Sunflower Blues
abstractedcharm
It wasn't long after they had part way. Just a few days. Word had quickly gotten out that the famous Kariya had been taken down by a ronin and that Kasumi Fuu still walked the earth. Word that turned into an official edict turned bounty meant to entice all starving ronin and mercenary everywhere—a reward of 10,000 ryos for her capture and execution. Mugen for the life of him couldn't figure out why a 16 year old girl who was as dangerous as a ladybug would be worth that much. Her stupid flying rat was more dangerous than she was. A small part of him was offended that it was not him who was worth 10,000 ryo, because he was sure he fucked up shit enough to warrant being worth that much.
Once Mugen found out about the bounty, he didn't hesitate. He reasoned she couldn't have gotten far from where they had left each other. It had only been a few days. He hoped that Jin saw the same notice and was hurrying to find her as well, that stupid clueless girl with a sunflower smile, too fucking bright for her own good. Why was he the only always scurrying to save her life? It annoyed him that he cared so much whether she lived or died. Even from the beginning he had hated the thought of Fuu being in real trouble. He always went back; he always looked for her, and always ran after her. Mugen wasn't the self-reflective type, but even he found himself wondering what in the world possessed him every time he went back to her. Attachment? Actual fucking sympathy? Or worse, a sense of duty towards someone who did save his life? Perhaps it gave him something to do, someone to fight—for? Maybe a purpose. Maybe that.
Things were simpler when he couldn't give a fuck about anyone else but himself.
When motivated, Mugen was fast and efficient with any undertaking—whether it'd be sword fighting or learning to read and write or beating up and killing every ingrate son of a bitch who had information on her whereabouts and was hunting her down.
It took him two full days to get her exact location – she was the new waitress at a small roadside restaurant a quarter of mile away from the town Tsumago. Mugen half sprinted there, finding more and more samurai bastards on their way to dispatch a defenseless girl for the honor of serving the Shogun and getting money. He felt himself burn up with indignation: fucking arrogant pricks going on about propriety and honor but they're all greedy bastards. Somewhere in his wild heart he felt a deep appreciation for Jin, though he would never ever admit it.
When he arrived at the roadside restaurant, people were running out screaming in fear. His adrenaline spiked, his every muscle quaked with the almost rabid hunger to kill whoever was in there now threatening her. With guttural roar, he ran into the restaurant, his sword drawn and livid eyes searching. Once inside, he saw a large hulking figure of a samurai looming over her while she cowered underneath his raised sword crying and begging for her life. Her pink tanto lay broken and useless some distance to her right.
Mugen lunged forward, a growl escaping him, his blade raised to deliver a swift and deadly strike. But the samurai was quicker: his sword made that terrible swishing noise as it slashed across her body, from her left thigh to right shoulder. Mugen's ears rang with the sound of her screaming; his sight was filled with red.
"You fucking bastard!" he roared, and ran his sword through the samurai's gut, twisted it and pulled it down in a zigzag fashion. He relished the scream of the ronin, choking on his own blood, pink frothing from his mouth. Mugen ripped the sword out, letting the guts fall onto the floor with a madding slick and thump.
It took Mugen a second or so to disengage from the thrill of the kill, and it was her weak little voice that brought him back. He rushed to her, grimacing at the pool of blood that was collecting around her. Her pink kimono was soaked and darkened. Her face was frozen in an expression of surprise and confusion. He lifted her into his arms, but he had no idea what to do next.
It was usually her patching him up. She was the one who cleaned away the blood and grime, bound his wounds closed, wrapped him in bandages and force fed him bitter medicine of her own making. He broke things, tore people up, and killed and she always picked up pieces of him and put him back together.
But what the fuck was he supposed to do now? She trembled in his arms. Her skin was cool and clammy and ashen and she looked like she would crumble any moment. Her life was slipping through his fingers with every waning breath.
"Fuu!" he shouted at her, as if that would help somehow, "Don't fucking die on me, girly, not after everything…"
"Mom?" she whimpered. Her eyes were staring past him. Mugen felt a painful knot in his stomach, the agonizing thought of her dying in his arms sent violent waves of panic and anger through him.
"Oi! Someone get help!" he shouted, looking around. The restaurant was empty. He gathered her in his arms and ran outside, shouting, "Anyone?!"
A timid looking middle aged woman, who was hiding behind a large sake barrel, came forward. "There's doctor," she said, "A quarter of a mile from here. Just on the edge of Tsumogi. His house has a red flag on it."
Mugen nodded and sped down the road, Fuu tightly held against his chest. He ignored the wetness that dripped down his arms and legs. What a terrible sight he must have been, a wild looking man with a trail of blood behind him.
He found the house with the red flag and burst inside, startling an old man who was sitting on the tatami, reading a book.
"Help her," he growled, desperately, threateningly, "Help her now!" He wasn't going to beg. If the doctor refused him, Mugen was ready to skewer him alive.
Stunned, the doctor stared at the bleeding mess that was Mugen and Fuu, his mouth ajar. When Mugen barked at him again, the doctor jumped to his feet and called for his wife.
"Bring her here," the old man said, motioning to an already made up futon near the back of the room. It was near what looked like cabinets of little bottles of tinctures and medicine and gauze. "What happened?"
"Some samurai bastard tried to kill her," Mugen told him.
"Why?" the doctor's wife asked, horrified.
"What the fuck does it matter!" he snapped at her, "Just save her life!"
"Tatsu, bring me a bottle of sake and my black bag."
Tatsu, the wife, hurried off the fetch the items for her husband.
"Sir," the doctor said to Mugen, "You must understand, the chances of her surviving are minimal. A wound this large—"
"Then shut up and stop wasting time," Mugen barked. He was on edge, shaking slightly, his fists white with barely contained rage.
The doctor nodded. Tatsu came back with a large bottle of sake and the black bag.
Mugen watched but barely registered what the doctor was doing in front of him. His mind buzzed with a terrifying blankness.
The doctor ripped her kimono apart, and ordered his wife and Mugen to press a piece of the kimono on the wound to stem the flow of blood. Mugen obeyed quickly, numbly. Fuu whimpered and cried. The doctor pulled a green little glass bottle, uncapped it and tipped it into her mouth.
Mugen would never be able to fully recall what exactly happened that day as he sat by her quivering body, trying to stop her bleeding. The doctor and his wife shouted things to each other and to him. Fuu sometimes cried out so loud that he had to steel himself from pulling away. He recalled the doctor putting some nasty looking poultice on her wounds. Tatsu pulled Mugen away and sat him down in a corner somewhere. She also put a small bottle of sake into his hands, muttering something about being shell-shocked.
Him, Mugen, shell shocked? He would have laughed at the thought. Everyone who knew him would have. Fuu would have cackled until she cried. He'd seen more blood and gore and death than any person should, but he had never been shell shocked. But Tatsu's diagnosis was accurate: Mugen's face was frozen was with a sort of disbelief and a trace of fear. He felt an ugly, painful twist in his stomach. His hands, if he allowed himself to ease his muscles, trembled slightly.
By the time the doctor proclaimed he was finished, the entire area was slick and red with her blood. Mugen's nostril was filled with that irony stench. The fact that it was Fuu's blood made him sick to his stomach. He drank the sake hoping to be relieved of it.
"Sir?" the doctor addressed him, "She's still alive, for now. I'm afraid I've only delayed things for now. It will be an uphill battle from here. Her chances of survival are slim."
Mugen's face twisted in frustration. "So what then?" he demanded, his voice rough, "We let her die? Is that what you're saying? That I was too late?"
He was never too late. Maybe he arrived just in the nick of time. Maybe it was a close call, a very close call. Nevertheless, he was never too late to save her. But as he felt and smelled the irony blood that soaked his white shirt into the same hue as his haori, he realized he had failed.
Her chances of survival are slim.
If protecting her was the purpose he had unwittingly accepted, then what happened when he failed it?
"No," the doctor said sadly, patiently, "I just didn't want to get your hopes up."
Mugen suddenly grabbed the doctor by the collar and pulled him close. "If something happens to her," he growled, sake on his breath, "I will kill you."
The Doctor, instead of being intimidated, gently pried Mugen's hands off his collar and released himself. The fact that Mugen allowed him to do so with ease only revealed his state of mind to the Doctor and his wife. Instead of resentment and fear, they showed him sympathy and patience. They were more than familiar with that look he had in his eyes.
The doctor and Tatsu cleaned up the area, washed Fuu and clothed her in a clean yukata. Mugen watch, half drunk, as they gently changed her bandages and applied some more pungent medicine. It was only when the doctor and Tatsu lifted her body from the futon and started to carry her away did he react. It was fear that was controlling him: he shot up, weapons drawn and shouted, "Where are you taking her?"
Because in his world, the dying (the chances-are-slim people) were tossed out like garbage. Not worth spending valuable medicine on. Not worth the time. Living was only for the strong. He could almost hear that fragile voice from the pile of dead: Mugen, my poor son.
"We're moving her into the guest room!" the doctor shouted at him, knocking him out of the horror of his memories, "We're simply moving her to a private room, sir."
Mugen was still breathing hard. He let his hand fall to the side and dropped the sword. The doctor and Tatsu continued what they were doing. Mugen followed them wordlessly and watched numbly as they settled Fuu's body down on a futon in a small guest room at the back of the house.
Tatsu looked at him and said, "You may stay here with her, if you'd like, until—" she paused, peering at him with those large pitying eyes. Mugen hated it. He hated to be pitied. "Until she is better."
Mugen grunted.
"And," she went on, "She needs someone at her side at all times. Too cool her fevers. To change her bandages and give her medicine."
"You mean me," Mugen said in a low voice.
The doctor stepped up to his wife's side and said, "An extra hand will greatly improve her chances."
"I don't know how to do any of that."
"We'll teach you," the doctor said, almost smiling.
"Then do it. Teach me." Without a second of hesitation.
With motivation, Mugen was fast and efficient, whether it'd be cutting down a horde of men or nursing Fuu back from the brink of death, like she had always done for him.
Mugen changed her bandages in the morning. Late last night, Tatsu taught him what to do. He unwound the smelly, dirty bindings that covered pretty much the entire length of her body. Her nakedness didn't even occur to him, not really anyways. Not in the usual way. He barely felt any arousal at the sight of her, but not for reasons he usually teased her about. He only noticed how hot she felt; a fever was still burning through her. The sword wound was large, red and swollen, threatening to burst open with more blood if disturbed. It spanned from her chest to her legs, swallowing her frail little body whole.
He applied the green odorous miracle of a poultice. It had stopped her bleeding right away and had seem to be the only thing that held her together at the lips of the wound. His rough, calloused hands swept over her naked limbs, her little breasts and her miraculously flat stomach and tiny waist (she ate so much; surely a universe or a black hole existed in her stomach). He recalled her touch; the way she ran her soft hands over his arms and chest when she took care of him. He would be barely conscious, but he was conscious of her hands. Sometimes he focused on that, sometimes he clung to it as if it was the only thing keeping him afloat in the sea of darkness and pain.
Mugen wondered if she knew he was beside her.
That evening, he had become her only nurse as the doctor and Tatsu were busy with other patients. He didn't even bother learning the doctor's name or giving his own, and they didn't seem to mind. They fed him simple meals of rice, pickled vegetables and unagi. They gave him all the necessary things he needed: cold water to cool her down, fresh bandages and big bottle of the poultice.
When the patients were gone and they cleaned up for the night, four stern looking samurai arrived at the house, threatening the doctor and Tatsu to release Kasumi Fuu to their care.
"You mean to her death," Tatsu said caustically. Her old eyes were sharp and stern.
"She's a wanted criminal," the samurai growled, "If you keep her from us, then you too will be killed for getting in the way of the Shogun's affairs."
"I think the Shogun has more important thing to be worried about than sixteen year old dying girls," the doctor said, almost nonchalantly.
Mugen, who heard all of this from the room, smirked. He had to give it to them. The old couple had guts.
The old doctor's words infuriated the samurais, and they all drew their swords. "You will be executed for your insolence!"
Mugen grabbed his sword and walked into the front room where the drama was unfolding. He flung a small sake cup to deflect the sword that was coming down on the couple.
"First you try to kill little girls," he said with a slow and easy drawl that just hid the fury raging inside him, "Now you're going after seniors. You're all fucking pathetic. Can you even use those blades? They even real?"
"Who are you?" one of the samurais demanded.
"One of the fuckers who brought down the Shogun's big wigs," Mugen answered, pointing his sword at them, "I'm itching for more blood."
The samurais charged at him, and Mugen finished all four of them with one skillfully positioned swipe of his blade. They dropped to the floor, gagging on their own blood as it foamed at their mouths. Mugen stabbed each of them in the stomach. He stared down at them for a long time, contemplating their bulging eyes, their blood slowly escaping from them. He noticed the smell of blood again, that familiar irony stench, but instead of making him sick, it filled him with adrenaline like it usually did. He could have killed an entire army coming after Fuu at that moment, and he would relish it.
Finally, Mugen looked up at the old couple and said, "I'll take care of their bodies." He paused. "Thanks."
The doctor and Tatsu, who looked stunned, nodded.
"I'll go look after Fuu-san," Tatsu said, and disappeared into the back room. The doctor stayed behind to help Mugen.
Mugen carried the bodies to the nearest river and dumped them over the cliff. It took him two trips, but his only worries were that more of them would come while he was away. The doctor silently cleaned up the blood, like he had done the day prior when Fuu bled out while they were treating her.
When Mugen returned, he found the both of them sitting quietly in Fuu's room. Tatsu was changing the cloth on Fuu's forehead. Mugen sat down at his usual spot at the wall, just an arm length from Fuu. He could feel the unasked questions stifling the air between them, the little nervous and puzzled glances his way, the concerned frowns. So he waited, his muscles tense and his mind on edge.
The doctor spoke after a moment of silence, "More will come."
"So you want us to leave?" Mugen snarled.
The doctor shook his head, "I want you to explain to us."
Mugen sighed impatiently and settled against the wall. "Fuu's useless deadbeat father," he began, "Was part of this rebellion years ago. Something to do with sunflowers and some foreign religion."
Alarmed, Tatsu asked, "The Shimabara Rebellion?"
"Yeah, that was it," Mugen muttered, "The brat had no idea 'cause her father abandoned her when she was a kid. Just some shit about sunflowers. She went looking for her'im. The Shogun people followed her and killed her father and now wanna kill her too. 'Cept…she's done nothin' wrong."
"So you've been protecting her?" asked the doctor.
"Somethin' like that," Mugen answered, shrugging, "But, we all thought it was over when we killed the Shogun's top stooges. Let our guards down. Went separate ways. Apparently, they weren't done with her."
The doctor nodded and Tatsu sighed, relieved.
"You can stay here as long as you'd like," said Tatsu, tenderly, "But you must be vigilant."
Mugen couldn't help but look surprised. He was sure he'd earn dirty or fearful looks from them at least, if they didn't kick them out right on the spot. Tatsu, sensing his confusion, said, "My husband and I have a list of things we hate in the world, and the very top spots are occupied by the government and its people."
"What'd they do to you?"
"Took away our only child," the old doctor said wearily, "A samurai…he…raped…our daughter. When we tried to bring him to justice, his Lord spat in my face and told my daughter to kill herself to save her honor. He…went free. She jumped off a cliff the following day." He paused, memories filling his eyes with fresh tears. "She was about Fuu's age."
Mugen understood. "Thanks," he said again. It was not a word he used often, but he found himself saying it over and over again.
He slept upright and leaned against. His rested his head on the hilt of his sword, which rested against his chest, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice. Before he slept, he kept a vigilant eye on her, tracking the shallow rise and fall of her chest. It was rhythmic, almost hypnotic. Sometimes she'd move, just a little, convulsing as a feverish shiver passed through her, and he'd jerk awake to check to see if she was still alive.
In the morning, the first thing he did was check her temperature and her bandages. Tatsu brought him his morning meal and persuaded him to take a break while she had time to look after Fuu. The old man was preparing for the day in the front of the house.
Mugen washed his face and brandished his sword around in the small, enclosed area in the back to warm up his stiff body. He wondered how many more he would have to kill today.
Throughout the rest of the day, he found himself wandering around the house and the area just outside the house, looking out for any suspicious idiots who tried to collect their bounty. Mostly he met kids with runny noses with worried parents and young men with split chins or broken arms, hurrying past him to the doctor.
When he wasn't patrolling, Mugen was in the room with Fuu. Sometimes he took naps when Tatsu or the old man came to relieve him. The day ended without further incidence, except for the five year old who threw up in the front room. The kid's mother cleaned it up while the doctor treated her child, apologizing profusely. Tatsu brought him his dinner, which was modest: cold rice with boiled vegetables, seaweed and tofu in hot green tea. It all seemed too peaceful to be true, too idyllic, and too domestic. It made him restless, unused energy making him jittery like it was a drug. He itched to find a bunch of assholes he could kill so he could release all that furious energy onto something that was solid and tangible.
The next day he found himself grudgingly helping the old couple. Not out of the desire to help, he told himself. Not out of gratitude at all. Nope. It was just that he found the image of an old man trying to and failing to haul a large box of something into the back was too pitiful. And seeing old Tatsu attempting to chop firewood was just too embarrassing. Plus, all of this menial labor kept his blood running and his muscles trained; it made him tired enough that it took off the edge.
He could almost hear Fuu's disbelieving giggle at the sight of him helping the old couple carry stuff around and chop firewood. Her ridiculously overjoyed face popped into his mind, irritating him.
"Mugen's turned into a decent person who helps old people!" she squeaked happily. Her voice seemed far away to him, echoey, ghost-like.
Mugen shook his head and berated himself. Fuck, she's not dead yet.
It wasn't until the third day another group of ronins and mercenaries arrived together, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. Mugen heard the creak of the floorboards. Their footfalls were heavy and callous, unlike the light and gentle footsteps of his hosts. Mugen jumped to his feet right away, drew his sword and raced outside.
He was met with a dozen of them, blades all drawn.
A cruel, vicious smirk cracked his stern face. "I was beginnin' to get bored," he told them, "Waitin' for you idiots to come." A part of him had wanted them come so he could hate them and rip them apart for coming at all. He savored the hatred, the feel of their flesh ripping apart and the terror on their face as they realized their end at his hands. He was angry, frustrated, and it was their fault that Fuu wasn't her annoying self. That she was dying right in front of him.
The fight was loud, fast and vicious. They charged at him all at once, just like he wanted them to. He jumped into the air, kicking one man in the face, and slashing the other one. He flipped over and spun himself around like an inverted top, his metal geta kicking a few of them away. He flipped upright again, his blade held in front of his so he swiped three of the nearest men. When he was back on his feet, Mugen felt the sharp pain of a blade slicing his back. He whipped around and swung his sword wildly at his attacker and lost his balance as he did so. They took the chance to pounce on him. Growling, he kicked a few of them away, rolled onto his stomach to avoid a blade aiming for his stomach. Before he could jump back to his feet, he heard the sound of blade ripping through skin and several of his attackers screaming.
Mugen sprung to his feet and looked around. There was a new person, a samurai, standing at the entrance of the door, with his blade drawn. Mugen recognized the silhouette immediately.
"You!" Mugen shouted, "You're late!"
Jin stepped into the light, pushing up the glasses that had inched down his nose during the fight. "My apologies," he said.
Of the dozen that came, only five were still alive. If they knew anything about the stories of the two swordsmen who accompanied Kasumi Fuu and killed the Shogun's best men, they would have turned tail and ran. Only one of them did so. The remaining four attacked.
Between Mugen and Jin, they were cut down like flies.
Jin wiped the blood off his swords and sheathed them. Mugen, however, was still gripping his. His mind was on the last one who escaped, but he didn't want to leave Fuu unattended.
"I came as soon as I heard," Jin said solemnly, "Is she okay?"
"She got hit," Mugen mumbled darkly, "She's been out for three days now."
"You got to her in time," said Jin, with almost a hint of appreciation. But Mugen let out an angry sound of frustration.
"I was too late," he said, "He got her. I was right there but he got her."
"But she's alive," Jin stated in his characteristic calmness.
"For now."
"Again?" a new voice joined their conversation. Mugen and Jin looked over to see the frightened figures of the doctor and his wife.
"Yeah," Mugen answered, "But we got most of them."
"I'll go check on Fuu," Tatsu said, and ran into the guest room.
"We should clean this up," said Jin, of the eleven dead bodies littering the doctor's front room.
"Please," the doctor exclaimed, hurriedly, "My first patients are to arrive in an hour."
Mugen and Jin worked fast to remove the bodies, dump them over the cliffs, and clean the bloody front room. By the time the doctor's first patient arrived—a ten year old girl with a fever and a leaky nose—the front room was pristine.
Mugen and Jin sat in Fuu's room to talk. Jin observed unconscious Fuu with a deep frown.
"It's unsettling," said the samurai, grimly.
"You're telling me," Mugen muttered, "You shoulda seen her the first day. It was all blood."
Jin's facial expression didn't change, but his fists clenched. "We should have known it would not be over."
Mugen only grunted noncommittally.
"So where've you been?" Mugen asked, casually, but there was something in his tone that was almost accusatory. Like why weren't you here earlier? Why weren't you there faster than me? Because you're supposed to be the responsible one and me the fuck up.
"I was travelling towards the divorce temple," Jin answered, "Before I heard."
But those questions—they really weren't for Jin. Not really. Because if he had been there just one second sooner, swung his sword a bit faster, she'd be by his side, annoying the shit out of him. She wouldn't be half dead on that futon, at the mercy of their hosts and the whims of luck (of which she apparently had little). So Mugen said nothing more and looked down at Fuu. Her face was still pale, but her fever had cooled. Tatsu said it was a good sign.
Tatsu brought both Jin and Mugen their meals after the day was over. The doctor and Tatsu introduced themselves to Jin, and Jin thanked them for their hospitality. They brought him a new futon to sleep in, though Tatsu grumbled he might as well use Mugen's because Mugen refused to sleep in it at night.
Mugen snarled, "Mind your own business, old woman."
"He'll die of exhaustion before she wakes up!" Tatsu said, clicking her tongue, "It'd be a tragedy. What would I tell Fuu-san then? Mugen died taking care of you! She'd be so heartbroken and then—"
"Shut your mouth!" Mugen barked, face red from embarrassment.
A small trace of a smile graced Jin's usually taut lips.
"Good thing your friend Jin is here to help," the old man said, chortling.
Mugen didn't want to admit it, but he was relieved that Jin was here. It was almost like old times, and he felt almost stronger for it.
"This must be how she felt," said Jin the next day. They were resting and eating their meals in Fuu's room after a busy day at the clinic.
"What?"
"All those time she had to patch us up," said Jin, "Never knowing when, or if, we'll wake up. Watch us like this. She must have been frightened."
"You frightened?"
"Aren't you?"
Mugen grunted and turned away. If Jin could see into his mind, he would have seen the absolute fear and adrenaline that fueled Mugen in the last few days. Perhaps Jin did know without having to see into his mind, because he quickly glanced at him with flash of sympathy.
"Especially when it was you," Jin continued, "She was the most frightened."
Mugen made an incredulous sound.
"She went out to look for you after the ship you were on exploded. She was devastated."
"You're unusually talkative tonight," Mugen complained, "And sentimental."
Jin smiled. "Fuu is rubbing off on me."
"Yeah," Mugen admitted, "Me too."
On the fifth day, Fuu's fingers moved. She shifted ever so slightly and made a whimpering noise. Mugen noticed it and scrambled to her side. He felt her forehead; she was burning hot.
"Shit," he exclaimed, and ran out the room to get the doctor.
For the next hour, Mugen, Jin and Tatsu frantically tried to keep her temperature down. Jin ran out to get ice cold water from the nearest river. Tatsu brought out all the pieces of cloths she possessed and soaked them in the water. Mugen placed them all over her body, cursing and threatening her.
"Don't you die, you idiot," he kept muttering, "You owe me 100 dumplings. Fucking brat, don't die on me."
Tatsu frowned at all the swearing, but she said nothing because it seemed to help ease the man.
Her fever broke as dawn broke, and the two swordsmen and Tatsu crumpled to the floor in victory.
"The worst is over," Tatsu said, "She could only get better from here."
"I hope you're fucking right."
She was. On the seventh day, Mugen heard Fuu groan and saw her squirm. Her eyelids twitched and her mouth opened just so slightly.
"Oi, old lady! Doctor!" he shouted, "She's waking up!"
Tatsu came running into the room with her husband behind her. Jin had gone out for the day to do a paying job at the local brewery.
The doctor examined Fuu quickly and called for water. Tatsu quickly went to fetch a cup of cold water.
Mugen watched anxiously as the doctor raised Fuu's head slightly off the pillow and gave her water, carefully pouring it into her mouth. She drank it voraciously and fell back down onto the futon, asleep.
The old man grinned widely. "She's going to be okay. She needs rest now."
For the next two days, she came in and out of consciousness, each time drinking several cups of water before falling back to sleep. Mugen rarely left her side, his expression changing with her state of consciousness. Tatsu told her husband in whispers that she's never met anyone so dedicated to someone else. Jin concurred silently. Mugen had only given up fighting a tough opponent when Jin impressed upon him that Fuu needed to be protected. That it was him Fuu wanted to come after her, above all else. He wasn't sure if Mugen had understood the subtlety, but Jin understood Mugen. He had left to go after Fuu without a second thought.
On the tenth day, she said her first word: "Food". Mugen felt like laughing, but he scowled instead, affectionately, if scowls could be affectionate. Hadn't he said the exact same thing to her once? Was she being a smartass or was food her first instinct? Knowing her, it was probably both. "You little pig-girl," he said, but she didn't hear.
That evening she had woken up fully, staring bleary eyed up at Mugen and Jin.
"Am I in hell?" she squeaked in a raspy voice.
"I'd say you just climbed out of it," said Tatsu, "And these are you guardian angels. Of sorts."
Fuu giggled, almost deliriously. "Mugen? An angel? Then I must be in hell."
"Hey, watch your mouth, girly!"
"Don't yell at her!" Tatsu scolded him.
"Both of you be quiet," the doctor groaned, "Fuu-san, how are you feeling?"
Fuu made a face. "Bad."
The doctor chuckled. "Yes, well, you did just get slashed by a sword. Lost a lot of blood."
"Hmm…so that did happen."
"Of course it did idiot," Mugen mumbled, irritated, "That's why you've been out for like a week."
"And he's been at your side like a frightened puppy," Tatsu added, earning a glare from Mugen.
"Mugen is not a puppy," Fuu insisted, "He's like…a stray big dog who steals food when you're not watching."
"I'll knock you out myself if you keep on talking like that," Mugen threatened.
"So you want to be the puppy?" teased Tatsu.
"I'm hungry," Fuu muttered, and attempted to turn on her side but quickly find out she couldn't quite yet. Wincing, she settled onto her back.
"This sucks," she whined, yawned and fell back to sleep.
The next day, she was able to sit up (with some support) and eat some hot porridge. She had even gained enough energy to argue with Mugen for a short time, but Mugen let her win the arguments. There was great relief etched in every inch of his being. The tension that had him wound up and on edge had relaxed, just a little.
However, he started to spend more time out of the house and away from Fuu, exercising with his sword or just eating. Now that she was able to talk with the doctor and Tatsu and Jin, he ducked out to brandish his sword around angrily with that sour look on his face. His behavior puzzled Tatsu, who had only seen him be a devoted nurse to Fuu. Now that she was awake, they either traded barbs or Mugen avoided her. She inquired about it to Jin, who only answered with that trademarked "hmmmm" of his.
Two days after she woke up, she was able to hobble from place to place despite Tatsu's protest. One evening she had managed to escape Tatsu and limped to where Mugen was doing pushups with both his feet lifted into the air.
"Hey!" she greeted him happily, breathless from the strain of moving. There was a fresh gleam of sweat on her skin.
Mugen stopped, jumped back on his feet and looked at her. "Should you be here?"
"I'm fine," she insisted, "You shouldn't worry about me."
Mugen frowned and shook his head. "Where's Jin?"
"Job at the brewery."
"Studious bastard. Hasn't even brought back a single drop of sake. That cheap jerk."
"Thanks," said Fuu, suddenly, "Tatsu-san told me everything. Thank you, Mugen."
"What, you thought I'd be heartless enough to let you bleed to death?" he barked at her, acting offended.
Fuu shrugged. "Maybe. But…you looked for me, didn't you? You were looking out for me."
"I just happened to pass by," he lied, avoiding her eyes, "Don't read too much into it."
"Then I was lucky you did, like always. Like the first time we met, remember?"
"You still owe me 100 dumplings."
Fuu giggled. The sound of her laugh sent shivers down his spine. It was just recently that he thought he'd never hear it again. Her giggle turned into a cough, a violent hacking cough.
"Go back in, idiot," he growled at her.
"Thanks again, Mugen," she said, smiling sweetly at him. A real smile, nothing sneaky or sarcastic about. He returned a small grin.
In the next couple of days, Mugen and Jin suddenly became busy with assassins and ronins crashing into the little house to kill Fuu. Fuu became so alarmed that she became convinced she had to leave the house because she was putting the old couple in danger.
"You're still not well," Tatsu protested, "Don't worry about us, sweetheart. We're old but we're tough. Very tough. You can ask Mugen about that."
Mugen agreed, but Fuu didn't look happy.
"Look," he said, "We're protecting them as well. They'll be fine."
"And since people know they have hidden you here, people will come here anyways," added Jin, "It is best that we are all here so Mugen and I can protect everyone."
Fuu settled down after that, but Mugen knew she felt guilty putting them in danger.
Perhaps it was because of her large and healthy appetite or her desire to be useful, but Fuu regained her strength and energy quickly and color returned to her cheeks. Soon she was acting as an aide to the doctor and Tatsu, learning which potions and poultice did what. Tatsu taught her how to keep a wound clean, and the doctor gave her lessons in setting bones, making arm slings, and treating the common cold. The doctor was delighted with her. He claimed that she was a natural healer and had excellent instincts already.
"We'll make a fine nurse out of you yet! Midwife at least!" the doctor said happily over dinner, "Maybe even a doctor!"
She definitely had enough experience, thought Mugen, smirking.
Her friendly and bubbly personality was a hit with the patients. There was compassion and sympathy with her every gesture and touch. Her smile seemed to brighten up even the moodiest of patients. It all came easy to her, the chatting, the comforting, and the healing. She made a better nurse than a teahouse waitress for sure. Mugen watched, amused, as she tried to appease crying children, making weird noses and silly faces at them. One girl vomited on her, much to her dismay. He burst out laughing and she stared daggers at him.
It was a week after she woke up that her would-be assassins got smarter. They came in the day pretending to be patients. Mugen, like always, was watching her like a hawk, and he noticed the glint of a hidden blade. He rushed in as the assassin, disguised as a patient complaining about a broken hand, pulled out the hidden dagger. Mugen slid his blade under the man's chin.
"Hey bud," he snarled, "Let's take a walk."
Once they were outside, Mugen hacked his head off. When he returned from getting rid of the body, Fuu was waiting for him the steps. She stood up, looking at him with those big teary, brown eyes.
"This has got to stop," she said, sniffing, "I can't subject Tatsu-san or Kazuo-san or you or Jin to this anymore."
Mugen said nothing and walked past her into the house.
That night, he watched Fuu sleep from his futon. He was thinking, again, wearing a severe frown.
This has got to stop, he echoed her words in his mind.
Several days after the incident, Mugen was packing what little possession he had. Most of it was food and a bit of money he had taken from Jin. He wrapped them up in a handkerchief and tied it around his neck. He sharpened and cleaned his sword.
When Jin noticed what Mugen was doing, the samurai gave him a reproachful look.
"You're leaving?" he asked, "After everything you're…?"
"Take care of her," was all Mugen said.
"Where are you going?"
Mugen shrugged. "Probably nowhere."
Jin had enough with his evasive behavior. He grabbed Mugen by the shoulder and pinned him to the wall. Mugen was stunned, more by the samurai's uncharacteristic behavior then anything else.
"What the fuck?!" Mugen barked angrily.
"You're leaving? When she needs you most?"
"She's fine!" Mugen said through gritted teeth, "You're here."
"That's not what I mean—"
"Mugen?" It was Fuu's voice. She had been attracted by the noise. The sliding doors opened and she popped in, looking concerned. "Jin? What's going on? You two aren't fighting again, are you? I thought that we put it all behind us! Geez you guys, give it a rest—"
"—Fuu…"
"If it makes you feel better, both of you are the best fighters in the world!" She huffed and puffed loudly, looking at the both of them with a stern look she learned from Tatsu. But her face crumpled when she saw the handkerchief bundle around Mugen's neck.
"You're leaving?" she said, her voice suddenly small and fragile.
"Yeah," Mugen muttered coldly, "Today."
"But…you haven't…we haven't…" She looked between Jin and Mugen, confused and horrified, "You're going to leave?"
Mugen rolled his eyes. "Yes, I am. I have to go."
"Why?" she asked.
"You think I wanna stick around any longer?" he answered, "That ain't me, girly, and you know it. I've been here long enough anyways, cooped up with the old bats and sick brats. Now that you're not dying—"
"But those people are still after me!"
"Four-eyes can take care of you."
"When are you coming back?"
He shrugged.
"But Mugen—"
"Shut up." He brushed past her, hard, making her stumbled backwards slightly. Fuu looked stunned, too shell shocked to react, not until he was already out of the house.
"That idiot!" she shouted angrily, her voice shrill. Mugen heard her from outside. "Fine! I don't care about that stupid head anyways! Why did even care in the first place?!"
But at night she cried and cried, and no one, not Jin or Tatsu or the doctor, could comfort her. Tatsu muttered angrily about Mugen, about how wrong she was about him, how Fuu should forget a vagrant like him. Jin couldn't tell if she said all that for Fuu's sake, because he had the impression Tatsu was oddly fond of Mugen and seemed very put out herself by his sudden absence. But all of it just made Fuu cry some more. Her energy dissipated and she spent more time sulking around the house and sighing.
One time she asked Jin, "Why? Why did he just leave? I don't understand. Why do they all just leave?"
And Jin had no answer for her.
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