Growing Up Fast Is Hard To Do: An Unhappy Outers Family Fic

Part Two! (Part One)

This chapter is about 1200 words. As I said before, let me know if you want to see this continue! And I have a ko-fi.

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There was a small part of Setsuna that took joy in every
little bit Hotaru aged. She had all the official knowledge the world had to
offer about children, but Haruka could find that as well. The closer Hotaru got
to the age Small Lady had been, the more Setsuna had the edge of experience. It
shouldn’t be a contest, she knew, but Haruka distrusted her. Haruka would
exclude her if she thought it possible. It was Pluto’s place in the universe,
to stand alone and watch from afar. A child had changed that once before, and a
child could change it again. It wasn’t that Setsuna wanted to be loved best,
she just wanted to be loved.

Although perhaps being loved best wouldn’t be the worst
thing.

Haruka had hogged the baby, so surely it was not wrong for
Setsuna to draw the toddler’s attention to herself.

“Hotaru!” Haruka called once again from the patio doors. “Do
you want to come play catch?” She threw the ball up with exaggerated gusto,
practically falling back over herself to catch it.

“No thank you, Papa.”

Setsuna kept her smile to herself. This was their time
together, and Hotaru wanted that. She wanted to learn the songs and stories of
bygone eras. Only Setsuna could teach her that.

“Now, little one, in—“

“Setsuna-mama, where’s Michiru-mama?”

‘In her studio, I believe. Why do you ask?”

Hotaru jumped down from her seat, her hair and little dress
fanning out behind her. “I want to see her!”

“Oh.” Michiru did not participate in the secret tug-of-war. “I
don’t think she wants to be disturbed, Hotaru.”

“So I won’t disturb her.”

Setsuna followed with reluctance as Hotaru made her way
through the house. To the little girl’s credit, she did not run. She walked with
a seriousness beyond her years, as she did most things. Setsuna would place her
around four, possibly, though she remained very small so it was hard to say for
sure. Perhaps ascribing any age to Hotaru was pointless until her aging settled
down and her mind and body aligned. She was a mystery. Setsuna tried not to
think that as a mystery herself, that made her the best parent for Hotaru. She
did not succeed.

The door to Michiru’s studio was open. She sat before a
canvas, working with her finest brush on several tiny lines on one side.

“She’s busy, Hotaru,” Setsuna whispered. “We should leave
her be.”

“Michiru-mama?” Hotaru padded over anyway. “I want to paint
with you.”

Michiru withdrew her brush from the canvas. She smiled a
smile that was genuine but, by Setsuna’s measure, lacking the glow of love. “Mama’s
paints aren’t good for little hands.”

“Oh.” Hotaru hung her head.

“Hold on one moment.” Michiru walked around to one of her
cabinets and picked through it. She turned back with a pad of paper, an old
brush, and a handful of paint tubes. “I don’t use these very much, but you
still have to be very careful with them, okay?”

Hotaru nodded. “I will, Mama.”

“If it gets on your hands, tell me and we’ll wash it off
together.” Michiru smiled again. “Mama likes to paint quietly, is that okay?”

Another vigorous nod. “I will be quiet as a cat.”

Michiru chuckled. “Thank you, Hotaru. But do tell me if you
need anything.” She sat back at her canvas, and Hotaru settled on the floor
next to her and sorted through her paints.

Setsuna lingered at the door for a moment before taking her
leave. There would be other days. This was merely one of many. She had not lost
to the only person not competing.

—-

There was something comforting in having Hotaru working next
to her. Michiru did her best not to get attached. She could see the writing on
the wall; they could only play house for so long. And yet… it was hard, she
assumed, to not feel affection for a child who lived in your home. She ought to
ask her parents how they’d done it.

“Mama?” Hotaru’s little voice broke her reverie. “I have to
use the bathroom.”

“You may go.”

Hoatru did not move. She stared up at Michiru with her big
purple eyes full of question.

“Oh. Do you need… help?”

Hotaru nodded.

Michiru swallowed. This was out of her depth. She tried to
figure out if any nanny she’d looked into could be there soon enough to save
her. “Would you like me to call Haruka-papa or Setsuna-mama?”

Hotaru shook her head. “I gotta go now.”

“Okay.” Michiru set down her brush, nearly knocking over her
paints and water. “Let’s go then.”

Hotaru hopped quickly from foot to foot down the hall, and
continued to do so once she reached the toilet. “Hurry, Mama, hurry!”

“Okay.” Michiru put up the toilet lid. Hotaru still looked
expectant. With a deep breath, Michiru helped her wriggle her skirt and underclothes
to her ankles. Hotaru nodded encouragement. Michiru lifted her to the seat and
tried to pretend she was anywhere else.

Senshi life bore many trials. She’d never felt less
qualified than this.

Yet Hotaru seemed fine, even proud, when it was over and
Michiru gave her a boost to wash her hands.

“Hey, Hotaru, I got bubbles form the corner store, do you…”
Haruka zoomed into the door frame and stopped short. “Oh, hi Michiru.”

“I’m having a good day with Mama!” Hotaru said, beeming up
at her papa. “Do you want to see what I made?”

Michiru knew Haruka well enough to see how she tried to keep
her face stiff, but she still fell to looking like a lonely puppy. “Sure.”

Hotaru led the way back to the studio, marching proud. She
picked up her unfinished painting with a flourish. It was a crude and unsteady
work, but long deliberate lines of green made it an unmistakable portrait of
Michiru. “I gotta finish it still,” Hotaru said in her most serious voice. “But
it’s Michiru-mama!’

Haruka had been struck in battle countless times, but Michiru
had never seen her so wounded. “It’s very good,” she offered. “You must love
your Mama a lot. Maybe she’ll put it on her wall.”

Michiru knew what she had to do. “It’s alright.” She knelt
and frowned. “You should work on finer lines for the hair, and the perspective
is a bit of a mess.” She bit the inside of her cheek and looked Hotaru in the
eyes. “It’s alright for a first try, but I expect better from you.”

“Oh.” Hotaru turned the paper around to look, and then let
it drop to the floor. “Papa, you said you had bubbles?”

They walked out hand in hand. Michiru watched them leave.
Once they were out of sight, she picked up Hotaru’s painting. It was lovely in its
own way, pure and innocent and affectionate. She walked over to her cabinet and
propped it up against the back, where it would be hidden from everyone but her—her
secret memory to keep even after everything fell apart.