Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction ❯ Nenju ❯ XXXIII. How does he live, I wonder ( Chapter 33 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I don’t own Samurai Champloo or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter). Bob Schneider also deserves a writing credit, for providing the writing soundtrack for the very end of this chapter with “The Long Black Road.”

A/N: Shichi-go-san is a festival held every year on November 15, celebrating the passage of children into middle childhood; similarly, FarStrider deserves a national holiday of her own for sheer sparkliness and super beta powers.

Warning: very adult (NC-17/M) content ahead.

THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER.

Nenju

Fuu landed heavily on her rump, thumping hard enough against the wooden floor to make her eyes water. The ronin came through the window after her, landing more gracefully on his feet as she scrambled backward out of his way.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly, pulling her up by the hand.

She dusted herself off, nodding. “I think so,” she said as she looked around. They’d ended up inside another warehouse, she realized, her eyes adjusting to the dimness. This one was even darker inside than the first, with fewer windows set high off the ground: the smell of spices was stronger, coming from a large bank of crates against the far wall, more rows of bolts of cloth stacked less neatly at right angles to the crates. She guessed that this was where the foreigners kept their overflow goods. “You know I was kidding about seeing another warehouse, right?”

“Ah.” Jin went to the window, listening to the muted noise of people outside, before he noiselessly shut it. “I did say we couldn’t go far.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “So what now?”

“We’ll stay here until they leave.”

She sighed, lacing her fingers together and stretching. They’d been so close to being outside — an alley hardly counted, there were no trees or grass or anything — and bang, now they were in another building, with Mugen probably oblivious to the danger surrounding the warehouse. If this day got any stranger, she’d eat her own zori.

Jin peered out the window one last time, before turning to her. “Have you thought about what will happen when we leave here?”

. . . maybe with a little wasabi, the zori wouldn’t be quite so bad.

“Um,” Fuu said, as he looked at her expectantly; she’d known he was going to ask that — Jin was nothing if not an advance planner — but now that the question was actually there between them, it was awkward with everything that had happened in the past few weeks. “A little. Once we get to Ryukyu, it depends on how much money we have left. Mugen thinks there should be enough for a little house, I guess, so I thought maybe . . . maybe we could all live there.”

“Hn.” His eyebrows drew together, as he came to stand in front of her. “From what he’s said, Ryukyu is a difficult place for women, even more difficult for women without someone to protect them, and for you as an unmarried woman — I am also concerned that it is most unseemly for you to travel with two men and no chaperone.”

“But it’s you and Mugen,” she told him. “And unseemly for who? I was working in a brothel, it’s hard to be much more unseemly than that.”

“Fuu — “

”Jin, shut up,” she told him, wondering if he’d ever heard that before in his life; evidently not, judging by the way his eyes widened. “I don’t know if I can ever say this again to you, so just listen, all right?”

He nodded.

“If you want me for yourself, then yes — but if you’re doing this because you feel sorry for me — ” She bit her lip, as he stared at her. She realized she had made the most enormous fool of herself, and that he was undoubtedly as embarrassed as she was, and —

And then she was pressed against his kimono, that strong heartbeat under her hands, those strong slender hands woven into her hair. He pulled her up to kiss her —

— as the top of her head clunked solidly into his upper lip.

She stared, eyes wide and horrified, as the fingers he’d put reflexively to his mouth came away with a smear of blood. “You’re bleeding,” she said. “I am so sorry — “

”Fuu. It’s nothing,” he told her, smiling. “It’s stopped. Look.”

She touched his mouth, unbelieving. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “About everything. I made such a mess of it — “

He brought his hand, warm and strong, up to cover hers. “It will heal.”
“I wasn’t talking about your lip.”

“Neither was I — “ He turned his head sharply in the direction of the door, a moment before yanking her into a narrow space between the stacked bolts of cloth that she hadn’t noticed; frowning, she crouched low as the ronin pulled some of the bolts over their heads. There was enough room for him to sit with his legs stretched out in front of him, but not nearly enough to stand — heavy shoes clattered on the stones outside as he folded himself into the space alongside her.

Jin kept his hand on the back of her neck as they listened to the sounds of men coming to search the warehouse. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see his face; for the first time, she saw worry lines etched between his eyebrows, and guilt crackled through her.

It was hardly the appropriate place or time, but — she knew it would be the easiest thing in the world to wait until they were on board ship, and then once they were there, to wait until they were in Ryukyu, an endless string of events to bind him to her in a purgatory of duty. He’d never ask it of her, he was no Mugen, he’d die before admitting he wanted something — but it would be there, always. She could not risk driving him away, not again.

Maybe it was the right time, she thought.

Fuu swallowed. It was Jin, she told herself; it was Jin, and Jin would never hurt her, not ever, and she wanted to smooth that look out of his face — she ignored the anxious knot in her stomach and pulled herself up to straddle his thighs.

Distantly, she wondered if the men searching the warehouse could hear the way her heart was beating, a caged bird battering its wings against her ribs.

Jin froze, his face gone still and focused on her. His hands moved to her wrists, touching them as if his fingers had lost their sureness, as he tugged her gently, reluctantly away; he looked her in the eyes, then looked up, the men’s voices coming from very close to their hiding place. She shook her head and wound her hands more tightly into the collar of his kimono, keeping her eyes on his: yes.

He lifted an eyebrow, pointedly glancing up; anyone pulling the silk away from their hiding place would see them, it was an insane risk —

— she kissed that raised eyebrow, feeling his breathing hitch in surprise.

She smiled. He was ronin and homeless and hers and he would never, ever understand that this was such a small thing that she could give him.

Jin let her wrists go when she pulled the pins out of her hair, his hands automatically resting on her hips, as right there as when he held her father’s katana in those capable hands. His eyes widened as the knot came undone, heavy chestnut swinging free over her back: he’d seen her with her hair undone before, but only as she was getting ready to go to sleep —

She shrugged out of the sleeves of her kimono, letting them fall to the side before her fingers went slowly, deliberately, to the bindings wound tightly around her chest. His eyes fixed for a long moment on her breasts, as the long strip of cloth fell to the floor of their hiding place; his eyebrows twitched once, convulsively.

Fuu smiled at him again, in what she hoped was an encouraging manner. His body was responding to her — while she sat on his lap with her thighs bracketing his hips, it would have been impossible for him to keep it a secret from her — but whether his mind would agree was another thing entirely. It was ridiculous, really. He wanted this, she knew he did, and it wasn’t as if this would be the most unpleasant thing she’d ever done. At worst, it would be some momentary discomfort for her, and that would pass soon enough.

Maybe he’d kiss her; she’d liked that.

She brushed against him sinuously as she reached to undo the tie that held his hair back, his eyes fluttering half-closed at the contact. His hair was a river of ink in her hands — she twined it round her fingers, letting the long strands trickle through, before threading her hands into the hair at the base of his skull. She’d loved his hair ever since he’d set foot in the teahouse in Edo, even on those days when it had been the only thing she’d loved about him, when he’d walked away into the rain to go to that woman — a grim little smile caught at her lips as she remembered the woman in the enkiri dera.

She was going to burn every trace of that woman away, she thought.

“Fuu.” His voice was a strained whisper. “This — “

”Shh,” she breathed, ignoring the sound of the men in the warehouse, combing her fingers through his hair before grasping his hands. Distantly, she wondered as she brought his unresisting hands to her breasts if he would notice how quickly her heart was beating.

Jin inhaled sharply, as she arched her back and pressed into him. “I am not a saint, Fuu,” he murmured into her ear, even as his long fingers curved over her skin. “I cannot — “ What he had been about to say was lost, as she leaned in impatiently to kiss him.

It was — good, only; not the fireworks she’d been expecting after he’d kissed her in the forest. Disappointed, she nibbled his lip and wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing. He sat there, his only response the pressure against her. His hands stayed where she’d put them, though — she frowned. They were hidden well, so what was his problem?

“You! What are you doing, this is unbelievable — these buildings are the property of the Dutch East India Company and any search of these buildings must be done with my permission,” a strong voice rang out, its odd lilting accent catching her attention as heavy footsteps approached their hiding place. Jin tensed, his attention less on her and more on the voice. She knew that voice —

“ — completely impossible, do you think that if there were someone hiding in here, they could get through a locked door?” The familiar voice drifted down, as the primary bolt of silk covering their hiding place was pulled away to reveal Jouji looking down at the hollow between the stacks. “And why is nothing being put back where it should be — “

She stared up blankly at the European — what was he doing here? — before Jin yanked her forward and put his arm over her back, using the wide sleeve to cover her.

For a moment, the big foreigner regarded them impassively — Fuu, straddling the ronin with her kimono rucked up around her thighs, and Jin with his hair spilling loose over his shoulders — as she tried to will them through the floor.

Underneath her, Jin had stopped breathing, his palm cool as it rested against her shoulder blade. His other hand was on the wakizashi; Jouji turned his head to call out to the officials —

— and said, his annoyed voice booming out through the warehouse, “You. Give me that bolt of silk. I would like to keep some of these things off the floor — unless you’ve yet to look inside it? I’m sure that if there are dangerous vagrants on the loose, they would be able to make their way into a crate from Rotterdam without breaking its seal.” He bent away from Fuu’s line of sight, toward the murmured sound of a flustered official, before straightening up with an armful of cloth. He looked at them for the space of a heartbeat, his eyes twinkling, before setting the silk back down over their hiding place. They listened as the floor creaked under his weight, Jouji haranguing the officials out of the warehouse ahead of him like an ox herding cats.

When the door clicked shut, she sagged against Jin in relief. He let his hand drop to the small of her back as the voices receded away from the building, his face watchful until she could no longer hear their footsteps. He gently pushed her away enough to be able to see her face, but kept her on his lap.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked. “If you don’t — “

She took a breath, knowing that there was no going back from this point. “Yes.”

The next moment, his mouth was on hers, soft and hungry, as his hand cupped the back of her head. He was being gentle, she knew, so very careful with her — too careful; she opened her mouth to take in that disciplined lower lip of his and he groaned low in his throat, fingers tightening in her hair. His mouth unfolded against hers, like honey, like home, and she exulted.

She tugged impatiently at his collar, wanting his skin; without breaking their kiss, he pulled his kimono out of his hakama, shrugging out of the sleeves and letting it fall unheeded behind him, the juban underneath it following suit. She swallowed a little gasp as she felt him against her at last — he was so warm, and smooth — and then his mouth was sucking at the lobe of her ear, that soft hot tongue flicking at her in a way that made her feel it from the hardening tips of her breasts to her curling toes.

Dimly, she wondered if this was why the madam had warned them never to kiss a customer, because this, this was enough to render her incapable of thought beyond how good it felt — more oh yes oh yes oh please more — and now that his tongue had moved to the hollow under her ear, she realized this was very possibly the best thing, ever.

Fuu let her hands explore the long plane of his back, learning the feel of his skin as the muscles of his shoulders bunched and slid underneath. His slenderness hid a deceptive wiry strength, she knew, like a katana; no matter how thin the blade, it was still steel at its heart. It was easy to forget how broad his shoulders were under the gray kimono, how much his clothing disguised what he was — she frowned, as her fingers encountered the edge of his hakama.

He slowed, as her hands fumbled with the knot at his waist, and for a moment she thought he might stop her. Then his fingers were guiding hers, the ties coming apart easily as he slid the hakama over his feet. The fundoshi was last — he unwound the cloth with the ease of long practice, a tiny anxious bubble reforming inside her as the fundoshi was consigned to the floor. Even on Ikitsuki, when they’d been injured, she’d never seen either of them naked; she’d seen enough of other men as they undressed to know what to expect, but — it was Jin, she told herself.

She could do this.

Fuu concentrated on running her fingers through his hair and settling her breathing, which had somehow gotten tangled up in her chest; she kissed his temple, letting the familiar smell of him soothe her.

He paused, his lips against her collarbone, before beginning to rub her back. His hands made long, sweeping strokes over her spine, starting at her shoulders and ending just above the crumpled edge of her kimono, feathery touches over and over as if she were a cat. She sighed in pleasure, arching into the caress. His hands were perfectly warm and dry, the palms calloused with years of sword practice — she knew those hands almost as well as she knew her own, knew the way he held his chopsticks and how he held his sake cup with one hand underneath.

Slowly, she let her fingers trace down over his shoulders to the flat plane of his chest against her waist.

Jin took her exploration as permission, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the tender skin below her collarbone. He was close to her breasts, now — men liked them, inexplicably, though she’d never cared much for them. If it wasn’t Mugen three years ago telling her how small they were, it was having to go through the boredom of binding them decently, or how they ached during the time when she bled; but now —

— now, as he cupped them in his hands, she thought she could see a very good reason for them.
She was unprepared for the way his mouth fastened on her nipple, hot and wet and oh yes oh yes oh her toes curled as his tongue flickered against her. She gasped, clutching at his hair, pulling him in tightly in wordless encouragement; his hand was gently kneading her other breast, which was good, but — he began to languidly suck at her and all thought of lesser things like breathing was driven out of her head. She could feel the warmth of his mouth all through her, heat blooming between her legs — he pulled back, letting the nipple slip from his mouth with a wet-sounding pop! and she could have cried in frustration until to her relief he switched his attention to her other nipple. She decided, as his mouth worked at her lazily, that however women had ended up with two breasts, it was still completely brilliant.

His hands smoothed down her sides to where her kimono was being hopelessly crumpled around her waist, passing over the wrinkled cloth; his fingers stroked over the outside of her legs, down under the soles of her feet, and back up along the inside. Her breathing hitched as his fingers skimmed the skin of her knees, his fingertips a feather light caress over the soft flesh of her inner thighs — he stopped just short of where she wanted him to touch her, stroking his thumbs over her flanks instead, and she ground her teeth.

He was entirely too much in control of himself, Fuu decided.

Maybe it was time to find out just how far that control went.

She boldly reached underneath her, surprising a gasp out of him as she wrapped her hand around him. His skin was hot against her palm, and slid over the hardness of his cock in the most interesting way; she stroked in, down toward his belly, and was rewarded with a strangled groan. She jerked her hand away — oh crap, she’d hurt him, oh shit — and smacked the back of her hand into a hard bolt of silk. Ow! “I’m sorry!” she told him. “Did I hurt you?”

Jin leaned his head against her. “No,” he said, his voice strained. “ . . . quite the opposite, actually.”

Tentatively, she grasped him again as his eyes closed. His skin there was silky, thin enough for her to feel the long ridges of his flesh underneath; she’d never had the chance to look at one of these, even in the brothel — her customers there had had more interest in what was between her legs than what lay between her ears — and it was fascinating. The skin at the head was even smoother than that along the shaft, a delicate color that was either purple or pink, she couldn’t decide. She ran her thumb over the head and the clear liquid beading there as he shivered; it seemed like a good sort of shiver, she thought. She gave it an experimental pump, her hand sliding all the way down to the coarse hair at the base before his hands drew hers away. “Was that all right?” she asked. “I don’t — “

”Yes,” he said. “May I?” He looked at her, the ends of the knot of her obi in his hand. She nodded, as his deft fingers untied the long sash, the kimono coming away in his hands. He set it aside carefully.

Her hands were clammy, resting against her thighs; he took them in his. “This is not something you should fear,” he told her. “Ever. It should be nothing but pleasure — will you let me show you?”

She nodded.

He drew in a long breath, and exhaled, leaning forward to kiss her eyelids. She smiled, closing her eyes. That was what he wanted to show — oh. His fingertips were on the tender skin of her inner thighs, drawing a measured line upward — his palm brushed over the curls between her legs, pressing against her gently as she lost all capacity for rational thought: he traced down the center with his long fingers as she whimpered, wanting wanting wanting —

He entered her slowly, his eyes closed. She was unsure of what to do with her hands — would it be better to lean forward or backward? — before he solved the problem by pulling her down for an unhurried kiss, and her hands twined into his hair. “I can feel your heart beating,” she told him as he began to thrust up into her, the irises of his eyes gone dark in the fading light.

“Yes — “

Jin looked as if he was listening to music she couldn’t hear, his face gone remote and dreaming as he moved within her. He reached down between them to touch her where they were joined, his other hand splayed over her back to support her, his mouth at the side of her neck. She strained against him, his fingers rubbing over her; he shifted a fraction to the left — she felt something inside her shatter like glass, a thousand pieces of broken lightning inside her skin. He came moments after she did, muffling sounds against her shoulder, his grip on her tightening; his hips pumped once, and again, as he shuddered, long spasms she felt through her bones.

He pulled out, a last shiver of pleasure rolling through her as she felt him go and then the slow trickle of fluid, slippery against the flesh of her inner thighs.

Fuu opened her eyes and he was smiling at her, immensely pleased with himself and looking for all the world like the boy at his Shichi-go-san that he would have been; she blinked, the most pleasant lassitude stealing through her body. “Um,” she managed, her head too heavy for her neck as she leaned forward. “What — “

He gave the wall of cloth bolts a careful shove, enlarging their space enough to allow them to lie down with a little comfort. She rolled onto her side to face him as he thumped to the floorboards next to her; he looked tired, but relaxed and happy — it broke her heart a little to look at him.

She rested her hand on his stomach, a fierce, possessive tenderness welling up in her. She’d almost thrown this away, almost pushed him away — she wanted to wrap herself around him and keep him safe from the world’s sharp edges.

Jin chuckled low in his throat. “I should thank the shogun,” he said.

She tried to remember how it had worked with Mugen. She’d woken with her head against his shoulder; it hadn’t been the most comfortable pillow, but —

— Jin reached down for his juban, which had bunched up into a crumpled heap and tucked it under her head. “Are you comfortable?” he asked. “I would have brought you a pillow, if I’d known.”

She shook her head and he pulled his kimono up over them as a makeshift quilt, before spooning around her, his breath fluttering over her hair. “How do you know that?”she asked. “I do, but when did you see me with one?”

“With Sara. We stayed in a temple, and you slept with your head on her pack,” he told her. “And then you had one in that village with the Christians near Ube, and again in Kyoto — ”

She turned her head to look at him, pulling her hair up so it wouldn’t be in his face. “How long have you been paying attention to things like that?” she asked curiously.

“A long time,” he said simply, stroking her hip before slipping his arm around her middle.

“Uh-huh.” She gave him a last look, before wriggling in as close to his warmth as she could and closing her eyes. With any luck, she thought, by the time she woke, the men searching Deshima would be far away, and maybe the man with the ship would be ready to take them to Ryukyu — she smiled at the idea of a house there with Jin, one with a comfortable futon — “Jin?”

“Hn?”

“Where did you learn to do that?”

She could feel him smile against the back of her head. “When I was at the dojo, the others would talk about what men did, both as brothers in shudo and with women,” he said. “I listened.”

Fuu chuckled. “You didn’t practice?”

There was a snort of amusement. “That came later.”

Her smile turned into a yawn, irresistible sleep washing up over her.

“You won’t leave me?” she murmured.

“I could never want to,” he said.

Fuu groaned quietly as she stood up, her hips protesting like she’d been run over by a full market of vendors’ carts. “I think you broke me,” she told him, putting her hands in the small of her back and stretching. “The last time I felt like this, I fell off a cliff. How am I going to travel on a boat when I can’t sit down?”

“You fell off a cliff and I wasn’t told?” His hands came up to cup her breasts through the open kimono as he came up behind her. She felt his breath stir the downy hair at the nape of her neck, a moment before his warm mouth brushed over her skin. She shivered, feeling her nipples harden against his palms.

“You were — um,” Fuu said, any thought of complaint receding. “That’s — “ She could feel that mouth all the way through her, down through her toes and between her legs; she fought to keep some semblance of composure. It gave him an unfair advantage, really, if he only had to touch her to make her lose her mind. Once he stopped — hours from now, hopefully — she would have to figure something out.

“Hn?” The familiar sound made her shiver as he hummed against her back.

“I can’t think when you do that,” Fuu admitted. “It’s worse when — ah.” The sudden tide of heat in her face told her she was blushing.

“When?”

“When you do that here,” she told him, bringing her hands up over his as he cupped her breasts.

She felt Jin smile against her back. “There,” he said. “Where else?”

She frowned, puzzled, as she craned her neck to look at him. “What?”

“What about here?” He slid his hands over hers, pulling the kimono off her shoulders.

“Maybe.”

“What about here?” His fingers traced the cup of her navel.

Her eyes closed, as she leaned back against him, uncaring how immodestly the kimono fell open.

“Or here,” he said, his hand stroking between her legs as her breath quickened.

Oh.


Mugen dropped lightly from the rafters, longsword in his hand and his face furious. “Where the hell did — “ he broke off speaking. His eyebrows drew together, as he took in the broad smile on his face of the last master of the Mujuu, and the way the juban peeking out from under her kimono appeared to have been put on inside out.

He leaned in and sniffed, a crooked little smile forming. He gave Jin a sidelong look. “Figured out how to kill some time?” he asked, his smile widening into a wicked grin.

Jin snorted, as she blushed furiously.

The Ryukyuan chuckled, before jerking his head toward the back of the warehouse. “Better get what you want to take with you. We’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” Jin’s eyes were alert.

Mugen nodded. “Jouji came back to lock the door — the ship leaves on the tide, and the captain wants us on board tonight. There’ll be a boat to take us out there from the dock, Nagasaki-side, soon’s we get there,” he said, calling over his shoulder as Jin strode off to collect his pack. “Get her shit too, willya?”

“Wh— “

The Ryukyuan came up close to her, frowning in concentration as he peered into her face. “This — “ his eyes flickered back, in the direction of the ronin. “You all right?”

“Mm-hmm.” She smiled. “Better than all right.”

His eyebrows rose. “More ‘n I wanted to hear,” he told her lightly, before turning serious once again. “If it isn’t ever . . . you tell me, and I’ll kick his ass.”

She laughed. “It won’t be.”

Mugen nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly, before turning to Jin. “Oi, fish face. Stop smiling, ‘cause you’re freaking me out, you hear?”

The ronin shouldered the pack, handing the twins’ bundle to Fuu, who held her hands out for it; his fingers brushed against hers in a subtle caress as he gave her the package.

“You two gonna do that all the way to Ryukyu? ‘Cause I’m gonna be sick.”


Jouji was waiting outside for them; he said nothing, but gave her a conspiratorial look as she tried not to blush and failed miserably. “We must hurry,” he said. “The guards are making their report, so we haven’t got very long.” After checking to see that no one was looking, the European set off through the Deshima gate, as they followed.

“You don’t have a sea gate?” Mugen asked.

Jouji shook his head. “Not yet. I hope to have one soon, but it may take a few years — until then, we have the use of most of the piers when we want them.”

He took them down the street leading to the docks; Fuu shivered, as the area became more familiar. There was the place where they’d eaten shabu-shabu — they walked past a shop with a sign announcing that castella was sold inside, Mugen poking Jin in the arm and pointing as soon as he noticed it — and her skin crawled as Jouji led them to the tiny pier where she’d caught the ferry for Ikitsuki. We came full circle, she thought. Please let nothing bad happen now. Please.

A warm hand squeezed hers comfortingly: she looked, and saw Jin watching her. She smiled at him, feeling the nervousness lessen. He wouldn’t let anything happen to them, and Mugen was there too — she tightened her grasp on Jin’s hand.

Jouji squinted toward the outline of ships bobbing in the harbor, brightening as he caught sight of a small boat making its way toward them. “They’re coming,” he said. “I can’t stay any longer, so this must be goodbye.”

“Oh — “ Her heart turned over; impulsively, Fuu threw her arms around his neck and gave the European a hug. He blinked, then returned her embrace, his ruddy face going even pinker. “I wish we could take you with us,” she said.

“Do they have pretty boys there?” he joked, setting her back down and smiling at Mugen and Jin. “Maybe someday I will see you again, my friends.”

Jin nodded gravely, as the Ryukyuan scratched at his ear, ill at ease. “Yeah.”

Jouji grinned at Mugen. “Who knows? You might not be so tight-assed then,” the European said, as Fuu began to giggle; the corner of Jin’s mouth quirked suspiciously, as if he was trying to hold in laughter.

Mugen gave them all a dirty look, as Jouji gave them a last cheery wave and strode off in the direction of Deshima. “Did he just come on to me?”

“Hn,” Jin answered. “I’d hardly call you pretty.”

“Yeah — hey!” Mugen looked smug for a moment, the smugness disappearing as he realized what Jin had said. Fuu smiled, looking at them — her two boys, she thought fondly. It didn’t matter that she’d chosen one over the other, or that one had chosen her; they were hers, as long as any of them were alive.

It was the last time she would see them together like that, tall and strong against the Nagasaki night.

The first indication she had that anything was wrong, was the look on Jin’s face; his eyes narrowed as she watched him, his hand going to the daisho at his hip.

Mugen glanced up sharply, looking around. “Where?” he said only.

“Alley,” Jin answered. “And behind the buildings.”

“Can we get to the boat before they’re here?”

Jin looked back at the boat, itself so close now that the faces of the rowers were clearly visible. “Maybe. We should get her to the end of the pier. We’ll have a better chance there.”

The Ryukyuan nodded, hustling her down to the edge furthest over the water. She gripped the bundle in her arms, the boat almost close enough to scrape against the wooden pilings — the government men came boiling out of the side streets, shouting.

The rowers drew alongside the end of the pier as the first of the shogun’s men — Fuu was unsurprised to see the ninja with the mole on his face leading the charge — set foot on the boards. Mugen shouted to the men in the boat to keep it steady, before picking her up and passing her over the side; the ninja with the mole ignored Jin and made straight for the Ryukyuan, the longsword barely clearing the scabbard’s edge before Mugen spun away underneath the strike. Jin was methodically clearing the end of the pier of the government’s men, the katana slashing to the side, then down again, as rhythmically as the beating of a drum. There were so many of them — their escape would be a very close thing, she realized.

A sudden movement caught her eye, and she glanced up, away from where Mugen had finally succeeded in cutting down the ninja with the mole. A murder of crows, disturbed by the commotion on the pier, had taken off from the tree in which they’d been perched; their black wings made a delicate tracery against the dawn as it approached — Mugen’s pack thumped to the bottom of the boat next to her, then Mugen himself, panting. “We gotta get out of here,” he said, before raising his voice. “Quit screwing around and let’s go!”

Jin turned, carving his way through the crowd; his foot was nearly to the edge of the pier, when the shogun’s men parted behind him. Her heart sank, as she saw the old, fat ninja they’d met on the road to Nagasaki —

— the one Jin hadn’t beaten.

Next to her, Mugen inhaled sharply, before shouting to Jin to get into the boat. Jin looked back —

— and stopped, blocking the ninja from getting to them.

What was he doing, she thought.

He looked at her, smiling, and it became clear what he intended to do, the warmth that was him inside her turning into something that felt so very much like dying.

No — please no not now — oh please —

“Take care of Fuu,” he said over the top of her head to Mugen, before shoving the boat out into the harbor.

She shot out of her seat, the small craft wobbling precariously as she pushed past the rowers; her hands were out, reaching for him, before Mugen caught her by the collar of her kimono and hauled her back, the bundle from the twins going over the side almost unnoticed as she fought to get to him. She lashed out, her fist connecting with the Ryukyuan’s cheekbone, but he hung on grimly as the boat moved steadily away from the pier. “You can’t help him,” he told her hoarsely as she struggled. “Fuu, you can’t, you have to stop, there’s nothing — “

Jin’s back was to them, sword drawn as the men advanced; she watched as the older ninja came at him, moving like a bird in spite of his bulk. The man swung his kodachi, the blade describing a perfect silver arc in the air as Jin brought her father’s katana up to parry the blow. The ninja’s shorter blade sheared off the katana’s edge and he attacked again.

As Jin blocked the attack, another darted in, short sword a ripple of brightness against the sky; she moaned as it went through him —

— and the last she saw of him on the pier was the gray of his kimono as he fell to the ground, the shogun’s men surrounding him —

Mugen’s grip on her tightened, a prison she could not free herself from. “Oh, you dirty bastard,” he whispered. “You son of a bitch asshole.”

A splash of white caught her eye; unwillingly, she glanced away from the swirling crowd of men where he had fallen. The kimono fluttered in the water, the sleeves unfurling as it floated. It had been their mother’s, Tatsu had told her, she’d worn it when she’d married their father —

It was right, somehow, that her wedding kimono stayed with him, she thought.