For War is Kind ~ Chapter 10
Aoshi was still trying to clean the last of the blood from his face as he returned to the Aoi-Ya. It was late, but he had made the trek through lightless back alleys without falter or hesitation, without even needing to glance back to know that his comrades were behind him. The cuffs of his Oniwaban uniform were soaked with crimson, and the hair at his temples was dyed red, stiff so it feathered delicately away from his face.
It had been a while since they had needed to do something like this; he had forgotten how good it felt. How he had missed the heft of a blade in his hand, the hiss of steel against steel. Afterwards, he felt only as heavy as the blood that weighed down his clothing, as though that was the only thing holding him here anymore.
There was a raw friction burn between his right thumb and index finger from gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly, but other than that he was unhurt. There was nothing that could hurt him.
Dismissing his agents with a wave of his hand, Aoshi returned to the room he and Sagara had been sharing, unofficially, for the past two weeks. He was surprised to find it empty, but that didn't worry him. He leaned his kodachi in the corner, and started for the far cabinet. The smell of slaughter would probably cling to him for a while, but for now a change of clothes would be enough. With a length of white cloth, he began to clean the blood methodically from his hands.
Behind him, the panel slid quietly open, and Aoshi glanced up briefly. His eyes thinned a little, almost pleasantly. There was something pleasant about returning to find Sagara here. But it was ruined when Sagara looked at him like that.
"Aoshi...?"
"I'm fine," he said briskly as he cleaned the blood from his face. "It's not mine, after all."
"I know," Sagara gasped. He snatched the cloth from his hand and began to wipe away the spots he had missed. "I know you're fine."
And yet he didn't seem very convinced of that. Aoshi reached up to swat his hand away; all this mothering felt too close and cramped after the liberation of the past hour. But at the moment they touched, Sagara's eyes went wide. The distance between them disappeared all at once, as he jerked Aoshi forward into his arms.
"What's the matter?" Aoshi asked, neither accepting nor rejecting the embrace. "You should have seen us, Sagara. We were amazing tonight."
"You sound so proud when you say that." Sagara's voice wavered a little, but he only tightened his grip as though he expected Aoshi to slip away, no matter how tightly he held him. "What happened?"
Aoshi squirmed a little. "It wasn't anything important," he said, measuring his words carefully. I stood to reason that Sagara would still be sensitive about things like this, after all. In the end, he would have to deal with it, but Aoshi saw no reason not to soften the transition as best he could. "We were hired to take out a small faction in the east district. They couldn't even touch us."
"Hired?" Sagara echoed numbly. "That doesn't seem like you…"
His arms slid away from Aoshi's shoulders, falling at his sides. He forced a thin smile. "At least you're all right. That's all that matters."
"Of course I'm all right. Do you really think there's anyone left in this era that can hurt the Oniwaban Ninja?" He stepped away, stripping off his blood soaked shirt and letting it fall to the floor. "At least we're still fighting. And I won't complain about the money."
Sagara flinched at the wet slap of fabric hitting the ground. He pressed a hand over his mouth, color draining from his face as the metallic smell of blood touched his senses. "Aoshi," he whispered. "The war is over..."
"And?" Aoshi hesitated a moment, then slipped out of his pants as well, tugging on a clean yukata. "The war may be over, but there have always been ninja. And there always will be, if I have anything to do with it." He faced Sagara at last, and paused. One eyebrow peaked as he tried to decipher the expression that twisted his face. "What's the matter? You're pale." He came forward, touching his cheek lightly. "You're not worried about me, are you?" He found the thought amusing, and perhaps a bit reassuring.
"That's not it..." Sagara murmured, turning his head to escape Aoshi's touch. His fingertips felt damp, as though they were still stained with blood and left faint spots of scarlet on his skin. "I'm sorry. Maybe I don't understand. Why..." He swallowed hard, sliding a hand back through his hair until his fingers curled at the nape of his neck. "Why anyone would want to fight when he doesn't have to. I know it's not a threat to you. But... all those people..."
Aoshi let his hand fall, backing away a step. He shook his head. "You really don't understand, do you? I do have to fight." He turned away, and returned to the cabinet against the wall. He rose a moment later with a vial of oil and fresh cloth and retrieved his sword, testing its weight in his hand as he said, "It's what we are. It's all we're good at."
"That's a lie," Sagara murmured. He backed off a step, as though Aoshi intended the blade for him.
"You think so?" Aoshi glanced at him briefly and then knelt down, balancing the sword in his lap. he dripped some of the oil onto the blade, and began to clean the blood from it.
"Yes! Aoshi..." But his voice felt heavy in his throat, and Sagara couldn't find all the words he'd meant to say. He pressed a trembling hand to his lips, seeking them there, but he couldn't speak to Aoshi like this, not when he was treating the blade in his hands with such care.
"Forgive me," he whispered, turning away. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm glad you're safe. I'll leave you alone to get cleaned up."
"Sagara," Aoshi said sharply without looking up from his work. "Don't be so naïve. I know you knew this all before. It's what I am. And more than that, it's the last thing I can do for my men. They have nothing else, and neither do I. You understand that."
"I... I don't." Sagara shook his head. "I know that you only want to take care of them, but how can you? Like this...?"
This time, Aoshi did glance up. "I guess you really don't understand. But that's not my problem, is it? But you don't need to worry about me. I can take care of myself. And as for the people we kill… Don't worry about them, either. If it wasn't us, it would be someone else. There's nothing you can do about that."
Sagara's hands twitched into fists at his side, and he forced them to relax again before he spoke. He wasn't angry. He couldn't be angry because he had known this was going to happen. The only thing he hadn't anticipated was how close to the bone it was going to feel when it did. With each of Aoshi's careless words, he felt his old wounds were being torn open. Each loving glance Aoshi gave the sword in his hands seemed to say... they had all died for nothing.
Sagara's eyes flashed in the dim light. "How dare you? How dare you say things like that now?"
Aoshi looked up, admittedly stunned. He'd never heard Sagara talk like that before. "Like what?" He set his sword aside, pushing to his feet. "It's the truth and you know it. What's gotten into you?"
Sagara turned away so he wouldn't have to see the look in Aoshi's eyes. "You murdered them. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Aoshi's eyes narrowed. "If they had been stronger, I wouldn't have killed them, would I?"
Sagara did not know he was going to strike him until it was done. He lashed out, catching Aoshi on the jaw with an open-handed blow. Aoshi's head turned sharply with it, his lips parting a little in shock. Raking his hair back with one hand, Sagara turned to go.
Aoshi touched a hand softly to his cheek; the skin was hot beneath his fingertips. There would be a mark there in the morning, which would condemn him in a way the blood on his hands could not. Aoshi was baffled by the sudden violence dealt him, and by the fact that he was along here now.
"Sagara...?" He lifted his head, found the space before him empty, the panel that led to the hall still a little ajar, the sounds of footsteps, retreating. He gave chase. "Sagara... Sagara, wait!"
He caught him by the shoulder, turning the man to face him. "What the hell's going on?"
"Don't touch me!" Sagara recoiled, slapping his hand away.
Aoshi withdrew, cradling his hand. "You said you liked me, didn't you? And this is a part of me too. You've always know that, so don't act so self-righteous now."
"That's not it." Sagara sighed. "I just thought I wouldn't have to see things like this any more. I... don't like to fight, Aoshi. I don't like knowing how easy it is to end a person's life. I don't like knowing what they died for. Money or ideals... nothing really matters because it's all so insignificant when you have to see their eyes right before you bring the blade down." He lifted a hand to the bridge of his nose. "Maybe you can't understand, but..."
"Do you really think you have any right to say that now?" Aoshi said calmly. "You fought as well. You must have had your reasons. For peace, wasn't it? Everything for the people of Japan?"
"Shut up," Sagara whispered.
"Can you really tell me it didn't feel goof?" Aoshi continued, as though having not heard. "Every one of those Imperialist dogs you put in the ground was another obstacle you cleared aside. Every lie you willingly told, a stone to pave your path." He reached out, as though to pull the man back to him. "We're almost the same, you know. Only I've never claimed to have some higher ideal. I've never been so hypocritical, Sagara."
Sagara leapt back as Aoshi touched him. He looked up, and his eyes were hollow and condemned. "And I was wrong. Do you think a day goes by when I don't realize all over again how wrong I was? When I don't think... the only reason I lived was because death would have been too easy?" He reached out with a trembling hand, touching Aoshi's cheek. "You don't want to be where I am, Aoshi."
Aoshi tilted his chin back a little to escape Sagara's touch. "I see. But there really is nothing I can do about it. I'm in too good a mood tonight to let you ruin it, so I guess it's up to you to put yourself in order."
Without another word, he turned and started back toward their room.