A/N – Saw Munich the other day. It kick-started the flashback between Ken and Katsura. And as for the interchange about the difficulties and practicalities of assassinations, well, I had a Tarantino night.
v.2.0 - fixed a small formatting glitch.
Disclaimer – I don't own Ruroken. Don't sue.
Chapter 5
"Tell me what you know about Enishi," Ken said the next morning, as they sat out on the tiny balcony. Sano was sitting on the railing itself, his back to the five-storey drop below. The younger man had always liked to take unnecessary risks, Ken remembered – still the cocky, macho, reckless kid he'd met nine years ago in a nightclub brawl in Bangkok.
"Yukishiro?" Sano shrugged. "Not much more than is common knowledge. If you want details – you'd know more than I, Ken; you're the one who killed his sister."
Ken winced. "I didn't mean to."
"Yeah, I know." There was a wealth of lazy confidence in his voice. "You're not the type. You're a romantic –"
Towards the end, when Ken began to have serious doubts about the validity of his actions, he went to see Major Katsura. Together, they went out into the crowded city, forcing their way through the streets, until they came to a small, roadside café. A relic of the French colonial days, it was light, airy and incongruously European, here in this teeming Asian city.
"This must be serious, Ken, for you to insist on a personal meeting." Ignoring his coffee, the Major pulled out a cigarette and lit it, narrowing his eyes in pleasure as he inhaled.
"It is serious, sir," he agreed. More for something to do than for any real desire for it, he took a sip of the strong, black coffee. "It's just… I don't believe in what we're doing, Major."
"Oh?"
"Last year, when I tracked Pham to New York, I saw the protest rallies, felt the mood on the streets –"
Katsura snorted. "Draft-dodgers. Hippies."
"With respect, Major," he said stiffly, setting the cup down with a snap, "they ask valid questions. I know you don't–"
"You're a romantic, Ken. You need to believe that what you're doing is right, is justified, is in the pursuit of a grand purpose – tell me, could you continue on, knowing that it was in a worthless cause?"
Ken said nothing.
"Then don't ask questions. You won't like the answers."
"– and you believe all that crap about women and children and non-combatants. I bet you cried your eyes out over her, even though she was a treacherous bitch."
Ken sprang to his feet, hand automatically gripping the sword hilt. Sano yelped, swore, and almost fell off the balcony railing. Still, he grinned cockily. "There," he said, exuding satisfaction, "you see? You're still willing to fight for her."
With a frigid glare, Ken released the sword and sat back down. "You play dangerous games, Sano," he said quietly.
"Not really. I know you, Ken. You won't kill me."
"That's what Tomoe believed, too. Even up to the end, just before I ran her through –" He breathed in sharply, run a frustrated hand through his hair.
"And the girl inside?"
Ken thought of the laughing, innocent girl in Genzai's photo. He remembered the way she'd been so shocked in the alley, the way her eyes had widened at the sudden violent death – and how she had reached out to comfort him anyway. He remembered her trust in him, innocently, willingly offered – so different from Tomoe's wary, cynical caution.
"No," he said finally. "Not her. Never her."
Wandering out of the tiny, cramped bathroom, Kaoru saw both her self-appointed protectors sitting out on the balcony. Watching them interact, she wondered what they were talking about with such serious faces. At first sight, she hadn't thought their slovenly host could have anything serious to say, but it was evident that there was more to him than his appearance would suggest. He had made it clear that he would not be left out of this venture, and part of her was secretly grateful for it.
The light was strong and bright, and she moved unseen in the darkened house, creeping up beside the balcony door so that she could eavesdrop without being seen.
"And the girl inside?"
"No. Not her. Never her."
"What are you planning?" she asked suspiciously, moving out onto the balcony before she could stop herself. "You're not planning on leaving me behind, are you?"
Sano swore in surprise, but Ken only turned around, smiling – a particularly false smile, she thought with a flash of insight. "Miss Kamiya. Good morning."
She scowled at him.
Sano cleared his throat. "We hadn't actually got round to the planning part yet. We're still trying to gather Intel on Yukishiro. I was thinking of going 'round the bars and clubs tonight, see what we can find out."
"Tonight?" she repeated in some dismay. "But that's…"
"We can't let him dictate the pace, Miss Kamiya," Ken said quietly. "And we need the extra time to prepare ourselves."
Sano grinned evilly, rubbing his hands together. "I know a man who knows someone –"
Ken sighed. "Sano, I've told you – we don't need that much. We're not preparing for an invasion. We need to play it subtle."
"This from the man who once sent ten severed heads in lacquered boxes to Old Man Nguyen?"
Kaoru gasped. Ken winced. "It was only one head, in a hessian sack." He turned to Kaoru. "I burned the warehouse down around the other bodies. But the Old Man demanded proof of death – what else could I do?"
"Take a photo?" Sano suggested mildly.
"Well, I didn't –"
"Only one head?" Kaoru screeched, cutting into Ken's reply. "And you think that makes it any better?"
Ken stared at her, and then bowed his head, his long fringe falling forward and concealing his eyes. All pretence of playful banter evaporated, and Kaoru wondered if she'd made a terrible mistake. "My apologies, Miss Kamiya," he said very formally, still not meeting her eyes. "I should have remembered that you are not used to such violence."
It was Kaoru's turn to wince. She remembered her uncle's occasional fey moods, his grim, gallows humour, and the frustration and alienation he'd felt, trying to resume 'normal' life once more, after his life had been so fundamentally changed. These two men were soldiers, just as her uncle had been – only they had not been able to return home.
"No," she said quietly. "No, I'm sorry. I know you're doing all you can to help me, and I'm grateful for it. But sometimes…it's hard."
"Huh," Sano said magnanimously. "Don't worry. My old captain always said that women were too delicate for such matters…"
Kaoru gasped and balled up her fist, preparing to show the chauvinist pig just how delicate she was. Ken stood up quickly, laughing, trying to calm her down, and Sano jumped down from the railing, pretending to be alarmed at her fierceness.
The awkward moment passed in laughter and mock indignation.
They stayed inside, that day. It could have been interminable; Sano was notoriously restless, Kaoru was always, in the back of her mind, worried about her brother, and he himself had an unfortunate tendency to brood. However, he found himself enjoying the spectacle of Kaoru, determined, embarking on a major clean-up mission as Sano fluttered around her, panicking and objecting desperately. The look on his face as Kaoru piled up all his old Playboys and threatened to burn them had been priceless – as was her face as she held up (between two very cautious fingers) a scrap of red lace that looked suspiciously like a g-string.
Wisely, he kept out of it himself, retreating to the balcony where he knelt down and examined his new sword. Unsheathing it with all the respect it deserved, he held it up to the light, noting the rippling effect that came of constantly folding and refolding the steel – it was a good blade, a solid, reliable blade, if not a masterpiece from one of the great smiths. It had served him well, when he'd not been prepared for such a sudden journey into his old life –
Slowly, deliberately, he slid it back into its sheath. The familiar 'click' when it snapped home was like a final door closing, an irrevocable reminder of the man he had once been, and the role he had never truly shed.
Thumping, rhythmic techno music blasted out at deafening volumes, while a sea of writhing, tossing figures crowded the dance floor. The quick contrast of the rapid changes in light was bewildering to the eye, and Ken tensed, his assassin's instinct seeing threats in every shifting shadow. He was not prone to claustrophobia, but the shifting light, the tight-pressed crowd, and the deafening noise all disconcerted him –
Then, even over the music, he heard the clear, unmistakable sound of the safety on a semi-automatic, sending a cold chill down his spine.
"Hello, Bruce Lee," a familiar, accented voice spoke in his ear.
Enishi sprawled on a red velvet couch, two giggling girls cooing and fussing on either side of him. He paid them no heed, all his focus fixed on the great glass window, through which he could see a group of his henchmen surrounding three captives, their hands tied, guns pressed to their backs – and one small, redheaded man, so deceptively delicate.
Here, at long last, was the man he'd only glimpsed, so many years ago.
The sound of muffled thumping, kicking and shouting distracted him. He stood up, shaking off the clinging, pouting women, and walked over behind a screen, where a small boy was tied to a chair, glaring at him with black, defiant eyes. He smiled. "Well, Yahiko-chan, it looks like your sister has come to rescue you." the boy's chair, turning it around so that he could see his sister's plight.
The boy redoubled his shouting and thumping, trying to gain their attention.
"Don't worry, boy, she'll be here soon enough. And then –" he paused, as Himura looked up, and their eyes met – "and then we'll see which is worth more, your life or his principles."
There was a tentative rap on the door. Slowly, deliberately, he shooed the girls away and sat down again, spreading his arms out over the top of the couch, stretching his legs out as insolently as he could. When he was comfortable, he called out permission to enter.
The door opened, and his henchmen ushered in their three captives. The girl struggled a little, trying to break free of her guard's grip, but in the end she was no match for his strength. Soon they were all lined up before the couch, awaiting Enishi's pleasure. He let the silence build a little before he spoke.
"I must say," he said casually, "that I thought you would put up more of a fight. You disappoint me, Himura-san. I know you are capable of far more – I have seen you in action, after all. It was…unforgettable."
The redheaded assassin said nothing.
One of the guards coughed a little, extended a long, lacquered black sheath. "He had this on him, sir."
He took the katana, bowing slightly, and unsheathed it respectfully. "Ah, I had wondered what became of Sakamoto's sword." Swiftly, confidently, he slid it back into the sheath. "He was very proud of it, you know. Passed down through his family for generations."
"Then he should not have been using it on a Bangkok street," Himura said finally. "Anyone could have taken it."
Enishi smiled thinly. He jerked his head, and the guard standing behind Himura smashed his fist into his kidneys, driving him to his knees and depriving him of breath. The girl cried out in dismay. The young, brash fighter snarled, "Hey! You bastard –" He lunged, struggling to escape, and there was a minor scuffle before he was cuffed into growling submission.
"Believe it or not," Enishi continued when peace had been restored, "Sakamoto was accounted to be quite skilled. It was only unfortunate that he met you – unfortunate for him, that is, not for me – and that you were better. However, his death did serve a purpose."
"Your…patrons," Himura panted, raising his head and glaring at him.
"Yes," he smiled beatifically, "my patrons. That little scuffle generated enough interest to insure that the upcoming fights will be an outstanding success…"
The girl cried out indignantly. The ex-GI snarled and swore.
Himura only smiled coldly. "What makes you think I'll fight for you?"
Enishi sighed. He jerked his head again, and one of the guards moved away, removing the screen that hid the boy from the rest of the room.
"I'll tell you why," he said with calm menace, as the guard gripped Yahiko's hair and jerked his head back, holding a knife to his throat. "You killed my sister, you renegade, honourless bastard. And now I'm giving you a choice – you can put on the performance of a lifetime for me, letting go of that precious vow never to murder in cold blood again, or you can cause the death of another beloved sibling. It's very simple, Himura. Yes, or no?"
A/N – Comments/feedback greatly appreciated. Don't feel shy, lurkers.
