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This chapter has been sitting there gathering dust (and about a paragraph at a time) for far too long. But I've finally finished it! And a great deal more happened in a smaller space than I expected it to–I'm afraid I'm rushing things, but I couldn't think of anything more better to insert in the middle. *Sigh*

The concept of a divided Pluto is mine (I think. If someone else thought of it too, pat yourself on the back.) Tenchiverse Pluto is mine, as is long-haired Ami, the implied political connections between the Silver Millennium, Kinmoku, and Jurai back in the Silver Millennium time period, and any other tweaks I added in in order to make this place appreciably different from canon Sailorverse.

However, the original templates of Sailor Moon (anime style, as it is the one I am most familiar with) and Tenchi (Universe!, since it is my favorite, although I believe I am probably borrowing rather heavily from Tenchi Muyo! as well) belong to people who are a great deal more artistically talented, older, and richer than me.


Headache. Her head hurt. She wondered, vaguely, why. Not a hangover–she and Reika may have been friends, but neither was the type to go out to a bar and get drunk. What else could have caused this (*wince*) feeling?

She tentatively attempted to open an eye, then slammed it immediately shut. Wherever she was, the light was entirely too bright. Now . . . what was the last thing she could remember?

. . . that senshi. The one in burgundy, black, and white, with the silver staff. Or was she really a senshi at all? She didn't look like any of the descriptions–but other new senshi had appeared recently as well, so she could just be another of those. The one that had talked to Sailor Moon using *her* face (or was it Usagi? Yes, Tsukino Usagi. She hadn't been in her senshi form at the time). The thing that had stepped into her and attempted to take control. I am you. The emotionless being had stated.

I refuse . . .

* * *

I refuse to believe that! Washu turned around to face the owner of the anguished, angered voice, the second Midori that had appeared so suddenly, as she went from unconsciousness to standing up, professing complete denial of something.

Believe what? Although that question, too, was on Washu's lips, it was Midori that spoke, spitting the cotton balls out of her mouth. It didn't work, Washu. I still don't remember anything.

The new girl looked from doppelganger to mad scientist and back. Who are you people? Her gaze locked on Midori. She hissed. Are you her? The one who tried to take over my body? Well, if this is a trick to make me let down my guard, it won't work. I won't let you obliterate me!

Midori's eyebrows wrinkled. Why would I want your body? I have one of my own, after all. I don't really need a spare.

Would you be willing to tell us your name? Washu asked cautiously. That is, if you remember it. A certain amount of resigned humor entered her tone.

Of course I remember my own name. What do you think I am, stupid? My name is Meiou Setsuna. She turned. But who is she, if she's not the body stealer?

I don't know. Midori answered honestly. Washu was trying to return my memory, but then you appeared. She took the electromagnet off her forehead and began unwrapping the wire from around her waist. Actually, I was hoping you could tell me. I don't suppose you have a twin sister, cousin, something like that, who went missing recently or something like that?

Setsuna shook her head regretfully. Sorry. I'm an only child, and all my close cousins are boys–and none of them have green hair or red eyes. She cocked her head. But you sure do look a lot like me, don't you? I wonder why.

Midori shrugged lightly. I bet you anything that the answer to that involves my lost memories. I don't suppose we've met before, either?

Setsuna shook her head. The only green-haired, red-eyed girl I've ever met–other than the image when I in the mirror–is the *CENSORED* who tried to take over my body, just before I appeared. Hey, maybe she succeeded, and I'm dead. This isn't exactly what I imagined Heaven would be like, though.

Washu giggled. No, you're not dead, because I know for a fact that this is not Heaven. Heaven would never be so chaotic.

Setsuna examined that argument logically and finally nodded. Okay, how about Hell, then? Although if this were Hell, I'd have thought the body-stealer would be here to torture me.

Washu shook her head violently as a dreamy look came into her eyes. No, this couldn't be Hell. No place can be Hell as long as Tenchi is there with me.

The two green-haired girls shared a look. When a stray heart drifted too far in her direction, Midori absentmindedly popped it.

* * *

Coming out through the dimensional doorway, Midori bumped into Yosho. Oh, Katsuhito. Hello. Were you coming here to talk to Washu?

The patriarch of the Masaki clan tilted his head. Well, yes . . . in a manner of speaking. I merely wished to know if your memory operation was successful.

The short answer would be no. There were, however, several large complications.

Oh, so I'm reduced to a complication now, am I? An amused voice, identical in tone and timbre, came from over Midori's shoulder . . . as a second Midori with much longer hair stepped into the light. You must be the grandfather of this Tenchi I hear so much about. It is nice to meet you. I'm Meiou Setsuna.

She has her full memories, up to a certain point. Midori supplied. But she does not have a long lost twin or anything like that, so as to my identity, we are still all rather in the dark.

A pleasure to meet you, Setsuna. Yosho nodded gravely. And Midori . . . I'm sorry that your memories were not successfully returned, although I must admit I would be equally sorry when the time comes for you to leave.

The green-haired girl found her feet of sudden intense interest, the slightest amount of pink staining her deeply tanned cheeks. She then looked up and grinned slightly. Eh, I bet you say that to all the girls.

Feeling younger than he had in years, Yosho grinned roguishly back. Only to the ones who deserve it. And laughed, Midori joining in as Setsuna looked between the two with some small confusion.

Yosho, having found out what he wished to know, turned to leave. It was only due to his keen Juraian hearing that he heard Setsuna's soft-spoken comment. Ah, Midori? Don't you think he's a bit . . . old for you? He looks like he's someone's grandfather.

And Midori's trill of laughter. Me? And Katsuhito? Don't be silly. He's like the brother I (probably) never had.

So Setsuna, like everyone else, could not see through the illusion either. Yosho was surprised, but wasn't sure whether he was also disappointed . . . or relieved.

* * *

You know, Midori, when you first appeared, it was through a hole that looked suspiciously like a space/time warp. Washu commented to the two green-haired girls. I'm not an expert on that sort of thing (though if you ever tell anyone I said that, I will firmly deny it), but it may have crossed you through to a different dimension as well. Perhaps dimensional travel has the effect of suppressing a person's memories. She pondered the various ramifications of this new hypothesis.

We'll find out soon enough. Midori stated calmly.

What makes you say that? Curiosity bells and whistles were going off in Washu's mind. Perhaps Midori was recovering some of her memory.

Why, because Sailor Pluto always comes to investigate temporal and dimensional disturbances. Midori looked mildly surprised as she innocently blinked. I thought everyone knew that.

I didn't. Washu and Setsuna admitted simultaneously. I wonder how Midori does? It sure doesn't seem like the sort of information that just anyone would know.

Hm. Washu walked over to her main computer. Computer, show me Sailor Pluto.

::Searching . . . one match found. Display match?::

Of course I want you to display it, silly computer! Slowly an image grew on the screen, and all three girls gasped.

Setsuna shrieked. That's the body-stealer I was telling you about! Pause. Waitasecond. Never mind. She has blue eyes, and the body-stealer had red eyes, just like me.

Midori reconcieved a great hatred for that color of eyes. Except . . . I get the feeling I knew her, and liked her. It's just her eyes . . . I hate that color of eyes, and I really don't know why.

How many darkly-tanned, green-haired young adult females, nearly identical in almost every way, are there around here anyway? Washu muttered in frustration. Computer, search for pictures of anyone else identical to Midori, except perhaps slight variation in eye color and hair length and style.

::Searching . . . one additional match found. Display also?:: The computer didn't even bother to wait for the inevitable, exasperated affirmation, splitting the screen in two, and placing up a picture that, with the exception of apparel, was identical to the picture of Sailor Pluto. ::Subject name: Meiou Setsuna. Estimated age: 23. Works in Tokyo Observatory . . .::

That's enough, computer. Washu stated. So, not only do we have two more doubles of the two of you to worry about, one even has the same name.

Two? But it is obvious that that Setsuna is Sailor Pluto. Anyone could see that. Midori thought, confused. Just like anyone can see that Katsuhito Masaki is biologically, if not temporally, about as young as you? Another part of her mind asked rhetorically. Perhaps everyone else can't see. Now all that remains for us to find out why we can. Maybe Katsuhito will have a suggestion. Or . . . when Sailor Pluto shows up, we can just ask her, instead.

* * *

Setsuna's head turned at the curious sound, searching out the source–until she found it, in the form of Ryo-ohki.

Hello, Ryo-ohki. Washu told me about you. Would you like to be friends? Setsuna knelt down to the cabbit's level and looked it in the eyes.

Ryo-ohki agreed with its version of a smile, and a vigorous bob of the head. She liked this new stranger that had come to live at the house–and she liked the other stranger too, the one with short hair. They reminded her of Sasami, and Sasami was her favorite person. The short-haired girl reminded her of Sasami more, but she liked this girl a whole lot too.

Nice to meet you too. Setsuna relaxed onto the sofa as she pondered the day's strange events. She had been confronting this evil copy of herself, and then *POOF!* she had been transported several years later (she had checked a calendar) and perhaps even a dimension away. Ryo-ohki jumped onto her lap and she began absentmindedly stroking the small animal. Now, she had landed in a madhouse (or that's what it seemed like at times, at least) filled with aliens and space pirates and mad scientists and, we musn't forget, a *benevolent* double of herself (who, incidentally, had no memory at all). How strange her life had become.

Her abstracted gaze directed itself through the glass door directly across from the couch, so she was in the perfect position to observe the arrival of the next guest in the Masaki home. For a brief moment, the air shimmered the way it does in the most intense of heat waves, then a rip formed and through that rip stepped Sailor Pluto, looking exactly like the photo they had been observing mere hours before.

For a moment, the senshi stood there looking around, slightly disoriented, then her eyes fell upon Setsuna. She stiffened, and rushed forward. Midori, you're okay! We were all so worried when you just disappeared on us! What happened?

Setsuna blinked. You knew Midori? Before she lost her memory? Come on, you need to meet Washu. She paused. Oh, and I'm not Midori. My name is Setsuna.

Setsuna? Midori's Setsuna? Pluto paused. Ye . . . es, I can see that. You truly do belong in that other dimension, unlike her. I'm glad you're all right too, for Midori's sake.

Midori knew me? Setsuna asked, eyes wide, as she commenced dragging Pluto once more towards Washu's lab. But I never . . . met . . . The green-haired girl grew pale. You are me The remembered voice echoed briefly in Setsuna's mind, and she shuddered. No! Not Midori! I refuse to believe that of her. She's not like that! She'd never do that. Not Midori.

* * *

You don't remember me? Or Haruka, or Yaten, or anyone? Sailor Pluto staggered mentally as she looked into the calm garnet eyes of her semi-twin.

No, I don't remember you, any more than I do the other Setsuna. Midori sounded vaguely puzzled. Could you tell me, though, why I find within myself such an intense hatred of your eyes?

You told me that your mother had eyes the same color as mine, and that it was she who stripped you of your position and threw you back into this universe–your home universe, as it turned out.

I . . . yes. Midori breathed. I begin to remember.

As if there was some psychic connection between the two girls, Setsuna too began to remember those years she had lost, slowly. Their fight–and yes, Midori *had been* the evil body-stealer, but she was different now. She had been different, even when they shared the same body, when the one who had been Pluto seemed to be the only intelligence remaining, and especially when she lost all her memories and when Setsuna returned to independent existence.

Midori/Pluto, memories returned, threw herself at the other girl. Oh Setsuna, I was so afraid I had lost you forever.

Didn't you read my note? Setsuna asked, confused. I was with you the whole time–I had become you, until the Garnet Orb used Washu's memory restoration machine to restore me to full autonomy instead.

You mean . . . you knew this was going to happen . . . and you didn't tell me?! Do you know how worried I was?! Midori/Pluto yelled. Setsuna dashed out through the dimensional doorway into the house, Midori/Pluto close on her heels. Get back here, Setsuna!

Washu turned to look at her remaining guest. So, what brought Sailor Pluto here, if you weren't aware Midori was here?

I came here to investigate a temporal disturbance–not a large one, and one that seemed vaguely familiar, but I didn't have anything better to do. Now I know why it seemed familiar–Setsuna is a great deal like both Midori and myself, after all.

So you are a remnant of the Silver Millennium. Yosho stepped into the light. I am glad to know that at least some of you survived the onslaught.

Pluto's eyes narrowed, then relaxed as she sighed. I'm afraid I have no memory of you, sir. All of us were reincarnated by the power of the Ginzuishou, but as an unfortunate side effect of that reincarnation, we remember next to nothing of our previous lives.

Washu's hands twitched as beautiful visions of experimenting on this Ginzuishou' artifact–imagine, an object of such power as to be able to reincarnate peoples' souls!–danced around in her head, and she began to cackle softly, unheard by the other two occupants of the room.

Yosho shook his head sadly. I'm afraid I was only a child when the Silver Millennium fell, so neither do I remember you as more than a child's bedtime story. The emperor of Jurai, where I am from, would be ecstatic to renew relations with Queen Serenity once he is appraised of your existence, I am sure.

Queen Serenity did not survive, I'm afraid. Pluto sighed. Neither did any of the other Elder Senshi. Only we, their daughters, remain . . . but I think that Princess Serenity would be just as happy to renew relations with yet another of our old allies. I remember now, the stories my mother would tell me of Jurai. It sounded like a beautiful place, but my duties as I began taking over from my mother kept me from ever visiting.

Tell me, what are your intentions towards Setsuna and Midori? Yosho asked, leaning forward slightly.

Pluto sighed yet again. There we have a dilemma. Both are, or were, Sailor Pluto and thus would seem to belong with the rest of us senshi–at least until they are able to return to their home dimension. But Midori, at least, is no longer able to transform and we really wouldn't be able to watch her, with all the enemies we must fight–and she really can't take on a phage on her own with any hope of winning. She would be safer remaining here–although it is, in the end, her decision. The same goes for Setsuna.

They are welcome here any time. Yosho asserted. Already, Midori and Setsuna both seem a part of the hodgepodge of weirdos that seem to have come to inhabit this house. His smile showed that he did not mind in the least hosting such a hodgepodge of weirdos'. His life had been far too monotonous before they all appeared, after all. Especially the enigma that called herself Midori . . . the puzzle he felt like he was constantly on the very edge of solving. They will always be welcome here.

Midori and Setsuna had returned, smiling, friends again. That means a lot to me. Midori continued. I think here is where I have been happiest and most carefree, even for the short time I've been here. It seems like home, now.

I have a home that will always be my own, family and friends, back in my dimension. But I have enjoyed my stay here and would not mind staying here longer. Setsuna concurred.

Then that settles it. You will stay here, at least until our battle is over with and it is safe once again back in Juuban. Then, we shall see. I'm happy for the two of you. Sailor Pluto smiled and vanished.

* * *

In the depths of the night, a presence stole into Washu's lab, aiming for her communications equipment. Sparing a glance for the three deeply asleep figures, it turned the volume settings on the equipment to the minimal available to have it still be audible and turned the screen away, so the light emitted would be that much less likely to disturb the sleeping figures. One stirred uneasily and the presence froze, on the verge of turning on the equipment. She sighed and turned back over, returning to the deepest of sleep, and the presence, too, sighed a sigh of relief.

With a muffled click the equipment turned on, revealing Yosho's intense face in it's dimly flickering light. Adjusting a few other buttons, he sent out a call which was replied to almost as quickly as it had taken to send.

My son. The mildly surprised but very well controlled face of Jurai's senior empress appeared on the screen. It's been a while, Yosho. And please do lower that detestable illusion you insist on maintaining. Now, what is it that you want?

The first order of business–through the strangest turn of luck imaginable, I've been able to reestablish contact with the remnants of the Silver Millennium, although they are currently engaged in fighting an unknown enemy, so negotiations will have to wait. I *told* father that this was the solar system where it had once been–do you remember that argument?

Funaho sighed. Was that one of the arguments where he stalked away in a huff, or where you cut him off and slid away on your ship to drift around until you felt he had calmed down sufficiently for you to return again?

Yosho sweatdropped. Surely we're not that bad, Mother.

Perhaps not *now*, but back then you were the very epitome of the concept rebellious teenager'. I still think you remain on that backwater planet mostly just because you believe it will piss him off. And it works.

Sigh. I'm not going to argue with you, too, Mother. I need to ask you something that's been bothering me recently.

Ask away, my son. Funaho assented mildly.

You've used illusions before, if probably not for as long a period of unbroken time or as determinedly as I. Yosho started, then paused, before asking what she could feel was the main point of his question. Who can see through your illusions?

Raised eyebrow. The answer to that question, she would have thought, was completely obvious. You can. Why, is there any real point in this question?

Anyone else? Yosho continued.

Well, just about anyone with a drop of royal Juraian blood in them could, if they really tried hard *and* already knew the illusion existed. Hm . . . my brother always claimed he couldn't see my illusions at all, but he was probably just pulling my leg. That was my twin brother, by the way. The one who died when you were a hundred. Her mask seemed about to crack, as she remembered the death of the one person in the family she had always been able to share anything with.

Do I have a sister? Yosho's eyes widened. Surely he would remember if he did, but it had been such a very long time.

Don't be silly. You have two, Ayeka and Sasami. Surely you remember them, seeing as they're *living* with you. A certain amount of bitterness entered her tone–for, though they were her co-wife's daughters, she had always loved them as her own, and had been devastated when they decided so peremptorily to leave–and to join the member of the family who had forsaken all contact with Jurai in the years since his disappearance, and even now called rarely, and only when he needed something.

No, they're my *half*-sisters, mother, and they wouldn't recognize my illusion as such unless I slapped them in the face with it. I'm talking about a *real* sister, a *full* sister, *your* daughter, as I am your son, not Misaki's.

Millions of light years away, Funaho froze, affected by a grief equal to that over her twin, but this grief a wound that had not even begun to heal. Her answer was short as she tried her hardest to retain her calm façade. If Yosho did not remember, she would not remind him. You do not have any siblings.

She cut her side of the connection, but in the brief minute before Yosho remembered to cut his, a ghost rose from the past to taunt her. Katsuhito, what are you doing down here so late? The figure asked, blearily wiping her eyes. And who was that lady? She looked a great deal like you. Is she your mother?

Yes, that was my mother. Yosho smiled, and Funaho saw her son raise his illusion with no reaction from the girl that smiled at him. She yawned, stretching, and turned around.

Oh, that's nice. I hope I get to meet her someday–she looks nice, not at all like the bitch who claimed she was my mother. The girl's face twisted with hatred as she glared into the distance with red eyes that shone the color of garnets. Anyway, 'night Katsuhito. Do go ahead and get some sleep at some point tonight.

Yosho's face softened the way it did around so few people–herself not included, Funaho mourned–and he smiled lightly. Good night– It cut off abruptly, as his hand came down absentmindedly on the shutoff switch.

It shut off both too early and too late, for the senior empress of Jurai who felt those garnet eyes–the eyes of a complete stranger–burn themselves into her, releasing her iron hold on those memories she had tried so hard to suppress. If only she knew the girl's name . . . though that was impossible, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

The stranger could not be who she so wished it was. Funaho had to face the facts–her daughter had *died* that day so long ago. She was dead and she wouldn't be coming back. They may have never found her daughter's dead body, but if Tsunami had not interfered on Sasami's behalf that frightening day so many years ago, they would likely never have found Sasami's body either.

But as much as she tried to suppress it, to impress on herself the futility of such a thought, obviously doomed to disappointment, a small seed of hope had been planted. A seed that left Funaho wondering and wishing. If only . . .


End Notes: Help! Can anyone provide me with a short description of Funaho, Asuza, and Misaki? Or at least affirm that those are their names (Asuza meaning the emperor of Jurai and Misaki his second wife, Ayeka and Sasami's mother, if the names are so far off as to be completely unrecognizable). I really want to write them in, but it's been so long since I've seen Tenchi that I've completely forgotten what they look like!

I think Funaho has dark hair. Right? And that one scene (in Tenchi Muyo! I think?) did indicate that she could see through Yosho's image of old age, I think–and is actually where I got the idea of the age-disguising illusion from. Also, does anyone know when Yosho's birthday is?

Um . . . what else? Tenchiverse Setsuna probably won't be back–at least not until they finish fighting Galaxia. Just assume the senshi in Tenchiverse go roughly according to canon (adjusted for their friendship with the Starlights) because, since I've seen maybe twelve episodes of Stars (1-8, and 13-16? Yeah, that sounds about right), I know practically zilch about Stars and do not intend to touch the senshi side of Tenchiverse without using at *least* a twenty-foot-long pole.

And if you've already figured out where this story is headed . . . all I can say is, good for you! I hope I'm making it relatively hard to figure out, though . . . let me know if you have any suggestions.