Choices:
Decision
(part five)
by
Michael Noakes
(April 2002--> )
A fanfiction set in the Ranma 1/2 world of Rumiko Takahashi.
Author notes at the end.
Grays and shadows: concrete lines are indistinct beneath opened skies. The
torrent enforces a sullen silence, leaving the city subdued but for the
sibilant hiss of rain striking pavement. Canals swollen with runoff carry
away the filth and detritus of city life. Lashing winds ride the dampening
fall. The scent of moist and freshly torn foliage hovers near the ground.
A young girl runs through the storm. She is alone. Holding herself
tightly, she runs blindly and headless of the punishing weather. Blood
flows freely where she has scratched herself, but the rain quickly washes it
away.
The rain drummed a staccato beat against the windowpane. Hiroshi stared
listlessly outside, watching the rain fall, watching the trees sway
noiselessly in the distance. He traced the path of a single drop with an
idle finger, its seemingly random path, the glass cool beneath his touch.
The bead of water was absorbed by a larger rivulet and carried away.
The boy sighed and leaned his forehead against the window. He closed his
eyes. Ms Hinako droned on somewhere in the background, and despite being in
her adult form she sounded just as weary as he felt. Half the class was
already asleep at their desk as the clock continued its excruciatingly slow
march towards the end of fourth period. Then lunch. Free time followed by
cleaning the school. Back to class, two more hours, club activities. Home
then dinner, study then sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. Hiroshi sighed
again: even in a school like Furinkan it sometimes seemed all so
predictable.
In quiet moments like this, Hiroshi felt he could see the entire sequence
of his life stretching before him. Sometimes he enjoyed imagining the
possibilities. For example: his relationship deepening with Sayuri, they
marry soon after graduation; supporting him as he struggles through a
second-rate Tokyo university, she eventually quits and stays at home and
raises their children as he joins with a large firm, another be-suited
soldier of human management. A good husband and father, he retires after
forty years of hard work and recollects the golden days of his youth in high
school.
Whee, Hiroshi thought. These are my golden days?
Maybe soon after graduation Sayuri realizes how much of a geek he is, and
dumps him. Left reeling, he redirects his agony into effort and loses
himself into study, and manages to enter a top-flight university. With
these heightened prospects he is recruited by a major international
corporation. Rising swiftly through the ranks, he nevertheless still fears
that adolescent pain and never again connects deeply with another woman.
Older and richer (and possibly with an ulcer, though Hiroshi wonders if that
might be over-the-top), he one day retires and cynically reflects on his
high-school heartbreak.
Yeah, sure, Hiroshi thought, grinning ruefully. Who am I kidding? Though
I'm probably right about the getting dumped thing.
These unexciting thoughts appeal to him more than the occasional wild
flights of fancy. Though fun imagining himself being bitten by a strange
radioactive insect and suddenly gaining superhuman powers allowing him to go
toe-to-toe with Ranma and his friends in hand-to-hand combat . . . it also
felt pretty silly. Hiroshi knew he was not a hero. Enough peripheral
encounters with the daily insanity of Ranma's life had taught him that.
However: something inside yearned terribly for a chance--just _one_
chance--to test and prove himself. To Daisuke. To his parents and to
Sayuri. To himself.
I had my chance, he told himself, and I missed it. I wanted to be a hero,
but I always imagined it would be something grand, something obvious:
grabbing a cute girl out of the path of an out-of-control truck, maybe. But
when Ranma was hurting, and my buddies were insulting him behind his back,
and making rude comments about his curse, and talking about making a _real_
girl out of him; and all those girls spreading rumors and lies: _that_ was
my chance to prove myself. I could have stood up and taken his side. I
could have said something--anything!
But when the person at the front of the whole campaign is your own
girlfriend, what can you do? I really like Sayuri, he thought miserably,
and I _think_ she really likes me too. Ever since the party--ever since
Ranma's absence--their relationship had been steadily deepening. Who would
have thought, he added with some wonder, that a popular girl like her would
see something in a dork like me? But she does, and when we're together and
alone it's great.
Being her boyfriend at school was a different matter. She wasn't exactly
_cold_ to him, but compared to the affection she showed when they were
alone, it felt chilling, and almost painful--that it even pained him came as
a surprise. Not that he could blame her: he'd probably be embarrassed to be
seen with himself, too, if he was that popular. Then there was the way she
tore into Ranma today and ended up hauling buckets. He knew he would be
hearing all about it at lunch. He remembered the stupid bet he made with
Daisuke a week ago, and felt weak.
Hiroshi shifted, as the cool spot where his forehead touched the window
grew uncomfortable. A break in the teacher's monotone recital pulled his
eyes forward. The students at the head of each row were passing back
worksheets. Woo hoo, he thought. More mindless busywork. At some time
during his distraction, Hinako had reverted to her youthful form. In the
brief free time while the students collected their class work, she stared
outside with such a serious, pensive air, the skin between her eyes pinching
into a cute little 'v', that it appeared nearly funny on such a childish
face. He followed her gaze, and saw only the falling rain and
half-concealed trees.
He turned slightly, and saw himself vaguely reflected in the window. A
slight shock ran through him at the expression on his face--
_"But, really," Ranma said, "don't worry about it."_
--and he realized that maybe Ranma had been feeling something very similar
as he waved off the earlier apology. Feeling something similar--to what?
Hiroshi suddenly lost confidence in his friend's reassurance. Something in
Ranma's expression, something in his _own_, left Hiroshi uncertain.
It was usually at home, in the mornings during his shower, at night in
those empty minutes before sleep claimed him, that he allowed his mind to
wander and crafty silly visions of a mundane future. He never did it at
school. He never _could_ do it at school. Every time he tried, the
possibilities seemed to unwind and fall apart, the myriad paths different
friends and encounters allowed for, the choices, his imagination just
couldn't stretch itself enough to allow for the presence of--
I wonder how Ranma is doing, Hiroshi thought. I sure hope he's okay.
With each step, the water captured in the folds of her furled hood
overflowed and trickled cold down the small of her back. The skirt of her
uniform was soaked through to appear nearly black; her wet hair clung
tenaciously to her scalp. The rain stung her eyes. Blinking continuously
and hunched into the storm, she walked home. Through the fence, she watched
the canal's swift flow, its rain-dappled surface, and the refuse riding the
water away. The metal tip of her umbrella scraped the pavement at her side.
I can't do this, Akane Tendo thought. I can't--how can I just walk home?
She imagined herself at home, dry, with her sister, comfortable, with a warm
cup of green tea clutched in her hands, warm, and with her father, safe. . .
. Her already trudging walk faltered. Strength abruptly left her and she
stumbled, off balance, and collapsed against the fence, hard. The metal was
wet and slick and coarse against her skin. Her fingers found purchase among
the chain links; she rebounded off the fence and fell, but her grip propped
her up in a half crouch. The metal bit through her bandaged hand into the
soft flesh between her thumb and forefinger. She realized that she was
crying, but the downpour made it impossible to tell.
_"Akane is really okay?"_
Under the rain's incessant fall, her plaintive cry went unheard.
"Then I have to go," Ranma said. Without another word, he turned away and
left. The noise of the door sliding in its railing, wood against wood,
metal rollers, sounded clear in his wake. A windowpane rattled in its frame
as the storm outside gained strength.
She stood next to Doctor Tofu. The man groaned as he regained his feet.
Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, struggling to speak. One hand,
raised in vain to-- she didn't know, to stop Ranma from leaving, maybe, to
reach out and comfort him-- how do you comfort someone in a time like-- he's
been ra-- how can he be pre-- was he worried-- I just wanted to touch him
and let him know he isn't alone! she thought, and her arms fell limply at
her side.
"Ranma. . . ?" She found her voice, barely above a whisper.
The wind breathed through the room, its sound hollow and quavering. Tofu
stepped past her and closed the door the rest of the way. He did not look
outside. Wind severed, the room sank back into deep silence. The doctor
stayed at the door, his back towards her, one hand resting heavily against
the dark grain of the doorframe, the other raised to his brow. His
shoulders trembled slightly.
"Don't go," Akane finished, louder but too late.
Bikini bottom twisted around a girl's ankles. Naked, bra-like top tangled
in the crook of one elbow. The smell of the room had been pungent, the air
heavy. Even after two weeks, the image remained painfully clear in Akane's
mind. She feared it always would. There had been details she had refused
to see at the time. Marks across the girl's shoulders and upper arm, and
back, parallel lines pale against her skin, reddening at the edges:
scratches, and heavy grip marks that her training told her fell just short
of bruising. Straightening out and pulling the swimsuit up the girl's legs,
how could she not notice the blood, still not quite dry, speckling the
inside of her thighs? I should have told someone earlier, Akane thought.
Tugging the bottom over her hips, the matted hairs of the girl's pubic
region had glistened in a way that Akane's inexperience could not
understand, and that her rationale had refused to accept.
I should have told someone about her! she thought, and took a weak step
forward. She suddenly felt ashamed. Ranma's _not_ a girl, she told
herself. She tried to draw some strength from that fact. Another step.
The image would not leave her mind. Ranma, half-unconscious on the bed.
Naked flesh obscenely vivid against the grayish sheets, a pallid contrast in
the dark. The room had seemed so _hot_. Akane had never seen Ranma spread
out so defenseless before, nor seem as weak and helpless as he had then; her
stomach twisted and dropped at the thought. Tightly balled fists pressed
forcefully into her sides, straining in vain to reach the source of her
pain. Akane's vision dimmed, and a rushing sound assaulted her ears. She
fell to her knees. She felt her bile rise. She vomited on the floor of the
clinic.
A solid hand on her shoulder brought her back. She looked up through
blurry eyes at Doctor Tofu. His cheeks were moist but his features were
reassuring.
"She's a boy," Akane insisted firmly.
"Yes he is," Tofu agreed, and pulled her up.
"But that doesn't make it any better," she said. With the back of her
right hand, she absently wiped the bile from her chin. Her wrist ached
where Ranma had slapped her away. "It doesn't make a difference."
"I don't think it does, Akane," Tofu said.
She stared at the closed door. She remembered Ranma's departure. He had
seemed so lost and confused. His eyes had never been that empty. An uneven
beat began against the ceiling: the first heavy drops of the incipient
storm.
"It's raining," she said numbly. "Ranma shouldn't be out in the rain. Not
without a coat." She went to take a step forward but found her movement
arrested by a strong grip on her arm. She glanced back, confused, and gazed
blankly at Tofu's hand.
"The rain is the least of his worries," he said.
"I-- I know," she said. "But I should go . . . ."
"I think," Tofu said, "that even if you could find Ranma, it might be best
if no one was with him right now." His grip tightened slightly as she tried
to pull away.
"No!" she yelled. "No! Ranma _needs_ me, I have to-- let me go!" She
turned away and tried to yank herself out of the doctor's grasp. She
twisted free of his hand but the doctor's soft touch followed her, easily
moving to the opposite shoulder, her elbow, gently restraining her. Akane
cried out in frustration and redoubled her efforts, her mind consumed with
the image of Ranma, in the rain, Ranma, unconsciously supine on the bed,
Ranma, a shadowy figure poised between her splayed legs; "No!"
The doctor's arms wrapped around her from behind, pinning Akane's arms to
her side. He held her tight as she thrashed within his grapple. Her elbows
smacked his side, her heel sought his shins. His grip did not weaken, nor
did he say a word. "Ranma's all alone!" the girl cried out, "She's all al.
. . ."
Akane's struggled abruptly ceased. Akane sagged in the doctor's arms, and
he gently eased her to the floor. She held herself tight, eyes squeezed
shut. The first wracking sob tore through her, then another, and finally
the tears, hot and heavy. "Ranma's a boy!" she wailed, and buried her face
against Tofu's chest. He held her comfortingly, her weeping muffled by his
body. His shirt became wet with tears as she clung to him. The doctor was
something strong and solid, as everything else fell apart. She tried to
come to terms with what had happened. Someone--no, not just _someone_, she
insisted, _Ranma_--that she . . . knew, no, more than that, cared for--had
been . . . hurt. She choked on her own tears, a grim laugh mingled with her
cry: she's been more than just hurt, 'hurt' doesn't _begin_ to describe
what's been done to her! And then: no, Akane persisted, not _her_; him!
Him, him, Ranma's a guy, a guy, no matter what happened! But try as she
might, huddled in the doctor's consoling embrace, she could not disassociate
the idea of Ranma, the boy she had come to know over the last year and a
half, from the image of the girl she had found sprawled on a soiled bed in a
dark room two weeks ago.
As her tears subsided, Akane gradually became aware of a growing wetness in
the doctor's side. She pulled away from his grasp. His face was pale, and
his shirt stained with blood.
"Doctor?" Akane said, eyes widening.
Tofu smiled wanly. "Ranma was fairly insistent we leave him alone, don't
you think?" He carefully stood, and Akane joined him. "It's not so bad.
Nothing worse than a cracked rib, maybe, and some minor lacerations." He
nodded towards the corner Ranma had shoved him, and the shattered end table
that had broken beneath his fall.
Akane recalled how she had flailed within his grasp. She gave an
apologetic bow. "I'm sorry," she said, but the doctor waved it off. He
walked stiffly to the back of the clinic. Akane trailed after him as he
tended to his wound.
"Doctor," she started, hesitatingly, but her voice trailed off to nothing.
She sat down heavily on one of the clinic beds. Hugging herself, she
focused on the doctor's actions, watching as he peeled back his shirt and
applied a dressing to his side. He paused and looked at her expectantly.
"Akane?"
She shook her head slightly, orientating on his voice. She tried to focus
on the doctor. In trying to avoid reliving the scene fresh in her mind,
Akane found it hard to keep her thoughts from slipping away.
"Doctor," she tried again. "Is she-- is _he_ going to be okay?"
Tofu paused, and smiled reassuringly. To Akane, the attempt seemed weak
and transparent. Beneath the reassurance, his features were sad and tired.
"I don't know," he answered. "Ranma is a strong boy. He's already survived
some amazing things. But this. . . ." His smile slipped, and he turned
away. His voice sounded thick and doubtful when he continued. "I'm . . .
sorry, Akane. But I really don't know."
The storm grew stronger.
Akane pulled herself to her feet. Under the pouring rain, there was no
point in wiping her tears away. She wobbled unsteadily for a moment, her
legs weak. A deep breath helped settle her brimming emotions, but her
entire body shivered from the penetrating dampness. Her clothes were wet
and cold against her skin. As the rain grew more intense so did the noise,
and she soon found herself surrounded by its dull hissing roar. The young
woman felt very lonely.
She absently rubbed at the soaked and torn bandages wound tightly around
her hand. Doctor Tofu, after tending to his own wounds, had turned to her
sprained wrist. Akane had not realized she had been hurt. After securing
the wrappings in place, he had told her to go home. "You should wait for
him," Doctor Tofu had said. "You should be there when Ranma returns."
Akane wasn't sure Ranma would.
Trudging along the canal, head bowed to the rain, one hand trailing along
the slick fence, she had to ask herself: Why should he?
_Get out of my house._
And he had stared back at her wide-eyed, with a face suddenly pale, and
answered with that enigmatic whispered, "Yes". To what question, she
wondered, had he replied? Then came the guilt: how could I throw him out,
she asked herself, even when I knew what was at stake? No matter what he
said--and even now, beneath the dark clouds, rubbing at her dully aching
wrist, fragments of a memory roiling at the edge of her thoughts, reds and
pale flesh and threatening shadows; even after all that, she _still_ felt
residual anger at his words--I should have kept my temper in check and made
sure he stayed. But balancing between her concern for Ranma, and her
intense anger at his actions and words had been too difficult, that knife's
edge too thin; in the end she had fallen and in that brief moment given vent
to her rage.
I was too weak, she told herself.
Akane paused in her slow walk. Despite the miserable cold, she could not
bring herself to go any faster. She finally noticed the umbrella held
loosely in her hand, but somehow the effort of raising it over her head
seemed more trouble than it was worth. She attempted a few more steps
before grinding to another fatigued halt.
At least talking with Nabiki had helped, she thought. Her sister helped
share the burden. She had known what to do, had been the one to call up
Doctor Tofu and set up the bogus appointment. And because of that, Ranma
thought I was sick. Even after what he said in the bathroom yesterday, all
those horrible things--he stayed longer, just to make sure I was okay.
Akane shivered violently from the cold. I _won't_ be okay, she told
herself, if I don't get out of this rain soon! But her house felt so far
away, an impossible journey in her current state. She forced herself to
look around, and realized with a start that she had long missed the turn
toward home. A bridge--one of Ranma's hangouts--was nearby. She wondered
if she had unconsciously come this way in search of him.
After only a brief hesitation, she clambered over the fence. Her efforts
were clumsy and she slipped on the slick metal. Her wrist began to ache.
With a final grunt of determination, she lifted herself over and fell
heavily on the other side. The water level was high, overflowing the lower
canal and swallowing up the earthen bank. Akane carefully made her way
along the edge, slipping occasionally on the slick concrete but avoiding the
water. In focusing on not falling into the rapidly flowing water, she was
able to avoid looking at the small space left beneath the bridge. Her heart
was beating rapidly as she approached.
When she looked up, there was nobody there. Only then did she realize how
much she had hoped to find Ranma--expected to find him, even; and she
released a breath unconsciously kept trapped until that moment. She stood
there in the pouring rain, staring blankly at the empty space before her,
blinking rapidly. Another strong shiver forced a few steps forward, and she
ducked down and took cover beneath the concrete arch.
She dropped onto the pebbly ground. The sound of the rain was lessened by
her protection, but the rushing water in the bloated canal proved just as
loud. Akane breathed deeply, smelling old stone and wet grass, and hugged
herself for warmth.
Is he out there in the rain? Akane wondered. That means he's a she right
now, and she pictured the young girl walking through the rain, or maybe
running, the doctor's words still ringing in her ears, holding herself,
small. Akane tried to imagine what she must be feeling, what _he_ was
feeling; she tried to imagine herself in that pained flesh, and shuddered.
She couldn't.
For when the suggestion of that dark figure arose in Akane's mind, poised
between the girl's spread legs, all she could see was Ranma's face. "I'm
too weak," the girl said, and Akane flinched away and buried her face in her
hands, and wept.
Overhead, another figure trudged through the rain. It was short, and
black, and it wore a checkered bandanna. It was a pig and it was steaming
angry. Cloven hooves found difficult purchase on the pavement and it
struggled against the fierce winds as it crossed the bridge, but with
relentless determination it crept forward. Clenched fiercely in its tiny
fanged jaw was a crumpled and rusted bottle-cap.
Just you wait, Ranma! seethed Ryouga Hibiki. I'm almost there! And when
next we meet, I'll send you to hell!
How long she sat there, under the bridge's cover, Akane did not know. Long
enough for the rain to slow and then weaken, and finally stop. The clouds
thinned and broke, and the sun beamed down in gently drifting shafts. The
level of the canal was quickly rescinding, and a few ducks even fluttered
by, dipping their heads beneath the surface. The wind, still moist and
cool, no longer chilled her as deeply. She had stopped crying quite a while
ago.
The sky was already darkening. It's getting late, she thought. Kasumi
must be wondering where I am. She tried to push the thought from her mind,
because they were a further complication she did not know how to deal with.
This thing that happened to Ranma--how would the others react? I can't tell
them, she had decided, during her long wait beneath the bridge. That's up
to Ranma.
She climbed out from beneath the bridge and returned to the street, and
began the long walk home. Nerima seemed beautiful after the storm, somehow
more alive and healthy: the leaves sparkled slightly in the dwindling light,
and everything smelled fresher. It made her angry. It's not fair, she
thought. Not after what happened. But it gave her something to focus on
other than unpleasant memories, and for that she was thankful. As Akane
approached her home, her anxiety grew. She wasn't sure she could maintain
her composure before her family. Then to her surprise, as she slipped
through the outer gate and secured it behind her--an unconscious yet
unfamiliar action, since they almost never locked the door--she felt an
unexpected relief to be off the street.
"I'm back," she said softly, sliding the door shut.
The house seemed ominously silent at that moment, and while Akane felt
relief at not being immediately accosted at the door, she also felt a brief
tremor of anxiety, the source of which she could not entirely place. She
slipped off her shoes and left her soaked book bag in the entranceway, and
slid down the dim hallway. It was with some pleasure that she heard the
normal bustle of another of Kasumi's dinners in progress; she must have
stepped in during a lull in the conversation. The shoji were shut against
the moist winds, but the light shining through the thin rectangles was
cheerful and reassuring. For a long moment, Akane simply stood there
watching the shadow play of her family's evening, silhouettes cast against
yellowed paper. Her father's occasional words, complimenting the taste of
the food; the eldest sister's demure denial that it was anything special;
Genma's booming voice insisting otherwise; a wryly voiced cynicism
undercutting them all from Nabiki.
Akane turned away and the dark lines in the smooth wood pulled her eyes
along the length of the floor. She took a few shuffling steps and stood
outside the dining room. The soft light spoke of warmth and comfort.
She turned away and stared out across the backyard. She found comfort in
the solitude of the small garden and the tiny pool with its languidly
swimming carp. Even the wind, with its heavy, sullen movement, proved more
welcoming than what lay behind her. It ruffled her drying hair and tickled
the nape of her neck. I don't deserve to step in there, Akane thought.
So lost in her empty contemplation was she, that the sound of the door
sliding open behind her went unheard. The soft touch on her shoulder
surprised her, yet she didn't jump. Akane looked back at Nabiki standing
next to her, at her serious and pensive eyes, dark and brooding. Behind
them both, in the bright light of the halogen lamp above, made harsh without
the diffusing paper door, the rest of the family watched her with concern.
"Were you planning to join us, Akane?" Nabiki asked.
"I didn't think anyone heard me," she answered, turning away.
"It's not easy to sneak by a family of martial artists," her older sister
answered. "Don't worry, I explained to Kasumi that you called me to let the
family know you would be late."
"Thanks, sis," Akane answered softly.
"Don't mention it," she answered just as quietly.
They both stared out across the garden for a long moment before Akane
finally turned back to Nabiki, and with a voice thick with emotion, said,
"We have to talk."
Nabiki perched at one end of her bed, anxiously watching her sister, legs
curled to her chest, sitting opposite her. Akane held her head low,
drooping bangs veiling her eyes like a dark curtain. The scene was entirely
too much like last night's for Nabiki's comfort. She didn't want another
repeat of either her sister's breakdown or terrible fears for Ranma. She
didn't want to hear what her sister had to say. The painful hollowness of
her own stomach told her that she already knew what the result of the boy's
visit to the doctor's clinic had to be.
No, the middle sister insisted, growing angry. Not that: it's ridiculous.
That kind of shit doesn't happen. Not in Nerima. Not to my family. Not to
Ranma.
When Akane finally looked up, Nabiki's feeble anger masking her deeper fear
disappeared. Her sister wasn't crying--in fact, she seemed remarkable
composed--but Nabiki knew her sister too well. There was hurt in her
sister's eyes, and a deep hopelessness she hadn't seen in a very long time.
Akane was a girl of extremes--she cried easily, and angered even easier, and
smiled and forgave easiest of all; but when she grew quiet and withdrawn her
pain reached deep, and endured. The last time her sister had seemed this
lost was the night their mother had died.
"Akane?" Nabiki called out, softly, only to discover that her voice hadn't
escaped, that her own throat seemed swelled shut, her words too thick to
slip free. Keep it together, she scolded herself. "Akane?" she tried
again. She inched closer to her sister. Nabiki began to feel distant from
her own actions, as if watching herself from outside, on a stage or a
screen. She felt she already knew how everything would turn out, and was
stuck in a role she didn't want to play. She couldn't believe this was
happening.
Though Akane had insisted that they talk, she now seemed unable to do so.
Nabiki touched her softly on the side of the head. She smoothed down her
sister's hair, still damp and wild from the earlier storm, and finally
rested her hand on Akane's shoulder. She gave a firm but gentle squeeze and
forced her sister to meet her gaze. "Please listen to me, Akane," Nabiki
said.
And then the older sister watched herself ask, "Akane, was Ranma raped?"
One of Akane's hand flew to her lips as if in fright, and then she nodded,
once. Her eyes were wide.
"Where is he now?" Nabiki asked, and congratulated herself on how steady
she kept her voice.
The response came slowly. "She--_he_ ran away when he found out." Her
other hand fluttered uselessly for a moment, until Nabiki noticed the torn
and dirty bandages there. "I tried to stop him."
"Did he hurt you?" Nabiki asked, tone carefully neutral.
"No!" Akane insisted, her reply quick and sharp.
"Does anyone else know?"
"No," she said, in a softer voice. "I asked doctor Tofu to keep it secret
for now."
Nabiki nodded, and wondered if it was better that way. She couldn't
imagine how this would impact her family. Badly. She wondered where Ranma
had run too. There was guilt in Akane's voice, and fear: she probably
suspected that the boy wouldn't come back, and blamed herself. Nabiki
wasn't as certain. Where can he go? she wondered. The guy's not tough
enough to deal with this on his own.
Who would be?
Akane raised her voice again, tentatively at first but finally with
wavering strength. "There's more, Nabiki," she said.
"More?" She hadn't thought her stomach could drop further, but it did.
"I was right, last night."
Nabiki tried to remember their conversation last night. It was a blank.
Strange, Nabiki thought numbly, I'm normally really good at remembering
stuff. "Last night?"
"Nabiki, Ranma's pregnant."
A corner Nabiki's mouth quirked into a smirk, as if at a joke subtly
appreciated; then her smile died and her mouth fell open at the total
seriousness with which Akane held her gaze.
"Don't be stupid," Nabiki said numbly. "He couldn't possibly. . . ."
"She is," Akane said firmly. "Tofu took me aside before Ranma got there.
He explained it to me. I--I can't really remember most of it right now.
Something about stuff in the blood. I couldn't concentrate. He said he
almost missed it, it's so early, but it's definitely there."
"Ranma's . . . pregnant." Nabiki repeated the words slowly. She felt
stupid saying it. How could a guy be pregnant? But Akane had said 'she'
was pregnant. Ranma, the girl. Her mind balked at the idea. Somehow over
the last year and a half, she had stopped ever thinking of Ranma, even in
his cursed form, as a girl; rather, he seemed like a guy with tits, a very
curvaceous, convincing cross-dresser, maybe, but a guy nonetheless, a guy in
mind, always a guy, a man. . . .
How could a man be pregnant?
Nabiki looked sharply at her sister and saw the confusion in her eyes, and
understood that Akane was struggling with the same dilemma. Her doubts ran
deeper, the uncertainty hurting her badly. "Tofu said--," her sister was
saying, when Nabiki suddenly drew her into a tight embrace. She threw her
arms around her younger sister and held her tight. She held her as tight as
she could and wished she could offer more.
"He'll be okay," Nabiki whispered. "He'll be okay."
"It's how he knew," Akane continued, her voice hoarser now and muffled.
"It's how Tofu knew. How could Ranma be pregnant? Only if someone . . . if
some guy had. . . ." Nabiki felt her sister tremble.
Forced himself on Ranma, Nabiki finished mentally. But how do we know it
was forced? she thought. Immediately she flushed hot and angry. How can I
even _think_ that? she asked herself, but the thought had come, unbidden, of
Ranma submitting himself to another guy, as a girl: he had been flirting
with his femininity at the party, had been drunk, had been angry with
Akane--was it that inconceivable?
Yes, it was. The boy was so neurotic he couldn't even bring himself to
kiss a girl, let alone a guy, let alone. . . . Yet if the thought occurred
to her, it would occur to others--to others who did not know him as well, or
who found the idea of a Ranma 'gone girl' tantalizing, or who would take
pleasure in seeing him humbled and ruined. "He'll be okay," Nabiki
repeated, and she did not believe her own words.
The two girls were still in this unmoving pose, the room silently darkening
as the sun sank low, when their older sister, after a perfunctory knock,
opened the door.
"There's a phone call for you," Kasumi said, addressing Akane, and if she
noticed the unusual display of sisterly affection before her, she chose to
ignore it. Rather, she seemed uncharacteristically agitated, a tremor of
worry worming itself through her hurried words.
Akane quickly withdrew from her sister's arms. Her eyes were dry and only
slightly tinted red. When she spoke, her voice was stronger than Nabiki
might have expected.
"For me?" The mixed hope and fear her voice held sent a brief empathic
shiver down Nabiki's spine.
"It's Ms. Saotome," Kasumi said. "She says Ranko is at her place and . . .
and she's worried. Ranko . . . Ranma, came in nearly an hour ago, wet and
shivering from the rain. And crying." Kasumi bit her lower lip for a
moment before continuing, and the middle sister wondered if maybe her gaze,
then, held the slightest bit of disapproval or accusation as she continued.
"He won't talk to her, she said. Ms. Saotome is scared, she doesn't know
what to do.
"She wants to talk to you, Akane. She wants to know what's wrong." Then
the hint of disapproval turned obvious as she tightened her gaze on the
youngest sister. "Do you, Akane?"
"Yes, I do," Akane answered, and without another word she left the room.
(to be continued...)
***
Author's Notes:
Normally I wouldn't post a chapter in such an unfinished state, but I don't
really have a choice. I've sold my computer and internet access is hard to
come by, so I thought that I'd send this to the FFML while I still can. As
of July 18th I'll be homeless and jobless (and country-less, in a matter of
speaking), and come July 23rd I'll be off traveling for a few months, Japan
to London via land. Fanfiction is taking a definite backburner for a while.
Of course, C&C is still greatly appreciated (especially public), even for
something this short. I estimate that the chapter is about a third done,
and hope to finish the rest, quickly (heh), once I finally return to Canada.
On that note, I should be hitting North American soil around the end of
September, and I was wondering if there were any anime conventions going on
around then... I've never been to one, and it seems like the perfect time to
me! Any suggestions, anyone?
Either way, hope you enjoyed the chapter (what there was of it) and sorry
it's taking so long!
-Mike Noakes
noakes_m@hotmail.com
www.geocities.com/noakes_m
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