A Story Untitled
Author's Notes: Based on the anime, since I've never read the manga.
This story takes place during and right after episode 100 of Sailor Moon
Super. The flashback portrays an event that takes place between what we
see in 106 about Michiru and Haruka's first meeting and the beginning of
Sailor Moon Super. The text in italics at the beginning and the end of
the fic is taken from the dialogue between Minako and Haruka in episode
100.
...
Haruka-san... Don't you ever wish... you were a more... average...
schoolgirl? Do you ever feel lonely because ordinary happiness is so far
away?
...
Something about Minako-chan's wording awakened the memory of a line she
had heard before, so even though the words themselves were not similar,
the essence and the feeling of the query was – to such an extent that
Haruka almost suspected her mother of standing somewhere nearby,
whispering the questions in the blonde girl's ear, waiting for her to
recite them in this uncomfortable, hesitant way of hers. Not because
that would be very plausible – after all, she had left her parents
behind in their perfect, suburbian home months ago to come here – but
apparently Michiru's imaginative streak had rubbed off on Haruka enough
for her to even consider the thought.
Realising she had yet to answer, Haruka shook herself out of it. Her
mother was nowhere in sight – the mere idea was ridiculous. Most likely
she was at home right now, preparing dinner for Haruka's father who
would return from work sometime between five and six pm. That was their
routine and Haruka's parents did not like changing their habits; which
was probably the reason Haruka had caused her mother so much trouble....
and there she went again. Flights of fancy. She had not been prone to
them before Michiru entered her life. Really, she hadn't...
After a moment's pause, Haruka recalled Minako's question. Raising her
gaze, feeling the other girl's awkwardness at her silence, she enquired
quietly: "Are you sacrificing some ordinary happiness right now?"
"... No..."
The reply came both a bit too quickly and far too slowly for Haruka's
liking. Surveying Minako wordlessly, inwardly comparing the uneasiness
in her blue eyes to her mother's reaction back then, she knew she would
have to explain further. Whereas her mother had watched Haruka exchange
her skirt for the boy's uniform of her school after having won her first
running competition against five male opponents, these girls that
Michiru and she kept bumping into knew her only as Tenoh Haruka, the
mysterious, tomboyish stranger who liked teasing pretty girls.
They had not seen her transformation – either of them. They didn't
know...
Well, Haruka thought, feeling a smile tug at the corner of her mouth; at
least Minako was trying to be polite when interrogating. Haruka's mother
had gone for a confrontation, because even though her mother was
different from her in many ways, Haruka having inherited her father's
colouring and height, the one thing they did have in common was their
approach to solving problems. Hiding in the bushes was too impractical
when it came to the crunch.
Judging from the way her mother had handled this issue, Haruka had been
quite a problem back then.
...
"Haruka, why is it you don't just behave like the girl you are?" Her
mother eyed her trousers with a disapprovingly raised eyebrow, her arms
crossed over her chest. Haruka felt her every move being analysed and
evaluated as she padded across the room to the refrigerator. It had been
a long day. She had screwed up at training... she did not need this
right now.
Giving her mother's traditional kimono a look out the corner of her eye,
wondering briefly if her sponsors would be willing to pay for the damage
she had caused on her car, Haruka sighed and grabbed a canned tea in the
fridge. She should have known this discussion would rear its head at
some point, having felt her mother's upset eyes on her every morning
when she finished dressing before going to school. Subconsciously,
Haruka might even have prepared for the matter to be brought up, but
still she did not feel like talking about it. It was private. Why did
her mother suddenly have to delve into what was none of her business?
"I am," Haruka answered, congratulating herself on the truthful, yet
wholly unrevealing counterattack as she took a slow sip of the can of
tea in sheer defiance, looking at her mother over the rim. Silently, her
mother turned to face her. Haruka had surpassed her in height years ago,
but her mother never seemed like a small woman when it came to these
kinds of things.
"You've been acting weirdly these days," her mother concluded in a voice
that was softer than normally; less sharp, less... feminine, somewhat.
Her eyes, one of the few things she had passed on to her only child,
sought out Haruka's gaze and held it. Against a look like that, it was
hard upholding a defence, Haruka's body relaxing despite her
unwillingness to drop her defensive stance. No matter what, she did not
like being under scrutiny like this – it felt intruding, and Haruka had
never cared for intruders.
"Concerned about me much?" she joked, easily shifting into the Ping-Pong
game of words that she had gotten so used to with Michiru. If her mother
did not feel intimidated by her attitude, Haruka would have to find
another way to get out of this pinch.
"Yes." The reply came both too quickly and far too slowly for Haruka's
liking. It was not a response to her teasing. It was the truth. The
truth was always a delicate thing to work with; harder to twist than
witty remarks. "I can only guess at what you're up to, Haruka, but
whenever you walk out the door, I am not sure whether I should worry or
not."
Haruka blinked – once, twice – before taking a good look at the person
standing in front of her. Her mother was one of those women who had
married at an early age, perceiving children as a natural result of that
marriage and therefore deciding to stay at home until the little brats
were old enough to not care for cookies when they got home from school.
All in all, she was everything Haruka would never be. Taking in her
mother's long, brown hair, her narrow shoulders, all the traits that did
not reflect in Haruka's own looks, she asked herself what her mother saw
in her; if she still saw the child she had raised beneath Haruka's short
hair that kept falling into her eyes and the neatly ironed shirt that
effectively hid her female curves. Did she recognise Haruka even though
she had not turned out to be the daughter she might once have dreamed
of?
"Don't worry, Mom," Haruka heard herself saying, thoughts straying to
her transformation pen and Sailor Uranus. The part of her life that
Michiru had introduced her to was none of her mother's concern; did not
need to become it either... their plans of moving to Tokyo to
investigate Mugen Gakuen a little more closely were still not entirely
finished; caught somewhere in the developing stage... No, her mother
needed not know any of that now. These were all Haruka's problems – as
it was, her mother had enough trouble with Haruka without having her
secret identity messing things up even further. Haruka would make it on
her own, without her mother losing any sleep over it – with Michiru's
help she would work it out. Clenching her hand around the tea can, she
looked up.
Only to find her mother staring at her own hands with a resigned
expression on her face, lips pressed together in a thin line. For as
long as Haruka could remember, she had never seen her mother look this
old – as if a decade had been added to the weight upon her shoulders all
of a sudden. Or maybe the span of 16 years that it had taken for the two
of them to reach this level of understanding.
"You're old enough to make your own choices by now, aren't you?"
Haruka did not say anything. It was a rhetorical question; her mother
speaking her thoughts out loud, raising her white flag – giving in. She
knew the answer to be yes as well as Haruka did.
Politely looking away as her mother turned to the sink, seemingly
collecting herself and drying her eyes that had become very bright,
Haruka nodded once with determination and finally put the half-full can
down on the kitchen table, already planning to call Michiru and set up a
meeting later.
Silence was approaching. They did not have forever to find the
talismans. Everything Haruka was surrounded by in this moment was in
grave danger, and she could not allow it to be destroyed. It simply
wasn't an option.
She had barely taken a step, though, before she felt her mother's hand
on her shoulder.
"Too manly to help me do the dishes?" Her mother's voice was back to its
normal, light tone, but when Haruka turned her head to look at her, her
eyes had softened.
Raising an eyebrow, smiling crookedly, Haruka took off her school jacket
and loosened her tie provocatively, grabbing the tea towel from its peg
on the wall. "Liking motor sports doesn't automatically make me a man,"
she informed her mother, drying off the plate she was given.
"If it wasn't for your outfit, Haruka-kun, that particular hobby of
yours might even have been your key to finding a nice boyfriend." The
comment was off-hand with a joking edge to it, but Haruka saw right
through it, suddenly wanting very badly to get on her bike and head for
Michiru's apartment. What her mother was insinuating was not simply the
consequence of an intimate mother-daughter moment, because neither her
mother nor Haruka herself had ever seen it as proper to discuss such
topics over the dinner table. No, within the taunt was hidden the
question that had probably initiated this entire conversation in the
first place.
Confessions had always been one of Haruka's weak points... she liked her
privacy and was willing to protect it at all costs. However, she – of
all people – knew that truth would always force its way through even the
strongest armour of secrecy, so maybe this was not the time to run from
something she had no real control over. She had already tried that once
before; it didn't work.
Another plate passed between them before Haruka found her voice to
answer. Michiru could believe all she wanted that Haruka was always true
to herself – to some extent it might even be correct that she was – but
Haruka knew the whole truth. She could still feel the urge to run from
it all; from her Senshi powers, from Michiru, from the face she saw in
the mirror each and every morning that was so similar to the woman she
met in her more and more frequent dreams of a world beyond time.
"Who has ever said I wanted a boyfriend?" The words came out huskier
than Haruka had meant them to, her voice shifting easily to the tone she
normally used when she wanted to make one of her fangirls at school
blush and stammer her way through her admiring praise. This was the only
way she could think of replying to what her mother was probing for. What
other words was she meant to use? Her mother did not know anything about
Michiru, neither was she to know about her in the near future. Along
with everything else that had something to do with the feeling of
transformation, Michiru was Haruka's personal secret for the time being.
She preferred it that way – for now.
Handing over the next wet plate, Haruka's mother did not seem to respond
in any way whatsoever, only looking out the window with a frown on her
forehead, eyes distant. When Haruka reached for the plate, it slipped
between her fingers, crashing to the floor and breaking into tiny little
pieces. The silence following the explosion of splinters of china making
contact with the tiles was deafening, the only sound audible the wind
rustling outside and their slow, mingled breathing. Not for the first
time, Haruka wished desperately that she could vanish and become the
wind, not only try to win over it when racing or possess its powers when
she changed into Sailor Uranus. No, kaze ni naru in the truest meaning
of the phrase.
Her mother turned abruptly, stepping up to Haruka, her hand hesitating
for a second before her fingers straightened out an invisible fold in
her white school shirt, moving upwards to tighten her tie again, looking
her up and down before smiling with a hint of sadness to it.
"It suits you," she said quietly, "but the question is: does it make you
happy?"
Haruka instinctively knew they were not talking about her choice of
clothes anymore, but about something else entirely; something that had
yet to be addressed directly by any of them.
"It does," she answered, meeting her mother's gaze once before looking
down, letting her hair fall into her eyes, covering them. Her mother
might have good intentions with this, but it still felt intrusive, and
this was the only defence Haruka had if she did not want to make a
countermove and attack.
Straightening up, her mother stood on tiptoe to kiss her on the cheek
before stepping back, the pieces of the broken plate crunching under her
feet. Somehow it felt like goodbye – goodbye to the Haruka who had grown
up in this house and welcome to another Haruka. Tenoh Haruka's true
self.
"You wanted to go for a ride, didn't you?" Her mother asked over one
shoulder as she headed for the closet in the hallway, the mood changing
back to normal in a matter of seconds. Hesitating for a moment, Haruka
looked out the window, following two birds with her eyes until they
disappeared out of sight. She smiled. Grabbing her jacket which was
hanging on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, she reminded herself
that this was her kind of happiness; the life she had been given. It was
not ordinary, but it was hers. If her mother understood that, Haruka
could mount her motorcycle without regretting that she would probably
have to announce her sudden plans of a school transfer when she got
back.
Michiru would be happy about her decision, and if Michiru was happy,
Haruka was satisfied. When all came down to it, they were soldiers. They
had a battle to fight. Personal happiness was not a goal in itself, but
a reward earned somewhere along the way.
...
"Let's see..." Haruka began the explanation she should have given her
mother before leaving with Michiru, feeling her gaze soften as the words
formed in her mind. Minako-chan's eyes were glued to her face, almost
childish in their unwavering attention to each of Haruka's features.
Normally she would feel bothered by such blunt interest – a curiosity so
frank in its nature – but for some reason it only made her surer of
herself as she opened her mouth to speak. "I'm not exactly sure what
‘ordinary' happiness would be, but I don't think my current self is
‘abnormal'..."
Minako listened without interrupting; repeating her final sentence
before Haruka excused herself.
Later that day – after Sailor Moon and company had got to that boy's
pure heart crystal before either Michiru or she had had the chance – as
Haruka parked her newly fixed car near the beach, she came to think of
her mother once more.
Watching Michiru as she sat cross-legged on the bonnet of the car with
her sketchbook in her lap, Haruka wondered for a moment what her mother
would think of this girl who had changed her life so drastically. They
were more alike than Haruka and her mother would ever be and yet they
were so very different. Her mother had chosen her family over a career;
neither Michiru nor Haruka had that alternative. Soldiers – senshi like
themselves – rarely had. Their mission would always be first priority.
"When all of this is over," Haruka said slowly, standing up and leaning
against the steering wheel to rest her elbows on the frame of the
windscreen, the breeze carrying her words with it as it moved forward to
rustle Michiru's aqua hair. Pausing in her outlining of the scenery in
front of her, Michiru looked at Haruka over her shoulder, sea-blue eyes
attentive and curious.
"Yes?"
"When all of this is over," Haruka repeated, knowing times of peace were
still wrapped up in a dim, distant future currently out of reach, "I
think I'm going to introduce you to my mother..."
"Maa," Michiru replied, suppressed amusement evident in her voice,
making Haruka smile in spite of her trail of thoughts. "Is that a
proposal, Haruka-san?" She turned around to face Haruka completely, her
skin glowing in the orange light from the sunset, the paint of the car
shimmering with streaks of gold around her legs.
Cocking her head, eyes following the line of the horizon, Haruka
shrugged. "Perhaps." Meeting Michiru's gaze, recognising the softness of
it as the material dreams were made of, she added: "Do you want it to?"
She rested her chin on her folded arms.
Michiru returned her attention to her drawing, her face half-hidden in
the shadows that followed when the ocean had devoured the sun. Her
pencil scratched over the paper almost angrily. Haruka knew this
disappointment from herself; Michiru was not the only one who felt
frustrated about their situation after all.
"No," Michiru's words were cool without being unfriendly; her tone
fragile. "Not yet." A glimpse of hope.
Haruka sat back in her seat again, grabbing the steering wheel with both
hands, almost challenging the wind to fight her. The wind remained
silent, refusing to be provoked by her dare. The only answer Haruka got
was the sound of the car door opening and closing as Michiru found her
seat next to her.
"The sea is in an uproar; another battle will be awaiting us tomorrow,"
she said sombrely, hugging her sketching book to her chest. "This is the
path we have to walk. Our duty as Sailor Senshi."
They had talked about this aspect of their lives before, of course. By
now, it was like a mantra to Haruka, but that did not make it any less
of a burden. Leaning closer to her, Michiru curled her fingers around
Haruka's hand that still cradled the steering wheel tightly. Haruka
turned her head to look at her.
"As long as you're with me, I don't have any regrets." Michiru's honesty
was part of her charm, Haruka had always thought, and this comment was
her proof. Giving her partner a half-smile, reaching out her hand to
brush a strand of hair out of Michiru's eyes, she decided that some
things were more important than the happiness her mother and Minako had
thought she wanted.
"Yokatta," she replied gently, nodding towards Michiru's sketchbook as
the car accelerated with a roar. "So, can I see the result?"
Opening the book, Michiru presented her with a picture that showed a
perfect illustration of the shore. Two sets of footprints – swallowed up
by the waves in places – led to a couple in the right upper corner of
the paper. A flash of muted aluminium and vivid teal in the otherwise
colourless sketch made Haruka turn her focus back to her driving with a
smirk.
"It's us," she concluded, unnecessarily.
"At some point... after I've met your mother, ne?" In Michiru's voice
there was a stubborn note of optimism traceable, followed by her mild
laughter. The sound of that well-known laughter made Haruka feel as if
being a Sailor Senshi was not so much a cursed destiny as simply her
fate.
Perhaps even soldiers were allowed to wish for a different future...
At least they could always fight for what they believed in.
...
What I am now is what is closest to my true self. That's what I think.
Tenoh Haruka who fell in love with motor sports can only live in this
manner, no matter what she does. I have something more valuable than
"ordinary" happiness. I guess.
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