AN: Hey readers! This story is actually the fifth chapter for a collaboration called, What Dreams May Come, with my fellow Moonies, Ninjette Twitch, Revy679 and Aya faulkner on page Elite SquadB.

There are 4 chapters that come before this one. Every chapter is written by a different author. You guys should read them, as they are amazing!

If you don't want to read them, this is the premise for this story.

Set post stars, there is a new enemy that has kidnapped Mamoru, Usagi, and the Senshi. They are all unconscious in a lab and have been thrust into shared nightmares. Mamoru is the only one that is aware that he is in a dream, and he has figured out that the only way to end each nightmare is by getting Usagi to admit that she loves him. Which is not easy for Mamoru, as each nightmarish world has been created with specific situations to tear our favorite couple apart.

These were the rules that we followed when writing each chapter dream/nightmare.

-There is always one other character that is awake with Mamoru.

-It is always from Mamoru's point of view

-Usagi must admit that she loves Mamoru to end the nightmare, but they are not able to tell her she is in a nightmare because if they do, the nightmare restarts from the beginning.

If you guys are confused, please head over to Elite SquadB to read the first two chapters, as I promise, they are so worth the read! Or feel free to review with your questions.

This one is written by me, though, truthfully, this is a joint effort with the lovely Ninjette Twitch that hammered out the outline with me and has been there throughout every step of this writing process! SO. This is from both of us.

Okay. So. Just a warning. This chapter -and I say this lightly as it turned into more of a little novella- is extremely angsty. VERY angsty. So, I mean. If you want the fluff, there may be bits. But. Well. Not too much really?

Because this ended up being so long, we have painstakingly split this into four parts that will be posted once a week throughout July. Probably on Saturday. So, keep your eyes peeled!

I hope you like this? R&R if you do!

What Dreams May Come

Ruthless in Heels

Part 1

This time he fought the inevitable summons of consciousness. With eyes still clenched firmly shut, he tried to forcibly keep himself asleep, even as he became aware that he was laying on something not-so-comfortable, and that there was a twinging ache at the nape of his neck. Probably from the awkward position his body was wrenched into.

He knew already, with a painful ball of dread coiled in the pit of his stomach like a piece of lead, that he wasn't free. That he'd managed to accomplish absolutely nothing by ending that last nightmare. And dammit, he was still reeling from that last one; a vision of Usagi, scantily dressed, her eyes shining darkly. Kunzite dead on the floor. He wasn't sure how much longer he could do this, and the thought of opening his eyes to another fucked up dream world was unbearable.

Still, just like every other time, he didn't have a choice. Which was made painfully clear by a sharp jab in his ribs that startled him. His eyes instinctively flew open as he hissed a pained breath through gritted teeth.

It took a moment, like always, for his blurred vision to focus and adjust onto his surroundings. He did not expect to be peering up into the angled, angry features of Nephrite, whose green eyes were flashing in annoyance as he leaned over him.

"Seriously?" The long-haired general snapped. "You know that they're going to be here in less than ten minutes, and you're fucking sleeping?"

Mamoru inwardly groaned at Nephrite's panic-ridden, rage-filled exclamation, and he settled with glaring back up at him as he slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, carefully stretching the kink in his neck and arms as he went. He was so tired of trying to figure out what was going on all the time. Though, as usual, he felt that pull. The anxiety induced need to find Usagi and save her from… well… wherever the hell they were this time.

Nephrite stepped back, arms crossed with irritation, broad shoulders squared angrily as he waited. Presumably for him to say something.

Mamoru was at a loss for words, like he usually was, as his gaze slid quickly over his surroundings for some kind of clue or indication into what he'd been thrown into this time. So far, it appeared to be a regular, albeit very run down, storage room of sorts. Boxes and broken crates pressed up along dirty stone-edged walls. Nephrite himself was dressed casually, blue jeans, black hoodie, hair pulled back into an unkempt bun at the nape of his neck.

Internally, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was not in the mood for another Wonderland right now, and this appeared … normal. Shady, maybe. But at least he hadn't woken up to talking flowers or something equally as fantastical.

Nephrite exhaled loudly, angrily, "No, no. That's fine, Chiba," he growled, jaw clenched in annoyance. "Just take your time. Not like our lives depend on it or anything."

The cutting edge laced into his words didn't escape Mamoru's attention, and he mentally prepared himself for the worst. At this point, he liked to think that he was pretty good at pretending as if he knew exactly who he was supposed to be. So, with an ease he never would have managed before the nightmares began, he shrugged with a contrived nonchalance as he pulled himself to his feet.

He noted that he was dressed in an equally casual manner as Nephrite before he forcibly kept his expression neutral and faced the sour-faced General. Was he the type to apologize in this world? Well, he was about to find out...

"Sorry, guess I wasn't feeling that great," he murmured, and Neph's eyes widened in confusion, caught off guard.

Nope. Apparently, he was not the type to apologize. Well, fuck.

Nephrite shook his head slowly, suspicion flashing in his eyes mingled with irritated disgust. "We don't have time for this," he sneered, apparently willing to let his seemingly out of character behavior slide. "Are you coming? She's going to be here this time… and, trust me, Chiba. You don't want to fuck up around her."

Mamoru perked up at the mention of a 'she,' though he knew better than to actually be hopeful that it was Usagi at this point. Hell, it was probably Beryl. Or maybe Galaxia dressed up in a belly-dancing outfit. The horrifying possibilities were endless.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. "Of course I know how… dangerous she can be," he replied, hoping that he'd infused enough confidence into his voice to fool Nephrite.

Again, apparently, he hadn't succeeded because Nephrites eyes narrowed. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he demanded, and Mamoru couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips.

Ah, hell. What did it matter anyway? "Nothing is wrong with me," he spat back, this time his frustration of the unknown seeping into his tone. "Are we going to go, or not?"

He had no idea where they were supposed to be going, or what the hell they were doing, but his comment seemed to snap Nephrite out of his suspicious daze. The russet-haired General nodded curtly before twisting on his heels and disappearing beyond a darkened doorway without a glance back.

Obviously, he was meant to follow him, and Mamoru inhaled deeply, jaw clenched, a steely glint in his eyes as he stared at the unfamiliar outlines in the dark, dusty hallway where Nephrite had disappeared.

He didn't want to do this anymore. He was tired, mentally drained, and more than anything, he wished this whole thing would just be over. Visions of Usagi, bright-eyed, and laughing flashed through his memories, and he knew that it didn't matter how hard this was. He'd promised her that he would never give up.

He let the frustration take over for only a moment more, the self-pity coursing violently through his veins before he forcibly let it go; steeled himself for the impossible, and stepped through the door.

He'd walk through Hell a hundred times over to save her. He just wished he knew what heart-wrenching, fiery circle he was getting himself into now.

oOo

The first thing that became apparent to him as he walked into the brightly lit open space of a warehouse was that whoever he was in this world was clearly into some shady dealings. He'd seen the movies, the nauseatingly cliched settings, and this place held all of that and more.

Flickering fluorescent lights in a dirty, questionable warehouse, probably in the middle of nowhere, with crate stacked onto crate filled with —if Nephrite's shifty behavior was any indication— something not-so-legal.

Mamoru halted, exhaling deeply with misery-filled resignation, as he watched his former general move towards the crates that must have just been brought in. His cobalt blue gaze flicked shrewdly towards the trail in the dirt and grime on the cement warehouse floor. It led from a rolling steel service door that was still partially pulled open. It was also devoid of the thin layer of dust that seemed to coat everything else in this room. That, topped with the nervous way in which Nephrite kept shifting, his gaze flipping frantically from the crates to the wide, double steel doors at the other side of the warehouse, was enough information for Mamoru to conclude that he was probably a grunt worker in some kind of criminal exchange.

His jaw clenched, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. Great. This promised to be an anxiety-ridden, horrible corner of hell, and he was rethinking his thoughts on talking flowers and their benefits when the doors that Nephrite has been anxiously surveying swung open with a grinding, ominously loud screech as it slowly scraped across the floor.

Neph visibly tensed, and Mamoru twisted around, more curious than afraid at this point, as he fixed his gaze onto the door.

Kunzite, sleekly dressed in a black pinstripe suit that looked expensive, his silver hair slicked back and clipped into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, was the first to walk through the door. Mamoru barely had time to feel relief that he hadn't actually died in the last nightmare when he was followed closely by Makoto.

His brows drew together into a frown, his heart started to race, as he carefully studied her expression. Kunzite's expression was hard, chiseled, sloping features twisted into something dark and dangerous. Makoto though, her face was pale, devoid of any color, her eyes wide and filled with terror.

Her gaze shifted around the warehouse in quick, confused movements, that led him to believe that she had no idea where she was. His breath hitched in his throat. Was she awake? When her gaze fell onto Nephrite, and her eyes widened in startled shock as she opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, before she wordlessly snapped it shut, he was inclined to believe that she was awake. He'd been wrong before, though, so he didn't say a word as the pair approached them.

Kunzite halted, and his eyes swept over him, then Nephrite, before his lip curled up into a sneer of disgust. "Is it just the both of you?" He demanded sharply; his posture coiled so tightly Mamoru thought for sure he might snap.

Neph took a fumbled step forward, and it was evident by the flushed look of fear on his face, that he was terrified of Kunzite. He probably would have been too, if he'd bothered to keep his eyes locked onto the silver-haired… assassin, maybe? Gangster? Instead, he was watching Makoto, who could not pull her eyes away from Nephrite. She was practically trembling with confusion and that, more than anything, was what cemented his deduced conclusion that Makoto was the one awake.

She was wearing the same expression on Ami's face when she'd been forced to question a dark, tweedle version of Zoisite. On Rei's face when she'd found herself married to Jadeite as a lawyer, and finally, the pained, sorrow-filled look on Minako's face when she'd asked permission to pursue the hardened general that was glaring at them now.

He wanted her to look back over at him so that he could try and convey something in his expression, but she was clearly too overwhelmed to take her eyes off of Nephrite. Which, he understood. He'd been through this more times than he liked to admit, but this was her first time, and seeing your dead lover brought back to life in a twisted, fucked up world where nobody was who they should be, was a hard pill to swallow.

Nephrite interrupted his misery-filled inner-musings with a sharp jab to his ribs. "Yes, sir. It's just us," he replied, his tone submissive and filled with a nervous addled twinge that made Mamoru frown.

He was clearly terrified. What the hell was the deal, exactly? Would Usagi be a prisoner? Did she even have anything to do with any of this?

Kunzite's sneer deepened, and he scoffed in disdain, automatically dismissing Nephrite in disgust before his icy-blue eyes slid slowly onto him. It was probably a bad idea, but he was past the point of caring, and he met the general's gaze with a steady, unflinching stare of his own.

The slightest of creases puckered onto the silver-haired general's forehead, and there was a momentary hint of curiosity. "I've never seen you before," he stated, his tone matter of fact, angry.

Nephrite cleared his throat, "I can vouch for him, sir. He's been working with us for a couple of months now. He—"

Kunzite furiously interrupted him. "Was I speaking to you?" He snarled, and Nephrite tensed, visibly swallowing as he sheepishly shook his head.

"No, I'm sorry. Of course not."

This was not the Nephrite that had woken him up in the back room, and Mamoru felt his first twinge of fear curled up in his chest. Kunzite, and whatever the hell they were doing here, was dangerous.

Mamoru forcibly kept a neutral expression as he took a step forward. "I'm a worker, just like Nephrite," he began, his tone surprisingly steady as he prepared to take a risk on a calculated guess. "I do what I'm told, and I keep my mouth shut."

This seemed to mollify Kunzite, whose rage-filled eyes cooled considerably. He was pretty sure he'd pulled that line from one of the mind-numbingly inaccurate action movies he'd sat down to watch with Usagi before the nightmares. Lucky for him, he'd fought meaner monsters than big bad Kunzite and his anger issues.

Kunzite nodded and twisted towards Makoto. "It's clear, go and get her," he demanded. Mamoru frowned, and it was clear that Makoto hadn't heard him at first. His heart involuntarily quickened nervously for her. Come on, Mako. Get it together. Kunzite's face flickered with rage and impatience. "Makoto!" he bellowed, and Mamoru's heart went out to the brunette who sucked in a loud breath of startled air and jumped at the sound of the general's command.

It was painful to see the Amazonian, Senshi warrior princess of Jupiter falter. "Sorry! Yes!" She blurted, and he inwardly winced at Kunzite's brutally savage glare.

"What the fuck is wrong with you today, Kino?" He snapped, "Get it together!"

His eyes followed Makoto who swiveled around, her footing unsteady, as the ordinarily graceful Senshi scrambled back towards the door. There wasn't any point in saying anything out loud, yet. He'd have to find a way to get her alone so that he could tell her what was going on. Then, just like all the nightmares that had preceded this one, they'd find Usagi together.

"Where's the shipment?" Kunzite demanded, and the harshly quipped question was directed at him.

Nephrites expression darkened in jealousy and Mamoru resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Apparently, his generic statement of loyalty had made an impact. Great, he could play a believable thug. He could add that to the ever-growing list of irrelevant skills on his resume when this was all over.

Too bad he didn't know where the shipment was… or what it was for that matter, and he was infinitely grateful that Nephrite wasn't taking his momentary flare of jealousy to extremes, when his former long-haired friend came to the rescue.

"It's in the crates," he grunted, gesturing towards the wooden planked boxes that Mamoru had noticed earlier.

For a second, he thought Kunzite was going to snap again, but, luckily, he seemed more concerned with said crates as he didn't even acknowledge Nephrite and swept past him toward the shipment.

Nephrites eyes narrowed in a 'are you trying to fucking kill us?' expression and Mamoru shrugged in response. He was walking a strange blurred line in this nightmare. Torn between emotional exhaustion that was daring him to throw caution to the wind, and that familiar fear-driven need and urgency to save Usagi from yet another expertly crafted world of things meant to torture her.

He was contemplating his next step when the doors opened once again, the loud scraping noise instinctively, pulling his gaze towards it.

He froze, his heart skipping a painful beat, at the vision that walked through that door.

God. It was Usagi. But, once again, the bodiless monsters had managed to plunge their grimy hands into his chest to squeeze the breath from his lungs. It was Usagi, but it wasn't. Usagi, his sweet, gentle princess, generally dressed in bright colors, her eyes shining brightly, with odangoed tresses rippling over her shoulder, was not who walked through that door.

He shouldn't have been surprised by anything at this point. Hell, darkness had taken on a whole new meaning in their last nightmare, but this was different somehow. There was a panther-like grace to her movements. She was confident, graceful, as she moved towards them, Makoto trailing nervously behind her.

She wore a black pinstripe dress that mirrored Kunzites suit, and it molded perfectly to slender curves. The silk-like material, stretched taut across her hips and chest with every step she took, as it cinched seductively at her waist and cut off just above her knees, exposing bared, endlessly long legs in black stilettos. His Usako would have tripped in shoes like that. This Usako, though, didn't miss a beat.

He wasn't sure what it was, particularly, that bothered him about this Usagi. At first, he thought it was the outfit, dark and seductive, but she'd been wearing less in the other nightmares. And it couldn't be the absence of her signature odango hairstyle, where she now had her hair pulled back into a simple yet elegant ponytail at the crown of her head, glimmering glossy waves rolling down her back. She'd sported several different hairstyles throughout their time together in hell.

It took a moment, but when it hit him, it felt like he couldn't breathe. It was the look in her eyes. In every other nightmare, he'd still been able to glimpse a piece of her shining from behind the sapphire blue pools in her eyes. This time, there was nothing but a callous, cold-filled contempt that filled him with dread.

He couldn't breathe as the implications for what that meant painfully pressed into his heart. God, what if the rules had changed? What if they'd entrenched them in so many plots, and twisted, pain-filled memories of too many different lives into her head that she'd finally succumbed? What if… what if he couldn't save her?

That horrifying thought twisted his heart so painfully in his chest that his hands shook as his fingers curled into fists and pressed into his sides. No. He refused to believe it. Just like that, the blurred line that separated his hope and his exhausted self-pity disappeared and renewed his vigorous determination to get them the fuck out of here.

Usagi didn't even spare him a glance as she swept past him and moved to stand beside Kunzite that had seemingly located a crowbar from amidst the rubble and trash in the warehouse.

His throat constricted when Usagi, his Usako, gently laid a hand on Kunzites arm as she casually graced him with a satisfied smile. "Hold on, brother," she practically purred. Her tone sickeningly sweet, her inflection laced with an un-Usagi like maliciousness that made his stomach churn violently. "What is the point of hiring people that have," —she flicked a contemptuous sneer at Mamoru over her shoulder— "Unfortunate upbringings, willing to do anything we pay them to do if we have to open our own crates?"

The way she spoke, her voice dripping with unfettered disdain, was ripping him into shreds. This wasn't her. She'd never casually dismissed anyone with prejudice and indignation in her entire life.

It was difficult, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself to keep the horrified expression off of his face. Makoto, he noted, was not as successful as he was, and he hoped to God the others didn't notice the way her fingers were pressed to her lips parted in shock, and her features were contorted into disbelieving disgust.

Kunzite chuckled warmly, an amused grin curling onto his face in a cold snake-like manner. "As always, sweet sister, you're absolutely right," he agreed, the hardened icy blues of his eyes warming as he peered down at Usagi.

He expected it when Kunzite twisted around to face him, his expression menacing as he thrust the steeled crowbar out to him. "Open it," he demanded icily.

He didn't have to wonder what the idiot in the action movie was thinking by blindingly following orders anymore as he leaned over and reluctantly took the tool from Kunzite's outstretched hand.

He swallowed nervously, trying to ignore the almost predatory look in Usagi's eyes as she watched him step forward. This nightmare was painful in an entirely different way, and he didn't know how to proceed from here as he lifted the steeled tool and pried it in between the lid and the box.

It briefly occurred to him that whatever was in this box was more than likely not going to be good, but, when the lid popped off with a piercing crack as it splintered the wood, he wasn't entirely successful at hiding the expression of horrified dismay that crossed his face by what was inside.

Usagi giggled harshly, the trill sound a mocking, sickeningly sweet sound that was an insult to the sweet girl that was his Usako. "What's wrong, handsome?" She drawled, and his lips pressed together into a grim line as he steadily met her gaze. "Haven't you ever seen a gun before?"

No. He hadn't. Because Japan was one of the countries in the world with the strictest gun laws. The punishment for a civilian to possess a gun, fiercely harsh. Which was why a crate filled with hundreds of them was bad. Really bad.

When he didn't respond to Usagi's taunt, the corners of her beautiful lips curled up into a slow, mocking smile. It broke his heart. She leaned over, slender fingers wrapping around the handle as she pulled it from the box. Her eyes shone with an excitement that made him want to rip the fucking thing from her hands.

Every single one of her movements were slow, calculatingly seductive as she ran a slender, perfectly manicured index finger along the edge of the barrel. "Isn't it beautiful?" She whispered breathlessly, taking a step towards him, closing the gap between them. He was frozen, his heart thudding in his chest and his eyes locked onto hers as her smile widened. "There's something powerful about a gun," she practically whispered, her warm breath fanning across his face. "All I have to do..." she twisted the barrel of the weapon towards him and pressed it against his chest. "Is pull the trigger and poof! You're dead."

He was pretty sure he was going to be sick. Because he didn't know who this girl was. His Usako wouldn't relish in death and pain, and he never in a million years could have ever imagined her behaving like this. Was the ultimate goal of the monsters who kept doing this to them to destroy any remnants of the Usagi he knew and loved? Was it too late? Had they succeeded?

He sucked in a pained breath, and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes at the horrifying thoughts when the sweet smell of lavender and vanilla assaulted his senses. It grounded him, snapped him out of it. Because she was still in there. She just had to be.

He did the only thing that he could think of. It was as if time slowed, gun pressed to his chest, a mocking sneer curled onto her lips, as he lifted his hand, his expression tender, as he tucked a curled tendril of hair behind her ear. He'd caught her off guard, and the seductively calculated look that seemed to be a permanent fixture on this Usagi disappeared for a moment as her eyes widened slightly and she inhaled sharply.

It was there. He'd seen it flash in her eyes; a vulnerability that gave him hope. It passed quickly though, and Kunzite ripped him backward, and Usagi's expression hardened with fury.

Kunzite's eyes were filled with unfettered rage as he wrapped a fist into the fabric of his shirt. "What the fuck do you…"

One second, he was stoically facing off with the steely-eyed general, and the next it was like all hell had broken loose. The warehouse doors that they had entered through burst open once again. This time, two men swept through the door, guns raised, uniformed officers. Fuck.

There were shouts to lift their hands in the air, crisp demands to surrender. He stepped back, in a daze, heard Makoto's cry of dismay, and Nephrite's harshly whispered curse. His eyes were locked onto Usagi's face, though, and he didn't react in time to prevent what happened next.

"They've seen my face, Kunz," she spat furiously, her tone filled with a rage he'd never heard spill from her lips before.

He wasn't sure what she meant. There were no other options. They needed to give in, and then maybe he could find a way to get through to her when they brought them in.

He expected them both to surrender, but that was not what happened. Kunzite nodded, and a small, determined smile split onto Usagi's face. Her grip tightened on the gun that she'd had pointed at him only moments before, and with startlingly cold precision, she lifted the weapon, expertly flicked the safety off, and fired.

Makoto screamed as the bullet soared through the air, piercing the tawny-haired officer in the neck. The man crumpled to the floor just as the second officer radioed for backup before he fired his weapon, too. It narrowly missed Kunzite, and he could only watch in horror as the general pulled Usagi into his arms, shielding her before he yanked the weapon from her hand and shot a second time. His aim rang true and the second officer let out a gurgling gasp as his body curled forward and he fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

He couldn't breathe, his vision blurring in disbelief, because there was no way that his Moon princess, his bright and beautiful warrior of justice and love, had purposely shot and killed a police officer without a second thought.

He didn't have time to dwell on anything though, because there was a swarm of people that began to pour in through the doorway, all cops, all angrily shouting with guns raised. In the moment that he'd spent staring helplessly ahead, momentarily frozen in disbelief, Usagi and Kunzite had slipped away.

Nephrite, apparently, had decided that he wasn't going down without a fight, and he realized, with horrified disbelief, that he was standing in the crossfire of a real, honest to god, police shootout.

With a harshly bellowed expletive, he dove behind the crate of guns, barely missing getting shot himself. Makoto had done the same thing, and he almost collided into her kneeling, trembling form. He didn't know how long one person could hold off a group of armed, trained officers, and he knew he only had mere seconds to react.

Makoto's eyes met his, and they were filled with confused-terror, laced with trepidation. Which, he could understand. She had no clue if he was himself, where she was, and what was going on.

He inhaled deeply, the muscles in his body coiled tightly in anticipation. He was infinitely grateful for the flexibility that had been granted to him with the powers of Tuxedo Kamen at that moment. And, in a breathtaking, terrifying split-second decision, he firmly grasped Makoto's wrist and vaulted to his feet, pulling her lithe form up with him.

"Wait, Mamoru—" she whispered hoarsely, but there wasn't time to think, much less stop and explain, and he forcibly tugged her forward, ignoring her yelp of pain.

His heart hammered brutally fast within the cavity of his chest, blood racing with adrenaline when they reached his intended destination. He twisted around, wrapped his arms around the brunette and threw them both onto the floor. His elbow and the side of his head cracked painfully onto the pavement, and his vision blurred, white lights exploding behind his eyelids. His ears rang as he tightened his arms around Makoto's waist and promptly twisted onto his back, clumsily rolling them beneath the small opening underneath the steel rolling service door.

The impulsive movement knocked the breath out of his lungs, and he stumbled dizzily as he untangled himself from Makoto and fumbled to his feet. It was dark outside, and they were clearly in the back alley of some kind of sketchy looking loading dock. There wasn't time to admire the scenery, though, and he leaned forward and grasped Makoto's wrist again.

He was sure that he was bruising her, and this time, she yanked her arm away from him. "No! Let go of me!" she hissed, her eyes darting wildly around them, her hair askew. "What is going on right now? I can't even—"

He knew that she was terrified, confused, probably feeling a vast array of painful emotions. But the sound of shooting guns had abruptly stopped, and there wasn't time for this.

"Mako, there isn't time for you to freeze up," he snapped. "Get it together, Jupiter. We have to go."

His fervently whispered demand caught her off guard. Her eyes widened, and he could see the wheels turning in her head. Makoto was a fighter; loyal, fiercely protective and possessed the ability to make snap decisions to protect the ones she loved. He'd seen it in battle, and this time was no exception.

She nodded curtly, her eyes hardening with determination as the terror melted away from her expression. "Let's go."

He didn't think about it. They both turned, swiveling on their heels, and ran. The only sounds he could make out was the methodical thudding as the soles of their shoes hit the pavement, Makoto's ragged breathing, and the wind whistling in his ears. He concentrated on making it out of there with a single-minded focus that took every thought from his mind. Which was good, because if he didn't, all he would be able to remember was the sight of Usagi, a malicious smile on her lips, as she callously fired a gun.

oOo

When they finally stopped, lungs burning, muscles aching and screaming in protest, it was underneath the flickering light of a streetlamp on a busy street that was still bustling with activity. Even at this late hour.

Makoto didn't say a word as they wordlessly stood side by side, their breathing ragged as they caught their breath. When it felt like he could finally breathe without feeling like his throat was on fire, he straightened, ignoring the aching thud emanating from where he'd hit his head, and raked his fingers through his hair.

Had they run far enough? What the hell had even happened back there? He was trying to process the adrenaline-filled moments that had preceded this one when Makoto firmly grasped his arm.

He winced as his gaze slid onto her. She was a mess; strands of chestnut-brown hair pulled from her ponytail, askew and sideways on the crown of her head. Blood was dripping from a nasty looking gash above her left eye. Had that happened before or after he'd thrown her onto the ground? While her physical appearance had definitely seen better days, that was currently not the most painful thing about her. It was the hardened anguish etched onto the contours of her face, and shining from the depths of confusion-filled eyes.

"Please tell me that I'm not crazy," she pleaded hoarsely, tugging painfully at his heartstrings. "Tell me that Jupiter is not just some crazy nickname that you use and that you aren't really some sketchy thug in a warehouse…" she trailed off, visibly swallowing before continuing. "Because, I'm going to be really honest here, Mamoru. I think I might be losing my mind."

Her eyes welled with tears, and her lower lip quivered, even as her expression still reflected the frustration he knew she was feeling.

He shook his head and gently grasped her wrist. "No, you aren't crazy, Makoto," he reassured, squeezing her hand in an attempt to comfort her. "Trust me, I know this is a lot..." he murmured, and Makoto let out a bark of disbelieving laughter, promptly interrupting him.

She violently pulled away, her face contorted into a look of agony-filled, rage. "A lot?" she hissed. "Mamoru! This is…" she shook her head, her mouth parted mid-sentence, as she seemingly searched for the right words. "Who the hell was that back there?" She settled on demanding. "Because that sure as hell was not Usagi Tsukino!" She practically bellowed, her eyes burning wildly with bubbling hysteria.

Mamoru sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily as he clenched his eyes shut. "I know that was hard to see…" he took a deep, cleansing breath. Hell, he could barely handle it, and he was not a novice to this type of hell. He opened his eyes, steadily fixing onto Makoto's watchful gaze. "I promise you, that was Usagi."

Makoto shook her head slowly, the light above them flickering, bathing half of her face in shadows. "No," she denied vehemently. "That Usagi…Mamoru. I woke up in a mansion, to friends who were no longer my friends, and Usagi…" her eyes welled with tears again, and she choked on her words. "She's a terrifying nightmare."

Makoto had unknowingly nailed it, and Mamoru nodded. "Yes, Makoto," he agreed quietly. "This is a nightmare."

Her eyes widened, still filled with confusion. "What?" She spat. "What does that even mean?"

He opened his mouth to tell her, to explain everything, when he noted that there was a crowd gathering. Civilians slowing, their eyes shifting nervously from Mamoru to Makoto. What the hell? He couldn't help but notice that there were several people who, with one glance at Makoto, averted their gaze and rushed by fearfully.

Makoto's brow creased in confusion when Mamoru suddenly stopped talking, and she whipped around, her eyes darting over the people that were seemingly afraid of her.

She groaned and took a step back to stand beside him. "Mamoru," she whispered raspily. "I'm pretty sure they're afraid of me," she admitted quietly. "I didn't understand a lot about what was going on when I woke up this morning, but I have a feeling I'm a part of… something dangerous."

He grimaced and nodded in understanding. She'd been with Kunzite and Usagi, and they were… He couldn't bear to finish that thought.

He inhaled sharply before facing Makoto. "We need to go somewhere and talk." His tone was matter of fact. They were exposed, and he had no idea what horrors had been crafted for them here.

The Mamoru of this world clearly hadn't lived in the warehouse, and he buried his hands in his pockets in search of a clue. His fingers curled around what was clearly a phone, and something jagged. His brow creased in concentration as he pulled the phone and a single key hanging from a plastic, flat-edged keychain. The faded words Bay motel etched above the number 6.

He breathed a sigh of relief, because, surprisingly, he recognized it. They were in Koto city, and Bay motel resided across the street from a wharf along the edge of Tokyo Bay.

He met Makoto's gaze, his eyes wide and filled with purposeful determination. "Come on, I know where we are."

Makoto didn't protest when he twisted, his eyes scanning the surrounding street signs as he began to lead the way.

oOo

Makoto's face was pale, her lips pressed into a grim line, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned back against the cheap, broken plywood desk pressed against a yellowed wall. He squinted, the dim lighting barely sufficient, as they stood inside the seedy motel room that he was, apparently, currently residing in.

Of all of the Senshi that had managed to stay awake, Makoto was having the most difficult time processing what was happening. Rei had relied on wisdom to help manage. Ami had depended on calculated logic to keep her sane. And Minako… well, Minako was Minako.

Makoto, though, while she appeared tough on the outside, he knew she was sensitive at heart. And, her fierce loyalty to the sweet, bubbly girl, that was usually a beacon of hope to so many, made seeing a gangster Usagi that much more difficult. So, to see Makoto react this way after he'd calmly, with all of the patience he could muster, explained to her in great detail what was currently happening to them, wasn't unexpected.

In some ways, this was harder than what the other Senshi had witnessed. This wasn't the same as seeing Usagi dressed like a sweet, innocent rabbit. This was different; it was difficult for him to see her this way, even after everything he'd been through with her. So, he understood Makoto's need for time.

She sighed, shifting her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other before straightening and raking a frustrated palm over her face. "So, you've done this several times?" She demanded hoarsely, her eyes finally focusing as she snapped out of her inner musings and fixed her gaze onto his face.

He nodded mutely in response and watched as, with a groan of dismay, she angrily pushed herself away from the desk to stand in the middle of the room with a look of unfettered frustration on her face.

He patiently leaned against the wall, his eyes following her for several minutes as she paced the small length of the room, stopped, shook her head, scoffed in disbelief many times before finally halting and twisting on her heels to face him.

She met his gaze, and for the first time since they'd arrived at the motel, her eyes were clear and filled with that stalwart Senshi determination.

She exhaled slowly, chewing on the back of her thumbnail, a frown creased onto her brow. "Was that really him, Mamoru?" Her tone was tentative, afraid almost.

His brows drew together, and he shook his head in confusion. "Who?" If his brain wasn't so addled, if he wasn't so rattled by having to do this once again, he probably could have figured it out.

Makoto rolled her eyes, "Nephrite, Mamoru," she snapped, annoyed, her tone slightly hysterical. "Was that him?"

He cringed at the trill sound laced into her tone, pushed away from the wall that he'd been leaning against and raked his fingers through his hair. "I'm not sure, Makoto," he admitted honestly. "I think it's him, and the other Generals too. Don't ask me how it's possible. I don't know," his tone was a bit harsher than he intended.

Makoto wasn't fazed, and she closed her eyes, clenched her fists into her sides, and exhaled slowly before meeting his gaze again. "And you've seen me? In these other nightmares?"

He nodded slowly in response. "Yes. This is the first time you've been aware," he hadn't gone into depth about the other nightmares, unwilling to relive some of the moments himself. His lips twitched, hinting at a smile at one particular memory, though. "You were once the mad hatter, actually," he admitted with a rueful shrug and an involuntary chuckle.

In retrospect, maybe they would be able to laugh about some of the memories… he shook his head with disgust. They needed to get out of here first, and their enemies needed to be thoroughly destroyed before he could get past the bitterness of what had been done to them before he could laugh about anything.

Makoto's nose wrinkled up with distaste. "Mad hatter? Like in Alice in Wonderland?"

The corners of his lips quirked up into a small smile at that. "You've read Alice in Wonderland?" He probed; brow raised curiously.

Makoto blinked and tilted her head to the side as she graced him with a look of disbelieving annoyance. "Of course, I've read it. Who the hell hasn't read Alice in Wonderland?" She demanded, propping fists onto her hips.

He bit back a groan at the irony in her statement and took a step towards her instead. "You'd be surprised," he murmured under his breath, thoughts of Ami as the caterpillar flashing through his head before he took a deep breath and continued. "The only way to get out of here is to remind Usagi of who she is—"

Makoto interrupted him. "By admitting she loves you?" She demanded again, but there was a glint of suspicion in her eyes.

Mamoru frowned and nodded. "Yes, that's been what's worked so far…" he trailed off because Makoto's expression made him pause.

With one hand still propped on her hip, while tapping her lips with the index finger of her other hand in quiet contemplation, her eyes glazed over and fixed onto a random spot on the wall as she became lost in thought.

"Makoto?" He asked hesitantly, one brow raised in question.

Makoto shook her head, "Well, don't you think that's weird, Mamoru?" She whispered suspiciously, clearly disconcerted; strands of chestnut-brown hair toppling over her shoulders with her movements.

His brow furrowed because he wasn't sure, exactly, what she meant. "Yeah," he responded sardonically, with a bark of derisive laughter. "I'd say weird is putting it mildly, Makoto," he replied drily, with a humorless laugh.

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he might have heard the sound of Makoto grinding her teeth as she took a deep breath. "That's not what I meant," she snapped angrily. "I mean that it's strange that Usagi's admission of love is the only thing that kills this whole," she gestured around her with angry vehemence, "Horrible, nightmarish world, or whatever!" She crossed her arms again, her shrewd gaze steadily meeting his. "Have you stopped to wonder why that is? Except for that one time, when you woke up in the lab, have you ever even seen the enemy?"

These things had occurred to him, and his first inclination was to be annoyed with Makoto for thinking that they hadn't. It disappeared like a defeated wisp of resignation, though, when he opened his mouth to retort hotly. With a step back and a sigh of crushing surrender, he sat down onto the edge of the bed, propped his elbows onto his knees and raked his hands over his face with barely restrained misery.

His eyes flashed angrily as they met Makoto's almost accusing glare. "Trust me, Makoto," he snapped. "I've thought of nothing but getting us out of here."

Guilt crept up from the pit of his churning stomach, though, because that wasn't entirely true. He grimaced and buried his head in his hands with a grunt of frustration, because truthfully this was utterly exhausting, and when he thought about wading through this world, with gangsters, guns and a cold, unreachable Usagi... Well, it didn't leave much room to think about the bigger picture.

Makoto sighed, and he lifted his head to meet her gaze. She'd come to terms with all of this, finally, and her face was etched with a resolute fortitude that made him exhale with relief. "Well, alright then," she began, her tone steady and unwavering, unlike when they'd first entered the room. "Give me your phone," she demanded, shoulders squared, stance set in a way that left no room for argument as she thrust out her hand.

He'd already forgotten about the cheap, scuffed, older Samsung device he'd discovered in his pocket earlier, and he fished it back out and promptly placed it in her palm.

Her brow furrowed as she took it, and it lit up her face as she swiped a finger across the screen. "What's your password?" She asked absentmindedly, her eyes firmly fixed onto the phones on-screen keypad.

He shrugged and bit back a sigh of irritation. "I have no idea. It could be anything… I doubt that it's what it would usually be," he murmured, a pang of pain reverberating in his chest.

Makoto met his eyes for a brief moment before they flicked back down onto the phone. "Which is?" She asked, her face screwed up in concentration. "I only have two attempts left. So, may as well try it."

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "0630," he replied, barely above a whisper, tone laced with emotion that he was having a tough time trying to keep at bay.

Makoto froze, and she flicked her eyes onto his again. They shone painfully with the grief and desperation that mirrored precisely what he felt because June 30th was Usagi's birthday. Thankfully, Makoto didn't comment though, and her fingers pressed in the numbers. Her face fell with disappointment because, just like he'd known it would, it hadn't worked. He didn't know Usagi in this world. The Mamoru of this world was a gun smuggling grunt worker in a warehouse. Someone inconsequential who had never met her. In fact, he was probably an…

"Idiot," Makoto scoffed with a bark of disbelieving laughter.

Mamoru frowned. "What?"

She lifted her gaze from 'his' phone, a smug, Makoto-like half-smile curled onto her lips, and a perfectly manicured brow arched in triumph. "The Mamoru of this nightmare is an idiot," she exclaimed with amusement. "Your password is 1111."

He grimaced. Of course.

She quickly typed something into the phone, pressed send, then tossed the phone back onto his lap. The frown that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face deepened at the sharp muffled sound that 'pinged' from within Makoto's faded black, leather jacket.

Her eyes widened, "What?" She asked innocently, "The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was to search my phone for clues." He bit back a groan. Of course. It never occurred to him, in any nightmare, to look at his phone. At least Makoto was being nicer about it than Minako had. "And now I have your number," she exclaimed with contrived brightness and a forced smile.

Then, with a determined nod, she swiveled around and, with a confidence that was more reminiscent of the Senshi of Jupiter, strode to the door. He didn't realize that she meant to leave until her hand was poised on the cheap brass handle.

His posture stiffened, and he scowled in confusion. "Where are you going?" He demanded and, not for the first time, his heart quickened as the desperation crept in once again.

Makoto glanced over her shoulder, a reassuring smile on her lips. "Well, you need to get to Usagi," she began staunchly. "I'm going back to get you an in, Mamoru," she stated bravely, though he noted that she visibly swallowed, and her hand shook slightly on the door.

His expression softened, and he nodded. "Be careful, Makoto," he replied softly, and though it was meant to be conveyed with heartfelt sincerity, he knew that it probably didn't offer her much comfort. He'd only glimpsed a piece of what they'd done to Usagi in this world, and he could only imagine how horrible it would be for her to go back there to that alone. "Just remember that it's not her fault," he pleaded, because his Usako was still in there. "And this isn't real."

Makoto nodded, took a deep breath, and twisted the handle. "Keep an eye on your phone, Mamoru."

It was the last thing she said before she stepped over the threshold and out into the night. He resisted the urge to flinch as the door slammed shut behind her with a thudding finality that made his heart quicken in his chest.

He exhaled deeply, and let himself fall back onto the bed that was a tangled mess of coarsely-woven, questionably clean, blankets. Makoto was strong, and if anyone could thoroughly infiltrate a dangerous gang and get him in, it was her.

The thudding at the base of his skull intensified, and he clenched his eyes shut against the pain, his hand curled around the phone in dreaded anticipation. It only took seconds before he unwillingly succumbed to sleep.

oOo

It felt like he'd only closed his eyes for a few seconds when the sharp, urgent-sound of knocking on the door woke him up. His eyes flew open, panicked, slightly out of sorts, because he'd forgotten, for just a moment, where he was.

The sun's rays were trying to penetrate through the dark and grimy film layered on the single, partially cracked window in the room. It wasn't doing much for lighting, and it may as well have been covered in a blackout curtain. When it registered that the rising sun meant it was morning, Mamoru sucked in a pained, panicked breath and shot up into a sitting position. His blurred vision focused, and he quickly fumbled for his phone tangled up in the blankets. There weren't any notifications on the screen, and his heart sank. The time glaring up at him indicated that Makoto had left his room hours ago. He should have heard from her by now.

He was startled by another sharp rap on his door, this time followed by the door handle twisting, in hurried, truncated movements. Luckily, the door locked automatically when it was shut, but Mamoru's heart began to race, adrenaline pumping through his veins, as he scrambled from the bed and, as quietly as possible, strode to the door.

He swallowed nervously; his eyes fixed onto the handle with dismay. He was tempted to throw caution to the wind, because what if it was Makoto? But the things he'd witnessed up until this point was leading him to tread more carefully. What would happen if he died in a nightmare? Would Usagi and the others be trapped in here forever?

"Mamoru? Are you there?"

The voice was muffled, soft, and clearly female. It was oddly familiar and didn't seem threatening. He wrestled with his indecision for a moment longer, before leaning forward, grasping the handle and pulling the door open.

He tried to pull it open slowly, err on the side of caution to peek out before opening it all the way, but he was forced to step back, as a slender female, with short, blue hair, elbowed her way in and flew past him in a whirlwind of energy.

He watched as her eyes quickly scanned the tiny motel room, before she whirled around, propped her fists onto her hips, and promptly glared at him. "What the hell, Mamoru?" She snapped furiously; her cheeks tinged red with anger.

So, apparently, warehouse-thug-Mamoru somehow had a connection to Ami. He prayed it wasn't anything romantic as he slowly shut the door behind her. It closed with a 'click' that echoed loudly throughout the room.

He forced a neutral expression on his face, and swept his gaze over her, in search of something, anything, that might give him a clue about who she was to him in this world.

She was dressed somewhat casually, blue jeans, white shirt covered by an unzipped brown leather jacket, but his eyes widened slightly when he noted the gun holstered to her hip. Fuck. Was she one of his bad-guy thug friends?

He must have stared too long, because she closed the gap between them, lifted her hand, and cupped his face. It wasn't in a tender way, though, and her fingers pressed painfully into the skin of his cheek and jaw as she violently yanked his head from one side to the other. Her eyes narrowed shrewdly as she seemingly inspected him.

He hissed through his teeth as her nail cut into his skin, and he forcibly pulled away from her and fixed her with a sullen glare as he ran his hand over his jaw that was now sore from her manhandling. "Ow, what the hell, Ami?" He snapped automatically and was infinitely grateful that they always managed to keep the same names in each nightmare.

Ami rolled her eyes but took a casual step back. "I'm just checking that you're actually okay," she spat furiously. "Because you must have hit your head, right? You would have had to in order to forget checking in!" She practically growled, eyeing him expectantly, presumably waiting for him to respond.

He cringed, once again finding himself in a position where he had no idea what the hell was going on. "Sorry," He opted to apologize, though, admittedly, it was a bit weak.

Ami didn't like apologies in this world, either, apparently, because the scowl on her face intensified as she let out a bark of humorless laughter. "Sorry?" she growled angrily. "That's a joke, right? You're kidding?" He had a feeling that her harshly murmured questions were rhetorical, so he opted not to answer. Which was the right decision as she ran her fingers through her hair, shook her head in disbelief before pacing the length of the room, much like Makoto had hours before.

If looks could kill, he'd be dead as she scowled at him. Her expression murderous, un-Ami-like, and slightly terrifying. "You were supposed to call it in before the shipment arrived, Mamoru!" She vented, her voice cracking with rage. "And, what else was I supposed to do when there was no god damn word from you? I had to call it! I had to, Mamoru," her voice broke on her final statement, and she stopped pacing, the blood draining from her face as her lower lip quivered. "You could have been dead. They could have discovered you, and I know you might be mad because we've been working this case for months. But what was I supposed to do?"

Ami shuddered, clenching her eyes shut in misery, as he let her words sink in. Send them in? Working the case? The gun on her hip? His eyes widened with the sudden realization. Damn, he truly was in a poorly written action movie. Because, if Ami's words were any indication, he wasn't just a thug in a warehouse. He was an undercover cop. He tried to slow the steadily rising beat of his heart by inhaling deeply because things had admittedly become more complicated.

He swallowed, stomped down the bubbling panic that was rising at an alarming rate, and took a step towards Ami. "Hey," he murmured softly, grasping both of her shoulders in an attempt to reassure her. "I'm sorry, Ami. Things got… complicated," he admitted quietly, and she lifted her gaze, the aquamarine hues of her eyes searching his. "I hit my head, and I meant to... Check-in, but I fell unconscious." It was a lame excuse, though partially true, and Ami seemed to buy it.

The anger melted off of her face, and he felt the tension dissipate beneath his fingers as she slumped her shoulders. "Were you there? At the warehouse?" She asked softly. "God, Mamoru. We were so close, but the Tsukino's have their filthy hands everywhere!" She exclaimed, clearly distraught.

His heart was racing, because he wanted, no, needed, to know more. But he didn't want to make Ami suspicious. He pulled away, took a step back, and ran his fingers through his hair. Again. Hopefully, dream Mamoru didn't affect his real-life body. If it did, he was probably bald.

He cleared his throat and carefully considered his next words. "What… what happened?" It was a simple enough question, and Ami didn't seem fazed by it.

Instead, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, before opening them again. They were wide and filled with raw disappointment. "We got the shipment. But, Usagi and her brother slipped through our fingers. Everything they touch rots, Mamoru," she whispered with an intense hatred that broke his heart. "We can't connect them to anything. God, even the Yakuza won't touch that fucking family and their entourage." His heart was racing because this all sounded really bad, and it didn't bode well for him, or Makoto that had apparently walked back into a lion's den.

Ami sighed sadly, crossed her arms over her chest, and turned away from him. "When I couldn't find you, and I pulled the plug on the sting operation, I thought for sure we were going to get them this time. Because, we managed to arrest one of their thugs," she sneered the word, the tone with which it spilled from her lips was chilling. here was a lot of hatred between his friends in this world. "But, he escaped Mamoru. They paid off that rookie cop, you know, the dumb blonde. Mina- something. And they got away."

He wasn't able to stop the startled expression on his face at the mention of Minako's name, but it didn't matter because Ami wasn't really paying attention to him, anyway.

She laughed drily, miserably shaking her head. "He's probably dead now," she stated coldly, a mixture of anger and resignation laced into her tone. Her unfocused gaze cleared, and she fixed it onto him. "There's no way that cold-hearted bitch would have left him alive," she whispered, and he inhaled sharply because. God. She was talking about Usagi. His beautiful Usako. And that fucking hurt.

Ami exhaled slowly; her eyes filled with desperation as she continued. "Did you see them there at the warehouse, Mamoru? Everything we have right now is circumstantial, but with a detective's testimony, an actual witness that she can't kill, or pay to have killed, we might have enough to get a warrant, and then—"

He instinctively interrupted her. "No," he blurted quickly. "They weren't there, Ami."

Ami's face fell with disappointment, deflated, she sighed miserably. If he was an undercover cop and Usagi was indeed a stone-cold criminal, there was no way he was going to get her to admit that she loved him if they arrested her and he was exposed. No. He needed to remain undercover.

Ami visibly swallowed, then nodded as the bitter regret etched into the contours of her face, and shone from the pools of her eyes. "I think it's time to call it, Mamoru," she conceded miserably. "It's too dangerous, especially now. She probably knows that you were at the warehouse. Your life is in danger. You need to come in."

That was the very last thing he needed to do, and he promptly shook his head. "No," he stated crisply. "I can still do this, Ami. Trust me," he promised vehemently.

Ami rolled her eyes skyward as if praying for patience before meeting his gaze again. "It took you three months to get that opening at the warehouse, you're never going to get close enough!" Ami exclaimed in disbelief.

He opened his mouth to reply when suddenly there was a loud 'ding' from the phone that he'd left perched on the edge of the bed. He couldn't help the way his heart began to race, or the way the blood rushed from his face as he strode across the room. His hand shook slightly when he picked up the phone.

"Mamoru?" Ami whispered hesitantly behind him. "What is it?"

The relief that swept through him when he clicked on the notification with Makoto's name was immediate. It was a text message with a time and address. He curled his fingers around the phone so tightly, it bent slightly under the pressure of his grip, before he turned to face Ami again.

"I can get close enough," he exclaimed breathlessly because the thought of seeing Usagi again, even as a cold-blooded gangster, filled him with excited anticipation. "Just don't blow my cover, please."

He could see the warring emotions that crossed Ami's face, and he hoped to God Usagi didn't get arrested, At least not before he could show her who she was again. These worlds were crafted in the worst possible ways, though, so he needed to prepare for the worst. He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until Ami sighed and nodded in acquiescence. This was building up into one of the most complex things he'd been forced to do yet, but he held an image of Usako —his Usako— firmly in his mind and willed every last bit of exhaustion, self-pity and doubt away.

Their love was strong enough to get through this, and he was ready to prove it.

oOo