Here's chapter 2!  I hope you all enjoy!  You may notice I introduce two
men I hold close to my heart:  Forceful Mamo-chan and Nurse Mamo-chan!
Aren't they lovely?  And for the low low price of 3 easy payments of
$39.95, you can rent one of these lovely Mamo-clones!  Lines are open and
operators are standing by:  salaices@stanford.edu   :)

-...-  indicate thought

Disclaimer:  I own nothing!  nothing!


:)Lilac Summers

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For Want of Sleep

Part 2

  The water was a pool of cool, placid blue that was the antithesis
to everything that was writhing inside her.  The sunlight hit the
water just right, so when she looked into the clear depths she could
see down down down... The glasslike surface deepened into a mist-soft
blue, then aqua, then navy as it edged towards black.

  The color of his eyes during intense emotion.

  The color of his eyes when he held her.

  It was fitting that she should stand on this dock, where they had
spent innumerable happy times before.  That's what she'd wanted, to
grasp onto the emotions that some say permeate places.  If horror can
seep into a house to haunt it, can not then happiness seek its own
resting place?  If so, then this dock would surely be haunted by
happiness.

  Usagi desperately needed to recapture some happiness, and if she
feared going directly to her Mamo-chan for comfort, feared dragging
him down with her, then maybe she could filch a memory from this place
to warm herself with.

  -There-, she told herself, -is where we went out on that little
rowboat.  And on this very dock Chibi-Usa fell on my head.-  A smile
edged her lips at the memory.  It seemed like so very long ago.
Right now, Chibi-Usa was home, with nobody to play with since
Hotaru...

  And along with Hotaru came the recollection of the entire hellish
event.  It clawed at her, wanting to get out from where she had so
carefully stored it, to keep everyone safe...but there it was now,
waiting for her if she closed her eyes for even a second.  Even when
she blinked, little flashes of horror would taunt her in the brief
darkness.

  Lately, even when she didn't close her eyes it still lingered, the
entire event imprinted in her mind in all its wondrous color, its
scents, its sounds.  Screaming screaming screaming...and then the
pain began...

  A fine trembling took hold of her body as her consciousness fought
her subconscious back.  But enough had escaped in that brief moment
to drop her to her knees, dangerously close to the pier's edge.  She
needed only to look down to see her reflection in the dark blue
depths.  The water suddenly seemed so inviting, promising cool comfort
and deep oblivion.  If it would drown the pictures in her head...one
hand reached tentatively down, straining towards the water.  Just a few
more inches and she'd be engulfed in blue...like his eyes.

  Like his eyes.

  Her trembling increased so she shook so fiercely her joints started
to ache in protest.  Yes, the water was like his eyes.  She could
drown in them.  That's what drew her back from a dangerous edge she
hadn't even known she stood at.  His eyes would be sad, disappointed
if she embraced the relief the placid lake promised.

  She had to be strong.  She had to survive this and live to make it
up to Chibi-Usa, to Hotaru, to the Inner and Outer Senshi...to her
Mamo-chan.  So that they never knew what she had seen.

  She scrambled to her feet and forced herself to back away.  It was
a slow, pained process; the water still called to her in the way death
had called to her only once before, long ago on the moon, when her
prince had been taken from her.

  Finally, when a good ten meters stretched between her and the water,
she turned on her heel and ran.

~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~~

  He'd followed her, of course.  Sometimes he thought his life was made
of two phases: when he was with her, and when he trailed after
her.  Everything between those two phases was an indistinct,
unimportant blur.

  When she stopped at "their" dock, he was not surprised.  He often
came here to think, too.  He leaned against a tree, taking refuge in
its shadow as he studied the weary line of her back.  She stood close
to the edge, drawn upon herself as if she were cold.  Again he gently
reached out, feeling along the shimmering cord of their connection.
Just when he thought he might actually reach her and share in her
emotions, as he was so used to doing, he bumped into an invisible
wall.  That was the easiest way he could describe it, but, in truth, it
was more as if warm hands halted his progress, then turned him around
and gently pushed him back as if to say, "you're not welcome.  Come back
some other day."  Relentlessly he tried and tried again, gritting his
teeth against the frustrated ache blooming inside him.  Why didn't she
let him in?  Didn't she know that it hurt him, like a physical pain,
having to stand back, not having a complete connection?

  But of course she didn't.  She was not as attuned to their connection,
whereas he had carefully cultivated it during his lonely years, relying
on it like a safety blanket, treasuring the sense of belonging to
someone.  Sometimes he took her constant company for granted, until the
connection was banked and then he stumbled around like the half-people
Plato spoke of: lumbering, foolish, bumbling two-legged beings, always
searching for the other half that would make them a perfect sphere once
again.

  Well, he'd found his other half, and he had no intention of letting
her go.  Ever.

  She had never attempted to hide herself from him, and that was what
alarmed him most of all.  In instances of great emotion, he felt her
so acutely the emotions practically became his.  If she'd never
bothered hiding those...why would she start now?  All he was left with
was a muffled sense of unease, and the stirrings of despair that
managed to leak through.

  He reached out again, actively pushing against whatever flimsy
barrier she had subconsciously constructed.  Just then he saw her fall
to her knees, and instantly abandoned his attempt.  In a panic he raced
towards her, to come to an uncertain halt when he saw her reaching
towards the water.  Had she dropped something?

  He observed her as she strained forward, an uneasy fear building
up  his throat as he noticed how close she was to the pier's edge.
This  time when he reached out, he did so slowly, cautiously, sneaking
along his link to her like a stealthy shadow.  His patience was
rewarded when he caught the fleeting sensation of...  wistfulness?
Wistfulness for what?   He knew the answer had to be vitally important!

  He managed to step back into the shadow of the tree when she
abruptly stood up and ran from the pier.  His eyes followed her
figure till she rounded a curve on the path, then he strode
forward.  There he stood,  one hand absently rubbing the spot above
his heart where he missed  her  the most.  If he expected to find
whatever she'd dropped into  the water floating on the lake, he was
disappointed.

  Nothing marred the surface of the lake save his reflection, looking
back at him from blue, blue depths.

  Blue like her eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The brush bit through the heavy length of her hair, running
to the tips in a smooth motion and the soothing sound of bristles
against silk.

  Usagi sat facing her reflection in front of her small vanity,
not quite seeing herself as she automatically brushed her hair.
Years of practice had made her movements deft at handling the
unbelievable length of her hair.  The brush would start at her
scalp, then run down the yards of marigold-yellow before releasing
at the curling tips.  And the process would start all over again.

  Top to bottom.  Top to bottom.  Over and over till her hair
practically crackled with the built up static.

  It was a mindless task, and had, in her exhausted state, lulled
Usagi into a dreamy drowsiness.  She didn't even notice she had
been working on the same section of hair until her heavy limbs
shifted and the brush accidentally moved to a section she had
previously ignored.  In her half-awake state, she didn't pause to
think about what a smooth downward motion would do on tangled hair,
and before she was even aware of it she was recoiling in pain,
desperately awake as the pulling in her hair increased.

  With an almost furious motion she ripped the brush from the tangle,
tears prickling her eyes as the brush took with it long strands of
hair, payment for being so cruelly treated.  She brought the brush
before her with some half-formed intent of cleaning the hair from
its bristles, but her limbs seemed to have a completely different
purpose.  Before distant eyes, she watched herself in the mirror
as her arm arched back and viciously threw the brush behind her.
Then her eyes closed, blocking out the strange girl who looked back
at her from the mirror, and she waited for the satisfying sound of
heavy brush against plaster.

It never came.

  "Usako."

  She whirled, hands flying to her mouth to stifle a startled yelp.
Chagrined, she noticed the brush caught firmly in one of
Tuxedo Mask's white-gloved hands.

  "Mamo-chan!  Wh--What are you doing here?"

  He didn't answer her, instead choosing to observe her quietly as
he let the brush drop silently to the bed.  As if coming to a
decision, he moved towards her.

  She couldn't help it; she edged away, feeling the sharp corner
of the vanity press into her back.

  The move stopped him instantly, and she could sense his mounting
frustration as he pulled one hand through his hair.  "Why do you
keep doing that?!" he demanded.

  She forced her back straight.  "What?"

  "You *know* what!" he almost snarled, "pulling away from me!"
As if to prove his point, he moved closer, and she inched back
again in her seat. "See?!"

  She flinched, knowing full-well his anger was deserved, but
unable to explain why she was keeping him at a physical, and
emotional distance.  "I'm not doing anything!" she denied.

  "Aren't you?!" He stripped off a glove and reached for her hand
before she even knew what he intended, then hung on tightly when
she tried to pull it away.  With this stronger, physical
connection, he pushed at their link, grimacing in angry
disappointment as her barrier stayed firm.

  He opened his eyes to catch Usagi looking at him wide-eyed, and
couldn't help but resent that she didn't even *know* what she was
doing.  She didn't have a clue that, beyond keeping him at a physical
distance, she was also muffling their link, and that it *hurt* him.

  He'd sunk to his knees before her, and now he let go of her hand,
letting his head drop dejectedly down onto her lap.  "You have to
tell me what's wrong," he moaned.

  Usagi sat in perfect stillness, fighting the urge to keep it all
inside.  The look on his face had been on of...despair.  Agony.
As if he hurt.

  She didn't want to hurt her Mamo-chan.

  She reached out to touch his hair, to run her fingers along the
rich ebony.  His head lay heavy and warm against her thighs and
she wished she could....she wished so desperately for so many
things.  Surely just running her fingers soothingly through his
hair would be all right.  Just once.

  Her fingers reached out to do just that, and at that instant
a little anxious voice entered her mind.  -Don't do it.  He'll
know...he's going to know.  And *that* will really hurt him.  This
is nothing; don't be weak!-

  Her hand fell back to her side.

  "Nothing," she said, a dry exhalation of breath, "nothing is
wrong."

  He raised his head and Usagi had to fight not to shrivel under
that sad, dejected gaze.  "Don't.  Just *don't* lie to me."

  She looked away, to the side, to her lap, anywhere but him.

  She heard the rustling of his cape as he stood from his position
before her, sensed how he stood to look down on her bowed head.
"So be it," he murmured, the words sounding alarmingly like a
threat to Usagi's ears.

  He'd leave her now, disappointed in her.  Before, she would have
chased after him, ready to do just about anything to erase that
impression of her.  But now it was best.  Yes, it was for the
best that he give up on her altogether.  She was so dangerously near to
dragging him into madness with her.

  She heard him move towards the window by the bed, but continued
to stare at her lap, blinking back tears as her silent pleas went
unvoiced and unheeded.  -don't go don't go don't go don't go-

  When she didn't hear him step through the window, she raised
her eyes, then jerked back in surprise to find him standing right
before her, the bed's blanket in his arms.

  As she mulled this unforeseen development over, he had time to
throw the blanket around her shoulders and wrap it securely around
her.  She was in his arms before she knew what had happened.

  "What?!" she finally managed, "I...what are you...Mamo-chan!"
Her voice became more panicked as he moved towards the window, his
intent finally clear.  "Mamo-chan!  NO!  Wait...my parents.
Mamo-chan,  I can't go anywhere!  MAMO-CHAN, I know my mother was
planning on checking up on me!"

  If she thought her protests were falling on deaf ears, she was
mistaken.  In a move that alarmed her more than the alternative,
he had turned and was striding confidently towards her bedroom
door.

  She could only whimper at what this meant.  He was going to walk
out the front door!  "My parents..." she came as close to a true
wail as possible in the past few days.

  A nerve-wrackingly short amount of time later, Tuxedo Mask was down
the stairs and stepping into the family room, a bundled-up,
red-faced Usagi in his arms.

  "Mr. Tsukino, Mrs. Tsukino," greeted Tuxedo Mask in a properly
somber voice.  He had to wait till Usagi's parents' eyes had
unglazed from shock.  Shingo, her little brother, was close to
turning blue from lack of air.  Chibi-Usa stared at them
in horror.

  Ikuko's eyes fluttered from her daughter to the superhero
holding her, from her daughter to the superhero holding her, from
her..."Yes?"  She was grateful she'd been able to achieve even
that one word, being as near to cardiac arrest as she was.

  "I'm borrowing Usagi-san for a while.  The Senshi and I need
her expert opinion about the latest attack.  I'm sorry this is
so abrupt.  Please be assured the Senshi will take very good care
of her for the next few days."

  Kenji had only attached himself to the one most improbable phrase
in that speech.  "Expert opinion?!"

  Tuxedo Mask nodded, shifting Usagi's slight weight closer and
enjoying the baffled looks from her family.  Usagi continued to
remain mute, finally burrowing her head on his shoulder to keep
from goggling at him and the improbable excuse.

  "Yes, sir.  Usagi-san's input is always invaluable to us.  Now,
if you'll excuse us, the Senshi team are impatiently waiting for
her return."

  He purposely left before they could process everything, exiting
into the cool night air.  Usagi's parents remained frozen in the living
room, trying to unravel key phrases like "Senshi need Usagi" and "expert
opinion" and "few days."  Tuxedo Mask continued to walk down the driveway,
pausing only long enough to grin at the enthusiastic "THAT WAS SO COOL!"
that finally escaped from Shingo's numb brain. loud enough to be heard
outside.

  Usagi finally spoke up, awed amazement clear in her voice.  "I
can't believe you just did that."

  He looked down at her and she peered back from the pink confines
of her blanket.  His grin was a quick flash of white teeth in the
darkness.  "I've always wanted to be able to take you out the
front door.  Hell, I bet even Shingo will revere you for the
next few weeks."

  The emotion welled up quick and thick in her chest, and she
surprised them both--but most of all herself--when her laughter
rang out freely into the night.

  It seemed like the first time she had laughed in a long, long
time.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~

He carried her through the balcony doors.  A mimicry of carrying
his beloved over the threshold, he thought.  He couldn't remember how many
times he'd done this, from times when she'd been injured or distressed, to
times when it seemed they simply couldn't be alone fast enough and he'd
rushed from rooftop to rooftop, a giggling Usagi in his arms.  Each time,
that thought always came to him, a presage of joys to come...Usagi in his
arms, finally together as they were so denied long ago.

  But she wasn't giggling now.  The amusement that had brightened her eyes
after the little escapade in her parents' house had faded degree by
degree.  Somewhere along the trip she had seemed to remind herself to
withdraw.

  This time, when he entered his bedroom she scrambled out of his arms,
almost tripping over the trailing ends of the blanket in her haste to get
away.  He felt her rejection like a physical blow, and staggered under it
till he was forced to lean against the wall or collapse from the pain.

  Usagi turned her back to him, gripping the blanket around her like a
shield against the perpetual chill.  She felt cold almost constantly now,
both in and out.  She needed to be alone.  She could feel the tendrils of
cold reaching out to Mamo-chan, seeking out his heat.  In his arms it had
been a constant battle not to burrow close, to have him take the chill
away.  But she was afraid that the cold would be too much, would overpower
even her Mamo-chan, and taint him.

  She'd rather freeze than hurt him.  Than hurt any of them.

"Usako."

  She clenched the blanket tighter.

"Usako."

  Steeling herself, she turned to look at him.

  "You'll tell me what's wrong," he said, looking alarmingly confident as
he lounged in his tuxedo by the wall.  It was not a request.

  "Nothing's wrong...I'm tired is all."  It was only half a lie.

  He straightened from the wall, and she did not see the hand he kept
braced against it, as if readying himself for another rejection.  "Then
come here."

  Her heart began to beat in rapid, panicked beats.  "What?"

  "If nothing's wrong, come here," he repeated, voice rough and eyes dark.

  "W--why?"

  His fist clenched at his side, and this she did notice.  He fought a
bitter battle for control amongst emotions ranging from despair to fury to
fear.  "Since when have we needed a reason to be together?" he asked
harshly.

  She could do this, she told herself.  He wouldn't let it go until she
convinced him nothing was wrong.  Five halting steps brought her to him,
and she stood her ground as he reached for her with hands that shook.

  He gathered her close, closing his eyes--either in gratitude or relief
that she had come to him--as her arms crept tentatively around his waist.
He held her as tight as he could without bruising her, exulting in the
feel of her heartbeat against him.

  His warmth snaked around her, temporarily chasing away the cold and she
had so longed for it to do.  She was half-drugged by his tenderness,
punchy from lack of sleep, exhausted as the cold left her limbs...and too
weak to hold back the salty tears that she'd been keeping at bay all
night.

  He felt them against his chest...what's more, he felt them in his heart
at the weakening of the walls she'd constructed around their link.  "Will
you finally tell me?  Will you let me in?"

  She wanted to, dear god, she wanted to so badly.  She teetered on the
brink between denial and acquiescence for what seemed an eternity, and
just when her heart was winning the battle, her brain delivered the coup.

  An image, a memory, of blood and screams and death.  The cold smacked
her aware like a blow from a sledgehammer.

  Suddenly she was gone from his arms, stumbling away from him and leaving
him with nothing but frigid air.  His cry of anguish was almost feral as
he went after her, knowing she'd been so close and that something had
pulled her back.  Away from him.

  She ran to the bathroom, locking the door against him and dropping to
the floor as the memories and the fear and the wanting fought within her.
Then she crawled on hands and knees to climb into the dry tub, settling
into a corner as a refugee might settle into a boat cast adrift.  Her arms
found their way around her knees, holding tight as she began to rock in an
effort to find comfort.

  She distantly noticed the pounding on the door and Mamoru's voice,
asking, begging, demanding she open the door.  Then there was a crash and
there were warm hands around her as he lifted her gently from the tub,
cradling her like a child.  He brushed his lips against her forehead, a
butterfly touch that distracted her enough to catch his words, but not
the panicked concern driving them.

"All right.  You don't have to tell me, but I'll find a way to make it
okay.  This *will* stop."

She wished it would.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The cup of hot cocoa steamed gently; she could hardly tear her eyes away
from the dancing shapes the steam painted in its wake.  She'd been settled
on the couch like a child, tucked in and ordered not to move.  She
wondered if she should resent the idea of being coddled like an invalid.
Or maybe enjoy all the attention?  She did neither, but stare at the hot
steam and try to control her emotions so that there wouldn't be another
breakdown like the one before.  That was too dangerous; she had been too
close to giving in.

  "You're supposed to drink it, not watch it cool, Usako," his voice was
gentle now, as if afraid he'd break her again.

  She contented herself with warming her hands on the warm cup.  "I'm not
thirsty."

  "Drink it.  You need something in you, you've lost weight."  And though
gentle still, there was no mistaking the steely edge underneath.

  "I'm not..."

  "Either you drink it, or I make you drink it."

  She drank.  A little errant piece of a mutinous Usagi, buried somewhere
deep, would have protested just for the argument of it.  Her current
shell, however, couldn't seem to dredge up the energy to care.

  He watched her like a hawk across the coffee table.  Deciding he could
not treat the disease just yet, he'd resolved to treat the symptoms.  She
*would* eat, and she *would* sleep.  Just a few days had passed since the
Pharaoh 90 event, yet she'd lost weight quickly, and the fatigue dragged
down on her movements so that each was carefully languid, as if she strove
to make the sluggishness seem like a choice instead of a necessity.

  He was frantic with worry now.  He should have noticed sooner, he
chastised himself.  But when he'd seen her after the battle, alive and
relatively unscathed, the relief overwhelmed him completely.  She had won.
She was *safe*.  That had been all that mattered.  Then with all the
commotion of finding Hotaru, dealing with the remaining outer Senshi, and
making sure Chibi-Usa was well, her uncharacteristically subdued demeanor
had passed his notice.  Not until he'd felt her begin to truly pull back
from him had he become alarmed.

And by then it had been too late.  When he'd broken down the door to the
bathroom and found her huddled in the corner of his bathtub like a broken
child...he couldn't even describe what it had felt like.  Death would have
been easier to face than that blank look on Usagi's face as she slowly
rocked back and forth.  Now she sat at his couch, for all the world
acting as if the past half hour hadn't happened.

  Usagi continued to drink, forcing back the thick chocolate when it
threatened to gag her.  It tasted like sawdust to her.  After three more
careful sips, she gently set the cup down and looked up expectantly at
Mamoru.

  Like a strict nanny, he took the cup from the table and peered down at
it suspiciously to make sure it was empty.  Usagi got a sudden and
surprisingly amusing mental picture of Mamoru wearing an apron, wagging a
spoon at her, and telling her to finish all her vegetables.  It coaxed a
smile  and a wry, "I finished it, Mamo-chan," out of her.

  He nodded.  "I'll get you another."

  "No," she forestalled, her stomach recoiling at the mere thought of
another drop.  "No, don't.  I'm full."

  "You need to eat more.  Do you want some food?  I could cook something
up and--"

  "No.  I'm fine."

  He wanted to push.  Needed to push.  Needed to see her sitting at his
table and plowing her general way through mounds of food like she usually
did.  Needed to see her regain that healthy flush and roundness to her
cheeks.  Needed for her to come to him and tell him what was wrong.
Needed to make it better.  Needed her to let him in so everything *could*
be better.  The porcelain of the coffee cup felt rough under his palm and
he found he was gripping it with both hands, staring at its empty bottom.

  "It will only take me a minute to make some--"

  "Mamo-chan.  Stop.  I don't want any--"

  "Dammit Usako!" he broke, whirling with cup clenched in his hands. "I
know what you want!  If it were up to you you'd be alone in your damn
room, keeping yours secret, far away from me!  You want to keep me away!
You want to waste away to nothing.  Well, you're not getting what you want
this time!"

  She stared at him from the couch, hands curling spasmodically around her
silly pink blanket.  She didn't know what to do, what to say...how to say
it.  She didn't know how to deal with him like this and keep her distance.
And he was shouting at her!  How was she supposed to...why was he...why
wouldn't he...

  "It's just," she fumbled, incipient tears making her throat gritty,
"just that nothing's wr--"

  "Be quiet!" he roared, and she flinched back like a whipped puppy.  "If
you tell me that one more time, Usa, I swear I...."  He stopped and stared
at her as is if she were some alien thing.  It suddenly dawned on him that
she was scared.  Of him.  As if he could ever...how could she even think
that he would ever...

  He walked away from her, putting the kitchen counter between them like a
safety barrier.  He busied himself with the task of rinsing the cup and
was thankful the sink hid his shaking hands and the sound of the faucet
masked his gulps for air as he blinked back tears.  Only when he was sure
he could maintain his somewhat tattered control did he turn back to her.
She hadn't budged an inch, though her gaze was now fixed on her restless
hands.  It remained there as he moved towards her again, even when he
lifted her off the couch and carried her silently into the bedroom.

  The old Usagi would have playfully teased him about "his intentions," or
archly reminded him that she could walk, thank you very much.  That she
did neither only stressed to him how far she had retreated.  He may have
been holding a stranger in his arms.

  He was going to set her down on the bed, tell her to sleep, and leave
her to do so.  His intentions and his actions, however, seemed to differ
in opinion.  Instead, he climbed into bed and arranged her on his lap,
tucking the trailing ends of her blanket around her bare feet, smoothing
it over curled toes.  It was always times like these that reminded him how
tiny she was; otherwise, she seemed larger than life, all swinging
pigtails and flashing eyes.  He cuddled her close now, resting his chin on
the top of her head and holding her tight.  She held herself stiff against
him, and in a childish sort of retaliation he held her tighter, till she
had to relax against him or strain away.

  After a few seconds of straining away that battered at his heart, she
gave up and sunk bonelessly against him.  His arms changed from
restraining to cradling in an instant.  He inhaled the scent of her hair.

  "Usako...you know I'm just trying to help, right?  I just...don't know
how to deal with you like this.  Usako...you know, don't you?"  It was a
plea for understanding, born from the picture of her huddled in the couch
as if she were afraid he'd strike her.  "God, tell me you weren't
afraid...afraid of me."

  He would never know how much it cost her, how much she debated within
herself that one touch would be okay, before she was able to place one
cold hand gently over the arms around her.  "No, Mamo-chan.  I could never
be afraid of you."   Of herself --she wanted to tell him-- she was deathly
afraid of herself.

   He said nothing, though his heart stopped beating against his throat
and he unconsciously burrowed closer to her, molding her to him in his
relief.

  "But you won't tell me what's wrong, regardless, right?  You won't
tell me what you *are* afraid of," he said, as if he'd read her last
thought.  He didn't really expect a response from her, and received none.
He could only sigh in a kind of resigned weariness as she remained mute.
"Then will you at least sleep, Usagi?  Will you do that for me?"

  She nodded wearily against his chest, finding it ever easier to lie.

  Mamoru slowly moved her off his lap, sitting her at the edge of the bed
so he could pull down the sheets.  He had her pink blanket off her and was
tucking her into his own bed in a matter of seconds, Usagi compliantly
letting him pull the cool sheets up to her chin, gazing at him with
deeply blue, uncharacteristically sad eyes.  He brushed his lips against
her forehead again and lingered there, thinking how wrong, how very wrong
it was that she didn't throw her arms around him and pull him down so he
could kiss her properly, cheerily informing him that she wasn't a child,
for god's sake, and then going on to prove it to him.

  That's exactly what she had done just a couple of weeks ago.  Mamoru
fixed that warm memory securely in his mind and promised himself that he'd
get his Usako back.  He straightened, moved away from her, and paused at
the doorway only long enough to turn off the lights and look back at her,
a pale, slight figure in the middle of his bed, illuminated only by a
shaft of hall light.

  She tried to smile at him reassuringly, and failed miserably.

  He didn't doubt she had no intention of sleeping, but she would, whether
she wanted to or not.

  He'd seen to that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

to be continued...sometime soon....I hope.

And here, for your viewing pleasure...another ode!!!  Whooohooo!  Yes, the
gift that keeps on giving!

Ode to A Stubby Pencil

Stubby pencil, there you are!
Your stubbiness, it makes you far...
Far more lovely than the pen,
But on second thought...then again...
NO!  I dare not doubt your precious worth!
At your tip, the beauteous birth
Of poetry and tales untold,
Of scantron filling, light or bold!
Though the hand may cramp, eraser lacking,
I'd never trade, though fingers cracking,
Your stubby beauty for limber cousin,
The gel pen, no, not half a dozen!
And here I'll stop for now I find,
I can find no other word to rhyme.
But one last time, say it with me now:
Stubby pencil, take a bow!

The end

Yes, I surprise even myself at my inaneness.
;) Lilac

salaices@stanford.edu