Disclaimer: As usual, I own no Ruroken. I also do not own the basis for this story. This is to be treated as a fan-written partner story to sueb262's amazing fiction, "Memento Mori." Please check it out and read it first. This story will make more sense if you do. Also, I'd like to thank sueb262 for permission to write this piece as well as for beta-ing it! Thanks!

"All That Matters"

Hiko had been watching him for a long time, as the strong young man made his way up the mountain. And he was annoyed. What the hell did he think he was doing? Why was he coming now? He kept telling himself that the boy was a baka. That he hadn't wanted anyone to visit when he was alive... why the hell would he want anyone now? That if Yahiko had cared at all, he'd have shown up a year ago when it would have mattered.

He ignored the fact that none of this was true. That what really bothered him was that he didn't want the youth to find the bones...

Hiko snorted and walked beside him. The air was still. It was so calm. So beautiful. Everything would be perfect if the baka would just go home. No need to ruin the day by finding a grave.

But it was too late. They were there. For a moment, the shadows obscured the devastation of the little hut, but Yahiko was observant. It was hardly a minute before he noticed. Only a few more before he understood...

He went rigid, frozen in place, staring at the old shack. And then he was in motion, making his way into the building.

Hiko hadn't been in there awhile himself. He smirked darkly. Well, technically, he hadn't been able to leave, but that wasn't really him anymore. It was no more him than the tattered cloak that lay crumpled in the corner amongst a pile of clean, white bones.

While Yahiko examined the devastation of the room, Hiko's eyes were seeing things entirely differently. In his eyes, the room was clean. Fresh. And right where Yahiko was standing, examining a shattered sake cup, Hiko could see a little boy with flaming hair, sitting quietly, expecting God knew what from this stranger who had taken him in.

He saw the same boy a few years older, complaining about having to always do all the work, while he cooked supper. And again, a quiet moment, as the boy sat in the corner, happily spinning a small top.

A few short years later that same boy would argue with him outside of this shack. And Hiko would realize that maybe he hadn't done all he could. That maybe saving the boy's body had only condemned his soul to death.

That maybe he'd failed the child whom he'd grown to love as a son.

There was a small shout, and Hiko's attention was drawn back to the present where Yahiko had just backed away from the remains of the cloak, along with... other remains...

Hiko had to laugh out loud at the expression on the man's face. Obviously he hadn't realized what he'd been holding. "You always said you'd wanted my swordarm," he thought to himself. For some reason his morbid sense of humor seemed almost appropriate.

He watched Yahiko bury the bones and the cloak, or what was left of it, near his home. Silently stare at the mound, and then turn back to the shack one more time, fixing things here and there.

"Why? You're wasting your time. The animals don't care if the door works or not... Leave the place to them..."

Then Yahiko walked over to the trunk, and the dark humor died again from Hiko's eyes. Winter Moon, which the youth had claimed, now lay at his side, and he was rifling through a collection of papers.

Again, Hiko was drawn to thoughts of the past. The first word he'd received of the "flame-haired demon." He'd begun hunting for articles then. When he'd learned that his innocent deshi had become a hitokiri.

At first he'd told himself it was just to be sure. To find out if these assassinations really were the result of Kenshin's sword. But even after it became obvious that the mysterious Battousai that everyone spoke of was his deshi, Hiko continued to collect the papers, and was forced to admit to himself that he had another motivation.

He wanted proof. One way or another that the boy had sold his soul or hadn't. He needed to know if the child he'd saved had assassinated himself in the process of fighting his cause. Had to know if Kenshin could be saved. If he was still human.

He just needed to know that the boy was okay. His son...

Yahiko was crying. Carrying the papers out with him. "Is he taking those, too?"

It wasn't until they were outside that he realized what the youth was doing. They watched the flames together in silence as sparks flew into the darkening sky. And when the roar slowly faded, Yahiko finally walked away, taking Winter Moon with him. Hiko was glad. Yahiko had relinquished the sakabatou to Kenji. It was fitting that he should have this sword...

Hiko watched the flames die down to embers, rapidly cooling. There was nothing but ash. Like Kenshin's body. Gone. Only a legend, and a memory in the hearts of those who loved him.

"Shishou..." He froze at the sound of the voice behind him.

"Shishou. What are you doing? Why are you still here?"

He turned to see a young man smiling at him. There was no sword at his side. He was free from that burden.

"Shishou. It has been a year. What are you waiting for?" The redhead took a step closer. "I've been worried. You were late, so I came for you. In case you'd lost your path... as I once did..." He smiled warmly. "You helped me find my path. It seemed only right that I should help you with yours."

"Kenshin..."

The redhead smiled. "Shinta, now. I have no sword here. Please, Shishou. Come. It's time. And I've missed having sake with you."

Hiko stared silently at his deshi for a moment before slowly he nodded and followed. For once, allowing Shinta to lead. His deshi.

His son.

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