Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Snowblind ❯ Turnabout is Fair Play ( Chapter 2 )

Saito Hajime. A man of more than passing familiarity to him - the Captain of the third Shinsengumi squad, and one of the most skilled swordsmen ever to cross his path. Walking away now - turning his back on such an enemy, in this unfamiliar landscape - would be the height of idiocy. A killer Kenshin might be, but no one had ever accused him of being stupid.

 

The sword pressed down sharply enough across the throat to draw blood; a line of crimson welled along the fine edge of the metal before tracing a slow path down the crease between neck and shoulder. He expected those narrow eyes to spring open at the touch of the katana. The man on the ground was oblivious.

 

He was quiet a long moment, blade held suspended in the fine moment between strike and lethal impact, watching the trickle of blood mix with the snow. He wondered why he was hesitating. Were the roles reversed, Kenshin would be dead already. Best to push the sword down; slice into the jugular, let the man bleed out painlessly. Unconscious, Saito would feel nothing—

 

His fingers clenched on the hilt as he sucked in a breath, eyes wide for a brief second as reality caught up to him. With adrenalin focused on his own survival and the completion of his charged mission, he hadn't even thought twice about what had to be done here. His days as Katsura's assassin were over. His battles were now on the street, protecting Choshu's soldiers; that he would come so close to slaughtering a downed and helpless opponent so easily - even if that opponent was a mortal enemy - seemed a breach of the unspoken promise he'd made to her…

 

… That until the war was truly over and Katsura had released him from his service, he would avoid unnecessary killing.

 

In the end, it was the near-forgotten bite of the wind that fully decided for him. The sudden gust that pressed the sodden blue gi to Kenshin's back sent a violent shiver down his spine. Instinct and a care uncommon to his reputation made him pull his hand back, before the resultant cold shudder along his arm accidentally killed the prone man at his feet.

 

There were more important things for him to worry about. He took a moment to wipe the blood from his blade, sliding it home into the sheath with a rasping sound that made him wince. His sword needed caring for - a second priority, greatly overshadowed by the need to get dry before the chill sank too far into his bones. He turned, hunched against the wind, making for the shelter of the trees. The chance of finding wood dry enough for a campfire was small, but he had to try.

 

Saito … would just have to wait for another time. The wolf might come after him, but at least Kenshin would be prepared for it. Then again, Saito might be too preoccupied with looking after his own injuries and getting back to the remnants of his squad. The wound across his shoulder would need treating; before Saito searched the landscape to see if his prey had survived the river, he would almost certainly—

 

—freeze to death in a drenched uniform, without the benefit of being awake to take care of himself.

 

Kenshin stood there a long moment in the snow, the dread of realisation settling over him. Then, with a faint curse, he spun on his heel and stalked back to the riverbank.

 

He was sure. Somewhere, the gods were laughing at him.

 

---------

 

“Can you do this?”

 

He blinked, caught off guard. Katsura gazed back at him gravely, hand still on the shoji. They were alone. The echo of footsteps had long faded away from the corridor outside; the chance that either of them would be overheard was minor. Despite this, the Choshu clan leader's voice was very soft. “Given the timing, I understand it could be … difficult for you.”

 

It was an insight sharp enough to hurt on its own. He hadn't expected Katsura to be so observant. Kenshin met the man's dark gaze for a moment - read the faint touch of concern there - and turned away with a slight nod, veiling his own discomfort behind a flat expression. When it was clear that his superior was expecting a more detailed answer, he added softly, “I need to escort a man. What else?”

 

There was a quiet sigh in response. Katsura would be frustrated by his avoidance of the subject, but at least on this one issue, Kenshin knew he would not be pushed. Instead, Katsura's next words were even and dipped in formal clarity, a further explanation of his mission.

 

“Tsuji Yamashita has petitioned us through his cousin Daisuke, as you are aware. In exchange for whatever information and assistance he can give to the Ishin Shishi, Yamashita has requested that we protect him from the inevitable backlash of defection from his current allegiance—“

 

“He wants to run and needs your help to do it,” Kenshin said plainly. At Katsura's dry nod, he finally glanced up. “With respect, Katsura-san, that seems … odd.”

 

“I am not sure of his reasons, but I trust Daisuke.” Katsura met his gaze. “I do not believe this is a trick.”

 

He considered that trust; wondered who Yamashita was, that Katsura would pull him from his current duty to escort a runaway to safety. Given his skills, he could assume at least one reason he had been chosen for this assignment. “You want this to remain quiet.”

 

“As much as possible,” Katsura agreed. “I don't believe we can keep this a secret, but the longer his defection remains undisclosed, the more use his information will be. We would have better luck smuggling him out of Kyoto with as small an escort as possible.”

 

“I'm to work alone, then.”

 

“Aa. Much easier, given the circumstances. If I send a group, I run the risk of drawing too much attention almost immediately. But one man alone …”

 

Despite the explanation, it still seemed far too simple a mission to require his skill. Curiosity prompted him to venture his thoughts. “I will do as you request, Katsura-san. But … others may be just as efficient for such escort duty.”

 

“Not in this case,” Katsura said mildly. “Another escort may have difficulty in dealing with the wolves that follow.”

 

He blinked again at that. “Wolves?” Surely, he didn't mean—

 

“Yamashita is Shinsengumi. Third division. Answerable to Saito Hajime himself.”

 

---------

 

He dealt with the swords first. Carefully unhooking both katana and wakizashi from Saito's belt, Kenshin hesitated. Common sense told him the best solution was to just throw them both in the river. He glanced from the swords to their wielder and sighed; compromising, he wedged the daisho carefully between two rocks by the river's edge before returning for the crumpled figure in the snow.

 

Saito was heavy - with the waterlogged clothing weighing him down, even more so. He slung one blue and white clad arm over his slender shoulders and concentrated on dragging the man up the bank toward the shelter of the trees. At least the snowfall wasn't particularly deep. Trying to keep hold of Saito's wrist was an effort in itself. There was no warmth clinging to either of them, and attempting to make his fingers work past encroaching numbness was fast becoming a daunting task. Kenshin clenched his teeth against the cold and stumbled onward, hauling his unwanted burden with as much grace as he could manage.

 

Which, given the circumstances, wasn't a great deal. Aside from his increasing lack of coordination - his muscles rigidly locked in an attempt to stop shivering - the absurdity of his actions was giving rise to the faint simmer of resentment. Attempting to save the life of a man who - less than an hour ago - he'd been desperately trying to kill was nothing short of suicidal. Katsura … if Katsura knew what he was doing …

 

Katsura would not expect me to murder a helpless man. Not now. Not after—

 

He stopped, Saito almost sliding to the ground as the wolf's arm slipped through his suddenly nerveless grasp. Reflex, born from the sudden recollection of the last person he'd carried through the winter cold. It was an unwelcome memory, given the sight of the trees before him, branches creaking under the weight of the morning snowfall. It was an image all too familiar to the quiet recesses of his mind.

 

After a moment, he curled fingers he could not feel around the sinewed curve of Saito's wrist, adjusted his balance and continued on doggedly. Attempting to dredge up half-forgotten memories of lessons in wood lore from his years with Hiko distracted him from darker thoughts. The trees would provide a reasonable wind break and hopefully shelter from further snow, both of which he would need if his fire-building attempts were going to succeed.

 

By the time Kenshin passed beneath the first branches, he could no longer control the shaking that racked his body. Teeth clenched to prevent them from chattering, he drew them both as far into the trees as he dared and let Saito drop to the ground before the man's weight could unbalance him enough to send him toppling face first into the snow. He didn't have the luxury of searching for a more sheltered campsite - what time he had was running out. He lifted trembling fingers to the front of his sodden gi and yukata, yanking them awkwardly down from his shoulders to expose bare flesh to the elements, trying not to gasp at the increased sensation of chill. The air almost seemed to burn against his skin. He tried to ignore it - in the end, stripping away a layer of clothing was less harmful to his health than leaving his sopping wet gi time to leech away what little body heat he had left.

 

He did the same for Saito, pulling the Shinsengumi uniform away from the wolf's body and leaving it piled in the snow beside him. Then, wrapping one hand around the lacquered sheath of his katana in a death grip, Kenshin took uneven steps away into the trees in search of firewood.

 

--------

 

“The Shinsengumi look after their own, Himura. In all possible ways.” Katsura was watching him carefully. “Whatever reason Yamashita has decided to run, they'll be on his trail the moment they notice he's gone.”

 

At Kenshin's silence, he continued softly. “Preferably, this will not be a situation in which you have to kill. If you are fast enough, you can be halfway to safety before they realise what has happened. I highly doubt that they will expect one of their own members to be dragged across country by one of ours.”

 

Kenshin almost smiled, though there was no great humour to his thoughts. Yes, he imagined the Shinsengumi would be shocked to find one of their own in the company of the hitokiri Battousai. Once a man joined with the Shinsengumi, the only accepted way to leave was for him to commit seppuku. Yamashita was not only breaking ranks with sworn and honourable allies; he was selling them out to the enemy just to avoid the repercussions. It was a thought that didn't sit well. If Yamashita was cowardly enough to carry out such an act, there was nothing to stop him from attempting the same to the Ishin Shishi at a later date.

 

“He's a traitor,” he said quietly.

 

“Then that is to our benefit.” Katsura's voice was low and even.

 

After a moment, Kenshin nodded. Judging from his tone, Katsura was already aware of his misgivings, and was wise enough to take precautions. He held his peace and waited.

 

“Whether or not his offer of information is of any good to us - and I dare say at least part of it will be redundant once it is clear that he has defected - I owe a debt to Daisuke,” Katsura continued. “This is worth the risk. Will you do it?”

 

“Hai, Katsura-san.”

 

Katsura inclined his head at that soft acceptance, saying nothing. Kenshin took it as dismissal and rose to his feet, sword in hand, sketching a slight bow before padding silently to the shoji and sliding it open.

 

“Himura.”

 

He paused at the doorway, staring out into the darkened hallway. There was an odd note to Katsura's voice that he couldn't place, at first. Kenshin closed his eyes briefly.

 

“I will leave at first light,” he said without turning. “If all goes well, I will be back at your side before the new year.”

 

The scrape of the shoji being drawn shut masked the faint sigh of the man he was leaving behind.

 

---------

 

Usable wood was relatively easy to find; dry kindling he managed to collect by paring the bark from a nearby tree and pulling away the drier, fibrous underside. His hands were refusing to work properly. With fingers that seemed eerily large and clumsy, Kenshin fumbled with smaller twigs to create the friction needed to set the kindling alight. It was an agonisingly long process. When the first tendril of smoke drifted up to his face, he breathed a sigh of relief.

 

He nursed the fire through its first hesitant moments, watching it like a hawk, determined to ensure that it continued to burn. Without a source of heat, they would both be dead before nightfall. When finally the flames seemed steady enough, he built the fire as high as he dared. The heat was both welcome and discomfiting, prickling painfully across exposed skin. Kenshin took a moment to warm himself anyway, hoping for more feeling in his hands before he moved to divest Saito of the rest of his uniform.

 

The sword wound across Saito's shoulder had long since ceased to bleed. Kenshin wondered if that was due to the cold. The cut was not a lethal one - it would need binding, but he doubted the wisdom of attempting to wrap soaking cloth around the injury. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the other man's chest and dragged him closer to the fire, setting him down across the remainder of the wood that he hadn't fed to the flames. It was hardly a comfortable bed, but the hard branches were infinitely preferable to laying the man back on the snow without any kind of protection. He resisted the urge to cut through the sodden knots of Saito's hakama, instead taking the time needed to pull the ties free with his fingers. The hakama would be no good if Saito could not tie them back on again once dry.

 

The irony of what he was doing crossed his mind once again, and he shook his head wearily to clear it, wincing as he gathered up the blue and white haori in his hands, taking a few steps away from the fire. The wet fabric was so cold he wondered if it hadn't frozen in places. Quite possibly it had; he remembered the state of the more sluggish pools by the river, small and still enough to be coated in ice. Kenshin knotted both hands in the collar and swung the haori around, slamming it into the nearest tree trunk as hard as he could. He swung it twice more, showering droplets of frigid water into the snow, before he gritted his teeth and wrung it out further by hand.

 

He did the same for the rest of Saito's uniform, stretching it out to dry before setting the katana down and peeling his own clothing away to repeat the process. His hakama needed to dry, and his bare flesh needed the warmer air before it sustained serious damage, but that knowledge didn't stop the feeling of vulnerability that crept over him. He had no choice; the heat of the fire would help, but it didn't solve the problem. If he couldn't get their clothing reasonably dry by the time weather conditions changed for the worse, the meagre protection of the flames would be worthless.

 

They would need more firewood eventually. Something would also have to be done about food, but he was not about to stumble back out in search of it now. He was still far too cold, and the thought of leaving the warmth of the fire was one he was no longer willing to deal with. Kenshin sank down to the base of a tree beside his sword, across the fire from Saito. Balanced precariously along the tree's exposed roots, he hunched his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, wincing at the worsening ache of his muscles. The constant shivering was taking its toll.

 

Saito showed no immediate signs of awakening. Force of habit urged him to reach down and retain a grip on his sword anyway, careful to keep the hilt from touching his skin. Not for the first time, he wondered what would happen when the Shinsengumi captain finally revived and realised where he was.

 

Kenshin stayed curled where he was, balanced miserably between the brittle warmth of the fire and the doubtful shelter of the tree at his back, staring at the clothing hanging over one of the bare branches and willing it to dry faster.

 

After a while, he closed his eyes.

 

He wondered with a certain grim amusement if his last words to Katsura had cursed him. Certainly, things were far from `going well'. He wasn't sure how far downriver the two of them had been swept, but it was far enough that he hadn't seen any sign of the path he'd been travelling to get to the pass. They hadn't been the only ones, either [Author ID1: at Wed Aug 10 02:43:00 2005 ]- with a vague chill of unease, he wondered whether other members of Saito's squad had pulled themselves from the river further upstream. If that was the case, the two of them would probably be hunted; he couldn't see the third unit returning to Kyoto without finding out what had happened to their captain.

 

Regardless of possible interference from the Shinsengumi, he knew that the chances of him returning to Kyoto before the end of the year were now nonexistent. In other circumstances, the revelation would have distressed him more. Now, hunched shivering by the fire and playing a deadly waiting game with the cold, the best he could manage was faint dread.

 

Six days. The first anniversary of her death, stranded with the enemy in the familiar and hated snow.

 

Kenshin dozed.

 

He did not intend to. More lucidly, he would have realised that the constant shivering and abuse of his muscles had exhausted him to the point that he had little choice. He dreamed, half-formed images of kites and a garden of water-damaged daikon; of dark, fathomless eyes and blood on the snow, interspersed with the crackle of the fire and the vague notion that his clothes should be dry, and the curl of fingers ever-loosening on the sheath of his katana. A smaller voice in his mind noted that he hadn't done anything about the state of his sword. The trip through the river had flooded the inside of the sheath with water and dirt. He tried to fight his way back up from heavy drowsiness, taking hold of the hilt gingerly in an attempt to pull it free.

 

It was all he managed before he sank fully into sleep, lulled by flames and a sense of warmth that should not have existed settling into his bones. He stayed nestled against the tree, relaxing despite the cold at his back, knees pulled close against him with his hands curled loosely on hilt and sheath, katana partly drawn.

 

The small, warning flare of awareness at the sudden movement by the fire failed to wake him completely; however, the pull of his swordsman's instincts was enough that Kenshin's eyes drifted open hazily, attempting to focus past the fire to the scattered wood on the ground. Saito was no longer there. The sword had fallen from his grasp. He snatched for it, too late. The jarring sound of his katana being drawn fully from its sheath by another pair of hands drew his gaze up to meet a pair of vaguely bemused amber eyes.

 

“I'm not even going to ask what you think you're doing, Battousai,” Saito drawled, levelling Kenshin's own blade at his throat. “But you are going to tell me what you've done with my swords.”