Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon - Kunzite/Zoisite

[dhaunea.livejournal.com]

Title: What is Already Known
Author: Truth - file_five
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 792
Summary: Dreams set to music.

A/N: This story is somewhat late as it is not what I meant to write in the slightest. I have plans to finish the story I originally began, but I’ve run out of time. My apologies.




Sometimes, in the moving, whispering shadows of the caverns, there was music.

The sound of the piano brought many things to those who heard it, but the most prevalent response was one of mingled anger and frustration. Sweet music, soft music, a rippling run of fury and passion… it pled and it demanded, it twisted and it knew no mercy.

The gloved hands that moved across the keys were driven by duty and necessity, although that knowledge brought no comfort to either the musician or his reluctant audience.

Being right does not always bring assurance, and Zoisite was sliding from confidence to desperation.

Nephrite was lost, although whether that was a blessing or bane was yet to be determined. Jaedite was also lost – through his own choice, and that left an angry, burning wound somewhere which Zoisite had been forced to accept.

Endymion….

Failing Endymion was not an option and that left Zoisite grimly facing the possibility that he might be fighting a battle already lost. His last, greatest hope was Kunzite, who had already made it clear that he had no wish to raise even a finger in defense of their prince.

There was little hope of forcing Kunzite to accept and understand through words or even actions. Zoisite had tried argument, reason – even pleading. Unlike the others, Kunzite’s refusal to accept wasn’t due to confusion or lost memories. Something uglier and more subtle was at work here – and gloved fingers lost the thread of memory, curving into fists with an ugly crash of discordance.

He would not believe that Kunzite truly wished to see Endymion dead – not with opportunity upon opportunity passed by. There had to be something left that he could touch, somewhere deeply buried beneath the anger and the hate and the denial.

The alternative did not bear thinking of.

When Zoisite’s fingers again touched the keys, the music they brought forth was something soft. The combination of chords was subtle – gentle… and they brought forth none of the surging, demanding energy of before. This was no less an assault, but it was far more carefully crafted.

Something entirely different was called for now.

Far away, Kunzite dreamed….

There was a restlessness to his sleep, clearly visible to the naked eye, long hair tangling as he twisted in the grip of memories that were sweetly, subtly wrong. The images and feelings that danced behind his closed eyes, dragging him slowly away from his chosen course - they were tinged with impulses and needs that rang, not false, yet….

When his eyes finally opened, they were set and hard.

Zoisite, still at his piano, felt his spell dissolve. His own eyes opened slowly and his fingers again stilled against the keys. The bitter taste of defeat was becoming far too familiar, but losing a battle was not the same as conceding the war.

When Kunzite arrived, Zoisite was again playing – this time his fingers bringing forth nothing more menacing than simple music. He was prepared for the aura of carefully contained fury that Kunzite brought with him, but not for the hand that closed cruelly in his hair.

“Do not attempt to twist me with your sentimental foolishness.” Kunzite dragged him backward, causing an awkward sprawl of white silk as Zoisite attempted to catch himself – unsuccessfully. “Do not meddle where you have no invitation.”

Teeth grit tightly against the pain, Zoisite stared up at him, eyes narrowed. “If you did not wish to hear the music, it would not affect you. You know as well as I – “

Kunzite abruptly let go and Zoisite fell, shoulders hitting the floor first, ending in a tangle of white, eye to eye with Kunzite’s feet. Breath hissing painfully through his teeth, he grated, “You would not see if you were truly blind. You may lie to yourself, but do not lie to me.”

One dark boot came down on the trailing length of Zoisite’s hair as Kunzite dropped to one knee, snarling down at the other man. “Don’t presume to tell me what I feel, Zoisite.”

The smile that Zoisite gave him held an edge of darkness that was almost an echo. “I don’t need to tell you what you already know.”

A moment later, Zoisite was alone, staring upward in empty, bitter triumph.

“You can’t deny the past, Kunzite.” Mouth twisting angrily, he pulled himself slowly to his feet. “It will always come back to you – in your dreams.”