I had this nice dream once where I owned all the animes and got rich from writing fanfiction. Then I woke up. Alas…

In the tradition of musical titles for Cowboy Bebop, this fic shares the name of a theme from the Rurouni Kenshin series. The waltz metaphor seems to work especially well in that this fic alternates considerably between light and dark. All feel free to nitpick, it helps me learn.

Emotion: A Waltz Without Dancing

Chapter 1-The hunt begins…

"Himura Kenshin, a.k.a. Hitokiri Battousai." Jet read evenly, displaying the profile on the screen. "Bounty 10 million woolongs. Wanted for the murder of a least a hundred crime syndicate members and several political types who got mixed up in some less than legitimate dealings."

The cyborg paused and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Something seemed suspicious about the body count so I had Ed do a little checking, specifically around the ISSP mainframe computer, isn't that right Ed?"

"Check, check Ed did!" Edward chirped, smiling and bouncing happily in front of her computer.

Ein barked at the screen, his tongue hanging out.

"Turns out he's a former assassin of the ISSP." Jet continued, "As if they would admit to such a thing."

Spike leveled him with a glare. "Wait a sec, you mean to tell me I'm going to have to deal with someone like that last guy? That crying psychopathic freak?"

"Nope, seems like they were careful this time: altered his metabolism with a mutagenic virus; gave him enhanced strength and reflexes, left his brain intact. Then that turned out to be their problem. Seems ten years ago he didn't like something that was going on and skipped out on them. They've been chasing him ever since. Finally, they just gave up and put a bounty on his head."

"So what makes you think we can find this guy?" Faye complained as she laid across the couch, studying the red hair and intense yellow eyes of the man on the screen. "Y'know, he's actually kind of cute."

Spike rolled his eyes and groaned, "You would go for that type."

Ein barked and wagged his behind as Faye threw a cushion at Spike. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She yelled.

"Just what it sounds like." Spike growled.

Jet sighed and shook his head. "Hey, let me know when you guys are done so I can continue, alright? I swear you two are about as cracked as the surface of Europa."

Faye and Spike cast a final glare at each other before falling silent.

With the air of an old school principal, Jet resumed. "An old buddy of mine from the force sighted him on Ganymede. Since the cops don't want to tangle with him and my friend owes me a favor, they asked me."

"You mean they don't want to get themselves killed." Spike whined. "You're sure it's a friend this time? I'm still aching from the last favor you got."

Ein barked again in seeming agreement.

"Ah stop complaining, unless you want more bell peppers and beef sans the beef."

Spike only waved and headed for the launch bay.

"Hang on, there's something else I forgot to tell you!" Jet yelled.

"It can wait!" Spike called back.

"Alright," Jet sighed, "guess you'll find out the hard way…God but they never seem to learn…Damn! All we need is for him to get all shot up again…"

Drip. Drip. Drip. The only sound on a dark, deserted street. Through the gloom a tall figure in a long tan trench coat glided like a shadow, then stopped in the yellow glare of a street lamp. The figure, now revealed to be a man with piercing blue eyes and a cold, emotionless expression, reached into his pocket and slipped on a pair of leather gloves, despite the relatively warm weather. Continuing down the street, he carefully took note of the numbers on each building he passed. Finally, he paused in a narrow alleyway and faced the side of a tall building constructed of immense sandstone blocks held together by mortar. Placing his gloved fingers and the toes of his soft-soled shoes in the cracks between each block, the man began climbing carefully and silently up the wall. On the third floor was a conspicuously open window. He leapt inside soundlessly.

The sharp edge of a katana immediately pressed against his neck and a low growl sounded in the dimly lit room. "You're late Aoshi."

"I have the information you requested." Aoshi replied calmly, one hand on his kodachi. He knew he was being tested.

"Very well." Vicious grinned as he sheathed his sword and stepped in front of Aoshi. The Mafioso's white hair and pale angular features seemed to have a sinister glow in the shadowy room.

"However," Aoshi continued, "before our business is conducted, there is the little matter of compensation."

Vicious glowered at Aoshi and snarled, "The amount was exchanged."

Aoshi's pale blue eyes did not waver. "That was before the nature of our target was revealed. Or are you not aware that we Oniwabanshuu have been the guardians of the syndicate headquarters for generations? It is a matter of honor."

Vicious made a cruel smile, maniacal bloodlust in his eyes. "You want a part in the hunt." He stated.

Aoshi nodded once.

"Agreed," Vicious said, "but he shall die by my hand. The information?"

"He has been sighted on Ganymede," Aoshi began, "In the Japanese quarter."

Vicious smiled again and tightened his hands around his katana. Drawing the blade, he studied his reflection in its shiny surface. "I can't wait to plunge this sword into the man who was once considered the most feared of all killers, the master assassin, Battousai."

See you Space Rurouni...