Chapter 35

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Author's notes: I've been away because I decided to get off my butt and finish an original novel that's been sitting 2/3rds done on my hard drive for around four years. The novel was done in rough draft in about ten days, once I actually decided to do it ...

Regarding this chapter, I really don't like it chapter, but it had a few points in it that needed to be made to advance the story. The next chapter is going to be very tough to write ... you guys knew the rough stuff was coming, right? Sigh. This story's about Kenshin's journey from the rurouni of the series to the Immortal of the 21st century ... and not everything's fluffy and light during those years.

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Misao looked up from fixing a tear in one of her boys' yukatas as the shoji slid open. Chiyoko slipped through, head down; if she'd been a dog, Misao thought, her tail would have been between her legs.

"You any good at mending? Because I'm awful at it," Misao said, in a friendly tone of voice. She figured that whatever had happened, Chiyoko needed a distraction. Given where Himura and the kid had been headed, she had a pretty good idea of what 'whatever' might be, and Hiko was probably dead in the center of it.

Only person I've ever known who ever got along with that man, Misao thought, with some amusement and a little concern for Chiyoko, Is Kenji. And that's because everyone not even Hiko is immune to Kenji's good cheer.

She well remembered the two years that Kenji had spent with Hiko -- they'd seen more out of the cranky old hermit in those two years than they had in decades before. Hiko had often been smiling when the two had shown up for regular visits -- small smiles, but honest ones, often aimed at his artistic young apprentice. Weird. And when Kenji had gone home, they hadn't seen Hiko for years -- when she'd finally run into him in the market and more-or-less kidnapped him for dinner and a visit, Hiko had looked like he'd aged decades in a few years. Too much drink, Misao had thought then.

Chiyoko, who had apparently been planning to slip silently upstairs to her room, gave Misao a startled look. "Err," she said.

"Could use the help. Really. And you don't look you've got much to do." Misao, mother of nine, said in a bossy tone of voice that brooked no argument. Because Chiyoko really did look bad -- her mouth was set in a thin line and her eyes were puffy, like she'd been crying on the way home. Kenshin was nowhere in site, so Misao figured that Chiyoko had left him behind with Hiko.

Chiyoko forced a smile on her face and said, "I'm good at sewing."

"Oh, that's a relief. I usually have my eldest girl fix things but she's married now and the mending's been piling up." Misao pushed a basket of assorted sewing supplies towards Chiyoko as the girl knelt beside her. She'd suspected the girl could sew, since Misao knew for damn sure that Kaoru couldn't and, while Kenshin was impressively good at mending for a man, he likely hadn't done the fancy embroidery decorating his daughter's clothing. Misao herself had no patience and no talent for sewing and only did so when she had other no choice.

Chiyoko cautiously inspected the contents of the sewing basket, obviously wary of sharp objects -- it was, truthfully, a bit of a mess -- then selected a needle and some white thread. Without a word, she took the yukata from Misao's hands and frowned at it. She poked in the basket a bit more, found a tiny pair of scissors, and used them to rip out the rather inexpert seam Misao had been making.

"You're awfully quiet," Misao said, studying the girl's face. Chiyoko's smile had faded quietly. "Is something bugging you?"

"Nothing you did, Makimachi-san," Chiyoko ducked her head. "I like sewing. Thank you for asking me, actually. I need something to think about, besides ..." she trailed off.

Misao snorted. "You must get along well with that father of yours, then, if you like this sort of thing." She remembered the first time she'd seen Kenshin sew -- it had been one of her tunics, years ago, when Kenshin had been recovering from the battle with Shishio. He'd been hurting still, but healed enough to be bored and restless. After being scolded by Kaoru, Sanosuke and Megumi for walking around, he'd simply picked up her ripped top from a pile of laundry, produced a little leather case containing needle and thread from his tiny bag of belongings, and fixed it while she watched in amused astonishment. He hadn't said a word, just done it.

Kaoru had commented, with an amused laugh later, that, if Kenshin was sufficiently bored, he'd been known to do the laundry twice. The man did not like to be idle.

"He enjoys simple things that take his mind off other things, too." Chiyoko said, apparently by way of explanation of her foster-father's often unusual behavior. "Cleaning and mending and cooking let him focus, and distract him from troubling thoughts that he can do nothing about."

"He tell you that?" Misao regarded the girl with a bit of surprise.

Chiyoko shook her head. "It is obvious, ne?"

"Maybe. I always just assumed he was a neatnik and a bit ..." Misao shrugged helplessly. "A bit unique."

"Kaoru-mama, now ..." Chiyoko smiled faintly. "If she's worried, she challenges one of us to a sparring match. Last time was just before I left Tokyo. I beat her and she was delighted."

"You beat Kaoru?"

Chiyoko smiled. It was a quiet smile, with no element of bragging in it. It was simple pleasure in success. "I knocked her bokken out of her hands."

"Heh. I'll only be surprised the day you beat Kenshin." Misao snorted. "Kaoru's good, I'll grant you, though."

"I have to be ... effective." Chiyoko sighed. "People will come for my head. How much has Kenshin told you about us ... About Immortals?"

"Kaoru's told me some, in letters. I don't believe all of it," Misao snorted, "but some of it's got to be true. Kenshin doesn't look a day older than when we met. Younger, even, because he's less troubled. He smiles more, and laughs. And makes that goofy orooo noise all the time."

Chiyoko nodded. "He does look older when he's worrying, doesn't he? The cover story for the trip here was that he was my elder brother. We didn't think that anyone would believe 'father' who hadn't known him for years."

"Not sure they would believe 'brother' either, given his hair," Misao pointed out. She figured they were probably fortunate that Chiyoko looked younger than her actual age, or suspicions would have been raised that the two were running away with each other. Kenshin, in the right light, and the right mood, appeared no older than Chiyoko's fifteen -- though if you gave him something to worry about then the years piled on. Kenshin was living proof that you didn't need wrinkles to look old.

"We said he was adopted." Chiyoko grinned. Misao was relieved to see that expression; whatever Hiko had said had not been utterly horrible, then. "Then I picked a couple of mock fights with him so people would be sure to believe it. We were worried they'd get the wrong idea about us ... So we had a screaming fight on the deck about some boy I was supposed to like and that he didn't approve of ... plotting that was great fun. You know, Kenshin-papa can act. I think he missed his calling, really." She dimpled suddenly. "I can't believe he used to scare me."

Misao choked a laugh out. "I would have paid good money to see that."

"Well, I thought the funniest part was when some guy who'd known Kenshin during the Bakumatsu saw him during that fight. Kenshin was really getting into it -- y'know how his eyes turn colors when he's mad? He looked like that and he was stalking down the hall after me and I was shrieking insults at him -- and this guy steps out of a stairwell and sees Kenshin coming. He thought Kenshin was a vengeful spirit and nothing Kenshin-papa could say would convince him otherwise."

Misao snorted a laugh. Privately, she thought that Chiyoko could act too, if she could convincingly pull off a screaming-mad teenager , because Chiyoko had far too much natural dignity to indulge in that sort of behavior ordinarily. "What did Kenshin do?"

"Apologize. And then apologize some more." Chiyoko smiled. Then she sobered. "But I think it really hurt him. He didn't say anything about it to me, but ... well, he didn't clown around for days."

"Mm. It probably brought back memories he'd rather not remember," Misao said.

"Something I've wondered ... Makimachi-san, what was Kenshin like when he was younger?" Chiyoko asked.

Misao shrugged. "I never knew him as a hitokiri, Chiyoko-chan. I would have been four or five years old, and anyway, they kept his identity secret and he kept a low profile. And we weren't on the same side of the conflict. But I met him when I was sixteen and he was twenty-eight ... he was, I dunno, harder edged than he is now? More focused, anyway. And very ..., uh, very moral."

The explanation about how precisely she'd met Kenshin, Misao judged, would be better told to Chiyoko when she was sure none of her kids were sitting on the other side of a door and listening. They didn't need to know of their mother's attempt at banditry.

"I liked him, because Kenshin's impossible not to like. But I can tell you this -- the Kenshin I knew then wouldn't have clowned around with you and pretended to be your bossy big brother on a trip. And I can't imagine that Kenshin taking an apprentice, either."

"Mm."

"He's healed a lot, I think," Misao said. "You guys in Tokyo have been good for him."

"I wondered. He's ... it's almost as if he's been trying to be cheerful on this trip." Chiyoko brushed her hair back from her face, then handed the boy's yukata to Misao. "All done here. Got another?"

"Yeah, the hem needs mending on this. " Misao passed her a pair of Aoshi's trousers. "He probably is trying hard to stay cheerful. Kyoto has some bad memories for him, from what I've been able to learn."

"I ..." Chiyoko looked up suddenly. "He's coming."

"How do you know?" Misao hadn't heard anything.

"It's Kenshin-papa, or another Immortal. We can always sense each other." Chiyoko rose, hand on the hilt of her short sword, and padded to the doorway. After a second Kenshin stepped through it and gave Chiyoko an unsurprised look. He'd apparently been expecting her to be on guard.

"Chiyoko ..." He sighed, glanced at Misao, then sighed again. "I am sorry for what Hiko said."

Chiyoko was silent, for a moment, before saying, "He only said what he thought was the truth."

"Hnnh." Kenshin glanced at Misao. "Misao-dono, I'd like to meet with Iori yet today. Can Chiyoko stay with you and Aoshi?"

"Sure," Misao said. "Mind if I borrow her to spar with my boys? It'd be good for them to practice with someone who has a different style."

"Chiyoko?" Kenshin asked. "Do you want to?"

Chiyoko shrugged and said quietly, "I wouldn't mind."

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Kenshin expected to find the son of an old friend at Iori's shop in a fashionable district. However, when he was within a hundred feet of the storefront the buzz of another Immortal stopped him cold.

He dropped a hand to the hilt of the iaito he was carrying and checked to verify that it was loose in its scabbard. It really wasn't much of a weapon, particularly against another Immortal who might also be highly skilled, but it was better than nothing.

Then, since he did need to talk to Iori, he proceeded into the shop.

Iori -- who looked a great deal like his father -- was leaning on a counter, talking to a grey-haired older man. The older man was the Immortal; he gave Kenshin a wary look, gaze flicking over him. "Hideo," he said, apparently an introduction. "You are?"

"My name is Himura Kenshin, Hideo-san," Kenshin said, nodding his head politely and praying this wasn't going to lead to a fight.

"Hnnnh," grunted the other Immortal.

"Himura-san?" Iori breathed, suddenly straightening up and staring in awe.

"You know this guy, Iori-kun?" Hideo said, short and sharp.

"I ... think so. I thought he was older," Iori said, in confusion. "He saved ... Himura-san, are you that man, who saved my life when I was small? You look like my father said ... the red hair, the scar, but that was so long ago ..." He shot a sudden look at Hideo, eyes going wide.

"It's him, certainly." Hideo leaned back against the counter. "I daresay he's older than he looks."

"Oro, what gave my age away?" Kenshin said, giving Hideo an amused look.

Hideo snorted a laugh. "Don't worry about the kid here," Hideo jerked his thumb in Iori's direction. "He knows. He damn well knows what we are. We keep him in business making real swords and not pretty playthings."

A bit sadly, Kenshin wondered what Iori's father thought of his son's trade. He didn't entirely approve himself, but then, he needed to buy a sword and somebody had to make them. He resolved to remain polite and say nothing.

Iori blinked, smiled, said, "Ah! You're one of them, then?"

"If by 'them' you mean an Immortal, yes, I am." Kenshin sighed. "I turned fifty-one this summer."

"You're just a baby," Hideo said, genially. "I'm seven hundred."

Kenshin internally boggled at the time, but managed to keep the shock from actually showing on his face by force of will. His first thought was, Centuries alone without my friends, my family, without Kaoru ... I would go mad without them.

He set the thought aside. Dealing with that was a long way away; he would revel in his friends and family while he had them, and mourn when he had to. What good would worrying about the future do?

But seven hundred years ... seven centuries. Kenshin found he could scarcely comprehend it. It was an enormous span.

"You've not been an Immortal all that long, have you?" Hideo said, genially. "We haven't met before; usually, someone points the newcomers my way eventually."

"About thirty years," Kenshin said, aware that Iori was listening with fascination. "I'm not sure precisely when I died the first time. I didn't exactly have an easy life."

Hideo clucked in irritation. "And nobody's thought to introduce us? Who's your teacher?"

"Hiko Seijuro?" Kenshin responded, a bit puzzled.

That got him a dark laugh that Kenshin didn't entirely understand. "Well, that explains why you're still alive, at any rate. There's a name I haven't heard in decades. And I thought your name was familiar. A hitokiri, were you not? And a master of Hiten ..."

"Yes." Kenshin, a bit rudely, cut the other Immortal off. He didn't want to discuss Hiko at all; he was still moderately furious at him over his harsh words to Chiyoko.

"Hnnh. But your teacher -- the Immortal who taught you what you are? Who was he?"

Kenshin lifted a shoulder up in half a shrug. "Connor MacLeod told me a bit, but I didn't believe him. He tried to kill me to prove his point, and I won. He left me alone after that."

Hideo snickered. Apparently, he knew Connor. "You beat Macleod?"

"Hai. He wasn't very good." Kenshin smiled. "In retrospect, it would have been better for me if he'd defeated me. The next Immortal I ran into tried to take my head and I certainly wasn't prepared for it."

"I'll have to tell him you said that the next time I see him." Hideo grinned broadly. Kenshin relaxed a bit, disarmed by the man's behavior. He'd been suspicious at first, but then, it had been mutual. Hideo was not acting aggressive, though he seemed a bit crotchety.

"Other than that, I've spoken to Marshall ..."

"Feh. Now there's a gaijin I'd rather not hear about again." Hideo rolled his eyes. "Complete nitwit, isn't he?"

"I wouldn't go that far, but he drinks too much and he has poor choice in potential bedmates," Kenshin replied, warily. He wasn't sure what Marshall had done to offend Hideo. It could have been anything ranging from simply being English to a drunken pass similar to the one Marshall had tried on Kenshin.

"Likes 'em young, I know. Among other things." Hideo sighed heavily now. "I'd take the bastard's head, but he's never answered my Challenges. Somebody needs to remove his scalp at the shoulders."

Kenshin decided that maybe he didn't like Hideo after all. Tautly, he responded, "I don't believe in killing or this fool 'Game' we are supposed to play, Hideo-sama. You won't find me condoning murder."

"You are young." Hideo pushed himself away from the counter, straightened up from his relaxed slouch, and said, "My store's across the street if you ever want to talk about what it is we are. Sooner or later, you're going to have questions that idiot Marshall can't answer. See you then."

Kenshin watched him leave -- Hideo cut across the street and disappeared into a shop that sold books and antiques. Later, he would learn that the antique trade was quite a common occupation for Immortals.

Iori watched him silently. Kenshin ran a hand over his head and said sheepishly, "Sorry, I did come to see you, Iori-san. I guess I don't need to explain why I need a new sword in this day and age."

"Not really," Iori said, quietly. "Want happened to the sakabato that my father gave you?"

Blunt words; Kenshin wasn't sure if curiosity or suspicion caused them. He said, reassuringly, "I gave it to a boy I raised. He carries it now, and does it justice. He works as a bodyguard, and has become a good and honorable man. It was fitting that he receive my sword, as he is like a son to me."

"I was merely going to offer to repair it if it had been broken," Iori replied, to Kenshin's relief. "So. What sort of sword do you wish to have?"

"Another sakabato," Kenshin said. He lowered his eyes and said with a bit of embarrassment, "I understand that you cater mostly to the wealthy, and I cannot afford much. We are not ... wealthy."

Iori coughed, cleared his throat, then said, "I owe you my life, if the stories my father tells are true. I have something ... wait here."

The young man disappeared into the back room. After a moment, he returned with a blade that was wrapped in layers of cloth. He unwound the cloth, revealing a fancy scabbard and fancier hilt. It had jewels on it, and gilt, and elaborate designs.

Iori's eyes twinkled. "This was actually to be a gift from one rich man to another; he wanted a sakabato because he thought it would symbolize an end to bloodshed between his clan and the other man's clan. They were making some sort of peace deal. But it peace deal fell apart, and, well, I was left holding the sword. It's been in the back room there for almost three years."

"It's ... flashy." Kenshin held a hand out.

"Most of what I make is." Iori sounded almost apologetic as he handed the sakabato over to Kenshin. "My customers are wealthy; they want swords for show, not for wearing and using. Except for your people, of course. Immortals want real swords."

Kenshin drew the blade. It was well-balanced, and under all that gaudy exterior, there was a nice sword. Good steel, and a comfortable hilt. It felt okay; he knew he could use it without difficulty.

"It's a bit long for you," Iori observed.

"It is also a bit expensive," Kenshin said, regretfully. "This is more than I could afford."

He made a motion to sheath it again, and Iori rested a hand on his wrist. "You earned this sword the day you saved my life."

"Oro, no!" Kenshin was shocked. A sword, yes, he'd have accepted the gift of a sword gladly from this family. He had, before. But this wasn't just a functional sword; it was a gaudy bit of very expensive jewelry in knife form.

A wry smile crossed Iori's face. "I am wealthy, Kenshin. I can afford to do this. Take it."

"But ..."

"Take it. Or you'll offend me," Iori said, with a grin.

"Thank you," Kenshin said, simply. What else could he say?

He glanced at it, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the thought of simply wearing it. Oh, for Chiyoko's ability to make her wakazashi simply disappear that had come along with Quickening she had received. The sword was bright and it was gaudy and very obviously a rich man's toy. It was going to attract trouble, he just knew it.

"Anyway, it'll match your clothes," Iori said, making Kenshin look up sharply, then down at his brightly colored yukata.

"I suppose," Kenshin said, thinking to himself that colorful clothing was not the same as fancy sword. He liked bright colors, but that didn't mean he wanted his sword glittering and bejeweled.

Sanosuke, Kenshin thought with a flush of embarrassment, Is going to see this blade and tease me mercilessly. Oro, I'm a dead man even if I'm Immortal. I'm going to die of humiliation.

But it was a sword, and a fine gift, and there was no tactful way to say no. "Thank you," he repeated, with a bow to Iori. "This is more than I had hoped for."

He also realized, And I can go straight home, rather than waiting for a new sakabato to be forged.

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