Darkness All Around
Series: Bishoujo Senshi Sailormoon
Summary: Shortly before his death, Zoisite reflects on a failure.
Written: 11/24/2002 This is probably the earliest fic of mine that you'll ever see, because the ones written before this are either so bad they fill me with shame or just incredibly weird.
Warnings: Minor injuries and villain angst. PG-13?
Zoisite knelt there in the dark, wrapping a white bandage around Kunzite’s hand. Zoisite’s eyes were distant, worried, Kunzite’s the same.
“The last two crystals were almost mine…” Zoisite breathed. Mauve spots of blood spread through the white cloth from Kunzite’s hands. Zoisite wrapped a second layer, pulling it firm. Now what if he never got them back…if only Beryl hadn’t ordered them away, he could have rescued the opportunity. Made those girls scream and the annoying bastard would have to come running. Or he could have taken one or two of the Sailor Senshi out. More and more appeared all the time; it wasn’t fair.
One hurt Kunzite-sama. Frustrated, his eyes smarting, he secured the bandage and held Kunzite’s hand a moment longer in both his own.
His own ravaged hands stung awfully, the lacerations dripping blood down his wrists and smearing the outside of the bandage.
“Zoisite.”
“Yes?” Zoisite cautiously met Kunzite’s eyes, his bloody fingers tightly gripping Kunzite’s bandaged left hand, held out lazily.
“Don’t worry. We’ll think of something.” Zoisite loosened his grip, and Kunzite reached out to touch his shoulder a moment.
“Kunzite-sama.” Kunzite held his right hand, also wounded, to his chest, where thick drops fell to stain his jacket. “May I bandage your other hand?” He asked it quietly, well aware of Kunzite’s brooding mod. And deep in his own.
Kunzite, grimacing, held his hand out to where Zoisite knelt on the floor. He began his ministrations for the strong, tan-skinned hand in silence. A length of bandage’s sudden friction against his own cuts made him want to cry out, to begin crying (tears warmed his eyes) but he resisted, continuing the bandaging with difficulty, and more care.
God damn them.
“What if we don’t?” he asked his lord and master eventually. “What if I can’t get the ginzuishou?” His voice quavered on his second query. He didn’t think he’d be able to win against the tears. Godammit.
“Zoisite, don’t think like that,” the other said tersely. “You’ve done well this far.”
“Not this last time.” Kunzite looked at him angrily, and Zoisite looked away. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his tattered hands held still. “I mean….” He thought of all the things he was sorry for: for failing, for speaking pessimistically. For not being able to protect Kunzite-sama quite soon enough.
(Sometimes, I want to die like Nephrite did. When I killed him.)
(But with sakura.)
A thought tried to surface, but Zoisite suspected he didn’t want it and pushed it away. Sakura, that image came to him. He smiled faintly, in another world for a moment.
“I mean that I’m sorry. I will get the ginzuishou and fulfill my responsibility.” And give it to you. He stared up at Kunzite, his smile momentarily worshipful, though laced with pain. “I…just….”
I just doubt so often. I doubt myself. And I never doubt you, even if perhaps I should. Is anyone infallible…?
The bandage secure enough, Zoisite tied it off, tucked it in, but didn’t let go of Kunzite’s hand. He laid his right arm on Kunzite’s knees, rested his head on his arm, and stared off into blackness. Kunzite’s right hand he brought to rest over his. The pain in his hands throbbed and pulsed. Two tears ran down his cheeks.
Kunzite’s hand tensed slightly. Zoisite felt his left hand being lifted and turned over.
“These wounds are rather bad,” observed Kunzite, exploring Zoisite’s palm with his thumb. Zoisite flinched.
“Come here.”
There wasn’t much closer he could come. Zoisite stood and settled silently in Kunzite’s lap, his head nestled under Kunzite’s chin. The white-haired King’s left arm tightened firmly around Zoisite’s shoulders, and with his other hand he picked up the remaining bandages lying crumpled next to him.
Zoisite closed his eyes. The sense of worry, the darkness, still surrounded him like a vague premonition, but here at least there was some contentment.
Kunzite began binding Zoisite’s bloody hands.
Summary: Shortly before his death, Zoisite reflects on a failure.
Written: 11/24/2002 This is probably the earliest fic of mine that you'll ever see, because the ones written before this are either so bad they fill me with shame or just incredibly weird.
Warnings: Minor injuries and villain angst. PG-13?
Zoisite knelt there in the dark, wrapping a white bandage around Kunzite’s hand. Zoisite’s eyes were distant, worried, Kunzite’s the same.
“The last two crystals were almost mine…” Zoisite breathed. Mauve spots of blood spread through the white cloth from Kunzite’s hands. Zoisite wrapped a second layer, pulling it firm. Now what if he never got them back…if only Beryl hadn’t ordered them away, he could have rescued the opportunity. Made those girls scream and the annoying bastard would have to come running. Or he could have taken one or two of the Sailor Senshi out. More and more appeared all the time; it wasn’t fair.
One hurt Kunzite-sama. Frustrated, his eyes smarting, he secured the bandage and held Kunzite’s hand a moment longer in both his own.
His own ravaged hands stung awfully, the lacerations dripping blood down his wrists and smearing the outside of the bandage.
“Zoisite.”
“Yes?” Zoisite cautiously met Kunzite’s eyes, his bloody fingers tightly gripping Kunzite’s bandaged left hand, held out lazily.
“Don’t worry. We’ll think of something.” Zoisite loosened his grip, and Kunzite reached out to touch his shoulder a moment.
“Kunzite-sama.” Kunzite held his right hand, also wounded, to his chest, where thick drops fell to stain his jacket. “May I bandage your other hand?” He asked it quietly, well aware of Kunzite’s brooding mod. And deep in his own.
Kunzite, grimacing, held his hand out to where Zoisite knelt on the floor. He began his ministrations for the strong, tan-skinned hand in silence. A length of bandage’s sudden friction against his own cuts made him want to cry out, to begin crying (tears warmed his eyes) but he resisted, continuing the bandaging with difficulty, and more care.
God damn them.
“What if we don’t?” he asked his lord and master eventually. “What if I can’t get the ginzuishou?” His voice quavered on his second query. He didn’t think he’d be able to win against the tears. Godammit.
“Zoisite, don’t think like that,” the other said tersely. “You’ve done well this far.”
“Not this last time.” Kunzite looked at him angrily, and Zoisite looked away. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his tattered hands held still. “I mean….” He thought of all the things he was sorry for: for failing, for speaking pessimistically. For not being able to protect Kunzite-sama quite soon enough.
(Sometimes, I want to die like Nephrite did. When I killed him.)
(But with sakura.)
A thought tried to surface, but Zoisite suspected he didn’t want it and pushed it away. Sakura, that image came to him. He smiled faintly, in another world for a moment.
“I mean that I’m sorry. I will get the ginzuishou and fulfill my responsibility.” And give it to you. He stared up at Kunzite, his smile momentarily worshipful, though laced with pain. “I…just….”
I just doubt so often. I doubt myself. And I never doubt you, even if perhaps I should. Is anyone infallible…?
The bandage secure enough, Zoisite tied it off, tucked it in, but didn’t let go of Kunzite’s hand. He laid his right arm on Kunzite’s knees, rested his head on his arm, and stared off into blackness. Kunzite’s right hand he brought to rest over his. The pain in his hands throbbed and pulsed. Two tears ran down his cheeks.
Kunzite’s hand tensed slightly. Zoisite felt his left hand being lifted and turned over.
“These wounds are rather bad,” observed Kunzite, exploring Zoisite’s palm with his thumb. Zoisite flinched.
“Come here.”
There wasn’t much closer he could come. Zoisite stood and settled silently in Kunzite’s lap, his head nestled under Kunzite’s chin. The white-haired King’s left arm tightened firmly around Zoisite’s shoulders, and with his other hand he picked up the remaining bandages lying crumpled next to him.
Zoisite closed his eyes. The sense of worry, the darkness, still surrounded him like a vague premonition, but here at least there was some contentment.
Kunzite began binding Zoisite’s bloody hands.