Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or events taking place in "Rurouni Kenshin" by Nobuhiro Watsuki. Please don't sue me. I receive no money from this fanwork, only a writer's creative satisfaction. Also, reviews are always welcomed, read and cherished, but never necessary.

Title: Kaerigake, On the Way Home

Chapter 3: Fighting is a necessary evil when talking alone will not negotiate peace.

Word Count: 2,904

[Total Word Count: 6,250]

Fandom: Rurouni Kenshin

Character(s): Those souls who were once Himura Kenshin and Saitou Hajime.

Warning(s): Character death and reincarnation, bloody memories, nightmares, melancholy, violence

Author: Kita Kitsune (Call me Fox!)

Post date: Sunday, August 24, 2014 ・平成二十六年八月二十四日・日曜日

: : : : : : :

The Sekiguchi Martial Arts Academy wasn't a large school. It was one of those storefront locations that had been turned into a martial arts studio, complete with wall-sized windows all along the sides, to let light in. Kennan hesitated as he saw a class going on, but remembered the letter and stepped inside anyway. No one paid him a glance, for which he was thankful, and he moved over to the side to sit on the long bench next to those large windows, no doubt meant for the parents of those enrolled in the children's classes. He watched the lesson, feeling oddly at peace with the shouted Japanese words and ceremonial positions as the class moved as one in response to their instructor. He didn't recognize the man up front, and thought to himself that perhaps he had been a shade too paranoid in assuming the smoker from before had been the one to leave that letter with Kama. There had been a lot of people in the grocery store since last week, and any of them could have noticed his birthmark. Besides, the man hadn't exactly struck him as Japanese, or able to speak it, so really, Kennan was attributing too much to mere coincidences.

The class went on for an hour, and Kennan's calm at the atmosphere evaporated when the students filed past him, some casting him glances, eyes no doubt drawn to his birthmark. He felt awkward and out-of-place, and tried to seem invisible as the instructor came up to him with a smile on his face.

"Interested in a class?" He was a kind man – Kennan could tell by the warmth in his eyes – so he just smiled back, shaking his head.

"No. I was invited…" He trailed off as the man blinked at him.

"Oh, so you're the one Sensei had mentioned might drop by? His class was yesterday, and he's not here today. You a new friend of his?" Kennan felt a niggling surge of discomfort at this information. So the note hadn't come from this man, after all. He felt his paranoia rise again, and smiled, suddenly quite ready to leave. He shouldn't have come, at all.

"Ah… no." He shook his head, and tried to dart around the man in his white kendo uniform. "Simply a misunderstanding. Thank you for your time, it was quite an enlightening class, but I believe I shall be going, now – "

"In such a hurry to leave my dojo, Battousai?" That name made him freeze, again – he'd never heard it spoken aloud, so easily and so threateningly, like the men in his dreams did. He had a flash of a vision of a wolf in his mind before turning his head towards the voice. The instructor from today's class supplied a verbal reaction in the silence of Kennan's shock, sounding surprised.

"Sensei! I didn't expect to see you, today. Forget something?"

It was the smoker from last week. Only now he was dressed all in black, in a kendo uniform, a wooden sword held easily at his side in his left hand as though he was accustomed to it always being there. He was watching Kennan attentively, and Kennan felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise under the short cut of his hair. The smoker slowly smirked, never taking his eyes off Kennan even as he answered the instructor.

"I have a special private lesson, today." The smoker commented glibly, grey eyes pinning Kennan where he stood. Something old in him bristled at the intimidation, but it was hazed and ill-used, and further Kennan didn't know what to do with it, so he just stayed frozen. The instructor looked back at him, incredulously. Kennan barely heard their conversation, trying to make sense of the images suddenly springing into his head.

"Private lesson? You still do those?" The smoker strode towards them, and it was only now that Kennan noticed he had a wooden sword in his other hand, as well. It had been hidden behind his back when he first appeared.

"This is a special case." The smoker said smoothly, eyes never having moved from Kennan since the poor startled man had first turned to look at him. The instructor laughed, clapping Kennan on the back and startling him out of their stare-down, making him look up at that friendly grin in surprise.

"Oh, geez. Good luck, kid, he's a demon to first-timers."

Oni.

Kennan shook his head to clear the unexpected comment – it sounded like Makena's voice, oddly enough – from his mind, smiling weakly up at him.

"Oh, no, I don't really – " But the instructor had already turned his back to head for the door, bending down to gather his things. Kennan's distraction cost him, and he was jolted out of it by a sword smacking him in the arm before falling to the padded floor. He jumped in surprise, sending an incredulous look at the smoker, who just looked bored.

"I expected you to catch it." He offered by way of explanation, seeming unmoved by Kennan's sudden glare in his direction.

"I've never held a sword in my life!" Kennan shot back angrily, rubbing at his throbbing arm. The smoker assessed him, expression unreadable.

"More's the pity." They stayed that way for a moment, Kennan glaring and the smoker's expression never changing. "Well, pick it up." He sounded vaguely irritated, as though he were stating the obvious. Kennan frowned at him.

"I don't know the first thing about swordsmanship, and I don't intend to start now." He shook his head. "I don't like fighting." The smoker watched him, unimpressed.

"Everybody has to fight, sometime. Isn't it better to be prepared?"

"That's what the police are for." Kennan countered, feeling as though he had had this conversation before. He shook his head, trying to clear it from unwanted images that, really, had nothing to do with him. When he looked back at the smoker, the man was smirking.

"Funny to hear you say that. What if someone in front of you were attacked, then?" Kennan narrowed his eyes, having the feeling the smoker was trying to bait him.

"I would call the police, like any normal person." In the back of his mind, he knew that was a lie; he'd do that, but he'd also step in, of course he would. If he could do anything to help, he wouldn't let the attacker get away. The smoker smirked at him, again, as though able to tell he was lying by omission.

"What about if it were that girl? Kama?" Kennan tensed, that nonchalant tone nonetheless phrased like a threat. He glared at the smoker, again, but this time it was icy; warning.

"What about her?" He said, guardedly, and the smoker observed him in visible amusement before turning to walk to the center of the padded floor.

"Only a thought, Battousai, nothing more." Kennan flinched at the name, again, but resisted the urge to take a step forward as the smoker turned around, wooden sword still held loosely at his left.

"Why do you call me that? I've never met you, before." The smoker tilted his head, grey eyes calculating as he watched him for a moment.

"Not here." He said quietly. "But you know the name, don't you? Why else would you have come?" Kennan froze briefly at the truth – was he that transparent? – and the smoker took the chance to nod at the wooden sword lying by his feet. "Spar with me." Kennan remembered himself, at this, and stood firm.

"No. I don't fight for fun." The smoker lilted another smirk at him, challenging.

"This isn't for fun. This is for information. Don't you want to know why I could tell you a name you've only heard in your dreams?" Kennan felt his eyes widen, and that smirk on the other man's face grew wider.

"How do you – "

"I have them, too." The smoker said, seriously, grey eyes on Kennan's blue ones. There was a sense of vertigo when they met, this time, a sense of time tilting away, a fogged recollection of a sword stance – and then Kennan realized it wasn't just a recollection. The smoker had crouched into that same left-handed stance Kennan recalled from his dreams, wooden sword held parallel to the ground.

The left-handed thrust of the Shinsengumi, Hirazuki. Kennan's head ached at the unwelcome information. But, no, that was wrong. The name of this attack was –

"Gatotsu." The smoker said in perfect Japanese, plucking the word from Kennan's mind, not having taken his eyes off him. "Do you remember this stance, Battousai?" There was something in his mind that said he shouldn't pick up the wooden sword, something that indicated it would be a bad idea, but…

Gatotsu was dangerous. Shouldn't he be ready to defend himself, if need be? Still not intent on fighting, at this point Kennan slowly bent down to pick up the wooden sword, holding it loosely by the blade to show his unwillingness to fight.

"I don't want to fight you. Who are you, anyway?" The smoker only smirked at him.

"You'll have to fight me if you want to know. I don't expect you to win –" And, for some reason, that made Kennan's eyes narrow in affront, although of course he would lose to a teacher of swordsmanship… but even still, the sure confidence irritated. " – but at least put up a good fight." Kennan let the silence hang between them for a moment, unmoving, before inquiring softly.

"Why?" The smoker watched him, grey eyes intent, face stoic, body yet poised in its stance.

"I want to see what you remember." It was a cryptic response, and Kennan realized that this was the moment he should drop the wooden sword in his hand, turn around, and walk out. The smoker, he knew, wouldn't attack him unarmed and with his back turned. A stranger's curiosity had nothing to do with him, and if he left now it would be a clear rejection, and the man would have no reason to seek him out, again.

This is what he should do.

… And yet.

And yet, his dreams of swords and blood and fighting had plagued him for as long as he could remember. The man before him looked nothing like the wolf from his dreams, but the sense of danger was the same. This was a man Kennan should stay away from. A man who would kill him if he held back. A man –

Kennan froze, at the line his thoughts were taking, and noticed belatedly that his grip on the wooden blade in his hand had tightened to white-knuckled. The smoker was still watching him impassively; waiting for his response, watching with infinite patience for Kennan to sink into a stance, preparing to meet him. Kennan's fingers slowly crawled towards the hilt as his feet moved without his mind's express permission, walking him over to stand directly across from the smoker and his raised sword stance; a perfect line between them.

The smoker watched him humorlessly. Kennan felt a rush of deja-vu, but fought it off. He raised the sword in his right hand, so the tip was only a few inches from the floor. It felt natural. Inanely, he was bothered by the lack of a sheath, but he had fought without one, before. This time would be no different.

Kennan didn't feel dizzy, at the thought that was not his own. He was too focused on waiting for the smoker to make his move. Their eyes met, and time stretched for an undefinable time.

Some trigger set it off; perhaps it was the streetlights coming on, outside. The smoker lunged at him with a guttural cry, his wooden sword thrust out in front of him, aimed directly for Kennan's forehead. Startled, Kennan's first response was clumsy as he brought his own sword up to bat the attempt away from his face, the clack of their swords against each other loud in the silence of the dojo as he dodged to the left – but that was a mistake. A punch slammed into his right shoulder, hard, and he gasped at the pain, left hand shooting up to hold the hit area, casting an incredulous look at the smoker as he straightened out of the landing stance momentum had carried him into, glancing over his shoulder at Kennan.

His eyes gleamed.

"Is that all, Battousai?" Frustrated, Kennan didn't bother to correct him this time, fingers tightening on the hilt of the wooden sword in his right hand as he glared back at him. The smoker crouched back into that same left-handed stance, a smirk tugging at his mouth as he lunged again.

This time, Kennan dropped to the ground, out of the wooden sword's path, and darted to the smoker's left side, his own wooden sword smacking into the man's shins and making him fall. He heard a snarl, and for no other reason than intuition Kennan rolled to the side, feeling a sound of impact behind him before allowing the momentum to spring him to his feet. He looked behind him, turning as he did so. The end of the smoker's wooden sword was where Kennan had been, grey eyes narrowed with concentration as the man pushed himself up from the floor, without hesitation falling back into that same stance, once again.

This third time, Kennan felt his vision shift. An image of someone else in this stance, clad in blue and white, dropped unexpectedly over the reality of the man's black kendo uniform. As he lunged, it changed to that same picture of a man in a dark blue uniform doing the same, sword glinting in the dim lighting of the dojo as it sought his life.

The memory is what did him in, Kennan's eyes going wide as the real lunge made contact, the tip of the wooden blade digging into his right shoulder and making him cry out in pain as it flung him backwards, colliding with a gasp against the dojo's wall before crumpling to the ground, the wooden sword's hilt falling limply from nerveless fingers. His shoulder throbbed, it would no doubt bruise, but it wouldn't be hard to recover from since Saitou hadn't used a real blade. Why was he fighting with a bokken, anyway, that wasn't like him –

Eyes hazed with pain and not quite realizing his thoughts were muddled, Kennan struggled to push himself up with his own sword, but a smooth, cool curve of wood against his neck made him freeze and look up. The smoker was gazing down at him with thinly-veiled disappointment, his wooden sword held against Kennan's neck.

"If this had been a real sword, or I had used my full power, that would have killed you." He stated this impassively, but all Kennan could see was the cold dismissiveness in his eyes. "You're less of a challenge now than you were after ten years wandering around Japan, spouting your foolish pacifist ideology." Kennan grit his teeth, for some reason annoyed at the comments, although he couldn't place the reason in or out of context. The smoker's eyes flared with irritation. "You are pathetic, Battousai. Have these past 136 years made you forget everything?"

"I'm not Battousai!" It was a loud exclamation, but one Kennan didn't regret as he glared up at the other man from the floor, not making to move despite the harmless blade at his throat, still clutching his throbbing shoulder. "My name is Kennan and I don't even know you! Who are you, anyway? Why are you assaulting me? I've never done anything to you and it's not my fault if you think I'm somebody I'm not! Why are you taking it out on me? You really should get help for this, because I could report you for stalking me at my workplace, involving my friends – " He was interrupted by the sharp bark of a laugh as the smoker knelt down to his level, fisting his left hand in Kennan's shirt and pulling him forward so their mutual glares could meet, sword-holding hand with its knuckles pressed against the padded floor.

"You're not Battousai? Then why come at all? You had to have recognized the kanji. How did you know to try and catch me off-guard by using a floor attack?" His face turned grim. "It wasn't the first time. Don't you remember the Kamiya dojo?" Memories stirred at the name; a wooden room at dusk, swords flashing. The smoker's voice dropped, further. "I remember everything. How many lives have you lived, Battousai, that have dulled your hitokiri spirit so much? You've grown complacent." Kennan gasped at the second familiarly unfamiliar Japanese word – hitokiri – and shut his eyes against a sudden headache, trying to fight it off. But the smoker's voice was insistent.

"You remembered my name, for a moment, didn't you? I saw it in your eyes." That deadly tone was ripping into his brain and making Kennan's mind swim with pain, half-remembered thoughts trickling through new cracks threatening to break it apart.

"I – I don't –" The smoker pressed a hand into his injured shoulder, pinning him to the dojo wall, making Kennan's dizziness explode with renewed pain as the man hissed lowly at him.

"What is my name, Battousai?"

Those words rang in his ears as Kennan passed out.