Requiem for a Soldier
Part III: Offertorio (Domine Jesu)
Author: Ai
E-mail: tennyo@attbi.com
Disclaimer: Sailormoon does not belong to me.


There is a reason the senshi come in fours.

Because beyond the cosmic and capricious there is something that ties 
us all together. Be it dark or light, we are nonetheless bound.  The 
human, at least the one we know to live, and to breathe, is composed of 
four parts: the body, with its strength and earthly insubstantiality, 
the mind, the intellect that carefully organized the world, and the 
heart, which transcended the mind's neat little categories and wrought 
something upon this world that could not be found any other way.

The fourth part is not forgotten.  The soul, the breath of life, the 
meaning of being alive. All these parts were linked together by cords 
of empyreal fire, with cords from the blackest abyss.  A soul is a 
spirit.  A spirit is a shadow.

A shadow is a Wraith.

And now the three who had suffered from Its attack were Its life; they 
breathed for It, they thought for It, they felt for It. 

There was only one choice now for the Wraith.

To die. 

In this day and age, it was no wonder that a Senshi of Destruction 
could be brought to fear Death. 

In this day and age, it was a wonder that anyone would still breathe. 

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

She lay wrapped in ecstasy.

There had been nothing sweet or gentle about this, this, this maddening 
possession, this lusty desperation.  No sweet, gentle words of love, no 
soft kisses, no tender caresses.

This was not a communion of souls.

This was not two becoming one.

This was pure animal.

And even as he slept, she wondered, he still held her like captured 
prey. Not that she minded; there was something rather amatory about the 
inhumane.  It was different, and in her mind and all its new ideas of a 
crude, ugly love she took this lesson to heart.  There was something 
dangerous about this bestial vehemence, but she dared to open herself 
up to it, because only at our basest can we feel so extremely.

When Mamoru had brought her back to her apartment, frightened and 
fraught, he had exposed a side of himself she had never seen before: 
his lust. A lways he had stayed away from this, denied he felt anything 
of the sort. Tempered kisses were all he had allowed himself.

So it was no wonder that in his fear, he clung to her so madly. Fear 
makes people do strange things.  Their lovemaking--if it could be called 
that--was equally odd.  Mamoru had spent so long planning and 
preparing that moment, only to squander it brilliantly.  He had 
intended lighted candles and red roses, not shameless debauchery.  But 
such is the way of love.

With a knowing smile, Usagi stared out the window at the moon.  Even if 
she were to wake up and find out this had all been a dream, she would 
be better--maybe worse--for it. 

For the first time in her life, she knew what it meant to really love 
another.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

But reality came in with the dawn.

She opened her eyes and found him to be still sleeping.  Managing to 
pull away from his vise-like embrace, her eyes trailed over his naked 
form, taking in the sight in the light of the sun.  In his sleep, he 
was young, unguarded, without the hard lines and inaccessibly cold 
eyes, without the years of harsh solitude.  And yet in all his delicacy 
there was still something dark, dangerous about him, like a jaguar 
waiting to pounce.  Back when she had fallen for him, she had been an 
innocent, had not understood the treacherous beauty that lay deep 
within the man.  Now she knew she would die if she did not know more.

Unable to resist, she reached out and went to trace the subtle curve of 
his jaw.  But as she placed her fingers on his cheek, his eyes 
fluttered open.

And in an instant, all the dark beauty and dangerous power was gone.  
He was the Mamoru she had always known and once believed to be the only 
one there was.  Usagi bit her lip and blinked back tears.

Mamoru, meanwhile, stared at Usagi's nude form, slowly realizing what 
he (they, really--but he hadn't consciously acknowledged that) had done 
last night.  He scrambled out of the bed, darting away from her 
luscious body. Maybe he was scared of himself, or of her, but no matter 
what, it was fear that drove him now.

"Get out," he whispered, almost threatening, almost pleading, not quite 
either.

The dam burst.  Usagi sat up, snatching up her strewn jeans and underwear, 
and let the water roll down.  "I don't understand," she 
confessed, "but I want to." 

"You can't.  Now just go." 

"Do you love me?" 

"Love. . . ."  He sat down next to her and placed her hand on his 
heart.  The beat seemed irregular somehow, unnatural.  "Love is such a 
weak word," he whispered in her ear.  "Love is for children.  You are a 
child.  And that's why you must leave me now." 

"You're wrong," Usagi said, slapping him away.  She turned and grabbed one 
of his shirts, buttoning it to the very top.  "Maybe love is a weak 
word," she conceded, "but *I am not a child anymore*."  He of all 
people should have known that!

"I'm weak," he whispered.

"No you're NOT!" she cried wildly.  "You're my strength.  You keep me 
going. There have been so many times I couldn't have gone on if you 
hadn't been with me." 

Usagi started to cry right there and then.  Cursing softly, Mamoru 
wrapped his arm around her, gripping her tightly, comforting himself 
more than her.  She grew eerily silent.  Mamoru lifted her chin with 
his other hand, trying to force her to look at him, but she kept her 
gaze down.

"Then again," she murmured, still not looking up at him, "we are what 
we believe."  She laughed bitterly.  "I think Minako-chan said that 
once. Ami-chan yelled at her . . . but she was RIGHT, Mamo-chan . . . 
Endymion!  She was right. Because I am not a child. And I don't want a 
weak lover." 

And with that, she ran out of the bedroom and to the door.

But just as she was about to leave her sordid prison, Mamoru grabbed 
her back and fiercely pressed his lips against hers.  Usagi tangled her 
fingers furiously in his hair, he slipped a hand under her shirt and on 
her breast, fondled it roughly; she could feel his desire on every 
level, far above and below the physical evidence presented forthwith.  
Felt it, because she was just the same as he.

But he pulled away and shut himself behind steel bars.  The cage, warm, 
inviting . . . home.  Tame.

"You forgot this," he muttered, not looking her in the eye.  Mamoru 
roughly pushed a cold metal object into her hands and grabbed the 
blanket back up. 

The star locket. Usagi bit back a laugh.

"I hate you," she said, her clear eyes piercing his cloudy ones.

"And I love you more than anything." 

She ran. 

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Amidst the wretched searing of her heart, she ran, and, until she was 
out of breath and forced to stop, felt someone watching her.  Mamoru, 
perhaps?

"Shimatta," Usagi muttered, wrapping her arms around her to keep out 
the crispness of the early hour.  In the abandoned area, she felt--was--
painfully vulnerable.  It was lucky that at this time of morning on 
Sundays, the area wasn't heavily populated yet.  She smacked her head, 
wondering at her own idiocy.  But pride prevented her from turning  
back to face him, despite the fact she had also left her henshin brooch 
in his apartment, and going home wearing a man's shirt after being out 
all night was out of the question.  She wondered what her father would 
have done to her after her mother had gutted her and left her body in 
the river.  Usagi cursed again, louder this time, angry with herself 
and him.

"Swearing really is unbecoming, miss." 

For a moment, her heart clenched and she thought that the Wraith was 
back.  But the voice was male, young, friendly even.  She turned to see 
an attractive boy about her age she thought she'd seen around Mamoru's 
apartment.  His family lived a floor below Mamoru, didn't they?

"Sorry," Usagi said sheepishly.  She eyed him warily.  "What are you 
doing up so early?" she asked, stepping away.

"I didn't get much sleep," he said, eyeing Usagi.  "Seems like you had 
a good time with your boyfriend last night." 

"I did," Usagi said, backing away.  The boy--who, Usagi was beginning 
to recognize, was over a foot taller than she was--stepped forward a 
bit.  "That sounded like a nasty argument," he added, trying to be 
comforting. 

She looked at him: the pale, marble skin, the glossy raven tendrils 
that seemed so stark against the pallor of his cheek, and the blue-
violet eyes with their harsh, unearthly light. The eyes seemed . . . 
flat.  Dead, almost.  She couldn't put her finger on what bothered her, 
but something certainly did.

"Look, ah, I really need to get home," Usagi said lamely.  But as she 
stepped away, *he* came forward.  

"You're not that pretty, you know," he said, brushing a lock of hair 
away from her face.  "You should be thankful a man like that takes 
interest in you." 

"I'll keep that in mind," Usagi offered weakly.

Hands clamped around her wrists.  "But still . . . I think I'd like to 
find out what your boyfriend was moaning about last night," he 
murmured.  "Kiss me, will you?"

Usagi whimpered and shook her head, but he squeezed the fragile joints, 
clearly enjoying the pain he wrought.  "Now," he murmured, smiling 
softly, "kiss me." 

This time, Usagi obliged.  She gave him a peck on the lips.

"Pretty or not, there's something about you," he said to her, never 
loosening his grip, "I've been thinking about you for a long time.  A 
very long time.  You torture my spirit . . . all of your lovely fire 
and vinegar . . . " 

"Torture your spirit?"  Usagi choked.

"Yes," he breathed wickedly.  "I've wanted to break you since you first 
walked into my building, Tsukino Usagi.  But you were always too busy 
with that college student.  He makes you cry, doesn't he?  I hear you 
cry.  It's delicious.  I've wanted to be the one to make you cry for so 
long." 

"We argue," Usagi said frantically, "I cry a lot.  Please, let me go.  
I need to go home." 

"You're still upset, Usagi-chan.  I want to see your suffering." 

"Please, just--" 

"No!"  A hand came across her cheek.  "LET ME, damn it!  Do you KNOW 
what's it's like, to spend night after night TORMENTED by visions of 
your smile, the sound of your voice?  I will MAKE you understand, 
Usagi--I will break you like a twig over my knee!" 

He pushed her down roughly and laid himself on top, ignoring her 
sobbing pleas.  The boy--who was sick, and really had no idea what he 
was doing--put his lips to her collarbone and whispered, "That's a good 
girl," he encouraged her, licking the tears away.  "Cry for me, you 
little whore." 

Though she tried to choke her tears back, the sobs kept coming.  The 
boy continued to torture her, smiling all the while.  

And then . . . nothing.

Within a second, he was off her.  The boy was roughly jerked around in 
the hands of the mysterious new assailant.

Frozen terror evaporated.  Usagi sobbed aloud, urgently gulping in 
fresh air.  Gleaming golden hands sucked life from the insane child; 
eyes like steel and the skies over the frozen plains of Hell bore into 
the psychotic cretin.

"NO!"  A million thoughts flew through her mind at rapid speed all at 
once: now this, now that . . . coherence was not an option.  There was 
simply no time for it.

The sickening crack sounded through the silent park; a lifeless mass of 
cells sank to the ground.

Mamoru was staring at his work in fear, wonder, and undisguised 
fascination.  He looked at Usagi through dim eyes.

"You . . . you. . . ." 

"Anything for you," he said hoarsely, his voice raw with shame and a 
strange, almost perverse, pleasure.  "Do you understand why you have to 
go?" 

With a wrenching gasp, she nodded, turned, grabbed her locket, and ran.

Mamoru ran too, back to his apartment and his cage.  Wiping at his eyes, 
he sank into the bed, buried himself under the covers, and did 
not move for a very long time.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

When again she could run no more, Usagi found herself by the beach. 
Stepping lightly on the soft sands of the abandoned stretch, she sped 
up, ran again, until she fell by the sea and started to sob loudly.

It was uncertain when exactly Haruka and Michiru crept up behind her, 
but suddenly they were there and she was being lifted, cuddled like a 
child and carried up to their cottage by the sea.  Michiru kept her 
eyes on the locket she had picked up, the one next to the petite, 
broken woman.

Usagi sobbed into Haruka's chest while the older girl whispered words 
of love and comfort into her ears, cradling her gently.  Cold sunshine 
beamed down on the two women and the Princess they would have traded 
their lives to spare such pain. But both knew such a sacrifice would be 
for naught.  Some things were to be endured.

Haruka put her down on a little bench in the garden under a small 
crabapple tree. It was fall, and though the maple trees bled, the roses 
were in full bloom and many of the trees were bearing fruit.

"Did you mean for us to find you, neko-chan?" Haruka asked, lightly 
stroking Usagi's hair.  Michiru stood away from them, fidgeting with 
the locket in her hands.

"No," she admitted.  "I just ran." 

"Instinct."  Michiru gently placed the locket in Usagi's hand and 
folded the younger woman's fingers around it.  "Will you tell us what 
happened?" 

Usagi took a deep breath.  "I slept with him," she began in an oddly 
calm voice. 

"Obviously.  You wear men's shirts quite well, by the way."

Usagi blushed furiously.  "I needed to leave," she said through 
clenched teeth.  "He told me to go.  We argued, and I ran out.  Then . . . 
this boy . . . someone from Mamo-chan's apartment complex followed me 
out.  He . . . well, you know." 

Haruka's mouth was set in a thin, hard line, and Michiru had an almost 
dangerous quality about her.  "He raped you," Haruka's face contorted 
and her voice seethed.

"I almost wish he had," Usagi sobbed softly.  "Mamo-chan . . . Endymion . . . 
he came.  He . . . oh Gods, Haruka-chan, he broke that boy's neck!"  
Usagi wept into Haruka, averring her despair.

"Shh . . . Usagi-chan, it's okay. . . ."  Haruka turned wild eyes to 
her lover.  "What in the hell did he DO?!" she mouthed to Michiru.

Michiru just stared at the two in horror.  Blinking, and trying to 
recover from the shock of hearing that Mamoru had taken a life, though 
it had been a crime of passion, she could shrugged helplessly at her 
partner.

"And his hands . . . they were *glowing* . . . he *enjoyed* it, Haruka-
tachi, you could see it on his face . . . he *wanted* that boy to die!" 

"Please excuse me, Usagi-chan," Haruka said sharply.  Haruka stood up 
and dragged Michiru to another corner of the garden. 

"I can't believe it," Michiru said.  "This is so antithetical of 
Mamoru-san . . . I mean, maybe he's a little warped, but I've never 
known him to be *violent*." 

"I know," Haruka agreed, "but I also did a little checking around.  I 
talked to Makoto-chan last night.  She said that Mamoru-san has been 
acting strangely.  Ami-chan is going to mail me a list of his recent 
sins later." 

"They keep a list.  Michiru was stunned.

"You have to give them credits for taking definitive steps to keep 
their relationship straight," Haruka countered with a dry expression.  
"It's worse than filing tax returns." 

"True," Michiru conceded, "but still . . . don't you think. . . ." 

"I'd rather not," Haruka said hotly.  "Because I have a feeling I'm not 
going to like my conclusion.  Yes, this is highly unusual for Mamoru-
san, but remember that just last night he was terrified for her life.  
He loves her, if anything at all." 

"Does love even mean anything any more?"  Michiru gazed straight 
through Haruka, her eyes clouded.

Haruka stilled.  "I don't understand," she said quietly, focusing a 
muted gaze on her lover.  "What does that mean?"  She sounded almost 
hurt.

Michiru snapped lightly, looked at Haruka, and shook her head slightly.  
"I'm going inside. Stay with Usagi-chan, will you?"  Michiru vanished 
through the doors. 

When Haruka returned, she found Usagi listening to the small tune of 
the star locket, staring dimly at the shiny red stone in the middle.  
Haruka was beginning to hate that song.

"Neko-chan?" 

Usagi looked up.  "Is love childish?" she asked, staring straight at 
Haruka.

"Depends," Haruka said very seriously.  "Some kinds of love are.  Love 
destroys the weak.  It takes a strong person to really love another."  
Haruka focused on the locket.  "Who told you that love was childish?" 

"Who do you think?" she intoned, trying not to cry.

"Maybe he's weak." 

"He's NOT," Usagi said firmly.  "He's just . . . scared." 

"Fear can be a weakness," Haruka said coolly.  "Fear can lead to 
cowardice. You shouldn't tolerate it." 

"I can't help it, Haruka-san.  I love him too much.  Even now, I love 
him more than ever." 

"Then I can't help you, Hime-sama." 

Misty eyes turned towards the sea.  Haruka stood staring at the small 
figure that clutched the blanket as if it were some sort of warding 
charm. As if she could hold off the world with the power of a blanket 
and a tune.

"Usagi-chan?" 

"Yes?" 

"I have something you may like to hear."  Michiru held out her laptop 
and pressed 'play' on her recorder.  

Soft strains came from the weak speakers, hard to hear over the sounds 
of the sea but nonetheless a presence.

"The Requiem?" she whispered excitedly.

"Of course," Michiru beamed.

Usagi listened to the soft Latin words with a thoughtful ear and a 
simple gaze.  "It's pretty," she decided, "and I can hear where you 
used my song." 

"It's not done yet," Michiru said.  "This is the fourth movement, and 
it needs a lot of work.  I started in the middle.  This particular 
movement is called the 'Offertorio.'" 

"Neat," she murmured. 

Haruka was fidgeting.

An instrumental part began playing, and Usagi's dreamy expression 
gradually faded.  "So beautiful," she murmured.  "And to think I 
doubted you, Michiru-san.  You're making beautiful music." 

Haruka crossed her arms and scowled at the ocean.

Michiru however, smiled at the blonde woman.  For her, Usagi's faith 
was the greatest compliment she could receive.

For a while, they sat listening to the bridge, with Haruka squirming 
all the while.  Neither Michiru nor Usagi paid her much heed.

When the chorus came back on, Usagi's gaze focused on the locket again.

"Michiru. . . ." 

"Yes, Usagi-chan?" 

"Here." 

The stone in the locket gleamed like fresh blood in the sun but neither 
flinched or seemed afraid.  As the tune mingled with the sound of 
Michiru's work, Haruka shot a glance at her lover.

In Usagi's hand was the locket, the ultimate gift that the girl could 
give. 

"I can't . . . I shouldn't. . . ." 

"Please, Michiru-san."  Usagi looked at the ground.  "I feel like my 
heart's all smashed up inside my chest," she murmured.  "And I don't 
know why, but giving this to you makes it hurt less." 

Usagi stood up and reached out, holding the locket with its gleaming 
red stone and soft melody. 

"Don't take it, Michiru," Haruka warned sharply.  "You've done enough 
damage with the song already.  The locket is too much!" 

"I. . . ." How badly she longed to reach out and grab it, the lovely 
charm, with its secret tune that only *she* could truly hear!  Michiru 
stood, staring beseechingly at her lover to comprehend what it meant to 
her, this gift of gifts, this ambrosial offering! 

Usagi's eyes were humble and devoid of anything but compassion.

She took it.

Haruka was seething.  "Michiru," she whispered icily, "I expected 
better of you." 

"Haruka, please try to understand . . . " Michiru pleaded piteously, 
but to no avail. 

"I understand that you have let your impetus overtake your good 
judgment," Haruka replied coldly.

In an instant, the locket was in Usagi's hands again, and Michiru had 
stepped away, fiercely wiping at her eyes.

"Don't bother," Haruka sneered.  "The damage is already done.  You may 
as well keep it." 

Foolishly Michiru grabbed the star locket back, holding it as if it 
were her firstborn.  But Haruka's glares were not lost on her; she kept 
her eyes down, away from the locket and the derisive lover.

"Come, neko-chan . . . I'll drive you home."  Haruka gently led Usagi, 
who was a little stunned at Haruka's reaction to the gift, away from 
Michiru.

When she came back to grab the keys she had left on the bench in the 
garden, Michiru was listening to the locket intently, her gaze distant.

"Don't smash it up, Michiru," Haruka whispered harshly.  "I'm watching 
you." 

Michiru looked genuinely surprised.  "I'd never let anything happen to 
the locket.  It's precious to Usagi-chan." 

"I didn't mean the locket."  Haruka left her lover to ponder that in 
the garden.

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Special notes - this chapter actually incorporated the lyrics of the 
Offertorio's portion of Requiem prayer into the story.  Full Latin lyrics, 
plus the English translation, follow.

Latin lyrics:

Domine, Jesu Christe, Rex gloriae, 
libera animas omnium fidelium defunctorum 
de poenis inferni 
et de profundo lacu. 
Libera eas de ore leonis
ne absorbeat eas tartarus,
ne cadant in obscurum;
Sed signifer sanctus Michael
repraesentet eas in lucem sanctam,
Quam olim Abrahae promisisti
et semini eius.
 
Hostias et preces tibi, Domine
laudis offerimus
tu suscipe pro animabus illis,
quarum hodie memoriam facimus.
Fac eas, Domine, de morte
transire ad vitam.
Quam olim Abrahae promisisti
et semine eius. 


English translation:

Lord Jesus Christ, king of glory,
deliver the soulds of all the faithful departed
from the pains of Hell
and the bottomless pit.
Deliver them from the jaws of the lion,
lest hell engulf them,
lest they be plunged into darkness;
but let the holy standard-bearer Michael
lead them into the holy light,
as once you promised to Abraham
and to his seed.

Lord, in praise we offer you
Sacrifices and prayers,
accept them on behalf of those
who we remember this day:
Lord, make them pass
from death to life,
as once you promised to Abraham
and to his seed. 


Comments, complaints, criticisms can go to tennyo@attbi.com, but 
flamers will be treated with appropriate mocking condescension.  Look 
forward to hearing from you!