it sings in your veins
takes place somewhat in the manga? a couple of years post-galaxia. written for sm_monthly.
having taken great liberties with my knowledge of the japanese legal system, which is a great big fat zero.
Title: It Sings In Your Veins
Theme: Antigonish by Hughes Mearns
Genre: Dark/Angst
Version: AU/Manga-ish
Rating: PG-13
...
It Sings In Your Veins
…
…
…
…
…
She’s probably the first and only person - ever - to work an orange jumpsuit like it’s fucking couture. The way the girl shimmies into the room, you’d think she was walking into a high school dance, not a high security conference unit. But her police report says she hasn’t even graduated from college, so maybe he can’t really begrudge her that strut, that youthful aplomb. And it’s a good color on her, which is more than he can say for most of his clients.
As the officer clanks the rattling door shut behind them, he flips quickly through a couple of papers and looks up. Only to realize she’s peering everywhere but at him with real interest, as though the dank walls are more than just peeling rust and futility. He raises an eyebrow, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed.
“Miss Aino.”
“Yes?” The blonde languidly focuses on the drippy ceiling. He hears a faint pop when her shoulders roll back, then down again.
“My name is Daitou. I’m your defense attorney. And you and I have a lot to talk about.”
“Daitou,” she repeats, considering.
And then those wide eyes swing onto him like searchlights, nothing short of fluorescent. Glossed lips bend. “Well let me just say. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
…
It is, without a doubt, the strangest case he’s ever taken on.
Daitou’s accustomed to angry punks. Reasonably burly guys. Not this honey of a blonde who looks like she’s straight out of a swimsuit catalog - Google obligingly confirms it, though he’s alarmed that his bathroom reading taste now veers toward the likes of hardened jailbirds.
This honey of a blo nde who beat the living shit out of two of those aforementioned burly guys. And then slugged them right where it counted. Handles that Glock like a pro, this one, and they’re still waiting on charges for the third son of a bitch.
If they ever identify his face.
…
Aino Minako, twenty-one, five-feet four-inches, one-hundred-ten pounds of walking death, answers his questions like she’s at a job interview, and she knows she’s acing it. Confident and direct. Two parents, both living, and a cat. No boyfriend. She likes volleyball and shopping. And cute guys, with a cool flutter of fair lashes.
God, he would love to get this bitch on the stand. What jury could say no to that fairy face? Daitou leans back, almost starting to relax and enjoy this odd conversation. Almost, but something of her smile has the devil in it. Pretty girls’ smiles always do.
“And, Miss Aino, have you ever killed anybody?”
His client doesn’t hesitate for even a second. “Yes.”
“How many?”
“The three they said I did. Why are you representing me, Daitou?”
“You want to tell me what happened?” he ignores her query.
“Sure. Which one do you want to talk about first?”
“Let’s go in order, shall we?”
They do.
…
That night, when he goes home and peels out of his suit, her face on the front of a local newspaper catches his notice. Not surprising; it’s a pretty high profile affair by now, for its gruesome peculiarity alone, but Daitou generally doesn’t pay attention to media hoopla over his cases.
Still, he takes and skims the article without really intending to. There’s a shot of her with her friends, all in their high school sailor uniforms. Cute. She’s kissing a scornful dark-haired girl’s cheek. Real cute.
Daitou crumples it, tosses it into the trash, and misses. “Fuck,” he growls under his breath, but he’s too lazy to pick it up. Every now and then, while flipping between some old anime and a game show, his eyes wander back to the forlorn picture on the floor.
…
He jots down the details, expression contemplative, and only interrupts her to clarify any minor points. It doesn’t happen often. His client’s delivery is astoundingly lucid. Not sorry, not callous either, nor any adjective he can accurately summon. But it still doesn’t explain how this little girl overpowered three - no, two, Daitou corrects himself, they may not get enough DNA on that last poor fucker - two guys maybe twice her size. Her description makes it sound like they were rag dolls in her hands.
“Okay.” His elbows rest on the table. “There are a couple of ways to get off a homicide charge, Miss Aino.”
“I don’t think I’d fit into any of them.”
“No?” he drawls.
“Well…” her yellow head tilts quizzically. “I did do it. Not by accident. And they have a lot of proof. Hair, my DNA or something under their nails, I think fingerprints. I wasn’t exactly cautious.”
“So you killed them. Fine. Like I said, killing people is defensible.” As Daitou speaks, he watches her hands. Buffed, short nails; deep gouges healing above the knuckles. A bruise or two on the arms. Now he’s just dying to know what her victims look like. “Did you have help? Anyone else there with you?”
“No.”
“Those guys were pretty big,” he presses. “Miss Aino, if you want me to handle your case to the best of my ability, you’re going to have to tell me the truth. All of it.”
She grins wide, and Daitou feels something lurch in the pit of his belly. It’s not desire.
“What can I say. I’m a strong girl.”
…
Before heading out for the evening, he makes a detour. The office is dark when Daitou throws open the door, but he knows what file he’s looking for. It slides into his briefcase smoothly, and then he’s starting the ignition again. There are deep furrows in his brow when he checks the rearview mirror. Lips chapping from habitual, unstoppable licking, throat drying as brush fire.
Snapshots spread haphazardly over his coffee table, and Daitou scans them with a critical eye.
There’s a lot of liquid red, to be sure. And no shortage of bruises and welts and incisions, some so deep that bled-out muscles emerge. Bones splintered at odd angles, pushing up under straining purple skin. What kind of monster is this bitch? The names on the photos mean nothing to him, but oh, God, something about this whole mess means too much.
…
“What were they doing before?” he probes much later. “Bothering you? Getting in your face?”
“It wasn’t self defense, Daitou.”
His face remains a remarkable study in composure. “Do you want lunch? Coffee?”
“I guess you do, or you wouldn’t be asking.” Her countenance grows ruminative. “Unless it was.”
“Unless it was what?”
“Self defense,” his client elaborates shortly, as though her thoughts haven’t recently assumed the logical consistency of bouncy rubber chickens. “I mean, it could be.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“If I hadn’t done it, they would have hurt me.”
Daitou twirls his pen between his fingers, and her name slips off his tongue like melting sugar. “Go on, Minako.”
“Me, and everyone else,” she says softly. “They’ve done it before.”
“Wait.” He snaps the pen’s cap off. “You’re going to have to give me a little more than that.”
“We died for them once.” Those irises are like pale lasers on his, and Daitou forgets to disbelieve what she’s just said. “See, Daitou, I don’t make mistakes twice.”
“All right. I’m lost,” he holds up his hands. “Minako, the legal standard here requires that you reasonably believed violence was needed to protect yourself from imminent force. Deadly force, in your case, since you offed them. And I’m getting the feeling they weren’t about to attack then and there.”
“By the time they would’ve attacked, it’d have been too late,” Minako shrugs. “But yeah. It’s like I told you the first day. I don’t think you’re going to be able to justify what I did.”
“Do you want me to?” His hand edges toward his client’s manacled wrists, and Daitou watches its progress, fascinated, before realizing where it goes. It stops, balls up.
“Not really. I’d do it again, you know.” Her amused glance dips to his outstretched fist. “So, you never answered my question. Why are you representing me?”
“They’re going to prescribe a capital sentence in your case. At first, I figured…” he shakes his head. “Who cares what I figured. My strategy’s definitely changed. You’ll be executed if I don’t defend you.”
“So?” she breathes.
“I thought - ”
“You thought…”
“I don’t know,” Daitou confesses, in a turn of events rather surprising to himself. “I just had to.”
Man the fuck up, he tells himself, shaken. You’re supposed to be doing the asking, not her. His fist unclenches, like a rose blooming from the greasy metal table between them.
Minako’s eyelids flicker serenely. “Now you’ve answered my question.”
…
No amount of painkillers is killing this migraine fast enough. He pops an Ambien instead and passes out moments after his head hits the pillow. Daitou never dreams on this stuff, but then again, it’s been a very long while since he’s needed it.
That night, a familiar voice tells him everything. A hand reasssuring on his forehead, a sigh of sun-filled grass. A sound so beautiful and strong and wise that when he wakes up, his cheek drips with tears, his chest stickily heavy with more despair than he’s ever felt. But he can’t remember who said what. Why it was clearly and vitally important, even as his mind reaches for that saddest comet’s brilliant tail.
…
The next time Daitou’s there, she’s got a visitor. He finds this out because the whole of the facility is watching the news upstairs for some inexplicable reason, and he traverses the entire lower floor without running into any staff. But there’s still muted noise coming from somewhere, Minako and - who? Daitou follows the sound to the visitor booths. Even the guy manning the wiretapping system is gone, and it only takes him a minute’s hesitation to slide into the recording booth and pop earphones over his skull.
“…get you out of here,” her friend? says urgently. “I brought your transfor - ”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh, yes you are,” the other girl practically spits fire. “You’ve been careless enough already. For God’s sake, Minako, why didn’t you just finish them off as Venus? What was the need for something so clumsy as a…a gun?” the last is dangled with supreme distaste.
“I don’t have any regrets. My duty is discharged.”
“Mamoru doesn’t think so. He’s already made a statement to the police. Hell, they’re all watching the news upstairs right now. Talking about how Tokyo General’s finest, Dr. Chiba, has come forward to solve this brutal crime - ”
“Mamoru is an idiot.” Minako’s voice hardens. “But we were all idiots, then. At least now things will go quickly. The prosecutor’ll charge me with the third. He - he was still the greatest of all of them, Rei.”
“And the fourth? Have - have you found him?” Rei seems to falter, though Daitou’s not sure how he knows that without having seen her face.
“Soon.” Her tone is utterly bleak. “The Prince’s stones will go quiet forever.”
“He’s still trying to reach Jadeite. You must hurry. I could help - ”
“No. This was my task alone, and I’ll pay for it alone, Rei.”
Rei releases a long breath, as if in understanding. “You wanted to be caught. With the Shitennou’s blood on your hands - ”
Minako laughs, a painfully high peal he’s never heard before. “Would there be any place for me in our damned eternity? Would Mamoru ever look at me again? I won’t be the one to make Usagi choose. Between him and me. Never. I’ll die first.”
“And so you will. But…” An exhalation, wet and aching. “…what will we do without you? What will Usagi - ”
“Forget me, someday. You have forever, my friend.” She sounds so gentle, Daitou can’t help but picture her lovely, golden face like the Madonna. “The baby will be born next month. And then, you’ll crown Usa in my place.”
He staggers knock-kneed out of the booth at that, unable to listen to any more that he doesn’t understand, and knows he should. Daitou bodily rips the earphones off when they tangle in his arms. Running for the entrance, wingtips skidding on grimy linoleum. Someone upstairs serendipitously ups the volume, and then he hears it.
“Dr. Chiba, what made you come forward - ”
Everything drones. Clamors, bedlams. But for the dream-voice in the television, perfect, sane. The midnight-eyed messenger, the King of reason and faculty. But still the words garble in his brain, and Daitou thinks he must go mad before he deciphers their terrible import.
…
However that Rei girl got through security yesterday, he’s grateful. The metal detector doesn’t so much as whisper when Daitou strides through. Back to the gray little conference unit, where this all began, where it all ends.
Minako sits on her customary chair, shackled knees drawn up to her chin, hugged by cuffed wrists. She smiles to see him. “Hey!”
“Hey.” Daitou seats himself, feels cool weight settle solidly inside his jacket. “So you should know that - ”
“Another charge. First degree murder. I heard.”
“This, uh - ” Daitou thumbs through his file. “Chiba Mamoru guy doesn’t like you very much.”
His client’s features are open, guileless. “Well, he saw me do it. He’s probably, you know, traumatized.”
“Yeah. I took a look at the pictures. They’re pretty appetizing, I’ve got to say.”
“Are they?” she inclines forward.
Daitou opens his mouth, and then shuts it again. His palms rise to rub his sleepless, burning eyes, and remain there.
“Minako. Please. What the fuck is going on?”
“What do you mean?” she inquires.
“Cut the bullshit. I need to know how you did that to those poor fuckers. I need - ” his spine straightens. “I need to know.”
Minako chuckles, indulgent. “No, I don’t think so.”
The gun hits the table with a heavy thud. “I do.”
…
“Oh,” she murmurs tenderly. “Jadeite’s grown up, hasn’t he?”
“Please,” Daitou gasps. His skull begins its familiar throb. “I don’t know who that is. That’s why I’m here. Why I was drawn to your case. I had to get inside of you, even though I didn’t know it. Everything’s brought me here to you. Please.”
“Didn’t you hear Mamoru’s warning? He saw me kill Kunzite. He knew what to do. The field of dreams..." Her neck cracks. "You should've listened. I’ve been hunting you a long time, Jadeite.”
“Don’t call me that! Who the fuck - ”
“Then what’s your name?”
“Jiyu,” he moans at the pain between his ears. “Stop.”
“J. Daitou,” she sings trippingly to herself, and Daitou nearly retches on the damp floor. But there’s control in him still, glittering dust of a past life, a golden general who coldly tells him to think. Fingers not his own seize the gun, point it at the girl in chains.
“You’re insane,” he tells her.
“And your life is pretty much over once you pull that trigger, don’t you think?”
“Yours is done, either way. I’m doing you a mercy. They’ll hang you for your crimes.”
“Here I hoped to get to you before you committed any.”
“I’m not a monster. Not like you.”
“Not yet,” Minako whispers. “But Chaos will find you. He always does. It’s worth it - a Senshi's life for shedding human blood. They won’t have to face you again.”
Daitou’s arm bends, and she smiles sadly. “Can you do it, Jadeite? Betray us a final time?”
Her metal-clad forearms prop his quavering wrist up, so that the barrel digs into Minako’s sheened, lineless forehead. “I know it sings in your veins. Hate that consumes you. Every time. Just get it over with.”
He pants loudly, the door clatters at their shouting, and all the fatal cacophonies of his mind erupt into white agony. Sweat trickles unceasingly through his blond curls, so like hers, so unlike hers. In another life, she could have been his sister.
“Do it! If you hesitate, I won’t!”
The weapon falls precisely between her spread fingers, and true to the police report, blonde bitch is an old hand with that Glock, even in cuffs. I’m sorry, Daitou tries to tell his angel, his King. I didn’t know how to listen.
A shot rings out like a thunderclap in humid summer, and oh, thank you, the field of dreams seems to sigh.
The door bursts open, streaming shards of light like heaven, and Minako's bright blue eyes fall shut even as Jadeite's irises widen, and welcome eternity.
…
…
…
…
…
having taken great liberties with my knowledge of the japanese legal system, which is a great big fat zero.
Title: It Sings In Your Veins
Theme: Antigonish by Hughes Mearns
Genre: Dark/Angst
Version: AU/Manga-ish
Rating: PG-13
...
It Sings In Your Veins
…
…
…
…
…
She’s probably the first and only person - ever - to work an orange jumpsuit like it’s fucking couture. The way the girl shimmies into the room, you’d think she was walking into a high school dance, not a high security conference unit. But her police report says she hasn’t even graduated from college, so maybe he can’t really begrudge her that strut, that youthful aplomb. And it’s a good color on her, which is more than he can say for most of his clients.
As the officer clanks the rattling door shut behind them, he flips quickly through a couple of papers and looks up. Only to realize she’s peering everywhere but at him with real interest, as though the dank walls are more than just peeling rust and futility. He raises an eyebrow, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed.
“Miss Aino.”
“Yes?” The blonde languidly focuses on the drippy ceiling. He hears a faint pop when her shoulders roll back, then down again.
“My name is Daitou. I’m your defense attorney. And you and I have a lot to talk about.”
“Daitou,” she repeats, considering.
And then those wide eyes swing onto him like searchlights, nothing short of fluorescent. Glossed lips bend. “Well let me just say. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
…
It is, without a doubt, the strangest case he’s ever taken on.
Daitou’s accustomed to angry punks. Reasonably burly guys. Not this honey of a blonde who looks like she’s straight out of a swimsuit catalog - Google obligingly confirms it, though he’s alarmed that his bathroom reading taste now veers toward the likes of hardened jailbirds.
This honey of a blo nde who beat the living shit out of two of those aforementioned burly guys. And then slugged them right where it counted. Handles that Glock like a pro, this one, and they’re still waiting on charges for the third son of a bitch.
If they ever identify his face.
…
Aino Minako, twenty-one, five-feet four-inches, one-hundred-ten pounds of walking death, answers his questions like she’s at a job interview, and she knows she’s acing it. Confident and direct. Two parents, both living, and a cat. No boyfriend. She likes volleyball and shopping. And cute guys, with a cool flutter of fair lashes.
God, he would love to get this bitch on the stand. What jury could say no to that fairy face? Daitou leans back, almost starting to relax and enjoy this odd conversation. Almost, but something of her smile has the devil in it. Pretty girls’ smiles always do.
“And, Miss Aino, have you ever killed anybody?”
His client doesn’t hesitate for even a second. “Yes.”
“How many?”
“The three they said I did. Why are you representing me, Daitou?”
“You want to tell me what happened?” he ignores her query.
“Sure. Which one do you want to talk about first?”
“Let’s go in order, shall we?”
They do.
…
That night, when he goes home and peels out of his suit, her face on the front of a local newspaper catches his notice. Not surprising; it’s a pretty high profile affair by now, for its gruesome peculiarity alone, but Daitou generally doesn’t pay attention to media hoopla over his cases.
Still, he takes and skims the article without really intending to. There’s a shot of her with her friends, all in their high school sailor uniforms. Cute. She’s kissing a scornful dark-haired girl’s cheek. Real cute.
Daitou crumples it, tosses it into the trash, and misses. “Fuck,” he growls under his breath, but he’s too lazy to pick it up. Every now and then, while flipping between some old anime and a game show, his eyes wander back to the forlorn picture on the floor.
…
He jots down the details, expression contemplative, and only interrupts her to clarify any minor points. It doesn’t happen often. His client’s delivery is astoundingly lucid. Not sorry, not callous either, nor any adjective he can accurately summon. But it still doesn’t explain how this little girl overpowered three - no, two, Daitou corrects himself, they may not get enough DNA on that last poor fucker - two guys maybe twice her size. Her description makes it sound like they were rag dolls in her hands.
“Okay.” His elbows rest on the table. “There are a couple of ways to get off a homicide charge, Miss Aino.”
“I don’t think I’d fit into any of them.”
“No?” he drawls.
“Well…” her yellow head tilts quizzically. “I did do it. Not by accident. And they have a lot of proof. Hair, my DNA or something under their nails, I think fingerprints. I wasn’t exactly cautious.”
“So you killed them. Fine. Like I said, killing people is defensible.” As Daitou speaks, he watches her hands. Buffed, short nails; deep gouges healing above the knuckles. A bruise or two on the arms. Now he’s just dying to know what her victims look like. “Did you have help? Anyone else there with you?”
“No.”
“Those guys were pretty big,” he presses. “Miss Aino, if you want me to handle your case to the best of my ability, you’re going to have to tell me the truth. All of it.”
She grins wide, and Daitou feels something lurch in the pit of his belly. It’s not desire.
“What can I say. I’m a strong girl.”
…
Before heading out for the evening, he makes a detour. The office is dark when Daitou throws open the door, but he knows what file he’s looking for. It slides into his briefcase smoothly, and then he’s starting the ignition again. There are deep furrows in his brow when he checks the rearview mirror. Lips chapping from habitual, unstoppable licking, throat drying as brush fire.
Snapshots spread haphazardly over his coffee table, and Daitou scans them with a critical eye.
There’s a lot of liquid red, to be sure. And no shortage of bruises and welts and incisions, some so deep that bled-out muscles emerge. Bones splintered at odd angles, pushing up under straining purple skin. What kind of monster is this bitch? The names on the photos mean nothing to him, but oh, God, something about this whole mess means too much.
…
“What were they doing before?” he probes much later. “Bothering you? Getting in your face?”
“It wasn’t self defense, Daitou.”
His face remains a remarkable study in composure. “Do you want lunch? Coffee?”
“I guess you do, or you wouldn’t be asking.” Her countenance grows ruminative. “Unless it was.”
“Unless it was what?”
“Self defense,” his client elaborates shortly, as though her thoughts haven’t recently assumed the logical consistency of bouncy rubber chickens. “I mean, it could be.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“If I hadn’t done it, they would have hurt me.”
Daitou twirls his pen between his fingers, and her name slips off his tongue like melting sugar. “Go on, Minako.”
“Me, and everyone else,” she says softly. “They’ve done it before.”
“Wait.” He snaps the pen’s cap off. “You’re going to have to give me a little more than that.”
“We died for them once.” Those irises are like pale lasers on his, and Daitou forgets to disbelieve what she’s just said. “See, Daitou, I don’t make mistakes twice.”
“All right. I’m lost,” he holds up his hands. “Minako, the legal standard here requires that you reasonably believed violence was needed to protect yourself from imminent force. Deadly force, in your case, since you offed them. And I’m getting the feeling they weren’t about to attack then and there.”
“By the time they would’ve attacked, it’d have been too late,” Minako shrugs. “But yeah. It’s like I told you the first day. I don’t think you’re going to be able to justify what I did.”
“Do you want me to?” His hand edges toward his client’s manacled wrists, and Daitou watches its progress, fascinated, before realizing where it goes. It stops, balls up.
“Not really. I’d do it again, you know.” Her amused glance dips to his outstretched fist. “So, you never answered my question. Why are you representing me?”
“They’re going to prescribe a capital sentence in your case. At first, I figured…” he shakes his head. “Who cares what I figured. My strategy’s definitely changed. You’ll be executed if I don’t defend you.”
“So?” she breathes.
“I thought - ”
“You thought…”
“I don’t know,” Daitou confesses, in a turn of events rather surprising to himself. “I just had to.”
Man the fuck up, he tells himself, shaken. You’re supposed to be doing the asking, not her. His fist unclenches, like a rose blooming from the greasy metal table between them.
Minako’s eyelids flicker serenely. “Now you’ve answered my question.”
…
No amount of painkillers is killing this migraine fast enough. He pops an Ambien instead and passes out moments after his head hits the pillow. Daitou never dreams on this stuff, but then again, it’s been a very long while since he’s needed it.
That night, a familiar voice tells him everything. A hand reasssuring on his forehead, a sigh of sun-filled grass. A sound so beautiful and strong and wise that when he wakes up, his cheek drips with tears, his chest stickily heavy with more despair than he’s ever felt. But he can’t remember who said what. Why it was clearly and vitally important, even as his mind reaches for that saddest comet’s brilliant tail.
…
The next time Daitou’s there, she’s got a visitor. He finds this out because the whole of the facility is watching the news upstairs for some inexplicable reason, and he traverses the entire lower floor without running into any staff. But there’s still muted noise coming from somewhere, Minako and - who? Daitou follows the sound to the visitor booths. Even the guy manning the wiretapping system is gone, and it only takes him a minute’s hesitation to slide into the recording booth and pop earphones over his skull.
“…get you out of here,” her friend? says urgently. “I brought your transfor - ”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh, yes you are,” the other girl practically spits fire. “You’ve been careless enough already. For God’s sake, Minako, why didn’t you just finish them off as Venus? What was the need for something so clumsy as a…a gun?” the last is dangled with supreme distaste.
“I don’t have any regrets. My duty is discharged.”
“Mamoru doesn’t think so. He’s already made a statement to the police. Hell, they’re all watching the news upstairs right now. Talking about how Tokyo General’s finest, Dr. Chiba, has come forward to solve this brutal crime - ”
“Mamoru is an idiot.” Minako’s voice hardens. “But we were all idiots, then. At least now things will go quickly. The prosecutor’ll charge me with the third. He - he was still the greatest of all of them, Rei.”
“And the fourth? Have - have you found him?” Rei seems to falter, though Daitou’s not sure how he knows that without having seen her face.
“Soon.” Her tone is utterly bleak. “The Prince’s stones will go quiet forever.”
“He’s still trying to reach Jadeite. You must hurry. I could help - ”
“No. This was my task alone, and I’ll pay for it alone, Rei.”
Rei releases a long breath, as if in understanding. “You wanted to be caught. With the Shitennou’s blood on your hands - ”
Minako laughs, a painfully high peal he’s never heard before. “Would there be any place for me in our damned eternity? Would Mamoru ever look at me again? I won’t be the one to make Usagi choose. Between him and me. Never. I’ll die first.”
“And so you will. But…” An exhalation, wet and aching. “…what will we do without you? What will Usagi - ”
“Forget me, someday. You have forever, my friend.” She sounds so gentle, Daitou can’t help but picture her lovely, golden face like the Madonna. “The baby will be born next month. And then, you’ll crown Usa in my place.”
He staggers knock-kneed out of the booth at that, unable to listen to any more that he doesn’t understand, and knows he should. Daitou bodily rips the earphones off when they tangle in his arms. Running for the entrance, wingtips skidding on grimy linoleum. Someone upstairs serendipitously ups the volume, and then he hears it.
“Dr. Chiba, what made you come forward - ”
Everything drones. Clamors, bedlams. But for the dream-voice in the television, perfect, sane. The midnight-eyed messenger, the King of reason and faculty. But still the words garble in his brain, and Daitou thinks he must go mad before he deciphers their terrible import.
…
However that Rei girl got through security yesterday, he’s grateful. The metal detector doesn’t so much as whisper when Daitou strides through. Back to the gray little conference unit, where this all began, where it all ends.
Minako sits on her customary chair, shackled knees drawn up to her chin, hugged by cuffed wrists. She smiles to see him. “Hey!”
“Hey.” Daitou seats himself, feels cool weight settle solidly inside his jacket. “So you should know that - ”
“Another charge. First degree murder. I heard.”
“This, uh - ” Daitou thumbs through his file. “Chiba Mamoru guy doesn’t like you very much.”
His client’s features are open, guileless. “Well, he saw me do it. He’s probably, you know, traumatized.”
“Yeah. I took a look at the pictures. They’re pretty appetizing, I’ve got to say.”
“Are they?” she inclines forward.
Daitou opens his mouth, and then shuts it again. His palms rise to rub his sleepless, burning eyes, and remain there.
“Minako. Please. What the fuck is going on?”
“What do you mean?” she inquires.
“Cut the bullshit. I need to know how you did that to those poor fuckers. I need - ” his spine straightens. “I need to know.”
Minako chuckles, indulgent. “No, I don’t think so.”
The gun hits the table with a heavy thud. “I do.”
…
“Oh,” she murmurs tenderly. “Jadeite’s grown up, hasn’t he?”
“Please,” Daitou gasps. His skull begins its familiar throb. “I don’t know who that is. That’s why I’m here. Why I was drawn to your case. I had to get inside of you, even though I didn’t know it. Everything’s brought me here to you. Please.”
“Didn’t you hear Mamoru’s warning? He saw me kill Kunzite. He knew what to do. The field of dreams..." Her neck cracks. "You should've listened. I’ve been hunting you a long time, Jadeite.”
“Don’t call me that! Who the fuck - ”
“Then what’s your name?”
“Jiyu,” he moans at the pain between his ears. “Stop.”
“J. Daitou,” she sings trippingly to herself, and Daitou nearly retches on the damp floor. But there’s control in him still, glittering dust of a past life, a golden general who coldly tells him to think. Fingers not his own seize the gun, point it at the girl in chains.
“You’re insane,” he tells her.
“And your life is pretty much over once you pull that trigger, don’t you think?”
“Yours is done, either way. I’m doing you a mercy. They’ll hang you for your crimes.”
“Here I hoped to get to you before you committed any.”
“I’m not a monster. Not like you.”
“Not yet,” Minako whispers. “But Chaos will find you. He always does. It’s worth it - a Senshi's life for shedding human blood. They won’t have to face you again.”
Daitou’s arm bends, and she smiles sadly. “Can you do it, Jadeite? Betray us a final time?”
Her metal-clad forearms prop his quavering wrist up, so that the barrel digs into Minako’s sheened, lineless forehead. “I know it sings in your veins. Hate that consumes you. Every time. Just get it over with.”
He pants loudly, the door clatters at their shouting, and all the fatal cacophonies of his mind erupt into white agony. Sweat trickles unceasingly through his blond curls, so like hers, so unlike hers. In another life, she could have been his sister.
“Do it! If you hesitate, I won’t!”
The weapon falls precisely between her spread fingers, and true to the police report, blonde bitch is an old hand with that Glock, even in cuffs. I’m sorry, Daitou tries to tell his angel, his King. I didn’t know how to listen.
A shot rings out like a thunderclap in humid summer, and oh, thank you, the field of dreams seems to sigh.
The door bursts open, streaming shards of light like heaven, and Minako's bright blue eyes fall shut even as Jadeite's irises widen, and welcome eternity.
…
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