Here we are - a few days after, but with the fifth prompt for Mamo Chiba Week. A shorter entry than the rest, but enjoy it nonetheless (see what I did there? Poetry at its finest).

A Masked Hero

Tuxedo Kamen stumbled through his balcony door, gloved hand gripping his side. His limbs were shaky, and his muscles ached as he fell onto a chair. He discarded his mask, and threw his hat onto the couch, knowing the moment he changed into his civilian form, the pain would only increase. He slowly released the pressure on his waist, scowling at the blood that covered his once white glove.

Staggering to the bathroom, he removed a freshly restocked first aid kid from the cabinet, and sat down on the lid of the toilet. It would take time to recuperate; healing himself would need more energy than he currently had. With careful movements he unbuttoned his shirt, wincing as he pulled the fabric away from the gash.

After washing and bandaging the wound, he let the remainder of his guise fade. His skin throbbed, and it hurt to stand, but he managed to pad his way back to the living room and flop onto the couch. Grabbing the remote, Mamoru flicked on the TV, absently clicking through the channels as his mind reeled; tonight had been wildly unsuccessful.

It all started when he got a lead: the Mori Museum was unveiling a mysterious crystal that researchers had found while digging in the arctic. With scientists unable to determine a large portion of its source material, he couldn't help but wonder if this was the mystical jewel he had blindly been searching for.

When he arrived at the museum, they had yet to unveil the key exhibit. The audience was made largely of Tokyo's A-list society; celebrities, politicians, CEO's, and a handful of media. He blended in with the crowd, most of whom were quick to pretend that he was one of them – an advantage he knew the Sailor Senshi didn't have.

The curtain was lifted, and the crowd gasped, marvelling at the masterpiece that stood on a pedestal, alone in the spotlight. It was just before the power was cut that Mamoru had a tingling sensation run up the back of his spine; something wasn't right. Chaos ensued in the darkness, a few flood lights their only salvation. People panicked, rushing to the nearest exits to find them locked.

"Another monster attack occurred earlier tonight at the Mori Museum," a news anchor reported, bringing Mamoru jarring back into the present.

He sat up with a tired groan, and slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The television screen came into focus, and he found himself watching cell phone footage of the rare crystal unfolding into an acicular monster.

Bodies dropped as the monster stretched to its full height, spiked silver hair jetting out in every direction, framing it's pale, feminine face. A shrill cackle reverberated through the room, and even on the video you could see patrons' energy being drained.

"Thankfully, there were no fatalities due to efforts from local heroes, the Sailor Senshi, and Tuxedo Kamen," the anchor continued, recounting the numerous attacks that had happened over the last month.

Mamoru snorted. "Hero my ass," he muttered. If only they knew he had been there to steal the prized crystal in hopes of quelling his nightmares. Helping defeat the monster was merely a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet, part of him wondered – if he had no quest, would he continue to fight?

Another video flashed across the screen, but he turned off the TV, the memory still vivid.

When the Sailor Senshi appeared, they broke through the window, sending shards of glass to the ground and instantly pulling the monster's focus. Fireballs blasted from Sailor Mars' fingertips, while Mercury covered the ground in a dense fog. They struggled to dodge bullet-like slivers, arms and legs nicked the more they fought.

Sailor Moon inched through the cover, igniting her tiara into a searing frisbee which she sent wailing towards her enemy. Her attack was not without recourse, and a wave of sharpened jewels came hurtling towards the young heroine.

Without a second thought, Tuxedo Kamen careened into her, knocking her to the ground and shielding them with his cape. He cried out as a crystal point cut through his flesh, but all he could hear was the gasp that escaped Sailor Moon's perfectly pink lips.

"Tuxedo Kamen," she breathed, fingers tight around his arm. "Are you okay?"

He saw the fear welling in her eyes as she bit her lip to keep her chin from trembling.

"I'm fine." He nodded in hope that it was enough to convince her. "Come on," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. "We have to get out of here."

"I can't." She slipped from his grasp, and shook her head, jaw set firmly, and hands balled into fists. "I can't leave them like this."

He should have left then and there, but he stayed, and he fought, for no reason and with nothing to gain. His side throbbed through the battle, and the bruises continued to pile - yet he pushed on – for her. Sweat beaded down his brow, and he found himself locked in a deadly match of a cane versus stalactite. And for a split moment when he thought he might lose he knew he'd do it all again if he meant she would be safe.

He had no idea who the Sailor Senshi were or what their endgame was. He didn't even know if they were on the same side – if there were sides at all. But here he was, night after night, coming home broken and bruised because she might need him.

Mamoru rubbed a hand over his face.

He didn't care if he was a hero to Tokyo, but he cared if he was a hero to her.