[AN] This is actually one of the first RK fics I wrote, somewhere between ten and fifteen years ago. It's not a happy ending, and it flies in the face of canon; I had not yet finished watching the series and it was long before I ever read the manga. I'm not even entirely sure why I'm posting it, except that I feel compelled. I don't expect good reviews. I'm not even sure I expect any at all. This is not fluff, it's not a feel-good story. It may not be good enough to evoke tears. When I wrote this, I had been thinking a lot about what a huge difference one tiny choice can make, and how widely the repercussions spread. I guess that subject's been on my mind lately again. [/AN]

Old Wounds

Chursh. Chursh. Chursh. The woman looked down at the powder in the bowl before her. She appeared far older than her thirty years, worn down by ill health and maltreatment. For years, she had wondered what would have happened had she only left a note…

It had been eight years since she had thrown herself in impetuous desperation at the beautiful redheaded man with a cross shaped scar on his cheek. That made it eleven arduous years of submitting to the sadistic demands of Takeda Kanryuu and making the opium that often proved fatal to the unwary user. She no longer cared about anything, only waited for death to claim her. She had long since despaired of going to meet it.

The tattered husk which was all that was left of the woman known as Takani Megumi sighed and pushed back her brittle grey hair. Eight years of wondering what might have happened if she'd returned to the Kamiya dojo with that close-knit group instead of giving in to the pressure Kanryuu had put on her.

She little doubted that Himurasan had married that young one, Kamiya Keiko was it? No. Kaoru. And the tall one, with the attitude, was probably either dead or married as well. Even the youngest one, so full of spirit, was probably calmer and maybe he too had found someone to marry. Her mind was so disconnected these days; even the happiest of memories rarely emerged from the haze anymore.

She wondered what would have happened if she'd left a note when she'd run away, thinking to protect those she feared she might learn to care for. It seemed everyone she loved suffered and died. Maybe she might have won Kenshin's heart, or even the tall one whose friend had died because of her. What had his name been? Sanosuke, that was it. Or she might have met someone else entirely.

But she had run, and she hadn't left a note, and long since stopped pretending that she could try again. Kanryuu had kept the reins very tight indeed after that last attempt. There would be no more chance of an escape. He'd guaranteed it by breaking her legs over and over again until, mending improperly, they would no longer bear even her slight weight very well or for very long. She had long since stopped feeling the new pains he would inflict on her, and her mind accepted the constant ache in her legs as normal.

She took a breath and went back to mixing the opium that had been the reason for Kanryuu's keeping her alive and in his service. Chursh. Chursh. Chursh. Once, she'd had spirit, intelligence, humor. Once, she'd been a beautiful woman with a future. Now she was no more than a broken shell with few shabby dreams. Everything had its price.

She'd intended to kill him. He'd beaten her, drugged her with her own product, and blindfolded her. She didn't know where they were taking her and under the influence of opium, did not care. The hurried desperation of the flight from the mansion did not touch her, in a forced opium haze. She hated it, but allowed her tormentor to think she enjoyed it. That would have two benefits, she figured: it would prevent him from dosing her again, and if her production dropped off, well, it was his own fault for getting her hooked, wasn't it? She did not doubt she could fake an opium haze. That, too, she was careful not to do too often, for it would bring its own punishments.

Chursh. Chursh. Chursh.Mixing the drug had taken on a mechanical quality, allowing the woman's mind to drift. Early on, that had been her only salvation and the only link to sanity. In her mind, she had created a wonderful story about the man Himura Kenshin and his friends, running around together, helping people, and spending time rather like a family. In her mind, she was one of them. Not a central figure, of course, but definitely there in that world where fights could be won by the "good guys" and she could walk like any other woman.

She shifted her seat, wincing as the tired muscles in her legs cried out. She'd been hurting more lately with less apparent reason. Even Takeda Kanryuu at last seemed to be tiring of her and would probably soon find a new girl. Perhaps he had already started looking. Perhaps he would even kill her once she'd taught the new girl to make his opium.

It didn't matter to him that he was smuggling weapons in and selling them on the black market, raking in enough money to take the edge even off his vast greed. He would still have the opium made, still sell it to anyone who would buy. She was reasonably sure he had begun to partake of it himself periodically. She used to think that she might one day make a "bad" batch deliberately, but there was no way to guarantee that he would take it, and then others would certainly die, perhaps even innocent people. She never doubted that what she did was murder, but to take action that would deliberately bring harm to innocents... Then, somehow, somewhen, she'd stopped caring about killing him. She'd stopped caring about surviving, but had given up on having any other choice.

The screams of a young woman brought her out of her reverie, and then Kanryuu's sneering voice telling the girl it would be all right, as he had done to the older woman so many years ago.

It seemed Takeda Kanryuu had found a replacement.

She tuned out the sounds of sobs and the man's whiny, nasal voice, mockingly reassuring.

Perhaps the end had finally come. Old wounds that had never healed flashed awake with pain as she moved again. Pushing a grey lock back, she almost smiled to herself. With any luck, the girl had a warrior to leap to her rescue before it was too late for her. It was far, far too late for the "opium woman".

Chursh. Chursh. Chursh. It was almost time to press and pack this last load of the drug. She sighed again, wondering how much longer she had to wait. She would tell this new girl to run as soon, as fast, and as far as she could, and not to run away from those who would protect her. If nothing else, maybe she herself would be granted the blessing of death.

Silence had fallen save for the slight rustling of her own movements.

As she finished binding the last bit of powder into its tiny packet, she realized she'd been hearing the sounds of battle for several moments. For the first time in many years, the woman felt curiosity. It seemed almost too soon for someone to have come for the girl.

Slowly she dragged herself to the door of the third floor tower room, pulling herself up slowly along the wall, gasping for breath and waiting until the pain eased. She listened to the seeming silence that had fallen once again, forever perhaps? She had to know.

The door creaked open slowly, and she tottered painfully to the head of the stairs. There it was again, the sound of fighting.

Takeda's lack of honor had long since cost him the service of Shinomori Aoshi and the Oniwabanshuu, and he had never found guards that had quite filled the shoes of those who had become heroes in their own right. Those five men had eventually turned to fight those who, like Kanryuu, had no values but greed. They were gunned down, all of them, with weapons Takeda Kanryuu himself had provided. There were rumors that Kanryuu had even had it done himself.

She had almost cried when she'd heard. Though none of them had been particularly kind to her, neither were they cruel.

She fell, calling out involuntarily as her maltreated legs gave out on the stairs. She crumpled down painfully to the next landing. The main room was almost in her range of sight now. She heard the shots of a gun, followed by Kanryuu's psychotic laughter.

Dragging herself along the floor to the stairs, she heard a shout, a battle cry that struck a faint chord of memory. The voice was deeper than the one she remembered.

"Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu, Doryuusen!" A memory fluttered but vanished before it could become clear.

She heard the thud of a body, dead or at the least unconscious, hitting the floor just as she pulled herself into sight.

Standing over the smuggler's unmoving form was a slim young man, glaring down at the writhing figure. In his hand was a sword, glinting in the faint light from the doorway. She watched as he slid what she recognized, from the reflection, as a sakabatou into its sheath at his hip as he looked up and saw her.

She couldn't shake the feeling that she knew him. He reminded her a little of her memories of Kenshin, though he was obviously younger, and that untidy hair was black, spiky, and short. Also, he had no scar.

"You've been hurt," said that strangely familiar figure. He started towards her slowly as she shook her head.

She made a dismissive gesture. "Old wounds." Was that her voice? So many years of near total silence had reduced it to scarcely more than a whisper. "You look familiar, almost, but..." She lay still, unable to continue.

A young girl had come to the door with an older man behind her, and the woman looked up. The girl had soft brown hair, cut short, and wide eyes that made her look even younger. That must have been her intended replacement. The other man she could not see, silhouetted in the door.

The young man reached a hand out to her as the older one stepped into the room. She saw now he had red hair. Was that, there on his face...?

The young man knelt to her. "My name is Myoujin Yahiko. We're going to get you out of here."