Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Distance ❯ Chapter 19 ( Chapter 19 )

Ranma slept on and off throughout the day, eating little. He didn't feel one-hundred-percent, but he didn't feel like such crap, either. An old woman, Mrs. Kobayashi, came by twice to check on him, bringing some homemade orange juice the second time, for which he politely thanked her. When she didn't leave right away, he drank the entire glass and then handed it back, trying not to vomit - the juice was very acidic, and his insides twisted.

At least she left after that.

That night, however, as a result of his many naps, he lay wide awake on Makoto's futon. His muscles quivered on occasion, and his mouth still felt a little sticky and numb sometimes, but other than those few complaints, his resilient body had recovered quite effectively from the poison.

And he wasn't tired at all. He lay awake, stroking a hot pink furry pillow, pretending it was Kaibutsu's fur. The universe was screwing with him, he was sure of it. All the people he was missing come racing back into his life one after the other, but chasing on their heels were the snapping jaws of new enemies. And Akane…

He had to stop thinking about her. Regardless of what happened with the supposed “Arai Brothers” and their efforts to scare him into fighting in their little tournament, or whatever the hell they were trying to do, he had to stop thinking about Akane. Getting her back could not be even an inkblot on his List of Things Ranma Needs to Do to Live. He loved her, still, he was sure of that. No one in his life came close to making him feel the way she did, no one brought him more joy even when they were tugging at his heartstrings with the strength of an ox.

Glancing at Makoto's bedside clock, Ranma groaned at the time: nine, and he felt as fresh as a daisy - a poisoned daisy, at any rate. Ranma executed a quick Chinese Getup, stumbling a little as his unused limbs wobbled. If he couldn't sleep, and he couldn't beat the ever-loving crap out of some yakuza, he was going to practice.

Akane's living room was quickly arranged so that there was enough empty space for him to work out without breaking anything. “Anything else,” he muttered, staring at the corner of her counter, hastily patched by his inexperienced hand. Even after having to repair the Tendou Dojo so many times, he still wasn't very handy.

He went through some warm-up exercises with some weights stacked by Akane's bookshelf. As urged his body to work with him, Ranma wondered how much Akane still practiced the art, and then quickly pushed the thought from his mind - he wasn't supposed to be thinking about her.

He let himself get lost in the feeling of his muscles snapping back to attention, lost himself in the sweat and the burn. He put down the weights and went through a few basic kata, watching his limbs snap out from his body like whips, satisfied at his own ability to recover from something that would have killed the average person.

Ranma Saotome, Above Average. It didn't sound glamorous…

Eventually his eyes wandered over to the pictures of Takahiro on the wall and he paused mid palm-strike, sweat dripping down his forehead and pooling in the corner of his open mouth. He resisted the urge to spit it out, and wiped his face with his shirt, instead, then tossed the sweaty garment through the open bathroom door. Taking a few deep breaths, Ranma studied the pictures for a few moments.

Ranma knew some Capoeira, and while he was not even a graduado, he knew what the moves were for, knew how they were formed. Twisting his body, Ranma flipped onto his hands and proceeded to copy the photos, going through each move - they were a progression through a single move, he now saw after studying them more. The cartwheel, or aú, a standard, almost continuous motion in Capoeira. Ranma did the motion over and over, starting from one end of the living room and moving to the other, then back again, over and over until his arms burned and his chest ached and his legs kept trying to flop forward and knock him in the teeth with each swing of his body.

Ranma was moving through his last intended aú, heading back toward the door, when it suddenly swung open. Akane stepped through and let out a surprised yelp. It happened in slow motion, and he was too far into the move to reverse, but he tried. He snapped his legs to the side desperately, trying to swing his body the other way, but he needn't have worried.

Even wearing a dress and sandals, Akane reacted like an artist. She dropped like a stone and rolled backwards into the hallway, coming up into a handstand. Ranma flopped down on the floor in a heap of lost momentum, and stared at her as she carefully performed a front split. Her dress was around her waist, but the ever-present running shorts protected her modesty. She came down on first one small foot, then the other, to face him with a surprised expression.

“What the hell are you doing?” Akane asked without heat, laughing a little and helping him to his feet. He tottered a bit, the blood rushing from his head and into his legs and arms so fast he felt dizzy. “Whoa, whoa, careful!” Akane grabbed him around the shoulders and walked him over to the couch. When he was settled, she went back and retrieved her fallen satchel from the hallway and closed the door behind her before slipping out of her shoes.

“Sorry, I didn't know when you'd be home,” Ranma said lamely, feeling suddenly embarrassed at having been caught copying her stupid boyfriend.

Akane glared at him, dropping her satchel on the floor with a thud. “You need to rest, why are you cart wheeling around my apartment?” she walked over to her bedroom while staring at him. Ranma watched, blushing, as she pulled her dress off over her head, but then breathed out, half in disappointment, half in relief, when he saw the white tank top underneath it. Akane caught him watching her and looked away; the backs of her knees turned red and he felt his stomach clench in excitement.

“Couldn't sleep,” he muttered, “wanted t'practice a bit.” He stretched, and Akane watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was satisfied to see that she appeared to be fascinated by his rippling stomach muscles. “That was a pretty good move back there; you been practicin'?”

At that Akane scoffed and turned to face him head-on, folding her arms over her chest. “Puh-lease, Ranma,” she said sarcastically, “I'm in action movies, of course I practice.” She smirked arrogantly. “I bet I practice more than you.”

“No way, lady - I practice every day. I was workin' at a damn dojo.” He stood, feeling his strength rushing back; his adrenaline had spiked when he almost tumbled into her, and now all her exposed flesh was reinvigorating him.

“Oh yeah? Wanna spar?” she asked coyly, strutting over toward the door. “Or are you still scared to touch girls?”

“You think you can take me?” he said, feigning shock, enjoying the back-and-forth immensely, like a stand-off before a fight. “You're on. I won't go easy on ya', though.”

“Whatever, Rambo. Follow me, I'm not fighting in my apartment.” She grabbed her keys and he followed her out into the hallway. They padded softly across the foyer, through a pair of sliding glass doors, and out into a small grassy recreation area at the center of several other surrounding apartment buildings. Motion-triggered lights buzzed on as they stepped outside. In the light, Ranma noted there was a wooden practice dummy in one corner.

“That yours?” He inquired, stretching out in the cooler night air and nodding towards the well-worn wooden post.

Akane glanced at it as she reached down to touch her toes, folding herself so neatly in half he could have fit her under the sofa. “Yeah, Takahiro bought it for me,” she paused, hemming and hawing for a moment, “um, he likes that I practice the art.”

“That's good. You ready?” he changed the subject quickly, standing up and bouncing around on the balls of his feet.

Akane stretched a bit more and then bowed to him, a gesture he returned. They settled into mirrored Horse stances. “Are you going to dance around me like usual?” Akane asked casually.

“Prolly.” Before the word finished leaving his lips, he erupted from his stance and flew at his former fiancée, feinting a hammer fist at her open chest. Akane moved inside the feint, instead of blocking, and Ranma quickly changed the direction his hand was going, swiping a sword hand at her exposed neck. Akane saw, but was slower than he was. As she tried to duck, he caught her upside the head, with only a quarter of the force he would use had he been fighting anyone, anyone but her.

A look of disgust crossed her face, a familiar look he'd seen whenever they'd done what passed for sparring together. Akane's hand snaked up his bare chest, her touch electric despite the fact that he felt her fist curling in preparation for an uppercut to his chin that might send him all the way to Kyoto - at least he had family there.

Ranma leapt up, straight up, and watched her eyes glimmering in the light as she followed his movements. He brought his knees up to his chest and tilted forward, sailing over her head and twisting, landing lightly behind her and tapping the back of her head.

He meant for it to be nostalgic. Akane either missed his intentions, or did not feel the same way about their first sparring match.

“Sai!” her yell was savage. She reached both hands behind her and boxed his ears like he was a naughty child. Ranma yelped and shook his head back and forth, putting his hands up in a defensive posture as his ears rang. Akane gasped and turned around, rushing to him.

“I'm so sorry, Ranma! I… I don't know what— AAH!” Ranma grinned triumphantly at her shriek, and when his foot connected with the side of her leg and brought her to the ground. She reached out to grasp his calf with her claw-like hand, but he danced out of her reach.

“Tsk, tsk, too slow, Akane!” he teased, sticking out his tongue. He was rewarded for his teasing with a well-executed arrastao that surprised him enough that it actually caught him. Falling hard on his hip, Ranma winced.

Akane followed through with the whip-like motion of her lower body, balanced still on her hands, looking like a male gymnast at the pommel horse. She came up on one hand and pressed herself off the ground and up on to her feet with a happy little sigh, “Looks like Akane wins by a takedown!” She made various crowd noises, hissing and cheering quietly as she did a little circuit around the yard.

Ranma hated Takahiro. “He show you that?” he asked, standing and brushing grass off of his sweatpants.

Nodding, coming down off of her high so visibly she seemed to shrink, Akane frowned. “Yeah, Takahiro knew the producer on Mark of the Blood Oni… `cause he's a stuntperson, like me,” she paused, fiddling with the hem of her shorts, “you're still really good, Ranma.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well I toldja, I practice every day,” he smiled at her, “you're good, too, y'know. Got better.”

It was her turn to shrug. “Yeah, well, I'm still a bruiser at heart - no fanciness in my technique. That's why they want me as Jun-Li,” she laughed, “have you seen her legs, she looks like a horse in that game!” Ranma admired Akane's thighs even while he laughed in agreement.

Akane's could probably crush that horse.

“You an' I should practice together, y'know?” he missed running with Kaibutsu, every day, but if he got to train with Akane… well, it would take some of the edge off.

“Oh? Yeah, well, if you take me seriously, maybe.” She turned her nose up and started back inside.

“Hey, I take you plenny seriously; I hit ya', didn't I?” He felt a little hurt - he'd tried, he really had.

“Pfft, whatever, Ranma; you think I'm a porcelain doll, and in the same breath you'll call me a gorilla,” she opened the sliding glass door and stepped into the foyer, “make up your mind, then we'll practice.”

Ranma sighed in annoyance and followed her inside.