Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Tanabata Jasmine ❯ The Gathering ( Chapter 21 )

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

Quick note: I've mentioned the Rengoku in this chapter. For those who only have access to the dub, the Rengoku is the Japanese name for Shishio's battleship, the Purgatory

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin and all associated characters belong to Nobuhiro Watsuki. I'm just picking on them a bit..

Tanabata Jasmine Chapter 21

A week ago, if someone had told him that his first reaction upon finally seeing his son's killer would be compassion, Bayushi would have laughed.

He'd hated Himura Kenshin for a very long time, now. Hatred fueled by grief, an unfulfilled desire for vengeance, and a hot anger that only grew over time as his attempts to find him met with failure. This last year, his anger had given way to bitterness as certain issues about his health were made known to him, and he realised he was going to run out of time. The worst shame of all, that he would likely die before he could avenge the death of his son. Before he could even so much as spit in the killer's face.

Yamato Dayu's appearance at his door, a month ago, had been a blessing. A police officer from Osaka, who had acted as both informant and communications man for Shishio Makoto. He had introduced himself as such, readily. A man who had been totally loyal to his former lord, and found himself adrift after his death. In this, he'd said, we have something in common.

And then he'd offered the deal. Yamato knew he was dying, that he had no family to survive him. Knew what he had yet to achieve. He had named terms; he would assist him in locating the hitokiri Battousai and dealing with him however Bayushi saw fit. In return, a request. Bayushi was a man of wealth and influence. Yamato wanted access to both. He'd given his reasons. Bayushi had accepted.

From there, it was easy - or at the very least, it should have been. Himura Kenshin had been brought to him. By rights, he should have walked into the room, confronted the hitokiri about his son and then run him through. Simple. Quick.

He hadn't expected the man to look so young. Or so fragile, with blood matting scarlet hair to the side of his face, and disoriented violet eyes that managed to hold his gaze for the briefest of moments, before he'd lost his fight with the darkness.

Never in his wildest imaginings had he thought that he would turn and walk away, leaving a prisoner very much alive behind him. Not once, but twice. Bayushi wasn't altogether sure that he would have killed him the second time, even if he hadn't been interrupted by Senzo's arrival.

Damn him.

He was furious; with Yamato, for bringing the man here in such a battered state, providing an opening for sympathy that should never have existed. With Kenshin, for shrewd and compassionate words that had complicated matters further ... and with himself, for letting those words turn him from his chosen path. He would not allow himself to be stalled again. Aside from the deal he'd struck with Yamato, to let the hitokiri live would turn his long quest for revenge into a mockery and make his final years meaningless.

Despite his resolution, however, it was a full day before Bayushi steeled himself to return to the room.

The two men he'd assigned to guard duty were relaxed, talking quietly to each other opposite the door. Given their nervousness the previous day, he assumed this was indication that Kenshin was asleep. They straightened and bowed to him as he approached, and he nodded in quiet greeting as one unlocked the door.

The loose fall of red hair caught the light that filtered into the dark room, as Bayushi eased the door open. He was nestled in the corner, supporting his right arm across his knees, head resting against the adjoining wall. Either sleeping, or pretending to. It didn't really matter.

He stepped into the room fully, and stopped as his foot nudged unexpectedly into an object by the door. He held out a hand in request, and swung the lantern, handed to him by a guard, around to inspect the floor. A fresh pitcher of water; a small bowl of rice, long gone cold. Both would have been brought in at sunset, at his order. He frowned - by his own calculation, Kenshin hadn't eaten in days. Yamato certainly wouldn't have fed him on the journey here. For the redhead to ignore the meal, something had to be amiss.

It doesn't matter. He closed the door quietly behind him, irritated that he'd felt even the briefest flash of concern. What difference did it make, if the man curled in the corner had fallen ill?

None at all.

Nevertheless, he hesitated before lowering the lantern to the ground, staring at the pale features of Kenshin's face, all but hidden by the fire of his hair. Asleep, he looked even younger - hard to believe he was anything more than a boy in his teens, until one looked at the cross-scar on his cheek and remembered the history that lay behind it.

Bayushi curled his fingers around the hilt of his sword, took a breath, and drew it free from the sheath with quiet calm. The scrape of metal prompted a reaction from his prisoner. Slender fingers twitched, then curled in on themselves as the sound of a weapon being drawn infused the man's awareness. Yet, for all his swordsman's instincts, it was still several seconds before Kenshin lifted his head from the wall's support, blinking hazily in the light.

“You are slow this evening,” Bayushi said softly. “I could have killed you several times over.”

For a man still surfacing from the depths of sleep, his response was unsettlingly direct. Violet eyes flicked to the blade in his hand, and then up to his face, quizzically.

“Why didn't you?”

The question was gentle, and stripped of any possible mockery. It angered him all the same. “Would you prefer I gutted you in your sleep?” he snapped.

“I'd prefer you didn't kill me at all, Bayushi-san,” Kenshin replied with a dry note to his voice. “But that is hardly my choice to make.”

Bayushi's lip curled. “You plead for your life?”

“I state a fact,” he corrected, mildly.

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Kenshin made no move to stand, although the still poise with which he held himself inclined Bayushi to believe he was prepared for an attack. On the other hand, it would surely be easier to defend himself on his feet - and Kenshin had fought against high discomfort to stand previously. He took time to examine the angular face more fully, and this time noted the faint flush across the cheekbones, and the glassy quality to the redhead's gaze. He narrowed his eyes.

“You're sick,” he accused.

Kenshin blinked in startlement, and then smiled tiredly. “A little. Does it matter?”

Does it? His fingers clenched on the hilt at the question, but rather than answer, he angled the blade upward in a fluid motion, tip settling at the hollow of Kenshin's throat. “Stand up.”

Kenshin inclined his head once, before uncurling from the corner and rising slowly to his feet, left hand resting on the wall for support, eyes on Bayushi's face. The tip of the sword traced his ascent; holding close to the former hitokiri's throat as he leaned against the timber and shifted his hand to brace his right arm. The movement was graceful enough - but Bayushi hadn't missed the brief dizziness that swayed his frame as he stood.

Nor did he miss the state of his arm. He struggled with himself for a moment, then scowled as he gave in to his first impulse. The blade dropped back to his side as his free hand shot out, snatched Kenshin's arm by the wrist and yanked it forward for a closer inspection, ignoring the smaller man's flinch. The flesh beneath his fingers was uncomfortably warm to the touch. Fever, then. Irritation swept through him again. It shouldn't matter. There was no logic to it. Why be concerned about the condition of a man he was here to kill?

“You didn't tell me this injury was infected,” he said flatly.

“...When last we spoke, I was unaware, Bayushi-san,” Kenshin murmured after a moment, glancing at him oddly. He hesitated, then continued in soft tones, gaze dropping down to the sword gripped in Bayushi's hand. “Given the circumstances, I am not sure why it matters. You did return this evening to kill me, did you not?”

An echo of his own thoughts - coming from the redhead, however, he found himself curiously reluctant to agree. Bayushi let go of his arm, staring at him angrily. And knew then what his next actions would be, despite any desire he might have had to the contrary. The situation wasn't ... right.

He took a step back, and sheathed the sword. At least he could take a measure of satisfaction in the surprised look that crossed fleetingly on Kenshin's face. He smiled, bitterly. This time, there was no interruption he could blame for his decision. No doubt about it, he was the worst kind of fool.

“There is food here, and water,” he said. “I assume you were asleep when it arrived. I suggest you eat.” He turned on his heel, placing a hand on the door before he added quietly, “I will have someone treat your arm.”

“Bayushi-san.”

Not questioning. Merely a polite statement of his name. He glanced back, and caught the look of grave courtesy Kenshin gave him. “Arigatou.”

“This changes nothing,” he snapped. “There is no pride to be found in killing you as you are, and I won't have you die slowly in the meantime.”

“I understand,” was the soft reply.

“You don't,” he retorted, and left the room.

How could he understand, when Bayushi himself could think of no excuse for walking away a third time?

---------

He had a visitor waiting for him in the study. Still dressed in his uniform, a cigarette tapping idly against the arm of the leather chair, unlit. The look on his face was calm enough; nevertheless, Bayushi sighed. He knew precisely what would have drawn the man here.

“Yamato,” he greeted, closing the door behind him. “I was not expecting you to return to Kyoto so soon.”

“I arrived this afternoon. I would have visited earlier, but I had an errand to run.” His tone was overly casual. “The servants tell me you were visiting your ... guest. Tell me, how does he fare?”

Bayushi stared at him levelly. “I don't believe that is your concern anymore.”

“I disagree,” Yamato replied, neutrally. “Battousai's survival concerns me a great deal, Bayushi-san.” The cigarette continued its incessant tapping. “Shishio-sama was a very intelligent man worthy of great respect, but he made one simple mistake. Do you know what it was?”

At Bayushi's raised eyebrow, he smiled faintly. “He gave in to his pride. Allowing Himura Battousai to come to Kyoto and challenge him lead to the destruction of the Rengoku and, consecutively, his downfall.

“Had he merely arranged to assassinate the man once his location in Tokyo was discovered - before Okubo ever came to ask his assistance - Battousai would never have been able to interfere with his plans at all. Tokyo would be lawless, certain politicians here would be dead and Shishio-sama would be very much alive today, pushing his agenda to its limit.”

“Provided the assassination was successful. I am certain he has defended himself against such before.”

“Even the legendary Battousai can be taken by surprise with enough planning,” the officer countered. “Senzo Karanai is proof of that. Your `guest' has his weak points, just like anyone else ... but I digress. I ask you, Bayushi-san: is it your pride that keeps him alive?”

“If it is, that is still none of your concern, Yamato,” Bayushi said, steadily. “The terms of our agreement have been met. You have brought him to me, to deal with as I see fit. In return, I will assist you, as promised. Let it go.”

“I can't.” Yamato's smile was tight, gazing up to the paintings on the wall. “Do you understand that the first and best way you have of assisting me is to kill him?”

“You tell me nothing I am unaware of,” he snapped, eyes narrowing. “Don't presume to condescend, and listen before you open your mouth. I have no intention of letting him live, let alone go free to harass you.”

Yamato halted the cigarette's movement, curling it instead into his palm, and smiled, bowing his head in apology. “Sumimasen. I don't mean to offend ... but you understand how much is at stake here. Your delays concern me, Bayushi-san. You are not having second thoughts?”

“Not at all.” Away from the enigmatic redhead, it was easier to order his thoughts. He made an effort to explain. “As he is now, I doubt he could make even a pretense at defending himself. A man should be given the chance, no matter who he is.”

“As he is now?” Yamato repeated, incredulous. “Bayushi-san, if you're referring to his arm, I should point out that even with a broken collarbone, Battousai fought his way off a fully manned fishing vessel. Did you think the bruises on the merchant's face were because he tripped and fell? You should not take him lightly.”

“Take into account other factors,” Bayushi retorted. “Your treatment of him, as an example. You hit him hard enough to lay him out for days, Yamato. Add to that a lack of food, and infection, and it's not surprising he's ill.”

“You almost sound as if you disapprove.” The officer looked faintly amused.

“I do.”

“You shouldn't. You hired Senzo to kidnap an intelligent and highly skilled swordsman and drag him halfway across the country.” Yamato smiled. “If you expected the merchant to retain a hold on him, you have no right to complain. His condition, ultimately, is your responsibility.”

Which was the point of the matter, really. Bayushi turned away, expressionless. Was it compassion that he felt, or guilt? Did it change anything?

“You speak of giving him a chance to defend himself,” Yamato continued smoothly. “Whether that be from a sense of pride, or responsibility, or even an ideal of honour ... you were ruthless enough to bring him this far, Bayushi-san. To speak of such things now is pointless.

“In any case, you refer to the hitokiri Battousai. Wait until he is well enough to hold a sword, and you won't be able to touch him.”

“I never spoke of allowing him a sword,” Bayushi snapped.

“Then what, exactly, are you intending?”

And for that, he had no answer.

Behind him, he heard the creak of leather as Yamato rose to his feet and moved quietly to stand at his shoulder.

“Bayushi-san,” he said. “You were with the Kyoto Shoshidai, a fervent supporter of the Shogunate. That man not only murdered your son, but played a large part in making this entire contemptuous government possible. Remember your reasons! His death was not the only reason you accepted this deal. For both of our sakes, you have to kill him.”

For both of our sakes ...

“He has changed since the Bakumatsu,” Bayushi began.

“Certainly, he's grown more crafty,” Yamato interrupted coldly. “He was a butcher back then. Such a person cannot change. If anything, he's learned how to appeal to your compassionate side. Do you think he doesn't know what he's doing?”

... you have to kill him.

Illness could not be faked. But soft gestures, compassionate words carefully chosen ...he wavered on the edge of uncertainty. Was Kenshin merely manipulating him, in order to preserve his life? He didn't think so ... and yet, he could not rule the possibility out.

Yamato pressed on. “Delaying his death will solve nothing, and only put you in danger. Not only does he have allies searching for him, but Battousai himself will cause difficulty. Don't think for a moment that if you give him enough time to recuperate, he will sit meekly and thank you for it.”

“I am not so naive,” Bayushi replied in a low voice.

“Very good,” Yamato murmured. “For I'd hate to see you taken advantage of. The shame of going to your grave, having failed to avenge your son due to your own weakness, would be great ... I'd imagine.”

Bayushi took a shuddering breath, fists clenching at his sides.

“The hitokiri has done a fine job at twisting your perceptions on the matter,” the officer continued, evenly. “I understand the attempt at preserving your honour, truly I do, Bayushi-san. Perhaps you find yourself incapable of killing him at this time - however, I do not.

“If your heart is still set on your double vengeance, I will kill him and satisfy the hatred of your son on your behalf.”

Bayushi snapped his head up to stare at him. Yamato gave him a thoughtful smile. “Unless, of course, you have changed your mind?”

He opened his mouth - and shut it again.

Ultimately, to say yes would mean nothing. Yamato wanted Kenshin dead, and would hardly refrain from attacking him if Bayushi pulled back at this juncture. To turn back, to give up his right for the kill, would yield the same result - unless Bayushi wanted to go so far as to protect his son's killer from an ally. And no matter the level of his confusion, that was something he was not prepared to do.

To say yes would be to go against everything he had worked for over the last years. Himura Kenshin had been a ruthless murderer, regardless of how he now chose to live his life. He acknowledged that; knew that despite any doubts, he still believed the hitokiri should die for the crime of murdering his son.

And yet ... he couldn't bring himself to say no.

He closed his eyes, mouth twisting in self-disgust. Yamato was right; how had he allowed the hitokiri to have so much sway on his opinions that he was hesitating over a death he had looked forward to for years?

Yamato apparently took his silence as answer enough. His words were quiet, laced with satisfaction.

“Then it's agreed.”

A moment later, the door closed quietly, the officer's steady footsteps fading away down the corridor.

Paralysed by his own indecision and doubt, Bayushi could make no move to stop him.

---------

The estate was almost as large as Kanryuu's in Tokyo, surrounded by a high wall on all sides. The front gates were wrought iron, offering a brief glimpse to the main house found deep within the grounds. Two men stood silently at attention, guarding against intrusion.

“There will be more inside, with line of sight to the gate,” Aoshi explained quietly as he drew them further away from the street, following the perimeter of the wall to darker areas. “It is better to take an indirect route.”

“Do you know how many guards he has?” Sano asked.

“Unsure. We haven't had time to get the numbers.” He hesitated, and then added, “Bayushi himself will not have so many - enough to guard him from harm. However, if he has entered into a partnership with the remnants of Shishio's men, we can expect more, if only to guard against an escape attempt.”

“That's helpful,” Sano muttered.

Misao shot him a glare, and turned back to Aoshi, an eager smile on her face. “Can we go yet?”

He nodded, and switched his cool gaze to Kaoru, standing by Yahiko. Despite her earlier attempt to stare him down - or perhaps because of it - she met his eyes for a brief moment before she looked away. The sakabatou was once more clutched in its sheath to her chest.

He motioned to her bokken, held loosely in her right hand. “You're going to have difficulty fighting if you hold on to both.”

She glanced back to him and shrugged lightly, face stubborn. “I'll manage.”

He stared at her a moment longer, and then turned without comment to Misao, stooping to lace his fingers together for her foot. If everything went well, Kaoru would have no call to find out just how awkward fighting would be.

Misao shot him a cheerful grin and rested a small hand on his shoulder briefly, before he launched her silently up and onto the wall. He watched her drop from view, hearing the soft thump of her landing on the other side, before he turned back to the three that would remain behind.

“Listen,” he said. “If you hear the alarm being raised, follow us in, but only then. If we find him without incident, we'll bring him out at this point. Do not move unless you have to.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and leapt upward, vaulting over the wall and dropping lightly next to Misao. They shared a brief look, and then vanished into the darkness of the nearby trees, making their way stealthily toward the house as swiftly as they could. Time was of the essence.

---------

A couple of character notes. On Bayushi: he's confused, he's compassionate, but never forget he's a villain and had every intention of killing Kenshin when he arrived. I say this because I forsee people wondering why Yamato managed to push him into the state he did. It is a character trait in some that their decisions in matters in which they're ambivalent tend to be easily influenced by whoever they're talking to at the time. (Actually, it's a character trait I suffer myself at times. ::heh::) As a writer, I think I fail in pushing this across vividly enough ... so I'm adding this extra note here.

And on Kenshin: yes, he has a fever. I think the same people who think he should be dodging bullets may wonder why ... and I did think about this long and hard before I decided to go ahead with it. It's not so much that the injuries he's suffered are overly bad - actually, compared to, say, his battle with Shishio, they're minor. On the other hand, none of them are being looked after - and neither is Kenshin himself. So please don't hurt me. ::hides:: He's perfectly capable of having a fever and still having an active part. (Yes, this is my insecurity speaking again. I'm sure most of you are fine with this and wondering why I'm bothering to explain...::sigh::)

Kitsmom: I'm glad you're enjoying it! I'm curious as to who's recommending me in their author's notes, but I'm flattered that they are. ^_^ Hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

Bakachuuu:More pocky for you! But not the strawberry kind, would be rude not to eat your gift, ne? Thanks for your support as always!

Next chapter: The Oniwabanshu rescue damsel in distress Kenshin from his peril at the hands of his enemies! Well ... I'm sure that's how Misao thinks it goes. It's a pity both Yamato and Kenshin have plans of their own, ne? A chapter in which things begin to get complicated, and our rurouni shows his essence as a hitokiri.