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Time was an abstract concept before Homura entered Mitakihara and realized that, maybe, time is a more physical presence than anyone gave it credit for. Time always seemed to have this strange bend around her, as though it acknowledged her as more than ‘just another person’.
She often found herself resting in her hospital bed just allowing time to flow around her as it usually did. Days would pass by in mere moments for her, entire weeks the blink of a sedative-laden eye.
She’d never been good with timekeeping, either. Always forgetting what day, it was or needing someone to point out the time for her. She got better when she finally left the hospital and entered school, but that was only because school was a strict and coherently organized mess of tidy schedules and punctuality. She could not afford to lose track of things like she could in the hospital, and like all human beings exposed to new stimuli she eventually adapted.
Madoka Kaname was the icing on the cake, really. The sweetness to a previously bitter life of being poked and prodded. Madoka Kaname was her reason to keep track of time and ensure she was never late to school. Madoka Kaname was her first friend since exiting the hospital in a very, very long time.
Madoka meant the world to her, so the least Homura Akemi could do is show up to school on time and make sure she didn’t make a fool of herself. Madoka made her feel like a real human being and not just something for doctors to hem and haw at while they prodded her.
Her heart was weak and thudded erratically, and she couldn’t help that. She could keep track of the beats though, could ensure her mind never strayed from the clock-like thump-thump of her strange, pathetic heart.
Then she saw the end of the world and made her Wish, and time became an intrinsic part of who she was.
Homura, using time, felt brave. Strong. Like she could do anything and be anyone she wanted. With time at her beck and call she naively believed she could go back and save her friend from the fate she’d sewn for herself. Believed she could help Madoka like the pink-haired girl had helped her.
Homura used to love her magic, even after the first twenty or so loops. The steady thump-thump of her heart sounded like a clock, the steely chime of her magic ringing out like a clocktower bell. Her steps were a gentle thud-thud in time with her heartbeat, and any nearby clocks would have grown green with envy at how punctual and synchronized she was.
Time, when Homura gained her magic, was a little bit more than a physical presence. It was everything, from the sky to the grass, to the air she breathed to the water she drank.
She and time, through the ages she spent trying to save Madoka, merged and melded into one being. She knew time inside and out, and even if she couldn’t reverse it anymore Homura knew that didn’t really matter.
She knew time like the back of her hand – don’t look at the hands don’t look at the hands – and knew, almost instinctively, what time it was.
Which is why she knew Kyouko and Mami were exactly six minutes and fourteen seconds late.
She didn’t hold that against them. Not everyone could be as punctual as her.
“Yo, Homes!”
“Sorry we’re late.”
Homura glanced sideways from her perch atop an abandoned warehouse rooftop. The area was quiet tonight, no Wraiths shambling about or other Magical Girls invading her territory – theirs, she had to remind herself. Mitakihara was their territory.
Kyouko was there, tall and proud as ever, hands held behind her head and her gait slow and easy. She envied that sometimes; how could Kyouko just stroll through life like that? Homura wanted to be able to do that.
Mami was next to her, looking as prim as ever; no hairs out of place, not a ruffle on her clothing, hat perched impeccably on her head. With one hand she held a musket, the barrel resting over her shoulders as she walked, her other hand swinging freely with a pep to it. her golden eyes seemed…relieved to see her.
Homura looked back down from her perch to the ground below, eyes scanning once over before she noted that it was still empty.
“How’ve ya been, Homes?”
“The warehouse district is empty,” she replied, “we may have more luck in the entertainment district.”
Kyouko’s easy gait slumped, and a frown etched its way onto her face. “All business as usual, huh.”
Mami’s gentle smile looked strained, but when she spoke Homura could barely tell she was upset. Homura must give it to Mami; no matter what timeline the blonde was an impeccably adequate actress.
“I see. We had best make our way there, then.” Mami sidled up next to Homura and Kyouko took the other side, three sets of eyes doing one more graze through the area. “You didn’t stay long.”
Homura shrugged indifferently, spinning on her heel and pulsing magic through her feet to launch herself at a nearby rooftop. Two echoing thuds told her she’d been followed, but of course she expected it. without further ado she continued roof-hopping, wind flapping around her long hair and brushing harshly against her cheeks.
When the three of them landed about a quarter-mile from the district, she answered the previous question. “There was nothing for me there. I’m still unsure why I was even invited.”
“Ah, it wasn’t so bad…” Homura shot her a look and even Mami looked exasperated. “Okay…so yeah, maybe it was stuffy an’ filled with suits and stuff.”
Mami tapped a finger on her chin, eyes idling about the area. “Speaking of suits, Homura, I didn’t realise you even had one.”
“A relic of my father’s.”
“Wha-? But how did it fit you so good, then!?”
Homura shrugged, eyes picking apart every detail of the area they could. “He was a short man. I think.”
“Regardless”, Mami continued, “you looked quite fetching in it. I would have thought you would have gone with a skirt, though.”
Homura’s response was dry. “I don’t like skirts. I just about tolerate my Puella Magi form as is.”
Kyouko flopped down on the roof and looked upwards at the sky. “Yeah, I getcha, skirts are just weird ya know?” To prove her point she made a fake shudder. “Too breezy.”
“Oh come off it, Kyouko. You wear jean shorts most of the time.”
“Yeah, but those’re shorts. Not a skirt.”
“if anything, I would think your shorts were breezier than a skirt.”
“It’s the principle of the thing!”
“That doesn’t even make sense!”
“It does to me!”
Homura sighed and reminded herself this was her last day in Mitakihara. She can put up with another pointless argument for a few more hours.
It was when they'd finished their patrol and Homura was ready to leave that things went south.
Homura likens herself to a broken clock, sometimes.
Her ticks are out of synch, her tocks are haphazard, her clicks and whirs are muted, her gears are rusted and grinding. She’s not quite obsolete, not yet, but at the same time her usefulness is questionable at best.
She’s good at combat, she knows she is, and she’s a perfectionist when it comes to anything that could keep Madoka’s dream alive. Literal centuries of planning against Walpurgisnacht have given her a tactical mind that cannot be compared.
She really should have seen this coming. Mami always was the most fragile, even more so than Sayaka.
She tilts her head slightly, watching dispassionately as a musket ball goes flying past her nose. The noise of the gun firing isn’t deafening, especially not to her, but it definitely made itself known just who had shot at her.
She doesn’t turn around, purple eyes scanning around to make sure the noise hadn’t drawn any undue attention.
“Mami what the hell!”
“Shut up Kyouko!” Homura knows the feeling of a gun being pointed at her head, she knows it well. “She’s leaving us! Leaving like everyone else! Leaving like Sayaka!”
“Mami-!”
“Mami Tomoe, your wish was to continue surviving no matter what. A selfish wish that has served you well.” She turned a cold gaze over her shoulder, pink hair fluttering in her peripherals and causing a scowl to appear. “If you do not put that gun down, I will ensure you do not survive the night.”
Of course she’s watching. She hates it when we fight.
“You can’t leave!” The girl’s hysterical, tears streaming down her face in large, ugly rivulets. Her golden eyes aren’t looking at Homura completely, locked on to something only she can see; her parent’s deaths, no doubt. Or Sayaka’s.
Another gunshot goes off and Homura takes a step away from where a thumb-sized hole appeared in the ground. If that had hit her it would have blown out her knee. Kyouko’s watching on from the side-lines, confused and lost and unknowing who to side with – does she side with the cold girl that even she can see hasn’t got a reason to stay here, or does she side with the lonely Mami and keep the only other Magical Girl she’s friendly with around?
Kyouko, watching on, could only gnaw at a stick of pockey and hope this didn’t turn into one of her friends dying. She’s had enough of people close to her dying.
Homura turned to a heaving, crying Mami, and pink hair fluttered across her vision again, white in the corner of her eye, gold in the far reaches of her vision. She snarled.
Fine! Fine, I’ll try!
“Why do you even want to leave!? I thought you loved Mitakihara!”
“She loved Mitakihara.” All present knew ‘she’ was Madoka, the infamous friend Homura swears is the Law of Cycles. Neither of them believed her, and she doubts they ever will. Homura doesn’t really care. “The longer I stay here the less reason I have to stay. There’s nothing for me here. Even if I stayed I would have nowhere to live.”
“You can’t-!”
Homura’s lips split into a snarl neither of the present girls have ever seen on her usually doll-like face. Combined with a glint in her purple eyes and her hands clenching into fists…well, it made for an intimidating image.
“Fine, Mami, fine.” Homura spat her words like poison, very aware of the pink and gold in the puddle’s reflection beneath her feet. She storms over to the frozen Mami and grabs her by the edges of her collar, dragging her close enough to feel her laboured breaths against her cheek.
Homura’s grimace makes it clear that this entire night has displeased her greatly.
“You want me to stay so badly?” Mami gave a nod, unable to speak and afraid of Homura for the first time since she can ever remember. Homura, meanwhile, remembers exactly every single timeline in which she’s terrified Mami; it doesn’t bring her any satisfaction in doing this, but Mami needs to learn that not everyone is as dependant on others as she is.
“You have six months to give me a concise, clear reason as to why I would ever want to stay here. I will be living with you and Kyouko, you will be responsible for both of us…and while I’m there I will train you into the ground.” She leaned forward so their noses were practically touching, and in the reflection of Mami’s eyes she can see a gentle, encouraging smile she hasn’t seen in ages. “Am I clear?”
Mami just nods frantically, clutching onto her like a lifeline and crying into her shoulder when Homura sighs and brings her in. Kyouko shoots her an uneasy smile she reacts to with a roll of amethyst eyes.
Perhaps Mami can show her why Mitakihara was worth Madoka’s sacrifice?
Kyouko, finally, speaks up.
"Damn, now I'm hungry."
Mami's hysterical laughter and Homura's deadpan expression get the point across that her stomach's untimely hunger pangs were not appreciated.