A/N – With a few strokes of my keyboard, this chapter sees a return to Sano's familiar rooster-esque haircut. The 'fro has served its purpose, I think. Also eliminated by my authorial authority is the zanbatou, which I have always thought utterly ridiculous, even by RK's standards.

Disclaimer – I don't own Ruroken. Don't sue.

Chapter 5

"So." The untidy young gangster scowled at Kenshin, pointing his chopsticks suspiciously. "What's with the sword?"

Kenshin blinked, put down his bowl of rice. For a moment, he wondered if he could get away with a goofy 'what, this?' look down at his sakabatou, but those black eyes were too penetrating.

What could he say? That he enjoyed historical re-enactment? That he thought carrying a sword would make him look tough?

Perhaps he could get away with the former, but Kenshin had never had the type of insecure, bravado-driven arrogance for the latter. What had he been thinking, to wear his sword so openly? He'd been seduced by Kaoru-dono's unquestioning acceptance, by Yahiko's eagerness and enthusiasm.

"I am a swordsman," he said simply. "I carry a sword."

"Got a permit for it?" Sagara sneered.

But Kenshin only smiled. "Yes." Katsura-san had arranged one for him. It allowed him to both own and carry the traditional Japanese blades – but still, he was reluctant to be found in a position where he had to display it. Memories of hitokiri Battousai were still strong; it would raise too many questions.

Sagara scowled, thwarted, but Yahiko, his mouth full, chipped in enthusiastically. "A permit? Wow, they're really hard to get. Busu's father had to get a permit for this dojo; she said he had to apply to a very high government Minister!"

"Huh." Sagara looked him up and down, noting his old, patched clothing and his air of general neglect. "You don't look like a man to have a Minister's favour."

Kenshin wondered how much he knew, or suspected. Would he understand? That character on his back…

"Ten years ago," he said quietly, meeting Sagara's eyes squarely, "Katsura-san was not a high Minister."

"Katsura-san? You were Ishin Shishi?" Those sharp black eyes narrowed even further. "An Ishin Shishi swordsman…" he trailed off. "Don't tell me…"

"Don't tell you what?" Kaoru asked cheerfully, shouldering the screen open, her bokken and sweaty clothes in slung jauntily over her shoulder. "Sano, you freeloader – have you come to taste Kenshin's cooking?"

Sagara was momentarily diverted. "Oi! Jou-chan!" He glared at her, and then remembered himself and transferred his glare to Kenshin. "Who is this guy? You can't just take home every stray you meet. Do you even know who he is?"

"Of course I know!" she flared back at him. "His name is Himura Kenshin. He's a swordsman."

"Oh, he's a lot more than a swordsman, Jou-chan. He's an old revolutionary. He's –"

Quite deliberately, Kaoru cut him off. "You were a revolutionary?" she asked Kenshin, wide-eyed. "An Ishin Shishi?"

Carefully avoiding both hers and Sagara's eyes, Kenshin bowed his head. "Yes, I was a revolutionary, once. But that was a long time ago."

"There, you see, Sano?" Kaoru said defiantly. "It's been nearly eleven years since the end of the Revolution – whatever he was before, he's different, now." Her gaze shifted to Kenshin's face. "I don't care about people's pasts," she said with steady conviction, "I care about who they are now. No matter what you were before, Kenshin, you'll be welcome here as long as you wish to stay."

There was a moment of silence. Kenshin stared at Kaoru for a long, long time, his eyes wide, deep violet, and quite unreadable. Kaoru met them steadily, flushing just a little. "Arigatou gozaimasu, Kaoru-dono," he said, with a deep, respectful bow. His fingertips dropped lightly to the hilt of his sword, only just touching it –

An affirmation. A vow.

A promise.

Later that afternoon, once Sano had gone, Kaoru watched Kenshin hang the washing out underneath the porch, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he handled shirts, pants and pegs all at once. She thought of Sano's words, his questions – Kenshin didn't look like a revolutionary, but nor did he look like a swordsman. And in the last few weeks, Kaoru had come to understand that under his unassuming humility, Kenshin had all the hallmarks of a very good swordsman indeed…

"What was Sano trying to say, Kenshin?" she asked abruptly.

His arms stretched above his head as he pegged a shirt into place, Kenshin froze for a moment; she saw the muscles in his back bunch and flex under his shirt, before he consciously forced himself to relax.

"Sanosuke is very protective of you, Kaoru-dono," he said quietly, still with his back to her. "He only wishes to keep you safe."

How many other men, she thought, would make apologies in such a situation?

"Are you so dangerous?" A tenuous, elusive connection drifted through her mind, teasing her – an Ishin Shishi, skilled with a sword?

He turned then, and some trick of the light threw his eyes into shadow; for a frozen heartbeat, it seemed as though they were cold, feral amber –

Then he laughed, and the illusion vanished.

"Not to you, Kaoru-dono. Never to you."

However, Kenshin knew that the young, brash street fighter would not be so easily put off, no matter what Kaoru-dono said. For some reason, Sagara hated and distrusted the Ishin Shishi, and had transferred all of his dislike to Kenshin. Well enough. He was willing to bet the young man's grievance was genuine; there was no deception in him, no artifice. Unlike Kenshin, Sagara hid nothing of what he was.

It was late at night, and he was standing outside, leaning against the dojo's gates. The moon was full, bright light illuminating him – he could easily have faded into the shadows, hiding himself, but that was not his intention. If Sagara wished to challenge him, he would allow it –

"Hitokiri Battousai," he heard the deep, careless voice say. "I almost didn't believe it…"

He turned to face the young gangster, inclined his head. "Yes. Once, I was known by that name."

Sagara's fists clenched. "The Ishin Shishi's strongest fighter. Their deadliest weapon. The Butcher of the Bakumatsu –"

Kenshin winced, but inclined his head again, his long hair falling over his eyes. It was all true. None of it could be denied, only justified by the continuing prosperity and success of the Meiji era. Such as it was.

"Is your grievance against me, Sagara, or the Ishin Shishi? Why do you wear that character so proudly on your jacket?"

"A grievance?" Sagara exploded. "You goddamn hypocritical Imperialists destroyed my entire life and you call it a grievance? Yes," he snarled, stalking up to Kenshin and gripping his shirt tightly, "you could say I have a grievance against the fucking Ishin Shishi."

Dragged up onto his tiptoes by Sagara's strong grip, Kenshin reached out and grabbed his wrist, trying to release the pressure; however, Sagara was lost in his own anger and hatred. As he snarled and swore, he shook Kenshin like a rat –

At least he tried to, before Kenshin dug his fingers into a pressure point, pinching a nerve. His fingers spasmed, and Kenshin broke his grip; twisting away, he took a few steps back and stood, considering the young man thoughtfully.

"Sagara," he mused. "I have heard that name before. Surely…" he frowned, remembering an old, unsavoury story of deception and betrayal, and Katsura-san's displeasure. "Sagara Souzo, of the Sekihoutai – you are a relation?"

Sagara stared at him, his eyes wide, dark and full of wild, reckless hatred. "He was my Captain!" he shouted angrily. "And you fucking hypocrites betrayed and killed him. He believed your promises, and you killed him because he was inconvenient –"

"And you believe that avenging him will assuage that betrayal," Kenshin said softly. "That by killing me, you would bring honour to him even now, more than ten years after his death."

"Yes!" Sagara hissed, and then swung. Kenshin dodged, but he felt the raw power and strength in the punch, knew that if it had connected, he would have been in trouble. Sagara growled and swung again, and once more Kenshin dodged, sidestepping; the blows were powerful but they lacked discipline, and Kenshin managed to evade them with relative ease.

"Stand still, damn you!" Sagara shouted, charging wildly; Kenshin, fearful that the noise would wake Kaoru-dono, sidestepped and gave himself enough space to draw his sword.

The ringing, metallic "shiiick" carried shockingly well in the clear night air, distinct even above the grunting and shuffling of a one-sided fistfight. Sagara froze. During the Revolution, he would have used that frozen shock to his advantage, advancing on his prey with terrifying purpose, using shadow and light to make himself taller and more menacing.

Now, he simply launched himself skyward, jumping up into the light, coming down out of the sky like a striking hawk. He brought his sakabatou down with all the force and momentum of his leap behind it; slowly, Sagara collapsed to his knees, clutching his shattered collarbone, his face white and drawn.

"Go ahead then," the young man ground out defiantly, "kill me. Kill me like you killed Captain Sagara…"

Kenshin stood over him, watching him and wondering at his mad, reckless courage. "No," he said, smoothly sheathing his sword. "I am no longer a hitokiri. This is no longer the Revolution. This is a new era – the new era your Captain fought so hard to bring about. He would not want this…"

"How would you know," Sagara panted, his voice accusing, "what he would have wanted?"

Kenshin smiled sadly. And then he turned and walked away, leaving the young man crouching alone amidst the ruins of his past.