Prologue
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The first time he saw her, it was like some strange hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and too much coffee.
He'd been walking back to his apartment, penniless after that last payment for tuition, and only mildly starved because of it. He could remember, quite distinctly, that the ER had been busy that night. Droves of people had come in with strange marks on their bodies, unconscious and unresponsive. After many, many hours of slaving over the strange illness, he'd been sent home at the end of his shift with a sense of impending doom. The warm summer night felt feverish, the accompanying yell, a strange dream.
He'd rounded a corner half in a daze, blearily searched the alley for any reason to ignore the call so he could get some rest. New York and surrounding areas were dangerous at night; something he'd learned early in his rotations after medical school. He'd expected a mugger, or some sort of physical assault; instead, there'd been her.
He could still feel that shock, could still remember how his eyes had sharpened, burned through the darkness to the shimmer of forbidden gold.
Some street urchin slunk through the mouth of the alley, his stuttering gratitude lost on the young man standing at the head of it. The woman had turned, impossibly long hair catching the night in playful fingers that shifted silver in the moonlight. The same breeze flirted with her layered skirt, caught a spare feather of her wings and drove it toward him. Even so far away, he could easily see the crystal blue of her eyes, the soft blush on youthful cheeks.
They'd stared at each other, long after the dust at her feet flew away, after the strange yowl of a street cat should have broken the trance. It should have been impossible to see the flecks of silver, the deep blue rim of those eyes from this distance. There was no denying the tiny freckles on the tips of her cheeks, the beautiful shift of muscle in her legs as she stepped forward unconsciously. They were locked, mouths slightly agape and torrents of wind tugging at their clothes.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was pain like sharp needles, but it was gone before he could analyze it. Her ridiculously short, layered skirt flirted in the wind like a come-hither call as the echo of those white boots faded toward the heavens.
Sharp claws swiped his face, drew both gaze and blood down toward the hissing bundle of black leaching on his arm. The spell broke, long enough to hear her voice call down the alley in silver chimes.
"Luna! What are you doing," she balked, racing forward to rip the offending animal from him. It released, even as he found himself hissing at the sudden realization of pain. The wounded hand was clutched, stared at for a moment of exhaustion before he could piece together the broken skin and blood had gone pretty deep. The shadow fell to the ground, turning on him with claws bare.
"Stay back," it screamed, fur rising off its body in anger. It wasn't nearly as disturbing to hear a cat talk, since the whole evening felt like a dream anyway. He nursed the hand closer, pissed only that he had just come from the emergency room and that he'd need to go back. If nothing else, at least it was a break in reality where the young man could focus again without the gorgeous blond to stall his thundering mind. Even that thought was a temptation to draw his gaze back to her figure. The girl was slowing to a stop behind the feline.
"She's not normally..." Their eyes locked again and all words ceased. The cat was freaking out, talking and swiping at him though he made no move toward them. It felt like years after, or perhaps it was minutes, when it dove at the girl's face before he could move to help.
"I said move!" it yowled, turning red eyes on him through the darkness. He'd come several steps closer without meaning to and could almost reach out at touch those angelic features with his fingers.
The blond spun, hair trailing behind, and dashed toward the other end of the alley with the sound of that cat howling between them.
It would take until the next day, with his hand patched and sutured, before he realized they'd been speaking Japanese.
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….
The second time was much more real, though something that still filled him with doubts. It was days after the incident, when he'd gone to take a short break from rotations to sit in the back. It gave him just a bit of spare time to reflect on the strange incident in the alley. The idea that the duo had been speaking his native language seemed too surreal to be imagined. After all, he'd been in this country almost 5 years, but the thick city accent on the blond and the unrecognizable cat–who had really been talking, no matter what he tried to tell himself–were easily separated.
After so long, it was odd to be able to distinguish so clearly between the two. It could have been a dream or some hallucination, as he'd previously thought. The bloodied, bandaged left hand that glared at him screamed otherwise. He didn't dare mention any of the particulars to his colleagues; it was only a few more years of residency and fellowship before he could practice on his own. Now was not the time to be making wild claims that could crush his future forever, no matter how enticing the idea might be.
The squeaky chair shifted and whined as he settled into it, the coffee burned him back to some semblance of awake. Any normal night and he'd be bowing his head for a short 5 minute nap before the next patient would burst through the doors, but tonight he couldn't help but glance around with new eyes.
The blue gaze pulled to his side just enough to note a tabloid flopped haphazardly on the break room table. There was always at least one hanging around, but the sight of impossible golden hair and a bright, cheerful smile racked his brain like a meteor shower.
'Japanese band hits big' splashed across the top of the piece with a full color picture of three men walking out of a studio. They all wore emo power suits, complete with man-liner and attitude. They could easily have melted into the crowds of pathetic plastic-induced society that claimed all media spotlight here. It wasn't the apparent fame or the origin of the band that caught his eye, but the brilliant shine of sunlight gold hair and bright blue eyes on the arm of the second brunette.
She seemed exquisitely beautiful; her skin sparkled in the spare corner of the photo and that impossible length of hair tied back in the strangest style he'd ever seen. The magazine hissed across the slick table. It was curiosity, not jealousy, that drew the pages open.
There were only 2 pictures of her, always at his arm and always smiling. Something whispered the smile was pleasant, not the overburdened joy it should be. Her eyes only seemed a flat shade of blue instead of brilliant sapphire. He could have sworn the other night that they'd sparkled, that her shy smile had been more than shock, more than personable.
'The happy couple' it read: Seiya Kou and Usagi Tsukino of Japan. It was a relationship that spanned the last four years; two of them spent playfully flirting around a high school in Tokyo. He tried not to stare at an old picture of them, tried not to imagine his own face close to hers. It was the same girl. He was positive, regardless of talking cats or outfit changes. She wore a white sun dress with dark blue accents or a pink tank top and shorts.
He'd know those eyes anywhere and reminded himself much later that the magazine had been rumpled long before he pried it from his fist.
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The third time was more of a shock. He hadn't expected to see anyone on his way to the corner market. He'd never been social and only had a few acquaintances at the hospital at best. The short walk was usually uneventful and dull, made on the premise of sandwich meat and milk, when a shoulder collided with his.
He turned and so did she; their eyes clashing like connecting pieces to a puzzle held too long at bay. The stunning woman looked flushed and harried, her pale throat slightly red and hands clenching. He'd taken in the shock in her eyes, the instant draw of desire and reservation. Her pink blouse brought out the shimmering quality of her skin, the golden hair mirrored through sunlight and heat wave.
Neither spoke. Moments passed unnoticed on the busy city streets even when her arm was tugged curiously. He followed the gorgeous line along her neck and shoulder, down to the hand grasped tightly around hers. It was his imagination that her long, beautiful fingers didn't hold quite so tight, that the surprise on her face was for her companion rather than the staring partner.
"Who's this, ko-neko-chan?" The voice billowed between them like silk and broke the strange trance they both seemed to have fall into.
"Nani? Ano," she began and black shades dropped from his eyes. The unmistakable face of her megastar singer seemed so average out on the streets. Dressed in a baseball cap and blue jeans, the two had probably hit the streets of New York looking for a good time. The idea made his jaw clench.
"Sorry, I wasn't watching," Mamoru offered quietly, watching the other man like a tiger shark ready to pounce. His fists were tense, his shoulders coiled for the spring. The tone had been all pleasantries, but if there'd been any sign of hostility, Mamoru was certain he'd pummel the stupid man's face into the cement.
Perhaps that's why he turned and fled down the street without another word between them.
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…..
The next few days were torture. Not just because he couldn't bear to sleep, but because regardless, his mind summoned up images of those eyes, of that face, every time he took a single breath. It was bad news as a resident, even one so high in his class. He tried so very hard to pay attention and formulate a diagnosis; he forced his wayward brain to react to the plea of a coughing child, but they were all momentary distractions. Somewhere out in the city was a girl he was sure he'd loved the moment he set eyes on her.
A girl, the magazines screamed, engaged to a rock star.
He'd never dated anyone seriously, though his type was definitely blond and leggy. It didn't seem to matter how often he tried that combination, it never went well. No one felt right, no one made him any less or more than he already was, so he hadn't bothered further. At 27, the man was hardly out of his prime, and he'd taken the years of college and solitude like a master.
Who needed people when you could have nice, dependable books? Who needed a girlfriend when you spent your life memorizing interactions and contraindications? It would have been too hard, he knew, to juggle the two things without feeling something truly remarkable. So he hadn't.
Until now.
She was Japanese, with a beautiful voice and eyes dusted in starlight. Her legs... he shuddered at the memory of that short skirt in the wind, the way her white boots clung to every curve. He'd hated himself for tearing out the pictures, stalking the group like a starved man online, and hoarding the gorgeous woman onto his coffee table in a stack. Carefully, oh so carefully, he had reminded himself that the chunks of arm and shoulder missing had nothing to do with the dark haired crooner, and everything to do with aesthetic.
He could still remember the exact split-second moment when a voice announced a breakup between the two of them, just a week after running into her on the street. The styrofoam cup had crunched in his hand, sent burning liquid down uncaring fingers to splash on the tile floor in a steaming puddle.
"Friends close to the couple say the break was amicable, though early reports point to Ms. Tsukino as the offending party." The image showed the harassed girl clamoring to get free of a crowd, walking out of a restaurant with a chestnut haired beauty several inches taller than her. Absently, he noted the announcer really had no idea how to say her last name.
Also, he wondered how good she was at making rice cakes.
Heaven help him, he was losing his mind. The hours after the report had been spent bandaging car accident wounds in a daze, digging out bullets and patching broken arteries as if on autopilot. The murky haze of patients and attending physicians couldn't scrub the words from his mind.
She was single. Here, in the states still, and all but begging to be carried off–if her eyes were any clue. The shift sped by without any other thought in his head, sent the man racing home in hopes of finding anything about her that hadn't been cyber-stalked to the brink of desperation.
Of course, there was no phone number, and really, had he expected to find a hotel reservation? The two all but slapped reality back into his face; the woman was nowhere to be found. How could he tell her that he'd loved her the moment they met? How could he express his hope and desire that the breakup had been because of him?
It all brought him to this point, staring out over the foggy street from his apartment window, leaning against the pane in frustration. There had been no sign of her and no way to contact her. Was she still here? Was she still wandering the streets in hopes of finding him?
It was madness, some ridiculous psychological snap that fueled this strange desire. His brain, too harried and confused and sloshingly full of information had finally broken. People don't actually fall in love at first sight. It was illogical. It wasn't like he could see how forgiving or kind or, heaven help him, crazy she was in one look! Nothing about the situation promised a happy ending, even if she was available currently.
These realizations didn't change a single, stupid thing.
The clock on the bedside table read 4:03 am, and it would be almost 18 hours before his next shift in the ER. He couldn't sleep, for fear her face would shatter the dream, couldn't lay awake because his arms physically ached without her; his chest felt empty and hollow. His apartment, so solemn and comfortable, had been nothing but a reminder that she wasn't here. Worse, that he didn't even really know her.
The thoughts raged back and forth like turbulent children, screaming and squealing and tearing his head apart. It was enough that he almost didn't notice the shape dropping down from above, the subtle shift of darkness that peeled away from the night. Still, the haunted eyes drew down across the fire escape and froze.
The now-familiar gaze burned through his, first with horror, then bashful guilt. He smiled in return, felt his soul ease at the sight of her. With painstaking gentleness, he tried to calm that subtle fear in her eyes. The window slid open immediately to the night and he reached out to help the girl quickly over the ledge.
Her touch sparked against his flesh, ricocheted up his arm and straight into his ribs. The shock of it had his body frozen for a split second. Her eyes widened visibly in the half-light, as he felt his own do the same. The supernatural connection wasn't one-sided, then. The idea had him grinning like a schoolboy.
The layered skirt flounced as she drew each leg over, the white boots silent in plush carpeting. She stumbled, just a bit at the end, but he latched both arms around her form like it was second nature, crushing a lower wing for his efforts. The sun-colored hair piled across arms and chest, glistened as her deeply-reddened face glanced up at him. Perhaps he should help her stand up, or maybe find a place to sit down so they could talk….
Their mouths fused together in a rage of passion and desire, hers opening immediately to an assault he'd long fantasized. That gorgeous body was brought hard against his, pressed back until the wall knocked against them. She giggled, had the audacity to twine those long fingers through his hair until his skin stood on end. The girl was pressed against the wall, even as her arms bound themselves around him just as eagerly. The soft silk of her tongue tangled against his, lit that insane obsession with fire and ice.
The tiny woman's mouth was so warm and so sweet he thought it would break him to touch it even a moment longer; her hands demanding in his hair and across his back lit flames beneath the skin, tugged at him till there was no breath between them. There was only the feel of that volcanic mouth latched to his, the coo of her sweet voice in his lungs and chest. She was lifted against the wall, pressed into every inch of him as her legs wrapped around his waist in return.
He groaned, feeling the reaction immediately. She giggled like a school girl, knowing exactly what she'd done. The mischievous bundle was carried without thought to the bed and plopped down with his weight bearing into her. There was a spare moment for breath as he worked across her cheek and neck, his hands yanking her hard against his form in need.
She yelped, feeling his tongue slide beneath the stiff edge of her neckline. It stopped the work of his tongue on flesh, stilled the heavy hands long enough for them to latch eyes again, as they'd done from the start. She was flushed, breathing heavily, and the strands of hair caught against her lashes from being thrown. The thought nearly had him buried in her mouth again, but for the uncertainty tinting those eyes.
"Gomen," she murmured, wetting her gorgeous pink lips with a tongue. The sight had him groaning again, fingers tightening on her waist. "I...I've never done this before."
The idea froze him, down to the synapses, and he stared with mouth agape. If it weren't for the shock of her confession, he probably would have wondered which thing she'd never done. The sheer magnitude of the woman coupled with who she'd been on the arm of, and how long, made one option seem less-than-believable.
Maybe it was just showing up and jumping people in the middle of the night.
"Yeah... Me neither...actually," he admitted quietly.
"Mo! You speak Japanese!" She was smiling, laughing perhaps, behind those silvery-blue eyes like a fairy out to play. He grinned in response, loving how fun and sweet she sounded in his lonely apartment. It had all come about so quickly that there was no telling if the exchange on the street had been in English or not.
"So...names first? I'm Tsukino Usagi," she offered, sliding one hand across his back instead of a handshake. He gulped, feeling the tremor of muscle and sinew in response to that touch. The dazzling creature was still wrapped around his middle and trapped on the soft bed below. Were he a lesser man, the position would have been taken full advantage of.
But he wasn't.
"Chiba Mamoru. Nice to meet you."
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OOOh, another prologue to a story! What will happen? Why did they never meet before?! WHAT IS GOING ON!
So, yeah, I took a few weeks off and married Tuxie. But don't worry, even though I've had no desire to post, I'm sure that me coming out of my shell again will incite a few comments. This one will be a bit of a game-changer.
:P
HUGE shout-out to my wonderful editor, slightlyxjaded, who takes time out of her busy schedule to help me out! You're the best, my dear!
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