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The Bitter Glass
By: Mara Celes

'For all things turn to barrenness
In the dim glass the demons hold,
The glass of outer weariness,
Made when God slept in times of old.'

--Yeats

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Prologue: Closing My Eyes

His head hung heavily from his shoulders as he studied the muddy floor beneath him, his fingers pressed painfully into his stomach as he tried to keep from sobbing. It didn't do much good as a distraction technique; the pain just reminded him of the cut hiding beneath his trembling hands, and he lifted them slightly, once again staring in despair at the injury on his torso.

It wasn't serious or life threatening; that wasn't why he was crying. In fact, the injury was barely a scrape, though it could have been much worse if not for his own speed and reflexes. No, he wasn't crying because he had been injured. He was crying over the one who had injured him.

He didn't understand.

Kunzite had injured him. Kunzite had taken up a blade, and had tried to kill him. Really tried, not like before when it was in jest or play, or even during practice, when his master would deliberately strike him to make him move faster, act better. No, Kunzite had taken up his blade, a sharp, double edged katana that Zoisite had made for him, and had done his best to run it through his student's body.

Zoisite sobbed again, his hands once more splaying over the injury as he tried to deny it's existence.

He didn't understand why he and his Kunzite-sama were no longer on the same side. He could barely believe his memory as it recalled what his eyes had seen, of riding gloriously into battle, a King of Earth under Emperor Endymion's command. Of cresting fast and furiously up a hill, ready and yearning for the fight, just to view the commander of the opposing army staring disdainfully back at him.

Of Kunzite staring disdainfully back at him.

Of Kunzite being a traitor.

Tears streamed silently down Zoisite's face as he turned sharply, stripping off heavy, plated armor as he undressed. He didn't want to think about it any longer, he simply wanted to relax and get himself good and drunk. He didn't think he could stand the pain of that betrayal...and of the duty it placed upon him.

He threw his epaulets to the floor, snarling down at them as he did so. He didn't want this duty any longer, he didn't want the respect, he didn't want the pride, he didn't want the responsibility. He didn't want the command that he knew was his, that he would do his best to enforce.

He didn't want to kill his lover.

Zoisite collapsed to the floor, his arms wrapping tightly around his head, pressing his skull as he tried to force himself to forget. Maybe, just maybe, if he hurt himself hard enough, the pain would block out the memory. Drawing his knees up under him, he wiggled into the mud, doing his best to bury himself in the slick surface. For once in his life, he didn't care if it soiled his fine clothing. He didn't care if it made him look ugly. He buried his face in the mud and wept into it's sliminess.

It was a slight wind that brought him back to himself, that, and the strong arms that wrapped around his shaking form. He looked up as they brought him gently to his feet, and he twisted around, his eyes widening in disbelief as he caught sight of silver hair, of tanned, beautiful skin. He blinked over his shoulder at the person holding him, not caring as the mud slipped into his wide eyes and gaping mouth.

One of the arms surrounding him slowly slid upward along his body, lightly caressing him as they moved. Strong, delicate fingers traced up his neck, and finally stroked his face, lightly flicking the mud away from his lover's eyes. "Isn't that attractive?" the low voice rumbled with amusement.

Zoisite instinctively leaned into the other's embrace, immensely comforted even as he knew it was foolish. Kunzite was an enemy, he had tried to kill him; he wasn't to be trusted. It would be in Zoisite's best interest to smile seductively, to be cunning, and to eventually push a blade into the other's heart. In fact, duty demanded it. But...Zoisite clenched his eyes shut as he buried himself more deeply into his lover's arms. "Why are you here?" he asked wearily instead.

"I needed to explain to you," the other responded, turning Zoisite in his arms. Zoisite didn't look up, but merely snuggled into the other's shoulder, his slender arms wrapping around the other's strong torso. Kunzite pressed him tight against his own body as he shrugged his cloak forward, hiding Zoisite in purple obscurity. "Things aren't what they seem."

Zoisite buried his face into the warmth of Kunzite's body, feeling the other's steady heartbeat throbbing beneath his silky skin. Surely that heart wouldn't lie to him, surely, this body was still human and humane, with all the caring that implied. Hoping that his mentor was telling the truth, Zoisite mumbled again. "How so?"

"I've infiltrated Beryl's camp. She trusts me. You saw me, during the battle, leading her forces. I've done better than I expected."

Zoisite only leaned more deeply against his lover. Yes, he had indeed saw Kunzite at the fore of the enemy. He had rode up to him, pleading for an explanation, knowing that in the chaos of battle Kunzite would have a chance to justify himself without being overheard. But Kunzite had only sneered mockingly in his distraught face, and had tried to run him through. Zoisite bit his lip, and reached up to caress the injury on his stomach. Yes, he indeed knew that Kunzite had lead the enemy's forces.

Kunzite felt the movement, and reached down to feel for the injury. "I didn't truly injure you," he said lowly, caressing the wound. "I could have done much worse." His hands danced across Zoisite's stomach, healing energies abruptly springing to light and knitting the torn flesh together. He spoke softly. "Don't you believe me?"

"I..." Zoisite stopped, his voice trailing off quietly. No, he didn't believe him, he knew the only reason he still lived was because his honor guard had saved him from Kunzite's hands. Not even his talented mentor could stand alone against fifty men. He shuddered slightly, and once again questioned his sanity for not battling his lover right at that moment. He could kill the traitor with a single stroke...just like Kunzite could do to him. He was being a fool to allow it. But...if only he was telling the truth... "Why are you here?" he asked again.

"I need your help," Kunzite told him. "I need you to come with me."

Zoisite finally pulled back, standing unflinchingly as he met his lover's eyes. He searched deep within them, trying to find some hint of truth, desperately hoping that everything would be all right, that everything could go back to being normal. He missed his Kunzite-sama so very much...but he didn't see truth in his lover's eyes. He saw the reality of deception, and of pain.

Kunzite briefly looked away, seeing Zoisite's refusal plainly on his face. The cool, uncaring façade dropped immediately into place, and Zoisite shivered in arms that had suddenly gone cold. "I see," came Kunzite's low, disinterested voice, and he turned back to face his lover. They stared at each other for a long moment.

And for just a second, in one agonizing moment of eternity, the calm, collected veneer snapped, and his voice broke roughly through. "I need you with me, Zoisaito."

The words could have been true. They also could have been just another lie, another cunning deception. But Zoisite couldn't tell. He stared into silver-blue eyes and his own filled with tears, and he knew that he was broken, and that he had lost. Kunzite had said he needed him, and he couldn't tell if his lover was lying. Zoisite would have to go, then. For if somehow, beneath all the lies and deception and against all odds, Kunzite was telling the truth...Zoisite couldn't risk saying 'no'. Not if Kunzite really needed him...

He didn't know if Kunzite was telling him the truth, but he had sworn to love him long ago. And in loving him, he had to trust him. It was a simple choice. Zoisite bowed his head, used his magic to sweep his own cloak around him...and dropped his personal wards. He reached out a hand to his lover. "I trust you, Kunzite-sama," he told the other man.

Kunzite stared at him for a moment, a strange light in his eyes. And then he shook his head, and took the offered hand.

The teleport was harsh and brutal, devastating Zoisite's body as he was pulled between worlds. Opposing powers tugged at his body; he was reduced to a shaking pawn as the forces racked through him. He collapsed in a shivering, brutally beaten heap on the floor of a world filled with desolation.

Zoisite gathered his strength to look up into his lover's cold eyes. Kunzite disinterestedly stared back at him, unaffected by the forces that had plagued his student.

"You shouldn't ever trust me," he said indifferently, and kicked Zoisite hard in the stomach.