Chapter 38 – A night to remember

The wind was blowing in gently from the south, carrying with it a hint of sea air and the fragrance of incense. There was a sharpness in the air, the early winter frost stinging his nostrils with each inhale. Yet there was not a hint of white lingering on her grave, nor any other color but that of murky dirt, bereft of life.

"At least it's better than snow," Kenshin mused out loud, as had become his habit whenever he visited her. "When spring comes again, this unworthy one will bring you flowers, that he will."

Her gravestone was a comforting weight against his back and he leaned into it, relishing the tranquil quietness of the graveyard. To his far right, a monk was sweeping the lawn. Other than the monk, there was no one nearby.

The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky.

Kenshin closed his eyes and drew in the cool winter air.

It really was a beautiful morning.

"The new era this one has dreamed about, it's coming – this time, it really is coming, because the Shogun resigned from his power." Kenshin paused, trying to put his errant thoughts into words. "But, somehow… it's odd. Everything is changing. This one knows it to be so. One has been in the meetings, listened to the speeches of the men in power. But when this one walks the streets and listens to the people, it seems like nothing has changed at all."

When he had first heard of the shogun's resignation, he had felt elated and hopeful. Now though, after following Katsura-san around and watching the people his leader was still negotiating and arguing with, Kenshin knew it wasn't that simple.

The formal resignation of Shogun Yoshinobu had left behind a void of power in the higher echelons of the bakufu officials, provincial lords, and Tokugawa family still held significant power behind every decree, law, and decision that was made. Katsura-san was aware of this and was of the opinion that the revolution would not end until the government was remade and the highest level of power restored to the Emperor.

So now, the rebels were trying to push the issue with political leverage.

If it didn't work, there were rumors that higher-ups in the Ishin Shishi were cajoling for a show of force. There was talk of once more trying to take over the Imperial palace.

Kenshin couldn't say he was particularly enthusiastic about the idea. He remembered all too well how badly the endeavor had gone last time.

Katsura-san agreed with him, as he – along with Sakamoto-san – was firmly in favor of more peaceful tactics. But the ugly truth was that no one could say how long the politicking would take, and the rebels were getting impatient.

"The last thing this unworthy one wants is more needless bloodshed, but at the same time… it's terrible to be waiting around for the worst." Kenshin mused. A moment's thought flitted through his head and he bit the inside of his cheek, before shaking his head firmly. "No. This one has promised to keep fighting until it is all over, and so he will. Soon, this will all be over and then, this one will be able to leave killing behind him."

"Not that this one knows what he will do afterward." The admission tasted sour. "This one remembers the promise he gave to you, that he would find a way to protect the happiness of the common people without killing. But how can he do that? This one knows nothing but the sword and… he is stained and broken. Tired."

Idly, he picked at his frayed sleeves. He really should buy another kimono. The silly purple one Lady Ikumatsu had gifted him was becoming quite worn out. Still, there was something pleasing about the garment, now that he had grown used to it. Its bright colors differed wildly from those of his work clothing, which alone was enough of a reason for him to like it. But he had also noticed that when he wore this kimono, people didn't take him seriously, instead treating him like a normal youth out on the streets. Sometimes, the illusion was so great that for a moment even he could forget that he was a bloodstained murderer.

"It was quite difficult to ditch Makoto and Hideyoshi and come here alone, that it was."

"Those two – this one doesn't quite know what to think of them, that he doesn't. They insist on spending time with this one and stick to his side whenever the situation allows it, even at work. Neither of them is afraid of this one, and that… well, that feels good, so it does. Maybe it means this one isn't quite as fearsome as the rumors paint him out to be?"

Another thought sprung to mind. An embarrassed flush rose to his cheeks but he told her about it anyway. "But really, there is something wrong with Makoto, that there is. There is no other way for a man to be so, so… deranged."

He gnawed on his lip, wondering how to phrase this. She had been a lady, after all. She wouldn't have approved of Makoto's vulgarity at all. But at the same time, she had encouraged him to be more open with her about his worries.

"Um, well... last week Makoto attempted to – um, he tried to touch this one again. He has done so often enough that it's not something to make a fuss about, that it isn't. But what made this time different was... was that this time it was on this one's hip."

And what had made it worse, somehow, was that Makoto had been almost lazy about it.

Maybe that was why it had surprised Kenshin so. He hadn't expected it. He had simply walked past Makoto, and Chirpy had trailed his hand down Kenshin's side, to his hip, all the way down to his butt, slowly, as if relishing the touch.

Of course, Kenshin had grown stiff and hissed angry words toward the idiot, but the thing was…

"It was just so odd, so it was. This one knows it was brazen and rude, like an uncouth man touching a cheap yujo in the worst corners of Shimabara. It should have felt disgusting and brought shivers of revulsion to this one's skin, but… it didn't."

He bit his lip, before hastily correcting, "Well, no more than any other touch that the Chirpy idiot has bestowed on this one. It wasn't that this one liked it, of course he didn't, but it just didn't feel any different than someone touching this one on the arm, or shoulder, or back. This one wanted to hate Makoto for it, to be upset about Chirpy's stupid wandering hands, but this one didn't, not any more than over the other things the idiot has done."

Even when spoken out loud, the incident and his feelings about it didn't make any sense. But…

"Being so close to people, it hasn't been so bad anymore," Kenshin admitted. "Casual touches from others at the inn, accidental touches from strangers on the street; those aren't as off-putting as they used to be. This unworthy one hasn't had any more panicky spells either. Makoto's hands wander in this one's direction so often that this one is getting used to it, to being touched, that he is."

And as embarrassing as it was to admit, it was the truth.

In a way, it was a good thing.

Even he could see it, because the last time they had played dice, when Fujiwara-san had slapped him on the back to congratulate him for beating Makoto, he hadn't shied away from the other man's touch, but rather, had felt good about it. It had felt like he was accepted, like he was just another man in the group, not an insane murderer close to his snapping point that they suffered to exist in their midst.

And sometimes, it seemed like the other men at the inn were starting to see it, too.

"But most often, this one talks to Hideyoshi. He's an easy person to spend time with. Unlike Chirpy, he doesn't spout something rude every other sentence, doesn't try to touch this one or anything of the sort. He is just there. Present. Listening, trying to understand. It's like, if this unworthy one would want a real friend, Hideyoshi would be the one."

Kenshin huffed. "Of course, wherever Hideyoshi goes, Makoto follows, so it's a moot point."

Also, there was the fact that Kenshin couldn't understand why Hideyoshi didn't seem to mind Makoto's outrageous behavior.

Why didn't the chirpy idiot's crazy antics annoy him?

Make him angry?

Or disturbed?

All of Makoto's blatant flirting, the lingering glances on all the wrong people of either sex, the rude things Makoto said without pausing to consider who might hear him… Hideyoshi rarely, if ever, reacted to any of it. Even though Kenshin had developed something like a friendship with Hideyoshi, the steady-tempered youth only ever stepped between him and Makoto when Kenshin was starting to get genuinely upset.

Huh.

Kenshin blinked as the puzzle pieces snapped into place. "Or maybe… Hideyoshi doesn't think Makoto is harming anyone with his crazy antics, and only stops him when it's becoming obvious that Makoto has gone too far? That could be it, couldn't it?"

The thought made him feel slightly better about it. Though he didn't really understand the motives of the unlikely duo any better now, three months after their first, terribly embarrassing meeting, even he couldn't deny that they had given him something to come back to after terrible nights at work.

It was really starting to get late, though.

He couldn't say how long he had been here, keeping her company, but it must have been hours already. He climbed to his stiff feet and swept the dirt off from his kimono.

"Love, this unworthy one will be going now, that he will. Please, know that this one misses you, every day." He gently stroked her gravestone in farewell. Then he straightened and faced the breeze, enjoying how it swept his long bangs away from his face.

It felt nice. Refreshing.

Sadly, that good feeling didn't last long. As soon he hit the streets of the city center, he felt that he was being watched. And there was no surprise as to why: again, people were clearly looking at him. No matter what he wore, how he did his hair, or how girlish he looked, people still noticed him. Worse, they remembered him. His eye-catching hair drew their attention and more often than not, their eyes sought out his face, as if looking for a scar.

While he had yet to find the kind of trouble that turned into violence during these little excursions, it was starting to feel like it was only a matter of time before the inevitable disaster struck.

The Battousai rumors weren't just idle talk or exaggerated fairytales anymore. No, here in the capital, everyone knew that a monster named Hitokiri Battousai prowled the streets. Hair dyed red by the blood of his victims, eyes yellow as a beast's, sword as fast as lighting, cutting down as many as five people in one stroke – truly, Battousai was worst of the worst, a monster so fearsome that men only saw him when they were slated to die.

For the most part, Kenshin could see where the fantastic description of him had come from. Well, except for the yellow eyes part. That always threw him. His eyes were strange and pale, a sickly shade of blueish... violet? Something like that. It was a color he had seen in summer flowers and sometimes in women's clothing, but never on people. Strange and disturbing as it was, the color was very different from what rumors claimed. So where had this story drawn its inspiration?

Even Makoto and Hideyoshi had wondered about it more than once, spending quite a bit of time coming up with crazy theories about the legend's origin. As usual, Makoto's ideas ranged from silly to ridiculous, like the theory that Kenshin's "insane speed" had something to do with magic, and that his eyes changed colors depending on if he was using magic or not.

Kenshin had barely managed to hold back a disbelieving snort at that suggestion.

One of Hideyoshi's theories, however, actually seemed fairly plausible to Kenshin "We mostly work nights and people carry lanterns that cast yellow light, you know? It reflects pretty well on your pale eyes and makes them look almost yellow."

And that did make sense, didn't it? Not that he ever carried a mirror to check, but at least it was something that was humanly possible.

It was certainly more realistic than Makoto's idea that he used magic, or the common rumor that moonlight revealed Battousai's true form as a demon.

Kenshin sighed softly, trying to prepare for the tirade he would be forced to endure when he got back to the inn. Makoto would definitely start by commenting on his choice of dress and the fact that he had gone out alone…

As if on cue, Makoto's face peeked out of the inn. "Pretty! What are you wearing!? Don't get me wrong, you look cute and all, but, but... it's not you! You are all fire and delicate lines, danger and beauty in a single package! And your hair! You shouldn't tie up your hair like that! How about I help you brush it out, make it all better? I would be only too happy to help! It's such a good idea, isn't it, pretty? And why did you go out alone? I was so bored, waiting all day here with nothing else to do but annoy Hideyoshi! Besides, I still need to find out what you do when you go out alone wearing that kimono carrying flowers. Could it be… Oh, no, no, you cannot have a woman on the side! Or maybe you are engaged already and that's why I am not good enough for you – no, don't tell me it's like that! It can't be possible!"

"Calm down, Makoto." Hideyoshi's rumbling voice cut through Makoto's rambling. "Let Himura-san have some space to breathe at least, would you?"

Kenshin exhaled in relief, watching as Hideyoshi grabbed Makoto by the neck of his kimono and held the overly enthusiastic youth back. Kenshin gave him a slight nod in thanks, and walked past them both, heading upstairs to change. He truly appreciated Hideyoshi's interference. After the solitude of the graveyard, having to listen and endure Chirpy right off the bat felt particularly arduous.

Sadly, he knew that Hideyoshi's interference wouldn't last long.

Today was a rare day where he, as well as rest of their unit, had the whole day off. Nakamura hadn't been able to find a single miscellaneous errand for him to run, which spoke volumes about the current stalemate they had with Bakufu.

Both sides were waiting to see how the political infighting at the Imperial court turned out. For ordinary soldiers, this meant a respite from fighting. Of course, there was always the chance that disaster might strike and their assistance would be needed on short notice, but tonight that seemed a particularly far-off possibility.

For now, there was nothing to do.

Kenshin couldn't help but feel restless. Nothing against the men in their unit, even Hideyoshi or Makoto, but they had been cooped up together for months now, gambling and listening to each other telling stories and jokes was becoming… well, not boring, not exactly. It was just that the war had been going on for so long and Kenshin felt like he had met everyone involved, one way or another. Even the Bakufu men were familiar faces to him at this point.

And somehow, the war just wasn't ending.

Sure, as he'd told Tomoe, he knew that the Ishin Shishi were finally making progress. He had been guarding Katsura-san for several hours every week, so he knew all the advances that had been achieved in the past few months. The rebels were moving troops closer to the capital, armed with Western weapons. He'd been helping to smuggle guns into the city for months, in case they were ordered to attack the capitol en masse, finally bringing their shadow war out into the open.

But even if he knew that a great deal of progress was being made, he didn't really feel that any change was happening.

What good had all the fighting and killing done for the common people?

Kenshin was starting to fear that the answer was... nothing.

Yet he had given his word that he would fight in this mad war until the end. He had given his word to Katsura-san.

And so he fought. Killed. Night after night, while his convictions crumbled, he endured the guilt that threatened to swallow him alive, bit by bit.

The other fighters in his unit didn't seem to share his troubles. Their mood was quite positive. Even the unit's "baby", the twenty-year-old Hideyoshi, had learned to fight as good as the best of them, able to feel joy from his achievements in battle. Makoto, too, had proven his worth in a fight.

So was Kenshin the only one who didn't see the point in all this anymore?

Maybe he had been fighting in this war for too long.

…Maybe he was just getting old.

He was only eighteen, the youngest in their unit – but he felt ancient.

Not that people realized that he was actually two years younger than Hideyoshi. Even Makoto hadn't figured it out. He still thought Kenshin was around his age, twenty-two or twenty-three. It was a source of some amusement for Kenshin, a sort of game to distract and mislead Chirpy to the wrong conclusions.

True, he wasn't one to lie and he still felt compelled to answer direct questions, but that didn't mean he couldn't be selective about the truth he spoke.

And really, every annoyance he could cause to the Chirpy idiot was entirely justified.

"I am dying!" Makoto declared out loud. "Dying, simply dyiiing of boredom. Hideyoshi, Pretty – you've got to help me! You wouldn't want me to die, would you?"

"Hmm, that's a tough one," Hideyoshi mused, pretending to think about it. "I don't know. What do you think, Himura-san?"

"O, err…" Kenshin mumbled, before giving up and simply shrugging awkwardly with one shoulder.

"Rude! You guys are so rude. What have I ever done to you, huh?" Makoto harrumphed. "But in any case, as I was saying – it's boring here. Nothing's happening. Nothing. At all. And I want to do something new. Hey, I know! Hideyoshi, remember that Tanaka fellow from last week when we were guarding that meeting, where he boasted about his skill with dice? How about we go and clear him out of his petty cash? I mean, between Pretty and me, he wouldn't stand a chance."

"Tanaka…" Hideyoshi frowned. "Tanaka-san was situated in an inn near Sanjo Dori, right?"

Kenshin blinked. He had stopped listening halfway through Makoto's prattle, but now… there was a spark of enthusiasm in Hideyoshi's eyes and his lips were curved into an anticipatory smile.

Huh?

Even Steady was interested?

"Yes, he was!" Makoto nodded sagely. "So, what do you think? We can take Pretty with us, can't we? It's already late and it's one of our places, so it shouldn't be a problem. Besides, think about it! New place, new faces, new plump wallets to empty… It's perfect, don't you think? There isn't anything to stop us from going there and inviting ourselves in!"

Uh oh… Kenshin gulped. "Orr-o, this one is not so sure that is a good idea, that he isn't," he said, even if he knew it wouldn't make a difference. Makoto was so caught up with his idea that he wouldn't listen to him at all, especially now that Hideyoshi was looking like he was in too…

"Why not?" Hideyoshi smiled. "We are all going stir-crazy in here, and anyway, there is nothing scheduled for us. I mean, Himura-san – even you have a free night. If that doesn't mean that there is nothing going on, then I don't know what does. We've all seen how hard Nakamura is on you and if he couldn't find a mission for you, there simply are none."

Well… it wasn't like Kenshin could deny that. So maybe, it wouldn't be so bad?

And so it was decided. No matter how stupid of an idea it was, the three of them were going to visit another Ishin Shishi unit to gamble. Kenshin didn't know which unit they were going to, but given that this excursion wasn't going to be in an official capacity or connected to his job, he didn't want to be recognized. So he combed out his long bangs to cover the scar on his left cheek and pinned the rest of his hair up on a loose bun with the comb Lady Ikumatsu had given him. And since he had already done up his hair, it seemed silly to stop halfway – so he changed into his purple kimono. However, he didn't want to be mistaken for a girl, so he pulled on his gray hakama and slipped both of his swords into their place by his side.

The combination was quite – unique.

But his scar wasn't showing and he was armed, so it would have to do.

"You really don't look like Battousai when you do that to your hair," Hideyoshi commented. "No matter how silly it looks."

Kenshin looked aside. "It doesn't work too well anymore, that it doesn't. The color is too rare."

They were waiting for Makoto near the entrance. Chirpy was late; apparently he was hunting for his lucky dice.

"Speaking of your hair color, how did that happen?" Hideyoshi asked. "I mean, I have only ever seen foreigners with red hair. Did you perhaps have one in your family?"

"Orr... o, this one doesn't know," Kenshin confessed, after a bit of a pause. "This unworthy one was the only odd one."

"That's unusual." Hideyoshi frowned. "Maybe you were adopted? Some foreigner abandoned you as a baby and your folks took you in?"

Kenshin didn't know how to answer that. There was logic in Steady's words and it would explain a lot… except for the fact that Kenshin did remember the village where he was born. Well, fragments of it. And it had been too remote a place for any foreigner to come across, even by mistake. But on the other hand, how could he know for sure? His family could have easily moved to the village after taking him in.

What a discouraging thought.

If that was true, he would never learn his ancestors' names. It would cement that he was alone. No family, no clan, no true name. No roots of any sort. Only himself, alone – adrift on the winds of time.

Maybe that was for the best.

The person he had become would only bring dishonor and shame to any relative.

"I found my dice!" Makoto enthused. "Let's go, guys! Let's get going already! It's time to fleece Takana and his men!"


"Orr o ro, no – this is NOT a good idea, that it isn't," Kenshin mumbled, his eyes wide as saucers as he took in the sight of the twenty or so samurai in the inn's common room, drinking, gambling, joking around and sharing stories. By the sheer volume of the party, most of them were already drunk and there were even a couple of… err, ladies serving them. Hair done up in intricate styles, faces painted white, they could almost have passed for geiko or maiko, but Kenshin had learned enough from Lady Ikumatsu to spot the difference.

No, these ladies mimicked the art of geiko, but they were different. Their slender necks were bare, they flashed the pale skin on their wrists, their lips were curled into coy smiles, and the way they kept touching their patrons, teasing them, all but inviting them to, to…

Kenshin swallowed, feeling faint.

"Why is this a bad idea? Tanaka himself invited us in." Makoto grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

Chirpy was pouring them all generous servings of sake and smiling like this was the best day of his life.

Even Hideyoshi didn't seem to realize there was a problem.

For fuck's sake! Kenshin leaned close to Makoto and hissed in his ear, "These men are from Satsuma!"

"So?" Makoto asked, baffled. "We are from Aki, what's the issue? Just calm down, Pretty, and relax. This will be a fun night!"

Kenshin buried his face in the crook of his arms, and let out a muffled "oro". Despite his best attempt to stay calm, his fingers flexed on the handle of his katana where he held it against his left shoulder.

Of course, the chirpy idiot didn't remember that Kenshin wasn't from Aki.

Thank god that these last four years in Kyoto's melting pot had shaved off most of his rural accent, a process that had been helped along by his fascination with the archaic humble speech patterns used by old-fashioned samurai.

But still, everyone knew that Hitokiri Battousai was from Choshuu.

He really, really should leave. He should have left the second he realized that the inn was patronized by Satsuma men, but he had been too shocked to react. And now, how could he leave without causing a scene?

"Ah, Makoto! You did come to visit, just like you promised, and you even brought friends with you! Welcome, welcome!" An older samurai, notably thick in the waist and with a big grin on his face, approached them. "Are you boys ready to show off your skill with the dice?"

"You bet, Tanaka!" Makoto declared loudly, and grabbed Kenshin by the shoulder in a very familiar hold. "Please, sit with us! Me and Pretty are all ready to clean out your pockets!"

The sudden touch made Kenshin sit up, ramrod straight, as shivers of disgust raced down his spine. Thankfully, on Makoto's other side, Hideyoshi noticed Kenshin's reaction and poked Makoto. Without a word, Makoto let go and dug into his kimono folds, pulling out his famous lucky dice.

Tanaka-san laughed. "Such enthusiasm! You are definitely welcome to try, boys!

And so, they started playing.

As far as gambling went, the game wasn't bad. Makoto made for a good show, entertaining the group even as he maintained a winning streak. Kenshin entertained himself by trying to predict the dice the best he could, managing it often enough that he was making more money than he lost.

In a way, Kenshin could now see why people found these sorts of parties enjoyable. Slowly but surely, even he was starting to relax. These people didn't know him. They didn't fear him. Most likely they thought that he was Makoto's… err, companion. At least, given the looks they got whenever Chirpy said something flirty or touched him.

Kenshin didn't like the idea, but it allowed the men here to dismiss him as unimportant and caused them to ignore the similarities he shared with Kyoto's most well-known horror story. So, he was desperately trying not to let Makoto's easy familiarity get to him.

Unfortunately, the sake being served seemed to have no limit, and Makoto was enthusiastically taking advantage of the free booze.

Given the company, Kenshin couldn't possibly pass on alcohol either, not without risking insulting their host. He took tiny sips, trying to drink as slowly as he could.

So what if people thought him odd and girlish for doing so?

He wasn't going to get drunk in a situation as unpredictable as this. It certainly didn't help that it had been ages since he had last drunk anything, and that out of all the people at the party, he was easily the smallest.

A true lightweight, as Makoto had mockingly declared when he had defended his chaste drinking.

"Say, Makoto's pretty little friend… what was your name again? I never quite caught it?" Tanaka inquired, a benevolent smile on his face.

Kenshin's heart skipped a beat. This was the first time he'd been directly addressed, so he couldn't refuse to answer. But what could he say? Among the rebels, Hitokiri Battousai was as commonly known as Himura Battousai. Um, right… Trying to smile, he murmured softly, "This unworthy is called Kenshin, so he is."

"Kenshin? Like devotion? That's a nice name. Suits you." Tanaka nodded absently and took another sip of his sake. "Say, you fight for the cause also? Because, I swear I've seen you somewhere, but for the life of me I cannot remember where."

"…orr o," Kenshin tensed. "Well, um… this unworthy one does a lot of bodyguard jobs, that he does. Easy work, mainly involving waiting around and looking fancy. Sir Tanaka could have seen this unworthy one during one of those jobs, that he could," he explained, trying to pass it off. The last thing he needed was to be recognized and forced to fight, so the less these people thought of him, the better.

"Looking fancy?" Tanaka let out an amused guffaw. "I can see that, a pretty little thing like you. And if you can use that toothpick of a sword at all, it probably works marvelously as a surprise tactic."

Kenshin tried to keep smiling, not letting his growing annoyance show. His expression probably looked terribly fake, but…

"Oh, Tanaka – shut it. Pretty is damn good with a blade. They have him desperately overworked at our unit, the poor thing. It's stupid, though. I could do a lot of the jobs Pretty runs. It's very unfair that the higher ups keep giving some people more jobs than the others, don't you think? We got this weasel of a superior who just loves making our lives difficult. He gives shit hours and we rarely get enough time to rest. Can you imagine having a superior like that?"

Thankfully, Makoto's intervention was enough to draw Tanaka's attention to the favorite pastime of all soldiers: grumbling about their superiors. The older Satsuma samurai eagerly took the bait, and so the conversation moved on, needing little input from Kenshin except for a few nods and an agreeing or disagreeing sound at appropriate intervals.

However, as he listened and watched the conversation unfold, Kenshin slowly began to realize something about Makoto.

No matter how outrageous, rude, and loud the Chirpy acted… he wasn't stupid.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Whenever people tried to engage Kenshin in conversation, or inquire about something that Kenshin didn't know how to answer, Makoto would step in and interrupt them, distracting them and guiding the conversation elsewhere.

It was almost like… Makoto's loud and dramatic acting was just that: an act.

Kenshin simply hadn't realized it before now.

Sure, a large part of Makoto's one man show had to be genuine. No one could fake an entire personality, not so consistently, and for such a long time. But it was like with Ito-san's use of subtle lies and half-truth. Everything was so smoothly mixed together that people couldn't keep track of where the truth ended and the lie began.

Frowning, Kenshin glanced at Hideyoshi who was following Makoto's spectacle with a smile.

Steady was probably the only one who could see where Makoto's act truly began, what was a convenient lie and what was genuine. It was not entirely dissimilar to the morning when Kenshin and Ito-san had been captured by those Mimawarigumi rookies and Kenshin had been the only one who could follow the truth in Ito-san's speech.

But right here and now – honestly, even in their unit – all anyone else could see in Makoto was a loud and brazen young man whose outrageous behavior was entertaining to follow. They dismissed him as a harmless idiot, not someone to watch out for, and this allowed Makoto to go anywhere, talk to anyone, even people he really had no business talking to. And hadn't Hideyoshi said that Chirpy swindled him into the rebel troops, despite the fact that Steady wasn't a samurai?

Huh.

Kenshin bit the inside of his cheek as another thought sprung to his mind: hadn't Lady Ikumatsu suggested that he do the same thing when he wanted to go out on the town?

She had… hadn't she?

Looking at it now from the sidelines, Makoto's act did work like a charm. The samurai he was ripping off of their hard-won pay with his outrageous luck, they were from Satsuma. No matter that Makoto and Hideyoshi were originally from Aki, they had joined Choshuu forces.

By all reason and logic, shouldn't that cause trouble?

Most definitely.

And yet, Makoto and Hideyoshi had even swindled Kenshin into the party with them, which was pretty remarkable now that he thought about it. But no one here was paying attention to the obvious. These Satsuma samurai should bear a grudge against them, even by association. But they didn't. Instead, they were cheerfully sharing their party, booze, food, and all, with three strangers, no questions asked.

However, Kenshin wasn't sure he could do what Makoto was doing.

He just… wasn't that outgoing.

Talking so easily, letting out the first thought that came to his mind with no consideration to the weight of his words?

Such a thing would be impossible for him.

But that wasn't the point, was it?

The core of Makoto's act was to be loud, and therefore, invisible. If Kenshin could learn to do that, if he could make it to work for him, it would solve a lot of his problems. So Kenshin tore his focus away from his musings and to the present, and for the first time, he paid attention to the Chirpy idiot with utter seriousness.

"…but the most hilarious thing I ever saw was when Battousai dropped an entire squad of Shinsengumi into a river. I mean, everyone knows he's made an art of the trick: just a couple lightning-fast slashes to the wooden flooring and boom! The bridge breaks apart and everyone gets a nice cool dunk! But damn, when I saw it myself, it was just… beautiful. It's a memory so fond that I'll cherish it until my dying day. You see, by doing that, Battousai forced the whole squad of Mibu's wolves to explain their shame to their commanders. I mean, I would love to kill them all, I really would, but in a way… ensuring their humiliation is even better." Throughout the story, Makoto was waving his hands enthusiastically, his honey-brown eyes sparkling with glee.

Kenshin tensed up. What the hell Makoto was doing? This was just about the worst possible choice of topic for conversation!

"True enough, though I can't say I care too much for Choshuu or their over-regarded killer." Tanaka said. "I have been here in the Capital for quite some time now and never once have I seen even a flash of that legendary hitokiri. I bet the rumors of him are exaggerated."

"Oh, I don't know." Makoto grinned. "I have seen Battousai. Hey, don't look at me like that – I have. I really have and that guy, damn can he fight. He is so fast that it's impossible to see him move. One moment he is there and the next he is across the street and a dozen guys are dead. I don't know how he does it, but it's ridiculous. What would I give to learn how to do that?" Makoto grumbled, but a second later, "Aha, and there it is! I win yet again! Pay up, buckos!"

Chirpy leaned in to collect his winnings with deep bows and exaggeratedly polite gestures that were so over the top that it bordered on mocking. But no one was insulted. No one cared. The men simply let the insult pass with a smile and handed over their money to Makoto.

Then one of the… uh, ladies who were there to um, entertain the men decided to move over to their group. The men welcomed her with cheerful catcalls and she smiled amiably, accepting their enthusiasm gracefully, evaluating where to settle down…

"Hey, beautiful," Tanaka called to her. "I think there is a good place for you over here, next to Makoto's young friend." And he pointed directly to the empty space Kenshin had painstakingly tried to create between him and the closest Satsuma samurai to his left. It was where he had taken refuge whenever Makoto's passes had started to feel too much, but now –

"Thank you! I'd be pleased to sit with you, gentle sirs," the lady demurred, and moved to kneel delicately right beside Kenshin, arranging her intricate kimono so that it flowed right and wouldn't get wrinkled.

All her controlled, well-practiced movements, even her cherry perfume, brought up memories. The reminder wasn't pleasant. No, this lady's practiced manner, her perfume and carefully chosen garb, were so far from Tomoe's natural elegance that the difference was jarring, almost violently different from the little bit of happiness Kenshin struggled to harbor in his heart.

His Tomoe… she had been elegant, but reserved. A real lady. But this girl beside him, she was blatant in her intentions.

Kenshin straightened his back, trying not to show his distaste.

Makoto leaned in close to him, whispering in his ear. "Say, Pretty – if you really don't care for my attentions, then how about hers? Every man should experience some enjoyment. The whole time I've known you, you've never once looked at a pretty thing. That's not normal at all."

Kenshin's breath caught, and he turned to Chirpy.

Instead of saying more, Makoto gave him a pointed look, nodded towards the entertainer to Kenshin's left, and raised his brow expectantly.

The weight of Makoto's not-so-subtle hint, the situation he was in, the social expectations therein… Gods! It felt like a cage settling around him, trapping him tighter than any shackle.

Everyone around him was smiling and enjoying themselves, engaged by the gambling, conversation, and free alcohol.

And here he was on the verge of panicking, just because he had someone sitting on either side of him.

Normal?

It was anything but normal. Kenshin was well aware of that.

Any sane man should be able to handle this. True, he wasn't a shining example of sanity even on his best day, but he wasn't mad either. He wasn't! Not like Nakamura was trying to paint him out to be.

So did Makoto have a point?

All the men Kenshin had ever heard talking about physical intimacy were of the opinion that it was the best thing there was.

And back then, in Otsu… Kenshin, too, had enjoyed those things, with her.

Now, any touch, no matter how well-intentioned, felt off-putting to him. Even when he could stop himself from shying away from casual touches, he certainly didn't feel any pleasure from them. And yes, he could always reason that when Chirpy touched him it didn't count – after all, Chirpy was a man and Kenshin didn't care for men, not like that – but surely he should still be capable of liking a woman's attention?

…Or was he broken?

Kenshin gave a discreet glance to the girl kneeling on his left. She looked and behaved like as was expected of a girl of her status and profession. Her manner was not the most refined or elegant, nothing like that of the fine courtesans he saw when following Katsura-san to a meeting of Ishin Shishi leadership, nor any of the geiko or maiko he had seen when going to visit Lady Ikumatsu.

Instead, this girl, she was, well… easy with her attentions. Her smile was flirty, her glances assessing, and her gestures inviting, like any of her touches didn't bear any particular significance to her, but were just a means to an end.

So, as the gambling in their group continued and the girl to his left started to inch closer to him – leaning against him, trailing her fingers on his left arm – Kenshin allowed her touches. He didn't say anything, didn't let out a hint of protest, even when she started to grow bolder.

He had no interest in her.

As cruel as it was, he only wanted to find out if he could tolerate her touch. To see if she could bring out even a hint of excitement or desire in him.

With Tomoe, in their little paradise, their physical intimacy had been so easy, natural… the most perfect thing. Gods, how he missed those moments with her, seeing her black eyes grow wide, sweat glisten on her milky skin. And her breasts – oh, he had really loved her breasts; playing with them, feeling their softness in his hands, nibbling on them and teasing her pert nipples until they were glistening with his saliva, all red and stiff.

A gentle curve of bosom pressed against his left arm, and Kenshin closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sensation.

Back then, he hadn't really needed much to get the liquid fire flowing inside him. All it had really taken was the feel her soft skin, or her breathless moan…

"You are a very handsome man, gentle sir," the girl whispered huskily in his ear. Her warm breath tickled the side of his neck, and her fingers trailed down his shoulder, sweeping behind his back and reaching to pull him in an embrace. And suddenly, bile rose in his throat, the feeling of thousand disgusting legs crawled over his skin, and the tiny hairs at the back of his neck stood up.

It was hundred times worse than any of Makoto's frequent attempts.

Kenshin swallowed, trying to keep breathing, trying to chase away the feeling of revulsion.

Gods, why was it like this?

Why was it so much worse than with Makoto?

He had thought he could handle Chirpy because he wasn't in any way, shape, or form attracted to the idiot. A man's touch should be more off-putting than a woman's, shouldn't it?

"Say, Pretty – I wonder, do you have a girl in town, or who is it that you are always bringing flowers?" Makoto asked from his right, leaning closer to him – boxing him in.

Kenshin gasped, but his throat was tight, like there was something blocking his breath…

And people were looking at him, expecting him to speak.

Cold sweat flowed down his brow, as he fought down the wave of panic threatening to overtake him.

Breathe! Just breathe, you idiot! He told himself firmly. You can't lose it here. You can't.

But fuck!

Why in the fucking hells did Makoto have to bring her up now? Fury stirring, he flexed his fingers on his katana, seeking something solid to ground him. He had no intention whatsoever of sharing his most precious memories with any of these people.

"Orr o, it's nothing." He hid his eyes behind his long bangs and murmured softly, trying to sound disinterested. "Just someone this one tries to visit as often as he can, that's all."

"You buy your lady friend flowers? How romantic! Would you buy flowers for me?" The girl reached over to sweep his long bangs aside coyly, and cradled his left cheek…

Just. Like. She. Had. Always. Done.

The feeling of disgust became far too much to bear and Kenshin shot upright, detangling himself from her slimy touches and snarled, "She was my wife and she is DEAD."

It was like everything stopped at that moment.

The girl stared at him from the floor where she had fallen, her eyes huge with shock. "That scar…"

"Married?" Makoto's exclaimed, "You were married?!!"

And Kenshin… just couldn't deal with it. He simply couldn't. Not with everyone staring at him like he had gone bat-shit crazy. He had to get away. But he couldn't. There was no place to run. So he buried his face to his hands and tried to breathe: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale… desperately struggling to shut out the world and the stares and the people.

But then, Hideyoshi's faint ki was there, warm but worried. "Kenshin. Hey, are you alright?"

And that presence, somehow it was familiar enough that he could concentrate on it, fight back the panic, enough to face his friend.

Steady was there.

He was not alone.

"I… I'm sorry," Kenshin whispered, a wave of shame flooding in. He really was a wreck of a human being. But Steady's presence was enough that he could orient himself and realize that his face was covered in cold sweat. He swept his face dry with his sleeve, numb with embarrassment and shame.

"It's not a problem," Hideyoshi assured him, and stepped backwards, giving him room to stand up. "Now come on. Let's take a breather."


They found a quiet corner on the inn's second story balcony, and without further word, they leaned against the railing. The balcony overlooked the backyard, but from this high up they could see past the fence separating the inn's property from the lively city centre. The winter night was cold, the circle of the moon visible in the cloudless sky. At a distance, the lantern lights danced across the dark rooftops.

Bit by bit, Kenshin found he could breathe easier.

The incident in the common room… he should apologize. Especially to the girl. He had pushed her aside so rudely. He could have hurt her! It wasn't her fault that he was a freak, a failure, and a terribly selfish idiot on top of that.

It was just that Makoto's questions had brought up his worst fears and doubts, that's all.

Hideyoshi cleared his throat awkwardly, cutting through his melancholy, "So your wife died, huh?"

Kenshin closed his eyes, then exhaled softly and whispered, "Yes. Almost three years ago, that she did." It had been years since her death, and yet, the wound was still raw. Even the simple admission hurt.

He didn't want to speak about this, but he was ashamed of his outburst earlier, and besides, Hideyoshi had always been reasonable. He was good at just being there when people needed him.

"That's too bad. I'm sorry for your loss." Hideyoshi said. "It must be terribly hard to keep fighting when burdened by that kind of loss. I mean, I fight for a girl. I fight to make this world a better place for her… and after everything is settled, I will seek her out. I am not expecting anything, but it would be nice if she had a place for me in her heart, if I could try to win her good regard. Settle down with her, have a home and a family. There's always after the war..."

It was hard not to be jealous of the picture Hideyoshi had painted with his words. After all, it was not unlike the hesitant hopes Kenshin had entertained himself only… well, a lifetime ago. That beautiful dream was beyond his reach now. He'd had his chance and he had ruined it in the worst way possible.

Kenshin was distantly aware that most people were able to try again, to see beyond the horror of the present and hope for something better. Some people were capable of letting go of their sorrow and finding other lovers…

So it wasn't like that dream was impossible, not in theory.

But for him?

It felt like far too much to ask.

True, during these three years he, too, had thought about life after the war and the horror, when he could stop killing. The trouble was that he didn't have any other skills besides his swordsmanship. All he knew was war.

Did it matter?

How sweet would it be to abandon his blade? To leave everything he knew behind him and to settle down in the middle of nowhere, where people had never heard of Battousai, of the Ishin Shishi, and knew nothing of war? There, even a failure like him could start again and live his days in peace, seeking to help others.

It would be a good life.

She would approve of that, of him seeking atonement for his sins by helping others.

The thought ached like salt in an open wound and Kenshin gasped, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

"When one had found the most perfect person in the world… and then lost her, how could one ever think of another?" he heard his voice speak.

Hideyoshi didn't answer.

Kenshin didn't turn to look. He didn't need to see to know that Steady's eyes held empathy, compassion. It was his nature.

"I'll tell Makoto to stop flirting with you."

"…orr o?"

"It's okay. He will listen to me, " Hideyoshi said softly. "But you know, he doesn't mean it badly."

Right then, Kenshin knew that if he gave the tiniest acknowledgment, it would all stop. Hideyoshi was good to his word and if there was one person in the world whose good opinion Chirpy didn't dare to jeopardize, it was him.

Gods, it was one of the most tempting offers Kenshin had ever heard in his life.

No more harassment. No more uncomfortable moments or awkwardness. He would be alone once more, in his own comfortable bubble of numbness that had allowed him to survive thus far.

But he wasn't numb anymore, was he?

He did his job, weathered the pain in his heart, the nightmares and constant worries… but after that, when he returned to his unit, there were always two persistent tag-alongs waiting for him. He couldn't say he appreciated most of Makoto's and Hideyoshi's chit chat or attempts to draw him into engaging with others. He honestly would prefer to have more peace and quiet in his days.

But at the same time…

"No, it's alright. This unworthy one can handle it, that he can."

...He was slowly starting to feel alive again.

It wasn't a nice or an easy road, but Hideyoshi's and Makoto's pushy friendship was helping him.

And as awkward as it was, it was a bit flattering to have such a persistent admirer in Makoto. Not that he reciprocate the feeling, of course he didn't. But, Makoto was… different. He was nothing like her, not in personality, looks, or mannerism, and nothing he did could threaten to tarnish the memories of her that Kenshin held dear. Not to mention that Makoto's frequent touches, as annoying and awkward as they were, were helping Kenshin to learn how to handle closeness and touch again.

Maybe it was enough to hope that one day he wouldn't freak out over such a simple thing anymore?

"Truly?" Hideyoshi gasped in surprise. "I… I wasn't sure. I mean, Fujiwara did say that you were like that – but that talk about your wife…"

"You mean the rumor that this unworthy one prefers intimacy with men?" Kenshin couldn't help but snort. "That came from a misunderstanding, that it did. This unworthy one didn't know what mentoring meant and when Fujiwara-san asked if one was being mentored by our former superior, one admitted to it, when in truth all we ever shared was a few conversations about swordsmanship."

"…oh."

Hideyoshi looked so lost.

Kenshin huffed and the corners of his lips tugged upwards in a pale imitation of a smile. "Besides, Makoto would die if he couldn't flirt, so he would. Better that he does it to someone who isn't going to punch him in the face."

"That's so true it hurts." Hideyoshi burst into guffaws. "Oh gods, you don't even know how many fights I've seen Makoto get into because of that habit of his."

Warm fondness spreading inside him, Kenshin smiled, this time for real. "Maybe we should go back and save Chirpy before he gets into another one, that is?"

"Chirpy, eh?" Hideyoshi raised his brow, but his gaze was soft. Genuine.

Kenshin blushed and looked aside. "Orr o, well, that's what this unworthy one often calls Makoto-san in his head, that he does."

"I like it. So, who am I?"

"Ah, well, um, this one…Oro! Steady," Kenshin stammered, hiding his eyes behind his long bangs.

"…I see. Well, if Makoto is Chirpy and I am Steady, then you are definitely Odd." Hideyoshi huffed, his ki warm with acceptance. And then, he straightened his tall frame and turned, motioning with his hand towards the doorway.

Kenshin took the hint and followed him back inside.

The inn's second floor corridors were empty, but he could feel a few presences towards the far end, in private rooms. The light of the oil lamps shone through the rice paper walls, faint voices came through, muffled by the distance. It seemed that the inn hosted more people than just the Satsuma samurai partying in the common room.

Or perhaps some people had gotten tired of the loud party and had sought solace on the upper floors?

Not a bad idea, given that the party downstairs had gotten even louder…

But as they stepped down the stairs, Kenshin realized that all his guesses were wrong – they were already too late, because Makoto's ability to cause trouble had exceeded their wildest expectations.

Somehow, in the time that he and Hideyoshi had been gone, the cheerful party of twenty samurai had transformed into a honest-to-god drunken brawl.

Oh, dear…

It was an astonishing sight, truly.

Everyone in the room was grabbing, hitting, and wrestling anyone they could reach, shouting and laughing in mad euphoria. At least no one was dead. Well, Kenshin was pretty sure no one was dead – a few people were lying on the floor, unconscious, but there was no blood, nor any missing limbs.

It was dreadfully easy to cut off someone's extended limb, if not on purpose, then by accident.

…Yet no one had drawn their blades.

Kenshin couldn't help but stare in disbelief.

Makoto was right in the middle of the mess, wrestling with someone who looked suspiciously like their host, Tanaka-san. Oh, yes – it was Tanaka. Their host had quite a few pounds on the tall, lean Makoto, but they were both drunk off their asses and it seemed that Chirpy had decided he wasn't going down quietly, because he was howling incoherently and throwing indiscriminate punches.

Hideyoshi shot Kenshin a grin, and charged right into the melee to help his friend.

Kenshin had no idea what to do.

Honestly, as far as fights went, it didn't look that dangerous. More like an enthusiastic, if somewhat vicious, friendly tumble.

Without his say, his feet took a step into the room.

What could he do to end this madness?

Everyone here had a weapon. If he drew his blade, he would only antagonize them further, likely escalating the situation. He didn't want to threaten them with his ki, either. It was such a rare skill, and what would happen if they found out he was Battousai?

But what else could he do?

He was five feet one, weighing a bit under ninety pounds. In that brawl, the other men would crush him.

Perhaps he should shout?

In this racket? With his voice?

Ugh, how about no.

Thankfully, Hideyoshi didn't look like he needed much help with Makoto…

A presence flared on his immediate right and Kenshin turned, only to see a sake bottle flying right at his head. He barely managed to dodge it, only to fall into the brawl, spinning to escape the outreached fists and people and miscellaneous items coming towards him. There was no time to think, he could only react, trusting his deeply ingrained reflexes keep him out of harm's way.

It was almost… fun?

Sure, there was a definite risk of injury, but this was much less dangerous than a sword fight. So he dodged, jumped, twisted, and danced, trying to make his way to Hideyoshi and Makoto. Both of them were in the heart of this mess, seemingly having the time of their lives – at least if their exhilarated grins were anything to go by. Oh boy. Chirpy was messed up, his lip split and bleeding, his right eye swelling shut. Not that it seemed to slow him down any…

"Pretty! There you are!" Makoto cheered.

"We should get out of here, that we should!" Kenshin shouted in answer, dodging yet another fist coming his way.

Makoto, the brazen idiot, just winked at him. "Sure, sure – lessee if we can manage that."

"Less chit chat, more action!" Hideyoshi growled and wrestled down another Satsuma samurai. "Let's just push through. You guys got everything with you?"

"Yes!" Kenshin yelped. "Just move already!"

Hideyoshi grinned and pushed into mass of men like a charging bull, clearing the way for the stumbling Makoto and Kenshin. They had almost gotten through, when a voice shouted from the staircase, "What the fuck is going on here?! You battle-loving idiots, stop it! I said STOP IT!"

And then, a wave of ki flared – so sudden and freezing cold, that even the most spiritually numb samurai could feel something. The effect was drastic.

"Oh shit…!"

"FUCK!"

"It's Sakamoto!"

Everyone froze – the Satsuma samurai, Kenshin, Hideyoshi, and Makoto – everyone in the room stopped right in the middle of the fight and turned to stare at him.

The man flaring his ki was Sakamoto Ryoma-san, one of the of the most influential men in the whole capital. The same man who had brokered the peace between Choshuu and Satsuma. He was all red in the face, heaving for breath, his ki unleashed and flaring more intensely than anything Kenshin had felt since he left the mountain and Hiko.

Then Sakamoto took a deep, if ragged breath. "I don't want to know what you were doing. I truly don't. But when I leave, this fight – it's over. Is that clear?"

The men stared, gobsmacked.

Seconds passed, the silence dragging on and on… and slowly people stood up straighter and relaxed their hold on their improvised weapons: pillows, sake jars, even a table that one big guy had grabbed. The few who were still holding their enemies in chokeholds and wrestling poses let go, too. No one said a thing, but the air was awkward.

Sakamoto-san had enough power and say among all the clans who fought for the rebels that disobeying a direct command from him would not only embarrass the perpetrators, but also their clan.

And worse, everyone here knew it.

"Good. Now, I will need someone to escort me back to my lodgings." Sakamoto-san announced loudly and trailed his gaze across the disheveled crowd.

Men shied away from his stare, ashamed of their sorry state: most of them had bruises swelling on their faces, topknots mussed, their clothing stained with sweat, grime, and sake…

Kenshin too looked aside, but for an entirely different reason.

"Himura-san? What the hell is a Choshuu man doing here?"

Urgh! Kenshin groaned and looked up.

The people around him were staring at him like they had seen a ghost, the fastest of them already stepping backwards to make room.

"Ah, well…" Kenshin cringed. "This unworthy one…"

"No matter. You'll do." Sakamoto-san decided. "In fact, you are perfect. You look like you are mostly sober – I wager not a single one of these slouches here would be up to the task, anyway. I assume Kido-san won't mind if I borrow your sword for a short errand, will he?"

"Orr o – well, no. Not really," Kenshin stammered.

Around him, whispers sprung to life:

"…Himura?"

"Choshuu?"

"Red hair…?"

"Holy shit, that's Battousai!"

His stomach twisting with dread, Kenshin turned to Hideyoshi. The tall youth shrugged uncomfortably, which was answer enough.

They both knew that Kenshin couldn't refuse the command.

Even if he wasn't in his best form, he was still in better shape than any other available option, and Sakamato-san was too important to go unescorted. After all, Sakamoto-san was among the Bakufu's most hunted, even now that the fighting had mostly calmed down.

So Kenshin gritted his teeth, slipped his hand into his sleeve, fished out his hair tie, and let his long hair fall loose from the bun. With practiced motions he brushed his bangs away from his face and left cheek, then gathered his long tresses up into his customary high tail. Without looking back, he adjusted the paired swords on his waist and walked to the door.

One never knew when duty would call, and no matter how inconvenient, he was sworn to the cause.

Sakamoto-san nodded at him respectfully, gave a final assessing glance to the crowd behind them, and followed Kenshin out into the night.

Thankfully Sakamoto-san's hideout wasn't too far away, only a few miles from the Satsuma rebel inn, within the Kawaramachi district. Apparently he was staying in a soy seller named Omiya's storehouse. It was not the best place to stay, but it was drabby enough that the Bakufu likely wouldn't look for him there. All the Bakufu's most hunted needed to hide out in places like this, at least until the worst of the danger was over. The locations were always a secret, known only by a select few.

A friend named Nakaoka-san was waiting for Sakamoto-san at the storehouse.

"It was fortunate that I happened to come across you over there, Himura-san." Sakamoto-san smiled to Kenshin knowingly. "It seemed that most of my Satsuma friends were a little under the weather."

"It wasn't a problem, so it wasn't." Honestly, after their walk, it seemed that Sakamoto himself might be under the weather, given the subtle coughs he'd let out throughout their walk – and no wonder, given the stress he was under. Katsura had also been a little worse for wear in the past few days.

"Well, thank you anyway. I appreciate your help." Sakamoto-san said. "Though the Shogun has resigned, the rebellion is far from over. It's going to be a difficult winter for us and I fear this conflict won't be resolved bloodlessly, despite our best efforts. But I won't keep you any longer."

Recognizing a dismissal when he heard it, Kenshin nodded and turned to leave, only to glance once more over his left shoulder…

Sakamoto-san followed his friend in the storehouse.

Kenshin sighed, and left.

It was true what Sakamoto-san had said. No matter what he and many others had hoped, the Shogun's formal resignation had yet to determine anything. The Tokugawa were still in power, with people who still listened to them and many stalwart supporters.

And the rebels… the rebels were still rebels, not the leaders of a new world.


The next morning, the fifteenth day of the tenth month, Kenshin woke late, with his head aching and exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders.

It was like he hadn't managed to sleep at all.

Worse, his stomach was protesting at the very thought of rising and moving around. He hadn't drunk that much, had he? Yet he felt the familiar ache of a hangover, making him unsteady on his feet and thirsty as a horse.

Last night, he had gotten back to the inn just before dawn, where he had found Chirpy and Steady in the lobby of their inn. Both of them were roughed up from the brawl, drunk and all but dozing on their asses, but they had waited for him.

It had felt good.

Now though, Kenshin was wishing he had never even gone to the party. Why had he, anyway? Oh wait – it was because no one had given him the option to refuse.

Argh!

He should have just said no.

He really should have.

Anything would have been better than to suffer through this feeling…

A bland breakfast and lukewarm tea helped to ease his stomach a bit, but he had to force himself to eat. Blergh. He stared ahead numbly, trying hard to keep picking at his food.

"Good morning…" Makoto mumbled and yawned, before adding, "...Pretty."

Kenshin looked up, blinking blearily.

Makoto's face was a mess. The entire right side of his face was swollen and covered in purple bruises, and his split lip looked quite nasty. Okay, the Chirpy had woken up – so where was his other half?

...Oh. There.

Hideyoshi lumbered down the stairs, heading towards their table on unsteady feet. Wordlessly, he slumped and sat down with enough force to shake the tea saucers.

People were looking at them, not even bothering to be subtle about their interest.

Not that Kenshin blamed them. He, Makoto, and Hideyoshi were probably quite the sight, all three of them. Thankfully, even Chirpy was too tired to carry on a conversation on a morning like this.

Small blessings.

Kenshin was dozing in and out at the breakfast table, not really paying too much attention to the people around them, when a commotion broke out at the doorway. And then… Oh, hell, what was Nakamura doing here this early in the morning? The weasel was marching directly towards Kenshin, his smile wide, like he had won something.

"Himura!" he shouted.

Kenshin covered his ear with one hand and glowered at Nakamura. Seriously, what was the man's issue? But he still had enough manners left that he straightened himself, sitting up properly, and faced his superior's smirk.

"There are summons for you, Himura." Nakamura announced loudly, for everyone in the common room to hear. "Kido, Saigo, and the rest of the Ishin Shishi leadership demand to hear your account of last night."

Kenshin blinked. "...Oro?"

"Whatever for?" Makoto demanded to Kenshin's left. "We didn't do anything bad! It was just a brawl with some Satsuma fellows. No one even got hurt!"

"No one even got hurt." Nakamura mimicked mockingly and then smirked at Kenshin. "Well, no one… except for Sakamoto Ryoma-san. He was assassinated last night. And guess what? According to Saigo-san, the last person to see him alive was you, Himura-san."


AN: Sorry that this is so late! I have been dreadfully busy at work - but I'll promise to make some time in my calendar during my summer vacation and rewrite the next chapter. (So hopefully, the next update wouldn't take quite as long).

Betaed by Animaniacal in 16.7.2017.