Redemption

It was the tenth of February.

Kudou Himiko died on the day of her seventeenth birthday.

"Ne," Ginji said, excited, and Ban startled from his daze. "It's Himiko-chan's birthday today, isn't it? We should do something for her."

"Yeah," his partner replied quietly.

Hard to believe it happened so quickly. He had known this day would come. Part of him had been anticipating it all along, that day, the same day he spilled Yamato's blood. But another part of him, a weaker part, a part that did not want to believe in the inevitable and the hard, cold truths of the world, wanted to believe it wouldn't ever come. Even if she was angry, he wanted to see her face. Even if she hated him, loathed him and wanted to drain him of his own life for his betrayal, it would be enough, as long as she was alive.

That was what he had promised Yamato.

They scrounged up the money for a cake at a bakery near the cafe, chocolate with vanilla frosting, Ginji insisted; he said he thought Himiko would like that. Ban wordlessly nodded along, let him do the deciding, and spoke only in soft, quiet monotones.

Hevn said she would have liked to come with them, but she was negotiating a big job, and Natsumi and Rena were tied up at the cafe, dealing with sudden, uncharacteristic activity of one customer after another. Ban was glad for it. Better they not be there.

Himiko lived on the east side of Shinjuku, in a well maintained apartment complex. Rent wasn't cheap, but she stayed busy, employed more and far better with her finances than the Get Backers. They walked up the steps to her apartment, Ginji taking two at a time, and Ban walking slowly behind him, each step slow and heavy.

She opened the door seconds after Ginji cheerfully rang the bell, and Ban felt something well up in him, something cold and hard and tightening in his chest.

"Happy birthday, Himiko-chan!" Ginji said brightly. He held out the cake in his hands. "This is from Ban-chan and me."

Startled, she took the offered cake. Ginji didn't notice it, but Ban saw, the barely perceptive twitch in her arm, the way she hesitated to take the platter and how it teetered dangerously in her hands. He remembered watching it in Yamato. Remembered seeing him sitting alone in an open window, hands shaking as he brought a cigarette to his lips, and the way his fingers tightened hard around his right arm.

There was something else. Something vacant and far away in those eyes, the same as he had seen Yamato's once.

"Thank you..." Bemused, she moved aside, letting them into the apartment. Her head lifted, eyes meeting with Ban's briefly, and then she looked away.

Ginji bounded into the kitchen, babbling something about finding plates and utensils, and Himiko quietly told him where to find them. Ban stood silent, hands thrust into his pockets, and watched her. He could hear the warnings of an old woman, the caution of a century old witch once his guardian; he could see those texts sprawled out before him, and all said the same thing. Voodoo child.

He remembered once being afraid of those things as a child, but now he stared it dead in the eyes, and saw it was only a lonely girl.

"I didn't expect you to come..." She murmured.

There were things he should have told her. Things she deserved to know. About herself, about Yamato, about him. Why he killed Yamato, why he had to kill Yamato, how it still kept him awake some nights, sitting alone in the cold and smoking a cigarette lit with the lighter belonging to his only friend. So many things he should have said, but none of them came. The words caught in his throat and died.

"It was Ginji's idea," he answered softly.

It was taking its toll on her, the curse. She knew it, too; not in the way Yamato did, not in that painfully aware way so that it could haunt her the way it did him. But she knew something was wrong. She could feel it the same as he did.

He could watch it consume her, eat her alive, kill her the same it did Yamato, or he could stop it before it had the chance.

Sorry, Yamato, he thought. I promised to protect her, but I can't keep that promise.

He lifted a hand, pushed down his sunglasses, and with a hand that might have been trembling, gripped her shoulder. "Look into my eyes." He released the Jyagan then and let her see a dream.

They were together again, the three of them, and it was just like the old days. Yamato drove, Himiko used her deadly perfumes, and Ban snatched their target and took off running. He tripped, and the target fell from his hands, the exquisite sixteenth century vase shattering and with it their hard earned cash.

"Geez, Ban! You klutz!"

"Shut up, it's not my fault! If you'd been backing me up--"

Yamato snorted, laughed, and as it always did, his disdainful laughter quieted both, Himiko burning bright red from anger and embarrassment, and Ban sulking in the back seat.

"Don't worry," Yamato said, "there's more jobs where that one came from."

There always would be. This time, Yamato would never die. This time, he would never have to see Himiko's wide, horror filled eyes; he wouldn't ever see that tragedy played out before him. Her scream would never echo in his dreams again. She would never go without a brother, never become a transporter, never carry such a burden as she did.

In the dream, there was no curse. There was only the three of them, together, the way it was. The way she always wanted it to be.

When it ended, his hand was through her chest, and her blood was warm and sticky on his fingers. He could feel her heart spasm, could feel her sharp intake of breath, and fingers tightened hard around his shoulder, fingernails biting deep.

Kill the child, his grandmother said, and her mirror image would die, too. It was the only way to destroy the curse.

I'm sorry, Yamato, he thought again, and repeated it like a manta. I couldn't protect her.

The fingers on his arm loosened and her body went limp in his arms. He laid her down there, standing slowly, blood running down his arm and dripping down his fingertips. He waited for it. This was when she was supposed to come in, throw open the door with a smile shattered so quickly, and then he would hear her scream. Only it never came. This was Himiko's blood on his hands, not Yamato's, and she wouldn't come.

Ginji did.

"B... Ban-chan..."

His hands tightened at his sides. He'd betrayed another friend. Ginji would leave him, too, Ginji would see him as nothing but the murderer he was, Ginji would go back to Mugenjou, go back to the Volts, no more Get Backers, no more recovery service. Just alone again, alone and a murderer, a man who killed his only friends.

He lifted his head, blue meeting wide-eyed, confused brown, and he didn't realize he was crying then. Crying for Himiko, for Yamato, for Ginji, for himself. He choked out a sob, bloody hands cramming into his hair, and dropped down to his knees.

I'm sorry, Yamato. I broke my promise.