Secrets and Lies
Part Two
Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction
by Laura Gilkey
*
Kyoto, October 31, late afternoon
Kenshin had barely touched breakfast and come to the station before lunch, now skipping it entirely as he sat for hours, reading, thinking over, and re-reading Soujiro's file. As the afternoon passed he began to feel hungry at last through his distress, but he ignored it. This opportunity was more important.
The file, however, was largely fruitless. Most of it was taken up with Tenken no Soujiro's time with Shishio, in which Soujiro had said that years of calling Kyoto home had yielded no real attachment to it. The scattered sightings since then had the potential to be more telling, but for the most part, he had left the police far behind. The reports were about a trail too cold for anything but the sketchiest information, random glimpses of places he had wandered through. He'd been seen in his old hometown where his family had been killed, but Kenshin's intuition told him certainly that that had been a one-time visit. There was plenty about his stay in Tomi's hometown, but without Tomi, there was no reason for him to be there. For significant locations, that left Yokohama as the only lead.
Kenshin found himself between two conclusions: Soujiro had gone back to Sumidaya, or he'd gone back to wandering. He hoped for the former and thought it likely—after such a tremendous sacrifice for their sakes, he could hardly think that Soujiro would vanish and leave the Sumidas unprotected. However, he could also imagine him taking to the road after all this—a lone wanderer could be seeking his truth or running from his troubles. Kenshin, who had walked that fine line for ten years, knew this very well and from both sides, and admitted to himself that if he'd been forced into such a situation—perhaps if he had been forced to kill Kurogasa or Shishio—he very well might have run. If Soujiro had done that, it would be much harder to find him and help him...
Normally, such meaningful encounters and common ground as Kenshin had with Soujiro would have given him sure insight into what he would do at a time like this, but somehow this situation seemed strange and wouldn't fall into place. From what he had heard, Soujiro was fiercely resisting the killer inside him, clinging to the new self he had found found even at the cost of terrible pain, but his disappearance meant he wasn't totally given to self-sacrifice, either. That middle ground was in a way heartening, but also volatile and difficult to read. That was why Kenshin kept scouring the file; he hoped that the more of this information he could absorb, the more likely he was to see which way Soujiro would turn.
The sunlight from the window had drooped sidelong and gold by the time the clock struck five and he recognized that he had done all he could here. Between the two main possibilities, a telegram to Yokohama could answer the question; if Soujiro had gone there, he would probably have arrived already, or the Sumidas could let him know when he did. He gathered up the by-now-familiar papers into their file cover and left it untied on the desk as he stood, stretched—his legs were stiff from sitting in that low chair so long—and went out into the station.
Most of the officers were putting things up for the evening; the desk where he had waited was just on the other side of the conference room wall, and as he neared the corner, the white-gloved hands of the person sitting there sorting the day's paperwork came into view first, then a lighted cigarette—
At that, Kenshin recognized the way those hands moved, and bounded forward to bring the desk fully into view. It was impossible, but the recognition was sure—"Saitou!"
Saitou looked up at him so calmly that he must've been waiting for it specifically, and showed him a smug, one-sided smile. "You look so shocked."
"When Shishio's fortress exploded, Sano said that you—"
"And you believed that moron for a year and a half." He took a drag from his cigarette. "I'm disappointed.
Kenshin had collected himself and smiled. "I'm glad that he was wrong."
"That isn't very wise of you. I am going to finish our battle someday—although not today."
"Wise or not, it's who I am," he answered comfortably.
"Of course: the kind of person who travels this many miles to champion an old enemy, but it's good to see you taking some responsibility, not just filling his head with your nonsense and then throwing him to the wolves." He gathered his papers, tapped them even on the desk and took them to the filing cabinet.
Kenshin frowned at him with narrowed eyes. "If you value responsibility here, then how do you countenance working for the ones who threaten small children and the elderly to get what they want?"
"You're cutting the list short, aren't you?" Saitou asked around his cigarette as he put the papers away.
"What do you mean?"
He closed the cabinet and returned to the desk, again looking smug. "I should have known it wouldn't occur to you. We knew perfectly well where he left that girl, and he didn't want us to consider taking her from that place by force. Do you suppose he was only thinking of her?"
His implication broke over Kenshin like a wave of icy water. "That... that's impossible."
"No. That was a provision of his contract; you and your group aren't to face charges for the crimes you committed in hiding him from the police," Saitou said flatly as he ground out the cigarette-butt. "As I said, it's good to see you taking some responsibility."
Kenshin knew that Saitou was baiting him and knew not to let himself be played, but he couldn't remain silent at all this. "Why did you do this?" he demanded, Saitou seeming to have risen to the role of the government's voice in the argument. "Soujiro had found a new life for himself that didn't harm anyone—a way to take responsibility for what he'd done, by living his life and doing good with it, more than if he were killed or locked away. You're the ones who made him a killer again, and now you want to the lay the blame on him and me, who believe in atonement and peace!?"
"It's not as if this were forced on some innocent victim," Saitou pointed out with condescension. "This is Okubo's assassin, who killed more people for Shishio than you did for the Isshin Shishi, going only by what we know about, and neither Shishio nor his right hand concerned themselves with such niceties as sparing old women and children. That is what the name 'Tenken no Soujiro' means, which he created for himself and will be until he dies—just as you will always be Hitokiri Battousai, no matter what you say. Only you would call it responsibility to let such a person turn his back on all of that and do as he pleases." As he spoke, he took his coat down off a rack and put it on. "You've had the strength and luck to secure that for yourself until now—Seta Soujiro doesn't. The Meiji Government thought itself very generous in not having him tortured and executed, but letting him live as what he is."
"You're very mistaken about who he is," Kenshin said, following as Saitou started across the station. "If you truly understood him, you'd know that what you're doing to him now is the cruellest execution of all, and I won't let you go through with it!"
"You're right about one thing at least, but he's made it an execution for himself," Saitou said. "He'll suffer and die clinging to the illusion he learned from you, and if you truly intend to wish him the best..." he paused with his hand on the front door handle and looked back at Kenshin, "...then you should pray that it comes soon." With that he was through the station's doors and disappeared into the traffic of the dimming evening street.
**********
Yokohama, October 31, dinner
Soujiro sat by the trunk again but left the quilt laying as it was. Instead of sleeping, he sat puzzling over what he would say when he came out of the room, what he would claim to have been doing, but none of his ideas seemed beyond suspicion, and his fears only intensified when he held each plan text to them, so he kept sitting there, pondering nervously. Bodily, he sat still, but his mind worried at the room like an animal pacing a cage.
He had been sitting there like that for a long time when he heard soft, hesitant knocks on the door. "Soujiro? Are you coming out for dinner?" Obachan called gently.
"Yes, I'm coming!" He seized the chance and emerged to see her.
"Are you all right?" she asked, leading the way down the hall. "You've shut yourself away all day."
"I was just tired," he bluffed. The hours of brainstorming had left him more confused than prepared. "I walked all the way here, you know? So I was taking a nap again."
"Oh, did I wake you up?"
He paused as they sat down around dinner in the kitchen; he knew he hadn't responded like someone just waking up. "Um, no, I woke up a little while ago, and I was trying to get back to sleep, but I couldn't."
"Well, you should have just come on out," she said. "Your Ojisan and I could have used your help serving dinner."
"I'm sorry."
"Oh, don't worry!" she insisted against his dejected tone. "We've managed until now, and I know you were tired, poor dear."
As she patted the back of his hand, Ojisan entered. "Ah, I see you're finally out of bed."
"Yes," he answered.
Ojisan took a seat next to him. "Now, then, I want to hear all about what happened while you were gone."
Again, Soujiro was stranded with no satisfactory plan. "Well, it's kind of..."
The older man paused between mouthfuls of dinner. "If it's a long story, you can at least get started on it."
"I just... I don't know what I should say about it..."
"Now, Junzo, honey, be gentle. He's obviously had a hard time," Obachan said. She turned to Soujiro. "Aren't you hungry, sweetie?"
He belatedly realized that he'd been ignoring his food and hurriedly started prodding at it with a bright, intentional smile. "No, no, it's fine."
"I would at least like to know where Tomi is," Junzo persisted. "You said she was with a friend of yours?"
"Yes, she's with Himura-san in Tokyo. I know he'll take care of her and keep her safe."
"Better than you, you said?"
"Well, things with me are still kind of..."
"Are the police still after you?" Obachan leaned forward and whispered.
"No, no..."
"You lost them?" Junzo asked.
"Well, no, I... I gave myself up, actually..."
"Oh! What happened!?" Obachan asked.
Soujiro had talked himself into another corner; this conversation had him even more trapped than his room had, and although still managing a cheery face, he felt squeezed and hot as he tried to answer. "Well, they... they wanted some things from me, about before, was all, and they let me go..." he trailed off in a tangle.
After a moment's pause, Obachan suddenly took his arm with a distressed whisper. "My goodness, did... did they interrogate you? Did they torture you!?"
He pulled away from her slightly but she held on. "Eh? Areh? Well... ah..."
She held him closer with an arm around his back. "Oh, my poor boy... It's no wonder..."
His heart shuddered—what did that mean? "No... no wonder what?"
"You just... Today you seem so very changed..."
He turned back to his food, putting on all the smile he could muster. "It's okay. I'm okay, really..."
They ate in silence for several moments.
"So they let you go, but things still aren't where you could go get Tomi?" Ojisan picked the questioning back up.
"Well, we're still kind of working things out..."
"Was that why that fellow was here to see you earlier?"
He nodded, chewing on a small bite.
"I thought you said that was someone you used to know," Obachan said.
Soujiro knew he was caught, and could only try nervously to laugh it off. "I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want you to be upset..."
"Oh, you should know better than that. Whatever happened, if it was so bad, we'd rather be there for you and know."
He just stayed silent. She wouldn't say that, if she really knew...
Ojisan pushed back his bowl and took a deep breath to speak. "Well, if you're working this out for yourself, I trust you can take care of it. Just let us know if you need our help. I'm going to go look in on the guests," he said as he stood, then showed a jovial smile. "And you two can figure out something you can do for awhile with one hand."
"I can manage," Soujiro said, relieved that Ojisan had put him on safer ground.
"Back in a bit," he said on his way out of the kitchen.
Soujiro and Reiko-obachan ate silently for a moment, side-by-side.
"Don't listen to what he says," she said at last, very softly. "He was worried sick while you were gone, and all day while you were in your room. I knew you were tired and tried to keep him from going in there, but I wonder if maybe I should have told him to go in and talk to you instead of stewing all over the house."
"Really?" Soujiro pictured himself and Ojisan, each nervously pacing on opposite sides of the door, but the door wasn't really the barrier between them—being in the same room only gave the true divide more sting. "I... I guess things will work out eventually."
He had almost said "I'm glad he didn't come in," but had stopped himself.
Obachan sighed and took a drink of her tea. "I suppose it's not really fair, to expect everything just to go back to the way it was..."
"No, I guess it's not..."
**********
Kyoto, October 31, evening
Kenshin got back to Aoiya late for dinner; Kaoru was busy helping the Oniwabanshu collect the dinner dishes. Tomi was also helping—she seemed right at home here after living at Sumidaya—and Masu and Kon were fussing over her delightedly.
"We saved dinner for you; it's in our room," Kaoru told him as he crossed the restaurant.
"Thank you."
Tomi overheard and broke away from the women to run over to him. "Did you find Soujiro-oniichan? Do you know where he is?" she asked.
He stopped in the doorway of the room, where Sano and Aoshi were waiting, and crouched to talk to Tomi at eye-level. "No; we missed him here, I'm sorry."
"But you said..." she started, looking close to tears.
"He did come here, but I don't know where he is now."
She took a hopeful gasp. "Maybe– Maybe he's going to Tokyo; maybe he's coming back for me."
"If he is, we'll get home soon to meet him," Kenshin said. "But Tomi-dono, he's in a difficult situation. I truly don't know when we might see him again."
"What do you mean?" She was obviously reading the worst meaning into his words.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I mean that I don't know how long it will take, so you'll have to be patient, and you'll have to keep believing in him, and not give up on him even if it takes a long time. But we will find him. You will see him again. I promise you that."
They were reassuring words, but his gravity in delivering them left her staring dumbly.
"Come on, Tomi-chan," Masu said, coming up behind her. "Once we're done with the dishes, I'll show you how to make that new string for your bracelet, okay?"
"Okay!" she said and hurried off.
It was a needed invtervention. Kenshin didn't want to discuss the news with her in earshot, and now only Aoshi and Sano were there as he sat down to eat at last.
"So the cops didn't know where he was, either," Sano surmised.
Kenshin shook his head. "Chou gave me a great deal of general information, but it didn't tell me anything certain. My best guess—my hope—is that he's gone back to Sumidaya. I'll send a telegram there in the morning to find out."
"And if he's not there, then what?"
"Then it will be much more difficult to find him. I've done all I can here, in any case..."
"We'll keep searching and give you any information we find," Aoshi said from beside the window.
Sano leaned back with a frown. "Yeah, I was a big help this time, huh?"
Kenshin shook his head with a smile. "No, I'm very glad you came. I'm thankful to know that I don't have to come here and fight alone."
"Took you long enough to figure it out," Sano teased.
He knew it was a fair shot and took it gracefully. "But I did find out something that you should know."
"Hm?"
"Saitou survived the destruction of Shishio's base. I spoke to him at the police station today; he's alive and well."
"Oh, that's good. Man, I didn't even know what was up with that when he..." Sano ground to a halt in mid-sentence.
Aoshi offered a questioning glance which Kenshin self-consciously avoided in the moment of calm before the explosion.
"That BASTARD!!!" Sano sprang to his feet. "Playing dead so he wouldn't have to finish our fight!! Of all the— Dammit, he's got another thing comin'!! I'm gonna find that sonuvabitch and take him apart right now!!!" he roared, slamming out of the room and throwing the sliding door shut so hard that it bounced back open a few inches.
"Do you think that was wise?" Aoshi asked, rising from his seat and crossing to the door.
As he pushed it fully shut, the sounds from outside dropped in volume, but Kaoru and Misao's voices could still be heard alongside Sanosuke's ranting. "Sanosuke, what are you—" "Wait! Where are you going!?" "Stop!" "Iyaaa!"
Kenshin drank from his bowl of soup. "He'll be all right. Saitou may be nothing like myself, but it's a strange connection between the two of them; I'm sure Saitou wouldn't kill him, and it wouldn't be the first time we got him out of jail if it came to that.
"Did you know that Saitou was alive?" he asked.
"Yes," Aoshi answered. "Since he's usually stationed here, we knew about it almost immediately. It hadn't occurred to me that you might not."
"That is, I didn't ask?"
"Essentially," he admitted.
Out in the restaurant, Sano's language had become increasingly inventive. "Sanosuke! We have customers here!" Okina was shouting.
"I'm sorry for the trouble," Kenshin said.
"No need. Such things happen."
After a pause, Aoshi spoke again. "Himura, when you promised that girl that she would see Soujiro again... You were very serious."
"You're thinking that I promised someone such a thing once before?"
His assent came as a short sigh. "I wasn't there when that one was made, but it has been that long since I saw you so affected by something."
Kenshin chewed a bite and swallowed, but was silent for several more moments. "This is not what I fought Shishio for," he said at last, slowly. "This is not what I fought the Tenken for."
"I know," Aoshi agreed.
**********
Yokohama, November 1, early morning
After the long, deep nap through the middle of the day and the burdens placed on his mind since, Soujiro couldn't fall asleep that night. He shut himself in for bed as early as he dared, again to escape the active burden of secrecy, but then lay awake and distracted, managing no more than snatches of fitful dozing.
'It isn't fair to expect everything to be like it was'... Like expecting the trees here to somehow still be green, he knew that he had expected Ojisan and Obachan to immediately act just as they always had. It was true that they had taken him back in without question, but it would be unfair not to expect the painful prodding. Of course they could feel this distance, of course they would want to know the reason for it, and it was only going to get worse. The government had already found him again, which at least meant that everyone was safe, but also meant that very soon, he would have to do their work under Ojisan and Obachan's noses. He already knew he couldn't manage that without acting even more suspicious. The raw bluffing that had been so painful today was a burden he would have to carry as long as he stayed here.
Again, he didn't have to do it. Everyone was asleep now; it would be easy to get away, set out wandering again in the night. His contact had said he could stop at police stations to let them know where he was so his family wouldn't be threatened. But he couldn't just disappear and leave Ojisan and Obachan to wonder what had become of him. That would be too cruel a thing to do to people he loved, and he still didn't want to face all this alone... with himself.
Some far-off voice in his mind said Isn't 'alone' how I'm doing it now, anyway? If I trusted them and told them, then I wouldn't be alone like this... But the fear instantly pounced and seized him that he would be alone then, with his loved ones' rejection added to this pain.
Either way was too much for him to face. As hard as it was to hide from Ojisan and Obachan under their own roof, it was the best thing he could do now.
He fell back into uncertainty and reassembled that conclusion too many times to count as he lay waiting through the night. He did it over and over until his logic bled out of focus, often lurching off course then dissolving into nothing, leaving him stranded in the question with nothing to steady or guide him through it.
Soujiro wasn't aware of falling asleep at last, but he must have, because when he heard knocks at the inn's front door, it woke him. It was still dark, but Ojisan and Obachan were already up and about. He heard Ojisan's footsteps going to answer the door and he dragged himself out of bed to get dressed.
He had his shirt buttoned and was putting on his kimono when Ojisan rapped on his door. "Soujiro, that man's here to see you again."
His heart plunged; they certainly didn't waste time about this... Still, better to get it over with. "I'll be there in just a minute," he called, put on his hakama, and went out with bare feet and mussed hair.
"He's out in the yard," Ojisan said; he'd been waiting at the door like a sentinel and stayed there as Soujiro went outside. A few muted rays of dawn were struggled through the angry gray sky, and the damp air bit with cold even as it warned of rain. Just for a few minutes...
His contact waited in a hat and wool coat with a Western-style umbrella's hooked handle over his arm while Soujiro stepped into his sandals and went over to him. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, you can," the man said, leading the way to a more private piece of the yard among the peach trees and producing a paper from his coat. "Here."
As Soujiro took it and tucked it in his kimono, he knew just what kind of a paper it was.
"I got you the means, also."
"But, it might cause trouble if I bring that in the house," Soujiro protested weakly. The last thing he needed was for Ojisan to see him with a sword...
"Naturally. Even if you don't, we'd prefer that the Sumidas not know about your work."
"Then, how..."
"During the night we hid it in the bamboo," he said, pointing to the right front corner of the yard. "Just leave it at the scene when you're finished; we'll keep it for you."
"Okay," he said through chattering teeth.
"Well, then, the note should answer any other questions. Good luck," the man said, and walked away.
Soujiro watched him go, but instead of going back inside, he went to the indicated corner and looked into the stand of bamboo; he quickly saw where the sword was propped in the corner of the solid fence, bundled in dark brown cloth and bamboo sticks to camouflage it.
This was the same corner, the same bamboo... A few months ago he had tied his Tanabata wish to one of these stalks—"To live here in peace with my family." The recollection swelled anger and sorrow and a deep sense of being neglected. If he could find that exact stalk, he knew he would seize it and snap it off, but they were all so changed from then, yellow-brown and dead where they had been green. He couldn't recognize the one that had failed him, and only stared at them for several moments despite his stinging cheeks and numb, frigid toes.
The first drop of rain hit his eyebrow and reminded him all at once that he had to go back. It was too cold to stand here, and he couldn't afford anyone to find him here and maybe see the sword. He hurried across the yard and into the house as the first sheet of icy rain swept across the lawn at his heels. Obachan greeted him at the door. "Soujiro! You went outside like that, in this weather!?"
"It's okay; it was just a few minutes," he insisted, rubbing a smile into his right cheek, although his hair and shoulders were already drenched. He headed for his room, but Ojisan stood in his path.
"What did he have to say?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing much. I have to meet him and talk later, and he gave me some things to go over beforehand, so I need to get started on that," Soujiro said, edging awkwardly around him and ducking into the room. "I'll come out and give you a hand as soon as I can!" The joyless relief as he shut the door had become an all-too-familiar sensation.
The empty room echoed with the sound of the pelting rain. "Those clouds have been hanging around for days; it's about time they just got it over with," he heard Obachan say in the hallway.
**********
Kyoto, November 1, morning
"Sanosuke and Himura-kun are on their way, then?" Okina asked as Kaoru came into the kitchen, not in her borrowed apron. Kuro was peeling vegetables nearby while Shiro washed dishes and passed them to Misao to dry and put away. Kaoru had already seen Masu and Kon out among the guests with Tomi tagging along, out of earshot.
"Yes," Kaoru answered. "Kenshin said he wasn't sure when they'd be back, so I thought I'd better get our things together, unless you need a hand in here."
"No, we're doing fine," Okina said.
"You're leaving already?" Misao protested.
"Yes, this afternoon or evening."
"But you just got here!"
"Well, it was all so sudden," Kaoru said placatingly. "We didn't arrange to stay long; Yahiko's waiting for us—"
Misao muttered darkly about Yahiko giving them a cold shoulder.
"—And we've done what we came for as much as we could. I wish we could stay for a fun visit. When the weather warms up next Spring we'll try to come for a week or so, but we just can't this time. "
"I don't get it anyway," Misao's voice rose back to the level of conversaion. "Himura drops everything and makes this whirlwind 'hello-goodbye' trip, just for this person he met like three, four times, all but one of which they were a heartless monster..."
"But he isn't like that anymore; that's the important thing," Kaoru pointed out. "You ought to know by now, it just wouldn't be Kenshin if he stood by and let someone be abused like Soujiro is."
"I know, and I'm not all for letting the government have their way. He just seems to have jumped on it really hard, is all," Misao said, trailing off slightly as she reached to put away some plates.
"I'm not at all surprised," Okina said, drawing Misao and Kaoru's attention. Shiro and Kuro kept at their work, though clearly not oblivious.
"Himura and Seta may have crossed paths only a few times," the old man continued, "but those times were very significant, including two serious battles—critical points in both of their lives, really. Their first battle, which you witnessed—" a nod toward Misao, "—broke Himura's sword and showed him that he had to push his skill further to fight Shishio. You could say that Seta led him to his succession technique and Sakabatou Shin-Uchi. In the Hiei mountains, the tables were turned, and it seems Seta was profoundly affected by it."
"If it was the other way around now, that'd make sense," Misao said, "like Soujiro was grateful, but anything he did for Himura was an accident. He sure wasn't trying to help him then."
"Yes, but Kenshin didn't totally help Soujiro, either," Kaoru admitted. "I know he tried to, and of course he couldn't let Shishio win, but defeating Soujiro got him in trouble with the government the way he is now—I mean, he was a criminal before, but not him alone up against them like this. Kenshin's probably thinking it's his fault."
"He's not the one being a jerk about this! How would it be his fault?" Misao asked.
"Not fault exactly, but Kaoru has a point; I'm sure he does feel some responsibility for what happens to Soujiro now," Okina mused, stroking his beard with care not to disturb the bow in it. "But there is something else that's difficult to explain. It may just sound like an old man's ravings to someone who hasn't actually experienced it..."
Misao looked content to take his word for it, but Kaoru turned to him with full interest. "Oh?"
He took a deep breath, composing the thought. "When two people enter into a serious battle, risking their lives against each other, they bind their fortunes together; each one's fate becomes intimately tied to the fate and actions of the other. If the duel ends in death for one or both of them, obviously this connection is fulfilled and ended, but if both survive, I've often observed it to continue. You could almost call it a bond of blood—in both senses."
"So if two people try to kill each other, it makes them kind of like family," Misao summarized, clearly less than credulous.
"If it's a serious battle between masters, it can," he said.
"It makes a lot of sense to me," Kaoru said, more musing than arguing. "After all, a fight with Kenshin is what brought Sanosuke into our 'family'. Nee, Misao-chan," she turned, "if Kamatari-san walked past you in the street, would you let him go by without a word?"
"No, but it wouldn't be because I like him!"
"People can feel that connection in many different ways," Okina said. "It can bind old enemies who never let each other go—like Saitou to Himura—friends like Himura and Sanosuke or Aoshi..."
Misao reflexively looked up at the mention of Aoshi's name.
"...Or some odd thing in between, like Sanosuke and Saitou—but don't tell him I said that."
Kaoru chuckled.
"...Just as members of a family might love each other or hate each other, but are seldom indifferent," he said. "During the battle that forges it, this bond of blood is very intense. Himura's non-killing way and his strength of heart have led to battles where he used it to heal his opponent rather than harming them—as when he brought Aoshi back to us—leaving that connection and no hatred between them. In such a case I think it does come close to the bond of amiable family. I'm sure that even if Himura and Aoshi didn't see each other for years, they would never forget the friendship that was formed in this way; when they met again, that bond would still be there."
Every mention of Aoshi had seemed to soften Misao's skepticism, and this time she listened so intently that Shiro had to softly call her back to drying dishes.
"Soujiro was definitely healed in their fight," Kaoru agreed. "When he came to Tokyo, he was so hurt he didn't even remember it later, but we found him calling Kenshin for help, maybe kind of on instinct." She paused reflectively. "Kenshin did seem to treat him like a brother, because they'd been through similar things and turned their lives around in similar ways... He's probably thinking, too, what if this had happened to him..."
Okina nodded slowly. "As a war nears its end, a man walks away from the battle, forsaking the path of killing..."
Viewing it against Soujiro's current situation, Kaoru felt the pang of it, and even thought Okina's eyes were slightly misty.
"One could say that Tenken no Soujiro was the Battousai of Shishio's would-be revolution," he said. "Perhaps if Himura and Aoshi are brothers, he and Soujiro are twins."
"I just hope Kenshin finds him with that telegram..." Kaoru said.
**********
Yokohama, November 1, morning
Once he had memorized his instructions—the kill was to be that night—Soujiro tucked the paper back into his kimono, finished getting dressed, and combed his hair, then went out to the kitchen where the window showed a view hardly lighter than night as the rain kept beating down.
Reiko-obachan had collected the breakfast dishes and was drawing water to wash them. "Good morning," she greeted, and motioned to the table. "I saved breakfast for you."
"Thank you." As he looked at the pristine assortment of rice, soup, and pickles, his stomach was already cowering from where that note rested against him and dodged sickeningly at the sight of food.
"Do you know when you'll need to meet that fellow again?"
"Tonight. It'll be late, but he said he'd buy me dinner, so I'll probably skip it until then," he said. At least that would cut down the number of meals he had to explain his way out of...
"I hope the rain clears up by then."
"Can I help with the dishes?" he asked.
"If it's not too much trouble." She glanced at the sling on his arm. "I need to go change linens and start the laundry. Junzo said he'd take the dishes, but you can help with that once you're done eating."
"It's no trouble," he said. Not wanting to look suspicious, he sat down and confronted his breakfast, coaxing himself through a little rice and the liquid from the soup until Obachan finished drawing the dishwater and left the room.
As soon as she was safely gone, he took a deep breath, drank the rest of the soup stock and put the rest of his breakfast in the garbage, burying it under the refuse to hide it. He dropped his dishes in the sink, then pulled out his written orders, crossed to the oven, and opened it to light the paper in the cooking fire. Crouching in front of the stove, he impatiently watched it blacken and curl. The cloying heat and crackling were so loud that by the time he heard footsteps, they were dangerously close, and he hastily dropped the paper into the flames and shut the oven again.
He was just latching it and standing as Ojisan entered. "What were you doing in there?"
"Just... peeking."
"No food to peek at right now."
"Well, I wanted to see if maybe the ashes needed taking out, or..." Soujiro's desperate rambling ran out as he realized that Ojisan was smiling. Maybe—hopefully—he merely thought it childish to peek in the oven. "I can help with the dishes."
Ojisan gave his usual grunt of assent and started scrubbing a bowl. Soujiro picked up the towel; he could hold things in his left hand enough to dry them. He'd blotted and wiped off two bowls and a teacup when he thought he heard slapping wet foosteps running outside. The sound was negligible amid the spattering rain, but then came knocks on the door.
"I'll get it!" he said quickly. If it was his contact again, he wanted to take care of it.
Instead, he was met at the door by a deliveryman whose uniform collar just peeked out of his dripping oilskin raincoat. "Is this Sumidaya?" he asked briskly.
"Yes."
"I thought that's what the sign said, but I didn't get a good look running across the yard. Raining cats and dogs, isn't it?"
"I guess so."
"I've got a telegram for you, from Kyoto. Should I read it to you, or—"
"No, no!" Soujiro interrupted, wishing the messenger would keep his voice down. He didn't know of anyone Ojisan and Obachan knew in Kyoto, so probably it was the government at him again. The man took the telegram out of his raincoat and handed it over with only a few wet spots.
Soujiro opened it and was shocked to see the name "Himura Kenshin" at the bottom before reading it through.
----------
Received from: Kyoto
Date: November 1, Meiji 12
Is Sojiro there query If no please reply if you see him I am a friend his sister is here
Himura Kenshin
Kamiya Dojo
Tokyo
Get Answer(3)
----------
Soujiro stared at the message, stunned. Kenshin was looking for him; he was in Kyoto. Surely he knew... The paper trembled in his shaking hand.
"It's marked 'get answer'," the deliveryman said, "so can you tell me if that person he's asking about—"
"Soujiro, who is it?" Obachan called, somewhere down a hallway but audibly.
"Oh, you're Soujiro! I'll just send back a 'yes', then," he said, turning around.
"No!" Soujiro stopped him. His mind was spinning. Kenshin knew he was a killer again. He couldn't face it, he could suffocate from the shame of it, although... Maybe Kenshin could help him, or maybe he didn't want to; why should he? Why shouldn't Himura-san hate me now? Thinking that about Kenshin struck him false, but just what if it might be true? The thought of saying 'no' burrowed through his guts—lying to perhaps the one person living whom he had the greatest respect for, throwing away a chance for help, for a friend he wouldn't have to lie to and hide from—but the paper terrified him. If the risk turned wrong, such an unbearable price... His heart pounded and he stood there speechless.
"Aha, so you don't want him to know you're here!" the messenger realized.
"Yes, I... Yes, ah, no. I mean that's right."
The man looked at his stricken face and seemed to sober. "Send back a 'no'; you're sure?" he asked, more seriously.
Soujiro took a deep, shaking breath. "Yes, I'm sure," he lied.
"Okay," the messenger said, hitched up his raincoat, and set off running across the rain-whipped yard.
A wave of emotion hit Soujiro with a feeling like his whole body was seizing up. Half of him wanted—was absolutely desperate—to run after the telegraph man and tell him he'd changed his mind, but he couldn't move. His body was paralyzed, hollowed-out and weak as if he must collapse in the next moment. In a gust of wind, two stray raindrops struck the telegram still clutched in his hand. It made him sick with shame to look at it, and slowly, as if his hands were pushing through ice to do it, he folded it and tucked it in his clothes. He'd have to burn it, too, have to burn Kenshin's message... He clung to the door for support as he closed it.
Reiko had appeared in the entryway, looking at him over an armload of linens. "Soujiro, who was it?"
"I...t... it was... It was a salesman!" he burst out, too loudly and with a strained laugh. "He was selling some weird thing I said we didn't want any..."
She put the laundry aside and came closer to him. "You're crying."
Only then did he realize it was true and wipe tears from his cheeks. "I just got some rain on my face, that's all..." But his breath was ragged as sobbing; he couldn't control it. Glancing up, he saw that Ojisan and a few of the guests kept in by the rain had been attracted by the commotion and were in the hallway looking at him. He had to force back a wail with his hand to his mouth, trembling all through his body.
"Do you need to lie down?" Reiko asked him, very softly.
He nodded behind his hand and kept his eyes to the floor so he wouldn't have to look at anyone as she led him slowly back to his room.
**********
Kyoto, November 1, late morning
Kenshin and Sanosuke sat waiting in the telegraph office; Kenshin—who wore a bandage on his cheek to hide his scar—had preferred to wait here for the answer to his telegram rather than receiving it at Aoiya. Sano was still fuming; everyone had managed to keep him from going after Saitou. Sitting here with a chatter of clicking telegraphs in the background, however, his anger was giving way to an edgy tone.
"What I don't get," he was saying, "is what do they send on those wires that makes a piece of metal miles away write words."
"All the machine recieves is a series of 'on' and 'off'," Kenshin explained. "The message is coded in the length and sequence of 'on's, short and long ones, dots and dashes. We used codes like that in the war, although messages I got that way were usually done with a flashing light."
"Yeah, but even that, how does a machine here send that to Yokohama and have it get there in like a few—?"
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Yes?" Kenshin looked up as one of the employees approached them.
"Your answer arrived, sir," the man said, handing over a folded paper.
"Thank you." As he walked back to the machines, Kenshin unfolded the message and read.
----------
Received from: Yokohama
Date: Nov. 1, Meiji 12
Sojiro not here
----------
Sano read over his shoulder and looked at him, but seeing Kenshin's face, he didn't say anything. Slowly, Kenshin folded the paper and stood, and the two of them left the telegraph office in silence.
**********
Yokohama, November 1, night
As the day passed, the rain tapered off to a gentle shower that came and went, unlike the torrential morning. Soujiro secluded himself in his room again and listened to it for hours. Alone there, he had cried himself out over the telegram, but his tears had faded along with the rain, leaving him cold, gray, and numb. It was a melancholy feeling, but also with an unaffected quality; as afternoon dimmed into evening, he was unable to work himself into tears about anything. Although he had yet to see his "other self" and kept awake for fear of another dream like the one he'd had in Kyoto, that numbness was worrisome, as if Tenken might be sneaking up on him from behind—but it was true that at the moment, he needed to put his feelings aside...
He told himself it wouldn't be safe to destroy the telegram now—Ojisan and Obachan would probably be suspicious already. Instead, he shut it in the trunk, took out his new brown and blue-striped outfit and put it on.
When it came time to leave, he thought he should worry about what Ojisan and Obachan would say, but he couldn't find such a feeling in himself. He was going to see that man for dinner as he'd said, and the most trouble they gave him was Obachan forcing him to take a warm jacket and an umbrella, although the rain had stopped again. On the way out, he reached over the fence from the outside to retrieve the sword, which he carried unobtrusively inside the umbrella as he walked down the street, feeling his dread only very distantly, like the remnants of thunder that rumbled far away.
It was another easy job; the target expected to be leaked some government information that had already been intercepted. By the time he got to the appointed place, it had begun to rain again, but he kept walking as it gradually soaked his clothes. The person waiting for him outside the glow of the streetlamps was a woman, a prostitute judging by her gaudy clothes and makeup—unexpected, but it didn't matter...
She looked out from under her own umbrella and laughed as he approached her. "Do you just like getting wet?"
"Tonight I do," he said, coming to a halt as if to wait several feet away.
She looked up and down the empty street. "Do you have what you promised me?"
"Yes, it's in my umbrella."
She beckoned him toward her. He took a few steps forward and lowered the umbrella, and when she saw what was hidden in it, she only had time for a gasp before the blade flicked out and sent her falling in a wave of blood and jewelry.
The self-defensive numbness that had carried Soujiro this far was obliterated as he saw the woman's body hit the pavement. Her head spilled onto the street, her hips pitched unnaturally onto the curb. The severed head of her umbrella rolled around in a wide half-circle before coming to rest, while Soujiro's, still half-closed, merely clattered onto the wet ground around the saya. He had no memory of his instructions to leave the sword, but of his own accord he let it fall from his fingers, blundering back a few steps, then turned his back on the ghastly crime and set off urgently down the street.
He pressed ahead with no sense of a destination—how could he go home after this? When he'd arrived a few days ago, he had had weeks to forget the reality of it, perhaps on some deep, hidden level convince himself that it wouldn't happen again, but right now, tonight, someone was laying in the street, dead by his hand.
The shame of it wrapped around him, thick and smothering, driven home by a horrific thought: a prostitute... For all he knew, that could have been his mother(4), but would even that have mattered? To avoid the government's wrath on himself and on the family he had now, even if he could never go home again, he was certain he would have done even that...
The rain again dwindled and died away, leaving him wet and frigid in empty, stiflingly humid air. He shivered from the cold, but also from a weak, sick feeling as if he might vomit. The rainwater left in his clothes became stagnant and grubby, and he felt dirty, as if he must leave some smear of his guilt on anything he touched, as if the filth on him must be something that anyone could see. Surely such a horrific crime was too much to ever hide... In the glistening street in the dark, he hadn't really been able to see what was rainwater and what was blood. It was possible that he had it all over him, and just couldn't see it in the dark. If he went home, Ojisan and Obachan might wake up tomorrow morning and find him covered in blood...
But as he walked on, the cold pressed at this distracted mind until he couldn't ignore it. His wet clothes weren't keeping it out, and he was becoming dangerously cold; if he didn't get inside, he might freeze. As terrified as he was of his family finding him out, as sick as he felt at the thought of them laying eyes on him after what he'd done, he knew in the end that he had nowhere else to go. They were already putting things up when I left... he thought. I can just go to my room and stay there... Until I'm ready... Until I know what to do...
Slowly, he walked back to Sumidaya, his legs feeling almost too weak and tired to withstand the distance, but at last he came to the low gate. He opened it just enough to slip through, shut it behind him, and walked slowly up the path, eyes to the ground.
At a sound from inside, he looked up and saw a light in the kitchen window. There came a flurry of footsteps, and Reiko-obachan appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the light from inside. "Okaeri! How was your dinner? —Did you forget the umbrella!? You look soaked!"
He stood frozen to the spot. She was speaking some foreign language. That light was another world, where such a wretched sinner as himself could not presume to enter. An invisible chain bound him to the spot, anchored in the dark night outside the gate and attached inside his belly.
"Well, don't stand out there in the cold, come on inside," she said, stepping into her sandals and coming down the porch-steps. It was a surreal, overwhelming and dangerous sight to see her coming, but he couldn't move. She came so close she seemed to fill his vision. She touched him—put her arm around his back and guided him forward, toward that impossible light.
She pulled him into the end of that invisible chain with a jolt that doubled him over, and he vomited on the grass.
"Soujiro! Oh, my goodness!!"
"I'm sorry," he choked out through the acid taste.
"Come on inside!" He had neither will nor strength to resist as she bustled him into the house. Trembling all over, he retched again in the hallway, but Obachan hurried him into the kitchen. He seized the edge of the sink and pulled himself over it just in time.
**********
Tokyo, November 2, dawn
The train pulled into the Tokyo station very early, but Megumi and Yahiko were waiting on the platform as Kenshin carried Tomi off the train piggyback, followed by Kaoru and Sanosuke.
"Okaeri," Megumi said.
"Megumi-san, how did you know—?"
"Misao-chan wired me and said you were on your way."
Sano grumbled about steam and wires, and Megumi gave her lady-laugh. "If you ask me, Sanosuke's far too young to be so stuck in the past." She was obviously addressing him despite the third-person phrase.
"Now look..." he started to protest
"Megumi's right!" Kaoru chimed in, turning on him. "Science is inventing new things all the time, that's progress! Are you going to be scared of everything new that comes along!?"
As the women scolded Sano, Kenshin resituated Tomi on his back and she yawned.
"Did you find him?" Yahiko asked, yawning sympathetically; he looked bleary himself.
"No, he'd already left Kyoto," Kenshin said.
"Is he here? Have you seen him?" Tomi asked.
"No. What did you think?"
"He could have come while we were gone..." she insisted drowsily.
"So what now?" he asked Kenshin.
"I just have to keep looking for him, or doing whatever I can."
Yahiko frowned. "He could come back here himself if he really wanted to."
Kenshin felt a sting from his words, but reminded himself that Yahiko didn't know anything he'd discovered in Kyoto—the disparity was so wide that it was difficult to grasp it. "It's better if we talk about this later," he said and set off walking, trusting the squabbling group behind him to follow.
**********
Yokohama, November 2, evening
"Well?" Reiko asked as the doctor emerged from Soujiro's room and joined her and Junzo around a teapot in the kitchen.
"You say he's been like this since last night?" he asked, taking a seat.
She nodded. "He met someone for dinner and got home late, started throwing up in the yard as he came in. When he was still sick today, I got worried."
"Did you notice anything before that? Did he seem different, or worried, or...?"
"He's seemed different since he got back," Junzo said, taking his pipe out of his mouth for a moment.
"Oh? How?" the doctor asked.
"Well," Reiko said, "you know Soujiro, he was always so happy and genki(5) all the time, but since he got back, he's always sad and tired. He shuts himself in his room for hours, and then yesterday morning he met someone at the door... He wouldn't tell me who it was or what they said, but he broke down in tears and spent the whole day in bed, until he went out and came back sick..."
"There's a lot he won't tell us," Junzo put in.
The doctor opened his mouth.
"Please, I'm so afraid for him," Reiko interrupted. "Do you think he could've been poisoned?"
"No, I don't think so," he said. "It doesn't look like turned food or a stomach bug, either. You're going to think I'm insane..."
"Oh?"
"This looks to me like a case of nerves, worst I've seen in years. On Soujiro of all people, I know, it's unbelievable..."
"Nerves, like nervous system?" Junzo queried.
"No, just nerves, you know. Emotionally, he's so worked up over something that it's making him sick."
They paused in silence. Junzo shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"So what do we do?" Reiko asked.
The doctor sighed. "I'll give you a sedative; it should calm him down. Don't tell him what it is, just say it's medicine and might make him sleepy. Anyway, that should help for the moment, but of course the best thing for him would be to treat the source."
"I just wish I knew what 'the source' was..." Reiko lamented.
"Well, see if you can find out," he said. "Don't push him too hard, but just try and see if he'll tell you what's wrong. That's probably the only way we're going to get anywhere... So, Junzo, do you want to come and get his medicine, or...?"
"Hm? Oh, right," Junzo said, stirring himself and putting away his pipe as he stood. "Back in a bit."
"'Night, Reiko," the doctor said, getting up to lead the way.
"Good night! Hurry back." She watched them go, finished her tea, then got up and went to Soujiro's room. The light from the doorway threw a long stripe of yellow into the blue, dark space, across Soujiro laying in bed, facing the far wall with the quilt gathered up around his ears, just as he had been all day. He curled slightly as if wincing at the bright light, and she pushed the door shut on it and crept over to sit down behind him, gently laying a hand on his upraised shoulder. His shoulder moved a little under her touch with a soft hiss of shifting fabric.
"Soujiro?" she asked quietly. "What's wrong, sweetie? Last night... did something happen?"
Silence.
"It's okay," she assured him.
He stayed silent again, for so long that she began to think he was asleep, but at last he spoke in a weak, quavering voice. "It... it was... the fish," he said. "It... it didn't taste right."
"Oh." She lifted her hand away into her lap and sat back, looking at his hair, the only part of him she could see, as he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. In the still room, she could hear the small sound of his ragged breath and knew that he was quietly crying.
Owari
(But as usual, Autumn will continue...)
Footnotes:
3. There is a reason for the odd wording here, I'm not actually suggesting that Kenshin writes this badly. The thing is, I did a little looking around online, especially at The Telegraph Office (), and tried to make this look authentically like a telegram. They didn't use punctuation, for one thing, so the word "query" represents a question mark. There's also the word "stop" for a period, but since the rest is still understandable just strung together, and telegrams were charged by the word, the "stop" would probably not have been used here. The emphasis on brevity is also why I romanized Soujiro's name differently in the telegrams.
4. See Okaerinasai for previous allusions to his mother's line of work.
5. If you've delved this far into an anime fanfic without knowing what "genki" means, I'm actually surprised, but just in case: "Genki": healthy and energetic, also implies an optimistic outlook.
