Kenshin opened the hotel room door, stepped out, and menaced the approaching Immortal with his sword, all in one smooth move.

Richie Ryan jerked his head back reflexively and flung his hand up so that his forearm would take a blow that never came. He stood frozen in place, then slowly, one eyebrow lifted high as recognition dawned. "Hi, Ken. Like the new look. What are you supposed to be, twelve?"

Kenshin growled in annoyance, "What are you doing here?"

"Standing in the doorway of your hotel room while you point a sword at my throat?" Richie glared at Kenshin right back. He was not afraid of Kenshin. "And you're good enough at reading people's buzzes that you knew it was me."

Kenshin put the sakabatou away with a swift click of steel into the scabbard. Actually, he had not realized it was Richie, but he didn't see the point to defining his limitations. He could make an educated guess on who a buzz belonged to if he knew who was in the area; he had categorically not expected to find Richie on the other side of the door. "What are you doing in London?"

"Following you?"

Kenshin thought, but did not say, several rude words. He let the hotel room door click shut behind him so that Morgan would not hear this exchange. Richie observed, "If there had been anyone else in this hall and had they seen you pull your blade they might have called the authorities, Ken."

Kenshin snorted. "You were alone."

"Right. You're psychic like that. Look, I'm here to help."

"This one told you that he didn't want you involved anymore, " Kenshin sighed, through gritted teeth. He was truly and deeply pissed that Richie had followed him; he did not want Richie -- or any of his friends -- involved in this mess any more than they already were. It had gotten too dangerous.

"Uh-uh. Doesn't work that way, Ken. I've been involved since you dumped the girl on my doorstep. You can't just uninvolve me now. Mac says I'm an idiot, but there you have it: I've got a terrible hero complex." Richie raked an obviously aggravated hand through his red curls. "You can either accept my help or expect me to tag along behind but either way, I'm already part of things."

"How did you find this one?" Kenshin demanded.

"Helps to have a Watcher as a best buddy. And lose the pronoun glitch; you're annoying me."

Kenshin frowned at him. Pronoun glitch? He stated, finally, avoiding the subject of his speech patterns, "If Joe could find me this quickly, I'm going to assume that the bad guys can too."

"Well, that, and I bugged your wallet."

Kenshin opened his mouth, then decided that there was absolutely nothing he could say in response to that.

Richie grinned.

"Very well," Kenshin said, opening the hotel room door back up. "Morgan, we have company."

"Richie!" Morgan said, in surprise.

Kenshin ignored their reunion -- Richie was hugging her -- and went immediately to his wallet. He inspected it carefully and found that one of his grocery-store membership cards felt a bit thicker than normal. He snapped in half, revealing that two cards had been glued together and there was a GPS chip sandwiched in the middle.

Richie grinned unapologetically.

Kenshin had a very vague memory of picking up groceries with Richie three days before. Richie had claimed to have forgotten his membership card. Kenshin had absently handed the younger Immortal his own card -- and Richie had obviously swapped them out.

"Very good," he said, with grudging respect. He'd caught not the slightest hint of deception in that interchange. Richie was apparently quite talented at masking his ki -- he would need to talk to him later to find out if that was unconscious or deliberate.

Richie grinned. "I'm always good."

--

Morgan was in the shower, a half hour later -- she'd shouted a happy greeting when she'd seen him, hugged Richie, and then fled to the bathroom to make herself look more presentable. Kenshin had diagnosed teenage crush and was a bit relieved that Richie was the target of the crush, and not himself. And he was glad for the chance to talk to Richie.

The younger man sipped a cup of coffee. "Jeffrey, huh?"

"Yes. I'm intending to speak to his father shortly." Kenshin said that with a tight smile. Richie's presence would make this easier, logistically speaking. He trusted Richie to defend Morgan.

"Want company?" Richie said, with keen anticipation.

"Not on this, Richie-kun."

"Oh, now it's kun." He'd apparently picked up the basics of honorifics somewhere. Kenshin wasn't surprised -- MacLeod was his mentor and Mac spoke fluent Japanese. Plus, there was always the chance that Richie had taken the head of someone Japanese. Kenshin wasn't going to ask; he didn't want to know.

Instead, Kenshin gave him a very innocent look. "Would you prefer Richie-san?"

"Just call me Richie." Richie lifted a shoulder in half a shrug. "Mac's got you trained; now it's my turn. Anyway -- are you going to go bust heads? Because I can watch your back."

"If you're must insist on being involved, I'd like you to stay with Morgan. She's most likely safe in this hotel room, however, I don't want her unsupervised." Kenshin nodded towards the bathroom. "Keep an eye on her; I don't trust her, and this is her home city. If she decides to strike out on her own, she likely has friends here and it may be much harder to find her this time."

"Mmm."

"There was also a great deal of deception in her soul when she was telling me about Jeffrey. I do not doubt that she thought she was in love with him, but there is more to this story. I seek to get to the bottom of it." Kenshin hesitated before adding, "Joe told me she was also dating the killer, but she did not even mention this. I suspect she thinks she is playing me successfully for sympathy."

"Ouch." Richie ran a hand over his face and then stared out the window. "She's probably scared to death."

"Aa. She may think I would not help her if I knew the whole truth. She also sounded very possessive of Jeffrey, to an unhealthy degree." Kenshin leaned on the window sill and brushed his loose hair back from his face with an impatient swipe of his fingers. It stayed tucked behind his ears for precisely two seconds. "The truth is, I'd help her regardless -- but it will take her a bit to figure that out, I think. Ultimately, I hope she'll confess the whole truth to me. It may do her some good to realize that I'll help her even after she deceived and lied to me."

"Either she'll learn to trust or she'll learn she can take advantage of you," Richie pointed out.

"That wouldn't be the first time that has happened ..." Kenshin said, wryly. He knew damn well he was far too forgiving of his young charges, sometimes. "But I am not certain Joe has the whole story either."

"Joe's information is generally good."

"Yes, but he's only as accurate as his sources. Something does not feel right here." Kenshin shook his head. "I'm going to go have a talk with a few people, that I am. If you will stay here with Morgan."

Richie nodded. "Of course."

"And be careful." Kenshin stressed his words slowly. "The bad guys may know what you are. If that's the case, you could be in much more danger in a fight."

"I can take care of myself. It'll be fine, Ken."

I've heard those sentiments before, my friend, Kenshin thought, but did not say. He glanced up at Richie, and then simply nodded. "And thank you for caring enough to come. Even if I didn't want you here, and you had to 'bug' my wallet to do it."

Richie grinned. "Not a problem, buddy."

--

Jeffrey's last name was Garret, and his father had a rather large estate outside of town. It was actually not far from the Trevor family home. After pulling up a map online, Kenshin estimated that the distance to Kenji's ancestral home was perhaps two or three miles. Destination determined, Kenshin took a bus to the general area. Along the way he found himself recognizing things, somewhat wistfully -- a tree that had been old a century ago was now diseased and dying. A foot bridge, bypassed by the modern road, moldered into ruin; he'd taught Yukio to fish from that bridge.

They passed a park where he'd once found Atsuko stoned half out of her mind on pot and hanging out with a bad crowd at twenty -- she'd grown up and grown out of marijuana, thankfully. She'd never done hard drugs, unlike her niece; Akane had partied hard and often and with great glee, but she had never been self-destructive.

Thank the Gods, Kenshin thought fervently, that Carrie is a grown-up at twenty. Atsuko might have been an 'adult' legally but he didn't think she'd reached 'grown up' until her thirties, at least.

There was a filling station standing in the spot where he had bade Chiyoko farewell, so long ago. He stared, as they drove past; he only knew that was the location because it was at a crossroads.

A tiny grocery store was located where Darius's little church had once stood. It had been there seventy years; he'd once escorted George to see the shop's owner, as a young boy, and made him confess the theft of a peach. As punishment, George had been required to paint the front of the store for the owner. Harsh punishment for a child, perhaps -- it had taken him a couple of days -- but George had never again shoplifted. Kenshin and Kenji had taken turns supervising him to make sure the job was done right.

George had later worked for the owner, for several summers, until he'd gone to war in the 1940's. He'd managed the store for a few years upon his return -- though Kenshin had not been there to see that, having returned to Japan during the war.

The hall he'd bought with Kaoru to run a dojo in was long gone. Ironically, Darius's congregation had moved to that plot of land and a newer building stood there. He knew because he'd sold them the land, nearly ninety years ago. They had made it holy ground, and that had felt just right.

Historically, there had been a lot of open country between what had been a rural hamlet and the Trevor estate. However, the countryside had since been carved up and turned into miles and miles of small gentleman farms. The Garret estate was one of these lots -- a couple of acres of gardens, high walls, and a large, two-story gothic mansion.

Kenshin neatly jumped up to the top of the wall and surveyed the lot.

There were motion detectors and infrared cameras situated in the garden. He avoided both with agile acrobatics, and kept to the trees and the rooftops of outbuildings. The windows on the first floor had burglar alarms, but as was typical of modern homes, the second floor was not protected. He easily jumped from the roof of a poolside cabana, caught the railing around a balcony, and swung himself up.

The balcony door led into a library. The balcony door was locked but not alarmed and he made quick work of this obstacle after removing lockpicks from the sole of his boots. Silently, stealthily, he padded through the library and into a hall.

This man had wealth, and taste to go with it, Kenshin decided -- if one considered 'gothic' to be good taste. Some people would. Kenshin founded it dark and gloomy.

He had enormous quantities of books in the library -- old, leatherbound, classical. There was expensive art on the walls; Kenshin paused to very briefly note a Japanese woodcut from the 1700's. Had he not been focused on the task at hand, he might have spent more time admiring it.

The decor tended towards dark wood paneling and polished wood floors. It was late and people were asleep; he sensed nobody awake in the building.

The first bedroom he peered into belonged to a woman, judging by the clothing thrown over a chair. The second had the soulless feel of a guest bedroom, as did the third. The fourth was a little girl's room; the little girl was curled under the covers in a very small ball; Kenshin thought she looked scared even in her sleep and wondered how badly the killing of her brother had affected her.

The fifth room, close to the end of the hall, was a boy's room.

Kenshin stepped through the doorway and let the latch click near-soundlessly shut behind him. There was a desk light on in the room despite the fact that the young man had been dead several weeks.

Jeffrey's room, Kenshin thought. A half-finished letter on personalized stationary on the desk confirmed this; it was dated six months before. The room had apparently been cleaned -- Joe had said Jeffrey was shot in his room -- but left otherwise untouched. Or, perhaps, put back into the same condition it had been before the boy had died. Grieving parents sometimes kept things exactly as they were -- Kenshin merely kept a memento box, but he understood the impulse.

The letter was absolutely rampant with bad grammar and poor spelling. It appeared to be written to the boy's grandmother and contained nothing of any real importance that Kenshin could see -- it was a thank you letter for birthday gifts.

Kenshin continued his inspection of the room. Jeffrey had liked airplanes and soccer; there were posters on the walls and models and sports-star bobbleheads on the shelves. Too, there were stuffed animals on the bed -- he'd liked dragons and anime characters. There was even a plushy Pikachu, well worn and battered, sitting on the desk in an apparent place of honor. A childhood toy, Kenshin thought. However, he suspected most twenty-something men would have long ago abandoned their Pokemon toys. It said something about the man, but he wasn't yet sure what.

The closet had an array of t-shirts from various TV shows and movies -- science fiction, fantasy, cartoons. He liked Batman and Spiderman and various anime characters. There was also an assortment of athletic clothing -- mostly for soccer, but some running shoes, too, and riding boots, jodhpurs and a helmet. Kenshin concluded Jeffrey had been an athletic because much of the gear showed signs of wear and real use.

The only books appeared to be role-playing game books and manuals for video games. Given the level of literacy displayed in the letter, Kenshin suspected the boy had not been much of a reader. The bookshelves in the room, however, were stuffed with every video game imaginable, plus gadgets and toys better suited to a much younger person.

A console facing the foot of the bed had a big-screen TV. Cabinets underneath it held at least a dozen different video game systems including one that Kenshin was reasonably sure wasn't on the market yet.

Kenshin finally found a photograph tucked into an unimaginative place in the boy's sock drawer -- not well hidden, really. It was of a slightly younger Morgan, brown hair bleached platinum blond and striped through with purple, arm in arm with a boy that Kenshin assumed to be Jeffrey.

The boy was awkwardly tall and thin. Kenshin could see why Morgan had found him handsome -- dark hair, jaw length, framed a face that should have been ruggedly attractive. Kenshin was struck by something in the cast of the boy's features, however. He couldn't quite put a finger on what it was, but there was something odd about the young man. Even so, he was good looking.

In the same drawer, he found a neat little case with a high school diploma and a graduation photo -- Jeffrey's grin had stretched from ear to ear, beneath a tassled cap. His grade point average, however, was very low -- C's, mostly, and D's. He had gotten an 'A' in all art related classes, however. Kenshin did a bit of math -- the boy had been twenty when he graduated, according to the date on the paper. He'd probably been held back a few years.

At that instant, Kenshin sensed someone wake in the house. A warrior's ki brushed against his.

He slid a hand into his pocket, pulled his cell phone out, and thumbed on the 'record' function. Then, he waited.

Five minutes later, the door opened. An older man, balding, well-groomed, dressed in silk pajamas, and carrying a gun, stepped through the door.

Kenshin lifted an eyebrow. "Mr. Garret?"

"Himura Kenshin."

Kenshin inclined his head in acknowledgement. "So Dall told you what I am."

"Yes." The man growled. "Also, that you are a man of honor. I do not believe you are here to kill me in my own home."

"No. I simply like to know who my enemies are." Kenshin regarded the man calmly. The man had a gun, but Kenshin had little fear of firearms wielded at this close of a range. He rested a hand on his sakabatou's hilt -- by the time that Garret made the decision to pull the trigger and then did so, Kenshin could swat the weapon out of his hands. He would sense the change in the man's ki and that would give him more than ample warning.

"By trespassing in the room of my late son?" The man's eyebrows rose.

"You can tell a lot about a man by his children."

"Dall said if he failed to kill you, you would come to see me."

"So you are trying to kill Morgan. Why?" Kenshin asked, bluntly. He didn't see any point in introductions. Obviously, Dall had told Garret who he was. He now regretted cutting and dying his hair.

"She killed my son."

Kenshin's eyebrows rose up to vanish beneath his bangs.

"Or, as good as," he growled, as he radiated sudden, angry hate. "Jeffrey was special -- he was far more of a child than she was. She ruined him."

"Children grow up."

"Not Jeffrey." Garret shook his head viciously. The gun in his hand remained level, menacing. The rage and hate and anger rolling off the man's soul was palpable as a living thing; Kenshin could nearly taste it. "You don't understand, Himura. Jeffrey was my Peter Pan. He wasn't ever going to grow up. I told that girl to leave him alone. I told her he wasn't capable of being her boyfriend. I told Jeffrey to stay away from her. Her parents told her to leave him alone."

"She loved him," Kenshin said quietly. "Even if he was simple, she loved him."

"Simple." Garret spat the word out. "Politically incorrect, Kenshin."

Kenshin had meant no offense, and he winced at the man's sudden flare of anger. He wasn't afraid of Garret, but he didn't want to escalate this further with a poor choice of words. "I've lived over a hundred and sixty years. Political correctness is a form of slang; sometimes, I am unable to keep up with the slang. I apologize."

Garret's face twisted into a furious mask. "She took advantage of him! She seduced him, twisted him, introduced him to things he never should have learned about ... she deserves to die for what she did to him. It was nothing more than rape!" The man was so coldly angry that Kenshin had no difficulty conceiving of him wanting Morgan dead at all costs.

Kenshin sighed. He had to try to stop this problem at the source. "Are you aware that Morgan is pregnant with your granddaughter?"

Garret grew very still. Then his face twisted into a cloud of anger. "Get out of my house!"

"I am very sorry for your loss," Kenshin said, quietly, "but I cannot allow you to harm Morgan, or her daughter."

"Get out!"

Kenshin left -- the amount of rage and hate and frank grief in the man's soul made Kenshin afraid that he might actually try to fire the gun. He didn't see the point in a physical altercation; it would change nothing. And, short of killing the man, there was going to be no reprieve for Morgan from this angle.

Briefly, he was tempted go to the police with his recording. It would mean admitting to breaking and entering but that was a crime likely punishable only by a fine and deportation. However, he'd learned long ago that men as wealthy and powerful as Garret generally had connections. There was no guarantee of any sort of fair justice from the police even if he offered to testify.

Unfortunately, Garret had also called him by his real name on the tape. That could be problematic; he would need to explain that to the police. And if any of the police were history buffs ... coupled with Garret's apparent knowledge of his nature ... well.

The recording might be useful, or it might not. But it wasn't something he could take to the authorities just yet.

--

"I did some digging, like you asked," Joe said, several hours later, to Kenshin. The translatlantic phone call was clear as a bell -- Kenshin still expected long distance conversations to be full of static. "I couldn't get any of Jeffrey's medical records, but one of my contacts was able to pull up his school records."

Kenshin sat on the hotel room balcony, watching the sun rise. It was late, Pacific time; very early, his. He was wide awake, having not yet adjusted to the jet lag. "What did you find?"

"He had a recorded IQ of about 70. That's not terrible, but it is technically retarded."

Joe, at nearly eighty years of age, wasn't up on the politically correct terms either, Kenshin noted. What was it they said today? Developmentally delayed, he thought, though even that might be outdated ... it was hard to keep track. In his time, when he had first been learning English, the term would simply have been moron. Now moron was an insult, almost completely disassociated with a medical diagnoses.

"Did you find a reason for it?"

"No." Joe said. "It's not in his school records. He was mainstreamed with the regular students -- it was a private academy -- but received considerable tutoring on the side. They noted his social skills were several years behind his peers as well, though he was basically a good natured kid."

Kenshin sighed. He hoped it wasn't hereditary.

"I can keep digging, but medical information is kept pretty tightly locked up these days ..."

"It's not all that important. I know what I need to know, I think." Kenshin would make sure the baby got early screening and intervention if necessary, if Morgan and her parents failed to take care of that.

"Mmm."

"Joe, can I ask you if you know how Carrie is doing?"

"She and Danny were at the dojo yesterday. He's after Mac to teach him swordplay and Mac suggested he study with Carrie -- Mac and Danny don't always get along."

Kenshin smiled. Some things never changed. "What did she say?"

"That he needed to start with a thousand repetition of a couple of katas."

"And what did Danny do?"

"Tried to appeal to Mac. Mac pointed out he'd told him the same thing two years ago." Joe laughed. Kenshin could picture the man's wrinkled features, grinning broadly, thick grey bangs hanging in his eyes. Dawson continued, "Danny's a good kid, but he lacks patience. Mac won't teach him martial arts until he's willing to learn the basics first. Carrie just reinforced that."

Kenshin wished he'd been there to see that exchange. He was suddenly, fiercely, homesick. Joe's next words didn't help.

"She said she was going out Saturday evening with Brandon, Shannon, Danny and Sandy to the movies. She invited Mac, but he had other plans. Tammy and Adam might be joining them -- Adam's trying to get me to go, but I don't think they want to hang out with an ancient cripple."

Kenshin smiled. "Joe? Methos predates civilization. If he's cool enough to hang out with some twenty year old kids, you certainly are. And for that matter, I am older than you are."

"Kind of you to say that," Joe said.

He wished he could be there -- he wanted to simply be part of the gang. To hear Carrie laughing and bantering with Danny; to see Sandy and Brandon sniping at each other, to see Shannon's hesitant yet growing interest in Brandon. He wished he could watch. He wished he could be a part of their lives.

As soon as I can wrap this up with Morgan, I'll ...

His phone buzzed. Caller ID revealed that incoming call was from George. Kenshin said hastily, "Joe, I have to go. I've got a call I need to take from my grandson. Thank you for your help."

"Not a problem."

George's voice, thinned with distress to a painful wail, made Kenshin spring to his feet. "Grandpa! Thank God, thank God, Grandpa ..."

"George, slow down. What's wrong?"

"He's going to sell the estate!" George's rage and anger and grief was palpable. "He's selling my home! He's selling Grandpa Kenji's home!"

"Who is?" Kenshin said, startled.

"Toby!" George wailed. "Bastard is no grandson of mine, to do this to me! That estate's been in the family for over a century and I want it to stay in the family!"

Kenshin said, calmly, "George, slow down. He can't sell your home; I have legal power of attorney over your affairs, remember? If he tries to say you're not competent to handle your finances then I am in charge of your affairs. And this one is not going to allow anyone to sell the Trevor family estate."

"Hey!" A voice said in the background, "You're not supposed to have a cell phone!"

"It's mine!" George said, sounding angry and defiant.

"Your grandson said you weren't supposed to have one. Give it here, now ..."

"Fuck you! It's mine!"

"Be reasonable, George ... you know you have to play by the rules ..." the man said placatingly. Kenshin gritted his teeth, helpless to intervene.

"Fuck that!" George sounded furious, as he addressed the staff member.

"George!" Kenshin said, earnestly, "I'll come down right now and sort this out."

Kenshin winced as the line cut off. He'd never in his life heard George hit quite that note of panicked anger. He pocketed his own phone, stepped back into the hotel room, and woke Richie by softly calling his name.

"Yeh?"

"I've got trouble with my grandson. Will you keep an eye on Morgan?"

"Yeh."

"Thanks for coming."

"... Mmmhmm."

Richie rolled over and went back to sleep. Kenshin had no doubt that if there was real trouble the younger Immortal would be awake instantly. He snagged his coat off the back of a chair and the sakabatou from under the bed and then headed out the door at a near run.

Damnit Toby, Kenshin thought viciously. What games are you playing?

And, I really prefer problems I can solve just by beating them up.

--

The 'assisted living center' was fifteen minutes away by cab. Kenshin paid the driver with his credit card then took the steps up to facility's the lobby two at a time.

Inside, an old man snoozed in a wheelchair. It was just past eight in the morning; Kenshin wondered if the man had been there all night or if he had fallen asleep after breakfast. The air smelled faintly antiseptic, and a little bit of body odor and urine. It was also very cold inside -- he wondered of the heat was broken or if they had it turned down to save money. Kenshin frowned at that, knowing how miserable George was when it was chilly. Old bones liked warmth.

Resolve deepened, he strode to the front desk and said firmly, "I'd like to see George Trevor, please."

"Visiting hours," a bored receptionist said, without really looking at him. She pointed at a sign glued to the wall indicating visiting hours were ten to seven.

"He just called me in a panic," Kenshin said, "I'd like to make sure that he's okay."

"Visiting hours," the receptionist repeated. "You'll have to come back ..."

"Grandpa!"

Kenshin spun around in time to see George come stumbling out of a hallway and head straight for him. Kenshin gave the receiptionist a concerned look, but she didn't seem surprised by the word grandpa -- likely, she heard similarly confused-sounding outbursts from many of the residents on a regular basis.

George had lost weight, Kenshin thought. His shoulders were more bent, and his fingers were splinted. He tottered as he walked, more than before -- Kenshin had just seen him a few months ago, and was shocked by how unsteady on his feet that he seemed now.

George reached him and wrapped his arms around Kenshin in a ferocious hug. "I didn't know you were in town ..." George sounded like he was crying. "I didn't want to call you with you overseas. My great-granddaughter needs you more than I do. I'm sorry, I'm sorry ..."

"I just got in last night." Kenshin returned the hug. He was alarmed by how bony and frail George felt. Also, he was dressed only in lightweight trousers and a thin t-shirt and was shivering in the cool air of the institution -- Kenshin frowned further. "Do you have a sweater?"

"Yeah, in my room. The boiler's been broken for a week." George finally let go of Kenshin. "God, Ken-nii, it's so good to see you."

"Mmm. Yes, I've been worried about you."

"It is Ken-nii?" He asked, very low, with a significant glance at Kenshin's hair.

Any concern that Kenshin might have had about George's mental state evaporated with that simple question. "The paperwork I'll need to reference is all Kenny Myojin's name, so yes, that's fine right now. Once we're out of here, I'm ..." he had to think for a minute, "... Jimmy Yamada. Morgan is Nicole Yamada." Kenshin surveyed George critically. He needed a shower, too, and he had a bad bruise under one eye. "What happened here?"

"Fell." George grumbled. "I got mad and they gave me fucking thorazine. Then I had to take a piss and I fell."

"Thorazine?"

George uttered a string of offended obscenities. "... I'm old, not nuts!"

"Yeah." Kenshin agreed with that. "What did they do to piss you off?"

"Took away my chess set," George said, unhappily.

"... what?" Kenshin shook his head. Why wouldn't they want to stop him playing with his chess set? George would amuse himself for hours figuring out chess moves. Kenshin suspected it was akin to meditation the old man -- a way to quiet and focus his thoughts. "Why?"

"Because I was staying up late with it. There's nothing else to do here unless you want to watch the telly." George had his fists balled. "I was hurting no one, I just couldn't sleep. I was only sitting up in my room. It was only ten PM!"

Kenshin sighed. "Okay, that's it. I'm getting you out of here."

"Toby told them not to let me leave." George said, with real anger. "I wanted to take a cab to the pub and they wouldn't let me! I miss the boys!"

'The boys' would be, Kenshin guessed, George's cronies from his childhood. There were three or four of them left alive still. George, of aristocratic roots and possessing quite a formidable title, had somehow fallen in with a pack of neighborhood brats of decidedly lower birth. Kenshin strongly suspected his son had some influence in that; Kenji hadn't thought much of the children of his peers and might well have steered George towards more wholesome influences.

He'd known those 'boys' for over eighty years. Yeah, he certainly missed them.

"You're competent, right?" Kenshin said, with a smile. "If you're not, then it's my decision if you leave or not. Either way, we're covered legally."

George exhaled sharply. "Hell, Ken-nii, I've missed you. You're right."

"Then let us go get your stuff." Kenshin decided that George was in less danger tagging along after him for a few days than hanging out here, assassins or no assassins. The bruise under George's eye bothered him; instead of simply a bit of a shiner he might just as easily have had a fatal head injury or a broken hip or arm. Old bones were fragile. Besides, he wasn't convinced that the bad guys wouldn't have another go at George given how publicly they'd attacked Morgan.

"You can't go back there ..." the receptionist said. She had one hand on a phone. Kenshin knew she'd been talking to her superiors.

Kenshin smiled and said politely, "Unless you plan to call the police, you will not stop this one. And if you call the police, explaining why George has been held prisoner at the request of his grandson, who is not legally his guardian, would be interesting."

He caught his hand under George's elbow -- George normally walked with a cane, but wasn't today, likely because his fingers were so badly broken. Ignoring her protests he guided George back towards his room.

"I want my phone back."

"We'll get it," Kenshin promised.

"And my chess set."

"That, too."

"And breakfast?" George said, hopefully, with a twinkle in his pale blue eyes. "The food here's terrible."

"My treat."

"And a puppy?" He hit a perfectly childlike note of whine.

"Now you're pushing it, Georgie-kun." It felt good to laugh. He hadn't been doing much of that, lately.

George chuckled. "I've missed you, Grandpa."

--