"Quirk of Fate"
~Is There Insurance for This?~
I couldn't move.
I literally. couldn't. move.
I'm not sure how long I remained a statue, but it was probably about thirty seconds, maybe more. I just sat there with my fingers clenched around the steering wheel, heart beating a painful and no doubt irregular rhythm while I gasped for air.
'Breathe', I reminded myself every so often, but one invariably takes such a simple action for granted when they're *not* knee-deep in a crisis. Or more precisely, thirty seconds after hitting someone with their car. At least, I *thought* it was a person. I couldn't be too sure; after all, it was almost nine-thirty so not only was the highway cloaked in darkness, but I was tired to boot. Still, I couldn't deny that even without the moonlight, the figure had looked suspiciously like a woman.
... a woman who came flying out of nowhere, right into the trajectory of my Ferrari.
It's strange the way the mind functions under stress, because I suddenly had the urge to giggle.
Yes, giggle. Lord save us all. Chiba Mamoru *does not* giggle, I can assure you that. But for some unexplained reason, my brain provided the mental image of a woman being flung down from heaven. Maybe some angel, sent from above to readjust my not-particularly-exciting life with her flawless beauty and charming wit.
And I had to go and hit her with my car. Typical.
Still, as the shock wore off and the fear flitted in, I realized that I was probably being the world's biggest asshole. Here I was, freaking out in my car, while a woman lay hurt and hell, maybe even dead in the road. While I couldn't see anything out the windshield (seeing as it was cracked beyond repair and all), I had a sinking suspicion whoever just got rammed by my vehicle was now sprawled underneath it.
"Fuck," I muttered raggedly, and let me tell you, I don't normally succumb to swearing like that. Hands shaking, I disentangled myself from the seat belt, suddenly glad I had worn it or I'd probably resemble a dissected frog right about now. You know, the sickly green kind high school biology professors force you to disembowel purely for the sake of grossing their students out? I compare myself to a sickly green amphibian because it's Motoki's running joke that my jacket spawns from one of these poor creatures, har har. But I digress.
Sorry, I tend to ramble when I'm inches away from having a meltdown.
As I wrenched open the door and slid from sanctuary, the chilly evening hair sliced through my skin with a vengeance. It was early fall, the time of year when days are cool and nights cooler. I half wished I'd brought along something heavier than my usual light outer coat, but I suppose that doesn't really matter anymore. I peeked around the front of the car where my bumper hung at an odd angle, freezing when I caught sight of the woman- yes, I hadn't been dreaming- lying insipid and bleeding in the street.
My throbbing heart chose this moment to fail, and the next thing I knew I was clutching the left side mirror for support with flagging knees and blurring vision.
Because I knew her. Oh God, *I knew her*.
Okay, not personally, but who didn't know Tokyo's freaking legend of a superheroine, Sailor Moon? When her face was plastered on umpteen billboards throughout the city... and her picture graced the newspaper headlines every other day... and when she rested unconscious under your car. I did a double-take. She *was* unconscious, right? Right!? Because as I sure as hell didn't have insurance to cover the accidental death of a vigilante, if not.
I moaned at the thought of being forever labelled a superhero murderer, dragging my reluctant feet toward the motionless woman. Apparently, stress also wreaks havoc with one's mind because right when I needed all that medical knowledge most, my memory wiped itself into a blank slate. So here I was, crouched over Sailor Moon, wringing my hands and imagining myself years from now, locked up behind some festering, rape-inclined prison. Helpful, right? So much for all that hard-earned cash being dumped into a college degree fund. I suddenly realized that if I couldn't determine whether a patient was dead or alive, I probably would make one hell of a terrible doctor. Then again, lifetime incarceration might just squash whatever hope I had left... So I took a deep breath, trying to calm down and recall the textbook plus whatever I'd gleaned from endless hours of cramming and lectures.
Okay.
First course of action I deemed prudent: check to see if she was alive. Heartbeat, breathing- simple enough. With sweaty palms, I searched the odangoed blonde's throat and wrist for telltale signs of life. Relief flooded my body when I touched upon the dull, throbbing pulse. Closer inspection of her slightly agape mouth assured me that yes, I wasn't facing charges of manslaughter because Sailor Moon was still exhaling light puffs of air.
Well, that was one millstone off my neck. But now came the hard part.
I cringed, eying a weeping laceration that trailed from the girl's side right across her midsection. Her arm was also tucked inward at an awkward angle, and there were odd purple bruises all over her legs. Here and there, tiny shards of glass stuck out from where I was sure pieces of my windshield had rained down and become embedded in the Senshi's skin. It was obvious my car had done a doosie on poor Sailor Moon. Enough that she needed more than a simple band-aid and pat on the head could provide.
I hesitated. The hospital popped into my mind first, but I shot down the idea almost as quickly as it came. Sailor Moon? In a facility? Sure, they'd heal her. And after that, she'd become a little lab rat for the government! No, I wouldn't wish that on any human with supernatural powers- even if they weren't pretty and wearing a miniskirt. I haven't trusted hospitals since my parents died. Funny, the professions you find yourself in.
I sighed. The only foreseeable option seemed to be taking Sailor Moon home and clumsily trying to patch her up there.
While breaking about a million laws in the process.
I gulped, already feeling the weight of those perpetrations. I'd never been a risk taker; never a particularly courageous man. But one look at Sailor Moon, and my resolve steeled.
I messed up. Horribly, and now a woman's life is on the line.
It's only fair that I should be the one to fix what went wrong.
