Winter
Forty eggs and several pounds of butter and sugar later, she almost felt better. Almost, but not quite. Even though she had made good use of the industrial mixer, her arm was aching, but not as much as her heart. It was always difficult to see former lovers return. Particularly ones whose return was not only unexpected and unwanted, but should have been impossible.
She also hated to see the effect it had on her princess. The residual glow of happiness from Usagi's engagement had lasted through the changing of the seasons, only to be dimmed by her conflicting emotions. Usagi was happy for Mamoru's sake, worried for her senshi, and concerned about what the Shitennou's return meant for her own evolving relationship with their prince.
As she wiped away a stray tear, one she insisted came from frustration and anger, Makoto thought she was grateful the room was empty. After Thanksgiving and the dual sins of overeating and overspending, business at the bakery was slow. Still, she should be glad of business, not wishing it away.
Makoto sighed heavily, clearing the sink of what could safely go into the already crowded dishwasher. That was what the Shitennou did – turned things upside down, left to right, right to wrong. It wasn't fair, but it was what she thought.
Some women cried in times of distress; others flirted, gossiped, or turned to consumer therapy or chocolate. Makoto figured she was taking the last option: she had hunted up the finest bittersweet chocolate she had on hand, melted whole slabs of it to just the right consistency, and baked the darkest, densest, most decadent flourless chocolate cake she had ever made. She would cover it with something white and sweet and innocent-looking, something that disguised all the calories and dark flavor brooding inside the flat little slice of cake, and send a slice of it to each of the senshi. All of them would eat it, every last bite of it, and they would understand what it meant.
The question now was what to do with the other cakes. She glanced into the oven at the rack of circular pans filled with her extravagant creation. She didn't want it to become billed as "the break-up cake," something for scorned women to drown their sorrows in. It was at once better and worse than that.
In the end, she named it Redemption Cake. It wasn't the cake that redeemed you. It was a luxury so rich and dark and sinful that you felt like you needed redemption after eating only two forkfuls of it. To her surprise, it was extremely popular. It seemed like everyone was looking for redemption these days.
When he came through the door, accompanied by a chilly breeze and a dash of snowflakes, Makoto was in the middle of babying her pink and white Christmas cacti. She saw him pause, studying her most recent creation in the glass display case. He didn't try a slice, but he didn't say anything about it to her, either.
When she was finished, she took her break. She left one of her employees to mind the counter and brought him his usual cup of coffee.
"Thanks, Makoto," he told her, warming fingers still slightly red from the cold against the cup.
"No problem. How are things at the hospital?"
He sighed. "Busy, unfortunately. There were a lot of car accidents on the icy roads. You'll drive safely on your way home, won't you?"
She smiled reassuringly. "Of course. Do you think we'll be getting much more snow tonight?"
Mamoru made an equivocal gesture. "I hope not. If there's time, I wanted to start making a dent in my Christmas shopping list. Otherwise, the socks aisle always starts looking terribly attractive in my times of emergency."
She chuckled, having been the recipient of several very nice pairs of socks from him over the years. "Again, Mamoru? Thank goodness some things never change."
Her smile faded as she realized how her words could be taken, and he fiddled with his spoon. "I thought you might be mad at me."
Makoto shook her head. It was impossible to stay mad at Mamoru. And unnecessary when there existed much easier, more deserving targets for her rage. "No. It wasn't anything you did, anyway."
"But I wanted them to come back."
"How could you?" She asked it not accusingly, but wonderingly.
Mamoru shrugged, looking up into her emerald eyes. There was anger and hostility and pain, but also a willingness to try to understand. "I can remember how betrayed I felt when they were first turned. It was like a knife to the heart. Yet I think that for them to have turned, I must have failed them in some way, too." He held up a hand to still her protest. "And after all the times I have been brainwashed by evil forces since the Silver Millennium, it feels somewhat hypocritical of me to blame them for things that may have been well beyond their control."
"It's not the same."
"Why not?" He asked the question in his gentle way, without reproach, and she responded with the truth.
"I don't know."
Mamoru nodded, as if her admission was enough for him. "I'm not asking you to let things go back to the way they were, Makoto. Nor am I asking you to trust them. I would just like you to…give them a chance."
"Did they ask you to come to us?" she demanded, ready to push her chair back with a harsh screech and stalk away if that turned out to be the case.
"No. They would be the first to say they don't think they deserve another chance," he said matter-of-factly.
Makoto frowned. "Why are you coming to me first?"
He held her gaze. "You and I both know what it's like to lose everyone and everything we care about. And how hard it is to go on afterwards."
She brooded for the next few weeks, trying to take her mind off things by coming up with new ways to improve on traditional holiday treats. She decorated and sent off an assortment of miniature pine trees with happy owners, and fluffed leaves that didn't need fluffing on the gorgeous red and cream poinsettias.
She didn't speak to the Shitennou, and they didn't come to her. The senshi dropped by often at first, then less frequently. They had said all there was to say, all that could be said. As if he sensed her need for space, Mamoru stayed away, making the great sacrifice of getting his daily caffeine fix from the hospital cafeteria. Only Usagi came around regularly, her smile becoming less strained as time went on. Her sweet tooth, of course, never changed.
Finally, on Christmas Eve, Makoto sent a special gingerbread house kit to the address she had asked Usagi for. Most of the pieces were standard – royal icing, candy canes, multicolored gumdrops, and round chocolate bits for paving stones. But she had already decorated the four gingerbread men. Two had blond icing hair, one with blue eyes and one with green. Kunzite's hair was the easiest, since it didn't need coloring. For him, she used chocolate – chocolate hair, chocolate eyes – and it still stood out against the gingerbread. It was the Brazilian chocolate that she used so sparingly, partially because it was pricy, but mostly because it had always reminded her of him. She hoped they understood the message, but just in case, she printed one carefully on the card she enclosed: A home for those who have lost one.
The bakery was empty when he came, a dismal evening in late January when the sky was gray as lead and the cold discouraged any hope of spring's swift convalescence. Makoto was clearing the display case when she heard the loud clatter of the chimes that hung over the door. Despite the brash entrance, the newcomer paused, letting snow melt slowly onto the mat – this was someone uncertain of his welcome but not used to taking much care. She suspected that he had stood outside in the bitter wind for awhile, then given the door a hard, resolute push before he lost his nerve.
She turned and greeted him calmly, with neither warmth nor hostility in her voice. "Hello, Zoisite." She wasn't surprised he was the first to come.
His red gold hair was shorter than she remembered but no neater, and the color was like a shout against the biscuit-colored walls of her quiet bakery. He gave her a somber nod. "Good evening, Jupiter."
"My name is Makoto now."
He nodded again, visibly assimilating this information. "The name on the card – do you own this business, then?" He slid his hands into the pockets of his tailored slacks, glancing around with new interest.
"Yes, I do," she answered, wondering what other details Mamoru had not yet shared with his returned brothers-in-arms. She didn't know whether to be gratified or the slightest bit disappointed that he hadn't been pressed for them.
Abruptly, the visitor said, "Thank you for the gift. It was – very kind, and we all appreciated it."
This was more like the Zoisite she remembered; a man with somewhat eccentric habits whose brilliant mind moved as quickly and restlessly as his limbs. The Shitennou had joked that Mercury was the first woman he had met who could not only keep up with him, but just as often surpass him.
"I'm glad," Makoto replied, and she found that it was true, even though she was still wary of him. "Would you like to sit down?"
He shook his head. "I noticed you are near to closing. I was hoping you had a moment to give me some advice."
She smiled crookedly. "One of the benefits of being the owner is calling the hours. What do you need advice about?"
He took in a slow breath, his verdant eyes fixed on a spot past her shoulder. She realized that not all of his jitteriness was due to his customary restlessness, but rather to nervousness. Perhaps he had chosen this time to give her an easy way to refuse to talk to him; perhaps he had even wondered if she might not be there, letting another employee close up shop. "Ami Mizuno."
"I can't– "
"I'm leaving," he interrupted bluntly.
"Why?" It was strange that this, the easiest solution they had wished for time and time again, suddenly seemed so shocking.
"Because she wants me to. Because it hurts her, confuses her, when I'm nearby, and so I think it best to remove myself." He drew in a shaky breath, and leaned against the counter with an attempt at a lighthearted expression. "So, what message can I send her that will let her know that even when I'm far from her, my thoughts won't be?"
Makoto bit her lip. "Wouldn't that be somewhat counterproductive?"
The ghost of his old ironic smile was in place. "Really, Makoto, do you expect me to quit the field so easily?"
"I'm not going to help you further upset my friend."
His slender form drooped slightly, and she took new account of the dark shadows under his eyes. "I think it would be more upsetting to her if I stayed. I will leave, and do my best to build a new life and acquire new skills, to be useful to my prince. But I can't just…abandon all hope. If I walk away, and she forgets me, I don't think that is a blow I can recover from, Makoto."
"You're a difficult man to forget, Zoisite, and I don't mean that entirely as a compliment."
He smiled briefly, and then his sober look returned. "She doesn't have to love me or even grow to like me. But I just want there to come a time when she can think of me without pain and accept that I will be a part of her life, in however a tangential and distant way it may be – just seeing me at Mamoru's side, perhaps, or knowing there is the possibility she could randomly encounter me on a city street."
"Such things take time."
"I'm willing to give her time. But to lose her twice is unthinkable."
He waited, unusually still and quiet, as she considered. Finally, she gave a soft, shallow sigh, and he felt as if something warm and brightly colored at been released into the room. "All right. But if I ever find that you didn't keep your word…"
He nodded, a wry twist to his mouth. "I understand your meaning, Jupiter."
"Call me Makoto," she reminded him, and he repeated it dutifully.
She walked briskly towards the kitchen, and he trailed her like a puppy. "I assume you want something tangible. But also something out of the ordinary."
"Yes. She is far from ordinary."
Makoto set her hands on her hips and regarded him with amusement. "You don't have to tell me that. Now, this will require some thought. Ami doesn't really have a sweet tooth."
"No?" His expression registered delight at this small scrap of information about Mercury's current incarnation.
"No," she said firmly, reminding herself not to let too much else slip. She thought for a few moments, then pulled out a tray and showed it to him.
"They're…cakes. Little cakes. Very beautiful cakes," Zoisite added hastily, seeing her brows draw together.
She pulled out a pencil and notepad. "They're petit fours. Small enough so that she won't be overwhelmed, substantial enough to carry flavor and message. Why don't you pick some?"
He eyed her warily. "None of them suggest things like malice or envy or hatred, do they?"
"I don't carry such things in my bakery," she replied tartly.
He apologized, then made his choices. He seemed to choose almost at random, perhaps because he liked the color scheme, but Makoto felt the chill hand of disbelief touch her. His first choice was a little iced cake with raspberry filling, and raspberries meant regret or remorse. The second held a candied violet on top, for faithfulness, and the third was decorated with forget-me-nots, a flower that stood for true love. The last had a tiny almond blossom piped on the surface and contained almond slivers inside, and it was meant to convey hope.
Zoisite raised an eyebrow, as if to ask how he had done.
"I'll send them to her tomorrow, when they're baked fresh."
He nodded. "Thank you, Makoto."
When he drew a thin leather wallet from his pocket, Makoto shook her head firmly. Usagi had told her how much difficulty the Shitennou were having finding employment in the economic downturn, which was one reason they were still crowded into Mamoru's apartment. Zoisite's departure might be appreciated in more ways than one.
He replaced his wallet reluctantly. "I will do my best to repay you at some future date, then."
As he walked towards the door, his strides long and decided now that he had completed their transaction, she called after him, "Where will you go?"
He paused, one hand on the door, and didn't look back. "I haven't decided yet. Back to my roots, perhaps."
She watched him leave, a thoughtful look on her face. When she set the petit fours to Ami, nestled in a simple wooden box, she added a small clutch of pansies to help fight the winter glooms. Their more subtle purpose was to let Ami know that someone was thinking of her – whether she interpreted that someone to be Makoto herself or Zoisite was uncertain, but Makoto knew both would be true.
The day she received a postcard from Berlin with a scribbled address and just the letter "Z" for a signature, Ami walked through her door again after weeks of frozen silence, and Makoto hugged her while she cried.