Title: Days to Remember
Author: Mi-chan
Rating: R
Series: Rurouni Kenshin (AU, Modern-day)
Pairings: Hmmm... read and find out. =D
Part Two: The East Calls
"Tadaimaaaaaa!" Myoujin Yahiko shouted, his voice ringing throughout the small apartment. Plopping his bag and trumpet case down on the floor, he made his way for the kitchen, where Kenshin usually was this time of day. Kenshin always got home before he did, what with jazz band practice after school always running late.
A blonde boy poked his head through the door, his large brown eyes narrowing into tiny slits. "Mr. Himura's not home yet, is he?"
"Not yet, Yutarou," Yahiko grinned slyly, licking his lips as he looked his friend up and down. Yutarou's face turned red as a turnip, sweat forming on his brow and running down to his chin.
"Right now?! Here?!" Yutarou cringed as Yahiko slammed and locked the door, leading Yutarou by the hand to his room.
"Damn, you're such a baby," Yahiko spat, throwing Yutarou down on his nicely made bed. That was one of the advantages of having a foster father that couldn't keep still; every room was always clean, even his own. "It's not like we're going to do anything, just... make-out until our tongues fall off."
Yutarou blushed again. Of course he'd be a little reluctant to go any further. It wasn't right for Kenshin not to be home when they got back from practice. He could virtually come home any moment; and Yahiko was being too damn careless for Yutarou's tastes. "Yahiko-kun...."
"Drop the formalities, Yu," Yahiko said, lunging for the crook between Yutarou's neck and shoulder with his tongue. He steadily licked a path up to the blonde boy's mouth, pressing his lips firmly and requesting entrance.
With that, the dreaded knock at the door sounded. Yahiko leapt twenty feet into the air, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling fan. Good thing the fan wasn't on, Yutarou thought, or Yahiko would have lost more than just his composure.
The door crept open slowly; the two boys adjusted their clothes, fixed hair, and wiped away sweat. A strange, dark figure wearing a black trench coat stood in the doorway, the man's piercing blue eyes drilling a hole through Yahiko's poise. Yahiko stammered: "Who the hell are you?"
Shinomori Aoshi just glared.
Kenshin popped his head out from behind the tall man, his face cheery as ever. "Oi, sorry for coming home late, Yahiko." Kenshin noted Yutarou's presence and acknowledged him with a nod.
"Good evening, Mr. Himura," the blonde boy stuttered, nearly giving away how uncomfortable this situation was.
"I see you two have met Mr. Shinomori," Kenshin chirped. "I've got some business to attend to tonight, so Mr. Shinomori's going to watch over you two while I'm gone, that he is."
Yahiko choked. A babysitter?! "Wha--?"
Kenshin adjusted his apron, the same pink and yellow polka-dotted one he wore when cooking. "I'm heading back to the station tonight to get some extra work done, Yahiko. And someone needs to be here tonight in case I get any important... 'phone calls'."
Yahiko caught the glint in Kenshin's eyes. He could detect such subtleties from a mile away, and Kenshin knew it. The dark-haired boy nodded, turning his attention to Yutarou. "Oi... did you say you'd be able to stay for dinner? I'm sure Kenshin'd be glad to have you over."
Kenshin nodded, his eyes smiling. "Sure, but he needs to go home right after. You have some major studying to do for your Government exam tomorrow." Not to mention he may be in danger in case anything happens... Kenshin thought.
Shinomori Aoshi sighed, leaning up against a wall as Yahiko and Yutarou rushed out into the living room to repossess the satellite television. "So, Himura... are you going to explain to me exactly what this is about?"
Kenshin closed his eyes, reducing his voice to the barest whisper. "Yes... but I'll explain before I leave. Just trust me... I need you right now. Yahiko's in trouble. And Miss Misao might be, as well. It'd be best if we all kept an eye out."
Aoshi darted his piercing gaze Kenshin's way. "Are you telling me I shouldn't have left Misao at home, then?"
"No," Kenshin replied. "...And yes. Misao's not in any danger as long as she doesn't get involved... but now that I've asked you to help, she's going to follow."
Sighing, Aoshi nodded.
Misao... The girl was so much trouble. Not in a bad way, though. Aoshi knew he had to keep an eye on her, but doing so without putting her in danger? Hardly. Danger enjoyed torturing Kenshin so much that it liked to bring his friends along for the ride.
"I'll keep an eye on Yahiko for you then," Aoshi said in his usual monotone, his dark eyes contrasting with Kenshin's own bright orbs. "But... if I think Misao is in any danger, at any point, in any way--" Aoshi's eyes narrowed dangerously. "--I'll leave."
The redhead nodded in agreement. "And I wouldn't blame you if you did, that I would not."
* * *
Dinner passed without incident, as usual. Aoshi listened from afar to the relaxed conversation at the table as the small family enjoyed their meal. Aoshi politely declined when Kenshin offered him a chair, telling them of the dinner Misao had so graciously prepared for him at their Aoiya Restaurant before he arrived. He hadn't given Misao the slightest hint as to where he was headed, and due to her persistence and pig-headed stubbornness, Aoshi found himself breaking her heart once again by telling her to butt out.
Misao had simply smiled, a few tears threatening to fall, and went back to serving her customers. He felt like such a bastard for doing it to her... but it really was for her own safety. He couldn't stress that enough for her, that there were certain things she just didn't need to get involved in.
But Aoshi knew that if something were to happen, Misao would sense it somehow or another, like she always did. She'd come after him, and she'd be in danger as well. He knew it would happen.
All he had to do is wait.
* * *
Himura Kenshin sighed. Three hours overtime, and still no clue as to the whereabouts of the man known as Sagara Sanosuke. The name bothered him... Sagara... where had he heard that name before? It was most definitely from his past... his past in the Yakuza. But he had never met the guy before. And, this 'Sagara Sanosuke', being a freelance Yakuza, there was a slim chance of them having ever crossed paths before.
Lowering his hat over his eyes, Kenshin's stomach gurgled. He knew he shouldn't have stopped by the Akabeko Bar for a drink, but this case had gotten him rather weary lately. He needed something to dull the numbing pain he felt in his head, and alcohol had seemed like a good idea at the time. He wasn't sure who this Sagara fellow was, or why he was after him, but it was obviously not good. For the Shishio Clan to hire a freelancer to track him down, it was quite apparent that Makoto Shishio didn't want to draw attention to himself. Instead, the blood would be on the hands of some stranger that was expendable.
Does Shishio think me that dangerous? Kenshin thought. Of course he does... and not just because of my abilities. It's because I know too much.
Kenshin stopped by a lamppost, resting against it for a moment to gather his thoughts. If Shishio were after him, it would be for either one of two things: 1) to recruit him again, or 2) to kill him. Either way, he was screwed. Kenshin knew that his past ties would come back to haunt him someday... but why now? Why now, when he was finally happy with his life, when he had such wonderful people around him? Why now, when he was working a job he actually enjoyed and at the same time atoned for his past crimes?
He feared the worst for Yahiko... he really didn't want to leave him alone tonight, even if he knew he could trust Aoshi. He also knew the entire Brooklyn police department would do whatever was needed for Yahiko's protection... but, being the reformed rebel Kenshin was, he wasn't sure how well he could trust any of them. Hell, he hardly trusted his partner, Saitou, at times. But he knew he could rely on Shinomori Aoshi. They had been through a lot together during their time in America, and no one knew of his involvement with the Yakuza better--save Saitou Hajime.
Casting his eyes skyward, Kenshin winced when the first few drops from the impending storm rained down on his face. Being too preoccupied with the rain, he didn't pay much notice to the looming figure that approached.
Another reason why he didn't drink that often. It numbed not only his head and his skills, but impaired his judgment as well.
"Excuse me," the low voice grumbled. "But could you tell me where the Bagel Point Cafe is?"
Kenshin thought a moment. Every native to Brooklyn knew where the Bagel Point Cafe was. And the voice asking him such was thick with a Japanese accent; reason told Kenshin he should be more cautious of this fact. But reason was a bit sluggish tonight due to the practice of throwing back a few to dull the throbbing all this mayhem had created in his head.
And now, his instincts trying to take over, his head hurt even worse. Kenshin faltered a bit, stumbling over his words. "Oro..." he began, lifting his gaze to meet the dark eyes of the man before him. "It's just down that street there, on your left--"
The dark man slapped on a crooked grin and his eyes sparkled. "Thank you, Mr.--" he paused, rubbing his chin. "--Your name is Himura Kenshin, isn't it?"
Reason finally erupted into panic, forcing Kenshin to leap away in preparation for an impending fight. Was this the guy? Was this the freelancer Shishio sent after him?
"What? Are you surprised I knew your name?" The man said, stepping into the light provided by the streetlamp. He was a dashingly handsome man, with an angular face curtained by wild, spiky locks of dark chestnut hair. His brown eyes glinted in the light, faking a sense of innocence that Kenshin knew was not present. "Your scar gave it away."
"Who the hell are you?" Kenshin hissed, his eyes narrowing into golden slits.
"I've been waiting a long time to meet you, Mr. Himura. For you see, I've got a score to settle with you... one that's been the cause of my pain since I was eight years old," the man growled, his throat rumbling in anticipation for the battle to come. "Oh... and the name is Sagara Sanosuke."
Kenshin swallowed hard, his face turning pale. What the hell did he mean, 'a score to settle'? "I don't understand--we've never even met, you and I!"
The rain was coming down harder now, matting the freelancer's bangs to his dark face. "I'm hurt. And here I thought men like you revel in knowing the names of your victims," Sanosuke began, scratching his chin. "Doesn't matter though--you can call me Zanza. I'm a fighter for hire, dontcha know. And you--" he continued, cracking his bandaged knuckles. "--Aren't even going to have a chance to scream."
Kenshin staggered a bit, cursing himself for being so careless tonight. The news of Shishio's plans had just gotten to him; and their clan was very indirect when it came to execution. Shishio pleasured himself in the feeling of dragging things out...
Kenshin had underestimated the freelancer before him, however.
"What? Scream? Before you kill me, you mean?" Kenshin grinned slyly, flipping a dagger out from a sleeve. "I don't think Shishio gave you the low-down on me, did he? I've been fighting since I was six years old."
"That's funny!" Sanosuke laughed. "So have I! You 'reformed' clan-Yakuza... you're all alike. So selfish and too full of yourselves to realize what your actions are doing to us, the lower people on the food chain. I'll let you in on a little secret--" Sanosuke smiled. "Shishio's paying me for this, true. But I would have come after you anyway."
The red-haired cop blinked in confusion. Just what was this guy's beef? First he claims he wants revenge on Kenshin... then he says he has nothing to do with Shishio?
Sanosuke worked out the kinks in his neck and stretched a bit. "I can assure you, I've got no business with him. This fight is entirely personal on my part... but he was offering quite the chunk of money for you're head on a silver platter. So why not cash in on the deal too?"
Kenshin chewed on his bottom lip, trying his damnedest to figure out just what it was that made this guy tick, besides revenge. He didn't even know what said revenge was for.... True, he killed a lot of people back in his assassin days for Shishio and his clan. And he had known the names of all his victims. Those names haunted him even to this very day; they kept him awake at night as he stared at the ceiling, the familiar sensation of tears flooding his pillow. But... he could not, for the life of him, recall the name 'Sagara' in that long list. And with the glimmering promise of money in the deal... it was going to be even harder to convince Sanosuke otherwise.
"I already knew--" Kenshin began, lowering his voice to dangerous levels. "--That he wanted me dead. It's only reasonable that he would--I know everything about his operation. And I'm a cop. I could easily tip the authorities as to his whereabouts. I'm a threat to him."
"As you are to everyone around you," Sanosuke beamed. "What about that boy you took in? He's in danger now that he's met you. If you would have left the kid alone on the streets the Yakuza would have pitied him and given him a nice home."
"But it would not earn him the kind of reputation--or start in life--that he deserves," Kenshin growled. "That kid is brilliant--he's got a lot of potential. I don't want to see it wasted!"
Sanosuke "tsked", waving a finger at the shorter man. "That right there--that's going to be your downfall. You've grown too soft."
"Not soft," Kenshin muttered. "Just a little more appreciative of life."
"Hmph," the freelancer said. "Whatever. Can we fight now? I really don't want to have to reschedule my flight tonight."
"I thought you'd never ask," Kenshin sarcastically said in monotone, lunging forth with daggers in his hands--and eyes. It had been much too long since he'd had the chance to fight freestyle for a change--so much order to battle and defeating your opponent was involved when he arrested criminals. He liked the wild unpredictability of this kind of thirsty, personal battle. It was invigorating knowing there was much more than just his job on the line.
For being such a tall and lanky man, Sanosuke didn't look that fast--in fact, he wasn't. Kenshin was just so out of practice--and not quite sharp enough after the Akabeko--to keep up with the freelancer's powerful movements. A strong fist clubbed Kenshin in the stomach, making him wretch as a fresh trail of crimson blood found it pouring out from his gaping mouth. He choked and sputtered a bit, not before freeing himself from Sanosuke's second blow; this one aimed for his back.
Kenshin flew through the air like the nimble little ex-assassin he was, bounding well away from the solid fists of his opponent. Shit , Kenshin cursed himself mentally. This guy's built like a brick house. I can surely out run him from this distance, but my strength is no match for his.
Sanosuke grinned, barely taking note of the warm, sticky, wet crimson that found itself staining his sleeve. He merely shook his head in disappointment and advanced forward once more. "I'm disappointed, Mr. Himura. I was told you might be out of practice--but this? I didn't even think I'd be able to land a punch so early--and so effectively--during our fight."
Kenshin felt his vision wavering, the blood still dripping out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin. Sanosuke was close--dangerously close. Close enough to hit him again; and Kenshin knew that he couldn't take another blow like that and live to tell about it. But every nerve in his body was shot.
Kenshin collapsed to his knees, clutching his stomach. The freelancer stopped just a breath's length away, lowering himself so that he may look into those purple, glaring pools that silently cursed their owner's negligence.
Sanosuke smiled. "You... Himura Kenshin. Such a pretty thing... too bad Sagara-sensei's spirit won't rest until you're dead ..." Without warning, a hand came slashing upwards, slicing Sanosuke across the face. Kenshin readied the dagger for another blow, this time to the gut, but before he could do so a hand came crashing down into the back of his neck. The world around Kenshin went blurry, then completely black as his senses took leave.
Sanosuke cringed at the gash across his cheek. "Little bastard," he said, spitting on the unconscious form below him. "I doubt that killed you... but damn, you'll sure be feeling it in the morning!"
Scanning the battlefield, Sanosuke discovered the hat that once sat atop the former assassin's head... he kind of liked that hat. With a flip of his wrist, the hat rested upon his own chestnut locks, shielding the drizzling rain from his dark eyes. Yes, the hat was good. He could get used to it.
Ah, hell... Sanosuke sighed. I knew I couldn't kill the poor jackass. It's just not in my nature... Sanosuke realized that revenge was useless in matters like these. Revenge only brought upon more killing, more sadness, and the cycle would never end. No, he just wanted to beat spit-less the man who killed his beloved Sagara-sensei, and maybe salvage something valuable in the process. He could easily take the beaten cop to Shishio himself and let the burnt man do with Kenshin as he pleased, since Shishio specified that he'd take the redhead back dead or alive. But at that rate, it'd be hard to smuggle a body through the security check at the airport. He'd have to have Tsunan borrow a personal plane from one of his buddies through his American 'connections'. He was already late as it was... their flight left in an hour.
Searching the limp form of his defeated opponent, he discovered a wallet, a gun, some chewing gum... and a shitload of concealed knives. Curiously, Sanosuke unbuttoned the man's shirt and sure enough, more knives and other assorted weaponry were strapped to Kenshin's chest. Wow... Sanosuke thought. This guy travels ready for anything... Is that what it's like, living a fearful life of atonement for one's past sins?
The freelancer rummaged around a bit more, examining the tattoos typical of one who worked for the Yakuza. In the Yakuza, tattoos were symbolic of strength and a sign of one's belonging to their clan; a badge, of sorts. Sanosuke had an idea: the arms! The arms, for assassins, were like a tallying board. Black rings were usually tattooed around the arm to specify how many people a particular assassin killed. Nowadays, it was unusual for an assassin to do this; such things just went out of style after a while. But Sanosuke perceived Himura as one who had a little bit more respect for tradition than most.
Pulling the shirt completely off, Sanosuke gasped. Twenty-five rings... on each arm... totaling fifty. Fifty people lost their lives to this man. Fifty.
Fifty... fifty! His mind repeated. Sweat trickled down Sanosuke's pale brow, and he began to shake.
"Holy shit... what have I done?!"
to be continued....
Notes for part two:
The Yakuza acts as a safe-haven for those who are outcasts. Members could be children that have been abandoned by their parents, kids that have dropped out of school or refugees from Korea or China. Yakuza offers not only companionship, but money, social status, and authority. There is no 'special test' one must perform to become a member, so it would have been rather simple for an orphan like Yahiko to become a member. However, it is expected for each member to show their superiors total obedience and respect.
It's usual within the Yakuza for its members to tattoo themselves, the tattoo's acting as their clan's badge. The tattoo's are large and cover the whole body. Tattooing done by the Yakuza originates from Bakuto (gamblers). Tattooing in the Yakuza is a symbol of strength (a back tattoo could take over 100 hours to create). Tattooing in the Yakuza was a symbol of rebellion, that you are unwilling to accommodate yourself to the rules and norms of society; nowadays it merely illustrates your belonging to your clan.
And for those of you who aren't in the know, 'Tadaima' means 'I'm home'. Yes, I understand that this takes place in America, and they SHOULD be speaking English, but both Yahiko and Kenshin are natives of Japan, so it wouldn't be all that unusual for them to slip into Japanese every now and then. ^_^
Author: Mi-chan
Rating: R
Series: Rurouni Kenshin (AU, Modern-day)
Pairings: Hmmm... read and find out. =D
Part Two: The East Calls
"Tadaimaaaaaa!" Myoujin Yahiko shouted, his voice ringing throughout the small apartment. Plopping his bag and trumpet case down on the floor, he made his way for the kitchen, where Kenshin usually was this time of day. Kenshin always got home before he did, what with jazz band practice after school always running late.
A blonde boy poked his head through the door, his large brown eyes narrowing into tiny slits. "Mr. Himura's not home yet, is he?"
"Not yet, Yutarou," Yahiko grinned slyly, licking his lips as he looked his friend up and down. Yutarou's face turned red as a turnip, sweat forming on his brow and running down to his chin.
"Right now?! Here?!" Yutarou cringed as Yahiko slammed and locked the door, leading Yutarou by the hand to his room.
"Damn, you're such a baby," Yahiko spat, throwing Yutarou down on his nicely made bed. That was one of the advantages of having a foster father that couldn't keep still; every room was always clean, even his own. "It's not like we're going to do anything, just... make-out until our tongues fall off."
Yutarou blushed again. Of course he'd be a little reluctant to go any further. It wasn't right for Kenshin not to be home when they got back from practice. He could virtually come home any moment; and Yahiko was being too damn careless for Yutarou's tastes. "Yahiko-kun...."
"Drop the formalities, Yu," Yahiko said, lunging for the crook between Yutarou's neck and shoulder with his tongue. He steadily licked a path up to the blonde boy's mouth, pressing his lips firmly and requesting entrance.
With that, the dreaded knock at the door sounded. Yahiko leapt twenty feet into the air, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling fan. Good thing the fan wasn't on, Yutarou thought, or Yahiko would have lost more than just his composure.
The door crept open slowly; the two boys adjusted their clothes, fixed hair, and wiped away sweat. A strange, dark figure wearing a black trench coat stood in the doorway, the man's piercing blue eyes drilling a hole through Yahiko's poise. Yahiko stammered: "Who the hell are you?"
Shinomori Aoshi just glared.
Kenshin popped his head out from behind the tall man, his face cheery as ever. "Oi, sorry for coming home late, Yahiko." Kenshin noted Yutarou's presence and acknowledged him with a nod.
"Good evening, Mr. Himura," the blonde boy stuttered, nearly giving away how uncomfortable this situation was.
"I see you two have met Mr. Shinomori," Kenshin chirped. "I've got some business to attend to tonight, so Mr. Shinomori's going to watch over you two while I'm gone, that he is."
Yahiko choked. A babysitter?! "Wha--?"
Kenshin adjusted his apron, the same pink and yellow polka-dotted one he wore when cooking. "I'm heading back to the station tonight to get some extra work done, Yahiko. And someone needs to be here tonight in case I get any important... 'phone calls'."
Yahiko caught the glint in Kenshin's eyes. He could detect such subtleties from a mile away, and Kenshin knew it. The dark-haired boy nodded, turning his attention to Yutarou. "Oi... did you say you'd be able to stay for dinner? I'm sure Kenshin'd be glad to have you over."
Kenshin nodded, his eyes smiling. "Sure, but he needs to go home right after. You have some major studying to do for your Government exam tomorrow." Not to mention he may be in danger in case anything happens... Kenshin thought.
Shinomori Aoshi sighed, leaning up against a wall as Yahiko and Yutarou rushed out into the living room to repossess the satellite television. "So, Himura... are you going to explain to me exactly what this is about?"
Kenshin closed his eyes, reducing his voice to the barest whisper. "Yes... but I'll explain before I leave. Just trust me... I need you right now. Yahiko's in trouble. And Miss Misao might be, as well. It'd be best if we all kept an eye out."
Aoshi darted his piercing gaze Kenshin's way. "Are you telling me I shouldn't have left Misao at home, then?"
"No," Kenshin replied. "...And yes. Misao's not in any danger as long as she doesn't get involved... but now that I've asked you to help, she's going to follow."
Sighing, Aoshi nodded.
Misao... The girl was so much trouble. Not in a bad way, though. Aoshi knew he had to keep an eye on her, but doing so without putting her in danger? Hardly. Danger enjoyed torturing Kenshin so much that it liked to bring his friends along for the ride.
"I'll keep an eye on Yahiko for you then," Aoshi said in his usual monotone, his dark eyes contrasting with Kenshin's own bright orbs. "But... if I think Misao is in any danger, at any point, in any way--" Aoshi's eyes narrowed dangerously. "--I'll leave."
The redhead nodded in agreement. "And I wouldn't blame you if you did, that I would not."
* * *
Dinner passed without incident, as usual. Aoshi listened from afar to the relaxed conversation at the table as the small family enjoyed their meal. Aoshi politely declined when Kenshin offered him a chair, telling them of the dinner Misao had so graciously prepared for him at their Aoiya Restaurant before he arrived. He hadn't given Misao the slightest hint as to where he was headed, and due to her persistence and pig-headed stubbornness, Aoshi found himself breaking her heart once again by telling her to butt out.
Misao had simply smiled, a few tears threatening to fall, and went back to serving her customers. He felt like such a bastard for doing it to her... but it really was for her own safety. He couldn't stress that enough for her, that there were certain things she just didn't need to get involved in.
But Aoshi knew that if something were to happen, Misao would sense it somehow or another, like she always did. She'd come after him, and she'd be in danger as well. He knew it would happen.
All he had to do is wait.
* * *
Himura Kenshin sighed. Three hours overtime, and still no clue as to the whereabouts of the man known as Sagara Sanosuke. The name bothered him... Sagara... where had he heard that name before? It was most definitely from his past... his past in the Yakuza. But he had never met the guy before. And, this 'Sagara Sanosuke', being a freelance Yakuza, there was a slim chance of them having ever crossed paths before.
Lowering his hat over his eyes, Kenshin's stomach gurgled. He knew he shouldn't have stopped by the Akabeko Bar for a drink, but this case had gotten him rather weary lately. He needed something to dull the numbing pain he felt in his head, and alcohol had seemed like a good idea at the time. He wasn't sure who this Sagara fellow was, or why he was after him, but it was obviously not good. For the Shishio Clan to hire a freelancer to track him down, it was quite apparent that Makoto Shishio didn't want to draw attention to himself. Instead, the blood would be on the hands of some stranger that was expendable.
Does Shishio think me that dangerous? Kenshin thought. Of course he does... and not just because of my abilities. It's because I know too much.
Kenshin stopped by a lamppost, resting against it for a moment to gather his thoughts. If Shishio were after him, it would be for either one of two things: 1) to recruit him again, or 2) to kill him. Either way, he was screwed. Kenshin knew that his past ties would come back to haunt him someday... but why now? Why now, when he was finally happy with his life, when he had such wonderful people around him? Why now, when he was working a job he actually enjoyed and at the same time atoned for his past crimes?
He feared the worst for Yahiko... he really didn't want to leave him alone tonight, even if he knew he could trust Aoshi. He also knew the entire Brooklyn police department would do whatever was needed for Yahiko's protection... but, being the reformed rebel Kenshin was, he wasn't sure how well he could trust any of them. Hell, he hardly trusted his partner, Saitou, at times. But he knew he could rely on Shinomori Aoshi. They had been through a lot together during their time in America, and no one knew of his involvement with the Yakuza better--save Saitou Hajime.
Casting his eyes skyward, Kenshin winced when the first few drops from the impending storm rained down on his face. Being too preoccupied with the rain, he didn't pay much notice to the looming figure that approached.
Another reason why he didn't drink that often. It numbed not only his head and his skills, but impaired his judgment as well.
"Excuse me," the low voice grumbled. "But could you tell me where the Bagel Point Cafe is?"
Kenshin thought a moment. Every native to Brooklyn knew where the Bagel Point Cafe was. And the voice asking him such was thick with a Japanese accent; reason told Kenshin he should be more cautious of this fact. But reason was a bit sluggish tonight due to the practice of throwing back a few to dull the throbbing all this mayhem had created in his head.
And now, his instincts trying to take over, his head hurt even worse. Kenshin faltered a bit, stumbling over his words. "Oro..." he began, lifting his gaze to meet the dark eyes of the man before him. "It's just down that street there, on your left--"
The dark man slapped on a crooked grin and his eyes sparkled. "Thank you, Mr.--" he paused, rubbing his chin. "--Your name is Himura Kenshin, isn't it?"
Reason finally erupted into panic, forcing Kenshin to leap away in preparation for an impending fight. Was this the guy? Was this the freelancer Shishio sent after him?
"What? Are you surprised I knew your name?" The man said, stepping into the light provided by the streetlamp. He was a dashingly handsome man, with an angular face curtained by wild, spiky locks of dark chestnut hair. His brown eyes glinted in the light, faking a sense of innocence that Kenshin knew was not present. "Your scar gave it away."
"Who the hell are you?" Kenshin hissed, his eyes narrowing into golden slits.
"I've been waiting a long time to meet you, Mr. Himura. For you see, I've got a score to settle with you... one that's been the cause of my pain since I was eight years old," the man growled, his throat rumbling in anticipation for the battle to come. "Oh... and the name is Sagara Sanosuke."
Kenshin swallowed hard, his face turning pale. What the hell did he mean, 'a score to settle'? "I don't understand--we've never even met, you and I!"
The rain was coming down harder now, matting the freelancer's bangs to his dark face. "I'm hurt. And here I thought men like you revel in knowing the names of your victims," Sanosuke began, scratching his chin. "Doesn't matter though--you can call me Zanza. I'm a fighter for hire, dontcha know. And you--" he continued, cracking his bandaged knuckles. "--Aren't even going to have a chance to scream."
Kenshin staggered a bit, cursing himself for being so careless tonight. The news of Shishio's plans had just gotten to him; and their clan was very indirect when it came to execution. Shishio pleasured himself in the feeling of dragging things out...
Kenshin had underestimated the freelancer before him, however.
"What? Scream? Before you kill me, you mean?" Kenshin grinned slyly, flipping a dagger out from a sleeve. "I don't think Shishio gave you the low-down on me, did he? I've been fighting since I was six years old."
"That's funny!" Sanosuke laughed. "So have I! You 'reformed' clan-Yakuza... you're all alike. So selfish and too full of yourselves to realize what your actions are doing to us, the lower people on the food chain. I'll let you in on a little secret--" Sanosuke smiled. "Shishio's paying me for this, true. But I would have come after you anyway."
The red-haired cop blinked in confusion. Just what was this guy's beef? First he claims he wants revenge on Kenshin... then he says he has nothing to do with Shishio?
Sanosuke worked out the kinks in his neck and stretched a bit. "I can assure you, I've got no business with him. This fight is entirely personal on my part... but he was offering quite the chunk of money for you're head on a silver platter. So why not cash in on the deal too?"
Kenshin chewed on his bottom lip, trying his damnedest to figure out just what it was that made this guy tick, besides revenge. He didn't even know what said revenge was for.... True, he killed a lot of people back in his assassin days for Shishio and his clan. And he had known the names of all his victims. Those names haunted him even to this very day; they kept him awake at night as he stared at the ceiling, the familiar sensation of tears flooding his pillow. But... he could not, for the life of him, recall the name 'Sagara' in that long list. And with the glimmering promise of money in the deal... it was going to be even harder to convince Sanosuke otherwise.
"I already knew--" Kenshin began, lowering his voice to dangerous levels. "--That he wanted me dead. It's only reasonable that he would--I know everything about his operation. And I'm a cop. I could easily tip the authorities as to his whereabouts. I'm a threat to him."
"As you are to everyone around you," Sanosuke beamed. "What about that boy you took in? He's in danger now that he's met you. If you would have left the kid alone on the streets the Yakuza would have pitied him and given him a nice home."
"But it would not earn him the kind of reputation--or start in life--that he deserves," Kenshin growled. "That kid is brilliant--he's got a lot of potential. I don't want to see it wasted!"
Sanosuke "tsked", waving a finger at the shorter man. "That right there--that's going to be your downfall. You've grown too soft."
"Not soft," Kenshin muttered. "Just a little more appreciative of life."
"Hmph," the freelancer said. "Whatever. Can we fight now? I really don't want to have to reschedule my flight tonight."
"I thought you'd never ask," Kenshin sarcastically said in monotone, lunging forth with daggers in his hands--and eyes. It had been much too long since he'd had the chance to fight freestyle for a change--so much order to battle and defeating your opponent was involved when he arrested criminals. He liked the wild unpredictability of this kind of thirsty, personal battle. It was invigorating knowing there was much more than just his job on the line.
For being such a tall and lanky man, Sanosuke didn't look that fast--in fact, he wasn't. Kenshin was just so out of practice--and not quite sharp enough after the Akabeko--to keep up with the freelancer's powerful movements. A strong fist clubbed Kenshin in the stomach, making him wretch as a fresh trail of crimson blood found it pouring out from his gaping mouth. He choked and sputtered a bit, not before freeing himself from Sanosuke's second blow; this one aimed for his back.
Kenshin flew through the air like the nimble little ex-assassin he was, bounding well away from the solid fists of his opponent. Shit , Kenshin cursed himself mentally. This guy's built like a brick house. I can surely out run him from this distance, but my strength is no match for his.
Sanosuke grinned, barely taking note of the warm, sticky, wet crimson that found itself staining his sleeve. He merely shook his head in disappointment and advanced forward once more. "I'm disappointed, Mr. Himura. I was told you might be out of practice--but this? I didn't even think I'd be able to land a punch so early--and so effectively--during our fight."
Kenshin felt his vision wavering, the blood still dripping out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin. Sanosuke was close--dangerously close. Close enough to hit him again; and Kenshin knew that he couldn't take another blow like that and live to tell about it. But every nerve in his body was shot.
Kenshin collapsed to his knees, clutching his stomach. The freelancer stopped just a breath's length away, lowering himself so that he may look into those purple, glaring pools that silently cursed their owner's negligence.
Sanosuke smiled. "You... Himura Kenshin. Such a pretty thing... too bad Sagara-sensei's spirit won't rest until you're dead ..." Without warning, a hand came slashing upwards, slicing Sanosuke across the face. Kenshin readied the dagger for another blow, this time to the gut, but before he could do so a hand came crashing down into the back of his neck. The world around Kenshin went blurry, then completely black as his senses took leave.
Sanosuke cringed at the gash across his cheek. "Little bastard," he said, spitting on the unconscious form below him. "I doubt that killed you... but damn, you'll sure be feeling it in the morning!"
Scanning the battlefield, Sanosuke discovered the hat that once sat atop the former assassin's head... he kind of liked that hat. With a flip of his wrist, the hat rested upon his own chestnut locks, shielding the drizzling rain from his dark eyes. Yes, the hat was good. He could get used to it.
Ah, hell... Sanosuke sighed. I knew I couldn't kill the poor jackass. It's just not in my nature... Sanosuke realized that revenge was useless in matters like these. Revenge only brought upon more killing, more sadness, and the cycle would never end. No, he just wanted to beat spit-less the man who killed his beloved Sagara-sensei, and maybe salvage something valuable in the process. He could easily take the beaten cop to Shishio himself and let the burnt man do with Kenshin as he pleased, since Shishio specified that he'd take the redhead back dead or alive. But at that rate, it'd be hard to smuggle a body through the security check at the airport. He'd have to have Tsunan borrow a personal plane from one of his buddies through his American 'connections'. He was already late as it was... their flight left in an hour.
Searching the limp form of his defeated opponent, he discovered a wallet, a gun, some chewing gum... and a shitload of concealed knives. Curiously, Sanosuke unbuttoned the man's shirt and sure enough, more knives and other assorted weaponry were strapped to Kenshin's chest. Wow... Sanosuke thought. This guy travels ready for anything... Is that what it's like, living a fearful life of atonement for one's past sins?
The freelancer rummaged around a bit more, examining the tattoos typical of one who worked for the Yakuza. In the Yakuza, tattoos were symbolic of strength and a sign of one's belonging to their clan; a badge, of sorts. Sanosuke had an idea: the arms! The arms, for assassins, were like a tallying board. Black rings were usually tattooed around the arm to specify how many people a particular assassin killed. Nowadays, it was unusual for an assassin to do this; such things just went out of style after a while. But Sanosuke perceived Himura as one who had a little bit more respect for tradition than most.
Pulling the shirt completely off, Sanosuke gasped. Twenty-five rings... on each arm... totaling fifty. Fifty people lost their lives to this man. Fifty.
Fifty... fifty! His mind repeated. Sweat trickled down Sanosuke's pale brow, and he began to shake.
"Holy shit... what have I done?!"
to be continued....
Notes for part two:
The Yakuza acts as a safe-haven for those who are outcasts. Members could be children that have been abandoned by their parents, kids that have dropped out of school or refugees from Korea or China. Yakuza offers not only companionship, but money, social status, and authority. There is no 'special test' one must perform to become a member, so it would have been rather simple for an orphan like Yahiko to become a member. However, it is expected for each member to show their superiors total obedience and respect.
It's usual within the Yakuza for its members to tattoo themselves, the tattoo's acting as their clan's badge. The tattoo's are large and cover the whole body. Tattooing done by the Yakuza originates from Bakuto (gamblers). Tattooing in the Yakuza is a symbol of strength (a back tattoo could take over 100 hours to create). Tattooing in the Yakuza was a symbol of rebellion, that you are unwilling to accommodate yourself to the rules and norms of society; nowadays it merely illustrates your belonging to your clan.
And for those of you who aren't in the know, 'Tadaima' means 'I'm home'. Yes, I understand that this takes place in America, and they SHOULD be speaking English, but both Yahiko and Kenshin are natives of Japan, so it wouldn't be all that unusual for them to slip into Japanese every now and then. ^_^