Hey all:

Heh - i was wandering around aimlessly for a while before i noticed a post somewhere far away from here that asked if Fragments was once again on hiatus.  Oh, the guilt.  It's worse than when my *mother* tries to make me feel wretched.  Anyway...

A few notes: Fragments *is* a oneshot, believe it or not, the chapters are arbitrary and defined *only* because I save the text file uploads from posting the story somewhere else.  I don't *like* breaking up the story, and I'm *nearly* through writing it (give or take 50 to 60 pages away from the ending) - so bear with my guys, this *will* be completed eventually.

But anyway, here we go:

^*^*^

Ryoga was lost.

Though, for the first time ever, not literally.

He'd finally realized what life had been subtly telling him
all along.  He didn't have the foggiest idea what love was.
He hadn't even come close to touching the surface of true
devotion, never even breathed the thick, opiate smoke of
possession, never felt honest, unyielding lust for the
flesh and mind and soul of another.

He'd convinced himself that a crush was enough.

The seed had been planted when he'd seen the apathetic way
Akane had responded to their wedding, it had germinated
when she forgot things, and it had grown in the shadows of
his own self-doubt.

He growled softly, berating himself for being so selfish
that he'd worry about his own happiness when Kasumi had
lost hers.  She was a sister, a friend, a confidant.

The one person who had helped him keep his curse a secret
from Akane.

She hadn't wanted to, but she'd weighed her options.  Tell
the truth and watch Akane's heart break, again, or keep it
secret, and live a sin in return for a moment of happiness?
Naturally, Kasumi, being Kasumi, had chosen the latter of
the two.

Slowly, he picked up the phone in the dojo office; he
started dialing the number of the caterers, his mind
whirring quietly for the familiar digits belonging to the
priest, the florist, and the band.

The wedding needed to be cancelled.

^*^*^

She always talked so colorfully, giving everything a color
and a taste and a scent.  She made things come alive with
hr words, brought into the dull hospital room dragons and
fairies and inept cab drivers, laughing babies and stupid
children.  Parading them one by one through the doorway of
her eyes and mouth and had them reenact their stories
before his very eyes.

Naka supposed that he was one of those rare, lucky
individuals who had someone who persisted on caring even
when he'd given up trying.

Even as he ignored her and did not give response to her
questions - she kept talking, kept telling, kept hoping.
Hers was the kind of hope that did not extinguish itself.

And he often wondered why, and how, she had the strength to
keep believing.  He asked himself where she found her
ambition, what she dreamed of to wake her with such power
and hope and light every morning when she went to work, and
every evening when she fell into an exhausted doze by his
bedside, voice hoarse from talking and singing and
laughing.

And now - something had caught his eye.  The corner of
something she was working on, something dark with pencil
lines and gray with dirty fingerprints.

"What are you doing?" Naka asked, seeing that for the
fourth day in a row, Kimiko was bent over a sheaf of
papers, sketching and erasing and redrawing.  She looked up
towards him, a smudge of gray-silver from the pencils on
her face, giving her a childish, innocent appearance, a
little girl who had just been broken of her reverie,
uncaring of how she looked, covered with her fingerpaints
and mud.

She gave no indication that she was any bit surprised that
he was talking to her after breaking his many days long
silence.  She looked down to the pad of papers, and
grinning, she replied, "I'm just working on something -
would you like to see it?"

He nodded and she held the pad up carefully.

He gasped.

It was a stunningly detailed pencil sketch of an enormous
house.  With lines and angles shaded with a sort of casual
familiarity, as if she'd seen it a million times before.
Though Naka didn't know how it could have happened - there
weren't houses like that anywhere in urban Tokyo.

"That's beautiful, Kimiko-san," he whispered, "Did you grow
up in that house?"

She turned to stare at it for a moment, an odd, mournful
expression in her blue eyes, "No, Naka-kun, but Soichi
did," she hid the ages-old pain behind a mask and smiled
brightly at the boy, "Maybe you could ask him about it
later."  She cleared her throat and set the paper aside.
Pressing her hands flat against the tops of her thighs, she
glanced furtively towards him over the tops of her glasses.

"Naka-kun," she started slowly, "I have a proposition for
you."

^*^*^

Nabiki now knew without a shadow of a doubt how it felt to
be Satan.  She tapped her finger on the edge of her desk
and frowned, there were things to do, words to say, and
actions to be carried out.

Kasumi had been taken into the hospital a week ago,
suffering a miscarriage, and was just released to go home
half an hour previous.  A baby that she'd kept secret from
Tofu, hoping to tell him on their anniversary only two days
away.

Her sister was heartbroken.

And all she could think of was how this could help her
appease her conscience, pay the debts of her past.  Nabiki
sneered in disgust at herself, glaring into the Tokyo
skyline, staring distantly at one large glass and metal
building.

A building that, on the twenty-second floor, possessed a
secret that would destroy the calm of Nerima, free her from
the guilt she'd carried with her for a decade, and one that
could soothe Kasumi's soul.

Startling her out of her reverie, the phone rang, a shrill,
impatient noise filling the room and making her jump at the
sound.  She lunged forward toward the handset, and quickly
pressing the 'talk' button, she gasped out:

"What's wrong?" her voice was urgent with worry.  Could
there have been another complication in Kasumi's condition?
Had something else gone bad?

She was met with silence over the line.  And after half a
minute of this treatment, a voice replied, "I have the
information that you wanted, Tendo-san.  And I'm calling to
set up a time to meet and exchange papers."

At first, she was confused.  No one who she regularly
contacted for information was this formal in their speech,
hell, half of them couldn't speak in a complete sentence -
having been holed up with their computers hacking their way
into the United States Department of Defense files for half
their life.  Her mind whirred through her mental archives,
desperately trying to place the voice with a face.

And she finally hit upon something that wouldn't
necessarily be right, but couldn't possibly be any more
wrong than her other guesses.

"Kuzio-kun?" she whispered strangely.

There was a nervous cough over the phone line before,
"Tendo-san, please, don't address me in such an informal
manner," he paused, and now, with renewed derision and a
hint of bitterness tainting his soft, mellow tone, he said,
"After all, you pay me to do the work, I haven't got any
right to anything, least of all earning your respect and
admiration."

If Nabiki could have kicked herself with looking like a
total ass at that moment, she would have done it.  Hard.
With spiked heels.  And probably more than once, too.

She sighed darkly, and in as remorseful and as humble a
tone as Tendo Nabiki could muster, she said:

"Kuzio-kun, I apologize for the way I treated you earlier.
It was unfair of me to talk to you in such a low manner,
you deserve more than the respect I afford you," she winced
as she heard herself go on, ego slowly shrinking as the
words kept flowing from between her lips, "and you have
done more than enough to earn my admiration in these years
we have been in contact."

Then there was silence over the phone line.  Nabiki had
heard of blanks in sound like this.  This was when the man
usually hung onto his end of the pay phone, soaked and
desperate and terrified that the woman he loved would
reject him, leaving him at the mercy of an unkind world.
This was when the heroine sat overlooking a bluff of hungry
children, wondering whether to devote her life to the
world, or appease her heart with her soulmate.

And then Nabiki remembered the frequent endings of those
movies, and muttered to herself a quiet 'Damn.'

Instead, she heard Kuzio laugh boldly into the phone, "I
*knew* it!  I just *knew* it!"

Nabiki felt her hackles rise and her face turn dark red,
"Knew what?  And why the hell are you laughing?"

In between inextinguishable chuckles, he managed to choke
out, "It was *so* easy once I realized how to get to you,
Nabiki!  All someone has to do to drive you insane is to
*ignore* you!  A week, maybe two, but being disregarded
drives you up the wall more than any kind of yelling or
pestering could ever do!"  She heard him laughing again as
she crossed her arms hatefully over her chest, her heart
thumping wildly in humiliation and muted fury.  "At any
rate, Nabiki, I forgive your little tantrum."

For a moment, her eyes sparked, and opening her mouth, she
was about to bark about how she didn't *need* his
forgiveness, and that she *didn't* mind being ignored by
him, not at all! - when Kuzio's voice stopped her.

"I missed talking to you," he said softly, shy now, "I hate
to admit it, Nabiki, but for all those flowery declarations
of love that I spout at you all the time, and all those
rejections you so eloquently hand back," he fell silent for
a moment, and started again, his voice barely above a
whisper, "I realized that I missed hearing you tell me that
I didn't have a chance."  She could hear his rueful smile
over the phone, "Strangely masochistic, isn't it?"

Nabiki took a deep breath.  She turned her head to glance
out the window, at the slowly setting sun, a liquid red
sphere that dipped itself lower and lower into the jagged
skyline of urban Tokyo.

It was undeniable now - there was no way she could avoid
it.  There was something in her that refused to be
silenced, and after all those years of focusing on money
and on power, she'd stumbled upon what she could not sway
or purchase with the power of the yen.  Kuzio wasn't some
perfect prize to be jumped at, and neither was she.  They
both had their flaws, too sarcastic, callous, and
thoughtless in their actions.  They could hurt each other
so badly, but they could also bring such joy.

She'd never taken a chance on something she didn't know for
sure would turn out in her favor -

But there was a first time for everything.

"Kuzio-kun," she said softly, idly running her fingers
through her hair, "Could we talk over coffee?"

^*^*^

Naka was past convinced that some strange alien entity had
invaded Kimiko's body, and was currently making her act the
way that she was acting - which was the manner in which all
women act under pressure.  Only one word could describe it:

S-C-A-R-Y.

"Look," she said, her voice dangerous, "Soichi, just get in
the damned wheelchair, alright?"  Her husband shook his
adamantly, seemingly immune to the waves of pure fury that
she was sending off.

Naka felt back for Fujikara-Sensei, he really did.  It
wasn't the man's fault that he'd been distracted by his
wife as they'd walked down the steps with Naka in tow.  It
certainly wasn't his fault that someone had been so
inconsiderate that they had left that horrible stone column
where anyone who was blind could walk into and trip over.
And it wasn't his fault that he had sprained his ankle.
'But,' Naka decided, 'it *is* his fault for not taking the
wheelchair.'  The boy looked downwards to his own, 'They
aren't that bad, and this one's even got a cool joystick.'

And, later on, he would realize that it was partially
Kimiko's fault for wearing such a short skirt.

So now, the woman was left in a bad state.  Pregnant, with
lunatic hormones racing through her body, shackled to a
stubborn, senseless, momentarily crippled husband, and a
kid who couldn't seem to stop looking scared.

"Fujikara Soichi, I am going to beat you so insanely bloody
that you're not going to be able to see straight long
enough for you to pass out flat on the floor if you don't
get into that wheelchair *right now*," she seethed.

And Soichi narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms tighter
across his muscular chest, he hissed, "Not.  A.  Chance.
In.  Hell.  I've never sat in a wheelchair before, and I
don't intend on doing it before I die."

Kimiko took a deep breath and did something that she had
not felt desperate enough to try for a long time.  She
placed her two hands on Soichi's face, one on each of his
cheeks, and smiling with deceptive gentleness, she
whispered, "So-chan, dear."  Her voice teased the words
gently, letting the 'r' roll of her tongue with such a
dark, sensual tone that Naka gulped and closed his eyes,
determined not to think *that* about his therapist's wife.

"Darling," she breathed into Soichi's ear, her tongue
darting out to brush pink and hot along the curve of the
lobe for just a second.

Naka opened his eyes just enough to see that Soichi's face
was getting very, very red under the ministrations of the
attractive woman, and his breath was coming out in rapid
gasps.

And pulling away just slightly, she smiled again - this
time, with all the wicked intent of the world.  "Now,
doesn't sitting down seem like a *much* more attractive
option?"  Growling, Soichi plopped himself down in the
seat, glaring at Kimiko the entire time and saying:

"That's not fair, haven't I mentioned how *unfair* that was
before?"  Kimiko just nodded brightly and took up the
handles of his wheelchair, pushing him towards the cab and
bubbling towards both men:

"I've cleaned up the apartment, and I cleared out my
office, Naka, you'll be staying there.  It's not a lot, but
the view is spectacular."  Kimiko smiled at Naka, and for
the moment, the boy was able to forget about the
oppressive, sterilized smell of the nurse pushing his
wheelchair, and the fear that Kimiko's earlier outburst had
struck in his heart.  "Oh, and Soichi," she said casually,
"you're going to have to take down your basketball hoop.  I
don't mind the noise when I'm working, but I'm sure Naka
needs his rest, okay?"  She helped her husband and then
Naka into the cab, settling down into the front and telling
the driver directions to Sakura towers.

Soichi shook his head comically, and bemoaned as the car
peeled away from the curb:

"Oh, Kimiko, please, don't take away the basketball hoop,"
he feigned a sob, and covering his face, he whimpered,
"You've already taken away my manhood before my looniest
patient," he paused dramatically, "Please, not the
basketball hoop, too!"

Kimiko rolled her eyes and turned away from him, Naka
grinned softly, and the driver ignored them as they went
down the road, voices filling the car.

Naka watched the two of them and felt for the first time in
days that indescribable spike of pain rise in his heart.
That low, dark ache of longing for his mother and father.
He remembered a time like this, long ago when they were
still happy together, and he had broken his leg after
falling out of a tree.  Two parents angry at each other,
but so in love at the same time.  The quiet comfort of
knowing that they could scream and shout and stamp their
feet, and in the end, they'd still tuck you into bed at
night together, smiles on their faces.

He bit back the sob that came to him, and closed his eyes
for a moment, dragging his memory back to the present.

There would be days where he would wake up sobbing and
hateful and hopeless, days where all he wanted was to crawl
into a dark hole and wait for his parents to claim him in
death so that he could be with them again.  But then he
also knew that on days like that - Kimiko would crawl in
that hole with him, glaring and kicking and smiling and
threatening until he got off of his ass and stepped back
into the light of day.

She wouldn't let him be alone with his misery.

She wouldn't let him ruin himself for the sake of memory.

For some strange reason, Naka *knew*, he *knew* that she'd
already seen someone sacrificed to remembrance, and he
could tell that she never wanted to see it again.

He felt safe in the distance of her embrace; he would never
push and she would never pull, and they would exist in the
comfort of silent affirmation.

He promised to try, and she promised to praise his efforts.

^*^*^

On the east side of Nerima, near the docks, a trill of
voices went up in the night.  One old, one new, and one
very, very solemn.  None of them sounded too happy.

"[Great-Great-Grandmother-]" whispered a small, purple-
haired child, her eyes the color of autumn leaves.  She
clung to the old woman's hands, the contrast between her
tender, sun-soaked and golden flesh making the skin on
elder so much more tired.  The girl couldn't have been any
older than nine years old, bright and filled with a
inexhaustible energy that only children and a few, lucky
adults manage to possess.

"Call me 'Grandmother,' child, and remember to speak in
Japanese," the elder cautioned, lovingly bopping the child
on the crown of her head, a smile on her aged face.

"It's important that you learn another language, Orchid, it
will prove useful in your adulthood," the lavendar-haired
matron reproached.  She stepped quietly just under a beam
from a streetlight, the nearly-neon light falling
gracelessly to her face and hair.  She must have been
beautiful in a past life, in her youth; she would have been
stunning, the bright eyes, and curved red lips, and her
pale, porcelain skin, the smoothness of her figure, and the
curve of her cheek.

The old woman snorted derisively, "Says the woman who spent
nearly a year of her life referring to herself in the third
person."

The woman scowled, and in a winsome tone of voice, she
muttered, "Shampoo no appreciate that."

The young child laughed, and clapping her hands, she
giggled, "Mom, you- you talk funny, really talk like that,
long ago?"

Shampoo gave barely a glimpse of a smile before ruffling
the child's hair, "Yes, I did.  I didn't bother to study my
grammar very much," she paused, and looking serious, she
said, "but you will, right?"

The child pouted, "Yes."

"That's my good child," Shampoo whispered happily, "My
wonderful miracle."

For that moment, Cologne watched Shampoo, standing there in
the lamplight with her daughter, and stared at the color of
Orchid's eyes.  They were a strange gray, cool and blue and
wonderfully deep.  They were so strangely familiar, and at
that same time, so wonderfully impossible.

And she started to remember a piece of some broken memory,
long buried in hopes of numbing the pain that came with it.

^*^*^

Nerima
12 years 11 months previous

Mousse was confused.

See - he was *positively* certain that Tanakawa Yuki hated
him, without a doubt.  Why wouldn't she?  He'd spent the
first two days he'd known her attacking her, *convinced*
that she was another one of Ranma's horrible ecchi ploys to
steal Shampoo's virginal innocence away from its rightful
owner, himself.

So why was she being nice?

"Stupid Mousse," she murmured, wrapping a bandage around
his arm and shaking her head, "why do you always throw
yourself at her to be beaten when she's in a bad mood?  I
mean, if you're trying to cheer her up, buy her punching
bag instead of being one yourself."  And tucking a strand
of red hair behind her ear, she sighed and leaned back on
the chair, surveying her handiwork.

She had discovered him a quivering, bleeding, bruised mass
in the ally behind the Nekohanten - a victim of Shampoo's
bad humors and indirectly, Ranma's insensitivity.  Instead
of turning up her nose at him as Cologne, and later Akane,
had done, she'd dragged him into the restaurant, half-
carried, half-pulled him up the steps, and dropped him down
into a bed.

But that wasn't enough for her, it seemed.

So she had stayed, making him some tea and bandaging up a
few hard to move places, spraying him with bactine as
kindly as anyone could, and chattering happily in his ear.

"Look, Yuki-san," he said, his voice confused, "I don't
mean to be rude but," he paused, "why are you helping me?"

She looked confused for one moment, her eyes curiously blue
in the afternoon sunlight.  She was holding one end of a
roll of medical tape, and tugging off of lengthy strand,
she tore into it with her teeth, ripping it from the roll.
And with it still hanging from her lips, she asked:

"Vah vu oo ween?"  And taking the tape from her mouth, she
blushed shyly and repeated, "What do you mean?"

Mousse fought the urge to twiddle his thumbs, and said
slowly, "Well, to tell the truth, Yuki-san, I haven't
really been very nice to you since I met you," and
listening to her laughter in the background, he continued,
his voice somber, "So why are you being so nice to me?
Most people just leave me there."

Yuki frowned, and grabbing his other arm, she started to
bandage up a cut he'd sustained when Shampoo threw him out
a window.  She sighed, "That's the thing I don't understand
about this city, before I moved here, I used martial arts
exclusively in the dojo, and on rare occasions, I used it
to break up fights."  She gently dabbed the wound with
rubbing alcohol, apologizing softly when he winced.  "Since
I've moved to Nerima, I fight *at least* once a day,
whether its because of Kuno or Ryoga or one of a million
other reasons."  With the utmost care, she carefully placed
a folded piece of gauze over the cut, and started wrapping
the tape about his arm.  "And ever after all the carnage I
see you guys deal to one another, I can't stand to see
anyone hurt."

Mousse looked at her for a beat, an expression of respect
in his eyes, an amused smile on his face.  It was rare to
meet someone like her - with any luck, she'd forget about
how they met, and would end up remembering this: quiet,
friendly moments.

He needed a friend.

And smirking, he asked saucily, "Even Kuno?"

She stopped for a moment, and raising an eyebrow at his
expression, she grinned, saying, "Well, maybe not Kuno."
And they both laughed, comfortable in each other's presence
at that moment.  As her giggles subsided, she asked, "Why'd
she beat you up this time, anyhow?"

He rolled his eyes, "Why else, I asked her on a date when
she was in a bad mood."

She stared at him for a second, "And you say you love this
girl?"  He nodded, vehemently, and Yuki whistled softly, "I
don't understand the masochism here, either."  She let her
eyes drift out a window, a dark, longing expression in
them, "They come, they go, and sure, they're beautiful, but
the way they treat people, it's inexcusable.  Sometimes, I
think it's because they love them too much, others, I think
it's just cruelty."  Her voice was soft.

"Who is 'they'?  And who is 'them'?" Mouse asked.

Yuki looked surprised that he didn't know, "Why," she said,
"the girls and boys of Nerima, of course!"  She laughed
ruefully, "Starting off, there's Kuno, who just couldn't
get a clue about the 'pigtailed girl' or Akane if his life
depended on it.  And then there's you," she paused, "who
could beat Shampoo for her hand in marriage but loves her
too much to hurt her," he found himself blushing as she
whispered, "and Ranma."

Mousse bit his lip.  He wasn't as dense as most people took
him for - he knew that Yuki loved Ranma, or at the very
least, liked him a great deal.  And he knew that it hurt
her to see him with his fianc�e, especially a fianc�e who
didn't love him nor appreciate him.  'I know how you feel,
Yuki-san,' he thought quietly.

She laughed sadly and whispered, "Ranma - who loves Akane
too much to-" she cut herself off abruptly.  Forcing a
smile and standing up to go, she said, "Sorry, Mousse-san,
my mouth has run away with me."

She grabbed her bookbag, and standing up, she said, "Sorry,
I'll - I'll leave you alone now."

Mousse found himself saying, "Wait!  Hold on!  Lets just
talk a little longer."  Whether it was because he was
lonely, or he felt that she was lonely, neither really
knew.

For some strange reason, his request that they talk a while
became an afternoon of conversation.

"Are you sad here, Yuki-san?"

"Not sad, Mousse, maybe regretful."

"Why regretful?"

"You know what it's like to want something, and know you
can't have it no matter how hard you try."

"And yet I hope."

"And yet you hope."

And oddly enough, that grew to include the occasional phone
call.

"Look, either tell me whether or not you're going to
deliver my ramen, or else I'm going to hang up."

"Just one more question!  Right, why do women *always*,
without fail, get cranky every time guys don't notice their
hair?  It's dead cells!"

"Mousse-"

"I mean, come on!  You could shave your head bald and I
wouldn't notice at all!  It's not as if we ever look at
your head-"

-Click-

"Yuki?  Yuki?"

And lots of walks.

"Mousse!  Watch out, that's a-"

"ITE!"

" . . . Never mind."

Midnight meetings on rooftops to compare notes on the
latest Nerima happening (aka fight).

"So Ryoga fought Ranma again?  Who won?"

"Well, wonder-boy pulled the Saotome Secret Technique the
first time around until he figured out how to perfect his
latest Thunderfist."

"Right, so it was a draw and neither will dignify it?"

Learning techniques.

"Look, I like my t-shirt."

"How are you going to hide chains in your t-shirt?"

"I don't *want* to hide chains in my t-shirt!  I just want
to learn another speed technique!  I'm not very big, so
speed is going to be what I depend on!"

"But- but- chains, knives, grenades!"

"NO!"

And throwing things at each other during spats.

"And *that's* for not noticing my hair!"

"ITE!  Didn't you say you weren't going to hide chains?"

"And *that's* for throwing my words back in my face!"

For some strange reason, Mousse became her friend.

"Why don't you try talking to her instead of proclaiming
your love all the time?"

"You think that'll work?"

"Do you even know what a woman *is*, Mousse?"

While Shampoo and Cologne weren't looking, things changed.
It was subtle at first, the feeling that something just
wasn't right, that something was missing.  First the glomps
and embarrassing attempts to win the lavender-haired
Amazon's affections disappeared.  And Mousse started
wearing a new pair of glasses, something that (obviously) a
woman had chosen for him.  He grew quieter, and smiled
more.  Shampoo's rejections stopped being so terribly
painful to him, and her affirmations grew sweeter.

Somewhere in between Shampoo ignoring him, and slowly
becoming jealous over his friendship with Yuki, Mousse had
grown up quite a bit.

"What Mousse doing?" Shampoo asked quietly, watching him
with a curious expression in her eyes.  He was reading a
book, endlessly slowly, he'd been at it for days, and he
was barely past page ten.  He glanced upwards at her, the
light from his gray-blue eyes catching her by surprise.

"[Shampoo, speak mandarin when Cologne isn't around, no one
is going to punish you for being Chinese here,]" he said,
his voice matter-of-fact and confident.

She frowned, "[Since when did you grow a backbone?]"

He shrugged, blushing slightly as he turned back to the
book, murmuring, "[I'm a very different person than who I
was when I first came to Japan, Shampoo,]" he paused,
looking up at her quickly, "[Do you think that I've changed
a lot?]"

She raised an eyebrow and sat down on the side of Mousse's
bed, directly across from his desk and chair where he
always slaved over the book.  Smirking, she said, "[Well,
you don't grab me anymore, and you got a new prescription
and new glasses that you'll wear, so you don't grab other
people anymore, either.]"  Mousse had the good nature to
blush bright red.  And laughing, Shampoo continued, "[I
find not being manhandled rather pleasant.]"

"[I do apologize for my previous actions, Shampoo,]" he
paused, "[In Yuki's words, I was being an ass.]"

Shampoo looked solemn at that.  "[You two seem to be
spending an awful lot of time together, Mousse.  You and
Yuki, I mean.]"

He smirked, "[Jealous?]"

"[Of course not!]" she stuttered, bright red at the very
thought of being jealous over *Mousse*.  "[I was simply
inquiring about your new friend, nothing more.]"

Mousse nodded, a sad smile on hi face, "[I know, Shampoo, I
know that you're not jealous,]" he paused, "[but it would
be nice if you even pretended, just one time.]"  Shampoo
felt a stabbing pain in her heart at his words, and
tentatively, she reached her hand out to his, and brushing
lightly against his knuckles, she whispered:

"You be surprised, Mousse, how jealous Shampoo be
sometime."  He looked up at her in surprise.  "It hard to
say in Chinese, strange, no?  I can say in Japanese, but
not own words."  She stared down at her feet, murmuring,
"Mousse always weak around Shampoo, make me shame, did
Shampoo make you that way?"  She lifted her chin back up
and stared at Mousse's face, tears welling up in her eyes,
"Then Shampoo see Mousse with Yuki," she sighed softly,
"Mousse strong with Yuki."

She stood up, walking quietly across the room; she
hesitated at the door, turning around slightly to ask,
"What book Mousse read?"

"It's called 'To Kill a Mockingbird'," he answered, his
voice oddly dreamlike, confused by her words, and shocked
by the sincerity of her tone.  She'd never spoken so
honestly about her feelings before, much less spoken so
honestly about her feelings to *him*.  He'd never known
that he'd seemed weak in her eyes, his fumbling proposals
and requests had always been made with the best of
intentions, and warmest affection, how could he have known
that they would have come off . . . so unattractive?

Shampoo smiled wanly, her hand on his doorframe, "Yuki tell
you read, yes?"  He nodded.  "What it about?"

Mousse's throat went dry for half a beat before he replied,
"A very strong man," nearly choking on the irony of the
statement.

Shampoo turned away, "Maybe that her secret, she no make
you be strong, she teach."

She left, abandoning Mousse to a thousand questions wrought
by a tortured mind.  And they screamed through the cool,
gray-blue of his eyes, strange and mystical and singular,
leaving in their wake sparkles of light.

The answer came shortly, 'I think,' he thought, 'I think I
have a chance.'

^*^*^

There was no explanation save for magic as to explain the
miracle of Orchid's birth.  Shampoo was not married, and as
far as Cologne knew, none of her lovers had eyes quite like
that.

Orchid's father by public recognition was Mousse.

How it could be, no one quite knew.

Mousse died in Nerima, years before Orchid was even born,
years before Shampoo became pregnant.

But Cologne had long since stopped asking Shampoo questions
her Granddaughter didn't want to answer, and she'd nearly
forgotten the strangeness of Orchid's existence.

Being in Nerima made her curious.

^*^*

All feedback is welcome!

PS - Brian, you may have already C/Ced this part, i'm posting draft form, so don't think that i ignore your wonderful suggestions on correct spelling and commage and things like that. =)

-ling
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