Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Snowblind ❯ Fire and Snow ( Chapter 3 )

I am so VERY sorry for the vast delay in posting. Unfortunately it's been a terrible few months for me in terms of health. I'm having some serious complications to do with a cancer operation I had years ago. I'm not at any great risk, but the general feelings of lousiness I've been having kinda sapped away all my creativity. Please forgive me; I hope you trusted me when I said I would always come back to update the story.

 

I'm also hoping it won't take anywhere near as long for the next chapter. Bear with me, however. I'm not doing this on purpose. I love writing this story and I'm not likely to abandon it. Health issues might make my posting a little sporadic, that's all.

 

That, and this story has proven surprisingly hard to write. But it's a challenge, I say! Here's hoping you enjoy it, and I will hopefully be back with another chapter in a few weeks as opposed to months. (Gah! Hehe, I'm ashamed of myself…)

 

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin and all associated characters do not belong to me. They never will. Curses.

 

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Snowblind Chapter Two

 

Saito was clearly not functioning at his best. There was still an unfocused look to his eyes that told of lingering effects from the head wound, and the smear of crimson on his shoulder showed that the deep gash dealt to him earlier had begun to bleed again. Combined with the lingering effects of the cold, Kenshin doubted the man felt much better than he did, if at all.

 

His aim was no less efficient with the sword, however.

 

Kenshin pressed back against the tree to avoid the touch of the blade at his throat, meeting the wolf's gaze with a hostile stare of his own. Cold and fatigue aside, falling asleep had been a very bad move; possibly one he wouldn't be able to recover from. Yet Saito didn't seem inclined to kill him immediately. In fact, if pressed to describe the expression on the other man's face, Kenshin would say that Saito merely looked … irritated.

 

He kept his words soft and even, glancing briefly at the mottled steel. “If I tell you where your swords are, will you return mine?”

 

Saito kept his silence and smirked. It was a smile, lazily amused, that didn't reach to his eyes.

 

“Then you can find them on your own,” Kenshin said flatly.

 

He found himself strangely uncaring at the thought of potential death, although a smaller, more rational part of his mind noted that his lassitude had more to do with the far-reaching effects of the cold. The chance that he could avoid the strike if Saito chose to kill him now, after all, was small - hours of hunched and fitful sleeping had done nothing to improve the pain of cramped muscles.

 

Ingrained instinct prompted him to try. He tensed as the flicker of irritation in the wolf's amber eyes flared briefly into cool anger, long fingers clenching on the hilt of Kenshin's sword.

 

It took him by surprise, then, when Saito casually took a step backward and sheathed his stolen blade with practiced ease. Kenshin watched in bafflement as the man turned on his heel to stalk toward the clothing draped nearby, ignoring him entirely, and ran a measuring hand over the fabric of his haori before yanking it from the branch impatiently, shrugging it over his shoulders.

 

Apparently Saito had no intention of killing him; at least, not this evening. Or, Kenshin thought dourly, not before he's fully dressed. He began the process of stretching his limbs out, wincing at the stiffness of his joints, not moving from his perch on the tree roots. His body protested the act, and he resisted the urge to curl back into a ball to conserve warmth. With Saito awake - not to mention in possession of the only sword at the campsite - he needed to encourage as much flexibility back into his muscles as he could manage.

 

“Here.”

 

He looked up at the sound and started as Saito casually threw the navy gi at him, hand reaching out to catch the bundle before it could hit him in the face. The cloth was cold. Kenshin blinked. He'd thought of several scenarios that might occur once Saito regained consciousness. Helping him get dressed was not one of them. In bewilderment, he could think of only one thing to say. “It's not dry.”

 

“It's not wet, either,” Saito said absently. “Body heat will do the rest. Stay close to the fire.”

 

He narrowed his eyes, watching the other man as Saito glanced down at his haori, gave a sigh and gingerly eased his arms through the sleeves. Kenshin glanced down at the navy blue gi bunched in his hands. Saito was right; there was no dampness to his gi, but a frozen chill that made him skeptical of trying the same. A small, childish thought surfaced that maybe Saito was trying to trick him into freezing to death. He quashed it with irritation.

 

“It's getting dark,” Saito pointed out with a hint of impatience. “Or didn't you notice you've slept the afternoon away? You'll need the protection.”

 

Kenshin stared at him suspiciously.

 

Saito's smile was indulgent. “Unless, of course, you'd rather remain like that in my company?”

 

Kenshin shook out his gi with such violence that the cloth almost made an audible snap as it unfurled. He yanked it roughly over his shoulders, almost oblivious to the intense cold that settled across his skin, biting down on the insult that sprang to mind at the other man's caustic sense of humour.

 

Saito had already turned away from him to begin the task of building up the fire.

 

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The wolf had been right, on both counts. Somewhere during his fitful dreams and attempts to stay warm, nightfall had crept up on them both. By the time Saito finished easing half of the remaining wood into the struggling warmth of the fire, the sky had turned black, stars hidden by either the pluming smoke or cloud cover. Kenshin cursed himself again for the foolish lapse and fervently hoped that it would not snow.

 

The rest of his clothing was still damp, but the gi - once caught between the retained warmth of his body and the heat of the flames - became tolerable after a few minutes. The navy cloth came to just below his knees. He wrapped it around him tightly, for both protection and decency, and huddled close to the fire.

 

The katana caught and held the firelight, glittering bright gold along the blade, the pattern broken only by the folded cloth Saito was using to clean it. The other man leaned against a tree, his faint slouch the only indication that he wasn't feeling well. He cleaned the river muck from Kenshin's sword in silence. Neither of them had said a word in some time.

 

Kenshin couldn't fathom why Saito had left him alive. Recompense for saving his life? It was a possibility, but they were on opposing sides of war. In such a situation as this, letting the hitokiri Battousai walk away would betray everything Saito stood for, and a Shinsengumi member would not go so far, let alone one of their captains.

 

Then again, I haven't tried just `walking away'. He scowled faintly; running half-dressed into the snow without a sword wouldn't be any better. Perhaps Saito only wanted to know what had happened to his daisho. The idea sounded amusing, but it wasn't so farfetched—

 

“This sword is filthy. Don't you know how to look after your steel?”

 

Kenshin immediately snapped upright to meet his gaze, eyes narrow and cold. “If it bothers you so much, give it back.”

 

“It's a fine weapon, beneath the muck. I think I'll keep it.” Saito sounded amused. “Don't give me that face. You took mine first, and I have better things to do than fight over who gets to carry the sword. Accept things the way they are.”

 

Kenshin glared.

 

“You're as petulant as a child.” Saito sheathed the clean blade with a casual flick of his wrist, before glancing at him curiously. “Hn. How old are you?”

 

Kenshin blinked, taken aback. “What difference does it make?”

 

“None. I suppose a boy can become a killer at any age.”

 

The words stung, although he supposed they shouldn't after all this time. He chose to keep his silence and returned his gaze to the fire. If he was very lucky, Saito would take the hint and do the same.

 

“I have to wonder why,” Saito said calmly, “after killing four of my men on that bridge, you decided not to do the same for me.”

 

A question, carefully worded and neutral, which nevertheless made Kenshin flinch inwardly. Saito had lost allies this morning, and quite possibly friends as well. That they'd died in the line of duty in an attempt to prevent Kenshin from fulfilling his own … was probably the only reason Saito could sit at the fire merely cleaning a sword, instead of using it to avenge their deaths. It was something Kenshin had no doubt that the wolf would do eventually anyway, but he suspected Saito would make sure they were both armed first. Duty. Is that why he wants his swords so badly? He stilled his features to calm as he glanced up, choosing to avoid the question. “I thought you weren't going to ask.”

 

“I'm warmer now, and you're not going anywhere.” Saito closed his eyes, relaxing against the tree bark as if Kenshin posed no threat whatsoever. “Unless you plan to spend your night glaring at me, you may as well explain yourself.”

 

“What makes you think I'm not going anywhere?” he asked warily.

 

“Because you'll be dead by your own blade before you take three steps.” The threat was casual, delivered with an almost pleasant air. Saito opened an eye to peer at him lazily. “I'm not so stupid as to leave such an enemy at my back. You will stay where I can see you.”

 

He bridled at the words. It didn't help that Saito was right. The wolf might have a head injury, but Kenshin had legs that were still trying to regain feeling after being cramped so long, and Saito had already proven he could move more swiftly at the moment. He clenched his fingers together to test feeling, eyes wandering across the splintered remnants of the firewood and the snow beyond, expression bleak. The night promised to be long.

 

“What did you have to gain by pulling me from the river, Battousai?”

 

“Nothing,” he said flatly.

 

“No?” Saito smirked. “I thought perhaps you were going to try taking me hostage or something. That would have been interesting.”

 

Kenshin narrowed his eyes. “You're mocking me.”

 

“I have nothing better to do.”

 

Irritation sparked into offense. “Think of something,” he snapped.

 

“I can mock you or I can satisfy my curiosity. Which is it?”

 

Kenshin took a breath, letting it hiss between his teeth before he chose to answer, holding onto his calm. “The danger was past. There was no point killing you.”

 

“I am your enemy; there was every point,” Saito corrected, voice sharp. “If our roles had been reversed, I would have had no hesitation.”

 

“I'm not you.”

 

The smirk widened, taking on a nasty edge. “No, I suppose not, hitokiri.”

 

Stung, he retreated into stiff silence, reaching forward carefully to ease more wood into the fire. He distracted himself from darker thoughts by considering the subtle falsehood in Saito's declaration. Armed with the only sword at the campsite with an enemy at his mercy, the wolf was not only hesitating, but helping to ensure his continued survival throughout the night. Yet he was certain that if Saito had been the one to find him, Kenshin would never have woken to feel the cold. It was an anomaly that baffled him. Perhaps he was misjudging, and Saito did feel obliged to return the favour. He supposed he would find out soon enough.

 

“So the `danger was past',” Saito mused. “That's an interesting way of putting it. I assume you're referring to our pursuit of Tsuji Yamashita? Odd that you should put a coward's life above your own.”

 

He kept his silence. If he didn't say anything, Kenshin reasoned, Saito would eventually tire of teasing him and leave him be.

 

“You don't say much. Is that a job requirement?”

 

Then again … He fixed Saito with a level stare. “It was my duty.”

 

“I see. Your duty. To escort him to safety?”

 

“Aa.”

 

“You're failing dismally.”

 

“The bridge is down,” Kenshin retorted coldly. “By the time anyone is able to cross the river, Yamashita will have reached safe haven.”

 

“That's if the coward can find it within himself to travel all on his own.”

 

“He will.”

 

“So sure?”

 

He spoke softly. “Yamashita is no coward.”

 

“He fled the Shinsengumi,” Saito replied, voice abrupt. “He sought our enemy's protection to do it. How is he not a coward?”

 

That was a valid question, at least; one that Kenshin would try to answer, given the opinion that he'd ventured to Katsura several days ago. He searched for the best way to explain. “He made a choice that he regretted. He is young and foolish and frightened.” He hesitated, before adding quietly, “Fright, by itself, does not make one a coward.”

 

“You almost sound as if you like him.”

 

Like? Too strong a word. He wasn't one for making friends. Even if there had been different circumstances to his life, he suspected Yamashita would have jarred on his nerves. He opened his mouth to say as much, and then shut it again. Saito didn't deserve to know his own personal feelings.

 

Apparently, Saito took his silence as an answer in itself, smile widening into outright derision. “I see. Perhaps he aroused your motherly instincts?”

 

Kenshin gave him a fierce look. “Don't you have anything better to do than mock me?”

 

“I can think of several options, actually.” His voice was cool. “You wouldn't like those, either.”

 

There was malice in those amber eyes; a desire for retribution kept carefully in check. Saito had no newfound mercy or compassion for his enemy. The wolf's desire to kill him was plain to see, and yet he kept the fire between them and ridiculed him instead. Why he didn't act on his first impulse was still unclear, but Kenshin wondered just how much of the mockery was born from Saito's frustration at the situation.

 

He'd killed four men this morning, maybe more in the river, and then had the gall to save their captain's life. The deaths had not been forgotten. For the first time he paused to reflect on how Saito must have felt, waking up next to the warmth of a fire his murdering enemy had built. Kenshin considered that, considered his own actions, and felt a sense of the surreal wash over him. Saito was deriding him because he was still trying to gain back his sure footing; sitting at a campfire together was a situation that neither of them could have ever conceived of, before this.

 

They were hitokiri and wolf, and their entire existence together should have been trying to kill each other in the streets of Kyoto.

 

At the very least he supposed he could try to explain the situation more fully. As Yamashita's commanding officer, Saito deserved that much. Kenshin took a breath and matched Saito's stare levelly. “For choosing to leave the way he did, Yamashita lacks honour.”

 

“Ah? So.” Saito's eyebrows lifted. “Not something I would expect to hear from you.”

 

“However—“

 

“However?”

 

Kenshin searched for the words, suddenly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He was not used to having to explain. “Yamashita was not prepared for life with the Shinsengumi. Not after … scenes he witnessed.”

 

“He told you, did he?” Saito said softly.

 

“Aa.”

 

There was a long silence. Kenshin refused to break it, and instead returned his gaze to the fire. The silence was relieving; not because he was no longer being insulted, but because it implied that Saito, at least, had not taken Yamashita's situation lightly. He waited.

 

“We had no choice,” Saito said at last. “She was a spy.”

 

The words were so carefully neutral that Kenshin gave a small sigh. “I understand.”

 

“He did not.”

 

“Do you blame him?” The question was genuinely curious.

 

“No, I suppose not,” Saito mused. “But it does not change the fact that he betrayed us.”

 

“No.” Kenshin replied softly. “But he is young. He fled that which he could not deal with. I understand that.”

“Yes, well.” There was a faint snort. “I hope you haven't become too fond of him. You can't possibly believe he'll live long.”

 

“You won't reach him before he makes it.”

 

“What makes you think we'll be the ones to kill him?”

 

Kenshin glanced up sharply at that. “What?”

 

“Don't tell me you don't know what will happen.” Saito gave him a level stare. “You're escorting a known traitor to the enemy. I can only assume you're helping him because he has offered something. Did he promise information?”

 

A small chill traveled along his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Kenshin stared back, suddenly uneasy. “What are you trying to say?”

 

“As I hear it,” Saito said casually, “The Choshu clan has had difficulty with traitors of late.”

 

The words cut far too close to home, invoking memories of the smiling, weasel of a man who had praised his killing technique. You don't even give them time to scream any more. He barely masked the hurt flinch, digging fingernails into his palms as he snarled back, “That's none of your business.”

 

“That's a foolish thing to say,” Saito retorted, voice sharp. “And I cannot believe you are that gullible. Do you honestly think they will allow such an incident to happen again?” His eyes bore into Kenshin, unforgiving and harsh. “The logical thing for them to do would be to take Yamashita's information and then execute him.”

 

Kenshin felt a flutter of emotion close to panic. Saito made too much sense, and he was unforgivably naïve not to have seen the possibility before. He couldn't deny the efficiency of such an execution. The mistake of Iizuka had hurt Choshu's trust deeply, teaching a new level of caution when it came to dealing with potential recruits. Katsura would not just accept a `Shinsengumi traitor' into the Choshu faction. Did he have any right to assume that his actual mission was not to protect Yamashita, but rather hand him over for interrogation and death?

Was that what he had been doing? Dragging a boy out of Kyoto at the expense of lives, promising him safety and protection only to have him killed? No. Katsura would tell me if that was the case. Unless Katsura thought he wasn't capable of performing his mission with knowledge of the truth. But that was ridiculous. Katsura trusted him—

 

Saito interrupted his thoughts with a sound of disbelief. “To not even realise that…”

 

“They won't,” he said faintly.

 

“Don't be ridiculous. Of course they will.”

 

“They won't!” Kenshin snapped, voice rising.

 

Saito gave a snort, his own words cold. “Don't be a child.”

 

He forced himself to uncurl his fists before he drew blood, fighting for calm. Did Katsura trust him? Perhaps Katsura thought he was too unstable to deal with such knowledge; and Kenshin would never have known Yamashita's ultimate fate. But then, I'm just a soldier of Choshu. A hitokiri. Why would he tell me anything? The thought burned; in reality, as a leader and a commander of his loyalties, Katsura wasn't required to tell him more than he needed to know in the first place.

 

“You seem upset,” Saito noted. “You shouldn't be. Whatever you've been told, there is no reason for them to have given you the truth. You murder for them.” He gave a small shrug, his gaze mocking as he gave voice to Kenshin's thoughts. “Nobody will explain to a dog what will happen to the bone it brings back.”

 

No, that's not it. Katsura explains his reasoning to me more than ever now. Katsura said …he said …

 

… `I owe a debt to Daisuke'.

 

Kenshin took a steadying breath, self control reasserting itself. Yamashita had family amongst the Choshu clan, and Katsura was pulling him out of Kyoto largely due to that fact. Katsura might potentially withhold information, but he wouldn't lie about such a thing. He closed his eyes, feeling a faint, childish pang of relief.

 

Can you do this?

 

“That does upset you, doesn't it?” Saito sounded thoughtful. “Odd.”

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

I can do this.

 

Kenshin glanced up, meeting Saito's curious expression. “He would not do that to me,” he said simply.

 

They stared at each other, the crackle of the fire between them the only sound for some time. Outside the light of the flames, the world was quiet and dark and bitterly cold.

 

His gi, Kenshin realised with a faint measure of surprise, was finally dry enough to keep him reasonably warm.

 

“Hn,” Saito muttered finally, closing his eyes in dismissal. “As you say.”

 

Kenshin waited, watching the man carefully. Yet Saito didn't seem inclined to add anything further; five minutes passed without a single word. To all appearances, the wolf had fallen asleep.

 

Of course, that wasn't likely to be the case. He leaned back against the tree as he spoke, words even. “Give me my sword.”

 

Saito didn't even bother to open his eyes. “No.”

 

After that, there was nothing more to be said. They kept each other company in cool silence, waiting out the night.

 

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Rest assured that I do intend to explain how they found themselves in the middle of the countryside, by the way… just in case you were wondering.

 

Special thanks to Bakabokken who, as usual, helps me to check my work and left me such a nifty review this time around. You know you're awesome! Don't ever think otherwise.

 

 

Next chapter: Well, if asking nicely doesn't work …

 

See you soon. Hopefully earlier than three months.