She stood near the hospital room window, gingerly clasping her newly-dressed hands behind her back. She was mindful not to lean too close, for she wanted to be able to see, and fogging the cold glass with her breath would not make things any clearer for her. She waited silently, willing for the nurse to quiet her chatter or, more preferably, to leave. As she watched the reflection in the window yank the cover from the plump pillow, though, it dawned on her that the woman wouldn't be leaving very soon, and nor did it seem likely that she would shut her thin mouth.
She found the sky had turned a pale, pale blue without her noticing. (Such beautiful blue eyes...) Through the glass and over the stream of Chinese flowing from the nurse's lips, Akane thought she could hear the chirping of birds, though she could not immediately make out the fluttering of wings when she peered into the mess of leaves adorning the branches of a nearby tree.
People milled about the grounds, a mixed assortment of colors and sizes. There, directly beneath her, for instance, waddled a rather round-bellied man, and he was a large brown circle, compared to the willowy, grey girl-dot who strode after a minute later. Farther out, the yellow-green grass of the garden succumbed to dark asphalt which was littered with small cars, their windows winking in the morning sun.
Red caught her eye--and there he was, sitting at a bench meters from the hospital, hunched over his knees and staring down at the pavement. A small smile played at the edge of her lips as she looked down at him. Tiny brown specks flitted several decameters from the man's feet. Sparrows?
Jet black hair braided into a pigtail, Chinese shirt, kung-fu shoes... Was he Chinese? But if he was, he was a Chinese man who spoke Japanese fluently--and without any trace of an accent! Still, his language was crude, almost certainly marking him as a man of the street, but his hands... his hands could lead her to believe otherwise. A lean, small body, almost still a boy. She wondered of his name...
"Put him out of your mind, Miss Tendou. He is no good for you," the lady doctor had advised when Akane had asked, and she had smiled a small, weak smile to herself: How was she to do that if she never recalled having him in her head in the first place? She didn't know how to answer "Does he beat you, Miss Tendou?" but she did mention softly that he had slapped her prior to running out... He didn't strike her as the type of person that would beat women, but how was she to know, she who hadn't remembered her own name?
Ah, but the man stood, leaping to his feet and inadvertently causing the birds to shoot off into the air. She could almost swear that he had nearly smiled at her, his face brilliant and shining in the light. It was then that, as the warmth crept into her cheeks, Akane decided that he was most certainly not one to fear abuse from, and that if he came for her as she privately hoped he would, she would go with him.
She watched as the pretty young man ran from the hospital grounds, weaving between his elders like a child. What was I thinking? Running off with a stranger? (The stranger with kind hands and beautiful eyes...) But... he might not be a stranger! He could be my boyfriend, and I wouldn't know, now, would I!
...Then why did he leave me?
If this was pain, this ache emanating from somewhere within her chest, then she, Tendou Akane, had never before known pain.
~~~~~*~~~~~
Corelli stood just inside the mouth of the cave and inhaled of the moonlight-dusted air, allowed it to fill her with its radiance. It raced through her veins (ah, the warmth it left behind, streaking through her blood!), and then she spoke: "I know of the fight with the blue-eyed boy, young sir. You actually should be dead."
She could not say her soft voice floundered in the still atmosphere, in this time before the moon had set and before the sun had risen. Even so, one might have lost it to the contented gurgle of the river farther within the darkness.
The boy--almost a man--turned from his confusion concerning his whereabouts and stared at her, like a deer. Corelli could nearly make out her petite form, faintly glowing a docile silver, in his frozen, dark eyes. The tiny Corelli-of-the-Eyes gently tilted her head and smiled at Boy-Fawn.
"Well? Will you not speak, young sir?" Corelli asked after a minute of only the river water's shy whispers. The smile danced, amused, at the corner of her pale pink lips. Yes, she could understand it, that there was often nothing to say when someone declared that you ought to be dead.
(There was nothing you could say. Her own tongue had silenced when an old man called Illerok told her she would never again die; the Spider's blood that burned alongside hers saw to it that wounds and injuries were healed within seconds. Never again would her soul break free of her body, would it tear at once in all directions. It was a fearful thing to lose your self.)
As if released from a spell, the boy-man brought his fist down on the waist-high block of ice and demanded of her, "Who the hell're you?!" He had made a fine spiderweb of cracked ice in her bed. Such anger this boy-man exerted. It flew at her in furious waves and rivulets, blowing her hair back over her bare shoulders.
Without blinking at the emotion-based wind, Corelli called to the moondust, and so it was that the pale stuff in her veins rushed upstream toward her heart. When her skin had been restored to its pale ivory, only her breast glowing so fiercely that at least a third of the cavern was illuminated with fluttering light, she began to sing. Her voice, while not exceptionally beautiful, was pleasant enough to carry the notes and vowel sounds.
The melody drew around the boy-man like a curtain and was joined by a second--also from Corelli's mouth. The two-parted song seeped through his skin, cooling his blood and soothing him. He sat down on his haunches, wordless, and moved only when Corelli leapt up from the cavern's entrance to light upon her bed of ice, to sit himself beside her.
She kicked her small feet idly for a bit, leaning forward so as to be able to watch the death of the moon, framed in the cave entrance. Then, throwing a small smile over her shoulder, she asked the boy-man's name; and when he responded, one of her small spells translated his language to hers. His name meant Good Fang. She had to laugh before she bade him, open his mouth, she wanted to look at these fangs.
Good Fang looked vaguely uncomfortable, but still, his jaw dropped for her, and in went a slender finger. There was one pointy tip, and there on the other side was another! Corelli laughed again and murmured her name, "Moon Child," against his cheek. Heat rose where she had kissed him. "I have a proposal for you, Sir Good Fang. Help me to regain my honor, and I shall help you regain yours."
He drew back from her arms, the spell having dissipated, and looked into the grey eyes of the moon daughter. "What do you mean, 'regain my honor'? I--I didn't do anything!"
"You lost," she said simply and deliberately, "and it is to my understanding that a male from any world seeks to retaliate at he who humiliates him." Corelli cocked her head at him curiously, and noticed his eyes follow the dark hair that fell over her shoulder and curled about her breast. "Am I not correct? Did your opponent's victory not hurt your manlihood?"
At the word 'hurt,' his gaze slid downwards toward the floor, and a hand clapped itself to his sore neck. "I hurt Crimson" was almost inaudible, but the shame riding those words hit her like a monsoon. There was a sharp twinge in her chest. 'Crimson'... the dark-haired young woman, fallen to the ground, a doll, a puppet. Good Fang and his opponent were rivals for her?
"Do you love her?" she whispered. There was hope either way, she told herself: if Good Fang loved his Crimson, he would give himself up to Corelli's training, to fight the blue-eyed boy for his lady's hand--and even if he didn't, he would fight, most likely. Still, the moon child's pride wished his answer negative...
"N-No." The hand about his neck flew to the back of his head as he tittered.
Even if he was lying, it was what Corelli wanted to hear, and pleased, she repeated, "Good Fang, will you help me?"
He was startled out of his embarrassment. "How do you want me to do that?" he asked warily, to which she only laughed. His hand was clutched, and a short, joyful song burst from her lips before the ice block beneath them suddenly became liquid. It arced over the two to crush them in an imploding bubble of water.
The morning sun peeked into the cave and found it empty.
~~~~~*~~~~~
Akane spent about half the day switching on and off the small, black television mounted in one of the top corners. It wasn't as if she understood a single word of the language everyone was speaking, though, so it was a wonder the advertisements even managed to draw her attention at all. Then finally, even the sun seemed to conspire against her and washed its bright golden gleam across the curved screen, making it almost impossible for her to reap any half-lived entertainment from the unfriendly room.
She was completely bored, to the point where staring into the sun, low in the west, for the next few hours seemed like a party compared to what she was currently doing, which was--incidentally--nothing, nothing, nothing. She had tried flipping through magazines, but the Chinese sentences made the people appear illiterate to the Japanese girl: the sentences were backwards and made absolutely zero sense to her. Besides, her bandaged hands made it hard for her to do even that.
And where was that boy?! Had he, or hadn't he, smiled at her before he left? Maybe Doctor Xi was right, and he was no good for her, and had smiled at her only to give her false hope, to leave her to die out of a merciless tedium, waiting here at the window... like she was doing now, bathing in the shimmering red-orange light.
She met gazes with her reflection, pity blatant in its deep brown eyes. It grimaced at her. Hesitantly, it fingered its black hair with white cloth hands, and it seemed that when it realized that the hair, the pink tips of peeking fingers belonged to someone else, it vanished from sight.
Akane looked away. The fact that she hardly recognized herself was frightening.
From the corner of her eye, she caught the door creak open, and so the perfunctory knocks were unnecessary.
Into the shadows of the dimming room slipped Doctor Xi and, following behind, a small figure, before the lights flickered into life above them. When the electric humming steadied, Akane was quite surprised to find familiar blue eyes set in a cute, somber face that was framed by wild hair as red as blood.
~~~~~*~~~~~
The receptionist looked up from her computer and wondered why this particular visitor looked like a friggin' drowned rat. Ranma could tell right off that was what she was thinking from the expression on her pretty face: It was halfway between a bewildered smile and a smirk. Pasting a bright look on, Ranma inquired in Japanese, "Well, you'd look like a hurricane'd run you over, too, if the whole damn sky went and pissed on your head for several hours, wouldn't you, lady?"
Confusion marred the woman's pristine eyebrows, and hesitantly, she said, "Tuei pu chi, wo pu hui jiang rih ben yuu." From what Ranma could make of it, it was something like 'Sorry, don't speak Japanese...' She proceeded to look embarrassed, hands clenched to her chin, and blue eyes large with innocence. (She almost wanted to gag.)
"Oh, I sorry, miss!" she gasped, leaning into the marbled green counter. The receptionist seemed surprised that Ranma knew Chinese. "I not know! Please, miss, tell me where my cousin Tendou Akane?" She became acutely aware that more than several people had glanced over from their seats in her direction at the sound of the Japanese name. It was a bit hard to raise a shy blush. Did she even succeed?
A tongue clucked behind her. "Goodness, young lady. How rudely you speak your language, and how sweetly, ours."
Ranma's heart froze as the doctor's hand lit on her shoulder. Was the transformation enough to fool the woman? And the casual get-up? (She squirmed uncomfortably at the thought. Had she grown? The shorts were smaller than she remembered, but at least the tank top still fit.) If it wasn't, what would she do? Was there anything left to do? Damn. If he didn't drown them all in tears, Tendou would kill her before he realized that he could just go and fetch his daughter... and he'd probably get the money for the plane ticket by selling the house and his son/daughter-in-law to the whorehouses.
She whirled. "Hey, you speak Japanese?" Ranma asked incredulously, as if hearing such words from a Chinese person was novel to her. "Where's Akane? Can you take me to her?" Then, as an afterthought, she murmured, "I hope she's all right," though she already knew Akane's condition. Physically, her fiancee was fine. Her forehead was sore, and her hands were a little burned, but she was okay. Mentally... Crap. If Ranma took her home in that condition... Damned if I do, and damned if I don't.
The doctor raised an eyebrow and briskly strode off down a hall on the left. Her voice, though quiet, cut through the still lobby air to the redhead's ears: "Come with me." Ranma hurried to comply, her pigtail bobbing merrily after.
Having passed quite a number of rooms without any words, she began to feel as if the doctor could sense her dislike for her. The silence between them was emphasized all the more by patients and their visitors, suffocating them in a cocoon of warm chatter--or so it seemed to Ranma, who was jolted from her awkwardness by the surprisingly soft, bittersweet smile on the lady's lips. Ranma wondered briefly as her sneakered feet continued to step, step, step...
What could someone like her possibly have to smile about?
Ranma glanced up again.
But... her smile doesn't look like the sort of smile you see everyday. It's not happy, for one thing.
Up a flight of stairs and on the right was Akane's room. (Only two stories up.) Ranma's heart began to flutter as they approached. What if Akane knew who she was? But then again, what if she didn't? So the amnesia thing could almost be a blessing in disguise. Maybe she and Akane could... start over?
The doctor knocked a few times on the door and then slipped inside to turn on the lights. Privately, Ranma wondered why exactly Akane'd been sitting in the dark in the first place.
Akane turned halfway to face them. Ranma could see her eyes widen at the sight of her, but did she recognize her? It didn't look like she did; a vague disappointment spread out from somewhere in Ranma's body. Akane looked up at the doctor and nodded. "Hello, Doctor Xi."
Xi returned the acknowledgment before she spoke, gesturing coolly toward Ranma. "A visitor for you, Miss Tendou." Her gaze dropped to the bandages on Akane's hands, clasped daintily in the girl's lap. "You will be taken care of in the morning, Miss Tendou. I hope you have eaten well?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Then, I must see to other patients. Mai will be in, shortly." With that, the doctor turned so abruptly that her white coat flared out behind her. Ranma watched the door pull shut, but she stood motionless until at last the woman's footsteps faded away. Mai was probably just a nurse, but nevertheless, she was someone who would be coming in at a bad time.
Behind her, Akane slid off the bed and padded softly over. "Do I know you?"
Ranma threw a halfhearted smile over her shoulder. (What to do, what to do? 'Fiance'? Look at me--she'll think I'm nuts. Maybe if I go with the cousin Ranko bit? And lie straight off?) "I'm kind of a friend of yours, Akane."
Her fiancee's eyes narrowed. "'Kind of'?"
Every second brought this Mai-woman closer to the room. Ranma had to act, fast. "I can explain, but first, you gotta come home with me!"
Akane looked shocked and stepped back as if she'd been slapped. "What? Why should I? I don't even know who you are!" she sputtered in disbelief.
"I really didn't wanna do this." Ranma jabbed a hand at the base of Akane's ear, but not before the Tendou girl had reflexively drawn up her arm to block. Still, Ranma was the quicker of the two, and within moments, she was holding an unconscious girl in her arms... one who was a little bit taller, and therefore, a little bit heavier.
"I will explain, Akane. Later," she promised beneath her breath.
She edged toward the window and jerked it open with a hand, then more or less kicking out the screen. There was a cry from below, a clatter of a plastic frame. As Ranma jumped out into the air with Akane cradled against her breast, she thought she heard a shriek from inside the room--Mai? Or one of the people under her? Did it matter?
She landed with a pained grunt, her knees bent to absorb some of the impact. From that stance, she shot to her throbbing feet and ran, shooting past tear-blurred mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers toward the very same gate she'd passed through earlier that day, as a man.
Security tried to block her path. She would've laughed as she darted around or leapt over their stocky bodies, had she the breath to do so. "You're a hundred years from ever catching Saotome Ranma!" she wanted to hoot at them, but instead, she bit down on her lip and focused on the rhythm of her feet, the swift, staccato sound of sneaker thudding on sun-streaked pavement. Akane's legs and arms dangled and swung to the intense beat. Ranma never heard the men and women yelling at her in Mandarin, "Stop! Where are you going with that girl?"
Her blood booming like thunder in her ears, her ragged breath like the sharp song of wind in the trees. Her footsteps chanting, "A-ka-ne, A-ka-ne. A-ka-ne..." It was her victory theme. A shining red bird carrying a pale girl, Ranma flew into the fiery remains of a dying sun.
