Requiem for a Soldier
Part IV.i: Sanctus
Author: Ai
E-mail: tennyo@attbi.com
Disclaimer: Sailormoon does not belong to me.

He couldn't sleep these days.

But then again Chiba Mamoru wasn't sold on sleep being a good thing.  
Sleep had, at times, been his only friend and his cruelest enemy; after 
too many years of being soothed and tormented incessantly by one or the 
other he couldn't really make a real decision.

A decision would have been nice.

He'd wanted to protect her. He wanted everything for her.  She didn't 
need him, didn't need this hanging over her head.  But at the same 
time, he didn't want to cut her off completely.  Maybe it was selfish 
of him, but he still loved her and believed he could sort his messy 
emotions out quietly, away from her prying eyes, and reemerge with a 
clear mind and a firm purpose.

Now he was sitting on his bed, staring vacuously at the three-quarter-
moon hanging lowly in the sky. The night air was chilly and a bit 
daunting but he still had his window open. It cleared his head and 
eyes.  Everything seemed hazy and unfocused recently, which made it 
impossible to concentrate on anything, even the simplest of tasks.

Mamoru closed his eyes and slid down into the bed.  For all the bone-
deep weariness plaguing him, it was still better to be awake.  When he 
was awake, he could shut out the pain.  When he was awake, he could 
control his--

--Fear?

A tiny voice inside him suddenly spoke up.  Fear was a good word for 
it.  It was easier to live like this, sorrowful and constantly aching, 
than it was to sleep and risk far greater anguish in a realm he could 
not control.

--Poor thing. You must be exhausted.

At another time, Mamoru would have questioned this new line of 
commentary from his inner monologue, but right now he was too confused 
and lost to want to.  He was lonely.  Strange what friends we find 
inside our minds.  Sympathy was nice.

*Staying awake is not the answer.  Sooner or later you'll have to face 
the facts, and when you do, being so hazy will hurt you.*

A good point, no doubt, but he was still wary.  He had a hard enough 
time trusting anyone else; how was he expected to trust himself?

--It's all right now.  Go to sleep.  You'll feel better.

As those last words reverberated inside him, he felt a comfortable 
warmth settle over him, beckoning, enticing him gently.  He slunk down 
farther and rested his head on the pillow.

--Sleep now.

He closed his eyes.

--Sleep . . . 

Mamoru slipped into a dreamless slumber, warm and unloved.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

"Quantus tremor . . . est . . . futurus . . . "  Michiru sang the words 
softly but ferociously, quietly trying to imagine the sound in a giant 
basilica with seven hundred voices screaming at the top of their lungs.

"Michiru-chan?"

A sleepy, half-lidded Haruka was standing at the stairs, dressed in a 
tiny tank top and her pajama pants and rubbing sleep out of her eyes.  
If she'd had a teddy bear and her blanket, she'd have looked no older 
than five.

"Haruka?" Michiru adjusted herself in the lacy white negligee she 
usually wore to bed. It made her feel sexy, and Haruka had certainly 
never objected.  That negligee tended to get her in a lot of trouble.  
Setting her reading glasses aside, she turned to face Haruka better.

"Are you still working?" Haruka asked tiredly.

"Mm-hmm," Michiru said, flashing a smile.  "I'm on a roll tonight, 
Haruka-chan.  I couldn't possibly stop now."

"That's what you said last night," the tomboyish senshi mumbled.  She 
walked over and slipped her arms around Michiru.  Kissing her throat 
lightly, she murmured sensually, "Come to bed.  I'll show you a roll."

Michiru sighed dreamily. "That sounds lovely, Haruka-chan, but I 
couldn't possibly tear myself away now. I wouldn't be able to forgive 
myself.  But I'll come up later, I promise."

Haruka was awake now, and looked a little hurt.  "If that's the way you 
feel," she said quietly, going back towards the stairs.  "I'll wait up 
for you."

The aqua-haired girl was already hard at work again, unmindful of her 
lover.  And though Haruka turned back three times while plodding up the 
marble staircase in the atrium of their home, Michiru didn't look back 
once.

"Quantus tremor est futurus . . ."

Three hours later, Haruka succumbed to sleep alone, warm and unloved.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Something was very, very wrong.  That's what Tsukino Ikuko would be 
telling herself if she were to openly acknowledge the niggling little 
voice screaming in the back of her head.  But she didn't, maybe because 
she didn't want to, maybe because she felt it wasn't her place, or 
maybe because she sensed that the situation looming over her daughter 
was something to be afraid of, for Usagi's behalf as well as her own.

There had been an oppressive air over the house ever since Usagi had 
gotten home after disappearing abruptly without telling anyone where 
she was going.  Later, her friend Makoto came forward and said that 
Usagi was helping her with some home decorating and decided to spend 
the night, but Ikuko was not convinced the tall brunette was telling 
the truth.

Since that night, Usagi refused to come out of her room and spent most 
of her time in bed, either sleeping or crying, more the latter than the 
former.  The signs were there.  The evidence was plain.  Something 
awful had happened to her daughter. 

But instead, she played the fool because she subconsciously knew that 
the commonness of it all comforted Usagi.  She feigned anger and 
frustration at her 'lazy' child.  Usagi yelled at her to go away.  This 
morning Ikuko decided to take the scene a step further and play the 
angry mother who wanted her daughter to go to school finally.

"USAGI!!! GET UP!!!"

She scowled and marched up the steps, throwing open the door to her 
daughter's room.  Usagi was buried under a pile of blankets, curled 
into a small ball at the head of the bed.

"Get up, Usagi-chan."

"I'm not going, and nothing you can do will make me."

"Listen young lady," she hissed menacingly, ignoring the way her 
daughter was cowering under the covers, "it has been three days since 
your little disappearing act and I'm not taking pity on you any longer.  
Now GET UP!!!"

Usagi rolled over as tears ran freely down her cheeks.  Luna sat on the 
sill, watching over her mistress protectively.

Ikuko sat down next to her daughter and cupped the girl's flushed face 
in her face in her hands. Loose blond hair covered the bed and Ikuko's 
hands.  The pretty, still fairly young mother could feel Luna's eyes 
boring into her, compelling her to act.

With an unsteady tempo, she began, "I know you're upset, Usagi-chan, 
but you can't stay in your room for the rest of your life.  Sooner or 
later you have to come downstairs and eat."

"You wouldn't understand," Usagi muttered, pulling away.  She brought 
the covers over her head.  "I have a headache."

Ikuko laid a gentle hand on Usagi's forehead.  "Actually, you are a 
little warm," she remarked, genuinely surprised.  She brushed Usagi's 
bangs out of her cerulean eyes. "Maybe you *should* stay home today."

"Really?"  Usagi's voice was hopeful.

"But only today," Ikuko warned.  "Tomorrow, I don't care if you come 
down with bubonic plague, you're going to school."

"I understand," Usagi said softly, sliding back under the covers.  
"Thank you, Mama-san."

Ikuko smiled lovingly at her daughter.  "Get some rest, Usagi-chan."  
She closed the door behind her.

"I wish you'd tell me what happened between you and Mamoru-san," Luna 
said as soon as Usagi's mother was out of earshot.  "Maybe talking 
about it would make you feel better."

"I don't want to," she said, sounding a little hoarse.  "Please, Luna-
chan, just let me sleep."

Luna jumped down and stared in her owner's eyes.  "I think I will," she 
murmured before launching herself out the window.

Usagi quickly descended into a feverish slumber, calling out for Mamoru 
as she slept.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

The senshi had faced youma of every shape and size, demons of 
immeasurable power, threats that could have easily turned the Universe, 
much less one planet, inside out and back before any of them could say 
their henshin.  Few things could inspire them to real terror any 
longer.  Yet there was one thing, one so horrible and cruel, that Ami 
and Makoto cowered in fear every time Thursday--the day selected for 
this particular torture session--rolled around.

Minako's after-school comedy act.

"So on the third day, the duck walks in again and says, 'Got any 
grapeth?'  And the bartender is really mad and starts yelling, 'Look, 
you stupid duck, if you come in here ONE more time--"

"Ahem!"  Luna interrupted Minako's joke.  Ami and Makoto looked 
frighteningly relieved.

"Thanks a lot, Luna-chan," Minako scowled.  "You're just as bad as 
Artemis."

"Judging from those jokes of yours, it won't be fit for the company of 
serial killers anyhow, Minako-chan," Artemis retorted.

"THIS joke is CLEAN!!!"

"She ALWAYS says that," Makoto whispered to Ami.

"Don't remind me," Ami hissed back, shuddering.  "My virgin ears!"

"If you please," Luna scowled at the girls.  "Have any of you talked to 
Usagi-chan recently?"

The girls paused.  "She's been out of school ever since her night with 
Mamoru-san," Ami said quietly.  "We stopped by two days ago, but she 
was asleep."

"We would've come by again," Makoto added, "but Ami-chan made us study 
for our English exams."

"I even understand the damn language better than she does," Minako 
rolled her eyes.  Then, growing serious, she asked, "Is something 
wrong, Luna-chan?"  Minako asked gently.  "Is Usagi-chan okay?"  
It was a foolish question.

"No," Luna said distantly.  "She's *not*, Mina-chan."

"Maybe she's trying to sort through her feelings with Mamoru-san after 
they slept together," Minako said seriously.

Five pairs of eyes were trained on Minako.  "Did you just say that . . ."

"Since WHEN . . ."

"How do you know . . ."

"Oh, like it isn't obvious, minna," Minako groaned, rolling her eyes.  
"It doesn't take the power of Venus to realize they did it like 
they do it on the History Channel afterwards."

"That'd be the Discovery Channel," Ami said, making a face.

Makoto stared; Artemis sweat-dropped.  Luna was just trying her 
darndest to not laugh.

"Well, veering away from the topic of . . . ah . . . bestial pleasures, 
what are you here to talk about Luna-chan?" a very red Artemis asked.

Luna sighed.  "She hasn't left her bed since she got back from Mamoru-
san's that morning."

"Not at all?"  Makoto raised an eyebrow.

"Well, as little as possible," Luna scowled at Makoto.  "I don't know 
what to do, minna. All she does are sleep and cry.  I was wondering if 
any of you knew what happened that upset her so much, the obvious 
aside."

Minako had the grace to blush.

"We haven't seen her either," Ami said slowly.  "Did you see anything 
when he brought her home?"

Luna paused.  "Come to think of it," she realized, "I don't think 
Mamoru-san was with her when she got home.  There was a blond with 
her."

"Are you telling me Usagi-chan's getting a little sideline action?" 
Minako asked, oddly impressed.  "Two in one night . . . now THAT'll 
tire a girl out."

"I doubt that somehow," Luna groaned.

"What about Haruka-san?  She'd fit that description," Makoto pointed 
out.  "And Usagi-chan trusts the Outers explicitly."

"Do you think Haruka-san and Michiru-san would be willing to tell us 
what happened?" Makoto asked, carefully considering this.

"I don't know," Ami said.  "Mako-chan, why don't you pay them a visit 
during the next few days?  I have a feeling you'd be the most likely 
one to wrestle anything out of Haruka-san.  Right now, I told Rei-chan 
I'd meet her at the Crown Fruit Parlor.  She wanted to talk to me about 
something."

"Sounds good," Minako said.  "I'll go visit Usagi-chan."

"I'm not sure she'll be up to it," Luna warned. "Usagi-chan's feeling a 
little under the weather and you know how cranky she gets when she's 
ill."

"She's sick?" Minako's ears piqued.  "Why didn't you tell me that 
before?  I should do something about that. . . ."

"Here we go again," Artemis muttered, covering his head with his paws.

"It'll be Nurse Minako to the rescue!"

The girls sweat-dropped simultaneously.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

"So the fire won't give anything up?" Makoto pressed Rei, who 
scornfully rolled her eyes in response.

"The fire is not a Magic-8 ball, Mako-chan," Rei seethed.  "It is a 
medium I use to better comprehend the world around me.  The spirits do 
not tell me anything I wish and, to be honest with you, I prefer it 
that way.  The truth may set one free, but it can also be a very heavy 
burden."

"Sorry."

"It's all right," Rei calmed herself down.  "Think of it a bit like a 
painting: the materials are all there, but without inspiration you'll 
have nothing but a blank canvas.  The spirit acts as a sort of 'muse.'"

"I see," Makoto replied, pondering the new information.  Turning to the 
blue-haired girl next to her she asked, "Beaten Mephisto yet?" 
abruptly changing the subject.  Ami was busily typing away at her new 
Mercury computer.  She had recently taken the old system apart and 
completely rebuilt for the purpose of understanding how to repeat the 
task. The new system, while looking like an ordinary laptop, allowed 
her to access the vast reservoirs of information and programs her 
smaller battle-friendly system used at any time without looking 
suspicious.  And it had a full version of "Diablo II," with expansion 
pack, her current method of escapism.

Ami scowled.  "Don't remind me," she groaned.  "Besides, I do use this 
system for purposes besides games. Right now, for example, I'm 
*working*."

Makoto groaned.  "Can't I get anything right with you two?" she 
muttered under her breath.

"What are you working on?" Rei asked inquisitively, changing the 
topic again.

"Some homework for a programming class I'm taking."

She was lying, and they both knew it.  Ami had a little tremble voice 
unique to situations where she was concealing something.  Rei picked it 
up quickly, but Makoto hadn't noticed it until more recently.  But both 
had the distinct impression she was doing something senshi-related, and 
so the fib was not questioned.

"Aren't you three quiet today?"

Furuhata Motoki stood over the booth, grinning impishly at the three 
younger girls.

"Motoki-san," Makoto plastered on a fake smile.  "How are you doing 
today?"

"I've been better."  He wiped down the counter next to me.  "My sister 
left me to fend for myself today because it's her and her boyfriend's 
two-year anniversary."

"That's nice," Ami said without looking up. She was fixated on the 
screen before her.

Growing curious, Mokoki stepped behind Ami and asked, "What are you 
doing?"

"Homework for a programming class," Ami trembled.

He cocked his head.  "At the University, right?  I've seen you around."

Her head bobbed in agreement.

"I remember that class," Motoki said, scanning her work, "and I don't 
remember having to write matrix decoding programs until the third-year 
class. The class I'm in now," he added, raising an eyebrow.

Ami stopped.

"So what's it really for?" Motoki asked innocently.

Ami frantically searched for another lie.  "Well . . . we were studying 
the German coding system from World War II in my math class.  I wanted 
to see if I could create a program that, if you knew what the message 
said and what the coded version looked like, if you could derive any 
matrix that would spit out the same answer.  I like to challenge myself 
at times."

That wasn't a lie, the girls acknowledged, until the end.  Ami wouldn't 
have spent so much of the last three days working on the program unless 
she had something in mind.  She simply didn't think like that.

Motoki, however, looked impressed.  "That's very advanced," he 
commented.  "And sounds very difficult to write.  We did something like 
that in my class, although not on such a grand scale.  How big would 
the matrix be?"

"Anywhere from 101 by 101 to 10001 by 10001," Ami replied confidently.

The man blanched.  "That *is* a challenge," he said slowly.  "When we 
did it in class the matrix was only 5 by 5.  I should dig my program 
out and give it to you.  That might help you get the basic framework in 
shape."

Ami looked up in surprise, her deep blue eyes focused on Motoki.  
"Would you really?" she asked, seeming touched.

"Of course," he winked.  "I'll search for it tonight.  So . . . what 
are you doing besides marveling at Ami-chan's intelligence?"  Ami had 
the grace to blush.

"Just talking," Makoto said, a little light bulb going off in her head.  
"Say . . . Motoki-san, have you seen Mamoru-san?"

For a moment, Makoto saw the easygoing blonde man's eyes flash with 
some abrupt emotion before returning to normal.  Rei noticed it too, 
though she clearly had a better idea what it was about.  "Not 
recently," the young man divulged expressionlessly.  "He-he's had a lot 
of work to do lately. He got a full-time job while he's off this 
semester . . . "

"NANI?!"

Motoki actually managed to turn whiter than he had when Ami had given 
him her preposterous figures.

"He took off the semester," he reiterated semi-calmly.  "The University 
couldn't transfer his classes from his third semester at Harvard in
to ones they offered that still had space.  To tell you the truth," 
Motoki's voice dropped about 15 decibels, "I think he was glad the 
University couldn't accept him again until March.  He . . . he hasn't 
exactly been at the top of his game since he got back."

"Mamoru-san? I find that hard to believe," Rei snorted.  "What happened?"

Motoki shrugged.  "It wasn't my place to ask," he countered sadly.  
"Ten years of friendship and he still can't give me a straight answer."

The wistful, distant look in Motoki's eyes ate at Rei.  Over the years 
she'd realized how much Motoki really cared about his best friend, if 
it was proper to call Mamoru that.  Mamoru was still shutting people 
out, and at some time, Motoki had harbored the hope he could get 
through to him.

She touched a soft hand to Motoki's, whose eyes darted to her, confused 
and a little wary.  "You shouldn't blame yourself for Mamoru's 
problems, Motoki-san.  I know you'd do whatever was necessary to help 
him out."

Rather than being relieved or grateful at the truth in the words, 
Motoki snatched his hand away, spinning off to wipe down the counters.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Maybe Artemis nearly had a conniption after Minako's disastrous attempt 
to make homemade chicken soup (an event that he refused to ever talk 
about again, claiming to suffer from traumatic amnesia), but Luna 
simply watched Minako as she accidentally burned half of Artemis's fur 
off, knowing full well that the most delicious soup in the Universe--or 
even the loving intentions behind it--would do nothing to assuage 
Usagi.

But she let Minako think that the soup would help, because it gave her 
something to do and didn't let her mind wander to darker subjects.  
Luna didn't have the heart to let Minako be dragged into this just yet.  
So Artemis screeched like a kitten and Luna giggled in her corner, 
pretending that it *was* that simple and that this could be all there 
was.

Even Luna got tired of destiny sometimes.

And Minako finally did get her soup made, even living up to Luna's 
highly discriminative standards.

So the golden senshi and two cats packed up their things (Artemis 
blatantly refused to wear a nurse's hat, but Luna decided to humor 
Minako for once) and walked to Usagi's house, quietly knocking on the 
door.

When Ikuko opened the door, Minako could feel an oppressive force 
wafting through the halls.  It was no surprise that Luna had fled that 
morning.  Minako knew that if she didn't leave now, there would be 
consequences.

She stepped inside anyway.

Luna wrapped herself around Usagi's mother's legs, rubbing 
comfortingly.  In response, Ikuko picked the cat up and rubbed Luna's 
furry cheek against her own smooth one.

"Minako-chan," Ikuko murmured, drawing comfort from the cat.  "Are you 
here to see Usagi-chan?"

The blonde nodded solemnly.

"She's sleeping.  Try back in an hour."

"May I see her now?" Minako whispered appealingly, her gray-blue eyes 
watery and shimmering.

Ikuko looked at Luna, who was giving the periwinkle-haired mother her 
best affirmative look.  Sighing, Ikuko murmured, "Try not to wake her 
up."

In a sudden rush of gratitude, Minako wrapped her arms tightly around 
the older woman, hugging her fiercely.  She left a shocked Ikuko 
standing in the hall.

When she stepped in the room, Minako felt her heart break.  Watching 
Usagi, huddled in a mass of blankets and misery, made her want to sink 
into the ground.

"Usagi-chan?" Minako whispered almost reverently.  "It's me."

"Go away," Usagi replied hoarsely, turning away from the golden senshi.

But Minako didn't go away.  Marching up to the side of the bed, she 
gently lowered herself next to Usagi, lightly stroking Usagi's long 
hair. "We've missed you in Modern World History," Minako said, 
desperately trying to smile.  "It's not the same without you fighting 
with Tamayo-sensei."

"That's nice," Usagi murmured sleepily.

"Won't you tell me what's wrong, Usagi-chan?" Minako pushed carefully, 
trying not to hurt her, but needing the truth.

Usagi sighed.  "I don't know anymore . . . I'm so tired, Mina-P, I'm 
tired of dealing with it . . . sometimes I want to just . . . I can't 
think right now."

"Then don't," Minako soothed.  "But you can't hide for forever.  He 
loves you, Usagi-chan, he loves you so much he doesn't know what to do 
about it.  If you ever owed him anything, Usa-chan, you owe him an 
answer now.  I know he's hurt you in the past, perhaps without even 
understanding how, but he deserves some sort of closure, if it is to 
come to that."

Usagi muttered something under her breath that sounded to be along the 
lines of, "He doesn't deserve anything from me."  The comment was not 
intended for Minako, and the blonde ignored it in relief.

"What are you thinking about?" Minako asked, staring absentmindedly out 
the window.

"Lots of things," Usagi said vaguely.

"Like what?"

"Like lots of things," Usagi huffed.

"Why are you avoiding my question, Usa-P?" Mina inquired suspiciously.

"It's not that, Mina-P," Usagi replied. "I'm just not . . . ready.  I 
have a lot of things to sort out, I guess."

"Do you want to try?" she asked hopefully.

"No," Usagi shook her head.  "I don't."

"Oh."  Minako tried to pick up Usagi's hand, but it was abruptly 
snatched away.

"Usa-chan . . ."

"Do you think," Usagi whispered quickly, almost fearfully, "that two 
people can love each other so, so much, that it is as if they are one 
soul instead of two, and still not have the strength to overcome their 
problems?  Do you think it's possible that love may not be enough?"

Minako cringed.  "I don't want to believe anything of the sort."

"I love him," Usagi cried, "and even though it hurts me to do it, I do!  
What am I supposed to do about that, Mina-chan?"

"I . . . I don't know," Minako admitted.  Even for the senshi of love, 
these were uncharted waters.  No good could come from this line of 
thinking.

"That's nice," Usagi said caustically, eyes tearing all the while, "but 
I need an answer."

"Usa . . ."

"What?" she snapped.  "You're the senshi of love, aren't you?  Don't 
you have an answer for me?"

Minako stared at her blankly.  "What is your problem, Usagi?" she asked 
incredulously.  "You never act like this."

"Don't assume anything about me!" Usagi barked.  "I won't allow it."

The blonde leered.  "You won't allow me to not have an answer for you?  
Usagi-chan, whatever it is going on in your odango head, you need to 
stop being so bratty--"

"How DARE you--"

"Well, it's TRUE!" Minako yelled in fury.  Whatever Usagi's problem 
was, she knew she wanted no part in it.

"Get out, Minako."  The voice was as icy as it was vindictive.  "Just 
get out."

Minako *gladly* acquiesced.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

It was terribly hard for Haruka to sleep with Michiru pounding at the 
keys of her piano at two in the morning yet again.  Thanks to the 
pitifully thin walls of the mansion (Haruka made a mental note to have 
that looked into), she could hear Michiru refining "Dies Irae."

She covered her head with a pillow.

No good.

She covered her head with a blanket.

Once, again, nothing.

Haruka got up and flipped the television on, turning it up to its 
highest volume.

And still the song played.

In a rage, she stomped downstairs, still clutching a pillow, and threw 
it onto Michiru's hands.

"WILL YOU STOP THAT INFERNAL RACKET?!"

Michiru's fair skin looked a bit sallow, and her hair hung limply 
around her face.  Her eyes were rimmed with red and puffy from too many 
nights nursing quintuple-shot non-fat, extra-hot vanilla lattes 
(Michiru was an espresso fanatic) and pounding at the keys at various 
godforsaken hours of the morning.

"I made a breakthrough tonight," Michiru announced coldly.  "I finished 
the first three parts of the third movement."

"The only things you're breaking through are the walls and my good 
night's rest.  I have a race tomorrow afternoon, remember?

Michiru blinked.  "I thought that was next week."

"Tomorrow is Friday, isn't it?"  Haruka was genuinely surprised.  
"You've never forgotten one of my race dates, Michiru.  Come on up to 
bed.  I don't want you falling asleep when I lap the boys."

"Just after I finish this page," Michiru replied.

Haruka screamed in frustration. 

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Ikuko remembered the tortured sounds her daughter was making the night 
before and was planning to let her daughter stay home another day.  
Until then, Ikuko had never imagined that her sunny, bright daughter 
could have such reserves of misery inside her, that she could be 
brought down and suffer so.

Imagine her surprise when Usagi came tripping down the stairs thanks to 
an abrupt dizzy spell, on time for once in her life, yawning even as 
she fell down the last three steps, but eerily perky.

"I forgot that last step's a doozy," Usagi muttered, rubbing her 
bruised shoulder.  "We should do something about that, 'Kaa-san."

Ikuko stared.  "Are you all right?"

"No, my shoulder hurts and I think I pulled a muscle," Usagi rolled her 
eyes and got off of the floor, limping slightly and grabbing the wall 
to keep dizziness from bringing her back down.  "Good thing I only 
pressed the snooze button twice today.  Limping to school will be bad 
enough as it is."  Laughing, she hopped to the breakfast table, 
ignoring her stinging calf and suddenly pounding heart.  "I'd drink 
coffee," she explained, "but I can't afford to shrink."

Ikuko was still staring.

"Why are you staring at me?" Usagi asked.  "You're the one who's always 
trying to make me be on time."

"I thought you--"

"So did I until I woke up this morning," Usagi said dismissively.  "But 
I can't hide for forever.  Besides, Mina-P said that she misses 
flunking tests with me.  I can't possibly let her down anymore."

With that, Usagi grabbed an odango and skipped out of the house, 
wincing with the pain of her pulled calf.  "Ja ne, 'Kaa-san!"

Ikuko just kept staring.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Despite the fanfare, Usagi still successfully managed to be late, 
which, even with Tamayo-sensei's best efforts to call her on it, had to 
acknowledge that the limping was a good enough excuse.  Sitting pertly 
at her desk, Usagi immediately applied herself to the task of drawing 
pictures of characters from Ayashi no Ceres.

"What's that?" Minako asked, staring at the pictures.

"That's Aya kissing Tooya, and Yuuhi kissing Ceres, and that's Kyuu--"

"I mean what's up with the personality flip-flop," Minako rejoined testily.  
"Just yesterday you were bawling your eyes out over Mamoru-san."

Usagi stiffened.  "I can't just break.  I'm stronger than that."

"Good for you," Minako replied, looking genuinely happy.  "So what are 
you going to do now?"

"I don't know," Usagi murmured, her eyes downcast.  "I'm trying to 
think of an answer.  Could we not talk about that now, Mina-chan?"

"Tsukino-san!  Aino-san!  What are you two discussing?"

"What the captain of the water polo team told me he wants to do to each 
of the boys in this class," Minako said breezily.  "For a while I was 
horrified, but I couldn't help but giggle when he got to the part with 
the handcuffs."

That effectively ended all conversation.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

"Well, there goes my chance with Nishikawa-san," Minako grumbled to 
Usagi.  "Me and my big mouth."

"He was too tall for you anyway," Usagi said cheerily.

"You should talk," Minako rolled her eyes.  "You're shorter than even I 
am."

Usagi shrugged, wincing when she readjusted her weight onto her pulled 
muscle.

"Something wrong?" Minako asked, staring at Usagi's leg.

"I pulled a muscle earlier," Usagi explained.

"Oh, I've done that plenty of times," Minako said.  "Do some stretching 
exercises and loosen your muscles up.  You're too tense."

"Thanks," Usagi said, looking grateful.  "Are you going to Haruka-san's 
race today?"

"Haruka's racing today?  I didn't hear about that."

"She's test-driving some new car.  It's supposed to be really 
exciting."

"And me with volleyball practice," Minako groaned.  "Well, have a good 
time."

"I will," Usagi assured her teasingly.  Minako humphed.

Presently Haruka drove up, her hair flying in the wind.  "You ready, 
neko-chan?"

"You're giving me a ride?" Usagi asked, seeming touched.

"How else were you going to get to the racetrack?" Haruka asked, a hint 
of mockery in her voice.  "Hop in."

With a full-bodied smile, Usagi jumped in and waved goodbye to her 
jealous schoolmates and very jealous Minako, then had to steady herself 
when she became dizzy.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

"So, neko-chan," Haruka said as they whizzed through the streets of 
Tokyo, "feeling any better?"

"A lot," Usagi said decisively.

"Have you spoken with Mamoru-san?"

Usagi's face dropped.  "No," she acknowledged glumly.  "I'm such an 
idiot, Haruka-san.  After all this, I still keep praying he'll call."

"Well, I've been hearing things through the grapevine," Haruka said.  
"Apparently he hasn't been living it up the last few days, if that 
makes you feel any better."

Usagi looked at Haruka suspiciously.  "Who told you that?"

"Makoto-chan did yesterday."

"You talked to Mako-chan?"

"I've talked to all the Inners the last few days.  They're worried 
about you and want to know what happened after Tuxedo Kamen 
swept you away that night."  Usagi became rigid.  "Don't worry, I 
didn't tell."

She breathed a sigh of relief.  "Arigato, Haruka-san.  I really do 
appreciate it."

"Listen, neko-chan . . ."  Haruka's voice dropped.  "Have you read the 
newspapers lately?"

"Sure," Usagi answered her cheerfully.  "I read the comics everyday."

"The part with the big words?" Haruka countered witheringly.

"Oh . . . not really."

"Well, either way you wouldn't have seen anything."

"What way?"  Usagi blinked in confusion.

Haruka sighed.  "Your beloved killed someone, neko-chan.  People don't 
just come from nowhere."

Mamoru did, Usagi argued silently.  For all we know he might've 
appeared out of thin air.  I wonder if some day he'd disappear back 
into it.
 
"That person had a name, a family, a life.  Someone should have 
noticed."

"Of course," Usagi agreed apprehensively, pushing her thoughts aside.  
"The boy . . . I think I . . . I mean I know I . . . why he lives with 
. . ."  But try as she might, she could not figure out from where she 
remembered the boy. He lived . . . the apartment . . . the jumbled mass 
of thoughts grew too great to mull over any longer, so she pushed them 
aside.  "I don't know," she finally admitted, looking down at her lap.

"You don't know anything?  Didn't you say the boy lived a floor below 
Mamoru-san?"

Had she said that?  Usagi tried to sort out the contradictory little 
barbs inside her mind.  "I can't remember that," she concluded, 
sounding very firm.

"Is that so?"  Haruka raised an eyebrow.  "Because that sounds rather 
suspicious to me."

"I'm telling the truth!" Usagi protested loudly, glaring fiercely at 
Haruka.

The slender woman looked away.  "Neko-chan," she said quietly.  "I 
believe you. There are just other parts of this that don't add up.  And 
parts of them have to do with a very unsettling piece of information 
Setsuna-san once entrusted me with.  Do you know the extent of power 
that you hold over the Moon?" Haruka inquired.

Usagi started a bit.  "I don't understand what you mean," she intoned 
uncertainly.

"Should you wish it, neko-chan, you could literally cause the moon to 
shatter into oblivion, your hold over the planet is that strong.  And 
we senshi have a similar hold over our own domains.  But it goes 
further than that.  As senshi, we also have, to a certain extent, a 
degree of control over our planet's denizens.  Of the ten of us, only 
one planet in the system has anyone left to manipulate in that way.  
And who would that be?"

"I . . . I mean you . . . you're not SAYING--"

"No, neko-chan, I'm not saying, I'm suggesting.  I have no proof to 
back up my theory but at this time it's the most logical one."  Haruka 
put her energy into concentrating on the road.

"Oh."  And there was nothing more said between them for the rest of the 
ride.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Box seats were the best invention since sliced bread, Usagi decided as 
she sank into the lush leather sofa while popping grapes.  The spread 
was amazing in Haruka's private box, which was virtually empty.  Usagi 
slid down, taking in her surroundings.  Despite the languor flowing in 
her veins and an odd lightheaded feeling, she waited expectantly for 
the race, her mind only dimly registering the obvious lack of Michiru's 
presence.  At the moment, she was trying to forget all that Haruka had 
told her and really was doing an excellent job at it.

"Usagi-chan?"

Usagi perked up.  "Mako-chan?"

Kino Makoto was wearing makeup, and the little tendrils of her ponytail 
had been carefully curled.  She carried a dozen perfect yellow blooms 
in the crook of her left arm.  "Am I late?"  Makoto asked, walking in 
very smoothly.

"There's no one in here, Mako-chan."

Makoto breathed a sigh of relief as she hopped onto the couch.  "I was 
worried there'd be all these important people in this box," Makoto 
confessed.

"They're all in the press box," Usagi said matter-of-factly.  "Or they 
have their own."

Makoto looked around.  "Where's Michiru-san?"

"Michiru-san? I don't know," Usagi said honestly.  "Maybe she's down at 
the track waiting for Haruka-san."

"Maybe," Makoto said, but she looked uncomfortable.

"So how did you get invited into Haruka-san's private box?" Usagi 
asked, munching on a cracker.

"She gave me a pass," Makoto said.  "I was planning to talk to her 
afterwards.  How are you doing, Usagi-chan?" she asked, abruptly 
changing the subject.

"Tired," she mumbled lazily, her eyes closing.  "Really, really tired."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mako replied uncomfortably.  "Hey, look, the 
race is starting, Usagi-chan . . . Usagi-chan?"

Usagi was fast asleep on the couch, snoring lightly, eyes rimmed with 
dark circles.

"That was fast," Mako commented cynically, but she didn't have the 
heart to wake the tiny Princess up.  Searching around, she found a 
decorative afghan to spread over Usagi.  Mako settled in and watched 
the race intently, checking occasionally on Usagi--checking, she didn't 
want to admit to herself, to see if Usagi was still breathing.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

There was something about speed that made Haruka feel alive.  Normal 
life was too slow for her; it was filled with things like obstacles and 
walls, things that she either buckled down, scaled and went past, or 
completely ignored.

But on the racetrack, it was different.  No obstacles, no barriers, 
just the wind flying past and pure adrenaline. While she was racing, 
nothing could touch her; no one would hurt her.  She felt as if she 
could fly.

And fly she did that day, easily lapping her opponents and finishing 
the eight laps with a new record.  Smiling as she emerged from the 
smoky car, she triumphantly pulled off her helmet, feeling the crowd's 
applause and admiration sink into her skin.

Haruka waited eagerly for the next part of this ritual, the part where 
a triumphant Michiru came down and embraced Haruka.  Smiling 
uncontrollably, she searched the crowd for Michiru's sweet, slender 
figure running maniacally in her usual way, the way that made people 
see something about of elegant nymph that went beyond her cool, 
polished demeanor.  The something that Haruka loved more than anything.


But she wasn't around.  Heart clenching, Haruka grimly realized that 
Michiru had broken her promise to come that day.  Hot, angry tears 
dared to fall from her eyes, but Haruka swept them away before anyone 
realized them for what they were.  She smiled shakily and waved 
to an adoring crowd, quietly accepting her trophy and still hoping 
Michiru would be there.

It was foolish to get worked up over this, some corner of Haruka's mind 
pointed out. After all, she had been to virtually every other race of 
Haruka's career.  Once wasn't a pattern or anything.  It wasn't as if 
she *needed* to be here for some reason.

Needed to only because she promised, another part of her whispered.  
She had *promised*, and now where was she?  Probably sitting by her 
precious piano, Haruka thought grimly.

When someone finally came bounding down, it was Makoto, not Michiru, 
holding her dozen roses.  "Congratulations," Makoto said cheerfully, 
flowers Haruka the roses.  Touched, Haruka accepted the girlish token 
and profusely thanked the source.

"It was nothing," Makoto blushed.  "Where's Michiru-san?"

Haruka's happier disposition turned sour again.  "Not here," Haruka 
snipped coolly.

"Oh."  Makoto was pretty perceptive.

"Where's neko-chan?"  Haruka asked, trying to change the subject.  
"Shouldn't she be around?"

"Uh yeah, that," Makoto giggled nervously.  "She, ah, she fell asleep 
before the race even started."

"Did she?"  Haruka wasn't angry, merely concerned.  "Is she feeling all 
right?"

"Well, she hadn't been feeling well the last few days," Makoto said 
quietly. "Probably because of Ma--"

"Later."  Haruka waved at her mechanic and yelled something about 
tuning the engine, then followed Makoto up to the private box.

"So," Makoto said, trying to make conversation, "did Michiru-san have 
something to do today?"

"Apparently so," Haruka bit through clenched teeth.  But when she saw 
Usagi, whose face was flushed and appeared to be sweating, her icy bile 
melted from worry for the little Princess.

Putting a head to her forehead, Makoto said, "She feels a bit warm."

"We'd better get her home."  Haruka knelt down next to the blonde.  
"Neko-chan?"

"Hmm?"  Usagi didn't even open her eyes.  "Leave me alone," she 
muttered listlessly.  "I'm tired."  Rolling back over, she coughed 
weakly and went to sleep again.

"Neko-chan," Haruka said insistently, "it's time to go home."

"Go away, Mamo-chan," she mumbled, batting a hand at Haruka.

Makoto surveyed Haruka, squinting some.  "You know, if you squint 
really hard, and it's dark. . . ."

"Don't go there," Haruka cut her off.  "Not unless you want to walk 
home."

Mako gulped and lifted Usagi up.  "We'll put her in your car and get 
her home."

Haruka nodded and took Usagi from Makoto, starting down the stairs.

"What happened the night after the Wraith's attack?" Makoto asked 
hoarsely, feeling Usagi's forehead as the small girl moaned softly.

Haruka averted her eyes.  "I'm sorry," she said quietly.  "Neko-chan 
made me promise not to tell.  But if you tell me what you know, we 
might be able to work something out."

Makoto shrugged.  "What's there to know?  He leaves, which everyone 
expected, but then calls eight months later and says he's staying an 
extra year. And then Mamoru-san suddenly shows up seven months later, 
nine months short of his previous claims.  Doesn't tell anyone he's 
back, not even Usagi-chan.  And she walks in on him one day.  After 
that, he won't return her phone calls, won't talk to her, won't say 
anything, but when she asks if he'd be happier if they broke up 
denies it vehemently."

"Bastard," Haruka muttered, readjusting Usagi in her arms.

"Well, that's the part that I'm wondering about now," Makoto said in a 
low voice.  "I didn't tell the others this, but when I said that 
Mamoru-san didn't tell anyone, I meant *anyone*.  Not even Motoki-san 
knew about it."

"Really?"  Haruka looked troubled.  "Aren't they best friends?"

"Motoki-san's been pretty closemouthed about it.  I've been trying to 
cajole details out of him but he won't talk.  He's hiding something 
too, but I have no idea what that may be."

"And so . . .?"

"And so that's why I came to talk to you."  Makoto situated herself in 
the back seat of the convertible as Haruka laid Usagi on Makoto's lap. 
"Ami-chan sent you the list, right?"

"She did, but I haven't had time to look over it.  I still can't 
believe that you four keep a list."

"Hey, you try keeping the current status of Usagi-chan and Mamoru-san's 
relationship straight," Mako replied saucily.  "What with teasing, 
memory losses and breakups based on dreams and encounters with pink-
haired future children and mirrors you *need* a flow chart to keep it 
all organized."

"Point."  Haruka hopped in and started the car.  "What are you going to 
do now?"

"Well, Detective Minako is on the case, though I shudder at the 
thought," Makoto began, "and Ami-chan's been looking at this problem 
logically, and Rei-chan said she senses a heavy feeling over those two.  
But *I* sense a heavy feeling too, so that's not really significant."

"In other words, you're stuck."

"If we knew what happened that night at the restaurant," Makoto said, 
"then maybe we could piece this thing together."

Haruka looked over at Makoto as she stopped at a stop sign.  
"Restaurant?"

"She stopped wearing his ring that day," Makoto explained.  "Whatever 
happened, it was big."

Haruka looked pensive.  "That can't be it," she said slowly, 
remembering what Usagi had told her.  "Not at all.  No, something 
happened while he was at Harvard, and whatever it was, it's now 
affecting his relationship with neko-chan. . . ."

"We're here," Makoto said grimly, watching as Haruka pulled into the 
driveway.

As Haruka lifted Usagi out of the seat and carried her over the 
walkway, she looked at Makoto and said, "Find out what happened at 
Harvard, Makoto-chan, and I'll tell you what happened the night of the 
attack.  Or maybe you'll figure it out yourself."

"Why would you think that I. . . ."

"I don't know, I just do."

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Tromping up the walkway, Haruka hung her head, not wanting to deal with 
Michiru.  Angry as she was, all her energy was drained.  She just 
wanted to go to bed and sleep, preferably with Michiru for once since 
this crazy project had begun.

Michiru's idea of acknowledgement was, "Haruka-chan!  I completely 
finished the first three movements!"

That was it.  Furiously she stormed into the Great Hall and swept all 
of the items off the piano in a ferocious swoop, knocking the sheets of 
music, pitch pipe, laptop, and star locket to the ground.

"What did you do that for?" Michiru asked innocently, picking up the 
papers.

"You PROMISED!" Haruka screamed at her fanatical lover.  "You said 
you'd be there and you chose THIS . . . THIS. . . ."

"Okay," Michiru said in an eerily calm voice, "so I forgot about the 
race.  It's the first time that it ever happened.  I mean it's not like 
you'll never race again."

"That's not the point and you know it," Haruka replied scathingly.

"Then what? That I have to follow you around like some sort of lovesick 
puppy, go to every single race and let myself be ruled by you?!  Well, 
let me tell you something, Ten'oh Haruka--"

"What's that?"

"What's what?"  Michiru looked around the softly lit room.

"That music," Haruka replied, her ears perking up.  "It's familiar 
but . . . weird.  Where is it coming from?"

"I don't know," Michiru said, squirming uncomfortably.  "Maybe you're 
just upset, Haruka-chan. I'm sorry love, I truly am.  This project has 
utterly consumed me."  Lovingly kissing her neck, Haruka could feel 
herself melt under Michiru's gentle ministrations.  "Let's go upstairs, 
darling," Michiru murmured seductively.  "I think we're both a 
little . . . tense."

As if entranced, Haruka allowed herself to be led up the magnificent 
marble staircase in the foyer and to the bedroom they shared.  She gave 
no other thought to the bizarre music that had been playing in the 
hall.  She did not even consider the sinister glint in Michiru's eyes.

After a while, the locket snapped shut, concluding its haunting song.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

The next day Usagi was at school again, though from the dark circles 
under her eyes Makoto knew she was still not well.  But Usagi had a 
real smile on her face and was putting in an honest effort to care.  
She even managed to keep said smile when the P.E. teacher, who was a 
cross-country fanatic, told his class about the 5000-meter "fun run" he 
had planned for the day.

"All right meats!" the teacher boomed.  "We're going to be taking a 
nice little jog today.  We'll be going around the track once, then head 
out to the baseball diamond. . . ."

Just hearing it be described was enough to make Usagi's head spin.  At 
that moment it started to rain.

". . . and back here for a victory lap. And I want to see you ready to 
collapse when this is done!  Pain is glory, children!"

"Sensei . . ." A guy on the American football team protested. "Three 
miles. . . ."

"What're you whining about, you meat?  This is cross-country!  The 
oldest sport in the world! Buck up, girlie!"

"Unggh . . ." Usagi groaned quietly and looked out the window.

"Sensei!," one of the girls cried, "it's raining."

"Nonsense.  Just a little misty.  It's refreshing," the teacher 
grinned. "Just remember that the faster you run the sooner you're done.  
All right . . . comments, complaints, criticisms?"

Surprisingly, no one said a word.

"All right, then, let's begin.  Gentlemen--and ladies, of course--start 
your engines!"

Reluctantly, the class followed the example of the overexcited teacher.

Being a good athlete with a competitive streak, Makoto had broken away 
from pack of runners, pacing some of the best male runners.  Usagi 
wasn't too far behind her.  The running she did--from school to battle--
had improved her pace substantially. Normally she kept up with Makoto, 
though neither of them ever had energy to spare for chatting.  Haruka 
kept trying to get them to try out for the track team, but the girls 
were already in other activities and didn't have much interest.

Despite her exhaustion, Usagi kept a little beyond the main pack of 
runners for the first 1500 meters.  After that, she couldn't push 
herself any more, and even keeping her current pace was torturous.  As 
she slipped back into the crowds, feeling lightheaded and woozy and 
definitely ready to throw up.  Her mouth was parched and crying for 
water.

Usagi brushed it off as a sign she wasn't quite over her illness yet.  
Slowing to an easier pace, she forced herself to ignore her pounding 
headache and fluctuating heartbeat.

And yet . . . she didn't want to give up that easily.  She would not 
let this stupid run beat her.  With grim resolve, Usagi made herself 
speed up again.

The new pace was even worse than before.  She felt her heart slamming 
in her chest, screaming at her to stop, but for the life of her she 
would not, could not comply.

Around now Makoto realized Usagi wasn't keeping up.  Looking behind, 
Makoto was horrified at the sickly white of Usagi's face, the shallow 
gasps she was using to breathe, the fraught, tortured look on her face.

"Usagi-chan!"

That was it.  No more.  Usagi collapsed there on the track, clutching 
her chest painfully.

Immediately Makoto backed up, rushing to her fallen Princess's side.  
Choking back a cry, she dropped next to Usagi, trembling with fear.

Usagi stared dazedly at her, still clutching her chest.  "Mako?" she 
rasped, trying not to slip into oblivion.

"Usa!"  A crowd had begun to gather, whispering and gossiping 
incessantly.  Some of the clearer-headed students went to get 
water, call the nurse, and grab the coach, who was now sprinting 
towards the area.

"Tsukino-san?"  The coach looked perplexed.  "What happened?"  Quickly, 
he snatched a jacket and set it up under her head.

"Hurts," was all she'd say.

"She's been sick recently," Makoto explained.

The teacher looked angry.  "Why didn't she tell me that?" he scowled.  
"She never should've been pushing yourself that way." Taking a water 
bottle from a student's hand, he splashed it refreshingly over the 
girl's forehead and offered her some.  Usagi was allowed to gulp a few 
times before being gently led to a sitting position.

Once like that, the coach calmed her down, making her do breathing 
exercises with him.  As her heart slowed, Usagi calmed as well.

By now, the nurse had arrived.  At Makoto's insistence, Usagi was then 
carried to the nurse's office, the teacher at her side.

"So you've been sick recently, Tsukino-san?"

From her position in Makoto's arms, she replied, "Yes, sensei, I have."

"You had no business hitting the track as hard as you did today then," 
he chastised her.  "Go home and get some rest.  I'd better get back.  
Lousy meats probably having a ball."  The coach trotted away, leaving 
Usagi and Makoto alone.

"He's right, you know."

Usagi huffed.  "I'm not going to let a silly run beat me, Mako-chan."

Makoto looked down on her.  "You're confused, Usagi-chan.  Very, very 
confused."

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

"Oh, this?  My dad just bought it for me.  State of the art.  No expense 
spared . . . of course I'm being sarcastic!  If I actually cared about 
his stupid money, I'd be living with him.  No, I *didn't* . . . is this 
that important, Mako-chan?  He didn't tell me how many minutes my plan 
has . . . she what?" 

Rei stopped, pulled her brand-new, fire-engine-red cell phone away from 
her ear and stared at it, not quite convinced she'd heard right.  
Putting it back up, she continued, "When did this happen . . .?"

"Hino-san," one of the nuns gently tugged at her uniform.  "No 
Personal electronics during school hours."

She looked up, her raven hair flying around her face.  "I'm sorry.  A 
friend of mine is sick, that's all.  I was trying to find out more 
information."

The sister looked sympathetic.  "You have five minutes," she stated 
sternly to Rei.  "And that's only if another sister doesn't see you."

"Thank you, sister."  Rei smiled at the woman.

"Rei-chan? Are you there?"

"Am now. The sisters are pretty strict about electronics during school 
hours."

"Should I go?  I think my phone card's a little low, anyways."

"Probably. Look, there's a little French-style bistro about three 
blocks from my school.  Do you know where I'm talking about?"

"I think so . . . but I'll be a little late.  I'm going to stop by 
Usagi-chan's first."

"Works for me," Rei said smoothly.  "Meet me there around 4:30.  I have 
an archery club meeting anyways.  See you then."

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

As it turned out, there was no meeting that afternoon, so Rei trod down 
to the café about an hour early.  Les Delices de l'Ambrosie, the small 
patisserie/bistro near her school, had a 'quirky' patronage that, 
despite her uniform, she fit into well.  The atmosphere would be 
comfortable, the girls would not be disturbed no matter the subject, 
and the food would uphold against even Makoto's elevated standards.

After ordering a cappuccino, she pulled out a random textbook and 
prepared to wait, anxious for Makoto to come. Staring blankly at the 
History textbook she had been trying to study, she looked out the 
window, scanning yet again for Mako despite the fact she wasn't due for 
another 45 minutes.


What she did see outside the window, on the other hand, was far more 
interesting than any Kino Makoto.  Mamoru was walking by; his shoulders 
were slumped in some sort of defeat, looking lowly at the ground.

Unable to resist, Rei jumped out of her seat and dashed out in a manner 
highly uncharacteristic of her.  She slid through the doorway just as 
Mamoru was about to walk past it, crashing into him and knocking them 
both back.

"Remind me never to make fun of Usagi-chan for knocking into you again," 
Rei mumbled from her spot on the concrete as she rubbed a sore spot on 
her head.  "I swear you set yourself up for it."

Mamoru paid her little heed.  Standing up, he quickly brushed himself 
off and prepared to continue on his way.

"Oh no you don't," Rei fumed.  "You are going to stand here and listen 
to me if I have to crash into you all the way to your apartment."

He didn't answer her; merely let his clouded gaze drift towards the 
window.  "I'll stay," he gave in, unable to meet her raging violet 
orbs.

Rei took a deep breath.  "Why are you doing this?"

"She doesn't want me, Rei-chan."

"Mamoru-san . . ." Rei looked pained and a little surprised at the 
dejection in his voice.  "You know that's not true.  Usagi loves you."

"Maybe," he agreed uncertainly, thoroughly unconvinced of that, "but 
it's not the same thing."

Rei paused, looking over his austere countenance.  "I don't 
understand," she said finally.

"Then maybe you weren't meant to."  He made a motion to continue on his 
way.

"Hold on a minute!" Rei crackled.  Stepping in front of Mamoru again, 
she threateningly glared at him.  "You are not going to dismiss me that 
easily, Mamoru-san.  Usagi-chan is my friend.  You are hurting Usagi-
chan.  I hurt people who hurt my friends.  Shall we take those 
statements to their logical conclusion or shall we continue talking 
like civilized adults?"

Once again, he stopped.

"Much better," Rei mocked him.  Then, softening, she continued, "What 
do you want from Usagi-chan, Mamoru-san?  I know you love her.  What 
good comes of hurting her?"

He nearly cracked right there and then.  "It was never about hurting 
her," he denied miserably.  "I wanted her to be happy . . . and I . . . 
I could never . . . maybe I thought that if I just had some time 
everything would be all right and I could get it together, but now . . . 
it's too late, Rei-chan.  Maybe if I hadn't been such a coward in the 
past it would've been easier now, but . . . I just wanted some time, 
Rei-chan, nothing else . . . "

Rei stared at the rambling, obviously disoriented man before her.  A 
strange feeling hung in the air around him, a hopelessness she never 
would've expected from Mamoru.  Proud, confident Mamoru, Usagi's--and 
at times all of theirs'-strength.  Rei stopped listening, finding she 
had a hard enough time comprehending what had already sunk into her 
memory.  She slipped back into the café, leaving Mamoru on the 
sidewalk, and pulled out her cell phone.

Speed-dialing the Tsukino residence, she only hoped Makoto was there.

"Moshi moshi?"

"Tsukino-san? Is Mako-chan still there?"

"She just arrived, Rei-chan."

"Could I speak to her?"

"Just a moment." A pause.

"Mako-chan?"

"Forget the meeting," Rei said excitedly.

"What?"

"Meet me at the shrine in about three hours.  Got it?"

"What is this about, Rei-chan?"  Rei could hear Makoto scratching her 
head in the back.

"I'll tell you when you arrive tonight.  Just meet me then."

"All right, if you say so. . . ."  Makoto's uncertainty rang through 
even as Rei hung up the phone.

Walking briskly through the crisp afternoon air, Rei single-mindedly 
prepared herself for the arduous task ahead.  Maybe she shouldn't have 
been even considering this, but do it she would.  The situation had the 
potential to spiral out of control; she would not wish it to go too far 
and result in some sort of tragedy.

Because she knew why Mamoru seemed so hopeless.

But she was afraid to even think the words.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Now she was sitting at the fire, quietly praying to the great spirits 
above that some answer would be given to her.  No formal words were 
needed; none fit the situation at present.  This was not an ordinary 
request.

"Please," Rei whispered to the powers above her.  "She is my Princess; 
he is my Prince.  Something, anything!  Anything to help them!"

The fire surged up violently, shooting sparks everywhere.  The blaze 
grew higher exponentially, terrifying Rei.  She stared with wide, 
frightened eyes, the violent sparks gleaming red in her violet eyes.

And then she saw it.

A woman, no doubt, being consumed in the fire.  In her terror, Rei 
initially associated the searing image with Usagi, but quickly realized 
the form was not at all that of her little Princess.  Too, long, too 
graceful, too--

Too elegant.

The swaths of aqua hair that would have initially allowed Rei to 
recognize the form as that of Michiru were consumed in fire.  The fiery 
woman shrieked in pain; her cries caused the room to tremble.  As she 
struggled and cried, often calling out for Haruka, once or twice for 
her mother, hands of fire pulled her down, rendering Michiru helpless 
against the vicious appendages.

Tears streamed down Rei's eyes at the sight.  As moments passed the 
fire began to dim, leaving way to turquoise smoke tendrils that filled 
the room with a sickly-sweet ocean smell.  Michiru struggled less and 
less with each passing second.

"Fight, Michiru-san!" Rei cried, forgetting it was only a vision.

But fight she did not.  Only moments later Michiru fell limp, as if a 
rag doll.  The fiery hands propped her up, holding her head and body in 
place.

Then she opened her eyes.

Rei screamed.

That was the moment Rei shot up from the floor and found the room to be 
back to normal, as if the scene had never taken place.  Rei blinked, 
staring at the spot she had been lying in.  Had she really seen all of 
that?  Was it simply the product of an overactive imagination, or were 
other troubles brewing?

With a white heart Rei ran, frantically locking herself in her bedroom.  
Not even Makoto's persistent knocking could make her come out.  
Tortured by the clarity and iniquity of the vision, she eventually fell 
into a light, restless sleep and remembered nothing of the haunting 
vision the next morning.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

At least her father was nice enough to give her a ride.  Usagi was 
certainly thankful for that much as she dragged herself into Algebra 
that morning after sleeping through History.

Despite her mother's protestations, Usagi had insisted on going to 
school that day.  After falling asleep at the race track, she'd been in 
bed the whole weekend, missing her Saturday and Monday classes.  She 
had a pile of homework that was waist high and no energy to even think 
about attempting it.

Actually, though, she was feeling much better today, like the 
stranglehold this flu had on her had temporarily lifted.  Smiling 
brightly, she held her head high even as she tripped into class, yet 
another dizzy spell bringing her to the floor.

Minako was sitting nearby while Makoto languished in back.  With a 
broad smile, she sat down, trying to keep from falling again.

The sensei took one look at her, the dark circles and pale little face 
trying so hard to act as if she wanted to be here, and decided to let 
it pass for once.  Other students ignored her as well, sensing that 
this was what she wanted.

But Minako wasn't easily driven away.  Leaning in, she whispered, "You 
look terrible, Usagi-chan."

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Mina-P," Usagi groaned, rolling 
her eyes.  She began to have a violent breathing fit, unable to take in 
a gasp of air for nearly twenty seconds.  Terrifying as it was for 
herself and the students, no one commented upon it.

When the teacher went back to his lesson, Minako leaned in again and 
asked in a very tiny voice, "What was his name?"

"Whose name?"

"The one who Mamoru-san punched out at the restaurant."

Usagi turned white.  "How do you know about that?"

"Detective Minako always gets her man.  Now what was his name?"

Usagi stared at her.  "Nick something," she hissed lowly.  "Some 
American name.  I don't remember much about that night."

"Let me give you a little tip, Usagi-chan: there is no such thing as 
free lemonade."

"What?!"

"Just thought to feed on."

"You're making my head hurt."  Usagi moaned and put her head on the 
desk.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

"Tsukino-san?"

"Hrrmm?"

"Tsukino-san?"

"What?"  Usagi lifted her head up to face her sensei.

"Class is over, Tsukino-san.  You slept through the bell."

"I WHAT?!"  Jumping from her desk, Usagi issued a hurried apology.  
"Sensei, I'm so, soooo sorry. . . ."  Her heart was pounding 
erratically, making I tough to choke the words out.

"Tsukino-san, I've called your mother.  She's coming to get you right 
now."

"What?"  With her fuzzy brain, Usagi was having a difficult time 
registering what sensei was saying.

"Brave as it is for you to be here, you're in no condition to be at 
school, Tsukino-san.  Consider it my good deed for the day."

"Whatever," Usagi mumbled as she fell back asleep on the desk.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

"Is she still mad at him?"  Hino Rei lazily sipped her soda, wearily 
glancing over her English textbook.

"I don't even know any more," Makoto said, head in her hands.  "She 
won't talk about it at all, and I haven't even in Mamoru-san recently.  
It's like he's dropped off the face of the Earth."

"Minako-chan said she heard Motoki-san say that Mamoru-san didn't go to 
his Organic Chem class last week," Rei said grimly.  "It's really out 
of character for him."

"Oh please," Mako groaned.  "The guy's more unpredictable than a 
Chihuahua on Ritalin.  I can put anything past him these days."  Then, 
remembering what Haruka had said, she tried to clamp her mouth shut and 
stop making assumptions.

"I see your point," Rei sighed, "but there's still something funny 
about the whole thing.  I wish we had more details."

Ami looked up from her Physics textbook.  "Maybe he's been 
brainwashed," she offered before returning to the fascinating world of 
. . . well, neither of them would've known if they'd been locked in a 
small room and forced to study it for hours on end.

Makoto and Rei had little devil horns on their heads.

"I know what you're thinking and it won't work," Ami said without even 
looking up.  "Besides, it's messy.  And you still haven't figured out 
where to hide the rest of the pieces."

"You know me too well, Ami-chan."

"I know you're sadistic, if that counts as knowing you too well."

"Sometimes I hate you, Ami," Mako scowled.  She punched her fist into 
her palm.  "I mean, if he hurt her--"

"Oh, it's way more fascinating than that, Mako-tachi!"  Aino Minako was 
standing proudly in front of the cheerily colored booth her friends 
were sitting in.  "I went down to the restaurant myself yesterday and 
found out."

"You what?" Rei asked.

"The bartender said he was a Sailor V fan," Minako said sweetly, 
wriggling her hips seductively. Ami rolled her eyes.  "Like taking 
candy from a baby."  She shoved Rei into the booth and sat down.

Motoki looked up from the bar.  "You guys want anything?"

"Get me a Coke," Minako called to Motoki.  "Anyways, it's really juicy.  
A little scary . . . well, kind of a lot scary, but. . . ."

"Would you please stop bragging about how good the story is and just 
tell already?" Ami hissed.

Everyone stared.

"For Usagi-chan's sake, of course," Ami added, blushing furiously.

"All right." Minako leaned down.  "Okay, so they're at this really 
upscale restaurant in the Ginza district, and I guess they've been 
having all sorts of problems before this so he's kinda trying to make 
it up to her, right?  Anyways, she'd asked him for, like, the seventh 
time if he's got someone on the side and so the mood was about as 
relaxed as a high colinic in Mexico--"

"Leave the scary analogies out of this, Mina-chan," Makoto winced.

"Whatever.  Well, they order dinner, only she's really pissed off so 
she does something really smart--I gotta give her props for this one, 
minna-chan--she threatens to make a scene if he doesn't tell her what's 
going on.  You know how much her beloved hates attracting attention.  
But he doesn't crack, and she makes good on her threat.  She even threw 
her water glass in his face."

"Damn," Rei said proudly, "go Usagi-chan!"

"Well it gets better," Minako said excitedly.  "He storms out, so she 
goes and sits down at the bar.  And there's this guy there--who, 
according to my informant, looks like he belongs in a boy band--who 
offers to buy her a 'lemonade.'"

"And the problem with this is. . . ." Ami prompted.

"You've never had a hard lemonade?  The stuff tastes great, but it's 
really loaded.  Well, Usagi-chan takes a shine to the stuff and knocks 
back about FIVE of 'em--"

"FIVE!?  I've seen the girl flip out after half a glass of champagne!" 
Rei screeched.

"Ah, Rei-chan," Ami groaned, "you're making a scene."

It was around this time that the senshi realized that Motoki, Unazuki, 
and the twenty some-odd customers milling around the Crown Arcade were 
all listening rather carefully.

"Eh," Minako cringed, "I guess I've attracted a crowd."

"Go on," Unazuki said, grinning, "everyone else was curious about 
Mamoru-san and Usagi-chan's fight; you might as well finish now.  Call 
it a public service."

"All right," Minako said, flashing a toothy smile and standing up to 
better serve her audience (the three senshi put their heads on the 
table), "I guess Usagi-chan was on a total adrenaline rush during the 
first three, but after the fourth, she, ah, loses her inhibitions.  The 
girl started flirting like crazy with the 'Backside Boy' next to her--"

"That's a 'Backstreet' Boy, Mina-chan."

"--all cooing and batting her eyes, and totally mouthing off about 
Mamoru-san.  Well, guess who walks back in?  He felt *sorry* about the 
argument."  Minako feigned pouting and puppy-dog eyes, which had the 
rest of her audience rolling on the floor.  She threw in whimpering 
noises for extra comedic effect.  "So he stands there, and watches his 
girlfriend with the Backside Boy for about five minutes--that is, until 
the baby-faced one got a little too friendly."

"What did he do, Mina?" Rei asked carefully, refusing to look up.

An overdramatic pause ensued.

"Oh, it's bad, isn't it?"  Makoto's muffled voice floated up.

The blonde took a deep, melodramatic breath.  "Full palm on the thigh," 
Minako said slickly, smiling brashly.

The entire arcade froze.

"And up the skirt," Minako added abruptly, trying to get a reaction 
from the crowd.

Ami shook her head in disbelief.  "You're actually serious, aren't you?"

"Dead," the blonde solemnly swore.  "Hey, would I lie about this?"

"Yes!" the entire arcade yelled.

"Well, I'm not," Minako said haughtily, sticking her nose in the air, 
"and before Usagi-chan could react, our Backside Boy had a broken nose 
and needed six stitches."

"WHAT!?" the rest of the arcade screeched.  The new information awoke 
them from their previous stupor.

"Is this one of those 'what's wrong with this picture' situations?!" 
Makoto cried, trying to process the new information.

Minako sat back down.  "I can't explain it either," the blonde 
shrugged.  "At any rate, the guy decided against pressing charges 
'cause he didn't want his wife to find out about the incident.  Nice, 
ne?  But the bartender isn't complaining.  Business has been up 40% at 
the restaurant since the story leaked."

"I guess there really is no such thing as bad publicity," Rei shrugged 
and rested her head on her palms.  "What I can't believe is that 
Mamoru-san would do something like that."

After checking to make certain that everyone had gone back to their 
business, Minako leaned down and added, "That's not the part that 
worries me.  I guess when he was pummeling the guy he was screaming 
something about not letting him hurt her again."

"Again? What do you. . . ."

"I checked with Usagi-chan," Mina interrupted.  "She'd never met the 
guy at the bar before.  My best guess is that neither has Mamoru-san.  
At least that would make the most sense.  Since they were in the back 
of the restaurant, you couldn't see or hear the fight from the bar.  
And since the Backside Boy apparently came in after Mamoru-san and 
Usagi-chan did, he wouldn't have any idea that she was taken.  Usagi-
chan threw her ring at Mamoru-san, too.  There was more, you could 
tell, but Usagi-chan wouldn't give me any more details."

"That *is* strange," Ami mused, the textbook long forgotten.  "So first 
he breaks his promise to only stay one semester at Harvard, then he 
mysteriously cuts the trip short; he acts cold and distant for the past 
month and won't tell her what the problem is, but smashes in the face 
of a guy who had no honest idea that she was previously engaged?"

"Someone's got a few screws loose," Makoto snorted.

"And I'm sure you'd love to screw them back in, Mako-chan," Rei said 
impatiently, "but this isn't really the time to have visions of 
decapitated Mamorus dancing through your head.  I'm really concerned."

"Don't be," Makoto rolled her eyes.  "I'm sure Mamoru-san is once again 
having commitment issues, or some weird dream that's warning him to 
stay away from her, or he's got some stick up his you-know-where about 
her 'lack of immaturity.' He'll get over it."  Makoto had quickly 
figured out that flippancy was the best way to ease her fellow senshi's 
minds.

"Are you sure?" Ami asked uncertainly.  "This does seem a little, ah, 
excessive."

Minako shrugged.  "Mako's right.  If anything else pops up, I'll keep 
you posted.  Now if you'll excuse me," she whipped out a compact and 
fixed her lipstick, "'Jiro-san is waiting."  Minako veritably bounced 
out.

No one knew what to say after that, so most of the patrons went back to 
their own activities.

But Motoki lingered.  As Ami and Rei left, still deep in discussion, 
Mako's plan to follow was stopped by a firm grip on her wrist.

"Mako-chan?"

Makoto's heart was beating erratically.  With a dreamy gaze, she turned 
and murmured, "Yes, Motoki-san?"

Motoki took an unsteady breath.  As much as he hated to betray his 
friend, sometimes a person had to be cruel to be kind.  After all, 
Mamoru had a long history of slipping into intense depressions, times 
when he shut out everyone and everything but the demons inside his 
mind.  At times like those, Motoki had learned the hard way, the first 
thing Mamoru wanted was to be left alone, and the last thing he needed 
was acquiescence.  But he'd still kept his mouth shut through the 
years, through the dark spells he'd never breathed a word of, through 
the particularly dim days in which Mamoru had fallen head over heels in 
love with Usagi yet persistently drove her away with his tongue, 
through their odd breakup early in the relationship and the scars it 
left on Mamoru's heart, through even Mamoru's first suicide attempt, 
long, long ago, when he was too young to have even understood what 
'suicide' really meant.

And yet. . . . "Nothing," Motoki mumbled, letting Makoto go on her way.

		*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

The cold night air was a shock to Mamoru's heated form.  Sweaty and 
trembling, he paced aimlessly through the eerie quiet of the city, 
desperately trying to pull himself together.

A couple out for a romantic walk in the moonlight watched the young man 
whispering something frantically to himself, moving in an odd, 
disconcerted manner, and wondered about his sanity and their safety.  
Stepping away, they let him go on his way.

Mamoru himself was not convinced.  He moaned softly, quietly longing for 
Usagi's soft arms around him, her lips upon his, something, anything to 
get this demon out of him.

Murderer.

He cried aloud.

She is pure.  You never deserved her.

Now he found himself at her home, staring miserably up at her balcony.  
Against his will, his hand crept into his shirt and pulled out a rose, 
transforming him into Tuxedo Kamen.

She hates you for your very love of her.

Steps that were not his dashed up through the open doors of the balcony 
and into her room, surveying the feverish young girl before his eyes.  
Hands reached out to touch her, lips pressed against her.

Usagi groaned softly but did not awaken.  Tuxedo Kamen took this as a 
hint, though, and pulled away.

"Mamo-chan," she uttered softly, miserably.  Again, he came closer, 
unable to resist.  His lips drank hers in hungrily before he broke off, 
desperate to stay, but too guilty to do so.

"Wait."  He turned back around.

Her eyes were open, luminous in the weak light.  She smiled seductively 
at him. He gulped.

"Where have you been?" she purred, her long hair pooling around her.  
"I missed you."

That was it.  He wasn't quite sure how exactly it happened, when his 
clothes came off, or hers for that matter, but they did and the next 
thing he knew they were making love in the pink bed with bunnies 
splayed over the sheets, fast, wild, with total abandon.

Then, he was lying on the bed with Usagi, physically sated but still 
missing something.  He was utterly exhausted, but somehow he felt 
better than he had in a long, long time.

But it wasn't meant to last. Usagi primly got off the bed, replaced her 
nightgown, and said curtly, "Now get out."

He reeled.  "Did you--"

"If you can do it, then so can I," she hissed, smoothing out a pigtail.  
"Leave."

"Usa-ko--"

"DON'T 'USA-KO' ME!" she screamed out of the blue.  "Stop acting like 
you care.  Love's a weak word, right?"

"It's weak," he agreed miserably, "it doesn't come anywhere near 
describing what I--"

"Don't."  She put a hand on his lips.  "Don't say it, Mamo-chan. Please 
understand . . . I don't know if I can do this any longer."

"Do what?" he asked naively.

Usagi stilled, eyes lowered to the ground.  "I'm not sure being with 
you is worth the consequences."

"Oh."  He swallowed harshly and collected his clothes in silence.  Once 
he had enough on to get home, he transformed into Tuxedo Kamen and 
spirited himself away.

Back in the night, the cold now seemed almost warm.  He was shivering 
from within, lonely and feeling very drained, wondering hazily at his 
own actions.  Thinking was painful, something reserved for moments of 
complete necessity, but right now he dared it.

In his apartment, the feeling grew worse.  The harsh air pushed 
him down, left him hopeless and lost.

Something was happening to him.  He could feel himself falling away 
from the edge of sanity, already a precarious tightrope he walked, and 
slip into some strange mania, almost madness but not quite.

Or maybe he was already there.  Closing his eyes against the pain, he 
mentally tried to fight off the frenzied upsurge of lunacy clawing so 
cruelly at the edge of his psyche, but realized he was fighting a lost 
battle. An animal moan of rage ripped from him.

--You're weary of fighting.

Whenever the floods were at their worst the gentle voice pulled him 
back down.  Something about the voice soothed him, as if it were looking 
out for his best interests.

--Poor Endymion. Alone and afraid. Are you tired?

He nodded, even though the voice came from within.

--Let go of it.  Just for a little while.

His eyes began to close.  He tottered woozily on his feet, still trying 
to hang on.

--I will protect you.

Tuxedo Kamen dropped to the ground of the apartment, unable to hold out 
any longer.

--I won't let anyone hurt you.

He fell asleep, dragged into the depths by the mysterious new power 
inside him.


	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

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