Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction / Samurai X Fan Fiction ❯ A Strong Will ❯ To Live ( Chapter 3 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin and all affiliated characters and settings are the creative property of Watsuki Nobuhiro and all companies affiliated with its license and translation. The setting and characters are used without permission, at no profit to the author of this fanwork.

Warnings: graphic violence, language, and potentially disturbing themes throughout the story as a whole.

Chapters 1 and 2 greatly edited on May 30, 2006. Though most of it is the same, there are a few important plot points that have been tweaked in order to avoid a rather large mistake in this particular chapter. My apologies. You may want to re-read the previous two chapters in case you get confused.

Chapter 3: To Live

What started as a gentle summer's shower slowly turned violent, winds gaining strength and turning the fragile raindrops into pellets that stung the courier's exposed skin as he spurned his horse into a faster gallop. He opted to ignore the rain, pulling his wide-brimmed straw hat further over his face with a cloth-covered hand as he clutched the horse's reigns even tighter in the other. After all, the news he bore was as urgent as the previous news he'd brought the Ishin leader, and the courier smirked as he knew that at least it was half-good this time.

Checking over his shoulder once, he squinted in the rain to make sure he wasn't being pursued. One of the greatest risks in working with the patriots was that his job was hazardous to a fault; many of his comrades in the line of business had been killed, and in more frequency of late than previously. The Shinsengumi were tightening their grip on society, and it only showed that they still perceived the Ishin Shishi as a threat. He couldn't afford to allow them to catch him; he would become a liability to the Ishin under the rather persuasive methods of interrogation the Shisen were so fond of.

Relieved to find nobody in his wake, the courier took a deep breath and focused only on the road ahead. He had been fortunate to have several good nights of rest prior to this, since the route between Kyoto and Nara was strenuous when one was in a great hurry. For once, he was grateful for the rain; it kept him aware, and he would be spending many more hours ahead on the road.

“Damn.”

The single, quiet word floated across the small room like a fleeting whisper, causing the man kneeling at the open shoji to flinch. Takeshi was only a messenger, damn it; Shigure had been too and wasn't at fault, but he had already been killed on the spot for the ill news he'd reported to their captain. Takeshi hoped his master - who currently cleaned his bloodied katana with a scowl etched into his strong features - would keep that in mind, and that Shigure would be the only one who died for it. The ones who had failed had already paid a price for it with their lives… wasn't that enough?

“Is that all, Takeshi-san? Or am I to expect further bad news from you?” Beady eyes fixed on the courier, who only bowed lower, trying to ignore the stench of blood currently oozing from his comrade's adjacent corpse.

“N-No, Captain. That was the extent of the message, unless you would excuse my humble observations on the matter as well,” the courier said quietly, and almost too quickly. He could hardly keep his voice even under the venomous stare of the Shinsen captain towering above him, after what he'd seen happen to Shigure. The captain seemed intrigued as he sheathed his katana. Takeshi nearly breathed a sigh of relief, but thought better of it.

“So there is more to this than just Tanaka's failure?” the captain asked, raising an eyebrow. “You have my permission to speak.”

The courier swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. “That assassin - Battousai - he was badly wounded when he left the complex,” Takeshi said in a low voice. “There was a trail of blood that led out the back of the complex, and I followed the trail all the way to Nara.”

“Oh? And what makes you think that it was the Battousai's blood, Takeshi-san?”

Takeshi knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but now he'd have to explain that he had seen the Battousai wounded, and hadn't capitalize on the opportunity to take him down. But at least - he hoped - he would be helping rid the demon from society, even if he wouldn't be alive to see it.

“I saw him, Captain,” he whispered. “He was horribly pale, blood all over his hands, staggering like a drunken man, and even then he was able to take another Shinsen swordsman down with skill unlike anything I'd ever seen. That Battousai… is a demon.”

The captain seemed to allow that to sink in for a moment, then asked almost serenely, “Aren't our couriers armed with single-shot pistols?”

Takeshi blanched and refused to meet his captain's gaze. He knew what was coming next, and didn't have a good explanation for it, either. “We are.”

“What happened to yours?”

“It wasn't loaded, captain. I'm not skilled enough with a gun to load and fire it quickly enough to handle someone like the Battousai.”

The captain frowned, as if he hadn't been expecting such a self-demeaning answer. “You're still a soldier, Courier-san. You could have at least tried to shoot the bastard.”

Takeshi heard a sword being drawn from its sheath and stayed low, though he was surprised that there hadn't been venom in the man's voice this time. He waited patiently for the fatal blow he thought would be delivered to his outstretched neck. Instead, to his surprise, he saw the captain's large hand place a tanto on the ground before him.

“You have failed, Takeshi-san. An enemy escaped from a fight. You know the rule,” the captain stated gravely.

Yes, he should have known. The captain had calmed considerably since he'd killed Shigure, and was now returning to the book. Seppuku was the punishment for breaking the rules. And although he hadn't directly been part of the fight, he had let the enemy escape. Takeshi nodded, taking the tanto from the ground before him.

“By tomorrow morning, Takeshi,” the captain stated. “You may go now, and spend your last night as you please.”

“Yes, captain.”

The captain watched neutrally as the courier took the tanto and left, sliding the shoji shut behind him. Suddenly he seemed to become aware of the dead body that still lay in his chambers, and with a frustrated scowl, he flung open the shoji that led to the courtyard and called for a servant to come clean up the mess. Several skittish young men bustled in, quickly disposing of the body before they scrubbed the blood from the tatami. As they worked, the captain stared out into the storm-soaked courtyard, regarding the heavy rain with a light frown.

Katsura had won that round, he decided angrily. He should have gone with his men to ensure that they did their jobs properly. It was one of his only chances to prove to the headquarters in Kyoto that he was capable of keeping the fledgling Nara sect in order, to prove that they could actually become a separate branch. But this recent failure put a rather horrid mark on the small record of the Nara Shinsengumi. Battousai had been able to get away - despite being wounded - and Katsura had evaded the troupe sent after him as well. It was a low blow to their pride. The man was likely long gone back to Choshu, and it wouldn't do any good to try to track him down now after so much time had passed. But the Battousai…

Oh. Of course, the Battousai hadn't been with Katsura when he'd made his escape. If the hitokiri was as badly wounded as the courier had said he was, then he couldn't have gone far from Nara. He might head to Kyoto. And he wouldn't have Katsura to guard him, either.

Slowly, a smirk spread across the captain's face as a plan formulated in the back of his mind. Finally, he was given a chance that would force the other Shinsen captains to acknowledge his strength. If he could get his hands on both Katsura and Battousai when neither Saitou - or even Okita, the strongest swordsman in the Shinsengumi, for that matter - could, he wondered what kind of reward would be waiting for him.

And that, he decided, was a happy thought.

“Katsura-san, that was the last time you will have evaded Matsuo Ryuichi,” he muttered as he smiled out into the rain.

“Oh god,” Katsura breathed. “This is directly from Sato-baa?”

“Yes, sir.” The muddied and rain-soaked courier bowed lower, noting a sickened change in Katsura's ki. “I too saw Battousai alive, though he almost didn't look it at a first glance.”

“I need to get him out of Nara,” the Ishin leader said gravely, almost to himself as he grabbed a roll of parchment, a fine-tipped brush, and some ink. He quickly wrote a letter of instruction on the parchment, blowing on it to dry it when he'd finished, and tied the rolled message off with a leather string. He eyed the courier appraisingly for a moment, and then asked, “Yugawa-san, are you able to handle another round trip from here to Nara and back?”

Yugawa had been expecting the question, and in his desire to be helpful to the patriots' cause, he eagerly replied, “Yes, Katsura-sama. I can make a hundred such trips if you require me to do it.”

Katsura allowed himself a brief smile before he handed the message to Yugawa. “Make sure you quickly get something from the kitchen for the road. Though time is of the utmost importance, I can't have you collapsing on the job from lack of nourishment.”

“Yes, Katsura-sama.”

Once the courier had left, Katsura stared worriedly out into the rain. Though he had been horrified by the initial news that proclaimed the defense on the Tanaka estate had been obliterated, and that Himura had been killed in the battle, this news was almost just as difficult to bear. The fact that the hitokiri lived was good news, but the fact that he might die from what sounded like multiple wounds was an ill report. If the Shinsengumi still planned to attack the Nara hideout even after he had fled…

No, he determined. He would just have to trust his comrades to carry out his instructions swiftly. Despite the danger that coming to Kyoto presented, he knew it was more dangerous to leave Himura in Nara. Worrying now would not help the hitokiri live through the trip, nor would it keep the Shinsengumi from looking for him there.

With a sigh, Katsura summoned one of the inn's maids, and asked her to deliver a message for him, and to have them prepare his belongings for departure. If Himura was badly wounded, he wouldn't make it to Kyoto.

He wavered on the edge of awareness and unconsciousness for a long while. Whenever he tried to slip into the warm embrace of the beckoning abyss of his mind, a sharp jolt and extreme pain would bring him back to the world of muffled, urgent voices and bitter cold wind. At times, he thought he heard familiar voices calling out his name, but he could never be sure. His entire body vibrated despite the firm grips on his shoulders - which also hurt greatly - and made it difficult to rest. He thought he saw Tanaka's face, bloodied and smirking, hovering over his own. But that couldn't be the case; Tanaka was dead, killed by his own hands. It had to be an angry spirit. Tanaka's ghost wasn't the only one haunting him, either, but he certainly was the loudest at the moment.

“You've killed my family by killing me, Battousai. Are you that naïve?”

No, he hadn't killed the man's family too, had he? In the dark, he could see several figures - a woman and two young children - screaming as several teal-clad swordsmen struck them down, laughing all the while.

“You've failed, Battousai. Your selfish desire to live has caused these innocents their lives,” ghost-Tanaka sneered from the shadows.

No, he wanted to deny it, but he didn't have a voice in this world. All he could do was watch, as Tanaka's family's ghosts called after him for his help.

“Don't you care about us, Battousai?” one of the ghost-children asked, pointing a mangled arm in his direction. “I thought you said you wanted peace, but you're nothing but a selfish, bloodthirsty demon!”

No! I didn't want this!

“It's your fault we can't grow up in a peaceful world, Battousai. Even though your hands are responsible for the deaths of thousands, you still get to live on while we die.”

Damn it, I didn't want it this way!

“We're losing him!”

“Shit! Hold him down!”

“You can't do that here! It's not steady, and you're going to kill him for sure!”

“It's your fault.”

The scent of blood was overwhelming, causing his body to react as bile threatened to choke him. He felt ill, and cold, and… damn he hurt.

“You should have been the one to die, you murderer.”

Everything was stained a deep red - his vision, the ground below him, and its warm sticky wetness was everywhere.

“We're almost there, damn it!”

“Beloved…”

At the final voice, he turned to see the one person he'd hoped would never have to see him like this. He fell to his knees in a pool of red, staring at his crimson-coated hands, flinching when he felt her dead-cold hands brush his shoulder.

“Quickly, get him inside! Call for Hirokatsu-sensei immediately!”

“You promised me, beloved.”

I… I can't do this anymore…

“Please, you have got to go back.”

I can't because… because…

“He's waking up!”

Tomoe… “I - I'm s-sorry…”

The other ghosts were gone now, and only the quiet and a thick blanket of pristine white snow lay between him and the somber woman standing several meters away from him. He could barely pick up the scent of white plums, but it was there, a strong reminder of what he'd promised her. She quirked a sad, knowing smile.

“Go, beloved. Go back to where they still need you.”

Thank you, Tomoe.

“He will live, for now. It was wise not to bring him all the way to Kyoto, though I'm afraid that the trip did not help him any.”

Katsura jumped slightly, startled by the deep voice of the wizened healer who had just entered the small chamber. Glancing up at the man, he breathed a sigh of relief, setting down the paper he had been reading intently. It had blood stains on it, the healer noted with a light frown. He wondered if the wounded boy in the room across the hall had brought it with him.

“That is good to hear, Hirokatsu-sensei,” Katsura replied once he'd composed himself, though he still seemed tense to the doctor's trained eyes. Something else was bothering him at the moment, but he didn't seem to want to speak of it just yet. “Is Himura awake?”

“I'm afraid not,” Hirokatsu said sadly. “He hasn't fully awoken since the fever began taking a heavy toll on his body. Once he rests a while, he should regain consciousness.”

“Ah.” He paused for a moment. “Might I go see him?”

Hirokatsu eyed the patriot warily for a moment. Part of his better judgement said that the badly wounded boy needed as few disturbances as possible in order to heal, and that any change in ki might put him at ill ease even while unconscious. However, he knew that Katsura would not purposely disrupt Himura's uneasy sleep if he could help it, and that perhaps he just wanted a visual confirmation that the hitokiri was indeed alive, unlike the troubling news that had quickly come from Tanaka's estate. Katsura must have a great many questions for Battousai about the incident, since information on what exactly happened was sketchy at best.

“Yes, you may,” Hirokatsu finally replied, “but let him rest. His coloring still looks pretty bad, but that's mostly a result of his body's reaction to the bullet that was in his belly for too long.”

Katsura winced at the description, and Hirokatsu suddenly felt a little bad for stating the injury so bluntly. In truth, the bullet had all but poisoned the boy, though the blood loss alone could have cost him his life. He wasn't about to explain that to an already-worried Choshu leader. Nevertheless he did have half a mind to ask what the hell the man was thinking when he ordered that they transport the badly wounded young man in the first place. Despite the fact that the wounds alone could have killed him, the trip had nearly sealed Himura's fate at death's door.

It appeared that Katsura could read minds. “I… I shouldn't have ordered that he be brought here from Nara,” he said quietly. “But I was worried that the Shinsengumi would track him there, and since he's wounded this badly he would have been defenseless.”

Hirokatsu nodded slowly, understanding the man's concern as his own angry question had been answered. It was fortunate that Katsura had planned carefully and had sought out long ago many Ishin-friendly temples along the road between Nara and Kyoto, like the one they were currently occupying. It was a bit off the beaten path - this part of the trip had been what nearly killed Himura - but at least it was safe. The monks were incredibly helpful in helping him tend to Himura's wounds.

“No, you probably did do the right thing,” he reassured Katsura. “Himura would have been in worse shape had they been able to get a hold of him.” The healer stood and gestured toward the shoji. “Come, you said you wanted to see him?”

This time, it was Katsura's turn to nod as he too stood, following Hirokatsu across the hall of the inn, to the room where the Battousai rested.

“I - I'm sorry…”

The words - and the weak voice uttering them - stung at the back of Katsura's mind as he stared down at the unconscious hitokiri. Himura had opened his eyes briefly once, when they were bringing him into the temple's back rooms, and had stared directly at Katsura while he said those words. Katsrua wished he knew what the hitokiri had meant by them; the letter that he was told Himura had been clutching when he'd arrived at the Kuroyama in Nara bore very troubling information. Tanaka had betrayed them on so many different levels, but he hadn't seemed like he really had a choice, according to the letter's contents. Katsura felt upset that the businessman hadn't trusted him enough to take care of his family. Now, it was likely too late, even if they did send out a squad to conceal the other members of the Tanaka family. The Shinsengumi probably would have made a move to kill them as soon as Tanaka failed his apparent mission to incapacitate the Battousai and take him into custody.

Well, they had effectively rendered the hitokiri useless, at least for the time being. Katsura watched in concern as Himura breathed unevenly, his skin a rather unhealthy pale, sickly grey. Hirokatsu hadn't been exaggerating when he said that the boy looked far worse for the wear. Though the covers were pulled to Himura's delicate chin, the Ishin leader didn't fail to notice the sheen of sweat on the boy's cheeks despite the damp cloth resting on his forehead, and the pained expression he wore even while asleep. He had been told, as well, that the covers hid a myriad of bandages stretching across the boy's chest and abdomen.

It was a miracle that Himura had made it alive, in this state. The journey had not helped in the endeavor to keep the boy living, though Katsura had a feeling that he really did protect Himura from the Shinsengumi by doing so. They surely knew of Battousai's injuries, and they wouldn't suspect that Battousai would be moved from Nara because of it. While the move had bought them some time, Katsura couldn't help but trust his gut instinct that the Shinsen dogs wouldn't give up on this blood trail so easily. He had to stay on his guard, both for his own sake and the sake of the hitokiri lying just shy of death's gaping maw before him.

A sharp hiss from the hitokiri drew his attention. He leaned over toward the young redhead, removing the damp cloth and placing a gentle hand on the boy's heated forehead. The fever - though not horribly high - was stubborn in its grip on the exhausted and badly injured hitokiri. Katsura dipped the cloth back into the small wooden tub of water that sat next to the boy's futon, wrung out the cloth, and replaced it on Himura's frowning forehead.

“Himura?” he whispered.

The boy didn't respond. After a moment of silence, Katsura sighed. The young man was in pain, he knew, but he was frustrated in that he was helpless to do anything about it. He wanted more information about what had happened at the complex - how Tanaka died, how Himura became so badly injured, if he recognized the Shinsen squad leader, what he meant when he'd apologized… So many questions would have to wait for when Himura woke. Considering his fever and his current state, Katsura knew he would have to be patient.

Patience, patience. Worrying will only make things worse.

Matsuo's men were fidgety. Ever since the word of Shigure's immediate death and Takeshi's orders of seppuku upon bearing ill news of the operation, all those under the irate Shinsen captain were on edge. They would all be on Matsuo's sword's edge, vice-captain Suzuka Ren thought morosely, if he couldn't find a way to placate the captain, and soon. Matsuo had summoned him, which made him nervous after hearing word of his current state. He quietly entered Matsuo's chamber and bowed his head to the ground in reverence.

“You wished to see me, Matsuo-sama?”

“Ah, Suzuka-san. You're just the person I wanted to see,” Matsuo greeted cheerily. “Have a seat; I have many important matters I wish to discuss with you.”

Suzuka normally would have immediately stated what was on his mind, but he could tell by the subtle tightness in the captain's tone that it would mean death if he dared cross any of the thin, invisible lines that had been set before him. He sat where Matsuo had indicated, waiting patiently - expressionlessly - for further instruction.

“Tanaka did not follow through, as you said he would,” Matsuo said, clipping the ends of his words carefully despite the seemingly peaceful expression he wore.

Suzuka nodded slowly. “It appears that I had overestimated his abilities, or perhaps underestimated the Battousai's,” he admitted almost sheepishly, looking at the floor, almost expecting the inviting dagger to be placed before him.

“So it would seem,” Matsuo replied tersely. “But you know that isn't the point. We let both of our targets, one of which was reportedly wounded, get away. There is no excuse.”

“I understand,” the vice-captain stated evenly, though he cringed inwardly at what he knew was coming next. Even though he knew he was treading on already-dangerous ground, he continued, “Although, I have a feeling that our failure might have had more to do with the fact that someone at the scene slipped away and informed Katsura. Battousai wasn't in any condition to travel that far alone, from the reports.”

In that small instant of silence, Suzuka had a feeling he'd bought himself a few precious moments as his captain made no move. “I certainly hope you have more to say about that, Suzuka.”

He did, thankfully. “We were able to… persuade some of Nara's citizens to speak about any suspicious activity they might've seen. More than one told us of a red-haired young man who staggered about the outskirts of town as though drunk, and we did find enough blood to support the idea that a badly-wounded individual had walked through that area.”

“Hm.”

Well, he hadn't been asked to commit seppuku yet. He would wait for the question before he offered the last bit of information almost as a bargaining tool for his own life… and hopefully the captain would realize that he had more to say.

“And where did this red-haired individual end up?”

“None of them knew, but there had been reports of a strange caravan leaving the city shortly after,” he replied. “They told the city guards that they needed a pass to transport a sick boy out of the town, though most of the citizens and guards we questioned say that he wasn't really sick, but badly injured.”

“Where was this caravan heading?”

Suzuka took a deep breath. “North; the guards were sure of it.”

In the oppressive silence that followed, Suzuka didn't dare breathe. He couldn't read his captain's expression, and it worried him slightly. Part of him was relieved that he'd made preparations in the likely case of his ordered suicide, but the other part of him fervently wished that Matsuo wouldn't be so hasty as to order his death. He had been loyal to the man for as long as they'd been enlisted in the Shinsengumi, hadn't he?

He nearly jumped when Matsuo spoke next. “They're likely headed back to Kyoto, or somewhere near it. If we want to convince Hijikata-sama that we are indeed capable of beginning our own branch of Shinsengumi in Nara, I don't want them getting their hands on Battousai before we do.” With a sharp glance at Suzuka, he added, “Formulate a plan by nightfall to go after that caravan. We'll scour the route. Once you check it with me, put it into action. I will not be so kind to allow any further failure, do you understand me?”

Suzuka had to hide his sigh of relief. “Yes, Matsuo-sama. If you would excuse me.”

Matsuo nodded, turning to a small wooden table sitting beside him as his vice-captain left almost too quickly. Suzuka could barely catch his breath once he was out of the captain's sight; he had to will his pounding heart to calm down as he began calculations in his mind.

This will be a long night.

Kenshin wasn't sure what he was aware of first: the muffled voices that whispered above him, or the sharp pains that slowly made themselves known as the layers of unconsciousness slowly peeled back to reveal reality. A thick cloud of cotton gripped his thoughts, and he couldn't quite remember what had happened, and time had completely been distorted during his absence. Distinct words registered slowly as his consciousness fought its way through the fog, his weakness annoying him as he strained to use his other senses. The mist in his mind cleared some, allowing him to pick up another level of awareness - he was able to make out more than one voice, and they were speaking about… he couldn't tell quite yet.

“Tatsumo…”

“You need to rest, Katsura-sama… I will watch over him while you take your leave,” the first voice said in a whisper. Kenshin didn't immediately recognize it, but his mind told him it was familiar, and the owner would not present a threat. It told him that Katsura was there, at least for the moment.

Katsura seemed to hesitate. “Please come wake me if he shows any signs of stirring,” he said in an equally quiet voice. He did sound weary, but Kenshin could detect an underlying sense of worry in the man's tone. If only his fogged mind could figure out…

Another stab of pain in his gut viciously reminded him. Oh, that's right. He had been injured, the last he remembered… or was that a dream?

“I promise. Please get some sleep.”

The Choshu leader sighed. “All right. If you will excuse me…”

“Please do.”

A soft scraping - the shoji opening and closing - and then there was a brief moment of silence.

“I know you're listening,” the first voice chided softly. “You can wake up now if you wish, though it won't be pleasant.”

Pleasant. No, it already wasn't pleasant, not with the agony that stole the air from his lungs with every breath and threatened to banish him back into the bliss of darkness. He didn't want to go back just yet, not without some questions answered to put his disoriented mind at ease. But when he opened his mouth to ask, he was surprised to hear a pained moan emerge from his own lips instead.

“Yes, I know,” the man replied with some pity, as if he understood the incoherent language of the injured. “Now that you've made your decision despite my warning, I will give you something to help lessen the pain a little.”

When Kenshin tried to open his eyelids, he found the task rather difficult, as if his lids had been attached to heavy weights while he hadn't been aware enough to do anything about it. He was surprised to find that the room he found himself in was dimly lit, and warm. Or perhaps those were the blankets he finally noticed covering his thin frame. He noticed the bent-over figure of an older man fidgeting with a tray, and the gentle clinking of porcelain accompanied a trickle of liquid as he worked. With a tight smile, the man turned and presented a teacup full of something hot, which he placed carefully on the ground out of Kenshin's line of sight.

“Here, let me help you sit up… but it's going to hurt, so we're going slow,” the man explained. “You're lucky to have slept for so long; your wounds have already started to heal properly.”

Kenshin was afraid to test out his voice just yet, so he remained silent as the older man helped him move to a sitting position, a large, strong hand splayed at the center of Kenshin's back for support. And it did hurt, almost enough that it left him feeling weak by the time he was sitting upright. It was embarrassing for him to have to rely so much on outside help; he could hardly even hold the teacup without some aid. The tea was bitter, but it soothed the dryness that had caused him to mistrust his ability to speak.

“H-How long…” he began, but the older man shook his head and forced him to drink more tea first.

“Forgive my bad manners, lad. I should at least tell you what the hell's been going on lately, eh?” He laughed. “It's just such a relief to see you come to your senses again. My name is Hirokatsu Tatsumo; I am the resident healer. You're currently at a temple just south of Kyoto, and you were unconscious for about… oh, I'd say four days now.”

Kenshin started at the last sentence, nearly choking on a sip of tea as Hirokatsu took the cup from him and supported him until he could breathe properly again. The hitokiri groaned; coughing hurt, he decided morosely.

“Sorry, I should've waited until you finished the tea before I told you that,” he apologized, helping Kenshin lay back down. “We were afraid you weren't going to wake up. Let me tell you, young man - you are one lucky sonuvabitch to have survived that kind of trip in your condition. You scared the shit out of the Kuroyama's doctor during that trip, though. He thought for sure you were going to die.”

This almost sounds like a rebuke, Kenshin silently noted with dry amusement.

“Unless the situation had been different, I never would have allowed them to move you here in the state you were in.”

Kenshin grunted softly, but clearly the doctor wasn't finished scolding him just yet. He hoped that this would be over soon; his head was starting to feel uncomfortably light, and the room wasn't staying in focus.

“Although you've spent four days recuperating, I'm requiring another fortnight of bed rest. Your fever isn't quite diminished yet, though it's considerably better than it was. I'm still worried about an infection, so I'd like to keep an eye on that as well. After I'm sure that you're not going to die from secondary ailments, then - and only then - may you do limited exercise.” At this, the healer shot him a sharp glance. “And I mean that. Don't push it, young man. You're to be on a regulated diet until I say so, as well. No use eating strong food on an injured stomach.”

That order would be easy to follow - even the thought of food made Kenshin's stomach roil. Time to think of something else, he determined. Something other than food and the horrible throbbing in his side and gut. The doctor sighed, and quieted for a moment as he turned and wrung out a cloth that had been sitting in a bucket of water nearby. Folding it deftly, it soon found its way to Kenshin's forehead. It was cool; felt nice against the headache and uncomfortable pounding in his skull.

“And now that you've heard enough from me, you may go back to sleep,” Hirokatsu chided softly, as though speaking to a child. “Rest for a while, and I'll be back to check on you when you wake up again.”

Kenshin's eyelids began to close, and with a fleeting thought wondered if Katsura had been in to see him yet. Katsura… Shit! His eyes flew open, and just as the doctor began to stand and leave, he reached out and snatched the hem of the man's hakama.

“Wait…” he croaked, and Hirokatsu looked back down at him with a startled expression. “K-Katsura… when…?”

“He's fine, boy. He was here earlier, but I told him to get rest. I'll let him know the next time you wake up,” Hirokatsu replied with a nod. “I promise.”

Kenshin exhaled with relief, the information calming the adrenalin rush. With that confirmation settled firmly into his mind, he allowed his eyes to close, and hardly noticed when the healer reached down and straightened the blankets around him.

---

.end chapter 3.

This chapter hasn't been beta read, so my apologies for any mistakes. I'm working on fleshing out some of the older plot points with more historical basis, so please bear with me. If you do see mistakes, please feel free to point them out.

As always, comments are very much appreciated by this humble, horrid writer.