So, I asked UglyGreenJacket what she wanted for her birthday, and she reasoned that it's "the little moments" that she loves most in my fics. So I made her write up a wishlist of prompts in which those little moments should take place, and what you see here is the result of that, and my twist on them.

(I'm gonna warn you beforehand. Even though the prompts I got were all wonderfully fluffy – I somehow ended up twisting them up rather angsty… heh.)

Happy birthday to my wonderful beta (it's today! Go over and read some of her fics to send her a happy birthday review or two! ;) ) – I hope you like your gift! Thank you for always having my back, love.

And all the rest of you guys, I hope you enjoy this little excursion all the same!

Helpless

A Short Story in the "Little Moments" Series

Usagi loved her hair buns.

From the first day she'd tried to pile her hair up when she was really little, and her mother had taken over the task when she'd been in tears cause it was wrong – and it took a few attempts, but then she looked at herself in her mother's pretty, intricate, vintage handheld mirror that she'd instructed Usagi to carefully hold with both hands, although she was usually never allowed to touch it, and the hair buns looked exactly right, even when her mother had been so baffled and puzzled on where the detailed instruction had come from… the deal had been sold.

She'd never changed her hairstyle after that.

Her mother had had to alter hoods and hats for her to fit the buns, otherwise she wouldn't wear said head attire. Whenever, for special occasions, her hair had been done professionally (or was supposed to) – that one New Year's family photo shoot came to mind, when her Mama had all rented them fancy, expensive Kimono for the day, and paid a stylist for her hair that also was supposed to do Usagi's – Usagi had crossed her arms and refused in loud wails until her hair buns were just simply redone and styled with bows and hairclips. Once, she'd allowed for bigger hair buns, all her hair piled in them, instead, even when it felt weird.

She'd perfected the style over the years. She could do them within a minute. Two times hair folded across, one twist, once through, twist again, pin, done. Speed was important, obviously, when one was as prone to oversleeping as Tsukino Usagi.

She could almost do them in her sleep. Muscle memory knew the steps without her having to consciously think about it at all. Also a bonus early in the mornings.

There were, of course, times when they still were a little wonky. Not often, mind you, she had that DOWN, but still. Days when she'd forgotten to wash the conditioner out of her hair the previous night, and her hair was clunky and weird because of it. Or days her hair simply curled more than usual, frizzed out, didn't behave the way it usually did. Then her buns looked uneven or too bushy, or they didn't align, or hair sticked out, and she was growly about it for the rest of the day even when no one ever saw a difference from any other day.

But it never had been the case, before, that she simply was unable to do them.

Not until today.

This was how Mamoru found her, opening up the door to his apartment with just a mere second of surprised, widening eyes.

The look in her eyes must have been perfectly miserable, she knew. Her hair still a little damp from the shower, dried only by the wind on her run here.

Hair flowing open to the ground as she held her shoulder in a weird angle.

His eyebrows pushed down, his face crinkling into a frown as he regarded her, while opening the door wide.

She said she'd been fine after the battle. She'd said not to worry. She'd gotten injured a lot recently, and had noticed how he got increasingly uneasy about it.

They hadn't had a big enemy since Galaxia, only small, weaker, shadowy manifestations of dark energy that popped up recently, as the world fell into hateful emotions… but…

Neo Queen Serenity had lost her power to transform at one point. And Sailor Moon was beginning to go out of these battles more and more scathed.

She saw the lines it created on Mamoru's face. So, whenever she'd figured it wasn't so bad, she'd kept it to herself.

But this night, after her bath…

She'd had the choice to either knock on her parent's bedroom door, ask her mother to help her in the morning, but admit to the big, dark purple bruise on her shoulder that kept her from lifting her arm… or go to Mamoru, and get that healing, golden touch, but own up to admitting the big ugly bruise on her shoulder, yet again.

It had been a tough decision. And she'd already found herself in the hallway, knuckles brushing wood that parted her from her mother's soft voice, but…

But to Mamo-chan she could at least explain it.

Or feign having fallen down the stairs.

She heard the soft click of his door being shut behind her, as she bent to slip off her shoes, and felt him turn, and his breath on her neck, as he stopped just behind her, once she'd straightened back up.

She was about to open her mouth, let the lie slip past her tongue, but swallowed it, unsaid, when his fingers brushed along her neck and into the hem of her light, summer cardigan, brushing it off her shoulder with the softest, lightest of touches.

His sharp intake of breath made her press her lips together and fight frustrated tears, when she stood there, all sleeveless dress and bared injury, so it wouldn't put pressure on the ugly, giant patch of darkened skin.

And it was giant. She'd seen it. Purple and black and deep, dark violets and greenish on the sides, spanning from her collarbone all across to her shoulder blade.

She pressed her lips together, anticipating the scolding she was sure to come. How could you not have said anything? Are you ok? Why ever would you do that? When did this happen, I was right there. I could have healed you right then.

But none of it came. She frowned when he moved his hands lower, toward her hips, and gently pushed, not saying a word.

She moved into the apartment, felt him slip around her and disappear into the bathroom.

The apartment was dark, his lone reading lamp the only light source besides the moon that shone in through the big window front, and she sat on the big bed rather self-consciously, hands crumpling on the soft, dark, silky sheets she knew all too well.

Her eyes met his when he exited. Warm, concerned, but absolutely without judgment, and she sighed in relief.

Only then did she see what he'd brought. Her frown turned into surprise and slight amusement, when he settled the items on the bedside table next to her.

But it was only a second before his hands were in her hair, parting it, and running a big, heavy brush through it she knew he didn't use for himself, couldn't have bought for himself.

She held her breath as he moved gentle hands through it, ever so careful. Looked up at the concentrated crease on his forehead as he focused on his task.

And held back the moans that dared escape her as his fingers ran along her scalp, kept them in by biting her lip – this was not that sort of situation, however good it felt.

It took him awhile – way longer than it would have taken her, and she'd bitten her tongue not to giggle when, at one point, she'd felt one streamer of hair tumble down across her back from his hold, and she'd heard his softly mumbled curse.

But then he'd reached out to hand her the last item from his nightstand, and she'd blinked at her reflection in the sleek, silver, unadorned, handheld mirror, and looked at two perfect hair buns.

She blinked at herself in surprise.

He shrugged, a bit sheepishly, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. They both knew there was no way he'd have been able to do this, if he hadn't spent forever mulling over how exactly she did it, for it to turn out exactly in the way she wore them. Perfectly.

They also both knew he wouldn't have needed to do this. She would have been able to do it herself after just one touch…

She lowered the mirror into her lap, looked back into his eyes, saw the warmth there when he stepped toward her once again, and brought his magical, soft fingers to the patch of skin that both hurt and tingled under his gentle touch.

His eyes moved from her skin back to hers, and she held his gaze even when she felt the popping, soothing, slightly itchy sensation of his healing touch. Held his gaze even when she knew her skin was long baby smooth and unblemished.

Held his gaze when his hands slipped back into her hair and cradled her cheeks and the back of her neck, and suddenly it was that sort of situation, and she fell back onto his sheets with a moan swallowed by his lips.

It was hours later that he made her promise never to hide from her. Never to hold back. Ever. Urgent words into the darkness and the hollow of her neck that no longer hurt, when she'd almost fallen asleep.

So there you have number one ;). Please y'all, tell me what you thought of it!

I'll be posting what's already lined up very soon, but depending on however this goes, I might extend this Series past UglyGreenJacket's original prompts, if you guys like it as well, and if inspiration hits!

So, let me know your thoughts on this, please!^^