Well, just spent all night writing this fic.

It's an idea that's been kinda burbling around my head for some time, 
but really only took shape yesterday.  So, of course, I had to write 
it.

I have deliberately left off the series tag; I want to know how long it 
will take you to get it.  It's not Ranma, I'll tell you that much.  I'd 
be interested in knowing when exactly you figured out who "she" is.

I'm wavering between "The Cycle" and "The Next Cycle" or scrapping both 
for a better title.  Your thoughts appreciated.

This is an experiment in writing for me.  I tried for a more 
stream-of-consciousness approach and, I think, mostly failed.  I may 
change this all to past tense.  Let me know what you think.

-Richard
sterman@sprynet.com

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| All of my fanfics can be found on my fanfic web page |
|  http://home.sprynet.com/sprynet/sterman/fanfic.htm  |
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The Next Cycle

by Richard Lawson

sterman@sprynet.com


The breeze brushes softly against her skin.  She shivers, not because 
she feels cold, but because she feels *good*.

She is walking through the night, through the rustling sound of the 
leaves, the sound of falling water drifting pleasantly in her ears.  On 
the path that goes around the park lake, her shadow rises and falls as 
she passes under the lamps.  What makes it all a miracle is that it is 
not one shadow but two that precede her.

She finds that the contact of hands is not enough.  She leans, and her 
forearm touches his, skin on skin, then her bare upper arm against the 
cloth of his shirt, shoulder against shoulder, her head tilting against 
his, for they are nearly the same height.

He makes a small sound of pleasure, between a sigh and a groan, and it 
fills her with such warmth, to know that he enjoys her touch as much as 
she enjoys his.

"Eighteen months?"  His voice is full of wonder.  "Can it have been 
eighteen months?  It seems like eighteen minutes.  Or eighteen years. 
 I can't tell."

She chuckles, because she knows he is trying to be cute.  He thinks he 
is quite funny, and sometimes he is, and sometimes he isn't.  She loves 
that about him, loves that he treats life in such a carefree manner, 
and tries to put humor in everything around him.

He put humor in *her*; she was so serious and fearful before he came 
into her life.  Before he *became* her life, before he put life into 
her.  He notes that it has been eighteen months since they have been 
married, but she counts time differently; it has been thirty-five 
months since they met, thirty-five months since her life began.

She cannot stand it anymore, and stops.  He stops with her, and they 
seem to melt into each other her lips on his, the feel of his body 
pressed to hers, it stills feels as wonderful as it did the first time. 
 This kiss goes on and on, a reminder of passions past, a taste of 
passion yet to come.

Finally he separates, smiling, sharing with her the private joke that 
the physical intimacies of their marriage always start with her, that 
she takes him and draws him in.  She acknowledges his observation by 
touching the tip of her nose to his and batting her eyes.

He laughs out loud at her playfulness.  Then he puts his hands on 
either side of her head and kisses her cheek.  He then puts a small 
distance between them, enough for a conversation to fit.  "I love you."

"I love you too."  Love seems too small a word for what she feels, but 
it will do until a better one comes along.

"It's been so wonderful.  Our marriage, I mean.  I want..."  He trails 
off, uncertain.

And her stomach twists and her heart begins to hammer, because she 
*knows* what is coming next.  She wants to rewind the clock, to begin 
the last minute over and find a way to distract him and forestall the 
inevitable, but it is too late.  He is going to ask, and destroy her.

"I mean... can't we... I... it's time."  He swallows.  "I know you keep 
saying not yet, that you're not ready.  But... there's no need to wait. 
 Both of our jobs are going well, we have some money.  We can... 
there's this nice little house I've been looking at..."  He looks 
deeply into her eyes.  "Big enough to fill a family with."

She looks down, not able to meet his gaze.  She can deny him nothing, 
she has denied him this for so long.  Here, in this park, by this lake, 
at this moment, her life has become heaven and hell all at once, it has 
been so all along but never more so than right now.

Her eyes begin to burn with unshed tears.  She fights them, for she 
will not spoil the moment more than she has to.  "Please, I..."  She 
can deny him nothing, she has to deny him this.  "Give... give me some 
time to... to think."

His disappointment hits her like a knife in her heart, she can feel it 
in the way he slumps his shoulders ever so slightly, retracts his hands 
a fraction of an inch.  He quickly resumes his normal, confident 
manner, but she knows the hurt is still there.  "Of course.  Take the 
time you need."  He kisses her cheek again, then turns and they begin 
walking again, hand in hand.

But the mood has been spoiled, and she desperately wants to recapture 
it, but it has been gone and she waits...

---

...for the doctor as he examines the papers in front of him.  She has a 
sense for these things, having been in this situation before.  She is 
certain he knows what the papers say already and is trying to find a 
way to tell her.  But she holds on to her hope and waits for him to 
tell her that all is well and life is wonderful.

The doctor looks up at her finally.  "I have consulted with some of my 
colleagues on your case, and found to my surprise that they knew you 
already.  Surely what I am about to say is no surprise."

The hope shatters and she draws a deep shuddering breath.  Please, let 
him tell me what I need to hear.

His voice is full of regret.  "It's congenital, you see.  There is 
nothing... nothing that can be done.  I'm sorry."

Sorry, they all are sorry, as if it were their fault, but is her fault, 
it is her *fault*, a fundamental flaw in the way she was made.

"Could you... implant something, a fertilized egg or..."

"No.  Surely this has been explained to you.  It's congenital, you 
see."  He drops the papers on the desk.  "You have alternatives, you 
know.  Adoption-"

She surges to her feet.  "Thank you, doctor."  She whirls and leaves 
the office before she can spend another second looking at the pitying 
expression on his face, the sympathy that kills her rather than 
comforts her.

Adoption.  Adoption is so easy.  It only takes years and years and 
hundreds of thousands of yen, but it does happen.  Of course, a family 
has to be deemed worthy.  It has to pass certain tests, withstand 
extreme scrutiny, be found *clean*...

She sobs in the elevator.  The other people in the elevator look 
embarrassed and turn away.  She ignores them, for she has seen such 
behavior before.  Instead she takes deep breaths to control herself.

It works until she gets outside.  The sunshine is too much, it hacks at 
her and she begins sobbing again.  Why does it have to hurt so much, so 
much.  She runs down the street, oblivious to everything around her.

A screech of brakes and the honking of a horn cause her to freeze in 
her tracks and look.  A car has stopped not more than a foot or two 
away.  The driver is shouting at her.  She looks at the woman, then 
looks to see the child sitting next to her in the passenger seat.  She 
cringes and runs off, runs and runs.  She comes to a bench somewhere, 
she doesn't know where, and she falls into it and cries.

The doctor was right; she *did* know.  She'd known it from shortly 
after her first exam by a gynecologist.  And she had denied it, 
pretended it didn't exist, hadn't even told her parents.  The less she 
thought about it, the more it didn't exist.  She'd certainly had other 
problems to worry about.

And then she'd met him, the person she'd fallen in love with, the 
person who'd shown her what love is, had shown her something she hadn't 
thought really existed.  And early on it became clear that this was a 
relationship that was rocketing towards marriage.

She'd begun her quest then, hopping from doctor to doctor, each of them 
telling her the wrong thing, the answer that wasn't true.  For she knew 
that marriage was only an intermediary step, that beyond it lay another 
kind of relationship, one that started with two people and became more. 
 And she couldn't marry him if it lead nowhere, she knew he'd wanted 
more, that his vision of the future included more than just her.

But the time had come when he had asked her, had expressed an epic love 
for her, had told her that she was all to him, that wonderment lay in 
their future.  And that had been his gift, that words reached in and 
touched her, and while he stumbled sometimes over them, he found ways 
to slip them past her defenses and into her heart.  And she had found 
herself agreeing to marry him, despite her resolve, despite not telling 
him.

For months, a year, it had been bliss, a happy dream, a perfect life. 
 And then he had begun to ask, to talk excitedly of things she was 
incapable of producing.  The bottom had begun to fall out of her 
paradise, and she kept trying to stave it off, stave off his questions, 
always asking for more time, finding excuses why it shouldn't be now.

But the excuses were wearing thin, and she couldn't put it off any 
more.  Put him off any more.  He would find out, and then he wouldn't 
want her, and then her life would leave her.  So she mourned, mourned 
the end of happiness, of the lives going and the lives never to come.

After a time the tears stopped flowing and she brought herself under 
control and looked up...

---

...into his face.  His face that was so worried, she wondered how long 
he would continue to worry about her.  "What's wrong?"  Concern, and 
fear, poorly masked by a voice trying to be firm.

She smiles, but it feels false, it feels like lying, and she hasn't yet 
lied to him, just withheld her secret, the biggest lie of all.  "I... 
it's just..."  How to say it, how to begin destroying his happiness and 
hers.

"Please."  He leans forward to take her hand.  She takes a step back, 
bumping against a table in the living room, the tiny room that they 
took such pride in decorating when they first moved in.  He is puzzled 
and hurt, and looks at her strangely.

She looks down at her feet, for she is so frightened, this is so 
terrible, why please why.  "I have s-something to tell you."  Please, 
she'd cried enough today, no more tears, please.

"Oh!"  His voice is full of comprehension, of sudden understanding. 
 "Is this about your secret?"

She looks up, startled.  He knew?  "You knew?"

He smiles gently.  "Before we were married, my father ran a check.  He 
confronted it with me the day before the wedding.  He thought that 
would put an end to things."  He shook his head.  "Father knew so 
little of how much I loved you.  I couldn't care less if some 
narrow-minded people - like my father - consider you 'unclean'.  It 
means nothing to me.  You... you mean everything to me."

She gapes, her emotions a whirl.  He had it wrong, he had gotten it 
wrong, that wasn't it at all, oh please...

"Please don't feel bad that you didn't tell me," he goes on, 
misunderstanding her expression.  "I knew that you were probably scared 
to tell me at first because I might want to have nothing to do with 
you.  And then you didn't want to tell me because you thought I'd be 
upset that you withheld it from me."  He reaches out to her, not quite 
touching her, an invitation.  "It doesn't matter, love.  Only you 
matter, the person you are, the love we have.  Let's move beyond this. 
 Our children will have no taint, I'll make sure of that."

Oh God.  He was so right, and so wrong, so forgiving, but condemning 
her without knowing it.  She can't stand it, it is too much, and she 
turns and runs from the apartment, surprising him, his shout fading 
behind her.

She flees and leaves her life behind her and runs...

---

...and runs and she has been running for hours, coming to a rest and 
sobbing for a while before the guilt catches up to her and she has to 
flee again.  The darkness has been growing and now it is night but she 
can still see the road and she runs down it.

She comes upon a park and maybe it is the same park and maybe it's a 
different park and she doesn't care, she runs through it and comes to 
the edge of the water and falls to her knees.

How can she go on?  She is lifeless, life cannot begin in her, she 
cannot give life to her husband like he has given life to her.  Misery 
is coming, it is descending upon her, it has already claimed her and 
she can do nothing to keep it from claiming him as well.

She looks out at the pond and wonders how deep it is.  Surely deep 
enough.  He would still know misery, but at least he wouldn't hate her. 
 It is the only way she can think of to keep him from hating her.

She stands up, takes a step, then falls to her knees again, the water 
soaking through her skirt.  She cannot do it.  It is wrong, and even if 
she knows all about committing sin, she can always hope to keep from 
committing more sin than necessary.  No more sins, sins are evil, she 
has already caused too much evil, she will not cause more.  If there is 
any lesson to be learned, it's that she must sin no more.

But was it so bad to want happiness?

The water is dazzling her eyes.  The moon is full and reflecting 
tremendous amounts of light off the lake, making her eyes water.  She 
looks up at the moon in the sky, it is like a spotlight, shining on 
her, laying her soul bare and examining it.  She spreads her arms wide, 
letting it pass judgement on her, hoping it will give her strength to 
deal with the pain ahead.  She must be strong, she must endure, life is 
important, she must not waste life, for if her body cannot create more 
life she must find other ways of giving life to those around her.

It is a nice resolve.  She tries to hold onto it.  Perhaps it will 
become the basis for her new life, the life that will no longer have 
him in it.

And her heart squeezes and she clutches herself.  She looks into the 
moon and begs.  Please, he deserves better than what is to come.  I 
deserve punishment, I know that, but he does not.  He is kind and 
loving and forgiving and the best of men.  He loves, and is capable of 
raising such love in others, he needs new souls to show how to love. 
 Please, if not for me, then for him?

She and the moon look at each other for a while.

And then a strange kind of peace settles over her.  There is something, 
a presence, that enters her and speaks soothing words.  "Be at ease, 
dear.  Oh my, you feel so strongly and deeply.  Such love in your soul, 
causing you such pain.  It should not be so."

She should be frightened, she thinks.  Voices in her mind, speaking to 
her.  But the presence is so gentle and serene, she feels nothing but 
peace.  "Who are you?"

"Someone from a long-forgotten past.  The last remnant of a race that 
stood before evil and overcame it, but at a cost.  We bought for the 
Earth its future, but at a terrible cost."

She does not know what to say in response to that other than, "Thank 
you."

The presence sends silvery laughter along her mind, tinged with 
sadness.  "Thank you, dear, for your consideration.  You are kind.  And 
wise and strong.  And good, most of all good.  I have need of someone 
like you."

"You do?  For what?"

"To bear my daughter."

The words freeze her mind.  It stops thinking, and all she can do is 
feel her heart pounding.  When it begins working again, she is still 
afraid to move or speak, for fear of what cruel joke the words will 
play on her next.  Still, she *must* know.  "You want me to... to have 
a child?"

"To have my child.  The evil that destroyed my kingdom and nearly 
devoured the world is rising again.  It is time to bring for the 
Warriors once again.  Most importantly, my daughter must live again to 
lead them and save the world and bring it once more to paradise.  But 
it must all begin with you."

Her breath comes with difficulty.  She answers in a small voice, "Me?"

"Someone must teach my daughter the right things.  She will face 
fearsome creatures and fight many dangerous battles.  If she is to 
succeed, she must know how to overcome those obstacles."

She thinks that perhaps the presence has found the wrong person, and 
her nascent hope begins to fade.  "I, know nothing of battles or 
fighting.  I... I'm not sure I could teach her those things."

The presence laughs again, and this time it is tinged with affection. 
 "It is not the tactics of war she needs to learn.  Others will guide 
her in that respect.  No she must overcome her obstacles the same way 
you overcame yours:  with love."

She feels the tears begin to fall.  Can it be?  Is this right?  She 
wants very much for it to be true.  "What must I do?"

"Dear, you must understand."  The voice is more serious now.  "My - 
*our* - daughter will be in danger when she comes into her power.  She 
will constantly be under attack, and will know few moments of peace. 
 While I want you to be there to give support, guidance, and love, you 
must not interfere.  You must not do anything to keep her from her 
finding and fulfilling her destiny.  It may squeeze your heart to see 
her in danger of her life.  But, if what I have seen here is any 
indication, it will not *break* your heart.  You must show the strength 
you showed tonight during the times to come, and let our daughter do 
what needs to be done."

The presence fills her strongly, and its words resonate throughout her. 
 "Can you accept this?"

She wants to blurt out the answer but pauses for a moment.  What the 
voice says sounds like it would be difficult.  Maybe even hellish.  She 
tries to imagine a daughter charging into battle, and her mind cringes 
at the thought.

Her mind also imagines her daughter.  Just her daughter, a child to 
raise.  She imagines she and her husband and her child all together, as 
a family, laughing and loving together.  And that image is worth any 
price.

Almost any price.  "Can... can you assure me that she won't die?  That 
she won't be sacrificed to bring this paradise about?"

The presence sounds a little sad, and a little grim.  "I cannot offer 
assurances.  She may indeed die, and her risk will be greater than any 
other's.  But I can say that there is hope.  A good hope that she will, 
indeed, succeed against the challenges to come.  Succeed, and live, and 
prosper."

She sighs and covers her face with her hands.  What good to have a 
daughter, only to see her die?  No parent should outlive their child.

But any child might die, there was a risk inherent in bringing life 
into the world.  And the voice has said that her potential daughter 
must be taught love, how to love and how to share love, in order to win 
the wars to come.  And se can think of no one better to teach love than 
her husband.  He is so full of love, so capable of sharing it.  Surely 
her daughter will be filled with it, too.

"Do not downplay your own gifts, dear.  Love does not flow just from 
one person, but feeds in a loop and grow with each iteration.  Your 
heart is just as capable of love, and equally able to share it.  I have 
no doubt that our daughter could find no better family to be a part 
of."

She smiles, warmth pervading her soul.  "Thank you.  You are so... 
good."  The word is wholly inadequate, but she hopes that the presence 
can understand all that she means by it.

A glow of affection seems to indicate that it does.  "Do you then 
accept?"

"Yes.  With all my heart, yes."

"Good."  And suddenly the presence fills her so much it hurts, and she 
would fall if not somehow supported.  She can't breathe, she can't 
move, and she is panicking, except the presence is whispering 
reassuring things to her, and she calms down and bears it, and suddenly 
the pain stops.

"It is done."  The voice sounds tired now, and begins to grow distant. 
 "You will now conceive our daughter.  Although you will still need 
your husband's help first."  The voice chuckles slightly, but it is 
fading fast and quickly moves on.  "After our daughter is born, you may 
choose to have other children.  They will be wholly yours.  They will 
be my thanks for the services you have chosen to perform for me."

"Oh, thank you, thank you.  You've... you've given so much to me, I 
don't know how to say..."

"You already have."  She strains to hear the voice.  "Do not tell 
anyone of this; I will reveal myself again, in time.  But even if you 
can't tell her about me, give her my love.  Oh, to be a mother again, 
how I envy you, let her know..."

The voice is gone, and she cocks her head listening for it.  But it 
doesn't come back.

Now that it has gone, she wonders if it was real.  It sounds like a 
preposterous story, a desperate fantasy she'd created for herself, the 
first steps taken towards madness.  Is it real?  Does she dare hope?

She looks up once again at the moon.  And in its rays she feels a hint 
of the presence.  She feels it inside her, waiting.

Waiting to be born.

She gets to her feet and bows to the moon.  Then she turns and runs and 
she's smiling and actually giggling as...

---

...she falls into her husband's arms and hugs him fiercely.  He is 
still sighing in relief at seeing her, and he trembles slightly.  "You 
scared me tonight.  I was so worried, so terribly afraid that I-"

"Hush."  She turns her head slightly and whispers in his ear.  "Let's 
never talk about tonight again.  I want to put it behind us.  Let me 
just say that I withheld a part of myself from you, and I felt guilty 
and nearly destroyed our marriage because of it.  But our love was our 
salvation.  It is because we love each other so much that... that what 
might have torn us apart no longer will."

"Oh, Ikuko."  He whispers into her hair.  "Nothing will ever keep us 
apart.  Nothing.  Believe me."

And she does, for the first she really does.  She thinks that if she 
had told this man her secret, he would have stayed with her.  For the 
first time, she really trusts his love in a way she never allowed 
herself to do before.  And, amazingly her love for him grows, which she 
had not thought possible.

It grows with each iteration, the voice had said.  Time to move on to 
the next cycle.  "Kenji, beloved.  I'm ready."

He separates them, looking into her eyes with a startled expression. 
 "Ready?  Does that mean...?"

She laughs and traces his jaw with one finger.  "Let's make a baby."

He laughs as well, a sound of joy and relief, and soon swallowed as she 
draws him in once again.

---

She makes breakfast for four.  She often wonders why she bothers. 
 Usually only three eat it.

Today proves no exception.  Kenji and Shingo come down and eat a 
pleasant breakfast with her.  The fourth plate of food remains 
untouched, the fourth chair remains empty.  She frowns at it.

Kenji notices her look.  "Don't worry, dear.  She'll be along."

She shakes her head.  "But she'll be late, and she won't eat well, and 
she'll be yelled at by her teacher again."

"And then she'll fail another test and *you'll* yell at her."  Shingo's 
contribution to the conversation is enthusiastic, but seeing the 
slightly disapproving expression on his father's face, soon turns his 
attention back to his breakfast.

Kenji looks back at her.  "Don't feel like you're a poor mother because 
she acts irresponsibly at times.  It's something teenagers do.  It's 
not her fault, or yours.  She'll grow out of it eventually."

She sighs and looks down at her food.  "I hope so."

There is a scream from upstairs.  Shingo grins and gets up from the 
chair, ready to go to school.  He glances at the paper Kenji has been 
reading, and his face gets excited.  "Hey look!  Sailor Moon was in a 
fight last night.  Cool!"

She tries not to wince.  She follows Sailor Moon's exploits much more 
closely than her son and husband will ever know.

"Yes, cool."  Kenji grins as well.  "Let's get you to school, kiddo."

They try to leave the kitchen, only to be nearly bowled over by a 
figure in blue and white streaking by.  "Latelatelatelate!"  The figure 
tosses down a glass of milk and grabs a lunchbox from the counter. 
 "Byebyebye, gottarun."  The young woman sprints out of the room, 
chased by a laughing Kenji and Shingo.

She glances at the newspaper.  She can't stand it, and runs to the 
still-open front door.  "Usagi!" she calls out.  "Be careful."

Her daughter slows, stops, turns around, and runs back.  There is a 
minor collision at the front door, which ends with a mother and daug  
hter hugging each other.

"Love you, Mom."

"I love you, Usagi."

Then her daughter disengages and runs off, faster than before.

She stands and watches her recede into the distance.  She feels better 
now.  She knows that her daughter does know what love is, and even if 
she can't get her to school on time, she has done the best she could to 
help Usagi spread that love to other people.

"Thank you," a voice she hasn't heard in fifteen years says to her. 
 "She is all that I could have hoped for.  She will surely win because 
of the strong love you and your husband gave her.  My undying thanks. 
 And love."

She smiles, letting the voice know that the gratitude and love are 
reciprocated.

Then she goes inside to begin the cycle anew.