They weren't the same. Where Haruka wore her feelings in neon flashing lights on her sleeve, Michiru tucked hers up in wrapping, locked the wrapping in a box and slipped the box into her knickers.
Until she was hurt. When she was hurt words that Haruka wanted to hear spilled from her lips and across whatever rift usually lay between them. It healed nothing. Haruka could not want Michiru to be hurt; but God, she wanted those words.
When she had reached for her henshin stick for the first time all those months ago, she had had such hopes. Her heart had skipped and skittered like a cat in a cage even more than it had when the diamohn had attacked her. She was used to taking risks with her body. Every time she climbed into her car or refused to back down from a fight with a man she took risks. She wasn't used to the emotional risk she was reaching for as she reached for her destiny.
But there was Michiru, usually so composed that the world could fail and all she would do was blink before she moved to right it. And for a moment she had lost that cool; and Haruka had thought she had lost it for her. She had been moved because Haruka moved her. She hadn't considered that she had been hurt, she was in pain, she was afraid. All those other things that would make a person lose their cool well before Haruka became even the remotest factor. If she'd paused then perhaps she would have, but Haruka had always been the impulsive one. Reckless, some would argue. The truth was that she was the wind. And the wind did not hesitate. It would change direction in a heartbeat, it was not steady and constant, but it could not stop.
It was odd, because Haruka knew that she was not steady and she was not constant. She had not been able to settle to any one sport. She had found cars now and that seemed to work, but she strayed from them. She moved to bikes when cars felt too cumbersome. Anything with speed. So even there she was not stable.
Only with Michiru. With Michiru she stayed; waiting for her to notice. Or waiting for her wind nature to take over so that she could move on.
She showed up on Michiru's doorstep uninvited, and raised an eyebrow, daring Michiru to object. Michiru's blue eyes sparkled in a way that contradicted the formal composure and her mouth curled into a barely perceptible smile. All of it still so cool.
"Haruka," she said, not asking it like a question as Haruka might have expected. The tone was so polite that it pained her. She tried to remember the last time Michiru had been hurt. She hated herself and she hated Michiru for being reduced to thinking back to those wretched times where Michiru was in so much pain and gasping out Haruka's name in a voice that was broken – but so much more caring than it was now. She couldn't quite remember it. She'd never had the opportunity to really listen to the resonance of Michiru's voice when she was hurt; she was always too afraid.
"You once said there was a girl at your school who would not object to cruising along the beach in my car," said Haruka. She didn't have the control Michiru had, and her voice pulled out of her grip, lowering and becoming huskier as she spoke.
Michiru's smile did not grow or shrink; it stayed just as it was. Small, polite, and Haruka had to lean back against the edge of the doorway to keep from catching her jaw, tilting her face to her and kissing her mouth. "I did say that," said Michiru, her gaze not moving from Haruka's face.
She wasn't making it easy. Haruka leant her head back against the wooden arch of the doorway and looked at the porch light to keep from looking at Michiru. "Would she object today?" she asked, her voice betraying her once more and twisting out of her mouth, tight with nerves.
"Perhaps," said Michiru, and Haruka's stomach flipped so violently that she was afraid that she'd be sick. "But then," added Michiru, almost contemplatively. "She has nothing better to do, so…" Her smile widened, just a little and she manoeuvred her way out the door, brushing by Haruka as she moved past her.
Haruka didn't budge. She felt the soft skim of touch across her stomach and her hips and tried to memorise it, but it was gone too soon. She turned her head to see Michiru jump lightly over the car door into the convertible. Odd how easy it was to forget that Michiru was agile at all until she did little things like that. It made her smile until it sank in that Michiru had only agreed to a trip today because she had nothing better to do. Which begged the question, what did she usually have to do that was better than a day with Haruka?
The answer was immediately and painfully obvious. Anything. As much as Haruka tried to fool herself, she couldn't about this. She had tested the theory and the test had failed. Not just once but repeatedly. After Haruka had taken the henshin stick Michiru had returned to the coolness she wore about herself like a cloak. So Haruka had tried to force warmth by staying away. She refused to visit unless Michiru invited her. She refused to see Michiru unless they had senshi duty, hoping stupidly that it would break through those barriers. She had tried hard to ignore the results but there wasn't any point any more. Michiru had never invited her. The only time Haruka saw her was when they had to protect the world; or sometimes when she broke and couldn't go without seeing Michiru any longer. Those times were becoming increasingly often.
She had always wanted to be the wind, and had never realised that the wind could be tied down so that it rolled in circles. With Michiru she was a whirlwind. Spinning more wildly out of control every day.
She didn't think that touching Michiru's leg as she hopped in the car and changed gears was deliberate; but she knew that Michiru moving away was.
She sighed. And waited until she was on the highway to say, "This isn't working." On the highway she could give in to the speed. She was in her element. The wind could fly across her skin and brush away the hurt confusion, leaving her head clear for the inevitable clash.
Michiru didn't pretend to not understand. Her voice did not lose the imperturbable cadence when she said, "Not working is not optional for us."
"It may not be optional for you. This is not working for me. Do you get that?" The wind wasn't working. Somehow Michiru had managed to mess even that up for her. Haruka pressed the car to go faster. She had always been able to out-run anything. Why not Michiru? If she had to fall, why did it have to be with her? Why not someone that hurt less, someone that cared more? Taking a breath to keep from resorting to a temper tantrum of smacking her palm into the steering wheel, Haruka snapped, "I can't bear this! Does that matter to you?"
Michiru's voice was very calm – no, not calm, still. Almost dead. "I asked you not to take the henshin stick."
Something cold tore through Haruka's stomach. The thought – even now when it was all over – of having refused the stick was almost unbearable. To have missed out on all those months of Michiru, to have been so unaware that someone like her existed.
She had always thought that Michiru had asked her not to take the Sailor mantle because of the difficulty and the danger involved. Because she cared. Now she remembered the night of Michiru's violin concert. When they'd talked on the stairs. Haruka had hardly presented compelling indication that she would make a good partner. If it had been a test, she would have probably been thrown out in disgrace. Maybe Michiru had tried to stop her from taking the stick in the hopes that she'd get a more suitable partner further along the way.
The thought hardened Haruka. She would never let anyone take her place by Michiru. There was no one who would support her nearly so well. No one who would defend her as violently. There couldn't be. When Haruka protected Michiru's flank in a fight she was protecting herself. The part of her that mattered most.
"Is everything about being a soldier to you?" she asked hopelessly; she already knew the answer. Even when Michiru was delirious with pain she didn't deny it.
And Michiru confirmed it, meeting Haruka's glance with eyes that were so much warmer than her personality, and saying, "What else is there?" But her voice was hopeless too as though she'd run out of the energy it took to keep up the cool façade.
The impulsive streak in Haruka said, "There's me." She was emphatic and angry and she wished that she had a fraction of the control that Michiru had so that she could explain this rationally and say…Well, she didn't know what she could say, but she would if she was a little more like Michiru.
She expected Michiru to be gentle and to explain so nicely that Haruka wasn't enough. In a way Haruka had never felt that she was enough. It was the reason she ran, the reason she tried so hard and competed so fiercely. It didn't matter how many competitions she won though, those feelings didn't dissipate. The only thing that had ever been left for it was to run. Run from anything that might become emotionally complicated. She had never run from Michiru, so it was her own fault. She deserved to fall.
Only Michiru didn't explain gently. She laughed; an unusually harsh sound on her. Like it was the funniest thing in the world for Haruka to say that she was there for her.
Haruka's hands tightened on the steering wheel and she was pushing the car so fast now that she wasn't sure how much control she had over it. "Just say it," she said and her voice came out perfectly even for once. There was even a bit of a sneer in it. "Go on, say I'm not enough."
"You are nowhere near enough!" Michiru almost screamed at her, slamming a fist into the interior of her door in frustration. And had Michiru's composure not shattered so completely, Haruka's heart would have.
As it was, Haruka almost lost control of the car; she was so surprised by the outburst.
Michiru was staring away from her, her curls caught up and dancing in the wind in that way Haruka loved. She couldn't see her expression, but she didn't think that it was composed anymore, somehow.
"Chi?" she asked carefully. Her voice sounded nervous and unsure to her, and she tried to sound more reassuring when she said, "Is something wrong?"
Michiru wasn't speaking. That, more than anything, scared Haruka. Michiru wasn't the sulky type. Not about anything. She had taken the henshin stick and the things she had to go through for that choice scared her to death; but she never complained. She bore the fear, pain, guilt and whatever else came with that choice with difficulty, but without regret. Without hostility. So whatever had upset her too much to discuss must have been bad.
Half of Haruka wanted to find a place to pull over on the highway, but the highway was no place to discuss anything in depth; and the beach was not far away now. So she pressed on.
When she pulled into a car-park right on the beach and turned to look at the pale aqua-haired girl in the seat by hers, Michiru stared straight ahead, studying the waves dance with the sand. She was composed again, the little smile playing on her mouth once more; Haruka thought she detected a bitterness to it now.
"Chi?" she asked again.
"You were right," said Michiru, her voice cool without seeming forced. "This isn't working."
Haruka had no response for that. She had never thought that Michiru would admit to anything like it. She'd thought she'd fight it to within an inch of her life, fight it until Haruka was convinced that it could work. She didn't know where this admission left them. Whether there even was a them anymore. But no, being a soldier was at Michiru's core. She would fulfil the promise she made by taking the henshin stick.
"Maybe if we…" began Haruka, but she cut herself off when Michiru shook her head.
"There's nothing else that we can do," she said. "It hasn't been working for months, we just haven't said anything." She leant back in her seat, dropping her head back against the head-rest and closing her eyes in that small defeated way she sometimes got when they couldn't save someone – or worse, had to kill someone. "Why did you have to take the henshin? You ran so much; couldn't you have run the one time it mattered?"
Leaning against her elbows on the steering wheel, Haruka glared out at the sea. "It's so easy for you, isn't it? To cut things out when they don't work; to make everything perfect for you. I see it in your painting and your music; you push and push until they're exactly right." She sighed angrily, hating this. Hating begging to be seen and hating that she thought that Michiru was worth it. She spoke to the windscreen because if she looked at Michiru words would abandon her and she would just break down and cry or something. It was the beach and so it was windy. The wind bolstered her somewhat. "Life's not perfect, Michiru. And you might not think I'm enough, but you just have to work with what you're given."
Michiru's voice was nails on a blackboard harsh, "You don't give me anything," she grated out.
There was so much pain in her tone that Haruka turned to look at her. "Mich," she said.
"What are we?" demanded Michiru, glaring at her. "If we were just soldiers we wouldn't be here today. We'd see each other when we had to fight and that's all." It was odd how her eyes were so warm when she herself was cool; and now that her temper was up and furnace-hot her eyes were as cold as ice-chips.
"I don't want to be just soldiers," Haruka snapped. She'd stayed quiet on this too long. Enough was enough. Michiru shouldn't have said the things she'd said when Haruka's henshin had first appeared if she didn't want the fall out.
Michiru laughed again; more a pained animal sound than anything. "Obviously," she said, her voice as cold as her eyes. "We're soldiers when we have to be. And that works out, I can't deny it. You never shirk your duties there." She pulled her gaze away from Haruka's as though it disgusted her to have to look at her, and looked at the inside of the door instead. "As for the rest," she said, reaching for the door-handle. "You can keep it."
"You invited me," Haruka almost snarled out as Michiru threw the door open and got out of the car. "You said…" She couldn't remember exactly what she'd said. Couldn't remember the exact words. Michiru had been bleeding in her arms at the time. Rational thought had not stayed with her. But she knew that Michiru had invited her.
"Oh, I said, 'please come over and play with my feelings when you're bored and there's nothing more fun to do'?" demanded Michiru, spinning around to glare back in the car. She slammed the door so hard that nearby picnickers turned in surprise. "I must have said, 'feel free to pick me up and throw me down like a used and reasonably unloved toy' too," she snapped, oblivious to the people staring at them. Tossing her hair she laughed a casual laugh that reminded Haruka of glass breaking, "Oh, and then I guess I said, 'and while you're at it why don't you just hone your seduction skills and take every damn opportunity there is to brush my hand with yours'."
Staring at Michiru open-mouthed, Haruka couldn't force her lips to form any word but a very baffled, "What?"
Michiru glared down at her. "I haven't opened the car door and slammed it again, but, oh, I can," she said flatly.
"No, what?" demanded Haruka, forcing her vocabulary to function. "What are you..? 'Used toy'? Michiru, what are you talking about?"
But Michiru was already striding away. She wasn't the type to look back. Haruka jumped out of the car and went after her. It wasn't a conscious choice. When Michiru was hurt like this it was more like a thread that connected them dragged Haruka to her.
She found her sitting on the beach, throwing rocks at the sea as though it had offended her grievously somehow.
"I think the sea's had enough," Haruka commented, walking over cautiously.
"It hasn't said 'uncle' yet," said Michiru, but she couldn't hide the way she tensed when Haruka approached.
Haruka sat by Michiru, still cautiously. She was used to Michiru being the careful, calculated girl who let everything slide off her like it was oil. She was used to Michiru being in control. "Why didn't you tell me how you felt?" she asked, watching Michiru closely.
Michiru creased her nose in distaste, not looking at Haruka, but staring out to sea. "You know I like you. You shouldn't have only come over when you were bored," she said in the very certain tones of someone who always does the right thing.
"Good plan, except I didn't know that you liked me," said Haruka, amused now that she'd stopped being quite so scared.
Michiru stared at her. "I told you I wanted to go driving with you. I told you I wanted to sketch you. I told you in every way I knew how," she protested. "What did you want me to do? Strip off and dance in your bed?"
Haruka swallowed the wrong way and began choking.
"I told you not to take the henshin. I jumped in the way of that diamohn to protect you," said Michiru, still staring at Haruka in befuddlement. "I wore my best uniform when I got Elsa to introduce me to you." When Haruka raised her eyebrows at that, Michiru flushed and said resolutely, "Well, I did. What? Do you need a special handwritten note about these things or something?"
"Why didn't you ever invite me over?" asked Haruka. She didn't realise how hurt she must have sounded until Michiru glanced at her sharply.
"I…" she said. Then she stared out to sea once more. "I wasn't sure you'd want to come over once you found out what being a soldier is really like. I thought it would make it less awkward for you if I didn't ask. I mean, you knew you were welcome."
"Except that I didn't," put in Haruka.
"Because you're impossibly stupid," said Michiru.
"Because it's not polite to presume," said Haruka primly.
"You're never polite," said Michiru, smiling a little. "Why do you think..?" she broke off, stared at the sea once more and creased her nose. "My parents were very big on etiquette when I was growing up," she said in the cool tone that was the mode for her. Haruka thought about the way Michiru would sometimes break with manners around her; jumping into the car over the door, leaning her elbows on the table, using fingers to eat ribs. She thought that maybe she made Michiru forget certain things in the same way that when Michiru joked with her, Haruka forgot what it was like to be alone.
And it wasn't polite to presume, but Haruka knew when manners were out of place. She turned to look at Michiru. She had studied that smiling mouth so many times; but her heart sped up when she studied it now. She had wondered so often what those lips would taste like, and had thought that no matter what she came up with, she would be wrong because she always was when it came to Michiru. She was well past niggling doubts now. She was going to kiss Michiru and nothing was going to stop her.
And then Michiru stopped her; by leaning in and kissing her instead. Forcefully enough that she knocked Haruka onto her back in the sand. Laughing against her warm, searching mouth, Haruka reached up to sink a hand into her hair. She had wanted to do that for so long. And Michiru whined and wriggled as though all she really wanted to do was get closer though she was as close as she was physically able to get with both of them wearing clothes.
"I guess your parents never got around to the etiquette for this subject then, huh?" Haruka teased, nibbling at Michiru's jaw gently.
Michiru grazed her nails down Haruka's back and Haruka wasn't even quite sure how she'd managed to get a hand up her shirt. "I'm being perfectly well-behaved," she said.
"If you were, I wouldn't be having this much fun," retorted Haruka, circling her arms around Michiru and lacing her fingers together in the small of her back. They fitted together like they were made for it.
A wave broke from the ocean and rushed up the shore; lapping at the girls' legs. Michiru laid her head on Haruka's shoulder as the wind played with her hair, and watched the roiling sea.
"You can't have the ocean without the wind. Nor the wind without the sea," she said somewhat dreamily. "Look at how they dance together."
Tracing Michiru's spine, Haruka looked. She remembered all that time ago when Michiru had said she wanted to go cruising by the beach in Haruka's car. And she wondered just how often Michiru had tried to make her see something that was right in front of her. Her fingers reached Michiru's hair and she let it curl around them. "The wind adores the sea," she said.
Michiru smiled. Haruka couldn't see her face, but her body relaxed against her even further and she knew she was smiling. "The sea's quite fond of the wind too," she said. "But it does wonder why it keeps running away."
Haruka didn't say it, because with Michiru there wasn't always a need to say things, but the wind was never going to run from her.