READ ALL AUTHOR’S NOTES BELOW. Break lines are not from song. (All explanations follow.) Originally written for the SMRFF lyric wheel challenge; ended up being a lot more. Set about a day after episode #132 (#125 in the dub), which is the episode with Saori and Kobayashi. Jessica Riddle - “Even Angels Fall” You found hope, you found faith Found out how fast she could take it away Found true love, Lost your heart Now you don't know who you are She made it easy she made it free Made you hurt 'til you couldn't see Sometimes it stops; Sometimes it flows But baby that is how love goes You will fly and you will crawl God knows even angels fall No such thing as you lost it all God knows even angels fall It's a secret that know one tells One day it's heaven, one day its hell; And it's no fairytale, take it from me That's the way its supposed to be You will fly and you will crawl God knows even angels fall No such thing as you lost it all God knows even angels fall You laugh you cry no one knows why, But oh the thrill of it all You're on the ride; you might as well open your eyes You will fly and you will crawl God knows even angels fall No such thing as you lost it all God knows even angels fall Even angels fall Even angels fall Ingénue (Even Angels Fall) Author: Ai ~Inspired by Jessica Riddle’s “Even Angels Fall”~ Rating: Questionable. Technically PG-13 for content, but not recommended for readers under 15 due to themes. E-mail: tennyo@attbi.com Disclaimer: Don’t sue me, don’t threaten my life, and if ANYTHING happens to my favorite shirt, you will so feel the full brunt of my wrath. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- in·gé·nue /'an-j&-"nü, 'än-; 'an-zh&-, 'än-/ Function: noun Etymology: French ingénue, feminine of ingénu ingenuous, from Latin ingenuus Date: 1848 1: A naive girl or young woman 2: The stage role of an ingénue; also : an actress playing such a role (And your parents told you you’d never learn anything from fanfiction.) ----------------------------------------------------------------------- “I can’t believe they gave you two for the price of one.” Tsukino Chibiusa had a mildly disgusted look on her face, as if the ice cream she was steadily devouring was flavored with broccoli instead of strawberry. Taking another decisive lick, she glared, half- envious, half-repulsed by her future mother’s giddy expression and new prizes. Usagi smiled smugly, her nose wrinkling in amused disdain as they walked along the unusually vacant streets of Juuban. She proudly displayed her plunder, in the form of a comical stuffed horse and a plump hippopotamus, for the few passing people to see. The sun was starting to set, and a few people were already prowling the area for nocturnal activity. “Say what you want, Chibiusa. *You’re* just jealous.” “That’s right.” The compacted girl made another face. “I’m jealous of a 15-year-old girl who just spent four hours trying to decide whether to buy a stuffed hippo-po-potamus--" the way her tongue tripped over the last word belied her youth, “--and a horse. I want to be just like you when I grow up!” Chibiusa snorted in a very horse- like manner. “Ungrateful snot,” Usagi stuck out her tongue. “I still think you’re jealous.” Chibiusa was willing to let that one slide, especially in light of the fact it was true. “So...“ the conically-styled child began, eager to change the subject, “how *did* you convince the store owner to give you the horse for free?” Usagi smirked. “Trade secret,” she said with a sly wink. “I didn’t know you could keep a secret,” Chibiusa mused thoughtfully. “Yeah, well--" Usagi was about to start her tirade when heavy footsteps and what sounded like a man yelling interrupted her train of thought. Chibiusa’s eyes shifted about, searching for the source of the confusion. “What was that?” Chibiusa asked, growing concerned. “I don’t know,” Usagi admitted with an uneasy glance in the direction from which the sound had come. “Little early for Amazon Trio to be trying again...they usually take a few days to regroup.” “But we should--" “I didn’t say we wouldn’t,” Usagi scowled, “I was making an observation.” “Whatever,” the younger girl said, inadvertently mimicking her mother’s tone and facial expression perfectly. “Let’s go.” Usagi clutched her brooch as she and Chibiusa ran to the source, but decided against transforming immediately. It was better to make certain they were needed first than risk drawing attention to themselves. Slowing to allow Chibiusa, with her significantly shorter legs, to keep up with her, Usagi quietly prayed another attack hadn’t taken place already. “Do you SEE this? I mean did you honestly take a good look at it?” Usagi could hear a thin veneer of restraint in the man’s voice. Whoever he was, he sounded as if he were ready to take a machete and commence hacking. Chibiusa stopped dead in her tracks. Usagi had to brace herself to keep from crashing into an acid-green bush. She gave the pink- haired child a cheeky grin, so a note of her near-save would be made. “I see it...so?” She may not have recognized the first man, but Usagi would know Chiba Mamoru’s cool, unruffled voice until her dying day. Her fantastic save was squandered as, in her shock, she went tumbling into the semi-organic bush. “Baka Usagi!” Chibiusa hissed, crouching down next to the fallen Moon Princess. “You’ll draw their attention!” “Who *is* that?” Usagi hissed back, staring at the lighter-haired man who was furiously waving a necktie in her beloved’s face. “Kobayashi-san,” Chibiusa replied. “He likes Saori-san. Just listen.” Usagi looked uneasy. “Are you sure we should be doing this?” she murmured, her gaze distant. “Do you realize who she wanted to give this to, Mamoru?” Chibiusa felt Usagi’s forehead. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” “Since you have it, I would assume that you were the lucky recipient,” he replied in the same even voice, but Usagi could tell he was growing nervous. There was that slight thread of tension reverberating through each muscle she always noticed when he was stressed, and his voice had steeled the tiniest amount. “Yes!” Usagi snapped, suddenly desperate to get out of the area and away from the conversation. “I just don’t think we should be listening to this and I--" “She meant to give it to you, Mamoru.” Mamoru stilled, obviously trying to process the new information. “I didn’t know.” “You never do, do you?” Kobayashi snarled contemptuously. “You just walk through life never caring about who you left in the wreckage.” “What is he talking about?” Chibiusa squawked, but Usagi firmly clamped her hand on the little girl’s mouth. It was a heavy accusation, and Mamoru reacted in kind. “Don’t say things you don’t know anything about, Kobayashi,” the man snarled in a manner distinctly unlike Mamoru. He was getting defensive, Usagi realized. And Mamoru never got defensive unless there was some truth behind the statement. “Saori really thought you cared, Mamoru. I tried to tell her not to get her hopes up, but she actually thought that when you two slept together it meant you CARED.” Chibiusa gasped into Usagi’s mouth, her eyes boggling in shock. Usagi, for her part, kept quiet, but there was a kind of quiet, cold dread in her eyes Chibiusa didn’t like. The little pink-haired girl, for her part, was indignant, snorting and scratching like a restrained bull that had just seen red. When she looked up at Usagi’s stark countenance, however, she calmed down in sympathy. “We were in high school, Kobayashi. Saori’s not a stupid girl.” He turned to walk away, but Kobayashi caught his arm. Chibiusa’s face returned from rice paper-white to something more normal, but Usagi’s did not change. She stared intently at Mamoru’s frozen figure, as if trying to discern something. “How many were there, Chiba? I heard the stories too. They broke Saori’s heart. How many women were there, anyways? I don’t think I ever saw you with the same one twice. Do you even *remember*? And to watch her added to the list...she didn’t deserve to be thrown away like that.” Kobayashi was practically shaking with suppressed rage, but, amazingly, he held onto a sliver of his composure. Chibiusa flushed cherry red and mumbled something behind Usagi’s hand. The comment was incoherent and useless at any rate. After another moment of struggle, she watched Usagi in mute fascination, her horror boiling over in her like an overfull cauldron. Usagi, for her part, was perfectly still, and appeared to not be reacting to the news that Kobayashi was delivering with inadvertent callousness. “I can’t change the past, Kobayashi. If I could...“ For a moment, Mamoru’s face gained a remote, poignant quality that softened Kobayashi’s fury. The raven-haired man hung his head for a split second, and Usagi could, for just one moment, see a lifetime of regret weighing on his shoulders. Then he snapped back. “I can’t. The only thing I can affect is the future.” He sighed, a little weary. Kobayashi looked searchingly at the closed planes of Mamoru’s face. “Fine then,” the man denounced dully, “I’ll leave you to your regrets. But stay away from Saori. She’s been hurt enough.” Kobayashi turned away, each step from Mamoru coming down like a little earthquake. “You know Chiba, I don’t know who I pity more--you, or your poor girlfriend.” For a while Mamoru stood still as a statue, watching Kobayashi’s retreating back with disinterested eyes. Usagi was too far away to read his gaze properly. When the other man was no more than a random dot on the horizon, however, he abruptly rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand and turned to walk in the opposite direction. Chibiusa, for her part, had the sense not to speak aloud until Mamoru was safely out of hearing. “What was that about, Usagi-chan?” she asked, genuinely concerned for both of them. Usagi closed her eyes and bit her lip, quietly pressing down until she felt a salty, metallic taste spread from the wound. It was painful, and probably not a very healthy way of dealing with the emotions rocketing through her nervous system, but couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment. She knew she was scaring Chibiusa, the shuttered, frozen reaction she was forced to play at lest she reveal too much to the child scared even her. “Usagi-chan,” Chibiusa managed with the wide-eyed half-innocence a child of her age possessed, “what were they talking about?” There was an urgency and insistence to her voice Usagi had heard before, and Usagi wished she could answer the girl honestly. Instead she finally lifted herself out of the bushes, dusted and rearranged her lace-trimmed black tank top and ruffled pink skirt as needed, and knelt down to speak to Chibiusa. “Don’t tell Mamo-chan that you heard what you did,” Usagi whispered fiercely, using the same commanding intensity Chibiusa recalled from far away from here, in moments where collapse was imminent and every word carried immense weight. It was a loaded, difficult promise and they both knew it, but Chibiusa nodded dumbly in acquiescence. “All right.” Usagi stood back up and again readjusted her skirt. “I know you’re curious,” she murmured as she picked up the stuffed animals tossed aside so carelessly from off the ground and brushed the dirt away, “but until I know more, I can’t explain very well.” Chibiusa nodded. She could accept that. “I’ll talk to him...can’t promise much.” Usagi lips turned upwards in a bleak not-smile. She was lying; they both knew it. “He’s not really good at these things.” Memories of home flooded Chibiusa...whispers around court that her beloved Papa was a cold, unfeeling man. She’d never understood how they could believe that of the man who so deeply loved her Mama and her until she’d met his past self. When she’d returned she could understand a little better. Endymion was a reserved man, but Mamoru...she didn’t know what Mamoru was. Except... 'He reminds me of a broken toy sometimes.' Diana had said it, not her, but in her heart of hearts she agreed with the kitten. 'Like a clockwork doll instead of a person...' “I won’t tell.” Chibiusa tried to match Usagi’s solemnity, perhaps read something besides slight horror in the girl’s expression. But today her face was blank, cautious to only express appropriate emotions. It was at times like these, the pink-haired girl realized that her future mother was not what she seemed. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- What's the matter with the truth, did I offend your ears? ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Usagi performed every task set forth that afternoon with perfect, pointed acuity. She made each step in front of her with weighed deliberation, absolute certainty after flashing momentary debate, and dead composure. Chibiusa didn’t like it, not any of it, from the subtle pallor of her cheeks to the subdued tones in which her future mother spoke. They’d walked home immediately, Usagi lost in a haze of thought. The little pink-haired girl could practically see her thoughts churning through her, rendering the blonde a glassy-eyed doll, marred only by the furrow of her brow. Chibiusa sighed. Whatever Usagi was thinking about, she clearly wasn’t going to volunteer any information. Now Usagi sat in her room, likely still thinking. Though the door was slightly ajar, Chibiusa didn’t want to disturb her. She was sitting outside in the hall instead, puzzling over a math assignment and fighting the impulse to call Mamoru and have him guide her through the tedious algebra problems. Making a small, irritated noise, she glanced at the slender crack in the door but, after a moment’s contemplation, returned to her assignment. “Chibiusa?” Shingo was standing over her, concerned but uncertain how to proceed. He was growing, Chibiusa realized suddenly, granted almost everyone towered over her, but at that moment he seemed gargantuan. She gave him a small, neutral smile as she craned her neck to meet his eyes. “What are you doing sitting in the hall?” Chibiusa saw his eyes narrow at her for a moment, then trail over to the not-quite-closed door, the questioning look lifting. He understood, Chibiusa recognized. Somehow he knew what she was doing: the twisted loyalty that demanded she keep vigil, the cowardice that kept her from crossing the chasm and demanding answers. “She used to do that a lot...“ Shingo commented thoughtfully, stroking his chin over the not-stubble on his face, “especially a couple years ago. She was always happy after she came out, but...I still worried.” Shingo gave her a sheepish grin. “Did you ever find out why?” Shingo’s eyes were far away, filled with some long-past sadness. “I didn’t need to ask. That was sort of a tough time for the family.” He shrugged laconically. “But we made it through. She was a lot happier after that...and then she...I don’t get her sometimes.” Another shrug. “Some things are better off left alone.” Shingo walked away, and Chibiusa looked down at the undone math homework. She really wished she could call Mamoru. Her tangential line of thinking broke when she heard a clatter in the room. Without thinking, she leaped up from her spot and inched the door open just enough so she could see. On the floor, a marred porcelain doll was tossed down carelessly, staring at the world through its lifeless, glassy gaze. The force of the fall chipped away the china of her face, giving her a sickly comical expression. Chibiusa wanted to shudder but suppressed the desire. Usagi took great care lifting a small stack of photos out of the careworn shoe box on her bed, and started flipping through the set gingerly. Her gaze lingered on particular pictures once in a while; others she flipped past quickly. The door’s hinges needed oiling, so when Chibiusa cracked the door again to try to get a better view of Usagi’s pictures, the older girl heard the noise and started. With a shaky expression, she looked over at the red eye and tuft of pink hair peeking through the door. “You might as well come in,” Usagi told in a dry, amused voice. Chibiusa entered with unusual timidity, shutting the door cautiously behind her. “What are you looking at?” Chibiusa half-asked, half-demanded. Even when she was trying to be kind, Chibiusa could never quite banish the brash, pushy tone she used with Usagi. Surprisingly, the blonde gave her a dilute smile, but her eyes sparkled with a thin, reedy sort of happiness. “Just looking through some old memories,” she murmured dreamily, almost forgetting Chibiusa was there. Again her gaze touched upon the picture, her eyes dim and misty. Chibiusa looked over Usagi’s shoulder. In the picture was Usagi, a longer-haired Naru, one or two other girls Chibiusa didn’t recognize, and a slightly younger girl with bright eyes and a cheeky smile, hugging Usagi tightly. “Who are they?” she asked, pointing at the unknown girls. “Old friends from grade school,” she murmured, smiling softly. “Those are Yumeko and Hitomi. They went to another middle school. We lost touch after seventh grade...” Usagi smiled fondly as the memories she so rarely permitted herself to think about rushed through her. “Naru-chan gives me updates now and then. It’s nice.” It was a little disturbing to Chibiusa to think about the fact that, before she was a Sailor Senshi, Usagi had had other friends, other concerns, other priorities...and though on the surface, nothing had changed, it felt like a whole other world to her. “Don’t think about it too hard,” Usagi cautioned with a real smile. “I don’t miss those days.” The bitter ring in her voice surprised Chibiusa. She couldn’t decide whether Usagi meant what she said. “Those days were...harder then they seemed.” “Who’s that one?” Chibiusa distracted Usagi by pointing at the younger girl with her arms around Usagi’s waist. A tear fell, the salt water blurring the girl’s image. “That would be Kana. She’s the daughter of my father’s best friend from college. She was a really sweet girl, but...she died a while back.” “Oh.” Delicate subject, apparently. Chibiusa grimaced. Usagi stared intently at Kana’s joyful countenance, immortalized in the photo. “Kana-chan was only year below us, even though she looks younger. But I learned a lot from her. I learned from her to believe in the future, no matter what.” Usagi looked away. “You found some hope,” Chibiusa mused quietly. “Well...it wasn’t that simple,” Usagi admitted. “When she died, for a while I couldn’t keep faith. It took becoming Sailormoon and learning about my past to change my thinking back.” “Was that everything?” Chibiusa said slyly, looking at Usagi with a wicked grim. “After all you found Mamo-chan...that must have helped too.” There was a pained look on Usagi’s face when Chibiusa said that. “That...that helped too.” It was now or never, Chibiusa decided, to force the question. "Usagi," Chibiusa asked suspiciously, "did you think that Mamo-chan..." Usagi was so pale when Chibiusa began talking that the child cut off her query mid-sentence. With shaky, pale lips, Usagi opened her mouth to reply. "I didn't ask," she whispered softly, "because I didn't want to know the answer." In other words, Chibiusa realized, Usagi had long suspected that Mamoru was not forthcoming about his past. Usagi didn't seem inclined to keep talking about it, so Chibiusa didn't ask any further. From the shuttered expression on Usagi's face, however, Chibiusa could tell that Usagi's feelings on the topic ran deep. Usagi flipped to the next picture and began to talk freely about the people and places captured on the 4-by-6 glossy paper: favorite foods, funny stories, memories that were no longer dwelled upon but had made her into who she was. Chibiusa, for her part, was fascinated by Usagi’s jovial stories and the way she told them. Once the ball was rolling, Usagi was a fantastic storyteller: her naturally expressive voice and genuine fondness for the subjects of her pictures blended into an amusing, interesting set of monologues. Chibiusa paid rapt attention, lost in the familiarity of the moment--of the mother who, she bragged to all her friends, told the best stories in the world. As the stack dwindled, however, Kana’s face appeared increasingly, and the former cheer ebbed away from Usagi’s voice. Chibiusa placed a small, comforting hand on Usagi’s arm, and the blonde looked down, smiling at the girl who was so remarkably like her. “The Tezuka family was in a car accident right before I started the eighth grade,” she explained without prompting. “Kana-chan and her mother died.” “Ah.” Chibiusa looked at the last picture, where Usagi and Kana’s hands were lightly touching. The only other occupant of the space had his arm wrapped around Usagi’s waist, hugging her to him, his chin resting between her trademark odango. He had a cheeky grin on his tanned, handsome face, much like Kana’s genki expression only older and more masculine, and Usagi’s other hand clasped the arm around her waist. “And...who’s that?” Chibiusa looked at the laughing gray-eyed boy who held Usagi so possessively. “Haruhiko...“ Usagi’s voice dropped, “...just someone I used to know.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------- and all my innocence is wasted on the dead and dreaming ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Tsukino Chibiusa never knew what to make of the endless stream of revelations in her life. Every day was a million bits of new information to process, some things small, many more earth shaking. But before today, she’d always known how to deal with those moments. That’s why she was sitting there, on a pillow in the middle of a warm, wood-paneled room in the Hikawa Jinja while she waited for Mamoru to come pick her up and help her study her math. As she watched, Rei boredly tended the fire, Ami was playing with an “extra-curricular” program on her laptop, and Makoto and Minako had raided Rei’s enviable manga collection. No one spoke, but the girls were simply enjoying being in each other’s presence without thinking about youma or entrance exams. *Haruhiko...just someone I used to know.* The words didn’t sit well with her. She may have been young, but she certainly wasn’t stupid. The tone in Usagi’s voice was akin to the one she used when she talked about Mamoru. After the scare with Saori, Chibiusa didn’t want to think about Usagi ever having been with someone else. She remembered the obvious love between her parents in the future, so thick and vibrant it hummed like a plucked guitar string, versus the almost sickly relationship of the present. At times she didn’t know which one of her future parents she wanted to hit more. Usagi was supposed to arrive in another half-hour, she’d had a meeting of the manga drawing club she’d recently joined and had cheekily pointed out to the other girls, “At least it isn’t detention.” Luna grumbled, but everyone else, including Rei, capitulated quickly. Now they were just waiting. “Where are Luna and Artemis and Diana?” Chibiusa ventured, uncertain of how to proceed with her conversation but certain that she didn’t want the two guardians to hear. “Ami gave Luna a program that she’s working on to detect people with powerful dream mirrors before the Amazon Trio does,” Makoto explained, not even looking up at the pink-haired child. “They went to hash out the details and run some preliminary tests of the sensors. Why, is something the matter?” “Nothing’s wrong,” she protested. That was the mistake. Rei, hearing the force of the denial, looked lazily up at Chibiusa. “Are you sure everything all right, chibi? You look a little unnerved.” Chibiusa forced herself to inhale properly and decided now was a better time than never. “Have any of you heard of a Tezuka Haruhiko? The room came at a standstill. Manga fell, typing stopped, eyes fixed upon the girl sitting in the center. “How do you know him?” Minako broke the silence first, keeping her expression neutral. “Well...“ Chibiusa bit her lip and mentally remembered Usagi had only made her promise not to tell Mamo-chan. Technically telling the girls was all right, even if Usagi squawked about it later. The girl wouldn’t have blamed her; this was a highly personal topic, after all. “Usagi-chan was really upset because she heard this conversation between Kobayashi-san and Mamo-chan about how he’d slept with all these girls and...“ “What?” Chiba Mamoru was standing the doorway, eyes blank. Minako cringed, and Rei looked warily at the stricken raven-haired man. Ami was the first to regain her composure, unsurprisingly. “Is everything all right, Mamoru-san?” “She...you...heard that?” All four girls breathed a sigh of relief at Mamoru didn’t catch. The last thing they needed was Mamoru asking questions about Haruhiko that they couldn’t answer without betraying Usagi... “She HEARD what he said?” Chibiusa nodded gamely, tears forming in her eyes. “How could you do all those things?” she asked, tone remarkably scarce of accusation. Mamoru dealt with this blow the only way he knew how after nineteen years. He bolted. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- dead actors, vacant lies--over and over and over again she cries ----------------------------------------------------------------------- She knew. The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Mamoru struggled to breathe in, trying to understand why, had she known, she hadn’t mentioned anything to him. He couldn’t conceive of the idea she might be all right with knowing the things he had done--there were times he himself could barely tolerate it. He exhaled harshly and noisily, trying to balance himself physically and collect his thoughts back together. *Fix this.* The order rang through his mind; somehow he knew Usagi could NOT have just let this go. She must have been afraid to confront him, he rationed immediately, feared upsetting him, perhaps? He hated his past, the blank expanse of years that stretched behind him, taunting him with their base activity and aimless purpose. Finding Usagi, and his life with her, was one of the greatest things that had ever happened in his life. And yet the past always seemed to come back to haunt him. “Mamoru-san, WAIT!” Hino Rei was running after him in an unusually undignified manner, her long raven hair whipping around like a sheet. She looked slightly panicked. “Rei-chan...is something...?” “Was it true?” the pushy priestess demanded, glaring him down with her vibrant plum-colored eyes. What was there to say? He remained silent, confirming what they both knew. Rei looked mildly scornful. “I always thought you were better than that, Mamoru-san. Guess I was wrong.” “I don’t need your condemnation, Rei.” “Too bad.” Her mild scorn was rapidly evolving into full-on revulsion. If she’d spat on the sidewalk at that moment, Mamoru could not have brought himself to be surprised. “I’m sorry, Mamoru-san, but the rest of us get tired of having to pick up the pieces every time you break her heart. And this is definitely going that direction.” He looked away. “What if I told you I would come clean with her?” Rei’s eyes flared momentarily before returning to her usual violet. “Is that what you’re planning to do?” Mamoru paced away a few steps, lost in thought. “What if I told you I was tired of secrets and just wanted to clear the air for once?” “I wouldn’t believe you,” Rei said flatly. He smiled, the expression thin and a little cold. “And I’d also tell you to use a little discretion for once,” Rei snapped. “Follow her lead on this one. She’ll feel a lot more comfortable if you do that.” “I will,” he mumbled, trying to get Rei’s searing gaze off of him. Mamoru half-stumbled away, trying to sort through the myriad emotions rushing through his consciousness, make sense of Rei's cryptic commentary. As he walked away, Rei murmured, “Wish I could believe that.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------- I’m all about denial, but can’t denial let me believe? ----------------------------------------------------------------------- When Usagi arrived the Crown Fruit Parlor at the appropriate time that day, Mamoru was trying to shake his excessive nervousness by slamming down a cup of coffee. Mamoru was not very good at dealing with his nerves. Motoki looked over at his longtime friend and simultaneous source of frustration and amusement. “Hot date?” he teased gently, flashing his trademark grin. Mamoru turned to stone. “Ah...never mind,” Motoki sighed, going back to wiping the tables. Sometimes, Motoki had learned, the best avenue was to not pry at all. Mamoru watched the door, gaze fixed, until the bell on the door rang a certain way--she made it sound different, somehow--and Usagi strode in, possessed with her usual artless grace. And it was certainly artless. Streaming blond hair whisked cheerily around her as she settled into the booth, she waved to Motoki, who was already preparing a drink for her. “You called?” She was having a difficult time keeping her demeanor upbeat. Unazuki delivered a soda with a wink and a grin, and Usagi sipped it happily, grateful for another focal point. Mamoru clutched the coffee cup, ignoring the fact his hand was burning. “Usa-ko...we need to talk.” She snapped to attention post-haste, dread pooling in her stomach. “I found out that yesterday you may have...heard some things.” Usagi made a face. “I’m going to kill that pink-haired yamhead.” “It was an accident!” Mamoru protested, defending the girl. “I walked in at the wrong time.” After making a mental note to ask one of the others for details later, she smiled brightly and vowed, for once in her life, to lie effectively. She patted his scalded hands, eyes shining with love. “Mamo- chan, I don’t care about your past. As long as I know you love me, then I’m happy. And I know you do.” This was what she got, after all the lies, the secrets, the drama. She deserved an out just this once. And Mamoru *did* love her. She had to protect him just as he always did her. He wasn’t going to be able to handle the truth. “I understand,” he murmured, touched by her ‘sincere’ love and affection towards him. How was he so blessed to find someone who would accept him unconditionally, love him despite all of his faults? But he still had to do this. The weight he had carried for so long still drove a chasm between them. Laying it down once and for all was the only way he knew to bridge that gap. It would be his closure, his chance to finally fall fully and wholly into the love they were supposed to share. "Since we've never been intimate before this," Mamoru said quietly, "and it's hard to understand where I'm coming from unless you've--" Usagi pressed a finger to his lips. "I understand," she mumured, "and I think it's better this way, Mamo-chan. Leave your past behind. Aren't I your future?" He gave her the quirky grin she loved so, his eyes alight. "Hai, Usa-ko, you are." "Then problem solved." She tried to match that same cheeky grin. It would be worth it in the end to do this, Usagi decided, no matter how painful it was for both of them. His feelings were her first concern. If only it were that simple, Mamoru wished grimly. Unfortunately, the years of hopelessness and mindless activity had taken their toll on him, and he was desperate, compelled to explain away the filth that had accumulated inside him. He wanted to believe in her, to have faith she could make all of this go away, that he would be clean and whole and wonderful for her, and slag off the lingering emotions that made it so difficult to be with her without a deep sense of guilt. “Usa-ko, I still...“ In a rather bold public display of affection, Usagi quickly pressed her lips against his, effectively cutting off his monologue. Mamoru sat there, gap-mouthed, as she pulled away from him. “You don’t understand,” she explained levelly, as if to a small child, “don’t tell me this. I love you no matter what, and these things are clearly painful for you. You don’t have to tell me and hurt yourself. I won’t do that to you.” Before he could protest, she had skipped out the door. When Usagi got outside, she wiped her mouth clean, not quite certain whose taste she was so determined to rid herself of that day. The hot tears falling down her cheeks did the rest. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- why if this is nothing, I’m finding it so hard to dismiss? ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Three days had gone by, and nothing had changed about Usagi, at least as far as Mamoru could tell. She didn’t seem upset or angry about the discovery, and treated him as if nothing had changed. It bothered him to no end. Part of him was grateful for Usagi’s perfect acceptance of him, and yet...it struck him as very out of character for her. To not be jealous, or insecure, or...anything. He watched her, trying to find anything that might clue him into how she was acting, but nothing came. With a sigh, he was about ready to give up on the matter. Perhaps she truly WAS okay with his tainted past. That would be wonderful, but Mamoru was a cynic by nature and hard-pressed to believe in fairytales. Then again, his entire relationship with Usagi was a sort of fairytale--Prince and Princess tragically separated, only to be reunited in another world. Even he doubted the plausibility of it sometimes. But he was here, sitting in an arcade, living the 'fairytale.' A soiled and battered one, but a 'fairytale' nonetheless. He barely noticed the bell ring and the excited chatter of three girls, two of which were ready to flirt with Motoki until he broke down 'and gave them free food. Ami’s nose was buried in a physics book, but she occasionally popped up to make comments, trying to impede Makoto and Minako in their quest for free nourishment. “Usagi-chan was sort of quiet today, wasn’t she?” Mamoru’s ears pricked. “Hush, Mina-chan. We’ll talk later.” Makoto glanced over to Mamoru’s booth. “Right,” Minako laughed nervously. “We will.” When Usagi tromped in soon after, admittedly quieter than usual but still cheery, Mamoru listened intently for *some* sign other than her lack of bubbly chatter. She smiled and laughed as if nothing were wrong. Wanting to push the limit just a little, he approached her, steadying himself before asking, “Usa-ko? How are you doing today?” “Mamo-chan!” she bounded into his arms; he had to brace himself to accept the embrace. Usagi snuggled closer before realizing people were watching and wisely decided to pull away. She beamed brightly at him, and he wondered why he’d ever believed anything could be wrong. “I’m happy today! I think I might have passed my math test for once!” Then for a fraction of a moment he saw a shadow skitter across her eyes, and was reminded of his plan. “That’s great, Usa-ko,” he said affectionately, honestly glad for her. “I’m proud of you.” She gave him a sweet smile, and he felt the vein in his throat flutter. Minako looked at Usagi with raised eyebrows, Makoto coughed, and Ami stayed with her book. Motoki was confused, but he kept his mouth closed. Mamoru leaned in, determined to capture a semblance of privacy. “Are you sure everything’s all right?” Her smile was practically painted on her face. “Of course,” she whispered to him. Minako’s eyes narrowed. “Are you really?” That smile chilled him to his bones. It looked like something on a porcelain doll rather than a human. “ACK! I just remembered! I have to go help my mom clean the house! She’s going to kiiiiiii--" Before the sentence was finished, Usagi was out the door. It was Ami, amazingly, who smirked at the slammed door, watching the bells that still jingled violently in Usagi’s wake, and said, “Well it wasn’t completely obvious that was going happen.” Makoto stifled a laugh at the unexpected sass from the blue-haired genius. Ami, for her part, went back to her book, but her sharp eyes kept a subtle vigil. Minako was worried, but she didn’t say as much. Being the senshi of love may have given her a knack for understanding relationships, but Usagi’s and Mamoru’s was not one she enjoyed interfering in on a regular basis. Too issue-laden for her taste, and she wanted to respect their privacy. Motoki shook his head, still bemused. “You two are quite the roller-coaster, aren’t you?” he commented to Mamoru. Mamoru shrugged laconically. “She...found out about my past activities.” He put a casual spin on it, trying to hide the fact he felt as if razors were slowly hacking his internal organs to pieces. The blond man let out a low whistle. “Guess she wasn’t thrilled.” “Actually, she’s weirdly fine with it,” he commented, trying to put the pieces together in his mind. Motoki was pensive. “Well...it could be she doesn’t feel like she has the right to judge." "The right to judge?" She certainly did. God knows he felt sordid enough; she had every right to express digust at his actions. "I don't know...but especially after Tezuka-san--AUUUGH!” Minako had slapped Motoki upside the head with her purse while Makoto had gone for the groin; both clearly derived some pleasure from the act. Makoto was literally seething, and Motoki backed off immediately, fearing further confrontations with their combined wrath. But the mistake was already made. Mamoru looked at his best friend, writhing in pain, then back at the three girls who were watching him with wide eyes. "Who's Tezuka-san?" Makoto, Minako, and Ami all exchanged long glances, none certain as to what they could say. "Ah, Mamoru-san...you'd better ask Usagi- chan about that." Mamoru's lightning-speed mind had already made the connection, although his heart screamed a denial. He was already out the door, going after Usagi, armed with the new information. Makoto had her head in her hands. “Usagi hadn’t told him yet?” “No,” Ami scowled. “She was looking for the right time. Remember, it was hard enough for her just telling the four of us, and we'd already assured her we wouldn't censure her.” "So much work, completely wasted..." Makoto lightly punched the countertop. Motoki paled visibly. “What just happened?” “Motoki-san,” Minako scowled melodramatically, “for such a smart man, you can be damned stupid sometimes.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------- and nothing fuels a good flirtation like anger and need and desperation ----------------------------------------------------------------------- “Usa-ko, WAIT!” Usagi stopped when she heard Mamoru’s voice behind her, his voice slightly strangled with the stress of physical exertion and emotion. The tone was a little rough, and somehow she knew what was coming. Her stomach roiled like an earthquake in response. Mamoru’s eyes were narrowed, pointedly focused on Usagi’s flushed, anxious face. Her eyes were clouded yet intense, not allowing him to see what she was thinking. Part of him screamed to turn back here and now, before he delved too deeply, and simply let it go. If he didn’t however, he knew he would always be tormented with prickling questions, and there was nothing Chiba Mamoru loathed more than uncertainty. He had spent his life in a haze of doubt; Usagi and everything she represented was the first concrete, tangible point in his life. Losing his last bastion of stability could very well be his undoing. So, he foolishly opened his mouth. “Are you certain that you’re all right with what you heard?” he murmured, moving closer into her personal space. She squirmed appropriately, but her facial expression retained the poignant doll- like glaze. Seeing it was her turn to react, she smiled insincerely and wrapped her arms around his lean waist. With her false expression she nuzzled her cheek against his solid chest and closing her eyes. Usagi inhaled deeply, languorously, absorbing his warmth, his scent, the feel of his skin...right before she lied to him once again. “Of course I’m all right, Mamo-chan,” she murmured with a saccharine voice and a charming lilt. “I know you love me more than anything.” God help him, but for a fraction of an instant, he let himself believe it. He reveled in the affectionate gesture, letting the feeling of love and perfect acceptance rush over him for a singular glorious expanse of time before shattering the spell. “Who’s Tezuka-san?” Within an instant, he felt as if Usagi were a marble statue wrapped around him, the heated fervor in her embrace draining torturously away from him. With stiff, jerking motions, she pulled her arms away and wrapped them about her stomach, refusing to look up at him. “Who told you about him?” she questioned in a low, slightly dangerous voice. “Motoki hinted at it,” he replied coldly and humorlessly, arms crossed against his chest. “He said you might think you had no right to judge. Why would he say that?” She closed her eyes and silently prayed he didn't say what she knew had been long in coming. "Did you sleep with him, Usa-ko?" All of the color drained from Usagi’s face as if someone had punctured her melatonin-producing glands. Her eyes were china-blue orbs, wide and frightened as she stared in horror at him. Oh Gods, it was true. His heart slammed in his chest, but he couldn’t manage to reply. As much as he ached to cry, scream, force her to take it back, nothing seemed to function properly. Even his tongue felt like a block lodged in sawdust. “How dare you accuse me,” she snapped dangerously, sounding like thrashing whipcord, “when you were with so many girls by your own admission!” “You could have at least told me!” he snarled, her anger causing his to surface and pull him from his frozen stupor. “And did you bother to say anything to me about YOUR past?” Mamoru deflated like a balloon. Closing his eyes, he mumbled, “I wanted to, so badly. But I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m not the person I was then and--” He couldn't continue. An overwhelming urge to hold her close to him, reaffirm she was there with him rather than the shadow starting to form in his mind, surfaced, and he was too mentally displaced to do anything but submit to it. “You can’t protect me,” she whispered furiously, nonetheless letting him pull her into a loose hug. Usagi truly despised the constant need for his comfort and love, particularly when she was upset, even if he was the cause of her pain. “Not from everything. You should just tell me the truth.” He rested his head between two odango. “It’s not that easy.” She sighed once before pushing him vehemently away from her. “Furthermore, he was before I ever met you!” she protested, still livid but succumbing to tears. “I thought you’d be upset! And you ARE, so don’t act like I was wrong!” Mamoru stared beyond her, into somewhere she did not understand. “You’re right.” He looked her straight in the eye, determined to make her understand once and for all. “I just...please let me tell you the truth.” It was a more difficult request than he knew. Things she didn’t want to think about, obligations she would make if she let him speak, motives she could sense lurking below the surface-- And the genuine suffering of the man she loved. Usagi couldn’t afford to be selfish. Two years ago she had been selfish and held herself back the tiniest bit, even during her most intimate moments. She couldn’t let Mamoru fade into the distance, needing her. She gave her love freely and openly to him, never begrudging him the lack of recompense, because he was the one who made the ache in her heart go away--the one that had threatened to consume her with its constant, jarring agony. If he needed this, then she would play along. “Let’s go to your apartment and talk, Mamo-chan.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------- well, there’s a reason it came to this tonight ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Chiba Mamoru went through life with a Jekyll-and-Hyde mentality that could simultaneously fascinate and aggravate--at very least, he gave the distinct impression that he only followed most rules because it suited him. He was so perfectly refined, so utterly self-contained that Usagi had long stopped expecting Mamoru to ever open up to her. Low standards made love easier to bear; if she never demanded anything of him then she was pleasantly surprised when he did toss her a bone now and then. It was just enough to keep her there with him. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered with Chiba Mamoru, following him like a puppy and wagging her tail when he gave her an occasional treat. Love was the obvious answer. Love... As the word echoed through her consciousness, she had to push the dark thoughts that threatened to break the surface far out of reach. He paced anxiously around the room, frantically searching for the words to describe the years before he had met her and the heady weight of mindless human interaction had lifted from him. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on his fingers, still looking for a way. Usagi sighed heavily, leaning back on the overstuffed cream couch. “Do you want me to ask you?” she queried quietly, almost harshly, trying to make this as comfortable for him as possible. Or maybe she just wanted to get through the ordeal and move on with their relationship? Mamoru looked uncertainly at Usagi, biting his lip softly as he reflected over the tone she’d used with him. Part of him begged to turn back, to run away and hide, to act as if none of this had ever happened and simply *move on*--but deep down, he longed to tell her. He wanted to explain to her, maybe to himself, why he was the way he had been and how when she had come along, everything completely changed. No matter how unsettling having someone know these things about him was, he needed this. The absolute intimacy he had longed for his entire life would become possible if he could just clear the air. He was so certain of that, he could taste it in his mouth--sweet, but a little salty, maybe a bit bitter for all the time he had lost. He took a deep breath. “Maybe it would be best if you asked me something. I don’t really know where to begin.” She looked away, wincing before asking, “How many were there?” Mamoru was struck by the fact he didn’t actually *know*. He hung his head in defeat, waiting for the backlash. Usagi groaned and smacked her forehead, forcing down her growing disgust. “Rough estimate?” He chewed his sore lip thoughtfully before replying, “Probably more than twenty.” “More than TWENTY?” Usagi stared at him, mouth agape. She fought a wave of nausea down at the thought. “You made love to over twenty women?” “Don’t call it that!” he hissed fiercely, vehement in his protest. Usagi’s mouth closed in shock. “None of those women meant anything to me, Usa-ko. I mean that.” As if offering himself as a token of amends, he sat down on the floor next to the sofa, almost prostrate, clearly miserable at any rate. Above him, she shook her head, but his angle made it impossible to see. “You can’t tell me that. I know you, Mamo-chan. You’re too practical. It had to mean something to you.” She didn’t want to believe it hadn’t. Usagi knew who really could have that many partners and none of them would matter; they were the type of people Usagi pitied above all others. “It always means something.” He nodded ever so faintly, agreeing with her assessment and hating her knowledge of the matter. “What I meant to say was that I didn’t love any of them--unless you count what I felt for Saori as love, I guess.” He hung his head at that last statement. "There's a whole other topic," Usagi muttered. "You could've told me she was more than a 'friend,' Mamo-chan." What an idiot she had been, innocently believing that Mamoru and Saori were 'just friends.' It was easy to believe in Mamoru when she thought he was telling her the truth, but he had deliberately told her 'an old friend' had visited, and Usagi hated it when people lied to her. Half the time it seemed like all Mamoru ever did was lie. It was painful, but she tolerated it for reasons unfathomable. With delicate motion, she reached out to stroke his head, itching to run his fingers through his hair; when they touched, however, he flinched and wrenched skittishly. Usagi pulled her hand back, wishing he could simply stop this torture and let them drown in mindless kisses and ecstasy. It worked once before, in a whole other world. “It started when I was sixteen,” he murmured as he began his story, “I’d just entered high school. I’d been out of the orphanage for over two years, living on a stipend from a trust set up by a relative before the accident.” He sighed. “I was at the top of my class, but it all felt so...empty.” There was a breaking, poignant tone to his voice that Usagi recognized instinctively. Mamoru had no need to explain the emotion to her because she herself had felt the chill. How deep their connection went, yet they were still driven to do this to themselves and to each other. If they weren’t careful now, they may very well spend their lives wallowing in their laments. “I ignored it at first, just like everything else,” he continued, breaking her thoughts, dragging the words out himself, “but after a while it just got to be too much. There were days I literally did not want to get out of bed, I felt that hopeless. I...I needed you then.” He closed his eyes and fought back the familiar rush of pain the memories of his past brought. It was one of the most stunning admissions Usagi had ever heard during the course of their relationship. She sat back, slightly stunned, riddled with guilt at the longing in his tone. Though she longed to wrap her arms around him and reassure him the past was behind him and her future was with him and him alone, she restrained. “There was a girl. Looking for someone to keep her company for a night,” he explained cynically. He wouldn’t utter her name here; it would taint the air Usagi breathed. “I wanted to touch someone that night. I don’t know what it was...this *need* for physical contact. She was willing, and so we just...did it.” They just ‘did it.’ She had spent the past year and a half wondering how Mamoru would react to the idea that she hadn’t saved herself for him, guilty at the fact she didn’t regret what she had done with Haruhiko, and he ‘did it.’ Oh, she was aware of a thousand double standards and backwards mentalities, but hearing this cheapened him in her eyes, and it echoed back to her. “It was nice to be close to someone for once,” he reflected softly. “For a few minutes...the hole went away. I wanted that feeling again. Blissful oblivion, I suppose. Even though it was fleeting, I still wanted it. As often as I could get it.” Loneliness was a powerful motivator, Usagi supposed. Even someone like Mamoru could throw caution to the wind and take refuge in the human touch. Touch was lies, it was easy to convey false emotion through touch, to make the other believe what you wanted them to believe. Words were not so easy to falsify. “It was at a high school graduation party that I was with Saori...all through high school, people had been saying we’d make the perfect couple. I was drinking...not much, just enough so that my judgment was a little impaired. I really hurt her,” he murmured miserably. “After that I tried to limit things, and I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since. But I couldn’t stop...until I met you. I wanted you, but I was afraid...” He closed his eyes. "Because...you made me want to be better." The statement was heartfelt and absolutely true. It was a shocking, somewhat vulnerable admission, and Usagi realized at this moment Mamoru was putting a great deal of trust in her--something she had longed for for most of their relationship. Usagi crossed her fingers and quietly hoped she didn't violate that within the next twenty minutes. When she looked at Mamoru, who had stood up and was walking around the small area again, she knew he intrinsically understood what she herself had been thinking, only his wish was far more fervent. His approach was sudden and she was a little stunned when he tilted her chin and kissed her ardently, his heated passion channeled into the force of his lips on hers. Hungrily she responded, as anxious for his touch as he was for hers. After a minute, he reluctantly pulled back, leaving them both gasping and tremulous. “Feel that?” he demanded hoarsely. “That was more emotion than I ever felt for any of those women at climax.” But Usagi still turned away. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- we tripped on the urge to feel alive, but now I’m struggling to survive ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Her eyes half-closed, shading their expression from him. "I guess I should return the favor now, right?” Mamoru gazed searchingly at her, noting the tiny droplets that threatened to fall from her eyes, the way each of her hands clenched at the other, the still, unblinking pose that locked her away from him. Try as he might, he could not conquer the horrible feeling of loathing for himself and for Usagi for letting these secrets lie buried in the ground. With a shaking, painful intake of air, he nodded, affirming her suspicions. He wanted to hold her, to convince himself that she was still here with him and that the spirit of the nameless, faceless lover in the past did not still haunt her, haunt *them*, but she stood up and went over towards the window, gazing at the graceful sliver of the crescent moon. “Haruhiko was the son of my father’s college roommate,” she began in a deadpan, emotion only rising to caress the name gently, “I’d known him since I was in diapers. He...he and I did everything together.” She wiped at her face with a fierce whipping motion, the force causing the sleeve to leave a faint red mar. “Even though he was two years older, he always played with me. Told me I was his favorite friend and more special to him than anyone else. I...I’m insecure. I needed that. Still do, I guess.” She giggled nervously, blushing softly at she looked over at Mamoru. Already his heart was sinking, Mamoru realized. Had he ever said any of those things to Usagi? The faceless ghost slowly morphed into a daunting specter before his glazed eyes. He fought down the scorching sense of jealousy and possessiveness that threatened to conquer his ration. “It was enough when I was younger to just be with him,” she murmured as her monologue took on a dreamy quality, “because all my life there was this hole in my heart that could never be filled. I was always looking for someone...I was looking for you, but I didn’t know it yet. But when I got older, it stopped being enough. Those were rough times...I was so desperate to touch anyone, to fill that. Just like you, I guess. We aren’t so different.” “Yes we are,” Mamoru hissed, ice and steel shot through his system. “We are.” He didn't want to believe that the motivations that had brought him to wash his soul in filth were the ones Usagi shared. The strange, strangled sound brought Usagi’s attention back on him for one moment. She reached out and placed delicate fingertips to his jaw, lightly tracing the line. In unconscious appreciation, Mamoru closed his eyes, raven locks falling over the fanned crescents, and nuzzled her hand very faintly, silently reveling in the way her most insignificant touch made his skin tingle as if it were a whole other living organism, wondering why it couldn't always be like this between them. "We aren't," she assured him fiercely, "even if you deny it." When she pulled back, it felt as if a chill mistral had blown through his spirit. Wetting her lips, Usagi continued her tale. “And then one day when I was 12, we were on vacation, the two families...and Haru smiled and pulled me into this abandoned field. I remember it so well...I can still smell the wildflowers if I try.” She smiled appreciatively and hugged herself, rocking with the force of the memory. “And he told me...that he loved me, and asked me if maybe I could kiss him?” “What did you say?” Mamoru choked. “Of course I said yes. And for a while, that was enough. He filled the hole...his love was that strong and that pure. I was so grateful for that. He wanted to be near me all time...it was so wonderful...even after I started middle school with him, he and I were always together. I loved to touch him, not just kisses,” she started excitedly, falling into the pattern of the long-lost story, “but just little things like brushing his hand against mine, quick hugs, patting his shoulder...“ Her face darkened. “But one day, it wasn’t enough again.” Mamoru looked...dead. As if there were some doll-like replica of himself rather than a breathing, existing human with Usagi. He was so pallid he nearly blended in with the stark walls of his apartment. He rubbed his temples, trying to force himself to feel again, to escape the horrible self-made prison within which he now writhed. “Haruhiko had been suggesting we take our relationship to the next level for a while,” Usagi told him, a little uncertain of the tact necessary during this phase of the explanation. “Before I was uncertain, but that day I was desperate to fill the hole. I said yes.” “And?” “And for that moment, I think I forgot there’d ever been a void,” she told him directly. “It was beautiful the first time, even with the terrible pain. Neither of us really were sure, so it wasn’t perfect...but I felt *loved* like I never had before. That was the night of my fourteenth birthday." Her fourteenth birthday? No wonder she'd been so upset when he thought he'd forgotten. After how special it had been the year before...Mamoru was grateful that at least this time he had an excuse, but that didn't really assauge the burgeoning guilt. But the second time that night...the spell was broken." She sounded bitter, mildly disillusioned. "And the time after that as well.” Her expression fell. “We started to drift from each other. He was still good to me, but he wouldn’t touch me like before...and he was always sad when he looked at me. All sorts of stuff was happening at home; I came home every day and cried...and then came the car accident. His sister and her mother died. Tezuka-san changed jobs and took Haruhiko with him to Hokkaido for a change of scenery.” Usagi’s eyes dimmed. “We just lost touch. After everything we’d shared, I just...let him go.” He was shaking with a million pent-up emotions: fear, anxiety, rage, desire, love...Mamoru turned away, embarrassed of his weakness, terrified of his thoughts, more so of the potential courses of action flooding his brain as Usagi watched him. Because that was the moment he finally understood the real reason she’d never told him about Tezuka Haruhiko. “You loved him,” he whispered painfully, the words pulled from him like a needle sewing thread. Usagi sat back down on the couch, suddenly thoughtful. “I did,” she confessed, girlish and sweet. “I think a part of me always will. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the most important thing in my life, Mamo-chan! YOU’RE the one who filled the void.” She smiled a real smile, happy to have the weighty secret from her chest, and stood up again. Rushing to his side, she wrapped his arms around his waist, holding him close as she leaned into his back. Mamoru stilled at the tender, affectionate gesture, still paralyzed in shock and anguish. “You’re the one who I was waiting for all those years.” As long as she had Mamoru, Usagi knew, she could be happy. Without him, she was nothing but a broken, empty half. Even if Haruhiko had been able to make her happy for a while, deep down she knew the feeling never would have lasted. Only Mamoru could compare, make her dream to finally wake up without the dull searing sensation each morning finally come true. She treasured him for that, even if it was entirely unconscious on his part, and she was determined not to let him drift away like she'd let Haruhiko do. *I did...I think a part of me always will.* Inside his mind the words beat a dull, heady rhythm, pounding on his head and heart until his innards begged for emotional release--a scream, a tear, something to liberate the misery building inside of him and let his weary spirit rest for once. She was supposed to be...after all the years of silent torment she was supposed to fill the hole inside him, make him complete, love him wholly and singlemindedly, the light at the end of the tunnel, awakening after the long nightmare... And this *hurt* like nothing ever had before. For her part, Usagi wasn’t aware of Mamoru’s torturous inner monologue, but she could still sense something terrible happening right below the surface of the complex man she dared to love wholeheartedly. “Mamo-chan?” she began into his back. “Is something wrong?” “Nothing,” he mumbled, and ripped out of her grasp. With a sigh he flopped onto the couch, again rubbing his temples. When he closed his eyes, all he saw was Usagi and the faceless wraith, laughing and playing at love, reveling in emotion rather than letting it tear them to ribbons. Things he didn’t understand and could never share with her. Love would always be something untrustworthy and painful to him; even if Usagi was the finest of teachers, he could not lose himself in love. That was his failure, but it had been a lot easier to accept when he thought Usagi didn’t know better. “Mamo-chan...“ She brushed stray bangs from his eyes, the simple compassion of her actions nearly driving him to the brink of some unwarranted, mindless fury. He shook off her gentle touch and nearly leapt off the sofa in angry, disjointed motions, pacing furiously towards the balcony, stopping instead to lean his forehead against the glass. His left knuckles rapped lightly against the clear sheet while he leaned more heavily; his eyes closed as if deep in thought. Tears fell unabashedly down her cheeks as her private nightmare played out in front of her. The years of guilt and regret poured over her like an acid wash, eliciting a single broken sob as she crumpled to the floor. Though she stifled her weeping against a delicate knuckle, the soft, pained sounds still escaped. “I’m not angry with you, Usa-ko,” he said tonelessly, not even bothering to feign sincerity. Mamoru didn’t move; he remained perfectly still against the glass. For the first time, he thought, he hated his apartment, the blank, neutral tones, the immaculate décor, the frigid lack of personality. And he hated himself for creating it most of all. How could Usagi, who was so full of life and love, love someone as empty as he was? By all indications, he may as well have never existed. Maybe he didn't understand, but he was still determined to hold on to her with the full force of his will. And that meant bottling the consuming aching within him before it spiraled out of control. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she whispered, aching and raw with pure emotion, still strewn in the pathetic heap on his drab gray carpet. “For once, please.” Flesh and stone, blood and ice. Furious words bubbled in his chest, but he refused to make the wholly selfish and unfair admission to her. Ration argued vehemently against the firestorm of emotion raging within him, but try as he might, he could not choke down the horrid things that flooded his mind. He stayed stiff and still, as if motion would release the malicious torrent upon the world. Because Gods, he loved her beyond reason or understanding. She was the one who’d saved him from himself, who had made him finally complete, who had led him out of the shadow and into the Promised Land. Her love was the drug that had replaced sex for him, and this viciously ripped his fragile belief system apart. Usagi’s soft sobs vaguely permeated his consciousness, and two slate slits appeared to look over at the wretched girl. She had her head in her hands, and her golden pigtails pooled almost protectively about their mistress. Though her eyes were bloodshot, they augmented the clear blue of her eyes, giving them an unearthly glow. “Please,” she pleaded one last time. “Just tell--" “You were supposed to love ME!” Usagi yelped as the glass pane exploded from within, shattering as the incensed Prince of Earth put his hand through it, furious emotion, blood and sound and shards of love and anger all mixing into a volatile cacophony. The debris scattered carelessly around them, leaving them both with a deep sense of ruin. She stared at him with wide, blinking doll’s eyes, slowly gathering herself off the floor and standing up on her two feet. “All those years I was ALONE, Usa-ko, when I was waiting for you--those girls meant nothing to me but this, THIS!” He snatched a towel hanging off a chair and gently wrapped it around his bleeding appendage, fighting back tears to reflect the ones silently dripping from Usagi’s cheeks. He closed his eyes and swallowed. “This is the worst betrayal of all.” The room was so quiet that the beating of a moth’s wing could have been easily discerned. Usagi was shaking too again, and while her tears ran steadily down her cheeks the soft, broken cries accompanying them had flown away with the breeze now circulating through the room. “I told myself that for years after meeting you,” she began in a rasping, embittered voice, “that I had betrayed us by loving somebody in the interim--by trying to be *happy*, as opposed to looking for meaningless sex with nameless girls like you did,” she said acerbically, throwing his own words back in his face. “That’s not fair,” he whispered, the rage that had consumed him like a gasoline fire suddenly extinguished. All he was left with was a growing guilt and the familiar self-loathing. She sobbed softly. “It’s not fair when *I* say it, you mean,” she wept miserably. “Mamo-chan! You have to have EVERYTHING from me, but I get nothing in return. Even this! Why do you have to be the only one? YOU’RE the one...the one I always wanted. But you want MORE?” “I can’t help how I feel,” he protested miserably, feeling the anger transform into bleak misery. “I need you and I . . . “ “And what about me? You take it all from me, Mamo-chan, take it so there’s nothing left and I’m just a shell. And I’m TIRED of it! You’re an emotional vampire!” She spat the last sentence. “Can’t we let this go and just be HAPPY for once?” The truth rang through him as if it were a cathedral bell. “No.” Her sobs broke his heart, but as he stepped forward to comfort her, bloodied hand and all, she shrieked violently, as if he were a stranger trying to kidnap her, and ripped away from his grasp, dashing to the other side to the room to escape him. “Don’t touch me right now,” she ordered. “I can’t think...when you touch me.” Mamoru struggled to find something, anything he could say to calm her down. When his mind didn’t come up with anything, he settled for the truth. “I never said I was a perfect man, Usa-ko.” When he said that, Usagi’s eyes took on a strange, glittering quality he had never seen. “No, and that never changed the fact I love you...and it never will...because, I love you so, so much," she sobbed quietly. "So much," she repeatedly brokenly, "but..." He felt his heart stop at the lingering last word. “But?” he uttered through cracked, desperate lips. Usagi stared him straight in the eye, mournful but determined. “But you make me wish I didn’t.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------- I remember that time you said, “Love is touching souls--" surely you’ve touched mine? ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Chiba Mamoru sat in the darkness, not bothering to get up and turn on a light as the last rays of the sunlight faded from the sky. Seconds, minutes, hours had passed--he'd lost track a long time ago, not caring about useless marks on a clock at the moment. The words were some sort of black curse; they pulsed through his system, ripping things away like slow-acting cyanide. He didn’t bother to think, simply stared vacantly, absorbed in his shock and anguish, too tired and destroyed to make sense of anything that had happened. Tears ran down his face on and off; it wasn't worth the effort to wipe them away. He felt dirty, as if he hadn't showered in a week (when he just had this morning), and yet he did not feel the inclination to stand and do something about it at that moment. When his doorbell rang, he almost didn’t bother getting it at all. But after the third ring, accompanied by insistent knocking and the rapidly speeding beat of his heart, he reluctantly stood up and opened the door. She practically launched herself into his arms, weeping softly into the soft folds of his shirt. He retreated instantly, mamoreal to her incarnadine fire, caustic and despondent and aimless in love and yet unable to quite reach out and connect to her and the heat she could provide. "Will it always be like this between us, Mamo-chan, with one of us constantly running after the other?" He didn't want to show any weakness in front of her, but his traitorous tear ducts had other plans. Hastily he wiped them away, but not before Usagi could see. "I don't know." Her weeping broke his heart, but he trembled at the thought of a repeat performance of earlier. He couldn't deal with that level of rejection at the moment. Usagi had other ideas. Mamoru felt her sneak up on him, and yet was startled when she wrapped his arms around his waist, her tears hot and sticky on his back, unknowingly mimicking earlier that night before everything they shared had been ripped and thrown away so carelessly. Automatically he placed his hands over where hers clasped, always determined to offer her his strength and warmth. Was this really how they would spend their whole lives? This endless dance, perpetual state of longing, the horrible chasm that only holding her in his arms could fill? It was an empty existence, living solely for another when each conspired to destroy their happiness before ever meeting their intended. “Make it go away,” she pleaded in an aching whisper, “it hurts too much...Mamo-chan, the only thing I ever wanted was to be with you.” He knew what she was asking him to do, to lose himself him in her and she in him, to throw caution to the wind for this singularly aching, eternal moment and love her without any other thought behind it. Usagi wanted to perpetuate the charade. Usagi pulled away, and the too-familiar chill shook him from within, already leaving him desperate for the warmth of her skin. She cupped his face in her small, fragile hands, lighting coursing over his lips over and over, drawing him in like a black hole that led the way to the highest levels of Heaven. He dare not pull away; the pain threatened to eat him alive otherwise. "Please," she entreated one last time as she drew away from him physically and spiritually. "Just stop it." Mamoru felt the familiar sensation of ice running through his veins, the deadly, systematic slicing of his insides, the sensation of falling, always falling... ...this was life without her. It was so much easier to pretend and make it go away for a little bit, than face the truth. And so he gladly obliged, taking her lips and body; he lost himself in the feel of her skin, the sound of her cries, the taste of her mouth... ...the bliss of forgetting. But no ecstasy could erase the sharp sting of her words; no matter the heights their lovemaking brought them to, Mamoru couldn’t quite forget that she still meant every word she had said earlier. If he was indeed an emotional vampire, then he would gladly take everything she gave. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- It’s over now, I’m cold, alone; I’m just a person on my own ----------------------------------------------------------------------- She sat at the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around her stomach tightly, wearing one of Mamoru’s shirts. The buttons were off one and her hair was loose, giving her a disheveled appearance. She was looking out the window, off into the distance, her back to Mamoru. He slowly returned to consciousness, reaching for the small girl he had loved more deeply than anything in this world or the next and yet could never find the words to tell her as much. He placed his hand on her arm, and she could feel his eyes boring into her. “Is something the matter, Usa-ko?” “No,” she whispered. “It was...“ ...amazing. ...beautiful. ...wondrous. ...completely empty. It shouldn't have been like this their first time, with all the anger and hurt between them, but Usagi was too tired and lonely to care about healthy relationships and communication. She just wanted to *feel* him for a while. She let him drag her back down to the bed, frantic to be lost again, but even as she touched souls with him, let him take her to the utmost heights of physical and emotional intimacy, one thought rang through her mind like a siren’s song. Tomorrow they would reemerge in the world and pretend none of this had ever happened. They would live the fairytale, follow the dream, and forget this, forget that after the moonlight and the roses, the Queens and the Kings and the worlds they transcended to be together, when all that was stripped away, they were simply two desperately lonely people searching for completion in another, looking to lose oneself in heated touch and shocking kiss. She didn’t have the strength to make it any other way, and neither did he. They would wait behind their carefully constructed walls, replace the cold truths they’d learned with ordinary nuances, act the part and live silently with their unnecessary solitude. This was the price paid when one dreamed of and demanded castles in the sky: to revert to the role of the ingénue. Even with him by her side, there would be no happy ending. And Tsukino Usagi swore she heard the sound of her heart shattering like glass as she lay in his embrace. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- And I started dreaming that I wouldn’t feel any of this again, again ----------------------------------------------------------------------- ~Owari~ Ai: And that’s a wrap, folks. Readers: ... Yeah, a LOT of ANs to write. Might as well get cracking. #1) I’m relatively certain that there are people out there who did not like what they just read. And they wouldn’t have liked it even if I wrote like Hermann Hesse, dammit. Allow me to explain how this idea, especially in conjunction with the song, began to evolve: Some of you may know Cyperian of Cyprus’s “Turn Back Time.” During one of our many AM conversations, Emily (Cyperian) asked me for my unbiased opinion of the fic. (And once I get started, I so pick.) After a long hashing session, including a potential idea for a fanfic series based on the TBT theme, THIS came up. Or more accurately, it had sort of waiting to be hit upon. It comes on the heels of a rather shocking confession from a close friend regarding her sex life...someone I never would have expected to hear this from. And so Usagi (and to a lesser extent, Mamoru, although he's not a young girl!) the ingénue was born. Is it OOC? I think not; the story above is my only defense to that claim however. Em and I literally discussed this for hours, how they would react, when and how the revelation might come, guilt, hypocrisy, anger, anguish--had a lot working for it. All of this came on the heels of actually receiving Em’s song for the SMRFF lyric wheel challenge. She didn’t pick the song with the idea in mind, people. And while the lyrics were quite good, since there certainly were some doozies on the wheel this time (*cough*RayeJohnsenandCori*cough* ^_~), I nevertheless struggled with them a great deal. The lyrics are actually a little deceptive. They're very ambiguous in that, had I the inclination (not that I would have), this could have been WAFF. Hence my dilemma with them. You either went for the positive (that it's okay to fall sometimes) or the negative (that people fall and break) spin. There was sort of the middle ground as well, which again went either way. I'm of the opinion that this is about making what you will of what happens, whether it's good or bad. In Usagi and Mamoru's case, they made the wrong one. Such is life. The wheel's theme, "Chasing a Dream," reflected this darker spin as well: the dream was to live the fairytale, even at the expense of their happiness and comfort. So I guess deep down I always knew this fic and this song were connected, even though I was already using other song snippets as break lines. Initially I was going to use a Makoto/Nephrite fic idea for this story, but I decided the connection was too vague. So I had to make Ingénue, which I kept being compelled to write despite finals and the like, work. For a while, I planned to interject the lyrics into the fic to “justify” it being my fic. Frankly, I don’t think I need to do that any longer. It would only be forced, and the song *did* inspire the ending of the fic. (It would take me 24 hours for the effect to take place and allow me to drop my original ending idea, but nonetheless I do credit this song for it.) Call it BS, but I would theorize that my lyrics sum up the spirit of the story (which some would say wasn’t very spirited, and I would concur). Some of your aren’t going to like this, as I stated above. If you disagree with this story, I always encourage constructive criticism and thoughtful response. Intelligent feedback is the best kind. I will NOT tolerate idiot flamers. Should these appear I will officially declare it “Flamer Hunting Season.” #2) Big thanks to Emily and Megs (DQBunny) for listening to my random madness. I would appreciate and encourage honest feedback regarding this story, especially considering its dubious topic. #3) I apologize for liberal use of the Yamhead. I really hate her and usually like to write her out of fics somehow, but this one required her. Hopefully she wasn’t butchered too badly? #4) The break lines all used assorted song quotes. The songs they’re from are as follows: #1 - Aimee Mann, “That’s Just What You Are” #2 - Counting Crows, “Angels of the Silences” #3 - Fuel, “Hemorrhage in my Hands” #4 & 5 - Aimee Mann, “Pavlov’s Bell” #6 - Aimee Mann, “The Moth” #7 - Better than Ezra, “Falling Apart” #8 - Third Eye Blind, “Semi-Charmed Life” #9 - Joni Mitchell, “A Case of You” #10 - K’s Choice, “Not an Addict” #11 - Boston, “More Than a Feeling” (But I VASTLY prefer the Sleater- Kinney cover ^_~) (Can you tell I’ve been on an Aimee Mann kick lately?) The songs would, by the way, make up an excellent soundtrack for this story as well, in addition to Riddle's. #5) For once my no-sequel policy is NOT in effect! I won’t promise anything, but I do suspect I’ll be compelled to resolve the issues the fic presented. Usagi and Mamoru at this time in the timeline lack the mental and emotional strength to overcome their problems, so they preferred to bury them and go back to living as if none of this ever happened. It’s possible they could in the future; I daresay it’s even necessary. So again, I might write a fic resolving them. I might not. Not really sure at this point. Please don’t ask for one; I’m sort of a freak about that and might decide against it. Basically, no promises. All right. I think that covers everything. Oh! Almost forgot! Remember: feedback goes to tennyo@attbi.com! --Ai-ko, 12/16/2002