Street Commerce 101
Date:Monday, February 6, 2060
Time:Late Evening, the day after the Sunshine Café incident
Place: Lower District, New Meiji
Characters: Megumi, Kenshin
Megumi
There was slush in her shoes.
With a sigh, Megumi looked down at the nearly dilapidated pumps she'd "borrowed" (long term, without permission, no return date in sight) from a less than observant owner of a forth rate clothing exchange store. They were ghastly things, two sizes too large and Megumi suspected that the original owner had been a sufferer of bunions by the lumps on the sides of the toe beds. She sighed again, bent down and gingerly pulled off the pumps that had seen better days, her cinnamon eyes clinically looking at the state of her toes. They were bright red, nearly purple. Megumi tilted her head, quickly calculating how much longer she had before her toes froze. Again.
Calculations complete, she quietly dropped the shoes, and walked forward barefoot. It was uncomfortable and would, as the evening progressed and the temperature continued to drop, become painful for a measure of time, but there would be no lasting damage. Hypothermic digits were better than walking around in ugly, lime green pumps and that was that. Megumi smirked and wearily slinked down an alley, where perhaps the streets were not as thick with the industrial grey sleet and sludge. Cold feet aside, she was tired and after three days without more than the occasional complimentary cup of coffee, she was shaking violently with hunger.
It didn't take long for Megumi to realize that other denizens of New Meiji's less than savory side had had similar ideas. Normally, the side streets of what she now knew were the outskirts of one of the larger pleasure districts would be empty, save for the occasional AMP'd out shell of an addict, alcoholic or speed chaser. Tonight, they alleys were crawling with men and woman whose appetites and desires were darker than the winter sky.
Head down, she tried to vanish into the background, pulling the also "borrowed" men's trench coat tightly around her body as she brushed past a crowd of rowdy men and brassy, hard eyed women who seemed hell bent on making a little extra money this evening. Meg glanced down a side alley as she ducked beneath a rusting metal stair well and was horrified to see a woman pressed up against a wall, dress up around her exposed hips as a man thrust into her. Occasionally the woman would moan, pause, and moan again as if she was reading some horrible script that only she could see. The man for his part was apparently inspired by the performance for with a groan and shudder and a sigh he was done and the business at hand was blatantly concluded. Dress went down, trousers went up, money was exchanged.
Wide eyed, Megumi looked away, her pale face flushing with embarrassment and shame, not because she'd never seen people having sex (she hadn't but that wasn't the point), but because she suspected that if she didn't find some sort of permanent situation, one where she could earn a living without garnering unwanted attention, she'd soon find herself in a similar situation. A familiar ache, one that had nothing to do with cold feet or an empty stomach caused her eyes to well up and she stumbled past the side alley, knowing that in all aspects that mattered, she'd already prostituted herself, to men far more despicable than anyone she was likely to encounter in this alley.
Evening turned to night and as the temperatures began to plummet and the slush became crusted, then slick with ice, Megumi continued to wander, turning left, then right until she was hopelessly lost, and desperately cold. Pulling her coat tight around her she came to a dingy intersection of alleyways and looked right then left, before stumbling forward.
Kenshin
It was too hot. Too hot and too cold at the same time. His head throbbed. His body was hot and aching everywhere, like something was sawing at his shoulder. Pressing, piercing. Everything swirled and buzzed and he kept seeing people walk by. Ghostly feet. Salamander. The Cop. Sometimes in shoes. Sometimes in zori. Shishou touched his shoulder and Kenshin turned and sat up to the broth of soup that was being offered, only there was no soup there. No Shishou either. And he hadn't sat up. Even moved. His eyes were still closed. It was cold. Too cold. Too hot.
A shot and a woman's scream and Kenshin's eyes flew open.
Jin'e! he screamed, but the name fluttered on his lips and in a moment it was gone. A wordless couple of syllables.
It was cold. Why was it so cold?
Door was open. Kenshin could see the slit of night through the crack in the door. He should go open and get it... No...over and close it.
"Yeah, you do that, buddy. Get your lazy butt out of bed and help me win at this game."
"Hiten doesn't work that way, Sano," Kenshin said. Or thought he said. Or maybe didn't say. Sano just smirked at him except he was dreaming and the door was still open. His lips were cracked. His throat was dry.
Kenshin pushed himself up, bright pain flaring through him. Chills ran in waves, crisscrossing, numbing his body. Slowly. Slowly. He made his shuffling way to the door which just got further and further. Was he actually moving? He couldn't tell.
Several hours after Meg goes wandering down the alley...Sometime after midnight:
A woman had died earlier in the evening, frozen to death in an abandoned doorway. The bum moved closer, his filthy fingers itching to take the over-sized coat that half covered the woman's slender frame. Coats were hard to come by and on a freezing night like this, well…the dignity of the dead could be damned. As he moved closer, he saw that the woman had bare feet and the tips of some toes were waxy and white, while others had already started turning black at the tips. Others, strangely enough seemed healthy and pink, as if they'd been spared the ravages of the cold.
She'd been beautiful in life, he man supposed as he casually pulled the coat off the woman. Black hair, pretty features, hell, he was willing to make a bet that the broad had all her teeth. A more poetic soul might have wondered how such a young woman had come to such a sad end, but the man had far more practical considerations to ponder. Reaching out, the vagrant gave the coat a final yank and it slipped off the woman, revealing the rest of her frozen form.
She was dressed strangely for this part of the city, sporting light blue medical scrubs that had seen much better days. Badly stained and torn in several places, top and bottom were falling apart and blood stains, laundered certainly but visible nevertheless, covered the garment, suggesting that the dead woman had been exposed or participated in acts of serious violence.
A light spot on her wrist indicated that she'd once worn a watch, but it, like her shoes were missing. Glancing down at the bare feet, the bum was startled to see that now only one of the woman's toes was black, two were waxy and the rest looked as if they'd never been exposed to anything but warmth and comfort.
The bum backed up, when Megumi groaned, then struggled to her feet, clutching at his ill-gotten gains, then fled, perhaps pursued by something more than a fleeting guilty conscience. Shuffling down from the door step, Megumi stumbled down the alley, not even bothering to try and chase the thief, despite knowing that even as hungry and weary as she was, catching him would not be an issue.
Finding a place to get a good night's sleep…and get something to eat…now that was another matter entirely. Nearly ready to weep with sheer exhaustion, putting one healing foot in front of another Megumi wandered down the alley, stumbling on patches of ice until she happened to stumble, quite literally on a back door that was open.
She paused, gnawing uncertainly on her lower lip as she considered what might be behind this door and what she still might encounter outside. It was an easy enough decision and with a little push, she was inside the building. The main floor was filthy and Megumi gingerly had to step over spent epi pens, broken needles and mostly empty bottles of liquor as she wandered about the main floor, looking for safe place to fall back asleep. She found stairs going down into a basement, and hoping against hope for something better and safer than the main floor, she cautiously crept downward.
There was a door open in the basement. Cautiously, Megumi crept toward it, like a moth towards a flame. When she came to the door that was ajar she cautiously peered inside…and then gasped as looked into a pair of haunted, yet undeniably familiar violet eyes.
Kenshin
The door was pushed open before he could push it closed. Kenshin blinked and lowered his hand. He stared at her. Realized he was staring at her. Then wondered if she was a delusion. Whatever the case, she was familiar, she was. And obviously a doctor (and a good one) and she was obviously cold and hungry and cold air came in around her. He wrapped his arms around himself and his shoulder throbbed painfully with the movement. Pulsing.
"Please, come in, sensei," he said, though the words sounded slurred to him. Everything was too clear. He could see shapes in the darkness behind her. He shook his head and winced.
"Help yourself to food or whatever you need. I have too much, I do."
He made his way to the futon and moved to sit, carefully, almost dizzy with the movement. His shoulder continued to ache. Something grinding against it. Aah, he wanted to sleep; he wanted to be warm under the comforter. But...but a guest was here. So instead he leaned on his side and reached over with his good arm to turn on the space heater, wincing as fire lanced through his shoulder.
Megumi
Megumi tried not to gawk at the slender man as he gingerly made his way to a dingy futon and sat, then leaned over and turned on a space heater. He was hurt, that much was obvious, and in no small degree of pain. She couldn't see any sign of injury, there were no obvious wounds, no recently healed scars that could offer up an explanation as to the source of his suffering.
Had this encounter been a few years before, when she had been much less wise to the way this New Meiji Era worked, Meguimi would have trotted right over to the obviously unwell man and offered assistance without so much as a second thought. Three years locked up in a military lab and three weeks as a "guest" of the syndicate had irrevocably darkened her outlook on life and she hesitated, fearful that this man, like every other human being (save one) would want and expect things from her that she had no desire to give up.
Afraid, yet aware that this was the best offer that she'd had all evening, she considered the offer. Locking her jaw, so her teeth wouldn't chatter, Megumi paused at the threshold of the doorway, then after glancing at the half reclined man, whose name she could almost, but not quite recall, she risked a glance inside the storage unit masquerading as living quarters. When she caught sight of a scabbard, she took a nervous step back towards the unlit hallway, half inclined to retreat back to the alleyways before she remembered that for this man, a sword (one that was fashioned to save lives rather than take them) was the norm and not cause for alarm.
She earnestly looked at him again, peering carefully at his eyes, his hair, the slender yet muscular form, wondering at the hazy, yet undeniable stirrings of memory that this man was evoking in her mind and felt herself taking a step forward, then another as she felt heat, wonderful, beautiful radiant head coming from the space heater. When she crossed the threshold, she paused awkwardly and not knowing what else to do with her dirty bare feet (her toes were no longer frozen) she bent and wiped the worst of the mud, ice and debris with her cold fingers, then wiped her hands on the hem of her blood stained scrubs before she summoned up what little reservoir of courage she'd been able to squirrel away for herself, and stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind her.
"That is a very kind offer," Megumi's low voice echoed slightly in the nearly empty storage room.
Cautiously, she crept towards the space heater, her icy limbs drinking in the heat. It had been weeks since she'd been warm and what felt like a lifetime since she'd felt safe. Kneeling silently, she held her arms out towards the heater, closing her eyes for a second as stiff, limbs made clumsy and shaky with cold warmed up fractionally.
Her stomach made a noise that sounded like a grumble and a groan. The bridge of her nose and her hollowed cheeks went pink with embarrassment and pressing an unsteady hand on her very empty stomach, she gave her unnamed host, a little sheepish smile, "and rather apropos, I fear."
Megumi paused, considering the half slurred language, the expression of pain the man had made and now, as she was kneeling closer, the sure signs of fever on his face, his mouth and in his eyes, a return offer that she hoped was equally generous. Still a stranger to so many aspects of life outside of a medical laboratory, she had been force to learn very quickly since escaping from the syndicate that in order to survive, the concept of quid pro quo had to be adhered to.
"You are unwell and I would, in exchange for some food and a safe place to spend the evening, like to see if I can get you feeling a bit better."
Mindful of the fact that she was dirty, barefoot and wearing torn bloodstained scrubs and nothing underneath them, Megumi felt her cheeks redden, but continued to talk, with a hair flip and what she hoped was a confident, professional smile. "I know that I may not look it, but I am a doctor, and a good one. " At this point, she wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to do, so she extended her hand outward, as if to shake on the deal. "Do you find this a fair exchange?"
Kenshin
She came forward and then stepped back. He wondered what she had looked at and saw Kitetsu half out of the bag. He faintly remembered taking it out but thought he had dreamed it. Must not have. It was safer out, any way, but not when it frightened women who desperately needed to come out of the cold. Close to death, she was. Kenshin laid back instead, wincing at the pressure on his shoulder, watching the room spin. He could see the pale flesh of his own stomach and she could easily cross the room and cut it open- but her ki held the sharp edge of fear, even through the blistering pain in his head he could feel it, taste it metallic on the edge of his tongue.
He watched her from the corner of his eye as she shut the door and must have blinked or slept because she was immediately by the space heater, warming her thin hands. All of her was white and pink. Halfway between living and dead. She was running from something, she was. Otherwise why would she be in scrubs? Had...had the Gatling gun man found her? That memory... He closed his eyes and tried to search for it. What had...what had it been about? He could just see it. Smell blood. Outrage. See the threads of her hair as she ran. But she'd...been happy. Why...why was that?
She was speaking. Kenshin opened his eyes again and focused on her words. Missing the meaning at first, but understanding gradually. He smiled at the hair flip, remembering her to...tormenting who? It didn't matter. She extended her hand, pale and bony and he took it with his right, finding her palm cold and covering the back of her hand with his left.
"How about instead you take care of yourself, Miss? In exchange for the food." He looked into her eyes. "You'll die if you keep at this pace, you will, and that will be quite a waste. Good people are hard to find these days."
Megumi
Megumi looked down at the man's hand atop hers. His hand was hot, dangerously feverish and unbearably kind, despite the hard calluses that she could feel on his fingers and palm. "You've obviously not read the manual 'What to Do When Negotiating for Essential Life Services' have you?" she tried to tease, but her voice broke along with her ability to keep her eyes dry. Unprepared to deal with a genuinely humane response, unsure what could prompt a man to offer so much, for so little, Megumi hazarded a glance back to his face, her expression a study in anguish.
(Would that I could expire from something as wonderfully simple as starvation) She thought wretchedly, (It would make things so much easier…) She'd already tried this avenue of atonement, but to no avail. Her body could wither and be ravaged, but would, like a stupid annual blossom that didn't know when to quit, kept regenerating, her cells engaging in utterly unnatural eukaryotic cycle that took milliseconds rather than minutes, forcing her to exist in a painful, perpetual existence that was not of her own making.
"I'll chalk up your less than mercenary offer, and unfortunately inaccurate assessment of my health and ethos to a raging fever and postpone further negotiations, until you're not running a temperature in the hundreds," Megumi decided as she gently ran the side of her thumb across the man's hand and tried to estimate how high his fever was and what in the world might be causing it.
She sighed and gave his hand a little squeeze, "For now, let us agree that I need to eat and you need to rest," Megumi offered, her cheeks wet, as she motioned for him to lay down in a manner that would be comfortable. Her expression changed a little becoming less sorrowful and more concerned as she continued to look at him.
"I will prepare a meal, one that I hope you will also partake of…while you tell me why I can see all the signs of a serious infection on you, but no hint of the source wound or injury."
She paused then, not wanting to make the man feel uncomfortable, "I am no stranger to violence, Sir, and ask this not to judge…never that…but to understand so I can help you get well." Despite her tears, she gave him a half sly, half shy smile. "You're right, you know. Good people…kind people… are very hard to come by and I would rather not have one expire due to fever and infection in a storage room if I can help myself."
Kenshin
"Life is so short, who has time to read?" Kenshin said with a small laugh which he immediately regretted. He'd do it again, though, if it made her smile and kept that lost broken look from her face. But nothing could erase that. It would just burrow in her heart, eat away at her until she was nothing but an empty shell, ragged with desperation.
The words 'unfortunate assessment' snagged him, turned over in his head even as she kept speaking, words too complicated for him to understand, patterns to slippery to grasp. She was ready to die. She wanted to die. What had she done? What was she running from? What could she do? He glanced at the brown stains on her scrubs, blood. Hers or someone elses? What had she been forced to do in being there? In trying to escape? At least she wasn't alone this time, locked away, making him sharp with worry, pulling his attention from...from who? Someone familair. Someone...just as broken...
No. Kenshin blinked away the cobwebbed memory and focused on her words before he could be pulled back into that dark place. Infection she said. But no sign of a wound. Sharp eyes, she had, to guess that. She was no stranger to violence but no one was in New Meiji. Not the one who used the drugs, and not the one that made them.
Could he lie? No. She would find out. She would know better. She would wonder why he had and what else he was hiding. He ruined too many lives as it was without having to push her even further into the cold. He let go of her hand in case it would disgust her. (and he wouldn't blame her if it did)
"I am a hitokiri," he said, extending his arm so she could see the two faint red marks where he had taken a hit. "I was shot in the shoulder and was too careless with my energy so the skin grew back before I could take the bullet out."
"But you don't have to feel obligated to help me," he said in a gentler voice, letting his arm fall back on the futon. It was too much to lift it any more. "You can take the food you need and clothes too, if they will fit. There are too many killers in New Meiji and not enough doctors so you should take care of yourself."
Megumi
"A Hitokiri?" Megumi whispered, shocked to even hear the word whispered on the feverish lips of this man, to say nothing of him actually identifying himself as a subject in the aborted top secret project.
While she did not know all the details about the government's clandestine efforts to create a new generation of super soldiers, she knew enough to know that if the man was being sincere in what was tantamount to a damning confession that she had stumbled into a nightmare, but not that was one of this poor man's making.
Her father, a government man through and through, had been a chief research scientist on the project and unlike most of this peers who disavowed any knowledge or participation in what was considered by many a scientific travesty of the worst kind, had commented on more than one occasion that great progress only came from great risk and that the knowledge gained as a result of that experiment was worth any collateral damage that may have resulted.
(And if this man is what…is who he claims to be, then I am kneeling beside the collateral damage)
Leaning over, she looked closely at the man's pale, proffered arm, seeing faint needle marks. Normal AMP users were easy to identify because the high toxicity levels of the drugs caused the injection sites to fester and with frequent usage, the skin to become necrotic. The man's skin (for she would not, could not fairly refer to him by that other name) was smooth, save for two injection points which appeared to be slowly regenerating.
She knew that the test subjects, who were not subjects at all but innocent children who had been callously, cruelly experimented on before the project had been terminated, had shown signs of this capability, along with superhuman speed and strength and a terminal inclination towards violent insanity, all thanks to one of the first soldier drug prototypes, HIMURA.
Megumi looked down at the small, red haired man, carefully taking his measure and allowing him to take hers for a moment before she made what she knew was nothing short of a life and death decision.
(He has shown me no malice…only kindness and compassion…and will receive the same from me) The darker, more cynical side of her heart whispered that if he was insane and went off the bend and slaughtered her, that she'd still end up ahead of where she was now.
"I do not know how you managed to escape, especially considering how young you must have been at the time," She paused, anger igniting in her eyes at the thought of children being put down like rabid dogs, of children being hurt and tormented and rejected because they didn't turn out exactly as planned, "but…strictly speaking as one failed science experiment to another…I am so glad you did."
Reaching down, she took his feverish hand in her chilled one. "There is no obligation, Sir," she paused, not knowing the man's name, only that she felt a deep measure of concern and compassion for a human being whose entire life and purpose had been nothing more than the whim of evil men and woman. The fact that she knew she had to include herself in that number made her heart ache all the more.
"I will have to borrow some clothing, but only so I can get the medical supplies that I need to treat you." Megumi sighed, and gave the sick man's hand a little squeeze before she stood up and walked over to a small sink that she suspected a janitor might use to wash out mops or brushes. Looking around, she found a cloth that looked and smelled clean, got it wet with the icy water and then came back to where the man was lying down and knelt down beside him, folding and pressing the cold compress against the man's flushed forehead. "I have some knowledge about how regeneration works and how much danger an impacted foreign body poses." Concerned, she cupped her cold hand to his cheek, wondering to herself how far the infection had already spread.
"I have no money, and have already sold anything I own that is of value," Megumi said quietly. "I am going to need some sort of antiseptic, bandages and some instrument…a knife, or razor blade that I can sterilize to open up your back and dig out the bullet and clean out the infected tissue. You skin will not need sutures, I suspect, but will still be prone to secondary infections if this is not done correctly." She glanced around the room, at the complete and utter lack of sterilization and wondered whether she would actually be able to heal rather than cause further harm.
Kenshin
So...she knew it. How would she know? Who was she? What was she?
Kenshin watched the subtle play of emotions over her face, the set of her shoulders. Horror, fear, regret, a moment of a heart beat where she was hanging in the balance of some momentous decision, and then it was made left with only resignation. She was so weary. Though not weary enough to not grow angry at the thought of innocent lives wasted. (Like lambs to the slaughter. And who was the dog who herded them?)
"You give me too much credit, I'm afraid," Kenshin said with small smile as she said how glad she was that he'd survived it. "I'm just a wanderer, that's all I am." No...no that wasn't right. He had meant to say hitokiri. Where had wanderer come from? Ah, but her hand was cool. Wonderfully so. She had always had such cool and gentle hands. No matter what she had been through, those hands had never become as hard as the rest of her. Though even then, over time, she had grown gentle. A kind woman. Hardworking and compassionate. He was coming up to her, stepping quietly on the engawa, watching her roll bandages while the light picked out the silver in her hair. Her name hovered on his lips.
And he realized he was sleeping. He stirred himself to waking again, to the grimy room, low ceilinged and dingy. He heard the sound of running water and heard her come closer, flinching slightly at the cold and then welcoming it. He wanted to pull it over his face and sink back into the warm darkness of the dream. He had to concentrate, though. She was talking of impacting, infection, medicine and bandages. He smiled.
"In th' box named trash," he said, keeping his words clear. "I have all that. I've been doing this a long time, Megumi-dono." He usually didn't get shot from behind, though. It was all that bastard's fault. Saitou. Salamander. All of them.
Megumi
Megumi froze; her hand still on the stranger's cheek. (How does he know my name?) For an instant, she was terrified that she'd made a mistake and that this man, who outwardly seemed so kind and gentle, was secretly a ravening wolf hiding beneath a wanderer's clothing.
But it was her name, and the manner in which he said it that strove to set her heart at ease, even if her mind rebelled at the notion of relying upon another human being. It was her name, uttered in such an antiquated manner, and a memory that was so deep, so utterly ingrained in her bones and sinews and muscles that the feverish man lying beside her was…
(Someone she knew)
Confused and frightened, Megumi looked down at his face, into his eyes. They were violet; a shade she was fond of, a color of a kimono she'd once worn, so long ago, of beautiful iris blooming in a garden, growing tall and wild against an engawa that had seen better days.
(Someone she trusted)
Megumi gasped as other memories announced themselves, recollections of being held and protected, images of being alone with this man in a room, of sweet honey, dried blood and linen bandages by a lantern lit bedside. He'd been wounded then as he was wounded now and she recalled with heartbreaking clarity how warm and strong his back had been when she leaned against him and wept.
(Someone she loved)
She'd watched his man grow old before his time, been helpless to prevent wear and tear and worse yet cares from devouring his body. She could hear him screaming in anguish, weeping for the loss of his heart, for a blue eyed woman lying crumpled, cruelly impaled against a wooden dojo wall, for a black eyed woman whose lifeblood was scattered across pristine snow.
"I know you," she raggedly whispered, unable to help herself, or the tears that fell down, splattering against his nose and cheeks and mouth. "I know you, so well. How…how is this possible?" Embarrassed and shaken, she tried to brush the tears away, but more fell as if a long pent up stream of sorrow and loneliness was suddenly loosened. "I'm sorry, it's just that…"
(I've missed you)
Megumi pursed her lips together and quickly stood up and looked around for the box with medical supplies that this man who she adored yet had never laid eyes on had spoken of. "I'm just tired, that's all," she apologized as she walked over to the box, rubbing her blood stained sleeve over her eyes before peering into the box labeled "Trash". "You must think me a ninny,"
"Treasure" would have been a more appropriate term. She sighed with relief to see everything she needed, everything that she could want (other than a sanitized operating arena with a general anesthesiologist standing at the ready) to help tend to the wounds of the man lying behind her. "This will work," Megumi sniffled, her focus and demeanor shifting as her medical instincts kicked in. "Yes, this will work quite nicely."
In minutes, she had selected all the instruments and implements that she would need to operate and placed them in a coffee can atop a portable burner that was trying to make water boil. Rather than waiting she found a spare blanket and set it aside, knowing that this man in a post-operative state would be in shock and need to stay warm. Bandages and gauze pads were clinically inspected and found to be sufficiently sterile. She checked, and then rechecked the expiration date on the iodine and rubbing alcohol to make sure they would assist her in preventing the spread of infection. Her stomach rumbled. She ignored it, too engrossed in her preparations to care.
Finally the coffee can was steaming, the water at a rapid, sanitizing boil. Megumi found another bowl, filled it with icy tap water, and then carefully poured some of the boiling water into the bowl so that the water became warm and carried it over to where the redhead was resting.
"Are you ready?" she asked, setting the bowl and some clean rags down beside her.
Kenshin
"Oro?" What was that expression? It was so strange. Kenshin had never seen anything like it. Fear and then...then something. Confusion? Grief? A sense of being...hungry for something. It was so complex he couldn't even begin to grasp it. She seemed in pain and yet it seemed...it seemed sort of like the ache of a healing wound, the stretch and pull of new skin. He reached up and wiped a tear from her face with his thumb.
"Don't cry," he murmured. Though he didn't understand. Had she said...had she said that she knew him? How could she know him? He didn't understand. But the connection was there. Something strong. Like a pull. What was it. What was it. He wanted to close his eyes and catch it but it was getting to hard to concentrate on anything. In a moment she was gone anyway. He listened to her moving. Her exclamations. Her apologies. This feeling... It was when he looked up out of the fire and saw Shishou, reaching for him.
And that...that feeling of... There wasn't a word.
There wasn't a word and he was tired. He pushed the memory away and watched Megumi-dono set up, all brisk efficiency. Steady hands, warm heart, was that the saying?
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"Aa." He rolled over onto his stomach, groaning softly as his head and shoulder pulsed in rhythm and pillowing his head on his arms. This was going to be hell.
Megumi
Megumi waited till it appeared that the man was as comfortable as he could be, then began to carefully wash the man's right side. She could feel a swollen mass slightly off the right shoulder blade and while the skin she washed was perfect, with no signs of injury, the radiant heat she felt coming up from inside the man's body suggested that something serious was amiss.
Once clean, she took iodine and carefully disinfected the right shoulder, then allowed the iodine to try and she scrubbed her hands till they were pink. She sighed, steadying her mind and her hands for what was to come next.
"Sir," she said, her soft voice sounding loud in the storage room, "I'm going to start now, please try and hold as still as you can."
She waited for a moment, then reached over and carefully removed the sharpest razor blade she was able to find from the sterilized water. The blade was very hot beneath her fingers, but this was necessary considering the depth of the wound and the less than ideal conditions she was operating in.
When she made the first cut, a two inch vertical line that ran along the right shoulder blade, the man tensed up, his muscles becoming steely despite his slender build. "Exhale slowly, try and relax your muscles, or this will hurt worse," she warned as she repeated the movement, the razor slicing past the dermal layers and miniscule fat deposits. A fain grunt was the man's only reply.
Megumi moved quickly, but carefully as she came into contact with the first layer of muscle. A faint, yet sickly sweet odor became apparent as she cut through, moving closer to the impacted mass of infected tissue that housed a bullet. The man was shaking, fine tremors of pain running down his spine every time the blade bit into his skin, but made no sound other than an occasional gasp.
The smell changed when she cut into the second layer of muscle, the sweet, cloying odor transforming into a pungent, nauseating scent that was vaguely reminiscent of spoilt meat. When greenish yellow pus began seeping up under the razor, she stopped, cleaned and irrigated the wound with the hot water, then began cutting again.
"Almost there," she whispered, her strong fingers forcing the infection up out of the man's body and washing it away. "You're doing so well, it won't be much longer," She paused when she felt something hard, something utterly not organic beneath the razor and carefully, cautiously slipped her finger inside the open wound. "There," she muttered, her bloody fingers sliding over the irregular edges of a hollow point shell that had exploded inside the man, sending small bits of lead based shrapnel into his shoulder bone and surrounding muscle. Without tweezers, Megumi plucked out the largest fragments with her fingers, removing them with dreadful care.
The bullet itself had lodged in the shoulder bone and the man's regenerative properties had harmed rather than helped him in this case. "I have to dig the bullet out now," she said regretfully, before using the edge of the razor and carefully applied strength to chisel of the newly formed bone, until the dull blood covered slug was visible. She pursed her lips tightly as she chipped one, twice then…with a dull scrape the bullet was out of the man's heaving shoulder and lying in the center of her bloody palm. "It's over," she set the bullet down beside the futon then prepared to start cleaning the wound and closing the man back up.
Kenshin
He had known it would hurt when she was washing the wound, when he could feel the slightest bit of pressure. He was glad that she had warned him first but the flash of pain speared adrenaline through his body. He could feel the air, the back of his neck twinging. He could feel the very edge of the blade, knew where it cut, could picture the separation, the well of blood. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and he wanted to grab those thin wrists and take the blade out of her hands before she cut his throat.
But she wouldn't. Her ki was calm. Centered. He couldn't let his own anxiety reflect badly on this poor lost woman. She told him to breathe and relax.
"Aa," he said and he tried, clenching his fists as it got deeper and deeper, nerves screaming to make it stop. Make it stop! Like the one girl with things in her head that she had tried to claw out. She had kept saying they were spiders. But the bastards hadn't let her out until she'd hung herself. Another hitokiri gone. Another experiment-Ah! Damn it.
It's your own fault for getting shot in the back. Shishou would say, except his voice took on a different form. That-bastard dressed in a blue uniform and smoking idly- Shit. He sucked in a breath between his teeth. Idily... even though...there was so much blood on his hands- hands too and he kept- kept nnnggg- Killing and had the gall to- exist. Fuck. Damnit. Why did it have to hurt so much?
The blade was scraping against the bone. He could hear it. Feel it. It burned through him, pierced, lasted forever and he was hovering on the edge, the dangerous edge of pain and pulsing adrenaline. Needed a blade. Needed to stop the pain. But that...that was never for his own pain. If nothing else it was never to stop his own pain!
(because he certainly caused enough to others)
His ears began to ring with the strain of it. If she didn't stop. If she didn't- He would...he wouldn't. Never.
And then...it was gone. Kenshin sucked in a sweet cold breath. His shoulder throbbed. Blood itched over his back. But it was gone. Thank god.
"It's over," she said. He rested his head on his forearms, unable to stop the shudders that raced through him, partly out of relief, partly as the chill dried his sweat. The air smelled of blood. Everything smelled like that these days.
"Thank you," he murmured. To distract himself. "I am in your debt. If I had to do it myself I would have probably taken off my own shoulder, I would."
Megumi
Megumi shook her head, when the blood covered man mentioned that he was in her debt. "On the contrary, Sir," she smiled at her patient as an echo of that odd, tender familiarity began to well up inside her weary heart.
"You've given me a place where I may be able to find a measure of rest, and to be warm," her stomach rumbled again, the sound startling her and causing an embarrassed little laugh to escape from her upturned mouth, "and eat, so that my stupid stomach will shut up." Beyond thankful, and still more than a little surprised at the man's generosity, she patted his good shoulder, "If there is any unequal balance between you and I, it is in your favor, not mine."
For some reason, she knew this to be true. That she was indebted somehow, in some way to the man resting beside her as if he'd taken a burden, one of her making upon his narrow shoulders.
She glanced up as the wind outside began to pick up, whistling and moaning around the mostly abandoned storage complex, as if the weather itself was in pain. It was late in the evening now, and the temperatures were falling rapidly, causing the already chilly storage room to become uncomfortably cold. "I'm going to get you cleaned and bandaged up, and then will see what can be done about a meal."
Turning, she took a took the still hot (but no longer burning) water from the coffee can and began to carefully wash the wound, which no longer stank and was simply bloody rather than puss-filled. When it was clean, she packed the wound with gauze and then began to wash the man's blood covered back, arm and shoulder.
"Try and rest, if you can," she whispered as she rubbed away dried blood and bits of gristle and bone from the man's still feverish skin. Still sick, she knew that the high fever would abate slowly and that even with the reputed regenerative properties that experimentation and forced drug dependence had given to this man, he would still be weak and feel unwell for a day or so more.
"You have blood in your hair," she chided quietly, as she wet the stiff and sticky deep red strands with water, her fingers tugging slightly, but not painfully on the surprisingly soft tresses, "and on your cheek," she reached a little with the makeshift washcloth, running it over the slightly hollowed out cheekbones and over the bridge of a nose that was almost delicate.
There was also blood on his mouth, whether this was from him biting his lip to stay silent, or simply because of the operation he'd endured she didn't know, but she cleaned this part of him as well, albeit very gently since his lips were chapped and cracked from fever.
Eventually, he was blood free, well bandaged and no longer shuddering violently from pain and cold. Megumi checked the futon, thankful that no blood had been spilt on the threadbare fabric and then carefully covered him with the comforter and a spare blanket she'd found in a corner, tucking the edge around his feet so that his body heat could build up beneath the blankets.
Carefully, she then rose carrying the bloody basin of water and poured it down the sink, watching with sleep deprived fascination as the crimson hued liquid gurgled and sloshed down unseen pipes. She then took what water remained in the can, still delightfully warm, and washed her face, neck and hands until she was also as clean as she could hope to be, considering the circumstances.
There was such catharsis in becoming clean, she thought as she washed her hands, pushing a bit of cloth beneath the underside of her fingernails, removing all traces of blood from them, such comfort to be derived from something as simple as a bit of soap, a bit of water and a lot of scrubbing. Wishing that everything was so easily remedied, Megumi glanced down at her top, which was saturated with blood and would need a good washing if she wanted to wear it again in public.
(It will have to wait) There was a sick man to consider and an empty stomach that was painfully twisting itself in knots. Meg pressed a hand to her middle, wincing as her stomach growled again and looked around, trying to decide what to prepare for a meal.
Kenshin
"You really don't owe me anything," Kenshin said, though tired of the conversation, understood why she wanted to pursue it. It was gratitude. It was relief. But she had done much more for so little. All he could offer her was food and warmth and marginal safety, but more danger than she could probably imagine, no matter what she had escaped from. He would think about the implications of that when his head didn't hurt so much.
Instead he tried to relax as she cleaned the wound. It was summarily weird to be tended like this. Her hands were gentle and he appreciated the gesture as she washed the blood from his hair and his face, though a flush crept up his cheeks as she touched his lips. He let her do as she liked, though he wanted to push away from her. It was too strange. Too intimate. And it made him feel more weak and helpless than he already was.
Finally though, the bandages were wrapped around him, and though his head still ached and his shoulder, too, as the healing started, it wasn't the same heavy grinding feeling. The adrenaline still spiked through him, though, keeping his eyes open, chasing away the warm dark of sleep-and he watched her move away.
As soon as she was gone he pushed himself up into a sitting position, grunting a little with the effort and closed his eyes as a dizzy spell washed over him. He reached out and passed a brief hand over Kitetsu and realized he hadn't taken his shot for the day. His hands were shaking slightly as he reached for his bag and it felt heavier than ever as he tugged it over, his shoulder aching and twitching painfully with the movement. He should let her administer it but no. He could do this much for himself at least.
He carefully tied up his left arm, pulled out the hard-shelled glasses case he kept his hypodermics in-one left that was full- and focused on making his right hand still as he pushed the thin needle into his arm. Stronger than a hit, the effects flooded through him almost immediately. He closed his eyes and sighed. Yes. This. This is what he'd been needing.
Warmth filled him, sliding through his veins and dulled the ache in his head. It calmed him, energized him, brought to mind that he had nothing but coffee for...for how long had it been? How long had he been sleeping? Didn't matter. For the moment, this feeling was the only thing that mattered.
Megumi
Megumi nearly dropped the package of instant noodles that she'd found, when the man sat up in bed. "What are you doing?" She began to ask but when the man reached for his katana, she shut up, and took a nervous step back away from where the man was sitting and held very still.
She watched as the man's slender fingers ghosted over the hilt of a sword that somehow seemed a little less safe than she's assumed it to be. His hand (it's shaking…trembling….why?) snaked out, grabbed a bag that was too far away, too heavy for him to move with such a wound. Instinctively, Meg moved forward (one step forward two steps back seemed to be her dance of choice with his fellow) then froze again, when supplies were taken from the bag.
(Himura) she mouthed the name of the drug in her mind. A proto-meta-amphetamine that had been unleashed on an unsuspecting world, injected into children, whose still forming and adaptable little bodies were able to metabolize the drug better than an adult, gracing them with speed, strength, hyper focus, everything that the government had wanted in the next generation of super soldiers. The fact that it was inherently unstable and teterogenic enough to rapidly and irreparably change the brain chemistry of anyone who was exposed to it, creating an instant, life-long addict, was of no consequence to scientists like her father.
(Where there are great risks…there can be great rewards)
It was her father's motto, the phrase he'd literally beat her into her brain and body from before she was born till he disappeared a few months before the military came for her and her brother. She glanced over her shoulder at the man sitting, nigh oblivious to everything around him, save the serum that he was shooting into his slender arm.
(Where is this man's reward?) she wondered unhappily as she filled up a dinged up aluminum pot with water, placed it on the portable burner and added several packet of instant noodles, then went scrounging about, looking for any sort of seasoning she could find.
She found a packet of dried chili powder, perhaps from a long-forgotten take out order and sprinkled some of the red flakes into the noodle mixture, then after finding some salt and one half crushed packet of pepper, added them as well.
She closed her eyes when she heard the man sigh, the pleasure and relief in his voice all too apparent. She felt as if she was intruding on something private, something that she had no business being witness to and while her rational mind knew that this injection (and every injection that he would take for the rest of his life, lest he die in agony while withdrawals ripped his body from the inside out) was necessary, her heart, confused and chaotic as it was, lamented the necessity of such an act.
(This is why they started experimenting again) Thankful that her back was to the man, Megumi's expression became stark as she numbly stirred the noodles, until the seasoning and sauce mix began to steam and bubble, filling the little storage room with hints of spice, sweetness and heat. The drug dependency (not to mention the unfortunate side-effect of going stark raving mad within a year of use) was a liability, one that the military and those that opposed all that the powers that be stood for, wanted to eliminate from the equation. Turning away from the transitory and instability of chemicals in the blood stream and brain, the movement shifted to something more stationary, a branch of science that was still young (though not as young as the children who were used as lab rats) Megumi thought, scrunching her nose up in an attempt not to gnash her teeth and scream at the unfairness of it all.
She was tired. She was hungry, so much in fact that the scent of food was at once both intoxicating and nausea inducing. She swallowed, suddenly sick to her stomach, paused, and swallowed again, pushing down bile in the back of her throat, and kept stirring as if her life depended on it. She stirred, added a pinch of this, a sprinkle of that and wondered at the man sitting behind her, who was, at least in her best estimation NOT insane using a drug that everyone – even the generals and scientists who had failed to learn from history and once again taken up the worst aspects of science, were convinced was lost, the formula destroyed.
Eventually the food was done. She looked around, found two plates and two chopsticks covered in plastic wrap, and then averting her eyes, not sure how the man would react now that he had a chemical cocktail like no other surging through his veins, walked over to the futon and announced that dinner was ready.
Kenshin
Anger. Cold dull anger. Hopeless anger. Kenshin could feel it even before he opened his eyes and looked at her back. She was too vulnerable still, hunched over and cooking, the smell of spices filling the air. What she was angry at was hard to guess. He looked down at the depleted needle. (Maybe she's just disappointed. You're not half of what you once were.)
That wore the euphoric feeling away to nothing. It always did. It was funny, he used to not care until he came here. It was just another part of life. But then he'd never seen so many AMP users. AMP and RUSH and METAL, wasting their lives, their bodies, for the feeling. This feeling that he shared with them. He was no better than them and yet he killed them...and he would keep on killing them if he needed to for...for what?
For a better world? As if he stopping one drug dealer wouldn't prevent someone else from sneaking into the gap. As if drugs wouldn't always be here. Wouldn't always be worse. But even if he could save the life of one more innocent it would be worth it. (Because the end justifies the means? Baka deshi there is no end.) He put the needle back in the case and shoved it in the bag and a moment later she was walking toward him, bearing food and looking away.
Anxious. Afraid. (Ashamed.) Kenshin smiled.
"That smells delicious, it does. Usually I just eat something from a can, but I'm sure it will taste much better this way." He reached up with his right arm, winced, and took it with his left instead, leaning over a bit to slurp the noodles without getting them everywhere.
"They are good. It's been a long time since I've had home cooking." If Shishou's could be said to count. "Do you cook much?"
Megumi
Hesitantly, Megumi glanced up at the man, then down at her noodles.
"I did," she answered honestly, thinking back on when she prepared food for her and her brother. "It's been a while." (Three years, three weeks and one day to be precise) Megumi picked up a few noodles in her chopstick and took a bite, the first real food she'd had in nearly a week. She shuddered, party from being chilled, closed her eyes, and sighed, then took another bite, one that hinted at how painfully hungry she'd been.
"I like to cook," she admitted, almost shyly after she'd swallowed the spicy noodles.
She took another bite, trying not to wolf the food down, and then glanced over at the man sitting beside her. She'd been terrified that the drug would make him violent, but those fears were starting to subside, leaving behind a slight red haired man with a sore shoulder who seemed almost as hungry as she was.
"There's more," unused to having any sort of civil conversation, she felt like she was made of social rust. "I made plenty and, oh…one second," she set her plate down and went over to the sink and carefully filled the one glass she could find and a bowl with a crack on the lip of it with cold tap water, then carried them back to where the man was sitting.
"Here, Sir, something to drink." She offered him the glass, took the bowl for herself and sat down, perhaps a little closer than she had before and took a drink of water, delighting in the fact that she could. Peering at him over the rim of the bowl, she hazarded a small smile. "I'm out of practice, I'm afraid, when it comes to hosting a dinner."
She shivered, the blood on her scrubs was chilly and her feet were bare and exposed to the concrete floor. "It's odd how easy it is to forget, to become unaccustomed to such basic things, such simple acts." Still, she was more comfortable now, sitting half on half off a lumpy futon in a cold basement storage room with a man she couldn't quite remember, who by all accounts should not exist, than she had been in years. She smiled again, and took another blessed bite.
Kenshin
She liked to cook? That was obvious. The food was good and a better fare than he usually had. He accepted the glass of water from her and drank gratefully. He noticed with a faint smile that she'd sat a little closer. She was like a timid deer he'd seen once, who had moved closer and closer until it had lipped the rice out of his hand before bounding back into the forest.
She was no deer, however, and wanted more than food. There was such a sense of longing in her. Loneliness. Faint hope. He was not the person for it. He barely had time to live his own life, whatever that was, to be there for someone else. Still, for this moment, as long as they were together, he could try to give her what she needed, a sense of family, safety, comfort. Sometimes protecting someone was more than swinging a katana.
"Call me Kenshin," he said with a smile. "Himura Kenshin, I suppose, technically." He finished his noodles and set the glass down. His head was starting to throb a bit more now and her shivering was starting to make him cold. Cold and sore. He wanted to put the comforter around her thin shoulders but the thought of standing up made him dizzy, so he settled on tugging it so that it rested securely on her feet.
"It is easy to forget, that it is," he said. "But it's easier to remember when you're with friends. Bad times become distant dreams, they do." He remembered when this used to be Tokyo. When the air was clean. Warm sunlit days. A woman laughing. Children laughing. Friends. Family. Not really a memory. A dream of a different time. A fantasy.
He had closed his eyes.
He realized this and opened them again, smiling at Megumi but for a moment, seeing her in that fantasy world. Smiling and finally...finally... what? (happy)
"I'm afraid this one isn't much of a friend, but if it's worth anything at all, I would like to be yours." Because she needed one. And if he could help even a little, he would do all that he could to make sure she got to that warm place. Somehow. Some day.
Megumi
"I'm afraid this one isn't much of a friend, but it it's worth anything at all, I would like to be yours."
Shocked into stillness, Megumi glanced over the man, at Kenshin. Yes, that was his name. Of course it was. Why had it been so difficult for her to remember such a thing? "I am not adept at recalling all that I should," She whispered softly, half to herself as her breath started to condense and become misty as the temperature in the storage room continued to drop. "…and can't seem to forget things that are best left alone."
Outside the wind howled, there was a loose plank or shutter nearby, one that beat an uneven tempo against the icy exterior walls. A fading police siren could be heard in the distance, and somewhere in a neighboring building, a couple was having an argument. It was an imperfect counter-melody to the steady cadence in her cold chest. "But I think that for you, Himura Kenshin, I would be willing to make an exception to my normal state of mind."
Brushing her hair back behind her ear, she bent and took Kenshin's empty plate and put hers atop it. She could see that he was exhausted and certainly had to be in pain. Her heart tightened a little as another wave of half-forgotten / almost remembered thoughts moved through her, thoughts of him and of others, faces lacking names, but not feeling.
And being moved, she moved, rising up on her knees and leaning over a little so she could brush her lips quickly against a cheek that was warm with fever. "You have shown me more kindness in an evening than I have known for many years." Megumi gave the man a shy, inscrutable smile, then quickly stood up and carried the plates to the janitor's sink. "So you'll have to forgive me if I don't agree with your self-assessment and gladly take what measure of friendship you give me and offer mine back in return."
She turned on the water and began scrubbing away the remains of the meal.
It was hard to remember in the dark times. Sometimes it was even painful. Kenshin wondered if he had said the right thing but she seemed content enough. The temperature was dropping and he couldn't stop the shiver that ran over his skin and pulled at his shoulder. He cocked his head at the police siren, heart jumping into his throat and then relaxing as it passed, like the ghost of a lost child. He shivered again.
Kenshin
He smiled as she said his name, though it seemed odd, somehow. Maybe because he'd rarely heard it that way outside of the mouth of one of the doctors. (Maybe because he was used to another way?) He saw her shift and come closer, though there was nothing aggressive in her mood, he tensed as she pressed her lips to his cheek, and perhaps let out a strangled oro, feeling more heat rush to his cheeks which only grew hotter at her compliment.
"It's...it's no problem, that it isn't," he said when she spoke. He rubbed the back of his head. "This one is just concerned for your well-being, he is. Though I'm glad to have your friendship in return, Megumi-dono, that I am."
She turned away finally, thankfully, washing dishes. He rubbed his bare arm, feeling his heart settle once more. This was going to be difficult, it was. She really had no idea what he meant. His friendship wasn't worth much. Less than nothing for all the danger and trouble that came with it. He closed his eyes and touched his cheek where her lips had been. The smoothness of it startled him and he traced his fingers along his face. Where was...where was what?
He shook his head and regretted it, shifting to pull back the comforter, and then looked at the narrow futon, and then did the math.
(Oro)
She was...well obviously this futon would only be really comfortable for one, it would. He would be fine against the wall. She had gotten the extra blanket out and all he had to do was grab it.
He pushed himself shakily to his feet, sucking between his teeth as his shoulder pulled as he went to get the blanket. Dizziness swept over him and he had to kneel, and then sit, tugging the blanket clumsily around his shoulders. Then Kitetsu was too far.
Well he would get it...in just...just a second.
Megumi
Dishes clinking, Megumi she quickly made short work of the plates, glass, bowl and pot then turned to see if the man (the man has a name) If Kenshin-san had fallen asleep yet.
"What are you doing?" She demanded, her expression sliding between bemusement and chagrin as she watched the wounded man try and pull a blanket up around his exposed shoulders. "Why aren't you… Oh, honestly," she sighed and wiped her cold hands pant legs that had seen much better days and walked over to where Kenshin-san was sitting. "You need to get to bed before you reinjure that shoulder." Megumi knelt down beside him and pointed at the futon, rather imperiously.
"If you think that I am going to take the bed of an injured man out some…some….antiquated notion of male/female protective roles, you are seriously, seriously mistaken."
She pointed again and tugged slightly at the edge of the thinner blanket.
"Move it."
Kenshin
She was a bit scary when she was mad. Still Kenshin held on doggedly to the blanket. Antiquated gender roles or no, he was just a hitokiri, that he was, and the floor was very uncomfortable. It just wouldn't be right.
"This one is very tough so don't worry about me. I'm used to sleeping on the floor so you can take the futon. I'll be fine against the wall, I will."
Megumi
Megumi blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.
"This one," she pointed to herself, "who I feel inclined to point out does not have a freaking hole in her shoulder is even tougher and has spent the last few weeks sleeping quite comfortably, thank you very much, in doorways and dumpsters."
"You're the patient. I'm the doctor." She pointed again towards the futon as her teeth began to violently chatter. "So allow me to express my professional opinion again. GET TO BED."
Kenshin
"Just because you have doesn't mean you should," Kenshin said. There was no help for it, though. She was passionate about him taking the futon and he knew her concern was more out of his welfare. However, he couldn't acquiesce so readily. She was cold, she was, and it was going to be even colder for her on the stone floor.
"You'll get sick if you stay on the floor. So maybe..." He scratched his cheek. "Maybe we should share. There's just enough room there is, and two blankets and it's so cold out that it would be better to share body heat, wouldn't it?" Though not in that way. He mentally begged her not to take it the wrong way and steeled himself for a well placed whack if she thought he was being a pervert.
Megumi
Megumi looked at Kenshin, then at the futon, then back, pursing her lips together thoughtfully. (He's stubborn enough to argue with me till his feet freeze to the floor)
"It would reduce the risks of hypothermia," she conceded after a moment, tapping her finger on her chin. "and there are two blankets."
She glanced at the slightly nervous looking man, wondering if he thought she'd kissed him on his cheek, just so she could sleep somewhere where the statistical chances of having an appendage fall off due to frostbite was slightly more in her favor.
"Are you sure you don't mind?" Megumi asked, not wanting to mess up a friendship that was only minutes old "I swear, I won't try and pull any moves, or whatever it is that loose women sharing futons in storage rooms do."
Kenshin
"I guess I will just have to trust you," he said with a relieved grin. She didn't look the least bit angry or embarrassed. He'd forgotten what a level-headed woman she could be. Even though...it would be a rather tight fit and the last person he'd shared any sort of bed with had been Shishou-and even then touching was minimal. If you could count being clubbed in the head with a sprawled out hand as touching.
"I don't mind at all." Or at least, not in the ways that she probably thought he did. "As a matter of fact, it would be an honor to sleep-" with? No. "-beside you."
Though of course now he had to make his way back to the bed. Only a few steps away but it seemed so far. He offered a faint smile to her before pushing himself back and moving to the futon, shifting gingerly onto his left side. Thankfully it was the side closest to Kitetsu, though hopefully he wouldn't have to lift it.
"Megumi-dono should find somewhere to stay, she should." He said after a moment of silence, absently rubbing his thumb over the guard. "It's not healthy for her to stay out in the cold so much."
Megumi
Secretly feeling a lot more nervous that she let on, Megumi looked at the man lying on the futon, his back turned to her. "I know," she glanced down at her scrub top, which was now caked with blood and becoming decidedly tacky. "I have not exactly been in a position these past few weeks where I can safely access funds to secure a place to live."
Feeling rather pathetic, she gave her hair a little flip. "I'm working on it though, and hopefully by the end of the week things will be a little easier," She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle.
"Kenshin-san, I must impose on your kindness again and ask if I might borrow a shirt and perhaps some pants to wear this evening, just until I can wash my scrubs," she paused and then motioned to a pile of clothing folded in one corner of the room. "I promise that I'll wash and return your clothing if that's all right?"
When her man nodded, she gingerly went to the corner and tried to find the oldest shirt and pants she could find, not wanting to take advantage of her host's kindness any more than she already had.
Having selected a light gray shirt and some black sweatpants that had seen better days, Megumi glanced back at the futon where Kenshin was resting, then moved to the opposite side of the room and turned her back to him, her face flushing with mortification as she tried to decide the most modest way to strip in front of a man she'd barely met.
Tugging her top down, she quickly slid off the blood spattered scrub bottoms while praying that her bottom was not peeking out from beneath her top. She could tell that her friend (the first she'd ever had aside from her brother) was shy, if his reaction to a peck on the cheek was any indicator and she didn't want to do or say anything that would cause him to regret his decision to let her rest her until morning.
(And then what...) Megumi pushed the thought aside as she pulled the soft sweatpants up. They were too small, her longer legs making the black pants into highwaters, but they were clean and soft and didn't smell of blood.
Pants on, she pulled off the filthy top, shuddering as her bare back was exposed to the cold. She pulled the old cotton-poly t-shirt on. It too was too small, revealing a small expanse of her lower back and stomach, but was just as clean and soft and after weeks of washing and wearing the same garment over and over again, felt like silk against her skin.
"Thank you," she said as she padded over to the janitor's sink, filled it with cold water and put her scrubs in the water where she hoped that a good soak could make the blood soaked garments almost presentable again.
Scrubs soaking, she looked around the room and after a moment's hesitation, where she summoned up the courage to slip into a bed with a man for the first time in her life, she went and knelt by the futon, hesitated again, then slid down beside where he was laying, made sure that they were properly covered with the comforter and then held very, still, her body as stiff as a board.
Kenshin
Kenshin could only nod at the question. Though he had no problem with her borrowing his clothes, even keeping them if need be- it was...the thought of someone else wearing them- a woman at that was...was strange. He heard the rustle of cloth and closed his eyes tightly. Not that he could even see her from this position but just in case he didn't want either of them to be embarrassed.
As he tried not to hear the shifting of cloth, he turned his mind to other things. She had no where to stay. He, did, though. There were other safe houses. And one even heated, though she would have to sneak up eight flights of stairs to get there. If only he had the money to give her. A clinic to send her to where she would be protected, would find her place. But she was working on it…good…
The warmth of the comforter was starting to sink into him, fill him with warm darkness. Images pressed and swirled in his mind, in and out of his consciousness. There was room, warm with hazy spring light. The rustle of cloth and the yukata slipped just a little revealing a pale shoulder, delicate but strong. The fall of long dark hair. So young. Too young. But like a soothing mountain stream, fresh and bright, though her shoulders were warm and the curve of her neck…
The blankets shifted and he stirred. Where…who…? Megumi…Right. She had said something to him but he didn't sense her waiting for an answer so it must not have been important. She was tense again. He could feel her coiled muscles against his back as if she was unsure, worried.
"Relax," he murmured slowly. "There's nothing to be afraid of." He yawned and stroked Kitetsu's guard. "That there isn't."
Megumi
"O..Okay," Locking her jaw so her teeth didn't chatter in the poor man's ear, Megumi nodded and tried to force her body to relax. "I'm not afraid," she blinked, as her weariness settled over her like a sleepy shroud, the heat of a feverish body next to hers and a blanket (a blanket!) covering her chilled arms and legs and toes, made her feel as if she was sleeping in the most luxurious bed in the world.
Muscles relaxed, her heart, which had been racing, began to slow and shallow breathing turned into contented sighs. Without realizing it, she snuggled a little closer to the man, basking in both warmth and safety, and closed her eyes.
"Sweet dreams..." Megumi's voice was as soft as her borrowed clothing. Pulling her arms up so they were against her chest, tucking them beneath her chin, she opened her heavy eyes one last time, focusing on a fall of soft red hair and a bandaged back, then sighed, utterly content, and gently fell asleep, "...Ken-san."