The Phenomenal Improbability of This Coincidence

Could she tell them? Would they believe her? Not now; not yet. But she must be included in this expedition.

Three lonely years after returning to England, Jane Porter longs to find Tarzan again. And though she’s able to set out as a consultant to Elsa and Anna of Arendelle, who plan to search the same area for any news of their long-lost parents, will she be able to explain to them what she believes is the missing piece of the puzzle that brought them together on this voyage?

Unique to this story: Hints of racism/antisemitism.

Fog sneaked among masts and rigging, pier supports and walls, hats and umbrellas and even legs, very much as the African mists had sometimes done among the mighty trees and world of dangling vines and the subsequently obscure items of their own camp three years before. Each did unforgivable things to her hair, but whereas in Africa she’d been free to keep her pith helmet on as long as she felt the need — and beyond that hadn’t exactly had any social engagements — here the drooping locks that never failed to get down into her eyes would be visible not only to every passerby on the street, but also to the delegate she hoped to impress.

Beyond that, the fog chilled her to the bone despite the layers she’d donned against it, while the African mists had been a pleasant contrast to the hot equatorial atmosphere. She adjusted her hat, took a firmer grip on her closed umbrella, and pressed her unoccupied hand into a coat pocket. The crinkle from within as glove closed on paper acted as a sort of warmth, anyway.

She’d lost count, in recent days, of how many letters she’d received beginning with some approximation of, My dear Miss Porter, though I have the utmost respect for the scientific achievements of your eminent father, it is with deepest regret I must inform you… Just to have one that started differently, however desirable its proposal might or might not turn out, had lit a fire of hope in her breast as nothing else had during these increasingly bad years.

She would not, she believed, have received so many denials of her request for sponsorship if she could have said — or even in good conscience implied — that her father would once again be heading the proposed expedition. But his health had grown poor enough of late that she didn’t want him to risk the long voyage, even back to an area she believed had been especially salubrious for him, until she was certain it would be a one-way trip. And how could she know that without making a preliminary survey herself? How could she dare believe in the possibility? Was it within her conscience?

In any case, even with suffragettes becoming increasingly vocal in England and elsewhere, scientific expeditions headed by single young women did not raise much confidence — or money — with the various stodgy men of the Royal Society, or even the BA. And there was another reason the letter in her pocket warmed her heart: it was signed by a woman.

Though relatively uninitiated in the functionality and visual design of sailing ships, with or without supplemental steam engines, Jane believed the one to which she’d been invited today had a subtly affluent and dignified look while also appearing sturdy and practical. Her green and purple paint was subdued, and the carved crocus that formed her figurehead was a subtle rather than a glittering gold that didn’t immediately draw the eye. For her own part, Jane preferred bright colors, but for the conveyance of a delegation from a small norther country, this seemed properly unobtrusive.

The gangway stood extended and ready for her, and a figure, appearance blurred in the fog, waited at the top. As Jane climbed the oblique walk and kept her eyes steadily forward and upward, she took in more and more details: the stranger was a plump, fit-looking woman in her forties wearing a braided crown of red hair striped with grey and one prominent patch of pure white. This tight coiffure, along with her modish green coat over a short split skirt and neat tall boots, suggested an active person and an active function in the delegation.

The woman held out a hand as Jane drew near, and her pleasant face seemed to take the edge from the air around them with a welcoming smile and the wrinkled pattern of many such gone by beside her eyes. And there was something in those eyes — medium blue with just the slightest touch of green, the passion and energy behind them increasingly visible as Jane drew up to her — that thoroughly and abruptly engrossed her.

Jane had always been easily distracted. It wasn’t that she hadn’t spent her entire childhood taking lessons, tacit and overt, in proper behavior and social consciousness; it was just that as soon as she encountered something that grabbed her interest, she forgot herself. Staring silently between the delegate’s dark lashes, standing stupidly still without taking the last step off the gangplank, not reaching out to shake the offered hand, was patently rude, but so caught up was Jane in the seeming familiarity, the almost enchanting familiarity of those eyes that she didn’t even recognize the extent to which she’d lost her head until the woman spoke.

“You must be Jane Porter.” The delegate took that last step forward in Jane’s place and reached out. She did perhaps appear a little curious as to what had stopped her visitor so short, but only added, “I’m Anna of Arendelle,” as she shook Jane’s hand.

“Oh! Oh, yes, of course, good morning.” Fidgeting in response to her own behavior, Jane brushed a strand of damp hair out of her face, pushed her hat up by half an inch, and released both Anna’s hand and Anna’s eyes seconds too late to avoid awkwardness. “We’ve corresponded. I’m very happy to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m so glad you were able to come on such short notice,” Anna replied, taking Jane’s elbow and leading her onto the ship and across the foggy deck. “Though I guess it wasn’t such short notice for you, since you were already looking for a sponsor, but since we only determined on this voyage a few weeks ago, it seemed like a miracle when we came across your name. Come inside!”

Jane smiled to find her new acquaintance so chatty already, and allowed herself to be led out of the greater chill of the morning. “It seems we may be able to help each other,” she agreed as they went.

Inside, under a low ceiling in what nevertheless appeared a relatively comfortable cabin — the captain’s, perhaps — two more women sat behind a table covered in charts, with a man standing straight-spined nearby, his grizzled head brushing the beam just above him. Anna moved forward after closing the door behind them, gestured at the central figure, and said, “May I present Queen Elsa of Arendelle.”

Jane nearly choked. She’d taken a confident step or two behind Anna on entry, but halted as if on a sixpence at these words and gaped. Any other potential source of distracting interest — and she felt immediately there might be one or two before her — immediately slipped her mind, but that didn’t stop her from gawking at the indicated woman for at least one impolite second.

Not one tiny hint had been dropped in Anna’s correspondence that this was a royal delegation, that Jane would come face-to-face with the ruler of a nation aboard this ship. A drawing-room-sized nation, granted, consisting primarily of uninhabitable mountains and which she’d barely even heard of before looking into it on receipt of Anna’s first letter, but the fact remained that Jane’s preparations for this interview — credential, sartorial, and emotional — would have been significantly different had she known this in advance.

Queen Elsa said Anna’s name in a fondly reproving tone, and the likeness between the two struck Jane even through her haze of astonishment and agitation. This combined with the previous introduction ‘Anna of Arendelle’ rather than Christian name and surname struck Jane with the sudden realization that they were sisters. Anna too, informal and personable as she’d shown herself thus far, was Arendelle royalty.

“I thought she should know before we begin,” Anna said with a twinkle in those compelling aqua eyes. “This is Jane Porter.”

With a monumental effort, Jane got something of a grip and made her curtsey, first toward the queen and then, more shallowly and belatedly, toward the princess or whatever Anna’s official title might be. “Your majesty,” she said. “Your highness.”

“Please, Miss Porter,” the queen replied in a firm but gentle voice that mixed formality and welcome in a manner striking Jane as quite regal, “this expedition is a private undertaking; I’m not here in my capacity as Queen of Arendelle, nor my sister Anna as Princess.” She gestured elegantly to her right with one pale hand. “Neither is Duchess Judith Feinberg here in her capacity of royal advisor, but rather that of personal friend. I didn’t plan on mentioning our official ranks to you until we’d made all our arrangements, but–” shooting her sister a wry look– “Anna obviously had other ideas. I hope you’ll be willing to call us by name rather than title, or ‘ma’am’ if that makes you more comfortable. And naturally our good Captain Bengtsson–” with another wave– “prefers to be addressed by that title.”

While she spoke, Jane examined her more closely than she’d been able to while overcome with confusion and surprise. Queen Elsa of Arendelle appeared to be a little older than her sister, with the same slender figure filled out by middle-aged solidity, and hair gone entirely silver — on which she wore no crown — pulled up into a practical arrangement similar to Anna’s. Her clothing represented equal functionality in a coat of the same cut, hers of a deep purple with blue and green scrollwork in shining thread, and Jane had no doubt she wore, beneath the table unseen for now, a split skirt and stout boots like Anna’s. The only concession her garments made to her position was the embroidered crest of Arendelle on her left breast.

But her eyes…

They were the same as Anna’s, which Jane was beginning to think were also the same as…

It was that slightly greenish blue again, pure and clear, but more than the color it was the intensity that took Jane dizzily back to hot jungle days and a family of (mostly) gorillas. The depth of emotion, the penetrating energy of the spirit behind the startling irises and pupils… Jane knew it. There was little more resemblance in the soft, feminine features to the ones she recalled so clearly, but the expression in those eyes was the same. She would rather have liked to look over at Duchess Feinberg or Captain Bengtsson and take in what she could of their appearances, but couldn’t break away from Elsa’s face. She couldn’t stop the series of shivers that ran, one after another, up her spine.

Just as when she’d been connected to Anna’s gaze as if by a bar of steel, she only realized the queen had stopped speaking after some undetermined period of time had passed. She shook herself, glancing at last toward the princess and finding her watching this time with open curiosity. Fidgeting with hair and hat for a second time in five minutes, untying the latter somewhat absently, Jane took a breath and managed, “Of course, ma’am.”

“Please have a seat–” Elsa gestured at the cabin’s vacant chairs– “and we’ll discuss particulars.”

Jane obeyed, drawing up to the table so she could easily see the charts and other documents thereon, while Anna and the captain did the same at opposite corners. She hoped she could keep her gripping distraction under control and have a professional conversation.

The queen next swept her hand across a map showing the west coast of central Africa, a section of the world Jane was very accustomed to seeing on paper like this. “Our voyage, as Anna informed you by letter, is to the Kingdom of Loango, here, and, if necessary, the surrounding area. We understand your scientific expedition a few years ago was to that area as well.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Here Jane was on far more solid footing, and spoke without hesitation. “Our expedition to study western African gorillas, which was largely funded by legatees of the African Association, took place on the coast here–” she drew her finger along it– “about seventy miles north of the mouth of the Congo River. On our way there, we stopped in a European port in Kakongo — a dreadful place; full of slavers, you know — and stayed there for some time planning and making arrangements and gathering supplies. We stopped in the same area on the way back, and that was an even longer stay. A lot of the locals speak an Africanized French, which I can communicate in tolerably. I know a little about some of the local customs as well, though I’m afraid most of their dialects are beyond me. I am aware that Loango often resists European landings, but there are go-betweens you can procure without much trouble.”

When she looked up, she found both royal sisters as well as the captain nodding, as if this matched what they understood of the area. Elsa discontinued the gesture and stared down at the map with a furrowed brow. After a moment she sighed, looked up, and said, “During the reign of my father, Arendelle imported copper and a few other goods from Loango. Thirty years ago, disputes arose that threatened to break off all trade between our nations, and grew so involved that my parents felt the need to make a diplomatic voyage in person to settle them. They landed in Kakongo in order to approach Loango by land from the south, and dealt with their business there successfully over the course of several weeks. Then something delayed them. I’m sure you know how difficult communication is over such a distance and across such uncertain territories, so you’ll understand that we never knew what it was. But for some reason they only set out several months later for the return voyage, and the confused report we received after that was that their ship had gone down with all hands somewhere off the west African coast.”

Jane’s attention had been seized again by intense aqua during this speech, and as she found herself unable to look away for the moment, she also found herself thinking, I know exactly why they were delayed: they realized your mother was pregnant. Of course they wouldn’t risk the return voyage with her in that condition. And I know just about where their ship must have gone down. And I know your brother.

She couldn’t speak, not to acknowledge what she’d just heard nor to offer her condolences on the loss of three decades before. The shivers up her spine had grown so strong she was almost tempted to call them shudders, and she simply couldn’t manage a single word. Was it true? Could it be true? The phenomenal improbability of this coincidence, if it were, deafened her with the shout that it couldn’t possibly be… yet how did the saying go? Il est impossible que l’improbable n’arrive jamais? Science was full of improbabilities, and so, perhaps, was life.

That didn’t mean she could say a word, however. How could she tell them this on only the evidence she had? An area of the world, a timeline clicking into place, a color of too-familiar irises… Every moment her belief grew stronger, but with no other proof than a collection of impressions. No, best to hold her tongue on this matter until she was more certain. Especially since her own long-term plans remained hazy in the extreme.

Finally Elsa, seeing Jane did not intend to speak, finished her tale. “Events in Arendelle after our parents’ death led us to drop the connection with Loango as inconvenient, and we never renewed trade with that area of the world.” As a sort of aside she added, “We agree with you that slavers are simply dreadful. In any case, just a few weeks ago, a trader brought us what he considered an antique clearly of Arendelle design but which we recognized immediately as having belonged to our mother. It was just an old trinket, but it was our father’s gift to her, and unmistakable to us. There was a story connected with it of a sailor having survived a shipwreck and salvaged what he could on the west coast of Africa somewhere in the Loango area.”

Jane’s heart clenched. That they’d essentially taken one look at the trinket that had made a five-thousand-mile, thirty-year journey into their hands and immediately planned to trace that long course back could only mean they harbored some hope that one or both of their parents, even in old age, might yet live — and Jane knew full well they did not. And yet there was a relation for them to find down there, a brother so full of life he might almost put paid to those three decades of sorrow. But did Jane really want to find him again? And what would she do if she did? And why couldn’t she say his name even in her private thoughts?

Tarzan. Tarzan of the apes was an unknown Prince of Arendelle, secret brother of Elsa and Anna, son of the late king and queen. Tarzan was the trace of their lost parents these women were seeking.

Could she tell them? Would they believe her?

Not now; not yet. But she must be included in this expedition.

Rallying herself once again with great force of will, she managed at last to express her understanding of and engagement in the story, her condolences on the apparent loss of their parents, and her continued interest in joining their crew. She emphasized her qualifications and the manner in which she could be of assistance to them in an area with which she was somewhat familiar but they were not, and produced what letters of recommendation and credentials she’d brought with her.

As she went through all of this, she tried very hard not to get lost once again in Elsa’s eyes, and as part of that effort bestowed her glance equally upon everyone that sat in a convenient position to be looked at. And she was surprised and a little dismayed to find that there was another source of distraction in the room, as she’d suspected earlier, in the person of the duchess to the queen’s right. This was a thin, dark woman of about Elsa’s age, her bearing as upright as the captain’s but seeming nevertheless at ease. Still, from the fringed scarf covering her hair, to the coat as elegant and fine as those of the royal women yet cut to a completely different design, to her slightly but discernibly dusky coloration and the very features of her face, she did not appear someone Jane had not expected to find as a ‘royal advisor’ and ‘personal friend’ of the pale northern Elsa.

The latter took no exception to any evident distraction on Jane’s part, but seemed satisfied with her qualifications as stated verbally and presented in writing. She only regretted, she said, that they had not the means of financing a proper expedition such as Jane had been hoping to conduct; but she would be glad to take her back into a part of the world that clearly greatly intrigued her, and hoped the salary they offered would represent some advancement of her goals. Jane certainly wasn’t about to tell her that the first expedition had represented thirty years’ worth of savings on the part of her father and, before an untimely death, her mother, and the salary provided by one voyage, generous as Elsa’s offer was, seemed unlikely to make much of a dent in the sum necessary for a second. Elsa’s other point still stood, and it relieved Jane significantly to have secured a position on this ship.

Thereafter, a more technical description of the intended journey was given by Captain Bengtsson, and Jane, after sorting through the nautical terms she didn’t understand, generally agreed that it sounded sensible. They discussed the details of her employment and signed a contract, and her luggage — packed in advance for the type of voyage specified in Anna’s letter in case of a desirable issue of this interview — was sent for from her hotel. A tide was set for departure, and Jane was more than satisfied.

That night, however, found her hopelessly insomniac. Usually the movements of a ship under sail — between bouts of steam power — were restful and soothing to her, but mental agitation in this case overcame physical comfort even before the wind died and the engines were required for further motion.

She’d been assigned one of the ship’s two staterooms to share with Princess Anna, and certainly that formed part of her agitation. Anna had behaved toward Jane throughout the day with casual friendliness, and at times an almost sisterly comradeliness, and if she’d been anyone else in the world Jane would have valued her as a roommate. Yet she was royalty, and Jane couldn’t determine yet exactly how to interact with her. So she’d donned her coat, tiptoed from the room onto the quarterdeck, and found a spot at the railing where, not too blinded by the light of the nearest lantern that she’d avoided, she could look out over the dark water and up at the stars.

Royalty. Jane’s own blood ran a distilled blue, her father tracing his line back to a lesser French prince that had fled to England with wife and children a hundred years before, and this formed the basis of nearly all her problems. Not only did the pride of lineage her mother had always attempted to instill in her increase her uncertainty at how to deal with proper royalty in this context, it was that same pride that had driven her from Africa in the first place. “I belong in England… with people…” — those words would never have crossed her lips without her mother’s influence strong in the back of her mind reminding her of her place, her prospects, her deserts.

And now she was returning. Why, exactly? What would she do if she found Tarzan again? Confirm he still lived, then say a more permanent goodbye? Or turn her back on her dignity and become a woman of the jungle, bringing her father, in whom her mother had also felt so much happy pride, with her into the same darkness?

Beyond that, the aforementioned almost sisterly behavior at times displayed by Princess Anna made her more uncomfortable than ever with that second possibility. Did she aim to become Anna’s sister in reality? She had no idea what the two Arendelle women would think of their unknown brother if they were to meet him… What, furthermore, could they possibly think of an English gentlewoman bent on spending her life with such a savage-seeming man? Was any sort of acceptance to be expected, or would they withdraw in horror both from Tarzan and from the idea of Jane requesting Captain Bengtsson to perform the ceremony aboard this ship and them to return a message to her father in England that he should join her and his new son-in-law at once on the west African coast?

Returning meant she had to decide whether to seek Tarzan out once again, what to do if she found him, and whether to tell Elsa and Anna what she believed about the situation. And her mother’s voice seemed to speak to her out of the past, urging her to decide one way, while her heart seemed to be pulling her in precisely the opposite direction.

“Jane?”

She jumped at the sound of her own name and whirled with a gasp to find Anna approaching so quietly that her steps had been drowned out by the rushing of the sea beneath them. Her heart suddenly beat faster than the rhythmic rumbling of the steam engine through the deck. “Oh! Your– Anna. Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Anna returned, and her starlit smile reflected all the curiosity she’d never yet expressed aloud. “Can’t sleep?”

“I don’t much fancy traveling under steam power,” Jane admitted — and it was the truth — “but I’ll get used to it.”

Anna came to join her at the railing. “I can’t say I’m fond of that development myself.” Her interested face turned eagerly toward the stars reminded Jane yet again of Tarzan: always fascinated by the beautiful and impartially understood, no matter how commonly encountered. “But I’m looking forward to seeing Africa. How about you?”

“I…” Jane sighed. And if Anna hadn’t gone and hit near the very center of her reverie… “Yes,” she finally said honestly. “I am.”

“But you didn’t expect to be traveling with royalty.” Now Anna sounded half apologetic and half prodding: she did want to figure out what Jane’s dazed reactions earlier had been about.

At this Jane managed a smile. “No, not at all. In fact I felt in danger of fainting when you presented your sister; I really did.” And then, because she simply couldn’t bring herself to mention Tarzan just yet, no matter how much the friendly Anna wanted elucidation, she hastened on with, “If I may ask, are you two the only sisters? In whose care did you leave Arendelle?”

“We are,” Anna replied easily, leaning both arms on the rail. “And we have a whole collection of dukes and duchesses, including my husband, who are happy to look after the kingdom for us while we’re away. Arendelle is… unusually fond of my sister–” she grinned privately– “and when people heard we might be able to find some information about our parents by going to sea, they were tripping over themselves offering help so Elsa could go with a clear conscience.”

“That’s so kind of them.” Unsure what volunteering to look after a small kingdom on behalf of its sea-bent ruler precisely entailed, Jane couldn’t think of much else to say. So again she hastened on somewhat at random. “And the duchess? Does she have a financial interest in this trip?”

Anna gave her a puzzled look. “No, she’s just along as Elsa’s particular friend. Why would you think that?”

“Well, isn’t she…” Awkwardly Jane twisted her hands. “Forgive me if I’ve jumped to an incorrect conclusion, but isn’t she…” She lowered her voice a trifle in order to finish, “a Jew?”

Standing straight and folding her arms, Anna stared at Jane with one brow raised. “Yes, she is. What difference does that make?”

“Oh, none at all, I’m sure,” said Jane, hastier even than before. “I’m sure the Jews are lovely people.”

Anna’s second brow went up, and her skeptical look took on a touch of disapproval. “Are you?”

Very seriously Jane said, “Please understand I intend no offense. To be perfectly frank, I’ve barely ever spoken to any Jews, and have no real opinion — if any opinion is even necessary. It was my mother who always…” She trailed off and sighed. It kept coming back to that.

Anna’s expression softened. “Judith is basically a member of the family, and sometimes I forget that the rest of the Christian world doesn’t have Jewish sisters. Was your mother particularly opposed to Jews?”

Jane pursed her lips. “She might have been. Of course she was always civil, but I’m afraid she had her prejudices.”

“So many people do,” Anna murmured.

“It’s hard to look back on her and know what to think.” Again Jane leaned on the polished wood before her and regarded the ocean. “She spent my childhood teaching me ladylike behavior and the rules of society because she wanted to see me a successful, accomplished, happy woman, and she loved me so dearly…” It seemed an imposition to be discussing such personal matters on such short acquaintance, but she wanted to offer some explanation for what she now saw had been a markedly impolite remark. “But so much of what she believed contradicts so much of what I want to believe now.”

Mrs. Porter had highly valued her husband’s scientific pursuits, and, given the longstanding family tradition of devouring any book one could get one’s hands on, had always encouraged Jane therein as well. But would she have approved of a young lady actually physically taking part in an expedition to Africa? Jane had often asked herself that under the green canopy she so loved as she bathed from a small basin behind a screen at their campsite.

Mrs. Porter had always taught her daughter to treat her inferiors with kindness and charity, but Jane wasn’t sure her mother had ever truly believed Park’s assertion that whatever difference there is between the negro and European, in the conformation of the nose, and the colour of the skin, there is none in the genuine sympathies and characteristic feelings of our common nature. Would she have approved of a descendent of Prince Adam of France hob-nobbing with the people of the Congo area?

Mrs. Porter had stressed the importance of marrying a respectable man of good upbringing — and very hopefully of good family — that would treat his wife well and be able to support her at the level to which she was accustomed. Would even the blood of Arendelle serve to compensate for a complete lack of gentility in lifestyle and connections? No, Jane didn’t think it would. And that was why she’d gone back to England. She’d regretted the decision the moment she’d made it, but had never been able to reconcile herself to contradicting her mother’s wishes either.

Her voice trembled as she finished her explanation. “She did everything she thought was best for me, and I feel as if it’s disrespectful to her memory to abandon what she taught me — as if what she did and what she wanted for me are all I have left of her.” She glanced penitently at Anna and added, “But that doesn’t mean I have any wish to speak disrespectfully of anyone you think well of.”

A certain depth to the sad smile on Anna’s face seemed indicate both that Jane was forgiven and that this discourse had struck a chord. As she had that morning, she reached out to take Jane’s hand. Her own was ungloved, and Jane wondered whether living so far north made her less susceptible to the cold. As she applied friendly pressure, she said, “It’s hard to know what to think about my parents too.” Her gaze, even as it met Jane’s, seemed to withdraw, as if, though every word had weight, she watched far-off events rather than her companion’s reaction. “They did everything they thought was best for Elsa and me — especially Elsa — and they were, to be blunt, wrong. They loved us so much, and they tried so hard… but what they did supposedly in our best interests caused us years and years of suffering. I don’t resent them — obviously, or I wouldn’t be on a voyage right now looking for any clue to what happened to them! — but I don’t feel the need to cling to their bad ideas. I don’t think it’s disrespectful at all to let go of something someone’s taught you that was simply incorrect, even if you dearly loved that person and they you.”

Jane watched Anna’s eyes, so similar in color and energy to Tarzan’s, and considered her words in something of a stupor. Older and more experienced, royalty, herself married, sister to the man Jane loved and sisterly in and of herself, having been through something at least vaguely similar to what Jane had thanks to the misguided actions of a parent… Anna was perhaps the only person in the world that could have driven this advice home. She let her glance drop to where Anna held her hand tightly as if with an urgent desire to convey more gently the lesson her own past had so painfully taught her. And she suddenly remembered, with a fresh throb of the heartache that had plagued her ever since that moment, a glove flying from her hand in the wind and spinning away to land in the surf at Tarzan’s knuckles just as if she really had been letting go of her hold on her mother’s mistaken precepts and resolving to stay with him as her father had urged.

She hadn’t been. But could she now?

“Goodness, we’ve gotten personal out here,” Anna said, abruptly releasing her with one more squeeze and half a sheepish grin. “I’m so emotional all of a sudden thinking about my parents, and it’s been thirty years.” She laughed a little, but as she turned away Jane thought with some concern she saw sparkling around the edges of the princess’ eyes beyond what starlight could account for.

“Oh, dear. I hope I haven’t upset you.”

“Not a bit!” Anna was definitely wiping away tears with her back turned to Jane, perhaps eschewing the use of a handkerchief in an attempt at concealing the motion. “Not that I’d consider it your fault if you had, with me being the one to bring up my parents. Still, I think I’ll go back to the cabin now. Good night!”

Jane almost asked her to stay, but wasn’t quite to the point of pouring out the tale of Tarzan just yet, and so only returned her goodbye. She watched the spry figure disappear through the door that led to the cabins, then turned with another sigh, hugging herself against the chill of the night and the sea spray, to look out into forever again.

She kept picturing that glove, and how it had almost taken her back to him. But the other one had remained, a stark symbol of everything her mother had stood for, and once aboard the ship she had replaced the one she’d lost. And she’d never felt good about it. Now she imagined tearing off the gloves she currently wore and tossing them into the ocean below, throwing away that symbol and truly going back. She didn’t actually do this, since the cold did bother her, but one by one the mental gloves were discarded as she examined her mother’s truths and rejected them.

Royalty, or simply someone that had married a royal descendent, could make poor choices regarding their children, even coming from a place of love. A descendent of royalty could do unladylike things such as every single activity Jane had taken part in the last time she’d been in Africa. A descendent of royalty could get distracted by matters she truly valued and drop some of the trappings of polished society. A descendent of royalty could make friends with Jews and Negroes and not consider them inferiors to be regarded only through the lens of noblesse oblige.

But could a descendant of royalty marry a man completely uncivilized, unmoneyed, unknown to the enlightened world, and usually unclothed? This was the point where she repeatedly stuck, the glove that just wouldn’t come off.

She had squeezed herself into a corner and laid her cheek forlornly against an upright beam, in spite of the chill, and this time, rather than her failing to notice those that emerged from the cabins, it appeared they missed the presence of anyone standing in a narrow little spot beside the railing. They climbed the stairs onto the upper deck without seeming a glance in her direction, and moved to gaze out over the prow. The lantern on the poop revealed them as Elsa and Judith, strolling easily to their destination arm in arm.

Jane watched them forlornly, envying their easy steps and evidently easy consciences. Elsa had been, if not as warm and talkative as her sister, nothing but civility and grace, and the duchess’ politeness, though quiet, had never been tainted by any coolness or restraint. But they hadn’t talked to Jane as pleasantly and freely as they seemed to be talking to each other now. Their low, indistinguishable conversation nevertheless proved how intimate and comfortable they were with each other, and the dark sea surely had no such effect on them as it did on Jane.

She should return to bed, she considered as she continued somewhat absently to watch the two women in the lamplight on the higher deck. She had over four thousand nautical miles to work the matter out, and anyway she was weary from the long train of thought she’d already engaged in tonight. That should help her sleep, and by tomorrow night perhaps she would be reaccustomed to the movements of the ship under all varieties of power.

Frozen in place, however, she found herself abruptly stock-still as she would have moved toward the door to the cabins, staring upward with widened eyes, unable to take a step. For of all things that could have arrested her complete attention and even torn it from contemplation of Tarzan and what to do about him, nearly foremost on the list was Judith turning a smiling face toward her queen and interrupting the latter’s laugh by kissing her full on the lips. She withdrew only after several loving moments, then laid her head on Elsa’s shoulder.

That had been no familial kiss, and it was clear that when Anna had referred to the duchess as being like a sister, she’d meant only to herself. To Elsa Judith was obviously something different, something more. And Jane could not have been more astonished.

Oh, she’d heard of such behavior. Suffragettes talked about it at times when the desired freedoms of women arose in conversation, and of course there was the poetry of Sappho. But she’d never in life thought to encounter women living out a Lesbian tradition in front of her very eyes. It gave her an even greater shock than had Anna’s earlier words concerning the very real possibility of a loving parent making choices that would traumatize their children for years. It was… it was…

It was sending her thoughts hurtling in the direction of Tarzan again as if they were made of India rubber and now sprang back with a violence proportional to the force with which they’d been thrown away.

Because Queen Elsa of Arendelle, not merely the descendent of a prince that had (like so many royals and nobles) fled a people’s revolution a century ago, but the much-loved monarch of a nation, felt herself free to take a lover that would surely meet with approval neither from Mrs. Porter nor society at large — both a Jew in a Christian nation and a woman. She was not standing up there on that deck worrying about the propriety of her match, nor clinging to the poor decisions her parents had made trying to do what they thought was best for her.

Jane didn’t know how she felt about this issue of Lesbian love that had just exploded upon her, but had a sneaking suspicion that, as with Jews, she wasn’t actually called upon or perhaps qualified to have an opinion. All she knew was that Queen Elsa, someone her mother would have wept with joy to see her daughter grow up to be like in many respects, was following her heart.

Taking care to walk as quietly as she could so as not to disturb the sweethearts on the poop deck nor reveal to them that she now knew their secret — though, in full view of the watch as they were, the ship’s entire crew must be in on it already — Jane moved with a sudden warm sense of internal peace she hadn’t felt in longer than she could remember into the hallway off of which the cabins opened.

Inside her state room, she found her princess roommate and possible sister seated at the dressing table brushing out her greying red hair. A smile and those energetic crinkled eyes met Jane in the mirror as she entered, and Jane took a deep breath.

“Anna,” she said quietly, “may I tell you a story?”

My final November Quick Fics 2018 prompt, which took me approximately forever to write a story for, was from my co-worker Julia, who said, “Jane actually leaves Tarzan at the end of the movie and spends about 5 or so years trying everything to get back to him. She finally finds a way back because Elsa and Anna are trying to find him too.” Technically Elsa and Anna don’t know here that they’re looking for Tarzan, but close enough, eh? :D This one now holds the record as my longest November Quick Fic!

For a few author’s notes on this story, see this Productivity Log. I’ve rated it and actually wouldn’t mind seeing a follow-up.

One Nightfall

At first it still felt a little odd to be kissing Chou, of all people, but that was only before the grinding started.

Chou and Sano don’t like each other; they just want to have sex. Being forced to endure each other’s company as they attempt to find a place to do the deed makes for an interesting night.


Sano shouldn’t have been surprised at Chou’s presence in the bar; he hadn’t had enough to drink yet to overlook the logic that although he didn’t like Chou, Chou did live in Tokyo too and could show up at any bar he wanted to — but for whatever reason, Sano was surprised. Maybe it was because when he’d eyed the broom-head suspiciously, Chou had said in a mocking tone, “Whatcha starin’ at, tori-atama? You lookin’ to get laid?” Or maybe it was because Sano had then examined Chou’s pleasant slenderness and promising hands and replied casually, “Yeah.” Or it could have been because Chou, instead of laughing, had immediately returned Sano’s appraising scrutiny and said, “Me too.”

Now they were grinning at each other, both frankly surprised and amused at how quickly and easily they’d reached that agreement — possibly the first time they’d ever agreed on anything.

“Let’s go back to my place,” Sano started to say, but halfway through it changed into “Oh, shit” as he remembered why he was out drinking (and recklessly embarking upon a one-night stand with a rival) in the first place. “I got evicted.”

Chou echoed the “Shit,” chewing his lip. “An’ we can’t go to my place ’cause I got four roommates in one tiny rat-hole of an apartment, and” — he lowered his voice as if he were telling an incredibly dirty secret — “they’re all so inta women it’s scary.”

Sano grimaced. Then they looked at each other for several moments, baffled.

He wasn’t about to waste the price of a hotel room just to fuck someone he didn’t like, and he didn’t have the money anyway — he’d been planning on sleeping at the dojo himself, Kenshin’s guest notwithstanding, and… “Hey! We could go to the dojo!”

“That’s kinda kinky,” replied Chou, clearly not thinking much of this suggestion. “You plannin’ on an orgy or what?”

“Kenshin’s weird master’s in town,” Sano explained; “I dunno why. They’re taking him to dinner or something tonight, and the guy drinks like a fucking fish… they’ll be out forever, and when they do get back they’ll all be plastered.”

Chou grinned wickedly. “Le’s go, then.”

They didn’t really feel any need to talk on the way to the dojo; not only was the winter air too frigid for much conversation, they weren’t exactly friends and didn’t really care what was going on in each other’s life.

Sano had long since commandeered a key to the dojo’s outer doors, and he let them in without any trouble. He stopped short, however, forcing Chou to run into him, with an, “Oh!” at the sight of Kenshin in the yard. “Oh. Hey, Kenshin.” He knew that being surprised and at a loss for words made him look incredibly guilty, but there it was.

Kenshin raised an eyebrow. “Hello, Sano.” He looked from Sano’s reddening face to Chou and back, and said nothing more.

Sano cleared his throat. “Where’s the big guy? Thought you were all going out for dinner or something.”

Looking hard-pressed to conceal a sudden smile of understanding, Kenshin replied, “He disappeared hours ago and hasn’t come back. I didn’t think he had any friends in Tokyo, but…” He shrugged in an I’ve-never-really-understood-Hiko-despite-having-lived-with-him-for-seven-years gesture.

“Well, I was just… I mean, I ran into houki-atama here, and…” He could sense Chou’s mirth behind him, and that didn’t make it any easier not to blush.

Kenshin was evidently about to fail similarly in his effort not to smile, when suddenly Kaoru’s voice came floating out of the building: “Kenshin, dinner’s almost ready! Is that Sano I hear out there?”

“Shit, we gotta get out of here,” Sano said in a panic. “If she catches us, she’ll make us both eat.”

“Izzat bad?” Chou wondered, even as Kenshin turned away with a wave and a laugh toward the house.

“Like you would not believe,” Sano insisted, seizing the sword-collector’s gloved hand and pulling him out of the grounds and back into the street. Once the doors were safely closed behind him he gave a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall, only to stand straight again as the plaster was freezing cold. “Now where?” he wondered.

“Well…” Chou said slowly, “there’s Saitou’s house…”

“The fuck…?” It was Sano’s turn not to think much of the suggested locale. “Now who’s thinking kinky shit?”

“He’s got a date tonight.” Chou’s emphasis of the word and significant raise of eyebrow showed how very amusing he found that concept.

Sano guffawed his agreement with that sentiment. “You mean there’s someone in the world old cricket-face doesn’t hate?”

Chou grinned. “Anyway, so he shouldn’t be home…”

“I guess…” Sano agreed, still rather reluctant but unable to think of anyplace else.

Chou proceeded to lead the way; their only conversation this time was a brief query-and-explanation on the quality of Kaoru’s cooking.

Sano had never seen Saitou’s house before, but it was about what he would have expected of the man. He watched in mild admiration as Chou deftly picked the lock and let him inside.

But something was not right. “Hey, why’s there light down there?” He pointed to an open room at the end of the hall.

In alarm, Chou turned from closing the door to look where Sano indicated.

“I can’t think you’d be stupid enough to try to rob me,” came Saitou’s voice, sounding none too happy, from the room in question, “so what are you doing here?”

“Shit,” Chou muttered, and headed in that direction. Very hesitantly, Sano followed.

They found Saitou sitting alone in the room at the end looking more sour even than usual. Sano, who had never seen the officer out of uniform except for that long-ago first time they met, stared at the strangely normal-looking clothes the man was wearing. “Well?” Saitou wondered irritably.

“Thought you’d be out with what’s-‘is-name,” Chou mumbled.

“Well, obviously I’m not,” Saitou said acidly, “and that doesn’t explain what you were doing breaking into my house.”

Chou cleared his throat. “Well…”

Saitou looked up, practically for the first time, glancing at Sano; his expression, if possible, became even more annoyed. “If you ever,” he told Chou, “even consider using my house for that kind of thing again, I will cut your balls off.”

Chou blanched. “Well, we just…”

“Hey,” Sano broke in, completely unable to contain his raging curiosity for even half a moment longer, “so who’s your boyfriend, Saitou?”

Saitou stared at him, his expression not so much angry as incredulous. “I’d tell you it’s none of your business, ahou,” he said at last, “if I weren’t so amazed that you don’t know.”

“Like I keep tabs on your love life,” Sano snorted. “C’mon, who is it?”

With a mirthless laugh Saitou shook his head. “Do you mean to say that for all the time you spend at that dojo with Himura, you’re not aware of the reason his master is in town?”

Chou appeared startled; evidently he also had not connected the circumstances, though his realization was probably the converse of Sano’s.

“Wait… no way…” Sano stared at him, wide-eyed and flabbergasted. “You’re… no way… Hiko is your boyfriend?!”

Saitou merely rolled his eyes.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Why are you still in my house?”

“So, where is he? Kenshin said he’s been gone for hours… you two were supposed to go out tonight, right?” Though he had to wonder what ‘going out’ meant to a pair like that. “What happened, you get in an argument?”

Saitou looked away, and the very great irritation on his face confirmed this guess.

“All right, well, I just have one question and then we’ll let you mope,” Sano asked, making the same attempt that Kenshin had earlier to keep a straight face. “Do you ever suck him off?”

Chou choked, by all appearances nearly going into shock, and his disbelieving look seemed to inquire, ‘Did you really just ask Saitou if…’ No, even the facial expression could not complete that thought.

Saitou’s look was much the same, except that the unfinished half involved less admiration and a lot more potential drawn-out suffering for Sano.

“I just want to know if you can get drunk off his cum.”

Chou seemed about ready to pass out and possibly die.

“Or at least if it tastes like sake…”

Saitou’s hand moved to his sword.

Chou seized Sano’s arms from behind and dragged him a half-step backward. “We’ll jus’ get outta–” he began, but cut himself off as a noise from the front door seized everyone’s attention.

Sano, who was still facing Saitou, couldn’t help but see on the latter’s face something he never would have thought to find there: a pleased, hopeful look as of sudden happy surprise. It flickered only briefly, however, before being replaced by an even more dreadful scowl than before. He had to admit, in that moment, a little sympathy for Saitou — he couldn’t imagine trying to keep up that kind of relationship with Hiko. Putting the shoe on the other foot, though, he really couldn’t imagine trying to keep up that kind of relationship with Saitou, either.

Chou had put on a devious expression that matched the tone in which he now unexpectedly spoke, much more loudly than before: “Di’n’ want you to be lonely, so we thought we’d come see if you wanted any… you know… company for the night.”

“What?!”

Both Sano and Chou turned to face Hiko, who was traversing the hall swiftly from the front door. And if Sano had thought Saitou was good at looking fucking terrifying… He was glad it was mostly Chou at which the caped man’s glare was directed. Still, impressively, Chou managed a tolerable show of disdain as he said, “Oh, it’s you.”

Saitou had risen, murderous eyes also turned toward Chou. Hiko pushed past the two younger men into the room to face the police officer. “Are you in the habit of sharing ‘company’ like this?”

Chou answered before Saitou could say a word. “‘Scuse me,” he drawled in an offended tone, “I was jus’ offerin’ Saitou here a favor he obviously needed.”

Hiko looked Chou over briefly, though more meticulously than before, and snorted. “I thought you had better taste than this,” he remarked to Saitou.

“Of course I do,” Saitou replied, clearly irritated by Chou’s all-too-convincing playact but also a little uncertain as to where it was going.

“Hey, tori-atama here happens to be the best sex in Tokyo,” Chou protested, clapping Sano on the shoulder.

Hiko’s eyes shifted to Sano (who was again trying not to blush), took in every detail of his form from hair-tips to toes, and narrowed dangerously as they lingered about his lower half. He then put himself two steps closer to Saitou, a movement Sano thought was downright possessive — almost frighteningly so — despite the lack of physical contact between them. “You’re one of baka deshi’s friends, aren’t you?”

Sano nodded, not sure what to say.

“And the best sex in Tokyo?”

Sano knew even less what to say to that, but fortunately Chou jumped in with, “You can’t ask him that; how the fuck should he know? You’ll hafta take my word for it.”

“Well,” Hiko replied, his glare becoming closer and closer to lethal with every passing instant, “as far as I know, Saitou doesn’t settle for anything less than the best sex in the world, so unless you think you can provide that, I suggest you leave.”

“God, aren’t we fuckin’ pleased with ourselves,” Chou muttered as he turned away. “C’mon, tori-atama, le’s get outta here.”

Sano didn’t need any urging.

Chou managed to keep from laughing until they were out of Saitou’s yard. “Best sex in the world!” he kept repeating.

Sano couldn’t help joining him. “And he was serious about it, too!” And they wandered aimlessly up the street, still laughing, breathlessly predicting the outcome of that little exchange.

As they eventually calmed down, Sano remarked, “That was really sneaky, you know that?”

“Those big intense warrior-types!” Chou replied with a grin. “All you gotta do is make ’em a little jealous.”

“It was really nice, too,” Sano pursued.

Chou shrugged. “Happier the boss is, less shitty my job is.” But the self-satisfied expression did not leave his face, and Sano couldn’t help but think the con had been less self-serving than Chou implied.

Sano laughed again and then recalled the reason he was still freezing his ass off out here with Chou in the middle of the night. “Hey!” he said. “We could go to the clinic!”

“Could work,” Chou agreed, “long’s we’re quiet.” And he cast a slow look over at Sano, raking his body leisurely with one suggestive eye and unexpectedly making the former kenkaya’s skin tingle.

Shit, Sano thought in amazement, is it just me or did he just suddenly get hot?! Of course Chou had never been unattractive, but also had never called up that kind of reaction in Sano before. Probably because his annoying personality got in the way of any physical admiration.

They hurried toward Gensai’s.

No discernable lights burned in either clinic or house, though this time the prospective couple peered vigilantly at every window for several moments before hopping the gate and making their way across the yard. Chou once again demonstrated the cleverness of his fingers, and soon they were inside a shadowy room examining an uncomfortable-looking patient bed surrounded by equally unpleasant medical items.

“Well,” Sano said, scratching his head, “it’s not the best place in the world, but…”

Chou shrugged, glancing around. When he turned back to Sano, both his eyes were open and narrowed, and his slow smile drew Sano immediately to him. Their lips met and raged against each other, their tongues engaged in a more intense argument than they had ever conducted verbally; at first it still felt a little odd to be kissing Chou, of all people, but that was only before the grinding started.

After not too long, Sano was on the bed half-reclining, sucking on Chou’s neck with force proportionate to how insistently the back of the broom-head’s hand was running over his crotch. “Shit,” Chou said as he heaved himself up to straddle Sano and resume grinding, even harder this time, “why di’n’ I fuck you back in that jail cell?”

“With Saitou watching?” Sano replied, gasping mostly from sensation rather than shock at the idea.

“It’d be worth it,” Chou replied nearly unintelligibly, just before their mouths converged again.

Sano had never given much thought to the subject of Chou’s ass, but was finding it now not only to have a very pleasant texture through the red cloth but also very useful as a tool to increase pressure between their hardening groins. The blonde’s hands were tugging at the wrappings over Sano’s stomach with the interesting feeling of warmed leather against skin, and suddenly the door opened.

There was an extended moment of relative quiet in which Chou and Sano sluggishly shifted their attention from each other’s appendages and oral fluids to the figure in the entry.

“Oh my god…” Megumi murmured, her emotional state impossible for anyone not privy to her thoughts to define.

The young men freed their tongues and attempted somewhat frantically to disentangle, but only ended up on the floor with their limbs even more muddled.

The door closed.

Chou and Sano stared at each other, wide-eyed.

“This room doesn’t have everything I need,” they heard Megumi saying, and though she was doing her best to sound natural, at least Sano couldn’t help but catch the odd tone to her voice. “That one there.” Other voices sounded, worried and quick, and feet pounded toward another room.

“She jus’ covered for us!” Chou marveled.

Sano buried his face in writhing hands. “Oh, shit, I am never, never, never, never, never going to hear the fucking end of this one…”

“C’mon, le’s get the fuck outta here before she comes back.” Chou climbed to his feet and pulled Sano after him. This brought the rooster-head up against him abruptly, and at the contact of their bodies Chou shuddered briefly and added, “Damn shitty bad timing…”

Sano was still too overcome with horror to say anything.

They vacated the room and the property with all possible haste, setting out once again in no particular direction through the frigid night.

Presently, Chou began to laugh.

“It’s not funny!” Sano groaned.

“I won’t say I ain’t pissed,” Chou replied, “but didja see her face?”

“No,” said Sano, curious in spite of himself.

“She couldn’a been more surprised if it’d been Battousai with a harem of monkeys!”

Sano couldn’t help bursting into laughter of his own at this unexpected image. “She musta looked pretty damn surprised, then!” But the amusement could not long overcome the discomfort. “But, shit, man, I wasn’t telling her I only like guys because I think she likes me and I didn’t want to make her feel bad!”

It was Chou’s turn for a surprised laugh. “It was good timin’, then, after all, so you can stop leadin’ her on!”

“I wasn’t leading her on!” Sano protested. “I never did anything to make her think I liked her!”

“Sure, but long as you let her think y’might start to like her one of these days, that’s what we call leadin’ her on.” Chou smacked the back of Sano’s skull lightly as he said this.

Sano gave Chou’s head a blow in return. “Since when do you know so much about this kind of shit?”

“Hey,” Chou replied, jerking a thumb at his chest, “you’re lookin’ at an expert at leadin’ people on! It’s a great game when you’re bored… ‘cept she’s your friend, right?”

“Yeah…”

Chou shrugged. “Better not to fuck with’er head, then.”

They walked on — Sano contemplating Megumi as well as the surprising realization that Chou, in his own bizarre way, had a streak of maturity in him — until all of a sudden the broom-head cried, “Hey!” and pointed excitedly ahead of them.

“What?” Sano wondered in confusion, looking at the row of shops and seeing nothing to merit such an exclamation.

Chou quickened his pace. “That restaurant there… the owner was doin’ drug deals and all sortsa shit out his back door, so we arrested him’n’ shut the place down.”

“So?”

“So… nobody’s gonna be there for days!” Chou threw Sano a leer over his shoulder. “Think a coupla days’ll be long enough for us to get finished?”

Sano mirrored the licentious expression and hurried to catch up.

The lock on this particular door gave Chou a little more trouble than the last two had, and standing still watching was both very cold, motionless in the winter air, and very hot, as Sano pictured being on the receiving end of Chou’s… lock-picking.

Once inside the building, they didn’t waste much time looking around as they had in the clinic, only chose a booth near the far side of the room to crawl into and went at each other’s clothes with determined frenzy.

They hadn’t really established who was going to be on top, but there wasn’t much need to discuss it — Chou’s ungloved, saliva-covered finger in Sano’s ass once the broom-head got the rooster-head’s pants halfway off, coupled with the memory of the lock-picking fantasy of minutes before, were enough to establish the order of things fairly quickly. Sano was moaning into Chou’s neck, trying to figure out the blonde’s somewhat complicated outfit, his hips twitching as Chou ran teasing fingers over his erection. The sword-collector cursed loudly as Sano finally found his way in and skin met skin. He latched onto Sano’s mouth and added a second finger as Sano stroked him hard, and they squirmed in lip-locked ‘silence’ for a few moments.

Suddenly, panting, Sano broke away from the kiss and looked around with a frown. “Is it getting really hot in here?”

“No shit, gorgeous,” Chou murmured before beginning to suck on Sano’s shoulder and giving more concentrated attention to his partner’s lower half.

“Oh, god,” Sano gasped, struggling to hold onto reason and not buck his hips. “Hey,” he whispered, “I think the restaurant’s on fire.”

“I don’t care,” growled the other.

Despite the implied compliment that Chou didn’t mind burning to death as long as Sano’s hand was on his cock, Sano could not be entirely satisfied with this reply. “Chou!” he tried again, giving the shaft in his hand a hard squeeze to get his attention.

“Oh, shit, Sano…” Chou groaned, arching into him.

Sano couldn’t help a heated moment’s reflection that his name, which he didn’t remember ever having heard Chou say before, sounded really nice like that. Still, “You weren’t supposed to enjoy that, asshole,” he hissed, releasing Chou’s member entirely.

No longer being groped, Chou seemed to regain a measure of his senses. “Huh?” Then his eyes widened. “Shit, the fuckin’ room’s on fire!”

“C’mon, let’s go!” Sano urged, not without some irritated disappointment. They scrambled up.

They had no clue whence the fire had come, but it was spreading rapidly; the building was not likely to survive. This fact, the already uncomfortable heat, and the increasingly unbreathable atmosphere induced them not to worry about their disarray of attire until they were safely across the street.

“What the fuck is going on?” Sano complained as he tied his pants. They were still distinctly bulging.

Chou, no less bulging but closer to fully dressed, was looking around with an irate, attentive eye for the answer to that question. “Hey!” he roared suddenly, startling Sano’s attention away from the rising flames, and took off down a nearby side-street. Being about decent by now (at least clothing-wise), Sano followed. It soon became evident what they were doing, but whether Chou thought the three figures they were chasing had something to do with the fire, or whether he was just taking out his frustration on random passersby at being interrupted, was more difficult to determine. Sano had no scruples left, however, once, emerging onto a brighter street, their prey became more visible and the matching kanji on their backs could be read.

“You didn’t say the guy had yakuza enemies,” Sano protested to Chou as they caught up with the strangers.

“Course he had yakuza enemies!” Chou replied as he caught one of the gangsters by the back of his gi and yanked him hard to the ground.

“So you just decided it would be a good idea to go get all off-guard in a place that had yakuza troubles and might get burned down any time??” Sano demanded, seizing the second of the men around the neck and pummeling him in the side.

You weren’t comin’ up with any place!” Chou retorted as he drew a sword and attacked the third man, who’d stopped to support his comrades.

“It was your turn!” Sano yelled as he kicked the legs out from under his struggling opponent and rapped him unconscious.

“Only ’cause your stupid clinic idea fuckin’ sucked!” Chou growled back as one of his enemies hit the ground in a spray of blood.

Sano noted vaguely that there seemed suddenly to be more people involved in this little fight than the original five, but that hardly mattered. “Like yours was any better!” he bellowed as he drove his elbow into someone’s chest.

I di’n’ suggest goin’ somewhere where we might get walked in on by someone who’s got a fuckin’ crush on me!” Chou returned as he whirled to slice three surrounding gangsters at once.

“No, only by the scariest man I know!” Sano cried , kicking someone in the face and punching someone else in the ribs.

“Don’ be such a fuckin’ pussy, tori!”

“Thought you didn’t like women, houki — if I’m such a pussy, why’d you want to fuck me?”

You di’n have to take me seriously!”

“So you just go with anyone who’s willing to have sex with you?”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Always knew you were a fucking slut.”

“Well, then, why’d you want me to fuck you?”

It was at this moment that they realized they were shouting in each other’s faces, quite close together, which seemed to imply that their enemies were either defeated or in retreat. Glancing around, they found this to be true; except for quite a few less-than-sentient figures on the ground, they were alone. There was shouting not far off, apparently in the direction of the burning building; no smoke or flame was visible from here, so perhaps the fire was contained.

They each released the front of the other’s attire and brushed themselves off. Looking back, each gaze falling to immediately to the other’s crotch, they both scowled. The cold and the rush of blood in other directions during the fight had effectively taken care of the bulging. It was far from comfortable.

Chou gave a sigh of defeat. “Le’s go back to the bar,” he said, giving one of the fallen yakuza a frustrated kick.

Sano echoed the sigh, scratching the back of his head, and followed.

“We could jus’ break into random buildings ’til we found someplace empty,” Chou was grumbling as they walked, “but with our luck tonight, I think we might get struck by lightnin’ next. And I gotta be at work in the mornin’ anyway.”

Sano had been just about to suggest that they return to the dojo, wait until everyone there was asleep, and then sneak inside, but Chou’s last complaint shot that idea down and he had no others.

The bar was more crowded than it had been when they’d originally coincided there, and they practically had to fight for space and service. That was fine; they’d been fighting already anyway, and the faint smell of blood that hung about at least Chou warded off most of the smaller ones, letting them drink away what little money they had (and credit they could wrangle) in black, undisturbed silence.

It wasn’t the ending to the night that Sano would have liked, but at first it seemed it might be prove at least to be relatively acceptable. The drinks were good and with that, their moods began slowly to improve.

As if fate really did have something against them, though, there seemed to spread through the room an atmosphere of barely-controlled hormones. When the third couple in a row — male couple — stood to leave together, this one even managing a significant amount of on-their-feet groping before they got out the door, Sano slammed his jug down irritably and rose. “Gonna take a piss,” he grumbled. “Watch my shit.”

Chou acquiesced in a similar tone as Sano headed for the side exit.

Finished with his business and steeling himself for whatever further public displays of affection he would have to witness inside, the rooster-head found his return path unexpectedly blocked by an unfamiliar woman.

“Hey,” she said as she stepped in front of him, “you’re Sagara, right? I’ve been hearing about you ever since I got into town.”

“So?” Sano had very little patience for flirtatious females at this point.

“So, I was just wondering about you and Chou.” She lifted one of the flaps in the doorway and looked briefly inside. “Are you two lovers, or is this just a one-night stand?”

“If you can even call it that,” Sano muttered, though he was a bit curious at this out-of-the-blue question.

“Maybe you don’t need me to warn you after all,” she laughed at his dour expression.

“I’ve known since I met him that he’s a stupid jerk, if that’s what you mean.”

“You probably don’t know the half of it,” she replied with a shake of her head. “My name’s Kamatari; you may have heard of me.”

“Oh!” Sano exclaimed, understanding.

The cross-dresser nodded. “I’ve known Chou for years, and let me tell you, he’s worse than you think. He and I were interested in each other at one point — or so I thought — and when I finally got him over to my place, do you know what he did? He demanded a blow job before anything else! Can you believe it?”

“I can probably manage to,” Sano replied grimly. “What’d he do then?”

“Came and went,” Kamatari sniffed.

“You mean…”

“I never even got to take my clothes off.” Judging by his tone, Kamatari was still somewhat bitter about this experience. “I decided to give him another chance, but I found out that the address he’d given me and claimed was his was actually a smelly fish shop down by the docks; it was creepy.”

During this last addition to the story, Sano took a turn peeking past one of the door flaps, and was not surprised to see Chou deep in serious flirtation with some very drunk-looking guy. “Fuck this,” he muttered, letting the flap fall to. “Shoulda known better in the first place.” Turning, he stalked away from the bar.

“Good night!” Kamatari called after him cheerfully.

Waving a hand without looking, Sano called back, “Thanks for the tip!”

He found himself more angry at these circumstances than was really logical. He’d never liked Chou, and shouldn’t be particularly shocked at hearing such a black account of him. Maybe it was just the coldness of the night and the blueness of his balls talking.

The Kamiya dojo was not a comforting prospect, but slamming the outer door on his way in was slightly and briefly mollifying. It proved to be more trouble than it was worth, though, as Kaoru emerged immediately from within one of the buildings with a cry of, “If you slam my doors like that again, I swear I will booby-trap it, Sanosuke, do you hear me?”

Sano, already making his way toward the room he usually slept in when he freeloaded here, was trying to ignore her.

“Sano!” She was following him. “You can’t just come onto someone’s property and just do whatever you want! Are you listening? Sano!!”

While he couldn’t but appreciate the irony of her admonition, given what he’d spent the last while attempting to do, he really wasn’t in the mood for her screeching lectures at the moment. “Look,” he said, stopping and turning around so abruptly that she nearly ran into him, “I’ve had a shitty night, and I’m already pissed as hell, so maybe you shouldn’t make it worse.”

She was obviously about to retort angrily, but looking into his face seemed to realize that what he said was true, and relented slightly “Well, what happened?” she asked, in a tone still less than entirely friendly but that implied she was giving him a chance.

There was no way Sano was going to elaborate on the events of the night, so all he said was, “Just a really stupid string of bad luck.” Though he had to consider, given what Kamatari had said, that perhaps it had actually been good luck that just didn’t seem like it to his frustrated body.

“Ohhh, you were out gambling, weren’t you?” Kaoru said icily. “You think that’s a good excuse for storming in here and just expecting to be allowed to freeload?”

“I wasn’t–” Sano began, but was cut off as their attention was drawn to the outer doors slamming open as violently as Sano had just closed them.

“Hey!” Kaoru protested.

“Sorry,” Chou replied, scratching his head and looking at the doors in surprise. “Di’n realize they weren’t locked…”

“What are you doing here?” Kaoru demanded next.

“Lookin’ for tori-atama,” Chou replied, pointing.

“Thought you had to be at work in four hours,” Sano said coldly, pointedly.

Kaoru was glancing back and forth between them. “Sanosuke, is he what you’re mad about?”

Chou approached from the doorway. “An’ what was with you just leavin’? Bartender took your sake back, even.”

“You two were drinking together?” Kaoru marveled.

“Looked to me like you’d found someone you liked better,” Sano answered. “Someone who maybe had a room you could go to.”

Kaoru’s eyes widened. “Were you guys going to…” She blushed.

He started it,” Chou protested. “I practically hadda beat his head to get him off!”

“Isn’t that how it’s usually done?” Sano wondered caustically.

“Sano!” Kaoru cried in shock.

“Look, you may’ve decided I’m a slut–” Chou began, annoyed.

You’re the one who said that leading people on’s a great game,” Sano broke in, angry. “Maybe I just got sick of that.”

“Were you leading Sano on?” Kaoru demanded of Chou.

“No!” Chou protested, by now as angry as Sano. “I wasn’t serious about that, you fuckin’ idiot!”

“That’s not what Kamatari said,” Sano retorted.

“Kamatari? In Tokyo?” Kaoru wondered, surprised.

“Oh, fuckin’ shit,” Chou said in exasperation. “All right, hit me — what’d that stupid bitch have to say about me?”

“Seems like you took that ‘stupid bitch’ for a real fun ride once upon a time,” Sano said. “That what you had planned for me too?”

“You guys were going to…” Kaoru blushed even more.

“Whatever he said’s complete bullshit,” Chou sneered. “He’s a fuckin’ cunt who can’t–”

“Yeah, you’re an expert on cunts,” Sano interrupted.

“Would you quit that?” Chou bellowed. “It’s justa fuckin’ word.”

“I find it offensive,” Kaoru sniffed.

Would you stay out of this?!” Sano and Chou shouted at once.

Kaoru’s face darkened, and as she drew herself slowly up like a storm-cloud about to burst, the arguing couple took an inadvertent step back. “No, I will not stay out of this!” she roared at them. “You two can’t just burst into my home, probably ruin my front doors, start a yelling match right in front of me about one of my friends’ love lives, and expect me not to get involved! You’ve probably woken up half the neighborhood, and since you’re on my property I’m probably going to get blamed, and somebody’s got to stop your noise! Besides, I don’t even know what’s going on with you two, and still this situation is so obvious it’s hurting my head to listen to your stupid argument! You two must be the biggest morons in Tokyo, I swear! You really think I can keep from commenting on it? Why don’t you stop playing this idiotic he-said-he-said-he-said game and admit you like each other and just go have sex already and leave the rest of us in peace?!”

A very long silence followed this as the high color slowly faded from Kaoru’s face and she caught her breath, and Sano and Chou avoided looking at each other.

Finally the sword-collector cleared his throat. “What exactly did Kamatari claim I did?”

“Said you ran out on him after he blew you,” Sano replied concisely. “You led him on,” he added.

“Oh, my,” Kaoru said, recovered from her outburst but clearly not accustomed to having blow jobs discussed in front of her.

“Yeah, but did’e tell you why he was givin’ me head in the first place?”

“Said you demanded it before anything else.”

“That’s… rude…” Even Kaoru could see that this was a sexual faux pas.

“Fuckin’ liar!” Chou growled. “He offered, an’ you know why he offered? Because he was puttin’ on a fuckin’ show for fuckin’ Shishio who couldn’ get his own crispy dick up without watchin’ someone else get some first.”

“Eew!” Kaoru said.

Sano, who had actually seen Shishio, had to agree with and surpass that sentiment.

“It was the closest thing to sex that connivin’ little whore ever got outta Shishio, but did he bother tellin’ me first that we were doin’ a live shunga for the boss? Hell, no! Soon’s I realized what was goin’ on… um, and got my rocks off… I got the fuck outta there! Like I wanted to show off my shit like that to Shishio…”

Kaoru, wide-eyed, was nodding.

Sano, similarly disturbed and sympathetic, had by now about relented. The fact that Chou had followed him here, Kaoru’s… advice, and this not-unbelievable revision of Kamatari’s story were enough to have sapped his anger entirely. It didn’t mean he actually liked Chou, though — just that if they had managed to have sex, he wouldn’t be regretting it at this point. “Well, all right,” he said, a little stiffly.

“Yeah, so that’s… what really happened,” Chou replied, in much the same tone. “He’s been pissed at me ever since.”

The next silence was marked by Kaoru looking back and forth between them again, her eyebrows lowering.

“Shouldn’t you get home and go to bed?” Sano said quickly as he saw her face darkening once more. “You never know what mood Saitou’s gonna be in in the morning… if they had another fight, he’ll kill you if you’re late.”

“Or cut my balls off,” Chou agreed.

“And I don’t know that Megumi’d be too happy to treat that.”

“And y’know I’m gonna have all sortsa extra work to do tomorrow ’cause of all that yakuza-fire shit.”

They couldn’t help grinning at each other for a few moments.

“All right.” Chou backed away a few slow steps. Then, “G’night,” he said abruptly, and turned.

“Night,” Sano replied.

Kaoru was swelling again, and Sano was debating whether to grab her and see if he couldn’t cover her mouth with his hand when Chou suddenly stopped and turned back. “Hey, if you ever wanna… come over…” He shrugged. “I live in those shitty apartments behind the police station.”

Kaoru held her fire for the moment, looking wary.

“Thought you said your roommates were…” Sano trailed off.

“They are… I mean, just to hang out…”

“Well, if… sure, why not?”

“Great. See y’round.”

“Yeah, bye.”

And then Chou was really gone.

“Sano!!” Kaoru protested, aghast and angry. “Sano, what is your problem?? I can’t believe you just let him leave like that!”

“Hey, you’re the one who didn’t want him on your property arguing with me,” Sano replied, a little absently. He was smiling. Stretching, he turned and began a languid walk toward the room he’d originally intended to borrow.

“But… you two could have…” She blushed again as she followed him. “I mean, it’s all right if you use one of my rooms every once in a while…”

He grinned over his shoulder at her. “That’s sweet of you, jou-chan, but he and I’ll figure something out; I know where he lives.”

“But, Sano,” she said worriedly, “I don’t think there are apartments behind the police station.”

This had been a momentary concern for Sano as well, given prior intelligence on the subject of Chou’s address. But having walked a mental path in that direction, he found he could actually picture the place; ‘rat-hole’ was too kind a term. “Hey, don’t worry about that,” he told her as he opened the door to where he’d be sleeping tonight — alone — stepped inside, and prepared to close it in her face. “He’s not big — well, yeah, he’s pretty damn big — but he’s not big on leading his friends on.”


This story was inspired by Trick, but whereas the guys in that movie that hooked up for a one-night stand had never met before, here they’ve met plenty of times and simply don’t like each other much. I think it still works pretty well.

I’ve rated this story . What do you think of it?

This story is included in the Rurouni Kenshin Collection ebook.