Ikioi - Part Eight

"Is everything all right, Ryoga-kun?"

Ryoga looked up from his dinner with not-quite-a-smile in his dark eyes, gazing across the low dining room table at his beautiful iinazuke. Ikioi was kneeling primly beside the pot of rice, ready to serve him more the instant he should need it, wearing a lovely black silk kimono which was embroidered with intricate violet and blue flowers. She had her hair drawn up, piled atop her head and secured with ebony pins, long forelocks spiraling down along either side of her face. She looked absolutely perfect, and the young man felt his heart beat harder as he gazed at her.

Beautiful . . . she was beautiful . . . and now he knew and understood why a girl like her would want someone like him . . .

There was mild worry reflected in the liquid depths of her ocean eyes, which slowly filtered into amusement as he continued to simply drink in the sight of her, completely forgetting that he had been asked a question. She tipped her head slightly, smiling fondly. "Hello?"

Ryoga blinked rapidly out of the trance he had put himself into. "Gomen . . . " he blushed, averting his eyes quickly back to the meal in front of him. He fiddled with his chopsticks out of nervous habit. "Hai, everything is wonderful, Eechan. You’re an excellent cook. I haven’t had a meal like this since . . . well, in a very long time." She had prepared quite a spread which consisted of many of his favorites and a few things he had actually never tried before. Everything was delicious in a disturbingly perfect way.

"Arigato, Ryoga-kun," she nodded, a pleased expression crossing her face, flickering in the light from the candles on the table. "Though the food wasn’t exactly what I was talking about."

Ryoga knew that. He let his gaze drift across the table in the same manner that his mind was wandering, unable to settle on any one topic for longer than a few moments.

He recognized the fuzzy feeling now, and was getting used to it. It was one of the side effects that came from his chi being elsewhere, and at first he hadn’t liked the sensation at all. It was almost frightening to know that he had little control over which directions his thoughts wanted to take, but now that he had accepted his fate, it didn’t seem to bother him as much any more. In fact, he had the distinct feeling that eventually he would be happier to just let his mind drift away on a full time basis and forget about everything.

It was almost better - this strange hazy state of awareness. It dulled down any anger he might have felt, and he could concentrate on meaningless details while ignoring what was really going on. He found himself noticing things he never had before, such as the way the food rested on his plate, the delicate pattern that encircled his tea cup, the warm breezy scent of the flowers in the centerpiece . . .

"I apologize for not being very good company," he said distantly. "I guess . . . well, I’m a bit disappointed about school."

Ikioi sighed softly, looking down as she folded her hands in her lap. "I’m sorry, my Heart."

"It’s not your fault," he assured, his attention snapping back to her rather abruptly. He didn’t like to see the sadness in her eyes, or the shame on her face. It tore at his very heart, upset him that he could ever be responsible for this perfect angel knowing even the slightest pain.

He understood now, that in this relationship, the pain was -his- to bear, not hers. Never hers.

"Ikioi," he continued in a low understanding tone. "You’re right. I should give myself time to get used to everything."

She looked up at him again. "Are you sure it’s all right? I don’t want to hurt you, Ryoga. I don’t want to make you sad."

He bit back an automatic response, one that he might have used had he been talking to anyone else. Instead he let his mind drift and simply nodded, rising from his knees, and picking up his plate as he did. "This was delicious, Eechan. Let me take care of the clean-up, okay?"

Ikioi straightened anxiously. "But . . . "

"You cooked," he insisted, patting the top of her head so that she wouldn’t rise. "I’ll clean up." He allowed no room for argument, gathering up the remains of dinner and disappearing into the kitchen. After having eaten, he already felt much better, as his body worked to build up the strength and energy he had lost. An old hand at taking care of himself quickly and efficiently, Ryoga had dinner put away, the dishes washed and the kitchen cleaned up in no time at all. Letting his thoughts drift comfortably, he hardly even noticed what he was doing.

As he dried his hands afterwards, leaning against the kitchen counter, Ryoga glanced down at himself and frowned.

He didn’t exactly remember dressing for dinner, but apparently he had. He wondered vaguely if it was Ikioi’s doing, since she had obviously put thought and effort into her own personal presentation, and had looked truly beautiful. Last he recalled, Ryoga had been wearing his normal practical and durable clothes. After a lifetime of being essentially on his own, Ryoga generally gave very little thought to things like appearance, yet now he was wearing a rather handsome almost formal outfit that he didn’t remember putting on. It consisted of a slightly westernized chinese-style silk shirt of dark green with golden brown trim and ties. An elaborately embroidered tiger adorned the back, surrounded by intricate knot patterns that continued along the length of the arms and down the legs of the black pants that went with it. The sash was also black, and fringed with golden trim to match the tiger. With a slight smile, Ryoga ran a hand down the front of his chest, feeling the play of the material beneath his hands.

It was a little snug on him, but he didn’t mind that too much. In fact, the silk felt nice against his skin, giving him something appealingly distracting to concentrate on. He crossed his arms and snaked his hands along both arms, analyzing the feel of the long sleeves, the way the slick material clung to his well defined muscles. It was nice.

He caught sight of his some-what distorted reflection in the darkened kitchen windows and contemplated his person for a moment. The outfit looked very nice on him, the green as usual complimenting his earthen coloring. Ikioi had chosen well. He flicked his fingers through his unruly bangs which were already resisting the nice cut that Ikioi had given him, and his final opinion was that he wasn’t perfect, but at least he looked better than usual. Now that he had eaten, there was color in his face again and the dark rimming around his eyes wasn’t nearly as noticeable.

"Ryoga-kun?" Ikioi’s gentle voice chimed in from the livingroom, the soft sound penetrating his hazy state of mind. He blinked in acknowledgment, then sighed wearily to himself as he left the kitchen to join her, absently flipping off the kitchen light as he went. He crossed through the dining room and rounded the corner into the livingroom, then stopped up short at what he found there.

The room was darkened, though a surreal glow from dozens of candles flickered hypnotically across the walls and ceiling. From the stereo, music with a gentle steady beat was playing, and the faint smell of vanilla swirled through the air from several lighted sticks of incense. Ikioi stood in the center of the room, splashed with the warm colors of the candles, looking like a perfect beautiful angel in her elegant kimono. Her aquamarine eyes gazed at him lovingly, and there was a small painted smile on her lips.

Ryoga tried to push the fuzziness out of his head, as this looked like something he needed to pay attention to. Taking one step into the room, he glanced around, thinking that his familiar livingroom had never seemed so foreign. Shadows that didn’t usually exist now jumped and danced to the music and candle light, and there was a heavy feeling to the very air. Heavy, warm and cocooning. Dusty. He discovered that his body wanted nothing more than to curl up into it and sleep in its offered shelter, but he resisted the urge, as he had the strange faint feeling that if he allowed himself to sleep now, he might never wake. He let his gaze settle on Ikioi instead, the question plain in his eyes.

She tipped her head slightly. "My Heart," she began quietly, stepping forward and reaching out for his hand. "I’ve neglected your feelings. I haven’t given you what you need, and I know you’ve been doubting . . . " She drew close to him, raising one small pale hand to rest against his chest. He did his best not to instinctively flinch away. More than anything else, that one small gesture reminded him of what she had taken, and what power she now held.

He shifted his gaze away, fixing it firmly on one of the candles. "I haven’t been doubting . . . "

"Yes you have, Beloved. You’ve been wondering if you’ve done the right thing, if perhaps Ranma Saotome was right and I really don’t love you."

The mention of Ranma’s name was jarring. Ryoga winced and tensed a hand into a fist. She was right, of course. He -had- been thinking those very things earlier, but had tried to foist them out of his mind and discredit them. Ranma was always saying stupid things, and Ikioi had already proven her love by fulfilling Ryoga’s dreams and desires. (( But she took one of those back . . . )) He mentally shook his head. (( No, she didn’t. She was right, I just need time to get used to this. ))

"And I really don’t blame you," Ikioi was continuing, her voice sad. "I’ve taken from you and I’ve given very little in return."

Ryoga felt numb with surprise. "Eechan," he muttered, carefully touching her perfect face with his fingers. "That’s ridiculous. You’ve given me everything, just as you said."

"Everything except for what you really truly need," she replied, closing her eyes and pressing her cheek against his hand. "I’ve promised you my love, but haven’t actually shown it, and that is what you need, my Heart. More than anything. You need love . . . "

Ikio pressed close, standing on her toes and slipping her arms around his neck, lacing her fingers together behind his head. She opened her eyes again, and those fantastic impossibly brilliant depths gazed into his, beautifully, pointedly. Ryoga was caught immediately and felt like he was drowning. Drowning in the love reflected in her eyes, drowning in an exceptional prison she had somehow created just for him. Silk whispering against silk, he drew his arms around her slender waist, felt the warmth of her body snuggling up to his. His hands became lost in the folds of her kimono.

She laid her head against his chest and began to move, slowly stepping to the beat of the music that Ryoga remembered was playing from the stereo. It was slow sensuous music, a melody that made him think of the way in which heavy snow fell in a silent forest in the wintertime. Another sleepy image.

He let his eyes fall shut and lost himself in Ikioi’s swaying motions, in the way she whispered his name, and in the way he could feel love wrapping around them both and binding them together. Love . . . it felt so good, so warm and inviting. It was love as love should be. Two people sharing a moment of quiet and togetherness. Ryoga tightened his embrace around Ikioi’s diminutive body. It felt like heaven . . .he had never known its like, and had never expected to know it. It was real and, for the moment, it expected nothing from him.

They danced together for what felt like an eternity to him, the handsome weary young man holding the perfect brilliant eyed girl in his arms and drinking in all the love she gave him. It was a transfer as real as that which she normally drew from him, except that now she was giving back, and Ryoga could only accept gratefully. For so long he had wanted nothing more than the touch of another human being, the caring of another human soul . . .

It didn’t matter that it felt hollow. It didn’t matter that he could, in some deep instinctive part of his mind, sense that she was giving him only what she knew he wanted to keep him happy. It didn’t matter the price he had paid.

It was love. And the lonely young man needed it desperately.

When the song ended, they stopped together in the middle of the room and Ryoga forced his eyes open to a blur of warm color and candle light. Ikioi drew back to look up at him, her face open and bright, set in the porcelain mask he had come to recognize as delight and happiness, beauty given life. The Lost Boy ran fingers along her jawline . . . fingers that could break rocks if he so chose . . . fingers that now touched as softly as a moth fluttering around a flame.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I needed to feel that."

"I know, my Heart," she nodded, a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. She allowed him to tip her face upwards, and accepted his hesitant lips brushing against hers. The transfer was triggered, briefly, and she felt his intoxicating strength fade into her own body, warming her further. That was what she wanted. Already addicted to his energy, Ikioi wrapped her fingers around the knot of his headband and held his head in place so that he wouldn’t pull back. She pressed the kiss, drawing him as close as she could, and firmly locking her small perfect lips with his.

Ryoga had expected that. He was ready for the roaring to fill his ears as his strength was drawn out and given to her. He felt the strange pulling sensation of his muscles being sapped, and in some distant corner of his mind, he analyzed the feeling, followed the path of each flicker of energy as it moved from within him into her, familiarized himself with the way his body began to feel heavy and empty.

This time, there was sense of nausea in his stomach that seemed in protest of the exchange, as all of his abdominal muscles clenched and tried to hold tight to their precious energy. Remembering that region was the storage area for extra power, the young man tried to force the energy to release itself, more to relieve himself of the pressured pain than anything else. Sinking to his knees, Ryoga mentally reached into his body and fought to break the seal on that energy reservoir.

Ikioi rested in his lap, still kissing him, her hands now wandering over the silk material of his shirt, both small and warm with the energy she was taking from him. Ryoga drew a stabilizing breath in through his nose and doubled his efforts against his solar plexis. Her pull on the rest of his body hurt when it tugged on that region, and he didn’t like the stretching tearing feeling. Giving a strong mental shove, he forced his stomach to relax and consciously pulled the considerable stored energy from there, pushing it up through himself to give to her. Weakness flowed up into him, filling the void his strength had left behind. Ryoga felt himself lean forward heavily, his own weight pulling him over.

He heard Ikioi gasp in surprise and was jarred when she pulled abruptly out of the kiss.

"Ryoga . . . " she whispered wonderingly, staring at him. "What did you just do?"

"Hmm?" No longer supported by her mouth, Ryoga’s head fell forward before he caught himself and lifted it again. His vision was blurring disturbingly, but he managed to somehow fix his gaze on her regardless. "What?"

"You . . . you forced the transfer, I didn’t draw that energy. You consciously gave it to me and it was a very strong jolt." This seemed to startle the young woman a great deal. She pressed her hand to his face, giving him the support his head needed. "I . . . I didn’t know the host could do that . . . "

"Host?" Ryoga asked vaguely. From far far away, he sort of thought the term sounded derogatory, but didn’t really have the mental ability to dwell on it at the moment. "Nnn . . . hai . . . I had extra stowed . . . in my stomach region . . . someone once told me that is where a martial artist stores their power . . . I think it’s a reserve . . . "

"You . . . you gave me your reserves . . . ?" Ikio blinked, really looking startled. As Ryoga’s ability to stay upright fled him, she shifted them so that she was holding the young man, and he gratefully sank into her arms, resting his head against her shoulder. Letting his eyes close again, he surrendered himself to her warmth and the love cocoon she immediately wrapped around them. Weak, dizzy, sick . . . it didn’t matter . . . the love more than made up for it.

"My Ryoga," her voice sounded far away and echoing, as her fingers whispered through his hair. "You are so beautiful . . . so beautiful and giving . . ." She leaned down and kissed his forehead, and he felt the brief tugging roar in his head before she pulled back again. He accepted it, because her words were caring, and he could easily slip himself into that foggy existance of distraction so that he wouldn’t have to notice how his body hurt and ached . . .

"I didn’t expect this . . . I didn’t plan on actually loving you, my Heart . . . " Ikioi’s soft tones drifted into his hazy state, shimmering like gently floating cherry blossoms that caught the twinkle of the sun. "But I do . . . I do love you . . . "

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

During a long contemplative pause in the conversation, the only sound heard was that of Mousse silently pouring everyone a fresh cup of tea. Turning to head back into the kitchen of the Nekohanten, he fondly patted Kuro-Ko’s head and gave her a fresh cookie to munch on. The puppy wiggled contentedly from the attention and, tiny teeth worrying the cookie, gazed adoringly up at Ranma from her place in the chair beside him.

The pig tailed boy was silently trying not to squirm in his seat as he anxiously awaited a reaction to what he had just told the small group. Also at the table, Cologne and Shampoo sat, both apparently deep in thought. Though the young Amazon girl had already heard the story, now she gave the matter new thought, rifling through the mental files in her mind, looking for an answer that would fit the information Ranma had given. Blinking, she glanced up at her great-grandmother.

"Obaba . . . " she began.

"Yes, Child," the ancient old woman nodded in agreement, apparently having come to the same conclusion as her descendent. She pursed her lips as she thought, then fixed a beady gaze on Ranma, looking rather disturbed and vexed. "This is very bad, Son-in-Law."

"Bad," Ranma repeated, feeling his heart sink. "So . . . you know what’s going on then, Old Ghoul?"

Cologne sighed, "Yes, I believe so. I think that we may be dealing with one of the Shikome."

Ranma felt himself twitch with impatience. Shikome? What the heck was that suppose to mean?

"Shikome . . . some kind of youma?" Mousse asked as he returned from the kitchen with his own cup of tea and a platter of rice crackers. Ranma absently scooped Kuro-Ko out of her chair so that Mousse would have a place to sit, and held her close, gently stroking her fur, his attention entirely on what Cologne had to say.

"Yes, a very old race of youma," the withered diminutive woman nodded. "It’s a bit of a surprise to find one around in this day and age, as it’s been so long since any were positively identified that they have been forgotten by all but a few, and though they were once quite rightly feared, now they are little more than one line entries in most mythology books."

"I don’t give a damn about any of that," Ranma grumbled, his patience wearing ever thinner. "Just give me the low-down on them, and tell me what I gotta do to beat this bitch."

Cologne shot him a look that told him to be still. "They are female chi thieves, as you have already discovered, who seek human men of great physical and ki strength from which to feed and eventually mate with. They often target those who are alone and insecure, without family or close associates, because they are most easily swayed to freely give up their chi. They then use the stolen chi and energy to power themselves and their nefarious activities. "

Ranma ground his teeth hard, fighting down his immediate flush of guilt and anger. "So, she’s just gonna feed off his strength until he’s dead?" His question was spat out in a tone of loathing.

"In a manner of speaking. As long as she holds his chi, she will be sure to use a small portion of the energy she drains from him to keep it active, and as long as it is active, the host can’t die. The Shikome can keep their hosts alive for hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years. No one really knows for certain how long." Cologne looked rather disturbed. "It’s not a pleasant existence from what I understand. Continually being allowed to build his energy levels up, only to be drained again and again, eventually the host becomes little more than a . . . rechargeable battery, if you will, and exists in a state of near-death for as long as the Shikome holds his chi."

"Is why bad womans steal chi? To keep Hokou Onchi alive so long?" Shampoo asked, taking in the information with a glint of fascination in her violet eyes.

Cologne nodded. "As long as she has it, she can keep him alive."

Looking rather horrified, Mousse swore softly in his native tongue. Ranma didn’t understand the word, but shared its sentiment. An icy fear began to form in his stomach and chest.

"Foolish boy," Cologne added quietly, obviously referring to Ryoga. "He has no sense of his own worth."

"Is very bad," Shampoo agreed.

"I was right," Ranma said, for once taking no comfort in that fact. "She lied to him. She’s not his iinazuke, she’s not even human! She just wants to suck on his strength, and doesn’t love him at all."

Cologne shook her head, seeming rather ill-at-ease. "On the contrary, Son-in-Law. Because the host becomes the youma’s very source of life, most Shikome love their men with an obsessive passion, and are willing to do anything to keep their chosen victim out of the hands of others."

"Aiyah, even kill host," Shampoo guessed. "So no one else can have."

Ranma’s heart suddenly began pounding hard, and he looked down at the fresh white tablecloth, curling his hand into a fist. (( Kami . . . if I had kept pressing like I really wanted to, if I had gone busting in there . . . she might have killed him . . . )) The thought stunned him for several long moments as the idea of losing Ryoga suddenly became very real and tangible.

(( This isn’t a game. This isn’t a competition. It’s Ryoga’s life . . . my Ryoga . . . -my- Ryoga . . . ))

Setting his jaw in determination, he looked back up at Cologne. "All right. She’s a demon bitch. How do we get rid of her?"

Cologne seemed to think about this, while she took a sip of her tea. The three young people at the table all began to fidget anxiously before she at last spoke up again.

"I think that this Ikioi must be a very young Shikome. This is good for us and lucky for the boy. He’s probably her first host, as she has made some very obvious mistakes in her capture of him."

"Mistakes like what?" Mousse asked.

"Shikome do not normally exist in this reality, they create their own individual dimensional cocoons from which they conduct their demonic activities, and this is usually where they store their hosts as well. All Shikome are alike in that they ensnare their victims by promising to fulfill their dreams and desires, just as you say this Ikioi has done with Ryoga; but most of the time, once the youma has the young man’s chi, she moves him directly into her dimensional cocoon and feeds him a mental projection of his dreams fulfilled. This saves on energy and keeps the host happy.

"Ikioi hasn’t done this. For some reason, she’s attempted to fulfill Ryoga’s dreams in the physical reality, and she’s wasting a lot of unnecessary energy to do it. That means a greater drain on the boy, obviously, but that also means that things can go wrong. She cannot hope to control everything in his awareness, and that may lead to suspicion and rebellion on Ryoga’s part. If we can convince him not to cooperate with her, then that’s all the better. "

"If he rebels, then does that mean he can take his chi back?" Ranma looked hopeful.

"No," Cologne shook her head.

"Well, then how - ?!" Ranma began desperately, anger and frustration igniting in his chest.

"Calm down, Son-in-Law. I’ll get to that soon enough," Cologne frowned disapprovingly at Ranma’s urgency. "Most of the time, the Shikome’s chosen host disappears without a trace. Ikioi’s other mistake is that she has allowed Ryoga to make contact with others after appropriating his chi. This is a very serious error on her part, because even though most people aren’t aware enough to tell when someone is missing their chi - you were, Ranma. And you are the absolute worst person that she could have let her secret slip to."

"Damn right!" Ranma hissed, startling Kuro-Ko with the intensity of his anger. The puppy squirmed to get out of his arms, and was rescued by Shampoo before falling. Ranma hardly seemed to notice as he thunked his fist against the table. "Because I’m gonna rip that chi right out of her lying Kami-damned body when I get my hands on her!"

"No, you’re not," Cologne continued patiently. "According to any documentation I’ve ever seen concerning the Shikome, the chi can’t be removed by ordinary means once it’s secured within the youma’s body. Hold it - " she firmly rapped Ranma’s head with her gnarled cane when she saw that he was about to protest.

"Ow," he ruefully rubbed his head.

"The reason I say that Ikioi’s mistake was to let you get involved is because you are the probably the one person, out of everyone in the foolish boy’s life, that she can’t completely read. She can read Ryoga’s thoughts . . . well, to a point . . . and everyone else is pretty much an open book to her. But you are not, Son-in-Law. You are, in all likelihood, a serious blind spot, though one not without some flaws."

"Which would explain why she kept such a close eye on you at school," Mousse reasoned. "If she can’t read you, then she wanted to make sure of where you were and what you were doing at all times."

"Exactly," Cologne nodded.

"But . . .what? . . . why? What makes me so special? I don’t understand. Why can’t she read me?" Ranma grumbled, a hand still to the new bump on his head.

The ancient Amazon woman sighed, looking mildly annoyed and even a bit disgusted. She shot a gaze at Shampoo, who merely shrugged, unconcerned, and continued to run her fingers through Kuro-Ko’s fur.

"Very well," Cologne seemed to concede something to Shampoo, then turned her attention back to Ranma. "When you fought the girl this afternoon, you said that you managed to penetrate the barrier she had erected around herself. Tell me what happened immediately before that occurred."

"Uh well . . . " Ranma glanced away as he thought about it, rewinding and reviewing the sequence of events in his head. "She was somehow influencing Ryoga’s thoughts, I dunno how . . . like with her eyes or something. I figured on breaking the eye contact between them, so I knocked him down and tried to talk some sense into him, and that’s when she made this gesture over her chest, like this . . . " Ranma demonstrated, closing his fist tight against his sternum. "Somehow, it hurt Ryoga, it hurt him bad . . . " He winced at the memory of the dead pain in the Lost Boy’s eyes. "I got mad and I attacked, threw a kick at her. Nailed her right through the barrier."

"You were mad," Cologne repeated. "How mad?"

Ranma blinked. "How mad? What do ya mean, how mad? I was mad! Furious! She was hurting him! For no reason at all! I woulda killed her if I coulda!"

"I thought so," the elder Amazon woman didn’t seem the least bit surprised by Ranma’s ferocity. "It seems that the only weapon ever to be even remotely effective when dealing with a Shikome is the presence of strong emotion. Any emotion will do - anger, sadness, hatred, shame, but it must be felt strongly and fully."

Cologne paused for a brief contemplative moment. "Actually, I’m rather surprised she chose Ryoga, come to think of it, the way that boy feels things. She must be blind to him in some respects as well. I suppose his great strength must compensate for that handicap."

Shaking her head, she got back on track. "Profound love is the most powerful weapon, of course. Intense romantic emotions blind the Shikome, they cannot see past them, and this is why Shikome chose victims that have as few emotional connections as possible." "

Ranma stared, bewildered and not understanding in the least. "Uh . . . "

"Means, you love Hokou Onchi," Shampoo explained with a sweet smile. "Evil demon girl no be able to read you mind."

"That’s not entirely accurate," Cologne corrected. "She can read him, as long as he isn’t projecting strong emotion. But that’s rarely the case with you either, Son-in-Law."

"What?" Mousse blinked rapidly, no longer listening to what the Amazon matriarch was saying. He lowered his glasses down from their resting place on his forehead and peered at Ranma in obvious shock. "You love -Hibiki-?"

"Um . . . well . . . " Ranma turned rather red, a bit startled to have his secret out so suddenly and bluntly. Initially he slid down in his chair and fidgeted with the hem of the table cloth, wondering what excuses or arguments he could come up with to refute the accusation. It then occurred to him exactly how Mousse had asked his question, stressing Ryoga’s name, as if his astonishment lay more in the fact that it was -Ryoga- that Ranma loved, rather than just another man.

Immediately, Ranma straightened defensively, anger and protectiveness springing into full blown being. "Hey! Watch it, Mousse!"

Mousse glared right back, his blue eyes icy behind his thick glasses. "I knew you were a pervert. How could you do something like this to Shampoo?" The question was mild at first, but then the myopic youth suddenly seemed to realize how much of an affront this actually was to his beloved Amazon goddess. He rose up out of his seat, an angry battle aura already forming around him. "Why, you bastard! How dare you humiliate Shampoo in such a way?!"

"Aw cripes, Mousse!" Ranma angrily elbowed the advancing long-haired teen in the face, his patience at an end. Ryoga was in trouble and Mousse was resurrecting their same old fight again? "Priorities! Now ain’t the time for this!"

"Stop making excuses!" Mousse backed off a few steps, not from the blow necessarily, but to give himself the room to launch a few feathered blades from deep within his volumous sleeves. Ranma easily hopped over them, and they thunked one by one into the far wall with rapid fire thuds.

"Shampoo no humiliated," the amethyst eyed girl smiled merrily, obviously enjoying the altercation. "Shampoo think is sweet. Hokou Onchi fine strong man, Shampoo can see why Ikioi like so. Maybe he beat Ranma, be Shampoo’s new airen . . . "

"Shampoo?!" Mousse and Ranma gasped simultaneously in mutual shock as they both came to a screeching halt.

"All right," Cologne rolled her eyes, tapping her cane against the table for attention. "Shampoo, that’s enough. Stop teasing the boys. Mousse, Ranma, sit down and behave."

The two young men reluctantly obeyed, shooting vicious looks at each other, as Shampoo tittered to herself. As soon as quiet had been restored, the ancient Amazon matriarch continued.

"I can’t say that I’m terribly comfortable with your attraction toward the Hibiki boy either, Son-in-Law," she admitted with a frown. "But right now, your emotion is the only weapon we have."

"What about Akane?" Mousse said, attempting to direct a nasty look at Ranma, but glaring at a potted plant instead. "It’s no secret that Ryoga is crazy about her."

Ranma returned the glare, but was privately hurt and worried. (( He’s right. Ryoga -does- love Akane . . . or at least he did until Ikioi showed up . . . Well tough! In the first place, I ain’t putting Akane in that kind of danger. She’s not skilled enough to handle someone like Ikioi, and Ryoga wouldn’t want her hurt anyway. And in the second place . . . ))

"No," Ranma finished his thought out loud, much to the surprise of the other three at the table. "Ryoga’s mine. If anyone saves him, it’s gonna be me, got it?"

The Amazons all exchanged looks. Cologne quickly returned her gaze to Ranma, as did Shampoo, who smiled knowingly, eyes sparkling. Mousse, however, looked across the table at Shampoo, a vaguely hopeful expression finding a home on his face.

Cologne sighed heavily, perhaps resigning herself to the fact that she had lost Ranma as a potential son-in-law. Her face was extremely difficult to read, but she seemed to nod briefly in concession. "Akane would be a poor choice anyway," she said quietly. "Ryoga may love her, but she doesn’t return those feelings. Friendship is not a strong enough sword to bear against any Shikome. It’s rather sad to say, Ranma, but . . . "

"I’m the only one who loves him . . . " Ranma finished softly.

The heavy silence that followed his statement was broken moments later by the sound of the Nekohanten’s front door sliding open.

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

It was late.

The light from the open Nekohanten door threw down a sharp rectangle of white out onto the quiet and deserted street, as the banners that hung from the eaves fluttered in the night breeze. Sitting alone on the front step of the building, Ranma welcomed the cool air. It cleared his head, gave him room to think about what he had learned, and helped him to breathe. He felt as if he had been slowly suffocating all evening, and it was a relief to be out of the restaurant to take a few minutes for himself.

From within the building behind him, he could hear the low murmurs of continued conversation, as the problem was rehashed over and over, and he curled his hands into fists, the burning frustration mounting in his stomach and chest.

(( They’re gonna talk . . . talk while my Ryoga is in danger . . . talk while that bitch is holding him hostage and draining him of everything . . . ))

He had to continually remind himself that going after Ikioi with guns blazing, so to speak, would endanger the Lost Boy’s life, but it was sheer torture to sit back and do nothing while the Amazon matriarch researched and debated the best way to approach the situation. There was very little known about the Shikome, she told him, and she would have to do some deep digging to find out if there was any documented method of actually beating one. When he protested the delay, she scolded him, saying that Ikioi intended to keep Ryoga around for centuries. One more day or two wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

(( Withered old Ghoul! )) Ranma snarled mentally. (( It makes a difference to me. It makes a difference to him. Damn it all . . . )) He pulled his knees up and rested his head in his arms against them, fighting back the sensations of loss and the chilling fear that he hated to admit he felt. He was strong, he was a man and a martial artist. He wasn’t suppose to know fear or indecision. It made him angry to realize that he did, and he found that a superficial part of his psyche wanted to blame Ryoga for that failing. For making him weak. For making him fallible.

Barely a week ago, he wasn’t feeling this way. Barely a week ago, he hadn’t felt as if his life was being stripped away from him before he even got a chance to experience it. Barely a week ago . . .

. . . he wouldn’t have been able to admit that he loved Ryoga . . .

(( No . . . he’s not to blame for this. He never made me feel anything. He was just always there . . . like a thorn, in my vision, in my mind . . . ever since junior high, he’s been a part of me that I couldn’t ever shake, but I just wouldn’t let myself see that. It was my own stupid fear that kept me from loving him for so long, that made me tease and anger him . . . it was my own stupid fear that prevented me from stopping him when Ikioi first showed up . . . I got no one to blame but myself. Myself and . . . her . . . ))

A shadow momentary fell across the shaft of light that shone out from the Nekohanten, and Ranma felt a familiar presence settle beside him on the step. Under normal circumstances, he would have never let her see him like this - upset and near tears. But everything had changed now . . .

A small comforting hand fell on his arm and gripped him reassuringly. Ranma looked up, his blue eyes meeting brown. "Akane," he mumbled, quickly straightening and using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe at his face. He cleared his throat and set his expression firmly to strength and determination. "Has the old mummy come up with anything yet?"

"Not yet," Akane shook her head, dutifully pretending that she hadn’t seen him in a moment of weakness. She settled a sleeping Kuro-Ko in her lap and gently stroked the puppy’s head. "She says that she’ll have to consult with some people that she knows, and that hopefully she’ll have more information by tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow?!" Ranma exclaimed angrily. "Tomorrow! That’s - - that’s - - " He couldn’t find words livid enough to illustrate what he thought of that idea. Growling viciously in his throat, the frustration finally topping off, he slammed his fist downward, shattering a hole in the cement of the step between them. Chips flew in all directions and Akane raised a hand to shield herself and the startled puppy from the debris.

"Ranma, calm down. She’s doing the best that she can, and none of us are any happier about delays than you are. We -all- want to help Ryoga," the dark eyed girl reminded him in a tone of quiet lecturing, stroking Kuro-Ko soothingly.

Ranma hrmphed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away from her. Attempting to hold himself as stiff and steady as possible, the young man blinked back the moisture trying to form in his eyes.

"I know you think we’re not skilled enough to face Ikioi," Akane frowned, an edge of resentment in her words. "But we’ll do what we can to help you, because you can’t face her alone."

"The hell I can’t."

Akane sighed at his stubbornness, balling her fists in her lap. Her dark brows settled over her eyes and she looked away from him, fighting with her own anger and concern.

After several minutes of silence had passed between them, and Ranma realized that she wasn’t going to leave him alone, he relaxed a bit and glanced back at her. Her soft profile was half in shadow and she seemed very sad as she gazed down at the puppy she held, worry reflected in her large deep eyes. Sighing in resignation, Ranma half turned back towards her.

"Akane . . . " he began hesitantly, lacing his fingers together nervously. "I appreciate the help, I really do. Especially . . . especially since I would totally understand if you didn’t want to. I know this has gotta kinda be a shock for you . . ."

She looked at him sharply. "A shock?" she asked in obvious confusion, then tipped her head as understanding came to her. "You mean, this stuff about you and Ryoga?"

"Hai," he nodded, shifting his gaze again. Once Akane and Ukyo showed up at the Nekohanten to find out what was going on, it was only a matter of time before Mousse seemed very delighted to mention Ranma’s attraction to Ryoga. Ranma remembered starkly the looks the two girls had shot in his direction, and was frankly surprised that Akane hadn’t reacted with mallet or worse. She had simply stared at him for a long moment, then looked away, returning her attention to Cologne’s narration of the situation.

Ukyo, however, smiled with the same knowing expression that Shampoo had used.

"Ranma Saotome, you jerk!" Akane growled, her pitch rising as she straightened and leveled a severe glare at him, fists on hips. "Do you really think that I would be shallow or spiteful enough to refuse to help a friend just because I found out that my iinazuke loves him?"

Ranma blinked rapidly, a bit befuddled by her question. He quickly tried to think of a response that would not result in bodily injury. "Uhh . . . "

"Ryoga -is- my friend! No, he’s more than a friend. He’s my protector, my confidant, my secret diary, one of the few people I’ve ever felt comfortable enough with to really talk to. I’m certainly not gonna hold it against him just because -you- love him."

"Wait, wait," Ranma pleaded, holding his hands up defensively. He peeked around his fingers warily. "You mean, it doesn’t bother you that I . . . that I, well . . . that I . . . "

"Of course it doesn’t! Frankly, it’s a relief." Akane calmed herself, shifting her attention back toward the quiet street. "And Ryoga deserves to be loved. Sometimes I wish I could have returned his feelings for me, but I really can’t. I’m glad that he has someone who can."

Ranma felt as if he were as lost as Ryoga often was, as if he had suddenly been transported to an alternate dimension were things were almost, but not quite, the same as he was used to. "Akane," he began, then paused, not even sure what part of her statement he wanted to question first. Finally he settled for: "I don’t understand."

A small smile sneaked its way onto her face. "I’m not surprised. Honestly, Ranma, just how long did you think that you could go on hiding your true feelings and nature?"

"But . . . but . . . you mean . . . " Ranma sputtered. "You mean, you knew that I was . . . that I’m . . . "

"Gay?" she finished for him, the twinkle in her eyes showing that she was enjoying his befuddlement. "Well, I suspected it, at least. And I wasn’t entirely sure that it was Ryoga that you were interested in, but considering how much you pick on him, I figured it was. And I was hoping that eventually you would see it too and stop being so mean. As I said, Ryoga really deserves someone who truly loves him."

Ranma stared at her for a long silent moment before releasing a wordless exclamation of frustration and slamming his fist again into the hole he had already punched into the step. "Arhhh! Did -everyone- know how I felt, except for me?!"

"Ranma, relax," Akane said quietly, grabbing his hand and squeezing it reassuringly, even as she calmed the puppy again with her other hand. Her eyes narrowed as she smiled warmly. "Sometimes it’s hard to see what’s directly in front of us."

"Well said, Akane-chan," Ukyo put in quietly from where she stood leaning against the doorjamb of the Nekohanten, arms crossed. Ranma and Akane both glanced up at her silhouetted form, a bit startled by her sudden appearance.

"Cripes! You knew too?!" Ranma whined.

"I suspected. You’re really hard to read sometimes, Ran-chan, so I wasn’t entirely sure, but your actions after the fight this afternoon pretty much decided it for me. When you didn’t go thundering in to avenge your honor, I knew it was because you were concerned for Ryoga."

Ranma sighed, turning forward once again to rest his chin in his hand. "I feel like such an idiot."

Both girls knew better than to agree with him. Ukyo simply shifted her position slightly, and Akane patted Ranma’s shoulder comfortingly. "It’s all right, Ranma," she assured firmly. "We’ll fix it. As soon as Cologne figures out how to fight her, we’ll go together and take care of Ikioi."

He nodded, then blinked, rewinding the conversation a bit as a stray thought drifted into his head. Brow furrowing in puzzlement, he glanced up at Akane again. "Wait a minute. You said . . . you said that Ryoga was your confidant . . . does that mean . . ? Cripes Akane!" He straightened. "You know about P-Chan?!"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I know about P-Chan. Sheesh."

Ukyo frowned, obviously not following the conversation. "Ne? P-Chan? What about P-Chan?"

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

With a soft cry of pain, Ryoga let himself fall into the welcome softness of the pillows on his futon, gasping for decent breath. Despite the pillows, however, his head was jarred hard, prompting another quiet yelp which was laced with a tone of pleading. Shivering uncontrollably and covered with a sticky cold sweat, the young man forced his eyes open and tried urgently to focus his wavering darkening sight on Ikioi.

"Eechan . . . " he barely managed to whisper around gulping for air. "Please . . . no more . . . "

The pretty young woman leaned down on his heaving chest, rubbing her delicate hand against it. Her long black hair, long since released from its style and trappings, fell around them like a curtain. "Once more, my Heart," she replied lovingly, a soft smile on her lips and a gleam of energy and power in her eyes.

"Can’t . . . " the young man mouthed as she drew closer him.

Ryoga couldn’t move to stop her from kissing him again, from draining him again. He was barely able to summon the strength to shut his eyes again. His limbs were all leaden and numb, distant and empty, and he no longer had motor control over them. Some inner part of his mind, a part that was far away and lost, was screaming in protest, yelling at him to stop this, but he quite simply could not. Resistance was beyond him.

They had been doing this for most of the night; Ikioi would let his remarkable natural healing ability work to build back a little strength, only to draw it off almost immediately. He had given her everything that he could, completely depleting himself and his reserve, but she wanted more.

At first it hadn’t been so bad, Ryoga found that he could easily slip into distraction and ignore what was going on, but eventually the pain became too great for that. Now he had no refuge, as her soft mouth closed on his, as the sucking roar began in his head, he fought back the cramping of his sickened stomach and tried to resist the strange dry agony that flashed through his body as she drained every last drop of his ki.

Something gave within his body, something snapped and crumbled. Ryoga’s exclamation of pain was lost in her mouth. It felt as if he were cracking apart from the inside out with nothing left to sustain his integrity. Ryoga knew that he should be dead a dozen times over, but that was impossible. She held his chi and fed it enough to keep him alive, to keep him sustained so that he could build up his reserves once more . . . soon even his ability to express the discomfort was gone. He could only lie there still and silent while she siphoned him, while the pain crackled and shattered apart within.

He didn’t even have the energy required to form tears.

Ryoga’s body slowly began to shut down, and he was powerless to prevent it. Internal organs ground to a halt, the non-essential ones first, as his body tried to save itself, and then the more important ones. The sensation was terrifying, but Ryoga couldn’t react, he could only accept the pain and hope that it would be over soon enough. He stopped breathing next, but his heart continued to struggle on for quite some time, each beat a hard fought-for pounding that reverberated all throughout the empty shell of his body. Eventually, it had to give up as well.

Ikioi broke the kiss, recognizing that she was now pumping a dry well. She leaned back on her elbow beside him and smiled ever so slightly as she regarded his tightly shut eyes, and the lines of tension and discomfort that had formed around them and on his brow. Using small slender fingers, she carefully smoothed out those lines, and brushed his damp sticky hair away from his face.

"So strong, so powerful . . . so beautiful," she whispered, running her hand down his cheek. "So much energy. You’ve done well, my Heart. Soon I will have stored enough to break the Seal and open the Entry, then . . . " She let her hand come to rest on his chest, felt the stillness beneath her fingers. She had truly taken everything this time, and would now let him rest and build his ki back up considerably before she tried that again.

She wasn’t worried. Ikioi knew that Ryoga was strong and could recover even from this. She felt his chi fluttering in her chest, knew that he was upset and distressed over what she had done, but she wrapped warm mental arms around him and hugged him comfortingly, even as she snuggled in close beside his cold still body and waited for life to return to it.

"Then . . . " she continued, purring gently to the chi within her. "Then, we will leave this place and be together forever." She placed a hand over her chest and felt the thrumming of his presence beneath her fingers. Closing her brilliant eyes, she laid her head against his shoulder and sighed contentedly.

"My Heart. My Soul. My Everything."

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