Sanosuke Sagara moved silently along the darkened laneway; his long, lean body just another liquid shadow in the night. These midnight walks had become more frequent of late. Something was troubling the warrior. The something had been deep at the back of his mind for a long time now. It had been steadily creeping into his consciousness, a vaugely unsettling feeling. Even the others had begun to notice - Kaoru and Yahiko were beginning to worry about his increasingly frequent lapses into deep thought. Depression, they thought it was. And Kenshin - Kenshin had been worried too. Perhaps, thought Sano irritably. He could never read Kenshin's face - it was a mask radiating gentleness, but Sano had seen and could never forget the formidable face of the Battosai which lay beyond.
Why did I start thinking about Kenshin, Sano wondered.
He sat down on the edge of a stone water trough, his chin in his hands. A gentle breeze rippled through his hair, transforming his bandana into a fluttering red flag.
His eyes flickered to the left. Someone was there, hiding in the shadows.
"Zanza." The voice was deep and cracked.
Out of the darkness a large, hunched figure approached the water trough. In his shadowy hands was a drawn sword.
"My name is Zanza no longer, old man," said Sano, without getting up.
"You killed my son, Zanza." The stooping man continued to shuffle forward. "With your cursed Zanbatou, you slew him in cold blood. But he will not go unavenged..."
The old man leapt forward, his sword raised. With seemingly minimal effort and quicksilver speed, Sano's fist shot out and into the man's chest. With a short, surprised groan, the man fell backwards and sprawled in the dirt, motionless.
Sano got up and walked away. It was ironic, the way that old man had appeared, just as his past was coming back to haunt him. It was as if the man had materialised out of his memories, his old life...
Sanosuke Sagara no longer used any weapon besides his fists. But once - once he had wielded the mighty Zanbatou, the largest sword ever made. It was said to have never been mastered due to its sheer weight. But Sano - Zanza - had mastered it. In the days when he was a fighter-for-hire, he had wielded it with phenomenal strength and endurance. Nobody could defeat him. Except...
In his mind's eye, Sano saw the cleft Zanbatou; two pieces of heavy, worthless metal lying harmlessly in the dust. And standing above him - Kenshin, pure warrior spirit gleaming in his amber eyes...
Thinking about Kenshin again? Sano shook his head. What he should be worrying about was the feeling of abstract foreboding that had been steadily creeping into his thoughts lately. But whenever he tried to analyse the feeling, to examine what was causing it, his thoughts always slipped away to...
Kenshin.
Sano stopped walking. It was Kenshin. Kenshin was making him feel this way. Even as he reached this conclusion, his mind was volunteering pieces of relative evidence. The strained, uncomfortable feeling which took over his body when he watched Kenshin fight. The uncertainty he felt when speaking to Kenshin, masked with Sanosuke-brand idle conceit. He felt distinctly unsettled when Kenshin was away from the house, alone. But why? Sano thought he had settled all of his grudges against Kenshin a long time ago. Why were these feelings emerging now?
----
"Wake up Yahiko! You always sleep late!"
"I'm already up, you ugly old nagger!"
"What!? Who're you calling ugly? Ohh, you're gonna get it... Hey, you're not up yet, you liar!"
"Get out, Kaoru!"
Kenshin smiled and stirred the pot over the fire. Those two might act like they hate each other, he thought, but they're really just like brother and sister, that they are. My family... Kaoru, Yahiko... and Sano...
Yahiko burst through the open doorway. "I smell... I smell..." He sniffed the air. "Kenshin's miso soup! A million times better than Kaoru's!" He appeared not to notice Kaoru looming behind him.
"Ohh.. I wouldn't say that Yahiko... Kaoru-san's soup is quite delicious, that it is..."
"What are you talking about Kenshin? You know as well as I do that Kaoru can't cook for-UGH!!" Kaoru had brought a saucepan down on Yahiko's head.
"WHO can't cook?"
"YOU can't cook - OW!"
"Now now, you two..."
Sano stood a little way off, leaning against a wooden beam of the house and watching the three with some amusement. He still felt the same affection for these three misfits as he always had, only now the revelations of the previous night were tainting his feelings with a peculiar discomfort.
Kenshin stood up and beckoned to him. "Aren't you having breakfast, Sano? Come join us!"
Sano stood where he was for a moment, then smiled. He strode away around the corner of the house. Kaoru and Yahiko stopped their bickering and looked at Kenshin.
"Sano's been acting really weird lately," said Yahiko. "What d'you think's wrong with him?"
"He looks depressed to me," said Kaoru. "It doesn't suit him," she added. "The happy-go-lucky Sanosuke, depressed." She shook her head.
Kenshin continued to stare at the spot where Sano had stood. He *had* been acting decidedly different. Completely unlike the Sano they were used to. His sharp wit and biting sarcasm had been replaced with brooding and melancholy. He hardly spoke to them anymore, preferring to take long, solitary walks through the town or the countryside. But the thing that disturbed Kenshin the most was Sano's severely depleted fighting spirit. He remembered the time Sano had come to the house to pick his fight with Kenshin. Kenshin had been able to sense his presence from inside the house, it was so strong. No, this wasn't like Sano at all.
And then there was the strange way that Sano had been acting around him of late. Kenshin had recognised the way that Sano had been trying to mask whatever was disturbing him - the older samurai had once done much the same. He wanted to talk to Sano about it. But his own experience told him that Sano might rather be left alone...
----
Morning mist curled through the branches of a cherry tree and drifted downwards to hang above the little pond in the small garden adjacent to Kaoru-san's house. Sano sat beside the pool, his shoulders hunched as if bearing a great weight. Slowly he craned his head forward to look at his reflection in the still water. The face that looked back at him was haggard - dark bruises ringed his eyes, which were themselves dull and lifeless. The glowing amber eyes of the Battosai flashed into his mind.
Sano growled. "Why can't I stop thinking about Kenshin!?" This last word was punctuated by Sano's fist slamming down into the soft moss.
The amber eyes haunted him.
Sano peered again at his reflection, his own dull brown eyes staring back at him mournfully. Why am I feeling so wretched, they asked him. What is this problem I have with Kenshin, with the Battosai...
The Battosai.
Kenshin was no longer Hitokiri Battosai. He had thrown away that name when he renounced killing, when he had become simply Kenshin Himura, the wanderer, just as Sano had rid himself of the name Zanza. But the Battosai still lurked beneath Kenshin's gentle features, Sano knew. He had seen it. When Kenshin fought with his reverse-blade sword, the Battosai was there with him, silently waiting beneath the wanderer's calm exterior, waiting for a chance to escape...
Was this what was bothering him then?
A bitter smell wafted through the mist, accompanied by rather bad singing.
"Radishes, yams and rice, ho.."
A grin spread across Sano's features. He stood.
"Stop that racket, Kenshin."
Kenshin sat a little way off, nearer to the house, stirring the soup for breakfast.
"Oro? ...I didn't know you were out here, Sano," he said, looking abashed. "It's still quite early, that it is."
"Couldn't sleep. Haven't slept all night, actually," said Sano, plonking himself down opposite Kenshin, on the other side of the pot.
They sat in silence for a little while. Kenshin didn't want to say anything to disturb Sano's apparently better mood. It was the first time he had spoken to Kenshin like the old Sano, for what seemed like months. But then again... this might be the perfect opportunity to ask the younger man what was troubling him.
Sano warmed his hands by the little fire beneath the pot, and glanced up at Kenshin furtively. Kenshin's violet eyes were gentle as he stirred the soup; he was a picture of simple contentment. It was hard to believe that the Battosai lay beneath that calm exterior. But Sano knew better. Even now, as he watched the gentle wanderer preparing the morning meal, he felt... afraid...
"Sano."
Sano woke up from his ponderings, and realised he had been staring at Kenshin for some time. Kenshin gave him a quizzical look.
"Something's been bothering you, Sano. Does it have something to do with me? Just because - you were looking at me quite strangely, that you were."
Just for an instant, Sano thought he saw the eyes flash amber.
"No, um.. well yeah. Actually." There was no going back now. Maybe talking things over with Kenshin would help, anyway.
"The fact is, um... well I think I'm going crazy. I feel uncomfortable, unsure of myself - all the time. I feel.. afraid."
"Afraid, Sano?" Kenshin looked up from his stirring. "What are you afraid of?" Was this the same fearless troublemaker everyone knew?
"I'm afraid of... of you, Kenshin."
Kenshin sat in shocked silence for a moment, before he realised that the edge of his robe had caught fire.
"Oro! o-oro!" Kenshin batted at the flames as Sanosuke, laughing, collected some water from the pond and dumped it into Kenshin's lap.
"O-ooro... thanks Sano," said Kenshin sheepishly. "But.. Sano.. why on earth..." He turned. Sano was gone.