Author's notes Apologies for the Atsuko/Akane confusion. I'm mildly dysgraphic and aphasic and the names are similar enough that they give me absolute fits. I really should have factored that in, in naming them ... anyway, I know one more thing to proofread for now.

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Atsuko woke to the smell of coffee.

She blinked, disoriented and groggy. She wasn't even sure how many time zones there were between Baghdad and Seacouver, and she'd spent the last forty-eight hours either in an airplane or waiting for one. What the hell time was it, anyway? Her brain hurt from lingering exhaustion.

Mm, coffee ... sometimes she thought if you slit her wrists she'd bleed expresso.

She lifted her head from the pillow and squinted through sleep-gritty eyes.

The hotel room had a small table in one corner. Kenshin was seated at it, nursing the coffee she had smelled, and frowning. He jerked around when she sat up, surprising her. She would have thought that he would have sensed the change in her ki as she woke.

"Mm. What time is it?"

He glanced at his watch. "Just past noon."

"How long have you been up?"

"Couple of hours."

"Head hurt?"

He gave her a look that said that was a remarkably stupid question.

"There's Tylenol in my bags if you want some."

"I found it."

"Oh." She hadn't hear him moving around. She must have been sleepier than she thought, or he'd been in stealth mode.

"I didn't want to disturb you. Figured you must be exhausted." He ducked his head, then asked quietly, "Do you ... need some?"

She knew exactly what he was talking about. He sounded incredibly miserable when he said it. She snorted. "No. You weren't that rough, sweetheart."

"Umm. Good."

Silence stretched between them, uncomfortable. She wanted to ask him what the fuck was wrong with him, and he clearly was uncomfortable even talking to her at the moment. She sighed and rose and padded naked to the table where he sat. He stared up at her, then looked away with a harsh swallow.

"Kenshin, what happened?"

"Put some clothes on. I can't concentrate ..." he glanced sharply at her, then away. His words were clipped and should have felt like a rejection, but didn't because there was so much pain behind them. She saw want and need in that look, but guessed that he wouldn't act on his desires even if she tried to sway him. Kenshin was powerfully talented at self denial.

"Okay." She rummaged in her bags and found shorts and a t-shirt, then returned to the table. She was not going to give it a rest. Instead, she reached out to the coffee pot sitting on the table, and filled Kenshin's cup back up, then unwrapped one of the plastic-wrapped styrofoam cups for herself and poured some for herself. The coffee was rich, black, and probably not the hotel's complimentary grounds -- Kenshin carried his own supply when he traveled.

He watched her without a word.

"Are you glad I came?"

"Somewhat." He sighed, and drained the coffee in one long swallow. She watched his adam's apple bob up and down. "I'm not happy about you seeing me in this state."

"You know you can trust me."

"It's not you I mistrust." His voice was hoarse and nasal, but given how long he'd cried the night before, she wasn't surprised. He probably had a stuffy nose and a sinus headache on top of the hangover. She was still shocked that Kenshin -- Kenshin! -- had broken down like that.

"You mistrust yourself."

"Hai."

"Why?"

He poured the dregs in the pot into his cup and then swallowed that, then bent over and pulled a small bag of coffee grounds out of a duffle bag beside his chair. He made another pot while she waited in silence for an answer. He'd respond when he mustered his thoughts; she gave him time to think in silence.

She had been right about the gourmet coffee -- the grounds came from a plastic bag that proudly proclaimed, "Seacouver's Best Little Coffee House!" on it.

Finally, after breaking open a bottle of complimentary bottled water and dumping it into the coffee machine, he said, "I broke my oath never to kill again, Atsuko."

"Did you have a choice?"

"There is always a choice."

"Then did you make the best decision?"

He was silent again, staring at the percolating coffee pot. Moments later he said, "Yes."

"Then go on with your life." She reached a hand out and rested it on his on the table. He glanced up at her when she touched him. "Sweetheart, if I were in your shoes and I had killed someone, what would you tell me."

Amethyst eyes met hers. "You misunderstand me, Atsuko. I am not sorry I killed him."

"Then what?"

He looked away. Softly, he said, "In killing him, something in me died. I no longer feel like me, Atsuko. Maybe I will never be the same man again that I was."

He rose, suddenly, and walked to the bathroom, and dumped his cup of coffee into the toilet. And then he threw up after it, wet sick miserable sounds emanating from the bathroom. She wasn't sure if that was from hangover or emotion, but she hurried after him and crouched beside him held his ponytail back, her own stomach twisting, as he emptied his guts and then heaved and heaved for minutes more.

Finally he slumped back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand -- and wiped it again with a wet washrag when she handed it to him. He stared up at her, looking small and so much not like Kenshin that it broke her heart.

"Sweetheart," she said, offering him a hand up. "Will you promise me one thing?"

"Anything. Of course."

"No more booze for awhile."

He gave her an incredulous look, eyes narrowing. His expression said, You must be joking. "That's not something you need to extract a promise from me for," he said, dryly, "I think dealing with this sober is an excellent plan. Mac was here last night, and he ordered wine with pizza."

And MacLeod forgot to factor in the fact that Kenshin is half his size when splitting the bottle, Atsuko filled in the blanks. She'd seen that happen plenty of times before with Kenshin, when they were hanging out with friends -- particularly large Western friends. It was simple biology. Kenshin's small body mass and even lower bodyfat ratio meant his tolerance for alcohol was very low. Yet good manners meant that Kenshin was served amounts equal to everyone else's. And politeness also meant that Kenshin would drink what was poured for him.

He confessed in a low tone of voice, "Getting drunk seemed a brilliant idea last night, that it did."

"Yeah, well, at least save some of the bottle for me next time."

He said ruefully, "There were two bottles. I had one all by myself."

"Good thing you're Immortal." She let out a low whistle, impressed despite herself.

He shrugged. Then he said, "I was going to go down and see Mac for a bit. Want to come?"

She wasn't about to let him out of her sight, considering the mood he was in. "Yeah. Just let me take a shower and clean up. How's Tessa, by the way?"

Kenshin froze. "Gods, Atsuko, I forgot to tell you. I'm sorry, I just found out two days ago that she died ... she died a long time ago, apparently."

"Oh." Atsuko had only know the woman for a few short days thirteen years before, but she had been struck by the commonality of their lives: both of them in love with Immortal men. She had been looking forward to talking to her again.

"Apparently it was a mugging. Just random, stupid violence." He frowned. "Mac's new girlfriend is named Amanda, except I don't think she's exactly new. Someone from his past. She's Immortal."

"I can't believe Tessa's dead. I was looking forward to seeing her ..." Atsuko felt like she'd been gut punched. "That's too bad."

"Aa, that it is."

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Methos showed up at the dojo just past noon. MacLeod was not surprised to see him, and in fact, had been expected him to come slinking in sooner or later. The ancient Immortal slipped through the dojo doors and skirted several tough young men -- men who said an assortment of hassling and rude things to Methos, because Methos appeared to be an outsider to their world of martial arts and testosterone.

He ignored them, as fit his mild, scholarly persona. Mac wondered absently, watching Methos cut around the wrestling matt, what his students would think if they knew the man they were razzing was one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

"Hey, Brit-boy, betcher couldn't last ten seconds in the ring with me!" Danny, a particularly obnoxious street brat who was one of Richie's current crop of students, teased.

Methos paused, raised an eyebrow, and for a moment MacLeod had hope that Methos would show the punk up. It would be amusing, and Methos could do it, easily. He might be dressed in dockers, loafers, and a sweater, and look like a nerdy researcher, but the man was pretty damn good at various fighting disciplines. He had five thousand years of practice, after all.

But Methos simply regarded Danny like Danny was a particularly interesting bug for a moment, then proceeded on the Mac's office. He pushed the door shut after him.

"What's up, Methos?" MacLeod asked.

His friend said shortly, "Battousai."

"Ken?"

"Yeah."

"So," MacLeod said, leaning back in his chair and putting a foot up on the table, "How much dirt did you dig up about him?"

Methos, with his Watcher connections, had almost certainly spent the last two days doing heavy research on Kenshin. MacLeod had been expecting it. Likely Methos was going to tell him that Kenshin had a dark past and a few skeletons in his closet. MacLeod already had a few choice replies to any revelation of that nature; Methos had a whole army of skeletons in his history.

"None, which is why I'm here." Methos ran a hand over his face. "Mac, I don't often bear grudges; you know that. But he ..."

Methos looked sharply away. His jaw worked and he swallowed; there was a stubborn, angry look on his face.

"It was the middle of a war," MacLeod said, calmly. Kenshin had no major crimes in his history? Other than being a soldier and assassin, which Mac already knew about and didn't consider crimes because he was fighting for his side? He was surprised. The man's whole guilt complex had implied to Mac that he had a lot more to atone for. "He was sent to assassinate you."

"Yeah. I was on the wrong side of things. And I had married a woman with two children ... I loved those boys. I could forgive him for killing her, because it was nothing personal. But there was no reason to kill the boys."

"Except for the fact that it was self defense," MacLeod said, "and they attacked him in defense of you and once they saw him he had a duty to his country to eliminate any witnesses. He was incredibly valuable as a hitokiri, Adam; he was certainly under orders not to allow anyone to live who could identify him. Including women and children."

"I was already dead. I didn't know that they fought him." Methos looked up. "They should have run!"

MacLeod said, "He could have killed you a couple of days ago. He didn't. And not because I'd have had his hide for the damage to my flat. He doesn't kill needlessly."

"I know." Methos sagged into a chair, and pinched the bridge of his nose, and said, "I've spent the last two days looking up information on the guy, because he should have killed me and he didn't. Five thousand years old, and I could have lost my life to an skinny baby Immortal with girly hair."

"Heh. First time I met Kenshin he broke my neck with the dull side of his sword, so don't feel bad." MacLeod leaned back in his chair. "And he stole the Thunderbird."

"Ho! That makes me feel so much better, my friend." Methos shook his head. "Anyway. Turns out the shrimp is some sort of Immortal saint. He was a good friend of Darius, of all people. And Hideo, in Japan, though that may be a case of mutually keeping an eye on one another, given this is Hideo."

"Likely," MacLeod agreed. Hideo was almost as paranoid as Methos.

Methos sighed. "Part of me wants to kill him still. The other part of me ... Mac, he's a good guy. He's probably one of the best of us, if the records I've found are right. And ... well, what's the point in bearing a century and a half old grudge?"

MacLeod grinned, said nothing. He knew Methos well enough to know that the old man was at least three parts coward. He could be inspired to bravery with the appropriate level of guilt tripping, but mostly, he preferred to avoid trouble.

"Fuck you," Methos said, "You find this funny."

MacLeod grinned. "I've known about Kenshin for years. Wish I knew him better, really. He's a good guy. Honestly, though, I'm surprised you didn't turn up at least some dirt."

"Nothing interesting. Quite a bit of heroism of varying sorts and descriptions. He's had an arrest here or there for carrying a sword, and he broke the nose of some local bigwig in the 50's and did two weeks in jail. And he was fined for punching his wife's brother-in-law about twelve years ago at his own wedding, apparently with provocation. It's all minor stuff. Boring stuff." Methos shook his head.

"Well," MacLeod said, "I don't think he's got an active watcher right now ..."

"... no, apparently he's considered too boring ... and too likely to notice surveillance. He's got a reputation for being very good at detecting the intentions of others." Methos had obviously been doing his homework. MacLeod was impressed by how much the Watchers had figured out about Kenshin given they'd only discovered him thirteen years ago. On the other hand, Kenshin lived semi-openly as an Immortal among a couple fairly large extended families. Likely, the Watchers had gotten someone to talk about him.

"... heh. Yes. It's part of what makes him such a phenomenal swordsmen. But anyway, you might pass on to the right people that he's finally taken his first head. Glad it wasn't me, too, Challenging Marshall, because you'd probably be dunking me in a hot spring again if I had."

Both of Methos's eyebrows rose.

"Marshall had taken a very Dark Quickening."

"Fuck. Is ..."

"Kenshin? He's too damned stubborn to go over to the dark side, though he's not doing really well."

A buzz washed over them, and both men looked up and through the office's glass doors as an Immortal entered the dojo. MacLeod was not surprised to see Kenshin ... he was surprised to see the woman with him.

She was tall, for a Japanese woman -- about five six or five seven, and all of that height lean, wiry muscle. At sixty, Atsuko looked many years younger until one noticed details like her skin tone and age spots on the back of her hands. Her hair was cut short, in a pageboy -- with silvery roots starting to show, so she dyed it.

Atsuko, he realized.

The two of them -- Kenshin tiny, the woman with him appearing old enough to be his grandmother -- were enough to get the interest of MacLeod's students. By the commentary that Mac could hear through the closed door, Danny was assuming Atsuko was bring her grandson for fighting lessons.

Methos had gone very still, very silent. He met Kenshin's gazes through the glass and then rose, hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. "Dark quickening, hm?"

"He's fine, Methos."

"Fine my ass. He's practically radioactive, he's wound so tight. Look at how he's moving, Mac."

At that moment, out on the floor of the dojo, Danny said something particularly rude to Atsuko -- Mac didn't quite catch it, but Kenshin's eyes narrowed in response. MacLeod's grin reached his eyes as the older whipped around, then kicked her shoes off and walked out into the middle of the mattress and, with a firm curl of her finger, she challenged the street kid to a bout.

"Oh-ho." Methos watched with real interest as Danny half-heartedly swung a blow at the 'grandmother' ... who promptly caught his wrist, tripped him, and threw him to the ground. Methos had certainly picked up on the same things MacLeod had, which was that Atsuko Himura moved with the taut grace of a practiced fighter.

Mac glanced at Kenshin, judging his response. Kenshin was standing politely off to the side. His expression was distant, however; he appeared to be paying only absent attention to his wife's bout with the punk kid.

Atsuko offered Danny a hand up ... and then tripped him again. She was grinning, clearly finding humor in her ability to wipe the ground with the teenager. Mac, having seen her throw a few moves, now suspected she would be a challenge for almost any of the men he taught. He might ask her to go a few rounds with him, later -- it would be instructive for his students to watch.

Danny, looking really pissed, scrambled back to his feet and swung a solid punch at her. It was meant to connect, and to hurt, and MacLeod sprang to his feet in angered alarm even as Atsuko was blocking the punch with an efficient blow from her wrist. Atsuko laid him out -- MacLeod didn't see exactly what she did as he yanked open his office door, but Danny smacked into the ground with an audible thud.

And Kenshin was no longer standing up against the wall.

Kenshin moved, almost too fast to follow. Steel glinted under the room's lights. The tip of Kenshin's sword pressed against Danny's throat. In a cold, deadly voice, Kenshin said, "Do you make a habit of punching old women, little boy?"

"Kenshin!" Atsuko's voice cracked like a whip through the shocked silence. Every single man in the dojo was staring at the scene. Every single man was frozen in place, including several who -- like Mac -- had intended to go to Atsuko's aid.

"Kenshin," MacLeod said, as calmly as he could muster -- he could see the live wire tension in Kenshin's small frame. "No edged weapons in the dojo. House rules. Put it away."

"Now, Kenshin," Atsuko said, in the commanding tone of voice that only an old woman with decades of life experience could manage. MacLeod heard that tone of voice, noted it as an alpha bitch tone, and elected to let Atsuko handle this. Four hundred years of life had taught him a solid respect for alpha women.

Kenshin blinked. "He tried to hit you! And he called you ..."

"Since when do you fight my fights for me?" Atsuko snapped at him, cutting off his uncharacteristically defensive words. She reached out, and to MacLeod's real shock, yanked the sword out of Kenshin's hand. To Danny, she said, "My apologies, kiddo. My friend's a bit on edge at the moment, and a lot protective of me."

Danny rubbed his throat and backed away. "Your friend is fucking nuts!"

"I am sorry," Kenshin said, suddenly, eyes blinking rapidly. He took two steps towards the door.

"Kenshin Himura, if you run, I swear on everything holy you will be sleeping on the floor tonight," Atsuko snarled at him, in Japanese. "And for the next year."

"Et-to ..." He stopped short, looking very confused.

MacLeod wondered just how often Atsuko ripped into her husband. Likely not often; Kenshin had always struck him as most courteous when it came to relationships with others. He wanted to snicker, but the situation was far too serious. He couldn't have his Immortal friends baring live steel in the dojo against the customers -- somebody would be very likely to call the police. Atsuko clearly understood that. So did Kenshin; he looked embarrassed, now.

"Give me your sheath." Atsuko held her hand out to him. "I'll hold onto this for now."

Kenshin wordlessly handed her the sword's scabbard. Sweat had broken out on his forehead. He shook his head, and said, to Danny, who had yet to say a word, "I am sorry. I ... reacted wrongly. It will not happen again."

"Kenshin, go upstairs." MacLeod said. "We'll talk, in a minute?"

Kenshin nodded shortly, turned, and walked into the elevator. Methos said, sounding a bit alarmed, "You gave him a key?"

MacLeod ignored that comment. He introduced Methos to Atsuko quickly, giving his cover name, "Adam, Atsuko Himura. Himura-san, this is Adam Pierson, a friend of mine." MacLeod glanced upwards, "Atsuko, ah ..."

She said tightly, "If I go after him right now, I'll probably end up slapping him." She turned to Danny, raised an eyebrow, and said, "Let that be a lesson to you, kiddo, about not jumping to assumptions. You saw old woman and a teenager when we walked in, did you not? Kenshin and I have both spent far too much time in war zones; sometimes reacting before thinking is the only thing that has kept us alive."

Danny swallowed hard.

MacLeod added, "Go home, Danny. I saw you try to punch her. We'll talk later."

Danny grabbed his jacket off a bench by the door and pretty much bolted. MacLeod hoped he would come back; he was a stray Richie had taken under his wing a few months before. They both did that: try to give street kids help.

Behind MacLeod, the elevator rumbled to life. He spun around expecting to see either Kenshin returning or Atsuko going after him, but he saw, through the gate, Methos's feet disappearing up and out of sight. And Atsuko was now holding two swords.

MacLeod's eyebrows rose.

Atsuko shrugged around her armful of swords. "Should we go after them?"

"Adam couldn't touch Kenshin with or without a sword -- I've taken him down a few times myself -- and Kenshin won't kill him. Let's see what happens." MacLeod glanced upwards. "Sorry about Danny, by the way."

"I've spent the last two thirds of my life in war zones," Atsuko said, mildly. Her smoke-roughened accented voice was warm now, almost affectionate. "Punk kids, I can deal with. He honestly reminds me of half the soldiers I work with. -- The other half taught me to fight."

"Not Kenshin?" MacLeod asked, leading her back to his office. His other customers were slowly returning back to their normal activities.

She shook her head, making her short hair bounce and swish around her ears. "He got me started and taught me a few really effective dirty tricks -- I think they're ones people have used on him -- but he's actually not the greatest martial artist in the world. And he doesn't like to teach fighting. It reminds him of what he was, I suspect. And he'd much rather live in the present as much as possible."