Ascension

Two: Reunion

-mentalyoga-

(A/N: A lot of the topics I've been dealing with will become heavier starting in this chapter. Some of the material may be questionable; if you have any problem with it, let me know, so that I can adjust the rating accordingly.)

The makeup ran smooth, an oil to sooth her freshly bruised skin. She had become accustomed to this cosmetic ritual; her bowing down before the gods of beauty. Beauty, her mother used to say, was not without its fair share of pain.

Minako knew this well. It was not his knuckles that left the deepest scars—though they did dent the surface—but the knowledge that he didn't value her enough even to spare her these small pains. But men, she had found with time, rarely put much worth in the women they strung around and puppeteered at will.

The comments the men had made at the audition a couple of days ago still stung, but she had felt the needles of rejection and of mindless denigration times enough before. Their display was more show than anything, a self-serving act of egoism intensified by group mentality. She turned back to her own overgrown wasp; he was lying limp on the bed behind her.

The sheets and the room smelled of sex, of sweat and juice and limbs running together like liquid, languorous and rough simultaneously. Minako eyed the spots of blood splattered on the periwinkle pillow case with a weary resignation. His lids were closed, and his stinger harmless for the moment.

The foundation had covered things up sufficiently; her complexion was a false one but the tone was even, and it would not tattle on her when she met Them once more. Seven years of waiting, waiting. Wanting and longing, but always keeping her need firmly in check against her ambition.

He rustled, and her muscles jerked involuntarily. It was a false alarm; he had only turned away from her, his bare ass gleaming white in the dingy light of the fluorescent overhead. She heaved a sigh of relief, as quietly as a heaving sigh could possibly be. He did not move. She returned to her work.

She fingered the cylindrical eyeliner, sharpening to tip to a dangerous point. If she drew it thickly on the lower lid, it would detract attention from the slight discoloration on the cheekbone below. She had learned at least a little something at the acting academy. She hadn't, in her four years there however, learned quite how to survive. A slight touch of color on the cheekbones wouldn't hurt. She used a tip one of the dancers at the academy had thrown to her, scrap-like; she rubbed a small dab of pink lip gloss in a circular motion over the suspect area. Fresh, a high-morning dew.

Fresh, like the girl she had been so many years ago. She would be leaving this present tense place soon to travel back in time to a past she had once considered more a home than any other abode she had had. The Hikawa Shrine and its foreign inhabitants had been the closest thing to happiness she had known. When her mother had shrieked at her, throwing dirty pottery mugs in her vague direction, too sauced to make a direct hit, Minako had strutted (after drying away the stains the tears trailed down her cheeks) to the temple and found love, whatever that was.

And now she had gotten a call. They wanted—no, needed—her back with them. There had been calls before; calls pressing her to come and gossip, or binge eat, or simply catch up. But everything seemed so requisite, as if they formed these spider webs stringing everything together only because it seemed necessary to feed. Webs could break so easily, and Minako had better things to worry ab—

—he was awake. She could sense the shift in the atmosphere as his presence subjugated all that hung around him, and his oppressive weight bore down. She felt an overwhelming desire to steal out now, while he was still rubbing the sleep from his lashes.

The shuffling became more fervent, and a sweat broke out silently above her well-waxed brows. She clenched her purse, white knuckles mocking her calm veneer. Her thoughts tripped over one another, but she could not scheme her way out of this meeting. She remembered the call she had gotten only an hour ago.

She had hastily grabbed the phone, eager to silence its incessant ringing. "Minako-chan!"

Her ears had recognized the speaker—Rei, her voice older, wiser, and more bitter—but her mind told her not to care. It was best that way. "Yes?"

"How are you?" came the familiar voice. Minako had answered tersely, not wishing to awaken the sleeping beast in the next room. "Oh. Well, look, have you turned on the news lately? No?" The voice became serious in a quick shift. "You need to come to the temple. We'll be meeting there in an hour and a half."

"I can't," Minako had replied, formulating an excuse with a well-honed skillfulness. "I—"

The other girl did not give her a chance to answer. "No excuses. No time for any bullshit, Minako," Rei scolded. "I don't have much opportunity to explain, but it's all beginning again. The monsters, the fighting, the apocalyptic consequences—our destinies have been pushed back to their beaten paths, and all that mess. You're not getting out of this. We need you to be here. You can't run from this. Time to face reality, hon."

Minako had become angry then, though it wasn't right. She knew that there were no choices, she knew that it wasn't Rei's fault, but this fate wasn't what she needed now, not when maybe she would end up getting a role, or maybe something would start to happen for…

'Who the hell are you to judge me, Rei? You're just as fucked up as I am, probably more. You're nothing to me," she had thought.

But no, she would be strong. Rei was, after all, quite right. She could not run. And so she made what she considered the right decision. "I'll be there."

And now, the time had come to—yes—face this wild and frightening thing called reality. But still she had to leave the room.

She would simply slip by before—

"Where you going all dolled up?" he inquired, suddenly much more awake than she had thought he would be. His eyes widened, his mouth hung slightly slack, and the stench of a sleeping, sweaty man wafted through the air as he shifted in the bed.

Her mind tumbled through excuses and she smiled sweetly, "An audition. I was…um…called back for that part I went up for the other day." Her grip on the purse tightened as she awaited his reaction.

"You're lying to me, Minako. You're going off to some other guy, aren't you? Think I don't know, you sleeping around like some sort of free-ride whore? You leave the room and I'll slit your thro—"

She shook her head, throwing the waking dream from her thoughts.

He smiled, though it came off more as a grimace. "Congrats. Show 'em your stuff, babe," he laughed and threw off the sheets, his pale naked body looked as if it were waning. He kissed her hard and smacked her ass lightly, sending her out the door.

The anchor weighing her heart down released with a snap, and she heaved a quick sigh of relief before striding out to her car; she was not going to allow him time to fulfill her fantasy.

She sped off, increasingly aware that fate was driving her far more strongly than she it, by now. It was not a comforting thought.

"I just don't understand why we have to do this," she whined, twirling a delicate cerulean fingernail through her tendril-like locks. "I mean, it's been seven years. I don't even know that I've still got it left in me. The five of them…why can't they take this on without us? They did it for a long time while we searched for the Talismans…"

Haruka sighed softly, though not imperceptibly; she felt her lover's shrewd eyes following her like daggers poised for attack. Why did it always have to be like this? Why couldn't they agree on anything?

"Because, Michi, this is destiny calling—don't you see that? Don't you have any sense of duty, of responsibility? You just want to throw those girls to the wolves while we stand by watching? You of all people I expected to take this challenge by the horns." She rustled through the fridge, finding only a stinking boiled egg and a jug of expired orange juice. "When was the last time we went shopping?" she asked, wrinkling her nose as she tossed the jug into the silver trash can next to the counter.

"We haven't been home much," the smaller woman reminded her, a fierce glance replacing the mild irritation, "and how dare you judge me or my motivations in this. This isn't about responsibility; this is about living our lives, Haruka. This is about the fact that we've built up everything that makes us who we are right now, and you want to throw it all away. How do you think you're going to balance your racing career and your public profile with running around in a mini-skirt, fighting evil-doers? And what about my music, my art? How the hell am I supposed to live for my Self…how can we live for us when we're trying to save the world? What if we decide we want to settle down at some point, raise some sort of a family? Aren't we dysfunctional enough as it is? You want to throw everything we've got—which is already on shaky ground—so that you can keep living a dream." She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, her chest visibly shaking. "It's not a fucking dream, Haruka, this is life or it's death. I can't even count the number of times I stayed up all night nursing your wounds, nearly passed out from worrying whether or not you would make it. And you know what? I don't miss that—the wrapping up of your bloodied arms, the shrieks you made when I sanitized the wounds, the fear of los—" Haruka thought briefly that these pleas sounded as if from a movie—maybe on some all-women, all-the-time network—and she wondered what the appropriate cinematic response would be. But this was no time for joking.

Michiru paced the kitchen, not joking at all, with worry lines drawing a faint pathway from her nostrils to her mouth and in creases above her brows. Haruka had never seen her lover look so, well…old. Old. Weary, too. For a moment, her resolve waned, and she wondered if she could put them through this again, if she could face impending doom with the same reckless, unflinching bravado of youth. But no, she couldn't allow a little string of fear knock her out of the game. Her resolve sharpened once more, climbing to a quick summit. She didn't want to fight her lover on this, but if it came right down to it…

"You know? So did I, Michiru. I mean, dammit! Every single time I looked over and saw you lying limp on the ground, I could feel your pain running through my veins as real as if it were my own. Don't think you were the only one who suffered during any of that! We all did. When are you going to realize that people exist outside of your little fucking seashell?" She could feel Michiru recoil, and the atmosphere noticeably shifted, suddenly cool as a winter's iced wave. She hadn't meant to be harsh, just wanted to give her a wake-up. "Look, I'm sorry…" she whispered gently, pulling the other woman's much slighter frame against her own. "I know it's going to be hard; adjustments will be made. But we can't just leave the world to fend for itself; we've been chosen, and now we've got to make the most of it."

Michiru tensed for a moment, fighting the urge to give in, fighting the feelings and words and thoughts that would let things into her seashell, grains of sand and things…but her eyes welled up, allowing a tear (a pearl?) to tumble down the smooth ivory of her cheekbone; she blinked it away and looked up. "I don't want to watch you die." No tears came this time.

Haruka pulled her closer, and they were two halves that were more than the sum of their parts, more than just a simple whole. Her body fit so snugly covering her lover's that it seemed improper, naked, when they drew apart. And again, she felt suddenly as though she were involved in some dykey self-help reenactment. Two halves of a whole? Naked without her? But it was how she felt; she wouldn't deny the fact that she felt invariably incomplete without this woman by her side. She rubbed Michiru's bared shoulder. "You're not going to," she muttered reassuringly, "I'm far too stubborn to die without dragging you with me."

Michiru smirked, pushing away and tugging silver hoop rings through her ears and a scarf around her swan-like neck. "And I'm too delicate to go anywhere without you as a nice little barrier," she said, grabbing door handle. "So now that that's settled, let's get going. Fashionably late is one thing; thirty minutes late is just gauche."

Setsuna stood awkwardly on the doorstep, looking distinctly uncomfortable as she shifted her weight from left foot to right. For being such a stand-up, mythic, guardian figure, the ageless woman certainly had a habit of making herself seem gawky and ill-at-ease. She thrust out a half-hearted smile.

Haruka patted her on the back, "You can take the girl out of the Gates of Time, but I guess you can't…ahem…never mind," she cut herself off, noticing Michiru's reprimanding glance. "It's good to see you, Setsuna."

An arm far too short to be Setsuna's quite unexpectedly popped out from her side. A dainty head followed. "Haruka-papa, Michiru-mama!" Hotaru exclaimed, rushing out and hugging the breath out of the two of them. She must be nearly the age they were when they became full-fledged senshi, but still had the looks about her of the miniature girl they knew before. Some disorder, some faulty genes maybe…she would have her youthful appearance all of her life, for better or worse. A woman-child for all of eternity. It wasn't a fate the three women would wish on anyone, but she did not seem to miss a beat. "Why don't you two ever visit anymore? Setsuna-mama and I get lonely in that big house…we'd love to have you over."

Haruka tousled the girl's raven-black hair. "We've been real—" she began, but soon saw the girl's downtrodden eyes, and simply said, "We'll come more often. I'm sorry."

The girl looked up, her eyes glistening like jewels, and Haruka couldn't look past them without falling into remembrances of seven years earlier, when they raised her as if she were their own. That's when the "mama" and "papa" names fell into place; Haruka missed it. She assumed Michiru did, too, but they had stopped finding time to visit when Setsuna and Hotaru moved away. It was strange how things worked out; how close a bond could be shared and how easily that thin thread could be snapped into wisps of what once was. Acting as a father to someone had always felt so important; she had felt significant, even more than when she was battling the evil forces that seemed so dire at the time. Raising Hotaru had been the best thing she had ever done, and she didn't even know it. Now where was she? Living someone else's 'good' life. Maybe she had lost something she could never regain.

She coughed to cover the small whimper that almost escaped her esophagus; it was not the time for emotional breakdowns, not with the world's fate once again hanging in the balance. "Let's get outta here. We'll be late," she muttered gruffly, pulling the door behind them and surreptitiously wiping away a tear. Her eyes itched, that was all.

The room hung limp and damp, fetid stench lingering in the stale air. Pitch black. A movement would have caught the attention of adjusted vision, if anyone had been there to see.

"And so it begins," the voice whispered, dying off into the stillness.

"According to the Mercury computer, there was no determinable cause for its shattering when Uranus hit it," Ami informed them primly, "It can see no reason why only her attack had any effect, whereas the rest of us couldn't even scratch it."

Jupiter looked indignant, "Well, we can't just have Uranus out there fighting our battles, while we sit and watch, can we? Have you double checked?" To be frank, Jupiter wasn't all that mad at all. Maybe her pride was a bit wounded at being bested once more by the ever-superior Haruka, but her happiness at seeing her friends together outweighed any reservations she had about being there.

Ami lowered her glasses, glaring at her friend, "Yes, Makoto, I have double checked…and triple checked, and quadruple checked…what else would you expect? I'm telling you what I've deciphered; that doesn't mean it's the final word, it's just the extent of my knowledge." She looked flushed, bothered.

Usagi, Rei, and Minako all were seated around the table with them. Usagi and Rei flipped through an old comic, smirking like fools to one another, and Minako compulsively checked her makeup. A slight discoloration around her eye had distracted Ami momentarily, but she quickly put it to the back of her mind. Curiosity killed the cat…

Artemis and Luna stood on opposite corners of the table, licking themselves clean in an almost vulgar manner. Minako swatted the white cat, at which he angrily hissed, but stopped—albeit reluctantly, and only after making a few final showy licks. Luna followed suit soon thereafter.

Makoto quickly made reparations for her anger. "I didn't mean to sound snippy. I just…I felt so helpless out there. Nothing we did affected it, and then big-shot comes in and—"

She was cut off at the sound of footsteps entering the sitting room of the temple. Their four compatriots entered, looking quite apologetic. "We didn't mean to be late," Michiru whispered, sitting Hotaru down and making sure that Setsuna and Haruka hadn't tracked anything in on their shoes. She took their coats and laid them near the door. "We just had a little car trouble," she laughed, exchanging a secretive glance with the other three.

The truth was they had been pulled over for speeding. Haruka could never resist an empty highway and a lightweight gas pedal. They hit 110 mph before the red and blue lights shone and the siren let out its ghastly wail. Michiru flirted their way out of it, but wondered all the while how many times she would have to bail Haruka out because of her childish escapism. It was frustrating, but at the same time, Michiru wasn't going to lie; she found it invigorating. She wanted to be a teenager again, at times like this—to act foolishly and spontaneously (as if she had ever done that)—well, until she remembered the angst and the hormones and the confusion and the zits. Her attention turned back to the problems at hand.

"…Big shot, eh? Didn't know I got the honor of such a clever nickname," Haruka said, shoving Makoto playfully.

The green-eyed girl laughed her off. "Oh, you know I've always been jealous of you," but it was quite clear that her eyes did not join her upturned mouth. It seemed to be some unsaid common knowledge that when the Outer Senshi had come along, Makoto had taken their entrance as invasion—as though her reign as protector of her friends was slipping away from her. The solar system closed in and in on itself. Haruka and the others had taken on a mythic, omnipotent presence, ready to take on anything and everything…and Makoto was just some kid playing like she was in the ranks of the big girls. And it was a dangerous game of dress up, in that respect. It was in the past, as she quickly reminded herself.

So, um, back to business, then. Here's the deal, kids: we have no clue what the monster is, where it came from, or how exactly Haruka managed to kill it with one hit."

"Fantastic," Hotaru remarked, "So does this mean we're basically screwed?"

Setsuna chided her, "Watch your language, 'Taru." Hotaru's bottom lip jutted out in an typical pout, on-cue. Setsuna ignored it, swept her hair out of her face and stood up. "I need some tea. Anyone else, while I'm up?"

Usagi rubbed her stomach idly. "I'll have some, and maybe a little snack," she grinned. "Actually, let me go. It's been a while since I've raided Rei's cabinets. I'll get the tea, too." Rei looked up, shaking her head in mock shame. "I'll be back in a minute," Usagi added playfully.

But once she got there, the cabinets loomed perilously above her, so tall as to throw her into a dizzying haze of vertigo. She reached up but could not fight the nausea that claimed her frail figure. She fell to the floor, and the ensuing crash brought her friends running. The pain in her stomach took hold, white hot electricity zapping even the most out-of-the-way crevices of her nerves. Eight nervous girls crowded near the door entrance to the kitchen, and with a departure as rapid as its arrival, the pain vanished, as though it had only been waiting for an audience.

Minako reached the floor before the others. "Usagi-chan, are you all right?" she asked fearfully, taking the other girl's hand in hers and placing a gentle palm on her forehead. "Your forehead doesn't seem hot…" she said with assurance, as though that was the only possible indication of sickness.

Usagi looked up at the furrowed brows and worried frowns, and at Minako's bruised eye (what had happened, and why was she avoiding any interrogation?) and made a quick change of heart. "I'm sorry," she smiled reassuringly, "I'm just so damn clumsy, you know? Here, just help me up." She held a pale hand out and let Minako pull her to unsteady feet.

She felt as light as a sakura blossom; she could flutter away if the right breeze picked her up. It was not a pleasant feeling, this instability. Her stomach pain had diminished, but the phantom left behind caused more anxiety than its originator. Why did this keep happening? She pushed the food she had brought out back to its proper place in the white cabinet. Her appetite was whetted without any real sustenance for the time being. She knew shoving food down her throat would only instigate a good session of praying at the toilet's edge, and she really didn't want them to worry any more than they already were.

"So what happened?" Rei asked, covering her concern quickly away, "I know my food isn't great, but I didn't think it caused seizures…"

Usagi looked up tersely at her buddy. "I said it was just me being clumsy, didn't I? Go sit down; I'm still getting the tea," she retorted, immaturity claiming her just quickly as the pain had moments before.

"What now?" Michiru asked, as they returned to the table. "First, some unidentifiable youma shows up, and now we have our leader tripping to her death?" Her attention was forcibly placed back on its original path. "Ok, so if we have no idea what this thing is, where its origin lies, or even why it showed up, then what's the point of this meeting? For that matter, how do we know if that wasn't just some freak occurrence…that there'll be more where it came from?"

Ami attempted to smile, but it was strained and hollow. Her eyes had taken on an empty blue, as of a day sky waiting to darken into evening, waiting to rest with the coming moon. "We have to be prepared for the worst, and go on the presumption that this will eventually become an all-out attack. Have we ever really had isolated attacks?" Ail and Ann, she thought to herself, but did not raise the idea aloud. It may have been isolated in number, but it was no minor undertaking. Death had hung over them, waiting for the precise moment to make its collections.

"I still don't understand what the big goddamn deal is!" Michiru continued, undeterred. Her voice shook, a turbulent sea tide, and she grasped Haruka's hand beneath the table, squeezing it with a ravenous grip. It hurt, but Haruka instead silently placed her free hand over her love's. "That could so easily have been the end of it. Why would we go seven years with nothing at all and then suddenly have some out-of-the-blue occurrence?"

"Maybe they've been planning," Ami murmured. This sent a shiver over the group, and Michiru's swirling face settled and calmed.

Rei spoke up, having been quiet for some time, and her expression was a pained one. She had been holding internal deliberations for the duration of the argument. "I saw it in the Fire." Usagi hung against the frame of the kitchen entrance, her features anxious and the ghost of the pain still lingering in her unusually pallid cheeks.

"Saw what…?" she asked, her voice just brushing up against the edge of pleading.

Rei shook her head. "I'm not sure. It was a flicker, but it was the feeling that the flame emanated that caught my attention. Whatever it is, it is here to stay, and it is not a peaceful entity." Her mouth twitched into what seemed like a smirk, but it was contorted…a grimace. "We're in for a doozy, girls."

Michiru got to her feet abruptly, her sudden movement sending another, less powerful ripple through the room. Her purse fell violently from her shoulder, as if offended she should make such impulsive decisions. "Well, I refuse. I refuse to deal with this, and I refuse to give up everything I am living for because of some flicker in a flame. Your fucking mysticism doesn't faze me! This is ridiculous, and I won't stay here to be patronized by a bunch of overachieving, worried little children." She grabbed the purse from its impudent position on the hardwood and strode arrogantly to the door, dragging Haruka in her brutal wake. Haruka, for her part, gave an embarrassed, apologetic glance backwards before she too disappeared through the door frame.

Seven little Indians remained, but the subtle understanding that the meeting would be postponed—at least for now—ran through the current, and Rei was soon alone with nine dirty tea cups and the Fire, which seemed from its corner to mock her with the glee of someone who knew a very big secret.