Out of Time

Chapter 4: Discussions

1865

Hiko sat in front of the man, and watched in amusement as he quickly drank the cup of sake. Hiko refilled it, not quite sure why he’d found that so interesting. If this really was his baka deshi, then the boy had better be able to drink. He’d been practically raised on sake. But how could this be the boy he trained? He was older. That much was certain. This man was different, and it unnerved Hiko, because he wasn’t sure what to make of him. His violet eyes seemed as clear and bright as the day Hiko had first taken him in, but at the same time they were unfathomable. Hiko couldn’t read him at all. He could only sit and make guesses. This man, this older Kenshin, seemed frighteningly like him in all the ways that mattered. Hiko could almost predict his actions, not by reading his ki, but by predicting his own reactions.

“Kenshin?” He had to ask. There was no one else he could be. Not with that hair, and those eyes. But Hiko had to hear him say it.

Kenshin nodded shortly. His voice was soft and gentle. “I know this is strange, that it most certainly is. But I need help. I don’t know what has happened to me, and you are the only one I thought could help. Kyoto is too dangerous here… now. I might kill again.”

Hiko drank his third cup of sake, and finally tossed it down, this time drinking directly from the jug. The cup wasn’t doing much for him. “How old are you?” he asked, before drinking some more.

Kenshin blinked in surprise, his cup halfway to his mouth. “Oro? Thirty. Why?”

Hiko choked, nearly dropping the jug, and inhaling as much sake as he’d swallowed. He began coughing, as Kenshin stared frozen in shock. Finally, after a few moments of coughing, he shot a look at the redhead before him. “Thirty? You’re almost my age…” He caught himself gaping at his baka deshi, and forced himself to drink more sake instead. He was right when he’d assumed they’d need this. He just hoped he had enough in the house.

“Shishou?” Kenshin asked, looking worried.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“But you just choked! Should you be-”

“I’m fine,” Hiko snapped. “I don’t know why I let you in here. Whether you’re Battousai now or not, you left me. I don’t owe you anything.”

Kenshin bowed his head again. “I’m not saying you owe me, that I am not. But-”

“What’s with all this ‘that I am,’ ‘that I’m not’ talk?” Hiko interrupted, irritated. “You never used to do that before. I don’t know if I could have taken it if you did.”

“Shishou, you aren’t helping. I need to know what’s going on!” Annoyance flashed in Kenshin's eyes.

Hiko smirked, drinking his sake. “You’re angry. Good. If we’re going to get anything figured out, you need to stop with the obsessive humility and make yourself useful.”

“Shishou!” Kenshin started.

“Hiko Seijuro. Drop the 'Shishou' for now,” Hiko snapped. “My baka deshi is fourteen years younger than me, not one. I can’t think of you like that when you’re this old. We’re practically contemporaries." He closed his eyes, trying not to lose his temper. This situation was too much. "I am Hiko. You are Kenshin. For now.”

Kenshin said nothing, but he nodded.

“Here.” Hiko stretched and grabbed two more sake jugs. He tossed one to Kenshin. “You’re probably going to need it as much as I do by the time we’re done.” He opened his. “Now, what exactly are we trying to figure out? How you got here? How you leave?”

“Is there a purpose?” Kenshin said softly.

Hiko’s left eyebrow twitched in irritation, and he drank. “A purpose? Why is there always a ‘purpose’ with you? Was there a purpose when those bandits attacked you? Is there a real purpose to this war? You’re still an idealist, baka.”

Kenshin blinked at him. “I thought I’m not your ‘baka deshi,’” he said, a trace of frustration creeping into his voice.

“You aren’t, but anyone can be a baka, and that’s what you’re being right now. What purpose do you see to this? A thirty-year-old man thrown back into his blood-thirsty youth... Will you fight the revolution without killing?”

“I can fight without killing. I’ve done it for ten years,” Kenshin finally snapped, unsheathing his sword.

Hiko’s eyebrow raised again. “A sakabatou. Interesting. But I know your skills. If you wanted to, you could still kill with it, so don’t evade the question. What would your purpose be?”

Kenshin lowered his eyes, sliding the sakabatou back into its sheath. “To protect someone, perhaps.”

Hiko snorted. “You entered this war to protect people. I’ve heard rumors far and wide of your protection. You need to stop saying the same things with different words. Who would you protect in a revolution without killing? Unless you’re thinking of that girl of yours…”

Kenshin visibly paled, and Hiko knew he’d hit a nerve. Kenshin looked positively sick.

Hiko almost felt bad for him. “So, it is her.”

“How do you know about her?” Kenshin whispered. “About Tomoe?”

Hiko sent him a dark glare. “Do you really think I was going to let my baka deshi out with his skills and not at least keep track of him?”

Kenshin’s eyes widened a fraction. “You… kept track of me?”

Hiko drank more sake, his eyes glued on the jug. “About Tomoe…” he prompted.

“Yes… I…” Kenshin looked pained. “I made my vow not to kill because of her. She… somehow she could see past Battousai. She saw me… and helped me live again. And I killed her. She tried to protect me when I was ambushed, and…she moved in front of my blade. I didn't even see her until it was too late. I swore to never kill again when the revolution ended, in her memory.”

Hiko watched the man before him, knowing that feeling. That feeling that someone had died whom he could have saved. Hiko had felt that before, too, when he thought he’d left a small boy to die. But he’d been given a second chance. He’d needed that boy to live. And it hurt him to realize that, whether or not this man before him wanted to believe it, Kenshin had needed Tomoe to die. He needed someone to see worth in him and willingly die for him, because for some reason, Hiko had never been able to drill a value for his own life into that boy’s skull.

“So, you would destroy what you are to save her?” he growled. “You’d change the history of Japan and destroy any meaning your life may have gained to save her?”

“Yes.” His voice was hardly a whisper.

Kenshin had loved her. Hiko hadn’t known that until now. That would make things harder.

“Then tell me, Kenshin. If you’d been flung back far enough to save those three women from the bandits, would you have?”

Kenshin looked up, straight into Hiko’s eyes for the first time in a long time. “What?”

“You heard me,” Hiko snapped. “Would you save them? Would you step in before I could get there and save their lives? Erase hitokiri Battousai from existence? Erase your training with me? Erase your part in the revolution? Erase having ever met Tomoe?” He set his sake jug down, and watched the smaller man critically. “Would you do it?”

Kenshin was silent for a long moment before answering.

“No.” The word was hard for him to say. “I needed that training. I’ve done too much since the revolution ended. I’ve helped people. I can’t trade one set of lives for another. Kasumi, Akane and Sakura would forgive me, I hope.”

“But you would do it for Tomoe?”

Kenshin didn’t answer.

“From what you’ve said, she helped you bury the hitokiri. How many more lives would you have taken without your no-kill oath? Think.”

Kenshin poured more sake, and drank, finally agreeing.

Hiko nodded, setting another empty sake jug down. “She died six months ago, Kenshin. You couldn’t have saved her anyway, if it’s any consolation.” He sighed, watching the scarred man before him. “Honestly, I thought another death like that might break you. For once it’s nice to be wrong.”

Kenshin’s eyes flashed a deep violet before hardening with resolve. Grief had been visible in his eyes for a second before he'd masked it. Kenshin bowed his head. “Thank you… Hiko.”

There was an awkward moment, as the two men drank quietly, lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Hiko broke the silence. “We need to figure out how you got here, so I can get rid of you,” he said gruffly. He motioned to the several empty jugs littering the floor already, a smirk playing at his lips. “I don’t know if I can afford you, now that you’ve learned to hold your sake.”

At that Kenshin laughed softly.

Hiko relaxed. Good. At least he can still smile. He didn’t think he really wanted the boy to turn out like him. This decaying world could use a touch of what had made this boy survive.


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1878
When Battousai woke up again, it was dark, and the crowd was gone. He blinked a few times, trying to get some idea about his surroundings, but his mind was still a bit fuzzy, and that irritated him. As a hitokiri, he always had to be focused. He was lying on his back on a futon with a blanket carefully placed on him. He felt a little warm, and his muscles ached, but other than that, he seemed to be okay.

His eyes scanned the dark room. It looked somewhat familiar from a nightmare he remembered having. Apparently parts of that dream had been reality, along with the Meiji era and Sagara. He wondered if any of those other people had been real as well.

He bristled, suddenly sensing someone else's ki. Sagara was in the room with him. Battousai sat up, forcing his sore muscles to cooperate.

“How are you feeling?”

Battousai’s turned and looked at the other man, sitting with his back against the wall next to his futon. “Sagara,” he said, masking the surprise in his voice. “Why are you here?”

Sagara grinned. “At least you know who I am now. You had us all scared for awhile. Your fever got so high you were hallucinating.”

Battousai’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember his nightmare. People all around him. Sagara trying to placate him. And Tomoe crying… He shook his head to clear his mind. No. She had been someone else. Why had he called her Tomoe? He couldn't remember. Battousai looked up at the other man as worry set in. “Did I hurt that girl…?”

“Huh?” Sagara looked straight at Battousai and was surprised to see that the hitokiri looked concerned. “Kaoru? No. Why?”

“She was crying…” Battousai shook his head. “I remember her crying, but I can’t remember why.”

Sagara laughed, seeming relieved. “Oh, that. She was worried, that’s all. That’s Kaoru for you. Jou-chan is a tough one, but if she thinks you’re hurt, she goes to pieces. And when you pushed her off… well, she just got more worried.” He shrugged. When I finally got you back on the futon, she kept insisting on staying here with you all night. She was afraid you’d wake up disoriented again. I had a hard time convincing her to let me stay up. I figured you’d be better off with me. At least we’ve been introduced.”

The redhead seemed to be trying to take this all in. “She shouldn’t worry for me. I’ve chosen my life. I won’t live long.”

“Don’t say that to her, Kenshin. It would kill her.”

The stony mask was immediately in place again. “I told you not to call me that. I will not stain that name with blood. I am Battousai.”

Sagara glared at him. “And I told you that I can’t call you Battousai. If you don’t like 'Kenshin,' then I’ll call you 'Himura' like Misao does, but that’s it. You’ll have to deal with it.”

There was a long pause before the youth spoke. “Himura will be fine. Katsura-san has called me that.”

“Good.” Sagara nodded. “But you’re going to have to deal with them calling you Kenshin. They always have, and they won’t understand why you suddenly refuse that name now. None of them met you as Battousai. They met you as a wanderer, a rurouni named Himura Kenshin. They’ll get worried if you change your name on them now.”

“Rurouni? You aren’t making sense, Sagara.”

"Yeah, a rurouni." The fighter winced. “You know, if I have to call you Himura, the least you can do is call me Sanosuke.”

Battousai nodded, as though accepting an order. “Fine. Sanosuke.” There was none of the friendly warmth behind the name that Kenshin usually lent it.

Sano sighed, realizing how difficult this was going to be. “Listen, Ken- Himura, those people you saw last night. I don’t know if you remember any of them other than Kaoru, but they’re all your friends.” He smiled when Battousai’s mask dropped for a moment and he blinked his wide blue eyes in surprise. “Misao, Kaoru, Megumi and me, we’re all people who you’ve saved at some point or another. Even Yahiko. You didn’t see him. The little brat was already asleep when we got in.”

“Saved?” The boy’s eyes narrowed and grew cold. This had to be some kind of sick joke. “People I saved? I was a hitokiri. A killer. I don’t know how to save people. I kill. That is all. Even now, when I no longer officially assassinate, my protection involves killing attackers. And even under my protection, people die.” Battousai looked away.

“God, Himura,” Sano snapped, angered by the loss in Battousai’s voice, by the frustrated tone that all but announced that this boy had been through hell and was giving up. “No one can save everyone all the time. Not even you!”

“Maybe not, but I killed her, Sanosuke. She was under my protection and it was my sword that killed her. What justice is that? What protection?” There was a flicker of amber deep inside those blue eyes, and a deadly anger touched the surface before being quickly suppressed.

Her? Was this the Tomoe he’d mentioned earlier? Sano didn’t speak for a long time. That had been raw pain he’d seen in the youth’s eyes. The first solid emotion to crack through the surface. A cold chill ran through him as he realized that Battousai’s emotionless mask was more than just a place to hide behind when he had to kill. Something terrible had happened to him, and for the time being, that mask seemed to be all that was holding the youth together. And it was cracking. Sano took a deep breath. He didn’t want to see that. He didn’t want to see his friend break down. “I know you, Himura. You don’t kill without a reason. And I can’t believe that you did when you were a hitokiri either. If you did kill her, then…”

“There is no if, Sanosuke. My blade cut through her heart. Sliced straight through her with enough force to kill a man on the other side. I was wearing her blood. Do you need a more graphic description, or is that enough for you to understand? I killed her. And my reason? The reason you think I need? She got in the way.” The boy was breathing hard.

Sano could see how difficult this was for him. Battousai was weak from his illness, and honestly was still sick. This discussion was only going to slow his recovery, and the boy couldn’t afford that. This talk was going to have to wait. Sano looked out the room’s large window at the pinks and lavenders of the early morning sky. “Forget it,” he said softly. “What are we going to do about the others?”

Battousai turned to Sano, blocking his feelings again. “What are we going to do?” he repeated.

Sano nodded. “Yes, Himura. What are we going to do? You don’t know these people that well yet, but they know you, and every single one of them cares about you. You’re not going to get one step out of this room without someone trying to help you or give you medicine or something. And for some insane reason, they can’t get it through their heads that you aren’t their Kenshin. They’re only seeing what they expect to see, I guess. And,” he paused awkwardly, “well, honestly, they’re afraid of Battousai. You’ve never been very comfortable talking about your past, so they’ve assumed the worst.”

Battousai snorted. “There is only the worst.”

Sano didn’t argue that. He didn’t know everything about Battousai’s past either. But from what he already knew of this youth, he could see his friend flickering inside of him. Most obviously a moment ago, when Sano had finally realized something… Battousai didn’t like to kill.

Battousai slid back a bit, so he could lean against the wall. He was looking pale again. Or was that just the early morning light?

“Himura?”

Battousai looked up stubbornly. “I’m fine. Go on. About them.”

Sano watched his friend critically even as he answered. “It’s just that… well, the friend I was buying sake with last night was you, Himura.”

“I assumed as much,” Battousai replied. “Considering your friends seemed to expect me to be with you.”

“They’re your friends, too,” Sano snapped.

“Maybe they think so, but I don’t know them. I have no friends.”

Sano glowered at him. If he didn’t know that even ill, Battousai could probably kill him, Sano would have considered hitting him. “I’m your friend, you baka,” he finally snapped. “Don’t you get that? Not just in your future, but right now. Do you think I’d have followed you into Kyoto, and nearly let you kill me just to be sure you were okay, if I wasn’t? Sure, I’m friends with Kenshin in this time, but that means I’m friends with every part of him. I don’t care what he was. He and I have dealt with that already. People change. In another ten years, when Kenshin is forty, I still intend to be friends with him, no matter who he is. And if I can accept that, then I like to think that I can handle being friends with the twenty-year-old brat he was a decade ago.”

“Seventeen.”

The dark-haired fighter glanced over at the youth. “What?”

“I’m not twenty,” he said. For the first time, Battousai’s lips twitched into something almost resembling a smile. “I’m the seventeen-year-old brat he was a decade ago.”

Sano just stared at him for a minute before finally laughing. “You’re kidding! You mean you’re actually younger than me?”

“I thought it didn’t matter how old I was,” the youth said softly.

Sano just grinned. “It doesn’t. It’s just that I usually forget that you’re a decade older than me. It feels weird to know that you’re actually younger than me, now.” He glanced at the youth beside him and smirked. “You look fourteen.”

A red eyebrow arched. “You said twenty before.”

Sano shrugged, grinning more broadly now. “I just said that because I know you look young for your age. I figured you had to be older than that.”

Battousai just sighed, and leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on the brightening sky. For once the boy actually looked relaxed. As though he were finally understanding that the constant vigilance of the hitokiri was no longer so necessary here.

Sanosuke leaned back next to his friend, allowing his thoughts to wander. At least he’d smiled. Even if they hadn’t accomplished anything else, Sano couldn’t help but think that the weak smile that Battousai had managed was worth far more than any planning. That could come later. For now, it was enough if this boy could survive without shattering.