The world had been red. Always, always red. Red with blood. Red with fire. Red with reflected fear and horror.
There had been shades, of course. The dark, dark, dark red of the shadows the assassins had hid in. The bright, radiant, beautiful red of a sword in motion. The beaten in red of the streets they used to walked on (more brown than red, really, from the dried in blood no one bothered to clean anymore) and the glittering, welcoming, frightening red of lurking madness. But always red.
Kenshin remembered well. And here, now, with Saitou in front of him once more, sword yet again raised to kill, it was clearer than it had ever been these last ten years. He stared into Saitou's golden wolf eyes, glimmering with anticipation and just a hint of frustration. Well hidden, but nevertheless there. And Kenshin, who knew Saitou better than he knew anyone or anything else, could read it easily.
Frustration with Kenshin's refusal to fight him seriously, with his continued insistence in holding on to his rurouni persona, with Yahiko and Kaoru-dono's presence. But also a deeper frustration, one that Kenshin could sympathise with, no matter how much he wished he couldn't. Frustration at the weakness of this new era. With the lack of any proper challenge. With the loss of the blood-soaked (red, oh so very red) streets of the Bakumatsu.
Weak? Yes, he had become weaker in these years. Not by choice. Of course not. But when one no longer has enemies, challenges, to keep ones skills sharp, they were bound to deteriorate.
Saitou, eyes glimmering wolf-gold in the dying light, saw his understanding, his corresponding frustration and quiet anger at his own fall, (because just as Kenshin always, always, always knew how to read Saitou, knew him inside and out, so did Saitou know Kenshin) and grinned.
"Shall we dance then, Battousai, one last time?" the grin asked. Kenshisn's eyes changed colour.
"Yes."
And, once more, they painted the world in red.
A short little oneshot that spawned in the time it took to be written. This is what happens when I read too much Rurouni Kenshin. Because I don't think it's as easy as they make it out to be. Kenshin was an excellent killer, and there is a certain joy in excellence. Loosing that unequalled strength has to sting. And even though he doesn't want to kill, fighting is another thing entirely. When you have spent your entire life either learning how to fight or fighting, one learns to love it, I think. And that rush of overcoming someone, of victory, is rather addictive from what I understand. So, the result of these musings is this. Think of it what you will. :D
Yura-chan