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Hi!

Well, here's my first direct post to the R-FFML... and my first fanfic post in nearly a year.  Go figure, it's a repost.  This is part three of 'Choices', previously known as Choices: Decision.  I changed the name after someone pointed out that no actual _deciding_ got done in the chapter, so the title was a bit suspect.  I've also revised it slightly since I first posted it a little over a year ago.

Enjoy!  I hope to post the next (new) chapter in a day or two.  Or maybe
three.  And, of course, as always, C&C is still more than welcome!

-Mike Noakes
noakes_m@hotmail.com



    Choices

Part Three:
Contemplation
by
Michael Noakes


Burning embers floated high on the night wind to flicker briefly among the stars before flaring, fading, dying.  Their dizzying dance twirled amongst the smoke and silence as they drifted into the sky.  A cascade of sparks flared, the result of an idle poke at the source, but the sudden intensity dulled quickly and the fire returned to a slow, crackling simmer.  The young man beneath the tree leaned back and stared up at the evening sky through a thick canopy of shifting branches and leaves.
    Earlier that day the variety of sights and wilderness colours had struck him with their vividness and acuteness.  Now all was shades of grey and black, the fire providing the only colour with its flickering oranges and popping reds.  Beneath the softly flowing wind, even sounds were subdued: the night was quiet and calm, and Ranma Saotome felt at ease.
    Aching muscles and sheer exhaustion urged rest, but he resisted the lull of sleep so as to enjoy the moment, even if only briefly.  It was his first night in far too long spent outdoors, the firmament his ceiling, this bower of trees and interlaced branches his chamber, a knotted root his pillow, the earth his bed; cursing, he pulled a rock from the small of his back and wished that nature included more creature comforts -- he felt cold, and hungry, and uncomfortable, and began to question what he was doing out in the middle of nowhere.
    I must be getting soft, Ranma thought.  This is just what I need: a training voyage, to regain my edge.  Get strong again.  Just like the old days, me and Pop wandering and training.  But a glance to the side revealed a conspicuous absence.  No, not like the old days, amended the boy, this time I'm alone.  Genma had to be left behind, of course.  He wouldn't have understood, and even if he had, would have interfered.  Weird, he thought.  He's made my life hell, got me engaged, got me cursed, made rivals of possible friends, made of me a shame to my mother; he beat me and threw me to the cats and never took it easy on me for one day out of those ten years of training . . . and yet I think I miss the idiot.  Thing was, he's always been there.  Now I'm alone.
    Yet nevertheless at ease, since despite the weariness the day's hike had worn into his bones, for the first time in far too long -- for perhaps the first time, period -- no one was imposing demands upon him, no death threats, no wedding threats.  For the first time he could remember, he felt free.
    The opportunity would be put to good use, too, he decided.  Without his father to cook up bizarre and potentially dangerous -- but, Ranma had to admit, ultimately very creative and efficient -- techniques, it was up to himself to design his training agenda for the next week.  He had brought a minimum of supplies: everything he ate, drank, slept on or under, would come from his own efforts: hard, straightforward work, he figured, as much as he disliked unnecessary labour, would establish a strong foundation for further practice.  Then perhaps some perfection of his technique.  Some speed training.  Physical conditioning.  Maybe some deep meditation, if not for his chi techniques then at least to move beyond the events of the last few days.  He closed his eyes, soothed by the scents carried on the breeze, settling deeper into the ground, his mind passing back over the terrain he had covered, picking out likely training spots, forming a tentative regime for the week.  And at the end of those seven days. . . .
    It would be time to return ho- to the Tendos.  He had promised: would he stay true to his word?  He had seven days to decide.  This morning, he would have denied ever going back, but by the afternoon his resolve had wavered.  And now?
    Ranma slept.


Decisions once made impart passion and clarity of mind, but such singularity of purpose endures but briefly; and so it was that, as Ranma Saotome walked home that afternoon, the first stirring of doubt assailed him.  The open stares and gawking of the pedestrians at the pigtailed boy that passed them by wearing a school skirt and blouse failed to disturb him--he was inured to mockery, for the opinion of such as them currently meant nothing to him--but the reality of what he intended to do intruded upon his detached calm.
    To leave the Tendos was one thing, but where would he go?  As he passed along the Nerima canal he ran options through his mind.  Ukyou, the Amazons: not likely; leaving one fiancee's house for another would simply compound his problems.  The Kunos?  The thought of fleecing Tatewaki and Kodachi for a few weeks brought a smirk to his lips, but he doubted he could do so without losing his mind.  Maybe his mother's house?  As a last resort, perhaps, but the idea of spending a week or two as a female -- and putting up with her efforts to redeem 'Ranko's' femininity -- was almost as unappealing as living with the Kunos.
    He wondered what normal kids did when they ran away from home, whether they had plans or goals or a clearer idea of what they were doing -- then frowned at the implication.  I'm not 'running away,' he told himself.  I'm moving on.
    Not knowing where he was moving to did not subdue the memory of where he was coming from, or of what he was leaving behind.  Furinkan High School.  The guys, false and perverse, one night calling him friend, the next day insulting and mocking him; the girls, shallow and cruel, believing lies, perpetuating worse exaggerations.  So what.  I was an idiot, Ranma told himself, to try and fit in with those jerks.  Who needs people like that?  My enemies make better friends than those people at school.  At least with Ryoga and Mousse, I know where they're coming from: they're rivals, and sneaky, and liars and cheats and. . . .  For a moment he forgot exactly _why_ they were better than the people at school.  Oh yeah: because at least they were _honest_ rivals: they never hid the fact that they'd take any opportunity to kick his ass (Ranma sneered at the idea) and steal both fiancee and cure from him given the opportunity.  Yet despite this--perhaps because of this--they made the best of allies when the going got really tough.  He'd never turn to those idiots back at Furinkan for help.  For anything.  He'd never go back to that school.
    He kicked a wayward pop can lying on the street and watched it bounce, clattering, down the pavement.  How did it happen, he wondered, why did they turn on me like that?  That some people would insult him came as no surprise: Sayuri, for instance, had obviously disliked him from the day he arrived in Nerima, for reasons he simply could not fathom.  But why Yuka, when they had got along so well the night of the party?  And then Hiroshi: the guy had professed to be a good friend, had listened and offered advice, had 'bonded,' as he put it -- and then went and spread secrets given in confidence, and allowed lies to propagate by keeping silent, when he damn well knew those stories going around were untrue!  If that was the kind of friends one made in high school, then screw it, Ranma told himself.  At least when Ryoga pounds me in the head, I know he's being genuine about it.
    And then, with little awareness of either time or distance having passed, Ranma stood before the Tendo residence, and his previous concerns became inconsequential.  Having arrived, he now had to decide whether he was to stay; to his surprise, he found very little remorse over the idea of leaving this place forever.  After all, what was there to keep him here?  Not Akane, certainly, for whatever feelings he had for her were obviously never to be reciprocated.  Though it galled him to admit defeat in any battle, he knew this one was hopeless.  The other sisters?  Nabiki he would gladly bid good riddance to; Kasumi would be missed, and Ranma wished there was some way to thank her before leaving.  As for Soun and his father -- well, he'd find some way to make it up to them, although considering the trouble they'd caused him in the last year, it wouldn't take long to pay up _that_ bill.  The dishonor of leaving his marriage promises unfulfilled bothered him, but why should the onus always fall on _him_?  Akane was the one who broke our fathers' oath this time, he told himself, let her deal with the consequences for once!  'Cus by the time our parents figure out what's going on, I don't plan on being here no more.
    With a dismissive shrug, he stepped into the house.
    He ignored the two fathers playing shogi, offered a greeting in passing to Kasumi, and headed straight to his room.  Only it wasn't his room anymore, of course; looking around, he realized it had _never_ been his room.  Where were the dozen little touches that marked a place as belonging to someone, the character identifiers and knick-knacks of personality that said, 'Ranma Saotome lives here'?  Aside for the few outfits he had hanging in the closet (into one of which he quickly changed, tossing the Furinkan schoolgirl uniform aside), the camping gear stored beneath it, the few personal items shut away in the dresser, there was little to nothing.  One had to own stuff to display it, and everything he had ever left out had either been repossessed by Nabiki (if valuable), inadvertently thrown out by Kasumi (if ugly or clashing with the room's original decor), or broken by Akane (or by any number of suitors or rivals).  Even necessary items, such as school books and training equipment, were either kept out of sight or in the dojo.  For the first time it occurred to him that, whether consciously or not, the Tendos had made every effort to minimize his impact upon his own room.  He wondered if the effect extended throughout the entire house.  Of course, erasing his presence wasn't possible, the sheer property damage he had either directly or indirectly caused to the household ensuring that.  But once the fresh paint faded, the holes were patched, the scars healed -- once the only visible signs that a Ranma Saotome had ever spent a year-and-a-half within these Tendo walls were gone, would he be forgotten?
    Then he thought, did I bring anything to this household other than violence?
    What about to the school?
    He looked around the mostly empty room.  Listened to the sounds of the house: Kasumi, softly singing to herself as she passed by; the clink of mugs raised in cheer; the banging of a door.   Zephyrous whispering of wind slipping in through an open window, coiling across the room, extending, breathing down the hallway, up stairs, touching on closed doors -- three sisters, clapping of a wooden duck -- and now down, stirring hanging beads and the aromas of the oft-visited kitchen, then through a family room that never was, and finally. . . .
    Out the back, free once again.
    A lifetime of short stays and hasty departures made him a quick packer.  It took mere seconds for his dusty and worn pack to be retrieved from the closet and laid out upon the floor.  It had not even been disassembled, Genma having taught him the value of foresight and preparation when it came to unexpected travel.  Meager possessions were quickly sorted through, absolute essentials chosen and trivialities tossed to the garbage--he wouldn't be returning for them, so why bother putting them away?  Into the pack he shoved his gi, intact but so worn and used it had begun to turn grey; it was followed by an extra set of black pants and red shirt, his last pair after what Nabiki had done to his clothes at school.  Some underwear and socks, stored in a plastic bag, completed his traveling wardrobe.  The surprisingly numerous dresses, gowns, skirts and blouses he had somehow accumulated over time he fastidiously ignored, and the feminine underthings obviously stayed behind.
    As he continued filling his packsack, he considered possibilities.  Should he travel Japan, in search of martial instructors?  Or better yet, China?  If required, he could find work to finance the trip -- though if push came to shove, simply swimming the distance was possible.  Not pleasant by any means, but he had done it before, and if necessary, would do so again.  His eyes widened: how could he have not thought of it earlier: what else was there to do once in China but return to Jusenkyo?  Too long the search for a cure had been put aside by his responsibilities here in Nerima; now that every last connection to this house and little city had been absolved, he could finally be rid of his cursed girl-side.
    He secured the final tie on his backpack.  Good.  He hefted it and found it light enough for easy travel.  One last thing to check.  In the bottom drawer of the dresser -- the drawer assigned to him, his father having claimed the ones above -- was stored his small collection of racier female clothing, lingerie, and embarrassing accessories.  Digging quickly through the odd accumulation of articles -- an iron corset, a worn yet intact bunny outfit, his tattered but neatly folded tea-ceremony wedding kimono -- he pulled out a nondescript shoebox stashed at the very back.  His intention was to sift through it quickly, yet each item he touched upon forced recollection.  A few strands of long, black hair, tied with a shred of yellow ribbon: an early encounter with a rival, a fiancee held close, a bad cut.  Ragged piece of cloth: ice and skating and an unwanted kiss, makeshift bandage, unexpected kindness and ministrations.  Yellow scarf that closer resembled a fishing net.  Picture of curiously cat-like Ranma rubbing nose against a surprised Akane's cheek.  Iridescent-green dragon-like scale.
    Junk, all of it.
    Carefully closing the box, he tenderly returned it to its position, replaced the oddities that concealed it, softly closed the drawer, grabbed his bag and hoisted it over his shoulders and turned to leave; and then the door to his room slid open quietly on its railing and Akane was standing there on the threshold with eyes widening with sudden realization, and Ranma knew he had wasted far too much time on pointless memories.  In that first moment, eyes locking and full awareness of what Ranma intended dawning upon Akane--he could tell, he could see it in her face, he knew her at least that well after a year--he considered simply running away, jumping out the window and making his escape.
    No.  No more running.  If he had learnt anything this afternoon at school, it was that you could never turn your back on these people.  I'm leaving here by choice, not like some thief at night, he told himself.  I'm leaving by choice and moving on.  Akane stepped into the room, closed the door behind her, and slowly looked around.  He watched her take in the details: the open closet, the missing clothes, discarded items on the floor, the pack on his back.  Dumb as a stump when it came to P-Chan, he thought, but observant enough when she has to be.
    "You're leaving," she said, eyes still sliding across the room.
    It wasn't really a question.
    "When are you coming back?"
    So maybe she didn't get it after all.  He didn't answer.
    Hazel eyes sharply fixed cerulean.  "You're not, are you?"
    He shrugged and moved towards the door.  Akane blocked the exit.
    "Outta my way, Akane."
    "Or what, you'll hit me?"
    Ranma snorted.
    "Nice show you put on back at school."
     "Wasn't a show."  He stared at her for a moment and, realizing she wasn't about to move, turned away.
    "So what if someone had got in your way?  What would you have done?"
    "Dunno."  Answering over his shoulder, he pulled the curtains aside from the window.  "Hit 'em, I guess.  Prob'ly regret it after, but, hey, didn't happen, so no worries, right?  After all, nobody tried to stop me from leaving, did they?  Not the teachers, not the guys--not even you, Akane."  He glanced back at her but found her now standing next to him, pressing down hard on the window frame.
    "They were scared, Ranma.  _I_ was scared."
    "D'ya really think I'd ever hurt you, Akane?"
    "You did two nights ago."
    "No, I didn't."  He yanked the window open, overcoming her initial resistance to his effort.  He took a deep breath of air, then hoisted himself up into a sitting position on the sill.  He faced her.  "What I did, Akane, was give ya what you've always wanted: I took you seriously for once. Isn't that what you're always goin' on about, how tough you are, you're a martial artist too, you can take it?"
    "That's diff-."
    He cut her off with a glare.  "No it's not, and now you know why I never did.  One move--shit,  I didn't even apply pressure!--and now you're whinin' and everybody's callin' me a jerk and an abuser an' worse.  I try an' tell 'em otherwise, but no one ever listens.  Well I've said I'm sorry already.  I've said it so often I'm sick of it.  I'm not gonna say it again."
    Akane visibly restrained her anger, and instead offered up an unusually subdued posture, eyes downcast to the floor.  When she finally spoke, her voice seemed quiet and nearly timorous.  "I didn't say any of that stuff about you, Ranma."
    "Yeah, maybe not."  He shrugged.  "But you sure as hell didn't speak up at school."
    "Do you think it would've made a difference?"
    "Probably not.  Not with those jerks.  Woulda meant somethin' to me, though.  I was kicking myself, thinkin' I'd hurt you.  Not goin' to do that anymore, tho, 'cus I know I didn't."
    "But you did."
    "Yeah.  Whatever."  He began to turn away, feet raised to clear the window. "I'm outta-."
    "You did hurt me, you jerk!"  Now Akane looked up, and her eyes were anything but tame.  The front of Ranma's Chinese shirt twisted in her grasp as she grabbed him and hauled him off the window sill.  "You did, and it's got nothing to do with your stupid technique!  Here, take my wrist--go ahead, take it!  Twist my wrist.  Do it.  You think that's what this is all about?"
    He pulled his hand free of her grip.  "I don't got time for this."
    "Yeah, I'm sure running away has a tight deadline."
    "I'm not running away!"
    "Sure looks like it."
    "I'm moving on."
    "Mo. . . is that what you call it?  What, you milked us for all you could, and now it's time to live off another fiancee?  Hell, Ranma, why only a year, I'm sure you could've strung us along for at _least_ another six months!"
    "It's not like that!"
    "Then why?"
    "Shit, Akane, isn't it obvious?  I know where I'm not wanted."
    "Who are you to judge that?"
    "You want me to stay, then?"
    Silence.
    "Right.  I'm gone."  Again he headed for the door; again, Akane moved to intercept.  With a sigh he threw his pack to the floor and sat on it.  "Listen, I'm gettin' really tired of this.  If ya got somethin' to say, say it.  If you don't want me to stay, then get the hell outta my way."
    She settled into a kneeling position across from him, her back to the sliding door.  A deep breath, eyes briefly closed as if to signal a collecting of thoughts, and then she spoke.  "I don't want you here.  I can't stand seeing you right now.  Seeing you almost makes me feel sick.  But I don't want you to leave.  Not now, not yet, not like this."
    "Heh.  And they call _me_ the indecisive one."
    "This isn't a joke!"
    "Oh, it's a joke all right, it's always been one; only now, I'm just getting the punch-line.  Think about it, Akane: a macho-jock jerk guy who turns into a _girl_, ain't that the funniest thing you've ever heard?  But there's more, 'cus this guy, see, he's got these three girls engaged  to him, and. . . ."
    "Ranma."
    "Then there's the guys who love his girl-side, and the guys who hate his guy side, and the guys who want him to stay a girl, and the guys who just want his fiancees."
    "Ranma!"
    "But it's all his fault, of course.  Then one day, he thought he'd try and change, you know, make some friends--but damned if anyone was gonna let _that_ happen.  And the punchline, if you didn't get it, is: _that's me_, and my life's a joke."  Teeth flashed through his thin-lipped laugh, the gesture bereft of any sense of merriment, and Akane winced at the sound  "Why aren't you laughin', Akane?  Everyone else does."
    "Stop it!"
    "Why should I?"
    "What's wrong with you, why are you acting like this?  This isn't like you, Ranma!"
    "So you've got me figured out too, huh, just like everyone else.  So what am I, then?  Am I the perverted macho jerk everybody says?"
    "You're-."
    He leaned forward, cutting her off with an exaggerated hiss.  "It's true!  I _am_ a macho jerk."  Sitting back again, he shrugged.  "But that's okay, 'cus it ain't my fault, it's theirs.  I figured that out today, standin' out there on the baseball field, all those girls makin' fun of me and making it quite clear what they thought of me--thanks, by the way, for standing up for me, I _really_ appreciated that--and getting me kicked off the team.
    "See, for the longest time, I couldn't figure out why people kept sayin' all that crap about me behind my back.  For a year it bugged me and worried me, the insults and gossip and stuff.  What was I doing wrong?  Don't look at me like that, Akane--I'm not talking about the obvious, here: the fightin' and fiancees and curse.  'Cus even when things were normal they'd make fun of me.  You know what I'm saying, you've heard enough of it, heck, Sayuri and her friends are probably the main source of half that shit."
    She didn't say anything, her slight wince answer enough in itself.
    "For a year, Akane, a _year_!  When I wasn't fighting or training or dealing with somethin' weird, it'd eat away at me, worryin' about what was wrong with me.  But it ain't me, it ain't never been me; or maybe I oughta say, it's always been me, but those jerks tried to make something outta me that I'm not.  You know why?  Fear."  He chuckled dryly.  "Who would've guessed--that bastard Uehara was right."
    "After today, you wonder why they were afraid of you?" Akane said.  "You justified every worry they had of you."
    "They erased every doubt I had about them, saying the crap they did about me!"
    "That was a surprise, after getting drunk and acting like an idiot at the party?"
    "I wouldn't have _been_ drunk if you hadn't started that fight!"
    "Me--I started the fight?  You're the one who-"
    "If you'd bother. . . ," he began, then scowled.  His blood was pounding, voice steadily raising, face flushed with the intensity of the argument, and the whole scenario sickened him.  "No.  I won't play this game, Akane, I'm not gonna argue with you.  Hell, I wanted to be gone before you even got back from school."  He stood up, shouldered his pack once again.  "Doesn't matter, I suppose.  Just ask yourself this: sure, maybe I acted like an idiot at the party, made a fool of myself--but did I deserve the bullshit I got today?"
    "You-"
    "Careful, Akane.  Did you listen to the rumors, heard what they said?  Some were sayin' I like to beat up girls, that I get some kinda sicko thrill outta it.  Some said I was buddies with Uehara, that I set the whole thing up.  Hell, some guys were sayin' I was just actin' drunk, using it as an excuse to screw around with guys and stuff."  His jaw tightened, thick cords of his neck standing out.  "So tell me, Akane, did I deserve those kinda lies following me around at school?  Did I deserve to be kicked off the sport teams?  Did I deserve to have every one I know at that whole fucking school turn on me like that?"
    A long silence in which she matched his angry, cold eyes with an enigmatic gaze of her own, before answering.  "No," she half-whispered.  "No."
    "Damn straight," he said, stepping past her, yanking the door open.
    "Do you want to know why I didn't say anything?"
    He hesitated, held by her query, one foot past the threshold; held his position but refused to look back.
    "Because I enjoyed seeing your hurt," she said, quickly, almost desperately, it seemed.  "Because I wanted you to feel what _I_ felt that night at the party!  I wanted you to hurt the way I did--the way I still do!"
    Ranma slowly turned and reentered the room, silently sliding the door shut behind him.  "You what," he asked, very, very softly.
    Akane looked up at him from her position on the floor.  "All day, people have been asking me what happened, did we fight, were we really broken up, and why.  I never answered them, at least, not directly.  I knew that they would take my silence whatever way they wanted, and probably in the worst way possible--and I didn't really care.  I didn't expect things to get so out of hand . . . but probably would have acted the same if I had."
    "Akane, you . . . how could you?"
    He despised how weak his own voice sounded, but a palpable sense of betrayal arose at her words and undercut his previous authority and righteous anger, leaving him feeling off-balance and momentarily vulnerable. The pain, he realized, had been a burgeoning presence within him all morning: her refusal to come to his aid earlier this day had left the seeds of uncertainty within, but her current direct admission staggered him--how could she be so cruel?
    "I could ask the same question of you," she answered.
    Shaking his head in disbelief, he once again sank into a sitting position across from her.  "Me?  Do you have _any_ idea what I went through today?"
    "Yeah, Ranma, believe it or not, I think I've got a pretty good idea."
    That she thought she could empathize with the myriad emotions he had undergone this day provoked outrage, even as he tried to accept that she could so callously seek to hurt him. "You--you don't got no idea, Akane!  What I felt --" trust, friendships betrayed; anger, humiliation, pain compounded by confusion; the constant growing stifling greyness that demanded release but with relief ultimately denied, "how could you _possibly_ know?"
    "You really don't get it, do you?"
    "Get?  What is there to-"
    "Who the hell do you think you are, Ranma?   Is this your world, huh, you think Nerima revolves around you?  You corner the market on feeling like shit?  Well, guess what, Ranma, big news flash: you're not the only one who's been hurt here!"
    "No way!  Not like this, I've put up with a hell of a lot more than-- than you, or Nabiki, or anyone else at that damn school! has ever had to deal with."  And then, because he refused to keep it in, "And I _never_ go out of my way to hurt others and spread lies like that about 'em!"
    The look of disbelief that overcame Akane would have almost been comical in any other situation.  Here and now it simply furthered his annoyance.  She recovered quickly.  "Never?  Never!  Ranma, you _always_ go out of your way to hurt others.  If you're not insulting your dad, you're picking on poor Ryoga--don't interrupt me, dammit!--or beating up Mousse, or insulting my cooking, or the way I dress, or the way I look, act, talk, or . . . everything!  First I work out too much, I'm a tomboy, but then I'm too weak, a terrible martial artist.  Sure, Ranma, you never insult _anybody_."
    "But-"
    "Let me guess, you're joking," she said.  "Guess what, Ranma, once is a joke: after a couple dozen times, it's insulting."
    "Yeah?"
    "Yes."
    "Then I guess you must've really meant it all those times you called me a jerk and a pervert, huh?"
    If she felt any guilt whatsoever, she hid it well; then again, he was doing a fair job of that himself.
    "Whatever, Ranma.  I could say that every time I called you those things, you deserved it, but I know you will just turn it around and say the same thing to me.  So what's the point?"
    "Yeah."
    Silence.
    "You know, Akane, if you're trying to convince me to stay, you're doing a pretty lousy job of it."
    Akane sighed.  "I don't know.  Maybe you shouldn't stay.  Maybe you're right, you need time away.  But not permanently, not forever, not like this, not for something as stupid as today."
    "Why should I come back?  What would be the point?"  Then, fixing her with a piercing gaze, "Why would you even want me to come back?"
    "Why do you think?"
    "Frankly, Akane, I haven't got a clue, I never have.  Way I have it figured, you don't like me and never have, and with good reason: I'm an unwanted perverted sex-changing freak of a fiance who bullies your friends and fools around behind your back, and who's brought nothing but chaos and violence in your life . . . why on earth would you want somebody like that around?"
    "Is that how you think I feel about you?"
    "Pretty much."
    A certain wonderment tinged her voice.  "And yet you stayed?  Why?"
    "I dunno.  Family honor and obligation?  Maybe I thought I liked it here in Nerima?  Mostly 'cus I didn't want to admit to myself that that's how you felt."  He shrugged.  "Now I know that's all bullshit.  My honor is my own, not my father's, nor Tendo's; Nerima has nothing for me; and as for you, Akane, I think you've made it abundantly clear what you think of me.
    "You . . . hate me, and I'm sorry, so very sorry, I've made your life what must have been a living hell for the past eighteen months.  Well, hopefully when I leave, all the crap that came with me will leave too.  I'll have to come back to Nerima at some point, I suppose -- I've got stuff to settle with my mom, and Ryoga, and with Ukyou and Shampoo and the Old Ghoul, but I'll make sure to leave the Tendos out of it."
    "And so now, you just leave?"
    "Yup."
    "No."
    "Dammit, Akane!  Why the hell won't you let me go?"
    "Because things aren't that simple, you can't run away from this, because I . . . don't hate you, Ranma, I never have.  Right now, I don't like you--but that's not the same thing as hate."  She rose from her sitting position and slowly approached him.  Her features softened, recalling an incident from not long ago: at the party, soon before she left, exchanging easy banter and a relaxed shared moment.  A smile, something so rarely received, it seemed, but all the more precious for it--would he ever be privy to that aspect of her again?
    She took his hand in hers as he stood there momentarily at a loss.  "Ranma, we've lived together and been fiances now for a year-and-a-half.  Maybe that's all over now, and I doubt we can ever go back to the way things were before--but do you want to end what's between us, whatever that may be, like this, in anger?"
    "Akane. . . ."
    "You're right, of course, you need time away.  To cool off.  But you have to promise me, Ranma, that you'll come back.  In a week's time.  By Sunday, say."
    "But-"
    "If you come back, and still want to leave, I promise I won't stop you.  Think about it, about what you're leaving behind.  About what happened.  Maybe you'll even understand why I'm hurting too."
    "I don't think I'll ever understand you, Akane."
    Did that secret smile flicker across her lips?  "Probably not, Ranma."
    "I have to go now."
    "Do you promise to come back?"


Ranma Saotome awoke to the scent of wild sage wafting on the summer air and the early morning light shimmering through the canopy of leaves, with the echoes of a promise offered fading from his mind.  The anger of yesterday--was it only twenty-four hours ago that everything had gone so wrong?--had largely dulled, but the possible ramifications of his actions were just beginning to emerge.  Could he return to the Tendos' after leaving; could he return to Furinkan after lashing out; would either of them accept him back?  The temptation to simply never find out, never return, was very real, yet the promise Akane had extracted from him (so easily, it seemed, why had he capitulated so quickly to her request?) seemed to exclude that possibility.  The full implications of yesterday's conversation with her were yet beyond him: how had he hurt her, and if so badly, why did she want him to return; and why the unexpected tenderness at the end?
    As he rose from his makeshift bed, he cast such thoughts from his mind.  Now was the time to train, and to eat as well, he realized, his stomach grumbling loudly.  Stretching to work the night's knots out from his back, he walked deeper into the forest, martial patterns and training techniques filling his thoughts.  All other concerns he could address later--in a week's time.

******

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