I don't own Samurai Champloo!

(But I have the right to make the characters act cool)

THIRDS

24 Moons Later

FUU

Fuu dipped her pale fingers gingerly into the cool water, creating a smooth flowing mirror. She let the water escape then, dripping through her grasp like the memories she held so dear. The memories of the tall frightening man who drifted away in a field of yellow, the smell that was not a smell but simply a clue. Were memories just as the water returning back into the pool of darkness? If that was so, then what if that field was to drip from her mind as the face of her father had? A tear fell from her dark brown eye and dropped down into the pond with the metaphor she grasped in her palms. Tears could keep memories alive; did Mugen have tears to rely on?

The young woman stood up, the emerald grass shifting position as she walked quietly away from the pond. It gleamed behind her as smooth as if it had never been touched, although it had acquired something new. Night had fallen many hours before, but sleep would not come. Was there a reason Kami-sama had caused this occurrence, destiny that had drawn from the darkness such an evil dream to invade her sleep? The answer could not be found here, at this pool of memories, so Fuu slipped through the trees and stepped onto the dirt path she had walked on the day before.

--

So dark, so cold

It had been almost 24 moons since they had parted ways and yet whenever the night fell she always felt so alone.

--

Why can't we just stay together?

For once Fuu had felt like she belonged… maybe even that she was loved. And when they had separated her heart was torn into thirds.

--

The moonlight cast light on her walking form and followed her tears as they trailed steadily down her face. Was here dream true; had her allies both died while she was gone? Sometimes Fuu thought she was the only one holding them back, that maybe if they weren't brought together they would both be dead. It was probably true, they would either have been executed or killed each other after making an escape.

Fuu laughed a little through her tears, this sad thought making her slightly happy. This thing in them, the "fighting spirit," was just so stupid to her. If they liked to fight so much they could've just argued a little more. Those moments were precious, the memories she missed the most.

"What will you do after you find the sunflower samurai?" Jin had asked her two years ago, without a clue of how she felt. Men were so stupid, especially Jin and especially Mugen, that idiot Mugen who kept getting hurt, that idiot. And Jin never expressed his true feelings. She couldn't tell, even now, if he was sad about his past. Not even if he was ever happy.

And now Fuu would never know.

Or did she once know and the memories slipped by her fingers?

--

Mugen, Jin, do you remember me too?

But how could she tell? How could she tell if they never really expressed if they cared about her at all? That one time in that abandoned old church she felt that Mugen had cared, that he was scared for her, but what now? After that day two years ago a lot could have changed, and Mugen could have changed too. Even if she found her friends would they still be the same Mugen and Jin that held the pieces of here heart?

--

I'll just have to see about that, Kami-sama. I need to find my heart again; I had no reason to part from it. It is time to begin my journey; I have nothing left to hold me back.

MUGEN

Mugen yawned and pulled the straw hat farther over his face, hiding the wear that had become evident. He was sleeping in a barn again, but not the same one as last night. Every morning he was kicked out of one place or another and had to find a new roost. It was a hard life, and Mugen smelled horrible.

This one was stuffy and smelled of dry hay, like most of them did. Streaks of yellow sunlight pierced through the tiny cracks in the wood and scattered across the floor in long beams. It wasn't early anymore, so the songbirds had long since dissipated into the clear sky.

Mugen cast his glance around the barn, and oddly he saw nothing. Usually he would be out of here by the time the sun crested the horizon, and at this hour robbing shops would commence. The thought that he should be full now made the samurai's stomach growl with the anger of being abused. "Jeez, can't you hold on for a damn second?" Mugen sighed and gently picked a piece of hay off the floor. After putting one end in his mouth, he stood up to leave.

There was a flash of silver and a swooshing sound; the piece of hay was cut in half. At Mugen's side was a large samurai dressed in indigo with his hair in a topknot. He smirked grimly and then took a scroll out of his pocket.

Mugen stared at the samurai with a blank expression and leaned against the barn wall. Dust showered onto him and he brushed it off, still staring.

"Mugen the Wicked-" began the guy with the weird hairstyle.

"That's a kind of corny name, its not like I made it up. Just call me Mugen, all right? Idiot." The brunette spit out the half piece of straw he had in his mouth and inserted a fresh one. "I was just leaving so you don't have to get so," Mugen drew his sword halfway out of it's sheath, "worked up."

The samurai's eye twitched and he backed up a few steps before continuing. "Mugen," he began, "this is a letter from the king s-stating, stating that-"

Mugen exposed two more inches of his sword and smiled jovially. "The king? Why, I think that it's a letter that says you should let me stay wherever I want. Is that right?" He laughed when the samurai put a hand on his sword and growled.

"Actually, it says that I'm allowed to kill you. I wouldn't look so pleased."

The brunette shrugged and closed his eyes, apparently not interested. A fly buzzed around his head. It abruptly fell to the ground in two even pieces.

"Surrender now and you'll get a quick death, you can't beat me." The indigo samurai smiled slightly at his own words of praise and drew his sword. It caught the rays of sunlight and sprayed them along the walls. He pointed the tip at Mugen's throat and charged, his sword flying swiftly into the air and coming down to deal a blow.

Blood spurted into the air and splattered along the wall Mugen had occupied. The indigo samurai fell to his knees and felt the place where the sword lay imbedded in his chest. A trickle of blood slowly ran down the side of his mouth and dripped over his chin, dropping unnoticed into the pool of blood shining on the ground. The dying man laughed quietly first and then hysterically, speaking the same words over and over until he fell to his side.

"Curse you, dog, curse you."

It was a while before Mugen moved, and until then he stood there staring at the dead man. He was rusty, the man had lived ten minutes longer than he should have, his breath rapid, trying to wait until a time when his lungs would fill with air. Then he took one deep breath and his eyes clouded over with the shroud of death. Was it sympathy that Mugen felt now, or impending doom? The latter.

The cicadas were back, clicking their wings together and keeping the silence at bay. They would die so soon, finding a mate and then dropping down to the ground, their life's story finished. This man meant nothing to the world, and meant nothing to Japan. He would be found dead, and his family would mourn, but there would be other to take his place. There would be others assigned to kill Mugen, and perhaps they would succeed.

The samurai looked thoughtful for a moment, and then removed the straw hat from his head. "Later." He threw the hat over the motionless face and then walked slowly out of the barn, looking back once more to see if the man would move.

JIN

Unable to fulfill his promise, Jin wandered around trying to make the most of the life he had left. He had a dojo with loyal students, just as his teacher would have wanted. He had plenty to eat, a warm bed to sleep in and something in his life that was missing. To keep his mind off of this, he constantly trained and taught, each day waking before his students and forcing himself to forget.

This morning he got up, and fell. He coughed, splattering blood across the floor and on the sleeves of his red kimono. The students wouldn't be able to tell, so Jin wouldn't pay it any mind. He kneeled on the floor and breathed slowly to calm himself, but a ringing was still clear in his head.

"It's nothing, I'm fine," he would say to his students later, trying to trick them into thinking this was so. He would show them amazing things, and they would think he was all right as they were. "I'm a little tired, that's all."

Today though he knew there was something wrong, this is the first time his sickness was so severe. Soon he would die, that was evident unless he got help. He couldn't leave his students though, and he couldn't let them know he was lying about his health. Instead of being gracious, he thought, they would turn on him. One student in particular frightened him, Tatsuyama; the one he knew could beat him.

In the past two years, his health began to deteriorate and he was unable to search for Shino. Staying here was what he really wanted to do, and dying here would be just as well. The highlight of his life was over, and now, he supposed, was his time to go. The sickness was winning, and the boy who reminded him so much of himself would deal the final blow.

Is that an honorable was to die, Jin?

He thought for a moment. Then said, "does honor really matter?"

Does it really matter?

"In some sense, no."

Would you rather die with honor, or die a sick coward?

"Is there anything I can do?"

Will anyone care if you die?

Jin fell to his side and looked at the silk screen with a distant expression on his face. "I've grown soft, I've made too many friends. Can I die and be in peace?" He thought back two years and remembered looking back at the two 'friends as they walked in their three separate directions. "You know, this is the longest conversation I've ever had."

There was no answer, and Jin got to his feet. He had an hour left before his students woke up; and he knew what had to be done. Before he left, Tatsuyama would have to be killed; he didn't want the dojo to be left to him.

The night was cold, and pierced through Jin's skin like a sword. The crickets chirped sluggishly, and as he passed the grasses they inhabited, became silent altogether. Soon he found himself outside the boy's quarters, the walls covered in silk that was torn in many places. There was often rain in the mountains, and the silk had taken on a creamy yellow age.

Jin drew a dagger from his pocket and silently cut a giant slit into one of the screens. The silk gave way and revealed a whole for him to enter. It was dark inside, and all he could see was the outline of a human, and the glimmer of a sword.

Thus ends the first chapter of 'Thirds'! Fuu has late at night, Jin has early morning and Mugen has late morning. Don't worry, the characters won't always have such obscure times of day. Jin seems a little out-of-character, and so does Mugen. I mean, two years can really make a difference. I really hope you didn't think it was too crappy, because I REALLY don't want to make you unhappy. I'll answer all your reviews in my next installment, which should be in around two weeks. Please wait for it! There'll be a lot more blood, maybe a little adventure with Fuu aboard a ship. Romance? Just wait… (: It's gonna' be a lotta' fun!