You know, I'd pay good money to know if anybody is actually reading this after (dare I say it?) five months of hiatus, and how many of you are just here to chuck machetes and mushy tomatoes at me. If it makes you feel any better, I feel downright awful. And I actually know what's going to happen in the last two chapters, so please don't kill me!

Anyway, the reason this took so long to post (hooray, justification time!) is: 1) I've been busy (boo, bad excuse!), 2) I hit a dead end with where this story is headed (but it's fixed now, I swear!), and 3) I had to make this chapter where everything develops sound fun. There, I said it. This chapter basically sets up the big events that are going to happen during the rest of the story—but hey! Don't leave! It's still important! And I did have fun writing it, so hopefully all of you will enjoy reading it, too.

This chapter is dedicated to my summer internship, without all of which with the sundry business and coffee-running, I wouldn't have had so much time to vegetate in front of the computer and work on this little baby. Boo-yeah! By the way, did I mention that Dave Eggars co-founded the place I work at and comes in to say hello all the time? Score! To him, I'll always be that sad little girl who helped buy painter's tape so that we could repaint the outer bathroom.

Okay, that's enough stalling. Onward you go!

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Notebooks, Not Love Notes

Ala Verity

Chapter 3

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My fists tightened around the fabric of Mamoru's jacket as I braced myself for the crushing impact of his lips against mine.

But it never came. Mamoru's suddenly alarmed voice sent a rumbling sensation from our pressed bodies down to the very tips of my toes.

"Odango, watch out!"

"Huh?"

Just as my lips puckered up against something soft, a heavy something else rammed against my shoulder, and hard. I didn't even have time to think as that heavy something lifted me clean off my feet, sending me tumbling to the ground.

All of this happened so quickly that I could feel the lump growing on top of my head before my thoughts even had time to rearrange themselves. When I opened my eyes, I found myself sprawled across the sidewalk with all the grace of a beached whale, blood trickling down my freshly-skinned knees.

Either Mamoru was more mind-blowing of a kisser than I had imagined, or he had just thrown me a la wrestling move to the floor when I tried to kiss him! Well, gee, even I didn't think kissing me sounded that repulsive…

"What the heck do you think you're doing, Mamoru-baka?" I demanded, glaring furiously around me when I found nobody in sight. Never mind that I had just tried kissing my biggest enemy of all time and that he probably had a good reason for shoving me away; I had gone through two boxes of breath mints, for crying out loud!

Something glinting under the sunlight distracted me in my vengeful vendetta, however, and I turned in time to see a shiny-handled butcher's knife sticking out of the sidewalk. The tip of the knife quivered, fighting until the bitter end, before the whole thing finally keeled over with an ominous clink to the concrete.

I winced. Okay, so maybe getting slammed to the floor by a WWF champ wasn't so bad after all. A split second longer, and that would have been my foot.

If I thought getting stabbed was bad, though, nothing could have prepared me for what came next.

A deafening roar rose up behind me, and I whirled around to see what was happening.

Mamoru was charging straight at me, with what looked like the entire Devil's crusade hot on his heels. As far as I knew, however, Satan's posse didn't consist solely of young, hormonal females. And, by God (and I meant that metaphorically), they looked pissed.

"What the hell are you doing on the ground, you idiot? Run!" Mamoru yelled at me, elbowing a particularly ugly-looking waitress who had just sidled up to him in the face.

My ability to remain calm under the most absurd circumstances never ceases to amaze me. Judging by the way I remained on the floor, rubbing my knee with all the precision of a chiropractor, you might have thought it was a group of newborn kittens stampeding at me and not a swarm of psychopathic paramours. "Well, maybe if you didn't throw me here, you jerk," I replied, sticking out my tongue out at him defiantly. "Ouch, my knee…That's going to leave a m—"

"No time for that, Odango!" Mamoru advised through gritted teeth, K.O.'ing a thirteen-year old version of Malibu Barbie with a trash can. I raised my eyebrows, grudgingly impressed. Even Sailor Moon wouldn't have thought of using the trash can. Of course, I always assumed that Mamoru was made of sterner stuff than me, as he never failed to remind me…

"Oy! Odango, get off your lazy butt, now!"

"Yeah, yeah," I snorted, wiping the bits of rubble from my hand and flying.

Wait! Since when did I have the power to fly?

"Wh-what are you doing?" I squeaked, unsure of what had just happened in the split second I had decided to blink, or why I was now soaring through the streets of Tokyo in the tight embrace of my arch-nemesis. Above me, I could see Mamoru's jaw strain in effort. "Put me down!"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he growled at me, speeding up. "I'm trying to make sure we both live long enough so that I can ask you what the heck you've done to make all of them go raving mad!"

"What I've done? What I've done?" I screeched.

"Yes, what you've done—you don't think I'm carrying you because I want to?"

"Gaah! Put me down, you pervert!" I screamed, willfully twisting his statement like I would under any other circumstances. Okay, so reacting logically to crucial moments isn't my forte, sue me. "I have legs, you know! Put me DOWN!"

This declaration, I later reflected, would have been better-suited to an occasion when I wasn't flying above the ground at twenty kilometers an hour. Mamoru took one quick glance down at my admittedly shorter-than-usual skirt—which, in my defense, was only being heisted to such dangerous heights because he couldn't go a single step without jostling me around like a bumpy rollercoaster. Then he raised his eyes to mine with a look of horror not unlike that of a deer being caught in a hunter's line of sight—the hunter being my father, no doubt—and dropped me.

The gall of that man, really! And they call me clumsy!

I, being the epitome of all that was graceful, crash-landed on my ankle with all the elegance of a flambéd swan. It gave a sharp crack under the weight of my body as I came toppling down on top of it, and I fought back the strangled scream that clawed at my throat as a flare of pain shot through my leg.

Meanwhile Mamoru, who had eyes of a hawk when it came to anything else, conveniently missed all of this, on account of the fact that he was trying to look anywhere but at my legs. Truth be told, I think he was a little more afraid of my dad than the murderous cohort of avenging angels hot on our heels.

I, on the other hand, felt a tad more intimidated by the cohort than my dad. Excuse my priorities, but what my father had to say about this encounter could wait.

"Shi—pick me up, pick me up!" I screeched, scrabbling at Mamoru's pant legs like a grossly oversized newborn.

"Like hell I'm coming anywhere near you! I mean," he amended hastily at my scorching glare, "You just said so yourself, Odango, you have—" Gulp. "—legs."

And he allowed himself to stare purposefully at a point just shy of where my legs were sprawled out on the concrete, as if to indicate to me that I did, indeed, have legs.

I fought back the urge to scream. We were about to be riotously murdered, and all he could worry about was keeping his ethics?!

"Well, gee, let's see—that was before you broke my ankle!"

Mamoru looked down at me in surprise, as if he had just noticed me panting on the floor like a wounded dog, clutching at my injured ankle. "How in the world did you manage to hurt your ankle already, Odango?" he asked, raising his eyebrow. "We're still on the same block!"

"When you dropped—oh, for goodness' sake! You know, as much fun as I'm having right now, Mamoru-baka," I growled through clenched teeth, looking between him and the homicidal cohort gaining on us, "can we continue this lovely little conversation—after we escape your fan club from hell?"

"My 'fan club'—?"

"Yes, your fan club, you imbecile!"I exploded, unable to take his bewildered looks for a second longer. "And if you don't get us both out of here in the next three seconds, you're going to be fathering enough grandchildren to last you well more than just one lifetime! So if you please, on my soul, Mamoru-baka, pick me—"

My flailing feet suddenly waved good-bye to the ground as Mamoru bent over and scooped me roughly back into his arms.

"Pick you up? Yeah, I got that part," he cut in, heaving me more securely into his arms and breaking into a full-out sprint again. "But you have a lot of explaining to do when we do get to a safe place, Odango," he added under his breath, refusing to look at me but glowering nonetheless.

That "safe place," as I later discovered, was none other than Mamoru-baka's apartment.

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I stared at the oversized lump of parasitic gauze festering on my foot. "Uh, thanks. For…for…"

Mummifying my foot. Turning it into King Tut's long-lost tomb mate. Preparing my extremities for an intense process of burial which involves—

"For, er…that."

And I pointed at my foot.

"Don't worry about it," Mamoru replied, either missing or choosing not to catch the skepticism that colored my tone. Judging by the awkward look on his face, it was probably the latter.

On the bright side, my sprained ankle couldn't have been in better hands. On the other hand (and this seemed much more persuasive than the so-called "bright side"), I didn't need an M.D. to know that my sanity had suffered a steady decline since we first stepped foot into this room. Did I say step? I meant burst-through-the-door-in-full-panic-mode-with-knives-at-our-heels into this room. And you wondered why things got awkward!

But I'm rambling. Although, truth be told, I think Mamoru was doing enough rambling for both of us at this point. Don't believe me? Listen for yourself!

"Let me know if your ice hurts still," Mamoru was saying as he fumbled with the ice pack again. "I'm just going to adjust your ankle, and—I mean, your…your ice pack, and if your ankle still hurts…"

I shot him a look that plainly questioned his sanity, but he was too busy muttering to my toes. "My ice pack—I mean, my ankle will be fine. Really."

We both looked away and exhaled at the same time. I made a face at the spotless couch back.

At some point, it must have occurred to Mamoru that if he dug himself any deeper he would drill straight into the antechambers of Hell, because right after he ducked his head to keep me from seeing his flaming-red face (which only a colorblind animal could have missed), he gave my bandages one final tug and stepped back, looking completely mortified at the silence lingering between us.

At least, I assumed that it was the silence which had pasted that expression onto his face. Or maybe my feet just smelled.

Mortification stampeded across my face, too.

"Okay, that should do it," he repeated, leaning just far away enough from me to make me feel like I had the bubonic plague. "Er…it doesn't still hurt, does it?" he added quickly, shooting my ankle a guilty glance—not that it really helped with the throbbing pain or anything.

"No, I'm fine," I lied, struggling to stamp out the remaining traces of a grimace from my face.

He must have noticed anyway because, when he spoke again, he sounded sheepish. Mamoru never sounds sheepish. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I guess what I meant was, 'Does it still hurt as much?' It'll probably hurt for a while, you sprained it pretty badly."

"It's better," I assured him.

"Oh. Good."

"It might've been even better if you hadn't dropped me, though."

Silence. A little bit more awkward this time around.

Okay, so sue me. The wounds were still fresh, so to speak, and I can hold a mean grudge.

While we sat there in our thriving social atmosphere, I snuck a peek out of the corner of my eye and saw Mamoru staring down a bowl of fruit sitting on the table. He looked like he expected it to burst into flames at any moment under the intensity of his stare. I stifled a giggle.

"Your centerpiece is…nice," I observed instead, to break the silence. Unfortunately, Mamoru had chosen the exact same moment to play the part of gracious host by blurting out, "Do you want anything to drink?"

I swear Mamoru keeps crickets hidden in his flowerpots. They were chirping so loudly I could have picked them out one by one just by the ruckus they were making.

Luckily, Fate decided that she couldn't stand our incurable gaucheness for another second because the grandfather clock suddenly bellowed behind us, summoning the dead from their graves. I jumped in my seat with a loud squeak of fright, and even Mamoru, who was still standing stiffly across the room, nearly toppled over in surprise. The clock continued to trumpet its canonical hour chime until it belched one final, tired-sounding stroke, and then lapsed back into a ringing silence.

I looked up just in time to see Mamoru's face split into a nervous grin.

"Motoki…tried to convince me to throw it out ages ago, you know," he chuckled, running a hand through his hair, "but I told him it would come in handy one day."

"Yeah, the day you realized the entire world had fallen in love with you," I scoffed, smiling in spite of myself. "And I'm sure Motoki was just being ignorant as usual when he didn't see that day coming."

He laughed. "Good point. Do you want something to eat?" Mamoru added he turned towards the kitchen. "I can make us something."

"Only if you insist," I called after him.

He waved his hand to indicate that he had heard me and I leaned back in my seat, grinning. So he'd caught my bluff, after all!

While Mamoru was in the kitchen preparing snacks, I seized the opportunity to look around the room. The entire place—from the antique grandfather clock, which I now noticed sitting in the far corner of the room, right down to the seaweed floating in the goldfish tank—screamed cleanliness louder than a barrelful of Lysol. The only disgusting thing about the room was that it was nearly as tasteful as it was tidy. Bookshelves lined an entire wall from perfect ceiling to perfect floor, interrupted only by the occasional (and obviously expensive) vase or painting.

The opposite wall offered a view of an entirely different sort. Through the glass doors that led outside onto the balcony, the setting sun gilded the rooftops as far as the eye could see, as if someone had taken an enormous brush filled with paints of every imaginable hue and swept it over the entire city. Even the red roses on the balcony seemed revel in the fire that set them aglow. Everything seemed to sparkle at me, like jewels in a diamond mine.

I had to suppress a giggle as another thought occurred to me. Sparkling! Well, I knew something else that sparkled, and it wasn't diamonds…

'Let me guess,' a snide voice in my head snickered. 'Edward Cullen, the solar-powered blood-sucker.'

I opened my mouth to protest—then I realized what I was doing and clapped a hand to my mouth.

'I am not having this conversation with you now,' I thought furiously to my thoughts, casting a quick glance around to make sure Mamoru wasn't coming. 'I really don't need another reason for Mamoru to think I'm borderline insane, thank you very much!'

'Yes, Chantiqua, please!' a second, unfamiliar voice sang, interrupting the train of thought-daggers I was still shooting at the first voice. 'If you haven't noticed, Usagi was having a moment here—or didn't you hear her waxing poetic with that "jewels in a diamond mine" line?'

"Oh, for goodness' sake," I exclaimed, exasperated. "The voices in my head have names?"

'Ask Penelope—it was her idea.'

'Yes, well, you had plenty of names to choose from, so don't go begrudging me for your bad taste, Chantiqua dearest.'

'I believe we were talking about Usagi's ability to enjoy literature—'

'—about a fictional vampire whose weakness happens to be underage girls instead of garlic.' Penelope snorted. 'Come on. He's not even real!'

'And we're both a figment of Usagi's imagination, and yet we're both here discussing it,' Chantiqua finished hotly. 'By the way, Usagi-chan, did I mention that I'm also Team Edward?'

"I give up." I threw up my hands in frustration. "Are either one of you Team Sanity?"

'Edward, let me have your vampire babies! Oh, I'm sorry…were you saying something, Usagi?'

"Never mind…"

Penelope made a little tutting noise in the back of my mind. 'Might I suggest something?'

"What?" I snapped.

'Wipe off that slobber, dearie, before Mamoru walks in the room and thinks you're drooling over him. He's coming.'

"Oh." I paused. "Oh, ew, ew, ew!" I squealed as delayed reactions kicked in and I swatted at the invisible voices now cackling maniacally in my head. "That is gross, guys! Stop it! Mamoru's not—"

'Hot. Irresistible. Cute,' Penelope giggled inside my thoughts.

'Well, I have to admit, he is pretty delicious-looking,' Chantiqua agreed.

"I'm warning you two—one more word and I'm kicking you both out of my head! For the last time, Mamoru is not—"

'Feisty. Unbelievably sexy—'

"Not what?" a third voice asked.

"Not unbelievably sex—Agh! M-Mamoru-baka! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Silly me, I didn't realize you'd turned my living room into a private salon. I thought I was still allowed." Mamoru sat down next to me, a tray in his hands and a cheeky grin slapped on his face. Apparently it only took ten minutes alone in the kitchen (and maybe a too-thorough knowledge of the thoughts that had just been running through my mind) for him to regain some of his old confidence.

On second thought, scratch that. Nobody—well, except maybe Edward the Psychic himself—could have thought of a dialogue like that.

'Sexy,' Chantiqua whispered, ducking back into the recesses of my subconscious before I could shoot any more furious thought-daggers her way.

"Don't you have a fish tank to scrub or something?" I muttered, my face growing hot as I looked away.

Mamoru raised an eyebrow at me. "Whatever you say, Odango. Here, have a cookie."

"Excuse me?"

"A cookie." He thrust the tray he had brought with him at me. "You look flushed."

"And what's a cookie have to do with my temperature?" I demanded, the heat positively flooding my face as I snatched the proffered pastry from him.

Mamoru winked. "Well, that's because it comes with a cool glass of milk."

The drink appeared magically in my cookie-filled hands.

"Thath cheathing—oopsth," I mumbled, accidentally spraying Mamoru's shirt with bits of dairy-sodden decadent delight. I had to beat back the temptation to reach out and shove the crumbs back into my mouth. "Sorry," I apologized after I had gulped down my mouthful. "You may be a cheater, but these are amazing! Where did you get them?"

"I made them. I'll be sure to bring your compliments to the chef, though."

"Oh, you're so full of it!" I snorted, laughing as I reached for seconds. "You know, believe it or not," I said, nodding seriously as I took another bite, "I tried to make these once, too."

"Oh yeah? And what happened?"

"You remember that big fire in Osaka year before last?"

"Yeah. Why?"

I grinned. "That was me."

"Ah." Mamoru leaned back in his seat. "Well, that would explain why you suddenly started showing up in my life at about the same time."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what better place for an arsonist escapee to hide than the bustling city of Tokyo?"

"Hey!" I threw my last bite at him and he ducked, laughing. "I resent that!"

"I bet your parents weren't too thrilled with the flambéd kitchen, either," he chuckled, toasting me with his glass of milk.

"Now listen here, baka, I'll have you know that—"

"I've been thinking," Mamoru interrupted suddenly. "Do you want to learn?"

"I—excuse me?"

"Learn. Learn to cook. Bake. That sort of stuff."

I stared at him. "You want to teach me how to cook," I said finally.

"That's what I'm saying."

"You want to teach me, Disaster-Magnet Usagi, how to cook."

He smiled. "Sure, why not?"

"Uh, well, in case you've forgotten, I'm the one whose 'killer cupcakes' actually killed Motoki's pet rat last summer, remember? Although, come to think of it, it might've been Minako's crème brulee that did him in…she kind of shoved it down his throat while it was still on fire…"

"Well, I don't know about rats," Mamoru chuckled, taking the now-cleared tray and carrying it into the kitchen. "I just figured that we might as well do something productive with our time as long as we're stuck here for God knows how long. You coming?"

"Yeah, as soon as the pair of wings that will whisk me away into the kitchen sprout out of my back," I muttered as I pushed myself up onto my good leg. "Okay, you've got this, Usagi…" I braced myself and swung my other leg over the edge of the couch, using the heavy ice pack for leverage.

I wish I had paid more attention in Physics, because then I might be able to explain why momentum actually takes the trouble to avoid basic laws of gravity in order to do me in. Instead of stopping at the floor, my leg soared straight into the air like a life-size pendulum, sending me sprawling spread-eagle back onto the couch again.

"Ugh…you wouldn't happen to have a spare set of crutches stashed away in a closet or anything, would you?" I groaned, rubbing my head. "I think walking is more dangerous than standing, and standing looks like a death sentence right about now."

I heard footsteps. Mamoru appeared in the kitchen doorway. He took one glance at me and had to fight to keep his face straight. Did a pretty shoddy job of it too, if I may say so myself. "Ah…yeah. Sorry. I forgot," he said, scratching the back of his head and smiling. "Are you…okay?"

"Perfect. I'm as peachy as a cobbler," I replied sarcastically, swinging my tangled legs back over the edge again. "Can you tell?"

Mamoru grinned. "Okay, you've been better, point taken…"

"Thank you."

"—so let me carry you."

"Wh-what?" I stammered, the heat rushing instantly to my face. "So you can break my other leg too? No thanks!"

"You'll break more than just another leg if I let you walk," Mamoru chortled, crouching down next to me so that our faces were at the same level. I swatted at him and he ducked. "Now if you let me carry you into the kitchen," he continued, still laughing, "you can still sit on the counter and watch. You don't need working legs to mix, do you?"

"D-don't be ridiculous! I'm not three years old, I don't need you to carry me!"

Mamoru shrugged. "Suit yourself, Odango. But you'll need to use the bathroom sooner or later, and if you haven't noticed, this isn't a hospital. I don't have crutches, and I certainly don't do bedpans, either."

"Oh, ew! That's gross, baka!"

"You're telling me—I just bought that sofa you're sitting on two weeks ago. So what do you say?" He grinned again. "Win-win?"

I gave him my most fierce look. "I say, if anybody ever hears about this, I'm not going to be the only one with broken bones."

"Perfect. So is that a yes?"

"Carry away," I grumbled.

Mamoru chuckled and made a little flourish with his hand. "Your wish is my command, milady. Your valet awaits." He bent down in front of me and I scrambled to clamber onto his back. After a few awkward attempts, I finally managed to loop my arms around his neck and then looked down at my legs, which were flopping uselessly every which way.

"Er…"

"Here," he said, offering me his arms. I swung my good leg through first, then my other leg. "Okay, ready?" he asked when I was finally settled.

I made a face. "Just go, baka."

"One trip to the devil's kitchen, coming up." He flashed me a quirky smile over his shoulder. "I'd hold on tight if I were you."

"Oh, move it already!"

My arms tightened instinctively around him and I gave him an extra jab with my good foot, just in case he got any wrong ideas. Stuck here or not, I wasn't giving in to his good guy act so easily, no matter how alluring I found it—not without a fight, anyway. I had at least decided that much.

When I felt that I had made my disdain for him sufficiently clear, I settled in for the short ride to the kitchen, only to find myself grinning like a fool into the back of his shirt. In spite of everything, I couldn't help but feel just a little bit relieved that Mamoru did not own a pair of crutches after all. This way was much, much better.

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I heard the water in the bathroom turn off and slammed my notebook shut, jamming the pen I had been writing with between the pages. I was just shoving everything back inside my bookbag when I heard footsteps in the hallway. I looked up and immediately wished I hadn't: Mamoru was leaning around the corner, standing there in all his wet-haired, post-shower glory.

Of course, with Mamoru, things either wow or they don't count. This glory was no different. It was better than finding the cure to cancer. It was better than winning the Nobel Peace Prize for saving dying puppies in Timbuktu. It was even better than the bumper stickers parents proudly parade on the back of their minivans in cheap, mass-produced lettering, "MY KID WAS STUDENT OF THE MONTH AT [a line to fill in the name of your school] ELEMENTARY SCHOOL!" (And for the record, whoever is in charge of choosing these students is clearly being paid off, because I never won even one of those stickers in all my eight years in elementary school! I'm kidding. Five. Okay, maybe six. Can we move on? I'd really rather not talk about it.)

This glory was…well, criminal.

"I'm all done, the bathroom's open if you want to take a shower," Mamoru said, slinging his towel over his shoulder. I watched, mesmerized, as the fleece fluttered over his modestly-damp undershirt and brushed the edge of his black pajama bottoms. It was the sexiest sleepwear I had seen since that time Minako dragged me into a sea of special-occasion teddies at Victoria's Secret. Heaven knows who she was trying to impress.

"Uh…yeah, okay," I said, feeling a little bit dazed.

"I put a towel on the rack inside the door, and everything else should be in the shower already. And I thought you might want to change into something a bit more comfortable to sleep in, so as long you don't mind wearing my clothes…"

"Mind? I don't mind," I murmured, pushing myself to my feet.

"Okay, well, I left a t-shirt and a pair of shorts next to the sink, so if you want to…"

"Uh-huh, yeah…sure…"

"…Odango?"

"I told you not to call me that," I said automatically, before I blinked and realized that Mamoru was staring at me. We both looked down at my feet and I saw for the first time that they were planted on the floor. "Oh, look. I'm standing."

My legs wobbled dangerously beneath me even as I spoke.

"You should let me help you," Mamoru suggested, hurrying to my side. I obliged without protest, happily inhaling the lingering scent of his shampoo as he bent over and put my arm over his shoulder. He placed his other hand firmly around my waist. "Just go as slow as you need to," he told me. "I've got you."

I nodded and took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself. The first step was the hardest. As I quickly learned, I needed Mamoru's support more than I expected. My ankle didn't hurt nearly as badly as it had that afternoon (I had my extra-speedy healing powers as Sailor Moon to thank for that), but I still couldn't walk without feeling like I had incurred the wrath of a particularly vindictive cactus that was sticking out of my foot. I ended up half-hopping, half-launching myself off of Mamoru's arm all the way to the bathroom, fighting all the while to ignore the arm wrapped around my waist, which proved equally distracting, although for entirely different reasons.

In fact, it was probably a miracle that I made it all the way to the bathroom without once tripping, considering how intent I was on memorizing the feel of his strong shoulders supporting my arm, the slight dampness of his skin pressed against mine, the sound of his slippers clacking against the tiles of the……oh no…

"Damn," I cursed under my breath. How had we gotten to the bathroom so fast? I didn't even remember turning the corner into the hallway…

"What's wrong? Does your ankle hurt?" Mamoru asked, looking immediately concerned.

"It's nothing," I said quickly, scrambling to grab a hold of the sink before he could tighten his grip around my waist. What was wrong with me? I couldn't even trust myself to let him leave if he did that. "I'm fine, my ankle's fine. Thanks."

I felt Mamoru's suspicious gaze on me and turned away from him, pretending to examine the bathroom. "Well, it's good that you can at least stand on your own," he finally said, making sure that I could stand on my own before letting go of me. "I thought I was going to have to go in there and…"

"And what?" I asked, distracted. I had just spotted a black bottle of Mamoru's cologne sitting on the countertop. Essence of Chiba Mamoru, captured in that tiny little vial. It vaguely occurred to me that he might not miss it if I poured out a few drops to keep for myself…

"Never mind," he muttered, finally turning away. "Be careful. The floor's slippery," he added over his shoulder. He started to close the door.

"Mamoru?"

Mamoru whipped around so fast that he nearly knocked me over my less-than-stable feet. "Sorry. Yes?" he asked, reaching out his hand to steady me and, upon seeing that I was fine, quickly withdrawing it to his side again.

"I…" I fidgeted with my skirt, trying to find the right words. "I just wanted to say thank you," I finally blurted, relief washing over me when he didn't appear appalled by my playing peacemaker. "So…thanks. For everything."

"Oh. Yeah, sure, it's nothing."

"And if there's anything I can do…" I began.

Mamoru considered me for a moment. Then he shook his head and did the very last thing I would have expected from him at that moment: he laughed. "Yeah, there's something," he chuckled, the florescent lights dancing as he turned those deep blue eyes on me. "One little thing."

"Yes?" I swallowed hard, praying he couldn't hear the suddenly deafening pounding of my heart against my ribcage.

He grinned. "Just do me a favor and try not to klutz out in the shower, okay? This is probably the last place you want me to come barging in to save you. Trust me."

Then he spun around on his heel and headed out the door, still shaking his head, but this time I couldn't tell whether the gesture was meant more for me or himself. That, and the fact that I heard him mutter under his breath as he walked away down the hall, "The very last place."

I shut the door behind him, feeling reasonably bemused. I looked around and realized that I was completely alone for the first time since the incident on the sidewalk outside of the arcade, which seemed like eons ago now. My waist still tingled from where his fingers had wrapped gently around it.

I undressed and got into the shower, content to just let the hot water wash away all of the confusing new emotions of the past three days. If anybody had told me seventy-two hours ago that I would be in Chiba "cold-hearted baka" Mamoru's apartment, taking a shower in his bathroom, cooking without burning anything down in his kitchen, and, above all, enjoying myself—I would have told them without a second's hesitation that they were straight out of their minds.

Now I wasn't so sure anymore.

As I let the hot water run, I tried to find an explanation that would justify the transformation I had so recently undergone; because obviously, nothing short of a complete metamorphosis could explain how I had gone from hate to jealous to sincere to confused all at once in so short a time. I lathered, rinsed, and repeated three times. I scrubbed my body until my left foot ached from all the standing, but still no answer came to me. When I had been in the shower for so long that my skin had grown pruney, I finally reached for the towel hanging next to the shower and stepped onto the bathroom tiles, resigning myself to the thought that at least I didn't have to worry about my feet stinking anymore, when something glinting out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned to look.

It was the black bottle of cologne. I hadn't noticed it before, but now that the entire room was steamy from the running shower, the gold lettering on it seemed to glitter through the shroud like miniature rays of sunlight. I took a step closer.

At first, I couldn't explain to myself what it was about the glass bottle that drew me in or where I had seen it before. It looked like just another ordinary bottle of cologne—expensive, obviously, but manufactured by the company whose name was written near the bottom in more gold embossing: some "L'Essence de Lune" or other. When I looked more closely, however, I finally remembered what it was this bottle reminded me of: it looked exactly like my notebook, from the black binding and gold lettering, right down to that mystical feeling of being transported back in time when I was near it.

Mamoru's cologne and my notebook were connected. Mamoru and I were connected.

That's when it finally hit me, what this entire time since the moment I had written those first fateful words in the notebook, what all of it amounted to. I liked Chiba Mamoru. I had liked him ever since I had met him. It was even possible that I loved him.

My foot slipped on the wet tiles as I took a staggered step backwards. The teal tile was suddenly rushing towards my face, and I screamed as I plummeted to the floor.

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I awoke to the voice of an angel.

"Usagi. Usagi, wake up."

The voice got softer, then louder again, like someone was fiddling with the volume dial inside my head. I groaned, refusing to open my eyes. Even the smallest movement sent a sharp pain searing through my head, as if somebody had taken a cleaver and spliced it wide open.

"I'm up," I mumbled, trying to lift my arms, which felt unusually sluggish this morning. The mattress felt a lot harder than I remembered, too.

I heard a low chuckle come from somewhere around my feet. Stupid cat.

"There's no alarm clock there, if that's what you're looking for," came the same satisfied voice from the doorway. "The closest thing that you could throw at me right now is the plunger, but I doubt your hands are coordinated enough to even pick up a pin at this point, let alone toilet cleaning products."

Toilet cleaning products? And what was a plunger doing in my bedroom? I squeezed my eyes tightly shut until little lights danced in them. Shingo. Of course! Ooh, he was in big trouble…

"Come on, Odango. You've been lying here so long you're starting to rust, and I just got these tiles replaced last month. Get up."

"Five more minutes, Luna…" I pawed at my sheets so that I could pull them over my head like I usually did, but apparently the feline had had enough sense to pull them off the bed today. "And don't…don't call me that…" I whined, throwing my hand dramatically over my eyes. "You're starting to sound like Mam…Mamoru-baka…"

That's when everything suddenly clicked, like the stubborn peanut butter jar lid that won't open until you finally give up and hand it to somebody else, then it pops right open. One little twist, and it all just snapped into place. I wasn't in bed at home. Shingo wasn't going to die at my hands—not tonight, anyway. And that definitely wasn't the voice of an angel!

"Welcome back to reality, Odango," the devil quipped.

I opened my eyes. I was lying sprawled uncomfortably on Mamoru's bathroom floor, my legs crammed in the space between the wall and the open door. Through the narrow opening, I could barely make out what appeared to be a white shirt floating in the hallway. The door, on the other hand, had clearly taken a turn for the worse: it looked like it had been kicked straight off its hinges and crammed hastily back into its no-longer-a-fit frame. I could see bits of chipped paint and (were those really from the door?) wood splinters littering the threshold. The shirt, I realized, belonged to Mamoru. He was sitting in the doorway, his face staring directly at the opposite wall.

"I…what time is it?" I asked groggily, trying to push myself up into a sitting position.

"9:30. You've been out for about half an hour."

Half an hour! Sarcasm, spurred on by irritation, shifted quickly from zero into overdrive. "By all means, take your time waking me—I was just being introduced to the grout under your sink."

"Then you'll be there for quite a while, considering as there wasn't any the last time I checked."

"Don't rush to help me or anything," I added pointedly, now glaring at the back of Mamoru's head through the ill-fitted doorway.

"I'll promise to 'rush' to your aid—"

"Thank you."

"—when you've decided to put on some clothes."

There was a pronounced silence, in which I stared Mamoru's back and Mamoru continued to face the opposite wall. Then I took a quick glance down, saw exactly what I dreaded seeing, and let a colorful expletive explode from my lips.

"Shit!" I wrenched the towel I had wrapped around my body higher up, thankful that I had at least had enough foresight to cover myself before deciding to knock myself out. I didn't care how many naked women that man was going to see in his entire medical career; I didn't even care if it was his lifetime aspiration to become a gynecologist—he was not about to come in here seeing me like this!

I could practically hear Mamoru roll his eyes at the ceiling as he read my thoughts. "I didn't see anything, if that's what you're worried about."

"Worried! Why would I be worried?" I screeched, sounding hysterical. Clothes! Where were the clothes?

"The t-shirt's on the counter next to the sink."

"Yes, I knew that," I snapped, snatching the shirt off the counter and pulling it over my flaming hot face. I reached over for the shorts and jumped out of the way just in time to avoid being impaled in the foot by a meter-long splinter of wood. "Jesus! What in the world happened to the door?" I demanded, grabbing the shorts.

There was a pause from the doorway. "I…kicked it."

"Yes, and I'm Michael Jackson," I said, rolling my eyes. "Trust me, you couldn't do this much damage if you were Tuxedo Kamen himself—" And I know first-hand what he's capable of. "What happened?"

When Mamoru spoke again, his voice sounded oddly subdued. "I told you, I kicked it down when I heard you scream. I thought you were being…attacked."

"Attacked?"

I heard a sigh. "Yes, attacked." Mamoru made as if to face me and I growled in warning as I hastily dragged on the shorts. "Don't you wonder why nothing's happened yet?" he asked, holding his hands up as he turned around to show me that he still wanted to keep all of his limbs intact. "Why nobody's come after us?"

I stopped tugging at the shorts. The idea had occurred to me, of course, but between the homicidal women and being knocked out of commission, I honestly hadn't had much time to think about it.

"Well, yeah…" I mused as I finally managed to get both feet through the right holes. "But I mean, why would they follow us here? It's not as if they know where you live, right?"

Mamoru chuckled. "Only you, Odango, could be carried straight to the foot of my apartment building and not know where we were."

"Hey!" I protested, picking up a large flake of door paint and throwing it at the back of his head. It bounced harmlessly off, to my chagrin. "How was I supposed to know where you were taking me?"

"Right, because I frequent so many places that look like apartment complexes."

"Well, maybe I thought you were being smart and leading the masses away from your apartment, then we'd be safe here and wouldn't have to worry about them following us!"

"Hm. Maybe." I saw Mamoru lean his head back against the door frame. "I'm just sorry you got dragged into all of this," he said after a pause.

"Into what?" I asked, confused.

"This…this whole fiasco. I know it doesn't have anything to do with you. You wouldn't even have been here if it wasn't for me. I'm just sorry you had to be stuck in the middle of it."

I raised my eyebrows incredulously at his turned back. He was sorry that I had nothing to do with this? Uh, hello! I was female and still sane, wasn't I? Of course I had something to do with this! Surely there was some point to my not having been converted into one of the mob, right? In fact, I was the only girl in all of Tokyo who wasn't completely gaga over him! I was born to live this adventure out to its fullest! I was independent! I was confident! I was…I was…

Oh, shoot. I was in love with him.

"Anyway, I just want you to know that I'm…well, I'm glad you're here," Mamoru was saying, leaning his head against the door frame again. "It's good to know that I have at least one person who won't go completely berserk on me, you know what I mean?"

"Um…yeah, about that, Mamoru…" I began nervously, fiddling with the bottle of cologne sitting on the counter again. "There's something I should probably—"

"Usagi!" Mamoru interrupted suddenly, his voice sharper than I had ever heard it before. He whirled around, instantly on his feet in a low crouch, and I looked up at his face for the first time since I had regained consciousness: it had gone completely rigid.

"Don't move unless I tell you to," he ordered in the same hoarse voice, moving silently behind me. "Listen…"

I fought to stay completely still as we both fell silent, listening for something I could not detect. My senses as Sailor Moon told me there was no danger nearby, but something was telling Mamoru otherwise…

A voice suddenly rent the silence.

"SHABON SPRAY!"

"Duck!" Mamoru shouted.

A hand shot out of nowhere and grabbed me, thrusting me backwards into the hallway. Without warning, the entire back wall of the bathroom exploded, sending chunks of debris flying straight at us. I started to move, but Mamoru was quicker; he threw his arm in front of me, I ducked, and suddenly there was a pile of rubble at his feet where there had been a flying boulder the size of my head only moments before.

"H-How…?" I asked, gaping at Mamoru. "H-how did you…?"

I didn't get a chance to finish my question. Mamoru's eyes met mine and I stood there, rooted to the spot. An earthquake couldn't have shaken me from his hold as his eyes searched my face, as if for some sign of confirmation. I never found out if he found what he was looking for, because just then, and just as abruptly as before, he reached out and pushed me behind him, keeping one hand tightly around my wrist.

"Who's there?" he called.

I stood on my toes and peered around his shoulder. The cloud of dust from the explosion had mostly settled. And through the debris, I saw…

"Sailor Mercury?"

I turned quickly to look at Mamoru and met his equally stunned gaze. Apparently mine hadn't been the only voice to voice that thought out loud.

But there was no time to think. I wrenched my gaze from him and turned to face the intruder again. If she was here, that meant…

"Mamoru, get out of here," I whispered.

He whipped around to face me at once. "What? Are you crazy? She's—"

"Trust me, Mamoru, I don't have time to explain—"

The sound of a heel clicking against the tile floors forced us to both turn around. Sailor Mercury was standing there, a coy smile that did not reach her eyes playing around her lips.

"Hello, Mamoru," she said, her blue eyes glinting coldly under the florescent lighting. "I'm here to take Usagi-chan away. Usagi-chan, prepare to die."

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End of Chapter 3

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Hi again, guys! Thanks for all of you who stuck it out with me this far—I hope it was enjoyable! And again, I'm super-sorry for the delay, but I do hope it was worth it!

Thanks to all of the readers who have encouraged me time and time again to keep writing, especially after all of the roadblocks I've come up against—but I can't believe this chapter is finally here! The final two chapters will be out before the end of the year (only two more! Where did the time fly to?), and I already have some drafts written up for them, so hopefully they'll be up sooner than this!

Please let me know what you thought! Reviews and critiques are appreciated!

From this side of the writing board, Ala Verity