-1Chapter 9
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MarbleGlobe -- Re: Darius & Kenshin -- Darius did, indeed, believe in never killing. However, he hid away on holy ground and was not living in the world. MacLeod, I think, will be a lot less tolerant of Kenshin's refusal to kill because he sees Kenshin as a warrior like himself. Darius was no warrior. (And yes, I know he was originally, but not by the 1990's
Janey -- I needed a "villain" who could be Kenshin's match in a fight and realistically be a threat to MacLeod, was the right physical age, and met a few other requirements. It came down to Seta or Enishi, and I decided Seta worked better given the direction I'm going with this. (And there would have been too much irony with Enishi. Irony is a good thing until carried to excess, then you get irony poisoning.)
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By now, MacLeod reflected, he should be used to Kenshin dropping in unannounced. The little samurai's quiet buzz only briefly proceeded him though the shop's front door. He looked calmer than he had the day before, and he was armed again -- MacLeod could tell by a subtle change in his stance that he had the sword over his shoulders, even if he was carrying it low enough that not even the hilt showed.
"Good morning, Ken-san," MacLeod said, as he swept the shop. Despite his irritation with Kenshin's philosophy on the Game, he'd decided he liked the man. He wasn't the first Immortal that MacLeod who had befriended who was more lamb than lion. However, he was the first who could chase Mac around a warehouse with a sword who refused to play the Game.
Kenshin nodded greeting, "It is a beautiful morning, Mister MacLeod."
"To what impending disaster do I owe this meeting?" MacLeod asked.
He'd been joking, but his comment caused Kenshin's eyes to widen, and then darken. "I am truly sorry for any inconvenience that I have caused you, Mister MacLeod." Kenshin sounded worried.
"I was teasing." MacLeod said, shaking his head. "What's up, Kenshin?"
"Mister MacLeod ..."
"Mac. Or Duncan." MacLeod interjected.
"Mac." Kenshin corrected himself. MacLeod gave him five minutes before he forgot again. His somewhat stilted English was only a faint reflection of the man's phrasing in Japanese -- Kenshin spoke Japanese with a peculiar humility. It was an affection, MacLeod thought. He'd said he was atoning, perhaps he chose to speak like he was the most humble of men because he felt he was unworthy compared to the rest of the human race. MacLeod wasn't entirely sure. Kenshin continued, "I was wondering if I could borrow Richie again. I promise I'll keep him safe ..."
MacLeod held a hand up, forestalling Kenshin's additional apology for getting shot in front of Richie. He glanced in the direction of the back part of the shop, where their living quarters were. It was early -- Richie was awake, but probably not coherent. "Sooner or later, Richie's going to be one of us. We both know this. I'm not so much worried about keeping him safe as I am about him learning about life. The school of hard knocks is good for him. Just don't get him killed."
Kenshin, Mac thought, Is good enough to keep Richie out of trouble if it comes to swordplay, but Richie may find out a bit more about the nature of Immortals if he tags around after him.
Kenshin nodded gravely. "I understand, Mister MacLeod."
Hah. Less than thirty seconds for the Mister to come back!
"Call me Mac, Kenshin. So what do you need Richie for?" MacLeod asked, conversationally.
"Advice, mostly," Kenshin said. "I need to find a car, and decent apartments for Heather and I. I believe he knows something of cars. And, perhaps, he can give advice on decent apartments close to the clinic that Heather will be going to after she gets out of the hospital. He said he lived in the area."
Mac grinned. "Ah, yeah, Richie knows cars."
Kenshin's expression was a bit puzzled. There had been a hint of snark in Mac's voice.
"He can also tell you where not to shop for a car. So you're going to stay in Seacouver for awhile?"
"As long as Heather needs me, I am." Kenshin put his hands in his pockets, and sighed.
"Do you need work?" MacLeod asked, a serious question. Kenshin obviously knew weapons, and could demonstrate their use to buyers. And he was fluent in Japanese and English. A good number of MacLeod's buyers were from Japan, it would be useful to have someone who spoke the language really well rather than just acceptably well. It would have to be under the table -- he doubted Kenshin had a work visa, if he had a visa at all -- but MacLeod wasn't worried about that. Live four hundred years and you get rather used to circumventing bureaucracy.
Kenshin gave him a startled, sideways look then shook his head. "No, but I thank you for the offer. I have enough money, as long as I live simply. I've a small inheritance and I live off the interest. And 'living simply' in this day and age is a life of amazing luxury compared to what I was born to."
"Are you sure? I could at least use someone to translate kanji for me." Mac read some, but not a lot. And forget writing it.
"You are too kind to this one." Kenshin's smile was genuine. "If I needed the work, MacLeod, I would accept. However, if it is simply a translation you need, I will do that gladly, and at no charge. Mind, however, that my English is not the best. And I am very bad at reading and writing in English."
"Your English is better than that of some native speakers. Don't put yourself down, Kenshin." MacLeod said, with a bit of annoyance.
"Kenshin?" Richie stepped into the shop, and blinked at the man. His 'Kenshin' had been half greeting and half somewhat incoherent question, Why was Kenshin back? "G'morning. Mac."
Richie, MacLeod reflected, was not a morning person. "Finally wake up?"
Mumble, from Richie.
"There's a couple dozen boxes out by the back door that need to go the post office. Would you drop them off for me?" MacLeod asked, "Send the sword insured -- it's the long, narrow, heavy box -- and the rest media mail. They're just some old books Tessa picked up for an interior decorator friend. Then Kenshin needs someone to drive him around to find a car."
"Take the Thunderbird?" Richie woke up.
MacLeod tossed him the keys. Richie grinned and said to Kenshin, "Car shopping, hmm?"
"I will be staying in Seacouver for awhile. This is a large city and what I pay in gas I will save in the cost of shoes." Kenshin said, serenely.
"Wait a second, did you walk all the way here from your hotel?" Mac said, impressed.
"Yes." Kenshin said, then added, "I've crossed Japan on foot, Mister MacLeod. This is nothing."
"I did too," Mac snorted, "Before they invented cabs."
"Yeah, Kenshin, you do know how to call a cab, don't you?" Richie teased.
"And Mac." MacLeod said, still grinning. This was also a form of Kenshin-hassling, which appeared to be a game that was going to be a great deal of fun. The man's personality just invited gentle ribbing. And truthfully, he was glad that Kenshin was sticking around -- occasional annoyance about the man's ideology aside, he was one of the good guys.
"My apologies," Kenshin shrugged. "It is habit, and hard for me to call anyone by a -- nickname."
"Being called 'Mister' by a friend is weird, Kenshin," MacLeod said, with emphasis on the friend that he hoped that Kenshin picked up. "Mac."
Kenshin regarded MacLeod silently for a moment, then simply said, "Very well, I will call you Mac."
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Richie guided Mac's car out onto the street with painful care -- he was more than a little petrified that he'd scratch the paint -- and asked, "What kind of car are you looking for?"
"Cheap, and reliable enough to last several months. Preferably one that I can sell for close to what I pay for it when I leave." Kenshin paused, then added, "A blue one would be good. I like blue."
Richie glanced sideways at Kenshin, wondering if he was joking about the blue part. But Kenshin appeared to be serious. He'd hunched down into his coat, and looked cold -- the top was down on the Thunderbird and it was a cool morning. His skin was pale, making the crossed scar on his cheek stand out in bold relief.
There's a tragic story behind those scars, Richie thought -- then blinked, wondering how he knew that. Something tickled at his memory for a second then was lost.
"What happened to your cheek, if you don't mind me asking?" Richie asked, curiosity getting the better of his manners.
Kenshin was silent for so long that Richie thought he'd offended the man. Then Kenshin said, "One half was from a man I murdered as the Battousai. I later married his fiancé. She gave me the other half of the scar."
Bald, stark words. The look in Kenshin's eyes stilled any further curiosity that Richie might have had, despite the obviously juicy story there. It was a bleak, flat expression full of ancient sorrow and guilt. Richie said, "I'm sorry if I pried."
"I would rather people ask than stare, I would." Kenshin's smile was wan. "Do not feel bad for asking."
"So." Richie changed the subject, "Nice morning, isn't it?"
"Beautiful." Kenshin said, despite the fact that he was doing a pretty good turtle impression under his coat. He'd turned the collar up around his ears and had pulled his arms into the sleeves. "Richie-san, do you believe in reincarnation?"
Huh? Richie thought, puzzled by the abrupt change in topic from weather to metaphysics. "Like somebody being Cleopatra in a past life? Nah."
"Yet you believe in Immortal beings who cut off each other's heads to gain their experience and power." Kenshin sounded a little sarcastic and, somehow, a lot amused.
Odd dude, Richie thought. "Guess I've never really thought about it. I suppose it's possible."
"Yes." Kenshin said, simply, giving him a searching look.
Okay, I've officially reached my weird quotient for the day. Kenshin's expression was very, very strange -- distant, yet somehow intent. It looked like he was looking right through Richie. Richie gave him another glance, then turned his attention back to the road. He stopped at a light, drummed his fingers on the wheel, and waited for it to change.
Kenshin's cel phone buzzed; Richie jumped. Kenshin glanced at the display and then said, "My apologies, Richie-san, it is Heather's father. I need to take this call."
He answered the phone in Japanese. Richie couldn't follow the conversation, but he could certainly tell from Kenshin's expression that he wasn't happy. Kenshin didn't say much, just an occasional, "Aa." This continued for several miles. Richie could hear an angry voice -- tinny, but still loud -- coming from the phone. Heather's dad was sure reading Kenshin the riot act.
"Aaa. Atsuko-chan." Kenshin managed to get four syllables in when the man paused to draw a breath. Then, with apparent exasperation, Kenshin said, "Hai!"
The man continued, even louder now. Kenshin kept opening his mouth, as if attempting to say something, but the man's words continued unbroken. Richie wondered how he could breath. Kenshin sat there with one finger upraised for awhile, as if wishing the man would pause and let him say something, then leaned back against the seat, mouth closing. His expression became resigned.
"Aaa ..." Kenshin said at last, then something else -- and trailed off in mid-sentence. He pulled the phone from his ear, squinted at the display, then put it away and sighed. "Toshio-san would have me kidnap his daughter and send her home by any means necessary to be subjected to his temper."
"Are you going to?" Richie asked, curiously.
Kenshin didn't smile at all when he said, "I am his daughter's oathsworn guardian. He mistakes me for a servant."
"Can he do anything to you?" Richie wondered.
"He is a wealthy businessman who has many local political connections and he thinks he can make my life difficult for false documents." Kenshin said, sounding remarkably calm. "My papers, of course, are not legitimate. The current claim is that I am an American-born child adopted by Japanese relatives."
So he could -- what, get you arrested? Deported?"
With the same utter calm, Kenshin said, "No."
"Yeah?"
Kenshin gazed off into the distance, a small frown on his face. "This humble one has been helping people for a very long time. Toshio has only been making enemies. He gives orders expecting them to be followed and rages when they are not. He does not realize the resentment that he has created, this he certainly does not."
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The car ended up being a truck -- an older Chevy with a dent in one door and in dire need of new brake shoes judging by the squeaking, but otherwise in drivable shape. No rust, and not many miles on it. It was the first vehicle he'd seen that was in decent shape and in his price range.
Kenshin guided his new purchase into a gas station and walked inside to pay for fuel. He'd fix the brakes this evening -- that was a simple repair, and one he could do himself. He'd need to find a shop that sold the necessary parts and tools. Fixing things was an extension of cleaning things, and he was good at both. The truck needed a good wash, too. He'd do that after he fixed the brakes.
It was blue, and he was happy with that. He liked blue.
A strong buzz alerted him to the other Immortal's presence; he was not surprised to find that Soujiro was inspecting his new purchase when he returned to the pump.
"I like your wheels, Kenshin." Soujiro commented, as Kenshin gave him a brief look before pumping the gas.
"It runs well, it does." Kenshin said. "How did you find me?"
"I saw your hair as I was driving by. And I was looking for you and I thought you'd be close to the hospital or MacLeod's place. You know that I never pictured you driving at all."
"I'm just full of surprises, I am." Kenshin said, cheerfully.
He realize Soujiro knew where MacLeod lived, and his good mood slipped a bit. This wasn't a huge surprise; either MacLeod was listed in the phone book or Souji had found him through the Immortal grapevine. Immortals knew each other, and talked; it was only natural. And MacLeod, as good as he was, doubtless had plenty of enemies who'd be delighted to aim a very good swordsman in his direction.
Kenshin wondered why Soujiro hadn't challenged Mac yet. Was he just playing games or having second thoughts?
"So where are you headed?" Soujiro asked.
"I am going to the hospital. I'm will visit my niece. Then I'm going to fix the brakes on this vehicle, I am, because the shoes are worn out."
"Ah, and I suppose that you do not wish company on that errand. Very well, then."
He hesitated. Did he want Souji knowing what Heather looked like?
Maa, probably it wouldn't matter one way or another. Soujiro was obviously following him around, and would see Heather sooner or later. Soujiro didn't strike him as the type to involve others; if Souji wanted his head he'd simply challenge him for it -- or ambush him, if the challenge didn't work. Kenshin smiled cheerfully and gestured at the truck. "You can come, if you wish."
Soujiro blinked at him, then said simply, "No, thank you. But I will find you later."
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An aide at the nursing station hailed Kenshin as he stepped off the elevator. "Mister Himura!"
He walked over, hands in his pockets, concerned by the tone of voice. "Is something wrong?"
"You are Mister Himura, right?" The woman made a vague gesture in the direction of her cheek, then looked embarrassed to even be referring to his scars. Kenshin wondered what she'd think if she could see the rest of him. "They said you had red hair, and ah ..."
"A cross shaped scar on my cheek, yes." I am aware it is there. Did you think I had never noticed?
She turned a bright red. He felt sorry for his irritation with her, and simply asked, "Is it about Heather?"
"Y-yes. They moved her in to the locked psych ward an hour ago. We caught her trying to steal another patient's morphine. From the man's drip." The woman said, sounding more than a little mad. "I'm sorry, Mr. Himura, I know she's your niece, but I must say that ..."
"I know she has, as you would say in English, 'issues.'" Kenshin sighed, very heavily. "She also is -- was, I suppose -- a medical student, and she has volunteered in a hospital as well. You might keep that in mind in caring for her. She knows how to operate the equipment."
"Well, that explains a bit." The nurse rolled her eyes. "They're kicking her out as soon as she's done with detox. Four, maybe five, days. I'm sorry, but ... this isn't really a place for her. Her issues, as you say, are in her head, not medical."
Given how extremely thin she was, Kenshin would have debated the point about her problems not being medical. He'd seen starvation before and knew just how quickly things could go bad with someone that malnourished. Her resistance to infection had to be nil. However, he simply said, "Can you recommend a good private facility? Money is not a tremendous object."
She squinted at him. "You're dead set on help her, aren't you?"
"If I can." Kenshin met her gaze levelly. "I am aware that the Heather I knew as a child is lost, and may never be found again. But I have to try. I promised someone I would, on his deathbed."
"You're a funny one." The nurse shook her head. "Okay, look, the best private clinic in town is Marcy's House. I'll talk to her doctor and see if we can't get you a referral."
"I thank you." He smiled, and was rewarded by a brief smile in return from the aide.