Chapter Text
Of course , he thinks as the blast hits him, Sailor Moon was the Moon Princess all along.
It’s so simple. He wants to laugh as her magic knocks the wind from his lungs, the force of it and the pillar behind him enough to temporarily shake his consciousness. Of course , that makes sense. For once something in this whole winding, convoluted makes sense. He wants to tear the pigtails from her head and wear them as a scarf, rip that tiara from her head and drive it into her throat, but the strength ebbs from him and he thinks with delirious acceptance that this is how it will end.
You will be fine, were the words whispered against his lips. Kunzite’s strong hands help him up The world goes black and he hears he distant thunder of Kunzite’s voice, informing them that this is not the last of it. The woosh of their teleportation magic brings him back. Their foreheads pressed together as if in conference. He burns but Kunzite is there to soothe it all away. Regardless of what he has done this day he has all the faith that if anyone can save him from the fate he has trapped himself in, it’s Kunzite. If there is nothing to be done, then Zoisite accepts the end with a wavering smile as he drifts into dreams of a Golden Palace and world full of light.
When he awakes the next morning he knows that trust has not been misplaced. If he were to be punished, he would have been struck down while he slept - this is the lie he tells himself when he rolls over and finds the other half of their bed empty.
He dresses aching muscles in a cleaner uniform than the one he’d fallen asleep in. Carefully flexes his fingers and shrugs off the thrum of a headache at his temples. He waits for all of an hour for Kunzite to appear, take his hand and comfort him with wise words but he does not come. When two pass he begins to worry. Perhaps they’ve entered phase three and his lover is out on a mission already. It would be like him, for how tender Kunzite could be behind closed doors he is not a kind man by nature and work is always first. It had been one of the first hurdles they had to face, and even now Zoisite sets his jaw.
At three, there’s an interruption. One of his youma knocks at the door, her voice soft and cowed by the wrath of a furious queen. “General Zoisite? Queen Beryl wishes to see you.”
I heard no call. For as long as he could remember there was no need for a messenger. The Queen’s voice would simply cut through whatever thoughts you had, demand your presence, and only when you had bowed before her did the mental pressure ease. Something feels off, more off than Kunzite’s missing presence. It needs investigating, but instead he gathers his energies and teleports to the throne room, kneeling and speaking apologies before she can say a word. When her wrath abates, he looks up - sees a man dressed in armor with a swirling cape, but the clothing is dark and the hair is dark and suddenly something does not seem right.
"You will be collecting energy for our great Leader in the Tokyo region again," Beryl says, and she doesn’t seem to notice this oversight. She taps long fingers against the crystal ball, looking pensive. "I had hoped to send a more competent man, but… It would seem that those are hard to come by these days."
The slightest shift in her gaze leads his eye away. Across the faces of frightened youma, across the charred bodies of the few brave wretches stupid enough to try to calm her, finally to the body slumped in the corner that had long since stopped smoking. The features are burnt beyond recognition, but he knows long before his eyes settle upon the shattered pink gemstone wedged in the charred skull.
Those cold eyes burn into him. The scream caught in his throat doesn’t escape – that would be her victory. Zoisite turns back to face her, aware of the tears pooling in his eyes but equally aware of the snarl her new pet hound wears, and the cold gllint in her eye that tells him she’s waiting for a chance to take off that leash.
“Thank you for this chance, My Lady.” He dips into a respectful bow, taking a deep, calming breath and holds it together. Hoping that the trembling won’t be noticed, but it’s a fools dream.
Disappointment comes at him in a wave but he does not move.
“This is your very last chance, Zoisite,” she says, the scorn dripping from her every word. “Try not to waste it.
“I won’t, my lady.”
He disappears in a flurry of sparks.
There was no one fool enough to think that Zoisite would ever be the Queen’s favorite. Once, yes, he courted her favor. But that had been to undermine Nephrite. A few seconds in that spotlight told him all he needed to know; it was fleeting and cheap. There was nothing to be gained from being noticed by her. Nothing except a swift death the second you stopped meeting those lofty expectations.
Kunzite was the only one ever to survive it.
When he was brought to the Kingdom (and he thinks he was brought, for he cannot remember a time before he was there. Only that he was all angles, sharp and hollowed out by hunger, and recalled only the sense that there was something more for him in the world than misery) she had turned her nose up at him, assigned him to Kunzite’s tutelage in hopes it would make him better than he was. He took it, studied magic and drove himself to insomnia more than once to learn all that could be learned - stayed up to know that Kunzite would be called from his side during the nights to Beryl’s chambers because he was the most handsome among them.
Jadeite had loathed him for it, and Zoisite had loathed her and somewhere in the middle they had conspired. In the end he had gotten what he wanted, secret kisses in the alcoves of the Kingdom won by a clever distraction on the part of his comrade in mischief. Words never exchanged, but something beyond physical - there was nothing like it in that cold world he had come to nown. No love, no warmth. No words he could put to the feeling he felt when he awoke with one of Kunzite’s arms around his waist, how his heart leapt when a present was given for good behavior… Words that he could not say now, even if he could find them.
Juuban Park is empty at this time of night, only the distant echo of the human underworld sifting through the silence. When he rematerializes there, there is no one to see how awkwardly he stumbles. A few staggering steps bring him to a park bench and he feels for it like a blind man, slowly sitting down. His head drops, the heels of his hands pressed tightly against his eyes. Tears begin, but willpower holds them back. This was not how it should have gone.
There is an impulse rising to killbut he can’t - it would be a waste of this gift that Kunzite had given him. He swallows, suddenly all too aware of the weight of his tongue and the taste of unbrushed teeth. There had once been Four generals (four kings) and now there was but one.
And if he gave her reason, there would be none.
This was not a gift he wanted. The responsibility to stay alive is heavy on his shoulders and it is much harder and heavier than the indecision plaguing him. Running away was fruitless, staying would lead to death. This was a struggle against the inevitable.
“Damn it, Kunzite,” Zoisite swipes at his eyes again, biting the inside of his cheek to steady himself. This is no way to act, but there is no secret place to hide and cry about the unfairness of it all. That had been Kunzite’s office, but with the Middle Eastern General dead that area of the Kingdom was sure to have collapsed. Pocket dimensions did not outlive their Gods, unlike poor worshippers left knowing only what was… there was only a certainty at what would now be.
Beryl would not stop. When the world was hers, all would fall to her hand when her mood soured. This he knew, he had known long before Jadeite had been struck down, when he saw the way her eyes narrowed at the sight of them as if they were cockroaches ripe for squashing. If he were to rebel then they would come after him - he would be a single man against an army of hundreds, alone.
A hard swallow keeps the hysterical bubble of laughter in his throat from bursting forth. His hands choose instead to twist at his sides, eyes shutting tight. His life was as good as forfeit… but so what? What was the point of continuing when Kunzite was dead… any effort they made against Sailor Moon was fruitless, for she had that infernal ability to wipe away all their damage. She and that stupid –
- Healing –
Of course.
That stupid wand.
That stupid, stupid silver Crystal.
He had seen firsthand what it could do. The raw burns were still on his skin, screaming at him when he moved. A constant reminder of what he had seen and faced, the sheer destructive power it held… but he knew that it could do something more. If it could destroy, then in the right hands…
In the right hands it could even cure death.
The young general feels his throat constrict. Yes, yes it certainly could. If it had the power to seal the most powerful youma in history, to reincarnate them as simple humans, then surely it could bring back one man..
And even if it couldn’t, he couldn’t let it fall into her hands.
Slowly, Zoisite straightens. The hands at his side unclench, one rising to play at his lips as he thought.
He could do it. He knew her identity, it would be so damn easy.
There was a chance now. Hope rose in his chest, the pieces carefully tumbling into place. Closing his eyes and letting out a slow breath, a plan began to form.