Angst warnings apply. C&C apprieciated ever so much!

DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story belong to Rumiko Takahashi and I am using them without permission. However, I do not intend to sell this story, and suing me would be a waste of time anyway, as there is a long line of creditors already waiting for the wee amount of money I get every two weeks.

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~ Casualties of Honor ~
Chapter Four - Downward Spiral

Guardians of the crisp night, the shadowed forms of ancient trees stretched from the inky sea of the ground upwards, their pointed tips brushing against the abyssal black sky. The stars were scattered around a sliver thin crescent of pale moon, like careless grains of salt; ineffectual lights which did little to penetrate the heaviness of the evening hours. There was hardly any sound, save the normal noises of rustling wind, leaves being transported to their final resting places, and occasional scuffling from the more nocturnal of Nature's creatures.

Ryoga had pitched his camp on the lee side of a stone outcropping which skirted the edge of the thick forest, taking advantage of what shelter it would offer from the chilling breeze. A small campfire cast flickering light over the forms of his dome tent and pack, and warmed the young man as he came near, dropping the load of wood he had gathered beside the tent where it would be easily accessible.

Despite the fire, Ryoga shivered slightly, taking note of the temperature drop. Autumn was moving quickly this year, and there was already a bite in the air that was indicative of approaching winter. He sighed to himself, regarding his worn jacket, taking a moment to worry at a hole he found on his right sleeve after catching it on a bramble. He was going to have to dip into his shrinking funds and buy himself a new coat soon. For right now, wearing two of his shirts beneath the threadbare garment kept him fairly warm, but Ryoga had the feeling that the winter was not going to be kind to him this year.

{( Not sure why I should even bother, 'cept freezing to death doesn't really seem like a very attractive option. There are plenty of warmer ways to go. )}

He smiled humorlessly to himself and lowered into a cross-legged position by the fire. After warming up for a moment, he reached over and pulled his pack closer, opening the top flap and digging into it at the same time. He pulled out a handful of postcards, which he let fall into his lap, and a few sticks of fish jerky to chew on. It wasn't much of a dinner, but Ryoga didn't really feel like the hassle of heating anything up. He hadn't even put on a kettle to keep a supply of water simmering as he normally did. The clear star-bejeweled sky was a pretty good indication that there wasn't likely to be any precipitation tonight.

Leaning against his pack, he drew the top postcard from his lap and looked at the picture on the front. It featured a spectacular shot of Ayers Rock in Australia, glowing reddish-orange under the influence of the setting sun. Ryoga blinked at it and flipped the card over to run his eyes down the characters of his mother's small neat handwriting.

\\ Dearest Ryoga, \\ it said, \\ Australia is very beautiful, though rather too hot for my tastes. Your father and I are staying with some old friends in Sydney for a few days, and they have been taking us around to see the sights. I wish you could be here with us. The last time we were home, there was no word from you, but I saw that you took the ramen I stocked, so you must be all right. Please write soon. I miss you, love you very much, and hope to see you the next time you are home. - Your mother. \\

The young man sighed softly. The postmark on the card had been stamped four months earlier. Expressionlessly, Ryoga flipped the card into the fire, where it snapped quietly, then curled into a blacked coil of ash.

He looked at the next one, which was obviously penned by his father, if the scrawling handwriting that resembled his own was any indication. The picture was of the night sky-line of Philadelphia, and the postmark was seven months old. Ryoga read it quickly and it followed the first into the fire.

It was Hibiki family tradition to keep in touch by sending postcards home from wherever they happened to end up. Though most of the cards in Ryoga's pile were from his parents, there were a few from more removed relatives as well, such as his uncle Donaru and some cousins he hardly knew. Whenever he managed to find his way home, Ryoga was sure to discover a huge pile of correspondence stuffed into the mail box and always made a point of separating it out and taking the ones that were addressed to him. Aside from leaving short letters or notes at home as his mother often did, postcards were just about the only way in which members of the wayward family were able to keep tabs on one another and could be assured that nothing bad had befallen any of them. However, it had been a long time since Ryoga had sent any postcards home, and as the dates on his mother's grew more recent, so did her concern over the silence from her son.

Two and a half months old: \\ Ryoga, my dear one. Where are you? I didn't see any postcards from you when I was home last week . . . \\

A note he had found on the refrigerator, dated six weeks previous: \\ Sweetheart, I left you some steamed vegetables, I hope they don't go bad before you get home. Please leave me a note, I'm very worried about you. \\

Three weeks old: \\ You father and I are in Kyoto and we're staying with your Uncle Donaru for awhile. When you get home, please give us a call, the number is in my address book. Donaru says that he would be glad to buy you a plane ticket to get here. Its been such a long time since we were all together. Please get in touch soon, Ryoga. We love you. \\

Each one found its end in the campfire.

Ryoga hated the endless postcards, hated the notes his mother left. Though the words she wrote spoke with her voice, they all felt lifeless and empty to him, like thin shadowy copies of the people he cared about and longed to see. He could not remember the last time he had felt his mother's arms around him, or shared a rough smile with his father, and now the memories that he did carry of them were hazy and seemed very far away. He stopped sending postcards because it all felt so pointless to him and he was tired of trying to come up with different ways of saying, "I miss you."

His parents knew nothing of his life, of his Jusenkyo curse or all the strange and unlikely adventures he had experienced. For one thing, Ryoga was not a very good writer and had a difficult time expressing himself in words. For another thing, he no longer cared. Or rather, he tried not to. Though he loved them, Ryoga had mentally buried his parents years ago, wishing to push away and lessen the pain of separation. It had taken a certain amount of cold-bloodedness on his part to shut away the feelings he carried for his family, but he had done so out of necessity. That hurt far less than being constantly disappointed.

Ryoga never dealt well with his feelings. Growing up essentially alone, he had not received the emotional training that most children learned from their elders. His memories of childhood consisted mainly of long dark periods of loneliness punctuated infrequently by brief intense moments of love and indulgence on the rare occasions when he saw his parents, and they tried desperately to make up for lost time with hugs, presents and affection.

As a result, Ryoga's own emotional personality had evolved into one of extremes. He was either completely angry or utterly introverted, ridiculously happy or devastatingly depressed. Whatever he felt, it was always full-blown, and Ryoga had little concept of middle-ground. It was a remarkably tiring and confusing way to exist, swinging from one absolute to another, and it often took Ryoga quite some time to get a rein on his emotions when they soared out of control.

He had been fighting himself ever since leaving Ucchan's that morning, trying to dominate his wild conflicting feelings into neat and manageable corners of his psyche. It had not been easy to bury everything again after Ranma's mere presence had set it all loose, but somehow he had succeeded. He had no idea why he had reacted so strongly, but he had the sickening feeling that something frightening was stalking him, and it made him extremely paranoid. He couldn't really pinpoint the source of this foreboding, but it was a constant element of unease in his mind, and exactly what he didn't need to be dealing with on top of all of his other disgraces.

And as to why Ranma's presence was affecting him so badly, Ryoga didn't even dare consider. That was a road filled with nothing but pain, old shattered dreams and desires he always hid from even himself when they woke him up in the middle of the night. Ryoga simply shoved it all into the back of his mind where it belonged, locking it down firmly. He had to remain in control of himself and steadfast in his convictions. Anything less would be to dishonor himself further. He allowed only the depression, a life-long companion anyway, to remain with him. That he could live with. The rest of it he had to forget. And some of it he had buried so deeply that he no longer realized he didn't remember it.

For a long time, Ryoga sat staring into the fire at the blackened remains of his family's correspondence. Eventually he tossed the uneaten jerky into the flames as well.

It was nearing midnight, and he was just starting to consider turning in for the night, {( If there's any justice in the world, I won't wake up, )} when he was alerted by a change in the forest around him. So many years spent in the open had familiarized Ryoga to the subtle language of nature, and his increased paranoia had conditioned him to be very responsive to possible danger. He straightened and listened, breathing slowly. The wind was still moving through the trees but the occasional noises of foraging critters had come to an abrupt halt. From a distance, the faint but sharp snap of underbrush told him that he was no longer alone.

Eyes narrowing dangerously, Ryoga reached into his pack and easily found his hunting knife. He wrapped his fingers around the comfort of its well-worn grip and drew it out, holding it close to his body to lessen the likelihood that its blade would pick up any renegade light that might give him away. He got silently to his feet and backed away from the fire, staring intently in the direction of the sounds of movement that he could now hear plainly. Letting the darkness wrap around him, Ryoga waited. Within a few moments, light from the campfire fell upon a young man entering the small clearing, splashing him with a warm orange glow.

Ryoga's heart skipped several important beats. Fear stabbed into him like a blade made from ice, and he felt the barriers he had worked so hard at erecting start to shutter. {( Ranma! No! Not here! What is he doing here?! )} Gripping the knife close to his chest, Ryoga began to shake violently without realizing it. Looking at his rival, his heart started to ache again. Ranma was a bit disheveled from his hike, and appeared to be tired, but Ryoga couldn't help the thought that popped unbidden into his mind. Ranma was beautiful Kami-sama, he was always so beautiful! {( Did he come to look for me? No . . . that's not possible. He doesn't give a damn about . . . but, why else . . . ? )}

Ryoga shook his head hard, purposely trying to jar his thoughts back into order. However, they wouldn't obey and slipped away from him easily, sinking towards the deep hole that had been growing in his mind for the last month or so. A torrent of conflicting emotions rose up in their place, threatening to burst out of his mental fettering. {( I can't . . . I can't face him again! I just got it all under control! Damn it all! I told him to leave me alone! I have to . . . I have to make him go away . . . )}

Ranma stopped beside the campfire, frowning as he observed the familiar tent and pack sitting alone under the towering trees. He could have sworn a moment ago that he saw movement beside the fire, but perhaps he was mistaken. At any rate, it was Ryoga's camp, and since the Lost Boy wasn't likely to leave a fire unattended, he couldn't be far.

"Ryoga?" Ranma called and glanced around, looking for any sign of the young man. His brow furrowed beneath the line of his thick black bangs as he set Kasumi's basket down beside the pack. It was a relief to rid himself of the heavy thing, and he worked the kinks out of his arm as he stuck his head into the tent, thinking that it was pretty late and perhaps Ryoga was already asleep. It was empty.

Damn it all, where was that boy? Ranma straightened and scanned the close darkness, listening for anything that might sound like the Lost Boy trying to find his way in the woods, but everything was eerily quiet, save the sound of a crisp breeze moving through the trees. Ranma stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket to warm them.

"Ryoga!" he called. "Come on, man! I know you gotta be here someplace! Ryoga! Yo! You lost?!"
He jumped at the sudden sound of Ryoga's low voice behind him. "I'm not lost. What do you want, Ranma?"

Ranma turned, ready to smile at him, but the expression froze before manifesting. Ryoga stood in shadow just beyond the firelight, staring at Ranma with a cold glint in his dark eyes and his face disturbingly blank. He had his feet parted in a firm stance that he could easily launch himself from, and in the fist of his right hand he held a large hunting knife, the serrated edge of its back blade gleaming dangerously.

({ A knife?! }) Ranma thought wildly, a trickle of real fear slipping down his back. He steadied his own posture automatically. Umbrellas and bandanas were one thing, but an actual blade was something else entirely. ({ Oh man, this is worse than I thought. }) In all the years that Ryoga had been greeting him with shouts of "Ranma Saotome, prepare to die!" he had never seen Ryoga look so stone cold. So ready to kill.

"Ryoga," Ranma made sure his voice was low and steady. "What's with the knife, huh buddy?"

"I told you to leave me alone," Ryoga hissed through his teeth, taking a step forward with the knife leading, causing Ranma to take several back. His voice rose in pitch and intensity sharply. "I -wanted- you to leave me alone! Why are you here? Why?!"

Ranma was startled by the sound of panic in Ryoga's words. "I'm worried about you. I know something's wrong, pal. I want to help," Ranma said quietly. He tried to keep his eyes on Ryoga's but his attention was pulled to the knife as it flashed in the dark. A jolt of recognition went through him and his heartbeat sped up considerably.

Ryoga blinked once, as if surprised but not willing to show it. "And since when do you give a damn about me?" he growled, fangs showing plainly.

Ranma drew in a breath and opened himself up, straightening out of his defensive stance. He gestured towards the knife. "Since the day you used that knife to cut my hand," he said easily, then reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out one of Ryoga's own bandanas. It was worn and old looking, with several faded stains marring the dusty yellow color. "And I used this to wipe the blood from the cut I gave you." He held the bandana out towards the other young man, praying that his words would pull Ryoga back to his normal senses. If they didn't, and the Lost Boy decided to attack him . . . well, Ranma was no longer in a defensive position and that was potentially deadly.

But Ryoga didn't attack. He locked up, his slender body going rigid. The color drained from his face and his eyes widened, iciness languishing away. To Ranma's surprise, the young man began to shake visibly. He looked down at the knife he was holding, Damascus steel with inlaid peridot hilt, and his grip slowly loosened until the weapon fell away, thunking heavily to the ground at his feet. Ryoga opened his hand and stared at the scar on his palm. Even after all this time, it was still prominent, bisecting the natural lines in a way that was at once disruptive and harmonious. It was so much a part of him now that he hadn't even noticed it in years.

"Remember?" Ranma prompted, watching him cautiously.

"I remember . . . " Ryoga whispered. Still shaking, he slowly sank to his knees as if all of the strength had been suddenly sapped from him. His hands hit the ground and he lowered his head, despair and further shame welling up within him. What was he doing?! He had held a knife on Ranma! {( I was ready to kill him! What's wrong with me?! Kami-sama, but he's the only friend I've ever had and I was ready to kill him! )}

"I'm sorry," he moaned lowly. "I'm sorry . . . "

"Ryoga," Ranma went to him, kneeling in front of him. "Its all right," he nodded, understanding. Fear could make people do some disturbing things sometimes, and in the back of his head Ranma knew . . . hoped . . . that Ryoga would have never actually used that knife on him.

He looked down at the boy crying quietly in front of him, more miserable than Ranma had ever seen him before, and the urge to shelter and protect rose up within him once again. He remembered how he used to hug Ryoga when they were children and things weren't going right, and he yearned to do so again. A warning in the back of his head, one that spoke with his father's voice, told him that it was wrong, that he would only shame and humiliate them both if he tried to hug Ryoga now, but Ranma resisted the impulse to listen. Instead, he reached out to rest his hands on the Lost Boy's shoulders, fully intending to pull him into an embrace.

But like he had at Ucchan's, Ryoga jerked sharply away, as if Ranma's touch were fire. He rolled from his knees into a sitting position, facing away. "N - no!" he pleaded. "Please, don't . . . "

Ranma felt his stomach twist. Something was very wrong. This was not some sort of manly pride or aversion to Ranma in particular. There was real fear in Ryoga's words, and in the way he now sat, curled around himself as though he were trying to become smaller. Ranma could just make out the Lost Boy's profile in the flickering light of the fire, could see that his eyes were tightly shut and that he was biting his lower lip hard enough to puncture the skin with the tip of a fang. He curled his right hand into a fist and brought it to his forehead, pressing tightly, giving the impression that he was trying to force unwanted emotions back into his head. His slim body trembled violently. Ranma pulled back, not wanting to compel Ryoga into further fear, but he sure the hell wasn't going to let this slide either.

"Ryoga," he said in the most soothing tone he could manage, unused to trying to lend comfort now that he was older, and nervous about the attempt. He didn't want to do anything that might make matters worse. "What's wrong with you? Did something happen? Let me help, man. Please. I don't like seeing you this way."

Ryoga blinked his eyes open, revealing a sad and wounded expression. He wiped absently at the small trickle of blood that ran from his lip. "You can't help me with this one, Ranma," he whispered.

"Like hell I can't," Ranma cautiously moved a little closer, opening his hand so that Ryoga could see it, and pointing out his own blood oath scar. "You see that? When we became blood brothers, we swore that we would always take care of each other. Always. No matter what happens. Remember?"

"Y - yes. But Ranma, we were just stupid kids then, and that was a long time ago. Things have changed," Ryoga sniffled, fixing his gaze on Ranma's hand.

"Yeah, they have. But an oath is an oath, right? You've always kept your word and been ready to help me. You let me practice the Kiryuu Shouten Ha on you when Happosai made me weak with that damn pressure point technique. You helped me get rid of Kuno's stupid phoenix, and there's been plenty of other times that you've really come through," Ranma paused for a moment, then smiled. "You went out on a date with me."

Ryoga averted his gaze. Because of the firelight, Ranma couldn't be certain, but he thought the other young man was blushing lightly.

"You helped me when I had the Mark of the Gods," Ryoga said quietly.

"See? So, let me help you now, Ryoga," Ranma urged, tapping his scar. "Don't dishonor me by not allowing me to fulfill my oath."

"Ranma . . . " Ryoga looked back up at him, tears standing in his eyes, a pleading expression on his face. "I'm dishonoring you with my presence alone. Please, j - just go back to Nerima. I release you from our oath."

"Not a chance," Ranma shook his head. Dishonoring him with his presence alone? What the heck was that suppose to mean? Sighing mentally in exasperation, Ranma decided to change tactics in the hopes of catching Ryoga off-guard. With a wide smile, he got to his feet and went back to the fire, talking as he went. "Sides, its too late for me to go anywhere tonight. I'll just camp here with you." He crouched beside Kasumi's basket. "You hungry? Kasumi sent food."

Ryoga's expression was an uneasy hybrid of irritation and worry. "You can't camp with me."

"Where else am I gonna camp? Its too dark to find a decent spot now. Are you hungry or what? She packed enough for a small army." Ranma opened the basket and started to pull out the neatly wrapped packets of food. He was privately pleased when Ryoga slowly got up, retrieved his knife, and came to the fire, looking interested in spite of himself. The Lost Boy settled himself cross-legged and glanced at the basket curiously. To Ranma's relief, the knife was put away in Ryoga's pack.

"Here, open this one," Ranma handed him a package, then pulled out a thermos. He unscrewed the top and sniffed it cautiously, then grinned. "Green tea, and still warm. You got a cup or something?"

"Sure," Ryoga dug one out of his backpack, then opened the food in his lap. He smiled slightly at what he found: seaweed encased rice balls wrapped around pieces of shrimp, avocado and cucumber. One of his favorites. He glanced up at Ranma. "You told Kasumi that you were coming to find me?"

"Of course not," Ranma shook his head, pouring the tea. "She guessed, though I'm not sure how."

"She's very observant," Ryoga picked at one of the rice balls. "Whenever I was P-chan, and you guys were at school during the day, Kasumi would let me keep her company while she was cooking or cleaning." His voice sounded mildly wistful. "And she'd talk to me about this or that, like I was a real person and not a pig. It was nice."

Ranma looked puzzled, reaching over to get a rice ball from Ryoga's lap. He took note of how the Lost Boy flinched away from his movement but didn't call attention to it. "That seems sort of odd, talking to a pig like that, I mean."

"Well, she knows I'm P-Chan."

Ranma coughed as he sucked down a few grains of rice the wrong way. "She does?! How did she -?"

"I don't know. But every now and then, when I'm P-Chan, she slips up and calls me Ryoga by mistake. I thought the world had come to an end the first time it happened, but she's never told anyone else, and now I don't really mind that she knows." Ryoga shrugged.

He decided not to mention that he had harbored a crush on Kasumi for quite some time. Ryoga was realistic enough to know that he had no chance with her. Her kindness towards him was maternal, and he was essentially equating her with his missing-in-action mother. Perhaps not mentally healthy, but it made a lot more sense then falling in love with someone who treated him with kindness because she thought he was her pet, as he had with Akane.

Whenever Ryoga stopped to analyze his emotions, which had been happening rather frequently as of late, he realized that most of the time his feelings of love were manipulated by scraps of affection occasionally tossed his way. It was why he had fallen for Akane, because she was caring toward P-Chan. It also explained his sporadic attraction to Ukyo. Though more often than not, he and the okonomiyaki chef were partners in some scheme or another, every now and then there was a genuine feeling of friendship between them that Ryoga was drawn to like a magnet.

And of course, then there was Ranma, who had been his friend long ago, who had shown him caring and kindness like no one else ever had, who had been his only companion during the long dark days of his childhood . . . {( No, don't think like that, oh Kami, don't even think like that . . . )}

"Hmmm," Ranma mused, apparently still thinking about Kasumi. He removed the last few packages of food, then shoved the basket a little closer to Ryoga. "The rest is yours."

Ryoga frowned, confused. "What?"

"Just open it."

Setting his rice aside, Ryoga reached over and flipped open the top of the basket. Folded neatly in the bottom were two shirts, both green with cream yellow trim, in his usual practical style. Bewildered, he pulled them out and found a new heavy winter jacket beneath them. The rugged and high quality shirts were handmade, but the dark grey coat obviously was not. Kasumi had purchased it, specifically with the Lost Boy in mind. Drawing it from the basket, Ryoga held it in front of him and stared at it for a long moment in utter shock.

"H - how . . . " he stammered, "How did she know . . . ?"

Ranma smirked slightly, leaning back on his own pack and laying his arm casually over his raised knee. "Like you said, she's observant. And fast. It was only last night that she mentioned making something for you. Now, either she already had those started or she's a speed demon with that sewing machine of hers. And the jacket," he shrugged. "Well, its getting cold. You know how she worries. I'd still like to know how she figured out I was coming after you, though."

Ryoga was hardly listening. Digging his fingers into the soft lined material of the coat, he felt its warmth, compared it to the jacket he was currently wearing. It would feel so good to put it on, and he wanted to, but . . . damn it all, why did she have to be so nice? It shamed him to think that she had gone to the trouble of buying him a coat and making him these shirts when he deserved none of it. He blinked his eyes slowly, feeling the fresh tears that were gathering. Why did it seem like he was constantly crying now? Grinding his teeth together, Ryoga quickly stuffed the jacket back into the basket. The two shirts followed.

"Ryoga?" Ranma frowned.

"I . . . I can't accept . . . I don't . . . " the Lost Boy shook his head, "I don't deserve her kindness . . . " He lapsed into silence, staring at the flickering fire while tears ran down his face unheeded. Ranma watched him for a long moment, waiting for him to continue, but he didn't. He simply stared and absently picked at the tear on the arm of his jacket, his fingers moving with nervous energy that quickly made the hole worse. All around them, the small night sounds of the forest continued, unconcerned.

"Well, it's a nice night, anyway," Ranma rambled uneasily just to fill the uncomfortable silence. "Doesn't look like rain."

{( I have to tell him, )} Ryoga thought miserably to himself, and shivered, feeling suddenly cold despite his proximity to the fire. {( I know how Ranma is and he's not going to leave me alone until he finds out. So I have to tell him . . . Kami, I don't want to! He's going to hate me and I don't want Ranma to hate me! But . . . but I can't let him stay here . . . if I tell him then he'll go away. He'll hate me and he'll go away . . . he has to go away! I can't keep it together with him here! Just sitting this close to him makes me want to scream . . . )}

({ Damn it, }) Ranma cursed mentally, slowly biting into another rice ball as he considered Ryoga. ({ What is it going to take to get him to open up? I don't know what to do, I'm no good at this kinda stuff. But I ain't leaving him until I find out what's wrong and try to help. Hell, I don't -want- to leave him. But, I gotta figure out some way to get him to talk to me. If I don't help him, I'll never be able to live with myself. What the hell am I going to do? })

Ryoga looked up suddenly. "Ranma," he began quietly.

Ranma blinked his way out of his thoughts. "Hmm?"

The Lost Boy drew in a long steadying breath, steeling himself for what was about to come. He met Ranma's eyes and said flatly, "I sold my body."

Ranma froze, startled. Had Ryoga just said . . . ? No, that couldn't be right. Ryoga would never do something like that . . . no, of course he hadn't said that. Ranma had heard wrong, that's all. He swallowed the mouthful of food he had and carefully set the rest aside, sitting up straighter. ({ Okay, this is good. He's talking. Now, find out what he really said and go from there . . . })

"What?" Ranma asked calmly.

Ryoga sighed, looking away again. His voice was hard. "I sold my body, Ranma. I prostituted myself. I pawned any honor I might have had and completely shamed my name."

({ Oh Kami-sama, he -did- say what I thought he said . . . }) Ranma was stunned for a moment, not knowing what to think beyond Ryoga's words, or how to react. Then a strange crawling horror crept up his back and he shivered hard. Such a thing was . . . it was, well, Ranma had never even considered something this serious when he set out to help his friend. Of course Ryoga was upset! His honor, pride, virtue . . . everything that a man and martial artist coveted . . . it was gone. And Ryoga . . . Ranma looked at him, eyes wide. His stomach twisted painfully and he had to fight down a wave of revulsion. Prostitution?! That had to be one of the lowest, most disgraceful . . .

No! Ryoga wasn't like that, and Ranma refused to believe it, despite the lecturing voice in his head that was demanding it was true. No, Ryoga wasn't tainted or some sort of pariah now! He was still the same person, despite having done . . . oh Kami-sama . . . he was . . . he was . . . Ranma mentally stumbled through a list of possible responses, completely at a loss. What could he say? How was he suppose to react?

"Oh my god . . . " he finally managed to choke out.

Ryoga tensed against Ranma's words, flinching away. In their tone, he heard the disgust and contempt that he was expecting, and his heart felt like it had shattered.

On some level, Ryoga had hoped against hope that Ranma, of all people, would somehow understand, somehow forgive him. But now Ryoga knew he was an idiot. He shouldn't have said anything, but how could he not? How could he continue to let Ranma sit here with him, eat with him, and not warn him that he was now ruined and disgraceful? That his presence alone was . . .

Ryoga squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He tried to force his mind to shut down, to not think about it, but his control was faltering. It was all building up within him like a growing storm, a tornado of hurt and agony, threatening to shear through him and emerge, blow him apart and run wild. He had been suppressing it for so long, and now the hold on his composure was starting to crumble.

"You . . . you underst - st - stand now, Ranma?" Ryoga said through teeth gritted so tightly that they began to ache at the roots. "L - leave me alone. G - go back to Nerima . . . "

His quavering tone penetrated Ranma's shock. He blinked rapidly several times, looking up at the Lost Boy. Okay, this -was- bad. This was far more than Ranma had bargained for, but he set his jaw with renewed determination. It was sick. It was disgraceful. But he would not abandon Ryoga because of it, he ~wouldn't!~ Ryoga was his friend, and they had sworn an oath. Slowly, Ranma nodded. "I understand," he agreed in a low even tone. "And I'm still going to help you."

"NO!" Ryoga wailed, ready to come apart. He was on his feet in an instant, snarling down at the other young man with a vicious slash of his hands through the air. He shook violently, looking half-crazed and ready to bolt, and furious tears burned in his eyes. He wanted Ranma to stay, and yet . . . the illusional honor he had left would not allow it. Ranma had always been so good and so Light, he could not ruin Ranma with his disgraceful presence or perverted desires! "Go AWAY! I'll only end up tainting you, and I'd rather die than do that! Just leave me alone, Ranma! Leave me ALONE!"

Ranma scrambled to his feet as well, foreseeing that the impending meltdown he'd feared was on its way. "Ryoga, I can't do that," he said in a sensible, but rather gruff tone, hoping to calm the young man down, but knowing that it wasn't very likely now. "I'm not going to leave you until this is fixed."

" ~You CAN'T fix this!~ " Ryoga screamed at him.

"Ryoga," Ranma reached for him.

Panic ignited in Ryoga's eyes. He cried out wordlessly, wrenching away from Ranma. He was not quite fast enough, and the other martial artist was able to grab him by the arm, perhaps a little tighter than he intended to. Ranma pulled the Lost Boy back towards himself, opening his mouth to speak, to assure Ryoga that they would somehow work this out. Before he could say anything, however, the Lost Boy hissed out a warning and whirled on him. Highlighted orange and red by the campfire, Ryoga spun to attack the young man holding him, right hand curled into a fist.

Stomach sinking with a feeling of dread, Ranma dodged to the side, feeling a sucking whoosh of air as Ryoga's jab flew past his right ear. A startlingly blank and glazed look in his eyes, Ryoga reared back and attacked again. Within seconds, Ranma was frantically trying to avoid Ryoga's rapid-fire lunges, shocked to find no immediate openings in the young man's assault that he could take advantage of. Ryoga was wielding his fists like another might use a knife, striking fast and repeatedly, changing his angle of attack with each lunge, and keeping Ranma completely on the defensive.

Several blows hit him, one in the stomach, another in the upper chest, and Ranma was surprised by the strength behind them. Ryoga had hit him before, certainly, and he had always been strong, but now each punch felt as if it were accompanied by a shock of electricity, which could only be the result of Ryoga releasing furious pent-up ki energy. It was all Ranma could do to stay on his feet and keep up with the pace of Ryoga's attack, looking frantically for an opening. For the first time ever, Ranma briefly wondered if Ryoga wasn't going to succeed in killing him after all.

"Ryoga! Stop!" Getting short on breath, Ranma narrowly avoided side-stepping into the fire, stumbling over his abandoned backpack. The brief fumble seemed to break the heated trance Ryoga was stuck in. He hesitated in his next lunge, and Ranma took advantage of the opportunity, rolling to one side, and swinging a kick at Ryoga's legs as he did so.

Ryoga saw it coming and hopped to avoid it, landing on the far side of the fire. The dead light that had taken over his eyes was swiftly replaced by one of shame and fear. He stared at Ranma, as the other got back to his feet, horrified by what he tried to do. With a wounded cry, Ryoga turned and broke for the woods.

Ranma was not about to let him go, and took a leaping step after him, jumping over the fire and grabbing for him yet again. This time, his fingers dug deeply into the material of Ryoga's jacket, and he yanked him back hard, making sure that he had a firm hold and that Ryoga couldn't get away. Ranma ignored Ryoga's wail of protest and wrapped his arms around the Lost Boy's slender body, holding him close, back to chest. He locked his hands together and tried to imagine that his embrace was iron, gritting his teeth. Avoiding the wild flails of the young man's struggles, Ranma snarled, "Ryoga! Damn it all! What's the matter with you?! Calm down!"

"Let me go!" Ryoga fought and strained against his hold, tears running freely down his cheeks. He tried to slam the back of his head against Ranma's face, but the other man avoided that easily and tightened his embrace. Not able to break free, Ryoga began to hyperventilate. "Please!!" he pleaded wildly, gasping for decent breath. "Please! Let me go!"

"So you can run off again? Not a chance, Ryoga! We're gonna work this out. Now, relax! What are you afraid of?" Ranma grimaced as the boy fought him.

Ryoga didn't answer. He stiffened suddenly, and Ranma could feel the blind panic that soared from him, as strong and palatable as any battle aura he had ever encountered. The temperature around them rapidly rose, a strange glow began to expand upwards from Ryoga's trapped hands, and he started to scream with what sounded like sheer stark terror. Ranma barely had time to think as he realized exactly what Ryoga was yelling.

"SHISHI HOKODAN!"

"Ryoga, NO!" Ranma echoed, alarm firing through him an instant too late.

The blast lit Ranma up, spinning wildly through his body like a lightning bolt out of control, setting every nerve ending on fire. He felt himself being lifted up and smelled smoke and heat in the depths of his nostrils. The rush of wind in his ears was nearly deafening. He blacked out for several heartbeats, and the next thing that he was aware of was that he was laying on his back on the outside of a blackened circle of earth, his clothes and body smoking from the explosion.

Despite being scorched and laden with several new pains he would take the time to explore later, he was on his feet in an instant, chasing after Ryoga who was already disappearing into the inky darkness of the forest. In the back of his mind, Ranma realized that he should be dead, but obviously even in his panic Ryoga subconsciously didn't want to hurt him. The shishi hokodan had been more of a light show then anything else, simply a diversion to allow Ryoga time to get away.

"Damn you, Ryoga! Come back here! You'll get lost out there!" Ranma ran after him, the night swallowing him quickly. He paused at the edge of the forest and listened for the sound of Ryoga moving through the underbrush, but heard only the swish of the wind. Ranma growled in frustration, hands balled into tight fists. Now what? How in the world was he going to find Ryoga out here in the dark, when most of the time Ryoga couldn't even find himself?

({ And what caused that? I don't understand! He was upset, but still in control until . . . until I grabbed him. That's when he lost it, and lost it bad. I don't think he even knew what he was doing. Aw damn, Ryoga! There's something more to this, ain't there? You didn't tell me everything! Oh Kami, what if I just made it all worse?! })

The icy shatter of a splash sounded through the chill air. Ranma looked up sharply, pinpointing the direction, then took off at a dead run. Within only a few moments, the trees thinned out in favor of a small slow-moving river, and Ranma nearly ran right off a low overhang into the water, not able to see it clearly in the dark. He waved his arms to regain balance right on the edge, breathing a sigh of relief when he stabilized.

Trying to peer through the heavy dark, Ranma looked up and down the river, searching for the source of the splash he had heard. At first there was nothing, and Ranma began to feel frustrated again, but then a clamor downstream caught his attention, and he picked his way through the brush, following the noises which sounded suspiciously like a small black pig trying to pull himself out of the current.

P-Chan was clinging to an exposed tree root, his little legs kicking as he attempted to pull himself out of the water and get back on dry land. Laying on his belly, Ranma was able to reach him, grabbing him by the bandana around his neck, and lifting him out of the water. The little pig fought and struggled even harder at finding himself in Ranma's grasp, clawing and even trying to bite, but the young man refused to let go. He sat up cross-legged beside the river and held P-Chan close to his chest to warm him, keeping a tight hold on the bandana and making sure his arms encased the wiggling body completely.

"Calm down, Ryoga," Ranma said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. Just calm down. Calm down." He repeated the mantra over and over, in a voice as soothing and even as he could manage, until P-Chan reached a breaking point and his frantic struggles eased. He fell limp in Ranma's arms, shivering violently and whining miserably as he cried.

Ranma looked down at him, slightly scorched face serious and determined. "Listen to me. I'm going to help you, understand? I'll fix this. I'll make everything right again."

P-Chan closed his eyes and made a quiet forlorn noise that sounded like a question.

"I don't know how," Ranma answered, guessing correctly what his cursed friend was trying to ask. He hugged P-Chan closely again, rubbing his cheek against the wiry wet fur of the little pig's head. "But I will. I promise you that, Ryo-kun. I swear it."

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

The sudden flare of light caused the deep forest to glow for a brief second, punctuated by a distant shout. Squinting against the flash, Akane Tendo drew back, raising a hand to protect her eyes. She barely had time to wonder what was going on before the light faded and the night returned to its normal pitch black.

Startled, Akane blinked rapidly, readjusting her eyes, and then broke into a run, heedless of the branches and underbrush that pulled at her, trying to slow her progress. A rare panic blossomed within her. She was almost certain that it was Ranma's voice she heard. But what was that flash of light? Was he in trouble? As she tore through the forest, and made her way warily over the increasingly rocky terrain, Akane fretted to herself, rather a bit surprised at how quickly worry had overtaken her. She normally prided herself on being very level-headed, but she recognized that where Ranma was concerned, her sensibilities were usually lost.

Precisely why she was out here in the woods at night in the first place. Even if he wasn't in trouble, Akane knew that Ranma would probably be pretty furious with her for following him when he had refused to let her come along, but the dark-eyed girl figured that she could rationalize her actions, even if only to herself. Since they had been engaged, Akane thought that she had learned to read him pretty well, at least enough to know when something was up. He was bothered, and she knew that taking this '"training journey" was simply an excuse for him to get away from everything and be alone with his thoughts. She wondered what was upsetting him, and why he felt that he could confide in Kasumi about his trip, as he obviously had, but not her. She was his iinazuke after all! He should be turning to her with his problems. Akane hated being left out of the loop.

In the back of her thoughts, Akane reminded herself that she had never given Ranma much incentive to depend on her. She was quick to blame him when things went wrong, instead of offering him the support and shelter that a wife should always be ready to give to her husband. It was no wonder he didn't trust her. Well, she was determined to fix that! It was time he put all of this multiple iinazuke nonsense behind him and started getting used to the fact that he and Akane would eventually be married. She had been thinking about that a great deal lately, as time steadily ticked by and passing birthdays drove home the fact that soon they would be plenty old enough to marry. Their families were expecting it, and frankly, Akane wanted it. It bothered her greatly that Ranma didn't seem to want it too.

That was going to change. Though in the past she had tried to remain stoic and indifferent where he was involved, she realized that she really did have feelings for him. After all, they had been through so much together, and through it all Ranma had always shown himself to be reliable and caring beneath that hard outer facade he tried to cultivate. Now it was time for her to reciprocate. She would prove to him that he could rely on her too, right now, by coming to his rescue. If rescuing was what he needed. If it wasn't . . . then Akane was determined to come up with something else that would convince him. It didn't matter what it took, it was time for him to take their future seriously.

She realized suddenly that she had climbed a marginal rocky slope and was now close to the edge of a short cliff. She heard no more yelling, but was sure that it, and the flash of light, had come from roughly this direction. Deciding the cliff would be a good vantage point, she hiked to the top and blinked softly as she peered down into the small clearing that the outcropping overlooked. There was a small camp below her, with a single dome tent pitched beside a nicely burning fire. Two traveling packs lay close, along with Kasumi's basket. With a soft sigh, Akane realized that she was looking at what could only be Ranma's camp.

But where was he? And wait a minute . . . there -were- two packs by the fire, one of which had a familiar red umbrella attached to it. Ryoga? What in the world was Ranma doing out here with Ryoga? Had they traveled together intentionally, or just run into each other by chance? And where were they now?

Akane straightened beneath her own well-stocked pack and scanned the darkness of the thick forest, looking and listening for any sign of the two young men. Her brows furrowed with worry, then she started, noticing a blackened circle marring the ground near the camp. Though she couldn't make it out well in the dark, it appeared to be still smoking. Shishi hokodan? Perhaps, and that would explain the flash . . . she wondered briefly what Ranma had done to upset Ryoga this time, but unease took hold of her thoughts again quickly. Where were they? Had they hurt each other? Were they fighting somewhere in the dark?

She was about to start calling for them, hoping that her voice would carry well from the cliff through the crisp air, when a small shadow caught her eye. It slipped from the black pool of the forest and headed for the camp. As he crossed the barrier of light cast by the fire, Akane was relieved to see that it was Ranma, and he looked like he was all right, at least from this distance. He was carrying something in his arms, something that she couldn't make out. Curious, she watched as he retrieved a sleeping bag from within the tent, made a small nest of it beside the fire, and placed his armload securely into the folds of the material. The diminutive object moved haltingly, floundering in the unfamiliar terrain.

Akane's eyes widened. That looked like . . . P-Chan?! Now, what on earth would her little pet pig be doing out here in the woods with Ranma? A surge of joy went through her, warming her against the night air. It had been a long time since she had seen her dear P-Chan, and she had just about given him up for lost, hoping that he had found some other kind family to take him in. Well, obviously he had been lost out here in the wilderness and Ranma had just found him!

Akane wanted to rush down there and hug her iinazuke, shower him with gratitude and love, and hold her sweet little P-Chan again in her arms. But something about Ranma's continued actions stopped her. He seemed rather grave and leaden as he built the fire back up, moving slowly to retrieve some wood from a little pile near the tent. Then, he reached into Ryoga's pack (( And where is Ryoga, anyway? )), first removing some of Ryoga's clothes and then pulling out a short spit and kettle. Water from a nearby bucket was poured into the kettle, then set to heat over the fire. Ranma sat down, opened a packet of food, and offered P-Chan a rice ball. Akane couldn't hear what he was saying, but it looked as though Ranma were holding an entire one-sided conversation with the pig. P-Chan, huddled in the folds of the sleeping bag, ignored the offered food.

(( I always thought that Ranma didn't like P-Chan, )) Akane mused to herself. (( What in the world is going on here? )).

As soon as the water had heated enough, she found out. Her dark eyes widened and slowly . . . fury began to build within her.

~ Casualties of Honor ~
Chapter Five - Young Man Running

Using a cloth to protect his hand from the heat, Ranma carefully placed the kettle onto its spit over the stoked camp fire. He sat back, grabbed a sandwich from one of the packages of food, and looked at his companion. "Alright. Are you okay now?" he asked, sounding a bit gruff.

Ryoga shook the hot water out of his hair as steam rose from his nude body, dissipating promptly in the cool night air. His mouth set in a firm, tight line, he quickly pulled on the pants and shirt Ranma had retrieved for him, then wrapped his sleeping bag around himself and inched a little closer to the fire. "Hai," he acknowledged softly, fixing his attention on the dancing flames.

"You're gonna catch cold," Ranma frowned at him, feeling a little like a nagging mother. "Put on the coat Kasumi sent you. "

"No," Ryoga replied simply.

Ranma decided not to argue with him for now. He had the feeling that this conversation was going to get stressed enough, without any more angst thrown into the fray. He wasn't looking forward to doing this, to making Ryoga talk about what he had done, but Ranma needed the information. He had to know how deep the damage went before he could come up with a way to fix it.

Privately, Ranma had to wonder what had inspired him to promise Ryoga that he would make everything better. How could he possibly repair something like this? He had no idea, but he was determined to try. For Ryoga's sake, his honor . . . ({ His sanity, }) Ranma thought to himself, shivering. { I don't ever want to see Ryoga like that again. Ever. })

"At least eat something," Ranma urged, pushing the packets of food at him.

He was pleased when Ryoga silently picked up a rice ball and took a bite from it, but waited until he had eaten the entire thing before starting up the conversation again. Clearing his throat, Ranma leaned forward to pour some of the green tea that he had re-heated along with Ryoga's hot water. He winced slightly at the strain in his shoulder, a reminder of the hard landing the shishi hokodan had visited upon him, but decided not to worry about it for right now. He was used to occasional pain from training, and at the moment Ryoga was more important anyway.

"Let's hear it, Ryoga," he requested simply, as he handed the other young man a cup of the hot tea, hoping it would help to soothe both their nerves. "What happened? Why would you . . . well, do something like that?"

Ryoga looked down, wrapping his hands around the cup. "I thought at the time that I had no choice," he replied quietly, his voice flat and lifeless. "I was lost, like usual. In Hong Kong. I couldn't find the way out to save my worthless life. I ran out of food, which normally wouldn't be a problem, you know? But I was stuck in that cursed city."

Ranma nodded. He knew that Ryoga was actually quite skilled at living in the wilderness, he certainly couldn't have survived as long as he had if he wasn't. He was an expert fisherman as well as a capable hunter when he didn't lose his way, and was usually able to fend for himself quite well. A city was an entirely different situation, however. One couldn't hunt in a metropolitan area, nor was foraging very likely. Fishing was possible only in accordance with local laws, but not a very desirable alternative considering the pollution generated by industry and the general population.

"How the heck did you end up in Hong Kong?" he heard himself asking.

"How do I end up anywhere, Ranma?" Ryoga answered dully. "I don't know."

"Yeah, I guess that was a stupid question. Okay, so didn't you have any money?"

Ryoga began to unfold the story in low measured tones, almost sounding as if it were some sort of memorized recitation, or a tale of events that happened to someone else. He fixed his gaze on the flickering flames, perhaps letting the hypnotic movements pacify him so that this discussion wouldn't hurt as much.

"Money isn't usually a concern. Whenever I make it home, I normally find an allowance which my father leaves behind for me, except for this particular time. I think I was home before he was, because there wasn't any. So, all I had was the small amount that I usually try to save for just that situation. By the time I found myself in Hong Kong, it was pretty much gone, and the exchange rate wasn't very good right then. Basically, I had next to nothing, and I went through it fast."

Ranma looked up as Ryoga paused. Pulling the sleeping bag a little tighter around his shoulders, the Lost Boy glanced behind him, his eyes glittering uneasily in the dark. He looked almost as if he were afraid that something was coming up behind them, but Ranma looked with him and saw nothing there. He was about to ask Ryoga what the problem was, when the young man continued his story.

"I was okay to start with, but after about a week of wandering around, I began to feel sick. A combination of some sort of flu and not eating, I think. I was getting pretty desperate by that time, trying to find the way out of the city, and even though I know Cantonese well enough to get by, it seems like the directions people gave me were just gibberish. I asked for work, but to most of the people there I was just a foreign migrant, and they weren't about to give a job to some transient drifter.

"Eventually, I ended up in a small park near the downtown red light district, and met up some street kids. They were all young, around our age, and had come in from the outlying areas looking for work, or whatever. Some of them were runaways, some addicts. It didn't really matter. Like me, they had no place to go, and had banded together, safety in numbers and all that. At night they would gather around a bonfire there in the park and keep each other company, unless they had a trick to turn or were otherwise busy elsewhere. I really didn't know what else to do, so I stayed with them. They shared what they had, but I was still sick, so the food they gave me really didn't help. Even though I was hungry, I couldn't keep it down.

"During the day they made the rounds downtown, looking for anything they could take for themselves. They stole a lot, to get food or money for drugs and alcohol. I couldn't resort to that, it doesn't matter how sick or hungry I am, I will not violate someone else by stealing from them."

Ranma found himself squirming uncomfortably. It wasn't hard to visualize what the young man was describing, having experienced situations very similar while growing up. Wandering around with his father, there had been plenty of times when they were hungry and had to resort to . . . less than socially acceptable means of securing dinner. That was, in fact, one of the things Ranma really resented his father for. After all, Genma had taught his son to respect the martial arts codes of honor, and then regularly turned around and broke those codes. It really shamed Ranma to hear Ryoga say that he would never resort to theft, thereby violating someone else, when he himself had resorted to exactly that on numerous occasions. For Kami's sake, he'd even stolen from Ryoga!

But Ranma had never been put into a situation where he might have felt it necessary to sell his body, he'd always had alternatives. The very idea of prostitution made him feel ill, but he stayed silent about it, not wanting to interrupt Ryoga now that he was finally talking. He carefully studied the Lost Boy's profile and the highlights of the camp fire that danced across his features. Ranma tried to imagine Ryoga sick, lost, and out of options. He found the image profoundly disturbing.

"But after a couple more days of getting nowhere, I knew that I had to do something," Ryoga continued quietly. "I was feeling constantly lightheaded and had lost a great deal of weight by this time. One morning I was too tired and sick to even try and find a way out of Hong Kong, I just slept in the park all day, getting up to move whenever the police came by to run me out. It came down to this: I had to make a choice; either hurt someone else by stealing from them, hurt myself, or die."

Ranma winced, looking clearly upset. "Ryoga," he breathed. "Why didn't you . . . well, I would have . . . I mean, you could have. . . "

"I could have called you?" Ryoga glanced at him, eyes heavy and tired. He seemed far, far older than his eighteen years. "And admit to my greatest rival that I was in trouble? Yeah right, Ranma."

The other young man sighed and looked away. Of course Ryoga's honor and pride would prevent him from asking for help. Out on his own, as he always was, the Lost Boy had only himself to depend on, and had obviously cultivated the independence instilled into most martial arts students to an extreme degree. For Ryoga, asking for help, showing a weakness, meant leaving himself open for attack. It meant admitting that he was beaten. Ranma could relate to that to some degree, as he was also averse to seeking help, even in the most desperate of situations, a trait that his father had firmly pounded into him over the years. Survival at any cost was another cede of martial arts, but sometimes death was the far more desirable choice.

But . . . that was only in combat. Real life, Ranma realized rather suddenly, was vastly different. There was no honor in dying alone and sick in a strange city hundreds of miles from anyone you knew. Survival was the only option in that case. But was it really worth the price Ryoga had paid? He had sold his body. Now, as far as the Art was concerned he had no honor, no virtue, no pride . . . no future. Dying alone or prostitution, it had really made no difference.

({ Pride, honor . . . it wouldn't have mattered to me, Ryoga. I would have helped you anyway. I know I would have. }) Ranma shut his eyes slowly, his face hot. It shamed him to think that their friendship had gone so wrong that he was no longer Ryoga's protector, that the Lost Boy didn't trust him in that same way any more. ({ Well, of course he doesn't; just look at everything I've done to him over the years. Damn it all, when I think of all the times I could have been his friend rather than his rival . . . it just makes me sick . . . }) Ryoga had given up everything . . . everything . . . and for what?

Something about all of this simply did not sit well with Ranma. Honor and pride had always been so important to Ryoga, more important than just about anything else. And Ranma knew how Ryoga's mind worked. Under normal circumstances, the Lost Boy would have never chosen dishonor over death. So, why had he? What had happened that Ryoga would allow himself to be used in such a way? It had to be something far more serious than just being hurt or lost. ({ Why, Ryoga? Why? Oh, Kami-sama . . . how am I gonna fix this?! })

"Anyway," Ryoga's voice shifted slightly, drawing Ranma's attention back to the matter at hand.

The Lost Boy opened his mouth, as if to continue, then faltered, glancing over his shoulder again. When he turned back to the fire, he looked momentarily pained, then shivered, huddling down in his sleeping bag. As he had on the dance floor, Ranma saw Ryoga's emotions simply shut down, all trace of them disappeared as if they had never been and his face went frighteningly blank. And once again, Ranma could not help but think how utterly wrong that was, especially for Ryoga. An alarm began to ring in Ranma's head. Something else . . . something else -had- happened . . . something that Ryoga was afraid of . . .

"Ryoga?" he asked softly.

The young man started, blinking rapidly. He cleared his throat and continued. "Anyway, once I made the decision, it was remarkably easy to get picked up," Ryoga said in a disturbingly even tone, as if he were talking about the weather or some other everyday topic. "He was an American, visiting Hong Kong on business. We spent the night together and he paid me in the morning. That's about it."

Ranma frowned, his dark blue eyes narrowing as he stared at Ryoga, not able to believe what he had just heard. No, this wasn't right. Only a half-hour ago Ryoga had been ready to kill, and now he was blowing it off like it was nothing? Even with the most mundane of subjects, Ryoga was rarely so calm . . . so plastic. Ranma was not about to accept that.

"The hell it is," he countered.

Ryoga looked up, confusion penetrating the cast of his face. "What?"

Ranma leaned forward. "You ain't telling me everything, Ryoga. C'mon, you gotta be open with me if I'm going to help you. Don't gloss over the details just because they scare you. Now, what really happened?" he asked firmly.

"That -is- what really happened. He paid me, I used the money to catch the next boat back to Japan. There isn't anything else to tell you," Ryoga replied tightly, swallowing down the rest of his tea in a gulp. "Isn't that bad enough?"

"Yeah, but not so bad that you'd fry me with a shishi hokodan just for trying to touch you." Ranma indicated one of the larger scorch marks on his jacket.

Ryoga's soft brown eyes widened, and his face turned absolutely white. Around the cup he was holding, his grip tightened visibly. For a long moment, he simply stared at Ranma, an expression of horror on his face. The plastic cup shattered in his hand, crumbling away into little pieces.

"I . . . I d - did?" Ryoga whispered.

Ranma bit his lower lip, feeling unsettled deep in the pit of his gut. { Kami-sama! He's suppressing this stuff so deeply that he doesn't even remember attacking me! Damn it! I'm no good at this! What am I suppose to do now?! })

He was way out of his league, and he knew it. Ryoga obviously needed help, but it really should be professional help. Ranma worried over whether or not he would just make things worse. He didn't want to hurt Ryoga, but instinctively Ranma knew that this had to be dealt with, or it would simply continue to get worse. The next time, Ryoga's shishi hokodan might not be just for show. ({ Next time, he might kill me, or someone else. I don't want to traumatize him any more, but he can't keep this buried. Somehow, I got to get it out where I can deal with it, and hope I don't end up making everything worse. })

Ryoga now had his face buried in his hands, overly upset that he would try to use such a potentially fatal technique against someone he had always considered a friend, deep down in his most private heart. But that he didn't remember doing it, made the whole thing seem much more frightening and terrible. From within, Ryoga once again experienced that strange sense of being stalked. He had been feeling it throughout the telling of his story, a vague half-formed presence that was creeping up on him like distant hell waiting to pounce. But now . . . now that awful something that he couldn't see or understand was trailing immediately behind him, tugging at the edges of his mind, whispering hissingly at him. However, when Ryoga mentally turned around to look, nothing was there, save a darkness so impenetrable that it was almost solid.

{( What's wrong with me?! )} Ryoga wailed silently. Trying to stop shaking, he looked up at Ranma, tears once again in his eyes. "I'm sorry Ranma . . . I - I didn't mean . . . I d - don't remember . . . "

Ranma swallowed hard, unease and uncertainty making his stomach flutter. He didn't know what to do, and so resorted to the one shield he'd always been able to erect with success in the past. Indifference. If he didn't make a big deal out of it, then perhaps it wouldn't seem as bad to Ryoga.

"Forget it, Ryoga," he shrugged, lightening his tone and grabbing another sandwich. "It ain't like it's the first time you've ever tried to kill me. I'm used to it now."

"I don't -want- to kill you, Ranma!" Ryoga snapped suddenly, tearfully, his volatile temper rising to the surface for a brief moment. "Though I've been plenty angry enough with you to do it on numerous occasions. I've never wanted to kill you!"

Stalking . . . that something was getting closer. Ryoga began to feel panic flutter in his chest. Kill . . . he'd never wanted to kill Ranma . . . never wanted to kill anyone . . . kill . . . oh Kami . . . A strange dizziness swarmed into Ryoga's mind as he tried to shake his thoughts back into order. From the solid wall of darkness, something gazed at him with hateful green eyes . . . reaching out with hands that were large and invading, hands that meant only to hurt him. Ryoga wanted to bolt, wanted to flee, but was held in place by bonds he couldn't see. A strange buzzing began in the back of his head, growing shrill and loud in a matter of seconds.

Ranma didn't really notice the glazed look that spread over his companion's face. He took a bite of his sandwich and stupidly said the first thing that popped into his head. "So, in other words, 'Ranma Saotome, prepare to die' is just your way of saying I love you?" he asked sarcastically. The moment the words were out of his mouth, Ranma realized they were a mistake.

Ryoga choked. At first Ranma thought it was in reaction to what he had said and was already starting to babble something that would nullify his words, when Ryoga doubled over, hands going to his forehead. He made a pitiful strangulated sound and rocked forward, nearly pitching right into the fire.

Ranma shot forward and caught him before he burned himself. "Ryoga!" he yelped, tipping the Lost Boy back and pulling him away from the dangerous campfire. To Ranma's shock, Ryoga began to shake violently in his arms, as if he were having some sort of seizure.

"I didn't . . . I never meant . . . didn't want to kill . . . " Ryoga's hissed the words out between chattering teeth, his entire body trembling beyond his control. His head fell, as if he had just lost all the strength in his neck, and his eyes rolled back into his head before he closed them.

The sight scared the hell out of Ranma. Dismayed, and not having the slightest idea of what he could do, he pulled the young man into an embrace, cradling him close to his own body. "Damn it! Ryoga! What the hell is wrong?! Ryoga!"

Stalking . . . it was getting closer. Ryoga grappled with his hold on sentience, fighting his way back to the surface of his thoughts. He knew that he was frightening Ranma, and he could feel the other boy's arms around him. The sensation made him want to scream, but he held back, letting only a pleading whimper escape his throat, while he concentrated on pulling away from the huge terrifying blackness which was hunting him. Kill . . . the word was laced with poisons in his mind, a vicious terrible sound that was ready to strike at him. But even as he ran from the looming secret that was following him, Ryoga mentally tripped over the truth as if it were a snake laying in wait for him to blunder into it. Kill . . . he didn't want to kill . . . he hadn't meant . . . he hadn't meant to kill . . .

"Ryo-kun!!"

Kami-sama, it was terrible! Ranma could only stare in blank fear as Ryoga shuttered in his arms, completely oblivious to anything Ranma said or did to snap him out of it. ({ What am I suppose to do?! Ryoga! What's wrong with you?! })

Somewhere, hysterical claustrophobia began to edge in on Ryoga's mind. Irrational fear flooded him. Ranma was too close, and closeness meant pain, torture, and other things too horrible to remember. He wanted to cry out, wanted to run, but in response to his increased agitation, Ranma only secured his hold, grinding his own teeth together in determination, wrapping his legs around Ryoga's to keep him firmly pinned in place.

With a soft whimper that he was obviously fighting to control, Ryoga began to struggle a little harder. "Please . . . "

"I'm not letting go of you, Ryoga."

"Please! I can't stand it! Ranma! Please!" Ryoga arched against Ranma's hold, and his hands started to glow lightly with desperate power, sure indication of an impending shishi hokodan. Quickly, Ranma shifted his hold, tightening one arm around Ryoga and grabbing the boy's wrists with his free hand. He shook Ryoga slightly, feeling his already abused muscles sing from the effort of holding the boy down.

"No, don't you dare!" Ranma hissed at him. "You burned me enough last time. I ain't letting go of you until you calm down."

"Please!" Ryoga shrieked, squirming harder now that his hands were restrained. Had he been at his normal weight and usual strength, Ranma knew full well that he would not have been able hold the boy. He was hard pressed to keep Ryoga contained as it was.

"Please, let go of me! Ranma . . . please! I'm begging you . . . I'm begging . . . I didn't mean to do it! " Ryoga tried to yank his hands free, but Ranma kept a firm hold on him. This seemed to prompt Ryoga into greater panic. He twisted and growled lowly, his fangs showing, as he fought to release himself from the embrace, trying to kick his legs out from beneath Ranma's. "Ranma! Please!!"

"What happened, Ryoga? What didn't you mean to do?" Ranma prompted demandingly, hating himself for what he was doing, even though he knew intuitively that it had to be done. Things were starting to come out now, Ranma could see that, prompted undoubtedly by panic. Ryoga had done something that scared him, but what? Ranma knew that he had to find out, but seeing Ryoga's gently rounded face twisted in such pain hurt Ranma down to his very core. He fought to resist the urge to let the boy go. Instead, he leaned in, bringing his face close to Ryoga's, letting his thick bangs brush against the other boy's. "Look at me!" he ordered sharply.

Ryoga's eyes snapped open, and Ranma felt him start violently at finding them face to face. "No . . . " the Lost Boy whined softly, tears forming immediately and spilling down over his cheeks. Within seconds, he was sobbing, but his deep brown eyes were looking right through Ranma, as if he were no longer seeing him, but something else entirely. "No . . . " he pleaded again, his voice that of a young frightened boy more then the man he almost was. "Don't hurt me . . . don't hurt me again . . . I can't - I can't take it . . ."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Ryo-kun," Ranma whispered, briefly wondering if Ryoga was pleading with him, or someone else unseen. He lowered his face even more, so that his forehead rested against Ryoga's, and he could feel the desperate heat of hysterical fever which rose from the Lost Boy's body.

Ranma closed his own eyes, and tried something that he had never attempted before, but had heard of from various martial arts masters he'd encountered over the years. As he felt Ryoga quivering beneath him, Ranma attempted to still his own mind. It was difficult, for Ryoga's increasingly incoherent pleas penetrated Ranma like blades, sticking accusingly into him repeatedly without mercy, and renegade thoughts of regret repeated themselves over and over like some sick mantra. If only. If only he hadn't abandoned his friendship with Ryoga. If only he had stuck close to protect and guide him as he always wanted to . . . if only . . .

With a deep firm breath, Ranma forced the thoughts out of his head. Whatever had happened in the past, he -was- here now, and he -would- help Ryoga through this. Proceeding past Ryoga's sobbing and struggling, Ranma found a determined center in his own mind and gently used it to project himself into the other boy, to feel what he was feeling, to share his wildly escalating emotions and the pain that had built up within. Slowly, he began to lose the sense of himself, and he felt the first inklings of absolute terror filter into his head from Ryoga. He tried to calm the panicked boy, bringing with him only soothing thoughts and feelings.

"I'm with you, Ryo-kun," he said in a voice more mental than physical. "We'll face it together."

"No . . . " Ryoga tried to resist this intrusion, but found that he couldn't. Ranma's familiar aura was already within, whispering quietly, trying to soothe and calm him. His presence was subdued and sheltering, like the old worn blanket that Ryoga had coveted as toddler. Caring . . . comfort . . . love . . . it had been so long since Ryoga had felt anything like that genuinely directed towards him, and as frightening as Ranma's closeness was, Ryoga didn't want it to end. He latched onto it like a life preserver, clinging tightly. He wanted nothing more than to curl up beneath Ranma's protection and lose himself forever. Ranma would take care of him, right? Hadn't he sworn to? Hadn't he promised?

But that something was still out there, still after him. With Ranma's presence shielding and protecting him, Ryoga thought he might be able to face it, to turn on it and put an end to its merciless chase.

Within his mind, the Lost Boy pulled Ranma's strength around himself as a shield and turned, staring directly into the vicious green eyes and letting the clawing hands grasp at him. Ryoga shuttered, as a feeling of revulsion and horror grew within him, starting as a small black spot deep in his heart and quickly expanding to fill his entire being. Somewhere, a hole opened and memories too terrible to exist came to life once more.

Ryoga's struggles stopped abruptly and he went limp in Ranma's arms, much to the surprise of the other boy. As the Lost Boy began to sob, Ranma opened his eyes and looked down at the young man he was holding for a long moment, brushing his bangs back away from his face in a repetitive gesture meant to lend reassurance. When Ryoga reached up and grasped the front of his jacket, hanging on as if he were about to fall from some sheer cliff, Ranma accommodated by hugging him closer, easing him up until Ryoga's face was pressed close to his chest, his crying muffled by the material of Ranma's clothes.

"I . . . I d - d - didn't mean t - t - to k - k - k -. . . " Ryoga stuttered chokingly, unable to get the final word out.

"I know," Ranma soothed, rocking him slowly. Deep down inside, Ranma was shocked, but set the feeling aside to be dealt with later. Right now, only Ryoga was important. He was relieved that the young man's strange seizure appeared to be over, but had the feeling that the worst was yet to come. Ranma decided that he didn't care. He had made a promise, and this time he damn well intended to keep it. He was Ryoga's protector, his friend, his . . . Ranma shut his eyes slowly. He couldn't get ahead of himself. They would sort all that out later. For right now, he was content to simply hold the Lost Boy, share his strength and warmth with him, and pray that it would be enough.

"You're all right, Ryo-kun," Ranma assured him, bending down to place a kiss on Ryoga's feverish forehead, even as he continued to rock the crying boy. "Don't worry. I'm here, and I'm not going to let you go."

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

. . . how could he? . . . how could he?! . . .

Akane didn't even bother trying to hold back her tears. They burned in her brown eyes and against the skin of her face as she made her way down the side of the cliff, through the heavy brush and undergrowth that littered the rocky slope. For the moment, all of her concentration was devoted to making sure she was quiet, that she did nothing to alert the two boys at the campsite to her presence. That wouldn't do, not right now. Though she would have liked nothing better than to go racing down there to kill them both, she tempered her rage, rolling it into a tight black ball within herself, where it could fester and eat at her.

It was how she usually dealt with her anger, but she had never before been this angry. This was a fury that she was hard pressed to hold within, one that threatened to consume her with uncontrollable rage. Though she often gave in to her tantrums, never before had she felt like she did now. At this moment, all she wanted was retribution. She didn't want to hold it in, but she knew that she had to. Right now, it was more important that she get close enough to find out what was going on, to learn why her treacherous iinazuke was cradling that . . . that . . . Akane's mind couldn't come up with a word horrible enough to describe Ryoga. She simply blanked out his name in her train of thought and continued her silent scramble down the hill.

It was the awful betrayal that caused her painful tears. How long had it been now since she adopted P-Chan as her beloved pet? She couldn't even remember. And she had loved him so much! P-Chan was the one being that she trusted with all of her private secrets, and the single outlet for her deeply buried feelings of maternal instinct. He had been her baby, her most treasured possession. But all that time, in the two or so years that she had been caring for him, loving him, he had actually been . . . oh, how could he?! How could that insufferable beast have used her like that?! He had lied to her, betrayed her feelings and emotions . . . the words kept spinning through her mind . . . how could he? How could he?!

She'd always thought that Ryoga was her friend, that he was honest and good hearted, that he loved her. And truthfully, there had been a few times when she thought of him as more than just a companion as well. If she hadn't already been engaged to Ranma, Akane could have easily lost her heart to Ryoga, and had considered it on more than one occasion, though usually it was when her iinazuke was acting like a jerk.

But a small part of her had always been attracted to Ryoga, charmed by his determination to win her heart, and moved by his shyness. That was why the realization that he had been playing her for a fool all this time, that he had taken advantage of her softer side, had slept in her bed, lied to her . . . that was why it hurt so much . . . she never could have imagined that sweet Ryoga could be so deceitful and cruel.

He was going to pay. That perverted bastard was going to pay for every single minute he had spent in her presence, pretending to be her pet. She would revisit upon him every tear she was now shedding a thousand fold. She fought to restrain herself from going down to that campsite and smashing him into oblivion with one of her mallets. Oh, she would love that! But she also knew that it wouldn't be good enough. No. Ryoga was strong, and he would recover from a physical attack too quickly. Akane knew his real weaknesses. She would not attack his body.

She would tear out his fragile heart and shatter it.

And as for Ranma . . . that vicious snake had obviously known about P-Chan's identity and yet said nothing! Akane chose to conveniently forget all the times that Ranma called his rival Mr. P or Pig-Boy in front of her, as well as the many little cryptic hints that he had dropped over the years that suddenly made sense. If he had known of such treachery, he should have come right out and told her! He was her iinazuke, and yet he had stood idly by and let Ryoga make a fool of her! He said nothing as she took P-Chan to bed with her each night! He allowed that bastard to use her, and was even in on the deception! He had to be, for Akane's mind immediately jumped to all the times Ranma had, for some then-mysterious reason, saved Ryoga from falling into the backyard koi pond. What other motivation could he have other than trying to shame and dishonor her?! Well, they were going to pay. If Ranma thought that he knew the depths of her temper, he was in for a big surprise. He had no idea what she was really capable of. She would rip them both apart.

The only question was how? This was why she needed to get close enough to hear what was going on. From her vantage point on the cliff top, Akane was able to make out that Ryoga was obviously upset and distressed by something. She had quietly seethed through his lengthy conversation with Ranma, only to be shocked when he seemed to suffer some sort of seizure. Though a small distant part of her was concerned, her anger was too great to acknowledge that caring. If Ryoga was suffering, then so much the better.

When Ranma embraced his rival, pulling him close and pinning him down tightly, Akane had to forcibly hold herself back. What in the world did Ranma think he was doing?! This alone would have been enough ammunition to use against them both, for obviously their relationship went far deeper then either of them had ever admitted, but Akane wanted more. She wanted to break Ranma, punish him for daring to make a fool of her, betraying her, and for the caring and . . . love? . . . that he was now showing to Ryoga. It wasn't fair! ~She~ was suppose to be his iinazuke, she was the one he should be showing kindness and understanding towards, not that . . . that . . . PIG. Together, they were betraying her further, shaming her, taking her honor and stomping all over it!

Akane finally made it to the level ground of the forest floor, and carefully picked her way through the undergrowth, around to a spot close to the camp. Yes, she'd make sure that Ranma learned his lesson, and learned it good. And Ryoga. She wouldn't just hurt Ryoga.

She would destroy him. Completely.

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

Ranma was careful to make sure that he banked the fire well, and moved their packs a good distance away from the flames so that there would be no inadvertent accidents. That placated him somewhat, but he still had a feeling of mild unease, as if he were being watched, and he didn't like that. Glancing around, his weary blue eyes gathering in the darkness of the night, the young man decided perhaps he was just feeling overly edgy because of the state his companion was in. He sighed and prepared himself for what was to come. Ryoga said that he remembered what had happened, and now Ranma was going to make him talk about it.

Ducking into the tent, he zipped it up behind him securely and felt his way through the close blackness to the pile of joined sleeping bags where Ryoga was waiting for him. The Lost Boy lifted the corner of the coverings to make room for him to slide in, and then Ranma made sure that they were tucked in tightly as he fitted himself in around the warmth of Ryoga's slim body. The young man curled back into his arms as if he belonged there, resting his head against Ranma's strong chest, listening to his heartbeat even through the layers of his clothing. It was a soothing rhythm, one that Ryoga almost thought sounded familiar. Any nervousness, anger, or bitterness he might have felt towards Ranma was shadowed for the time being. Right now, he concentrated only on the offered shelter.

Ranma pulled off Ryoga's multiple bandanas and tossed them into the darkness, so that he could run his fingers freely through the young man's thick hair. He noticed absently that it was getting longer. Obviously it had been awhile since Ryoga had cut it. Feeling the uneven lengths play through his fingers, Ranma allowed himself a slight smile, wondering if he could somehow convince the Lost Boy to let it grow out.

Ryoga seemed to like the feel of the stroking fingers in his hair. He sighed softly and pressed his head a little tighter against Ranma's chest.

"You okay?" Ranma whispered.

"No," Ryoga replied with a small sniffle.

"Well, I won't let anything hurt you, alright? You're safe." Ranma nuzzled his face in Ryoga's hair, drawing in the fresh outdoor scent of it. Holding Ryoga like this felt so good, so natural, like a continuation of something they had begun a long time ago, but abandoned. Some small corner of his mind was still lecturing him with Genma's voice, reminding him of honor, duty and dojo, but all of that was far away. Ryoga was here and now, and Ranma could put his other responsibilities aside, even if only for a little while. He felt far more comfortable here, holding Ryoga, than he had ever felt with any of his iinazukes. The Lost Boy needed his presence and his support, and Ranma was only too willing to give him both.

({ Maybe I can somehow make up for all the teasing, all the fighting, the angry words . . . I really want Ryoga to trust me again, like he used to. His friendship is one of the only nice memories I got of being a kid. I want it to be that way again. Oh hell, who am I kidding? I want it to be more . . . })

After a long quiet time of simply cradling his companion in his arms, Ranma nudged him just slightly. "Time to talk," he prompted gently. "The whole story, not just highlights."

"It doesn't matter," Ryoga muttered, shivering despite how toasty warm it was between them.

"Yes it does, Ryo-kun. I'm here to protect you. Now, please."

With a shuddering sigh, Ryoga drew in a low breath and securely pressed himself as close to Ranma as he could physically get, gripping the material of his jacket with tightly clenched fingers. In response, Ranma embraced him more firmly, silently assuring him that he wasn't alone. Not anymore.

In tones low and hesitant, the Lost Boy began to whisper the entire story.

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