Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea.

It is dark.

It is quiet.

She lies in the darkness and ponders the possibility of her death. Her body feels heavy, as though stones have been tied to her limbs and are dragging her down. The pain in her shoulder is gone, as is the pain in her abdomen. The taste of blood is gone from her mouth. The voices that previously screamed from her mind are quiet.

She wonders if this is what death feels like.

"Kawaii sukoshi baka."

The voice calls to her from the blackness that surrounds her. She attempts to wrinkle her nose in distaste at the nickname, but is not surprised to find that she is unable to move. She waits.

"Do not weep for me, otome."

She cannot help it, she wants to tell the voice. The tears will not stop falling. They fall and fall; and she feels that she will someday drown in them.

"Know that I am proud of you."

What has she done, that the voice should feel pride in her accomplishments? She has done nothing to better the world; nothing to better her own life. She cannot even claim the revenge that she was sworn will be hers. She is a failure.

"Know that I love you more than life."

Why? She wants to scream the question, and anger wells when her mouth will not open. Why do you say that you love me when you left me here alone? Why would you say that you love me and then go where I cannot follow?

"Live long for me."

She despises the voice for giving that command. She does not wish to live any longer. She wants to let the blackness consume her. She wants the voice to lead her to whatever comes next when a person dies. She wants to go to sleep here in the blackness and never wake again. Living hurts too damn much to do it anymore.

"And find happiness."

The voice is gone now, and she is alone again. The tears well in her eyes, making them sting, but she cannot shed them. She cannot speak to voice her pleas for the voice to come back. She cannot plead for the voice to take her with it.

"Aishiteru yo."

It is barely more than a breath again her ears. She cannot make the traditional reply. She cannot say goodbye for the second time.

What is she to do now? She has lost her fight. The opponent she has pursued for so long has defeated her. If she leaves the quiet, the darkness, she will have to deal with the pain that is her constant companion in life. She will have to deal with the maniac that covets her. She will have to deal with the man she loves and his disgraceful lack of faith in her. Why not simply stay here? Why not simply remain in the quiet and the dark?

"...I was jealous of you, Midori-san. Kenshin acts so differently around you; it's like you bring out a completely different person in him that none of the rest of us can even touch..."

The quiet is broken by the words of the unseen girl. More are soon to follow.

"You should know that you are beautiful to me, kabu."

The woman feels her body move at last; she flinches at the sound of that voice, unnerved by it's appearence in the darkness that presses around her.

"I would like to kiss you very badly, kabu."

"I find it easier to be myself around you, kabu."

"Kabu...my kabu...I'm sorry..."

The voice is coming faster now, the words clearer. The tears that previously burned her eyes are now pooling in her libs, making waves of sorrow across the bottom of her vision.

"...I wish I could make you understand. I wish you could know the feelings of my heart...don't leave me, kabu...please...stay with me..."

She wants to tell the nice voice to shut up, to save it's lies for someone stupid enough to believe them. She wants the voice to go away.

"I will never leave you, kabu."

You left me once, she thinks, furious at the lies, the empty promises. What will stop you from doing so again?

"Shhh, kabu, it is alright now. You are safe with me; I will not let anyone harm you...it's alright, kabu; I have you, you are safe now..."

And who, the woman wonders, is going to keep me safe from you?

She wants to bark that she does not need the voice to protect her; she needs the speaker to trust in her ability to protect herself.

A new voice breaks the returning silence, booming at her from the darkness. The arrogance and self-appreciation in the voice annoy her.

"You love that baka, don't you?"

"It is not enough!" she yells, surprised to find that she can do so. She rises, pushing herself into a sitting position as the weights ease from her limbs. She sits as a child who is alone, with her legs pressed to her chest and her chin resting on her knees.

"Love is not enough!" she shouts to the darkness.

The next voice to be heard freezes her. The woman wants to cringe; she wants to petition the darkness to swallow her so that she may hide from the voice and the accusations it carries.

"Why are you still here, Midori? I told you to leave. Are you working for Shishio?"

"No!" the woman shouts. She lurches to her feet, throwing her arms wide and spinning in a circle as she screams her frustration at the darkness. "Why will you not trust me? Why will you not believe in me?"

"You slept with him. What am I supposed to believe?"

The tears that previously burned at the back of her eyes are now cutting a hot path down her cheeks, dripping from her chin into the surrounding darkness. Their tiny splashes echo in her ear.

The nice voice is whispering to her again.

"I owe you an apology."

Empty words, empty words to fill the woman's head. No truth in the words, no trust in the words; the words are empty to her. Empty like her life. Empty like her heart.

"Jealousy. I was jealous that you would share yourself like that with a man like Shishio."

As if the speaker had ever asked her to share herself with him. As if Shishio had been the woman's executioner, and not the speaker. As if Shishio had ever denied the woman his trust, as the speaker did.

"I was thinking earlier that my life would be so much simpler if I could just leave you to die."

The woman's voice sounded in the darkness, even as the woman herself said nothing.

"It would be simpler, but I could never do it. I love you too much to kill you. I love you too much to let Shishio kill you. I love you, Kenshin Himura. I will always love you, even if it leads to my death."

The darkness is growing lighter.

"You should never feel jealous of Shishio. My heart has always been yours, and it will always be yours Kenshin. Only yours."

In the grayness where the woman now stands, she can see the extent of her injuries. The wound in her chest weeps blood down her side and arm. The bite mark on the skin where neck and shoulder meet is an angry purple, dried blood trailing from the edges; it bite throbs in time with her heartbeat. The hole in her abdomen, combined with the broken rib and the slash that goes from littlest right rib to the tip of her left hip paints her torso a combination of black, blue, purple, and the scarlet of fresh blood as the liquid trickles down her stomach and flanks. She looks a most ghastly sight.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are when you're angry."

The disimbodied, hated voice still carries the ability to make her skin crawl with disgust.

"Once I kill the Battousai and crush the Meiji government - once I have the nation of Japan cradled on the brink of chaos and the strong of this country lined up behind me - I'm going to make you mine forever, Midori. I won't need Yumi anymore because I'm going to make you my woman, and the goddess of my Japan.

"Whether you like it or not."

She is still seething with rage when the next voice breaks the quiet. This most hated voice speaks low in her ear in the bored, superior tone that infuriates her to no end.

"You can stay here and pout or come and help you precious Battousai. I don't care which. Make up your own damn mind for once, youma, and don't make a decision based on what a dead man would have told you to do."

The woman is not sure whether she wants to thank the speaker or strike him. Probably strike him.

She does not wish to return.

But...if she does not return, her beloved may die.

The mere thought of such an outcome frightens the woman more than the thought of death, more than the thought of continuing to live. She must not let the man she loves die. She will not.

So, resigned to her fate, the woman takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

Deep within Mount Hiei, in a dark room reeking of blood, Zetsumei Kurohyou gave a hacking cough and opened her green, slightly glowing eyes.

The pain of her wounds nearly knocked Midori back into unconsciousness. For a moment, the dark room seemed to shimmer around her, the edges of her vision wavering alarmingly before solidifying once again. Sluggishly, Midori braced her feet on the floor and levered herself upright, leaning heavily on the wall behind her for support. Wearily she took stock of her situation.

She was alone in the room where she had lost her match with Saito. She had lost a substantial amout of blood, and the wound from where Satio had pinned her to the wall was still bleeding. The gash on her abdomen had already clotted over. She was weak, dizzy, and heavily wounded.

On the plus side, Midori was pleased to note that the voices of the dead were silent again. That, at least, was a blessing to her somewhat frazzled mind.

Midori staggared away from the wall, gripped the hilt of her katana from where it was still stabbed into the floor, and pulled the blade free.

She didn't have time to worry about herself. She had to find Himura.

Now.

With no grace left to her mangled body, Midori dragged herself out of the room and set of down the hall as fast as her shaky legs would carry her. In all likelihood, Himura was either still trying to get past the boy Soujiro, had already lost and was in deep shit, or was now on his way to face Shishio. Midori had no idea how long she had been unconscious; no idea how much Himura had really improved with the training he underwent with that jackass Hiko. Was Himura badly hurt, at the mercy of that annoying boy or his insane master? Was Sanosuke hurt?

She had no way of knowing, and the uncertainty had her dragging herself down the hall that much faster.

"Well, well. It looks like you're more stubborn than I had anticipated, youma."

That voice had her pulling to a stop, eyes locked on the boots interuppting the stretch of floor that she had been following.

"Well? Are you just going to examine my feet all day, youma, or are you going to snap some witty retort?"

"Fuck you, Saito," she snarled, raising her head with much too great an effort to meet Saito's mocking gaze. "Would you move? You're blocking the way."

Saito had the audacity to tsk at her, as if she were a naughty little girl who was backtalking her superiors. Bastard wolf.

"Are you in such a hurry to reach that idiot Battousai that you can't even spare a moment to greet our guest here?" he asked her quite lazily, patting his pockets for the ever-present cigarretts. He jerked his head to the side at her questioning look. Her eyes wandered tiredly where the arrogant man had indicated.

It was that man. The one with the deathly aura; the one whom she had thought to keep an eye on. He looked a mess. His large white overcoat was gone, as was the chilly aura; he looked quite as unsteady on his feet as Midori felt, and across his chest was cut an angry, deep welt. Midori could not figure what would leave such a welt on the flesh, and shot an inquiring look at the man to see if he would be willing to tell her.

"The Battousai," he supplied in a monotone, leaning heavily against the doorframe of the room they were standing in front of. Midori chanced a quick glance behind the man at the room itself, raising an eyebrow at the level of destruction that was revealed.

"Where did he go from here?" she demanded, making to pass Saito and continue hobbling her way down the hall.

What she was not prepared for was the heavy hand that came down and gripped tightly onto the patch of skin that had just hours ago been graced with the brand of Shishio's teeth. The grip brought her to an abrupt halt and wrangled a pained gasp from her lips. She attempted to extract herself from under the hand to no avail.

"Shouldn't you be trying to kill me again, youma? Not that I'm complaining, but that seems to be your mantra whenever we run into each other." He just had to inject that note of disbelief at the thought of her killing him, didn't he? Midori really, really hated Hajime Saito.

"I'd rather keep Shishio from killing Himura or Sanosuke," she bit out through clenched teeth. Was it really beyond Saito to be halfway gracious in his damn victory.

"And you think you'll have better luck against Shishio than you did against me, do you?" Apparently the answer was yes, graciousness was beyond Saito.

Midori tore herself from his grasp and whirled - or more accurately wobbled - around to face Saito and the other man.

"Might I remind you, wolf, that you are currently crippled in the legs because of me? In your present condition Shishio could kill you with his bare hands! I know the way Shishio fights better than any of you. I was his partner for years, remember? Surely you read that little detail in those files you pulled on me. I've seen him fight; you haven't. All you have to rely on for intel is a bunch of secondhand notes from government fools who barely knew him. If you go to where he is right now with the intention of killing him, it will be your blood that coats his blade, Saito, and I will be damned if I let Makoto Shishio finish you off when I could not."

Saito seemed unimpressed with her little speech. He took a deep drag from his lit cigarrett, let it out slowly. "Do you even know where Shishio is waiting for the Battousai, youma?"

"No," she replied immediately. "Do you?"

"Of course I do. Who do you think you're talking to, youma?"

Smug, infuriating, bastard of a wolf.

Midori got about halfway up the hundreds of stairs outside, the stairs that seperated her from the two men who professed to love her, when her legs gave out.

There was no warning. One moment she was toddering up the stairs at quite a distance behind Saito and the man known as Aoshi, clinging to the banister for support. The next moment she was tumbling back down the flight of stairs she had just labored up, falling head over heels back down to the previous landing.

Midori could faintly hear the voice of Aoshi calling down to ask if she was all right. Personally she felt that it was a stupid question, but she was unable to draw the breath needed to say such to Aoshi. Surely a distinguished leader of a famous group of ninja had no need to ask such an obvious question.

Oh, yes, she knew who this man was. Aoshi Shinamori, the Leader of the Oniwabanshuu of Tokyo, previously Edo. This was the man Himura had promised Okina that he would bring back, when he was trying to get Okina to agree to keeping Midori at the Aoi-Ya. He was also the man famous for leading the protecters of Edo Castle during the Boshin Wars, when he had been barely more than a boy himself.

So, surely a ninja of his calibur was capable of seeing that no, in fact, Midori was far from 'alright'.

Midori pushed the thoughts aside as she levered herself up to a sitting position, her back pressing into the stairs she had just tumbled down. She raised a weary hand and made the universal shooing motion to her compainions, not caring in the least if she offended them by doing so.

"I will follow shortly," she called, just the slightest tremor present in her voice.

Her compainions made no reply, and she assumed that they merely continued climbing.

Midori set about massaging her upper legs. The muscles in her thighs were jumping sporadically under her skin, and Midori was sure that her beloved Myoushu was rolling over in his grave.

Did you stretch before your battle? Did you prepare your body for the torture you put it through? Or did you just jump gung-ho into the fray without a thought to your muscles and the aftereffects of moving your body at the speeds that my technique requires? Baka! You are a woman, which means that your body is weaker than mine, which means you have to stretch first, young lady!

"I do not need any voices in my head now," Midori groused out loud, feeling immensely foolish. She was talking back to the memory of her master's voice. It was obvious that she was just as crazy as Shishio.

She always had hated the need to stretch so completely before assignments. It had been something that embarrassed her greatly during the Bakumatsu; she had lived in a state of nervousness that one of the men she fought with would learn that she was forced to stretch before assignments so that her weak, female body would be able to withstand her master's technique. As though those men did not find enough things about which to deride her.

Midori quickly gave each leg a hard massage, anxious to be done with it and get to Himura. He had been in two fights already, against Aoishi and the boy; he would be tired, weaker than Shishio, who had fought no one. What if he were badly hurt? What if he needed her right now, and she were stuck on the stairs giving herself a damn massage? She had to get to him.

As soon as her leg muscles ceased to jump, Midori was once again climbing the stairs. As much as she hated to admit it, the massage had done wonders. She was moving at almost her normal jog, making much better time up the stairs. There was no sight of Saito or of Aoishi, and Midori assumed that they had already reached the arena Saito claimed that Shishio had built at the top of all of these damn stairs. The bastard wolf had had a damn blueprint of Shishio's compound all the time, and had purposely failed to tell Himura. Bastard.

Sweat dripped from Midori's face as she moved higher, soaking her clothes along with her blood. Shishio had put enough petroleum-burning furnaces around this arena of his to make it feel like an out-of-control hot springs. The heat rose with Midori's climbing figure in waves as she ascended the stairs.

It seemed she was at last getting a look at Shishio's government's money source.

Midori vowed that Shishio's government would never see the light of day, simply because the maniac had forced her to climb all these stairs.

When she at last reached the top of the damnable stairs, Midori expected to feel relief. She expected to fairly sag with it.

She did not expect to look through the door before her, see Himura lying on his back on the ground with his gi torn to shreds and his empty eyes staring unseeingly at nothing, and feel a jolt of panic shoot through her heart.

Midori was through the door and halfway to Himura's prone figure before she even registered that she had moved. She saw Sanosuke out of the corner of her eye, crumpled in a heap in a crater in the wall, his right hand a mangled wreck. She saw Saito, that bastard, kneeling on the ground with slashes crisscrossing his chest; the leg wounds he had recieved from Midori were open and bleeding afresh. She saw that the whore Yumi and the politician Hoji were standing together directly across from her, Yumi clutching a pocket watch and both of them boasting large smiles of confidience.

And then she was crouched protectively over Himura, and he was all that she could see.

There was a bite mark like hers on the top of his shoulder. A cloth bandage wrapped loosely around his neck, it's edges burnt. A large, fist-shaped burn mark marred the skin of his chest; Midori guessed the Shishio had caused an explosion with the powder and oils that coated his gloves and the blade of his katana, which would also explain the state of Himura's clothing. But surely that would not be enough to bring Himura to such a state? Surely that would not be sufficient to cause his eyes to be so empty?

"Himura," she tried to say, but her movements had upset the hole in her shoulder and thereby the hole in her lung. Her throat was filled with blood, which she quickly spat to the side. Again she turned to Himura.

"Himura," she rasped, gripping his unbitten shoulder and shaking him. There was no reply; Himura remained unresponsive.

"Himura, get up, you baka. Get up right now. Stop this foolishness immediately."

No response.

Midori raised her eyes, looking around frantically as if the answer to her problem would appear before her. Her eyes locked with those of Shishio, and her whole body grew tense with a mixture of fear and anger. The bandage-clad fighter was engaged with Aoshi Shinomori, who appeared to be attempting to keep him away from Himura's prone figure. It was clear to Midori that Shishio was playing with the ninja, making sport of his efforts as though they were merely a pretty show to amuse the madman. His eyes were dancing with insanity and amusement.

"Do you like my present, little panther?" he called to her, easily blocking Aoshi's attacks without even needing to look at the injured ninja. "He is bloodied and helpless, just for you. You're revenge is in your grasp now, little panther. Take it, and consider it my gift to you. The Battousai's all yours."

Shishio thought to give her Himura's battered body as a present?

Her eyes went back down to the body of Himura, sprawled out listlessly before her like some kind of ancient sacrifice. Anger boiled the blood in her veins. How dare Shishio raise a blade against Himura? How dare he hurt what was Midori's?

With a shout of rage Midori was on her feet, leaping over Himura and barreling towards Shishio with murder in her eyes. She forced her wounded body in between Shishio and Shinomori, shrieking in wordless rage as she blocked Shishio's intended attack and slashed at his chest. She would cut his black heart out. She would present it as a gift to Himura with her sincere declaration of love. She would show Shishio what happened to a person when they hurt those that Midori cared for.

"Are you prepared to die, Makoto Shishio?" she screamed in her fury, dogding his blade as best she could and trying endlessly to wound the bastard with her own. "Are you prepared to die? Because I swear to you, you will not leave this arena while still breathing! I swear it!"

"What are you doing, woman?" Shishio demanded, attempting to disable her with a well-place wound to the legs. "You should be thanking me on bended knee! I'm giving you the means to the revenge you've wanted for over a decade. Look, there's Saito over there, woman, unable to move and ready for your punishment! And the Battousai is out cold and completely defenseless! Why are you attacking me, you infuriating - stupid - damnable woman!"

He pierced her right thigh, cutting all the way through so that his katana poked from front to back and out again. With a snarl he jerked it free, and Midori found herself kneeling shakily before him, blood from her thigh soaking her black hakama and creating a pool of red beneath her. She attempted to stab him with her katana, but a kick from his booted foot sent it flying from her hands, landing uselessly beside Himura's prone figure. A gloved hand knotted in her hair, jerking her head back to meet the enraged gaze of Makoto Shishio.

"What the hell is wrong with you, little panther!" he raged, jerking her head from side to side as though she were a rag doll. "We don't have time to play games right now. When I finish killing the Battousai for you and this little fight is over, we can play as long as you like. But right now, I don't have time to humor you."

Time.

Not enough time.

As Shishio continued to rage at her, his words stroked at an old memory buried in Midori's mind. Something about fire. Something about time...

Shishio, crawling through a field, flames licking at his body as his screams pierced the night.

"How long have I been here, woman?"

"Six months."

The smell of burning flesh.

"You're not going to die, Makoto Shishio. I have lowered your body's temperature enough that you need not fear having your blood boil. You should avoid strenuous activity; your life as a swordsman is over, unless you wish to kill yourself."

Strenuous activity raises the body's tempurature.

Shishio has no sweat glands. His body cannot reduce it's own temputaure.

He has no time.

Midori's head snapped forward at just the right angle to snap Makoto Shishio's nose like a twig. He screamed, releasing his hold on her hair so that he could cradle his now bleeding nose. Midori pushed herself up and flung herself towards her blade, rolling over Himura and coming to her feet again ready to fight.

Shishio's sweat glands had been burned off that night she had found him, ten years ago. His body no longer had the ability to reduce it's own temputature, which meant that once it started to rise, it would continue to do so. Once Shishio's body got hot enough, his blood would reach the point of evaportation, and then his skin would reach the burning point.

"Get on your feet, Himura!" Midori shouted as she vaulted over her most cherished person's body and threw herself at Shishio once again. "Get up and fight!"

She just needed to stall Shishio for as long a possible. With her many injuries, there was no chance in Hell that Midori would be able to kill Shishio with her blade. However...if she could just keep him fighting long enough...if Himura would get off his ass and help her to keep Shishio active and his body hot...

Makoto Shishio would spontaneously combust after fifteen, twenty minutes tops. All she had to do was stall until Himura pulled himself together. All she had to do was fight.

"Kenshin Himura," she yelled, even as she rolled painfully to avoid a fist to the head from Shishio. "Get up, Kenshin! Get up and help me!"

On the ground behind her, even as the echo of his name still filled the smoky air, Kenshin Himura's eyes blinked slowly. When they opened, they were no longer empty of life.

When they opened, for just the barest instant before indigo took over, Kenshin Himura's eyes burned a lethal, fiery amber.

A/N: Please review. This should be one of the last chapters, as I'm fairly confident that I can wrap things up in two or three more. However, I still need feedback to know what my readers think. So, please continue reviewing.