Elflord: Hey . . . I can't think of a good way to do the disclaimer. Sano:
Alright . .. how about something unoriginal. Elflord: Nah . . . aww man
*grabs own hair and pulls violently* THINK, brain, THINK! Sano: *O_o*Look
how about you let me handle this? Elflord: *.....@ . . . Da fic.
Nothing to Spare
The two of them, asleep . . . how sweet. He sat in the corner, staring through the darkness, chewing thoughtfully. Spying and eavesdropping . . . it was a funny habit of his, too hard to break, and too fun to wanna break.
It wasn't a person or thing that really brought them together. Who would've thought that a raccoon girl and a legendary killer would end it up together, after all they'd been through? Well, in fact, she only really knew one of them, as Kenshin often spoke of himself. Indeed, two personalities within one body, a psyche shattered by the burning chaos of blood he had been destined to execute . . . living proof that war did nothing but it's purpose: destroy one thing for another.
But somehow, she had been able to do what her predecessor had been unable. She had been able to look beyond Battousai, the slit-eyed killer of the past; brain warped, heart contorted, still holding a stained sword of a decade ago, designed with no other purpose than to kill. And to counter him, Kenshin Himura; a petite red-headed man, good at laundry, good at cooking, good with kids, good with advice, good at keeping his oath to protect the innocent. . . good with basically everything except seemingly keeping himself out of trouble. That just seemed to tail him wherever he went.
And somehow, someway, these two men, these two personalities, come to rest within one body . . . and she could love them both, together. For ten years, he'd searched for that one thing that could make him whole, that could bring life where decay had thrived for so long. Who would have thought, after waiting so long, he would find it within a girl ten years younger than he? But there it was before his very eyes. An innocent girl hardly able to remember the revolution and a blood-stained assassin who shaped it . . . together at last.
Fact stranger than fiction.
Sanosuke yawned, stretching his arms far over his head. He looked around, his companions . . . no, his friends all asleep after the party. Shishio defeated at last . . . Kenshin and Kaoru, snuggled happily together on the floor, his arm in a protective pose around her shoulder. Aoshi and Misao, not really even touching, but closer than was usual, both snoozing happily under the immense cape. No doubt about it, there was definitely something between them. That'd be kind of weird for Aoshi, no doubt. Heck, even Yahiko and Tsuambe with heads on shoulders. Sure, they were still kids, but even kids can love. And then, the leading lady and her teeny tot troupe . . . Megumi, asleep kitsune style, flanked by two tell-tale little girls. Sanosuke couldn't help but chuckle a bit to himself. She really did look like a mother fox, and the two of them her cubs. They even called her Aunt Megumi.
He smiled. Such a beautiful, beautiful fox. He wished he could tell her . . . he wished he could tell her . . .
"But you can't and you won't," he thought to himself. "'Cuz it's not in ya. Cuz you're a coward."
For so long, he'd watched her, watched her come from what she had been to what she was now. The first time he'd really seen her, kneeling on the floor, the knife in her hands . . . in that one instant, he knew deep down he couldn't hate her. Hate means 'I want you dead.' That obviously wasn't the case. He'd taken it from her. Of all people in the world, perhaps she was the one who deserved it the least.
She had so much give . . . he couldn't let her do that, not if she'd killed Captain Sagara herself. Well, maybe then, but . . . but. . . aww, it's was too confusing!
Funny. By age twenty-two, you were sposed to have grown up a little bit. Guess not. Sounds an awful lot like what a hormone-walking-hard-on- teenager would say.
But then again, it's not like those weren't some good time too. Booze, blades, babes and cold hard cash . . . it was the life.
Not a real one, though.
That was the kind of life where no one cared if you lived or died, as long as you could party tonight. The kind of life where they couldn't give a damn about you as long as your tab gets paid. Where, for just a few yen, you could bed her and then never see her again. What kinda life was that? Might look like a lot fun. But then, perspectives change on you sometimes . . .
Cuz one day, he met a little violet-eyed, red-headed man with a cross cut scar and an endless grin. One who dared wear a sword openly on the streets of Tokyo. That was the first thing that interested him about the strange little troupe in the homey little restaurant. He had to admit it, his plan had just been to pass on through after a few hunts. Keep moving; that's the golden rule.
Plans change.
Because there were more odd characters to this crew. Raccoon girl, Rat boy, and at the head of all of them, the red headed backward-blade man. Somehow, he ended up sticking around the small house they affectionately called "dojo," and somehow, the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and one day . . . well, one day he woke up, and it was almost like home. He'd never admit it, but even after all the griping and groaning concerning her cooking, Sano found he was quite grateful to be able to depend on a hot meal and a warm bed no matter what.
I mean, heck, the last time he'd had that was . . .
He sighed unhappily, a rush of flashbacks coming back to him . . .
* * *
It had been the lights that had first caught his attention. After all, a fire always meant one of three things; either food, warmth, or danger, often all three at once. Even though he didn't know the meaning of the fancy characters of the higher alphabet painted in red over the highest tent, he already knew they represented some sort of anti-imperialist group. That wasn't good. A group meant men, and men meant dangerous.
It had been nearly two years since he'd run away from the orphanage, but the scars from the beatings still ran dimly down his back, a lucid symbol of repression under the government. Even to this day, he avoided strangers at all costs, taking more to stealing food and sleeping in barns than making contact with others. Through old newspapers and notices he found lying about on the streets, he'd learned how to read the lower alphabets, and thus learned of the stirrings of revolution rumbling throughout the country. Everywhere he went, it was the same word, whether on one side or the other; who was going to rule in the next generation. Some said the emperor, other spoke of a new government. Many people were starting to side with the new government, but none could seem to agree.
But none of that really concerned Sano very much. He could care less who ruled. As long as he could eat, sleep, and do things his own way in between, he was happy. What more could an eleven year old ask for, anyway?
Suddenly, he caught onto a scent that made his stomach growl. By now, he could tell the food just by the smell of it. Rice, less than a day old . . . how long had it been since he had actually had a big bowl of hot rice? Round about here in the woods, there weren't too many farms anymore, and for the last week or so, he'd been doing his best just by the forest. That hadn't worked out to well; berries and nuts were okay, but they weren't too filing, and he'd only managed to get a couple of fish. Standing in a freezing stream all day gets to you eventually.
'It's okay,' he thought to himself as he crept up to the rice barrels. 'I'll only take a little bit.'
And true enough, the barrel he found was almost empty already anyway. But to him, it was heaven. Not bothering with neatness, he found a forgotten bowl and scooped straight from the barrel to his mouth, gulping ravenously without caring that he was burning his throat. He'd probably gotten a little too conspicuous, because he wasn't halfway through his stolen meal before two voices began to ring out from one of the tents. "God damn animals," said one.
"Out at the rice again?" another complained. "I thought we had dogs for that."
"Damn lazy beasts. C'mon, maybe we'll get some meat out of it."
"Sounds fine to me."
Sanosuke froze. Where could he go? What could he do? In less than a minute, two men would be coming, and then he was done for . . . hide! The only place available was the barrel itself, so in he went.
"Hey, what's that?" said the second one.
'Whatever you do, just don't find me,' he though to himself, crouching low in the dank, rotting dankness. 'I promise, I won't do anything bad ever again. Just don't find me.' "Looks like . . . hey!" Suddenly a hand dove in at him. It was no use; there was no place to go. The next thing he knew, he was kicking and struggling with all his might, dangling five inches off the ground as an ugly, swarthy man cackled arrogantly.
"Well, well . . . look here, Yingna," the man wheezed, laughing. "I don't think we can eat it . . . but it still might be fun."
"Let me go!" he'd shouted "You friggin' bastards!"
"Ooh, language," Yingna, an even nastier looking man, hooted, rolling up his sleeves. "We can't have that in little boys, now can we?"
"Certainly not." The first one dropped him to the ground. "We shall have to teach him his manners . . ."
Sanosuke squeezed his eyes shut, preparing to get pummeled . . .
"Leave him alone!" a new voice, the sound of a sword being drawn. Sano's eyes sprang open to see a tall, graceful-looking man, sword drawn, advancing on the three of them.
The two men looked at each other, and then at the tall man, and then back at Sano, unable to find the voices.
"Uhh . . . of course, captain . . . Sagara-san sir . . .," Yingna stuttered. "But . . . but you must understand . . . this boy-"
"I am quite well aware of the situation," the tall man interrupted him. "Now get back to your tent, both of you. I will take it from here."
The two men looked back at each other, then shook their heads and left.
Sanosuke looked from his place on the ground up at the tall man who was sheathing his sword.
"Why did you do that?" he asked.
"I don't approve of unfair fights," he answered. "You seem pretty tough, but two adults against one kid isn't right. Now get up and come with me."
"I'm not a kid!" Sanosuke retorted. "I could take both of those guys by myself."
"Is that so?" the captain turned across his shoulder and looked over at him. "Well, then I can't understand what you were doing on the ground there, but it doesn't matter. Two against one anytime isn't right. Get up, we haven't got all night."
With that, the man began to walk away. Sano jumped to his feet and began to follow him. For some strange reason, he seemed to trust this man, but he couldn't tell why. For all he could tell, he was just another person to hurt him. Even so, he felt he could follow him without having to fear.
Through the camp, he kept close to this Sagara, holding close under his shadow to avoid being seen by more soldiers. He was starting to wonder just one sort of man this was. Imagine his surprise when he turned into the largest tent with the red symbols.
"You stay here?" he asked in amazement, staring about at the warm, well-lit room inside. "Wow!"
"I'm glad you're impressed," Sagara answered in that same cold, emotionless tone. "Sit down and I'll make you a tea."
Sano sat down on the floor next to the makeshift fireplace and eased a little sigh of relief, watching as the teapot got redder and redder over the fire and listening to the slow, meditative bubble, bubble of the water. When at last it was sitting there in a cup in front of him, he didn't waste time in gulping the whole thing down, dregs and all.
"You shouldn't do that," the captain commented coldly yet made no move to stop him. "It's a wonder you don't burn yourself."
"M'fine," Sano muttered in an unmannered way like through his tea, snapping the cup back down on the canvas floor where it was quickly filled again. "Thanks for the tea, man. I 'preciate it. But y'know, I'd better get going again soon. I wanna make it to Kyoto by the fifth."
"Kyoto?" the captain asked. "Now what would a little boy like you want in Kyoto?"
"I'm NOT a little-"
"Fine," he sighed deeply. "Let me rephrase. What would a . . . young person like yourself want in Kyoto?"
"I dunno," Sano answered, pulling at his fingernails. "Seems like everybody's going to Kyoto lately. Word on the street is," he grinned wolfishly, that way he'd seen mercenaries sneer at their friends in sake bars when they were passing on big news, while trying on that new phrase he'd heard so often, "that there's going to be some big business going on down there."
"Ahh. . ." he ignored the obvious arrogance of the child. "So you're going to fight in the revolution. What side do you follow?"
"None, really," he laughed. "I just wanna go and get a piece a the action. I'm always up for a good rumble."
"Hmm . . ." Sagara rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Sanosuke suddenly noticed the man's grim expression and a chunk of ice fell into his stomach. "So you were on your way there?"
Sanosuke stared back blankly, swallowing loudly.
"When you stole my rice, I mean."
"Umm . . . sorry about that, man," he stood up with a start, finally seeming to realize the potential danger of the situation. "Y'know . . . it's getting pretty late, and you got soldiers to take care of and I got places to be," he began back up towards the door flap "so it was great talking to ya, man, we gotta do it again sometime, I'm serio-"
"Not so fast, you." Swift as a cat, the captain caught him by the back of his not-so-white shirt, leaving the tall pre-teen being dragged against the ground. "WE'VE got places to be, I'll wager . . ."
"Aww, man, c'mon!" the now howling boy cried. "What are you doing? Where are you taking me? C'mon, let me go, please!"
"To the authorities, of course," he explained coolly, still tugging the squirming boy along. "And they back to your parents. I'd never let a foolish boy run away to Kyoto. Do you take me for a fool?"
Sanosuke opened his mouth to protest, but shut it after this line. He abruptly stopped struggling and went limp, letting himself be dragged. The captain noticed the sudden change.
"What?" he asked. "What is it?"
"Parents . . ." the young boy mumbled, letting the sentence drift off into nothing.
"Is there something wrong?"
"I don't have any parents," the boy sighed, brushing away a tear he'd not been able to keep back before the man could see it.
The world stood still for a few seconds. The honorable captain Sagara let him go again.
"Do you mean to say you have no one who looks after you?"
"No way!" Sanosuke suddenly seemed to regain his edge. "Man, I got me to look after me! I'm not a little kid, y'know."
"So I've heard," he sighed coolly, keeping his temper even remembering a peaceful pond, "but surely you must need someone older to look after you. There aren't any adults that look after your well being?"
The gangly pre-teen shrugged, drawing his oddly shaped eyebrows together in apathy. "Never really needed any. At least since I ran away from the orphanage. I always could look after myself, all on my own, but they didn't believe me. I just hated it there, and besides, I can make it better on my own."
With this statement, something seemed to touch within Sagara. His eyes went suddenly sad and morose. "I see."
For several minutes, Sagara stared into the fire and said nothing more. Now that danger seemed to have passed, Sanosuke began to look about to learn more about his surroundings. It really wasn't so very fabulous as he had first thought. Oh sure, it was nice, but not much fancier that lots of inns rooms he'd seen before. But it had been a pretty long time since he'd even been inside an inn, or even a house. He'd forgotten a lot of what a normal house actually looked like. Here they were sitting on a nice rug with very simple characters, which was not very expensive, and not particularly beautiful. But a few minutes ago, it had seemed made of the finest silks ever weaved. The banner which hung over the tent, which he'd first thought to be made of white silk embroidered with red thread turned out to be a piece of canvas with the characters painted (and actually, not very neatly painted) on to look like embroidery. Yes, there was a fire, but it was more of a little useful furnace than a luxurious fireplace. What had once looked like stained windows were really rice paper, painted on with perhaps not a perfect but a well intentioned skill in the forms of flowering cherry trees and dragons and so many others. Over in the corner stood a neat little bed, however, it wasn't a four posting canopy with coverlets of the deepest velvet, but really more just a quite normal bed, clean but plain.
What had happened to all the illusions? Cautiously, without making a notice of himself, Sanosuke sniffed at his tea, trying to detect any foreign scent. Had he been drugged? But no, nothing seemed wrong with it.
In a way, he thought to himself, it was better this way. I mean, why stay in a dream when the truth lays there in front of you? So many people, it seemed, always searched for some far off joy and never experienced that which was in front of them, thinking their dreams far greater than the reality.
But maybe they were wrong.
Maybe, in a different way, reality could be beautiful too.
"Why did you run away?" Sagara suddenly asked. Sanosuke started out of his musings, nearly dropping his teacup before actually registering what had been asked.
"E-excuse me?" he stuttered.
"I asked you why you ran away from the orphanage," Captain Sagara repeated. "Do you think you were right to? Were you justified, or did you simply do it to be defiant or troublesome? Did you truly seek adventure to challenge yourself and become stronger, or were you simply young and bored? Why did you choose to leave the life you had and partake upon a new one?"
For what seemed like hours, he sat, staring, trying to figure out if he ought to answer or not. From the way the captain fixed his stare, he expected an answer, but for what that answer would be, he had no idea how to come up with it.
"I dunno," he finally started. "All of those, I guess. I . . ." he was having trouble finding his words. "I guess my biggest reason was . . . well, is . . . I mean . . . I don't want to have to live that way, don't you know? That's not the way people are supposed to live, all cooped up listening to rules they don't understand or and hanging around people they hate. People shouldn't have to be in places where no one pays attention to what they're trying to say, y'know? They shouldn't' have to stay quiet about the things they don't like, and you know . . . I got the opportunity to do something about it. I didn't wanna be in a place where they just beat me up when I said something they didn't like. And besides of which," he suddenly gave a nervous grin, "how am I sposed to learn to fight and be a man if I stay there?"
Sagara looked at him carefully, rubbing at his chin carefully, then turning to stare meditatively at the flames once again.
"So . . . you left to liberate yourself, to seize your freedom. Tell me . . . why do you think they did those sorts of things to you? Why do you think they would treat you so badly?"
The young Sanosuke shrugged, tipping his head to one side. "I dunno," he answered. "They always said I was bad."
"Bad, eh?" the captain said thoughtfully. "I wonder . . . what is your name?"
Sano started suddenly, nearly falling to the floor. He'd just realized . . . throughout this whole situation, he'd never once asked his name.
"Daaa . . . Sanosuke . . . and you can call me Sano if you like," he grinned rather stupidly, not knowing what to say. "Everybody calls me that."
"Sanosuke . . . I like that. Well, Sanosuke I'm going to make you an offer. You seem to have no home, something that everyone deserves to have. Adults usually provide it for chi-" the captain caught himself this time "for . . . younger people . . . but you have no adults to provide a home for you. Or at least no suitable adults, that is. I find it my humble responsibility to take up the role that's been left unfilled in your simple but human life. You have nothing to your name, and I have enough to share. You have come to me under the circumstances of fate, and I have to opportunity to improve your life. Therefore leave you an option. You can stay here and join the Sekihotai as my personal friend, and I as your . . . err . . . guardian. I will be able to teach you, so you speak, how to be a man. I shall be able to take a more proper care of you, and teach you morals that will serve you your whole life. You can learn to fight, as you so wish. I myself am a master in several battle arts. I can guide you towards the life you want . . . if you truly want it. For your other option is to leave this place, and I will bother you no longer, but of your fate, I will wish you the best but can control it no further. Perhaps you still seek Kyoto. Or perhaps you will choose to walk an even more abstract, more fantastic path of which I could not imagine now. Maybe your parents are alive somewhere, and you shall find them, and have a happy life beyond your wildest dreams. It's even possible you would find a love of your life and spend the rest of your days madly in love with the woman of your dreams. But none of that can be assured, you must know. Nowadays, there are awful things out on lonely, dark roads, Sanosuke; things that will swallow you whole if you are not wary of them. Grown men have succumbed to their charms and found their graves. The choice is yours alone, of course, but be sure to make it carefully. After all, no choice is to spare. Nothing is to spare."
The tanned preteen stared, unable to speak. Here was the chance of a lifetime to follow a real man with real caliber, to learn how to fight and become a man, and most importantly, someone who might finally care about him. On the other hand, he wasn't sure if he was ready to leave the road, the wild adventure, the new chances at new lives at every single turn. He rolled the ideas around in his mind but could find no way to have both of them. It was simply impossible. Finally, after several moments of quiet contemplation staring into the flames, he opened his mouth and answered.
"I . . . I guess I'll have to take you up on that, man," he grinned without knowing why. "Ya got me convinced."
"Proposition accepted," Sagara cracked a rare smile, ruffling the youngsters hair, no matter it was so filthy. "But there's going to be a few rules, I hope you'll know."
The pre-teen Sanosuke's face fell. "Rules?" he asked, dumbfoundedly. "What kind of rules?"
"A military group is like a machine, Sanosuke, and like anything, there are rules in operating that machine," Sagara had a strange way of changing modes very quickly. "Just as anyone in this outfit, you will obey all orders given you by me or any superior, train alongside the rest of the men, and learn, more important than anything, what you are in dire need of; discipline and structure. If you intend to stay here, Sanosuke, it will be as my guest, but you WILL learn respect;" his voice edged suddenly on the word 'will' "for authority, for others, and most importantly for yourself. Do you understand all this?"
"I think so," Sanosuke groaned rather uncomfortably. "But . . . what am I supposed to do first?"
"First," he grimaced, his nose wrinkling in some disgust, "you take a bath. A VERY well-needed bath," he sighed rather grumpily and began rifling through a trunk at the foot of the bed. "I was thinking of doing my laundry tonight, but I think this takes some precedence. Here," he suddenly thrust a bundle of white clothes into a bewildered Sano's arms, "once you're done, throw those nasty ones away and sleep in these. We'll find you some more proper ones in the morning. Now go on," he motioned to a door leading outside, "before it gets too cold."
Sanosuke hated to admit it, the bath actually felt pretty good. It was amazing how nice a good, hot bath could take the years back. His skin really wasn't so dark; most of it had just been dirt and the like, and his hair slowly regained its original vibrancy. And as he fought against the uncomfortable embarrassment of how filthy he really was, he began to wonder what journey he'd begun on this time. Hn . . . just like every day . . . a brand new adventure . . . and now he found himself adopted by a man he had not known more than about an hour. What a world. After a few minutes getting himself a little more presentable, he shook himself dry and pulled on the nightclothes, which indeed looked a little big for him.
When he ducked back into the tent, it was quite empty of any Sagara to be found. He was about to take it upon himself to search the camp himself (despite being dressed in a nightgown) when he saw a short note, settled on top of a pile of blankets. Thankfully, it written in Katakana, so he could read it quite easily.
Sanosuke-
I had to attend to some matters with my men. I don't think I will be back until late. Take some food, if you are still hungry. When you get tired, sleep on these, near the fire if you like. We'll see about a cot in the morning. I'll see you in the morning.
P.S. Goodnight, Bad. Look after yourself and stay out of trouble. Remember . . . nothing's to spare.
And that was that. Sano folded the note neatly and set it under the pillow, curling up around by the fire, feeling warmer than he had felt in many months, in many years. Slowly, his eyes grew heavy, watching the bright red embers beginning to die.
He really was right after all. This moment, this breath, this heart, mind, body, this soul, this life . . . nothing was to spare. Anything could be the last.
So the best you could do was to take nothing for it granted.
* * *
And that was how it had all started. That had been twelve years ago.
In that time, life had suddenly turned for the better. Though it had been pretty tough, what with Sagara's staunch regimen of both rigorous physical training by day and challenging lessons by night, plus trying to stick to the strict moral code the captain seemed to hold everyone to, it was something he had never had before; a family.
It was something indescribable, this precious thing the good captain had shown him. It was a sort of compassion; some even called it love. Others said it was just a human nature. Sanosuke didn't know what you were supposed to call it. He only knew how it had made him feel.
It was the feeling you got when he would wake up every morning and actually feel as though he belonged there. It was the feeling you got when he wouldn't have to find a new place to sleep every night.
But more than anything, it was those rare, precious smiles, and that voice saying "Take care of yourself, Bad."
Bad. He couldn't help but laugh when he heard that word. Sagara must have thought it was just such a great little nickname, he'd started using it almost immediately. From then on, he'd started to collect them, year after year. Rooster head, Thug, Sano, Bad, Boy, Zanza, Badass, etc., etc.
Those were the best years of his life he could remember, the very best. But nothing that would be so beautiful would last forever. Only a few years afterward . . . it was kind of funny; how the memories could only come in pieces sometimes . . . he held his head in his hand. Some things were too painful to remember.
And now here he was, more than ten years since that night . . . and in the same place all over again. Once again, he'd found his family, and once again, he was going to have to leave them.
That's what was holding onto him tonight. That's why, unlike everyone else here, despite being just another misfit, he hadn't found his place here. Kenshin and Kaoru had found each other at last, as had Misao and Aoshi. Heck, it even looked like Yahiko had found someone. But Megumi . . . he sat up at last, stretching his arms and getting to his feet. It was no use anymore.
Maybe it would be a lot better for her, for all of them, if he would just drift away again.
Slowly, he crept over the floorboards, being careful to not creak down on them. It was so quiet night, and Megumi had the history of a light sleeper. Here . . . the door, opening under the sky of, drenched in uneven moonlight. The moonlight reflected off the metal blade, winking back at him. There . . . leaning against the doorframe . . . that giant sword of his.
Boy, what a night for flashbacks . . .
How had things ever got like this? How many years had he spent "fighter for hire", living on that edge of non-life, trying so bad to forget that short but beautiful time he'd spent in a family?
He could remember when this sword (and these fists, for that matter) would work not for their owner, but for a few yen to go and get drunk and laid. He could remember when these two fists would rare have a day when they hadn't had blood on them.
He could remember the first time he'd loved . . .
'So this is it, eh?' the little voice spoke up again. 'Running away again, huh, chicken head?'
"Shut up," he said aloud, clutching his sword to his side and beginning to walk away.
"Where are you going?"
The voice broke through the night air, jolting each of his spine straight. Unable to stop it, the sword landed on the floor with a clatter. He whirled around, fists alight. If Kenshin was gonna fight him out on this one again, he wasn't going to back down . . .
But it wasn't Kenshin. Or anyone else that was going to fight him.
"Shhhh!" Megumi whispered violently, Kenshin rustling in his sleep from all the noise. Thankfully, no one woke up. "What do you think you're doing?"
"What's it matter to you?" Sanosuke whispered back, just as moodily. "I'm not exactly used to being snuck up on."
Just from the reflection in her eyes, he could tell she knew he was a big, dumb liar. Rolling his eyes, he held his hands over his head in a show of defeat.
"You caught me."
"Thought so," with a quick turn on her heel, she led the way out onto the porch, her dainty feet soundless in comparison to his. "C'mon you."
Outside, the clouds were just parting over the bright yellow moon, waxing, almost too it's full. Through the partings in the wispy purple clouds, bright clear stars shown through, making for a very interesting sky. Far, far, away, if you looked very hard, you could even see the storm that was said to be arriving tomorrow, peppered with tiny, tiny flashes of lightning.
It was funny how you could almost feel the rain when it was coming, almost taste it, almost smell it.
In the same way, wasn't it funny how one could know just when a cherry blossom would open into bloom, know just the moment that night at last would fall, know just when to steal . . . to steal . . .
Sanosuke shook sharply as he sat down on the porch next to her. Nope. Wouldn't happen. Might as well not torture himself with the thought.
"What are you thinking?" she asked when she saw.
Sanosuke started. The question had caught him off guard.
"Excuse me?" he gulped.
"You heard what I said."
For a moment or two, he could do nothing but stare back at her, wondering what to do, or indeed, why would someone ask.
"Err . . . err . . . umm . . ."
'Lie, dammit, lie!' said a voice inside him. 'Just lie, for god sakes!'
But he couldn't just lie. For some reason, he couldn't just make himself lie. He could lie to Kaoru, lie to Kenshin, but somehow, not Megumi. So for once in quite a long time, Sanosuke answered a question exactly how it was asked.
"You," he answered, settling down closer to her.
For a second or two, Megumi stared at him, one eyebrow raised, trying to figure if she'd just been lied to.
"I'm serious," he grinned suddenly. "I was wondering why . . ."
'Oh, man, now what?'
" . . . I was wondering why you never smile."
It's strange, when one doesn't know where a comment came from . . .
"Why don't YOU ever smile?" she answered back with a grin.
"Well," he gave a small grin himself, "I guess that answers our question."
They laughed lowly and looked back up into the sky.
Sanosuke sighed a little. It was so damn perfect. The moon, the stars, the night . . . it was just perfect, so perfect. At least it would be . . . if . . . if only . . .
'If only you could build up the courage to tell her how you feel,' said the voice. 'If you could only tell her how you double back a few steps when you pass by her door, how she sometimes comes to you in your dreams and holds the poor bleeding, screaming boy in the fray of battle. If only you could tell her how hard you try to ignore that little thrill up your spine that comes every time she's close to you. If only you could tell her how much you want her in your arms, in your house, in your room, your bed at night-'
"Megumi?" The word seemed like an exclamation more than a question, like trying to block that voice out of your head.
Slowly, she turned her head towards him, her dark eyes shining. "Yes?"
"What happened to you that made you want to kill yourself back then?"
Great question, he thought to himself. Great strategy; let's make sure she never talks to me again.
A tear welled in her eyes. Damn, why'd she have to cry?
"I'm sorry," he began to apologize, "I didn't mean to-"
"It's alright," she interrupted him. "It's a valid question and I should have been prepared to answer it."
There was a deep silence, so uncomfortable and heavy you could have cut the tension with a knife.
"To tell you the truth," she went on, "I don't really know myself. There was just something inside me that felt so ashamed, felt so dead already that I didn't see any more reason to live. How many people had met their deaths due to my actions? Surely, then, I deserved to die. I suppose that's how I thought when I was there, trying to ponder my life . . ." the sentence drifted off slowly, as if dropping off the edge of breezy cliffs.
It was so strange. It was almost like she had that answer already written out somewhere. She hadn't even stopped once . . .
"I'm still sorry I asked," he whispered. "It's not my business what you did or why. You deserve more than that."
Another break off.
"Guess that sounds pretty stupid, doesn't it?" Megumi asked, wiping coyly at her eye.
"No, no," he assured her. "It doesn't sound stupid at all. I mean, I know how you feel. I mean . . . I mean . . . uh . . ."
"Forget about it," she interrupted his stalling. "It's doesn't matter."
And yet another dead end. He sighed again. Why was this so hard? When he was Zanza, he could always talk to women. Just a few words, well placed here or there, would have them in his arms in less than an hour, and in his bed by the night. But with her, it wasn't the same. Whenever it came to the 'Zanza charm', it was like the charm was more like a curse.
Sagara had taught him so many things. He'd taught him respect for himself and how to respect others. He'd taught him how to fight with honour and dignity for others, and yet with incalculable ferocity and accuracy. He'd taught him untold amounts of knowledge, always urging him to reach his curiosities further. He'd taught him more than he could have ever dreamed. But one thing no one could teach was how you were supposed to say something like this.
"Sano?"
He was shaken out of his reverie by the sound of that voice. "Hnh?" he asked, not even turning to look at her.
"What did you really mean when you said you were thinking about me?"
Sano felt a piece of ice fall into his stomach. For a second or two, he just listened to his heart, trying to see if it would slow down just a little. For a second or two, it felt as though it was going to fall out of his chest, and then at last, it began to fall back to a normal level. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes . . . they were just like two stars, the Pieces twins, glowing out of the night.
He could hardly even look at her. How could he possibly, possibly ever say this?
"Megumi . . ."
"Yes?" Those eyes . . . those eyes. What was he supposed to say to those eyes?
"Are you . . ." he paused a little on the word " . . . are you . . . cold?"
She gave him a small smile, like the someone knowing a secret. "Yeah, I am," she scrunched into the crook of his arm, right where not fifteen minutes ago Zanbitou would have been. "Care to keep me warm?"
She must have noticed that his heart rate went up again, because she smiled back up at him again, and snuggled in a little closer.
"Su-su-sure," he stuttered, unaware of what to do.
Boy, when they said a fox, they meant it. He'd hardly known a woman to ever be such a coy tease. Funny . . . that was kind of funny. Because the thing was, he'd known women to be much more seductive than that, and yet he could always stay in control. But this woman . . . this woman was so special.
"I love the stars," she muttered dreamily, "Ever since I was a little girl, I could stare at them forever, dreaming I would hold one someday." She cuddled deeper into his arms, a light purr emitting from her throat. "What did you love?"
Gulp.
'Here I go . . .'
"I love you," he smiled back at her. "And ever since I was a little boy, I would spend hours imagining about the perfect woman, and I dreamed I'd see her someday." Grin. "That and fighting, of course."
"Oh, what, I get a second to fighting?" she grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling herself up so they could meet eye to eye. "Maybe this will even the scores."
Slowly, ever so slowly, he could feel her breath brushing at his face, growing closer like the sun is tied to the moon . . . and in that second of contact, in that moment where time stood still, Sanosuke Sagara realized that he wanted to spend forever here in this moment . . . right here in her arms. And when at last that moment ended, he could have almost cried . . . until those eyes.
"So how are the standings now?" she asked him, smiling coyly.
"Ehh . . . it's still a pretty good race," he joked.
"Oh, yeah," she smacked lazily at him, laughing low.
The two of them fell into comfortable laughter, which gave way to sighs. It was just so warm and beautiful, so perfect, who could have thought of a better way to pass this precious moment.
This must have been what he meant, what he said back then. He was right. This moment, this opportunity, this . . . this kiss . . . none of it was to spare. Nothing was to spare.
Because there was only one moment, only one present . . .
"What are you dreaming about, Zanza?" she grinned up at him, those beautiful black eyes sparkling.
Nothing was to spare. And most of all, this chance was not to spare. Out of so many times in his life where things had gone wrong, this was the one time that wasn't going to happen. Because after all, choice, to choose to take for spare . . .
"Nothing," he nuzzled his face in that beautiful black hair. "Just another daydream . . . that's just beginning . . ."
THE END
Nothing to Spare
The two of them, asleep . . . how sweet. He sat in the corner, staring through the darkness, chewing thoughtfully. Spying and eavesdropping . . . it was a funny habit of his, too hard to break, and too fun to wanna break.
It wasn't a person or thing that really brought them together. Who would've thought that a raccoon girl and a legendary killer would end it up together, after all they'd been through? Well, in fact, she only really knew one of them, as Kenshin often spoke of himself. Indeed, two personalities within one body, a psyche shattered by the burning chaos of blood he had been destined to execute . . . living proof that war did nothing but it's purpose: destroy one thing for another.
But somehow, she had been able to do what her predecessor had been unable. She had been able to look beyond Battousai, the slit-eyed killer of the past; brain warped, heart contorted, still holding a stained sword of a decade ago, designed with no other purpose than to kill. And to counter him, Kenshin Himura; a petite red-headed man, good at laundry, good at cooking, good with kids, good with advice, good at keeping his oath to protect the innocent. . . good with basically everything except seemingly keeping himself out of trouble. That just seemed to tail him wherever he went.
And somehow, someway, these two men, these two personalities, come to rest within one body . . . and she could love them both, together. For ten years, he'd searched for that one thing that could make him whole, that could bring life where decay had thrived for so long. Who would have thought, after waiting so long, he would find it within a girl ten years younger than he? But there it was before his very eyes. An innocent girl hardly able to remember the revolution and a blood-stained assassin who shaped it . . . together at last.
Fact stranger than fiction.
Sanosuke yawned, stretching his arms far over his head. He looked around, his companions . . . no, his friends all asleep after the party. Shishio defeated at last . . . Kenshin and Kaoru, snuggled happily together on the floor, his arm in a protective pose around her shoulder. Aoshi and Misao, not really even touching, but closer than was usual, both snoozing happily under the immense cape. No doubt about it, there was definitely something between them. That'd be kind of weird for Aoshi, no doubt. Heck, even Yahiko and Tsuambe with heads on shoulders. Sure, they were still kids, but even kids can love. And then, the leading lady and her teeny tot troupe . . . Megumi, asleep kitsune style, flanked by two tell-tale little girls. Sanosuke couldn't help but chuckle a bit to himself. She really did look like a mother fox, and the two of them her cubs. They even called her Aunt Megumi.
He smiled. Such a beautiful, beautiful fox. He wished he could tell her . . . he wished he could tell her . . .
"But you can't and you won't," he thought to himself. "'Cuz it's not in ya. Cuz you're a coward."
For so long, he'd watched her, watched her come from what she had been to what she was now. The first time he'd really seen her, kneeling on the floor, the knife in her hands . . . in that one instant, he knew deep down he couldn't hate her. Hate means 'I want you dead.' That obviously wasn't the case. He'd taken it from her. Of all people in the world, perhaps she was the one who deserved it the least.
She had so much give . . . he couldn't let her do that, not if she'd killed Captain Sagara herself. Well, maybe then, but . . . but. . . aww, it's was too confusing!
Funny. By age twenty-two, you were sposed to have grown up a little bit. Guess not. Sounds an awful lot like what a hormone-walking-hard-on- teenager would say.
But then again, it's not like those weren't some good time too. Booze, blades, babes and cold hard cash . . . it was the life.
Not a real one, though.
That was the kind of life where no one cared if you lived or died, as long as you could party tonight. The kind of life where they couldn't give a damn about you as long as your tab gets paid. Where, for just a few yen, you could bed her and then never see her again. What kinda life was that? Might look like a lot fun. But then, perspectives change on you sometimes . . .
Cuz one day, he met a little violet-eyed, red-headed man with a cross cut scar and an endless grin. One who dared wear a sword openly on the streets of Tokyo. That was the first thing that interested him about the strange little troupe in the homey little restaurant. He had to admit it, his plan had just been to pass on through after a few hunts. Keep moving; that's the golden rule.
Plans change.
Because there were more odd characters to this crew. Raccoon girl, Rat boy, and at the head of all of them, the red headed backward-blade man. Somehow, he ended up sticking around the small house they affectionately called "dojo," and somehow, the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and one day . . . well, one day he woke up, and it was almost like home. He'd never admit it, but even after all the griping and groaning concerning her cooking, Sano found he was quite grateful to be able to depend on a hot meal and a warm bed no matter what.
I mean, heck, the last time he'd had that was . . .
He sighed unhappily, a rush of flashbacks coming back to him . . .
* * *
It had been the lights that had first caught his attention. After all, a fire always meant one of three things; either food, warmth, or danger, often all three at once. Even though he didn't know the meaning of the fancy characters of the higher alphabet painted in red over the highest tent, he already knew they represented some sort of anti-imperialist group. That wasn't good. A group meant men, and men meant dangerous.
It had been nearly two years since he'd run away from the orphanage, but the scars from the beatings still ran dimly down his back, a lucid symbol of repression under the government. Even to this day, he avoided strangers at all costs, taking more to stealing food and sleeping in barns than making contact with others. Through old newspapers and notices he found lying about on the streets, he'd learned how to read the lower alphabets, and thus learned of the stirrings of revolution rumbling throughout the country. Everywhere he went, it was the same word, whether on one side or the other; who was going to rule in the next generation. Some said the emperor, other spoke of a new government. Many people were starting to side with the new government, but none could seem to agree.
But none of that really concerned Sano very much. He could care less who ruled. As long as he could eat, sleep, and do things his own way in between, he was happy. What more could an eleven year old ask for, anyway?
Suddenly, he caught onto a scent that made his stomach growl. By now, he could tell the food just by the smell of it. Rice, less than a day old . . . how long had it been since he had actually had a big bowl of hot rice? Round about here in the woods, there weren't too many farms anymore, and for the last week or so, he'd been doing his best just by the forest. That hadn't worked out to well; berries and nuts were okay, but they weren't too filing, and he'd only managed to get a couple of fish. Standing in a freezing stream all day gets to you eventually.
'It's okay,' he thought to himself as he crept up to the rice barrels. 'I'll only take a little bit.'
And true enough, the barrel he found was almost empty already anyway. But to him, it was heaven. Not bothering with neatness, he found a forgotten bowl and scooped straight from the barrel to his mouth, gulping ravenously without caring that he was burning his throat. He'd probably gotten a little too conspicuous, because he wasn't halfway through his stolen meal before two voices began to ring out from one of the tents. "God damn animals," said one.
"Out at the rice again?" another complained. "I thought we had dogs for that."
"Damn lazy beasts. C'mon, maybe we'll get some meat out of it."
"Sounds fine to me."
Sanosuke froze. Where could he go? What could he do? In less than a minute, two men would be coming, and then he was done for . . . hide! The only place available was the barrel itself, so in he went.
"Hey, what's that?" said the second one.
'Whatever you do, just don't find me,' he though to himself, crouching low in the dank, rotting dankness. 'I promise, I won't do anything bad ever again. Just don't find me.' "Looks like . . . hey!" Suddenly a hand dove in at him. It was no use; there was no place to go. The next thing he knew, he was kicking and struggling with all his might, dangling five inches off the ground as an ugly, swarthy man cackled arrogantly.
"Well, well . . . look here, Yingna," the man wheezed, laughing. "I don't think we can eat it . . . but it still might be fun."
"Let me go!" he'd shouted "You friggin' bastards!"
"Ooh, language," Yingna, an even nastier looking man, hooted, rolling up his sleeves. "We can't have that in little boys, now can we?"
"Certainly not." The first one dropped him to the ground. "We shall have to teach him his manners . . ."
Sanosuke squeezed his eyes shut, preparing to get pummeled . . .
"Leave him alone!" a new voice, the sound of a sword being drawn. Sano's eyes sprang open to see a tall, graceful-looking man, sword drawn, advancing on the three of them.
The two men looked at each other, and then at the tall man, and then back at Sano, unable to find the voices.
"Uhh . . . of course, captain . . . Sagara-san sir . . .," Yingna stuttered. "But . . . but you must understand . . . this boy-"
"I am quite well aware of the situation," the tall man interrupted him. "Now get back to your tent, both of you. I will take it from here."
The two men looked back at each other, then shook their heads and left.
Sanosuke looked from his place on the ground up at the tall man who was sheathing his sword.
"Why did you do that?" he asked.
"I don't approve of unfair fights," he answered. "You seem pretty tough, but two adults against one kid isn't right. Now get up and come with me."
"I'm not a kid!" Sanosuke retorted. "I could take both of those guys by myself."
"Is that so?" the captain turned across his shoulder and looked over at him. "Well, then I can't understand what you were doing on the ground there, but it doesn't matter. Two against one anytime isn't right. Get up, we haven't got all night."
With that, the man began to walk away. Sano jumped to his feet and began to follow him. For some strange reason, he seemed to trust this man, but he couldn't tell why. For all he could tell, he was just another person to hurt him. Even so, he felt he could follow him without having to fear.
Through the camp, he kept close to this Sagara, holding close under his shadow to avoid being seen by more soldiers. He was starting to wonder just one sort of man this was. Imagine his surprise when he turned into the largest tent with the red symbols.
"You stay here?" he asked in amazement, staring about at the warm, well-lit room inside. "Wow!"
"I'm glad you're impressed," Sagara answered in that same cold, emotionless tone. "Sit down and I'll make you a tea."
Sano sat down on the floor next to the makeshift fireplace and eased a little sigh of relief, watching as the teapot got redder and redder over the fire and listening to the slow, meditative bubble, bubble of the water. When at last it was sitting there in a cup in front of him, he didn't waste time in gulping the whole thing down, dregs and all.
"You shouldn't do that," the captain commented coldly yet made no move to stop him. "It's a wonder you don't burn yourself."
"M'fine," Sano muttered in an unmannered way like through his tea, snapping the cup back down on the canvas floor where it was quickly filled again. "Thanks for the tea, man. I 'preciate it. But y'know, I'd better get going again soon. I wanna make it to Kyoto by the fifth."
"Kyoto?" the captain asked. "Now what would a little boy like you want in Kyoto?"
"I'm NOT a little-"
"Fine," he sighed deeply. "Let me rephrase. What would a . . . young person like yourself want in Kyoto?"
"I dunno," Sano answered, pulling at his fingernails. "Seems like everybody's going to Kyoto lately. Word on the street is," he grinned wolfishly, that way he'd seen mercenaries sneer at their friends in sake bars when they were passing on big news, while trying on that new phrase he'd heard so often, "that there's going to be some big business going on down there."
"Ahh. . ." he ignored the obvious arrogance of the child. "So you're going to fight in the revolution. What side do you follow?"
"None, really," he laughed. "I just wanna go and get a piece a the action. I'm always up for a good rumble."
"Hmm . . ." Sagara rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Sanosuke suddenly noticed the man's grim expression and a chunk of ice fell into his stomach. "So you were on your way there?"
Sanosuke stared back blankly, swallowing loudly.
"When you stole my rice, I mean."
"Umm . . . sorry about that, man," he stood up with a start, finally seeming to realize the potential danger of the situation. "Y'know . . . it's getting pretty late, and you got soldiers to take care of and I got places to be," he began back up towards the door flap "so it was great talking to ya, man, we gotta do it again sometime, I'm serio-"
"Not so fast, you." Swift as a cat, the captain caught him by the back of his not-so-white shirt, leaving the tall pre-teen being dragged against the ground. "WE'VE got places to be, I'll wager . . ."
"Aww, man, c'mon!" the now howling boy cried. "What are you doing? Where are you taking me? C'mon, let me go, please!"
"To the authorities, of course," he explained coolly, still tugging the squirming boy along. "And they back to your parents. I'd never let a foolish boy run away to Kyoto. Do you take me for a fool?"
Sanosuke opened his mouth to protest, but shut it after this line. He abruptly stopped struggling and went limp, letting himself be dragged. The captain noticed the sudden change.
"What?" he asked. "What is it?"
"Parents . . ." the young boy mumbled, letting the sentence drift off into nothing.
"Is there something wrong?"
"I don't have any parents," the boy sighed, brushing away a tear he'd not been able to keep back before the man could see it.
The world stood still for a few seconds. The honorable captain Sagara let him go again.
"Do you mean to say you have no one who looks after you?"
"No way!" Sanosuke suddenly seemed to regain his edge. "Man, I got me to look after me! I'm not a little kid, y'know."
"So I've heard," he sighed coolly, keeping his temper even remembering a peaceful pond, "but surely you must need someone older to look after you. There aren't any adults that look after your well being?"
The gangly pre-teen shrugged, drawing his oddly shaped eyebrows together in apathy. "Never really needed any. At least since I ran away from the orphanage. I always could look after myself, all on my own, but they didn't believe me. I just hated it there, and besides, I can make it better on my own."
With this statement, something seemed to touch within Sagara. His eyes went suddenly sad and morose. "I see."
For several minutes, Sagara stared into the fire and said nothing more. Now that danger seemed to have passed, Sanosuke began to look about to learn more about his surroundings. It really wasn't so very fabulous as he had first thought. Oh sure, it was nice, but not much fancier that lots of inns rooms he'd seen before. But it had been a pretty long time since he'd even been inside an inn, or even a house. He'd forgotten a lot of what a normal house actually looked like. Here they were sitting on a nice rug with very simple characters, which was not very expensive, and not particularly beautiful. But a few minutes ago, it had seemed made of the finest silks ever weaved. The banner which hung over the tent, which he'd first thought to be made of white silk embroidered with red thread turned out to be a piece of canvas with the characters painted (and actually, not very neatly painted) on to look like embroidery. Yes, there was a fire, but it was more of a little useful furnace than a luxurious fireplace. What had once looked like stained windows were really rice paper, painted on with perhaps not a perfect but a well intentioned skill in the forms of flowering cherry trees and dragons and so many others. Over in the corner stood a neat little bed, however, it wasn't a four posting canopy with coverlets of the deepest velvet, but really more just a quite normal bed, clean but plain.
What had happened to all the illusions? Cautiously, without making a notice of himself, Sanosuke sniffed at his tea, trying to detect any foreign scent. Had he been drugged? But no, nothing seemed wrong with it.
In a way, he thought to himself, it was better this way. I mean, why stay in a dream when the truth lays there in front of you? So many people, it seemed, always searched for some far off joy and never experienced that which was in front of them, thinking their dreams far greater than the reality.
But maybe they were wrong.
Maybe, in a different way, reality could be beautiful too.
"Why did you run away?" Sagara suddenly asked. Sanosuke started out of his musings, nearly dropping his teacup before actually registering what had been asked.
"E-excuse me?" he stuttered.
"I asked you why you ran away from the orphanage," Captain Sagara repeated. "Do you think you were right to? Were you justified, or did you simply do it to be defiant or troublesome? Did you truly seek adventure to challenge yourself and become stronger, or were you simply young and bored? Why did you choose to leave the life you had and partake upon a new one?"
For what seemed like hours, he sat, staring, trying to figure out if he ought to answer or not. From the way the captain fixed his stare, he expected an answer, but for what that answer would be, he had no idea how to come up with it.
"I dunno," he finally started. "All of those, I guess. I . . ." he was having trouble finding his words. "I guess my biggest reason was . . . well, is . . . I mean . . . I don't want to have to live that way, don't you know? That's not the way people are supposed to live, all cooped up listening to rules they don't understand or and hanging around people they hate. People shouldn't have to be in places where no one pays attention to what they're trying to say, y'know? They shouldn't' have to stay quiet about the things they don't like, and you know . . . I got the opportunity to do something about it. I didn't wanna be in a place where they just beat me up when I said something they didn't like. And besides of which," he suddenly gave a nervous grin, "how am I sposed to learn to fight and be a man if I stay there?"
Sagara looked at him carefully, rubbing at his chin carefully, then turning to stare meditatively at the flames once again.
"So . . . you left to liberate yourself, to seize your freedom. Tell me . . . why do you think they did those sorts of things to you? Why do you think they would treat you so badly?"
The young Sanosuke shrugged, tipping his head to one side. "I dunno," he answered. "They always said I was bad."
"Bad, eh?" the captain said thoughtfully. "I wonder . . . what is your name?"
Sano started suddenly, nearly falling to the floor. He'd just realized . . . throughout this whole situation, he'd never once asked his name.
"Daaa . . . Sanosuke . . . and you can call me Sano if you like," he grinned rather stupidly, not knowing what to say. "Everybody calls me that."
"Sanosuke . . . I like that. Well, Sanosuke I'm going to make you an offer. You seem to have no home, something that everyone deserves to have. Adults usually provide it for chi-" the captain caught himself this time "for . . . younger people . . . but you have no adults to provide a home for you. Or at least no suitable adults, that is. I find it my humble responsibility to take up the role that's been left unfilled in your simple but human life. You have nothing to your name, and I have enough to share. You have come to me under the circumstances of fate, and I have to opportunity to improve your life. Therefore leave you an option. You can stay here and join the Sekihotai as my personal friend, and I as your . . . err . . . guardian. I will be able to teach you, so you speak, how to be a man. I shall be able to take a more proper care of you, and teach you morals that will serve you your whole life. You can learn to fight, as you so wish. I myself am a master in several battle arts. I can guide you towards the life you want . . . if you truly want it. For your other option is to leave this place, and I will bother you no longer, but of your fate, I will wish you the best but can control it no further. Perhaps you still seek Kyoto. Or perhaps you will choose to walk an even more abstract, more fantastic path of which I could not imagine now. Maybe your parents are alive somewhere, and you shall find them, and have a happy life beyond your wildest dreams. It's even possible you would find a love of your life and spend the rest of your days madly in love with the woman of your dreams. But none of that can be assured, you must know. Nowadays, there are awful things out on lonely, dark roads, Sanosuke; things that will swallow you whole if you are not wary of them. Grown men have succumbed to their charms and found their graves. The choice is yours alone, of course, but be sure to make it carefully. After all, no choice is to spare. Nothing is to spare."
The tanned preteen stared, unable to speak. Here was the chance of a lifetime to follow a real man with real caliber, to learn how to fight and become a man, and most importantly, someone who might finally care about him. On the other hand, he wasn't sure if he was ready to leave the road, the wild adventure, the new chances at new lives at every single turn. He rolled the ideas around in his mind but could find no way to have both of them. It was simply impossible. Finally, after several moments of quiet contemplation staring into the flames, he opened his mouth and answered.
"I . . . I guess I'll have to take you up on that, man," he grinned without knowing why. "Ya got me convinced."
"Proposition accepted," Sagara cracked a rare smile, ruffling the youngsters hair, no matter it was so filthy. "But there's going to be a few rules, I hope you'll know."
The pre-teen Sanosuke's face fell. "Rules?" he asked, dumbfoundedly. "What kind of rules?"
"A military group is like a machine, Sanosuke, and like anything, there are rules in operating that machine," Sagara had a strange way of changing modes very quickly. "Just as anyone in this outfit, you will obey all orders given you by me or any superior, train alongside the rest of the men, and learn, more important than anything, what you are in dire need of; discipline and structure. If you intend to stay here, Sanosuke, it will be as my guest, but you WILL learn respect;" his voice edged suddenly on the word 'will' "for authority, for others, and most importantly for yourself. Do you understand all this?"
"I think so," Sanosuke groaned rather uncomfortably. "But . . . what am I supposed to do first?"
"First," he grimaced, his nose wrinkling in some disgust, "you take a bath. A VERY well-needed bath," he sighed rather grumpily and began rifling through a trunk at the foot of the bed. "I was thinking of doing my laundry tonight, but I think this takes some precedence. Here," he suddenly thrust a bundle of white clothes into a bewildered Sano's arms, "once you're done, throw those nasty ones away and sleep in these. We'll find you some more proper ones in the morning. Now go on," he motioned to a door leading outside, "before it gets too cold."
Sanosuke hated to admit it, the bath actually felt pretty good. It was amazing how nice a good, hot bath could take the years back. His skin really wasn't so dark; most of it had just been dirt and the like, and his hair slowly regained its original vibrancy. And as he fought against the uncomfortable embarrassment of how filthy he really was, he began to wonder what journey he'd begun on this time. Hn . . . just like every day . . . a brand new adventure . . . and now he found himself adopted by a man he had not known more than about an hour. What a world. After a few minutes getting himself a little more presentable, he shook himself dry and pulled on the nightclothes, which indeed looked a little big for him.
When he ducked back into the tent, it was quite empty of any Sagara to be found. He was about to take it upon himself to search the camp himself (despite being dressed in a nightgown) when he saw a short note, settled on top of a pile of blankets. Thankfully, it written in Katakana, so he could read it quite easily.
Sanosuke-
I had to attend to some matters with my men. I don't think I will be back until late. Take some food, if you are still hungry. When you get tired, sleep on these, near the fire if you like. We'll see about a cot in the morning. I'll see you in the morning.
P.S. Goodnight, Bad. Look after yourself and stay out of trouble. Remember . . . nothing's to spare.
And that was that. Sano folded the note neatly and set it under the pillow, curling up around by the fire, feeling warmer than he had felt in many months, in many years. Slowly, his eyes grew heavy, watching the bright red embers beginning to die.
He really was right after all. This moment, this breath, this heart, mind, body, this soul, this life . . . nothing was to spare. Anything could be the last.
So the best you could do was to take nothing for it granted.
* * *
And that was how it had all started. That had been twelve years ago.
In that time, life had suddenly turned for the better. Though it had been pretty tough, what with Sagara's staunch regimen of both rigorous physical training by day and challenging lessons by night, plus trying to stick to the strict moral code the captain seemed to hold everyone to, it was something he had never had before; a family.
It was something indescribable, this precious thing the good captain had shown him. It was a sort of compassion; some even called it love. Others said it was just a human nature. Sanosuke didn't know what you were supposed to call it. He only knew how it had made him feel.
It was the feeling you got when he would wake up every morning and actually feel as though he belonged there. It was the feeling you got when he wouldn't have to find a new place to sleep every night.
But more than anything, it was those rare, precious smiles, and that voice saying "Take care of yourself, Bad."
Bad. He couldn't help but laugh when he heard that word. Sagara must have thought it was just such a great little nickname, he'd started using it almost immediately. From then on, he'd started to collect them, year after year. Rooster head, Thug, Sano, Bad, Boy, Zanza, Badass, etc., etc.
Those were the best years of his life he could remember, the very best. But nothing that would be so beautiful would last forever. Only a few years afterward . . . it was kind of funny; how the memories could only come in pieces sometimes . . . he held his head in his hand. Some things were too painful to remember.
And now here he was, more than ten years since that night . . . and in the same place all over again. Once again, he'd found his family, and once again, he was going to have to leave them.
That's what was holding onto him tonight. That's why, unlike everyone else here, despite being just another misfit, he hadn't found his place here. Kenshin and Kaoru had found each other at last, as had Misao and Aoshi. Heck, it even looked like Yahiko had found someone. But Megumi . . . he sat up at last, stretching his arms and getting to his feet. It was no use anymore.
Maybe it would be a lot better for her, for all of them, if he would just drift away again.
Slowly, he crept over the floorboards, being careful to not creak down on them. It was so quiet night, and Megumi had the history of a light sleeper. Here . . . the door, opening under the sky of, drenched in uneven moonlight. The moonlight reflected off the metal blade, winking back at him. There . . . leaning against the doorframe . . . that giant sword of his.
Boy, what a night for flashbacks . . .
How had things ever got like this? How many years had he spent "fighter for hire", living on that edge of non-life, trying so bad to forget that short but beautiful time he'd spent in a family?
He could remember when this sword (and these fists, for that matter) would work not for their owner, but for a few yen to go and get drunk and laid. He could remember when these two fists would rare have a day when they hadn't had blood on them.
He could remember the first time he'd loved . . .
'So this is it, eh?' the little voice spoke up again. 'Running away again, huh, chicken head?'
"Shut up," he said aloud, clutching his sword to his side and beginning to walk away.
"Where are you going?"
The voice broke through the night air, jolting each of his spine straight. Unable to stop it, the sword landed on the floor with a clatter. He whirled around, fists alight. If Kenshin was gonna fight him out on this one again, he wasn't going to back down . . .
But it wasn't Kenshin. Or anyone else that was going to fight him.
"Shhhh!" Megumi whispered violently, Kenshin rustling in his sleep from all the noise. Thankfully, no one woke up. "What do you think you're doing?"
"What's it matter to you?" Sanosuke whispered back, just as moodily. "I'm not exactly used to being snuck up on."
Just from the reflection in her eyes, he could tell she knew he was a big, dumb liar. Rolling his eyes, he held his hands over his head in a show of defeat.
"You caught me."
"Thought so," with a quick turn on her heel, she led the way out onto the porch, her dainty feet soundless in comparison to his. "C'mon you."
Outside, the clouds were just parting over the bright yellow moon, waxing, almost too it's full. Through the partings in the wispy purple clouds, bright clear stars shown through, making for a very interesting sky. Far, far, away, if you looked very hard, you could even see the storm that was said to be arriving tomorrow, peppered with tiny, tiny flashes of lightning.
It was funny how you could almost feel the rain when it was coming, almost taste it, almost smell it.
In the same way, wasn't it funny how one could know just when a cherry blossom would open into bloom, know just the moment that night at last would fall, know just when to steal . . . to steal . . .
Sanosuke shook sharply as he sat down on the porch next to her. Nope. Wouldn't happen. Might as well not torture himself with the thought.
"What are you thinking?" she asked when she saw.
Sanosuke started. The question had caught him off guard.
"Excuse me?" he gulped.
"You heard what I said."
For a moment or two, he could do nothing but stare back at her, wondering what to do, or indeed, why would someone ask.
"Err . . . err . . . umm . . ."
'Lie, dammit, lie!' said a voice inside him. 'Just lie, for god sakes!'
But he couldn't just lie. For some reason, he couldn't just make himself lie. He could lie to Kaoru, lie to Kenshin, but somehow, not Megumi. So for once in quite a long time, Sanosuke answered a question exactly how it was asked.
"You," he answered, settling down closer to her.
For a second or two, Megumi stared at him, one eyebrow raised, trying to figure if she'd just been lied to.
"I'm serious," he grinned suddenly. "I was wondering why . . ."
'Oh, man, now what?'
" . . . I was wondering why you never smile."
It's strange, when one doesn't know where a comment came from . . .
"Why don't YOU ever smile?" she answered back with a grin.
"Well," he gave a small grin himself, "I guess that answers our question."
They laughed lowly and looked back up into the sky.
Sanosuke sighed a little. It was so damn perfect. The moon, the stars, the night . . . it was just perfect, so perfect. At least it would be . . . if . . . if only . . .
'If only you could build up the courage to tell her how you feel,' said the voice. 'If you could only tell her how you double back a few steps when you pass by her door, how she sometimes comes to you in your dreams and holds the poor bleeding, screaming boy in the fray of battle. If only you could tell her how hard you try to ignore that little thrill up your spine that comes every time she's close to you. If only you could tell her how much you want her in your arms, in your house, in your room, your bed at night-'
"Megumi?" The word seemed like an exclamation more than a question, like trying to block that voice out of your head.
Slowly, she turned her head towards him, her dark eyes shining. "Yes?"
"What happened to you that made you want to kill yourself back then?"
Great question, he thought to himself. Great strategy; let's make sure she never talks to me again.
A tear welled in her eyes. Damn, why'd she have to cry?
"I'm sorry," he began to apologize, "I didn't mean to-"
"It's alright," she interrupted him. "It's a valid question and I should have been prepared to answer it."
There was a deep silence, so uncomfortable and heavy you could have cut the tension with a knife.
"To tell you the truth," she went on, "I don't really know myself. There was just something inside me that felt so ashamed, felt so dead already that I didn't see any more reason to live. How many people had met their deaths due to my actions? Surely, then, I deserved to die. I suppose that's how I thought when I was there, trying to ponder my life . . ." the sentence drifted off slowly, as if dropping off the edge of breezy cliffs.
It was so strange. It was almost like she had that answer already written out somewhere. She hadn't even stopped once . . .
"I'm still sorry I asked," he whispered. "It's not my business what you did or why. You deserve more than that."
Another break off.
"Guess that sounds pretty stupid, doesn't it?" Megumi asked, wiping coyly at her eye.
"No, no," he assured her. "It doesn't sound stupid at all. I mean, I know how you feel. I mean . . . I mean . . . uh . . ."
"Forget about it," she interrupted his stalling. "It's doesn't matter."
And yet another dead end. He sighed again. Why was this so hard? When he was Zanza, he could always talk to women. Just a few words, well placed here or there, would have them in his arms in less than an hour, and in his bed by the night. But with her, it wasn't the same. Whenever it came to the 'Zanza charm', it was like the charm was more like a curse.
Sagara had taught him so many things. He'd taught him respect for himself and how to respect others. He'd taught him how to fight with honour and dignity for others, and yet with incalculable ferocity and accuracy. He'd taught him untold amounts of knowledge, always urging him to reach his curiosities further. He'd taught him more than he could have ever dreamed. But one thing no one could teach was how you were supposed to say something like this.
"Sano?"
He was shaken out of his reverie by the sound of that voice. "Hnh?" he asked, not even turning to look at her.
"What did you really mean when you said you were thinking about me?"
Sano felt a piece of ice fall into his stomach. For a second or two, he just listened to his heart, trying to see if it would slow down just a little. For a second or two, it felt as though it was going to fall out of his chest, and then at last, it began to fall back to a normal level. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes . . . they were just like two stars, the Pieces twins, glowing out of the night.
He could hardly even look at her. How could he possibly, possibly ever say this?
"Megumi . . ."
"Yes?" Those eyes . . . those eyes. What was he supposed to say to those eyes?
"Are you . . ." he paused a little on the word " . . . are you . . . cold?"
She gave him a small smile, like the someone knowing a secret. "Yeah, I am," she scrunched into the crook of his arm, right where not fifteen minutes ago Zanbitou would have been. "Care to keep me warm?"
She must have noticed that his heart rate went up again, because she smiled back up at him again, and snuggled in a little closer.
"Su-su-sure," he stuttered, unaware of what to do.
Boy, when they said a fox, they meant it. He'd hardly known a woman to ever be such a coy tease. Funny . . . that was kind of funny. Because the thing was, he'd known women to be much more seductive than that, and yet he could always stay in control. But this woman . . . this woman was so special.
"I love the stars," she muttered dreamily, "Ever since I was a little girl, I could stare at them forever, dreaming I would hold one someday." She cuddled deeper into his arms, a light purr emitting from her throat. "What did you love?"
Gulp.
'Here I go . . .'
"I love you," he smiled back at her. "And ever since I was a little boy, I would spend hours imagining about the perfect woman, and I dreamed I'd see her someday." Grin. "That and fighting, of course."
"Oh, what, I get a second to fighting?" she grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling herself up so they could meet eye to eye. "Maybe this will even the scores."
Slowly, ever so slowly, he could feel her breath brushing at his face, growing closer like the sun is tied to the moon . . . and in that second of contact, in that moment where time stood still, Sanosuke Sagara realized that he wanted to spend forever here in this moment . . . right here in her arms. And when at last that moment ended, he could have almost cried . . . until those eyes.
"So how are the standings now?" she asked him, smiling coyly.
"Ehh . . . it's still a pretty good race," he joked.
"Oh, yeah," she smacked lazily at him, laughing low.
The two of them fell into comfortable laughter, which gave way to sighs. It was just so warm and beautiful, so perfect, who could have thought of a better way to pass this precious moment.
This must have been what he meant, what he said back then. He was right. This moment, this opportunity, this . . . this kiss . . . none of it was to spare. Nothing was to spare.
Because there was only one moment, only one present . . .
"What are you dreaming about, Zanza?" she grinned up at him, those beautiful black eyes sparkling.
Nothing was to spare. And most of all, this chance was not to spare. Out of so many times in his life where things had gone wrong, this was the one time that wasn't going to happen. Because after all, choice, to choose to take for spare . . .
"Nothing," he nuzzled his face in that beautiful black hair. "Just another daydream . . . that's just beginning . . ."
THE END