Continuing Tales

First Truths

A Sailor Moon Story
by Lilac Summers

Part 12 of 15

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First Truths

The door to the balcony slid open with a near-silent rasp, and Tuxedo Mask stepped inside. He looked down at the girl who was curled up and trembling in his arms. For the first time in the last ten minutes, he allowed himself to think -just think- about what had happened today, what could have happened, and all the implications. . .and he started trembling himself. To keep the girl in his arms from noticing, he set her down on her own feet and patiently waited until her knees solidified beneath her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice strangely neutral in cadence.

She didn't seem to notice, too embarrassed to look up. "I-I think I made a mess on your cape."

He leaned forward, not quite sure he'd heard correctly. "What?"

"Ithrewupalloveryourcape," she muttered, blushing beneath the green coating of goo.

He blinked once, twice, before his trembling increased with the need to laugh and cry at the same time. "It's okay," he managed, "it'll be clean by the next transformation."

"Oh." She cast a discreet glance at him. His face and hands held traces of the slime that covered her completely, but, otherwise, his suit had taken the brunt of the punishment. She, however, was coated irreparably. She grimaced in distaste, wondering how he had even brought himself to touch her in all her icky splendor. Yet here she was, in this perfect apartment, wondering just what exactly he was thinking behind that perfectly composed face and knowing that at any moment the hysteria would hit and she did not want him to witness her weakness. Right now she was hanging on by sheer will alone but soon the whole event would catch up to her, as it always did when she came so close to death, and she would be a blubbering idiot.

It was not, she was sure, something his beloved princess would ever do, so she refused to further lower herself before his eyes.

"Umm, look, could I possibly borrow your shower? I really have to get rid of this junk," she asked.

How can she be so calm when she came so damn close to dying? How could she disregard her promise so easily! He raged internally.

"Sure," he replied calmly, no hint that inside of him something was screaming. He politely pointed towards the bathroom door.

"Thanks," murmured Sailor Moon and scurried into the room before it was too late. She slammed the door shut and locked it, then finally let her knees collapse so she could huddle on the floor, hugging her legs and shaking viciously as tremor after tremor wracked her frame. She gulped impulsively as her throat closed up, then gagged at the feeling of the slime that would not disappear.

Suddenly, the most important thing was simply being clean again. She dropped her transformation and hurriedly took off her school uniform before it could become soiled by her own skin. Then she was in the shower, water turned up as hot as she could stand, and scrubbing furiously at the viscous gel that clung stubbornly to her skin. A flashback sent her reeling, forcing her to slam her palms against the cold tile walls as she staggered. The feeling of choking, of drowning, was a building pain that scalded her insides as her body consumed its last breath and then began to fight her for oxygen that was no longer there. It all came back to remind her how close she had come to dying.

One day she wouldn't be lucky enough to cheat death. Her parents and friends. . .she'd be lost to them all.

The sobbing followed. Secure that the sound of the shower would drown out her tears, she let herself slide down the tiled wall to weep her fears away.


Tuxedo Mask's fists clenched as he watched her walk away. He felt as though he was a hair's-breadth away from insanity, and she had just walked quietly into this bathroom as if it were any other day for her.

Hell, maybe it was better this way. After all, why should he be so upset about her close call if she obviously had no problems dealing with it?

But the fact was, he had never been quite so frightened in his life. She had never come so close to dying before, that he knew of. And thank god he didn't, if this was what it felt like.

He released his transformation automatically and made his way to the kitchen to scrub his face and hands clean. The slime wouldn't come off. For some reason, this made him furious and he scrubbed harder until his hands began to ache and chafe against each other. He stopped abruptly, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, trying to regain control.

It's alright. It's okay. She's safe. She's safe and it's over.

More collected now, he reached under the sink and brought out the dishwashing soap, pleasantly surprised to find out it cut through the plasma easily. If he had had so much trouble washing off just the small bit of slime he had been coated with, he could well imagine how difficult it must be for Usagi to do the same. With that thought in mind, he took the detergent towards the bathroom, his hand poised to knock and offer her the use of it.

And that's when he heard her. The sound was muffled by the roar of the running water, but it was unmistakable and pierced through his surface calm as easily as a steel-tipped arrow pierces flesh. She was sobbing-ugly, harsh sounds that seemed torn from the bottom of her soul.

His hand automatically reached for the doorknob before he pulled away, flattening his hand over the cool wood of the door, instead. If she had wanted his comfort, she would not have barricaded herself in the bathroom.

Obviously, whatever she sought, it was not from him. So he lowered his head to the rough surface of the wood as his shoulders tightened with each sound of distress that came from within the room, and his frustration grew exponentially. He did not notice that tears had begun to run down his own cheeks in accompaniment to her own.


A considerably cleaner Usagi emerged from the bathroom some thirty minutes later, dressed in her relatively clean school uniform and with her hair hanging in a tangled wet mass down her back. Mamoru, watching her silently from where he waited on the living room couch, could only marvel at how bright and defenseless she looked.

The illogical rage that had been simmering inside him for the past half-hour grew a little brighter.

Usagi was more than a little disconcerted to find that the first thing she saw upon exiting her sanctuary was a disturbingly intent Mamoru. Over the past half-hour she had struggled to tuck her close call into a safe niche in her mind, where it joined all the other could-have-beens and close-enoughs. In her own simple way she had come to terms with her near-death experience. Not because it was "okay," but because there was no other choice left; she had to keep fighting and this was the price all warriors paid. The conclusion had left her feeling stable and centered.

Heck, I've lived to eat and sleep another day. The thought had first sprung up as her last tears fell in the shower, and had made her smile. She had finally managed to revert to her unnaturally cheerful self. So when she exited the bathroom, her first instinct was to send a sunny smile Mamoru's way.

Mamoru's hand tightened around the cup of hot tea he held, and his mouth thinned.

Usagi stopped in her leisurely walk towards the couch and realized that, for some reason or another, her smile had displeased her host.

However, not one to be daunted easily, she refused to let the smile slip and walked coolly past the couch. When she reached the front door, she set down the shoes she carried in one hand and turned to face Mamoru. She had not intended to leave so abruptly, but some sense of self-preservation told her it was better to get out now while the getting was good.

"Mamoru-san, I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything," she began.

Mamoru's frown deepened just the tiniest fraction.

Noticing this, Usagi hurried on as she edged towards the door and tried to slip her feet into her shoes all at the same time. "Yes, well, thanks for the shower and . . .and saving my life and all, but I really must be going and you know how it is when you've got school the next day and-"

"Odango.'' His voice was satiny-smooth and laced with some undertone that scared the heebie-jeebies out of her.

Usagi paused, one foot safely ensconced in a shoe and the other foot bare. That had not sounded like an endearment.

"Er. . .is there something I can do for you, Satan?" She stabbed her bare foot at the ground blindly, searching for her other shoe as her hands groped behind her for the doorknob. Deeply engrained survival instincts were screaming at her: 'head for the hills, Usagi-chan! Head for the hills and don't look back!'

"Odango, come here."

Usagi's heart performed a triple lutz and then promptly plummeted into her stomach. 'Don't do it! Don't do it!' screamed Self Preservation.

"I-I think I should be getting home."

Mamoru's emotions were raging dangerously close to out-of-control and he didn't like it; he didn't like it one bit. After a lifetime of cool composure, he suddenly felt as if a door had been flung wide and what he found inside was a messy, tangled, writhing ball of emotions that left him feeling like an irrational fool. And he didn't like the panicked look in Odango's eyes, either, as if he were some kind of beast of prey.

But he was so angry! So angry because. . .because. . .he didn't know. He didn't know why he felt angry and frustrated and scared. Okay, so he was scared. He was scared that all his control had disappeared as soon as she had walked out of the bathroom looking so damnably fragile.

Mamoru sighed, scrubbed his hands over his face, and then raised slightly calmer eyes to Usagi, who seemed ready to bolt out of the apartment. "I was just wondering if you would like something to eat before you left."

Usagi blinked as her mind went blank and her stomach shifted into overdrive. Self Preservation sobbed uncontrollably for a few moments, realizing that the good battle had been lost, and wished Usagi a fond adieu.

See? The man just wanted to give you a nice, hot meal. How sweet. How altruistic. And here you thought he was going to jump you. . .or something. It would be impolite to refuse a meal, wouldn't it? Usagi rationalized away until she felt comfortably secure with her decision to ignore all warning signs and stay longer.

"Wellllllll, I suppose I could stay just a little bit longer," conceded Usagi, abandoning her shoes by the door and stepping back into the living area.

Mamoru's fists, hidden from her gaze by a pile of cushions, unclenched slowly. Okay, he could deal with his feelings now. So maybe he'd gone a little overboard there on the emotional scale when he heard her crying. So maybe he felt that, as long as she was here with him, she would be safe. They were natural reactions, right? He would have been equally concerned had the same incident occurred to any other friend, right?

The couple adjourned to the kitchen and Usagi sat down at the table as Mamoru began to rummage around through the cupboards.

"So," she began, drumming her fingers idly on the table, "this apartment's really nice." He kept the place spotless and tastefully decorated. She was quite surprised, actually. "I thought you'd live in a pigsty, Satan. Aren't you snooty, upper-class boys supposed to be decadent?" she teased.

Mamoru rolled his shoulders to loosen his knotted muscles and relaxed as the heavy atmosphere eased from the room. He set water to boil and then turned to face his guest, a smile lurking around his lips. "I stashed my harem in the bedroom. They won't come out until you leave."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "I doubt your collection of blow-up dolls can walk by themselves, anyway."

He stared at her, scandalized, for a little more than a second, then threw back his head and laughed. "Touché," he managed. "And here I thought you were this innocent schoolgirl, Odango. Apparently not."

"What?" she sputtered, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a landed fish.

He turned back to add the noodles into the boiling water, still shaking with laughter. This was good. This was comfortable. This was footing that he was familiar with; no messy emotions were going to get in the way here.

"And, you can cook," Usagi drawled. "Will wonders never cease?" She left the table to saunter towards the stove and take a peak at what he was preparing. "Instant ramen. Satan, you shouldn't have. Really," she deadpanned.

He cast a glance over his shoulder to find her peering at the pot dubiously. "Don't knock it, Odango. It's all I had in the cupboard. I was going to go grocery shopping tonight."

Usagi hummed disapprovingly. "Well, at least I had a good lunch at school today. Imagine if my last meal had been instant ramen? How depressing. I'll tell you one thing, I'm turned off lime Jell-O for life."

The shoulder she was leaning against tensed hard as rock. She looked up to see that Mamoru's face had stilled into a mask of granite, his hands frozen in the task of stirring the noodles. Somehow, she had royally stuck her foot in her mouth, and she didn't know how. Whatever she had said, it had caused the tension to seep back between them like a brick wall.

The spoon clattered from Mamoru's hands and Usagi jumped at the sudden sound. The fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck rose as the atmosphere between them grew heavy with the unnamed emotions that rolled off Mamoru's body like a nervous heat. She stumbled back, away from him with the whole-hearted intent of running away from the apartment, but his hand shot out to stop her, gripping her wrist.

"You promised, Usagi. You promised and. . .and you broke it."

His whisper was harsh and accusing. She recoiled from it physically, flinching at the reminder. Tugging at her wrist ineffectually, she strove to lighten the conversation, feeling horribly inadequate for dealing with such seriousness. "Do I look dead to you? If so, death is vastly overrated. So I cut it a little close, I didn't break the promise."

His hand tightened on her wrist and he turned violently to face her.

"Why do you have to joke about this? Why do you have to try to lighten it! This is serious! You almost died, again!"

"How do you want me to deal with it, then? So I almost died. . .it happens, Mamoru-san. I'm okay with it!"

His eyes narrowed on her face, blue crystallizing into opaque pinpricks of ice. "You are not okay with it! I heard you in the bathroom, Usagi. What's more, I felt it."

Her face bled of color and a tiny, pained cry escaped from her lips.

"You-you felt. . .you felt me. . . I don't understand."

"I felt the goo oozing into your throat. I felt your lungs burning and your mind fading and then I," he paused, fighting the images in his head, but then forged ruthlessly forward, "I felt you giving up. I felt you try to leave m-us! AND YOU HAD PROMISED!"

She tore away from him, small hands outstretched before her as if to ward him off. "No-no, that's not fair. You shouldn't have had to go through that." Tears began to slide down her face. "I understand now, why you wanted that promise. I didn't get it before, but now I do. God, you must hate me for making you experience that. I'm so sorry. . . so sorry."

She turned and fled towards the door as he stood staring at her, incomprehension dulling his mind. Slowly it occurred to him that she had it all wrong, that she had his motives all wrong.

He chased after her and caught her as she was trying to force her feet into her shoes, swinging her around and holding tight as she clawed at his hands. "NO! No, that's not-" he tried to explain, but she was crying loudly and apologizing repeatedly over his voice.

"No wonder you were so angry when I walked out of the bath! I promise, I would break the link if I could. You should stay away from me. Drowning, dying, that feeling was horrible! Horrible, and you . . .you had to feel it all just cuz I was clumsy and stupid and . . . and when we find the Princess I'm sure she'll know how to make it so you can be rid of me and never have to-God, I'm sorry!"

"NO! Dammit, listen to me!" He shook her slightly and her head snapped back to look at him as the tears continued to paint salty streaks down her cheeks. "I don't care about any of that!"

"How couldn't you care? You should never have had to feel any of that pain! Never!" she cried vehemently until he cut her off with a sharp motion of his head.

"The pain means nothing to me. I just want you safe! I thank God for that link, that connection I have to you. I was angry because you almost left me! DAMNIT!" His head dropped down and he rested his forehead against hers, shutting his eyes tightly. "Damnit," he repeated, quietly. "What have you done to me? Why isn't anything simple anymore? I can't . . . I can't stand seeing you hurt."

The silence was so heavy it was almost hard to breathe, hard to think over it. What did he say? Does he mean... She raised trembling hands to his face, daring to hope . . . Could it be that he had begun to love her? God, it was almost too much to hope for, but her heart was thumping wildly in her chest and a field of butterflies was performing an aerial ballet in her stomach and maybe, maybe for the first time in her life, Tsukino Usagi would find the person who could fill that part of her that felt unnaturally empty.

She ran sensitive fingertips over the strong line of his jaw, the soft fullness of his lips, to settle on the high curve of his cheekbones and draw his face slightly back so she could gaze at him fully. And then she laid her heart bare.

"I love you. I . . . I think I've always loved you. Sailor Moon fell in love with Tuxedo Mask and I fell in love with you and, well," she laughed a little despairingly. "Then Sailor Moon fell in love with you and I fell in love with Tuxedo Mask and everything became a hopeless tangle. But, in the end, it's all me and it's all you. I love you so much it hurts me."

His hands dropped from her shoulders like lead weights to hang heavy and numb at his sides. He was quite positive that his heart stopped beating altogether for an amount of time that couldn't possibly be healthy, and then it began to beat double-time in an attempt to make up for the lapse.

Never, in his wildest dreams, had he allowed himself to believe this golden one would love him so utterly and without reservations. Now she stood there, her hands cool and gentle against his face and her soft blue eyes becoming ever more uncertain as he stayed mute in the face of her declaration.

And the one thing he was sure of was that he was terrified. He didn't know what to do with such a love. He had grown up without love; he didn't know how to love. The only assurance that had remained constants were the dreams of his princess, dreams he had been having for as long as he could remember. She would understand him. Only she would know why he was the way he was, and would realize his limitations and love him anyway. It was so much safer, after all, to love a dream; there was no one to disappoint in the end.

"I love," he began, then had the words seize in his throat, an invisible fist of uncertainty choking him as everything within him seemed to rebel at the words he was choosing to speak. "I love the princess. I'm sorry, but I can't give you what you want, Odango. It's always been the princess. I do care for you, Odango, it's not that-"

This time it was she who cut him off with an abrupt shake of her head as she slowly removed her hands from his face. Her smile didn't falter, but the light in her eyes dimmed into a cloudy sea of wetness.

Something vital within him died with that look. It was like being offered the sun after living in the dark, only to find out you had been blind all along. He was like that; he did not have the capacity to love. Somewhere along the way he had forgotten how.

She stepped away from him, both physically and spiritually. He felt it, felt her draw into herself, and ached at the sudden isolation. He had not realized that he had come to depend on his subconscious link so much-that he had come to depend on her.

"I understand," she was saying quietly. "But I had to let you know, anyway. I guess I hoped . . . well, it doesn't matter anymore."

She turned her back to him and reached for the door. Her hair had dried in a tangle of platinum and golden strands that swept to the floor, and she wore its splendor like a cape.

"I hope you find her, Mamoru-san. And I hope she is everything you want her-need her-to be. You will be happy together." And she walked out.

First Truths

A Sailor Moon Story
by Lilac Summers

Part 12 of 15

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