Author's Note: This is a companion piece to "Fears", written through Haruka's point of view. Takes place a week after "Fears" took place. Written in Haruka's POV. Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except plot bunnies. Reviews are carrots. Feed the plot bunnies, please.

'There is something wrong with me,' I think to myself as I make sure the tablecloth is centered as perfectly as I can get it.

There has to be.

Crystal candlesticks are placed on the dusky blue cloth, each filled with a slender white candlestick - all part of my effort to make sure tonight goes as planned. It has to. I have so much I need to make up to you, and tonight will be the largest step of them all. I was such a fool! Such an idiot.

How could I know someone as amazing as you are, as beautiful and elegant as you are, and like you as much as I do without saying a word to you? For months I've watched you. Fighting, swimming, playing your violin, eating, laughing... For months, you've shown me every side of your being. Anger and fear, frustration, happiness, joy, love...

Love.

"I suppose that's the problem, isn't it?" I mutter to myself as I take out the good china - courtesy of your own exquisite taste in nearly everything - and set two gold-trimmed plates onto the table.

I never was good telling others how I feel. Even as a child, it was like pulling teeth to get me to say 'love you' to my own parents. I remember stammering the words out, stumbling over every syllable, even when I meant it with every fiber of my being. And to this day, I don't know why I'm so afraid to say it.

Because I love you, Michiru Kaioh. I love you, and I haven't told you.

I can't stop the sigh that leaves my lips, even as the expensive, lacquered chopsticks are set out to compliment the bone-colored plates. Simple, but classically beautiful, just like you. I need to tell you that, too. How gorgeous you are. I haven't told you so much. Not the way I should, at least.

I know it hurts you. Don't think I haven't seen the little flickers of disappointment in your eyes when I turn away after drawing far closer than friends should ever be. Or the sadness in your eyes when you see Mamoru and Usagi laughing together, sharing their love openly with those around them - and not have that for yourself. Each expression of longing, of desire neglected is a needle at my own heart, because I know I'm the cause of it, and I loathe that in myself. Ironic, isn't it, that the woman who wants nothing more than to be your shield against all that could hurt you is the one person causing you the most harm.

Yes, I've seen how you look at the couples in our lives.

And I know... I know you want that with me.

I stare at the cut-crystal wine glass in my hand, and I can feel my lips curving up into a smile, already knowing the sadness it conveys despite the upward curve. I know you care for me, Michiru. To me? Your emotions are as easy to read as the glass in my hand is to see through.

You tried so hard to hide it. Whenever my eyes would turn to you, your gaze would never be on me. When you think I'm looking, you're all smiles and joy and Kami-sama, you're gorgeous inside and out. But I've caught you a few times when you didn't realize there was a mirror reflecting your image to me. Or late at night, too exhausted and worn to notice I'd stopped at your doorway as you got ready for bed, and you'd whispered my name in a way that rips my heart right out of my chest.

I've witnessed it all, and still was too terrified to say those little words that could make it all right. Stupid doesn't begin to describe me, no?

I set the glasses down, finding some sea-foam green napkins to put on the table - something that reminds me a bit of you. A nice touch, I hope. Will you think so, too? Will this endeavor even start the journey of making up for the hell I've put you through?

My fingers move to fold the napkins into fans, setting them carefully on the table above each plate. It was last week that I realized just how much my cowardice was hurting us both. Just seven short days ago.

The battle that day had been particularly brutal, and despite all of our efforts to avoid it, we'd both walked away with our fair share of injuries. Slashes and scratches, and your poor ankle! I'd seen the move that had caused it, too - I saw you land after that creature had sent you flying, and you tried so hard to keep your feet under you. One of them simply turned beneath you, and I knew it'd only be a matter of time before it ended up hobbling you. Likely after the adrenaline wore off from battle, and we'd de-transformed. Unfortunately, I'd been right.

Of course, I had no problems carrying you. I'd carry you every day for the rest of your life if you needed it. I nearly stumbled, though, when your head found my shoulder and a rush of warmth flooded through me like a tsunami. It had felt so right. So perfect. The light scent of ocean with the tiniest undercurrent of vanilla invaded my nose, and I swear my heart stopped beating for a moment then. How did you not notice? You're usually so perceptive, after all. Intuitive, with the sea guiding you in nearly all things.

Perhaps matters of the heart are different? I don't see how, but that's the only explanation I can think of. And it isn't like I was making it easy for you. I was trying my damnedest to ignore it all. To pretend that we were simply good friends, and that was it. But I suppose I could only run from how I felt for so long. Eventually, it would catch up with me. And catch up, it did. That day, I realized that I couldn't keep running. I couldn't keep fleeing how I felt, or hurting you by pretending that I wasn't head over heels in love with you.

A timer chimes softly, pulling me from my reverie and reminding me that dinner needs checking on. I'm not the best cook in the world, but for you I want this to be … well… I can't hope for perfection, can I? But it should be good, a fusion of western cuisine and our own. The vegetables and chicken have a light glaze on them, and I grab a spatula to flip them before returning them to roast a little longer. The rice is in the rice cooker - you know I'd burn the house down if I tried to do that on the stove - and the plum wine I bought is chilling in a bucket of ice. Not the most expensive treat I've ever served us, but it's a sweet wine and even if tonight doesn't turn out the way I hope it does, at least something about it will be sweet. I think we'll both need it, if this turns out wrong.

I begin chopping vegetables for our salad, slicing carrots and cucumber into thin strips, a dazed smile on my lips as I think about my plans for tonight.

But my love for you, Michiru? I think it began even before I met you, when the wind whispered enticingly about the sea to me. It carried the scent of brine on its currents, swirling around me playfully, leaving me to wonder just why the scent of ocean had managed to reach so far inland. And why it made me want to follow the ebb and flow of the rushing air, to find its source.

It continued in dreams filled with ribbons of aqua hair, sea-toned eyes, and a whispered voice that warned about the oncoming silence or laughed teasingly in my ear before disappearing entirely.

But even when I finally got the chance to meet you, I hurt you with my silly fear of facing how I felt. Of not even allowing myself to let you in, despite knowing instantly who you were. Instead, I turned away from you, not once, but twice. I questioned everything about you. And I voiced doubt in you when every instinct I felt screamed at me to trust you.

I set the knife down after a moment, sighing as I move the julienned vegetables into the bowl of lettuce I'd filled a little while ago.

I keep hurting you, Michi. I keep bringing tears to your eyes, and a frown on your lips, when all I want to do is make you smile. How on earth do you put up with me? Why do you even come back to me? But I swore last week I would find some way to make it up to you. I just didn't know when. Or how, even. I thought, foolishly perhaps, that it would be wrong to confess how I felt when we still had battles to fight. But I swore I'd stop running, even so. I promised myself that I'd tell you how much I love you as soon as we were safe. As soon as there would be no further war, no further need for the senshi.

It was the next morning when I realized that was probably the most idiotic thing I had ever come up with. And not just because I'd realized there would never be a time when the senshi weren't needed.

Do you know just how cute you are when you first wake up? How your sleep-mussed hair and rumpled bed clothes just make you all the more endearing?

I realized as you dropped rather unceremoniously into the kitchen chair that morning, sleepily reaching for the glass of orange juice I set before you, that there was no way I could wait years - or even months - to tell you how I felt. I almost told you right then and there, but ...

Well...

You deserve better than that.

It's why I'm making tonight so special. Or at least I'm trying to. The salad is ready - little bits of a pungent cheese and julienned apple over top of the vegetables, and pear vinaigrette waiting to be drizzled over it all. It's not quite the normal salad, but I thought you might enjoy it. And it's something new for me to try.

Just like the confession I'm hoping to get out tonight.

I spare a glance to the kitchen clock and I frown, my heart jumping in my chest. You'll be home any minute.

The chicken and veggies are done, at least. As is the rice. So I busy myself in setting the main dish in a pretty glass serving bowl you'd gotten only two weeks ago - leave it to you to think of such things when the world is being threatened. You're really amazing sometimes, you know that?

I set the filled bowl on a tray next to the table, not wanting to take away from the ambiance of the evening. Everything looks ready. The pans I used for cooking are rinsed and put in the clamshell dishwasher so neither of us has to do any further work tonight. The counter is wiped down. The stove is turned off. A window is opened - yeesh, the stove makes this place so warm!

I hear your chauffer pull up to the house, and I light the candles and dim the lights, then make my way over to the front door, swallowing hard. Kami-sama, I need strength. Courage. I can see you through the gauzy fabric covering the small windows to either side of the door, though I know you can't see me – the light is still too bright outside, and it's far too dim in here for anyone to see in.

So I watch you walk up to the house, each step showing your exhaustion. Your arms look weighted by more than the violin you carry with you, and your eyes show the stress from the day. You look frazzled, to say the least. But before you even make it to the front stoop, you pause and I see you draw a deep breath. It seems that's all you needed - you look so calm and together after. How in the world did you do that? Surely the stress of the day is still affecting you, so... how do you do it? At least I know that, even if my attempt at romancing you fails, it should be a pleasant change from your day – or maybe that's just a hope? Because I wouldn't want this to add to it.

But your hand moves to open the door, and I wait, putting aside all of those worries. It's now or never, right?

"Ruka! I'm... … oh!" your melodic voice calls, only to be startled not just by me standing so close to the door, but the atmosphere of the house itself.

"You cooked?" You ask curiously, a smile on your lips that has me melting just a little.

"More than that. Michi... I..." I begin, my throat feeling tight and my mouth going dry.

"More?" you prod patiently as I take your jacket off and go to hang it up in the hall closet. Your shoes are slid off in the entryway, and you step so close to me that the scent of ocean and vanilla invades my senses again.

I nod, swallowing hard. Why is this so hard? Why do my words dry up when I most want them to be uttered? But you're watching me with the patience of a saint, expression curious but with that undercurrent of gentleness that I've come to adore.

"More," I finally say, reaching for one of your hands. "Michi... I know I haven't been easy for you to deal with. I know. I've said things and done things that have hurt you - I know that, too. And I'm sorry. I just... I want..."

Damn my body! I've frozen again, swallowing and wishing it didn't feel like cotton. You squeeze my hand reassuringly, and is it my imagination, or do you look hopeful now? You're waiting for me to say whatever it is I'm trying to say, and you look so cute. So beautiful and ...

"I want you to know I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. And I ... promise from now on, I'm not running from how I feel. Because I know it's caused you pain, and the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt you, Michiru. I... I care for you. Very, very much."

I watch as your eyes drift over me, as though trying to discern just what I'd meant by my rambling – but you already know. Your cheeks have gone pink, and you're smiling. I can feel my heart give this fluttering lurch, because it's a genuine smile, there's no hint of the masks you wear for so many others. I hold my breath, not sure what you'll say to my confession, and when your hand lifts, I brace for the worst. I don't even know why – surely I couldn't be expecting you to strike me.

But your hand only moves to cup my cheek, and before I even realize what I'm doing, I feel myself nuzzling those fingers.

"Just care?" you ask softly, and my eyes snap open wide. "Because I feel far more than simple 'care' for you, 'Ruka."

My jaw drops and you giggle, releasing my hand only to wrap your arms around my waist. My own go around you instinctively, and I breathe in the scent of you. "More than care. Much more than care," I finally manage to coax my lips into saying. The words come easier now that the ice is broken, and you've confessed your own feelings. That, combined with the knowledge that we were far more than friends a lifetime ago, spur me on.

"Michi, I..." I trailed. We were too young for the emotions we contained. No one would understand it - how could they? We'd lived before. We'd *loved* before - we didn't yet remember everything from our past lives, but we knew that much. We'd loved each other for a lifetime. As women, not the girls we were. But you would understand. My Neptune. "I love you."

Your eyes widened in a way I hope to see again - true surprise, but a pleasant one. Your lips curve upward, and I feel you lean on the arms I have around you for a moment - did I really just make you weak in the knees? I almost laugh, but it'd ruin the moment so I keep my silence as you regain your steady composure. Instead, I simply stare at you, my lips in a nervous smile of my own. Waiting for you to say something. Anything.

You don't disappoint. How could you? You wouldn't be my Michiru if you had.

"I love you, too. My Ruka..." you murmur and my heart lurches for joy. Why hadn't I said this sooner? Why hadn't I confessed before? This was... this was...

Your lips find mine, luring my mind out of its ecstatic ramblings. A kiss that sears me from the inside out. Lust, love, caring, adoration... it's all there glowing brightly between us, and I can feel the emotions radiating off of you, pouring into me like water. "Michi..." I breathe against your mouth, hearing a happy hum in reply. Only after a few good minutes do I dare pull away, and you've never looked more beautiful, grinning up at me with a glimmer in your eyes that has always enchanted me.

"You made dinner?" you ask innocently, and I laugh and nod.

"Dinner, Michi. I'm capable, you know."

"No fire alarms went off?"

You shriek and skip away a few feet as I swat at you, all in good fun and play. A moment later I'm guiding you into the kitchen, my arm wrapped around your waist where it belongs. Holding you in a way I only barely dared to hope for a few short minutes ago. I'm glad I'm so close, too – the pleased-yet-stunned expression again takes your features, and I can't deny I'm glad it's me that caused that expression. I lean in, brushing my lips over your cheek lightly.

"I wanted tonight to be special. I know we won't have much time for dating, and I know the battles ahead won't be easy to deal with, either. But… tonight's been quiet and I…" Whatever I had planned to say derailed off its tracks, crashing into the ether as you turn in my hold and kiss me so fiercely I swear we need to worry about the kitchen erupting into flames. My heart quivers for a beat or two, struggling to find its rhythm again, lurching back into action as you draw away and show me an adorable wink.

"It's lovely, Haruka. Thank you," you insist before shifting toward the table and settling in your chair.

What had I been about to say? I can't remember. All I know is your laughing smile and aqua eyes, and that you liked what I'd done. For that, I'd have done this a hundred times over. For you – and only for you.

We eat, and the whole event seems like a dream to me. Cliché, I know. But it honestly does. All of my hopes seem to have coalesced into a single moment, shifting into reality. Quiet moments spent sipping at the wine, nibbling at our meal, or just sharing little glances at each other, unspoken hopes for the future – both immediate and distant – lingering between us. I have to admit – I'm impressed with myself – and I can see it in your eyes, too. The dinner came out better than I expected, and the fact that nothing got burned, destroyed, dented or otherwise harmed is a miracle. I can cook, yes, but it's your forte, not mine. Apparently, I got lucky tonight – at least with the food.

When dinner is over, I swallow the last traces of wine from my glass, nervousness again clutching at my mind. What now? I've no expectations at this point, simply for the fact that I hadn't anticipated there being a 'this' when I'd dreamed up this endeavor. But you? You seem to have a better idea of what you want from tonight. I shouldn't be surprised, either – you've always had that ability to simply flow through situations. Maybe it's your element. Maybe you'd have been that way even without the instincts of the ocean thrumming within you. Whatever the reason for it, you rise from your chair and move to pull me from my own, your arms sliding around my neck like they belong there.

That's a nice thought – I'd like to think they do belong there, just as mine belong around your waist. Right where they end up a moment later, holding your slender form to mine.

"This was incredible," you murmur against my neck, your cheek resting against the softer skin between my chest and the curve of my shoulder. "Ruka?"

I turn to look into your eyes, those aquamarine irises that captivate me every time. "Hm?" My response is lower in my throat, lost in this moment with you.

You hesitate, teeth worrying against light pink lips before resolving and leaning up on your tiptoes. I feel those same teeth nipping gently at my earlobe, and I struggle not to moan. As it was, my breath caught in my throat. "Sleep with me tonight," you whisper against the shell of my ear, and I can't help but gape at you, drawing back a few inches to stare at you, stunned. Before I can voice that we might be rushing things a little, you silence me with a laugh and a finger against my lips.

"Naughty thoughts, Haruka? Just sleep, love. For now."

Oh.

I blush, I can feel my cheeks getting warm. You just giggle again, in that adorable way that I will never get tired of. Then you draw away a bit, fingers curling around my wrist and nearly burning my skin from the heat that touch generates.

"Let's go get ready for bed. It's been a long day, and I can't think of any better way to end it than curled up with you."

It's a start. One I'm happy for. To face your fears, I must admit, is nerve-wracking. But, I realize as I watch you slip up the stairs just a step ahead of me, it's worth it. You're worth everything I have.

(You know the drill! Review if you liked it! ^_^)