The characters of the Ranma 1/2 universe are the sole creation and
possession of Rumiko Takahasi. I thank her greatly for creating them and
hope she doesn't come hunting any fingers for my unauthorized use of
them.
I apologize now for any mis-spelled words or any gross errors of grammer
or diction. I'm still waiting for a word processor who knows what I ment
to say, not what I actually typed.
I want to thank everyone who gave me some feed back on Chiesai, it's
nice to know that you're out there.
Hope you enjoy this one and yes, it is a Ranma 1/2 story. Just stick
with it for a few pages, O.K.?

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


HAIKU
a
Love Story
by
Shannon M. Richmeyer



There's no time for us-
There is no place for us-
What is this thing that fills our dreams yet slips away from us?
Who wants to live forever?
Who wants to live forever?

There's no chance for us-
It's all decided for us-
This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us.
Who wants to live forever?
Who wants to live forever?
Who dares to love forever?
Oh, when love must die?

But touch my tears with your lips-
Touch my world with your fingertips-
And we can have forever!
And we can love forever!
Forever-
Without you babe!

Who wants to live forever?
Who wants to live forever?
Forever-
Without you there!
Who lives forever, anyway?
                     Queen -"Who Wants to Live Forever?"




PART 1
Haiku


    Somewhere in Asia.
    She slept on the soft carpet of grass, her head pillowed in her
arms, lost to dreams of happier times. A warm breeze rustles through the
ring of trees surrounding her, dipping down into the still grove to
swirl in a small gale. A figure steps out of the tree sheltering her.

    He stands, looking down at her, a gentle smile on his lips. His
companions step out of the rest of the sixteen trees that create the
circle of the grove and float with soundless steps to stand behind him
in a group.

    "Haiku-chan!" The ghost of Hiroshi calls to her.

    The others whisper in soft voices that sound like the rustle of
leaves, "Haiku!"

    "You have grieved long enough! It is time to wake!"

    "Time to wake." The ghosts of her other lost lovers echo.

    "Haiku-chan!" He calls again, softly. She opens the lids of her eyes
a little to stare at him.

     He kneels down next to her, runs his hand gently against her
cheek, the caress nothing more than the touch of the breeze.

    "Time to wake, Haiku-chan." He tells her once more, then dissolves
into a sparkle of sunlit dust motes.

    The others come, one at a time, to touch her cheek, calling,
insistent.

    "Time to wake, Haiku."

    And then each one follows Hiroshi into the sparkling whirl.

    She lifts her head, listening to them murmur on the breeze, then
sighs as it is lost to her. She raises her head to look up into the
branches of the tree shading her, amazed as always, at how much they
grow when she sleeps. This one had been a tiny sapling only three feet
tall when she planted it over the patch of ground where Hiroshi's body
lay.

    She waits for the black endless pit of dispair to open up and
swallow her whole again as she thinks of him, is relieved and yet at the
same time saddened when nothing more than an empty hollow ache forms at
his memory.

    Time to wake.

    She yawns hugely, stretches slowly, then ambles to the spring in the
center of the grove to drink.


    Japan.
    Tamura sits bolt upright in the bed, the dream that was more than a
dream filling him with tense excitement. He pushes the woman trying to
cuddle back against him away and she rolls to her side, facing away from
him and curls herself into a tight ball, knowing from long experience
that the best way to deal with him when he wakes foul-tempered is to
stay as small and insignificant as possible.

    "Yamada, Shin!" He calls. The bed moved a little under her as he
left it.

    The two suits enter, Yamada the older of the pair, dark hair graying
but his body still heavy with muscle, followed by Shin, young and
inexperienced, his golden skin and facial features marking him as one of
Tamura's by-blows. They bow low after they enter.

    "Get the plane ready. We're going to the grove." Tamura instructs
them, back toward them as he wraps the silk bathrobe around himself,
covering the dragon tattoo that flows over most of his body from sight.

    (She had awakened! He had known that it was his destiny that the
Great Mother would wake in his lifetime the first time he had seen her
slumbering in the shadows of the trees. And that he would be her master
and her lover!)

    "Yes sir." They reply in harmony, bass and tenor together, and
leave.

    Twelve hours later a leer jet lands on a secluded runway, disgorging
a small squad of heavily armed men. Yamada and Shin flank their master
as he decends the short stair of the plane. Most of the squad moves to
form a tight knot around him as he starts into the forest, two carrying
the heavy chest he has brought, following a path he had first trod when
his father had brought him to the sacred grove as a boy of twelve.

    He stops them about a hundred feet from the grove, Yamada and Shin
moving to take the chest. They follow him into the circle of trees.
Yamada watches his new partner try not to fidget, knowing the young man
is anxious, this being his first trip to the Place Where the Legend
Sleeps, even though he was a Son of the Dragon, recognized by his father
or not.  But then, Tamura had recognized none of his children, keeping
them at each others throat and away from his own. This was the first of
his sons he had ever allowed to accompany him on his trips to the grove
and Yamada wondered a little at that. A rare honor indeed.

    Tamura motions at the pair following him to stop. His eyes scan the
grove frantically.

    It is empty.

    He walks slowly to the indentation where the Great Mother had been
sleeping, unaware that four generations of her offspring have passed her
by, reaches out to touch the smooth earth with a reverent hand. He
stands, turns in a slow circle, sees the freshly turned earth by a hole
beside the little pool in the center of the grassy place. He kneels next
to it, takes a handful and lets it run out between his fingers.

    A few small, ancient gold coins flow out with the dirt to lie
sparkling on the grass. He picks them up, cradles them in his hand, then
his fingers close to form a tight fist around them. He rises, strides
back out between the trees, his head lowered, eyes thoughtful.

    Yamada and Shin follow him, handing off the chest as they meet up
with the waiting men, Yamada shaking his head negatively at the
captain's questioning look, and follow Tamura back to the plane.

    After it has taken off, Tamura hands the coins to Yamada.

    "Find her." Is all he says.

    Yamada takes the coins and bows.


One year later.
    Haiku was delighted with the new world she had discovered and had
lost no time in learning all she could of it's marvels. Airplanes,
electricity, movies and motorcycles being the favorite things she had
experienced so far. And chocolate ice cream, she couldn't forget that.

    She had found a good and honorable man that dealt in the trading of
old things in the first large city she had come across and had exchanged
most of her coin for what she would discover later was an almost obscene
amount of currency and gone off on the airplanes to visit the places she
had lived before.

    Most of them had changed so much they where unrecognizable to her, a
few, as always, had been lost to the sands of time. She ended up in the
city Hiroshi had so loved, merging into the flow of humanity that
hurried and scurried through it effortlessly.

    She had just stepped out of the theater and into the glow of what
passed for night in downtown Tokyo, stepping to the curb to hail a taxi
when something caught at the corner of her eye. She stepped back,
letting one of the other theater patrons leap into the cab as it almost
stopped, then zoomed away, turning slowly toward the flicker that had
caught her attention.

    Robert was leaning against the wall of the theater, his arms crossed
loosely against his chest, the plaid fabric of his kilt moving gently in
the hot wind the passing traffic generated. He smiled at her, his blue
eyes sparkling in his handsome face. He pushed himself away from the
wall with a shrug of his shoulders and beckoned her to follow with a
come hither gesture of fingers.

    She did, following him down narrower streets and alleys into the
darker parts of the city, something about her face and step keeping the
predators that roamed this part of Tokyo at bay.

    She could hear fighting as Robert slowed to stop before the corner
of a wall that lead into an alley. He put out his arm to stop her from
stepping into the alley mouth to see what the commotion was. She obeyed,
looking at him questionally.

    Then the fine hair on the back of her neck stood up as she could
feel, then hear the buildup of energy coming from somewhere in that
alley. There was a rumble, then a huge sphere of black power roared out
of the mouth of the alley, propelling a good number of forms in front of
it to crash into the wall of the building across the street, leaving a
cracked circular indentation and several crumpled bodies.

    Robert turned the corner with his soundless step and Haiku followed
him down to the high walled dead end. He stopped before another fallen
shape, waited until she had squatted down to her heels to roll the still
and battered form over, then winked out.

    It was a young man, maybe nineteen, filthy and thin, the reek of
liquor and other unpleasant things rising off him in waves that stung
her sensitive nose. A yellow and black bandanna was tied around his
forehead, soaking up the blood that flowed from a wicked gash above his
left eye. She could hear the wail of sirens heading in their direction
as she placed her hand to his throat. The beat of his heart was slow but
strong under her fingers. With one fluid movement she had him up and
balanced across her shoulders and was out of the alley and out of sight
by the time the first squad car squealed to a stop at the alley
entrance.

    She paid the taxi driver ten times what he asked as she unloaded the
unconscious form of the young man from the back seat and got him up
across her shoulders again.

    "Thank-you for your trouble." She smiled at the driver, unable to
bow with the man draped over her shoulders. "I hope we will not be too
memorable when you speak of your evening with your friends."

    The driver gaped at  the money in his hands, then bowed as much as
the steering wheel of his taxi would permit. "My evening has had nothing
memorable happen in it so far, ma'm."

    She nods at him, watches him drive out of sight, then turns around
and walks the five blocks back to her dwelling.

    She fumbles a little with the keys, remembering times when such
things weren't necessary, then the latch is turned from the inside and
Master Shibata opens the door to her.

    "My, my!" The slight old man mutters as she steps past him, sliding
off her shoes before she steps up onto the mat covered floor of the dojo
that occupies the bottom floor of her house.

    "I would bow, Sensei, but my balance is somewhat precarious at the
moment."

    He waves that away with a smile and follows her as she heads for the
stairs that lead to the second floor. He makes a detour to collect the
first aid kit, then hurries up the stairs after her.

    "So, who have we rescued?" Shibata asks as he helps her lower the
unconscious boy  to the tiled floor of the large bathroom and starts to
undress him.

    "I don't know." She replies, her hands moving gently, accessing his
injuries.

    "I will bathe him, Haiku-san." He tells her, seeing her swallow
convulsively and her nose wrinkle in distaste at his smell. "Here,
dispose of these and I will call you when I'm done." He hands her the
remains of the boy's clothes.

    "Thank-you, Sensei." She replies gratefully.

    She had managed to keep the odor of him tolerable in the taxi by
keeping the windows down, but in the close space of the bathroom, it was
almost overwhelming. She bows, takes the clothing, holding them at arms
length and leaves the Master to his work.

    She collects a plastic garbage bag on her way to the balcony that
runs the length of the north side of the building and steps out into the
chill fall air and settles cross-legged onto the balcony floor, going
through the pockets of the young man's clothes, hoping to discover some
kind of identification and finding only a few coins and a frayed color
photograph folded into quarters.

    She unfolds it carefully, hoping for some clues to help her deal
with her guest, but it is so water damaged that all she can make out is
a large group of faceless figures. She refolds it carefully and places
it next to her, the coins on top of it, and stuffs the clothes into the
bag and knots it around them with a sigh of relief. She decides to leave
them out here until trash day.

    She gathers the coins and the photograph into one hand, then looks
thoughtful and puts the coins back down and holds the photograph between
both of her palms and concentrates, 'reading' whatever emanations are
locked to it.

    She gasps as the feelings of anger, bleak betrayal and unreasoning
despair flow from it. She drops it quickly and backs away, rubbing her
palms on her thighs, fighting not to fall into the memories that the
echo of his dispair summon. After a few moments she regains her center,
taking deep breaths as she looks up at the few stars strong enough to
pierce the glow of the city's neon night and sighs.

    (Why this one, Robert?)

    Nothing answers but the muted rumble of the city.


    Ryoga opens his eyes and frowns into the dimness at the unfamiliar
ceiling above his head. The last time he remembered waking up he had
been staring at the soggy insides of a large cardboard box.

    He realizes that he is in a large western style bed as his eyes roam
around the room, taking in the simple but expensive furnishings, looking
for where the babble of water is coming from. He finally focuses on the
little fountain in the corner, the water running in an endless loop over
artfully placed river rocks.

    (Where am I?) He tries to sit up, then groans and sinks back down as
his body sends waves of pain in protest.

    (O.K. Bad idea.) He tells himself, then begins to take stock of
injuries he can't remember acquiring. His right arm is bound in a sling
against his chest, his shoulder aching. (Dislocated or broken). He moves
his left hand to explore the tightness of the bandage confining his
chest, carefully takes a deep breath.

    (Broken ribs.) He tells himself, gritting his teeth.

    He pushes himself all the way up as he realizes his right knee is
throbbing, closes his eyes as he fights dizziness and a surge of nausea.
(Head wound and/or hangover.)

    He opens them when the sensations pass and looks down to see his
knee, hugely swollen and bent slightly, supported by a tubular pillow.

    (Sprained, if not worse.) He thinks as he lowers himself slowly back
down. (I need a drink.)

    He hears the rustle of movement from somewhere beyond the half open
door.

    "Hello?!"

    A short figure appears in the doorway, glides across the room to the
side of the bed and turns the light there on to it's lowest setting. The
resulting brightness illuminates the wizened form of an old man, what is
left of his hair gray wisps trimmed neatly to the sides of his head.

    "So, our mystery guest has decided to rejoin the land of the
living." His voice is surprisingly vibrant for so old a person.

    Ryoga swallows a few times, trying to get enough moisture into his
mouth to talk.

    "Who are you?" He croaks. (God, I need a drink bad!)

    "Shibata Kim." The old one bows. He waits a few seconds. "And you
are?"

    "Hibiki Ryoga."

    "Ah, a name! Good! Haiku will be so pleased." The old man crows.

    "Who's Haiku?" Ryoga queries, the old mans vigor making him feel
worse.

    "Who is Haiku? A good question, a very good question! One that I
have yet to answer, Hibiki Ryoga."

    (I don't need this!) Ryoga groans to himself, closes his eyes as
every damaged part of his body starts to throb in time with the beat of
his heart.

    The old man looks at him, sympathy in his eyes.

    "I'll be right back." He pats Ryoga on the arm gently and leaves. He
returns a few minutes later with a tray.

    "Here, Hibiki Ryoga." And helps him sit and sip at one of the cups
from the tray. The rich broth soothes his throat as he drinks it and
sits easily in his stomach.

    "How about a shot of whiskey?" He asks, that need in him becoming
desperate.

    The old man shakes his head. "No whiskey here, son, but this is
better." He tells him with a gleam in his eye as he offers the next cup.

    Ryoga takes a tentative sip, the sweet taste of fruit filling his
mouth. He frowns at Shibata but finishes it anyway as his dehydrated
body demands the moisture.

    "I'd prefer a shot of whiskey." He starts to tell the old man, but
his tongue suddenly won't work right and then his body starts to feel
light and floaty, the pain moving somewhere far away. He is asleep
before he knows it.


    Shibata is sitting in front of the TV, watching CNN, as much a news
junkie as herself when she comes back with the groceries.

    "Anything new happening in the world?" She asks as she passes.

    "Does anything new ever happen in the world?" He responds, raising
one wispy eyebrow at her.

    She knew he was beginning to suspect that she was something other
than she appeared, but she enjoyed playing the game with him.

    "Space travel. That is definitely something new in the world,
Sensei." She responds. "And every new day that dawns, every snowflake
that drifts down from the winter sky and every child that is born." She
smiles at him.

    "You are far too old for the years reflected on your face, Haiku."
He tells her seriously.

    "Maybe I'm just an old soul." She responds, confusing him with the
truth.

    He frowns, then sighs. "I'll figure you out eventually."

    She laughs, the sound bringing a smile to his face also.

    "Our mystery guest awakened while you were out." He informs her
casually.

    "Oh?" She responds, trying not to sound too interested as she
puttered around the wonders of her modern kitchen, starting to make them
dinner.

    "Full of sorrows, that one. Has a problem with the bottle." He
shakes his head. She's not sure if its about the young man in the
bedroom or something on the TV.

    "And does our 'full of sorrows' have a name, Sensei?"

    "Hibiki Ryoga." The old man relents, watching her out of the corner
of his eye, seeing her one nervous tick surface as she flicked the nail
of her right thumb under her front teeth twice, wondering what had drawn
her to the boy in the first place.

    "How much of a problem with the bottle, Sensei?"

    "A big one, Haiku."

    "Can you help him with it, Sensei?" She asks quietly.

    He turns the TV off and turns his full attention to her. This is the
first time since he had met her that she has asked anything of him,
other than he stay and continue running the dojo downstairs.

    "Why is this young man so important to you, Haiku?" He asks, a
little worried for her.

    She looks uneasy. "I can't explain it, Sensei. I just need to see
him whole and undamaged." (How can I explain to you that this is the one
my ghosts have chosen to be my companion? Whether I choose it so or
not?)

    "I'm sure I can cook something up, Haiku. But I am concerned for
you. This Hibiki Ryoga is headed down a destructive path, and I don't
want to see you dragged down that path with him."

    "All paths fork, Sensei." She tells him gently.

    He smiles and shakes his head. "As I said, too old for your years,
Haiku. Hai. I'll make sure he will never have a taste for liquor again."

    "Thank-you, Shibata-san." She says bowing low, truly grateful.

    After dinner, Shibata returns to the TV to 'channel surf', she
smiled delightedly as she rolled that phrase around in her mind as she
went to the small computer in the room where she had set up her studio.

    She 'dialed' into the 'net' to ask Kieko, her friend from the
university who was patiently trying to teach her the magic of the little
boxes, if she could 'hack' (she was pretty sure that was the term Kieko
used) into the police system and find her some information.

    The screen in front of her came back with a "Sure, who?"

    "Hibiki Ryoga." She typed in, then sipped at her tea and watched the
animated sea creatures swim back and forth across the screen as the
machines talked to each other. Those fish where the reason she had met
Kieko, who had found her sitting and staring entranced at the screen of
one of the library computers, smiling with silly delight as the little
bubbles rose every now and then with a gurgling sound.

    She had secretly hoped that Kieko would be the one her ghosts would
choose. She was a beautiful person inside and out and reminded her so
much of Helena.

    The fish disappeared as words scrolled up the screen in a rush,
followed by a "Everything I could find, don't forget you said you'd help
me study for the History final tomorrow. Gotta go!"

    She read the file quickly. No arrest record, no missing person's
report, no drivers license and consequently, no information. She flicked
her nail against her teeth, then rose and went to the bedroom.

    "Good-night, Haiku." Shibata says as she passes.

    "Do not fall asleep with the TV on, Sensei. You should sleep in your
own bed tonight."
She responds as she closes the door behind her, knowing that she would
find him still sitting ram-rod straight in front of it, sound asleep, in
the morning.

    She settled herself noiselessly to sit on the wide bed beside Hibiki
Ryoga, to study his face in the dim light filtering in through the
curtains from the street as he tossed a little in his sleep, his face
set in hard, unhappy lines.

    (Full of sorrows, indeed.) She sighs, her face becoming troubled.

    (I'm not ready for another one! Not so soon!) She pleads soundlessly
into the darkness.

    Nothing answers her.

    Again she wonders, (Why this one?) as he snarls in response to some
nightmare, bringing his left forearm up to cover his eyes. She starts to
hum, the lilting archaic tune a lullaby she had learned in the highlands
of Scotland. His face smoothes out into gentler lines as her voice
soothes him.

    After a few minutes he falls back into a deeper sleep. She slides
off the bed, undresses and folds her clothes into a neat stack onto the
chest of drawers then concentrates, needing the comfort of her true form
for a few hours.

    Her body shimmers as it reforms, and she settles onto the soft
carpet next  to the bed, curling her long tail around her and arches her
neck so that her head rests on the bed, her soft nose only a few inches
from his outstretched hand and continues to sit watch over him, her eyes
glowing gently, golden against the darkness of the room.

        
    Ryoga spends the next ten days floating in and out of consciousness
as his body worked on mending itself and flushing out the toxins he had
been pumping into his system for the last four months at the same time,
aided by the fruit laced pain-killer and a variety of nasty tasting
herbal teas which Shibata kept forcing on him. The old one tends him
most of the time, but in the darkness of the night it is another,
someone with gentle hands and a low sweet voice.

    He wakes one morning to the sound of the shower running, alert and
relatively pain free. He sits up carefully, his head giving a few fierce
throbs, then receding to a tolerable ache. (Not bad.)

    He rotates his shoulder. It is stiff and sore, but moveable. He
pulls his arm out of the sling and stretches it out. (Better!)

    He takes a slow deep breath. His ribs twinge in warning, but nothing
more. (Better yet!)

    He reaches down and moves the covers from his knee, flexes it a
little, bites his lower lip as it sends a shock of pain through him.

    (Not so good.) He frowns and relaxes it. Then he realizes that for
the first time in over two months he hasn't woken up with the
overwhelming need for a drink. In fact, the very thought of anything
alcoholic created a queasy feeling in his stomach.

    "Shibata-san?" He calls as the sound of the shower ceases.

    "The Sensei is teaching a class right now, Hibiki-san, but I will be
with you in a moment." The voice from the night calls back.

    Anxiety rushes through him as he hears that voice, just now
realizing that the room he's in has the definite touch of a female hand.
He straightens the covers and pulls them up snug around his waist,
keeping his eye on the door leading to the bathroom.

    Finally she steps out, a medium-tall, slender shape clad in blue
jeans and a V-necked green sweater, her hands busy securing the end of
her long, dark-honey colored braid. She smiles at him and he gulps
wide-eyed as she rounds the end of the bed, heading for his side.

    She has the classic features of a Western woman, except for her
eyes, which have the almond shape and crease of the Orient, the amber
color of her irises seeming almost golden in the sunlight streaming from
the window. What he can see of her skin is golden too. Not tanned, but
golden. He guesses she is maybe in her late twenties and decides she is
the most beautiful woman he as ever seen.

    That thought brings an unbidden image of Akane, then the memory of
Akane, her body trying to become one with Ranma's as they fulfilled
their passion. He waits for the black pit to open up. But it doesn't.
There is only a strange numb place in his heart.

    "Hibiki-san? Are you all right?" Haiku asks, concerned by how pale
he had just turned.

    "Hai." He nods back, then focuses on her again. "Um, Ryoga. Please,
call me Ryoga."

    She smiles. "Ryoga it is. Oh, I am Haiku." She introduces herself
with a small bow then sits next to him on the bed. "How are you feeling
this morning?"

    "Better." He responds, ducking his head as she extracts the sling
from around his neck.

    "Haiku-san, how did I get here?" He asks, not sure if he wanted to
hear the answer or not.

    "Haiku, Ryoga. Just Haiku. And I brought you here. Take a deep
breath, please." She watches his face as he obeys, seeing no pain
reflected there she begins to unwind the bandage from around his chest.

    "Why?" He asks, raising his arms and resting his hands, crossed at
the wrists on top of his head, getting them out of her way. He closes
his eyes against the beauty of her face and tried to ignore the pressure
of her body against him as she leans close to undo the bandage around
his chest.

    (Because one of my ghosts led me to you.) She thinks. "You had just
finished blowing the hell out of a group of thugs and looked like you
could use a little help." She says.

    "I did?" He asks, having very few clear memories of the last two
months or so.

    "You don't remember?" She queries, sitting back and starting to wind
the bandage around itself.

    He blushes, drops his eyes and shakes his head no.

    "We all have dark times in our lives, Ryoga." She tells him gently,
the compassion in her voice reflected in her eyes. "Just be glad that
this one has passed."

    "I hope so." He mutters fiercely, appalled at the few clear moments
he can remember, not believing that he had let himself sink so low.

    "Are you hungry?" She asks, her tone light, crossing to the armoire
against the wall and pulling out a robe.

    "Hai." He answers in a subdued voice.

    She tosses the robe to him on her way to the door. "Call me when
you're ready and I'll help you out."

    He slides the robe on and cinches it around his waist, then, with a
great deal of teeth gritting, manages to get himself off the bed and
upright. He tests his weight against his damaged knee. It informs him
with a great protest of pain that it refuses to support him. He hops to
the bathroom, using pieces of furniture for support. Finished, he washes
his face, hardly recognizing the thin, haggard man gazing back at him
from the mirror and shudders.

    (Never again!) He swears to himself.

    He hops back to the door to the bedroom and eyes the expanse of
floor between it and the next piece of furniture. Haiku spies him from
the open area of the kitchen and hurries to him. She doesn't scold, as
he had expected, just offers the support of her arm. He tries not to put
too much of his weight on her as she leads him to the table, helping him
settle then going back to the kitchen.

    "Do you eat eggs?" She asks, pulling a bowl from a cabinet as he
pours a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table. He notices that
there are three places set as he stares at the plate of toast, butter
and jam beside it and the bowl of freshly prepared fruit, his stomach
starting to growl in protest at its emptiness.

    "Sure." He tells her.

    "Go ahead and help yourself. "She smiles as he digs in.

    "Shibata keeps accusing me of trying to seduce him into my decadent
European ways with my cooking." She smiles at him.

    "Well, you are!" The Sensei calls from the doorway to the stairs.
"And you'd better hurry up or you'll be late for your class." He
continues as he comes to sit across the table from Ryoga.

    "Good morning." He smiles at the young man.

    "Well, you don't have to eat it." Haiku retorts.

    "What, and pass up a chance to practice my resistance to your guijin
ways?" He teases back.

    She laughs, a little trill of sound, bringing an unconscious
responding smile from Ryoga, and brings the pan full of omelet to the
table. She cuts it into three equal pieces with the spatula and serves
them, then sits.

    She looks at her watch, says, "Oh, crap." and begins to wolf the
eggs down.

    Ryoga watches in stunned amazement as they disappear. The only other
person he knows who can eat like that is Ranma.

    "I wish you wouldn't do that, Haiku." Shibata sighs. "It's
uncivilized." He takes a reasonable bite and chews it slowly.

    She turns her golden stare on him and smiles as she swallows.

    "If you're going to call me a barbarian, then I should be able to
act like one!" She responds.

    She gulps down the remains of her coffee as she rises, picks up a
piece of toast and holds it between her teeth as she shrugs into her
backpack. She finishes the toast in two bites as she crosses to collect
her keys from the basket on the small bookcase by the door.

    "Lunch is in the refrigerator, Sensei." She calls over her shoulder
as she leaves.

    Ryoga works on finishing his breakfast, taking care to take
civilized bites, trying to figure the relationship between the two.

    "Is Haiku your grand-daughter, Shibata-san?"

    The old man nearly chokes, trying to laugh and swallow at the same
time. He shakes his head no as he takes a drink.

    "She is my landlord." Shibata tells him. "And my friend." He adds.

    "You've known her for a long time then?"

    "No. Only six months or so." The old one replies. He continues when
he sees Ryoga's puzzled expression. "She was kind enough not to evict an
old man and his dojo from her new house."

    "You teach martial arts?" Ryoga asks, wanting, no needing, to train
and get his body and spirit back into shape.

    "Aikido. Are you familiar with it?" Shibata asks, studying the boy
across the table from him, seeing something in him now that was missing
only a day ago.

    Ryoga frowns. He knew the name, it being one of the newer of the
arts, and that it's practitioners didn't hold tournaments, but not much
more than that.

    "Not really, Shibata-san."

    "Well, I have another class at eleven. Perhaps you would like to
come and watch and see if there is something I might be able to teach
you."

    "Hai, Sensei. I would." He responds with a little bow.

    "You must promise no massive chi strikes inside the dojo, first."

    "What?" He responded, startled.

    "Haiku was impressed enough with the chi blast that led her to you
to relate it to me."

    Ryoga looks a little embarrassed. "I don't remember anything of that
night, Shibata-san."

    "Are you finished?" Shibata asks, changing the subject. Ryoga pops
the last piece of toast into his mouth, then nods.

    Shibata clears the table and loads the dishes into the dishwasher.
Ryoga fidgets, hating the feeling of helplessness his injury is causing.
Finished, Shibata comes over to him, kneels and feels of his knee with
strong fingers, Ryoga yelping a little as he flexes it.

    "Hmm. Not healing well at all. We need to have a Doctor look at it.
Do you have one you prefer, Ryoga?"

    He nods. "Dr. Tofu." Then a thought hits him. "Um, I'm still in
Tokyo, aren't I" He asks, a little panicked expression appearing on his
face.

    Shibata nods affirmative. Ryoga breathes out a little sigh of
relief.

    "He has a clinic in Nerima District."

    "Haiku doesn't have classes tomorrow, she can take you on that
infernal machine of hers." He snorts. "Now, let me go see if I can find
you something a little more substantial to wear than a bath robe."


    Ryoga collapsed on the sofa, Shibata bringing the bolster from the
bedroom to prop up his knee, then sitting on the floor in front of him,
straight backed to watch the TV, exhausted after hopping up and down the
stairs four times during the day to watch Shibata do Aikido.

    It was totally different from his own draw a line in the sand and
not move approach, the old man taking on four of the black belts
studying under him and dispatching them effortlessly with technique that
resembled a flowing circular dance.

    "The power of Aikido is the redirection of your opponents force,
combined with the strike to take his mind. It is, at it's heart, the art
of getting out of the way." He explained as the class continued. Ryoga
could see the power of it as he continued to watch during the day.

    "Well, Ryoga?" Shibata asked as he steadied him as he hopped up the
stairs.

    "I think I would like to learn it, if you'd be willing to teach me,
Sensei." He responded somewhat breathlessly.

    "Hai, I will teach you, Ryoga." The old man smiled. "I haven't had a
live-in student in a long time."

    "Live-in?" Ryoga responds, that idea sounding good to him.

    "Unless you have somewhere to stay." Shibata answered.

    "No, Sensei. I have no place to stay." He says quietly, thinking of
the last time he had talked to his Father, who had said come home now or
don't come home at all. He had been so infatuated with Akane then and
had tried to explain, but his Father had hung up on him.

    He half watched, half listened to CNN for a while with the Sensei
and wasn't sure when he drifted off to sleep.


    Haiku discovered something else about her new companion the next day
as they headed through Tokyo, his arms locked in a fierce grip around
her waist as she wove the large motorcycle in and out of the traffic. He
had an absolutely abysmal since of direction.

    After their third time around the same twenty block area, Ryoga
muttering, "I know it's around here somewhere!" behind her, she had
pulled over to a pay phone and looked up the physicians address. Ryoga
watched her, quietly embarrassed.

    "I'm sorry, Haiku. I should have told you that I have a hard time
finding places." He said as she slid onto the seat in front of him.

    "Don't worry about it." She answered, patting his hands where he
crossed them in front of her as she fired the bike back up. It was
close, they only needed to turn right instead of left at the major cross
road.

    She helped him limp into the clinic, then froze as a large panda
looked up from sweeping the floor inside.

    "Hello, Saotome-san." Ryoga called to it.

    She was so startled that she almost changed.

    "Haiku?" Ryoga asked as she froze beside him and seemed to shimmer
with a golden light for a second.

    She blinked up at him. He didn't seem at all surprised or upset that
there was a panda sweeping the floor.

    He smiled at her as he realized how strange it must seem to her.

    "This is Mr. Soatome." He gestures towards the panda, who bows, then
pulls out a small chalkboard attached to a pole to form a sign and
writes furiously on it, then shows it to them.

    "Good to see you again, Ryoga. You look terrible. Do you want to see
the Dr.?" Is what it says.

    "Hai, if he's not to busy." Ryoga answers.

    The panda nods and turns, ducking to clear the door frame and goes
to fetch the Doctor.
    Ryoga takes in Hiku's confused countenance as they move to sit on
one of the waiting room benches.

    "He's not really a panda, is he?" She asks.

    "Well, at the moment, yes he is." Ryoga answers, gauging her
reaction. He decides he better keep clear of cold water for some time to
come.

    "But not all the time." She replies, astounded that he knew of shape
shifting and reacted to it as if it were an everyday occurrence.

    "No. He can change back into a human. He's under a curse." (Just
like me.) He thinks.

    She sees the hardness return to his features, wonders what caused
it.

    The Doctor stepped through the door.

    "Ryoga?" He asked, hardly recognizing the young man.

    He glanced at the woman with him, then straightened, his eyes
widening as her aura crackled with golden power around her. He swallowed
hard, wondering just exactly what it was that had brought Ryoga to him.

    Ryoga noticed the doctors reaction and smiled, chalking it up to her
good looks. After all, he had done the same the first time he had seen
her. She was a very beautiful woman. Very beautiful.

    "Tofu-san, this is Haiku." He introduced them.

    Tofu bowed low, Haiku rising from her seat to bow back. They locked
eyes for a moment, and a shiver went through him as he was caught in her
golden stare, then Haiku smiled, dispelling whatever it was that had
bothered him.

    "Ryoga needs you to look at his knee." She told the Doctor as she
reached out to steady him as he rose.

    "Of course. Come on back, Ryoga." He offered his arm for the boy to
lean on as he guided him back to the examining room.

    Haiku settled back onto the padded bench, picked up a magazine and
flipped through it. The panda bobbed his head as he passed her on his
way out, a basket hooked over one arm, studying a list held in it's
other paw.

    She heard the pair coming long before she saw them. A young woman,
supporting a young man about Ryoga's age staggered through the door. The
woman lowered the man down onto the padded bench that ran down the other
side of the room. The male curled over himself as he sat, holding his
stomach.

    "Akane, I can't believe..."

    Haiku recognized all the signs and kicked the metal trashcan beside
her to slide across the floor and stop between the young mans feet just
as he retched.

    "... you did that!" He continued after he'd finished.

    "How many times do I have to tell you! I didn't make those cookies,
Ranma!" She hissed back at him, the hardness of her voice contradicted
by the worry reflected in her eyes.

    Ranma glares at Akane, obviously not believing her, then leans over
the trashcan again.

    "They were delivered to the house!" Akane snarls.

    Haiku studies the pair, focusing on the male. He is exhibiting all
the signs of poisoning and is quickly going into shock. She gets up,
crosses to the door that separates the waiting area from the rest of the
clinic and slides it aside. Tofu is adjusting a brace around Ryoga's
knee.

    "...off it for the rest of the day, then go easy on it for the next
week or so. Wear the brace for the full three weeks, or it won't heal
properly." He finishes his instructions.

    "You've got a serious case of poisoning sitting in your waiting
room." She informs him.

    "I told you, I didn't make them!" The woman's raised voice is
clearly audible in the examining room followed by a masculine groan.

    "Akane!" Ryoga whispers, turning pale, a panicked expression coming
onto his face.

    "And Ranma." The Doctor sighs as he leaves them and hurries out to
the waiting area.

    Ryoga rises from the bed too quickly in his need to get away from
Akane, looses his balance and steps backwards trying to recapture it,
bringing all his weight onto his bad knee. Haiku moves in to catch him
as he starts to fall, going even paler from pain.

    "Ryoga..."

    "Get me out of here!" Ryoga hisses at her as she starts to lower him
back onto the bed, concerned he might faint.

    She takes one look at his face, pulls him back up, wraps her arm
around his waist and drapes the other across her shoulder and supports
him, hopping towards the door. They have to wait as Tofu rushes back in,
carrying Ranma in his arms, Akane trailing them.

    Ryoga lowers his head, keeping his face turned towards Haiku as she
passes. Haiku had just fired the big bike up when Akane called to Ryoga
from the clinic entrance.

    "Go!" Ryoga pleads.

    She revs the engine, drowning out the woman's voice with it's roar
and sends them speeding away from her with a squeal of rubber.


    Haiku pilots them a little more sedately on their way back across
town. She glances at her watch as they enter the more familiar territory
of her neighborhood and pulls into the parking lot of a restaurant.

    "I'm not hungry." Ryoga tells her as she rocks the bike up onto it's
stand.

    "Well, I am. And you need to eat if you're going to recover your
strength." She tells him as she slides off the seat.

    He tenses, resisting the pressure of her hand on his arm for a
moment, then lets her help him off.

    Inside, he sits, quiet and withdrawn, chin resting in one hand,
elbow propped against the table, the other turning the tea cup from his
place setting around and around on it's base.

    She orders for both of them, studies his face, recognizing the
sadness and despair there, having seen it reflected on her own features
far too many times. She reaches across the table to cover the hand
fiddling with the cup with her own, bringing it to a halt. He doesn't
raise his eyes to look at her, yet doesn't move his hand away.

    "It is hard to let go of someone you love." She tells him. She can
feel a fine tremble start under her touch and then the power of his
emotion rushes across the bridge where their hands meet, summoning the
empty longing darkness out of the deep wells of her soul. It covers her
in a rush.

    (No! Not right now!) she whispers to them, as every one of her lost
loves rises, one after the other, into her memory, calling her.

    He snatches his hand away, raises his eyes to glare at her.

    "It's none of your..." He starts to growl. What he sees in her face
makes him pause.

    This time he covers her hand with his, the sadness he sees in her so
profound and so familiar that it touches a place in his heart.

    (Yeah, it is. She doesn't love me and I can't seem to let her go.)
Ryoga sighs, closes his eyes, tries to force the memory of Akane,
standing smiling, holding her arms open for P-Chan to jump into, away.

    (Get it together Hibiki! She loves the pig, not you!) He snarls to
himself as it refuses to leave. (You swore to yourself that you'd never
let yourself fall into this black hole again. She made her choice, and
it wasn't you. It's over, done with, finished. Get over it and get on
with your life.)

    He feels light headed for a second, the fine hairs on his arms and
the back of his neck rising, then Akane's memory takes on a life of it's
own in his mind. It raises it's head, looking straight at him, not down
to the level of the pig.

    (Ryoga, Haiku needs you. Now!)

    He jerks as he feels as if he's falling, then his eyes snap open.

    Haiku is sitting so still, seeming hardly to breathe, her eyes
opened but not focused, pupils huge, the golden irises tiny bands around
them, reminding him of a picture he had seen of a solar eclipse.

    "Haiku?" He asks gently.

    (What's wrong with her?) He swears that she stops breathing.

    "Haiku!" He calls more firmly, squeezing her hand. He starts to get
really worried as she doesn't respond.

    "Haiku!" He says loudly, ignoring the looks that brings from the
other patrons.

    She takes a great shuddering breath, her head falling forward, her
hand tightening around his in a fierce grip.

    "Are you all right?" He asks, bringing his other hand up to join the
one around her own.

    "Ryoga?" She questions in a little voice, raises her head, focuses
on his face.  She blinks a few times, her hand relaxing between his, the
pupils of her eyes slowly returning to normal.

    "Sorry." She tells him, her voice growing firmer. "I didn't mean to
scare you."

    "What happened?" He asks gently.

    "I (sometimes get lost in my memories) have these spells sometimes."
She explains with a small smile. "I normally have a little more warning
when one is coming on and can take the appropriate measures to head it
off."

    "Are you sure you're O.K.?"

    She raises her eyebrows. "Some women have fainting spells. I just go
off into LaLa land." She assures him.

    (I think there's a lot more to it than that.) Ryoga frowns at her.

    "Really, I am all right." She gives his hand a gentle squeeze, then
releases him as the waitress brings their food.