IX. Furo

"Hello?"

He's halfway down the hall when Akane's voice rings out from within the bath. Ranma's feet bounce mid-step, shoulders following suit. His mind, as always, processes things last.

She shouts again. Her voice is thin and stretched tight like the skin of a drum, the words tinged with desperation. No one else is here at the moment, hasn't been since Kasumi led the rest of them to tea at Nodoka's place. He'd stayed behind to train by himself, not entirely up to dealing with both of his parents at the same time.

"Is anyone back yet?"

Akane had stuck around too, apparently.

Swallowing hard, Ranma whips his head sideways and rap his knuckles against the sliding door. The sound of something splashing around follows suit. He tries not to think about it too much.

"Nabiki! Is that you?" he hears on the other side of the partition, muffled slightly by the ensuing echo. Ranma's fingers are warm where they graze the bamboo edifice, the wood darkened with vapor. He clears his throat and shuffles his legs.

"Um, not this time."

"Ranma!" Another splash, this one followed by the clap of water hitting tile. He tightens his grip on the door, straightens his back so that he's not stooping over the screen like an eager lech or something. Akane always has a tendency to assume the worst from these awkward situations, not that he could really blame her.

"y-yeah," he sighs, looks away even though he knows she can't see him. "Sorry."

"Where's everyone else?"

"They're not back yet," his tone is surprisingly meek, shaky even. "Mom must've kept them over for lunch too."

"Oh," Akane's disappointment is so palpable it actually makes Ranma cringe. He makes to turn back around when she speaks up again. "Can you help me then?"

"You want me?" His voice actually cracks this time, hitching his vocal chords. Ranma's free hand clenches weakly into a fist."

"My brace fell into the bottom of the tub. I need Kasumi's first-aid kit so that I can wrap my ankle again."

"Where is it?"

"On the other side of the house, underneath her desk."

"You're not," he pauses, tries to string his statement together in the least offensive way possible. "You're not dressed, right?"

"I have a towel with me," she blurts out. "It's not like I planned on this happening, you know."

"Okay," Ranma lowers his head, jaw set into a straight line. "Hold on, I'll be right back."

Mercifully enough, Kasumi's bedroom isn't locked. Ranma takes a moment to mentally thank her for being so well-organized before he swipes the white suitcase from beneath her desk chair. He stubs his toe on the way out, nearly tripping over a potted plant near the entrance.

The bamboo door is just as he left it. Tentatively, Ranma slides it aside. A rush of wet, tepid air wafts in around him, fogging his vision. The little yelp Akane lets out in response is more out of habit than necessity.

"I'm not looking," he warns, setting the kit down on the bathroom floor. He stands back up to rest the ball of his foot against it.

"You better not be," Akane replies, tremulous. A year ago she would have followed up that phrase with a threat of violence against him. Ranma would have barked back that there was nothing of hers worth peeking at anyways and their exchange would have ended with her furiously boxing his ears. He might have even seen her naked for a second or two, though not intentionally.

Things carry a different weight nowadays. Ranma teases her less often, butting heads more out of playfulness than anything else. Akane's occasional jabs at his overblown ego border on flirtatiousness. It's not as if either of them are unaware of what's really happening. It's not as if they're both as clueless as they've been pretending to be, despite everyone else's best efforts.

Ranma shoves the thought away. He's got no use for it now.

"Here," he grunts instead, pushing the plastic case towards her with his leg while the rest of his body is angled away. "Can you reach it yet?"

"Yup," she says. Ranma hears the snap of the clasp coming undone. There's a jostling sound too, and then a deep exhalation on her end. "Enough gauze left, thank goodness."

"Great," he nods quickly, practically leaping across the room to reach the opposite side. It's much cooler out in the hallway. His face, however, is still unbearably warm. "Uh, I'm gonna go now."

"Ranma?"

Fingers stall on the sliding door. A miniature silence stretches out between them, interrupted only by the incessant drip of a leaky faucet.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," Akane blurts out a little too loudly. "For helping me, I guess. I really do appreciate it."

"It's nothing," he lies, runs a clammy hand through his bangs. His pulse refuses to cooperate. It pounds in his ears, reverberating.

"Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Don't worry," he looks up, sucking in a breath. Ranma tries not to think about the softness in Akane's words, the pleading quality of her voice. He tries not to wonder at what can't be seen beyond the screen, tries not to conjure his own memories either; their accidental glances at one another, red-faced and embarrassed and at the reality of their own anatomies. How many afternoons had he spent afterwards alone, cataloging every flash of skin?

The curvature of Akane's thigh, the shallow dip of her hipbone. Arms crossed over her chest, elbows jutted out.

"I won't say anything."

AN: Dedicated to the sweet soul who asked for a bit of holiday cheer. Hope it's not too late!