A/N – Another crossover with the Last Samurai. Two drabbles on Tom Cruise's miraculous slow-motion sword fight. And one because I love poor Mr. Graham.
Disclaimer – I don't own Ruroken or the Last Samurai. No money was made in the writing of this fic.
Threads
1. Watcher
Katsumoto has been dismissed from the Emperor's Council. His followers, indignant on his behalf, are ripe for trouble; his enemies, sensing his weakness, gather like vultures, ready to attack. The blood-moon rides high in the sky, and Kenshin's old instincts stir uneasily.
It is a good night for bloodshed.
He watches it unfold from the shadows, longing to intervene. The gai-jin who rode into Tokyo in Katsumoto's train – an American hired to train the Emperor's army, not join with his enemies – heads blindly into an ambush, racing from the Imperial barracks to warn the Councillor of his impending assassination.
And now the foreigner who would turn traitor to his own kind is surrounded in turn.
The attacking thugs circle him, drawing their knives and guns. Slowly, the foreigner draws his sword and sinks into position. Kenshin's eyes narrow. He can feel the gai-jin's kistirring, can feel the focus of his will as he breathes slowly in and out –
A sword is a weapon.
No mind.
Kenjutsu is the art of killing.
No mind.
Six armed men attack a lone foreigner, and are cut down one by one by one, until only the gai-jinremains.
2. Good Riddance
The normally crowded streets are almost empty. Inns, ale-houses and shops that would normally be bustling with customers are closed up, windows tightly shuttered; the good citizens of Tokyo know better than to become involved in anything that involves armed men and samurai.
And so Saito does not expect to find any witnesses.
The cobblestones are stained with blood. The air is heavy with the smell of it, thick and sickly-sweet; with the ease of long practice, he suppresses the urge to gag.
"Was it…a hitokiri?" the young policeman beside him asks nervously.
Saito's eyes narrow thoughtfully. His instincts are silent. It is well-trained work, yes, but this has none of his brutal elegance. Besides, political assassination is not Katsumoto's style; he is too grimly honourable for Katsura's methods.
Most likely it was one of Katsumoto's men heading back to save his master. The dead men are nothing more than hired thugs, amateur killers; he recognizes one of Omura's henchmen, and some fierce, untamed part of him rejoices.
3. Reunion
"Oh dear, oh dear," Graham mutters to himself, wringing his hands nervously. He was not suited to this sort of thing; he was an interpreter, a failed diplomat, not a soldier or a spy. Really, this brought back all kinds of unpleasant memories of Kyoto, and the mess he had got into back then.
"Mr. Graham." A low voice – a familiar voice – spoke from the shadows.
"Oh, God!" he sputters, his hands shaking uncontrollably. It was bad enough meeting Katsura at the reception, but the Minister was far less terrifying than this particular ghost of the Bakumatsu.
Still, an Englishman to the core, he gathers his courage and turns around. He doesn't wonder how the assassin slipped into the heavily guarded Embassy; he'd collected enough ghoulish stories of his prowess to believe him capable of anything. And that was before he'd seen him in action on a dark, blood-stained night.
Battousai steps out of the shadows, and for a moment Graham thinks him the same young, fiercely reserved killer who had saved his life so long ago. But years have passed, and there is a greater depth to him now –
"Himura-san," the Englishman says, managing a sickly smile.
The assassin comes further into the room, and the fire plays over his copper-bright hair and feral gold-brown eyes. "You were seen at Katsumoto's compound earlier this evening, Mr. Graham – you and the American president." Unbelievably, his eyes crinkle with amusement. "I would leave Tokyo immediately if I were you."
Graham shudders. This is what came of meddling in Japanese politics: a terrifying assassin coming to his rescue once more, dragging him from his safe, secure routine and into a nightmare. Some part of his flustered panic must have shown, because Battousai reaches out and grasps his forearm, stilling his restless fluttering. Graham freezes, remembering the terrifying young boy and his hair-trigger reflexes.
"If you wish it," Battousai offers, "I will escort you through the streets as I did before, and see you on your way." There is compassion, and humour, and even some sort of understanding in his voice.
Perhaps that is why Graham accepts his offer.
Afterwards, though, he manages to avoid telling Katsumoto and Captain Algren how he got out of Tokyo.