Updates are likely to be on Sundays and Wednesdays. Maybe. Let's see how long I can keep this up for. Apologies to anybody who'd rather I be working on something else, but this fic is currently eating my brain.

Aoshi pinches the candle wick, snuffing it, and sets the reports back on the corner of his desk. He leaves the room without sparing it another thought.

He must act quickly, if he wants anything good to come of his changes.

By the time he's left his quarters, Hannya has apparently already relayed his orders to Shikijou, and the gatekeeper is absent. Beshimi is waiting for him by the rooms Takeda had given over to Takani. He bows as Aoshi approaches, fist over his heart.

He had been splitting his attention, during the conversation with Hannya, both giving orders and testing his own state of mind. It might well have been the only way to talk to him without being overtaken utterly by the impossibility of the situation. He has no such buffer with Beshimi —

He had not had favorites, among his men. But he and Hannya had been inseparable as children, and he had recruited Shikijou personally. Both these histories have natural consequences — they are all his men, too precious to abandon, but he had been closer to those two in particular. Then again, Beshimi and Hyottoko had always gravitated toward each other, even in earliest training.

Even with that distance, though, he pauses long enough to trace Beshimi's face, to compare and contrast it with the man he remembers. How different Beshimi looks, slightly tense, uncertain of his leader's intentions, disappointed in himself. He had died in pain, but satisfied — no sign of such feeling now.

"Okashira," his agent says, and the tone tells Aoshi all he needs to know. He may not be asking about the fact that he has not been assigned to clean up this particular mess, but he wonders.

"Beshimi. I need you to trace our employer's movements."

Whatever Beshimi hears in Aoshi's voice, he makes no mention. He nods. "It will be done. He'll never think to hide from me. He'll never even know that I'm watching."

"Aa," he replies. He had expected no less. He considers a moment, and then dangles an explanation: "There have been irregularities. Hannya is pursuing the matter."

"And the Takani woman?"

"Not our concern, for now." If Shikijou encounters her sooner than Aoshi expects, well —

Honestly, knowing Shikijou? He'll make no move to bring her back. None of them much care for their employer's industry, and none of them like their employer personally. Without a direct order to retrieve her, Shikijou will likely laugh at her panic and simply leave.

It's not a nice thing to do to Takani. But he has done so much worse to so many, and her in particular. The sight of her expression as he revealed Gein's machinations, Yukishiro's true plan, comes swiftly to his thoughts. She had hated him for it, for claiming that the body of a beloved friend she had examined herself had been a lie. For offering to —

If someone had threatened to cut any of his men or Misao to pieces, just to see what was inside them, he would have reacted much the same, at least in the privacy of his own mind.

In any case, frightening her so is unkind.

He really cannot bring himself to care.

Beshimi goes, and Aoshi does not watch him. Instead, he opens the doors to the suite and steps inside, already bent on pulling what information he can from it. Just in case.

Dealing with Takeda Kanryuu, now that he knows what Takeda will do to them, is an even greater test of his patience than it had been the first time around. Aoshi does wonder what might have happened if he had been better able to conceal his distaste for the man, but he doesdisdain Takeda, and he sees little point in hiding it.

Besides, what Takeda is doing —

'Right' and 'wrong' have no meaning to a ninja. He had seen them as foolish limitations; he served the Oniwabanshu and its honor best by carrying out contracts, and what those contracts demanded had rarely troubled him. And yet, knowing the horror that Takeda is inflicting on the world, the damage to undeserving people, and the apathy with which Takeda regards this, the glee he takes in every new coin that comes his way —

It is uncomfortable. The Oniwabanshu's honor is not served by serving him; in associating with Takeda, Aoshi tarnished the idea he once cherished most.

He is still skilled enough that none of this conflict shows on his face as he waits, dispassionately, by Takeda's table. Takeda has developed a taste for steak — or at least is willing to pretend to, for the sake of whatever he thinks it does to his reputation. He eats it off delicate-looking white china, on a table set with a white cloth, cutting and chewing in meticulous, interminable bites.

The visual combined with the background noise of two men gagging as they strangle only serves to remind Aoshi of just how much he hates this man.

Takeda sets down knife and fork and waves a hand at the balcony's railing. When Aoshi doesn't immediately step over to look, Takeda waves his hand again, pointing more insistently, and his eyes narrow. So Aoshi goes, peering, without any real interest in what he'll find, over the edge.

Two men dangle from ropes. The nooses look shoddily tied, messy, and Aoshi wonders if Takeda forced them to tie the knots themselves.

"Waste is never convenient, but I have to admit, the world feels so much fresher when I know it's taken care of."

Aoshi makes very sure that when he looks back to Takeda, none of his objections show on his face. Takeda would hardly care human lives are not mere tools to be discarded when one is displeased. It's not something Aoshi thought of people outside the Oniwabanshu for most of his life, anyway.

One of Himura's many influences.

The look Takeda gives Aoshi, in response to his silence, tells him that he needs to answer somehow. But why bother? Takeda is what he is, and it's not as if Aoshi has ever seen the world the way this employer does.

"If you insist," he says.

"I do." Takeda cuts himself another cube of steak. The noise of his knife against the porcelain is a harsh, shrill scratch in Aoshi's ears, but he doesn't allow himself to flinch. After another couple of untidy-looking mouthfuls, he asks, "I take it you don't run your operation the same way. More's the pity."

Aoshi's eyes land on the knife, and he realizes there's a simpler way out. It's not as if prison would drain Takeda's venom; even assuming the government would bother, they could throw him in a hole paved with western concrete and still he would scheme. It would take only one guard — incautious, ambitious, greedy, any mix of the three — and Takeda would either walk free or re-establish at least some of his work.

He could have that knife out of Takeda's hand in two swift, easy movements. How simple would it be to pull his head up by yanking on his hair, and then draw a curve from one ear to another? That knife is clearly sharp enough to cut through flesh; even if it weren't, even if its serrated edges were blunt or unfamiliar, Aoshi has strength enough to do it in one clean gesture.

As easily as the thought occurred, he dismisses it. Too many guards with guns. If Takeda were discovered dead, Aoshi would likely not leave this mansion alive. And suicide isn't an option anymore. He rejected that during his month of meditation. He rejected it again with Gein. He will not reverse his decision for Takeda Kanryuu, of all people.

"How I run my operation is business for the Oniwabanshu alone. Unless you have cause for complaint?" Not that he'd care, exactly, if Takeda were anything less than pleased.

"No, of course not." Takeda waves a hand, unconcerned. "Really, you're all better than the best-trained of whores. I never even see you taking my money, but you carry out my every desire."

He forces himself to remain perfectly still, unaffected. From anyone else, in any other time, such words would carry no sting. They would have no weight. But from Takeda, while in his service, it's much too true.

Takeda leans over in his chair, watching the final kicks of the two hanging men, and says, very softly, "Bring her back alive, Aoshi. As I leave your operations to you, leave her punishment to me."

When he nods, he's finally free to go. As he rounds the last corner away from the balcony, approaching the Oniwabanshu suite, he realizes that his breath burns in his chest and his heartbeat seems to pound much faster than usual; he can feel the throb of his pulse in the twinge of a headache.

This is a thousand times worse than hatred, he realizes, because the taste of his own fear is far too bitter in his mouth and throat.

Shikijou is the first to return, knocking twice at Aoshi's door before entering. Aoshi looks up from one of the reports he's re-reading, trying to see if he'd overlooked anything suspicious, and Shikijou offers him the wide, confident grin he's used since they met. He leans against the desk, taking up more space in the room than he needs to, and his laugh rings off the walls.

"The Kamiya Dojo was amusing, then?" Of course, it's not as if he hadn't expected it.

"Place is a wreck, Aoshi-sama. Rich in history and respect, poor as dirt in everything else. Some little spitfire of a girl's holding the damn thing together with twine, floor polish, and determination, and she doesn't even call herself the dojo's master." Shikijou pauses, thoughtful.

He knows what Shikijou will say. He knows, and tries to prepare himself for it. The connection is obvious, especially from his own memories of the time after they'd met.

And Shikijou says it: "Reminds me of Misao, a little. Similar eyes. Same optimism. She's got faith in people. Hope it doesn't get crushed out of her in this bright new era."

Despite his preparation, it hurts to hear. Where is Misao now? She'd mentioned wandering Japan — though never too close to Tokyo, for reasons she'd never explained — and in less than a month, if what he remembers really happened, she will meet Himura somewhere along the Tokaido road. The fear and the rage he's been ignoring twist back into something almost wistful.

She was supposed to be waiting for him to return to the Kamiya Dojo. Peacefully, safely, blissfully unaware of his vicious fight with Gein. And now, with him awakening in the past, she's somewhere entirely else. And if this much has changed —

"Your assessment?"

"Probably a decent place to lay low if we were hiding from police, I guess. Good dojo floor, and that courtyard looks fun for sparring in. Kamiya's got the respect of the neighborhood." He pauses again, thinking, and adds, "But she keeps rough company. Probably the only way she's not dead."

Aoshi doesn't bother to reply, merely arches an eyebrow.

"Some tall guy, goes by Sagara. Probably connected to the Sekihoutai — that name's a giveaway, but he's got their brand sewed into his clothes. Small guy, too. More dangerous, if the way he moves is any guess. Red hair. Cross shaped scar. He wouldn't be why you sent me there, would he?"

"I take it you've heard the same rumors."

"Oh, you know Hannya. Man loves gossip more than the biggest-mouthed fishwife." There is no sarcasm in the words — but Aoshi does know Hannya, and he also knows Shikijou, and it doesn't need to make it into his recruit's tone for him to hear the irony. Shikijou has heard the rumors — but not from the intelligence master.

"Return tomorrow. Remain friendly. We may need them as allies."

"You actually think that'll happen? That they'll be willing to team up with us?"

"You said the dojo master is optimistic. That can work in our favor."

Shikijou nods agreement, then pauses, tilting his head. Aoshi listens for a moment, but they are — as usual — alone in the suite. Takeda's servants are too frightened of the Oniwabanshu, with their strange appearances and stranger habits, to enter any of their rooms while the Oniwabanshu are actually present. He answers Shikijou's silent question with a nod of his own.

So Shikijou continues: "Takani's there. I take it you don't want me bringing her back?"

"Leave her. I'm not interested in making things easy for our employer."

The sense of air currents changing. A noise in the darkness, quiet enough that only Oniwabanshu-trained ears could have heard it. Presence.

"Report, Hannya," Aoshi says as he sits up. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, and slowly, slowly, his heartbeat returns to normal.

"Takeda's spending on firearms is greater than what he makes through opium. It would seem he's left himself no choice but to sell his new stock in addition to opium."

Aoshi nods. Nothing there he did not expect, knowing what he does now. "No suspicious purchases?"

He does not mention — Hannya will already know — that the entire idea is suspicious. He has no doubt that the less skilled criminals all crave guns. But less skilled criminals are often less successful. However much they might want Takeda's wares, they will not be able to pay what Takeda will have to charge. So who is he going to sell them to?

If the answer is Shishio Makoto, Aoshi is just going to have to stab the greedy little coward. Though, if the things he remembers in fact happened and are not a dream — a thing he believes more with each new fragment of information — he needs to prepare the Kyoto cell for it. Killing one of Shishio's suppliers won't be enough.

"Only one." Hannya inclines his head. "He has recently purchased a gatling gun."

For an instant, Aoshi's heart freezes in his chest. His lungs, too, seem to refuse to work, and he is choking on a mix of horror and fury. There is no pleasure in being proven right. Not about this.

Hannya tilts his head, as if listening —

"Our employer has turned on us," Aoshi says, when he finally has the breath for it. "As of this moment, the Oniwabanshu is no longer in service to Takeda Kanryuu. We will remove ourselves. Tonight."

Hannya bows without saying a word. He does not point out that it's the hour of the ox, a completely insane time to strip their suite and decamp. By any other standards, it might be unthinkable, but they are Oniwabanshu. They understand necessity.

Shikijou and Hyottoko offer no objections, either. Hyottoko removes all evidence of Beshimi's presence, while Hannya goes to find him.

They withdraw to the abandoned outpost just outside Rakuninmura. It won't do for a long-term stay, but he can see little reason to linger long in Tokyo. There is so much else to be done.

Hyottoko and Shikijou hunker down in corners to sleep. Hannya settles somewhere in the rafters, as is his habit. Aoshi waits in the center of the room, no candles lit, no book at hand. Every so often he turns his head to the window, checking the position of the stars.

Beshimi comes in around the hour of the tiger, waking everyone — though Shikijou and Hyottoko go right back to sleep — and tells Aoshi nothing he did not already know or suspect. Beshimi retires swiftly after that, curling up in yet another corner of the room.

But for Aoshi, there can be no rest until —

Dawn creeps in early, soft and gray, flecked at the edges with gold, and Aoshi rises from where he'd been sitting, tucking his reports under one arm. He scoops his white coat up, but tosses it over his shoulder as he navigates the tripwires that pass for security in this little hut. He only pulls the coat on when he's made his silent way outside. Hannya joins him.

Aoshi looks over his shoulder, but neither speaks. Neither really needs to.

They head down the hill, into the city. Aoshi doesn't bother pretending to become lost in the ramshackle streets near Rakuninmura. He makes his way to the Kamiya Dojo, and stands outside it for a long few moments, just listening. The noises that wash past the closed wooden gate are all too familiar. Himura's voice, low and surprisingly gentle; two high-pitched voices answering him, one with a lisp; Kamiya herself murmuring, muffled as if by a cup of tea; the step and swish of somebody — likely Myoujin — swinging a bokken. The heartbeats he can hear are all calm.

"A kind place full of soft-hearted people. With the exception, perhaps, of Himura Battousai." Hannya inclines his head, looking up at the gate to gauge distance.

Aoshi says only, "Perhaps," and reaches out to knock on the gate.

Surprise radiates out from Hannya, though he only shows it in turning his head to face Aoshi again. He can well imagine Hannya's expression beneath the mask, if a featureless face could be said to have such a thing.

Footsteps behind the gate. A couple of surprised exclamations. The person who hurries forward, toward them, carries a sword of some kind. Worn at the hip, if the rhythm of that quiet thump means what he thinks, rather than along the back. Himura, then.

Himura doesn't swing the gate wide open, rather opening it only enough for him to see out and be seen. "This is the Kamiya Dojo, it is indeed. Is there some way we can assist you?" His mouth has curled into a smile, but there's a wry gleam of calculation in his eyes.

"I am Shinomori Aoshi. I wish to speak with you and the dojo master."

Himura telegraphs his surprise. At least some of it must be feigned, or perhaps exaggerated. "I did not expect you to come here so openly, that I did not. May I ask what you wish to discuss?"

"The best way to destroy Takeda Kanryuu, my former employer, without entangling anyone unnecessary."

Himura's eyes widen, and then he steps aside, swinging the gate open. "You will want to come in, then, you will."

Himura not only ushers them inside, he gathers up the rest of the house. They all end up settling in one of Kamiya's sitting rooms. It looks different, plainer, than the room he remembers gathering in. No calligraphy scroll, no flower arrangement. But at least there is no shrine for Kamiya.

Not yet.

Himura whisks tea with swift, economical movements as they exchange introductions. Takani all but vibrates where she sits, out of anticipation and hatred and fear, but Himura and Kamiya seem more sanguine. Shikijou's work? With the intelligent, calculating glint in Himura's eye, Aoshi can't be sure. He can be sure of the fact that it's good to see Himura like this: present, aware, engaged with the world around him. Surprisingly — she was always more Misao's friend than his — it's good to see Kamiya alive and well. She looks worried, shoulders tense, but otherwise she seems much the same as the woman he remembers.

Far better to see her like this, alive and breathing, than to remember her features upon Gein's pitiable creation.

Hannya manages to politely decline tea, citing his mask. Aoshi sips at his own cup silently, content to watch and see if Himura or Kamiya will come to the point or engage in the pleasantries any other gathering might require.

As it turns out, neither does. Takani is the one to demand, "Why are you turning on him?" She glares at them from her seat, utterly ignoring everyone and everything else, including the cup of tea Himura offers her. She only belatedly seems to realize what Himura has offered, and she accepts it with both hands and a polite murmur. As soon as she's had a sip, she's back to eying them as if they're about to announce their intent to drag her back to Takeda.

"He has turned on us." Aoshi sees the snide twist of her mouth, the arch of her brow, and waits for her cutting remark.

But it never comes. Himura leans forward, resting a hand at Takani's elbow, silencing her before she can speak. Into the space, Himura asks, "You are certain?"

Behind him, Hannya stirs, offended. "Do you truly believe the Okashira of the Oniwabanshu would be here if he were not? Why would we offer such courtesy if we were enemies?"

"Enemy and ally can change in an instant; that, I have seen."

A surprisingly polite way of asking how they can be sure that they won't become enemies again. "He intends the murder of my men." The words come out sharp, and even saying them brings the memory back. A dream, now, a thing that never happened, but he still sees it, the four broken bodies in Takeda's useless ballroom. He thrusts the image away. "That will not change."

Takani laughs bitterly. "You knew what you were being hired by. You were perfectly willing to force me to pervert medicine into — you were willing to help him destroy countless lives, and now, you're having second thoughts because he's turned on you. But you're asking me to helpyou?"

He's been expecting this. "Do my motives matter so much to you, Takani? Wouldn't you rather see Takeda in prison for his crimes, and go free?"

It's a good rhetorical trap. She recognizes it for what it is, and her eyes narrow. "And who says I wouldn't rather see us all pay for what we've done? Including you."

The only sign that she's caught Hannya's interest is the subtle sound of air moving as he tilts his head and then leans forward. "You do not believe you deserve to go free?"

"After what I've done?"

Hannya offers a sharp nod. No one can refute the harm Takani's actions have caused. Nor can anyone refute that she would never have offered the world such harm had she not been forced to it. "And you think that rotting away in a jail cell, or being executed, if you're fortunate, will be restitution?"

"It would be no less than what I — what we all — deserve." There's genuine anguish in her voice. She really believes it, then. She will not be inclined to see herself or anyone involved in Takeda's madness walk away unharmed.

Takani's words seem to startle Kamiya into speaking. She leans into the other woman, pressing a hand to her arm. "Megumi, you can't mean that! What could you possibly have done that's so terrible?"

Takani smiles bitterly, but doesn't answer.

It is almost infuriating, to have been so close — so close — to tearing down Takeda without losing his men, and have the victory snatched from his grasp by one woman's guilt. He forces himself not to stiffen, breathing in through his nose and letting his breath out, slowly, through his mouth. This will be harder without Takani's assistance, but if Himura sees the sense of his offer — and Himura will have to see the sense of his offer. Victory not through violence and bloodshed but with the assistance of the law? He could never simply give up on such an idea — then his men may yet be spared.

Himura leans forward, pouring more tea into Takani's cup. After a moment, he says, gently, "You have not shared your story with me, Megumi-dono, and there is much I do not yet know about you — that, I know. But from what you have said, I do believe you chose to survive, and no one here may fault you for it." He looks down for a moment, possibly thinking, and when he looks up, his expression is serious, his eyes turned to Takani.

Into the waiting silence, Himura says, "Death is not an atonement, that it is not. It is simply an ending. If you die, the harm you caused will remain in the world, that it will. But if you live, you have a chance to atone with your actions."

Takani looks down. Her hair falls to shadow her eyes as she considers both Aoshi's offer and Himura's words. But then she draws in a breath, relaxing her shoulders, and says, "I should hope you have some sort of plan, then."

Aoshi nods once, lifting his gaze to encompass the whole table. Himura, watching him with studied calm; Takani, whose gaze is wary and shadowed; Kamiya, who has said nothing, but has been watching with silent worry. "I do."

That seems to settle Kamiya. "If Megumi wants to help you, then you'll have whatever help we can offer." She pauses, considering him a moment, and asks, "And when this is all over? What will we be? Will you — keep working for people like him?"

Hannya looks over to Aoshi. Aoshi looks back at him, thinking over his reply.

"You will be conspirators. We will be… unemployed." It's probably unseemly to relish that thought so much. He does it anyway; it's not as if anyone but Hannya could realize how much he enjoys the idea of freedom. "I do not intend to suffer legal consequences — there is much I must yet do, for my clan and for its allies." And quite possibly for this country.

If he had not known Hannya for almost all of both their lives, if he had not been the one to bring Hannya into the clan and train him in its kempo, he would not know that he'd startled his intelligence master.

"You are not the only cell," Himura observes.

"Of the Oniwabanshu?" Hannya shakes his head. "We are not." He turns his head to look at Aoshi, his mask concealing any reaction. "You intend to return to — our previous headquarters?"

He almost tells Hannya that Misao likely won't be there, but it seems a cruel thing to do to him in front of those who do not know the situation. A violation of his privacy. All he can say is, "Perhaps."

And then he leans forward, and tells them all his plan.