36: Hark! How the Bells Sweet Silver Bells
A better night. Mami actually slept. She didn't remember it happening, but she did lay atop her bed and closed her eyes and opened them two hours later. 6 AM. For a dazed moment she thought Nagisa had returned, only to blink and stare around the dim room and realize, no, she had not returned. Nothing had happened to even imply such an occurrence.
She told herself: things will be okay. She felt surer stepping out her room and seeing Sloan and Kyoko sleeping on mats in the living room. Their ranks bolstered, the chance of success increased. They should talk to Madoka next. Yes, Madoka, why had Mami not thought of her before? She would be the perfect addition to the Save Nagisa and Sayaka Squad. Her conversational background in English, having lived in America for three years, might streamline communication with Sloan. And if they managed to involve Madoka in the proceedings, Homura would have to poke out her shell and do something too. Yes, yes, a fine plan. She decided to text Madoka immediately. But it was 6 AM.
6 AM. Everyone asleep. Mami alone. She showered, did her hair, took a lot of time and effort because she found it preferable to taking a lot of time and effort doing nothing. 7:30 AM. Kyoko and Sloan still asleep. Sound asleep. Snoring.
Mami should cook breakfast. Yes, breakfast. Double the size as yesterday, Kyoko could eat even more than Sloan. Mami shuffled through her cabinets, her pantry. Not enough supplies. Will have to buy more. A lot of leftover cheese. Nnnrgh.
She glanced at the calendar. "Oh," she said to an unconscious audience. "It's Christmas."
It snuck up on her. She was usually so organized about these things. What to get Nagisa? Cheese, of course. When Nagisa came back she would buy all the cheese at the store. You can't have Christmas without presents. Without a tree. Mami had forgotten a tree. How had she forgotten so much? What will she do? Sloan was American. Christmas meant a lot to her. A very important holiday. The most important holiday. Mami must be a good hostess. Being a good hostess means your guests must feel comfortable, at home. Christmas with no tree, no presents? Inconceivable.
How much money did she have. Enough money. She gathered her coats and scarves and handbags. To the store. Plenty of time. Were stores open at 7:30 AM. On Christmas? Mami would make do. She would rely on her extensive knowledge of the Mitakihara shopping district. Merry Christmas.
Should she take Sloan's gem with her? Just in case. No, no need. If Sloan wanted to kill them all, let her try. Kyoko is here. Kyoko can handle herself. All is well. Silent night.
In her dream, Sloan sat in a garage. She recognized it as the garage from her old house in Scottsdale, Arizona. Before they moved around and wound up in Minneapolis. Pulleys and cranks hoisted a Cadillac so a mechanic could climb underneath. Sloan sat on the washing machine and watched the mechanic's legs shuffle as she worked, reaching every so often to pull a tool from a toolbox, but all the tools were the same wrench. The mechanic performed her duties despite the lack of variety in her tools. Eventually she pulled herself from under the vehicle: it was Anoka.
Anoka brushed her oil-drenched suspenders and regarded the vehicle. She said:
"We wish you a Merry Christmas."
Of course. On Christmas, repairs cost extra. For wasting the time of the mechanic when they should be with their family. Especially Anoka's family, because she was going to Vancouver to meet them.
"We wish you a Merry Christmas," Anoka repeated.
Sloan shuffled through her coat for her wallet. Sixty thousand dollars for repairs, Christmas or not, felt rather steep. Wait, someone had stolen her wallet!
"And a Happy New Year," said Anoka.
Sloan woke up. All memories of the dream instantly vanished outside of fragmentary images and the lingering tune of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas", which lingered because it was actually playing in real life. She sat up, bundled in blankets and her hair more a mess than usual. She rubbed her eyes. A small plastic Christmas tree twinkled on the triangle table in the middle of Mami's apartment, decorated with bright ornaments. Green and red tinsel festooned the walls. Something baked in the oven. Red hair—Kyoko—raided a box of chocolates on the kitchen counter. She looked up from the box with only partial shame when she noticed Sloan staring.
From the hallway came Mami, dressed in a bathrobe designed like the red suit of Santa Claus, a Santa hat perched on her head. She noticed Sloan and suddenly extended her arms.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS!"
Kyoko wiped her mouth and flailed her arms too.
"MERI KURISUMASU!"
"Merry Christmas," Sloan mumbled. It was Christmas? She tried to remember the last time she saw a calendar, or made a cognizant note of the date. The metric came in months. She yawned.
"I am fixing big Christmas turkey." Mami busied herself to the oven and checked its various dials. "Also big Christmas potatoes, and big Christmas gravy, and big Christmas everything. Also big Christmas cheesecake for dessert, yum!" She rubbed her stomach for emphasis.
Sloan disentangled from the blankets and shimmied into her jacket. Excavating the corners of her eyes, she shuffled to the counter and tried to appear generally present. Kyoko flicked her a chocolate from the box. Sloan popped it in her mouth. Fucking coconut.
"We Wish You a Merry Christmas" ended. Bing Crosby's rendition of "Do You Hear What I Hear" began. Sloan's Dad, draped in the same jacket Sloan wore now, sang Crosby at Christmas parties to entertain his drunk dad friends. Ay-ay-ay, her Mom replied, Who spiked the eggnog? Even after the move to Minneapolis, they kept an ironic Christmas cactus.
Mami hummed to the music as she checked on containers of food in various gradations of cooked throughout the kitchen. As usual, it smelled delicious. Kyoko said something in Japanese, Mami said something in Japanese back.
"Miss Sakura want to open present." She pointed at the Christmas tree, under which sat three unopened boxes wrapped in vibrant paper and superfluous ribbons. Sloan had noticed the gifts but thought they were, like, props or something, like you see in department store displays. Kyoko clapped her hands and watched Sloan eagerly. It took Sloan a moment to realize that she had been somehow deigned the arbiter of when presents get opened, perhaps because she had more Christmas experience? Well, as Grand Christmas Elder, Sloan saw no reason to prolong Kyoko's torture. "Yeah, sure."
Mami started to translate but Kyoko flung her arms akimbo and stormed past Sloan to the tree, sliding to her knees and snatching the gift labeled KYOKO in both English and (presumably) Japanese. She held it close to her ear and shook it. Something rattled inside. Satisfied, she tore at the wrapping paper. Huge handfuls sailed aside in crunched wads. She tugged and yanked the ribbons until she gave up and used her teeth to snap them.
Beneath the paper remained only a bland brown box with no markings. Kyoko searched for a seam, found it, and tore it open. She dug into the box, filled with packing peanuts, and eventually lost enough patience to simply upend it and let everything gush onto the floor around her knees.
Half-buried amid the peanuts lay a much smaller box of clear plastic. The label on the box read MP3!GO, and then smaller Japanese text, alongside an anime chick rocking out with exaggerated music notes orbiting around her lavender-haired head. Kyoko's mouth widened into an O. She hugged the MP3 player and turned to Mami. Sloan need not understand Japanese to catch the gist of her words.
Mami curtseyed and gave a sedated, humble reply. While Kyoko grappled with the plastic to get at its contents, Sloan decided she better open her present too. She honestly had no clue what Mami would buy for her, they had known each other less than two days and conversation between them had been terse, disjointed, and businesslike.
As she reached for the gift marked SLOAN, she checked the third present under the tree with a sinking suspicion it was for the same Nagisa who was not there and would not be in attendance. However, the tag read MADOKA.
"Is Madoka coming?"
"Ah, sorry, no," said Mami. "She and Homura are together today. Please, open present!"
The thought of what lurked inside her gift filled Sloan with unease. She took great care to untie the ribbons and unfold the paper, arranged with such artistry that the gift felt iconoclastic to destroy. Beneath the paper waited another brown box with no markings. Sloan hesitated; Mami clasped her hands together and watched. Kyoko looked up from her MP3 player. In the corners, two creepy dolls giggled.
Sloan cracked open the box. More packing peanuts inside. Rather than upend them, Sloan slid a hand into the depths, seeking the slightest touch of whatever awaited her. Her finger touched something soft and pliant. Her hand grasped it. Fabric, smooth but thick.
She dragged whatever it was from the depths. Peanuts fell away as from the box rose a long, black, velvet coat with bright brass buttons and fancy trim. Despite herself, Sloan's mouth fell agape. Did it—did it have pockets? How many pockets? She turned the coat over, undid the buttons and looked inside. So many pockets.
"Do you like?" Mami smiled hopefully.
Did she like? Did she like? This was... it was...
Sloan rubbed her face against the soft velvet. And then, inexplicably, she began to cry. At first a single strangled sob that caught in her throat, followed by a tense moment when she wondered if they were really going to see her like this. They were. It was stupid, too, just a goddam coat, she already had a coat that was much warmer than this one, but it didn't matter, Sloan could not help herself. She didn't need a warmer coat anyway, she was never going back to Fargo ever again, never going anywhere that cold ever again. She pulled the coat to her chest and curled over it, protecting it, trying to curl in on herself so she could burrow her face and prevent them from seeing her look so foolish. It didn't matter.
"Thank you," Sloan said. "Thank you, thank you." Such an undeserved act of kindness. The most foolish thing of all was she did not cry from happiness. But they need not know that.
"Wear it!" said Mami with an encouraging nod. Sloan nodded back, shuffled out of her old coat, and slid her arms into the new one, the plush velvet so soft against her skin, the lightness of the coat as though she wore nothing at all. She did the buttons and, wiping her eyes, stood so the full length of the coat could fall to her knees. Slightly shorter than the old one.
Mami clapped. Kyoko gave a thumbs-up. Sloan went to the mirror and surveyed herself. Despite her unkempt hair, the coat exuded an air of smartness, sophistication. It held to her figure, tighter around the waist and flowing around her legs. She turned and checked the backside, the tails swished playfully.
"You look very nice," said Mami. "I am glad you like!"
This girl, this Mami Tomoe, she had no reason to do this, no reason to give this gift. In no way did Sloan deserve it. Even if Mami did not know the things Sloan had done, what in the past two days had Sloan done for this? She had been unpleasant, uncooperative, a general asshole. Because that's who she was, had always been and if she had not changed by now, always will. But Mami Tomoe thought of her enough to give her this gift.
Sloan had the crazy thought of, of taking the coat off, folding it neatly on the table, and telling Mami that she would wear it when she deserved it, as a symbolic gesture or something. And if she did manage to make amends here in Mitakihara, if she earned her happy ending, she would wear the coat then. But given the language barrier, communication of her idea would lead to confusion. Even without the language barrier, communication of the idea would lead to confusion. Sloan could not communicate to herself what she felt without being confused.
Such was the power of kind people, people who, despite naiveté, inefficiency, standards, morals, and self-regulations, managed to hold a force that even the most brute strength could not replicate.
Maybe Sloan could not save everyone in Mitakihara. Maybe Omaha's machinations exceeded her grasp. Maybe the celestial war between her and Lucifer spanned too broad a breadth for one mortal to impact. Omaha had said as much, Kyubey had said as much, Sayaka had said as much, and Sloan had the odd suspicion that in a past timeline, Homura Akemi had said the same as well. But in Minneapolis, the cold day after Clair and the archon died, when Sloan lay in the house that had once been hers and contemplated death, Anoka said something contrary to all said by the others: That if Sloan had the power to ruin something, she had the power to fix it. Her advice had been impractical, empty words perhaps. Sloan could crash a car but not repair it. But there was one thing Sloan could fix, could protect. She would fulfill the request Sayaka made the night before. She would protect these people. Mami. Kyoko too. Both of them. They were good people, Sloan knew. Better people than most she had ever met. Mami and Kyoko and Sayaka and Nagisa, they cared for each other, they loved each other, they protected each other. Who did Sloan love, who did she protect? Who did she buy gifts?
Nobody. Not even if she counted the dead ones. She resolved to change that today. This instant. She would protect these people, these people who genuinely deserved it. With whatever meager protection she could afford.
Sloan wiped her eyes and Christmas resumed. Mami returned to the kitchen. Kyoko, in a series of gestures and pantomimes, offered to let Sloan listen to the MP3 player if Sloan let Kyoko try on the coat. They swapped, Sloan listened to a popstar intone sonic bubblegum (comprehension of lyrics little mattered) while Kyoko tromped around in a giant jacket several sizes too large for her, the sleeves flopping past her hands and the tails dragging on the ground. After they returned their gifts, Kyoko treated them to jaw-dropping karaoke renditions of all your favorite Christmas classics, which wound up sounding like the final scene of A Christmas Story. Jingu ber, jingu ber, jingo o-te way. O wattu faan, et cetera.
It was fun. Sloan laughed. She sang a few ditties herself. ("Carol of the Bells" her especial favorite with its frenetic pace. She remembered the words.) She wore her coat. Timers went off in the kitchen.
The man behind the desk leaned on an elbow. Behind thick-rimmed glasses his eyes shifted from the documents arrayed before him and the faces of those gathered in the sterile customs office at the airport.
"The twenty of you. Here for a school trip, you say."
"Twenty-one, to be exact," said Laquesha Kabwe. Or at least that was the nomenclature on the passport the customs man now examined.
"Mhmm." The man perused the hefty stack of forms, multiple per female in attendance. "And which of you is the chaperone?"
"That would be Mrs. Kabwe," said River Forest (alias Melissa Haskins), exerting her powers of suggestion over the feeble-minded human. Although River Forest dwelled on the lower end of the spectrum of combat strength among those in the platoon, her unique abilities oft proved pivotal when accounting for unwanted human intervention, such as peace officers or eyewitnesses or, in this instance, governmental bureaucracy.
The customs man, unaware that his judgment had been impaired by a degree similar to alcohol intoxication, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and examined Laquesha Kabwe closely. "And how old are you, Miss..." He checked a passport. "Kabwe."
(If he thought more clearly, he could have answered that question himself by reading the date of birth on the very same passport.)
With maintained patience, Laquesha Kabwe cleared her throat. "Mrs. Kabwe, thank you. I am thirty-three years old."
"Right." The customs man stroked his chin. Her bit his lip. "You sure don't look thirty-three. Or married."
"Pray tell, what aspects of physical appearance in a young woman are altered upon her entrance into a legally-binding union with a male human?"
The customs man's eyes immediately went to Laquesha Kabwe's hand in search of a ring. Of course, Laquesha Kabwe had a ring. All Puella Magi have rings, as they prove handy receptacles for Soul Gems when not in use.
"That's your wedding ring?"
"That is her wedding ring," said River Forest.
The customs man nodded, the matter settled. Nonetheless, his eyes narrowed. "You're sure you're thirty-three years old?"
"Fortunately, I need not be certain, because I have legal documentation which I have placed on the desk to verify this simple fact."
The man regarded said documents. He turned them over with diligent care. Laquesha Kabwe could almost perceive the cogs revolving in his brain. He knew something was incorrect, something on an instinctive level that aroused his suspicion, but his muddled mental state rendered him incapable of cohering logical particles of evidence to confirm his intuition.
With a note of finality, River Forest said: "Mrs. Kabwe is thirty-three years old."
"Alright." The customs man sighed. "I guess there's nothing else to say on the matter. You girls have fun. Enjoy your stay in Mitakihara."
After they gathered the significant quantity of documents (which included forged parental permission forms from one Saint Ursula's School for Young Females in Chicago, Illinois, the fabricated academic institution of choice for whenever a Puella Magi may require such a thing), Laquesha Kabwe became once more Cicero, the Third Centurion of the Holy Order of the Knights of Chicago, and led her Puella Magi from the airport into the open Japanese air. Other than Cicero in a smart matronly dress, her twenty disciples donned identical school uniforms to better blend into the surroundings.
Cicero took stock of the gigantic metropolis that spanned beyond. "Lombard, acquire for me a cartograph of the city."
"Yes, milady."
"Hinsdale, Hodgkins, scan for magical residue. We must locate the Puella Magi in this city as soon as possible."
"Yes, milady."
"Yes, milady!"
"Berwyn, take Niles and Westmont and establish a base of operations, preferably in a central location of the metropolis. Someplace to which we may retreat should the situation prove unfavorable."
"Aye, milady. Niles, Westmont, attend."
"Norridge, bring me Hennepin."
"Yes, milady."
"Hennepin, how progresses your Japanese?"
Hennepin, in the same uniform as the rest but marked as a prisoner by the red ribbon tied around her upper arm, scratched at her neck and said a sentence in Japanese.
"Correct answer," said Cicero.
Lombard returned with a tourist map pilfered from a nearby kiosk. Cicero unfolded it and took stock of the geography. Or lack thereof.
"Milady!" said Hinsdale. "I have picked up a magical trail identical to the one exuded by Fargo in Minneapolis."
"Excellent work," said Cicero. "Let us make it our objective to apprehend her before the day ends."
The Puella Magi assented with dutiful salutes. Combat operations in Mitakihara commenced.
After the Christmas carol playlist ran its full gamut thrice, Mami Tomoe announced that dinner was served. She set the meal on the tiny triangle table, only able to arrange plates and silverware for the three in attendance plus a few main dishes. Chief amongst them loomed a gargantuan turkey, its skin roasted brown as it basked in a shallow puddle of its own juices. Sakura and Redfearn drooled at the prospect. Alongside the turkey were mashed potatoes, salad, and rolls of bread. On the kitchen counter where more space remained available waited other delights. Fried okra, stuffing, corn on the cob slathered in butter, asparagus, peach cobbler and cherry pie and cheesecake, cornbread, any homestyle delicacy imaginable.
Tomoe bowed her head and said she hoped they enjoyed the meal, first in English to Redfearn and second in Japanese to Sakura. They ate. Forks and spoons scooped helpings and plopped them onto plates. Tomoe carved thick cuts from the breast of the turkey, while Sakura wrenched off a full leg. Salt, pepper, horseradish, and other seasonings drenched servings. Gravy lakes formed in craterous potatoes and overflowed onto adjacent foodstuffs. Plates acquired third dimensions before food began to funnel into mouths. Satisfied palates sent the girls into spontaneous yums and appropriate thanks to the chef. Tomoe must have done painstaking research on authentic American recipes. Of course, for a girl with her skillset, execution of such recipes came naturally. She worked well when given a series of detailed instructions. A path upon which to tread. Everything ordered and everything moving toward a predictable outcome. And if the outcome lasted naught but a few minutes, a half hour at best disregarding leftovers—in any case less time than it took to reach that outcome—for Tomoe, that was enough. For Tomoe, a fleeting moment of happiness on the face of her friends meant the effort had been expended correctly. Their approval. Their love. She endeavored to make herself useful, helpful, wanted, needed.
A precarious, fragile existence. A canvas of a house perched upon stilts. Small gusts of wind might disrupt her entire abode. Had done so already in any number of past timelines. When her canvas toppled around her and revealed the barren, empty space of the true world, Tomoe's propensity to break exceeded all the other girls.
"Homura, what's wrong?" said Madoka.
Homura glanced from her phone, on which displayed her view into Tomoe's apartment. Best not to worry about them right now, although eventually she would have to chat with Sloan Redfearn about what happened the night before. Eitelkeit had seen it (and been on the receiving end of one of Miki's blades): A hole to another dimension opened, Miki appeared, Miki took Redfearn inside with her, and some time later Redfearn returned. It happened concurrently to the latest raid on the Kaname household, when Homura had been preoccupied with Nagisa. On one hand, the event indicated conspiracy between Redfearn and Omaha's forces. At the same time, why would Omaha be so obvious about it? Miki had paraded in full view of Eitelkeit, so despite Nagisa's distraction they had made no effort to conceal their tracks. Regardless, the matter merited investigation. Redfearn's mind had become more difficult to read since her time in Williston.
"Nothing is wrong, Madoka." They sat opposite each other at the table in Homura's apartment. A paper bucket of fried chicken from a fast-food establishment Madoka liked sat between them. It lacked the flair of Tomoe's dinner, but the food itself did not matter. "I hope I haven't come off as aloof."
"You were staring at your phone for a long time." Madoka wiped her mouth with a napkin. "It's Mami, isn't it? She's worried about Nagisa..."
"Yes, exactly that." Homura closed the phone and slid it into her pocket. She stared at the half-eaten chicken on her plate. "I'm sure Nagisa and Sayaka are fine, though. In fact, I have a few theories of my own as to their whereabouts."
"Really? Have you told Mami? I think we should team up to help her and Kyoko find them. You don't think they're in danger, do you?"
"As I said, I have merely theories." Homura fiddled with a chicken leg. "No proof. I want to investigate on my own before I give anyone false hope."
Madoka sighed. "Nagisa and Sayaka are so nice... I'd hate if anything bad happened to them. I asked Hitomi and everyone else from school if they had seen anything, but nobody had. I'm starting to get really worried... I can only imagine how Mami and Kyoko feel."
The twelve dolls stood around her, on high alert. Funny how when alone with Homura, they got up to all kinds of antics, but around Madoka they were so well-behaved. "Don't worry, Madoka. I'm certain everything will turn out all right. I will make sure it happens. You trust me, don't you?"
"Yeah..." Madoka looked down. "Yeah, I know you'll make things right. You just have that way about you. So cool, and like you always understand exactly what's going on even if I don't... Ha, I hope I don't sound like I'm gushing!"
"It's perfectly fine, Madoka. Your compliments mean a lot to me."
A short silence reigned.
"Homura." Madoka shuffled her feet a little. She stared to the side, where the empty screens floated and the shadow of the pendulum danced. "Homura, can I tell you something? Something that probably sounds a little silly."
"Of course. You can tell me anything."
"It's just..." Another pause. "It's just, sometimes I get this weird feeling. About Sayaka and Nagisa, I mean. I don't know why them in particular. I can't quite describe this feeling, it's like... like I've met them before? Before I transferred here, I mean."
"I see." Homura sipped from her coffee mug. "Perhaps this uncanny feeling is déjà vu."
"Oh, that might be it. I don't know, ha ha." Madoka scratched the back of her head and gave a sheepish smile. "I always thought it was just like, regret at not getting to know them better? I think me and Sayaka, and Nagisa and Mami and Kyoko, I think we all could have been much better friends than we turned out being. I mean—don't get me wrong—we're not enemies or anything, of course not, but it just feels like we're a little..."
"Distant."
"Yeah, that's it! I always chalked it up to how Sayaka and Kyoko were really close, and Mami and Nagisa. It's hard to walk into someone's life when they're already so close to another person, if that makes sense. You just wind up being a third wheel, I guess. But I've always felt like, I don't know, something always just felt right about us being friends, even if we never got that close. If that makes sense?"
"You are a kind person, Madoka Kaname. It is in your nature to want to be friends with everyone."
"Okay, maybe I'm not explaining myself the best. It's just, you and I are really close, right? We do almost everything together. I see you every day. It just feels like, I should be having that kind of relationship with all of them, especially Sayaka for some reason. Yeah, that's the word—should. Like, there's something that ought to be happening but isn't..."
She trailed off and gave an embarrassed grin. Homura drank from her cup. Should. The implications of the word should. What should happen. What has been mandated. What the laws of the universe have conspired to create. What Homura Akemi, the salamander, has prevented from occurring.
Was the Incubator's plot, his masterminding and machinations, his series of perfectly-executed movements, the work of one attempting to break the universe or the work of the universe itself trying to break free of its restraints? No, no. The Incubator's goals far exceeded restoring the universe to its state before the ascension of Homura Akemi. He wanted to enslave Madoka, pervert her universe in the opposite direction. But the thought lingered: Who decided what should happen. Who decided what was right.
Akemi's Paradox:
The beautiful qualities of Madoka Kaname meant she should be the rightful God of this universe; the beautiful qualities of Madoka Kaname meant she should not have to be the God of this universe.
The Christian theologians, among many mistakes, made one correct deduction: God was sacrifice. To be God was to relinquish mortal happiness to ensure the happiness of lesser beings. It was not the Buddhist notion of individual enlightenment and ascension. Why else would the wraiths don the robs of Buddhist ascetics? Individual enlightenment was selfishness. Enlightenment was evil. To be truly enlightened, to see the truth of this universe and its naked horror, was to understand the necessity of its destruction. The wraiths knew. The archons knew. It was in fact Madoka's ignorance that made her their benevolent antithesis.
One could not be simultaneously omnipotent and benevolent. But, like Homura herself, Madoka was not truly omnipotent. She was a concept, something akin to a god, but not a true god. She ascended not by abandoning her humanity, like the Buddhists and the wraiths, but by embracing it. It was because of Madoka's humanity that she could create such a beautiful world. Madoka's humanity was the key to everything. That humanity must be protected. Must be held.
"Everything will be okay," said Homura. "I promise."
"I'm just worried I'll never see them again. You know, like the old saying, you never know what you have until it's gone? It makes me wonder what I've been doing these past three years. They were right here all this time, and I never... I was always doing something else, it seems."
Homura swished the dregs of her coffee in the mug. "So you're saying you regret the time we've spent together. You wish you could have traded that time for more time with them."
Madoka looked up. "Oh, no! I don't mean that at all. I've always enjoyed the time I've spent with you, Homura. It's just..."
"Time is a commodity." The pendulum ticked. "It is precious, like all scarce things. No matter how much time you accrue, it is never enough. To spend time in one way is to sacrifice its use in another."
"Yeah... Yeah, that makes sense. It's like balance, I guess. But I don't think you have to spend time with just one person always. Like the other day, when you were sick and I hunted wraiths with the other girls. We were all there together, and it was loads of fun! I thought the whole time how great it would be if you were there too, Homura."
"I do not think the other girls like me very much."
Madoka sighed. "Homura, that's not true at all! Why wouldn't they like you? You're smart, and brave, and caring, and you're always there to back up a friend when they need help. You just need to open up to them and I'm sure they'd like you a lot!"
Despite herself, Homura smiled. It was hard not to. If she did not smile at such things, what did she have to smile at? "Thank you, Madoka. You always know how to brighten my day. Maybe... Maybe when Sayaka and Nagisa are back, maybe then we can do what you say."
It would require work, however. Occlusion of memories, remapping of identities. The Sakura—Miki dynamic showed signs of falling apart, something must be done about that. And preparations for Nagisa's upcoming adolescence. Assuming of course Homura wasn't forced to kill either in the battle with Omaha. Assuming she didn't have to turn back time and erase this conversation from existence. But even if the conversation never transpired, or Nagisa and Miki never went missing, did that change what Madoka wanted, her true desires? Those desires were constant, immutable. Homura had always known Madoka wanted things to be this way. Six instead of two. More rather than less. Madoka liked to share. Homura did not.
"Mami invited me to a Christmas dinner," said Madoka. "I told her I already had plans with you, but I'm sure if we both went she wouldn't object! Come on, Homura, why don't we go? It'd probably make Mami feel a lot better too, and take her mind off Nagisa for a little bit."
Homura regarded the mostly-empty bucket of fried chicken. "We have already eaten."
"Well, we could stop by for a visit..."
Best not to move too much. Movement presented vulnerabilities, avenues for Omaha to exploit. Best to remain defended, encased, incubated.
"Maybe later."
"Okay," said Madoka.
"Would you like to open your present now?"
Madoka's face lit up again. "Sure!"
Their two gifts, one to one another, rested on the table between them. Madoka wiped her hands on her napkin and took up the painstakingly-wrapped present addressed to her. It had taken several... hundred attempts to ensure the ribbons and bows and paper were just right. Homura clasped her hands on her lap and waited while Madoka picked the pieces apart with careful diligence.
Homura held her breath as Madoka opened the box and regarded what was inside. Then a reassuring glow on her face as she extricated the contents. "Oh, it's a music box!" She turned it over in her hands, inspected it from every angle, and located the key, which she wound with a few delicate cranks.
She set the music box on the table and let it play. The notes percolated through the air, little chirps and chimes in lovely lullaby while the gears inside the box turned the pieces atop it. An outer circle lined with figurines of happy children revolved slowly, causing the children to play and dance, rotating on their own internal axes, circles within circles. They thronged around a central structure, a pillar of golden beams that rose into sinewy woven puffs of clouds and a lurking yellow dome of sun. Small bars extended out, at the ends of which were affixed miniature birds and airplanes that revolved around the sun counter to the turn of the children beneath. Parts extended and retracted, flipped and oscillated at key points of the melody. At one point a small mouse skittered up the golden pillars, turned, and scampered back down to vanish into a hole beyond which gears gnashed.
"Wow, it's so pretty," said Madoka. She watched until the song played out and children ceased dancing and birds ceased spinning and the sun retreated behind the clouds. "It's so intricate... It must have cost a lot!"
Homura lied. "I found it for almost nothing at a store of trinkets."
"Well, I love it! Thank you so much!" Without warning, she flung herself at Homura and hugged her tight. Homura froze at the unexpected contact. Her arms locked at her sides and she was unsure how to angle her head while Madoka nuzzled hers against Homura's neck. But she allowed the moment to linger. A moment like this could last forever at it would be okay. A moment like this made all the moments that led up to it worth it.
And then the moment ended. Madoka pulled away and picked up the other present. She handed it to Homura. "Here, now open mine." She scratched the back of her head and smiled. "It's not nearly as cool as yours, but I hope you like it anyway!"
"I'm certain I will." Homura unwrapped the gift. In the box she found bundled a woolen pink scarf. She unraveled the article and extended its length. The tails at either end trailed to the floor.
"It's a scarf!" said Madoka. "I knit it myself. Well, kinda. My dad showed me how."
"It's beautiful." Homura wrapped the scarf around her neck. It was thick and warm. Not quite her color, but such a minor quibble barely registered. She would make much use of this gift. "Thank you, Madoka. This means a lot to me."
"Oh, it was nothing. It's the least I could have done. I'm really glad you like it!"
They smiled together. Together. A moment like this, were it only prolonged. A moment like this, if it only lasted forever. Why must anything else exist?
Nagisa zoomed through space, along with a full collection of table, tablecloth, chairs, platters, silverware, and of course cheese. She tore voraciously at the blocks and slices heaped before her. The void filled with the scarf and smack of her hamster-crammed mouth.
From a darker corner, Omaha said: "Cicero's group nears Tomoe's residence."
Sayaka looked up from the manga she had been reading. "Cripes, finally. What'd they do, circle the whole city?"
"They're cautious..."
"Yeah, yeah." Sayaka stood and kicked her chair aside. Not that kicking the chair did anything, but it had that satisfaction, you know? Try kicking a chair sometime, it's more fun than you think. Especially if the chair then hurtles in Zero G. "Nagisa! Put the cheese away, it's about time to rondo!"
"Time to what?" Nagisa zipped upside-down overhead. "And come onnn, let me finish this plate first."
"Quit fooling around and take this seriously, will ya! Those Chicago girls'll attack Mami and Kyoko soon."
"Guh, fine." Nagisa flopped out of her chair and onto the approximate level of space Sayaka and most of the other chairs inhabited. "What're we even getting ready for again? Are we making another go at Madoka?"
Sayaka rolled her eyes. How many times had they gone over the plan by now? She scrutinized her partner-in-crime, unsure whether she had legitimately forgotten or was simply being facetious. "Not yet. But soon enough, so you better be ready when it's time. This is the best chance we got, so give it your all, got it?"
"I always give it my all," said Nagisa. With that you-don't-have-to-tell-me-what-to-do look.
"Miki," said Omaha. "You're certain Mami Tomoe and Kyoko Sakura will handle this situation correctly?"
"Of course!" Sayaka tried to locate their nebulous ally in the darkness of the void, but metrics both visual and aural lost all meaning in such space. "They can be headstrong, but they're not dumb. They know when they can't win a fight. Their first thought will be to go to Homura for help. Which is exactly what we want."
"If you say so..." said Omaha's disembodied, echoey voice.
"What's that supposed to mean? Isn't this what your 'friend' wants? Why else is he letting these girls come here all the way from Chicago?"
"Where's Chicago?" said Nagisa.
"My friend has said nothing about these events," said Omaha. "I was not aware the girls from Chicago would be involved in the proceedings beyond their intended role of dispatching the archon in Minneapolis."
"Yeah, well, I ain't one for complex schemes anyway." Sayaka grabbed Nagisa by the wrist when she attempted to scamper away for more cheese. "Sometimes you just gotta wing it. Do what feels right, y'know?"
Omaha said nothing. They waited.
Note: Chapter 37, two weeks from now (February 20). We'll see what the schedule looks like from there. These last chapters will all be pretty long, so I may have to take them slow. I hope you will find them worth the wait.