tragedia: first half
posting this here because...........i haven't posted anything else of interest in way too long. so here it is: my first ficathon entry ever!
Tragedia
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I. Peripeteia
Later, long after it’s all over and done with, he remembers everything.
And Junin wonders why it’s like that, why people recall with perfect clarity where they were and what they were doing when it happened. “It” could be anything - a birth, a death, a man on the moon. But why? Personally, he thinks it’s life’s way of telling him that change never comes suddenly. Instead, it’s two drops, then ten, until the rush of rain and smell of wet are all around like tears. It’s life’s way of telling him that the signs were all there, locked in the random minutiae of his memories, if he cared to pick through the pieces. Still, Junin questions it, because what doesn’t he question? What’s the point if you see the storm coming and you can’t stop it?
But still, he remembers.
He remembers something strange in the humid air that night, how it sighed on the windowpanes like the soft breath of God. Outside, the promise of summer thunder coated Hikawa Jinja in silence. Inside, every sound was magnified, from the scratch of pen on paper, to the muttered expletives as he stared at yet another clumsy draft.
He remembers ripping out the sketch, balling it up and throwing it as hard as he could. It hit the screen door, where he noted the growing dark with unease. Rei had left hours ago to run errands. He would’ve been happy to spend all afternoon in her warm futon making love; after that blowup, though…well, no getting back under those sheets for a couple days, at least. The tea kettle hissed into his thoughts. Fourth batch of the hated stuff. He sure as hell wasn’t calling and reminding her to buy his French roast.
He remembers the dregs in his mouth, serenely bitter. Tea leaves and regret.
He remembers the phone ringing too loud, the hairs on his arms standing like an animal’s. On the screen was a number Junin didn’t recognize, and on the other end was a voice he didn’t recognize either, though it belonged to no stranger. You need to come to Azabu General, he remembers Izaya saying. Now. And then the line died.
He remembers the receiver hot against his ear, with such a noise, such a quiet.
He remembers everything.
…
At least one person won’t be surprised he’s come before any of his brothers. The rest will predict Kunzite, always first in all other respects and more likely to leave his left hand than his liege. But the rest don’t remember Jadeite like she does; hadn’t Mars once said, with a sideways glance, that the bold were helpless without cleverness? That must be why he’s at her grandfather’s funeral of all places, where he has no right to be, and yet here he stands with his head bowed like everyone else. From the corner of his eye, he watches Rei excuse herself; she doesn’t want any scenes.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she says steadily to his profile, and he guesses it’s not quite what she remembers. But Jadeite had his nose broken more than twice; his face bore scars that Junin’s does not. Maybe that’s why her eyes are less sure than he expects.
“I defiled this place once,” he says without flourish. “I don’t mean to dishonor the dead.”
She’s not quite what he remembers either. Mars’s smile was rare, but breathtaking in its lightning brightness. The bitter pinch to this woman’s mouth doesn’t suit her, and Junin thinks (hopes) he can’t be the only cause. He’s read snippets about an absent father in the Senate, an ailing head priest. An ancient shrine worn by the future’s tide.
She gestures toward the package in his hand, which they both know contains a check.
“That is reserved for friends of the family.”
He can tell it pains her to say it. This funeral must’ve bankrupted Hikawa Jinja. Junin doubts she’ll be able to keep the place open for long; a cynical corner of his heart asks what’s the point? when Mamoru’s given him to know that it’s a matter of time until jagged fingers of crystal push up where these old stones stand. “Friends,” Junin repeats after a pause. “We’ve been many things to each other, I remember, but never that.”
Rei doesn’t answer; her face is impassive still, but then he notices her lashes are spiky and wet. He moves to touch her cheek, a muscle memory until he retrains it, settles instead for pressing the koden envelope into her palm. “Do you think we even know how to be?” he asks, as gently as he can, and she doesn’t answer this either, simply looks down, where Junin realizes with a start that she hasn’t yet flung his hand from hers.
…
The wriggle of dry fingers under his own jerks him awake; her eyes open from a crust of sleep. She murmurs his name. “Jun. Jun, I’m - water - ”
Junin squeezes drop by drop into her mouth until she finally knocks his hand away. Her eyelids flutter, veined, winglike. “I dreamed of how we met.”
“So a good dream,” he strokes her forearm, crisscrossed with needles and gauze.
“Yes. At the shrine.” She breathes out a thin whistle. “I want to go home.”
You and me both, he thinks. She looks tiny under the monitors, bones birdlike. “It’s been two days. Just a few more, baby,” Junin pushes her bangs from her forehead. They flop over again, damp and defiant. “You’re gonna come back with so many happy pills, you could start pushing Oxy along with all those charms.”
Rei seems to have trouble focusing on his face, no doubt thanks to a diet high enough in sedatives to immobilize a whale. “But what. What about him?”
“Huh? Oh. Mamoru called and said he’s running late. Seven-thirty, latest.”
“No,” she says, impatient, the edges of her words rounding off like a child’s. “Him. You know him. The man…the truck…?” her fingers around his thumb go rigid.
He holds her hand tighter, suddenly wishing there were a helpful doctor around to fill in for this part. “You mean the guy who pushed you out of the way,” Junin begins, trying not to show his discomfiture. “I didn’t see him. He was one floor down.”
“Was,” Rei repeats astutely, and then Junin is saved by the door’s low whine.
“How’s my girl?” Minako trills, heels clacking around the wires and carts as she plants a spearmint Chapstick kiss on his cheek. She wrinkles her upturned nose right away. “Oh, ew. Tomorrow I’m picking up some face wash for you, definitely.”
A grin spills slow over his face despite himself. “What, no sponge bath?”
“I’m sure Rei’s told you about my first and last attempt at nursing,” she snorts. “I’ll buy you some Axe or Hammer or Grunt or whatever they’re calling man soap nowadays. So they want to start physical therapy with you, Rei, but I bet you won’t need it, Ami explained the whole Senshi healing thingy to me ages ago but honestly, all I got out of it was…” the blonde drops into the chair beside him, then immediately sits forward like it’s electrified. “Rei?” she cries. “Rei, is it hurting? Should I get a nurse?”
Alarmed, Junin swings back toward Rei. But she’s not looking at either of them, eyes instead wide and unblinking, fluorescent track lights reflected in their depths.
They’re pouring soundless, ceaseless tears.
…
Not two hours after he’s arrived, Minako yanks him out of the waiting room over his protestations. “They just vacated Room 2348.” Nurses chatter amongst themselves as they wheel carts by. “Ami’s mother told her he was dead on arrival. We have to find out who he is…was.”
“Got it,” though Junin actually doesn’t get it at all. Maybe it’s callous of him - okay, no, it definitely is - but right now, he doesn’t give a flying fuck about the other guy. Part of him snipes that not having his own commander here gives Minako six people to boss around instead of a measly three. That same part of him tries to approximate what the other man would do in this moment, seeing her eyes red and puffy even if her voice brooks no argument. “Hey, let me get you something to eat first,” Junin offers lamely, belatedly. “You look terrible.”
A wan smile. “You’re not winning any beauty pageants either. Just go ask about him. Please.” At his uncomprehending expression, Minako touches his burning cheek. “Rei will never forgive us if we don’t send his wife or parents something. Our gratitude.”
So Junin heads to the front desk, still trembling with adrenaline. Gratitude? No shit, the stranger saved her life. But…he’s already dead, and Rei’s fighting a breathing tube down the hall, and, well, sympathy isn’t exactly his strong suit. “Excuse me?” he greets the receptionist. “My girlfriend was admitted to intensive care tonight, do you know…?”
No.
She doesn’t know his name, his number, his address. Not where he had family nor where he worked; all quite confidential, unfortunately. If Junin wants to leave a card and flowers, perhaps he can bring them to the hospital, and they’ll take it from there.
And then the receptionist leans in, sneaking glances over her shoulder all the while. No one, she says in hushed tones. Not a soul had even come to identify the broken body.
What, then, was more tragic? The death? Or the life?
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II. Anagnorisis
Minako’s amateur diagnosis is accurate. Rei doesn’t need physical therapy. But they push her around on the walker every day anyway, chattering gamely about nothing and everything while she nibbles at a few token bites of rice. Leaves untouched the fried fugu - for which Junin had flirted outrageously with the nurse to secure permission - and lives instead on lukewarm soup and silence. It’s not long before Minako and Junin both begin to wonder if she doesn’t need therapy of another kind.
She doesn’t bother to smile at the stacks of manga Nobu brings, at Makoto’s airy chiffon cakes. She barely spares words for Junin at all, either curt commands or infuriated outbursts that end with the physical therapist clucking her tongue, telling him to be a sweetheart and step outside for a minute, give her some space. Minako touches his shoulder as he walks out. He shrugs her off, blue eyes hot.
Thinking she might have better luck than he (and they’re the only two people the priestess doesn’t ignore out of hand), Minako tries to amuse her friend like she usually does. She tells her about tea with her mother (bad), lunch with Junin (good), and drinks with her cute new assistant (also good, but breakfast in bed later? she’s not kissing and telling, but great). Dinner consists of her shoveling food into Rei’s mouth, occasionally daring to make vroomy airplane noises just to get a rise out of her. Because the thing is that Rei never pinches the bridge of her nose and asks to be spared her stupidity, like the blonde’s used to. Instead, she feigns sleep when she can and watches Minako with searching disquiet when she can’t.
At first, she figures Rei’s embarrassed by all the fuss; she’s never thrived on sympathy. There’s the medication, too, a volatile cocktail of hormonal pills. And…the elephant in the room. The circumstances of the accident itself. They haven’t exactly broached the topic, but Rei’s no fool. She knows enough. Still, Minako reassures Junin when he casually brings it up, though they both hear the scraping edge of anxiety. “What, you expect her to be all sweetness and light after getting nicked by a semi?”
Two weeks after, Rei’s flummoxed doctors release her, the picture of health, and helplessly tell her she’s a very lucky woman. At her toneless thanks, Minako shares a look with Junin over her friend’s dark head, their eyes an imperceptible sky apart.
…
The first time she sees Jadeite again, only three elderly gentlemen stand between him and a Love and Beauty Shock to the balls. She doesn’t want to give anyone a coronary, after all, and she can’t be sure it’s him without a clear view of anything - a mop of blond curls, a worn pair of Chucks the color of his eyes - between other fidgeting passengers on the elevator. Yet something stays her hand; even when everyone else gets off on their floors and they watch the numbers rise.
One stiletto over the gap, she hears rather than sees his smile. “Gone soft, Venus?”
Minako checks for witnesses - none - before a flick of her wrist explodes into light, and another sends her Love Me Chain sailing straight into the elevator cables. “Try taking the stairs next time.” Cheesy as hell, of course, but as the doors close on his startled, boyish face, Venus laughs out loud. The sound surprises her.
The second time, they’re in the bustling building café and he’s already pushing an icy Sapporo across the counter. Air conditioning’s been batshit all day and it’s pushing a thousand degrees outside. A grateful Minako pops the cap with her henshin pen (why the hell not? can’t hurt to make him sweat a little).
“So, an architect.” She’s seen his sketches peppering the walls of the lobby; made true in steel and glass across the choppy bay. They soar. All impossible angles and screaming nosedives, mocking every skyscraper in the vicinity with their clean insolence. “Seems like it suits you, Jadeite.”
“Junin. It’s weird to construct tangible things, and not just conjure shapes. Weird to work with physical limits. But I like it.” Junin’s fingers steeple under his indented chin. “Mamoru says he might let me get a crack at the palace, when it…you know. Happens.”
“You always did like a challenge,” she observes, all innocence. “But you’ve changed.”
“So have you. You’re not as hard as Venus,” he answers baldly. “Here’s hoping that means the new and improved Kunzite won’t have a whole fucking flagpole up his ass - ”
“Hard?” Minako interrupts. “Could you elaborate, please?”
“I think Nephrite said it best.” Junin smirks and chugs the rest of his beer. “When he met you in the palace gardens, he told me you gave him the most confused boner he’s ever had.”
“He told you what?!” she squeals, attracting curious looks from other patrons of the café. Something else occurs to Minako. “So what kind of boner am I giving you now?”
…
“How is everything?” she keeps her tone light, her hand on his arm lighter, where she feels strain like an unmade fist. Distantly, she hears tissue paper crinkling, Usagi babbling over yet another bunny plushie. She hears Ami’s murmuring like silver water and Izaya’s lazy chuckle; Mamoru and Ikuko chatting in the kitchen. She doesn’t hear Rei.
Upon arriving at the baby shower, the priestess had spoken a few obligatory words to everyone before retreating into her now customary shell - and Minako had been on the verge of simply seizing her and dragging her outside before Junin did it for her. The two of them had returned after nearly half an hour, and everyone else had talked louder, poured more cider, laughed harder to cover up the shouts their ears had been privy to immediately prior. Awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Tragedy, Minako believes, is a truthteller. A weathervane. Two people can either huddle together against the gale or let it pry their clasped hands apart. It doesn’t take a fire reading to guess which way Rei and Junin are going. Where they’ve been going since he came, though she hates to think of it that way.
“She wanted to know if rites were performed for him. If I left a card and flowers at the hospital.” Junin’s voice is a study in sangfroid. “Told her I did last week, when she asked me the first time.” He pauses. “I guess that was the wrong thing to say.”
“She feels guilty about him,” she soothes. “How would you feel?”
“Mamoru’s given me like fifty textbooks about survivor guilt, so yeah, spare me. She wants to visit his grave, when they finally release his name. Which I understand, of course…but honestly, isn’t this all getting a little morbid? It was an accident, for Chrissakes,” he shakes his head, weary. “Can you talk to her? Maybe she’s saving all her crazy for me because I just bend over and take it.”
“Doesn’t sound like the guy I knew.”
“The guy you know,” Junin corrects softly. In the dark, she catches the sardonic turn of his lip, and bites her own. When the hell is she going to stop doing that?
“I’ll talk to her, but only if you come get a drink with me.” He opens his mouth, but Minako barrels over him. “We work in the same building and I’ve hardly seen you since…anyway, you can go home and swallow all night or you can let everyone else cheer Rei up while I whisk you off to this fucking fabulous launch party I have to blog about for work.” At his look she hastily adds, “It’s open bar for six hours.”
He groans. “Two hours of drinking and four hours of you asking for piggyback rides. And before you get yourself into trouble, Minako, it’s wallow. Wallow. Not swallow.”
Minako waggles her eyebrows; she’s won. “My version sounds like more fun.”
Junin unpeels himself from the wall. “Your future boyfriend’s a lucky man.”
…
“So basically, he’s moving in with you,” the blonde announces, waving around her paintbrush for dramatic effect. “Aren’t you a sneaky girl, not saying anything - ”
“He’s renting the room,” Rei corrects her. The sight of the priestess in mens’ jeans, the haughty tilt of her chin, the splotch of blue adorning it…Minako dissolves into giggles.
“I never thought everything would happen so fast once he came back,” she says when she’s recovered. It’s true. Her friend’s not known for making rash decisions, and yet here they are, scant weeks since his return. But Rei's all alone now, her slim shoulders heavy with the duty and desolation her grandfather left her, and... “I’m so happy for you. You deserve this.”
A graceful fall of hair hides her violet eyes, sparkling with obvious joy. But Rei’s as composed as ever as she dips her paintbrush and swipes it over the wall. “So do you.”
And at first, it’s all very much like Minako remembers. On the calm surface, they seem the same. Junin’s just as cocksure and quick to laugh, and Rei’s always been the epitome of fire under grace, much to Minako’s envy - or is it grace under fire? She never gets that one right. Still, she worries for Rei, whose anger isn’t as tightly leashed as Mars’s was, who has so much to be angry for. Minako sees how Junin’s smile falls where Jadeite would smirk, how he steps back where he should stand his ground. Surely they’re too young to carry such rage in their bones - but the weight of lifetimes tells. When does she first sense it? That what briefly bound them before their kingdoms’ fall…can’t hold them in its hand for eternity?
What does that mean for her? the overriding thought scares the hell out of Minako. When he returns as leader of the Shitennou…will she shiver at those iron eyes, or smile into them as brazenly as Venus did? Will he laugh at her shitty puns, voice dancing deep as memory serves, or will he expect more of her, like he always demanded of himself?
Well, there’s no time like the present - to find out if the past keeps its promises.
Scouring the whole of Tokyo turns up a Toriyama Izaya setting up shop at a gallery in Kagurazaka. A Hoshikuzu Nobu writing for GQ Japan’s “dating column” (she locks the door to her office and giggles herself to tears upon reading Sex Shrink for the first time - she could show Nephrite a thing or two). But after that? Nothing. No sign of him.
If he’s anything like who Minako remembers - the keeper of the crown, the commander, the man she loved - she can’t help but think he’d already be back where he belongs, back with his Prince and his men. That’s the single-minded leader she knew, but what does she know anymore? All she can conclude is that he, too, must have changed.
And so, secretly, Minako toys with an irresponsible wish, one of many in her boneyard of desires. None possible, all perilous. The wish - that no one changed at all, from then to now. Maybe the worst of their past would repeat itself, but so too would the best.
For then, she thinks-unthinks, he would be hers again, at least for a short while.
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