Midnight Rose

[Belle]

The drive back was quiet. The sun had already set beyond its artificial horizon, blanketing Tier Four in its familiar, comforting blanket of darkness. Street lamps flickered on, casting wan pools of amber light on the pavement, causing the shadows inside of the car to rhythmically pulse as they passed.

Belle stared into space, touching the torn shoulder of her uniform. The outfit hadn't been in good condition to begin with, but it definitely needed mending now. She supposed she shouldn't complain: it could have been much worse.

Belle glanced at the old woman – she'd never gotten her name. Whenever Belle had asked, the woman had evaded, or just ignored her. “So,” Belle said at last, breaking the silence. “Where did you learn to do all that?”

At first, Belle thought the woman hadn't heard her. “Do all what?” the woman said at last.

“Oh, come on. You know.” Belle gestured vaguely. “Where did you learn how to fight?”

They passed another lamp. Maybe it was the trick of the light, but Belle thought the shadows on the woman's face seemed to deepen. “Family tradition,” she said at last.

Belle continued to stare. When no further explanation was forthcoming, she sighed and looked away. Resting her cheek in her hand, elbow propped up on the door, she mulled over what she was going to tell Jack, and more importantly, what she was going to tell Lily. Jack's concern would probably be feigned, more interested in how much it would cost to mend her uniform than anything else. Lily, though, was protective of her.

Belle could already see it now, the look of worry in Lily's eyes, the silent insistence that Belle tell her everything that had happened.

That was the way it always seemed to end up. No matter how much she tried to help people, in the end, it was her that ended up needing helping. “It must be nice,” she said bitterly, “to be so strong.”

They passed the rest of the ride in silence. Belle signaled for the woman to turn onto the street in front of the Rose. The woman pulled up across the street from the club, the green aura of the sign burning on the pavement as Belle opened the door and rose unsteadily out of her seat. “Thank you,” she said at last. “For, you know... For everything. Miss...?”

“Yuki,” the woman answered as Pickles wormed his way out of the back and sat in the warm, recently-vacated passenger seat. “And you wouldn't need to thank me if you hadn't done such a stupid thing in the first place, you know.” She stroked the fur between Pickles' ears.

“I know.” Belle stood there, uncertain. Then, as Yuki revved the engine, she blurted: “Could you teach me?”

Another long pause. Yuki's eyes turned towards her's, boring into her. “No,” she said. “I won't.”

“Why not?” Belle demanded.

“Why should I?” Yuki countered. “The Omniverse is dangerous as it is, Rose Girl. Be happy you got through this night of it in one piece.” She revved the car again. “Curse your powerlessness if you want. Curse me if that's what it will take to make you happy. Continue to jump thoughtlessly into danger, or don't. Either way, I won't be responsible for you.”

Belle stood there, blinking. She hardly noticed as Mr. Pickles reached out his paws and shut the door. She caught a brief glimpse of Yuki's twisted lip as the car pulled away and slid down the street before vanishing at the next intersection.

Irritated, Belle turned to the apartments. She made it all the way to the elevators before remembering that they were out of service. Letting out a soft curse, she turned around and trumped her way up the long flights to her floor. There was a note on her door, written in Lily's handwriting, urging her to call.

Belle took the note down and crumpled it. The longer she could go before having to tell the story, the better.

Opening the door, she stepped inside. The lights were off. Good, no one was waiting for her. Locking the door behind her, she sloughed off her garments as she made her way towards her bed. There were still a few hours left before she had to confront reality.

Settling onto the covers, Belle stared at the dirty, stained ceiling, the old woman's words continuing to ring in her ears as passing headlights danced across the cracked paint. She rolled over, fishing around on the ground, and came back up with the crumpled bit of paper. She smoothed it out, reading it again in the dim light.

Maybe Yuki was right. Maybe she should just be happy with what she had.

She closed her eyes. At the very least, tomorrow couldn't get any worse.