Title: Charmed?
Author: Helene
e-mail: aishiteru@nightmail.ru
Rating: PG13
Teaser: Sailor Moon attends a Valentine Day ball hoping to find her
true love. What if Darien decides to show up... hmm... instead of
Tuxedo Mask? And what if the ball involves ice dancing?
Timeline: First Season
Disclaimer: I do not claim to be a doctor, or to know how to play piano.
Is that not good enough? Well, then, I guess... Sailor-Moon-does-not-belong-to-me!
There, happy?
AN: took me long enough to get back to this story, didn't it? Umm, sorry?
Not really I'm not. But please don't hold it against me WHEN you review
or e-mail, 'K?
Chapter III
Having transformed in an appropriately placed alley right next to the
skating center, Darien took off to a rooftop, still resolved to inflict
the due vengeance on his unwary offender. The current plan was to surprise
her as she left the building, and whisk her away for a serious discussion,
which, for once, would not deal with their mission.
The Rainbow crystals would just have to wait. The key figure in the
process of their gathering was growing too cocky for her own sake, and
who had a better chance to spur her awareness than her loyal champion?
Champion of the champion of love and justice, a weird title, but it was a
fitting one nonetheless. He would risk anything to keep her safe, even if
she spurned his attentions, and he'd never require a prize or a reward,
which made him a real champion, a true knight in shining armor.
A knight whose lady tarried more than one would deem proper, he mulled.
It had been some twenty minutes since he had last seen her, and the waiting
was becoming tedious. Could it be that she had elected to stay at the rink?
After him, nobody had gone out of the door, so she could not have escaped
as her civilian self. Which had to mean that without Darien by her side Sailor
Moon was finding the ball much more entertaining, not exactly a comforting
idea for the one who had attempted to endear himself to the said girl.
He spent another few moments contemplating the possibility of joining her in
the guise of Tuxedo Mask, his face twisting on it own volition at the comical
images his cruel brain was supplying him with: the slack jawed Sailor Scouts,
their entire forms shaking and their arms extended to point at something below
them; the sniggering skaters, sinking to their knees with side-splitting
laughter, and, finally, himself in all his glamorous splendor, sprawled on
the ice with his cape tangled around his neck.
Still, he wouldn't be Darien if he could be scared away by public embarrassment,
not when a Cause was at stake in any case, and only the divine intervention
salvaged his impeccable reputation, allowing Tokyo to continue thinking of him
as a dashing superhero rather than a ridiculous klutz, unable to hold his balance:
the very moment he bent his knees to dive to the pavement, a small figure darted
out of the edifice and down the deserted street, twin streams of hair flapping
behind its back.
Saved by Sailor Moon, he smirked, leaping to the neighboring rooftop to follow
the heroine. A dramatic entrance was in order, and catching up with her from
behind was definitely not an option.
*********************************************************************
Yet again she was running away, yet again her faith in herself had been ruthlessly
shattered, and yet again it was because of him. It was a strange power that he had
over her, and she finally knew why. Finally, there were no excuses for her to shy
away from the painful realization, no alleged flaws of his she could shield herself
with, for she had learned first hand that he could be kind, and gentlemanly, and
amiable, and, in fact, everything he had never been with her, Serena.
Therefore that was only one explanation, the one she could no longer discard. All
the time, all those times, his taunts were deliberately aimed at her, because it
was she who kept annoying him, it was she who was annoying. It was she who didn't
deserve his consideration, not vice versa. And he was most probably not the only
person to see her that way. Raye, for one, many of her teachers, and even her own
mother often seemed to be equally irritated, and the others were just better in
hiding their true feelings.
How humiliating, and, God, how painful to know that you're worthless even to the
people you would give up everything for! It felt as if a freezing abyss was looming
all around her, blocking all warmth or light in any shape or form.
Terrifying.
Dwarfing.
Besetting.
*********************************************************************
The fastest sprints come to a halt, and when the sprinter is heedless of their
surroundings, the end is more likely to come sooner than later. Pity that the
heedless sprinters are unaware of this bit of information. Otherwise more of them
might have reached their destination without mishaps. Maybe schools should introduce
a subject of heedless sprinting into their curriculum?
Then again, when you're so disheartened that all you want is to run away from
yourself, you're least inclined to heed the advice of the teachers. You're so
intent on out-speeding your own brain that you're no longer wary of smashing into
anything, not even a light-pole, or a passing car.
Fortunately, Serena's sprint was cut short by a much more collision-friendly object.
It was softer and less angled than most of her crashing counterparts, and, on top of
all, it had strong arms to clutch at her when she swayed after the impact, and a
cape to wrap about her shivering form. It also felt familiar, although something
about the familiarity was somehow out of place.
"Meatball Head?" muttered the object, and she whipped her head up incredulously.
Either she was seeing things, or hearing things, because her eyes and her ears
were telling her completely different things.
"Tuxedo Mask? Did you just call me what I heard you did?" finally managed the
breathless blond, deciding to trust her eyes on that one.
"Oh... Sorry... I'm so sorry, miss," stuttered her unsuspecting savior. "It's just
that... Your hairstyle... I just couldn't help..."
"It's OK," she said quietly, a small smile tugging at her mouth despite the
depression. "At least you apologized. Another may have called me more names and yelled
at me for bashing into him like that."
"Oh."
Relieved beyond words that his timely, if a bit lame excuse had kept Serena from
guessing his identity, he was incapable of doing anything except for staring at the
girl. The wrong girl, his mind reminded, and he wished he could just kick himself.
What were the chances of mistaking the klutz for the superhero? And how was he supposed
to untangle himself from her now that she was going misty-eyed on her favorite superhero?
If she only knew who was hidden by the domino mask! She'd certainly remove all his
posters from her room save the one she'd take to using as a dart target.
"I admire you," he heard her confide, her soft voice and trusting gaze almost breaking
through his flaring ire. Almost.
"You do, don't you?"
"Yes, you could say I'm a great fan."
"What is your name?"
"Serena."
The winter twilight did nothing to hide her flattered flush. It could have been so
easy to be her hero, maybe even easier than Sailor Moon's. And he loathed that. That
she should be all sugary smiles at a corny get up and a civilly detached demeanor. That
she should be as shallow as the rest of them.
"Well, Serena," he spat with venom, releasing his hold on her arms, "why do you think I
care?"
Darien didn't expect the pang of guilt he was dealt when she staggered away, bowing her
head and raising a trembling hand to scrub at her face. Nor had he anticipated the
anguish that pierced him at her next words.
"I'm sorry," she sniffled, "I just thought... No, I didn't think... I'm so sorry."
Unable to respond, he stood there, watching her cast a tearful glance at his face and
start walking away.
It had not been right. To hurt her, crash her naive hope that way, it had not been
right. That day, it felt horribly wrong. Was it because of her suddenly trusting
disposition, or maybe because of his own recent experience; maybe because she hadn't
fought back, but it felt horribly wrong.
But why hadn't she fought back?
Still preoccupied with the question, he rushed after the retreating girl.
"Serena!" he called, "Please, wait! You have to listen to me!"
*********************************************************************
'Please wait! You have to listen to me!' she heard him call urgently. Why? So he could
scold her more? She didn't need that. After all, the lesson had already been learned,
and her memories did not need to be reawakened. No, the memories needed to be buried
as deep as any painful memory could be, locked away and hidden for good.
But first she had to deal with Tuxedo Mask. Escaping him, however appealing, did not
seem an option, and she paused on the pavement, awaiting whatever reproach he would
chose to fling at her.
A careful hand landed on her shoulder, turning her to face her greatest fear: his
wrath.
"Don't," she begged, but the hand persisted, its counterpart finding its way to her
chin to lift it so that he could look into her eyes. His remained obscured by the
mask, but for once she couldn't find it in herself to wonder about their color. What
was the point, anyway? He was never going to like her...
"I'm the one who should be sorry," he said, jolting her out of her misery.
"What?"
"I'm the one who should be sorry. I had no right to snap at you back then."
"It's OK. I know I deserved it, and all..."
"Deserved it?" he squeaked indignantly, or as indignantly as a surprised squeak could
be. "By complimenting me?"
"I know I'm annoying."
'I know I'm annoying. I know I'm annoying.' The woeful words reverberated through the
vaults of his mind, driving him to desperation. 'Annoying. Annoying.'
"NO!"
"Tuxedo Mask..."
Her beseeching gaze helped to leash his emotions, which was a good thing considering
her shocked mien.
"No. You mustn't believe that." Both his hands were now gripping her shoulders. "You
must never think such things about yourself."
"It doesn't really matter what I think, does it? It's what the others think that is
important."
Shrugging in resignation, Serena looked away and made a move to free herself from his
grasp, but he wouldn't let her.
"Serena, trust me," he implored earnestly, "there's not a single person on this planet
that is worth dismissing yourself over their opinions. It's your very life that can be
at stake if you don't believe in yourself. Trust me, I know."
"Not worth it!" she sobbed with a broken sniffle, agonizing tears finally spilling onto
her cheeks. "That's exactly how I've been trying to kid myself, but that's just not true!
Everybody is worth it! Everybody! Even my worst enemy."
"Everybody?"
"Yes!"
"What about me?"
"Of course you are! You're a hero! You're always there for... Sailor Moon, and other
people, too."
In spite of the grim subject of their conversation, Tuxedo Mask had to smile at her
innocent ardor and childlike bumbling. Indeed it was easy to be the Meatball Head's
hero, but all of a sudden he couldn't find it in himself to mind being her idol. Her
fierce acceptance of other people, including himself and especially his civilian counterpart,
made her appear compassionate rather than shallow, and her ready adoration was now somehow
endearing. Her disconsolate countenance, however, was proving disconcerting, and the last
objective for the day was designated as uplifting the girl's spirits.
"Well, then," he began with forced lightness, "you'll have to believe that you are a
sweet person, and that I fail to notice anything annoying about you."
"You don't count," informed Serena gloomily. "You're a hero. You're not supposed to
notice bad things about people you protect. Ask anybody else around here, and they'll
come up with a whole list of my flaws."
"Of course they will," conceded the caped champion, releasing his hold of her. "But I'm
sure that if you ask them they will also be more than able to whip up a list of your
merits. Now, shall I walk you home?"
*********************************************************************
All the four digits of the bedside alarm clock winked mockingly before settling into a
four-piece set of acid green zeros. The figure under the blankets stirred, emitting a
frustrated groan and rolling over. The next sound to be produced in the dark room was a
painful yowl, as a small form shot up from the other end of the bed. The form twisted in
the air to land near the pillow, adorned with cascading hair.
"What is it this time, Serena?" it howled into the hair.
"I can't sleep."
"What do you mean you can't sleep! It usually takes you about a millisecond to start
snoring away, and now you can't sleep!"
"Tonight's different."
The hair flew away as its dispirited owner emerged from under the covers, sitting up
against the headboard and flicking on a reading light that revealed a blond girl and a
black cat in an exceptionally messy bedroom.
"I met Tuxedo Mask," she confessed, worrying a thumbnail, "and he took me home."
"What! How could you!"
"Luna, do you want to wake everybody and get me in trouble?"
"How could you," continued the cat in a hissing whisper, "show him where you live when
we are not positive about his being an ally!"
"He didn't know that I'm Sailor Moon," said Serena, "so I figured it was safe."
"Oh. Then what was he doing with you?"
"We crashed on a sidewalk. At first, he was annoyed with me, but then he apologized and
offered to take me home."
"So why are you so upset?"
Why was she upset? The question caught her off guard, for she never stopped to analyze
her emotions that night. There was a nagging anxiety weighing on her heart, and it had
been there ever since he had cautiously taken her hand and started leading her down the
street. Their walk had been eerily silent, each seemingly unaware of the other and caught
up in their own musings. The only words they had exchanged after their initial conversation
were their quiet goodbyes, and when he had leapt away her anxiety had surged.
What was it about him that had made her so anxious? All his words had been kind and generous,
or, at least, all his words after his outbreak, which he had apologized for. But what if he
hadn't meant the apology? What if he just said what any superhero would have been expected
to say under the circumstances? If his speech was similar to those that he made on battlefield,
made to help her cope with the situation at hand rather than raise her self esteem? What if he
had lied?
But he wouldn't lie to her, would he? Would he?
"Luna," she called beseechingly, "do you think he would lie to me?"
"Who knows," sighed the feline. "We can't really test him, can we, and so far he hasn't
attempted to convince us of his credibility."
"Oh."
But I can test him, she thought, chest heaving as she took a determined breath. Tuxedo
Mask's words could be tested, even if the hero himself could not. One way or another,
her friends would help her accomplish her goal.
I can and I will - that was what she told herself before turning off the lamp and
flopping back onto the pillow.
*********************************************************************
One a.m. It was one a.m., for goodness sake, unless his trusty alarm clock was playing a
sick joke. One a.m., and sleep was still evading him. Tossing, turning, sheep counting,
and relaxation exercises had proven ineffective in the quest of finding an entrance to
the craved domain of Morpheus where the princess was undoubtedly waiting to summon him
again.
Damn the night, damn the rink, and damn the both of them. The two most vexing vixens in
the city that could not abstain from disrupting his earned peace of mind, leading him to
doubt his beliefs and loose his self esteem.
Still, they had shed the unwelcome light, and he could no longer stave off the realization
that there was something effectively not all right with both Tuxedo Mask and Chiba Darien,
for the latter had managed to alienate the most compassionate super heroine, and the former
had almost crashed his most faithful fan.
True, he had been trying to prevent his values from crumbling all over his soul and leaving
it in shambles, but his efforts seemed to succeed in little more than crashing other souls,
and innocent ones at that, as innocent as he had been before he had been abandoned in the
orphanage.
It was time to change, he resolved in the darkness of his apartment. It was time to change,
and if his beliefs needed a little adjusting he would try doing just that. What good were
they bringing anyway, save the ache of loneliness and the pangs of guilt? And even if they
were, no belief system, however sophisticated, is worth inflicting genuine pain on the
innocents.
It was definitely the time to change it.
*********************************************************************
Well, that's it, the third part of 'charmed'. I know what you're gonna say - nobody changes
that easily, not even a superhero, not even the super Darien. Are you?
Author: Helene
e-mail: aishiteru@nightmail.ru
Rating: PG13
Teaser: Sailor Moon attends a Valentine Day ball hoping to find her
true love. What if Darien decides to show up... hmm... instead of
Tuxedo Mask? And what if the ball involves ice dancing?
Timeline: First Season
Disclaimer: I do not claim to be a doctor, or to know how to play piano.
Is that not good enough? Well, then, I guess... Sailor-Moon-does-not-belong-to-me!
There, happy?
AN: took me long enough to get back to this story, didn't it? Umm, sorry?
Not really I'm not. But please don't hold it against me WHEN you review
or e-mail, 'K?
Chapter III
Having transformed in an appropriately placed alley right next to the
skating center, Darien took off to a rooftop, still resolved to inflict
the due vengeance on his unwary offender. The current plan was to surprise
her as she left the building, and whisk her away for a serious discussion,
which, for once, would not deal with their mission.
The Rainbow crystals would just have to wait. The key figure in the
process of their gathering was growing too cocky for her own sake, and
who had a better chance to spur her awareness than her loyal champion?
Champion of the champion of love and justice, a weird title, but it was a
fitting one nonetheless. He would risk anything to keep her safe, even if
she spurned his attentions, and he'd never require a prize or a reward,
which made him a real champion, a true knight in shining armor.
A knight whose lady tarried more than one would deem proper, he mulled.
It had been some twenty minutes since he had last seen her, and the waiting
was becoming tedious. Could it be that she had elected to stay at the rink?
After him, nobody had gone out of the door, so she could not have escaped
as her civilian self. Which had to mean that without Darien by her side Sailor
Moon was finding the ball much more entertaining, not exactly a comforting
idea for the one who had attempted to endear himself to the said girl.
He spent another few moments contemplating the possibility of joining her in
the guise of Tuxedo Mask, his face twisting on it own volition at the comical
images his cruel brain was supplying him with: the slack jawed Sailor Scouts,
their entire forms shaking and their arms extended to point at something below
them; the sniggering skaters, sinking to their knees with side-splitting
laughter, and, finally, himself in all his glamorous splendor, sprawled on
the ice with his cape tangled around his neck.
Still, he wouldn't be Darien if he could be scared away by public embarrassment,
not when a Cause was at stake in any case, and only the divine intervention
salvaged his impeccable reputation, allowing Tokyo to continue thinking of him
as a dashing superhero rather than a ridiculous klutz, unable to hold his balance:
the very moment he bent his knees to dive to the pavement, a small figure darted
out of the edifice and down the deserted street, twin streams of hair flapping
behind its back.
Saved by Sailor Moon, he smirked, leaping to the neighboring rooftop to follow
the heroine. A dramatic entrance was in order, and catching up with her from
behind was definitely not an option.
*********************************************************************
Yet again she was running away, yet again her faith in herself had been ruthlessly
shattered, and yet again it was because of him. It was a strange power that he had
over her, and she finally knew why. Finally, there were no excuses for her to shy
away from the painful realization, no alleged flaws of his she could shield herself
with, for she had learned first hand that he could be kind, and gentlemanly, and
amiable, and, in fact, everything he had never been with her, Serena.
Therefore that was only one explanation, the one she could no longer discard. All
the time, all those times, his taunts were deliberately aimed at her, because it
was she who kept annoying him, it was she who was annoying. It was she who didn't
deserve his consideration, not vice versa. And he was most probably not the only
person to see her that way. Raye, for one, many of her teachers, and even her own
mother often seemed to be equally irritated, and the others were just better in
hiding their true feelings.
How humiliating, and, God, how painful to know that you're worthless even to the
people you would give up everything for! It felt as if a freezing abyss was looming
all around her, blocking all warmth or light in any shape or form.
Terrifying.
Dwarfing.
Besetting.
*********************************************************************
The fastest sprints come to a halt, and when the sprinter is heedless of their
surroundings, the end is more likely to come sooner than later. Pity that the
heedless sprinters are unaware of this bit of information. Otherwise more of them
might have reached their destination without mishaps. Maybe schools should introduce
a subject of heedless sprinting into their curriculum?
Then again, when you're so disheartened that all you want is to run away from
yourself, you're least inclined to heed the advice of the teachers. You're so
intent on out-speeding your own brain that you're no longer wary of smashing into
anything, not even a light-pole, or a passing car.
Fortunately, Serena's sprint was cut short by a much more collision-friendly object.
It was softer and less angled than most of her crashing counterparts, and, on top of
all, it had strong arms to clutch at her when she swayed after the impact, and a
cape to wrap about her shivering form. It also felt familiar, although something
about the familiarity was somehow out of place.
"Meatball Head?" muttered the object, and she whipped her head up incredulously.
Either she was seeing things, or hearing things, because her eyes and her ears
were telling her completely different things.
"Tuxedo Mask? Did you just call me what I heard you did?" finally managed the
breathless blond, deciding to trust her eyes on that one.
"Oh... Sorry... I'm so sorry, miss," stuttered her unsuspecting savior. "It's just
that... Your hairstyle... I just couldn't help..."
"It's OK," she said quietly, a small smile tugging at her mouth despite the
depression. "At least you apologized. Another may have called me more names and yelled
at me for bashing into him like that."
"Oh."
Relieved beyond words that his timely, if a bit lame excuse had kept Serena from
guessing his identity, he was incapable of doing anything except for staring at the
girl. The wrong girl, his mind reminded, and he wished he could just kick himself.
What were the chances of mistaking the klutz for the superhero? And how was he supposed
to untangle himself from her now that she was going misty-eyed on her favorite superhero?
If she only knew who was hidden by the domino mask! She'd certainly remove all his
posters from her room save the one she'd take to using as a dart target.
"I admire you," he heard her confide, her soft voice and trusting gaze almost breaking
through his flaring ire. Almost.
"You do, don't you?"
"Yes, you could say I'm a great fan."
"What is your name?"
"Serena."
The winter twilight did nothing to hide her flattered flush. It could have been so
easy to be her hero, maybe even easier than Sailor Moon's. And he loathed that. That
she should be all sugary smiles at a corny get up and a civilly detached demeanor. That
she should be as shallow as the rest of them.
"Well, Serena," he spat with venom, releasing his hold on her arms, "why do you think I
care?"
Darien didn't expect the pang of guilt he was dealt when she staggered away, bowing her
head and raising a trembling hand to scrub at her face. Nor had he anticipated the
anguish that pierced him at her next words.
"I'm sorry," she sniffled, "I just thought... No, I didn't think... I'm so sorry."
Unable to respond, he stood there, watching her cast a tearful glance at his face and
start walking away.
It had not been right. To hurt her, crash her naive hope that way, it had not been
right. That day, it felt horribly wrong. Was it because of her suddenly trusting
disposition, or maybe because of his own recent experience; maybe because she hadn't
fought back, but it felt horribly wrong.
But why hadn't she fought back?
Still preoccupied with the question, he rushed after the retreating girl.
"Serena!" he called, "Please, wait! You have to listen to me!"
*********************************************************************
'Please wait! You have to listen to me!' she heard him call urgently. Why? So he could
scold her more? She didn't need that. After all, the lesson had already been learned,
and her memories did not need to be reawakened. No, the memories needed to be buried
as deep as any painful memory could be, locked away and hidden for good.
But first she had to deal with Tuxedo Mask. Escaping him, however appealing, did not
seem an option, and she paused on the pavement, awaiting whatever reproach he would
chose to fling at her.
A careful hand landed on her shoulder, turning her to face her greatest fear: his
wrath.
"Don't," she begged, but the hand persisted, its counterpart finding its way to her
chin to lift it so that he could look into her eyes. His remained obscured by the
mask, but for once she couldn't find it in herself to wonder about their color. What
was the point, anyway? He was never going to like her...
"I'm the one who should be sorry," he said, jolting her out of her misery.
"What?"
"I'm the one who should be sorry. I had no right to snap at you back then."
"It's OK. I know I deserved it, and all..."
"Deserved it?" he squeaked indignantly, or as indignantly as a surprised squeak could
be. "By complimenting me?"
"I know I'm annoying."
'I know I'm annoying. I know I'm annoying.' The woeful words reverberated through the
vaults of his mind, driving him to desperation. 'Annoying. Annoying.'
"NO!"
"Tuxedo Mask..."
Her beseeching gaze helped to leash his emotions, which was a good thing considering
her shocked mien.
"No. You mustn't believe that." Both his hands were now gripping her shoulders. "You
must never think such things about yourself."
"It doesn't really matter what I think, does it? It's what the others think that is
important."
Shrugging in resignation, Serena looked away and made a move to free herself from his
grasp, but he wouldn't let her.
"Serena, trust me," he implored earnestly, "there's not a single person on this planet
that is worth dismissing yourself over their opinions. It's your very life that can be
at stake if you don't believe in yourself. Trust me, I know."
"Not worth it!" she sobbed with a broken sniffle, agonizing tears finally spilling onto
her cheeks. "That's exactly how I've been trying to kid myself, but that's just not true!
Everybody is worth it! Everybody! Even my worst enemy."
"Everybody?"
"Yes!"
"What about me?"
"Of course you are! You're a hero! You're always there for... Sailor Moon, and other
people, too."
In spite of the grim subject of their conversation, Tuxedo Mask had to smile at her
innocent ardor and childlike bumbling. Indeed it was easy to be the Meatball Head's
hero, but all of a sudden he couldn't find it in himself to mind being her idol. Her
fierce acceptance of other people, including himself and especially his civilian counterpart,
made her appear compassionate rather than shallow, and her ready adoration was now somehow
endearing. Her disconsolate countenance, however, was proving disconcerting, and the last
objective for the day was designated as uplifting the girl's spirits.
"Well, then," he began with forced lightness, "you'll have to believe that you are a
sweet person, and that I fail to notice anything annoying about you."
"You don't count," informed Serena gloomily. "You're a hero. You're not supposed to
notice bad things about people you protect. Ask anybody else around here, and they'll
come up with a whole list of my flaws."
"Of course they will," conceded the caped champion, releasing his hold of her. "But I'm
sure that if you ask them they will also be more than able to whip up a list of your
merits. Now, shall I walk you home?"
*********************************************************************
All the four digits of the bedside alarm clock winked mockingly before settling into a
four-piece set of acid green zeros. The figure under the blankets stirred, emitting a
frustrated groan and rolling over. The next sound to be produced in the dark room was a
painful yowl, as a small form shot up from the other end of the bed. The form twisted in
the air to land near the pillow, adorned with cascading hair.
"What is it this time, Serena?" it howled into the hair.
"I can't sleep."
"What do you mean you can't sleep! It usually takes you about a millisecond to start
snoring away, and now you can't sleep!"
"Tonight's different."
The hair flew away as its dispirited owner emerged from under the covers, sitting up
against the headboard and flicking on a reading light that revealed a blond girl and a
black cat in an exceptionally messy bedroom.
"I met Tuxedo Mask," she confessed, worrying a thumbnail, "and he took me home."
"What! How could you!"
"Luna, do you want to wake everybody and get me in trouble?"
"How could you," continued the cat in a hissing whisper, "show him where you live when
we are not positive about his being an ally!"
"He didn't know that I'm Sailor Moon," said Serena, "so I figured it was safe."
"Oh. Then what was he doing with you?"
"We crashed on a sidewalk. At first, he was annoyed with me, but then he apologized and
offered to take me home."
"So why are you so upset?"
Why was she upset? The question caught her off guard, for she never stopped to analyze
her emotions that night. There was a nagging anxiety weighing on her heart, and it had
been there ever since he had cautiously taken her hand and started leading her down the
street. Their walk had been eerily silent, each seemingly unaware of the other and caught
up in their own musings. The only words they had exchanged after their initial conversation
were their quiet goodbyes, and when he had leapt away her anxiety had surged.
What was it about him that had made her so anxious? All his words had been kind and generous,
or, at least, all his words after his outbreak, which he had apologized for. But what if he
hadn't meant the apology? What if he just said what any superhero would have been expected
to say under the circumstances? If his speech was similar to those that he made on battlefield,
made to help her cope with the situation at hand rather than raise her self esteem? What if he
had lied?
But he wouldn't lie to her, would he? Would he?
"Luna," she called beseechingly, "do you think he would lie to me?"
"Who knows," sighed the feline. "We can't really test him, can we, and so far he hasn't
attempted to convince us of his credibility."
"Oh."
But I can test him, she thought, chest heaving as she took a determined breath. Tuxedo
Mask's words could be tested, even if the hero himself could not. One way or another,
her friends would help her accomplish her goal.
I can and I will - that was what she told herself before turning off the lamp and
flopping back onto the pillow.
*********************************************************************
One a.m. It was one a.m., for goodness sake, unless his trusty alarm clock was playing a
sick joke. One a.m., and sleep was still evading him. Tossing, turning, sheep counting,
and relaxation exercises had proven ineffective in the quest of finding an entrance to
the craved domain of Morpheus where the princess was undoubtedly waiting to summon him
again.
Damn the night, damn the rink, and damn the both of them. The two most vexing vixens in
the city that could not abstain from disrupting his earned peace of mind, leading him to
doubt his beliefs and loose his self esteem.
Still, they had shed the unwelcome light, and he could no longer stave off the realization
that there was something effectively not all right with both Tuxedo Mask and Chiba Darien,
for the latter had managed to alienate the most compassionate super heroine, and the former
had almost crashed his most faithful fan.
True, he had been trying to prevent his values from crumbling all over his soul and leaving
it in shambles, but his efforts seemed to succeed in little more than crashing other souls,
and innocent ones at that, as innocent as he had been before he had been abandoned in the
orphanage.
It was time to change, he resolved in the darkness of his apartment. It was time to change,
and if his beliefs needed a little adjusting he would try doing just that. What good were
they bringing anyway, save the ache of loneliness and the pangs of guilt? And even if they
were, no belief system, however sophisticated, is worth inflicting genuine pain on the
innocents.
It was definitely the time to change it.
*********************************************************************
Well, that's it, the third part of 'charmed'. I know what you're gonna say - nobody changes
that easily, not even a superhero, not even the super Darien. Are you?