All the credit for this story should go to Allyn Yonge, no matter what he says. ^_^
The characters of the Ranma 1/2 universe are the creation and possession of the brilliant Rumiko Takahashi. They belong to Rumiko Takahashi and her licensees (Shogakukan Inc., Kitty-Fuji TV, Viz Communications Inc.) No copyright infringement is intended.
The Moon by Lovelight
Springtime. Walking through the cherry trees was like being lost in a soft pink cloud. Akane turned and smiled at Ranma just as a gust of wind caught her hat.
Ranma lunged for the hat, which frisked just beyond his fingertips on the playful wind. Spitting dirt, he grimaced as he heard Akane stifle a laugh. Dammit, he wasn't going to let some dumb hat beat him. Rolling to his feet, he sprinted after the hat, which danced and spun in the morning breeze.
"You lied to me old man!"
"I didn't lie." Happousai cackled, weaving through the trees. "I just . . ." He paused in thought. "Oh, hell. I lied." Laughing, he bounded around the angry Taro. "But Pantyhose is such a cuuuute name." He patted Taro insultingly on the cheek. "It suits you."
"You bastard. I'll kill you! I'll kill-"
"Gotta catch me first, boy." Happi danced away from the enraged boy, stirring up a cloud of blossoms on the ground. "Gotta catch meeeee!"
Laughing at Ranma being defeated by a hat, Akane knelt and scooped up a great armful of cherry blossoms. It was like a huge, warm snowfall. Soft, pink, fragrant. Spinning like a dancer, she flung the blossoms skyward, just as she had as a child. Akane watched the spray of blossoms arch across the sky to fall in a gentle shower over a fuming Ranma who was glaring at her hat, now hung in a tree branch. He glared back at her, and she giggled as blossoms pelted him in the face.
Taro dove for cover as a Happo Fire Burst turned the boulder he was just perched on into shrapnel.
The splinter of stone pierced his chest with only a slight sting. Puzzled, Ranma looked down as a single drop of his heart's blood, no bigger than a pinhead, welled up and vanished in the wind.
"Jeeez." He smirked at Taro and Happousai. "Ya gotta do better than . . ." Suddenly tired, he sat down. " . . .that."
How long is a man's life?
"Ranma. Are you okay? Ranma no baka."
He looked up into Akane's worried face.
"Heh. I ain't hurt. This ain't . . .ain't . . ." He leaned back against the tree, as if resting. A single blossom drifted from the branches to land in his open eye.
How long is a man's life?
And Master Sakyamlini answered his disciples: "Life is but a breath."
Akane began to tremble, as if drenched in ice water. Her body burst out with a great sweat and the roaring of a thousand years filled her ears.
"No," a whisper. Puzzled.
"No." Louder. Disbelief.
Taro reverted to human as another Happo Fire Burst blasted hot water from the pond over him.
"No." Denial. Her eyes fixed on Taro. Happousai beside him; locked in their interminable argument. A squirrel chittered angrily, white clouds drifted lazily through a crisp blue sky.
"Dammit, old freak. I want my name."
"Now boy, you have to learn not to get so excited . . ."
The roaring increased, her heart thundered in her chest, and a ball of fire filled her belly until she felt she would burst.
Happousai had a fleeting realization that something was wrong. The fine hairs on the back of Taro's neck stood up, as if someone had walked across his grave. He started to turn.
"No." Rage, grief, love, loss . . . all of this and more roared through Akane like wildfire and burst forth in that single whispered denial.
Taro hadn't completed his turn when Akane's Spirit-Shout hit him like the hammer of god. He didn't even have time to scream.
It was a beautiful day, Akane thought. A perfect day to look at the cherry blossoms.
She was crouched next to Ranma as the others approached. They'd been lurking all day. Papa was sobbing. Or was that Ukyou?
Noise. Just noise.
She shrugged off grabbing hands. They were trying to separate them. Not today. Not ever again.
"Leave. Us. ALONE!"
They scattered like blossoms before a whirlwind.
Stupid people, Akane thought angrily. So noisy . . . they would wake him. Planting a soft kiss on Ranma's brow, she smoothed the hair from his face.
Cold . . . he was cold. Why was he so cold . . . ? Dimly, she was aware of a cloud of white drifting through the twilight. Snow. It was snowing. That's why it was so cold.
She cuddled him against her body to warm him.
"Nenneko, Oyama no." Her mother had sung that to her when she was tired from playing. "Sleep baby sleep . . ." As the cherry blossoms covered them in a soft blanket, she sang.
The lullaby, soft and sweet, was the most terrifying thing Shan Pu had ever heard.
Akane looked up and smiled. Madness flashed in her eyes like summer lightning.
Taking Ranma into her arms, as a mother would her child, Akane left that place, looking neither right nor left.
The sounds of water called to her in the stillness of the night. They'd been walking for so long.
Low hanging branches and thorned brush pulled at her dress and tore her flesh like tiny grabbing hands.
They were together . . .
Unbidden, memories surfaced.
. . . Nothing else mattered.
A training trip . . .
She'd been only five. Papa thought she needed more training. Mama had . . . objected. As soon as the swelling went down, Papa sneaked her out of the house in the middle of the night.
It was so dark, not even the moon was out. Papa walked so fast. She'd stumbled and lost him . . .
Reflexively, her grip on Ranma tightened.
. . .for only a second. But that was enough for panic to set in.
Running to catch him, she tripped over a root and went tumbling down a hill, cracking her head on a rock at the bottom. Papa carried her straight home . . . Mama was waiting.
"She's going to be alright," he told Mama.
Akane looked down at Ranma.
"It looks worse than it is."
She and Papa had never gone on another training trip.
"It looks worse than it is."
She wondered what Ranma would think of her little 'training trip'. She chuckled at her unintentional pun. He'd laugh and say something stupid. She kept quiet. The companionable silence they shared was too nice to disturb, and she was too tired to fight with him. They needed to find a place to rest, settle down for the night.
A sound caught her attention. Water. Water rushing over stones.
The sound became louder. A stream. They could rest and wash up, she decided as she helped Ranma through a gap in the brush. Part of her mind was occupied by the thought of shade and cool water. The rest of her was focused on shielding him from menacing tree limbs.
She set Ranma down on the soft bank and sighed when he gave no sign of waking up. Leaving her to do all the work. The only thing the idiot liked better than sleeping was eating. She was surprised there wasn't a Saotome technique for doing both.
In the end, irritation lost to growing affection. It always had.
The ground was slightly damp, but soft and soothing to her aching feet. Fine, wet soil squished between her toes as she waded ankle deep in the rushing water. Her gaze trailed back to her dozing fiance. So peaceful. What she would give to have that. That tranquility. Instead, she hurt. Her nose wrinkled as she caught a whiff . . . definitely not cherry blossoms.
Muscles in her back and shoulders protesting, she bent slowly, gripping the tattered hem of her sundress. Wincing, she pulled the dress up over her head, watching Ranma as she tossed it to the bank. Two polka dotted scraps followed a moment later.
A slight blush rose on her cheeks, but she beat it down, sinking lower into the water.
She began to bathe.
He would never let her do this were he awake. She removed his clothes, meticulously cleansing his body, careful not to trigger his curse. He'd die of embarrassment if he knew . . . Or outrage.
But he wasn't . . . awake.
Sleeping so deeply, he'd never know.
And he was filthy. A full day's sweat, dirt, grime and, she frowned, blood. She dabbed at the numerous cuts.
She'd started at his feet and worked her way up, calmly avoiding certain . . . areas . . . while acknowledging that yes, Saotome Ranma was definitely manly. If it was true what Nabiki had told her about manliness being measured . . . That line of thought ended as she came across another wound. Small really, almost insignificant. Something about it made her uneasy.
Baka. The frown came back.
Always getting into stupid fights.
Always getting hurt.
Always making her worry.
She scrubbed hard at the tiny mark on his chest . . . so small it would have been missed by anyone else. But not by her.
Stupid Ranma.
Something wet and warm hit the back of her hand.
Stupid Taro.
Another drop, and another.
Stupid Happousai.
It must be raining.
Stupid cherry blossoms.
A date. Not even that. Cherry blossom viewing. Normal, for two fian—friend—people to do in the spring. Which was not a date. And he'd agreed . . . It was perfect.
And then. . . and then. . .
Baka.
A fly drank delicately from the white of his open eye. Absently, she brushed it away.
Tomorrow. They'd watch the cherry blossoms fall. Alone. No fights. No distractions. No interruptions. They'd finish their da. . . they'd finish. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Then they would return home. . . Maybe. . .
With gentle, methodic strokes, she continued to bathe him.
Akane smiled softly at Ranma as he slept, her decision made. They'd watch the sakura, then move on. Start some place new, where no one had ever heard of Tendou or Saotome or Musabetsu Kakutou. It was better this way. Better to be away from those who would keep them apart.
Rubbing a gentle hand over his abdomen, she curled into his side, trying to bring warmth to his cool flesh. When morning came, she'd tell him.
He was hers now. She found a comfortable pillow in Ranma's chest and closed her eyes. The Baka.