1564/You're Here With Us

You're Here With Us
Date of Scene:	20 May 2024
Location:	Mitakihara General Hospital
Synopsis:	In the hospital, Mamoru wakes up. Poor Zoisite. Poor Usagi. But at least he's awake.
Cast of Characters:	Mamoru Chiba, Zoisite, Usagi Tsukino

---

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
It was a matter of minutes between the feeling of Mamoru existing vanishing and the crew getting to where he was and getting him -- and another unconscious burned girl -- to the hospital. After getting him there, it was hours and hours of waiting and not hearing anything, and Kyouka had to come sign paperwork as an employee of the school, and he didn't wake up.

And he didn't wake up, and he didn't wake up--

It's been two days of him bandaged and unmoving in a hospital bed, one hand completely mittened up with bandage, the other shoulder and forearm covered in bandage, bandages on his chin and cheek... the skin is peeling from the sunburn-level injuries already, and some of the puffiness has gone down, at least.

People -- the people who know him best -- have been taking shifts sitting with him during visiting hours, and rumors have it Luna's been sneaking in somehow at night.

It's been two days of touching Mamoru on uninjured skin hasn't produced any of the familiar effects -- no sense of him, no sense of his emotional state, muted and dreaming; no images, no connections, no sense of the world or golden feelings of warmth and home. There's been nothing.

And now the arm with the IV in it, with the bandaged hand, lifts a little way and Mamoru tenses up and makes a tiny sound, then opens his eyes and slowly makes himself start to relax.

Zoisite has posed:
The last couple of days have felt like a dream. None of it feels real, not without that lingering awareness at the back of his skull that assures Zoisite his prince is hale and healthy, warm and whole. It feels like a gaping wound, the edges frayed, aching, but he can't dwell on it right now.

There are more important things to do, like sit vigil over Mamoru's sleeping form, the others having gone home for rest or food or maybe just to torture themselves with worry elsewhere for a time. Despite Zoisite's own lack of respite he still looks as perfectly poised as ever, no hair out of place and no visual sign of his exhaustion except for how his eyes flicker every once in a while as he fights back another wave.

He won't sleep, though. Because he doesn't want to transition from waking dream to nightmare, where Mamoru's injuries continue to burn, where they become fatal, where his prince is lost to him again, and this time with the lingering sense of forever.

There's a chair pulled up next to the bed, empty but its cushion showing the telltale depression of someone having been in it recently. For now, Zoisite stands at the window, arms folded behind his back and hands clasped in an iron grip as he surveys the view of the hospital grounds below. Sitting is too dangerous, when any bit of comfort might lead to slumber.

In the end, it's that tiny sound that alerts him, and he turns, breath caught in his lungs. Zoisite doesn't dare to hope, not until he sees Mamoru's eyes open, and immediately he takes the one, two, three steps necessary to cross the distance between them, his fingers reaching out but hesitating, halting in the air just above Mamoru's uninjured hand.

"You're awake," he says, scarcely able to believe it himself. The fog begins to lift, the dreamlike haziness departing. It feels like he's just woken up, himself.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
There's a slow blink, and Mamoru's gaze slides over to Zoisite, unfocused; his brow furrows.

It takes him a full ten seconds to say something, and when he does, that's slow too: "Where are you?" he asks, his voice a dry croak. He starts to make a face, but it pulls at the burns, and he flinches and lets his expression fall away like silk off a table, swift and frictionless. "Are you-- I can't feel anything but moving hurts?"

It sounds like a question; he's too out of it to panic, he's too out of it to be more than puzzled that the world isn't functioning properly. "Ohhh..." he sighs. "I didn't die," he apparently decides.

Mamoru tries to lift his other arm, and his eyes open wide and he grimaces, breath going incredibly shallow all of a sudden and monitor objecting to his heart rate spiking. He won't be doing that again in a hurry.

Zoisite has posed:
The sad reality is that Zoisite does not have an overabundance of compassion in his body, so he finds himself at a loss how to provide comfort. It is far beyond his wheelhouse, wherein he lives most comfortably with sarcastic jabs and pretty little sneers.

So when Mamoru needs, Zoisite feels as if he cannot provide. Instead he pulls out his phone, already open to the group chat once the screen is unlocked, and types:

Zoisite TXT: he's awake
Zoisite TXT: he's already asking questions
Zoisite TXT: i am unsure what answers to give

That last text is Zoisite laid bare, the most honest he's probably ever been through any form of communication, ever. He doubts his own instinct to rip off the bandaid and tell Mamoru the full truth in plain words; what would be good for himself, were he in this situation, is not necessarily the best course of action for his prince.

"Try not to move," he cautions, but too late, because Mamoru is already grimacing. And Zoisite, for the briefest of moments, wears a mirrored expression in sympathy, before his expression smooths out. "No, you didn't die. You are... seriously injured, however. But you're safe."

That much, Zoisite can promise. He doesn't linger on the what ifs that led them to this moment, the doubts and guilt of his failures; that way lies madness.

Usagi Tsukino has posed:
The first person to respond in the groupchat is Usagi. If that's because she was still here in the hospital, or because she was obsessively checking her phone as she sat dramatically on the roof, only she knows.

    Usagi TXT: oh thank god
    Usagi TXT: i'll be there in a second. can you open the window?
    Usagi TXT: ash him what he remembers?

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"Not moving," agrees Mamoru before he can even take a full breath again; he lies still once more, and gradually the monitor stops freaking out about his heart rate, and gradually he relaxes again, and he considers moving the hand he can sort of feel, and he decides against it. "How long?"

How long what? Has he been out cold, probably. (He can't feel anything. He can't feel the world turning. He can't feel any of the connections that keep him tethered to the ground everyone else stands on--)

(this has happened before, hasn't it? It must just be really bad, that little energy)

He reaches and there's nothing there.

He's blinking a little too much, maybe. "I can't tell what's wrong with me," he says a little plaintively. "Are you mad at me?"

Zoisite has posed:
Zoisite's hand is there, on the thin mattress of the hospital bed. But it's not close enough to touch, not without a real concerted effort to move, and Zoisite doesn't dare cross that distance. Torn between the ache to touch and the fear of causing further distress, he finds himself hesitating.

It's a strange sensation. Not one he's used to feeling, that's for certain. "It's been two days," he says, fighting to keep his voice steady, because this tidbit of information seems fairly innocuous, amongst all the rest. A quick glance at his phone, before Zoisite continues with, "Do you remember what happened?"

And then Mamoru goes on asking more questions that only serve to lodge the breath in Zoisite's throat. "You're going to be alright," he answers, trying to be assuring. And then the next startles an actual laugh out of him, but it's just this side of manic, brief and wounded. "No, my prince, of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

Because somehow these injuries have crossed a line in his head where Zoisite cannot find fault with his prince for them. They are much, much too severe.

Usagi Tsukino has posed:
There's a sound outside the room, like a thud-thud-thud, but it's not on the right side of the room. After all, there's one side with a door, and there's one side with... a window. And yet, the thuds are from the window side.

The blinds are mostly drawn, letting in only the smallest amount of light, and through the gap, there's a glove in a familiar shade of red pushing at the window. The unopened window, because, honestly, who would waste time on opening a window when Mamoru is hurt. Usagi gets it. Really, she does. Only, what does she do now...

The thuds move away.

"I'll be back," Sailor Moon's distant voice comes.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
There's no tension for Mamoru to lose right now, he's relaxed and he's going to damn well stay there. The problem is that the more he wakes up, the more he realizes he's in a lot of different kinds of cotton wool, and some of it's covering for nothing being on the other side of it.

He exhales, slow and careful, and breathes out a relieved, "I'm glad."

Mamoru closes his eyes again. "Hinoiri," he says, "not Sunbreaker anymore. Sailor Charizard. Calling herself Sunset of Sora."

He pauses and opens one eye. "Usako is on the phone? I can't tell where she is. I can't--" he inhales. Holds it. Exhales. He catches his breath carefully; he breathes. "I can't tell where anyone is. I can't tell where I am. It's--"

Breathe.

"It's weird to see you. It's been two days? It's not back yet?"

Zoisite has posed:
"We suspected," Zoisite replies, his voice given away nothing. He looks over his prince's bandaged form, and it's so strange to see him this way, confined and closed in. Small, even, in the hospital bed. At least he looks it, swaddled as he is.

He glances down to the hand dangling at his side, the one holding his phone, uselessly. Yes, she had texted, hadn't she? "She's be here soon." The thuds and the barely there voice confirms it, though Zoisite is not sure Mamoru is in any kind of state to actually realize.

When he sees the text further up in the group chat, his head swivels to turn towards the window, before it slowly returns to face Mamoru.

Well, she'll be along shortly.

"You're in the hospital. So am I. The others are in some combination of nearby or at home, resting, but I'm certain you'll be inundated with attention soon enough." Judging by his drawn brows and the barest parting of his lips, Zoisite has no idea what to do with what Mamoru says next.

So he just sighs quietly and murmurs, "We're going to figure this out. In the meantime, your number one priority is resting."

Usagi Tsukino has posed:
The door of Mamoru's room swooshes open maybe three minutes later, not shoved hard but with the kind of frenetic energy that comes from someone being highly aware that they'll get thrown out of the hospital if they slam a door against a wall, and thus being careful with extreme reluctance.

Usagi Tsukino is the one in the door way, and she practically launches herself forward when she sees Mamoru, awake, eyes open -

Only to catch herself, arms pinwheeling, before she can throw herself at him because bandages, bandages and injuries and burns and so much morphine, so many lectures from Ami and doctors about care and -

"Mamochan," her voice breaks a little, breath punched out of her. He's awake. He's finally awake.

She's a little dusty and smudged from her climb through an empty window into the hall, but she's uninjured, and she's pulling on a pair of white gloves, looking desperately worried, eyes roaming over him, even though, objectively, she was sharing this room with him like, three hours ago when she reluctantly let Zoisite have his shift.

"Do you remember - Zoisite, did you ask him if he remembers what happened?"

She moves closer, and, gingerly, finds a space near Mamoru that doesn't require coming between him and Zoisite.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"Good," says Mamoru, and he falls silent. 'Good' to what? Probably most, if not all, of what Zoisite just said.

The silence stretches for an interminable length of time that's probably thirty seconds, and then the prince says, matter of factly, "I really hate fire. And hospitals. And needles." A beat. "Not yours though."

He moves the fingers on his uninjured hand, one by one, without moving the rest of his hand, and he tries to think about what he just said, and the silence stretches on. There's something wrong with what he just said. He's in cotton wool and there's nothing on the other side of it, just empty space.

Three minutes. Three minutes of not much, of Mamoru looking at the ceiling and quite possibly forgetting Zoisite is there, if Zoisite is also quiet-- but there's a lot of ceiling.

And Usagi comes in, and Mamoru says, relieved he's put it together, "Your fire is okay."

Then his fingers wiggle, his left arm visible so she can see it happening, and he gets a ghost of a smile on his face. "Usako," he says, and that's a sigh too, relieved and tired. "I hear you. Zoi said you were coming. Moving my head hurts. Zoi asked me. Hinoiri. Ah, Zoi, is there water?"

Cotton wool and cotton mouth.

Zoisite has posed:
As soon as Usagi enters, Zoisite relaxes in small measures. He'd been standing vigil at Mamoru's bedside, uncertain of what else to say. With his lips pursed together he may actually have looked like he was upset, but the reality is more complex. The reality is that Zoisite is caught between instinct and emotion, perplexed by his hesitancy.

So it is indeed a relief to have someone else here, someone who can be comforting in a way he can't. Still, he appreciates that Usagi doesn't try to come between them, but finds her own place at Mamoru's side. "Yes," is his simple answer, because Mamoru fills in the rest after, and then he's busy fetching a glass of water. There are probably ice chips in it. There's definitey a straw, and he holds it up to Mamoru's lips for drinking.

Let it be known that Zoisite is helping. Because he doesn't really feel like he is, on the inside.

Usagi Tsukino has posed:
The first thing she hears him says, and it's apparently reassuring Zoisite that his fire is okay. Usagi can't help but smile, because it's such a Mamoru thing to do.

"Hi, Mamochan," she says, and gently catches his hand with her gloved ones. She's patient while Zoisite gets him a some water and brings the straw to his mouth, and aside from a twitch of her mouth and a darkening of her eyes when he says Hinoiri, she's focused purely on him.

"You've got some burns, and your head's probably moving them," she says, gently, "Chiyo-chan's going to bring you all the healing sweets she can make to help, but until then, the doctor said you should try not to move too much."

She squeezes his hand very gently, still with those gloves, not because she doesn't want to touch him, but because - because she's not sure how he'll react, if he touches her, and can't feel her, the way she can't feel him.

"You're on a lot of drugs right now."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"Thanks," says Mamoru after sipping from Zoisite's straw, and making sure the water only gets his mouth and throat wet, just in case the drugs he's on don't like him having anything in his stomach -- he remembers things like that, like this -- he looks up, still, but he can see his guardian without having to turn his head for now, and he can see Usagi in the corner of his eye, and his fingers tap loosely and lightly against hers.

"Then it must be really, really, really bad, if I'm on so many drugs and it still hurts," he says contemplatively. "That's good. I think feeling pain is better than feeling nothing. And I can't feel anything else so I'm glad it still hurts. She held me in place and took my-- my everything. Usako. Zoi. I'm not here."

Zoisite has posed:
There's not anything Zoisite can say. Nothing comes to mind, nothing but eerie blankness. Is he panicking? That's new. Zoisite's not exactly one for getting caught up in his emotions, unless it's to start cackling with glee. Sometimes at someone else's misery. Mostly the bad guys, nowadays.

He nods and sets the water cup aside, then resumes his place, standing with his back ramrod straight as he looks down at Mamoru. "You are," he says, though it rings hollow even to his own ears. "You're here. You're here with us."

Zoisite darts a gaze sidelong to Usagi, then his chin tips downward. His mouth opens as if he means to say more, but the words again fail him, so he makes a soft noise in his throat and says nothing.

Usagi Tsukino has posed:
Zoisite has the you're here, covered. Usagi, with Mamoru's hand captured in her own, bites down on her bottom lip until she's absolutely sure she won't just start crying, and finally says, "We're going to get it all back."

Because they will. They will. She won't let him live like this, with this emptiness, this nothingness when he's touched, when it's so alien to him -

Oh, Hinoiri, Hinoiri, Hinoiri. You just had to find the end of her patience, didn't you?

"We're here with you, and we're going to get the rest of you back. She doesn't get to - she won't get away with this, Mamochan."

And if she won't give it back on her own - if she won't give it back on her own, Usagi will kick it out of her, one rib at a time.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"Okay," Mamoru says, 'okay', like he doesn't buy it; sounds fake but okay. He says it like he's trying to soothe them.

For a moment he looks like he's going to say something else, but then his brow furrows again. "I'm sorry. I'm-- not sorry for-- I know it wasn't my fault. But I'm sorry you're upset. I can hear that, at least. I can see that. It-- I have to tell you something."

He licks his lips.

"You're not going to like it. I think she's possessed. The last thing I could feel before it was all gone was her, really small. Wanting me to stop her. Even as she was telling me I had-- I had a lot of power. But not enough. She's going to go after other people. But she's-- don't go after her, Usa, Zoi, not alone, not even with a small group, okay, get more people than you took to Soryuu Shrine, a lot more."

He taps her hand with his fingers again, tired. So tired. His voice is a little flat, a little breathless, a little thin. "Stop her. But-- don't get stopped. Okay?"

Zoisite has posed:
Zoisite's eyes tighten, just a fraction. He can hear his own uncertainty reflected back on him in Mamoru's voice, the same lack of belief. But they're all pretending things are better than they are, so he goes along with the lie.

When Mamoru starts to apologize, there comes a great heave of a sigh from Zoisite. It's so him to do that, so the sigh is maybe a little fond, maybe a lot exasperated.

But then he holds his breath, waiting to hear what comes next.

And Mamoru is right, Zoisite doesn't like it. It's not good news on any front, and he steps back, makes an aborted move like he means to start pacing, before he returns to his spot next to the bed. The taut energy is obvious in his frame, though, this newly gained information immediately spinning his mind off in a thousand different directions.

"We will," he says, plainly. There are no grandiose promises, no swearing of fealty (technically he's already done that, long ago). Just those two words, and the fire that burns in Zoisite's eyes.

Usagi Tsukino has posed:
He says it like it's fake. He says it like he just wants to comfort them, when he's the one lying there. He says it like -

Usagi squeezes his hand. He's apologizing and she doesn't know what to say. I'm just glad you're still with us? None of this is for you to apologize for.

Something, though. She should probably say something. Instead, like Zoisite, she's quiet, her jaw tightening, her eyes hard, as he says that she's possessed - as he offers that tidbit, about Hinoiri, and her condition, and she's so stupid, Hinoiri is so stupid, why are geniuses always so stupid -

"Even if I have to drag them all out of class myself," she promises, and fine, she won't kick Hinoiri in the ribs three times for every single one of Mamochan's bruises.

But she will do it once. For every bandage. At least.

They all told her to cut it out. They all told her to stop. But no, she just had to beat her stupid jerk mentor, she just had to break the sun, she just had to be the best in all the world -

"And I'll make sure to find pineapple flavored jello, okay? They said you're going to eat a lot of jello."