Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Tanabata Jasmine ❯ Conversation ( Chapter 18 )

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

Disclaimer: My bid to own Watsuki has failed, and thus all characters in the Rurouni Kenshin manga will never belong to me.

Warning: There's a hell of a lot of spoilers floating around in this chapter. Also, much deep conversation. That deserves a warning all of its own, right?

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Tanabata Jasmine Chapter 18

Shall we talk?

Kenshin blinked, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. How--? Time had vanished away from him; he remembered Bayushi's words, spoken to him under the dim wash of candlelight. The light was far brighter now, bright enough to hurt his eyes - daylight, streaming through the thinly-spaced wooden slats of a high window on the far wall.

The room was small, and bare of any furnishings. Kenshin lay on the floor, cool timber pressed hard against his shoulders, and tried to piece together what had happened. His head ... hurt. The agony of the journey here was a fresh memory, echoed now only by an insistent, dull ache that seemed to stretch all the way to the fingers of his right arm. Fingers that were resting, half-curled, on the ground. The bindings that had strapped the arm in place were gone.

Hand me your belt knife.

He blinked again, and slowly lifted his left arm up to his face. The blood from the kunai wound had long since dried, crusted along his forearm and hand. Yamato had tied his wrists while the blood was still fresh, leaving crimson tracks that overlaid the faded welts of the cord. An efficient way to stop a man with a broken collarbone from going anywhere; with hands twisted behind his back, the tension on the shoulder must have been tremendous. Efficient, and brutal.

And Bayushi had cut him free. Considering Kenshin's treatment thus far, it was an action entirely unexpected.

“You passed out.”

The voice took him by surprise, which was disturbing. Either Bayushi was adept at hiding his presence, or Yamato's assault with the rifle had disrupted his concentration far more than he was comfortable with.

Either way, I am not going to have this conversation while lying on the floor.

Kenshin took a breath and curled onto his side, wincing as his injuries protested the movement. He planted his good hand on the ground and levered himself upright, staggering slightly as he got his bearings. His legs were traitorously unsteady beneath him; in the end, he compromised by resting his weight against the wall.

Bayushi watched him rise in silence and didn't move, standing tall and thin and still in the corner of the room. His first, blurred impression had been correct: the man was old, perhaps in his sixties. Dark hair streaked liberally with grey was held neatly back in a short ponytail. Kenshin studied him, and surmised that the man had been a swordsman for much of his life - the marks were evident in Bayushi's still-muscular frame, his stance, and the easy way he carried the sword sheathed at his waist.

Bayushi stared back at him, brown eyes fierce in a pale face lined with age. The look in those eyes set him on alert; hatred, and satisfaction ... and something else he couldn't quite identify. The man clearly despised him. Yet, Kenshin was sure they had never met - Bayushi's face was entirely unfamiliar to him. He was a stranger.

“You are far different from what I imagined you to be,” Bayushi said finally, breaking the long silence. “You have the cross-scar, that exotic hair. Hardly the demon of legend, otherwise.”

Kenshin eyed him warily and kept silent. It was a sentiment he'd heard before. In these circumstances he wasn't sure how to react to it.

Bayushi made an impatient gesture. “Do you have nothing to say? Is your mind still addled?”

“I am not sure what you expect of me, Bayushi-san.” To his own ears, his voice sounded unsteady. No doubt about it, he was a mess. Kaoru was going to kill him.

“A demand to know why you are here, perhaps? Surely, you want to know.”

“Hai, I do,” he said carefully. “You've gone to a great deal of trouble to bring me here. You said ... `shall we talk'. You have something you want to say. I will listen.”

“Very polite,” Bayushi murmured. “I see the Ishin Shishi taught good manners to their killers, at least.”

He stiffened, and said nothing. Merely curled fingers against his side and waited for the man to continue.

“I have been told you swore a vow never to kill again.”

“Hai.”

“A vow you swore some time ago.”

“Hai.”

“How many times have you broken it?”

Kenshin blinked. “Nani?”

“Merely curious.” The older man's tone was biting. “Are you just weak? Or is your vow a subterfuge, given so that people feel they can be safe around you?”

He felt the first stirrings of anger, the curl of his fingers tightening into a fist. When he spoke, however, his voice was carefully neutral. “Bayushi-san, I have never broken my vow. I will not lie - I have come close to doing so in the past - but that final step has never been taken. My vow is not something I take lightly.”

“Yet you killed two people at Mt Hiei,” Bayushi replied idly, shifting on his feet and stepping away from the corner.

“Iie.” The denial was soft.

“You dueled Shishio Makoto to the death.” Bayushi moved with deliberate footsteps, to stand in front of him. “You went there to kill him, on behalf of the Meiji government, is this not so?”

“Iie,” he replied, more sharply. “I did not intend—I never intended to kill Shishio Makoto.”

“And the woman?”

“Yumi-dono...” Kenshin broke off. The memory of her death was still fresh enough to hurt.

“You didn't intend to kill them, you say. So, a moment of weakness? You killed a man, and then you killed the woman who loved him.” Bayushi smiled, bitterly. “Something you've done before, I note.”

The accusation, the words following, froze him in shock. Bayushi was hitting nerves with his casual malice - with information he had no right knowing. He drew a breath raggedly, past the sudden hurt of resurfacing memories, and fought for the control needed to form a calm response. The older man's words spoke of a level of knowledge of Kenshin's past that a stranger should have no access to.

“Nothing to say. Are you shocked, or merely guilty?” Bayushi's eyes stared into his own. His expression was unreadable.

“You've twisted my words,” Kenshin said, tightly. “I did not kill Shishio Makoto. Nor did I kill Komagata Yumi. Shishio himself killed her in an attempt to defeat me. It was tragic, and it should not have happened.”

“And if I believe you ... who killed Shishio?”

“Shishio ... fought too long. He overreached himself. His compulsion to win at all costs was what killed him, Bayushi-san. His body could not cope with the stress he put on it.”

Bayushi said nothing; merely stared into his face a moment longer before turning away, moving to the window. Kenshin studied his profile, puzzled. The older man almost looked disappointed.

“Is Yamato truly a police officer? The police should have record of the incident.”

“A record you brought down from Mt Hiei,” Bayushi replied flatly. “I have no reason to trust it.”

“So you wish revenge for Shishio Makoto?”

“Iie.”

“Iie?”

“Yamato may desire vengeance,” Bayushi said, thoughtfully. “He has a debt of honour to his former lord - but his desire to remove you from the board stems more from practicality, I think.”

Practicality? “Then why do you ask about Mt Hiei?”

Bayushi hesitated, then turned back to face him, expression carefully blank. “Curiosity,” he replied. “I am trying to understand you, Battousai. Why you did the things you've done. How you killed so many without guilt. What drives you.”

“Never without guilt,” he said in a low voice.

“So you say.”

The words were contemptuous, flung at him in challenge. Kenshin sighed. They were dancing around the point. “What do you want from me?”

“Finally, the question. What do I want?” He smiled crookedly. “I want you dead, Battousai. I want to kill you with my own hands.”

Not an answer he hadn't been expecting. The set, bitter look on the older man's face spoke volumes about his sincerity. And yet...

Whether I kill him or not isn't the issue.

“Bayushi-san...” He hesitated. “How long have I been here?”

“Two days.”

“...You haven't killed me,” Kenshin noted, mildly.

“I know.”

“Why is that?”

“I told you. I need to know why...” Bayushi broke off, mouth twisting into a scowl. He took a breath, and started again. “...what sort of man can murder so many and still sleep at night? Is that why they called you a demon? There are tales told of how you reveled in the blood you shed. There are tales told of how you drank it.”

Twice now, the man had hesitated. This time, Kenshin discerned the edge to his voice; tightly controlled emotion, almost buried beneath the veneer of calm. It gave him an answer, of a sort. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle.

“I've taken someone close to you.”

Bayushi stiffened. Stared at him, that same expression in his eyes.

“Tell me.”

There was a long silence. Bayushi turned away from him, gazing out the window. When he finally spoke, the words were a bare murmur.

”...my son.”

There was a certain, bitter irony to that, he reflected. Senzo had managed to lure him out of the city with a claim of vengeance for one of his victims - a lie to trap him and bring him into the hands of a man who was owed a debt. “What was his name?”

The reply was sharp, laced with anger. “What does it matter? You didn't know it when you cut him down. He wasn't one of your targets; he was just in the way. Like so many others the hitokiri Battousai slew, he was just a man in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Kenshin said nothing.

“I searched for you, years ago,” Bayushi continued. His hand clenched once, and then descended to rest on the hilt of his sword. “After you killed him. After I realised you were responsible. I would have tried for you then, but you were always in the thick of things. And then you vanished, after Toba Fushimi. I lost track of you completely.”

The sword flashed free of its sheath, catching the light briefly as Bayushi held it up to his own face, staring at the blade. He glanced back to Kenshin and smiled wryly, before letting the tip of the sword lower to the ground. “I'd all but given up on finding you, before Yamato came to tell me where you could be found.”

“Yamato.” Kenshin's eyes narrowed. As the man was both a police officer and a former agent of Shishio, he had no doubt that his whereabouts in Tokyo had been easily traced. But ... there was more to this. “He gets something out of this, doesn't he?”

“Aa. Yamato has plans. I've agreed to help him, for a price ... and that price has been met.” Bayushi tilted his head, gazing at him almost thoughtfully. “He's gone now. Returned to Osaka to deal with your woman.”

Kenshin froze.

“Oh, you didn't know?” His tone was lightly mocking. “She's chasing you, Battousai. Senzo didn't remove you from Tokyo without mistakes.”

Kaoru-dono. She wouldn't be alone, he knew. If Kaoru had managed to trace his passage to Kyoto, Sanosuke and probably Yahiko would have come with her. Sano was reliable; likely, she would come to no harm if the former gangster had anything to say about it ... but all the assurances in the world couldn't stop his reaction to the implied threat. He narrowed his eyes and fixed the older man with a level stare. “Kaoru-dono has nothing to do with this.”

“Don't give me that face, Battousai,” Bayushi snapped in irritation. “You're the hitokiri in this room, not I. She won't be touched. Yamato is merely making sure she doesn't ask the Osaka police pointed questions about a waylaid telegram.”

Kenshin searched the other man's face. If Bayushi wasn't threatening her, he had certainly gone out of his way to make it sound as if he was. There was something going on here; something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Was Bayushi testing him? He glanced down to the naked blade in Bayushi's hand, held lightly at the ready. The tip was still angled toward the ground, but it wouldn't take much effort to strike a lethal blow.

“Yamato is protecting his own position with the police then, I assume?” His voice was determinedly casual.

“Hai.” Bayushi gazed at him a moment more, and then relented with a sigh. “Your woman will only be in danger from me should she be reckless enough to challenge me directly. Then, I won't have any choice. Does that satisfy? You should be more concerned about your own skin.”

It clicked.

“Bayushi-san,” he said, softly. “Why haven't you killed me yet?”

“I told you.”

“Aa, you did. You want to `understand' me. Demo, Bayushi-san ...” He gave a faint smile, voice mild. “I don't believe you.”

Bayushi arched an eyebrow in surprise. “I see. Why is that?”

There was hatred in those brown eyes, yes. Satisfaction. And something else. He could be wrong. He didn't think he was.

“There is nothing I could tell you that would excuse my actions in the Bakumatsu,” he said softly. “Least of all to someone like yourself, who has lost a loved one to my blade. You know this.

“What understanding can I give you that you would accept? You question my intentions in the fight with Shishio, but you accept my explanations readily enough. That tells me you were already aware of the events that occurred at Mt Hiei. Yet you accused me of throwing away my vow to kill Shishio, to murder Yumi-dono ... flung comparisons, called me a demon ... You're taunting me, Bayushi-san. You want to anger me.”

“If I did, I would be within my rights,” Bayushi snarled. His knuckles were white, fingers clenched around the hilt. Kenshin had struck a nerve. “You killed my son.”

“You have a right to vengeance, I won't deny that.” He kept his voice even, mindful of the sudden tremor of anger running through the man facing him. “Yet you hesitate to kill me, through your apparent desire to understand me. I believe you're hesitating for a different reason.”

Bayushi smiled. Suddenly. Dangerously. “Feel free to enlighten me.”

“Your actions ...” Kenshin paused, searching for the words. “You cut the rope, Bayushi-san. You were shocked at what Yamato had done. You wanted to kill me, but your first action was to cut the rope. I think you have held hatred for so many years that your bitterness has created an image for you of what the hitokiri Battousai should be - and I don't fit the picture.”

The man opposite him had gone utterly still.

“You obviously consider yourself honourable,” Kenshin said, gently. “Cutting my hands free, assuring me of Kaoru-dono's relative safety. I'm not what you expected, am I? For an honourable man, it's harder to kill outside the battlefield. It's harder still to kill a man entirely at your mercy. You're hesitating because you do not see in me the murderer that you hate. By throwing my history in my face, do you hope to draw him out?”

Bayushi struck, then; swung the blade up with surprising speed. Sunlight flashed blindingly along its length as he flicked the blade sideways and aimed a backhand stroke at Kenshin's throat.

Kenshin didn't flinch. Did not so much as blink, as the sword scored a gash across the wall, splintering deeply into the timber, the edge halting a hair's breadth from his neck. He stared across the width of the blade at the older man without rancour.

“Do not mistake an unwillingness to torture for kindness, Battousai.” Bayushi hissed the words, eyes glittering with fury. He rested his free hand on the back of the blade and forced it closer, resting the edge against Kenshin's neck. “I am not an evil man, and only an evil man would not hesitate to slay an unconscious prisoner. I could kill you here and now, and my only regret would be that I could only avenge my son's life at the very end of my own. Don't ever presume to tell me what I'm thinking.”

He was close enough, now, for the angered hiss of his breath to fan across Kenshin's face. Dry warmth, that smelled faintly of rot. It was enough, combined with the pallor of Bayushi's complexion, for him to realise something else.

He closed his eyes briefly, and then lifted his chin to look the older man in the face, ignoring the sudden sting of the blade breaking his skin. “If I killed your son, then I cannot blame you for attempting my death,” he said quietly. “But I am just Himura Kenshin. You will have to kill me as I am.”

They stared at each other, inches apart, separated only by the length of steel.

Time slowed to a crawl.

“Bayushi-sama?”

The silence was shattered by the hesitant interruption. Bayushi glanced toward the door, slid open by a man Kenshin didn't recognise. “What is it?”

The man looked decidedly nervous, glancing between the two of them. Kenshin couldn't blame him. “The merchant is here - you said to tell you—“

“It's alright,” Bayushi said, wearily. “Go. I will be there shortly.”

The door slammed shut, as the visitor all but ran from the room.

The older man laughed quietly, and then straightened, easing the edge of the blade away from Kenshin's throat before yanking the tip from the wall, sending chips of wood tumbling to the ground as he sheathed the sword once more.

“Whether or not your less than healthy appearance has caused me to delay your death is moot,” he said. “My goals are not the only ones at stake here.”

His eyes traveled over Kenshin's face once more, before he turned with a sigh and left the room.

Kenshin waited until his footsteps had faded away before he lifted a hand to his neck, and wiped away the fresh trickle of blood. A minor cut. Considering Bayushi's original intentions, it could have been far worse.

There was more at work here than just a man's desire for vengeance. Practicality. That was what Bayushi had called Yamato's motivation. And it didn't take a great deal of guesswork to realise that the price that had been met involved him. What had Bayushi offered in exchange?

Practicality.

My goals aren't the only ones at stake here.

His death was written in those words. Whatever Yamato was intending, the officer clearly didn't want the chance of Kenshin interfering. He had very little time.

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Shinomori Aoshi opened his eyes.

He knew, without looking outside, that the sun was setting. The dark gold of its rays washed the walls of his room with an elegant fire. It was a sight Misao would have appreciated. He wasn't likely to tell her so.

He'd heard the arrival earlier, of Kamiya Kaoru and her friends. The cheerful welcome of the staff, and the cacophony of noise as Misao and Okina had tried to outdo each other in greeting, had died swiftly enough as they got down to business. They were still sitting there now, discussing possible action and forming plans of investigation. Aoshi didn't join them - he had nothing to contribute to their discussion.

He was waiting for other news, before he acted. News, if he was not mistaken, that he was about to receive. His senses had pricked alert at the steady approach of a familiar presence. He let his eyes drift shut as he waited.

When he finally heard the measured steps draw to a halt, he rose gracefully to his feet and padded across the room barefoot, sliding the shoji open without a sound.

“Still meditating?”

The words were caustic, designed to provoke. Aoshi narrowed his eyes. “Do you have something to tell me?”

“Aa.”

He waited patiently as the man took a drag from his cigarette, exhaled and spoke. “There are two men coming to Kyoto. Their names are Aki and Hiro. The Kamiya girl can tell you what they look like.”

“When?”

“If they haven't been delayed on the road, they should arrive tomorrow.”

Saitou Hajime, former Third Captain of the Shinsengumi and now presumed dead by the majority of people inside the Aoiya, turned his head a fraction and gave Aoshi a sardonic smile. “Nobody's told them of your involvement. You should be able follow them back to the merchant. That should be more than enough for you to find Battousai, don't you think?”

Aoshi considered that a moment, and nodded slightly.

“Good.” Saitou flicked the cigarette away and turned on his heel. “Because I've wasted enough of my time on this venture. You can do the rest on your own.”

“Some would be surprised that you've given any help at all,” Aoshi said quietly.

Saitou gave a dismissive wave as he began to walk away. “Don't think of it as helping. Battousai's stupidity merely crossed with my own investigation. That's all.”

Aoshi nodded again, and closed the shoji without a sound.

If Okina did not manage to find any other leads, he had a day.

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I've read the manga through, and I know the Kenshingumi aren't aware of the survival of Saitou until Vol 22 ...but there's a couple of scenes that stick in my mind: one of Saitou casually eating at a public soba stand in the middle of Kyoto, talking to Chou ... and the other is when he meets Aoshi in Vol 24, and his first words are “I see you've given up meditating.” The first scene makes me think that there's no way the Oniwabanshu, who have eyes and ears throughout Kyoto, would think that Saitou was dead. And the second insinuates Saitou has run into Aoshi - or at the very least, kept tabs on him.

So my artistic license in this regard was merely Saitou gaining access to information that was helpful and choosing to pass it onto Aoshi. I've always been mildly intrigued by the relationship between the two, such as it is. They hardly speak to each other at all, and yet there seems to be an underlying wary respect between them (well, they were both on the same side in the Bakumatsu, I suppose...) - and so I've used that here.

Saitou's part in this story, I will add, is small. I don't think I could do the horrible man justice, personally. I suspect he will be in one more scene during the story. ::heh:: But this tale generally belongs to the core characters.

BakaBokken: I thought I was mean. ^^ But actually, Calger told me that the whole rifle-to-the-head and what Yamato did AFTER that got her to take him seriously (and hate his guts), so I guess it wasn't too bad. More pocky for you!

Mini Glossary:

Aa = yeah

Demo = but

Hai = yes

Iie = no

Nani = what

^_^

Next chapter: Sneakiness, double-crossing, and come-uppance. For one person, at least.