Yes, I'm obsessed with naming my fics after characters, mainly because I 
can't come up with a good title untill after I'm done writting 
something.

This fanfic was inspired by Gary Kleppe's "Lost" and somewhat by "The 
Truman Show".  It takes place after the end of the Sailor Moon series. 
It also uses established "American" names for those of the cast that 
have them at the time this was written.  You will not see Rini or the 
Sailor Stars in this fic so don't hold your breath, unless of course I 
start feeling sadistic...

C&C welcome, however if you feel like this fic totally sucks hosewater 
and is in serious need of help, why not pre-read it for me and help me 
improve it?

Enjoy.

***
"A Man Called Darien"
A Sailor Moon Fanfiction
by Christina Walters,
spring_head@hotmail.com

        Sunlight slowly seeped through the windows of a certain tall, 
dark, and handsome man's Tokyo apartment as he gently rolled over in 
bed.  He yawned groggily and looked over at his alarm, which was due to 
emit a deafening buzz sound in approximately five minutes.  He had 
learned the hard way that getting up before his alarm did, was a good 
idea, a very good idea.
	After turning off the alarm and tossing on a light robe, he made his 
way to the kitchen in a quiet fashion.  He put coffee and stuck some 
toaster strudels in the toaster.  He looked at the kitchen clock and 
started counting back slowly from 5.

5

4

3

2

1....

	"...muffin?.....Muffin?....MUFFIN!"
	"In the kitchen Meatball Head."  The man said with a smile.
	After various sounds of falling, banging, and crashing, a slender young 
woman with flowing blond hair emerged from the bedroom and stumbled into 
the kitchen.
	She half leaned, half fell, into the man's arms with her eyes closed 
and snuggled against his chest.  "Don't scare me like that Muffin...."
	He smiled and stroked her hair.  "Silly Meatball Head.  No matter how 
long we're married, I don't think you'll ever get used to the morning 
routine."
	"That's because you make me get up too early."
	"It's either that, or you'll be late.  Minako went to a lot of trouble 
to get you your job and it wouldn't help her or you for you to show up 
late to it every morning."
	Just as the blond was about to reply the toaster strudels popped up and 
the man grabbed them and put them on a plate.  Grabbing two cups from 
the cabinet he poured coffee into them and set the table, with the small 
blond still in his arms.  He helped her into her chair and sat next to 
her, tickling her every so often to help her stay awake.
	Just then the man got a prickling sensation in the back of his neck.  
He turned around with almost superhuman speed, catching a glimpse of a 
man edging away from the balcony.  The man frowned.  
	As if on cue, his wife snapped awake at the sight of her husband's 
distress.  Her hand strayed to a pendent on her nightgown, but dropped 
after her husband shook his head.  He made a quieting motion and slipped 
toward the balcony.  
	Ever so quietly the man snuck up behind the intruder and grabbed him by 
the throat.  He threw him into the apartment keeping the intruder's arms 
pinned behind his back.  The blond grabbed a plate and held it like a 
weapon aimed at the man's head.
	"Who are you and who do you work for?"  The blond's husband asked in a 
dangerous growl.
	The intruder blinked at the man standing above him.  "It can't be...not 
after all this time..." he mumbled, not seeming to realize that he was 
speaking out loud.
	The dark-haired man kicked the intruder in the stomach and jerked his 
arm as if to break it.  "Don't make me ask again..." he warned.
	The intruder looked up at him for a moment, as if taking a mental 
picture and holding it up to something.  He sighed and then struggled 
briefly with the dark-haired man, barely managing to escape his grasp 
long enough for the intruder to lethally stab himself.  As the 
intruder's dead body fell to the floor, the blond woman grabbed a watch 
and quietly spoke into it.

	"So...did you find anything useful on the man's body, Darien?"  Asked a 
woman with long dark hair that had a greenish tinge to it.
	The man with dark hair shook his head as he held the blond in his arms.  
"There was nothing to indicate who he was, where he was from, or who, if 
anyone, sent him."
	Another blond with short-cropped hair scowled darkly and punched her 
fist into her hand.  "We can't allow any attack on our Prince and 
Princess.  We have to eliminate whoever sent this creep," she nudged the 
dead man lying on the floor with a sheet over his body, with her booted 
foot, "and kill them before they cause any more trouble."
	Another woman with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail nodded.  
"Any one of us could be next, or they could try to get Darien and Serena 
again."
	The woman with the almost dark-green hair nodded.  "But we must use our 
heads in this and not let ourselves get carried away, Haruka, Lita.  One 
mistake and we could very well all be dead, again, without hope of 
resurrection."  
	The others in the room shuddered.
	"This certainly wasn't an attack from our usual kind of enemy.  We're 
on new ground here, and we need to tread with caution." she continued.
	"Setsuna, perhaps it would be best if the Outers disposed of the body 
after we're finished here."  Said a black cat with the symbol of a 
crescent moon on her forehead, to the woman with the nearly green hair.  
"Then you should all go on about your daily business keeping an eye out.  
Artemis and I will see what information we can gather.  Then we can all 
meet up at Raye's temple tonight."
	"Sounds like a plan, Luna." answered the blond, to the cat.
	"Very well then.  Haruka, Michiru, Hotaru, let's get rid of the body 
before it attracts any attention."  Instructed Setsuna.
	Haruka, Michiru, and Hotaru all nodded.  
	Slowly everyone exited the room, save two cats, in an indiscreet 
fashion.  
	Darien was careful not to leave his wife, Serena, alone that day.



	



	A man in a dark, pinstriped suit sat behind his desk and pondered the 
morning's events.  Not good, not good at all.  One of his operatives was 
dead, and a phantom was the past was walking the streets of Tokyo.  This 
was beyond being annoyance.  This was beginning to be a problem.  And 
yet, solving it was a bit of a problem.  He had certain obligations, 
certain duties.  
	He absolutely had to play his cards just right, else all was lost.  He 
sighed.  Looked like it was time to put the fear of the kamis into some 
inept underling again.  Tapping his finger on one of the intercoms on 
his desk, the man called one of the directors of his intelligence 
department into his office.
	The director entered the room.  "Yes, sir?" he asked with confidence in 
his voice, which would have been believable if his hands had not shaken 
in slight manner.
	"I've gotten news that Agent Ibi has not reported, and is strongly 
believed to be dead.  In fact, it's almost certain that he's dead."
	The director's expression did not waver, nor did his stance, but his 
hands began to shake a little bit more.
	"I've also received news that Darien Shields is alive.  That distresses 
me deeply.  I want to know why he isn't dead, and why he looks no older 
than he did when he was �killed'.  And I want to know now.  Do you 
understand, Kido-san?  If not, I'm sure I can send someone to visit your 
wife, Yayoi-chan, to help convince you."  The man let a brief smile 
cross his face, it was reminiscent of a tiger's grin.
	Kido nodded, his whole body violently shaking now.  "It shall be as you 
request, sir.  I won't fail you."
	"See that you don't.  Else someone else may have to take care of 
Yayoi-chan, she's quite lovely you know.  It'd be shame for anything to 
mar her beauty, though I might be able to put it to good use, depending 
on my mood that day, or night as the case may be.  If I'm feeling 
generous, I may even let you observe how I deal with Yayoi-chan."
	Kido turned ghostly white and staggered out of the room.  The man in 
the dark pinstripe suit chuckled darkly.


--
Sailor Moon and all associated elements copyright Naoko Takeuchi, story 
and plot and what have you copyright Christina Walters.

This story may not be altered or used for commercial purposes in any way 
shape or form.  
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