Chapter 6
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Author's note: I figured out how to explain Kenji. (For the RuroKen fans who are not real familiar with Highlander, Immortals cannot reproduce.)
(Edit: Fixed the spelling on Shinta.)
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It was still pouring when Tessa dropped Kenshin off at the hospital hours later. He was now sporting a brand new black leather duster, and a green cotton t-shirt that said, "Seacouver!" in bold letters and had a picture of a nearby scenic mountain range on the back.
Kenshin looked up at the hospital for a moment. His sword was a familiar weight across his back, cool and unyielding. It had been a part of his life since he was a teenager and he always felt naked when circumstances dictated he part with it. It was a relief to have it back again, even if he felt it was relatively unnecessary most of the time.
He'd spent decades without that sword, after giving it to Yahiko. It had been passed down through the family from father to son for decades until a man had inherited it who was unworthy in Kenshin's eyes -- and who had first put it on display in a glass box in his office (not even his home) and who had then tried to sell it when times were tough. Kaoru -- grey haired and stooped at the time -- had bought it back from the man.
Kenshin figured he'd gift the sword to someone again someday. But in this modern time, there was no one in the family who understood what the sword meant. And anyway, in this day and age, most people did not solve problems with a blade.
He'd persuaded Tessa to drop him off here, in front of the hospital. He liked the woman -- MacLeod had his match in Tessa Noel, that was certain. She had a sharp tongue and a sharper wit. Because she clearly loved Mac and was not afraid to speak her mind, her misgivings about the man's immortality and The Game would keep him solidly grounded. It was obvious Mac loved her back, and he hoped they would have many more years together.
And as for the other Immortal, Kenshin had decided he truly liked MacLeod. The man's concern for his girlfriend was genuine -- yet he wasn't possessive, and he was willing to let her make her own decisions. He was a good man and someone Kenshin would be proud to call 'friend.'
The Scotsman wasn't bad with a sword, either. Kenshin wasn't sure if MacLeod realized how long it had been since someone had managed to get a blow past his guard. Years, maybe decades.
He thought back over the match -- he'd been a little slowed, but not much, and he'd fought serious battles when he was hurting a lot more. MacLeod had pointed out a bad habit he'd developed, too -- expecting bad guys to go for his left side because anyone with any experience at all could see he had a stiff shoulder.
Kenshin wondered if he could arrange regular sparring matches with Mac. Mac was -- if not his equal with a sword -- at least a serious challenge. There was no baggage there, no past history that might come out and go sour in a match. And MacLeod was good enough to test him.
He sighed, decided he'd talk to MacLeod later, and then steeled himself for what he suspected was going to be a bit of an unpleasant encounter with Heather. With considerable resignation, he walked into the hospital. It smelled as hospitals always did, inside -- of disinfectant and sickness. He hated hospitals.
At the elevator, he was joined by a little girl in a wheelchair, and a nurse. The girl had no hair -- not even eyebrows or eyelashes -- and her face had the round, sweaty pallor of grave illness and harsh medication. It was hard to tell how old she was -- six or seven, maybe, or older or younger. Her eyes were ancient.
"Hi there," Kenshin said, seeing she was staring at him, as they waited for the elevator to come down. He'd called ahead and already knew that Heather was on the seventh floor.
"Hi." The girl peered up at him. "I like your hair. Can I touch it?"
He flipped his ponytail forward and leaned over after a glance at the nurse, who smiled permission at him. The girl stroked his pony tail with a hand that had an IV embedded in it. "Your hair is pretty."
"Thank you," he said, and remembered another little girl who'd been fascinated by his long red hair and who had insisted on braiding it every chance she got. Every family dinner, or picnic in a park, or whenever else he met with the family -- Heather had sat down behind him at the first chance she got, and started plaiting.
He swallowed down a lump in his throat, and suddenly, he wasn't angry. He was just very, very sorry for Heather's choices as of late. Somewhere in there, that little girl that he'd loved as a niece still lived. He had to bring her back, he had to remind her of who she was.
"Are you here visiting someone?" the little girl asked.
"Yes, miss. I'm visiting my niece. She's sick, too."
"I'm going to get better and go to school next week!" The girl announced. She had recently lost her two top teeth and the adult ones were half grown in. So six was a good bet for her age. Maybe seven. "Maybe tomorrow!"
"I believe you will, this I do," he said as he crouched down to be on eye-level with her. The elevator hadn't arrived yet -- the light indicated it was stalled on one of the top floors. He pulled his wallet out, found a five yen coin in the change pocket, and handed it to her. "This is from Japan, where I'm from. It's a lucky coin, it is."
She peered at it and said in wonder, "It's got a hole in it!"
He'd figured she would like the coin. He glanced up at the nurse, who was smiling. The nurse studied him for a moment, "You're a kind man. Do you have children of your own?"
She'd apparently concluded he was old enough to have kids. Kenshin had discovered that if you asked people how old they thought he was, their estimates would range from fifteen to thirty.
He answered simply, "Yes." Children now that he looked out for -- and truthfully, kids of his own, long ago. He just didn't mention that all of his own had all died of old age, years ago. Their descendents were among those he helped now.
Kaoru had desperately wanted children, and in truth so had he, but Immortals could sire none. They hadn't known that then, hadn't learned it for years. However, the dojo had still ended up full of children in the end, children they had called 'son' and 'daughter' -- children with nowhere else to go. Kenji had been the first foundling to come through that door and others had followed ... children not of his blood, but of his heart.
"I'm going to go to school tomorrow," the girl said, firmly, decisively.
"Tammy, you have school here," the nurse said, gently. When she met Kenshin's eyes, there was a certain sad knowledge there that made Kenshin very glad he'd given the girl the coin. He wished it had been gold.
And he really and truly hated hospitals.
"What's your niece's name?" The girl asked.
"Sagara Heather," Kenshin said.
"Does she have cancer too?"
"Something like that." Kenshin wondered what was holding the elevator up.
"You're older than you look," the girl peered at him with those ancient eyes. "What's your name, Mister?"
"Himura Kenshin."
"No ... it's not," she said, slowly and skeptically, while frowning at him.
"shinta," he tried, wanting to see her smile again, and wondering how she'd known. Nobody had called him by that name since he'd been little older than she was.
And Shinta was the name she wanted. She gave him a very big gap-toothed grin, and said, "Shinta's pretty. My mommy said I could have a kitten when I get better and I'm going to name it Shinta because you gave me the coin."
The elevator finally dinged and opened, going down. The nurse said, "Say goodbye to Mr. Kenshin, Tammy."
"Bye." Tammy waved.
They went into the elevator, going down, and he stood with his head down and his hands in the duster's pockets, waiting for it to return on the trip up. Shinta. He hadn't even thought of that name in a very long time. He hoped she got her kitten.
His anger had definitely turned to morose introspection by the time the elevator came back. The elevator climbed too swiftly to the seventh floor, and he asked at the nurse's station for directions to Heather's room.
"You're her uncle?" The woman said, surprised. "She said her uncle was killed. You're ... young." Unspoken was also the fact that he didn't look Japanese.
"This one was adopted, ma'am."
"Ah," the woman nodded wisely. "She's in room 715. Umm -- you're the uncle she thinks is dead?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good, good. Maybe she'll do better after she sees you."
The room had two beds in it. The first bed was empty, though there was obviously a roommate -- it was unmade and the remains of a breakfast cluttered a table beside it. The second bed ...
Kenshin's breath caught in his throat as he stood in the doorway, surveying her. Heather lay on her side, back to the door. Her blond hair -- black roots showing -- was limp and dirty. She obviously hadn't showered, and she needed to. She looked tiny, impossibly thin, arms twiglike, ribcage outlined under the thin fabric of her hospital gown, bare feet skeletal. The arm with the infected wound on it had been wrapped in bandages.
Silently, he reached behind himself and shut the door. When it clicked closed, she looked up. Dumbly, she stared at him.
"Ken...shin?" Disbelief.
"You should listen to your elders, really you should." Kenshin scolded. "Atsuko told you the truth about this one. She told you that a bullet cannot kill this one, any more than time can. She told you truly. And you did not believe her."
She sat up, and pushed lank greasy hair back from her eyes. Flatly, she said, "What are you, some sort of demon?"
"I am just a man, Akane, nothing more or less."
"Don't call me that," she said, shortly.
He'd not meant to -- he'd forgotten the new name she'd taken. "I am sorry, Heather. You are not Akane anymore and I should not forget."
She winced. Good. He'd meant his tone to make the words to sting a little. You are not Akane. He'd loved Akane like he did all the children -- but Akane had been a little special, one he'd spent more time with than most. The girl she'd become, however, he didn't know anymore. This was not the little girl who'd braided his hair and who'd wanted him to play pretend tea-parties -- and truthfully, he'd preferred the tea parties and dolls and silly children's TV shows to the gossip and bickering of her elders. The Sagaras were an argumentative lot, that was for sure.
This was not the little girl who'd become a tempestuous teenager and who had cried on his shoulder more than once over a boyfriend, a bully, a fight with her parents, or a bad test. She'd never been able to talk to her parents about such things, and she'd had no siblings and few friends growing up. Her father's job had caused them to move frequently, occasionally even overseas.
And this was not the teenager who'd become a young woman he'd been pleased to know -- a woman who'd traveled the world, who spoke four languages fluently, who'd been accepted into a premier medical school (which her father had later taken her out of, against her wishes, to send her to the US, because he didn't approve of her boyfriend).
This was not Akane. This was Heather. And he didn't know Heather at all.
She stared at him, eyes dark and full of pain. "Kenshin, do you hate me?"
"No, Heather. I have no hatred for you. Only disappointment and sorrow." Kenshin stood with his hands in his hands cupping his elbows and his eyes downcast. Now that he was here, now that he'd found her, he discovered he wasn't entirely sure what to say. You're a fool was both rude and self-evident. She knew she was being stupid; he didn't need to tell her that, did he? Stop doing drugs and go back to school wasn't likely to have any effect. Maybe if he added, Please, Heather-dono?
Meh. No.
"What are you going to do?" She asked, sitting up and hugging herself.
Well, that was an opening, at least. "What would you like me to do?"
Silence, for a moment, then, with no answer from her. Then she asked, "Did you really come all the way from Japan just for me?"
Americans had a comedian with a skit about people so stupid they needed signs advertising this fact. He had found the comedian amusingly rude and a bit shocking when Atsuko had made him watch the show on satellite TV. He was not actually tempted to say, Here's your sign, Heather-dono, but he thought it. He simply responded to her, "Yes, Heather, this I did."
"Why? Because of your oath?" She managed to make oath sound like a swear word.
"I would have come for Akane, I would, regardless of an oath. I am unsure if Heather merits my time," he spoke calmly, though he felt anything but.
"You asked me what I wanted you to do," she searched his face. "Uncle Kenshin, I need your help ..." she shook her head, and looked away from him, and added, "You're right. Maybe I don't merit your time."
He stepped closer, still cradling his elbows in his hands. He met her eyes, and she sucked in a sharp breath -- he wondered what was showing in his eyes that made her react like that. He was pissed, but it wasn't a hot raging anger that would have made his eyes go amber and gold.
"I thought you died, Uncle Kenshin," she said, again. "It was my fault. I'm an idiot."
"This one cannot die from a bullet wound," he repeated, then added, because his annoyance was extreme, "It was your fault. And since you mentioned it, you are an idiot."
He'd never spoken to her so frankly before in her life. English didn't translate literally when it came to honorifics and verb forms and sheer politeness or lack thereof, but there was a hell of a lot you could do with voice tone, and the rudeness of his words carried neatly over the language barrier. He was sure she was mentally translating that back into Japanese and ending up with language that was shocking from him.
Briefly, he considered switching to Japanese. He could get his point across better if he wasn't struggling to find the right words. But no. As long as she spoke English, he'd do the same. Because he had to meet her on the battlefield of her choosing if he hoped to win this fight. She shouted at the top of her lungs, "You have no idea what I've been through!"
Ah. He'd been expecting a temper tantrum. There it was.
She grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it at him. He didn't even blink, just stood there. The pillow was followed by the little plastic pitcher full of ice water beside the bed. Ice cubes scattered wetly across the floor and water stained his new green t-shirt. It was very cold, but not painful, and he didn't flinch. She would have thrown the TV remote, but it was attached by a cable to the bed. Then she burst into tears. "Kenshin! Kenshin, help me! I don't know what to do! I don't! I'm such an idiot! I've failed everyone!"
He stood impassively, and waited for the tears to end. After a moment, she hiccupped to a stop, and said, "Aren't you ... don't you feel sorry for me?"
"Not particularly."
"But ... you bastard!" The other pillow hit him, and then she flung the plastic tray that the pitcher had sat upon at his head. He batted the latter aside contemptuously. It clattered to the floor.
"Again, what would you like me to do?" He repeated the question.
"You hate me!"
"No. I do not hate you."
"Then why are you doing this to me!"
She was, he realized, not completely rational. It was either an after effect of the drugs in her system or permanent damage to her psyche. He wasn't sure which -- he wasn't a doctor. He could only ask, "What am I doing to you?"
"Standing there!"
Crazy seemed to be a good diagnosis even without a medical opinion. He sighed, unsure if he could help her at all.
I'm sorry, Sanosuke, he thought, mournfully. I may fail you with this one.
She said, teeth gritted, "I want out of here. You can help me get out."
They were committing her against her will -- the doctors said they expected to keep her for several days, until they were sure she was 'stable' and no longer inclined to kill herself. They couldn't keep her longer; she was not a citizen and not eligible for subsidized benefits.
"Did you try to kill yourself?" He asked, calmly. Truthfully, he wasn't sure she had tried suicide. She was unstable and angry, but nothing in this woman's demeanor made him think she was suicidal. She wasn't mad enough to have done so in a fit of ultimate, 'fuck the world, this will make them sorry!' pique and she wasn't ready to end it to 'make the pain stop', either. He was intimately and personally familiar with the latter mood, figured he would recognize the signs of it, and she wasn't even close to that point. He knew that mood because he'd been there.
No, she wasn't one who would kill herself because she hurt so much that death was preferable to the pain. A this will make them sorry sort of suicide might be something she'd pull, but not right now.
"I didn't. But you won't believe me." Bitterness, anger. And confirmation of what he'd suspected.
"Shark?" He guessed, "He tried to kill you because you were a witness to my 'death'?"
"Yeah." She gave him a surprised look. But really, that hadn't even been a hard guess. "They won't believe me."
He suspected that was because he'd already convinced the cops he was alive, and the doctors thought she'd hallucinated his death. Given the rate at which junkies lied, lying about committing suicide was far more logical than the boyfriend trying to kill her to hide a crime that -- given the walking, talking evidence to the contrary -- hadn't actually happened.
He'd need to deal with Shark, and sooner rather than later. His preference would be to report the man to the police, but doubted that would work in this case. The cops weren't likely to believe her story and what was he going to tell them?
Officer, this man shot me yesterday. No I don't have a scar, but you have to believe me.
"Do you wonder why they won't believe you?" He asked.
"There wasn't even any blood in that hallway," she glared at him. "They thought I hallucinated your death."
Oh, that was news. He hadn't been happy about that dangling detail of the presumably bloody hallway, but he hadn't seen anything he could do about it. He frowned at her.
"I came home and the blood was gone," she repeated. "And there was new carpet."
So somebody had cleaned it up. Well, at least he knew the cops wouldn't be looking for the corpse that had owned the blood. Mac, maybe, had taken care of it, or perhaps the building management didn't want any trouble with the police.
The door opened behind him, at that point, and he turned to see the roommate enter -- an old woman pushing an IV stand before her. The woman shuffled to her bed, climbed in it and turned on the TV without a word to them.
Kenshin said, "I'll be back later, Heather. We will talk more. And -- I believe in you."