Is this a place I can rest my poor head
To gather my thoughts in sweet silence
Is this a place where the feelings aren't dead
From an overexposure to violence
And is this a place I can slowly face
The only one I truly can know

These are tears from a long time ago
I got these tears from a long time ago
I need to cry 30 years or so
These are tears from a long time ago

JOHN HIATT lyrics - "Thirty Years Of Tears"

It was fate I was on that plane, sitting next to Ranma, ripping out my hair and feeling like quite the screwball. Hell, if I would have been in better shape I never would have gotten where I am today. Ranma probably would have killed me on the plane for being too cheery. It was never really a physical attraction I felt to Ranma, we were immediately brothers. It was weird though, feeling so close to someone you only heard of in legends of your school. We were in the same grade and didn't know a real thing about each other.

Until that night, it had suited us fine.

I have asked him more than a couple times about what was going through his head when we decided to start the journey to where we are today. He told me bubbles were to blame. Somehow, it kind of made sense at the time. Of course, we were both knackered and undeniably depressed.

We were meant for a painting, his staring out into the aisle, lit up only by the tiny string of lights embedded in the aisle sides, and me, staring out the window into the darkness before us. We had our tuxedos on, bow tie and regular tie undone and hanging from our necks lazily.

We never did need to say much to each other. Neither of us boys had ever had a real friend. Shadow friends that what we had had that were never there for us when we needed them. Ranma once told me it took him seventeen years to figure out I was his best friend and that he was sorry he was so late. I told him I was too busy before anyway.

We joke about it, but it was, truthfully, an act of desperation. We were the last ones for each other and, surprisingly enough, the best. We know each other better than we know ourselves

It's a funny thing to know a man better than himself.

Of course, there was a third to this family. She was beautiful and charming and terrified of anything that stood still. We were a trinity of friendship, of love and devotion, and we knew each other better than a scientist with a microscope. I could never forgive myself for letting her die that day, the thought of it makes my stomach wrench and makes me want to throw up all the bad things in the world. That was probably the most disgusting metaphor I have ever imagined, seems my mind is going to the birds lately.

"In England, birds are girls. I am definitely a girl from England, a 'byrd', I could never stay in one place for too long, could I?" She had asked one night, sitting with me under a blanket and watching 'The Log' on channel three.

I had smirked. "You should've been born caveman, they were nomads."

She gave me a nasty expression and poked me in the side, under the blanket. "Raw dinosaur probably didn't taste very good."

"Raw dinosaur? What are you, drunk?" I asked, staring at her with a mach-conniving face on.

She snorted when she laughed at my expression and banged her fists on the couch to illustrate. That was about the time we both fell off into a heap on the floor.

"Jin boy," she had asked, in all seriousness and with a slightly faded look on her face, "do you think I'll ever see him again? I see him when I dream, you know, every night, I do. When you truly love someone, when you find that one and you lose them and you're dumb about it and do something stupid like kill a guy and fuck things up a bit, it haunts you."

She stared at the television and her eyes filled.

"Sometimes I dream he has a wife, and he won't remember my name when I go to his door and open my arms to him. Then he'll tell me I'm dreaming and I'll wake up with the doubt, the doubt's the worst part."

She stared down at the hardwood floor, holding her arms in front of her chest and wrapped her knees up to her chin under the blanket.

"You're a lot less mysterious then you try to pull off." I told her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She warmed to me and rested her head in my chest and closed her eyes. "Tell me about the world, tell me everything is wonderful, and don't leave once I fall asleep."

She paused to nudge her head a bit, finding a safe spot to sleep and hear my heartbeat, she murmured. "Lie to me, Jin dai, tell me something I don't know. Please."

I stared at the log network and smiled sadly into her hair. "Well, sex is like shampoo commercials, and laundry detergent really does smell good for five whole days after it's washed. Plus, there's the world being at peace with each other, there's no racism, and everyone loves everyone else. The line between good and bad isn't hazy and the good of heart always win. People always marry the one they love, and divorce isn't necessary. Lawyers don't chase ambulances, they bring flowers and trials are never needed because everyone is only hurt in accidents. No one dies unhappily and people live to find their true love and it lasts forever. Greed is disregarded as myth and people live in theme parks for free. The ice cream shop never closes right before you get there and mall hours are flexible, so are work schedules for that matter. Best friends really do last forever, and cold nights are always accompanied with hot chocolate and lots of marshmallows. Mostly though, there are no allergies and people put their coats down over puddles for strangers."

She fell asleep to that, and for a second, I felt at home.

Now she's dead and I'm standing outside of a tailor's shop and wringing my worn out paper in my hands.

I didn't come here for a suit or anything, quite the opposite of business actually. My father is sitting at a desk in there, probably with his thick glasses on and his faded plaid shirts, reading the paper or something mundane like that. I'll try not to give him a heart attack when I go in.

Ten years can do a lot to a man. Hell, it made one out of me. The scared, scarred, and confused boy who got on that plane was dead now. Part of the reason I came back, the selfish side of my reasons, was to go back to that day and accept it. To start from there and maybe not screw things up so much all over again.

When Ranma mentioned quitting a couple days ago it was weird, I sort of felt like if he wasn't joking he was betraying me. It was our future together, and stopping that I'd have no choice but to go back to this.

The shop was brown and the door was white with a blue sign on the door reading 'Mako Family Tailors'. I strolled up to the door, up two steps made of grey concrete and saw where my name was still scratched in the pavement. I bent down and ran my fingers over the curves of it, closing my eyes and remembering the hot sun on my face that day, the cool breeze, and the laughing voices. My father came over and saw it and I remember thinking he was going to kill me for it. He noticed and smiled, "Now everyone will know you are my son."

That was probably the last time he was ever proud of me.

I stepped up to the door.

Give me a shoot out with thirty gunned gangsters from the slums of Miami. Give me the most dangerous, bullet ridden man to body guard to the death. Give me a dollar a year and a bullet in my leg. Give me anything but whatever sat behind that desk. Give me death, or worse, seven year old McDonalds.

My hand was shaking as I turned the knob on the door and bit my lip. Suck it up Jin; you've been through much more. Besides, the chance of him pulling a gun on you is less likely than the average day, hopefully.

I sucked in a breath, pushed my way through and shut the door behind me, hearing the ding of the bell go off in the back. They hadn't changed.

Then I saw him and everything in me froze. You know those moments in life where you are caught between the past and the present tense and you don't know whether you're ahead or behind and it's just not the right time to go forward or back? So you just stand there, like an idiot, and think about how you didn't actually think this happened to people and that your jaw had actually, literally, dropped a few minutes ago and wasn't that funny.?

Times that by a million.

I didn't know whether to cough, or walk up, pull down his paper, and punch him in the face; both seemed quite realistic at the moment. I decided on the less lethal one considering I came to solve problems, not end up on another plane out of here.

I started slowly walking forward, across the ten feet to his desk. There was a bell in front of him and I decided to press it out of curiosity. It tinged and I jumped back a bit at the volume of it. My father put his paper down and slowly moved for his glasses.

"What can I do for you, Sir?" He asked.

Who reads the paper without glasses?

My mouth dropped again. He was so old, his eyes were bulgy, and his face drooped a bit. He was bald except for a bit on each side right above his ears. He took his glasses, shined them on his faded laid shirt and put them on.

My hands were folded behind my back and I stared at him.

He turned to me and suddenly he was tight lipped.

"H-h-Hi Dad." I whispered through heavy breath.

It felt like my throat was closing in on itself.

He stared back at me. "Who are you to call me that?"

I sank a little. "Dad, it's me Jin, your son." I quipped, smiling nervously.

Wow, I didn't think I looked that different.

He stared back, pure hatred in his eyes. "My son died ten years ago, why say such things?"

He was so calm.

"Dad, it's really me. Wow, have I really changed that much? Jeez, is it the hair? Bit wacky, I know, but very popular in Paris. So, how's Mom?" I asked, in the span of two seconds, digging my hands in my pockets with the exception of the brief period one spent in my hair.

He tapped the side of his glasses. "You lie."

I scoffed, this was getting old. "Why would I? Who would want to even be here today?"

His mouth dropped a bit. "Well, any other son would not disgrace their father like that, it must be you."

I laughed nervously. His gaze was burning me and I couldn't keep eye contact.

"Why are you not dead?" He asked coldly.

I stared back at him, gaping. "I'm sorry you haven't lost a son dad, wow, if I'd have known you wanted me dead I would have stabbed myself years ago."

"Sarcasm is the hand of the devil." He muttered. "Although, you must know plenty of that."

I winced at that. "Listen, I'm sorry I didn't call or anything, but you did disown me."

He picked up his paper again. "You said outrageous things."

This pissed me off a lot; I had not said anything wicked that night.

"I said I was gay, Dad. What, still can't bear it? Why ya putting your paper up? Think that'll change things, do ya?" I taunted, my voice rising with every syllable, my heart beating through my chest. I could feel my pulse, my blood was boiling, and I could feel tears on my face.

He threw it down, his eyes ablaze, and he shot his finger out at me. He looked frail; angry, but frail.

No matter if he became a vegetable, he still had so much power over me.

"Get out! Get out of my store!" He roared, shaking and trembling with anger.

I stared back, heart still pounding, chest burning, and nose running.

"Fine! See if I fucking care you homophobic prick! You're an asshole, you know that? I hate you, I hate you so much I could kill you, I could kill you in a second but you're not worth a bullet. Not worth a fucking bullet to me! Ya hear that, old man? Hear that? Not a fucking bullet!"

That asshole, with his patience and his pride, he was dead to me again.

Why did I even decide to come back here? This man was not going to change.

I swirled around and stormed out.

It had taken all my effort not to pull my gun on him and that scared me more than a bit.

A/N: So shorter, sadder chapter this time around. Sorry about the swears and all. Next one will be Ranma's POV. I've got a quarter done already and it will probably be posted in about a week or two.

Kachan: thanks!

Rio Grande: Yes, unite! She rocks so many socks. I'm glad you want to read the next chapter and I hope you like the way it unfolds!

lisiegirl: I was trying to explain that he can love lots of things and it doesn't mean as much to him as it used to. I cannot wait to write about Akane going out and getting perps!

Ikerana: I'm so sorry but I'm glad you didn't abandon it! Don't worry; I've just been swamped by school and evil computers that break down more than a pinto.

Motokonobaka: Thanks so much for hangin' in there! Oh, the bashing, so much fun!

WhiteTigress666: Thanks, yeah I really hope it goes okay. Poor Jin, though.

Lady Mokodone: Yes! Yeah, but just wait for Ranma's ultra sexy side to show. The confrontation will be magnificent, eh?

JohnnyG: Thanks, you're so awesome to review every chapter. You rock!

Read and review and I'll sing you a song. . . over the internet!