Author's Notes If it's not clear from context, "Adam Pierson" is Methos's cover identity. Methos is a 5000 year old Immortal of somewhat dubious morals. Also, I personally like the character -- he's probably one of my favorite canon Highlander characters after Mac himself.

(And I've seen the Pippi dojinshi -- clean!!! -- at a con. Pippi chibis. Awwww.)

---------------

MacLeod's loft had frosted windows, but it was a nice day and the Highlander had propped several of them open. The view was strictly industrial, but Kenshin wasn't standing there staring out for pleasure. His mind was racing.

He had reacted not as Kenshin, but as the hitokiri he had once been -- or more precisely, the free swordsman after the hitokiri. For a two year period, when he was sixteen and seventeen years old, he had fought to protect and lead his comrades in arms on a battlefield of blood and death. It had been a treacherous, dangerous time and only his hair-trigger reflexes had kept him, and his men, alive.

Those times were long past.

When the brat downstairs had thrown a punch at Atsuko he had reacted from pure, visceral instinct. Those reflexes had always been there, but nearly completely suppressed by his training and iron will and constant hyper-alertness. He never reacted from surprise because he was never caught off guard.

Except he had been. He had only been paying half attention to Atsuko's impromptu, mischievous bout. When the kid had tried to hurt her he had simply reacted without conscious thought, instincts overriding conscious thought.

"Himura-san," the Immortal standing behind him said, "it hurts, doesn't it?"

"What do you want, Mr. Pierson?"

No answer.

"If you're going to try to challenge me, I suggest against it. I am not in a good mood." He was frightened of what he might do in a fight. He felt all out of sorts; his carefully constructed walls had crumbled. His control was gone. His rules broken. Himself, gone. He didn't know who he was anymore -- the impression of being inside the mind of another man entirely was so strong that he was scared to look in a mirror and find someone else staring back. It seemed to be getting worse, not better.

"I left my sword with Atsuko. This isn't about a challenge."

"I'm sorry about your sons."

"So am I. I understand you've adopted a few dozen children over the years, so I rather expect you understand that pain." Adam stepped closer. "They were good boys. Their mother was a wonderful woman."

"They were brave," he said, unwillingly. Then he glanced back, finally. "I was fourteen, Adam. In another time, another place, I might have been a playmate to your boys. They came at me with swords drawn."

"I never knew that."

Kenshin heaved a harsh sigh. "I was fourteen years old."

"I hated your guts. I cared nothing for the fact that you were a child. I wanted you dead for what you did."

"You didn't ... you killed my commanding officer to try to find me. No! You didn't kill him. You left him for me to kill." Kenshin still remembered the raw, gut-wrenching agony of being fourteen years old and finding his captain tortured past the point of any hope of survival. He remembered feeling terribly young and terribly scared. The man had not been able to end his own pain; he had begged for Kenshin to do it. Then when Kenshin had lifted his sword the man had turned his face away and flinched as it descended.

Kenshin still remembered that flinch. His captain had not wanted to die. But there had been no choice between life and death, only swift and sure or slow and lingering.

His captain had been only twenty.

They had been such children.

"Pain is an efficient way to make people talk," the old Immortal said, quietly.

"You tortured him."

The hawk-nosed man lifted one shoulder. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm really not. He was on the other side of a war and I needed information from him to escape with my own skin intact, in addition to a personal desire to rend you limb from limb -- and additionally, a personal desire to make sure the Hitokiri Battousai never became the Immortal I knew he would be. Because you scared me badly, Kenshin -- I never knew that you would be one of the best of us. I feared you would be one of the worst, and I figured preemptively lopping your head off would be a smart thing to do."

Adam paused, and scratched the back of his head, and said, "Never expected you'd kill me twice."

"You pulled the tendons out of his hands with pliers." Kenshin wasn't willing to let it go. His hand itched for his sword.

"Yes, and I can assure you, I've done worse in my life." Adam stepped closer. "You want me dead, don't you? You want to see my head fly off and my body twitching at your feet. You want to see my heart's blood pour out. You want to taste my Quickening."

"The thought had crossed my mind, yes," Kenshin snarled. His eyes flickered to amber and narrowed; what was this man thinking?

"Then meet me tonight, on the docks. Have at me."

Kenshin raised his hands up and shoved at Adam's chest. "Get away from me. You sicken me."

"What, you don't want to kill me?"

"I don't want to kill anyone." Kenshin shoved him again, but he weighed seventy or eighty pounds less than the much taller man. It was ineffectual and, he realized, probably looked a bit silly. Adam had him trapped up against the window and short of real violence, he wasn't getting away. Furiously, he snarled, "I'm not a killer. It ... is not who I am!"

"Just so." Adam stepped back. "That hasn't changed."

Kenshin, breathing hard, glared rudely up at him. Adam smirked. Kenshin thought, manipulative son of a bitch provoked that out of me on purpose.

"I don't expect we'll ever be friends, Himura, but I don't expect to ever lose my head to your blade, either. You're not like that." Methos turned and walked away. As he stood waiting for the elevator, he added, over his shoulder. "Guilt is overrated. I've learned it's much simpler to live in the present and forget the past. I don't even remember the name I was born with, anymore."

Kenshin was still contemplating that last statement -- how old was Methos? -- when the elevator returned, bearing MacLeod and his wife -- and Soujiro, Akane, Carrie, and Richie. The loft, which had been quiet, was suddenly filled with life and energy.

"So yes, she said yes," Richie said, chuckling. He gestured in the air with his hands. "Can you believe I have a date for tomorrow night?"

"And he's crowing it to the world," Carrie said, a grin on her face.

Kenshin spared the girl a glance; she was one of those he was sworn to protect, as he was oathsworn to protect her mother. He hadn't had a chance to scrutinize her yesterday.

Tall, by his standards -- at thirteen she was almost as tall as Atsuko and Richie, and a couple inches taller than either of her parents. She might grow a few inches more over the next few years, too. Whipcord lean; that build was youth, there, and martial arts and sword training. She reminded him of a half-grown colt, all angles and planes and hands and feet.

Curly dark hair framed shockingly blue eyes. Her expression and her ki spoke of a soul that was mercurial, switching between merriment and a quick temper with minimal provocation. She would be quick to forgive, loyal to a fault, ferociously protective of those weaker than her. And there was a sense of joy her ki that made his own soul lighter.

She would be fun to befriend, he thought.

He could feel the faintest hint of Immortality around her when she walked closer.

"Kenshin," she said, meeting his eyes. He was startled by how blue her eyes were. Her skin and hair were olive; he wondered what genetic heritage had led to that pale gaze ... and then remembered that as an Immortal, she had no human birth parents. Perhaps those eyes were simply the whim of the Gods.

She would mature to be a stunningly beautiful woman, he thought.

She grinned, "I did not get a chance to properly thank you, yesterday."

"Mr. Himura," Akane hissed, swatting her daughter on the back of the head. In Japanese, she apologized, "Kenshin-san, I am sorry. She's very American, this one is."

He found himself stressing his Japanese-ness, bobbing a bow in her direction. "You are most welcome, Miss Seta."

She made a face at him. "You're mocking me."

"No, your mother," Kenshin straightened up.

Akane stuck her tongue out at him.

He should have slipped into the familiar pattern of banter and teasing; he had known Akane rather well as a child and teenager and it should have been easy to fall back on old habits. But somehow, his comment had felt awkward, and Akane's expression grated wrongly with him. Again he was struck by the feeling of not being himself, of being a stranger inside his own skin.

A buzz, from below, another Immortal.

"Hail, hail, the gang's all here," Richie said, as the elevator rumbled to life.

Kenshin extended his senses, feeling not just their Immortal buzz but also the sense of warriors -- warrior women. He identified them and said, "Chiyoko and Amanda. And someone with them -- your friend Joe, maybe."

"Together?" MacLeod said, with some alarm. "And how do you do that?"

"He's psychic," Atsuko said. She was watching him closely. Too closely. He was embarrassed by his earlier actions, and by the fact that she felt the need to watch him like he was a badly behaved dog that might forget his training and bite someone.

MacLeod grunted.

He'd been right about the identities of the arriving Immortals, and Joe. And the women were lugging beer and wine -- Joe, with his crutches, couldn't carry any -- and Methos was trailing after them with his arms around a case of Guinness too.

Somehow, someone had decided to have a party. Apparently not MacLeod, because his eyebrows rose in surprise.

Amanda said, "Soujiro and Akane's flight back isn't for two days. Figured we'd celebrate Carrie's safe return."

Kenshin winced. He did not feel like celebrating. He saw Akane flinch as well. However, Soujiro wordlessly reached an arm over Amanda's grip and retrieved a bottle of beer from the box she was carrying. Apparently, Souji was willing to tolerate a party.

"Amanda," MacLeod shook his head, "You could have asked."

"What? You'd have said no. Can't remember the last time I've seen this many of us in one place where we all like each other ..." She gave an insouciant shrug and started putting beer away in his fridge.

"Speak for yourself," Adam said, a comment apparently aimed at no one in particular rather than directly at Kenshin.

"Yeah, nobody likes you," Joe shot back at Adam.

Adam responded by saluting him with a bottle of Guinness and an upraised finger.

MacLeod met Kenshin's eyes. There was apology there.

Richie observed, "Hey Mac, at least they brought their own booze."

------------

Kenshin wasn't drinking.

Atsuko watched him cautiously. He was quiet -- too quiet. Kenshin liked parties, as a rule, and he was generally an active participant in them. Put him in a group of men and he was just one of the guys; put him with a group of women and ... well, he ended up the center of their attention regardless of his wishes on that matter.

She'd seen gay men less popular with female friends than Kenshin.

But not today.

And this group didn't know him well enough to realize how out of character it was for him to withdraw and sit by himself.

He was seated in an open window, feet propped up on the sill, a bottle of beer in one hand. He'd been holding the beer for hours and not drinking it, obviously lost in thought. Entreaties by the others to join them for cards or sports-watching on the television had been politely turned down. She was honestly surprised that Kenshin hadn't excused himself from the gathering altogether, and by the nervous looks that the others occasionally shot him, he was making them a little uneasy.

Akane, MacLeod, Richie and Soujiro were playing cards at MacLeod's kitchen table. Joe and Amanda were watching American football. Despite Kenshin's mood, they appeared to be trying to have a good time.

Carrie and Chiyoko had vanished down the elevator half an hour before. Atsuko wondered what her grand niece was up to -- Kenshin had watched them go and had not seemed bothered by it, and neither had Carrie's parents. Still, she was curious.

She rose, let herself down the elevator, and went in search of them.

She found them, giggling together in the lady's restroom, downstairs. Giggling. Like the schoolgirl that Carrie was, and that Chiyoko hadn't been in over a century.

Chiyoko's purse was open between them; Chiyoko was applying -- rather expertly -- makeup to Carrie's face. An amazing assortment of various descriptions of makeup was scattered on the counter, and by the makeup smeared paper towels, they'd been trying out cosmetics for awhile. Atsuko had a good idea that Carrie had asked Chiyoko for advice on makeup, and Chiyoko had offered to demonstrate.

Carrie also had a cigarette in one hand and hastily hid it behind her back when she saw Atsuko.

Atsuko raised an eyebrow at her. "I'd tell you that causes cancer, but you know what you are."

"They're mine, not hers," Carrie said, defensively, obviously not wanting Atsuko to think that Chiyoko was -- what, a bad influence?

Atsuko contemplated the issue for second. Carrie had been through enough, she decided. She didn't need to be harassed by her elders over a nicotine habit. She held her hand out. Carrie, with a resentful look, handed her the still-smoking cigarette.

Atsuko took a draw on it and then passed it back, worldessly.

Carrie grinned. It was a hugely relieved grin, but there was also an astonished light in her eyes. Atsuko thought in mild irritation that Carrie would likely be shocked at what other substances she'd smoked in her life. She was a child of the sixties and seventies, after all, and had gone to college in London, with all that implied. Cigarettes -- oh, cigarettes were the least of what she'd done.

Kenshin had a litter of kittens when she'd told him about some of the concerts she'd been to, and the behavior therein.

Atsuko simply shrugged. Carrie might be concerned that she would think Chiyoko was a bad influence because of the cigarettes, but really, she'd have to be careful about what she said to the kid or she would be the bad example. "I started smoking when I was nine. Haven't ever been able to stop. Kenshin hates it. It's a dirty habit, I guess, but ..."

Carrie asked curiously, "Is it weird?"

"What?"

"You and him ... I mean ... you're ... " Unspoken, old. There was no polite way to say it.

Atsuko grinned. "Kiddo, I've got a husband with the body of a young God and the stamina of the same."

Carrie blushed ferociously. For a moment, Atsuko was also concerned that, given Carrie's recent traumatic experiences, she might have just stepped over the line. But Carrie said, "D-dirty old men have nothing on dirty old women, I've noticed."

Atsuko laughed, throwing her head back, "That's the truth, isn't it, Chiyoko-san?"

"Chi-chan, please." Chiyoko snagged the cigarette from Carrie's hand. "And yes, I'd agree with that statement."

Atsuko waved a hand in the air. "Chi-chan it is, if you'll call me Atsuko-chan."

"Mou, that's weird. You're Kenshin's wife," Chiyoko said, uncertainly. Atsuko realized, with a bit of mental whiplash, that Chiyoko viewed Kenshin as her sensei -- even though Chiyoko was twice Atsuko's age. It sort of drove home that Kenshin was, by mortal standards, ancient.

"I'm younger than you," Atsuko pointed out, which earned her an absolutely brilliant smile from Chiyoko. What had she said? Oh, yeah, she'd acknowledged that Chiyoko was an adult, likely. "Granted, if we ever meet up in Japan where people are likely to understand what you're saying, you'd better call me Baba or something."

Chiyoko smiled, amusement touching her eyes with a merry glint. Carrie giggled.

----------------

There was an unmistakable undercurrent of hostility in the room, and it blackly amused Kenshin to watch it.

Mostly it was between MacLeod and Soujiro -- or more precisely, it was one-sided mistrust of Soujiro, from MacLeod. Soujiro didn't seem to care about MacLeod's opinion. He was, however, winning hand after hand at poker. This was pissing MacLeod off -- and Joe, as well, who was watching Soujiro very closely, as if thinking he was cheating.

Kenshin had contemplated the idea of Soujiro and poker and had abstained from the game.

Dice, now, with Soujiro, might be interesting. Or darts. Or golf. Golf with Soujiro Seta promised to be all sorts of entertaining; he might just find an excuse someday to Challenge him to eighteen holes.

He turned his attention back to the room.

Amanda wasn't exactly fond of Chiyoko, either. Kenshin was tempted to pull her aside and tell her she had nothing to worry about; it was clear to him that MacLeod's only interest in Chiyoko was platonic. He had determined that Chiyoko and MacLeod had ended up friends within a few weeks of her arrival in America, when she really was still a child.

Amanda, however, was the sort of woman to be ferociously jealous for no good reason. And unless he missed his guess she was the sort of woman who was also fickle, prone to leaving for another man on a whim. Ironic, that.

He wondered what MacLeod saw in her. And he thought MacLeod could do better -- if a long term relationship was what Mac wanted. He wasn't sure about that.

Amanda laughed at something Richie said, head thrown back to expose a slender white neck. Dark hair, long limbs, bright eyes. She was alive ... vivacious and mischievous, and sex on two legs.

He stopped wondering what MacLeod saw in her.

Adam, now ... there was low-grade generalized hostility towards Adam from most of the room. Richie's was keenest, and Kenshin wondered what had happened there. Kenshin's own dislike was acute; the man had a ki that was all things that Kenshin couldn't ever respect. Adam was dishonest, arrogant, cowardly, and manipulative. He was a man who used others to his own ends and would do anything, including severely dishonorable things, to survive. He was also a man who could be bullied or led by others to do things which he would ordinarily have not done.

He was a weak man.

Kenshin though absently that Adam was someone whose head he could be provoked into taking, if Adam pushed him too far. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice, that he had with Marshall. It would be unwise of Adam to Challenge him again.

Yet MacLeod seemed to like him. Though Kenshin suspected that Mac's choice of friends was occasionally suspect, witness exhibit A: Amanda.

Joe Dawson, however, was quite fond of Adam. That much was clear by their friendly banter. And Adam returned the friendship; Kenshin suspected that Joe might be one of the few people who could inspire Adam to better behavior.

However, nobody seemed to be about to actually come to blows, or even harsh words, so he finally dropped off the windowsill and onto to the fire escape outside it. It was a nice night -- cool, ocean-scented breeze and high clouds scudding before a rising full moon. Through a gap in neighboring buildings he could see the lights of boats far out on the ocean.

He tried to still his mind. Meditation normally bored him to tears, but his mind was so full of other people's memories and thoughts and feelings that he wasn't sure what was his own anymore. He wanted quiet in his head, and time to think undisturbed by intrusive thoughts and images that didn't seem to be entirely his own.

Was this what it felt like to be crazy?

Was he crazy?

He honestly wasn't sure.

The thought of losing his mind terrified him.

Unbidden, an image came from Marshall's memories ... it was of a man, an Immortal, an Immortal who had killed him and whose head Chiyoko had taken. A man saying, "Sure, I'll kill him. You want the girl after I do, right?"

And a memory of thinking that with that annoying red-haired samurai out of the way, Chiyoko would need a new teacher. Of saying, "Do not touch the young Immortal. You can do what you will with the older mortal woman as long as she's dead when you're done."

Only it wasn't his thoughts or his memories.

Bile rose in his throat. So Marshall had sent the Immortal after him that Chiyoko had killed. He wasn't exactly surprised, except to realize just how truly evil Marshall had been, even then. Kenshin had known his soul was tainted but even so ...

"Maa," Kenshin said, shaking his head at the disorienting feeling of remembering memories that involved his own life, but weren't his. How wrong it was to have a memory of contracting a hit against himself. And of telling the hitman to have his way with Kaoru. There were emotions and thoughts tied to those images and it was hard to tell them from his own.

And they were very, very wrong emotions and thoughts.

He was just so ... overwhelmed. The thing with the boy, downstairs, earlier ... he'd reacted as the hitokiri he had once been, because for a moment, he had been unable to remember who he was now. It frightened him to lose his control like that.

"Mr. Himura?" A voice said, quietly, behind him.

He half turned, saw Carrie, and forced a smile to his lips. "Hello, Carrie-dono."

Dono.

He didn't much use the honorific anymore, even when speaking Japanese. It drew too much attention to himself, and generally made people think he wasn't a native speaker of the language even when he spoke without any trace of an accent. But he had, now, without a thought on the matter, called her Carrie-dono.

She grinned. She had slightly crooked teeth; not bad enough to need braces, but the slightly uneven line of incisors gave her smile character. "Hello, Himura-sama."

"Umm." She'd just one-upped him on the scale of honorofics. He wasn't sure what to make of that. "Can I help you with something?"

"Not really." She pulled the window shut. "I just wanted to thank you. For saving my life. Without my parents listening. That man ... he was really evil, wasn't he?"

"Aa, Carrie-dono. That he was."

"Oh great and honorable Himura-sama ..."

"Ken-nii," he said.

"Huh?"

"Ken-nii. It's what most of the children call me." And half the adults. Though Atsuko had recently started a fad of them calling him Pan-nii, as in Peter Pan, the boy who would not grow up. Uncle Pan. He wasn't sure if he was amused by that or appalled.

Atsuko had stopped calling him Pan-nii herself, after the first time he'd sweetly called her Tinkerbell.

Gods, he loved her so much -- thinking of her made him look through the window at her. She met his gaze, smiled, then fanned her cards out on the table. Richie's, "D'oh!" of protest at her win was clearly audible. She had a pile of poker chips almost equivalent to Soujiro's.

Atsuko kept everything in perspective for him. She reminded him he was human, and kept him grounded in the real world.

"Kenny," she tried out.

His eyes narrowed.

"Ken-nii-sama?"

"Now you mock me."

"A little." She slid down to sit with her legs dangling through the railing, and arms hugging three bars. "Sorry. Are you really a hundred and fifty years old?"

"Yeah. A little more, now, actually." He slid down to sit on the fire escape with his back to the wall. The grate under his butt wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing to sit on, but it put him on eye level with her.

"You must've seen some amazing things."

"That I have." And some terrible things: wars, famines, vicious hard times. "I try to live in the present, though. The past ... can come back to haunt you if you do not let it go."

He realized suddenly that was something he shared in common with Methos.

"I think I understand that. I'm trying not to think about what Marshall had planned for me," she shivered. "But I knew someone would save me. I knew it. And then you did."

He sighed and stared up at the stars. What if he had not been there at that precise moment? "Don't always count on someone else saving you, Carrie-d... Carrie. Next time, you might have to save yourself."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, then twisted around to face him. Very seriously, she said, "I know, but I tried to get away from him a few times and he was faster. And that ... toady ... of his. Kerral. He said he'd kill me. Marshall just wanted me to die young and be his girlfriend forever. And, eww." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and stared out at the night as well, then said, "I had to have faith someone would come. Or I might have ..."

... might have taken what he was offering, Kenshin filled in the blank, as she trailed off. She had convinced herself she would be rescued so that she had another choice besides submitting to her captor. His stomach lurched painfully, wondering just how bad, and desperate, and frightening things had been for this child.

Her ki ... was bright. He had liked her instantly, from the moment he'd actually taken a moment to notice her. There was an edge to it; he suspected she was the sort of girl that the authorities called a juvenile delinquent. But they would be wrong if they did. There was nothing of evil in her, just strong opinions and a tendency towards rebellion and defiance. And a very well developed sense of justice. She would have been more angry than scared, he decided.

"I'm sorry we didn't find you sooner."

"Hell. I'm just glad you did." She turned around to face him, then said, in a complete change of subject, "You know my mom has a picture of you on her desk?"

"Aa?" He wasn't surprised.

"Yeah. It's adorable. You have your hair in braids out to here ..." she held her hands out on either side of her head. "Like Pippi Longstockings."

He spluttered. "Akane used coathanger wires to get that effect." And Atsuko had taken the picture, and he had wanted to strangle her for it. And then she had given practically every member of not only the Sagara family but the Trevors as well a copy of it for Christmas.

He wasn't about to admit he had his own copy of that photograph in his wallet.

"I have all the Pippi Longstockings books. Margaret -- that's my best friend in High School -- says that I'm too old for them. I say she's full of shit. I like the books."

"I like them too," he confessed.

"You've read them?" She seemed shocked that a man would read them.

He could have been defensive. He could have reminded her of the dozens of children over the years that he had personally raised himself or been a beloved adopted uncle to. He could have passed it off as a knowledge gained from bed-time stories and rainy days spent reading to youngsters. After Kaoru had passed away, all he had to live for at times were the children.

Instead, he simply said, "Yes."

"Wizard of Oz?" She said, apparently testing his knowledge of children's books.

"Loved it. And I saw the movie in the theaters when it was first released." It had been one of the first color movies he had ever seen.

"Walter Farley books?"

"Own them all, that I do. I've always loved horses, though I rarely get a chance to ride in these modern times."

"Beverly Cleary?"

"Like manga for Western kids, without pictures. I prefer manga."

She laughed. "Me too."

He grinned, and then realized that, somehow, she had sucked him forward to the now. He felt like himself again.

"Now you have me picturing Pippi Longstockings manga and it's ... scary." She shuddered.

"There's dojinshi," he assured her solemnly.

"You're shitting me."

He mentally winced at the language, but simply said, "I'll send you some and prove it."

"I'll look forward to it." She paused a beat. "Should I look forward to it?"

He said, with a grin, "That entirely depends on your tolerance for chibis."

"Very low."

He snickered, though he wasn't sure why he found that those two growled word so funny.

She folded her arms and said in irritation, "Himura Kenshin, you are laughing at me."

"Heaven forbid I laugh at you." He held his hands up protectively. "You might hit me upside the head, that you might,"

"... or something," she agreed. She was silent, then wrapping her arms around her knees, staring thoughtfully at him. "Mr. Himura, I feel like I've met you before. It's the oddest sense of deja vu, talking to you."

He tilted his head sideways. He hadn't considered the thought that they might have met before, in a past life. However, she was certainly easy to talk to, and something about her was oddly familiar.

She blinked blue eyes framed by glossy dark curls.

Kenshin stared, openly, forgetting all manners. He'd completely missed it until she had said something. But Tomoe had once told him he would always know when he met someone from a past life, if he was observant enough. And now that he was looking he knew, without any shadow of a doubt, that yes, he knew this girl's soul.

Can I kill Marshall again for you? He thought, irreverently. That he had saved her made everything worthwhile. He would do it again. He would do it a thousand times, and accept all the pain and the evil down upon his own head for her.

"What?"

"Perhaps we met in a past life, Carrie-dono," he said, rising. His knees popped, and his back twinged, reminding him of how uncomfortable the fire escape was to sit on.

"Maybe so." That grin she favored him with was achingly familiar.

He offered her a hand up, and was startled when she rose and stood inches taller than he was. She wasn't supposed to be taller than he was. It made him feel off balance, to look up at her. He'd always looked up to everyone else, but Kaoru had been smaller even than he was.

"Kenshin," she said, "what is it?"

"Nothing you need to worry yourself about, that you don't." He was dizzy and off balance. For one acute, painful moment he was sorry he had proposed to Atsuko, and then he felt horribly guilty and terribly confused because he loved Atsuko with all his heart ...

... and yet it felt like he'd betrayed this soul who stood before him, because if he'd only waited a little longer

... He'd waited seventy years, mourning the loss of Kaoru.

And now she stood before him ... not her, but her soul ...

She was thirteen.

With a snap, reality came back to him. She was thirteen, in a culture that treated people as children into their late teens, even early twenties, and where women commonly remained unmarried until their late twenties or early thirties -- or sometimes, never even married at all.

He had not betrayed her at all. He also had a sudden idea why she was thirteen.

He tipped his head and asked, "Can I ask you a funny question, Carrie-dono?"

"Yeah?" She said, in a tone of voice that said he could ask, but she might hit him up side the head with a proverbial bokken if she decided not to like the question.

"When were you born?"

"Kenshin no baka, I am an Immortal."

He blinked. "Et-to, forgive this one's foolishness. I forgot."

She added, with a grin that said she was amused by his error -- Immortals were always found, therefore, she would not have an exact date of birth. "My birth certificate has a date on it, though. My parents had to guess."

She gave him that date, casually.

It was the day after he had proposed to Atsuko.

Kaoru had watched over him until that day, and then she had passed the duty on to Atsuko. He remembered now that she had left a shinai in the hotel room. It had been a gift from beyond the grave, and a sign of her approval ... Kaoru fashion.

"Kenshin?" She asked, then corrected herself, "Ken-nii, sorry ... are you okay?"

"Aaa, that I am." He smiled a genuine smile at her. "Come, let us go inside. Perhaps I should be more social with the others."

She lit up like a beacon. It was, he supposed, not entirely another change of subject when she gushed, "Richie's adorable! I love red hair and he's got the cutest eyes and ..."

Kenshin ruthlessly squelched a growl that was more protective than jealous. Oh, no. Tammy was one thing -- but Carrie, and boyfriends, was going to be another problem entirely. He might have to move to San Francisco and personally challenge every one of them to duels. And Carrie would promptly hate him, and ... "He's too old for you, Carrie-dono," he said, forcing a low chuckle. He reached down to lift the window up.

She gave him a look that was equal parts embarrassed and amused. "I said he was cute. I didn't say I wanted to date him. Like, eww, Ken-nii."

Kenshin held his hands up defensively. "I am reminded that I do not, and never will, understand teenage girls."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

He just grinned, amused beyond words by the very familiar indignation in her eyes and voice.

"Hey! You're laughing at me!"

"That I am," he said, and fled through the window as she tried to smack him in the head. She connected, a glancing blow, and he heard a sharp indrawn breath from Atsuko and there were alarmed reactions all around the room. For a moment, he couldn't figure out why they were worried and then remembered how on edge he'd been.

He held his hands up again, fending Carrie's threats off -- she had her fist upraised. "He's laughing at me!" She protested to the room at large.

"Oro! Enough, enough, you win," Kenshin said, then dodged one more blow from her. He was surprised at how normal he felt, how ordinary it seemed, to be hassled by one of the family kids; to goof around and laugh and be teased.

Later that evening, he hugged Akane and Carrie goodbye, and grasped Soujiro's hand in a firm handshake of friendship, and watched from the street outside the dojo as they drove away. They had a flight back to San Francisco the next day and he didn't think he'd see them again, for now.

Atsuko said beside his shoulder, "I'm proud of Akane, Kenshin. Remember how messed up she was?"

"She's got people to live for," Kenshin said, quietly. "Aa, that she does. People to remind her who she is. Soujiro, and Carrie."

"You and Carrie seemed to hit it off."

He glanced up at Atsuko, as they rode the elevator down to the ground floor. She met his gaze, eyebrow lifted questioningly.

Only when they were outside, and in the private confines of his rented car, did he tell her, "She's the reincarnation of Kaoru. I'm certain of it."

Atsuko went very silent, and very still, in the passenger's side of the car. She finally let a whoof of breath out, inhaled a shuddering breath, and stared away from him, out at the parking lot. He could see Chiyoko, past her, visible under a streetlight, climbing on her little crotch rocket of a bike -- Chiyoko hooked the kickstand with her toe, flipped it up and out of the way, then gunned the gas and zipped off.

Atsuko said, finally, "I see."

"She's not Kaoru, Atsuko. I know that."

"She's Immortal. And she reminds you of her," Atsuko said, voice queerly soft.

Anger rose -- normally, her words would not even have annoyed him; he would have felt only upset that he had hurt her. The anger he had absorbed during the Quickening was affecting his very soul, he feared.

He wanted to throw harsh words at her. To remind her she was mortal and would die someday -- sooner, rather than later, if she persisted in smoking three packs of cigarettes a day and throwing herself into harm's way. To tell her that once she was gone, he was not going to spend the next seventy years mourning her as he had mourned Kaoru if someone came along that suited his fancy. To tell her that he was going to live millenia and he wanted permanence. That he didn't want the heartbreak and horror of another woman dying in his arms.

Atsuko was silent.

So was he. But he seethed. And it scared him. Because simmering anger wasn't anything he had ever experienced before -- oh, he could be pissed off, but it wasn't his nature to stew or carry a grudge.

Yet he found himself mad at Atsuko for her simple words, and the anger settled into his stomach like a ball of lead, making him want to grind his teeth and glare and growl. He drove with short, sharp, angry motions. He couldn't bring himself to look at her; he might say things that were untrue and undeserved.

Finally, though it was almost physically painful, he said, "I apologize, Atsuko."

"For what?"

"For being mad at you, just now. It is wrong and for that I am sorry. You have done nothing to earn my anger, yet I am ... unhappy."

"Kenshin?"

"Aa?"

"I love you," she said, in Japanese -- gravely, and with the deepest of feelings. This wasn't the casual, "Love you, sweetie," she tossed at him on a regular basis, in English. It was much more.

Simple words that drove the air from his lungs and left him feeling more disoriented than ever. He, who was so good at figuring out people's motives that he was often accused of being psychic couldn't figure out what his wife was thinking. Where had that I love you come from? It had been utterly heartfelt.

They rode in silence for a few moments. Then she asked, "Are you going to stay in Seacouver for a bit?"

"I was thinking I might. I don't ... I don't trust myself around the family. MacLeod has ... had the same thing happen to him that happened to me. He knows not to trust me." The thought had also occurred to Kenshin that MacLeod was ruthless enough to deal with him, if worst came to worst. He'd come closer than he liked to killing the kid in the dojo, earlier, with very little provocation.

"Funny qualification for a friend," Atsuko said, acerbically. "The not trusting you bit."

Kenshin just sighed.

"I have to go back to Iraq in a week. My leave is pretty short." She rested her head against his shoulder.

"I need you," he said, quietly, a protest of her leaving. It was something he would have admitted to no one else in the world, that he needed her.

And that, he realized in a moment of clarity, was the essential difference between Atsuko and Kaoru.

He had loved Kaoru. Worshipped her. Protected her, with fierce devotion. Adored her. Given everything he had to make her life a better one -- he had devoted his life to her, and made her the center of his. He would have cheerfully, with a rurouni smile, laid down his life for Kaoru.

And he had done his level best to never show Kaoru his darker sides.

Atsuko -- the way he related to Atsuko -- was different. Oh, he loved her with as much fierce devotion as he ever had Kaoru, but she was very much more his equal. She was far more like Sano to him than Kaoru, even though he loved her as a woman.

If Kaoru had announced she was going to take a camera into a war zone and bring back pictures in the hopes of stopping the bloodshed ... he'd have been frankly horrified. If she had insisted on going, he would have accompanied her, and he would have been profoundly unhappy about the whole idea.

Kaoru could take care of herself ... somewhat ... certainly, she had been tougher than most women in her time.

However, he had still felt compelled to protect her.

Atsuko ... was different. Atsuko damn well knew what the dangers were, and probably better than he did. And she chose, again and again, to travel to some of the most dangerous places in the world. Starting with Vietnam and including Iraq, she had spent forty years as a photojournalist in various war zones. She'd followed after famous writers and reporters; had worked for everyone from National Geographic to the BBC.

She had a calling, a profound desire to change the world with the lens of her camera.

And he knew she could die. Or be shot. Or raped. Or blown up by a bomb. Or die in a car accident. Or end up in some miserable foreign jail where she would die of disease, malnutrition, or torture or come back a broken shell of herself.

She knew the score as well as he did.

And yet she still went.

And her pictures did make a difference. They were important. . And he had long ago -- before he ever acknowledged how much he loved her -- had accepted this. And so he let her go into war zones on her own, as he had accepted Sanosuke's desire to fight his own fights.

Really, her approach to ending wars and bloodshed was so much healthier than his had been.

"I know you need me," Atsuko said, quietly. "But I've a job to do, Kenshin."

And she was right. And her voice spoke of heartbreak when she said it.

He didn't state again that he needed her, even though he wanted to. He didn't want to be alone. He wanted people around him that he knew and loved to remind him of who he really was.

"I'll call you. Whenever I can. More often than I have been."

"Aa."

"Kenshin, I'm sorry we don't get to see each other more often."

"I understand your motivations, Atsuko." He glanced at her. Her jaw was set in a tight, unhappy line. "I, too, have had to leave those behind that I love in the interest of a greater good. I understand."

Shishio.

Kaoru's heartbroken sobs when he had hugged her and left her still surfaced in his dreams sometimes. He vowed he wouldn't give Atsuko that sort of angst. Besides, he was a guy. Throwing himself at her feet and crying, "Don't leave me and go into danger alone!" ... was just not to be done. Even if that was what he felt. He had his pride, after all.

Her hand rested on his knee, thumb swirling in circles.

"A few more years and I'll retire." She hunched her shoulders as she said this. She'd been saying it for the last ten years. He didn't believe her. She would throw herself into the face of the injustices of the world again, and again, and again, until the day she died.

Sometimes, he teased her about attaching a tripod mount for her camera to her wheelchair when she was ninety ... but not tonight. He simply said, "It is selfish of this one, but I do look forward to that day."