Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, the setting, the time period, or even the plot that has gone before. Also, I have no money. It will be a pointless effort in malicious spite to sue me over this piece of fan fiction.

Additional Note: Some of the lines in this are from the manga and/or OVA. Also, I'm sorry it took a bit longer to get this chapter out.


Chapter 9

Sano blinked tired eyes up at the stars. He'd spent a lot of time in his youth staring at the night sky wishing that Captain Sagara was alive and leading him through life. And the man had returned once, in the forests on the way to Kyoto. Sano smiled at that, recalling his first reaction to the sight. Captain Sagara's appearance then was what had saved him. It had been the inspiration he'd needed to unlock the Futae no Kiwami.

So now he was looking up again, waiting for a different man to return. Captain Sagara's shade had been just like the man, gentle and encouraging, and concerned for Sano's wellbeing. Sano hoped the man who walked through the dojo gate would be the same Kenshin who had left earlier. He didn't want to lose another captain, and he knew Kaoru and Yahiko would be shattered if their Kenshin was replaced by the killer who'd fought with Saitou in May.

Kaoru got up with a sigh and picked up the lantern. "This needs a new candle," she murmured. "It'll go out otherwise."

Sano nodded and was left in darkness as Kaoru disappeared with the light. They'd been sitting there for hours, mostly silent. The one conversation he'd tried to start had been painful for Kaoru, and he'd dropped it after a few sentences. It was a relief to him that she was so certain Kenshin would be back, but her refusal of the possibility that he was doing anything other than arguing with the letter writer worried him.

By Sano's estimation, it was maybe an hour or so after midnight when they heard the scraping of sandals on the path outside the dojo. He hardly recognized the dark figure that staggered through the gate, head tipped low enough for the bangs to obscure the entire face. Sano frowned, taking in the effect of the blood-heavy Choshu gi and hakama, the high-tied hair, the foreign cluster of swords that seemed too heavy for Kenshin's slight figure.

"Kenshin!" Kaoru was off of the porch and halfway to Kenshin with the lantern before Sano thought to stop her. Kenshin flinched back from the light with a shudder, even while Kaoru, gasping, dropped the lantern.

"Kenshin," she whispered this time, her tears audible. "Are you—" she stopped, raising a hesitant hand out as he continued walking past her, making his way toward the well as though he hadn't seen her.

Sano stood up and walked out into the yard to stand near Kaoru, who stood hugging herself and trying not to cry. Keeping an eye on Kenshin, he put a hand on Kaoru's shoulder for comfort, and was only marginally surprised when she buried her face in his jacket and cried. He'd known the truth would hurt her.

Sano had seen Kenshin bloody before. He'd seen Kenshin angry and sad, over fighting and other things. But he'd never seen Kenshin this upset. The man's breathing was ragged, his demeanor that of the self-tortured. He watched as Kenshin shakily drew up a bucket of water and upended it over his head. In the dim light thrown by Kaoru's discarded lantern, Sano saw the water run red.

Four buckets later, he paused, clenching his hands on the edge of the well and staring into the water, shoulders trembling. He brought a hand up to his left cheek, and looked at it briefly before wiping it on the side of his hakama, leaving a red smear against the blood-spattered grey. Another bucket of water joined the first five, and Sano thought he heard a choked sob come from the man.

He watched as Kenshin removed the swords from his obi, leaning all three against the well with unsteady hands before pulling up yet another bucket of water. He did not pour this one on himself, but emptied into the laundry bucket before sinking to his knees in the reddish puddle he'd made.

Now that Kenshin was facing toward him, Sano could actually see his face through the curtain of dripping hair. The eyes, not glowing amber, he was glad to note, were preoccupied, distant. Sano doubted Kenshin had even seen Kaoru with the lantern when he'd come in, and wondered that he'd come to the dojo at all in this state. He supposed it was an indication of how strongly Kenshin equated the dojo with home.

The bucketfuls of water hadn't done much to clean the blood off his face, and the side of his neck and entire left cheek were smeared red. Sano narrowed his eyes as he watched Kenshin remove his gi and begin to feverishly scrub the garment in the tub, occasionally bringing a forearm up to wipe tears from his eyes. Kenshin's face hadn't been splashed with that much blood, he realized. It was the scar, opened up and trickling blood down his neck and over his shoulder.

Kaoru's sobs had subsided, and Sano looked down to see her staring vacantly at the fallen lantern as though she could wish away the last few days entirely. "Jou-chan," he whispered, untangling her fingers from his jacket. "Come on. He came back. He'll still be here in the morning."

She was like a puppet, mutely following where he led, his arm around her waist to support her as he took her up the steps and into the dojo. Kenshin, he knew, would be at that bit of laundry long after it was clean. And with the amount of blood he'd seen, it would take several more buckets of water and well over an hour for Kenshin to be satisfied. He could spare the time to put Kaoru to bed. She didn't need to see more of this.

When Sano returned he was surprised to find Kenshin had given up on the laundry, and was sitting with his back up against the well and his face in his hands, biting back sobs. So this is what it takes to make a grown man cry, Sano thought as he approached. I wonder if he cried then, too. During the Bakumatsu. He was just a kid.

Sano reached up to snag a cloth from the clothesline and crouched down beside Kenshin. "This where you picked up the laundry thing, Kenshin?" There was no acknowledgement of his words, and Sano thought back to the fight Kenshin had had with Saitou, where nothing could get through to them.

Maybe he didn't go by Kenshin then. Saitou certainly never used the name, and Okubo hadn't either. But he'd be damned before calling the man Battousai. Sano tried again. "Himura?" That got something. A twitch maybe, but that's better than nothing. "Himura, you all right?" he asked softly.

Kenshin looked up at him then, confused for a moment before recognition sparked in his eyes. "Sano," he whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah. I asked if you were okay." He held out the cloth, and watched as Kenshin wordlessly folded it in quarters and set it against his cheek.

He shook his head. "The blood will not come out," he murmured, eyes becoming unfocused again.

Sano wondered what he was seeing at the moment, but decided he'd rather not know. Kenshin had worked for two years in the shadows of Kyoto before his duties changed, and rumors had put his kills at more than a hundred in the first six months alone.

"It never comes out," he continued. "No matter how many times I try, everything smells of blood. Everything I touch is stained with it." He shook his head. "Tenchu?" he laughed, bitterly. "This is hell, no matter what Katsura-san calls it. And I belong here."

"That's bullshit!" Sano yelled at him, grabbing Kenshin's forearm and dragging him to his feet. The shock on Kenshin's face was almost comical, and Sano would have laughed if they had been anywhere else, doing anything else. Probably none of his Choshu buddies would have called him on anything, Sano realized. He snorted. Some friends.

Sano picked up the three swords and thrust them into Kenshin's hands before he'd had a chance to react to being manhandled. "You go change. Then you sleep if you can. I'll finish this." He propelled Kenshin toward the dojo, a little rougher than was necessary.

"And don't think I'm not watching you," he called as Kenshin turned around at the stairs to voice an objection. Kenshin shut his mouth and climbed the stairs. Sano picked up a low "Hai, Sano-san" before the diminutive fighter disappeared into the building.

"Sano-san?" he repeated to himself. Sano shook his head as he hung his jacket over the clothesline and brought the lantern closer to the well. What am I doing? I never do my own laundry, and now I've volunteered to clean up after Kenshin? "Well," he shrugged, dumping the bloody wash water, "at least there's no one to catch me doing it."

Sano wasn't terribly concerned with getting all the blood out. Kenshin's earlier efforts had already washed out most of the blood. The gi was dark enough to hide what Sano missed, and the blood was fresh enough that most would come out without too much work on his part. Let Kenshin rewash it tomorrow if he cares so much, Sano thought as he scrubbed. He could already see the redhead doing just that, and he wondered how much of Kenshin's love of laundry was related to his sense of guilt. Probably most of it.

He squeezed the gi out over the water, and was pleased to see only a tinge of pink in the water running back into the bucket. "Good enough," he muttered, holding the gi out for inspection. Sano slung it over the clothesline and retrieved his jacket before kicking over the wash bucket to empty it. "Not like I'm good at housework, anyway."

Sano blew out the lantern's candle and made his way into the dojo, walking past the room Kaoru had set up for him the night before. He came to a stop at the shoji to Kenshin's room, and sat down. He didn't know whether Kenshin would be able to sleep, but he had no intention of missing potential clues by not listening. Kaoru had told him about Kenshin's dreams a while ago, and even Yahiko seemed aware that some careful listening at night was a better indicator of Kenshin's mood than anything Kenshin said while awake.

Sano leaned forward a little, resting his ear against the rice paper. It seemed he was in luck tonight. The stress of the last few days followed by tonight's events must have sent Kenshin to dreaming despite himself. He couldn't make out anything too distinctive, but he caught something that sounded like an apology. Very Kenshin, he thought, prying open the shoji about an inch so he could hear better.

"I will kill… to let others live. I'll push my way forward, over corpses," Kenshin was mumbling. Sano frowned. "But when we reach the new age…"

What? Sano prodded. When we reach the new age, what? Given the first part of the phrase, it sounded like Kenshin had still been a hitokiri when he came up with his no-kill vow. Sano wondered when exactly Kenshin had made his oath, and what had prompted it.

Sano heard the shifting of fabric on fabric as Kenshin tossed in his sleep. Not for the first time, he wondered how Kenshin managed to stay upright when he slept, especially if he wasn't sleeping soundly.

"No," Kenshin whispered. "I wouldn't kill you. Whatever happened, I could never…" his voice trailed off into a moan. "Not to you. Never."

The room was silent for a moment, and Sano leaned back, easing the shoji shut. He heard a strangled gasp and the metallic thud of a sword falling to the tatami mat. Several minutes later, the shoji was opened from the inside, and Kenshin blinked down at him, dressed in pink and with his sakabatou at his hip.

"You know, you talk in your sleep," Sano said, not looking up.

Kenshin sat down next to him, placing the sakabatou on the floor at his side. He was silent for a while, studying the mat. "This one doesn't know how Saitou does it."

Sano looked at him, trying unsuccessfully to catch his downturned eyes. "Saitou's a bastard. That's how he does it." No reply was forthcoming, so Sano handed Kenshin a new cloth. "You're bleeding again."

Kenshin took the rag and held it up to his cheek. "It hasn't bled in thirteen years," he whispered. "Not since she… Gomen, Sano."

"For what? You didn't kill me," he replied, regretting his words when he saw Kenshin flinch. Great going, Sano. Rub it in, that'll make him want to talk.

"You," Kenshin began, hesitantly. "You wanted to see how this one was different from the other Imperialists." He shook his head, holding the makeshift bandage to his cheek. It was starting to spot through. "I'm not any different after all."

"Yes you are," Sano insisted a bit more loudly than he'd intended. His words and tone shocked Kenshin into looking at him, and he continued, making sure to keep the eye contact. "You're not doing this because of money or power or spite. You're doing this because… well, for regular folks who don't deserve to be shot at while buying food."

Sano peered into Kenshin's eyes, now only flecked with the blue from last night. He had to make sure he got through Kenshin's wall of guilt before he closed himself off again and Sano lost his chance. "That makes you different," he said, watching for a flicker of acceptance in those eyes.

He clenched a fist and waved it in Kenshin's face, trying for a different angle. "And you better believe that if that ever changes, I'll be the one to knock some sense into you. I've got your back, buddy. I'm not going to let you get twisted inside."

Kenshin closed his eyes, and they sat in silence for a minute.

Another success for Sano, he thought. I gotta find something that'll snap him out of this. At least he isn't on about the blood anymore. I wasn't there in Kyoto. I don't know enough to bring him back if his mind drifts off to the Bakumatsu.

"Kenshin." Sano waited for the twitch in Kenshin's shoulders that signaled recognition. He hoped his next plan of attack wasn't a mistake. "How many last night?"

The man across from him seemed to draw into himself briefly before swallowing. "Two yakuza bosses," Kenshin whispered, tracing lines on the floor with a shaking finger. Sano let him pull his thoughts together, and was rewarded for his uncharacteristic patience when Kenshin continued a moment later, in the same trembling voice.

"An arms dealer and a … procurer of women. Their bodyguards." Kenshin's finger stopped its tracing as his hand clenched into a fist. "Eight men, Sano. And now, eight widows."

"You idiot," Sano muttered. "Anyone who works for the yakuza as a bodyguard is just as corrupt as the guy who hires him. There's no family involved. They're not blackmailing their bodyguards like they did Yahiko. They can't afford protection that's not devoted."

He paused to let that sink in. "Maybe the main boss will have a wife, but for the rest? The yakuza is their family. Nobody's mourning a thing today, Kenshin. They're all too busy fighting over who gets promoted because these guys are gone."

Kenshin blinked, a little of the tension fading from his shoulders.

"Take it from one who knows, Kenshin. Even Yahiko could tell you that."

"Thank you, Sano," he replied, the corner of his mouth turning up into a tiny smile. "This one is lucky to have you here, he most certainly is."

Finally! 'He most certainly is.' Sano grinned broadly, and stood up. "Damn straight you are, Kenshin. I'll go get us a paper later, find out what they're saying about last night. Maybe talk to Katsu. He's been saying it's high time the government got personal with those thugs. He'll probably write about a hero for the people."

Kenshin shook his head, still seated. "This one is no hero, Sano. He's nothing more than an oath-breaking hitokiri."

"I don't want to hear that out of you, and neither does anyone else." Glaring, Sano again shook his fist at Kenshin. "I'm keeping an eye on you, Kenshin. You turn bad on us, I'll let you know. Until then, you leave off all this 'unworthy' talk. Got it?"

"Hai."

Sano raised an eyebrow at that. "What, I'm not 'Sano-san' anymore?"

"Oro?" Kenshin looked up him with a frown. "Did this one call you that?"

"Never mind. What about some breakfast, hey Kenshin? It's been a long and hungry night waiting for you to get back and listening to you dream."