Well, yeah, here I am again, to dole out another chapter of 'After You' to
all those out there in fanfictionland who haven't gotten sick of it yet or
decided that I update too slowly to capture any attention. I've been busy
with schoolwork (lots of schoolwork, at a school known for the ridiculous
amount it doles out even when there AREN'T end-of-the-year grades to be
gotten) but I have been writing. And even editing (actually, my prereaders
do most of the editing) and now, here we are, chapter four, whoopee.
Speaking of prereaders, mine are a thing of beauty and a joy forever: Alissa, Diana, Natalia, Greg, and (drum roll, please) we now welcome Chris and Yueling!
This chapter is dedicated to the AY brigade (aka the people who attack me daily for the next part, and thus keep me writing even when I'm feeling lazy; the people whose enthusiasm makes me think maybe I don't stink at this writing thing): Mariel, Carlen, Whitney, Yueling, and Hilda.
I would also like to thank all of you who have reviewed (or emailed me about) my story. In the end, I write because I love to write, but getting encouraging reviews really makes my day. It's so nice to know that some people are actually enjoying this story.
And this chapter contains...the moment many of you have been waiting for. It is of course the moment where, at the height of the romantic tension...Ranma and Akane do the chicken dance (just kidding. If you want to know, you'll have to read it.) So, without further ado,(me, ado? Never! ) here it is...
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AFTER YOU
Chapter 4: Four to Score
By: nakigoe-chan
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Honey, a man can't keep his gun in a cookie jar. It just isn't done.
- Joe Morelli, Janet Evanovich's 'Four to Score'
Vinnie is 5"7, looks like a weasel, thinks like a weasel, smells like a French whore and was once in love with a duck.
- Stephanie Plum, Janet Evanovich's 'Four to Score'
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Okay, so someone was trying to kill me; there had just been a rain of bullets into my apartment. I guess Hiroshi was right, and his phone had been tapped. Nabiki told me she thought that we were lucky to be alive, but from what I could tell, the bill for the glass was going to kill me anyway. Death by debt. The mafia was apparently getting more creative.
I leaned into Ranma's chest, and I could feel his heartbeat racing. If mine went any higher it would be off the charts, either from the fear for my life or the fact that he still had his arms around me.
But he removed them and motioned for Nabiki and me to stay still. Gun in hand, he slipped silently forward and peered out the window; then he sighed and put the weapon away.
"A car just peeled out of the lot," he said. "It's a mauve Toyota Camry, I think, but it's probably stolen. Either way, they're gone."
I let my breath out in a tired whoosh and sat down on the couch, then looked up at Ranma. I couldn't read his face. "I'll understand, you know, if you want to leave or quit on this case. I don't want to endanger you like this."
"I won't." Nabiki said firmly. "Saotome, you aren't going anywhere. You are sleeping on our floor tonight, because I am not going to feel safe without you playing superman in here. If my sister wants to be all noble, she can go sleep in the car."
"Hey! This is my apartment! And don't you care if I get shot?"
"Sure. But I don't want to get shot by someone trying to get you shot, either. I don't want him leaving, and we all know that you don't either."
Both of us turned to look at Ranma. "I wasn't going to leave until you two wanted me to anyway," he said, but his eyes were on me.
"We could stay at your place," Nabiki said to Ranma, "If that would be safer." She paused. "Where is your place?"
Ranma shook his head. "My place probably wouldn't be safer for various reasons, and if I told you where it was, I'd have to kill you."
With another sigh, I went to the closet for the spare blankets and pillows.
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I had suggested to Nabiki that she and I share the living room and give Ranma the bed, but he politely declined and she less-than-politely informed us that she was sleeping nowhere but the bed unless, of course, Ranma and I wanted to share it. I blushed and stammered out a negative; Ranma grinned and winked at me. He seemed to be able to take teasing much better than I could.
I came out of the bathroom in my pajamas and told Ranma he was welcome to take a shower if he wanted. He turned and started to answer in the affirmative, but he got a funny look on his face and paused in mid-sentence when he caught sight of me. I had no idea why; my pajama pants and t-shirt combo were hardly a glamorous, planned look. I had considered wearing a negligee but decided Ranma might lose some respect for me and I would never hear the end of it from Nabiki. But I had no further time to ponder it; Ranma disappeared into the bathroom and I plopped down on the couch.
Nabiki pretended to be flipping through a magazine. She gave herself away with her questions.
"What was that all about?"
"No idea." I shrugged, feigning disinterest.
Pause. "You still have a thing for him, right?"
"Nabiki, I haven't seen him in eight years. Give me a break. The fact that I have a hot bounty hunter in my apartment doesn't completely change my life or my position toward Ranma."
Another pause. We both knew I hadn't answered the question, and Nabiki decided not to let me off the hook. "You still have a thing for him, right?" she repeated.
"Yeah, I guess I do."
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Yes, Nabiki wound up on the bed. Ranma flat-out refused to take the couch if it meant I had to sleep on the floor, (stubborn as always) so we laid out some quilts and pillows next to the couch for him. This position was going to seriously impair my abilities to get a full night's sleep; I was going to be acutely aware of his presence all night. Not that I was complaining, you understand.
I turned on my side and looked down at him, tracing his features with my eyes. His face had become more angular in all those years and his hair was slightly longer. I had thought that Ranma was handsome at 16, but the man beside me was so much more, inside and out. I had no idea what to make of him, and there was so much about him that I didn't know, but he was a mystery worth solving.
The mystery in question opened his eyes and looked at me.
I 'eeped' self-consciously and rolled onto my back, focusing my gaze on the far less interesting ceiling. I could here him laughing softly below, and I fumed with an embarrassment that was not entirely unpleasant.
"Is something wrong, Akane?" he asked, the amusement still in his voice.
I turned over again and looked down at him. "Ranma..."
"Hmm?"
"Did you...I mean, do you..."
Suddenly he seemed a lot more interested, propping himself up on an elbow and staring up at me with those intense eyes.
"What I mean is...do you..." I stammered, trying to keep my expression in check.
"What?"
"Snore."
"Oh." He leaned back, the slight amusement returning to his voice. "I don't think so. I haven't had anyone in a position to tell me for a long time."
Good answer, ne?
Though I had thought that I wouldn't be able to sleep with him so close, the fact that I'd had several crises and no sleep in two days let me fall away into dreamland, lulled by thoughts of the man beside me.
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"Rise and shine, Tomboy," Ranma's voice broke through my sleep. I mumbled something incoherent and pulled the covers over my head; he responded by yanking all of them off the couch and thus dumping me unceremoniously onto the floor with an indignant squeal of protest.
"Since when are you a morning person?" I grumbled as I got to my hands and knees.
"What makes you think it's still morning, sleepyhead?"
I checked my watch. "It's 7:00!"
"Yeah. I've been up for an hour."
I gave him the you're-crazy look and he gave me the patronizing look. "What have you been doing?"
"Making phone calls and checking up on work. I called the paper Hiroshi worked at; you and I get to go snoop around his office in 45 minutes. Let's move. I don't think you wanna go in your pajamas."
I stuck out my tongue at him and stomped off to the bedroom, where Nabiki was already up, dressed, and busy brushing her hair.
"How do you guys get up so early?"
Nabiki shrugged. "Me because I'm organized, him because he's crazy."
That was true, I supposed, even if it wasn't the reason. My personal belief was that they were both crazy.
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"You can poke all you want, you still ain't gonna find nothin'."
The man who guided us to Hiroshi's desk at the paper claimed to be a friend of the deceased, but he was one of the more disagreeable people I'd ever met and he looked it. Jim Weaver was scraggily, unwashed, and decorated with greasy hair, rumpled clothes, and the perpetual expression that indicated anyone who communicated with and/or entered in any way into his life was a distinctly unwanted imposition. This was his introduction and only comment, and his air toward Hiroshi's death and the lengths Ranma and I were going to to solve the case were so rude that I could not even find it in me to be sincerely offended by his manner.
Ranma asked him a rapid series of questions, but the most extensive response he got was a grunt. Finally, he asked Weaver what he thought Hiroshi had been working on, if only to get an answer that went further than a head movement. In exasperation, Weaver snapped, "What are you, a cop?"
"No."
"P.I.?"
"No."
"Then shut the hell up with the questions."
Ranma was silent for a moment, and though he didn't look cowed to me, I could tell that Jim thought he was. "Mr. Weaver, one more question, if you please," Ranma eventually said, carefully and politely. "Are you aware that you are in violation of your bond agreement?"
Weaver practically jumped out of his skin; I practically burst out laughing. I'd had no idea that he was FTA – Failure to Appear, in bounty hunter lingo, meaning he was like Samson, and had chosen to forgo the pleasure of his court date - but Ranma had obviously picked his sources carefully.
"I thought you said you weren't a cop!"
"I work for your insurance company's bondsman as an enforcement agent."
"Translation," Weaver sneered, "You're one of his no-good asshole bounty hunters."
"I really don't think the term 'no-good asshole' applies to me in this situation. I was under the impression that it was the other way around."
"Smartass, you don't know nothin'."
"Mr. Weaver," Ranma said, in his best I'm-willing-to-be-reasonable-about- this tone, "I think you should take into consideration the fact that I'm being nice to you, inasmuch as if you answer my questions you get a little more time to get your affairs in order before I escort you to...make your case of carrying concealed before the court."
"Oh, great deal. I get extended time before you haul me off to the clink."
Ranma's voice became flat, carrying a distinct threat. "I could just take you now, if you prefer."
"What makes you think you could take me, you scrawny little Kung-Pow bastard?" Weaver drew himself up to the full four inches he had above Ranma.
Ranma's mouth turned up in a tiny evil smile, similar to the expression he used to wear when Kuno had challenged him. It was reserved for those who in all seriousness believed they were stronger than him when in reality Ranma could take them blindfolded, both hands tied behind his back, without even breaking a sweat.
Ranma and Weaver stared into each other's eyes for a moment, each turning up the intimidation level. I could feel Ranma keeping his aura in check, which I understood. Doing weird supernatural things outside of Nerima tended to produce police questionnaires. But he didn't need the aura to freak the hell out of normal people when he wanted to, and Weaver, with a sulky look, turned and stormed down the hall looking like a child sent to his room – angry at the injustice but knowing he was powerless to challenge the authoritative power that had caused it.
Weaver opened a door at the end of the hallway, sour expression still stubbornly disfiguring his appearance, and gestured us inside. The office was small and cluttered. Ranma sat down, ignoring Weaver, and dissected the file cabinet while I sat down at the desk and systematically leafed through the floppies. The chair was a spinning chair that no longer spun, and it fit right in with the comfortable chaos of the office. Papers were strewn around, comic books lay hidden under mounds of junk mail, the computer had a Microsoft Word document minimized but solitaire was up and halfway through a destined-to-be-fruitless game.
Weaver had disappeared into the office next to Hiroshi's and slammed the door once he realized that his continued presence was not going to drive us away any faster, but Ranma and I did not take advantage of his absence to make small talk. Ranma, even after eight years, didn't seem the type. We just worked together in companionable silence, him squatting on the floor in front of the desk and me sitting in the broken chair taking 3 ½ inch floppies in and out of the disk drive, until he sighed with resignation, stood up, and crossed the tiny office to stand behind me.
"Find anything?"
"No, but I'm not done with these disks yet. You?"
"Nada. Everything's on the computer these days anyway. Did you check the hard drive?"
"Yeah, but nothing interesting is on it."
"We should hit the road. We stay too long, and they'll think we're snooping."
"We *are* snooping."
"Yeah, but they don't have to know that. Take the rest of the disks with you."
"What? But that's stealing!"
"I think Hiroshi's filed his last police report, Tomboy. Those disks aren't going to help anyone by sitting around waiting to get thrown away."
"But it's illegal."
"Probably. But doing it doesn't hurt anyone, and it may help us figure out what's up. You people make all these cracks about how mentally challenged the government is and then you follow all their rules, no questions asked?"
Forget love. The man was a pain in the ass.
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All the way out of the building, with the disks in my purse, I felt like a criminal. My imagination told me that all the people around me had x-ray vision, and all the casual glances saw through the black leather that hid my new identity as a lawbreaker. When I got home, I was going to bash Ranma's head in.
He strolled along next to me as if he didn't have a care in the world, and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "Nervous?" he asked softly, his tone of voice excessively innocent.
"You are scum, Saotome, and pretty soon you're going to be dead scum." Coming from me to Ranma, it wasn't an entirely empty threat, but he smiled and winked anyway.
"You wouldn't do that to me. I'm too cute."
He was wrong there. I did not think of him as at all cute. 'Hello Kitty' was cute. 'Afro Dog' was cute. Even Joey, to an extent that did not reach to him chewing up my furniture, was cute. Ranma was NOT cute. Ranma was closer to *smokin'*.
"Your looks can't save you, Saotome. They never have, and they never will."
"You mean all this time I was just getting by on my winning personality?"
"You were getting by on the fact that if I murdered you, I'd have all this stupid paperwork to fill out."
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We stopped for lunch at a Vietnamese place nearby called Saigon Gourmet. A few months previous it had been a fashionable place that had made itself so popular that the line trailed out the door. Now, while the food was still good, the decline in popularity left Ranma and I nearly alone in the restaurant except for two elderly couples and, two minutes after we took our seats, Gosunkugi. He was apparently still following us, playing my bodyguard, pretending that if Ranma tried anything he had the power to avert disaster. Good grief.
Ranma pointedly ignored him, so I followed his lead.
We ordered spring rolls and Han Noi beef soup as appetizers, then followed it up with two shared entrees of Bo Dun and grilled pork with rice crepes as we discussed the case in low voices. I could see Ranma's amusement as Gos leaned forward, trying to catch our conversation, and wound up falling out of his chair. He stood up, red-faced, and gave up eavesdropping. He was far enough away for it to have been a fruitless venture anyway, and all three of us knew it, so he settled for watching us and sulking.
"Weaver didn't tell us something." Ranma remarked idly, dipping some pork into the corresponding mystery sauce provided.
"Weaver didn't tell us *anything.* He was a throwback to the time of Neanderthal Man: point, grunt." I violently stabbed a perfectly innocent vegetable so hard that it made the plate screech and Ranma wince.
"What I mean is, there was something about the case that he specifically didn't tell us."
"What?"
"How should I know?"
"If you don't know what he was hiding, how do you know he wasn't telling us something?"
"You can just tell. He had a look. He was hiding something about Hiroshi."
"So how does this fact help us?"
Ranma shrugged. "It's significant that, in this case, Weaver has something to hide."
"Are you telling me he's a suspect?"
"Tomboy, *every*body's a suspect. I'm a suspect, you're a suspect; hell, *Gosunkugi's* a suspect, and that's saying something."
I digested this information along with some soup. Then I looked up at him, fixed him with the glare of someone who has something significant to say, and commanded in as stern a voice as I could manage, "Don't *call* me that, you jerk."
He gave me a mock salute. "You got it, Tomboy."
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Despite my not-at-all-in-earnest protests, Ranma paid the bill for both of us, shrugged into his leather jacket, and led the way out, followed closely by me and not-so-closely by Gosunkugi.
I had play rehearsal, so I told Ranma to drop me off at the theater. He said that with so many people there I was relatively safe, but that he'd be back fifteen minutes before practice ended to pick me up since a) he was still protecting me, and b) I didn't have a car. Ranma escorted me into the stage area and rechecked with the director about what time practice would end.
"What are you going to do while I'm working?" I asked. "Go after more elderly pyromaniacs?"
"Actually, I've been hired as part of a group to do some securities enforcement and debris removal stuff this afternoon."
"Debris removal? You're going to go drive a garbage truck, or something?"
"There's an apartment complex in the less socially acceptable part of town that has some dealers shacked up, refusing to leave, setting fire to the appliances, and pushing to the kids that live in the building. I've been hired to...clean up."
"Kicking them out is illegal. There's this whole thing you have to go through..."
Ranma shrugged. "They're pushing pot to kids. That's illegal, too. You decide which side you think I should be working for in this little war."
Ah. So this was the illegal stuff Gos had mentioned before. I silently approved of Ranma's position, but balked at telling him that for some unknown reason. The whole situation was so...Ranma. What I would expect of him. He hadn't been able to stand up to a fiancée to save his life, but on moral issues his stances were firm and decided, sending the distinct message of 'You got a PROBLEM with that?'
"So, you escort the dealers out of the building."
Ranma nodded, then smiled. Whether from acknowledgement of my unvoiced opinions on his work or amusement at what he was about to say, I'd never know. "Only on the upper floors. On the lower ones it's faster and more effective to just chuck 'em out the window."
"Sounds like fun. Wish I could join you."
"It won't be a really happening party, Tomboy. It's gonna smell real bad; people will get sworn at and shot at and you don't want to know what else. Not a pretty picture, I promise you. Have fun." And he was gone. It was the first time that I'd really had him out of my sight since he'd come back into my life, and my chest clinched in the panic of an instant that he might not come back. Then I turned, jumped on the stage, and lost myself for the afternoon in a world of fantasy merged with reality.
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Midway through our last run-through I caught sight of him at the back of the theater. My breath caught in my throat and for an instant I stumbled over my line. I swallowed and continued, not knowing if I was embarrassed that he was watching me act – in this play, of all things. I forced myself not to look at him again, but my cruel eyes had ingrained the image into my head. I knew, without looking, that he was still leaning against the far wall, bathed in shadow, his arms crossed and his stance passive-aggressive. His expression set, carefully unreadable in such a way that, to the practiced eye, it revealed more than it hid.
It was time for him to pick me up; of course he was there. He'd promised he would be.
What did he think of me?
What did he hear in the lines of the play?
What did he remember?
I was most afraid, actually, that he heard nothing at all, that it reminded him of nothing and no one. I was terrified that he thought of this as just another job for me, just another play.
'After You' wasn't just another play. 'After You' was a weaving of my life, written by a stranger. The plot was different, the people were different, but the driving force, the emotions, the soul were all there.
Or was I just kidding myself, as always?
The run-through ended, and I stood up, leapt off the stage, and walked over to Ranma. His face still had that blank-yet-expressive look, but I couldn't read it. It was trying to tell me something in a language that I didn't understand.
"So." I said, in that ridiculous voice that is supposed to sound casual but never seems to come out that way, "what did you think?"
Ranma's voice was flat, but not angry or anything. Just...there. "It was interesting. You're talented. Are you ready to go?"
Men. Argh. Was he not planning to ever give me a straight answer for anything? There was so much more in that empty voice that he hadn't said out loud.
"I have to check some things out first, get my stuff, and find out what tomorrow's schedule is. Can you wait ten minutes?"
Ranma just looked back at me. Like...'do I have a choice?' I guessed that meant yes.
I whirled through the locker room at lightening speed. I was infringing on his life enough as it was, so I was going to try not to keep him waiting any longer than was needed. I grabbed my purse, (yup, I checked, the disks were still in there, safe and sound and still totally illegal) turned, and slammed into Gosunkugi.
Great.
I still hadn't really forgiven him for the episode with Ranma, but he had been trying to protect me, so I decided to be civil. "Is there something you wanted?"
"Listen, Akane, you really should stay away from him."
I threw up my hands in exasperation. "YOU listen, Gos. You've told me that a million times, and if you tell me again, I may have to punch you in the nose. I don't care if you trust him or not, but *I* trust him. I'm flattered that you're concerned, but I'm safe with Ranma. Even if he was willing to hurt someone else, which he wouldn't be, he wouldn't be willing to hurt me, and he won't let anything bad happen to me."
He quailed under my verbal attack, but his determination wouldn't let him back down. Gos had been willing to go to great lengths in high school if he was determined to do something – no matter what you put in his way, he never gave up. I was reminded of when he was trying to find out Ranma's weakness; he may not have been physically strong, but the guy didn't quit.
"Akane, you're letting your perceptions blur your vision. Just because you might...care about him doesn't mean he's a good person. And you still see the OLD Ranma. He's changed. Everything about him is different."
"You're wrong." And the more I thought about it, the more I realized just how wrong he was, in two ways. First of all, I didn't just see the old Ranma. I saw the old and the new, melded together into a combination of the boy I had fallen in love with and the man who had risked his life to come back and help me when I needed it most. The second thought, tied to the first, was that Ranma really hadn't changed as much as I'd thought. Sure, he thought things through now; he was more mature and more relaxed and more grown-up and more quick-witted. But in the end, none of that stacked up against the fact that he still smiled at me the same way, comforted me the same way, cared about everyone the same way. Maybe he still cared about *me* the same way. But just for the moment, even that didn't matter, because what Gosunkugi had said wasn't about who Ranma loved, but who Ranma *was.* "You're wrong. Ranma is now and has always been no one but Ranma. And that Ranma is a far better person than I. He spends his life helping people, Gosunkugi. That's who he is. You're the one looking through the eyes of old judgments."
He shook his head slowly, looking – of all things – brokenhearted. "You don't understand."
"Maybe I don't. But at least I've tried."
His gloomy face crumpled into a look I couldn't read. It held regret and fear and sadness and something else that warped all the other expressions into something new, like a tragedy brought about by a vast misunderstanding. "Take care of yourself, Akane. I can't change your mind, but no matter what I'll do anything it takes to keep you from being hurt. Even if you do trust him, watch your back. If you let him do all the protecting, he won't be around to do it for long. If you have faith in him, then you should protect him, too. I have the feeling this is something big. If what you say is right, and he *is* innocent, then someone else will be after you both. You may be the original target, but he's more dangerous to them – and they'll know it."
I didn't know what to say. "Thank you, Gosunkugi."
He gave me a one-shoulder shrug. "It doesn't really matter. I still think - "
"Don't say it, Gos," I warned.
He scuttled off behind the lockers, and after a moment I turned and left the room.
For the first time in my life, I had a hard time forgetting the words and face of Gosunkugi Hikaru.
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Ranma hadn't moved from where I'd left him, but the area around him was far more crowded. Nearly every female in the variety of plays was in the cluster around him, and each was flirting so madly for his attention that he couldn't get a word in edgewise. I felt my face flush and my pulse pick up, but told myself to stay calm. He'd dealt with this situation for most of his life, and it had probably gotten worse after he left Nerima and there were no Amazons or psycho gymnasts around to bash in the head of anyone who got near him. He's leaving with you, I reminded myself. But before that happened the way he dealt with a dozen beautiful women competing for a date with him would really enlighten me on some of the ways he'd changed.
"What's your name?" Asked a voice in that excessively flirty coo that I'd always been irked by. The speaker's name was Amber. She was pretty, talented, and had never been turned down by a man in her life.
Okay, so maybe I was a *little* jealous.
I cleared my throat loudly and the eyes of the crowd jumped to me. "Are you ready to go?" I asked Ranma, too sweetly. I saw the girls fall into attack mode as they realized that their newfound dream might not be as free as they'd hoped. Amber, however, stayed calm; her face smoothly twisted into a smirk that said 'you think *you* can keep him if *I* want him?' My stomach clenched in nauseous anticipation; this was not going to be pretty.
"Whenever you are," Ranma said casually. All of us turned our attention back to him.
Amber plastered on a big fake smile and shimmied up beside him. "You can't go yet," She breathed in a lost-little-girl voice. "You haven't even told us your name."
I rolled my eyes. "His name is Ranma Saotome." He caught my exasperation and sent me a tiny secret smile.
"Ranma Saotome." Amber trailed a finger down the sleeve of his leather jacket, testing the name on her tongue. "An interesting name. Are you as fascinating as your name is, Ranma Saotome?"
I could tell he was amused, but I didn't know if he was interested or not. "My name can barely keep up with my life."
Amber smiled again, her best man-eater smile. "I'd like to become more familiar with your life as well. I bet you're a mystery."
"No, that would be his occupation," I said crankily.
Amber pursed her lips and looked up at Ranma again. "Hmm?"
Ranma half-grinned. "I'm a fugitive apprehension agent. A bounty hunter."
Amber's eyes widened, evidently not believing her luck. Sexy guy, sexy job, sexy name. "Well, we have a bit of a mystery here," she breathed. "There was a reporter who was murdered here yesterday morning. The police can't find any clues, but I bet *you* could."
Boy, the girl was really laying it on thick. "He already knows about that," I informed her. "That's why I brought him here."
"Ahhh." Amber smiled. "Well, I'll certainly feel safer knowing that. But what if someone is attacking the people from the play?" She turned to Ranma. "I'm so frightened. Will you take me home? I might need protection. You can come in for a nightcap...or something." The killer smile. "I'll make it worth your while."
I had expected the flirting. I had not expected Amber to blatantly offer to sleep with him, and my heart cringed.
"Sorry," Ranma said casually. "I'm busy tonight."
"But you told Akane you would take her home." Amber made her eyes big and sad.
"My plans happen to include Akane. She's the one who brought me into this case. I've known her for years."
"So you're going to work on the case with her tonight?" Amber asked as Ranma came forward and guided me to the exit.
"Actually, I was planning to work on the bed with her tonight."
And he closed the door in her face.
"Ranma!" I whisper-yelled, my face so bright red it was nearly giving off steam, "What the hell did you say that for?"
"Well, it sounded like a far better way to spend the night than what she was proposing." His voice was light and joking, telling me he'd only said it to blow Amber off.
I flushed again, but more from flattery then from anger. "You're a horrible liar," I told him.
He gave me a predatory grin. "I lied about it being tonight," he said.
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"Did you really mean it?" I asked him as I turned the key to my apartment and pushed open the door.
"Mean what?" he asked, walking to stand beside me at the threshold.
"What I meant was..." I stared up, down, around, anywhere but his eyes. The incident with Amber had convinced me that I needed to know how he felt about me. I was risking heartbreak, but even that would be better than an eternity of uncertainty. I took a deep breath. One, two, three, go. But subtly. "You could have gone home with Amber if you'd wanted to."
"I didn't want to."
"Why? She's pretty and talented and every other guy in the world would shoot themselves in the foot for the chance she offered you tonight."
"So I should let others govern what I want?"
"If you don't want that, what *do* you want?"
He tilted my chin with cool fingers, forcing me to look into his eyes. I didn't want to be in love with him; I would lose my freedom forever in that cerulean gaze. But I hadn't been given a choice. Your heart is never considerate enough to consult with your brain on who you should fall for.
"Do you really want to know?"
I nodded.
And he kissed me.
I couldn't remember what I'd thought it would be like to kiss Ranma Saotome, but it didn't matter. The world around me vanished into a whirl of insignificance. My arms came around his neck as I kissed him back; his hands settled at my waist. The kiss had started gentle but warped into passionate. The distractions were gone, the fights were gone, the murder was gone. All that mattered was the fact that I was wrapped in the embrace of a man who had made my life into an experience that was unimaginable. This was where I belonged, this was where I was safe, this was where I wanted to spend the rest of my life. With the one person who could make me feel like I wasn't alone.
When the kiss was over, I stared up at him. He was breathless, but I thought that it was more from his loss of control than lack of air – although the latter no doubt contributed. My senses were giddy; all I could do was stare up at him in confusion. The setting was real but what was going on around me seemed surreal.
"Akane," he said softly, "I - "
When it came, the explosion seemed in slow motion. The bright light from my apartment drew our eyes as the shock and the fire sent each other pulsing out at what must have really been a blinding speed. Ranma whirled between me and the door, shielding me with his body and jumping toward the other side of the hall as the momentum of the blast slammed into us. Tongues of fire laced around him and he yelled in pain; we were thrown into a heap on the opposite wall. My head cracked against the paneling.
My world exploded into light, then faded into black.
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END OF CHAPTER 4 (Cliffhanger? What cliffhanger?)
Okay, PLEASE review. I LOVE reviews. And emails. My email address is nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com. I respond to all emails – so if you've emailed me or requested an email before, and you didn't get one, send me a blistering email now, even though I responded to all emails and email requests that I actually *received* so if you didn't get something from me...blame hotmail. But I really do care what you think...although, to be honest, my ego (when it comes to writing) is rather delicate, so please – C & C is fine, but no flames. I'm already worried that I suck, so you don't need to reinforce it. ^_^
IN CHAPTER 5: HIGH FIVE:
What happened? Is everyone okay? Why did the evil nakigoe-chan give Akane a BOYFRIEND?! (GASP! O.o) Why do nakigoe-chan's friends and prereaders keep sending her death threats? (Hint [or, okay, giveaway]: High Five's cliffhanger!) All this and more in HIGH FIVE! Stick around! (And yes, it's done and being edited. Heck, AY6 is more than 50% written! We're a little ahead of ourselves...)
Inspiration will be coming on fast two weeks from now...I mean, where can you get more anime inspiration then Japan, which happens to be where nakigoe-chan is going? Yay! I'm so excited! (Be afraid, anime stores. Be very afraid...) The, of course, there's Otakon in two months...
Ja ne for now!
~ nakigoe-chan
Speaking of prereaders, mine are a thing of beauty and a joy forever: Alissa, Diana, Natalia, Greg, and (drum roll, please) we now welcome Chris and Yueling!
This chapter is dedicated to the AY brigade (aka the people who attack me daily for the next part, and thus keep me writing even when I'm feeling lazy; the people whose enthusiasm makes me think maybe I don't stink at this writing thing): Mariel, Carlen, Whitney, Yueling, and Hilda.
I would also like to thank all of you who have reviewed (or emailed me about) my story. In the end, I write because I love to write, but getting encouraging reviews really makes my day. It's so nice to know that some people are actually enjoying this story.
And this chapter contains...the moment many of you have been waiting for. It is of course the moment where, at the height of the romantic tension...Ranma and Akane do the chicken dance (just kidding. If you want to know, you'll have to read it.) So, without further ado,(me, ado? Never! ) here it is...
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AFTER YOU
Chapter 4: Four to Score
By: nakigoe-chan
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Honey, a man can't keep his gun in a cookie jar. It just isn't done.
- Joe Morelli, Janet Evanovich's 'Four to Score'
Vinnie is 5"7, looks like a weasel, thinks like a weasel, smells like a French whore and was once in love with a duck.
- Stephanie Plum, Janet Evanovich's 'Four to Score'
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Okay, so someone was trying to kill me; there had just been a rain of bullets into my apartment. I guess Hiroshi was right, and his phone had been tapped. Nabiki told me she thought that we were lucky to be alive, but from what I could tell, the bill for the glass was going to kill me anyway. Death by debt. The mafia was apparently getting more creative.
I leaned into Ranma's chest, and I could feel his heartbeat racing. If mine went any higher it would be off the charts, either from the fear for my life or the fact that he still had his arms around me.
But he removed them and motioned for Nabiki and me to stay still. Gun in hand, he slipped silently forward and peered out the window; then he sighed and put the weapon away.
"A car just peeled out of the lot," he said. "It's a mauve Toyota Camry, I think, but it's probably stolen. Either way, they're gone."
I let my breath out in a tired whoosh and sat down on the couch, then looked up at Ranma. I couldn't read his face. "I'll understand, you know, if you want to leave or quit on this case. I don't want to endanger you like this."
"I won't." Nabiki said firmly. "Saotome, you aren't going anywhere. You are sleeping on our floor tonight, because I am not going to feel safe without you playing superman in here. If my sister wants to be all noble, she can go sleep in the car."
"Hey! This is my apartment! And don't you care if I get shot?"
"Sure. But I don't want to get shot by someone trying to get you shot, either. I don't want him leaving, and we all know that you don't either."
Both of us turned to look at Ranma. "I wasn't going to leave until you two wanted me to anyway," he said, but his eyes were on me.
"We could stay at your place," Nabiki said to Ranma, "If that would be safer." She paused. "Where is your place?"
Ranma shook his head. "My place probably wouldn't be safer for various reasons, and if I told you where it was, I'd have to kill you."
With another sigh, I went to the closet for the spare blankets and pillows.
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I had suggested to Nabiki that she and I share the living room and give Ranma the bed, but he politely declined and she less-than-politely informed us that she was sleeping nowhere but the bed unless, of course, Ranma and I wanted to share it. I blushed and stammered out a negative; Ranma grinned and winked at me. He seemed to be able to take teasing much better than I could.
I came out of the bathroom in my pajamas and told Ranma he was welcome to take a shower if he wanted. He turned and started to answer in the affirmative, but he got a funny look on his face and paused in mid-sentence when he caught sight of me. I had no idea why; my pajama pants and t-shirt combo were hardly a glamorous, planned look. I had considered wearing a negligee but decided Ranma might lose some respect for me and I would never hear the end of it from Nabiki. But I had no further time to ponder it; Ranma disappeared into the bathroom and I plopped down on the couch.
Nabiki pretended to be flipping through a magazine. She gave herself away with her questions.
"What was that all about?"
"No idea." I shrugged, feigning disinterest.
Pause. "You still have a thing for him, right?"
"Nabiki, I haven't seen him in eight years. Give me a break. The fact that I have a hot bounty hunter in my apartment doesn't completely change my life or my position toward Ranma."
Another pause. We both knew I hadn't answered the question, and Nabiki decided not to let me off the hook. "You still have a thing for him, right?" she repeated.
"Yeah, I guess I do."
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Yes, Nabiki wound up on the bed. Ranma flat-out refused to take the couch if it meant I had to sleep on the floor, (stubborn as always) so we laid out some quilts and pillows next to the couch for him. This position was going to seriously impair my abilities to get a full night's sleep; I was going to be acutely aware of his presence all night. Not that I was complaining, you understand.
I turned on my side and looked down at him, tracing his features with my eyes. His face had become more angular in all those years and his hair was slightly longer. I had thought that Ranma was handsome at 16, but the man beside me was so much more, inside and out. I had no idea what to make of him, and there was so much about him that I didn't know, but he was a mystery worth solving.
The mystery in question opened his eyes and looked at me.
I 'eeped' self-consciously and rolled onto my back, focusing my gaze on the far less interesting ceiling. I could here him laughing softly below, and I fumed with an embarrassment that was not entirely unpleasant.
"Is something wrong, Akane?" he asked, the amusement still in his voice.
I turned over again and looked down at him. "Ranma..."
"Hmm?"
"Did you...I mean, do you..."
Suddenly he seemed a lot more interested, propping himself up on an elbow and staring up at me with those intense eyes.
"What I mean is...do you..." I stammered, trying to keep my expression in check.
"What?"
"Snore."
"Oh." He leaned back, the slight amusement returning to his voice. "I don't think so. I haven't had anyone in a position to tell me for a long time."
Good answer, ne?
Though I had thought that I wouldn't be able to sleep with him so close, the fact that I'd had several crises and no sleep in two days let me fall away into dreamland, lulled by thoughts of the man beside me.
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"Rise and shine, Tomboy," Ranma's voice broke through my sleep. I mumbled something incoherent and pulled the covers over my head; he responded by yanking all of them off the couch and thus dumping me unceremoniously onto the floor with an indignant squeal of protest.
"Since when are you a morning person?" I grumbled as I got to my hands and knees.
"What makes you think it's still morning, sleepyhead?"
I checked my watch. "It's 7:00!"
"Yeah. I've been up for an hour."
I gave him the you're-crazy look and he gave me the patronizing look. "What have you been doing?"
"Making phone calls and checking up on work. I called the paper Hiroshi worked at; you and I get to go snoop around his office in 45 minutes. Let's move. I don't think you wanna go in your pajamas."
I stuck out my tongue at him and stomped off to the bedroom, where Nabiki was already up, dressed, and busy brushing her hair.
"How do you guys get up so early?"
Nabiki shrugged. "Me because I'm organized, him because he's crazy."
That was true, I supposed, even if it wasn't the reason. My personal belief was that they were both crazy.
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"You can poke all you want, you still ain't gonna find nothin'."
The man who guided us to Hiroshi's desk at the paper claimed to be a friend of the deceased, but he was one of the more disagreeable people I'd ever met and he looked it. Jim Weaver was scraggily, unwashed, and decorated with greasy hair, rumpled clothes, and the perpetual expression that indicated anyone who communicated with and/or entered in any way into his life was a distinctly unwanted imposition. This was his introduction and only comment, and his air toward Hiroshi's death and the lengths Ranma and I were going to to solve the case were so rude that I could not even find it in me to be sincerely offended by his manner.
Ranma asked him a rapid series of questions, but the most extensive response he got was a grunt. Finally, he asked Weaver what he thought Hiroshi had been working on, if only to get an answer that went further than a head movement. In exasperation, Weaver snapped, "What are you, a cop?"
"No."
"P.I.?"
"No."
"Then shut the hell up with the questions."
Ranma was silent for a moment, and though he didn't look cowed to me, I could tell that Jim thought he was. "Mr. Weaver, one more question, if you please," Ranma eventually said, carefully and politely. "Are you aware that you are in violation of your bond agreement?"
Weaver practically jumped out of his skin; I practically burst out laughing. I'd had no idea that he was FTA – Failure to Appear, in bounty hunter lingo, meaning he was like Samson, and had chosen to forgo the pleasure of his court date - but Ranma had obviously picked his sources carefully.
"I thought you said you weren't a cop!"
"I work for your insurance company's bondsman as an enforcement agent."
"Translation," Weaver sneered, "You're one of his no-good asshole bounty hunters."
"I really don't think the term 'no-good asshole' applies to me in this situation. I was under the impression that it was the other way around."
"Smartass, you don't know nothin'."
"Mr. Weaver," Ranma said, in his best I'm-willing-to-be-reasonable-about- this tone, "I think you should take into consideration the fact that I'm being nice to you, inasmuch as if you answer my questions you get a little more time to get your affairs in order before I escort you to...make your case of carrying concealed before the court."
"Oh, great deal. I get extended time before you haul me off to the clink."
Ranma's voice became flat, carrying a distinct threat. "I could just take you now, if you prefer."
"What makes you think you could take me, you scrawny little Kung-Pow bastard?" Weaver drew himself up to the full four inches he had above Ranma.
Ranma's mouth turned up in a tiny evil smile, similar to the expression he used to wear when Kuno had challenged him. It was reserved for those who in all seriousness believed they were stronger than him when in reality Ranma could take them blindfolded, both hands tied behind his back, without even breaking a sweat.
Ranma and Weaver stared into each other's eyes for a moment, each turning up the intimidation level. I could feel Ranma keeping his aura in check, which I understood. Doing weird supernatural things outside of Nerima tended to produce police questionnaires. But he didn't need the aura to freak the hell out of normal people when he wanted to, and Weaver, with a sulky look, turned and stormed down the hall looking like a child sent to his room – angry at the injustice but knowing he was powerless to challenge the authoritative power that had caused it.
Weaver opened a door at the end of the hallway, sour expression still stubbornly disfiguring his appearance, and gestured us inside. The office was small and cluttered. Ranma sat down, ignoring Weaver, and dissected the file cabinet while I sat down at the desk and systematically leafed through the floppies. The chair was a spinning chair that no longer spun, and it fit right in with the comfortable chaos of the office. Papers were strewn around, comic books lay hidden under mounds of junk mail, the computer had a Microsoft Word document minimized but solitaire was up and halfway through a destined-to-be-fruitless game.
Weaver had disappeared into the office next to Hiroshi's and slammed the door once he realized that his continued presence was not going to drive us away any faster, but Ranma and I did not take advantage of his absence to make small talk. Ranma, even after eight years, didn't seem the type. We just worked together in companionable silence, him squatting on the floor in front of the desk and me sitting in the broken chair taking 3 ½ inch floppies in and out of the disk drive, until he sighed with resignation, stood up, and crossed the tiny office to stand behind me.
"Find anything?"
"No, but I'm not done with these disks yet. You?"
"Nada. Everything's on the computer these days anyway. Did you check the hard drive?"
"Yeah, but nothing interesting is on it."
"We should hit the road. We stay too long, and they'll think we're snooping."
"We *are* snooping."
"Yeah, but they don't have to know that. Take the rest of the disks with you."
"What? But that's stealing!"
"I think Hiroshi's filed his last police report, Tomboy. Those disks aren't going to help anyone by sitting around waiting to get thrown away."
"But it's illegal."
"Probably. But doing it doesn't hurt anyone, and it may help us figure out what's up. You people make all these cracks about how mentally challenged the government is and then you follow all their rules, no questions asked?"
Forget love. The man was a pain in the ass.
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All the way out of the building, with the disks in my purse, I felt like a criminal. My imagination told me that all the people around me had x-ray vision, and all the casual glances saw through the black leather that hid my new identity as a lawbreaker. When I got home, I was going to bash Ranma's head in.
He strolled along next to me as if he didn't have a care in the world, and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "Nervous?" he asked softly, his tone of voice excessively innocent.
"You are scum, Saotome, and pretty soon you're going to be dead scum." Coming from me to Ranma, it wasn't an entirely empty threat, but he smiled and winked anyway.
"You wouldn't do that to me. I'm too cute."
He was wrong there. I did not think of him as at all cute. 'Hello Kitty' was cute. 'Afro Dog' was cute. Even Joey, to an extent that did not reach to him chewing up my furniture, was cute. Ranma was NOT cute. Ranma was closer to *smokin'*.
"Your looks can't save you, Saotome. They never have, and they never will."
"You mean all this time I was just getting by on my winning personality?"
"You were getting by on the fact that if I murdered you, I'd have all this stupid paperwork to fill out."
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We stopped for lunch at a Vietnamese place nearby called Saigon Gourmet. A few months previous it had been a fashionable place that had made itself so popular that the line trailed out the door. Now, while the food was still good, the decline in popularity left Ranma and I nearly alone in the restaurant except for two elderly couples and, two minutes after we took our seats, Gosunkugi. He was apparently still following us, playing my bodyguard, pretending that if Ranma tried anything he had the power to avert disaster. Good grief.
Ranma pointedly ignored him, so I followed his lead.
We ordered spring rolls and Han Noi beef soup as appetizers, then followed it up with two shared entrees of Bo Dun and grilled pork with rice crepes as we discussed the case in low voices. I could see Ranma's amusement as Gos leaned forward, trying to catch our conversation, and wound up falling out of his chair. He stood up, red-faced, and gave up eavesdropping. He was far enough away for it to have been a fruitless venture anyway, and all three of us knew it, so he settled for watching us and sulking.
"Weaver didn't tell us something." Ranma remarked idly, dipping some pork into the corresponding mystery sauce provided.
"Weaver didn't tell us *anything.* He was a throwback to the time of Neanderthal Man: point, grunt." I violently stabbed a perfectly innocent vegetable so hard that it made the plate screech and Ranma wince.
"What I mean is, there was something about the case that he specifically didn't tell us."
"What?"
"How should I know?"
"If you don't know what he was hiding, how do you know he wasn't telling us something?"
"You can just tell. He had a look. He was hiding something about Hiroshi."
"So how does this fact help us?"
Ranma shrugged. "It's significant that, in this case, Weaver has something to hide."
"Are you telling me he's a suspect?"
"Tomboy, *every*body's a suspect. I'm a suspect, you're a suspect; hell, *Gosunkugi's* a suspect, and that's saying something."
I digested this information along with some soup. Then I looked up at him, fixed him with the glare of someone who has something significant to say, and commanded in as stern a voice as I could manage, "Don't *call* me that, you jerk."
He gave me a mock salute. "You got it, Tomboy."
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Despite my not-at-all-in-earnest protests, Ranma paid the bill for both of us, shrugged into his leather jacket, and led the way out, followed closely by me and not-so-closely by Gosunkugi.
I had play rehearsal, so I told Ranma to drop me off at the theater. He said that with so many people there I was relatively safe, but that he'd be back fifteen minutes before practice ended to pick me up since a) he was still protecting me, and b) I didn't have a car. Ranma escorted me into the stage area and rechecked with the director about what time practice would end.
"What are you going to do while I'm working?" I asked. "Go after more elderly pyromaniacs?"
"Actually, I've been hired as part of a group to do some securities enforcement and debris removal stuff this afternoon."
"Debris removal? You're going to go drive a garbage truck, or something?"
"There's an apartment complex in the less socially acceptable part of town that has some dealers shacked up, refusing to leave, setting fire to the appliances, and pushing to the kids that live in the building. I've been hired to...clean up."
"Kicking them out is illegal. There's this whole thing you have to go through..."
Ranma shrugged. "They're pushing pot to kids. That's illegal, too. You decide which side you think I should be working for in this little war."
Ah. So this was the illegal stuff Gos had mentioned before. I silently approved of Ranma's position, but balked at telling him that for some unknown reason. The whole situation was so...Ranma. What I would expect of him. He hadn't been able to stand up to a fiancée to save his life, but on moral issues his stances were firm and decided, sending the distinct message of 'You got a PROBLEM with that?'
"So, you escort the dealers out of the building."
Ranma nodded, then smiled. Whether from acknowledgement of my unvoiced opinions on his work or amusement at what he was about to say, I'd never know. "Only on the upper floors. On the lower ones it's faster and more effective to just chuck 'em out the window."
"Sounds like fun. Wish I could join you."
"It won't be a really happening party, Tomboy. It's gonna smell real bad; people will get sworn at and shot at and you don't want to know what else. Not a pretty picture, I promise you. Have fun." And he was gone. It was the first time that I'd really had him out of my sight since he'd come back into my life, and my chest clinched in the panic of an instant that he might not come back. Then I turned, jumped on the stage, and lost myself for the afternoon in a world of fantasy merged with reality.
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Midway through our last run-through I caught sight of him at the back of the theater. My breath caught in my throat and for an instant I stumbled over my line. I swallowed and continued, not knowing if I was embarrassed that he was watching me act – in this play, of all things. I forced myself not to look at him again, but my cruel eyes had ingrained the image into my head. I knew, without looking, that he was still leaning against the far wall, bathed in shadow, his arms crossed and his stance passive-aggressive. His expression set, carefully unreadable in such a way that, to the practiced eye, it revealed more than it hid.
It was time for him to pick me up; of course he was there. He'd promised he would be.
What did he think of me?
What did he hear in the lines of the play?
What did he remember?
I was most afraid, actually, that he heard nothing at all, that it reminded him of nothing and no one. I was terrified that he thought of this as just another job for me, just another play.
'After You' wasn't just another play. 'After You' was a weaving of my life, written by a stranger. The plot was different, the people were different, but the driving force, the emotions, the soul were all there.
Or was I just kidding myself, as always?
The run-through ended, and I stood up, leapt off the stage, and walked over to Ranma. His face still had that blank-yet-expressive look, but I couldn't read it. It was trying to tell me something in a language that I didn't understand.
"So." I said, in that ridiculous voice that is supposed to sound casual but never seems to come out that way, "what did you think?"
Ranma's voice was flat, but not angry or anything. Just...there. "It was interesting. You're talented. Are you ready to go?"
Men. Argh. Was he not planning to ever give me a straight answer for anything? There was so much more in that empty voice that he hadn't said out loud.
"I have to check some things out first, get my stuff, and find out what tomorrow's schedule is. Can you wait ten minutes?"
Ranma just looked back at me. Like...'do I have a choice?' I guessed that meant yes.
I whirled through the locker room at lightening speed. I was infringing on his life enough as it was, so I was going to try not to keep him waiting any longer than was needed. I grabbed my purse, (yup, I checked, the disks were still in there, safe and sound and still totally illegal) turned, and slammed into Gosunkugi.
Great.
I still hadn't really forgiven him for the episode with Ranma, but he had been trying to protect me, so I decided to be civil. "Is there something you wanted?"
"Listen, Akane, you really should stay away from him."
I threw up my hands in exasperation. "YOU listen, Gos. You've told me that a million times, and if you tell me again, I may have to punch you in the nose. I don't care if you trust him or not, but *I* trust him. I'm flattered that you're concerned, but I'm safe with Ranma. Even if he was willing to hurt someone else, which he wouldn't be, he wouldn't be willing to hurt me, and he won't let anything bad happen to me."
He quailed under my verbal attack, but his determination wouldn't let him back down. Gos had been willing to go to great lengths in high school if he was determined to do something – no matter what you put in his way, he never gave up. I was reminded of when he was trying to find out Ranma's weakness; he may not have been physically strong, but the guy didn't quit.
"Akane, you're letting your perceptions blur your vision. Just because you might...care about him doesn't mean he's a good person. And you still see the OLD Ranma. He's changed. Everything about him is different."
"You're wrong." And the more I thought about it, the more I realized just how wrong he was, in two ways. First of all, I didn't just see the old Ranma. I saw the old and the new, melded together into a combination of the boy I had fallen in love with and the man who had risked his life to come back and help me when I needed it most. The second thought, tied to the first, was that Ranma really hadn't changed as much as I'd thought. Sure, he thought things through now; he was more mature and more relaxed and more grown-up and more quick-witted. But in the end, none of that stacked up against the fact that he still smiled at me the same way, comforted me the same way, cared about everyone the same way. Maybe he still cared about *me* the same way. But just for the moment, even that didn't matter, because what Gosunkugi had said wasn't about who Ranma loved, but who Ranma *was.* "You're wrong. Ranma is now and has always been no one but Ranma. And that Ranma is a far better person than I. He spends his life helping people, Gosunkugi. That's who he is. You're the one looking through the eyes of old judgments."
He shook his head slowly, looking – of all things – brokenhearted. "You don't understand."
"Maybe I don't. But at least I've tried."
His gloomy face crumpled into a look I couldn't read. It held regret and fear and sadness and something else that warped all the other expressions into something new, like a tragedy brought about by a vast misunderstanding. "Take care of yourself, Akane. I can't change your mind, but no matter what I'll do anything it takes to keep you from being hurt. Even if you do trust him, watch your back. If you let him do all the protecting, he won't be around to do it for long. If you have faith in him, then you should protect him, too. I have the feeling this is something big. If what you say is right, and he *is* innocent, then someone else will be after you both. You may be the original target, but he's more dangerous to them – and they'll know it."
I didn't know what to say. "Thank you, Gosunkugi."
He gave me a one-shoulder shrug. "It doesn't really matter. I still think - "
"Don't say it, Gos," I warned.
He scuttled off behind the lockers, and after a moment I turned and left the room.
For the first time in my life, I had a hard time forgetting the words and face of Gosunkugi Hikaru.
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Ranma hadn't moved from where I'd left him, but the area around him was far more crowded. Nearly every female in the variety of plays was in the cluster around him, and each was flirting so madly for his attention that he couldn't get a word in edgewise. I felt my face flush and my pulse pick up, but told myself to stay calm. He'd dealt with this situation for most of his life, and it had probably gotten worse after he left Nerima and there were no Amazons or psycho gymnasts around to bash in the head of anyone who got near him. He's leaving with you, I reminded myself. But before that happened the way he dealt with a dozen beautiful women competing for a date with him would really enlighten me on some of the ways he'd changed.
"What's your name?" Asked a voice in that excessively flirty coo that I'd always been irked by. The speaker's name was Amber. She was pretty, talented, and had never been turned down by a man in her life.
Okay, so maybe I was a *little* jealous.
I cleared my throat loudly and the eyes of the crowd jumped to me. "Are you ready to go?" I asked Ranma, too sweetly. I saw the girls fall into attack mode as they realized that their newfound dream might not be as free as they'd hoped. Amber, however, stayed calm; her face smoothly twisted into a smirk that said 'you think *you* can keep him if *I* want him?' My stomach clenched in nauseous anticipation; this was not going to be pretty.
"Whenever you are," Ranma said casually. All of us turned our attention back to him.
Amber plastered on a big fake smile and shimmied up beside him. "You can't go yet," She breathed in a lost-little-girl voice. "You haven't even told us your name."
I rolled my eyes. "His name is Ranma Saotome." He caught my exasperation and sent me a tiny secret smile.
"Ranma Saotome." Amber trailed a finger down the sleeve of his leather jacket, testing the name on her tongue. "An interesting name. Are you as fascinating as your name is, Ranma Saotome?"
I could tell he was amused, but I didn't know if he was interested or not. "My name can barely keep up with my life."
Amber smiled again, her best man-eater smile. "I'd like to become more familiar with your life as well. I bet you're a mystery."
"No, that would be his occupation," I said crankily.
Amber pursed her lips and looked up at Ranma again. "Hmm?"
Ranma half-grinned. "I'm a fugitive apprehension agent. A bounty hunter."
Amber's eyes widened, evidently not believing her luck. Sexy guy, sexy job, sexy name. "Well, we have a bit of a mystery here," she breathed. "There was a reporter who was murdered here yesterday morning. The police can't find any clues, but I bet *you* could."
Boy, the girl was really laying it on thick. "He already knows about that," I informed her. "That's why I brought him here."
"Ahhh." Amber smiled. "Well, I'll certainly feel safer knowing that. But what if someone is attacking the people from the play?" She turned to Ranma. "I'm so frightened. Will you take me home? I might need protection. You can come in for a nightcap...or something." The killer smile. "I'll make it worth your while."
I had expected the flirting. I had not expected Amber to blatantly offer to sleep with him, and my heart cringed.
"Sorry," Ranma said casually. "I'm busy tonight."
"But you told Akane you would take her home." Amber made her eyes big and sad.
"My plans happen to include Akane. She's the one who brought me into this case. I've known her for years."
"So you're going to work on the case with her tonight?" Amber asked as Ranma came forward and guided me to the exit.
"Actually, I was planning to work on the bed with her tonight."
And he closed the door in her face.
"Ranma!" I whisper-yelled, my face so bright red it was nearly giving off steam, "What the hell did you say that for?"
"Well, it sounded like a far better way to spend the night than what she was proposing." His voice was light and joking, telling me he'd only said it to blow Amber off.
I flushed again, but more from flattery then from anger. "You're a horrible liar," I told him.
He gave me a predatory grin. "I lied about it being tonight," he said.
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"Did you really mean it?" I asked him as I turned the key to my apartment and pushed open the door.
"Mean what?" he asked, walking to stand beside me at the threshold.
"What I meant was..." I stared up, down, around, anywhere but his eyes. The incident with Amber had convinced me that I needed to know how he felt about me. I was risking heartbreak, but even that would be better than an eternity of uncertainty. I took a deep breath. One, two, three, go. But subtly. "You could have gone home with Amber if you'd wanted to."
"I didn't want to."
"Why? She's pretty and talented and every other guy in the world would shoot themselves in the foot for the chance she offered you tonight."
"So I should let others govern what I want?"
"If you don't want that, what *do* you want?"
He tilted my chin with cool fingers, forcing me to look into his eyes. I didn't want to be in love with him; I would lose my freedom forever in that cerulean gaze. But I hadn't been given a choice. Your heart is never considerate enough to consult with your brain on who you should fall for.
"Do you really want to know?"
I nodded.
And he kissed me.
I couldn't remember what I'd thought it would be like to kiss Ranma Saotome, but it didn't matter. The world around me vanished into a whirl of insignificance. My arms came around his neck as I kissed him back; his hands settled at my waist. The kiss had started gentle but warped into passionate. The distractions were gone, the fights were gone, the murder was gone. All that mattered was the fact that I was wrapped in the embrace of a man who had made my life into an experience that was unimaginable. This was where I belonged, this was where I was safe, this was where I wanted to spend the rest of my life. With the one person who could make me feel like I wasn't alone.
When the kiss was over, I stared up at him. He was breathless, but I thought that it was more from his loss of control than lack of air – although the latter no doubt contributed. My senses were giddy; all I could do was stare up at him in confusion. The setting was real but what was going on around me seemed surreal.
"Akane," he said softly, "I - "
When it came, the explosion seemed in slow motion. The bright light from my apartment drew our eyes as the shock and the fire sent each other pulsing out at what must have really been a blinding speed. Ranma whirled between me and the door, shielding me with his body and jumping toward the other side of the hall as the momentum of the blast slammed into us. Tongues of fire laced around him and he yelled in pain; we were thrown into a heap on the opposite wall. My head cracked against the paneling.
My world exploded into light, then faded into black.
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END OF CHAPTER 4 (Cliffhanger? What cliffhanger?)
Okay, PLEASE review. I LOVE reviews. And emails. My email address is nakigoe_chan@hotmail.com. I respond to all emails – so if you've emailed me or requested an email before, and you didn't get one, send me a blistering email now, even though I responded to all emails and email requests that I actually *received* so if you didn't get something from me...blame hotmail. But I really do care what you think...although, to be honest, my ego (when it comes to writing) is rather delicate, so please – C & C is fine, but no flames. I'm already worried that I suck, so you don't need to reinforce it. ^_^
IN CHAPTER 5: HIGH FIVE:
What happened? Is everyone okay? Why did the evil nakigoe-chan give Akane a BOYFRIEND?! (GASP! O.o) Why do nakigoe-chan's friends and prereaders keep sending her death threats? (Hint [or, okay, giveaway]: High Five's cliffhanger!) All this and more in HIGH FIVE! Stick around! (And yes, it's done and being edited. Heck, AY6 is more than 50% written! We're a little ahead of ourselves...)
Inspiration will be coming on fast two weeks from now...I mean, where can you get more anime inspiration then Japan, which happens to be where nakigoe-chan is going? Yay! I'm so excited! (Be afraid, anime stores. Be very afraid...) The, of course, there's Otakon in two months...
Ja ne for now!
~ nakigoe-chan