Romalov shuddered in his sleep, one hand clutching the shirt that
still bore the scent of the cleanness of Kodachi tightly to his chest. He
missed her already and it had been but hours! Hours were less than nothing
in comparison to the centuries he had seemed to be waiting for her, waiting
for her to return to him, to belong to him again, to be his love.

        In his dreams, it came again, sometimes, as if he was reading a
tale that had been carefully plotted and outlined by some other person: his
birth in the tiny town in some unnamed mountain region, his and his twin's,
both identical in every way. From the earliest times, they had been best
friends and more, and when -she- came, it only seemed to draw them closer,
for they both loved her with the fullness of their hearts.

        The local lord rode through their village and saw her one windy
afternoon. Her beauty was such that she was irresistible, those glowing
gray eyes, the pearl like skin, the beautiful loose black hair. Much
against her will and that of her parents, he took her, struggling all the
way. Romalov and Christaven followed. It was winter and the trip through
the mountain passes took much longer than it should have so that their
arrival was far too late. When they found her, she was near death, her face
swollen from the tears and the beating, her body broken. It had been but
days since last they saw her and yet, and yet!, he had lost her, for death
took her even as he stood beside her, watching the blood congeal on the
dress that was pressed between her thighs.

        The pain was overwhelming, it filled him as surely as had his love
for her. Christaven eventually wed a woman from the east, beautiful in her
foreignness and a far cry from Terazin. He cherished her and treated her
well but Romalov knew in the depths of his soul that Christaven's heart
would always belong to a beautiful mountain girl with gray eyes.

        Romalov hadn't been able to root her from his heart, either. He had
searched, far and wide, before finding what seemed to be the answer to his
prayers in the form of a scrabbling, mindless nightcrawler, sure death, he
knew, and he waited, he wanted..

        He woke knowing.

        That was the worst thing about it, he supposed. He woke knowing
everything he had known before the "death", crystal clear. The wavering
light of dawn had hurt his eyes but it had not killed him, nor did he truly
wish it to do so.

        Over the next two centuries, he had tried to find many a way of
dying and had failed in them all. It was seemingly impossible for him to
die. The only things that he did not try were death by fire and death by
impalement. Perhaps he did not want to die so much as he had once thought;
perhaps the time brought wisdom.

        It was in the fifteenth century that he discovered her once again
in the form of a beautiful Gypsy lass of barely sixteen with glowing gray
eyes and skin of satin. She danced for him, legs flashing beneath layered
cotton skirts as she moved round and round the campfire in the most
wonderful display of sensuality he'd ever seen. He hadn't felt such passion
since Terazin's death and it rose for her, filling his heart with the
ecstasy of her once again. He took her and, despite her full knowledge of
his nature, she was his wife for a year, denying the gift of immortality
from him the entire time. Her death at the hands of a raiding Cosack as
they traveled through the steppes drove him near mad, the only person
capable of soothing him her ancient grandmother. The old woman told him
stories of things long unbelieved, things never written in any book or
scroll... and he believed her.

        In the wake of his love's second death, he made three companions;
all were women who felt immense bitterness and dissatisfaction when they
learned of his love for a woman long dead.

        In the eighteenth century, he found her once again -- the fiancee
of a man of business from London sent to the castle he had acquired
somewhere along the way. When he learned of her existence, he left his
three companions to occupy the perverted nature of the businessman (a
fellow who went by the name of Harker) during his absence. The entire
affair was disastrous from the start, her Victorian upbringing affecting
the unrestrained passion of her nature and staining it, turning it into a
thing that he did not recognize. She did not vilify him, no -- it was
herself that she felt to be a twisted unknowable thing, a thing not worth
his love, and so she remained with that ridiculous businessman after
Romalov released both Harker and the three "wives". Harker had spilled the
tale to a drunken Irishman in a wharf side pub one night and Romalov found
copies of a ridiculous little tale simply known as "DRACULA" scattered
about some six months later. Ridiculous, really. The Irishman had more
imagination than was good for him, undoubtedly.

        Romalov opened his eyes slowly in the bleak darkness of the small
underground room. It was sheer luck that he'd discovered her, his Terazin,
his Kodachi, here on this island. He'd oft wondered how many times she had
come again, how many times he had missed her, and that thought kept him
always moving, searching, seeking her.

        Still, he had obligations and one of those obligations was to the
continuing family line of his brother. Christaven had taken his wife's name
in an attempt to forget his past, to become someone and something other
than himself so the pain would lessen. Romalov had kept up with them for
centuries -- they had been scattered far and wide at one time but now they
were down to no more than a handful, few of whom would now recall the tales
of "cousin" Romalov. It should be safe to come to them again, pretending a
family history of Romalovs who did not exist. He reached out a hand and
turned on the lamp that rested at his bedside. Rising, he made his way to
the scarred mahogany desk in the corner of his dark abode and opened one of
the drawers there to withdraw a battered box holding careful drawings of
family lines, a few old letters, miniature portraits and, from the most
recent times, an album full of photographs. These he flipped past entirely
until he came to the back of the album. There, he paused to look at the
picture on the last page carefully. It had been long enough, surely. He
would find them tonight and go to them tomorrow or the next day. He would
claim them as his own and perhaps that would gain him leverage when he went
to Kodachi again.

        Saotome Genma had been far too young to remember him. Everything
would work out perfectly.

* * * * *

        "Ranma!" his father bellowed. "What are you thinking of, boy!"

        Ranma growled, glaring up at the larger man poised on the roof and
holding the long bo they'd been training with all week. "I'm thinkin' I'm
gonna KILL you, old man!" he shouted, making the jump from the yard and up
to the A-frame of the roof. The sparring commenced in the wavering light of
early morning, thrust, parry, withdraw, reverse, both matching their
efforts flawlessly.

        "Ranma! Mr. Saotome!" Kasumi cried from the kitchen window.
"Breakfast is almost ready!" As an afterthought she added, "Oh! And you
have a guest!"

        "Thank you, Kasumi dear! We'll be down in a moment!" With those
words, he flung Ranma from the roof and into the pond with a laugh.

        Ranma gasped in shock as the water of the koi pond closed over his
(now her) head. So cold! She could feel her nipples swell in response and
the feelings wasn't unpleasant, exactly, so much as unwelcome. Grumbling,
she dragged herself from the water. There went Pop, happy as ya please into
the house. "Geez, why's he always gotta do -that- for?" Ranma mumbled to
herself disgustedly. With an irate expression, she stomped towards the
house, dripping icy water in puddles behind her.

        As Ranma stopped into the house, she looked up -- and came to a
full stop. She blinked several times, looking at the figure seated next to
Akane at the breakfast table and then frowned. Ranma looked down and
considered her blue satin shirt, black pants and black tai-chi. She looked
up again. {Black pig-tail, blue eyes, black shirt like mine, black pants
gathered at the cuffs like mine, black tai-chi like...} "HEY!" she shouted
angrily.

        The entire family turned to her. "Ah! Ranma," his father said with
a smirk. "Go get changed, boy!"

        Ranma growled a little. She didn't like the look of this newcomer
one bit. As a matter of fact, various suspicions began to form in her mind.
Someone who looked like her male form had been seen coming from Kodachi's
room the other night. What if this guy had taken it upon himself to play
Ranma and seduce her? [1] "Who're you?" Ranma muttered angrily.

        The doppelganger stood. He was a good five inches taller than
Ranma's male form and the slightest bit more muscular, as well. "I'm your
cousin Romalov. It's nice to meet you, Ranma." His sapphire gaze slid
almost insolently down Ranma's body and back up one again. "I'm sure you'll
say the same."

        As much as Ranma wanted to say something sharp and suspicious, she
found herself practically simpering at him instead. "Pleasure t'meet you,"
she said quietly. "I think I'll go take a hot bath now." As she left, she
could hear her father and Soun blathering on about her "fiancees" and all
of the trouble they'd been put through for him.

        Ranma shrugged off her clothing angrily once she reached the
bathroom, mumbling under her breath. "Oughta told that jerk off, lookin' at
me like I'm some kinda meat! Who does he think he is, anyway?" The chill of
the water she used to scrub (that crazy tingling again -- what WAS that!?)
made her glad for the heat of the furo as he sank into its depths.

        {Man. That guy looks so much like me it's scary!} Ranma frowned.
{Wonder how he found us? He. Not like everybody else in the world ain't.}

        Bare moments later, the sliding door to the furo opened and Genma
slipped in, hips wrapped in a towel. "So, my boy -- what do you think of
your cousin Romalov?"

        Ranma snorted and brushed his ponytail over his shoulder. "I think
he's a _prick_. That's what I think."

        Genma laughed for a moment and the lenses in his glasses gleamed as
he leaned over Ranma and the furo. "Listen to me, boy. This is your cousin
Romalov from a long line of Romalovs! Very *rich* Romalovs. You'll be nice
to him if you understand what's good for you. Follow me?"

        His father's sharp words filled Ranma with disgust. "Yeah, old man.
I understand, all right." With those words, he stood and left the bath, too
angry and revolted to stay any longer.

* * * * *

        By the time Ranma had dressed and made it to the breakfast table,
the food was long gone. He stopped to grumble for a moment and decided to
go visit Ucchan. She *always* had food and she wouldn't mind scroungin' up
some kind of breakfast for him....

        "Who are *you*?"

        The surprise in that voice made Ranma smile. "Ranma Saotome, what'd
you think?"

        Romalov looked down at Ranma, less than three inches and yet it was
a world of difference. "I thought..."

        "Ranma was a girl?" Ranma shrugged. "Long story."

        "Apparently. And.. we look so much alike.. I..."

        Seeing the older boy confused seemed to restore a bit of Ranma's
confidence. "I'm goin' t'get some okonomiyaki. Wanna tag along?"

        Romalov shrugged. "Might as well. It would seem that most of the
household has disappeared within the space of a very few moments."
Privately, Romalov was relieved that Ranma was actually a boy; he wasn't
sure about the girl, but it was a relief to know that his Kodachi, his
bright angel, was not in love with that red-headed girl.

        The two strolled slowly along. "So, why d'ya think we.. yanno..
look like this?"

        Romalov shrugged delicately. "There are many tales, but the ones
with which I am familiar tell of brothers, identical in every way.
Sometimes, through the centuries in which our family has existed, there
have been others identical in that way; throwbacks, one might say, to those
brothers, though it is not necessary for the look-alikes to be close kin.
Perhaps it's only that and naught more. My family has pictures, paintings,
and you can tell with some of them."

        Ranma frowned a little. It sounded like a terribly convenient
explanation to him. It was at that moment that a shower of black rose
petals filtered through the air. Without thinking, he flung himself at
Romalov, knocking him out of the way. {Aw, man. What a time to meet
Kodachi!}

        Romalov looked stunned as he saw her, a look of... almost...
adoration crossing his face. That look surprised Ranma beyond all other
things and he grimaced slightly. "Kodachi, now ain't the time! I'm tryin'
to show my cousin around!"

        Romalov stood slowly, oblivious to Ranma's attempts to chide
Kodachi. "Well, well. What have we here?" Romalov asked charmingly, smiling
at her even as she looked at him with those wide gray eyes full of
surprise.

        "Romalov, this's Kodachi. Kodachi, meet Romalov," Ranma muttered
reluctantly. "He's some kinda cousin or somethin'." Under ordinary
circumstances, Ranma would bound with joy if Kodachi seemed to be so much
as remotely interested in another man; there was something different about
this, however. Romalov seemed to be an older, more mature version of Ranma,
one with exquisite mannerisms and proper speech. He was the sort of man who
ought to bowl women over with a single glance, as Ranma often did. Ranma
watched Kodachi carefully for reaction, wondering exactly what she would
think.

        Kodachi offered her hand and Romalov lifted it, kissing the inside
of her wrist tenderly, sensuously. {Where'd he learn *that* trick's what I
wanna know,} Ranma thought grumpily. His eyes widened with shock as Kodachi
flushed lightly and gave a soft, "Oh, my."

        Romalov gave Kodachi his most charming smile. "Would it be too
forward, madam, to ask if I might see you again? I've not yet left and
already the loss of your presence is as the loss of the very sun."

        Kodachi's eyes slid down the taller man's frame, admiration clear
on her face. Ranma felt a sour curling in the pit of his stomach... was
that jealousy? And over -Kodachi-!?

        "Your words strike well within this poor young woman's heart." She
almost seemed to purr and Ranma could tell by the way her shoulders thrust
back and her hips thrust slightly forward that she was interested.

        It was definitely jealousy.

        "A woman as beautiful as you deserves the words of a poet," Romalov
murmured. He gave her a smile equal to any of Ranma's. "We're going for
lunch, madam -- okonomiyaki. Would you care to join us?"

        Kodachi shrugged and Ranma noticed the motion of her breasts
beneath the material of her dress.  Of all his fiancees, Kodachi was the
most sensual -- being near her invariably made him as hard as stone.
Perhaps that explained his "fear" of her.  "Thank you for the invitation; I
fear I must decline, however, for I have a previous engagement which I must
attend."

        There was true regret in Romalov's voice. "Another time, perhaps?"

        She nodded. "Perhaps." With that said, she continued on her way.

        Ranma and Romalov watched as she walked away, both appreciating the
view.

        "THAT'S one of your fiancees?"

        "Yep. More or less."

        "And you don't--"

        "Nope."

        "Not even--"

        "Not even."

        "You, my friend, are a sick man."

        "Yeah, yeah. C'mon, already. I'm starvin'." With that surly
response, the two look-alikes headed for Ucchan's.  The faint remnants of
their conversation fell behind like scattered leaves.

        "Not even the Amazon?"

        "ESPECIALLY not the Amazon!!"

        Romalov's laughter danced on the wind, and all was quiet after.

* * * * *