Lost. She was completely and utterly lost. She had tried back tracking three times and still she passed that infernal pine tree with two trunks. She couldn't even recall how she had ended up there in the first place and that was what washed the almost unbearable urge to rip her hair out over her body. Finally, she dropped by the tree she so loathed to catch her breath.
Leaning back on the rough bark, she thoughtfully took in her surroundings and sighed. Come on Ukyou, she thought to herself. It's not so bad, just calm down and think about where you are. She rubbed her bare arms and silently questioned her sanity. She was out in foggy weather at night with no battle spatula, no bandoleer, not even a decent uniform. Just a simple cotton nightgown, which she had taken a fancy to.
Ukyou sat rigidly against the tree when she heard the distant sounds of snapping twigs and brushing leaves. She doggedly ignored the rising panic in her throat and the invisible rope that seemingly tightened around her gut. "Who's there?" she called, vainly trying to hide the slight tremor in her voice.
The person, at least Ukyou assumed it was a person, coughed loudly and continued to approach. She was about to make her escape when a familiar voice froze her limbs. "Ucchan?"
Ukyou spun around to greet him and stifled a gasp at what she saw. Cheeks hollowed and torso so horribly gaunt, Ranma was the walking vision of a restless dead man. His face was long and his hair faded to a mottled brown. What scared her the most was the expression in his eyes. No arrogance, no determination, no life. Only utter hopelessness. The lack of light in his eyes brought tears to her own.
"Ranchan?" she whispered, extending her slender fingertips to the vision standing before her, not daring to brush them over him lest he crumple under her touch. "My God, Ranma, what happened to you?"
Ranma's dry, cracked lips parted slightly but no sound came forth. The struggle to force mere words from his throat seemed to engage Ranma so much that Ukyou had to control the heavy weights in her legs trying to drive her to her knees and bewail the loss of her once strong Ranchan. Her dearly beloved. "I had-," Ranma spoke softly, his voice raspy and winded. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I had a good life, you know."
The okonomiaki cook was puzzled. What was he talking about? She took a small step forward, still keeping a safe distance from his frail body. "What do you mean, Ranma?" She saw his face change rapidly with mixed emotions. Sadness, disgust, anger, and…disappointment? Ukyou jumped when he suddenly threw his head back in a bark of sharp laughter. It was a mistake on his part for he lurched forward as his short lived amusement turned to a vicious cough that wracked his entire body. The girl nimbly caught him, trying in vain to keep her grip gentle on his arms without dropping him. "There now, sugar," she crooned quietly, lowering them both to the ground. "You have to be careful. Now," she said as she adjusted him into a sitting position. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
Ranma stared into the gathering mists, his eyes blank, almost carefully so. "I had a…wonderful life." He said, ignoring Ukyou's inquiry. "And now, I no longer have that life."
Ukyou's brow furrowed in a deep frown. Why won't he answer her? She opened her mouth to speak. Ranma abruptly cut her off, suddenly angry. "Don't you know?" his voice a soft whisper, one that spoke in volumes of hidden fire. He turned to her; his seemingly lifeless gray eyes were sparked with a tinge of amber. "It," he panted. "Is," his volume grew, stirring fear in Ukyou's stomach. "Your," Ukyou's eyes widened. "Fault!"
Ukyou jerked backwards as if Ranma had slapped her. She highly doubted that a physical slap would hurt more than that declaration. …your fault… What? God, no, Ranma. No, please, no. …your fault… Ukyou shook her head desperately. Those meatless bones, that monotone voice, those…those eyes? Her fault? Her fault? It… She would never, ever hurt him! Never! Would she? …is… No, of course not! She would rather rot in the bottom most dungeon of hell! …your… She only wanted him to be happy. She only wanted him to realize she was the one. The only one. She was helping him. Wasn't she? …fault!
She gasped, tears built in her eyes and finally overflowed. Her lashes sparkled with the translucent liquid. Hers. Yes, she saw it now. She wanted to have Ranma. And now, the only thing that was hers to possess was the mistake. The misunderstanding, the mishap, the misfortune. Hers, hers alone.
Ukyou turned to Ranma to apologize, to beg, to plead with him to forgive her. But he was not there. "Ranma?" Ukyou called nervously, her voice shaking from her tears.
Your fault…. Ranma's voice echoed around her. She clapped her hands over her ears and screamed, "Stop! Stop!" She continued to hear his voice inside her head, the words rang like gongs through the chambers of her brain. Your fault… "Ranma, please stop," she begged.
Ukyou… Ranma's voice seemed to fade, getting softer and softer as the fog seemed get to thicker. Ukyou… "Ranma, wait!" Ukyou called out, stumbling in every which way direction. Ukyou… "Please!" Ukyou…
"Ukyou, I'm worried, give me a call whenever you've got the time. Bye." The answering machine switched off as Konatsu hung up the phone, leaving Ukyou in her bed, drenched in sweat and alone. She passed the back of her hand over her forehead and sighed. It was the third time this week that she had this dream and each time, she was always shaken to the bone.
For the longest time, she had denied the truth of the message that this strange dream bore and now she questioned her own resolve. She knew it was true. She had always known it. It hurt to admit. Terribly.
A horrible wail rose like a policeman's sirens. Ukyou's eyes softened and she composed herself. A moment later, an adorable babe was cradled in her arms, suckling happily at her mother's breast. "Now, now, sugar," she whispered to her child, slightly bouncing her as she walked back and forth through the room. "Mommy's here for you."
The child's response was to suckle some more and Ukyou smiled tenderly. Even with the babe in her arms, Ukyou could not block the memories from infiltrating her mind. Her wedding, her marriage days so few in number, the tears that followed. Perhaps if she had been a better wife, maybe a better person altogether, she wouldn't be a single mother now. She sighed. At least Konatsu was kind enough be concerned about her and her child's welfare. He had grown and matured, and not to mention, gotten rid of the disguises, becoming quite the ladies man. She knew that they were in good hands.
She had loved her husband dearly but the secrets they harbored darkened their relationship and eventually ended it. The things she had done and said were…regrettable but she could not bring herself to fess up. She couldn't. And when he finally turned his back on her, she crumbled. He had cut all ties with her and her child and left. Perhaps she deserved it but her baby didn't. She winced as tiny prickles of guilt told her that it was her own fault her little girl had to grow up like this.
Ukyou, seeing that the baby fell asleep again, gently replaced her back into the crib and unwillingly remembered how she just fell apart after the official divorce. She fell into a deep depression, she developed a liking to alcohol and her attempts to suicide were so numerous that she lost count. They were memories that horrified her even now. Staggering in a drunken daze down the street, not know where she was going, not really caring either. Just wandering. She was disgusted with herself. The cheap whiskey on her breath, her blurry vision, the pounding hammers in her head. She was ashamed and yet she could not stop.
She wandered into the bathroom and winced when she saw how she looked. Hair mussed, eyes puffy and red, heavy bags under her eyes. She was a wreck. Ukyou stared at the bright, white porcelain sink and fought off a wave of nausea as another memory tortured her fragile state of mind. She remembered the incredible pain in her heart. She just wanted it to stop. She remembered dragging the sharp steel across her tender skin. The aching slowness of the process allowed her to think. Why? She remembered the dark red liquid flowing steadily from the long cut and how it stained the perfect whiteness of her sink. Why? She shook her head. She didn't know.
Ukyou heaved a heavy sigh. Of course she had lived and Konatsu had managed to convince her to get help. She stopped. She stopped everything. The drinking, the crying, the bleeding. She stopped but not because she was happy or that she had gotten over her failed marriage. She stopped because she had a child who depended on her and in a way, she depended on that little girl too.
Depressed and tired, Ukyou dragged her feet across the carpet to her bed. Snuggling under the heavy, feathered comforter, she closed her eyes and tried to see things from a brighter side. She sighed again. Ranma wasn't much of a husband anyways.
****
It was late in the afternoon and the village was swarming with people. Women warriors trained under the setting sun's heat and men slaved away in the fields. It was the way of the Amazons.
Mousse smiled at the pair of twin butterflies frolicking about each other while his hands busily scrubbed at the soapy dishes in the wash bin. His smile fell a bit when he heard his wife enter the hut. She had not been a happy woman and to his ever lasting frustration, he could not brighten her mood. "How was your day?" Mousse asked in fluent Mandarin, casting a sidelong glance at her.
He saw her shake out her long lavender hair and carefully set down her bonbori before turning to face him. Shampoo looked him straight in the eye and said in equally graceful Chinese, "It was fine, husband. I will go wash now."
Mousse sighed as he watched her retreating back and cast aside his annoyance at her lack of use of his name. Ever since their official wedding, she called him husband and nothing else. An impersonal respect of his status was the extent of her feelings towards him or so it seemed. At first it unnerved him how respectful she was and he soon discovered the truth just days after the tribe had tightly tied the bond between them.
~~FLASHBACK~~
Cologne had requested an audience with her great granddaughter and Mousse was the man to call her. After all, he was her husband. He found her performing a complex kata in one of the smaller training fields of their village. Mousse automatically knew when she became aware of his presence when the relaxed, liquid flow of her movements tensed and became rigid.
As she executed the last few steps of the kata, Mousse softly approached her, his eyes cast downward because as a male of the tribe, he was inferior to the women. "Pardon me for interrupting, Shampoo but your great grandmother wishes to speak with you."
He heard her rustle for a couple of moments before hearing her mumble, "Alright." He expected her to brush past him and almost reeled back in surprise when he felt small fingertips touch his chin. Lifting his face so that his eyes met hers, Shampoo said softly, "Do not look down, husband. I am a disgraced one, brought down to the level of men. We are equal so there is no need for the tension of superiority and inferiority between us."
Stunned, Mousse didn't even realize that she had already departed when his hand rose to touch the tingling flesh that she had brushed ever so gently. She had never been so gentle with him before. The bittersweet pain flowed through him as the heartfelt declaration combined with the stinging insult. It was meant to degrade him, he knew but the tenderness hidden within the folds of her quiet tone told him of something more. Something more…
~~END FLASHBACK~~
Something more. Mousse almost snorted at the preposterous notion. He was foolish. He always had been. The things he had managed to convince himself in the past few years were enough to make him burn in shame now that he thought about them.
Mousse stared at the butterflies again, flitting around each other. They looked beautiful, the sun illuminating their bright colors, their wings, rapidly flapping, emitted a natural grace. Something more… Mousse sighed. If only.
****
Shampoo reclined in the wooden washtub and settled down to watched the bleeding colors of the setting sun. Absently running a wet cloth up and down her arm, she tried not to feel guilty for treating Mousse the way she had. Mousse had always cared and she knew it. He never abandoned her, he never insulted her. He was an ever-present back up support whenever she happened to need him. And what did she do to repay him? Scorn him like a foolish child.
As the crimson, blended with the dying colors of yellow and green, reflected off of the water on her skin, Shampoo once again debated her feelings toward Mousse. Did she hate him? That wasn't too hard to answer. She was pretty sure that hate wasn't one of the things that flared in her chest whenever she saw him even if at times it was extreme annoyance.
Did she love him? For the longest time, she didn't know. It was something that she never thought about. Did she love him? She smiled a little. How could she not? The adorable way he ran into light posts and mistook large objects for people was enough to make anyone smile. His eyes always, ALWAYS shone with tenderness and love. Mousse was the epitome of, what was that saying? Ah yes, he was the epitome of the quote "Love is blind."
Yes, she was almost certain that she loved him but she could not love him the way he had always hoped. Her heart still belonged to the one that long abandoned her. Her heart still belonged to Ranma Saotome. It didn't matter that she once hated him for being stronger in both mind and body. It didn't matter that he never could return her feelings. She continued to love him. He would have been a strong husband. Mousse was a good husband but not a strong one. She was sorry to admit it but Mousse was only a mere shadow of Ranma's potential.
Shampoo blinked away the building water that was blurring her vision and bowed her head in apology. "I'm sorry, Mousse," she whispered. "It just wasn't meant to be."
****
He just didn't get it. There were so many mysteries in the world and he discovered that being intimate with the most or maybe just the strangest wasn't very good for his health. Ryoga seemed to be lost…yet again. His bad sense of direction was a mystery he had long ago given up on understanding. He just let it guide him through the numerous treacheries and treasures the world had to offer him. He had seen many things, most of which he didn't like but many things they were. It was mind boggling that one girl could occupy his mind twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Just one girl. One girl he knew was gone.
For the longest time, Ryoga just sat at the edge of the world, his legs dangling dangerously off of a cliff. He didn't want to die but he knew that he could not go on living so he just settled for slowly dying of grief. He was caught between two worlds of fantasy and reality. The 'what ifs' and 'could haves' swirled through his mind. They tore at him with merciless brutality and he wondered idly what he had done to deserve it. All of it.
Throughout his life, Ryoga found that if something was too complicated to figure out, why bother? Now, he sat, pondering this thing called love. Why did it happen and why did it hurt? Was he the one to truly choose the one he adored or did fate tangle his heart with someone who would never or could never love him back? These questions gave him a headache, that was true, but would the answers be the cure to his pain? It was another question altogether.
Ryoga shuffled in his backpack and felt his fingers close around a thin wallet, containing what he knew would drive shards through his heart but he had to look. He needed those answers like a man starved. He could not die and he could not live without those answers and so he drifted. With a picture of his beloved in hand, Ryoga swam through his subconscious for some hope. Some light at the end of the never-ending tunnel he had seemed to wander in. Perhaps maybe just some comfort. A little fire to warm his icy fingers by, a little warmth, maybe a smile.
He clenched his fists and suppressed the urge to let loose a crushing shi shi hokudan that would probably reduce his incredibly amazing view of the mountains to piles of ashen rubble. He knew all along it was hopeless to pursue her. He knew that the looks he received from her paled considerably when compared to the ones that Ranma got. The friendly light in her eyes was all he could ever have. Her friendship, her support but never her love. He knew it all along so why did he persist?
Questions, questions, questions. So many questions and not a single answer! Why? Why? Was he unworthy of such comfort however menial it may be? Why? His mind traced back to the talk he had with Mousse before he and his wife left for China. "In a way, we all possess the answers to our endless questions," he had said. "The only reason we do not see them is because we question them." He held out one hand. "Some people have the answers to their questions," he held out his other hand. "And some people question their answers." Fingering his glasses, Mousse's voice had sounded rueful. "That's why we live in constant turmoil, trying to seek out what we already have."
"Why do people question them?" Ryoga had asked.
Mousse smiled a little and gestured to Shampoo's dejected figure and sad eyes. "Because we do not want to believe them."
The sunlight made Ryoga's tears shine on his face. Standing up, Ryoga shouted to the heaven's. "I was a fool, Akane! Forgive me!" Without a second thought, Ryoga threw down his wallet and stepped off the cliff.
Floating in the mists was a single yellow and black bandana.
****
"Now?"
"No, not yet."
The voice was impatient. Eager eyes, hungry for their prey, flickered in the shadows. "Well, when?"
A howl of pain rose, clawing at the ears of any who listened. Flashes of light filled the dark void for brief seconds before dying down again. A bloody corpse lay in a tangled mass of flesh and bones at the Master's feet. "Never question me. Does anybody else dare step forward?"
The eyes shrunk away and disappeared.
"Good."
****
A flash of lightening and a sharp crack of thunder woke the boy who dozed on his feet. Shaking his head to clear the sleep from his mind, he resumed his brisk walk. The cloak did little to shelter him from the icy rain and soon, he was soaked. His chattering teeth formed a broad smile. At last. Yes, at last.
Stopping briefly to adjust his hood, he froze momentarily when his fingertips touched the cold metal entwined in his hair. "Soon," he whispered. "Soon, Akane. I'm coming. I'm coming…" his voiced cracked. "…home."