Zoisite lay awake, eyes black and staring at the moon-striped wall. The clouds had cleared well into the night, the moon sharing its pale clarity with the night sky. Its light magnified the lurching umbra of the forest; a shadow play of stewing branches danced upon the bedroom floor.

He hadn't slept at all this night. In fact, he hadn't slept since his transposition from Serenity's kingdom to this place. Wherever this was.

The rising shadow beside him, the one that accounted for the slight depression in the mattress and the heat warming the quilts, went barely noticed by Zoisite. As far as he was concerned, Kunzite, now deep in his post-coitum sleep, wasn't there at all. It was this realization that was keeping Zoisite awake, eyes wide across the room, quilt knotted in his unacknowledged grip.

Zoisite remembered how it had been in the Kingdom, his shy strivings for the attention of the silver king, and how rewarded he felt when he received it. It had been a thrill, the secrecy of it. Sweet, sober Kunzite had been forever attentive to his little beau.

But ever since his awakening in this place, the moment he had placed his palm on Zoisite's chest and shoved him away, Zoisite knew something was missing. The tenderness brought on by their solitude in the Kingdom was dilute and vacuous in these new surroundings. Their reunion had been irresolute, an automatic display in front of Jadeite and Nephrite. Yet he couldn't explain it. He tried to search for a single weakness, the one thing that made everything else feel wrong. Indeed, this place was strange, even dangerous, but hadn't the Dark Kingdom been as well?

Zoisite sat up, gathering the sheets about his waist like the train of a gown. He felt suddenly anxious, and he reached down to tease at Kunzite's hair. He considered waking him, then thought better of it.

Sighing, he pressed his face into the pillow, beginning his pattern of reassurance. This place was new; he needed time to adjust. Jadeite was injured, a cat was talking. His own encounter in the hallway still shook him, but only in memory, a distant and dreamlike nickelodeon. He'd reclaim his intimacy with Kunzite soon enough. He only had to wait.

"The meat is very good," Nephrite heard himself say.

"It should be," replied the servant who'd brought it in. "The queen herself ordered it to be made."

"Beryl-sama?" Nephrite was puzzled. Since when had the queen made his meal orders? He raised a knife to the cut, prodding it dubiously. From where the knife tip jabbed it, deep brown gouts of juice rolled down and onto the plate. This wasn't like most meat in the Kingdom: dry, tasteless, gummy.

"Her majesty also requested a message be delivered with your meat," added the servant. He produced between his beaded claws a little folded parchment.

Nephrite reached out to take it, marking how the youma skittered back when he did. Unfolding the paper, he blinked twice, and read:
Nephrite, you who have been assigned to organize the reconnaissance mission to Serenity's kingdom shall receive responsibility for its failure. The meat you see before you is the thigh of the youma captain you so irresponsibly appointed. Perhaps chewing on it shall remind you that your position does not allow for ill-informed decisions.

Nephrite sat back, suddenly repulsed. All the reason in the world could not tell him whether or not this dish was what Beryl said it was. Nevertheless, the queen did things like this. Whenever she tired of an outright scolding, these peculiar and unwholesome methods were her prescribed punishments.

"Will that be all?" Nephrite asked, looking up from the meat and regarding the servant.

"No, Nephrite-sama."

"Well then?"

"Her Majesty, you see, wishes me to confirm that you ate your meal."

In the discomfort of his overly-warm bedsheets, Nephrite awoke from his dream; the taste of broiled meat was all that remained of it. He rarely dreamt his memories so accurately, so vividly. In fact, he never dreamt memories at all.

He looked about the moonlit room, examining the floorboards the blue quilt, the unaired white pillows, their unfamiliarity stirring within him a prickly anxiety. The dream was already fading in his mind, and though its images been mostly unpleasant, he wondered whether they were the last he'd ever know of Metallia's realm. Would he never be returned to his knotted tunnels and dim chambers? Would he never watch with amusement Beryl's trailing red hair, twitching at the thought of how fearfully funny it would be to step on it?

Rising form the bed, he paced over to the window, looking out at the black and blue lines of the forest. Even in the nighttime gloom, he could see tiny clods of snow falling from the branches. Perhaps from a wind, perhaps from the thaw. But they hid nothing. There was no Beryl, no Metallia, no youma still stumbling about in that wilderness. He and the other three were the only denizens of the Kingdom to be found in this place.

He stretched, a succession of pops running up his spine. Debating the fate of himself and his comrades was perhaps a task best suited for the morning. The net of sleep, ripped a little prematurely, was beginning to knit once more, and Nephrite walked lazily over to the bed.

At the very moment he drew back the covers, and muffled sound caught his attention. He paused, guessing it was Luna, the cat he'd irresponsibly tethered to the bed leg with a piece of twine from the kitchen. However, she was still sound asleep, or pretending to be, as Nephrite stomping around was enough to wake any animal.

As the strange noise did not repeat itself, Nephrite fell back into his bed, exhaling. But as he pulled the covers over him, it came again, uncharacteristic and unlikely. It was a human sound, heavy and forced. Not quite breathing, not quite speaking, but edged with strong and ragged vocal pulls. And it wasn't stopping.

Nephrite leaped out of bed, hands and feet ice cold. Fumbling with his utilitarian trousers, he hopped across the room and into the hall.

The noise was much louder out here, as harsh as it was incessant. He turned his head from side to side, trying to pinpoint its origin. The hallway, being almost totally bare, did not help him, sending the sound glancing off the walls in all directions. To his right, the corridor ended with Kunzite and Zoisite's room, while the other way led back to the stairs, with a brief stop at Jadeite's bedchamber.

That, Nephrite realized, was where it was coming from. His bare feet padding on the thin carpet of dust, he crept up the bedroom's entry. The noise was dampened a bit by the tentatively closed door, but nevertheless, its lurking proximity was enough to make Nephrite hesitate. What was the worst thing it could be? For the life of him, Nephrite couldn't imagine.

He straightened his back, calling upon him his familiar resolve, and pushed the door open.

It took only one glance to see that Jadeite was the immediate problem. There he was, flat on his bed, his entire body taut. Both his hands grabbed at the quilt on top of which he lay. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, teeth clenched. It was he who was making the noise; it whistled out of his mouth and nose in a grating of half-strangulation.

Perhaps he's choking, Nephrite thought. With less trepidation but certainly more urgency, he crossed the room to Jadeite's bed. Slightly unsure, but prepared to do something; the sight alone revolted him enough to end it.

But as Nephrite stooped at bedside, Jadeite's prone body relaxed. His arched back eased, giving way in a dramatic, collapsing motion. Breath sighed freely from his mouth, and the contorted face settled. Panting a little, the blond king opened his eyes and peered up at Nephrite.

The crisis evidently passed, Nephrite stood up and folded his arms. "Are you all right?" he ventured. The words were merely dutiful and sounded awkward.

Relief crossed Jadeite's face as his heavy breathing subsided. "I..." He stopped, eyes going past Nephrite to the bedroom door.

Nephrite turned around quickly, his fluttering nerves jerking again as Zoisite stepped into view, joining the midnight gathering. Against the black of the hall, the young king was an apparition; the white quilt he drew about him blanched his already pale skin. His dark eyes and hair stood out, as though not really a part of him at all.

Nephrite, however, was through being frightened. "Oh, put on some clothes!"

"Was that Jadeite making all the noise?" Zoisite asked, pushing past Nephrite.

"I don't feel very well...." Jadeite sat up on the bed, wincing at the obvious pain in his back. He raised one sweaty hand to wipe at his equally sweaty brow.

"Well I'm not surprised; you haven't eaten. Here," Nephrite handed Jadeite what remained of the platter of dried fruit and now-stale bread. It had been left there should the blond king awake hungry.

Jadeite cast an ashen glance at the food, picked up a bread crust, and proceeded to nibble at it obediently. His mouth was turned down at the corners, his tiny bites did could not belie his distaste. "Perhaps..." he ventured, "I could get some water?"

"Of course," said Nephrite. "Zoisite, fetch Jadeite some water."

Zoisite's eyes widened, and he shrank back a bit. "Me?"

"Yes, you. What are you afraid of?"

Zoisite looked towards the hall, his face going even paler than before. "I don't think I should...."

"I'm your superior officer, and I say you should."

"But-"

"It's all right," Jadeite cut in. "It's all right. I only need a little help, and I can make it to the room next door. It had a washbasin, didn't it?"

"Yes...." Nephrite looked to the ceiling. "Zoisite, take Jadeite to get washed up." He turned and walked to the door. "Goodnight." And he was gone.

Zoisite watched Nephrite leave, then came to Jadeite's side, offering from his robe of sheets a fine-fingered hand. Jadeite took it, and allowed himself to be hauled from the bed. It took a bit of effort, Zoisite being the smaller of the two, but soon Jadeite was standing on his own shaky legs. He remained motionless for a moment, hand on Zoisite's shoulder, only conceding to walk when the other started to squirm.

Slowly, swaying, tripping, the two made their way out of the room, creaking down the hall to the left until they reached their destination.

The tiny room was nearly pitch black, the light from the little port hole window being minimal at best. Nevertheless, Jadeite stumbled in, falling to his knees by the washbasin. While his head rested on the cool porcelain lip, he brought one dithering hand to the faucet's knobs, turning them until water flowed.

Zoisite waited, watching the other as he brought dripping hands to his face and mouth. Then, deciding Jadeite had had enough time to slake his thirst, Zoisite came to his side, pulling up a wooden stool to sit nearby.

Jadeite lifted his face from the sink and regarded the little king. Zoisite was staring at him with that same dark intensity he'd witnessed in the forest. It was a sunken wordlessness, and it darkened Zoisite's eyes to a black without reflection. It remained though for only a few moments, when Zoisite broke the silence:

"Why were you making that noise back then?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Jadeite was irritated. "I couldn't breathe."

"Why?"

"I don't know!" he gestured his annoyance, sending droplets of water spraying everywhere. "I woke up, and I couldn't breathe, that's all."

"But it stopped when Nephrite arrived?"

"Yes, it did."

Zoisite thought for a moment, deciding on another angle. "Do you remember taking a fall?"

"A fall? From where?"

"The stairs."

"No...." Jadeite was looking at him with more earnestness than before. "Though that would explain why my back hurts so much."

Zoisite leaned closer, apparently given what he wanted. His eyes were wide and sparkled with a frank, ominous gravity. His mouth parted in a little half-smile, as though he knew something and was excited about sharing it.

"Oh, Jadeite, I think they're trying to kill you."

"What? Who is?" The seriousness with which Jadeite had been listening to the other king vanished in a huff of further exasperation. He turned back to the sink, muttering, "There's nobody here but us."

"Oh no, oh no, I think we're sharing this house." Zoisite nodded to emphasize his point. "How else do you explain the food? The running water?" He moved closer still, until his nose was almost touching Jadeite's. "They've come to me, too. Though I don't think they were trying to hurt me. But with you, I think they are."

"What are you talking about? You mean you saw someone?"

"No no... you can't see them. At least, I can't. But didn't you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"Their hands on your throat?"

Jadeite sighed and patted Zoisite on the head. "All I could feel was that I couldn't breathe. It was probably just phlegm or something of the like. You, Zoisite, seem a slightly worse off than me."

Zoisite was not amused.

"I'm feeling a little better now," Jadeite said. As though to illustrate, he teetered to his feet. "I'm going back to bed."

"What? You can't go back there alone!"

"Well, I'm not letting you stay around." He started to walk, slowly and unsteadily, out into the hall. "Where is Kunzite, anyway?"

"Asleep."

"You should be too."

Zoisite followed Jadeite out into the hall, frowning. "I know you don't believe me," he said as Jadeite reached his room.

"What would you rather I do, Zoisite?" Jadeite said. "Agree and say that someone who I haven't seen is trying to kill me? Go to bed." With that, he disappeared, closing the door behind him.

Zoisite stood for a moment, shoulders low in dejection. He'd come on too fast; he hadn't explained enough. But how was he to explain something that he himself was unsure of? There were gaps in his understanding, great holes that made his convictions sound idiotic. Perhaps he should just go to bed.

To ease his worries, he compromised with himself. Tomorrow, while the others would looking for firewood, proper cutlery, and other necessities, he'd speak to Luna. Doubtless, the cat would refuse to bend under his inquisition. But nevertheless, Kunzite was right: if she wanted to leave anytime soon, she'd have to start sharing her knowledge.

Somewhat satisfied, Zoisite arrived at his own room and crawled back into bed, returning the sheet he'd been wearing to its proper place. Kunzite was lying on his side, and Zoisite nestled himself neatly into the concave formed by the silver king's body.

Tomorrow, he promised himself, would be a better day.