The day after the asteroid; the day after the explosive catharsis party at the Earth Court Frat House-- Mamoru has the leisure to be out, alone, by himself. After Usagi went home to cry on her mother a lot, the upperclassman didn't have to even argue about going out by himself: Kunzite just looked at the other guys and the protests died on their lips, unspoken. There's no looming threat. He's not ill. He took care of himself just fine for ten years. He can henshin, he can fight, he can call for help-- hell, he can even teleport away if he really REALLY has to. Alone time, very important for the introvert who literally hasn't had alone time in months.
So out he went, with a warm petrified rosewood stone in his pocket and a plastic bag and gardening gloves and a spade in a backpack.
All morning was spent riding around on his motorcycle, going to parts of the city that he's loved and taking a spadeful of dirt from each, adding them to some of the purified dirt that Kunzite had picked broken glass out of, in the plastic bag. At lunchtime he took a break at the farmer's market to eat and to pick up some fresh things for Makoto, and afterwards, a brief sojourn to the palaces to gather earth from their half-dreaming grounds.
Now, the boy's loud motorcycle comes to a halt outside Makoto's apartment building; moments later, he's knocking at her door with the bag of farmer's market goodies dangling from one arm and his helmet under the other arm. He's smudged and a little disheveled and his hair's sticking up some, and he looks less tired than he has since some time last summer.
It doesn't take long for the door to open for Mamoru's knock, and it's clear the moment it does that Makoto has been on a cleaning binge: dressed in an old t-shirt and faded jeans, she's tied a bandanna over her hair, and the apartment behind her smells of Clean.
She's looked better, truthfully, but she's also looked worse, and when she smiles at Mamoru it's a little tired but wholly genuine. "Niisan, hey," she says, automatically stepping back from the door to let him in. "What have you been up to?"
Mamoru laughs a little ruefully. "Well--" he says, immediately upon smelling the Clean and glancing past Makoto for a second before returning his gaze to her face and looking entirely wry. "I have a backpack of dirt, so I'm not sure you want to let me in, as messy as I am. Or let me hug you because I'm sure there's nearly as much of it on me."
Then it turns into a somewhat self-deprecating look, but that's mitigated by a smile that's still real, and a little uncertain about whether it's sad. "I've actually--" he starts, then remembers the bag of fresh produce and interesting spices, and rolls the bag down his arm to present it to Mako, still standing behind the threshold. "This is for you! But, uh. I've actually been collecting dirt all morning. To plant a rose. And the stone Kunzite brought to the asteroid. For Fiore. Just in case. And I thought maybe the planter for the rosebush might still be here-- and I thought you might want to be in on it. Hoped, I mean, because I do need your help with it. And I thought maybe you'd also like some more roses, to put in honey."
Makoto's eyebrows go up a little as Mamoru talks, surprise and faint confusion. He's offering the bag to her before she can actually ask any questions, and she's momentarily derailed by accepting it from him and taking a peek into it.
By the time he's done explaining, Mako is still smiling, but in a way that makes her look like she might be about to cry. She does make an abortive move as though to hug him, before she catches herself and holds out her arms in invitation instead. "Of course you can come in," she says. "It's fine. That planter was broken, but I have some spare pots, from - from the other plants the xenian killed. One of those should be big enough."
Finally Mamoru steps in, rolling his helmet into his hand so he doesn't drop it when he takes Mako up on that invitation, wrapping her in a warm, enveloping squish of a big brother hug, leaning his head down on top of hers for a second. "I missed you," he says frankly after a moment, letting go but leaving the helmetless hand on her arm for a second longer. "I mean I know you were over all the time, but I was out of it or asleep a lot. And we really haven't had much time in so long-- it's been a hell of a year." And then he laughs again, this time teasingly, eyes crinkled at the corners. "Besides, boyfriends definitely have priority over niisans."
Finally, the helmet gets set down as Mamoru closes the door behind him, then grimaces as he leaves a dirt-smudge on the handle. "Let me wash my hands before I do anything else," he says, unslinging the backpack and setting it down by the door too. "And my face." But he's grinning as he sidesteps toward the bathroom.
There might be a bit of snuffling from Makoto as she leans into the hug and wraps her arms around Mamoru in return. If so, it's mostly hidden against his shirt. "I missed you, too," she says. "At least I don't have to ask if you're feeling better. I... I'm really glad you're finally up and around again."
She's still smiling as she steps back, still looks a little bit like she wants to cry. Bright-eyed, but there are no tears. Not right now, at least. "Go ahead," she says with a nod.
While he's in the bathroom, she takes the time to go through the bag from the market and put things away, in the fridge and the spice cabinet. By the time he comes back out, she's pulling a small stack of empty flowerpot out from under the kitchen sink where she'd stashed them.
"So am I," Mamoru says fervently. "Gotta figure out a way to prevent that kind of crap from happening again." He resists the urge to ruffle Makoto's ponytail with his grimy hand, but does not resist the urge to tease with the possibility, hand hovering over her head for a second before he scrambles to the bathroom, laughing again.
Water runs, there's splashing. It's a minute, but by the time he comes back out, Mako's got that stack of flowerpots-- so he goes to grab the backpack. "Want to do this outside or something so we don't get dirt all over your clean floor?" he asks cheerfully. "You know, I'd actually almost wanted to have a funeral for that rosebush, for real. But it seems a little off, now..."
"Probably a good idea," Mako agrees after barely a moment's consideration. Reaching back under the sink, she comes up with a small bucket of garden supplies, perches it atop the stack of flowerpots. Gathering the whole thing up into her arms, she straightens and starts for the doorway where Mamoru is already waiting with his backpack.
Mentioning the rosebush's fate brings a regretful look to her face. "...yeah," she says after a moment. "I know what you mean. Even though it was just a plant, it was kind of special. But..." At the entryway, she hesitates, searches for words. "...at least... we can do something for Fiore," is what she comes up with, somewhat lamely.
There's a tiny little rueful smile, there, at Makoto's last. "And," Mamoru says, holding the door open for Makoto, "honestly it seems like a kinder thing not to put him in the rosebush's planter, so in retrospect I'm kind of glad it's gone too. It would seem a little like rubbing his face in one of the things the Xenian did."
Then he follows her out and closes the door behind him again, clomping down the short steps behind her. Workboots are not a frequent thing for him, and the clomping is a little bit of private glee. He keeps following until Mako stops, wherever it is she deems a good place to do this, and then sets the backpack down and crouches to open it.
The first thing he pulls out is the plastic bag of dirt. It's a little less than what's needed to fill the biggest pot Makoto's brought out, but that's a good thing too-- "Hey, this means we can add some of the dirt from here," he says with a smile, crinkle-eyed.
The second thing he pulls out is his own gardening gloves, but Mako's trowel is nicer than the battered thing he's been digging with all day, so he leaves that in. He drops from the crouch to his knees and digs in his pocket for a moment, producing the small rosewood stone, then holds it up and tells it matter-of-factly, "We're doing what we can to let you live here with us. So you won't be alone either." Then he glances at Mako uncertainly. "I don't think I can bring out a rose with roots, but I can try. Otherwise, we can see if planting one of mine even does anything. It's not like they're normal cut flowers. Other-otherwise... if you know anything about grafting..."
They don't have to go far; just out the door and a little bit off to the side until they're off the paved walk and next to some small shrubs, out of the way of anyone who might want to pass by. Then Mako is kneeling down, setting her load down and spreading things out around her. She has her own well-worn pair of gardening gloves, and a trowel and a little hand-rake, and some leftover potting soil in a rolled-up bag.
She is, of course, long past finding anything odd about talking to a stone. Mako's brows just draw together a little as she considers what Mamoru is almost-not-quite asking. "Not really grafting," she admits, "but... roses can strike from cuttings. I might--" A moment's hesitation; she bites her lip uncertainly. "If it's one of your roses, I might be able to ask it to root."
Her head ducks, and she reaches to rub her fingers distractedly over the back of her neck before she looks back up to meet Mamoru's eyes again and smiles crookedly. "I mean, I did get a tree to grow. I was really angry that time, though. And there was a lot of lightning. But we can give it a try."
Mamoru's face lights up; it's almost absurd how much. He very nearly, for a moment, looks younger than Makoto. He reaches over to lay his hand on her forearm, warm and bright and open, but careful not to let the contact be overwhelming. "That's perfect. That's it. I knew I needed you to help with this, but I didn't know you actually made that tree grow. You can definitely ask my rose, I'm sure of it! This planet already loves you so much, and these--"
He pulls his hand away from her only to twist his wrist and apparate a rose, holding it up. "--these are from its dreams, aren't they?" Then he lifts a finger, smiling lopsidedly. "Stay still a second," he says, and reaches again, this time to put the rose in Mako's hair, very carefully. "Your hair... is official rose-holder for the duration of this planting project."
Then he slides the bag of assorted dirt closer to Mako's bag of potting soil and looks hopeful. "I've never actually potted something from scratch. Actually, planting Kunzite's the closest I've ever come to potting something from scratch and you helped with that too. Should we mix all the dirt together?"
"I didn't actually know if I could until I tried it," Makoto says with a self-conscious little laugh, cheeks turning faintly pink. "But there was all that energy just going into the ground, and - I was really upset."
A little shake of her head, and she focuses on the task at hand. "We'll definitely want to mix up the dirt together, and - hang on." A brief moment of consideration, and Mako's gathering up the pots other than the largest one and getting back onto her feet. "I'll be right back," she promises, before vanishing back into her apartment.
She's left the door standing open behind her, so Mamoru will hear her voice from inside saying, "Jupiter Power - Make Up!"
The upperclassman waits, hands on his knees, kneeling in the grass; he glances down and is about to start mixing up the dirt when he hears the shout from inside, and he can't help himself. He bursts out laughing, reaching up to cover his face-- and since he's already got the gardening gloves on, it'll be very easy for Sailor Jupiter to see how very easily he got so smudgy in the first place.
By the time she's coming back out, he's getting to his feet, still looking amused. "Should I change, too? I mean-- to help, because... I would think Mako-chan is stronger than Jupiter for this, since she was born on Earth and that's the kind of rose it is. I bet if you tried, you could do it without transforming."
When Sailor Jupiter reappears in the open doorway, she is carrying Makoto's watering can and looking increasingly bemused by Mamoru's amusement and his newly-smudgy face.
"Do you think so?" She looks down uncertainly at herself, in full sailor fuku glory as she is. "I just thought... I can't use my powers when I'm not transformed. And I don't want to take any chances of messing things up because I wasn't able to give it enough power."
Coming back over to where the pot and soil and everything else is waiting, she sets the can down. "But if you really think it'd be better the other way, I can try," she says.
Either way, Mamoru does indeed add potting soil, then a handful of dirt from under the shrubbery next to the spot, and then shakes the bag up good. He pours half the dirt in, then places the petrified rosewood stone in like he's putting it to bed. By the time Mako appears in the doorway, he's dumping the rest of the dirt into the pot, back on his knees again. He looks up.
And Sailor Jupiter holding a watering can and looking bemused is hilariously adorable, and it's all Mamoru can do not to start laughing again. So he just sort of holds his dirty-glove hand in front of his mouth like he's going to cough, doesn't, and his eyes twinkle. Once he's got his mouth under control, his hand falls away and he nods emphatically. "And besides, if it's not enough power, screwing up just means I pull another rose and you henshin again, right? No big deal."
He gestures at the flowerpot and smiles. "You never know until you try. I mean, before now, you've really only used your powers for fighting, or when very very angry-- and it was a very big thing you made grow with all that anger and power. This is a small and quiet act of creation. It's entirely different, isn't it?"
Jupiter's eyes narrow and she gives Mamoru a suspicious look that says she is in no way fooled by his attempt to pretend he's not laughing. The corners of her mouth are twitching upwards a bit, though. "...You're right," she allows, ducking her head in a nod of acknowledgement. "It's not the same thing at all. And, well... it'd be good to know, wouldn't it? All right."
Anticlimactically enough, she lets the transformation fade in a soft rush of air, and she's Makoto again, his rose still tucked into her hair. Leaving it where it is for the moment, she reaches out to brush her hand over the mounds of dirt in the flowerpot, evening out the surface and then simply resting her hand lightly against it for a moment. The humor's left her face now; she looks regretful and a little sad.
"I'm sorry," Makoto murmurs, and it's not quite clear if she's talking to Mamoru or the stone buried in the pot of soil. Or both. "I wish there'd been some other way."
Another one of those small smiles that say way more than they have any right to, with a fractional softening of his eyes; this one's a little wistful. After a half second, he reaches to place his hand over Makoto's briefly, his warmth reassuring and his power offering a further charge, or even just a framework. But it's not necessary, and the feeling of that is in there, too. He trusts that Makoto's heard, and that she can do this herself.
"It'll be all right," he finally says, quite low, and withdraws his hand. "He wanted to undo the damage he'd done unwittingly -- and he did so willingly, from his own heart. If there had been another way... but there wasn't, and we can only be grateful for his true feelings finally being strong enough to break him free. I don't want to take that choice away from him. Not when we worked so hard to get him any choices at all."
If Fiore - whatever of Fiore is preserved in the small stone now buried in the center of the flowerpot - can hear her, if enough of a will remains to answer, Makoto has no idea. If there is, it's nothing she can hear. She hopes, though, just as much as she hopes that between herself and Mamoru they can infuse enough life into the dirt that Mamoru so carefully collected that something of Fiore can sprout back new.
She'd felt like he was something like a plant, that time she tried to will him not to bleed out all over Mamoru's carpet. Maybe he's plant enough for this to work.
"I suppose that's true," she says quietly, lifting her hand from the surface of the pot of soil. Reaching up, she carefully disentangles the rose from her hair, holds it cradled between her hands for a moment. Even untransformed, she thinks maybe she can feel its energy.
A rose that doesn't wither should have enough life in it to take root, shouldn't it?
Gently, she pushes the stem into the dirt, uses both hands to mound it up a little around the stem to help hold it upright. Poised like this, she looks up at Mamoru. "Could you water the soil a little?"
A quick nod, and Mamoru leans over to pick up the watering can and carefully pour water into the assorted dirt in the pot, around Mako's hands-- and over them if she doesn't draw them away.
The rose, in Makoto's hands, with her focus on its life-- she can feel it stir, like it'd gone to sleep and is in the process of waking; it's vibrant and vivid on a level that has nothing to do with sight. Just like the magic she puts in the honey. It certainly wants to grow. That's what that magic is for, isn't it?
She doesn't take her hands away from around the rose's stem; the water flows over them, trickling between her fingers to wet the soil. "That's good," she says quietly, once the dirt in the pot is wetted down - not enough to drown the plant they hope to grow in mud, just enough to give the roots something to drink without drying out.
Makoto can't control the rose any more than she could control the oak tree... but she can feel its energy respond, and like the oak before, she can ask. "Please," she says, and this time it's clear that she's talking to the rose between her hands. She visualizes the fine white root tips reaching out from the cut stem and pushing into the earth, wills them spread down, to cradle the stone buried beneath. "Please, root."
Mamoru's very quiet; he doesn't interrupt. He'll lend power if Makoto needs it, but he doesn't think she will--
--and there. It is his rose; he can feel it striving, struggling-- thriving. He can't see it, not without touching, which he isn't because he feels like it would be interfering, but...
He looks up at Mako, eyes shining.
The rose wants so very much to please Mako, to do what she asks; its roots spread like delicate veins beneath the surface of the soil, entwine and embrace the rosewood stone, encourage it to dream along with it for a while before it has the strength to awaken.
There. Makoto feels it to, the moment that the roots begin to lace into the earth, winding their way around the stone and drawing it in. Without even realizing it, she smiles, eyes brightening with hope.
When she lifts her hands from the little mound of earth, the stem doesn't waver. Its roots hold it steadily anchored in the soil.
"It worked!" Nearly breathless with the surprise of it, she looks up to meet Mamoru's eyes. "You can feel it, right? It's growing." Still small, for now, a single rose growing out of the soil... but it's rooted, drawing strength and sustenance from the soil he so carefully gathered.
Now Mamoru can reach forward, fold his hand over Makoto's-- grin at her. So bright, so proud, so full of affection. "Yeah," he says, his voice too-- something to do much more than a half-whisper. "Yeah I can feel it. You did it."
And then he gets off of sitting on his heels but is still kneeling, and he leans over next to the little potted rose (!) to hug Mako, big and tight. "You did it. He has a home. You gave him a home, Mako-chan. He won't be alone anymore."
"Not just me," Makoto begins to protest, the words exhaled in a rush of breath not quite a laugh. "You, too--"
He's hugging her, and she leans into it, wrapping her arms around him in return and never mind that her hands are grubby with wet dirt. "Welcome home, Fiore," she tells the rose in its pot, murmuring, half laughing as her head falls forward to rest against Mamoru's shoulder.
--and then it's just too much, all the complicated pent-up emotion of the past few weeks suddenly all boils over in a rush. Laughter turns to tears, and before she knows it Makoto is clinging to Mamoru, crying tears of relief and catharsis into his shirt.
It's a start, at least.