nothing. Not one damned thing that indicated he even knew that he'd had past lives as both a Guardian of Terra and as a warrior for evil. He was kind, even when she taunted him. He was generous when she gave him little. He was patient and understanding when she kept him dancing him to her tune. He helped little old grandmothers across Tokyo's treacherous streets, for kami's sake. He'd even been a perfect gentleman with her…well, nearly, and no worse than any other red-blooded male. Which left her in quite a quandary, because although he appeared quite benign, except for being too damned good looking for her own good, understandably she still didn't trust him. Some acts, even if forgotten by the perpetrator, were too hard to simply forgive or forget…though kami knew she wanted to in moments late at night when she was forced to be honest with herself.
A thousand times she'd assured Minako and herself that she despised him and wasn't stupid enough to actually trust him, but merely doing her job. A thousand times she'd lied to them both. She had a sinking suspicion that Minako, no dumb blonde, knew it too. That she wanted to hate him was closer to the truth.
She'd always been too susceptible to dark hair and winning smiles. In fact, learning of their past had explained a lot about her sempai fixation in this lifetime. She'd merely misplaced her affections onto a rather oblivious classmate.
Dropping to the chill floor by his feet, Jupiter wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked back and forth. Tears burned her eyes before trickling down her cheeks in salty rivulets. He knew, by Zeus! Now what was she to do?
It had been so stupid, really. She'd been restless, distracting herself by tidying up his apartment while he stepped downstairs to the gallery for a moment prior to their date. As she dusted (the man who could once spot the faintest of stars even on cloudy nights, even those outside his own galaxy, was apparently constitutionally incapable of seeing dust bunnies, even when they reached the size and mass of small house pets) the television had been on and she'd been half listening to the senshi retrospective on a news magazine show. At least a good two-thirds of the so-called in depth reporting on her sisters at arms and their adventures had been complete bilge. Really, who honestly believed that sweet little Mercury was a closet dominatrix? That golden Venus had a secret life as a goth? Who came up with that garbage? Who listened to it? And what stories had they made up about her?
While bending down to pick up a stray astronomy book (yet another passion of his that had never changed), he'd returned without warning and she'd heard the ragged sound of a shocked indrawn breath.
"Nani? Sailor…Jupiter?"
With a sick sense of foreboding Makoto had slowly turned her head to see her own face reflected on the television screen, the be-fukued still image of her with a familiar red-brown ponytail flopped forward on one shoulder in a static mimicry of her pose while cleaning. Feeling stuck in slow motion she'd turned back to face him and seen the light of comprehension dawning in those dark brown velvet eyes. He'd never been particularly slow on the uptake.
That was when she'd witlessly flung the lightning bolt at his head, dropping him. And so she was here now.
As from the outset, it really would be simplest and safest to kill him. The only sensible choice, really.
But how could she destroy a vibrant life which was fighting so hard to be? That had defied death's maw at least three times already? The thought made her heart ache in her chest.
Damp verdigris eyes flickered to the small framed portrait of a woman vacationer, backed by the Roman Coliseum, holding a sturdy russet-haired toddler in one hand and a bottle of Italian vino in the other as she laughed into the camera. The water-stained photo had been among the very few items recovered from the crash that had claimed her parents' lives and those of more than a hundred and fifty other souls, though she'd also been rescued from the churning sea, floating numbly on a seat cushion island. Either Zeus had protected his own or it was fate, which clearly had had other plans for her, stepping in.
"Mama," whispered Jupiter wretchedly, still rocking. Now she was beyond tears. She was drowning without water, praying for an answer or sweet oblivion. "What do I do?"
The laughing, green-eyed woman remained infuriatingly silent.
She fingered the buttons on her communicator. One single touch and he would be gone. Venus would understand. Uranus and Neptune would see to it, she knew. Mars would probably even help. There would be no blood on her hands. He would just be terminated with extreme prejudice and the pain and beauty of seeing him would be out of her life forever, along with the threat he represented. But what would be left?
The void.
The thought of the empty years ahead, stretching century on century, without him made her shudder at their barrenness. No! She could do without him. He was nothing to her…
Liar!
It was a question of trust, she realized, and she was standing on a precipice. Her decision of which way to jump would decide both their fates. Even if she could leave him out of it, which she couldn't, could she really live in a world where she couldn't trust in others? That would be a world without hope. Hope walled up, trapped in Pandora's Box while the evil things overran the world. She shivered again. That was unthinkable.
Without being quite aware of what she was doing, she reached for his hand, weaving her fingers with his and leaning her head against his knee as she tried to banish the hideous mental image with his presence. The comforting, tingling warmth of his flesh on hers brought her up short. Sweet Sol! What was she doing?!
Oh hell! Somehow, in spite of everything she'd done to protect her heart, in spite of the barriers she'd erected, in spite of knowing what he'd done and who he was…in spite of it all, she'd fallen in love with him anyway.
And Zeus strike her, she couldn't be sorry about it. The laughing green eyes of her mother seemed full of compassion now, and understanding…and joy.
She burst into tears again, but this time they didn't burn. They healed, cleansed, washing away the bitterness and pain of past betrayal.
He moaned softly, a precursor to regaining consciousness and she gasped, leaping to her feet. Clawing at his bonds, she cursed when they eluded her, biting her lip until it bled. Finally the ropes dropped to the tiles at his feet and she tugged the blindfold off, stroking his cheek and hair and rubbing remorsefully at the chafed skin of his wrists. Finally she drew his hands to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles as she knelt before him.
"Oh kami, wake up Nephrite…Masato!" she muttered feverishly, feeling a sharp crack and release in her chest like the breaking of a bond round her heart as a pair of dark eyes opened and looked around in confusion, "Gods! I'm so sorry, darling. Forgive me…"
And on a movie set halfway across Japan, a blonde screen goddess on the set of her latest picture felt the sudden freedom of a formerly bound heart in her sphere of influence and smiled.
The decision had been made. And it was good.
(Just a little Valentines Day present for The Puppeteer in response to the challenge I was given. It's definitely AU to the main body of my drabbles, but I hope it's enjoyed all the same.)
