19
these fatal fantasies giving way to laboured breath
The next few days passed without much incident. Ryoga settled quietly back into his routine at the Tendo Dojo, now with his family pet to look after included in his day-to-day life. Shirokuro seemed to be greatly enjoying her time there; she particularly loved sitting by the koi pond and watching the fish twirl through the water. Ryoga was initially worried about her trying to catch them, but it seemed she had no intention of doing so after watching Ranma feed them during her first time exploring the garden. Ryoga was yet again grateful he was blessed with such a smart and intuitive creature for a pet.
Three days after his and Shirokuro's arrival back to the Tendo Dojo, Ryoga woke up to an empty house. That wasn't something that caused much confusion or alarm, however. Ranma had taken to going out in the morning to walk Shirokuro. Then the both of them would usually take her for another walk together in the evenings after supper. Shirokuro's antibiotics were making quick work of quelling her urinary tract infection, and she seemed eager to get back outdoors, get her body moving, and explore a new neighbourhood.
Ryoga had actually slept in a little late that morning. With a long stretch of his arms above his head and a contented groan, he pushed himself onto his feet and padded over to the window. There was a thin layer of snow on the rooftops and along the ledges of the walls that surrounded the grounds of the Tendo residence. There had been a few light snowfalls over the last couple of days, just enough to give the morning a coating of sparkling frost that usually melted away with the afternoon sun, even with the consistent chill in the air.
Through the puffs of breath in front of his face as he leaned out the window, Ryoga could see movement in the streets below. He quickly recognised the mound of black-and-white fur as Shirokuro, trotting along at a light jog. And next to her was Ranma, who, to Ryoga's great surprise, was also jogging. Ryoga ducked his head back inside, but still continued to watch as Ranma ran from one corner of the surrounding wall to the other with Shirokuro by his side. When Ranma reached the other corner, Ryoga saw that he bent over double, and even from this distance Ryoga could tell his shoulders were rising and falling heavily as he panted for breath.
After a few moments, Ranma collected himself and continued moving again, though now just at a normal walking pace as he approached the dojo's front gates. Once Ranma and Shirokuro were out of sight, Ryoga stepped away from the window and went about getting himself ready for the day. Looking through his bag (he really ought to unpack properly, but it was a force of habit at this point to continuously live out of his backpack) Ryoga came across the plastic baggie which had the bundle of hair he had grown while on the island. Momentarily distracted in getting himself dressed, Ryoga pulled the baggie out to examine it more closely.
Yeesh. It was a good thing Ukyo and Konatsu had convinced him to chop it. It was in rough shape, all matted and sun-bleached and coarse. For a fleeting moment, he considered throwing it out, but as quickly as the thought formed Ryoga had already pushed the bag of hair back into a deep pocket of his bag. Then, he pulled out a different item. One of his yellow and black bandanas, the dirty and tattered one he had used to tie back all of his unruly, awful hair on the island. He had plenty of other, fresh and clean bandanas in his bag. He put the filthy one in the same pocket as the bag of hair, and brought out a new one instead.
He stared at it quietly for a while, and then set it aside. He brought out the rest of his clothes and got dressed, contemplating the bandana again when he was in a fresh set of clothes.
"Fuck it." Ryoga said resolutely.
He picked up the bandana and wrapped it around his head, tying the knot in the back with a practised ease. Then he headed downstairs, following the sounds that were coming from the kitchen.
Ranma was refilling Shirokuro's food and water when Ryoga passed through the threshold into the kitchen. He was dressed in dark grey sweats and a powder blue hoodie with a black puffer coat, cheeks flushed from the cold and exertion from his run.
"Good morning," Ryoga said, forcing down his giddiness at his discovery to see Ranma taking the initiative to get out and move his body as he crossed the room and opened up the fridge.
He pulled the water jug out of the fridge and then grabbed himself a tall glass. Ryoga didn't look at Ranma again until he had completely downed the glass, raising an eyebrow at the lack of acknowledgement. He'd usually at least get some kind of a grunt or something if not a returned 'morning' in response. Ranma wasn't ignoring him or preoccupied with something else, either. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He was staring right at him.
"What?" Ryoga asked, "Do I still have sheet imprints on my face, or something?"
This seemed to pull Ranma out of his blatant staring, and he quickly turned away. "No," he replied.
Ryoga blinked curiously at Ranma as he helped himself to his own glass of water. There was a light sheen of sweat on his neck and face which Ryoga could now see from close up. A few strands of hair stuck to his forehead. Ryoga stood there watching Ranma's throat bob as he gulped down his glass of water before he realised he was just standing there like an idiot with an empty glass in his hand, and stepped over to set it in the sink.
"It's the seventh today," Ranma announced when he was finished with his water.
Ryoga looked at Ranma, then over to the calendar hanging on the wall on the other end of the room. "So it is," he said.
It fell silent between them. He wasn't sure why Ranma had decided to announce the date. Ranma was giving Ryoga a rather expectant look, however, so it must hold some kind of weight. Then, all of a sudden, it came back to him.
"Oh," Ryoga said, voice brightening with realisation, "Are we going to visit Akane today?"
"Unless you had somethin' else in mind," Ranma said, "A trip to the aquarium with my niece and nephew again, perhaps."
Ryoga groaned. "Are you going to hang that over my head forever? I never would have dragged you into that if I had known that you always see Akane on the seventh!"
"I was gonna pack some bento to take there," Ranma explained, ignoring him.
Ryoga perked up. "Can I help?"
"Ain't ya gonna get in a workout before we go?"
Ryoga waved the idea off. "I can train a bit when we come back. This is more important."
Ranma looked at him for a moment quietly, before he eventually shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, brushing past Ryoga to put the water jug back in the fridge, and then take out some ingredients to prepare the bento.
The kitchen was quickly a flurry of activity as Ranma got several recipes under way. A fried rice to use up the previous evening's leftover rice, cooked with finely chopped sausages, eggs, peas, and corn was cooked in a large wok by Ryoga while Ranma worked on some thin, savoury pancakes made with eggs and scallions.
Ranma arranged the bento boxes with care, neatly rolling three scallion pancakes in one compartment of each of the bento, then a tightly packed scoop of the fried rice in another compartment, each mound topped with some freshly chopped green onion and a umeboshi cut in half. Then in a longer, thinner compartment next to the main dishes, Ranma arranged some green grapes and strawberries on colourful plastic skewers and a peeled mandarin orange.
The bento boxes were stacked atop each other and then wrapped in a sturdy, patterned blue cloth. After tidying up the kitchen, the two of them set out for the cemetery. The snow was usually melted away by now, but there were still some piles of it here and there which had stuck around past sunrise.
The tips of their ears, noses, and fingers were all tinged dark pink by the time they reached the cemetery. They made quick work of gathering a bucket and ladle to clean the grave with, and even quicker work of rinsing their hands, huffing hot breath into their chilled palms as they walked through the rows of gravestones towards the Tendo family plot.
Ryoga cleaned the grave while Ranma unwrapped the bento boxes and set one next to a bouquet of white chrysanthemums (perhaps Kasumi had recently visited, as they looked pretty fresh). The two stood before the headstone quietly, the other bento box still tucked inside the cloth wrapping and dangling from Ranma's fingers as he stared at his wife's name engraved on the stone.
After several minutes, Ranma let out a soft sigh.
"Hi, tomboy," he said, which was the same greeting he had given to her on their last visit, Ryoga noticed. Perhaps that's how he began each visit.
"Had t' make up for last time, since I didn't bring ya nothin'," Ranma continued quietly.
His voice was so soft and quiet that Ryoga would likely be unable to hear if the wind picked up enough to gently rustle the trees. Their shoulders were nearly touching and Ryoga still had to strain his ears to hear. He actually felt a little bad about being around for these conversations at all. It was incredibly intimate. It always felt like he was intruding on something that wasn't meant for him. He felt like a child, eavesdropping on an adult conversation happening through the wall of another room.
"Brought some of your favourites," Ranma went on, "Hurry up and eat it, already. I'm freezin' my tits off out here."
Ranma was currently in his male body, which meant he did not currently have any 'tits' to freeze off. Ryoga couldn't stop the surprised snort of a laugh that burst out of him, anyway. It was a good thing Ranma kept his voice low, at least. It was about as much etiquette as anyone could hope for from him.
"Also I think Ryoga's catchin' a cold, so if he winds up in here with ya, it'll be all your fault."
Ryoga whirled to look at Ranma incredulously. "I am not!" he cried.
"Oi, keep your voice down, will ya? You'll wake the dead." Ranma admonished him, bringing a finger to his lips. Then he blinked, and lowered his hand. "On second thought, maybe we oughta start screamin'…"
"D-don't lie to Akane," Ryoga blurted, forcing himself to whisper, "I'm perfectly fine."
"Oh, please. You've been sniffling the last two days," Ranma told him, "And I can hear it in your voice, too. You're totally gettin' sick."
"I am n—"
Okay, wait. He heard it now. It was subtle, a slight croak at the back of his throat, as though he had only just woken up. How in the hell had Ranma picked up on it before even Ryoga had?
"Oh, crap."
Ranma flicked him on the temple. "Serves ya right, boltin' out the door without even a jacket. Bet ya slept outside, too, before ya managed to find your place. Idiot."
Ryoga blinked. He didn't think they would be bringing that night up again. He rubbed the spot where Ranma had flicked him. "I had a tent."
Ranma merely scoffed in response.
"You do realise I'm pretty used to spending a lot of time outdoors, right?" Ryoga defended, jabbing a thumb at himself. "Hello, guy who survived on a deserted island for six years here, remember?"
"Exactly, dolt," Ranma shot back, "Now your immune system is shot to hell. You can't handle the cold. One night out in it and ya got sick."
Ryoga bristled at that, and looked away petulantly. "I…don't want to argue in front of Akane."
Ranma rolled his eyes, stepping forward to pick up the offered bento. He knocked his chin towards a nearby wooden bench, and the two of them made their way over with both of the bento boxes to take a seat. Ranma handed one of the bento to Ryoga, who took it with a mumbled thanks as he popped off the lid and removed the plastic spoon attached to the underside of the lid. Ryoga also noted that Ranma had not given him the bento that he had offered Akane, which Ryoga found himself quietly grateful for as he pulled out the spoon to dig in. He was ravenous, and couldn't get into the fried rice quickly enough.
"If you get me sick, I'll kill you." Ranma told him before taking a bite out of one of his scallion pancakes. "I fuckin' hate gettin' colds."
Ryoga was too busy scarfing down delicious fried rice to pay Ranma's threat much heed. After he swallowed his next bite, he said, "As if you'd let me have the satisfaction of seeing Akane again before you."
That actually managed to get a bark of a laugh out of Ranma. Abrupt and harsh, and too loud for the quiet of the cemetery. An attempt to wake up the dead, Ryoga thought. But when he looked back to Akane's resting place, she was still sound asleep. Ryoga found himself suddenly wanting to try screaming, too.
Ranma suddenly took one of the scallion pancakes out of Ryoga's bento box, and Ryoga, horrified it was about to be stolen from him, looked away from where he was watching the Tendo family grave, and opened his mouth wide to loudly protest. His mouth was promptly stuffed full of the pancake as Ranma crammed it into his mouth.
"Shut up an' eat so we can get outta the cold."
—
It was while he was soaking in the furo after his workout that Ryoga began to fear Ranma may have been right about him catching a cold.
He had been made hyper-aware of the changes in his body, now, and with every passing hour could feel the sickness creeping slowly up on him. His throat had started to get worse, the frog that resided there was now an ugly, lumpy toad making him sound croaky and hoarse. While the steam of the furo helped a little bit, he could also tell he had the beginnings of a sinus headache, and his left ear ached whenever he talked or swallowed his saliva. Ryoga scrunched his eyes closed and sank deeper into the hot water with a despairing groan.
What a terrible time to get sick! Not that any time was a good time, but Ryoga really didn't want to be dealing with an illness with the upcoming Christmas party. He hoped that whatever this was, it would blow through him quickly and be on its damn way well before the party. Ryoga took in a slow breath, trying to calm himself, and found that only one nostril managed to draw in any air properly.
"Stupid Ranma," Ryoga grumbled, chin touching the water, "He jinxed me."
After his bath, Ryoga went under the kotatsu blanket, the heat cranked to full blast and a warm and fluffy Shirokuro nestled against him, her head in his blanketed lap. But he still couldn't get warm. He felt shivery and achy all over, and was considering going right back to the furo when Ranma entered the room and paused at the doorway to survey the sad scene before him.
"Told you," Ranma said.
"Sh…shut up." Ryoga whined, refusing to look at him.
"You're really gonna make me suffer through your man-cold right along with ya, huh."
Ryoga did not answer him, choosing instead to continue glowering at the television, even though there was just a commercial on that didn't interest him in the slightest. Ranma walked further into the room and around the table to Ryoga's side, sinking into a crouch next to him.
Suddenly, the back of Ranma's hand pressed into his cheek, causing Ryoga to finally pull his attention away from the television and look at Ranma. His brows were knitted together slightly.
"You're warm," Ranma said.
"I was just in the bath." Ryoga said back.
Ranma tucked his hand under his own bangs, clasping a palm over his forehead, and did the same to Ryoga's with his other hand, comparing their temperatures. Ryoga thought about batting his hand away, but instead he didn't move.
"You've got a fever," Ranma noted.
Ryoga's face scrunched in annoyance at how accusatory Ranma sounded. It wasn't like he got sick on purpose! And maybe if Ranma hadn't been such a big damn jerk to him back then, he wouldn't have run off while it was snowing and he had no proper winter clothes to face the elements with. Ryoga did not say any of this out loud, however.
Ranma pushed himself to his feet, and then grabbed Ryoga's arm to give it a firm tug. Now Ryoga's body reacted, and he snatched Ranma by the wrist, trying to pry him off.
"The hell are you doing?"
"Taking you to bed," Ranma said, as though that were obvious.
The double entendre of that particular statement was not lost on Ryoga, but he chose to channel his embarrassment sharply into the more innocent direction, though his already-ruddy cheeks filled with more colour all the same.
"What am I, five years old? It's just a little cold, I'll be fine!"
"You've gotten a lot worse in just a few short hours," Ranma told him, "A cold for you right now, with how screwed up your body is…it's like someone who's ninety catchin' the flu."
Ryoga is taken slightly aback by the concern bleeding clearly out of Ranma's voice all of a sudden, but doesn't allow it to deter him from getting out of Ranma's grip. "Okay, so…so it might knock me on my ass a little harder than usual, big deal. Look, I'm already taking it easy. I'm under a blanket, I'm at rest. Leave me be."
"No," Ranma said stubbornly, and now he was behind Ryoga, hooking his arms under Ryoga's armpits and heaving him out from under the table. "You're goin' to bed an' that's that."
Ryoga continued to argue. "Let go of me, already! I was fine where I was! Ranma!"
But his protests fell on deaf ears, and with how heavy and bone-tired his limbs all felt right now, Ryoga could hardly find the strength to fight his way out of Ranma's grasp as he was dragged onto his feet and shoved toward the hallway.
"This is so stupid," Ryoga grumbled, "You're stupid."
He muttered irritably under his breath the entire way up the stairs, Ranma shoving him along the whole way, ignoring him. He was about to stop at the guest room where they both slept, but Ranma wasn't slowing down, and continued ushering him further down the hallway. After a moment, it dawned on Ryoga where he was being led, and his grumpy lamenting turned into panic.
"H-hey, I can just lay down in th—why are we—Ranma, wait—"
"Oh my god, do you ever shut up?"
Ranma opened up the door to Akane's old bedroom sharply, and shoved Ryoga through the threshold.
"I can't," Ryoga said, "I…I couldn't—"
Ranma continued to ignore him, pushing past him to drag the sheets down and arrange the pillows on the king size bed that now took up most of Akane's old room. "Get over here already."
Ryoga stepped forward a few paces, but couldn't bring himself to move any closer to the bed. The bed Ranma and Akane had shared in their too-few years of marriage. The bed where Akane had—
Ranma snatched Ryoga by the wrist and dragged him the rest of the way, shoving him unceremoniously down onto the mattress. "Lie the fuck down."
Ryoga did so, but didn't pull the sheets up over himself, simply resting his hands on his stomach and staring awkwardly up at the ceiling. Ranma watched him for a moment, hands on his hips. Then, he let out an agitated puff of air that ruffled his bangs, and tugged the sheets up and over Ryoga, aggressively tucking him in.
"Stay put," Ranma ordered, "I'll be back in a bit."
With that, Ranma left the room, closing the door behind him. Ryoga watched him go, and then went back to staring at the ceiling.
Despite never being used, the sheets smelled freshly washed. Ranma must still change out the linens on the bed, even though he never used it. Or perhaps, they had only just been washed for the first time today, in preparation for Ryoga's impending illness.
If that was the case, had the last of Akane been washed away from them only hours before now? Ryoga swallowed thickly, and banished the thought from his mind.
Ryoga felt the urge to scream again. Maybe Akane would hear it all the way in the cemetery, and wake up.
Or perhaps she was still in this room. There were still essences of her all over. Like she could walk back through the door at any moment. Like she had only stepped out for a while and would be back soon.
But when the door opened again, it wasn't Akane who walked in. It was Ranma, and he was carrying a cup in one hand and a small bowl in the other.
Ryoga sat up in bed, watching Ranma cross the room and place the bowl on the table to Ryoga's left, and then hand him the cup. It was a hot drink of some kind, though Ryoga couldn't see any leaves floating in it, but a small slice of lemon, instead. On the table was a bowl of what seemed to be daikon radishes, cut into neat cubes and covered in some dark yellow sauce.
"Shogayu," Ranma said, pointing to the cup in Ryoga's hands. Then he pointed to the bowl on the table. "And honeyed daikon. For your throat."
Ryoga looked back and forth between the two offerings for a moment before taking a small sip of tea. Sure enough, the bright, tart, unmistakable taste of ginger and lemon darted over his tongue and coated his throat in a delightful, tingling heat on the way down as he swallowed.
Ryoga was pretty sure his grandmother made him honeyed daikon once when he had gotten a bad cold as a child. It wasn't something that could just be whipped up—the daikon had to marinate in the honey for hours to create the proper syrup.
"When did y—?"
Ranma flicked his gaze toward the window. "Two days ago." he answered him, not needing to hear the full question to know what Ryoga was about to ask.
Ryoga stared at Ranma in awe. Ranma had prepared for this days ago, before Ryoga had even begun to notice himself that he was getting sick.
"Th…Tha—"
Ranma refused to hear Ryoga thanking him for the millionth time, already heading for the door with his hands tucked away in the pocket of his hoodie. "Now get that into ya and then try and nap, or something."
"...O-okay," Ryoga mumbled, "Tha—"
But the door snapped shut before Ryoga could finish.
—
DECEMBER 23rd 2000
Despite the bedroom door opening as softly as possible, there was still a stir in the bedsheets.
Damn, Ranma thought to himself, I knew I should've used Umisenken.
There was a quiet mumble from beneath the mound of blankets, and Ranma, no longer needing to sneak, hurried over to the bed. He set down the small tray he had been carrying, moved aside the blankets and took hold of the small, pale arm which emerged from them.
With a practised ease and gentleness as though he were handling delicate porcelain, Ranma helped his wife sit upright in the bed.
"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?" Ranma asked in a soft whisper.
Once Akane was upright, Ranma hurriedly moved to rearrange the pillows behind her so she could lean back against the headboard. Akane sighed gratefully as she rested back against the pillows.
"Mm, no, I wasn't sleeping," Akane mumbled. Then she rolled her head to the side to look properly at her husband, and offered him a small, sheepish smile. "Actually…I was getting a bit too hot under the blankets but…didn't have the energy to pull them off."
Ranma grimaced at that. He had been the one to tuck her in after all. He pressed the back of his hand to Akane's flushed cheek. After a moment, some of the tension in his shoulders released by a small fraction. "You're not running a fever."
Akane managed a huff of a laugh. "Nope, just buried alive under a huge, heavy blanket. But you got here on time. My hero."
The praise did little to erase the pinched features on Ranma's face. In fact, his brow only furrowed even deeper. "Yeah, well, I'm the dumbass who buried you in the first place," Ranma chastised himself, "I'll bring you some lighter sheets. You just couldn't seem to get warm the other day so I thought—"
Akane reached up a hand and pressed it to Ranma's cheek. "Ranma, I'm fine. Knowing me I'll be chilly again in another hour, anyway."
Then she looked away as she sniffed at the air. "Something smells good."
Ranma looked at the tray on the bedside table Akane was looking towards. "I made congee. Guess this means your appetite is startin' to come back, huh?"
Her last round of treatments had left Akane so weak she spent most of her time in bed, and for the brief bouts of time she was awake she didn't have much of an appetite, and what little food she did manage to eat was seldom to stay down.
She had lost several more pounds over the past few weeks. Where there had once been lean muscle definition were now protruding collar bones and sallow cheeks. Even the small bowl of congee looked oversized against Akane's frail fingers as he carefully handed her the bowl. He had kept the recipe very simple in the hopes she would be able to keep it down, so there was only a small drizzle of sesame oil and some green onions on top of the thin rice porridge, but Akane hummed in delight at her first bite all the same.
Ranma allowed Akane to enjoy her first few bites before he reached over to the tray and picked up the tablets resting on a napkin and held them out to her. Dutifully, Akane took each one with a bite of her food. Then Ranma watched on in silence as his wife finished her bowl of congee, a small but pleased smile on his face.
Akane's spoon paused in the air as she glanced at Ranma and narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you seriously going to just sit there and watch me eat this whole bowl?"
"Yep."
"Weirdo."
Ranma let out a soft laugh. "I'm just glad you're feeling better."
Akane's gaze was already fond, but softened further at his words. "Me, too. Although my actual fever turned into cabin fever. I'd be glad to just go grocery shopping at this point."
Ranma shuffled in his seat slightly, reaching around for something in his back pocket. "Well, funny you mention that…"
"Oh, is there a sale at the supermarket, or something? Did you pick up a flyer?" Akane asked, genuinely curious.
"No, dummy. I'm not surprising you with groceries."
Akane perked up at this, setting her empty bowl back on the tray to free up her hands as Ranma held something out to her. She blinked curiously at the folded paper and made quick work of unfolding it to reveal it was a brochure. She let out a soft gasp and looked over the top of the brochure back to her husband, who was having a hard time keeping his expression neutral.
"The Tokyo Christmas Market?" Akane said.
Ranma nodded. "I know you've been cooped up 'round here lately. And, well…I figured, um, since you're feelin' better and all…maybe we could go tomorrow?"
Akane beamed, lurching forward to throw her arms around Ranma's neck. Ranma was quick to hold her back. He would normally burrow his face into her hair, but now her head was wrapped up in one of her many patterned scarves. He tucked his face against it, anyway. It might not smell like her shampoo, but it still held her natural scent, which was honestly even better. Ranma breathed in.
It had been far too long since they had gone out for a date, and they had also never gone out together for Christmas, despite it being the most romantic time of year for couples in Japan.
"Gosh, we haven't had a date night in ages," Akane sighed, and Ranma thought perhaps she had become telepathic. It wouldn't surprise him.
Neither of them had pulled away from the embrace yet. Ranma didn't plan to anytime soon. "A real blunder on my part, not takin' every excuse I can get to show you off."
He didn't have to look to know this had caused her to blush. The way she pressed her face into Ranma's shoulder was a dead giveaway. After a moment, Akane pulled back, her cheeks still flushed and eyes twinkling with excitement.
Ranma's chest throbbed. If he had known that a Christmas market was all it took to have Akane looking brighter than she had in weeks, he would have suggested it months ago. But then again, he had been so caught up in her treatment that it didn't leave a lot of room for much else in his brain. And of course Akane had been battling like a champion, making Ranma feel like a weakling in comparison for being such a frazzled basket case while she handled everything with a steady calm and positivity. It was the only glue holding the pieces of Ranma together these days.
They could both use a break.
DECEMBER 7th 2002
When he woke up again, it felt like Ryoga had been under for a thousand years and twelve seconds all at once. Disoriented, it took him a moment to realise just where he was, and several sluggish seconds after that to comprehend what had even pulled him out of his slumber in the first place.
It turned out to be a hand pressed to his forehead, which felt cold in comparison to the rest of him.
Eyes still bleary, Ryoga looked up at Ranma, feeling as though he was watching him from underwater. He couldn't quite make out his expression, and blinked his eyes shut a few extra times, scrunching them shut to try and clear out the cobwebs. When he looked up at him again, Ryoga could make out the pinched expression shadowing Ranma's features.
He always frowned now, Ryoga found himself thinking. He was going to get wrinkles if he kept that up.
"Your fever spiked," Ranma told him, voice clipped.
Ryoga reached a hand out from under the blankets, bringing it up to Ranma's face. Ranma baulked a bit, caught off guard at the hand approaching his face. Ryoga pressed his thumb into the deep creases between Ranma's eyebrows and rubbed up and down.
Ranma snatched his wrist. But he didn't make a further move to pull his hand away. "Your hands are scorching."
"Good," Ryoga mumbled, "It'll iron out the wrinkles."
"The hell're y—god, whatever. C'mon, get up."
Ranma pulled away at the bedsheets and helped Ryoga into a seated position. Then he pushed a tall glass full of ice water into Ryoga's hand. Ryoga wrapped both hands around it gratefully, suddenly wracked with a full-body shiver as the degree of his fever caught up with him. It felt like his hands could melt the glass.
"Drink." Ranma commanded.
Ryoga gulped down half the glass quickly. When he brought the glass away from his lips, he noticed Ranma was holding something else out to him. A small pill in the palm of his hand.
"Ibuprofen," Ranma explained when Ryoga looked up at him curiously, "Finish that water and I'll go get more."
Ryoga silently took the pill from Ranma and took it with the rest of his water, though he slipped one of the smaller chunks of ice onto his tongue to crunch on. He then handed the empty glass to Ranma. When Ryoga tried to pry the bedsheets off the rest of his legs and turn to get out of bed, Ranma's free hand shot out to snatch the ball of Ryoga's shoulder.
"What the fuck are you doing," Ranma snapped at him, "Lie back down."
"I feel gross," Ryoga complained, "I sweat a bunch in my sleep. I want a cold shower."
Ranma's eyebrow twitched, but he released Ryoga's shoulder. "Fine."
Ryoga fought back the urge to roll his eyes. Gee, glad to know he had permission to get a damn shower. He pushed himself to his feet, and instantly wobbled.
Ranma's hand shot out, pressing into Ryoga's chest, and ignored Ryoga's weak attempt to wave him off.
"I'll come with you," Ranma said.
Ryoga looked at Ranma incredulously. "For crying out loud, Ranma, I'm fine. I can shower by myself."
"I ain't exactly keen to scrape your bloody carcass off the bathroom floor if you pass out or slip and crack your damned head open." Ranma bit out.
This time Ryoga didn't hold back his eye roll. "I'm just a bit achy from this stupid cold. Besides, I'll be getting a cold shower."
"So fuckin' what?"
"So, I don't wanna see you naked, fool!"
"You've seen me naked like a million times, you moron."
"It's different when you're a girl and you know it."
Ranma squinted at him. "As if I haven't given you a reaction regardless of what form I'm in," he said, "Don'cha think it's time y' let that lame-ass excuse go already?"
Ryoga leapt away like Ranma was the one with the scorching touch all of a sudden. "Wh-wh—I—that—!"
Suddenly, black stars burst across Ryoga's vision and he stumbled backward, the only thing keeping him from toppling over being the bed pressing up against the back of his legs.
Ranma regarded him for a long moment, one hand on his hip, eyebrow cocked.
Ryoga looked back at him sheepishly. "...Can you at least wear a swimsuit?"
It was Ranma's turn to roll his eyes. "Fine, you big baby."
—
DECEMBER 24th 2000
"I cannot believe you're wearing that."
Akane paused on her way down the steps, looking suddenly mortified. "Wh-what's wrong with it?"
Ranma had lowered himself into a crouch, his head hung low between his knees. "How do you expect me to leave the house with you lookin' like that?"
Akane clutched at the railing with one hand while she looked down incredulously at her outfit, trying to find the fault in it. After a moment, Ranma looked up at his wife, looking weary. Akane just looked at him with wide, confused eyes.
"Seriously, Ranma, what's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
Ranma pushed himself upright and then slid a hand down his face. "Akane, baby," he sighed, "You can't just come out lookin' like the most decadent all-you-can-eat buffet and expect me to be remotely decent in public with you."
Akane's panicked expression quickly vanished into relief, and the embarrassed flush on her cheeks grew even darker. "Boy, you don't break out the 'baby' unless you're really affected."
"I am aware," Ranma said, making his way to the bottom of the stairs. "Y'know what, I forgot to tell ya, but the Christmas Market actually burned down. Guess we can't go. Whatta shame."
Akane giggled, backing up the stairs as Ranma began to climb them. "Oh, really? Sounds pretty awful. You'd think we would've heard about it on the news."
"Yeah, weird, huh?" Ranma said, dismissively. His voice had gone several pitches lower as he ascended the stairs, "Now c'mere."
"Ranma!" Akane cried out, a laugh bubbling out of her as she scrambled up the stairs, narrowly avoiding Ranma's grabbing hands. "Gee, I woulda whipped this dress out a while ago if I'd known it'd have this effect on you."
"As if you'd even need the dress to have an effect on me," Ranma said, "C'mon, that dumb ol' market ain't goin' anywhere."
"That's blatantly untrue," Akane said, trying in vain to hold back her laughter, "It closes by the end of the month!"
They had reached the top of the stairwell. Ranma snaked his arms around Akane's waist and pulled her close. "Ah well, there's always next year."
"Ranmaaa," Akane chided him, bringing her hands to push against his chest. She was not putting much effort into it at all. "I really wanna go."
Ranma rested his forehead on top of Akane's head. "Well you shoulda thought of that before putting this on." he grumbled, sliding his hands down the curve of her back. One hand pressed firmly against her ass, and he grinned against her head scarf when Akane jolted sharply and let out a surprised squeak.
"I thought you said I didn't need the dress," Akane said coyly.
"I did," Ranma said, "and ya don't."
He'd pushed one of her sleeves askew, exposing her shoulder, which he pressed a hot, firm kiss to. Akane shivered despite the warmth of his lips.
"You reeeeally don't," Ranma breathed against her ear.
For a moment, Ranma really thought he was going to get the upper hand. Just when it seemed like his wife was quickly turning to putty in his arms, she suddenly found her strength again, pushing him until his back met the wall behind him. She kept her hand planted firmly in the centre of his chest, holding him in place. Ranma did not mind in the slightest; he liked where this was going.
"Well, you can think that all you'd like, but I'd still like the chance to actually wear it," Akane said softly, "But if you show me a good time tonight, I might consider letting you get rid of it."
Ranma blinked owlishly at Akane for a beat, before letting out a despairing groan and bumping the back of his head against the wall.
"Baby," he whined, "You can't say things like that and expect me to be remotely decent in public with you."
Akane leaned in close until their lips ghosted against each other's. "Nobody asked you to," she whispered.
Something bordering on a growl was working its way out of Ranma's chest as he moved in to close the breath of space between their lips, but before he could cross the distance Akane stepped back and was halfway down the stairs before Ranma's eyes could flutter in a blink of surprise.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips, painted a deep rose red that Ranma couldn't wait to stain his skin with later, the promise of which burned in her chocolate brown eyes.
The wordless promise between them hanging thick in the air, Akane continued her way down the stairs, Ranma quick to follow.
—
DECEMBER 7th 2002
"I cannot believe you're wearing that."
Ranma looked down at himself, now changed into his girl form. "What? You told me to wear a swimsuit."
Ryoga rubbed a hand down his face so hard it dragged at his lower eyelids for a moment. "Don't you have anything that's more…conservative?"
Ranma fiddled with one of the thin strings tied into a bow at his hip, one of two extremely precarious-looking knots which were holding the bottoms of the blue-and-white striped bikini into place. "I think this one is more conditioning."
The tips of Ryoga's ears burned. "I don't need to be conditioned."
"Look at the bright side, since you're takin' a cold shower anyway, even if this does get a reaction outta you, we'll both be blissfully unaware." Ranma said, "How's the fever?"
Ryoga finished discarding his clothes, quick to pull a towel around his waist as he walked into the furo and over to the shower, Ranma following close behind. "I think I sweat most of it out," Ryoga replied, "And that honeyed daikon and ginger tea really helped with my throat, but I still feel a bit off. My body aches all over, and my head feels kinda swimmy."
Ranma didn't give much more of a response to that than a small, thoughtful hum at first. Once Ryoga had discarded his towel and bandana then turned on the shower, he spoke up again. "Any chest or back pain?"
Ryoga stepped into the spray, jumping a little at the cool temperature but welcoming it quickly as it washed away the clammy feeling on his skin. He looked over his shoulder at Ranma curiously. "Uh, no, not at all."
"Shortness of breath?"
"N-no," Ryoga answered, feeling uneasy, "Ranma, it's just a bad cold."
Ranma stepped closer to the shower, testing out the temperature on his hand, as though to gauge it would be cold enough to keep the curse activated. Seeming satisfied, he joined Ryoga under the spray.
"Take a deep breath." Ranma ordered.
Ryoga watched Ranma curiously for a moment but, quickly realising he wouldn't get away with not going through with it, did as he was told. He opened his mouth and took in a long, deep breath, held it for a moment just to prove his point, and then let it go.
Ranma watched him silently throughout his demonstration, and then longer still after Ryoga had released the breath. Then he said, "It's so weird to see you not changin' with cold water."
"Yeah, it was pretty surreal for me, too, at first," Ryoga said, "I still instinctually check the weather obsessively for rain. Old habits die hard, I guess."
His gaze wandered slightly as he spoke, watching as the blue stripes in Ranma's bikini top darkened as the water soaked into the fabric. The white stripes became slightly translucent. Ryoga swallowed roughly and tore his eyes away.
"Wash my back."
Ryoga looked back at Ranma quickly. "What?"
"If I'm gonna make sure you don't eat shit in the shower, I may as well get somethin' outta it," Ranma told him, "So help me wash up."
"I-I just wanted to quickly rinse the sweat off," Ryoga stammered, "I wasn't gonna be long, I just—"
"One of these days, Ryoga, you're gonna learn to just shut up an' listen to me." Ranma pushed past Ryoga so that his back was facing him. "Now get to it."
Ryoga had already rinsed all of his sweat off. There was nothing stopping him from just turning off the shower, grabbing his towel and leaving. What the hell was Ranma going to do about it, drag his ass back to the shower? But instead Ryoga reached for the body wash bottle sitting nearby and popped the cap.
He squeezed out a liberal amount of body wash and then set the bottle aside to work the soap into a lather between his hands. Then, with tentative fingers, he reached out and placed his hands on Ranma's back and started to move the soap lather around in small circles. In the middle of Ranma's back were two striped pieces of thin string, and Ryoga did his best to work around it without disturbing the loose knot.
Then, Ranma reached back and pulled the two ends of the bow away, undoing the tie. Ryoga watched in silent horror as the strings fell away from Ranma's soapy back, now fully bare. The only thing keeping up the bikini top now was another flimsy bow tied at the nape of Ranma's neck. Ryoga swallowed around what felt like a stone in his throat.
He finished washing Ranma's back, letting the water wash away the soap bubbles. He watched as they ran down his skin, some catching on the bikini bottoms, others running in rivulets down the backs of Ranma's legs. Ranma didn't move to re-tie the back of the bikini again. He turned around, facing Ryoga.
"Now the front."
Ryoga's eyes bulged. "Wh—"
But the words died in his throat and he felt himself choke on his own spit as Ranma reached up behind his neck, pulling the tie there loose. The bikini top stuck to his wet skin, and didn't fall away the instant he undid the strings. Instead, he had to peel away the fabric, then let it plop to the shower floor with a finality.
Ryoga did his absolute best to maintain eye contact. "Ranma, wh-what the hell."
"Like I said," Ranma said, "Conditioning."
"And I told you I don't need to be conditioned."
"I think you do," Ranma returned. He picked up the body wash and took a step closer to shove it into Ryoga's hand. "Now c'mon, lather me up."
Ryoga could have just shoved the body wash right back at Ranma, grabbed his towel, and high-tailed it out of there. But instead he looked from the bottle in his hands, then to Ranma, then he sighed. He popped open the cap and squeezed another large dollop onto his hands. Ranma took the bottle back from him and set it aside as Ryoga worked it into a lather again. Then he took a step closer, soapy hands raised.
He quickly hesitated. "I don't think I can."
"It's fine," Ranma said, "It's just me."
Ryoga let out a rough sigh. "Th-that's not…"
"And it's just you," Ranma went on, "So it'll be fine."
Ryoga watched Ranma curiously. What did that mean?
Ryoga closed the space between them with his hands, placing them around Ranma's collarbones, carefully running the soap over his shoulders and upper chest. He felt Ranma's eyes on him all the while, which certainly wasn't helping his nerves any.
Pressing his lips together tightly, Ryoga willed his hands to travel further down, over the swell of Ranma's breasts. The cold water wasn't likely to do him any favours; his body had already acclimated to the temperature, and Ryoga believed he could be standing stark naked in the middle of a frosty tundra and still his body wouldn't be able to help the way it reacted to the sight before him. It was enough just to look, but to feel was something entirely new, and didn't come close to holding a candle to how he had imagined it.
All he had to do was run his hands over the skin, move the soap around, but Ryoga found his hands with a sudden will of their own as his fingers curled in, kneading and rolling around Ranma's soapy breasts. Looking up at Ranma, he saw that he had closed his eyes at some point. He should move on to washing Ranma's stomach, or maybe his arms, but instead his hands refuse to move, continuing to squeeze at the full, soft mounds.
His thumb accidentally brushed against one of Ranma's nipples, dark pink and hard from the cold spray. If it weren't for their close proximity, Ryoga would have missed the way Ranma's next breath caught in his throat, or how his body slightly jolted underneath Ryoga's palms.
"S-sorry," Ryoga whispered.
Ranma's eyes fluttered open. Some of his lashes were clumped together. "Don't be."
Then, Ranma's eyes flickered down. Ryoga followed his gaze, and then instantly paled. He was at full attention between them. Ryoga's head shot back up, but Ranma continued to stare down at his predicament for a moment longer before he slowly lifted his head back up to meet Ryoga's panicked gaze with his own perfectly neutral one.
"Sorry," Ryoga said, again.
"Don't be," Ranma said, again.
Ranma pulled at the ties on either side of his hips, peeling away the bikini bottoms. Ryoga's mouth suddenly felt incredibly dry for a moment, and then a burst of saliva enveloped his tongue.
The bikini bottoms met their other half on the floor.
For a moment, they both just stood there under the cool spray. Then, Ranma stepped backwards and reached behind him, twisting the tap. After a moment, the cold water began to run warm, then hot. Ryoga watched Ranma change before him, growing several inches in height, soft mounds on his chest shrinking down and then expanding into flat pectorals.
"You oughta take care of that," Ranma said, knocking his chin towards Ryoga's hard-on, which had not weaned in the slightest as he had watched Ranma change forms. "Poor thing might just fall right off at this rate."
Ryoga didn't have it in him to give Ranma grief for calling his dick a 'poor thing' for a second time. He was starting to believe him at this point.
Ranma stepped out from under the shower spray, and made his way to the sliding door. He slid it open, pausing there for a moment before looking one last time over his shoulder.
"I think that's enough training for today."
Then he stepped through the doorway, and the image of his naked, dripping wet body disappeared behind the door as Ranma slid it back in place.
Ryoga stared at the doorway for a while, listening to the sound of Ranma moving around just beyond it, until he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing shut again.
He looked down. Ranma had a point. He really ought to take care of that. He had tried back that night he spent in his tent, but had stopped himself. It hadn't felt right to think of the usual redhead-that-definitely-wasn't-Ranma after what Ranma had told him about his past. About all of the strangers he had allowed to touch him for a brief reprieve from the dark clouds in his brain, or some other means to an end. He felt like he was no better than all the rest of them, for thinking of Ranma that way.
Don't be, Ranma's voice called out to him in his brain, as though in reassurance.
And it's just you, so it'll be fine.
Ryoga's eyes widened, a sudden realisation sliding over him. Had Ranma meant that it was because he knew Ryoga didn't view him the way all those strangers had, that it was fine? That with him, Ranma felt safe enough to close his eyes when Ryoga's hands were on him?
And that when Ryoga thought of Ranma when the heat in his stomach pooled too thick to bear any further, that it was also fine, because Ryoga was thinking of Ranma. Not just some nameless vision that couldn't elicit any guilt from his subconscious, but Ranma. Red hair changing to black, then red again, then black. The shape of the eyes never changing, but the colour of blue altered just so; bright cerulean to steel blue.
Was it conditioning for Ranma, too? Allowing himself to feel comfortable in his female form again? To allow someone other than his wife to touch him, as himself and not a stranger in a dark corner of a bar?
Ryoga plucked the bikini bottoms from the floor, running his thumbs along the strings. Stepping fully under the hot water raining down on him, he leaned his arm against the wall, pressing his forehead into his fist, clutching to the soaked, striped bikini bottoms, the loose strings dangling in the air. He brought his other hand down and wrapped it firmly around his base, applying some much-needed pressure to quell the fog in his brain.
Closing his eyes, he began to move his hand, and let his mind paint a vivid picture that cut through the rest of the fog. Ranma's back to him, soap bubbles running down his skin, Ryoga's hands reaching out to deftly pull away the strings holding the bikini top closed. Taking Ranma by the shoulder and turning him around. The memory of Ranma reaching to the back of his neck and finishing the job himself played over in Ryoga's mind, remembering the way he had slowly peeled the soaked suit away from wet flesh, revealing full breasts pink from the chill of the water.
Ryoga bit down into the soaked fabric of the striped bikini bottoms clenched in his fist to stifle his groan.
He thought of his hands roaming over soapy, smooth skin, somehow warm under his palms despite the cold water around them. He remembered the hitch of Ranma's breath as Ryoga's thumb grazed over a rose-pink, hardened nipple. Remembered the way his lashes stuck together, his blue eyes dark, irises blown wide…
Then his hands were travelling further still, roaming over Ranma's stomach, to his hips. Ryoga leaned down, tucked his face against the curve of Ranma's neck as he pulled the two bows tying up the bikini bottoms. The wetness kept the suit still clinging to Ranma's skin. Ryoga's hands continued to roam, fingers exploring down between Ranma's legs, pushing against the slit he could feel through the wet swimsuit.
Ranma let out a sharp gasp, and Ryoga could feel him shiver with their proximity, his lips grazed against Ranma's neck. He licked a stripe across Ranma's throat in the same moment he finished peeling away the final layer between them, letting the bikini bottoms heavy with water smack into the tiled floor. Ranma stepped out of them, hands coming up to run over Ryoga's chest as Ryoga ran his fingers over his slit again, no longer encumbered by a layer between them.
Ryoga's hand moved relentlessly between his thighs, breath breaking as he continued to clamp his teeth down into the wet swimsuit bottoms, water rushing out onto his tongue.
And in his mind, Ranma sighed, soft and high and pretty, wet lashes fluttering as he spread his legs, allowing Ryoga easier access to push his fingers inside. Ranma keened, rolling his hips, grinding into Ryoga's fingers. And then he was stepping back, Ryoga's fingers sliding out, cold water washing away the delightful, slick heat. Before Ryoga could protest, Ranma was reaching behind him to turn the tap, and the water ran hot. He changed before Ryoga, growing taller and fuller. His steely blue gaze was still dark with want as he moved back toward Ryoga, snaking his arms around Ryoga's neck.
He glanced down between them, lips pulling into a smile. Just a flash of teeth. "You should take care of that."
Ryoga had seen Ranma's dick plenty of times, but never like that. But his imagination was plenty colourful enough to fill in the gaps, allowing him to visualise what it might be like to see Ranma looking just as affected by him as Ranma had made Ryoga so many times over. It wasn't fair that Ranma had seen him hard all those times and Ryoga never had. Bastard. He should fix that.
His brain is far too addled to even retract that particular comment.
Ranma wrapped one arm around Ryoga's neck, pulling him in closer as his other hand looped around Ryoga's wrist, guiding his hand down. He felt Ranma's lips against his ear, his hot breath against his skin as he whispered to him, "Y' gonna take care of me?"
And then Ryoga was no longer pumping himself, imagining the cock in his hand as not his own, but as Ranma's. He stroked him eagerly, roughly, drinking up every gasp and moan that dripped into Ryoga's ears like the thickest, sweetest honey.
"I'll take care of you," Ryoga promised in hushed tones against Ranma's skin, pressing hot kisses up his throat, biting at his jaw, licking at the water droplets running down his cheeks. Or maybe they were tears. He drank them down all the same. "I've got you, you can let go. I have you. Cum for me, Ranma, cum for me—"
Ryoga nearly tore a hole into the bikini bottoms stuffed into his mouth as he bit down, a guttural groan bursting out of his throat as he felt the taut, hot coil within him finally release—finally, finally, he was honestly shocked it even took him that long—and he felt his cock twitch in his hand as he splattered the tiled wall in front of him. After a few pulses, he was drained dry, and he gave himself a final squeeze before his hand dropped and his teeth unlatched from the striped bikini bottoms in his mouth.
He used the bikini bottoms to wipe off the wall, then dropped them back to the floor so he could brace both hands against the wall again and catch his breath. After a minute or two, he turned the temperature down on the water again. Not quite as frigid as before, but he still needed the cooldown.
Maybe he hadn't sweat out that fever after all.
—
JANUARY 2001
The only thing that stopped him from burning a hole into the floor was the sound of the door at the other side of the room opening. Ranma's frantic steps halted abruptly and he spun on his heel and met the person walking into the room halfway.
Doctor Yamaguchi was a man in his early fifties. He was small in stature, only coming up to Ranma's shoulders, but carried himself with the confidence of a man who was seven feet tall. Being their family physician for several years now, and a constant throughout Akane's diagnosis and battles through chemotherapy, the doctor knew to skip any formalities and get straight into the facts.
Yamaguchi pulled off his thin, silver framed glasses and tucked them into the front pocket of his white coat. "She seems to have contracted double pneumonia."
Ranma raked his fingers through his hair. He hadn't showered since they arrived at the hospital two days ago. "Double?" he echoes. He doesn't recognize the sound of his own voice.
"It means she has an infection in both lungs," Yamaguchi explained, "It was what was causing her difficulty breathing. With her weakened immune system, she's incredibly susceptible to bacterial infections like this. I see it quite often in lung cancer patients."
"She doesn't have it in her lungs." Ranma said firmly.
Doctor Yamaguchi's mouth pulled into a taut, thin line. "During our examination, I'm afraid that we found that the cancer has spread to her left lung."
It felt like the floor had turned to quicksand beneath Ranma's feet. He stumbled backward, falling back onto the edge of the bed where his wife currently lay, connected to a myriad of tubes and machines. The steady, electronic beep of her heartbeat from the monitor in the corner suddenly became muddled, like he had just been plunged under ice water.
Doctor Yamaguchi placed a hand on Ranma's shoulder. "I'm sorry. Unfortunately, since the cancer spread into her lymph nodes, it causes it to spread far more quickly to other organs. It was caught late to begin with, and had already spread from her cervix to her ovaries by the time we began any treatment. We are doing everything we can to make her comfortable. The infection…"
It was getting harder and harder to hear the doctor's voice, each word becoming more muffled than the last. Ranma's ears were ringing.
"...what caused it?"
Doctor Yamaguchi pulled his hand away from Ranma's shoulder. "I'm sorry?"
"The infection."
They were always so careful. They were always so, so careful. So how in the hell had Akane gotten an infection in both of her lungs?
"As I said, she's just more susceptible to this in her condition. But it's spread the way any bacterial disease is; she just came into contact with it at some point."
Ranma scrubbed at his eyes, almost dragging his hand down his face before remembering he was wearing a face mask.
"Sometimes these things just happen. It's unfortunate, but there's no sense in tying yourself into knots trying to figure out the cause. All that matters now is that your wife gets plenty of rest."
Ranma said nothing. Doctor Yamaguchi patted him on the shoulder again.
"We're doing everything we can for her," Yamaguchi said, a phrase Ranma had heard him say what felt like three hundred times now.
Ranma wanted to scream. But screaming would wake Akane, and she was always in so much discomfort when she was awake. It was kinder to let her sleep.
The room was silent, safe for the long, crackling breaths coming from Akane, and the steady beep from her heart monitor. Yamaguchi gave Ranma's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and then stepped backward.
"I'll come back in a little while to check on her," Yamaguchi said, "Try and get some rest yourself."
Both of them knew that wasn't going to happen, but Ranma gave the doctor a slight nod anyway. The doctor excused himself from the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
For a moment, Ranma just stared at the door, listening to the beeping. Then he pushed himself off the edge of the bed and dropped himself into the chair pulled close to Akane's bedside. He took one of her tiny hands in both of his own, bending over to press his forehead against her knuckles.
Ranma cleaned every surface of that house top to bottom every single day. You could eat off the floor. There's no way that any kind of viral bacteria had breached the walls of the Tendo Dojo. And there was only one instance in which either of them had been away from their spotless house to venture out into the world. Akane hadn't left the house in weeks until the night of the Christmas Market. The place he had taken her in the hopes he could see her smile again.
His selfishness had put her here, and this was all his fault.
