The tent, the dew, the morning . . . none of it existed for Ryoga. He was caught in a nightmare of his own mind, trapped by tactile memories of Stephan’s large hurtful hands, of being torn and violated by rape, and of the horrible knowledge of his own murderous act. Bit by bit, the Lost Boy broke down once again, as he relived the traumatic experience and related it to Ranma in halting stutters and between sobs. It all felt as fresh and as painful as it had months ago in his hospital room in Hong Kong, and Ryoga reacted in much the same way, splintering apart until there was little left of him beyond a frightened little boy who only knew that he’d been hurt, and could not understand why.

But this time, there was a significant difference. This time, he was not alone. The arms he had longed to feel were really around him, sheltering him from the most damaging of the pain. Someone was holding him, taking care of him, and whispering simple words of nonsense encouragement and vague promise. Ryoga subconsciously discovered that he could use these comforting gestures as an anchor, something with which he could pin himself to reality. He clung to that for all he was worth, desperate for the security and solace. The black wall in his mind was gone, but now Ranma was there, and his strong body became Ryoga’s wall. He was able to use the pig tailed boy as a shield, a barrier between himself and the memories. It helped, ever so slightly, but it did help.

For his part, all Ranma could really do was hold Ryoga.

He was too stunned, too sickened, to offer more than that. He paid no attention to the coming of morning, or the warm golden glow that filtered through the material of the tent. All of his concentration was centered squarely on the shattered boy he held in his arms. His normally iron stomach churned fitfully as he clutched Ryoga tight, fingers of his left hand buried in the young man’s soft tousled hair. He wished he could do more, was mentally screaming at himself to somehow fix this, but at the moment he simply could not. Emotionally exhausted himself, all he could do was hold on and let the trauma play itself out.

"He hurt me . . . " Ryoga was lisping in a strange repeating mantra, as this seemed to be the main thing that he simply could not reconcile. Face pressed close to Ranma’s chest, his tears had soaked through the material of the pig tailed boy’s sweat shirt, and the moisture felt cool against his skin.

"I know," Ranma told him stiffly, finding the strength to clutch him tighter. "I know, but you’re all right now. He’s gone. He can’t hurt you any more."

Ryoga seemed to cringe from Ranma’s words. "I didn’t mean to . . . " Sobs began anew.

Ranma felt his stomach twist hard. It simply nauseated him to think that so much of Ryoga’s pain came from guilt. Guilt! Over having killed the sadistic pervert who tortured and raped him!

At first, Ranma couldn’t believe it. Certainly killing was not normally the desired outcome of a fight, but this was completely different! This guy had torn Ryoga apart, body and soul. In Ranma’s opinion, death was too good for a bastard of that caliber. If Ryoga hadn’t killed him, Ranma had the feeling that he would have tracked the scum down and done it himself. He was certainly angry enough to commit murder.

But, Ryoga wasn’t like that. Ranma knew that the Lost Boy talked tough and threatened a great deal, but deep down inside, he’d doubted that Ryoga could ever really consciously kill, no matter how mad he often got. He had too much conscience, too much honor. Kami, sometimes Ranma forgot just how caring and fragile a heart Ryoga really had. Something that had been so painfully obvious when they were children had been covered by years of angry masks and walls, and now that it seemed like they were constantly at odds with each other, Ranma had to admit that more often than not he simply chose to ignore how easily Ryoga was hurt.

The point was being driven home powerfully now, as he held Ryoga’s trembling body in his arms. The Lost Boy was breakable, emotionally delicate, and he simply was not a killer. The terrible thought that he had committed murder was a large part of the pain eating him up from the inside. It was difficult for Ranma to understand, but he tried.

"I know you didn’t," Ranma replied, tempering the anger and hatred he was feeling towards this whole unfair situation for Ryoga’s sake. At the moment, it would not do for the boy to hear the hard edge in Ranma’s voice. Though it was directed toward Stephan, it could be mis-interpreted very easily, and Ranma was not about to cause Ryoga further pain. Instead, he leaned down and pressed his cheek into the boy’s hair. "I know you didn’t, Ryo-kun."

Strangely enough, this seemed to calm the emotionally drained young man, as if he somehow needed someone to tell him that his actions were acceptable. His trembling stilled slowly, and his death grip on the edge of Ranma’s jacket loosened bit by bit. He continued to whisper, alternating his chants between the disbelief that he’d been hurt and guilt over his tormentor’s death, crying as he tried to work through the traumatic experience in his mind and come to grips with it. Whether he succeeded or not, Ranma could not say, for Ryoga fell into an uneasy state of exhausted somnolence, with the words, "He hurt me," still on his lips.

Ranma didn’t dare move for quite some time, letting his embrace remain locked around the young man’s still form. He allowed nearly an hour to tick by as he gazed down at Ryoga and the light coming into the tent moved, changing from gold to pale bright. He wanted to be certain that Ryoga was asleep, getting the rest that he seemed to desperately need and very much deserved.

He tenderly stroked Ryoga’s heavy bangs, looking down at him as if he had never really seen him before. And maybe he hadn’t. Almost subconsciously, Ranma took note of the changes in Ryoga’s profile and strength. The angle of his jaw seemed sharper and the sides of his face were smoother, more gaunt. Ranma hadn’t noticed these things when he invaded Ryoga’s tent only the morning before in Nerima, but then, he hadn’t known then what he knew now. Ryoga wasn’t a child any longer.

It bothered Ranma a great deal to see unease and discomfort in the stress lines on his friend’s face, and he did his best to smooth them out by lightly brushing his fingers along the line of Ryoga’s cheek and jaw, but the lines remained. And the boy stirred slightly in response to the touch, furrowing his brow and shifting with mild distress, a small whine escaping his throat. Ranma immediately stopped what he was doing. Who knew how sleep was translating his touch into the Lost Boy’s mind? The last thing Ranma wanted to do was make things worse.

But he worried that perhaps he had already done that.

"Damn it," Ranma breathed softly, leaning down to press his forehead against Ryoga’s. This was all so unfair and cruel! Ryoga didn’t deserve this kind of pain, after all, he’d only wanted to help that girl in Hong Kong. Ryoga was always willing to help, always willing to put himself on the line when others needed him. How could the Fates be so uncaring? Didn’t good intentions mean anything at all in the scheme of things?

Ranma wanted to throw up. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to kill the bastard who had done this terrible thing over and over again. The pig tailed boy wasn’t naive by any means, he knew very well that cruelty existed, but he had never imagined that anyone could treat another human being in such a vicious and careless manner as Ryoga had been treated. Akane’s malleting and the old man’s beatings paled in comparison to this. This sort of torture and psychological scarring was beyond his experience; the only thing that could come close was the Neko-ken training, which Ranma immediately and routinely shoved out of his head and refused to think about. Ryoga was what was important right now. Somehow, he had to help the Lost Boy through this, work him past the irrational guilt that had seized him, and try to soften the pain.

({ But how? I don’t even know where to begin, and I’ve already made such a mess of things. That damn kiss the other night was what started to trigger it all for him, and if I hadn’t have dragged him out on that date, then . . . })

Then what? Then Ryoga would still be carrying it all around inside, repressing, building up towards an explosion . . . Kami-sama! Was it better that he remembered everything, or worse? Ranma looked down at the boy still in his arms and realized that he wouldn’t truly know until Ryoga woke up, then maybe he would be able to gauge the true extent of the damage.

({ Listen to me, thinking like I know what the hell I’m doing! I ain’t got the slightest idea. })

The pig tailed young man knew what he -wanted- to do. He wanted to shake Ryoga awake, pack up the camp, and quickly take the Lost Boy as far away from Nerima, and maybe even Japan, as he possibly could. Though he understood what had happened, Ranma knew the possibility existed that others would not be able to see how and why the Lost Boy had gotten himself into such a situation, would not sympathize with his pain, and would not be able to condone Stephan’s murder. If word of what had happened ever got out, well . . . Ryoga’s fear of dishonor was very real. He would be shunned, ridiculed and verbally stoned, at the very least.

Ranma did not want Ryoga to have to go through something like that, especially not on top of what he was already feeling. Though privately, he thought that the young man had done the right thing, taken all the proper actions, he knew that most people would not agree. In fact, the young martial artist could almost hear Genma’s tyrannical voice in his head, preaching about honor and sin like some sort of pulpit-thumping television evangelist, condemning Ryoga as a whore and a murderer. Ranma did not want that, and he knew damn well that the Lost Boy would not be able to handle accusations of that sort. Even on his best days, Ryoga didn’t deal well with insults or teasing.

He wished to spare Ryoga that sort of shame, if at all possible. He wanted to take him far far away where no one knew them, where Ryoga could pretend the past didn’t exist and could start all over again. Actually, it didn’t matter if they ended up anywhere in particular at all; they could just travel. After all, they were both used to it.

What did matter was that Ranma would be with Ryoga, to protect him and help him gently through this entire mess, to be his friend again at last. At that moment, in the warming glow of morning, as he held his blood brother closely in his arms, Ranma Saotome wanted nothing more than to be at Ryoga’s side, offering his support and friendship and . . . and, well, whatever else the boy might need. It would be just what Ryoga required, and perhaps they could salvage what they had long ago cast aside. It was a nice thought, one that made Ranma feel considerably better just thinking about.

Unfortunately, he knew that it wasn’t an option.

As unfair as it was, as much as he hated to think about it, Ranma had his own honor to consider as well. He had promises, obligations, and responsibilities that he simply could not walk away from, no matter how much he might have wanted to. The contract with his mother. Genma’s agreement with Soun. Akane and the School of Anything Goes Martial Arts. They all loomed over him like scythes waiting to fall.

If it was only his own honor at stake, Ranma would not have hesitated in dragging Ryoga off to parts unknown. But other people were involved, and his family honor was also on the line. If the arranged marriage did not come to pass, the Saotome name would be ruined. Abandoned by her iinazuke and deemed unsuitable for future unions, Akane would also be ruined. The School would have no heir to carry it on. His mother would undoubtedly hold his father to that damned contract and would probably be more than happy to help Genma plunge the blade. There was more to think about than just himself, and Ranma knew it. Had always known it. Even when he was busily playing the flirting games with his other iinazukes, Ranma was well aware that his life was really destined to have only one outcome.

Marry Akane. Inherit the dojo. Carry on the School. Be a man.

There was no place for Ryoga in that future.

The thought simply sickened the pig tailed martial artist. He wanted to help Ryoga so badly, and was determined to do what he had to the keep his promise and fix everything for the Lost Boy, but he knew how difficult that was gong to be, if not impossible. He couldn’t get close, and nothing he did could result in long-term commitment. He could only stay away from Nerima for a few days before alarm might be raised over his absence, and that didn’t give him the time that he instinctively knew he needed to help his friend. Ryoga had been ripped to shreds, how could only a handful of days be long enough to repair that sort of damage?

It -had- to be enough! Ranma would have to cram as much love, support and friendship into a few days as he could. Instinctively, he hugged Ryoga a little tighter. Right now, the nomadic martial artist was balancing on a knife edge. Ranma had to somehow bring him safely away from that edge before they returned to civilization.

The Lost Boy would resist going back, he knew, but he also thought it would be for the best. Ryoga needed to see his parents for one thing. And if he was in Nerima, then Ranma would at least be able to keep an eye on him, make sure everything was progressing smoothly, and help him if it wasn’t. If Ryoga agreed, Ranma thought he might even discuss this with Akane, at least give her the basics of what had happened. She was Ryoga’s friend and would want to help him, and Ryoga might respond well to her care, given his crush on her. Ranma found that thought a bit disturbing for some reason, and he had a pretty good idea what that reason was, but put it firmly out of his mind. He was just going to have to accept things the way they were, and jealous feelings like that would not help Ryoga right now.

As he worked out a hazy plan of approach in his mind, Ranma decided that what Ryoga really needed more than anything, was to see and understand that people cared about him and loved him. He’d always been insecure in that department, convinced that he wasn’t very well liked by anyone, but Ranma knew that wasn’t entirely true. Akane liked Ryoga, as did Ukyo for the most part. And Kasumi was very fond of him. Ranma would have to rally them all together so that they could present Ryoga with a united front of friendship. Akane, Ukyo, Akari, Kasumi, Ranma himself . . . the pig tailed boy sighed to himself over how short the list was. But it would have to do.

Plus, Ranma wanted Dr. Tofu to give Ryoga the once-over and make sure he was really all right physically. This was perhaps a bit out of Tofu-sensei’s area of expertise, but he was one of the few actual adults that Ranma trusted, and he knew that Tofu would handle things with discretion and a compassionate hand.

This was going to be so hard, but Ranma had never been one to shy away from difficulties, at least not when someone he cared about was in trouble. Cared about . . . yes, Ranma admitted to himself that he -did- care about Ryoga, perhaps far more than he should have. Despite this damning situation, that attraction he’d felt for the bandanna’d youth back in Nerima was still there, and was perhaps even stronger than before. He recognized that his wish to take Ryoga away had as much to do with his own desires as it did the Lost Boy’s well-being. If they were far from everyone, then they could be together, a relationship between them might actually have a chance. That secret but powerful longing made the thought of his family and honor obligations even less appealing, almost unbearable, but that’s the way it was. There was no changing it.

Ranma sighed regretfully as he nuzzled gently into Ryoga’s warm smelling hair. If only he hadn’t been so stupid as a kid, if only he’d admitted how he felt then, instead of hiding behind the dispassionate walls he’d built. It had been so hard for Ranma to get close to anyone as a child, as being dragged all over Japan by his father had allowed little time to form lasting relationships. Ranma always resisted making friends when they stopped from time to time, especially after losing Ukyo.

But somehow, Ryoga had managed to get in, though not through any real conscious effort on his part. He’d been as reluctant at first as Ranma himself, but somehow they had managed to become friends. Ranma had always wondered how that had happened, but knew now that it was because they had so much in common, really. They were tormented by different demons, but the feelings of fear and loneliness were the same. Had always been the same. If only Ranma could have recognized that kinship as a child. If only he hadn’t pushed Ryoga away when it became apparent that Genma was going to move them on again.

He mentally whispered an apology to Ryoga, silently wishing that things had been different, that he hadn’t goaded Ryoga into a fight they were never to finish with teasing and ridicule. He’d been so stupid! He’d tried to alienate Ryoga so that separation wouldn’t hurt as much, only to make it hurt worse for both of them.

Biting back that memory, Ranma closed his eyes tightly and tried to visualize all of his strength flowing into the Lost Boy, building him back up and giving him the will to endure what was obviously going to be a difficult road ahead. If he could share even a tiny amount with the shattered young man, perhaps it would help in some small way. He tried to implant the thought into Ryoga’s head that Stephan’s death was justified and had not been his fault, hoping to smooth over the guilt and shame. And he prayed. Though he had never been a terribly religious person, Ranma Saotome prayed. Prayed for Ryoga.

Feeling very unsettled inside, Ranma gently eased Ryoga out of his embrace, tucking him securely into the folds of the sleeping bags. The boy rolled, turning into the shelter of the covering, curling up on his side and wrapping his arms around himself, distress plain on his face.

({ Kami . . . I hate seeing him hurt . . . })

Ranma had to resist the urge to gather the young man into his arms again. He watched for a little while longer, making sure that he stayed asleep, and after a few moments, Ryoga seemed to settle again. Ranma reached down to brush his bangs away from his face, but stopped just short of actually touching, his stomach knotting.

It wasn’t fair! As much as Ranma was fond of Akane, he didn’t love her in that way and didn’t want to marry her. He didn’t want to marry any of his iinazuke! And though he was a dedicated martial artist, he knew that he didn’t need to inherit a dojo to carry on the School of Anything Goes Martial Arts. And most of all, he simply could not make himself care about some stupid contact that he didn’t even remember signing! He wanted to be with Ryoga! He wanted to shelter and protect the young man. He wanted everything between them to be as it had been long ago when they’d been children, when hugging each other wasn’t a crime and being together didn’t mean fighting tooth and nail.

But, the demands of honor . . . of responsibility . . . Ranma shut his eyes tightly for a long moment, feeling the weight of it all sink heavily onto his shoulders. He could not escape it. Even if he did take Ryoga as far away as possible, that weight would always be there, shadowing him, eating away at his pride and happiness. A slow understanding dawned within Ranma’s heart, as he realized that his destiny had already been laid out for him, and even though he did not want it, he had no choice but to abide by it. It was time to bring out the masks again. To build the walls. To force himself to stop feeling. It was familiar, but for the first time in years, it wasn’t easy. How many times in the past had he done this? And how often had he hurt Ryoga by donning his famous indifference?

({ I’ve hurt him a lot. Every time it seems like we’re friends, I’ve done something stupid to push him away again. Is that cuz I always knew, deep down, how I felt about him? I’m suppose to be a man, after all, that whole ‘man among men’ thing of my mother’s . . . maybe I was always afraid of what being Ryoga’s friend actually meant to me . . . })

Looking back, Ranma could now understand all of the anger and bitterness Ryoga had directed towards him over the years, though most of the time he chose to ignore it or make light of it. Yet another mistake in a life fulled with them. He’d spent years picking on Ryoga, teasing him for afflictions beyond his control one moment, and then turning around and acting like his best friend the next moment. It was no wonder that the Lost Boy was always touchy and confused. He never knew whether to expect friendship or ridicule out of Ranma from one day to the next.

And when there was friendship between them, it was always tainted in some way. Ranma was almost never without his own agenda - even helping Ryoga get rid of the strength curse had been selfish, as Ranma had not been able to stomach the fact that Ryoga could actually beat him. And any other time he was nice to Ryoga . . .

({ What was it he said the other night? ‘You only call me your buddy when you want something.’ And he was right . . . })

Once again Ranma had to lament the path he’d chosen. If only things had been different perhaps there wouldn’t be all of this pain, mistrust and suffering. Perhaps, despite being away from each other, Ranma and Ryoga could have remained friends . . . could have become more . . . Swallowing hard, Ranma shook his head. That was a road best not traveled. Despite what might have been, reality was what had to be dealt with now. He had responsibilities and commitments, whether he wanted them or not.

He gazed down at the Lost Boy for a long time, mentally issuing another apology for what he’d done. Should he even try to explain now, so many years after the fact? Did it even matter to Ryoga anymore? There had been so much fighting between them for so long, and if this hadn’t happened, Ranma had no doubt that the fighting would have continued. It was sad how it took a tragedy of such magnitude to wake him up and make him realize what he had done and how much he still loved . . .

({ Love? })

Was it love? Had it always been love? Ranma wasn’t sure. Feelings like that needed time to be analyzed and explored, and time was something he did not have. Nor should he even be thinking such things. Ranma tried to simply take comfort in the fact that he was perhaps making up for his mistake in a small way by doing his best to help Ryoga now. It was his only opinion. Anything further would hurt them both . . . again.

He slowly leaned down and pressed his lips carefully against Ryoga’s tear-stained cheek. For a long moment, he simply stayed still, his mouth against the boy’s smooth, overly warm skin, shutting his dark blue eyes briefly, and letting the moment sink into him.

This he could carry with him silently, to look back on it whenever he needed to. This apologetic kiss would belong to him alone. In that hour of thinking and watching his friend sleep, something very fundamental changed in Ranma. He realized, with a clarity that he’d never possessed before, the mistakes of his past. Perhaps it was too late to rectify those errors, but he had to try, despite the handicaps placed on him by the demands of honor.

He wanted to do so much more, but could not. He wanted to be so much more to Ryoga, but would not. When the Lost Boy woke, Ranma would be his friend again, ready to help him, determined to keep his promise, but that was it.

And that would have to be enough, for both of them.

************************************

All around him there was only bright painful light, a brilliant shattering of white against which closing his eyes did no good. It was hot, searing, molten enough to melt the flesh from his frame repeatedly. But despite the unimaginable heat, Ryoga Hibiki felt only cold, ice down into the very depths of his soul. The cold of the grave, of soil buried so deeply that it was permanently frozen.

Something he could not see was keeping him immobile, pulling his arms above his head and twisting his wrists tightly. He tried to fight against the phantom bonds, but was held fast and sure. Familiar panic built up quickly, fluttering in his stomach and chest. When he opened his mouth to cry out, the burning light poured itself into his throat, filling and choking him, scorching him within. Ryoga tried to get away from the intrusion, wrenching his body backwards, but he was unable to escape the heat invading his mouth and lungs. He felt himself beginning to suffocate, slowly . . . horribly . . .

Then the hands came. From every imaginable direction and every angle, they slammed painfully against his body, and started to violently grope and feel. Soon, his entire skin was covered with the maddening feel of fingers and a heavy liquid sense of violation. Ryoga tried to draw a breath, tried to scream, but could not. The light was still holding his breath captive, driving deeply into his body. Opening his eyes, he was blinded by it, but somehow could still see through it. Through it to the twin piercing green orbs which seemed to be its source.

Horror flooded his senses and a gaping chasm of yawning disbelief tore open in his mind. It was happening again! Kami-sama! It was happening again! Desperately, he tried to struggle, twisting his body this way and that against the feel of the hands, yanking frantically at his invisible bonds, all to no avail. The physical strength that he had always been so proud of had abandoned him. A scream Ryoga could not release built in his chest, strangling his irregularly beating heart, as the hands tipped him backwards, causing his body to arch while the light continued to throb in his mouth and throat, choking him.

{( No! No! Please! It can't be happening again! I thought it was over! I thought I was safe! I can’t take it again . . . please don’t hurt me again . . .don’t hurt me again! . . . )}

"Ryoga . . . "

The hands swarmed. The light throbbed. And somewhere, deep within his body, something hard and large was tearing into him, impaling him, killing him from the inside out . . .

"Ryoga!"

The Lost Boy opened his eyes, blinking rapidly against the comforting darkness which was now surrounding him. As his vision adjusted, he found himself looking up into glowing jewel-like azure blue eyes. Eyes that had become a refuge for him. Eyes that he loved. Strong arms were wrapped around him, supporting him, and he felt gentle fingers brushing his bangs. Gasping for breath, relief overwhelming him, he reached up and grasped the front of the pig tailed boy's shirt and pressed himself close to the firm warm chest. Tears came unchecked. He -was- safe! He was in Ranma’s embrace, and within that fold of loving arms there was sanctuary.

"It’s all right now, you were just having a bad dream, Ryo-kun," Ranma assured him in a whisper, and the Lost Boy felt a surge of comfort at the sound of the nickname. Only Ranma had ever called him that, and he simply could not express how sheltered and safe he felt whenever he heard it uttered.

"Thank you," he cried softly, pressing in close. "Thank you, Ranma . . . "

"Hey, I said I'd help ya, right?" Ranma smiled and gave him a little squeeze. "I mean, after all, we swore an oath."

Ryoga nodded and sat up straighter, wiping his face with the back of his hand. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he could see that they were sitting together in the shelter of the tent. It seemed late, though he vaguely remembered it being only morning the last time he’d been awake. He frowned, because something didn't feel quite right about that, but perhaps he had slept longer than he realized.

"Feeling better?" the blue eyed boy asked him.

"Y - yes . . . " Ryoga replied hesitantly, a mild sense of dead ice and unease starting to form within him again. Somehow, he knew what was coming . . .

"Good." Ranma shifted his weight and unceremoniously slid Ryoga out of his lap and into the sleeping bags. With a yawn and a stretch, he got to his feet, ducking a bit to avoid the top of the tent.

Ryoga looked up at him, confused and fearful. No, not again . . . "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" Ranma blinked. "I'm doing what I always do. I helped ya, things are back to normal, time for me to leave."

"Leave?" Ryoga drew in a sharp breath. His heart beat suddenly seemed stabbing and painful. A very familiar hurt tightened around his chest, constricting and immobilizing.

"Of course. Don't I always drop you like a hot kettle once things settle down again?" Ranma looked down at him, then laughed incredulously. "Oh, wait a minute, man. You didn't think it would actually be any different this time, did ya?"

The Lost Boy tried to swallow, but couldn't. Once again he felt a sense of suffocation, but this time it had nothing to do with the nightmare he had experienced. This was an old wound, a scar that had been torn open repeatedly over the years, without ever being allowed the chance to heal properly.

"No, please Ranma. Not again," Ryoga choked, beginning to tremble.

The pig tailed boy looked delighted and amused. "Wow. That's rich, P-Chan. You actually thought that this time I might stay? That I might be your friend again? That I wasn't just playing another mind game or giving you a hand to stroke my own ego? C'mon, you should know better than that by now. This is the way it always happens."

"No . . . " Ryoga pleaded, gazing up at Ranma desperately as each word tore through him with the same effect as a cruel knife.

"It’s the same old scenario, pal," Ranma spread his hands with a shrug. "First, I help you out, or we have a little adventure and play nice for a while, or maybe we just spend some time sparring together like we used to."

"Stop . . . "

"Next, you get your hopes up . . . you start thinking that maybe I like you again . . . maybe I'll give you some of that old love and affection like I did when we were kids . . . maybe I'll at least explain why I threw our friendship out like so much garbage."

"Ranma, please . . . "

Ranma folded his arms, smiling wickedly. "Then, just when you're really hoping, just when you think I might really be your friend again, I go ahead and say something mean or insulting. I leave you behind to get lost again. I knock you on your ass, or something equally humiliating."

Ryoga lowered his head in despair, a sense of drowning washing over him. Yes, that was the way it always happened. And it never stopped hurting. Never . . .

"Finally, and this is my favorite part of the game, you know," Ranma chuckled, winking as if about to divulge some great secret. "Your fragile little spirit is crushed again until the next time I pretend to like you. Oh, you try to hide the pain with rage. You attack me. You yell insults at me. You want to hate me, but we both know that you can’t do that. You love me too much to hate me, don’t you? Even if I am an arrogant bastard. Even if I do keep hurting you."

Ryoga shut his eyes tightly against fresh tears and buried his face in his hands, sinking lower into the darkness. "P - please Ranma . . . " he whispered brokenly, hurting deep inside, in the secret place where he always tried to bury the feelings he had for Ranma. "Don't do th - this to me again. N - not now. I . . . I can't take it this time. I can’t t - take it . . . "

"Why is this time any different?" Ranma asked carelessly, then nodded with a derisive smirk. "Oh right, because of all that hell you went through in Hong Kong? Because this time it ain’t just some stupid tattoo or a near-header into the koi pond."

Ranma knelt down in front of him, softening just a bit. "This time you really do need me, don’t you Ryo-kun?" he asked quietly.

Ryoga nodded, looking up. "Please . . . " he whispered in desperation.

Ranma rolled his eyes, a rather disgusted smirk crossing his lips. "Yeah right. Get over yourself, Ryoga. I've got better things to do." With that, the pig tailed martial artist stood, turned sharply and ducked out of the tent, chuckling in mocking amusement as he went. When he had left, light streamed in through the opening, seeking Ryoga. It wrapped around him once again, binding him, invading him, strangling him . . .

Somehow managing to bite back a cry of terror, Ryoga bolted upright from the nest of sleeping bags. Panting hard, fighting to catch his breath, the young man clutched at his chest, gripping the material of his shirt with tight fingers, trying to stabilize himself in reality. He was drenched in sweat, shivering from the cool dampness which was rapidly evaporating on his over-heated body. As he hung his head, gasping for precious air, perspiration dripped from his nose and heavy bangs. It wasn’t enough moisture to change him, but he almost wished that it was. Right now, the thought of throwing himself in a river and letting P-Chan drown was frighteningly appealing.

A sound from outside the tent startled him, and he slid skittishly away from the closed opening, eyes flying wide. It took him a moment to recognize the sound as that of his kettle being set on its spit, and it took him even longer to calm down again. He glanced around the interior of the tent, taking note of the light and pegging the time as early afternoon. He was alone now, though he vaguely remembered Ranma being with him until he fell asleep, which meant that the pig tailed boy was now outside, and was probably the source of the noise.

This was confirmed when he caught the faint sound of Ranma humming as he went about whatever it was he was doing.

Ranma . . . the Lost Boy swallowed hard as he forced his body to relax out of rigidity. Ranma had been his life preserver during the night, one which Ryoga had gladly clung to. It had been so long since he had known the kind of caring that Ranma had shown him, had experienced bonding that wasn’t false, illusionary or transient. Along with the feel of the pig tailed boy’s arms and gentle stroking fingers had come a rebirth of hope within Ryoga. Hope that maybe things would be all right after all, that maybe there was some reason to look forward to living. He had not questioned why Ranma was with him or how long he was going to stay this time, he had only gratefully accepted the support and security that Ranma gave, which had kept him from the brink of insanity once again.

But now it was morning. The coming of the day banished any delusions that Ryoga had about what might happen. Ranma always left after the crisis was over. Ranma always gave him affection and then left him cold and empty. Ranma remained an impossibility, and would turn away again, just like he always did. Like he always did. Nothing ever progressed, nothing was ever resolved. And just as always, Ryoga would feel the sting of a friendship . . . relationship . . . that failed without him ever understanding why.

Always . . . always . . . always . . .

Only, this time it would be worse. Infinitely worse. Unbearably worse. Just as Ranma had said in his dream, this time Ryoga really needed the pig tailed boy. Needed his embrace. Needed his strength. Needed his love . . .

Things he couldn’t have. Things he didn’t deserve anyway . . .

Ryoga trembled violently as he untangled himself from the sleeping bags. He couldn’t go on like this any longer. Riding his wildly vacillating emotions had always been difficult enough, having to now face the nightmare memories of his night with Stephan was only going to make everything harder, more painful. Ryoga was tired of feeling confused and unsettled. Tired of the hurt. Tired of being tired. Tired of living. There was no point in continuing anyway. His honor was a thing of the past. He was nothing more than trash now. Weak, worthless, pathetic trash. He’d begged . . . he’d pleaded . . . everything had been stripped and torn from him, his honor . . . his pride . . . his physical strength. There was nothing left. Nothing left at all.

Only that dead ice in his soul. He was little more than a corpse that still continued to move in some twisted bizarre imitation of life.

"Dead . . . " Ryoga muttered to himself unknowingly, dark brown eyes dully gazing about the tent in search of his ever-present pack. Normally he brought it in with him at night, but now he couldn’t find it. Vaguely remembering that Ranma had been the one to secure camp for the night before joining him within the tent, Ryoga realized that the pack was undoubtedly still outside.

Outside. Outside where Ranma was . . .

A strange whimper escaped Ryoga’s throat. He suddenly felt trapped. An irrational panic building within him, the young man ruffled around in the sleeping bags, tossing them aside and searching with mounting desperation for something . . . anything . . . that he could use to put an end to his pathetic existence. He instinctively knew that if he went out and tried to get a knife from his pack, Ranma would stop him. Ranma wouldn’t understand what Ryoga needed to do. Ranma would show further concern, try to comfort him again. Ryoga couldn’t have that. He didn’t deserve it. And if he allowed it, it would only hurt worse when Ranma left.

Left . . . left . . . Ranma was going to leave . . . Ryoga’s breath started to come in ragged half-sobs as his search turned up nothing. He couldn’t go through that again! Not this time! Oh Kami-sama! Not again! Not again!

"Ryoga?" The pig tailed boy’s voice filtered through the material of the tent as he unzipped the opening and looked inside, having been alerted by the odd scrambling noises coming from within. He frowned at finding the sleeping bags tossed aside and the Lost Boy kneeling alone in the center of the empty fabric floor, looking stricken with new tears filling his eyes. He seemed exhausted, damp and rather ill. His normally tanned face was a strange pale shade, and his clothes hung on him in disarray. The sight made Ranma feel a little sick himself, but he didn’t let it show. He had to present nothing but strength to the Lost Boy.

"Ryoga? You okay?" Ranma asked quietly, his expression one of concern.

The young man lifted his gaze and stared at him. Ranma was startled to see something he had not expected in Ryoga’s eyes. Something he had never quite seen before. Blankness. It was not the confused blankness that Ryoga’s eyes often reflected, when he was pulled into some new scheme or showed up in the middle of a situation that he didn’t understand. Nor was it the blocked blankness that had shown in those deep brown orbs in the restaurant as he worked to shut away the horrible memories which had hurt him so.

No, this was an extremely disturbing near-nothing glaze, a shine that was almost dead in quality.

Ryoga drew in a long low breath. "Ranma," he began in a level tone that did not sound at all like himself. "I want you to go away."

Ranma blinked, then nodded. "All right. Come out whenever you feel ready. I’m heating up the left-over tea from last night, and there’s still plenty of food left. After you’ve eaten, we’ll do some sparring, okay? We should be able to get back some of that muscle tone you lost in no time if we work at it." The pig tailed boy had decided that establishing some sort of normality was the first order of business in putting Ryoga back together. Sparring was a familiar and centering exercise for both of them, and the Lost Boy did indeed need the work-out.

"No," Ryoga responded flatly. "That isn’t what I meant. I want you to go away for good. Go back to Nerima. Now. I don’t want you here any more."

There was a long pause while Ranma processed this. Instead of being hurt or insulted as he automatically wanted to be, he carefully weighed the words and the tone in which they were delivered against his previous knowledge of Ryoga’s personality. The conclusion he came to was disturbing, but one he realized he should have been expecting. The young man had already tried to kill himself once in the Hong Kong hospital, chances were very good that he would try it again.

"Well, tough," Ranma told him firmly. "You’re stuck with me. I ain’t leaving you out here alone so that you can kill yourself."

The flicker in Ryoga’s expression confirmed Ranma’s guess. He nodded in acknowledgment. "Yeah, that’s right. I know how you are, Ryoga, and I ain’t giving you the chance."

Ryoga closed his eyes, head lowering and fists tightening. His breath seemed to come hard to him once again, and each labored draw or air was audible. "Please Ranma," he requested, voice strained with an exhale. "Just leave me alone."

"No. Now, get out here and eat something." It was an order that allowed no room for argument and would not tolerate being ignored. Ranma moved away from the tent, getting to his feet and brushing the dirt from his knees. He glanced at Ryoga’s pack thoughtfully, knowing the types of tools and implements it contained. Biting his lip, Ranma stepped over, grasped the thing by its straps and pointedly moved it to his side of the fire.

Within the tent, Ryoga lowered himself onto his hands and knees, eyes still tightly closed. How could he? How could he continue to go on living like this? Go out there . . . sit . . . eat . . . talk like nothing had happened and he was fine, like he wasn’t disgraced, like he hadn’t murdered a man, like he didn’t care that Ranma would eventually leave again. Like he wasn’t already dead? Didn’t that wretched Saotome even realize what he was doing? Didn’t he see how his fleeting affection and false friendship ripped Ryoga to shreds every time he offered it? And especially this time . . . this time . . .

But it would all be over soon enough. Ryoga would make sure of it. It would all be over . . . it would all be over . . .

{( Maintain, Hibiki . . . )}

He couldn’t. The despair was too great. The shame was eating at his insides like an acid. The anticipation of further disappointment gnawed at him incessantly. He should already be dead . . . already was dead . . . Ryoga slowly slipped his arms down to encircle himself, to block the painful twisting in his stomach. He curled around the sensation, folding up against tactile memories of the hateful living nightmare he’d been forced to endure, leaning forward until his forehead was pressed against the cool material of the tent floor.

. . . and remembered the sickening sensation of hands moving over his body, violating him, raping him with touch, invading and penetrating . . . Ryoga fought down a scream, which manifested as a whimper . . . every time he closed his eyes, it was there. He couldn’t escape it now that it had been let loose, he couldn’t shut it away again. His stomach tightened in on itself, threatening to overwhelm him with nausea. He was dead . . . Stephan had killed him . . . broke him apart . . . ripped him open and left him as carrion. There was nothing left of him except for pain.

Pain he couldn’t escape.

Pain all his life . . . all his life . . . he might have thought that eventually he’d get used to it, that as he got older it wouldn’t hurt quite so sharply, but apparently he was wrong. It just got worse and worse. Fate continued to find new ways to torture him. Ryoga couldn’t stand to go one step further . . . not anymore . . .

And when Ranma left . . . that was agony Ryoga didn’t think he could endure again. No, he -knew- he couldn’t. Emptiness swelled within his heart, threatening to burst it from the inside. It was faintly accompanied by familiar anger, caused by the thought of Ranma being blind to the pain he carelessly inflicted, but even that could find no real hold in Ryoga’s heart. All that existed there was dead ice.

{( . . . just hold it together until he leaves . . . when he goes . . . when he abandons you again, and you know he will . . . he’ll get bored with you like he always does and he’ll leave . . . then you can put an end to it all . . . get up . . . go out there before he comes back in here . . . )}

Ranma looked up with a pleasant cocky grin as Ryoga finally emerged from the tent. Though the Lost Boy certainly didn’t look any better, he was at least making an effort, and Ranma figured that had to count for something. He took note of the continued weary blankness in Ryoga’s eyes as the named man silently accepted a cup of the reheated tea and sat across from him. He didn’t seem to be interested in eating, rather he just huddled close to the flames, looking miserable and damp in his rumpled clothing. Though the day was warming up, there was still a bit of a chill in the air, and Ranma reflected to himself that being clad as he was couldn’t be very good for Ryoga’s already dubious health.

"Feel better?" he asked brightly.

Ryoga blinked slowly. Feel better? What kind of a stupid question was that? He’d just spent the night on the brink of madness, reliving memories too painful to stand. His honor was gone, his life was over, and Ranma had the insensitivity to sit there and ask him if he felt better? A small spark of anger ignited in Ryoga, a remnant of his normally volatile temper, but it was gone quickly. He was too fatigued to debate the issue.

Instead he simply answered, "Sure," in a featureless tone.

"Good. Now, here’s what I figure we’ll do," Ranma started, choosing to ignore Ryoga’s lackluster countenance and deciding to jump right into it with both feet, the way he preferred to. His pitched his voice cheerfully, but added a bit of a commanding edge to it. He was taking charge here, after all. "We got enough food to last for a couple of days, though them rice balls ain’t likely to keep so you best eat them now. We’ll spend some time out here, start on getting you back into shape, and then we’ll head back to Nerima together. I want Tofu-sensei to give you a once over, then we can track down your folks. Any idea where they might be? Didn’t you once tell me that you got an uncle in Kyoto? We can start there."

Ryoga gazed into the depths of his tea.

"Ryoga?" Ranma frowned. He’d fully expected resistance, and he was getting none. Not good. This time it appeared that Ryoga wasn’t just shutting down his memories and emotions - he was shutting down everything, giving up. Gazing at the despondent expression on the young man’s face, Ranma realized that he wanted to hug Ryoga again, wanted to offer him further comfort, but pointedly resisted the urge. He reminded himself that he couldn’t get too close, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Ryoga?" he repeated when he got no response.

"I’m not going back to Nerima," Ryoga replied simply.

"Well, you sure ain’t staying out here," the pig tailed young man countered lightly, digging another sandwich out of Kasumi’s basket. He offered it first to Ryoga, who dully ignored it, so he unwrapped it with a shrug and took a bite out of it himself. It really bothered Ranma that Ryoga wasn’t eating, but he didn’t let it show on the surface. Firmly reattaching his indifference, he glanced up at his companion with just a bit of a challenging twinkle in his dark sapphire eyes.

"In fact, I’m taking you back even if I gotta turn you into P-Chan and stuff you in Kasumi’s basket."

This too failed to evoke any sort of definitive response. Ryoga just sighed heavily, and didn’t even bother to look up. "And just what do you think that would accomplish?"

"Ryoga, for Kami’s sake, you need to get some help," Ranma frowned, a bit put off. "You should be with your friends, see your parents, be a normal person for awhile."

Friends? Parents? Ryoga felt the briefest tingle of remnant anger again. What was wrong with Ranma? Was he deliberately trying to hurt as much as possible, or was he just blind? Didn’t he see that these were things that Ryoga simply did not have? Had never had? And now, never would have. Friends and family were gifts given only to those who deserved them, and Ryoga did not. He was trash and he was dead. It was as simple as that. Why couldn’t Ranma understand?

"A normal person?" Ryoga muttered, lowering his head and fixing his gaze on his tea once more. "Yeah right, Ranma. Do you know how long its been since I’ve actually seen my parents? Four years."

Ranma blinked in surprise. "Seriously?"

The Lost Boy nodded once. "And do you know how long its been since I’ve had a . . . "

Ryoga swallowed hard, trailing off, not quite able to get that part out. The words stuck in his throat, choking him. He lowered his head even more, a pained expression flickering briefly across his face. He hadn’t wanted to say anything about it, as bringing up this forbidden subject after so many years risked unleashing even more pain, but he’d slipped. Well, however Ranma reacted, it no longer mattered. As soon as the pig tailed boy left, nothing would matter ever again.

Ranma winced inwardly, recognizing the implications of Ryoga’s abandoned question and the resurgence of that old pain. The separation, the forced distance, the tainted half-hearted attempts at friendship . . . Yes, apparently it -did- still matter to the Lost Boy. Ranma nodded, setting aside the sandwich he suddenly had no appetite for. "Yeah, I do know . . . " he confirmed in a low tone.

The Lost Boy glanced back at him briefly, but his eyes did not stay on Ranma for more than a heartbeat.

Ranma sighed, mentally shoving it all aside again. One battle at a time. "Look Ryoga, I know it’s hard, but I promised you that I was gonna help, and I will. I really think that the best thing right now is to get you back to town and start putting your life together again."

Ryoga’s hands tightened around his cup of untouched tea. "I never had a life to begin with, Ranma. And your promises mean very little to me."

The words were delivered like silently thrown knives and Ranma felt them strike keenly. He simply sat and stared at his companion for a long moment, hit hard by what he had said. He resisted the urge to be angry, knowing on some level that he deserved what Ryoga threw at him, but he couldn’t help feeling hurt as well. He’d made mistakes in the past, yes, but he was trying this time, he really was!

({ Trying? Right. Trying to keep the distance, trying to maintain when what I really want to do is hug him, love him, take him as far away as I can. He needs me! Damn it all! I’m sorry Ryoga, I’m sorry. But I can’t . . . I have responsibilities . . . })

Ranma fought back the urge to react, to let the heavy pain show on his face. Responsibilities, yeah . . . What about his responsibility to a friend he’d abandoned and hurt so stupidly as a child? Now he was hurting Ryoga again! He was making everything that much worse, inflicting that much more pain!

"Well . . . " Ranma continued after a moment of desperately trying to get himself back together. "Well, believe whatever you want, Ryoga. But this time, I am gonna fix this."

"I -know- how to fix it!" the Lost Boy suddenly snapped, his thin attempt at composure coming to an abrupt end. Within, that dead ice was swelling upwards, a glacier in his heart surging forward to grind him down into nothing. He gave up trying to maintain, gave up trying to deal with it, gave up on everything all at once. Ryoga got to his feet, viciously throwing his cup into the fire with a growl of frustration and pain.

"One well-placed knife and a quick twist of the wrist will fix it!" he cried, his voice twisted and wracked with miserable emotional agony. "A shishi hokodan right now will take care of everything!"

Everything seemed to come to a stop as Ranma saw Ryoga reach out, beginning to gather his considerable power. For a blank moment, he sat and stared, watching as a glow formed around Ryoga and the Lost Boy brought his hands together - not in front of him as usual and necessary when he was going to launch the building blast at someone or something else - but close to his own body. A power wind suddenly ignited into being, rushing upwards from the ground, tossing Ryoga’s unfettered hair in inky dark ripples. A column of heat rose up in a circle around him.

Though Ranma had recognized the earnestness of this situation earlier, it didn’t actually strike him until that very moment exactly how serious this was. How stupid he’d been! This was not a problem that could be fixed with a simple solution and a spare half-hour. Ryoga’s trauma was real, frighteningly real, and would not go away anytime soon. If ever. With sudden hot clarity, Ranma realized that the Lost Boy was permanently scarred, deep within, and that was something that simply could not be fixed within the span of a couple days. That was something that would not disappear just because he tossed out a little affection and a few half-hearted promises.

The growing power licked upwards from the ground, spiraling around Ryoga’s legs as it rose. Ranma watched, mesmerized in a way, at this most eloquent illustration of the young man’s pain and hopelessness. It was an elegant energy dance, a fragile deadly ballet of absolute misery that flickered up along the long slender lengths of Ryoga’s body to cocoon him, shelter him, protect him like nothing else ever had. Hot colors of red and orange shimmered over the Lost Boy’s form, gathering in shadows, lending a sense of surrealism to the entire scene. Ryoga’s dark eyes were closed, and the expression on his face was one of utter sadness and torture.

Ranma couldn’t help thinking how beautiful it was, and how right it seemed that this would be the way Ryoga would chose to go - with a final grace that was almost perfect in its form and execution.

But then, Ranma saw Ryoga wince, reacting to the pain that the build-up of power was undoubtedly inflicting on his body, and something clicked in his head. He suddenly realized how very wrong this was . . . wrong . . . wrong . . . All of Ranma’s instincts and senses began to scream at him, conflicting messages and desires warring with one another, colliding painfully. Damn honor and responsibility! In that frozen moment in time, Ranma didn’t care about the future, didn’t care about disgrace or shame, commitments or obligations. All he knew was that the young man he loved, had always loved, was about to commit suicide before his very eyes and . . .

He didn’t want Ryoga to die! He didn’t want Ryoga to die!

"Ryoga, no!" Ranma sprang forward suddenly, propelled by sheer fear, jumping over the fire to reach through the energy column and grasp the young man by his shoulders. It hurt, oh Kami-sama, it hurt! The power of the building shishi hokodan burned like acid fire, but Ranma ignored it. Instead, he shook Ryoga as hard as he could, to break him out of the utter surrender of will that had to accompany such a technique of misery.

"Don’t you dare!" he shrieked to be heard over the roar of the heat winds. "I ain’t letting you do this!"

Ryoga opened his eyes, which were hotly glazed with a light reddish glow. He stared through Ranma, not seeing him, not wanting to see anything ever again. "It’s not your choice," he said flatly, with the very voice of despair. "I am nothing, Ranma, and I have nothing. No life, no one to care . . . "

"I CARE!" Ranma screamed through gritted teeth.

He felt Ryoga twitch slightly beneath his hands, and the intensity of the column of energy shifted somewhat, but not enough to lend any comfort. A sense of deep and distant confusion filtered through the power which swirled around them both, but it was swept away quickly by a continued sense of nothingness. Ryoga lowered his head, face falling into a deep orange shadow. He couldn’t allow himself to believe that . . . it would only bring further agony . . .

"Ryoga!" Ranma shook him again, getting desperate as the pillar or gravity-heavy ki crushed in on them slowly. "Stop it!"

The Lost Boy’s voice came in broken fragments. "I can’t . . . no Ranma, please . . . leave me alone . . . don’t hurt me again, he hurt me enough already . . . he tore me open . . . he ripped me apart . . . I can’t take anymore . . . "

"Damn you!" Ranma gripped the other’s arms as tightly as he could, hoping that physical pain would drive some sense back into him, ground him in reality. "You listen to me, damn it all! Stop beating yourself up over this! It wasn’t your fault! You couldn’t help what he did to you, and you undoubtedly saved that little girl’s life! You saved her life! Saved her life, Ryoga! Don’t you see that? Do you think he would have been any kinder to her? Hell no! He would have torn her to shreds too, but you’re a martial artist, you’re strong, there is no way she could have survived what you went through!"

Ryoga lifted his eyes to meet Ranma’s. There was nothing reflected in those brown depths save forlorn ice and more suffering than one soul should know.

"I didn’t survive either, Ranma . . . " he whispered.

The words pierced through Ranma’s very soul, sharply and suddenly. He swallowed down a twist of empathic pain - a grinding in his gut that was reflective of Ryoga’s profound grief. Until that very moment, until he heard these barely breathed words and saw the rolling trauma beneath the glaze in Ryoga’s eyes, he had not realized just how deeply the Lost Boy’s scarring went.

"Oh, Ryoga . . . " Heedless of the licking energy flames and the crushing pressure surrounding the young man, Ranma thought nothing of himself as he leaned in further and wrapped his arms around Ryoga’s slender body, drawing him into a hard sheltering hug. The heat was intense, and he felt the exposed surfaces of his skin redden painfully, but ignored the discomfort. His muscles, and indeed his very bones began to ache from the gravity, but it did not matter. Within his embrace, the nomadic martial artist tensed at first, trying to pull away, but Ranma refused to let him go. Not for anything. Not now. He continued to hold on until Ryoga was forced to give up and relax into his firm arms, leaning heavily on Ranma for support.

The building energy slowly subsided, as Ryoga could not maintain the increasing despair while he was being held by one person he loved over all others. As renegade flickers of energy continued to lick around them, shimmering along their bodies and grounding sporadically, Ranma gave into the gravity and sank to his knees, pulling Ryoga down with him. He pressed them together tightly and nuzzled his face into his friend’s hair as the Lost Boy crushed himself against Ranma’s shoulder and trembled violently, uncontrollably, like a newborn not yet in control of its reflexes. Finding Ryoga’s ear, Ranma drew in a soft low breath.

"No, Ryoga, no. You’re not dead, and I’m so so sorry, I didn’t realize . . . " Ranma spoke softly, in a tone far more sincere than any he’d ever used before, his fingers twining insistently in the soft locks of Ryoga’s hair. "I’m sorry for everything, Ryo-kun. I’m sorry for what he did to you, and I wish that I could kill him over and over for hurting you like he did. I’m sorry for all the teasing and insults, all the fights and angry words. I’m sorry for leaving you behind, and most of all, I’m sorry for pushing you away . . . "

Ryoga broke into miserable sobs, fists clenching reflexively against Ranma’s jacket. No, no no! This was worse! Worse than Ryoga could have imagined! The pain and agony rippled through him along with the lingering traces of the heavy fiery power build-up. Why couldn’t Ranma just let him die, let him go? The pain was far too great, and the promise of more to come was even more terrible. Could he stand to let Ranma in once again, knowing the agony that was likely to result? Oh Kami-sama! Did he dare let himself hope again? Did he dare accept Ranma’s words?

"No . . . " he stuttered, his tone giving the accurate impression that he was struggling to speak with coherency. "No . . . don’t . . . you can’t . . . " Any semblance of control left him suddenly and he curled into the shelter of Ranma’s arms, crying as he’d cried in Hong Kong, tears of utter despair and terror spilling hotly against the material of the pig tailed boy’s clothing, soaking through to burn at his skin. "I’m dead . . . Ranma, I’m dead . . . "

"You’re not, Ryoga," Ranma repeated, nearly choking on his own words, wrapping around his friend like the protective shell of an egg. He would -not- let go! Not for anything! "No, you’re not . . . "

"I . . . need you . . . oh Kami-sama, Ranma . . . don’t leave me again . . . I need you . . . "

"I know," Ranma closed his eyes tightly and squeezed tighter, rocking back and forth in a soothing rhythm as he stroked Ryoga’s hair. "I know, Ryo-kun. And I’m not gonna leave you behind this time. I promise. I’m staying right here with you."

To Chapter Eight 

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