Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki, and I borrowed a few lines from Maigo-chan's Ruroken translations, volume 19, act 167.
Summary: Hiko and Kenshin make good on a missed opportunity, causing Kenshin to come home later than he intended.
A/N: This first part is in answer to the "promises" theme at rkchallenge.
In Vino Veritas
By: gure
Kenshin watched quietly as Hiko took a small sip of sake. He savored it a moment, swallowed, then took a slightly larger sip. Finally, he looked over at Kenshin, regarding him critically.
"How much did you pay for this, baka deshi?"
Kenshin found it very difficult not to smile. While not a declaration of undying admiration for the sake, the fact that Hiko had commented at all spoke volumes. He had chosen well, then. He was no expert on the finer things in life, and had hoped this would be up to Hiko's standards. He had certainly paid enough. Hiko, however, didn't need to know that.
Deciding to ignore the comment, Kenshin picked up the jug sitting between them and refilled Hiko's dish. Then he poured a small amount for himself, returning the jug to its previous spot on their shared rock. He took a sip, and smiled. It was very good quality. Kenshin silently thanked the pair of old men who had directed him to their favorite vendor. It would seem those old-timers in the marketplace had known their sake.
The large, flat rocks near the river's edge were still warm from the sun, and Kenshin relaxed, enjoying the radiant heat in the failing evening light. Nights were always cooler on Hiko's mountain. The waterfall roared dully in the distance, and fireflies winked lazily over the river.
Kenshin remembered many evenings, much like this one, from when he was younger. There was something magical about watching the stars come out one by one, greeting the coming night.
"In spring, cherry blossoms by night. In summer, the stars. In autumn, the full moon. In winter, the snow. These are always enough to make sake delicious. If it tastes bad, that's proof that there's something sick inside you."
Hiko's words returned to him, and Kenshin paused, the sake dish halfway to his lips. For so many years, sake didn't taste good. Nothing tasted good. Kenshin had often doubted that it ever would. Now, however... He closed his eyes briefly, and took a small sip. Who would have ever thought he'd be sitting here, high above Kyoto, sharing a drink with his shishou, and it tasted good? Certainly not him.
That long-ago evening, there had been a lesson in those words, and an unspoken promise. He hadn't caught either, until it was much too late. He realized now that Hiko knew that passing on their style's final attack would be his end; it was tradition. He also understood that his ancient style was not meant to tear down governments. With such power, one had to answer only to oneself. To do otherwise would be to become a tool.
Kenshin wondered, knowing what he knew now, what he had learned the hard way, if Hiko had hoped to share sake with him before passing on the final technique. What if he had listened to Hiko, and had stayed on the mountain, letting the politics below play out? Kenshin lowered his hand, cradling the dish of sake in his lap.
It was foolish to dwell on what could have been. If he had stayed on the mountain, he never would have met Tomoe. He wouldn't know Kaoru now. Would he even have friends? Probably not. He'd likely be just as reclusive as Hiko. He snorted quietly. Now that was a frightening thought!
Hiko would have been long dead, now, because of him. Kenshin's mirth fell abruptly away. Regardless of his mistakes and the guilt he still carried, Kenshin was grateful that he was not responsible for Hiko's death. However odd their relationship may appear to others, they shared an understanding that suited them both.
A harsh jab in his side startled Kenshin from his musing, and he sloshed the sake in his lap. "Shishou!"
"Hn. You bring sake, insisting on a drink, and then you sit and daydream." Hiko narrowed his eyes, then reached for the jug, refilling his dish. He didn't offer to refill Kenshin's.
Kenshin looked at the wet stain on his hakama, and tried to sop up the excess with the sleeve of his gi. It was useless, he knew, and all he was succeeding in doing was smelling like a drunk. Giving it up as a lost cause, Kenshin refilled his own dish and took another sip.
"The sake is quite good, that it is." Kenshin looked out over the water, watching the fireflies. He sensed Hiko's sharp gaze, and ignored it. He didn't quite want to face his shishou and that appraising look.
After a moment, Hiko grunted and looked out over the water as well. "I'm glad it tastes good, baka deshi. If it didn't, there would be something wrong with you."
Kenshin whipped around to regard Hiko, but he had already stood, and was sedately walking away. He watched his retreating back, eyes huge with surprise, then his face softened and he whispered a quiet, "Shishou."
He slowly stood, then leaned down to retrieve the jug, which was considerably lighter than it had been. Kenshin took a moment to look out over the river, noting how the fireflies blinked like the stars overhead. With a quiet sigh, he turned and followed Hiko up the riverbank.