Author's Notes:  You all hate me, don't you?
Hehehe. I understand. It has taken too 
dreadfully long to get this out to you. I don't
think it's ever the author's intention to do 
that, but cricumstances be what they may, it
just happens.  

My thanks to all of you, for being so incredbily 
patient. I have received numerous wonderful emails 
from readers, and over the course of the year, I've 
not been able to reply to you.  If you have emailed 
me, you know who you are.  This is for all of you.

Thanks to Abby the MoonDolphin, for always taking 
the time to edit. Jaina the Blue Moose, otherme-chan, 
this is for you and your letting me rant all the time. 
And to my buddy-chan, Aimee: I miss you, buddy!

Visit us at www.geocities.com/moonlit_eclipse
to celebrate our SECOND YEAR!


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Interval
    Chapter 5

By Angela



	"Stop it!" Usagi howled, just as 
Mamoru's weak grasp closed around the knotted 
fist and wrist that now held him half-raised 
above his pillows.  

	For a moment, the only sound to be heard
was the snarling noise Motoki's breath made as it 
was exhaled forcefully through his nostrils.  And
then his eyes shot wide with horror at 
his actions, his words dying quickly before 
they even had a chance to reach his vocal 
cords. Motoki stared down at the friend he had so 
mercilessly hauled from obviously needed rest, 
his own hands burning from the heat of the weak 
grasp that slid from them. 

	"Mamoru?" he huffed, immediately weakened
by the sight of his pallid best friend, brow 
layered with sweat. "I-I...oh, dear God, Mamoru, 
I'm sorry!" Motoki gasped with shameful remorse, 
"I-I don't know *what* just happened, but I 
stopped by, and Usagi opened the door looking 
like...looking like she'd spent the night here, 
and when I saw her fa--"

	Usagi cleared her throat quickly, and 
brushed next to Motoki to gently nudge Mamoru 
back into bed. "Motoki just misunderstood the 
circumstances," she interjected softly, 
effectively cutting him off before he could go 
any further.

	Mamoru, for his part, was feeling rather 
bewildered as he tried to follow their 
skitterish chatter while Usagi so carefully 
tucked him back under the blankets.  He somehow 
managed a diminutive chuckle as she brushed her 
hand across his forehead.

	"Really, Motoki, I can't say that I 
blame you.  If I thought someone had taken 
advantage of Usagi in any way like that...I'd 
have reacted the same," he murmured.

	Motoki, who had been watching with curious
awe as Usagi fussed over Mamoru, was alarmed by the
languidness of his tone. "I truly am sorry, 
Mamoru," he murmured, leaning forward to peer at him
in the fading light of Mamoru's room. "My goodness, 
you look awful." 

	Mamoru coughed faintly, resting his arm 
over the blanket across his chest, the pounding 
in his head decreasing as the vertigo subsided. 
"Feel it, too." 

	Motoki shifted his weight, and drew back
to his full height with a bit of a sigh. "I didn't 
think you acted as if you felt well yesterday," he 
admonished softly. "Is there anything I can do 
for you?"

	"Yes," Usagi was quick to reply. "Get 
him to finish that juice," she answered, 
pointing to the glass on the bedside table.  
She was rewarded with a groaned whine from 
beneath the blankets. "And try not to keep 
him up too long.  He has had a rather rough 
night and really needs to rest," she added
primly, stepping from the room to allow them 
some privacy.

	"Don't you dare try to force any more of 
that stuff on me," Mamoru growled from under his
sheets, warning his best friend to no avail.

	Motoki grinned. "So, she's been a good 
nurse," he observed, picking up the glass of 
cranberry juice and holding it out towards 
him.

	Mamoru rolled his eyes as he attempted to 
scoot himself up. "Too good."

	Motoki arched an eyebrow, detecting a 
hint of wistfullness in that somewhat caustic 
remark. 

	"Oh, stop looking at me like that," 
Mamoru barely grunted. "I'm not dying."

	"Really, tough guy?  I thought nothing 
short of death could forge a truce between the 
two of you," Motoki retorted gently, stooping 
to assist Mamoru in situating himself. "Are you 
sure you don't want me to take you to a 
hospital or something?"  he inquired seriously, 
fussing over the covers to keep his friend 
warm.

	For a brief moment, a fierce panic shot 
through Mamoru's eyes before he glanced warily 
to the side and responded with a definitive, 
"Quite." 

	Motoki's mouth pressed together in a 
faint line as he exhaled slowly. "All right," 
he conceded.  "But you're lucky you haven't 
ended up there already. What if Usagi hadn't 
been--" He stopped in mid-sentence, his forehead 
wrinkling in confusion. "How *did* she end up 
here, anyhow?"
	
	"Says I let her in last night," Mamoru 
replied with a grimace, swallowing more of the 
contents in his glass.  

	He handed it back to Motoki, who was 
biting the inside of his lower lip as his brow 
furrowed into a concerned line above his light 
blue eyes.  "And you don't remember," he added 
carefully, returning the half-emptied glass to 
its position on the table. 

	"Sort of, I guess."  Mamoru coughed 
gently and cleared his throat. "Uh, just that 
she came over here last night because...because 
she thought something may have been wrong..."

	Motoki paused. "Ah," he replied, 
fishing for what Mamoru meant. "You mean after 
that regularly scheduled tiff in the arcade 
yesterday?"

	Mamoru swallowed. "Yeah, that."  He 
frowned deeply, feeling the weight of his guilt 
settle heavily upon his heart. "So," he continued
quietly, as he pulled at a lone fuzzy attached to 
his blanket, "What brings you over this lovely 
afternoon?"

	Smirking at his friend's uncanny ability 
to conveniently avoid a topic, Motoki pulled 
the padded office chair from underneath the 
desk and spun it around backwards before lowering 
himself into it. "We were supposed to have lunch, 
remember?" he answered, folding his arms across the
chair back.

	Mamoru blinked, realization sinking
in on him.  "It's Friday?  I had no idea--oh, 
man. I am so dead..." he groaned, reaching up 
to press a shaky palm to his aching temple.

	Motoki chuckled outright, giving him a
reassuring pat on the shoulder.  "I think I'll 
let it slide, this time...Huh?"

 	Mamoru sighed, and dropped his hand 
back to the bed. "Professor Blackorby's term 
paper was due today," came the weak reply.

	"Ah," Motoki nodded with understanding, 
rising from the chair. "That. Don't you worry, 
bud.  Usagi pointed that lug of paper out to me 
when I first stopped by.  I'll take care of it 
for you."

	"She-She did?"

 	"Yeah, she did." Motoki chuckled.

 	"Wow," Mamoru breathed heavily, staring 
down at the deep green of the bed sheets with a 
perplexed frown.  Usagi had actually taken 
notice of something *that* important, and had the 
forethought to ask Motoki to take care of it?  
It just didn't make sense in his mind any more, 
that she would really, genuinely care that much 
about *him*. Maybe she didn't realize it. 
Perhaps she was really just doing something 
thoughtful, but to him, it was much more than 
that.  It was a gesture. A gesture of something 
that he just happened to be searching for.

	"Mamoru?"  Motoki stopped, peering down
at him once he realized he had grown quiet. 
"Mamoru?" 

	"Mmm?" Mamoru forced his eyes open, not
realizing he had allowed them to close as Motoki
continued explaining that he would swing by the 
campus and deliver the assignment directly. The
voice was hardly registering a coherant thought
in Mamoru's head. "Sorry," he apologized. "I'm 
so tired all of a sudden. . ." 

	Motoki nodded, removing his hands from 
his jacket pockets with a worried frown as he 
reached over to the bedside table and into the 
bowl that was perched there to wring out the 
wet washcloth.  

	"I need to be going anyway," he 
answered reasonably, not hesitating to 
carefully place the cool cloth across Mamoru's 
brow.  "Take it easy, hm?"

	"Thanks.  You're a good friend, Motoki." 
Mamoru whispered, his voice raw with the threat 
of an emotional breakdown. 

	It was almost more than he could tolerate 
in his fragile state.  At least he thought he 
could attribute Usagi's tendency to be so 
openly caring to her natural instincts, but 
now Motoki, too? Somewhere in the buried 
recesses of his bitter, self-depriving logic, 
he actually swore he could feel what it was 
like to have people care.

	*   			*			*

	Late Sunday afternoon, Usagi sat huddled
in the cushy depths of Mamoru's impossibly 
comfortable couch, hopelessly attempting to 
finish her homework. She was just letting her 
attention wander out of focus when she was 
startled back to reality by the pale ghost of 
a figure standing against the archway.

 	Launching herself from the cushions with 
a simultaneous gasp, she quickly strode across 
the room to steady Mamoru's teetering form. 
"You shouldn't be out of bed!" she exclaimed,  
steering him towards the couch.

	"I needed a change of scenery," he 
responded in a near whisper, leaning upon her
gratefully.

	Usagi smiled faintly, shrugging slightly 
in concession.  "All right then."

	"Actually, I think I'm feeling a little
hungry," Mamoru continued, allowing her to 
support him as he carefully lowered himself to 
a sitting position. "And rather dizzy," he 
ammended, sagging into the backrest.

	Usagi retrieved one of the blankets she
had rolled up and placed on the couch, wrapping
it about him and tucking a throw pillow behind
him. "I'll bet you are hungry. You've hardly 
had anything in three days. What sounds good?"

	"Um...nothing?" he offered tentatively,
ducking instinctively into his blanket as 
Usagi whacked at him playfully. "Hey, ow...
easy, easy! My pain threshold is next to nil,
here."

	"Sorry," Usagi cringed sympathetically.
"How about some soup?"

	Mamoru groaned, his head dropping back
into the arm of the couch. "The proverbial
chicken soup...yeah, okay."

	Usagi disappeared into the kitchen,
busying herself with preparing a few of the
items Lita had left for him.  Stealing a glance
through the open space of the counter and
the cabinets above, Usagi could see that Mamoru 
had his eyes closed as he leaned back into the 
couch, clutching the blanket tightly about him.

	"You know," she said quietly, cautiously
maneuvering across the floor with the hot bowl,
"You'd be in awfully sad shape if you were 
here all alone." She held the soup out to him.
"You got it?"

	"Yeah," Mamoru sat himself more upright 
to take the proffered dish. The heat radiating
through the glass was indeed comforting, and as
he managed a few small bites, he found that he 
did not think anything could have tasted better
at the moment.

	Usagi watched him in silence for a bit,
glad to see him eating even if it was rather 
slowly.  At least it meant he was feeling a 
little better.
		
	"I really need a shower," Mamoru murmured,
pausing to lean back against his pillow. "Aside
from the obvious reasons, I feel kind of..." he
wrinkled his nose, "...disgusting."

	Usagi smiled sympathetically, but still
found what he said amusing.  Or maybe it was the
expression on his face.  Either way, he had
managed to come across as rather endearing.

	"Oh, it's not been so long," she offered
helpfully, "I mean, you did get a good dunk in
the bathtub the other night."

	"That doesn't count," he whined in 
embarrassment.  "Lord, I can't believe you had
to do that..."

	"We should have just called for an
ambulance," she whispered regretfully.

	"Thanks for not."

	"But you would have gotten the care
you *needed* at a hospital.  The proper 
medication, and rest, and-

	"And a lot of poking and prodding
with all sorts of unmentionables.  No,
I do not particularly recall anything
about Friday night, but I'll take that
over remembering a long stint in a hospital.
Thanks, but no thanks, if you catch my
drift."

	Usagi stared back at Mamoru as he
attempted a few more bites of soup as
if to appease her. "Still," she murmured
carefully, "My care-"

	"I *liked* your care," Mamoru said
quickly, before he had a chance to realize
he'd been thinking it.  If he had not been
so pale at the time, Usagi might have 
noticed that he had the grace to blush.
	


	*			*			*

	
	Come Monday morning, as usual, he was 
one of the first ones to find his seat in the 
large lecture hall utilized for Professor 
Blackorby's sociology class.  Tough as nails, 
students still flocked to the room because of 
her unprecedented discussions and rousing 
lectures.  A class that would earn him four 
credit hours, it met four days a week, and 
Mamoru knew how closely the professor 
scrutinized attendance even with such a 
large enrollment.  	

	He sank gratefully into the hard plastic 
seat and willed himself to pull the arm of it 
from its resting position between the two 
chairs. The squeak of its hinges was enough to 
split his head in two, and he clutched the edge 
of the desk dizzily to keep from groaning loud.
Students were milling about, anxiously 
wondering about the term papers they had 
submitted the previous week as they slowly made 
their way to their usual spots.  

   	  "Mr. Chiba."

   	  Mamoru sat up immediately, his eyes 
snapping open before he had the chance to 
realize he had closed them only briefly to 
steady his head. "Uh, yes ma'am," he stammered 
slightly, for a split-second traumatized by 
the idea that he had dozed off mid-class. 

	
	Professor Blackorby stood before him, the 
light from the overhead projector behind her 
tailored figure throwing shadows in front of 
the people still passing through it as they 
moved to their chairs.

	"I understand you've been ill, Mr. 
Chiba," she continued softly, crossing her arms 
and tilting her chin down as she fixed him with 
an even gaze over the rims of her spectacles. 
"Rather ill, according to the gentleman who was 
kind enough to drop your assignment off last Friday."

	Mamoru swallowed dryly, and nodded, 
feeling horridly singled out amidst the class, 
despite the fact it hadn't commenced yet. 
"Yes..."

	The woman paused for a long moment before 
chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip and 
nodding, turning slightly to reach to the 
overhead projector and remove some papers from 
its cart.  "I haven't graded the term papers 
yet," she said wryly. "And, your being here isn't 
going to persuade me to score yours any higher 
once I do."

   	Mamoru was at a loss. "Ma'am?"

 	Professor Blackorby leaned down to speak 
more directly, her usually dry and biting tone 
tinged with a gentle reprimand. "You are about 
as white as the paper in that notebook," she 
replied, setting down a handful of typed sheets 
that quite remarkably resembled the format of 
her lecture notes. "I know that you don't miss 
my class, Mr. Chiba." She tapped the stack of
papers with her fingers.  "This week's notes. 
Go home. Go to bed."

	With that, she offered a hint of a smile 
and stood back, preparing to call the class to 
order. Mamoru stared blankly at the woman half 
of the campus had painted as a dragon-lady, who 
had just released him from a week of class.  
She nodded towards the door, and he managed to 
drag himself to his feet and trudge outside.  
			 
	
	*			*			*

	
	The automatic doors of the Crown Center
arcade opened with a frigid gust of air, 
allowing a few determined autumn leaves to 
whirl over the weighted foot mat, only to be 
booted aside by a pair of heavily shuffling 
feet.

	Motoki was just starting his afternoon 
ritual of re-stocking the items below the 
counter and obsessing about the cleanliness of 
its marbled top when he stopped to stare at his 
dark-haired friend who had just dropped into a 
chair on the other side.

	"Um...don't you think you're pushing it 
just a little bit, Mamoru? Another couple of 
days' rest would have done you some good."

	Mamoru fixed him with a weary glare of 
annoyance. "So," Motoki continued, clearing his 
throat as he set a new tray of coffee mugs on 
the shelf behind him. "You made it through your 
classes okay?"

	"I tried," Mamoru groaned in defeat, 
resting his elbows on the books he had set on 
the counter, letting his head drop tiredly into 
open palms. "Professor Blackorby actually gave 
me the notes so I would go home."

	Motoki chuckled, shaking his head 
incredulously. "I dunno, bud, but maybe it has 
something to do with the fact that you look 
like death warmed over. You really should go 
back to bed."

	"I know," Mamoru sighed. "I just couldn't 
make it all the way back to my apartment. 
I needed to stop for a while."   

	"You want anything?"

	Mamoru held his hand up in front of him, 
shaking his head slightly. "No. Thanks," he 
replied, rubbing his eyes.

	"There's a futon in the break room," 
Motoki offered quietly. "Why don't you let me 
take you to the hospital clinic downtown after 
I get off?  They'll just give you a quick shot, 
or something, and you'll feel better in no 
time."

	Mamoru froze, eyeing Motoki warily as he 
folded his arms across his books. "You just 
combined the two *most* undesirable notions in 
my head, dear friend. Hospitals, and shots."

	The blonde man chuckled sympathetically, 
shaking his head.  "You really are a piece of 
work, y'know? You'd jump the distance between 
two skyscrapers, but the very mention of a tiny 
needle and you blanch to the roots of that mop 
of hair on your head."

	"If I had the energy, I'd reach across 
this counter to smack you for that," Mamoru 
breathed, sobering Motoki back to his concerned 
demeanor.

	"Mamoru!"

	The shocked female voice preceded a 
worried expression on Usagi's face as she set 
her stuffed book bag on the floor and peered at 
Mamoru carefully.  "You should be at home, 
resting!"

	Mamoru blinked, a bewildered expression 
of 'I know...how many times are you people 
gonna keep saying it?!' etched into his 
features.

	Motoki smirked, shrugging slightly and 
spreading his hands in front of him in an 
innocent manner as he reached for his towel.	

	The tirade didn't subside. "It's cold 
outside!  And you should be giving yourself 
time to recuperate!  You can't just jump right 
into a full day after spending the past *three* 
barely able to get out of bed. You really don't 
look as if you feel that much better..."

	"I *don't*," Mamoru spat irritably, 
exhaling audibly and quickly apologizing. 
"Sorry."

	Usagi was fishing in her coat pocket, 
her fist hungrily searching out the objects 
that were jingling in its littered depths.  
"It's all right," she assured him, triumphantly 
producing a handful of quarters.  She reached 
onto the counter and slid Mamoru's heavy texts 
from beneath him, jamming them into the cramped 
recesses of her bag.

	"What are you doing?"

	"C'mon, you stubborn baka," she chided, 
grasping Mamoru by the arm and guiding him from 
his seat.  "I'm taking you home right now."

	"You don't need to walk me home, Usagi-"

	"You're not walking! We're going to take 
the bus."

	"It's just down the street!"

	"I don't care.  You don't need to be out 
in this air any longer than necessary, draining 
yourself on a walk you shouldn't be taking in 
the first place. Let's go."

	 Mamoru opened his mouth to whine in 
protest, when Motoki chimed in, "Hey, it's 
either that, or we'll *both* accompany you to 
the hospital."

	There was no further commotion as the 
doors slid open, and Usagi steered Mamoru 
towards the nearest bus terminal.

	Usagi fought the bulky backpack she
had barely slung over her shoulder as she 
hustled her companion up the steps of the metro 
bus.  She dropped a fistful of coins into the
toll counter and continued prodding Mamoru
down the narrow aisle to an empty seat, ignoring
his whining as she did so.  Despite his renewed
complaining, he dropped into the cold seat of
plastic, slumping into the corner and closing
his eyes as he rested his head against the window.

	Usagi smirked wryly as she settled in 
next to him.  They had barely begun to make their
journey down the street, the long metro bus merging
into traffic near the city park, when the vehicle 
lurched unexpectedly and came to an abrupt halt. 
The bus gave a great shudder and the engine died,
creating a disgruntled stir among its passengers.

	Mamoru blinked and raised his head, 
glancing towards Usagi as if in annoyance. He 
opened his mouth to chastise her for her brilliant
idea when the expression on her face stopped him
short.  He followed her gaze out the window, and
with growing alarm realized that a wash of 
downtown Tokyo's crowd was scrambling madly
across every inch of pavement, the loud piercing
of shrieks and cries growing more apparent.

	Usagi's jaw set firmly, her eyes darkening
as she nodded in affirmation to herself.  She need
not entertain the possibilities.  

	Placing her hand on Mamoru's shoulder, she
said firmly, "Stay here." With that she was 
jostling her way down the now compacted aisle 
towards the door, her mass of blond hair soon
swallowed by the throng of passengers.


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