_%Beautiful Dreamer 7%_

His presense remained unobtrusive. He stayed at the back of the classroom, leaning casually against the wall, dressed in a worn-looking yellow sleeveless shirt and a pair of dark blue slacks, bound around his calves with the normal leather laces. Today he wore the same black shoes sockless, and was silent in his watching, arms folded over his chest while his dark eyes shifted tirelessly from his boy-god and the banchee that sat next to him.

Not directly next to him, as the teacher had found that caused problems. There was a single student between them, one who was normally extremely uncomfortable, and pitied by his peers. Today, however, he was relaxed in his seat, the normal tension between his surrounding mates not being present. Perhaps he wondered at it, perhaps he did not. The watcher did not dwell on the matter.

Eyes fixing on the male of his prey, he studied the form which sat impassive at its desk. His lover. His god. His. Koibito that he was, but *his*.

Restlessly, he shifted. He'd been standing like this for over fifteen minutes now, and it grew tiring. The teacher had offered him a seat after the unlikely explanation of shadowing, but he had refused it. The teacher remained non-pulsed. Ranma's teachers usually were the tolerant sort. Too used to the strangeness of Nerima to question the motives of one who made no move to interfere, was indeed quiet, and whose presense seemed to help Saotome concentrate.

He glanced at the female. Akane, working away dilegently, Akane, who seemed to sense his eyes on her, Akane, who fidgeted uneasily under his gaze, and who glanced at Ranma briefly before attempting to ignore him. He smiled a little. Yes, amusing, he had been correct to suit that term to her. She who had been his only obstacle, now sitting docilly like nothing was the matter with her world. Like nothing had crumbled. Like no one was missing. Amusing. He wondered at her motives; he'd thought she loved his god, in her own way. Why was she giving up so easily? It was a challenge he'd anticipated, and regreted in its absense.

He closed his eyes a moment, trying to find his center, reaching it with unusual ease. He had everything that he had ever wanted, though his precious was still to learn the rules in their game. At tonight's ending, he rather suspected he would be able to...love Ranma. Properly. Possession was nice in its own way, and necessary, but he had yet to truly *love* Ranma. He knew Ranma loved him, in the boy's own innocent and misguided way, but that love was only skin deep. He needed to find a way to access his prince's more carniverous feral instincts. He needed to find Ranma's core.

Dully, he was aware of the minutes passing. He listened to the lecture for a moment, surprised to find he actually followed some of it, and then drifted back into his reverie. Ranma's perfection neared. And his core would follow.

A slight smile for the thought.

He wanted passion, and Ranma gave him sweetness and light. To match his agression was Ranma's submission. It had disappointed him a little at first, disappointed the part of him that had expected his lover to rebel, to pull out of the sadistic relationship they had formed. Ranma loved him. He repeated it again in his mind, trying to make it real and physical, more than just words cast out to sea. But he couldn't. Ranma could not know what love was! How could he be capable of it. Ranma yielded to him, and he told himself again that that was good, that that was enough.

But he wanted love.

Love, and he was seeking it. Surely, somewhere through this process, Ranma would recognize his need. His need for that love, for that passion. And would reciporate. Surely.

Surely.

He sighed deeply, and noticed with a kind of fascinated detachment that the room was emptying, that the bell had rung. Dragging himself out of his thoughts, he followed, watching as Ranma paused at the door and smiled to him, gestured for him to move along.

Love.

Maybe.

He followed, but at a discreet pace. He wanted to watch his lover's interaction with the others. Wanted to see how they treated him when his bodyguard was not in eyesight.

Almost immediately, two of the crowd separated from the rest and moved in on Ranma like sharks in the water. Two boys; one blonde, one brunette, and he had the vaguest sense that he had seen them before, perhaps at one of he and Ranma's battles, just in the briefest flash of color.

"Ranma!" the blonde hailed, and the named boy turned around and walked backwards through the steady push of the crowd, allowing his persuers to catch up with him.

Ryoga thought he saw the barest flicker of Ranma's eyes, searching the mass of bodies for something other than what came towards him.

"What's up?" he asked casually, but did not cease his forward motion.

"That's our line," the brunette quipped. "You're the one with the boyfriend."

"Geez, you'd never even let us *near* your girl side, even after we promised to be nice to it, and here you're letting some guy--" He stopped abruptly, and shrugged his complaint off for something more interesting, wrapping an arm around Ranma's shoulder. "You're doing it as a girl, right? What's it like?"

"Yeah, I mean, I'm not a pervert or anything...but I *am* curious," the brunette seconded him.

Ranma brushed them off, and went on his way. "Leave me alone. It ain't like that, and even if it were, I wouldn't be talking about it."

The two boys scrambled to keep up, and the brunette grabbed him around the waist.

"All we're saying is, what happened to you? I mean, one minute you're all homophobie, and the next, you've turned into some kinda fag."

"Shut up!" Ranma hissed fiercely, and grabbed his assailant by the scruff of his uniform. In a low voice, looking him right in the eye, he added, "I ~said~, LEAVE ME ALONE."

The blonde seemed about to reply, but didn't get the chance. He noticed Ryoga's approach, and the words seemed to die on his lips unspoken.

"Hello, Ranma." he greeted flatly, and gave each boy a hard look. "Who're your friends?"

Ranma looked nervous, uncomfortable. "This's Daisuke," he indicated the brunette, "and Hiroshi. Guys, this's Ryoga." He paused a half second that Ryoga narrowed his eyes at, and then added, "My boyfriend. Any questions you have, he'd know as well as I."

Hiroshi hesitated for a long moment, apparently deciding he didn't like the look of the newcomer, and then asking softly, "You're the guy he was always fighting with, right?"

"Sparring. Yes."

Another silence. Daisuke glanced between them, and then asked in a very small voice, "You're really not doing it girl/boy? I mean, if it were me...."

"It isn't." Ryoga interruped quietly. "And I really don't have any interest in females. If I did, I wouldn't be in this relationship in the first place. I'd do it, if he really wanted to, but he hasn't made any such indication. If you're so curious about all of this, why not come down to our house sometime, and try it out yourself? I think a foursome might be interesting. Right now, though, we're late for class. Excuse us." This said, he took his lover by the wrist and headed off into the fold of the crowd again, leaving the two boys red-faced and irritable.

"Ryoga?" Ranma asked softly. "Why'd you do that? Turn left here."

Following the instruction, he replied, "I figured it would shut them up. They're just a couple of hentai teenagers. Nothing more."

"What...turn right...what if they decide to take you up on the offer?"

He laughed. As if. Between the two of them, they didn't have that kind of balls. "If...a big if, mind you...I stand by my earlier statement. It might be interesting."

"Oh."

"You mind?"

"Well...they're my friends, and all...but I really don't like those two much. Not that kind of like. Another right."

"No problem. You aren't interested, we won't do it."

"Really?" He sounded surprised.

"What, you haven't realized yet, Ranma?" He opened the door to the classroom, which was still empty, and they headed inside. "I would never do something you didn't like. Never."

"Never?" Ranma frowned a moment in thought, then headed over to his desk. He started to sit, and then turned and smirked. "Are you gonna be staring at me again?"

Ryoga considered making a proper physical response to the challenge, then decided against it. Not here, where someone might see. "I wasn't staring at you," he said evenly, firmly.

Sapphires widened a bit, nervously. The boy knew he had stepped over a line, and swallowed, the sound audible in the room which seemed so large in its vacancy. He nodded subtly, and started to sit down again.

"Wait a moment." His beloved stiffened at the tone. He moved fluidly through the maze of desks, and came to rest his hands on Ranma's shoulders. Tight under his fingers, so he dug them in, began kneeding the bunched flesh, setting himself against one of the other desks. When his lover relaxed, he leaned forward and whispered against his ear, "Just a little massage. Calm down, love. You're far too high-strung," watching the black strands dance in his wake, silk brushing his lips.

"Your braid's coming undone," he breathed, feeling Ranma shiver against him. "I think someone ought to re-tie it. May I?"

A slight nod from his precious.

Ranma sighed deeply, contently, letting his eyes drift shut, enjoying the feel of the hands working at his pigtail, the fingers playing with his hair. And it loosened, and the fingertips moved over his scalp like rain.

Then pulled a section of the inky mass taunt. "Anything you forgot to tell me yesterday?" he asked in a harsh whisper, smiling a little at the sharp intake of breath his question received.

"I didn't mean to," Ranma protested hoarsely, trying to get away but prevented by the hands in his hair.

"What didn't you tell me, precious?"

Swallowing against the dry feeling of his throat, he answered, "Mousse...talked to me. Said Cologne might be coming after us. That's...that's all...really...."

"Nothing with Akane?" He hadn't expected this answer.

"No, nothing, I swear.... I wouldn't...."

He released his hold, and went back to gently combing the soft hair with his fingers. "Good. But this business with Cologne...do you think it's serious?" He slipped the hair tie back in again, and pulled Ranma close to himself, kissing the top of his head, then his neck, then his mouth.

"Don't know," Ranma managed, pressing back against him. "Hope not."

"I suppose we had better be careful, hmm?" He let Ranma go entirely, and gave him a firm shove into his seat, then backed away to the other end of the classroom, just in time for the first student to enter.

All the while, he considered his options. It wouldn't do to underestimate Cologne. She was an Amazon, and they had demonstrated themselves to be tricky at times. He was not so optomistic as his god. He knew they would have to be careful. The coming situation did not promise to be pleasant.

-

It took a few minutes to register the facts.

Register that Ryoga was gone.

He had gone ahead to the lunch line, and come back to find his lover strangely absent, absent as he had not been for more than a moment all day. He had waited through lunch, waited until the last people were clearing their trays away. But still, Ryoga did not come.

He frowned, having to fight a feeling of inate panic. Trying to fight the fluttering in his stomach, the feeling that he was utterly lost and alone and helpless and--

No, he interrupted the stream firmly. He was Ranma Saotome. And he did NOT take things like this lying down. Kidnapping was fairly common, so it could be assumed, but what anyone's motives for kidnapping Ryoga could be made his head hurt. He hadn't made their relationship so public that some superpower would kidnap him in hopes of a rescue attempt. Besides, at this point it was only a school rumor, other than Ukyo and Akane and Shampoo.

He blinked. Shampoo? Would she have done this? Why? Avenging her honor somehow?

A shadowy whisper of the Amazon's voice crept into his mind. "Obstacles is for killing," she had said.

Was she serious? Would she really....

No time to ponder. If Shampoo really had taken Ryoga, intent on destroying her "obstacle", then he didn't have much time.

The sickening thought that he was already too late made its way into his mind, and he had to pause and steady himself on the lunch table to prevent his barely-digested meal from coming up.

After regaining his footing, a cold tremor washed through the young man's body, blue eyes focusing dangerously on nothing. Arms, legs, and torso going taunt, he made his way to the exit.

Disturbing images of matted bloody purple hair were swimming before his eyes, accompanied by a strange taste in his mouth and involuntary hand clenching. If Ryoga wasn't all right...if his Ryoga wasn't all right....

He would shishi hokodan the whole lot of them all to Hell after him. Oh yes. Someone was going to pay for this. A pound of flesh, a pint of blood. That ought to cover it, he thought grimly, throwing open the door to the outside sunlight, and making his way to the Nekohanten with the hidden speed of one who has never truly exerted himself.

-

Ryoga's awakening was dim and hazy. He remembered going outside just briefly, wanting to breathe fresh air rather than the intoxicating smell of the cafeteria. He remembered seeing a shadow on the ground in front of him, just before the blackness came and swallowed everything.

He blinked slowly, and tried turning over onto his back, feeling an intense wave of vertigo when he realized he'd been strung up against something, that what he'd accepted as the floor was actually the wall. Disgusted with his captor's use of plain ropes, he tugged at them until they snapped, and promptly fell face-first onto a mat. He blinked again, and looked around himself in the dim light. A mattress had been placed strategically, and it bothered him immensely that his captor had expected him to escape and anticipated such.

A whisper of silk attracted his attention off to the right, and he watched the ghostly figure approach. Mousse, he knew, about four paces later, and tensed himself for the attack.

"Why did you bring me here?" he asked. It wasn't the first question he wanted answer, but it was the first he could form coherently. The rest was rather a twisted candle-lit attempt at questions. He wanted to know why he'd been tied down so shoddily, and why the mat had been placed, and a million other things.

The Chinese boy made no move to answer, and behind his glasses were empty blue eyes. He knelt self-importantly, and Ryoga noticed the tray for the first time. It was set quietly, and a sandwich was removed and handed to him. No, if it was drugged, he wanted no part in it, though his stomach complained from having missed lunch.

Mousse tilted his head to the side curiously.

"Why did you tie me down when you knew I would escape?" he asked.

Again, no response. Just a vague, pleasant smile. And then Mousse stood again, and moved away in the same whispering strides.

Ryoga stood up, or attempted to. His legs would not cooperate with him suddenly, and a shooting, throbbing pain made its way through them, then into his stomach and into his lungs. He choked, and fell forward on himself, losing consciousness abrutply.

Shampoo watched the exchange with eyes much like her Amazon brother's. And a smile much the same as well. Cologne sat by her, the only one with any consciousness to speak of, and watched Mousse's approach as he came back to sit by her.

"He is unconscious," she stated simply. Her puppets nodded. She turned evenly in place, smile fixed upon her face, and cupped Shampoo's cheek with one wizened hand. "Your great-grandmother isn't beaten yet, dear. You'll marry Ranma still. Just be patient." To Mousse, she added coldly, "You understand your place in all of this, boy. You and the weak distraction there ~deserve~ each other, anyway. Go to him. The toxins we fed into his nervous system will put him out of it long enough. Here."

She handed him more sturdy lengths of chain, attached to which were leather cuffs. The ropes had been placed so that they would know when their prisoner awoke. And when the toxin syrum took effect. She gave a slight nod to indicate that he should go now. The restraints she had offered would hold him in place in his weakened state.

Waving to Shampoo, she hopped off of her perch, and made her way out of the storage room. She had no interest in what Mousse did. She was too old for that sort of thing. And Shampoo was of no mind to enjoy it.

So, they went back to serving their customers, secure in the knowledge that no noise would escape that room. Loud music had been turned on some time ago, and the boy's louder protests would be silenced once the paralisis on his vocal box took effect. He'd already sounded a little hoarse when he awoke.

She had considered using the same paralisis on his entire body, but the point of this was to disgrace him. Not letting him struggle at all would destroy the amount of shame he would feel from the continuing plague of a thought, that he could have stopped the whole process somehow.

She smiled coldly, and put the ramen on to boil.

-

The next time Ryoga awoke, he knew he couldn't move at all. His arms had been twisted in front of him, both attached to one of the anchors he'd been tied to before. He tugged experimentally on the bindings, and judged them to be beyond his strength. At the moment. He could have yanked the anchor out of its foundation at normal strength, but something was wrong with him; his thoughts were fuzzy, and his body wasn't responding as soon as it ought to.

His legs were spread and he was kneeling, feet tied to thighs, and thighs tied to arms. Wriggling around did him no good; whoever had done this knew what they were doing.

It was only then that it occurred to him to wonder just what this person *was* doing. Considering his position and lack of clothes, he was suddenly very uncomfortable.

A rough hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to look, and only caught the briefest glimpse of blue eyes and Chinese bone structure. Mousse again. But what....

Oh, no.

He struggled fiercely, trying to maneuver himself on the mat and away from the body against his back. He only succeeded into falling onto his side, which his captor quickly remidied. Before pressing naked flesh against his own.

He wanted to scream, to beg, to do *something* to get out of this. But his throat felt choked and when he tried, nothing came out save a barely-audible whimper. And this was certainly not the message he wanted to send.

Mind reeling while he felt the thick pressure at his ass, he tried desperately to find a reason for this. He'd thought Mousse loved Shampoo, and certain not another man, and what other motivation was there for rape other than lust, and Kami but he wanted this man OFF of him!!

Penetration was sudden and painful. He arched his back, screaming silently, and wrenched violently from the hands that held him. He was grabbed again, grabbed and forced into compliance, struggling wildly against the pain pain pain that was violating him.

He could feel the warmth and wetness in his anus, and knew he was bleeding raw onto the mat. His body felt heavy and useless, even as he twisted until his head ached with the nausia of motion. Hands on him, holding him still despite his desperate attempts at escape, hands on him, intruding and violating and no no no no no

Screams were fading in and out of his head not for any pride he felt himself but for the utter perfection this man was destroying. Ranma...how would he ever be able to--

Pain pain pain oblitherating all thought and he wriggled ineffectually as he felt the explosion within him, and how the fuck had he come off so soon and no get the hell off of me please.

His body trembled violently and he could feel his member swelling and the hands and he twisted in on himself in an attempt to keep out the hands and screamed and screamed and screamed he didn't want to come, he just wanted to cry and cry and cry and cry until there was nothing in him anymore.

And at last, the man pulled off of him, the man who'd lost all identity somewhere between the pain and the shattered light and he was left alone.

-

It had been done. Done thoroughly and well. She knew this when he came back out again, hands streaked with blood and the same starting to stain his silk from the inside. She gestured him quickly up to his room and he obeyed, though in his own mind or what was left, he saw nothing wrong with being in front of their customers covered in that wretched boy's blood.

Ranma would come to them soon, and when he saw that his lover was not so powerful as he'd suspected, he would join them willingly. For strength was everything, and there was no place for the weak in this world. Then they could dispose of the Hibiki brat and be done with things. Off to China with the groom, and children would come, many strong healthy children. Ranma would not last long after the marriage. He wouldn't want to be married to someone like Shampoo anyway. She would kill him after they had had many children, and place his body with the others.

The bloodline had to be preserved.

_%Beautiful Dreamer 8%_

The restaurant was relatively quiet. Just a bunch of average people, going about their everyday lives, ordering Chinese food. Some because it was the always-sought-after "something different", and others because they liked the service and the food; the latter were regulars. Some of the newbies had come specifically for the waitress' legendary adoreability, and they, as well as the other customers, were disappointed. All noticed the lack of her usual pep. She was pretty, sure, beautiful, even, but today no one would have thought to use the term "cute". Cute was something reserved for those who took a little more joy in life. Her ministrations to the restaurant seemed rehersed, like she had been given a pattern to follow and was simply following it. Most just assumed she was having a bad day, something that happens to the best of us.

Some three seconds later, while she set an order down, the front door exploded inwards. She looked up, the same somewhat-bored expression on her face, while those who had been seated closest to the door took this opportunity to head further back, or even out the door.

The boy who'd made such an abrupt and violent entrance proceeded to move across the room and seize the pretty Amazon by her throat. Tomorrow, the papers would describe him as a force of nature, ruthless power, all contained within a frame of average height, rather muscular through his Chinese garp, sporting a braided shoulder-length black ponytail, with eyes alternatively written as blue and gray, people's opinions differing slightly.

"Where," one patron heard him snarl hoarsely against his captive's face, "is he?!"

The girl stared at him stupidly, vacantly, looking confused. She tilted her head to the side a bit, seemingly not bothered by the manner in which she was being held. From a vantage point near the window, another customer described her as smiling slightly, an odd expression and something he remembered clearly, while her large crimson eyes glittered with refracted light, empty and glazed over like a doll's.

Her lack of response clearly angered the boy, who shook her roughly, causing her head and its cropping of silky lavender hair to sort of nod, like it was being pulled by a string. She laughed, a musical, high-pitched sound, something put as a sopprano.

"Don't play games with me! Ryoga! I know you have him," he ground out slowly, and shook her again.

No answer. The same little painted-on smile remained fixed on her lips.

"Worthless Chinese bitch," he muttered harshly, dropping her to the ground. "Where. The. HELL. Is he?!"

Most of the remaining customers made a break for it, and went unnoticed by the boy some of them had positively ID'd as Ranma Saotome. No one wanted to interfere with Saotome. Wherever he went, trouble invaritively followed, usually accompanied by massive property damage.

The girl shook her head, but it didn't seem to be an answer, or even an attempt at one. Then she frowned ever-so-slightly, and mused, "Why Husband upset?"

Happy at this response, the boy knelt in front of her and looked at her pleadingly. Alarms were going off now. She should have glomped onto him, or, for Kami's sake, she should have done SOMETHING. Gently, forcing down his innate rage, he asked, "Where is he? Ryoga Hibiki. The boy who turns into a pig. Where is he?" His tone now was low and patient, if apprehensive.

She blinked. "In back room, I think. Husband no worry about, yes? Is all taken care of now."

The ki radiating from the crouched boy took a sudden nose-dive. Black, hopeless despair washed all through it, and the very life seemed to drain out of him. "What?" he asked weakly, desperately.

The owner of the establishment bustled in, an authoritative manner about her. Some noticed the girl snapping to attention, rising to her feet, and the boy glancing at her in confusion and then following her example.

"Son-in-law," the propriator began irritably, "what's all this commotion? What right do you have, tearing in here like that and jeopardizing our business?"

The boy looked at her, face pale and broken. "She says you...'took care of' Ryoga," he breathed, eyes both begging it false and daring it true.

The old woman smiled, leaned against her cane with a coy expression. "The child is quite correct. He *has* been taken care of."

"The child" was smiling as well, though it was quite different from the older woman's. She looked cheerful, and nodded several times during her elder's speech.

The young man stared into her crimson empty eyes, and whispered, "What happened to her?" then, to the older Amazon, "What did you do to her?"

Another smile, even worse than its predessor. "She and the boy wanted to return home without you. They didn't realize how much honor depends on you accomanying us, theirs and mine. They understand now."

Backing away from the mindless shell of a waitress, horror on his face but eyes obviously transfixed, he murmured, "How?"

The old woman lifted a small bottle from the folds of her robes. "You remember this, don't you, Son-in-law? The same shampoo that stole Akane's memory two years ago? I am much more proficient in the techniques than my granddaughter."

"Mousse...? Shampoo...?"

"Those names have no meaning any longer, boy. She, you will learn to think of as your wife. He is nothing more than a mindless drudge. He is easier to control now. I should have done this long ago."

The horror surfaced then faded then surfaced again. He didn't seem to know whether to scream or cry, and looked very close to doing both. He brushed her aside, and headed into the back of the restaurant.

Confused, the customers watched as the waitress and proprietor followed. Some got up to leave, but the regular customers, non-pulsed by the whole affair, continued their conversations as though nothing had happened. One woman privately decided that Nerima was just getting too strange, and vowed to move away very soon. What a shame. Nerima had once been such a nice place to live.

-

The back room was dark, almost pitch-black, but a lightswitch on the wall solved that problem. And, once the lights were on, it wasn't that hard to spot Ryoga. He was lying in a messy, bloody heap, on a mattress near the center of the room. There were crates all around, and cardboard boxes marked in Chinese. There were also various animals in cages near the back, but Ranma ran past and jumped over any obstacle between himself and his battered lover. Anyone else might have paused and vomited at the sight of him, let alone the feel, but for Ranma, who cradled his head and checked frantically for a pulse, it was like being able to breathe again.

Tears streaming down his face, he clutched the stirring body against himself, so desperate to feel life in those arms, to feel fingers in his hair and oh Kami, you wouldn't be so cruel. His mind didn't register the restraints or the drying blood on his thighs and under the cuffs where he had strained so painfully, just the fact that Ryoga was hurt. Hurt terribly.

"Ryoga," he whispered, afraid a louder sound might render the other boy to dust. "Ryoga, please." Please wake up, please be okay, I can't live without you, please....

He had never felt this kind of wild panic, not that first time he'd been locked in his cursed form, not even when he'd thought *Akane* was dead, never. The choking feeling in his chest was like a fist clenching on his heart.

Eyes fluttering into a sort of half-consciousness, blood-shot and not focusing yet, but to him it was so very beautiful to see, and Ryoga's voice, soft and hoarse as he murmured, "Ranma?" and struggled for wakefullness was more gorgeous than that resonant tenor had ever been, and he kissed his fallen angel gently before he took in exactly what had happened here.

Body stiffening, Ranma turned, setting his other gently down again. "What. Have you done to him, Ghoul?" he demanded coldly.

To his surprise and horror, she laughed. "I've made him what he already was, Son-in-law. Trash. He is below your level, and now your code of honor forbids a relationship with him, as it should. His bloodline is nothing but backwater in the grand scheme of things. You'll get over it."

In a feral rage, the young martial artist leapt across the room at her, eyes flashing.

She merely smiled, watched him come, and started, "You're a hundred years too early to--"

Interrupting her midsentence, Ranma reached out with the speed of the Amaguriken, but instead of punching as she had anticipated, he grabbed hold of her long white hair and slammed her into the bare concrete floor. His anger, his wild anger, over her statement found itself in a few words, all he could say to something like that. "I am NOT your 'son-in-law'," he breathed at her, and blinked when still she smiled.

Not a trace of the fear he would have expected. And for the first time, he looked into her eyes.

Twin pools of black insanity stared back at him.

He blinked once, twice. Mousse had been right. She was crazy. And he felt a twinge of pity for the Amazon duo. Even if he was able to restore their personalities using 119, he doubted either would ever recover, knowing their part in all of this. If he had known a little more about the process of erasing memories, he could perhaps have spared them that, but he didn't, and...and...and part of him didn't like the thought that that the one responsible for his lover's violation would be free od it. He knew it was only cruelity, knew also that he couldn't be certain it had been Mousse, but he could guess.

He blinked himself back into the present as he hit the wall. Lost in thought, he hadn't even tried to black her sudden and vicious assalt. He turned to face her, and saw the old woman kneeling by Ryoga. Daring to lay her monkey paws on him. The same fierocity from beofre possessed Ranma, sent him to bridge the distance between them, to grab hold of her and crush her skull between his hands like a ripe melon. He could almost taste it.

"He's dead," she told him flatly, and he halted mid-air, truning, terrified, to Ryoga.

"Only kidding," Cologne smirked, and leapt to meet him in his momemtary distraction, focusing a small sphere of ki and sending it towards him. "Why are you being so stuborn, Son-in-law? Surely you are aware of your family honor as well as I."

"Shut up!" he spat, trying to get a firm hold on her. "You *dare* to lecture me about ~honor~? You had him raped, you goddamned bitch!"

Sha laughed, easily evading him. "I did what was necessary! Our bloodline *must be preserved*, no matter what the cost! He is one boy vs. hundreds. How can you even compare the two?"

"If that's what you're doing this for, give it up, Ghoul! I'm NEVER going back to China with you! I wouldn't marry Shampoo even if she jumped a Ryoganniichaun! And for what you did to Ryoga, I am going to KILL you."

Still evading, the crone pointed out, "You'll have to catch me first, Son-in-law. And you will NEVER defeat me."

Ranma paused, knowing this was true. He may have gotten better, but he knew his limits. He was running out of power; he needed to end this quickly. The biggest problem was that she knew all of his signature oves, had taught him most of them. The way he figured it, he had three real options -- the Umisen-ken, the Neko-ken, and the Moko Takabisha. He couldn't use the Hiryu Shoten Ha, because that required set-up, and Cologne would never let him get through it. He couldn't use the Neko-ken because there weren't any cats around --well, there was Shampoo, but there wasn't any cold water-- and besides, he doubted his opponant would stand idly by and wait for him to fall into the required trance. He wasn't feeling particularly confident, and the Umisen-ken...well, stupid thing to be concerned with, but it was *sealed*, and for a good reason.

He frowned in consternation; he had to do SOMETHING! How was he going to...oh. The frown vanished, replaced by a faint smile. Yes. Very appropriate.

Ducking what he recognized as an attempt to use the damned shampoo Shiatsu technique --and pausing in sudden fear as he realized what she was trying to do-- he backed away to get some distance between them, found his center, and began to go through the steps necessary to harness ki.

As he did so, Ranma noticed something between surprise and curiousity on the old woman's face, and stared at her, imprinting her wizened expression on the insides of his eyelids. He gathered his hatred, his disgust, and most importantly, his feelings at the thought of *what* she had ~dared~ to do to Ryoga. Focused until he could feel it like a physical thing, focused until his palms tingled with the unreleased force. Then he looked to her, blue eyes dead in their possession, brought his hands up in front of himself, watched the old woman's eyes which reflected the ki he held in his hands, and showed, for the first time, a trace of fear.

Remembering Ryoga's actions upon the completion of his attack, he channeled his power into the ground beneath their feet, and whispered with a trace of resignation, "Shishi hokodan."

It took approximately 1.3 seconds. Then the world exploded into light and his last thought was a dim satisfaction at Cologne's shriek of sudden pain before a clamy unconsciousness swept over his body.

-

It was a long and painful walk to Dr. Tofu's clinic, but one that was necessary and unhalting.

Cologne lay dead, nothing left but the clean-up. Her body had been cut and burned, and she had been too long with too much blood being lost. Blood that leaked onto her green robes and came away on his hands when he touched her to make sure she was really dead and blood that had washed down the drain in the dirty public bathroom, all except a faint pink tinge that he had scrubbed at irritably until his skin ached. Nothing so terrible. No regrets. He had only done what was necessary, even if he had hit her with maybe a little more power than necessary, even if he had felt like strangling her body, just to make sure, like cutting her into little pieces, like submerging her in ice water. Instead, all he had done was to snap her neck.

Just to make sure.

Of course, the first thing he'd done was to hurry over to Ryoga, hurry to see him undamaged, thank the fates. A crater had spread under the pressure, but it had been relatively narrow and concentrated. It hadn't reached the mattress. Still, he shivered deep inside at the thought that he might have killed his one, his only, that he hadn't stopped to think.

Shampoo and Mousse made no move to prevent his exit. They just stared with their unresponding glass eyes. He asked them to follow him, and they did. If they were aware that the puppet master was dead, neither one gave any indication.

Finally, he reached the doctor's office, set Ryoga down and whispered pleadingly, "Fix him. Make him better. Please."

Dr. Tofu looked at him with detached concern. "What happened to him, Ranma-kun?"

Always the first question.

Looking away, he murmured, "He was raped, Tofu-sensei. I think he's hurt on the inside...he was bleeding...please...."

With a slight nod, the doctor gestured that he be set down for proper examination. The table cloth that had been hastily wrapped around his waist was now pulled back, while Ranma took a seat close to Ryoga's head, and watched apprehensively.

"Bruises, cuts...looks like he was roughed up pretty bad, but nothing too serious. I'd better call the hospital. They'll want a blood sample to check. We want to make sure he didn't contract any diseases. Do you know who's responsible?"

"Yes...but I don't think we'll be pressing charges." Ranma answered, head bowed, eyes fixed on his other's face, watching the slight expansion and retraction the shallow breathing caused in his mouth. He hated the tone the doctor was speaking with. The indifference. He knew, on a deeper level, that this shell had been built up to allow a good man to do his job competently, that being hysterical wouldn't help anyone. Still, he felt like shrieking, "This is RYOGA! I LOVE him! Show a little COMPASSION, dammit!"

"No?"

"No. It wasn't Mousse's fault. Oh, yeah," sapphire eyes rolled in the direction of the room's door, "he an' Shampoo're out in the front room. The old ghoul brainwashed 'em, usin' that whatchamacallit shampoo technique. After you're done with Ryoga," this said with a tad too much emphasis, "see if you can't do something about them, okay?"

Nodding mutely, the doctor considered asking what had happened, then shook his head. Whatever had occurred, it had obviously strained Ranma emotionally. Questions could wait. For now, he needed to call the Tokyo hospital. Ryoga was going to need stitches, pain-killers, the sorts of things that he had not specialized in. He hadn't done anything like that in so long.... Bone-setting, herbal remedies, pressure points; that kind of thing, he was good at. He considered himself an alternative healer, and was flattered that Ranma had come to him with this, but he should have gone to a proper hospital.

However, that the rapist had been one of the Chinese was good news. The Amazons were so isolated and conservative of their males that it was unlikely he would have STDs.

With a deep sigh, he turned and made the phone call to the hospital. They would send over an ambulance right away. Good. The sooner Ryoga was in intensive, the better.

_%Beautiful Dreamer 9%_

"Ryoga?"

He knew that voice.

"Ryoga...."

His name, being said or rather repeated, over and over....

He blinked a little, looking around himself. He didn't recognize the room, but it felt comfortable and safe somehow, music playing softly in the background. Lights flickered from the stereo, while the levels of lyric and base rippled along their respective meters. He shook himself, tried to find himself, wherever he was, his attention was wanted....

Still, it was a nice room, and he allowed himself to be pulled into the atmosphere. Wrapped in quaking candlelight, shadows licking along the walls, eating away at the corners where the ceiling beams met. It was old-style, though he didn't immediately notice any doors and could not help but wonder how he'd gotten here.

A hand on his shoulder, gently, pleading. "Please, Ryo-kun," a velvety panicky whisper along the inside of his neck.

He focused himself, letting his location drop for the moment, faced his companion, and lost his breath to other boy.

Smiling faintly, the merry, pleasured, knowing look, blue eyes glowing phosphorescently in the light, in the darkness.

"I almost thought I'd lost you," he murmured in his perfect voice, in his throaty silky perfect voice, and he tilted his head a little to emphasize the words, though they were already forgotten.

"Never," he said in reassurance, eyes moving up and down, never resting on anything else but the sapphirine glass pools in his face.

Dressed elegantly in tuxedo, mostly satin with a silk undershirt, legs crossed and a crystal goblet in one outstretched hand. Even the boning of that hand, those fingers, was mesmerizing, so delicate and well-formed and everything else that could possibly be important.

"Where are we?" he asked softly, sensing that his other knew more than he was letting on.

Soft, masculine giggle. Blue eyes glittering, smile broadening, he answered sweetly, "Does it matter?"

No, truth was, it didn't. Not while this boy sat so eloquently, large eyes suddenly focused on the fire which was suddenly roaring with pleasant crisp background noises. Profile beautiful in and of itself, eyes open or closed, though, of course, he preferred open.

"You're perfect. You know that?"

A deep, reverberating sigh. He almost looked a little sad. "Yes, I know. I know you think I'm perfect. Can't you forget about it for just a little while? Relax, just be yourself?"

What? He blinked in confusion. "Myself? I am being myself."

"Oh." Disappointment darted over his features, and he looked tired suddenly. "Oh. All right."

Why was his precious distressed? Didn't he see the perfection? The utter, vital perfection? Didn't it please him?

"Don't you like this?" he asked worriedly.

And his boy-god turned to him with that same slightly-unhappy expression. "I love it, of course. I love *you*. But.... But I wish...." He looked at a loss for words. Slumped in place.

Confused, now more than ever, he moved to bridge the distance between them. "I don't understand...."

"I love you," his other complied breathlessly. "I want you. But I want you to be happy, Ryo-kun. I want you to be *happy*. I want you to love *me*, just for being me. For my flaws, too."

"But you don't have any flaws," he argued, a strange feeling of drowning coming over him.

Sounding frustrated, the other boy whispered, "We all have flaws, Ryo-kun. You included. If you don't see my flaws...you don't see *me*. If you don't see me, how can you love me?"

These words seemed to drift, to echo through his mind, even as the room began to spin. "I...I don't know," he admitted, frightened by the fact.

And the couch broke apart, and the walls shattered, and the fire and the candles went out in a sudden gust of harsh wind. And he sat looking miserably over the ruin of their hideaway, while the very floor they stood on split down the middle, separating them.

"Ryoga...." his only called out, startled. "Jump! You can make it!"

"But...but...." He couldn't find the words to describe everything around them, couldn't find the words.... "My paradise...." he moaned lowly, crumpling to his knees.

"Forget about it!" he was shouting, gesturing wildly. "Jump! C'mon, Ryo-kun, jump!"

His paradise, his perfection, gone. And he watched helplessly, his legs seeming to have turned to molten led, while their halves of the earth moved farther and farther away from each other, until he could no more have bridged the gap between them than fly on wings made of ash.

And the world crumbled into nothingness, emptiness, and he called out mournfully, "Ranma...."

The pain and the blackness violated his mind, and he fell, into a heap, while the ground underneath him grew hot and burned his skin, his flesh, but most of all....

-

The first thing he noticed was the light. He felt like he'd been staring at it for hours, and may have well been. But he noticed it anyway, the dust motes floating through it, dancing down the stream and making the air seem dirty. It was so bright, so very, very bright....

Oh, he would have liked to think the first thing he had noticed was Ranma, but that would have been a lie, and where had lying ever gotten him to. First was the light, then the window, then the ceiling, then the wall.

The ceiling in its customary shade of white, drops of uneven paint evident as with any other surface like it, and in the center, a bald light bulb with a cord that dangled just out of his reach.

The walls and their wallpaper, with its intricate-but-faded design of blue and violet and red flowers, not what a hospital ought to look like, which was why he didn't realize just yet that that was where he was.

Then he noticed the sheets, cold and smelling of starch, and then, out of the corner of his eye, a vase of flowers. Four white carnations, three long-stemmed red roses, one tiger lily, in varying stages of decay. The roses and the lily looked rather fresh, whereas the carnations were shedding petals onto their stand. There was a ribbon, blue in color, wrapped around the neck of the vase, accompanied by a card with his name scrawled elegantly. His name.

Reading it, he came back to himself, remembered who he was and thought to worry over what could have happened to result in hospitalization. The Hibikis were a tough lot by breeding --they wouldn't have lasted long if such were not the case-- and he was hardly ever sick. And this had to be a hospital, though he'd apparently been moved to a different wing, a non-critical room. Sitting up a little, he looked the room over again, for some trace of the reason for his being here.

The moment he moved, he regretted it. A dull ache, the kind of ache one feels when there should be pain but isn't, concentrated between his thighs. Fear bubbled up inside him, and a dawning panic as it came back to him in a rush of horror, bits and shattered remnants of the...the.... He couldn't find a word to describe it. And a swirling sickness accompanied all attempts. Looking for something else, *anything* else to think about, he recalled the odd dream he'd had. But there was only an echo of it, a feel of foreboding, as the details slipped through his mental fingers like so many grains of sand. Frowned a little, and shook it from his head.

His train of thought derailed upon seeing Ranma. Ranma, his black-haired earth-angel, his boy-god. Asleep, turned in place and dozing peacefully against the chair's head, arms folded to make a cusion. He was making the sweetest, most adorable little breathing sounds, soft lips parting and nearly closing, a tiny drop of liquid coiled in the left-hand curve of his mouth.

He shivered a little, feeling the building heat in his nether regions. He was so used to seeing Ranma like this only right before he took the other boy, and was powerfully aroused by being alone in the same room with his sleeping, vulnerable body. He stiffled this with difficulty, reminding himself that, as beautiful and as perfect -- he swallowed hard, and shook himself again. Reluctant for some reason to use the word "perfect". Well, as beautiful as this boy was, even in his disheveled clothes from yesterday, he was forever out of reach.

For that goddamned Chinese boy had stolen...had defiled...and rendered him...soiled, at best. He could see the liberties taken like a tangible film upon his hands. Were he to touch his god, the horrible sticky blood-scented filth would rub off. And if there was one thing Ryoga Hibiki refused to do, it was ruin his treasure by spreading such dishonor.

He closed his eyes and willed the pain to come, but nothing did, only that same ache where the pain should have been, and he rolled over miserably on his side and hoped that somehow he would die before Ranma would wake up, before he had to face those beautiful sapphires and tell him what had happened.

"Ryoga?"

It came out like a yawn but froze him in place like a gun to the temple. He turned slowly, watched Ranma stir and stretch in that same cat-like manner. Blue eyes looked troubled suddenly.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine," he lied stiffly, and watched as his dearest moved a hand forward and to rest gently on his shoulder. He felt himself ducking it fearfully, and saw the concern that resulted.

Too much concern. As if...as if....

"Ranma," he began, honestly terrified of the coming answer, "how did I get here?"

He knew his worst fears had been realized when the other boy hesitated.

"How much do you remember?" was asked cautiously.

Trepeditious, but suddenly sure that Ranma knew already, he answered flatly, "I remember Mousse raping me."

Yes, and his boy-god winced. "Well...don't hold it against him. It was the old ghoul's fault. She used that shampoo on him, him an' Shampoo. Even if the doc can get their memories back, they'll spend the rest of their lives knowing they were parties to this whole mess."

"What about Cologne?" he asked, suddenly curious.

Ranma looked away. "She's dead," he muttered, obviously embarrassed. "Knowing what she did t'you...I kinda lost it."

He nodded indifferently. He could understand Ranma's feelings, though he hadn't thought the other boy cared enough to do something like that. He sighed deeply, shrugged a little. And blinked when he realized that Ranma was leaning over to kiss him. With effort, he pulled away, and felt those sapphires on his bent head, watching him intensely. A feeling of emptiness, something from his dream, washed over him.

"Ryoga? What's wrong?"

Slowly, in a very soft and halting voice, he responded, "I think we should stop seeing each other, Ranma." He could feel the confusion, and worse, the hurt, that radiated from his other's body.

"What?" was whispered, disbelieving.

"We shouldn't see each other anymore," he repeated carefully, trying to keep all emotion out of his voice.

"But...but...." Ranma sputtered, his voice breaking, "But you said you loved me!"

That pain was more than he could bare, and he turned, matching his own shattered and tearing expression with his lover's. "I do," he murmured, so quietly, and his eyes were burning and watering.

"Then, why...?"

No, Ranma was going to argue with him, demand answers he couldn't give, he had to say something...and the original urge to tell everything rose again, and this time, he didn't fight it. What did it matter anymore, whether Ranma hated him? If saying this would make his boy-god understand, spare him the pain and the dishonor, than what of his own broken heart? It was of no consequence.

"Ranma," he began, voice unsteady, "I took advantage of you."

This was unexpected, and the named boy only blinked at him. "Huh?"

"I took advantage of you. Have been, for a while now." He swallowed on his suddenly-dry throat, closed his eyes to better concentrate.

"The first time, back in junior high. I love you, Ranma. Always have. I wanted you so badly. I had a lot of trouble concentrating in school because of it. For over a year, I just let it keep building until it got so bad.... I was horny all the time, couldn't stop thinking about you, but I knew you'd never go out with me or anything like that. You were so beautiful, and all the girls liked you, and...I was jealous.

"I hated being an outsider, hated how you didn't even seem to know I existed, everything. I tried learning martial arts to get closer to you, but you were so good already that we were never in the same class. I was so happy when you offered to train me, and I always loved fighting...the way you'd touch me to show me what I'd done wrong in a move...and my feelings for you just got worse. You were always complaining about the way the girls hit on you, and I really started hating them, and.... Well, this uncle of mine has kind of a weird hobby...

"He screws around with chemicals, and creates exotic drugs, which he then markets to big companies. Some of them, he's only selling in certain countries, because of the kinds of things in them.... Anyway, he had this one sleeping powder worked out that can make people sleep through ANYTHING. I took some of it, because recently, I'd been having trouble sleeping...always dreaming, usually about you.

"And a couple of days later, you asked me to spend the night over at your camp. You remember that? I said yes, but I couldn't get any sleep. I mean, you were right next to me, practically naked! All I could think about was how much I wanted you.... So, I took out some of that powder, and was gonna use it on myself, so I'd get to sleep...and then I realized something. If I used it on *you*, I could take you, like I'd wanted to for the last YEAR or so, and...and I did.

"I was pretty bad at it, at first, but I invited you over a little while later, and tried it again. I felt kind of bad about it, a little guilty, but I was just a kid, and didn't realize exactly what I was *doing* to you. I'd say I've taken you about...one-hundred-eighty time over the years. I'd stop, but I think I'm addicted to sex. I meant to tell you at the beginning, but I was scared of losing you. All right? I'm a hentai and a whore. Do you still want to continue this relationship?"

The last was said almost challengingly. Then Ryoga dared to lift his eyes from the sheets, and looked over at his other.

Somewhere over the course of the story, Ranma's eyes had become larger and larger and were now saucers in his head, the shock of it successfully piercing his exhaustion. Now he looked rather put-out, and a little queasy. Watching him carefully, Ryoga braced himself for the explosion that would follow.

Ranma's own mind was a turmoil. He registered shock, and even anger, but most of him just felt...lost. He had trusted this boy. Trusted him with heart and soul and body and mind. He was Ryoga's, and Ryoga was his, and he just wanted that, just wanted it to keep on going. Even the rough, invading hands, even the pain.... He couldn't deny he'd enjoyed it. Masochist, he criticized himself. But perhaps he was. It didn't matter.

The trouble was that Ryoga had done something *wrong*, something that couldn't just be forgotten, as much as he wanted to. How could he express that he didn't care? All he felt was pity, pity and a little anger for what his other had done. Why did he have to go and do something stupid like that? he wondered irritably. He should have just asked. I would've let him...would've let him...oh, Kami-sama, don't think about that now. He didn't want to be hard, he wanted to be thinking clearly, so that he could sort out this entire mess. Surely, there had to be a way to forgive this. What they had between them...it was too wonderful to just lose over something like this!

He loved Ryoga. He certainly wasn't going to stop because of this. If anything, it only caused him a little pain, knowing what must have been going through that little boy's head to cause him to do such a thing. Ryoga would never have done something like that, unless he felt there were no other alternatives.

...Right...?

How much did he really know about this boy? The Ryoga he had thought he'd known didn't seem to exist at all, and the one he was getting to know...the one he loved still...did he honestly know him well enough to say what he would and wouldn't do?

I would've staked my life on Ryoga never doing something like this. That he was too shy, too.... And I would've lost that bet.

Was Ryoga really...?

No! He wouldn't allow that! He wouldn't let any doubt seep into his mind. He loved Ryoga, loved him dearly and thoroughly and to death. Needed Ryoga. He refused to let something like this...something that didn't matter to him in the least...come between them.

Yes, he could understand this. Forgive this. He knew what it was like, having a father that was never around, a mother that had never been a mother. He knew what it was like to be so afraid of not being good enough in the eyes of someone important. And he asked himself, If it had been me, if I had been in his shoes...would I have done the same thing?

Self could not answer for a long moment. It was hard to picture, spending so long lusting after someone who never seemed to notice him, hard to imagine, but....

...But he supposed any one of his iinazukes would have been able to tell him exactly what it was like. Shampoo would know. Ukyo would know. Kodachi and Akane...they would know. And Shampoo had tried things to get him to love her back. If she had had the resources, he could picture her doing the same thing. Kodachi had tried similar things already. Akane and Ukyo...they were trickier. But he supposed that even they, if they had felt as their companions in the Ranma marathon felt, would have done the same.

It was really no worse than anything they had tried, this had just worked, he told himself firmly. It didn't matter, damn it. It didn't. He would rather have known, would rather have known so that he could get to know Ryoga's body as the lost boy had gotten to know his. So that he could pleasure in the same manner, with the same effectiveness. He wished....

...And the arousal returned and he beat it down again. This was not the time.

But surely...surely....

A light went on in his mind, suddenly. The way Ryoga had spoken, had told the story...it was familiar. He recognized it as being similar to the one he had often used with Akane. The tone of one who knows that their words are about to result in pain. Only there was something new in Ryoga's voice...more than just acceptance and resignation...there was apprehension, and...excitement, maybe.

He not only expected to be hurt, he *wanted* to be hurt.

He thought it was the least of what he deserved.

And what had possessed him to say it now, what could the motive have been, other than to....

He thought it would drive Ranma away from him. He had said it to end their relationship.

Oh, Kami, does he hate me that much? That he'd use *anything* to get away from me?

No, Ryoga'd said he loved him, surely it wasn't a lie, surely....

But regardless, Ryoga was *his*. And he was not about to let him get away so easily, not for a stupid reason like this.

Yes, stupid, his mind repeated. He would sort everything out later, but for now, he would put this idiotic excuse aside. He would tell Ryoga, and tell him good. The only thing he would have changed, knowing this, was that he wished he had known then, known about that little boy's attempts at loving him, so that he could give Ryoga what he had needed so badly all these years....

A hug.

Startled, Ryoga jerked back again, found himself looking at his angel's face and seeing...compassion...pity...still a little shock...but no anger any longer. Anger had been replaced by a kind of determination.

"Did you hear me?!" he demanded, frightened by the warm touch of Ranma's flawless skin, knowing that already his precious was being dirtied. "I said I raped you! Over and over with no regard--"

Ranma interrupted him with a brief and paralyzing kiss. "I heard. It wouldn't have been rape if you'd 've asked me. I forgive you. And I still love you."

No!! his mind rebelled, screaming in anguish at this unexpected snarl. No!! What was the matter with Ranma?! Didn't he see that his virtue had been utterly destroyed?!

"What about what you said?" he asked, voice rising in his panic, going shrill. "That you never wanted to be fucked? What do you think I was going? Don't you care?!"

Simply, eyes locking with his own disarmingly, Ranma replied, "You were in love with me, right? So it wasn't fucking. I understand. I'm glad you told me. I'm yours, Ryoga. To do with as you please. For better or for worse, I'm yours. And you are mine. And if you think I'm giving you up that easily--" he half-stood, laying his hands palm-down on the bed, crawling to Ryoga's lap, arching his back in the movement, "--you're sorely mistaken."

And Ryoga pulled away, terrified by Ranma's behavior, by his proximity. Even while a part of him was elated that his god had finally gotten it. "No," he said fiercely. "I was wrong, Ranma. Very wrong. I never wanted...I never wanted to *own* you like that! I wanted...you were supposed to..." and now he was, but too late, "...supposed to fight me. I wanted you just the way you always have been, wild, and.... But I can't have you now, don't you see? I don't deserve something so wonderful, after all I've done." He turned to watch the flower vase, watch the petals fall. "I'm dirty, Ranma. My honor...you can't--"

So that's what this was all about. Ranma narrowed his eyes at the very thought. No. He would NOT let the old woman win.

"Now, don't you start." he interrupted. "Cologne was pulling the same shit, saying I couldn't love you anymore, and you know what, Ryoga? It's a load of fucking crap. I don't care what happened to you, I don't care what you did to me -- I don't care. I love you, and none of these...~mistakes~...are gonna change that, you hear me?! This is NOW, Ryoga. You can deal with it, or you can make excuses."

"But...."

Ryoga turned his body slowly under the sheets, turned away from Ranma's fierce, challenging eyes, away from his beauty, his gorgeous, perfect....

No, not perfect, he interrupted his thoughts. And that's when the dream came back to him.

("I love you, I want you. But I want you to be happy, Ryo-kun. I want you to be *happy*. I want you to love *me*, just for being me. For my flaws, too."

"But you don't have any flaws...."

"We all have flaws, Ryo-kun. You included. If you don't see my flaws...you don't see *me*. If you don't see me, how can you love me?")

He flinched away from the words. Ranma wasn't flawed, he couldn't be flawed, he mustn't be flawed....

But he was, wasn't he? Damaged, yes. But still beautiful. Still, he loved him. Would always love him. But what about....

("Forget about it!")

And he shook himself. He was troubling too much over the loss of his paradise, as he had been in the dream, to notice the salvation being offered to him. He thought of how they had been separated forever, how he had been too worried about losing the perfection to worry about losing the person.

He would not make the same mistake twice. If Ranma could forgive it....

He could, too.

And he turned haltingly, and hugged his other tenderly. "I do love you, Ranma. And, if it's really all right, I...."

"Yes," Ranma whispered back, voice light and soft and happy. "It's really all right. I love you, too, Ryo-kun."

They were silent for a time, and then pulled apart, and he looked at his ruffled lover, watched the boy briefly fret with his rumpled clothing, and then shrug it off as unimportant. Noticed the tears rimming his sapphirine eyes. He lifted a finger, and brushed it gently away.

"I almost thought I'd lost you," Ranma mused, looking down at the sheets.

"You have me now," Ryoga reassured him, and they resumed their gentle hold.

"Yes. Thank Kami. And I ain't never gonna let you go again."

_%Beautiful Dreamer 10%_

Ranma lay sprawled on his belly, making a list. Except for when he wasn't. When he wasn't, he was doodling crude little SD images. He was trying to concentrate, really he was, but his mind kept wandering. Of course, he was *supposed* to be doing make-up school assignments, but that could wait. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, with promises of further such later on. And it was later on that he was interested in.

Not that he didn't have his work books out, but that was mainly because Ryoga had insisted upon it. He smiled a little, thoughts running off-track again. The said boy was currently ip in his bedroom, "resting".

It hadn't looked terribly restful to him, the manga titles spread out between his legs, but then, *anything* made him feel better than watching Ryoga running around the house, preparing meals and such, as he usually did. Over and over, the other boy protested, saying he hardly felt the stitches, and then he would go to sit down and wince. It might have been comical if he hadn't been so damned worried for Ryoga's sake.

He still hated what had happened, hated that it had been a sick attempt to get to *him*, but his anger felt empty and unfocused. He tried not to dwell on it, because the unpleasant fact remained that he wished the old woman was still alive, if only for the pleasure of killing her all over again. That sort of thing worried him.

He tapped the butt of his pen against the notebook he was scrawling in, thought a moment, added one thing to his list and crossed another off. Five remained. One, he realized abruptly, used pork in most of their specialty dishes. While not sure that Ryoga would be offended, he didn't want to risk it. This night had to be special; it was an apology, for the whole mess, for years of unknowing rejection, for the bread feud, for Jusenkyo itself. For Akane, and all the others. For the stupid taunts, for the meaningless fights, for every time Ryoga had ever been hurt, felt abandoned, for every night that he had spent alone when a few words were all that stood between him and what he had wanted so badly. For the isolation that made him afraid to say such things. For everything.

A hand on his back made him jump. He turned, startled, and covered the list with his forearms. "Ryoga," he murmured, while trying to hide his nervousness.

The named boy smiled, nodded, leaned forward and brushed a kiss over his forehead. "Ranma," he responded in kind, aimed a sharp breath up his face and ruffled the thick black strands out of his eyes momentarily.

"You -- you're supposed to be resting," he accused half-jeartedly, feeling strong arms encircling him from behind, hands carressing his chest through the thin silk of his current shirt. He could feel his nipples pebbling, and swallowed raspily, allowing himself to be pulled up into a sitting position and embraced.

"I'm feeling much better now," was answered, between little nips and kisses against his neck.

He was half-aware of the flitting sensation as his shirt was opened, slowly, not like previous performances, a button every few seconds, fingers moving down laboriously. Those same hands getting inside, making play of his naked skin.

"What were you doing?" he thought he heard Ryoga ask, but it was difficult to be sure, distorted as it was by the flesh he had in his mouth when he spoke.

Hastily, he knocked the list across the room and replied, "Just my homework."

"Hmm. Important."

Ranma started to agree, but was interrupted by the warm, always warm, so pleasant, hand that slid down his belly, fingers tracing through the little hairs they encountered, and fondled the bulge forming in his pants. His response was reduced to a lusty moan, and he gave himself over to the other boy's desires.

He knew Ryoga had been wanting to feel their lovemaking from the other end, and he was happy to comply, but stitches and soreness --damn that ghoul, he thought unbidden-- prevented this, as they prevented most...extensive loveplay. It was frustrating, having to ignore the urges his body was sending him, but he had managed it last night, and would do the same now.

Ryoga's sex drive surprised him, honestly, as the doctor had warned him of exactly the opposite, that the raping would make him sexually insecure. But everyone dealt with pain in their own way, and he supposed Ryoga was just trying to forget about it. The only thing that had really changed was Ryoga's agression, and it was something that Ranma had to admit, he didn't miss one bit. It was sort of a turn-on, in an odd way, but could easily be replaced. He wondered what Ryoga would say to leather jumpsuits...easy enough to find...hmmm....

Ryoga had him prone now, resting gently back against himself, legs spread, one hand moving over his right-hand pectoral in little patterns, the other carressing his inner thigh, and occassionally looping over his swelling penis. Ranma grunted in response, making odd little animal noises, while that hand dexderiously untied his drawstring pants, loosening them enough so that he could slip between the satin fabric of his boxers and his aching member.

He moaned softly, throwing back his head while Ryoga sucked gently on his ear lobe, flicking the tip of his tonge out and along its cup every now and then. He knew he was blushing, feeling Ryoga fingering his pubic hair, rubbing the short curls between his forefinger and thumb, using the hoop this formed to grasp his shaft, playing with his testies with the remainder of his hand. All of which made it extremely difficult to think.

His groaning was louder now, something Ryoga stiffled with a sudden deep kiss, and he arched his back against the myraid of sensation. Between the hands and the lips and the tongue that were once more toying with his ear --he had a real fetish there, he had discovered-- he was hard-put to do much more in return than breathe haltingly, and even that he forgot sometimes.

His mind itself seemed on fire, while his body shivered with the beginnings of release; he wanted to resist, but found it rather difficult with the added probing finger, one which had been simply stroking the length of skin between balls and ass, one which ducked inside when his anus expanded suddenly in his excitement.

With a last rough tug, he came, orgasaming so easily, with none of the stumbling one might have expected of a couple who had been together all of five days. Then again, he reminded himself, this was by no means Ryoga's first time exploring his body. Damn, he probably knows my turn-on's better than I do! he reflected with a bit of a smirk. It seemed funny now, in the afterglow, but then, most things did.

It was hard to take anything seriously when you felt so warm...so sleepy.... His smirk widened into an actual smile, and he leaned up to kiss his lover gently.

He could tell his lover was unsatisfied, could feel the heat and the hardness against his ass. He wanted nothing more than to sate his partner's need, but at the moment, he was so deleriously pleasured...he was only vaguely aware of his hand leaving his pants briefly, of his own scent drifting past, of the little suckling noises before the hand dove back in again, and rested a moment, stroking his inner thigh again.

Then Ryoga was slipping away, settling him gently but slipping away. Perhaps heading up to his room to masterbate, very, very carefully. He wished he had the energy to return his favor, and wondered at having it last night, but not today...maybe it had something to do with the daytime sun...and then he drifted off to sleep.

-

"Where are we going?"

It must have been the tenth time he'd heard that question. Scowling, Ranma replied crisply, "If I had any intention of telling you, I would've the first time you asked."

"Oh." Ryoga frowned, trying to think. He wanted to grab the other boy and shake him until he changed his mind, but knew that was unappropriate. In the action's place, he couldn't find any other response. As he had every other time he faced this delema, Ryoga did nothing, only allowed himself to be pulled along by the wrist.

"Hurry up a little, will you?"

"If I knew where we were going...."

"Telling you wouldn't help, anyhow. If I said we were going North, you'd start trying to drag me East. C'mon. We have to get there before they close."

"Before *who* close?"

Ranma started to answer, then stopped and smirked. "Too bad I caught that one, eh, P-chan? Almost had me, there."

"I can live with that. I had you plenty earlier."

Pausing in consternation over that, Ranma very nearly went right past the little store. "What's that supposed to...?" he started, before noticing it. "Ah! Here we are!"

Ryoga looked up at the building dubiously. "Ranma, they rent tuxedos here." He frowned, narrowing his eyes. "What exactly do you have up your sleeve, here?"

Grinning, sapphire eyes rolled and he was dragged inside.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise."

Okay, a surprise. He could deal with that. Surprises were supposed to be pleasant. Too bad he'd never had one that came out that way. Besides, he hated fancy clothes. They were terribly uncomfortable.

Catching his expression, Ranma nodded. "I know. Tux's make me nausious, too."

"Then why...?"

"Formal attire's required. Hey, don't look at me like that. It isn't *my* fault."

"We're going to a restaurant?"

Ranma threw down his hand and crossed his arms over his chest expressively. "Okay, YES, we're going to a restaurant. Happy now? Geez. Can't even let a surprise be, can you?" Not waiting for an answer, he hurried off towards the back.

Leaving Ryoga to blink. Shouldn't they be looking around carefully? Ranma was acting like he already knew what they.... Oh. He probably did. Smiling a little ruefully, wondering where in the last two hours Ranma had found the time to plan all of this, he leaned against a display and waited for his boy-god to return. Yes, this was a side of Ranma that had been sorely missing. He was glad at its return.

He blinked again. Wasn't the display rack...moving? He straightened quickly, but it was too late, and a number of tuxedos went crashing to the ground. It didn't damage anything...but it did serve to make him the center of attention. Embarrassed, he began to fix the display, only somewhat startled when Ranma's voice interrupted.

"Here we go! All paid for and...." Ranma paused, looking over the mess. "What'd you do, Koibito?"

Ryoga flushed a little. "I was leaning against this and...well, obviously. A little help?"

"Sure. Hey, what do you think?" He held the suits respectfully up against himself, and waited for the reaction.

It occured to him suddenly that those suits looked very familiar.... Satin and silk. Black over white. Ranma's collar was a little frilly, but it matched the sleeves, so he supposed that was all right. His own was rather plain, straight-forward and elegant. He thought the clothes were a nice match for their respective personalities.

"I like them. Are we changing here?"

Ranma smirked. "Oh, yeah, I can just see it. We walk in, 'Hey, can we use your bathroom a sec? Thanks.' I guess we may as well change here. It's here or the street."

"Hmmm.... Hard decision...."

"Hey, that ain't funny," Ranma mumbled, before realizing his lover wasn't being serious. It still wasn't funny, but he'd been worried for a moment.... "The changin' room's 're in the back."

"Has anyone ever told you that your grammar gets proportionally worse with your excitement? Good thing you don't talk while orgasaming, right?" He grinned, and winked flirtatiously, managing to throw his other off-balance before following him into the back of the store.

A quick change, and they were running through the streets once more.

"We could have taken the train...."

"No way. I blew all my pocket money on the tuxedo rental."

"Right. And then we ruin them by running through Nerima."

"Just shut up. We're almost there."

Ryoga smirked. He squeezed Ranma's hand. "But if I shut up, I can't tell you what a lovely evening I'm having."

That tripped Ranma's mind over itself. "Say what?"

"Later on. I mean, as fun as this all is, I wouldn't call it lovely."

"Neither would I. Oh, good." He stopped again.

"'Oh, good'?" Ryoga repeated, having to skid hurriedly to avoid running past the restaurant they'd stopped in front of.

"You recognize this place?"

"No. Should I?"

"Nope. Just checking."

And they went inside.

-

The food was nice enough, Ranma reflected, though it had nothing on U-chan's, in his opinion. Then again, he didn't really go in much for fancy cusine. Picking at the odd-looking thing on his plate, he glanced up and across the table, unconsciously kneeding his fingers into the red table cloth.

"You having a good time?" he asked carefully, trying to keep his speech pattern presentible for their atmosphere.

"Oh, sure," Ryoga assured him, smiling, taking another large mouthful.

"Good."

Silence ensued. Ranma coughed.

"Um, you've eaten this kind of food before?"

"No. You should have had the squid. What is that stuff, anyway?"

"I don't know. I wasn't really paying attention when the waiter lectured me on it," he responded absently.

Ryoga laughed. "What's it taste like?"

"Honestly? Styrofoam in lobster sauce. Tasteless, but expensive."

Another chuckle. "Maybe we shouldn't have done this...."

"No, no!" Ranma waved away the thought hurriedly. This had to be *special*. "It's my own fault for ordering something when I didn't know what the heck was in it."

"All the same. Why not just drop this, and maybe go see a movie?"

"In tuxedos?"

"We'd be the best-dressed there. What do you say, Ranma?"

He hesitated, but Ryoga was right. With a resigned sigh, he nodded. "I'll pay for this...stuff...and we'll get outta here, okay?"

"All right."

-

It was a quiet walk back from the movie theater, each boy with their hands in their pockets, one looking at the sky, and the other at the ground.

"Ranma...I appreciate this."

Ranma smirked humorlessly. "Yeah. Appreciate the whole damned situation. I'm sorry, Ryoga." And he ~was~ sorry. Sorry he hadn't been able to enjoy something "special". "I would've liked to 've seen the end of the movie, though."

"Yes, well. You were the one who threw a fit over the spilt nachos. It shouldn't have surprised you that we got thrown out."

"Ryoga, it's a ~rental~ tux!"

Ryoga reached over to him, and cupped his chin gently. "I know. I'm sorry. But look, I really did like this. The effort. But you made a mistake, Ranma. The same mistake I made at the beginning of all of this." With a deep, long-suffering sigh, he lowered his gaze pensively to the ground. "You got too caught up in it being 'perfect' to care whether *either* of us was having a good time."

Frowning, he tried to answer in the negative. Tried, and failed. It was true. He started to respond, when the cloudy sky above them made a threatening rumble.

And then burst into a downpour.

The girl sighed unhappily, and turned in place to scoop a piglet out of his tuxedo. This time, she didn't bother to complain about the mud and rain water. Just tried to straighten her clothes, gather his, and then continued to his house.

"Man. Or lack thereof. This *would* happen. Damn."

P-chan bwee'd worriedly in her arms, trying to communicate that it was all right.

"Yeah, well. You can cheer me up when we get back home and get ourselves a little hot water. I was in the mood for a bath, anyway."

-

Having skinned her wet attire and set it out to dry, Ranma made her way into the bathroom.

"Just this once, Ryo-kun, can we skip the washing off?"

A spirited shiver was her only answer.

"That a yes? I'm gonna call that a yes."

Before the piglet could contradict or agree, she plunged into the waiting furo.

Two young men surfaced, and sighed, equal parts contentment and resignation.

"Like I was saying," Ranma went on, "I'm sorry. This last bit...eh, I just screwed everything up. I was really looking forward to.... I was just trying to...."

And Ryoga closed the distance between them, and made it very clear that there are times when words aren't necessary.

_%Beautiful Dreamer 11%_

They sat across each other in the little room. One-third of a small apartment they had rented, not because they wanted each other's company, but because they could not, either of them, afford to live alone. She thought perhaps she was lonely, wanting to return to her homeland, but afraid to do so. He thought the same of her, and after so many years of loving her, was not about to refuse such a simple request as companionship.

She was afraid for good reason. Afraid of facing her clan members with the words on her lips that would be on her lips. That their matriarch was dead. That her husband was the one responsible for the death. And that she had lost even him to another man.

Homosexuality confused her on many levels. In Japan, she dealt with the foreign strangeness by clinging to her Amazon beliefs, but there were none, considering the love of another of the same sex. Not really. It never came up, and when it did, there was no public ruling on it. It was simply not done. Her encounter of it only left her wondering how she ought to be reacting.

It wasn't that they disapproved of it, or her reaction would have been simple. They simply *did not* deal with the subject. In such a small village, women were for bearing children, and men were for siring children. Those unfit for sire, however, were not to seek out other men. Suppose one unfit was to come upon one who *was* fit? A waste of a good male.

Yes. As this Ryoga boy was moving in on her airen. He was defective, obviously; that problem with directions was supposed to be hereditary, genetic, and thus a flaw in his breeding. She ought to go and kill him, reclaim her husband by any means possible, and take him back to China and--

She shook her thoughts firmly back into order. Frowned a little. Those were not the sorts of thoughts she ought to be having. Ranma and his male lover were happy, and more importantly, Ranma would never cooperate, even if she managed to bring down the other. The thoughts were irrational, desperate in her mind, and she realized it was still there. Another layer of mental conditioning to be removed.

It was frightening, honestly, and she tried desperately to deal with it on an impersonal level. But the fact remained that when Dr. Tofu had begun to use the restoration on her, bringing back every memory that had ever been erased, she began remembering things that she was certain she had not remembered before hand. Things from when she was much younger. And, it had been far more complex than the good doctor had bargained for, because it seemed that, not only had Cologne erased things, but had put other memories back over them. They went to see him every week or so to have another layer removed; he was afraid of doing it all at once, afraid that his limited knowledge of the technique might prove fatal.

Her personality had been simplified greatly over the years. She was starting to remember likes and dislikes, of food, of colors, that the old woman had removed at convenience. Making her easier to control. The same held true with him, apparently. His love for her had been intentionally, purposefully single-minded and wholly devoted. He had been used in this manner to keep her from being defeated by males that her great-grandmother considered "unworthy".

She was feeling a rather staggering amount of self-doubt. As the layers were peeled off, memories that she had accepted as fact were fading in and out, some days utterly transparent to the point where she could glimpse at the reality behind it. She had not, for example, refused Mousse as many times as her great-grandmother would have had her believe, and her later refusals had been, of course, reaction to her memories.

It was not that she felt love surfacing for him, but she did feel regret. Regret over what might have been. And Mousse was not the only one. She was beginning to recall summer days spent in the arms of other females, other unfit males. Things and names and faces that had simply been erased as deemed fit. She shivered in her bisexual doubts, thoughts that rampaged through her mind at a moment's notice. At the end of the process, she would be "cured", but for now, her opinions and moods and feelings were extremely unstable.

She did love Ranma, but not to the extent she had thought she did. She had experienced greater love for Amazons back home, people who no longer existed. Those she had wiped out herself, or those who had been killed in "accidents".

Under these conditions, she could not help but doubt herself. Her beliefs. Her future. She wanted to return home, but at the same time, dreaded that she would change, knew that she was already changing. Feared that the proud warrior she had been would dissolve at the hand of fate. It was hard to say that she wanted the memories, even. They caused her pain at times, and she had been happier...but she could not live any longer under the shroud her great-grandmother had created. She *would* not.

-

Akane sighed deeply. Looking at him seated across from her, it was easy to pretend he was the same person he had been a week ago. Easy to pretend he was still hers, her iinazuke, and that life proceeded as normal. She knew this would not remain the case for long. He planned to stop wearing baggy Chinese clothes to school. Not that he planned to take up the uniform -- it was the second-to-last week of school, after all, so what sense did that make? He had said something about new clothes purchased over the weekend.

Oh, they still spoke. He seemed content to remain on a friends-only basis with her, as with the other girls. In fact, she thought he was talking to her now more than before. And she tried to tone down her anger, and other such volitle reactions, as he tried to avoid teasing her. It was an unspoken agreement between them that they leave peacefully.

Ranma had said he planned to leave Nermia with Ryoga, destination unknown. But then, wasn't it always with Ryoga. Although, she had heard talk of making a stop over in China, and perhaps leaving Japan entirely for a while. She couldn't blame him for wanting it. It sounded like a nice idea, one she might take on herself, after she finished with high school and college.

Yuka approached her, Sayuri in tow, Mikana and Fu following. She knew what would come. They were going to try and comfort her, perhaps tell her that Ranma was a jerk anyway, or that they had always known he was gay, or something to that effect. She didn't want to hear it, and poked her nose into a school book, hoping that they would take the hint and leave her alone. It seemed to be working, until a hand gently forced the book out of hers.

"Akane-chan," Ukyo greeted quietly, sitting on her desk casually, and smiling a little. Sadly, she thought.

Absently, she realized that the girls had turned tail when they noticed Ukyo's approach. She would have to thank her for that.

"Ukyo," she acknowledged quietly, weightily, and waited for further words from the okonomiyaki chef.

Ukyo paused, and looked awkward for a moment. Then put a hand consolitarily on the other girl's shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said, lamely.

"Me, too," Akane agreed, and then sighed. She shot a covert glance over at their mutual former iinazuke. "But I think it's better this way, you know? The damned baka...I wish he had told me...us...sooner, but he didn't. Spilt milk, you know? I guess we'll just move on."

"Somehow," Ukyo added dejectedly, letting her bangs fall into her eyes. She was wearing her hair loose, though for once, not attempting to attract Ranma's attention. "I heard about...Cologne, but I didn't really...get the whole story." She sounded like she was trying to repress enthusiasm.

Akane wished that she wouldn't. She liked Ukyo better when she was energetic. "Neither did I. All I know for sure is that he went missing, and Ranma figured out it was the Amazon's doing, and went after him. Did you read Friday's newspaper? They had a nice article on it." When the other girl shook her head, she went on, "But basically, Ranma killed her. She'd had Mousse rape Ryoga, or something like that, and Ranma wasn't too happy with her."

"Not too happy?"

"He used a Shishi Hokodan."

"Oh. Yeah, I'd say that's pretty not happy."

There was a long silence.

"Say, you got anything to do after school today, Ukyo?" she asked quietly, looking at her desk and memorizing the covers of several books she ought to be looking at. It was study hall, after all.

"No," the chef answered dismally. "I don't know how to tell Tsubasa about Ranma's being...you know. I don't know what I'm more afraid of: that he'll try and chase after me some more, or that he'll decide he actually has a chance with Ranma *after all*."

Akane laughed at that statement. But it sounded dry and lifeless. She sighed, pushing it away. "Probably both, with your luck."

"Well," Ukyo faltered, "I guess I'm saying yes. Where you planning on going, Sugar?"

Shrugging, Akane answered, "I don't know. I was thinking a movie. How's that sound to you? Huh? A movie?"

"Sounds fine, Sugar. See you at...."

"Six. Six would be good. I'll come by your restaurant."

"All right."

And Ukyo made her way back to her seat, hoping that she had managed to start a friendship up, returning the cheerful wave from Ranma, and sighing. The rest of the day looked very dismal indeed.

-

A young man and woman were standing on the Southern bow of a ship. Taking them to China. They had finally removed the last bits of "memory dislocation" as Dr. Tofu had called it. They began a soft conversation in Mandarin, the language feeling stiff with disuse.

"Shan Pu?"

"Yes?"

"You do realize that I still love you."

She sighed. "You do realize that I still do not return that love, Mu Tsu."

He bowed his head in silence for a long time. Then nodded. "Yes, Shan Pu. I realize it," he said quietly.

They weren't sure there would be any life in China for them. Anyway to pick up the pieces. Anything at all. But they were going home. Two pieces of drift wood floating ashore once again. They were going home.

There was nothing left for them here. They could only hope for better on the banks of their homeland.

end

By the way, I am considering writing a "second book", another half of this story, to follow what Shampoo and Mousse encounter upon returning. Encouragement? Discouragement? What's the vote, people?

--SilverFox
hoping this wrapped things up, for this story, at least