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"Autumn and Spring"
by Angus MacSpon

Based on "Ranma 1/2" created by Rumiko Takahashi.

C&C Welcome!

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- 2 -

He awoke once more to bright morning sunlight.  The air was warm and
there was a faint scent of flowers.  He sat up slowly and looked around.

The bedroom was large and airy.  One wall seemed to be mostly windows;
some of them was open, letting in a cool, refreshing breeze.  Outside he
could see a lawn, immaculately-trimmed, and flower beds.  He did not
recognise the flowers.

He threw off the thin blanket that covered him and stood up, noting with
some relief that his hostess had not undressed him.  Then he toured the
room, examining everything carefully for clues to where he was.  To his
frustration he could find nothing.  The paintings on the wall (one of
them an original, he thought) were unsigned, and showed nothing that
suggested any particular location; the furniture seemed perfectly normal
to him -- though, he admitted to himself, he was no expert on art or
cabinetmaking.

For a moment he stopped to examine himself in a mirror.  Eighty-five
years old?  A lifetime of activity and constant training had left him
looking more like fifty-five.  Most of his hair was gone, though, except
for a few silver tufts at his temples.  But his body was still lean and
hard.  And he could still defeat opponents half his age.

He sighed, stretching, and turned his thoughts back to his situation. It
had been a mad thing to do, coming here with a stranger.  He had known
it even as he agreed to come.  But he had also recognised the truth in
Pandora's words: sitting there by Akane's grave, he had really only been
waiting to join his wife.  Any kind of action had to be better than
suicide.  He could not face going back to his children yet; going with
Pandora had seemed the only other choice.

Besides, if she meant him any harm she was concealing it very well.

Without really thinking about it, he dropped to the floor and began his
usual morning warm-up exercises.  But his mind was still on Pandora.
He'd had more than one reason for coming with her.  He had to admit it:
he was intrigued.  She was a mystery, and -- he suddenly realised -- he
was looking forward to solving it.

And so she'd been right about one more thing.  Sitting there in the
graveyard had been one kind of suicide.  But going back to the children
would have been another: the beginning of a long, slow slide into grief,
despondency and, ultimately, decay.  [You need to come away,] she'd
said.  And she'd been right.  Here, in unfamiliar surroundings, with a
new challenge to confront, his spirit was lighter than it had been in a
long time.

He stood and began a series of kata.  Before long he was sweating
freely; he had neglected his work-outs in recent weeks.  He'd had other
things on his mind.

>From stylised, perfectly-rehearsed movements he shifted to a freer, more
unrestrained style.  Spinning, leaping, striking with all four limbs at
once, his every motion was an expression of eighty years' training and
experience.  He was an artist; a dancer; the wind given form.  This was
the Musabetsu Kakutou Ryuu; and in all the world nobody did it better.
There were plenty of young men and women who were faster.  But none of
them could approach his skill.

But at the height of his pride, his exultation, a dark thought returned,
and he stumbled.  He tried to banish the thought, to regain the
pinnacle, but it would not go away.

[Am I being disloyal to Akane?]

He continued to move, fighting his phantom opponent, but his
concentration was broken.

[She's gone.  I know that now.  Shouldn't I be grieving?]

His good mood of moments before, his pride and his anticipation,
bothered him.  It had taken him a long time to finally admit that he
loved Akane.  But in the decades they'd been married, that love had
grown and flowered.  She had been the centre of his world.  His life.
And she'd only been buried the day before.

[Why can't I grieve?  Am I so unfaithful?]

Then a new thought came: [I've been grieving since she got sick.  For
months now.]

He stood stock-still, his arms frozen in the act of striking at the air.

[Is that it?  I'm happy because it's _over_?]

The idea was breath-taking.  Horrifying.  Or perhaps ... liberating.

[Maybe it's time to start to live again.  Maybe it's _time_ to stop
grieving.]

And at that, it seemed that the floodgates were opened at last.  He sat
down on the bed and wept for his wife.

                **********

Some time later he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.  "Feeling
better?" Pandora asked him.  Had she seen him crying?  He found that he
didn't care.

He sighed.  "Yes, I am.  Thank you."

He was thanking her for more than just her concern.  Somehow she seemed
to know it.  "No problem, Ranma-san.  Would you like some breakfast?"

"Thank you."  He followed her out, watching her thoughtfully.  In the
morning light she looked even more familiar than she had the previous
evening.  She wore a simple western-style blouse and skirt; her feet
were bare.  Her strawberry-blonde hair was done up in a bun at her neck.
There was a fashionable silver mesh-like hairpiece on each temple,
linked by a simple band across her forehead.  Oddly, she also wore
gloves.

He knew nobody who dressed that way.  But ... there was something about
the way she moved, something in the way she spoke ...

There was a delicious smell of cooking coming from the kitchen.  He sat
down and looked around the room.  Something caught his eye.  He thought
for a moment, then asked, in a deliberately casual voice, "How long did
I sleep?"

"About ten hours," Pandora said, busy with the food.  "I didn't want to
wake you.  You looked like you needed it."

"Ah."  Ranma stood and walked to the window.  The house stood in a
mountain valley; the window looked out over a wide, gentle slope, alive
with lawns, gardens and trees.  A stream, clear and bubbling, ran
through the grounds.  He would have bet that the water was pure, and
that there were fish in it. Everything, for hundreds of metres around,
was beautifully and carefully maintained.  It must have cost a fortune.

Far below he could just make out the fence.  Some effort had been made
to keep it inconspicuous, well-camouflaged by the landscaping within,
but Ranma knew what he was looking for.  There would be heavy security
at the fence-line: infra-red and other detection systems, and guidance
systems for the house defences.  Outside the fence, he knew, would be
rough, wild countryside.  His hostess had built a beautiful home, but
she had also taken great pains to shut the rest of the world out.  He
wondered what she was hiding from.

"I haven't been in China for a long time," he said.  "Lovely."

"It is, isn't it?" she said, lifting her head and smiling.  "I had it
designed by --"  She stopped suddenly, then laughed.  "All right," she
went on.  "How did you know?  What gave it away?"

He grinned back at her.  "The clock," he said, pointing.  "We left Japan
at sunset yesterday.  We flew for three hours, and I slept another ten.
We didn't go too far north or south, from the angle of the sun.  So the
time-zone difference means China."

"Damn," she said, grinning in return.  "And I even flew the wrong way to
start with, to fool you.  You've gotten a lot smarter over the years."

He blinked.  They _had_ started off flying south-east, and he'd
forgotten.  Whoops.

"If we only met a year or two ago, how do you know so much about what I
used to be like?" he inquired.

She hesitated.  "I --" she began, and then stopped, biting her lip.

Ranma snapped his fingers.  "I know who you remind me of," he suddenly
realised.  "Tell me, are you related to ..."  It was his turn to
hesitate.  "To a woman named Kuonji Ukyou?" he finished at last.

Pandora sighed.  "Yes.  She ... didn't want you to know --"

"Ucchan," Ranma said, shaking his head and smiling in reminiscence. "She
_is_ still alive, then.  I haven't heard from her in so long ... Is she
here?  I'd like to see her again."

"No," said Pandora firmly.  "She won't be coming here.  She ... didn't
want to face you again."

Ranma sighed.  "That's a shame," he said softly.  "I still miss her."

Pandora seemed to sense his change of mood.  "She loved you."

"I know."  He sighed again.  "It took me years to really understand.  It
wasn't a fair decision ... I think Ukyou loved me a lot more than Akane
did.  But I loved Akane more than I loved Ukyou.  And I was the one who
got to make the choice ..."  He shook his head.  "It wasn't fair at all,
but how _could_ it have been?

"Akane ..."  Her name still brought pain, but it was more muted now,
more wistful.  "It brought us together.  She may not have loved me as
much to begin with, but we grew closer.  I don't think she had any
regrets.  It was a _fine_ marriage.  Fine."  There were tears in his
eyes again.

"I'm glad," Pandora whispered.

"And Ukyou ... she was terribly hurt when I finally chose Akane," Ranma
went on.  "I think she'd known all along, how it would have to be.
Toward the end, she got pretty desperate.  But she ... she never gave up
hope."

"No."

"Then, at the wedding.  She stood there, and she smiled for us, and
wished us joy ... and I could see the pain in her eyes, and I knew her
heart was breaking.  And I shut it out.  I pretended not to notice.  It
was my wedding, and I didn't want to know."

"She never blamed you."  Pandora's own eyes were moist.

"That doesn't excuse it!" Ranma snapped.  "My best friend was in pain,
and needed me, and I wouldn't help!"  But after a few moments his anger
faded, and he sagged back.  "I _couldn't_ help.  What she needed ... I
couldn't give.

"When we got back from our honeymoon, she was gone.  Nobody knew where.
She'd closed the restaurant, taken a few possessions, and just vanished.
She ... she left all her spatulas behind.  I think that hurt me the
most.  It was like she was saying, she'd given up.  On everything.

"I never saw her again.  I was afraid she'd killed herself.  I searched
... we even got Nabiki to pay for a private detective ... but we never
found anything.  She was just gone."

He lifted his eyes to Pandora.  "And now, there's you.  Her ...
granddaughter?"

Pandora stirred slightly.  "Ranma ..."

"Can you at least give her a message from me?  Tell her I'm sorry.  I
never wanted to cause her pain.  Tell her ... I hope she's happy."

Pandora smiled gently.  Her eyes were bright.  "She knows that, Ranma.
She always knew."

"Tell her anyway."  His tone was pleading.  "I need ... to know that
she's heard.  That she knows I know she's all right."  He hesitated.
"She _is_ all right, isn't she?"

"Oh, yes ... she's ..."  Pandora stopped.  Her face was quite blank, as
if she were struggling to hold something in.  "Excuse me, please," she
said, then stood and walked quickly out.

"Pandora-san?" Ranma called.  He scratched at the thin hair at his
temple. Something was wrong here.  Something didn't make sense.  After a
moment's indecision, he went after her.

She was in a living room not far off.  She stood looking out a window,
with her back to Ranma as he came in.  Her shoulders heaved as if she
were crying, but she made no sound.

"What is it?" he asked softly.  "Can I help?"

"No," she said without turning.  "I don't think that's going to be
possible."

"What's the matter?" he asked again.

"This ... was a mistake," she said.  Her shoulders shook again.  "I
should never have brought you here.  I should have known that it was
foolish to try.  But I ... I hoped ..."

Ranma laid a hand on her arm.  "What?  Please.  Tell me."

She looked up at him.  Her expression was pure misery.  "I thought I ...
I might be able to see you again.  Without getting involved."  She
closed her eyes for a moment; and in that instant, somehow, he knew.  It
was mad, it was impossible, but every instinct in him said it was true.

"You ..." he began.

She shrugged his hand off, lifted her arms and began untying the bun of
hair at her neck.  "I should have known better."  Her hair fell free.
She removed the silver mesh at her temples, and tossed it aside.  "I'm
sorry, Ra -- Ranma.  But it has to end.  You have to leave.  I just -- I
just can't do this."

"Ucchan," he said.

"No!  Don't call me that!" she shouted.  "Don't you see?  I can't go
through that again!"

She turned to flee again, but he caught her by the arms and held her.
"Ucchan," he said again in wonder.

"Oh, Ranma," she whispered.  "Why couldn't sixty years have been enough
to stop it hurting?"  And she fell forward into his embrace and started
to cry.

He groped for something innocuous to say, something to defuse the
moment.  "That hair-colour really doesn't suit you," he said.

And she laughed through her tears, and he knew that it was going to be
all right.

- End of Part 2 -

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Angus MacSpon                                                Allen Gainsford
http://shell.ihug.co.nz/~macspon            http://shell.ihug.co.nz/~macspon