Ten: Arise
Ranma didn't go home right away; instead, he lit gracefully onto the roof of the Nekohanten. The old ghoul could say what she liked, but he didn't trust her not to take the opportunity to try and sway the kid into marrying Shampoo.
Someone had to look after the kid's best interests, and a soft-hearted kid like that might be pushed into agreeing to things that weren't best for him. Besides, there was already something off about him, and that wasn't going to get any better if the kid was staying here with the old ghoul, Mousse, Shampoo, and Ryoga of all people. He'd only get weirder.
Though it had been kind of a relief to look into Ryoga's face and know for sure that there were two of him. It explained how Ryoga back home didn't seem to have a curse.
There were other differences, too, that Ranma hadn't been able to explain. When bathing Ryoga, he saw a number of scars along Ryoga's abdomen, back, and thighs. And sure, Ryoga'd always had scars – he was a high-caliber martial artist after all – but these looked deep. And purposeful. And parallel, like someone'd been trying to make a pattern of some kind. The cuts weren't as numerous as Ranma's from the Nekoken training, but they ran deeper.
There were lines around Ryoga's eyes, and the lines reminded Ranma of Doc Tofu's, before he'd left. The kind you got from smiling, lots.
And there were things in his pockets that –
Ranma stopped the thought then and there. He was the only one who'd seen anything, when he'd been undressing Ryoga and getting him into clean clothes at Kasumi's behest, and he'd pocketed the offending items right away. So long as no one else saw them, it was like they didn't exist.
So it was better that there were two. He could just think this Ryoga was crazy like little-him was crazy, and creepy, and wrong. And it was nothing to do with the Ryoga he knew.
"…clean clothes?" Shampoo's voice sounded from the room below.
Ranma crept around the windowsill to peer within. Inside, Shampoo was holding little-Ranma's hand; then, she lifted him up a bit to sit on the side of her Western-style bed. Little-Ranma was dampish, hair curling at the nape of his neck, and covered almost head-to-toe in what was probably one of Shampoo's towels.
Ranma half-expected Shampoo to begin waxing rhapsodic on their eventual marriage, and how someday they'd share that bed – gross, but expected from a pervert like Shampoo – but the lavender-haired girl seemed all business.
"Shampoo only have dresses for attracting too-too stubborn husband," she said, apology in her voice. "That and things to wear for fightings. Trouser of silk and such, but stitched for Shampoo."
"That's okay, Shampoo," little Ranma said, voice way more polite and language more formal than Ranma was used to using, himself.
Weirdness number one. No little kid should be that respectful. It was like the kid expected to be thrown out on his ear if he weren't on his best behavior, always.
"It's not like you knew I was coming," Ranma whispered, ducking his head.
The way the boy looked up from under his lashes was like baring his throat before a predator. Ranma never would have willingly appeared that vulnerable in front of Shampoo. Weirdness number two.
Shampoo looked surprised, too. "Shampoo welcomes," she said in a more serious voice than Ranma had heard from her in some time. "Sister from tribe."
Little Ranma looked up. "If we wait another minute or two, the water'll be cold and we can be sisters."
Weirdness number three. Willingness to be in the girl body without at least a real good reason.
"Here, we do quick," Shampoo said, and took a cup of water off of her dresser. Where she might have splashed it in grown-Ranma's face, she gently poured it over the head of little-Ranma.
Ranma watched as his younger self transformed, going from wide grey eyes to bright, snapping blue – going from dark, almost pitch-black hair to a pale, coppery gold.
Weirdness number four, having the curse so young… although Ranma had got it himself when he was a little younger than he liked to let on. If he'd been a real girl, he'd have gotten red beans and rice a year after the curse had struck. But usually he talked like it was a recent thing, even if he'd been a teenaged girl almost as long as he'd been a teenaged boy. It made it sound a little less weird if he kept implying he hadn't been like this for long. He wasn't sure why, or why seeing little-girl-him felt so much stranger than being teen-girl him.
Little Ranma seemed perfectly comfortable slipping one of Shampoo's silk dresses on; it hit her just below the knee, where on Shampoo it barely covered her most secret parts.
"To sleep in," Shampoo said. "Tomorrow, we get other things." She turned in the doorway. "Ranma is ever-so-welcome, but he need not worry about thanks," and closed the door.
Ranma thought he should leave. Obviously, if Shampoo and the Old Ghoul's intentions weren't honorable, they were playing a long game, and it looked like the little girl inside was preparing for bed.
Ranma shook himself. The kid inside could have red hair and happily wear one of Shampoo's iinazuke-bait dresses as pyjamas, but that didn't make him any less a little boy. It just made him a really unusual, really confused little boy.
Maybe it was curiosity that made Ranma stay. Maybe something sat uneasy in his gut at the idea of leaving a child, any child, with the schemers at the Nekohanten. Maybe Ranma disliked the idea of going back to the noisy Tendo household, where he knew he would be blamed for not returning little-Ranma to his proper place. Perhaps it was for all these reasons that Ranma scrambled along the shingles for better purchase and curled up into a small ball to doze.
Ranma was awoken by the shouts of a child. Where am I? Why am I so cold? What's that terrible noise? It took Ranma about as long as usual to wake up.
When Ranma finally remembered himself and where he was, his heart started thumping wildly in his chest. The child! He was in danger. I knew it, I knew it! Ranma thought, suffused with a sick-making mixture of triumph and terror. He scrambled down the roof and leapt soundlessly through the window.
The door to Shampoo's bedroom opened, and Ranma dropped to the floor behind the bed, hiding himself from view.
"Ranma!" Ryoga's voice called, and Ranma almost addressed him, almost stood up. Then wasn't quite sure why he didn't, why he kept himself silent and hidden.
"Ranma, Ranma," the Lost Boy said, reaching out and shaking the little girl's form. "You're having a nightmare!"
Ranma crept backward, oozing towards the window, blending with the shadows. From his new perspective, he could see:
Ryoga. Ryoga was sitting at his bedside – at little-Ranma's bedside – placing one large, warm hand on the redhead's shoulder and shaking her, but gently. In the dim light of the moon and the stars, Ranma could see that Ryoga's features were pinched with worry.
Little-Ranma awoke with a gasp and flung herself into Ryoga's arms. "Ryoga! Ryoga!" she exclaimed, over and over, sobbing fit to break.
"Oh, kami. Okay, okay," Ryoga said, patting her back in a way that even Ranma could see was awkward and stilted. He drew back, after a moment. "What was it?" he said. "D'you wanna talk about it?"
The redhead blinked away tears. "C-cats," she whispered, and dropped her head in her hands. Ranma could see from his vantage point that she was still trembling, and every now and again, her whole body would shudder violently, as though she'd been drenched in icy water.
"O-okay, cats," Ryoga replied. "I, uh… Ranma, Elder Cologne told me about the other Ryoga. You… you gotta know I'm not him."
You idiot, Ranma thought, that's not what she needs to hear right now. Then, he wondered what had gotten into him. What he was thinking. What he was doing lying on the floor perfectly still hoping that both people in the room were so wrapped up in one another, in their own fears, that darkness, complete silence, and a hint of Umi-Sen-Ken would keep him hidden.
"I know," Little-Ranma said with a hint of reproach to her voice, so she must've been thinking what Ranma was thinking.
Of course she was.
"I just mean, I… I'm no good at this. What do I do?"
The redhead laughed. "Silly," she said. "You hold me. You tell me it's all right. You say it's j-just a d-dream."
Ryoga opened his arms gamely, and the redhead fell into him, wrapping her smaller arms around his frame and squeezing. This time, with practice, it seemed more natural. Ryoga's arms came up to cradle her, and she sighed, burrowing her head into his shoulder.
Ranma, hiding in the shadows, took in a shaky breath. His heart began to beat faster. Sweat beaded on his brow. He recognized the signs of panic, but didn't know why he felt as trapped, as hemmed-in as he did. Then he realized he could feel – no, feel wasn't the right word – sense, sense-memory, the embrace, it looked familiar, it felt familiar, he could remember feeling it.
"It's all right," Ryoga said, bringing his hand up to the back of the redhead's coppery hair and twining his fingers through it. "It's just a dream."
Ranma held back a gasp as his eyes followed Ryoga's fingers, they way they didn't just stroke, but untangled the little girl's locks, painlessly sorting and ordering the snarls. A flash: he was lying beside a river, his feet dangling in the current, his red-gold hair lying out behind him atop the sandy soil, drying in the sun. He kicked small, white limbs back and forth in the water. The air was warm, drying the beads of moisture that sat against his legs and arms. A large square of fabric was thrown across the redhead's form to preserve modesty as he dried off. Ryoga was beside him; he could smell his smell along with the scent of clover and the metallic scent of fresh water, and hear him humming as he fished. One of his hands was tangled in Ranma's hair, carding through, sorting and putting it back into order…
Ranma gave a hoarse cry and stumbled back, not caring, now, if anyone heard or saw him, only knowing he had to get away. He careened into the windowframe, leapt up for the roof and ran as fast as his legs would carry him, back to the Tendo Dojo.
When he found his bedroll, his and his father's room was empty; Pops must be off carousing again, he thought sourly. He cleaned his teeth quickly, splashed his face with warm water and climbed into bed.
His face was wet, and for one, mad moment, he thought, the river, but that was nuts, 'cause that was years ago. Then, no, that's nuts 'cause that never happened at all. And then he realized that only his cheeks were wet. That's it, he thought. Kodachi's poisoned me one time too many. Or the stress, yeah. People hallucinate because of stress, they hear things, they see things. I'm going crazy.
This line of thought wasn't helping him feel better. He laughed into his pillow and clutched it close, and suddenly he was sobbing, helplessly, brokenly, and it was completely nuts, he'd lost it, because he wasn't even sure what he was so sorry over, he only knew his chest was on fire and his lungs ached and something that had been building in him for a long, long time felt as though it were finally breaking free. But it felt terrible, too, because he didn't know why he was upset, losing the kid was terrible but it wasn't like something that bad didn't happen twice a week to Saotome Ranma, and it was no big deal, it was all no big deal, he hadn't cried like this since…
Get ahold of yourself, he ordered, for Kami-sama's sake, Saotome Ranma, you're not a child, you're not a little girl, you're a Man Amongst Men, you are to be respected and feared and admired, and there isn't much of anything to be respected in your behavior just now. Pull yourself together!
So Ranma did, although he still felt bewildered, and a little scared of himself. Luckily, he didn't feel that way for long before he dropped into sleep like a stone.
When Ranma woke the next morning, his father was in panda form and still asleep. For once, Ranma felt no urge at all to wake him, with a splash of water or otherwise. Instead, he crept out into the kitchen, where Kasumi was making tea, clad in slippers and a housecoat.
"Hey, Kasumi," Ranma greeted her. "Any of that left for me?"
Kasumi nodded and gestured towards the teapot still warm on the stove. She did not get up to serve him; he and Kasumi had an understanding about the early morning.
"I didn't see little Ranma in his bedroll," Kasumi said.
"No," Ranma said. "He's with the old ghoul, and Ryoga."
"And Ryoga?" Kasumi's gaze traveled in the direction of the stairs.
Ranma shook his head. "Other one," he said, safe in the knowledge that very little could perturb Kasumi.
"I see." For a few moments, they did nothing but sip tea. Ranma still felt hollowed-out, and a little frightened of his own behavior. If he could break down like that and not even know why, what was to say he wouldn't do that in front of Kuno during their next fight, or during class? What was to say he wouldn't do it right now?
"Pops said he was a worthless ol' copy of me, and next I'd be saying my girl-type was real, if I acted like he was a person," he said, even though Kasumi had not asked for additional clarification.
"Saotome-san is not always very tactful," Kasumi replied, following her statement with a long, warming sip of tea. For Kasumi, this was like cursing someone up one side and down the other.
"So he left with the old mummy. I guess she was good to him back in China."
"What about Ryoga?"
"Ryoga was… well, you heard the kid when he was here," Ranma said. "Ryoga looked after the kid, I guess. So when the kid ran into the Ryoga we know… he just latched right back on. Like a limpet."
"Ranma, that's unkind."
"I guess." Ranma finished his tea and set the cup in the sink. A crack ran up the porcelain, and the cup split cleanly in half. He stared at it for a moment. "Sorry, Kasumi, I think I broke it," he said.
"I've got lots of cups," Kasumi replied.
"Okay," Ranma said. He stared at the cup. He must've hit its breaking point with the edge of the sink for it to have split along one line like that.
"Ranma," Kasumi said. While Ranma'd been staring at the cup, she'd risen from her seat and approached him. He startled.
"Wow, Kasumi, you can be quiet when you want to," he said.
"Ranma," she repeated, "is there anything you want to talk about?"
"No. What would I want to talk about?" Ranma said, looking at Kasumi. Kasumi was tall; they were almost the same height. He was looking almost directly into plum-dark eyes.
"I'm not certain," Kasumi said. "Only, it seems that you've been off-balance ever since little-Ranma arrived." Kasumi poured herself a second cup.
"He doesn't think the girl-curse is weird," Ranma blurted.
Kasumi moved back to the table and seated herself. "Well, no," she agreed.
"That's weird," Ranma told her, turning to face her. "That he's okay with it."
Kasumi looked up at him. "He's a little boy, Ranma. He's gotten used to it younger. And I'm not sure if his father's told him about the Man Amongst Men contract."
Ranma shook his head. "No, I've heard him muttering about it. It worries him, being a Man Amongst Men. But he doesn't seem to think being a girl has anything to do with that."
"Maybe it doesn't."
"Of course it does," Ranma snapped, then took in a deep breath. "Sorry, yeah. Being a good man and being a Manly Man like mom wants ain't the same thing. I know I'm just a kid to you, Kasumi, but even I know that."
"You're not 'just a kid' to me, Ranma. You're my kid brother," Kasumi said warmly.
It wasn't the first time she'd said so, but Ranma could count the times on one hand. It still made him blush. He wondered if he'd ever get used to it, being Kasumi's – anything.
"Thanks," he said, and his voice was rough.
"Ranma," Kasumi said, then paused, running a fingertip around the edge of her teacup, thinking. "Everybody has to decide, as they grow up, who they want to be," she said. "Unless there's something in your heart that guides you in the same direction as what Daddy and Saotome-san, and your mother, and Akane, and even Ryoga want you to be, who are you, really? Not Saotome Ranma – just a collection of the stitched-together pieces of other people's expectations. That doesn't sound like a very happy or healthy person to me."
"But what about my honor?" Ranma said. "The Saotome honor?"
"I can see how you might feel the honor of your family rests solely on your own shoulders," Kasumi said, smiling wryly. "For that reason especially, you must discover the nature of your own honor; because if you have no self-respect, how can you respect others? All other esteem must come crashing down without that first, and most fundamental foundation."
"You're going to start singing the greatest love of all," Ranma deadpanned.
"If it would help," Kasumi replied. "And has it occurred to you, in all this, that little-Ranma is your family?"
Ranma licked his lips. "It's not like that."
"It's just like that," Kasumi countered. "He is family, Ranma, and that is sacred. You owe it to him, the way we owe it to all of our little brothers and little sisters, and the children who come later, to ease the path. To make their lives better than ours were, while still maintaining our family honor as best we're able."
Ranma took in a shaky breath. "I… he's better off where he is."
Kasumi eyed him. "You're not just saying so, Ranma?"
"No. No, he's way better off with the old ghoul than with…" He closed his eyes tightly. "Pops. Or… me."
An expression passed over Kasumi's face too fast for Ranma to follow what it meant: her eyes squeezed shut for a moment, her lips seemed to disappear. But it was only for a moment.
"Well. If you're sure," she said.
"Yeah," Ranma said, and felt a little bit better.
Ranma ignored his father at breakfast that morning, and did his best to put off Nabiki's and Akane's questions about the kid.
"I found him. He's safe, but he ain't staying with us," he said. They'd have to be satisfied with that. Of course, nobody was; that was just Ranma's luck.
"What do you mean?" Akane asked, putting her chopsticks down by her plate. "Where's he staying, then?"
Nabiki's brows lifted. "Geez, Saotome, you don't just hand a kid off to the first responsible-looking gentleman and lady who pass by."
"I didn't," Ranma snapped. He wasn't sure if he was still feeling… uh, upset… or just worried he still was, but whatever the reason he felt antsy enough that he nearly itched with it. "He's with the old ghoul. 'Cause Pops called him imaginary, and 'cause he's the mess of numbers before the problem is solved. Or something." He dove into his breakfast with gusto, ignoring the silence around the table and hoping it didn't mean he was about to be blamed for the whole fiasco.
"Maybe if we had made more of an effort," Kasumi said.
Ranma was grateful for the 'we', at least.
"What for?" Genma said. "He'll be gone soon anyhow. What's the use in getting attached? That's all I meant."
"That was no reason to say something hurtful," Akane said with a frown. "I have half a mind to go over to Shampoo's and apologize for all of us. What must they think of us?"
"Don't," Ranma said. Something in his stomach roiled at the idea. "Just leave it, Akane, okay?"
"I'm only trying to help, Ranma," Akane said. "I don't know what we did wrong, but we drove away a little boy who needed our help! Doesn't that make you feel bad?"
"Just stay out of it, tomboy! It isn't your business!"
Akane turned white, then devoted her attention wholly to the food in front of her. "Look," she said into her rice, "I guess it's not my business, seeing as we have nothing to do with one another…"
"C'mon, Akane, don't be like that," Ranma groaned. No matter what he said, it was always wrong.
"…but I feel ashamed, all right? I'm going to go over there whether you like it or not."
"Fine," Ranma said, standing from the table. "Just don't expect him to go back with you. He likes Shampoo way better than you, so don't interfere."
Akane turned red this time. She turned to Ranma, lips parted, and Ranma just knew she was going to let him have it.
But she saw something on his face, and stopped. She blinked a few times. "Sure thing, Ranma," she said, peaceably. "No interfering. I just want to make sure he's okay. Isn't that all right?"
Nabiki turned to stare.
Ranma nodded, slowly. "Uh. Yeah, Akane. No problem."
She offered him a small smile. "Good." Akane nodded, though more to herself than to Ranma, then Ranma saw her throat bob as she swallowed. "It's just important to me to know he's doing well," she said, but earnestly, and looked up to stare into Ranma's eyes.
"Y-yeah," Ranma stammered, averting his. "Thanks, Akane." You're a good friend, he thought, but couldn't make himself say. No matter how we argue, you know what I need better than I do sometimes.
For once, the pair seemed to understand one another perfectly. Akane went back to her meal, ignoring Tendo-san weeping about joining the houses and Nabiki asking if Kasumi'd put something 'special' in the tea, and nobody brought up the kid again.
But over the next few days, Ranma checked on the kid a bunch: before school, before anyone else was awake, he leaned upside down and peered through the window to see the kid – red or black hair sticking up from underneath the covers, as often one as the other – sleeping peacefully. At lunch, he often saw the kid eating or sometimes doing what looked like some kind of writing or figuring with numbers. After school, he'd see the kid, now outfitted in a much smaller version of Shampoo's three-quarter-length satin trousers and short-sleeved top, playing outside the Nekohanten.
He never let the kid see him, though. It was better to make a clean break.
Ranma was rifling through Akane's comics one evening, looking for her latest DBZ when he felt the pressure of eyes on him. He turned to the bed to find Ryoga's eyes open, looking around the room; he didn't yet seem aware of Ranma.
Ranma approached Akane's bedside so that he entered Ryoga's field of vision.
Ranma, Ryoga mouthed, but no sound came out.
"Hey, buddy," Ranma said, surprised to hear how quiet his own voice sounded, like the poison might've made Ryoga's ears hurt or his head ache. "Wow, you're awake." Brilliant, Saotome, he thought. Next, tell him the sky is blue.
Ranma, Ryoga tried again, and this time, there was a slight wheeze behind it.
"Hold up, I'm gonna get you some water," Ranma said, and ran to the bathroom, heart thumping in his chest for no reason he could name. He returned so quickly that a little bit of water slopped along the side of the cup. "Here ya go," Ranma said, and when it became clear that Ryoga still couldn't sit up, he perched on the side of the bed and tilted some water into Ryoga's mouth, watching Ryoga's throat work as he swallowed.
"Ranma," Ryoga croaked.
"Yeah, I'm here," Ranma said, unexpectedly touched. Then, when Ryoga shook his head from side to side, he felt realization dawn. "The boy," Ranma said, feeling like an idiot. "You wanna know where the kid is."
"He came?" Ryoga said in a small voice, and Ranma realized that Ryoga hadn't even been sure that the kid was in this universe with him. Wow.
"Yeah, yeah, I saw him. Big shock," Ranma babbled, "lookin' at my own face…"
"Safe?" Ryoga said.
"Safe, yeah, he's safe," Ranma replied, doubly glad of his insistence on checking on the kid every day. It made him sound and be sure. "He's with the old ghoul."
Ryoga smiled, showing a hint of fang, and his eyes drooped. "Thank you, Ranma," he said, gripping one of Ranma's hands in both of his and squeezing.
Then, he dropped right back off. But Ranma could tell, from his even breathing and the way his lashes fluttered, that Ryoga was really asleep, now, that he'd awaken again soon.
Ranma placed the cup of water on Akane's bedside table, then pulled the table a little closer so it'd be easier to reach. Then, he leapt to Akane's windowsill, and prepared to launch off, towards the Nekohanten; but he paused.
It was like he wasn't sure he could really believe it, what had just happened. It was like he had to test it, to be sure. He climbed down from the window far more carefully than he'd leapt there, and approached Akane's bed again.
Ryoga's breathing was deep, regular and even. His skin, which had been clammy-pale except where it was touched with fever, seemed rosy and healthy again. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks.
"Ryoga," Ranma whispered, under his breath.
"Mmmph?" Ryoga said, turning his head towards the sound of Ranma's voice, but obviously still very asleep.
Ranma pressed one hand to his mouth. How weird, that Ryoga should turn towards his voice. He'd have thought that the Lost Boy was at least smart enough to expect an attack. "It's nothing," he whispered. "Go back to sleep."
"Mmmg," Ryoga replied, and his head flopped back to a more comfortable position.
Ranma stood there a little while longer. "Okay, be right back," he whispered, but very soft; this time, Ryoga didn't react at all. He climbed back up onto the sill, forced himself not to turn back around again.
Ryoga was all right, now, and going off to find the old ghoul and the kid wouldn't change that. He was going to be just fine.
Ranma leapt off into the night.
Little Ranma was already changed for bed when Ranma arrived at the Nekohanten; she wore pyjamas with feet, emblazoned with flying pigs.
"Hey," Ranma greeted little-him. He couldn't stop grinning, and after a moment, he found the expression reflected on the face of his younger self.
"Is… is it Ryoga?" the redhead whispered, with such reverence that Ranma felt a little uncomfortable, but only for a moment.
Ranma could see Ryoga – the younger Ryoga, that was – emerging from the kitchens with a dishtowel over his arm. "Yeah, it sure is," Ranma said. "He woke up a few minutes ago."
Little Ranma squealed with joy and ran at Ranma. It was all he could do to catch and contain the squirming child. "Whoa, whoa, kiddo, okay," he said.
"Can we go see him?" the redhead enthused, turning in Ranma's arms to face Ryoga. "Can we go see him now?"
"Let me just tell, uh, Elder Cologne," Ryoga said, obviously still unsure about using the child's title for the Amazon. He disappeared into the shop, at least, but Ranma saw him checking the potato bin and the refridgerator for the Elder.
"Um, I'd better find Elder Cologne," the redhead said apologetically, worming her way to the floor and pelting off into the Nekohanten.
"Hey, Shampoo," Ranma said.
Shampoo flipped through the air to land in front of Ranma. "No fair; how airen know Shampoo on roof?"
"Experience," Ranma said. "I can tell when I'm being watched."
"Airen no fun," Shampoo said.
"You've just got to get sneakier," Ranma said, then immediately regretted it. Me and my big mouth.
Shampoo waited with Ranma in surprisingly companionable silence. Then, "Ranma say she and Shampoo best of friends in village," she said.
"Oh, come on," Ranma returned, rolling his eyes. "You'd say anything."
"So hard to believe?" Shampoo shot back.
Ranma realized she maybe sounded a little hurt. "Maybe if you weren't tryin' ta marry me all the time," he allowed.
"Rúguǒ zhǐyǒu wǒde zhàngfu huì réngrán zhàn lì. Ránhòu jiàng wú xū zhuī zhe tā," Shampoo muttered.
Shampoo was speaking in Chinese, which had always sounded like someone singing through their nose, to Ranma. Only now, each of the sounds was bending, twisting into something familiar, like a nursery tune folded into Bach or Mendelsson, until it almost sounded like he should know it, understand what it meant. Something about running versus staying still; he was almost sure.
Or maybe he was just imagining that he could understand it. Maybe if he asked Shampoo right now what she'd said, she'd prove him wrong, and he would be allowed to believe he was having an ordinary, run-of-the-mill sort of nervous breakdown. Not that he and the kid were… bleeding together, like ink pressed into water, like two funhouse-mirror reflections resolving into one, real person. He shivered. His lips parted to ask.
Then, for better or worse, the kid bounded out, still in feetie-pyjamas, Ryoga and the old ghoul at her heels.
Her heels, Ranma thought, shaking his head. Suddenly, he had sympathy for all those people who couldn't think of him as anything but a girl in his guise as Ranma-onna; it was really hard to look at that redheaded ponytail and big blue eyes and think anything but girl, and everything that went along with girl.
"You ain't coming, are you, porkchop?" Ranma prompted.
Ryoga shrugged. "It isn't every day someone gets to meet some kind of copy of themselves." He snorted. "Unless they're you, Ranma, and then it's a biannual event."
"Ha ha," Ranma said.
"Shall we go, son-in-law? Granddaughter?"
"Yeah, I guess," Ranma said, and the strange procession took off through the night.
It was weird, Ranma thought, looking around himself at his company. The kid was practically swinging on Ryoga's arm, and he figured she… she, he guessed, sort of, kind of… he figured she must think of this as some kind of crazy sleepover party.
She looked up at him through manic eyes. "It's waaay past my bedtime," she said, delighted with herself.
Ranma figured he should stop being weirded out when their minds were headed along the same routes. Any day, now. "Yeah, huh? When would that be?" he said, just to say something. He already knew, from checking on her every night, of course.
She made a face. "Nine," she said. "Nine on the dot."
Elder Cologne, pogoing beside her, gave a wise nod. "But today is special," she allowed.
"Because Ryoga's awake!" little Ranma exclaimed.
"We don't know your Ryoga's state of health," Cologne told the child. "You're going to have to be careful around him until we are sure he is well."
"May be too-too weak," Shampoo agreed. "Poison may not have left body complete. Entire." She hissed, frustrated. "All the way."
Little Ranma looked up at her and nodded, full of grown-up solemnity.
"And you, porkchop?" Ranma prompted. "I mean, the old ghoul's coming to make sure this guy's okay, right, and it's obvious why the kid wanted to tag along. Are you here to show Akane what a good little piggy you've been, helping to take care of the kid?"
Ryoga looked over his shoulder at Ranma, irritation marring his brow. "How should I know what he'll tell me, Ranma? Except the story of how he adopted Ranma, I guess."
"He didn't adopt me," Ranma snapped. "Her. Him. Geez," he said, bringing a hand to his forehead. "This is gonna get confusing."
"I'll call you Ranma A, and her Ranma B," Ryoga quipped, swinging little Ranma through the air.
"That sounds really stupid," Ranma said. "Besides –" Then, he swallowed. He hadn't believed it, but maybe little Ranma was right, because he'd been about to protest that he was the real one. The right one. He was glad he'd swallowed the words before they'd popped out.
But little Ranma seemed to know, anyway. "I'm Ranma, too," she said.
Ryoga looked down at her. "Of course you are," he said, but Ranma got the feeling that Ryoga didn't think the tiny redhead was quite as real as the Ranma he knew, either.
Shampoo glared at the boys and scooped Ranma up to her hip. "Tell Shampoo more about first time Shampoo meet Ranma."
The redhead smiled and began to chatter at a lower volume, her hands moving expressively as she talked.
Ranma frowned. Maybe it would help if he just thought of the kid as not being him at all – just a child who needed his help. Maybe that would make it all easier to understand. Easier to bear.
"Here we are," Cologne said, and Ranma realized that somehow they'd already reached the Tendo Dojo. He felt like he supposed Ryoga must feel all the time: like the streets stretched and contracted while he wasn't looking, that somehow they'd reached his door without traversing much of the space in between.
"What if he's gone back to sleep again?" little Ranma whispered into the hush left by the grown-ups. "What if we go up to 'kane's room and he's lying there and we can't wake him up no matter how hard we try?"
"Easy, kid," Ranma replied, remembering how he had to check on Ryoga again before he could countenance leaving. "Besides," he added, "there's only one way to find out. Now, are you a Man Amongst Men?" Ranma knew what his pops trying to get the kid to be a man had amounted to: a lot of nightmares about cats and needing to be rescued by a stranger, and right away he wished he could take it back.
But the kid slipped out of Shampoo's hands and made her way over to him. "Yes," she said, lifting her hand to clasp his. "But only if we go together."
Ranma swallowed at the feel of the small hand squeezing his own. Somehow, the kid knew how weird this all made him feel and was trying to help out. "I already feel braver," she said, looking up at him, her jaw firming. Letting him save face.
Ranma felt something warm and liquid turn in his chest. He took in a quick, uneven breath through his mouth, nodded, and together they led the way into the house.
The procession kept itself quiet in deference to the other members of the household, who Ranma inferred were asleep, or at least in their rooms for the night; he thought he could hear Nabiki clacking away at her keyboard, the hiss and creak of her computer chair as she shifted position. The martial artists moved without trouble past Akane, asleep on the couch, and up the stairs. Ranma felt the hand inside his tighten, and he looked down at the redhead; but she wasn't looking at him. Her intensely blue eyes were gazing straight forward-and-through, as though she didn't even see the house all around her, but a nightmare of what she might find in Akane's room: Ryoga unconscious, same as before; Ryoga seizing again; Ryoga, dead.
He wanted to stop and comfort her, but he felt – with a certainty that surprised him and shouldn't have – that if they stopped now she wouldn't be able to proceed under her own power, and that would shame her. Him. He remembered that childish helplessness as his own, felt its frustration like a physical weight pressing him into an acceptable child-shape of expectations and abilities, the way everyone, even his father, hadn't expected he was capable of much, but was always disappointed when he couldn't quite measure up, couldn't do for himself… the way that this made him need to do better, to be better…
Ranma felt a tug on his own hand and realized he'd been lost, for a moment. He looked down into his own eyes and felt a dizzying instant of vertigo. He wanted to let go of the kid – hell. He wanted to disavow her, never look her in the face again, only he wasn't a coward. He compensated by clinging – letting her lead him up each stair, pulling him forward, sometimes, by leaning backwards with all her strength.
Ranma felt lucky it was dark, that his younger counterpart was the only one close enough to see his face. He dreaded what the others might read there. It was the kid, the kid's fault he was feeling so off-kilter, that had to be it – these emotions weren't his at all, they were hers… The urge to shove her away spiked in one, terror-filled moment, but Ranma mastered himself: it wasn't the kid's fault, it wasn't… he didn't know why he kept wanting to blame her for everything that made him feel off, but the fact remained.
He didn't even know why he was so afraid.
He reached his hand out to Akane's door and turned the knob. His younger self dashed through the entryway, then stopped, as though she had come up against some invisible barrier that extended two feet from Akane's bed. Ryoga's breathing was still even, Ranma was relieved to note, and his color seemed even higher than before. Tension bled from Ranma, and he swept the little girl up in his arms in his relief. "See?" he said. "What did I tell you? Look at how much better he is."
The redhead laced her arms around his neck. She looked up into his eyes; then, she turned to Elder Cologne, wordless.
"He certainly seems better, child," she pronounced. The Amazon descended from her staff to use it to poke seemingly random points on Ryoga's form that Ranma supposed were pressure points.
"Whoa," the second Ryoga said, coming up from behind Ranma. His grey-green eyes were huge in his face, his lips parted. "That's… whoa."
"Yeah," Ranma said, quietly, for once in no mood to taunt the Lost Boy about his inability to articulate what he saw. He barely could put the weirdness to words, himself.
The old ghoul poked and prodded gently at the sleeping figure for another moment before shaking him awake. "Ryoga," she said. "Ryoga, boy, wake up."
Ryoga mumbled in his sleep, but his lashes fluttered and in a few moments, he woke naturally, and sat up.
The redhead gave a gasp, slid down away from Ranma and flew to Ryoga with a cry.
"Whoa," Ryoga said, catching her up in his arms. "Hey, Ranma, it's okay. It's – what happened? You and Shampoo weren't fighting again, were you?" he asked.
Ranma could tell by the quality of the other boy's voice that Ryoga wasn't fully awake, yet. Nobody said a word, waiting for Ryoga to come to his own conclusions, but Ranma could feel Shampoo at his side, shifting from foot-to-foot.
"Where…?" Ryoga muttered. Then, in a move nearly too fast to see, he shifted the small girl behind him and assumed a tight, defensive stance.
Ranma opened his mouth to say, nice greeting to the folks who saved your bacon, P-chan, but the man beat him to the punch.
Ryoga's eyes narrowed. "How'd I get here?"
The redhead was wrapped her arms around the back of Ryoga's left shoulder like a tiny monkey and began whispering furiously in his ear, but she was way too far off for Ranma to make anything out.
"I carried you, P-chan," Ranma said. "No need to thank me, just in case the thought crossed your mind."
Ryoga met Ranma's eyes and something in him seemed to harden. "Do you know the Umi Sen-Ken?" he said.
"Hey, Captain Random, I know you've been unconscious, but that's no excuse," Ranma replied, then ran a hand through his fringe when Ryoga's expression didn't shift one jot. "Fine, yes. I do. Not that I'd use it. And the Hiryuu Shouten Ha and the Kachuu Tenshin Amaguriken are among my other techniques, in case you were wondering."
Ryoga blinked, wide-eyed, for another few seconds, and then the tension bled out of his frame, pouring off his muscles, leaving him trembling. Ranma took a hesitant step forward, then another when the older Hibiki showed no signs of startling.
"I'm in Akane's room?" Hibiki said. "Okay. Okay, Ranma," he added, and it took Ranma a moment to realize that he was beginning to reply to whatever the redhead was whispering in his ear. "Come here, no, it's all right; I'm all right," he said, gathering the girl into his lap, where she began to tremble and cry. "I've frightened you; I'm so, so sorry," he said, but then looked right up into Ranma's eyes.
Ranma swallowed, and crouched lower so that Hibiki was in a more dominant position. "Yo, Ryoga," he said, "you okay?"
Hibiki smiled tiredly. "Yes, Ranma," he said. "Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes. Thought I'd dreamed it." He brought a hand up and used it to cup the back of the redhead's hair. "There, sweetheart," he said. "I'm all right. We're both all right."
She just clutched: no response at all. It was painful to watch.
Ryoga looked up towards the rest of the room for the first time. "Elder," he said. "You helped look after Ranma; thank you." It was not a question. He turned his gaze towards Shampoo, smiling in a way that Ranma didn't recognize. "Hello, Shampoo," he said. "I'm glad to see you."
Shampoo looked startled. "H-hello," she stammered, then flushed prettily.
Ryoga's gaze finally landed on his younger counterpart. "Hi," he said, warmly. "Hibiki Ryoga." He held his hand out, palm up.
Ranma wasn't sure if he was calling the other boy, or introducing himself.
The younger boy stood motionless for a moment nearly long enough to be rude, then slowly approached the bed to take his counterpart's hand. When their skin made contact, he shuddered.
"You must be very confused," Ryoga told him. "Come, I'll answer any questions you have. You too, Ranma," he said.
Ryoga was still tugging his younger counterpart towards the bed, gently, inexorably. He shifted the redhead to sit sideways on his lap so that her head rested on his shoulder and her legs curled together over his hip, and shimmied until he was pressed against the headboard. Then, he dragged the younger Ryoga until he stood by the bed.
This close, the differences were so obvious that Ranma thought he was crazy for not noticing them right away. There was a soft boyishness to the younger Ryoga's features, and a sharp, chiseled cast to the man's. Ranma never would have thought of his sometime-friend, sometime-enemy as soft or boyish, but sitting next to his older self, it was clear that both applied. Even when the older Ryoga's features softened as he clucked to the tiny girl curled in his lap, it could not be clearer that he was a man, rather than a boy.
"Come on, Ryoga," said Hibiki. "Sit, before you tip over."
The Ryoga that Ranma knew – the one he'd gone to school with, the one who he'd fought with, the one who'd tracked him around the globe – had gone white, and something in his face crumpled. Ranma couldn't escape the suspicion he was watching something so private he should avert his eyes, and he wasn't alone.
"Come, great-granddaughter," Elder Cologne said, in the gentlest voice Ranma had ever heard her use. "We're intruding on a family matter."
Ranma expected Shampoo to balk, but she didn't. "Ranma," she said, and both Ranmas looked up.
"Little Ranma," she laughed. "Mèimei. Will see later, yes?"
"B-bye, Shampoo," Ranma sniffled.
"Yes, yes," Shampoo said. "Everything all right now, yes? All better."
The redhead looked like death, if death wore piggie pyjamas. She didn't agree, which surprised Ranma. He noticed that the grown-up Ryoga was observing her just as carefully.
"Goodnight, child," Elder Cologne said. "If you feel uncomfortable – at all – you ask my Ryoga to take you right back to your room with me." Her gaze took Ryoga in as well, then nodded, as though something she saw both satisfied her, and confirmed some older suspicion.
"I will. Goodnight, Elder Cologne," the girl said, and wrapped her arms around Ryoga's chest again as the Amazons leapt out the window and disappeared into the night.
Ranma watched as the older Ryoga tugged one, last time, and then there were two Ryogas sitting side-by-side, watching each other, one with unmistakable tenderness, the other with an expression Ranma couldn't interpret; the closest he could come was fear, which he had rarely ever seen on his rival's face.
The redhead poked her head up with a bit of suspicion in her gaze. He guessed she didn't understand what was going on any better than Ranma did, himself, but her eyes sought him out. She turned to Ryoga, wiping her cheeks impatiently. "Ranma checked on me every day," she said.
Ranma gaped. "Hey!"
"I'm you," little Ranma told him, blue eyes wide. "I know where you like to hide. And how."
Ryoga looked up. "Thank you, Ranma." He smiled; crinkles formed at the corner of his eyes. "And for saving my life, too."
Ranma perched on the end of the bed. "No problem…" He didn't know what to call this new version of Ryoga. Pig-boy and porkchop and P-chan seemed wildly inappropriate, all of a sudden. "Uh, Hibiki?"
"Hibiki is fine," Ryoga said. "It's better than some of the names I've gotten saddled with."
"You've been a lot of places?" Ryoga asked, voice shaky.
Ranma examined him. The younger boy still looked genuinely upset: in his body language Ranma read the need for flight. The older Ryoga's right hand went to the back of his counterpart's neck and squeezed, gently.
"Yes," he replied. "Dozens of worlds," he said. "Maybe more; I lose track."
"You," said Ryoga, shoulders twitching at the touch, like a spooked horse; but he stopped short of shaking the hand away. "You wanted to know about Ranma's martial arts because it's… his history. Know which techniques he has, you know his story?"
Hibiki nodded. "And allies."
Ranma scoffed. "So you're saying, what? The Kachuu Tenshin Amaguriken means I can get along with the old ghoul?"
"Or Shampoo, she knows it as well," Hibiki said. "Or me. Any of the above is encouraging."
Ranma shook his head. "And what does the Umi Sen-Ken mean, then? I got that one from Pops."
The older Ryoga smiled a weird sort of smile with only half of his face. "It means you still care for your mother, Ranma."
Ranma went still and silent. Then, "it's the first thing you asked me."
"It's the most important."
"And you've got to know all that so fast because," Ryoga said, breathing still hitched, "because sometimes he's dangerous," he said, and his gaze bored into Ranma.
"I'm not," said the redhead sleepily, from Ryoga's lap.
"Shhh," Hibiki said, running his fingers through her hair, that gentle tug that made Ranma shiver in remembered sympathy that was, had to be, entirely imaginary. "Go to sleep."
Ranma gazed at his hands in his lap. "Sometimes we're… uh, really enemies? But you're still alive. So that means that you actually won for once, which means…" He stopped, suddenly, wondering if there were things young ears shouldn't hear. It was a new thought. He lowered his voice. "Have you ever…?" He frowned in consternation. The redhead's breathing was deep and even, but he wasn't sure if she was all-the-way asleep, or just drowsing. And, for a moment, his eyes met his own Ryoga's, and there was something in them that made him hesitate to finish the thought at all. "If I was your enemy, did you ever actually... end the fight?"
"Once," Hibiki said, jerking Ranma's head up to stare. "Just the once."
Ryoga turned to look at his older self, who removed his hand from the back of Ryoga's neck, slowly, then let it fall.
"Once?" Ryoga prompted.
"In the world I'm from," Hibiki replied.
Ranma swallowed, inching forward, the better to make out the boys' expressions. "Your world? How'd you ever trust – if we started off as enemies, didn't you always think I would –" He stopped, wishing words didn't slip out of his reach just when he needed them. How could it be that he could push off the ground, twist a half-dozen times through the air, but could not make that same air fill his lungs, push past his vocal cords and make sense?
"We all trusted each other at first," the older boy said, placing a protective hand atop the redhead's coppery locks, then raising his eyes to Ranma's. "It was easier than you'd think, to trust you again. Even after that."
Ranma could barely breathe. "But… when she… he... kami-sama! When Ranma was in trouble, you still…"
Hibiki's hand came up to cup his cheek mid-word, then fell to his side again.
Ranma forgot entirely what he was going to say. He fell back on his haunches, the echo of the man's touch buzzing against his skin.
"You deserve a chance, same as anyone," Ryoga said, and his voice sounded fierce. "Everyone deserves a chance. No one should have to fight their way through life the way the two of us have." He lifted his hand again to find the back of his counterpart's neck.
Ranma followed the motion with his gaze, landing on the younger Ryoga's face, which had gone from white to flushed in the space of a moment; tears were gathering in his eyes. "Whoa, P-chan!" he exclaimed, flushing, himself. Guys don't cry, he thought, desperately, as if the thought would somehow stop Ryoga from showing any emotion at all. But I should know better. This is Ryoga, after all.
"Okay," Hibiki said, drawing Ryoga to him until their foreheads rested together. "Just… shhh… Ranma's asleep."
Ryoga nodded, nodding Hibiki's head, too, because they were pressed together. "It's just… no one's ever said… that I deserve anything," he said, heavy breaths between each phrase. "My problems are… a joke, to everyone else…"
"That's not true," Hibiki said. "Ranma's your friend. I can tell. Aren't you, Ranma?" He turned to face Ranma, and the younger Ryoga hung there for a moment, without support, head hanging low and breathing ragged.
Ranma gulped. "Uh, yeah. Sure," he replied. The free display of emotion was still making his skin crawl. He wondered how he could escape. Out the window was looking good. He doubted either Ryoga would accept an offer to spar, although he figured it might be interesting to fight Hibiki, just to see what he could do. Maybe he could be tactful, just once in this life, if he planned out what he was going to say beforehand. Like maybe I should leave you guys alone, or it looks like you've got a lot to say, yeah? But the more uncomfortable he got, the less control he had over his tongue. He was worried if he opened his mouth, he was going to go sticking his foot in it.
"Uh, yeah, sure, he says," Ryoga said, then shuddered, as though the bitterness had left his body in the form of a physical substance, and he needed to shake it off his skin.
"Ranma, maybe we should speak in the morning," Hibiki said.
Ranma jumped to his feet so eagerly he stumbled. "Uh, yeah, so… see ya later. Sleep well and… glad you're better," fell out of his mouth, vocal cords working faster than his brain like always, "we were so worried, I, the kid, I was so worried I was gonna mess her up, just like Pops –" He stopped, swallowed. What am I saying? "I am your friend," he blurted to the younger Ryoga, and stumbled out of Akane's room before he could do worse damage, closing the door behind him.
That night, Ranma woke with a gasp. Maybe it was unfulfilled habit to check on the kid that made him wake, heart still pounding in his ears. Maybe if he made sure she was okay, he'd be able to stop his pulse from thrumming behind his eyes. He launched himself out of his bedroll and crept out of the guest room and up the stairs.
The duck nameplate reading Akane gave him pause. He'd always hesitated to go into Akane's room at all, and now here he was getting ready to go in without even knocking. He tapped quietly on the door with one finger, just in case the two boys were still talking to one another, but he got no response.
He cracked the door open and entered, closing it behind him, then turned to look for the kid. But Ranma ended up standing on the threshold a long moment, breath held.
Hibiki was in the center of the bed, pale but healthy enough, lashes fluttering in dreams. The small redhead was cradled in one of his extended arms, her red hair pooling over his shoulder. Every now and then she would hitch a tiny, unhappy breath that sounded like a whine, and Hibiki's arm would tighten around her in sleep. Instinctive. Ranma had expected a picture like this, but it made him feel oddly claustrophobic, as if he were the one pressed between Hibiki Ryoga and Akane's bedroom wall instead of the tiny redhead. But even that bypassed Ranma's hierarchy of Facts Worthy of Note. Because on their other side was Ryoga, curled towards his counterpart's larger form, features more childlike in repose than Ranma had never seen them. Hibiki's arm was thrown around him, too, and the three of them looked… looked…
Like an older brother with his little brother and sister, Ranma thought. Like an uncle with his niece and nephew.
Like a father and son. Father and daughter.
Ranma felt the panic clawing up his throat again, inexplicable, horrible. Drowning him.
He must have made some noise, because Hibiki's eyes opened to stare at him.
Ranma couldn't say anything. His mouth no longer worked; it had come entirely unhooked from his brain.
Hibiki extended one hand, forward. Palm open. Inviting Ranma to grasp it; to be swallowed by what he saw.
No. No. NO!
Ranma stumbled backward out the door and then out into the street, and then he was running, a phrase running in an endless loop through his mind: yǒu qí fù bì yǒu qí zǐ, the meaning dancing, sliding away like water through his fingers.
A/N:
Whew. Okay, so it's a week and a DAY, ladies and gentlemen, but you must admit that this chapter is twice as long as the previous one. ;) And a bit of a long author's notes this time around as well!
Chinese:
I do NOT speak Chinese. Not even close. So if you do, or if you know someone who does, perhaps you could let me know if anything I've written makes no sense at all.
Shampoo says something along the lines of, "if you wouldn't run all the time, I wouldn't have to chase you."
Shampoo calls Ranma 'little sister'. She does it in an affectionate way; the same way Japanese people end names with '-chan' to imply cuteness/affection, the Chinese repeat syllables. So 'Mei' is little sister, but 'Mei-mei' is more affectionate.
What Ranma has looping through his head is a Chinese proverb: such a son could only have come from such a father, or, in American parlance, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Gender Pronouns:
I've gotten a few comments about using 'he' no matter what. I use 'he' because gender is in the brain and is a function of identity. Ranma's sex changes in hot and cold water, but Ranma's gender is male: period. At least, for this version of Ranma that's the case, at this moment in time. I think, as Ranma ages, he'll probably stop thinking of himself as male or female, or he'll start thinking of himself as both; but this hasn't happened, yet.
Contrast in this chapter the fact that Ranma-ue can't help but think of his counterpart as a girl or guy depending on what form s/he's wearing, and thinking of hir with the pronoun that he believes 'fits', getting frustrated when he uses the 'wrong' one by accident.
Ranma's memory:
I really do like to hear speculation. For example, I expect everyone has a pretty clear idea of why Ranma's memory is shifting, at least basically. But why aren't others remembering Ranma differently?
And, as always, what did you think of the chapter in general? I really appreciate your feedback!
-K