Thank you all for reading! It's been a while since my last fic but I like the quiet nature of this one. I hope you do as well. 
Thank you to Sailor Venus for the prompt.
The Odds Considered
Usagi meets him when she is fourteen. She does not mean for it to happen, does not see how any of it could possibly make
sense, but it happens nonetheless. She is dressed in her middle school uniform, the one with the shirt that is a little too short for her and always (annoyingly) rides up whenever she is stretching from a much needed yawn or reaching for the last daifuki bun Mama has hidden atop the refrigerator. Her school bag is tucked beneath one arm and with her right hand she has just balled up her latest test paper and chucked it with grand fashion behind her. This is a regular routine for Usagi. She is sure that if garbage cans could talk, (who is to say they cannot? Grownups do not know
everything) that the entire community of them would gather together to discuss the abhorring state of Usagi's test scores. They probably mock her handwriting as well.
Usagi huffs at the thought. She is about to take refuge to the nearest game center (or café) but then a voice interrupts her thoughts, a baffled explanation of syllables laced within deep undertones.
Usagi peers cautiously over her shoulder at the stranger.
She cannot decide if he looks utterly ridiculous or shamefully handsome in his elaborate and pristine tuxedo, large shades perched upon his nose. But she does not have a moment to consider the two because he is speaking again, and
insulting her no less, and Usagi is in front of him immediately, snatching the pathetic mess of paper from his hands.
It is a brief exchange of physical contact. But Usagi notices the warmth of his skin, the crisp breadth of his suit coat, the dark length of his lashes that peak out from beneath his sunglasses.
He is arrogant and distant but he is also a tall statue of maturity, and Usagi is too small for her age and loud and childish and lacks any ability to properly compose herself in front of him.
She lets out a shrill insult, which he seems to find quite amusing, and then turns on her heel and stalks off.
Usagi thinks that she will never see him again, and even though she tries to convince herself
good riddance, she somehow cannot swallow past those unnerving feelings of regret when she does not bump into the next day, or the day after that.
But then two weeks later he takes a seat beside her on the bus and Usagi gives him half of her meat bun and he doesn't comment on her hair, simply asks if they might meet again.
Usagi thinks, somewhere in the distant faded parts of her mind, that this, whatever
this is, will never become anything.
.
.
They meet on weekdays, after school. They walk down the city streets in areas they are sure that Usagi’s companions do not frequent. He smiles as she talks and follows the elated gestures she makes with her fingers when she is excited and chuckles when she loses her balance (repeatedly) and falls against his shoulder.
Usagi likes the press of his hands when he steadies her.
.
.
It is a Saturday morning when Rei catches them. They are standing outside a florist shop at a street corner when she appears suddenly, startling Usagi who turns very red at Rei’s unannounced intrusion.
Rei-chan –The older girl just eyes the two of them with calculated suspicion, lingering on Mamoru a little too long, before continuing on her way.
.
.
How could I have never known? Usagi remarks, faintly, lifting the thin delicate mask before his eyes. She is standing only a foot in front of him, and the apartment is too warm in the summer heat. She can feel the glow of the waning sun, even as it creeps behind the cityscape, pouring its dying rays through the apartment window, spilling against Usagi's bare ankles.
Mamoru curls his fingers around her wrist. He lowers her hand slightly but does not remove his fingers, simply focuses on the pulse point shuddering erratically beneath his skin.
Does it matter? He asks.
She shakes her head. The pale wisp of hair in front of her left ear brushes across her cheek.
No. .
.
Usagi lays on the flat of her back, the prickling grass poking at the thin sensitive patch of skin behind her knees. Despite Mamoru’s well-intended warnings, Usagi has insisted on staring up into the clouds, amidst the glaring sun, so that she may name and describe every fluffy and animorphigus shape to him in great detail.
He sits beside her, long legs folded and a book resting upon one knee as he reads quietly to himself. His left hand has found its way to the long curve of her hair, which splays around her shoulders and against his thigh and he has absentmindedly threaded those skillful fingers through mused strands of tangled hair.
Tell me the name of any animal and I can find it. Usagi announces.
The tip of one finger edges closer to her hair line at the nape of her neck. It prods slightly, scraping against her scalp.
Hm, he muses, eyes still settled upon the book resting below his gaze.
Usagi scrunches her eyes, pushes against that heady feeling that ripples through her stomach and twitches inside her chest.
That’s not a name. …Fox. He says after some time.
Usagi purses her lips in concentration, partially because she is trying to discover this new creature and
more so because Mamoru’s large hand has cupped the back of her head, cradling it in his palm. Her brain fractures a little.
Uhm, there isn’t -He kisses her.
.
.
Tuxedo Kamen, look out! The cry rips from Sailor Moon’s throat too late and in a flash of scorching heat the youma’s attack barrels its way into the man before her.
Sailor Moon’s tiara is in her hand instantly, its warm energy flooding through the sinews of her veins. She sweeps her arm back and out in a graceful arch, and the youma lets out a shrill scream that pierces through the thick cloak of nightfall. The smell of smoldering ash and flesh fills Sailor Moon’s nostrils; her stomach lurches.
Panic crawls up the center of her back, stretching out like thin spindly fingers beneath her skin, because Tuxedo Kamen is on his knees, hat charred on the ground a few paces away and she wonders whose flesh is still burning, the thought causing a rise of hysteria to bubble in her throat.
She is crying, which she knows is foolish because certainly injuries are frequent to happen when battling supernatural
inhuman beings,
do happen, on far too many occasions. She has seen Tuxedo Kamen injured before, has seen him bleed, has bled herself. But somehow the knowledge that this is
Mamoru before her, reduced to his knees, one white gloved hand clutching at his shoulder, is absolutely terrifying to her.
She whispers the name,
Mamoru-kun, and suddenly she cannot stop trembling.
She falls to her knees and puts her hands on either side of his body, one against his neck and the other above the hand gripping his own shoulder.
I'm sorry, she manages, her voice shaking and weak. Her throat closes up.
I don't know what to do. She puts her face close to his because she needs to feel his intake of air, its release, to know that she is allowing the fear within her to twist rational thought into paranoia. His glove is soaked in blotchy red stains that bloom deeper and spill down the skin of his exposed wrist.
Usa, he rasps, voice tight, labored. He lifts his head, finally.
It's, I'm alright --Sailor Moon! The voice cuts through the cold air, sharp and fierce. Tuxedo Kamen jerks and Sailor Moon turns her head in startled alarm behind her. The warmth beneath her fingers vanishes and Tuxedo Kamen is gone.
Sailor Moon goes cold.
What are you--Someone jerks her up by her elbow. She staggers to her feet and Sailor Mars is before her, mouth set in a firm tight line and her face burning with the flames lurking beneath her flesh.
What is wrong
with you? Are you mad? He is our enemy!
Sailor Moon cannot pull her eyes away from the ground past Mars's shoulder.
He was right there, she hears herself say.
Sailor Jupiter is panting behind her and Venus is saying something to Mars and Sailor Moon can feel Mercury's presence, quiet and soft beside her.
Something snaps in Mars's eyes, Sailor Moon recognizes it although she cannot
see it really -
Mars slaps her, hard, across the face and Sailor Moon reels back.
Jupiter is at Sailor Moon’s side instantly, her strong body pressed against the younger girl's. She stretches out one long arm in front of the smaller senshi's chest, a barrier between the threatening Mars and Sailor Moon.
Don't do that again, her voice is low in warning, eyes slitted beneath furrowed brows.
Venus steps beside Mars, places a hand on her companion's arm and murmurs something soft by her ear. Mars does not cease the treacherous glare directed to Sailor Moon but her shoulders relax, slightly, the tension slowly dimming from taunt muscles.
It is very quiet. Luna and Artemis shift uneasily by the senshi’s booted ankles.
She understands, says Mercury, calm and gentle, a reassuring balm to Sailor Moon's frayed and unraveling nerves. She gives Mars a careful nod of acknowledgement, turns to Jupiter, fingers hovering by the girl's shoulder blades.
It's alright. Luna’s voice disturbs the tense silence, her voice not so harsh but still a steady source of leadership.
We should go now. That battle must surely have attracted attention and none of us should be here when people start to inquire what has happened. They part ways, slowly, Venus with Mars and Artemis who follows, Mercury trailing after Jupiter’s strong determined gait. Luna lingers by Usagi’s side as she too eventually makes her leave.
They are quiet most of the way back, Luna speaking on occasion, gently trying to placate Usagi into understanding the levity of the situation, Tuxedo Kamen, the masked stranger who seeks to jeopardize their mission. Usagi nods, sighs resignedly but does not object. When they reach their doorstep Usagi asks if Luna might let her alone for the evening.
I’m alright, Luna, Usagi assures her,
I’m just-- tired, I need to think for a bit, yes? It is clear by her hesitation that the feline is uncomfortable with Usagi’s decision; but she obliges respectfully.
Rei-- she didn't mean it, Usagi-chan, Luna offers softly.
There is no resentment in Usagi's eyes, if there ever was at all. She gives her companion a small smile.
Hai, she murmurs,
I know. Oyasumi, Luna-chan. .
.
It seems as if the world has fallen asleep, breathing together in peaceful unison, living as they do in their blissful unawareness. The breeze teases against her window and through the branches that scratch gently against the slats of her home. She curves onto her side, staring at the gold pocket watch on her bed stand, the way the little strands of the chain flicker in the dim moonlight.
Behind her something stirs at the window. She hears the tiny click of the lock and then a warm push of air pools against the nape of her neck. There is a give of the mattress, a hesitation and then he settles beside her, the sweet taste of flushed summer heat and fresh shampoo nudging her senses.
Usagi's lips press in a small smile and for a moment she does not move, just waits. Then she turns onto her other side, facing him fully. She tucks her hand beneath her pillow.
He is on his side, stretched out beside her on the narrow mattress, above the sheets.
Usagi is quiet for a while, simply content to listening to him breathe, to see the faint rise and fall of his chest. He watches her passively, his gaze never lingering elsewhere but her own.
He has closed the window back up behind him and so it is all very still. Usagi wonders if it is his heartbeat that she hears or her own. She notices the way his hair falls around his ear, the slight curl one strand of hair makes around his earlobe, the fine path of his eyebrows and the dark press of eyelashes against his skin.
Usagi slips one hand beneath her cheek.
Luna thinks it bad for me to see you anymore. She says softly.
She thinks that you’re our enemy. He acknowledges this comment with a small slow flicker of his eyelids.
What do you think? He asks.
I know what our enemies are like. I know what they’re capable of. You’re not like them. You don’t think I am capable of the same? Usagi shakes her head.
Luna says those things because she doesn’t know you. A shadow passes over Mamoru’s eyes, for a moment, but Usagi sees it, watches it fade.
And you do? He asks, his tone still soft.
Usagi nods at this, shifting slightly on her pillow, closer to him.
I do. He seems terribly pained for a moment, the lines at the corner of his eyes deepening, the small grimace that twists his mouth.
But how can you know? I don’t even know myself. She lays her hand by his face, not touching, but her fingers curl inward slightly, by his cheek.
I know you, I do. I don’t know how but I feel it, in some way that I know doesn’t make sense but still – she struggles with this a bit and he watches her, brows raising slightly.
He places his hand aside hers, palm down.
What will your friends think when they find out? His tone is less strained now, the subject changed. He gauges her reaction with darkened eyes.
The corner of Usagi’s mouth tugs. She feels warm and relaxed despite the topic being broached.
I suspect that they will not be happy. He regards her with a tilt of his chin, something of amusement flickers across his face.
You’ll see me despite their objections. She bites the inside of her cheek.
Would you stop seeing me even if they said no? she asks very softly.
He laces his fingers through her own, finally.
No. His voice is firm despite his gentle touch.
I would not.
It all seems very familiar, this, although Usagi cannot tell why. She thinks that the odds must certainly be against them, and that too seems familiar.
Usagi pushes away the thought, it’s too
difficult now.
Mamoru’s eyes have fallen closed, his breathing slow and somehow comforting. After a moment Usagi allows her eyes to close as well, focuses on the damp warm feeling of his breath against her mouth every time he exhales.
It doesn’t matter, she thinks, distantly, sleep laying claim to her senses.
Even against the odds. 
Subject: The Odds Considered -- Jupi's fanfic 
30th April 2012, 4:13 pm
