Chapter 3

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Author's note:

I do apologize for misspelling character names and whatnot.

Thank you for all the feedback. For what it's worth, I've got the DVDs arriving today (hopefully) and I think I'll order the manga as well in the near future. Next paycheck.

As far as crossovers go -- this is actually a fairly easy world to do a crossover in, and I'm a bit surprised that there's only one other story out there with this cross. The two worlds are very similar.

The hardest part of this is that canon Kenshin on the show, as much as I adore the character, has some significant Mary Sue tendencies to begin with. (I hope I don't offend anyone by saying this ... LOL) It's been a bit of a challenge to keep him in character without turning him into a major league great big fat stinking Mary Sue when contrasted with MacLeod and Richie. He only works on the show because it's so well written.

Love the guy. But he's a HARD character to write in a crossover, for that reason. I rewrote a scene in Chapter 4 three times because of Kenshin Sue tendencies in it, and I'm still not happy with it.

-----

Soft, diffuse white light surrounded him. He was warm, didn't hurt. This was a good place.

Kenshin blinked, and realized he'd died again as a figure appeared in the distance. She walked closer, stride confident, a grin on her face. With a laugh she said, "Not again!"

"Kaoru!" He folded her into a hug, utterly relieved that she was here -- and that he was here too, even for a little bit. Her hands slid around him, pulling him close, then one rose to stroke his ponytail.

She felt so real. He could smell her -- soap and sandalwood. Could feel her, in his arms -- hard muscles under womanly curves, breath whispering against his cheek. Her hands were cool, calluses catching just a bit on the silk of his shirt as they roamed up and down his back. She leaned back to kiss him a greeting, and for a long moment, he lost himself in the embrace.

She stepped back, finally, hands still resting on his hips. She wasn't going to let go of him for anything until they were torn apart again. She murmured, "You can't stay, can you?"

God, how he'd missed Kaoru.

"No." He murmured, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. "Kaoru ..."

She stroked a long lock of hair that had escaped from his ponytail. "It's okay. I know you still have things to do in the world. You don't belong to just me."

"Kaoru, I miss you so much." Already, he could feel the tug at his soul that said he would not be allowed to remain. He only had a little time before he would be yanked away.

"What happened this time?" She asked. The last time he'd been here had been an automobile accident, of all improbable things.

"I didn't duck fast enough."

The look she gave him was amused. "Sure you weren't just feeling a bit lonely, love?"

"Well, yeah." He admitted. "And it served my purposes. And there was an apartment at the end of the hall and people behind the door, in line with the shot. I didn't want to risk them getting hit."

"You're a sucker, you know that?" Kaoru said, fondly. "You've got that look in your eyes, Kenshin Himura."

"What look?" He tried for an innocent tone.

She giggled. She knew him too well. Knew that he was going to be mulishly stubborn about saving this kid, that he didn't want to lose, and that he'd put the same effort into saving her that he'd put into a few sword battles ages ago.

He still wasn't sure which of those sword battles had resulted in his first death -- though he had a good idea that it was the one with Shojiro, in the refinery. He'd seen the light on that one, and turned back. At the time, he'd been sure it was force of will, a profound desire to live -- to return to Tokyo with the woman before him, who still had her hands on his hips and who was grinning at him teasingly.

Later, years later, he'd realized he couldn't die and wasn't aging.

His first death could have been earlier than that, though -- dying in any one of a dozen battles that he'd fought as a teenager would have explained why he'd never grown taller than five feet even, and why he looked like he was fifteen. Some of those battles, he couldn't even remember -- those had been dark days indeed. Though he'd gotten scars, afterwards, and he didn't scar now unless it was a hell of a wound. He just wasn't sure.

He'd spoke to other Immortals about this. They were all sure of when they died. He honestly didn't know. This amused him, in a blackly humorous way. He'd sure lived a hard life.

"Heaven to Kenshin," Kaoru said, amused. "About time for you to go back, don't you think?"

"I miss you, Kaoru." He caught her hands and earnestly searched her face. "I'd find you, I would, if your time in the world would only come around again."

He'd suggested this before -- and her only response had always been an enigmatic smile. This time didn't seem any different, at first, then she said, "I love you, Kenshin. And -- you won't be alone in saving the girl this time."

He eyed her suspiciously. She gave him an utterly innocent smile, and repeated, "Time to go back, Kenshin Himura."

He hugged her again, burying his face in her hair, pulling her close, not ever wanting to let go. But he felt the tug at his soul and it was time to return and now he had no choice. With a small cry of protest, he felt her fade, felt life return and heaven disappear.

"You know," A dry voice said, sounding amused, "if you'd kill a few Immortals that needed killing you'd be more powerful and heal faster. You're vulnerable while you're laying around like this."

Kenshin lifted his head from the pillow and found the owner of that voice, who was seated beside the bed, feet propped up on a box. "Mister MacLeod, maybe I do not wish to heal swiftly, I do not." He paused, and said quietly, under his breath, but knowing his friends -- and Kaoru -- always somehow heard when he spoke to them, "... Kaoru, I love you ..."

He sat up, realizing he was undressed -- and his hair was damp, so he'd been bathed, or at least hosed off. He vaguely remembered a flash and a bang of a gunshot, and the decision not to duck, then nothing more -- if he'd bled out from a gunshot, likely he'd been a nasty mess that nobody would want in their bed. Hence, bath. It was amazing just how far the blood from one human body would go to cover every surface in sight, if appropriately spread.

MacLeod tossed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt at him and said, "Your shirt's a loss, and your coat. We washed your jeans. Your sword's under the bed. If you've never taken a Quickening, you're likely no better at healing than a new Immortal, so I'm thinking you'll be days before you're at full strength. Do you have a place to stay?"

"A hotel room," he said. He wondered how long he'd been out. Not long enough.

MacLeod grunted something that sounded vaguely like an invitation to crash on his floor. "... stay here." The man, Kenshin realized, was genuinely concerned for him.

"You could have taken my head, you could." Kenshin said, sitting up. His head spun at the motion -- MacLeod was right. The injuries themselves had mostly healed already, but he'd lost quite a bit of blood. If someone wanted to take his head right now, he'd be at a distinct disadvantage in a fight. Not that he was worried about a fight, but -- well, a century plus of life had taught him caution.

"I could have." MacLeod agreed. "You haven't given me a reason to. Where are you staying? I'll send Richie over to get some of your things."

"I don't have much. I travel light. The keycard is in my wallet." He eyed MacLeod with some respect. This was, apparently, a man he could trust -- and maybe even respect and come to call a fried. He had honor and integrity. And he wasn't afraid to extend a hand in aid to a strange Immortal.

"He's awake." A rich, French accented female voice said. He turned his head towards the voice. Lots of curls, nice figure. This would be Tessa.

"Tessa." MacLeod said, nodded at her, confirming Kenshin's guess -- Richie had mentioned that Tessa was running errands earlier, so he hadn't met her then. "My girlfriend. Tessa, this is Kenshin Himura."

He wondered if Tessa knew about Immortals. Her next words confirmed that she did. "If you're done being dead in my bed, we're going out to dinner."

Which was, apparently, something of an invitation. He glanced at MacLeod, who shrugged. Mac apparently had no objections to Kenshin meeting his girlfriend -- given some of the behavior that Kenshin had observed among the others like them, this, too, was a mark in the man's favor. Kenshin's experience had taught him that those who trusted others could themselves be trusted.

That, or Tessa could take care of herself.

---------

Richie carefully guided Mac's Thunderbird into a parking spot half a block from the steakhouse that Tessa had suggested for their guest -- Kenshin had indicated that he didn't care what he ate, as long as it was food. Since MacLeod seemed genuinely (if understatedly) concerned about Kenshin, Richie had volunteered to park the car while they went inside. Less distance for Kenshin to walk if they dropped him off at the curb. The little Immortal was very pale still.

Tessa'd said, apologetically, "I know that the food probably will not be of the quality you are used to ..."

Kenshin had said, with some amusement, "This one has nearly starved to death several times in his life."

And he'd meant it, even if he was smiling as he said it.

It had taken Kenshin roughly five minutes to charm Tessa -- and Richie could attest to the fact that charming Tessa was not easy.

Richie frowned as he got out of the car. It looked like rain -- he decided to put the top up for Mac. He was struggling with the unfamiliar fabric top for the Thunderbird when a voice said sharply behind him, "Richie Ryan, up to trouble again, are you?"

He spun around, heart sinking into his toes. The owner of the voice was a cop -- and one who'd arrested him at least twice before. Now that he was eighteen, Richie's juvenile records were officially closed, but the cop certainly remembered his past arrests.

"No, sir." Richie said, "I'm just parking this for a friend ..."

"Car's stolen." The cop said, amiably. He nodded at his cruiser, parked in an alley not twenty feet away. It was dark, except for a couple blinking lights on the dash. Richie hadn't seen the cop car.

"Huh?" MacLeod surely hadn't stolen his ... oh. Richie blinked. "I can explain ..."

"Sure you can. Turn around and put your hands on the trunk." the cop said, without much rancor. "Nice choice of wheels, by the way."

"Really!" Richie protested, as he did as he was told. "The car belongs to Duncan MacLeod. Really! He's my boss. It was stolen last week, but the guy brought it back! Mac must've forgotten to call it in that he got it back!"

More likely, Mac had called it in, and the police hadn't updated their records yet. But no sense in aggravating the cops by accusing them of sloppy record keeping. "Really! Office, I haven't even done anything this time!"

The cop efficiently frisked him, found his pocket knife, and the knife in his boot, and his wallet -- and nothing else, apparently to the cop's frustration. His weapons were all of a legal length and design. Nothing unusual, except for the boot knife, and it was short and the hilt stuck out so it wasn't even concealed.

"And MacLeod knows you have his car?" The cop said, frowning at Richie's driver's license -- which Richie knew gave the same address as MacLeod's, and the same address that the car was registered to.

"Yeah! He's in Stevie's!" Richie protested. The steakhouse was 'Stevie's Steakhouse'.

"Then you won't mind me having a bit of a chat with him ..." The cop said, dubiously. Richie exhaled a breath he hadn't known he was holding -- it would have been typical for the cop to have hauled him off to the station and left Mac wondering where he had gone.

"Sure."

This earned him a blink from the cop, who had apparently been expecting a protest. The man clapped a hand down on Richie's shoulder and shoved him more-or-less gently towards the Steakhouse.

-------

"You know," Tessa said conversationally, out of the blue, "It's amazing the amount of trouble that boy can find."

Mac and Kenshin both gave her a puzzled look -- they had been discussing swords, something both Immortals were genuinely interested in, outside of their, ah, career interest in the subject. Kenshin had actually known one of Mac's favorite nineteenth century swordmakers -- in fact, the man had made Kenshin's own unusual blade -- and Mac had been quite interested to hear Kenshin's stories of the swordsmith.

Duncan followed Tessa's gaze to the front of the steakhouse, where Richie was standing with a cop -- who had a rather possessive grip on the boy's shoulder. Richie saw Duncan looking his way and shrugged helplessly.

MacLeod, irritated, stood up, and headed for pair. He didn't know yet if he should be irritated with Richie or the cop. But he was going to be annoyed at someone.

"Richie, what's going on here?"

"Mac, he thinks I stole your car." Richie said, glaring at the cop.

MacLeod paused, then said a rude word, then added, "I knew that receptionist I gave the message to was going to lose the report. Officer, I got the car back yesterday. Undamaged ..."

Actually, Kenshin had brought the Thunderbird back washed and waxed, and with a full tank of gas, and with the ignition he'd presumably punched fixed as well. But there was no sense in confusing the cop with details.

"... the guy who took it had an attack of conscience." Mac shrugged "What can I say?"

"ID." The cop said, one word that held a bit of annoyance. MacLeod thought he'd actually been looking forward to arresting Richie.

Mac showed his ID. And his insurance card. The officer finally sighed, and said, "Sorry to bother you."

"No problem, officer." MacLeod managed to keep the sarcasm mostly out of his voice. "I know you're just doing your job."

Richie's jaw was set with anger -- Richie did not like cops, even if they were more-or-less doing their jobs -- as he walked back to the table. Kenshin said, curiously, "Is Mister Richie in trouble?"

"Not this time." MacLeod claimed his chair again.

"Hey!" Richie started to argue, then he sighed, and said in a somewhat defeated tone of voice, "Sometimes, I swear, I've got a great big sign that says 'bad' right smack in the middle of my back. I can be doing nothing at all and get in trouble. It really pisses me off."

Kenshin made a small sound, very quiet. "Oro?" He'd been sipping water; now he set it down on the tabl with a swift click of glass against oak.

Mac glanced at him, then gave him a harder look. Kenshin had gone very pale even given the pallor he'd started with; the crossed scars on his cheek stood out in bold relief. He was staring at Richie.

Richie finally realized he was the focus of Kenshin's shock, and said, "What?"

Kenshin shook his head, and seemed to recover a bit. "For a minute, Mister Richie reminded this one of someone from very long ago."

Tessa said lightly, "Deja vu, Kenshin?"

Kenshin said. "Perhaps that is all."

But for the next few minutes, the little Immortal man kept sneaking sideways glances at Richie. His mouth was set in a thoughtful frown, and his eyes were searching. Mac wasn't sure what Kenshin had seen, but he was clearly unsettled. The color slowly returned to his cheeks, though, and gradually his full attention returned to the conversation -- which revolved around banalities, mostly.

The comparison of the weather in Seacouver versus Tokyo evolved into a Kenshin telling Richie and Tessa about Tokyo, which somehow -- after Kenshin had a couple beers in him -- drifted into Kenshin teaching Richie to swear in Japanese, to Tessa and Mac's amusement.

When Kenshin's cel phone rang, he apologized before responding to it. "I am sorry, only my family has this number." He flipped it open finally, and said, "Hello ..." then, with an abashed look at his companions, he switched to Japanese. A brief conversation followed. They could hear a tinny female voice, laughing occasionally, but Kenshin himself didn't have any trace of humor in his words or on his face.

He put the phone away after a minute and said, "Heather called her aunt and reported me dead. Her aunt knows most of the details about what I am -- that was her calling me to make sure that I was not truly deceased."

Kenshin said softly, "Heather apparently didn't believe her that I live. I thought, surely, she would talk to her, and that Atsuko would tell her the truth, but ..." He trailed off, for a moment, then said, "I need to find her."

He started to stand up, to go. MacLeod said in concern, "You're not at full strength."

And he'd also drank two imported beers (after some good-natured grumbling about the limited choices of beverages on the menu -- which amounted to beer, beer, and more beer) in the course of an hour and a half. Not an enormous amount, by any means, but Kenshin was not a large man.

And, more importantly, he was unarmed except for a rather impressive collection of knives -- none of which were long enough to be much use in a real fight. His coat had been ruined by the gunshot and the blood -- which was a lot harder to get out of pale leather than it was to wash out of dark blue jeans -- and he was too short to hide a blade of a decent size under his shirt. Kenshin didn't seem bothered by this -- he'd willingly left his reversed-blade sword in the safe at the store.

Older Immortals could mask the presence of a sword by pure force of Immortal presence ("Sword? What sword? No sword here ...") but Kenshin had reluctantly admitted to not being able to do so. He just didn't have the power. It wasn't a willpower thing or a skill thing, it was an Immortal thing. And Kenshin wasn't playing the Game.

Mac thought the guy really needed to take a few heads.

"I can handle Heather," Kenshin said, then paused and added, "And Shark."

"Mind if I tag along?" MacLeod said, worried a bit anyway. He was certain Kenshin could handle Heather -- from Richie's description, the girl wasn't much of a threat. If he ran into someone who wanted his head, however, he'd be slowed and perhaps a bit clumsy, and weak from blood loss. And, of course, no sword.

Kenshin looked, for a moment, like he wanted to argue. Then, after another of those frowning glances at Richie, he said, "Yes. Perhaps it is wise."