Chapter 10

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Janey -- re: Richie -- I'm trying to stay within shooting distance of canon for this story, so Richie's going to be dealing with a nagging sense of deja vu and Kenshin is going, "Is he or isn't he?" and giving Richie funny looks, but I don't think I'll write anything more than that.

I do plan to write a sequel once I re-watch Highlander, set some years after this story -- which is set around 1992/1993.

There's three ways I can go with Richie in the sequel -- Richie's alive (season six never happened or the story is set during season five), Richie's already dead, or, alternately, I could go AU at the end of season five. I could write a fic where Kenshin somehow saves Richie from MacLeod. Each has problems and advantages that I've got to think through and I honestly don't know what I'm going to do. I need to watch Highlander back to front before deciding on something.

I'd certainly welcome input from readers on what they would like to see, and why. (Message me rather than put it in the reviews, please.)

Richie's death, by the way, was very unpopular in Highlander fandom. From a fan-reaction standpoint, it would be more like Kenshin killing Yahiko. Personally, I think that's when Highlander jumped the shark and I know it's when I stopped watching religiously. I still caught the occasional episode because, let's face it, Adrian Paul is hot. And Peter Wingfield (Methos) isn't bad either! But the magic was gone from the show for me after that point, and I was simply watching for the eye candy.

(Oh, one other note for the people who've mentioned age issues -- remember, this is set in 1992, season one of Highlander. So I need to edit things to correct his age, but by Western reckoning, he's about 142-143 in this story, not 156. However, I may have some age issues in this chapter that will be fixed in the final draft later -- re: Souji's age and Kenshin's age when they first started started fighting as kids.)

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Atsuko hated flying. She wasn't actually scared of flying, it was all the inconvenience surrounding it that she loathed. Airports were loud, and crowded, and dirty. They were either hot or cold, never any happy medium in between. Airplanes themselves were cramped and uncomfortable. Then there was the whole hassle of being separated from one's belongings ...

She waited, impatiently, for the other people to deplane. It had been four days since Kenshin had called her about Atsuko -- she'd have been here sooner, but it had taken a few days to find a flight, and the last minute flight had involved an overnight layover in Los Angeles.

The plane from LAX to Seacouver had been unbelievably cramped, every seat full. Worse, she had been surrounded by a Brazilian athletic team -- rugby? soccer? -- thwarting any attempts at conversation -- they didn't speak Japanese or English -- or any of the other dozen languages she spoke with varying degrees of fluency. Her knowledge of Portuguese began and ended with one rude word. Which she'd needed to use on one of the men.

God, she needed a smoke.

Finally, she followed the broad shoulders (and muscular butt) of the last soccer player out of the plane. The terminal was chaos. People shouting, nearly incoherent garbling from a loudspeaker, an ecstatic and noisy family reunion. At first, she didn't see Kenshin, but experience had taught her to look farther from the gate. He'd be in the background, not crowding forward with everyone else. She wasn't sure why he always held back -- either natural reticence, or perhaps simply a desire not to get trampled underfoot.

There.

Kenshin was an island of calm in the sea of people. Despite his small size, people gave him room; he seemed to own personal space all out of proportion to his height. Maybe it was the way he stood -- squarely, arms folded, expression neutral. And still -- so very, very still. He never fidgeted, never wasted motion.

When he saw her, that calm look changed to a smile.

"Kenshin!" She hurried towards him, hugged him. Under his coat, he was thinner than she remembered -- he probably hadn't been eating right again. She frowned, hating to feel that -- she knew just how precarious his life as an Immortal was, and he needed to eat right to be in peak shape.

"Oro!" He protested, "Atsuko, I'm glad to see you, but I can't breath!"

She let him go, stepped back, and regarded him with some amusement. The amusement quickly turned to concern, however, when she realized that his smile wasn't reaching his eyes. He looked drawn, and the smile faded too quickly.

"Is it that bad?"

"Oro?"

She was amused, a bit, at being able to draw two oros out of him that quickly. He realized, however, that she'd read his expression, and he sighed, and said, "Heather. Akane. Yes. It's that bad. I fear she's lost to us."

While they walked to the baggage carousel, he explained, "According to her doctor, she palmed a syringe somehow -- we're still not sure how -- and used it to draw morphine out of a cancer patient's IV drip. I am somewhat unsure if I even want to help her, at this point."

"Your oath," Atsuko murmured, quietly. She rested a hand on his shoulder, tugged until he stopped walking and turned to face her. Yeah, despite his words, he was hurting, and not just because of the oath. Because this stubborn, kind, compassionate man truly hated to fail at anything, much less with one of his kids. His eyes were the darkest she'd seen in a long time, and when he met her gaze again, she saw grief there. He was mourning already, though the girl wasn't dead. Yet. Mourning a child they'd both known and loved.

"A promise, yes. It's frankly the only reason I'm still here, Atsuko. I must try. But I fear I should have done more, earlier, rather than trusting Akane to have some common sense." He spoke frankly. Strangers swirled around them, hurrying past. "If I'd followed her here a year ago ..."

"Kenshin, you can't blame yourself for her idiocy. You may not be mortal, but you're also not perfect." She sighed, and changed the subject. "So you said you have an apartment?"

"Yes. It's month to month, and not in the best neighborhood, but it's close to friends and close to a clinic where Atsuko will be receiving treatment."

"Inpatient?"

"No." Kenshin sighed, and said with quite a bit of anger threatening to erupt in his voice, "She's refusing inpatient treatment. We can't force her without involving the law. And that will likely result in her being deported. As it is, she's lucky the hospital didn't call the cops over the stunt with the morphine."

"Ouch." Toshio is in Japan; her being deported is something we want to avoid. My sister was and is a fool for putting up with that bastard, Atsuko thought, with some venom.

"Yes." Kenshin agreed. This time it was his turn to change the subject. He said, "So how many suitcases did you bring?"

"Not that many," she protested, with a laugh. "Not given that I expect to be here a long time!"

"We'll need a cart, I see," his grin was teasing, even if his eyes remained dark and troubled. He was making an effort, she realized, to cheer her up. And dang it, she was going to let him.

"Maybe two," she said, and forced herself to laugh at the wide-eyed look he gave her. She fluffed her hair -- short, cut just above the ears, girlishly young despite her forty-five years -- with one hand and pouted prettily at him. "After all, a girl needs her stuff to look her best when she's living with the man of dreams."

"It'll take more than a few suitcases of clothes to look your best, old woman," he retorted, grinning. Then ducked, when she swatted him with the back of her hand.

"Ah, only two suitcases of clothes and crap, and that's one more than I usually bring and you know it. The rest ..."

"... Is enough cameras to equip an entire tour bus of tourists." Kenshin snickered.

They both sobered, though, too quickly. It just wasn't that funny.

"Are you very tired?" He asked, politely.

"Why do you ask?" She realized belatedly that she'd missed a chance to make him blush. Darn. There had to have been some sort of innuendo she could have made out of that. Ah, well, probably not the right time. It's more fun when there's an audience, anyway.

"Because if you're not, we have an invitation to eat with MacLeod and Tessa and Richie."

"MacLeod's the other Immortal you mentioned?" She'd never met anyone else like Kenshin; this was, she knew, probably deliberate on his part. He didn't want to put her in danger. Apparently, he trusted MacLeod quite a bit.

"Aa. Tessa's his girlfriend and Richie's his -- well, I would say apprentice, but I believe MacLeod may use another term, I'm not sure. They're all good people."

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Mac sat alone at a table, nursing a drink and waiting for the others to arrive. The drink was non-alcoholic, he'd taken Kenshin's warning about Soujiro reasonably seriously.

As promised, Kenshin had swung by the store earlier that day to help Mac decipher some kanji that Mac was unfamiliar with. Tessa had invited the little Immortal out to dinner when she'd heard his friend was arriving in town. MacLeod was not unhappy about this; he'd rather rapidly become fond of the guy. He reminds me of Darius, only with more of an edge. He's younger, and he lives in the world -- in truth, he rather seems to like the modern world -- rather than hiding from it.

MacLeod sipped from a glass of wine and leaned back in his chair. This was a small, friendly neighborhood bar and grill -- one of a dozen in the gritty industrial neighborhood he called home. Tessa and Richie would be arriving later, after they ran a few errands. Kenshin and his buddy were due any minute. In fact ...

A buzz warned of the arrival of another Immortal. For half a second, Mac assumed it was Kenshin, then he realized that the owner of the buzz was significantly more powerful than Kenshin -- on par with Darius, or Connor, or any of the centuries-old people he knew, for strength. He sat up in his chair, eyeing the entry. This could be nothing: it could be a good guy, or it could be a problem.

The man who entered was slim, average height, and nobody MacLeod knew. Asian, but no particular distinguishing characteristics. He was a couple inches shorter than Mac's own height, which wouldn't be a significant difference in a challenge. Solidly built, too -- they weighed about the same. His face was round, youthful; he'd been in his mid to late twenties when he'd died the first time. He was fit, without an ounce of spare flesh on his lean frame.

The man scanned the room, spotted MacLeod, and headed over. "Hello. I hope you don't mind me joining you."

His voice was pleasant, and held not a trace of any accent other than an American one. Somewhat impolitely, Mac said, "You are?"

"Ah, forgive my lapse of manners. I'm Soujiro Seta. I already know you're the Highlander. Duncan MacLeod."

"Kenshin said you planned to challenge me," MacLeod said, conversationally. "I'd rather not."

This got him a bright smile. "I've heard that before."

MacLeod's internal warning bells screamed loudly. Uh-oh. The guy had just tagged himself as trouble. If he'd challenged immortals who didn't want to fight, that automatically made him a bad guy in in MacLeod's head. Furthermore, MacLeod had already decided the man was probably good with a sword -- he had that certain dancer's grace, the cat-footed poise, of someone with very good reflexes and a high degree of athletic skill. His hands, resting calmly on the table, were callused. He had no obvious major scars, unlike Kenshin's battered body, but there were a few old, faded nicks on his fingers. He was lithe, not really skinny, just not overly bulky. So he'd be quick and have a reasonable amount of power.

Kenshin had said, He's faster than me, and MacLeod had doubted it at the time.

Be interesting to see the truth, there. But -- hopefully not. He didn't really want to fight this man. Though a nagging sense of responsibility said that maybe he should.

"I make a habit of not fighting if I can avoid it," MacLeod said, mildly, "But I've taken my share of heads. Some of them have been from people ages older than you."

"I'm evil," the man said, with the same bright smile. "Don't you wish to stop me? If you let me go, I might kill people you consider friends."

MacLeod regarded the man levelly. He took that as a blanket threat, and not a generic statement. Richie, if the guy was going after Quickenings. And either Tessa, or Richie, if he was trying to provoke MacLeod. He said, quietly, "Where do you want to meet?"

Which was when another buzz, quieter, warned of the approach of a third Immortal. Both of them looked towards the door; Soujiro said, in annoyance, "Kenshin," and didn't offer a location.

"Yes. We were going to eat dinner together." MacLeod said. The thought of food made his stomach curdle, now.

Kenshin stood in the doorway with his friend behind him. He'd simply said a friend was coming; he hadn't mentioned it was a woman -- and pretty. She was a few inches taller than Kenshin, with hair bobbed short just above her ears, and stylish jeans and a sparkly t-shirt on. MacLeod took her for about twenty at first, then revised her age upwards a bit. Older, but dressing young, and with naturally clear, beautiful skin.

Kenshin himself was glaring at Soujiro. Those were not the eyes of the same friendly, funny man MacLeod had gotten to know before.

"Hello, Himura-san," Soujiro said, "You brought a date."

Kenshin glanced at Atsuko. "This is my friend Atsuko Sagara."

Soujiro's eyebrows rose. He gave the woman a second look for reasons that MacLeod didn't entirely understand. In response, she folded her arms and glared back at him. MacLeod realized, belatedly, that the woman was rather athletically built. She had muscles in places women normally didn't.

Oh, wait, Sagara. That was also Heather's last name. So this was a relative to the girl; not really a relative to Kenshin.

"Atsuko, this is Duncan MacLeod, and Soujiro Seta."

In Japanese, she said, "They're so cute, Kenshin-san."

"And they both speak fluent Japanese, that they do." Kenshin said, in English, with a grin.

To Atsuko's credit, she didn't blush. She simply grinned at them, and sat down in a chair -- Kenshin, with another dirty look at Soujiro, sat down also.

"So I understand that you are one of Sagara Sanosuke's descendents?" Soujiro said, with amusement, to Atsuko.

"He was my great-grandfather." Atsuko explained. Pointedly, she asked, "Did you fight him?"

MacLeod gave her another sharp look, weighing her appearance and her apparent friendship with Kenshin. Apparently, this women knew quite a bit about Immortals. Friend, right. He wondered just how much of a friend this woman was. The, They're cute comment might have been her teasing a lover, or a comment between two friends. He wasn't sure.

"No. Only Himura." Soujiro met Kenshin's frankly cold gaze with a hint of a smile.

"How is it that both of you are still walking around after that fight?" MacLeod asked, feeling a bit adrift here, and wanting to know exactly where the two stood.

"Himura-san won," Soujiro said, readily, "And he will not kill. Also, I was not Immortal then. I'm not sure about Himura's status."

Kenshin shrugged, not answering the question about his mortal status at the time. MacLeod frowned at Soujiro and revised his estimate of the man's age downwards. Kenshin was about a hundred and forty years, give or take; Soujiro had known him as a mortal. Therefore, Soujiro couldn't be older than Kenshin.

He'd taken a lot of heads to be that powerful that quickly.

"How is your niece?" Soujiro asked.

Kenshin gave MacLeod an unreadable look, then said mildly, "Not doing well, I am afraid."

"You'll be happy to know Shark did as you said. I asked, later. I have a friend in the police department." Soujiro said, with another bright smile. "He was the laughing stock of the precinct for days, apparently."

Kenshin said mildly, "Sometimes humiliation is good for the soul."

Soujiro smiled.

"Ah -- did you two do something to Shark?" MacLeod asked, puzzled and intrigued. Was, or wasn't, Soujiro a bad guy? He was finding it very difficult to read the man. And how did Kenshin fit into this. He'd thought Kenshin was strictly on the side of the light, but Soujiro didn't seem to consider him an outright enemy.

"Yes, Kenshin, what did you do this time?" Atsuko said, with some amusement.

This time? MacLeod observed, Does he make a regular habit of playing vigilante superhero?

"Kenshin," Soujiro said, with apparent appreciation, "Scared that bastard so badly that he pissed his pants. Broke his fingers, too. Then he ran and confessed all his sins to the cops without mentioning Kenshin once. I am most impressed."

Kenshin sighed. He wasn't gloating or gleeful about this. "He was a crook and he hurt Heather. And he shot me, and that would have been murder if I were not Immortal. When he reached for a gun again, I broke his hand with my sakabatou. He will not shoot a gun with any accuracy for a very long time."

"You should have cut his hand off." Soujiro suggested.

"He could have then died of the blood loss." Kenshin shook his head. "I will not kill."

Just, apparently, maim. Still, it sounded like the guy had it coming. MacLeod couldn't entirely say he disapproved, especially since the man had effectively gotten away with attempted murder when he'd shot Kenshin -- and a man who killed once would do so again.

That thought made him look at Kenshin with a frown. Ah, perhaps with a few exceptions. But the crimes Kenshin committed were during a war. He was a soldier fighting for his side -- call him samurai or not, it amounts to the same thing. That's different than murder for personal reasons. And he was fighting for a cause he believed in, even if he was disillusioned later. That's a mark in his favor in my book.

Kenshin met his frown with a puzzled look. MacLeod raised an eyebrow at him and glanced at Soujiro, hoping that Kenshin would give him some sort of clue about how to handle the other Immortal. Kenshin shrugged, almost imperceptibly. He wasn't sure either, then.

Atsuko finally said something in English, proving she could, in fact, speak the language -- though her accent was distinctly odd and not entirely Japanese. Australian, maybe? Hard to tell. "So Soujiro-san, do you live around here?"

He gave her a surprised look, apparently not expecting small talk. Atsuko grinned at him again. She added, "I'd just like to know in case you and Kenshin get in a fight. The last time he did, both he and the other Immortal expired, and I ended up taking both of them home because the cops had been called." She added, with some apparent aggravation, "I still have blood stains in my car."

"You should have said something to me. Hydrogen peroxide," Kenshin suggested, "Will take them out."

"You would know that." Atsuko's laugh that was blackly amused.

"This one has done lots of laundry, he has." Kenshin agreed, with a smile. MacLeod had no idea what that was about except, apparently, that it was a shared joke between Kenshin and Atsuko.

"As for where I live -- San Francisco, at the moment." Soujiro said, "I settled there around 1890."

"Well, that explains why our paths haven't crossed," Kenshin said.

"Yes." Soujiro agreed.

Atsuko said, "I was there after the Northridge earthquake -- I'm a photojournalist by profession. On hiatus, right now -- I just got back from covering the war in Iraq and they're giving me some down time. (1) San Francisco's a beautiful city. Has it recovered well?"

Soujiro's smile was genuine, this time. "Yes, it has. You should see it now."

Kenshin's smile was perhaps a bit forced when he said, "Perhaps we shall come to visit you, after you go home. I'm sure you could be a very good tour guide of the city, you could."

MacLeod realized at last what Kenshin was playing at. What had Connor said? There's a few evil immortals who joined the priesthood because of the runt, or something to that effect. He was trying to befriend Soujiro. MacLeod had a whole new set of misgivings over that tactic.

Soujiro glanced at MacLeod, then abruptly stood up. "We shall talk later, MacLeod." He nodded at Kenshin, and said, "Enjoy your meal, Kenshin."

"You didn't mention your enemy was so handsome, Kenshin," Atsuko said, elbowing him, after Soujiro had left. "

Very quietly, and with no trace of humor whatsoever, MacLeod said, "He threatened my friends."

Kenshin glanced over his shoulder in the direction that Soujiro had gone. Then, soberly, he turned back to MacLeod. "He was an assassin in my time, Mister -- ah, Mac-san. I would watch them closely. I will also keep an eye on them for you.

He paused, then added, "He was an assassin at about twelve years of age -- I'm not entirely sure how old, precisely, but very young. I'm sure you've encountered boys who've had similar stories because every war seems to have some. Children who give up their childhoods to become men too soon and can never go back to what they were ... He was ... damaged ... even before, I think, which didn't help."

Aye. I know the type. Including, MacLeod thought, The grown up boy sitting in front of me right now. MacLeod had dug up some historic references to Kenshin -- or Hitokiri Battousai has he had been known. Kenshin had been thirteen when he'd gone to war, it seemed. Too young. The books had contained some biographical information; it seemed Kenshin's parents had died of cholera, and he'd been orphaned as a small boy. In Japan, during that time period, that had to have been terribly hard. Not much was known about his master Hiko; obviously, he'd learned sword fighting from someone very, very good. You didn't learn to fight like that without being taught by the best from the beginning, and from a very young age.

He'd mentioned a hard master to Tessa. Tessa had told Mac and said she felt sorry for him; MacLeod wasn't entirely sure that was the appropriate response. That hard master had likely taught Kenshin the skills needed to survive in a world where people twice his size were out for his head. Harsh, yes, but necessary. He wondered what Kenshin would say, if he asked Kenshin of his opinion of Hiko.

Amazing how well he turned out, really. He could have been a monster instead of, apparently, a hero.

MacLeod was willing to bet that Kenshin's parents had been loving people, to produce a son with such a profound respect for live and such a notable tendency to form lasting and close friendships. A hard life later would not erase those early influences.

The faint buzz, almost undetectable, of a pre-Immortal warned MacLeod that Richie was coming. Richie, followed by Tessa, entered, walked over, sat down. "Whew. You guys are going to work me to death."

"Richie-san would rather be lazy, would he not?" Kenshin teased. Before Richie could reply with a sharp retort, Kenshin introduced his friend, "Richie, Tessa-dono, this is Atsuko-chan, Heather's aunt."

"Hii," Richie held his hand out across the table for Atsuko to shake, while Tessa simply gave the woman a measuring look. "I'm Richie Ryan."

He tilted his head sideways, studying her for a second, then said, "Heather sure has some young aunts and uncles."

Richie glanced significantly at MacLeod, raised an eyebrow. Mac shook his head. Not an immortal, Richie. Also, older than you think. There was no way to convey that latter information to Richie without being rude to Atsuko, however.

Dryly, Atsuko said, "Now you're a charming young man. And handsome."

Kenshin coughed and gave Atsuko an alarmed look.

In Japanese, and with a glance at MacLeod, she said, "Oh, relax, Kenshin. He's too young, I know. I might be back in four or five years, though the best ones are usually taken by then ..." Atsuko gave Richie a teasing smile. Richie, who certainly had no idea what she had said, but who saw the look she gave him, promptly blushed clear up to his hairline and -- when a server appeared with a menu -- opened it up and pretended to be fascinated by the meal choices.

MacLeod grinned. Kenshin sighed. "Woman, you are incorrigible."

"And you love me that way." Still in Japanese. She switched back to English, "So Tessa, I understand you and MacLeod run an antique store?"

"Yes," Tessa said, "It's something of a labor of love ..."

"Cameras ..." said Kenshin, just as Atsuko said, "Do you have any old cameras?"

Kenshin snickered, Atsuko swatted him with her menu, then sighed, and said, "I am predictable, I suppose."

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When MacLeod returned to his car, sometime late that evening, he found a note stuck under the windshield wiper. It simply said, in neat printing, "Warehouse at Seventh and Elm, in two weeks, at midnight."

The others were trailing behind him -- Atsuko had said something to make Richie and Kenshin both howl in outrage, and Tessa giggle hysterically. Richie spluttered, "Women!" and Kenshin said, "Maa, maa!!" and Atusko said, "Gomen, gomen, gomen, Kenshin! But you know it's true!"

They were not paying attention to MacLeod. He pocketed the note, and looked grimly at his friends, knowing the dark night would hide his expression.

Tessa, the love of his life. Richie, who he'd come to care for as a son. He couldn't risk them. He would accept the Challenge.

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(1) First Iraq war.