Here, Jamieson, just like I promised. ;-p

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these malfunctioning children.

Chapter 11

Shampoo had plenty of time to think about just what she was going to do when she found him, but in the end all her plans failed her. She couldn't move. She should never have come to this place.

The tree branch under her thighs was rough and wet, the rain coming down was almost blinding. Almost. Not quite. She could still see the warm, bright yellow windows of Mousse's mother's house. She could see the black shadow of his hair as he moved around inside.

::I should go home,:: she thought. Immeadiately the little voice in the back of her head demanded, :: What home? That empty building? You have no home. You will never have a home. . . without him.::

Mousse was never her first choice, but she'd seen women made happy with far worse husbands. It was done, she was married, and she would never, ever have her own baby to cuddle against her chest if she couldn't. . . if she couldn't make him come back with her. That was all she wanted, now. A family. A happy home.

What did romantic love matter in the face of that? It was just some emotion. There are more important things. Other kinds of love.

Demands would not work. She'd thought it through, and though she cringed at the thought of asking Mousse. . . or even begging him. . . some things are more important.

"Oh dear," the old woman said, looking up from her sewing. "Whatever could that be?" The noise came again, a gentle tapping on the door. Mousse set down the knife he was sharpening.

"Maybe some traveler lost in the storm. I'll see," he announced. He stood and walked the few feet between his chair and the door. It swung open under his hand.

And there she was.

He had to be dreaming. He'd dreamt of this many times, Shampoo come to find him, to beg him to come home. He had to be dreaming. It was some other woman with dark hair whose face his mind had covered with Shampoo's features. They stood there for a long moment, silent.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, let her in!" Mousse's mother snapped. Startled, Mousse stepped out of the path of the door, and the girl walked in. She was dripping wet, soaked to the bone. She gave them both a bright smile.

"I'm so sorry to bring such a mess with me. Please forgive me, mother?" she chirped. The old woman squinted at her.

"Mother? Are you . . . Goodness, Shampoo, what are you doing here!?" the old woman cried, her eyes wide in shock. Shampoo glanced at Mousse.

"I have come for my. . . husband," she said softly. Mousse's heart skipped a beat. She'd come for him? Was she. . . no. Not a chance. The Ice Princess would never love anyone, not truly.

"Well, and it was about time!" Mousse's mother smiled. "I was beginning to think you got lost!"

"Mother! You knew she was coming!" Mousse said accusingly. "You might have warned me!"

"Don't be silly, son. An Amazon woman always comes for what is hers. Go fetch some warm clothes for your bride," she commanded. Mousse smiled and complied, recognizing her offer to eavesdrop. The walls of his mother's home were VERY thin, and anything said in any part of the house could be heard in the others.

"I have not seen you in years, child. Where have you been?" his mother asked.

"Japan, mostly. That's why you can see my ribs, bad Japanese food," Shampoo said, and they both laughed. ::Har de harr harr harr,:: Mousse thought, ::Get to the relevant part.::

"But after your marriage? Where. . .?"

"Oh, well, Mousse and I lived in my village for a time. I was not. . . kind to him. Can you forgive me?" Shampoo asked.

"It depends on whether or not he does."

"I. . . see. Well, after he left, I . . . I missed him. I regretted what I'd done to him, and decided to follow him to Japan. By the time I got there, the people he left China with told me he'd already come back here to you. So. . ."

"Ah. So, you have been staying with Ranma and . . . what is her name again?"

"Akane. Mousse told you about them?"

"Oh, yes. The girl was expecting, wasn't she?"

"She's given birth to twin boys," Shampoo answered, a little primly. Mousse heard someone, presumably his mother, clapping her hands. ::Twin boys, Saotome? Your luck is unbelievable!:: Mousse thought, growling softly.

"How fortunate! Was that why you stayed, to see what fruits your friend bore?"

"No . . . she went into labor soon after I arrived. I stayed there because I fell in love with the twins. They were such sweet babies. Also, I. . . I was ill, when I arrived at their house. It took me some time to regain my strength," Shampoo half-whispered the last part. Ill? Shampoo, ill? It boggled the mind. He couldn't remember the last time she was sick.

Feeling he'd heard enough, Mousse carried some of his own thick, warm robes out to Shampoo. Excusing herself, she went to go warm up. Mindful of the thin walls, Mousse and his mother kept their silence until she returned.

"Thank you so much," Shampoo said, bowing. She sat down between Mousse and the fire. "Has. . . has it stormed quite a bit in this region recently?"

"Oh, heavens no, child. This is the first storm we've had in months. Now, when I was as young as you two scamps, there was a whole five-year period where the sky was nothing but grey. Rain, rain, every day. Now, on the day I married my first husband—you would have loved him, the both of you, he had the soul of a poet—that was the day the rain stopped. People for miles around said we were a couple blessed by heaven. Maybe so. Until the day he was killed by that wild boar, we. . . In any case, it was a blessed marriage. I had six children with that man, every one a great warrior, every one married and happy with lots of children." She smiled at Mousse, but her eyes were far away.

"Your father and I only had you. . ." she said, half-dreaming. She shook her head as if to clear it. "But I'm old and just rambling. It's too late for me to be awake," she smiled, standing up and going back to her room. Mousse knew better. His mother rarely slept at all, usually he was in bed long before her.

"She hasn't changed much," Shampoo noted. Mousse smiled at her. He liked the way his clothes looked on her, and it was so good to hear her voice! He'd tried to forget her, tried to drive her out of his mind, but he couldn't.

Maybe it was just fate.

"No," Mousse agreed, "She doesn't ever change much." He was using all of his control to resist throwing his arms around her and begging her to stay with him. "Tell me about Akane's baby. Did it come out healthy?" he asked, feigning ignorance. Shampoo smiled softly, her eyes far away.

"She had twins. Two little boys with tufts of blue hair, just like their mother. They have blue eyes like Ranma, but that doctor with the funny glasses said the eye color of babies can change. She named them Mocchio and Makoto," Shampoo grimaced, making a face at the foreign sounds. "I told her they weren't good-luck names, but she ignored me."

"Didn't Ranma have anything to say about the names?" Mousse asked.

"Oh, he was a complete mess. He couldn't have chosen a name just then if his life depended on it," Shampoo snorted, dissaproval written on her features. Mousse remembered how frantic Ranma got when Akane had morning sickness, and he could just picture the pigtailed boy in a hospital waiting room.

Shampoo looked up at him shyly, and his heart skipped a few beats.

"Did you. . . did you miss me?" she asked, her voice as timid as he'd ever heard it. This wasn't Shampoo! Shampoo never acted like this! He'd always wanted her to, but she never had. . . and now. . .

"I didn't want to. I wanted to forget all about you," he sighed and gave her a half-smile. "I couldn't."

"Do you think. . . maybe you could come home with me?" Shampoo asked, a little less timidly. Mousse felt the blood rush to his face.

"I. . ."

If he went back with her to the Amazon village, would everything be like it was before? Would she go back to the way she was? He couldn't live with that, just couldn't. But then, what if this was his only shot? What if he said no and she walked out into the storm, never to return?

"I. . . ." Years of tradition raced through his brain, the odd paradox of the man in the Amazon society. He had to be strong, but he had no worth. He had to be honorable, but he had to concede his honor if it interfered with the honor of a woman. All Mousse wanted was to be happy. To . . . "Yes, I'll come back with you," he said quietly.

"Oh, Mousse!" Shampoo cried, launching herself at him and throwing her arms around his neck. He sat stunned for a moment, then wrapped his arms around her waist, burrying his face in her hair. She smelled like rain and woodsmoke, and she was his. Shampoo was finally his.

If he wasn't just dreaming, the world was surely about to end.

"You have got to be kidding me," Akane groaned, staring in horror at the small strip of plastic in her hand. "Not again!"

But there it was, the little red stripe that meant she was in for another nine months of absolute hell.

She'd bought the pregnancy test at the supermarket. It was Amara's idea, actually. She went back to work at the nursery as soon as the twins were old enough to come with her—just until they got more students in the dojo, of course. Ranma was working on recruitment and classes while she was gone, and he'd had some success. He had four pupils already, which was more than her father had had in the last ten years. They weren't terribly serious about the Art, but they did pay their fees on time. Not that their fees would be enough. Babies are enourmously expensive little creatures.

And she was going to have another one.

Anger mounting inside of her at the injustice of all of it, she threw the pregnancy test in the bathroom trashcan and stormed out. She strode down the hall to where Ranma was trying to "baby proof" the kitchen. He was standing in front of the sink, frowning at a bottle of bleach when she blew in like a cold wind.

His face, when he looked up at her, was decidedly apprehensive. She was probably glowing blue. Of course, that kind of thing hardly mattered.

"One of us, and I don't know WHO, is positively ABNORMAL!" she screamed. He blinked at her.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm on freaking birth control, so ONE or BOTH of us is a freak. Freakishly fertile."

"WHAT are you talking about?"

"I'M PREGNANT!" she screamed, balling her fists and screwing her eyes up like a child throwing a tantrum. "AGAIN!"

"You're. . ." he stammered, an odd look coming to his face. It was a seemingly impossible mixture of horror and joy. It's odd how often those two words are used together to describe parenthood.

"PREGNANT!" Akane shouted again, then stormed out to the dojo. She needed to break some things, and cinderblocks are much easier to replace than bones.

Ranma watched her go, not entirely certain how to take that news. Obviously, she was upset about it. But the twins were wonderful! Sure, they were a pain sometimes, but they were so cute and sweet that you just had to forgive them.

On the other hand, he remembered Akane's pregnancy with a shudder. Nine months of hormonal hell again? WITH the added stress of having two small boys in the house?

Ranma turned back to the problem he'd been wrestling with when she came in. After a few moments, he gave up. He just couldn't keep his mind focused.

"Aww, man, why can't she just start knitting some little booties or something and tell me to expect a 'bundle of joy,' like a normal woman?" he grumbled. Something hard and sharp hit the back of his head.

"I HEARD that!" Akane hissed behind him. He listened to the sound of her retreating footsteps and sighed.

"Maybe I should go visit Akari, see if Ryouga has showed up yet. Yeah, that could take about nine months."

"I'll cook tonight, Kasumi," Akane said brightly, stepping into the kitchen. Kasumi turned to look at her, eyebrows raised.

"Well, all right. I was going to tell Father to order take-out, but I suppose that works too," she mused. She dunked another dish into the soapy water, which was just getting cold. She wondered if Akane notcied that the dishes on the "dirty" side of the sink were all sparkling clean. She wondered if they realized how much work she'd invented for herself since the advent of the relative peace in their house.

That was going to stop, and soon. She wasn't going to waste her time anymore.

"Oooooooh, do you have a date?" Akane asked, sounding for all the world like a thirteen-year-old girl. Her younger sister grinned at her, an odd glint in her eye. "With Dr. Tofu?"

::As if he even knows I'm interested,:: Kasumi thought.

"No, I'm taking a few classes at the community college. My pottery class is tonight," she replied.

"That's great, sis, but why didn't you tell any of us? I mean, why'd you keep it secret?" Akane asked, looking a little confused.

::Because I feel like a ghost here, invisible and unimportant,:: Kasumi thought.

"Secrets are fun!" she smiled, winking at her younger sister. Akane smiled back.

"Well, what other classes are you taking?" she asked, picking up a towel and drying the dishes Kasumi had set to the side fo the sink.

"Well, that pottery class, and a writing class this semester. Next semester I might take something a bit more challenging," she said. "You know, you should take some of the cooking classes they offer."

::So I can move out and not worry about everybody dying of food poisoning,:: she thought, but she couldn't find it in her heart to say it.

"You're right, I'll look into that," Akane promised. "Do you want me to tell Dad and Saotome-san where you are?" Kasumi thought about that for a moment.

"If they ask," she said at last, shrugging. Who cares what the old men think?

"Hey, where is everybody?" Ranma wondered, shifting Mocchio from one hip to another. He walked into the kitchen, and suddenly he knew exactly where everyone had gone.

Away from Akane's cooking.

Maybe he could just sneak out the back and take Mocchio for a little walk. . . .

"Ranma!" Akane yelled, "Could you come in here for a minute?"

::Too late, I've been spotted,:: Ranma thought, taking his infant son with him into the war zone.

"Where did you put the knives?" she asked him. He took a moment to survey the scene in the kitchen. There were dirty dishes everywhere, an a frightening green smoke was coming from the pot on the stove.

"Akane, do you really think you should eat your cooking? I mean, it's probably not good for the baby," Ranma said, relying on the fact that he was holding Mocchio to save him an airborne trip across Nerima. He was right. Akane glared at him, but she didn't hit him. She didn't even yell, for fear of scaring the baby.

::Babies can be useful, after all. They're like little fleshy sheilds,:: he thought.

"For your information," she started out haughty, but a smile was wobbling at the corners of her mouth and it gave her away—" I am a WOOOOOONDERFUL cook, and you are going to love this."

"Are you feeling okay?" Ranma asked, unable to keep the note of derision out of his voice. She turned away from him, unable to keep from smiling any longer.

"I'm fine. Why don't you go put Mocchio in his swing? That always puts him to sleep. Where's Makoto?"

"In the swing, alseep."

"Oh," Akane thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "I guess you can put him in the crib and Mocchio in the swing. Come down when they're both out," she said.

Ranma resigned himself to a night of throwing up and went into the twin's room to out the baby down. It was kind of late for Mocchio to be up anyway, so he dropped right off. Ranma made sure they were both asleep in their crib, which was rapidly getting too small for them, and went back downstairs.

"Thank you, have a safe trip back!" Akane was calling out the door as he walked by the entrance. She was holding two boxes of food.

"Take-out?" he asked, and she jumped, nearly dropping the boxes. She giggled a little nervously and handed him one. "That's cheating, Akane!"

"I wasn't going to tell you I made it. You wouldn't believe me if I tried to convince you I could make yakisoba taste this good," she said flippantly. He pointed at the ktichen, a little confused.

"But, the green smoke. . ."

"I never had any intention of cooking dinner tonight. I just. . . wanted everybody out of the house," she admitted. Realization dawned on his features, followed by the type of grin usually saved for bedrooms and other secluded areas.

"I thought you were mad at me," he admitted.

"I was. But I thought about it, and really, it's probably something I did. Missing pills or something. I mean, that's what happened last time," she informed him. He nodded.

Never let it be said that parenthood doesn't make people more mature.

"So . . . you had plans for tonight?" he asked, a mischevious glint in his eye. Akane giggled, taking his free hand.

"Oh, yes. Lovely plans. Would you like to hear about them? Or should I surprise you?"

Author's note: Thank you all so much for reviewing this hunk of junk. I'm trying to write my own stories now, that's why I don't update much. I only updated this because my friend made me. I have some deep blather to say now, so I'll understand if you want to just close the window.

I was thinking this morning about . . . writing, I suppose. It occurred to me that we cannot write about things we have not at least wished for, dreamt about. Want is the mother of possession, after all. I would wager that most of what is written on this website, and in more conventional places like books, is really the author's way of trying to put some part of their life into perspective. To set something in focus. To. . . rid themselves of the demons lurking in their minds, or the dreams they've held dear but never voiced aloud. Here they would be funneled through other people's characters, other people's dreams.

Take this story for example. There is a real nursery up the road from my house, where I worked in high school, and there is a real woman named Amala from whom I acquired most of my more deviant carnal knowledge. The story about the dog and the cock ring? Really happened. There's a real pool near here where one of my more desirable male friends, a lifeguard, wreaks havoc on the hearts of younger women. There are real babies passing through my arms and through my heart . . . from that nursery.

The odd thing is that most of the time, the people who are written about are active people, people who live completely in the real world, people of action. It's odd because most people who write and read a lot don't live in the real world most of the time, are people of thought, not action. Is it some desire to be something we are not?

Yet, we cannot live completely in our own worlds, because otherwise, what would we write about?