Chapter 16

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Author's Notes:

Thanks for all the compliments, everybody. This story's wrapping up in the next chapter or two, but there will be a sequel largely 'cause I see people are actually reading this and liking it.

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Kenshin arrived home later than he'd anticipated; the boys had been fun -- he loved kids, he truly did. Mark was fourteen and cast as Romeo, his buddy Magnus -- Tybalt in the play -- was fifteen. Both were good boys, typical teenagers.

After they'd put the swords up, the two boys had insisted on showing him skate-boarding moves in a nearby culvert for half an hour. They were convinced, by the end of it, that Kenshin could be a champion skateboarder. Hiko would be so proud of me, Kenshin thought, with sardonic amusement, as he opened the apartment door.

"Kenshin?" Atsuko was in the kitchen, dicing vegetables. "Where have you been?"

"I got Heather involved at a local theater up the street, helping build sets. I helped a bit too. It was fun, that it was."

Atsuko paused her chopping and peered at him as if to make sure this was the same Kenshin she'd known for her entire life. "You've never been interested in the theater before."

"Heather is, though," Kenshin shrugged. "I'm going back tomorrow. Where's Heather?"

"I assumed she was with you." Atsuko's gaze registered a bit of alarm now.

Kenshin's heart skipped a beat. "She did not come home?"

"No, haven't seen her. I've been here about two hours."

Kenshin ran a hand over his head, dismayed. "I erred, apparently, in judgment. I am sorry, Atsuko-chan. I thought she could safely walk from the theater to here; it is only about a third of a kilometer and Bowie isn't going to be out and about for a long time. I broke his kneecap, that I did. He is not a threat to her right now. And it was the middle of the afternoon along a busy street."

"It's not your fault," Atsuko said, sounding distinctly aggravated. "She probably met someone. Odds are, she's stoned out of her head by now."

"I was sure she'd come straight home, that I was." Kenshin hesitated. "This doesn't feel right. I think we should look for her, Atsuko-chan, that I do."

"You're right." Atsuko sighed. "Oh, MacLeod called -- he found someone who's going to try to get your sakabatou out of the water tonight."

"He's a good friend."

"Since I didn't know where you were, he said he'd meet the guy there. He said they'd retrieve it at night to avoid attracting attention -- apparently, swimming isn't legal in those waters."

"That is good, it is."

"Here, this is for you." Atsuko grabbed a shopping bag off the table and tossed it to him. "Tess and I went all the way to Seattle to get it for you. You'd better wear it."

Kenshin pulled the contents of the bag out. It was a knee length leather coat, in his size -- but it was curiously heavy. It appeared to be lined with very heavy fabric.

"Some reporters are starting to wear those when out in the field on dangerous assignments. It'll stop a bullet from a handgun, or from a rifle if you're far enough away. It won't stop a slug from a rifle if you're too close."

"You got me a bullet-proof coat," Kenshin said, eying her with a little amusement. He had not been aware that bullet proof clothing came in anything other than bulky vests.

"Put it on, Ken-chan. It should fit. It's the same size as your duster was."

He shrugged into it. It fit well enough -- inevitably, it was too long in the sleeves, but he had his sewing kit and he could fix that easily -- and there was room under it for his sword. Drawing the sword up through the collar was going to be impossible, but he could reverse the sword, hang it upside down across his back, and draw it that way. It would work if he put a cord with a snap on the sheath to hold the sword in place.

"Thank you, Atsuko-chan. This is most thoughtful."

"It'll turn a blade, too."

"That's probably cheating, that it is," Kenshin said, picking the iaito up. He was smiling when he spoke.

After a moment's thought, he wrapped several lengths of cord around the hilt of the training sword and the harness to hold it in place and tried it on upside down. It felt awkward, but would work -- he could make a better harness and sheath for his sakabatou when he got it back.

"Think of it as armor, Kenshin," she hugged him suddenly, a purely friendly, platonic hug. Her hair smelled of strawberry scented shampoo. "I-I don't want to lose you. It'd break my heart. Will you wear it for me?"

"Aa. I'll wear it for you."

"Let's go find that worthless excuse for a niece," Atsuko said, voice suddenly and suspiciously hoarse.

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Soujiro didn't know if he should be exasperated or panicked. He'd searched the bad parts of the city for hours for Heather without any sign of her. By the angry, desperately hurting tone in her voice he was truly concerned she would hurt herself. He'd inadvertently pushed her buttons just right -- buttons he hadn't even been aware existed.

I'm not a monster, I'm not! Soujiro thought, viciously. I won't be responsible for some dumb chick killing herself because I accidentally broke her heart.

He figured he could have handled that much better. Though he was somewhat baffled as to why she had reacted so badly. I mean, if she'd just listened a moment longer, she'd have realized it's not personal.

Baka Immortal, He thought savagely at himself. You're over a century old. You should have known how to handle it better. You're just clueless most of the time.

People baffled him, sometimes and had since he was a child. The smile only gets you so far. She thought you were laughing at her. Stupid old man. Stupid, stupid.

It wasn't his fault. Really. So why did he feel so guilty?

Maybe I should go tell Kenshin what's up with his niece. But -- no. He made it clear that he wanted me to get lost earlier today. If he found out I made Heather upset, he'll be extremely angry.

Soujiro had no desire to face the Battousai, even if he was like to walk away alive. The last time had left his soul flayed to the bone. He still had nightmares about the horrible memories that Kenshin had dragged up for him during that fight.

Anyway, I don't want to challenge Kenshin. I like the guy, even if he does hate me. And he's emphatically not in the Game. Not a fair target.

Soujiro turned down Fifth Street. There were hookers here, clustering under the streetlights. Cars were parked suspiciously in otherwise empty parking lots. Other vehicles trolled by slowly, looking for trouble of various descriptions. A woman wearing an old army coat and sweat pants muttered obscenely at him from the alcove as he walked past.

He kept alert -- while unlikely to be permanently killed in a neighborhood such as this, being temporarily dead would be inconvenient and, likely, painful.

And area looked familiar -- he realized he'd been here only the night before, following Kenshin and Atsuko in their rescue of Heather. With sudden, sick realization he headed for the pier. She wouldn't. There's a twisted sort of poetry if she is there, or if she's ...

She hadn't jumped, but she was at the very end of the pier, visible as a skinny figure under the lights. The pier was at least a hundred yards long -- Soujiro, very quietly, began to pick his way towards her. The worn, weathered boards creaked underfoot until he began walking on the very edge where they were screwed into support beams. Then his approach silent. He would sneak up behind her, grab her so she couldn't jump, and make her listen, he decided.

Heather swayed as he watched, staggered a bit. High, he thought. He hurried towards her as quietly as he could -- she had her back to him, standing on the very edge. He could hear her now, saying over and over, "They hate me! They hate me!" in Japanese. And, "I'll never be anyone!"

Her clothing was rumpled. As he watched, she stumbled and nearly fell off. She was going to go for a dive into the drink accidentally, even if she didn't jump. He had absolutely no desire to go for a swim again in that frigid, trash-filled water.

Something warned her when he was a few feet away. She looked back, then said, "Leave me alone! You h-h-ate me!"

Her words were slurred, and her pupils enormous. She's not going to be rational, he decided, and simply put on a burst of speed, caught her before she could even react, and yanked her away from the edge.

It was like grabbing hold of a wildcat. Whatever she was on was probably not heroin -- or not just heroin. Nobody sober could have fought him like that, either. She screamed and thrashed, insane strength. He heard her shirt rip and buttons popped; she bit him on the arm and reflexively, he smacked her in the face with his free hand until she let go. She howled outrage when he caught her in a headlock and pulled her farther from the edge.

"Stop it!" He said, "Heather, damn it, stop!"

She tripped, fell, taking them both down. He landed on top of her, and used his greater weight to pin her down. She kicked and thrashed and bit him again. "Heather! Stop it!"

She was still screaming wordlessly when he felt the buzz of another Immortal.

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The damp hilt of Kenshin's sakabatou was comfortable in MacLeod's hand. The sword had been made by a master -- Mac held it up, studying it in the glow of the lights from the pier. It was very well made; the balance was perfect.

"Thanks for coming out. My friend will be happy to have this back."

"Not a problem," the diver said, looking around warily. Carlos had told Mac it was illegal to dive here -- but he was willing to do so for enough money, as long as they did it at night. (Night made no difference for finding the sword, he'd said -- the water was so murky that it was pitch black at fifty feet anyway.)

"That's a beautiful sword."

"Yeah, my friend was pretty upset to lose it." MacLeod said, walking back towards his car, parked by the pier. "I'll get it back to him tonight ..." That was when the buzz of another Immortal rolled over him, and a girl screamed.

"Trouble," the diver said, looking towards the pier.

"Ah, no, they're shooting another scene for the movie." MacLeod lied glibly. The cover story he'd given the diver for the loss of the sword into the water was, They were shooting a scene for a movie and an actor tripped and dropped it.

"You think I could watch?" The diver said.

"Afraid not. Listen, they need me ..." MacLeod shoved several bills at the man and headed in a run in the direction of the screaming.

Soujiro!

He saw Soujiro first then realized the man was laying on top of a girl, pinning her to the deck of the pier. She was screaming, thrashing, and her shirt was torn. Soujiro's arm was bleeding.

Heather -- Heather's cheek was bruised, and her howls were terrified and inarticulate. Her shirt was in tatters, gaping open.

"Let her go!" MacLeod held Kenshin's sakabatou menacingly, backwards, business edge in play.

"MacLeod!" Soujiro saw him over Heather's shoulder. She was trying desperately to get free.

"Let her go!" MacLeod growled, furious outrage making him almost literally see red. I knew he was trouble. I knew it. He was raping her!

Soujiro saw the sword and flinched. "You don't understand!"

"Get away from her, or so help me, I'll kill you right there!"

Soujiro rolled to his feet, his own sword flashing into his hand. MacLeod's swing for Soujiro's head was deadly serious and lightning fast and would have ended the fight right there if Soujiro hadn't dodged so fast that MacLeod felt the wind of his passing.

Heather, whimpering, scrambled away from them, found her feet somewhat clumsily, and stood staring with her hands over her mouth. MacLeod spared her only the briefest of glances. This is going to be a hell of a fight, he thought, watching Soujiro warily.

Soujiro's sword was a katana -- no surprise there -- but it was shorter than MacLeod's own. A light weapon, it would be wickedly fast.

But he relies on speed over defense, MacLeod forced his anger back, made himself focus. He intended to survive this fight and take the bastard's head. There had to be a way to use Soujiro's speed to his advantage.

"MacLeod!" Heather screamed, "Soujiro! Stop!"

"He's got to be stopped!" MacLeod snapped at her. "Stay out of the way!"

He and Soujiro circled each other warily. Soujiro balanced on the balls of his feet, watching him. "You're not good enough to defeat me, Mac."

"Try me."

Whoosh. He couldn't even see Soujiro move -- suddenly the guy just disappeared. Reflexively, Mac brought his sword up, and steel rang on steel with enough force to render his hands numb. He didn't look for Soujiro, he just kicked out with his foot, hoping to connect. His boot hit only air, and Soujiro was no longer in front of him.

A board cracked with a sound like a rifle shot behind him -- MacLeod's only warning. He flung himself aside, just one step, brought his sword up, parried a blow that was so forceful it felt as if it would knock the teeth from his jawbones -- then instantly reached over the blade to grab Soujiro's wrist before Soujiro had even slowed down. It was a blind, lucky snatch. He spun again, pulling Soujiro off balance while he was still moving and body checked him.

Soujiro flipped head over heels and rolled several times across the pier. When he scrambled back to his feet, he was limping badly.

"That was lucky," Soujiro said with a bright smile. "You won't be able to do it again."

"I'm going to have your head." MacLeod glanced again at Heather. The girl was clutching the front of her tattered blouse together, and sobbing. He wondered why she hadn't run away yet. He turned his attention back to Soujiro; this was truly a fight for his life and he knew it. Soujiro was right. He'd been lucky.

Once more he glanced at the girl. This was not good; she was likely to see someone die today.

Then he saw something else -- a chance to win this thing. Slowly, he backed away from Soujiro, who was watching him with a smile that wasn't really a smirk -- it was just blandly inoffensive, no real meaning behind it. Guy's a freak.

"Stop!" Heather cried, behind him. "MacLeod! Soujiro! Stop! Please!"

MacLeod backed up farther. Soujiro charged him, feet thundering on the boards ... until he hit the board that MacLeod had seen, a board with a big empty knothole right in the middle of it. The board snapped and Soujiro's foot went through the gap up to his knee.

MacLeod said, "Gotcha!" And Soujiro smiled below eyes that were utterly blank, emotionless. Macleod sprang forward, adjusting his grip and swinging Kenshin's sakabatou back for a hard, full-force, beheading blow. He would see this bastard dead.

Except the sword collided with something that yielded, and Heather grunted behind him.

"HEATHER!" Soujiro screamed, horror flashing into those empty eyes.

MacLeod spun around. Heather had been behind him -- running forward, he guessed. She tumbled down, blood streaming, pouring really, down from her arm. He could see bone, shattered bone, and there was so much blood. The sakabatou -- I adjusted how I was holding it out of habit, it's got a balance very similar to my own katana and I forgot what I was holding. I hit her with the sharp edge because the blade is reversed!

And -- beyond Heather, a small red-haired man stood, face gone dead white, scars standing out in terrible bold contrast. Kenshin. Kenshin was there. Kenshin had been watching.

Kenshin ran forward, stripping out of his coat and t-shirt as he did so. He fell to his knees at Heather's side and wadded the fabric against the horrible wound.

Kenshin's voice betrayed no emotion whatsoever when he said, "MacLeod, my cel phone is in my coat pocket. Please call an ambulance."

"He tried to rape her!" MacLeod stammered.

"I didn't!" Soujiro protested.

"Heather, what are you on?" Kenshin said, ignoring both of them and pressing hard on the wound. MacLeod could see the arm bending where it shouldn't. She didn't answer him.

Soujiro extricated his foot and eyed MacLeod, sword in hand. MacLeod tensed.

"BOTH OF YOU!" Kenshin shouted, voice desperate -- horrified. Amber glinted in his eyes, and real anger was on his face. "Put your swords away and help me out here!"

Soujiro's sword instantly vanished under his coat. MacLeod, chagrined, put his katana away. He went for the cel phone.

Soujiro fell to his knees beside Heather, and said, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry this happened, Heather!"

She whimpered wordlessly, eyes vague and unfocused. MacLeod wasn't sure how Kenshin could tell 'drugs' from 'shock' -- but Kenshin's words seemed to indicate that he thought Heather was high.

Kenshin moved aside, wiped his bloody hands on his pants leg, and said in a very quiet voice, "What happened here?"

MacLeod dialed 911 -- and to his dismay, found himself holding. It felt very wrong to call 911 and get put on hold! "C'mon! Pick up!" He paced restlessly, then stopped and stared at the scene with Kenshin and Soujiro and Heather.

Soujiro was crying, MacLeod realized -- tears streamed down the man's face. "I screwed up, Kenshin. I'm sorry!"

"What did you do?" Kenshin demanded.

"He tried to rape her!" MacLeod repeated, over the sound of hold music and repeated messages to please wait for the next operator.

"I didn't!" Soujiro denied, voice hoarse. He balled his fists, "I couldn't!"

"Soujiro, I think it's best that you leave," Kenshin said, quietly. His eyes met MacLeod's. MacLeod flinched at the expression there. Betrayal. And not at Soujiro.

All he saw was me hit her with the blade, MacLeod realized, with a chill. The emotion in those eyes -- gone completely amber -- froze him to his core. Those were the eyes of a killer. Hitokiri Battousai.

"I didn't!" Soujiro protested.

"I believe you, Souji." Kenshin said, quietly. He gave Soujiro a brief glance. It felt utterly unfair to MacLeod that Kenshin wasn't glaring at Soujiro with the same intensity. "Go. We will talk later."

Kenshin's cel phone beeped, and a voice said, "911, what is your emergency?"

"My friend's niece -- she's hurt badly ..." MacLeod said, staring in horror at the t-shirt Kenshin was holding to her arm. It was completely saturated through with blood. Veteran of a hundred wars, he was familiar with trauma and this did not look good. He told the operator, "She's bleeding badly. You have to get someone here in a hurry!"