AN: Sorry to repost. Needed some notes in here. Also, I needed to fix the scene changes. Still the same chapter though.

First and foremost, HAPPY VALENTINES DAY! Hope you all enjoy the gift I got you. It's not a super expensive set of chocolates on a rooftop, nor is it a hot man dressed like Barry Manilow. However, it did take a long, long time for me to write.

Second, I hope you're all signed up for updates on other stories, because I'll probably be posting weekly or bi-weekly shorts of multiple kinds, just to get them out there. Soulbound is SO CLOSE to being completely written! I'm stoked! Too bad it has to go through so much editing! Blah! On that note, a special thanks to my editors DaBlackRose and Temporary Insane for helping out with this, and also my dear sweet sister for being my plot bunny.

I also would like to send a huge shout-out to my long time and much loved reviewers Bin82501, SM Twilight, Championofjustice27, TokyoLi, Crazy-sox something (sorry), Rakusa, srsmoon, piperice, and a million others (sorry I can't mention everyone here!) You guys are so awesome! I'm glad to see that this has sparked some thought and some introspection, and I really hope you stick around for the end. Trust me, you will love it!

I hope you all are ready for the throw-down, because this is the end of the buildup chapters, and now we get to the good part! I probably won't update till next month, but keep an eye out for the shorts! I love you all, and please keep reading and reviewing!

E

Chapter Twelve

"It's March already." The heady spring sun was already high in the air, and the warm breeze wafted through the open window to his left. The change in weather was perfect timing, as the semester dragged on and on into the distance. The workload was intense, especially with that extra credit course. The stack of useless thoughts drowned the table before them in a sea of what had been time, effort, and eventually frustration.

If he had to read one more essay on how Gucci defined womanhood, he'd puke.

"I noticed that much." Mamoru replied, quickly marking his thoughts in the side margin. "Why are there so many girls in this class? It's not even remotely feminine." The paper was tossed uncaringly into a cardboard box at his side before he reached for another. Motoki sighed, setting his current project down and rubbing his face.

"Only you would try to be logical with high schoolers." The blond smiled ruefully, folding both hands beneath his chin. "Besides, they like you Mamoru-kun. You're lucky they don't jump you on the way to the parking lot."

"That's because I'm not dumb enough to park here. Ugh, do you want this one? It's Odango's." Mamoru asked quietly, holding the smudged and stepped-on loose leaf between thumb and forefinger. It dangled and folded a moment, revealing more scribbles than space. "Most people type these things, what the hell?"

"Here, I'll take it." A slim, pale hand snatched the paper from his sight. The blond had a fond smile on his face as he spread the page carefully across the flat table. Large European eyes skimmed the words as a mindless hand reached for the chip bag. Mamoru couldn't help but stare a little, mind whirring thoughtfully.

"Oi, Motoki. Is it weird being an American in Japan?" The darker man reached for another stack and repositioned the red pen in his right hand. Motoki didn't even glance up from the assignment.

"I'm Japanese, Mamoru. Family's been here for generations. Also, we're not American."

"Where are you from then? I mean historically." A jet black brow arched in interest as he began correcting the sheet before him. Really, some people just could not grasp the idea of a semicolon! At least it wasn't about a name brand. He thanked the heavens for the respite silently.

"We're French. Why do you think I have this outrageous accent?" His pale face was smirking as he spoke, and his fingers twirled an invisible handlebar mustache.

"Um…what?" The solemn man found himself staring in awkward confusion at the stranger before him. How had he ever made friends with such a weird guy?

"Ha…nevermind." Motoki kept chuckling despite the dismissal. He was already on the second page, and Mamoru found himself wondering when that pen was going to surrender. "Why so curious all the sudden?" the sheet crinkled while he wrote in a solid 55% at the top of the sheet. Well, at least he wasn't being unfair in the grading process.

"Did you know Usagi's adopted?" The dark man asked suddenly, face deadly serious. The wind pounded against the thin windows of the arcade like battering rams in the following silence. The blond turned his face up in shock and denial, both hands slamming down on the table.

"Oh my god! The blond girl? With native Japanese parents? ADOPTED?" the barely suppressed mirth in his friend's eyes was enough to irritate.

"Shut up. Does she know?" The usually sarcastic man couldn't help but scoff at the sudden change, rolling his eyes heavenward. Gods, if Motoki could hear how awful he was, he'd never attempt such an anti-social feat again.

"Of course she knows. Shingo is too." The arcade manager shifted out of his seat and leaned across the table to select a few more scraps of torture from the slowly diminishing pile.

"You'd never guess looking at her."

"…She's blo…." Motoki froze mid-movement, his face twisted in confusion. Mamoru waved it off, marking a grade and placing the finished essay down in the finished stack.

"No, I mean her personality." Mamoru seemed lost in thought, brushing invisible specks from the current project as his eyes stared lifelessly across the room. The slightly younger, yet infinitely more curious man wondered exactly what was going through that head. His ponderously scowling bestie had been thoroughly scarred by his upbringing; and Usagi seemed as normal and perfectly attached as any other kid. The fact that they'd come from similar backgrounds must have thrown the previously desolate orphan for a loop. A thoughtful smile spread across the arcade manager's mouth as he considered the subtle shift in his friends usually dark countenance.

As much as he would love to hear some sort of secret confession from his best friend about the girl, he knew it wouldn't actually happen. Mamoru had no idea what was going on, and had already set himself against the thought of Usagi. It bothered him to wonder what would happen if he did figure it out before coming to terms with his more worrying tendencies. Nothing would make Motoki give up her secret; not until the man across from him was truly ready for her anyway. Someone as abrasive and angry as the brooding figure at the other side of the table would do nothing but crush the life out of his 'little sister.'

"Why does it bother you? You know you're not the only orphan in the whole world."

"Please, like I would think that." The onyx black hair bobbed up once, rife with disdain before turning downward again.

"I don't know, you get that way sometimes." The light scribbling of a pen filled the short space between them while Motoki shook his head. "Does this mean you'll be cutting the girl some slack?" He asked finally, trying to get to the meat of the issue. How had she come up again? He couldn't remember…

"Of course not. She's still Odango Atama." To this, the blond rolled his eyes heavenward and turned back to the task at hand. Really, to be so close and yet so far away...his friend was really a moron sometimes. "Have you talked to her recently?"

Motoki could tell almost instantly that the conversation was not over. Usagi's arch nemesis had never, under any circumstance, been interested in her activities outside of face to face interaction. A tiny thrill of fear coiled somewhere deep in his lower back as he cleared his throat nonchalantly.

"Sure. We had dinner the other night."

The shock of words slapped Mamoru harder than he thought they would, jumping the suddenly atrophied muscles with a painful shock. It was the reaction more than what was said that surprised him more, though. The abrupt tenseness in his shoulders felt horrifically oppressive; and the effect it had on his head was even worse. He shifted, trying to find a better position; all the while eyeing his best friend in concern. Usagi was…a child. Going to dinner with someone their age would probably look like child porn or something. Not appropriate. Not with a 12 something girl…

"Don't give me that look, it was a double family thing. Unazuki was there too." The blond absently shooed with his hand, but he seemed nervous, too. Mamoru couldn't help the answering smirk, saying nothing. It was obvious in the open book of his friends face that there was an uncomfortable moment before he spoke again. When he did, it came out harsh, and strangely defensive. "Why so talkative all the sudden? Usually you can't even spare a few words for the girl and I'm getting the third degree."

Was it just his imagination, or was the suddenly jumpy man across from him sweating? It was almost obvious in the sudden furtive movements of blue eyes over paper, room, and finally him, that Mamoru realized he'd hit something. He quickly pulled his poker face on and turned back to his work as if the massive overreaction had never happened.

"She just seems very…well connected." A tiny glimmer of sweat sparkled somewhere by the arcade manager's temple. It took more effort than usual to squash the growing smirk from his mouth.

"How so?" a large blue eye twitched just noticeably.

"Something Moon said the other night. I think Usagi might know who she is."

All out panic erupted despite best efforts against them. The paper was thrown down, both feet slammed into the ground. European blue eyes came within inches of his face, filled to the brim with concern, panic, and perhaps all-out fear.

"I forbid you to speak to her!" He bellowed, skin reddening harshly. The obsessed man blinked in surprise. "Yes, Mamoru-kun. Forbidden. You have put her through 7 degrees of Hell, you are not going to start again." There was a forefinger in his face. Had he considered the ridiculous man capable of hurting anything, he would probably have laid him out painfully on the tiles already.

"I won't hurt her." He stacked the assignments carefully on one knee, and promptly ignored the sight.

"Ha!" Motoki huffed indignantly, slapping the papers aside in frustration. "Even mentioning your name at dinner and her father's reaching for his 10 gauge. I am not picking your butt up at the morgue just because of a hunch!" The chair squeaked in protest as he flopped himself back into it tiredly. Mamoru tsked.

"Wow. No wonder the girl doesn't date." He bent, shuffling together the few papers his overly-excited best friend had managed to knock out of his hand. It gave him a chance to review thoughtfully. Strike one had been the obvious secret his friend was keeping from him poorly. Strike two had been the blow-up. Motoki had had plenty of chances to stand up for the Odango in times past. Considering that he hadn't exactly been forthcoming with that defense when they were fighting, it was more than evident that something bigger was going on.

It was just beginning to dawn on him that not only did the strange girl probably know Moon personally, but that Motoki probably had a clue himself. The thought was utterly maddening. Obviously, the irritatingly informed man was unwilling to share the information, even after seeing exactly what it was putting him through. His eyes slanted dangerously even as the last paper was retrieved from the ground and set in the pile. Why would he continue to pretend he didn't know?

It hurt to realize his friend would keep something so obviously important from him. He had to bite back the urge to erupt in furious, self righteous zeal at the revelation. After all, he didn't exactly have proof of this hidden knowledge. The air reeked of it. The shifty, angry set of a usually upturned mouth all but screamed it. Still, this was not the rock solid evidence he would want to come to any sort of definite conclusion. Instead, as with many things, he waited. Either his teaching partner would cave and relinquish his hold on certain bits of valuable information, or Mamoru would have to get inventive in the near future. He would have to calculate his next moves with this in mind, and more importantly, he'd have to wait. A true friend would be forthcoming when the time was right, wouldn't he?

"Hey, what's this? College of botanical science?" the bright voice drifted over the tabletop just as Mamoru was straightening, sending a shock across his skin and his hand rocketing forward.

"What? Here, let me look at it." A moment later the large white envelope was torn from Motoki's grasp and eagerly settled at the bottom of the pile.

"What is it?" The blond asked curiously, trying to peer through both the assignments and the mysterious white shield. Mamoru shrugged.

"Just something. Don't worry about it."

He had three days to finish grading these, but with midterms looming he hardly wanted to wait. The conspicuous weight in his lap felt wearily heavy, and bulged with much anticipated information. It took every ounce of self will not to tear the fragile blank cover to pieces and devour its precious contents.

The tall white rose had been a mystery he could not solve on his own. Even after hours of going over botanical textbooks dedicated to roses, none of them matched his Christmas gift. There were hundreds of species that held white petals and heart-shaped leaves. But none could have glowed in moonlight, or could drive away the strange dreams. He hadn't experienced one since receiving the flower. The great, bushing plant was the sole bit of life in his apartment, and had caused him to wonder more than once where she'd gotten it.

The second Motoki rose to take a bathroom break, the envelope was ripped savagely and voided like a childhood piñata. The extensive report slid, perhaps even hissed, out of the cover and into his waiting hands. He quickly spread the sheets out, scanning the first few lines in his head. Some few words stuck out in the jumble, 'unknown species', 'anomalies', and 'unlinked DNA'.

He set the packet down to lean back far in the seat. The sudden weariness of the ages seemed to dust across his burning eyes. It was so exhausting, always searching and never finding. The tension in his shoulders and back screamed for rest, but some part of him couldn't drop it. The damn flower was connected to her, it was a clue. He just couldn't find the link. There had to be something else he was missing. Why would she give it to him if not to help in the search?

"Oi, Mamoru-kun, you alright?" Motoki's concerned voice appeared in the doorway, shocking the tired man out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, just tired." He rubbed, wishing his eyes would just stop aching. The letter was open on the table, and he just didn't seem to care anymore. He wanted… so much more than they had given him. He'd wanted them to work miracles, find her for him. Of course that was impossible; he shouldn't have even wished it.

"Is it bad news?" The blond inclined his head toward the stack of paper sitting atop the grading like a tombstone. Mamoru glanced at it and shrugged. If nothing else, he could read through the expanded report later when he got home.

"Don't know yet." Mamoru's shoes scuffed at the floor thoughtfully. She had cried the last time he saw her. Not just any cry, either. She'd been terrified of him finding her. She'd been terrified of him. That knowledge wedged a knife of guilt in his soul he couldn't ignore. If she reacted the same way face to face, he didn't know what he would say to her. "What else can I do, Motoki? She's still scared of me."

"Have you been working with Umi?" His friend asked quietly, leaning back on the doorjamb and rubbing between his shoulder blades. Mamoru nodded wordlessly, they'd already discussed the orphan, and he wasn't going to reiterate. "Have you been working on being nice?"

Mamoru sighed. That would always be the question, wouldn't it? Motoki settled himself across the table and folded his hands casually in front of him. The pose screamed interrogation. Mamoru couldn't help the ironic smile.

"Yes and no. I'm trying." In reality, he sucked at it. He'd given up a seat on the bus the other day, and the girl had tried to follow him home. It had been quick thinking alone that saved the awkward situation from getting worse when he ditched her at a coffee shop. That was why he couldn't be nice, because they just assumed he was interested.

But Moon had been so affected by Odango's story that it obviously was doing some good, despite the drawbacks. Even Mamoru hadn't really thought first before helping her up or anything; he'd been more focused on teaching, or at least getting the distraction out of the way. He should have considered it as an act of kindness rather than a quick fix, obviously Moon did. It was just like Motoki had said, reactions more than actions.

"Do me a favor, ok? Next time you see someone who really needs help –even if it's something dumb- just help. You might see something in yourself you didn't before." His friend was stacking papers together carefully as he spoke.

It seemed to defy logic. Motoki knew something, and he wasn't saying what it was. On one hand, Mamoru understood the point that he could be an ass, and that doing so had really hurt Moon a lot. What he couldn't get through his cranium was why Motoki wouldn't just tell him who she was so that Mamoru could find a way to make it up to her. Instead, it was all about the wild goose-chase, Umi, and being nice to people. The frustration sizzled behind a cool look and a nod. He would have to try and do it Motoki's way. He just hoped and prayed fervently that his painfully informed friend would mess up and let something slip.

"Ok."

Motoki went back to grading, and Mamoru stared intently at a crack in the tile. He already felt as though he had worked so hard to reach her, and it was only functioning on a basic level. She never would have cuddled with him in the past, and she definitely hadn't wanted him anywhere near her last summer. Their willing make-out session over valentines was more than enough to prove that he was making progress, but was it enough?

He envisioned, just for a second, the warrior. The image held a lot of great things, but it was the feeling that set it apart from any other girl he could have thought of. She was shy at times, playful and fun; she had a great love for life and everyone in it. It made him smile thoughtfully to include himself in that list, no matter how much of a jerk he'd been to her in the past. The most indescribable warmth filled him to think of her, and it left an aftertaste of hope lingering as it did. Valentines proved she was terrified of him, but certainly not enough to just continue shoving him away either.

Somewhere, deep down, he felt perhaps more than just hope.

.

.

…

Lightning split the sky in an arc that shattered the cloudy mirror to a million pieces. Soothing rain fell in torrents across his upturned face. A pure, sweet smell lifted and purged the recent darkness from his soul, washed him clean beneath gentle fingers. The park lay in all its wet splendor, the livid green grass as welcoming as any postcard he'd ever seen. A smile of quiet appreciation lit his face at the sight of children jumping puddles farther along the path. Thousands of tiny clear diamonds leapt upward with each hearty jump and resulting laughter. His heart throbbed in loneliness at the sight, and he wished his little blond were here to enjoy it. She loved kids.

Thunder ricocheted across the small park, and sent the children skittering off toward shelter. Their terrified screams caused a boyish grin to light on his face. To be so young and carefree, not worry whether or not your world would change tomorrow or wonder why the world seemed to hate you…

No, he wouldn't think about that. Somewhere, hiding in this god-forsaken city, was a girl who made all of those feelings disappear with a soft look. He wouldn't allow the darkness to take that from him.

Another lightshow ripped the sky into shreds, sent fleeting bolts of energy to break the dim park in pieces with jagged shards of light. He sighed deeply, breathed the healing air and allowed the rain to wash across him. His eyes were no longer shadowed, no longer haunted by a past fate had thrust on him. Now, more than anything, the hope wasn't just bearable, but palpable when he thought of her. What was she doing right now? Where was she, outside -playing in the rain, maybe?

The rumbling thunder brought a new sound with it this time, a shrill scream that stopped him in his tracks. Dark eyes shot toward the sound, his feet already moving toward it. A peculiar tightness gripped his chest, and added to his bafflement as he slowed to a stop on the other side of the park. There was no Youma in sight, and certainly nothing out of place going on. It seemed empty, even as he scanned the grounds to find the young woman. There, beneath the shadow of a large tree, sat a rumpled figure too dark to make out between the brief lighting the sky provided. He moved closer slowly, watching for any sign of an attack. The Enemy could just as easily lure in its victims like this…

From this vantage point, he could easily see dark blond locks of hair dripping down her drenched form and his heart thrummed hard against his chest…if it were her… The lightning crashed again, closer this time as the bone jarring sound shattered the soft pattering of rain against the tree above them. The girl shuddered visibly, her mud-spattered clothes all but obliterating the small form. The effect was pathetic, and tugged somewhere deep in his chest to see. He stepped forward, shoes sloshing through the wet grass to reach her side. His fingers brushed against her shoulder imploringly, flinching backward as her body shuddered away from him and startled blue eyes rose from white fabric.

"O-Odango?" he asked confusedly. Her teeth were chattering with cold, her legs were drawn up beneath a girlish pink skirt and the pigtails hung straight to the ground beside her. He quickly shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, kneeling down in the sopping grass. She looked at him guardedly, eyes dark and cold. The burning urge to spew questions at the girl faded the moment it begun, seeing the darkness, and fear in her eyes. A grim smile touched his face as he sighed and shook his head. "Come on, then. Let's get you dried up."

She stared at his hand dumbly, as if it were a foreign object she didn't understand before resolutely burying her face in her arm again.

"Go away, Mamoru-baka. I don't want your help." Her firm words were much less effective as deep crack of thunder rumbled close by. The tiny girl shuddered, shrieking in terror as she clung helplessly to the rough trunk. He glanced upward at the billowing grey clouds, and the droplets of water splashing down from the tree above. The storm was only getting worse with time, and he definitely didn't feel right about leaving her out here alone.

"Oi, Odango, you planning to freeze out here? Because if so, I want my jacket back." He teased gently, hoping a return to their usual banter might smooth things over.

"Then take it, you jerk! I didn't ask for it anyway." She shrugged the jacket free as if it were nothing more than a nuisance and buried her face in her arm, dismissing him entirely. He breathed deeply, allowing the slight irritation to fade away. Odango had no reason to trust him. He had been unnecessarily mean before.

"I was joking, Odango. What do you think you're doing, anyway? Well, other than trying to kill yourself with pneumonia." Glowering eyes flicked upward again, partially hidden by the mat of golden bangs. She was quiet for a while. The jean jacket she had on looked bulky at first, but on closer inspection, the fabric was just puffed away from the skin somehow.

"My dad told me that he couldn't take me seriously as long as I was afraid of thunder." She answered finally, her voice soft. There was a certain set of steeliness to it, as if she were daring him to comment on the ridiculous phobia. One shadow black eyebrow arched in interest. She stiffened further. "Don't tease me, you jerk. I'm terrified of it."

For once in all the time they'd fought, Mamoru didn't have to bite back a snide comment. She looked tired and cold. The half-light deepened the shadows beneath her eyes, making her thin face seem almost skeletal in the gloom. He wasn't sure if it was pity or compassion he felt tugging from within.

"You know that trees attract lightning, right?" he asked quietly, without a hint of sarcasm.

"They what?!"

.

.

…

Mamoru fumbled with his keys for a moment before the heavy wood door finally fell open. Stepping through, he shrugged off the jacket and carefully hung it next to the others on the peg before setting his keys on the coffee table. The apartment was clean, as always, and no longer lacked the human touch. The Lunarian Snow Rose graced his front room like a crowning jewel in the sunlight. It was flanked by books and dwarfed beside the massive oak shelves to either side. The dim, stormy sunlight filtered through grey clouds to settle in ghostly wisps across the plant.

Behind him, tiny little footsteps slowed and stopped. Curious, he turned just enough to watch Odango pause hesitantly a step outside the door. Her bangs were plastered against her face, body completely smothered in her large jean jacket. All of these things were less important than what he saw in the shadows of her eyes. He had to repeat the thought before it would register in his mind. Bubbly, bright Odango had shadows in her eyes, and they were filled with hesitance and fear.

"Oi! Not scared, are you?" he joked, hoping to lighten up the mood a little. But it was strange for him, too. It had been over a year since a girl of any age graced the apartment. There had never been anything loving between them; at least from his end. The rechristening of the place was oddly poetic. Why wouldn't it be the one girl hell bent on pissing him off from the start to break the cycle? Usagi would, of course, remain oblivious to this. In reality she hadn't tried to make him angry so much as make him go away. It was so different from the old days –she was different. Every time he saw her, something changed; just like now when the shadows faded back and her tongue stuck out childishly.

"No way, Baka! It's just…" she paused, shaking herself thoroughly before marching into the room as if she'd never had a problem to begin with. Mamoru couldn't help but grin a little at the nickname, it had been ages since he'd heard her say it. Hell, it had been a long time since he'd seen her; months at least. He'd been so wrapped up with the situation with Moon, he had hardly thought of their daily fights. Those days felt so far away then, as if they had never really happened. For some unexplainable reason, that bothered him a little.

"Come sit by the fire." He turned, walking toward the artificial hearth and turning the heat on. It had cooled down enough in the apartment to warrant a little more warmth, and she was chilled to the bone. He glanced back, watching her turn around to take in the view of his quiet, reserved home. It was sparse as far as decorations were concerned, but he didn't have time for it between fighting, schooling, and his upcoming internship. The only sign of life blazed from the frost white rose standing beside the mantle.

"Here, let me take your coat." The girl was backing slowly toward him, staring out over the balcony. The first brush of his fingers against the stiff jean material of her jacket sent the girl skittering across the room. The wide, terrified eyes and hampered breathing sent his mind reeling as she clutched the thick material to her body. "Oi, Odango…"

"Sorry." She mumbled quickly and began fumbling with the soaked material. Even as wet as it was, her clothing seemed baggy and childish, he thought. She was tiny in comparison. Great strands of fairytale golden hair clung to her, her clothing, and the jacket all at once. It proved a factor as she thoughtfully unwound it from the buttons. The pale, trembling fingers fumbled without order, and her teeth were chattering.

She must be frozen. After the initial reaction, he was less inclined to try to get close enough to help with the labored process. For an uncertain moment, he watched her struggle before finally turning to grab a towel. By the time he'd turned back, she had already peeled the sticky Levi material from one arm, and was busy tugging at the other when he held the bundle toward her awkwardly.

"Shower's on the right."

He didn't want to look at her. She seemed so haggard and small, and lost in the fold s of her sopping clothing. Her face seemed shadowed and gaunt, almost too thin. A guilty lance formed somewhere below the ribs as he thought back to the things Motoki had said. The feelings of guilt were still virtually new. He'd understood on a clinical stance what it was, but this wasn't some detached explanation of burning responsibility. Little Odango stood before him looking more like the orphan she was than the girl he knew. And he was in part responsible for smashing that light.

The bunching folds of her clothing squished as the door slid home with a solid thud, just loud enough to echo in the silent apartment. Even her socks were soaked through. He eyed the heavy, dark steps in the carpet toward the hallway and felt a tiny shudder somewhere in his lower back. The burning sense of guilt faded the moment the door had closed, the pit in his stomach slowly subsided.

He gulped, not sure when the breath had frozen inside him. Usagi did not look so good. Well, he amended to himself, she looked tired anyway. All this talk of guilt, and it probably had more to do with school work and midterms than anything he might have said. Still, the ghost of responsibility tickled at his inner ear. Her childlike features seemed more drawn and stressed than he'd ever seen them before. They had gone from childish, silly even, to something much more strained.

He'd never understood her really. The truth of her past made it all the more troublesome, as she could easily have been more like him than he knew. It spoke volumes of her parents, and, he admitted grudgingly, of her. She hadn't reacted to him the same way others did. She hadn't flirted or wheedled or whined. She'd stood her ground despite anything mean he might have said. For that, a faint whiff of pride began to gnaw at the back of his mind. Usagi was different, and she didn't act like most girls when it came to him. And, he was almost positive that she knew exactly who Moon was.

It was strangely reminiscent, come to think of it. Both displayed moments of childishness, and suddenly Odango had a darker side. Maybe her relationship with Moon had sparked this new facet. Maybe her worry had nothing at all to do with him. It was possible, and even likely that she knew how to get in contact with the Senshi. He drew in a deep breath, eyeing the small footsteps thoughtfully. Within moments, his eyes saw only pale wood and a bronze doorknob.

The bathroom door loomed across his vision, and his arm ached with the desire to reach up and knock. But he didn't remember walking over here, and he certainly didn't have anything to say to her; well, other than getting a number for his obsession. He blanched.

Gods, Motoki had said to do nice things, not wring information from children!

Something deep within him hardened with resolve as the thought struck home. She was very young. Just a kid. And she lived in a fantasy world. She was like… sleeping beauty or something; just waiting around while the real world passed her by. Someday, some guy would ask her out and Mamoru would be forgotten.

Her clothes materialized in front of the door while he'd been thinking. How odd! He must have really been out of it to miss her inching the door open right in front of him. He bent to lift the bundle, gasping in shock at the sudden protest of tense muscles screaming at him. He sucked in a surprised and painful gulp of air, glancing at his body as if he'd never seen it before.

"I'm working out too much." The muttered comment came without another thought as the laundry room door opened with a creek. Her clothing was oddly stiff, he noted. Curiosity bloomed at the sight of white thread hanging from the dark jean material. He laid the sopping mass down and reached for the hem of her jacket. On further inspection, it seemed as finished as any store-bought garment. The lining was dark indigo, and the threads matched the shade; all but this one little tail of white. He tugged thoughtfully on it, and was rewarded with a shift inside the lining.

Weird! He needed sleep! Why was he staring at this badly constructed piece of clothing like a pedophile! In disgust, he shoved the mess into the dryer and started it on high. The jumbled remnants of his thoughts fled beneath the constant churning and humming of the machine at work. He shook his head, disgusted with himself for being so out of it all the sudden, and padded toward the coffee machine.

With a hot mug in hand, he found himself once again standing before the white rose, eyes stuck resolutely on the ever-youthful bud. The scent of it was heady; it filled the apartment with something not quite real, not quite from this planet. After all the searching he had done, modern knowledge could not explain the strange flower. Even the college of botany was baffled by the existence of it. He had never even heard of its mention in stories or myth. But there it was, just the same: forever young and beautiful. It stood nearly five feet tall, the single stalk branching with leaves as if it wanted to be a bush instead. The roots spread like spider webs across the inside surface of the glass globe that held it.

And in the light of the moon, it glowed silver. How could any mortal woman have gotten her hands on it? He knew with every fiber of his being that Sailor Moon had given it to him; he had never questioned that. But where had she gotten it from? Or better yet, from whom? He couldn't help but wonder, vaguely, if she knew the princess.

His mind traced back to every time she had given a royal command. With every entrance, Moon all but challenged her adversary with an unmistakably regal tone. Her stance was proud, shoulders drawn back and eyes steady and stern. She fought valiantly and bravely, despite her young age and obvious hesitance. She sacrificed her own fears and faults on an altar made of love and respect for everyone around her. She showed an almost inhuman ability to withstand even the largest temptation, showing her judgment was not hampered by selfish justifications.

Moon would make one hell of a princess.

He had never been a fan of prissy, whiny girls. From all the things he'd seen in his life, this was all it really took to be considered a princess these days. But something deep down whispered that once upon a time that was not the case. Someone born to it would have been more refined, more capable of both rule and protection. There would have been a regal thoughtfulness to their words, and a deep concern for the people they served.

The rose stared silently back, giving no answers to his thoughts. The sudden memory of a child's story surfaced from the murky depths of his mind. A curse and a rose; the dreaded voice of a witch stalking the darkness. A prince once arrogant and removed lost to the form of a beast, and a kind-hearted woman given the ultimate challenge. It had also been about change, becoming more than just an heir. The similarity between them was a bit ironic actually, now that he thought about it. Hadn't the selfish man scorned the old hag because she wasn't beautiful? He thought back quietly to all the times he had laughed in amused hatred of the people around him, of the world at large.

It was not beautiful, it was not desirable. The only powers he could have known till now were greed, corruption, and ambition. The woman, this ethereal being capable of looking past the surface, could see the potential of a prince, of a future king. It was her love that eventually broke the curse, and freed a now repentant monarch from his grisly form.

The parallel was too obvious. The cursed being had lost all the things which the woman would find attractive; looks, power, and money. He had squandered it away on selfish whim. In the end, it was the final act of selflessness that nearly killed him, and paved the way for the spell to be broken. To give up the one thing you wanted most in the world meant leaving things to chance. It meant a race against time, hoping and praying that she would love him.

"Before the last petal falls..." He whispered, reaching forward to touch the relic with reverence. She was so close; he could almost feel her presence in the apartment. The rose crackled with power, the tingling sensation at the tips of his fingers proved the point. That had never happened before when he'd almost touched it, and certainly never in broad daylight. She must be nearby-he thought dazedly- he could almost hear her in the back of his mind.

"It's beautiful." Usagi murmured from the doorway, derailing the runaway train of his thoughts. He turned, eyeing the young blond uncertainly.

"Yes."

She must have had an extra pair of clothes hidden away somewhere since the sound of the dryer churning in the background stretched between them. Awkwardly, the young girl fingered the hem of her less-sodden shirt.

"Who is she?" She finally questioned, her voice barely above a whisper. He could only smile ironically. Her eyes fell down from the plant to her fumbling fingers, tugging at the thick material in obvious uncertainty. At his apparent silence, she continued thoughtfully. "You love her?"

"Yes." He said it with fierce pride, unaware of the answering blush rising on Usagi's cheeks. It was so deliberate, so territorial and affectionate. It lit the tiny fire burning in her chest to a wild flame, her fingers flexed against the urge to run to him. Her whole body shuddered with the need to be in his arms.

"She is so much more than I could have hoped for. I want…" He shook his head, stuffing both hands in his pockets rather than touch the perfect bud. It was too beautiful to be tainted by him. The one night he had touched it, the sparks had left him breathless.

The shift provided a perfect excuse to turn and face the intruder thoughtfully. She was standing shyly in the hallway, both feet settled cautiously into the carpet. It was strange to see her back in her puffy clothes. His logical mind could have sworn that even damp fabric tended to stick to skin, and yet hers did just the opposite. There was a tense bowing against the curvature of a natural waist, giving off the impression that, though the girl was skinny, she had no shape to her core. The information lodged itself somewhere in the back of his thoughts as peculiar.

"Go ahead, I'm listening." She urged quietly. Her golden hair shimmered in the dim sunlight from the porch, big blue eyes half lidded and intent. Despite the oddities of the situation, something about her felt natural to talk to. Without a second thought, he simply dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged.

"I want to be worthy of her."

Usagi blinked, hardly expecting that answer out of all the others he could have said. He wanted to be worthy of her? Wasn't he considered easily the most eligible bachelor of Tokyo, fawned over hourly by hoards of fan girls and professors, hailed for his brains and exceptional good looks? Why on earth would he assume he wasn't worthy of little Usagi? But then, he didn't know it was just her.

"I understand." She smiled, but deep down the ache began again. Months now of training had put her well above her goal of defeating the Youma, and even then she felt there was so much left to do.

"Do you?" There was a bare second of hesitation before her head bobbed once.

He couldn't help but feel… pity… or maybe a deep somber understanding. She had told him she loved him, or rather screamed it in his face. After all this time, he could see behind the sorrow in her eyes that she still felt the same way. It was as easy as reading a book, as easy as seeing through the window directly into her thoughts. She had worked hard all semester long in his class, Motoki had told him. Her papers were very introspective and interesting to read. Mamoru had never bothered to look at them for more than a glance.

He wondered if any of his hoard had that deep, somber look to their eyes when they spoke of him. He wondered if any of them bothered to think the way he did of Moon; that deep-seated desire to become more than what he was in order to earn her favor. Not just to lie, not just to put on the airs of becoming, but to change from the inside out. Had any of them borne that kind of life-altering intent? He couldn't think of even one conversation he'd had with any of them since the beginning of all of this that even came close to that intensity.

"I'm sorry, Odango-chan." You are a child, he had said without so many words. The way he looked at her, the way his eyes saw right through her. As if he didn't even see the woman standing in his living room. He saw her as a small child and nothing more. The realization was like falling forever through an abyss. She had never felt so alone as now. After searching for her for nearly a year, Mamoru could not or would not see her as a woman, as an equal, as a worthy partner. She was still Odango, and always would be in his eyes.

She couldn't fight the blinding tears. They spilled from her eyes as she blinked, wiping at them fruitlessly with her sleeve. Couldn't he see her? She was standing right in his living room, had stared deeply into his eyes for no more than a moment? Wasn't that what love was; when he could see into her soul and guess the truth with what he saw? Why couldn't he accept her?

"I'm so sorry." He repeated, standing before her with the box of tissues. She all but choked at the look in his eyes. She couldn't bear the pity, the deliberate withdrawal. She couldn't bear his utter refusal.

Long after the door had slammed shut, after her footsteps pounded down the hall, he kicked himself. Maybe he shouldn't have been so open about his feelings for another girl in Usagi's presence. After all, he could see for himself that she cared very deeply, and that those words would hurt her. They had needed to be said. Odango was young and naive and very, very impressionable. She had plenty of time to recover and move on in life, and there was no use for her to waste her time waiting around for him to change his mind.

He tried to be reassuring, but those silvery blue eyes haunted him. That quiet, indisputable way she had looked at him from across the room. There was something strange in the way she… he couldn't put a finger on the gesture. It would haunt him long after the encounter, long after he could justify himself in his own mind. It didn't make any sense. She didn't make any logical sense to him. She was like her clothing, clinging and repelling at the same time, fighting against itself. She was the thoughtful beauty fighting for freedom in the silly child.

Part of him wondered when that beauty would break through; the other part wondered who would be waiting there to claim her.