Author's Note: This fic takes place within my #mamoru in college series on Tumblr, a collection of humorous snippets of what Mamoru's campus life at Harvard might be like if he'd made it to America after all. Though you don't need to know the series to enjoy this fic, being familiar with them may make this fic all the more fun :)
The series as a whole is not committed to any particular canon, and so you will find references and details from both Crystal and the anime.
Special thanks to AReptileDysfunction for beta-ing and generally being an indomitable source of support.
Stan was a firm believer in the curative power of singing in the car, but after Mamoru demurred twice from joining in, his friend thankfully stopped proselytizing and seemed content to belt out song after song on his own. He knew an impressive number of them, not just the crashing rock-n-roll variety that he liked to play with his band, though he sang those the loudest, hands drumming on the steering wheel with enviable fervor. His friends joshed him mercilessly for not having a single completed original song, but that aside, he was in fact a reasonably talented vocalist.
Which was good because it was a long drive from Cambridge to Maine.
Two weeks ago, Stan had casually asked Mamoru what his plans were for the Thanksgiving recess, and when he said he had none, Stan surprised him by asking if he'd like to spend it with his family. The invitation felt strange at first, but after his friend promised, unprompted, to keep his more troublesome relatives away, Mamoru recognized the sincerity of someone trying to "adopt" him—the reserved and sometimes funny foreigner whose company people inexplicably enjoyed anyway—and decided to accept.
They left early on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, with Stan coming to campus to pick Mamoru up in a car that was both larger and newer than his usual ride.
"We'll need it for the snow," he explained when he saw Mamoru giving the bright red SUV a curious once-over. "You brought your thermals, right?"
Mamoru nodded. Stan had warned him that winter in his hometown "could be a bitch."
He put his bag in the trunk and climbed into the passenger seat, already nervous about spending multiple hours trapped in someone's company. It hadn't occurred to him to ask where Stan's family lived until they were planning the drive, and by then it would've been rude to try to back out. The only person Mamoru ever wanted to spend that kind of time with was Usagi, and even with her, they had rules about how to stay in each other's company to keep from fighting—him about needing space and her about needing attention.
On the other hand, the "study sessions" he and Stan had in Stan's garage were like that by default. Mamoru would post himself on the old sagging couch with his textbooks while Stan practiced with his band, and in this way, they spent a fairly regular amount of time together without actually interacting much.
With his affinity for the radio over conversation, Stan proved an easy companion in the car. As they began their trip, he was listening to some morning news show that had him occasionally swearing at the host, and that relieved some of the pressure of trying to be sociable.
Mamoru took the opportunity to study his college town above ground instead of below. Like many students, he had no car of his own and got around by underground transit when he had time to sightsee at all. Even before he'd arrived in America, he had decided he would not transform here if there was no need. In an environment as insular as a college campus, the risk of discovery was too great.
But as he watched the unfamiliar streets roll by, he was struck by how little of his new home he had seen, and not just because he hadn't been there very long. A sharp yearning rose in him for the freedom of racing across rooftops and leaping through the air, untouched by gravity. Once upon a time, it had been as normal as breathing, and he could almost feel it again, that old adrenaline. The temptation was so strong, it was almost a physical sensation, an itch in his gut, a buzzing beneath his skin.
"So is it nice to get outta Dodge?"
It took a moment to puzzle out what Stan meant, and Mamoru said, "Yes, it is," but then got stuck in trying to say why. He couldn't exactly relate what was on his mind right then—images of endless starry skies and city vistas usually reserved for the birds.
So he asked instead, "Do you get out of Dodge much?"
Stan grinned, which made Mamoru assume he had probably mangled the idiom somehow. "Just to see the family. That's about it."
This was the point in the conversation where a normal person would have asked about said family, especially if they were going to meet soon. But Mamoru never did because it risked being asked about his family in return, and he never liked explaining about that. He assumed it would come up at some point during this weekend, but he didn't want it to be now, not while confined in a car with hundreds of miles to go.
It took him a beat too long to search for something else to say, and Stan reached for the radio again, turning the volume back up to a level that filled the quiet, but wouldn't shut out conversation if they wanted it.
"I love this song," he declared, which Mamoru didn't quite believe, but his friend knew the lyrics regardless and launched right into them.
While Stan sang, Mamoru watched the passing landscape and read road signs to occupy himself. He would have preferred a book, but he had left it in his bag, worried that reading in the car would be too unsociable. At least the restless energy that had crawled around his skin earlier was ebbing, and he no longer felt the need to sit on his hands. Eventually he braved a question, asking why so many places seemed to have the same name, and Stan guffawed as if he'd said something very funny.
"Considering how many of our forefathers were named John, James, and Thomas, I'd guess that being imaginative wasn't high on their list."
Encouraged by Mamoru's question, he proceeded to tell farcical stories about the next few towns that may or may not have been true because they betrayed an observably astute knowledge of local history underneath the humor. Like many of his American peers, Stan usually pretended that academics was of little importance, a behavior that baffled Mamoru thoroughly, but he would not be the one to call his friend's ruse.
Instead, he listened and laughed while Stan slandered his countrymen, and by the time they made their first rest stop, where Stan insisted on introducing him to multiple varieties of gelatinous candies and baked corn snacks, Mamoru was feeling almost comfortable.
When they finally reached their destination, Mamoru's eyes were once more glued to the window, this time in amazement at the winter wilderness that surrounded Stan's family home. Out on the highway, the blustery, gray weather had been dull, occasionally dangerous, but the woodland here recast it into something beautiful. Soaring, reedy tree trunks lined both sides of the road leading up to the house, their spider web of branches dusted with snow like confectioner's sugar. The groundcover was equally bright, even beneath a pale gray sun, and icicles flashed whenever the car's headlights swept across the foliage as they negotiated a curve. At one point, Mamoru thought he saw a buck bounding through the woods.
The next thing to astound him was the breathtaking cold. It hit him as soon as he left the car, his sharp inhale of frigid air making his nose ache and his lungs go dry. A sudden pulse of energy in his chest only made him pull in more cold air, and he frowned when he couldn't distinguish the cold burn from the hot. Strangely, the warmth didn't help, but he was more preoccupied by the fact that his Crystal had never acted this way before.
The sound of the car trunk being opened brought him back from his thoughts, and when he looked up, he saw Stan regarding him curiously. Uncertain of what to say, he chose not to say anything at all and simply went to retrieve his bag.
"Home sweet home," Stan said, giving the car a satisfied pat before locking it with the key fob. He still looked like he wanted to know what Mamoru was thinking, but he didn't pry.
"It's beautiful," Mamoru said, glancing around the snowy landscape for emphasis.
"Yeah, well, the Hallmark movie ends at the door."
Mamoru frowned. "What?"
Stan chuckled. "I'll explain later. Or better yet, maybe I'll get to show you."
Mamoru followed him to the door, and while Stan fumbled with the lock—"Damn thing sticks when it gets cold"—he felt a renewed pang of anxiety at the thought of being in a house full of strangers. He tamped it down as best he could. There was nothing he could do about it now.
The entry hall of the house was warm and dim, the perfect opposite of the outdoors. Dark wood paneling and russet colors made it feel smaller than it was, and a mounted deer head high up on the wall made him vaguely uncomfortable. He was reminded of the animal he had seen in the woods.
"Ma? Pa?" Stan called out. There was no answer, but Mamoru felt someone approaching. Stan didn't wait for them before bending down to remove his boots, and Mamoru did the same, though instead of kicking them haphazardly into the pile beside the door, he placed his neatly against the wall out of habit.
A moment later, a young woman who looked about their age emerged from the rear of the house. Her chestnut-colored hair and hazel eyes reminded him of Makoto, and she had a ready smile as if she'd been expecting agreeable company, but when she saw Mamoru, her smile dropped and her eyes widened in shock.
"Goddamn."
It was an auspicious beginning.
"He's taken, Hal," Stan said bluntly, making both Mamoru and the young woman blush.
But she didn't look away. She kept her eyes on his face and held out a hand as if determined to ignore her own reaction. "I'm Hallie, Stan's sister."
He took the proffered hand with as much composure as he could muster, but his own introduction was cut off by the vision that flashed in his mind, too quickly for him to grasp what it was at first. It revealed itself in pieces, his conscious mind stitching it together too slowly for his liking because it forced him to make a choice.
Should he ignore the vision, and risk forgetting it to avoid an awkward pause in the conversation? Or should he allow his mind to keep grasping at it and deal with the social consequences later?
At least he had a choice this time. He didn't always. Sometimes the visions seized the forefront of his mind whether he liked it or not.
He chose to remember, letting his awareness turn inward, and the vision began to take shape faster. He saw a broad and ornate room, full of marble, damask, and gilt, and he was there with someone, but he couldn't see who. A sense of urgency filled him, bordering on desperation. Why?
Based on the decidedly uncommon finery, he assumed the scene was from one of his lives as a royal, either his past as a Prince or his future as a King. The room had felt familiar, like a place he belonged, and he decided it must be from his past. His waking visions tended to be such. His premonitions usually reserved themselves for his dreams.
Satisfied that he had recalled enough, he forced the vision aside and met Hallie's hazel eyes.
"Everyone calls me Chiba," he said with a forced smile, as if he hadn't taken an unnaturally long time to respond.
"Okay, but is that what you would like to be called?" Hallie's tone was teasing, and he shrugged a little self-consciously.
"My name is Mamoru."
She repeated his name slowly, but with a surprisingly good accent, and it struck him how seldom he heard his name spoken that way these days.
"Mamoru…san? Is that right?"
Her attempt to follow his cultural conventions felt more meaningful than he expected, and his strained smile became genuine. "Just Mamoru would be fine, but thank you."
"Ma and Pa home?" Stan asked, and Hallie shook her head.
"They went into town for last minute supplies. Lard, lumber, duct tape for the children."
"Right. Well." He turned to Mamoru. "I guess I can show you where you'll be staying then, let you get settled and stuff?"
Mamoru nodded. "That would be good."
He trailed Stan up the stairs—more dark wood, but impeccably polished—and he could feel Hallie's gaze watching him the entire way up. He hid a sigh, hoping the whole weekend wouldn't be full of such scrutiny.
Stan led him to a tidy and comfortable room with a window seat, a sloped roof, and a red bedspread, and when Mamoru realized it would be his and his alone during his stay, the anxiety that had started to rise significantly eased.