Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

I'm having a bit of fun with this now, and seem to be on a roll. Results not typical. Thank you all so much for reading. Especially those of you that take the time to review. . . thanks.

I opened my eyes to see Ranma Saotome waiting for me. Second time that's happened today. Third, technically. I certainly hope it's not setting a precedent.

"Yer father thinks ye've got some strong attachment to the lad, still," he jerked his thumb toward the picture of me and Jordan on my desk. I picked the picture up and threw it. It hit my door, and the glass shattered. The pieces fell to the floor. One. By. One.

There is only so much someone can take. . .

"My attachments are none of your business," I snapped, feeling the blood rise to my face. His eyes grew wide, then narrowed dangerously.

"You better get one thing straight here and now," he grated, rising to his feet. His hands closed into fists and, seeing that, so did mine. "You are my wife. I'm your property—and you're mine. There is NOTHING you do or don't do that isn't my business from this day forward. The battle I lost to you is an invisible chain binding our lives together, and you don't have to like it—damn you, you WILL abide by it!"

"I challenged you to no battles, and I made you NO promises, Ranma Saotome!" I flashed back at him, rising to my feet as well. I got in his face, glaring for all I was worth—I'm surprised his hair didn't catch fire.

"I want no part of your chains, real or imagined! No part of YOU! Get the hell away from me, and stay away!" I hissed, barely an inch from his face now. He was burning red, and trembling with rage—so was I. It was only a matter of who could snap first. . .

"You think I want any part of you? Arrogant, foolish chit of a girl! I don't look forward to a life lived with a weakling like you, but I have something you'll never understand! Spoiled, brainless, sexless American brat!"

"And what is that? What is it that you have that I could never understand?"

"Honor! A trollop like you who'd welcome the likes of him into her bed, a faithless warrior, a selfish brat! Who do you think. . ."

That was as far as he got. My mallet sprung out of its hiding place and smashed into his head, laying him low. I didn't even check to see if he was breathing. I was out the door and down the stairs before my hands stopped vibrating from the blow.

He might be right, heaven help me, he might be right. . .

I ignored Kasumi's questions as I ran out the front door, into the dank night air. I ran. I ran. I ran until my legs went numb, but I couldn't stop.

How far do you have to run to get away from yourself?

I gave up my honor for love, and as the person I loved had no honor. . . did that make me what Ranma called me? Did that mean that I had lost my honor? Am I a worthless martial artist, one who only knows martial arts to put a name to the violence? There is no art in that, no beauty, no peace. . . nothing worthwhile. There is only blood. . .

Maybe that is all I am good for. . . I'm so obviously a failure at a peaceful, ordinary life. That was what I was looking to have with Jordan, that was why it was worth it to. . . but was it worth it? Was it worth giving up my art for the sake of a man who played me false. . .

There were hot tears on my cheeks.

And a sharp pain across the back of my head. . . then nothing at all. . .

I came to conciousness slowly this time—my mind not wanting to give up its respite for the third time that evening. But come awake I did, and I regretted it.

Ranma wasn't waiting for me this time. Instead, there was a woman. A pretty woman, to be sure, but not one I knew. She had bright green eyes and tight curly hair—skin the color of coffee that's had so much cream it barely qualifies. She smiled at me, a ferocious smile, and toyed with the matte black gun in her left hand.

"Hello, Akane. Tough little Asian chick works for you, it really does. You could be the next Lucy Liu," she smirked, using the gun to raise my chin so I met her eyes. "With some plastic surgery."

I tried to move my arms, but found they were being held—by a rather bulky man behind me. He was propping me up, too. He had a buddy over in the corner, by the door, who looked like he could bench a good-sized car. It was a barren room, with only a light, a door, and a window to break up the blank monotony of white walls.

Fear made my heart pound faster, my breath come shorter—not because I had so obviously been kidnapped, but because I knew that room. I knew the view from that window. Jordan's father was a landlord to a dumpy little apartment complex, one of his friends rented out an apartment there last year. The last time I'd been in that room it was full of stoned teenagers, random bean bag chairs and a haze of pot smoke.

Jordan had something to do with it.

"Guess who I am?" the pretty woman purred. I swallowed, hard.

"You're Natalie," I said, proud that my voice didn't quiver. She took the gun away from my neck, tapping perfectly manicured nails against her hip.

"Clever. He said you were clever. Do you know why you're here?" she asked, tipping her head to the side. I shook my own.

"No guesses on that one, huh? Well, that I can tell you. You might have known about the little venture we were in on together, he and I? Did he not tell you?" I shook my head again. She only smiled wider before pressing on. "Well, now. I won't either. But it's not just some petty Ebay fraud, I'll tell you that much. Trouble is, now that you've left him, dear old Jordan doesn't perform the way he used to. And I NEED him to perform. So."

She looked me up and down, then nodded once.

"I'm going to give you back to him. As a present. Won't that be sweet?" she crooned. She headed for the door, then paused. She turned around and grinned at my captors, winking as she jingled a pair of keys.

"I'll just lock the door when I leave. Don't have too much fun now!" she laughed, and then she was gone. I heard the door click behind her once, twice, three times. Mr. Muscles by the door leered at me. The man holding my wrists pulled me closer to him, and I could feel the beginnings of a very big problem against my butt.

That, I think, was the moment where I lost my ability to reason and slipped into the part of my mind that does not question or explain, but simply knows. Simply does.

"I will not be chained," the words came out a cold whisper, not really sounding like my voice at all. The man holding my arms behind my back leaned forward, his head just a few inches from my ear. He twisted my arms up painfully, jolting. I turned toward him slightly, as much as my strained muscles would allow.

"Let. Me. Go," I commanded. He laughed at me. The bastard actually laughed at me. His buddy, Mr. Muscles, laughed at me too.

I brought my head over to the side, hard and fast, just at the angle that the hard shelf of my skull would strike him in the joint of his jaw. He grunted and jerked away, loosening his hold on me-- for moments, merely moments. More than enough.

My arms were slick with sweat and I jerked all of my body at once, slipping my arms through hus grasp. By the time he got a grip on me again, he was holding my wrists. I flipped back, trying to get my legs over his head or, barring that, my knees to his face. I felt one knee collide solidly with something before I was slammed down on the ground, hard. I felt a sharp, sudden pain im my wrist before it went completely numb.

My head hit the concrete floor hard, and my vision went black for a terrifying moment. When it cleared, my captor was leering above me, blood dripping from his nose. His friend was yelling something-- it didn't matter what. My blood was boiling.

I ripped my wrists away from my captor, and punched him solidly in the face. He screamed, and I think I did too. The pain in my wrist was searing. I kicked him anyway, right above his knee. He fell, and I rolled to my feet, only to catch his friend's fist in my face.

I rocked back, tripping over the man who had held my wrists. I landed hard on my tailbone, crying out. Then Mr. Muscles was on me, his fists on my flesh, the hard pints of his bones carving out new holes, new creases, new aches. I tried to find a pattern, to do something besides block and try to roll back, but he had no pattern and I couldn't. . . I was not strong enough. . . .

I don't look forward to a life lived with a weakling like you.

My fist found something solid, hit Mr. Muscles in the eye. Again. And again. The pain in my wrist was searing. . . he grabbed my hurt arm and twisted, I felt another sharp pain and then the whole thing went numb, numb like lice in my blood. . .

I kicked up and out, catching him square in the stomach and sending him back into the wall. The door rattled. . . I forgot, Natalie locked it. She was yelling in the hallway, one high sharp voice amid a rumbling chorus. There was only the door, and the window.

A shot was fired in the hallway.

Natalie's gun.

I was up and scrabbling through the window when I heard the door open. More shouting. . . I was almost free. . . There was a loud bang, and a line of molten pain spread across my calf, but I was outside and running even before the adrenaline hit me.

I ran until my lungs threatened to fial me, until I felt weak and dizzy with exertion and blood loss, until my mind was a haze and my very skin felt too loose, too baggy, too much weight. . . I ran until I hit the gates of the Tendo dojo, and there I fell. The dirt was warm and welcoming.

I will not be chained. . .