Author's Notes:
First of all, sorry this took so long. We had a little email crisis here at nakigoe-chan's lair, and then I got horribly, disgustingly sick. Hundred and three, coughing up yellow gunk. Really gross. And a prereader of mine who lives in a different time zone got sick at the exact same time, so we sort of sat around IMing each other, comparing clock and thermometer readings and just procrastinating in general. So that's basically why.
Okay, I promise this next paragraph won't gross you out.
I have gotten a few requests from people who want to be notified when a new chapter of AY comes out. So I am going to have a MAILING LIST, so if you want to get announcements and SNEAK PEEKS AT THE NEXT CHAPTER, either say so in a review or email me at nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com.
Thanks out to my prereaders: Lauren, Alissa, Diana, Natalia, and now Greg! You guys are fantastic, and hold the enormous responsibility (and credit) for keeping this fic readable.
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AFTER YOU
Chapter 2: Two for the Dough
By: nakigoe-chan
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Uh oh. You been reading those Nancy Drew books again?
- Ranger, Janet Evanovich's Two for the Dough
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Ranma Saotome had left my life when I was seventeen, leaving me with nothing but my own self-doubt and an utterly broken heart. Eight years later, he had broken into my apartment, and he wanted breakfast?
I felt like there had been a traffic accident in my head. Everything was mayhem and confusion. A million thoughts backed up in my brain with nowhere to go, all honking at each other incessantly, none willing to back up and try to return to an order in which any of them could actually get anywhere.
Expect delays.
My mind went numb. The anger was still there, of course; anger has always been the emotion that I am the most comfortable dealing with.
But there was other stuff there, too; things like 'he's back in my life – maybe we can actually get to know each other, not like we did when we were kids,' and 'holy shit, he's hot.' Yes, I will admit it: I had no idea whether or not I still loved him (after all, I should have gotten over him years ago, right?) but this older Ranma, this 26-year-old Ranma, was the personification of lust. Maybe it was the badass attire. Maybe it was the body – he was all lean muscle, as he'd always been, but he was taller and more broad-shouldered, his hair in a ponytail, rather than a pigtail, hanging halfway down his back. Maybe it was those damn blue-gray eyes, the eyes that had, in youth, always held emotion, the way they did now – dancing with an anticipative, mischievous delight.
"You broke my dish," was the only thing my traitorous mouth would say, despite the fact that my mind wanted to say so much more.
The corners of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile. "You broke it, tomboy."
Okay, *technically* that was true. But it was still his fault, right? Everything was always his fault. I realized the generalization I had made in an instant – realized that I had always done it since the day I met him. If I hadn't, would we have gotten along better? Probably. Would he have stayed? Probably. If he'd been here from the beginning, would Hiroshi have lived? Probably. All because I always blamed him for whatever went wrong.
Take an insecure, starving woman, add a long-lost love, a murder, and no sleep all in the same day (for extra spice, add the fact that one of her three remaining dishes was lying on the floor in tiny, razor-edged pieces creating a foot hazard). Mix well, and get a sure-fire elixir for embarrassing hysteria.
Ranma's face vanished from my vision behind an explosion of tears. I had never felt so humiliated. The moment he had walked through my door I had made a resolution to myself not to cry, and here I was making an idiot of myself not thirty seconds later.
I felt a warm hand on my back and looked up. Not that it did any good, as I was still blinded by tears, but nonetheless that was my first reaction. The hand on my back was a male hand – Ranma. I hissed at him and glared through my clearing eyes, a warning to back off. I was trying to calm down, and having his hand on my back was going to do nothing for that front. The hand was removed, and I was instantly sorry. Having Ranma nearby had always made me feel safe, but the reaction to keep him away was instinctive.
His voice was soft, low, and serious. "I'm sorry I called you a tomboy. And I'm sorry I broke your dish." Was this really Ranma? This person was *apologizing.* It couldn't really be him. But then again, he *had* called me 'tomboy.'
"It's not your fault. It's mine. Everything was always my fault."
"I'll be going now," the already-forgotten Nabiki said. Neither of us noticed her exit.
"Surely that's an overstatement," Ranma said. I could hear the smile in his voice - not the arrogant one that was so common, but the soft one he reserved only for me when I was totally miserable.
"It's my fault you left..."
Wait a second. Did I actually say that? He would know I cared. Crap.
His face was becoming clearer as he guided me to the couch and sat me down, then took the place next to me. He leaned down slightly to peer into my eyes. "I left for a lot of reasons."
"Bullshit."
An eyebrow arched, a grin played with his mouth. "Oh?"
"I followed you home that day. I heard you talking to my dad. You left because of me, and we both know it."
His gaze left my face and traveled around the room, settling on the far wall as he leaned back against the old couch. I was quavering inside. I had no idea how he'd take this. "I knew you were there," he finally said.
I gaped. I hadn't expected *that.* "You did not!"
"Akane," he sighed, "I'm a martial artist with an overdeveloped sense to ki. I could feel your aura. I could sense you following me."
"Why didn't you say something? You couldn't've wanted me there."
He closed his eyes. "But I *did* want you there, Akane."
I was more confused than ever, and was starting to get a little premonition of doom. Like, was that some kind of test..?
"Why?"
"Just in case."
"In case what? In case Dad decided he wanted your head on a stick, I could jump in and say, 'hell, dad, let him get the heck outta here?'"
"In case," he answered softly, "You wanted to keep me from leaving. The way I saw it, the chances were good that you wanted me out of your life. But I wasn't positive. I had no idea that day whether I would be leaving or not. It all came down to whether or not you cared enough to stop me. If you had wanted me to stay, there was no way I could've brought myself to leave."
I was immobile. I had no idea what I could say or do, except state the obvious. "That wasn't fair, Ranma." I whispered. He started slightly; maybe because it was the first time I'd said his name since he'd walked in. Who knew? All the same, I felt horribly cheated. If I'd known...but it's never healthy to dwell on the past, is it? Of course, it's impossible not to.
"Life isn't fair, Akane."
"Yeah," I muttered bitterly. "You can say that. You've always been dealt all the winning cards." I knew this was untrue, but it popped out anyway. I was still so jealous of everything he had - the looks, the admirers, the unmatchable skill in martial arts.
He sighed. "I did get some good cards. But I also had the worst ones. I got people trying to kill me, balanced out by martial arts. I got the curse, balanced out by what I learned from it about others and myself, because it was such an ideal disguise. I got all the crazy fiancees, and I got y - " He cut himself off, realizing what we both knew he'd almost said. "My life hasn't been fair either, Akane. I practically starved growing up. You can look at all my advantages and weigh them against your disadvantages, but that's not really fair either, is it?"
"No," I countered, "but you proved my point anyway. You *did* leave because of me."
"Maybe I did." He admitted. "But how much longer do you think I could have taken it anyway? What with all the fiancees, all the death threats, all the challenges, all the...Happosai."
I laughed, he grinned. He'd probably done that on purpose, but it felt good to laugh, and I was still not entirely in control of myself. "He missed you," I told him.
"Happosai?" Ranma said, incredulous. "He never!"
"He did," I confirmed, giggling. "He spent a week moping about the house, going 'Oh, where has my beloved Ranma-chan goooooooooooone? Ranma-chan, welcome this poor old man once again into your bosom!'"
Both of us looked at each other and burst out laughing. I had never seen him laugh like that, I realized. A genuine laugh, rather than an I'm- superior laugh or a someone-just-made-an-idiot-of-themselves laugh. It almost made me forget, I thought happily, that Hiroshi was –
Dead.
I'd been laughing my head off, and Hiroshi was dead.
The shock of having Ranma once again in my life had been enough to make me forget the reason he was here. He hadn't come to see me; he'd come to find out about the murder.
"Akane?" Ranma asked. He'd stopped laughing at the first look of horror on my face, and now, despite all the sensible protests in my head, I buried my face in his chest and wept. These were once again the huge, choking sobs I had succumbed to when he'd come in the room, but this time his arms came around me and I was immensely comforted by it. It made me cry harder, but the tears were starting to heal something. My head was in turmoil again – I'd almost gone into shock at seeing the body, and I had had no idea at the time just how traumatized it had left me. I was going to chew Nabiki out for bringing Ranma here now of all times, and then I was going to owe her for it for the rest of her life. Or for the rest of mine, which would probably be a significantly shorter length of time. But all thoughts of Nabiki aside, Ranma was here. Here, with me.
So everything would be all right. Chaotic as he was, Ranma always found a way to make things right.
My tears finally stopped.
"I'm sorry," I whispered into his shirt.
"For what?"
I leaned back and finally got the courage up to meet his stare. "I forgot. You know, I forgot why you're really here. The murder."
He leaned back, his arms dropping to his sides. Dammit. He could have left them where they were, thank you very much.
"Right," he said. Heh, I thought. Guess I'm not the only one who forgot what was supposed to be going on. That always happened with us – we would forget our surroundings and just go on impulse. This often started fights, but occasionally it would stop them. Maybe this is an instinctive martial artist thing. Then again, maybe it's just a me and Ranma thing.
Suddenly, he was all business. "So," he said, "who was murdered? How were they murdered? How do you know the victim? Who do you suspect? Why do you suspect them? When-"
"Ranma! Slow down!"
"Sorry," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm just...it's too much at once, you know? I mean, seeing you again is weird enough, but you've gotten yourself involved in a murder...Kusho. Akane, don't you know how dangerous this kinda shit is?!"
"I've never been involved in a murder before! I've never even known anyone who was killed by force before!"
Ranma's face shifted into a carefully expressionless mask. "You haven't?"
"No!"
"Then let me tell you something about people who have killed."
"They kill people?" I asked innocently, laying on the sarcasm.
Ranma ignored me. "There are different kinds of people who are capable of looking into another person's eyes and knowing that they will be the one to end that life. First, you have the crazies. These are rare. People who go so off the wall that the only one they see as more than an animal is themselves. They kill because they enjoy it, and enjoy the fact that they're capable of it. Second, you have those who are desperate - who have pulled some sort of grand crime, most often, and kill one or two people to cover it up, then find that more and more death needs to be wrought out because they panic at the possibility that someone knows something. They quickly discover that respect for life dwindles and dies with every murder, and it becomes easy for them to kill more. Third are those who have never had a real respect for life, and simply kill with a professional detachment. Fourth are those whose lifestyles force them to make decisions about who will live and who will die. These are usually people in the law enforcement field. They may find themselves in a situation where the only way to save an innocent is to kill the threat."
I paused, thought that over slowly. Some of the ideas scared me - that a person could lose there respect for life, that someone could become *addicted* to killing. But there was something else that scared me more than anything else: Ranma had given me this whole speech with the voice of experience. But he hadn't. He couldn't have...
"Ranma," I said softly, "have you killed someone before?"
He was a long while in answering. As if he could tell me the truth, or he could lie, and both were equally unappealing. "Yes."
I didn't want to know anymore. I really didn't. But my treacherous mouth was out to get me in trouble again.
"Who? Why?"
"I don't want to talk about it." The tone of his voice ended the conversation.
"Oh," I whispered. What else could I say?
"But now," he continued, "you've gotten yourself in deep trouble, yet again. I need you to tell me everything, even if it seems insignificant. Maybe then we can fix it up so that *you* don't get dead, ne?"
Out of the mouth of a killer.
I had no answer. My thoughts seemed to be seeping out of my head just as I was trying to gather them together. No matter how hard I tried to sort things out, my thinking rate had dropped to the point of someone trying to walk through molasses. I just stared at him.
Ranma had murdered someone. The possibility that it had been some sort of duty was not really a consideration. Ranma wouldn't work for the law, because Ranma *ignored* the law. It had probably been some sort of martial arts accident – like he had overestimated an opponent and the unlucky rival had wound up dead.
"Can you come back in, like, half an hour?" I managed. "I think I need to take a shower and get dressed."
Ranma raised his eyebrows. His expression said, 'someone you know has been murdered, and your solution is Bath & Body Works?'
"I have blood on my flip-flops," I explained.
He looked down at my feet and then back up at my face. I couldn't help wondering if it had been a once-over or just an inspection of my footwear. "Ah," he said. Then he gave me a small smile and sauntered out the door.
I collapsed to the floor in bewildered tears.
"Akane?" Nabiki burst in from the next room, where she had probably been eavesdropping. "Akane, what's wrong? Where's Ranma?"
"Nabiki," I gasped through my sobs, "he *killed* someone. Did you know that? How could he do that? Why - " I stopped at the shocked look on Nabiki's face.
"You mean to tell me," Nabiki said, "that you don't even *know?*"
"Know what?"
"Akane...the person he killed...it happened while he was still in Nerima. Well, he wasn't *in* Nerima at the time, but you know...while he was with us. He didn't have a choice. Any of us would have done the same thing, if we were in the situation."
"You've *got* to be kidding me! What reason could he have possibly had to - "
"Akane," Nabiki was not, I was surprised to note, using her patronizing voice. It was soft and calm. "Have you spent all this time thinking that Saffron just said, 'What the hell, you win?' Akane, Ranma killed SAFFRON, and he did it because it was the only way to save YOU."
I had thought that it would be impossible to make me feel any more lost and frightened than I already was. I should have remembered the old rule of Ranmaworld - no matter how bad things were, they could always get worse.
Ranma had spent his life trying to protect people. He had dedicated his existence to defending anyone weaker than he was, which wound up being everyone. Ranma was one of those rare people who took the burden of that kind of justice upon his own shoulders. It was his life, or the thing he'd wrapped his life around. The promise he'd made to his own soul.
I'd made him break it.
Was that love? Did he do that because he'd loved me? How incredibly silly, that the one who you cared about most could shatter who you were. How painfully stupid.
I had destroyed a part of him - a significant, special part; a part that, much as I'd protested, I'd adored - and I hadn't found out about it until more than eight years too late.
"Akane," Nabiki said, "maybe you should change before Ranma gets back. I don't know if you've realized this, but you have blood on your flip-flops. And you're still in your pajamas. C'mon, little sister, let's pull it together."
I stumbled to the bathroom, kicked of my flip-flops, pulled off my PJs, paused, turned around, and threw up very neatly in the toilet.
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I am rather proud to report, actually, that upon his return 45 minutes later Ranma was practically rendered speechless. By none other than yours truly, the uncute tomboy, I might add.
Doubtless the PJs and bloody flip-flops, combined with the bed head and no- sleep thing, did nothing for a good first impression after eight years. However, due to the fact that my first encounter had me looking horrendous and him looking drop-dead gorgeous, I was determined to live up to the challenge that I'd unconsciously set for myself. He could still take my breath away. Fine. But this time, I was sure as hell going to make sure that he was just as winded as I was.
The shower helped a lot. I turned the water almost as hot as it would go, and just stood there for ten minutes, doing the non-existing brain thing. No thinking, I told myself firmly. Such is the way to another mental overload.
Out of the shower, I attacked my hair with various tools mankind has been so thoughtful as to develop to drive women insane. I no longer wore the short hairdo I'd sported in high school - my hair now stopped a little past my shoulders. Done with my hairdryer, I pulled the stray strands of hair away from my face and put in a few simple little clips to keep it out of my way. This led to an attack on my wardrobe, and I finally settled on a pale violet scoop-neck baby tee and some form-fitting black jeans. I turned to the mirror, swiped a little makeup on, and stood back to analyze the total effect. Not bad, I thought, with that gleeful little feeling that told me Ranma might think it was a whole lot better than just 'not bad.' I waltzed into the kitchen to find some breakfast and a note from Nabiki.
Akane –
Your crazy dog is with me – I have a client who happens to be obsessed with dogs (he has five) and having Joey along may help me seal this deal. People are stupid, aren't they? An animal with an IQ of 2 is going to help me with a $100,000 deal. Anyway, Joey and I bonded in the bedroom (is there a way to make him stop licking you?) while you were having your whatever you call it going on in the living room. He actually is pretty cute, though excessively hyper to the point that I may want to buy an elephant tranquilizer.
Due to your morning murder/old beau hysterics, I am already late for a business meeting (thank you very much), and so must abandon you and Ranma to your little conquer-the-bad-guys shtick. Not really my thing anyway; I might get blood on my clothes. And hey, without me around, you may get a little action later on, hmmm? Your facial expression certainly indicated interest, but if you don't get yourself cleaned up you may not get far. In case you have sufficiently managed to recapture his attention, I'll pick up some birth control on the way home.
I blushed bright red and threw the note in the trash, then turned my complete attention to breakfast.
Ranma sauntered back in a few minutes later to find me sitting comfortably cross-legged on the couch. But when I looked up and grinned at him, he froze in his tracks and his eyes widened. I watched with vast amounts of amusement - none of which showed through my innocent smile - as his mouth opened and closed once without making a sound. Then he gave a little laugh, almost imperceptible, and shook his head with disbelief. "So," he grinned, "Now that you are no longer wearing bloody flip-flops, are you ready to get started?"
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The story actually didn't take long, and would have taken even less time had I not had to keep going back and putting in elements that I'd forgotten to say. Thus the story came out as bits and pieces of a puzzle that I then had to go back and put together in order to show the picture intended.
As soon as he'd heard the name of the victim, Ranma's face had become a mask. The mask that he'd never mastered in his teens - the mask that had nearly cost dad the dojo to the Gambling King in my teen years because of its ineffectiveness - he had honed to become the perfect poker face. I wasn't even sure he'd heard anything after that until I finished my story and he started asking questions in a voice so calm and flat that it made the look on his face seem expressive and open.
I wondered how he felt about it. Hiroshi had been his best friend at Furinkan, but they still hadn't been particularly close. Still, it must have meant a lot to Ranma to have a friend who accepted him, while most of the other boys plotted his death. Ranma had entered Furinkan with no experience at all of what it was like to really have a friend, unless you counted Ukyo when they were five or Ryouga and his friendly death threats. He had come into a world that he had little experience in and said, hey, this is me. Hiroshi and his sidekick Daisuke were the only two who accepted Ranma for Ranma. Everyone else in the world seemed to want him to conform to what *they* wanted him to become, which was usually engaged or expired. Hiroshi was one of the few who only wanted to be a little more like him. I felt a little warmer inside - I hadn't known Hiroshi well at all, but as I gained perspective, the dead boy's face came into clearer focus. I was overwhelmed with grief; I wanted to turn back the clock and thank the man I'd never cared to know for befriending a boy I'd been too afraid to try and get close to.
"Akane?"
Ranma's voice snapped me back to reality.
"Huh?"
His face was still blank, but his voice was softer, concerned. What had I ever done, I wondered, to have someone so incredible as the man sitting next to me – man, now, no longer boy – care about me so much? "You seemed...lost, there, for a sec."
"I was just...thinking...about stuff." Agh! I sounded so lame.
"I think," Ranma said, "We should check out the crime scene again. See if we can turn up anything."
"The cops already did that."
"Cops are too restrictive. Too many rules. There's a reason I never became one." He smiled softly. "I have the edge of experience. They might arrest criminals, but I know how said criminals think a lot better than the cops do. Not only that, but I have the benefit of having known you and Hiroshi personally. Knowing the characteristics of key players – even the stuff that seems stupid and insignificant – can actually help a lot."
I hesitated.
"Akane," he said, "if your uncomfortable with this, you don't have to come. I can understand your unwillingness to face that place again. But it may help a lot to have you there. And..." he paused, "I would feel a lot more comfortable if you were nearby, if I could come if you needed me or got in trouble."
My anger was always close at hand. "What, you think I can't take care of myself?! You think I'm a weak little girl? I still practice my martial arts, and I've gotten better! This is so typical of you - "
"That's not it!" He snapped back, his voice suddenly like the crack of a whip. "A kick isn't the same as a bullet, Akane! And no matter what, you still aren't in my league. Talk about *typical* - you still think you're invulnerable, and you dive right into a situation without even thinking! And guess who has to bail you out of it – again? And what's 'so typical of me,' Akane? You don't even *know* me! You barely got to know me – really *know* me – in Nerima, and that person, that Ranma – there's nothing left of him! You never really knew who I was then, and you most certainly don't have the *faintest* clue now!"
I was shouting now, knowing I was being immature and not really caring. Why did he *always* have this effect on me? "And *you're* still an egomaniac – no one in the world can live up to the great Ranma Saotome, is that it? You should know that *I* never wanted your help! Nabiki called you, but frankly, I would do just fine if you left *right now*!" I strode to the door and wrenched it open so hard that it slammed against the wall.
Ranma appraised my furious glare for what seemed an eternity. Finally he picked up his leather jacket and walked to the door, pausing in front of me, his face inches from mine. "Forgive me," he hissed, "for not wanting you to get yourself killed." With that he grabbed the door handle and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving me alone in my apartment.
No, a little voice inside me shuddered with fear and longing. No, no, no, no...
Wait, I thought, I know this voice…
Like a long-forgotten memory – hey, it *was* a long-forgotten memory – the little voice that had had faith in Ranma when we were teens had resurfaced. I had never listened to it before.
But that was before.
I raced to the window to see Ranma getting into a car down in my parking lot. I couldn't tell what make, just that it was black and looked shiny and new and expensive.
"RANMA!" I yelled. "WAIT!"
He looked up at me.
"Um...could you come back up?" I could see all the people in my neighboring apartments peering out at us like we were tap dancing naked on car roofs. "I want to talk to you." In private.
"I thought you didn't need or want my help?" He yelled back.
"I have no idea what's going on, Ranma, and you have a much better chance of figuring it out. I'm sorry I got mad, and in all honesty, both of us need to put a reign on our immaturity. Both of us know that you're going to work on this case anyway, and I don't really have a choice. We'll make a lot more progress if we work together. Someone's been murdered, so I think we should refrain drawing power lines until I am no longer in danger of being shot."
"You hang with me, Akane, and you're going to get shot at a helluva lot. Just because I'm not a cop doesn't mean I don't work in law enforcement – and in a branch that is far less tame then your friendly crossing guard."
"But you won't let anything happen to me."
"I seem to recall you disapproving of the bodyguard thing. Wasn't that what started this fight?"
"I want you to respect me."
Even from up on my balcony I could see that he sighed. "I *do* respect you. I always have. Even if I *really* didn't act like it."
"Could we please have this chat in private? I think we're disturbing my neighbors."
Yeah, right – they were all leaning out their windows, hanging onto every word. As if to validate this, the ninety something guy in the apartment above mine yelled, "Are you kidding? You can't pay for this kind of entertainment! We needed something interesting to happen around here."
Ranma grinned up at me. "Maybe I should come back up. Unless you'd like to wait for someone to get their camcorder."
"Too late!" The retired couple in the apartment two to the left and one floor down hollered gleefully.
Ranma shook his head. "Oh, brother."
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Ranma did come back up, but his return served no real purpose, as I promptly got into my jacket and accompanied him downstairs again. The cold had come early this winter - our feet crunched through frost as we made our way across the parking lot to his car. Walking beside Ranma made me feel warm, and safer then I had felt in a very long time. It also made me feel special, which made me scowl mentally. Did he always have to have this affect on me? Was this something involuntary, something he was never conscious of, or was it a planned trait?
It was making me feel wonderful, so it was pissing me off. Good God, I thought, I'm so weird.
I realized that Ranma was no longer beside me; I'd been lost in thought and had passed right by his car. Blushing, I backtracked until I realized what kind of car it was.
I had briefly dated a speed demon a few years ago, and now in front of me was the car that he'd ogled but had never been able to afford: it was hard to come by and very expensive.
I was staring at a black formula F512M, 12 cylinder, maximum horsepower 432 bhp, maximum speed 196 mph. It was an incredible racing car, awesome looking, and fit this new Ranma exactly.
"Your car?" I asked. Yeah, as if anyone else could live up to the coolness factor needed to drive this car.
Ranma smiled. "I've been doing pretty well," he told me, as I slid into the passenger seat next to him, feeling like Batgirl in this car.
Massive understatement, from what I could tell.
"What exactly *have* you been doing?"
"Various stuff."
"'Various stuff' gets you a car like this?"
"Mostly I do bond enforcement."
"Huh?"
"I'm a fugitive apprehension agent."
"Again, 'huh?'"
"Bounty hunter. High-bond stuff."
"Ahhh." Yeah, that was definitely a Ranma kinda job.
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When we wandered into the theater, I was rather overwhelmed by the chaos. The director was actually acting his stature and was talking incessantly in a semi-hysterical, high voice to the police and someone even shorter than he was.
"Hey," Ranma said, "isn't that, what's-his-face, Gosunkugi?"
"Yeah, he works for some producing company that is involved with the plays here."
Gos glanced over at me and gave a sickly little smile that was probably supposed to be comforting. Then he saw the person next to me and nearly went into cardiac arrest. When he realized that the person next to me was Ranma Saotome, and I thought that he really was going to die of shock. He visibly collected himself and came over to us.
His voice was still soft and slightly high, strange enough to be unique and still forgettable. "Saotome? Saotome Ranma?"
"Hey," Ranma said, and you could almost see Gos wincing back, intimidated as he had always been by the various skilled fighters at Furinkan, from Ranma to Kuno. "Gosunkugi Hikaru, right?"
"Yeah." Again with the nervous, sickly smile. I really wished that he'd stop. "How have you been? It's been eight years, right? You doing alright?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty comfortable. You?"
"Alright...not great, but not bad. I've, uh, heard about some of your work."
One of Ranma's eyebrows slowly raised in a question.
"Only the legal stuff," Gos quickly added. Thus stuffing his foot farther into his mouth, apparently, because this time both Ranma's eyebrows went sharply skyward. Gos evidently decided that he was treading on thin ice, and with Ranma, thin ice was usually right over Niagara Falls - you fell through, and you were done for. "Forget I said that. I'll stop talking now."
"Yeah."
This led to a long, uncomfortable silence. Well, uncomfortable for Gosunkugi, who was quite obviously terrified, and uncomfortable for me, as I was wondering about the stuff Gos had said he hadn't heard about, namely the stuff that was not quite so legal. Ranma, relaxed in his position of power, did not seem to be uncomfortable at all. Then again, maybe this was just his new gift for hiding his feelings.
"Saotome!" It was one of the homicide cops who I had talked to this morning at three o'clock in dirty pajamas and bloody flip-flops.
"Yeah?" Ranma yelled back.
"You checked into the office this morning? Thompson skipped on his court date. You're gonna have to bring him in, 'cause your boss signed his get- out-of-jail ticket."
"What's his bail? What's he done?"
"In that order, Saotome? Only you. The dude skipped on a $300,000 bond, meaning your ten percent gets you $30,000. He's wanted for triple homicide. The guys are already taking bets on when you'll bring him in. Pot is a hundred bucks."
"Uh-huh."
My eyes were about to pop out of my head. Ranma had told me he was a bounty hunter, but it hadn't really registered. But my god, *this* was how Ranma made his money? Messing with murderers? He was going to get himself killed!
And why should I care? I asked myself. Before this morning, I hadn't seen him in eight years! He could have died at any point in time after he'd left and I never would have known. Of course, I'd occasionally wondered if death was what kept him from coming back. More often, however, I'd wondered if he'd fallen for someone else; if, to him, out of sight with me meant out of mind. He had been away far longer than the year and a half that I'd been with him for. He was a distant friend at best, closer to an old acquaintance. Right? Maybe.
And, of course, there was the big question. Was I still in love with Ranma Saotome? Of course not! Maybe.
"What if Ranma doesn't get this guy?" I asked.
The cop looked at me as if I had the IQ of a toaster oven. Evidently, the possibility of Ranma failing to find the guy had never crossed anyone's mind. "Saotome? Not bring someone in?"
Well, some things hadn't changed, evidently. Win or die trying was definitely the Ranma I knew. "Right," I said. "Forget I asked."
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Half an hour later, Ranma was poking around with the cops, and I was just standing around, letting the tension build up until I was ready to explode. The murderer could be in this very room, my head said. He could be waiting to - "
"Akane?" A hand came down on my shoulder.
"Aaah!"
Ranma and the cops all whirled around and guns came out of hostlers. Ranma, I noticed with surprise, had a gun as well.
"Um, sorry," I said sheepishly to Gosunkugi, whose hand had caused the scream and who was now hiding behind one of the audience chairs, obviously terrified out of his wits.
"First Rule of Cops: don't startle someone in homicide, because then they usually have to arrest themselves for blowing off your head." Ranma chuckled to me, at which point several cops jokingly pretended to be ready to shoot him.
Okay. Note to self: first rule of cops, don't piss off anyone with a gun.
"I'm sorry, Gos," I said. "You startled me, is all."
"Um...sorry…?"
"No big deal."
Gos was fidgeting more than usual today; he seemed nervous and withdrawn. "Akane?"
"Hmmm?"
"Who do you think killed Hiroshi?"
"I have no idea. He said he was working on this big story, but he never told me what it was. Who do *you* think it was?"
"You don't wanna know."
Okay, *that* surprised me.
"You don't think it was me, do you?" I asked.
"No. I don't think it was you. But...oh, you won't like this."
"What? WHAT?"
"Are you and Ranma involved again?"
"Gos, don't change the subject."
"ARE you?"
"No!" Hopefully that would change. "And why does it matter?"
"Akane, you should stay away from him." All I could do was gape at him, but he ignored me and continued. "I'm serious. Ranma isn't just a bounty hunter. There's been rumors all over the place that he's involved with all kinds of illegal stuff – you know, the stuff that involves guns without permits and knee surgery. The cops have never gotten anything on him because most of them like him, but there are some who feel like that with his bounty hunter gig he's taken their work, and they'd *love* to nail him for something."
Something came back to me that Ranma had said earlier.
You never really knew who I was then, and you most certainly don't have the *faintest* clue now!
Gos was still talking. "These cops have been waiting for years for Ranma to slip up. And yes, there *are* valid rumors that Ranma kills people, on occasion. So what better way to catch him then to feed a one-time friend these rumors, then send him out after a guy he knows better than anyone?"
"Are you saying the cops may have set Ranma up?"
"No. I'm saying that Hiroshi knew stuff about Ranma that the cops didn't, so he was able to nail Ranma with something big. And rumors do say that, just like old times, Ranma's schemes are still big, and maybe a bit more crazy. Hiroshi stumbled in on the jackpot – and Ranma decided that Hiroshi needed to be persuaded to keep his mouth shut. I can't think of anyone else with a reason or motive."
There was calm way he'd talked about killing. And something else: Hiroshi had asked me about Ranma, just before he was killed. I had dismissed it as reminiscing on old times, but what if it was more? He hadn't mentioned the relationship between Ranma and I until after I'd confirmed that I knew nothing about my ex-fiancé's doings.
"You think Ranma killed Hiroshi," I said softly. I didn't want to believe it. But with no evidence, if Gos was telling me the truth, then the situations surrounding the murder pointed straight at the possibility that the murderer was Saotome Ranma.
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END OF PART 2! PLEASE review or mail me at nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com. Constructive criticism is very welcome, but no flames, please. I *know* you don't like the way I ended that chapter, and I don't want to ruin my relatively good mood. The Patriots won the Superbowl, after all, so there must be some hope for humanity. ^_^
IN CHAPTER 3, THREE TO GET DEADLY:
Akane gets some firsthand experience at Fugitive Apprehension, the romantic tension builds, Gosunkugi confronts Ranma with his suspicions and things get a lot more dangerous.
Again, if you want to be emailed when the next chapter comes out, either request it in a review or mail me at nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com.
Chapter 3 IS written and being edited, but in view of the possibilities of crises I'm not making any when-it-will-be-out promises.
'Till next time...^_~
~ nakigoe-chan
First of all, sorry this took so long. We had a little email crisis here at nakigoe-chan's lair, and then I got horribly, disgustingly sick. Hundred and three, coughing up yellow gunk. Really gross. And a prereader of mine who lives in a different time zone got sick at the exact same time, so we sort of sat around IMing each other, comparing clock and thermometer readings and just procrastinating in general. So that's basically why.
Okay, I promise this next paragraph won't gross you out.
I have gotten a few requests from people who want to be notified when a new chapter of AY comes out. So I am going to have a MAILING LIST, so if you want to get announcements and SNEAK PEEKS AT THE NEXT CHAPTER, either say so in a review or email me at nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com.
Thanks out to my prereaders: Lauren, Alissa, Diana, Natalia, and now Greg! You guys are fantastic, and hold the enormous responsibility (and credit) for keeping this fic readable.
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AFTER YOU
Chapter 2: Two for the Dough
By: nakigoe-chan
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Uh oh. You been reading those Nancy Drew books again?
- Ranger, Janet Evanovich's Two for the Dough
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ranma Saotome had left my life when I was seventeen, leaving me with nothing but my own self-doubt and an utterly broken heart. Eight years later, he had broken into my apartment, and he wanted breakfast?
I felt like there had been a traffic accident in my head. Everything was mayhem and confusion. A million thoughts backed up in my brain with nowhere to go, all honking at each other incessantly, none willing to back up and try to return to an order in which any of them could actually get anywhere.
Expect delays.
My mind went numb. The anger was still there, of course; anger has always been the emotion that I am the most comfortable dealing with.
But there was other stuff there, too; things like 'he's back in my life – maybe we can actually get to know each other, not like we did when we were kids,' and 'holy shit, he's hot.' Yes, I will admit it: I had no idea whether or not I still loved him (after all, I should have gotten over him years ago, right?) but this older Ranma, this 26-year-old Ranma, was the personification of lust. Maybe it was the badass attire. Maybe it was the body – he was all lean muscle, as he'd always been, but he was taller and more broad-shouldered, his hair in a ponytail, rather than a pigtail, hanging halfway down his back. Maybe it was those damn blue-gray eyes, the eyes that had, in youth, always held emotion, the way they did now – dancing with an anticipative, mischievous delight.
"You broke my dish," was the only thing my traitorous mouth would say, despite the fact that my mind wanted to say so much more.
The corners of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile. "You broke it, tomboy."
Okay, *technically* that was true. But it was still his fault, right? Everything was always his fault. I realized the generalization I had made in an instant – realized that I had always done it since the day I met him. If I hadn't, would we have gotten along better? Probably. Would he have stayed? Probably. If he'd been here from the beginning, would Hiroshi have lived? Probably. All because I always blamed him for whatever went wrong.
Take an insecure, starving woman, add a long-lost love, a murder, and no sleep all in the same day (for extra spice, add the fact that one of her three remaining dishes was lying on the floor in tiny, razor-edged pieces creating a foot hazard). Mix well, and get a sure-fire elixir for embarrassing hysteria.
Ranma's face vanished from my vision behind an explosion of tears. I had never felt so humiliated. The moment he had walked through my door I had made a resolution to myself not to cry, and here I was making an idiot of myself not thirty seconds later.
I felt a warm hand on my back and looked up. Not that it did any good, as I was still blinded by tears, but nonetheless that was my first reaction. The hand on my back was a male hand – Ranma. I hissed at him and glared through my clearing eyes, a warning to back off. I was trying to calm down, and having his hand on my back was going to do nothing for that front. The hand was removed, and I was instantly sorry. Having Ranma nearby had always made me feel safe, but the reaction to keep him away was instinctive.
His voice was soft, low, and serious. "I'm sorry I called you a tomboy. And I'm sorry I broke your dish." Was this really Ranma? This person was *apologizing.* It couldn't really be him. But then again, he *had* called me 'tomboy.'
"It's not your fault. It's mine. Everything was always my fault."
"I'll be going now," the already-forgotten Nabiki said. Neither of us noticed her exit.
"Surely that's an overstatement," Ranma said. I could hear the smile in his voice - not the arrogant one that was so common, but the soft one he reserved only for me when I was totally miserable.
"It's my fault you left..."
Wait a second. Did I actually say that? He would know I cared. Crap.
His face was becoming clearer as he guided me to the couch and sat me down, then took the place next to me. He leaned down slightly to peer into my eyes. "I left for a lot of reasons."
"Bullshit."
An eyebrow arched, a grin played with his mouth. "Oh?"
"I followed you home that day. I heard you talking to my dad. You left because of me, and we both know it."
His gaze left my face and traveled around the room, settling on the far wall as he leaned back against the old couch. I was quavering inside. I had no idea how he'd take this. "I knew you were there," he finally said.
I gaped. I hadn't expected *that.* "You did not!"
"Akane," he sighed, "I'm a martial artist with an overdeveloped sense to ki. I could feel your aura. I could sense you following me."
"Why didn't you say something? You couldn't've wanted me there."
He closed his eyes. "But I *did* want you there, Akane."
I was more confused than ever, and was starting to get a little premonition of doom. Like, was that some kind of test..?
"Why?"
"Just in case."
"In case what? In case Dad decided he wanted your head on a stick, I could jump in and say, 'hell, dad, let him get the heck outta here?'"
"In case," he answered softly, "You wanted to keep me from leaving. The way I saw it, the chances were good that you wanted me out of your life. But I wasn't positive. I had no idea that day whether I would be leaving or not. It all came down to whether or not you cared enough to stop me. If you had wanted me to stay, there was no way I could've brought myself to leave."
I was immobile. I had no idea what I could say or do, except state the obvious. "That wasn't fair, Ranma." I whispered. He started slightly; maybe because it was the first time I'd said his name since he'd walked in. Who knew? All the same, I felt horribly cheated. If I'd known...but it's never healthy to dwell on the past, is it? Of course, it's impossible not to.
"Life isn't fair, Akane."
"Yeah," I muttered bitterly. "You can say that. You've always been dealt all the winning cards." I knew this was untrue, but it popped out anyway. I was still so jealous of everything he had - the looks, the admirers, the unmatchable skill in martial arts.
He sighed. "I did get some good cards. But I also had the worst ones. I got people trying to kill me, balanced out by martial arts. I got the curse, balanced out by what I learned from it about others and myself, because it was such an ideal disguise. I got all the crazy fiancees, and I got y - " He cut himself off, realizing what we both knew he'd almost said. "My life hasn't been fair either, Akane. I practically starved growing up. You can look at all my advantages and weigh them against your disadvantages, but that's not really fair either, is it?"
"No," I countered, "but you proved my point anyway. You *did* leave because of me."
"Maybe I did." He admitted. "But how much longer do you think I could have taken it anyway? What with all the fiancees, all the death threats, all the challenges, all the...Happosai."
I laughed, he grinned. He'd probably done that on purpose, but it felt good to laugh, and I was still not entirely in control of myself. "He missed you," I told him.
"Happosai?" Ranma said, incredulous. "He never!"
"He did," I confirmed, giggling. "He spent a week moping about the house, going 'Oh, where has my beloved Ranma-chan goooooooooooone? Ranma-chan, welcome this poor old man once again into your bosom!'"
Both of us looked at each other and burst out laughing. I had never seen him laugh like that, I realized. A genuine laugh, rather than an I'm- superior laugh or a someone-just-made-an-idiot-of-themselves laugh. It almost made me forget, I thought happily, that Hiroshi was –
Dead.
I'd been laughing my head off, and Hiroshi was dead.
The shock of having Ranma once again in my life had been enough to make me forget the reason he was here. He hadn't come to see me; he'd come to find out about the murder.
"Akane?" Ranma asked. He'd stopped laughing at the first look of horror on my face, and now, despite all the sensible protests in my head, I buried my face in his chest and wept. These were once again the huge, choking sobs I had succumbed to when he'd come in the room, but this time his arms came around me and I was immensely comforted by it. It made me cry harder, but the tears were starting to heal something. My head was in turmoil again – I'd almost gone into shock at seeing the body, and I had had no idea at the time just how traumatized it had left me. I was going to chew Nabiki out for bringing Ranma here now of all times, and then I was going to owe her for it for the rest of her life. Or for the rest of mine, which would probably be a significantly shorter length of time. But all thoughts of Nabiki aside, Ranma was here. Here, with me.
So everything would be all right. Chaotic as he was, Ranma always found a way to make things right.
My tears finally stopped.
"I'm sorry," I whispered into his shirt.
"For what?"
I leaned back and finally got the courage up to meet his stare. "I forgot. You know, I forgot why you're really here. The murder."
He leaned back, his arms dropping to his sides. Dammit. He could have left them where they were, thank you very much.
"Right," he said. Heh, I thought. Guess I'm not the only one who forgot what was supposed to be going on. That always happened with us – we would forget our surroundings and just go on impulse. This often started fights, but occasionally it would stop them. Maybe this is an instinctive martial artist thing. Then again, maybe it's just a me and Ranma thing.
Suddenly, he was all business. "So," he said, "who was murdered? How were they murdered? How do you know the victim? Who do you suspect? Why do you suspect them? When-"
"Ranma! Slow down!"
"Sorry," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm just...it's too much at once, you know? I mean, seeing you again is weird enough, but you've gotten yourself involved in a murder...Kusho. Akane, don't you know how dangerous this kinda shit is?!"
"I've never been involved in a murder before! I've never even known anyone who was killed by force before!"
Ranma's face shifted into a carefully expressionless mask. "You haven't?"
"No!"
"Then let me tell you something about people who have killed."
"They kill people?" I asked innocently, laying on the sarcasm.
Ranma ignored me. "There are different kinds of people who are capable of looking into another person's eyes and knowing that they will be the one to end that life. First, you have the crazies. These are rare. People who go so off the wall that the only one they see as more than an animal is themselves. They kill because they enjoy it, and enjoy the fact that they're capable of it. Second, you have those who are desperate - who have pulled some sort of grand crime, most often, and kill one or two people to cover it up, then find that more and more death needs to be wrought out because they panic at the possibility that someone knows something. They quickly discover that respect for life dwindles and dies with every murder, and it becomes easy for them to kill more. Third are those who have never had a real respect for life, and simply kill with a professional detachment. Fourth are those whose lifestyles force them to make decisions about who will live and who will die. These are usually people in the law enforcement field. They may find themselves in a situation where the only way to save an innocent is to kill the threat."
I paused, thought that over slowly. Some of the ideas scared me - that a person could lose there respect for life, that someone could become *addicted* to killing. But there was something else that scared me more than anything else: Ranma had given me this whole speech with the voice of experience. But he hadn't. He couldn't have...
"Ranma," I said softly, "have you killed someone before?"
He was a long while in answering. As if he could tell me the truth, or he could lie, and both were equally unappealing. "Yes."
I didn't want to know anymore. I really didn't. But my treacherous mouth was out to get me in trouble again.
"Who? Why?"
"I don't want to talk about it." The tone of his voice ended the conversation.
"Oh," I whispered. What else could I say?
"But now," he continued, "you've gotten yourself in deep trouble, yet again. I need you to tell me everything, even if it seems insignificant. Maybe then we can fix it up so that *you* don't get dead, ne?"
Out of the mouth of a killer.
I had no answer. My thoughts seemed to be seeping out of my head just as I was trying to gather them together. No matter how hard I tried to sort things out, my thinking rate had dropped to the point of someone trying to walk through molasses. I just stared at him.
Ranma had murdered someone. The possibility that it had been some sort of duty was not really a consideration. Ranma wouldn't work for the law, because Ranma *ignored* the law. It had probably been some sort of martial arts accident – like he had overestimated an opponent and the unlucky rival had wound up dead.
"Can you come back in, like, half an hour?" I managed. "I think I need to take a shower and get dressed."
Ranma raised his eyebrows. His expression said, 'someone you know has been murdered, and your solution is Bath & Body Works?'
"I have blood on my flip-flops," I explained.
He looked down at my feet and then back up at my face. I couldn't help wondering if it had been a once-over or just an inspection of my footwear. "Ah," he said. Then he gave me a small smile and sauntered out the door.
I collapsed to the floor in bewildered tears.
"Akane?" Nabiki burst in from the next room, where she had probably been eavesdropping. "Akane, what's wrong? Where's Ranma?"
"Nabiki," I gasped through my sobs, "he *killed* someone. Did you know that? How could he do that? Why - " I stopped at the shocked look on Nabiki's face.
"You mean to tell me," Nabiki said, "that you don't even *know?*"
"Know what?"
"Akane...the person he killed...it happened while he was still in Nerima. Well, he wasn't *in* Nerima at the time, but you know...while he was with us. He didn't have a choice. Any of us would have done the same thing, if we were in the situation."
"You've *got* to be kidding me! What reason could he have possibly had to - "
"Akane," Nabiki was not, I was surprised to note, using her patronizing voice. It was soft and calm. "Have you spent all this time thinking that Saffron just said, 'What the hell, you win?' Akane, Ranma killed SAFFRON, and he did it because it was the only way to save YOU."
I had thought that it would be impossible to make me feel any more lost and frightened than I already was. I should have remembered the old rule of Ranmaworld - no matter how bad things were, they could always get worse.
Ranma had spent his life trying to protect people. He had dedicated his existence to defending anyone weaker than he was, which wound up being everyone. Ranma was one of those rare people who took the burden of that kind of justice upon his own shoulders. It was his life, or the thing he'd wrapped his life around. The promise he'd made to his own soul.
I'd made him break it.
Was that love? Did he do that because he'd loved me? How incredibly silly, that the one who you cared about most could shatter who you were. How painfully stupid.
I had destroyed a part of him - a significant, special part; a part that, much as I'd protested, I'd adored - and I hadn't found out about it until more than eight years too late.
"Akane," Nabiki said, "maybe you should change before Ranma gets back. I don't know if you've realized this, but you have blood on your flip-flops. And you're still in your pajamas. C'mon, little sister, let's pull it together."
I stumbled to the bathroom, kicked of my flip-flops, pulled off my PJs, paused, turned around, and threw up very neatly in the toilet.
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I am rather proud to report, actually, that upon his return 45 minutes later Ranma was practically rendered speechless. By none other than yours truly, the uncute tomboy, I might add.
Doubtless the PJs and bloody flip-flops, combined with the bed head and no- sleep thing, did nothing for a good first impression after eight years. However, due to the fact that my first encounter had me looking horrendous and him looking drop-dead gorgeous, I was determined to live up to the challenge that I'd unconsciously set for myself. He could still take my breath away. Fine. But this time, I was sure as hell going to make sure that he was just as winded as I was.
The shower helped a lot. I turned the water almost as hot as it would go, and just stood there for ten minutes, doing the non-existing brain thing. No thinking, I told myself firmly. Such is the way to another mental overload.
Out of the shower, I attacked my hair with various tools mankind has been so thoughtful as to develop to drive women insane. I no longer wore the short hairdo I'd sported in high school - my hair now stopped a little past my shoulders. Done with my hairdryer, I pulled the stray strands of hair away from my face and put in a few simple little clips to keep it out of my way. This led to an attack on my wardrobe, and I finally settled on a pale violet scoop-neck baby tee and some form-fitting black jeans. I turned to the mirror, swiped a little makeup on, and stood back to analyze the total effect. Not bad, I thought, with that gleeful little feeling that told me Ranma might think it was a whole lot better than just 'not bad.' I waltzed into the kitchen to find some breakfast and a note from Nabiki.
Akane –
Your crazy dog is with me – I have a client who happens to be obsessed with dogs (he has five) and having Joey along may help me seal this deal. People are stupid, aren't they? An animal with an IQ of 2 is going to help me with a $100,000 deal. Anyway, Joey and I bonded in the bedroom (is there a way to make him stop licking you?) while you were having your whatever you call it going on in the living room. He actually is pretty cute, though excessively hyper to the point that I may want to buy an elephant tranquilizer.
Due to your morning murder/old beau hysterics, I am already late for a business meeting (thank you very much), and so must abandon you and Ranma to your little conquer-the-bad-guys shtick. Not really my thing anyway; I might get blood on my clothes. And hey, without me around, you may get a little action later on, hmmm? Your facial expression certainly indicated interest, but if you don't get yourself cleaned up you may not get far. In case you have sufficiently managed to recapture his attention, I'll pick up some birth control on the way home.
I blushed bright red and threw the note in the trash, then turned my complete attention to breakfast.
Ranma sauntered back in a few minutes later to find me sitting comfortably cross-legged on the couch. But when I looked up and grinned at him, he froze in his tracks and his eyes widened. I watched with vast amounts of amusement - none of which showed through my innocent smile - as his mouth opened and closed once without making a sound. Then he gave a little laugh, almost imperceptible, and shook his head with disbelief. "So," he grinned, "Now that you are no longer wearing bloody flip-flops, are you ready to get started?"
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The story actually didn't take long, and would have taken even less time had I not had to keep going back and putting in elements that I'd forgotten to say. Thus the story came out as bits and pieces of a puzzle that I then had to go back and put together in order to show the picture intended.
As soon as he'd heard the name of the victim, Ranma's face had become a mask. The mask that he'd never mastered in his teens - the mask that had nearly cost dad the dojo to the Gambling King in my teen years because of its ineffectiveness - he had honed to become the perfect poker face. I wasn't even sure he'd heard anything after that until I finished my story and he started asking questions in a voice so calm and flat that it made the look on his face seem expressive and open.
I wondered how he felt about it. Hiroshi had been his best friend at Furinkan, but they still hadn't been particularly close. Still, it must have meant a lot to Ranma to have a friend who accepted him, while most of the other boys plotted his death. Ranma had entered Furinkan with no experience at all of what it was like to really have a friend, unless you counted Ukyo when they were five or Ryouga and his friendly death threats. He had come into a world that he had little experience in and said, hey, this is me. Hiroshi and his sidekick Daisuke were the only two who accepted Ranma for Ranma. Everyone else in the world seemed to want him to conform to what *they* wanted him to become, which was usually engaged or expired. Hiroshi was one of the few who only wanted to be a little more like him. I felt a little warmer inside - I hadn't known Hiroshi well at all, but as I gained perspective, the dead boy's face came into clearer focus. I was overwhelmed with grief; I wanted to turn back the clock and thank the man I'd never cared to know for befriending a boy I'd been too afraid to try and get close to.
"Akane?"
Ranma's voice snapped me back to reality.
"Huh?"
His face was still blank, but his voice was softer, concerned. What had I ever done, I wondered, to have someone so incredible as the man sitting next to me – man, now, no longer boy – care about me so much? "You seemed...lost, there, for a sec."
"I was just...thinking...about stuff." Agh! I sounded so lame.
"I think," Ranma said, "We should check out the crime scene again. See if we can turn up anything."
"The cops already did that."
"Cops are too restrictive. Too many rules. There's a reason I never became one." He smiled softly. "I have the edge of experience. They might arrest criminals, but I know how said criminals think a lot better than the cops do. Not only that, but I have the benefit of having known you and Hiroshi personally. Knowing the characteristics of key players – even the stuff that seems stupid and insignificant – can actually help a lot."
I hesitated.
"Akane," he said, "if your uncomfortable with this, you don't have to come. I can understand your unwillingness to face that place again. But it may help a lot to have you there. And..." he paused, "I would feel a lot more comfortable if you were nearby, if I could come if you needed me or got in trouble."
My anger was always close at hand. "What, you think I can't take care of myself?! You think I'm a weak little girl? I still practice my martial arts, and I've gotten better! This is so typical of you - "
"That's not it!" He snapped back, his voice suddenly like the crack of a whip. "A kick isn't the same as a bullet, Akane! And no matter what, you still aren't in my league. Talk about *typical* - you still think you're invulnerable, and you dive right into a situation without even thinking! And guess who has to bail you out of it – again? And what's 'so typical of me,' Akane? You don't even *know* me! You barely got to know me – really *know* me – in Nerima, and that person, that Ranma – there's nothing left of him! You never really knew who I was then, and you most certainly don't have the *faintest* clue now!"
I was shouting now, knowing I was being immature and not really caring. Why did he *always* have this effect on me? "And *you're* still an egomaniac – no one in the world can live up to the great Ranma Saotome, is that it? You should know that *I* never wanted your help! Nabiki called you, but frankly, I would do just fine if you left *right now*!" I strode to the door and wrenched it open so hard that it slammed against the wall.
Ranma appraised my furious glare for what seemed an eternity. Finally he picked up his leather jacket and walked to the door, pausing in front of me, his face inches from mine. "Forgive me," he hissed, "for not wanting you to get yourself killed." With that he grabbed the door handle and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving me alone in my apartment.
No, a little voice inside me shuddered with fear and longing. No, no, no, no...
Wait, I thought, I know this voice…
Like a long-forgotten memory – hey, it *was* a long-forgotten memory – the little voice that had had faith in Ranma when we were teens had resurfaced. I had never listened to it before.
But that was before.
I raced to the window to see Ranma getting into a car down in my parking lot. I couldn't tell what make, just that it was black and looked shiny and new and expensive.
"RANMA!" I yelled. "WAIT!"
He looked up at me.
"Um...could you come back up?" I could see all the people in my neighboring apartments peering out at us like we were tap dancing naked on car roofs. "I want to talk to you." In private.
"I thought you didn't need or want my help?" He yelled back.
"I have no idea what's going on, Ranma, and you have a much better chance of figuring it out. I'm sorry I got mad, and in all honesty, both of us need to put a reign on our immaturity. Both of us know that you're going to work on this case anyway, and I don't really have a choice. We'll make a lot more progress if we work together. Someone's been murdered, so I think we should refrain drawing power lines until I am no longer in danger of being shot."
"You hang with me, Akane, and you're going to get shot at a helluva lot. Just because I'm not a cop doesn't mean I don't work in law enforcement – and in a branch that is far less tame then your friendly crossing guard."
"But you won't let anything happen to me."
"I seem to recall you disapproving of the bodyguard thing. Wasn't that what started this fight?"
"I want you to respect me."
Even from up on my balcony I could see that he sighed. "I *do* respect you. I always have. Even if I *really* didn't act like it."
"Could we please have this chat in private? I think we're disturbing my neighbors."
Yeah, right – they were all leaning out their windows, hanging onto every word. As if to validate this, the ninety something guy in the apartment above mine yelled, "Are you kidding? You can't pay for this kind of entertainment! We needed something interesting to happen around here."
Ranma grinned up at me. "Maybe I should come back up. Unless you'd like to wait for someone to get their camcorder."
"Too late!" The retired couple in the apartment two to the left and one floor down hollered gleefully.
Ranma shook his head. "Oh, brother."
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Ranma did come back up, but his return served no real purpose, as I promptly got into my jacket and accompanied him downstairs again. The cold had come early this winter - our feet crunched through frost as we made our way across the parking lot to his car. Walking beside Ranma made me feel warm, and safer then I had felt in a very long time. It also made me feel special, which made me scowl mentally. Did he always have to have this affect on me? Was this something involuntary, something he was never conscious of, or was it a planned trait?
It was making me feel wonderful, so it was pissing me off. Good God, I thought, I'm so weird.
I realized that Ranma was no longer beside me; I'd been lost in thought and had passed right by his car. Blushing, I backtracked until I realized what kind of car it was.
I had briefly dated a speed demon a few years ago, and now in front of me was the car that he'd ogled but had never been able to afford: it was hard to come by and very expensive.
I was staring at a black formula F512M, 12 cylinder, maximum horsepower 432 bhp, maximum speed 196 mph. It was an incredible racing car, awesome looking, and fit this new Ranma exactly.
"Your car?" I asked. Yeah, as if anyone else could live up to the coolness factor needed to drive this car.
Ranma smiled. "I've been doing pretty well," he told me, as I slid into the passenger seat next to him, feeling like Batgirl in this car.
Massive understatement, from what I could tell.
"What exactly *have* you been doing?"
"Various stuff."
"'Various stuff' gets you a car like this?"
"Mostly I do bond enforcement."
"Huh?"
"I'm a fugitive apprehension agent."
"Again, 'huh?'"
"Bounty hunter. High-bond stuff."
"Ahhh." Yeah, that was definitely a Ranma kinda job.
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When we wandered into the theater, I was rather overwhelmed by the chaos. The director was actually acting his stature and was talking incessantly in a semi-hysterical, high voice to the police and someone even shorter than he was.
"Hey," Ranma said, "isn't that, what's-his-face, Gosunkugi?"
"Yeah, he works for some producing company that is involved with the plays here."
Gos glanced over at me and gave a sickly little smile that was probably supposed to be comforting. Then he saw the person next to me and nearly went into cardiac arrest. When he realized that the person next to me was Ranma Saotome, and I thought that he really was going to die of shock. He visibly collected himself and came over to us.
His voice was still soft and slightly high, strange enough to be unique and still forgettable. "Saotome? Saotome Ranma?"
"Hey," Ranma said, and you could almost see Gos wincing back, intimidated as he had always been by the various skilled fighters at Furinkan, from Ranma to Kuno. "Gosunkugi Hikaru, right?"
"Yeah." Again with the nervous, sickly smile. I really wished that he'd stop. "How have you been? It's been eight years, right? You doing alright?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty comfortable. You?"
"Alright...not great, but not bad. I've, uh, heard about some of your work."
One of Ranma's eyebrows slowly raised in a question.
"Only the legal stuff," Gos quickly added. Thus stuffing his foot farther into his mouth, apparently, because this time both Ranma's eyebrows went sharply skyward. Gos evidently decided that he was treading on thin ice, and with Ranma, thin ice was usually right over Niagara Falls - you fell through, and you were done for. "Forget I said that. I'll stop talking now."
"Yeah."
This led to a long, uncomfortable silence. Well, uncomfortable for Gosunkugi, who was quite obviously terrified, and uncomfortable for me, as I was wondering about the stuff Gos had said he hadn't heard about, namely the stuff that was not quite so legal. Ranma, relaxed in his position of power, did not seem to be uncomfortable at all. Then again, maybe this was just his new gift for hiding his feelings.
"Saotome!" It was one of the homicide cops who I had talked to this morning at three o'clock in dirty pajamas and bloody flip-flops.
"Yeah?" Ranma yelled back.
"You checked into the office this morning? Thompson skipped on his court date. You're gonna have to bring him in, 'cause your boss signed his get- out-of-jail ticket."
"What's his bail? What's he done?"
"In that order, Saotome? Only you. The dude skipped on a $300,000 bond, meaning your ten percent gets you $30,000. He's wanted for triple homicide. The guys are already taking bets on when you'll bring him in. Pot is a hundred bucks."
"Uh-huh."
My eyes were about to pop out of my head. Ranma had told me he was a bounty hunter, but it hadn't really registered. But my god, *this* was how Ranma made his money? Messing with murderers? He was going to get himself killed!
And why should I care? I asked myself. Before this morning, I hadn't seen him in eight years! He could have died at any point in time after he'd left and I never would have known. Of course, I'd occasionally wondered if death was what kept him from coming back. More often, however, I'd wondered if he'd fallen for someone else; if, to him, out of sight with me meant out of mind. He had been away far longer than the year and a half that I'd been with him for. He was a distant friend at best, closer to an old acquaintance. Right? Maybe.
And, of course, there was the big question. Was I still in love with Ranma Saotome? Of course not! Maybe.
"What if Ranma doesn't get this guy?" I asked.
The cop looked at me as if I had the IQ of a toaster oven. Evidently, the possibility of Ranma failing to find the guy had never crossed anyone's mind. "Saotome? Not bring someone in?"
Well, some things hadn't changed, evidently. Win or die trying was definitely the Ranma I knew. "Right," I said. "Forget I asked."
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Half an hour later, Ranma was poking around with the cops, and I was just standing around, letting the tension build up until I was ready to explode. The murderer could be in this very room, my head said. He could be waiting to - "
"Akane?" A hand came down on my shoulder.
"Aaah!"
Ranma and the cops all whirled around and guns came out of hostlers. Ranma, I noticed with surprise, had a gun as well.
"Um, sorry," I said sheepishly to Gosunkugi, whose hand had caused the scream and who was now hiding behind one of the audience chairs, obviously terrified out of his wits.
"First Rule of Cops: don't startle someone in homicide, because then they usually have to arrest themselves for blowing off your head." Ranma chuckled to me, at which point several cops jokingly pretended to be ready to shoot him.
Okay. Note to self: first rule of cops, don't piss off anyone with a gun.
"I'm sorry, Gos," I said. "You startled me, is all."
"Um...sorry…?"
"No big deal."
Gos was fidgeting more than usual today; he seemed nervous and withdrawn. "Akane?"
"Hmmm?"
"Who do you think killed Hiroshi?"
"I have no idea. He said he was working on this big story, but he never told me what it was. Who do *you* think it was?"
"You don't wanna know."
Okay, *that* surprised me.
"You don't think it was me, do you?" I asked.
"No. I don't think it was you. But...oh, you won't like this."
"What? WHAT?"
"Are you and Ranma involved again?"
"Gos, don't change the subject."
"ARE you?"
"No!" Hopefully that would change. "And why does it matter?"
"Akane, you should stay away from him." All I could do was gape at him, but he ignored me and continued. "I'm serious. Ranma isn't just a bounty hunter. There's been rumors all over the place that he's involved with all kinds of illegal stuff – you know, the stuff that involves guns without permits and knee surgery. The cops have never gotten anything on him because most of them like him, but there are some who feel like that with his bounty hunter gig he's taken their work, and they'd *love* to nail him for something."
Something came back to me that Ranma had said earlier.
You never really knew who I was then, and you most certainly don't have the *faintest* clue now!
Gos was still talking. "These cops have been waiting for years for Ranma to slip up. And yes, there *are* valid rumors that Ranma kills people, on occasion. So what better way to catch him then to feed a one-time friend these rumors, then send him out after a guy he knows better than anyone?"
"Are you saying the cops may have set Ranma up?"
"No. I'm saying that Hiroshi knew stuff about Ranma that the cops didn't, so he was able to nail Ranma with something big. And rumors do say that, just like old times, Ranma's schemes are still big, and maybe a bit more crazy. Hiroshi stumbled in on the jackpot – and Ranma decided that Hiroshi needed to be persuaded to keep his mouth shut. I can't think of anyone else with a reason or motive."
There was calm way he'd talked about killing. And something else: Hiroshi had asked me about Ranma, just before he was killed. I had dismissed it as reminiscing on old times, but what if it was more? He hadn't mentioned the relationship between Ranma and I until after I'd confirmed that I knew nothing about my ex-fiancé's doings.
"You think Ranma killed Hiroshi," I said softly. I didn't want to believe it. But with no evidence, if Gos was telling me the truth, then the situations surrounding the murder pointed straight at the possibility that the murderer was Saotome Ranma.
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END OF PART 2! PLEASE review or mail me at nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com. Constructive criticism is very welcome, but no flames, please. I *know* you don't like the way I ended that chapter, and I don't want to ruin my relatively good mood. The Patriots won the Superbowl, after all, so there must be some hope for humanity. ^_^
IN CHAPTER 3, THREE TO GET DEADLY:
Akane gets some firsthand experience at Fugitive Apprehension, the romantic tension builds, Gosunkugi confronts Ranma with his suspicions and things get a lot more dangerous.
Again, if you want to be emailed when the next chapter comes out, either request it in a review or mail me at nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com.
Chapter 3 IS written and being edited, but in view of the possibilities of crises I'm not making any when-it-will-be-out promises.
'Till next time...^_~
~ nakigoe-chan