Katsushiro groaned and pressed his cheek to the rough stone, his fingers digging into the sandstone in sheer terror as he once again let his eyes wander downward to the gut wrenching plummet below. The frigid mist that spewed from the falls coated his bangs and lashes in thousands of glass beads, sapping the heat from his skin.

Grinding his front teeth into his already bloody lip, he lurched upwards again, leaving the tenuous safety of the ledge to grope for another hand hold. Kyuzo was on his heels, panting loudly as he too slid on the slime coated stones.

The young man shifted his weight so he could continue using his good hand, letting his wrist and forearm hold his weight as he leaned hard to the right. The rock beneath his foot crumbled as he yelped as his body slid several feet and nearly into the man beneath him. Kyuzo's hand shot up, resting firmly on his rear to help him regain his balance.

The squeak that left his lips then was of a completely different nature and he hung his head to hide his burning cheeks in the waves of green hair.

They had been at this for hours and hours, watching the slow progression of the sun across the cloud spattered sky as they ease their way up step by agonizing step. Katsushiro was utterly exhausted, his entire body throbbing; but there was no place to pause and rest. They had to make this climb all in one shot or they might as well throw themselves over the edge now. He uttered a half hearted chuckle. Not that they hadn't done that already.

His mind blanked again as the hand returned, this time to push him impatiently. The young man uttered a sharp noise of complaint and heaved himself up. "Stop that!" he snapped, glancing downwards to send his companion a cross look.

Kyuzo smirked at him. "Makes you move, doesn't it?"

Katsushiro angrily ignored the comment and pulled himself up another few feet, skittering sideways along the wall to dodge the more overgrown sections. "How close are we?" he yelled back over the roar of the water, all the words jammed into one breath. Why were his cheeks burning? His heart was pounding in his ears, nearly overpowering the noise of the falls, and he was sure that it wasn't only adrenaline fueled.

Instinctively he moved quicker to avoid another touch from the man below him. Those fingers were arousing feelings that he just didn't want to deal with at the moment, especially hanging from a cliff side. He closed his eyes briefly and tried to picture Kirara, but once again as before, her image was quickly replaced by Kyuzo's. He shook his head roughly and hauled his body up onto another narrow ledge, grinding his teeth as his right hand began to burn almost in complaint.

The older samurai stepped up beside him, muttering something that was lost in the uproar around them.

"What?" Katsushiro called, blinking back the mist that swarmed about his vision.

"I said we should be getting close to the lower paths!" Kyuzo yelled, raising his voice for the first time since the young man had met him. "Stay more to the right!"

"Got it!" he shouted back. Reaching upward, he caught the lip of a small hole, crawling up the mountain side again and moving farther out from the water. The roar died away into the dull hum as he moved farther and farther. It was less slick here, however there were less handholds and he had to slow significantly to make any sort of progress. Still Kyuzo remained patiently on his heels, helping him if he slipped or if he needed to stretch for a ledge that just out of reach.

Their hands were firmly clasped, the two leaning firmly away from each other to maintain balance, when Katsushiro finally reached the start of the lower paths. The rock was cut and worn smooth here. His fingers walked along the edges, straining as they reached around for a handhold of some sort.

"Stop," Kyuzo murmured, leaning forward so the boy could regain his balance. With a nimble skip, he hopped onto the same rogue tree root that stuck determinedly out of the sheer rock face. Wordlessly, he laced his fingers together and held the hands out about his waist level.

The young man nodded and stepped into the makeshift stirrup, gasping as he was launched upward and into the lip of the path. Scrabbling at the loose pebbles, he finally managed to haul himself up, with a few extra pushes from the man below, and roll onto the safety of the wide ledge.

With an exhausted and thoroughly relieved sigh, he turned back to help Kyuzo. To his surprise, the man grabbed his hand roughly and leapt gracefully up, intercepting a blade that had been whistling down to cleave at the boy's back.

Katsushiro rolled out of the way, grabbing for the sword's twin strapped to his belt. Drawing the blade, which sang as it pulsed eagerly in his hands, he backed himself up onto his feet. The ranks of the bandits were closing in around them, though most all seemed to be facing away rather than towards them. Kyuzo was already in their center, hacking and slashing in an absolutely gory elegance that the boy could not help but admire as he watched, entranced.

His fingers tightened on the unfamiliar sword in his hand. Its aura was so much darker and aristocratic than his own boyishly shy little blade. This one demanded blood and action, demanded him to move and dance as its master did. Breathlessly he obeyed; he had to. He wanted to.

Silencing his instinctive yell, the same piercing cry he had sounded before in every battle he had ever fought, the samurai moved forwards, bounding like a panther. The world was no longer dyed red, he did not feel fear or rage, and his limbs were no longer separated from him. They were him. Everything seemed to slow as he arched to strike, curling his shoulders forwards like a cobra's hood. The noise died away and the landscape grew darker and almost ethereal. His eyes started to close as the glittering tip dove for the mechanic shinobi's nape.

When you have taken a life, you never look your opponent in the eyes, do you?

His eyes snapped open, the once warm green hard and cold as the screech of torn metal filled his ringing ears. He grunted, panting, and swung the blade around to strike another in the back, ripping him brutally in two at the waist.

The group turned about in a wild panic as they realized they were now being attacked from both sides. Many shied away from the crimson man, diving in an eager rush for the young, inexperienced boy. Kyuzo boredly swiped at their backs as they retreated, pausing to watch Katsushiro with interest.

Water filled his mind, his senses. Water flowed about his ears, his lips, his legs as he spun again, arching inwards to duck a strike aimed for his slender neck. It was cold and at the same time comforting as it held him intimately close. He didn't fight it, though every ounce of him, every small and frightened inch unsure of what was going on, begging him to flee or cower. Inhaling deeply, he slid forward and arched into it, stabbing and slashing in the under current.

He was falling, the wind whistling around him as he plummeted, helpless to save himself. With a hoarse yell, he stabbed forward and yanked the blade upward through the Nobusari's chest cavity to slash around at another attacker. Dimly he could feel the ground, the ice blue of the river, lunging forward to meet him. The noise, the yells, the cries, the rending of flesh and metal, it all blended into a mad cacophony that overwhelmed his senses. I'm falling. Bodies were pressing in around him; some attacking but most just trying to flee or scatter. Most were just as overwhelmed as he was.

Katsushiro yelled and began hacking madly, trying to keep the tide back. A sword pierced his slackening defenses, the tip dragging a deep line down the back. Falling. Blood flowed hot and sticky over the burning skin. He could not draw breath for a scream, whirling about and slamming his sword into the guilty head. Another closed in behind him and he only managed to get his elbow into the bandit's throat in time to avoid losing his head. He hit the water, stunned and breathless as he sank, unable to move. His ankle twisted sideways as he stumbled over another's body, and the boy tumbled down to be trampled.

He reached desperately forwards, closing his eyes.

Fingers, cool and light as a ghost's, slid over his knuckles and reach down to grab his wrist, jerking him back onto his feet and spinning him roughly around into a warm body. The arm around his shoulders was tight and held him firmly in place. His face was buried in soft hair, his chin resting on the curve of someone's shoulder. They moved back, his protector nimbly stepping over the carnage with his sword brandished outward.

"Stand up," Kyuzo panted in his ear.

The boy shivered as the hot breath ruffled the fine hair along his nape. His shoulders tensed as once again the screech of metal invaded his ears, but Katsushiro forced his eyes open, rolling them sideways to look past the blond curtain and out at the battle.

"I need your help."

Shakily, the young man forced his legs beneath him and locked his knees to still the trembling. "There's too many," he whispered, turning his head back into his friend's shoulder.

Instantly the arm loosened and the samurai's hand grabbed his shoulder. Katsushiro yelped as he was shoved to the ground, flinching as he met the man's smoldering eyes. "Surrender is for the weak," Kyuzo growled. "Get up and fight."

His fingers tightened on the borrowed sword and he stared out and the roiling army before them. Their attention had turned back to whatever was herding them against this solid rock wall and the drop below. They retreated, each one abandoning any hopes of victory of glory as they sought only to survive this encounter. He and Kyuzo would be driven against the stone or possibly even tossed over the ravine before any of their companions distinguished them in the maddening throng.

The hand closed again, this time on the back of his jacket, and heaved him back onto his feet. Katsushiro scooted closer to the man, his legs spread and planted firmly on the ground as they waited for the panicked rush of sweep over them.

Their stances changed quickly as a small cloud rose just over their heads. Protectively the older samurai stepped in front of the smaller, throwing his weaponless hand out as he raised his sword to deflect what came their way.

The deadly rain hammered down, throwing sparks into the air as it felled the back ranks of the retreating Nobusari. Though it took all his will power, Katsushiro did not flinch or cower as the sickening crunches filled his senses and the sparks washed over his boots. Each and every last shaft that dove for them was deflected by his ever calm companion. His eyes were focused on the remaining group that huddled near the rock wall, hoping to avoid the feathered bolts.

The instant the last one had snapped itself on the path, the boy charged forwards, leaping and darting between the heaps of bodies as he bore down on his prey. I will not cower. The first whirled about in surprise, hardly able to lift a hand before the steel carved through its heart. I will not be afraid. A broad sweep of the long sword severed two waists and caught a wrist, sending the hand spinning off over the cliff edge. I will not be weak. The muzzle of a long rifle glinted to his right, Katsushiro twisting his body to neatly trim the front of it off.

For you.

The gun sparked and exploded back into its master's belly, but the bandit did not suffer long. He lashed out and neatly slit its throat. His eyes swept the area quickly, looking for something else to kill, disappointed as he only met the corpses of those who had obviously been slaughtered by someone else. Anger flared in his chest as he realized someone had just stolen his kills.

My Master.

Movement registered in the corner of his eye as one of the bandits tried to pull himself to his feet. Two swords stabbed through his chest, tearing in two different directions and pulling his mechanical body in two. Shoving the twitching body away, he yelled as he brutally slashed at the man behind, the one to which the second sword belonged.

My Friend.

Their blades sparked as they slid along each other, each samurai pushing as they sought blood. A foot hooked behind his ankle, catching Katsushiro off guard and flipping him over the narrow shoulders of his opponent.

My. . .

He hit the ground hard enough to lose what breath he had. Though his vision was spinning and doubling, he jabbed the sword up into the man's ribs, the tip pressing but not breaking the skin just over the pulsing heart.

In turn the enemy's sword was laid against his throat, heavy and very cold.

When his vision and wits cleared enough he stared up at his former Sensei, panting and gasping beneath the weight of the sword on his windpipe. Kambei had his head tilted slightly to the side, gritting his teeth as another sword drew a single a drop of blood from the hollow of his throat. Beside him crouched Kyuzo who was being held at bay by the ornate tip of his rival's scabbard which jabbed into the fleshy underside of his jaw. The man growled, fingers tightening on the blade down which that single spot of crimson trailed.

Immediately the three withdrew their weapons and an uncomfortable silence fell around them. All three sets of eyes darted between, each set of lips parting and just as quickly clamping shut again. No one knew what to say.

Hey, you're alive! I'm so relieved.

Is the battle over?

Where are the others?

Are you hurt?

What happened?

None of it seemed appropriate for such a reunion, especially one that had left on bad terms. Instead Kambei knelt and offered his hand to the fallen boy, bowing his head to Kyuzo as he pulled Katsushiro to his feet.

Kyuzo did not return the gesture, his eyes staring incredulously at Kambei's hand, the one on the boy's, as if it were a blatant insult. The older man looked between him and the young man's wide, green eyes, then back again. His eyes roved over the empty scabbard of the older samurai's back and down to the blade in the boy's hand. Though the connection seemed simple enough, the ronin understood that it was so much more than it appeared.

Before he managed to stay anything though, Katsushiro swayed violently, reaching out to steady himself. With a silent sort of understanding, the boy was handed off to Kyuzo who held him tightly, inspecting the surprisingly deep slash between his shoulder blades. Blood soaked the black satin of his jacket, staining the back of his belt and down to the waistband of his pants. Within a matter of seconds, as predicted, his eyes rolled back and he fell unconscious. "So fragile," Kyuzo mumbled, readjusting his body. His tone was not disdainful; to the contrary, it seemed like something that should have been said with a roll of the eyes and a smile.

Without further words, he walked past Kambei it seemed with all intentions of going to care for his companion. "The battle is over," the old samurai called after him, though he suspected the man already knew.

With a chuckle he watched them leave, tucking his sword back into his belt. "This skirmish is over. . . and that boy is no longer mine to hassle with."

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Longest chapter and one more left to go. The next one will wrap this story up. Now, I have had a few people ask for an R/NC-17 chapter at the end where Katsu/Kyu get a little steamy. Considering I've never written one before, I wanted to await final judgment from my readers before I proceed into new territory. Yes? No? Give it to me now? Just let me know.

I may write a sequel or more than likely just a brand new fic, but I'm Katsu/Kyu faithful. So any requests you have just let me know.

Thanks for keeping up and reviewing.