Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Tanabata Jasmine ❯ Awakenings ( Chapter 13 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Disclaimer: I don't own Rurouni Kenshin. Insert wistful comments here.

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Tanabata Jasmine Chapter 13

The first time he awoke, he came up fighting. With his intuition screaming that something was desperately wrong, he opened his eyes to a shattered, kaleidoscopic image of dancing flame and darkness. His first thought was that he must have been ill, feeling the sweat-soaked bangs of his hair plastered to his face. His second was more jarring, and demanded more of his attention. This is not where I am supposed to be.

He jerked upright; or at least, tried to. Something was holding him down - his right arm wouldn't move at all, and the mere effort to free it from its confines sent a warning jolt of pain through his shoulder and chest. He twisted his other arm upwards, away from whatever seemed wrapped around it, and flailed for purchase, fingers catching on a hard surface. He tried again to sit, and managed to drag himself upright. There were voices at the edge of his hearing, their strident words lost in confusion as his senses overturned and nausea made its presence known, even as the dancing fire of his vision darkened and threatened to go out.

He nearly fell, then. The intervention of other hands arrested his descent to the floor, rough hands he was unfamiliar with, that first hauled him upright and then pushed him down onto his back and held him there. Disoriented, he struggled to push them away with his one free arm, face twisting into an animal snarl as he comprehended their attempt at restraint. Don't touch me. Words that echoed in his mind. Words that he must have spoken aloud, for the hands shifted from his shoulders and instead clamped around his jaw and wrist, halting his struggle, muffling his protest. He tried to kick his legs free, but they were trapped, held loosely by something unidentifiable. The voices above his head became urgent. Snatches of conversation.

—too soon, they'll hear him—

—not the sake. He'll overdose.

Get the merchant—

A fragment drifted back to him, a memory of a friendly, smiling man with a bunch of flowers that smelled of Kaoru. It bewildered him, and at the same time roused an inexplicable sense of betrayal. Anger touched him, and he growled under the hands that kept him still. When his left hand was freed unexpectedly, he balled it into a fist without hesitation and lashed out, striking flesh somewhere in the darkness above. The grip on his jaw tightened painfully in response, a whispered curse uttered, and a weight settled across his chest as his arm was caught and pushed down, pinned under his captor's knee. Trapped, he glared violet fury at the distorted shadow looming over him as the hand on his jaw was replaced with damp cloth over nose and mouth. Instinct warned him not to inhale, but a hand slammed into his right shoulder, and the resultant agony drove him to draw breath to scream.

The fire and the shadows faded after that, taken away by the sickly sweet smell that engulfed his senses and drowned out all else.

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He drifted for a while, disconnected from the world. Visions of Kaoru made him reach out to her, smile at her, try to smooth the worried look from her face. When he asked her what was wrong, she would shake her head reproachfully and turn away. He tried to lay a hand on her arm, and she vanished into darkness. Her fading image filled him with a sense of loss, and he wondered what he had done to cause such concern. Her scent lingered, however, warm and sweet and fresh. It presented him with another image. Flowers, wrapped in silk.

A gift, offered on Tanabata night, which would never be given.

Kenshin opened his eyes.

Flame still flickered and danced in his vision, but the scattered pinpricks of fire merged as he blinked and tried to focus. Eventually, he narrowed the light source down to a solitary candle, burning a few feet away from his face on a small cupboard. The rest of the room was shrouded in gloom. He closed his eyes against the light, preferring the darkness. His head ached, a dull, persistent hammering behind the eyes, a pain echoed sullenly by his shoulder.

His left arm had been carefully replaced underneath the heavy blankets, hand resting on his stomach. Bare skin; someone had removed his gi. He frowned, and lifted his hand to touch the bandaging around his right arm, folded and strapped tightly to his chest. He connected the wrappings to the pain and winced. His collarbone would be broken, then.

A figure reared up before him, sword held high—

The night came back to him in pieces, drawing the shreds of his recollection together. He lay there in the warmth, breathing deeply, eyes closed, remembering the rain. He smelled no trace of jasmine now, but rather a tang of salt borne on fresh air, intermingled with the more immediate smells of mildew and dust. Somewhere seaward, then. The nausea was still faintly with him, and he tried to push past it, searching for other clues to his location. The faint sound of weathered timber groaning in protest, creaking beneath him. The rolling motion of a boat.

A familiar presence in the room, beyond his own. Hidden in the darkness, alert and watching him carefully.

He'd been drugged. Twice over, now. The first time through his own gullibility, trusting in the honour of the man he'd just met. The memory hurt more than it should have. Kenshin smiled wearily in the gloom.

“Tell me.” His voice was thickened with disuse, and faint. He fought to keep his words from slurring. “What would you have done ... if I hadn't stopped to buy a flower?”

There was a rustle of cloth, and the creak of a chair as quiet footsteps approached the bed. Kenshin didn't bother to open his eyes. When the answer came, it was delivered in soft, subdued tones.

“There were other ways.”

He inclined his head once and said no more, instead diverting his attention to his own predicament. That which constricted his legs and seemed to hold him in place was revealed to be nothing more than the blankets, carefully wrapped around his body. It suggested he had been carried here, swaddled like a sleeping child. It wasn't an image he cared for, and it raised an alarming question. Just how much time had he lost to Senzo's poisoned sake?

There was a muted clack of timber, and he opened his eyes to find the merchant settling his chair closer to the bed. The look of friendly cheer on his face set Kenshin's teeth on edge. “Forgive the rough handling, Himura-san. You woke a little earlier than expected, and we were still in port. I couldn't take the risk that someone would hear you.”

“I will forgive nothing,” Kenshin returned in even tones. “You have no right.”

“An understandable reaction and one I'm sure I deserve. I do wish I could assure you of my good intentions, Himura-san, but I'm afraid I've lied to you enough.” Senzo's smile turned rueful and he ran a hand through his hair. “Gomen nasai. When I took this contract, I didn't expect you to be such a personable man. In some ways, I regret this.”

Kenshin studied his face. The damage he'd inflicted with the bucket was still pronounced on the merchant's features. It gave him a rough time frame; perhaps a day or two had passed, at most. A contract. He had been tricked, and poisoned, and abducted, all for the sake of money. He closed his eyes. “Who?”

“Does it matter?” There was a quiet chuckle. “As I understand it, you left quite a few enemies behind in the Bakumatsu. You could hardly be surprised if I stated my intention to sail you into Kyoto and sell you to the highest bidder.”

He let the jibe slide, and concentrated instead on fighting down the wave of exhaustion that threatened to pull him under. Stubbornly, he repeated his question. “Who?”

There was a long silence.

It was broken eventually by the slide of the chair as Senzo rose to his feet. “You've been ill. Adding to that, your prolonged sleep will have dehydrated you quite a bit, I suspect. I'll bring you some water shortly. It will help to flush the last of the drug from your system, in any case.”

“I doubt I will trust any other drink you bring to me,” Kenshin murmured.

“I have no reason to drug you further,” Senzo said, mildly. “You'll be tired a few hours more, and hardly any threat even if you weren't. I'm sure you've noticed your injuries. With only one arm and no weapon, you're harmless enough.”

Kenshin gave no reaction, but opened his eyes again, narrowed gaze on the merchant as he plucked the candle from its place on the cupboard and padded quietly across the room. At the door, he paused and turned back, face indistinct behind the flare of the light.

“Before you curse my name, Himura-san, I would like you to know one thing. Anyone who studies you will know almost immediately what your greatest weakness is. I may not be the most honourable of men, but at least I did not attack you through your woman.”

The door closed and locked behind him, leaving Kenshin in darkness, hand clenched angrily around the blanket as the footsteps receded.

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Senzo blew the candle out as he ventured into the sunlight. He was in a surprisingly good mood, despite the complications that had arisen yesterday. The gangster had fractured a few of his ribs, but it was by no means the worst injury he had ever suffered. The arrest of Yoshida's two men was certainly a setback, but at least he was aware of the problem. Steps could be taken.

Yoshida himself was a concern.

Senzo scanned the deck, staring past the sailors at work, and found the man slouched on his elbows against the rail at the bow of the fishing boat, staring at his bandaged hand. The merchant was not entirely sure of the details of how Yoshida's fingers had come to be broken, but it had certainly sunk him into a black mood. And then there was the sakabatou. All Senzo knew of that incident was that, somewhere between the port and Yoshida's home, the sword had been lost.

Yoshida himself was a concern because all he had done since boarding was stare at that broken hand. Senzo had always found the man to be a calm professional when it came to his tasks, and he didn't like the idea of change in this regard. He thought of pressing for the details, and decided against it, at least for now. There were other, more important things to discuss. He moved up beside the taller man, staring out at the sea.

“Aki and Hiro,” he said casually. “Will they talk?”

There was barely a hesitation. “Aki might. His temper is too quick. A man with little self control will not hold against any police officer with patience.”

“Ah. You're very honest, Yoshida-kun. How long?”

Now Yoshida did pause, weighing up possibilities. “He'll hold for a day, perhaps two. Aki knows little.”

“He knows we're headed to Kyoto.”

“Aa. But that's all he knows.”

“True, true.” Senzo smiled vaguely. “Well, at worst we'll have to be careful on the streets. My description will certainly be circulated. Possibly yours too, eh Yoshida-kun?”

He glanced at the man slyly, wondering if his guess had hit the mark. Yoshida's only reaction was to shift his gaze back to his hand, and shrug.

Senzo pushed himself away from the rail. “Don't take your anger out on our guest, Yoshida-kun. That's all I ask. I'm not really sure how happy Bayushi-san will be if we damage the Battousai further.”

If the weather continued fine, they would make it to Kyoto in another two days. Senzo would drug Himura again before then, for the journey into the city. Broken collarbone or not, he would take no chances.

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BakaChuuuu!One of these days you'll find a trap hidden in this pocky, I'm sure … ::leaves more::

Next chapter: introspection, calculation and trickery.