Disclaimer: Bishoujo Senshi Sailormoon was created by Takeuchi Naoko, and published by Kodansha. The anime was produced by TV asahi, Toei Agency, and Toei Animation. As this fanfiction is written purely for the entertainment of the author, she makes no material profit from it.

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Sweetheart

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She was running behind, a distressingly common occurrence of late, and only just suppressed a curse when the knock sounded on her door.

"I'm coming!"

Hoping she didn't sound as stressed as she felt, Ami ran a hand through her hair and surveyed her tiny kitchen. She'd planned to have finished by the time Makoto came around - had planned to have cleaned herself up by that time, too - but she'd spent an extra hour following the Chiba murder after breakfast and now ...

The knock on her door was more insistent the second time, and Ami winced. Makoto could have let herself in, she had a key, and Ami wasn't expecting anyone else, but she was getting used to things not going her way. The last thing she wanted was a colleague to stop by for drinks on the first free Saturday she'd had in months. If she was lucky, her appearance alone would be enough to deter any unexpected visitors, though the thought of how unkempt she must look caused a grimace as she hurried toward the door.

"Ami-chan," Makoto greeted the moment the door opened, and then shifted the flowers and chocolate in her arms. When she noticed Ami's appearance, she grinned. "I caught you right in the middle of something, didn't I? Sorry. I would have let myself in, but I could hardly manage to knock, let alone find my key."

The tall woman didn't say a word about the things in her arms, but Ami recognised her tone of voice. It was the one she used every time Ami tried to gloss over a relationship that stalled before it had started, the one she used every time Ami decided a date wasn't worth mentioning, the one that said she might have gotten away with it for a little while, but no longer. Ami pursed her lips at the tone, but decided to ignore it for the moment. She hadn't had a date in months - since the Chiba case was first opened - and Makoto knew it.

"I have a few things going in the kitchen," she admitted instead, taking the vase of flowers from Makoto as the other stepped into the house slippers set out for her. "These are beautiful, by the way. Thank you, Mako-chan."

She was halfway through the living room by the time Makoto caught up to her, the brunette's confusion so thick it was almost tangible.

"Those aren't from me," Makoto said. "Your doorman caught me on the way in, and asked me to bring them up with me." She looked as though she wanted to say more, but bit her lower lip instead, and set the box of chocolates on the counter without another word. Ami placed the bouquet next to the chocolates, and turned her attention back to the stove, pointedly ignoring both her friend and the gifts.

Makoto was never one to be intimidated by silence. Ami tried to focus on the slowly simmering sauce in front of her, but she could feel the other woman watching her, putting things together when all Ami really wanted was for her to let well enough alone.

After a few moments, Makoto said, "You aren't seeing anyone, are you?"

She didn't sound surprised, despite the beautiful arrangement of roses on the counter, and the expensive, tasteful truffles sitting next to them. But then, she'd always complained that Ami's love life was an aberration, so perhaps that wasn't as strange as Ami imagined.

Again, silence descended. Ami didn't know what to say, and she wasn't certain why she felt she needed to say something, but it was making her nervous, having her back turned to her friend, having her back turned to those flowers. Pretty orange sweetheart roses and pink berries; there was no reason for them to make her uneasy, but they did. They made her feel like someone was watching her, and it made no sense.

"There's a card in here," Makoto murmured, breaking the silence. Ami bit the inside of her lip, and tried not to yell at her friend to just leave it. Her sauce was going to be ruined, and all she could seem to do was stir and watch it come to a boil. Like her life, since Caldwell Zechariah was released on bail, only she had the strangest feeling that it was just a matter of everything catching up with her. The too-pretty foreigner with the green, green eyes had been nothing more than the catalyst, the means by which destiny had managed to find her.

"Ami?"

With a start, Ami whirled around and stared at Makoto, wide-eyed. Makoto started to smile, opened her mouth to make a crack of some sort, and then seemed to really see Ami. Whatever it was that Makoto read in her face, it wasn't what she'd been expecting, Ami could tell. The other woman pushed away from the counter and practically ran into the kitchen, wrapping an arm around Ami and pulling her away from the stove.

"Ami," she repeated, her voice heavy with worry, "what's wrong? Who sent you those flowers?"

That was, of course, exactly what was wrong. Ami knew very well where those flowers had come from, and she didn't want to think about it. That game they'd started in the prison wasn't over, wasn't close to over, and any hopes she'd had that he'd forgotten about her were gone now. He wasn't going to let her hide.

"Read the card," she told Makoto, once she could think straight enough to speak. They were at the table, and Ami wished she'd thought to make some tea. She didn't think she could drink any, but the warmth between her hands might have helped some, might have grounded her.

Makoto shot her a strange look, worried and uncertain, but did as she asked, bringing the bouquet to the table and setting it between them while she went about opening the card. Ami reached out, feeling the soft orange petals of the nearest rose. They were beautiful, she realised, perfectly formed, exotic, and romantic. It was the kind of bouquet she would have loved, had it not come from someone who terrified her half out of her mind.

Happy White Day, Ami-chan.

I didn't mean to neglect you. I'll make it up to you.

Always,
Zoisaito

As Makoto watched, Ami closed her eyes and laughed, an hysterical, lost sound that seemed to echo in the tiny apartment. She still didn't know what the game was, but she was never going to be free.

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Author's Notes:
Written for Lytton, who wanted to see more in this AU. Happy White Day!