The sound of the sea splashing up on the shore is the sound I wake 
up to, and the feel of a warm, satiny weight resting on me is the feel 
that I still have not gotten used to.  The windows are wide open, 
admitting a morning light that is fine and comforting and wonderful as 
the sun rises slowly into a blue, cloudless sky.  The sand sparkles a 
shimmering white outside, and the foam crests turquoise waves in the 
finest of shining lace tracery.

	It has been many years since I have come here.  I think, because I 
never wanted to return to this beach without someone to love.

	I roll my shoulders a little to work out some of the kinks, the 
futon is nice and so is she but I guess I still do not sleep well.  
Nightmares.  Though I have been getting better.

	I slide my fingers through her hair, soft and fine and all too 
short, shorn now to the tops of her ears, but still terribly, terribly 
exciting.  Still, sometimes I miss the days when it reached down to her 
waist.

	The taste of saltwater is in the breeze that stirs to tinkling the 
wind-chimes of crystal and seashells, and as she stirs against me, 
stretching, the sensation of naked skin against naked skin drives me to 
kiss her, as softly and eagerly as I can.

---
The NFT Zu presents


Gossamer Weave


a Ranma 1/2 fanfiction
by Rain Man


notes: Yes, I know it is strange.  I hope you read this anyway, until its 
ultimate conclusion.  It's not a lemon.

---

	Little stainless steel needle, lying on a bed of white paper.  So 
shiny and clean, and

	not white

	It's fascinating that -

	Stab it home, break the skin

	That smarts, that actually kinda hurts that

		I

			will
	
		not

			cry

	Wimp!  So little pain and already you almost lose it!

	Watch the dark, glassy red bead slide down it, spot the paper.  
Such a bright red, bright and beautiful as the sun in my fried egg this 
morning, as the spots in her lovely cheeks, skin polished, apple-smooth 
and soft as milk.  But there is not enough light for that, I realize, and 
though the warm liquid must be as red as I imagine, in this blue light, 
it merely looks like black ink.  Funny to imagine that black ink runs 
through my veins - would a cartoon character have ink for blood?

	Back, finger back - do not suck on it, you fool!

	Sliding the pad of my thumb along the paper, I trace out the 
character for "o" - the character of emptiness, zero, a circle in the 
ground that Musashi realized also looked like the profile of a samurai, 
shiny steel drawn steady and ready and

	Distracted again.

	Shit!  Is that stroke too wide or - it must work, it must!

	"In the name of Gosunkugi Hikaru!"

	And I sprinkle coal dust onto the wet lines of blood (the book says 
that it is supposed to be the ash of angel's feathers but where the heck 
is a high school student supposed to get that stupid spell stupid book 
stupid magic it never works never works never never never

	"In the name of Gosunkugi Hikaru!"

	Gone this far, might as well finish it, but the rising taste at the 
back of my throat, the need, the terrible hatred, it wants out, it would 
be so easy, the scalpel is right there but the way it catches the cold 
blue light of the moon, shining into my eyes, is as frightening as it is 
beautiful.  The candles around me are flickering and even with the fear 
trembling my hands, the excitement is there as the familiar (or is it 
merely imagined?) tingle rises from the pit of my stomach, curling 
tendrils of pure chill sliding up the backs of my hands and tributaries 
meet to form rivers and the rivers end at last at my temples, 
countercurrent to the flows of perspiration on the surface.  There is 
pain but the exhilaration, the possibility that it might just - I close 
my mind to that, too many failures to even suppose that just this once!  
I carve into the soft wax tablet beneath the paper with the little 
surgical knife I saved from frog dissection the week before, carefully 
tracing around the edges of the mark on the paper.  Remove the excess 
paper, and calling out my name I fling sake into the middle of the 
circle, watch the stream of liquor catch fire as it passes close to a 
candle.  My nostrils flare as I breathe deep the scent of incense, of the 
burning blood and the way the cursive strokes on the paper flare up, 
catch and burn bright, burn so 

	"In the name of Gosunkugi Hikaru!" throat raw practically screaming 
screaming losing it I am, I

	Glowing!  Suddenly, the exhaustion, the fatigue of not sleeping for 
days and days is gone as the shining glow rushes to my heart.  Wind tears 
in through the tunnel, snuffs the candles before tossing them about the 
ground

	SHINING ONE

	an explosion of sound

	the tingling electricity in my temples so painful but this time it 
working oh gods oh fuck feels so good fuck fuck fuck the magic is

---


	I heard an American song the other day.  My English is pretty good, 
foreign languages are the only things I am good at in school, so I could 
understand it.  The singer's voice, dark and gritty, brought out by a 
sometimes jarring bass line and visions of black and white pictures of 
brittle eyes that show a brittle soul.

	"Strange love."

	"Pain, when you return it, I'll say it again, Pain."

	Ah, of course I sing like a toad.  And I do not remember many of 
the words, but.

	"That's how my love goes."
	
---

	So picture them, if you would.  Two persons, a boy and a girl.  The 
boy is tall for his age, with eyes of cobalt blue that are surprising in 
a Japanese man (maybe an ancestor got a little too close to a European 
trader back when the Dutch - anyway who cares, no one would ever admit to 
that).  All his movements with an easy, powerful grace.  His hair black 
and shiny and fine like silk.  She is beautiful, and though her thick 
mane of hair is not so exquisite as his, there is a bounce and liveliness 
to the way it moves that softens the strong features of her face, the 
nose a little too angular and the jaw a little too strong but with that 
hair framing her face just so, the warmth of her eyes brings forward the 
lovely curves of her fine cheeks and the delicate lines of her slender 
lips.  You can tell that I pay much more attention to the girl for a 
reason.

	They look perfect together.

	But for two things...

	That they always fight and that

		and that the boy always beside her is not me

	I may as well not exist to her...

	Oh if I could hurt him smash him break that perfect face or maybe 
skin it off of him and put it over my own oh yes oh yes oh yes!

	Take THAT, Saotome Ranma!

	In dreams, you would think I could at least escape him there and be 
happy, but no, the dreams repeat and repeat for me, of the destined 
eventuality that she and he were.

---

	It was the other day that it happened, really.  Just the other day.

	Just how long can you live in an illusion before the edges unravel 
too far?  I was reading the earlier pages of my journal and I got 
disgusted at how... how little I really was.

	It was really just the other day.

  	Reality bit me on the ass, and combined with a night of heavy 
drinking (which I am not used to) at a seedy little place where they know 
me, Reality - 

	If Reality were a person, I think she would have two faces.  One 
being a transparent surface, just a thing really, that you can see 
through to the paradise beyond but can only smash yourself against, and 
the other self.  The other, she would look, I imagine, like a seven year 
old girl.  With flashing brown eyes and sun-browned skin rich and 
glowing, black hair bleached light brown at the ends by too much sun and 
swimming in the sea.  She's missing a front tooth, likes her sweets a 
little too much, picks on you every once in a while but has a way of 
smiling that has the primary effect of confusing me. 

	Of confusing you, I mean.  Or anyone.

	She is mischievous, plays tricks on you, plays with your head, 
shows you possibility and hope like a kid taunting a dog with a bone from 
across black iron bars that won't break and wouldn't break even if the 
dog stood on its two hind feet and used a sledgehammer the size of a 
mountain.  

	But every once in a while, she kisses you on the cheek and how 
could anyone stay angry with such a lovely child, with a laugh that 
haunts your nights and makes you blush?

	Made me blush.

	Oh, it was so long ago.  

	I wonder when I started to love Akane?

	And it is love.

	It is.

	Even if it is obsession too.

	And other things.

	Unhealthy things.

	It was just one moment.  One moment, that's all.  And Atsuko of the 
sea and the beach so long ago, dear Atsuko who moved away after the 
summer, Atsuko my first love who stood up for me against the first 
bullies who started on me, Atsuko who touched my hurts and kissed the 
bruises on my face, Atsuko who taught me how to swim and laughed with me 
when we burned our fingers trying to toast marshmallows over a fire - it 
was those damned bullies.  And Akane became for me what Atsuko used to 
be.  Except that I knew Atsuko liked me too.  While Akane only pities 
me...

	I have always been small.  Skinny.  I have needed glasses since I 
was six.  I still need them now, but I hate wearing the stupid things on 
my face.  They irritate my nose and my first pair gave me a rash on the 
backs of my ears, where the little plastic arms curved back and over.  So 
as soon as I could pester them into doing so, my parents gave me contact 
lenses but that never solved my being skinny.  

	I did try, I did.

	Sports, I mean.

	But I was just so weak!

	And I guess it was always easy to give up when every sport I tried 
just made me realize how weak I really was.  The other kids always made 
me feel inferior - 

	Except for Atsuko.

	Gods, I haven't thought of Atsuko in so long i i i oh atsuko where 
are you im so lonely so lonelysolonelylonealone... 

	Idiot, the ink will run if you get the pages wet.  

	Sometimes I wish Akane had not saved me from those bullies, way 
back when in grade six.  Like when Atsuko did just four years before 
that.

	Not just that, they both like martial arts and Atsuko.  Atsuko also 
lost her mother (how could a mother leave her kid like that?  How could-) 
but I guess that is not an excuse.  Different, the both of them, really.  

	Well, Atsuko and I were much younger back then.  And Atsuko was 
such a quiet person.  Akane is like a thunderstorm to Atsuko's soft night 
breeze.  And well, Atsuko could cook pretty well even back then...

	And Akane is far more beautiful then Atsuko could have grown to be.  

	I think so, anyway.  But it's been so long.  If I saw Atsuko on the 
street today, would I even recognize her?  

	Ah, shit.

	It was the kiss that shattered all the illusions I nurtured.

	Behind the shed on the roof of the main building of Furinkan high, 
late after school when the moon was high (where I remained because of my 
involvement in the Journalism Club, the Photography Club and the 
Occultists' Club), I saw the aforementioned nigh perfect couple, Tendo 
Akane and Saotome Ranma -

	touching

		And the wind carried the words to me	

	"...oh, just like that, Ran -"

	and leaning closer

		Breathy whispers of 

	"Nah, we won't get cau -"

	"all the teachers left hours, mmh"

		Murmured, soft animal sounds

	fingertips brushing

		I wanted to close my eyes but I could not, wanted to run 
away, to not be seeing this, to.

	hands sliding

	kissing with lips and tongues and teeth and hands 

		with practiced ease and that was what hurt the most to see

	And when she lifted her hands and started to unbutton his shirt, 
and he started to do the same to her, that was when I fled.

	Of course they didn't notice me.

	Nobody does...

---

	We were reading "The Tale of Genji" in class today.  

	If Ranma were in Genji's place, the story would probably happen 
exactly the same, I think.  Except maybe he would feel really guilty for 
having so many loves, unlike Genji.  One small plus for Saotome, but 
otherwise...  Genji was called "Hikaru," the Shining One, because he was 
so handsome, so good with zithern (both Chinese and Japanese) and 
paintbrush and words and dance and song that he must have been a blessing 
from the Heavens.  He was beautiful and okay so it may sound strange to 
call a man that but as I read the words and let the threads of images 
slip through my thoughts, it is probably the only word that fits.

	My name is Hikaru.  I wonder how disappointed my parents are, in 
what their child has become instead of what they expected him to be when 
they named him.  

	I finished the assigned reading and kept on going.  I finished the 
whole thing.  It was 4 am.

	I wanted to throw up.

	Genji's so perfect and such a jerk at the same time that I want to 
tear up the pages, burn Ranma in effigy through Genji.  

	Genji and I are both "Hikaru."

	Ha.

	Ha.

	Ha.

---

	Haunting music at night, the stupid, stupid night.

	My mother is playing.

	...and so the women come and go, 
	talking of Michelangelo

	I feel the music creep through the Wasteland of my soul; Eliot 
would laugh to see, a boy barely a man and already weary of the world, 
how trite, how mocking flawed.

	The piano.

	Lovely, I see the threads of light sliding and twisting and 
braiding and re-braiding around the house.  Living light looks lonely, 
poignant, unnecessary in the shadows it pierces.  And yet it grows just 
the same it is like watching someone smiling just as she slits her wrists 
and the hot blood spurts out out out - 

	I do not want to remember that.

	Oh, Mother, how I feel
	it takes strength to be gentle and kind

	I do not know what she's doing.  

	I think Mom's just trying to keep me awake and torture me some 
more.  

	Because that's what the music is doing.

	I can feel the Gift throbbing inside me, responding to the 
crystalline feathers that are starting to shower about the house (pretty, 
but what could that be for?)

		impossible to sleep like this, she's got to know that.  
There's a lone tear freezing on someone's cheek and when the rain starts 
to fall the notes twinkle in the air like sugary butterfly wings on your 
tongue, honey melting as the music plays, humble and small and beautiful 
and irresistible 

	but now it's over, over, over...

	soon there's only the sound of the rain.

---

	So I am not Ranma and I will never be, not enough years of 
conditioning to get a body like that, not enough of the right activities 
to be so healthy and yet I do have one thing Ranma does not.

	What good is it though?  What good the Gift if I can never make it 
work?

	Damn you, mother, why won't you just TEACH me?  Why?  It's torture, 
it breaks me to see you sometimes use the Gift with the greatest of ease, 
smiling at me all the while, as you use it for trivial things, little 
things like getting stains out of clothing or mending cracks in broken 
glasses or making it so that you never have to polish the brass door 
knobs and lamps - torture to feel you using that power and feel it 
resonating with my own gift, only knowing that I have not the skill to do 
anything with it!

	The occult, you got me started on that but - 

		but none of it works you stupid stupid bitch!

	"My son, if only you would open your eyes to the truth."

	What the hell does that mean?

	And whenever you see me fail and you turn those blasted, wide eyes 
of yours on me and

		pity

	caring

			Why can't you just tell me that you hate me?

---

	Trees tiny like the candied decor for cakes.  A fountain crystal 
perfect in its apparent smallness.  Hypnotic perfection in the scenery, 
the patterns hidden just beneath the surface.  A view from a height so 
far, up here, atop Furinkan.  The top of the world.  The spot where, I 
imagine, Ranma must have declared his love for Akane at last.  There was 
always a breeze sweeping through the rooftop during that season.  Swept 
my bangs back for me, from my eyes, as I looked down, so far below.  Is 
the same wind that runs its fingers through Ranma's hair the wind that 
even then pressed against my face?

	From there, it felt as though anything could be mine if I reached 
for it.  Standing beyond the railing, one hand on it to keep me steady, 
the other reaching out to the sky, a sky bluer than blue.  It should have 
been raining, it should have been cloudy, anything but this bright 
beautiful clarity of sky.  You could almost touch it, almost taste the 
perfection.

	It mocked my despair.

	Was I so little, so empty as that?

	Reaching out so far, leaning out into the empty air with nothing 
below me, with the knowledge that if I slipped, nothing could save me, 
not even my Gift that would never work for me, I wanted to weep, I wanted 
to die.  And instead, dizzy, I laughed as I threw myself back over the 
railing, landing roughly on the concrete roof and safety, and life, 
painful life.  

	Ranma can fly, he flies so high above us, if only I could be him 
instead, or anyone really.

	Except the worm that I am...

	I laughed because there was nothing else to do.

	But for that brief moment, hanging so close and so far, I could 
feel my death throbbing in my ears, see the blood spilling out of my 
broken body had I fallen and I knew, I knew with bitterest self-disgust, 
that I feared that oblivion more than the pathetic on-going semblance of 
life that I had.  And I knew that I had to see tomorrow.  At least 
tomorrow.  Then I might kill myself, happily.  But if tomorrow then why 
not the day after?  And then the day after that.  And every day beyond.

	Every day living in the warped folds and sweaty petty self-
gratification-seeking life that was all I had ever known.

	Wanted it so badly!

	Wanted to be greater than I was, to soar like the eagles or the 
albatross or at least.

	At least to soar like Ranma.

	To be the best at something.

	If I could just have one thing, one thing, if only I could be true 
to it, I could be alive rather than just another worm on the earth.

	I did not know then if worms could grow wings.

---

	It was supposed to create a potion that would fix my vision.

	My spell last week, it did not work.  Maybe it really did require 
the ash of an angel's feathers.  

	It had all the effect of making a mess of the practice chamber 
underneath the house.  And giving me a rash on the small of my back that 
was still driving me crazy two weeks afterwards.

---

	My mother is tall.  The tallest person I know, actually.  And even 
at fifty, she is stunning, has long brown hair that reaches to her ankles 
with streaks of silver through it that make her look, if anything, more 
exotic rather than older.  Fine crow's feet around her eyes but otherwise 
skin smooth and pale and 

	Why would she ever marry a loser like my father?

when the Gift rises to her cheeks, her eyes, they glow and draw and the 
black part of her eyes grow and grow

	A short, hunched over little man, a nice guy, I guess, but while he 
is not ugly, I think my mother could have had anyone.  He is a reporter 
for a newspaper, who did a little of his own photography too.  He got me 
started on that when I was eight.

her hair it comes alive and every time she does this, for just a moment, 
I see how she must have looked in 

	"Can I help you with that, dear?"

	"I cooked your favorite tonight, dear."

	"Is there anything you want, dear?"

	And she treats him so coldly it makes me ill to see the way my 
father does all he can for her, everything he can, little things, opens 
doors for her, does everything she wants without a word of protest, does 
the cooking, the dishes, the laundry, presents and poetry and he still 
takes her out as much as he can and you can see in the way his upper lip 
quivers as he looks at her that he worships her - 

her prime when she was perhaps twenty-four, and if stunning now, she was 
almost terrifyingly beautiful then.  She's always dressed smartly, 
women's pantsuits or long, flowing dresses of black or beige or sometimes 
when she and Dad go hiking, worn jeans and hiking boots and a T-shirt 
(she could be a model, she still gets offers from modeling agencies every 
now and then).  My mother, she comes from, she tells me

	Why did my mother marry someone without the Gift?

a long line of priestesses and sorceresses, a coven whose roots could be 
traced farther and farther back to the first Seers who prophesied for the 
Egyptian lords, even before they fought amongst each other and the line 
of the Pharaohs began.  

	Actually, it's only a couple of days ago when I finally started 
reading the family histories again.  I always thought it was stupid 
family legend.  But my mother certainly does not look Japanese.  I take 
more after my Father, except I cannot seem to gain weight no matter how 
much I eat, while he is a portly hundred-seventy pounds at five feet, two 
inches even if all he eats that I can see is a small salad at lunch with 
a peach and a little cup of wine with the fish he has for dinner (he is 
an excellent cook, he always makes too much for me and Mom, and it's 
always so good why doesn't he ever have any of his own cooking?).  At 
least, while I am not nearly so tall as my mother (I doubt I will ever 
be), I am not short like Dad.

	She leaves the books lying all over the place.  My father's always 
picking up after her.  But I don't know what happened to the rest of the 
line - the records just stop after the twelfth century (in Spain, I think 
- that must be when the King of Spain destroyed the Order of the Poor 
Knights of Christ and the Temple of Solomon but that's long and boring 
and the copies of the texts are scrawled in messy Latin across pages 
that, while preserved with magic, never fail to smudge my fingers with a 
seemingly endless amount of ink).

	Were we wiped out when the Knights Templar were as well?

	stupid doesn'tmatteratall

	doesn't matter all I want all I still want is Atsuko

	I mean, Akane.

	I mean, if I could, well

	so stupid

---

	So Ranma and Akane are on better terms with each other than anyone 
could possibly imagine.  And I'm the first to know.  I wonder if Akane's 
sister would be selling that info if she were still here?  

	May the money-slitch stay far away and I hope she commits suicide 
from the stress of Tokyo University.

	Money-slitch.

		that's slut-bitch, by the by

	always looked down on me, moneyslutbitch

	taunting voice and condescending glances while you wiggle your ass 
all the while

	Can't see how you and Akane could come from the same mother and 
father.  Maybe a wandering, dirty-minded spirit decided to have a little 
fun with Akane's mother on the sly to produce that little piece of warped 
offspring.  

	Just a year before, the cunt, she humiliated me with a stupid joke 
haha it's funny when it's not you she needed a date for the graduation 
ball and 

	fucking prick-teaser

	Played with me to make money off a bet with her slitch friends.

	To see who could get me to do the most shit for any little bit of 
attention.

	I guess I am my father's son.

---

	I saw Ranma and Akane today at school.  They were yelling at each 
other, but this time instead of staring, I pretended to look the other 
way and when she slapped him, I saw a flicker of movement as I snapped 
off a picture because I thought -

	and developing it later that day, I thought right.

	When she made the motion to slap him, Ranma (dear god, how could 
anyone move so fast?) bent with a willowy grace that defied the little I 
know of Physics, and kissed her hand, even as he twisted, pretending to 
be struck with an artful skill better than anything I've seen in the 
movies.

	Ranma should be a stunt-man.

	Hell, they're both better actors than anyone ever thought.  

	How long's this been going on?

---

	I resolved to be a different person, that night, after I got drunk 
with my new drinking buddy.  Err.  She still confuses me so much that I 
think I'll put off committing thoughts of her to paper.  

	And the magic.

	I think I'll put that off for a little longer as well.

---

	The Gift did not use to interest me so much.  

	My obsession with it began, began with the first and only time I 
saw Mother using it to kill.

	Until then I had thought it an amusing, but barely useful hobby.

	We were walking on the street, she and I, as my Dad pushed along 
the baby carriage when - 

	I wonder why I have never written about her before?  Not my mother, 
my sister.

	It happened a long time ago.  

	Her name was Ai.  She was an ugly baby, with very dark skin and 
disturbingly dark eyes.  Mannish, heavy brow.  That is what I remember, 
anyway.  My mother, she.

	Mom loved her very much.  

	"That is always the way with the women in my family.  Our daughters 
are born ugly babies, but with love and time, they grow up to be, well," 
and she would smile in a way that took years off her visible age, "like 
me."  My mother did not often like to talk about how beautiful she was - 
she felt it was imprudent.  But she would often pick up Ai, and tell her 
how lovely she was going to grow up to be.  

	And even then, I could sense that Ai could have grown to have a 
Gift that would exceed even my mother's.  It shone from her eyes.

	I could never imagine Mom as an ugly child.  Easier to believe that 
demons swapped the children as they grew.

	I think I was five.  It was right before I met Atsuko.  

	We were walking to the park.

	It was Sunday.

	Mom was really into this ice cream cone, vanilla, her favorite.  

	Dad was singing this song, I forget what it was, something about 
red roses and the sun and trees so green.  Maybe.

	We were facing the wrong direction.  I think I Saw it just a moment 
before, but too late, and I think my mother did too, because she 
stumbled, trying to turn on her heel at the last instant, but - 

	The car came out of nowhere, turning a corner at a ridiculous speed 
- he skidded, lost control, and spinning, the car smashed little Ai's 
carriage right out of my unharmed, stunned father's grasp.  

	Splash of red, never thought there could be so much blood in a 
little baby.

	A black Toyota Corona.

	Regaining control of the car, the bastard started to drive away.  
To drive away...  It was summer in Tokyo on Sunday, most of the people 
had left for the countryside on vacation, there was no one else around, 
nobody.  And there was mud on the license plate.

	It happened so fast, my ice cream cone was still falling down to my 
feet and the car was already halfway down the block.  It was strawberry 
ice cream.

	And then I felt it, from my mother.

	Mother, whose face was suddenly dead, expressionless, the eyes 
empty and terrifying like big black marbles, she whispered one word, 
"burn," as her long, long hair whipped about her in a sudden and 
inexplicable wind.

	Searing heat from her, it made my eyes tear...  

	The line between her and the car was scorched into the asphalt 
surface of the road, and never would anyone be able to explain just why 
the car exploded then, in the middle of an empty intersection after such 
a trivial (to the car) impact.  That man screamed for the minutes that 
seemed like hours it took an emergency crew to hack him out of the 
wreckage.  He screamed all the while, as stone-faced, I and my parents 
watched.

	I know he died just as the ambulance pulled into the hospital.

	I think, now, that the only reason he lasted so long was that my 
mother wanted him to suffer for a little longer.  The authorities called 
the whole thing a freak accident.

	Ai would have been eleven years old today.

	We don't eat ice cream anymore.

---

	Ranma threatened me today.

	He did not take the note the right way, so I explained it to him.

	He blushed a very deep and bright red.  

	"But man, did you HAVE ta take that picture?"

	It was an eight-by-ten glossy close-up of the last picture of them 
I took.  Not the slap.  One soon after that.  They are holding each 
other, in the picture, with the sun setting behind them.  It was taken on 
the roof of the main school building.  I like to think, despite its 
somewhat clich� content, that at least in quality, it is one of the 
better pictures I have taken.  I framed it in simple black wood, with the 
word, "congratulations" engraved on the back in silver.

	Oh, see there, captured in the nuance of brow and curve of lip and 
touch of eye, the tenderest and gentlest of glances, at the same time, 
the fiercest and most piercing of glances (naked want and intent and 
desire), there shared between them, caught in a fragment of time.

	"Ranma, you give it to Akane to keep someplace secret."

	"But what if Mr. Tendo-"

	I wanted to wring his neck.  I was trying to be graceful about it 
all, why did he have to make things so hard?

	"You've kept it a secret this long.  Surely you can hide ONE 
picture somewhere.  It's my apology to you... and to Akane."

	He looked at me in this really odd way, and glanced at his feet as 
he shuffled them back and forth.  I do not often get to see Ranma bashful 
or embarrassed.

	"I really dunno what to say, Gos."

	I rolled my eyes.

	"Look, Saotome, would you please just take the damned thing and 
tell Akane I'm sorry?"

	Moron.  And when I said that to myself, I did not know if I meant 
him or myself.

---

	And that was that, the end of one of the long and excruciating 
chapters of my life.  That was a few days before the night I went out 
looking to get drunk.  I was wondering what was going to happen to me 
next.  About what I was going to do.

	I felt empty, I felt drained, I was happy and sad and satisfied and 
hungry and very, very confused about what it made me feel to see Ranma 
give Akane the picture - she was angry at first, but heard him explain 
and

		that was the first time Akane's smiled at me since helping me 
with those bullies so long ago.

	I kind of wanted to transfer high schools, I did not want to see 
them every day after that but.  It was my last year at Furinkan, what 
student transfers in the last year?

	Mom would hate it.

	At least, I think I was satisfied with how brightly they flushed 
when I made my parting remark that day.

	"Invite me to the wedding."

	It was time then for Kuno to pull his usual shtick, driving by 
after his classes at the local community college to hassle Ranma and 
Akane.  I did not feel like watching him get pummeled today, although I 
felt somewhat amused that, in at least one way, there was still someone 
who was more pathetic than I.

	Time to step out into the world, I thought.

	The only problem was, in what direction?

	Atsuko once told me that when you were in the deepest sorrow or 
grief, when your heart was so heavy that you could not even feel, and 
your eyes brimmed over with that overwhelming sea and your fingers 
trembled with the force of it, that was the most important time for you 
to smile.  And the most important of times to touch and be touched.  But 
most importantly, to smile.

	Ah, Atsuko was so much stronger than I.

---

	Sometimes, I just don't know what comes over me.

	I do things I don't understand, say things, write things, think 
things.

	"Ukyo, uh, well."

	She was hanging off his arm again, today at lunch.  She had brought 
food, of course.  

	I knew what was going to happen when I saw Akane look merely sad 
rather than angry.  I did not want to see it, I did not want to relive 
the dead feeling I felt when - but I watched anyway.  Maybe it made it 
easier to know that other people would soon be joining my current state 
of misery.

	"Ran-chan, I made your favorite today!"

	Cloudy day, lazy day, hazy day.

	That time of sodas and pretzels and beer, oh, how 'bout them lazy 
hazy crazy days of summer...

	Summer will not be for months yet, I couldn't wait.  Except I 
wished Mom would stop pestering me to go with them to the beach again.

	I don't ever want to return there.

	Fewer people than usual were paying attention.  Nabiki did not deem 
it worth her time to maintain the betting rings and no one had the 
ability to run them after she left.  Everyone, I think, was expecting the 
same thing that seemed to happen everyday.  In the distance, a fish 
leaped up out of the pond Principal Kuno had landscaped a few months 
before (complete with fake beach and palm trees - though it was fenced 
off and only he allowed in), snapping an insect right out of the air.

	That made me blink.  

	I forgot my contacts today, but...

	Oh, it could not have been my potion this morning, I always try it 
and it never works, never - 

		My Mom.  Got to be.  Took pity on her son at last and gave 
him something to fix his eyesight.  Couldn't be me who finally got the 
potion right.  Could not be.
	
	But this is truth, I noticed that fish and the insect beyond the 
fence of the pond.  

	If it was my mother tampering with my potions again, I would have 
been very, very angry.  I knew I couldn't get them right, but I never 
would if she would not let me do it on my own.  On.  My.  Own.  

Three words reverberating, tingling in thought again and again and again.  
I bit my lip.  All this time...

	"Ukyo, I need to tell you something..."

	Funny how she seemed to be listening even when she was not.  She 
seemed to be talking at Ranma rather than to him.  Poor Ukyo.  I would 
have felt sorry for you if I had not already felt so sorry for myself.

	Ranma looked miserable.

	"I bet she tried to cook breakfast for you again, eh, Ran-chan?" 
and so forth and so on she went, blithely trying to ignore him with 
increasing urgency in her voice and in the way she dipped her neck, 
lifting a piece of okonomiyaki to his lips with lacquered black 
chopsticks.

	His hand closed on her wrist, stopping it inches from his face.

	Very quietly now, "Ukyo."

	He did not need to say anything further, the dear girl just started 
to cry right there.  Would not stop.  She was sobbing.  "Didn't I make it 
good enough this time, Ran-chan?  Doesn't it smell good?  Won't you have 
some, please?"  How could I hear it so clearly when her voice was so 
small?

	"Mom, I'm so sorry," I whispered.

	Many blocks away, as she sat on a park bench, watching children 
play in the sandbox, I heard her answer, "I know."

	By then Ukyo was holding onto him with all her strength.  Of course 
he was not hugging back.

	"Is there something special you want on it?  Something you want me 
to do?  ANYTHING, Ranma?  Please..."

	At last, she had not the strength even for that, and fell back onto 
the grass, crying.

	The audience was huge again.  No one even breathed.

	"You'll always be my friend, Uk-chan."

---

	I needed a drink after that.  My mother knows about my hangout.  
It's a little bar in the middle of nowhere.  There isn't even a sign, and 
they don't check how old you are, if they know you and let you in at all.  
She just sighs whenever I come home smelling of it.  That's all.

	It's at the back of an apothecary, and the smells of ancient spices 
and disturbing things creates a hazy, smoky atmosphere that only the 
strange folks like me can stand.  It is the main attraction of the bar.  
Normal people stay away.  Upon occasion, a newbie walks in and gets 
treated to the disturbing ritual of seeing everyone offer their necks for 
him to drink the blood out of.  The newbie's reaction determines whether 
or not he is allowed in.  Anyone who actually tries to bite you is 
allowed (after being smacked away).  Anyone who does a double-take or 
gawks or something of this sort is summarily kicked out and becomes the 
subject of a rather comical attempt at a voodoo cursing ritual just 
before closing time.  Not everyone is there for the, uh, companionship.  
Sometimes someone goes to the back to buy Holy Water or garlic or blessed 
icons or mummies' hands or octopus eyes.  And yes, they do sell something 
they call "Angel feathers" - 'course I have seen them slaughter a chicken 
in an alley nearby, so those feathers have a somewhat dubious and less 
than divine origin.  Sometimes, the feathers they sell are stained with a 
little bit of chicken blood.  Those, they mark up a thousand yen and 
call, "Fallen Angel's feathers."

	It is a very rare day (but not unknown) when I have walked in and 
felt a genuine resonance of magic in some of those items.  And yes, they 
are mostly candles and hammers and nails.  But I still did not understand 
why I could never get them to work, even if I felt the power flowing back 
and forth when I touched them.

	The place is called "Creeps."  And those are most of the folks 
there.

	That night, the crowd was small, most of the usuals, pale-faced men 
and women with very dark hair and who always wore black, were off to take 
advantage of the autumn equinox.  Most of them were like me.  Members of 
the occultist's circle.  Most of us couldn't get a single fucking thing 
right, magic-wise.  But we all liked to boast of our accomplishments.

	"Not taking advantage of the mighty magic in the air tonight, 
little Goshawk?  To shrink that Saotome boy's manhood and shrivel him to 
nothing?" the lanky figure leered.  Everyone in the group had heard of me 
by last year.  Voodoo Goshawk, hammer, nail, doll and candle-man, with an 
enemy who changes into a girl.  They thought, not all that inaccurately, 
that I was just like them: that is, full of shit.  

	Kohei is not half so intimidating as he would like to be.  And that 
little name for me is so damned annoying.  He keeps on lifting weights, 
says how he's going to be a champion boxer one of these days (he actually 
runs the bar for his Dad, who was kicked out of boxing for steroid-use), 
but he does not put on a pound of muscle at all.  He is a strong man, 
though, so I never antagonize the poor loser.  And if it sounds strange 
for me to be calling him that, well, a loser can always spot other 
losers.  

	It's a talent.

	Yet it saddened me to know that what I had been looking forward to 
for so long was finally with me.  I cast a spell right - the enchantment 
of the potion that enhanced my senses.  It should have felt wonderful.  
It should have been the best moment of my life.  Instead, I was there at 
"Creeps" thinking about how much of my savings I was going to use up to 
get drunk on that night.  I did not feel different at all, not at all.

	"Hey, Goshawk.  Have a seat.  Want some milk and cookies?" a couple 
of them laughed, but not many.  They were more laughing at themselves, I 
guess.  We knew what we were like, the people who came here every night.

	Ah, what the Hell.  Time to celebrate.  It was an accomplishment, 
little as it was.  Why not?

	"Vodka.  Straight."

	Kohei whistled.  "That bad a day, eh, Goshawk?"

	That gave me pause.  "That good a day, Kohei-san."

	A glass later, I figured out why I felt cheated.  It was because I 
had not noticed the spell working.  I did not really think anything was 
different at all.  I felt as though I had not improved, that I did not 
deserve to have gotten that potion to work.  There was no sense of 
accomplishment and yet...

	And yet it did feel good to know that my dear mother did not need 
to help me at all.  My mother actually made it more difficult for me to 
learn, and on purpose, because - because the Gift could not be taught.  
It could only be experienced.  I could only learn how to do it right by, 
by... by doing it right!  Either you can or you cannot.  I wondered how 
red my cheeks were from the alcohol.  

	Actually, I was starting to feel pretty damned good.

	That, of course, was when she walked in (it's months later as I'm 
writing this part of my story and even now I feel a little giddy when I 
think of it), my soon-to-be drinking buddy.

	All the guys looked and waved, "Hello," but that was all.  She was 
probably the prettiest thing they had ever seen, except they had also 
seen the one time one of them had tried to hit on her.  The guy was 
almost folded in half afterwards, and had needed hospitalization for a 
month.  Actually, she got to be fairly friendly with everyone, eventually 
(except me - I was after all, rather difficult to spot; I could have been 
part of the furniture; for me all she said once was, "Stay 'way, crazy 
hammer boy" - and I can tell you that everyone else got a laugh out of 
that one).  So long as it was understood that she was not available, 
anyway, she was good company (certainly the best person the regulars 
could interact with on a regular basis).  She never came to drink, only 
to purchase a few select herbs from the apothecary for her great 
grandmother.

	She knew everybody's names.  But she did not use those, she called 
everyone by a unique and often semi-cute pet name.  Kohei was the 
"almost-not-quite-warrior," which, surprisingly enough, never offended 
him.  She called a hairy little guy named Iyonosuke (and everyone envied 
him for this) "puppy" (I never saw him look happier).

	I think if any of them knew what Ranma put her through, everyone at 
my hangout would go to Furinkan to do their damnedest against him.  
They're all nuts about her.  They even adore her accent.  She practically 
owns the place, and she doesn't know it.  Even Kohei acts all genteel 
when she's at "Creeps," (which, for him, involves opening the door for 
her and only charging her half-price for anything, often offering her a 
free drink which she, of course, never takes).  She thought we were 
mostly funny, and I guess that was why sometimes, she stayed to chat with 
some of us (I never bothered, the waiting line to talk to her was always 
several months long).  Never for more than a few minutes, though.

	I think part of the reason so many of them took to her was the 
feeling that, even though she seemed so perfect, she seemed like an 
outsider too.  An outsider, maybe not the way we were outsiders, but... I 
think it was because, behind her bubbly exterior, she seemed pretty 
lonely.  A person may think that her good looks would be enough for the 
male losers here to go after her but that is not so.  You must remember 
that all the people at this bar were the sort of people who would never 
approach anyone so pretty.  We were all mostly introverted people without 
real lives, why else would we be occultists?  So her extreme beauty was 
actually an intimidating minus, considering the company who stayed here.  
But only at first.

	Funny how well I remember the first time somebody had accidentally 
spilled something on her.  They were all startled, of course.  It was 
real magic.  Come on, of course they stared.  The cat struggled out of 
the pile of clothes (pink silk pajamas and red slippers) and turned a 
baleful eye on everyone who was looking.

	Before anyone could decide on a course of action, the cat stalked 
off to the rarely used (and hence much cleaner) women's restroom.  And 
out came a wet, angry, and very naked young lady who beat Kohei to a pulp 
for spilling the stuff on her.  Un-self-consciously (she moved with the 
easy grace of someone who did not care about the lack of clothes rather 
than with the stilted motions of someone who, unused to nudity, merely 
looks obscene when naked), she put her clothes back on (even badly-
bruised, Kohei did one of the few things I admire him for - he made 
everyone turn their backs on her; someone tried to look and was 
consequently banned from "Creeps" for all time) right there as if it were 
the most natural thing in the world.  

	Yes, it is her natural hair color.

	Ahem.

	I could not quite look her in the eye for some months after that.  
I would stutter (as if I didn't already stutter enough before) and turn a 
very pink pink.  Oh, yes, I could admit, even back then, that she was 
lovelier than my dear Akane.  Well, not that she is MY Akane at all...

	It was very sobering to everyone at "Creeps" when they saw Shampoo 
walk in that night.  Eyes all red.  She must have just washed up or 
something.  And she tried to smile but we knew (we?  have I joined the 
rest of the Creeps in admiring her without noticing it happen to myself?) 
that something was wrong.  I knew what had probably just happened.  

	Ah, Ranma.  Was it my giving you the picture that made you realize 
that you might not be able to hide it for that much longer?

	None of us knew how to deal with an unhappy Shampoo.  We barely 
knew how to talk to her even when she was herself.  

	"Here," Kohei slammed a heavy mug in front of her.  And a pot of 
something that steamed and bubbled.  His throat was very thick, 
expression grim.  

	She just glanced at him, gave a faint, faint smile.  "Nihao, 
Kohei."

	Dead silence when they heard her say his real name.  "Well, here, 
missy.  Um, it's very strong, it's hot, and... well, everyone here at 
'Creeps' has been dumped before," he tried a rather pathetic excuse for a 
comforting smile.

	She eyed it warily before eventually taking a sip.  Her eyes 
brightened noticeably, after which she proceeded to down all of it.  
"Where," she cleared her throat, carefully, slowly enunciating each 
syllable.  "Where is, anh, where Gosunkugi?"

	'Uh, oh,' I thought.  This was a very strong, very skilled, very 
violent martial artist.

	Shampoo walked up to me (somewhat shakily), in my corner, the 
dimmest place in the bar.  Carefully again, she said, "How long you, how 
long did you... know?"

	Everyone was giving me this look that promised death if they were 
to discover any wrongdoing of mine to her.

	"Oh boy."  

---

	Ah, that night was odd.  

	What can I say?

	"Stupid, stupid..." she squinted, brows scrunched up in 
concentration, finally deciding on what had become, for tonight, her 
expletive of choice, "stupid MAN."

	"I can toast to that," I managed a sort of sloshy mumble.  We were 
both rather fantastically inebriated by then, at one in the morning I 
think it was.

	Initially primed to be hostile, the rest of the folks at "Creeps" 
merely turned a ghoulish, greenish color of envy (or perhaps that was the 
effect of the whatever it was the Kohei kept on serving me and her, as my 
bottle of vodka had been consumed long before) as Shampoo proceeded to 
shower me with her graceful (if rather smashed) attention for the rest of 
the evening.  Night.  Morning, whatever.  I was surprised that I was 
still conscious, actually. 

	The girl's eyes glistened wet, and poured again, as she bawled into 
her sleeve.  

	"Ranma stupid, stupid MAN!" she yelled, slamming her heavy mug down 
onto the table (which made Kohei wince - cracks were starting to spread 
through the top).  She angrily wiped away tears and snot.  "Chi-kwai 
boy!" she yelled.  "He no like pretty womans or what?"  After a while, 
she dissolved into muttering what I assumed to be Chinese, but the tone 
was clear enough.  Actually, I thought she looked even prettier than 
usual - the color high in her cheeks made her features that much more 
striking (maybe I was just really drunk).  Shampoo looked down at herself 
in examination as she muttered, "Is not Shampoo more pretty than violent 
girl?  Is not?"

	I nodded sagely (I was doing everything sagely by then), "Is so, is 
definitely so." 

	Take that Akane!  I may have been hopelessly head-over-heels over 
you before, but at least I can admit that this woman in front of me is 
nicer, prettier, can cook better and is a damn sight sexier than you!  
See, I'm not that pathetic!  Hah!  Just watch, lots of other stars in the 
sky, pebbles on the beach, birds on the wing, feathers in the wind and 
all that shlocky bullshit, I will GET OVER YOU AND WITH JUST THE SNAP OF 
MY FINGERS RIGHT THIS VERY INSTANT!

	"Why Goshawk trying to snap?" Shampoo mused, tilting her head to 
the left, then to the right, as if only one of her eyes could focus on me 
at a time.  Or maybe as if each eye wanted to focus on a different part 
of the me.

	Fingers sliding, sliding clumsily against each other.  "Shit, can't 
even snap!" I shnarfed in self-disgust.  "Anyway, Ms. Shampoo, you're 
loads better lookin' than that uptight, uptight, uptight, uh..."

	"Nasty kitchen killer girl," she supplied helpfully.

	"Um... yeah, I guess.  Thanks.  'nyway, 's I wuz saying, yer far 
prettier.  You've got nicer, longer, softer hair, your legs are just SO 
long, your eyes have a softer shape to them, and gosh, Shampoo, Akane's 
boobsh aren't nearly so nice as yoursshh!!!"

	Soon as the words left me mouth, I was gaping in astonishment at my 
stupidity, and rapidly shifting from the dim but vaguely blissful haze of 
the philosophical, soul-searching drunk to the merely scared and panicked 
kind of being drunk.  I fully expected her to draw a sword or something 
outta somewhere in those tight clothes of hers and produce shish-ka-bob 
ala Gosunkugi.

	Instead, she took a deep breath and hefted her breasts 
experimentally in her hands, lips twisted in a thoughtful expression.  
"Goshawk really think so?"

	I think it was only the alcohol that kept my nose from exploding 
into a very gory bloodbath.  That and fear.  The way she was moving 
her... chest was causing the already tight cloth to stretch even more 
tightly.  And it was evident that she still wore nothing in the way of 
underwear.  If it was difficult to think clearly before...

	"Um, y-yeah.  I really think so.  Uh.  Would you please stop that?"

	Thankfully practically all of the usual crowd was gone by then.  I 
have no idea what would have happened otherwise.

	And thankfully, I was seated in the line of sight of Kohei.  I 
think he would have tried to forcibly eject me from "Creeps" for not 
turning my eyes as a gentleman would (rather, as a gentleman is supposed 
to).

	She giggled, hiccuped, winked at me.  "Thank you.  You not so 
stupid for man."  

	Three parts disbelief, one part embarrassment, many parts 
previously imbibed liquor combined into one tremendously stupefying 
cocktail that brained me and left me gawking at her smile.

	She eyed me curiously.

	"Goshawk," she said slowly, "you nice to talk to.  Why you never 
talk Shampoo 'fore?"  She glanced at her now empty mug meaningfully.  
"Why always stay in corner, alone?"

	Standing up and refilling our receptacles gave me just a little 
time before I had to answer that one.  Funny how much better Shampoo's 
Japanese had been getting.  She still had a pronounced accent, but she 
was much more eloquent those days.  Actually, it should not have been 
surprising.  She had lived here for two years now, after all.  What is 
sometimes surprising is how little you notice about how the people you 
know change around you.

	Kohei sighed when he handed me another pitcher of his "Stuff" (a 
"Creeps" trade secret).  "Goshawk, you are a very lucky man."

	"Huh?"

	"Well, don't leave the little lady waiting for her drink.  Get a 
move on."

	"Uh?  Uhhh, okay, I guess."  I kept a very intent eye on my feet, 
rather too... confused about the whole thing.  What did he mean by that 
anyway?  I thought that the girl-woman was just, just letting loose some 
steam and - my brain locked down at the hinted explanation, and motor 
feet machine-walked me over (without any instructions from me, it seemed) 
back to the little table in the corner where sat the most beautiful woman 
I had ever seen, will ever see.

	Besides, I knew she was from a warrior culture.  What was it?  I 
would have had to beat her in a match, something like that?

	Ridiculous!  

	Scoffing was something I had gotten good at, especially when it 
involved a deficiency within me.

---

	"Shampoo no need mans walking her back!" she yelled at me.

	It must have been the liquid courage I had imbibed.  That or the 
stupidity of one night had fed on itself and become marvelously adept at 
doing whatever it did.  

	"A gentleman never letshh, lettushes, lets a pretty woman walk home 
alone at night."  

	Yeah, right, what was I going to do if anything happened, beat up 
some muggers with my awe-inspiring power to give myself a rash?

	But it just did not feel right to leave Shampoo alone just then.

	Her footing was somewhat more unsteady than mine - guess I did not 
drink quite so much as she had, but after all, she had just had her world 
shattered only a few hours before, while I had been stewing over it and 
trying to find ways to deal with all of it for a week.

	Thankfully, we managed to make it to the Nekohanten without real 
incident.

	Well, there was that moment when she lost her feet and fell into me 
(oh God she felt so good against me) but I was trying not to think about 
that.  It was just an accident, right?

	Cursing, turning sound of the lock, creaking of the door.

	"Shampoo thanks.  Anh.  Thanks you."  She was still flushed and 
beautiful and lovely and teary-eyed.

	"Uh?"  Yep, my conversation was really sparkling then.

	This is the part where everyone expects me to write, "and then she 
kissed me, long and passionately as she slid her hands beneath my thin 
shirt as we shuddered," etc, etc.  Too bad life is never so convenient.

	"Will you be okay, Ms. Shampoo?"

	"You talking like you no been my friend - Shampoo feel insulted," 
she winked.

	I sighed.  "What about the Law of your tribe, Shampoo?"

	The girl rolled her eyes at me, as if the answer were the most 
obvious thing in the world.  "Stupid mans.  No worry 'bout Shampoo."

	Well, if I had known, I might have done differently at that moment, 
but - 

	"Oh, okay.  I'm glad you're alright.  Well.  Well, good night, 
Shampoo-san.  It wouldn't be the same around 'Creeps' 'thout you."

	Her expression, I did not notice, had gone all un-readable and 
distant at those words, as if she had been surprised by my words, by 
something she had felt maybe, or maybe as if she suddenly needed to barf.

	"Anh, night, Gos."

---

	Circumstances I just did not, and still do not understand.

	How did it all happen this way?

	I tried something else the day after that (it was Saturday, and I 
woke with a foul, sour sweet puke green taste in mouth and the feeling 
that my brain was caught between an anvil and a hammer was competing with 
the parched dryness of my throat) and perhaps I should not have but

thoughts of slender brown limbs flashing in the surf

	I wanted to be certain that my spell-casting was not a fluke

		remembered those days

	so I thought long and hard about

		those days I thought would last forever

	how I always saw my mother working with the Gift and

		with her voice so sweet

	I realized that trying to work through physical media and 
components

		and off-key, ringing long after in my thoughts

	could be useful for those who possessed only a certain limited 
focus

		and the salty taste when I kissed her

	but not for me, who somehow inherited the full, broad base of the 
Gift from my Mom.

But I was still too easily distracted sometimes and yet

		I had to know

	so

I splashed water on my face, tried to wash out the sense of having just 
vomited from my mouth and only partially succeeded but still I was filled 
with the awesome, deep-rooted NEED to know so I took the steps down to 
the left from my room to the hallway and straight on to the closet and 
through those doors and behind the cleverly hidden latched double doors 
to the narrow and heavily warded (and extremely dangerous for those 
uninvited), steeply descending corridor to the practice chamber, deep 
beneath our home.

	Mother noticed it immediately after we moved into this place, back 
when I was eight years old - the chill skin-tingly sensations of the old, 
old cave and she looked stunned, haunted for just a moment, as if she 
were about to weep but (I guess I was not paying enough attention so I 
did not notice for the longest time) the ghostly sound of tears falling 
onto stone, deep within.  She defused the remaining active wards and put 
in her own, a reverent expression on her face she would not explain but 
that I had never seen her with before or would see her with afterwards, 
after the long night of dark thunder and howling that marked the time of 
her struggle to take control and possess all the rogue, raw power of that 
ancient place.

	As I took those dank, musty steps down, I could not help wondering 
why I was bothering to do this, people changed so much, surely she was 
not anything like the Atsuko I had fallen in love with, now, but thinking 
of Shampoo I did not want to substitute yet another and so I was driven, 
I suppose, to resolve the unconsummated passion and loss that still sang, 
even if softly, inside the confines of my heart.

	It was an insane plan anyway, I thought.  There was not a chance in 
the world, if there was anything left to trace it would have been so 
faint as to take the power of a Master like my mother

there was not a chance in the world that someone like her could like me 
not her no in some ways that sweet girl is just as no even more fiery 
than Akane mayhaps she would even feel insulted should i try to press 
anything after all i see the way she treats that long-haired fellow all 
the time and i do not wish to move beneath the storm of another woman's 
scorn so soon after having finally escaped from that of another

	yet I have got to try, at least I want to

	Want to what?

	Tell her I have missed her?

	That I was so hurt when

she never said good-bye?

	Tell her about the depths to which I have fallen without her?

	And see the pity in those eyes where once was love?

	I'd rather die but

	I cannot cannot cannot help myself what a lousy excuse

		I had forgotten one of the lessons she had taught me during 
those fleeting days - she was so wise, even then, beyond her years, 
little witch child of the sea - that it was a far worthier man

	who never made excuses.

	Atsuko, because of you, I was a better man, even if just for a 
while so - I at least owed you this - and that was good enough, as a 
reason, to know why I was trying to weave the magic as I did then.  I 
should at least -

	So I sat down on the cool granite floor.  And drew my hands 
together, hands clasped as if for prayer, head bowed and eyes closed to 
the blue flickering mage-lights on the walls that stay lit off of the 
wellspring of Power that is the fabric of the cave itself.  But the 
gestures mean nothing, I know that now.  They are there merely to help 
you focus your concentration, to help you in visualizing the lines of the 
Gift that one must draw out of oneself and bind and rebind together to 
project the ultimate focus of one's Will.  The books on the occult that 
my mother gave to me, they were all from outsiders' points of view on 
magic.  They described the rituals, all the motions, the empty things 
that mean as much say, as pictures of painting do to teach how to paint.

	I cannot put into writing with words how it is I feel as I move the 
threads in my thoughts, but it is akin to watching drops of paint 
splatter and arrange themselves (as with invisible fingers, somehow I am 
doing the arranging or perhaps it is more that the brightly colored drops 
are the pieces of my soul but how melodramatic for me to think so; 
ridiculous), living paint in three dimensional space, a portrait that is 
not a portrait.  It is as though I am staring in a mirror that is not 
myself, mirror smooth winter lake, and as I lean into it, to kiss lips 
that freeze my blood but are not my lips, actually, but the lips of a 
self that, while is not my self, is an essence of self that lies within 
me.  Like kissing fire and feeling the flesh of your lips bubble and 
sizzle, but the sensation is a drug it keeps pulling you further and 
further in even as the smell makes you nauseous and the pain would make 
you faint but the drug in your system keeps you going.

	And as my eyes burned, I dove into the black acid sea of night, and 
the only guide I had through the thick syrup of infinity was the faint 
line of quicksilver through the water not as thick.  Terribly easy, too 
easy to break the tenuous link, all that was left to guide me.  Have to 
pull along on the surface of the liquid light without tearing it.

	Liquid light, surprised there was so much left unless

	unless she still thought of me sometimes too...

		and the light it grew and grew as I continued to dive through 
its infinite length and blazing night sun

	nerves tingling, like swimming through the west wind

at last I

	opened my eyes

	Atsuko looking in the mirror.  Atsuko's lips, Atsuko's eyes, 
Atsuko's cheeks, Atsuko's hair, the same dusky skin, only older and 

	grown so wondrous but

	she was smiling back at me

	sadly

	Atsuko!  Dear Atsuko, you had not forgotten!  Ah, but - 

	so sadly, she lifted her hand up, to let me see

	engagement ring

	wedding ring

	and she stepped back to show me why

		happily, happysad

			beautiful, naked, swollen breasts, belly

				pregnant

	"He's a good man, Gos.  Thank you for helping me get over my 
mother, so long ago, I wish - I wish we could have grown up together, 
but..."

	Oh goodbye, Atsuko.  Goodbye and, and

	oh goodbye

	oh thank you

	sorry

---

	And I cried then.  I cried all the tears I had not wept for Akane, 
not wept for my poor dead sister, not wept all my life, wept them all in 
those shuddering moments after the claws of the magic withdrew from me, 
left me retching, dry-heaving as over-loaded nerves started to come down 
from the High of being charged by the Gift.

at that moment

	it felt as though

		I had just lost 

			absolutely everything

---

	Lurching back to consciousness, nothing to be done except to live 
on.

	Yes, I think I am okay.

	Thought I was okay.

	Took a shower then, too drained to feel.  After a while, you don't 
ask why, you just don't argue anymore.  You take life as it hurts you, 
from moment to moment, and watch the new wounds blossom as old ones close 
or reopen.

	But I was glad as I stared at the pile of papers and photos 
surrounded by stone, and said the word, "burn," feeling the spark go out 
from me into it.  Fire is beautiful, fire cleanses, fire is frightening 
and is difficult to control.  Again, the odd feeling as though magic had 
suddenly become all too easy - as though, with the mystery behind it 
gone, it was only one more skill to have, as though the Gift was 
suddenly, well, no longer **magical,** do you see?

	Wondered what I would put on my walls afterwards, they looked so 
bare, so empty.

	Painful as I watched the work of years of obsessed photography, 
watched Akane burn in the flames over and over, and those pictures of her 
never looked so powerful, so fascinating to me as then.  I almost, almost 
doused the flames, almost tried to recover that lost, sick part of me.  
My mother interrupted me first.

	"Phone for you, Hikaru-chan."

	I always wished that my mother would stop calling me that.

	"It's a gurrrrrl," she grinned at me, winking.

	Gave me pause like a brick flung at my thin-skulled head.

	You do not understand, my mother never grins, she's too serious to, 
too involved with, but - maybe I just never noticed before?  Was she 
joking or does the awakened Gift let me see with eyes that sense emotion?  
But I never thought Mom's voice was loving before and yet - 

	I could picture her in my mind (not my mother), sitting on a stool 
watching the wall, fingers tapping the phone she held to her ear 
impatiently (the Sight had started growing in me, by leaps and bounds).  
Of course it was her, who else could it have been?  She was wearing a 
black silk robe and beneath, nothing, having just bathed after her daily 
training, bedraggled hair trailing down her back, eyes clean of the pink 
and lavender eye-shadow she preferred.  She smelled clean and of herself, 
I guess she did not use scented stuff much anymore.  She looked small, 
what a thought to think.  And younger than her age.  She was a warrior, 
had strength to break me in half with ease but still, was somehow smaller 
than before, open vulnerability in her eyes.  In the background, a tall 
man with long hair was arguing loudly with a tiny shadow standing atop a 
table.

	"Don't keep the girl waiting, son!"

	Was mother always so encouraging?

	Stumbled to the phone.

	"Hello?"

	"No, I'm not doing anything tomorrow."

	"You don't say."

	Hastily, "of course I know that it's not a date."

	The sounds of fighting were clear over the phone, and I felt so 
very, very sorry for her.

---

	It surprised me to learn just how little of the neighborhood she 
had actually been to.  A long time since she had first come and she had 
still to actually go anywhere, but of course it was like that, she had 
Ranma to pursue, Ranma at the core of her existence from day to day, when 
would she have had time to look for her own little place to simply be?

	Which is where we were going to, then.

	Finding a place of our own.  Her own, my own, well, I was guilty of 
the same, since moving here, who was there to see but Akane, where was 
there to go that she did not?

	Her eyes were red, there were bruises on her face, and the way she 
moved suggested deeper bruises in places I could not see.  I guess her 
great grandmother really let her have it.  But she was smiling.  
Smiling...

	"Stupid mans!  No worry 'bout Shampoo.  Is just training, like 
usual."  Immediately, she straightened, hid the limp in her step.

	I had to fight the want in me then.  The want that desired to hold 
her, somehow, protect her.  But when would she ever need protection that 
I could provide?  I could barely protect myself.

	We were walking up a place I had seen from the roof of Furinkan, a 
little hill you got to by climbing a great many steps up, and staying off 
to one side of the path that would have led to an old abandoned temple.  
I do not know what made me bring her there.  Yes, there, yet another 
place where I had tried weaving the Gift before, and failed (those times 
when mother had banned me from the practice chamber for plain stupidity).  
The tingling rose again, beginning at the backs of my knees and my feet - 
the remains of the broken energies leading to nowhere.  I only have this 
to say about those times, those largest of my failed mageries.

	It was a good thing nobody lived nearby.  There was scorched earth 
and fused rubble to prove that.

	"Is pretty," she sniffed, bored.

	Picturesque, really.  Tiles there, so old footprints were worn into 
the black rock.  Wild vines, creepers covered the ashlar of the walls, 
moss coating the dark stone with a shimmering green.  Smell of moss and 
pine trees and things gone to wilderness, sweet old smell of decay, as 
every once in a while, another part of the temple would collapse in a 
shower of wooden splinters and dust.  And there was always a cool breeze, 
even in the dead heat of heavy, oppressive summer air that descended upon 
Tokyo some years but not others.

	Trust her not to be a romantic.  But I was just learning about her, 
back then.

	"I want to take a picture of you," I said, cautiously.

	She looked at me askance.

	Ah, screw that.  It was not turning out quite like I expected.  Not 
that I knew exactly what it was that I expected.

	I sighed.  "Ever tried pachinko?"

---

	Never saw anyone win so much before.

	Did she have beginner's luck or what?

	Happy there, sitting, surrounded by winking, flashing lights and 
the bell sounds and clanking and beeping of the machines all around us, I 
photographed her.  Maybe she did not notice, if she did, she did not 
care.

	"Done now," she grinned proudly.  "Shampoo win!"

	So relieved that she liked it.  Would not have known what to do if 
- I looked at my watch, it was just eleven in the morning.

	"Come on, let's try this theme park that just opened."

	"Anh?  What that?"

	"Of course you've never been to a theme park," I muttered to 
myself.  "It's a forty minute train ride away.  You don't have to be back 
at the Nekohanten until tonight, yes?"

	"Mmm-hmm," she nodded, curious.

---

	Never thought I would live to see an Amazon get scared on a roller-
coaster.  Enough to grab my hand, almost crushing it.  Would have been 
sweet if it were not so painful!  Or that I would beat her at a shooting 
game, prize of a pair of sepia furry dice.  Gave them, which she 
gracefully accepted, like a princess.  

	She would be the type to get bored at the top of a Ferris wheel, of 
course.  

	"Want out!"

	I wondered if my scream was quite like a girl's, then, as she 
casually kicked the door open (ignoring the vast empty space beneath us), 
picked me up with absurd ease in her arms and proceeded to leap down, 
bouncing from the tacky neon orange roof of each set of covered seats to 
the next, to the heavy white metal arms of the machine itself, taking the 
last thirty feet down to the ground all at once.  She perhaps weighed a 
sleek and muscular (and very female) hundred ten pounds while I weighed a 
rather scrawny hundred but she took the shock on her knees and legs 
easily, bending at the knees and waist without too much strain.  If any 
of the Nerima martial artists ever actually bothered to join the 
Olympics, Japan would have a monopoly of golds.  Except for the psychotic 
ones, of course.

	I was glad that I had relieved myself just before riding that thing 
with her.  I am not certain, but I suspect that I would have wet myself.

	Oh but she was lovely, so carefree, laughing as I slowly got 
rubbery knees to support me again.

	We spent the rest of the day there, gone so quickly.

---

	Lick, lick, lick.  Looked delicate, the way her tongue would snake 
out and dart and slide through the thick off-white substance.  
Fascinating to see a girl's first taste of vanilla.

	"It's been a long time since I have had ice cream," I mumbled to 
her.

	"Shampoo like!" she declared, having decided at last, after getting 
through half of the cone.  "Get more next time."

	Next time.  Oh, a next time!  I was trying to reign in my 
enthusiasm then, as we walked beneath ghostly streetlights in the night.  
She sounded so sure of a next time, and I knew I wanted it so badly, but 
what did she mean, really?

	What did she want?

	If this were the Shampoo I knew who first walked into "Creeps" so 
long ago, I knew I would have been beneath her notice, surely this day 
was just something to manipulate me, another girl taking advantage of 
poor Gosunkugi (take a turn, everyone does, did).  I felt her eyes on me 
and wondered what she was thinking, if she were comparing me to someone 
else, and with the first stirrings of the tendrils in my mind, I clamped 
down.  I was not ready to share the mind of another, as I was sure I had 
been about to.  So much of the Gift coming alive all at once, so much 
more strength, abruptly, I wondered if it was going to pass my level of 
control but - but there was no reason to suspect that yet.  And it was 
hard to keep my mind on the abstract nature of the magicks when there was 
a warm, breathing (not a photograph at all, not my imagination supplying 
some stupid fantasy) girl-woman walking next to me, looking at the 
profile of my face.

	Ah, the way she walked, it kept on drawing my eyes in a way that 
would have been impolite, sway of hips, rocking of shoulders, the ends of 
her hair brushing the tops of her sweetly curved buttocks.

	Life had not been life at all before seeing that tight, shiny black 
silk stretching here and there with ever step.  Well, half of my brain 
was drowning in lust by then.  Easy enough to admit that.

	A good reason, I thought, to end this day.  Before I made a fool of 
myself, losing the closest thing I had to a friend just a day after 
finally realizing that I had lost the only other friend I had.  So I 
cleared my throat, and mumbled, "Hey, I've got school tomorrow, and um, I 
know you have to wake up early to help open the restaurant.  I guess I'll 
walk you back home now?"

	She stiffened.  

	Before the rapid growth of the Gift, I would have missed the way 
the smoothly curving line of her back jerked ever so slightly.

	"Is not Shampoo's home," she said quietly.

	"What do you mean?"

	Stopped, shook her head.  "Anh.  Day not finished until drinks at 
'Creeps,' yes?"

	I hesitated.  I am glad that I said what I did next, or  - but that 
does not bear thinking of.  "Oh, okay.  Why not?"

	The open smile returned to grace her lips at that.  "Shampoo 
thanks.  Will give proper thank you later."

	Still I wonder what would have happened otherwise?  Or...

	But at the time I was merely excited, and terribly, terribly 
nervous, as she took my arm and rushed me forward with the sweet sway of 
her stride against me.

---

	Ah, my dearest, only take me away from the emptiness of myself.  
The wind and the rain, soft against my face and harsh against the vast 
crying shadow screeching of my heart, my soul, my hunger.  Hollow, it 
echoes within me, fire of blue skies, scent of wine and blood and musk, 
thunder and crashing sea.  Rock shards stabbing into a wounded sky, I fly 
into the burning face of annihilation, but fall short, stung back further 
and further, by your scorn imagined.

---

	I never meant for it to happen that way.

	Chains so heavy I could barely breathe, encased me, held me still 
against black wrought iron bars.

	Happened so quickly, so quickly.

	"Thank you," she whispered, pressing lips to mine, fiery with the 
taste of her and the emptiness we both felt and wanted to fill and then - 

	Like an avalanche, fury of nature, anger shrieking loud and 
volcanic, a shining hail of steel smashed me down and flung me, like a 
rag doll, helpless.

ohshitohfuckoh how could I have forgotten!

	World colored into jagged lines slashing diagonal, white and black, 
sound and fury

	Animal screaming, primal, basic, "MINE!  ONLY MINE!"

	Ah, then her arms were slammed aside by the whirlwind, and as she 
cursed him, he twisted her arms behind her, and bent her down before him.  
The Gift was a caged animal, and growing stronger with every panic-
stricken moment, enough so that I could understand their words, as they 
raged back and forth in their native tongue.

thudding in my heart, thudding as I cursed myself for letting her drink 
enough to slow her down

	"Mousse, you do this and I'll hate you!  You do this and you break 
everything, everything you ever meant to me!"  And still she fought, 
trying to work herself into better leverage, with thrust and twist of 
elbow and knee, with shifting of center of gravity, technique after 
technique but

but after all, Mousse was stronger.  Always had been.  And this time, he 
had fury and lust, she only had loss and despair inside her as her 
greater skill somehow deserted her.

	fragments, the words were coming to my ears then only in fragments, 
the moments passing too quickly

	"... everything!  EVERYTHING meant nothing to you!  If the law is 
all that you'll respect than I will have you any way I CAN!"  And his 
knees pushed her own apart, and chained them there as he tore

	"... she'll never forgive you for this!" Shampoo moaned

	shreds of red silk in the night falling under the lonely 
streetlights lonely streetlights so bright

	"COLOGNE IS THE ONE WHO GAVE ME PERMISSION!  You gave up on Ranma, 
and still you won't return, still you bring more dishonor by choosing 
this, this NITHING not even a low warrior, what choice does..." inside he 
wept all the while as he pulled his robes open

		red is the color of happiness and good fortune

if this is what it takes love you damn it love you will do what must be 
done do it do it do it 

		unbidden, his thoughts raged in me, her thoughts too

hateyouMousse  I will not cry I will not cry not even when I feel him 
tear inside me I will notIwillnotIwillnotI

			first splash of crimson streaking pain between 
my/her/our  legs

	I felt her/my/our tears sliding down cheeks
	
	And I screamed.  Perhaps Shampoo could take such pain, but I am so 
much weaker and - 

cages sundered open I screamed OFF OFF OFF GET OFF HER YOU BASTARD and my 
Will tore him out and off and away from her, and cracks formed about the 
depression he made in the far wall

	"Rust," I said and was free of the chains

	"DON'T INTERFERE!" but so fast martial artist reflexes reactions 
fast as my thoughts

	one

	two

	points

	lines 

	of screaming wet pain

	and the sight of his sword gleaming above me as I knelt on the cold 
broken asphalt, two knives protruding from my belly

	"...for stealing her from me, YOUR HEAD!"

	flash swinging down

---

	I meant only the sword.  I swear it, upon my word, my family, my 
line, I meant only the sword in his hands but

the hate the fury the GIFT was alive on its own and one

word from between my lips, "break," soft as feathers, soft enough after 
all the screaming that no one could have heard it except me

	So he fell.  Fragments left of the sword punched into him, but 
those were minor compared to the effect of the Gift upon him

sickening sound

		sickening 

	sick

slow at first

		steadily faster

	cr          ick

			knee bent back on itself

his puzzled look was almost comical almost but it was all too serious too 
real too gritty and

		crack

snap

	crick crack crick crackCRACKCRICKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!!!!!!

	and when it was over the soft wet sound of a sloshy bag

a bag of water

		smacking against the pavement

	Body on automatic, self-piloting, stood and covered Shampoo with my 
shirt, helped her rise and finally she started to sob but

I never thought killing someone would feel so empty

	but she was in my arms and warm and alive and bleeding and hurt and 
I needed to do, for once in my life, the right thing

eyesight growing dimmer as the blood streamed down my belly and down my 
pant legs

	I never meant for it to happen that way

	never meant fo

---

	I was drowning, knocked head over heels by the wave, it was so 
sudden.  Swallowed a little but still some breath in my lungs, presence 
of mind not to exhale it just barely there.  Flung my hands out, kicked 
as hard as I could, cloud of sand in the water, could not find the light.  
Up was lost, direction meaningless as I seemed to be burrowing through 
the darkness.  Cold, suddenly cold.  Head growing light, vision dimming 
and I lost it, mouth opening and gasping for breath that was not there, 
only water, cold death in the water.  Water in my nose, down my throat, 
water everywhere, and I thought, what a stupid way to die.

	Gasping air, blessed air, oh, blessed breath!

	Thin, wiry arms around my chest, holding me up by the armpits as 
she kicked out and dragged me through waves that, suddenly, were not so 
rough or intimidating.

	"Fine," I choked out, wheezing.  "I'm fine..." and I was, really, 
as she held me up with the strong smoothness of her arms.

	Sun setting, I noticed, sun so lovely in the sky, tiny fruit 
hanging in the air, it felt as though I could just stretch out and it 
would be mine, even as I felt her bring me up onto shore, and the sand 
was rough against my back, specks of it itching as some of it passed down 
the waistband of my swim trunks.

	Head, neck cradled by the firm smoothness of her thighs as she 
looked down at me, heated hands smoothing my hair back.

	"Sorry!"

	"-should have, oh, I should have-"

	"'m so sorr-"

	Coughed a little more water out, watched the crystalline beads 
collect on her legs, wanted to reach up and touch her face but was too 
weak to do so, squeezed her knee instead.  Scent of Atsuko and the sea in 
my nostrils.

	Closed my eyes, listened to her weep.

	"Not.  Your.  Fault."

	Stirring to waking, I sighed as I felt long hair brushing my cheeks 
and linen sheets where in my dream was sand, and lastly, the dull 
throbbing of the slowly closing wounds in my belly.  Opened my eyes and 
felt her slow breath brush against the back of my hand.  Shampoo must 
have fallen asleep watching me.  Scent of dried roses in the air, the 
roses she had brought for me last week wilted but still standing in the 
vase beside the lamp at the head of my bed.  It was almost enough to 
forget the reek of disinfectant all around, and the sterile white colors 
of everything in sight.

	That was the first time I had slept since that night without a 
nightmare, of the blood and the bone shards slicing out from them, and of 
the sensation of being violated between my legs.  Did she dream the 
dreams too, having once, even if only briefly and accidentally, shared my 
soul?  But then the parts of his soul, oh a soul whose emptiness could 
rival mine, they brushed the surface as well, and I know what it was to 
rape her and for Shampoo to dream of being somehow Mousse as he drove 
into her body, it must have been driving her mad.  Yet how must she have 
felt, to see herself through his eyes, to feel his love for her and the 
pain he felt from having to hurt her, to follow custom and tradition 
because there was nothing else left.  To feel the sick horror in his 
heart vying with the lust he had kept in check for years and years, 
finally uncoiling in a brief moment of pain-filled glory.  The viewpoints 
merged and switched over, again and again in a dizzying collage of a 
night that should not have been.

	I tried not to think about the parts of her dreams that must come 
from my soul.

	We had not talked about it yet, or what would happen next.

	"Shampoo is no Amazon," she had said quietly, the night before.  
"No follow law.  Not anymore.  Will change name, will change hair, will 
change self, but will never be Amazon again.  Find life here, find new 
name, new family."

	Equally guilty, we looked away from each other.

---

	Only then, that day, had they told me, that Cologne had died as 
well.  With the same injuries as Mousse, and at the same time.

	The death of Mousse could have been self-defense, but this.

	This was murder.

	Mother whispered, "Your Gift is still growing.  What you need now 
is control."

---

	"Come my little love squirrel."

	Really?  He said that?

	Mother nodded, a musing half-smile on her lips.  "He was so sincere 
too.  It was just so silly, I had to laugh, I did laugh.  And he looked 
SO hurt."  She reclined in her chair, eyes sparkling and young.  "I had 
to kiss him.  Everything else followed from that.  It wasn't always 
perfect but it's been a happy thirty years."

	I was watching her with a new eye, an eye open to truths.

	She sighed, looked away.

	"Much older than I look, son.  Much.  I was... a widow.  Twice.  
Before meeting your father."

	Was that the other reason?

	"Your father's line was investigated for a time before I was 
allowed to see him.  His family has always been long-lived, and so."

	So he passed.  I did not want to ask but I had to know.

	"The sooner the Gift is opened, the longer the bearer must carry 
it.  It took me forty years to reach where you have in only twelve years 
of study."

	Oh, no.  No.

	"My son, your life, it will be perhaps thrice the length mine shall 
reach before I finally sleep my last.  And in that time, you will come to 
thrice the power I had at my peak."

	The gaping maw of time, roaring emptiness of the lifetimes I have 
left to live and feeling this guilt all the while?  Facing the nightmares 
night after night?  Alone?

	Hunted?

	Her fingers touched my shoulder as she shook her head.

	"Not alone.  Time heals.  And time is something you and your 
friend," her lips eased back into her smile, fondness in it for the girl 
sleeping in the other chair at my bedside, and her eyes opened to me the 
years upon years they had seen, "have in great abundance," regret after 
regret but sometimes a star-bright point of joy, "and I think, you know, 
that she -"

	Please do not say so, please.

	She was quiet for a long time.

	"As our kind slowly lose our capacity to feel certain emotions, so 
do they gain others.  We lose the ability to feel pity for the sick as we 
grow past sickness, go years and years without aging or frailty.  We lose 
our capacity to fear death or pain, and the deaths of others draw from us 
no sympathy, the older we are.  In time, we can only pity, and that 
rarely.  But the loneliness, my son, the loneliness is a terror that can 
only grow for us, as we see our friends leave, grow old, die, and their 
children and their grandchildren too."

	Bitter hole of my soul, shall you consume me whole after a time?

	"Love is.  Love is so very rare for us.  But always, always we fear 
being alone.  This girl, I can feel the spark in her, not much but -"

	Her great grandmother was three hundred years old.

	"she has more than the average Amazon and they are long-lived too."  

	I don't want her to... to be with me simply because I defeated the 
second man to defeat her...  I wanted.  I wanted so much for

	"If you would teach her to use the tiny fraction of the Gift she 
possesses, she would live even longer.  And they grow lonely too, over 
time, all of the Long-Lived do.  It is painful to see loved ones die, and 
that little bit easier to love those who can stay with us for just that 
much longer.  Perhaps she could live to the same age as you shall..."

	They will put me on trial.  The Amazons.  And her too.  Not even 
Ranma pretends that he could defeat them all.  And justice aside, I did 
not want to die.  I did not want for her to die.  Did not want to waste 
all those years yet to come.

	Comforting contact at my shoulder, the touch of a mother.

	"Son, I will always understand what you decide."

	I whispered it then.  "I guess I should talk to her, alone."

	"But of course," she nodded.

---

	What happened next was about as accidental as the accident that 
prompted it.

	Only far more pleasant.

	The taste of her, wondrous intoxicating in my mouth, made me flush 
and tremble with spinning head and I remembered the nightmares and she 
did as well but I could not stop touching her then and I sighed as her 
tender, searing fingers at my ears and neck and shoulders pulled me, 
drawing me on and further.  And her soft, full heat in my mouth was full 
and smoky and primal as the urgency of her animal sighs and motions.  

	As we two particles of unlike collided together again and again in 
a brief moment of mutual annihilation and light and darkness, it was more 
than fear and self-loathing and guilt that drove us on, during that one 
eternal night.

---

	How easily now, we look at each other.

	"It is not running, what we do," her thoughts are as mine.  "It is 
only living."

	And gratefully too, we continue on as, sharing thoughts, we stare 
into a future, a future with different names and different faces for us, 
but our souls still our own.  For time heals, and time only moves onward.

	"I trust you," she shares with me, "You know that."

	No exchange of vow, spoken or written, means more than the touch we 
now share.

	And to open these doors, to embark on the endless blue skies 
prepared for with all our lives before now, I weave for the two of us.  I 
weave them, gossamer wings of light.

	A view from a height so far, up here where I have finally found 
myself.

	Hospital windows open without a touch.

	And at long last, the journey

	begins

--- fin.

In its way, this fic is the most in-depth story I have worked on in a 
very long time (it certainly required more thought and care than 
"Winner").  It feels presumptuous to do so and yet, I feel that I must 
dedicate this one.  To Liza, who will never read it.

The sequel to Winner is in the planning stage.

Thank you, hope you enjoyed it (or was at least disturbed by it),
Rain Man

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