A/N – Why did it take the government so long to catch up with Kenshin? My theory is that he had friends in very high places. In 1870, Katsura makes Kenshin one last promise.

Disclaimer – I don't own Ruroken. Katsura-san is long dead. Don't sue me.

Old Ghosts

1870

Yokohama.

The strange, Western style carriage conveyed him swiftly along the docks, the rattle of the wheels and the horses' hooves loud and intrusive. He would greatly prefer to travel on foot or on horseback, but appearances, as he well knew, were vitally important – especially when dealing with foreigners. He was a high-ranking Imperial Minister now, not an anonymous rebel leader.

One thing, at least, had not changed – three bodyguards flanked the carriage, their eyes alert and constantly searching for danger. Since he first came to prominence among the Choshu rebels, he hadn't taken a single step without guards beside and behind him. Times and circumstances had changed, fierce samurai guards becoming tight-lipped soldiers in western-inspired uniform, but these men, or men like them, had been with him through the Bakumatsu, the civil war, and beyond, and he trusted them absolutely.

There had only ever been one man in whom he had placed more trust – but Himura was gone, now. Katsura had deliberately turned his back and let him go, knowing that others would not scruple to bind him to the new government. The new era had not miraculously dawned with the Emperor's ascension; there was still great need for hitokiri, and shadow killers.

But not the fey, tragic child-killer, Battousai. Not if Katsura could help it.

As the carriage pulled up and one of his bodyguards dismounted, hurrying to let down the step so he could descend, Katsura looked out across the Yokohama docks, a bustling mixture of sailors, porters, merchants, guards, thieves and criminals of all kinds. For a moment, he blinked. One of the guards was a short, slight figure wearing a straw hat that cast his face into deep shadow. Memory struck, and he saw Kyoto, smelled the rank air of intrigue, treachery and blood –

The figure turned, and the bright sun caught the trailing edge of his long hair, bringing copper fire to life against a faded, patched gi. As he stared, shocked and amazed, the man glanced back at him, and Katsura knew.

It was Himura.

Across the distance, across the years, they stared at each other, until Katsura inclined his head and made a small, short hand gesture that they had both known very well during the Revolution.

Himura nodded.

Later that night, alone in his room, Katsura felt more than heard the shadow enter through the window. Despite himself, he felt a thrill of fear –

"Katsura-san," came the low, soft voice.

The darkness in his room was too thick to see much more than shadowy outlines, but he knew that voice, and he knew that presence – it had stood at his back more times than he cared to remember.

"Himura," he acknowledged, relaxing. "It has been a long time."

"Two years," Himura answered. There was a soft whisper of sound, and Katsura imagined him placing his sword by his side and kneeling, silently as always. "You are an important Minister now. Congratulations."

Katsura laughed softly. "And you have just evaded the administrator's security and entered my room without alerting my bodyguards. You have not lost your skills."

There was a moment of taut silence. "I am what you trained me to be, Katsura-san. Why did you ask me to meet you, if you only wanted to test me? I proved myself to you seven years ago."

"Suman, Himura," Katsura bowed his head in apology. "I did not wish to test you. I wished to speak with you one last time – there were things unsaid, at Toba Fushimi." He felt rather than saw Himura relax. "It has been two years since the new era began." It was easier to speak like this, in the dark, without having to look this man in the eye and see what he had made of him. "In that time there have been numerous challenges to the new regime, many of them coming close to destroying us. Every time we face a new threat, my compatriots come to me and demand that I recall you."

"Katsura-san –"

"No, Himura, I have not been keeping tabs on you. When you left, I did not want to know where you went, so that I could truly say you had disappeared. But there will always be someone who will try to seek you out. I want you to know that I will protect you, for as long as I can…"

His voice trailed off into silence, filled with old memories and old regrets. Thus it had been at Otsu, when he had apologized for the girl's death and Himura had first told him of his intention to leave when the fighting was over. Thus it had been at the last at Toba Fushimi, when Himura had laid his two swords on the ground, bowed deeply, and left silently, noiselessly, like a ghost of ancient legend. Thus it was now, when, seven years too late, he promised to protect a young, idealistic boy from those who would use his skills for their own ends – even himself.

He could feel Himura's eyes on him, and wondered, not for the first time, just how much the former assassin could see in the dark.

"Thank you, Katsura-san." There was a soft rustle, a sense of movement, as Kenshin bowed, and moved soundlessly towards the window. If Katsura had not been so familiar with how quietly and gracefully he moved, he would not have sensed the window sliding open –

"Himura," he said, one last time, "I never thanked –"

"You did not need to." And with that, he was gone.

Katsura stayed as he was, kneeling in the shadows, until the open window finally drew his bodyguards' attention.

1878

"I don't believe it, Yamagata-sama. Hitokiri Battousai? It's been more than ten years since he walked away from Toba Fushimi – how could he have stayed hidden for so long? A red-headed man, with such a distinctive scar on his cheek; surely someone would have reported him."

Yamagata's mouth tightened. "He had friends in very high places."

"Then why would he choose to be a vagabond? If I had such important connections, I would have made use of them for sure…"

The general tuned out the captain of the sword police's mindless remarks and thought of the man he had seen that morning. Himura Kenshin, the rurouni, was very different from what he had once been, ten years ago. Ten years of aimless wandering that had seen his extraordinary skills squandered on peasants when they should have been used for Japan, in the defense and protection of the Meiji government.

What had Katsura been thinking, to simply let him go? And then to use all of his considerable influence to keep him in obscurity. Ten years had been wasted by one man's indulgence and misplaced guilt.

But no longer.

Katsura was dead, now.