Title: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Description: At the wedding, Ami caught the bride's bouquet, and Zoisite clocked Ryo on the rain-drenched balcony.

A/N: Sorry I have been terrible about updating! And THANK YOU for the responses to The King's Men - you are all fantastic and wonderful, and I love hearing your feedback and thoughts. Quite a few people seemed to like this line: "At the wedding, Ami caught the bride's bouquet, and Zoisite clocked Ryo on the rain-drenched balcony." so I figured it was time to go back and see what happened.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

He should have been having the time of his life. One of his oldest friends was now married to the woman of his dreams, and he himself was seated at the center table. It was hard to beat Mamoru in a tuxedo and even Zoisite wasn't unfeeling enough to try to do so on the man's wedding day, but he thought he was easily the second best-dressed man in the room. The unreserved interest coming his way from a number of the happy couple's unmarried friends, coworkers, and extended relatives, of both the male and female persuasion, certainly seemed to suggest this was the case.

Zoisite had just finished giving a sparkling toast, ostensibly on behalf of all the Shitennou but really entirely scripted by himself. To be completely honest, Kunzite's speechmaking skills were best suited to exhorting men on the battlefield to wipe out their enemies in honor of king and kingdom. Jadeite was a bit liable to go off the deep end these days, and no one wanted him inflicting his existential crisis on this momentous occasion. That had left Nephrite and Zoisite. Originally, Nephrite had been the designated speaker, but he'd called up Zoisite from Nagoya two weeks ago and asked if he would be willing to do it instead.

As far as Zoisite was concerned, he didn't know a damn thing about marriage and he couldn't think of two people who needed less advice about love than Usagi and Mamoru. Still, he'd delivered the goods. It had been perfectly suited to the occasion – witty and humorous without crossing any lines, lighthearted yet meaningful, at once managing to pay tribute to the couple and to the Shitennou's longstanding friendship with Mamoru without sliding into the soppy and overwrought.

Even Jadeite had roused himself from the depths of his unending sea of self-pity to shoot him a look that was both congratulatory yet rife with a bone-deep cynicism that, to Zoisite, was an even more effective antidote against the devastatingly sweet happiness of the night than the open bar.

In truth, it hadn't been all that difficult not to get embarrassingly sentimental. For one thing, the wedding didn't feel like the end of an era. Their era of carefree bachelorhood, when it had been just the five of them, had ended long ago. In fact, it was so long ago he wasn't entirely sure Mamoru remembered much of it.

The last glimmer of a triumphant smile faded from his lips, and he reached for a fresh glass of champagne. This time he tasted only a lingering bitterness that sucked all the moisture from his tongue and throat and none of the effervescent golden bubbles.

How did Nephrite do it? There he was, sitting with his arm around Yuna and chatting easily to their companions. The couple had been seated at a neighboring table with several of Usagi's high school classmates. Nephrite was chatting effortlessly with Naru and Umino, and he had even managed to greet Makoto and introduce Yuna to her at the start of the reception without any visible trace of awkwardness. Since then, as far as Zoisite could tell, he hadn't given her a second glance.

And Makoto, Zoisite could say freely, looked divine. She was wearing a pale lavender dress that left one shoulder bare and the other draped enticingly in sheer lace. He had had ample opportunity to see what she was wearing because his gaze had been fixed on her table for much of the evening. Makoto was sitting with Ami, Ryo, and a handful of Mamoru's coworkers.

He was well aware that staring was rude. He was just a sucker for punishment.

Ten – the number of times Ami had smiled at Ryo. Nine – the number of white roses interspersed with the powder blue hydrangea bunches in her bridesmaid's bouquet. Eight – the number of times Ryo's obnoxious laugh could be heard over the pleasant chatter and clinking of forks and knives against people's plates. Seven – the number of times she had gotten up and he had accompanied her somewhere. Six – the number of times Ryo had touched her arm or taken her hand. Five – the number of times Kunzite had stopped Zoisite from getting up and approaching their table. Four – the number of times Ami and Ryo had shared a glance over a private joke. Three – the number of hours left he had to endure this madness. Two – the number of times overly nosy people had asked when they would be the ones getting married, causing Ami to blush and Ryo to smile knowingly. One – the only opportunity he would need to give Ryo what was coming to him.

It was with no small amount of relief that he greeted Kunzite's return to the table when the other man took a brief respite from micro-managing the reception. Kunzite wore a metallic silver vest and matching bow tie, and like each of the other Shitennou, he had a bunch of miniature red roses pinned to his lapel. With the other members of their table talking amongst themselves, it was the first opportunity they had had all night for what passed for a private conversation at a wedding. Hissed instructions to Sit down and get ahold of yourself, goddamn it did not count as conversation.

"Everything all right?" Zoisite asked carelessly. Of course, if it weren't, he would have been summoned by now.

Kunzite nodded.

"Oh, good. I was afraid you were having a crisis over the placement of the forks at the Viennese table."

As expected, his jibe was ignored. "Mamoru looks happy," he observed gravely, watching as Mamoru was enthusiastically embraced by an elderly woman who Zoisite thought might be Usagi's great-aunt.

Although he was blushing, Mamoru was smiling broadly and didn't bother wiping the fuchsia lipstick mark off his cheek. Usagi did it for him a moment later, using a handkerchief with a pink bunny embroidered on it, before she tucked her arm through his and chatting away a mile a minute.

Zoisite smiled slightly, mellowing at the sight.

Sensing his change of mood, Kunzite plunged bravely into social small talk in hopes of keeping Zoisite's attention away from a certain couple at a certain table. "How's–?" he paused, trying to remember what Zoisite's current girlfriend's name was.

"Don't bother. You don't care."

Zoisite's words were matter-of-fact, and he seemed utterly undisturbed by either his own words or Kunzite's. Still, Kunzite felt the need to defend himself on the matter of Zoisite's girlfriends. There were just so many of them, and they were so…unmemorable. His own gaze paused near a certain blonde who was anything but unmemorable.

"I would care if–" He got swiftly to his feet, leaving you did unsaid.

Zoisite was surprised, but Kunzite moved with sureness and smoothness that to anyone out of earshot, however, his movements did not appear at all abrupt or unplanned. Comprehension of Kunzite's actions set in when he spotted the woman approaching them, and an intense, almost painful awareness flared along his body.

Ami watched Kunzite's departure but continued towards him without a noticeable pause in her step. At least, not too noticeable. Except to him and maybe to Ryo, who was pretending not to watch them. Or maybe he really wasn't watching them.

"Hello." She greeted him with a smile. It was not a smile that he remembered.

He recalled the one that she had often used in formal gatherings during the Silver Millennium – not too wide but not too strained, not too warm but not too distant, not too fake but not too real. She had had it down to a science. He could envision the smiles she had shared with her sister senshi, and the ones she had given to him – conveying shyness and restraint in the moonlight, hiding anger beneath a civilized facade, beaming delight over exchanged knowledge, uninhibited love in secret hours. This one was none of those smiles. It was a new smile, more hopeful and tentative and genuine than any of the ones in this new life.

"Have a seat?" he asked, nodding at Kunzite's vacated chair.

He tried not to drink in the sight of her up close too eagerly. She wore pearl and topaz drops in her ears, and it struck him as slightly incongruous. He tried to recall if she had ever worn anything except sapphires in the past.

She perched on the edge of the seat, smoothing the yellow fabric of her dress over her knees. "I liked your toast," she told him.

"Thank you."

Inwardly, his mind was working overtime, scrambling for something to say. It offered up one inane remark or question after another, then lightning fast, traced her likely response – boredom, disdain, incomprehension, offense. His usually glib and ready tongue felt thick and dry, stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"How have you been? Makoto told me you're working in computer security these days."

"That's right. It sounds like a real job, but really I just lie in bed all day and plan elaborate ways of besieging strongholds. It's not that different from the old days, except, you know, little to no risk of dying, better supply chain management, modern amenities, I get to call the shots instead of pretending to listen to Kunzite's orders, and Nephrite isn't complaining about his hair or his cape – no, wait, that was usually me."

Encouraged by her quiet laugh, he continued, "They have me on payroll as a 'security consultant' but other people call me a white hat hacker. I love that. It makes me want to want to create a figure that'll pop up when I get through a firewall – it'll be a mini Tuxedo Kamen but all in white, scolding them about their pitiful security systems."

She laughed again, her fingers going up to cover her mouth, and he grinned.

A loud click startled them, and when they turned to find the source of the interruption, Zoisite realized the moment had been captured by the wedding photographer.

As the bespectacled man scurried away, off to capture another candid memory for the happy couple, an awkward silence fell. Before he could think of something to say, the announcement came that it was time for the throwing of the bouquet.

"You should go," he mumbled to the striped carpet.

"Oh, well…"

He met her eyes at last, sensing her hesitation to participate in this exciting but rather unruly ritual. "You won't want to miss it," he said with conviction.

She got to her feet, positioning herself in the direction where a crowd of eager women had gathered around Usagi. "That sounds familiar," she says with a light laugh. "I could have sworn you've said that to me before."

Five minutes later, Usagi's enormous bouquet of red roses sailed directly into Ami's surprised grip. When Ryo kissed her cheek, Zoisite bitterly regretted his actions.

Seething, he made his way over to a pair of French doors. The cool evening air gusted over him as he exited, doing its best to calm him down. It might even have worked, if the door hadn't opened again.

"Good evening, Zoisite."

He nodded curtly.

"Look, I'm glad we have a chance to talk." Ryo gave him his best I'm such a nice guy smile. "I wanted to say that I know this is hard for you, and I appreciate how understanding you've been. We're all trying to move forward with our lives."

Zoisite thought he might be getting a cavity. Or an ulcer. Maybe both.

"You should move on," he said gently, understandingly. "It'll be better for her."

First, he laughed. Ryo had never really understood him, could not begin to understand someone like him, with his selfishness and pride and vanity. Then again, if Ryo had said, "It'll be better for you," he could have called him a liar.

When he had breath to speak, he told Ryo exactly where he could put his generous advice. Then he ended with, "She'll never love you the way she loved me."

Ryo's eyes glittered angrily, but he kept smiling. Conversationally, he said, "Is that what you think? Did you know you aren't the only ones to have kept your powers? In this life, I can also see the future."

"Good for you," Zoisite muttered, one hand on the curved door handle.

"Well, I've seen it, Zoisite. I know how things end."

The fear churned through him, mixing nastily with anger, despair, and defensiveness. He knew he should just leave, just open the door, take the first step inside…

"The two of you will never be together."

He turned, his hand slipping away from the icy metal handle, balling into a fist, and arcing into a smooth swing that ended with satisfying force on Ryo's left eye.

"Bet you didn't see that coming, did you?" he yelled, panting with rage rather than exertion.

Ryo was flung against the rain-drenched railing with the force of the blow, crumpled in his fancy jacket and the tie that matched Ami's dress. He held his hand up to his eye, which was going to be all sorts of colors within a few hours, but he was smiling a satisfied smile. He knew who the winner was.

All the anger drained out of him, leaving only sharp regret and nausea.

"Ryo? Zoisite?"

He closed his eyes as Ami rushed past him to Ryo's side. She was still carrying Usagi's gigantic bouquet of roses, which perfumed the air with their too-heady scent.

He was glad it was raining again. The moisture slid down his face, blurring his vision as he stalked back indoors, leaving the two of them out on the balcony. A small crowd had gathered nearby, and he pushed his way through them uncaringly. The damage was done, after all.

He slipped into one of the darkened cloakrooms when the attendant stepped away and tried to wallow in his disgrace instead of Ryo's words. It wasn't so hard – he didn't think any of them could forgive him for ruining Mamoru and Usagi's wedding. He didn't know if he could forgive himself. At some point, his legs grew numb, and he sank down onto a folding chair.

All too soon, the moment he feared came. Mamoru walked into the room with an air of determined patience and turned on the lights.

"Zoisite, why–?"

"I'm very sorry, Mamoru. I apologize. Please tell Usagi I'm sorry, too. I'll tell her myself, just not tonight; she probably doesn't want to see me anyway. I'm so sorry."

Mamoru came closer, the confusion and exasperation on his face replaced by concern. "Zoisite, what happened?"

He swung himself away quickly, almost violently, banging his shin against the hard metal chair. No rain indoors, of course, but the wet was still creeping out of his eyes. He wanted to say something, anything, that would get Mamoru back to his Usako and his wedding, but the loneliness and despair choked him.

Without another word, Mamoru pulled over another horribly uncomfortable chair and, with a quiet sigh, sat down next to him.

Zoisite wasn't sure how long they sat there together, but he knew it was too long. Eventually Kunzite came in to take charge and booted Mamoru out. He didn't bother saying anything to Zoisite. Before he left, Mamoru clasped his shoulder reassuringly.

Kunzite had their coats and his car keys, and Zoisite followed him silently. Usagi was waiting for them on the landing of the back stairwell. She gave him a tight hug, hushed him when he tried to apologize, and listened to the retreating sound of their heels going down all twenty seven flights of stairs.