-1Chapter 4
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Author's notes -- some answers here to the reviews. (And thank you, by the way, for the reviews!)
Peppymint -- I'd be more likely to have Kenshin either accidentally take someone's head (i.e, somebody slips during a fight) or run into an Immortal who desires suicide by Quickening and who manages to deliberately get his head in the way of Kenshin's swing. Nice angst fic potential, there. But not in this story ... in a sequel, maybe. (I have a vague idea for a sequel set during season five of Highlander and involving Joe Dawson and Methos that I could work that in to. Or not. I'm sure I'm not the first fanfic writer who's contemplated the angst potential of having Kenshin kill someone by accident.)
Janey-in-a-Bottle -- I'll leave it up in the air as to how Connor knows Kenshin, except to say Kenshin has extensively traveled. That hero complex and all, you know. Also, since Immortals can't have children, I'll have to be AU and say in this fanfic-verse that Kenshin has no son. (And Richie? Whatever could you be talking about ... I have no idea. LOL.)
Hitokiri Jinchuu -- it's actually set in Canada, in "Seacouver" which is a fictional town. They filmed most of the first season of Highlander in Vancouver. The antique shop is apparently in a gritty downtown/industrial area and most major cities have one way streets in areas like that.
MarbleGlove -- re: income -- I don't think it's necessary for the story to go into this, but for back story, the explanation that I'm working with is that he saved the life of a rich man's daughter and when the man passed away years later, he left Kenshin a nice inheritance. Kenshin lives off the interest. It's what I'm using for my own personal explanation until something better occurs to me, anyway.
PeaceBunnie -- re: the photo of Pippi!Kenshin -- I wish I was a better artist, I'd love to have that pic just for giggles.
Grahamsmoon -- I'm wary of having Kenshin go into too much detail with Mac. He doesn't do so in the series with his friends so he'd be unlikely to do so with a stranger. And Mac has a history (including with Methos) of being fairly intolerant of the past crimes of others. When Methos let Mac know he was one of the four horseman, Mac had serious issues with this. Kenshin's crimes aren't quite as serious but Mac would not view him the same way if he had the specific details.
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"Mister MacLeod," Kenshin said, quietly, as MacLeod waited for the light to turn green at a stop, "You are being very kind."
MacLeod glanced sideways at the man, but did not say anything. Rain pattered against the Thunderbird's roof. It would rain harder, later; he could feel the storm coming.
"Why?" The question was naked, without any of Kenshin's usual politeness. Not, "This one wants to know why." He elaborated, when MacLeod didn't immediately respond, "Why are you doing this?"
"Why do you help people?" MacLeod turned the question back on him.
Kenshin leaned back against the Thunderbird's seat, sighed, and said, "Atonement."
MacLeod grunted. It was more or less the answer he'd expected. And that wasn't exactly his reason for helping people -- but it had answered a question he'd had about Kenshin. Behind that sunny smile lurked darkness. This man had many layers.
Which, MacLeod decided, was rather comforting, in a weird way. You didn't live for a hundred and thirty years with people out for your head without being touched by evil and darkness -- and judging by the scars on this man's slim body, he'd fought hard and often before that first death. His scars crossed other scars, and some of them ought to have killed. He had one on his back that had nearly split him stem to stern, and had to have broken ribs.
Richie had been shocked by the marks on this man's body when they'd dumped him in the shower to wash off the blood. Mac himself had been expecting to see something like that. You didn't get as good as Kenshin was without picking up a few scars along the way -- and you didn't get that good without starting at a very young age. MacLeod figured the logical conclusion was that Kenshin had been fighting well before he had his first death.
However, after seeing the evidence of the brutality in Kenshin's early life, he was frankly he surprised that Kenshin didn't look even younger than he did -- he'd managed to survive for a good long while in a terribly violent world before someone had finally killed him that first time. Some of those scars had to affect his fighting abilities, too.
Notably, he was missing a big chunk of muscle on his left shoulder and the scar was deep and jagged and round -- it almost looked like a bite wound. MacLeod had seen just enough of Kenshin's fighting style to know that, while Kenshin was right handed, he would use the sheath itself in his left hand as a secondary weapon in an actual serious duel. And to fight at the level he did would require flexibility of both arms, even when he was only swinging a sword with one. Having a stiff right shoulder would be something of a handicap. Same with any blow that required two hands on the hilt of the blade.
That gave Mac a starting point, if he ever had to seriously duel with Kenshin. As things stood, he didn't think that needing to take Kenshin's head was likely, but one never knew. Taking stock of a possible opponent was second nature -- he'd been surprised before.
He wished, briefly, that life were simpler. He wished he could simply say, "I like you, and we're friends." But life just wasn't like that.
Atonement, Kenshin had answered. Mac figured that was an honest answer, though perhaps not a realistic one. It bothered him, a bit, to think of what Kenshin might be atoning for, too. Just how evil was this man's past? You didn't get that many scars on your body without gaining a few on your psyche as well.
"And you, Mister MacLeod?" Kenshin said mildly, oblivious to Mac's thoughts. He wasn't going to drop the subject. "Why do you help people?"
"Because I'm not evil." That was the best answer he could come up with quickly. After a minute, he added, "Because I couldn't live with myself if I didn't help."
"Hai." Kenshin said in agreement. He fell silent, for a moment, then asked, "And Richie? He is one of us, is he not?"
"Yes." MacLeod confirmed. Kenshin, having never taken a Quickening in his life, wouldn't have the sensitivity of an older Immortal who'd played the game for awhile. Mac was honestly a little surprised that Kenshin had picked up on that at all, and he said so.
They drove under a streetlight, and the light shining through the windshield illuminated Kenshin's wry smile. "I guessed, Mister MacLeod."
"Richie's a good kid." MacLeod shrugged. "He's a friend."
"He reminds me a great deal of a friend I had, in Tokyo, a long time ago."
"One of the ones whose children you're looking out for?"
"Yes. Sagara Sanosuke." Kenshin confirmed, "A very good friend. We fought side by side on many occasions ... MacLeod, you are fortunate in that your friend Richie will not grow old and die while you do not. He will be a true friend to you, this I believe. If the fortunes favor you, he will be a friend for many, many years. Though ..." Kenshin grinned, paused, and added impishly, "Speaking from experience, it might be wise to make sure he's a bit older before he dies that first time."
MacLeod laughed. Even after showing the waitress his passport, which had shown an age of twenty three, Kenshin had difficulty in convincing her to serve him beer. And the drinking age in Seacouver was nineteen.
"This is the hotel," Kenshin pointed out a decrepit rat hole sandwiched between an industrial looking warehouse and an auto body shop. Hookers patrolled the street in front of the Indigo Gardens Hotel, and MacLeod was glad the top was up on the Thunderbird -- the last time he'd parked on a street this bad, somebody had dumped trash into the front seat.
"Lovely neighborhood." MacLeod got out, locked the car, and viewed the hotel very dubiously.
Kenshin said, mournfully, "I miss my sword."
"Thought you said you could handle anything without it." MacLeod grinned. He knew the feeling; he made sure his own sword was loose in its sheath.
"I can handle a fight with anyone likely to be here, this is true ..." Kenshin sighed. The sigh seemed to indicate a sentimental attachment to the sword, MacLeod thought. Hard to tell.
"You can always stay here and I'll go in," MacLeod said. Teasing. Hassling Kenshin was a bit of a test -- and one that Kenshin passed easily.
Kenshin laughed, unoffended by the suggestion. "Perhaps Mister MacLeod would like to stay behind instead. I can handle the girl, and MacLeod can protect his car from thieves."
Heh. The shrimp could give as good as he got. MacLeod retorted, "How about we both go up together, if it's my car you're worried about?"
Kenshin gave him a wide-eyed, utterly innocent look. It made him look like a naive boy. "This one has no idea what your meaning is."
Right. That innocent look might work on the ladies, but Mac wasn't fooled. MacLeod shook his head and followed Kenshin into the lobby of the hotel. Kenshin approached the front desk -- the person behind the desk was a fat woman who was chewing something that probably wasn't gum. She said in a somewhat hostile tone of voice, "What do you want? Place is full."
"I am seeking my niece. Her name is Sagara Heather ..." Kenshin paused, and corrected himself, "Heather Sagara."
"You just missed her," the woman said, with a dark scowl. "I went to kick her out for not paying this evening and ..."
The woman gave Kenshin a sideways look, and a frown, and a trace of sadness touched her eyes. "She's your niece?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Mmph. Not much family resemblance." The woman said skeptically. "And I think she's older than you."
"Please. Can you tell me where she went?"
The woman gave Kenshin a surprised look; MacLeod supposed she didn't hear such politeness very often.
MacLeod added, "Kenshin's the same age as Heather ..."
Well, on paper, anyway.
"... He's come here all the way from Japan because Heather's family is worried about her."
The woman scowled. "You don't look Japanese."
"I hear many people say that, I do." Kenshin seemed to be exaggerating his accent, and he made a tiny bow in her direction.
"Look, are you going to help us out or not?" MacLeod said, impatiently.
Kenshin said quietly, "It's okay, Mister MacLeod. Ma'am, you entered Heather's room and found that she had taken too much heroine, did you not?"
"Y-yeah." The woman blinked at him. "She OD'd."
"I was afraid that she would do such a thing, when Atsuko said that she did not believe I yet lived." Kenshin sighed. All trace of humor had vanished from his face; when he glanced up at MacLeod, Mac saw something he'd never seen on the man's face before -- real anger. "Foolish girl."
"Typical." MacLeod sighed. "Which hospital did they take her to?"
The woman shrugged. "I didn't ask."
"May we collect her things?" Kenshin asked, quietly. The anger had disappeared from his eyes, however, his voice was very quiet.
The woman switched whatever she was chewing to her other cheek, reached under the counter, and produced a cardboard box. "Law makes us keep stuff for thirty days. You really her uncle?"
"Yes, he is," MacLeod said, interrupting before Kenshin could either lie badly, or worse, tell some fragmented version of the truth. "He's adopted."
Kenshin gave the woman one of his patented innocent smiles.
The woman gave him a skeptical look -- apparently, she didn't buy the expression any more than MacLeod did -- but she did hand them the box. "Nothin' valuable in it, anyway."
"They probably took her to County," MacLeod said, leading the way back to his car. "We can swing by and see if she's there. I imagine they'll admit her to the psych ward for a few days, at least. You may not be able to see her right away."
Kenshin said, following a step behind MacLeod, with his thumbs in his pockets and his head down, "MacLeod, if she were your responsibility, would you even try to save her?"
MacLeod stopped, and looked back. "Is she worth saving?"
"They all are." Kenshin sounded tired. "Forgive me, MacLeod. I am thinking unworthy thoughts. The girl reacted to my supposed death by attempting to kill herself. I did not expect that -- I should have realized how badly she has damaged herself."
There was that anger again. A streetlight picked up a hint of golden gleam in Kenshin's eyes. "Foolish child. She has so many opportunities, so many things that we never had -- and to do this. She is wasting life."
Kenshin glanced up at MacLeod. His jaw was set in anger and his eyes glittered with frustration. "Her father is a hard man, but he is nothing like my master, who drank too much sake and never found me worthy no matter how hard I worked, how perfect I became.
"MacLeod, I was orphaned by the time I was nine years old. I killed my first man in battle when I was thirteen. I watched the people I loved die -- from violence, in my arms; by my own hand; from disease; rarely from old age. People wanted my head even before I became Immortal. I made unforgivable choices. And -- I chose to live."
Kenshin made a frustrated, angry, dismissive gesture with one hand. The amber lights faded from his eyes. "I would be reluctant to aid one who cares so little for her own life, or for the love of her family, were it not for a promise I made."
Bitterness touched his voice now. "Sometimes I despair, Mister MacLeod. I say things which I perhaps do not fully mean. I apologize for troubling you." Once in the Thunderbird, Kenshin was silent for several blocks before he added, "I'll go back to the hotel room tomorrow. I do not wish to bring my difficulties to your home, MacLeod."
Mac asked, "You will try to help Heather?"
"If I can, I will." Kenshin stared moodily out the window, then he opened the box and rifled through the contents in the dark, in silence, for a moment.
"Mister MacLeod, could you turn on the light for just a moment?" They were at a stoplight, waiting for the green. MacLeod complied and glanced over, curious.
Kenshin had produced Heather's purse -- a ratty denim bag. When the light came on he found a small leatherbound journal. "This is Heather's, but it's in English."
"You can't read English?"
Kenshin shook his head. "I speak it but I do not read it well, and this is cursive writing, which I find very difficult. Printing is much easier to read."
MacLeod pulled over to the side of the road and held his hand out. "Do you want to hear the last entry first?"
Kenshin sighed. "Yes. Though she will doubtless be angry that we have read her private thoughts, it may give me some insight on how to help her."
MacLeod flipped through to the last entry, cleared his throat, and read it aloud.
"How do you explain a man who is over a century old and has the looks of a young movie star? He is my family's special uncle -- we cannot explain him, but we love him. He is always there for us -- has been, forever. And because I am a weak fool he is now dead.
"I promise, from this day forth, I will not be weak anymore. I will change. I swear it. For Kenshin. Who is dead because of me. I mu ..."
MacLeod said quietly, "It stops in mid word, Kenshin."
Kenshin said softly, "It doesn't sound as if she was think of committing suicide. Though I wish she had listened to her aunt when she was told that I lived."
"So why did she OD?" MacLeod said, easing the Thunderbird back into traffic.
"I think I need to speak to her, soon." Kenshin said, voice quiet and controlled again. "This may not be entirely what it seems."