Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction ❯ Through Smudged Glass ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai Champloo

 

Through Smudged Glass

By angelwings1

 

Biting her lip, she carefully scrawled her name on the black line and handed the pen back to the man. The balding officer with a permanent scowl held out her license with an irritated grunt and pointed her to one of the several waiting stalls. Pushing the card back into her back jean pocket the young woman glanced up and down the long aisle. There were only a few of the stalls occupied, she noticed as she reached her appointed box. She awkwardly pulled back the dingy plastic chair and winced as its battered feet squealed against the tile floor. Several of the guards gave her an annoyed look and she hastily took her seat.

 

As she sat there, she observed the small enclosure of three feet wide counter top, and three walls reaching the ceiling. There were numerous scrawls covering the pale wood of her box. They were mostly curse words or proclamations of dates attending the cold complex. Her eyes quietly scanned the mixture of color and handwriting, but finding none of the writing interesting save for a ridiculous rhyme about bullets and gang members, the young woman glanced at the white phone hanging on the right wall. It appeared to be a fairly cheap brand and obviously old from the scuff marks covering the unsanitary off-white plastic. She momentarily wished she had brought some form of wipes to clean the dumb thing. Who knew what types of people had gripped the phone and panted into the mouthpiece? She cringed as a visual of a dirty old man came to mind.

 

Forcing her eyes away from the phone, the girl looked pass the glass wall across from her and studied the room on the other side. There was only a single guard present against the opposite, boring white wall. He appeared to be in his late thirties, broad shoulders and strong chest. There was a black gun in his holster and a matching stick alongside it, but his stance was relaxed. They probably didn't get a lot of unwelcome behavior in the visitor's hall.

 

About two feet away to the officer's left stood the only exit and entry to the room: a chipping green, metal door. A small rectangle window covered with thick grating offered no view beyond the door. She craned her head a little, hoping to be discreet as she tried to get a better view of, what she guessed was a hall, but all she could see were a few overhanging lights. Pouting, she sunk back into her uncomfortable chair and shivered when her lower back brushed the cold plastic

She wondered if the guards normally told the name of the visitor. Would he be surprised? He would probably be confused to see her. Would it be too much to think he would be happy to see her? Her pink tennie shoes began to bounce anxiously as she watched the door.

 

It didn't take long for her patience, or lack of, to be rewarded as the door eased opened and revealed a man in an overly bright orange jumpsuit. He appeared to have changed little in two years that she had been separated from him. There was a noticeable bruise beneath his right eye and a cut in his lower lip, but he still had the same wild, untamable hair and uncaring expression. He was definitely the correct persona found in the heavy security prison. Even so, she hated seeing the silver handcuffs jingling on his wrists as he walked into the room.

 

She instantly stiffened as he lazily strolled in. His hard eyes were immediately reading the stalls' faded numbers for his reserved box. She was pleased to see the reading lessons that had been drilled into him a month before their separation had not been wasted when his eyes quickly located her box. She held her breath as his gaze lifted to discover who, out of his limited acquaintances, had come to visit. His eyes widened as they fell on her.

 

Two years could definitely bring some moderate change in a person. Mind you her chest was still small, but there was the evident hint of curves under her jean jacket. She still resembled much of the young teenage he had known back in that time. Her hair had kept its normal messy pose in her clip and she wore a familiar pink shirt with sketchy sunflowers. Her brown eyes were still bright and naïve, even though shadowed.

 

Unsure of what else to do, she smiled softly and waved. He scowled slightly, but offered no other response to her greeting. Walking over to his mirrored stall on the other side of the window, he jerked his chair back and proceeded to drop unceremoniously in his seat. His eyes showed nothing as he slouched forward and propped his elbows on the desk top.

 

Her smile widened at his familiar pose. It had been far too long since she had last seen that look. Nearly at the exact same time the two reached for their twin phones.

 

"Sup," his voice carried perfectly clear through the line, rough and raw.

 

"Hey," she replied, carefully searching his eyes. He didn't appear to unwelcome her visit, but he obviously wanted to know what possessed her to come. Her thoughts were confirmed when he didn't offer to say anything. She exhaled softly through her nose. "How have you've been?"

 

He shrugged, "Bored. Rough up a few cellmates and they won't let you do shit."

 

Her delicate eyebrow rose, "Other prisoners gave you that look?"

 

The man snorted, "Hell no. Pussy guards knocked me with their damn sticks. Broke up the first bit of fun I've had since I got here."

 

"How long have you been here?"

 

He scowled, "What's the date?"

 

"August 14th."

 

"Over a month."

 

"Saw you on the news a week ago. I thought you would get caught sooner or later, but I didn't think it would be in a whorehouse," she commented dryly.

"They got lucky on a raid," he rumbled, obviously bitter, "If my pants hadn't been down and the cops hadn't been smart enough to recognize my face, I wouldn't be here."

 

"The blue tattoos on your wrists might have tipped them off. You aren't the only one to mark his prison experience like that."

 

"Like I give a shit if they recognize it," he huffed.

 

She rolled her eyes, "Same Mugen."

 

His eyebrows pinched together, "What? You think I would reform myself in this hole?"

 

She shook her head, getting her brunette bangs to dance irritably in her eyes. Growling she pushed them aside only them to fall back into place. "How long is your sentence?"

 

"Six years," he roughly replied, sticking his finger into his ear with usually indifference. "They only got me on robbery. You remember that government ship I told you about that? Where I got double crossed?"

 

She nodded. Yanking his finger out he said, "Well the dick heads that caught me back then were smart and got photographs of my face before I escaped. They've been circulating for a while since then."

 

"You're talking a lot today," she laughed lightly, "I usually had to bribe you to talk."

 

His face darkened slightly, and she wondered what she had said that bring on the shadow in his eyes. "What do you want, Fuu?"

 

The young girl frowned at his lack of emotion. For the last few minutes it had felt like nothing had changed. She could almost envision the hillside beneath her feet and the nameless dirt path. Yet, he had broken her happy daydream and forced her to open her eyes to the present. "What do you mean 'what I want'?"

"You here to reminisce?" he growled angrily, pushing back in his chair, "Because I'm not in the mood."

 

"I would have thought something new in your prison routine would be refreshing," she said deadpanned.

 

"Don't lecture me you, wench," he hissed into the receiver. His grip tightened on the white phone and she worried he might break the plastic.

 

"I'm not!" she cried a little too loudly, glaring back at him. "I'm just—grr!"

 

She was quickly forgetting why she had come at all. He had always been a dumb hothead. Her fingers clicked stiffly on the countertop as she carefully took a deep breath. Looking him square in his pissed off face, she decided to just say it and be done, "I made a deal with an official. I'm paying off your time here."

 

The ex-gangster blinked in surprise, "Huh?"

 

"I'm getting you out," she repeated as she held up a piece against the smudged fingerprints of the glass. He glanced momentarily at the document, but there were so many words covering the page he gave up trying to read it.

 

"How'd you pull that?"

 

She hesitated to answer as she pulled the paper down, making his frown deepen. The man leaned forward and eyed her angrily, "You gave him your sorry excuse of a body?"

 

"Mugen!" she cried, blushing hotly. She glanced up at the guard behind him and noticed his curious glance. Half covering her receiver, the girl whispered hotly, "I'm not some whore!"

 

"Then how?" he insisted, "I've pissed off too many people for you to win with puppy dog eyes."

 

Her eyes darted to the guard again before mumbling. Mugen frowned, "What?"

 

Another glance, "I paid him off."

 

His eyebrows jumped. It would have taken a number of dollars he knew she couldn't have legally earned in two years. His eyes narrowed, "How much we talking?"

 

She shifted slightly and pulled her elbow off the counter, "Ten thousand."

 

The line crackled with a foul curse and she nearly giggled at the open mouth expression he wore. His eyes easily spoke what he could not.

 

How the f—did you get that?

 

She shook her head, "I have a small apartment on the other side of town."

 

His mind was still trying to process the entire thought of leaving the prison when he heard her say, "There's not much, but they'll be a couch and food. You can stay until you decide what to do next."

 

"How'd you get the money?"

 

She ignored the question as she hurried to finish, "I'm not asking you to stay, and you don't even have to earn you keep. You've done enough for me."

 

"Fuu!"

 

Her eyes lifted slowly from the table. Mugen's words caught in his throat when he saw the shy, nervousness she held.

 

"How'd you get it, Fuu?" he repeated, his words heavy.

 

"I went back to your neighborhood," she confessed softly, almost too quiet to hear. "I found the money Mukuro hid from the heist on the shogunate."

 

Her body tensed, unable to guess what his reaction would be. His old neighborhood was the Hell of violence and crime. Dirty cops and prostitutes were the flaky surface of the underground fights and sex slaves. When they had passed through years ago, Mugen had been moderately vocal of the dangers, a bad sign that the place was lethal to a visitor's health. Her young eyes had seen little of the slums during her life, and as she snuck through the alleys and pimp houses she had been overwhelmed with sadness for the childhood she imagined he had suffered.

 

The only time he had purposely left her side, during their stay there, was when he had taken on the job with an ex-gang member named Mukuri. The acquaintance had needed an extra man and they had needed the money for a train ride. Personally, she hadn't agreed to the idea of going against an armored truck and trained security. She had yelled at the stupid man as he had exited their temporary apartment, saying anything that flashed in her head in hopes of stopping him. In the end, the job had succeeded, but Mukuri had betrayed Mugen and hidden all the stolen money. Mugen barely survived the gunshot. While Fuu had tended to the injured man, Jin, another man who had been traveling with them, had tried to find the money. Unfortunately, their friend had been forced to kill the gangster out of defense and the location of the wealth was left in its hiding spot. Sadly, they were forced to follow the railway by foot until they were able to secretly jump unto a parked train.

 

"You went back there?" he growled angrily into the phone, his knuckles turning white on the neck of the phone.

 

Fuu glared, "I didn't know what else to do."

 

"You could have not gone! Damn it!" he hollered so loud the glass vibrated. Several of the guards locked their eyes on the pair while visitors and inmates leaned back in their seats to see what was going on. Mugen ignored them all as he kept his fiery eyes locked on the young girl. "Didn't I tell you that place was dangerous? A number of things could have happened to your scrawny ass!"

 

"I'm fine, Mugen," she grumbled weakly, "The worst thing that happened was some guy tried to be my pimp."

 

"Don't lie to me!" he hissed lowly, his gaze glancing over her unconsciously. "You would have to have gone through quite a lot of shit to find that money."

 

Her frown grew limp in guilt. He was absolutely right and he knew it. Even in broad daylight, she had gotten corner by large men or forced to duck in the middle of a shoot out. The pimp she had spoken about had actually tried to rape her in an abandoned apartment complex.

 

"I hired muscle," she replied quietly, "Promised part of the prize to him."

 

His bushy eyebrow twitched, "Four eyes?"

 

Fuu rolled her eyes, "Took me over two years to find you. How would I ever fin Jin? The guy was someone I met in the last year."

 

"Boyfriend?" he asked, his cold tone surprising her considerably.

 

She shook her head slightly, her eyes watching him. "Old friend of my dad's. If he hadn't needed the money for his daughter's operation, he wouldn't have let me go."

 

"He could have double crossed you. Haven't you learned anything since Mukuri?"

 

"He's an ex-boxer like my dad," she growled, trying to hold down her temper. "He owes my father a lot so he would never do anything to me."

 

The prisoner slowly leaned back in his chair and she could tell he was evaluating her. She nervously pulled the cuff of her jean jacket lower, hoping he didn't spot the scar she got from the knife fight. His eyes dropped at her movement, but he kept silent. She stared quietly at him suddenly aware of how much she missed his rugged features. It had been hard separated from him years ago, never able to admit her feelings, and now seeing him unaffected by time she was bursting with the urge to hug him.

 

Seconds turned into minutes and when the ex-gangster still said nothing, the young girl blushed lightly. Glancing at the clock, she realized they didn't have much longer before the guard took him back. Her grip on the phone tightened as she straightened her shoulders. She could hurry and tell him.

 

Her voice died in her throat almost automatically as she thought of everything she wanted to say. She didn't know what to say first. She had to tell him how she missed his scent of sandalwood and his flaming temper. She wanted him to know about how she had thought of him every time she went to sleep, and how she still felt the warmth of his annoying presence. The image of his battered form standing in the condemned church when she had been captured still plagued her thoughts with such vividness that she could taste blood in her mouth. When she realized the magnitude of all she had to say to the rogue, she dejectedly accepted it couldn't be expressed in six short minutes.

 

Sighing sadly, she decided it might be better to wait till they got to the apartment, if she could find the lacking strength then. It would be better to call the guard.

 

When she was about to mumble her weak goodbye she was silenced by his strong voice whispering, "You didn't have to, Fuu."

She blinked rapidly and leaned forward. "Yes, I did."

 

"I deserve to be here," he insisted darkly, "I've done a lot of things… things worth more than a measly six years of barred cells."

 

She could sense the underlying brokenness his words carried. He had never admitted what he had done bothered him, but she had always guessed. Fuu gently shook her head as her hand pressed against the bottom of the glass, "I don't care about that, Mugen. I never did. I had to help you."

 

He snorted and a shadow crossed his face as he glared at her dainty palm on the smudged glass. Her shoulders dropped. He didn't even know why she had done it.

 

"I owe you, Mugen," she whispered carefully. "You saved me so many times… I couldn't j-just sit back and do nothing. W-We're like family."

 

His eyes widened at her soft admission and he went to open his mouth to reply, but a firm hand landed on her shoulder stealing away the moment. Fuu bit her lip and looked up to see the firm scowl of the head guard. She nodded lightly and looked back at her friend to see him angrily glaring at the officer. Holding back her laughter, she said, "I'll see you tomorrow. If all the paperwork makes it through without trouble I was promised you would be released by nine in the morning."

 

His eyes quickly snapped back to her. His lips twisted and she knew he wanted to say something, but was holding back. She shrugged and whispered, "Later, Mugen."

 

She didn't expect a farewell so she hung the phone back on its cradle and pushed her chair back. Tears began to fill her eyes and she quickly turned to hide them. There was so much left unsaid bulging up in her throat. She still didn't know if she could admit any of it or that he would respond positively to what she wanted to confess, but the pain of keeping them in hurt.

 

Involuntarily she took a foolish glance back, hoping she would see some form of emotion on his face. Her chest squeezed as she saw the back of his head bobbing towards his exit. The tears slid hot down her face as the green door closed and hid the chunk of her heart. She wouldn't be able to keep quiet for long she knew. Sooner or later she would blurt it out like the fifteen year old she used to be. Even though her heart loudly disagreed, she hoped he didn't stay long at her apartment so she might escape the rejection she feared.