Haruka whistled as she sauntered down the street, hands buried deep in her pockets. She had won, of course, but Michiru hadn't made it to the race. She was sure that the aqua-haired nymph would do something special to make it up to her, something . . . she purred, deep in her throat, feeling waves of heat roll through her frame. Just the thought of Michiru turned her on. Quickening her pace, Haruka turned down the street that led home, stopping still at the pack of policemen outside a dark alley, the area cordoned off. Curious, Haruka stopped beside the rope, glancing into the darkness of the empty alley. She could see that the ambulance had already been and gone, the atmosphere resembling the calm after the destruction of the storm. One of the cops, a woman with long black hair pulled into a bun at the base of her neck, tilted her head and smiled at the runner. "Can I help you, sir?" Haruka turned on the charm, inwardly pleased when the woman blushed. "I was hoping you could. You see, I live in one of the apartments around the corner, and nothing has ever happened here. Was it a beating or a robbery?" The woman shook her head sadly. Her name tag read Matsumori Junko. "I'm afraid it was much worse than that. It was a woman, she had no identification that we could find, and we think a gang of four or five men attacked her. And they . . . hurt her. Badly. They took her to the hospital and they're checking her for STDs and making sure she's not pregnant." "Pregnant," Haruka whispered, dread filling her frame. The poor woman had been raped. "I hope she wasn't someone I knew." The cop shrugged as her partner nodded toward their car. The other policeman had already dispersed, only the last two had to wait for the detectives to come. "We caught four, but we think the ringleader got away. When the detectives get here, they may be able to find something . . ." "You don't seem too optimistic," Haruka murmured, eyes half-lidded, smiling her best seductive smile. "I may be able to help. I know most of the people that live around here, and I have a pretty good memory. I may recognize something—a watch, a pin, a ribbon, a hairclip—that your people wouldn't know to look for. I'd like to help you in every way I can, Matsumori-san." The police officer blushed, glancing at her partner. He was sipping his coffee, staring across the street, leaning on the other side of the car. "Just don't touch anything," she whispered. "If you find something, come out and tell me where it is so I can get it. If you know who it belongs to, that would be wonderful." "And if I can't, I'd be glad to go to the hospital and have a look." Haruka easily stepped over the rope and slipped into the alley, her sharp green eyes searching every corner for anything she recognized. A piece of cloth hiding under a crate caught her eye, and she bent down, staring at it. A hair ribbon, red. Haruka shrugged and continued her search. A lot of people wore hair ribbons. All that it proved was that the woman had long hair. The cops already knew that. She paused as she spotted what looked like a piece of paper in the back of the alley, almost completely hidden by the shadows. She only noticed it because the light had changed slightly since the police had searched. Leaning down, she stared at the light colored notebook, wondering if there was a name on it. Glancing over her shoulder at the cop, she reached down and picked up the notebook, realizing that it was a sketchpad. Brushing the dirt off the back, she turned it over. There was a name written in flowing gold, so she moved into the light to read it. "Oh no . . ." she whispered, the sketchpad falling from her lifeless fingers. The police officers looked over at the sound, staring at the blonde as she leapt over the rope, green eyes wild. "Where is she?!" "What?" "Where did they take her?" Junko pointed over her shoulder, and Haruka was gone, running faster than was humanly possible, pointed toward the hospital. "Ten'ou Haruka," Junko whispered. "The famous racer." Glancing at her partner, she reentered the crime scene and picked up the covered sketchpad, glancing at the English letters engraved on the front. "Michi . . . ru. Michiru? Oh no. I think she was Ten'ou Haruka's girlfriend, the violinist and painter Kaiou Michiru. No wonder he ran off like that." *~*~*~*~*~*~* Haruka skidded to a stop beside the counter in the hospital, fiery green eyes boring into the receptionist, freezing her to the spot. "Where is she?" "Wh-who?" "Kai—the woman who was attacked an hour ago." "Room 309, but sir, you can't go see her . . ." The receptionist's last words fell on empty ears as the blonde vanished, taking the stairs because she had no patience for the elevator. Haruka stopped outside the door marked 309, tears gathering in her eyes as she carefully opened the door. Silently slipping into the room, Haruka stopped beside the bed and took Michiru's limp hand, listening to the steady beeping. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, tears choking her. "When I left, I had this feeling that I should stay with you, that you were in danger. Why didn't I stay with you?" "It's not your fault," Michiru whispered, eyes cracking open. "Haruka." Haruka knelt beside Michiru's bed, running her fingers through her lover's hair. "Of course it's my fault. I was so worried about my race, my career, that I ignored your danger. I knew there was something wrong, Michi . . ." "How did you know?" "I found your sketchbook," Haruka murmured, pulling Michiru's hand to her cheek. The violinist's fingers were cold, almost lifeless, trembling slightly. "How many were there, Michiru? They caught four . . ." "There were five," Michiru managed, closing her eyes. "It hurts, Haruka." "I know, baby. I'll find a way to make it better." Haruka pulled a chair up to the smaller woman's bed and held her hand while she fell asleep, emerald eyes never leaving her face. "I'll make it better," she promised. *~*~*~*~*~*~* Matsumori Junko looked up, shocked, as a familiar blonde dragged a man twice her size into the police office, no marks on her at all. The man, though, was in pretty bad shape, shaking and glancing in fear at the woman, falling to his knees in front of Matsumori's desk. "Ten'ou Haruka," Junko realized. "Who . . . what . . ?" "Tell her." "I did it," the man whimpered, wringing his hands. There were bruises on his cheeks and arms, the way he was sitting indicating bruised ribs. "I raped that woman." Matsumori jumped to her feet, staring at the man. "You're . . . confessing?" "And I'll be glad to name my accomplices!" The man held out his arms, glancing up fearfully at Haruka. "Anything to get away from her." Junko pulled out her handcuffs as her partner joined her. They took the man away as the green-eyed woman stormed away, the fury in her frame only slightly abated by the cuts and bruises on the rapist's body. She looked like she would have preferred his death. *~*~*~*~*~*~* "Usagi? What's wrong?" The blonde shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks as pain filled her young body. She fell to her knees, Rei wrapping her arms around the smaller girl, closing her eyes as the fire in the shrine flared up. She could see a woman with blue eyes and aqua hair . . . Usagi's pain filled her, and she lost the vision, biting her lip as Makoto and Ami wrapped their arms around their friend. Usagi's shaking slowly stopped as whatever link she had with that unlucky woman was severed, and Rei kissed the top of her head. "I felt . . . someone close to me was in pain and I couldn't help her . . ." "It's okay now, Usagi-chan," Makoto assured her. "Did you recognize her?" "No. I've never seen her before in my life. But I have this feeling that I know her. I think we all know her. I want to ease her pain, Rei. Can we find her, make her feel better, make her forget all of her suffering?" "We'll try," Rei whispered. "But right now you and I need to go back to your house and get ready for this concert tonight." "Okay. But I want to help her."
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