Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own Kenshin. Wish I did, because if so, then Jinchuu would have been animated by now... (hint, hint to the powers that be...)

Turnabout

By: SiriusFan13

As the saying goes... turnabout is fair play...

Chapter 1

Ushiro

I woke late that morning with a terrible headache. Sunlight streamed through the window that I'd brilliantly left open in my drunken stupor the night before. God only knew what I'd been thinking. I sure as hell didn't. Actually, I had a feeling that I wouldn't want to know what, if anything, had been going through my mind before I'd passed out.

I sighed deeply. Last night had been a stupid plan, if one could actually call it a plan. I didn't drink often... Well, that wasn't entirely true. I drank as often as anyone else. But not excessively. Certainly nothing that wasn't fitting my station. I'd share sake with friends. Occasionally I'd drink to calm my nerves. But I didn't like getting drunk. I'd learned to stretch the time I took on one cup to last two or three drinks of my comrades.

It wasn't just a personal preference either. This was practicality. I'd had a terrible temper in my younger days. I'd been foolish and dangerous, and alcohol had only worsened that. Truth be told, I was still too easy to anger. But I'd learned to control it. Was good enough at it that most people didn't even realize that I had much of a temper. However, I didn't trust my hard-earned control in the face of the freeing power of alcohol. Someone could get hurt.

And if it were Kenshin and I getting drunk together, then that someone would probably wind up being me. I had a habit of opening my idiot mouth while drinking. And I had no idea how Kenshin responded to too much sake.

God, Katsura's going to kill me for this.

I forced that thought from my mind, already knowing that last night had been a stupid decision, and finding no need to torture myself over something that could no longer be helped. Anyway, I had realized how stupid it was when I'd made the choice. But at the time I'd felt like I had to do something to help Kenshin, and drinking was all that would come to mind. I've probably been spending too much time around Kano. How else would I have come up with such a brilliant idea?

Last night, Kenshin and I had survived a failed run. Our charge had been badly injured and we had been forced to bring him back to base, unsure if he was even going to survive. I was angry about it. We both were. But, unfortunately, these things happened, and, upset though I was, I was used to it. In fact, it was usually me who wound up being the injured one.

Other than a concern for the man's life, the situation should have been dropped as soon as we'd reported to Katsura. But for some reason Kenshin had taken this injury worse than usual. At first the kid had been fine. We'd gone to see the doctor immediately after Katsura had dismissed us. Had both been relieved when the doctor had said that he would live. Kenshin had been fine. Until our charge had begun, in his pained delirium, speaking of the fiancee he had waiting for him back home.

That was all it had taken. Kenshin's entire demeanor had abruptly changed. He'd gone from wearing his usual expressionless mask to looking as though he were going to be sick. He'd immediately excused himself, probably so no one would see the change in his eyes. But I'd certainly noticed and had followed him into the hall, demanding that he tell me what was wrong.

He'd coldly distanced himself, refusing to answer me. Simply stating that he was fine and would retire to his room. Reminding me that I had my own injuries to treat. Again.

I hadn't been willing leaving him alone like that. Something wasn't right in his eyes. Or in his ki. He hadn't even looked like he was really seeing me as he spoke. For the first time, I was afraid of what he might do if left alone to his thoughts. This whole mess had brought about that distant expression that I'd learned to expect whenever he'd touch the scar on his cheek. And I'd never liked the empty feeling that seemed to come with that look.

So, rather than leave him in peace like any sane person would have done, I'd invited him to drink with me last night. Then I'd demanded. After several refusals, and an irritated flash to his eyes, I finally managed to convince him to join me, implying that I needed the alcohol, and that I did stupid things when I was drinking alone. He'd believed that a bit too easily for my liking, but at least he finally agreed, more to babysit me, I'm sure, than to join in. In fact, it had taken forever to get him to drink with me at all, and by the time he'd finally started, I'd already downed a fair share myself.

The night became fuzzy after that. I honestly didn't even remember going back to my room. And I sure as hell couldn't figure out what had possessed me to open the damn window.

I cracked my eye open to check it out. Sunlight streamed into my room, blinding my already sensitive eyes.

Cursing my idiocy, I moaned and buried my face in my hands.

At the touch of my hands, I froze, all thoughts of pain and nausea pushed to the back of my mind as I tentatively ran my hands over my face again, tracing my finger down an unfamiliar mar in my skin. My eyes flew open.

What the hell?

I'd been injured hundreds of times since I'd left Tosa. Especially since I'd started working with Kenshin. I knew that I was covered in scars. But I'd never had any on my face before. What had I done last night? Had I been stupid enough to start something while both of us had been drunk?

I hauled myself to my feet, using the wall to keep steady as I stumbled forward a step. My head pounded worse with the sudden change in elevation, and I remained still a moment to regain my bearings. Apparently the sake was still working its magic. Fantastic. And now that I was standing, the sun was shining directly into my eyes. Even better.

Damn sun. Damn window. Damn sake.

Damn idiot, I thought to myself. Let's put blame where it belongs, Ryu...

I touched my face again, then withdrew my hand, studying it. Yeah, I was definitely injured, but even in my fuzzy mental state, I found it odd that even with no bandage, there was also no blood. The cut felt... old. As though it had somehow already healed over. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it had initially seemed? I was going to have to get dressed and talk with Kenshin. See if he could tell me what I'd done. I pushed myself from the wall, my legs and back stiff from sleeping against it. Wait... what happened to my futon? Had I been so drunk that I couldn't even handle a futon? I was really starting to hope that it had only been Kenshin and I in the room. Otherwise, I'd be hearing about this one stupid night for weeks.

I stretched, brushing some loose hair from my face. Had to take care of that, too. I probably looked like hell. It took me awhile to find my comb. It wasn't where I usually put it. After finally digging it out of a chest, I let my hair free from the topknot I'd left it in last night, prepared to comb out a mass of tangles.

I wasn't, however, prepared for the strands of hair that dropped into my eyes, free from their binding. I pulled a lock to dangle it in front of my face, scrutinizing it.

Red.

What? If I hadn't been so hungover, I probably would have started putting things together by then. But my mental faculties weren't at their best, and instead I wound up trying to rationalize my brand new scars and red hair.

Because things like that could be figured out logically... I'm a baka sometimes.

I began pacing, my habit whenever things became too much to handle. I probably got drunk and pissed off Kenshin. That has to be it. I pissed him off and wound up with a gash on my face... Which apparently healed up at an unnatural speed... I pushed that crazy thought from my mind. I also chose to ignore the obvious problem that Kenshin wasn't a naturally violent person. I was too busy trying to rationalize the red hair.

Had I been a real ass to him last night? Teased him about his looks or something stupid enough to put him into such a malicious mood that he had dyed my hair to match his while I slept? It was possible, I supposed... Alcohol could turn a man into an entirely different person sometimes...

But had something like that really been necessary...?

That little shit, I thought, though I think I was more amused than anything. Maybe a little angry, but I quickly stifled my irritation, realizing that such comments were best left in my head. Maybe I should sober up a bit more before talking to him.

So, I'd probably just pissed him off. Reasonable. I paused in my pacing, considering. And then he'd somehow managed to pull this off without waking me up. All the while drunk, himself.

Yeah, right...

It was ridiculous. Though was it really any more ridiculous than my other option, which I'd avoided actually considering?

I looked around again, trying to convince myself that this really wasn't anything impossibly out of the ordinary. A cursory glance around the room confirmed that it wasn't mine. The violent hair coloring theory was losing its battle for likelihood.

I needed to come up with a better explanation. Now.

Okay, then it's a dream, I told myself, grasping at straws. It just has to be a dream. Of course it was. Why hadn't I thought of that before?

That's right... because I was hungover and still a little drunk. Baka! God, I was never going to drink again...

A dream. Right. I just need to wake up.

I pinched myself, with no results except an aching spot on my arm. I tried a few more times, until I realized that all I was doing was bruising an arm that didn't look much like mine either... even with the fresh bruises I'd inflicted upon it blossoming over pale skin.

Dammit.

I needed a mirror or something. Where would he keep a mirror? I looked around the room helplessly.

It really shouldn't have been that hard to find. Everything was in perfect order. Everything.

God, this room's neat. It doesn't even look lived in.

It was undoubtedly his.

Who had time to organize things like this? Though now that I was really looking around, there wasn't much to keep track of. A couple of shinai in the corner. A stand for his daisho, holding only his wakizashi. A quick glance where I'd been sleeping confirmed the location of his katana. There was a tray for bandages. His unused futon.

And a stack of books in the corner, which I'd never seen him read. A new thought struck me as my brain slowly stopped drowning in the alcohol. Could he read? I'd never asked him. But surname or not, I doubted he was samurai. And depending on what caste he was from, he may never have had reason to learn.

I don't know why that of all things would suddenly matter to me in my predicament, but I was suddenly struck with an odd pang as I realized how little I really knew about him. And that, even so, I still probably understood him better than most.

I shook my head, clearing it of these thoughts. Worry about it later. Right now just find a mirror. My eyes finally fell on the chest where I'd found the comb. I threw the lid open again with a clatter, and pulled out his sword polishing set, carefully setting it in front of me. Then I began digging through his clothes for the looking glass that I was certain I'd find.

There was a knock at the door, which didn't answer, too distracted by my frenzied search to bother with whoever was out there. If it was important, they'd come back.

I started yanking clothing out of the chest. The visitor was insistent, knocking again. I continued to ignore the sound, pulling out a hakama and a few kosode and tossing them to the floor. There was the tinkling sound of broken glass behind me where the hakama had landed.

I sighed. Well, I guess I found his mirror.

Another knock, sounding more urgent somehow. "Just a minute!" I snapped, flinching at the sound of his voice slipping from my mouth as I scrambled to grab the remains of the mirror.

There was dead silence for a moment, finally followed by a soft, flat voice. "Ushiro-san?"

He had a distinctive way of speaking. A faint accent that made it clear that he wasn't from Kyoto, nor Choshu either. Although the voice in the hall had clearly been mine, I could immediately tell who had actually spoken. I didn't really need the mirror anymore, though I glanced at it anyway, confirming what I'd already known.

The reflection I saw in its damaged face was not mine. It was Kenshin's.

Author's note: Thanks for humoring me in my bit of insanity, and for reading this despite the horrible summary! ^ ^ ; This is called the result of three nights of wicked insomnia... I'm still working hard at "Crossroads", so don't worry that this means I've stopped (if you're reading that fic). I'm already about halfway through its next chapter. As to this one... updates are likely to be sporadic. It's just a little insanity to entertain myself while I work on other fics... I appreciate you reading it though. I also want to thank lolo popoki and sueb262 once again for their beta work! Thanks!

Dewa mata!

Sirius