Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Waiting to be Caught ❯ One-Shot

Warnings: Hints of m/m and kink, gratuitous crossover. OOCness? It's there for a reason, I swear.

Disclaimer: The cast of "Rurouni Kenshin" belongs to Watsuki Nobuhiro, not me. The concept of "Highlander" belongs to someone who is not me. I am making absolutely no profit from this, so please don't sue.

Notes: I should be working on Flexible and Destiny, but... ah, well. This little story was inspired by Ghost in the Shell and Elliott Smith's Between the Bars (no, don't ask how). It's a one-shot so far, more of a conceptual exploration than anything else, but it may develop into a multi-parter. Who knows? If anyone wants to take it up, feel free to do so. Just tell me. ^_^

New Tokyo dazzles at night, in the kind of way cities that survive the last war have. Everywhere I turn, I see artificial suns -- holo-signs, police searchlights, even candles to mark where someone died in a hail of bullets. People are desperate to push out the darkness, to reassure themselves there are no monsters lurking in corners. They're not so enthusiastic for illumination, though, that they also bring to light the crumbling face under the artifice. Scorch marks, pathetic ruins of bricks... all just outside the penumbra.

New shoes, old feet. If I sound bitter, it's because I've seen it all before.

I haven't been to Tokyo in a while. Nearly a century, if I care to count. Even so, I don't think I could ever stand to be in Tokyo for long -- this was where eveything began. Where I found out I was a damned Immortal. Where I lost the love of my life for the first time.

The man I am now and the boy I have been bear the same name, but that's where the resemblance ended. Three centuries tend to do that to even the most stubborn. And my friends can tell you I'm as stubborn as you can get. I have to be, to chase a single soul for so long, to find him only to lose him again and again and again--

I have pictures of his incarnations, male and female. I remember how all of them died. Sometimes in my arms, sometimes with me far away from home, feeling the thread that bind us stretch taut before the painful break.

Maybe I should've ended it a long time ago. Let another Immortal behead me and march straight to the afterlife. But I can't. Kami help me, I can't! I can't bear dying with the knowledge that he was out there somewhere, both of us alone forever. That's my curse, y'see. I thought I was asking for a boon: let his soul be eternally reincarnated, so I may love him for all time.

I begged her for this with his blood still on my clothes, his last kiss still warm on my lips. She took pity on me -- it wasn't her fault, it was mine, always mine -- and granted my wish even though her instincts screamed at her to do otherwise. She told me this when we met again decades later, older and presumably wiser. Too late.

If I die, I'll never see Saitou again.

Vodka -- or what he chose to think of as vodka -- warmed his chest and throat, momentarily chasing away the chill. He signalled the bartender for another shot, ignoring her raised eyebrow. Her nosering jiggled slightly as she poured the clear liquid.

"Take it easy, eh?" she said in oddly-accented Japanese. "This stuff can kill you."

"Shows you how much you know," he grinned, entirely without humour. He studied her carefully, taking in her tanned skin and dark eyes. It was difficult to guess the original colour of her hair under the electric blue dye, but he thought it might be black. "You're not from around here?"

"I'm an exchange student from Seychelles."

"Sou ka. I was there once, a long time ago. Ten--no, fifteen years."

"Really?" She looked at him doubtfully. "You don't look a day older than twenty."

"He ages well."

Turning at the unexpected voice behind him, he was confronted by a vision of long red hair, burnished by the dim lights. And beside it, another vision, this one of a flowing trenchcoat. Violet eyes widened, in tandem with a flash of green. For the first time in days, he truly smiled.

"Sanosuke." An answering smile graced the delicate features of his best friend, and his heart warmed. Kenshin still had that effect on him, even after years of seperation. "It's been a while."

"We heard you were in South America." Aoshi, his eyes a touch less cold than usual, slung an arm around Kenshin. "You should have at least sent us a message through the usual channels," he rebuked.

"Yeah, well. You know how it is." Sano looked slightly sheepish for a moment, then his face darkened. "I've been busy."

The redhead's eyes were soft. "Still looking, Sano?"

"Always, Kenshin. Always." And that was all he really needed to say, as jazz music trumpeted over their silence.

"I worry about Sano." Kenshin undid his hair tie, allowing his crimson hair to cascade down his back. "It's not... right how his search for Saitou defines his existence. He doesn't even live for himself anymore."

"Hmm."

Kenshin glanced at his green-eyed lover, sprawled out elegantly on their bed. Aoshi was studying the canopy, but turned to meet his gaze with a small smile. "How long have we been together?"

The former rurouni draped himself over Aoshi's body, head cradled on the muscular chest. "You weren't reincarnated for me to find in another lifetime."

"True." The other man's face was pensive. "I didn't think Sano was capable of it for centuries."

"You underestimate him," Kenshin said, playing with the buttons on his lover's shirt. "Sano has a great capacity for anger. He feels so much, Aoshi. It kept him alive long past the point where everyone else -- even me -- would be dead. I could sense his emotions boiling off him tonight."

"Sorrow," Aoshi whispered, pulling him closer. "Pain."

"Aa." He undid a button, then another. "Desperation. Fear. Loneliness. Sano doesn't care who he kills now, as long as he survives to find Saitou's next incarnation."

Jade eyes regarded him, reflecting emotions normally hidden, sad and intensepalm of her hanl for you, Kenshin."

"I know. Aoshi, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." Lips kissed slim fingers, tongue flickering out to tease the callused skin. "I would gladly slay the entire world if it meant these hands will never again touch a killing blade."

They kissed hungrily, shedding clothes with the ease of repeated practice. "I don't deserve you," Kenshin breathed as he nipped at Aoshi's neck. "But oh, how I love you..."

"Aishiteru. I love you. Je t'aime. Ich lieb sien." The taller man rocked against Kenshin, reveling in the wiry strength of his lover's body. "If I have to find you in another lifetime, I will."

A wry smile touched Kenshin's lips. "Preferably with less killing."

Laughing quietly, Aoshi flipped them over. Looking down at his lover, he kissed the redhead's forehead and murmured, "How would you like to be taken, koi?"

His smile darkened with sensuality, the tip of his tongue flicking out to moisten his bottom lip. He grasped the headboard with both hands and spread his legs wide, sparking a gleam of lust in Aoshi's eyes.

"Get the leather cuffs."

They moved under the banner of darkness, like ghosts barely perceptible at the corner of one's vision. Blink, and you'll miss them. Blink again, and you're dead.

"Red Five, this is Red Leader. Come in, Red Five."

"Red Leader, this is Red Five. Lock s-foils into attack posi--"

"When this is over, I'm going to kick your ass into orbit."

Or so it seemed.

"Jeez, boss. Lighten up, 'kay? Nothing's stirring at our end, not even a mouse."

"Probably because you frightened them away with your big mouth."

"Love you too, Red Two."

"Gentlemen -- inappropriate as the term may be -- please. We're on a mission here."

"Thank you, Red Three."

"Anytime, Red Leader."

"Whaaa~aaatever."

"Red Five. Shut. Up."

"Um. Heh-heh. Over and out."

Yoshino jacked out of the mind-link, flashing a sly grin at her silent partner. "Bet you think we're pretty unprofessional, huh?"

"Hn."

"Aw, man." She threw up her hands in mock surrender. "When Ozaki got promoted to XO, I thought I'd finally get someone who talks more than three words per week. Jay-sus. Where do you strong silent types come from anyway? A can?"

"I might tell you." Amber eyes glinted. "If you promise to shut up for the rest of the night."

"Gasp! I am cut to the quick!" She poked him in the arm, careful not to dislodge the binoculars he held. "And they say you don't have a sense of humour..."

"Don't disillusion them."

"Ninmu ryoukai, Red Four."

She discreetly studied her new partner, noting the air of wariness she sensed from him even while he was relaxed. Now, when the shit could hit the fan at any given second, it acquired a razor-sharp edge. Word had spread of his record before joining covert ops -- impressive, for someone so young.

Of course, he looked older than his years. His features were harsh, like a rock hewn by a chisel, and she thought only the softening effect of age could give him any sort of conventional beauty. Sexy as hell, though -- his cool arrogance attracted, rather than repelled. Then there were his eyes: a strange tawny colour, far too wise and tired for someone his age.

"Shit."

Yoshino automatically snapped into action mode, all traces of humour wiped from her face. "What's up?" she asked, scanning their surveilance area.

"We've got a lost sheep on our hands."

The telescopic vision in her cyborg eyes confirmed it. "Fuck! What's a civilian doing here at this hour?" Not waiting for an answer, she immediately jacked into their mind-link. "Red Leader, this is Red Five. A civilian's been spotted near our target. Please advise."

"Red Five, this is Red Leader. You're sure it's a civ?"

"Positive."

"Bugger."

"No thanks."

"Red Leader, this is Red Null. The sharks are moving in."

"Oh hell." Yoshino slapped her face with the palm of her hand. "If there're any civ casualties, the Ministry's gonna be on our tail for sure."

"Proceed as planned, Red Team. With extra caution."

"Ryoukai." She winked at her partner. "Time for a little whoop-ass, Red Four."

"Aa. Let's go." He spared one last fleeting look at the tall form of the civilian, camouflaged under a bulky winter coat. Absurdly, he wondered at the colour of the spiky hair.

Sanosuke didn't know what drove him to revisit the Kamiya Dojo, but there he was: staring at the place where Kaoru and Yahiko used to bicker. There was a warehouse now where the dojo used to be, with nothing remaining to commemorate its history. He expected to feel pain, even anger, but all that stirred in his heart was a kind of ghostly nostalgia, a reflection of an old ache.

He touched his shoulder briefly, and the ache intensified into despair. It was taking him longer to find Saitou for the past century, as if the gods had grown tired of tying their destinies together. The last time he found Saitou, he was almost too late. Saitou was a dying soldier, another "regrettable" wartime statistic. They had but seven years together -- she never fully recovered from the bio-toxins.

The Immortal sighed, and his world burst into hell.

Reflexes kicked in and he rolled, spotting shelter behind a crate to his left. It was singed by a blast, but mostly intact. Heart pumping wildly, he considered the effects of explosives on an Immortal. Maybe if his neck and head remained unscathed... the odds were not good.

"Get down!" warbled an electronic voice above him. A face, covered in a helmet, glared down at him. He was about to bite back when the discreet insignia on his -- her? -- armour-plated arm gave Sanosuke pause.

"Covert ops?"

"Yeah, and you're in the fucking way." Female, definitely female.

"Sorry," he muttered, but she was already well on her way into the thick of the battle. Over the top of the crate, he could see high-tech weaponry duking it out with more high-tech weaponry. "Some things never change."

A high-pitched whine, the stuff of his recent nightmares, made his teeth ache. "I didn't think there were any rogue 'droids left," he said to himself, resisting the urge to reach for his broadsword.

Something smashed through the crate, impacting against the wall so hard that it left a dent. It was one of the covert operative, his black hair falling around his face as his helmet tumbled free. Sanosuke stared, electricity running down his spine...

"SAITOH!" the female operative shouted, fighting off a persistent 'droid. She shot it and brought her gun around, ready to fire. "LOOK OUT!"

But Sanosuke was already there, shoving Saitoh away from the red beam of the targeting laser. He turned, facing the blank eyes of the rogue 'droid. An old model, he noted absently, steeling himself for the blaze of pain.

He wasn't disappointed. The bullets tore through his chest, pulverizing ribs and lungs. Blood geysered, raining down on the wall and floor. Sanosuke felt himself falling, as if in slow motion, even as the woman blew off the head of the 'droid.

Amber eyes met his darkening vision, and in them he saw a rush of familiarity -- framed by not a small amount of consternation. He gave a short bark of laughter. Even after all this time, his lover still hated to be rescued.

"Saitou, I've found you again," he whispered. With that, Shinigami's black robes swept over him.

The tall man slowly cut off his comm-link, eyes hooded. He leaned back in his chair, watching the dawn's pattern of shadow and light on the ceiling.

"How is he?" Yoshino asked from her desk. A chewed pen dangled from her lips, but she looked as serious as she could possibly manage.

"Dead," he answered curtly. "He's in the morgue waiting to be identified."

"Any idea who he is?"

Saitoh frowned. "No. I've run his fingerprint through the records -- no match. I'm still waiting for the DNA search."

His partner regarded him thoughtfully. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're taking this personally."

"He saved my life," he muttered. "The least I can do is inform his family."

"If you can find who he is. Lots of people fell through the cracks after the last war. Especially the poor."

"No gutter-dweller can afford the coat he had on," Saitoh dismissed her objections. "Certainly not the antique sword he was carrying."

Her eyebrows rose, nearly disappearing under her pale bangs. "Sword?!"

"That's what the hospital said. They wanted to know if they should make any special arrangements for it."

"And...?"

"I told them I'd pick it up in a few hours."

"Hrm. You are taking this personally."

He did not deign to reply, fixing his jewel-like gaze on the computer screen. There was something disturbingly familiar about the dead man, a mysterious closeness just out of memory's reach. Saitoh mulled over his dying words -- how did the man know his name? What did he mean by finding him again?

The search bot was still running merrily when the comm-link rang, startlingly loud on the dim hush of their office.

"Saitoh Hajime speaking." Yoshino watched him, fascinated by the disbelief colouring his usually expressionless face. "I'll be there."

"What's up?"

"The body's missing," he spat out, picking up his jacket. "I'm going to the hospital."

She stood. "I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

Their glaring contest was interrupted by a ping from Saitoh's computer, and he slid into his chair with a muffled curse. Yoshino lounged by the door, right foot tapping out a rhythmn, not pushing her victory but unwilling to relinquish it either.

"I've found out who he is," Saitoh said tersely, looking up. "His name is Sagara Sanosuke."

She straightened, blue eyes wary. "I take it that something's wrong?"

"According to the records, he should be 117 years old."

"That's impossible!" Yoshino reconsidered, "Illegal clone?"

His mouth was set in a grim line. "I'll find out."

I found him. It took me more than twenty years, but I found him again. And this time, I'm going to make sure he lives to complain about liver spots.

It's ironic, how I found him in the place we first met. A sign from the gods? That this will be the last time we're together?

No. She promised, and she doesn't break her word.

Can't think about the how and why now -- what matters is that Saitou and I are together again. He doesn't know it yet, but our destinies have merged together.

I'm delirious. I'm stumbling in one of Tokyo's more dangerous districts in nothing more than a coat and my broadsword, and I don't care. Come and get me, you shitty little punks. I'll survive. I'll survive and I'll see Saitou again.

I'm coming for you, Wolf of Mibu.

Try to stay alive.

-owari-

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