That first year of college was a rollercoaster.

For a start, it was difficult to keep my GPA in check while I did the superhero thing with Crystalline. More than once, I had to throw an assignment together and pray the professor didn’t notice. Obviously I didn’t really get to do much in the way of extracurricular activities, but somehow, mostly through luck, I managed to keep my grades semi-stable while I went out cape-ing.

I trained hard and tried to get Crystalline to follow suit. If my beatdown in that alley had taught me anything, it was that I had rested on my laurels for far too long. Those high school days were over, and now, if I wanted to be a real hero like Batman, then I would have to work for it. Weight lifting, running, swimming… I would have to work to turn my body into a weapon.

And so would Crys, if we were going to be partners. 

There was a half-completed office building, an abandoned construction project, not far from campus where we would go to practice. I would relentlessly drill Crystalline’s glass-control powers and try to get her to fine-tune her technique. She had so much more potential for her gift than she seemed to realize. 

With the help of a thermal camera trained on her, I could see her heat up the glass around her, the molecules of the empty beer bottles vibrating and causing the glass to glow hot and become fluid. As soon as the bottles were at their melting point, I would tell her to cool them into a solid, all with a stopwatch to time her progress.

I had the hope that with enough practice, she would be able to do it almost instantly. Being able to flash-melt or flash-freeze the glass was going to be a necessary skill as enemies were unlikely to be willing to politely wait for her to bring the glass up to temperature. Speed was key in a life-or-death fight.

I also had to show her how to think outside of the box with her powers. There were countless applications of her telekinetic control of glass that she hadn’t even considered. I showed her how she could “surf” on glass while it flowed at her feet. I showed her that she could (if she wanted to be cruel) grind up the glass and get it in the enemy's eye or lungs, essentially incapacitating them. I showed her how to form glass lenses to focus sunlight into blinding or incendiary beams.

I showed her my martial arts skills and tried to show her how to incorporate her moves into her glass attacks. There were going to be times when she simply had to hit someone. Our training came with a lot of full contact exercises, but I always tried to take it easy on her. She hadn’t ever done martial arts before and learning to hit people, and take a hit as well, took time.

With practice, both of us improved.

We actually made a good enough team to help keep the streets around campus safe, which was no mean feat. And she really did become stronger as a cape with my help. Nevertheless, I could still tell that she hadn’t realized the full implications of what it meant to be a hero. She was still squeamish about getting her hands dirty or having to hurt people.

I understood the issue. I’d struggled with it as well. Hurting another person didn’t come naturally to me. But I had to tell myself that it was all for the greater good and the needs of the many. Sometimes, someone needed to get hurt in order to prevent greater injury. I’d long since learned to suppress my revulsion to violence, from practice.

Crys, on the otherhand, had a tendency to freeze under pressure.

The next time she faced someone with a gun, she had frozen up. A mugger had spun around to face her, his shaking pistol pointed at her. I shouted at her to move, to shield herself or to do anything but all she could do was stare, wide-eyed and remain stock-still as the gunman advanced, steadying his weapon. It took a well-aimed trash-can lid toss to knock the weapon away and a well-aimed kick to knock the mugger out. 

I tried to be sympathetic to Crystalline after the fight was over, putting an arm over her shoulder as she sobbed. Cutting off my emotions in the heat of battle had gotten easier for me, but I sometimes worried what the cost was going to be. I couldn’t help but feel that, powers or no, she really wasn’t cut out for this life. She shouldn’t have to deal with this.

She might have a chance of being normal. I, on the other hand, was always going to be a freak.

It was just after the new year that she contacted me by phone. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence as we had exchanged numbers for collaboration and in case of emergency, but I hadn’t expected the question she asked me.

“Hey…” she said, her voice tight on the other end of the line, “Cross?”

I grunted in the affirmative, setting down my weights as I finished my set in the gym. It was right before dinner and I wanted to work up an appetite. It had been a slower week, both in terms of schoolwork and crime-fighting. “Yeah?” I answered, both trying to sound casual and search her voice for any clues to why she was calling.

There was an unrecognizable tone in her voice. Something I couldn’t place.

“Uh… do you…” she stumbled for a moment before continuing. “Do you… want to do something?”

I frowned for a moment, trying to decode the question.  “Uh… did you want another training session in? Is there some kind of criminal thing happening?”

“N-no,” she squeaked, “I… I just wanted to know if you wanted to… um… hang out. Without doing the superhero thing… Like… dinner or something?”

My frown deepened for a moment. Then it finally clicked. Crystalline was asking me out on a date?

It wasn’t that I didn’t find her attractive, or at least was intrigued by what I saw of her, but given the fact that we were both still keeping our secret identities, romance didn’t quite feel right to bring up. Besides, we were technically coworkers. It would be complicated. In spite of there being no other girls in my life, it still felt weird.

But clearly Crystalline disagreed.

“Crys…” I sighed, running a hand through my hair, “Uh… are you sure about this? I mean… I’m… not saying no…” I felt myself flush a little as I said the words. “I just… this is kind of a big deal. Doing this in the open would change everything for us.”

“I… I know…” she said, her voice quiet, “But… I trust you. And… uh… I don’t really have anyone else to do anything with. I want to give this a try.”

I forced out a sigh. I was still anxious, but honestly, I was feeling isolated, too. In spite of my activities, there were certain things that crime-stopping didn’t do for a person. “Okay… okay, fine. Do you have somewhere in mind?”

“The Big Belly Burger off Parkway Street?” she offered.

“Yeah, that’s right off the University campus,” I said, nodding, “Okay… we… we can do that.”

And just like that, we had entered into a brand new world.

The Big Belly Burger was by no means fine dining, but I did have a weakness for greasy-high calorie garbage after a long night of fighting crime and/or pumping iron. As I stepped into the place, my nostrils filled with the scent of fry grease and bacon fat. It was unhealthy as hell but still comforting. I placed my order and received my junk food like a well-oiled machine. 

I mean, it was Big Belly Burger. Everything was well-oiled.

Seeing her in the corner booth as I scanned the area was a bit of a shock, but as I looked closer, I could see the hallmarks of Crystalline in the quiet college girl who quietly sat alone. Her real hair was a mousy brown (I now realized that she wore a wig in costume) and she wore glasses as a civilian. She was wearing a skirt, leggings and a flowy maroon top. Her wrists and throat had a collection of colorful glass beads which could no doubt serve as both jewelry and as a weapon if the need arose. Her face was kind, but clearly strained by nerves. I steeled myself as I strode over and I sat down across from her.

I didn’t know what to make of her reaction when she saw the real me. I saw her eyes widening in surprise as she took stock of the lean, lanky, scruffy nobody who was revealing himself as her coworker. The hat and scarf of my costume didn’t give her much to go on in guessing my appearance. She didn’t look disappointed, precisely, but I clearly didn’t look like she imagined I did.

I didn’t blame her. While I’d certainly bulked up over the years, there was always a lingering sense that something wasn’t quite right about my reflection, no matter how much I worked out. Something unnerving. Like some part of me reflected my inner hollowness.

That, or I just needed to shave more.

We tried to make small talk, but there was no denying things were awkward between us. Both of us knew that we were essentially entrusting one another with our lives. If either of us ratted the other out to the local gangs or the police, it would ruin everything for us. For another thing, we had only ever talked about hero stuff before this point. Talking about the weather or the quality of food and other small talk felt like a step backwards.

We were starting again as blank slates and that was intimidating. But, I began to understand why she had reached out.  I realized that it was the first time I had interacted with another human being like this since high school.

It was getting lonely.

She said her real name was Carla. She was in the same year I was at Gotham U, as an art student. She had gotten her powers in some kind of major industrial accident. Something like the events that happened in Central City or Dakota. Metagenesis. I knew better than to call her lucky, because I also knew that metahuman powers being generated in accidents like that often proved to be fatal. I knew better than to pry on the specifics.

I introduced myself, giving her my real name with some degree of hesitation. My first name wasn’t particularly interesting and my last name, Moore, wasn’t much better. I told her that I was an English Lit and Japanese Language double major from a suburb to the south. At first glance, I was painfully ordinary.

But as I gave the highlights of my life, she expressed amazement at how I’d managed to bring down a corrupt insurance company while still in high school. She was awed that I already had experience with a Team of other teenage heroes… almost like the Teen Titans, even if I found the comparison a little silly. That was the bridge that led us to talk about other heroes… who our favorites were… and I was struck by something.

Apparently, we were both very big fans of Sailor Moon.

“I don’t know if it counts exactly,” said Carla earnestly, “But, the hero that inspired me to put on the mask was Sailor Moon. You know… from the cartoon? Watching her as a kid… even before I got my powers… made me want to change the world. It was watching Sailor Moon fight evil that really inspired me to become a hero and realize that girls could be heroes…”

My breath caught in my chest. I hesitated for a moment, but if I was intending to trust her with my secret identity, then I could trust her with this too.

I was a massive fan of Sailor Moon, too. If asked who my favorite hero was, most of the time I would just lie and say it was Batman. That was the manly answer, after all. And it wasn’t like I disliked Batman, or anything. But even though I was already a nerd, admitting that I read “girly” comics would have been a step too far. It caused people to question my sexuality in annoying ways.

But, while it wasn’t the most masculine thing in the world, I ravenously devoured every ounce of information I could on Sailor Moon and her Sailor Scouts. Where most men my age would worship muscular men who fought crime in skin-tight costumes, I saw something incredible in the mixture of beauty and grace which accompanied the power of the Sailor Scouts. They were both entirely feminine and still undeniably heroes.

Yes, they were attractive, even as they were likely in their thirties now, but I would insist that they were more than eye candy, despite what my net browsing habits would suggest. There was something strangely comforting about getting lost in their stories and their lives. Something that made the rougher spots of the outside world feel a little less stifling. There was something unabashedly optimistic about Sailor Moon’s story that contrasted with my own life. It was hopeful, pure and nothing like the heroics I’d been experiencing in my own life.

Kyle and Casey, back home, were equally enthused by my interest in anime and Japanese culture, but none of them had shared my passion for Sailor Moon. I had nobody else to bounce off of. But the moment Carla opened up with her enthusiasm, the floodgates opened and I started gushing like a nerd.

“The cartoon doesn’t even begin to do them justice. They’re still around Tokyo, I think,” I said, examining a chili-cheese fry that I was going to suffer for eating later. “They’re mostly retired but there’s still recent pictures of them in costume floating around. It’s hard to find recent footage of them, but there’s some really great clips that the NHK got from them at their peak.”

Carla frowned at me. “Wait… what? Footage? You don’t mean… They’re…” Her eyes bugged out. “Wait… are the Sailor Scouts real?!”

I nodded, grinning. “Oh yeah. I mean, the anime and manga… cartoons and comics, sorry,” I clarified, seeing her confusion, “they’re probably not the full story… I mean, they never are, even in comics for the big names like Batman or Superman, but the actual Sera Senshi were really active over a decade ago in Tokyo. Taking down monsters, aliens, fighting evil by moonlight… the whole kit and kaboodle.”

“Oh my god!” gasped Carla, “I… never heard anything about them on the news or anything, so I just assumed they were made up!”

I shrugged. “Most of the reporting on them is in Japanese and they never worked internationally. It’s really not that surprising.” It was a little embarrassing to admit, but the whole reason I had started learning Japanese in the first place was to read articles about the Sailor Scouts and follow fan gossip on Japanese message boards.

“Wow,” she whistled. She leaned forward, smiling. “So… who’s your favorite Sailor Scout?”

I nodded at the question and spoke without hesitation. “Jupiter. Even in the show, she’s tough and willing to get into the fray. I’ve seen her fight on video and…” I chuckled, “She shredded a monster with her bare fists. She’s a serious martial artist, you can tell by how she moves. How about you?”

“Mercury,” she said with a smile, “she was the smart one and had that really cool scanning visor. She was the one who always had her head on straight.”

I nodded. “Yeah… and she really does have a great character arc. I really wish the localization wasn’t so bad… because there were some episodes that they skipped in the American release. Actually, do you remember the episode where…”

We easily settled into the conversation as we talked about the show and I related some of the real-life facts I knew about them. For the first time, I felt at ease and in my element in talking with Carla. I didn’t feel like I needed to hide behind a persona anymore and we could talk freely. The minutes flew by and an hour or so later some pointed looks from the waitstaff made it clear to me that we should clear out so they could use the table. Carla leaned in close to me.

“Hey,” said Carla, pushing aside her now-empty plate. “I got the whole Sailor Moon box set in my dorm. All the seasons. If you wanna watch it together.”

“Now?” I asked, blankly. It was noticeably late.

She nodded. “If you want.” A faint blush moved up her cheeks. “My roommate is back home with her parents for the weekend. We’d have the place to ourselves.”

It took me more time than I was willing to admit to realize that she was asking me to come back to her place for things other than anime.

After gathering my wits after a brief moment of imagination had taken over my brain, I relented. And while we did make some headway through the first season of Sailor Moon as we cuddled together on her bed, we ended up getting distracted eventually.

And, over the course of one night of anime and fast food, my teammate became my girlfriend.

__________________________

We tried not to let our relationship get in the way of our work, but there was no escaping the fact that I was desperate to keep her safe. She was now my girlfriend and I felt obligated to do whatever it took to keep her from getting hurt, even at the cost of my own life. I had seen enough depictions of the superhero life to know that romantic interests always ended up being put in jeopardy, and while I rationally knew it was a dramatization, I still couldn’t push back the lingering fear that the woman I loved was going to hurt because I loved her.

I worried that she wasn’t strong enough. And I had to be even stronger to compensate.

I had gotten in the bad habit of throwing myself recklessly into danger to keep her out of harm’s way, and when we weren’t fighting crime, I was pushing her relentlessly into higher intensity training. It was the only way I could push back the feelings of dread and uncertainty. I didn’t think she was up to snuff yet and I had to make sure that she was prepared for whatever came next. If I couldn’t protect her, then I needed to know that she could protect herself.

So our training exercises had gotten more brutal. They had to, as the criminals of the world weren’t going to show her any mercy for her. While I had tried to avoid doing anything that could seriously hurt her, Carla was walking away from training extremely sore and emotionally drained. I justified my demands for more practice and more training as a means to keep her safe, and it wasn’t like I wasn’t training harder as well. Even as my body was screaming in protest, I pushed forward. If I could do it, then why couldn’t she? Wasn’t this important to her?

The spring semester courseload also put a sizable strain on our relationship until, at the end of the semester for finals, Carla completely broke down in tears.

“Cross! Please stop it!”

I sighed, sheathing the tonfa pair in my belt. It was late and we had just finished another round of sparring. She had fallen down after another leg sweep and had outright refused to get up off the concrete.

“Come on Crys… it’s not that bad…” I said, offering a hand to help her up off the ground.

“It’s too much!” she said, wiping away her tears. “Jesus, we’ve been doing this every other day… on top of school and patrols… fuck, Cross, I’m tired…”

“You’re better than this, Crys,” I insisted, grabbing her shoulders. “You’re not a quitter. I know it’s hard but you can push through this.”

She didn’t meet my eyes. She actually looked scared of me.

“Cross… my parents have been asking me about the bruises…” she said, her voice quiet.

I blinked. I understood that she would have probably gotten a few in the course of training, but it was something I had grown used to in my own training. “I mean… you could tell them that you’ve been taking up self-defense,” I said, unsure of what she was getting at, “I mean… it’s the truth.”

“They asked me if you were hurting me,” she said, her lip quivering. “And I… I told them no… but I’m not sure if that’s a lie or not.” She looked at me tearfully. “I can’t do this, Cross. I wanted a boyfriend… not a coach.  I’m hurting all over from all this training and those patrols are only getting more dangerous.” She put a hand on my shoulder.

I winced. It was still tender from a bullet she had dug out of it a few days ago. It had only been a flesh wound and I’d taken pains to properly clean it, but it still stung. “It’s… dangerous work,” I said, guiltily. “I just… I just want to keep you safe.”

“I’m not sure I want to do this anymore…” she said, pulling away from me.

“Okay…” I said, holding up my hands. “That’s fine. I want you to be safe, so if you don’t want to do the cape thing anymore...”

She shook her head. “No, Cross. I mean… I’m not sure I want to do this anymore. With you.”

It took me a long, hard and painful minute for the full context of the conversation to kick in.

“Oh…” I whispered.

The chill air rushed through the cement shell of a building, but I shivered because of a far deeper cold. The cold realization of what I had become and what I was doing. The realization that I had let myself become a monster to the woman that I loved.

“I’m sorry…” I said, hugging myself. I sagged down to her level. “Jesus, Carla… I didn’t mean to… let it get this bad.”

“Give me one good reason to stay,” she said, her gaze fierce. “Prove to me that there’s still some shred of kindness underneath that costume.”

I pulled off my hat and scarf, letting the real face beneath show. “Carla… I promise you…I promise you that I’ll change… I… I’ll give you some space. The Japanese class trip is this summer. A full month you get away from me… you get your own space and… I get time to do some self-improvement…”

I sniffed, my own eyes watering. “Carla… I promise you… I will change…”

She nodded and gave me a short peck on the cheek. For the moment, she seemed to accept my offer. I knew that if I didn’t change myself, that she wouldn’t give me another chance.

I had no idea what I would do to make this change happen, but I, at the very least, had time and space to figure it out.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.