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*
Mamoru was used to the powerlessness.
He spent his life alone, reticent and suspicious. Relying on nothing but the promise of memory from a dream, he built himself on a clean slate. Every hint, every nudge in the right direction towards a crystal, a princess—it was luck, accidental. He always knew he could only do his best, but there was a magic he couldn’t control at work in his life, plans he had no control in making. Then, when it all clicked into place, he had memories of a life he’d never truly lived, and nothing of the life he started with on this Earth.
Early on, when memories from his past still caught him off-guard in the middle of the simplest moments, he brought it up. It had only been a few weeks since—well—it was hard for him to qualify it, it seemed so surreal sometimes. But it had been a few weeks since he had been brought back from the Dark Kingdom and Beryl, the world saved and the crystal returned to its normal state. Spring was waning into summer, the cherry blossoms fading.
He found he couldn’t go a day without seeing her, reassurance that she was here, and breathing, and still full of life. Now she was in his apartment, her legs tucked under her skirt as she sat on the floor of the living room, her homework spread out in front of her on the coffee table. Her hair fell in loops along the floor, skimming his bare feet. Physics book abandoned in his lap, he watched her from his seat on his sofa, heart drumming a strange beat against his chest.
A desperate frustrated sound left her throat, and she scribbled across her paper in wild jagged swipes of her pencil. “This math homework is going to be the death of me,” she muttered. She tore the page out of her notebook, crumpled it up, and tossed it towards the wastebasket near his orderly desk. It missed, but not by much.
There was the smallest hitch in his middle, a twitch of his fingers against his knees. “The death of you?” he repeated.
She lay her cheek on the textbook, face scrunched up in irritation. Blonde hair fell across the book, the table, her arms. “I wish I was kidding. I am really bad at it,” she whimpered.
“It won’t kill you. It’s just something you’ll learn to handle,” he said after a moment. The collar of his shirt felt tight at his neck.
“Easy for you to say,” she murmured, straightening up once more. “You’re not the one doing it.”
He was about to speak—words tumbled at his tongue, tripping over each other, and he hadn’t felt like than since he could even remember—when her communicator beeped. Swallowing hard, he watched as she sprawled her body across his floor to reach her bag, the edge of her blouse skirting up the length of her stomach. She threw herself into his apartment, into his life, as she did everything; full-force, bright and energetic and determined.
“Is everything all right?” he asked after a moment as he watched her flip open the small device.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, waving a delicate hand in his direction. “One of them calls every two or three hours or so, just to make sure I’m still alive. Leftover worries from—you know,” she murmured, shutting the communicator and sitting up once more. Her gaze, incredibly blue, pierced him right through. “Luna and Artemis ramble on about being prepared, and just in case of trouble, and of course the girls agree, and they’re right, I know they’re right—I just wanted more time to just…I don’t know,” she said with a shrug.
“Just be you,” he finished quietly.
She smiled, easy and light. “Be me. With them. With you, too.”
She said it so easily, it caught at the lump in his throat. Warmth rose on the back of his neck. He cleared his throat, glancing away from her intent gaze.
“Are you okay?”
Nodding slowly, he curled his fingers around his textbook, adjusting his reading glasses. The silence settled thickly between them. His focus shifted to the later afternoon light stretching across his hardwood floors, the words in his textbook blurring together.
“Okay,” she said after a spell of quiet, with a sense of finality. “You know, I should go.”
Looking up, he watched as she pushed her books and papers together and slid them into her bag. Her hair fell across the profile of her face, hiding her from his sight. “What?”
“It’s late, and you have work to do, and the girls said they might want to get dinner tonight—I’ll get out of your hair,” she said easily, scrambling to her feet and moving to the front door.
Oh, he thought, frozen for a moment. This was a sign, he had done something—or hadn’t, he hadn’t done something. He still felt a step behind, a beat off from their rhythms sometimes. “Wait,” he said after a beat, pushing his book aside and following her. He caught her easily, his hand sliding into the curve of her bare elbow.
“I’ve been here a lot this week,” she said. A flush bloomed across her cheeks as she spoke, her voice pitching up as she spoke. “I don’t want to intrude. I know you like being alone, too—“
Oh, he thought again, taking her small hands in his. “It’s not that at all. I want you here,” he said quietly, watching as her eyes widened. “I—we haven’t talked about it, though.”
She bit her bottom lip, eyes narrowing. “Talked about what?”
He knew this conversation was coming, had been stirring the words around in his head and testing them on his tongue between classes and moments at the arcade and the slips of old memories made new. In his sleep he dreamed of gardens on the Moon, a wide cool reflecting pool and a princess who would not be wooed but understood and respected instead. She was grace and sacrifice personified, and when he woke he thought not of Serenity long gone and dead but Usagi, blindly bright and alive and all-too-willing to take those same leaps.
“You died,” he said after the longest silence he thought he’d ever felt, thick with tension. He remembered blindness, the painful nothingness of black; searching the scorched earth of his planet for her; holding her cold in his arms, lifeless and breathless. He twined his fingers into hers, his heart pressing hard against his ribs. “You died.”
She wet her lips, face tilted up to his. “I know.”
“You—you can’t do that,” he said finally, the words coming out like ground glass. Muscle memory remembered the cut of a sword in his back, his chest, falling on her body. “You can’t.”
Her face was set in serious lines; it was the most still, most somber he’d ever seen her. “I’ll do what I have to, Mamo-chan,” she said earnestly.
The endearment was still weird to his ears, after years of nothing but formalities and distance. She was the first to sneak in past the usual defenses, to nestle into his life without him even knowing. Before identities revealed and memories unlocked, she had still been a girl on his mind at the end of the day with bad aim, rough test scores, and a fire to her that kept him wanting more.
Looking down at their joined hands, he swallowed past the hard lump at the base of his throat. “That’s our job, though. We’re here to make those choices so you don’t have to,” he said quietly.
“Who says?” she said impatiently. “I’m not about to let you all die for me. That’s silly.”
“It’s what we’re here to do, if need be,” he said firmly.
Loosening one hand from his grip, she caught his jaw in her fingertips, tilting his gaze to hers. The intimacy between them still frightened him; it was so natural to her, so easy for her, and he always felt as if he was a step behind, a heartbeat too far from her. “I’ve seen how that works out,” she said steadily, her lower lip trembling just faintly. “I’m not okay with it. So I think we should try it my way this time.”
“If your way involves throwing yourself headlong into danger, I don’t think any of us are going to be okay with that,” he said pointedly, color blooming across his face.
Her fingertips traced the line of his jaw, catching at the corner of his mouth. “I think sometimes you won’t have a choice,” she said with a sad sort of smile.
He caught her hand in his, pressing her knuckles to his mouth. She was beautiful in the afternoon light, pale and slight and full of an unyielding grace that he saw in fleeting moments. He liked all sides of her; the young teenager, the fierce soldier, the dedicated friend, the girl who already knew when to take his books away from him after too long a time. The thought of her gone, gone again from him and the world—it knotted deep in his gut, a hard pit of fear he sometimes couldn’t shake.
“Besides,” she said, slightly breathless as his mouth moved across her knuckles, “we don’t know whether we’ll need to worry about it at all. There’s no enemy right now. We should enjoy it.”
It was a deflection, an easy one to spot. But with her eyes so wide and her mouth parted just the slightest, he found himself tired of thinking, of talking. He leaned down and kissed her, soft and sweet. She curled into him and opened her mouth under his, sighing.
It was enough for him, for now.
*
Jupiter was gone, just like Mars and Mercury. Mamoru had never seen Usagi so broken, so utterly defeated in the eye. He watched her carefully now, just as he knew Minako did, careful not to buffet her off of the delicate line she walked.
She was gone now, walking upstairs in the arcade. I just—I need a minute, she said, moving out of reach of his hands and out the door. Everything about her was tremulous and shaky. Her grief was a private one, something he could not touch. It left her helpless, desperate for some sort of use. The floor creaked above him; with every step, he could feel the chaotic mess that was Usagi’s heart, the ache spreading through his entire chest.
Minako, powered down now, sat hunched over one of the computers, her every muscle tense. Mamoru watched from his post near the doorway, leaning on one shoulder.
“You’ll be next,” he said after a long moment of silence. He figured out that much.
Minako glanced over her shoulder at him, mouth drawn tightly at the corners. “I know.”
“And if you go—I don’t have the kind of power you do,” he said, the words cutting at him like knives. It was a weakness he didn’t like to dwell on, except in the privacy of his own thoughts with only the specters of his guardians to reassure him. Now, as her Senshi fell one by one, it followed him with every step, a dark bird at his ear.
A fierce sort of smile curved her mouth. “I’m not going anywhere, Mamoru-san,” she said.
“You don’t know that,” he said quietly.
“No. Even so, you’ll take care of her. You always do.”
Artemis looked between the two of them, eyes narrowing in his wide white face. “I’ll go check on Luna and that crystal fragment,” he said after a moment, leaping to the floor from the console at Minako’s side and hurrying out the door.
Minako turned in her chair to face him, picking at the shiny pink wound he’d healed not a half-hour ago. “What is this about?” she asked quietly.
He looked down at his hands, his empty hands. “I don’t know how to help her,” he said, the words ragged and hard on his tongue. “I don’t have any weapons, anything to give. And I can’t watch her die again. If it keeps going like this—that’s where it’s headed.”
The silence lingered between them, a clock ticking in the background. He felt stripped bare and exposed under her gaze. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Finally, Minako cleared her throat, sweeping her hair back from her shoulders. “You’ve been a help to us, Mamoru-san, and a help to her. Keep following your instincts. Something will fall into place,” she said, voice firm and unwavering.
That might be so, he thought as Usagi finally came back downstairs, but that doesn’t mean anything to her right now.
The cats burst in before he could say a word to her, rambling on about black crystals and negative space. Usagi remained near his side as they listened in somber silence. Her fingers, small and cold, pressed into his hand.
He lay his other hand at the small of her back. His hands, his empty hands; they were all he could offer her.
*
The park was desolate when the seven of them finally arrived back in their own time, their own Tokyo. Chibi-Usa was practically asleep in his arms, powered down and breathing evenly. Venus and Mars each had a hand under one of Usagi’s elbows; that last moment, the meeting with her future self, just for the brief moment, sapped her of the rest of her lingering energy. He could see the effort she was making, barely keeping her eyes open. A warm summer breeze fluttered between them, his cloak rippling behind him.
“What’s the plan?” Makoto asked as they powered down, a brief flash of light in the empty darkness.
Mamoru glanced at Usagi, who only had eyes for him. “Where do you want to go?” he asked, shifting the warm weight of their child, to ease his strained muscles. Stay with me, he thought over and over, his hands desperate to feel her warm and whole and keep her that way.
“With you,” she said softly.
He locked eyes with Minako over Usagi’s head. She nodded. “We’ll go with you guys. Get you settled,” she said firmly.
That was how he ended up with Chibi-Usa in his guest room, Luna curling up next to her head on the pillow. From the living room, he could hear the girls talking in low voices, Usagi’s soft reassurances of her well-being. He had seen her cold and lifeless once again, and only by the grace of her future self was she living and breathing.
When he finally came back out, he found Usagi alone in the living room, sitting on the couch with her knees tucked up under the patterned skirt of her dress. Her fingers shook faintly as she clasped them together in her lap. Her hair fell in thick lines across her body, loosening from the buns atop her head.
He’d just come from tucking in their child; the feeling left him feeling queasy, a little unsettled. For all the lives and love they had memorialized between them, they had really only been in each other’s lives for months. Now, just as they had been getting their bearings together, they have their future mapped out before them, certainties and absolutes colored in black and white.
“You should lay down,” he said after a moment, leaning in the doorway uneasily.
She met his eyes, gaze wet and dark. “This is the second time I’ve had you taken from me,” she said, voice thin. “The second time I’ve seen darkness in you.”
Each word felt as a punch in the gut. Swallowing hard, he pushed off the doorframe and sat across from her on the edge of his coffee table. He remembered so little of his time sunk in darkness, of both this time and with the Dark Kingdom. In himself, he could sense the potential to lose himself in that sweep of emotion, or that lack thereof. All he knew of it, when he tried to link it together, was emptiness. That wasn’t answer enough for him, or for her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, for a lack of anything else.
“I know,” she said faintly. “It’s just—it scared me.”
“You scared me, too. That’s the second time you’ve died in front of me,” he said quietly.
“I had to,” she said quickly, color rising on her cheeks. “I had to—“
“You push yourself too hard,” he said, hands fisting on his knees.
Leaning in towards him, she covered his hands with hers. “I have to,” she said. “It is our future.”
He raised his head, matching her gaze to gaze. “I can’t keep watching you die.”
A sad smile curved her mouth, slight and soft in the warm yellow light of his living room. “You sound like the girls. Did you compare notes?”
“It’s not funny,” he said roughly.
“I know,” she said, slipping off the couch to kneel before him. She was so small, so slight; and yet, she had power to save worlds. “But—we’ve seen it, Mamo-chan. We’ve seen our futures,” she said. Her fingertips skimmed his knuckles. “So, there’s at least a good chance we all make it there in one piece.”
He frowned. “You don’t know that. It’s malleable. Changeable. You can’t take risks just because you’ve seen a possible future.”
Now she laughed, a soft gentle sound. “Ami said that exact thing.”
“She’s right. We’re right. We can’t lose you,” he said fiercely. He wanted to say I; I can’t lose you, not again, but the words were lodged hard in his chest.
There was a heart-wrenching glassiness to her eyes, gaze wide and searching. “As long as I have you all at my side, I don’t think that will happen,” she said firmly.
He curled his fingers into hers. Sometimes she tucked herself inwards, with her concerns and her doubts. They were so aware and open with each other, and yet. His worries for her were burdens he wanted to keep off her shoulders. Her worries for him, for her friends—she bottled them up until it burst like a dam, and then she ran. She still ran from him, and that cut deeply.
“You’re going to tell me not to worry. That we’ve seen it all,” he said, suddenly weary.
Now she smiled, but her eyes were dead-set and serious. “I can hope so. But now—I don’t know,” she said simply.
He had nothing for her, except to rest his forehead to hers and tangle their fingers together. She kissed him, eyes open; everything open. She tugged him to the couch, where she finally fell asleep, her face tucked into his neck.
For a long time, he lay awake and watched the darkness curl through his cold apartment. He could feel the outline of her brooch against his ribs, the crystal there.
It was always there.
*
The clouds of dust and ash finally lifted from the delta, blue sky peeking out. The Outers disappeared into the sunshine, the baby Hotaru in Michiru’s arms. Before anyone could stop her, Usagi sprinted to chase after them. She went three steps, and then her knees buckled.
Before she hit the ground, he caught her, as he always did. She lay limp against his chest, breathing slow and faint. Her exhaustion curled through his veins, on top of his own; he had carried the burden of their daughter’s life for hours, and now he carried her, as he always would.
“Take her,” Venus said, weariness thick in her voice.
Swallowing hard, he glanced at Chibi-Usa. She smiled brightly through tearstained cheeks, and moved to stand with the Senshi. Mars tucked her hand into Chibi-Usa’s, a promise.
“We’ll get her back home. Take her,” Venus said again. The other Senshi formed a line behind her, nodding.
He left them there, stealing through the alleyways and rooftops of Tokyo, Usagi a dead weight in his arms. In his apartment, he lay her down in his bedroom and retreated to the living room. The taste of dust and ash and death stuck to his tongue and teeth. Somewhere between thinking of powering down and sitting down on his sofa, he fell asleep. He dreamed of death, a vortex of nothing; Usagi falling into it with a smile.
He woke up in darkness, a clear night settling over Tokyo. Usagi, a slip of pale skin and hair in the shadowy light, knelt next to him, her fingers touching his jaw. Immediately he sat up, his hand reaching for hers. She rose and tucked herself into the corner of his sofa, pressed to him shoulder to hip to thigh. Their hands lay loosely joined on his knee.
“It was awful,” she said shakily. Her hair fell loose from its buns, a thick cascade down her shoulders and back. It pooled between them, limp from hours of battle.
“What was?” he asked after a moment, mouth dry and sour.
“Pharaoh 90. The—it was death. It was terrible,” she murmured, staring straight ahead into the dimness. “Inside, it was just—nothing. Horrible, and vast.”
His stomach turned. You jumped, he wanted to say, frustration curling through his veins. You jumped with a smile. You jumped and left me behind.
“Don’t tell the girls,” she said softly. All he could see of her was the line of her nose and mouth in shadowed profile, the sweep of hair across her cheek. “It would kill them, and I—I made the choice.”
Hesitantly, he slipped his arm around her shoulders. All her muscles thrummed with tension and exhaustion. He could feel the misery tugging at her heart, a wound rooting deep in his chest. Her body sagged into his, her cheek pressing into his tuxedo shirt.
“It always comes back to me. Me, the crystal,” she said after the longest time of the two of them sitting in the darkness. “I had to do it.”
He turned his head, pressing his mouth to the top of her head. The smell of ash lingered between them as a reminder. He still couldn’t speak; what could he say, except don’t and please and I can’t watch it happen again. The crystal was her burden, as was the world and the lives here; their options shrank as the battle raged. They always did.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered after a moment, every word thick through her lips. “I wanted you to be the last one I saw, before—“
Dampness spread through his shirt, her shoulders shaking. It took a moment for him to realize that she was silently crying. For all her self-styled crybaby ways, she was so rarely weak like this, especially with him, with the girls. “It’s okay,” he murmured softly, his mouth soft at the top of her brow. “It’s okay,” he repeated over and over, as her body rattled and she fit herself tightly against his side, her tears soaking down to his skin.
She fell apart, and he pieced her together; just as she did him.
It was the only power he had left for her, and it was one he would always give.
*