Santa baby, a BMW Z3 too, metallic red . . .
*Sighs* I wish. Ah, all y'all are getting the super-sweet present,
not me. These are last revisions, and, provided that they arrive from the
editor in time (hint hint), I'll 'gift' the new chap on Christmas day. Isn't
that just sweet?
Once again, this fic is rated R. I would adore you people if you
could fill my poor, lonely new e-mail box with lots and lost of yummy
feedback. It has issues (poor box), but feedback would help bolster its
self-esteem.
Disclaimer: Why do we even put these? They technically offer no
legal protection . . . maybe it's a psychological benefit? Maybe no one
cares? Whatever. The obvious is obvious.
Requiem for a Soldier: Benedictus (4b/7)
Author: Ai
E-mail: tennyo@attbi.com
One lap, two. How many laps had it been now?
She heard the crowds cheering, or were they?
It wasn't something she could be certain of.
There wasn't much she could be certain of anymore.
Was that three? Or was it two?
Whatever happened to paying attention to the road?
Then again, what happened to that old exhilaration, the wind in her hair,
the pure adrenaline rush, the speed pounding at her like a furious beast?
What happened to it?
Faded away?
Or maybe the speed didn't seem so appealing anymore?
Because she was tired of ignoring it.
She was tired of running.
She hated the past but couldn't escape it.
Five? Six?
Because sooner or later the past was going to catch up to her.
Did the number of laps matter?
Did she care any longer?
Sooner or later the past would win.
Because sooner or later she was bound to crash.
* * * * * * *
"Ten'oh-san?"
Haruka lifelessly tugged her helmet off, trying to clear her mind. It
wasn't easy, but somehow putting all her efforts to such a single-minded
task made her feel better.
"Ten'oh-san." Matsumomo Koichii, her head mechanic, was staring at her
mournfully. "Ten'oh-san," he said for the third time, "what happened out
there?"
"What do you mean?" Haruka looked at him in confusion. "I don't
understand."
"You took fourth out there," the man said, clearly confused. "Are you sick
or something?"
"Did I?" Haruka asked vaguely, her gray-green eyes staring at some unknown
point in the distance. "I didn't even know."
The man looked afraid. "Are you sure you're all right, Tenoh-san?" he
asked, genuinely concerned.
"No," she said very clearly. "I'm not okay at all, Koichii-san. Not a
bit."
* * * * * * *
When Haruka trudged back into her home that night she had something
definite, something resolute to focus on.
There she was, sitting at the piano. The cool pink light of the sunset
framed her soft figure, making her look, at first glance, as if she were an
angel on high. But a second glance was far more revealing: the once smooth,
graceful lines of her face and body were cold and harsh; her movements were
rough and abrupt. The set of her mouth was thin and a bit cruel, her eyes
sharp, her soft voice cutting as she sang.
'Fallen' was too kind a phrase to describe Michiru's transformation. Her
lover didn't say anything though . . . Haruka was not afraid, at least not yet.
"I just figured it out," she pronounced sharply. "I figured out what I was
upset about."
"And I'm sure you realized the foolishness of such anger," Michiru finished
coldly.
"You promised."
"What?" the aqua-haired woman barked.
"You *promised* me you'd be there."
Michiru turned around. "So?"
"Well," Haruka glared at her. "Promises are promises."
"What's THAT supposed to mean?" Michiru sneered dismissively.
"I . . . " Haruka was at a loss for words. How could she . . . did she
really . . .? "Doesn't that mean anything to you?" she squeaked miserably.
The woman at the piano paused. "Why do you care so much if I'm there?"
Michiru asked, genuinely confused. "What does it mean to you?"
Haruka cried aloud, unable to stop herself. "What do you mean why do I
care?!" she exclaimed in horror. Tears burned in her eyes but she ignored
them, steeling herself against their threat. She would not, could not cry
in front of Michiru. "I love you. I thought you loved me, Michiru . . . I
mean, was I wrong? You do love me, don't you?"
"Of *course* I love you, Haruka," Michiru admonished her, "but you are
taking this way too seriously. This race has nothing to do with my love for
you. You're being irrational."
"I can't change the way I feel, Michiru."
Her face twisted up. "Try," Michiru snapped, sitting back down at the
bench.
She began to play again, the rhythm of the song soon taking on that of
Haruka's tears. The woman sat there, dumb with sadness and horror.
"What are you staring at?" Michiru growled. "Leave me in peace."
"You don't care, do you?" Haruka whispered in wonder and dismay. "You
really don't give a damn."
Again she spun around. "You're right about that, Haruka," Michiru
snarled. "Love is not some cure-all. I need to do this, for myself and for
my mother, and love or no, the only thing I see when I look at you is a
distraction."
* * * * * * *
Going to bed was necessary. Sleeping was optional. Haruka had learned
this rather painful lesson a while back. There were times when a hundred
hours in a bed, simply lying there, no matter how exhausted one was, yielded
no result. So it was natural she was a little depleted in energy the next
day.
She was losing everything that was precious to her. Granted, Haruka
valued very little in the grand scheme of things, but what she did value she
treasured with a vitality that could not be matched. Haruka knew what it
meant to have nothing when everything was at your feet. If life owed her
anything, it owed her this. And even though she kept telling herself she
wouldn't let go without a fight, Haruka wasn't certain she had the strength
to do that any longer.
Because Michiru *was* her strength. Michiru was the reason Haruka still
believed that things might be all right. Michiru had led her to a place
where she could be happy, no matter how hard she'd fought initially. And
Michiru could take that away in the blink of an eye.
"Haruka-san?"
Around now Haruka realized she was sitting on a bench in the park at 5 AM.
How she had gotten there she was uncertain of, but gotten there she had.
Now Rei was sitting on the other side, looking nervously into the pond.
"Why are you here?" Haruka intoned emotionlessly, staring into the same
clear waters.
"Because otherwise I'll forget."
Haruka looked up.
"There was this dream," Rei began unsteadily, "or maybe I was awake. I
can't remember. I can't remember, Haruka-san," Rei repeated, starting to
panic. The girl's eyes were wild; she was clearly fearful and tortured. "I
saw Michiru-san, burning in hellfire . . . being dragged down by...I don't
know." Rei squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out visions of the
painful memory. "The room filled with smoke. I was scared, Haruka-san, so
scared I didn't know what to do with myself."
Haruka mused over this. "Are you saying you had a vision?" she asked,
forcing herself to process.
Rei nodded dumbly. "After a while she gave up, Haruka-san. I think she
was tired of fighting."
"I see. . . . " But she didn't see. Haruka sighed. "Rei-chan . . . if
you were in a jungle with your father--"
"I wouldn't go anywhere with my father." Rei was livid.
"That's not the point," Haruka protested. "It's from this book. You're
in the jungle with your father and your best friend and a deadly cobra bites
both of them. You have one dose of antiseptic, and by the time you get help
it'll be too late to save the other. Which one would you save?"
"I'd say," Rei said slowly, "that you should go see Usagi-chan."
"What?" Haruka looked confused.
"Just what I said." Rei stood up. "And next time, try putting 'lover' in
place of 'father.'"
* * * * * * *
So she did. Not the father bit, but visit Usagi. Haruka had to admit to
herself it was strange to interact so personally with the senshi on such a
consistent basis. For a long time Michiru had been enough for her. But now
Michiru was slipping away . . . and Haruka knew sooner or later she would have
to face the truth.
But not today. And probably not tomorrow. Fear followed her like a
faithful dog, howled at her sadness and whined at her melancholy. Not even
the senshi of wind could run away from her fears.
She stepped inside the oppressive house, through the eerily drab halls,
through silence and gloom.
But to her surprise, Usagi was sitting at her desk, faithfully applying
herself to the task of doodling all over her Algebra homework.
Haruka leaned over Usagi's shoulder and looked over the image. "That's
pretty good, neko-chan," she commented lightly.
Usagi stilled momentarily, then turned around. "Haruka-san," she said
quietly, still not looking up.
"Have you ever considered becoming a manga-ka?" Haruka asked evenly.
"With your imagination and skill--"
"You're not here to talk about my pictures, Haruka-san."
The voice was so cold Haruka shivered. Forcing a smile, she replied,
"You're right, neko-chan. Are you up for a walk?"
* * * * * * *
"The leaves are almost gone."
"I like it better when they're all gone, actually," Haruka admitted to the
girl at her side.
Usagi stared at the slate sky with its foamy overhead and the skeletal
trees, each with a few droopy leaves on them. The winds were oddly gentle,
but with a crisp bite that reminded the two senshi that this mellifluous
interlude would not last forever.
"Do you really?" Usagi went back to Haruka's comment.
The poised elder senshi wasn't her usual laid-back self, Usagi could tell
that much. There was something in the way Haruka carried herself usually
that no longer appeared to be with her, some sort of supreme
confidence...something special, no doubt, and whatever it was needed to
return right away: one look in the woman's eyes and Usagi knew despair.
"Of course," Haruka replied lifelessly. "There's something . . .
something cruel about it."
The little odango atama leaned against one of the 'cruel' trees, trying to
call off a sudden onslaught of vertigo. "I don't understand," she stated,
taking in a deep breath.
"Well. . . . " Haruka looked up at two droopy leaves still persistently
clinging to the tree. "Have you ever known what's it's like to lose
everything?"
Usagi didn't answer. Haruka looked over and saw the tears glimmering in
her eyes.
"That was a bad question, wasn't it?"
The small girl nodded dumbly, trying to hold back a sob. She had learned
what it meant to have nothing in the battle with Chaos. With her flushed
face and the beads of sweat developing on her brow as well, Haruka began to
worry for the little Princess she was sworn to protect at all costs.
Haruka, realizing this was where Usagi was going, sighed and thought
again. "Neko . . . didn't you believe we could be saved, though?"
Usagi's looked at her expectantly. "Of course," she replied
incredulously, surprised that Haruka did not realize the extent of her faith
that things could still work out.
"Then you didn't lose everything," Haruka explained. "You had something
left to hold on to: your hope, ne? That's what those leaves are."
Her head cocked in confusion. "What's wrong with having hope?" she
inquired, honestly confused.
"It's not that simple, neko-chan," Haruka defended patiently. "Hope is
all right, up to a point. Eventually you get to a point where your hope gets
all worn and tattered. But you still cling to it. It's not healthy."
She turned around and stared at the tree in question. "But trees always
spring new leaves," she argued, though her voice was in no way antagonistic.
"When you have nothing, there's nowhere to go but up. Sometimes you have
to shed your leaves. But around this time of year the trees still cling to their
leaves."
Haruka might have continued with the overextended metaphor had Usagi not
suddenly dropped to the grass, panting lightly as she clutched the long
grass. In her panic, Haruka dipped next to her, watching Usagi frantically
try to catch her breath.
After a moment, Usagi's hand came to her heart, quietly clasping the
fabric of her shirt. This, for whatever reason, calmed her down. Haruka, in a
pathetic attempt to feel useful, gently rubbed Usagi's back, offering gentle
encouragement.
Once she felt better, Usagi stood up rather shakily. "I hate it when that
happens," she muttered, still trying to stay steady.
Sharp green-gray eyes focused on her. "Did this begin recently?" Haruka
asked suspiciously as the knowledge that something was very wrong permeated
her thoughts.
Unsurprisingly, Usagi nodded. "I'm going to the doctor tomorrow," she
enlightened Haruka, "for a follow-up. Last time the doctor didn't find
anything wrong."
"Is that so?" Haruka raised an eyebrow. Usagi nodded very solemnly.
"Well. . . . " Trying to lighten the mood, Haruka swept Usagi into her
arms, grinning wolfishly all the while.
"Haruka-san!" Usagi giggled. "I am not an invalid, you know."
"Too bad," Haruka smirked. "I can't afford your passing out again.
You're going home via the Ten'oh Express."
Laughing, Usagi stopped struggling and sank in a little. Despite the many
odd looks, the journey continued smoothly, no doubt in part because of the
vicious glares Haruka gave overly curious rubberneckers.
Usagi grew very quiet, almost as if the silence itself sucked away all
human presence. The silence bothered Haruka; it seemed unnatural to her.
"Penny for your thoughts, neko-chan?"
She sniffed. "You sound like Mina-chan."
"It's a Western expression, neko-chan. Leave Minako-chan's malapropisms
out of this."
Usagi sighed. "I'd rather not talk about it."
"Suit yourself."
Haruka continued carrying Usagi, keeping her pace steady and smooth.
Strangely enough, the careful pace lulled her Usagi to sleep. This resulted
in Haruka tightening her grip carefully, as if cradling a precious child and
not an independent-minded Princess.
She left her in the grass by the back door. It was still light and
somehow she knew Tsukino Kenji would not welcome her presence. Haruka respected
Usagi's father on many levels; he was more perceptive than anyone really
realized, including Usagi's mother. She had watched Kenji's simmering
disposition when the Inner Senshi were near and the barely civil tone with
which he treated the Outers in their few interactions. Mamoru was not
tolerated under any circumstances. Somehow, Kenji knew his little girl was
a part of something and if the nine of them would just leave her alone,
maybe his daughter wouldn't have so many of the secret trials she carried on
her shoulders.
The weight of the world was too much for that tiny set of shoulder blades.
Even Atlas and Hercules tired of its mass. And yet on those little shoulders lay
grueling exigency.
But Haruka overestimated her Princess. Throughout the years she had come
to believe that Usagi would transcend any and all obstacles.
Even though it was the most important of any obstacle thrown in Tsukino
Usagi's way, the one that faced her now it was also the one she might never
conquer.
* * * * * * *
The wind still didn't pick up, Haruka noticed as she walked away from the
Tsukino residence. Something about the still air made her feel hollow. She
mentally groped for something to hold onto but found nothing. If she wanted
a distraction of sorts, she'd have to make her own.
Pulling out a minute cell phone, Haruka pressed '7' on the speed dial and
anxiously waited for someone to pick up on the other line.
"Moshi moshi, Tomoe residence."
"Tomoe-sensei?"
"Yes?" The doctor sounded confused. "Who is this?"
"Is Hotaru-chan there?"
She could almost hear his confusion. "Sure, she is . . . who is this?"
"Tell her that Haruka-papa is on the phone."
A scratch on the head, padded footsteps, muffled voices. She gripped the
phone unmercifully, waiting for Hotaru's voice. More stifled talking hummed
in the background.
"Haruka-papa?"
"Hotaru-chan!" Haruka cried in barely disguised delight. "How are you?"
"I should ask the same question."
Haruka's face dropped. "You're very perceptive, you know," she murmured
into the speaker.
"It comes with the territory."
She sounded so *old* . . . just like a senshi of Saturn should. Haruka
rubbed her temples in bewilderment.
"Why did you call, Haruka-papa?"
Now she couldn't speak. A strange numbness washed over her muscles,
allowing the phone to slip through her fingers. It dropped onto the
pavement with the fierce clatter of breaking electronics.
"Haruka-papa?" Though scratchy from the damage it had received from the
fall, Hotaru's voice continued nonetheless. With trembling fingers, Haruka
picked up the phone, snapped it shut, and stepped unsteadily to her car.
Across the line, Hotaru simply sighed and shook her head.
* * * * * * *
There a vague fog twisting about the house when Haruka drove up. With a
scowl, she braced herself for the horrid clank of Michiru composing at the
piano.
To her surprise, however, Michiru was sitting by a window, holding a small
object at her chest. Clearly something outside fascinated her.
The scene she was so pretty Haruka almost didn't want to disturb her . . .
almost. Right now reminded her how much she missed her beloved's warm arms
wrapped around her. Creeping stealthily to the windowsill, Haruka managed
to lay herself down before Michiru noticed anything. By that time, there
was no use preventing Haruka's head from being placed in her silken lap.
"What're you looking at?" Haruka asked lazily, smiling up at the pale
Nereid she loved so dearly.
Michiru lightly stroked Haruka's cheek with a smooth, perfectly manicured
fingernail. "The sea is so rough today, ne?" she asked uncertainly, as if
waiting for Haruka's agreement.
Haruka leaned up to look outside. "You're right," she agreed. "It does
seem a bit on the churlish side."
The thick strands of aqua hair trailed around Michiru's chest. "I think
it's absolutely lovely," she said softly, staring in fascination.
"What, another overextended metaphor?"
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing." Haruka placed her head back in her lover's lap.
Michiru stared out for another moment by saying, "It's never the same the
next day, you know. Wouldn't it be nice if we could be the same way?"
"I never thought about it in those terms," Haruka said honestly.
"Of course not," she conceded knowingly. "Change was never your style.
You liked to go beyond, right? Stay a step ahead."
"I used to. Now I don't know what to think." The pain and confusion
Haruka was feeling was all too clear on her face.
Soft lips curled into what appeared at first glance to be a smile. At
very least Haruka interpreted it that way.
"Sometimes you have to start over," Michiru said. "Like now. I've been
horrible to you, haven't I?"
For a moment, Haruka reeled. Michiru's tone was saccharine, too sickly
for Haruka. But the words themselves were what Haruka was longing to hear, and
she fell upon them like a dying man in the desert who had just come across
an oasis.
Being very careful, Haruka responded by saying, "It takes two to tango.
Maybe I was wrong about this whole Requiem project being a bad idea. It
seems to be making you very happy."
"Mm-hmm. I finished another movement today," she announced, smiling
genuinely.
"That's nice, koibito," Haruka praised her. "What's that you're
holding?"
"What?"
"The item by your chest."
"Oh." Michiru revealed the star locket in her hand. "It's . . .
comforting, in a strange way. This little locket really reminds a person
how powerful love can be."
"You said it." Haruka sat up and placed her lips on Michiru's carefully.
Happily, Michiru kissed her an equal vigor, tossing the locket aside.
Neither was really interested in moving, and the padded bench of the sill
made the area all the more convenient. Smiling, Michiru's lips descended as
she slowly began to unbutton Haruka's shirt. Popping the blonde out of her
bra, Haruka moaned softly as Michiru took a gentle hand to her breast.
Delighted by the response, Michiru continued her ministrations for a long
while, until a simple kiss had dissolved into a desperate, passionate
lovemaking neither ever forgot. Sated, Haruka nestled Michiru in the crook
of her arm and watched out the window.
"Tell me about your mother," Haruka enjoined Michiru as she watched the
tide roll back out.
"What was that?" Michiru mumbled sleepily.
"This piece is for her, right? I want to know about her."
"Love . . ." Michiru placed a gentle peck on Haruka's navel. "Whatever
happened to leaving the past behind?"
"Maybe I want it to catch up," Haruka replied very seriously.
Michiru laughed, but the sound was forced. "We had an agreement,
Haruka-chan," she articulated carefully. "What's past is past. Now only
the future concerns us."
"But this whole work is because--"
She never did finish that thought. Once Michiru began again with
explorations, leaving Haruka in muddy haze of pleasure and paranoia.
` * * * * * * *
"The blood work shows nothing, Tsukino-san. There is nothing on the X-
ray, either."
"Sensei, there is clearly something wrong with my daughter--"
"We don't have all the tests from the lab yet, Tsukino-san. Not all
possibilities are exhausted. I am, however, disturbed by this new
development."
Dr. Izuhara was very old, very fat, and very pretentious. But for all his
delusions of grandeur he was a terrific doctor and surprisingly easy to get
along with at times. The man's erratic persona had amused Usagi over the
years. It failed today, however. His countenance was grim.
"Usagi-san's 'attacks' are something noteworthy. It would be in her best
interest if we monitored the situation more carefully. . . ."
Luna was very good at reading lips. Her sharp eyes allowed her to note
the small, subtle differences between the most similar sound formations. With a
sigh, though, she turned away from the window.
During the Silver Millennium, Luna had been linked to the ginzuishou so
she could sense its being used. As of late she had noticed a slight drain of
the crystal, something that wasn't as abnormal as it seemed. The crystal
was so in tune with Usagi's heart that the little odango rarely realized the
many subtle ways the crystal made itself available. Like now.
What had bothered Luna was the rate that the usage was increasing without
Usagi's commentary. All the cat knew was that the extra energy was going
towards maintaining some sort of physical function, perhaps fighting off
whatever was happening to the blonde's heart.
But the crystal was unreliable. In her weakened condition, maintaining
that drainage was bound to cause a shortage. And when that day came . . .
Luna sighed. The consequences could easily be dire for Usagi.
Luna stepped off the ledge, lost in thought.
* * * * * * *
It was a perfectly normal scenario. Well, maybe not as normal as usual,
because Mamoru was seated farther back than his regular front-of-middle area,
designed to be close without being inconspicuous. Back-of-middle was a more
accurate assessment. But that wasn't odd, not to the students at least.
Mamoru lived his life so that he would not be noticed. His exceptional
abilities and own ambitions played a poor trick on him here. People watched
him, if not because he was incredibly good-looking and brilliant, but
because they could never figure out what he was going to do next.
Advanced English Literature. It was a cover for Analyze Chiba Mamoru 101.
Not that he noticed, or maybe not that he *wanted* to noticed. But that
wasn't his concern. If it had been, he'd be very depressed.
So he tried to concentrate on Berry-sensei's lecture. Really, he did.
Blasted woman had a penchant for poetry, especially that which hailed from
the Elizabethan era. If he had to read another of Shakespeare's sonnets
he'd bore his eyes out with dull pencils. Milton's "Paradise Lost" had been
an almost eerie relief.
Actually, her specialty was really love poetry, something Berry-sensei
relished with an almost obsessive fascination. She got a bit syrupy when it
was discussed in class and was always encouraging the boys to recite it to
their girlfriends, claiming it would revert any woman into a helpless puddle
at their feet.
Usagi wouldn't have understood a word of it, but Mamoru did not doubt the
truth in the statement. But thinking about Usagi made him feel hollow and
lost, so he tried not to do it. There was something inborn in him that
rebelled against the idea that a woman's love and companionship was
essential to feel complete, but a larger part of him was beginning to
realize that, like it or not, it was necessary--and perhaps not so terrible,
if said woman forgave him for his long list of sins.
That was a foolish course, and he knew it. Sooner or later he'd have to
face the truth. But right now he wanted to pretend it didn't exist . . .
"Chiba-san!"
He snapped to attention. "Yes?" he asked warily, watching the frazzled
teacher carefully. "Did you want something?"
She gave him a Look. "How about your attention?" she said icily,
thoroughly putting him in his place. He felt sufficiently cowed, which
garnered snickers from his classmates.
With a heavy sigh, Mamoru forced himself to pay attention. It was all
right as a distraction, not as nice as submerging himself in a little world
where the pain seemed a million miles away--but then again, so did any
sparse threads of happiness, little threads he once clutched frantically as
of late as his emotional state had slowly collapsed under its own weight.
Escapism was a gift of God.
"Chiba-san!"
She really sounded quite irritable. He wanted to pay attention, he really
did. But forcing his attention wasn't working.
Mamoru flashed the teacher a million-watt smile, which was not really a
smile, but she didn't know that, so the point was moot. She smiled and
offered him one of her own, far less dazzling but at least showed her own
willingness to let bygones be bygones if he *would just pay attention.*
Testing him, Berry-sensei said sweetly, "Then I suppose you would be
willing to help us out with our analysis of the fourth stanza?"
"Stanza?" He blinked.
"Of the poem."
"Oh." Suddenly the world seemed foggy and viscous; he struggled somewhat
unsuccessfully to grab a hold of reality and perform the task.
With a thick, unsteady voice, he began to read:
"Dull sublunary lovers' love
--Whose soul is sense--cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it."
Something about the words nauseated him. He clutched the desk in front
of him, trying to keep in tact.
"That's a lovely reading, Chiba-san, but what does it mean?"
Frantically he scanned the collection of letters that preceded the stanza
in question. "Asvirtuousmenpassmildlyawayandwhispertotheirsoulstogo . . . "
The letters were nothing more than random marks on the page after that.
He took a deep breath as his heart began to race.
Sensei raised her eyebrows. "Chiba-san? We'll get back to you." She
decided to give one of her best students some credit, despite his general
inability to give an honest criticism of a love poem. She'd long figured
out that he had issues and was tempted to suggest that he take Psychology with
her good friend Hiranaka Saki, who would've had a field day with this one.
As another student began to explain the stanza, Mamoru quietly rubbed his
temples. What was affecting him so? Something in the air? He tried to
focus, see if time had passed, when the class ended.
"If they be two, they are two so . . . "
Mamoru felt his heart race to new heights.
"As stiff twin compasses are two . . . "
A sudden stab of blinding light and pain attacked the corner of his eye.
He moaned softly, trying to mentally clamp the waves of pain going through
him.
"Chiba-san?"
It suddenly stopped. All the pain, all the heartache. He was . . . empty.
Or was he? The new emotion scared him to bits. With some random mumble
he excused himself, dropping his books twice because his hands quaked too hard
to hold onto them properly. He had to get away.
"Such wilt thou be to me, who must.
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun."
* * * * * * * * *
"Are you sure it was Mamoru-san?"
"Dead," she said very seriously. "I felt him splinter."
"You're getting to be very good at this."
"I hope that's not a compliment."
"Don't worry, it's not."
"Good."
There was silence on both ends of the phone. "Haruka-papa called too."
"Did she?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell her anything?"
"She hung up pretty quickly. She's . . . not doing well."
"As expected. It's a little ironic that this is affecting her more deeply
than any of the other three, ne?"
"No, not really, although the depth of the effect on Haruka-papa versus on
the others could be argued."
"You're questioning me."
"I was never certain about this."
"Hotaru-chan, this is ridiculous. You agreed with me when we first came
up with the plan. We have to know, and never again will we have such optimal
conditions for testing."
"I know, but . . . "
"You know as well as I do that the consequences of finding this out in,
say, Crystal Tokyo could be potentially disastrous?"
"I realize that but . . . don't you wonder if it will go too far?"
"Do I have to remind you that you are not to intervene?"
Little tears dripped down her cheeks. Hotaru cradled the antique phone
like a baby. "I understand."
"Good girl. This is their test, child. If they fail . . . well, let's
not ponder that possibility."
* * * * * * *
Busy signal yet again. Haruka scowled and slammed down the phone. With a
heavy lurch she picked the blasted thing up and threw it across the room,
watching it crack as it hit the wall with a tremendous crash.
Michiru wouldn't even notice, though. She never did anymore.
In her fury Haruka picked up the shattered pieces of the phone and pressed
them against her chest. Stumbling down the stairs, she was 'treated' to the
lovely sound of Michiru tinkering with "Benedictus."
"Did you hear that?" Haruka asked acidly, staring wildly at her lover.
"Hmm?" Michiru looked up through thin wire-rimmed frames at the frenetic
tomboy. "What's that you said?"
In her rage, Haruka let the pieces of the phone clatter to the ground.
Michiru stared at the broken phone disinterestedly. "I guess we need a
new phone for the bedroom," she commented dryly.
"Don't start, Michiru."
"What?" Michiru cocked her head. "Are you all right?"
"Do I LOOK all right?"
"Not at all. Actually, dear, you're positively frightening."
Michiru was right--even Haruka admitted that. The mirrored wall of the
dining room showed a terrifying sight: Haruka's eyes swollen and puffy from
not-tears, her mouth thin and hard, her features sharp but strained. Her
posture was slumped and her hair flat, hanging limply against her head. The
eyes were the worst, though . . . those were not sane people's eyes, she
knew that much.
"Koibito," Michiru purred seductively, "you're getting yourself all
knotted up." Once again she wrapped herself around Haruka's lean figure,
gently pecking the tall woman's chest. But Haruka, though aroused, was not
falling for this trick again.
"I want to know about your mother." Haruka's voice was very nearly dead.
"What?" Michiru looked up, feigning innocence. "I thought we'd closed
that subject."
"I guess we didn't."
"Oh, very well." Michiru receded quickly and straightened her back. "Why
won't you tell me about your family first?"
Just the thought of doing this, especially in such a precarious mental
state, made Haruka retch. She looked away, closing her eyes against a
sudden case of vertigo. The door of the past had long been dead-bolted; she
would make sure it would stay that way.
When it became obvious that Haruka did not plan to answer, Michiru sneered
mockingly. "You can't do it," she taunted Haruka, "you can't do it because
you're a coward."
$Yikes, this is quick. Slow down, Ai-ko, slow down! ^^;$
Haruka made a valiant effort not to cry, but her attempts were futile.
"Baby," Michiru scoffed. "Brat. You want to delve into my past when you
can't even think about your own without crying. That's disgusting."
The tears fell faster now, hotter and more shameful with each one that slid
across her cheek.
"Oh, are you going to cry, baby?" Michiru derided her. "How dare you come
in here and demand I bare my soul for you!"
"Michiru . . . I just wanted to . . . "
She rolled her eyes. "What? Hold me close while I told you my sob story?
So I could be that much more dependent on you? So you could OWN me?"
"I never . . . " These things hadn't even occurred to her! How could
Michiru accuse her of them? If anything, Haruka was the dependent one, the
slave. Michiru had proven herself stronger. Survival of the fittest.
"Maybe I should go." Haruka held her head lowly, trying not to sob aloud.
She bit her lip so hard blood flowed freely.
To her horror, she sensed Michiru's nod. "I think that would be a good
idea."
So she ran, like a baby, like a coward, to somewhere where she could sort
her muddy thoughts into something coherent. Had she been a bit saner, she
would've realized that something very odd happening to Michiru, but her
bruised, battered psyche did not offer her such ration right now.
She called a hotel, the finest in Japan. Surround herself in luxuries to
forget. The room was beautiful and the service impeccable, yet she had had
little real human contact while making the arrangements. Haruka liked it
that way.
The room was magnificent, to say the least. Decorated in soft pastels
with contrasting dark woods, the suite held an air of affluence and beauty. The
hotel's penthouse took up the entire floor and was the crown jewel of the
hotel. There was a full home theater, a Jacuzzi bathtub, full Internet
access, a complimentary bottle of champagne sitting in a solid-silver ice
bucket with a bouquet of perfect red roses sitting next to it, and a
magnificent King-sized bed in the main bedroom.
Haruka didn't notice most of these details. Mostly her eyes zeroed in on
the champagne. Shaky hands reached out to grab the bottle, but slipped and
cut themselves on one of the rose's thorns. Ignoring the small dribble of
blood running down her hand she furiously snatched up the bottle and opened
it with the corkscrew sitting next to the bucket.
Embracing her bottle, Haruka took a few vulgar swigs of the delicate
drink, curled up in the middle of the soft, giant bed, and cried until she fell
asleep.
* * * * * * *
"Did Michiru-san really kick her out?" Rei asked concernedly, trying to
mask her anxiety. "That seems a little harsh."
"I get the feeling it was a mutual decision." Makoto made a face.
"Haurka-san seemed a bit down, which means this is really getting to her. I
tried calling their house, but Michiru didn't pick up." Makoto leaned down.
"Apparently Michiru-san has become obsessed with her 'masterwork.'"
"Masterwork?" Rei looked suspicious. "Why do I have a bad feeling about
this?"
"Probably because a bad feeling is the understatement of the year," Makoto
groaned. "Michiru-san's composing a Requiem--and get this: it's based off
the Moonlight Densetsu!"
"Are you serious?!" Rei's eyes widened in horror. "That's positively
disturbing."
"Haruka-san agrees with you. She thinks the whole thing is sick."
"That's because it IS sick."
"Well . . . I guess if Usagi-chan approved the project I can see
Michiru-san's side of it . . . what do you think, Ami-chan?"
"Hmm?" Ami didn't even look up.
Makoto looked suspiciously over at Ami. "Are you still working on that
program of yours?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Can't even get one lousy syllable out of her," Makoto growled. "What's so
special about this project, anyways?"
Ami sighed. "It's a long story. If you want to hear, I'll tell, but no
groaning, and no getting your hopes up. Wakarimasu ka?"
Makoto looked over at Rei, who nodded politely in agreement. The taller
senshi's head bobbed vigorously in response.
Folding her hands on the table in front of the laptop, Ami began, "What do
you know about the Silver Millennium's information system?"
She was greeted with two blank stares.
"Well then that may be a good place to start," Ami said, rolling her eyes.
"Really, you two, we were briefed on the Millennial Superhighway repeatedly
during our past lives. Do you recall nothing?"
"Is this anything like the Information Superhighway?" Makoto dared to
venture.
"Actually, it is the direct predecessor of it," Ami said, nodding
approvingly at Makoto. "The Millennial Superhighway connected all of the
planets, with the exception of Earth. It used technology beyond current
programmers' wildest dreams. Among other things, it acted as the main server
for all scientific and governmental protocol. That system was one of the
crowning achievements of the Silver Millennium."
"That's nice," Rei said deprecatingly. "What does it have to do with now?"
"Well . . . I ran a search of the information database using images my
computer stored of the Wraith. Neptune-san's mirror worked as a sort of
'camera.'"
"Wait . . . you mean this computer is still running?"
"How is this possible?" Makoto asked in amazement.
"Hush!" Ami hissed. She pointed over to the door.
Mamoru had just entered the Arcade, stormily settling in a booth
conveniently close to the corner yet sufficiently isolated. The girls
leaned down, trying not to be noticed.
"I'm not exactly certain yet," she quietly imparted to the other two.
"All the information on my system goes to a supercomputer on the Moon that
served as the hub for the Silver Millennium's informational systems. The
computer was built in an underground facility with an intense security system,
so when the Moon Kingdom was destroyed the system remained entirely intact. My
computer can still access data and programs stored there."
The two other girls blinked. "When did this happen?" Makoto asked, still
stunned.
"Most of the Silver Millennium's government officials were only vaguely
aware of the system's existence," Ami explained. "It was run by a group of
highly specialized scientists and engineers, mostly from Mercury or Pluto.
I played with the system many times in my past life," Ami said. "It's why
I'm so familiar with the workings of systems today. But that's not really
the point. The supercomputer came up with several matches," she announced.
Four eyebrows shot up. "Why didn't you tell us about this sooner?" Rei
asked.
"All the entries are passkey-protected," she explained. "Apparently
someone didn't want the information in the public down. The search only
matched me up to the links because my system was built for a Princess, who
could theoretically recover the passkeys necessary to open such a file. I
tried to hack through the system, but it's watertight. At the time the
firewall was erected I was too young to participate in the process. My only
other option is trying to derive the correct passkey, which I *did*
participate in. But, as Minako-chan would say, that's opening a bottle of
oysters."
"That's very odd," Makoto said, her mouth slightly open. "What was so
important it required so many precautions to secure?"
"A better question, Mako-chan," Ami began, "would be if the information
was so vital, why was it placed in the main hub in the first place? Classified
information was on an entirely different system."
Rei stared at the computer. "So what are you going to do?"
"Put my programming skills to work," Ami said grimly. "The system uses
matrices to encode passkeys. The coded keys are on my system, but only
certain matrices will allow me to unlock the specific passkeys. The search,
which came up in criminal records, shows that there is a particular passkey
that corresponds to major felons."
"There is a list of coded passkeys on my system. I am creating a program
that will derive the matrices used to code each password, then run all the
matrices against all the passkeys and match them, then decode them, then
take every possible permutation and run them through the passkey. Motoki's
information helped me set the basic program up, but this is on a far grander
scale than his class did."
Makoto let out a low whistle. "You really have your work cut out for you,
don't you?"
Ami banged her head on the table. "You have NO idea."
* * * * * * *
"The doctor wasn't really sure what's wrong with me," Usagi told Minako,
"so he gave me some antibiotics just in case and told me to get plenty of
rest."
"Are you sure you shouldn't be at home?" Minako asked worriedly, noticing
how shallow Usagi's breathing was.
"No way," Usagi said dismissively. "Miyazuki-sensei thought it might just
be stress--you know, bad breakup and all. He ran a bunch of tests on me
just in case."
"Really?" Minako was trying to hide how afraid for Usagi she really was.
"Really," Usagi said confidently as they walked out of class that day.
"Besides, if it is stress, then I'm not going to let this get the best of
me, Mamo-chan be damned."
"Usagi-chan," Minako said warily, "does this have anything to do with what
I told you last week? I mean, when I told you to not let Mamoru-san hurt
you, I never meant for you to put your health in danger just to prove a
point."
"Of course not," Usagi said breezily, "but I can't just lay myself down
and die now, can I? I'm not going to be a weepy coward about this. I'm
stronger than that, Mina-chan!"
The timing of this statement was unnaturally impeccable. Just as she made
her bold declaration, a wave of vertigo quickly pulled her to the ground,
dazed and disoriented.
"Usagi-chan?!" Minako's voice jumped two octaves. She knelt by Usagi,
frantically shaking the odango-haired girl. "Usagi-chan!!"
Usagi, for her part, was simply trying to take in a full breath of air.
With the screaming pace her heart was going at, it was near impossible for
her to do as such. Minako's shaking awakened her from her trance, allowing
her to start breathing more deeply and calm herself down.
"Minako?" Usagi asked weakly.
Near petrified with relief, Minako wrapped her arms around the smaller
girl and began to bawl. Usagi suddenly found she was comforting both Minako and
herself.
"Wh-what's happening to you, Usagi-chan?" Minako sobbed.
"I don't know," Usagi whispered fearfully. "I really don't know."
* * * * * * *
"Did she dump you?"
Silence.
"Did you dump her?"
Silence.
"Did you hurt her?"
Silence.
"Did she hurt you?"
Silence.
"Is she pregnant?"
Silence.
"Are you gay?"
Silence.
"Is she gay?"
Silence.
"*You* aren't by any chance pregnant, right?"
"I resent that remark, Motoki-kun."
"Well, Mamoru-kun, we have been sitting here for forty-five minutes and
I've had to recycle questions three times now! Aren't you going to tell me
what happened?"
"If I was planning to, wouldn't I have done so forty-five minutes ago?"
"ARGHH! You are so DIFFICULT!"
"I'll take that as a compliment." Head low and bangs over his eyes,
Mamoru moodily sipped the black coffee.
Motoki hopped into the bench. "I've been your best friend for ten years,
Mamoru-kun--"
"Eleven," Mamoru corrected him.
"Okay then, seven," Motoki conceded, running a furious hand through his
messy blond locks. There were times he really wished he could use a nice
broadsword on the arcade games that were beeping so idiotically in the
background, he mentally amended. Those games were insanely annoying at times
like these. "Maybe if you talked to someone, you'd feel better."
"I don't think anything short of a bottle of vodka and a concussion could
make me feel better right now," Mamoru replied icily. "You've already dragged
me down here and harassed me incessantly about this for the last hour. I don't
want to talk about it, and that's final."
"Mamoru-KUN!" Motoki banged his head on the table, stunned at his best
friend's cool demeanor.
Then again...Motoki surveyed the scene more carefully. Mamoru's head was
low, too low to see his eyes, but sufficient to see the grimace his mouth
was twisted into and the pallor of his cheeks. His hands quavered as they
clasped the coffee cup, and his voice was overwrought, overflowing with
emotion yet dull and spiritless.
Motoki was about to begin round 4 of questioning when the stupid bell his
little sister had attached to the door rang. In walked Aino Minako, an arm
firmly supporting a shaky Usagi.
"Hey there, Motoki-san," Minako said gently. "Usagi-chan's a little dead
on her feet. I think she needs a triple-chocolate milkshake with extra
whipped cream."
"I'm FINE, Mina-chan! You worry too much."
"I'm paying."
"Well, I guess a little snack could be good for me. Fire away!"
Smiling, Motoki turned to make up the milkshake. From the corner of his
eye, he watched Mamoru perk up upon sensing her presence, then slowly turn
to gaze painfully at the little blonde.
Motoki cursed himself and turned back to the milkshake, angrily wishing
one of them would confront the other. Couldn't they see that they were meant
for each other? Unable to resist, he scowled in Mamoru's direction, who in
turn guiltily turned away.
A dark glint flashed in his beloved's eyes. With an iniquitous smile she
strutted to Mamoru's booth. Usagi forced down a wave of vertigo and flashed
her pearly whites.
"Something the matter, Mamo-chan?" she asked, almost mockingly.
What was she doing? Minako and Motoki watched carefully, trying to
interpret her actions from her and Mamoru's body language. Mamoru, Motoki
concluded, was as clueless as they.
"Nothing at all," he replied smoothly, although there was a quiet tremble
to his voice that Usagi caught easily. There was something oddly arousing
about all this, he noted darkly.
"What? No furious efforts to rip my clothes off?" she murmured, smiling
all the while.
He gulped. "Why are you doing this? I asked you. I BEGGED you. What do
you want from me?" he pleaded hoarsely, staring down at his coffee.
"You should have called."
"I thought all I was good for to you was a romp under the bed sheets after
our little session."
"That's not true, Mamo-chan," she protested with a quivering lip.
"Isn't it?" he asked dully. "Isn't it?"
"No . . . "
"Because that's all you were to me."
Crack! Her hand went swiftly across his face. Usagi snarled at him.
"You . . . " She was too furious to think up a word heinous enough to describe
her opinion of him. "Don't act all high and mighty with me, Chiba!"
"You should take your own advice sometime."
With a motion containing more grace than Usagi had ever mustered
previously, she snatched her bag and walked out, her head held high.
Mamoru stared at the empty doorway. Motoki's noticing his friend's
gape-mouthed expression, simply asked, "Well?"
"Well what?" he mumbled in confusion.
"Aren't you going to run after her?"
He was off like a shot.
She hadn't gotten very far, he realized. As he slowed, still jogging
lightly, he placed a firm hand on her shoulder, pulling her back and almost
causing them both to lose their balance. Usagi let out a cry of surprise
and twirled around, immediately caught up in Mamoru's swirling blue gaze.
"I-I'm sorry," she offered weakly. "I don't know what got into me."
Silence.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, you know, I guess--"
"Don't," he croaked. "Just . . . say that . . . tell me I wasn't wrong
that day, Usa-ko. Just that."
His hands are so warm, she thought to herself before remembering the
morning those same hands had taken a life, no matter how depraved that life
might have been.
Mamoru was unaware to Usagi's train of thought. The night they had
consecrated their love had left him longing for more. His mind--and
libido--were filled with Usagi as they had never had before. But just as
this firestorm of lust and love had consumed him, he never forgot that he
was a killer. He needed her forgiveness like he needed air, but it appeared
he wasn't going to get that. Nevertheless, his love for her still burned
fiercely. He would not escape easily.
And now, to feel her fluttery, birdlike heartbeat next to his, to feel her
yielding form in his arms! Soft tears dripped over his cheeks as he tried
to block this out, always reminding himself of the atrocities he had
committed in this girl's name. The last thing she needed was someone who
was this dependent upon her love, someone who would willingly take lives for
her. It was contrary to everything she was and stood for, and she should
not be forced to tolerate it as such.
But still he could not let go, didn't dare to lest he find this to be
another painful dream. Usagi stared up at him shyly, whispering, "Mamo-chan?"
In an instant he had clamped his lips on hers, dragging her tiny figure
into a nearby alley, intending to never let her go again. Usagi happily
obliged him, kissing him back with equal viciousness. Mamoru nibbled her
earlobe and whispered words of love and lust in her ears, even slipped a
daring hand up the thin shirt of her school fuku. She, in turn, made her
way down his chest; carefully she unbuttoned the crisp black shirt he wore--
"Usagi-chan!"
The couple stopped abruptly, letting go of each other. "I'd better go,"
Usagi mumbled weakly. "Mina-chan must be looking for me--"
He grabbed her wrist, silently boring his eyes into her. But Usagi shook
it off.
"Aishiteru," she whispered, watching his eyes widen in shock. "But who
knows if that really means anything?"
She didn't stay to see Mamoru's reaction. Instead, she turned to Mina,
because it was easy, and making him stay would have been too hard.
"Usagi-chan," Minako cocked her blonde head, "where did you go?"
What did I just do? Usagi asked herself fearfully. Her heart raced to
inconceivable proportions. Did I . . . please say that I'm not . . . oh,
Gods . . .
"Usagi-chan?"
Minako had no time to react as Usagi slinked to the ground.
* * * * * * *
Oh! How sweetly the notes floated from her, how soft and lovely they were
. . . truly remarkable. There was nothing on this Earth like it. Without
Haruka around to distract her, nothing could stop her.
The locket played its melody as the last chords of "Benedictus" hung in
the air, the two sounds in perfect synchronization.
Michiru's dark eyes gleamed with unholy pleasure.
And just as the last note faded Usagi fell.
* * * * * * *
*Sighs* I wish. Ah, all y'all are getting the super-sweet present,
not me. These are last revisions, and, provided that they arrive from the
editor in time (hint hint), I'll 'gift' the new chap on Christmas day. Isn't
that just sweet?
Once again, this fic is rated R. I would adore you people if you
could fill my poor, lonely new e-mail box with lots and lost of yummy
feedback. It has issues (poor box), but feedback would help bolster its
self-esteem.
Disclaimer: Why do we even put these? They technically offer no
legal protection . . . maybe it's a psychological benefit? Maybe no one
cares? Whatever. The obvious is obvious.
Requiem for a Soldier: Benedictus (4b/7)
Author: Ai
E-mail: tennyo@attbi.com
One lap, two. How many laps had it been now?
She heard the crowds cheering, or were they?
It wasn't something she could be certain of.
There wasn't much she could be certain of anymore.
Was that three? Or was it two?
Whatever happened to paying attention to the road?
Then again, what happened to that old exhilaration, the wind in her hair,
the pure adrenaline rush, the speed pounding at her like a furious beast?
What happened to it?
Faded away?
Or maybe the speed didn't seem so appealing anymore?
Because she was tired of ignoring it.
She was tired of running.
She hated the past but couldn't escape it.
Five? Six?
Because sooner or later the past was going to catch up to her.
Did the number of laps matter?
Did she care any longer?
Sooner or later the past would win.
Because sooner or later she was bound to crash.
* * * * * * *
"Ten'oh-san?"
Haruka lifelessly tugged her helmet off, trying to clear her mind. It
wasn't easy, but somehow putting all her efforts to such a single-minded
task made her feel better.
"Ten'oh-san." Matsumomo Koichii, her head mechanic, was staring at her
mournfully. "Ten'oh-san," he said for the third time, "what happened out
there?"
"What do you mean?" Haruka looked at him in confusion. "I don't
understand."
"You took fourth out there," the man said, clearly confused. "Are you sick
or something?"
"Did I?" Haruka asked vaguely, her gray-green eyes staring at some unknown
point in the distance. "I didn't even know."
The man looked afraid. "Are you sure you're all right, Tenoh-san?" he
asked, genuinely concerned.
"No," she said very clearly. "I'm not okay at all, Koichii-san. Not a
bit."
* * * * * * *
When Haruka trudged back into her home that night she had something
definite, something resolute to focus on.
There she was, sitting at the piano. The cool pink light of the sunset
framed her soft figure, making her look, at first glance, as if she were an
angel on high. But a second glance was far more revealing: the once smooth,
graceful lines of her face and body were cold and harsh; her movements were
rough and abrupt. The set of her mouth was thin and a bit cruel, her eyes
sharp, her soft voice cutting as she sang.
'Fallen' was too kind a phrase to describe Michiru's transformation. Her
lover didn't say anything though . . . Haruka was not afraid, at least not yet.
"I just figured it out," she pronounced sharply. "I figured out what I was
upset about."
"And I'm sure you realized the foolishness of such anger," Michiru finished
coldly.
"You promised."
"What?" the aqua-haired woman barked.
"You *promised* me you'd be there."
Michiru turned around. "So?"
"Well," Haruka glared at her. "Promises are promises."
"What's THAT supposed to mean?" Michiru sneered dismissively.
"I . . . " Haruka was at a loss for words. How could she . . . did she
really . . .? "Doesn't that mean anything to you?" she squeaked miserably.
The woman at the piano paused. "Why do you care so much if I'm there?"
Michiru asked, genuinely confused. "What does it mean to you?"
Haruka cried aloud, unable to stop herself. "What do you mean why do I
care?!" she exclaimed in horror. Tears burned in her eyes but she ignored
them, steeling herself against their threat. She would not, could not cry
in front of Michiru. "I love you. I thought you loved me, Michiru . . . I
mean, was I wrong? You do love me, don't you?"
"Of *course* I love you, Haruka," Michiru admonished her, "but you are
taking this way too seriously. This race has nothing to do with my love for
you. You're being irrational."
"I can't change the way I feel, Michiru."
Her face twisted up. "Try," Michiru snapped, sitting back down at the
bench.
She began to play again, the rhythm of the song soon taking on that of
Haruka's tears. The woman sat there, dumb with sadness and horror.
"What are you staring at?" Michiru growled. "Leave me in peace."
"You don't care, do you?" Haruka whispered in wonder and dismay. "You
really don't give a damn."
Again she spun around. "You're right about that, Haruka," Michiru
snarled. "Love is not some cure-all. I need to do this, for myself and for
my mother, and love or no, the only thing I see when I look at you is a
distraction."
* * * * * * *
Going to bed was necessary. Sleeping was optional. Haruka had learned
this rather painful lesson a while back. There were times when a hundred
hours in a bed, simply lying there, no matter how exhausted one was, yielded
no result. So it was natural she was a little depleted in energy the next
day.
She was losing everything that was precious to her. Granted, Haruka
valued very little in the grand scheme of things, but what she did value she
treasured with a vitality that could not be matched. Haruka knew what it
meant to have nothing when everything was at your feet. If life owed her
anything, it owed her this. And even though she kept telling herself she
wouldn't let go without a fight, Haruka wasn't certain she had the strength
to do that any longer.
Because Michiru *was* her strength. Michiru was the reason Haruka still
believed that things might be all right. Michiru had led her to a place
where she could be happy, no matter how hard she'd fought initially. And
Michiru could take that away in the blink of an eye.
"Haruka-san?"
Around now Haruka realized she was sitting on a bench in the park at 5 AM.
How she had gotten there she was uncertain of, but gotten there she had.
Now Rei was sitting on the other side, looking nervously into the pond.
"Why are you here?" Haruka intoned emotionlessly, staring into the same
clear waters.
"Because otherwise I'll forget."
Haruka looked up.
"There was this dream," Rei began unsteadily, "or maybe I was awake. I
can't remember. I can't remember, Haruka-san," Rei repeated, starting to
panic. The girl's eyes were wild; she was clearly fearful and tortured. "I
saw Michiru-san, burning in hellfire . . . being dragged down by...I don't
know." Rei squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out visions of the
painful memory. "The room filled with smoke. I was scared, Haruka-san, so
scared I didn't know what to do with myself."
Haruka mused over this. "Are you saying you had a vision?" she asked,
forcing herself to process.
Rei nodded dumbly. "After a while she gave up, Haruka-san. I think she
was tired of fighting."
"I see. . . . " But she didn't see. Haruka sighed. "Rei-chan . . . if
you were in a jungle with your father--"
"I wouldn't go anywhere with my father." Rei was livid.
"That's not the point," Haruka protested. "It's from this book. You're
in the jungle with your father and your best friend and a deadly cobra bites
both of them. You have one dose of antiseptic, and by the time you get help
it'll be too late to save the other. Which one would you save?"
"I'd say," Rei said slowly, "that you should go see Usagi-chan."
"What?" Haruka looked confused.
"Just what I said." Rei stood up. "And next time, try putting 'lover' in
place of 'father.'"
* * * * * * *
So she did. Not the father bit, but visit Usagi. Haruka had to admit to
herself it was strange to interact so personally with the senshi on such a
consistent basis. For a long time Michiru had been enough for her. But now
Michiru was slipping away . . . and Haruka knew sooner or later she would have
to face the truth.
But not today. And probably not tomorrow. Fear followed her like a
faithful dog, howled at her sadness and whined at her melancholy. Not even
the senshi of wind could run away from her fears.
She stepped inside the oppressive house, through the eerily drab halls,
through silence and gloom.
But to her surprise, Usagi was sitting at her desk, faithfully applying
herself to the task of doodling all over her Algebra homework.
Haruka leaned over Usagi's shoulder and looked over the image. "That's
pretty good, neko-chan," she commented lightly.
Usagi stilled momentarily, then turned around. "Haruka-san," she said
quietly, still not looking up.
"Have you ever considered becoming a manga-ka?" Haruka asked evenly.
"With your imagination and skill--"
"You're not here to talk about my pictures, Haruka-san."
The voice was so cold Haruka shivered. Forcing a smile, she replied,
"You're right, neko-chan. Are you up for a walk?"
* * * * * * *
"The leaves are almost gone."
"I like it better when they're all gone, actually," Haruka admitted to the
girl at her side.
Usagi stared at the slate sky with its foamy overhead and the skeletal
trees, each with a few droopy leaves on them. The winds were oddly gentle,
but with a crisp bite that reminded the two senshi that this mellifluous
interlude would not last forever.
"Do you really?" Usagi went back to Haruka's comment.
The poised elder senshi wasn't her usual laid-back self, Usagi could tell
that much. There was something in the way Haruka carried herself usually
that no longer appeared to be with her, some sort of supreme
confidence...something special, no doubt, and whatever it was needed to
return right away: one look in the woman's eyes and Usagi knew despair.
"Of course," Haruka replied lifelessly. "There's something . . .
something cruel about it."
The little odango atama leaned against one of the 'cruel' trees, trying to
call off a sudden onslaught of vertigo. "I don't understand," she stated,
taking in a deep breath.
"Well. . . . " Haruka looked up at two droopy leaves still persistently
clinging to the tree. "Have you ever known what's it's like to lose
everything?"
Usagi didn't answer. Haruka looked over and saw the tears glimmering in
her eyes.
"That was a bad question, wasn't it?"
The small girl nodded dumbly, trying to hold back a sob. She had learned
what it meant to have nothing in the battle with Chaos. With her flushed
face and the beads of sweat developing on her brow as well, Haruka began to
worry for the little Princess she was sworn to protect at all costs.
Haruka, realizing this was where Usagi was going, sighed and thought
again. "Neko . . . didn't you believe we could be saved, though?"
Usagi's looked at her expectantly. "Of course," she replied
incredulously, surprised that Haruka did not realize the extent of her faith
that things could still work out.
"Then you didn't lose everything," Haruka explained. "You had something
left to hold on to: your hope, ne? That's what those leaves are."
Her head cocked in confusion. "What's wrong with having hope?" she
inquired, honestly confused.
"It's not that simple, neko-chan," Haruka defended patiently. "Hope is
all right, up to a point. Eventually you get to a point where your hope gets
all worn and tattered. But you still cling to it. It's not healthy."
She turned around and stared at the tree in question. "But trees always
spring new leaves," she argued, though her voice was in no way antagonistic.
"When you have nothing, there's nowhere to go but up. Sometimes you have
to shed your leaves. But around this time of year the trees still cling to their
leaves."
Haruka might have continued with the overextended metaphor had Usagi not
suddenly dropped to the grass, panting lightly as she clutched the long
grass. In her panic, Haruka dipped next to her, watching Usagi frantically
try to catch her breath.
After a moment, Usagi's hand came to her heart, quietly clasping the
fabric of her shirt. This, for whatever reason, calmed her down. Haruka, in a
pathetic attempt to feel useful, gently rubbed Usagi's back, offering gentle
encouragement.
Once she felt better, Usagi stood up rather shakily. "I hate it when that
happens," she muttered, still trying to stay steady.
Sharp green-gray eyes focused on her. "Did this begin recently?" Haruka
asked suspiciously as the knowledge that something was very wrong permeated
her thoughts.
Unsurprisingly, Usagi nodded. "I'm going to the doctor tomorrow," she
enlightened Haruka, "for a follow-up. Last time the doctor didn't find
anything wrong."
"Is that so?" Haruka raised an eyebrow. Usagi nodded very solemnly.
"Well. . . . " Trying to lighten the mood, Haruka swept Usagi into her
arms, grinning wolfishly all the while.
"Haruka-san!" Usagi giggled. "I am not an invalid, you know."
"Too bad," Haruka smirked. "I can't afford your passing out again.
You're going home via the Ten'oh Express."
Laughing, Usagi stopped struggling and sank in a little. Despite the many
odd looks, the journey continued smoothly, no doubt in part because of the
vicious glares Haruka gave overly curious rubberneckers.
Usagi grew very quiet, almost as if the silence itself sucked away all
human presence. The silence bothered Haruka; it seemed unnatural to her.
"Penny for your thoughts, neko-chan?"
She sniffed. "You sound like Mina-chan."
"It's a Western expression, neko-chan. Leave Minako-chan's malapropisms
out of this."
Usagi sighed. "I'd rather not talk about it."
"Suit yourself."
Haruka continued carrying Usagi, keeping her pace steady and smooth.
Strangely enough, the careful pace lulled her Usagi to sleep. This resulted
in Haruka tightening her grip carefully, as if cradling a precious child and
not an independent-minded Princess.
She left her in the grass by the back door. It was still light and
somehow she knew Tsukino Kenji would not welcome her presence. Haruka respected
Usagi's father on many levels; he was more perceptive than anyone really
realized, including Usagi's mother. She had watched Kenji's simmering
disposition when the Inner Senshi were near and the barely civil tone with
which he treated the Outers in their few interactions. Mamoru was not
tolerated under any circumstances. Somehow, Kenji knew his little girl was
a part of something and if the nine of them would just leave her alone,
maybe his daughter wouldn't have so many of the secret trials she carried on
her shoulders.
The weight of the world was too much for that tiny set of shoulder blades.
Even Atlas and Hercules tired of its mass. And yet on those little shoulders lay
grueling exigency.
But Haruka overestimated her Princess. Throughout the years she had come
to believe that Usagi would transcend any and all obstacles.
Even though it was the most important of any obstacle thrown in Tsukino
Usagi's way, the one that faced her now it was also the one she might never
conquer.
* * * * * * *
The wind still didn't pick up, Haruka noticed as she walked away from the
Tsukino residence. Something about the still air made her feel hollow. She
mentally groped for something to hold onto but found nothing. If she wanted
a distraction of sorts, she'd have to make her own.
Pulling out a minute cell phone, Haruka pressed '7' on the speed dial and
anxiously waited for someone to pick up on the other line.
"Moshi moshi, Tomoe residence."
"Tomoe-sensei?"
"Yes?" The doctor sounded confused. "Who is this?"
"Is Hotaru-chan there?"
She could almost hear his confusion. "Sure, she is . . . who is this?"
"Tell her that Haruka-papa is on the phone."
A scratch on the head, padded footsteps, muffled voices. She gripped the
phone unmercifully, waiting for Hotaru's voice. More stifled talking hummed
in the background.
"Haruka-papa?"
"Hotaru-chan!" Haruka cried in barely disguised delight. "How are you?"
"I should ask the same question."
Haruka's face dropped. "You're very perceptive, you know," she murmured
into the speaker.
"It comes with the territory."
She sounded so *old* . . . just like a senshi of Saturn should. Haruka
rubbed her temples in bewilderment.
"Why did you call, Haruka-papa?"
Now she couldn't speak. A strange numbness washed over her muscles,
allowing the phone to slip through her fingers. It dropped onto the
pavement with the fierce clatter of breaking electronics.
"Haruka-papa?" Though scratchy from the damage it had received from the
fall, Hotaru's voice continued nonetheless. With trembling fingers, Haruka
picked up the phone, snapped it shut, and stepped unsteadily to her car.
Across the line, Hotaru simply sighed and shook her head.
* * * * * * *
There a vague fog twisting about the house when Haruka drove up. With a
scowl, she braced herself for the horrid clank of Michiru composing at the
piano.
To her surprise, however, Michiru was sitting by a window, holding a small
object at her chest. Clearly something outside fascinated her.
The scene she was so pretty Haruka almost didn't want to disturb her . . .
almost. Right now reminded her how much she missed her beloved's warm arms
wrapped around her. Creeping stealthily to the windowsill, Haruka managed
to lay herself down before Michiru noticed anything. By that time, there
was no use preventing Haruka's head from being placed in her silken lap.
"What're you looking at?" Haruka asked lazily, smiling up at the pale
Nereid she loved so dearly.
Michiru lightly stroked Haruka's cheek with a smooth, perfectly manicured
fingernail. "The sea is so rough today, ne?" she asked uncertainly, as if
waiting for Haruka's agreement.
Haruka leaned up to look outside. "You're right," she agreed. "It does
seem a bit on the churlish side."
The thick strands of aqua hair trailed around Michiru's chest. "I think
it's absolutely lovely," she said softly, staring in fascination.
"What, another overextended metaphor?"
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing." Haruka placed her head back in her lover's lap.
Michiru stared out for another moment by saying, "It's never the same the
next day, you know. Wouldn't it be nice if we could be the same way?"
"I never thought about it in those terms," Haruka said honestly.
"Of course not," she conceded knowingly. "Change was never your style.
You liked to go beyond, right? Stay a step ahead."
"I used to. Now I don't know what to think." The pain and confusion
Haruka was feeling was all too clear on her face.
Soft lips curled into what appeared at first glance to be a smile. At
very least Haruka interpreted it that way.
"Sometimes you have to start over," Michiru said. "Like now. I've been
horrible to you, haven't I?"
For a moment, Haruka reeled. Michiru's tone was saccharine, too sickly
for Haruka. But the words themselves were what Haruka was longing to hear, and
she fell upon them like a dying man in the desert who had just come across
an oasis.
Being very careful, Haruka responded by saying, "It takes two to tango.
Maybe I was wrong about this whole Requiem project being a bad idea. It
seems to be making you very happy."
"Mm-hmm. I finished another movement today," she announced, smiling
genuinely.
"That's nice, koibito," Haruka praised her. "What's that you're
holding?"
"What?"
"The item by your chest."
"Oh." Michiru revealed the star locket in her hand. "It's . . .
comforting, in a strange way. This little locket really reminds a person
how powerful love can be."
"You said it." Haruka sat up and placed her lips on Michiru's carefully.
Happily, Michiru kissed her an equal vigor, tossing the locket aside.
Neither was really interested in moving, and the padded bench of the sill
made the area all the more convenient. Smiling, Michiru's lips descended as
she slowly began to unbutton Haruka's shirt. Popping the blonde out of her
bra, Haruka moaned softly as Michiru took a gentle hand to her breast.
Delighted by the response, Michiru continued her ministrations for a long
while, until a simple kiss had dissolved into a desperate, passionate
lovemaking neither ever forgot. Sated, Haruka nestled Michiru in the crook
of her arm and watched out the window.
"Tell me about your mother," Haruka enjoined Michiru as she watched the
tide roll back out.
"What was that?" Michiru mumbled sleepily.
"This piece is for her, right? I want to know about her."
"Love . . ." Michiru placed a gentle peck on Haruka's navel. "Whatever
happened to leaving the past behind?"
"Maybe I want it to catch up," Haruka replied very seriously.
Michiru laughed, but the sound was forced. "We had an agreement,
Haruka-chan," she articulated carefully. "What's past is past. Now only
the future concerns us."
"But this whole work is because--"
She never did finish that thought. Once Michiru began again with
explorations, leaving Haruka in muddy haze of pleasure and paranoia.
` * * * * * * *
"The blood work shows nothing, Tsukino-san. There is nothing on the X-
ray, either."
"Sensei, there is clearly something wrong with my daughter--"
"We don't have all the tests from the lab yet, Tsukino-san. Not all
possibilities are exhausted. I am, however, disturbed by this new
development."
Dr. Izuhara was very old, very fat, and very pretentious. But for all his
delusions of grandeur he was a terrific doctor and surprisingly easy to get
along with at times. The man's erratic persona had amused Usagi over the
years. It failed today, however. His countenance was grim.
"Usagi-san's 'attacks' are something noteworthy. It would be in her best
interest if we monitored the situation more carefully. . . ."
Luna was very good at reading lips. Her sharp eyes allowed her to note
the small, subtle differences between the most similar sound formations. With a
sigh, though, she turned away from the window.
During the Silver Millennium, Luna had been linked to the ginzuishou so
she could sense its being used. As of late she had noticed a slight drain of
the crystal, something that wasn't as abnormal as it seemed. The crystal
was so in tune with Usagi's heart that the little odango rarely realized the
many subtle ways the crystal made itself available. Like now.
What had bothered Luna was the rate that the usage was increasing without
Usagi's commentary. All the cat knew was that the extra energy was going
towards maintaining some sort of physical function, perhaps fighting off
whatever was happening to the blonde's heart.
But the crystal was unreliable. In her weakened condition, maintaining
that drainage was bound to cause a shortage. And when that day came . . .
Luna sighed. The consequences could easily be dire for Usagi.
Luna stepped off the ledge, lost in thought.
* * * * * * *
It was a perfectly normal scenario. Well, maybe not as normal as usual,
because Mamoru was seated farther back than his regular front-of-middle area,
designed to be close without being inconspicuous. Back-of-middle was a more
accurate assessment. But that wasn't odd, not to the students at least.
Mamoru lived his life so that he would not be noticed. His exceptional
abilities and own ambitions played a poor trick on him here. People watched
him, if not because he was incredibly good-looking and brilliant, but
because they could never figure out what he was going to do next.
Advanced English Literature. It was a cover for Analyze Chiba Mamoru 101.
Not that he noticed, or maybe not that he *wanted* to noticed. But that
wasn't his concern. If it had been, he'd be very depressed.
So he tried to concentrate on Berry-sensei's lecture. Really, he did.
Blasted woman had a penchant for poetry, especially that which hailed from
the Elizabethan era. If he had to read another of Shakespeare's sonnets
he'd bore his eyes out with dull pencils. Milton's "Paradise Lost" had been
an almost eerie relief.
Actually, her specialty was really love poetry, something Berry-sensei
relished with an almost obsessive fascination. She got a bit syrupy when it
was discussed in class and was always encouraging the boys to recite it to
their girlfriends, claiming it would revert any woman into a helpless puddle
at their feet.
Usagi wouldn't have understood a word of it, but Mamoru did not doubt the
truth in the statement. But thinking about Usagi made him feel hollow and
lost, so he tried not to do it. There was something inborn in him that
rebelled against the idea that a woman's love and companionship was
essential to feel complete, but a larger part of him was beginning to
realize that, like it or not, it was necessary--and perhaps not so terrible,
if said woman forgave him for his long list of sins.
That was a foolish course, and he knew it. Sooner or later he'd have to
face the truth. But right now he wanted to pretend it didn't exist . . .
"Chiba-san!"
He snapped to attention. "Yes?" he asked warily, watching the frazzled
teacher carefully. "Did you want something?"
She gave him a Look. "How about your attention?" she said icily,
thoroughly putting him in his place. He felt sufficiently cowed, which
garnered snickers from his classmates.
With a heavy sigh, Mamoru forced himself to pay attention. It was all
right as a distraction, not as nice as submerging himself in a little world
where the pain seemed a million miles away--but then again, so did any
sparse threads of happiness, little threads he once clutched frantically as
of late as his emotional state had slowly collapsed under its own weight.
Escapism was a gift of God.
"Chiba-san!"
She really sounded quite irritable. He wanted to pay attention, he really
did. But forcing his attention wasn't working.
Mamoru flashed the teacher a million-watt smile, which was not really a
smile, but she didn't know that, so the point was moot. She smiled and
offered him one of her own, far less dazzling but at least showed her own
willingness to let bygones be bygones if he *would just pay attention.*
Testing him, Berry-sensei said sweetly, "Then I suppose you would be
willing to help us out with our analysis of the fourth stanza?"
"Stanza?" He blinked.
"Of the poem."
"Oh." Suddenly the world seemed foggy and viscous; he struggled somewhat
unsuccessfully to grab a hold of reality and perform the task.
With a thick, unsteady voice, he began to read:
"Dull sublunary lovers' love
--Whose soul is sense--cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it."
Something about the words nauseated him. He clutched the desk in front
of him, trying to keep in tact.
"That's a lovely reading, Chiba-san, but what does it mean?"
Frantically he scanned the collection of letters that preceded the stanza
in question. "Asvirtuousmenpassmildlyawayandwhispertotheirsoulstogo . . . "
The letters were nothing more than random marks on the page after that.
He took a deep breath as his heart began to race.
Sensei raised her eyebrows. "Chiba-san? We'll get back to you." She
decided to give one of her best students some credit, despite his general
inability to give an honest criticism of a love poem. She'd long figured
out that he had issues and was tempted to suggest that he take Psychology with
her good friend Hiranaka Saki, who would've had a field day with this one.
As another student began to explain the stanza, Mamoru quietly rubbed his
temples. What was affecting him so? Something in the air? He tried to
focus, see if time had passed, when the class ended.
"If they be two, they are two so . . . "
Mamoru felt his heart race to new heights.
"As stiff twin compasses are two . . . "
A sudden stab of blinding light and pain attacked the corner of his eye.
He moaned softly, trying to mentally clamp the waves of pain going through
him.
"Chiba-san?"
It suddenly stopped. All the pain, all the heartache. He was . . . empty.
Or was he? The new emotion scared him to bits. With some random mumble
he excused himself, dropping his books twice because his hands quaked too hard
to hold onto them properly. He had to get away.
"Such wilt thou be to me, who must.
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun."
* * * * * * * * *
"Are you sure it was Mamoru-san?"
"Dead," she said very seriously. "I felt him splinter."
"You're getting to be very good at this."
"I hope that's not a compliment."
"Don't worry, it's not."
"Good."
There was silence on both ends of the phone. "Haruka-papa called too."
"Did she?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell her anything?"
"She hung up pretty quickly. She's . . . not doing well."
"As expected. It's a little ironic that this is affecting her more deeply
than any of the other three, ne?"
"No, not really, although the depth of the effect on Haruka-papa versus on
the others could be argued."
"You're questioning me."
"I was never certain about this."
"Hotaru-chan, this is ridiculous. You agreed with me when we first came
up with the plan. We have to know, and never again will we have such optimal
conditions for testing."
"I know, but . . . "
"You know as well as I do that the consequences of finding this out in,
say, Crystal Tokyo could be potentially disastrous?"
"I realize that but . . . don't you wonder if it will go too far?"
"Do I have to remind you that you are not to intervene?"
Little tears dripped down her cheeks. Hotaru cradled the antique phone
like a baby. "I understand."
"Good girl. This is their test, child. If they fail . . . well, let's
not ponder that possibility."
* * * * * * *
Busy signal yet again. Haruka scowled and slammed down the phone. With a
heavy lurch she picked the blasted thing up and threw it across the room,
watching it crack as it hit the wall with a tremendous crash.
Michiru wouldn't even notice, though. She never did anymore.
In her fury Haruka picked up the shattered pieces of the phone and pressed
them against her chest. Stumbling down the stairs, she was 'treated' to the
lovely sound of Michiru tinkering with "Benedictus."
"Did you hear that?" Haruka asked acidly, staring wildly at her lover.
"Hmm?" Michiru looked up through thin wire-rimmed frames at the frenetic
tomboy. "What's that you said?"
In her rage, Haruka let the pieces of the phone clatter to the ground.
Michiru stared at the broken phone disinterestedly. "I guess we need a
new phone for the bedroom," she commented dryly.
"Don't start, Michiru."
"What?" Michiru cocked her head. "Are you all right?"
"Do I LOOK all right?"
"Not at all. Actually, dear, you're positively frightening."
Michiru was right--even Haruka admitted that. The mirrored wall of the
dining room showed a terrifying sight: Haruka's eyes swollen and puffy from
not-tears, her mouth thin and hard, her features sharp but strained. Her
posture was slumped and her hair flat, hanging limply against her head. The
eyes were the worst, though . . . those were not sane people's eyes, she
knew that much.
"Koibito," Michiru purred seductively, "you're getting yourself all
knotted up." Once again she wrapped herself around Haruka's lean figure,
gently pecking the tall woman's chest. But Haruka, though aroused, was not
falling for this trick again.
"I want to know about your mother." Haruka's voice was very nearly dead.
"What?" Michiru looked up, feigning innocence. "I thought we'd closed
that subject."
"I guess we didn't."
"Oh, very well." Michiru receded quickly and straightened her back. "Why
won't you tell me about your family first?"
Just the thought of doing this, especially in such a precarious mental
state, made Haruka retch. She looked away, closing her eyes against a
sudden case of vertigo. The door of the past had long been dead-bolted; she
would make sure it would stay that way.
When it became obvious that Haruka did not plan to answer, Michiru sneered
mockingly. "You can't do it," she taunted Haruka, "you can't do it because
you're a coward."
$Yikes, this is quick. Slow down, Ai-ko, slow down! ^^;$
Haruka made a valiant effort not to cry, but her attempts were futile.
"Baby," Michiru scoffed. "Brat. You want to delve into my past when you
can't even think about your own without crying. That's disgusting."
The tears fell faster now, hotter and more shameful with each one that slid
across her cheek.
"Oh, are you going to cry, baby?" Michiru derided her. "How dare you come
in here and demand I bare my soul for you!"
"Michiru . . . I just wanted to . . . "
She rolled her eyes. "What? Hold me close while I told you my sob story?
So I could be that much more dependent on you? So you could OWN me?"
"I never . . . " These things hadn't even occurred to her! How could
Michiru accuse her of them? If anything, Haruka was the dependent one, the
slave. Michiru had proven herself stronger. Survival of the fittest.
"Maybe I should go." Haruka held her head lowly, trying not to sob aloud.
She bit her lip so hard blood flowed freely.
To her horror, she sensed Michiru's nod. "I think that would be a good
idea."
So she ran, like a baby, like a coward, to somewhere where she could sort
her muddy thoughts into something coherent. Had she been a bit saner, she
would've realized that something very odd happening to Michiru, but her
bruised, battered psyche did not offer her such ration right now.
She called a hotel, the finest in Japan. Surround herself in luxuries to
forget. The room was beautiful and the service impeccable, yet she had had
little real human contact while making the arrangements. Haruka liked it
that way.
The room was magnificent, to say the least. Decorated in soft pastels
with contrasting dark woods, the suite held an air of affluence and beauty. The
hotel's penthouse took up the entire floor and was the crown jewel of the
hotel. There was a full home theater, a Jacuzzi bathtub, full Internet
access, a complimentary bottle of champagne sitting in a solid-silver ice
bucket with a bouquet of perfect red roses sitting next to it, and a
magnificent King-sized bed in the main bedroom.
Haruka didn't notice most of these details. Mostly her eyes zeroed in on
the champagne. Shaky hands reached out to grab the bottle, but slipped and
cut themselves on one of the rose's thorns. Ignoring the small dribble of
blood running down her hand she furiously snatched up the bottle and opened
it with the corkscrew sitting next to the bucket.
Embracing her bottle, Haruka took a few vulgar swigs of the delicate
drink, curled up in the middle of the soft, giant bed, and cried until she fell
asleep.
* * * * * * *
"Did Michiru-san really kick her out?" Rei asked concernedly, trying to
mask her anxiety. "That seems a little harsh."
"I get the feeling it was a mutual decision." Makoto made a face.
"Haurka-san seemed a bit down, which means this is really getting to her. I
tried calling their house, but Michiru didn't pick up." Makoto leaned down.
"Apparently Michiru-san has become obsessed with her 'masterwork.'"
"Masterwork?" Rei looked suspicious. "Why do I have a bad feeling about
this?"
"Probably because a bad feeling is the understatement of the year," Makoto
groaned. "Michiru-san's composing a Requiem--and get this: it's based off
the Moonlight Densetsu!"
"Are you serious?!" Rei's eyes widened in horror. "That's positively
disturbing."
"Haruka-san agrees with you. She thinks the whole thing is sick."
"That's because it IS sick."
"Well . . . I guess if Usagi-chan approved the project I can see
Michiru-san's side of it . . . what do you think, Ami-chan?"
"Hmm?" Ami didn't even look up.
Makoto looked suspiciously over at Ami. "Are you still working on that
program of yours?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Can't even get one lousy syllable out of her," Makoto growled. "What's so
special about this project, anyways?"
Ami sighed. "It's a long story. If you want to hear, I'll tell, but no
groaning, and no getting your hopes up. Wakarimasu ka?"
Makoto looked over at Rei, who nodded politely in agreement. The taller
senshi's head bobbed vigorously in response.
Folding her hands on the table in front of the laptop, Ami began, "What do
you know about the Silver Millennium's information system?"
She was greeted with two blank stares.
"Well then that may be a good place to start," Ami said, rolling her eyes.
"Really, you two, we were briefed on the Millennial Superhighway repeatedly
during our past lives. Do you recall nothing?"
"Is this anything like the Information Superhighway?" Makoto dared to
venture.
"Actually, it is the direct predecessor of it," Ami said, nodding
approvingly at Makoto. "The Millennial Superhighway connected all of the
planets, with the exception of Earth. It used technology beyond current
programmers' wildest dreams. Among other things, it acted as the main server
for all scientific and governmental protocol. That system was one of the
crowning achievements of the Silver Millennium."
"That's nice," Rei said deprecatingly. "What does it have to do with now?"
"Well . . . I ran a search of the information database using images my
computer stored of the Wraith. Neptune-san's mirror worked as a sort of
'camera.'"
"Wait . . . you mean this computer is still running?"
"How is this possible?" Makoto asked in amazement.
"Hush!" Ami hissed. She pointed over to the door.
Mamoru had just entered the Arcade, stormily settling in a booth
conveniently close to the corner yet sufficiently isolated. The girls
leaned down, trying not to be noticed.
"I'm not exactly certain yet," she quietly imparted to the other two.
"All the information on my system goes to a supercomputer on the Moon that
served as the hub for the Silver Millennium's informational systems. The
computer was built in an underground facility with an intense security system,
so when the Moon Kingdom was destroyed the system remained entirely intact. My
computer can still access data and programs stored there."
The two other girls blinked. "When did this happen?" Makoto asked, still
stunned.
"Most of the Silver Millennium's government officials were only vaguely
aware of the system's existence," Ami explained. "It was run by a group of
highly specialized scientists and engineers, mostly from Mercury or Pluto.
I played with the system many times in my past life," Ami said. "It's why
I'm so familiar with the workings of systems today. But that's not really
the point. The supercomputer came up with several matches," she announced.
Four eyebrows shot up. "Why didn't you tell us about this sooner?" Rei
asked.
"All the entries are passkey-protected," she explained. "Apparently
someone didn't want the information in the public down. The search only
matched me up to the links because my system was built for a Princess, who
could theoretically recover the passkeys necessary to open such a file. I
tried to hack through the system, but it's watertight. At the time the
firewall was erected I was too young to participate in the process. My only
other option is trying to derive the correct passkey, which I *did*
participate in. But, as Minako-chan would say, that's opening a bottle of
oysters."
"That's very odd," Makoto said, her mouth slightly open. "What was so
important it required so many precautions to secure?"
"A better question, Mako-chan," Ami began, "would be if the information
was so vital, why was it placed in the main hub in the first place? Classified
information was on an entirely different system."
Rei stared at the computer. "So what are you going to do?"
"Put my programming skills to work," Ami said grimly. "The system uses
matrices to encode passkeys. The coded keys are on my system, but only
certain matrices will allow me to unlock the specific passkeys. The search,
which came up in criminal records, shows that there is a particular passkey
that corresponds to major felons."
"There is a list of coded passkeys on my system. I am creating a program
that will derive the matrices used to code each password, then run all the
matrices against all the passkeys and match them, then decode them, then
take every possible permutation and run them through the passkey. Motoki's
information helped me set the basic program up, but this is on a far grander
scale than his class did."
Makoto let out a low whistle. "You really have your work cut out for you,
don't you?"
Ami banged her head on the table. "You have NO idea."
* * * * * * *
"The doctor wasn't really sure what's wrong with me," Usagi told Minako,
"so he gave me some antibiotics just in case and told me to get plenty of
rest."
"Are you sure you shouldn't be at home?" Minako asked worriedly, noticing
how shallow Usagi's breathing was.
"No way," Usagi said dismissively. "Miyazuki-sensei thought it might just
be stress--you know, bad breakup and all. He ran a bunch of tests on me
just in case."
"Really?" Minako was trying to hide how afraid for Usagi she really was.
"Really," Usagi said confidently as they walked out of class that day.
"Besides, if it is stress, then I'm not going to let this get the best of
me, Mamo-chan be damned."
"Usagi-chan," Minako said warily, "does this have anything to do with what
I told you last week? I mean, when I told you to not let Mamoru-san hurt
you, I never meant for you to put your health in danger just to prove a
point."
"Of course not," Usagi said breezily, "but I can't just lay myself down
and die now, can I? I'm not going to be a weepy coward about this. I'm
stronger than that, Mina-chan!"
The timing of this statement was unnaturally impeccable. Just as she made
her bold declaration, a wave of vertigo quickly pulled her to the ground,
dazed and disoriented.
"Usagi-chan?!" Minako's voice jumped two octaves. She knelt by Usagi,
frantically shaking the odango-haired girl. "Usagi-chan!!"
Usagi, for her part, was simply trying to take in a full breath of air.
With the screaming pace her heart was going at, it was near impossible for
her to do as such. Minako's shaking awakened her from her trance, allowing
her to start breathing more deeply and calm herself down.
"Minako?" Usagi asked weakly.
Near petrified with relief, Minako wrapped her arms around the smaller
girl and began to bawl. Usagi suddenly found she was comforting both Minako and
herself.
"Wh-what's happening to you, Usagi-chan?" Minako sobbed.
"I don't know," Usagi whispered fearfully. "I really don't know."
* * * * * * *
"Did she dump you?"
Silence.
"Did you dump her?"
Silence.
"Did you hurt her?"
Silence.
"Did she hurt you?"
Silence.
"Is she pregnant?"
Silence.
"Are you gay?"
Silence.
"Is she gay?"
Silence.
"*You* aren't by any chance pregnant, right?"
"I resent that remark, Motoki-kun."
"Well, Mamoru-kun, we have been sitting here for forty-five minutes and
I've had to recycle questions three times now! Aren't you going to tell me
what happened?"
"If I was planning to, wouldn't I have done so forty-five minutes ago?"
"ARGHH! You are so DIFFICULT!"
"I'll take that as a compliment." Head low and bangs over his eyes,
Mamoru moodily sipped the black coffee.
Motoki hopped into the bench. "I've been your best friend for ten years,
Mamoru-kun--"
"Eleven," Mamoru corrected him.
"Okay then, seven," Motoki conceded, running a furious hand through his
messy blond locks. There were times he really wished he could use a nice
broadsword on the arcade games that were beeping so idiotically in the
background, he mentally amended. Those games were insanely annoying at times
like these. "Maybe if you talked to someone, you'd feel better."
"I don't think anything short of a bottle of vodka and a concussion could
make me feel better right now," Mamoru replied icily. "You've already dragged
me down here and harassed me incessantly about this for the last hour. I don't
want to talk about it, and that's final."
"Mamoru-KUN!" Motoki banged his head on the table, stunned at his best
friend's cool demeanor.
Then again...Motoki surveyed the scene more carefully. Mamoru's head was
low, too low to see his eyes, but sufficient to see the grimace his mouth
was twisted into and the pallor of his cheeks. His hands quavered as they
clasped the coffee cup, and his voice was overwrought, overflowing with
emotion yet dull and spiritless.
Motoki was about to begin round 4 of questioning when the stupid bell his
little sister had attached to the door rang. In walked Aino Minako, an arm
firmly supporting a shaky Usagi.
"Hey there, Motoki-san," Minako said gently. "Usagi-chan's a little dead
on her feet. I think she needs a triple-chocolate milkshake with extra
whipped cream."
"I'm FINE, Mina-chan! You worry too much."
"I'm paying."
"Well, I guess a little snack could be good for me. Fire away!"
Smiling, Motoki turned to make up the milkshake. From the corner of his
eye, he watched Mamoru perk up upon sensing her presence, then slowly turn
to gaze painfully at the little blonde.
Motoki cursed himself and turned back to the milkshake, angrily wishing
one of them would confront the other. Couldn't they see that they were meant
for each other? Unable to resist, he scowled in Mamoru's direction, who in
turn guiltily turned away.
A dark glint flashed in his beloved's eyes. With an iniquitous smile she
strutted to Mamoru's booth. Usagi forced down a wave of vertigo and flashed
her pearly whites.
"Something the matter, Mamo-chan?" she asked, almost mockingly.
What was she doing? Minako and Motoki watched carefully, trying to
interpret her actions from her and Mamoru's body language. Mamoru, Motoki
concluded, was as clueless as they.
"Nothing at all," he replied smoothly, although there was a quiet tremble
to his voice that Usagi caught easily. There was something oddly arousing
about all this, he noted darkly.
"What? No furious efforts to rip my clothes off?" she murmured, smiling
all the while.
He gulped. "Why are you doing this? I asked you. I BEGGED you. What do
you want from me?" he pleaded hoarsely, staring down at his coffee.
"You should have called."
"I thought all I was good for to you was a romp under the bed sheets after
our little session."
"That's not true, Mamo-chan," she protested with a quivering lip.
"Isn't it?" he asked dully. "Isn't it?"
"No . . . "
"Because that's all you were to me."
Crack! Her hand went swiftly across his face. Usagi snarled at him.
"You . . . " She was too furious to think up a word heinous enough to describe
her opinion of him. "Don't act all high and mighty with me, Chiba!"
"You should take your own advice sometime."
With a motion containing more grace than Usagi had ever mustered
previously, she snatched her bag and walked out, her head held high.
Mamoru stared at the empty doorway. Motoki's noticing his friend's
gape-mouthed expression, simply asked, "Well?"
"Well what?" he mumbled in confusion.
"Aren't you going to run after her?"
He was off like a shot.
She hadn't gotten very far, he realized. As he slowed, still jogging
lightly, he placed a firm hand on her shoulder, pulling her back and almost
causing them both to lose their balance. Usagi let out a cry of surprise
and twirled around, immediately caught up in Mamoru's swirling blue gaze.
"I-I'm sorry," she offered weakly. "I don't know what got into me."
Silence.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, you know, I guess--"
"Don't," he croaked. "Just . . . say that . . . tell me I wasn't wrong
that day, Usa-ko. Just that."
His hands are so warm, she thought to herself before remembering the
morning those same hands had taken a life, no matter how depraved that life
might have been.
Mamoru was unaware to Usagi's train of thought. The night they had
consecrated their love had left him longing for more. His mind--and
libido--were filled with Usagi as they had never had before. But just as
this firestorm of lust and love had consumed him, he never forgot that he
was a killer. He needed her forgiveness like he needed air, but it appeared
he wasn't going to get that. Nevertheless, his love for her still burned
fiercely. He would not escape easily.
And now, to feel her fluttery, birdlike heartbeat next to his, to feel her
yielding form in his arms! Soft tears dripped over his cheeks as he tried
to block this out, always reminding himself of the atrocities he had
committed in this girl's name. The last thing she needed was someone who
was this dependent upon her love, someone who would willingly take lives for
her. It was contrary to everything she was and stood for, and she should
not be forced to tolerate it as such.
But still he could not let go, didn't dare to lest he find this to be
another painful dream. Usagi stared up at him shyly, whispering, "Mamo-chan?"
In an instant he had clamped his lips on hers, dragging her tiny figure
into a nearby alley, intending to never let her go again. Usagi happily
obliged him, kissing him back with equal viciousness. Mamoru nibbled her
earlobe and whispered words of love and lust in her ears, even slipped a
daring hand up the thin shirt of her school fuku. She, in turn, made her
way down his chest; carefully she unbuttoned the crisp black shirt he wore--
"Usagi-chan!"
The couple stopped abruptly, letting go of each other. "I'd better go,"
Usagi mumbled weakly. "Mina-chan must be looking for me--"
He grabbed her wrist, silently boring his eyes into her. But Usagi shook
it off.
"Aishiteru," she whispered, watching his eyes widen in shock. "But who
knows if that really means anything?"
She didn't stay to see Mamoru's reaction. Instead, she turned to Mina,
because it was easy, and making him stay would have been too hard.
"Usagi-chan," Minako cocked her blonde head, "where did you go?"
What did I just do? Usagi asked herself fearfully. Her heart raced to
inconceivable proportions. Did I . . . please say that I'm not . . . oh,
Gods . . .
"Usagi-chan?"
Minako had no time to react as Usagi slinked to the ground.
* * * * * * *
Oh! How sweetly the notes floated from her, how soft and lovely they were
. . . truly remarkable. There was nothing on this Earth like it. Without
Haruka around to distract her, nothing could stop her.
The locket played its melody as the last chords of "Benedictus" hung in
the air, the two sounds in perfect synchronization.
Michiru's dark eyes gleamed with unholy pleasure.
And just as the last note faded Usagi fell.
* * * * * * *