Disclaimer: I don't own Ruroken. As usual. You'd think after how many times I've written this on my fics that it would be common knowledge by now!

"'Tis midnight now. The bent and broken moon, batter'd and black as from a thousand battles, hangs silent on the purple walls of Heaven."

--Joaquin Miller

Midnight

Kenshin dragged himself into the room, too tired to think. How many nights had it been since he'd slept? Three? Four? He had lost count. They were all just one long night of killing to him. He could no longer tell the difference except by the moon. It certainly wasn't as though he made plans with the other men. None of them chose to speak with him. That wasn't entirely true, he amended. But Ushiro likes everyone. He doesn't count. Anyway, his schedule didn't permit it. He was generally too tired to waste time on friendships. He was always tired lately. If not physically, then spiritually.

Kenshin knew that their leader worried about the health of his hitokiri. The state of his sword. Allowing Kenshin to run himself ragged was like allowing a blade to get dull, Katsura had once explained. Sleep was like polishing the sword. Kenshin would clean up, eat and sleep every day, mission or not or else the blood would eat away at him, and he would become unusable. The hitokiri had understood that explanation far better than Okami's open concern about his health.

Kenshin had followed his advice. Mostly. Only once had Kenshin pushed himself too far, exhausting both his body and mind, and almost cracking, falling into a state of paranoia. After that, Katsura had refused him any duties until he rested. It had been a long, boring, frustrating week for the young hitokiri. He was not used to just sitting around. And he certainly wasn't impressed with being sent to bed by his commander, especially in front of the other soldiers. It had been bad enough taking it from his shishou. This had been just humiliating, although his face had shown no change in expression. He had taken it and left the room. If he'd been back home, he'd probably have had a fit.

A dry smile now graced his normally emotionless face, as he recalled his silent fuming that night. See, Shishou. I can learn. You wouldn't even know me for how much I've grown. His expression darkened with that thought. And how far I've fallen. I'm glad you don't have to see that... I don't want you to know what I've become.

Kenshin sighed, carefully resting his daisho on its stand and began pulling off his bloodstained clothes, forcing thoughts of home from his weary mind. He was in enough pain as it was, without adding mental torture into the mix. He'd rinsed his hands and face before entering his room, too tired to bathe. But he refused to sleep in anything that smelled of blood. He'd learned what kinds of nightmares came from that.

He struggled with his gi. His hands felt clumsy, and his clothing was far too complicated for his tired hands to handle. Everything is complicated tonight. Finally, he managed to yank the heavy material off, and, in what he knew was a childish fit of frustration, threw the offending clothing into the corner. He'd pushed himself too far this time. He had lost his edge, and even such simple motions as these were giving him trouble. His next layer came off more easily. It, too, was discarded. He stood, exhausted and half naked, his careful eyes searching the room. He had a clean yukata somewhere. If he didn't find it soon, he'd risk a cold and sleep in only his hakama. There isn't so much blood on my hakama... He sighed. It was a lie. He knew he wouldn't actually be able to sleep in that. He had to get changed. He had to find some clothes. It was almost a mantra. Short and repetitive. His mind seemed unable to function on a much higher level.

He didn't bother lighting his lantern in his search, his eyes already adjusted to the darkness. He lived in the darkness. Was a part of it. Light would only blind him.

Ah! There it is!

It rested neatly near the door with some other clothes that had been carefully cleaned and mended for him. Thank god. I just need to get a little sleep. Just a little. To rest my mind... He changed as quickly as possible, but even in his hurry, he was moving terribly slow. The cool material slid silently over his body. Clean smelling. Fresh. He breathed it in, wishing he could change himself so easily.

I will have to thank Okami for this. I'll do it at lunch, if I'm awake. He tied off his clothing, mentally adding. And I'll check with the doctor and see how Ushiro is doing. That wound looked bad...

Kenshin considered that thought as he bent to scoop his katana back off of its stand, unwilling to sit unprotected, and dragged himself to dark corner of the room far from the discarded reminder of this night's work. He dropped to the floor like a sack of rice, propping himself against the stack of books, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable. He was ready to fall asleep, deeply enough to let himself recover. Light enough to stay alert.

Ushiro...

Apparently his mind had worn out as much as his body had.

The thought had come unbidden. Ushiro... He didn't really understand that man.

Most of the soldiers had been spooked by the child Katsura had brought back to base. By his abilities, and by Katsura's clear interest in him. Even at that age, Kenshin had been able to feel it in their ki. Had easily seen it in the way they carefully avoided him. How they only talked with him when necessary. A few of the men managed a general nod in his direction, but that had been all. It had been so different from home. Where he'd been around only one person for any span of time, but had felt like he'd belonged. Had felt, in a strange way, like he was even wanted. Here, surrounded by people, he was alone.

Those first few days had been terrible. He didn't fit in: a child among men. But as soon as Katsura had given Kenshin his first job, it had grown worse. When the other men figured out why Katsura had brought the boy there in the first place, they had backed off completely, uneasy around a child who could return to base stained in blood with an expression like stone. It was easier to pretend he didn't exist than risk dealing with his probable instability. Grown men went mad with blood. It would be only a matter of time before Katsura would be finding himself a new hitokiri while this child went to an early grave. They felt for the boy. But still... that didn't mean they wanted any part in it.

That first night, Kenshin had made the mistake of coming in early enough that a few men had still been awake, playing dice and killing time. He had entered quietly, closing the door behind him. He'd had no idea what he looked like, covered in the evidence of his business. Most of the men wouldn't even look at him, already having made their choice. They would treat him as a silent shadow. Kenshin might as well have been absent from the room.

Ushiro had been playing cho-han with the others. There had been nothing remarkable about him. He had avoided eye contact like the rest. Had seemed just as uncomfortable, throwing his dice, and staring intently at them as though he'd expected them to do a trick. There had appeared to be no difference between him and any of the men in the room, and so the young hitokiri had thought nothing of him.

Kenshin had stood a moment, puzzled. It had never been this bad until that night. But when the silence had stretched for too long, Kenshin finally understood that this was how it would be. He dropped his gaze to the floor like a shamed child, and silently began walking away.

Ushiro chose that moment to speak.

"Himura-san."

Kenshin's startled eyes snapped up to find the source of the voice. Ushiro still wasn't making eye contact. Eyes on the dice before him, he commented softly, "You'd better clean up before you set foot in Okami's kitchen."

The boy had blinked up at him. "What?"

Ushiro managed a faint smile at the boy's confusion, and glanced over to look him in the eyes. "Clean up. She'll have food for you. I'm sure of it. She takes good care of us." With that, he'd returned to the game as though nothing had happened.

Us.

One word, and Kenshin had felt just that much better. Well enough to make it to the bath. To get what little food he could into his stomach before he truly registered what he'd done and he was sick. He hadn't expected that. The act had been so easy...

Kenshin hadn't forgotten that night. Hadn't forgotten the only man in that eerily silent room who had bothered to look at him and recognize that he was still human.

And incredibly, Ushiro continued making kind gestures. If possible, growing more openly concerned with each life the boy took. Kenshin could make no sense of it.

Kenshin could feel himself turning into a weapon. An unstoppable blade. A demon. Giving up his humanity for his cause.

By all logic, Ushiro should have backed away. Yet, for some insane reason, Ushiro still tried to talk to him. Still tried to pretend that some part of the boy remained intact.

It was ridiculous.

And Kenshin wouldn't allow it, forcing distance between them. Speaking only to the swordsman when communication was required, which was rarely. Going so far as to avoid him when possible. It was nothing personal, although it was probably best if Ushiro thought it was and gave up on the hitokiri. Kenshin didn't want to risk having the only person who still foolishly cared about his well-being realize that Kenshin had already destroyed himself. Kenshin didn't want Ushiro to see how soulless he had become. He preferred to simply let the man believe what he would. Then, at least someone might care if he died.

And so Kenshin avoided Ushiro in the same way that others avoided Battousai.

He sighed, and leaned back resting his head against the wall, his sword still gripped tightly in his hands.

He wanted to protect Ushiro's naïve beliefs about what Kenshin would become in the end. He didn't want anyone to become too attached to someone who likely would not live to see the end he was fighting for. He wanted the distance. That was what he told himself, at least.

But sometimes even Kenshin's stubborn will bent a bit...

And, as tired as he was, Kenshin found himself, just before sleep took him, playing with the idea of stopping in and checking on Ushiro tomorrow. Voluntarily talking with him instead of his doctor... Just this once. To make sure he was healing up alright. He owed the man that much, didn't he?

For that single moment, just before sleep took him, the boy felt a spark of interest in something other than blood and death. He was too tired to protect himself from that moment of real emotion. With that, his eyes closed and, for the first time in months, he truly relaxed, slipping into a deep, restful sleep.

Author's Note: Thanks to lolo popoki and sueb262 for their great beta work. Especially since I set this one for the rubbish bin so many times since it began... Also, thanks for reading!

And, yeah, yeah, yeah. More Ushiro stuff. I'm just waiting for the day someone tells me to stop with him already!

Anyway, have a lovely day.

Dewa mata!

Sirius