Tuxedo Mirage
By Aimee

Chapter Two

	The rest of the day was a complete blur for
Usagi. Isabelle had proven to be quite the guest.
After forcing a disinclined Mamoru into the shower
to clean himself up, she proceeded to call exactly
four real estate agents to locate a new residence
for her son.

	"Something semi-large...at least four
bedrooms..." she spoke into her tiny cell phone,
her fake nails clicking rapidly on the glass coffee
table. "East side of town, you say? When can we look
at it? Tomorrow? No, the funeral is tomorrow. Sometime
today will be fine. Well, I don't care if you have
other appointments! Cancel them! I'll be expecting
your call within the hour. Cheers." *Click* The woman
smiled endearingly at the mute girl beside her. "It's
so hard to find good help these day, darling. You
understand..."

	'Her smile...' Usagi noted, her mind racing.
'My God...that's Mamoru's smile. Mamo-chan, what is
going on? I don't understand...'

	Isabelle tightened her lips, and her brow
furrowed in a brief moment of mystification. "Why
the long face, Usagi? Is something the matter?"

	"Oh no...nothing at all..." Usagi said,
calling a fraudulent smile to her face.

	The older woman didn't appear to believe her.
"You seem so surprised that I'm Mamoru's mother. I
take it he's not mentioned me before."
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	"Oh, he's mentioned you," Usagi admitted
truthfully, bringing two fingers to rub her aching
temple. "Though you're not exactly what I had pictured..."

	'Not by a long shot,' she added silently.

	Mamoru cleared his throat from the other
side of the room, and Usagi brought her tired eyes
to meet his. He was dressed a little nicer than
usual, and his hair was neatly combed. Despite the
raging confusion in Usagi's mind, she couldn't help
but offer him a smile of encouragement. His dimly
lit eyes and pallid cheeks told her that he badly
needed her support.

	"Now there's my handsome young man. Come
here, and let me look at you, darling," Isabelle
cooed. Mamoru approached stiffly, and the abject
misery on his face did not escape his girlfriend.

	Isabelle reached up and roughly ran her
fingers through Mamoru's thick hair. He winced but
kept silent despite the attacks being dealt upon
his hair. "We'll have to get your hair cut before
tomorrow. The Cunninghams will be at the funeral,
you know. We must keep up appearances." Mamoru
rolled his eyes, and Usagi almost felt inclined to
follow suit. "And we'll be looking at some new
apartments for you this afternoon. Niles should
be calling me shortly about a lovely flat on the
East side."

	Mamoru's mouth dropped open in a moment of
disbelief at the words his mother had just uttered.
"I'm not moving."

	"Excuse me, dearest? Did I misunderstand
you?" Isabelle inquired mockingly. "Why on earth
would you want to stay in such a tiny apartment?
Why, you have a girlfriend now...soon to be fianc鬍
I should hope! You'll be wanting some place bigger
when you're married."

	Eyes falling to the furiously blushing face
of his girlfriend and back to his mother's stubborn
stance, Mamoru's mouth opened to argue, but it soon
closed again with a sigh of defeat. He gave up. As
simple as that.

	Usagi's eyes widened as she watched him yield
to his mother. Did Chiba Mamoru suddenly leave his
body? Who was this person there now? *This* was the
man who had been the only challenge she'd ever had
in the field of arguing? He always stood up for himself!

	Usagi felt a twinge of duty pull at her, and
she pushed up her sleeves angrily. Well, if he couldn't
fight for himself, she would.

	"Isabelle?" Usagi beckoned the plastic woman
in her sweetest tone. "About the new apartment, I'm
not sure if today would be a good day to worry with
that. Mamoru hasn't been feeling well." The name
'Mamoru' felt foreign on her tongue, but she used
it regardless, afraid that her beloved nickname for
him might embarrass him in front of such a meretricious
woman.

	Isabelle looked at her son skeptically. "Is
that right, darling? Are you ill?"

	Mamoru looked confused for a moment, eyebrows
rising in perplexity, but he quickly caught on and
produced a convincing cough, complete with a sniffle
or two. "Oh yeah. Flu bug. Very contagious."

	"Extremely," Usagi agreed with a nod. "You'd
better go."

	The woman visibly drew back, paling at the
thought of illness, and Usagi swore she heard a little
"eep" sound escape from the hot pink shaded lips.
"Yes, I suppose you're right then," Isabelle managed,
hand over heart. "You *will* still be at the funeral
tomorrow though, won't you? I can't imagine what the
rest of the family would think...not to mention the
Cunninghams."

	Usagi felt a wee bit dizzy. The REST of the
family?

	A frown crossed Mamoru's features, and his
eyes turned to stone. His voice was low and as smooth
as glass as he replied, and Usagi involuntarily
shivered. "Hai. I'll be there, Isabelle."

	"*Mother*!" the woman snapped, her voice rising
considerably as she whipped around to face her son.
"Call me mother! Is that understood?"

	Usagi gasped, taken aback by the woman's
sudden outburst, and she immediately took Mamoru's
hand into her own to let him know she was behind
him. How dare that wretched woman yell at him! One
more crack like that, and Mamoru would once again
be motherless. The unfortunate Mrs. Chiba would
have a very angry Moon Princess up in her face.

	Isabelle didn't wait for Mamoru's answer to
her demand. Instead, she turned towards the door,
calling out orders as she left. "Very well, darling.
I'll see you tomorrow then. Wear something respectable,
and get a haircut. And...do something about that cold.
Maybe some chicken soup...or uh...something." Chiba
Isabelle was obviously ill equipped with knowledge
of housekeeping responsibilities.

	The plastic woman tossed a few "Cheers" and
kisses over her shoulder and made her exit. The door
slammed shut with a deafening bang, the blow serving
to shake the adjoining wall considerably; a picture
fell to the ground with a loud crash, and glass flew
in every direction. Mamoru covered his face with one
hand and let a long, drawn-out groan escape his lips.

	Quite an exit, indeed.

	Mamoru turned to the silent Usagi and gave
her a halfhearted smile. "Well...I certainly wasn't
expecting her today." She looked at him with a wounded
expression, no reply on her lips. "She's something,
isn't she?" Mamoru produced weakly.

	Usagi raised an eyebrow, arms crossing.
"Yes, she certainly is. But you must admit she
looked remarkably well for someone who's supposed
to be dead. Wouldn't you agree?"

	Mamoru faltered, and he raised a shaky hand
up to his face to brush his hair from his eyes.
"Usako..."

	"Why don't you trust me, Mamo-chan? What did
I do wrong?" she cut him off. "Whatever is going on,
don't you think we could have worked through it
together?"

	His face crumpled, and his emotion-filled
gaze fell to the floor. "Please don't yell at me,
Usako. Don't leave me. You promised..."

	"I am *not* going to leave you! Why would
you even think that?" she yelled, a little too loudly.
Biting her lip, she let out a breath, trying to calm
herself. Yelling would do no good in this situation.
Mamoru obviously couldn't handle much more pressure
than he was already under. His head shook back and
forth sadly, and Usagi's heart broke at the sight.
"Mamo-chan...look at me," she requested in a much
gentler tone of voice, lifting his downcast chin.
His dull, teary eyes met hers. "Whatever this is
all about, we'll work through it. I love you, Chiba
Mamoru, you silly baka. I would never leave you...
especially when you needed me."

	"You're about the only one..." he whispered
hoarsely, a lone tear slipping down his cheek.

	Usagi's lips parted in hushed surprise at
the sight of Mamoru crying. It was something she'd
never seen him do, and her heart twisted with worry.
Seeing the misery on his face, she touched his wet
cheek lightly wiping away the lonely tear. Wrapping
her arms tightly around his waist, she pulled him
into a tight embrace, squeezing the dickens out of
him until she thought she heard ribs beginning to
crack. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise," she
whispered into his warm chest.

	Mamoru tried to believe her, and he ran the
words she spoke over and over in his mind, trying
to grasp and hold on to them...trying so hard to
accept them as truth. 'She's not leaving. She
promised. She *promised*,' he inwardly whispered.
And if there was one thing he knew about Usagi, it
was that she kept her promises. Always. She was the
one person he knew he could always count upon. And
he wanted nothing more than to do the same for her:
to be someone she could rely on. The rock she could
stand upon. Someone who was trustworthy and honest.
Everything a husband should be. But there was one
thing standing in the way of that goal. The truth.
And it was telling her the truth that frightened him
to tears. But it had to be done...no matter how much
it burned inside to even think of the past. She was
a part of him now.

	Inwardly troubled beyond words, he sighed
as he pulled away from the petite blond, placing a
warm kiss on her forehead. "Will you go with me
tomorrow? I would...really like it if you were
there with me." The clenched emotion in his voice
was hard to ignore, though he tried to hide it, as
he always did.

	Usagi smiled at him warmly, hoping to sooth
his uncertainties away. "Of course. Where are we going?"

	He stepped away momentarily, rummaging
through a nearby desk. His words were soft, his eyes
turned away from hers. "A funeral."

	"Who's?" she whispered, almost afraid to
find out. Returning to her side, he handed her the
letter she'd seen yesterday. She accepted it from
him, hopelessly curious. Scanning the text briefly,
Usagi swallowed a large lump that had become lodged
in her throat. "Mamo-chan, why do I get the feeling
there's more to your secret than just your mother?"

	A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "Usako--
sweetheart--we've only just begun."

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	August 2, 1981
	(flashback)

	"He's just a child, Edward. He didn't do
anything wrong," the elder gentlemen tried to intervene.

	"He's a bastard! Illegitimate! And living
under my roof! It's shameful, I tell you, to disgrace
our family name with tainted blood. I will not stand
for it!" Chiba Edward seethed, pacing around his
large office. Stacks upon stacks of papers enveloped
his desk. Proof. Evidence. Substantiation that his
wife had an affair six years prior...with a rather
unexpected result.

	A little boy named Mamoru.

	He was a gregarious little child then.
Bright-eyed and happy. A five-year-old (soon to be
six) with a flair for chocolate ice cream and a
disgust for the entire female "cootie-infested"
race. Nothing could make his childish heart soar
like his brand new GI Joe backpack, which he took
immense pride in, knowing that he would start
kindergarten soon.

	Yes, he was very happy. Or so it seemed.

	If only his father would be happy for him.

	It took little Mamoru a while to notice that
his father was different from other dads. At preschool,
his classmates would run happily into their father's
arms and present them with messy macaroni-covered and
crayon-scribbled works of art. Seeing the proud smiles
on the fathers' faces always confused Mamoru. That
wasn't what his father would do at all.

	"A waste of paper," he would say, and Mamoru's
precious work would be crumpled and thrown
unceremoniously into his father's office recycling
bin, whereupon little Mamoru would be ordered from
the room.

	Mamoru didn't cry when that happened, nor
when he brought home his prized arithmetic test paper.
He was the best counter in the whole preschool! And
didn't have to use his fingers to do it! But when the
test paper was presented to his father, bearing two
smiley face stickers and a high grade of 98, the
answer was a little less than what the child could
have hoped for.

	"Where are the other two points?"

	No, he hadn't cried. At least...not at first.

	"Does Daddy love me?" little Mamoru asked his
mother once.

	Isabelle was much younger then. Not quite
as shallow. But shallow, nonetheless. "Of course he
does, darling," she assured the little one with a
quick pat on the head.

	Mamoru chewed on his tiny finger thoughtfully,
looking up at her with big, innocent eyes. "Then why
does he hit me?"

	Tears forming involuntarily in her eyes,
the glass Isabelle was holding slipped from her
fingers and shattered on the floor. "When...when
did he hit you?"

	All the time, he had told her with wide,
confused eyes. Hadn't she noticed?

	Eyes turning away from the large bruise on
his upper arm, she shook her head, tears stinging
her eyes as she claimed that no, she never even
suspected. She was a good liar.

	But not good enough. Edward had found her
out on that second day in August, 1981...the day
before little Mamoru's sixth birthday. Isabelle had
cheated on her husband. And worse...*lied* to him
about their first-born. Mamoru was no son of his.
Edward had suspected as much from the first day he'd
laid eyes on the ebony-haired, blue-eyed infant. Not
even a minute resemblance between father and son
could be remotely assumed. And so, Edward had shunned
the very thought of the miserable child, and busied
himself with securing other, more desirable heirs
to the Chiba estate.

	And now, armed with new knowledge, Edward
knew that there was no chance in hell he would let
some illegitimate brat continue to live in his
household...much less inherit what Edward and his
forefathers had strived so long and hard to achieve.
And now he had proof. Piles of it. Mamoru and his
deceiving little Mumsy wouldn't know what hit them.

	And he hit hard.

	That was a difficult birthday for little
Mamoru, alone and frightened in the hospital,
battered and bruised almost beyond recognition. He
fought bravely against the physical and emotional
pain and against the tears that seemed to well up
in his eyes on their own, but he was only a child...
a child who didn't understand why his father had
lashed out at him in blinding rage, or why he'd
been cast out into the street alongside his
frantically crying mother.

	"Daddy..." the little boy sobbed into his
hospital pillow, every part of his tiny body aching
and writhing in pain.

	"Don't worry, darling. I'll get your father
back. Everything's going to be all right," his mess
of a mother assured him from her place beside his
hospital bed. It was the only time in his life she'd
stayed with him while he was sick.

	Isabelle did get her husband back. But there
were...conditions, as he called them. Isabelle had
to make a choice--Mamoru, her son, or Edward, her
husband. One or the other.

	Isabelle got her husband back.

	Oh, she had her reasons for leaving little
Mamoru at the orphanage, of course...or so she
insisted. "How could I provide for you, darling,
without your father? Without him, we'd both be on
the streets. At least here, you'll be taken care
of and educated. Once you're old enough to live on
your own, I'll get you out of here. I've already
set up a trust fund for that very day."

	But Mamoru didn't care about the money. He
wanted his mother...though exactly why he would
want her still remains a mystery.

	So he watched with a numb heart as his mother
turned her back on him and strode to the front of the
orphanage to enter the sleek black limo that awaited
her. "Momma..." he whispered, willing himself not
to cry, for there were children all around him...and
none of them were crying.

	That was the last time he called her Mother.

	"Hey kid," one of the bigger ones beckoned
him. "Was that your mom? You some kind of rich snob?"

	The little one's eyes closed, turning away
from the retreating form of his mother. He couldn't
bear to watch her any longer. "No," he whispered
quietly in response. "My parents are dead."

	That was the first of many lies.

	Another orphan joined the conversation, a
girl this time, who looked like she was tough enough
to chew nails. "Why you so beat up, kid?"

	Shame burned in his stomach, and a wave of
nausea flooded his senses. "I...I was in a car wreck."

	Another lie. More followed.

	Soon, he informed his fascinated peers that
he was the victim of "amnesia" as well, an ailment
he'd learned of from a cops and robbers TV show he'd
seen the previous week. It was took a stretch of the
imagination to believe such a tale, but Mamoru didn't
care. The more lies he made up about himself, the
less people questioned him about his family.

	And that suited him just fine.

	Years passed, and Mamoru excelled. Driven
by a secret desire he was hardly aware of to achieve
greater and beyond *anyone*, his teachers were
amazed at his success. Little did the young man
know that his desire for achievement had been born
into him long ago...when his father, who wasn't his
real father, had chided him continually on his
academics when he wasn't even old enough to read.
So, of course, even absolute perfection in his
studies wasn't good enough. His work had to be
beyond perfect; if there was such a level, he strove
to reach it.

	Perhaps then, he secretly thought, I'll
be accepted. Maybe even loved.

	And he was accepted...but he shunned love.
It was an unconscious act, of course. He wanted to
be loved so badly, yet pushed it away determinately,
sending a mixture of signals to all who knew him.
Come in...know me, one signal pleaded. Get out...
stay away, the other insisted.

	His mother, whom he still called Isabelle,
didn't help his inner confusion. She showered him
with money and presents, perhaps trying to make
herself feel better for depriving him of the thing
he'd needed most.

	Mamoru refused the gifts at first, for they
made him feel cheap and used, but the young man soon
began accepting them merely because his mother made
a scene if he didn't. She would call and visit
unexpectedly, asking him why her letters had been
returned, or demanding an explanation as to why the
last check she'd sent hadn't been cashed. If there
was one thing Mamoru didn't need, it was his mother
visiting when he wasn't supposed to have one.

	Thus, the checks were donated to the city
orphanage. He kept only what he needed to live and
pay for college, which was a minute sum compared to
the actual amount. The presents were handed out to
needy friends or the local homeless shelter. He kept
the first car and the first motorcycle merely out
of need, but sent the following three back with a
long-winded letter, expressing to his mother his
intense inner desire to be LEFT ALONE.

	Why was it so hard for the woman to simply
leave him be? After all, she'd had no problem doing
it the first sixteen years of his life...

	There was only one person that knew the truth
of his past. Furuhata Motoki: his best friend. The
truth had been disclosed in "a moment of weakness,"
as Mamoru called it, around the time that Motoki
and Reika were married. Motoki never looked at his
friend the same way again. It hurt to know that his
best friend had been maintaining a web of lies
around himself, but somehow, Motoki had always known
that Mamoru was hiding something...though what it
was, he could never put his finger on.

	"Why are you telling me this now?" Motoki
had inquired of his friend.

	"You're getting married," was the empty
response.

	"What does that have to do with anything?"

	"Usako."

	He'd bought the engagement ring only three
years after they'd met, and the words "Will you marry
me?" had been on his lips so many times he couldn't
even count them. But he never said those four simple
words to her. He simply couldn't. Mamoru outright
refused to wed her with the lies between them. She,
of all people, deserved the truth. She was one of
the few people who had managed to pull him out his
shell and show him what love was. Not once did she
push or prod him in directions he didn't want to go.
When speaking of the way Usagi loved him, Corinthians
13:4 fit her perfectly.

	"Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not
envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not
rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily
angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does
not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes,
always perseveres. Love never fails."

	All of those things she had given to him
without reserve, and he had lied to her. *Lied* to
her. He grieved over that fact every lonely dawn
and into each restless night. Could she ever forgive
him? Trust him again? Love him?

	He didn't know.

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*sniffle* Okay...that was really depressing to write.
But I hope you liked it anyway. Stay tuned for chapter
three.

Love ya!
Aimee-chan

sailor_moon89@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/moonlit_eclipse/