Twisted Fate
A Sailor Moon Fanfiction
Version: 2.0
Chapter 2: Trapped!? I think NOT!
By: Azurite - azurite AT seventh-star DOT net
a.k.a The Artist Formerly Known as Andi (or Andromida)
Site: seventh-star DOT net
Written for Usa Day and reposted for WAFF vs. TAFF Day 2003 on the
SMRFF Mailing List
lunap DOT com SLASH smrff
Edited: 08-31-09
Disclaimer: Sailor Moon does not belong to me. It is the property of Naoko Takeuchi and is licensed by Toei Animation, Kodansha Publishing, and probably a bunch of other companies that I'm not 100 percent sure or aware of. This is a not-for-profit entertainment venture only.
Author's Notes 08-31-09: Please see the author's notes from the last chapter.
Shingo Tsukino considered himself a very intelligent boy. He supposed that was why he'd gotten accepted to a prestigious college in the States, on a full scholarship, no less.
Only now, as he was trying to stay awake, nearing the end of his sixteen-hour flight back home to Japan, was he thinking that perhaps he wasn't so smart after all.
For starters, he'd been up for over twenty-four hours—and since there was a time difference between the time of his home country and the time zone of his college back in the States, he truly was losing more sleep than he was making up for on the plane.
In any case, it had been a red-eye flight on both ends—getting up at 3:30 in the morning in the States, only to sleep less than four hours on the 5:30 flight, and then lose six hours MORE of sleep due to the time difference.
Perhaps he wasn't a plane person after all.
Worse, besides his mistake in attending a school so far away from home, and getting on such a horrendously early flight, he'd been stupid enough to rely on Usagi to pick him up.
True enough, she'd long since grown out of her old habits of being late everywhere she went, but as they both grew up, Usagi matured, and could be relied upon quite often as the older sister she was.
Except tonight…the one night when he desperately wanted—no, needed—to simply go home and collapse onto his old bed…Usagi forgot. He'd called her just LAST night— that is, two days ago, considering how long he'd been awake and how long he'd been on the plane—and gone over every minute detail of the plan to pick him up from his three o'clock in the monring flight at Narita International. She'd even told him what she'd be wearing—as if there'd be a crowd of people there for a red-eye flight, or as if Shingo wouldn't be able to recognize his own sister…but it was just precautionary.
So when Shingo had called Usagi's cell, as ecstatic as someone as tired as he could be—considering the flight was nearing its end—he hadn't had the energy to be angry at Usagi for forgetting. So he'd hung up the airplane phone, wracked his brain for a phone number, and called Mamoru.
To be truthful, Shingo hadn't liked Mamoru at first—had even come up with a million reasons why Usagi shouldn't be dating the likes of him—but in the few weeks he'd spent time with Usagi and Mamoru before he left for college in the States, Shingo changed his mind about Mamoru. It had been more than six months since then; he hoped they were still together.
From how Mamoru had sounded, they were. But Shingo had an uneasy feeling when he thought of Usagi and Mamoru. The thoughts of Usagi being too good for Mamoru had long since vanished, so it wasn't that…but he was worried nonetheless. The plane was on its downward descent, and only the sudden worry about his older sister that gripped the college freshman kept him awake.
Something about the excuses Mamoru had given for why Usagi hadn't answered her phone irked him. Something was wrong.
For good measure, Mamoru put his foot against the door while gripping the metal handle, and jiggled it profusely.
The door didn't budge. The blue-and-white pentagon-shaped tiles squealed in protest to the friction against them, leaving little, white, eraser-like streaks on the worn floor.
Usagi sighed from behind her ex-boyfriend, collapsing into a heap. She rested her head on her bent knees, mumbling between the gaps, "Give it up, Mamoru. We're stuck."
Mamoru turned around to her, his eyebrows raised at her admission of defeat. It just wasn't Usagi's style—but then, they'd broken up six months ago, and she might have changed. But what could have broken her so much that she just gave up at the first sign of resistance? It…it just wasn't her.
"I don't plan on being stuck in a women's bathroom until 9:30 this morning. I'd like to go back home, and maybe get some sleep."
"Well, SORRY!" Usagi cried, standing up and punching the door expressively. Her face contorted into a mask of pain and anger as she brought her suddenly red knuckles to her lips and sucked on the bruised mounds as tears formed in her eyes.
Mamoru sighed, wondering why he'd even bothered to argue with Usagi in the first place. His leg was starting to go numb anyway, and they'd been trying for the past three minutes. Shingo's flight was due to arrive in two minutes, and if neither of them were there to greet him…
He withdrew his leg from the doorframe, his hand following the motions of his body, as he strode over to Usagi's side. He wrapped one arm protectively around Usagi's waist, his entire side tingling at the contact. It had been so long since her frame—each perfect curve—had been fitted to him like it was now, even if it was only to guide her to the sink and get her to wash her knuckles off.
She gasped at the contact of the cool water and pearl-colored soap with her injuries, but but her lip and tried not to focus on the pain, as Mamoru tenderly washed her hands with a wet paper towel.
It was odd, staring at him like this, holding her bruised hands in his, being so…so…
'Everything I made him out NOT to be.'
For just a moment, Usagi regretted ever breaking up with Mamoru. That warm feeling—that inexplicable feeling of belonging—flowed through her, and she wished she could just collapse into his arms again, cry her heart out. She'd been strong these past several months—claiming that she wasn't thinking about him; that she had more important things on her mind than an ex-boyfriend she was probably never going to see again.
And yet…yet…here he was. Here they were, stuck in an airport bathroom, of all places. Fate was truly responsible for this—if ever Usagi believed that everything happened for a reason, now was the time.
The P.A. system outside was announcing the arrival of Flight 2181 from Boston, Massachusetts, via San Francisco, California. Shingo's flight.
The dread that had been building in Usagi suddenly came back full force. She may be uncomfortable here with Mamoru, and maybe Fate was trying to send her some twisted message…but all the same, he was her only ticket out of this god forsaken bathroom.
Usagi had promised—promised—her little brother that she'd be there to meet him, and so help her, she would. So what if Mamoru had flustered her with his tender caress, his sudden sense of caring, and his compliments, simple yet direct?
She was reddening, she knew, as she glanced up at her reflection in the mirror, hoping the tall, handsome man cleaning her wounds wasn't looking. He finished patting them dry, the automatic water shutting off as soon as Usagi's hand no longer blocked the sensor.
The blonde, for her part, tried to look anywhere else but toward Mamoru—and her eyes caught on a ventilation duct in the ceiling above the second stall. It was one of those tiny, cramped little stalls where you barely had enough room to turn around and put your purse on the door hook, let alone sit down and use the toilet. But if Shingo's flight was arriving, they had to move—and fast.
"Hey, Mamoru?" Usagi asked, still averting her gaze from his. She strode over to the stall, sliding inside, and not bothering to close the latch.
"Give me a hand, will you?" she called from inside the stall, the unexpected request causing Mamoru to blush crimson, even though Usagi couldn't see.
"U-Usagi-san, I don't think it's appropriate that I—" His sentence was abruptly cut off when he saw Usagi appear from the top of the stall—her hand futilely trying to touch a ventilation shaft cover above the stall.
His mind clicked in sudden realization, and he strode over to the stall to help Usagi up. She was fumbling with the small latch on the grate, her fingertips barely reaching it, as her balance became ever the more precarious. She nearly fell off the toilet seat—and had Mamoru not walked in at just that moment, she would have taken quite a nasty spill to the floor, no doubt impeding her ability to walk for a good number of days.
He caught her in his open arms, as they'd shot from his side to his front in reflex. She stared up at him from his arms, both her feet still caught on the toilet, hooked around the flushing mechanism. Her foot slipped, and the toilet flushed loudly, sending the blonde girl squealing in surprise into her savior's arms.
After the water resettled in the pristine white bowl, Mamoru allowed himself a chuckle, while Usagi heaved in his arms. Between the mix of fright, surprise, and embarassment over the whole situation, the idea that being in Mamoru's arms like this was deliciously comfortable snaked its way into Usagi's consciousness.
She chastised herself for thinking of such idiotic things at a time like this—and she knew that, if just to escape more embarassment, she had to get out of here.
"Here," she started, sliding out of his arms and pressing herself against the side of the stall, making room for Mamoru to get in, "You get on top of the toilet and see if you can open that shaft's grate, okay?"
Mamoru grunted in affirmation, sliding past Usagi, his hip brushing against her in a motion that made her shiver. Damn, this contact with him was becoming far too frequent—and far too comfortable.
He stood on the toilet seat, balancing himself with an elbow against one wall, as he reached a large hand to the grate's opening. He fiddled with the dust-covered clapse for a moment before shoving it open. It was large enough for the both of them to fit through— and it didn't look as though there was any kind of fan blocking their way.
This was a completely ridiculous idea though. Shouldn't they have even bothered to try banging on the door for a few minutes? But the door was securely locked, Mamoru knew full well, and at 3:00 in the morning, it was doubtful too many people with access to the bathrooms would hear them shouting to be let out anyway.
"This could get us into a lot of trouble." Mamoru finally reasoned,
thinking up every possible law they were no doubt breaking. It wasn't
exactly breaking-and-entering, since they were only going from one
part of the airport to another—or at least, that seemed to be their
goal. It wasn't vandalism, since they weren't doing anything to
purposefully or directly damage airport property. Yet…
"Oh please. It's the airport's goddamn fault for locking me in the bathroom anyway," Usagi grumbled, moving up from the side of the stall to the other side of the toilet seat. She was less than eighteen centimeters from Mamoru, and she could tell that the sudden closeness was making him uncomfortable too. Why else would he have suddenly backed himself into the toilet paper dispenser?
"Hoist me up there, will you, Mr. Lawyer?" Mamoru gave her a look, and Usagi only grinned in response. He picked Usagi up as best he could, considering his unbalance on the lid of a toilet seat, edging over the hole that separated the dryness of his shoes from utter sop.
He lifted her up, first onto his shoulder, then gently nudging her forward into the shaft. He was next. He sighed, remembering a particularly uncomfortable incident in an elevator when he was nineteen. Oh well.
"Come on!" Usagi shouted back to Mamoru, already crawling ahead of her ex, into the darkness of the tiny shaft. She was disguising a crimson blush, a wide grin, and a barely-supressed giggle as she crawled into the ventilation shaft.
"What am I getting myself into?" Mamoru murumured under his breath. He hoisted himself up onto the flushing mechanism of the toilet, heedless of the toilet flushing on far too many cycles of empty water. As he pushed himself into the opening, his leg left the silver metal and he disappeared into the shaft behind Usagi.
The bathroom fell silent once more, not even the drip of a toilet or leaky sink sounding.
Outside in the terminal though, a tired Shingo looked around in confusion.
"Usagi? Mamoru?"
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