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Chapter 2
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Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who corrected my spelling; as I noted, I'm new to this fandom. (And also dyslexic!)
And thanks for the feedback, to everyone who gave some on the last chapter. The last story I posted here (under another handle) I got NO feedback on. I appreciate the warm fuzzies a lot -- it means way more than you know.
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"So what's your friend's name?" Richie asked, hurrying to keep up with Kenshin as they headed for one of the city's rougher neighborhoods. For a little guy, Kenshin could flat move.
"Heather Sagara." Kenshin said, glancing up at Richie.
Richie was mildly surprised that Mac had sent him off alone with a strange immortal. However, he had a sneaking suspicion that MacLeod was doing research on Kenshin somehow -- maybe calling around to some of his friends to see what he could turn up. Mac was supposed to meet them for lunch, later. And it wasn't like Kenshin had any reason to hurt him -- and if he'd wanted to kill Mac, he could have done so last week.
He didn't exactly feel threatened by Kenshin, anyway. Though somehow, he also never wanted to cross the man. Kenshin was just too ... confident. Not arrogant, and he hadn't bragged once, but he exuded a certain confidence out of every pore of his small frame that said he knew he could beat the crap out of anyone in the world, and therefore wasn't threatened by anyone.
"Heather?" Richie prompted.
"It's actually ..." Kenshin said, and the name he provided was Japanese and had altogether too many syllables for Richie to possibly remember or spell. "She renamed herself Heather when she came to the US."
"I can see why!"
He halfway expected Kenshin to be offended by that. But Kenshin merely grinned. "Yes. Though her parents were unhappy. They are concerned that she is ... ashamed, somehow ... of what she is."
Kenshin shrugged. He didn't seem overly worried by the girl's name change. "I have been called by more than one name over my life. Names matter. But it is her choice to bear an American one."
"Is it possible she just doesn't want to go home?" Richie asked.
Kenshin nodded. "This is a possibility I have considered. She is much like her ancestor Sanosuke. She has a warrior's spirit, that she does. College was perhaps not the best choice for her, but her parents wished her to be a doctor and -- they sent her abroad. Not, I believe, because she needed to study abroad. There was a young man they did not approve of ... I have been expecting her to rebel, I have."
There was an unspoken, "But ..." there.
After a moment, Kenshin added, "She has not responded to my e-mails or calls. She has never ignored me before, she has not."
"You think she would respond to you?" Richie said.
Kenshin contemplated that for a long minute. Finally, he said, "One would hope."
"So she's got pushy parents?" Richie prompted.
Kenshin made a noise that sounded like an affirmative.
"You don't like them much." Richie guessed.
That got him a look that held just a tint of amber in those lavender eyes. Almost veiled, there was a hint menace. Richie stepped sideways, suddenly remembering what Immortals could be like. Dangerous. Deadly.
Then Kenshin blinked and his expression was much more neutral. "I am sworn to protect Heather's mother. And Heather. And their ancestors and descendents."
Right. Richie did some math in his head, figured that there were four or five generations in there, figure two or three kids at a minimum average for each generation, maybe more before the advent of birth control, and gave up on the number pretty quickly. Math? Not his friend. But lots of descendents. And he'd said friends, plural, to start with. Presumably great-granddaddy Sagara and someone or someones else. Assuming most of the last two or three generations worth of descendents were still alive, that was an awful lot of people for one man to be responsible for.
Full time job, easily. And the benefits probably sucked.
Richie prompted, "Sworn to protect, but ...?"
"I am not sworn to protect that fool that Heather's mother married." Kenshin finally growled. "There are times I regret my vow."
His vow not to kill, Richie thought. Richie sneaked a glance down at the man, hoping he was joking. He thought -- yes, Kenshin's expression was sourly disgusted, but not homicidal.
"This one hopes very much he gets hit by a truck and leaves this world." Kenshin added, mouth curving up into a grin.
Richie laughed. Okay, now he officially liked the guy. "That bad?"
"Yes. If Heather does not want to return to Japan, or to her studies -- I will respect her choice. I merely wish to know she is safe, I do." Kenshin sighed heavily. "Were I in her shoes, I would have done the same, truth told."
"So tell me about the vehicle you saw her in, and the people. Maybe I know who she's hanging with." They'd reached a corner, and waited for the light to change.
"It was a Ford truck, with custom chrome on it, it was." Kenshin said. "Metal blue. The driver was a white man."
"Boyfriend?" Richie speculated.
Kenshin's shrug indicated he didn't have any idea at all. "He was older than she is, but this does not mean anything. I was older ..."
He trailed off, eyes suddenly very sad.
"Hey. You okay, man?" Richie said, somewhat concerned.
"Old memories." Kenshin's smile was wry now. "One of the dangers of being as old as I is that one has time to accumulate many sad memories. Her name was Kaoru. And -- yes, I was older than she."
Kenshin paused, then added, voice sad again, "But there are many happy memories, also. If -- if the man I saw with Heather was a boyfriend, I will not interfere. However, he would not stop and Heather was arguing with him. They lost me on the freeway when your friend's car ran out of gas."
"Truly, I will not interfere, if they wish to be together. It is unfortunate that he did not want to stop." Kenshin paused, then muttered something under his breath that sounded distinctly like, "... pill ..."
"Yo! Richie!" They were hailed as they crossed the street.
Richie waved at the woman who'd called his name. This was his old neighborhood; the woman was a tough looking lady with a guitar slung over her shoulder. "Carla! Oh, good, you were one of the people I was looking for!"
She said, "What's up? And who's your friend?"
She was giving Kenshin a distinctly appraising look; Richie wasn't surprised. Kenshin had a presence that was larger than life. And the hair didn't hurt. Just how much a year did the guy spend on hairspray and conditioner and mousse, anyway? Anyway, he was striking in appearance and no doubt had plenty of luck with the ladies.
"This is Kenshin Himura." Richie introduced him. "He's looking for a family friend who's gone missing. Kenshin, this is Carla. She's good people."
"Sometimes kids run away for a reason," Carla said, somewhat warningly.
Kenshin said quietly, "I simply wish to know that Heather is well, and safe. Once upon a time, I was a runaway too. And before that, I was an orphan, I was."
That was probably the best thing Kenshin could possibly have said to Carla, who tended to be suspicious of strange men. Having spent a significant amount of time on the streets, Richie knew exactly why she felt that way -- though she really ought to have figured out by now that he was at least as suspicious as she was, and he wouldn't be helping someone who he mistrusted. (And Richie had decided that Kenshin was, if certainly not harmless, at least not an overt threat at the moment.)
Carla relaxed a bit, and said, "Do you have a picture of her?"
Kenshin nodded gravely, and reached inside his duster. He produced a wallet and opened it to reveal that it was stuffed with photographs. He flipped through the photographs -- Richie noted some were new, some were old, and many featured Kenshin in groups of people, often with a child on his shoulders or in his arms. This was not a man who was isolating himself from the world, as Richie had learned many 'good' Immortals did. He had friends and 'family' and people he loved and people who loved him.
One particularly amusing picture had Kenshin wearing Pippi Longstockings braids, kneeling, apparently playing at a tea party with a little girl -- both of them were sitting before a matt that had miniature tea-cups and a tea-pot on it. And there were dolls. Kenshin had apparently not planned on being photographed and he was glaring so hard at the camera that it was a wonder the film hadn't spontaneously combusted. The girl was laughing and clapping her hands.
He showed the picture to Carla, "This is Heather when she was young."
Carla glanced at Kenshin. Kenshin had a poker face on, as if daring her to comment on the somewhat embarrassing content of the photo. Richie abruptly revised his estimate of Kenshin's ability to hide his emotions if he needed to. Carla didn't say anything, but she shot him a sharp look.
He flipped through the pictures some more, and found another. He handed his wallet to Carla, the thick collection of pictures open to the right picture. "This is Heather about a year ago, before she came to America for a year of studies abroad. She's a couple years away from being a doctor, if she returns to her studies."
The grown-up Heather was very different from the giggling five or six year old kid in the first picture. Now it was Heather who glowered at the camera. She was dressed conservatively, businesslike, but Richie noted she had a gold stud in her nose. Her arms were folded, and she had a suitcase at her feet. She was thin -- too thin, really -- and she'd put gold streaks in her dark hair.
"She sure doesn't look happy." Carla handed the wallet to Richie, apparently noting he was looking too. Kenshin's wallet was stuffed with cash, Richie realized -- both green American dollars and multicolored foreign notes. He handed the wallet hastily back to Kenshin, who pocketed it quietly.
Kenshin sighed. "No. She was not happy. Leaving Japan was none of her idea; she had a lover she did not want to leave. He ended the relationship when her parents forced her to come here. This is, I suspect, what they wanted."
"She's beautiful." Carla said, frowning at Kenshin. Richie realized she was suspicious again.
So, apparently, did Kenshin. He eyed Carla for a moment, then said quietly, "She's like a niece to me. I know what you are thinking, I do, but I am an honorable man and she is the child of family. She need fear nothing from me."
Kenshin's quiet dignity and calm acknowledgement of Carla's concerns apparently eased her fears a bit. She nodded. "I think I might have seen her around, though Kenshin -- the girl I'm thinking of may not be the girl you remember."
He shrugged. "I swore I would find her and ensure her safety."
Melanie still hesitated.
Richie spoke up, "Aw, c'mon Cal, Kenshin's okay."
Melanie gave him a sharp look, then said, "Try the Indigo Gardens Hotel, down by the YMCA. She might have a room there, with Shark."
Ouch. Richie winced. He now had a good idea what Melanie meant what she had said that the girl might not be the girl that Kenshin remembered. Shark was not good news.
"Do you know this hotel?" Kenshin asked.
"Yeah. Stayed there, for awhile. It's cheap." 'Cheap' was about the only positive thing that Richie could think to say about the Indigo Hotel. He distinctly remembered roaches the size of cigars.
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The Indigo hadn't changed much since Richie had stayed here about a year before. He figured at one point or another he'd crashed in every bad hotel and rooming house in the city -- he'd never liked to stay in one place more than a few days. Living as a thief, and being underage, had made him very wary.
Kenshin frowned, staring at the building. It was a sagging wood and stucco building that had likely been sleazy even when new. In front of it, a couple of the resident hookers were smoking. A bit early to be 'on the job' -- they were just hanging out, he thought, probably waiting for their pimp to pick them up and take them up to the convention center where the businessmen would give them ample business. He gave them a good look and verified that neither was Kenshin's Heather, but he knew both of them.
"Hey Richie! That old man of yours finally kick you out?" One of the women -- her name was Lisa -- waved at him as they jaywalked across the street.
"Nah. And he's not my old man!" Lisa did not mean 'old man' in the 'father' sense. He blushed.
"Or maybe Richie's just found someone new. And he's fiiiine looking!" The other -- Ginger -- giggled.
"I'm not gay!" Richie protested, sputtering in outrage.
Kenshin snickered, surprising Richie. He didn't seem upset by the insinuation that he and Richie were here for a date. Richie wondered if he was gay; he hadn't seen any clues either way. No, wait, he'd mentioned a girlfriend. Kaoru. And it had been a very somber mention, too, implying a terribly broken heart on Kenshin's part. So, probably not gay.
"We're actually looking for my ... niece. Her name is Heather Sagara." Kenshin said, politely. "Do you ladies know her?" He gave the hotel, and the girls, a doubtful look. "She is supposed to be staying here ..."
"Sure. She's Shark's girl. 305." Lisa said. "She's here now, I think -- I just saw her go up about an hour ago."
"Thank you, very much." Kenshin bobbed his head at them in a small bow. "I have searched for weeks, but I did not think to look in so low a place. It will be a relief to find her."
"Hey, if you boys want a party later ..." Lisa offered. Richie had been expecting this; he'd been surprised that they hadn't been trying to hustle a 'party' from the beginning. Kenshin dressed like he had money. "Both of us. Make you a deal!"
Kenshin said, "I am afraid my heart belongs to only one woman. I am honored by what you offer, but cannot accept."
This got a giggle from the girls -- Richie was surprised they didn't mock Kenshin for that, but he'd actually sounded rather sincere when he said it.
As they walked away, Richie heard Lisa mutter to Ginger, "With an ... uncle ... like that, what's she doing with Shark?"
She perfectly matched Kenshin's hesitant intonation of 'niece' that had implied he wasn't being entirely truthful. Kenshin stopped and shot a dark glare over his shoulder at her, and she shut up, giggles abruptly cut off. After a moment, she said, "Sorry."
Wow. Richie wished he knew how a guy that short and that pretty could look that dangerous. And he turned it on and off like a switch!
The elevator, surprisingly, was working. It stunk like gym socks and piss, but it rattled upwards to the third floor without incident. The hall itself was ill lit, and a puddle of a substance best left uninvestigated stained the carpet in front of room 301.
Kenshin paused, then reached back and loosened the collar of his duster a bit. Richie got a brief glimpse of a worn hilt, hidden under the long leather coat. Kenshin's sword.
"Stay here." Kenshin pointed at the stained carpet at Richie's feet. "She is not alone in the apartment, she is not."
How Kenshin knew that, Richie didn't even want to guess.
Kenshin knocked politely on the apartment door, which was a good fifty feet down the hall. After a moment, the door opened.
It was Heather Sagara -- though she'd dyed her hair completely blond, and she was even thinner than in the photographs.
"Uncle Ken ..." She seemed astonished to find him there. She stared, for a moment, blinking, "What are you doing here?"
"I was worried, I was." He said, simply.
She took a step out into the hall and the door clicked shut behind her. "You shouldn't have come here."
Kenshin's back was to Richie, but he could already picture the abashed grin on the man's face. He ran a hand over his red hair and said, "You should have answered this one's e-mail."
"I had to sell my computer. I'm sorry, Uncle Kenshin. I really am."
He held his arms open, and she hugged him, hard enough to make Kenshin grunt. After a moment, she stepped back, and sighed, "You should not have come here, Kenshin."
Richie, seeing no fight was forthcoming, stepped closer. Kenshin's voice was soft, almost plaintive, "Is Miss Heather mad at this one?"
"Oh, stop that," she said, sounding irritated. She folded her arms. "You speak better English than that. You're just being ... Kenshin."
Richie was now up beside the two of them and could see a bit of amber glint in the man's eyes. Richie turned his attention to the girl as Kenshin responded, "Well, I am Kenshin, after all. And Heather, you are unwell."
She was extremely thin, Richie realized. Skin and bones, with a small t-shirt hanging loose on her narrow shoulders and jeans a few sizes too large bunched around her waist by a belt that had new holes punchedin it. The whites of her eyes were yellow, and her lips were chapped, and there was a oozing sore on one arm that looked old and infected and picked at. He figured he knew exactly what 'sickness' this girl had, and it wasn't one you caught from germs.
"I'm fine." She hugged herself, "I'm sorry you've come so far, Kenshin. But go away now. I'm not going back with you."
"Do you ... need ... anything?"
A brief laugh, from the girl. Richie's balled his fists in anger; he knew what was coming next. She said, as he'd expected, "They're throwing us out if we don't pay today."
"How much?" Kenshin's calm was contagious; the girl relaxed a little.
"A hundred, to pay up for the last week. And there's no food, Uncle Kenshin. We've been eating at the soup kitchen."
"I will pay for your board." Kenshin said, quietly. "But I will not give you money."
Richie gave Kenshin a sharp look. So the man was quite a bit more street smart than he looked. Pretty boy like that -- well, he'd probably earned his street smarts the hard way since he'd said he was an orphan and a runaway. Richie supposed it didn't matter the century; people were always the same. And addicts probably hadn't changed much over the years either.
She said shortly, "You can give me the money. I'll take it down later."
"No." There steel and resolve behind that one word. "I will pay for you, and you will have a room here until tomorrow, when we will find a better apartment for you. This place does not suit Miss Heather, it does not."
"For food, then." She sounded whiny.
Kenshin reached for his wallet, and Richie's heart sank. Any money given this girl would be wasted. Then he fought down a laugh when Kenshin opened it, fished through the thick wad of cash with his fingers, and produced a wad of gift certificates. So some of the color he'd seen mixed in the with green earlier hadn't all been foreign money, and this man was no fool at all. The girl looked like she'd unexpectedly swallowed a lemon and she glared at Richie, not liking the amused sound he'd made at all.
Kenshin's smile was angelic. He peeled off and handed the girl three gift certificates for McDonalds, Denny's and Arby's. "For food. I'll give you more, later, Miss Heather."
"Kenshin ..." she whined. She looked at the gift certificates. The McDonalds and Arby's vouchers were for $5 each, the Denny's was for $8. Richie didn't think she'd even be able to sell them for enough money to get a hit, since they wouldn't sell on the street for nearly the face value. "At least, more ..."
"No." Kenshin's words held no anger. "I ..."
The door opened, just as the girl interrupted, "You've got money, Kenshin! I need money! Please ..."
The person opening the door was a scrawny, greasy blond man. Not as old as Kenshin had implied, Richie didn't think -- just well used.
"Heather, who are these people?" The man's words were openly aggressive, and he glowered at them. He had a bad odor, stronger even than the stink of the hall. He smelled like an unwashed armpit.
"My ... uncle." Heather introduced Kenshin, "Kenshin Himura. And I don't know who his friend is."
The man -- his name on the street was Shark -- frowned at Richie. Richie glared back. They'd met before, occasionally. Shark had been a fence, though Richie thought he'd gone a bit downhill in the last few months. If he couldn't pay his thieves because all his money was going into a needle ... "Richie Ryan. He's a thief."
Richie shrugged, not denying it.
"Money, eh?" The man glared at Kenshin. "He's a bit of a shrimp, Heather."
Richie saw it coming even before the man made a sudden lunge. Shark grabbed Kenshin's arm, presumably planning to liberate him of said money. To Richie's surprise, Kenshin didn't immediately pull away. He stood very still, glaring up at the man.
"Maybe your uncle ought to help us out." The man started to reach his other hand for Kenshin's wallet.
Kenshin moved in a blur. Richie would have loved to have seen a slow motion replay of that attack. Shark flipped airborne over Kenshin's shoulder and hit the wall; Kenshin's sword was in his hand by the time the man hit the ground. Another blur, and a solid thwack, and the man lay groaning and doubled around his ribs.
And not dead, despite the blow -- he was not bleeding, though Richie wouldn't be the slightest bit surprised to learn that Shark had broken ribs. Richie glanced at the sword, and frowned. He'd seen enough Japanese swords in Mac's collection to realize that the sharp edge was reversed. This was a sword designed to bruise and stun, not slash and kill.
Kenshin put the sword away and said, "Miss Heather, you are more worthy than this life. You dishonor yourself."
He turned, then, and walked away. Richie snorted, "He's right, you know."
Because he was still facing Shark, he saw the motion. The man pulled a gun out, and with shaking hand, aimed it down the hall. Richie shouted, "Look out!"
Richie dodged aside, taking Heather with him. She weighed absolutely nothing, and smelled of old sweat and chemicals. The gun's report was deafening in the narrow confines of the hallway. Richie had no doubt that Kenshin could have dodged a bullet if he'd seen it coming, but the man was Immortal, not invincible, and Kenshin had probably assumed his opponent was unconscious. Kenshin grunted at the impact of the bullet and then he went down, hard.
Richie was only a few feet from Shark -- he lunged forward, kicked hard, and the gun went flying. Richie snarled, "Asshole!" and kicked him again, this time in the head. His heart was racing, and his blood buzzing in his ears. It took him a moment of hard breathing to summon enough calm to even think after that. How the heck did MacLeod do it -- fight for his life and walk away calm and cool?
He turned, expecting a mild, "I shall be okay, Mister Richie ..." or something similar from the little Immortal. Nothing; Kenshin lay motionless. Blood drained -- not pumped -- from a gunshot wound in his chest. It was just a hint to the left of dead center, all the way through, big fist sized hole for an exit wound in Kenshin's back when Richie rolled him over. The man's silk shirt was shredded.
"Crap." Kenshin had probably been dead -- in the heart-stopped-beating sense -- before his body had dropped to the floor.
"Uncle KENSHIN!" Heather wailed, running to him. She dropped to her knees at Kenshin's side, and turned to glare at the unconscious body of her boyfriend. Tears streamed down her narrow, underfed features. "Shark, you killed him!"
"He ever tell you what he is?" Richie asked, conversationally, as he strode over and yanked her back to her feet by one arm. "We need to get out of here. The cops'll be called, for sure."
He'd rather not be in the area when they showed up. He wasn't sure if MacLeod could get him off an assault rap, and he'd just kicked Shark's head like a football. That Shark had a weapon likely wouldn't matter to the police, given Richie's own track record with the cops.
Besides, getting Kenshin out of the morgue later might be awkward.
She blinked at him. "He's dead. Because of me!"
Apparently, Kenshin hadn't seen fit to share all the details of his immortality with his family. Richie sighed and tried to pick the man up. Kenshin was a lot heavier than he looked; he was short, and he looked slender, but the muscles under that tattered and blood-soaked silk shirt were very solid. It took three tries to sling the man over his shoulder; blood trickled hot and sticky down Richie's back. His stomach churned at the wet heat of it, and the meaty smell.
"Let's go!" He grabbed Heather by the wrist, and lumbered under Kenshin's weight for the fire escape stairs at the end of the hall.
She was sobbing as she chased after them, "Uncle Kenshin!"
"Oh, shut up!" Richie told her, letting her catch up, then shoving her ahead of him when they reached the exit. They burst out into an alley.
"I ... he's dead ..." She backed away, suddenly, eyes wide. "It's my fault. He's dead!"
Richie wasn't the slightest bit surprised to see her run away. She bolted, disappeared around the corner. He felt a little sorry not to have let her know that Kenshin would be fine -- but only a little.
"Fuck." Richie said, and headed in the other direction. "So Kenshin, how long does it take a 130 year old Immortal to recover from a bullet to the heart?"
No answer from Kenshin. Apparently, the answer was, "Awhile."
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MacLeod jumped a bit when the phone rang. His nerves were on edge, and he didn't entirely know why. Trouble coming, maybe. He picked the phone up, and said, "MacLeod."
"Mac!" The voice was familiar as that of a brother. "Heard you were trying to find me?"
"Conner." MacLeod was relieved that word had finally gotten to his clansmen -- he'd been calling various friends for most of the morning, tracking the older Immortal down and incidentally asking around about Kenshin. A few people were aware of the man, but none had met him. He was apparently something of a vague legend -- a Japanese guy who wouldn't play the game was the most anybody knew. He said, "Yes. I'm glad you called. It's nothing serious, I don't think, but I'd like to know if you know someone."
"Somebody after you?"
"Probably. Isn't someone always?"
A laugh, from Conner, which made MacLeod grin. "Seriously, though, I don't think this man's after my head -- but were you aware that Hitokiri Battousai is an Immortal?"
Silence, for a moment, then a snicker from Conner. "Ye-es. So you've met Kenshin?"
"Yes. Good, I've been trying to find out more about him." MacLeod said. "He's an odd one."
"It's been decades. I'm amazed he's still in the game." Conner's voice still held a large amount of amusement, and, if MacLeod read his clansmen right, fondness too. "How much trouble has the little runt brought with him? And is he still carrying that stupid katana?"
"The sakabato? Yes." MacLeod said. He wasn't about to admit just how well acquainted he'd become with that reversed-blade sword. "Though I wouldn't describe it as exactly 'silly' given the way he can wield it. What's this about trouble?"
"Kenshin and chaos follow each other like thunder after lightning." Conner was serious now. "Mac, if Kenshin's in town, be careful." Conner paused, then added, "He's serious, by the way, about not killing anyone."
"Permanently." MacLeod's neck was still a bit sore.
"Well, yes. If he runs into another Immortal who wants his head, he'll stop them at any costs, and stopping them usually involves maiming if he can't bring them over to the side of the what's warm and fuzzy. I swear to God, Mac, there's at least a couple formerly evil Immortals who've taken up the priesthood because of that guy."
MacLeod laughed openly now. "He's that dangerous?"
"Oh, yeah. The man's damned menace to the Game." Conner said, sounding almost indignant. "He's about as unconventional as that sword he carries."
At that moment, the front door of the shop burst open and Richie stumbled in with a bloody, red-haired carcass slung over his shoulder. Richie was breathing hard, covered in gore, and he looked rather green around the gills. Kenshin wasn't breathing at all, and blood had dripped down his chest, across his face, and saturated his ponytail. MacLeod raised an eyebrow, and said to Conner, "Conner, call me back later. Apparently, somebody just succeeded."
"Huh?"
"In killing Kenshin. Not fatally, just a flesh wound." MacLeod said, watching as Richie staggered across the antique store (thankfully, there were no customers to scare) and towards the back.
Conner spluttered, then said, "If anyone killed that man, it's because he let them."
"Later, Conner." MacLeod hung up the phone and followed Richie -- and he raised his voice, when he realized where Richie was headed. "Richie! Not my bedroom, he's covered in blood!"