Well, folks, proving once again I am alive, I'm am posting my first *real*
fanfic to you. I wrote it on Valentine's Day getting over the flu, so I'm
afraid it may ramble in places.  Hence, C&C are highly requested.



					'Til I Wake Your Ghost

"If I walk down this hallway tonight, it's too quiet
So I pad through the dark and call you on the phone
Push your old numbers and let your house ring
'til I wake your ghost..."
				-Kristin Hersh
				 'Your Ghost'



The bell over the door tinkles, alerting me to yet another customer coming
in.  I smooth my floury hands on the dishtowel, thinking if one more person
comes in, I’ll scream.

Keiku looks up from wiping the grill. “If one more person comes in here...”
He growls.  “Maybe you should go and put up the CLOSED sign.”

“Silly.”  I glide to him and peck his stubbly cheek.  “I was hoping you
would do that.”  I suppose it’s true that if a couple stays together long
enough, they start to think and even look alike.  Not that I would grow
stubbly cheeks, of course.  At one time, many would assume I would.  But I
stopped looking like a man years ago.

Keiku rolls his eyes and lightly slaps me on the rump.  “Go chase the
remaining customers out, will ya?  I want to go home.”  The wink he gives
brings a slight warmth to my face.  What does he think he’s doing, treating
me like a teenage girl?

Speaking of which, the kitchen door swings open and Miyabi, my oldest,
saunters in with a tray of empty plates.  She sees the both of us and
groans, “Oh, come on.  How are we ever going to close if you keep playing
games in the kitchen?”  Such a tongue on her.  I should chastise her for
her smart mouth, but what good would it do?  She’s entirely too much like
me.  She even looks like me, except her hair is shorter, pulled tight in
its chestnut ponytail so that it dangles down the nape of her neck.

But ah, there are other ways putting an insolent girl in her place.  I
smile benignly.  “How would you know the games we’re playing?  Not unless
you and Setsuka have been trying to learn them yourselves?  Maybe it’s time
for you and me to sit down and discussed these 'games’.”

“Mother!”  My smile deepens as Miyabi flushes and dumps the dishes down
before scuttling back out front.  She may get her fire from me, but her
ability to get easily embarrassed comes from her father.  Of course, if I
ever caught her and Setsuka doing what I just implied, I’ll knock that boy
so hard out of the country, by the time he finds his way back she’ll be out
of college and ready for marriage.  And since Setsuka is just like his
father, it would take him that long to find to find his way back.  Miyabi’s
a different matter.  She’ll be sixteen in three months, which means she'll
be thinking she's eighteen-old-enough-to-do-anything years old.  She’s not
too old yet to still taste the back of my spatula, but she’s getting to the
point that when we spar, she gives her mother as good as she gets.  I have
to do something about that girl.

A muffled snort makes me glance back at my husband, but he has wisely
turned his back and was now cleaning the dishes Miyabi had brought.  One
thing he has learned was not to get in the way of the spats between mother
and daughter, especially regarding Setsuka.  Keiku is rather amused by the
young man.  He feels that any boy that can turn an ordinary bandanna into a
weapon is good enough to protect his daughter.  Hmph. If he knew the boy’s
father, like I do, he’ll think twice about setting up his daughter with
that bullish, idiotic lout.  For now, he gives me a quick grin over his
shoulder.  I roll my eyes and push through the still swinging door.

There’s not much of the dinner crowd left.  A few couples huddle in their
booths, talking in low whispers.  A group of youths Miyabi’s age are
playing cards in the corner.  They’re trying to eye Miyabi as she takes
down the order from the newcomer sitting near the cafe’s door.  As I enter,
they nosily return their attention to their cards, a few glancing
surreptitiously at me.  I grace them with one of my pleased smiles, and at
the same time I idly twirl  a mini-spatula I usually carry at my side.
Their heads immediately duck down.  It feels good to command respect so
easily on these group of louts.  My children, on the other hand...

A quick scan about the room showed neither Daisume nor Kyoto.  I allow
myself a quick scowl.  Most likely, they were outside, playing with those
bamboo sticks their father cut for them.  It’s my fault, I suppose, for
marrying a man whose skilled in the School of Flinging Shish-ka-bob
Projectiles, but why did he have to pass the skills on to Daisume? I
grudgingly admit that Daisume’s as good at it as Miyabi’s good with
spatulas, but once I found Kyoto pinned to a tree, the skewers piercing
through every loose fold of her kimono, my motherly instincts kicked in.  I
yelled at Daisume never to throw skewers at his younger sister again; I
don’t care if they were playing circus.  Keiku told me I was too hard on
the boy.  For his criticism, I nailed him to the kitchen wall with my
spatulas and left him there all night.

You know, it’s not easy being a martial artist and a loving mother at the
same time.

Miyabi comes up to hand me the order.  She’s looks a little miffed.  “One
special.”

“What’s wrong?”

She looks behind her and shudders.  “Oh, nothing.  It’s just that customer
kept looking at me funny while I was taking his order.”

“Which one?”  I don’t wait for her to answer, as I see him slouching with
his back to me.  I reach for the large spatula I keep beside the register
for such purposes.

“Motherrrrr...” My daughter groans.  “You don’t have to be so drastic about
it. I can handle it.”

Too late.  Motherly instincts, remember?  I stomp towards him, noticing the
group in the corner have gone quiet, fearful to alert me of their presence.
 How dare this pervert stare at my daughter with such hentai thoughts!
I’ll give him something to look at--

He must have some danger sense, for he sits up as I near.  There’s
something about him, something vaguely familiar, but I can’t put my finger
on it.  Then, as he sits up straighter and turns towards me, I see his...

Oh, God.

The spatula clatters to the ground as I stare in shock.  No way.

And in the back of my mind, a pale wisp stirs, a ghost I thought I had
finally put to rest for--what, fifteen, twenty years ago?

Has it been that long?

He stares at me, his grey-blue eyes nearly filling his face.  He looks...he
looks so _old_!  Though I don’t consider myself as aging gracefully, still
my mind refuses to believe that weary, heavy man was once so vibrant, so
full of life...

I whirl around and snap at Miyabi.  “Well, what are you waiting for?  One
special!”

My daughter’s eyes widen.  Then she scampers to the kitchen.  Slowly, I
slide into the booth across from him, at a loss for words, for once.  He
continues to stare at me, just as shocked as I am...wait, of course he
would be shocked.  He wouldn’t expect me to be here.  This isn’t ‘Ucchan’s’.

Finally, because we can’t just sit here gawking at each other all night, I
breathe his name.  “Ra...Ranma...”

He blinks and slowly nods.  “Ukyo.  My God...”

“It’s been...”

“How long...?”

“Years...”

“God...”

We stare at each other.

Finally, he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck in a strangely boyish
gesture.  “You must’ve thought I was some kind of madman.  Sorry to get you
so worked up.”

I muster a smile of my own.  “It’s okay.”  I glance up as a spinning disc
flies towards Ranma’s head.  I jump...and the plate is resting comfortable
in his hand.  He didn’t even turn around.

For lack of a better word, I can only say, “Wow!”  At least his reflexes
never waned.

He chuckles faintly as he slides the dish before him.  “Heh, when you live
the kind of life I live, your senses have to be sharp.” He says with a hint
of old bravado that is quickly doused as he reaches for his hip pocket.
“How much?  I know with the inflation we’ve been having...”

Gently, I lay a hand on his muscular arm and the ghost within me stirs
more.  “Forget it.  It’s on the house.  For old times sake.”

Ranma stares at me, then a smile of pure gratitude slowly slides across his
face.  “Thank you.”

I study him as he digs into the okonomiyaki with the same ravenousness of
his youth.  He has certainly put on a lot more weight.  Most of it is
muscle, strengthened, I guess, from years of combat.  But there is a hint
of a paunch from where I can see.  His hair is still pulled back in that
trademark pigtail of his, but a spattering of grey peppers his black hair.
His face has chiseled to a hardness that I never saw in his teenage years,
and a few wrinkles line his forehead and crinkles his eyes, eyes that look
as though they have seen too much of the world.

Eyes that are now looking straight at me, I realize.

I signal to Miyabi to send out three more specials as I say to him, “Pardon
my words, Ranma, but you look like hell.”

“Heh. Do I?  Well, sleeping under a bridge can do that to you.  At least
the police have no problems with it.  In a sense, I’ve been helping them
out--a lot of muggers tend not to stay in the area now that I’ve taken over
their territory.”

I frown.  “Ranma, what are you doing camping out?  You have a perfectly
fine dojo...”

“Akane kicked me out a few weeks ago.”  Ranma cuts in flatly.  “Actually, I
was the one who wanted to leave in the first place, but by that time she
had whipped out that mallet of hers and I realized that there was no chance
I would walk out on my own voluntarily.  She wanted to get the last word.”

“Oh.”  I feel slightly uncomfortable at this, but then again, it sounds
like something Akane would do.  It wasn’t as if she was all lovey dovey the
last time I saw her.  Lamely, I try to encourage him.  “Oh well.  Maybe you
should let her cool down a bit and then show up with flowers or something.”

“I don’t think that will work.  She’s probably downtown this very moment,
setting the papers through again.  I never thought our divorce would be so
complicated as our marriage.”

“DIVORCE?!”  I yelp, causing a few of the couples to glance our way.  I
send them scurrying back to their own conversations with a dark look, then
I learn forward and hiss,  “You can’t be serious, Ranma.  After all you’ve
been through...after all the false starts and interrupted weddings...you’re
breaking up _now_?  This is a joke, right?”

He bitterly laughs and shakes his head.  “A joke? I’ve been asking myself
that for the past few years.  Trust me, it’s no joke.”

I sit back, too stunned to speak.  After all this time.  The ghost inside
me grows clearer, bringing back memories of all the times a young,
headstrong woman and several other love-torn youths tried to break Ranma
and Akane’s engagement, and how the Tendos and the Saotomes, and even to
some extent Ranma and Akane, endeavored to keep it going, despite all the
bombs and kidnappings.  They ultimately eloped, so none of us would find
out.  After all that...it does sound like a joke: a very cruel,
mean-spirited joke.

“Ranma, what does the rest of the family think about this?”

He shrugs. “Kasumi, of course, is very disappointed; she has offered me to
stay at her place, but with Tofu around all the time, I’m safer beneath the
bridge.  Nabiki’s off in her own world--I guess being the richest woman in
Tokyo means little problems like this would resolve itself in the end.
Soun’s the only one who’s been so emotional about it.  All he does is sits
around whining that no one will take care of the dojo now that we’re
separating, meaning there’ll be no one taking care of him.  Mom’s the
opposite--she says it should’ve been done a long time ago. I guess being
married to Pop made her sympathetic to our situation.  Then again, ever
since we learned that I may not be the only heir to the Saotome school of
Martial Arts, we haven’t seen much of him.  And as for her...”  He doesn’t
finish, but looks away and snorts faintly.

As I puzzle over this, Miyabi comes over and wordlessly lays the three
specials in front of us, glancing at Ranma from the corner of her eye.  I’m
faintly amused--Keiku must have made her bring the order personally so she
can give him details on this mysterious ‘hentai stranger’ her mother is so
interested in.  And it looks like she’s not going to go away, either.

Politely and firmly, I say, “Thank you, Miyabi.  Go help close up.”

She pouts and reluctantly obeys.  Ranma watches her go with an odd
expression on his face.  To my surprise, I’m irritated by his look.

“Hello? Eyes front, Ranma.”

“Sorry.”  He mumbles.  “It’s just that--well,” he chuckles softly.  “You
know, when I first came in here and she took my order, for a moment I had
this crazy idea she was you...well, you when you were younger. The
similarity between you two is rather uncanny.”

I beam at her retreating back proudly.  “Well, she should look like me.
She is my daughter, after all.”

Ranma chokes on his second okonomiaki and stares at me with huge eyes.  It
takes a second for him to sputter, “Your...your daughter?!”

“Don’t be so surprised, Ranma.  I _am_ married, you know.  Almost fifteen
years now.”

It’s his turn to sit back, stunned.  “Ma...married...”

Unthinkingly, I snap, “Well, what did you expect?  Did you think I would
declare myself celibate and battle waves with my spatula for the rest of my
life when I learned of your marriage?”

“No.  No, it’s just...” he shakes his head.  “I never thought.  It’s been
so long since I last saw you.  I guess--”  He looks straight at me.  “I
guess I went through all these years with this image of you at the back of
my head, the image of the headstrong okonomiyaki chef hell-bent on making
me hers no matter what.  I guess that image of you never left, even after
you did.”  Was that a slight accusation in his tone?

“Oh. I see.”  I sigh.  “I suppose I should’ve kept in touch more.  But you
were the last person I wanted to see when I learned that you and Akane
eloped.  Once I got over that shock, I vowed never to see you again.  I
figured your elopement was your little way of saying you didn’t want me or
the others interfering in your life.  So I decided to respect that by
leaving Nerima.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to? Ranma, did the Tendos tell you what happened when the
others and I learned that the two of you eloped without telling us where
you went? I believe an ‘act of God’ was used to describe the damage done to
the dojo rather than the acts of several enraged martial artists.”

“No, they told me the truth.  But still, Uc-chan,” I jerk at the old
nickname.  “I would think you would be the most understanding of the bunch.
 I mean, you were my best friend!”

The ghost is struggling to surface with memories of old, scorned pain
sketched across its surface.  Oh, no.  Not after all this time.  Sternly, I
speak. “_Ranma_, what’s past is past, okay?  I really don’t feel like
dragging old emotions into the daylight again.  If you want to discuss old
pain, go talk to Ryoga.  It would help get his mind off of what’s happening
with him nowadays.”

Ranma’s eyebrows rise.  “Ryoga?  You mean you’ve kept in touch with him?”

“Oh, off and on.” That’s a vague way of putting it.  In fact, Ryoga’s
probably the only person I keep in touch with from the old days. After the
Tendo’s dojo was, uh, crushed, Ryoga need to go on a long training trip to
get over Akane and I decided to join him to get over Ranma.  One thing led
to another, and...

It didn’t work, of course.  Such things usually don’t. Ryoga’s a nice guy,
but I needed someone who was less a mooning idiot when it came to love
matters.  The “I-will-protect-you-with-my-entire-life” thing just didn’t
work for me.  We broke up after a year but still traveled together as
friends.  It’s funny but we actually grew closer after that, more like a
brother/sister type of thing.  And if we hadn’t gotten lost somewhere
around the Pacific, I would’ve never gotten caught by those marauding
shrimp poachers, and Ryoga would have never have stumbled onto some
occultists sacrificing a young woman to appease some volcano god, and he
would have never joined up with a wandering vigilante who so happened to be
looking for that band of poachers, and they would have never wreaked havoc
on that island, Ryoga doing his usual thing and that vigilante skewering
poachers and occultists right and left, Ryoga would have never saved that
young woman, who so happened to be the daughter of a local chieftain, and I
would have never met that vigilante, who happened to be Keiku.

“You mean Ryoga’s now the head of a village?” Ranma shook his head in
disbelief I told him the brief story.  “I never thought he had it in him.”

“Don’t be so quick to discredit him.  He’s still the same stubborn bull
he’s always been.  He just thinks before he acts nowadays.  And his wife is
perfectly suited for him.  She happened to be the best tracker of their
village, so she always knows where her husband is.”  I smile, thinking of
how X’iona managed to track Ryoga here once, and the frantic look on his
eyes as she dragged him off. “Ten kids, Ukyo, and she’s ready for another!
I don’t have that much strength left! I’m not a rabbit!!”

I shrug and continue, “I see his son more than I see him.  Ryoga sends him
here to school to get an outside education.  Unfortunately, he’s taken a
strong liking towards my Miyabi. Not that I don’t like the kid, but he can
be an idiot, just like his dad.” I shake my head and say, half-jokingly.
“Hey Ranma, I don’t suppose you have a son? Maybe we should engage them
like your folks did.  Saves me the trouble of looking for a good husband
for her.”

Ranma snorts as he tucks into the last okonomiyaki.  “Are you kidding?  I
doubt Akane will even allow Hiratsu out of the house now after our little
‘training trip’ turned into a failure.”

“Training trip?” I repeat slowly, then I slowly sit back as realization
hits.  “Oh, no, Ranma.  You didn’t.”

“The boy’s a weakling, Ukyo.  I don’t know where he gets it from.  All he
wants to do is sit around and read books all day.  I figured the only way
to get some spunk into him was to do the ‘I’ll make him a man-among-men
even if it kills me’ thing.  Hey, it worked for me, right?”  He laughs
bitterly.  “But I forgot that all the springs in Jusenkyo were mixed up.
Remember Pantyhose Taro?”

I nod dumbly.

“Let’s just say that after that little fiasco, my son’s become a better
martial artist, and luckily, he only got splashed a little bit.  We’re
still trying to figure out what the hell he turns into.  Some type of
eagle-horse-mermaid thing with scales and wings. I told him to think of it
as a weird-looking minotaur. Akane simply told us to get out.  It’s a good
thing I was wise enough not to have a seppuku hanging over our heads.  It’s
all moot anyhow.  Hiratsu won’t even talk to me, and when he’s forced to,
it’s usually ‘Oyaji this’ or ‘Oyaji that’.  Funny. As much as I detested
him, who would’ve thought I would one day turn into my old man?”

I can’t answer him.  All I can do is sit back and say over and over, “Oh,
Ranma...”

And the ghost in the back of my head is becoming more pronounced, that
image of a young man, so cocky and so sure of himself, smiling as he mouths
the word ‘Uc-chan’.  To see that image overlaying who is sitting before me
now... I can’t see him like this.  It pains me to see him this way.  I look
up and my eyes involuntarily falls on Keiku at the back of the restaurant,
scrubbing down the counter so hard he’s nearly taking the shine off of it.
At his hard expression, the youths wrap up their card game and file out,
murmuring their goodbyes to me.  Keiku keeps his eyes fastened on me.  If I
were in a more playful mood, I would use this opportunity to make him
jealous for the fun of it.  But the man before me is conflicting with the
ghost inside me.

I finally ask.  “So, what will you do now?”

Ranma shrugs listlessly.  “I don’t know, Uc-chan.”  He sees me wince at
that name and he hesitates before continuing.  “I guess I’ll just go back
to the bridge and wait until it’s over, then who knows.  I was thinking of
staying with my Mom for a while--we never did get to know each other that
well.  Or maybe I’ll go on a training trip, just to be by myself for a
while.  It’s been a while since I’ve done anything on my own.  Maybe I’ll
even take a trip to China, see how Cologne and Shampoo’s doing.”  He lapses
into an uneasy silence, staring at his callused hands lying on the table.  

I wait for the old instinct of denial to take over; along with the ghost,
I’m certain, comes the old baggage of emotions, jealousy and all.  To my
surprise, it doesn’t come.

The last couple is paying and I realize that the restaurant is closed.  I
stand to my feet, saying lamely. “I wish I could help you, Ranma.  I don’t
know how, though.”

“It’s okay.”  He says as he pulls himself up. There’s so much bleakness in
him.  So much bleakness and unhappiness.  He looks so wretched, I want to
hold him and tell him everything will be all right--firmly, I squash that
thought down.

It’s a beautiful night, balmy with a hint of coolness.  As I drink in the
night air, two small forms pounce playfully on my legs, their voices piping
in the still air.  “Mother, Dai-chan was teasing me!”   “I was not! Kyo’s
just being a baby again!”  “Am not!”  “Am too!”

“Enough, you two.”  Unthinkingly, I rub a smudge of dirt off a mischievous
face.  “Daisume, I told you to stop teasing Kyoto.  And what did I tell the
both of you about playing in the dirt?  Go inside, the both of you, and
help your father close up.”

“Aww!”  The two chorus, but they charge inside, giggling and swiping at
each other.  I smile gently at them until I remember Ranma’s standing
beside me.  In the darkness, I can’t tell if the expression he wears is
bemusement or...envy.

Softly, he says, “Uc-Ukyo, do you sometimes wonder if, maybe, things
would’ve been different if you and I...you know...”

For a moment, all I am aware of is the gentle tug of a soft breeze as it
lifts my hair and rustles the treetops, carrying a subtle scent of rain.
Behind me, I can hear my children giggling and Keiku’s gruff voice as they
turn closing up the restaurant into a game.  Ranma’s face is barely visible
in the shadows, but he’s watching me intensely as I strive and strive to
match his face with the image of vitality I had nurtured all those years
ago--that ghost, forever smiling softly at the back of my mind.

And I just can’t do it.

“I don’t know, Ranma.”  I turn to stare at the moving branches of the
trees, so I don’t have to read his face.  “In another time, perhaps.  Or
maybe not.  I really don’t know.  But what I do know is that a long time
ago, you made the choice to marry Akane.  Not your father, not the Tendos.
You.  There had to be some reason why you chose her over me.”  I hear him
slightly hiss at the words. I’m rather amazed myself; once upon a time, I
wouldn’t have said these words to him.  At least, not this calmly. “It took
me a long time to get over you, Ranma, but I did. And now,” I glance back
at the restaurant.  With the lights off, Keiku, Miyabi, and the kids are
mere shadows moving about inside now, but just seeing that causes a warm
feeling to glow inside me.  “Now, I won’t ever change what I got.  They’re
so precious to me.”

There is a long silence.  Out the corner of my eye, I study him as he
stares at the ground.  Even now, I realize, he’s still handsome.  At this
angle, I can almost imagine him taking on the visage of his younger self,
surrounded by warm, fuzzy light, his eyes glinting as his smile lingers
softly upon me.  For a brief second, a pang of regret cuts into my heart.

“I understand.” Ranma finally says.  He looks up at me and faintly smiles.
“I’m glad your life turned out okay after all, Ukyo.  I -- I was worried
when I didn’t hear from you.  I hope your life will always be okay.  If
only Akane was as understanding as you.  Then maybe...”  His voice trails off.

There’s a question that’s been tugging at me all this time ever since we’ve
been talking, but earlier, I couldn’t bring myself to ask it.  Now, as he
fumbles awkwardly for something to say, I realize I had to know, not for my
sake, but for his. “Ranma, do you still love her?”

His head jerks up.  “What, after all the hell she’s put me through?” he
snaps.  “Why should I love that uncute tomboy?”  His voice fades and he
covers his face with his hands.

Such old words.  But after all these years, I recognize that tone.  “But do
you love her?”  I prompt.

He drops his hands and stares at the pavement for a while.  Then he says,
in a voice so soft I can barely hear.  “You know, I still do.  Crazy as it
sounds, I still do love her.  God, it’s funny.  I’m miserable when I’m with
her.  I feel even worse when I’m not with her.  All this year has been one
long hell.  Is this how love is supposed to be?”

As I try to think up an answer, he waves it off.  “Ah, who am I kidding
anyway?  It’s over, okay.  I just need to go off for a while.  Hey, thanks
for listening to me.  Maybe one day I’ll return the favor.”

He’s turning to go.  He’s walking away.  Now wait a minute.  Does he think
he can just walk out of my life just as quickly as he came back in?  Who
does he think he is anyway?  I’m not about to let him walk off like some
wounded martyr.

“Hey, you jackass, come back here!  You can’t just give up like that!  The
Ranma I know wouldn’t just walk away without putting up some kind of fight
for someone he loves!”

He suddenly whirls and shouts at me.  “You haven't spoken to me for twenty
years, Ukyo!  You don’t know me anymore!  I am not some headstrong teenager
that goes charging about knocking out every little problem with his fists!”

“No, but you’re also not an old man who turns into a panda every time a
problem arises,”  I counter evenly.  “Or decides to go on a sudden training
trip, leaving their loved ones to face the problem on their own.  At least,
I hope you’re not.”

That stops him in his tracks, though he makes no move to come back.  I have
to walk over to see his head bowed, his hands tightly clenched to his side.
 “Sometimes,” I hear him hiss.  “Sometimes, I’m tempted to.  God knows it
would be easier for me to just go, forget everything.  I don’t know what
else to do.  How can I love her, Uc-chan?”  He looks at me, his eyes
pleading to give him answers.

I open my mouth and shut it.  Might as well tell him what the meaning of
life is.  How should I know?  I’m only a okonomiaki chef.  I hear childish
laughter spilling out into the street.  Keiku must be locking up.  It
causes me to wonder.  Did Ranma and Akane ever feel pride whenever Hiratsu
laughed?

I shrug.  “I cannot answer that, Ranma.  You’ll have to find that out for
yourself.”

I can see the hope going out of his eyes.  “How?  She won’t even talk to me.”

“Is there anyone she can talk to?  A marriage counselor, perhaps?”

“Are you kidding?  We spent all our money completely restoring the dojo
back to its proper shape.”  I wince at that.  Touche, Ranma.  “There’s not
that many people we are friends with, usually because we were so busy
yelling at each or just being away.  No one knows us as well as...”

He trails off as he stares at me.  Uh-oh.  I know that look.  It’s that
look that the ghost wears in the back of my mind, the look that I would
drop whatever I was doing and move mountains with my spatula for.  It’s the
look that first made me fall for him and do anything, anything for him.
Oh, no, if he thinks he can pull that trick now, right under Keiku’s nose...

Hell, I’m too old for this.

“Okay, okay.  Tell you what.  Find a place to live other than that bridge
and I’ll see if I can pay a long overdue visit to the Saotome-Tendo dojo.
I’ll find out what she thinks and let you know.” I waggle a finger in his
face.    “But don’t think I’m some marriage expert or some go-between.
This is just to get the both of you talking so you can be in the same room
without loathing each other.  And I definitely won’t guarantee that the
both of you will get back together again.  I think you both have a lot of
pain to work out before you consider doing that.”

He nods solemnly, but his eyes shine at me with hope.  Somehow, that
creates another warm feeling in me.  Strange.  I never thought I would be
working to get Akane and Ranma together instead of splitting them apart.  I
can’t help but chuckle at the irony of it.  

Before it turns into outright laughter, though, I tell Ranma.  “You know,
if I’m going to be speaking to Akane, maybe you should be finding someone
who can relate to you.  Why don’t you visit Ryoga...I’m sure he’ll be eager
to see you after all this time.”

“Hmm.  Ryoga.”  Ranma ponders this, then his face lights up.  “Yeah.  I
guess I can go see what the old pig’s up to.”

“Pig?  Oh yeah.  You haven’t heard.  He got cured years ago from that.”

“Did he?!”  Ranma’s face lights up more, though I doubt it’s from hearing
about his old friend. “Hmm...all the more reason to pay him a visit then.”

Vaguely, I wonder what would happen if I splash cold water on him now.  Did
he still maintain his ‘girlish’ figure, or would he turn into a middle-aged
woman with stretch marks, swollen ankles, and increased girth in the hip
area.  I’m sorely tempted to find out, but I can feel Keiku’s stare hot
upon my back.  I’ve been conversing with this stranger too long for his
comfort.  Ranma can feel it, too, because he glances over my shoulder and
says, “Well...I better take off now.  Thanks for all you help, Ukyo.”  He
then lays his hands on my shoulders and says, sincerely.  “You’re a true
friend.”

To my annoyance, I find myself blushing.  I brush his hands off and say.
“It’s nothing.  Go on.  Get out of here.  I got lots of stuff to do and I
can’t have you hovering over me.  Makes me nervous.”

He gives me a brief hug and walks off, waving.  I turn just as Kyoto plows
into me.  “Mother, who’s that?”

“An old, old friend.”  I murmur.  Then, I raise my voice.  “Hey, Ran-chan!”

Under a lamplight, he stops and turns, eyebrows raised at the old nickname. 

“Before you leave town, stop by.  My treat.”

He grins and raises a hand.  And for a brief moment, past and present,
ghost and man merge, and he is smiling at me, surrounded by light, saying
merrily.  “Sure, Uc-chan.  I will.”

If things have been different...if he and I ever had a chance to get
together...who’s to say that the same thing could happen...

As I watch him disappear from sight, a hand drops on my shoulder.
“Uc-chan?”  Keiku says with as much roughness and jealousy he can muster.  

I grin coyly at him.  He can be so thick-headed at times.  So stubborn and
mulish--my smile fades a little as I study his features intently.  He’s
built differently--taller, more muscular, no ponytail binding his light
brown hair, but yes, I can see the faint glimmerings of my first love in
him, his strength, his stubbornness.  But I can also see what attracted me
more than the Ranma I first saw in him, his playfulness, his openness, his
willingness to take on responsibility.  Those traits which, I now realize,
I had used to paint the ghost at the back of my mind with, coloring him
with the soft tints of characteristics he never had until he became more of
a glorification of a man I loved rather than the actual man himself.

A ghost of a young man, forever smiling warmly at me, so far away at the
back of my mind.

Before Keiku can growl any more, I reach up to brush my lips against his,
and the soft contact sends the ghost scuttling back to the dusty domains
where it came from.  Keiku pulls back a second, surprise widening his
chestnut eyes, then he pulls me close, and I drink in his warm embrace.

“Excuuuuse me!  We’re right in the open here.  People are watching!”

Miyabi’s got her hands on her hips, glaring at the both of us.  I turn to
snap at her, and Daisume cuts in, pointing down the street.  “Hey, isn’t
that Setsuka going into that alley?”

“Ack!  He’s supposed to be picking me up tonight!  Setsuka, you’re going
the wrong way, you doof!”  She takes off into the night, long legs flying.
Daisume chases after her, whooping and screeching, his chestnut hair
streaming behind him like a wild colt’s mane.  Kyoto merely snuggles
against my legs, content to stare after the both of them with her wide
brown eyes.

I slide my hand into Keiku’s and whisper in his ear, “Let’s go home.”


============================================================================
====
Author's note:

I hope this didn't turn out too depressing. I always wondered if Ranma and
Akane would have a happy marriage; in my personal view, they both had a lot
of growing to do, and even then learn how to love each other.  Take out the
romance, and well, with all the bickerings and mallet-poundings, I wonder
if they are meant for each other.  But that may also be my bleak look on
things.

I've always been able to relate to Ukyo, considering she's in love with
someone who just considers her a friend.  I've seen so many fanfics with
her going nuts or killing herself, or forever being in love with Ranma and
staying single, or settling for Konatsu or Tsubasa (yecch!).  I still can't
decide about her getting together with Ryoga.  In this fanfic, she somewhat
does, but it doesn't work out. She finds Keiku instead, a guy who's
completely not in the Ranmaverse.  I guess she represents my own hope in
this area, that somewhere, outside of where I am now, there's a Keiku.
Here's to hoping.

Does the ghost parts fit or do they hold up the story?  That's also from
me.  The title comes from 'Your Ghost' sung by Kristin Hersh.  Other songs
that somewhat influenced this was 'In Love With Your Ghost' by the Indigo
Girls and 'Living in a Haunted Heart' by Andy Partridge.  I love
Valentine's Day--don't you?

To give credit where credit is due: All Ranma 1/2 characters are creations
of Rumiko Takahashi. Keiku, his children, Hiratsu, X'ionda and her son
Setsuka are my creations and you can only use them if you ask me nicely
(who knows, maybe I'll write a story on Ukyo and Ryoga's wanderings, and
how Ryoga became chief of his own village. That bears looking into ^_^)

And finally, this has been a T-Bone Productions Fanfic: In Touch With Yours
Truly
============================================================================
/===\     LaShawn M. Taylor (shonnie@zeus.anet-chi.com)
|^ ^|\    Ranma: What's more important? One brief moment of happiness, or the
 \v/\|    Nanniichuan Spring?!
    |\    Ryoga: One...brief...moment...
    \|    				(Ranma 1/2)
	  "It's good to be Bach, VERY good to be Bach.  This one's called 'Love
	  at First Sight'.   [begin guitar intro] It's about debauchery and
	  things like that."
					(XTC, Live in Concert, 1980)	  
============================================================================