Now this, THIS, ladies and gentlemen, is
something I suspect will be more pleasing to those rabid
packs of wolves I've been forcing back with a stick.

(That means you, Kii.)

It's a VERY revised version of "Sanctus." And
just "Sanctus." Due to the bulk of the two chapters,
I'm dividing them up. "Sanctus" will not end at the
same spot as before, you'll have to wait
for "Benedictus" until we get back up to speed.
Afterwards, all y'all can digest and then get "Agnus
Dei."

Ai-ko's been busy a busy little author lately,
people, so hopefully she'll stop obsessing and put one
of the five or six other projects in the works done,
especially if she can stop playing spirit monkey.
*Sighs* You people . . . don't know what a spirit
monkey is . . . tsk tsk.

Remember, VERY R. Keep out, little ones!

Disclaimer: Sailormoon does not belong to me,
but I do own a bunch of manga I can't read, a
decrepit '89 Volvo 740 GLE, and a hyperactive
personality. I sell it to you--cheap!

Requiem for a Soldier: Sanctus [4a/7]
Author: Ai
E-mail: tennyo@attbi.com (NEW ADDRESS!!!!)




He couldn't sleep these days.

But then again Chiba Mamoru wasn't sold on sleep
being a good thing. Sleep had, at times, been his only
friend and his cruelest enemy; after too many years of
being soothed and tormented incessantly by one or the
other he couldn't really make a real decision.

A decision would have been nice.

He'd wanted to protect her. He wanted
everything for her. She didn't need him, didn't need
this hanging over her head. But at the same time he
didn't want to cut her off completely. Maybe it was
selfish of him, but he still loved her and believed he
could sort his messy emotions out quietly, away from her
prying eyes, and reemerge with a clear mind and a firm
purpose.

Now he was sitting on his bed, staring vacuously
at the three-quarter-moon hanging lowly in the sky. The
night air was chilly and a bit daunting but he still had
his window open. It cleared his head and eyes.
Everything seemed hazy and unfocused recently, which
made it impossible to concentrate on anything, even the
simplest of tasks.

Mamoru closed his eyes and slid down into the
bed. For all the bone-deep weariness plaguing him, it
was still better to be awake. When he was awake, he
could shut out the pain. When he was awake he could
control his--

*Fear?*

A tiny voice inside him suddenly spoke up. Fear
was a good word for it. It was easier to live like
this, sorrowful and constantly aching, than it was to
sleep and risk far greater anguish in a realm he could
not control.

*Poor thing. You must be exhausted.*

At another time Mamoru would have questioned
this new line of commentary from his inner monologue,
but right now he was too confused and lost to want to.
He was lonely. Strange what friends we find inside our
minds. Sympathy was nice.

*Staying awake is not the answer. Sooner or
later you'll have to face the facts, and when you do,
being so hazy will hurt you.*

A good point, no doubt, but he was still wary.
He had a hard enough time trusting anyone else; how was
he expected to trust himself?

*It's all right now. Go to sleep. You'll feel
better.*

As those last words reverberated inside him he
felt a comfortable warmth settle over him, beckoning,
enticing him gently. He slunk down farther and rested
his head on the pillow.

*Sleep now.*

He closed his eyes.

*Sleep. . . .*

Mamoru slipped into a dreamless slumber, warm
and unloved.

* * * *

"Quantus tremor . . . est . . . futurus . . . "
Michiru sang the words softly but ferociously, quietly
trying to imagine the sound in a giant basilica with
seven hundred voices screaming at the top of their lungs.

[Ai: and with Sops passing out every which way. I
didn't, of course, but I'm tough and I was wearing flip-
flops. Sop pride, baby!]

"Michiru-chan?"

A sleepy, half-lidded Haruka was standing at the
stairs, dressed in a tiny tank top and her pajama pants
and rubbing sleep out of her eyes. If she'd had a teddy
bear and her blanket, she'd have looked no older than
five.

"Haruka?" Michiru adjusted herself in the lacy
white negligee she usually wore to bed. It made her
feel sexy, and Haruka had certainly never objected.
That negligee tended to get her in a lot of trouble.
Setting her reading glasses aside, she turned to face
Haruka better.

"Are you still working?" Haruka asked tiredly.

"Mm-hmm," Michiru said, flashing a smile. "I'm
on a roll tonight, Haruka-chan. I couldn't possibly
stop now."

"That's what you said last night," the tomboyish
senshi mumbled. She walked over and slipped her arms
around Michiru. Kissing her throat lightly, she
murmured sensually, "Come to bed. I'll show you a roll."

Michiru sighed dreamily. "That sounds lovely,
Haruka-chan, but I couldn't possibly tear myself away
now. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. But I'll
come up later, I promise."

Haruka was awake now, and looked a little
hurt. "If that's the way you feel," she said quietly,
going back towards the stairs. "I'll wait up for you."

The aqua-haired girl was already hard at work
again, unmindful of her lover. And though Haruka turned
back three times while plodding up the marble staircase
in the atrium of their home, Michiru didn't look back
once.

"Quantus tremor est futurus . . ."

Three hours later, Haruka succumbed to sleep
alone, warm and unloved.

* * * *

Something was very, very wrong. That's what
Tsukino Ikuko would be telling herself if she were to
openly acknowledge the niggling little voice screaming
in the back of her head. But she didn't, maybe because
she didn't want to, maybe because she felt it wasn't her
place, or maybe because she sensed that the situation
looming over her daughter was something to be afraid of,
for Usagi's behalf as well as her own.

There had been an oppressive air over the house
ever since Usagi had gotten home after disappearing
abruptly without telling anyone where she was going.
Later, her friend Makoto came forward and said that
Usagi was helping her with some home decorating and
decided to spend the night, but Ikuko was not convinced
the tall brunette was telling the truth.

Since that night, Usagi refused to come out of
her room and spent most of her time in bed, either
sleeping or crying, more the latter than the former.
The signs were there. The evidence [was] plain.
Something awful had happened to her daughter.

But instead, she played the fool because she
subconsciously knew that the normalcy $most people don't
know it, but this is NOT a word. President Harding made
it up for his campaign "Return to Normalcy." so . . . I
avoid using it$ of it all comforted Usagi. She feigned
anger and frustration at her 'lazy' child. Usagi yelled
at her to go away. This morning Ikuko decided to take
the scene a step further and play the angry mother who
wanted her daughter to go to school finally.

"USAGI!!! GET UP!!!"

She scowled and marched up the steps, throwing
open the door to her daughter's room. Usagi was buried
under a pile of blankets, curled into a small ball at
the head of the bed.

"Get up, Usagi-chan."

"I'm not going, and nothing you can do will make
me."

"Listen young lady," she hissed menacingly,
ignoring the way her daughter was cowering under the
covers, "it has been three days since your little
disappearing act and I'm not taking pity on you any
longer. Now GET UP!!!"

Usagi rolled over as tears ran freely down her
cheeks. Luna sat on the sill, watching over her
mistress protectively.

Ikuko sat down next to her daughter and cupped
the girl's flushed face in her face in her hands. Loose
blond hair covered the bed and Ikuko's hands. The
pretty, still fairly young mother could feel Luna's eyes
boring into her, compelling her to act.

With an unsteady tempo, she began, "I know
you're upset, Usagi-chan, but you can't stay in your
room for the rest of your life. Sooner or later you
have to come downstairs and eat."

"You wouldn't understand," she muttered, pulling
away. She brought the covers over her head. "I have a
headache."

Ikuko laid a gentle hand on Usagi's
forehead. "Actually, you are a little warm," she said,
genuinely surprised. She brushed Usagi's bangs out of
her cerulean eyes. "Maybe you *should* stay home today."

"Really?" Usagi's voice was hopeful.

"But only today," Ikuko warned. "Tomorrow, I
don't care if you come down with bubonic plague, you're
going to school."

"I understand," Usagi said softly, sliding back
under the covers. "Thank you, Mama-san."

Ikuko smiled lovingly at her daughter. "Get
some rest, Usagi-chan." She closed the door behind her.

"I wish you'd tell me what happened between you
and Mamoru-san," Luna said as soon as Usagi's mother was
out of earshot. "Maybe talking about it would make you
feel better."

"I don't want to," she said, sounding a little
hoarse. "Please, Luna-chan, just let me sleep."

Luna jumped down and stared in her owner's
eyes. "I think I will," she murmured before launching
herself out the window.

Usagi quickly descended into a feverish slumber,
calling out for Mamoru as she slept.

* * * *

The senshi had faced youma of every shape and
size, demons of immeasurable power, threats that could
have easily turned the Universe, much less one planet,
inside out and back before any of them could say their
henshin. Few things could inspire them to real terror
and dread any longer. Yet there was one thing, one so
horrible and cruel, that Ami and Makoto cowered in fear
every time Thursday--the day selected for this
particular torture session--rolled around.

Minako's after-school comedy act.

"So on the third day, the duck walks in again
and says, 'Got any grapeth?' And the bartender is
really mad and starts yelling, 'Look, you stupid duck,
if you come in here ONE more time--"

"Ahem!" Luna interrupted Minako's joke. Ami
and Makoto looked frighteningly relieved.

"Thanks a lot, Luna-chan," Minako
scowled. "You're just as bad as Artemis."

"Judging from that Twinkie joke of yours, it
won't be fit for the company of serial killers anyhow,
Minako-chan," Artemis retorted.

"THIS joke is CLEAN!!!"

"That's what she said about the deaf genie,
too," Makoto whispered to Ami.

"Don't forget the buttered carrots," Ami
whispered back, shuddering. "My virgin ears!"

"If you please," Luna scowled at the
girls. "Have any of you talked to Usagi-chan recently?"

The girls paused. "She's been out of school
ever since her night with Mamoru-san," Ami said
quietly. "We stopped by two days ago but she was
asleep."

"We would've come by again," Makoto added, "but
Ami-chan made us study for our English exams."

"I even understand the damn language better than
she does," Minako rolled her eyes. Then, growing
serious, she asked, "Is something wrong, Luna-chan?"
Minako asked gently. "Is Usagi-chan okay?" It was a
foolish question. Minako knew the answer well.

"No," Luna said distantly. "She's *not,* Mina-
chan."

"Maybe she's trying to sort through her feelings
with Mamoru-san after they consecrated their love,"
Minako said seriously.

Five pairs of eyes were trained on Minako. "Did
you just say that . . ."

"Since WHEN . . ."

"How do you know . . ."

"Oh, like it isn't obvious, minna," Minako
groaned, rolling her eyes. "I mean, it doesn't take the
power of Venus to realize they did it like they do it on
the History Channel afterwards."

"That'd be the Discovery Channel," Ami said,
making a face.

Makoto stared; Artemis sweatdropped. Luna was
just trying her darndest not to laugh.

"Well, veering away from the topic of . . .
ah . . . bestial pleasures, what are you here to talk
about Luna-chan?" a very red Artemis asked.

Luna sighed. "She hasn't left her bed since she
got back from Mamoru-san's that morning."

"Not at all?" Makoto raised an eyebrow.

"Well, as little as possible," Luna scowled at
Makoto. "I don't know what to do, minna. All she does
are sleep and cry. I was wondering if any of you knew
what happened that upset her so much, the obvious aside."

Minako had the grace to blush.

"We haven't seen her either," Ami said
slowly. "Did you see anything when he brought her home?"

Luna paused. "Come to think of it," she
replied, "I don't think Mamoru-san was with her when she
got home. There was a blond with her."

"Are you telling me Usagi-chan's getting a
little sideline action?" Minako asked, oddly
impressed. "Two in one night . . . now THAT'll tire a
girl out."

"I doubt that somehow," Luna groaned.

"What about Haruka-san? She'd fit that
description," Makoto pointed out. "And Usagi-chan
trusts the Outers explicitly."

"Do you think Haruka-san and Michiru-san would
be willing to tell us what happened?" Makoto asked,
carefully considering this.

"I don't know," Ami said. "Mako-chan, why don't
you pay them a visit during the next few days? I have a
feeling you'd be the most likely one to wrestle anything
out of Haruka-san. Right now I told Rei-chan I'd meet
her at the Crown Fruit Parlor. She wanted to talk to me
about something."

"Sounds good," Minako said. "I'll go visit
Usagi-chan."

"I'm not sure she'll be up to it," Luna
warned. "Usagi-chan's feeling a little under the
weather and you know how cranky she gets when she's ill."

"She's sick?" Minako's ears piqued. "Why didn't
you tell me that before? I should do something about
that. . . ."

"Here we go again," Artemis muttered, covering
his head with his paws.

"It'll be Nurse Minako to the rescue!"

The girls just sweatdropped.

* * * *

"So the fire won't give anything up?" Makoto
pressed Rei, who scornfully rolled her eyes in response.

"The fire is not a Magic-8 ball, Mako-chan," Rei
seethed. "It is a medium I use to better comprehend the
world around me. The spirits do not tell me anything I
wish and, to be honest with you, I prefer it that way.
The truth may set one free, but it can also be a very
heavy burden."

"Sorry."

"It's all right," Rei calmed herself
down. "Think of it a bit like a painting: the materials
are all there but without inspiration you'll have
nothing but a blank canvas. The spirit acts as a sort
of 'muse.'"

"I see," Makoto replied, pondering the new
information. Turning to the blue-haired girl next to
her. "Beaten Mephisto yet?" she asked, abruptly
changing the subject. Ami was busily typing away at her
new Mercury computer. She had recently taken the old
system apart and completely rebuilt for the purpose of
understanding how to repeat the task. The new system,
while looking like an ordinary laptop, allowed her to
access the vast reservoirs of information and programs
her smaller battle-friendly system used at any time
without looking suspicious. And it had a full version
of "Diablo II," with expansion pack, her current method
of escapism.

Ami scowled. "Don't remind me," she
groaned. "Besides, I do use this system for purposes
besides games. Right now, for example, I'm *working*."

Makoto groaned. "Can't I get anything right
with you two?" she muttered under her breath.

"What are you working on?" Rei asked
inquisitively, changing the conversation.

"Some homework for a programming class I'm
taking."

She was lying, and they both knew it. Ami had a
little tremble voice unique to situations where she was
concealing something. Rei picked it up quickly, but
Makoto hadn't noticed it until more recently. But both
had the distinct impression she was doing something
senshi-related, and so the fib was not questioned.

"Aren't you three quiet today?"

Furuhata Motoki stood over the booth, grinning
impishly at the three younger girls.

"Motoki-san," Makoto plastered on a fake
smiled. "How are you doing today?"

"I've been better." He wiped down the counter
next to me. "My sister left me to fend for myself today
because it's her and her boyfriend's two-year
anniversary.

"That's nice," Ami said without looking up. She
was fixated on the screen before her.

Growing curious, Mokoki stepped behind Ami and
asked, "What are you doing?"

"Homework for a programming class," Ami trembled.

He cocked his head. "At the University, right?
I've seen you around."

Her head bobbed in agreement.

"I remember that class," Motoki said, scanning
her work, "and I don't remember having to write matrix
decoding programs until the third-year class. The class
I'm in now," he added, raising an eyebrow.

Ami stopped.

"So what's it really for?" Motoki asked
innocently.

Ami frantically searched for another
lie. "Well . . . we were studying the German coding
system from World War II. I wanted to see if I could
create a program that, if you knew what the message said
and what the coded version looked like, if you could
derive any matrix that would spit out the same answer.
I like to challenge myself at times."

That wasn't a lie, the girls acknowledged, until
the end. Ami wouldn't have spent so much of the last
three days working on the program unless she had
something in mind. She simply didn't think like that.

Motoki, however, looked impressed. "That's very
advanced," he commented. "And sounds very difficult to
write. We did something like that in my class, although
not on such a grand scale. How big would the matrix be?"

"Anywhere from 101 by 101 to 10001 by 10001,"
Ami replied confidently.

The man blanched. "That *is* a challenge," he
said slowly. "When we did it in class the matrix was
only 5 by 5. I should dig my program out and give it to
you. That might help you get the basic framework in
shape."

Ami looked up in surprise, her deep blue eyes
focused on Motoki. "Would you really?" she asked,
seeming touched.

"Of course," he winked. "I'll search for it
tonight. So . . . what are you doing besides marveling
at Ami-chan's intelligence?" Ami had the grace to blush.

"Just talking," Makoto said, a little light
bulb going off in her head. "Say . . . Motoki-san, have
you seen Mamoru-san?"

For a moment, Makoto saw the easygoing blonde's
eyes flash with some abrupt emotion before returning to
normal. Rei noticed it too, though she clearly had a
better idea what it was about. "Not recently," the
young man expressionlessly. "He-he's had a lot of work
to do lately. He got a full-time job while he's off
this semester. . . ."

"NANI?!"

Motoki actually managed to turn whiter than he
had when Ami had given him her preposterous figures.

"He took off the semester," he reiterated
calmly. "The University couldn't transfer his classes
from his third semester into ones they offered that
still had space. To tell you the truth," Motoki's voice
dropped about 15 decibels, "I think he was glad the
University couldn't accept him until March. He . . . he
hasn't exactly been at the top of his game since he got
back."

"Mamoru-san? I find that hard to believe," Rei
snorted. "What happened?"

Motoki shrugged. "It wasn't my place to ask,"
he countered sadly. "Ten years of friendship and he
still can't give me a straight answer."

The wistful, distant look in Motoki's eyes ate
at Rei. Over the years she'd realized how much Motoki
really cared about his best friend, if it was proper to
call Mamoru that. Mamoru was still shutting people out,
and at some time, Motoki had harbored the hope he could
get through to him.

She touched a soft hand to Motoki's, whose eyes
darted to her, confused and a little wary. "You
shouldn't blame yourself for Mamoru's problems, Motoki-
san. I know you'd do whatever was necessary to help him
out."

Rather than being relieved or grateful at the
truth in the words, Motoki snatched his hand away,
spinning off to wipe down the counters.

* * * *

Maybe Artemis nearly had a conniption after
Minako's disastrous attempt to make homemade chicken
soup (an event that he refused to ever talk about again,
claiming to suffer from traumatic amnesia), but Luna
simply watched Minako as she accidentally burned half of
Artemis's fur off, knowing full well that the most
delicious soup in the Universe--or even the loving
intentions behind it--would do nothing to assuage Usagi.

But she let Minako think that the soup would
help, because it gave her something to do and didn't let
her mind wander to darker subjects. Luna didn't have
the heart to let Minako be dragged into this just yet.
So Artemis screeched like a kitten and Luna giggled in
her corner, pretending that it *was* that simple and
that this could be all there was.

Even Luna got tired of destiny sometimes.

And Minako finally did get her soup made, even
living up to Luna's highly discriminative standards.

So the golden senshi and two cats packed up
their things (Artemis blatantly refused to wear a
nurse's hat, but Luna decided to humor Minako for once)
and walked to Usagi's house, quietly knocking on the
door.

When Ikuko opened the door, Minako could feel an
oppressive force wafting through the halls. It was no
surprise that Luna had fled that morning. Minako knew
that if she didn't leave now, there would be severe
consequences.

She stepped inside.

Luna wrapped herself around Usagi's mother's
legs, rubbing comfortingly. In response, Ikuko picked
the cat up and rubbed Luna's cheek again[st] her own
smooth one.

"Minako-chan," Ikuko murmured, drawing comfort
from the cat. "Are you here to see Usagi-chan?"

The blonde nodded solemnly.

"She's sleeping. Try back in an hour."

"May I see her now?" Minako whispered
appealingly, her gray-blue eyes watery and simmering.

Ikuko looked at Luna, who was giving the
periwinkle-haired mother her best affirmative look.
Sighing, Ikuko murmured, "Try not to wake her up."

In a sudden rush of gratitude Minako wrapped her
arms tightly around the older woman, hugging her
fiercely. She left a shocked Ikuko standing in the hall.

When she stepped in the room, Minako felt her
heart break. Watching Usagi, huddled in a mass of
blankets and misery, made her want to sink into the
ground.

"Usagi-chan?" Minako whispered almost
reverently. "It's me."

"Go away," Usagi replied hoarsely, turning away
from the golden senshi.

But Minako didn't go away. Marching up to the
side of the bed, she gently lowered herself next to
Usagi, lightly stroking Usagi's long hair. "We've
missed you in Modern World History," Minako said,
desperately trying to smile. "It's not the same without
you fighting with Tamayo-sensei."

"That's nice," Usagi murmured sleepily.

"Won't you tell me what's wrong, Usagi-chan?"
Minako pushed carefully, trying not to hurt her, but
needing the truth.

Usagi sighed. "I don't know anymore . . . I'm
so tired, Mina-P, I'm tired of dealing with it . . .
sometimes I want to just . . . I can't think right now."

"Then don't," Minako soothed. "But you can't
hide for forever. He loves you, Usagi-chan, he loves
you so much he doesn't know what to do about it. If you
ever owed him anything, Usa-chan, you owe him an answer
now. I know he's hurt you in the past, perhaps without
even understanding how, but he deserves some sort of
closure, if it is to come to that."

Usagi muttered something under her breath that
sounded to be along the lines of, "He doesn't deserve
anything from me." The comment was not intended for
Minako, and the blonde ignored it in relief.

"What are you thinking about?" Minako asked,
staring absentmindedly out the window.

"Lots of things," Usagi said vaguely.

"Like what?"

"Like lots of things," Usagi huffed.

"Why are you avoiding my question, Usa-P?" Mina
inquired suspiciously.

"It's not that, Mina-P," Usagi replied. "I'm
just not . . . ready. I have a lot of things to sort
out, I guess."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked
hopefully.

"No," Usagi shook her head. "I don't."

"Oh." Minako tried to pick up Usagi's hand, but
it was abruptly snatched away.

"Usa-chan . . ."

"Do you think," Usagi whispered quickly, almost
fearfully, "that two people can love each other so, so
much, that it is as if they are one soul instead of two,
and still not have the strength to overcome their
problems? Do you think it's possible that love may not
be enough?"

Minako cringed. "I don't want to believe
anything of the sort."

"I love him," Usagi cried, "and even though it
hurts me to do it, I do! What am I supposed to do about
that, Mina-chan?"

"I . . . I don't know," Minako admitted. Even
for the senshi of love these were uncharted waters. No
good could come from this line of thinking.

"That's nice," Usagi said caustically, eyes
tearing all the while, "but I need an answer."

"Usa . . ."

"What?" she snapped. "You're the senshi of
love, aren't you? Don't you have an answer for me?"

Minako stared at her blankly. "What is your
problem, Usagi?" she asked incredulously. "You never
act like this."

"Don't assume anything about me!" Usagi
barked. "I won't allow it."

The blonde leered. "You won't allow me to not
have an answer for you? Usagi-chan, whatever it is
going on in your odango head, you need to stop being so
bratty--"

"How DARE you--"

"Well, it's TRUE!" Minako yelled in fury.
Whatever Usagi's problem was, she knew she wanted no
part in it.

"Get out, Minako." The voice was as icy as it
was vindictive. "Just get out."

Minako *gladly* acquiesced.

* * * *

It was awfully hard for Haruka to sleep with
Michiru pounding at the keys of her piano at two in the
morning yet again. Thanks to the pitifully thin walls
of the mansion (Haruka made a mental note to have that
looked into), she could hear Michiru refining "Dies
Irae."

She covered her head with a pillow.

No good.

She covered her head with a blanket.

Once, again, nothing.

Haruka got up and flipped the television on,
turning it up to its highest volume.

And still the song played.

In a rage, she stomped downstairs, still
clutching a pillow, and threw it onto Michiru's hands.

"WILL YOU STOP THAT INFERNAL RACKET?!"

Michiru's fair skin looked a bit sallow, and her
hair hung limply around her face. Her eyes were rimmed
with red and puffy from too many nights nursing
quintuple-shot non-fat, extra-hot vanilla lattes
(Michiru was an espresso fanatic) and pounding at the
keys at various godforsaken hours of the morning.

"I made a breakthrough tonight," Michiru said
coldly. "I finished the first three parts of the third
movement."

"The only things you're breaking through are the
walls and my good night's rest. I have a race tomorrow
afternoon, remember?

Michiru blinked. "I thought that was next week."

"Tomorrow is Friday, isn't it?" Haruka was
genuinely surprised. "You've never forgotten one of my
race dates, Michiru. Come on up to bed. I don't want
you falling asleep when I lap the boys."

"Just after I finish this page," Michiru
replied.

Haruka screamed in frustration.

* * * *

Ikuko remembered the tortured sounds her
daughter was making the night before and was planning to
let her daughter stay home another day. Until then,
Ikuko had never imagined that her sunny, bright daughter
could have such reserves of misery inside her, that she
could be brought down and suffer so.

Imagine her surprise when Usagi came tripping
down the stairs thanks to an abrupt dizzy spell, on time
for once in her life, yawning even as she fell down the
last three steps, but eerily perky.

"I forgot that last step's a doozy," Usagi
muttered, rubbing her bruised shoulder. "We should do
something about that, 'Kaa-san."

Ikuko stared. "Are you all right?"

"No, my shoulder hurts and I think I pulled a
muscle," Usagi rolled her eyes and got off of the floor,
limping slightly and grabbing the wall to keep dizziness
from bringing her back down. "Good thing I only pressed
the snooze button twice today. Limping to school will
be bad enough as it is." Laughing, she hopped to the
breakfast table, ignoring her stinging calf and suddenly
pounding heart. "I'd drink coffee," she explained, "but
I can't afford to shrink."

Ikuko was still staring.

"Why are you staring at me?" Usagi
asked. "You're the one who's always trying to make me
be on time."

"I thought you--"

"So did I until I woke up this morning," Usagi
said dismissively. "But I can't hide for forever.
Besides, Mina-P said that she misses flunking tests with
me. I can't possibly let her down anymore."

With that, Usagi grabbed an odango and skipped
out of the house, wincing with the pain of her pulled
calf. "Bye, 'Kaa-san!"

Ikuko stared some more.

* * * *

Despite the fanfare, Usagi still successfully
managed to be late, which, despite Tamayo-sensei's best
efforts to call her on it, had to acknowledge that the
limping was a good enough excuse. Sitting pertly at her
desk, Usagi immediately applied herself to the task of
drawing pictures of characters from "Ayashi no Ceres."

"What's that?" Minako asked, staring at the
pictures.

"That's Aya kissing Tooya, and Yuuhi kissing
Ceres, and that's Kyuu--"

"I mean what's up with the personality flip-
flop," Minako said. "Just yesterday you were bawling
your eyes out over Mamoru-san."

Usagi stiffened. "I can't just break. I'm
stronger than that."

"Good for you," Minako replied, looking
genuinely happy. "So what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," Usagi whispered, her eyes
downcast. "I'm trying to think of an answer. Could we
not talk about that now, Mina-chan?"

"Tsukino-san! Aino-san! What are you two
discussing?"

"What the captain of the water polo team told me
he wants to do to each of the boys in this class,"
Minako said breezily. "For a while I was horrified, but
I couldn't help but giggle when he got to the part with
the hard-core S&M."

That effectively ended the conversation.

* * * *

"Well, there goes my chance with Nishikawa-san,"
Minako grumbled to Usagi. "Me and my big mouth."

"He was too tall for you anyway," Usagi said
cheerily.

"You should talk," Minako rolled her
eyes. "You're shorter than even I am."

Usagi shrugged, wincing when she readjusted her
weight onto her pulled muscle.

"Something wrong?" Minako asked, staring at
Usagi's leg.

"I pulled a muscle earlier," Usagi explained.

"Oh, I've done that plenty of times," Minako
said. "Do some stretching exercises and loosen your
muscles up. You're too tense."

"Thanks," Usagi said, looking grateful. "Are
you going to Haruka-san's race today?"

"Haruka's racing? I didn't hear about that."

"She's test-driving some new car. It's supposed
to be really exciting."

"And me with volleyball practice," Minako
groaned. "Well, have a good time."

"I will," Usagi assured her teasingly. Minako
just humphed.

Presently Haruka drove up, her hair flying in
the wind. "You ready, neko-chan?"

"You're giving me a ride?" Usagi asked, seeming
touched.

"How else were you going to get to the
racetrack?" Haruka asked, a hint of mockery in her
voice. "Hop in."

With a full-bodied smile, Usagi jumped in and
waved goodbye to her jealous schoolmates and *very*
jealous Minako, then had to steady herself when she
became dizzy.

"So, neko-chan," Haruka said as they whizzed
through the streets of Tokyo, "feeling any better?"

"A lot," Usagi said decisively.

"Have you spoken with Mamoru-san?"

Usagi's face dropped. "No," she whispered
glumly. "I'm such an idiot, Haruka-san. After all
this, I still keep praying he'll call."

"Well, I've been hearing things through the
grapevine," Haruka said. "Apparently he hasn't been
living it up the last few days, if that makes you feel
any better."

Usagi looked at Haruka suspiciously. "Who told
you that?"

"Makoto-chan did yesterday."

"You talked to Mako-chan?"

"I've talked to all the Inners the last few
days. They're really worried about you and want to know
what happened after Tuxedo Kamen swept you away that
night." Usagi became rigid. "Don't worry, I didn't
tell."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Arigato, Haruka-
san. I really do appreciate it."

"Listen, neko-chan . . ." Haruka's voice
dropped. "Have you read the newspapers lately?"

"Sure," Usagi answered her cheerfully. "I read
the comics everyday."

"The part with all the big words?" Haruka said
witheringly.

"Oh . . . not really."

"Then either way you wouldn't have seen
anything."

"What way?" Usagi blinked in confusion.

Haruka sighed. "Your beloved killed someone,
neko-chan. People don't just come from nowhere."

Mamoru did, Usagi argued silently. For all we
know he might've materialized out of thin air. I wonder
if some day he'd disappear back into it.

"That person had a name, a family, a life.
Someone should have noticed."

"Of course," Usagi agreed apprehensively,
pushing her thoughts aside. "The boy . . . I think
I . . . I mean I know I . . . why he lives with . . ."
But try as she might, she could not figure out from
where she remembered the boy. He lived . . . the
apartment . . . the jumbled mass of thoughts grew too
great to mull over any longer, so she pushed them
aside. "I don't know," she finally admitted, looking
down at her lap.

"You don't know anything? Didn't you say the
boy lived a floor below Mamoru-san?"

Had she said that? Usagi tried to sort out the
contradictory little barbs inside her mind. "I can't
remember that," she concluded, sounding very firm.

"Is that so?" Haruka raised an
eyebrow. "Because that sounds rather suspicious to me."

"I'm telling the truth!" Usagi protested loudly,
glaring fiercely at Haruka.

The slender woman looked away. "Neko-chan," she
said quietly. "I believe *you.* There are just other
parts of this that don't add up. And parts of them have
to do with a very unsettling piece of information
Setsuna-san once entrusted me with. Do you know the
extent of power that you hold over the Moon?" Haruka
inquired.

Usagi started a bit. "I don't understand what
you mean," she intoned uncertainly.

"Should you wish it, neko-chan, you could
literally cause the moon to shatter into oblivion, your
hold over the planet is that strong. And we senshi have
a similar hold over our own domains. But it goes
further than that. As senshi, we also have, to a
certain extent, a degree of control over our planet's
denizens. Of the ten of us, only one planet in the
system has anyone left to manipulate in that way. And
who would that be?"

"I . . . I mean you . . . you're not SAYING--"

"No, neko-chan, I'm not saying, I'm suggesting.
I have no proof to back up my theory but at this time
it's the most logical one." Haruka put her energy into
concentrating on the road.

"Oh." And there was nothing more said between
them for the rest of the ride.

* * * *

Box seats were the best invention since sliced
bread, Usagi decided as she sank into the lush leather
sofa while popping grapes. The spread was absolutely
amazing in Haruka's private box, which was virtually
empty. Usagi slid down, taking in her surroundings.
Despite the languor flowing in her veins and an odd
lightheaded feeling, she waited expectantly for the
race, her mind only dimly registering the obvious lack
of Michiru's presence. At the moment, she was trying to
forget all that Haruka had told her and really was doing
an excellent job at it.

"Usagi-chan?"

Usagi perked up. "Mako-chan?"

Kino Makoto was wearing makeup, and the little
tendrils of her ponytail had been carefully curled. She
carried a dozen perfect pink roses in the crook of her
left arm. "Am I late?" Makoto asked, walking in very
smoothly.

"There's no one in here, Mako-chan."

Makoto breathed a sigh of relief as she hopped
onto the couch. "I was worried there'd be all these
important people in this box," Makoto confessed.

"They're all in the press box," Usagi said
matter-of-factly. "Or they have their own."

Makoto looked around. "Where's Michiru-san?"

"Michiru-san? I don't know," Usagi said
honestly. "Maybe she's down at the track waiting for
Haruka-san."

"Maybe," Makoto said, but she looked
uncomfortable.

"So how did you get invited into Haruka-san's
private box?" Usagi asked, munching on a cracker.

"She gave me a pass," Makoto said. "I was
planning to talk to her later. How are you doing, Usagi-
chan?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

"Tired," she mumbled lazily, her eyes
closing. "Really, really tired."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mako replied
uncomfortably. "Hey, look, the race is starting, Usagi-
chan . . . Usagi-chan?"

Usagi was fast asleep on the couch, snoring
lightly, eyes rimmed with dark circles.

"That was fast," Mako commented cynically, but
she didn't have the heart to wake the tiny Princess up.
Searching around, she found a decorative afghan to
spread over Usagi. Mako settled in and watched the race
intently, checking occasionally on Usagi--checking, she
didn't want to admit to herself, to see if Usagi was
still breathing.

* * * *

There was something about speed that made Haruka
feel alive. Normal life was too slow for her; it was
filled with things like obstacles and walls, things that
she either buckled down, scaled and went past, or
completely ignored.

But on the racetrack, it was different. No
obstacles, no barriers, just the wind flying past and
pure adrenaline. While she was racing, nothing could
touch her; no one would hurt her. She felt as if she
could fly.

And fly she did that day, easily lapping her
opponents and finishing the eight laps with a new
record. Smiling as she emerged from the smoky car, she
triumphantly pulled off her helmet, feeling the crowd's
applause and admiration sink into her skin.

Haruka waited eagerly for the next part of this
ritual, the part where a triumphant Michiru came down
and embraced Haruka. Smiling uncontrollably, she
searched the crowd for Michiru's sweet, slender figure
running maniacally in her usual way, the way that made
people see something about of elegant nymph that went
beyond her cool, polished demeanor. The something that
Haruka loved more than anything.

But she wasn't around. Heart clenching, Haruka
grimly realized that Michiru had broken her promise to
come that day. Hot, angry tears dared to fall from her
eyes, but Haruka swept them away before anyone realized
them for what they were. She smiled shakily and waved
to an adoring crowd, quietly accepting her trophy and
still hoping Michiru would be there.

It was stupid to get worked up over this, some
corner of Haruka's mind pointed out. After all, she had
been to virtually every other race of Haruka's career.
Once wasn't a pattern or anything. It wasn't as if she
*needed* to be here for some reason.

Needed to only because she promised, another
part of her whispered. She had *promised*, and now
where was she? Probably sitting by the piano, Haruka
thought grimly.

When someone finally came bounding down, it was
Makoto, not Michiru, holding a dozen pink
roses. "Congratulations," Makoto said cheerfully,
offering Haruka the roses. Touched, Haruka accepted the
girlish token and profusely thanked the source.

"It was nothing," Makoto blushed. "Where's
Michiru-san?"

Haruka's happier disposition turned sour
again. "Not here," Haruka said coolly.

"Oh." Makoto was pretty perceptive.

"Where's neko-chan?" Haruka asked, trying to
change the subject. "Shouldn't she be around?"

"Uh yeah, that," Makoto giggled
nervously. "She, ah, she fell asleep before the race
even started."

"Did she?" Haruka wasn't angry, merely
concerned. "Is she feeling all right?"

"Well, she hadn't been feeling well the last few
days," Makoto said quietly. "Probably because of Ma--"

"Later." Haruka waved at her mechanic and
yelled something about tuning the engine, then followed
Makoto up to the private box.

"So," Makoto said, trying to make
conversation, "did Michiru-san have something to do
today?"

"Apparently so," Haruka said through clenched
teeth. But when she saw Usagi, whose face was flushed
and appeared to be sweating, her icy bile melted into
worry for the little Princess.

Putting a head to her forehead, Makoto
said, "She feels a bit warm."

"We'd better get her home." Haruka knelt down
next to the blonde. "Neko-chan?"

"Hmm?" Usagi didn't even open her eyes. "Leave
me alone," she murmured. "I'm tired." Rolling back
over, she coughed weakly and went to sleep again.

"Neko-chan," Haruka said insistently, "it's time
to go home."

"Go away, Mamo-chan," she mumbled, batting a
hand at Haruka.

Makoto surveyed Haruka, squinting some. "You
know, if you squint really hard, and it's dark. . . ."

"Don't go there," Haruka cut her off. "Not
unless you want to walk home."

Mako gulped and lifted Usagi up. "We'll put her
in your car and get her home."

Haruka nodded and took Usagi from Makoto,
starting down the stairs.

"What happened the night after the Wraith's
attack?" Makoto asked hoarsely, feeling Usagi's forehead
as the small girl moaned softly.

Haruka averted her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said
quietly. "Neko-chan made me promise not to tell. But
if you tell me what you know, we might be able to work
something out."

Makoto shrugged. "What's there to know? He
leaves, which everyone expected, but then calls eight
months later and says he's staying an extra year. And
*then* Mamoru-san suddenly shows up seven months later,
nine months short of his previous claims. Doesn't tell
anyone he's back, not even Usagi-chan. And she walks in
on him one day. After that, he won't return her phone
calls, won't talk to her, won't really anything, but
when she asks if he'd be happier if they broke up
refuses."

"Bastard," Haruka muttered, readjusting Usagi in
her arms.

"Well, that's the part that I'm wondering about
now," Makoto said in a low voice. "I didn't tell the
others this, but when I said that Mamoru-san didn't tell
anyone, I mean *anyone*. Not even Motoki-san knew about
it."

"Really?" Haruka raised an eyebrow. "Aren't
they best friends or something like that?"

"Motoki-san's been pretty closemouthed about
it. I've been trying to cajole details out of him but
he won't talk. He's hiding something too, though, but I
have no idea what that may be."

"And so . . .?"

"And so that's why I came to talk to you."
Makoto situated herself in the back seat of the
convertible as Haruka laid Usagi on Makoto's lap. "Ami-
chan sent you the list, right?"

"She did, but I haven't had time to look over
it. I still can't believe that you four keep a list."

"Hey, you try keeping the current status of
Usagi-chan and Mamoru-san's relationship straight," Mako
replied saucily. "What with teasing, breakups based on
dreams and encounters with pink-haired future children
and mirrors you need a flow chart to keep it all
organized."

"Point well taken." Haruka hopped in and
started the car. "What are you going to do now?"

"Well, Detective Minako is on the case, though I
shudder at the thought," Makoto began, "and Ami-chan's
been looking at this problem logically, and Rei-chan
said she senses a heavy feeling over those two. But *I*
sense a heavy feeling too, so that's not really
significant."

"In other words, you're stuck."

"If we knew what happened that night at the
restaurant," Makoto said, "then maybe we could piece
this thing together."

Haruka looked over at Makoto as she stopped at a
stop sign. "Restaurant?"

"She stopped wearing his ring that day," Makoto
explained. "Whatever happened, it was big."

Haruka looked pensive. "That can't be it," she
said slowly, remembering what Usagi had told her. "Not
at all. No, something happened while he was at Harvard,
and whatever it was, it's now affecting his relationship
with neko-chan. . . ."

"We're here," Makoto said grimly, watching as
Haruka pulled into the driveway.

As Haruka lifted Usagi out of the seat and
carried her over the walkway, she looked at Makoto and
said, "Find out what happened at Harvard, Makoto-chan,
and I'll tell you what happened the night of the
attack. Or maybe you'll figure it out yourself."

"Why would you think that I. . . ."

"I don't know, I just do."

* * * *

Tromping up the walkway, Haruka hung her head,
not wanting to deal with Michiru. Angry as she was, all
her energy was drained. She just wanted to go to bed
and sleep, preferably with Michiru for once since this
crazy project had begun.

Michiru's idea of acknowledgement was, "Haruka-
chan! I completely finished the first three movements!"

That was it. Furiously she stormed into the
Great Hall and swept all of the items off the piano in a
ferocious swoop, knocking the sheets of music, pitch
pipe, laptop, and star locket to the ground.

"What did you do that for?" Michiru asked
innocently, picking up the papers.

"You PROMISED!" Haruka screamed at her fanatical
lover. "You said you'd be there and you chose
THIS . . . THIS. . . ."

"Okay," Michiru said in an eerily calm
voice, "so I forgot about the race. It's the first time
that it ever happened. I mean it's not like you'll
never race again."

"That's not the point and you know it," Haruka
replied scathingly.

"Then what? That I have to follow you around
like some sort of lovesick puppy, go to every single
race and let myself be ruled by you?! Well, let me tell
you something, Ten'oh Haruka--"

"What's that?"

"What's what?" Michiru looked around the softly
lit room.

"That music," Haruka replied, her ears perking
up. "It's familiar but . . . weird. Where is it coming
from?"

"I don't know," Michiru said, squirming
uncomfortably. "Maybe you're just upset, Haruka-chan.
I'm sorry love, I really am. This project has utterly
consumed me." Lovingly kissing her neck, Haruka could
feel herself melt under Michiru's gentle
ministrations. "Let's go upstairs, darling," Michiru
murmured seductively. "I think we're both a
little . . . tense."

As if entranced, Haruka allowed herself to be
led up the magnificent marble staircase in the foyer and
to the bedroom they shared. She gave no other thought
to the bizarre music that had been playing in the
hall. She did not even consider the sinister glint in
Michiru's eyes.

After a while, the locket snapped shut,
concluding its haunting song.

* * * *

The next day Usagi was at school again, though
from the dark circles under her eyes Makoto knew she was
still not well. But Usagi had a real smile on her face
and was putting in an honest effort to care. She even
managed to keep said smile when the P.E. teacher, who
was a cross-country fanatic, told his class about the
5000-meter "fun run" he had planned for the day.

"All right meats!" the teacher boomed. "We're
going to be taking a nice little jog today. We'll be
going around the track once, then head out to the
baseball diamond. . . ."

Just hearing it be described was enough to make
Usagi's head spin. At that moment it started to rain.

". . . and back here for a victory lap. And I
want to see you ready to collapse when this is done!
Pain is glory people!"

"Sensei . . ." A guy on the American football
team protested. "Three miles. . . ."

"What're you whining about, you meat? This is
cross-country! The oldest sport in the world! Buck up,
girlie!"

"Unggh . . ." Usagi groaned quietly.

"Sensei," one of the girls protested, "it's
raining out."

"Nonsense. Just a little misty. It's
refreshing," the teacher grinned. "Just remember that
the faster you run the sooner you're done. All
right . . . comments, complaints, criticisms?"

Surprisingly, no one said a word.

"All right, then, let's begin. Gentlemen--and
ladies, of course--start your engines!"

Reluctantly, the class followed the example of
the overexcited teacher.

Being a good athlete with a competitive streak,
Makoto had broken away from pack of runners, pacing most
of the best male runners. Usagi wasn't too far behind
her. All the running she did--from school to battle--
had improved her pace substantially. Normally she kept
up with Makoto, though neither of them ever had energy
to spare for chatting. Haruka kept trying to get them
to try out for the track team, but the girls were
already in other activities and didn't have much
interest.

Despite her exhaustion, Usagi kept a little
beyond the main pack of runners for the first 1500
meters. After that, she couldn't push herself any more,
and even keeping her current pace was torturous. As she
slipped back into the crowds, feeling lightheaded and
woozy and definitely ready to throw up. Her mouth was
parched and crying for water.

Usagi brushed it off as a sign she wasn't quite
over her illness yet. Slowing to an easier pace, she
forced herself to ignore her pounding headache and
erratic heart.

And yet . . . she didn't want to give up that
easily. She would not let this stupid run beat her.
With grim resolve Usagi made herself speed up again.

The new pace was even worse than before. She
felt her heart slamming in her chest, screaming at her
to stop, but for the life of her she would not, could
not comply.

Around now Makoto realized Usagi wasn't keeping
up. Looking behind, Makoto was horrified at the sickly
white of Usagi's face, the shallow gasps she was using
to breathe, the fraught, tortured look on her face.

"Usagi-chan!"

That was it. No more. Usagi collapsed there on
the track, clutching her chest painfully.

Immediately Makoto backed up, rushing to her
fallen Princess's side. Choking back a cry, she dropped
next to Usagi, trembling with fear.

Usagi stared dazedly at her, still clutching her
chest. "Mako?" she rasped, trying not to slip into
oblivion.

"Usa!" A crowd had begun to gather, whispering
and gossiping incessantly. Some of the clearer-headed
students had gone to get water, call the nurse, and grab
the coach, who was now sprinting towards the area.

"Tsukino-san?" The coach looked
perplexed. "What happened?" Quickly, he snatched a
jacket and set it up under her head.

"Hurts," was all she'd say.

"She's been sick recently," Makoto explained.

The teacher looked angry. "Why didn't you tell
me that?" he scowled. "You never should've been pushing
yourself like that." Taking a water bottle from a
student's hand, he splashed it refreshingly over the
girl's forehead and offered her some. Usagi was allowed
to gulp a few times before being gently led to a sitting
position.

Once like that, the coach calmed her down,
making her do breathing exercises with him. As her
heart slowed, Usagi calmed as well.

By now the nurse had arrived. At Makoto's
insistence, Usagi was then carried to the nurse's
office, the teacher at her side.

"So you've been sick recently, Tsukino-san?"

From her position in Makoto's arms, she
replied, "Yes, sensei, I have."

"You had no business hitting the track as hard
as you did today then," he chastised her. "Go home and
get some rest. I'd better back. Lousy meats probably
having a ball." The coach trotted away, leaving Usagi
and Makoto alone.

"He's right, you know."

Usagi huffed. "I'm not going to let a silly run
beat me, Mako-chan."

Makoto looked down on her. "You're confused,
Usagi-chan. Very, very confused."

* * * *

"Oh this? My dad just bought it for me. State
of the art. No expense spared . . . of course I'm being
sarcastic! If I actually cared about his stupid money
I'd be living with him. No, I *didn't* . . . is this
that important, Mako-chan? He didn't tell me how many
minutes my plan has . . . she what?"

Rei stopped, pulled her brand-new fire-engine-
red cell phone away from her ear and stared at it, not
quite convinced she'd heard right. Putting it back up,
she continued, "When did this happen . . .?"

"Hino-san," one of the nuns gently tugged at her
uniform. "No electronics during school hours."

She looked up, her raven hair flying around her
face. "I'm sorry. A friend of mine is sick, that's
all. I was trying to find out more information."

The nun looked sympathetic. "You have five
minutes," she stated sternly to Rei. "And that's only
if another sister doesn't see you."

"Thank you, sister." Rei smiled at the woman.

"Rei-chan? Are you there?"

"Am now. The sisters are pretty strict about
electronics during school hours."

"Should I go? I think my phone card's a little
low, anyways."

"Probably. Look, there's a little French-style
bistro about three blocks from my school. Do you know
where I'm talking about?"

"I *think* so . . . but I'll be a little late.
I'm going to stop by Usagi-chan's first."

"Works for me," Rei said smoothly. "Meet me
there around 4:30. I have an archery club meeting
anyways. See you then."

* * * *

As it turned out, there was no meeting that
afternoon, so Rei trod down to the café about an hour
early. Les Delices de l'Ambrosie, the small
patisserie/bistro near her school, had a 'quirky'
patronage that, despite her uniform, she fit into well.
The atmosphere would be comfortable, the girls would not
be disturbed no matter the subject, and the food would
uphold against even Makoto's elevated standards.

After ordering a cappuccino, she pulled out a
random textbook and prepared to wait, anxious for Makoto
to come. Staring blankly at the History textbook she
had been trying to study, she looked out the window,
scanning yet again for Mako despite the fact she wasn't
due for another 45 minutes.

What she did see outside the window, on the
other hand, was far more interesting than any Kino
Makoto. Walking by was Mamoru; his shoulders were
slumped in some sort of defeat, looking lowly at the
ground.

Unable to resist, Rei jumped out of her seat and
dashed out in a manner highly uncharacteristic of her.
She slid through the doorway just as Mamoru was about to
walk past it, crashing into him and knocking them both
back.

"Remind me never to make fun of Usagi-chan for
knocking into again," Rei mumbled from her spot on the
concrete as she rubbed a sore spot on her head. "I
swear you set yourself up for it."

Mamoru paid her little heed. Standing up, he
quickly brushed himself off and prepared to continue on
his way.

"Oh no you don't," Rei fumed. "You are going to
stand here and listen to me if I have to crash into you
all the way to your apartment."

He didn't answer her; merely let his clouded
gaze drift towards the window. "I'll stay," he gave in,
unable to meet her raging violet orbs.

Rei took a deep breath. "Why are you doing
this?"

"She doesn't want me, Rei-chan."

"Mamoru-san . . ." Rei looked pained and a
little surprised at the dejection in his voice. "You
know that's not true. Usagi loves you."

"Maybe," he agreed uncertainly, thoroughly
unconvinced of that, "but it's not the same thing."

Rei paused, looking over his austere
countenance. "I don't understand," she said finally.

"Then maybe you weren't meant to." He made a
motion to continue on his way.

"Hold on a minute!" Rei crackled. Stepping in
front of Mamoru again, she threateningly glared at
him. "You are not going to dismiss me that easily,
Mamoru-san. Usagi-chan is my friend. You are hurting
Usagi-chan. I hurt people who hurt my friends. Shall
we take those statements to their logical conclusion or
shall we continue talking like civilized adults?"

Once again he stopped.

"Much better," Rei mocked him. Then, softening,
she continued, "What do you want from Usagi-chan, Mamoru-
san? I know you love her. What good comes of hurting
her?"

He nearly cracked right there and then. "It was
never about hurting her," he denied miserably. "I
wanted her to be happy . . . and I . . . I could
never . . . maybe I thought that if I just had some time
everything would be all right and I could get it
together, but now . . . it's too late, Rei-chan. Maybe
if I hadn't been such a coward in the past it would've
been easier now, but . . . I just wanted some time, Rei-
chan, nothing else..."

Rei stared at the rambling, obviously confused
man before her. A strange feeling hung in the air
around him, a hopelessness she never would've expected
from Mamoru. Proud, confident Mamoru, Usagi's--and at
times all of theirs'-strength. Rei stopped listening,
finding she had a hard enough time comprehending what
had already sunk into her memory. She slipped back into
the café, leaving Mamoru on the sidewalk, and pulled out
her cell phone.

Speed-dialing the Tsukino residence, she only
hoped Makoto was there.

"Moshi moshi?"

"Tsukino-san? Is Mako-chan still there?"

"She just arrived, Rei-chan."

"Could I speak to her?"

"Just a moment." A pause.

"Mako-chan?"

"Forget the meeting," Rei said excitedly.

"What?"

"Meet me at the shrine in about three hours.
Got it?"

"What is this about, Rei-chan?" Rei could hear
Makoto scratching her head in the back.

"I'll tell you when you arrive tonight. Just
meet me then."

"All right, if you say so. . . ." Makoto's
uncertainty rang through even as Rei hung up the phone.

Walking briskly through the crisp afternoon air,
Rei single-mindedly prepared herself for the arduous
task ahead. Maybe she shouldn't have been even
considering this, but do it she would. The situation
had the potential to spiral out of control; she would
not wish it to go too far and result in some sort of
tragedy.

Because she knew why Mamoru seemed so hopeless.

But she was afraid to even think the words.

* * * *

Now she was sitting at the fire, quietly praying
to the great spirits above that some answer would be
given to her. No formal words were needed; none fit the
situation at present. This was not an ordinary request.

"Please," Rei whispered to the powers above
her. "She is my Princess; he is my Prince. Something,
anything! Anything to help them!"

The fire surged up violently, shooting sparks
everywhere. The blaze grew higher exponentially,
terrifying Rei. She stared with wide, frightened, eyes,
the violent sparks gleaming red in her violet eyes.

And then she saw it.

A woman, no doubt, being consumed in the fire.
In her terror, Rei initially associated the searing
image with Usagi, but quickly realized the form was not
at all that of her little Princess. Too, long, too
graceful, too--

Too elegant.

The swaths of aqua hair that would have
initially allowed Rei to recognize the form as that of
Michiru were consumed in fire. The fiery woman shrieked
in pain; her cries caused the room to tremble. As she
struggled and cried, often calling out for Haruka, once
or twice for her mother, hands of fire pulled her down,
rendering Michiru helpless against the vicious
appendages.

Tears streamed down Rei's eyes at the sight. As
moments passed the fire began to dim, leaving way to
turquoise smoke tendrils that filled the room with a
sickly-sweet ocean smell. Michiru struggled less and
less with each passing second.

"Fight, Michiru-san!" Rei cried, forgetting it
was only a vision.

But fight she did not. Only moments later
Michiru fell limp, as if a rag doll. The fiery hands
propped her up, holding her head and body in place.

Then she opened her eyes.

Rei screamed.

That was the moment Rei shot up from the floor
and found the room to be back to normal, as if the scene
had never taken place. Rei blinked, staring at the spot
she had been lying in. Had she really seen all of
that? Was it simply the product of an overactive
imagination, or were other troubles brewing?

With a white heart Rei ran, frantically locking
herself in her bedroom. Not even Makoto's persistent
knocking could make her come out. Tortured by the
clarity and iniquity of the vision, she eventually fell
into a light, restless sleep and remembered nothing of
the haunting vision the next morning.

* * * *

At least her father was nice enough to give her
a ride. Usagi was certainly thankful for that much as
she dragged herself into Algebra that morning after
sleeping through History.

Despite her mother's protestations, Usagi had
insisted on going to school that day. After falling
asleep at the racetrack she'd been in bed the whole
weekend, missing her Saturday classes and Monday. She
had a pile of homework that was waist high and no energy
to even think about attempting it.

Actually, though, she was feeling much better
today, like the stranglehold this flu had on her had
temporarily lifted. Smiling brightly, she held her head
high even as she tripped into class, yet another dizzy
spell bringing her to the floor.

Minako was sitting nearby while Makoto
languished in back. With a broad smile she sat down,
trying to keep from falling again.

The sensei took one look at her, the dark
circles and pale little face trying so hard to act as if
she wanted to be here, and decided to let it pass for
once. Other students ignored her as well, sensing that
this was what she wanted.

But Minako wasn't easily driven away. Leaning
in, she whispered, "You look terrible, Usagi-chan."

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Mina-P,"
Usagi groaned, rolling her eyes. She began to have a
violent breathing fit, unable to take in a gasp of air
for nearly twenty seconds. Terrifying as it was for
herself and the students, everyone simply ignored it.

When the teacher went back to his lesson, Minako
leaned in again and asked in a very tiny voice, "What
was his name?"

"Whose name?"

"The one who Mamoru-san punched out at the
restaurant."

Usagi turned white. "How do you know about
that?"

"Detective Minako always gets her man. Now what
was his name?"

Usagi stared at her. "Nick something," she
hissed lowly. "Some American name. I don't remember
much about that night."

"Let me give you a little tip, Usagi-chan: there
is no such thing as free lemonade."

"What?!"

"Just thought to feed on."

"You're making my head hurt." Usagi moaned and
put her head on the desk.

* * * *

"Tsukino-san?"

"Hrrmm?"

"Tsukino-san?"

"What?" Usagi lifted her head up to face her
sensei.

"Class is over, Tsukino-san. You slept through
the bell."

"I WHAT?!" Jumping from her desk, Usagi issued
a hurried apology. "Sensei, I'm so, soooo sorry. . . ."
Her heart was pounding erratically, making I tough to
choke the words out.

"Tsukino-san, I've called your mother. She's
coming to get you right now."

"What?" With her fuzzy brain, Usagi was having
a difficult time registering what sensei was saying.

"Brave as it is for you to be here, you're in no
condition to be at school, Tsukino-san. Consider it my
good deed for the day."

"Whatever," Usagi mumbled as she fell back
asleep on the desk.

* * * *

"Is she still mad at him?" Hino Rei lazily
sipped her soda, boredly glancing over her English
textbook.

"I don't even know any more," Makoto said, head
in her hands. "She won't talk about it at all, and I
haven't even in Mamoru-san recently. It's like he's
dropped off the face of the Earth."

"Minako-chan said she heard Motoki-san say that
Mamoru-san didn't go to his Organic Chem class last
week," Rei said grimly. "It's really out of character
for him."

"Oh please," Mako groaned. "The guy's more
unpredictable than a Chihuahua on Ritalin. I can put
anything past him these days." Then, remembering what
Haruka had said, she tried to clamp her mouth shut and
stop making assumptions.

"I see your point," Rei sighed, "but there's
still something funny about the whole thing. I wish we
had more details."

Ami looked up from her Physics textbook. "Maybe
he's been brainwashed," she offered before returning to
the fascinating world of . . . well, neither of them
would've known if they'd been locked in a small room and
forced to study it for hours on end.

Makoto and Rei had little devil horns on their
heads.

"I know what you're thinking and it won't work,"
Ami said without even looking up. "Besides, it's
messy. And you still haven't figured out where to hide
the rest of the pieces."

"You know me too well, Ami-chan."

"I know you're sadistic, if that counts as
knowing you too well."

"Sometimes I hate you, Ami," Mako scowled. She
punched her fist into her palm. "I mean, if he hurt her-
-"

"Oh, it's *way* more fascinating than that, Mako-
tachi!" Aino Minako was standing proudly in front of
the cheerily colored booth her friends were sitting
in. "I went down to the restaurant myself yesterday and
found out."

"You what?" Rei asked.

"The bartender said he was a Sailor V fan,"
Minako said sweetly, wriggling her hips seductively.
Ami rolled her eyes. "Like taking candy from a baby."
She shoved Rei into the booth and sat down.

Motoki looked up from the bar. "You guys want
anything?"

"Get me a Coke," Minako called to
Motoki. "Anyways, it's really juicy. A little
scary . . . well, kind of a lot scary, but. . . ."

"Would you please stop bragging about how good
the story is and just *tell* already?" Ami hissed.

Everyone stared.

"For Usagi-chan's sake, of course," Ami added,
blushing furiously.

"All right." Minako leaned down. "Okay, so
they're at this really upscale restaurant in the Ginza
district, and I guess they've been having all sorts of
problems before this so he's kinda trying to make it up
to her, right? Anyways, she'd asked him for, like, the
seventh time if he's got someone on the side and so the
mood was about as relaxed as a high colinic in Mexico--"

"Leave the scary analogies out of this, Mina-
chan," Makoto winced.

"Whatever. Well, they order dinner, only she's
really pissed off so she does something really smart--I
gotta give her props for this one, minna-chan--she
threatens to make a scene if he doesn't tell her what's
going on. You know how much her beloved hates
attracting attention. But he doesn't crack, and she
makes good on her threat. She even through her water
glass in his face."

"Damn," Rei said proudly, "go Usagi-chan!"

"Well it gets better," Minako said
excitedly. "He storms out, so she goes and sits down at
the bar. And there's this guy there--who, according to
my informant, looks like he belongs in a boy band--who
offers to buy her a 'lemonade.'"

"And the problem with this is. . . ." Ami
prompted.

"You've never had a hard lemonade? The stuff
tastes great, but it's really loaded. Well, Usagi-chan
takes a shine to the stuff and knocks back about FIVE
of 'em--"

"FIVE!? I've seen the girl flip out after half
a glass of champagne!" Rei screeched.

"Ah, Rei-chan," Ami groaned, "you're making a
scene."

It was around this time that the senshi realized
that Motoki, Unazuki, and the twenty some-odd customers
milling around the Crown Arcade were all listening
rather carefully.

"Eh," Minako cringed, "I guess I've attracted a
crowd."

"Go on," Unazuki said, grinning, "everyone else
was curious about Mamoru-san and Usagi-chan's fight; you
might as well finish now. Call it a public service."

"All right," Minako said, flashing a toothy
smile and standing up to better serve her audience (the
three senshi put their heads on the table), "I guess
Usagi-chan was on a total adrenaline rush during the
first three, but after the fourth, she, ah, loses her
inhibitions. The girl started flirting like crazy with
the 'Backside Boy' next to her--"

"That's a 'Backstreet' Boy, Mina-chan."

"--all cooing and batting her eyes, and totally
mouthing off about Mamoru-san. Well, guess who walks
back in? He felt *sorry* about the argument." Minako
feigned pouting and puppy-dog eyes, which had the other
senshi rolling on the floor. She threw in whimpering
noises for extra comedic effect. "So he stands there,
and watches his girlfriend with the Backside Boy for
about five minutes--that is, until the baby-faced one
got a little too friendly."

"What did he do, Mina?" Rei asked carefully,
refusing to look up.

An overdramatic pause ensued.

"Oh, it's bad, isn't it?" Makoto's muffled voice
floated up.

The blonde took a deep, melodramatic
breath. "Full palm on the thigh," Minako said slickly,
smiling brashly.

The entire arcade froze.

"And up the skirt," Minako added abruptly,
trying to get a reaction from the crowd.

Ami shook her head in disbelief. "You're
actually serious, aren't you?"

"Dead," the blonde solemnly swore. "Hey, would
I lie about this?"

"Yes," the entire arcade replied.

"Well, I'm not," Minako said haughtily, sticking
her nose in the air, "and before Usagi-chan could react,
our Backside Boy had a broken nose and needed six
stitches."

"WHAT!?" the rest of the arcade screeched. The
new information awoke them from their previous stupor.

"Is this one of those 'what's wrong with this
picture' situations?!" Makoto cried, trying to process
the new information.

Minako sat back down. "I can't explain it
either," the blonde shrugged. "At any rate, the guy
decided against pressing charges 'cause he didn't want
his wife to find out about the incident. Nice, ne? But
the bartender isn't complaining. Business has been up
40% at the restaurant since the story leaked."

"I guess there really is no such thing as bad
publicity," Rei shrugged and rested her head on her
palms. "What I can't believe is that Mamoru-san would
do something like that."

After checking to make certain that everyone had
gone back to their business, Minako leaned down and
added, "That's not the part that worries me. I guess
when he was pummeling the guy he was screaming something
about not letting him hurt her again."

"Again? What do you. . . ."

"I checked with Usagi-chan," Mina
interrupted. "She'd never met the guy at the bar
before. My best guess is that neither has Mamoru-san.
At least that would make the most sense. Since they
were in the back of the restaurant, you couldn't see or
hear the fight from the bar. And since the Backside Boy
came in after Mamoru-san and Usagi-chan did, he wouldn't
have any idea that she was taken. Usagi-chan threw her
ring at Mamoru-san, too. There was more, you could
tell, but Usagi-chan wouldn't give me any more details."

"That *is* strange," Ami mused, the textbook
long forgotten. "So first he breaks his promise to only
stay one semester at Harvard, then he mysteriously cuts
the trip short; he acts cold and distant for the past
month and won't tell her what the problem is, but
smashes in the face of a guy who had no honest idea that
she was previously engaged?"

"Someone's got a few screws loose," Makoto
snorted.

"And I'm sure you'd love to screw them back in,
Mako-chan," Rei said impatiently, "but this isn't really
the time to have visions of decapitated Mamorus dancing
through your head. I'm really concerned."

"Don't be," Makoto rolled her eyes. "I'm sure
Mamoru-san is once again having commitment issues, or
some weird dream that's warning him to stay away from
her, or he's got some stick up his you-know-where about
her 'lack of immaturity.' He'll get over it." Makoto
had quickly figured out that flippancy was the best way
to ease her fellow senshi's minds.

"Are you sure?" Ami asked uncertainly. "This
does seem a little, ah, excessive."

Minako shrugged. "Mako's right. If anything
else pops up, I'll keep you posted. Now if you'll
excuse me," she whipped out a compact and fixed her
lipstick, "'Jiro-san is waiting." Minako veritably
bounced out.

No one knew what to say after that.

No one but Motoki, that is. As Ami and Rei
left, still deep in discussion, Mako's plan to follow
was stopped by a firm grip on her wrist.

"Mako-chan?"

Makoto's heart was beating erratically. With a
dreamy gaze, she turned and murmured, "Yes, Motoki-san?"

Motoki took an unsteady breath. As much as he
hated to betray his friend, sometimes a person had to be
cruel to be kind. After all, Mamoru had a long history
of slipping into intense depressions, times when he shut
out everyone and everything but the demons inside his
mind. At times like those, Motoki had learned the hard
way, the first thing Mamoru wanted was to be left alone,
and the last thing he needed was acquiescence. But he'd
still kept his mouth shut through the years, through the
dark spells he'd never breathed a word of, through the
particularly dim days in which Mamoru had fallen head
over heels in love with Usagi yet persistently drove her
away with his tongue, through their odd breakup early in
the relationship and the scars it left on Mamoru's
heart, through even Mamoru's first suicide attempt,
long, long ago, when he was too young to have even
understood what 'suicide' really meant.

And yet. . . . "Nothing," Motoki mumbled,
letting Makoto go on her way.

* * * *

The cold night air was a shock to Mamoru's
heated form. Sweaty and trembling, he paced aimlessly
through the eerie quiet of the city, desperately trying
to pull himself together.

A couple out for a romantic walk in the
moonlight watched the young man whispering something
frantically to himself, moving in an odd, disconcerted
manner, and wondered about his sanity and their safety.
Stepping away, they let him go on his way.

Mamoru himself was not convinced. He moaned
softly, quietly longing for Usagi's soft arms around
him, her lips upon his, something, anything to get this
demon out of him.

*Murderer.*

He cried aloud.

*She is pure. You never deserved her.*

Now he found himself at her home, staring
miserably up at her balcony. Against his will his hand
crept into his shirt and pulled out a rose, transforming
him into Tuxedo Kamen.

*She hates you for your very love of her.*

Steps that were not his dashed up through the
open doors of the balcony and into her room, surveying
the feverish young girl before his eyes. Hands reached
out to touch her, lips pressed against her.

Usagi groaned softly but did not awaken. Tuxedo
Kamen took this as a hint, though, and pulled away.

"Mamo-chan," she uttered softly, miserably.
Again he came closer, unable to resist. His lips drank
hers in hungrily before he broke off, desperate to stay,
but too guilty to do so.

"Wait." He turned back around.

Her eyes were open, luminous in the weak light.
She smiled seductively at him. He gulped.

"Where have you been?" she purred, her long hair
pooling around her. "I missed you."

That was it. He wasn't quite sure how exactly
it happened, when his clothes came off, or hers for that
matter, but they did and the next thing he knew they
were making love in the pink bed with bunnies splayed
over the sheets, wild, with total abandon.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on the bed
with Usagi, physically sated but still missing
something. He was utterly exhausted, but somehow he
felt better than he had in a long, long time.

But it wasn't meant to last. Usagi primly got
off the bed, replaced her nightgown, and said
curtly, "Now get out."

He reeled. "Did you--"

"If you can do it, then so can I," she hissed,
smoothing out a pigtail. "Leave."

"Usa-ko--"

"DON'T 'USA-KO' ME!" she screamed out of the
blue. "Stop acting like you care. Love's a weak word,
right?"

"It's weak," he agreed miserably, "it doesn't
come anywhere near describing what I--"

"Don't." She put a hand on his lips. "Don't
say it, Mamo-chan. Please understand . . . I don't know
if I can do this any longer."

"Do what?" he asked naively.

Usagi stilled, eyes lowered to the ground. "I'm
not sure being with you is worth the consequences."

"Oh." He swallowed harshly and collected his
clothes in silence. Once he had enough on to get home,
he transformed into Tuxedo Kamen and spirited himself
away.

Back in the night the cold now seemed almost
warm. He was shivering from within, lonely and feeling
very drained, wondering hazily at his own actions.
Thinking was painful, something reserved for moments of
complete necessity, but right now he dared it.

Back in his apartment the feeling grew worse.
The oppressive air pushed him down, left him hopeless
and lost.

Something was happening to him. He could feel
himself falling away from the edge of sanity, already a
precarious tightrope he walked, and slip into some
strange mania, almost madness but not quite.

Or maybe he was already there. Closing his eyes
against the pain, he mentally tried to fight off the
frenzied upsurge of lunacy clawing so cruelly at the
edge of his psyche, but realized he was fighting a lost
battle. An animal moan of rage ripped from him.

*You're weary of fighting.*

Whenever the floods were at their worst the
gentle voice pulled him back down. Something about the
voice soothed him, as if it were looking out for his
best interests.

*Poor Endymion. Alone and afraid. Are you
tired?*

He nodded, even though the voice came from
within.

*Let go of it. Just for a little while.*

His eyes began to close. He tottered woozily on
his feet, still trying to hang on.

*I will protect you.*

Tuxedo Kamen dropped to the ground of the
apartment, unable to hold out any longer.

*I won't let anyone hurt you.*

He fell asleep, dragged into the depths by the
mysterious new power inside him.

* * * *

Never fear, people, more will be on the way
soon. Just nosh on this for now and I'll get more to
you later!

And remember, NEW e-mail: tennyo@attbi.com

That poor box . . . I think it needs cheering
up. Why don't you send it some nice feedback?