-1Chapter Five
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Author's notes -- I am amusing myself here contemplating the thought of what the Watchers think of Kenshin. And, also, the likelihood of them being able to avoid detection by Kenshin is probably nil.
I'm bumping the rating on this up. mostly because of some gritty content.
PraiseDivineMercy -- Heather's drug of choice was originally going to be meth, but I decided to go for heroine instead because it's arguably less destructive overall and because, as you note, it's the modern equivalent of opium. Also, few readers would probably notice or care, but crystal meth wasn't really on the scene as a major drug when Season 1 of Highlander was filmed.
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Pain woke Kenshin, as it often did, sometime before dawn. He didn't scar now, and his bullet wound from earlier had healed -- though he knew he'd still be a little light headed from blood loss when he sat up. But the old wounds ached and throbbed in response to bad weather.
It was thundering outside, an early morning downpour, and lightning flickered in the window as he sat up. The weather made the old pain much worse. It was enough to make sleep impossible.
He was on the floor of Richie's bedroom -- Richie snored loudly, no reaction to Kenshin's movements. The boy had never known any real threats to his life. Kenshin himself had spent most of his teen years sleeping while sitting up, close to an open window for a ready escape, a sword in his hand. He'd nearly killed more than one person who'd accidentally startled him, when he'd reacted with naked steel before he fully woke and recognized the person as not a threat.
This boy ... this boy who reminded Kenshin of Sano so very much ... snored peacefully in a bed, unworried about losing his life. He'd gain that worry later, Kenshin figured, but didn't have it now and he didn't need it.
Kenshin stood up and padded in stocking feet into the kitchen, where he found Tessa seated at a table with a stack of invoices and a calculator. She glanced up at him, and said in a low voice, "Good morning, Kenshin."
"Good morning, Tessa-dono." He yawned, showing he wasn't fully awake (even though he was) because he'd learned to show little human weaknesses to make those around him more comfortable. "Thank you for your hospitality."
"Mac likes you," Tessa said, apparently sufficient explanation for the older immortal's kindness to him.
"And you?" He was, at least partly, teasing her.
She bared teeth at him -- was that supposed to be a grin? -- and said, "You're too charming, Himura Kenshin."
"I am glad that Tessa-dono thinks so." He said with a soft chuff of a laugh, knowing she was gently razzing him back. Then he sobered, remembering Heather, and feeling guilty for indulging in humor.
She apparently sensed his mood. The smile faded from her face, and she said simply, "There's coffee in the pot if you want some."
He poured himself a cup, then walked to the window and studied the sky. It was just starting to grow light in the east through the clouds, and lightning flickered again. It would be stormy, today.
"Did the thunder wake you?" Tessa asked. He heard paper rustle, then rapid tapping on the calculator.
"Not directly, no. I have old injuries that hurt when it rains. It is nothing, really."
"There's ibuprofen in the cabinet by the refrigerator," Tessa said, sounding a little concerned.
"The pain is an old friend, Miss Tessa. It will fade as I move after waking." After watching the rain for a moment, he added, "I will be going, now. I thank you again for being so kind as to put me up."
"You don't have to leave yet ..." Tessa started to protest.
He gave her half a smile; he couldn't summon more than that. They'd found out late last night that Heather had been taken to the a government run hospital, as Mac had speculated, and would be admitted to the psychiatric ward for observation and treatment and detox as soon as a space opened up. The doctors had refused to tell them anything else about her condition, citing confidentiality. However, he could see her -- the doctor had actually requested that he stop by, since Heather was insisting he was dead and refusing to even try speaking to him on the phone.
The doctors thought she had hallucinated his death. He saw no need to clarify the situation.
"I need to go by the hospital, to see Heather," he said, "And I do not want to bring troubles to your household."
He finished the coffee, rinsed the cup, and dried it and returned it to the cabinet. There was a plate and silverware in the sink as well; he absently picked them up and washed them as well. Tessa said, after watching him, "Somebody's mother taught him well."
"Oro?"
"Wish I could get Richie and Mac to do the dishes." Tessa grumbled, "I swear, the both of them were raised in barns. Mac, maybe literally."
"My master -- who taught me swords," he always found the clarification necessary when talking to Westerners, because they assumed "master" meant he was a slave, not a student, "was demanding in all things. It is now habit of a lifetime to clean a mess when I see it. Part of me still expects him to have my hide over a dirty dish."
"You sure you don't want to stay here?" Tessa sounded amused.
"Tessa-dono, I cannot stay. This unworthy one is honored by the invitation, however." He glanced out the window, where the sky was growing progressively lighter but the rain was as hard as ever.
"I'll drive you to the hospital, at least," Tessa said, "It's pouring out."
He eyed the rain. It looked cold and, well, wet. "It is nothing. I could call a cab."
"If I take you, we can swing by the a store and pick up a coat to hide your sword under," Tessa pointed out. "We can leave your sword in the trunk of my car until you've bought the coat. Then I could drop you off at the hospital."
Kenshin frowned, then nodded. It made sense.
Tessa glanced at her watch. "It's six AM. Why don't you go relax a bit and we'll leave about nine, when the stores open? The hospital isn't even open yet, for visiting hours, for what it's worth."
She was correct. Kenshin sighed, and said, "You are wise and kind, Tessa-dono."
He paused, then asked, "Is there a place where I can ... practice ... a bit? My swordsmanship."
"I suggested relaxing," Tessa said, "Not swinging a big fat sword around. But Mac usually uses the empty warehouse across the street. You can get in through the fire door in the back, the lock is broken."
"Thank you, Miss Tessa."
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"Did our guest leave?" MacLeod asked, half an hour later. He yawned sleepily, then glanced at the window when lightning flashed. The storm was loud and had woken him.
"I think he's over in the warehouse, practicing." Tessa said, without glancing up. "I'm going to take him shopping later, to get a new coat, and then drive him over to the hospital."
"Tessa, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone with him," MacLeod said, warily. It wasn't that he didn't trust Kenshin -- if Kenshin was ever pissed at him enough to fight him for real, MacLeod figured Kenshin would be apologizing to Tessa before and after, not involving her -- but rather, "He's not at full strength and if someone comes after him, you could end up involved. And I'm not sure you realize how significantly he's handicapping himself by refusing to kill."
"He beat you," she pointed out.
MacLeod wasn't about to let on just how thoroughly he'd been beaten. He and Richie had agreed to let Tessa assume he'd only been beaten up, not very nearly decapitated!
"He's not at full strength," MacLeod repeated.
"So why don't you go spar with him a bit and see how weakened he really is?" Tessa said, in a tone that MacLeod didn't exactly like -- it was her 'you're being an idiot' tone of voice.
That actually was not a bad idea. MacLeod wanted a better look at Kenshin's fighting style -- he didn't recognize it, and he thought it might be one of the more obscure schools -- plus he could learn a lot more about the man's character by sparring with him a bit. "I might just do that."
Inside the warehouse, the rain rumbled on the metal roof and the light streaming through the high windows was muted. Thunder crackled close by. And Kenshin was dancing.
MacLeod stopped short and watched with some surprise as the man spun through a series of very elaborate katas so quickly that Mac could barely follow the movements. Grace and power and a very high degree of skill -- it almost looked like magic, but it wasn't, not really. MacLeod assumed this meant that Kenshin had fully recovered from his injuries, perhaps faster than Mac had really expected.
After a moment of observation, he realized Kenshin was also definitely weak on his left side. It was slight but noticeable. He was just a hair off balance, a bit too slow, and his left arm -- when he stretched upwards for a downward blow -- obviously couldn't be raised as high as the right.
Kenshin stopped abruptly, sensing his audience. He sheathed his sakabatu, and then turned to Mac. "I apologize. Did you wish to train here? I will leave."
"Actually," MacLeod drew his katana, "I wanted to ask you to spar with me a bit."
Kenshin's face ... changed. His expression was suddenly closed off and dark. His response held none of his usual courtesy, "I don't train with anyone."
Mac was surprised by that. He said, "You have to train, or you lose your edge."
"I am not worried about being defeated if I have a sword in my hand," Kenshin said. It should have sounded like a boast, but it didn't.
"I think you've got some weaknesses, Kenshin Himura. If you're going to be accompany my girlfriend anywhere, I want to know you can compensate for them if someone comes after you," MacLeod said, bluntly. "Spar with me."
"This one hasn't had to prove himself for a very long time." He gave MacLeod a very sunny smile.
"You're not in Japan. And reputations can be at least partly bluff, even among us." MacLeod thought that grin made the man look like a loon. He dropped into a crouch, and waited.
Kenshin sighed heavily, drew his sword, and said, "Very well. I shall spar with you, if it will set your mind at ease. I do not wish you to worry about me, or your love."
The stance he assumed was a basic one as he waited for MacLeod to come at him. Mac thought now that he might actually have a chance of scoring on Kenshin in this round; it was clear from Kenshin's body language that he didn't take Mac seriously.
Mac figured his sheer skill wasn't anywhere near Kenshin's, but he hadn't survived four hundred years by not knowing a thing or two about fighting. He focused on Kenshin's left shoulder, aimed his entire attention there, and noted that Kenshin shifted his weight accordingly. He was expecting Mac to go for his left, weaker, side. And Kenshin was still thinking MacLeod was, in comparison to himself, a rank amateur.
Mac lunged, and Kenshin started to block the blow. Mac fouled Kenshin's sword with his, forcing the blade down. He punched over the blades, aiming at Kenshin's nose. Kenshin jerked his head back and Mac's fist connected with his mouth instead, hard enough that Kenshin's teeth scraped his knuckles. The guy was half Mac's weight; sheer physics if MacLeod's greater weight knocked him off his feet.
Kenshin landed on his butt, and rolled instantly to his feet, without a word. There was a new light of respect in his eyes, and his stance was a lot more aggressive.
Mac said grimly, "No rules, Kenshin. Because the guys coming at you don't have any rules either."
This wasn't like sparring with Connor, he'd already decided -- that was half play, these days. He wanted to know just how well Kenshin could handle a really dirty fight. Anyone fighting with Kenshin would need to fight dirty to win.
Four hundred years? He'd learned lots of dirty tricks. He didn't usually use them because he didn't need to, but he knew them.
It was Kenshin's turn to charge. Mac blocked three rapid blows as fast as he could, and now he did take advantage of Kenshin's evers so slightly weaker left side, and also the man's smaller size and lesser reach -- he drove as hard as he could towards the left, physically forcing Kenshin backwards. Kenshin didn't have the leg power to match Mac in a shoving match, and they both knew it. He was plenty strong, but Mac was stronger.
Kenshin attempted to spin free, to get some distance from Mac, and Mac tripped him. Kenshin went down again, and Mac swatted him on the hip with his katana.
"Could've crippled you, there," Mac pointed out as Kenshin turned the tumble into a somersault, came back to his feet and instantly swung hard and low at Mac's leg -- Mac almost didn't block the blow; Kenshin's lack of height was an advantage there. MacLeod was used to sparing with opponents who were taller and he had to reach lower to stop Kenshin's blow than he normally would have.
"Sure you're at full strength? Because I'm not impressed." Mac asked, mostly because he hoped to piss Kenshin off and even this fight a bit more. Truthfully, Kenshin was probably one of the best swordsmen he'd ever fought against. The comment only got him a grin from Kenshin, though, so getting Kenshin mad and reckless wasn't likely to work. That confirmed what he thought, which was that Kenshin was likely to keep a very cool head in an emergency.
However, Mac was starting to feel a little more confident. This was still nowhere near an even match, but he'd managed to put Kenshin down on the ground twice and that had to count for something.
They exchanged ringing blows again, and then Kenshin snuck one past Mac's defenses -- the dull side of that reversed-edge sword rapped Mac hard on the side of the head. He saw stars and stumbled backwards. into a pile of dirt.
"I could have taken your head there, Mister MacLeod." Kenshin politely waited for Mac to regain his equilibrium.
Damnit, the shrimp was right. Mac lunged back to his feet with a handful of dirt in his hand which he threw it hard at Kenshin's eyes. Kenshin closed his eyes -- and still neatly blocked MacLeod's blow. He'd anticipated Mac would follow that trick with an instant strike with the sword, and from which direction it would come. Mac cursed himself for being predictable.
Kenshin wiped the dirt from his watering eyes with the back of his hand and said, with some respect, "You're not playing fair, MacLeod."
"No." Mac agreed.
"I thought you were a boy scout, I did." Kenshin sounded amused. "Does this unworthy one pass your test?"
"Did awhile ago," MacLeod said. He added, "This is just fun, now."
They exchanged blows again -- Mac managed to tag Kenshin on the shoulder, again by fooling him into thinking he would feint left and then going right.
"You're very hard to read." Kenshin said, sounding bemused. "Usually, I know what my opponents will do."
MacLeod pointed out, "You're expecting me to go after your left side because it's weaker. Because you expect this, it is easy to fake you out."
"Thank you," Kenshin said, sounding thoughtful and a little surprised, "for that observation."
MacLeod feinted at Kenshin's left side. Kenshin swung his sword to the right at the same time, obviously expecting Mac to fool him again -- and Mac solidly slapped him on the left shoulder with the flat of his katana.
"Oro!" Kenshin made an astonished noise.
"You guessed wrong, Ken." Mac grinned.
Kenshin responded by chasing MacLeod around the warehouse for several minutes, delivering a number of hard blows. Mac managed to block about ninety percent of the moves Kenshin threw his way, and deliver one more good swat to Kenshin's right shoulder, but Kenshin was fast, and -- Mac realized -- now he had something to prove. Some of those blows hurt, though Kenshin was definitely pulling them so as to not break any bones.
Finally, with both of them breathing hard, Kenshin held up a hand in a stopping gesture, "Enough, Mac. You fight very well. Your honor, however ..."
"Oh, I can fight with honor," MacLeod said, and rubbed sweat from his eyes with his sleeve. "I usually do. When it comes to you, though, Kenshin, I think not getting my butt kicked trumps good manners."
Kenshin wiped his mouth with his hand and said, "I don't mind, Mac. I believe you were trying to provoke me into anger and see how I handled an unfair fight, were you not?"
"Yeah."
"This will not work. There are few things that will piss me off; poor sportsmanship in a duel is not one of them. War is not about sportsmanship, and swordfights are war." Kenshin inspected his blade for a second -- MacLeod, with an experienced eye, noted the quality of that odd katana was extremely high -- then sheathed it. "I enjoyed this match, MacLeod. I did not expect to."
MacLeod put his own sword away. "Likewise."
Most of Mac's remaining concerns about Kenshin had been put rest by the match. Though, he thought somewhat sourly as he headed home with Kenshin trailing behind him, If that's Kenshin a day after he was shot to death, what's he like the rest of the time?