Chapter 12: A Will to Fight

"Hoh!" Oibore laughed, looking down at Enishi, "What's with that face, boy? Lost a game of dice or something?" He leaned down and sat down besides Enishi as the younger white-haired man pointedly ignored him.

"Fine, don't talk to me," Oibore grinned, taking off his hat as his birds twittered around him. They hovered over Enishi for a second, but then seemed to change their minds as they avoided him and landed down on Oibore.

"Hm," Oibore said, noting the behavior of his little friends. He studied Enishi from the corner of his eye as he made a show of settling himself down.

"Bah," Oibore exclaimed, shaking his head. "I would be more likely in having a better conversation with that little Chinese girl, and I don't even speak her language!"

"She's not coming back," Enishi growled unexpectedly. A discomforting sense of trouble shot through Oibore.

"What'd you do, boy?" he said, covering his unease with a goofy grin, "Insult her kimono? Forget her birthday? Nothing a few flowers and a good dinner won't cure."

"Old man, leave me alone," Enishi said coldly, impatience ringing in his voice as he shot a glare at the bum.

"Are you telling me you won't even try to bring her back?" he asked with exasperation. "I'll tell you, boy, you're lucky to find a girl like that in all the world, never mind Japan."

"You don't know what you're talking about, fool," Enishi hissed.

"I know what I see," Oibore retorted, nodding sagely. "A woman doesn't show that much devotion for just anything, you know. You should have seen how she watched over you as you slept; how hard she worked getting enough money to feed your lazy ass." He leaned in, "Trust me, I know when a woman's in love. You learn these things when you're a decrepit old man like me."

"Piss off," Enishi snapped, "The only thing that bitch loves is money, not me."

"Hah! Money!" Oibore laughed. "A woman doesn't leave her life behind for money! They are too delicate for such a thing!" His eyes glinted behind his cracked glasses, "Tell me, boy, haven't you ever seen a woman leave her home, her family, and head to a completely unknown future in the name of love? It's a beautiful thing…"

Enishi was silent, and Oibore could practically feel his anger ebbing away as realization set in.

"Tomoe…" Enishi whispered. A bird landed gracefully on his shoulder.

"Eh? What was that?" Oibore grinned dumbly, although his daughter's name still rung in his ears.

His sister had left him, and for what? Something stronger than the love between a brother and a sister or a daughter and a father had driven her to Kyoto. It was the love between a man and a woman…

Enishi's eyes widened as the image of his sister flashed before him, her expression caught between one of happiness at his insight and one of disappointment that he had been blind to it earlier.

Had Mei-mei done the same thing?

Did she really love him?

"I think you'd better find her, boy," Oibore whispered, his face dropping the obnoxious front to reveal the wise and tired old man he was.

Enishi got up, his head swimming as he considered the possibility that maybe—just maybe—she could love him.

That she had been telling the truth.

-

What could she do? She was practically defenseless, her hands clutching the small dagger she kept with her at all times as she willed the rest of her body to stop shaking. She was breathing raggedly, several shallow gashes on her arms and torso, not deep enough to be fatal but definitely stinging nonetheless.

She glared at her opponent as he swung his swords around almost comically, reminding her of the acrobats that had entertained men in her former life so long ago. His face was still set with a silent grin, an almost sadistic expression that made her stomach squirm with dread.

She was going to die.

The look of fear was quickly wiped away by a look of determination. She steeled herself as settled into a basic defensive position. If anything, she could hurt him, impair him in some way so if Enishi had to fight him…

"Tell me," the Chinese man said cheerfully. "Why are you willing to die for a man who has already disowned you?"

She frowned, attempting to even her breathing as she prepared for his next attack. She didn't want to explain herself to him. She didn't want to explain that…

He charged, and it was all she could do to dodge his swinging blades as they sliced at the air around her. She twisted around, a sense of purpose pumping through her as she slashed her own weapon in an attack.

A second later they had separated once again. Another gash had been added to her side, but she was grimly pleased to see that she had managed to give him a similar wound. He frowned as he studied the gash on his side briefly, then looked back at her.

"You didn't answer my question," he said sternly. He charged once more, but this time she was less than ready, her energy almost ready to give out as she attempted to focus on his flying swords. He turned, avoiding her stab and lashing out a final time as he jumped away from her, grinning at her short scream when she fell to the ground. He had let his swords go farther this time, and now there were two jagged slashes on her back getting lost in the bleeding red fabric.

She clenched her fists, getting up shakily as she willed herself to ignore her throbbing back.

"I once read," she said through clenched teeth, standing and turning to face him, "That once a man saves another's life, that man's life is the other's responsibility." She was still breathing heavily, feeling woozy from the lack of blood as her injuries refused to stop bleeding. She grimaced, "I saved his life long ago. All the people he hurt, all the pain he caused, is on my head."

Steadying the dagger before her, she continued, "I could walk away right now, and let you kill him, but…" She felt a throb in her chest that was not from the swords in her opponent's hands, "that would only add to the list of victims. There's enough blood on my hands."

The man smirked condescendingly, "Silly girl, how do you know he won't kill others? Do you really believe him to beso virtuous? A man who built his empire off the bodies of those he killed?"

"People can change," she replied firmly. "People are always changing. He's not the same man as he was six months ago." She knew Enishi could change ways. She had searched for him for ten years, hoping to take his life, only to fall in love with him instead. He was not so different from her. He never was.

"Well," the man sighed, smiling indifferently, "Either way, you're both going to die soon anyway. So what's the point of change now?" He laughed, kicking the ground almost gleefully, "What a waste you both are."

"What does that make you?" she spat back. Then she answered herself, "A waste of skin, food, and clothes. Something not fit to stick to the bottom of a poor beggar's shoes."

His grin only widened, "Maybe, but I'm still the one who's going to kill you." He lifted his swords, readying himself to charge as she braced herself for another onslaught.

Past

"Master Yukishiro?" Enishi looked up as an older man approached him, a solemn look on his face as he shifted the weight of the bag in his hand.

"The cut was very clean," the doctor explained, "Her arm should heal nicely, all she needs is to have the bandages replaced every four hours." He handed Enishi a small package. "Also, I gave her some medicine to clean her arm with. She will keep an unpleasant scar, but besides that she should recover nicely."

Enishi nodded, looking down at the bundle of bandages in his hand. He looked back to the doctor, then reached into his pocket and handed a small pouch of money to the man as payment. He took it graciously, then excused himself with a small bow as he headed out of the room.

Enishi looked tentatively at the door on the other side of the room. Mei-mei was on the other side. He wanted to go to her, comfort her, maybe hold her, but…

He frowned, tossing the bandages on a table as he turned the opposite way.

He couldn't forget the look of horror on her face.

-

It was everywhere.

She could smell it in her hair. On her hands. In her clothes. Betweenher fingernails.

Every surface it touched seemed to suck it up greedily, allowing the stain to spread and color and soil.

Their bodies.

He had killed them. How many others had he killed? How many more lives had stained the hands she had held in hers, the hands that had caressed her in ways she could never describe?

His body, how filthy was his body?

She cried as the stink suffocated her. Her mouth had a metallic flavor she couldn't pass. She wanted so badly just to wash it all off.

Everything.

-

"Mei-mei?" a voice murmured, arousing her from the dim, half-awake stupor she had fallen into. She blinked, the room around her dark with the long shadows of late dusk. Her eyes focused, adjusting as she slowly made out the figure sitting across from her, on the edge of the bed.

She stared at him. She smelled it again.

"Mei-mei?" His voice was strained, almost painful to listen to. But all she could do was notice how much he reeked of that red liquid…

"How—how are you?"

Her breath caught in her throat and she turned away, squeezing her eyes shut, hard enough to push his image from her mind.

"Mei-mei?"

She cradled her injured arm, the white bandages glowing eerily in the half-light, similar to the hair of her lover.

"Please…"

She was crying again. The familiar smell stunk, clogging her nostrils and making it even more difficult to breathe as she suppressed her sobs.

"Look at me."

She tried to push herself away from him, willing herself to disappear into the cushions, through the fabric and through the wall, anywhere that wasn't here.

He reached out, brushing her cheek with his fingers.

She flinched. She turned to look at him, her shoulders shaking and her eyes wide with terror.

Her expression at that moment stung him more than anything he could remember, in such an unfamiliar way that he suddenly felt as if he would never be able to move again, to return to normal…

Terror was not something he was unfamiliar with, and he had been on the receiving end of dead men's pleas and looks of horror several times before, but never had any of those others made him feel so cruel, so vicious, for his actions.

So responsible.

He stood up suddenly as she looked away, his fists clenched so hard his nails were biting into his palms. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to say, how to reassure her, ask for forgiveness…

He was frightened. Unsure of himself so suddenly he felt as if he was only twelve years old again with nothing left in the world, nothing but…

Who could pay, who could offer him revenge so that he could move on from this? So that he could live without another ghost haunting him?

Who was responsible for her terror?

He didn't answer his question, he refused to. He turned and swiftly left the room in a haze, his eyes wide and unfocused as her quiet sobs rang in his ears…

Present

He was running through the quiet afternoon streets, his thudding heart and footsteps out of place in the tranquil spring day. His eyes darted to every alley, every dark cranny and every open door as his ears strained to pick up any sign of Mei-mei. He didn't want to think about the fact that she may have already left, that she could very well be drifting out to the sea, heading back to the mainland.

He clenched his teeth in frustration as he forced himself to stop. Regardless of how fast he was, he wouldn't be able to cover all of Tokyo in time. He had to think about where she could have gone, he had to narrow down his search.

He had hurt her, and she had been distressed. Where would she have gone? Would she have returned to her hotel room? No, she didn't have a room anymore, she had been staying with him each night. Where else would she be familiar with? Where would she have been drawn?

An image flashed through his mind, and he remembered following her late that night so long ago…

He knew where he had to go. Without a moment's hesitation, he bolted down the street in the direction of the river.

Past

How long had it been? Days? Years? It felt like an eternity. When was the last time she had felt his body press against her? When did she ever watch him sleep? Did that even happen? Was she just deluding herself all this time, indulging her fantasy to ignore her true situation?

Had she ever been in love?

This question jabbed at her heart as she walked somberly down the street, her bandaged arm now free of its sling as she held it parallel to the ground. She wasn't sure, maybe it had been another man she had loved. Someone else she had kissed, held, and talked to for what felt like countless blissful hours. Had it really been him?

The image of his content and sleepy face was replaced by the look of deranged fury as he had stabbed a man cruelly.

She felt as if it was getting harder to breathe, but she kept going, her feet steady and marching with the beat of her heart. She looked up to see just where her feet had carried her as she heard the sound of running water. She was now standing beside the river, back to where it had all started. She frowned, cursing her feet for her ironic situation. She wanted to look back, down the dark street she had just emerged from, but she was afraid she'd turn around and retrace her steps if she did.

No, it was better to keep looking forward. It was better if she could just forget everything. She wanted to be relentless and persevering, just like the river she had followed for the first half of her life. She would leave this place and find a new job somewhere. Anywhere.

"Where are you going?"

She felt a piercing shock run through her body, causing her limbs to stiffen and her chest to tighten. She didn't want to look back. She didn't want to look back…

"Mei-mei?"

She resolved herself to what was inevitable. She turned slowly, facing the white-haired man who stood in the middle of the moonlit street. She said nothing, staring at his somber expression quietly, his eyes hidden in the shadows of his bangs and tinted glasses.

"I'm leaving," she forced herself to say.

"You're running away again?"

She bit her lip, but answered, "What? Are you planning to drag me back with you? It's different now, you've taught me how to fight. I won't let you take me."

He said nothing, his hands crossed at her defiant gaze. A few tense moments passed, thick with anticipation as both parties stared each other down.

Finally, he strode over to her confidently. She stiffened once more, but held her ground. She wasn't scared, and she wouldn't let herself be taken once more, not without a fight.

He was now standing in front of her, so close that she could feel his body heat hit her face gently. Blood was pounding in her ears and she was trying to suppress the shivers that urged her body, but he seemed unaware of her discomfort.

He reached into his pocket slowly, lifting a dark object from it silently. He held it in front of him, the delicate black comb out of place in his large, calloused hands. She choked back a sob as she realized it was the comb he had given her so long ago in the large trunk of fine dresses.

She could feel his gaze on her as she stared at the lacquered hair accessory, and she could feel her resolve weaken as her lip trembled, her eyes watering and her breathing becoming strained.

"Why do you have to go?" he asked, his voice but a whisper as the question hung in the air ominously.

"I—I can't stay with you," she managed to croak. She blinked, her tears falling down her cheeks as she looked up at him. He was gazing down at her over his glasses, his eyes torn and hurt as she quickly wiped her tears away.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. These words were the finishing blow to her stoic determination as she finally broke down, her sobs racking her body and carrying through the morose Shanghai night.

"Please don't," she muttered as she held herself, her gaze on the ground to avoid meeting his eyes.

"Mei-mei," he murmured, his voice strained, "Please… don't leave me…"

"No," she shook her head. She looked up at him, "There is no room for me in you. Not right now." He frowned at her in surprise, confused. She kept shaking her head as she looked down once more. "Your sister," she explained, "She is the only one you're devoted to."

He didn't deny it, he couldn't. He shut his eyes, trying to breathe steadily but shaking nonetheless. A few minutes passed in which they both tried to ground their emotions. Finally, Mei-mei's sobs had dissipated and she wiped her face once more, feeling as if her tears had drained all of her energy.

He hadn't moved, his hand still holding the small comb before him. She looked up at him as he held it out for her. She took in a deep breath, giving a tiny nod of thanks as she took it from him, cradling it in her hands as if it was a precious gem. He reached into his pockets once more and this time held out a small pouch for her to take.

She frowned as she looked at the bag of coins. "I don't need charity," she mumbled, looking away.

"It's not charity," he said, taking her hand and placing it in her open palm. She shivered at his touch as she fought the urge to wrap herself around him, chewing on her bottom lip nervously as he looked down at her. "It's a sign of gratitude."

She frowned once more, looking up at him indignantly, "I'm not a whore. I'm not taking your money."

He reached up and brushed her bangs from her forehead, then leaned down and kissed her gently. She froze, shocked tears pooling in her eyes once more at his sudden affectionate gesture.

"It's a thank you," he whispered "You saved my life ten years ago." Another wave of shock shot through her, her eyes widening in realization.

He let go of her hand, then turned and began to walk down the street, following the path back to his mansion. She was crying softly, watching his form disappear into the dark maze of streets as her fist gripped the bag of coins tightly.

After a few minutes she shook her head. "Jerk," she muttered, "He didn't give me a chance to say…" She breathed in deeply, holding her breath for a second before letting it out steadily. She tucked her comb into her sash and held the money to her stomach as she turned and began walking down the bank of the river.

She let herself have one last glance at the spot he had stood in minutes before, then continued onwards, vaguely wondering where she would end up this time…

Present

She swayed, feeling light-headed as her opponent cheerfully rocked back and forth, swinging his swords in anticipation. She frowned, knowing she was done. She had nothing left to give. He was ready to deliver the final blow. She would be dead in just a few moments.

She closed her eyes, gripping the hilt of her dagger and steadying herself. She would not die alone.

This thought calmed her. She knew what she had to do, she had been studying his movements as he had nicked away at her body cruelly for the past hour. She was sure of the weak spot in his defense, the perfect moment in which she could bestow a fatal wound simultaneous to his own.

She was cheerless at the thought of her final encounter with Enishi. Would he always remember her like that? Would he always assume she had been trying to kill him all this time, or would he realize just how deep her devotion ran one day? She hoped he would, so he could at least honor her memory. She didn't ask for much, only to be remembered properly.

And she wanted him to be happy. So happy.

"Making a final prayer?" the assassin asked with a malevolent grin, "Begging for mercy from the Gods?" He chuckled. "Well, I hope you've made your peace."

"Damn you to hell, bastard," she glowered, feeling a hate pulse through her so intense she almost felt rejuvenated. She knew it was a false sentiment, however, because her body was still shaking and her vision seemed to only be getting fuzzier.

She did feel she had enough left to drive her dagger through his flesh, however, and took a grim satisfaction at that.

He stopped rocking, his expression becoming more serious as he stepped into his stance.

He winked at her with a coy grin, "Don't worry, I'll tell him about your final devotion in extreme detail. Who knows, maybe I'll give him the luxury of seeing your face on your dismembered head one last time."

She was ready.

He charged, both swords held parallel to the ground and pointed at her as he prepared to skewer her with them.

Was it so terrible to die for the man she loved?

She smirked at that split second before his swords met her flesh, complacent with her final moments of life.

Note: Okay, so I'm running out of excuses for why this fic TAKES SO DAMN LONG TO UPDATE!

Um, I'm... lazy... and... er... busy... all at the same time. Kinda like a circus clown, except not so funny. Only frustrating. Unless you think clowns are frustrating, which can be true for a lot of people...

AND CRAZY! DON'T FORGET CRAZY! Yeah, I guess I'm losing my sanity.

Thanks to WhiteRabbit for her amazing job beta-ing this chapter/fic. Seriously, she pointed out so many things that were so wrong. Thank god, because that could've been embarassing. And I'm not a clown, so I don't like to be embarassed.

This fic is almost done. Five chapters tops left, probably three. Yeah, three sounds right... And I really appreciate any feedback you guys may have, although that's probably asking for much considering I'm such a lazy bitch. Sheesh, talk about a hypocrite.

SO REVIEW! UNLESS YOU WANT TO WAIT ANOTHER YEAR FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER! BWA HA HA!

... wait..! don't leave! i didn't mean it! aaahh...!

please do review. :)