Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ The Alchemy of Gold and Silver ❯ Turned ( Chapter 10 )

Chapter 10

 

The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.

-Mahatma Ghandi

 

****

Himura was led through the back of the restaurant and up some stairs by a woman wearing a waitress's kimono. Frankly, he hadn't expected it to be so easy. Then again, he hadn't given them much choice but to comply with his wishes. He had walked into the Aoiya, up to the nearest server, and asked to see a Shinomori-san of the Oniwaban. Not the most subtle of moves, but what need had he for subtlety?

 

The young girl's eyes had gone wide, and she'd immediately shot a glance at a boy her own age, lounging in a corner of the establishment. The dark-eyed kid had immediately been at her side, and Himura had repeated his request. A third person, the tall, mostly unremarkable woman who was leading him now, had been summoned, and the boy had disappeared, presumably to inform this Shinomori of his appearance.

 

The redheaded assassin's hand went to the envelope tucked safely in his plain dark green gi. He had been surprised to find that Katsura had sent someone ahead of him to his rooms with it. The messenger, a closemouthed man named Shinichi, had simply handed him the papers without a word. Therein was the name of the Oniwaban's infamous leader, as well as papers on the man Katsura suspected to be at the heart of the Shishi's recent troubles with traitors and defections. Among these documents was a small note from Katsura himself, unsigned, but in handwriting Himura knew well.

 

If you're so inclined, you may find this information useful.

 

Upon reading the rest of the papers, he had understood that this was more a request than anything else, and one he found he could not ignore. Truth be told, Himura had had no real plans for a future outside of the Isshin Shishi, not even when he was planning on serving with them until the end of the war. Now, thrown out early, he was about as directionless as it was possible to be. The envelope had, characteristically of anything from Katsura, given him purpose; one he was freer to take or walk away from than he had been in about five years.

 

It was almost ironic: he had chosen to follow the man's direction as he always had, despite the fact that Katsura no longer exercised any power over him. Was he truly that much of a puppet, to be controlled indefinitely by the will of another? Did it even matter?

 

“Shinomori-sama has agreed to see you,” his guide interrupted, not bothering to disguise the reproach in her voice at his blatant disregard for the organization's secrecy. He merely looked at her, and watched without satisfaction as her eyes dropped and she quickly removed herself from his vicinity.

 

He slid aside the door without bothering to knock; he had made no effort to hide his presence, and if Shinomori were in any way competent, he would know that the Battousai stood outside his office.

 

He stepped inside, surveying the scene with affected disinterest. In truth, he was curious to see just what kind of people these Oniwabanshu really were. Behind a low table stacked with paperwork was a man Himura decided must be Shinomori. Black-haired and ice-eyed, he wore the same carefully-crafted neutral mask the hitokiri himself favored. Dual kodachi lay within easy reach at his sides; his ki signature was fairly impressive, and well-contained.

 

Sitting on Shinomori's left was the short kunoichi with green eyes he had seen at the warehouse. She watched him warily, like a mouse that knew it was being stalked, but was unsure if the cat in question was hungry or not. She half-expects me to kill them all at any moment, he thought wryly. Not that he blamed her, of course. One did not gain a reputation like the Battousai's without reason.

 

Moving his gaze to the Okashira's right, he barely noticed the boy from earlier, because his eyes locked, as they always seemed to, on the Kamiya girl. He had finally remembered why her name sounded familiar; he had once met her father, when he was still a child, newly adopted by his master. Thinking back on that encounter he had decided that father and daughter were quite similar: there was a groundless kindness to their personalities, and a corresponding lack of guile in their expressions.

 

Even now, Kaoru was making no attempt to disguise her surprise to see him here. There was something else in her expression, too, something that he could not identify. He was somewhat surprised to see her dressed in a finely-made red kimono, silvery sakura blossoms embroidered at the bottom. She looked… different.

 

His thoughts were interrupted- whether mercifully or otherwise, he could not say- by the sound of a clearing throat. He wrenched his gaze from this new paradigm of the woman he could not understand, and briefly flicked it to the offending kunoichi before turning his attention to Shinomori. They had, after all, much to discuss.

 

***

 

Misao's rather unsubtle reminder of present company snapped Kaoru out of her own reverie. Then again, she could hardly be blamed. It wasn't every day someone like him barged into your home and stared you down.

 

At this point, Kaoru had no less than a million questions racing circles in her brain, but she managed to contain herself and wait for Aoshi to speak. He was the person in charge here, after all, and frankly she wasn't sure she could be trusted to articulate anything at this point.

 

So her gaze dropped to the floor, and she watched through her lashes as Himura turned to face Aoshi, offering a stiff bow in acknowledgement of his station, but not the kind one would give their own superior.

 

Aoshi, for his part, was remaining impressively stone faced as usual, though Misao was unable to disguise her shock and uncertainty. Uncertainty that Kaoru felt as well. And yet… she could not lie to herself, there was a measure of anticipation as well. What was it about this man that could do that? He was palpably dangerous; one need only look at his eyes or sense his ki to know that. Add to that the fact that he seemed only rarely to adhere to what one would expect of him, and it was obvious that every moment spent in his presence was one in which her life was endangered.

 

But that's not true, is it? For whatever reason, Himura had not yet killed her, or anyone in her presence, for that matter. He had accepted the sakabatou, and while she was sure he had killed people since, she had never witnessed such a thing. Still, he is dangerous. More so than anyone I know, I think. So why am I not afraid? Kaoru wasn't the type to ignore risk in any capacity; caution was an integral part of both her swordsmanship and her life. Somehow, though, she was drawn to this man like a moth to a flame. An apt metaphor. The moth usually dies, she thought wryly.

 

Before her thoughts could wander any further, Aoshi spoke in measured tones. “Battosai the Manslayer. To what do I owe this visit?” His voice was laced with a subtle irony, and understandably so: hitokiri only ever paid “visits” to targets, and never quite like this.

 

In response, Himura reached into his gi. Everyone in the room tensed save Kaoru; Yahiko moved a hand to the shinai at his side, and Kaoru let the tiniest of sardonic smiles make its way onto her face. He would not resort to such underhanded means. Mou, I say that as if I know anything about him! She was gratified, though, when he merely removed an envelope and tossed it onto the table before Aoshi.

 

“This is everything the Isshin Shishi have on a man named Makoto Shishio.” Himura watched unblinkingly as Aoshi picked up the envelope and turned it over in his hands.

 

“Is Shishio not one of your men?” Kaoru could tell that Aoshi was phrasing the question carefully, trying to get a read on Himura's intent. She herself had an idea where this was going, but she didn't want to let her hope get ahead of her, so said nothing.

 

“He is currently under the employ of the Shishi, yes. He was trained as my successor, should I ever… meet with an unfortunate end. It seems, however, that he is more ambitious than a hitokiri should be.” Kaoru noted Himura's phrasing as well, and the spark of hope lit into a tiny flame. Perhaps… no, I mustn't jump to conclusions! She shook her head, causing Yahiko to look at her strangely, but they were both too interested in what was being said to say anything.

 

Aoshi flicked open the envelope and scanned the few pieces of paper quickly. Setting them down before him, he appeared to gather his thoughts for a moment before he spoke again. “They believe he intends to move against them.” It was not a question, and everyone noticed. Misao sucked in a breath, and Yahiko stared hard at Himura, waiting for a response.

 

“Some do,” was the noncommittal reply.

 

“I see. So why bring this to me? Surely it is a problem that could be dealt with… internally?” Aoshi's head tilted ever so slightly to one side, and his eyes narrowed. So he's still testing, then. But he's taking this seriously, like he believes it, Kaoru mused to herself. She had to admit that her question was much the same one.

 

Himura smirked darkly. “Because the majority of the Isshin Shishi's power structure doesn't want to believe it. Even if they do, they no longer have the resources to deal with the problem. Shishio already has all his soldiers on his side, and at least seven or so of those are almost as strong as he is.”

 

“Ah. So they ignore the problem, and it goes away?” Aoshi crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back slightly, and Kaoru watched a flicker of understanding pass between the Okashira and the redheaded samurai.

 

“Something like that. Since the problem can't be solved internally-”

 

“Someone was smart enough to outsource it. How do I know you are not lying? This could easily be a ruse to earn my trust and take out the Oniwaban.” A raised eyebrow accompanied the statement.

 

“You need only wait a few days. Certainly by then the men you have about the country will bring you news of a manhunt for me. I no longer owe allegiance to the Isshin Shishi. I gave that up when I disobeyed their orders.” A quick flick of a glance at Kaoru, but other than that, no acknowledgement of the circumstances of the event, though Kaoru was sure Aoshi could guess.

 

“So why bother with this at all? What difference does it make to you now?” This was exactly the question Kaoru had been wanting to ask, and she tried with only some success to keep her face neutral.

 

Himura took his time considering this, and Kaoru was left wondering if he even had a reason. “It's payment,” he said at last, “for someone who did me a favor. He sees the problem Shishio poses, and knows I can do something about it. But I can't do it without more information.”

 

Aoshi nodded slightly. “And that's why you want our help.” There was no denial. “Hn. You have not personally killed any of my men, though I do not doubt you would have done so if explicitly ordered.” At this, Kaoru was about to protest, but Aoshi silenced her with a look. “Nevertheless, I see where this arrangement might be beneficial to us all. We do not need another war on the heels of this one, and if this Shishio decides to seek power, that is exactly what we will have. Kaoru,” he turned abruptly to her, voice as flat as ever, “can we trust that what he is saying is true?”

 

The swordswoman was momentarily shocked at being asked the question, and her first instinct was to shout `of course' at the top of her voice. Himura had, after all, had plenty of chances to harm her, as well as Sano and Misao. Still, he did almost kill Doctor Takani… but that was a while ago now, and… she cut herself short. Was it that easy for her to believe a killer had changed his nature? Was it that easy for a killer to change? But what if he isn't a killer at all, just someone who wound up in a bad situation? No, she knew that Himura had made choices to do what he had done, and that he was responsible for the consequences. Still…

 

“What's past is past,” she said aloud, “and it makes no difference to me what you may have done.” She spoke to the samurai directly rather than Aoshi, then turned to her leader. “There is no denying that he was a hitokiri, and his goals were sometimes against ours, but-” here she smiled- “he has never tried to cover that up, or been dishonest with me, and so I have no reason to believe that he lies when he says he has left them.”

 

A silence descended over the room, and as it stretched out, Kaoru refused to meet anyone's eyes. There was no denying that she'd gone out on a limb there, but she believed every word of what she said.

 

Just as the quiet was growing awkward and Kaoru felt the slow burn beginning in her cheeks, Aoshi spared her the indignity by speaking. “Very well. Based on what Kaoru has said and the information you have brought, I will agree to help you gather information on this man Shishio's whereabouts and his manpower. I promise no involvement beyond that. The Oniwaban are not an army. So I must know: are you strong enough to defeat him on your own?”

 

Misao gave Aoshi a spectacularly disbelieving look that the latter ignored. Other than that, all eyes were fixed on the only man standing. Himura closed his eyes slowly before opening them again, and Kaoru thought she must have imagined that they were brighter.

 

“I will be,” he replied stonily. “I intend to return to my master, and learn now what I was too stubborn to see five years ago.”

 

Hiko-sensei! Kaoru's smile was bright as she broke in. “Aoshi. I would like to go as well. Sensei still has the last two succession scrolls for my style, and I think I'll need them.” Her resolution must have shown in her face, because he made no effort to argue.

 

“Fine, but I'm sending Sano as well.”

 

***

 

It took three days for the one called Sano to recover enough to travel, and during that time, Himura studiously avoided all contact with, well, just about everyone. The only person who was not generally disconcerted by his company was Kaoru, but it was she that he dodged most fervently.

 

He wasn't exactly sure why, either. He supposed he should feel gratitude for what she had done, and in truth he did. But there was something else, something at the edge of his mind. It reminded him of what had happened on the battlefield, when he'd lost his control, if only for a short time. Something threatened to make him lose his iron grip on himself, his near-flawless control, and he resented it. He did not know what it was, only that it was worst when she spoke of him with that absolutely trusting tone of voice, or when she smiled. Both things he did not deserve.

 

The past doesn't matter… What a strange thought that was; surely it belonged to an equally strange person. She hadn't denied his responsibility for what he had done, nor dismissed it entirely, but simply decided it was unimportant. He couldn't see the logic of it, and it confused him. She confused him, and uncertainty was the last thing he needed right now.

 

Frustrated, he stood. Locating her ki almost instantaneously, he determined that she was in the restaurant portion of the inn. Satisfied that he need not pass her to do so, he made his way out to the makeshift practice yard. He passed the female doctor and the fistfighter on the way out; she studiously ignored his existence while his eyes narrowed in suspicion, but neither confronted him.

 

The only other occupant of the outdoor space was the boy Yahiko. Himura had surmised that the dark-complexioned youth was some sort of student of Kaoru's, though if his skill was any indication, one recently come to a lifestyle that involved any sort of discipline. Still, he appeared to have dedicated himself to it, if his rapid breaths and near-constant presence here were anything to judge by, and Himura found himself in vague admiration of both the young teenager's determination and the obvious loyalty that Kaoru seemed to inspire as a teacher. Yahiko had no natural talent for swordsmanship, but his work ethic would ensure that he became highly-skilled.

 

Betraying none of this, Himura chose instead to walk silently by, selecting a clear space for his own practice. It had been some time since he had gone through the exercises of his style, the katas and the forms; such habits had fallen by the wayside in the last few years.

 

So it was with some trepidation that he settled into his first stance, one of those ill-used on a constantly-moving battlefield. Flowing from one stance to the other, though, that was something he had not lost, and muscle memory slowly took over, allowing his mind to enter the restful state that accompanied such automatic movement.

 

Perhaps it was because of this that he did not sense her coming. Whatever the reason, her voice surprised him. “You stand differently from Hiko-sensei,” she remarked.

 

Straightening perhaps a little too abruptly, he turned to see her not six feet away. How did I miss that? “Okay, Yahiko, that's enough for now. Do your laps and then call it a day.” The boy grumbled, but nevertheless immediately set about his task, slinging his shinai across his back.

 

She turned towards him again. “It's your left foot, right? Hiko-sensei doesn't turn it like that. It reminds me of… ” she trailed off, and her eyes grew unfocused and distant.

 

He wasn't particularly sure he wanted to answer, but decided the information was hers to know. Besides, he didn't particularly like the faraway expression, it reminded him too much of himself after a particularly bloody battle.

 

“Your father?” he prompted.

 

He watched with mild interest as shock spread across her face, followed swiftly by a more general bemusement. “But how…?”

 

Her tone implored him, and he answered, “He came to visit Hiko once, when I was small, and taught me this.”

 

She seemed to struggle for the right words. “I… I see. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. It was he who gave Hiko-sensei that sword you're holding, anyway.”

 

He was silent, which she correctly interpreted as something of an invitation to explain. “He believed in these swords, my father. It was his philosophy that swords should be used to protect, not to kill.” She smiled, a little sadly. “I know now that nobody else believes it, but I do. That's why…” she gestured vaguely to the sakabatou at her waist.

 

“I see.” He offered no judgment; if she knew Hiko, she surely knew what the Hiten Mitsurugi philosophy was on that point, and there was simply nothing else to say.

 

***

 

“Look, kitsune-chan, I promise I'll be fine.” Sano looked about distractedly, spotting Kaoru and that guy already approaching the front entrance of the Aoiya. If he didn't hurry, they were going to leave without him, and he was pretty sure Aoshi would have his hide if that happened. The Okashira was pretty adamant that the former Battousai had to be watched closely. Sano personally chalked it up to paranoia. It was Aoshi's job to be like that, even if Sano himself thought that the missy's endorsement was good enough for him. Doesn't mean I have to like the guy, but…

 

Megumi's voice forced his attention away from the two samurai. “You won't be if you overexert yourself. Your injuries are still healing. You are absolutely not allowed to do any fighting for at least another week, do you understand?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, don't worry about it,” he replied, waving a hand dismissively. Unfortunately, the gesture caused some of his injured muscles to pull uncomfortably, and he wasn't quick enough to hide the wince.

 

“Don't worry? I'm not worried. You're just an impulsive idiot who runs straight into danger without even stopping to consider the implications. Why would I worry about you?” she bit out sarcastically.

 

“Oh, I can think of a couple of reasons,” he rejoined slyly.

 

“Hmph. I'm sure I have no idea what you mean. In fact, I can't think of a single one,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest petulantly.

 

Sano heard his name called just as an idea formed in the back of his mind. It was impulsive, sure, but why the Hell not? You only live once, right? He tried not to think of the implications his plan would have for his lifespan.

 

“Well,” he said casually, “I guess I'll have to remedy that.” Without giving Megumi any time to respond, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, in full view of most of the Aoiya's staff and patrons.

 

The lady doctor's eyes widened, and amid the smiles and scattered catcalls of the customers, she drew her hand back and slapped him.

 

“Hey now,” he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, though it hadn't really hurt, “aren't doctors supposed to help their patients?” His wide grin never left his face as he watched her turn an impressive shade of red. “Like I said, kitsune-chan, that's a good look for ya.”

 

Before any more injury could be threatened or exacted, he winked and made for the door. The redhead raised an eyebrow briefly, and Kaoru made an attempt to look sternly at him for such a display, but ultimately lost to her obvious pleasure at this turn of events and settled for shaking her head ruefully.

 

“Well, come on then,” he admonished as though someone else had caused the delay, “don't we have someone to see?”

 

*****

Kiku's Corner~

 

Hey everyone! I know the chapter's a bit shorter than usual, but it's Hell Week at school, which means next week is finals, which means that one might be somewhat short as well. After that though, I'll have the summer to wrap this up for you all.

 

So apologies for the length, but do drop a review if you liked it anyway, ne? Or if you didn't. Or if you totally hate everything about this story (though if that were the case, I'd ask why you're still reading). Concrit and irredeemable praise accepted, flames cired over, then laughed at later.

 

Anyway, I'm out for now; I have a 10-page term paper to write on W.V.O. Quine.

 

~Kiku~