A/N – For some reason, this chapter would not cooperate with me. Finally, in a marathon session on the weekend, I finally managed to force the transition from cryptic, scribbled notes to something approaching what I envisioned…

Disclaimer – I don't own Ruroken. I don't own any of the characters, settings or situations. Don't sue.

Chapter 10

Cursing wearily, Saito forced his way up the stairs of the Kyoto Metropolitan police station. There were flashing lights and raised voices everywhere; cops, reporters and civilians all clamouring for information on the second attack in two weeks –

"Lieutenant!"

Gaining entrance to the station foyer, he turned to see Masamune calling him, a white bandage tied rakishly about his forehead. Impatiently, he headed straight towards the young fool and grabbed his arm, hauling him into a private room where they could talk.

"You'd better have a damned good explanation for this," he growled, pacing to the glass window and lighting a cigarette. "From the beginning."

Masamune breathed in and out, obviously trying to compose himself before he began. "We were building up a picture of the assassin," he said, his voice slow and even, "and we'd just decided to pass it on to the other police stations in Kyoto. I went off to get some coffee and to email the picture out, and when I came back, Kamiya-san was gone."

"And?"

"I-I went to search for her, but she wasn't on the third floor – where my office is – and so I went to the lift, and found a man tied up inside."

"A man tied up inside the lift," he repeated slowly, blowing out a long, thin stream of smoke.

"Yes. Tall, black-haired – a terrible hair-cut, like a rooster's comb –"

"Sagara." Saito swore. His fists clenched as he remembered the angry, insolent way the young punk had assured him he didn't get involved in Ishin business, and that he didn't know where Battousai was or what he was doing. "I assume," he said acidly, "since Sagara was there, that Battousai was not far behind."

"I – I think so." Masamune faltered. "I mean…I couldn't see anything. It was too dark, and he struck me from behind. I could hear Kamiya arguing, so I rushed down the stairs as fast as I could…"

"You rushed down the stairs as quickly as you could." Saito eyed the youthful computer artist, his eyes dark and his face lined with exhaustion. "Did you stop to think about what you were rushing into first?"

Masamune opened his mouth, and then shut it with an audible click. Just then, Saito's phone rang, and he threw down his cigarette and flipped it open impatiently.

"What?" he snapped, waiting for whoever was on the other end of the line to identify themselves. And then – "You look tired, Lieutenant," a smooth, impassive voice murmured. "Are you sure you're getting enough sleep?"

Crouched high on an adjacent rooftop, peering through the station window with high-powered binoculars, Kenshin watched Saito's reaction to his call. His head came up, his whole body stiffened, and his hand flew to the service pistol holstered by his side. The young, nervous looking policeman by his side asked him a worried question, but he silenced him impatiently. His eyes narrowed, scanning the rooftops of the buildings within range of the station –

Kenshin shifted, deliberately allowing his bright hair to catch the sunlight.

Saito's eyes zeroed in on it.

"Hitokiri Battousai," Saito drawled. Through the binoculars, it appeared as though his narrowed, intent gaze was staring straight into Kenshin's. "Have you come to turn yourself in?"

"No," Kenshin replied, watching the younger man's shocked reaction to Saito's words. Did the young, reckless would-be hero know how close he had come to death last night?

Saito's thin, pale lips curved cruelly. "Okubo is dead. Katsura is either dead or imprisoned. Shishio is in firm control of the Ishin Shishi, and has put a ten million yen bounty on your head – you're running out of options, Battousai. And snatching my assistant last night was not the best way to secure my help."

"I needed to attract your attention, Lieutenant," he said, in tacit acknowledgment. "I want to talk to you. Face to face."

There was a long, distrustful silence.

"This is no trap, Saito. My word on it."

"Your word?" But there was no real scorn behind the words; Saito knew what his word meant, on the street. Once Kenshin gave his word, he kept it, even though it had brought him into conflict with Katsura-san's orders on more than one occasion.

"Meet me where at the park in two hours, Lieutenant. Bring Masamune-san with you, and we'll talk. I can assure you Kamiya-san is safe and well, and will continue to be, so long as you cooperate."

He hung up, not waiting to view Saito's reaction, and swore under his breath as he ducked swiftly out of sight. His shoulder was throbbing painfully, strained by the long, frozen vigil and the sudden strain of movement.

He would need every minute of the two hours to prepare himself for the meeting.

Fifteen years ago, Yamaoto Genji Memorial Park had been a joyous, happy place. Children had played on swings and jungle gyms, ran laughing through the trees and shrubs. It had been a family park, free of the crime and strife of the troublesome inner city.

A good place for birthday parties, once.

Now it was a solemn, sober reminder of Kenshin's lost innocence, of his foolish, youthful zeal and his blind belief in Katsura-san's infallibility.

"Is this…?" Kamiya-san swallowed, her eyes wide as she looked about, taking in the old, abandoned swings and the overgrown greenery, absorbing the quiet, sad atmosphere that sat heavily over the whole park. Kenshin could almost see the ghosts of that long-ago day, hear the children's laughter turn to screams and pleas for mercy.

Sometimes, he woke from a nightmare remembrance of that day, sweating and crying out in denial. Of all his sins, this was the one he most bitterly regretted…

"Yes," he forced himself to answer. "This is where it happened."

Sano, beside him, said nothing. But then Sano had been preserving a dignified, injured silence since Kenshin had overruled him and insisted on this meeting. He cared more about present dangers than ancient tragedies.

"Why ask Saito to meet you here?" Kamiya-san asked. Her blue eyes were calm, intelligent, and welling with some strange mystery – he almost thought it was pity.

"No one comes here anymore," he said, trying to make himself calm and unemotional. Guilt was useless: once done, some things can never be undone, no matter how much he might wish it. "The overgrown trees make good cover."

It was as good a reason as any.

"He's just torturing himself," Sano scowled, finally abandoning his silence. "And giving Saito an unnecessary reminder. I told you we should have gone for someplace neutral."

"There are no neutral locations in Kyoto, Sano," Kenshin replied curtly. "Not for me." As much as he appreciated Sano's company, his normally vast patience had a limit. His shoulder hurt, his head ached, and he truly did not wish to face Saito now – not when he was so weak and vulnerable, not with such trouble hanging over his head.

And most especially, he did not want to face Saito here, in this place of all places.

Kaoru watched him from the corner of her eye, saw his normally calm composure waver as he looked about him, his shadowed gaze full of old guilt and regret. She'd never thought that hitokiri Battousai, the cold-blooded killer, could be so terribly, fallibly human. Even Sagara seemed to sense his grim mood, his less than tactful comments betraying a heavy-handed attempt at care and concern.

However, the assassin seemed to neither want nor appreciate such attention. His face was pale, his lips set, and he was clearly favouring his injured shoulder – but his voice was clear and concise. "They will be here soon," he said to Kaoru. "You know what to do."

She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything he turned his back and walked away, blending in with the tangled trees and shrubs, his unlikely hair vanishing completely.

Sano swore under his breath and loped off after him, leaving Kaoru all alone.

Saito saw her the instant he entered the park. She was standing alone and determinedly brave in the centre of the green, and he felt a brief moment of admiration – she had courage, this girl. It only remained to be seen whether she had enough common sense to survive.

Beside him, Masamune drew in a relieved breath and let out a great, whooping shout. "Kamiya-san!" he laughed, running up to her, picking her up off her feet and whirling her around. "You're alive!"

She grinned, hugging him back as he set her down on her feet and let go. But then she saw Saito, and her professionalism returned. Squaring her shoulders, she met his eyes and drew herself up to attention. "Sir."

"Kamiya," he said blandly. "I assume that Battousai is somewhere close by."

Saito could feel his presence, in the ruffled hair on the back of his neck, in the unsettled jangle of his nerves. If this was a trap, then they were all sitting ducks. But he didn't think so, not when the hitokiri had given his word. And not here.

"Yes, sir," the girl nodded. "He's watching from nearby. He wanted me to make the first approach by myself – the first assurance of trust, he said."

"I assume he wishes to cooperate with the police."

"No, sir." She shook her head. "Not with the police. With you."

He smiled grimly. Katsura's right-hand man, Battousai would know damned well which police the old man had corrupted – only to watch helplessly as Shishio forced them to tear Kyoto apart to find him. Katsura's fall had affected far more than just the streets.

"Well, well," he drawled slowly. "I never thought I would see the day hitokiri Battousai came to me for help. I wonder that he dared." He turned his gaze to the trees and shrubs around them. "You'd better have something damned good to offer, Battousai. Fifteen long, bloody years aren't so easily forgotten."

All around them, the world fell silent.

And a slight, red-headed man emerged from the tree-shadow.

A/N – Apologies about the ending. But this was a wretched, contrary chapter that had to be dragged kicking and struggling into creation.

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