I don't own Kenshin.

Ok, so I know that I left you all with nothing but a little bitty short chapter last time after being out of commission for a whole week.  I've just come up with the rest of Kenshin's flashback here to make up for it.  It's short too, but provides some important background/understanding.  Hope you like.

I upped the rating to pg-13 for this fic.  I don't know what rating it really deserves, but I'm covering my bases here.  This section does get a little…passionate.

***Flashback***

The floorboards didn't even creak when he stepped into their home.  It really wasn't much of a home; it was merely a shack of a farmhouse that they'd claimed after the family living here had either died or moved away.  He didn't need to light a lantern to navigate, there were only two rooms in this shack and no furniture within to trip over.  Politely leaving his sandals on the step outside, Kenshin stole through the first bare room and paused in the open doorway of the second room.

She was waiting for him, dressed similarly to him with dark clothes.  Sitting up against the back wall with one knee bent, her odd-bladed sword was on the ground to her right while its mate rested against her left shoulder.  Her head was down, chin resting on that one bent knee, but she was not asleep.  Bright crimson-colored eyes watched from the shadows of her face.

Kenshin did not waste time.  He pulled his sheathed pair of swords from his belt and set them aside on the floor as he knelt before her.  He did not even give her time to put away her own sword before he gathered her in his arms, crushing her tightly to him.

He needed this – needed to feel the warmth of someone alive, of someone who cared if he were alive.  Desperately, he pressed himself closer to her, burying his face in her short brown hair.  Her small hands pulled at the tie in his hair, letting his long locks fall down his back unhindered.  She ran her hands through it, pulling apart clumps that had dried with blood.  She fisted parts of his hair, using that grip to pull his head back.

He knew she wanted to look in his eyes.  So, he kept them closed tightly.  Kenshin couldn't face her now, couldn't let her see the pain and bloodlust of a manslayer that still lurked in the deep purple of his eyes.  Thankfully, she accepted his silent plea to stay concealed, and she pressed warm lips to his in understanding.

Kenshin pulled on her, twisting as he fell backwards to pin her underneath him on the floor.  The sword that was trapped between them now clattered to the floor, a hollow sound of ringing metal that echoed in Kenshin's ears.  Her nimble hands had his gi off his shoulders and his hakama untied before he even realized she'd been tying to get his clothes off.  He made sure they never broke that first kiss. 

Her hands rubbed up his chest, wrapping at either side of his neck and pulling him down closer to her.  Her hands were slippery, barely wet.  In the back of his mind, Kenshin registered that her hands were covered by more than just his sweat.  Blood.  It made him shudder to think that the blood from his clothes – blood from the men he'd recently killed – would be on their bodies as they made love.

But that was nothing new.  She, being responsible for the deaths and blood-letting of just as many men as he, had never objected to the blood he'd come home covered in.  And she'd never objected to this, this desperate act to assure himself that he was still alive – that he hadn't become cold and heartless like the dead men he created. 

She pushed against his shoulders, prying them apart far enough to breathe and speak.  Kenshin braced himself over her with a hand on either side of her head, his forehead resting on hers.

"Shinta," she managed, breathless and chest heaving. 

"You have to go," he finished for her, panting and slumping forward.  She wrapped her arms about his shoulders, a loose and comforting embrace meant to apologize.  He sighed and rolled off to the side, laying on his back next to her.

She sat up, bending one knee again and resting her cheek against it as she gazed down at him.  Her fingers reached out and trailed down the cross-shaped scar of his cheek.  He was eighteen years old, damn it, and he felt more like a child being slapped on the wrist.  With a pouting frown he tossed his head and looked away from her, effectively moving his cheek from her reach. 

"Shinta," she called him again, her voice not nearly as breathy and containing a bit of hurt.  "I only waited to make sure you came back alive."  She picked up the sword that had fallen, using it like a cane to get to her feet.  "And to give you a kiss goodbye."

"Do you think you won't come back?"  Kenshin sat up, folding his legs under him. 

"The Yukiryu are to meet with the Shinsengumi."

"The leader of the Shinsengumi does not like you, does he?" Kenshin asked, looking up at her from the floor.  He thought he'd remembered her tales of Hajime Saitou, and he had his own knowledge of the Shinsegumi's leader to draw from.

"He doesn't.  I should go."  She stood up, threading her two swords into the belt of her black hakama.  She gave him a look, eternal sadness etched into her crimson-colored eyes, before she turned to walk away.

"Wait," Kenshin called, stopping her in her tracks.  He shuffled to his feet, pulling  his loose clothes tighter around him as he hurried to stand in front of her.  "Kiss me goodbye?" he asked.

She didn't disappoint.

***end flashback***

________

Alright, now I've delayed for long enough.  Both the girl talked about above and Shinta will meet ol' Kenshin eventually.  Here's my question for you: should Kenshin meet Shinta first then meet her, or should Kenshin meet her and run into Shinta later?  That will most likely be my next chapter, depending how my fav regular readers respond :)