Neon Genesis Evangelion Fan Fiction / Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction / Noir Fan Fiction ❯ Chrysanthemum Blends ❯ Want ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer:

"Ranma ½" is the 1993 copyright of Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Inc., and Viz Communications, Inc.

"Noir" is the 2001 copyright of Ryoe Tsukimura, Bee Train, Victor Entertainment, and A. D. Vision, Inc.

"Neon Genesis Evangelion" is the 1997 copyright of GAINAX, Project Eva, TV Tokyo, NAS, and A. D. Vision, Inc.

All characters and settings herein used without permission and no copyright infringements are intended.

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Chrysanthemum Blends

By ToastedPine

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Chapter 3: Want

Chips of wood flew off the heavy wooden door from Misato's kicks. "Somebody open up!" She continued pummeling the door desperately while cradling Ranma's limp form.

A bedraggled woman around Misato's age opened the door. "Misato, what are you doing here at this hour? It's three in the morning." She rubbed her left eye, temporarily covering her distinctive beauty mark.

"Please- please save him! Ranma . . . Ranma's hurt!" Misato was breathing hard and her face was covered in dried tears.

Seeing her friend in such a state was enough to dispel her sleep induced stupor in a hurry. She took notice of the lithe girl in Misato's arms and gasped.

"Take her inside quickly. A stretcher's in the third room to the left."

The blonde haired woman critically eyed her patient. Misato had taken surprisingly little coaxing to leave the room. The field dressing had helped stem the flow but couldn't stop the blood from soaking through.

Cutting away the bandages, she was surprised by how deeply the cut reached. It was a miracle this girl was still alive.

The intrepid doctor worked tirelessly. Surgery was not her specialty so it was fortunate that none of the major organs were damaged. Unfortunately, there were several complications. Each one stole precious grains of sand from the hourglass of Ranma's life.

By the end of the procedure, Ranma looked white as a sheet. The doctor tensed as her patient's vital signs gradually plummeted. She needed more blood but the bags of type-A and O had long since been exhausted. Apparently, she hadn't been prepared enough for Ranma's arrival. A sense of urgency set in. "Don't die on me now damn you."

Where was she going to get type-A blood at such short notice? Calling for it was out of the question. By her estimates, Ranma would be dead in the next 30 minutes and the nearest blood bank was a two hour drive away.

No! She wouldn't lose. There was one other way- consequences be damned! Gritting her teeth, she dug around in her lab coat for a cell phone. She was about to hit speed dial when she heard sobbing . . . .

. . . To the young doctor it was the voice of an angel.

Misato lay back and stared at the dark crimson fluid being sucked out of her by a plastic tube and fed into Ranma's arm. So entranced was she that she barely registered the shadow over her. "Thank you Ritsuko, for saving him."

Ristuko smiled warmly. "You saved her life. I just helped you along the way."

The doctor blinked, "You know, now that I've seen it, I still don't know if I believe what they told me. There's something important they forgot isn't there?"

"That's Ranma alright, and he's as much of a man as any man I know." Misato managed a smirk. "Trust me; I've had first hand experience." She said remembering the sight she had walked in on. The expression on her friend's face was priceless.

"You didn't . . ." Ritsuko hurriedly stood up and looked under the teen's hospital gown to check what she had seen earlier then turned back to Misato. Irritation crept into her voice, "Well now, if that's a man then he had one hell of a perfect sex change operation."

"I'll tell you later." Misato smiled knowingly. "Whatever you do, just DON'T bring any warm water near him." She yawned. "Let me rest a bit first, I'll tell you later."

Ritsuko looked at her friend strangely but decided to humor her. Misato must've had a good reason to make such an absurd request. Either that or the stress had finally gotten to her. Seeing no other possibility, she would have to consider that girl a male and Ranma until proven otherwise.

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The note, sharp yet gentle, carried effortlessly through the endless expanse of her fog shrouded psyche- a prison without walls.

Kirika looked upon the jet black surface of the grand piano. On the polished synthetic material she could see, beyond the window, the children of the street engage each other in a game she could not identify. There were skies as clear overhead as that which had on some nameless day reflected off a rosewood piano now lost to her. She ran her fingertips against the curved key cover imagining bumps and scratches where there were none. She knew this feeling . . . .

Her body lowered itself down onto the bench. Deliberately, her fingers tested their weight on the ivory keys as if daring the piano to make a sound before it was willed to do so.

The quaint music store took up no more space than a large western living-room. Every inch of its walls were lined with instruments filling the chamber with a strong scent of strings and brass. Taking it all into her the girl forged the world anew with notes from the distant past. It was an unearthly tune of lonely lingering notes separated by intervals of deafening silence. The music seeped into the very pores of the surroundings.

Somewhere along the way Kirika had closed her eyes and let the world fade away. Inside her the song had taken on a completely different meaning. What was this song? Her breathing slowed and warmth enveloped her chest. The notes weren't alone. They were silent and barely left a trace but they traveled hand in hand to form something grander.

She wanted to cling to those notes, to belong and disappear. Unfortunately the components of her frame were not quite as evanescent as the vibrations born of harmony.

Keeping her eyes closed Kirika grasped desperately at the final pattern of notes . . . . As her quiet enjoyment came to an end she heard clapping.

Light filtering through the yellowing glass of the window obscured the girl's vision making the newly painted red brick wall across the street look tired and stained. Slowly her focus fell to the man smiling at her. His face, already round, were made more so by the smile lifting his pudgy cheeks. He was in his late thirties, wearing a multi-pocket nylon vest that hugged his portly frame.

The man set down his large dusty camera bag. "That was excellent miss. You're a very talented young lady." His thick rounded mustache moved with his lips as he spoke.

Kirika stood there stunned by approval directed at her until the full implication hit; she had given life to something, not taken it away!

"T-thank you sir." She bowed while her hand unconsciously closed around the watch in her right pocket. It had just become something of real value.

After having a short but pleasant conversation the two went on their way. Neither of them noticed the thin blade embedded forcefully atop the wall.

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The sky was vibrant with hues of yellow and orange. Everything was bright and alive from the wave-worn shores to the fragrant vegetation growing about the seaside.

A seven year old Ranma scurried out of the ship like a mouse out for cheese. His hair had grown long and was tied back by some twine into a ponytail, and he wore an oversized red Chinese shirt tied down by some cargo rope liberated from the boat they rode.

The shirt was a gift for his birthday. Genma had traded one of his better gi tops to a Frenchman for it. At least, that was what little Ranma assumed. The captain had taken an interest in him during their stay. When Ranma asked why he couldn't understand what the man was saying, Genma simply stated that everyone he couldn't understand spoke in French.

Due to the language barrier, it had taken a full hour to figure out that the owner collected different shirts as a hobby. His father probably would have stolen it, but was reluctant to anger someone who looked important and had no qualms about throwing people overboard.

Little Ranma had a tin in his hand taken from the ship's cargo hold where he had slept on a sack filled with some dried yellow petals and "Japan" stamped in big bright letters on it. That was his cure to homesickness at sea. Sleeping on "Japan" made all the longing disappear for a seven year old far from home. Genma slept beside him on the two other bags labeled "Oolong" and "Hao Cha".

While Genma was distracted with last minute details, Ranma heard the Captain calling for him. Seeing no reason to not go to the nice bearded man, young Ranma hurried over.

Gently the captain led the boy over to the back of a nearby shed where a man in a teal business suit waited. The seven year old Ranma watched as the captain conversed with the other man animatedly while pointing at him. He hoped whatever the captain was saying about him was good. After a little more talk, the man in teal raised an eyebrow then fell into a stance facing him.

'Oh that was it.' little Ranma thought. The captain must've wanted to show his friend how good he was. Well Ranma would try his best for the captain.

The altercation took a little less than a minute. In the end Ranma was on top of the stranger with an upraised fist. He sported a nasty scrape on the cheek but didn't mind while his opponent smiled and looked none the worse for wear.

Raising his hands in surrender the man signaled the end of the match. Little Ranma still looked at him warily. His dad said never to let his guard down even when the opponent played harmless. He watched as his opponent dusted himself off and fished something round and shiny out of his pocket. Walking over to the side the man picked up Ranma's tin and placed it inside.

Little Ranma was about to say thank you when the man in teal gave him a wink and held a finger in to his mouth.

"Boy! Where'd that insolent boy run off to?" Genma scratched the back of his head.

"I'm over here pops!" Little Ranma dashed towards his father.

"What happened to you boy?" Genma asked after noticing his son's scrape.

Ranma was about to answer when Genma interrupted, "Never mind that boy. We still have to find the place and show you to them before I can have my drinking ca-- get money to fund our training trip." The fat man nearly giggled at the prospect of having fat wads of cash lining his pockets. He'd gotten wind of an organization seeking to fund the development of child prodigies. The ones they approved of would be given a one time lump sum with no questions asked, no strings attached.

Behind the shed, a transaction was completed and one very happy captain finally had enough money to completely overhaul his ship.

The pre-adolescent Ranma faded away and was replaced by an older 16 year old form. This Ranma, like the previous one, was strong and full of energy but the eyes were different . . . .

. . . The eyes, which were once infinitely blue and crystal clear, were stained stormy clouds darker than the blackest pitch.

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Ranma awoke remembering her dream in detail. Surprisingly, she did not feel afraid or sick as before- only a dull sadness. Were those the eyes she was meant to have? Killing wasn't supposed to get easier . . . not this early. It had only been the second time.

Determination filled her. She would find a way to deal with her problems without ending another life. If only she had her old strength back . . . .

Attempting to render the moxibustion completely ineffective would have to wait.

Her ki stores were drained from being severely wounded. To make matters worse, the stitches on her chest itched like crazy.

Ranma lay in misery. The past two days were boring at best. Misato was a hawk. Being pampered was even worse because of the guilt she suffered from enjoying it.

"You're awake." Misato walked into the room with some pad paper and a fountain pen. "I know you're restless, this'll keep you busy."

Ranma looked inquisitively at her, "What am I suppos' ta do with these?"

"No clue."

The pigtailed martial artist nearly fell off her stretcher. "A little too honest aren't we?"

Misato stuck out her tongue in reply before inspiration struck. "Ha, I got it!"

"Hmm . . . how did it go again?" The older woman tore a rectangular sheet then shaped it into a square by ripping off the excess.

Ranma looked on curiously as Misato folded away.

Misato finished the construct and blew into it to form a paper box. "Here you go!" She proudly passed it over to Ranma who caught it with an index finger and began spinning it around.

"So . . ."

"You figure it out! Do I have to do all the thinking for you?" Misato's annoyance was nearly tangible.

"Haven't thought that far ahead yet have you?"

"Urk!" She grabbed at her heart as if impaled by an arrow.

Ranma let out a breath and stared at her new makeshift toy as it spun on her finger. Too bad she couldn't make it spin faster; it would be slightly more entertaining at least. Her finger movement could only do so much . . . .

Ranma lit up "Misato you're a genius!" She did not know if her idea would lead anywhere but a little experimentation never hurt anyone right?

She focused on the box intensely. "Now all I have to do is . . . ."

'Mission accomplished.' Misato exited without any idea what was going on in the teenager's mind. "At least she's not restless anymore." How anyone who considered themselves manly could whine so effectively was anyone's guess.

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The man who held Soldats' fourth chair looked upon his distorted reflection, ever shifting in the basin of water just as he had over the years. He had used many names . . . and faces- some of which were best left forgotten. Just as well, since he had the habit of 'washing away' anything or anyone who could link him to his previous identity.

Setting the basin aside, Keel Lorenz took a moment to rest his arms upon the surface of his imposing solid marble desk. The stone's low temperature no longer bothered him. He was used to the cold by now.

There was a pile of manila envelopes on his desk, most of which were issues that the other three members requested him to address. His sight was beginning to waver but he would trust no one else to read for him, man or machine. He casually disregarded all the envelopes except for the one labeled "Marduk Project" in tiny black letters.

Keel was pleased by the results of his decade long endeavor. Necessity was truly the mother of all invention. The Marduk Project had evolved from his attempt to locate a child who could serve his purposes against Artena. But thanks to the aftereffects of continuing his project, he had far more options.

The method was simple: the seeds of order would be sown and he would wait for the fruit to ripen.

Of course, the fruit borne could only be of use when divided from the tree in harvest.

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Ritsuko walked into the rich mahogany paneled dining area where Misato sat with a gardening spade in hand. "You still have the old thing."

Misato glared. Her voice was hollow as she stared off into space. "It's all that's left of father. I'll return it once everything's settled."

"I know, I know." The blond scientist waved her off with her free hand while the other held a warm cup of coffee. "You know . . . It's not healthy . . . what you're doing."

"You're one to talk." Misato sniffed. "How long have you kept dying your hair and putting on contacts? I still say you were a better brunette."

Ritsuko's smile was bitter. "I guess that's why we're friends. One clings too tightly to the past and the other tries too hard to let go."

"So, how's Ranma? I expect the same as the last twenty or so times you checked on him during the past hour." Ritsuko's amused expression was poorly hidden- though it did still feel strange referring to the girl they were taking care of as a male. "And are you going to explain how he's a girl?" She tried reigning in her curiosity but the effort was moot.

Misato's eyebrow shot up at the doctor's ill concealed eagerness. "I'll tell you depending on your answer. When will the stitches come off? You don't really need me to tell you since you can ask him yourself."

"I'd rather not . . . I'm supposed to be an unbiased observer remember? I am to have as little contact as possible with the subject."

"You? Unbiased? With me here?" Misato raised an eyebrow.

Ritsuko decided to redirect the conversation. "They have to come off by tomorrow. I swear Ranma's not human." The doctor shook her head in amazement.

"You'll find out a few hours after you take care of the stitches." Ristuko frowned at the response but decided to let it go until she came back later that night.

"Maybe I should go out and do something too." Misato wondered as she watched her friend leave. "Ranma's fine and we're safe for now."

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It was dark out when Ranma heard the sound of someone stumbling around outside her room. Could it be another attack? No, those steps were far too clumsy to have come from anyone with lethal intent.

The pigtailed martial artist stealthily crept towards the door where she found Misato passed out beside the dinning room table.

"Misato!" Ranma rushed to her side. The older woman wore the heavy stench of sake and several other choice beverages on her.

Ranma wrinkled her nose, "What'd you do? Take a bath in a keg?" She gritted her teeth as she tried lifting Misato up to standing position with one arm slung over her shoulder. Suddenly she felt her load shift its weight and shove her away.

"Don't come near me!" Misato screamed.

"Misato, what's the big idea?!" Ranma was taken aback by her behavior.

When she saw Ranma get up and come closer, Misato reached into her back pocket and pulled out her gun. "I-I can't handle this right now! I can't be near you while I'm like this." She finished with a sweeping motion of her left arm.

"I loved them so much and how did they end up? I . . . you have to keep your distance- don't you see? I'm the reason you've seen so much hell in so little time!"

Was she really going to shoot her? What was she talking about? Getting shot by a drunken Misato looked really likely. As much as she hated to admit it, Ranma knew it was best for her to back down. "Have it your way, I'll leave ya alone."

Ranma hunched away slowly, the shove to her chest had done some damage. What she couldn't decide was what hurt worse, her chest or her heart?

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Ritsuko forcefully led Misato from behind towards Ranma's door. "You're not a child anymore Misato. Act your age. As an adult, it's your duty to take some responsibility and resolve the problems you've caused."

"But I don't wanna!" Her friend whined.

"Cute. Now fix this mess so that Ranma will let me remove his stitches. I don't care what started this. Just fix it so I can get some work done!"

Misato stumbled past the doorway and was caught like a deer in headlights under Ranma's expressionless gaze. "Um . . . hi."

Registering who had walked in, the life slowly crept back into Ranma's eyes followed by an expression of uncertainty.

Both knew an apology wasn't the correct remedy, yet neither knew how to proceed.

Finally, Misato decided she might as well go all out. "You . . . want to go out for a little ride?" A tentative smile graced her lips.

Not knowing what else to do, Ranma simply nodded.

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The drive would have led the passenger to an early grave had it not been Ranma. As it was, the teen was too distracted with her thoughts to feel the g-forces resulting from Misato's impromptu attempt to clear her mind.

They stopped by the roadside overlooking a placid lake. It was a brisk night and the crisp mountain air was cool enough to invigorate but not freeze. All was silent save the songs cicada play to the dancing wind.

Misato walked out and leaned her back against the railing. She turned her face to the lake and let the moon's rays caress her features. Ranma followed by casually flipping out the car window and landing a few meters away.

An unspoken agreement was formed and both decided not to begin until they were ready. Ranma felt strange about the whole thing. Never in her life had things been so complicated and yet so clear at the same time. Far too late to put things into perspective now. The gracelessness of her attempts to interact with her loved ones was partly responsible for the cheapening of the time they'd spent together.

While she couldn't yet consider the purple-haired beauty before her a loved one, she vowed silently never again to utter words so errant as to hurt the woman.

Taking initiative, Misato began, "Have you ever had something so important that . . ." She paused to collect her thoughts, ". . . that you'd sacrifice anything to protect it?"

Ranma could not read between the lines, nor could she see past anything but the question itself. What she could do was answer honestly- though that tiny nugget of wisdom had come at a steep cost.

"I . . . I think I had somethin' like that." Her companion stiffened recognizing her error. Ranma didn't appear to notice. "But ya know what? They woulda beat the crap out of me if they found out what I was doin.'"

Misato turned away not wanting Ranma to see her choke back the tears threatening to flow.

"Ah man, what'd I do wrong? C'mon I can't stand it when girls cry." The naïve teen grasped at anything to get the crying to stop. "Ah . . . I know you were drunk last night an' it's no big deal that you knocked me down?"

"You're not wrong Ranma . . ." Misato stared out into the lake, the expression on her face distant. ". . . but maybe I am."

Not too far off a shadowy figure put its binoculars aside and scribbled a few notes.

Author's notes:

Edited this chapter over.

Want, the driving force of all people. It doesn't matter who you are, there is something you desire.

A lot of this fic was improved drastically by the diligent efforts of my prereaders Hitokiriraosai and Fallacies. Special thanks go to Fallacies for patiently showing me the ropes of good writing.

Chrysanthemum Blends is still very much a work in progress so please give C&C. I'm new at this so I need you the readers to tell me what works and what doesn't.