Part 4

"You have a deal, Sato-san," Usagi agreed, her tone and her gaze steady, as she leaned forward in her seat, slender fingers absentmindedly smoothing out the creases of her dress. "Unless you object, Kunz," she amended graciously, casting a sideways glance at a sullen-faced Kunzite, whose typical, unfiltered, hot-headed responses had seemingly been kept in check.

This was not the first transaction that he'd witnessed between the Tsukino's and the vast array of dangerous, underground criminals with varying degrees of shadiness in the past two weeks.

Usagi, true to her word, was not willing to give up this nightmarish illusion of life. Though there was a significant improvement in the cruelty factor, she was still every bit the ruthless Tumicho Tsukino.

He was treading carefully; their relationship had definitely shifted in his favor, but it was still slow-going. The stubborn staple of Usagi's personality amplified tenfold. And, pulling a confession from her lips was practically impossible, though, it was evident by her actions that she was very much in love with him. Even as Tumicho Tsukino. It was just the frustratingly complex matter of getting her to actually admit it out loud.

Which was why he was here, once again, in yet another dangerous situation.

He'd become Tumicho Tsukino's personal bodyguard. Despite Kunzites vehement protests and the fact that he was apparently the only one in the Tsukino's large entourage of brooding brutes that didn't carry a gun.

Sato-san, a shifty-eyed, portly man with greying hair, leaned forward. His eyes narrowed as he warily scrutinized Usagi. His gaze sweeping over all of them before he pursed his lips and leaned back into his chair again. "I'm not sure I trust in your abilities anymore, Tumicho Tsukino," he admitted, and the room fell silent.

Mamoru inhaled sharply, inwardly groaning as the tension in the room perceptibly thickened. Which, if this was like any of the meetings he'd attended in the past two weeks, was an indication that things were about to get dangerous.

Between Usagi's pride, Kunzite's annoying tendency to go off the rails, and the small army of brutes on either side, if Sato-san wasn't careful, this situation was going to go from tension-filled to life-threatening very quickly.

Mamoru inched towards Usagi, eyeing possible ways to exit when the blonde-haired girl in question leaned forward.

Her expression was dangerous, the smile curled onto her lips a warning as she casually tilted her head to the side, and her gaze slid icily over Sato's form. "I see, Sato-san," she replied. Her tone calm, steady, and threatening. He hated to hear her speak like that. "That is unfortunate," she leaned back in her chair again and exchanged a smile with Kunzite whose murderous expression had settled into a casual smirk.

That did not make Mamoru feel any better, and he resisted the urge to close his eyes and sigh with exasperation. He couldn't wait to get the hell out of this nightmare.

Judging by the tense set of everyone in the room, the way that everyone's hands seemed to be hovering above their weapons, poised and ready to attack, things were about to escalate quickly. If this had been three weeks ago before he'd intervened into Usagi's makeshift character, Tumicho Tsukino wouldn't have hesitated, and Sato-san would already be dead.

As discreetly as possible, he stepped beside her seated form, and his fingers gently grazed the top of her bared, stiffened shoulder. The movement was barely noticeable, but it was a reminder that he was here. As a true testament to how far she'd come, she relaxed, her darkening expression smoothing out into cool contemplation as she icily considered the haughty gangster in front of her.

Usagi tsked with contrived disappointment, "Very well, Sato-san," she conceded, though there was a warning underlying the tone of her voice. Mamoru's jaw clenched tightly, and he silently willed the stupid criminal to think wisely before he spoke next. "If you are no longer confident in my abilities to smuggle your merchandise through, then I suggest you look elsewhere. Though, I doubt very much that you'll find another supplier." Usagi slowly, in a calculated movement, crossed her legs and casually inspected her manicured nails before lifting her ice-cold gaze onto Sato-san, whose confidence was wavering with every word she uttered. "The Tsukino's have currently cornered the market with what you are looking for, Sato-san, and our competition?" She chuckled darkly, "Well, let's say that they're in over their heads. Those left with heads, anyway."

Mamoru inwardly grimaced, silently praying she was just using a scare tactic, though he seriously doubted it. He hoped to God that when he saved Usagi from this world, that she wouldn't be able to remember the details of the things she'd been forced to do.

Sato-san visibly swallowed, because, damn. Usagi was intense in this role, and the man cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes darting around the room to assess his current situation. Mamoru could pinpoint the exact moment Sato-san realized that he and his men were outnumbered by the expression on his face.

Usagi smiled, "It's why I can charge what I want, Sato-san. Now, if you would like this done, I'm going to ask that you pay double what was originally agreed."

Mamoru cringed because this version of Usagi made his stomach twist painfully with anger and nostalgia for his sweet, clumsy, beacon of light.

It was silent, everyone present on edge, as Sato-san mulled over his mistake. Mamoru exhaled with relief when the man, pale-faced and defeated, nodded curtly. "Yes, Tumicho Tsukino," he muttered miserably. "I agree to your terms."

Kunzite, who had managed not to speak thus far, scowled darkly; clearly disappointed with the outcome.

Usagi smiled. "Fantastic, Sato-san," she exclaimed with forced airiness as she uncurled her legs, and gracefully stood. Towering over Sato's seated form in another pair of stupid, high-heels. "We've already made arrangements. Though we had a little set back with our last shipment being confiscated, our next shipment is due to arrive in two days. You'll be contacted when we're ready to make the exchange."

Without waiting for a response, Usagi twisted on her heels to face him. He fought back the urge to roll his eyes when she winked. Instead, he raised an exasperated brow as she swept by him, leaving them to follow in her wake.

Kunzite roughly shouldered past him with a menacing glare that did prompt an eye roll this time as he filtered out of the room with the rest of the Kyodai.

Their meeting with Sato-san who, as far as he knew, wasn't officially affiliated with the Yakuza, had taken place in a seedier location in downtown Kyoto. Though, Mamoru noted that the people who lived here were very aware of who Usagi and Kunzite were.

Which was why pedestrians froze in their tracks as they exited the boarded up, slightly dilapidated, traditional, two-story Machiya, downcast gazes as they circled around them; giving them a wide berth.

Two sleek sedans were parked on the edge of the curb, one of them meant for Usagi and Kunzite. The silver-haired general, barely restraining his rage at Usagi's subtle shift in behavior, yanked the car door open. "Usagi, let's go," he snapped scathingly.

Usagi, fists perched on her hips that were currently enveloped in another jaw-dropping, tightly fitting, black dress, didn't move as she faced her brother.

With a tilt of her head and an unreadable expression, she shrugged. "Actually, Kunz, there's a dress shop around the corner. I want to go."

Mamoru frowned because there was no way in hell he was going to let her go to a shop, in a city filled with people who clearly hated her, alone.

Kunzite, for once, was of the same mindset as his eyes widened in disbelief and his hand shook with fury above the door handle. "You're not serious?" He snapped through gritted teeth. "What the fuck is wrong with you lately, Usagi?" His tone seething and filled with fury. "I'm not going to a damn shop in Kyoto city. Order your fucking clothes online and get in the car!"

Mamoru held his breath in anticipation because Tumicho Tsukino would have become dangerous in the face of Kunzites open defiance. But, she was becoming less and less like the ferocious monster he hated and more like his Usako.

Instead of getting angry, she arched a golden brow coolly, "I wasn't asking for your permission, and I wasn't inviting you along, either, Kunzite," she responded, her tone scathing, pert chin tilted upwards proudly.

Kunzite scoffed, shaking his head in confusion. "Unbelievable, Usagi," he hissed, "and what will happen when some grimy, gutter rat attacks you? What then?"

Usagi shrugged, flicking her wrist dismissively. "Leave the second car here, Kunzite," she commanded. "And I'm not going alone. Mamoru is coming with me."

This proved to be too much for Kunzite who, sputtering furiously, yanked the door open all the way, and without another word, slid into the car. Forcefully slamming the door shut behind him.

The other Kyodai exchanged looks of confusion before Usagi sighed and waved them away. "Well, go already," she ordered, voice firm and tinged with exasperation.

It was only when Kunzite's car pulled away, a glowering flash of his face in the window, and the rest of the Kyodai had left, that his tensed shoulders relaxed.

He met Usagi's gaze with brows raised questioningly. She was a meshed mixture of Usako and Tumicho Tsukino; impulsive, semi-petulant, with a graceful twist.

Her responding smile took his breath away, and he inhaled sharply as she moved towards him, her eyes filled with seductive promise. There was one thing that was undeniable across the board. Usagi was heart-stoppingly beautiful.

He shook his head to clear it just as she hooked a slender arm through his. "What's the plan here, Usako?" His question was practically whispered because the sweet-smelling aroma of her shampoo, and the way she was pressed so close to his side, overwhelmed him.

She giggled, and the sound was sweet; so reminiscent of the bright-eyed girl he loved that he closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her as they began to walk.

"Why must there be a plan, Mamoru?" She responded as she laid her head against his arm, blonde, silky hair tumbling over her shoulder with the movement. "Maybe I'm just happy that I brokered a successful deal. Or maybe I just want to spend more time with you alone," she practically purred. Her tone and her words were breathy, suggestive, and they made his pulse quicken in anticipation.

He swallowed before sighing deeply, forcibly slowing their gait onwards. "It's not safe for you here, Usako," he reminded her, as his gaze scanned the fearful, resentment-filled expressions of the crowd of pedestrians they were now wading through.

Usagi shrugged, craning her neck sideways to glance over at him. "I'm not worried, Mamoru," she admitted. "You'll protect me." Her smile faded, though, and her eyes narrowed as her gaze swept over him. She halted and placed a delicate hand on his chest to stop him in his tracks.

She twisted around to face him, head tilted to the side, a look of exasperation on her face. "Mamoru, where's the gun I gave you?"

He shrugged in response, eliciting an eye-roll and a sigh from Usagi. "How are you supposed to protect yourself? You understand that you're a Tsukino Kyodai, right?" Her tone was tinged with reproachful irritation as she swiveled around and tugged him forward again.

The corner of his lips quirked up into a half-smirk, "I've been managing just fine without it, Usako," he pointed out. It was true, too. He'd managed to pull the ruthless love of his life out of more than one life-threatening situation in this nightmare without being armed.

They rounded the corner, and as they neared the shop front that she'd indicated, she peered at him sideways. Her brows knit into a contemplative frown of confusion. "I don't understand your aversion to guns and my lifestyle, Mamoru. Why are you even here if you hate it so much?" She demanded her expression bewildered and wary.

His heart skipped a beat, and he couldn't stop the warm smile that slid onto his face. "Usako," he began softly. "I'm here for you." That was technically the truth. He was most definitely here for her.

Her eyes widened slightly, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. He internally flinched because she wasn't ready yet. He'd made progress, and he didn't want her to pull away again.

So, he forced a smirk and a nonchalant shrug, "That, and I heard something about Kyodai going missing when attempting to leave the infamous Tsukino family." He was only teasing, his tone purposely light. But by the way her head snapped forward, jaw clenched, and the red tinge that swept across her cheeks, there was a hint of truth to his words that he did not care to delve into.

She shrugged impassively, though he could tell by her hardened expression as she pulled away and swept past him, that it did bother her.

Though he did not like that she was needlessly struggling, because thiswas a nightmare and she hadn't really done any of these things, he knew the remorse was one step closer to the Usako that would admit she loved him.

Her gait was purposeful, confident as she swept through the partially opened lattice wood door that led into a small store that was clearly family-owned. He sighed as he followed her into the small space. The racks of clothes haphazardly placed throughout the room that was thick with the smell of burning incense.

After a quick perusal of the merchandise, he wondered what had drawn Usagi to the store in the first place, as the clothes definitely did not align with the high-end, mostly revealing outfits that he'd seen her wearing in this nightmare so far.

He absentmindedly slid the material of a handmade, traditional silk kimono nearest him between his thumb and index finger; a vision of his Usako wearing something like this so much easier to imagine than the ruthless gangster that always wore heels. He couldn't help the sad, wistful smile that curled onto his lips at the image of a time when things had been so much easier.

He would gladly face all of the enemies of their past if it meant that he could get them out of this endless loop of horror in which he needed to watch Usagi be tortured in painfully unique ways over and over again.

He must have stood there for a while, lost in thought, because he was startled when Usagi laid a delicate hand on his arm, slender fingers curling gently around his wrist. He blinked, turning slightly, and lifted his gaze to meet hers.

Blonde brows knit, her head tilted to the side, curiosity shining from the depths of her eyes as she met his gaze. "Do you like that kimono?" Her tone was inquisitive, though there was something he couldn't quite pinpoint in her voice. Uncertainty, maybe? "You're staring at it pretty intently."

He felt the heat rise up into his face and pulled away, releasing the fabric of the kimono that he was still clutching between his fingertips. "Yeah, it's pretty," he responded under his breath, averting his gaze, lifting his hand to scratch at the back of his head nervously. This would all be so much easier if he could just tell her that this wasn't real.

In one swift movement, Usagi leaned forward, her hair sweeping across his arms and face as she pulled the garment off of the rack. "I like it too," she exclaimed with a petulant tilt of her chin, a determined glint in her eyes.

The look elicited an amused smile from him, and he raised a brow in question. "Usako, I've never seen you wear anything remotely like this," he chuckled, his tone soft and teasing.

To his absolute delight, a pink blush of embarrassment swept across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. It was so much like his Usako that he needed to resist the urge to lean forward and kiss her.

She frowned, annoyed, as she abruptly pulled away with a huff. "How would you know," she snapped, swiveled around so that her back was facing him, the kimono clutched in her hands, with arms crossed. "You've known me for a whole twenty-five seconds, Mamoru."

He rolled his eyes, a small smile of exasperation on his lips, because Usagi, in this nightmare, was such a strange array of emotions. It was challenging to keep up with the roller coaster that was an odd mixture of menacing, ruthless, and then guilt-ridden, pink-faced, and insecure. If this were real, he had no doubt that before he'd arrived, Tumicho Tsukino would have scoffed with a sneer. Or, shot him dead.

Either way, he was grateful that this wasn't real, and that the staples of her personality, even the insecure, uncertain pieces, were shining through.

His smile widened, and he decided to take a risk as he took the step to close the gap between them, pulled her against him, chest pressed against her back, and enveloped her slender waist in his arms.

He heard her inhale sharply as he swept her hair aside and pressed his lips along the slender curve of her neck. "Best twenty-five seconds ever, Usako," he murmured huskily, brushing his lips across her ear, smiling against her skin when he felt her shudder against him.

They were interrupted suddenly by a loud, terror-tinged gasp, and he lifted his head towards the source of the sound. He felt Usagi's body tense in his arms, and he frowned at the sight of an elderly woman. She had a slightly stooped figure, slumped shoulders and grey hair pulled back tightly into a severe-looking bun. It was the wide-eyed fear of her expression that caught his attention, though, as she bent even lower, visibly trembling in front of them.

Usagi pulled away from him by stepping forward, and the woman flinched, afraid, and Usagi froze. "Tumicho Tsukino," she stuttered, the sound brittle and broken. "It is a — a— pleasure to have you in my small, modest store. Please, take whatever you want."

The realization that the storekeeper's terror was because she recognized Usagi made his stomach churn as his heart twisted painfully in the cavity of his chest.

He cast a sideways glance at Usagi, scrutinizing her reaction. Would she be Tumicho Tsukino who would callously dismiss the woman and take what she wanted? Or the budding brightness of his vulnerable Usa, who was internally struggling with her remorse?

He exhaled slowly, relieved, as her face paled, her fists clenched, and the internal anguish was evident as it flashed from behind china-blue eyes. "If I want something, I'll buy it," she snapped. Her curt response was more than likely elicited from the pained self-realization of how much terror she'd instilled as Tumicho Tsukino. He knew that, but the woman did not, and she cringed, hastily tripping over her feet as she took a step back.

Even in heels, the Usagi of this world was ridiculously graceful, and she was quick to stride forward and steady the woman before she fell. "God, there's no need to be dramatic," Usagi muttered under her breath, the pink blush on her face deepening into an embarrassed crimson-red hue. "I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just here to look at your clothes and maybe buy something."

The woman pulled away, sheepish, nodding vehemently, "Yes, of course," she stuttered as she backed away slowly, waving her arm in invitation. "Anything you want, Tumicho Tsukino. There's a change room there if you need it," she offered and pointed to a small stall behind her. The doorway was fitted with a red cloth curtain spread across a makeshift wrought iron pole. "If-if-if you need me, I'll be in the back office over there."

The woman was more mobile than he'd surmised as she retreated quickly into the room she'd indicated. It was painful to see the way Usagi stood stock-still, staring after the woman with clenched fists and a rare unguarded look of devastation on her face.

In the past two weeks, he'd learned a lot about the right way to handle Usagi in this nightmare. So, he knew that she had a veritably volatile disposition, and he needed to tread carefully.

What he really wanted to do was pull her into his arms, tell her she didn't have to feel this way if only she admitted that she loved him. Instead, he fixed a smirk on his face, bent over to pick up the kimono that she'd dropped in her haste to steady the shopkeeper, and held it out to her.

He cleared his throat, startling her out of her daze. "Well?" He asked brow raised sardonically. "I thought you were going to try this on because you liked it?"

It was silent, as her frown deepened and her eyes flicked back and forth between the kimono in his hand to his face. It took a moment as she mulled over her feelings, but her tensed shoulders relaxed and the coy, seductive grin that he'd seen more than once here, curled onto the ample, pink-tinged, curves of her lips.

She closed the gap between them, her movements slow, enticing, with a very purposeful sway of her hips, as she curled the fingers of one hand into the fabric of the silk kimono and the front of his shirt with the other.

Usagi was much shorter than him, and usually, he towered over her. But with her heels, she was as tall as he was; which meant that not only was her face level with his but so were the angled curves of her hips. He barely managed to maintain the teasing, blank expression on his face when she pulled him forward, pressed herself flush against him, and tilted her head ever so slightly so that her lips hovered beside his ear.

His hand automatically pressed against the small of her back, and his breath hitched in his throat at the sound of her whispered, sultry voice. "Want to help me put it on?"

There was no time for the words to register, much less respond, before she laughed, pulled him forward and they stumbled through the red curtain into the tiny change room stall.

One moment he was ready to protest because his Usako would have never done something this bold, and the next he was lost in a lust-filled haze. Because, damn. She was so intoxicating as she pressed him up against the wood-paneled wall. Her lips moving in a practiced, groan-inducing, way against his. Her hands exploring the hardened planes of his body, as his fingers wove through the glorious, silken locks of hair at the back of her head.

He was on the verge of shifting their positions, and if he'd been of sound mind and not completely lost in the enticing feeling of her body pressed intimately against his, he probably would have been embarrassed by the fact that he was fully prepared to push her against the wall, and take her right there. Luckily, the loud trilling sound of a ringing phone interrupted them.

She pulled away, breathless, their gazes locked as she reached into the discreetly sewn-in pocket of her dress, and pulled out her phone.

She didn't break eye contact with him as she expertly swiped her thumb across the screen and pressed the phone to her ear.

He smiled, tenderly caressed the side of her face, as the tip of her tongue darted out to lick her lips before she answered. "What?"

Her voice was curt, filled with irritation at the interruption, as her arm curled around his neck, her fingers twisting in the hair at the back of his head.

He pressed a hand onto her bare thigh, prepared to hoist it around his waist when her body stiffened, and all of the passionate ferocity from a moment before was gone. With a sharp, angry inhale, she placed a hand on his shoulder to push him away.

He frowned, stepped back, studying the furious expression on her face curiously. "What do you mean? When did they get there?"

He could hear the muffled chords of someone, probably Kunzite, on the other line.

Her hand shook as her fingers visibly tightened around her phone. "Stall them, Kunz. I'll be there soon."

Without another word, she pulled the phone away from her ear, and the telltale click as the screen locked resonated from it as she stuffed it back into her pocket.

He frowned, internal alarm bells going off as her entire disposition hardened and she reverted back into the dreaded Tumicho Tsukino.

He inwardly cursed as he took a step back, though, it was hard to put any distance in between them enclosed in this small space.

"What's wrong, Usako?"

His breath caught in his throat, and he swore his heart stopped when her eyes steadily met his.

"We have to go," she snapped, her tone crisp and impersonal. "The cops are about to raid the manor."

Up until that moment, he'd forgotten that he was supposedly a cop in this world. It was hard to keep his expression neutral at the stone-cold reminder, though, and suddenly he knew with a heart-stopping intensity, that this was not going to end well for him.

oOo

The dread that he'd felt twinge in his chest the moment Usagi's facial expression hardened, coldly sweeping past him in the store, unfurled into something pulsating and practically unbearable as he pulled the black sedan up the manor's winding driveway.

The silence in the car on the drive back had been tension-filled and nerve-wracking as Usagi sat quietly seething beside him in the passenger seat. Her expression dark, brooding, as she'd fixed her gaze on the moving scenery outside of the car window.

Any words that he might have spoken caught in his throat and tangled in webbed threads of worry. Because, his sixth sense, the one that always alerted him to potential danger, twisted with warning in the pit of his stomach.

He'd only just managed to shift the car into park when Usagi's fingers curled around the handle, she roughly pushed the door open, and gracefully slid out of the vehicle. Her movements fluid and filled with urgency.

He grimaced, clutched the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened as he mentally collected himself in preparation for the next twist. The next obstacle that had been expertly crafted to throw a wrench into his progress. Because, if he'd learned anything since the nightmares had started, it was that this was all a game; a test of horrors meant to make things harder for them.

He didn't let his mind linger with frustration on the potential motives this time as he opened his own door and lengthened his strides to catch up with Usagi that had already made halfway down the drive towards the manor's entrance.

His eyes briefly scanned over the multiple police cruisers that lined the driveway, and his heart rate kicked it up a notch, whether from adrenaline or dread, as they entered through the untraditional, double-wide reinforced steel entryway into the manor's genkan.

Usagi looked every bit the powerful gangster that she was supposed to be; muscles tightened and coiled with powerful, practiced strides in a black dress, heels and a determined, fury-filled expression that he could see instilling the fear that his Usako did not deserve, but that Tumicho Tsukino had rightfully earned.

Strangely, the hall was devoid of the usual comings and goings of the Shatei, Kyodai and the endless army of servants that were always flitting about underfoot, always on hand to serve the Tsukino's.

They did pass several uniformed officers that were moving just as purposefully, gloved, determination on their faces as they tore apart the hall. Carelessly tossing things aside, pulling drawers from the decorative mahogany desks that lined the walls, tipping chairs, lifting the rugs lining the polished wooden floors. It was a chaotic flurry of men and women in uniform, armed in bulletproof vests.

Usagi halted, gasping with indignant outrage as her face reddened with fury, her entire form stiffened and her hands balled into fists pressed angrily at her sides. Damn. This was not good, and it only just occurred to him that he probably should have spent some time communicating his 'progress' with the ruthless Tumicho to Ami. Obviously, he didn't know the first thing about being an undercover cop, and he muttered an irritated curse at the setback as he stepped forward and tentatively placed a reassuring hand on the tensed small of her back.

She only glanced at him briefly before turning back towards the chaos. Her lips pressed into a grim, hard-set line on her face. "Excuse me," she hissed, and though her tone hadn't raised a single octave, the nearest officers froze at the sound as they flicked their widened, hate-filled gazes onto her. "Who's in charge here?"

Her fury laced demand fell on deaf ears as she was purposely ignored, as they turned, and continued to ransack the room. Mamoru's eyes narrowed in irritated disbelief as he noted the way Usagi sputtered, her hand automatically flying to the curve of her hip for the gun that was no longer there.

His jaw clenched, internally screaming at this unwelcome interruption in his plan to pull Usagi away from the constricting ropes of this nightmare and the life constructed for her. This, he was certain, would only serve to draw her more firmly into it.

"I'm in charge, Tsukino."

Mamoru inhaled sharply, his gaze snapping up towards the source of the harshly uttered words that were very familiar. Dammit. It was Ami, and it required a hefty dose of will-power and inner strength to keep his expression utterly neutral as the uniform-clad bluenette approached, exuding all of the authority and hard-faced aura of a cop. She was everything that Ami, in real life, was not; confident, smug, with a cold sneer curled onto the curve of her lips.

He was very happy that Usagi's back was towards him, because he was sure that his face was pale, and the look in his eyes filled with a recognition that she probably would have noticed.

As it stood, Ami knew what she was doing because her eyes flicked towards him for a brief, nondescript second before settling back on a tense, veritably angry Usagi.

Usako wore her heart on her sleeve. She was practically incapable of withholding her reactions to the strong emotions that swelled within her. So, when she loved something, it was likely that she'd be a ball of gushing brightness, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. It was the same when she was angry. Unable to contain it, she was usually an adorable, foot-stomping, red-faced ball of energy that was unable to withhold the ranting words of injustice that would have spilled, unbidden, from her lips. She was dramatic in the very best ways.

Tumicho Tsukino's character, though, had managed to suppress that perfectly beautiful flaw in the love of his life. So, his heart constricted painfully in his chest as he watched her coiled muscles relax, a smooth, practiced smirk slide onto her face as she condescendingly swept her eyes along Ami's form. It was a slow, calculated look that ended with a low, breathy chuckle that indicated that Ami had been judged and undeniably found wanting.

It visibly shook the bluenette, who faltered slightly under her stare, before she hardened her resolve, a furious red-tinge on her cheeks.

Usagi sighed, propped one hand on her hip as she slowly inspected her nails on the other. The picture of disinterest as she cast a lofty glance back at Ami. "Hmm," she hummed thoughtfully. "I think I know you. You're that cop. The one with the vendetta because your boyfriend happened to die in an accident involving my brother," she drawled, and Mamoru closed his eyes for a second, inhaling deeply at yet another horrible revelation. "What was his name? Zempai? Zenkou?" She was very clearly prodding Ami, and it was working.

The pain-filled, thunderous expression on Ami's face was heart-wrenching to see. "Zoisite," she rasped, her voice trembling with fury as she took a step closer to Usagi. "And it wasn't an accident, you heartless—"

Usagi's trilling laugh interrupted her. "What do you want, officer? You have no grounds to be here." Her tone was forceful, filled with a smug certainty that made Mamoru want to groan.

Ami's angry disposition softened, however, at Usagi's admonishment and a victorious, smug smile of her own crossed her lips. "Actually, Tsukino, we do." Her tone was bright, confident. "We have a warrant to search the premises as there is significant evidence that suggests that you're harboring wanted criminal Aino Minako."

Usagi's unruffled expression did falter at that, and a small, annoyed frown creased onto her brow. "I'm not sure who that is," she replied through gritted teeth.

Ami's knowing smile widened. "I think you do, Tsukino. And, well, if we happen to find anything else in the process of searching for her…" The blunette trailed off with a casual shrug. "Why don't you go join your brother in the ostentatious atrocity that you call a dining room, Tsukino? This will be over soon."

Usagi didn't have time to respond as Ami swept by her before stopping directly in front of him. He swallowed nervously, his jaw clenched as he peered down into Ami's swirling aquamarine eyes, inwardly praying that the former Senshi of intelligence didn't give him away.

Unexpectedly, the blunette grinned, and his eyes widened in shock as she pressed herself against him. "I will say this, Tsukino," she quipped, "your underlings are definitely getting better looking."

He internally cringed at the look of pure unadulterated anger that flashed across Usagi's expression as Ami trailed her hand down his chest, discreetly maneuvering her hands under the fabric of his jacket, before winking, shooting a satisfied smirk towards Usagi, and striding away without looking back.

Usagi practically growled, her eyes filled with jealousy-tinged rage as her gaze, burning hotly, lingered murderously on Ami's retreating form. "What. The. Hell." She hissed, her fists clenched at her sides.

Mamoru knew that the display had been contrived. Meant as more than just a way to annoy the powerful, infuriating Tumicho Tsukino—Though if the expression on Usagi's face was any indication, she'd definitely succeeded at that—He knew this because he'd felt when Ami's deft movements had managed to slip an item into his jacket pocket. Whatever it was, it felt like it was burning a hole through the thick material into his hip.

Gracefully, as usual in this nightmare, Usagi twisted towards him and grasped his arm. Her expression was still angry as she tugged him forward. "Let's go find my brother, Mamoru," she said through gritted teeth.

It never occurred to him not to follow, but his eyes were decidedly cool as he walked beside her, his movements brisk. Internally, he was just frustrated because he hated to see a blatantly cruel Usagi, and he was annoyed that he was going to have to backtrack, once again. Of course, Usa had no way of knowing what he was thinking, and he frowned when she halted, stopping them both in the middle of the empty hallway, just beyond the threshold of the dining room,

Her expression was sullen, petulant almost, as she glared at him. "I had nothing to do with that cop, Mamoru," she defended, a blush reddening her cheeks, her chin tilted up proudly. Her confession managed to catch him off guard, so he simply raised a brow in question, which only managed to annoy her more.

She yanked her hand away from him, and his heart skipped a beat because God help him, she actually stomped her foot. "I didn't, Mamoru! It actually was an accident, so you can stop looking at me with those stupid judgy blue eyes!"

This hadn't been a setback, after all. Because there was no way in hell Tumicho Tsukino would be defending her actions, adorably pink-cheeked and indignant, to a lowly Kyodai. He couldn't answer her, his words caught in his throat, along with the breath of pure elated relief at the realization.

His non-responsiveness, however, only served to annoy her further. "You know what?" She hissed, "Forget it! I did shoot that cop, or whatever. I did it in stupid, cold blood. And I was laughing at the time. And the sun was shining! What do you think about that, you judgmental, self-righteous, bak—"

She was lying, embarrassed, ranting like the beautiful, bright-eyed Usako that she was, and he was so damn relieved that he couldn't help but reach out, pull her into his arms, and interrupt her sulky tirade with lips pressed firmly onto hers. He'd caught her off guard, so her lips parted on a breathless gasp of surprise, which effectively made it easier for him to deepen their kiss. It was only a moment before her arms curled around his neck, and she reciprocated with the passionate ferocity he'd become very well acquainted with in this world.

When they pulled apart, her eyes were wide, confused, and she unsteadily took a step backward and shook her head as if to clear it. "You're confusing as hell, Chiba," she muttered, tone tinged with confusion, as she twisted around to face the dining room doorway.

The corners of his lips quirked up into an amused smirk as he watched her inhale deeply, straighten her shoulders in preparation for the Tumicho Tsukino character that he was now sure was a façade, and stride with purpose through the door.

He moved to follow her, but not before he noticed a flash of blue from out of the corner of his eye. He quickly glanced sideways and internally groaned. Because there, just beyond the doorway, was Ami. Her eyes wide, filled with horror, as her piercing stare bore into him. Damn. She'd seen the kiss. He was sure of it, and he tried to convey a look that was akin to something reassuring, but before he could, she twisted back around and disappeared from the threshold.

He didn't have time to dwell on it, though he did feel that knotted dread twinge once again, as he slipped through the intricately etched door after Usagi.

She was the fiery Tumicho in heels again, as she halted in her tracks, hot glare boring down into a seated Kunzite whose demeanor was annoyingly casual as he leaned back, and peered up at his sister with a smirk fixed onto his face.

Usagi practically trembled in her rage. "Mamoru, shut the door behind you," she ordered, her words trembling in their fury-filled intensity.

Wordlessly, he reached over and shut the door. The resounding click echoed around the room that was vacant except for the three of them, and Mamoru crossed his arms and leaned back against it. He wasn't sure what he was planning to do if Ami, or another one of the cops, tried to open it, but the movement was symbolic all the same. He was there for her, no matter what, and Usagi nodded in approval before stalking towards Kunzite who scoffed with disgust.

Usagi exhaled slowly, reigning in her emotions in a way that Usako would never have been able to do before she spoke. "Tell me that you weren't stupid enough to keep that blonde-haired twit of a cop around after we were done with her?"

Her words were dripping with reproach, and a muscle in his jaw popped because he'd clenched it so tightly at her words. He quietly reminded himself that she was only pretending right now, and if she wasn't, it wasn't her fault.

Kunzites nostrils flared as his eyes flashed with indignant outrage. His shoulders and body stiffened as he leaned forward in his chair. "You're fucking kidding me, right?" He raged. "So, you get to keep a plaything," he gestured towards Mamoru, "but I don't?"

While Mamoru didn't particularly enjoy being referred to as a plaything, he wisely kept his mouth shut as Usagi bristled, clearly outraged, at Kunzite's less than remorseful response. "You stupid idiot!" She growled. "That isn't the same thing, and you know it, Kunz!" Usagi's voice had risen an octave, and he shifted nervously, hopeful that her words weren't loud enough to be heard beyond this door. "She's a rogue cop that killed another cop in broad daylight to help a convicted criminal, that was about to give them everything they needed on us, escape!"

He bit back a grimace at that harshly uttered statement because, technically, Kunzite was right. It was the same thing… they just didn't know it.

Kunzite practically growled as he shot out of the dining room chair. The movement abrupt enough to send it crashing onto the floor with a loud and resounding thud. "She's mine," he snarled, hands balling into fists as he faced her with all the fury and menacing rage of the dark and dangerous Oyabun Tsukino. "I'm not an idiot, Usagi. Of course, she isn't here. Though if she were, I'd fucking kill every single cop here to protect us. Just like you would have when you weren't acting like a weak, pathetic rat."

Kunzite's words were chilling, and Usagi's response must have been purely on instinct as she lifted her hand and slapped him across the face. The sickening sound of her open palm connecting with his skin reverberated around the room, the forceful impact forcibly craning his neck to the side.

Kunzite's eyes were wide with disbelief for a moment as he stepped back. They quickly filled with rage, though, as a snarled growl tore from his throat, and he lifted his fist to strike her.

Mamoru was acting purely on instinct now, too, and he was quick to close the distance between them, stepping between Usagi and Kunzite as he caught his descending fist in his hand. "I'll kill you first, Oyabun Tsukino." His words were angry, reckless, but he couldn't help the way his body tensed and coiled in preparation to protect Usagi, no matter where they were. He may not have been granted the powers of Tuxedo Kamen here, but he could feel the latent abilities simmering just beneath the surface. And, he was always going to be the prince that needed to protect his princess.

Kunzite must have felt something too because his temper cooled significantly as their gazes locked into a challenging stare that neither of them was willing to lose.

The white-haired general yanked his hand away from him, stepped back, and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Do you really think I'd hurt my sister?" He was backpedaling, his rage dissipated just enough that what he'd almost done flashed from behind icy blue eyes with regret. "You don't know her like I do."

Mamoru swallowed around the lump of anger in his throat, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he steadily faced him. "You're wrong," he replied. "I've known—" He barely managed to stop himself, snapping his mouth shut in time before he blurted the whole truth out. There was no way he was going to start this hell over again.

Kunzite smirked, scoffing as his stance softened, though there was still an ice-filled hatred shining from his eyes. "Move aside, Kyodai," he sneered, "I have something important to discuss with my sister, and I need you to get the fuck out of here."

Mamoru shook his head. There was no way in hell he was leaving her. He was prepared to fight his former friend, when Usagi laid a hand on his arm, startling him.

He met her gaze over his shoulder, and his heart skipped a beat at the soft, tender-filled look in her eyes. Her eyes were bright, her expression grateful. Usako. He wished, more than anything, she would just tell him that she loved him so he could save her from this.

"Mamoru, It's okay," she assured softly, "I need you to leave so I can talk to my brother privately."

When her words registered through longing-filled thoughts, his eyes widened, and he shook his head, sputtering in disbelief. "Usako, he was about to hit you," he growled incredulously.

Usagi smiled, "To be fair, I hit him first," she pointed out, but that did not make him feel any better. She rolled her eyes and sighed when he didn't budge, "Please, Mamoru. I'll be fine." It was the pleading note in her voice that made him reluctantly concede.

He wanted to lean over and kiss her, but he settled with comfortingly squeezing her hand. "I'll be just outside the door if you need me," he reassured, and forcibly ignored Kunzites scornful bark of laughter as he moved towards the door.

Kunzites final taunt made him freeze, hand poised on the handle. "What would you even do without a gun, Kyodai?"

Mamoru's vision blurred with anger, and his expression was hard, laced with deadly promise as he steadily met Kunzites eyes over his shoulder. "I don't need a gun to kill you, Kunzite," he replied before slipping through the door.

He didn't know how the nightmares truly worked, and he'd spent so much time pulling the darkness from Usagi that he'd forgotten about keeping his in check. Which was evident by the fact that he was one hundred percent sure that he truly, uncharacteristically, meant those words.

oOo

It was late by the time the cops finished what they'd come to do, and though Mamoru hated to admit it, he was secretly relieved to see the disappointed slump in Ami's shoulders and the sullen defeat glinting from her eyes as she, and her brigade, vacated the premises. It meant that they'd found nothing, and he still had time to work on pulling a confession from Usagi. Which would be infinitely harder to do if she was behind bars and aware that he was supposedly a cop, too.

Usagi had been silent, her expression thoughtful, miserably stoic as if she were contemplating something important when she'd left the dining room with Kunzite. Not only that, but he couldn't help but notice the way she'd purposefully avoided his gaze as they restored some semblance of reassured normalcy with the underlings who magically reappeared after the raid.

Then, when she'd swept from the room without a glance his way, he couldn't help the nervous feeling that unfurled in his chest as he watched her go. Something was wrong. Which was only emphasized by the way Kunzite sneered smugly at him from amidst a group of Kyodai that were circled around him.

His stomach was churning, tension coiled nervously in the stiffened muscles of his neck and shoulders by the time he made it through the other Kyodai and found himself standing outside of her bedroom door. She was at the point where she would have waited for him, and the fact that she hadn't wasn't a good sign. What the hell had Kunzite said to her?

Every night for the past week, he'd entered her room without knocking. Tonight, though, when he twisted the handle, it was locked. His breath hitched, and the small twinge of uncertainty and dread exploded and spread throughout him. The mixture of emotions and the images of what obstacle could have possibly been wrenched into his path this time spurred him to throw caution to the wind as he angrily wrapped his fingers on the door.

She didn't answer right away, but he knew that she was in there. He could hear her shuffling movements on the other side. "Usagi," he snapped, angry, frustrated, and so damn exhausted with wading through the never-ending horrors in this world. "Open the door. I know you're in there."

Tumicho Tsukino would have never opened the door at the sound of a bitterly whispered command. So, he was relieved a little bit when he heard the telltale sound of the lock twisting in the brass handle, before the door opened, revealing Usagi, who peered up at him, her face pale, blue eyes glistening miserably, and her lips pressed into a hard, grim line.

She was significantly shorter, barefoot and vulnerable as she stepped back, giving him room to pass. She didn't say a word when she closed the door behind him, her room dimly-lit, as he faced her, his eyes searching her face for some kind of clue that might prepare him for what the hell was going on with her.

He inhaled slowly, raking his fingers through his hair. "Usako, why didn't you wait for me?"

She shrugged, arms crossed, as she turned her head to the side. Fixing her gaze onto something obscure and unimportant on the wall beside her. "If I want to see you, Chiba, rest assured that I'll call for you." He was sure that she'd meant her tone to sound haughty and in control. If so, she'd failed miserably, because there was no bite behind the miserably whispered words. Only a heavy tone of despair that ripped at him. What the hell was wrong with her?

He closed the gap between them, cradled her face in his hands, and forcibly turned it towards him. She seemed so much smaller, more exposed, without the heels that she'd been wearing earlier, and he wanted to kiss her, shield her, tell her everything was going to be okay.

Instead, he lowered his head, his face inches from hers as he curiously studied her expression. "Usako, please," he pleaded, "tell me what's wrong. What did Kunzite say to you when I left the room?"

The possibilities were endless. This was a nightmare, after all, and the monsters that controlled it were getting crafty. So, the things he was imagining —had she discovered that he was a cop?— were coursing through his head at an alarming rate.

One imagined situation was more horrible than the next. So, he was surprised by her response. "Makoto is back, Mamoru," she explained as if that answered any of his unasked questions. While he was relieved to hear that his one ally in this tumultuous pit of hell was back safe and sound, it still did not explain Usagi's newfound reticence.

His brow furrowed in confusion. Was she still unnecessarily jealous of Makoto? He'd been very clear that he was in love with her. In fact, he'd whispered it to her every single night in the hopes of a reciprocating admission, so it couldn't be that.

He shook his head and trailed his hands slowly down the slender curve of her neck, across the tops of her shoulders, down the length of her arms, to settle comfortably on her hips. "Okay, Usako," he murmured tentatively. "Why are you upset that she's back?"

Usagi's expression darkened, and the remorse-filled despair that washed over her face made his breath hitch in his throat. "Because she brought Asahi back with her." She swallowed miserably, sour expression as she steadily met his gaze. "Alive, Mamoru."

This made sense to Mamoru because he could not imagine Jupiter having the stomach or the disposition to kill anyone despite the role she was being forced to play here. What didn't make sense to him was Usagi's harsh reaction to it.

Mamoru's frown of confusion deepened as his hands moved to the small of her back, urging her closer, curling her lithe form into his arms, while her hands bunched, almost desperately, into the fabric of his shirt.

He brushed his lips across her forehead, eliciting a shudder. "I'm not sure I catch your drift here, Usako. Why are you so upset?"

The smell of her shampoo, the way her body was pressed flush against his, and even the way her breath fanned warmly across his chin were beginning to overwhelm his senses, and he wanted nothing more than to sweep down, haul her into his arms and carry her to bed.

She sighed softly, almost too quiet for him to have heard the sound. "Because, Mamoru," she whispered. "Kunzite wants me to make an example of him for abandoning us. I have to kill him in front of the other Kyodai."

It was like she'd injected ice into his veins, and he froze, pulling back to stare down at her in disbelieving horror. "You're kidding, right?" He choked because this wasn't Tumicho Tsukino anymore. This was his Usako that he was talking to, and despite what he knew about her here in this world, the thought of watching her coldly kill anyone in a preplanned, calculated manner made the bile rise unbidden in his throat. "You don't have to do anything, Usako. Especially not that."

He was sure that she was acting torn, miserable, and withdrawn because she'd obviously said no, and she was afraid of Kunzite's retribution. Until she tilted her head up, and her deadpan, determined expression, along with the memory of Kunzites victory filled sneer, told him otherwise. No. There was no way that he could stomach letting her do this, and he muttered harshly spat expletives as he tore away from her angrily.

Her expression remained unchanged as her hands fell limply to her sides, and he shook his head in denial. "No, Usagi. Fuck. You can't do this," he pleaded desperately, furiously raking his fingers through his hair.

Usagi's eyes welled with unshed tears of frustration as she balled her hands into fists and narrowed her eyes, fixing them on his face. "What is your problem, Mamoru?" She demanded hoarsely. "You knew what I was when I brought you here. This is my life, and the Kyodai are whispering rumors about how weak I am."

He couldn't stand this. He needed her to see reason, and he strode towards her, and roughly grasped her by the shoulders. His eyes wide, beseeching, as he shook her slightly, his fingers pressing into the soft skin of her arms. "Then, let them whisper, Usako," he rasped. "Please. You're so much more than this." He was begging her now, and he didn't care. He couldn't stand it anymore. Usagi was purity personified. The most forgiving soul he knew. This would kill her if she realized what she'd been forced to do. Fake or not.

With a gasp of outrage, Usagi lifted her hands and roughly pushed him away. The raw, vulnerable tears of pain slid listlessly down her cheeks even as she glared up at him. "You said that what I've done didn't matter to you," she choked, her small form trembling angrily. "You said you loved me, and that you understood! I can't let this slide anymore, Mamoru. I have to be strong."

Oh, God. He'd genuinely thought he'd been making progress, but the monsters had really outdone themselves when creating this character for the light of his life. He couldn't breathe, because, damn. She couldn't even begin to understand what this meant for her.

He swallowed, carefully considering his words as he faced her. "Usako, I said that what you'd done didn't matter because it doesn't if you're trying to do better," he whispered, his tone filled with threads of pleading supplication. He needed her to understand. "Don't you get it?" His tone was brittle, desperate. "Killing him would be weak. Forgiving him is what takes strength."

She didn't say a word, though her lower lip quivered as she met his gaze. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, and with a groan, he cradled her face again, pleased that she didn't pull away.

He wanted this to be over. He was done with this world. It was time to get them out of here. "Usako," he murmured, his lips mere inches from hers. "Do you love me?"

He waited, breath held, their gazes fixed onto each other when she slowly shook her head. "No," she stated with a finality that tore him apart. "I can't love someone that doesn't accept me for who I am. And I am Tumicho Tsukino, Mamoru." Every word she uttered was like a knife twisting into his heart. This was not who she was. "I'm going to do this whether you like it or not."

He studied her resolute expression for a moment more, his heart aching with defeat before he pulled away and swallowed past the lump of pain constricting his throat. "I can't stand to see you like this," he breathed, his tone anguished because it was true. This was so fucking painful to watch unfold in front of him.

He didn't say a word as he pulled away from her, avoided her gaze, and wrenched the door open, wordlessly striding out into the hallway. She didn't follow or call out to him, and he didn't look back.

He needed time to regroup. To figure out a new plan of action, because what he was doing clearly wasn't working. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to figure it out fast. Because if she killed Asahi tomorrow, he didn't know how he was going to pull her back from that.

oOo

The first thing he did when he miserably made it into the dark interior of the assigned room he rarely used now, was to pull out the item that Ami had slipped into his pocket. It was an ancient, prepaid, flip-phone. Probably a burner, and more than likely a way for Ami to communicate with him.

After carefully inspecting it only to find nothing of interest in the messages or call history, he sighed and tossed it onto the small, crookedly placed table beside his bed where it fell onto its scuffed surface with a resounding thud.

He couldn't dwell on what he was going to do about Ami right now. First, he needed to figure out what he was going to do about his set back with Usagi.

The rest of the night was spent restlessly; tossing and twisting in cold, crumpled sheets. Horrifying images flashing through his barely unconscious mind… nightmares within a damn nightmare. He woke often, the time ticking by at an unbearably slow rate, his eyes flicking towards his closed door often. He was secretly torn between the hope that Usagi would give in and show up at his door versus his need for her to stay away. To give him space to think clearly and devise something semi-practical so that he wasn't just wading around like an idiot trying to figure out his next move.

Either way, he was not in a great place the next morning when he peeled himself out of bed, forcibly ignored the dull throbbing ache at the base of his skull, and readied himself to face whatever the hell kind of horrors had been lined up for him and his puppeteered friends today.

He half expected someone to fetch him and escort him from the room to wherever it was that Usagi wanted him placed next. He wasn't, though, and he supposed that he should be grateful with the progress he'd made in that way at least. He'd earned enough trust to have been granted the ability to roam freely and unsupervised.

He was still exhausted when he left his room, and his mind wasn't as sharp as it should have been. So, it took him a moment to understand why there was a gathering group of Kyodai and Shatei, making their way down the hall and onto the Veranda.

He inhaled sharply and the blood drained from his face as he stepped back, his eyes wildly darting from one somber-faced expression to the next. It elicited a sickening feeling that blossomed in the pit of his stomach with the rising panic coursing through him. He wasn't sure why he'd assumed that he was going to have more time to handle this. He'd wanted to find and speak with Makoto before Usagi and Kunzite went through with anything, but it looked like it was too late now. Because there was only one reason the Kyodai would be gathering like this; a demonstration or an order from Kunzite to witness a show of power.

He spat out a harshly muttered curse, barreling through the door and two sneering-faced brutes before making his way out onto the veranda. Kunzite and Usagi were nowhere to be seen, so he let himself hope, for just a moment, that he was wrong before he spotted the familiar stiffened shoulders and chestnut brown hair that belonged to Makoto.

When the Senshi of Jupiter whirled around to face him, his heart clenched and his breath caught in his throat at the look on her face. It wasn't enough that her appearance itself was ragged, pale complexion, dark, bruise-like circles just above gaunt angled cheekbones. It was the haunted, burden-filled look glistening from the muted green glint in her eyes. Makoto had been pulled through something dark in this nightmare, and he was loathed to find out what it was.

Her expression remained unchanged as he sidled up next to her, his heart pounding, his palms clammy as he swallowed past the nervous lump in his throat and bravely met her gaze; a clash of broken-hearted green and wary cobalt blue.

She exhaled, shook her head, shoulders slumped with sadness. "I tried to stall for as long as I could, Mamoru," she whispered, her tone filled with regret. "But I wasn't alone."

He wanted to ask her more about it, to find out what had happened to instill that pained look in her eyes, but he was forced to snap his mouth shut, automatically stiffening, as the low, bone-chilling baritone of Kunzites arrogant voice rang out over the crowd.

"The Tsukino's have always been a force to be reckoned with," he began, and Mamoru's gaze snapped towards the front of the crowd of men that had suddenly gone silent. He didn't miss the apprehension-filled looks exchanged around him. Usagi had been right about one thing. The Kyodai and the Shatei had apparently faltered in their unwavering fear of the Tsukino's.

It didn't faze the silver-haired general, whose arrogance and need for attention drove him to continue. "I know it might seem like things have been a bit unsteady with Tumicho Tsukino lately," he placated, icy blue eyes flashing coldly as they briefly swept over Mamoru. "And, it's really been truly disheartening to hear that some of you are under the impression that this momentary lapse in my sister's disposition might be an opportunity for you to take your leave from the comforting folds of the Tsukino family." Kunzites words were truncated, piercing, and the more he spoke, the more terrifying he sounded.

The unspoken threat intensified the silence around him, wary eyes fixed onto the man who had, up until this point, been second to the more terrifying Tumicho Tsukino.

The snake-like smile that slid onto Kunzites lips made Mamoru's stomach churn. "You all remember our friend Asahi?" Kunzite lifted his chin, nodding sharply with a gesture of his hand.

There was a synchronized shift of bodies and whispers as the group turned towards where Kunzite had indicated. The bile rose in Mamoru's throat, and Makoto stiffened beside him at the sight of Asahi, the man who'd once been a bruting, dangerous, muscled underling that had towered over him. Mamoru swallowed, fists clenched at his sides because that was not the same person who was being roughly pulled by an armed Kyodai through the veranda's lattice doors. This man was a pale shadow compared to that; pale, gaunt, torn, dirty clothing as he stumbled unsteadily on his feet.

The murmured cacophony of hushed, harsh whispers that broke out intensified uncomfortably as Asahi was pushed to his knees in front of Kunzite. He didn't fight it; a resigned, broken slump in his shoulders as he peered up through strings of greasy hair at the gathered crowd in front of him.

Kunzite chuckled, amused, and Mamoru had to avert his gaze for a moment to control the rage that began to course through his veins. "Asahi thought that he might take advantage of my sister's perceived weakness, too," he chided with a mocking disapproving click of his tongue. "Well, let me remind you exactly what Tumicho Tsukino does to the betrayers that bite the hands that feed them."

He heard Makoto's disbelieving gasp before his eyes fell onto Usagi who'd slipped through the door and was approaching her brother and the kneeling man that had abandoned them at Jadeite's.

Mamoru's breath caught in his throat, and the whispers intensified in its volume and distrustful pervasiveness because it was not Tumicho Tsukino that stepped out of the shadows of the towering mansion, but his Usako. It had to be. Because, for the first time since he'd laid eyes on Usagi in this world, she was not dressed impeccably with sleek, perfectly styled hair, a hardened look like polished marble veneer on her face, wearing impossibly high stiletto heels. She was a frazzled, pale mess in leggings, an oversized sweater, and a pair of flats with a hastily crafted braid swinging down the length of her back with every one of her movements.

Even the way she moved was more like Usako, uncertain in her gait. Her face pale, with shadows flashing in her eyes.

She looked absolutely torn to shreds over what she was about to do, and it elicited a hope that flared hotly in Mamoru's chest as his body coiled, tensing in anticipation for what was about to happen next.

The confidently smug look faded from Kunzite's face as a disapproving frown furrowed his brow. "Quiet!" he snapped loudly, instantly silencing the whispering crowd. "Tumicho Tsukino," he spat, turning towards Usagi who halted in front of them, her eyes flicking from a kneeling Asahi to Kunzite. "I present you with the scum that abandoned you in your moment of need," Kunzite hissed, leaned forward, roughly grasped her wrist and, without breaking eye contact with his sister, he transferred a gun into her palm, forcibly curling her fingers around the handle.

Mamoru couldn't breathe, fighting the desperate urge to stop this as Kunzite leaned forward, his face inches from Usagi's. "Show them what we do to traitors."

It was as if time slowed as Mamoru watched with horror as Usagi nodded, her lips pressed into a thin, determined line as she twisted her body, took a step forward, and lifted the gun, pressing the barrel onto the back of Asahi's head.

Makoto whimpered beside him, shuddering in her horror, and he wanted to comfort her, but he couldn't pull his eyes off of Usagi's face. She didn't want to do this. And he couldn't stand that she was being forced to do it, as she visibly swallowed and he watched her steel her resolve.

Mamoru took an involuntary step forward, ignored the indignant huff from the Kyodai that he shouldered as he pushed past him. Please, Usako. He silently willed with everything in him, with every piece of his soul that might still be connected to the beautiful brightness that was still the love of his life, not to do this.

For a second he thought that she was going to do it, her finger poised on the trigger, flexing dangerously close to releasing the bullet that would pierce through Asahi's head and any hope that he might have of pulling her out of this life. But then, her hand shook ever so slightly when Asahi whimpered, trembling, clawing at the wooden panels of the deck beneath him. "Please," he pleaded in a desperate breath of air. "I just wanted to live."

Usagi's lips quivered as they parted on a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes widened before they slowly pulled away from Asahi and searched the crowd of Kyodai, frantically darting over the faces before her gaze finally connected with his.

He held her stare for what seemed like hours, but was probably only seconds, silently conveying the reassurance he knew that she was searching for. He knew the moment that she decided not to do it, and relief unlike anything he'd ever known washed through him, pulling the coiled tension from his muscles with a deep, cleansing exhale of breath.

Her nod was imperceptible, just a quick snap of her chin as a wisp of a resigned smile curled onto her lips, and the hand clutching the gun fell limply to her side.

The ticking of the clock that had slowed in those few, defining moments, seemed to speed up to a normal rate as Kunzite practically roared in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

It was a demand, and the others around him shifted, varying expressions of satisfaction, disbelief, and wariness on their faces. Except for Makoto, whose eyes widened with awe and a growing sense of hope that mirrored his own.

Usagi lifted her chin proudly, defiantly facing down her brother. "I don't want to do this," she exclaimed with conviction. "I forgive him."

He knew those words were meant for him in response to his pleas the night before, and while the pride and anticipation swelled in his chest, they infuriated Kunzite who had, apparently, reached his limit.

With an exploding roar of disbelief and a rage-filled snarl, the general pulled out another gun that was holstered to his hip and, without a moment of hesitation, he stepped forward, pressed the tip of the barrel to the back of Asahi's head and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot was deafening, and Mamoru bit the inside of his lip, flinching as he cringed away from the gruesome sight of splattering blood, and the sound of Asahi's final, gargling gasp as he slumped forward and his mangled head hit the wooden planks with a final, sickening thump.

The others did not seem fazed by it, except for Makoto who'd crossed her arms and averted her gaze, visibly flinching with horrified disgust.

Usagi didn't falter either, boldly fixing blue, determination-filled eyes onto her brother whose body was shuddering in his rage. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

All pretenses of a power-play washed away. Kunzite was too angry to put on a show for his underlings as he turned all of his frustrations onto the sister that he'd never had challenged him before. It terrified Mamoru who, without thinking, pushed through the Kyodai, his strides hurried as he stepped over Asahi's lifeless body to stand protectively beside Usagi.

Mamoru meant to pull her away from the swirling darkness around Kunzite, but the sight of him standing resolutely beside Usagi must have been enough to send the hot-headed, anger-filled Kunzite over the edge.

With a roar of unfettered rage, Kunzite dove towards him, catching Mamoru off guard as his fist connected with his jaw. The pain was sharp, instantaneous, and the edges of his vision blurred as his head snapped to the side with the force of the impact. He stumbled back a step and barely managed to catch his balance as he narrowly avoided falling to the ground.

Usagi screamed, horrified, as Kunzite lifted his gun, and aimed it at this chest.

Mamoru, as Tuxedo Kamen, had developed many skills over the years, and he attributed his quick reflexes to his masked alter ego as he skillfully barreled into Kunzite, powerfully gripped his gun-bearing wrist, and attempted to wrestle the weapon from his grasp without accidentally firing it.

They crashed to the ground, a flurry of black and silver as Kunzite snarled, overpowered him —his rage giving him an edge over Mamoru's survival-based instincts— and straddled him. Mamoru grunted with the strength it took to forcibly twist Kunzite's wrist to the side, intercepting his attempt to point the gun at him.

The perspiration was beading on Mamoru's forehead, as he gasped for breath, his only focus trying to force the gun out of Kunzites grasp when, suddenly, he was met with no resistance from the silver-haired general.

Two things registered simultaneously; first was the sharp click of a gun being cocked, and the second was that Kunzite had suddenly stopped trying to press the barrel of his weapon onto his head.

"Get away from him, Kunz."

Usagi's voice was steady, threatening, and Mamoru's gaze slid from the hardened contours of Kunzites fury filled expression to Usagi that stood beside him, her weapon clutched in her hand, and her gun trained warningly onto Kunzite.

Kunzite let out a bark of disbelieving laughter as he dropped his gun, fixed his gaze on hers, and stood, stepping away from Mamoru that instantly sucked in a breath of air, unimpeded by Kunzite's weight on his chest.

He noted briefly that their audience stood, waiting, eyes transfixed on the scene in front of them as if they were enjoying their daily dose of dark, twisted entertainment. Unwilling to intervene for leaders that they hated, and had once feared. Makoto was the only one that stood on the edge, muscles tensed, coiled and ready to spring into the fray should it appear that anything was going to happen to Usagi.

Kunzite laughed again, this time mockingly, as Mamoru propelled himself to his feet. Ignoring the way his head swam dizzily with the abrupt movement. "What are you going to do, Usagi?" Kunzite hissed, his eyes levelly meeting Usagi's who stood, chin tilted up proudly, her resolve unwavering. There wasn't even a twitch of hesitation in her stance, except for the way her fingers tightened their grip around the handle in warning as Kunzite took a tentative step towards her.

The disbelieving, smug-tinged expression faded from Kunzite's features, as it finally occurred to the silver-haired general that Usagi was dead serious. He shook his head slowly. "Why, Usagi?" he choked, "why would you destroy everything we've built for him?"

Mamoru's breath hitched as he scrutinized Usagi's reaction. Why, indeed? Was it too much to hope that maybe now she would admit what was clear as day to everyone present?

Usagi considered her brother for a moment, visibly swallowing before she answered. "Because he's mine, Kunzite." Mamoru released the breath he'd been holding with disappointment. Of course. He knew the nightmares were built to make things hard. But, fuck. This was getting ridiculous now. "And, I didn't do it for him," she continued. "I did it for me."

Her words evoked pride and relief that warmly washed over him. She'd come so damn far in the few weeks that they'd been trapped here together, and it only further cemented the glaring, beautiful truth that no matter what monster they tried to mold her into, his Usako would always breakthrough.

It was silent for a moment as the two contrived siblings faced each other, their eyes locked unwaveringly onto the other when finally, Kunzite spoke. "I'm in charge now, Usagi. You have no claim to Tumicho Tsukino anymore."

There was a dissonance of rising whispers at the harshly whispered statement, but he ignored them, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Usagi, breath held, as he studied her reaction to Kunzite's dismissal.

Tumicho Tsukino would have snarled, kicked, or killed anyone that had dared to defy her position; power had been everything to Tumicho Tsukino. He'd managed to banish that character though, and this person standing in front of them was a remorse-filled Usako. She nodded curtly once, her expression pale and resolute as she lowered her gun, let it slip from her grasp where it fell, bouncing off of the wood with a thud that echoed with resounding finality.

Tumicho Tsukino was gone, and everyone knew it.

Without another word, she swiveled around, still graceful, even more so without the heels, and swept past him. Pushing her way through the crowd of Kyodai that were rendered speechless at the loss of their current leader.

He met Makoto's wide-eyed gaze, and the brunette gestured animatedly towards Usagi's disappearing figure. "Well? Go after her," she urged quietly.

It snapped him out of his daze, and with a nod, the anticipation unfurling in his chest, he moved to follow her.

"Chiba!" Kunzite's command halted him in his tracks, and he coolly met his gaze over his shoulder. Kunzite seemed to have reigned in the hot-headed temper that seemed to have a firm grasp on the general's personality in this world. "I'm in charge now. Watch your back."

Kunzite's warning was clear. He was only letting him go because he still, on some twisted level, respected and loved his sister. But, he would find a way to make sure that he wasn't around for much longer. Mamoru nodded wordlessly and moved through the crowd towards where Usagi had disappeared into the house. He didn't want to be around for much longer, either. He just hoped that he'd banished some of Usagi's stubbornness along with the ruthless, Tumicho Tsukino. Because, at this rate, he'd be dead before he pulled a confession from her.

oOo

He couldn't find her. He'd searched the whole manor; his movements brisk as he carefully avoided the other Kyodai whose hardened eyes followed him with an array of wary, unsure, and menacing looks that filled him with a sense of urgency. It was apparent, after Kunzites display, that there had been a definite shift in power amongst the Tsukino's, and he was the reason for it.

It was only after narrowly avoiding an altercation with a group of Kunzite's more devout followers that he ran into Makoto in the hall. She stood resolute, eyes wide, face flushed, and shoulders tensed. Her expression etched with the same panic-ridden feelings that were currently coursing through him, as she turned to face him.

"Did you find her?" She demanded as she grasped his arm, slender fingers pressing almost painfully into his skin as her eyes, filled with urgency, met his.

He exhaled miserably and shook his head. "No, I've looked everywhere."

She let out a string of harsh, frustrated-filled expletives, and took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, as if to collect herself, before opening them again to fix her hardened, determined gaze back onto his face. "Mamoru," she began, her tone curt, "you need to go to your room and lay low. I'll find her and send her to you."

He opened his mouth, fully intending to protest, but was promptly interrupted by Makoto. "I'm serious, Mamoru," she snapped, "you're going to die if you stay out here and let me tell you, I have no intention of remaining trapped in this hell hole with Minako's psychotic, supposed-to-be-dead, ex-boyfriend."

Her tone left no room for argument, and he snapped his mouth shut, brow furrowed as he carefully considered her words. The role he was playing here had definitely become tenuous. Which didn't really matter because his Usako had finally fought through the cruel chords of Tumicho Tsukino and won. Her admission had to be inevitably close now, except —as Makoto had blatantly pointed out— if he were killed before they found her, it would all be for nothing.

He exhaled slowly and nodded with resigned acquiescence. "Be careful, Makoto," he acceded softly.

The wisp of a sardonic smile curled onto her lips as she pulled away. "I've never been more careful in my life," she replied, and there was an underlying meaning in her words that he didn't understand. "Go. Avoid everyone. I'll send her to you when I find her."

With that, the brunette strode away without a glance backward. Her gait purposeful and confident, which was fitting for the Senshi of Jupiter.

He didn't linger, his mind racing as he made his way through the maze of hallways. He didn't know how long he was going to be able to hide away in his room; the need to find Usagi coiled tightly in his chest, especially knowing that she was somewhere, alone and vulnerable after what had just happened.

He was contemplating ways to safely navigate the mansion, inwardly wishing he'd made more connections in his time here when he opened the familiar plain-handled door to his room.

It was midday, the artificial lighting unnecessary as the sun's position was perfectly aligned with the lone window, bathing the room in natural light.

He froze, inhaling sharply, because there, in the middle of his small twin bed, was Usagi. She looked so little; legs tucked into her chest, head buried in her knees, her hair, loose, and tumbling around her like a curtain of golden silk.

She must have heard the door open and close, but she didn't even look up as he took a tentative step towards the bed. His heart racing and twisting painfully in his chest. Because, even though this had been his intention from the beginning, the only way that he could think of to bring her back to him, it still hurt like hell to see her like this; small, trembling and clearly broken-hearted over a life that wasn't even hers.

He swallowed past the lump of emotion in his throat, slowly knelt onto the edge of the bed. The weight of his knees pressing into the mattress dipped and shifted her position as he hesitantly lifted his hands and reached out for her.

"Usako?"

He kept the tenor of his tone purposefully soft, unsure what to expect, as his fingers lightly grazed her arms that were coiled protectively around her bent knees.

The breath caught in his throat when she lifted her head, red-rimmed, china-blue eyes met his, and the miserable confusion etched into the contours of her delicate features ripped violently at his heartstrings.

Her lips trembled, and her eyes welled with tears. "Is this what you wanted, Mamoru?" She demanded, her tone harsh, and breaking with barely restrained emotion. "Was this how you wanted me? Powerless and filled with nothing but— but—" she stuttered, choking on a whimpered sob.

He couldn't help the groan that involuntary clawed its way from his throat or the way his hands shook, and his arms trembled as he roughly pulled her into his arms. At first, she was tense, her body unyielding as he pulled her onto his lap, wrapped one arm around her waist and tucked her head beneath his chin with the other. His fingers weaving through the endless strands of her hair. It didn't last long, and soon she gave in to her despair; body quivering, her chest heaving with anguish-filled sobs that tore through the silence and through his heart. The full weight of her body slumped against his chest; sapped of energy, limbs limp as her sobs subsided into weary whimpers.

He felt her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as she lifted her face away from his chest. "I don't have anything," she sniffled, her voice so low, he almost didn't hear it. "All I feel is pain and guilt, and I don't know who I am anymore. I just know that I don't want to be who I was."

His heartbeat quickened, breath hitched in his throat as he tightened his arms around her, and listened quietly to her self-revelations.

He heard her breathe in deeply, felt it's calming effects beneath his fingers pressed onto her back when she pulled away slightly and peered up at him. Her lashes still laced with tears, but her eyes filled with more than just despair and confusion. "Will you help me get away from here? From this life, Mamoru?"

He could have wept at her whispered plea, because that was all he wanted. He wanted to rip her away from this world more than anything, and it was so damn frustrating because all he needed to hear were the words. The admission for feelings that he knew, without a doubt, was already there.

He groaned, pressed his forehead onto hers, and took a deep cleansing breath. "Yes," he whispered brokenly. "That's all I want for you, Usako. I love you."

He waited with bated breath for her answer. The reciprocating words that he needed to hear and was met with crushing disappointment that accompanied her response.

She sighed softly, pulled out of his arms, and twisted away from him so that she was kneeling on the bed, her back facing him; shoulders slumped, head bent forward, and arms wrapped around her midsection in misery. "I know what you want me to say, Mamoru," she murmured, her tone despondent. "I don't think I'm capable of love."

He tensed, inwardly cursing, because, yes she fucking was, and when he got them out of this, he was going to plunge his fist into the chest that belonged to the creator of these nightmares, rip out its heart, and destroy it for what it was doing to her.

He leaned forward, swept her hair off of her shoulder, and pressed his lips onto the crook of her neck. "You're wrong, Usako," he whispered against her skin, eliciting a shudder through her body as he curled his arms around her waist with hers and pulled her against him. "You do love me, Usako. Say it. Please."

She trembled in his arms, her breathing quickening in response to the intensity in his tone. "I…" she trailed off, and he waited, with bated breath, inwardly pleading with her to say the damn words. "I can't," she whimpered. "Please, don't push me. I don't want— I can't give you what you want, Mamoru. But, you're all I have left."

His heart constricted painfully in his chest as she began to whimper again in earnest. He knew, with everything in him, that he should have pushed her harder. She was vulnerable, and her admission was right there. He could feel it. If this were any of the other nightmares, he might have. But, she'd been stretched so damn thin already, and he couldn't do it. He couldn't press her for it.

He knew they were running out of time. Between Kunzite and Ami and everything that had just transpired, he was running the risk of losing everything. But the sight of her tears, the way she shook, brokenly curled up in his arms and the sound of her truncated, agonized sobs echoing in his head was enough to make him falter.

"Mamoru, please don't leave me."

Her whispered plea pierced through his thoughts, and he grit his teeth, clenched his eyes shut and tightened his arms around her. "God, Usako," he replied with a groan. "I thought it was obvious that I would never leave you. No matter what."

She exhaled slowly, relieved, as the tension left her body, and she leaned back against him. "Will you hold me for a little while? I'm tired, but I don't want to be alone."

He nodded, and wordlessly he moved to lay on his back beneath the threadbare blanket on his bed and pulled her down beside him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and she nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder, pressing her body flush against his, thigh draped across his waist, and blonde hair splayed out across his chest.

He fixed his gaze on the ceiling, comfortingly trailing his fingers down the length of her spine when her breathing evened, and he was sure that she'd fallen asleep. "Mm, Mamoru. You're the only one I trust," she murmured sleepily just as a trill sounding 'ding' pierced the silence in the room.

His brow furrowed, and he made sure that she'd fallen asleep before he craned his neck to the side in search of the source of the noise that trilled loudly, once again.

His heart skipped a beat, and his breath caught in his throat because the sound had emanated from the small flip phone that Ami had slipped into his pocket. The dread that twinged in his chest intensified as he carefully leaned over with his free hand, and quietly flipped it open.

His eyes narrowed, and he swallowed nervously because on the small screen was a text message labeled unknown number, with an address, time and date. Ami wanted to meet him tomorrow at noon.

With a frustrated sigh, he flipped the phone shut, and it was loud enough that Usagi stirred in his arms. He winced, breath held, as she nestled more deeply against him and fell back asleep. He watched her sleep for a while, his mind racing, heart rate erratic, until his eyelids, of their own accord, fluttered shut and he fell into a restless, exhaustion induced sleep.

His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was that he knew, without a doubt, that this would all be over tomorrow.

oOo

Leaving the manor had been much easier than expected. Slipping out undetected surprisingly the easiest thing he'd had to do in this nightmare so far. When he'd woken up alone, promptly beginning to contemplate possible excuses that would allow him to leave and meet Ami as requested, he'd been fully prepared to face a slew of obstacles.

First, he'd briefly considered ignoring the message altogether, but opted against that course of action as the very last thing he wanted was to have Ami, and the cops, raid the manor again, potentially blowing his cover and ruining everything.

He was still trying to devise a relatively solid plan as he pulled a clean shirt over his head, dressing quickly, when the door flew open, the wood hitting the wall with a dull thud, and Usagi strode into the room.

For a moment, his heart stopped, because Usagi was dressed in the styled, perfectly polished-like-marble-veneer, that was a Tumicho Tsukino signature, with another pair of stupid high-heels. Luckily, he noted with relief that there was none of this nightmare's darkness glinting from her eyes as they quickly scanned the room before settling onto him; shining with the worried, vulnerable brightness that was his Usako.

With her lower lip poised between her teeth, she swept towards him, her movements filled with urgency as she grasped his wrist and pressed a set of keys into his hand. "Mamoru," she rasped. "You need to leave. My brother is on a rampage, and I'm afraid of what he'll do to you if you stay."

His brow furrowed, confused because he had no intention of leaving this place without her. "Usako," he began with a firm shake of his head. "Come with me."

If she'd agreed to leave with him, there would have been no reason to meet Ami at the address indicated, and, without the distraction of the nightmare that was the Tsukino family in this place, coaxing a confession from her probably would have been much easier.

This nightmare was particularly complex in its obstacles, though, because Usagi, eyes glinting with determination, vehemently shook her head. "I can't leave yet, Mamoru." He couldn't help but sigh with exasperation as he gritted his teeth in frustration at her response. Would it be a huge setback if he were to pick her up, toss her over his shoulder, and carry her out of here against her will?

The thought was fleeting, though thoroughly tempting, and his fingers flexed around the cold metal and plastic of the keys in his hand.

"Why not?"

His tone was harsher than intended, and she returned her sigh with a wistful smile; a smile so reminiscent of his Usako that he couldn't figure out why she was being so damn reticent about just saying that she loved him.

She stepped toward him, curled slender fingers into the fabric of his shirt, as the rueful hues of sapphire blue settled onto cobalt blue. "Because, I need to take care of some things first," she explained, and he scoffed, an involuntary sound that quirked the corners of her lips into an amused half-smile. "Mamoru, I was essentially the leader of the most infamous drug smuggling ring in all of Tokyo two days ago. I can't just walk away from that without tying up loose ends."

His brow furrowed, incensed, because what the hell kind of loose ends was she talking about? The Usagi of this world was such a tightly woven mixture of the character that had been created for her and the woman he loved, that he was getting whiplash from the unpredictability of her actions.

"What kind of loose ends, Usako?"

His tone was filled with suspicion, as his arms curled around her waist, and he hauled her against him.

He heard her sharp intake of breath as her body tensed in his embrace before she exhaled and chuckled softly. "I didn't pull the trigger, Mamoru," she reminded him of Asahi, lifting a delicate hand to cup the side of his face. "I love my brother, Mamoru. And you're just going to have to trust me."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she stopped him mid-sentence as she leaned forward and pressed her lips onto his. Her movements were practiced, frenzied, and he groaned into her mouth as she effectively stoked the burning heat in between them.

When she pulled away, he was breathless, dazed, and confused as she smiled and twirled out of his arms.

Before she pulled him into the hall, tugging him through the maze of the manor, and practically forcing him into a waiting black sedan in the driveway, she'd casually slipped a phone into his hand.

"My number is on that phone, Mamoru, but I will call you as soon as I'm ready to go," she'd explained with a wink, a swish of shapely hips before she'd just left him there to confidently stride back up the walkway, and back into that house.

The cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach and in the cavity of his chest twinged, widened and twisted uncomfortably. He should have gone after her, said no, and forced her into the passenger seat of the car. Instead, despite every instinct in his body, he'd pulled the car out of the driveway, slowly navigating the unbearably congested traffic of Kyoto city to navigate his way to the address that Ami had texted him.

He wasn't sure what to expect. He wasn't really an undercover cop, and though the guidelines of this nightmare had followed the poorly written threads of an action movie, he was still surprised when he smoothly pulled the car into park in front of Kyoto Kasotori international shooting range.

He twisted the key in the ignition, promptly killing the engine. The ensuing silence in the cab of the car was practically deafening as he let his head fall back onto the leather upholstered headrest of the driver's seat, fingers gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened, as he took a deep, cleansing breath in preparation for whatever the hell was going to happen next.

When he felt like he was suitably mentally prepared, he exited the car. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed loudly in the parking lot around him, and he grimaced, his heart racing, as he made his through the gaps between parked cars towards a lone white brick building with a faded wooden sign etched with 'reception' in black, blocky letters above the door.

As far as shooting ranges went, this particular one was probably a tinge on the shady side, and he briefly wondered if this place existed in the real Kyoto, or if it was just a construct of this nightmare, as he stepped through the front door.

Immediately, his ears were assaulted with the sounds of firing weapons, and he flinched, caught off guard, before stepping towards a stooped, white-haired man that was leaning over a scuffed, L-shaped desk.

He wasn't even really sure what the hell he was going to ask him. Had he met Ami in this place before? Was he supposed to know what the hell he was doing?

Silently raging at the injustice of all the unknown that plagued him in this nightmare, he stopped short when the man's head snapped up at his approach, and his thin-set lips widened into a toothy grin.

"She's waiting for you in section 6; firing lane 3."

Mamoru nodded, relieved that he didn't have to wade through the semantics of an awkward conversation with him, at least, as he turned left, and stepped through opened reinforced steel doors towards where the man had indicated with a terse tilt of his head and a gestured flick of his wrist.

It wasn't difficult to find, and his pulse quickened nervously as his eyes scanned over the people he passed, his brow furrowed with curiosity. Men, women, and even younger children, all using a variety of guns he couldn't begin to identify, backs to him, as they took turns firing at targets across indoor fields of synthetic grass at hanging targets.

The lanes on either side of section 6 were empty, and he sighed as his gaze fixed onto the curve of familiar tense shoulders, and the signature cropped blue hair that belonged to the former Senshi of Mercury.

He stood silently behind her for a moment, his heart beating in tandem with every rapid-fire shot that burst from the revolver that she held firmly in her hands. Her arms lifted, extended stiffly, and her expression fierce as the bullets from her gun pierced through the target with startling accuracy.

The personality crafted for Ami here, from what he'd seen anyway, was the opposite of the calm, rational girl that he knew, and there was an angry air that vibrated with anguished intensity around her.

It made him nervous, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably when she stopped shooting and spared him a cursory glance over her shoulder.

She didn't say anything at first as she turned back towards the field and fired another round of bullets. The sound was deafening, and he didn't have to wonder why the other patrons on the range were wearing noise-canceling earphones anymore.

Finally, she lowered her gun, the silence ringing almost as loudly as the shots fired, and gracefully twisted her torso to face him. Her expression was difficult to read, and he couldn't help but swallow, disconcerted, as her eyes swept over him, a small crease puckered on her brow.

He couldn't quite pinpoint the look in her eyes when they finally settled on his face, though he was sure he'd seen relief flash through them momentarily. "Good," she stated steadily. "I wasn't sure if you were going to come."

That statement did not bode well for the pretend role he was trying to uphold here, and he suppressed a grimace as he took a step towards her; forcibly keeping his expression neutral. "Of course. Why wouldn't I come?" he scoffed and hoped to God that she couldn't see right through his façade.

Her eyes narrowed, lower lip poised between her teeth, before she shook her head with a frustrated sigh. "I don't know, Mamoru," she snapped, her tone laced with uncertainty and anger. "You're different." She visibly swallowed, her cheeks reddening as she quickly averted her gaze. "And, we've been partners for a long time. I couldn't take any chances."

His heart skipped a beat, and he frowned in confusion, because, what the hell did that even mean? "What are you talking about?" he demanded, taking another step towards the bluenette that simply shrugged nonchalantly as she boldly met his gaze.

Instead of responding, she extended her gun toward him, expertly flipping the weapon with a flick of her wrist to offer him the handle. "Aren't you going to take a turn shooting, Mamoru?" she responded coolly with a questioning quirk of a lapis-colored eyebrow.

It was almost as if she was challenging him, and he swore that his heart stopped beating for a second as his breath caught in his throat. His eyes flicked nervously from her face to the offered weapon.

It didn't matter what side he was supposedly on. They were all trying to get him to use a gun. He briefly contemplated whether or not there was any significance to that as he, with a loud sigh of resignation, curled his fingers around the cold, uncomfortable weight of the revolver.

Ami promptly crossed her arms, brows raised expectantly, as he tentatively took a step towards the faded yellow line that glared up at him from the concrete in front of the field. He could feel the perspiration beading on his brow as he planted his feet where he assumed he was supposed to be standing.

He could see the way Ami's eyes narrowed, her lips pursed, in his peripheral vision as he lifted the gun and attempted to mirror the bluenette's stance from memory. Damn. Give him back his tuxedo and the ability to use his signature Tuxedo la smoking bomber attack, and he could probably blow the hanging piece of taunting target paper to smithereens without a second thought. But, a gun? In a shooting range? That wasn't even real because this whole thing was a fucking nightmare? Of course he'd overthink that, and his hands shook, the tendons in his arms flexing nervously as his index finger —was this even the right way to hold this? — hovered for a moment above the trigger.

He probably should have spent less time stressing out about the fact that he was going to shoot a gun, and more time trying to aim because the bullet didn't even graze the target. Not by a longshot.

He cringed at the sharp inhale beside him. Maybe nightmare-cop-Mamoru was just as bad at shooting as he was?

"What the hell is wrong with you, Mamoru?" Damn. By the sharp tone in Ami's voice, it was clear that cop Mamoru definitely knew how to shoot.

He risked a glance over at the blunette that was shaking her head in disbelief. "This is what I'm talking about," she snapped angrily. "When did you lose your ability to use a gun?"

He grimaced, the heat creeping up his neck as he turned to face her. "It was just an unlucky shot, Ami," he defended. "I was distracted."

She snorted angrily, cheeks blazing crimson red as she took a fury-filled step towards him. "Oh, I know you're distracted, Mamoru," she sneered, angrily prodding his chest with an index finger. "You let Tumicho Tsukino suck you in! She's a cold-hearted, manipulative monster!" Her voice broke with emotion, and the anguish tinged through the anger. "It's why I had to pull you out of there so that I could end this. I saw you kiss her in the hall, Mamoru, and I didn't want you there when everything goes down."

It took a second for her words to register, but when they did, his face blanched, his eyes widened, and he was sure that his heart stopped beating in his chest. Because, though he still held hope that he'd misheard her, the implication she'd uttered was that this meeting was a ploy to get him away from Usagi so that she could…

He didn't think about it as the gun slipped from his hand, fell onto the concrete with a sharp snap, as he grasped Ami by the shoulders. His eyes filled with pained urgency as he peered down into her startled expression. "What did you do, Ami?" he demanded hoarsely.

He was only dimly aware that he'd been lucky that he hadn't accidentally fired the gun when he'd carelessly dropped it to the ground, and that his fingers were pressing too tightly into Ami's skin, but he didn't care. He hadn't done all of this, gone through all that he had, just for it to end with Usagi behind bars.

Ami met his gaze with a scowling glare of her own. "I did what I needed to do. We have enough evidence on the Tsukino's, and you didn't need to be there anymore."

It was like he'd been sucker-punched in the stomach. He should have followed his instincts. He should have pushed Usagi for an admission when he'd had a chance, and he should never have let her convince him to drive away.

An anguished expletive burst from his lips, and he abruptly released Ami and twisted on his heels to leave the shooting range. He ignored Ami's plea-filled scream, begging him to stop, as he tore through the sections and out into the reception area.

He didn't stop when the white-haired man glanced up, startled by his abrupt appearance, and he thought his racing heart might explode from his chest as he violently shoved the front door open and pressed through the parking lot towards the borrowed sedan.

He fumbled for the keys in his pocket, cursing as they slipped through his fingers twice before he unlocked the door and quickly slid into the driver's seat.

He was already pulling out of the lot; his movements panicked, tires squealing as he briefly spied Ami in the rear-view mirror.

He was furious as he smashed the palm of his hand onto the steering in frustration because he should have known. He should have fucking known! There wasn't anything that was easy in these worlds. Ever. And every threaded instinct that he possessed had pleaded with him not to pull out of that Goddamn driveway.

He was angry, recklessly weaving in and out of traffic in his rush to get to her. What if he was too late? If only there were a way…

With another growl of self-deprecation, he clumsily fumbled through his pockets, nearly rear-ending the car in front of him, and pulled out the phone she'd given him before he'd stupidly left her behind.

He wasn't sure how he managed to find her number without crashing, but luckily, he managed, and she picked up on the second ring.

"Mamoru, it's been less than an hour. I told you—"

"Usako, listen to me. You need to find Makoto and get out of the manor right now."

There must have been something laced into the tone of his voice that alarmed her because she paused for a second before responding.

"Why?"

Her tone was sharp, filled with confusion, and he inhaled shakily, narrowly dodging another collision, before responding.

"Usako, I can't explain it to you right now, but you're in danger, and I need you to trust me now. Is there somewhere safe you can go?"

There was a pregnant pause, and he held his breath as he waited for her to respond. He wasn't sure how long it would be before the manor was raided, and they were all taken into custody.

"All right, Mamoru," she responded, and he could have wept with relief. "Meet me at the warehouse. I want to know what the hell is going on."

He swerved to another lane, slamming on the breaks behind a slow-driving vehicle and prayed that he'd given her enough of a head start to get out of there. Which, she wouldn't need if she would just admit that she loved him like he knew that she did.

His brow furrowed in contemplation. Did a phone admission count? Could he even pull a confession from her right now? Should he even try?

Aw, what the hell. "I love you, Usako."

There was a very audible sigh of irritation. "Whatever, Mamoru. Get to the warehouse with an explanation pronto."

He exhaled with resigned disappointment at her admittedly expected response as the line went dead. When a horn blared furiously behind him, he tossed the phone onto the front passenger seat, and focused solely on the road and getting to the Tsukino warehouse.

It felt like an interminable amount of time that painfully crawled by with the cars —that he swore were purposefully slowing down and getting in his way— before he finally slammed on the breaks and screeched to a halt in front of the warehouse.

The Tsukino manor was not far from here, and he exhaled, relieved, at the sight of another sedan parked in front of the entrance. They'd made it here before him, which meant that he'd interceded in time.

It only occurred to him that he was going to need to concoct a suitable explanation for his impromptu demand to have her come here as he ducked under the partially opened steel loading dock door.

He'd been here several times over the course of the few weeks that he'd spent as a Tsukino Kyodai, so he was familiar with the interior where he'd spent hours moving crates. It was easy to navigate, even in the dim lighting, and a relieved smile curled onto his lips as Usagi came into view.

She looked annoyed, arms crossed, impatiently tapping the toe of one of her high-heeled shoes as she watched him approach with a scowl fixed onto delicate features. He was so focused on his elation that she was here, safe and sound, that he didn't see that she wasn't alone until he rounded the corner of a stack of towering boxes and she fully came into view.

Beside her was Makoto, face pale, lips pressed into a thin, grim line. Green eyes wide with anxiety-ridden fear. He internally groaned because, just beside her, was Kunzite. His face set into its usual, hard-headed, hot-tempered mask of anger that sullenly fixed onto him. Two of his armed, particularly brainless, Kyodai surrounded him.

Kunzite and his brute's presence, though severely unwelcome, was not the most disconcerting person that stood there, however, because standing beside him was the familiar angled features of a girl he was seeing for the first time in this nightmare.

Minako, scantily dressed in leather leggings and a red crop top, clung onto Kunzite like he was a buoy and she was drowning, lost at sea. When her blue eyes met his, they widened, filled with shock and… recognition?

He didn't have time to delve deeper into that as Usagi stepped towards him, and he noted, for the first time, that there was something akin to suspicion flashing in her eyes. "Mamoru!" She demanded, "the cops are arresting and raiding the manor as we speak. How did you know?

He opened his mouth to respond, his mind racing with a thousand reasonable explanations when he was promptly interrupted.

"He knows because he's a cop, Tumicho Tsukino."

His breath hitched, and his heart skipped a terrified beat in his chest as his gaze slid over to the source that had just revealed the only thing that could ruin everything before he got them out of here. Minako.

The blonde's lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed angrily, and her chin tilted upwards as she boldly glowered at him. He was at a loss for words, terrified, because how the hell had she known?

Kunzite growled with rage, "I fucking knew it!"

The silver-haired general took a menacing step towards him, and Mamoru, still rooted to the spot, frozen in disbelief, didn't have time to react as the General plunged his fist into his abdomen.

The pain was intensely sharp and instantaneous as Mamoru gasped, his eyes watering, as he stumbled backward. He lifted his fist, prepared to strike back, when one of the Kyodai, towering, tattooed and brooding, quickly slipped forward and struck him again as he twisted behind him and sharply kicked the back of his legs, promptly bringing him to his knees.

Mamoru sucked in a pained breath of air, trying to recover quickly, as Kunzite pulled his gun, and, for what had to be the hundredth time in this nightmare, aimed it at his head.

With a bone-chilling glare at the Kyodai whose beefy hand was pressed onto his shoulder, keeping him on his knees, Usagi stepped in front of him, her stance stiff and defiant as she glared at Minako. "Your dumb blonde is missing way too many brain cells, Kunzite," she sneered. "Mamoru is not a cop. Why the hell would he warn us if he was a cop?" She challenged hotly.

He could only watch in horror as everything unraveled and Minako cast him a cursory, knowing, look over Usagi's shoulder. "Look, I know you're like the big, bad boss and all of that, but I was a cop, remember?" Minako drawled, and Mamoru's heart sank with dread. Ami's words from their first encounter here filtered to the forefront of his mind.

"But, he escaped Mamoru. They paid off that rookie cop, you know, the dumb blonde. Mina- something. And they got away."

He raked his hands over his face in despair. How the hell had he let himself forget that?

Usagi shook her head in denial, her expression pained and furious. "You're lying!" She hissed defensively.

Mamoru's heart twisted, and he wished, more than anything, that he could spare Usagi the pain of what was about to happen next as he met Makoto's horror-filled gaze. The brunette's brow was knitted in confusion because, like a moron, he hadn't disclosed that information to Makoto either.

He'd made so many mistakes in this nightmare, and this one was going to be the one that ended it all for them. Makoto inhaled sharply as the apologetic message he'd conveyed with his gaze registered.

Minako giggled, the sound sickly sweet, as she reached down the scrap that was the front of her shirt and pulled a phone from her bra. Kunzite was coiled in anticipation, ready to attack, as Minako swiped at something on her screen.

With a gleeful exclamation of victory, Minako held up her phone to Usagi, a smug smile on her red-painted lips.

Usagi's face paled, a stark white color, as she sucked in a sharp breath of air and yanked the phone from Minako's grasp. Her eyes narrowed onto whatever Minako was showing her on the screen.

Mamoru's heart hammered against his ribcage, and he knew, without a doubt, that he needed to say something, or do something, right now, before it was too late. "Usako," he pleaded and, once again, attempted to stand. He hissed through his teeth in pain as the Kyodai's grip tightened and he was sure something snapped in his shoulder.

Minako's smile was borderline malicious as she tapped a fingernail on the screen that Usagi was staring at in disbelief. "In thispicture, you can see Mizuno Ami at a retreat that we all attended last year, for cops. She's actually in uniform here. And beside her—" Minako's lips curled up into a chilling smile. "That right there is Chiba Mamoru, and from what I remember, he and his partner have a personal vendetta against the Tsukino's because of the death of Zoisite. Her boyfriend and his best friend."

He didn't doubt that Usagi was staring at an incriminating photo right now, and it was clear that she believed Minako because of the heart wrenching look that twisted onto the beautifully delicate features on her face. He stopped struggling against the Kyodai restraining him when Usagi spun around on her heels to peer down at him.

The pain emanating from her was enough to make him want to scream with rage and weep in anguish.

She shook her head, her hand trembling as she held the screen out to him. "Is it true?" She rasped, "Are you a cop? Was this all some kind of vengeful ploy to destroy my family and me?"

He didn't even glance at the screen, holding her gaze with his. How could he save her now? What could he do to make her understand? "Usako, I love you."

It was the only thing he could manage to say, his eyes wide and pleading. His lack of denial was enough for Usagi though, and the strangled gasp of pain that ripped from her throat and spilled from her lips made his eyes water as it tore at his heart. This wasn't fair. Why would anybody want to do this to her?

Kunzite was the calmest he'd seen him since the nightmare of this world had begun, and the white-haired general, expression hard and resolute, stepped towards Usagi, his gaze fixed firmly on his sister.

Mamoru's stomach churned as Kunzite pressed his gun into her hand. "Now, Usa," he demanded harshly, "kill him, now."

He couldn't breathe as Usagi stared down at the gun in her hand in frozen disbelief. He could pinpoint the exact moment that Tumicho Tsukino clawed her way back through the beautiful threads of his Usako. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed into a grim, determined line as her fingers tightened around the gun as she firmly met his gaze.

"You betrayed me," she whispered hoarsely, her words trembling with outrage and disbelief as she lifted the gun, blinded by Tumicho Tsukino's rage and steadily trained it on him.

It felt like time slowed as her finger hovered above the trigger, a rage-filled sneer curled angrily across gritted teeth. She was so consumed by fury, so brutally broken by what she thought he'd done, that she'd retreated behind the safety of her ruthless counterpart.

His breath hitches, ears ringing as the horror of this moment washed over him. He just needed a minute. Just a moment to delay this, break through the haze of her rage.

As if his silent plea had been answered, a sharply edged voice cut through the tension. "Wait! Usagi, don't do this."

Mamoru tore his gaze from Usagi and onto Makoto who suddenly stepped in front of him, effectively blocking him from Usagi's aimed weapon.

The brunette lifted her hands in supplication. "Please, I brought Mamoru here," she began, her tone soft, tentative, as if she were trying to negotiate with a terrorist or calm a feral animal. "He loves you, Usagi. More than anything in this world. I promise you. He has not betrayed you."

He knew that Makoto meant well, but it was evident by the cold, unresponsive set in Usagi's eyes, that there was nothing there right now except for the cold, calculating rage that belonged to the contrived character of this world.

He knew what was going to happen an instant before Makoto did, and he couldn't help the horrified plea that tore from his lips. "Usako, stop! Please!"

This time he struggled in earnest against the Kyodai holding him, and he would have torn free until the second one, much stronger than the first, kicked him in the stomach, forcing him to remain on his knees.

His vision was blurry, gasping through his pain as he peered, bleary-eyed, in helpless disbelief at the proud, loyal Senshi of Jupiter. He was too late. Makoto knew it also, because her green eyes softened, resigned and understanding as they met his. "Save her."

It was the last thing Makoto said before Usagi pulled the trigger and the bullet ripped from the barrel of the gun and tore through Makoto's chest. He swore he heard the sickening impact of metal and flesh. The gargled, pained sound that bubbled from Makoto's lips, interlaced with Kunzite's bark of malicious laughter, as she crumpled to the ground would be embedded into his brain forever.

The bile rose in Mamoru's throat at the horrific sight, and he choked on a sob of horrified anguish as he slumped forward, eyes shut against the horrifying reality of what had just happened. This wasn't real. Makoto was still alive and strapped on a gurney in a lab somewhere, and so the grief didn't completely overwhelm him.

But this. This would kill Usagi if she knew. If his Usako were somehow aware in there, this would tear her to shreds. The heart wrenching thought is what pulled his gaze back up to Usagi who stood, poised over the lifeless form of her former friend, her expression a mixture of cold and disbelieving.

"Well done, sister," Kunzite praised with a chuckle. "Now finish off this gutter rat so that we can go back to how things were before."

Usagi, almost in a numb daze, lifted her eyes from where they'd been fixed on Makoto to Kunzite's approving, steely blue eyes. "Like things were before?" She whispered, confused, and Mamoru's heart skipped a beat at the slight shake in her hand.

"Usako," he pleaded hoarsely, blinking back another onslaught of tears. "I know you're more than this. You don't want this. Please."

Usagi slid the sapphire hues of her eyes back onto him, and he could see it. The internal struggle that meant that this wasn't over after all.

Kunzite must have seen it too, because he growled in fury-filled frustration and roughly, almost violently, clasped her hands, curled them around the handle, and forcibly lifted her arms.

"Pull the fucking trigger, Usagi," he demanded sharply with a sneer curled over white teeth, as he took a step back, muscles coiled and tensed in anticipation.

Usagi hesitated, and her lower lip quivered as she stared down at him, and Mamoru waited, with breath held in his throat, as he watched the way her face contorted, eyes flashing with glimpses of emotion as she struggled to make her decision.

He hated to see her like this. She didn't deserve this, and she needed to know that no matter what she did next, it wasn't her fault.

He mustered every ounce of strength and heartfelt emotion within him and conveyed it through his gaze that steadily met hers. The corners of his lips quirked up into a soft, forgiving smile, even as his eyes glistened with pain-filled tears. "Usako," he whispered, and she froze, lips parted, eyes wide. "This isn't your fault. I understand, and I love you. No matter what you do."

Kunzite and Minako both sneered, scoffing in amusement, but something flickered in the depth of Tumicho Tsukino's eyes, and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was Usako.

He breathed a sigh of relief as her hands lowered, falling limply to her sides.

Kunzites laughter dissipated like a wisp of anger-filled smoke. "What are you doing? Kill him, Usagi!"

Usagi shook her head, tears spilling from her eyes and sliding listlessly down pale cheeks. "I can't do it, Kunzite," she choked on a ragged breath of air.

Kunzite roared in disapproval, grasped her by the shoulders and twisted her towards him. "Why not?! He's a cop! He tricked you, Usa!"

She craned her neck sideways, her pain-filled eyes meeting his, and Mamoru held his breath, the hope unfurling in his chest, constricting his throat with emotion. She was there. He could see it. He could feel it.

And then, finally, it was over.

"Because I love him, Kunzite," she admitted quietly, pulling away from her silver-haired brother to face him. "I love you, Mamo…"

She sucked in a pained breath of air, and he watched, this time with anguish, as the recognition flashed in her eyes as they slowly widened. "Mamo-chan."

He groaned, struggling against his captors as he tried to reach her. "Usa…"

Then, her gaze flicked from his onto the prone, lifeless corpse that belonged to Makoto, and he watched with horror as she crumpled to her knees with a strangled cry of absolute, heart-wrenching agony. "Mako-chan!"

He choked on a pained sob as he watched her claw at Jupiter's shirt, piercing cries of grief tearing from her throat as she pulled Makoto's head into her lap and fruitlessly pressed her fingers onto the gaping hole in Makoto's chest. "No. No. No! Mako-chan, I'm sorry. Please don't be dead. Please!"

Her anguish was so painfully palpable, it renewed his determination to get to her, and with a growl of rage, he fought, and elbowed one of the Kyodai in the groin. The Kyodai howled in pain, promptly snapping Kunzite out of his confused haze.

The silver-haired general roared furiously, as he stepped forward, a sneer on his face as he grasped the collar of Usagi's dress and forcibly hauled the broken-hearted love of his life to her feet. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Usagi whimpered, flinching away from Kunzites rage, and the edges of Mamoru's vision turned red with rage when the silver-haired general violently shook her.

With all of the fury and energy he could muster, Mamoru plunged his fist into the second Kyodai's abdomen. The tattooed man gasped, instinctively releasing him, and Mamoru sprang to his feet, ignoring the sharp, stinging sensation in his shoulder blade from where the Kyodai had probably broken his collarbone and dove for the gun that Usagi had dropped in her grief.

Minako screamed as he scrambled for the weapon. Then, with it firmly in his grasp, he stood tall, and aimed it directly at Kunzite, cocking it loudly for good measure. "Let her go."

The only audible sound was Usagi's whimpers as Kunzite, with a disgusted curl of his lip, pushed Usagi into his arms. Mamoru deftly caught her and pulled her against him, one arm wrapped around her waist like a protective steel band, the other extended stiffly, aiming the gun at kunzite's head. Usagi was like a limp rag doll, too grief-stricken to stand, and he bore the brunt of her weight as she trembled and buried her face in his chest.

He wanted desperately to comfort Usagi, speak to his newly awakened

Moon Senshi, but he kept his gaze firmly locked on Kunzite and the gun poised in his hand as he faced off with the infuriated white-haired general who looked like revenge was going to be his sole purpose from now on.

He usually hated to hear the buzzing sound of a dream ending, but this time he was counting on it. What the hell was taking so long?

The sudden sound of wailing police sirens and the muffled demand to give in and exit the premises from just outside of the warehouse entrance broke through the tension.

Kunzite cursed furiously and snapped his fingers at the Kyodai who wordlessly stepped forward to flank him on either side. They were all armed, guns raised, as they twisted around to face the door.

Mamoru knew that soon the warehouse would be flooded with cops, and he didn't understand why they hadn't been pulled from the nightmare yet. He'd won their stupid game. Usagi was awake, and she remembered everything.

His arms tightened around her waist when she trembled, and he felt the adrenaline course through his veins as his gaze frantically scanned the surrounding area for a possible way to get them out of there. For whatever reason, they were stuck still here, and he wasn't going to waste precious time trying fighting off the contrived cops of this world, too.

His breath hitched as his eyes locked onto the partially covered loading dock doors that, if he remembered correctly, was never used. He didn't know if the door was locked, or how easy it was going to be to get through it, but it was their only chance now.

He couldn't afford the time it would take to come up with an alternate solution, because the steel doors on the other side of the warehouse screeched loudly as they scraped across the cement floors. That sound, intertwined with the thudding footsteps, the authoritative commands to surrender and the resonating shots from Kunzite and his cronies that began to fire with reckless abandon, was an indication that it was time for them to go.

Usagi tensed in his arms, her hands pressed onto her ears to ward off the noise, as he pushed forward and threw them both onto the cement floor, just narrowly avoiding a stray bullet.

Her eyes, wide, glinting with terror and desperation, tore at his heart as he sucked in a pained breath, ignored all of the sharp stinging aches in his body as he grasped her arm and hauled her back onto her feet.

He would have tugged her towards the door, their only means to get out of this warehouse, but he was met with resistance as she pulled him back towards the cops that were pressing closer and the steely, dead-eyed expressions of Kunzite and the Kyodai as they mercilessly attacked.

He yanked her back towards him, and she stumbled, falling weakly against his chest. "Usako," he hissed with urgency through gritted teeth. "We need to go! What are you doing?"

She whimpered, struggling in his hold, as he wrestled to keep her in his arms as he took a step back towards the safety of the door. "Mako-chan," she cried brokenly. His heart clenched tightly in his chest as the heart wrenching sound. "Mamo-chan, I can't just leave her here."

The sounds in the warehouse were deafening as he grasped her shoulders, twisting her around to face him. She was pale, the blue of her eyes a painfully stark contrast to her pallid complexion and the inky black lashes that were laced with beaded tears. For a moment, the noise echoing loudly around them disappeared; drowned out by the energy that sizzled between them. He lifted his hands and gently framed her face, the tips of his fingers weaving into the silken tendrils of hair at her temples as he peered down into her eyes.

"Usako, that isn't Makoto," he reassured softly, his tone laced with firm conviction. "I know this is hard, but we need to get out of here."

Only seconds passed, but it felt like so much longer as he watched her come to terms with the aching grief of what had just transpired. Her lower lip quivered, but still, she nodded in agreement.

He wasn't sure how they managed to get through those next few minutes. They needed to duck several times before he could pull her behind the safety of a stack of crates as he miraculously pried the door open in record time and shot them both over the steel threshold and out into the darkened alleyway behind the warehouse.

He was sure that he heard Ami and Kunzite call in a mixture of rage and disbelief just behind them, but he didn't stop to see how close they were as he curled his fingers around Usagi's wrist and roughly pulled her forward.

They leapt over a concrete barrier in the alleyway and ran. He tried to keep them hidden, dashing through the dancing shadows along bricked walls that were cast there by the flickering street lamps that made a popping noise as they turned on one by one under the setting sun.

Usagi stumbled, her breathing labored as delicate fingers clutched onto his arm as she crashed onto her knees with a yelp of pain.

He sucked in a panicked breath of air as he swiftly knelt beside her, grasped her arm, and pulled her back onto her feet. "God," she gasped, choking on the exertion of running. "Mamo-chan, I can barely walk in these stupid things, let alone run."

He heard movement not far behind them, the soles of shoes pounding along the cobblestone alleyway. So, he was quick to clamp his arm around Usagi's waist, hoisting her against him as he, in one fluid motion, leaned forward and pried the shoes from her feet, carelessly tossing them aside.

The action was almost cathartic, and he'd be perfectly happy if she never wore a pair of heels again, but he didn't have time to think about it as he urged her forward and they fled down the darkened pathway, Usagi unsteady, even with bare feet, and emerged onto a busy Kyoto street.

Though it was late, it was still buzzing with activity, and it was easier for him to pull Usagi into the bustling din of swarming pedestrians, swallowing them up in the crowd that they carefully waded through to get onto the other side of the street.

The crowd wouldn't hide them forever though, which was very evident as more and more wary looks, tinged with fear, appeared on the faces of the men and women as they began to recognize Usagi and automatically gave her a wide berth.

He wasn't sure if they were still being followed, but he wasn't taking any chances as he pulled her off the sidewalk, into the shadows in between two buildings, and through winding mazes of deserted back alleyways until finally, they stopped in an empty, eerily quiet park.

After the resonating thrum of gunshots, screams, and the echoing sounds of pounding footsteps in hot pursuit, the quiet was disconcerting. There was only the sound of the wind whistling through the fluttering petals of the cherry blossom trees, and their ragged labored breathing as he turned towards Usagi.

She was a mess; hair loose, swirling around her in tangled clumps, dress torn, barefoot, face streaked with tears. Yet, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He couldn't stop himself from reaching for her, crushing her against the hardened expanse of his chest. He shuddered with relief, the tension seeping out of his body as he held her trembling form and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

He didn't know why they hadn't been ripped from this nightmare yet, but he intended to take advantage of every moment that they had together.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and he swore that he could almost feel her despondency as she whimpered, clinging onto him, drowning in the remnants that were the aftereffects of this nightmare.

Her whimpers turned into sobs as she crumpled unsteadily, and he needed to hold her up. "Oh, God. Mamo-chan. I killed Mako-chan," she choked, and his hold on her tightened. "I killed so many people. I can't do this anymore. I can't."

He swallowed around the lump of anger that formed in his throat, rage on behalf of what had been done to her as he pulled back slightly, placed an index finger beneath her chin and forcibly tilted her face upwards.

The haunted look in her tear-filled eyes enraged him. "Usako," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "This isn't real. None of this is real. Makoto is alive and strapped to a gurney in a lab like the rest of this. You didn't do any of those things you remember."

He'd hoped that the vehemence in his voice was enough to convince her of the truth, but by the way that her lips quivered as the tears fell, sluicing listlessly down her smooth, pallid cheeks, he'd been unsuccessful.

She clenched her eyes shut, her face contorting into a look of agony, with a disbelieving shake of her head. "I know, it's just-" she stopped for a moment, visibly swallowing before continuing. "I'm angry, because, every time I wake up in that stupid lab, I promise myself that this time when they put me under, I'll be strong enough to fight through it. Remember with you. So that you don't have to do this alone, Mamo-chan."

He inhaled sharply when her words registered. Every time she woke up in the lab? "Usako," her name spilled from his lips with panicked ferocity. Because, with the exception of that one time, he'd never woken up in the lab again. "You're waking up in the lab? You remember the nightmares?"

Her brows drew together into a frown, her eyes searching his, even as the tears continued to slide down her face silently. "Yes," she breathed in a muted whisper of anguish. "I've begged them until my throat aches, Mamo-chan. They never listen."

His heart skipped a beat; his breath stuck in his throat as his mind began to race with what this could possibly mean for them. Usagi had access to the enemy. There were so many things he wanted to tell her. So many ways that they could potentially work together to beat this thing.

Unfortunately, everything around him stopped. The sound sucked out of the world to be replaced with the low buzz that meant that this nightmare was ending.

He wanted to tell her so many things. Tell her to look for clues. Search for ways to end this. But, they were out of time, and he was not going to let her get ripped away on this last, broken note of despair.

With a guttural growl of desperation, he lowered his head and crushed his lips onto hers, her tears salty on his tongue as she reciprocated on a broken whimper of distress. It was a short, chaste kiss, but it was filled with passion, love, and his unspoken promise to get them out of here.

When he pulled away, he cupped her face in his hands, his eyes fixed with determination onto hers. "Usako, it doesn't matter what happens next. You're the strongest warrior I have ever known, and no matter what they make you do, I will always be here fighting to remind you of that."

Her eyes widened, lips parted on a sharp inhale of shocked breath, and he was certain that his words had made an impact by the confidence that flashed sharply in the depths of her eyes. He didn't get a chance to find out for sure, though, because in the next instant everything went black and he was pulled back into the void of unconsciousness.