Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Watsuki Nobuhiro and whoever holds the copyright. This is a work of fanfiction; no yens have been exchanged.

Author's note: I would like to dedicate this story to the memory of Haku Baikou, an excellent writer and artist in the Rurouni Kenshin fandom, who was taken from this world all too soon. She was a brilliant person - go read her stories!

The Road to Redemption

It was a cool summer evening and the air smelled of petroleum. On a white winding dust road, two men were slowly making their way down from the hills to the valley and to the ancient city lying in its midst. Had one of the travellers turned back, he would have seen the lick of a flame on the mountain behind them, and the angry black clouds that clustered around its head like a grotesque halo. But neither of the two men did that. The important things lay ahead of them, and time was essential. The road from Mt Hiei to Kyoto was not long, but in their current state it was taking them longer than usual, with both of them injured and Sagara carrying the unconscious Battousai. Aoshi had offered help, but Sagara was as obstinate as ever. Or perhaps the streetfighter still did not fully trust him – Aoshi would not find it all that unreasonable. Anyway, their slow pace gave him plenty of time at least to reflect on his current predicament.

When he had entered Shishio's ridiculous fighting arena, it was with a clarity he had not felt for many, many months – no, years. Aoshi the Oniwabanshu Okashira had died in Kanryu's mansion and lay buried with his men. However, the Aoshi whom young Misao remembered and adored had started slipping into chaos a long time before that. After the onset of the new era, things stopped making sense. What was there for him, for the Oniwabanshu warriors, left to do in their lives? What was there for them but merely to survive, bound with the fierce loyalty they felt for each other? And when this single thing that kept him sane was taken from him, due to his own carelessness, the seal that had held all the chaos pent up inside him finally snapped.

He glanced over to the unconscious man draped over Sagara's shoulders. Battousai had risked his life to bring him out of the personal hell he had made for himself, and there had been only one way to repay his debt. Aoshi had fought Shishio calm and centered, but he had felt a bit disappointed to find himself alive at the end of this duel.

"Anyone can throw everything away, if they wish. It's easy." Battousai's words echoed through his mind, laced with contempt. Living on is the hardest part.

Aoshi studied the swordsman's deceptively slender form. How did Himura do it? Living on…

Sagara must have felt his gaze for he turned his head to meet him with a stare of his own. After a while he ventured: "So… You going back to the Aoiya?"

"Aa."

Something unreadable flickered in the streetfighter's brown eyes before he turned his attention back on the road. "How far is it yet?"

"Slightly more than an hour, at our current pace."

Aoshi was surprised to hear a low chuckle from the younger man.

"I hate to say this, but I'm quite glad to have you here. It'd be more than embarrassing to have something happen to Kenshin because I couldn't find my way back through Kyoto." Without waiting for an answer, the streetfighter made an admirable effort to speed up. "Come on, we have no time to waste!"

When Aoshi later reflected upon the journey back, he came to the conclusion that it was the longest hour in his life. Turning away was not an option he truly considered, as he felt bound by Battousai's promise to bring him back, but it was an option that grew more and more desirable by the minute. He realized he did not have the faintest idea what to do once they would arrive. All things considered, he was a traitor. The wish to bring him back was Misao's, the wish of a girl who had idolized him for all her life and, apparently, even after she had firsthand witnessed his ruthlessness. But what about the others? What did they expect from him? His mind wandered back to the few trials he had seen and later presided over. Treason was a rare thing among the Oniwabanshu, they were like a family… He abruptly stopped in his tracks as a hot wave of shame washed over him. He had never in his life thought he would ever be in the place of the convict.

"Hey, whassup?" Sagara turned to him questioningly, drops of perspiration lining his brow and betraying his exhaustion.

"Nothing of importance." Aoshi resumed walking and set his eyes impassively at the street before them. They had entered the city, which was eerily calm, as if silently crouching in fear. "The Aoiya is not very far."

He felt Sagara's measuring gaze at the back of his head until the other man gently adjusted Battousai's limp form on his shoulders and started after him. For once, the young man did not find it necessary to voice his immediate thoughts, be it from a sudden case of discretion or simply from being too short of breath. Either way, Aoshi was thankful for it. His thoughts were dark enough without having to fend off impertinent questions.

In the few cases of betrayal he remembered, the judgment – and his judgment, too – was swift and merciless. It was war, and death was the only possible answer. Now, however, it did not seem the others wished for his demise, probably since they did not want to see Misao hurt. What, then, did they want of him? What else could he give them? What justice would be there for the men he had ordered to die during the war? The thought unnerved him.

As they were nearing the Aoiya, the marks of destruction began to appear – a broken roof, shattered shoji, a family rummaging through the ruins of a house, stopping their work and watching them with fearful eyes. He could hear Sagara gasp as they passed a whole long row of houses reduced to rubble, as if making a large path cutting across the blocks, running in the direction of the Oniwabanshu headquarters.

"What the hell has happened in here?" The streetfighter spat out and followed with a string of choice expletives. "Have the Juppongattana brought a pet tornado or what?"

Aoshi could not blame the other man for his rather overactive imagination. Even he felt impressed by the scale of the destruction around him, and he had seen Fuji before. A tight knot of worry began to form inside his stomach.

The Aoiya, of course, was in ruins. The roof of the main building was broken down; half of the house was practically missing. The street was littered with rubble – pieces of wood, broken shoji, roof tiles, wooden beams splintered in two. And amid the catastrophe he finally spotted a group of survivors, the white of their bandages highly visible in the bright moonlight. A man in a white coat, a woman in hakama – probably Kamiya Kaoru, the boy Yahiko, and… Aoshi quickly counted the figures of the Oniwabanshu. It seemed all of them had survived, and even Okina seemed to be up and about. Quietly, he let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding.

As soon as the people in front of the Aoiya noticed them, shouts and cheers filled the street. Several even started running to meet them, two girls at the forefront: Kamiya Kaoru and… Misao. It did not escape to his eye that she was injured. There was a noticeable limp in the way she was running, she favoured her right side and was much slower than what he guessed was her usual speed. The telltale bandages finished the picture. However, there was an uncomplicated joy in her eyes that confused him and was painful to see. For the second time in the course of this day, Shinomori Aoshi felt thrown off balance.

"Aoshi-sama!"

Something in his expression caused her to stop a few steps in front of him.

"Aoshi… sama. You've come back!"

Unable to bear the look of joy in her face, he bowed his head and murmured: "Okashira."

There was a brief spell of uncomfortable silence, as Misao twisted her braid, suddenly becoming conscious of her new position and unsure of what to do.

"Hey, weasel girl!" Sagara shouted. "We need a bed for Kenshin, and bandages – and a doctor! Stop mooning and come help!"

"Who's a weasel girl, you –" Misao stopped midsentence as she registered the lifeless lump that was Himura, the distress in Kaoru's face, and the battered state of the streetfighter himself. She turned on her heel and ran back for the rest of their bandages, barely avoiding Shiro and Kuro who were, under Okina's directions, already bringing a wooden board to serve as a stretcher. Okon came running with the few blankets they had salvaged from the ruins.

"We need to get Himura-kun to a warm room as soon as possible." Okina's voice cut through the commotion. "Kaoru-san, I've sent Omasu ahead to Shirobeko to let them know we're bringing injured men, and to get a doctor, if possible. There," he looked at Aoshi sharply, "will be time for talk later."

Shinomori Aoshi was sitting in a ground floor room at the restaurant Shirobeko, wearily leaning against the wall. His white trenchcoat was neatly folded in a corner, serving as a stand for his twin kodachis. He had declined any treatment for his injuries and requested a formal hearing with the Oniwabanshu instead. This act of self-denial, however, did not do much to impress Okina, who coolly remarked that while Aoshi might not desire any immediate medical attention, many others did, and promised a meeting in about an hour. Since Okina and the others left, doing their best to drag Misao away in the most discreet fashion possible, Aoshi pondered the long ray of moonlight on the floor, which filtered into the room through a crack in the shoji. He was tired, his chest hurt and his whole body ached, there was a throbbing pain in the burns he had suffered from Homuradama. Had he been less exhausted, he might have been annoyed at the delay, but in his current condition he only hoped not to fall asleep or faint until the hearing was over.

There was a creaking of wooden boards and a discreet knock on the door. "Honoured guest, we've brought you some food and medicine."

"No need. Go away."

The shoji slid open to reveal two slightly exasperated waitresses.

"I'm very sorry, but we have been ordered to leave these things here," said one of them resolutely while putting down a tray with several bowls and a lighted lantern.

"Oh, my!" exclaimed the other, almost dropping her things. "You look horrible! Shall we help you treat your wounds?"

"No."

"But how can you –"

"I do not require care."

"We apologize for disturbing you, then." the first waitress cut off the other one's impeding protest briskly and, perhaps with more force than strictly necessary, slid the shoji closed again, leaving both trays in the room. Aoshi, feeling a bit ridiculous, stared at the door and tried not to listen to the fading sounds of an argument between the two departing women.

"How can we leave him like that? He looked like death!"

"Well, we can't fight him, can we? And you know the old man said he was not going to accept help anyway. Did you see his face? It gave me shivers! Come on, we have lots of other work to do!"

Reluctantly, his eyes shifted towards the trays on the floor. There was a cup of hot tea, a steaming bowl of miso soup and a bowl of rice on the first tray, while the second one held a large bowl of hot water, some clean cloth, fresh bandages and two small jars covered with lids, which he suspected of holding some kind of medicine. Aoshi closed his eyes. The smell of miso was inviting and he could use some disinfection. On the other hand, it was painfully obvious that he was being played by the old man. His mouth twitched. In the end, being forced to eat was better than humiliating himself by falling over in front of everyone, he reasoned as he started to take long, methodical sips from the miso bowl. Still, the old man's kindness shamed him.

In a large room upstairs, Okina sneezed. No one would notice such a thing, as they were all nose deep in work, were it not for the unfortunate fact that he had been holding an open box of medicine powder. Since he was sitting near the middle of the room, almost everyone got a direct hit, and they stopped cleaning, disinfecting and bandaging for a while to glare at him. The doctor, whom Omasu had forcibly dragged in from the police hospital, looked up from where he was tending to Kenshin's injuries, and growled.

"If you're going to spread infection to my patient's wounds, old man, I'll throw you out of the room."

"Oh, I'm very sorry. I'll be more careful from now on." Okina said contritely and in one fluid motion, grabbed a hold of Misao, who was trying to use his apparent lapse in attention to sneak out of the room.

"Let me go, Gramps! Aoshi-sama's injured too, you know! I don't get how you can all be so cold!"

"You've heard him, he doesn't want any treatment. You know I've sent him some food and medicine, so he'll look after himself. He may be stubborn, but he's not stupid." Contrary to Okina's soothing tone, his iron grip on Misao's arm did not relent one bit.

"But leaving him there all alone! And what's that nonsense with a hearing when he needs to rest?" she protested indignantly, trying to wrestle out of Okina's hold.

Okina sighed. "Misao. Aoshi is a proud man, and strict, the strictest with himself. If this is something he feels he needs to do for his dignity and peace of mind now, we must respect that."

"That's stupid!"

"Young people should listen to the advice of their elders, or they'll face the consequences," intervened a sudden voice from the corner where, all but forgotten, Himura's master took another nonchalant sip of his sake. "Just look at my idiot student over here. If you're just playing at being the Okashira, girl, you'll hurt not only yourself, but also the man whom you're trying to help."

Hiko gave her a hard stare as Misao, suddenly subdued, heavily sat on the floor.

"I'm not playing at anything." she said quietly. "But it is true that he's injured, you've seen that horrible wound." She gave the man from the hospital a distressed, pleading look. "Could you have a look at him, sensei?"

The doctor sighed wearily. "Look kid, I don't know what's going on. But tonight, Kyoto's full of emergencies, and I don't have extra time for arguing with stubborn idiots, which is what seems to be in store here."

Quickly, Okina clamped his hand over Misao's mouth and gave the doctor one of his best I'm-just-a-harmless-old-man smiles.

"If he can refuse treatment, he's well enough." The doctor glanced down at his redheaded patient. "Which cannot be said for this man. Unless there's quiet in the operating room right now, I'll throw things, I swear." The bulging veins on the doctor's forehead gave that statement some credence, and Misao spent a long while quietly sitting on the floor, seemingly deep in thought.

"Besides, Misao," Okina's conspirational whisper startled her out of her musings. "Don't you think this is a great opportunity to learn some more about what brought your Aoshi-sama back?" Misao's eyes widened, and simultaneously, both ninjas looked towards Sagara Sanosuke, whose basic treatment was just being finished.

"It's time to do some gentle questioning in here."

Punctuality, Shinomori believed, was one of the core virtues of a man. So was patience, and he did his best to remain calm in the face of Okina's apparent tardiness. The miso and green tea helped to clear his head and banish some of the leaden weariness that hung over him. That was not entirely welcome, since now he had the energy to think about the upcoming meeting. He did not fear condemnation or punishment; indeed, he would welcome both as necessary and just. It was the possibility of mercy that shot apprehension through his veins. Shinomori Aoshi was not used to living with shame and failure, and was not sure he was able to start now. He shifted into a kneeling position and focused on his breathing, studiously averting his eyes from the cold gleam of his kodachis.

As he finally heard a large group of people coming towards his room, he slowly stood up, using the wall to steady himself. The Aoiya Oniwabanshu, headed by Okina and Misao, entered and seated themselves along the walls, Okina and Misao at the front. Unbidden, Aoshi came and knelt, a bit unsteadily, in the middle of the room, vaguely relieved that the wait was over. There was a brief silence. It was Misao who broke it, taking a long shaky breath and starting in a quiet, tense voice: "Shinomori Aoshi, you have requested a hearing with the Oniwabanshu. What is it that you want to say?"

There were several surprised glances among the people in the room, but if the man himself was surprised by Misao's sudden formality, neither his face nor his voice showed it.

"I ask for a hearing and verdict of the Oniwabanshu in the matter of my treason."

As it was clear that no immediate answer was forthcoming, he continued, his expression carefully detached: "As you are all well aware, I allied myself with Shishio Makoto and nearly killed Kashiwazaki-san. Blinded by my desire for the title of the strongest, I sullied the name of the Oniwabanshu, as well as the memory of Beshimi, Hyottoko, Shikijou, Hannya, who died due to my incompetence. I have returned to face the lawful repercussions." He slightly paused as he placed his hands on the floor and made a stiff, formal bow. "I ask of you not to hesitate in doing what you must to preserve the honour of the Oniwabanshu."

In the ensuing deafening silence, Misao gasped.

Okina, briefly putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder, calmly answered: "These are all undisputable facts. However, Aoshi, I believe you have left out some parts of that story."

The man sat up and looked at Okina sharply.

"In the end, you have fought Shishio Makoto on Himura Kenshin's behalf, and have saved not only Himura-kun's life, but also the lives of his companions."

"I have only managed to buy him some time, that is all," Aoshi stated coolly. "It was hardly an adequate compensation for his loss of stamina in his fight against me. Moreover, it does not concern the Oniwabanshu."

"It does. It was the Oniwabanshu who asked Himura to bring you back. Without that request, he might not have decided to fight you. It was also our debt you paid fighting against Shishio, and for that, we are grateful."

The other man's face darkened. "It is a debt you wouldn't have incurred, were it not for my actions."

"Another thing you failed to mention," Okina continued calmly, "is that in the course of your duel with Himura, you came to realize your mistake and turned away from the path of chaos."

"Feelings of regret cannot change the past."

"You have also forgotten to mention that you intended, after defeating Himura, to take your own life and place it at the graves of those four."

Irritation flickered through the normally impassive face of the former Okashira. "This is of no importance here. Besides, it would only be fitting after my failure – "

His sentence was interrupted by the loud smash of a fist hitting the floor.

"I can't believe it!" Misao's face was flushed with anger and her eyes were suspiciously bright. "Why do you think we asked Himura to bring you back, to do – what? Execute you? Have you kill yourself? Do you think the guys have died for this?"

Something like shame briefly ran across the man's face and she paused and stood up, still trembling and breathing heavily. "We need you. The Aoiya needs you. And if you ever do anything to hurt yourself, I'll never forgive you! Got it? I'll definitely never forgive you! This meeting is over!"

She stormed out of the room and closed the door with a loud bang. A furious, inarticulate scream echoed through the yard, followed by another bang.

"Kechou Giro!"

The remaining Oniwabanshu in the room twitched at the sound.

"And Sae-san was so proud of her garden, too."

Okon sighed and exchanged a worried glance with Omasu, while Shiro and Kuro, too disciplined to say anything in such a formal situation, stared unhappily on the floor. Okina looked at the man whom he had once helped raise and train. The cold mask on his face had shattered, and he was sitting there with eyes clouded by genuine grief, staring into a void.

"Aoshi."

The man's eyes rose up to meet his.

"That is the decision here, Aoshi. You are to live on and work hard to create a better future for the Oniwabanshu. As our famous mutual acquaintance says: one can truly repent only by living on and atoning for one's sins. You can, if you want to, think of it as your punishment." Okina looked him hard into the eye. "Understand that your death would be meaningless in this new era. Get some rest, and let the others have a look at your wounds. That is an order."

The man remained silent and motionless as Okina stood up, still a bit stiff from his injuries, and intoned: "And now I must take my leave, if I'm in any way to prevent the destruction of our hostess's lovely garden." As if on cue, a muffled thud sounded through the yard and prompted Okina to start for the door.

Suddenly, his former student spoke up, his eyes still fixed on the wall before him. "You don't have to worry that I'm going to cut my stomach against your orders. I may be a fool, but I'm not a coward."

The old man paused at the door and said softly: "That's good to hear. You may not want to hear it now, Aoshi, but we are glad that you – the old you – have returned."

It was not difficult to find Misao in the darkened garden, it was enough just to follow the noise. Okina found her standing next to a mid-sized decorative boulder, her fists clenched and her body taunt.

"Misao, our generous hostess might kick us out tomorrow, if you'll keep destroying her property."

"I'm not that stupid." she said flatly and turned around. "I've been taking it out just on this ugly old stone."

Okina had certain doubts that that was the whole of the disaster, but he wisely decided to let the matter rest.

"Now, Misao, about what Aoshi was saying – "

"If I have to hurt Aoshi-sama, I don't want to be the Okashira any more!" she shouted wildly.

The girl's forceful denial took Okina aback.

"Misao, being the Okashira isn't something you can just take up or give up on a whim," he said carefully. "What do you think your grandfather would think of you if he heard you now? But that's not what I – "

Misao bowed her head, biting her lip. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just that – I was so happy when Aoshi-sama came back. I thought everything would be all right, finally, just like the old days…" Her lower lip began to tremble. "I was a fool, wasn't I?"

Suddenly she turned to Okina and grasped his arms. "Gramps, what about you? He has hurt you terribly. Have you really forgiven him or is it just – " She wasn't able to finish her sentence and turned away again, ashamed of her tears.

"There, there, Misao-chan." Okina enveloped her in a bear embrace. "Of course I've forgiven him, and I'm so very glad he's back. How could I not, after what I have seen this evening? He's your old Aoshi-sama, back again, and no one wants to see him suffer more that he already has, the least of all me. The question is, whether he ever forgives himself for what he has done."

Silently, Misao nodded her head and for a short while, nothing else was heard than the quiet sound of muffled sobs as Okina cradled her against his chest. Then she pulled herself away, wiping her face.

"I'm afraid I've ruined your haori."

"Oh, the treasure of a young girl's tears is a gift I will cherish forever!"

Misao made a face. "Dirty old man."

Okina laughed heartily and slapped her across the shoulders. "That's the spirit! And you know, what you did back there wasn't all that bad in terms of leadership. It lacked, let's say, certain finesse, but it certainly helped to clear things up. Don't worry, he'll be good. Just be your energetic self and in the end, things are going to work out."

Misao smiled with some degree of her usual flare. "All right! I'll do my best! Just you wait!" She flashed him a grin. "After all, Makimachi Misao never gives up!"

For the first time during this exhausting evening, Okina felt the heavy burden of worry being lifted from his shoulders. He smiled.

"Let's go and rest. It has been a long day."

Edited for slight changes on 10/6/2013.