Tears that Moved Him
A first season Bishojou Senshi Sailormoon fanstory by Arashinobara Jikkankakyoku
A/N: Kon'wa! Jikkan-chan desu, ara, I mean here. Arashi-chan's letting me do the posting, which means I get the Author's Notes all to myself and Socrates, hehehehe.
…Of course, I'm too wimpy/nice to do anything nefarious--how boring of me, ne? Speaking of boring, the disclaimer is in our profile--so I'll just take this opportunity to embarrass my darling little sister with some mush:
You make me write, and by that coercion you have given me back my soul. Daisuki, imouto-chan.
I came upon her crying one day.
It was by pure chance, and I will never forget the pitiful sight that greeted me when I turned down an alley to investigate the keening, slightly muffled sobs that reached my ears as I passed it.
She was huddled next to a rusting trash can overflowing with spoiled food and used cellophane wrap, slender body shaking spasmodically as she cried her sweet, gentle heart out. Her hair was coming out of its buns; the ends of her long ponytails were soiled with dirt and grease from the alley floor. Her school uniform was in a likewise lamentable condition, slim shoulders showing through a torn blouse. I don't even know where her skirt was.
That wasn't all, though.
There was a man standing over her, laughing.
Laughing at her pain.
Her humiliation.
Her loss.
I moved quickly, so quickly I didn't think it was possible, even with the enhanced speed that came with being Tuxedo Kamen. One moment he was cackling, the next he was choking under my grip as I held him dangling several inches above the ground before slamming him cruelly against the wall. There was an audible crack as something broke.
I made a sound remarkably like a cat being stepped on as I snarled why did you do this what have you done if you've done anything else I shall fucking kill you!
A distressed whimper from behind me softened my features as I spared a thought for the poor girl in question. Tightening my grip on her assailant's throat, however, I used my other hand to conjure a rose, heedless of the consequences in my blind rage. It helped that I was cast in shadow; all that was visible was my hand and the white cuff of a dress shirt.
Using the sharp tip to carve a bloody cross on his cheek, not too deep, just enough to scar, I threw him away from me, telling him to run and enjoy life while you can because I'll find you and when I do you'll regret ever resting eyes on her….
Hearing him stumble away, coughing and crying shamelessly, I turned my attention to her. Eyes a lighter, more crystalline blue than mine looked up at me, terrified beyond belief.
Mamoru-san she said weakly, limbs trembling as she tried to hide herself from my eyes. She shuddered sharply, beginning to sob in earnest, begging me help me please Mamoru…
It's okay, I answered, feeling grief well up in me. It's going to be okay. I shrugged off my jacket, wrapped her in it to protect her modesty and lifted her up in my arms. If the situation hadn't had me near-hysterical myself, I would have laughed at the look Motoki shot me as I barrelled through the automatic doors of the Crown Fruit Parlour, babbling something about how I don't care about secret identities or that roses are a wussy weapon because I'm going to use his throat as a vase and his eyes for fixtures.
When he had led me into the employees-only lounge, I put her down and had turned to leave when Motoki attempted to stop me. I simply reacted, punching him squarely in the face, and I think it was either the sound of his nose breaking, or the sight of his blood cascading down his face and dripping onto his apron, that brought me back. Wordlessly, I touched his nose, ignoring his oath as I straightened it, and healed it with my psychometry, golden sparks dancing from me to him.
Motoki glared at me, one hand lifting to hold the still-tender organ. Where the hell were you going? he asked furiously. You're just going to bring her in and leave her? Tuxedo Kamen or not, you don't have the right to treat her that way, he hissed in an undertone.
I fixed him with a contemptuous look. I'm going to kill the bastard who did it. And Tuxedo Kamen is going to help.
His gaze was equally scathing, if not more so. And leave her alone? Bakayarou.
All my rage seemed to drain away with the last of my adrenaline, leaving me with nothing but exhaustion. My shoulders slumped and I sank down next to her. She was sleeping now, and I brushed a few strands of golden hair out of her face. She looks so peaceful.
Motoki's expression was unreadable. Stay with her.
I paused, remembering the guy who'd done it. His pain and the crunch he made as I slammed him against the wall. It frightened me to know I wanted to feel and hear that again. Shuddering, I nodded jerkily and my best friend left, leaving me to swallow the bile rising in my throat even as I stroked her hair absently, thoughts whirring.
I don't know how many hours my vigil lasted, or how many times I thought of breaking that damn asshole's face, neck, back, nose…
But all thoughts of violence vanished as I heard a sweet, clear voice. It was weak and tremulous, but it was hers.
Mamoru-san?
I turned to her. Did he do anything else to you?
Looking blankly at me before her face filled with sudden understanding, she shook her head, and relief so profound and deep I wanted to cry washed over me. I leaned over, probably surprising myself the most, and gave her a firm hug. When we broke apart, eyes the colour of a summer sky looked seriously at me.
Mamoru-san?
Hai…?
Thank you. She looked shyly down at my jacket, which was still draped over her tiny frame. Arigatou gozaimasu.
My lips curved into a grin.
You're very welcome. I reached over to take her hand. Do itamashite.
But it's not nothing, Mamoru-san, she said, taking my hand into both of her tiny ones. You saved me from something… horrible. The sky in her eyes grew clouded for a moment before she shook them off. And my friends from committing manslaughter. She tried to grin back at me; it almost worked.
You would praise me for doing my duty?
Your duty, Mamoru-san? How is saving me a duty?
The duty of any who would look in the mirror and dare call himself a decent man, I murmured.
She blinked, looking startled. That was never in question, Mamoru-san.
What happened to 'Mamoru-baka'? I joked feebly. Sounds like it was, on more than one occasion.
She smiled shakily. Hai, but that's simply because you were a complete jerk. 'Odango Atama' indeed!
I thought it was cute, I drawled. Besides, it's the most acceptable nickname I've come up with.
Her face scrunched up into a disgruntled pout. There are more? And 'cute' is one word I never thought I'd ever hear out of your mouth, Mamoru-san.
That's only because I'd sound like a girl if I said something stupid like that, I replied, feeling a little embarrassed. I guess it must have showed on my face, because she smiled, a true smile that put me at ease.
That was never in question, either, she muttered.
My eyebrows shot up in surprise, and I smirked when she realised I'd overheard. I watched with detached interest and a grin as she flushed a dull red. I like that colour on you, Odango. It looks like you've got some sweet sauce with the dumplings.
Urusai, she grumbled, but smiled at me again. Demo…arigatou, Mamoru-san.
I merely squeezed her fingers by way of answer, and smiled, putting all thoughts of vengeance out of my mind for the time being. Maybe, just maybe, there would be less yelling and fighting in Motoki's arcade. Then again, where would the fun be?
As Motoki poked his head back in to inquire about her well-being, I made a catty remark, to which she retorted waspishly, and our truce deteriorated into our trademark near-incoherent bickering. The bite had gone out of it, though, and as I grinned mockingly at her, Motoki sweatdropping in the background, I knew I wouldn't want it any other way.