Chapter Four - Downward Spiral
Guardians of the crisp night, the shadowed forms of ancient trees stretched from the inky sea of the ground upwards, their pointed tips brushing against the abyssal black sky. The stars were scattered around a sliver thin crescent of pale moon, like careless grains of salt; ineffectual lights which did little to penetrate the heaviness of the evening hours. There was hardly any sound, save the normal noises of rustling wind, leaves being transported to their final resting places, and occasional scuffling from the more nocturnal of Nature’s creatures.
Ryoga had pitched his camp on the lee side of a stone out-cropping which skirted the edge of the thick forest, taking advantage of what shelter it would offer from the chilling breeze. A small campfire cast flickering light over the forms of his dome tent and pack, and warmed the young man as he came near, dropping the load of wood he had gathered beside the tent where it would be easily accessible.
Despite the fire, Ryoga shivered slightly, taking note of the temperature drop. Autumn was moving quickly this year, and there was already a bite in the air that was indicative of approaching winter. He sighed to himself, regarding his worn jacket, taking a moment to worry at a hole he found on his right sleeve after catching it on a bramble. He was going to have to dip into his shrinking funds and buy himself a new coat soon. For right now, wearing two of his shirts beneath the threadbare garment kept him fairly warm, but Ryoga had the feeling that the winter was not going to be kind to him this year.
{( Not sure why I should even bother, ‘cept freezing to death doesn’t really seem like a very attractive option. There are plenty of warmer ways to go. )}
He smiled humorlessly to himself and lowered into a cross-legged position by the fire. After warming up for a moment, he reached over and pulled his pack closer, opening the top flap and digging into it at the same time. He pulled out a handful of postcards, which he let fall into his lap, and a few sticks of fish jerky to chew on. It wasn’t much of a dinner, but Ryoga didn’t really feel like the hassle of heating anything up. He hadn’t even put on a kettle to keep a supply of water simmering as he normally did. The clear star-bejeweled sky was a pretty good indication that there wasn’t likely to be any precipitation tonight.
Leaning against his pack, he drew the top postcard from his lap and looked at the picture on the front. It featured a spectacular shot of Ayers Rock in Australia, glowing reddish-orange under the influence of the setting sun. Ryoga blinked at it and flipped the card over to run his eyes down the characters of his mother’s small neat handwriting.
\\ Dearest Ryoga, \\ it said, \\ Australia is very beautiful, though rather too hot for my tastes. Your father and I are staying with some old friends in Sydney for a few days, and they have been taking us around to see the sights. I wish you could be here with us. The last time we were home, there was no word from you, but I saw that you took the ramen I stocked, so you must be all right. Please write soon. I miss you, love you very much, and hope to see you the next time you are home. – Your mother. \\
The young man sighed softly. The postmark on the card had been stamped four months earlier. Expressionlessly, Ryoga flipped the card into the fire, where it snapped quietly, then curled into a blacked coil of ash.
He looked at the next one, which was obviously penned by his father, if the scrawling handwriting that resembled his own was any indication. The picture was of the night sky-line of Philadelphia, and the postmark was seven months old. Ryoga read it quickly and it followed the first into the fire.
It was Hibiki family tradition to keep in touch by sending postcards home from wherever they happened to end up. Though most of the cards in Ryoga’s pile were from his parents, there were a few from more removed relatives as well, such as his uncle Donaru and some cousins he hardly knew. Whenever he managed to find his way home, Ryoga was sure to discover a huge pile of correspondence stuffed into the mail box and always made a point of separating it out and taking the ones that were addressed to him. Aside from leaving short letters or notes at home as his mother often did, postcards were just about the only way in which members of the wayward family were able to keep tabs on one another and could be assured that nothing bad had befallen any of them.
However, it had been a long time since Ryoga had sent any postcards home, and as the dates on his mother’s grew more recent, so did her concern over the silence from her son.
Two and a half months old: \\ Ryoga, my dear one. Where are you? I didn’t see any postcards from you when I was home last week . . . \\
A note he had found on the refrigerator, dated six weeks previous: \\ Sweetheart, I left you some steamed vegetables, I hope they don’t go bad before you get home. Please leave me a note, I’m very worried about you. \\
Three weeks old: \\ You father and I are in Kyoto and we’re staying with your Uncle Donaru for awhile. When you get home, please give us a call, the number is in my address book. Donaru says that he would be glad to buy you a plane ticket to get here. It’s been such a long time since we were all together. Please get in touch soon, Ryoga. We love you. \\
Each one found its end in the campfire.
Ryoga hated the endless postcards, hated the notes his mother left. Though the words she wrote spoke with her voice, they all felt lifeless and empty to him, like thin shadowy copies of the people he cared about and longed to see. He could not remember the last time he had felt his mother’s arms around him, or shared a rough smile with his father, and now the memories that he did carry of them were hazy and seemed very far away. He stopped sending postcards because it all felt so pointless to him and he was tired of trying to come up with different ways of saying, "I miss you."
His parents knew nothing of his life, of his Jusenkyo curse or all the strange and unlikely adventures he had experienced. For one thing, Ryoga was not a very good writer and had a difficult time expressing himself in words. For another thing, he no longer cared. Or rather, he tried not to. Though he loved them, Ryoga had mentally buried his parents years ago, wishing to push away and lessen the pain of separation. It had taken a certain amount of cold-bloodedness on his part to shut away the feelings he carried for his family, but he had done so out of necessity. That hurt far less than being constantly disappointed.
Ryoga never dealt well with his feelings. Growing up essentially alone, he had not received the emotional training that most children learned from their elders. His memories of childhood consisted mainly of long dark periods of loneliness punctuated infrequently by brief intense moments of love and indulgence on the rare occasions when he saw his parents, and they tried desperately to make up for lost time with hugs, presents and affection.
As a result, Ryoga’s own emotional personality had evolved into one of extremes. He was either completely angry or utterly introverted, ridiculously happy or devastatingly depressed. Whatever he felt, it was always full-blown, and Ryoga had little concept of middle-ground. It was a remarkably tiring and confusing way to exist, swinging from one absolute to another, and it often took Ryoga quite some time to get a rein on his emotions when they soared out of control.
He had been fighting himself ever since leaving Ucchan’s that morning, trying to dominate his wild conflicting feelings into neat and manageable corners of his psyche. It had not been easy to bury everything again after Ranma’s mere presence had set it all loose, but somehow he had succeeded. He had no idea why he had reacted so strongly, but he had the sickening feeling that something frightening was stalking him, and it made him extremely paranoid. He couldn’t really pinpoint the source of this foreboding, but it was a constant element of unease in his mind, and exactly what he didn’t need to be dealing with on top of all of his other disgraces.
And as to why Ranma’s presence was affecting him so badly, Ryoga didn’t even dare consider. That was a road filled with nothing but pain, old shattered dreams and desires he always hid from even himself when they woke him up in the middle of the night. Ryoga simply shoved it all into the back of his mind where it belonged, locking it down firmly. He had to remain in control of himself and steadfast in his convictions. Anything less would be to dishonor himself further. He allowed only the depression, a life-long companion anyway, to remain with him. That he could live with. The rest of it he had to forget. And some of it he had buried so deeply that he no longer realized he didn’t remember it.
For a long time, Ryoga sat staring into the fire at the blackened remains of his family’s correspondence. Eventually he tossed the uneaten jerky into the flames as well.
It was nearing midnight, and he was just starting to consider turning in for the night, {( If there’s any justice in the world, I won’t wake up, )} when he was alerted by a change in the forest around him. So many years spent in the open had familiarized Ryoga to the subtle language of nature, and his increased paranoia had conditioned him to be very responsive to possible danger. He straightened and listened, breathing slowly. The wind was still moving through the trees but the occasional noises of foraging critters had come to an abrupt halt. From a distance, the faint but sharp snap of underbrush told him that he was no longer alone.
Eyes narrowing dangerously, Ryoga reached into his pack and easily found his hunting knife. He wrapped his fingers around the comfort of its well-worn grip and drew it out, holding it close to his body to lessen the likelihood that its blade would pick up any renegade light that might give him away. He got silently to his feet and backed away from the fire, staring intently in the direction of the sounds of movement that he could now hear plainly. Letting the darkness wrap around him, Ryoga waited. Within a few moments, light from the campfire fell upon a young man entering the small clearing, splashing him with a warm orange glow.
Ryoga’s heart skipped several important beats. Fear stabbed into him like a blade made from ice, and he felt the barriers he had worked so hard at erecting start to shudder. {( Ranma? No! What is he doing here?! )} Gripping the knife close to his chest, Ryoga began to shake violently without realizing it. Looking at his rival, his heart started to ache again. Ranma was a bit disheveled from his hike, and appeared to be tired, but Ryoga couldn’t help the thought that popped unbidden into his mind. Ranma was beautiful Kami-sama, he was always so beautiful! {( Did he come to look for me? No . . . that’s not possible. He doesn’t give a damn about . . . but, why else . . . ? )}Ryoga shook his head hard, purposely trying to jar his thoughts back into order. However, they wouldn’t obey and slipped away from him easily, sinking towards the deep hole that had been growing in his mind over the course of the last few months. A torrent of conflicting emotions rose up in their place, threatening to burst out of his mental fettering. {( I can’t . . . I can’t face him again! I just got it all under control! Damn it all! I told him to leave me alone! I have to . . . I have to make him go away . . . )}
Ranma stopped beside the campfire, frowning as he observed the familiar tent and pack sitting alone under the towering trees. He could have sworn a moment ago that he saw movement beside the fire, but perhaps he was mistaken. At any rate, it was Ryoga's camp, and since the Lost Boy wasn't likely to leave a fire unattended, he couldn't be far.
"Ryoga?" Ranma called and glanced around, looking for any sign of the young man. His brow furrowed beneath the line of his thick black bangs as he set Kasumi's basket down beside the pack. It was a relief to rid himself of the heavy thing, and he worked the kinks out of his arm as he stuck his head into the tent, thinking that it was pretty late and perhaps Ryoga was already asleep. It was empty.
Damn it all, where was that boy? Ranma straightened and scanned the close darkness, listening for anything that might sound like the Lost Boy trying to find his way in the woods, but everything was eerily quiet, save the sound of a crisp breeze moving through the trees. Ranma stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket to warm them.
"Ryoga!" he called. "Come on, man! I know you gotta be here someplace! Ryoga! Yo! You lost?!"
He jumped at the sudden sound of Ryoga's low voice behind him. "I'm not lost. What do you want, Ranma?"
Ranma turned, ready to smile at him, but the expression froze before manifesting. Ryoga stood in shadow just beyond the firelight, staring at Ranma with a cold glint in his dark eyes and his face disturbingly blank. He had his feet parted in a firm stance that he could easily launch himself from, and in the fist of his right hand he held a large hunting knife, the serrated edge of its back blade gleaming dangerously.
({ A knife?! }) Ranma thought wildly, a trickle of real fear slipping down his back. He steadied his own posture automatically. Umbrellas and bandanas were one thing, but an actual blade was something else entirely. ({ Shimatta, this is worse than I thought. }) In all the years that Ryoga had been greeting him with shouts of ‘Ranma Saotome, prepare to die!’ he had never seen Ryoga look so stone cold. So ready to actually kill.
"Ryoga," Ranma made sure his voice was low and steady. "What's with the knife, huh buddy?"
"I told you to leave me alone," Ryoga hissed through his teeth, taking a step forward with the knife leading, causing Ranma to take several back. His voice rose in pitch and intensity sharply. "I -wanted- you to leave me alone! Why are you here? Why?!"
Ranma was startled by the sound of panic in Ryoga’s words. "I'm worried about you. I know something's wrong, pal. I want to help," Ranma said quietly. He tried to keep his eyes on Ryoga’s but his attention was pulled to the knife as it flashed in the dark. A jolt of recognition went through him and his heartbeat sped up considerably.
Ryoga blinked once, as if surprised but not willing to show it. "And since when do you give a damn about me?" he growled, fangs showing plainly.
Ranma drew in a breath and opened himself up, straightening out of his defensive stance. He gestured towards the knife. "Since the day you used that knife to cut my hand," he said easily, then reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out one of Ryoga’s own bandanas. It was worn and old looking, with several faded stains marring the dusty yellow color. "And I used this to wipe the blood from the cut I gave you." He held the bandana out towards the other young man, praying that his words would pull Ryoga back to his normal senses. If they didn’t, and the Lost Boy decided to attack him . . . well, Ranma was no longer in a defensive position and extending that trust might prove fatal.
But Ryoga didn’t attack. He locked up, his slender body going rigid. The color drained from his face and his eyes widened, iciness languishing away. To Ranma’s surprise, the young man began to shake visibly. He looked down at the knife he was holding, Damascus steel with inlaid peridot hilt, and his grip slowly loosened until the weapon fell away, thunking heavily to the ground at his feet. Ryoga opened his hand and stared at the scar on his palm. Even after all this time, it was still prominent, bisecting the natural lines in a way that was at once disruptive and harmonious. It was so much a part of him now that he hadn’t even noticed it in years.
"Remember?" Ranma prompted, watching him cautiously.
"I remember . . . " Ryoga whispered. Still shaking, he slowly sank to his knees as if all of the strength had been suddenly sapped from him. His hands hit the ground and he lowered his head, despair and further shame welling up within him. What was he doing?! He had held a knife on Ranma! {( I was ready to kill him! What’s wrong with me?! Kami-sama, but he’s the only friend I’ve ever had and I was ready to kill him! )}
"I’m sorry," he moaned lowly. "I’m sorry . . . "
"Ryoga," Ranma went to him, kneeling in front of him. "It’s all right," he nodded, understanding. Fear could make people do some disturbing things sometimes, and in the back of his head Ranma knew . . . hoped . . . that Ryoga would have never actually used that knife on him.
He looked down at the boy crying quietly in front of him, more miserable than Ranma had ever seen him before, and the urge to shelter and protect rose up within him once again. He remembered how he used to hug Ryoga when they were children and things weren’t going right, and he yearned to do so again. A warning in the back of his head, one that spoke with his father’s voice, told him that it was wrong, that he would only shame and humiliate them both if he tried to hug Ryoga now, but Ranma resisted the impulse to listen. Instead, he reached out to rest his hands on the Lost Boy’s shoulders, fully intending to pull him into an embrace.
But like he had at Ucchan’s, Ryoga jerked sharply away, as if Ranma’s touch were fire. He rolled from his knees into a sitting position, facing away. "N - no!" he pleaded. "Please, don’t . . . "
Ranma felt his stomach twist. Something was very wrong. This was not some sort of manly pride or aversion to Ranma in particular. There was real fear in Ryoga’s words, and in the way he now sat, curled around himself as though he were trying to become smaller. Ranma could just make out the Lost Boy’s profile in the flickering light of the fire, could see that his eyes were tightly shut and that he was biting his lower lip hard enough to puncture the skin with the tip of a fang. He curled his right hand into a fist and brought it to his forehead, pressing tightly, giving the impression that he was trying to force unwanted emotions back into his head. His slim body trembled violently. Ranma pulled back, not wanting to compel Ryoga into further fear, but he sure the hell wasn’t going to let this slide either.
"Ryoga," he said in the most soothing tone he could manage, unused to trying to lend comfort now that he was older, and nervous about the attempt. He didn’t want to do anything that might make matters worse. "What’s wrong with you? Did something happen? Let me help, man. Please. I don’t like seeing you this way."
Ryoga blinked his eyes open, revealing a sad and wounded expression. He wiped absently at the small trickle of blood that ran from his lip. "You can’t help me with this one, Ranma," he whispered.
"Like hell I can’t," Ranma cautiously moved a little closer, opening his hand so that Ryoga could see it, and pointing out his own blood oath scar. "You see that? When we became blood brothers, we swore that we would always take care of each other. Always. No matter what happens. Remember?"
"Y - yes. But Ranma, we were just stupid kids then, and that was a long time ago. Things have changed," Ryoga sniffled, fixing his gaze on Ranma’s hand.
"Yeah, they have. But an oath is an oath, right? You’ve always kept your word and been ready to help me. You let me practice the Hiryu Shoten Ha on you when Happosai made me weak with that damn moxibustion. You helped me get rid of Kuno’s stupid phoenix, and there’s been plenty of other times that you’ve really come through," Ranma paused for a moment, then smiled. "You went out on a date with me."
Ryoga averted his gaze. Because of the firelight, Ranma couldn’t be certain, but he thought the other young man was blushing lightly.
"You helped me when I had the Mark of the Gods," Ryoga said quietly.
"See? So, let me help you now, Ryoga," Ranma urged, tapping his scar. "Don’t dishonor me by not allowing me to fulfill my oath."
"Ranma . . . " Ryoga looked back up at him, tears standing in his eyes, a pleading expression on his face. "I’m dishonoring you with my presence alone. Please, j - just go back to Nerima. I release you from our oath."
"Not a chance," Ranma shook his head. Dishonoring him with his presence alone? What the heck was that suppose to mean? Sighing mentally in exasperation, Ranma decided to change tactics in the hopes of catching Ryoga off-guard. With a wide smile, he got to his feet and went back to the fire, talking as he went. "‘Sides, it’s too late for me to go anywhere tonight. I’ll just camp here with you." He crouched beside Kasumi’s basket. "You hungry? Kasumi sent food."
Ryoga’s expression was an uneasy hybrid of irritation and worry. "You can’t camp with me."
"Where else am I gonna camp? It’s too dark to find a decent spot now. Are you hungry or what? She packed enough for a small army." Ranma opened the basket and started to pull out the neatly wrapped packets of food. He was privately pleased when Ryoga slowly got up, retrieved his knife, and came to the fire, looking interested in spite of himself. The Lost Boy settled himself cross-legged and glanced at the basket curiously. To Ranma’s continued relief, the knife was put away in Ryoga’s pack.
"Here, open this one," Ranma handed him a package, then pulled out a thermos. He unscrewed the top and sniffed it cautiously, then grinned. "Green tea, and still warm. You got a cup or something?"
"Sure," Ryoga dug one out of his backpack, then opened the food in his lap. He smiled slightly at what he found: seaweed encased rice balls wrapped around pieces of avocado and cucumber. One of his favorites. He glanced up at Ranma. "You told Kasumi that you were coming to find me?"
"Of course not," Ranma shook his head, pouring the tea. "She guessed, though I’m not sure how."
"She’s very observant," Ryoga picked at one of the rice balls. "Whenever I was P-chan, and you guys were at school during the day, Kasumi would let me keep her company while she was cooking or cleaning." His voice sounded mildly wistful. "And she’d talk to me about this or that, like I was a real person and not a pig. It was nice."
Ranma looked puzzled, reaching over to get a rice ball from Ryoga’s lap. He took note of how the Lost Boy flinched away from his movement but didn’t call attention to it. "That seems sort of odd, talking to a pig like that, I mean."
"Well, she knows I’m P-Chan."
Ranma coughed as he sucked down a few grains of rice the wrong way. "She does?! How did she –?"
"I don’t know. But every now and then, when I’m P-Chan, she slips up and calls me Ryoga by mistake. I thought the world had come to an end the first time it happened, but she’s never told anyone else, and now I don’t really mind that she knows." Ryoga shrugged.
He decided not to mention that he had harbored a crush on Kasumi for quite some time. Ryoga was realistic enough to know that he had no chance with her. Her kindness towards him was maternal, and he was essentially equating her with his missing-in-action mother. Perhaps not mentally healthy, but it made a lot more sense then falling in love with someone who treated him with kindness because she thought he was her pet, as he had with Akane.
In fact, whenever Ryoga stopped to analyze his emotions, which had been happening rather frequently as of late, he realized that most of the time his feelings of love were manipulated by scraps of affection occasionally tossed his way. It was why he had fallen for Akane, because she was caring toward P-Chan. It also explained his sporadic attraction to Ukyo. Though more often than not, he and the okonomiyaki chef were partners in some scheme or another, every now and then there was a genuine feeling of friendship between them that Ryoga was drawn to like a magnet.
And of course, then there was Ranma, who had been his friend long ago, who had shown him caring and kindness like no one else ever had, who had been his only companion during the long dark days of his childhood . . . {( No, don’t think like that, oh Kami, don’t even think like that . . . )}
"Hmmm," Ranma mused, apparently still thinking about Kasumi. He removed the last few packages of food, then shoved the basket a little closer to Ryoga. "The rest is yours."
Ryoga frowned, confused. "What?"
"Just open it."
Setting his rice aside, Ryoga reached over and flipped open the top of the basket. Folded neatly in the bottom were two shirts, both green with cream yellow trim, in his usual practical style. Bewildered, he pulled them out and found a new heavy winter jacket beneath them. The rugged and high-quality shirts were handmade, but the dark grey coat obviously was not. Kasumi had purchased it, specifically with the Lost Boy in mind. Drawing it from the basket, Ryoga held it in front of him and stared at it for a long moment in utter shock.
"H - how . . . " he stammered, "How did she know . . . ?"
Ranma smirked slightly, leaning back on his own pack and laying his arm casually over his raised knee. "Like you said, she’s observant. And fast. It was only last night that she mentioned making something for you. Now, either she already had those started or she’s a speed demon with that sewing machine of hers. And the jacket," he shrugged. "Well, it’s getting cold. You know how she worries. I’d still like to know how she figured out I was coming after you, though."
Ryoga was hardly listening. Digging his fingers into the soft lined material of the coat, he felt its warmth, compared it to the jacket he was currently wearing. It would feel so good to put it on, and he wanted to, but . . . shimatta, why did she have to be so nice? It shamed him to think that she had gone to the trouble and expense of buying him a coat and making him these shirts when he deserved none of it. He blinked his eyes slowly, feeling the fresh tears that were gathering. Damn it all! Why did it seem like he was constantly crying now?
Grinding his teeth together, Ryoga quickly stuffed the jacket back into the basket. The two shirts followed.
"Ryoga?" Ranma frowned.
"I . . . I can’t accept . . . I don’t . . . " the Lost Boy shook his head, "I don’t deserve her kindness . . . "
He lapsed into silence, staring at the flickering fire while tears ran down his face unheeded. Ranma watched him for a long moment, waiting for him to continue, but he didn’t. He simply stared and absently picked at the tear on the arm of his jacket, his fingers moving with nervous energy that quickly made the hole worse. All around them, the small night sounds of the forest continued, unconcerned.
"Well, it’s a nice night, anyway," Ranma rambled uneasily just to fill the uncomfortable silence. "Doesn’t look like rain."
{( I have to tell him, )} Ryoga thought miserably to himself, and shivered, feeling suddenly cold despite his proximity to the fire. {( I know how Ranma is and he’s not going to leave me alone until he finds out. So I have to tell him . . . Kami, I don’t want to! He’s going to hate me and I don’t want Ranma to hate me! But . . . but I can’t let him stay here . . . if I tell him then he’ll go away. He’ll hate me and he’ll go away . . . he has to go away! I can’t keep it together with him here! Just sitting this close to him makes me want to scream . . . )}
({ Damn it, }) Ranma cursed mentally, slowly biting into another rice ball as he considered Ryoga. ({ What is it going to take to get him to open up? I don’t know what to do, I’m no good at this kinda stuff. But I ain’t leaving him until I find out what’s wrong and try to help. Hell, I don’t -want- to leave him. But, I gotta figure out some way to get him to talk to me. If I don’t help him, I’ll never be able to live with myself. What the hell am I going to do? })
Ryoga looked up suddenly. "Ranma," he began quietly.
Ranma blinked his way out of his thoughts. "Hmm?"
The Lost Boy drew in a long steadying breath, steeling himself for what was about to come. He met Ranma’s eyes and said flatly, "I sold my body."
Ranma froze, startled. Had Ryoga just said . . . ? No, that couldn’t be right. Ryoga would never do something like that . . . no, of course he hadn’t said that. Ranma had heard wrong, that’s all. He swallowed the mouthful of food he had and carefully set the rest aside, sitting up straighter. ({ Okay, this is good. He’s talking. Now, find out what he really said and go from there . . . })
"What?" Ranma asked calmly.
Ryoga sighed, looking away again. His voice was hard. "I sold my body, Ranma. I prostituted myself. I pawned any honor I might have had."
({ Oh Kami-sama, he -did- say what I thought he said . . . }) Ranma was stunned for a moment, not knowing what to think beyond Ryoga’s words, or how to react. Then a strange crawling horror crept up his back and he shivered hard. Such a thing was . . . it was, well, Ranma had never even considered something this serious when he set out to help his friend. Of course Ryoga was upset! His honor, pride, virtue . . . everything that a man and martial artist coveted . . . it was gone. And Ryoga . . . Ranma looked at him, eyes wide. His stomach twisted painfully and he had to fight down a wave of revulsion. Prostitution?! That had to be one of the lowest, most disgraceful . . .
No! Ryoga wasn’t like that, and Ranma refused to believe it, despite the lecturing voice in his head that was demanding it was true. No, Ryoga wasn’t tainted or some sort of pariah now! He was still the same person, despite having done . . . oh Kami-sama . . . he was . . . he was . . . Ranma mentally stumbled through a list of possible responses, completely at a loss. What could he say? How was he supposed to react?
"Oh my god . . . " he finally managed to choke out.
Ryoga tensed against Ranma’s words, flinching away. In their tone, he heard the disgust and contempt that he was expecting, and his heart felt like it had shattered. On some level, he had hoped against hope that Ranma, of all people, would somehow understand, somehow forgive him. But now Ryoga knew he was an idiot. He shouldn’t have said anything, but how could he not? How could he continue to let Ranma sit here with him, eat with him, and not warn him that he was now ruined and disgraceful? That his presence alone was . . .
Ryoga squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He tried to force his mind to shut down, to not think about it, but his control was faltering. It was all building up within him like a growing storm, a tornado of hurt and agony, threatening to shear through him and emerge, blow him apart and run wild. He had been suppressing it for so long, and now the hold on his composure was starting to crumble.
"You . . . you underst - st - stand now, Ranma?" Ryoga said through teeth gritted so tightly that they began to ache at the roots. "L - leave me alone. G - go back to Nerima . . . "
His quavering tone penetrated Ranma’s shock. He blinked rapidly several times, looking up at the Lost Boy. Okay, this -was- bad. This was far more than Ranma had bargained for, but he set his jaw with renewed determination. It was sick. It was disgraceful. But he would not abandon Ryoga because of it, he ~wouldn’t!~ Ryoga was his friend, and they had sworn an oath. Slowly, Ranma nodded. "I understand," he agreed in a low even tone. "And I’m still going to help you."
"NO!" Ryoga wailed, sounding as if he were ready to come apart. He was on his feet in an instant, snarling down at the other young man with a vicious slash of his hands through the air. He shook violently, looking half-crazed and ready to bolt, and furious tears burned in his eyes. He wanted Ranma to stay, and yet . . . the illusional honor he had left would not allow it. Ranma had always been so good and so Light, he could not ruin Ranma with his disgraceful presence or perverted desires! "Go AWAY! I’ll only end up tainting you, and I’d rather die than do that! Just leave me alone, Ranma! Leave me ALONE!"
Ranma scrambled to his feet as well, foreseeing that the impending meltdown he’d feared was on its way. "Ryoga, I can’t do that," he said in a sensible, but rather gruff tone, hoping to calm the young man down, but knowing that it wasn’t very likely now. "I’m not going to leave you until this is fixed."
" ~You CAN’T fix this!~ " Ryoga screamed at him.
"Ryoga," Ranma reached for him.
Panic ignited in Ryoga’s eyes. He cried out wordlessly, wrenching away from Ranma. He was not quite fast enough, and the other martial artist was able to grab him by the arm, perhaps a little tighter than he intended to. Ranma pulled the Lost Boy back towards himself, opening his mouth to speak, to assure Ryoga that they would somehow work this out. Before he could say anything, however, the Lost Boy hissed out a warning and whirled on him. Highlighted orange and red by the campfire, Ryoga spun to attack the young man holding him, right hand curled into a fist.
Stomach sinking with a feeling of dread, Ranma dodged to the side, feeling a sucking whoosh of air as Ryoga’s jab flew past his right ear. A startlingly blank and glazed look in his eyes, Ryoga reared back and attacked again. Within seconds, Ranma was frantically trying to avoid Ryoga’s rapid-fire lunges, shocked to find no immediate openings in the young man’s assault that he could take advantage of. Ryoga was wielding his fists like another might use a knife, striking fast and repeatedly, changing his angle of attack with each lunge, and keeping Ranma completely on the defensive.
Several blows hit him, one in the stomach, another in the upper chest, and Ranma was surprised by the strength behind them. Ryoga had hit him before, certainly, and he had always been strong, but now each punch felt as if it were accompanied by a shock of electricity, which could only be the result of Ryoga releasing furious pent-up ki energy. It was all Ranma could do to stay on his feet and keep up with the pace of Ryoga’s attack, looking frantically for an opening. For the first time ever, Ranma briefly wondered if Ryoga wasn’t going to succeed in killing him after all.
"Ryoga! Stop!" Getting short on breath, Ranma narrowly avoided side-stepping into the fire, stumbling over his abandoned backpack. The brief fumble seemed to break the heated trance Ryoga was stuck in. He hesitated in his next lunge, and Ranma took advantage of the opportunity, rolling to one side, and swinging a kick at Ryoga’s legs as he did so.
Ryoga saw it coming and hopped to avoid it, landing on the far side of the fire. The dead light that had taken over his eyes was swiftly replaced by one of shame and fear. He stared at Ranma, as the other got back to his feet, horrified by what he had tried to do. With a wounded cry, Ryoga turned and broke for the woods.
Ranma was not about to let him go, and took a leaping step after him, jumping over the fire and grabbing for him yet again. This time, his fingers dug deeply into the material of Ryoga’s jacket, and he yanked him back hard, making sure that he had a firm hold and that Ryoga couldn’t get away. Ranma ignored Ryoga’s wail of protest and wrapped his arms around the Lost Boy’s slender body, holding him close, back to chest. He locked his hands together and tried to imagine that his embrace was iron, gritting his teeth. Avoiding the wild flails of the young man’s struggles, Ranma snarled, "Ryoga! Damn it all! What’s the matter with you?! Calm down!"
"Let me go!" Ryoga fought and strained against his hold, tears running freely down his cheeks. He tried to slam the back of his head against Ranma’s face, but the other man avoided that easily and tightened his embrace. Not able to break free, Ryoga began to hyperventilate. "Please!!" he pleaded wildly, gasping for decent breath. "Please! Let me go!"
"So you can run off again? Not a chance, Ryoga! We’re gonna work this out. Now, relax! What are you afraid of?" Ranma grimaced as the boy fought him.
Ryoga didn’t answer. He stiffened suddenly, and Ranma could feel the blind panic that soared from him, as strong and palatable as any battle aura he had ever encountered. The temperature around them rapidly rose, a strange glow began to expand upwards from Ryoga’s trapped hands, and he started to scream with what sounded like sheer stark terror. Ranma barely had time to think as he realized exactly what Ryoga was yelling.
"SHISHI HOKODAN!"
"Ryoga, NO!" Ranma echoed, alarm firing through him an instant too late.
The blast lit Ranma up, spinning wildly through his body like a lightning bolt out of control, setting every nerve ending on fire. He felt himself being lifted up and smelled smoke and heat in the depths of his nostrils. The rush of wind in his ears was nearly deafening. He blacked out for several heartbeats, and the next thing that he was aware of was that he was laying on his back on the outside of a blackened circle of earth, having been slammed down by the force of the heavy ki, his clothes and body smoking.
Despite being scorched and laden with several new pains he would take the time to explore later, he was on his feet in an instant, chasing after Ryoga who was already disappearing into the inky darkness of the forest.
In the back of his mind, Ranma realized that he should be dead or at least crushed, but obviously even in his panic Ryoga subconsciously didn’t want to hurt him. The shishi hokodan had been more of a light show then anything else, simply a diversion to allow Ryoga time to get away.
"Damn you, Ryoga! Come back here! You’ll get lost out there!" Ranma ran after him, the night swallowing him quickly. He paused at the edge of the forest and listened for the sound of Ryoga moving through the underbrush, but heard only the swish of the wind. Ranma growled in frustration, hands balled into tight fists. Now what? How in the world was he going to find Ryoga out here in the dark, when most of the time Ryoga couldn’t even find himself?
({ And what caused that? I don’t understand! He was upset, but still in control until . . . until I grabbed him . . . that’s when he lost it, and lost it bad. I don’t think he even knew what he was doing. Aw damn, Ryoga! There’s something more to this, ain’t there? You didn’t tell me everything! Oh Kami, what if I just made it all worse?! })
The icy shatter of a splash sounded through the chill air. Ranma looked up sharply, pinpointing the direction, then took off at a dead run. Within only a few moments, the trees thinned out in favor of a small slow-moving river, and Ranma nearly ran right off a low overhang into the water, not able to see it clearly in the dark. He waved his arms to regain balance right on the edge, breathing a sigh of relief when he stabilized.
Trying to peer through the heavy dark, Ranma looked up and down the river, searching for the source of the splash he had heard. At first there was nothing, and Ranma began to feel frustrated again, but then a clamor downstream caught his attention, and he picked his way through the brush, following the noises which sounded suspiciously like a small black pig trying to pull himself out of the current.
P-Chan was clinging to an exposed tree root, his little legs kicking as he attempted to pull himself out of the water and get back on dry land. Laying on his belly, Ranma was able to reach him, grabbing him by the bandana around his neck, and lifting him out of the water. The little pig fought and struggled even harder at finding himself in Ranma’s grasp, clawing and even trying to bite, but the young man refused to let go. He sat up cross-legged beside the river and held P-Chan close to his chest to warm him, keeping a tight hold on the bandana and making sure his arms encased the wiggling body completely.
"Calm down, Ryoga," Ranma said softly. "I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. Just calm down. Calm down." He repeated the mantra over and over, in a voice as soothing and even as he could manage, until P-Chan reached a breaking point and his frantic struggles eased. He fell limp in Ranma’s arms, shivering violently and whining miserably as he cried.
Ranma looked down at him, slightly scorched face serious and determined. "Listen to me. I’m going to help you, understand? I’ll fix this. I’ll make everything right again."
P-Chan closed his eyes and made a quiet forlorn noise that sounded like a question.
"I don’t know how," Ranma answered, guessing correctly what his cursed friend was trying to ask. He hugged P-Chan closely again, rubbing his cheek against the wiry wet fur of the little pig’s head. "But I will. I promise you that, Ryo-kun. I swear it."
*************************************
The sudden flare of light caused the deep forest to glow for a brief second, punctuated by a distant shout. Squinting against the flash, Akane Tendo drew back, raising a hand to protect her eyes. She barely had time to wonder what was going on before the light faded and the night returned to its normal pitch black.
Startled, Akane blinked rapidly, readjusting her eyes, and then broke into a run, heedless of the branches and underbrush that pulled at her, trying to slow her progress. A rare panic blossomed within her. She was almost certain that it was Ranma’s voice she heard. But what was that flash of light? Was he in trouble? As she tore through the forest, and made her way warily over the increasingly rocky terrain, Akane fretted to herself, rather a bit surprised at how quickly worry had overtaken her. She normally prided herself on being very level-headed, but she recognized that where Ranma was concerned, her sensibilities were usually lost.
Precisely why she was out here in the woods at night in the first place. Even if he wasn't in trouble, Akane knew that Ranma would probably be pretty furious with her for following him when he had refused to let her come along in the first place, but the dark-eyed girl figured that she could rationalize her actions, even if only to herself.
Since they had been engaged, Akane thought that she had learned to read him pretty well, at least enough to know when something was up. He was bothered, and she knew that taking this '"training journey" was simply an excuse for him to get away from everything and be alone with his thoughts. She wondered what was upsetting him, and why he felt that he could confide in Kasumi about his trip, as he obviously had, but not her. She was his iinazuke after all! He should be turning to her with his problems. Akane hated being left out of the loop.
In the back of her thoughts, Akane reminded herself that she had never given Ranma much incentive to depend on her. She was quick to blame him when things went wrong, instead of offering him the support and shelter that a wife should always be ready to give to her husband. It was no wonder he didn’t trust her. Well, she was determined to fix that! It was time he put all of this multiple iinazuke nonsense behind him and started getting used to the fact that he and Akane would eventually be married. She had been thinking about that a great deal lately, as time steadily ticked by and passing birthdays drove home the fact that soon they would be plenty old enough to marry. Their families were expecting it, and frankly, Akane had decided that she wanted it. It bothered her greatly that Ranma didn’t seem to want it too.
That was going to change. Though in the past she had tried to remain stoic and indifferent where he was involved, she realized that she really did have feelings for him. After all, they had been through so much together, and through it all Ranma had always shown himself to be reliable and caring beneath that hard outer facade he tried to cultivate. Now it was time for her to reciprocate. She would prove to him that he could rely on her too, right now, by coming to his rescue. If rescuing was what he needed. If it wasn’t . . . then Akane was determined to come up with something else that would convince him. It didn’t matter what it took, it was time for him to take their future seriously.
She realized suddenly that she had climbed a marginal rocky slope and was now close to the edge of a short cliff. She heard no more yelling, but was sure that it, and the flash of light, had come from roughly this direction. Deciding the cliff would be a good vantage point, she hiked to the top and blinked softly as she peered down into the small clearing that the out-cropping overlooked. There was a small camp below her, with a single dome tent pitched beside a nicely burning fire. Two traveling packs lay close, along with Kasumi’s basket. With a soft sigh, Akane realized that she was looking at what could only be Ranma’s camp.
But where was he? And wait a minute . . . there -were- two packs by the fire, one of which had a familiar red umbrella attached to it. Ryoga? What in the world was Ranma doing out here with Ryoga? Had they traveled together intentionally, or just run into each other by chance? And where were they now?
Akane straightened beneath her own well-stocked pack and scanned the darkness of the thick forest, looking and listening for any sign of the two young men. Her brows furrowed with worry, then she started, noticing a blackened circle marring the ground near the camp. Though she couldn’t make it out well in the dark, it appeared to be still smoking. Shishi hokodan? Perhaps, and that would explain the flash . . . she wondered briefly what Ranma had done to upset Ryoga this time, but unease took hold of her thoughts again quickly. Where were they? Had they hurt each other? Were they fighting somewhere in the dark?
She was about to start calling for them, hoping that her voice would carry well from the cliff through the crisp air, when a small shadow caught her eye. It slipped from the black pool of the forest and headed for the camp. As he crossed the barrier of light cast by the fire, Akane was relieved to see that it was Ranma, and he looked like he was all right, at least from this distance. He was carrying something in his arms, something that she couldn’t make out. Curious, she watched as he retrieved a sleeping bag from within the tent, made a small nest of it beside the fire, and placed his armload securely into the folds of the material. The diminutive object moved haltingly, floundering in the unfamiliar terrain.
Akane’s eyes widened. That looked like . . . P-Chan?! Now, what on earth would her little pet pig be doing out here in the woods with Ranma? A surge of joy went through her, warming her against the night air. It had been months since she had seen her dear P-Chan, and she had just about given him up for lost, hoping that he had found some other kind family to take him in. Well, obviously he had been lost out here in the wilderness and Ranma had just found him!
Akane wanted to rush down there and hug her iinazuke, shower him with gratitude and love, and hold her sweet little P-Chan again in her arms. But something about Ranma’s continued actions stopped her. He seemed rather grave and leaden as he built the fire back up, moving slowly to retrieve some wood from a little pile near the tent. Then, he reached into Ryoga’s pack.
(( And where is Ryoga, anyway? )) Akane wondered absently as she watched Ranma first removing some of Ryoga’s clothes from the pack and then pulling out a short spit and kettle. Water from a nearby bucket was poured into the kettle, then set to heat over the fire. Ranma sat down, opened a packet of food, and offered P-Chan a rice ball. Akane couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it looked as though Ranma were holding an entire one-sided conversation with the pig. P-Chan, huddled in the folds of the sleeping bag, ignored the offered food.
(( Odd. I always thought that Ranma didn’t like P-Chan. )) Akane mused to herself. (( What in the world is going on here? ))
As soon as the water had heated enough, she found out. With a splash, Akane Tendo’s entire perspective of the world around her began to change. Her dark eyes widened and slowly . . . fury began to build within her.