Disclaimer: The concept of Ranma 1/2 and Naruto belongs to Rumiko Takahashi, and Masashi Kishimoto. This is a product of pure amusement values, with no profits made.
Tsunade found them at the dingy bar again, which had already became a second home, for all four of them. Two sat at the usual table, drinking themselves into a stupor, while the last sat a little farther, his face turned to the shadows, the dim light playing with the occasional gleam of gold.
She frowned, her hands on her hips as she came to a stop in front of the table, surveying the bottles of sakes littered around the redheaded woman and her white-haired companion, both drunk as hell and looking quite queasy.
"Oi... Tsuuuunaaade..." Ranma gave her a wide grin, and promptly smacked her face on to the tabletop, followed by Jiraiya.
She sighed, exasperated. "Honestly you two... you'd think you'd learn something after all this time. Why can't you two grow up?!"
Ranma slowly raised her face from its intimate contact with the wooden surface, and retorted loudly, waving her bottle wildly in the air, almost smacking Tsunade in the process. "Ah, wha'cha talking about... I'm having fun!" Grinning, she threw the bottle away, and cupped her breasts with both hand, giving her well-endowed assets a firm squeeze, "And compared to you... I'm more grown up than you'll ever be!"
Jiraiya roared in laughter. "Here here!!" And promptly felt over from his chair.
A vein popped on Tsunade's forehead, as she rolled up her sleeves slowly, waves of anger radiating from her frame. "Why. You. Two!!!"
Slam. Wham. Crunch. Glass shattered. Wood crumpled.
Senseless violence was commenced on the two drunkards, as well as the surrounded area, lasting a very, very long time before the ash-blonde pulled back, her ponytail and kimono disarrayed. Leaving the two objects of her 'affection' in a battered heap on the floor, she stormed away in a huff, literally leaving destruction in her wake.
From the corner, Orochimaru blinked, sighed, and shook his head. (1)
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"Ow..." Ranma mumbled into the cushions on her couch, every inch of her body sore and hurting.
Something warm was pressed into her hand, and she dumped the glass of hot water over herself with nary a thought, wincing as her body shifted under its effect. A weight settled next to his sprawled form on the couch, and the scent of fresh pine and wet moss was heavy in the air. Turning his face with some difficulty, due to his cheeks being pressed against the rough material of the couch cover, he gave the other man a tired smile, "Thanks, Orochimaru."
"Feeling better?" The smile in his companion's voice was overwhelming.
Ranma glared in annoyance, tentatively touching a particularly large bruise that had formed on his battered face. "Ow."
Orochimaru laughed.
Ranma sweatdropped, three lines of blue rolling down his temple. "Is there a reason that you're still here?"
"Ahem." The other shinobi cleared his throat, still smirking, "Leave, and deprive myself of your battered image? I don't believe Tsunade has ever went into a bigger rampage than the one you triggered today, Ranma-kun."
"Whatever." The pigtailed man grumbled, poking at the edges of the bruise with a finger.
"There's blood under your nails, Ranma-kun." A simple statement, casually commented. Ranma froze, tensing. Perceptive bastard.
He crouched down, never taking his eyes off of the disemboweled body in front of him, thankful for the mask that he hated, yet concealing him from the living nightmare, smooth and white and cold... like ice.
He dipped his hand into one of the crimson pools, translucent flakes of ice formed around his fingers.
"Ran." He looked up into a familiar avian mask. "What are you doing?"
"I..." He began slowly, unsure of himself.
"...killed a man with a blade of air. I didn't want my hands to look clean, not when..." He choked, and raised his hand, examining the muddy red stains under the dim light.
"That sort of thinking won't get you anywhere." Orochimaru was frowning. "Ninja are tools of war, and tools..."
"I am not a ninja!" He hissed back, suddenly angry, "I'm not!"
"You joined the ANBU." Icy calm sliced through his hazed anger. "Out of your own choosing, Ranma-kun. Deny it if you will, but it won't change what you are."
"And what am I?" He whispered, subdued.
Silence.
"Come with me." Orochimaru commanded as he slipped out of the window. Ranma hesitated, then quickly followed the shinobi.
The evening breeze still held a tingle of the day's heat, warm and gentle against his face as he twisted in the air, following the flicker of white, and landing neatly on the rooftop beside his pale companion. Beyond, the last ray of the setting sun painted a glorious shade of gold and crimson against the darkening sky, casting their reflections to the lands below. The familiar, yet foreign landscape brought a sharp stab of pain to his weeping heart.
"Sit."
He did, confused. "Why..."
Orochimaru shot him a look. He closed his mouth wisely, and turned to the fading glory in the sky, slowly consumed by the coming darkness, until the final fragment of day was pushed away by the night.
His legs were numb from sitting still, and he slowly stretched the appendages out, feeling the tingle travel all the way down to his toes.
"Do you hate the night, Ranma-kun?" A soft murmur.
Ranma closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of pine and moss as he pondered over the question. Orochimaru stayed silent, patiently waiting.
"Yes... No." He replied after a moment. "No. I don't, not anymore. But sometimes, I just wish..."
His companion shifted, the moonlight playing along his pale, almost translucent skin, his chin tilted upwards, giving him an odd sense of vulnerability under the silver light.
Ranma looked up, following Orochimaru's line of sight, and his eyes widened. The stars looked the same, bright and dim and twinkling across the sea of darkness. He quickly looked away, and found himself staring into gleaming gold.
"Learn to accept your fate, Ranma-kun, and thrive."
Something small and round was pressed into his hand. He looked down, discovering a sake bottle.
A quirked eyebrow. "I thought you don't drink."
"I do indulge myself on occasions." Pause. Golden eyes looked away. "Drink, Ranma-kun. It's easier to forget this way."
"Sometimes, it's easier to forget, if you..."Ranma blinked, taking a small sip from the bottle. "Funny that..."
"Mmm?"
"Jiraiya told me the same thing once..." Lips curving into an amused smile, "You two are more alike than either of you realize."
Twitch. Golden eyes narrowed. "Tell that to anyone and I'll feed you to Manda."
"Your snake?" Smirk. "I'm terrified."
"Shut. Up."
Ranma laughed softly, but said nothing more as he watched over the silent village, his pale companion silent to his side until the first ray of the light began to peek through the graying sky.
Orochimaru got up, jolting Ranma from his light doze. "I have a mission in an hour."
"Oh. Good luck then." Ranma murmured sleepily, stretching out his arms in an attempt to wake his fuzzy brain, "... and thanks."
Receding footsteps. One. Two. Three...
"Orochimaru?" Blue eyes staring to the rising sun, rays of gold reflecting in stormy blue depth. Then to the red stains under his nails. "Will it get any easier?"
"I'm not the one whom you should be asking that to, Ranma-kun. Jiraiya, on the other hand, however idiotic..."
Something clicked in his mind. "Err, Orochimaru?"
"Mmm?"
"Did you remember to go back for Jiraiya after dragging me home?"
"... Shit!" Ranma tore off towards the bar, with Orochimaru's throaty chuckles ringing in his ears.
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A katana was thrust in his face.
"Eh?" He commented intelligently.
Gold looked back, amusement and irritation mixing together. "Take it."
He did, feeling the weight in his hands. Flawlessly balanced and lighter than a normal blade, it felt perfect in his hands. He pulled an inch of the blade out of the scabbard, and felt along its edge, before wincing at the sharp sting of pain.
"It's err... nice." He offered, licking the blood off of his thumb. "Sharp too."
Orochimaru snorted, "It's yours."
Blue eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"If you do not wish your hands to be clean, then dirty them with a weapon instead. You do not wish to be a tool, so use one, and hide your denial behind it." He cut off Ranma's retort before he opened his mouth, his words sharp and biting, "You're already hiding behind a mask, Ranma-kun."
"Oh." Ranma managed, the sword in his hands. "Thank you."
Orochimaru was silent.
He pulled out the blade and flicked it experimentally in the air. "So... want to spar?"
"Hn. I thought you'd never ask."
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TIMELINE – Year Five, mid-May.
(1) This scene was originally written by Evil Kasumi (Lizmun) over a YIM conversation, and mollified into a scene with her consent.
Lizzie, whereever you are, if you're reading this, drop me a line on YIM because I really, really, really need to talk to you!