PRESENT DAY

Vana salus, semper dissolubilis….

Please just wake up.

I love you….

Nabiki fiddled numbly with her wedding band as she stared out the window at the people and city lights blitzing by her car.

The concert at Suntory Hall had ended hours ago, but she had been unable to stomach the thought of going back to her big and empty home. She had asked her assistant to drive her around the city, no particular destination in mind.

Eventually, however, they ran out of places to go. Reluctantly, at around two, she let her driver take her back home to Roppongi. She then gave the girl the next couple of days off for the extra trouble.

Alone again, Nabiki dragged herself up the stairs, slipped the pins out of her hair, undid her earrings, discarded her skirt and leggings, and absently crawled into bed with her blouse rumpled and half unbuttoned. Of course, sleep was not going to come The vast expanse of the king-sized bed served as just another reminder of everything that had happened. Her fingers wandered once more over the scar on her left breast.

She found herself perplexed as to why she had even bothered coming upstairs at all.

In despair, she sought solace and refuge in Ranma's study. Even now, his papers and the room carried the scents of fresh pinewood and cedar. She picked up the stack of storyboards sketches on his desk and carefully laid them out on the floor around her. A few were finished. Most were not. All of them were extraordinarily beautiful.

With no one around to see, she wrapped her arms around herself and began to cry again. At some point, she faded away into a fitful sleep on the floor for about two hours or so. When she awoke, she found her body sore and aching from the unforgiving hardwood. Her head throbbed from more recurring nightmares and painful memories.

Am I the reason…?

All of that blood. Its warm, sticky feel and thick, metallic smell. In her hair, her hands, her clothes — everywhere. It would not come out, could not be washed away.

Promise you'll be happy, that you'll take care of him, Oneechan. I love you….

Nabiki glanced guiltily at her ring. She had not been able to keep either of those promises. She was not happy nor had she been a good wife. Nothing epitomised her failings more than the cold, empty silence permeating all of the unused rooms around her.

The great irony, of course, was that she had not even wanted this house in the first place. Contrary to what Nabiki knew most people assumed about her, she did not actually believe in having some big white house with floor-to-ceiling windows and skylights on top of some high hill to showcase her power and influence or Ranma's success and fame. She considered 420 square meters, a two-story foyer entrance with a chandelier, a chef's kitchen with stone countertops and a high output gas stove, and five bedrooms excessive. In fact, she would have been more than content with a two-bedroom flat tucked away in some anonymous high-rise building.

While she certainly appreciated clean and orderly aesthetics, her minimalism at this stage of her life was far more pragmatic than philosophical. A home was a place for sleeping, showering, and maybe grabbing a bite on the way out the door. She did not have the time or patience required for any significant domestic upkeep. As long as she had walls to showcase her sketches and paintings, some space for her Noguchi-style coffee table, a sturdy desk with a comfortable chair, and a safe parking spot for her BMW, she would be more than happy.

This house was all Ranma's idea. He had badgered the shit out of her for it, whiny and annoying in a strangely endearing puppy dog-like way that she had not expected. She honestly had been caught off guard by his persistence.

He insisted on building the house atop a hill oriented along an East-West axis. He had joked about the need to pay proper homage to her old admonition about the primacy of light. Otherwise, he would have to live constantly at risk of being struck down in the prime of his life like the samurai who had made the mistake of incorrectly orienting himself in relation to the sun.

"Stupid ass!" Nabiki remembered screaming at him.

She did not consider herself superstitious by any stretch of the imagination. However, words like that seemed to just be asking for trouble.

He needed a decent studio to do his work, and he loved the idea of having a real kitchen where he could play around while mulling over ideas in his head. To be fair, he had picked up some decent culinary skills over the years, certainly better than hers.

They could have wild, crazy, uninhibited sex at whatever hour they wanted and without having to worry about what the neighbors might hear and say. Truthfully, once Ranma had gotten past his annoying virgin inhibitions, he turned out to have quite an appetite for that.

Nabiki began taking his house idea seriously after. Daydreams of carefree children running around happily through sunlit rooms and hallways had flashed through her head.

However, the thing that ultimately won her over was his desire for a solid ground floor for setting up a dojo.

Sure, Nabiki had no problem forfeiting "Tendou" as her name — had even been glad to do so when she married (1) — and she certainly would never be a major practitioner of the Art. Yet, despite her dry-witted tongue, she had always privately respected the Art's inherent beauty, its physical forms, and its philosophy. Being Ranma's wife, coming to truly understand how and why he still practiced the Art despite all the pain and suffering it had brought into his life, made her only appreciate their School even more.

Akane would have been pleased.

Am I the reason?

Nabiki could barely breathe anymore. She had to get out of this house before she lost her mind all together. She threw on the first clothes she could get her hands on, a black T-shirt and some jeans, slipped some canvas trainers onto her bare feet, and snatched up her car keys.

It was a few minutes before five when she made it to the hospital. As she embraced her husband, she could make out the first rays of morning sun through his room window just starting to crest over the horizon.

She was back where everything began — a hospital room. Everything had come around full circle.

# # # # #

ELEVEN YEARS AGO

RANMA SAOTOME! I AM NOT A BITCH – BUT I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!

She tried to slap him.

He intercepted her hand, of course, with that usual infuriating speed and grace. As he did so, he brought the momentum of her fury and the entirety of her whole world along with it to a violent, screeching halt.

She had let other boys hold her hand before then. Yet, as she felt Ranma's fingers folded around her own, she realised that she had never wanted any of the others to actually do so. She had expected his touch to be awkward. Either his male brashness would come through, or he would approach her with the shy timidity of PTSD from his previous faux pas with girls.

She was wrong.

His touch was eager but reverent, electric for sure, triggering a shot of euphoria that reverberated straight from her toes to her head, enveloping her body with deep and mysterious new yearnings. The stiff cotton fabric of her hospital gown suddenly felt unbearably hot and heavy. The gravitas of something profound between Fate and Destiny seemed to lurk in the darkness around them. Beating the shit out of him for the fool he had made out of her seemed like a triviality that could wait — at least for a little bit.

She thought of the first time she had really noticed the details of his hands, when she had asked him to model them over her hand mirror. Other far more ambitious and uninhibited recollections exploded in her brain after. The flawless, chiseled lines of living muscle and tendon in his bare hands, arms, shoulders, and torso from that day she watched him practice in the park. Her old, curious teenage fantasies about how it would feel to have him inside of her.

She could feel the hunger burning in his eyes as he studied her in the darkness, mirroring the greedy look she imagined in her own. The air had grown thick and charged with anticipation. Her heart was pounding thunderously in her chest. She was sure they were just seconds from taking leave of their senses entirely and devouring one another whole. She could barely tell the difference between up and down or left and right as her heart and mind became muddled with the torrential deluge of her feelings and questions.

Yet, amidst the fresh, virgin thrill of this sublime ecstasy, a dark, serpentine thought suddenly wormed its way into her heart and mind. He would be angry, she knew, but she had no choice. In a panic, she scanned the room for the nearest source of water she could get her hands on — the tumbler the nurse had set by the bed earlier — and dumped the contents over his head.

"Wha… whatcha do that for?!" Ranma-chan squawked, letting go of Nabiki's other hand and withdrawing as if touched by fire.

"It's not what you think," Nabiki replied hastily. Hurting Ranma was the last thing she wanted, but she had to know. She knew she would probably end up hurt too, but this was the right thing to do.

"Whaddaya think I think?" Ranma-chan was guarded now.

"What I did just now with the water has nothing to do with the Jusenkyo thing or what my feelings are. You already extorted a confession out of me under the influence. I like you."

"Nabiki, I – "

"But while my confession may have been under the influence, deciding to douse you just now was not."

"So what is it then?

"We've got to talk."

"Okay…."

"How long have you liked me too?"

"I… A while. I can't say for sure."

"Am I… am I the reason…?"

"The reason?"

"The reason why you and Akane didn't work out? Because if I am — "

Ranma's eyes lit up with understanding. "You're worried that maybe Akane and I never had a chance 'coz ya were the one I always liked."

"Yes."

Nabiki thought of their conversation by the canal that day in Naka-Meguro just after the engagement ended.

I do like being with your sister. She's smart, and she's got really interesting and different ways of thinking from what I do. We had a lot of fun together since ya helped me get her to open up. She's pretty cute too.

"Nabiki, I — "

I ain't got no clue if the way I feel is just 'coz she's the first girl I ever chose to hang out with like that or if it's really her.

"You're my sister's ex-fiancé."

"Uh, yeah, I am, but – "

"I like you, but I didn't come here to Suginami looking for a boyfriend. I know it may not always seem this way, but I love Akane very much. I can't…. I can't be with you if I know that I've taken you away from my sister like this."

Certainly, Nabiki and her sister had a long history of cat fights, differences and disagreements between them. They had called each other less than flattering things far more times than either of them could count. The arranged engagement and Ranma's presence in their lives had served as prisms that brought the differences in their view and values into even sharper relief, making Nabiki more critical than ever of her sister.

Still, the fact remained that Akane, along with Mom, really had always been the one Nabiki loved most. After all, Akane was the only one who did not change when she lost her voice. It was precisely because of how Nabiki felt that she had always thought Akane could be better, more confident and accomplished, decisive even in her life choices. Being hard on Akane had always been Nabiki's way of looking out for her Irish twin, just as Akiko had asked.

You do like him, right?

I do… more than I like myself….

Thank you. For helping Ranma to understand. For being his friend. Please check up on him from time to time….

Nabiki shuddered as the full scope of her problem came crashing down on her, rebuking herself for not having fully understood before now. Even though Akane had made a conscious choice to walk away from Ranma, she had done so precisely because she still cared — not because she was over him. Akane would always be Akane. The idea of Ranma with another girl would hurt as is, but that it should be her….

"It ain't what you're thinkin'."

"What do you mean?"

Ranma-chan turned to stare out the window with a serious, contemplative look on her face, the kind she often wore just before committing to a fight. Nabiki had seen that look many times before. When the boy-turned-girl finally started talking, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"That painting in Chiyoda ya talked about that day in Meguro just after Akane and I called it off. The one with the blue, orange, and black fightin' with its own Nature to orient itself ta 'some sorta semblance of harmonious meaning' you said."

Kandinsky's "Im Blau," the synthesthetic masterpiece that Nabiki most clearly connected with memories of her mother. She could not help feeling touched.

"Yes?"

"Realizin' that I like ya, all that's been goin' on between us all this time, what ya mean ta me now — it's all like that painting."

"How?"

"Even if ya don't like the painting, ya can't dispute the guy's got solid technical skills and a strong aesthetic philosophy. Whether someone loves or hates that thing, everyone takes away their own thing from it — separate from whatever even Kandinsky took away from his own stuff. How ya feel when ya see that painting ain't related in any way ta other paintings you've seen before or ones ya see in the future. Am I makin' sense?"

"I…. Are you saying you don't like that Kandinsky?"

Ranma smiled and shook her head. "Naw. I like that Kandinsky a lot, just like I like you and 'coz what Akane and I think and feel or don't feel for one another are two very different things. I ain't got no regrets that I didn't try my best with her. Ya didn't take nothin' away from your sister. The feelin' just wasn't there for me in the end, so ta me, it was just like ya said; ending the engagement was the right thing to do.

"I…. But — "

"I just didn't fully understand until we started hangin' after. What likin' someone really meant. My whole life I ain't ever met anyone like ya, and I…. When I think of ya, when we talk and do things together, I'm happy. I've never gotten to talk or do stuff like that with anyone before. Even when ya lash out, act sarcastic, or even try ta beat the shit outta me like ya did just now, I'm happy. I realize it means that you're the first girl I've ever really honestly liked."

"You're a glutton for shit," Nabiki wryly noted. Despite herself, she could not resist.

Ranma laughed. "Cut the tough act, Nabiki. I ain't gonna hurt ya or let ya down, and I promise ya on my honor as the Saotome Heir that ya ain't guilty of takin' nothin' away from Akane. I just wish ya could also be happy, that I could give some bit o' that to ya and have that be the story on your face also, even for just a little while. Please, Nabiki. Can we… can we give ourselves a chance?"

What kind of story do you see on my face?

Maybe the best way to think of it is one of those final fight scenes in old Kurosawa movies. The black and white ones where the guy who gets the sun behind 'im gets the kill, and the one facing the sun gets killed.

You're trying to decide which one of us is which here?

Naw. I know which one I am. I think you're the one wonderin'….

Something cracked within her heart and mind. Of course he would not hurt her. She believed him, never considered otherwise. In fact, she could even believe that he too would not change if she ever lost her voice a second time.

She suddenly remembered what she had told him her of views on a relationship that morning over sunny side up eggs.

I honestly haven't ever thought about ending up with anyone. I'm more than fine if I don't.

That was a lie.

She had never really wanted to be alone, yearned as much as any girl for a taste of something good and honest that she could call her very own. She just had not been able to believe until now that such things could happen to her. Confronted with the actual possibility, she could not understand how these feelings, so beautifully raw and honest, could be such a source of sin and moral discord.

Ranma was right. He was not hers or anyone else's to take away from Akane. He was his own person, and his heart clearly did not belong to her sister — never would. Yes, by choosing him too, Nabiki would be causing her sister pain when she found out. On the other hand, Ranma's feelings had come to mean something to Nabiki too at some point. Dismissing those feelings had become something she suddenly realised she could no longer morally justify to appease her own conscience.

Not after he had saved her life. Not after she had experienced the warmth of his touch. Listened to his kind and sincere words. Heard that final impassioned plea to have a chance to make her happy. Recollections of her thoughts and feelings for him just as she had thought she was about to die came back to her now too, how for a moment all of the bullshit in her head and heart vanished, and she suddenly knew with absolute, spellbinding clarity what she wanted — had wanted all along.

The possibility of happiness he now offered to her.

The chance to again be someone who truly mattered to another human being the way she once had to her Mom.

She wanted it all so badly it burned.

You're still far too cynical and rational for your own good….

Goddamn Ranma! The boy-turned girl had become far too good at cornering her in shit like these moral quagmires. The memory of his handsome eyes gazing back at her that first time he had seen her draw a canned beer out of her dorm fridge flashed before her mind's eye. It all harkened back to the original allure of the tantalizing and defiant promise of mystery and possibilities that he represented.

The world really was one fucked up shit hole full of injustices and unfairness. If she turned her back on him now as he bled his heart out like this, she truly would be a hypocritical bitch of an ass, no better than all of the shits she hated if she did. Just another enabler of the sick injustices of this fucked up world with its have-alls and have-nots and all the unconscious biases that kept everyone in their separate lanes.

Ya ain't guilty of takin' nothin' away from Akane or no one. I promise ya. Ya said it yourself too. Ending the engagement was the right thing to do.

Nabiki knew what she had to do. Akane was the only one who did not change when she had lost her voice. Ranma did not deserve a rejection. Somehow, she had to rise to the occasion and devise a way that the three of them could each have their own slice of cake and eat it too.

This time, however, as good as Nabiki was at fixing things, she had no absolutely no idea where to begin. The same sense of something vague and premonitory closing in on her that she had first felt that Christmas Eve in her dorm room came back to her now, filling her with that disconcerting sense of deja vu.

Can we give ourselves a chance?

In resignation, she sighed, huddling for now into the thick, stiff cotton of the hospital-issue blanket as she moved in close and placed her head on Ranma's small shoulder. She suddenly felt extremely tired, and her head was spinning. There would be plenty of time to think later.

"Ranma?"

"Uh, yeah….?"

"When were you going to tell me all this? If I hadn't come here to Suginami, when were you going to tell me?"

"Soon. I was tryin' to figure out how, but then ya beat me to it. Sorry."

Nabiki nodded against the smaller girl. Whether for Ranma or herself, she was not sure. Probably both. "For the record, being around you makes me happy too. You can hold me if you like. I… I promise not to try and hit you this time," she offered shyly.

Yet, seconds went by. Then maybe a minute or more. Nothing else happened.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Nabiki eventually prodded, masking her hurt anxiety with feigned irritation as she turned to the smaller girl.

"Uh…. Can I get some hot water first?"

Nabiki found herself smirking, unable to resist. "It'll cost you. Sunny side up eggs after they let me out of here?"

# # # # #

PRESENT DAY

Despite herself, Nabiki smiled at the memory as she cupped her husband's unmoving hand over her cheek. It was the way she used to make him touch her in private moments when she needed to be reminded of herself. The scar over her left breast started to itch again. Of course, there was no solace anywhere to be found now in his touch.

Instead, there was only the stigma of atrophy, which had ravaged the once impeccably beautiful lines of muscle, tendon, and bone. His wedding band had become dangerously loose. She had been forced to take it away for safekeeping weeks ago.

Promise you'll be happy, that you'll take care of him, Oneechan. I love you….

All of that blood again. Its warm, sticky feel and thick, metallic smell. In her hair, her hands, her clothes — everywhere. It would not come out, could not be washed away.

Help me, Mom. Please….

Just then, Nabiki's phone started buzzing in her back pocket.

It was Kozue.

# # # # #