Latter Days
Summary: How many apocalypses do they need to face before their dreams can come true? Makoto, for one, has lost count. Ensemble cast, stolen moments as the senshi face yet another endless battle. Set after Stars, before Crystal Tokyo – basically in a timeframe equivalent to the last few episodes of any season.
Author's Note: I wrote this years ago for a challenge at sailormoonland, but I recently found it again and realised I quite like it, so… here it is. I hope you like it too. The titles for each mini-chapter is based on the themes given for the sailormoonland challenge, and the fic can more or less be read without the titles.
Since writing this fic, I've more or less created a whole world around it, including what kind of apocalypse is happening and what's led them to this point. Let me know after you read it whether you'd be interested in reading any more of this fic, or if it works better as a standalone.
a. Books
Ami and Makoto
You find her at the library. Of course you do.
"Ami-chan..." For a moment your next words are caught in your throat and you let them sit there, the taste of things unsaid bitter and stale on the back of your tongue. You swallow; you lighten your tone. "Ami-chan, come on, you should rest. A walk, maybe - ?"
"Not yet, Mako-chan. I know the answer is here, somewhere." She does not intend to be dismissive. It's just that when Ami is absorbed in her books, she is taken to a place deeper within herself than even her closest friends can reach. And yet...
"Pushing yourself too hard won't solve anything." You can only hope your tone is convincing; of all lessons, this is the one you, too, have been most resistant to learning. She looks up briefly to offer you a knowing smile and you grin sheepishly in return, well aware of the irony of those words coming from you. "Well – I know it's important to you, but..."
She smiles again and nods, thoughtfully, looking small but powerful amongst her stacks and stacks of books. "It's how I fight, Mako-chan."
For a moment you meet her eyes and what you see there is overwhelming – the strength and tenacity of a soldier who will not give in, the spark that simmers and burns beneath her calm demeanour. You have always pitied those who underestimated her, who took her quietness for submission or cowardice. In truth, she is like the water that is her guardian element: seemingly innocuous in almost all her forms, and perfectly deadly in the right context.
No, you cannot underestimate her strength, even when it manifests in hours spent at libraries buried in books. Still. Surely she does not need to be strong all the time. Nobody should have to do that. (Again: a lesson you are yet to learn for yourself, yet keen to tell to others.) The desk is large and imposing between the two of you, but you have faced far worse enemies. Within strides you are by her side, a hand resting on her shoulder. "But you do not have to fight all the time."
Her shoulder is tense. It is tension left over from too many hours hunched over a desk, but it still leaves you tense in response. She forces herself to relax, lowering her shoulders, looking up to give you the brightest smile of which she finds herself capable.
"I know. Thank you, Mako-chan."
It's a simple phrase, but for right now it means all the world.
b. Romance
Haruka and Michiru
She groans aloud when the alarm sounds and for a second you're slammed back to a reality and a normal from long before this: her tie draped over the sofa and her feet cold against your calves and the morning breeze gently toying with the lace curtains. It is an illusion, and not a lasting one. It is day when you open your eyes, but the sky outside is as dark as ever.
"This is getting dull, isn't it?"
You turn over to face her, letting one hand rest in the space between you, and smile softly. "Tired already, Haruka? It's only morning."
She reaches out in response and cradles your hand in hers, her fingers warm against the morning chill. Her own smile is as dark as the sky outside. "You know what they say, no rest for the wicked."
You know the meaning in those huskily-whispered words. You feel that meaning in your skin and bones, in the weariness that weighs your footsteps, the sort of weariness no amount of sleep could dispel. And yet, there is no need to acknowledge such heavy thoughts in so many words – not with Haruka, when she has always been perfectly capable of understanding your meaning through gestures and looks alone. Instead you smile softly, almost lazily, and answer with quiet laughter in your voice. "Wicked, is it? It's not like you to be self-disparaging."
She smiles – gentle but intent, a rare sort of smile that is yours alone. Your meaning could not be clearer and she responds to your tone more than your words, her own eyes dancing with amusement. "Hm. Being wicked - " in the space of a stressed syllable she has manoeuvred herself to your side of the bed, her breath tickling the hollow of your neck. You do not need to see her smile to feel it. " – I didn't say that was a bad thing."
Her smile is daring and you answer with a deliberate lightness of tone. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
The world can wait. In this dim light Haruka's eyes are dark and deep and her smirk is all but audible. "Perhaps it would be better if I demonstrate."
c. Classic
Usagi, alone, and also Mamoru
It becomes a routine for the mornings. You wake and lie perfectly still for a moment, eyes closed, and search for him with all your senses – his scent still clinging to the pillow next to yours, his breath on your lips, his hand (phantom but so, so real) cupping yours, your fingers gently interlaced. With each day the memory is fainter, dissipating like the morning fog, shortening the length of time before you must open your eyes and face the world.
He has been taken hostage before. (Many times, in fact.) But never for this long. There is nobody more determined to be optimistic than you are, but faced with a morning that feels like night and a war that feels endless, a war you must fight without Mamoru by your side...
You sigh into the pillow, an echo of sleepy mornings spent defying the alarm clock, and close your eyes. The tale is a classic and you have lived it many times: the princess is endangered and her prince – her knight in shining armour, or shining tuxedo anyway – battles adversaries previously undreamed of in his quest to rescue her. How many times has your heart soared with relief at the sight of that familiar rose and tuxedo? When all is said and done, it is only fair to do the same for him.
You have never read a fairytale of brave princesses rescuing their princes; in fact, as each day goes past in this life you begin to doubt more and more the validity of fairytales when you have created legends and history with your own bare hands. Still. You cannot deny having wondered if it would not be easier – if it would not help to believe in the fairytale, to close your eyes and wish to awaken in the arms of your prince, a fairytale carrying itself to its natural conclusion.
You do not close your eyes. Instead, though the room is frigid cold and it is dark outside the window, you drag yourself from the bed and face the world with determination. Triumph may not be easy and it may not even be soon, but deep in your heart you know that you will triumph. There is simply no other option.
And after all, what is a happy ending if you are not even given the chance to fight for it?
d. Poem
Chibiusa and Setsuna
You have never had delusions about who you are; your role in Small Lady's life is very particular and you cannot complain about your lot, not after all you have seen and lived. Still... seeing her like this, all you (you suspect all anyone) can wish to do is pull her into the warmest hug imaginable and make the evils of the world disappear.
"Puu!" She does this for you instead, wrapping her arms around you and squeezing affectionately, as if warmth and comfort can be transferred through osmosis. You are startled, temporarily, by the re-emergence of this childhood nickname, a slip-of-the-tongue that tells you how she is feeling better than the most cogent sentences ever could. You glance around the room. She is sitting at the desk, surrounded by leather-bound volumes and stationery of every available kind. It is… unusual, to say the least.
She sees the direction of your gaze and pre-empts your question, a note of defiance in her voice. "I'm reading poetry."
You know that voice well enough to know that she is determined not to be challenged. Small Lady had begun to collect books on poetry a few years ago – not just Japanese, but all sorts, English and Irish and French and Chinese. Nobody doubts the veracity of her interest. What everybody does know, however, is that Chibiusa tends towards interests that are considered sophisticated and worldly, lest anyone suggest she is a child. And so you tread carefully, like she is an easily-startled fawn, and your own probing words a huntsman's horn.
"Which one?"
She shows you the page, reading out a line at random. "Then leaf subsides to leaf; So Eden sank to grief." Her English is careful but perfect.
What a choice of poem. Her chin is jutting out, as if she's daring you to question her, which you are not the type to do. Instead you try and frame your real query carefully. "I always preferred Frost's other works. The Road Not Taken, for example."
Her lips purse a little. "There are no roads not taken. Not for people like us."
She has already made clear from the subtle things – the way she holds herself, the hobbies she chooses, the delicate-but-strong tone with which she enunciates every word – that she is growing up, and quickly. Now she is saying it with words, with poetry, with a crushingly dark understanding of the lives you lead. You look at her and see not the child you loved but the woman she is choosing to be, all that she has become and all that she has potential to continue being in this new world.
And you are torn between nostalgic sadness and beaming pride – a strange combination of choices indeed. Surely there is nobody who could have begrudged you had you chosen to draw her into a hug. Instead, you give her the respect for which she has so earnestly fought, and return the book to her. "You'll be a better scholar than Usagi soon enough," you tell her lightly.
She grins cheekily, losing all the dignity that had accompanied her previous comment. "Usagi? Pfft, I already am."
You leave her to her work but cannot help glancing back as you close the door. Her pink head is bent over the books once more, and she is sitting with perfect posture even though nobody is watching. And the final lines of Frost's poem, the line she had not read out, come to you unbidden.
So dawn goes down to day;
Nothing gold can stay.
e. Tragedy
Hotaru and Haruka
"How is she?"
She pauses on her way into the house, watching you for one long, silent moment. There can only be one she in question and Hotaru shakes her head gently, lips pursed. "The princess is... well."
A carefully-chosen word; there have been very few teens as eloquent as Tomoe Hotaru and that one single inoffensive word paints a disturbing image. After all, Usagi is the type of person for whom well is a downgrade in status; for her to be well rather than exuberant or even happy, something would have to be wrong.
Something in the shape and form of a certain Chiba Mamoru, even. Hotaru does not lend herself to sighing and so you sigh doubly hard for her, eyes narrowed as you gaze out over the city. "Time to fight again."
The words taste familiar on your tongue and you mull them over, almost amused. How many times have you and Michiru uttered those words? (You resists the temptation to answer too many; it seems positively churlish to complain of a destiny you chose and shaped with your own two hands, particularly when it has been the catalyst of all the good in your life.) It has never been so black-and-white as winning and losing, or right and wrong; even if you should triumph now, it won't end, and the knowledge of that more than the war at hand is a constant weight on your shoulders and mind.
"The darkness will descend once more, as it always does," Hotaru replies softly, as if reading your thoughts, her eyes distant. "The princess will need all our strength in these latter days." You have never been the type to be fazed by words, but there is (has always been) something unnerving about Hotaru's eyes when she speaks like this, as if the future – however grim and however unwelcome – is not only inevitable, it is necessary.
"Again and again," you muse, equally quiet. Then, with a small twist at the corner of your mouth – Hotaru knows you too well to assume that casually-arrogant smiles or light tones mean you are not taking it seriously – you ask, with a much grimmer sense of humour, "are you saying we are destined to be a tragedy?"
She had been looking down, her brows furrowed in deep thought, but as you speak she looks up and meets your gaze with a grin, the darker mood of the conversation melting away like shadows from a firefly. Her eyes are playful; she knows exactly how to respond to that smile. "When Haruka-san is involved?" She pauses masterfully, her smile small but deliberate. "It's more likely to be a farce."
Well. Looks like someone takes after her Michiru-mama in the wit department, particularly when it comes to teasing Haruka.
f. Conflict
Usagi and Rei
Lit by the setting sun, her silhouette is small and delicate-looking and her hair is aflame with gold.
"U-sa-gi." Though there is a note of playfulness in your tone, you make every effort to keep your eyes serious. You take a seat beside her on the shrine steps. "Come inside, dinner's almost done."
More weary than stubborn, Usagi responds with slumped shoulders and a bowed head, as if sinking even more heavily into the steps, becoming a permanent feature of the gate against which she is leaning. "Rei-chan..." She turns away, her gaze lowered. "I can't just laze around while my friends are risking their lives."
You both raise your gaze outward toward the city, as if to confirm her statement, as if the silhouettes of Uranus and Neptune ducking in and out of shadows can be seen or at least felt against the darkened sky. Sunset is the only time of day during which the sun is visible and there is some bitter irony about that, too – that the light is only truly present when it is on the brink of disappearance.
The topic at hand is a concept you have discussed a thousand times, but what is a little repetition when you know exactly how she feels? "You're the one our enemies are looking for, Usagi. It doesn't make sense to risk you." You pause, but only briefly, and smile. "Are you saying we can't even take care of ourselves?" The ribbing is familiar and comfortable, a reminder of the very thing for which you fight, and she offers a grateful smile before her expression becomes serious once more.
"I want to do something, Rei-chan! If any of my friends are hurt protecting me, I could never forgive – " herself? Her enemies? She has always been torn as to this point, directing half her energy at her enemies and half at herself for not being able to do more. Before you can reply, she responds to her own statement with a heavy sigh.
"But I'm being selfish again, aren't I?"
Only if selfishness is not wanting your people to be hurt. Only if selfishness is loving too blindly. Only if selfishness is wanting to do what is illogical and downright stupid, just for a chance to protect that which is important. You know every single part of her – you, who have been there throughout all these circling years, who have teased her and been perfectly honest with her and in all your back-and-forth never once truly believed that there is anything malicious behind her unique brand of selfishness – and for all you can understand her meaning, you cannot endorse her words.
"No, you're not." Your reply is simple. She could believe it, or not. It is not so much a matter of rational belief as irrational feeling, that weight in your viscera that refuses to go away. In the meantime... in the meantime, at least she should be smiling. You force energy into your tone as you deliver the next comment. "And as for doing something... hey, if our friends are hurt because you're so clumsy in battle, that would be worse, right?"
If the teasing has startled her, she hides it well. She smiles; a weary but genuine smile, such a stark contrast to the tongue-wars and flailing a statement like this might once have instigated. It is not the best way; it may not even be a good way. You know that she will wake with the same heavy feeling in her heart the next morning, and you know that this conversation will be repeated again and again. And yet – as long as she can smile, now, and find even the briefest moment of peace... maybe for now, that is enough.
"Thanks, Rei-chan."
"Well!" You reply decisively, not without fondness, delighting in the comfort of a familiar moment from what feels like lifetimes ago. "If Usagi cannot figure things out for herself, then it's lucky I'm here to explain it!"
"Rei-chan!" The protest is automatic and you see an actual, amused smile on her lips. It is not much, but to you, here and now, this one moment of normalcy is worth the world.
g. Essay
Minako and Makoto
"They'll write history books about us," she declares, striking a pose with a flourish. "The great Sailor V, the dashingly gorgeous Sailor Jupiter, and their comrades, beautiful schoolgirls by day and saving the world at night!"
You smile widely. Trust Minako to cast herself as the main character in any story, fictional or otherwise; you suppose you should be grateful to have gotten a mention at all, and by name no less. There is so much gusto to everything Minako does that you cannot even humour her – she deserves only the most heartfelt, and so you join in on her fun. "Then they'll have to write essays about us in school, and Usagi-chan will probably still get all the details wrong, even though she was there?" You offer, an offer that startles a laugh and a nod of agreement from Minako.
"Yes! Schoolchildren will be recounting our tale for decades."
The conversation is absolutely pointless, but nice for exactly that reason – there is so much seriousness in everything you do these days that sometimes it is relaxing to step back and simply enjoy each other's company, a better reminder than any of that for which you fight. "Well, you always knew you would be famous, right?"
"Yeah." A pause. Apparently it was the wrong thing to say, and it does not even take you long to realise why. Her smile does not quite disappear, but her voice is not nearly as light as before when she replies. "It's just, I thought... maybe I'd be famous by becoming an idol."
She says it carelessly and follows up with a wide and self-disparaging grin, as if it's just a passing comment, but there is very little the two of you can hide from each other. Had you all been naïve those years ago when you'd insisted with shining eyes and overflowing hearts that you would achieve your dreams? That there needn't be a sacrifice for the world to be saved? You can't believe that – not now, and not ever.
"There's still time to achieve our dreams," you say, thinking aloud, and are pleasantly surprised to hear the truth and conviction in your own voice. You lay a hand on Minako's arm and that little moment of contact is enough to jolt her back into cheerfulness.
"Of course! It's more of an achievement if I'm famous for lots of things, right?" She bounces to her feet again, that brief moment of melancholy disappearing too-easily behind her flashing blonde hair and wide smile, and you are caught by her energy even as you understand much more of her thoughts than perhaps she would have let on. "I won't give up if you don't, Mako-chan!"
You smile in return; it's hard not to, with her. You find yourself agreeing and are unsure who had cheered up whom. "Let's work hard, Minako-chan."
On everything, you add, silently. On protecting our dreams, each and every one of them.