The following was begun at 20:03 on 18 December 1999, when I was in a
particularly foul mood and needed to get out of it.  The actual idea came from
a book on homosexuality, in which it was noted that part of being in the
closet is that you can't have a picture of your partner on your desk at work
without arousing suspicion.  This set me to wondering what pictures (or
anything else) Jen has on her desk.  After a bit of sub-moaning on how Eileen
never gets top billing, and a few more questions that have never been
adequately explored to my satisfaction, we have the following (with thanks to
Zoisite for giving me a title):


====================================
Bishoujo Senshi Sailor America
A Sailor Moon Fanfic by LeVar Bouyer
Episode #101: The Photo Shoot
====================================



27 April 3042

     "There, done."  Eileen Pearcy wiped some imaginary sweat from her brow. 
"Okay, you guys can move it over to my new office."  The two movers could
clearly hear the relish with which she pronounced the last two words.  With
the grunts that had announced the actions of furniture movers for nearly two
thousand years, the men lifted her now-empty desk and began moving it out of
her cubicle.

     After the dust settled from the alien attacks a few months previous, her
employers at the Nagano-2 Broadcast Service decided to bump her up to her own
office.  She had protested the move, but the execs insisted (probably because
her cubicle space was needed for a new hire).

     Most people would be thrilled, she knew.  To have her own office,
complete with a door she could lock and a window overlooking the street and
city below . . . that was something to be desired.  But Eileen liked being in
the heart of the action, accessible and approachable by anyone.  She didn't
want people to feel they had to knock on her door to get her attention; they
should be able to just tap her shoulder.

     Then again . . . she had to admit that there would be some advantages to
having her own office.  Jen's lunchtime visits, for one . . . .

     By chance, her dreamy gaze fell on the picture frame she held in her
left hand.  It had been the last thing she had removed from her desk, after
the last few confidential files left from some defense briefing or another. 
Inside the frame was a picture of herself and Jen.  Jen's arms were wrapped
around her in a semi-protective pose . . . but the redhead had a slightly
bemused look in her eyes, as well.  Eileen looked to be thoroughly enjoying
the whole experience.

     Leaving the movers to do their work, she wandered off to the desk of
Natsume Akera, her partner on the evening news.  As was her custom, she hopped
up to sit on the man's desk.

     "Oh, hello Pearcy-san."

     "Hi Natsume.  What's up?"

     The tall, greying man looked at what she held in her hand.  "Not very
much, I'm afraid . . . have you seen the memo on tonight's program?"

     Eileen nodded.  'The memo' was just what it sounded like: a short
electronic listing of the news stories that they would be reporting, what
stories to introduce, and so on.  They usually went over the memo a few times
before going on the air, to clear up any questions and in some cases make
additions or subtractions.  "Pretty standard stuff, though I'm glad you're
doing the intro for Aoba's story on the turkeys."

     Natsume grimaced.  It had recently been announced that Hinansho led all
human inhabited planets in turkey exports.  This had aroused a combination of
pride and embarrassment for the planet's residents.  While it was nice to lead
in something, the thought of leading in something as laughable as 
*turkeys* . . . something about that seemed fundamentally wrong.  "Yes.  Just
wonderful."  He glanced at the frame again, and this time his curiosity was
too much.  "Pearcy-san?"

     "Yes?"

     "What's . . . well, who's in the picture?"

     Eileen hid it behind her back.  "Let me tell you about it."

***

19 January 3042

     The ride home from work was filled with thoughts for Eileen, as always. 
Her mother had never allowed her to play the radio during her early driving
lessons, and the habit had stuck.  The car was silent as her headlights
painted the roadway before her.

     Eileen had always loved fast cars, ever since an uncle had dropped by
her home in Annville, Pennsylvania, with his brand new 3017 model Ferrari. 
She remembered how he had shown off the car.  Even at age six, she knew what
an old and respected name Ferrari was.

     Now, as she sat behind the wheel of her own red sports car built in
3039, she smiled in remembrance of how she had marveled at the machine then:
its sleek curves, modern engine . . . it had seemed like the mechanical
personification of speed itself.

     That was then, though.  Now . . . now she knew that humans could go so
much faster than that Ferrari; the fact that she was two hundred light years
from the place of her birth was proof of that.  Now she knew that cars didn't
have to be loud and dirty to go fast; the car she sat in now, clean and
powered by electric batteries, was proof of that.

     And now she knew that her uncle had stolen that car.

     The signs hadn't been obvious to her then, she knew, but they were there.
The worried glances her parents had shared.  Her grandfather's refusal to even
meet her uncle.  Her grandmother continually asking when Eileen's uncle would
be on his way.  The way her uncle laughed just a bit too hard, trying to draw
attention away from the haunted, driven look in his eyes . . . the look of a
man who was on the run.

     The smile fell from Eileen's face as she mechanically negotiated the
rush hour traffic.  Uncle Louis had been a stand-up comedian in those days,
though not a particularly good one.  He had exhausted his luck with all the
bars and clubs in central Pennsylvania, and was forced to range further into
the former Pittsburgh area, sometimes even to the New York plains.  But even
that hadn't been enough for him to make a living, and thus: automobile theft.

     Eileen blinked away a tear as she exited the freeway and drove onto a
smaller street.  Traffic from here on out would be very light, so she could
pay minimal attention to the road for the remainder of her trip home.

     "Memories," she said to herself in English, "are something from which I
need to stop running."  Her lips turned up in the slightest shadow of a smile,
both at the awkward phrasing of her sentence and at one other thing.

     She was good at running away, no doubt: her uncle had been squashed in
the back of her mind, along with many other memories of the family she had
essentially abandoned thirteen years ago.  Most especially, those of her
brother, Joe.  Poor Joseph . . . killed by the Japanese soldiers that were
technically on the same side as she.

     She hadn't had much time to grieve.  Immediately on receiving word of
his death, she and Sailor Orion had been sent on a mission to clear the supply
lines for Crystal Tokyo: a success.  Then, right after returning, there had
been the destruction of Crystal Tokyo about which to worry.

     Afterwards, she and Jen had been given five minutes in the damaged
Crystal Palace to remove what possessions they could.  She didn't remember
what Jen had taken, but for herself Eileen had been very choosy.  Some old
yearbooks, handlinks, no clothes (the Fleet would provide those for her), an
old-fashioned photo album, and a hat.

     The hat had been a gift from her brother; he was a baseball enthusiast
who had studied the game from its origins in the mid-1800s, and had passed on
that interest to his sister.  The cap, he had assured her on her sixteenth
birthday, was an authentic reproduction of the ones worn by the Philadelphia
Phillies in the decade or two before the Silence fell.

     Eileen suddenly found herself wondering where that hat was.  A pang of
reminiscence whose roots she didn't even know was calling for her to find that
hat, one of her few remaining links to her brother.

     As she pulled into the driveway of her unassuming two-story home, she
knew just where to start looking.

***

     Eileen dug through her walk-in closet with a vengeance.  "I just *know*
it's here somewhere . . . ."

     No-one was there to see her as she tossed clothes randomly into the
bedroom; Jen was downstairs working on some project or another.  It was a good
thing, too; she'd probably freak if she saw the mess that was being created.

     "A-ha!"  She bent down, tossed away a bra and two pairs of shorts, and
picked up a beaten red baseball cap that looked like it had gone to hell and
back.  On its front was embroidered a slightly fancy white letter P.

     With a smile, she sat down on the floor of the closet and turned the cap
around in her hands.  It was a fitted cap; instead of the one-size-fits-all
magnetic straps, it was continuous cloth, with the logo for the ancient Major
League Baseball embroidered upon it.

     Her feet kicked something hard under a pile of clothes; curious, she
pulled on the cap backwards and bent to investigate.  She uncovered a
leather-bound photo album.

     "So this is where you got to," she whispered.  "After all these 
years . . . ."  Eileen turned the pages, first slowly and then rapidly, almost
racing to the last picture.

     Herself and her entire family, in front of the Bank of Annville that had
stood for 400 years.  The writing beneath it said that the picture had been
taken the day after she passed the exam . . . the day before she left for
Japan, never to return.

     Eileen frowned.  The last picture was fourteen years ago . . . why
weren't there any pictures of her and Jennifer?  At the school, at the Palace,
in Nagano-2 . . . plenty of opportunity, but none ever captured, digitized,
and printed for her album.  This was a glaring omission . . . something had to
be done.

     Time to pay her love a visit.

***

     After trotting down the flight of stairs, Eileen tugged the bottom of
her half-buttoned blouse and swung around the bannister on her way to Jen's
study.  It was actually *the* study, but Eileen hardly ever used it; her only
sign of influence in the room was half a shelf of books on broadcasting and
the media.  The rest was Jen's, taken up with mainly history books, though a
few books of gardening, music, and oddly enough sexuality were scattered
about.

     The redhead herself was at her desk, bare feet resting comfortably on
its top as she leaned backwards and read from a piece of notebook paper.  From
the handwriting, Eileen surmised that it was from a student.  Jen blinked and
looked up as Eileen bounded in.  "What's up?" she asked, adjusting her
glasses.

     The brunette decided to get right to the point.  "We need to take a
picture."

     Jen blinked, not comprehending for a moment.  "Picture?"

     "Yeah."  Eileen casually leaned against the doorframe.  "I was looking
around, and we don't have any pictures of the two of us around, you know?  No
portraits, no candids, nothing . . . and we need to change that, don't you
think?"

     "Hm . . . I think you're right, at that."  Jen smiled slightly, finally
matching the smile Eileen had worn even as she walked into the room.

     "Cool, knew you'd agree.  I know a couple places we can go . . . what
d'you think we should wear?"

     Most people would have been a bit thrown off by Eileen's accent, which
she had intentionally begun to roughen in the last few months in order to
sound more American.  Jen had gotten used to it, though she often wondered
just why her lover did it.  She suspected Eileen was beginning to lose her
ties to her homeland, but Jen never brought it up.

     Jen blinked, remembering the question.  "Um . . . how about our
uniforms?"

     Eileen grimaced.  "I thought we could take this picture as a couple, not
as senshi.  Casual, or something like that."

     "Okay . . . how about that sweater you got me for Christmas a couple
days ago?"

     "The cream-colored one?" asked Eileen.

     Jen giggled.  "Yes, the one with the tiny Orion constellation
embroidered in black."

     Eileen smiled as well.  "Thought you'd like that," she remarked. 
"Anyway, that'll be just fine . . . and with the way you've let your hair grow
a bit, I think you'll look very yummy."

     The redhead blushed slightly.  "It hasn't grown too much yet. . . ."

     "Trust me, Jennifer."  She sauntered over to sit on the armrest of Jen's
chair, resting one hand on Jen's chest to steady herself and using the other
to run her fingers gently through Jen's hair.  "You look beautiful now, you'll
look more beautiful with that hair running down your back."

     Jen closed her eyes and sighed slightly, bringing a larger smile to
Eileen's face.  It was good to know that just playing with her lover's hair
could still have this effect.  "Speaking of hair, Jennifer, did you ever give
any thought to what I asked you last week?"

     "You mean letting your hair out?"  Jen dropped the paper she had been
reading and reached out to stroke Eileen's brown ponytail.  "I don't 
know . . . I think you look cuter with it tied back like that."

     "That's because you only see me with it down in the shower, and then
you're looking at things other than my hair!" retorted Eileen playfully.  She
ruffled Jen's well-maintained hair and then jumped out of harm's way as Jen
frowned and tried to smooth her hair back into a semblance of order.

     "Hmph," was all Jen had to say to that.  "What will you wear?"

     "That's a surprise," sang Eileen as she walked over and looked out the
window.  There was still a bit of snow on the ground, but only in the parts of
the lawn that didn't get much direct sunlight.  "It'll match your sweater,
though, don't worry about that."

     Jen nodded.  "Okay, so when do we do this?"

     "I already set an appointment.  Next week, around eighteen."  With
Hinansho's twenty-five hour day, it became necessary to abandon the usual
twelve-hour clock.

     "Okay . . . anything else?"

     "Well, if you're not busy . . . ."  Eileen undid one of the buttons of
her top invitingly.

     A familiar warmth began to spread inside Jen, a warmth shared by Eileen. 
"Not busy at all."

     Eileen reached out and closed the blinds of the window.

***

     A week later found the couple standing outside the Raven Photography
Studios.  Both wore heavy, comfortable overcoats.  Eileen had stuffed
something under hers before they left, but Jen hadn't been able to get a
glance of just what it was.  Something told her she'd find out soon enough,
though.

     "No point in waiting out here forever," said Eileen finally.  She held
the glass door open for Jen, then followed her inside.  The entrance hallway
was simple yet elegant, with some of the studio's other pictures hanging on
the walls.  Eileen nodded to herself in approval as she pulled off her black
gloves; the photographs told of very professional work.  At the end of the
hall was a mahogany reception desk, behind which sat a male receptionist who
seemed to be doing a crossword puzzle.

     "Hello, I'm Eileen Pearcy, eighteen-hundred appointment?"

     The man sat up straight and dropped his crossword.  "Um, right, I think
I recall speaking with you last week . . . just the two of you?"  Eileen
nodded.  "Okay, just this way."  He stepped out from behind the desk and led
them behind a burgundy curtain and past several closed doors to one that was
open.  "Just step in there, and Kajitani-san will be with you shortly."

***

     Fumiki Kajitani was head photographer at Raven, and had leaped at the
opportunity to capture the planet's pair of senshi on film.  It was just the
sort of break she was looking for . . . if she could do a good job with this,
perhaps she could pick up a job on the Moon or some colony closer to the Sol
system.

     She walked into studio 4 with a camera slung around her neck, not quite
expecting to see what she did.

     Jennifer Sakachi, Sailor Orion, looked rather stylish in dark blue
slacks, white blouse, and cream-colored sweater.  She adjusted her glasses
with the index finger of her right hand and continued talking heatedly with
her partner.

     Eileen Pearcy, Sailor America, wore a dark green sweater and blue jeans. 
A brown ponytail snaked out from under a red Philadelphia Phillies cap.  The
woman, who looked like she belonged in high school rather than on the evening
news, simply stood and waited with a slightly amused expression while she
listened to Jen's lecture.

     "A *baseball* cap?  Eileen, that's not casual, that's just plain
*everyday*!"

     "I thought it would liven it up, though; we don't need to be cold and
stiff in this one, you know?"

     "We don't need to look like . . . ."  She trailed off, unable to finish
the sentence without offending her lover.  Eileen was still sensitive about
what her homeland had done to Japan, even if she rarely showed it . . . but
Jen had learned that she could only go so far on that front without piercing
it.  She had a feeling that she had already pushed Eileen as far as she would
go.

     Finally she found her voice again.  "I really don't think that's a very
tasteful hat."

     Eileen frowned.  "But you said I looked cute in it," she protested,
blinking her brown eyes in a way she had found worked particularly well with
Jen.

     Jen wavered slightly.  "Well, you *do*, but . . . ."

     "But?" asked Eileen, leaning very close to Jen; close enough to kiss, if
she had a mind to.

     Fumiki coughed loudly, causing the other two women to turn around and
look at the photographer who stood at the door.  "Sorry to interrupt, but I
was under the impression that there was a couple here interested in taking a
picture?"

     "Oh, I'm sorry!"  Jen bowed in apology.  "We were just having a little
disagreement on Eileen's hat . . . ."

     "Pearcy-san?"  Fumiki turned to look at the brunette, who had taken off
her hat and was bending the brim of it into a slightly more curved
configuration.  "Were you planning to wear your hat for the shoot?"

     "Wouldn't have brought it otherwise," said Eileen coolly.  "Do you think
it's a bad idea?"

     Fumiki scratched her head and took in the scene.  It would be an
excellent photograph without the hat, to be certain; Eileen's sweater was a
nice complement to Jen's hair, and Jen's sweater went with Eileen's hair.  The
hat . . . her gut instinct said it would be a welcome addition.  It was
obvious that Jen was the more serious of the two, and anything Eileen could do
to offset that somberness would be welcomed.

     Then again, one of the participants seemed set on Eileen not wearing the
hat.

     "I think it would be a good addition to the composition," began Fumiki
cautiously and diplomatically.  "I can think of a few good poses that would
look much better if she wore the cap . . . and if you'll permit me to say so,
she looks cute with it."

     Jen blinked twice, then sighed and shrugged.  "Okay, then."  Maybe it
wouldn't be *that* bad . . . .  "So where do we go?"

     "Right over there," said Fumiki with a gesture towards the white
backdrop at the back of the room.  Computers could be used to make the
background of the final picture look like anything digitally renderable, but
Eileen had requested that it not be remastered.

     Jen pulled up a white stool and sat, while Eileen tugged on her hat and
turned it just so.  "Any pose that you had in mind?" asked Fumiki, setting her
camera on a tripod and checking to make sure that the data links connecting it
to the imaging computer were working properly.

     "Just going to make it up as we go along," said Eileen cheerfully. 
"Hey, you're not going to use computer control?"  Fumiki had, after a quick
check, eschewed the desk and computer and was now positioned behind her
tripod.  "Usually when we're doing promo shots for the news, the photographers
are using remotes."

     Fumiki shrugged.  "For most people, yes.  But I do my best work
hands-on, I think.  We're too dependent on computers these days . . . ."  She
trailed off as she inspected the camera one last time and then stood up
straight.  "Time to ad lib, please!"

     Eileen leaned against Jen's right side, and Jen wrapped an arm around
her while wrinkling her nose slightly at the position they were in.  The bill
of Eileen's hat was poking Jen's chest in a slightly uncomfortable way.

     The brunette could feel the tension in Jen's arm, and held up a hand to
Fumiki.  "Wait a minute, we're not quite done."  She rubbed her chin a moment,
then snapped her fingers.  "Got it.  Jen, you come down here, and I'll sit on
the stool, okay?"

     Jen nodded and slid down as Eileen hopped up.  Eileen rested her booted
feet on one of the rungs of the stool and waited for Jen to step behind her.

     "Here," prompted Eileen, grabbing one of Jen's arms and putting it
around her waist.  Jen got the idea, and quickly Jen was standing behind
Eileen, arms around Eileen's waist.

     "Nice," said Fumiki from four meters away, "but all I'm seeing of Jen is
her nose and eyes.  Could you lean out a bit?"  Jen complied and leaned her
torso to the left slightly, her hair falling to the side as well.  "Perfect!"
called out Fumiki, "now just hold that pose!"

     "I'm losing my balance," murmured Jen; she hadn't had the forethought to
choose a good footing, and so was tottering with most of her weight on her
left foot.  If she had been transformed it would be no problem, but as it 
was . . . .

     Eileen reached down with a hand and gave the right hand of her lover a
squeeze.  "You'll be fine, Jennifer, trust me."

     Jen's face was graced with a bemused smile.  "I'm flattered by your
faith in me," she said, wobbling slightly.  She looked straight at the camera,
ignoring the fuzzy foreground of the button at the top of Eileen's hat.

     Eileen grinned unabashedly.  "Anytime!"  Jen began to break into a
giggle, and at that exact point Fumiki had the pose she wanted.

     Unlike in the olden days, there was no click.

***

     "And that's why I'm so happy in that picture," concluded Eileen.  "We
took a few more shots, and all of them are in my photo album now, safe and
sound for the future."

     "Sounds great," said Natsume.  He stood and looked out the window at the
city outside.  A front was moving in, but for now Nagano-2 was bathed in the
noonday sun.  "It's about lunchtime, want to come with me?"

     Eileen cocked her head and thought a bit.  "Hm . . . Jen's going to be
busy . . . sure, why not?  Lemme get my things, I'll be right with you." 
Grabbing her photograph, she dashed out the door of Natsume's office.

     Natsume leaned against the windowsill, then took the three steps to his
desk and gazed at the picture that was still there.  He was in it, along with
a woman with long black hair and two male children who looked to be around
nine or ten.

     "One picture is too few, isn't it Pearcy-san?" he said quietly.  He
pushed a button on his desk, then typed in a quick query on his computer and
waited a few seconds until a voice spoke, seemingly out of thin air.

     "Hello, Raven Photography Studios, this is Eduard speaking."

     "Yes, um . . . I'd like a portrait taken of my family.  What openings do
you have for next week?"



=================



     It has bothered me for some time that I gave so much attention to the
effects of the 3035 war on Jennifer, and almost none on Eileen.  One reason,
suggested on #fanfics, was that Jen is just naturally more effected by such
things, as well as the fact that she was present at the front lines.  Eileen
was slightly removed from the action, and never actually saw her dead brother.

     Still, I felt a need to atone for the neglect of Eileen, and I hope that
this and upcoming episodes will make up for that.  Of course, the main reason
for this is that I need something to occupy my mind in this interim period
before I begin serious work on Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Orion R, the rather long
fanfic that will be out some time in 2000 (I'm not giving any firm dates,
though I can say that it will *not* be a numbered weekly series as before).

     In any case, I hope this little piece (originally meant for a Christmas
release) was enjoyable.  If it was (or even if it wasn't), drop me a line at
lbouyer@abs.net and tell me why (or why not).  Comments do make a difference.

     And as a final note, on 30 December 1996, I posted my first fanfic to
alt.fan.sailor-moon.  It's been a wild three year ride since Mizuno the Senshi
was introduced to the world, and hopefully year number four will be the best
thus far.

LeVar Bouyer
27 December 1999 (alpha)
28 December 1999 (beta)
30 December 1999 (final)