Hiya!

	Well, I'm off to Residence Advisor Training Camp, so I guess it's 
time to unsubscribe from the FFML (I seriously doubtmy mailbox could 
survive a week-long deluge of fics without doing so...)  I probably won't 
be able to resubscribe till the initial back-to-school September madness 
subsides, so guess I'll be off for a bit.  So I thought I'd send out what 
I have of this story.
	It follows Choices: The Party.  Hope you like it!  Author notes at
end.  Oh, and C&C (public or private!) is welcome!  I'll get it all (and
respond as well), once I get back, and I won't be ubsubscribing till
Sunday, anyway. 

	-Mike Noakes
***
                   Choices                   

Part Two: Dilemma


     Slow, reluctant rise from comforting darkness.  Unwilling
awakening to dull throbbing pain lurking within his skull.  Queasy,
empty feeling in the stomach.  General sensation of body weariness and
irritating tingly sensitivity of the skin.  Foul, pasty taste to the mouth,
tongue feeling unpleasantly thick.  Tentatively, he opened one eye --
then immediately squeezed it shut, despite the relative darkness of the
room.
     Ranma groaned.  He felt terrible.  He wanted to sleep some
more.  He turned over onto one side.
     "Oh no you don't!"  A voice interrupted his silent suffering. 
"Time to get up!"  A woman.  Cheerful sounding, but with an
undeniable authoritative edge.  There was the sound of curtains being
drawn, and annoying, unwanted light flooded the room.  "You've slept
long enough!"
     "No -- no," he moaned pathetically.  "I don't wanna get up,
Mom!"  Mom.  Mom?  "MOM!" he exclaimed, bolting into a sitting
position, sending his sheets flying and causing interesting lights to flare
before his vision.  Intense fear clutched him, almost strong enough to
overcome the redoubled pounding in his skull.  Ranma clutched his
head in pain while peering, terrified, through a mess of bangs at the tall
woman.  She finished drawing back the last curtain and turned around. 
Nodoka  smiled.
     "Good morning, Ranko!" she said.  "Sorry, dear, your mom is
not here.  Just me."
     Ranma blinked up confusedly at his mother, and then, slowly,
looked down at himself.  For perhaps the first time, the sight of breasts
on his chest -- still bound in Akane's bikini -- comforted him.  With a
sigh of relief he relaxed.  "Oh.  Ah, hi. . . Auntie Saotome," he
stammered.
     His mother kneeled next to him.  "How are you feeling?" she
asked softly, smoothing back the redhead's hair.  Ranma realized that
his hair was unbound and flowing freely, and somewhat messily, down
his back.  He blew a few wayward strands out of his face, which his
mom secured behind the ears.
     "Ah. . . fi -- fine, I guess," he answered.  Then seeing the
knowing glint in his mother's eyes, he grinned weakly.  "Terrible."
     She nodded as she stood.  "I'll get you something to drink
which should help to soothe your stomach, Ranko.  I will be back in a
moment."  She stepped away, but paused a moment before leaving the
room.  "You know, Ranko, it really is not ladylike to drink so much,"
she said disapprovingly, then turned and left the room.
     "Yeah, no kidding," he muttered as she slid the door shut
behind her.  Ranma slowly lowered himself onto his futon, throwing one
arm across his eyes to block out the light.  What is she doing here, he
wondered.  Then a moment later: what am _I_ doing here?  Last he
could remember was. . . the pool?  Diving.  Drinking.  Playful splashing
and swimming and relaxed fun.
     No.
     There was. . . something else.  A girl?  A name hovered at the
edge of his mind.  A bathroom?  A snapshot image flashed through his
head: counter, rug, curtains, shower, toilet.  Was it at Kiyoshi's place? 
He could not remember.  Strange.  Normally I'm really good with
names and places and stuff, he thought.  It's not like me to forget. . .
     Forget. . .
     He was forgetting something.  He knew it.  Something
important.  His brow furrowed in intense concentration as he forced
sluggish thoughts backwards: before swimming, he had stepped into the
house, looking for some hot water, and he had bumped into. . .
     Akane.
     Ranma jerked suddenly upright once again, eyes widening in
horror.  "Oh no," he whispered, suddenly oblivious to the renewed
pounding in his head.  An angry loud voice echoed through his mind:
     "You pervert!
     "What kind of _guy_ hangs around other guys wearing a
_girl's_ bathing suit?
     "Some man, some fiance you are!"
     He winced at the memory.  He winced at his retaliation:
     "You wanted to come here, alone, right?  Well, fine.  Then you
can leave here, alone, too!  You didn't want me hangin' around you at
the party?  Fine!  Then why should I hang around you _after_ the
party?
     "After all, being alone suits you, ne?  S'not like anyone _here_
cares if you stay or go.  _I_ certainly don't!"
     And then, worst of all:
     "Let go."  Her demand.
     "No."  His refusal.
     And he had pressed down on her wrist.  He had hurt her.
     Ranma buried his face in his hands.  Akane's voice,
dangerously soft, returned to him, accompanied this time with the image
of her face, red and furious and strangely sad:  "I hate you," she said,
and soon after: "Our engagement is over, Ranma."  The words had
been spoken with a chilling certainty and finality that left little doubt in
Ranma's mind that whatever had existed between them before was
irrevocably over.
     With a groan he sank back onto his futon.
     Soon after, the door slid open once again.  "Ranko. . . Ranko,
come on now, I thought I asked you to get up?"  He turned his head
slightly and watched as his mom stepped back into his room.  With a
sigh she placed a small tray next to the futon.  Faint wisps of steam
escaped from the spout of the small porcelain kettle sitting on the tray; a
cup lay next to it.  Ranma could not help but look at the kettle
somewhat nervously: he did not like being so close to hot water when
his mother was around.  "Here," said Nodoka.  "This should help.  It is
a special Saotome recipe, renowned for easing the effects of too much
drinking.  At least," and she smiled slightly, almost wistfully, "it helped
my husband the many times I served it to him. . ."  Nodoka poured him
a cupful of tea.
     Smiling tentatively in return, Ranma accepted her offer.  "Er --
thanks," he said, raising the teacup to his lips.
     "Don't thank me until you taste it, dear. . . ," she answered, a
slightly mischievous glint to her eyes.  Ranma cast an inquisitive look at
his mother over the rim of the cup, then took a deep drink.
     The liquid was hot, bitter, thick, and thoroughly unpleasant.  He
almost gagged on the unexpected taste.  "No -- finish it, Ranko!"
insisted his mother forcefully, when, grimacing, he pulled the cup away.
     "But. . ."
     "Ranko. . ."
     With a groan, he held his breath and tried a second time.  The
pungent liquid tasted like something Akane would cook up, he thought
wryly, as the last drop finally slid sluggishly down his throat.
     "There.  That was not so bad, now was it, Ranko?"
     "Oh, not at all, Auntie Saotome," he said, leveling an even stare
at her and smiling crookedly.  "Just. . . wonderful."
     Nodoka gave a small laugh.  "It _is_ rather terrible, isn't it?"
     Ranma nodded emphatically, as his mother poured out another
cup.  "How much of this do I hafta drink, anyway?"
     "Depends on when you feel good enough to get up, dear,"
answered the taller woman, smiling.
     "Ah."  He took the second cup and sniffed at it, nose wrinkling
at the piercing scent.  "Ugh.  Then I think I'll be getting up soon. . ."
     "That's the whole point, dear!"
     Ranma snorted, but gamely tried another tentative sip.  It tasted
just as bad as before.  "Does it hafta taste and smell so bad?" he
asked.
     Nodoka giggled, and leaned in closer.  "The truth, Ranko?" she
whispered conspiratorially.  "No!"
     "But. . ."
     "I got into the habit of adding a few extra ingredients when I
made it for my husband.  Oh, how he hated the taste of it!  It was just
an extra incentive for him to not drink."  She paused for a moment. 
"Not, mind you, that it ever helped!"
     Ranma giggled in return.  Then he looked down at the viscous,
dark drink, and shook his head.  "Well, I'm certainly not gonna drink
again!  Ever!"
     "The amount of times Genma said that as well!"
     No kidding, thought Ranma.  Pop sure never gave up drinking
after leaving home.  At least, he drank enough while we wandered
across Japan -- a fair bit in China -- and it certainly didn't get any
better after Jusenkyo.  But after last night -- no.  The fight with Akane,
all the stuff he had told his classmates, even the stupid scanty bathing
suit he was _still_ wearing: it was all the fault of all that drinking. 
Akane.  He sighed.
     "Is there something wrong, Ranko?" asked his mother, looking
down at him with concern.
     Ranma shook his head, sighing again.  "Ah, gee, Auntie
Saotome.  It's -- it's nothing. . ."  And then, suddenly, "Umm -- is
everyone else here?"
     "Everyone?  Or someone in particular, Ranko?"
     He looked at her suspiciously, but continued, "Is -- is Akane
here?"
     Nodoka smiled.  "Yes, Akane is here.  She was quite worried
about you, Ranko."
     "Worried?"
     Nodoka nodded.  "And a little angry, too, I suppose," she said. 
"Although. . ."
     He drooped and sighed.  Angry.  Of course Akane would be
angry.  She had every reason to be, especially after what he had said
and done.  But it's her fault too, whispered a voice in the back of his
head.  She insulted you first, she blamed you first, she _started_ it.  He
cringed.  No!  He was to blame in this.  No matter what she had said
or done, Ranma knew he had gone too far this time.  He had
threatened her.  He had almost hurt her.  He had broken his promise
and ruined her night.  It had been her evening out, and he had selfishly
pushed her aside and made it his own.  Ranma face burned red with
shame.
     ". . . I really can't blame her," continued his mother.  "After all,
I am pretty mad with you myself, Ranko."  A note of sternness entered
Nodoka's voice, and the Saotome 'daughter' stared shamefacedly at
her futon.
     "I. . . I'm sorry," he mumbled.  "I. . . I didn't mean to. . ."  His
voice choked.  He was almost surprised at his own reaction; the feeling
in his stomach, the trembling, the fear.  Everybody knew.  Even his
mother.  What had he done?
     A single finger gently lifted his chin up, and caring eyes looked
down at him.  "Ranko," said Nodoka, still firm, but with added
compassionate and softness.  "I know you did not mean to -- but we
did expect you to be more responsible.  I do not approve of you
drinking, but if you do -- do you not think that, maybe, you should be a
little more careful?"
     Ranma looked up at her in surprise.  Was that it?  What about.
. .
     "You were lucky to have Akane there to watch over you,"
added the elder Saotome.  "Really, Ranko, drinking to the point of
passing out!  I expected better from you!  If your cousin had not found
you and carried you home, who knows what could have happened! 
With all. . ."
     "I passed out?" he interrupted.  "Akane carried me home?"
     "You don't remember?"
     He closed his eyes, tried thinking back again.  Talking with
friends.  Hiroshi.  Fighting with Akane (he winced unconsciously at that
once again).  Swimming.  And then. . . and then. . . blank.  He shook
his head.  "I. . . no.  I can't!"
     "What were you thinking, Ranko?"
     Ranma looked confused for a moment.  "Huh?"
     "Drinking like that?  With all those. . . those boys around!"
     "So?"
     Nodoka looked at him disbelievingly.  "A pretty young girl like
yourself, drunk, defenseless, dressed like that, surrounded by. . ."
     "Oh, Auntie - I don't think you have to worry about that," he
said dismissively, smirking.  "Trust me: the guys at the party don't. . .
ah, think of me that way.  Heh.  You could kinda say they think of me
as ' just one of the guys'."  But that's not quite true, now is it, intruded
a voice in the back of his head.  Hiroshi thought you were attractive,
didn't he?  So did the other guys.  The way they were looking at you -
they sure don't look at each other that way. . .  The smile slipped, and
Nodoka's half-concerned, half-annoyed look deepened.
     "Ranko. . ."
     "No, really," he insisted.  "Ok, maybe they _do_ look at me
kinda funny sometimes, but they wouldn't _dare_ touch me."  'Cus I'd
kill 'em, he thought grimly.  Besides, they all know I'm really a guy,
anyway.  Some of 'em may be perverts. . . but they're not _that_ bad! 
"Really, Auntie!  If they tried. . ." he inserted a slightly threatening
undercurrent to his voice and mimicked throwing a few punches.
     His mother smiled slightly despite herself.  "You are such a
tomboy, sometimes," she said, shaking her head and standing. 
"Sometimes I despair of ever making a young lady out of you!"
     "I'm pretty hopeless, ain't I?"
     Nodoka cast a critical eye over her protege.  "Well. . . I know
one place to start.  We need to get you washed up and into some
decent clothing!"
     Ranma wholeheartedly agreed.  He looked down at himself,
peeked beneath the sheets: he was still wearing nothing more than
Akane's bikini.  He felt dirty and grimy and, taking a sniff, he noticed
that he even smelt funny, too.  His mother was right -- a nice, hot bath,
and. . .  He looked up at his mother and sighed.  Well, ok, maybe a
not-so-nice cold scrubbing, instead, and he would feel a _lot_ better. 
The threat of his mother's idea of 'decent clothing' kind of worried him,
but he felt he had already disappointed her enough already. 
Disappointed everyone, really.  He had a feeling that today was going
to be a very long, very rough day.
     "I'll go and make you a light lunch, ok, Ranko?" said his
mother, heading for the door.
     He nodded, paused, then turned to her.  "Lunch?"
     "Oh my, didn't you realize?  You slept most of the day away,
dear.  It is already almost three o'clock in the afternoon!" she
answered, and left the room.
     He groaned.  Maybe not such a long day after all.  His one day
off, and he wasted it away nursing a hangover. _Definitely_ the last time
he would ever drink, he vowed -- it simply was not worth it. 
Eventually, with a final sigh, he stood up and headed to his dresser. 
Grabbing a towel and taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for the
inevitable and headed for the bathroom.


     Nodoka Saotome whistled a happy tune as she prepared a light
meal for Ranko, hands working with unconscious ease.  She always felt
comfortable and welcome at the Tendos; it was strange, really, that one
place could generate such feeling of both pleasure and profound
disappointment.  Once again, her son and husband were gone, training. 
Though she recognized the need for constant diligence and practice --
how else would her Ranma truly become a man of honor, a man among
men -- she still missed them terribly.  Every time she visited, every time
she discovered that they had already left, she invariably felt depressed. .
. momentarily.  For on every visit, there was also Ranko.
     Ranko.  Such a sweet, spunky, vibrant girl; such a tomboy!  
So beautiful and confident, almost cocky and arrogant, and yet
obviously so unsure of her own femininity and insecure in her own
development.  It had never been made clear, but Nodoka surmised that
the young girl was motherless; or perhaps Ranko and her mother simply
were not on speaking terms.  Whatever the reasons, the Tendo cousin
obviously needed and sought female guidance -- a sort of mother-
figure, as it were.  And Nodoka. . . Nodoka was more than pleased to
fill that role.
     She frowned slightly as she stirred the broth.  Judging by
Ranko's current condition, it was also clear that that role needed filling
_now_.  Drinking to the point of passing out?  Picking a fight at the
party?  According to Akane, her cousin had even been flirting with
many of the boys there!  Unbelievable.  Worse, she seemed utterly
clueless as to what could happen to a pretty young girl at a party like
that.  The matriarch shook her head; Ranko and her were going to have
a little 'mother' and 'daughter' talk, soon, before she left. . .
     "Mmmm. . ."  A voice interrupted her revery.  Nodoka glanced
back as Nabiki stepped into the kitchen.  "Smells wonderful, Mrs.
Saotome!"
     Nodoka smiled.  "Thanks, Nabiki," she said, returning to her
soup.  Reaching over, she lifted up the pile of sliced green onions on the
blade of her cutting knife, and slid them into the boiling broth.  "I'm
making a soup for Ranko.  With her stomach as queasy as it is, I doubt
she could handle anything much heavier."  As she talked she continued
adding to her soup: celery, carrots, leeks.
     The middle Tendo daughter stepped up to the stove and
peered in.  "Looks good," she said appreciatively, but with a slight
smirk to her face.  Nodoka gave her an inquisitive glance.  Nabiki
noticed and grinned.  "I was just thinking of Ranko.  How's she
feeling?"
     "As well as can be expected, I suppose, since I assume it was
her first time drinking."  She paused for a moment.  "It _was_ her first
time, I imagine?"
     Nabiki shrugged.  "As far as I know."
     "Good.  And I hope it was her last.  It simply is not ladylike to
drink like that. . ."
     "No kidding.  You'd almost think she was a _boy_, the way
she drank last night!"
     "Now, now," gently scolded Nodoka, "it is not nice to make
fun of your cousin like that."
     "I know," said Nabiki.  "I know.  It's just. . . well, you weren't
there, Mrs. Saotome.  Ranko looked so rough -- so _funny_, when
Akane dragged her home last night.  And she was spouting absolute
gibberish, too.  It was the first time I've seen. . . Ranko, heh, drunk. 
Absolutely priceless - and I've got the pictures to prove it!"
     "Nabiki!"
     She grinned.  Nodoka turned back to her soup, hiding a slight
creasing of her brow.  After all, they were not her children -- but
sometimes, she found Nabiki to be just a little to brash for her own
good.  But it was not her place to say anything.  Instead, she gave her
soup a taste and nodded in satisfaction.
     "Almost done," she announced.  "Would you like some?"
     Nabiki took another sniff, and nodded.  "For sure!"
     "Do you think Akane would like some as well?"
     "Well," answered the Tendo, "She's been out in the dojo all
day -- which means that she's probably pretty hungry."  She paused as
if in thought for a moment.  "Did you mention whether Ranko was
coming down any time soon?"
     Nodoka pulled a small stack of bowls from the kitchen
cupboard.  "Ranko should be down any moment, the poor dear.  She
said she would eat right after a quick bath."
     "In a moment?" said Nabiki, grinning evilly.  "I'll go get Akane
right away!"  The girl turned and quickly strode from the kitchen.


     Nabiki frowned as she watched her younger sister finish a kata
in the dojo.  The piles of shattered cinder blocks was expected; this
was not.  Akane was complete immersed within her movements,
moving with an intensity and - and abandon, Nabiki realized, that was
quite unusual for her.  And yet, for all her concentration, Akane's form
was flawed, uncontrolled, almost sloppy.  Even Nabiki could tell. 
Which meant that something was bothering her sister; something
important.  It suddenly occurred to Nabiki that, perhaps, something
more serious than just Ranma getting drunk and making an idiot of
himself had happened at the party last night.
     "Hey, Akane," she called out, stepping into the training hall.
     Her sister started at the sudden interruption, and completed her
technique messily.  "Na - Nabiki," she said, giving her head a little
shake.  "I didn't hear you come. . ."
     "You ok, sis?" interrupted the older sister.  "You look a bit out
of it."
     Akane flushed slightly as she wiped the sleeve of her gi across
her forehead.  "It - it's nothing, Nabiki.  Just having a bit of trouble
concentrating."
     Obviously, thought Nabiki, but why?  No doubt that idiot
Saotome had insulted her or something last night.  Akane's recount of
the party had been sketchy at best, and her story had been full of holes
and left large sections of the night unaccounted for.  Nabiki had thought
nothing of it -- what reason had she to be suspicious?  If Ranma had
done anything to annoy her, Akane could be counted on to let the
world know (as she had this morning); and if her sister had been up to
anything more. . . serious, like drinking or something, than what of it? 
Nabiki had had her first experiment with alcohol at the very same party
last year, and remembered that night quite fondly; why deny Akane the
same?
     But, obviously, _something_ had not gone well.  Perhaps she
ought to give a few friends a call. . .
     "So what did you want, Nabiki?" asked Akane.
     "Huh?  Oh.  Aunt Saotome just made some soup.  She wanted
to know if you were hungry.  Smells good!" 
     Akane seemed to consider it for a moment, then gave a single
nod.  "Sure.  I guess I am kind of hungry," she answered, and fell into
step beside her sister.
     "So how are you feeling?" asked Nabiki as they crossed the
yard between the dojo and the house.
     Akane shot her a sideway glance.  "Fine.  Why?"
     "You just seem a bit. . . tense.  Still pissed off at Ranma?"
     They stepped up onto the veranda.  "I don't want to talk about
it, Nabiki."
     "Oh, c'mon, sis.  You kind of glossed over the details   what
did he do?  Fool around behind your. . . ," prodded Nabiki.
     "I said," exclaimed Akane loudly, as they stepped into the
house, "I don't want to talk about that hentai _baka_!"
     Sudden silence greeted their arrival.  Looking around, Nabiki
realized that they had all arrived at the table simultaneously: Mrs.
Saotome, stepping out of the kitchen with a tray laden with bowls;
father and Uncle Saotome (in panda form, of course) crossing over
from their habitual shogi-playing position; and finally Ranma, turning the
corner, wrapped in a towel and carrying his bath accessories.
     Tension levels rose considerably.
     Mrs. Saotome was the first to break the silence.  With a small
frown, she turned to Akane and asked, "Are you talking about my son,
Akane dear?"
     The shift in her sister's demeanor was stunning.  She was
suddenly smiling --  though it fell far short of Akane's eyes and was so
obviously false and forced to anyone with any degree of perception that
Nabiki wondered how anyone could fail to see through it -- and she
answered in a too-too cheerful voice, "Not at all, Aunt Saotome.  I was
talking about. . . about some jerk at the party last night.
     "Isn't that right. . . Ranko?"  And the forced smile, forced
cheerfulness in Akane's voice hit a chilling high as she turned to her
nervous-looking fiance.
     "Ah -- ah. . ." he stammered, eyes flicking back and forth
across everyone in the room, seemingly unable to meet Akane's steady
gaze.
     "Say, how are you feeling, anyway, Ranko?" asked Akane,
and this time there was a slight, almost imperceptible tremor to her
voice, buried by the time she finished.  "You looked pretty sick last
night!"
     "Er, ah -- yeah.  Fine.  I feel. . . fine."  He took a hesitant step
forward.  "I was, ah, just going to take a bath, Akane."  He nervously
crossed the room; Akane stepped back to give him space to pass by;
he hesitated once again before doing so.
     And as he drew up beside Akane, she asked, "Oh, and I was
wondering if you were done with my bikini yet, Ranko."  The
cheerfulness in her voice suddenly dropped like a rock, leaving her
words hard and cold.  "Was it worth it. . . Ranko?"
     Ranma flinched back as if slapped, then dropped his gaze to
the floor.  Finally, after a long-seeming moment, he raised his eyes to
Akane's, and matched her glare with a look that defied Nabiki's
attempt to decipher.  Another moment, then he sighed and stepped
away.  Without another word or look back, he stepped into the
bathroom.
     "Well, I see she's looking much better!" said Mrs. Saotome
with honest brightness, serving out the bowls of soup.  Father and
Panda nodded sagely before tearing into their meal; Akane calmly sat at
the table and began eating methodically.  Nabiki shook her head. 
Something was _very_ wrong here, and obviously the adults were too
blind to realize it.  It seemed a few calls were in order.  After lunch, of
course.



     Ranma closed the door and leaned back against it.  He closed
his eyes and let out a deep breath.  After a moment he realized he was
trembling slightly, and forced himself to relax.
     He held the position for what seemed like a long time, thoughts
lost and in turmoil.  Akane was angry. . . very, very angry, and there
was not the slightest glimmer of forgiveness within her eyes.  He
realized that, up to now, though he had been telling himself how terrible
a thing he had done, how Akane would be right to never again speak to
him, he had still be hoping -- no, expecting! -- her to let him off the
hook.  He sighed.
     It wasn't going to happened.
     Had it been worth it?  Standing properly, letting the towel fall
away, he glanced down at himself, at the bikini he was wearing.  Had it
been worth it?
     No.
     With sudden alacrity he reached behind and unhooked the top;
with a quick wiggle and kick he tore off the bottom.  He scooped up
both and dumped them in the hamper.  There.  For what it was worth. .
. the bathing suit was gone.  He felt slightly better.
     Actually, he realized, he felt a _lot_ better.  Akane's too-small
top had been constricting his breasts for, what, over twelve hours now? 
It felt kind of nice to let his chest loose.  But then he looked down at his
ample bosom, the soft, full flesh that made him something other than
what he truly was, and grew angry.  It should not feel 'nice' to let his
chest loose, he should never have had to bind it up in the first place! 
One fist convulsed in anger.  Damn curse!  Stupid, stupid, impossible
curse!  He glanced through the sliding door over to the furo; light wisps
of steam curled up from the ready and waiting bath.  Good.  Mother or
not, he _would_ return to maleness, even if only for a few minutes.  He
was a man -- and he needed to feel like one again.
     With intense determination, he stalked over to the bath.  It was
inconsiderate for him to climb into the bath like this, still dirty and
without scrubbing down first; he did not care.  He lifted one leg up and
over. . .
     "Oh, Ranko dear. . ."
     With sudden uncanny speed and skill, he brought his leg down
and pushed off the ceramic edge of the bath; he caught himself easily as
he fell back, hand-springing off the slick floor, twisting in midair; before
his mother could even complete her cursory knock, he landed on the
little stool in the anteroom and flipped up his bucket of bathing products
with one foot.  The door opened and in stepped his mother.
     "Ranko. . . Ranko?  You haven't even started bathing yet?" she
asked, surprised.
     "Oh, ah. . . not yet, Auntie Saotome!" he answered, forcing a
girlish giggle.  "I guess I still felt a little tired. . ."
     "Are you feeling okay, dear?" she asked, stepping into the
room and softly closing the door behind her.  "You looked a bit
flushed.  Maybe I should not have forced you up so quickly. . ."
     Ranma shook his head.  "Oh, it's ok, Mrs. Saotome!  I'll be
fine!"
     "Are you sure?"  After dropping a bundle of clothing on the
counter, she knelt down next to Ranma and brought one hand up to his
forehead.  "I can take my bath with you, if you like, wash your back for
you. . ."
     "No!" exclaimed Ranma, and then again, somewhat less
excitedly, "No.  I'll be fine, really."  He stood up and smiled.  "See, I
feel. . ."  Then, realizing he was completely naked, he blushed furiously,
grabbed his towel, and wrapped it around his body.  "Ah. . . sorry
'bout that."
     His mother smiled, but cast a careful eye over her 'daughter'. 
"Are you sure you feel fine?"  When he nodded, she relaxed and turned
back to the door.  "Well, okay then.  Just remember that your soup is
getting cold.  Don't take too long, Ranko!"
     "I won't, Auntie!" he answered.
     "Oh, and I left some clothes for you, for after you clean up,"
she said as she closed the door behind her.
     Ranma watched after her for a moment, then sank back onto
the stool with a relieved sigh.  Close -- too close.  He glanced over at
the bath again and decided that, maybe, he _could_ accept being
female for just a little longer.  He gave a dry, wry laugh.  To think, he
thought, that I actually believed I could have a little _privacy_ in my
own bathroom!  As if.
     Except, he recalled absently, it was not his bathroom, nor his
house.  It was the Tendo's -- and at any time, they had every right to
simply throw him and his father out.  Especially after what he had done
yesterday.  Ranma shivered.  Shaking his head, he trudged over to the
taps and filled a bucket with cold water.  He then settled down on his
stool and started to lather up.  Goosebumps rose as the chilling
washcloth passed across arms, stomach, chest.
     He continued to wash absently as his mind wandered.  What
was he going to do?  Strangely enough, it seemed as if Akane had not
yet told his or her father about what had happened last night.  Hangover
notwithstanding, Pop and Mr. Tendo would most certainly have been
banging on his door the moment they found out that Akane had called
off the engagement.  In the brief time he had seen Nabiki before
stepping into the bathroom, she had not seem aware of what had gone
on, either.  So obviously Akane had only told part of the story -- the
parts where he drank himself silly and had a good time.  Was that a
good thing?  Did that mean that, perhaps, there was a possibility of
somehow, with time, working this through?
     If only he had any idea where to start. . .
     He started and let out an involuntary gasp as the icy cloth
passed a little close to his lower regions.  Snapping back to reality, he
started to wash down his legs.  With time?  Did he _have_ any time? 
His washing slowed as he grimaced.  Time.  He never felt like he had
any -- or that anything was permanent.  His friends.  His home.  Hell,
even his manhood.  If only. . .
     "Aw. . . _shit_!" he groaned.  He looked down at his legs and
winced.  There, on his inner thigh, was a speckling of brownish red. 
Blood.  Which could only mean one thing: his period had started. 
"Great, just. . . great," he grumbled.  With unnecessary vigor he
attacked the dried spots.  Just what he needed.  With his mom around,
he could not change back.  He was going to have to deal with yet
another reminder of the impermanence of his life.  Akane.  His period. 
Could this day get any worse?
     And as he doused himself with the rest of the bucket of water,
and shivered violently under the cold, he remembered the bundle of
clothing his mother had carried in.  Undoubtably feminine clothing --
with frills and pink and bows and stuff like that.  Silly him.  Of _course_
things can worse, he groused, standing up and reaching for his towel. 
Now all I need is for Ryoga to show up and attack me. . .


     Spin and rise.  Flash momentarily in the sunlight as it reaches it
apex.  Hang for a moment, the tumble downward.  Unconscious swift
movement and the bottlecap was snatched out of the air.  Replace in
the nook formed between thumb and index finger, and snap it back into
the air.
     Ryoga steadfastly walked through unfamiliar Nerimean
backstreets, flipping a slightly crumpled cap every few steps.  He was
not in a good mood.  He was not having a good day.  But he
nevertheless grinned evilly at the thought of making Ranma's day a
whole lot worse. . .



     After quickly finishing off her soup in silence, Akane returned to
her room.  There, away from everyone, from her sister, her dad,
Ranma's parents -- away from _Ranma_, that unsufferable,
unforgivable, insulting _jerk_ -- she could release her anger.  It was a
slow, silent, controlled release; for several minutes after closing her
door and sitting on the edge of her bed, all she could do was tremble,
whole body taut, hot tears threatening to slip free, hands twisted in the
folds of her bedsheets, fabric clutched violently.  Finally, after an
interminable time, her breathing slowed, the shaking eased, her muscles
relaxed.  She took in a deep breath; she released it; she blinked away
the wetness in her eyes, and stood up.
     She walked in a tight circle in the middle of her room.  I need to
get out of here, she realized.  It doesn't matter where.  I just have to
leave.  I can't stand to be in the same house as him.  I hate him.  I hate
him I hate him I hate him!
     [. . .]
***

	There ya have it.  Not much, I guess.  I'm a bit disappointed I 
didn't get more done over the summer.  Anyway, let me know what you 
think!  I'm a bit concerned about how's it going -- it strikes me that 
some readers could find the whole thing immensely dull, since nothing 
really seems to be happening.  Does it need a change of direction, 
injection of adrenaline, a complete rewrite?  Let me know!
	And enjoy the rest of the summer...

	-Mike Noakes
***
Homepage and Fanfiction at:
http://aix2.uottawa.ca/~s669330/
***