Dislcaimer: Ranma ½ is property of Rumiko Takahashi and so on and so forth, they aren't mine, I ain't making no profit off this, etc. etc. Did you know that there are Miniature Tootsie Roll pops now? Oh, the newfangled things they come up with these days…

Chapter 9

~ Reasons ~

Mama, she has taught me well

Told me when I was young

"Son, your life's an open book

Don't close it 'fore it's done

The brightest flame burns quickest,"

That's what I heard her say

A son's heart's owed to mother

But I must find my way

Let my heart go

Let your son grow

Mama, let my heart go

Or let this heart be still

Be still

Rebel my new last name

Wild blood in my veins

The apron strings around my neck

Mark that still remains

Left home at an early age

Of what I've heard, is wrong

I never asked forgiveness

But what is said is done…

Never I asked of you

But never I gave

But you gave me your emptiness

That I'll take to my grave

Never I asked of you

But never I gave

But you gave me your emptiness

That I'll take to my grave

So let this heart be still

Mama, now I'm coming home

I'm not all you wished of me

A mother's love for her son

Unspoken, hear me be

I took your love for granted

And all the things you said to me

I need your arms to welcome me

But a cold stone's all I see

Let my heart go...

~Metallica, "Mama Said"

You were from a perfect world

A world that threw me away today

Today

Today to run away...

~Marilyn Manson, "Coma White"

"Ever since I was about four, I remember my parents fighting," Ryoga began in a soft, tentative voice. "My mother didn't work because she stayed at home to take care of me, and my father is…was an attorney. His job was steady, but his firm was new back then, so money was kind of tight. We always had plenty of food and everything, but there wasn't really any left for vacations or holidays or anything. What was left was spent on my training. My mother's family had always been into martial arts, and my father had actually been a martial artist, but he had to give it up because he was in an accident. While he was in college, he worked in construction. Some guy messed up while driving a forklift, and a bunch of steel pipes rolled off and hit him. He could still walk fine after a lot of surgery, but his knee was too damaged for him to do anything really strenuous. But he insisted that I learn, and my mother thought that was just fine. I didn't have any objections either."

Ryoga paused for a moment, staring fixedly up at the ceiling. "I know they loved each other," he continued, "but they argued constantly. My mom didn't like it that my father drank sometimes, and she liked it even less that he didn't really pay any attention to me. He never came to any of my matches, never asked how I did in school...he pretty much ignored me. But I didn't really mind so much though, because my mom was always there. She came to all of my matches, and I always won because I knew she was watching. She always encouraged me to try hard in school, and made my favorite food on my birthdays—the usual parent stuff, I guess. But as I got older, their fights got worse. I knew she wanted to leave, but she didn't want me caught in the middle. Finally, when I was eight, she did leave. They couldn't afford a divorce, so she went to live with my uncle—her brother."

Ryoga's expression grew pained. "I still remember the day she left..."

A younger Ryoga stood on the porch of a house next to his father, whose face was cold and devoid of expression. His mother and another man—his uncle—were carrying suitcases to the trunk of a small, dark blue car parked in the driveway. After closing the trunk, the woman walked back to where her husband and son were standing.

Ryoga looked at his mother sadly, holding back his tears. If he cried, his father would just get mad at him. His parents exchanged a few words, his mother trying to be reasonable, his father sounding icy and resolute. Finally, she gave up and knelt in front of her son.

"Good-bye, darling," she murmured as she hugged him to her. After a long minute, she pushed him back by the shoulders and looked at him carefully. She smiled at him and kissed away the tear slipping down his cheek.

"I don't want you to go," he told her, his voice small.

She hugged him again, kissing his soft black hair. "I know, darling. But it's not forever. I'll come back for you someday," she whispered. Finally, reluctantly, she let him go and stood. "I love you," she said to him. Then she turned and walked towards the car, wiping at her eyes. Ryoga wanted to wait until the car left, just in case she changed her mind, but his father took his hand and dragged him towards the house as it pulled away…

"I think my father wouldn't let her take me with her. I think he did it to spite her, but I guess she thought it would be better that way. She didn't have any money or anything, or any way to take care of me, and she didn't want me to give up my training. But I believed her. I thought she'd come back sometime soon. I didn't really want to stay with my father, but I knew if I held on, she'd come back." Ryoga's eyes misted over with tears. "That was the last time I ever saw her.

"My father was really upset over the separation, of course. He got really angry and depressed. He started drinking more…and I became a target for him. He always yelled at me, even for things I didn't do. It was bad, but I kept thinking my mom would come back soon. Every day I got through was a day closer to her coming to get me, though I never got to see her or talk to her. My father wouldn't let us. I knew she wanted to. I'd hear him talking on the phone sometimes, and I knew it had to be her. Who else would he be telling, 'No, you can't talk to him?'" Ryoga's voice developed an edge. "If she sent any letters, I never got them. He had the only key to the mailbox."

The Lost Boy's voice dropped again. "Things were bad then, but by the time I was nine, it got worse. He...started hitting me," Ryoga said, closing his eyes. "It wasn't a lot—once every couple of weeks, maybe, and he only did it when he drank. The strangest thing was that alcohol never seemed to mess up his coordination or anything—it just made him more angry than usual. If you didn't know him, you'd never be able to tell. He could walk and drive or whatever just as well as the sober person next to him. I guess it was because his tolerance level was pretty good...good for him, bad for me."

Ryoga sighed. He didn't look at Ranma, who was gazing at him with concerned eyes and biting his tongue. He could empathize somewhat, his own father had taken him away from his mother just as Ryoga's had kept him away from his.

"I didn't think anything was wrong, at first. I thought if he was hitting me, I deserved it. I did everything I could think of to make him stop—I did well school, I was the best in my martial arts class. But nothing worked. I couldn't make him love me...

"By the end of the year, it had started happening more—once a week, at least. It became a sort of routine. I'd go to school and he'd go to work. When I got home, Mia, the housekeeper would make dinner, and I'd do my homework. He'd stop at a bar on the way home, get drunk, then come back to the house. By then, Mia would have left, and he'd be tired and ticked as hell. If he'd only had a couple of drinks, I got screamed at. If he'd had a few more, I took a few blows."

Ryoga took a shaky breath. "He was good at it—hit me where no one would see the marks. It didn't hurt too badly most of the time, because I was already pretty strong from my training. But it hurt inside—just knowing he hated me enough to want to do that to me, and I couldn't even figure out why. I mean, he had some reasons, I guess, but...it was confusing. But I could take it, you know? I was sure my mom would come soon, any day...but then—then she..."

Ryoga stopped, unable to go on. He tried to wipe the tears from his eyes again, almost angrily, the clips on the restraints clinking metallically against the side of the bed.

"Ryoga, you don't have to-" Ranma started to say, but the other boy cut him off.

"I'm fine. Besides, I said I owed you an explanation," he said bitterly. He dropped his hand to his side and took a determined breath.

"She and my uncle were driving somewhere. They were on a highway, and it had just started to rain. It hadn't rained for a few weeks, so the road was slippery. They were at an intersection...the light for the people going through the other way turned yellow, and the last car tried to stop. But there was an eighteen-wheeler behind him who couldn't."

He paused to blink away more tears. "The truck driver swerved so he wouldn't hit the car in front of him. That sent him straight into the lane where my uncle's car was instead. He tried to miss them too, but the truck rolled over, trailer and everything. It caught on fire and crashed…right into their car, plus the two cars behind it. The truck driver lived—he got thrown out the windshield just as it started to turn over. The people in the other cars got hurt, but they lived too. My mother and my uncle weren't so lucky... He wound up dying in a coma three days later. She d-died...instantly..." Ryoga repressed a sob.

"I'm sorry, man," Ranma said softly, but Ryoga shook his head and continued.

"There wasn't anything anyone could've done, I guess. I was...I didn't know what to do. There was no way she'd come back for me now. I hadn't seen her for almost three years...I was twelve when it happened. Just a few months before I met you, actually." He shrugged and went on.

"I remember the funeral—it was a dark, cloudy day..."

A cemetery. Low gray clouds hung in the sky, and a chill wind stirred the long grass and occasional flower decorating a grave. A small group of people, clad mostly in black, stood around an open grave near the edge of the cemetery. Some held umbrellas tucked under their arms, others held flowers, their bright colors standing out harshly against the bleakness of the day. One of the figures was shorter than the others, though dressed in black as well.

Ryoga stared at the oblong wooden box beside the empty grave, a single rivulet of tears coursing down each cheek. His father was standing beside him, one arm around the boy's shoulders, but Ryoga hardly seemed to notice. The words of the priest and the quiet sobbing of some of the bystanders were meaningless to him as he gazed at the coffin, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. Everything seemed wrong. His mother couldn't be in there, he thought, she liked being out in the sun—she would never want to be locked in a box like that. And she would hate a day like this, her favorite days were those when the sky was so blue it nearly hurt to look at it and the only clouds were fluffy and white, not gray and sad-looking. Even the flowers people were holding to put on the grave were wrong—they were mostly red and pink roses. His mother liked lilies the best, especially purple and yellow ones.

Ryoga looked up at his father, who was dry-eyed and expressionless. He tugged at his father's black coat.

"Dad, they made a mistake," he whispered, his hazel eyes sparkling with tears. The pallbearers were lowering the coffin into the grave. "Mom wouldn't want a box like that, and they've got roses, not lilies. Lilies are her favorite…"

Shin Hibiki pulled his son against his chest, wrapping both arms around him. He'd been afraid this would happen, his boy had a tendency for denial.

"No, Ryoga. She's gone," he said quietly. He stroked his son's black hair, so like his mother's, as the boy began to sob brokenly. Ryoga heard the first scrape of shovels against dirt behind him…

Ryoga opened his eyes and stared at the blank ceiling above him. "So that was that," he said listlessly. "You probably won't believe this, but I'd never really gotten lost before she died. It happened gradually, I guess—I'd be walking home from school or something, then look up twenty minutes later and realize I was six blocks away from my house. Or I'd start to go to my next class and wind up in the basement of the school. Instead of developing sense of direction like everyone else, mine sort of...deteriorated. I didn't pay much attention to it at first, but it started getting more serious. Nothing looked familiar to me anymore. If I tried really hard not to get lost, I wound up getting lost worse—and that was the town I'd lived in for thirteen years. I couldn't figure it out, but back then I wasn't trying very hard...I don't know...maybe, considering what started happening, I was trying to get lost—not consciously maybe, but there isn't any other explanation I can think of. I guess I got so used to it, that when I finally did try to get somewhere, I honestly couldn't..." He shrugged again. "Doesn't matter anyway, I guess. Maybe if I'd known the trouble it was going to get me into..." He shook his head.

"Anyway, things calmed down for a little while after that. Quiet before the storm, you could say. After about a month, my father started drinking even more. And he got real violent. He…stopped just hitting me and started...beating me. He lost his discretion and started hitting me in the face, too. It happened more—first it became twice a week, then three times, then everyday almost. I started getting scared—I really don't think he knew when to stop. I ended up in the hospital more than a few times. They suspected something was going on, but a few extra yen in the right places kept anyone from intervening. I think the housekeeper suspected, too. But I knew better than to say a word, and I'm sure he told her not to ask if she wanted to keep her job. He became really controlling, too—he was always strict, but it started to get extreme. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere or do anything—not like I ever did anyway. I had to come home right after school because he'd call at three-thirty to make sure I was there. And if I wasn't..."

A slightly younger Ryoga sat inside his bedroom. The clock on the nightstand read 8:28 PM. His room was strangely bare for one belonging to a fourteen-year-old boy. There were no posters or pictures or toys, just a bed with a dark blue blanket, a nightstand with the clock and a lamp, and a desk and chair next to the closet door. The window was covered with blue curtains to match the bedspread, and some schoolbooks and a few novels lay on the desk.

Ryoga jumped off the bed when he heard the door slam shut on the first floor. He looked around quickly. His homework was done, his room was clean, he'd washed the dishes from dinner because Mia had left early, and his school uniform was hung up in his closet. He glanced down at his clothes—plain, dark violet shirt and black pants, nothing torn or dirty. He struggled to remember if he'd forgotten anything…

"Ryoga!" thundered his father's voice. "Where are you?"

"Coming!" Ryoga called breathlessly. He darted down the stairs and into the living room where his father was waiting. Ryoga could tell immediately from the tense, cold expression on the man's face that he was in trouble.

"You weren't here when I called today," his father said coolly.

Ryoga stared at the floor. It was better not to look his father in the eye at times like this—in other words, every night.

"You got lost again, didn't you?" his father asked, his tone deceptively light. Ryoga saw him lift something from the table in the center of the room. It was long and narrow—his father's bo. It had been his weapon of choice when he'd been practicing martial arts…

Ryoga nodded once. "I'm s-sorry," he said, his voice small.

"Of course you are." Ryoga squeezed his eyes shut as the man stepped towards him. "But that's no excuse, is it?"

Ryoga shook his head. His shoulders were starting to tremble, and he tried desperately to make them stop.

"Well then, perhaps you can tell me how someone who's lived in the same town for fourteen years and is smart enough to never get below a B in school can get 'lost'?"

Ryoga continued to stare at the floor. His father was now right in front of him, and he could see the man was keeping his left arm slightly behind him, as though to hide the weapon he was holding. Ryoga didn't answer. His father slipped a hand beneath his trembling son's chin and gently forced his face up. Ryoga kept his eyes downcast.

"Well, Ryoga?"

"I-I didn't m-mean to," he stammered, his eyes filling with tears.

The man abruptly raised his hand from under Ryoga's chin and backhanded him across the face, almost hard enough to knock him down. Before he could even regain his balance, Ryoga felt himself slammed back against the wall, already dazed. He repressed the reflex instilled by years of training to block the strikes—he'd sorely regretted it the single time he hadn't. He winced as the bo descended next, connecting sharply with his side and sending white stars of pain through his vision. He felt, as well as heard, his ribs crack from the blow. He fell to his knees, knowing not to cry out as he was hit over and over again on his back and shoulders. Although it had only been seconds, it seemed like hours had passed before he heard the weapon clatter to the floor. His father grabbed his wrists and hauled him to his feet, making Ryoga struggle to remain conscious as the pain in his side flared blindingly.

"I trust this won't happen again now, will it?" his father asked quietly. Ryoga was unable to answer. His head snapped to the side as his father backhanded him again.

"Will it?"

Ryoga gasped for breath. "N-no," he managed to whisper.

"Good. Go to your room," his father commanded, releasing the hold on his wrists. Ryoga collapsed on the floor as the man left the room. It took several moments for him to stand, clutching his side in agony. He managed to stagger up the stairs and into his bed, trying not to sob as hot tears rolled down his cheeks. By the time he managed to lie down, the pain was so intense that he was seeing waves of black flow across his vision. Later, he wasn't sure whether he'd fallen asleep or lost consciousness.

The next morning, Ryoga got up slowly, trying to keep his breathing light. His ribs were definitely cracked, but not broken. He knew what a real broken rib felts like; he'd learned the last time his father had decided to hit him with something besides his fists. He'd also learned the repercussions of attempting to stop his father's fury.

Ryoga slipped on his uniform, trying to move his left arm as little as possible. He got his books and hurried downstairs, where his father was waiting for him.

"Ryoga, come here," his father's low voice commanded.

Ryoga obeyed. His father cupped his chin in one hand and turned his head to the side, examining the dark bruise marring the side of Ryoga's face. He touched it carefully, gently pushing back his son's black hair.

"If anyone asks how you got this, what will you tell them?"

"I walked into a door," Ryoga replied.

"Good. And I expect you'll be home when you're supposed to be today?"

"Yes."

"Good." His father pressed his hand against the boy's cheek for a moment, then let him go. "I'll talk to you then," he said.

He turned to walk out the door. Ryoga heard the car start up and pull away. He had no appetite, but he went into the kitchen anyway, knowing that alarming Mia would only bring more trouble for him. Ryoga felt slightly sick at the idea of school—the question wasn't if people would ask, but when. The other boys would ask him mockingly, and he would give his patented answer. They would gang up on him, call him stupid and taunt him, ask him how he could know martial arts but still be so clumsy and get lost all the time. He'd take a couple of swings at them and they'd leave him alone. Except for the new boy, the one with the ponytail who lived just a few houses away, the one who took his bread every day and always teased him…

Ranma shook his head, thinking back to his days in junior high, where he'd first met Ryoga. Immediately drawn to another martial artist, Ranma had tried being nice to the sullen, black-haired boy even after the initial challenge he'd made—showing up at his house in the morning before school, hanging around him and trying to get him to talk or laugh or something. Ryoga had refused to really forgive him entirely even back then, and had endured Ranma's company with more of a grudging tolerance than real reciprocation, but it had made them companions by something of a default. He remembered Ryoga being awfully quiet and withdrawn, rarely speaking to anyone, and often a target for teasing. He had always wondered the reasons behind Ryoga's constant hurry to get home after school, and why, even on their better days, he'd repeatedly refused to go anywhere with him. And yes, Ryoga had often come in with bruises, but Ranma had always assumed it was like he'd said—he'd walked into a door, or gotten it while training...

Huh. Well, now I feel like a real jerk, he thought. He glanced at Ryoga, his blue eyes troubled. I never coulda guessed what he was going through. Ranma's father hit him all the time, but that was the restrained, practiced blows of training, not a brutal beating while he was defenseless. How awful it must've been…

Ryoga took a deep breath before going on. "Things like that started happening almost every day. Sometimes, it was really bad—when he used something to hit me, or the time he threw me down the stairs. I didn't try to block anything after that...I really got it the time I disappeared for three days—you know, when I was supposed to come to our fight. I thought he was going to kill me."

Ryoga's voice rose a bit, trembling slightly. "I got a two day stay in the hospital for that. A concussion, two broken ribs, and four more cracked—again. By then, I knew...I—I had to get out. So after I healed, I started planning. You and your father had already left for China...I started staying after training and cleaned the dojo, so my sensei paid me. I saved up all the money I could. Then, one night, when I was almost fifteen, I was ready..."

The clock on the nightstand read 11:37 PM. Ryoga pushed back the blue comforter and slipped out of bed, already dressed. He paced silently down the hall to the door of his father's bedroom and listened carefully, but heard only silence from within. The man was undoubtedly sleeping off the effects of the alcohol from several hours earlier.

Ryoga padded back down the hall to his room. Once there, he reached under his bed and pulled out his pack. Using nothing but the moonlight shining through the window, he checked his supplies—extra clothes, food, sleeping bag…all bought and carefully hidden over the past several weeks. He closed all the pockets securely, his insides fluttery with fear. If he got caught…he shook his head angrily. No time for that now. He pulled on the pack, settling it on his shoulders.

Opening the door to his closet, he lifted out his red umbrella. He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, then decisively slid it through the loops on the top of the pack. Ryoga then slipped on his shoes and stepped into the hall, closing the door quietly behind him. He walked silently down the steps and slid open the front door. Letting his eyes adjust to the light of the moon and the yellow glow of the streetlamps, he made his way to the sidewalk. Once there, he turned and looked back at the house. The only home he'd ever known…

"Good-bye, Father," Ryoga whispered. A single tear slid down his cheek as he turned and walked into the night. China sounded like a fine place for someone who wanted to be lost…

"So that's it, huh," Ranma asked, and Ryoga nodded silently. "Well, I guess it's nice to know you didn't just leave because of me..." he started to say slyly.

"Don't think you're off the hook, Saotome, you still messed up my life," Ryoga snapped.

Ranma half-smiled. "Hey, it was worth a try," he said, glad to see the Lost Boy act at least a little like his old self.

"Huh," Ryoga said. "Yeah, right. It would've been a lot easier if I didn't have that stupid curse you gave me."

Ranma rolled his eyes. "Aw, c'mon. I didn't give it to you; it was an accident. And I'm cursed too, ya know."

Ryoga turned to look at him thoughtfully. "You never got it, did you? And after all the times you've seen me in my cursed form..."

The blue-eyed boy frowned. "What about it?" he asked.

"Do you have any idea what I would give to have your curse instead?" Ryoga asked him.

Ranma thought about mentioning how turning female wouldn't have gotten Ryoga as close to Akane as P-chan did, but he quickly buried the idea. "Why?" he asked curiously.

The bandana'd boy scowled slightly. "Isn't it obvious? I could handle having a couple perverts chase after me if I turned into a girl. It would be better than turning into something that's six inches tall, practically helpless, with people chasing you around because they want you for a pet or for dinner. And when I'm in the woods...there's all sorts of wild animals out there, and a lot of them are bigger than a little piglet," Ryoga said. The trace of annoyance faded from his features, and his expression grew distant. "If you think this is the first time I've come close to dying…you're wrong," he finished softly.

Ranma swallowed, feeling guilty. And he here he'd always been blaming Ryoga for turning into P-chan and hanging around the Tendos', making fun of him for his curse all the time...he'd never really considered how hard it probably was for him. Ranma knew that his father, Shampoo, and Cologne had each tried to cook 'P-chan' on separate occasions, and then there had been the time that rich couple picked him up, then the incident with Azusa...and Ranma had never thought of the troubles Ryoga might have while traipsing around Japan by himself, especially in the woods. He thought back to the time he'd poured water over the Lost Boy when they were at Ryugenzawa and flung him into the middle of the oversized-animal-filled forest, and cursed himself inwardly for being such a fool. He was lucky that 'P-chan' had practically landed in Akane's lap, instead of…he banished the thought. On top of all that, not being able to communicate or even get hot water to change back without a great deal of difficulty…it couldn't be easy to put up with it day in and day out.

Ok, so he has been through hell, Ranma admitted to himself.

Ryoga continued to look at him, an odd expression on his face. "And you at least had your father with you."

Ranma raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't know if I would consider having Pop around a plus," he mused.

"Yes, it was," Ryoga said, his voice almost inaudible. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be lost in the worst part of a city? With no way to get out, and no one looking for you?"

Ranma frowned. "What do y'mean?"

Ryoga's mouth twisted a little. "Let me tell you, Ranma, the backwater sections of any of the big cities are no place for a fifteen-year-old...or anyone. And with my sense of direction...I wandered straight into them, almost every time. Some of the people there…sometimes, they'd try…they'd try to…"

Ranma shuddered inwardly. Fending off the occasional perversions from people like Kuno and Mikado was one thing, but dealing with those who dwelt in dark alleys was entirely different. Martial arts, even those of Ryoga's caliber, would be hard pressed to stop a gun...and the person holding it.

"Did anything ever...happen?" Ranma asked cautiously.

Ryoga shook his head. "No. I can run as fast as you can, you know."

Ranma absorbed the information, feeling a wave of revulsion at what might have happened if Ryoga wasn't a fast runner. Ok. So he's been through the really bad parts of hell. But he's not telling me something…

"Alright. Now I see why you were actin' the way you were about that poster," Ranma said. "But…there's something more ain't there? I know we fought and stuff, and I ran into Ucchan while I was looking for you, and she said you argued too, but—there was some time between then and when you, uh..."

Ryoga closed his eyes. "Yeah," he sighed. "After we...fought, I wound up near her place. She asked what was wrong, and I...I kinda lost it. Then she lost it, too. I guess she was stressed out over something and didn't like what I said."

Ranma raised an eyebrow. I won't ask, but I'll bet it was somethin' about me. Then again, considering what had happened between them, it probably hadn't been entirely unjustified either. "Ok, so then what? She said you took off."

Ryoga nodded. "I did. I felt…I can't explain it really, but...I wanted to go home. I know it sounds stupid, after being so hell-bent on avoiding it, but...I just couldn't think of anything else to do. I mean, having Ukyo turn on me like that, after you s-said those things about A-Akane...I wanted out. For good." He swallowed hard. "I found a phone, so I called home. I thought things might be different...he—my father—he hadn't tried to find me for so long, so I thought...maybe he wouldn't hurt me anymore. I mean, he kind of let me go...and with poster and everything, I thought maybe he wanted me back." His eyes filled with tears again. "So I called...and Mia answered the phone, n-not my dad. I asked where h-he was a-and she got upset..."

Ranma looked at him worriedly, seeing the tears that were slipping down the sides of Ryoga's face again. "What happened?" he asked gently. The Lost Boy stayed silent for a long moment.

"He's dead, Ranma," Ryoga whispered finally. "Last week...he put out those posters because he knew it was going to happen...he w-wanted to say good-bye..." More tears spilled down his face. "And I was too busy running away," he said brokenly.

Ranma stared at him, shocked. God…as though his life isn't bad enough already… He laid a hand on Ryoga's trembling shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. Ryoga didn't reply, and he sighed. "Listen, I know it probably don't mean much right now, but there was no way you coulda known. And considering...what happened...no one can blame you for not wanting to go back."

Ryoga shook his head miserably. "If I wasn't such a damn coward..."

"You are not," Ranma said. "Believe me."

A few moments passed before Ryoga turned back to him. "But I'm in trouble," he said. "They know now—that I ran away and everything. The doctor said he'd call Mia. They'll take me away, make me live with s-strangers or something..." His eyes grew wide with fear. "They'll take me…" he said again.

Ranma leaned forward slightly. "Don't worry about that right now," he said calmingly, though he was worried about that himself. "Things'll work out."

Ryoga sighed as a shudder worked its way through his already-tensed body. "What am I gonna do?" he whispered desolately.

"It'll be fine," Ranma insisted. Am I overusing that line tonight, or what? he wondered distantly. If only saying it could make it true. "Just worry about getting better." He could tell Ryoga was completely exhausted, there were shadows under his eyes and his face was still but a shade off white. Ranma glanced at the clock—nearly an hour had passed since Ryoga had started telling his story. As if on cue, the door opened behind him. Ranma turned to see the brown-haired nurse enter. She smiled pleasantly as she walked over to the bed, carrying a blanket over one arm and a small white case in the one hand. She gave the blanket to Ranma as she went to the other side of the bed. He pressed it onto his lap.

"How do you feel?" the nurse asked Ryoga, but he just stared at her nervously as she opened the case. "Do you feel lightheaded at all? Does anything hurt?"

Ryoga shook his head, watching as the nurse held a ball of cotton to the top of a bottle she'd taken from the case, and he caught the scent of rubbing alcohol. She tugged back the sleeve of his shirt to press the cotton against the inside of his elbow, then pulled a syringe from the case and removed the cap.

The Lost Boy stiffened immediately and tried to pull away, but of course he couldn't go very far. "Wh-what is that?" he asked anxiously.

The nurse stopped and glanced at him, then up at Ranma, smiling again in the same pleasant, patient manner that was quickly becoming maddening to the pigtailed boy.

"It's just to help you sleep."

Ryoga tensed even more, causing the nurse to laugh at his expression. "Don't worry, it won't hurt you. But you need to rest."

Ranma narrowed his eyes ever so slightly as he watched, noting Ryoga's apparent discomfort at the sight of the syringe. He scuffed at the floor with his shoe, feeling slightly frustrated.

Ryoga shifted uneasily, but allowed the nurse to insert the needle in his arm. He gritted his teeth when he felt the familiar prick and burn as she pressed on the plunger, then the coolness of the alcohol as she held the cotton on it and pulled it out. She snapped the case shut.

"Someone will be in to check on you in a few hours," she said. "If you need anything, just press the button." She exited the room, shutting off the bright overhead lights as she went, leaving it lit by the soft white security lights.

Ryoga tried to cross his arms over his chest, then found he couldn't because of the restraints. He scowled as though he was annoyed and let his hands fall back to his sides, though Ranma could see the slight tremor of nervousness that Ryoga was struggling to keep at bay.

Ryoga could already feel his eyelids getting heavy as the medicine took effect, and his thoughts rapidly became murky. Ranma unfolded the blanket beside him, and Ryoga turned to him anxiously.

"You're not going to leave, are you?" he asked, sounding almost fearful.

Ranma glanced at him, surprised at the question. He noticed Ryoga's eyes were dark and unfocused. Man, that stuff sure zoned him out quick, he thought. Guess that's good though—tired or not, he was completely wired.

" 'Course not," the pigtailed boy told him reassuringly. "I toldja I'd stay, didn't I? I'll wake you up before I leave tomorrow, Ok?"

Ryoga relaxed and settled back on the pillow. "Ok," he murmured, closing his eyes. About thirty seconds later, he was fast asleep.

Ranma blinked in amazement as he wrapped the blanket around him. Huh. Oughta keep a supply of that stuff around. Instant Ryoga-calmer. Bet it would come in handy. But his thoughts quickly became more serious as he realized that the thought of the Lost Boy being constantly sedated wasn't necessarily a farfetched one.

What is gonna happen? he wondered uneasily as he gazed at the sleeping boy. Will they take him away? What if they make him stay in a hospital somewhere, or put him in a foster home? Ranma curled up in the chair, swallowing hard in an attempt to rid himself of the tightness he found suddenly forming in his throat. There were no martial arts in this one. Which meant he had no idea what to do. No wonder Ryoga had been so upset, he was the same way—martial arts: no problem. No martial arts: problem.

Huh. Well, either way, they're not takin' him anywhere, Ranma thought resolutely. No way…

Exactly how he would prevent such an occurrence in the event that it came to be was something he'd have to work on. He tried closing his eyes, but a hundred different thoughts swirled through his mind. One of the less pleasant ones rose to the surface.

And what am I gonna tell Akane?

Ranma sighed. He knew this was far from over. A long time passed before he finally fell asleep.