I'll give this chapter a PG-13 for Mamoru's choice of language when he's beating up on himself. I can't really wash his mouth out with soap, since he's bigger than I am (and more animated)...

Sailormoon: not mine. This story: mine.

A Name on a Stone

by Jessyca Thornbrook

Chapter 3: A Stab In The Back

As Mamoru mentally scrambled to repair the gaping hole in his defensive perimeter, Usagi debated the merits of bolting. She finally decided against it, judging the potential for humiliating disaster too high to risk. She was, after all, barefoot, holding an expensive-looking cup filled with very hot tea, and a good six or seven meters from the door. No, better to stay and get yelled at than end up destroying the china, getting scalded, and probably face-planting on the slippery linoleum and breaking her nose. She sat down and braced herself for the onslaught.

"Motoki-kun. . . told you?" Mamoru spoke quietly, surprising--but not exactly reassuring--his guest.

"No," she said quickly, "he didn't tell me! I mean, I kind of guessed, and he couldn't lie to me about it. Well," she amended, "I guess he could have lied, but Motoki-san wouldn't do that."

"No," Mamoru agreed slowly, "he wouldn't." His voice was calm, but it was a stunned calm, rather than his usual smooth self-control.

"But he didn't tell me anything," Usagi rushed on, a little frantically. "I could just kind of tell from the look on his face that I was right. I won't tell anyone," she added. "Not like it's something bad, or embarrassing or anything, just. . . I mean. . ." she floundered for a moment, ". . . I won't talk about it to anybody, if you don't want me to."

"Thank you," he said stiffly. "I. . . don't talk about it. Motoki's the only person who knows. Well, except for the people at the orphanage," the words slipped out before he knew what he was saying. Usagi looked as surprised as he felt. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she digested this new idea.

"Did you grow up there?" she asked hesitantly. "I mean, how old were you when, when--" she stopped herself.

You've gone this far, might as well finish it, he thought dimly. "I was six. It was a car crash. I was the only survivor. I don't remember it. I have amnesia."

Usagi listened to him recite this tragedy as if he were recalling facts from a textbook, and the sudden pain welling up in her chest almost choked her. She looked down at her lap for a moment, then back at him as a new thought struck her. "Are you going to take her some flowers tomorrow? For Mother's Day, I mean."

Mamoru blinked at her for several seconds before comprehending. "No, uh, I've never, um, I--I don't know where she's buried."

She stared in shock, and he could only stare back. Why was he telling her this? Why had he even let her in? From the look on Usagi's face, he guessed she was struggling with the same questions, but something else came through even more clearly. Not the pity he'd expected, or the contempt he'd received so often as a child, or even the awkward sympathy of Motoki when he had first found out. This was. . . different.

"You don't know where she's buried," she echoed him.

"No," he tried to shrug casually. "Nobody ever told me. I don't know anything about my parents."

"Didn't you ever try to find out?" she asked, her intense blue gaze unwavering.

"No." He looked out the window, unable for some reason to meet her eyes any longer.

"Why not?" Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper.

He shrugged. "It wouldn't make a difference." He almost masked the tiny note of bitterness in his words.

"It might." She was whispering now, and her eyes shone with unshed tears. Mamoru found his own eyes drawn irresistibly back to them, and for a moment something connected. He felt as though they were looking into each other, past surface thoughts and feelings, down to their souls, if such things existed. He couldn't breathe. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

Then his defense system kicked into high gear. He stood up abruptly. "Don't get all weepy about it. It's no big deal," he said, more harshly than he'd meant to.

Usagi looked as if he'd dumped a large quantity of icewater over her head. "Huh?" was all she managed to say.

He rolled his eyes, disgusted with himself even as he did it. "Look, thanks for stopping by and everything, but I've really got to study." He walked to the door and opened it, waiting for her to leave. You're being horrible! his conscience screamed at him, but there was no turning back now.

"Oh, right," she stammered, getting to her feet and gathering her things clumsily. She walked slowly to the door, then paused, looking up at him with something like hope in her clear eyes.

Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it! "Sorry, Odango Atama," he sneered, "but I do actually have important things to do today." Jerk!

Those trusting eyes filled with tears, and her mouth became a hard line. "Fine. I have other things to do, too!" she snapped, but something was missing in her voice, a certain weight of conviction. Something had changed. She turned and stomped off down the hall, but Mamoru couldn't shake the feeling that she had seen far more than he'd wanted her to.

He closed the door and leaned against it, trying to quiet his uneasiness. That was when the accusing voice in his head really got going! You jerk! he screamed at himself. You cruel, backstabbing bastard! You accept her apology and then sucker-punch her when she's completely defenseless! What kind of monster are you?

This time, his attempts to shrug it off were useless. He knew he'd done something unforgivable. He was ashamed. He'd invited her in and then chucked her out. He was despicable. He deserved to be alone in the world.

Outside, Usagi trudged slowly home in the drizzling rain. She looked small and sad as she shuffled along, head bent, rain dripping off the end of her nose. Anyone who saw her might very well expect her to be in tears.

But she wasn't. Her expression was deeply thoughtful. She barely noticed the rain. She had realized something, at least in part, and the new idea was mind-boggling. The more she thought, the more amazed she became, and the slower she walked, until finally she stopped altogether, eyes wide but oblivious to everything around her.

"So that's it," she said softly to no one.

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Next time: a boy, a girl, a beverage explosion...now that's romance. Otherwise known as chapter four.