Title: "Getting to Know You Again, or Which One…?"

Fandom: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon

Prompt: 1208 (Deeper)

Character/Pairing: Mizuno Ami, Zane Murphy/Zoisite; Zoisite x Ami

Rating: M / PG-16 / Teen

Word Count: 10,196

Summary: It's a new life for both of them, with all new characteristics, habits, and quirks to learn all over again. But hey, isn't that the fun part?

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Authors Notes: College-aged/pre-Crystal Tokyo. To cover my bases: the songs mentioned around the middle are "Stay Alive" by José González, "Headphones" by Matt Nathanson, "Within A Mile Of Home" by Flogging Molly, and "Play It Again" by Luke Bryan. Fluff ahoy! Zelly reblogged this thing on Tumblr about important shipping questions to keep in mind (AGES ago – if you follow me on Tumblr you know roughly how long it's been and I'm So Very Sorry), and it got the plunnies biting. So I guess this one goes to you, Z-babes~ (I'm not even sorry about how out of control this one got, 'cause honestly? It's stupid, and silly, and fluffy, and quite possibly my favorite.)

Also, for the Pit readers: please, please, please hop over to Ao3 to read this. I actually illustrated part of it (whiiiiich is what took So Freaking Long), and while it's not necessary to the story (no comic portions – just 'photos'), it's still a silly little extra I hope y'all enjoy. Plus drawing the Murphy (read: any) tartan is a bit of a PIA and I'm hoping someone appreciates it. xD

This beast was a labor of love. I can't believe I'm finally posting it.

"Getting to Know You Again, or Which One…?"

…dumped an energy drink into a coffee and whispered "I'm going to die" before chugging it during a 7 A.M. class upon their first meeting? (Or: the Warm-Up That Wasn't Really Needed but Dang It All If I'm Not Committed by This Point!)

Ami loves mornings. Which is weird, considering she was the child that would stay up past her bed time with a flashlight, reading under the covers. It goes to follow that she should hate mornings, since they usually found her chugging coffee in an attempt to jumpstart her brain – but she doesn't. She thrives on them: the brisk air, the welcoming sun, the promise of a new day. So, when she was assembling her schedule for her first semester at university, she had been more than happy to schedule as many morning classes as possible. (The advisor helping her with this task, an upperclassman working at the registrar to help pay off his tuition, had laughed at her enthusiasm. "Seven o'clock? Oh, you'll learn, kid. You'll learn.")

Zane hates mornings. Which isn't weird at all, considering he's always been a night owl and prefers to spend his mornings huddled under a mountain of blankets. When he was a kid, he called the pillow fort that had taken permanent residence on his bed his Fortress of Solitude on account of all the tinkering and research he did there. When he grew up and took up barkeeping at the local pubs, his aversion to mornings only strengthened. He thrived during the night, and the harsh glare of morning light was meant to be blocked out by thick curtains as he slept beneath a thicker blanket. So when he had assembled his schedule for the coming semester at university, he was convinced he had pissed off Someone Important Upstairs when his advisor had informed him the only available English Lit class – one he was thoroughly convinced he did not need but the university claimed he did, on account of multiculturalism and a well-rounded education – was at seven o'clock in the morning.

Neither of them realized they had selected the same English Lit class as, until that first morning, neither of them realized the other existed.

She arrives early the first day of class, a medium coffee in one hand and a stack of notebooks in the other. She still has three other classes that morning, but she slept well the night before and is ready to go. She selects a desk near the front, props her glasses on her nose, pulls out her notebook, and begins reviewing the syllabus one last time as she waits for the professor to arrive.

He arrives before the professor, but just barely and by the skin of his teeth. He'd been up late the night before, covering the closing shift when Ichigo had called out. He doesn't really pay attention to the room beyond checking that it was the right one, and he drops into an empty desk near the front with a rather impressive flourish. He fumbles through the bag he'd dropped beside him as he places his extra-large, extra-strength (half-drunk) coffee on the desk. He misses the wide, horrified eyes that watch as he produces an energy drink from the bag, pops the top, and dumps it into the coffee. He gives the drink a resolute, hate-filled stare.

"I am going to die," he declares bitterly before tossing back the drink and downing it in as few gulps as possible. He groans as he slams his empty cup back on the desk, and a startled squeak beside him turns his attention to the neighboring desk. Bleary, bloodshot green eyes meet a wide, startled (still horrified) blue.

"…you?"

…is abysmal at roller skating and has to hold onto the other?

They're both starting to remember – all of them are. The longer the revived Shitennou are around, the closer they get to their old allies, the more memories from before start to resurface. Minako thinks part of the key to ushering in Crystal Tokyo is embracing that previous life with all its sins and atrocities. Rei says she's crazy and they should all just turn the men on their ears. Rei doesn't say that she's spent every night for the past week crying herself to sleep in Joji's arms or that she might be more willing to forgive them than she'll let on in the daylight. Makoto is too busy getting to know her suddenly massive extended family to argue either way (though her arguments would obviously lean towards trusting them), and Ami is too busy burying herself in her studies to say she thinks Minako's right.

But despite her apparent avoidance, Zane has probably made the most progress of all the Shitennou in wheedling his way back into his Senshi's life, and that's only because Minako – ever the leader – is too hung up by duty and ghosts to trust Kassim as fully as she'd like. It doesn't hurt that they're in similar programs of study and just starting at the university, so at least for now they share a lot of classes and study sessions. They still work well together, and Ami – methodical as ever – sees the returned Shitennou for the potential ally they are and is willing to put past grievances to rest, at least for now.

He remembers winter nights like this one, too, when they were up too late going over some report or tome or experiment and they would sneak out for a much-needed 'study break'. He remembers the way her eyes lit up the first time he took her to the frozen lake behind the Golden Palace, and he remembers the amazement he felt when she created skates from thin air on both of their feet. He remembers the confidence and surety he felt on the ice back then, the natural grace that came so effortlessly to his past self. It was a far cry from the lanky, clumsy oaf he had been reborn as.

But her eyes still lit up at the rink, and she still retained every ounce of poise and skill on skates. It didn't matter if the skates were bladed or wheeled, even though he found he slipped so much more on the roller kind. But he hears her laugh as he clings to her for dear life, and chances a glance at her face to see the smile she has to offer – and almost sends them both crashing to the floor in the process. He scrambles, his legs flailing a bit as his grip tightens on her arms, and she just laughs as she does her best to steady him.

It's a far cry from the past, when he was the one in the lead, but once he's steady and still and can look at her properly…he sees the smile, feels the warmth, and he thinks this could be nice, too. Better. And he likes it.

…gets hiccups every time they drink something fizzy?

It's the fifth time that week they've shared lunch together, or more like the fifth time that week they both found themselves in that particular nook of the library during their supposed lunch break. It's enough that he considers it an established routine, even if it is more him noticing her habits and adjusting his own to spend more time with her. He notices her lunches are always about convenience: a sandwich, some portable snack like carrot sticks or celery, and a bottled drink (usually water, but twice this week she's brought tea). Anything she can easily eat without disrupting her studies. His lunch is always about convenience, too, albeit a different kind: he usually goes for whatever's cheapest and most readily available. Portability never hurts, either – nine times out of ten his lunches are from vending machines or the cooler at the coffee cart.

So it's the fifth time that week he's set up at that desk, leaning back in the seat with his legs stretched out to prop on another as he pretends to nonchalantly read an engineering text while he anxiously scans the entrance every few minutes for that familiar blue head. When she finally enters the library, she doesn't seem surprised to see him – but the smile she does have for him is definitely warm and enough to let him know he's not an unwelcome sight. She hurries over and sets up her things, pulling out her A&P text before setting out her bento beside it. The whole time she's apologizing for being late, saying how she got caught up in a rather interesting discussion with her professor after class, and his laugh is easy as he assures her it's fine. It's not like this thing they have was a scheduled date, right?

"Oh," she says, blinking in surprise as she sinks into her seat (in, dare he hope, disappointment?), "but I thought…after a week, isn't it?"

It's all that needs to be said on the matter, and he agrees that yes, a routine has definitely been established.

She's still telling him about the conversation with her professor when her face falls, and when he asks what's wrong she tells him she forgot her drink. He doesn't hesitate before he tosses her a cola, and her eyes widen as she catches it and asks what about his own lunch. He holds up another bottle and winks at her, and he tells her the machine glitched and gave him two. How fortuitous for them, eh? So she laughs and nods, and they fall into an easy camaraderie of study and lunch.

They've lapsed into an easy silence, him with his nose in that engineering text while she's busy filling out flashcards on the endocrine system, when he notices it. It starts quietly at first, but it's growing steadily louder and coming from the blue-haired beauty across from him. He looks over his book, an eyebrow raised, to find her staring furiously at her text as her face burns a lovely scarlet. Her studious, concentrated composure is interrupted every few moments by another hiccough, and she seems so flustered by the ordeal he decides it's better not to ask. They eventually pass, and nothing is said of the matter.

But he notices she doesn't forget her drink again for the next two weeks, and it's always tea or water. He writes it off as personal preference until she agrees to go to a movie with him, and they're halfway through when he starts to hear it again: soft little hiccoughs. They're actually kind of cute, and he's just about to tell her when he notices the annoyed looks the bottle-blonde next to her is shooting her and how flustered she seems. He also notices she doesn't touch the soda they'd been sharing for the rest of the film.

The next afternoon they're meeting with Usagi, Mamoru, Minako, and Kassim at the Crown, and Usagi is raving about the root beer floats Motoki has started making. Kassim doesn't see what's so special about a root beer float, but they all agree to try one to stop Usagi's pestering. But when Usagi goes to place their order, she stops to ask Ami what she wants instead, and Ami's soft smile of gratitude as she tells her a café mocha milkshake is enough to make him remember the night before and lunch two weeks back. So when Ami goes to help Usagi get the drinks a few minutes later, he casually poses the question to Mamoru and Minako: does Ami ever drink anything carbonated?

"Goddess no!" Minako laughs, waving him off like he's insane. "Carbonation gives Ami terrible hiccoughs. She avoids the stuff like paparazzi!"

"I think you mean 'the plague', dear," Kassim says, and Minako rolls her eyes.

"Same thing!" she says, and they all laugh as Usagi and Ami return with their drinks.

He's always been partial to fizzy drinks himself, but he starts carrying an extra tea in his bag after that. Just in case she ever forgets again.

…always joins the group dances at the skating rink?

She knows he only goes to the rink because of her, and she's been going a lot the past semester. It started because it was something safe: neutral ground where they could acclimate to the other again. She's always loved skating of any kind, and she remembers from before that he did, too. The memories are kind, happy, and she thinks it could be a good place to start. She hadn't taken into account how different this life was from the one before. It never occurred to her that he wouldn't be an excellent skater.

(He assures her he's much better on the ice. Roller skates are just bulky and awkward. She smiles and accepts his excuse, but she's noticing Zane is lanky and awkward and lacking the grace he adopts when the garb of Zoisite, High King of the North is upon his shoulders.)

With time and practice he gets better, though not by much. Either way, he possesses the natural flair and cocksure attitude he always has – as Zoisite and as Zane – that makes the group skates his favorite. Sure, the couples' skate is always nice, but he always uses those to cozy up to her. The group dances let him show off in a way only someone with his level of charisma and ego can.

So when the cheery, cheesy music starts and the refs begin to usher everyone to the center of the rink, he's one of the first to cut a sharp turn and claim a space near the middle. As always, he tugs her hand and tries to get her to join, and maybe someday she will. But she's never been as unabashedly brazen as him, in that life or this, so her smile is kind as she loosens her fingers and lets him go. Maybe one day she'll hold on, but a part of her thinks this is too new, too fragile, and she's never been bold enough to hang on to what she really wants. But those thoughts are too deep, too intrusive, and she dismisses them as easily as she turns to the wall.

He's getting better, and the extra booty wiggle he sends her – the one that has her snorting a laugh into her hand – is something he could not have done that first time he met her here. So she settles against the wall and watches him with a sense of familiar fondness. And when he sends her a wave that lands him flat on his ass and takes three grumbling dancers down with him, she's proud to tell the snickering teens next to her that yes, she's with him. They're still snickering when he skates over to her with a ref, and his grin is sufficiently repentant when the ref tells him to take five (or fifteen).

"Well, hey, I think I'm getting better!" he says, but half an hour later when the next group number comes on and he's once again on his ass barely a minute into the song and the teens beside her have moved from snickering to all-out heckling, she's starting to think Zane will never be the skater Zoisite was. Yet the thought only endears him to her, and there's hope and comfort in the reminder of where they are from where they've been and where they still can be. His unrelenting determination to not only join but master the group skate reminds her of his not always subtle courtship of her this time around. No matter how slow she makes them go, how much of an unnecessary challenge she presents, he still runs back in, even if all he'll do is fall back on his ass. So when he skates back over to her, this time unaccompanied by a ref (skating on the perimeter means less casualties when you go down) but still sufficiently sheepish, and the teens have the audacity to catcall their heckles, she takes his face in her hands and kisses him soundly. He's shocked but quick to respond, and when she pulls back she can't decide if the teens look scandalized or envious. But Zane's her real concern, and he's just grinning in that stupid way he has.

"So…we're kissing now?" he asks, and she bites her bottom lip to smile at him in an adorably shy way before she nods and says yes, they're kissing now. He nods and loops his arms around her waist, pulling her closer and slipping on his skates only a little. "Good. I think I like the kissing. Wanna do it again?"

Her laugh was open and free, and he was only a little sorry to end it with another kiss. When they both ended up on their asses and were reminded of the bad idea that was Zane kissing (or doing anything) on skates and the teens were doubled over laughing…she thought that maybe, next time, when the dorky music starts and he tugs on her hand…maybe next time she won't let go.

…listens to new songs on loop until the other can't stand it?

With the kissing comes other new territory, like more time together in more natural environments. The school library wasn't necessarily staged, but despite all its personal comfort there was a certain degree of distanced safety the public place offered. It's easier to stay distant and aloof with a few chairs or a table between them, even with his socked feet continuously trying to make a pillow of her lap. It's less so when you're in your living room and there's nothing stopping him from curling against her side (not that that necessarily stopped him in public, either).

The closeness breeds familiarity, and she's starting to learn him in ways she never had before. There are quirks and habits completely unique to Zane, and for better or worse they all comprise him, and she's starting to realize she might love him. Not the romanticized ghost of a long-dead age, but…him, Zane Murphy, the Irish programming student from County Cork who sings too loud (and off-key) in the shower and always has a backup drink for her at lunch and falls up steps and fights lampposts when he's drunk and makes perfect tea and is wondrously hers. She loves him, bumps and all, and she takes to learning him anew like the cartographer took to the new world. She has a whole new terrain to learn, and she thinks not even a lifetime will be enough to learn his ins and outs.

Good thing, as a Lunarian, she has several.

The map that is Zane Murphy is varied and complex, filled with many little mysteries and conundrums waiting for her doctor's eye to tease apart. It's not just the simple things, like how all of his socks have holes around the toes or how his caffeine addiction might just be worse than her own, even if his drug of choice was different (pops and energy drinks compared to her too-strong coffees). It's the subtle things, too, like how quick his beard will grow in if he forgets to shave – a rarity that took her forever to learn because while his fashion was more laid-back his sense of grooming was as finicky as ever. Or how he slept sprawled on his back, limbs all akimbo, while she preferred to curl on her side. Or how he talked to the TV, or the rowdy pub songs that blared from his speakers. He finally told her the music came from the time after his parents had died, when he worried the Kadars half to death with too much underage drinking and pub brawls. He told her of Jackie, who owned the first pub he'd worked in and had saved his life the night he threw a mop at him and said it was either the rag or the rungs, and he had too much damn potential to waste it in a cell.

At the same time, he was learning her layers. The paintings on her walls and stashed in the back of her closet, the closest she'd ever be to a father whose gypsy heart valued freedom more than his own daughter. The board games she'd played every night with her mother for a year after he left, when abandonment translated into nightmares that led to a brief prescription for a sleeping aid. The worn and loved books that had become her escape, and the harp that had become her form of expression when she found she lacked her father's gift with a brush.

It's the music, she thinks, that shows the starkest contrast between their temperaments. She's all instrumentals and ballads where he is rowdy fiddles and beating bodhráin, the Piano Guys to his Dropkick Murphys. Her quiet reserve is matched and challenged by his ardent vigor, a clash that often left her world breathless and spinning. Music is a background element for her, a quiet escape, but for him it's something he lives and breathes.

It's not uncommon to open the door and be swept up in a dance to whatever song's playing through the tiny speakers shoved into his ears. That was how her mother first met him, when he'd shown up early and whisked her through the living room in a dance. He'd dipped her low, bent to her ear to croon something about a fish or a pirate or some other sea shanty nonsense, when he'd looked up and seen her mother hiding a laugh in her hand. In a fluid spin (with only a slight stumble from the knee he clipped on the end table), he'd released her and caught her mother up in the dance instead. Saeko's laugh was joyous, one Ami had not heard in a long while, and Zane was immediately endeared to her.

Later, after dinner, her mother readied herself for an evening shift while she sat on the couch reading a textbook. Zane took up the rest of the couch, his head resting on her lap and his phone playing a song on his chest. The volume was turned down, and the soothing drag of her hand through his hair had lulled him into a near-sleep. Half an hour and one snuck picture later, Saeko was gone and Zane was snoring lightly. She's nearing her next chapter, turning the page when she catches it. It starts with a humming, and then…

"Dawn is coming – open your eyes…look into the sun as the new days rise…" a pause, and she looks at his phone with a quiet sense of wonder. The song ends, and the soft ticking that starts it off begins again.

"There's a rhythm and rush these days…" the mellow voice sings, and she's too surprised at realizing the same song's been playing for nearly an hour to note it's more her sort of music than his. But he's asleep, so she doesn't ask, writes it off as nothing, and goes back to studying.

But four days later they're at the Crown and he's softly singing to whatever's in his headphones, and it's the same song. It's the same song a week later when he runs to the bathroom and leaves the phone on the table, and curiosity begs her to pop a bud in and check. It shouldn't bother her like it does. It's not like he's making her listen to it. But it does.

After that, she notices a pattern. For every time his playlist is as fickle and unexpected as summer storms, there are longer stints where one song goes on loop and dominates the rest. The three days he listened to "Headphones", claiming it his new anthem. The two weeks of the Flogging Molly song about a mile from home. The damn country western song he played at full blast for a month.

"The song's called 'Play It Again', mo chara," he whines when she begs him to switch it off, "so I have to play it again!"

In the end, it's another of his quirks that she realizes she'll just have to live with. No matter how annoying it is.

…tags the other in embarrassing photos without asking first?

The first time it happens, he's willing to write it off as a fluke. It was hidden in a large group of photos from a festival at the shrine, and with her unassuming nature and the obscurity of the incriminating upload it was easy to believe it an accident.

Until the second time, that is.

Slowly but surely, one by one, photo after photo finds its way onto Facebook – always expertly tagged and captioned to insure he is the last to see, or at least that by the time he does the damage is done and it's too late.

He's beginning to think that his girlfriend isn't as innocent as she seems and that underneath the meek little mouse exterior is a sneaking little she-devil with a camera and a personal vendetta. She's like a ninja, a master of the art of psychological warfare. Just when he thinks it's safe, BOOM! There's the picture with the duckling nesting in his hair.

It's not like any of them are particularly damning or even really bad. They're just…well…awkward. Embarrassing. And he's vainglorious enough to be concerned about that image he's trying to uphold. The one where he's a calm, cool, collected, and sophisticated international whose alter ego may or may not help save the world on occasion. He doesn't need the world knowing about the time he climbed into her laundry basket because the freshly-dried blankets were oh-so-cuddly and smelled like her, though apparently Ami did. Or the disaster he made when he tried to make her pancakes. Or the tea party where he was trying to suck up to her cousin's four-year-old. Or the time Minako was desperate and decided he would do as a model for her latest dress. (It had been either Kassim or him, and – as Minako was all too happy to point out – Kassim's broad shoulders and sturdy hips would have never filled out her design as well as his more feminine (gangly) frame.) And he outright refused to acknowledge the beach trip where he somehow managed to smash an entire ice cream cone in his own face when a seagull unexpectedly landed on his head (never mind how well that particular photo showcases his ability to become a human lobster in the sun).

It's not even always her camera doing the damage, but blast it all if she isn't ready and willing to tag him at a moment's notice. Usagi had posted the one of him sprawled in the park fountain, the bumbling fall a result of Makoto throwing a Frisbee too hard. Joji had offered up the one of him with his kilt on fire (Rei's fault – mostly…), and Minako of course had her boutique's gallery ("You look better in a skirt than most of my models, and face it: with that hair you can certainly pass as one." She'll never admit that it's really because she's too cheap to actually pay her models.). Even Saeko had her own contributions, like the one of him and Ami sleeping on the couch with drool leaking out of his mouth. (But if anyone asks that particular joy is in no way his favorite or printed and stuffed in his wallet. Hell. No.) He refuses to acknowledge the time his beloved prince joined in on the fun and offered the picture of that time he'd dislocated his shoulder in a battle and couldn't brush his hair on his own, so Ami had offered to do it for him. He may or may not have been crying in that one – he refused to comment either way. (In her defense, she'd had short hair for the past two lifetimes. It wasn't entirely her fault that she didn't know how to handle his own glorious, long locks.) And, of course, his darling big brother had to offer up the one of him in glasses (he still doesn't know how Kas got that one, as he's so careful to never be seen without his contacts).

So the next time he logs onto Facebook and sees the notification saying he's been tagged, he isn't really surprised to find a picture of him with a cream pie smeared over his face next to the good one of him pushing Ami on a swing. By this point, he just groans and rolls with it.

(It would maybe make him feel better, of course, if he could get just one of her in any kind of compromising position, but he'd long ago accepted the fact that she looked perfect in every photo he had of her – like his other favorite, also from that beach trip. You couldn't see her face, but he loved how gorgeous she looked in that sunset light wearing his shirt.)

Eight billion pictures of cats on the internet, and she just has to post the ones that make him look like a complete and utter eejit. (Though, in all fairness, she doesn't really discriminate. There are a few of him with cats, too.)

…had a short-lived interest in learning the ukulele?

The day she walks into the Crown and sees him sitting there, bunched into the corner with his lithe fingers plucking at its strings, her only reaction is to raise an eyebrow and ask Motoki for a chai latte. He seems so pleased with himself, and though he sounds horrible she's benevolent enough not comment. Joji is less so.

"What the hell is that?" he asks as he slides into the booth with Rei. "Zane, why do you have a baby guitar?"

"It's a ukulele, dumbass," Rei says before sipping her tea, and Zane brandishes it like a sword.

"Like it? A guy in my philosophy class was just gonna toss it, so I said I'd take it," he says with a few discordant twangs.

"Dude, practice at home – you'll scare off all Motoki's customers!" Joji whines as his hands clamp over his ears, and nothing more is said as the ukulele is put away and talk shifts to the planning of Usagi's bridal shower.

It's not until after they get home, the barely week-old key sticking in the lock, that she starts to question the classmate story. It had been a stressful day, between classes and party-planner Rei dragging her all over the city, and after dinner all she wants to do is curl up with a cup of tea and a good book. She's just settled into her favorite chair when he sits down next to her, the ukulele back out and making some semblance of noise. After a couple minutes, she puts the book down and gives him an exasperated look.

"Must you?" she asks, hoping he'll remember the headache she mentioned as they came through the door.

"I must," he says with a grin, and she sighs and sets the book aside. He angles up to kiss the underside of her jaw before he goes back to his strumming. Twenty minutes and no improvement later, she can't really keep quiet.

"Ok, really, why?" she asks, and he pauses in his strumming to look up at her.

"Why what?" he asks, and she sighs as she haphazardly waves a hand in his general direction. He looks momentarily concerned. "…why me?"

"No! The ukulele," she's quick to say, and he blinks before shrugging.

"Reiko was getting rid of it, and –" he starts, but she waves him off.

"Yes, yes, you said that," she says, "but why really?"

He doesn't immediately answer, and she wonders if she's upset him. It seems like a silly thing to get upset over, but he has a tendency of being a silly man. She places her hand on his head and calls his name. His plucking has turned more discordant with his distraction.

"You're just so perfect, you know?" he finally asks, and if he didn't sound so serious about it she may have laughed. "Remember that recital of yours last month?"

She did, but she also wouldn't call it a 'recital'. It was, at best, a brief performance for her mother's colleagues at a hospital dinner. She only played two brief songs, and she botched the fourth stanza halfway through the first one. She'd hardly consider that 'perfect', but Zane is incredibly biased, so she lets him continue.

"Sometimes I worry about keeping up with you," he confesses. "Here you are, so brilliant and gorgeous and kind, and you're musically gifted, too? And what can I do? I tend bar and tinker with computers."

"I'd hardly call what you do 'tinkering', Zane Murphy. And to be fair, my abilities with the harp are a partial hangover from before," she says, desperate to prove him wrong, but he just gives a mirthless chuckle.

"But that's just it, isn't it? Even then, you were leagues above me. I guess part of me is just waiting for you to wake up and realize you're wasting time with me," he confides. He jostles the ukulele and gives her a self-deprecating grin. "I guess this was just me trying to keep up with you. Pretty stupid, huh?"

She remembers he's always been competitive, so maybe this all shouldn't really surprise her, but yes, it is stupid. That after everything he would think she'd leave him because he couldn't play an instrument. He couldn't back then, either, but at least in this life he isn't completely tone deaf. But the earnest fear in his eyes gives her pause, and she realizes how important this is to him. He's honestly afraid she'll realize she's too good for him, even if the week before she had moved in with him to start the next bit of their life. Their life – one she has no intention of running away from this time around.

And she doesn't really know how to reassure him of that, so she does the one thing she can do. She bends down to kiss his forehead and picks up her book.

"It might help if you watch an instructional video or get a book," she says, and somehow he gets it. The next thing she knows the ukulele is on the floor, her book next to it, and he's pushing her back into the cushions.

He does purchase a Learn Ukulele! book, but after a month of little progress he goes back to his computer programming and calls it a valiant effort.

(No one says anything when Joji adopts the 'baby guitar' and can expertly play "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" within a week.)

…keeps posting memes on Facebook?

It started as something to pass the time when they were bored, or when they needed a well-earned study break, but by this point it's become a competition of sorts. The first time, she'd been working on a group project. She had thought he'd been filling out a report for class, but when she went on Facebook to check a message from a groupmate she'd seen it: a custom-made Socially Awkward Penguin on her wall, claiming that he "tries to study – stares at pretty girl for half an hour instead."

The little choking laugh had drawn his attention, as well as a few others in their little corner of the library, but he only gave her a grin and a wink at her somewhat scolding look. So she had done a quick search, and the next thing he knew a Lazy College Senior had appeared on his wall: "Due tomorrow? Do tomorrow," the meme claimed, with her friendly little caption: "You've already reached this point, haven't you?"

From that moment on, the game was set.

There was the Retail Robin the day he got a drink tossed on him (the indignant girl was aiming for the creep that kept hitting on her and hit him instead, but of course the mistake didn't mean she'd actually apologize), followed shortly after by the Forever Alone the day he ran out of hair gel and nearly made them late for Mamoru and Usagi's engagement party. The witty caption on that one claimed that he loved his hair more than his girlfriend, to which he replied, "It's not that I love my hair more than you, mo chara – it just takes more work than you do! And like you'd know. That's all natural! Mine takes an effort!" He'd made his bed on the couch a few nights for that one, and the stalemate only ended when he'd made her laugh with a strategically placed "Y U NO FORGIVE ME YET?" on her wall.

The ante is upped the day he moves it beyond Facebook. They're relaxing after finals, spending too much time on the couch watching too much Netflix, when he starts a pop culture battle of sorts. She doesn't even know what show they're watching – she had zoned out a while ago and was by now nearly asleep – and she has no idea how his Trivial Pursuit-esque questions have any relevance, but she answers them dutifully. It's the third question in a row she's missed, mostly because she is half-asleep and not really paying attention, when he crows, points at her, and says, "You know nothing, John Snow!"

She blinks at him, confusion evident in her eyes, but he just grins and says, "Your turn."

"But that's a quote," she says. "It's not…"

He's about to declare victory, claiming he's finally stumped her, when she snaps her fingers. "You're right," she says. "It has been memed. Touché, Murphy."

It only takes a moment for that glint to enter her narrowed eyes before she turns back to the screen and says, "All right. Challenge accepted."

Of course, certain rules did apply to the new territory. She's all too happy to remind him of this when Rei asks their help decorating the temple for an upcoming festival. Zane is all grumbles and protests, claiming he has better things he could be doing with his time (she blatantly ignores the pointed looks and eyebrow waggles he sends her with each pout), when Rei finally snaps at him to stop whining and put on a happy face ("The sooner you shut up and actually help the sooner you can get back to those things!"). Ami is balancing on Joji's shoulders, hanging some lanterns in a tree, and just close enough to see him as he puffs out his cheeks, pulls the best grumpy face he can manage, and claims, "This is my happy face!" Rei is spluttering in confusion, the randomness of his comment knocking the bluster clear out of her, when she hops down, walks over to them, and reaches up to scratch the top of his head where ears would be if he were a cat. His grin is somewhere between apologetic and all too pleased with himself.

"Nice try, Grumpy Cat," she says, "but it only counts if you're part of the game, and Rei's not, is she?"

"Worth a try," he grins at her and swoops in for a quick kiss.

The game continues, escalating like those things do. Any time a meme pops up, whether on Facebook or on the street, their friends just roll their eyes good-naturedly and write it off as the antics of their resident nerds. Despite it all, they soon find themselves in a stalemate, with neither being able to one-up the other until…

She's on Facebook to check what time Makoto wanted to meet after he successfully convinced her she had the time wrong and would be late, when she sees the post on her wall. A scrunchy-faced stick figure with a hastily done ponytail painted on, with a caption that stopped her dead: "MIZUNO AMI, Y U NO MARRY ME?"

He both wins and loses by default, as he's broken the rule of not repeating a meme but has managed to leave her speechless. When she finally does find her voice, it's to let him know that he could have easily posed the question with a Philosoraptor and actually win, but when she turns around from the desk she finds he's on his knees behind her with a tanzanite-jeweled silver claddagh held up to her.

"Quit the technicalities and answer, please," he mumbles, and she's shocked to see it wasn't a joke. He glances up at her, green eyes terrified, and it takes her another moment to find her voice again. It comes out as a laugh as, in a very Usagi-esque move, she lunges herself at him.

In the end she is well past late for her meeting with Makoto, but the Jovian's annoyance the next day is immediately nixed when she spots the glittering ring on her friend's finger and the apologies are cut off in a storm of squeals and congratulations.

…fails miserably at surprising the other in the shower because he/she takes ice cold showers? (Or: Bonus Round!)

Some days are longer than others, and the closer they get to the future monarchs' wedding the longer than ever the days seem. He finds he likes waking up with Ami beside him, especially when the morning sun glints off the blue-violet tanzanite fitted as the heart of her ring and he sees it there, nestled safely on the hand curled into a fist against his chest. She's the first thing he sees in the morning, and seeing the ring that stands as a physical symbol of just how damned lucky he got this time around is enough to floor him every time. He wakes up and finds the last thing he wants to do is leave the bed, the safety and seclusion of a space that is just them, and when she finally does drag his lazy ass out of their blanket cocoon he finds he can't wait for the evenings when they can go back there. He's love-drunk, but in a way their past has tainted with experience and makes him all too aware of how precious, how fragile this thing they have is – and makes him more determined than ever to protect it this time around.

The day before the wedding is the longest yet. It's preceded by a week of long days, with too many hours being spent helping Mamoru and Usagi move into their new flat and too few spent where he really wants to be. It isn't even that he's missing the sex, which is true, but more that he'd just like a solid eight hours of sleep. Ami promises him he can sleep the whole weekend once the happy couple leaves for their honeymoon, and his voice is a growl as he tosses back an energy drink. She lifts an eyebrow at him as she sips her coffee, but she doesn't press the growl. By this point, the frustration is just as likely sexual as it is sleep deprivation.

They only have a few boxes left – one, two trips tops – before the rehearsal dinner tonight, which will give them a few hours in the afternoon to themselves. But by the time they get back, two trips has turned into four running boxes up and down twenty flights of steps (fine, fine – the lift helped a little) during the hottest day of the year. His hair and clothes are matted and sticking to him with sweat, he feels disgusting, and they only have an hour before they need to be at the dinner. Ami, who is a lot less worse for wear (thanks to spending most of the day in the air conditioning of the new flat, helping the girls unpack while the menfolk did the heavy lifting), gives him a quick kiss before sending him into the bathroom for a shower. He whines when she dances out of his arms, refusing the plea to join him ("You know we don't have time, Murphy!"), and the only reason he doesn't press the matter is because he knows she's right.

The rehearsal is an insipid event, full of the priest and Rei arguing over every little detail and making them redo everything at least ten times. It doesn't help that the wedding is taking place at the Hikawa Shrine, and the marriage will be one of the final duties Grandpa Hino performs before he retires next month. It doesn't help that everything's outdoors, and while Rei loves him to death her arguments with the old man are explosive at the least. It doesn't help that he just took that damn shower and already feels like he's sweating through his t-shirt.

But Ami grabs his hand, and when he rubs his thumb across her knuckles he can feel the ring bump against his skin, and he can't deny the quiet thrill it gives him. It's only slightly crushed by the thought that they'll have to go through all this themselves in a few months, and he wonders if they can get away with eloping. (Given Ami's aversion to crowds, he thinks she'd agree. Given Minako's flair for attention and big events, Usagi's love of celebrations, and Makoto's need for occasion, he thinks Rei is the only one who'd actually let them get away with it.)

The dinner that follows should be a lighthearted affair. It's more private than the reception will be, but it's still an occasion to celebrate the fact that finally Mamoru will be putting a ring on it, and the personal guards of the happy couple all share a knowing smile when they think how it won't be long now before a certain pink-haired bundle decides to make herself known. Their future is coming true right before their eyes, and they all can't help but think how it's about damn time. It's a celebration, and it's exhilarating, but it isn't just them and Zane can't for the life of him remember why the parents have to be invited as the Awkward Silence descends on the table when Tsukino Kenji remembers where he knows him from.

He's glaring bloody murder at Minako, who's choking into her champagne, as Kenji comments on how he almost hadn't recognized him ("her") and wow, he ("she") makes a rather convincing man! Ami's face is on fire as Ikuko, who's already had three too many glasses of wine, covers her mouth with her hand in a startled gesture and enthuses, "Oh, Ami, I hadn't realized you were a lesbian! That's so…progressive of you!"

This time it's Haruka who chokes on her drink, and Ikuko has the decency to flush as she apologizes profusely to the racer and her partner before going into every Embarrassing Parent tangent on how she thinks it's lovely, and she's completely ok with it, and she knew a lesbian in college once, and it's around then – when the others are all failing horribly at hiding their laughter and he just wants to disappear into his seat – that Usagi changes the subject by asking Ikuko if she was ever able to reach her sister and whether or not she'd actually be in attendance the next day.

The distraction hadn't kept Joji from asking him for a dance later in the evening, and knowing the git was probably drunk didn't keep him from punching him in the face.

Later, back home, she asks him why it had bothered him so much. He has to admit it was a little funny, she claims, but he just grabs her and presses himself against her in every intimate way that lets her know exactly how male he is. Her eyes grow wide at his ardor, but she doesn't complain when he kisses her furiously and bends her back against the couch.

"I don't mind doing the modeling for Minako. I understand it helps her, not having to pay professional models when the boutique's still so new. I'm fine with putting on a dress and dolling up and making everyone think I'm a woman when I'm trying to look like a woman," he explains, and she has to bite back a laugh when he takes her hand and places it against him. "But I'm still a fecking fella, mo chara, and I'd appreciate Usagi's parents being able to recognize that when I'm actually trying to look it!"

"You have to try to look male?" she asks, and though her grin is teasing he's just not in the mood to tease. His scowl is furious, and her answering smile is repentant as she kisses his cheek. "Ikuko was drunk, and Tsukino-san…thinks you're very attractive."

"Ami!" he cries, but she's laughing again as she leans up and kisses his cheek one more time.

"Don't let it bother you," she says. "I know you're a…how'd you put it? A fecking fella? I know, and I love it, and that's all that matters, isn't it?"

He won't admit the whole ordeal only made him remember how…emphatic his teenaged, Metalia-swayed self was, but he acquiesces the fight and agrees that yes, suppose that is all that matters. She kisses him once more before telling him again to not let it bug him, and then she's untangling herself from his arms before excusing herself for a long-overdue shower. He's left standing there, still feeling incredibly put out and neglected, and all he can do is gawk as she disappears into the washroom.

It's been a long day with far too many hours, sweat-soaked shirts, and humiliations separating him from the happy place he had been this morning, and all he wants is to get back there. He's about to march into that washroom, yank her out of the shower, and haul her to bed. The sooner they're in bed, the sooner he can forget the stresses of the day and get on to the stresses of the next one, and as soon as he's through that…but his hand is on the knob when he pauses. The sound of the water running, of her humming just beyond, makes him reconsider his plan. It had been nearly thirty-eight degrees that day, and the night hadn't been much cooler…even if he had showered earlier in the day…it's all the thinking he needs before he's entering the washroom and tossing his shirt over by her own. She peeks out from behind the shower curtain – a tiered, ruffled, blue ombré monstrosity that all her friends love and he thinks is a little much for a washroom, but she likes it so he doesn't really complain – and lifts an eyebrow at him as he starts on his jeans. She says nothing as he approaches her, naked as the day he was born, but the look on her face is very telling. He grins at her and shrugs as he braces his arms against the wall just outside the shower.

"You said we didn't have time earlier, but we have time now, aye?" he asks, and she sucks in a breath at the heated tone to his voice. He starts to reach for the curtain when she begins to nibble on her lower lip in that way she does when she's uncertain about something, and he wonders if she knows how absolutely bonkers it drives him when she does.

"Is this just because Usagi's mom called us lesbians and you're determined to assert your manhood?" she asks, and his chuckle is low. There's a look in her eyes that lets him know his game of seduction is working, and part of his mind is yelling at her to just shut up and let him flah her already.

"No. This is because I want another shower, too, and I haven't been with you in a week thanks to our dearly beloved royals-to-wed. And because Usagi's mam called us lesbians," he says, grinning as he pulls the curtain back and leans in to kiss her neck. "And right now I want nothing more than to enjoy a nice, hot shower with my – JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH!"

He had stepped forward with his words and kisses, moving her back into the spray while entering the shower himself, but his wooing was cut short the moment the water hit him. He jerks back as if he's been burned, and she's blinking at him as he stands pressed against the back of the shower – as far away from the offending water as possible – and gasps at her with wide, feral eyes. In her mind, he looks a bit like a cat who's just had a bucket of water tossed at him: betrayed and bedraggled, and if she didn't feel so bad for him she may have laughed. His eyes dart from her to the water, and he gives a final gulp before speaking.

"The hell is that water set to? Arctic tundra?" he gasps, and it's all so ridiculous that she can't help but openly cackle this time. "Ami, I'm serious! That water's glacial! How are you not freezing?!"

"Senshi of Ice?" she quips, stepping closer to him. She wraps her arms around him, pressing herself against him in a highly distracting way, and giggles again. It might've actually worked, had her skin not been so cold everywhere it touched his own (and subsequently caused him to try to jerk away from her). "I like cold showers, especially after a long, hot day."

"That's not cold – that's pneumatic!" he says, and she raises her eyebrows at him. At her confusion, he waves a hand about and tries for the right words. "You know, causes pneumonia."

"I don't think that's what that word means, but ok," she says. She leaves a trail of kisses along his chest, and he groans as he starts to forget why he was so cross again. "Does this mean you won't be joining me, then?"

She's so soft and perfect and wonderfully there, and he swallows thickly when she leans up to kiss his neck. Her nose nudges the underside of his jaw, on that spot where it joins his neck, and he remembers that it's been a week since they've had any proper alone time and screw it, he needs her now.

"Nah," he says, leaning forward to kiss her thoroughly. He dips her back, reaching behind her to fiddle with the tap, and he sighs in relief when the water warms. She's laughing into his kiss, and he chuckles as he trails his lips downward to her shoulder. "Let's just warm this up a bit first, aye?"

…has placed mistletoe in every room of the house to get in as many kisses as possible and who is exasperatedly questioning "This is the fifth time TODAY WHERE IS ALL THIS MISTLETOE COMING FROM?" before sighing and leaning in? (Or: One More for the Road!)

It's not their first Christmas together, but it is their first married Christmas together.

She remembers that first Christmas all too well. It was during winter break, after their first semester at university, and he was still trying to get her to just hold his hand. She had spent most of it in the library, so of course he had been there, too. She had been surprised when he'd given her a giftcard to the school's coffee shop, but only because (much to his amused delight) she had gotten him the same thing.

The next Christmas had been better: Christmas Eve spent with his family at Officer Kadar's condo, Christmas Day spent with her mother for an early dinner, and Christmas Night spent watching black and white movies snuggled under a blanket in their new flat. (The blanket had been her gift to him that year: a fuzzy monstrosity with a little electric switch that warmed coils woven throughout its interior, which made cuddling his "human ice cube" all the better.)

This third one, she decides, is going to drive her crazy.

It doesn't help that she's taking an intensive and doing an internship to help with her early graduation date. It doesn't help that they've been married two months and, according to him, are supposed to still be in their "honeymoon" phase (which isn't much different from their normal phase, only it involves a lot more nudity on his (their, when he can convince her) part). It really doesn't help that she hasn't slept in two – three, maybe four? – days.

But when she comes back from the hospital, exhausted and wanting nothing more than a nice warm bath and sleep, he's right there by the door ready to take her bag and greet her with a kiss. She thinks nothing of it at first – until he pulls her back to the door, points up to where he's hung a sprig of mistletoe on the molding above the entrance, and waggles his eyebrows at her as he goes in for another kiss. It's ridiculous, and it's so him, and despite her exhaustion she can't help but laugh as she indulges his holiday antics.

Until she's in their bedroom a few minutes later, undressing to prepare for that shower, and she looks up to find another sprig tied to one of the blades of the ceiling fan. She pauses with her hands on the zipper of her skirt, a perplexed frown creasing her brow as she considers the plant, when Zane comes into the room holding up two jars of spices. He's asking her something about them when he notices the way she's looking at the fan, and he giggles in delight as he dances over to her and smacks another kiss on her cheek.

"The fan, Zane?" she asks him, raising a brow when she looks at him.

"What? I thought we'd make a game of it: the fan spins the mistletoe, and every time we land under it we kiss!" he says, and she realizes she hasn't had enough sleep lately to handle her husband's mistletoe-crazed enthusiasm.

"The fan is over the bed. When we sleep we'll be under it no matter…oh," she stops, blinking at him as he gives her a wolfish grin. She rolls her eyes, taps the spice jar in his left hand, and enters the ensuite without another word. With the door closed firmly behind her, she leans back with a sigh and shakes her head. He is, she had realized long ago, incorrigible.

Her eyes roll hard enough to hurt when she opens her eyes and spots another sprig of mistletoe dangling from the light. Absolutely incorrigible.

She feels much better when she's walking into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, a fluffy robe wrapped snugly around her body. She hasn't even had the chance to acknowledge her husband, having barely set foot in the kitchen, when he's dipping her in a kiss with one arm held securely against her back and the other extended with their bowls balanced perfectly to keep from spilling. She grips his shoulders and giggles into his mouth, and when he rights them he winks as he tilts his head up. She looks up to see yet another sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling.

"Ok, really," she laughs, taking a bowl from him so he doesn't drop it (he won't, they both know – years of working in pubs and restaurants assured that, but he still makes her nervous when he carries more than she feels he can handle). "Don't you think you've gone a little overboard?"

"Mistletoe is a glorious tradition, a stór," he coos as he follows her to the table, and once their hands are free he wraps his arms around her waist to pull her back into a hug. Her eyes widen as he produces another sprig from goddess only knows where, and she laughs again as he begins to kiss at her neck. "I fully intend to utilize it to the best of my abilities to obtain as many Christmas kisses as possible."

"Like you have any trouble getting me to kiss you," she chides, and he winks at her before catching her mouth.

"As a matter of fact…what with your schedule lately, feels like it," he says, and she sighs as he tucks the mistletoe behind her ear.

"It's only two more weeks," she says, but he's being very distracting and she's fairly certain their dinner is getting cold. "Zane…"

"I have you tonight, a stór," he murmurs in her ear, and she sighs as he lifts her onto the table. "Let me just enjoy that?"

"Always," she breathes as his hand ghosts down her side.

"And this?" he asks, and his voice is just cheeky enough to make her pull back. His fingers poke at her stomach, and she looks down to find he's tucked yet another sprig of damned mistletoe into the knot of her robe's belt. He winks at her, and the exhaustion and his antics (and possibly low blood sugar, her growling stomach protests) all prove too much. Their dinner is definitely getting cold, and she's ninety percent sure the manufacturer never intended the table to be used for the purposes they were putting it to, but she's laughing with pure joy as he lays her back and allows his kisses to follow the mistletoe, and she wouldn't have it any other way.