Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ The Butterfly Effect ❯ i.mperfect ( Chapter 2 )

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[1.2]

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It was good to be the kunoichi.

One particular unprecedented century-spawned genius-type would have verily agreed as he skipped down the sidewalk, heart all aflutter, taking in the delighful sights, sounds and smells in the air on the path back to Ucchan's. With the pan of bath articles spinning delirously around at the tip of his index finger and a favorite tunes humming in his heart, Konatsu traipsed delicately down the street at a leisurely-yet-anticipatory pace.

He'd shown his mistress, his goddess, light of his life, fire of his--er, he'd shown his beloved Ukyo-sama how a little treestump remover mixed with ashes of his nightly garbage burns and a few other things she had around the shop could make some wondrously large explosions (unlike the small -if terribly cute- flour bombs and firecrackers she seemed so fond of). To his delight, the okonomiyaki chef had displayed a great deal of interest in learning more about nitrate-based compounds, and combined with her facility in basic chemistry, the two had spent the past few glorious days making all sorts of neat things that went boom.

It was that expression, her face alight in wonderment that he now recalled, her visage appearing like an angel before the ninja. The feeling, the joy he experienced in realizing that he could bring a smile to his Ukyo-sama's face, that he could finally give back something to his mistress, after she'd given him so much. That glorious emotion filled him with rapture in every mincing hop, skip and jump, every giggling twirl. It was so overwhelming, in fact it made him want to . . . to . . .

. . . sing!

'There were bells on a hill

But I never heard them ringing

No, I never heard them at all

Till there was you.'

Dandelions sprouted, blossoming with warm abundance in Elysian fields. Songbirds fluttered around his head, trilling in accompaniment to his thrilling solo a cappella.

'There were birds in the sky

But I never saw them winging'

One sparrow lit upon his uplifted hand, perching on his delicately outstretched index finger.

'No, I never saw them at all

Till there was y--'

Staggered, loud hand-slapping and obnoxious hoots from passersby on the street brought him out of his revue. The kunoichi tucked away his microphone, mild irritation marking his face, as one broke from his pack and staggered drunkenly towards him.

"Awww . . . why'dja stop?" the six-pack Romeo slurred, as a few others also wobbled in their leader's general direction. Five men, each one of them tanked out of their minds approached. The one who'd spoken to him appeared to be a little shy of six-foot-four and built like a linebacker.

"Excuse me, I must be going." Konatsu stepped around the giant, only to find himself blocked by an impressive forearm and bicep.

"Gu-girl like you shouldn't be walkin' the *HIC* shtreets alone --should have sh-some protec--tec--you know." He bent towards the smaller figure, grinning and reeking of cigarettes and Sapporo as he moved that arm to the kunoichi's shoulders. "Name's Takao."

No sooner had he placed a meaty hand on the ninja than he found his spine shortened by three inches. Eyes bulged from the drunken bunch as the thin, delicate-featured girl effortlessly suplexed a man over twice her weight to the ground. They surrounded the kunoichi, a tad more sober.

"Now, it's not very manly to force your attentions on a girl who doesn't want them." From out of the night came a new voice. Everyone turned to see a matronly woman step from the penumbric shadows into the flaring lamplight, a long wrapped bundle in her arms. The cloth slowly unwrapped, fluttering to the ground with the whisper of a moth wing, revealing a katana cradled in her arms.

"Stay outta this, lady," one of the goons growled, much in the manner of typical goons, and took a threatening step forward in the method specified by the "How to Be an Effective Goon" manual (copies available at the Nerima Chapter of the local Goon Union, and other fine goon establishments). After all, there were proper procedures to follow.

"It's really not necessary," the ninja agreed.

"It is the wife and mother of martial artists' duty to protect the innocent," Nodoka Saotome announced, as little flags and banners with "DUTY IS OUR JOB" printed on them sprouted out from behind her.

"Wife and mother?" blinked one.

"Wouldn't that make her her own grandma?" another muttered, scratching his head.

The woman's fingers grimly wrapped around the hilt of her sword. "Thus it falls upon--whoops!"

She jerked a little too hard and the katana slipped from her fingers, spinning through the air in a circular arc until it sliced into the wall with an authoritative *thwack* high between one man's legs. He emitted squeak somewhere in the upper range of the treble clef before slowly toppling over sideways.

The rest of the gang, torn between one psychotic violent female and another found their decision made for them as a shout of "Crimson Storm!" suddenly buried them in an explosion of deadly smooches, leaflets reading Eat at Ucchans!, two dozen slightly-used chopsticks and one or two shurikens.

Takao picked an unfortunate time to regain consciousness, groggily rising to his feet amidst the litter and settling dust. He staggered towards the ninja whose right hand was still upraised in the middle of the smoky storm.

Leaping towards the shaking figure who had come surprisingly close to singing soprano for the Vienna Boys Choir (and consequently lost all semblance of bladder control), Konatsu deftly pulled the katana out from the wall and twisted, landing soundlessly in front of the now six-foot-one leader. With a flick of his wrist, the kunoichi swung the sword, its whistling edge glittering in a deadly arc.

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Sometimes it sucked to be so ardently desired.

Shampoo had finally finished her last delivery of the night and was in the process of hopping on her bike, when two forms blew by her at Mach-3, kicking up dust, leaves and assorted stray advertisements in their wake. Blinking, the Amazon followed the twin trails of burning rubber, arching her neck around the corner as the two bats-out-of-hell resolved themselves into the familiar figures of a pigtailed boy and . . . and. . . *HER*.

"Man, that was scary," her Airen wheezed, one arm heavily leaned against a wall that lined the sidewalk.

Akane shivered in agreeement, rubbing her upper arms. "You're not kidding. I think the temperature dropped about five degrees in there."

The Amazon followed the two of them from a certain distance as they made their way back to the dojo at a lower velocity. It all looked normal at the onset, yet she could not help but feel a slight sense of wrongness at the scene of the Kitchen Destroyer walking homewards with Shampoo's Airen beside her.

The Pervert Girl had stopped and was now facing Shampoo's husband, both engaged in a murmured conversation that ended with the girl gesturing towards the top of the wall. He idled, alternating between one foot and the other, then shrugged. Looking around, he self-consciously rubbed a hand behind his head, and the purple-haired girl heard:

"Didn't feel like it, I guess." He shrugged, then a slight smirk hitched on his lips. "Why, you thinking 'bout taking my place up there?"

"You think I can't do it?"

"Considerin' you got about, oh, *zero* balance . . . I dunno."

The Pervert Girl then glanced around, looking for any witnesses. Shampoo snapped around the corner as the girl's head swiveled her way. Peeking back around, she caught the end of Akane's leap coming up a fraction short, then an indelicate scramble onto the wall. Righting herself on the ten-foot brick barrier, arms held out for balance, she took her first wobbly steps forward with all the grace of a newborn colt.

"HA!" The Pervert Girl triumphantly looked down, then windmilled slightly as the action caused her to jitter.

Her Airen shook his head, trying to hide the beginnings of a smile that threatened to break out on his face. Suppressing a chuckle, he hopped atop the precarious perch, facing his fiance.

The temptation to break up such a sickly sweet moment was overwhelming. It should be *her* on the wall, walking with her husband. Not that . . . that less-cute, balance-challenged, food-torturing . . . Kitchen Destroyer.

It would be simple, really, a voice reminiscent of her Hibachan murmured in the Amazon's ear. Just hop the fence on her bicycle and ram lovingly into her Airen. If she was lucky, knock him unconscious, and then glomp onto him like the cuddly, squirmy little squeezable he was. Get Pervert Girl mad. Get both of them kicked into the river as Violent Girl stalk off. Have Airen wake up and run off screaming like a little girl as she meowed and clung to Airen's head. Wait until Airen plowed into something that couldn't be knocked over. Let go of Airen's unconscious body. Go home. Get hot water. Beat Mousse for hugging plant, calling it 'Shampoo' and declaring his love to it.

Same as always.

It was expected.

It would be tedious.

With a sigh, Shampoo turned and silently pedaled back to the Nekohanten.

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Ranma wanted badly to laugh, but Akane looked so proud to be walking (well, not really walking, more like wobbling) there on the wall, he simply didn't have the heart.

"What are you doing up here?" *Wobble*

"'Cause, dummy, it's a long fall. If you break your head and start droolin' Mr. Tendo'll kill me, and I don't wanna be engaged to no manju for brains. You're also wearin' a dress." He flipped into a handstand and began walking backwards on his palms. "'Course, if you want me to keep lookin' up your skirt . . . "

Akane EEP!'ed and pushed her skirt down between her legs, which consequently turned out to be a really, really bad idea as her already precarious footing gave out from beneath her and she weaved, wavered and finally pitched forward.

Flipping forward back onto his feet, Ranma caught the girl by the waist, attempting to rebalance her, but her panicked arm-flapping threw the both of them off to the side.

"Quit windmillin' around, stupid!" He snapped as an errant hand whacked him across one eye and both toppled off the wall. Righting himself, the pigtailed boy scooped up the girl and kicked off the side of the partition, bouncing across several trees, signposts and cars until he finally came to a soft landing.

Just in time to see a flash of steel slice the air towards his face.

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**Click**

Nabiki counted four more moves to a perfect three-point fork and leaned back against the booth to admire her handiwork, pausing only to slip a quick glance at the entrance of the Nekohanten. "Not to rush you or anything, Moussie-chan . . . "

"Would you stop calling me that?"

"Right-o, Duckman." Her eyes flickered back from the front doors. "I'd just like to be out of here before Shampoo comes back."

He shook his head, then blocked her setup with a pawn. "What do you have against my beloved?"

"Personally? Nothing at all. But I'd just as soon not be part of the collateral damage when she starts using your head as a hockey puck for latching onto her bicycle and spouting sweet nothings to it."

"Love," he sighed staring dreamily off into space. "It's . . . "

"Exciting and new? A many splendoured thing? A battlefield? I'm sure it is."

"You've never been in love," he retorted, pointing with an all-knowing smugness that made her want to smack it off his four-eyed face.

"Oh, please! Is that pity I see? It's not exactly something I miss."

"Of course not. You can't miss something you've never experienced."

"Never experienced what? Self-loathing when he derides you, calls you names, destroys your self-image? Jealousy when he leads the others on, and flaunts his 'manliness' in front of you? The conflict he inevitably attracts and adamant refusal to take on anything remotely resembling responsibility?" A bark. A laugh? It sounded unnatural to the Amazon. "If that's love, I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

A black pawn piece twiddled between four long fingers, slipping back and forth, over, under, through endless figure eights before clicking one square forward.

"He does care about her, you know."

"Yeah? Well he sure has a funny way of showing it."

"Saotome's a cretin and a compulsive womanizer, I'll agree to that, but I will also not dispute the fact that he cares enough to fight a seemingly hopeless battle for her life. And enough to call her back from the dead."

Her hand stilled, the white bishop precariously dangling from the set of closely manicured nails. "Wait. Wait a minute. You're saying my little sister died in China?"

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T he blade of the katana whizzed in a clean stroke that would have further reduced the Takao's height to a mere five-foot-four (but also would have cured the would-be assailant's persistent acne problem), had it connected. However, the sword was instead intercepted by a pair of choppers that stopped the edge's forward momentum dead in its tracks.

"Hey 'Natsu, 'sup," came the mumble from between clenched teeth.

The kunoichi blinked at the sudden appearance of Ranma-san and Akane-san in his field of vision.

"Ranma!"

"Mom?" Nodoka's son turned and spat out the blade. Then he noticed the half-dozen or so whimpering, battered forms lying around in various states of agony, covered in lipstick, papercuts and kitchen utensils.

Murabayashi, goon-in-training (he had only one more month of probation to go before he would be granted full membership, post-initiation fees), stealthily flipped through his copy of "How to Be an Effective Goon" to chapter eleven, titled: 'Dealing With Nermia Martial Artists'. Below the header listed an array of photographs, all reproduced in vibrant Kodacolor.

A wanna-be samurai with a bokken and bouquet of flowers. Nope.

Guy in a bandanna with a backpack and umbrella. Nope.

"These guys been buggin' ya?" mouthed the pigtailed kid.

Girl with a giant spatula. Nope.

Pretty-boy with dragon-scale vest and pantyhose belt. Pantyhose?

Nodoka sniffed, gathering up her katana. "Not really." She inspected the teeth marks that dented both sides of the blade and frowned. Glancing back at her son, she brightened. "It's so nice to see you and your fiance getting along so well."

Ranma's face furrowed in confusion, then his eyeballs slowly rolled to the right, at Akane's own averted pair. He set her down on the ground, the both of them shuffling their feet and blushing slightly.

Chinese girl with purple hair. Nope.

Chinese boy in glasses looking the wrong way. Nope.

"Um, have you seen a tall drunken guy? This wide," the ninja spread his arms slightly. "Last seen where you are right now?"

Ranma scanned the perimeter, swiveling his head to the left, then right, then up, and finally down. After a moment of pause, he stepped off of Takao's head, and with a negligent sweep of his foot, flipped the unconscious (but fully unionized) goon over onto his back.

Short-haired, somewhat cute girl.

Kid in Chinese clothes and pigtail.

Murabayashi looked up.

Then glanced back down at the spitting image of the two photographs, before turning the page. On it, in proud 24-point bold font read the caption, 'Should you encounter any of these people . . . '

--Flip--

The next page displayed a giant picture of someone's posterior with the caption:

Kiss this goodbye.

The goon-to-be whimpered.

Then, a sudden flash of abnormal insight struck, much in the manner of a three-watt bulb flickering dimly on. He executed an unprecedented move (unprecedented at least by those of the local Goon Union, Nerima Chapter), thus insuring at least a partial extension to his present lifespan and contributing to remotest possibility of producing future goon children. It was be a topic, points of which would be debated, discussed, its inherent strategy outlined for years to come.

He went back to being unconscious.

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Light s off.

Lot secured.

Bell muffled.

The purple-haired Amazon stealthily crept towards the Nekohanten, wishing ferverently for one evening's respite from yet another full-frontal glomp and wail of "Shampoo, I love you!" by that cretinous, blind duck. Ever since Jusendo he'd been much more annoying than usual, sticking like to her like a damn lamprey every time she so much as walked into the room.

Slipping through the glass doors, she drew in a muted hiss upon spotting the fool huddled in one of the corner booths, and cocked a fist back in preparation of planting a solid one on his kisser.

Seconds passed and the figure in the booth still hadn't moved, and the Amazon took a few steps forward, spotting the second figure across from him as that belonging to yet another Tendo daughter. They both sat positioned in front of a chess board, silent and unmoving, like the other permanent fixtures in the restaurant.

Another few feet and Shampoo saw that the look the Mercenary Girl gave Mousse could have bored a hole through his cranium.

She stared at the two for long a moment, then shrugged and ambled upstairs to bed.

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Back at the Tendo dojo, Kasumi handed a cup of tea to the kunoichi, who marvelled at the number of leaves milling about at the bottom of his cup. Why there must have been at least six of the little pieces sitting there!

"So many," Konatsu murmured, blowing a wisp of steam aside, before taking a sip. Then his eyes fell upon the cookie that sat on the little dish right in front of him. Not a crumb, not a little broken off piece, but a whole entire cookie! Oh joys! Oh rapture! Tears of delight glimmered gratefully under his eyelashes. It was so extravagant!

"So, child," Nodoka began, "I understand you live at the Kuonji girl's restaurant."

"Ukyo-sama," sighed the ninja, eyes filled with a perfect array of glittering diamonds in black, shimmering pools. "I could sing raptures about how wonderful she is! She feeds me, clothes me, and pays me a whole 20 yen a week!"

"Must have given him a raise." Akane murmured to the pigtailed boy, who nodded.

"How rich I am, to know such a generous goddess!" the kunoichi continued to gush, unheeding of the slight frown that began to crease the Saotome matriarch's face.

"You seem quite attached to the girl," Nodoka carefully probed.

Konatsu blushed. "Oh yes, she . . ."

'She will hold me fast

I'll be home at last'

An elegant blue spotlight lovingly caressed the ninja's delicate form, his figure waxing longingly behind an old 50's style announcers mike, as he crooned his aching heart out.

'Not a loser anymore

Like the last time and the time before.'

Polite claps sounded from the occupants of the living room.

"I can see how living with the Kuonji girl would be the source of certain . . . confusion," murmured Nodoka. Then, seeing a solution rise like a periscope in distant sights, she tapped a fist into her palm.

Waves crashed against the shoreline behind the Saotome matriarch as she stood proudly with one foot perched on the dinner table. One of the breakers caught Ranma unawares and tossed the boy-turned-girl around like a hacky-sack before finally dumping her back onto shore. "Thus it shall be my duty to dispel these yearnings and make you a true woman among--"

"Uh, hey mom." A dripping Ranma-chan tapped Nodoka on the shoulder. "Konatsu's a guy."

A pause. A long one.

"I see." Another pause. "Would you like some hot water?"

"No curse. He's just . . . different."

"Mrs. Saotome," Akane added helpfully. "He's a kunoichi. He's supposed to do those," she gesticulated, floundering, then gave up. "Kunoichi-like things."

The double overhead receded into distant still waters as Nodoka sat back down, index finger tapping thoughtfully against her cheek. "Kunoichi? I've heard about the kind of things they are supposed to do. Do you--" Visions of yaoi danced in her head. "--Seduce men as well?"

"NO!" Konatsu then blushed and coughed delicately. "I like women. My sisters took care of those things." He rubbed his chin. "Though most of the time the customers just sort of ran off screaming. But I've never had to do anything more than a kiss."

"Oh dear. And that attack, what was, it, 'Crimson Storm?' That's not exactly manly, is it?"

"Plus you know all those showtunes," Soun added.

Genma, noticing the kunoichi's cookie was still untouched, subtly snaked a hand over and was met with a bloodthirsty, teeth-bared snarl before hastily retreating.

"It's perfectly fine, you know." Kasumi gave the ninja such a warm, accepting smile. "If you're inclined towards--"

"I'M NOT INTERESTED IN MEN!" Konatsu shouted, leaping to his feet.

A second later, a duplicate popped up, chiming in:

'I can't abide 'em even now and then.'

Then a third:

'Than ever marry one of them, I'd rest a virgin rather,'

And fourth:

'For husbands are a boring lot and only give you bother.'

The original finally summed it up with:

'Of course, I'm awfully glad that Mother had to marry Father,

But I--'

The kunoichi paused, jaw hanging in mid-arpeggio, suddenly noticing the stares from around the room. Discreetly tucking the microphone away, his body copies dissapeared with an audible **Poit!** and the ninja settled back down assuming his prettily pressed demeanor. "In any case, I assure you I'm quite heterosexual. I just wish that . . . "

"Yes?" Nodoka leaned forward.

"I wish I were more like Ranma-san," the ninja looked down and folded his hands in his lap. "Then perhaps Ukyo-sama would think of me differently."

The Saotome matriarch leaned back thoughtfully. "I understand perfectly. My son is, after all, a truly manly man."

A glowing Ranma crossed her arms arrogantly, manfully tossing her head against the backlit sunset, a sight which would have been truly impressive in its manliness if she didn't have breasts at the time.

"I've even tried dressing more like Ranma-san, and yet it still doesn't seem to work!" wailed the kunoichi, who then tossed an object into the air that gave off a *poof* of smoke and streamers resembling a giant party popper.

As the haze cleared, the assorted members of the household took in the sight of the transformed ninja, then, as a slight breeze blew by, slowly toppled over like a stack of dominoes.

"My, what an impressive disguise!" clapped Kasumi.

It really was a very good facsimile. The pigtail. The instant red hair dye. Even the padded bra.

"Boy," Genma bigsweated, propping himself up from the floor. "That fuku has GOT to go."

Konatsu cocked his head as the perplexed index finger of his right played against a corner of his lip.

"But Ranma-san wears dresses all the time . . . "

Nodoka's head whipped towards her presently-female son and husband, both of whom yelped and alternated between hiding behind each other.

"Perhaps then, my husband could help you in becoming a man among men." the Saotome matriarch sweatdropped. "After all, he did so well with Ranma here." The pigtailed girl snorted derisively. "Plus, it will give my husband something to occupy his time."

Genma rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But it'd mean spending less time training this ungrateful cub here."

Ranma 'feh'd' as he poured the remainder of the teakettle over his head. "Like there's anything left you got ta teach me, old fool."

"The boy may be right," the Saotome patriarch sighed, suddenly seeming decades older than before, with his head bent and bowed from the weight of his years. "This old shell of a man has nothing left to offer . . . nothing but a little FATHERLY LOVE!" He grabbed the boy and proceeded to hug him and love him and squeeze him to itty bitty pieces.

Ignoring the twitching and crumpled product of the Cradle of Hell on the floor, Genma clapped Konatsu on the back, knocking out the cookie wedged in the kunoichi's face.

"All right, Konatsu, I'll do it."

The ninja picked up the cookie, dusted it off and popped it back into his mouth. "Thank you," he mumbled, swallowing the confection whole. "Thank you so much Saotome-san! I can finally be a man for Ukyo-sama."

"We'll start off first with fishcakes," the older man began ticking off items on his fingers. "Then octopus and squid, maybe some tuna sausages as well and--"

Ranma kicked him in the head.

"Baka oyaji! You ain't teaching him THAT! I can't believe how stupid you are! You planning to take him to Jusenkyo too?"

In response, a hand shot up, latched on to his extended leg, and slammed him facedown to the floor. Genma then sat up, arms thoughtfully crossed.

"You know, the boy may have an idea there. A curse might very well--"

This time it was Akane who knocked his head through the floorboards.

"Mrs. Saotome, are you sure this is a good idea?" She asked plaintively, as Ranma glared at the wriggling form trying to unsuccessfully pry his head out of the floor.

"I will keep an eye on my husband to see he does not go too far in his training." She turned to Soun. "Perhaps with the assistance of Tendo-san as well."

The Tendo patriach brightened. "What do you think, Saotome? It'll be just like old times!" Shuffling over, he yanked up Genma's head from the hole, flicked off a few board splinters, and jabbed the befuddled old man in the ribs conspiratorially. "Besides the kids'll be too busy with other things anyway, eh?"

The two who were the subject of the nudge-nudge, wink-wink, grin-grin, say-no-more, stared suspiciously at their fathers.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you all!" The Kunoichi's joy could be tangibly felt in the explosion that detonated in the living room.

"Perhaps," Nodoka calmly wiped the smattering of lipstick kisses off her kimono. "We should start on that soon."

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The heavy silence that pervaded Nerima's late evening was so palpable, Mousse could have sworn that it had caught him by the throat, strangling all semblance of voice out of him. The Amazon swallowed nervously, eyes darting to the girl walking silently beside him, wondering if he'd spoken too much earlier that evening.

Nabiki had been on a continual stew since he'd opened his stupid mouth back at the Nekohanten, and he could only imagine the kind of demons he'd released tonight with that slip. Though he'd never experienced being on the wrong end of the Tendo sister's wrath, he'd heard of the horrors underwent by those who crossed the otherwise normal-seeming girl, a certain hell served with a smile.

Anger, he could take. He suffered that all the time. Violence, he was used to. He suffered THAT all the time as well. But this . . . this simmering undercurrent under an otherwise expressionless veneer was something he didn't understand nor had he any interest in taking an up-close inspection of.

Still, with the valiant effort of a bewildered amateur attempting to defuse an intricate ticking time bomb, Mousse took a deep breath and bravely tried to mitigate the situation.

"I believe what happened to your sister and Saotome at Jusendo is something that you need to ask of them yourself," the Amazon murmured. "I will say this though: there were several times when he could have died - should have died - had it not been for her. As many times as he has saved her, she has done likewise for him."

He received only more silence in return.

She died, the thought skipped through Nabiki's head like a scratched and battered record.

Akane had died.

There had always been the nagging fear that had crept into her when the Saotomes first rolled into town, smelling of nothing but trouble. Ranma welcomed conflict, wallowed in it, hell he probably lived off it. Over time, instead of dissipating, that fear took up permanent residence in the back of her mind. Spending a week as the unfortunate substitute-fiancee to the jerk had only strengthened the assumptions of the nonsense her baby sister had to go through on a daily basis.

Distilled down to its most basic, primitive form, everything, was Saotome's fault.

The well worn thread of grudging tolerance unraveled and broke with a resounding *twang*, a noise that sounded remarkably like a piano string snapping.

"Thanks for walking me home, Mousse," was all she said as they stopped in front of the gates of the Tendo Dojo.

Nabiki entered the gates, only pausing in mild surprise when he lightly grasped her arm.

"I would avoid getting involved in other people's love lives." The Amazon pushed his glasses up to his forehead. "Otherwise you will find that not only he, but your sister will hate you as well."

The only thing returned was a glittering half-smirk, and he finally began to understand what the three year smiling death was really all about.

"She'll get over it."

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Panic.

Fla iling.

Sinking.

Seeing the world above her through a rippling haze of water, the sky darkening as consciousness began to succumb to the inevitable.

Have to . . . breathe . . . breathe through frozen, shocked lungs

Can't . . .

No, she begged

Please, no . . . I can't swim . . . can't . . .

The water closed in over her head, their chill seeping into her diaphragm, her limbs, her bones.

Can't . . . can't breathe . . . can't . . .

With a loud gasp and deep, desperate intake of breath, Akane jerked awake, heart tripping in her chest, madly trying to jackhammer its way out. She lay there until the shuddering, choked fireworks in her lungs subsided slightly before sitting up in bed.

Reaching down to the floor, with clumsy, cold fingers, she pulled the blankets she'd kicked off in the night over her frozen limbs, drawing her legs in to her chest. Akane wrapped her arms around her knees, fighting off the numbing ache in her body, then, ever so slowly, her head bent, tilting forward until they rested in the cradle of her hands.

And she stayed like that for the rest of the night.

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Where the songs came from:

(1) 'Till There Was You, The Music Man, Meredith Wilson

(2) Maybe This Time, Cabaret, John Kander & Fred Ebb

(3) I Hate Men, Kiss Me Kate, Cole Porter