title: Ikedaya | part 4
rating: pg-13
author: Mir
email: cathedraldragon@bigfoot.com
website: http://ellone-loire.net/tfme

disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin was created by Watsuki
Nobuhiro, published by Shueisha in "Jump," and
produced by Sony Entertainment. All rights are theirs.

AN: In actuality, the body count on the night of the
Ikedaya Inn Affair was relatively low. But the OAV
showed Kenshin making short work of the Shinsengumi
attackers, so I've taken some poetic license... On another
note, the scene I've been promising has finally been
written! It's taken partially from the flashback shown
during the Kyoto arc where Kenshin/Saitou fight with
Okita looking on.

--------------------------------------------------

*part 4*


Even the night itself seemed to grab at his body and impede his
progress as he flew through the streets of Kyoto, red hair streaming
behind him like fire from a burning arrow shot upward into darkness.
Air passed rapidly in and out of his dry lips, his lungs burned, and
his ribs ached with exhaustion. And all the while, his mind screamed,
'faster'.

And like the rainbow that follows the storm, she trailed behind him,
not knowing what slight of hand enabled her to keep pace with him.
Pale fingers clutched her skirts, hiking them up well past the point of
decency, and around her, the night blurred out of focus until all that
she saw was the trailing end of his ponytail flicking rusty sparks
across the spray of stars above.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Where's Katsura?"

Not surprised by the sudden presence of the man beside him, Okita,
breathing hard, shook his head in frustration. The night had settled
into itself, covering blackness with blackness as the temperature fell
and clouds drifted across the sky. The jubilant festivities had been
silenced by the smothering weight of the midnight hours, and the few
lingering pedestrians still staggering homeward were too drunk to
appreciate the deceptive serenity.

"He wasn't here, and neither was the assassin." Okita casually wiped
the smear of blood from his cheek with the back of this hand, but there
was nothing to be done about the dark splots sprinkled irregularly
across his haori. 'Sloppy'. It had been weeks since he'd been thus
anointed. "It appears Miyabe has committed seppuku."

"Coward." The gaze of Saitou Hajime drifted tiredly from the blood-
stained balcony to the torn shouji and the splintered wooden frame that
littered the street. "It would seem that Kondou ran into our missing
assassin..."

Okita's eyes widened slightly at the news, his hand unconsciously
falling to the hilt of his sword. At the end the street, the bobbing
of lanterns signaled the retreat of several of their comrades, four men
proceeding cautiously side by side and a fifth trailing lamely behind.

"... he walked away, but there's finally a rent in that ridiculous
armor of his. He's absolutely furious that the boy escaped without a
mark on him." Although hidden in the darkness, the taller of the two
men grinned silently as he leaned against the wall behind him. "Serves
him right for sprinting ahead. Those who hunt glory only get what they
deserve." The two captains had separated at the bridge, and when
Saitou and his men caught up with the rest of the unit, there was
nothing to do save close the eyes of the dead. Only one Ishin hitoki
could have committed the deed with such precision and efficiency. "I
guarantee that he'll deny everything tomorrow -- damn pride of his."

He tilted his chin upward, his eyes closing halfway in contemplation,
and from the dark smudge of sky above, the wind suddenly rippled down
the street and threw golden clouds of dust into the soft glow of
lanterns. Saitou exhaled slowly. "White plum."

- - - - - - - - - -

He turned the last corner to the inn and skidded to a halt so abruptly
that Tomoe was forced to grab hold of a nearby building to keep from
tumbling into his back. The flat cadence of whispered conversation
drifted across the empty road, and as the moon slid behind the
encroaching clouds, two lone figures half-obscured by shadow fell
silent and turned with the tacit instinct of trained swordsmen in the
direction of the newcomers.

"I see you're not familiar with this section of Kyoto--" Saitou
sneered, his voice cutting effortlessly though the silence. "--if
there was enough time for me to stumble across Kondou and still beat
you here. Then again, I would have expected no less from you Ishin
morons." His gaze drifted from the boy to the one who stood beside him.
"Tell the woman to leave. She has no place here tonight."

Having regained both her breath and composure, Tomoe, instead of
obediently backing away, stepped forward and laid a hand upon the arm
of her companion. The light of the moon, as it made its swan song
appearance before retiring behind the thick curtain of clouds,
reflected in the whiteness of her cheeks and slid in slippery beads
down her pale kimono. "He's wrong. My place is with you," she
insisted softly into Himura's ear.

"If you value your life, do as he says."

If she was surprised by the flatness of his response, she let no trace
of emotion cross her face. It would not do to show weakness before
such men as those who stood before her. Oblivious to the thick dust
that coated the hem of her kimono and the matted hair that clung to her
shoulders, she pulled herself up straight and, with eyes trained
carefully on the ground, she insisted, "If you want me to go, then make
me."

"Fine."

And before she could react, he had shoved her backward with all the
speed and strength for which he was known. As her legs folded beneath
her, her palms collided heavily with the ground, and she blinked
against the cloud of dust that encircled her. "Kenshin--" Ignoring
the tender bruises forming on her shins, she pulled herself first to
her knees and then to her feet. But what use was a sheath once a sword
was drawn?

"Stand down Okita. I, Saitou Hajime, will be the one to take
Battousai's life tonight." Fragments of speech, words floating
disjointedly through the air, echoed from one end of the alley to the
other.

"Kenshin... be careful." She pressed her cheek against the side of the
building and traced along the wood's stiff ridges with her fingers.

"I am a Tenshin Rishin, after all." Okita insisted hoarsely as he
clenched his teeth together, determined not to cough.

"But you're also feeling ill tonight; you can't pull the wool over my
eyes." The smirk faded almost as quickly as it appeared, a fleeting
shadow of emotion that dissolved into quiet inward strength. He turned
from his companion as if to address the larger audience, an actor
ignorant of his part onstage. "Battousai -- "

And if by some unspoken cue whispered from behind the curtain of
darkness, they flew toward each other like hunting eagles that fight
about the clouds. Once, twice, three times steel clashed against steel
-- mere streaks of light carving sharp geometric patterns against the
stars. And when the indistinct blurs stabilized and at last came to
rest in the middle of the street, the two men with eyes blazing like
fire stood face to face, straining against the blades of their swords.

"You'll never win--" the taller of the two growled as he shoved forward,
throwing the lighter man from him. Even as the other's sword raked
across the wooden supports of the building behind him, the Wolf of Mibu
fell back into the infamous gotatsu stance for which he was known.
Their eyes met in the briefest of appraisals, and then once again the
scene disintegrated into shifting flashes of light.

"--neither will you." Embedded in the low whisper was confidence built
not from arrogance but from experience, and as they glared at each
other across the seemingly interminable expanse of blackness between
them, each knew that the words were nothing save the truth. "Not
tonight." And yet, as the feral instinct from which man was born
overrode common sense and blotted out rational thought, the two figures
charged forward again and again beneath the scattered clouds of dust.

"Miyabe died by his own sword." Two forms fell from the night like dew
coalescing on new spring leaves. The smaller lunged forward with all
the grace of a charging tiger, but his opponent pivoted sharply,
avoiding the thrust by a tightrope margin of life and death.

"He was not my responsibility." It was Battousai's turn to twist away
from the swift retaliation, but even the sharp ringing of steel
blocking steel couldn't drown out the cool indifference in his response.

- - - - - - - - - -

'What time is it? Why am I here?' The thoughts penetrated his mind
even before he was fully awake, and the thin candlelight that flickered
by his head did little to disguise the lateness of the hour. 'Have I
missed the meeting? What of Miyabe and the others?' He couldn't
ignore the throbbing behind his temples and the loudness of his
heartbeat in his ears. 'Drugged. I've been drugged.' His hands
reached for his swords, which thankfully he found by his side. 'But
why?'

Katsura Kogoro, unofficial leader of the Choshu domain, pulled himself
to his feet in the half-darkened room, thoughts of betrayal etched
clearly across his features. He dared not call for Ikumatsu -- for she,
undoubtedly, was the cause of his current state of affairs since he had
had nothing to eat since midday. 'Why'. Even as he smoothed the
wrinkles in his kimono and slid the swords through his obi, he couldn't
shake the question from his mind. 'After all this time, I've given her
no reason to turn against me.'

But before he could escape through the garden out onto the deserted
street beyond, she was there beside him, eyes beseechingly meeting his
as she reached for his kimono to keep him from leaving. In the muted
moonlight, her hair fell in thick viscous streams down her back, and
her light summer yukata was poor disguise for the graceful curves of
chest and hips. "It's my fault," she murmured, suddenly reluctant to
close the distance between them. "I couldn't stand to see you killed."

Katsura, puzzled by her cryptic admission and torn between belief and
disbelief, stood immobile before her, anchored to the floor like a tree
to the ground. "What happened tonight?" She had known something he
hadn't, of that he had no doubt. "You must tell me... for the sake of
the domain and the men --"

"--who died in your place tonight." Unlike some women, she had no
intention of dolling out strings of euphemisms, no desire to continue
to withhold information from the one she loved. With the hour of the
dog long since expired, the need for caution had passed as well. "You
know that sometimes I overhear information -- for some men are willing
to divulge secrets in front of a woman that they wouldn't breathe a
whisper of in the presence of their own sex."

Katusra nodded, at once both curious and impatient. He pressed his
lips together in determination as he fought the urge to pace back and
forth across the floor, both to shed nervous energy and to clear his
head. "Continue."

"There were men from Aizu who knew of your meeting and planned to
attack the inn tonight, just after the hour of the dog." Her voice was
flat, noticeably devoid of emotion. "And not only that, but they had
ensured the aid of the Shinsengumi." She tilted her head to the side
as she let her shoulders sag in defeat. "They knew too much to be
bluffing."

"Then the meeting was a failure." Momentarily stunned by the news,
Katura stared blankly into the semi-darkness as his mind raced across
the myriad spectrum of possibilities. 'Indeed, what of his followers?
How many had survived?' For a fleeting moment he wished he'd
instructed Himura to meet him at the inn. 'Stupid, stupid. What could
he alone have done against a squad of Shinsengumi? He would have
wasted his life for nothing.' There was no point in regretting the
past; what mattered most was directing the future. "I must return to
the Choshu headquarters tonight."

She stood silently as he sighed and walked past her toward the waning
night. Once she began to raise a hand toward his back -- but she
checked herself with a stern thought. It was not her place to
interfere in the inner workings of the domain. 'Except when they are
life and death matters for you, love.' There was a time for action and
a time for inaction.

As if in response to her truncated movement, Katsura paused mid-step,
one hand on the wooden doorframe. Although he scanned the deserted
garden with his eyes, his voice was clear over the stillness of the air.
"You'll be safe. No one knows I was here, and daylight will come soon
enough."

"At least change your clothes before you leave... there may still be
Shinsengumi in the streets."

Again he sighed, torn between the rationality of her words and the
feeling inside that urged him make haste back toward the Choshu
headquarters. 'But what difference will another minute make? If the
damage has been done, it's been done.' And so it was dressed as a
common beggar that Katsura Kogoro finally crept through the lonely
streets back toward the Choshu headquarters, back toward an uncertain
future and the beginnings of a revolution.

- - - - - - - - - -

She reached forward to touch the red stain on his sleeve to prove to
herself that the figure before her was real flesh and blood, not merely
an illusion conjured into existence by a mind dazed by fatigue. The
fabric beneath her fingers was slick and moist -- and she knew that it
was only by luck that no one had been seriously injured. The humidity
had fallen from the sky like water draining from a rice paddy, leaving
behind a newfound crispness that would with time mature into pale hints
of morning. They were alone in the empty street, alone with nothing to
prove the night's existence save the dull red stain that she pressed
absently to her cheek.

"We should leave..." His voice was low, hoarse from shouting, but his
tone left no room for argument. Not that she would have thought of
arguing with him, not with the scene she'd witnessed freshly imprinted
upon her mind. "...I need to find Katsura." There was a slight
hesitation to his speech as if he was afraid to reveal his true reason
for abandoning the ruined inn.

The fight had ended when the two opponents were too exhausted to
continue. The stared at each other like wild animals, teeth bared,
eyes narrowed -- but neither had the strength to continue.
And so the two Shinsengumi captains had left in pursuit of their
comrades, content for the moment to call the match a draw.

"That wound, it's bleeding again." It was then that she realized that
the blood wasn't from any fresh injury but from the cut on his cheek
that stubbornly refused to heal. The humidity circled around them like
a vulture hovering around a dying animal, but she barely noticed as she
drew close beside him.

He jerked away as she reached up with the edge of her sleeve to wipe
the blood away. "Don't bother. It'll stop on it's own." But as if
regretful of his coldness, he turned back toward her at last, amber
eyes muted by the shadows of approaching storm clouds, and said simply,
"I'm sorry... about the evening."

And she nodded as her eyes met his, forgiving him unconditionally.


*end of part 4*

- - - - - - - - - -

Written partly while listening to "The War of the Last Wolves" (the
music played in the background of the OAV's when Kenshin and Saitou
fight) and partly while listening to "Cherry" by Spitz. It's been a
long time since I updated, I know, and I apologize. "Divergence" is
next and then "Hanafubuki."


- Mir (08.05.02)
.