Genre

Rating

Spoiler Level

Ikedaya: Part 5

by Mir ::: 18.Mar.2003

A man, lightly built and of medium stature, stopped by the gate of the Choshu headquarters. As he neared the group of young samurai standing guard, he reached up with one frayed and dusty sleeve to wipe the glistening sweat from his forehead. The oldest of guards, a sturdy man just barely into his thirties, reached for his sword as the stranger approached, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Many drunks had wandered past after overdosing on the festival's festivities, but the figure walking toward him neither stumbled nor staggered. If anything, despite his worn and stained clothing, he held himself with a dignified stance that undeniably bespoke confidence and sobriety.

"Excuse me, but--" He not-so-subtly stepped between the man and the gate, blocking the other's path with his body. It was only then, underneath the lamps' yellow light, that he was able to clearly see the man's face.

"Good evening, Ishuya-san. If you would let me pass..." Katsura Kogoro, unphased by the lukewarm welcome, calmly met the guard's gaze and extracted his hands from his sleeves. Even with the moon hidden behind clouds, he hadn't expected his disguise to be so effective. Was a man's clothing really so important to his identity?

"Excuse me, I'm so very sorry, sir. Yes, of course, Katsura-san." Ishiya bowed deeply, his face reddening at his mistake. Silently he cursed his stupidity -- the others were going to make fun of him for weeks. How could he have failed to recognize Katsura, of all people? But the other man's words shocked him out of his self-pity.

"You are to lock the gate. Do not let anyone else enter tonight, not even our own men." He swallowed, as if trying to rid his mouth of the taste of the words he had no desire to say. "Do you understand? No one is to leave or enter until daybreak. No one." There might still be men abroad if they survived the attack on Ikedaya, but it was too great a risk to wait in hope of their return. No, the headquarters had to be secured, no matter what the cost.

- - - - - - - - - -

"We should leave." Two figures, one white and one blue, stood beneath the building's eves like abstract shapes stenciled out of the darkness. The one with swords at his belt frowned, his golden eyes piercing through the night like steel through skin. His voice, although soft, left no room for arguments, and his words were more statement than opinion or suggestion. Still, he looked toward the woman for confirmation. She nodded, kimono streaked with dirt and hair falling into her eyes. Around them, the streets lay quiet, and above, the clouds continued to pass by. And so they walked, on behind the other, through the streets of Kyoto with only their stars as their guide.

The night wore on as they wound through street after street, slowly approaching the Choshu headquarters. But when they arrived at last, the gate was locked fast, and no one was standing outside to guard. Had he been alone, the hitokiri would have gone around back and scaled the fence with all the ease and grace of a cat. But he was not alone tonight. 'Women. What a nuisance.'

"We'll have to find an inn. We can't just stand here all night," he muttered at last, not at all pleased with the situation at hand. 'As if the night couldn't get any worse.'

"Just go inside. Don't worry about me; I've traveled alone before." Even tired and dusty, there was a certain elegance to her composure and an unassuming confidence radiating from unclouded eyes.

He was surprised by her sudden show of independence and the calm indifference that settled across her face like a veil. But although his eyes narrowed slightly, there was no other obvious sign of his emotion. "Fine, do as you wish. I'm not your father."

She had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing at his comment, dangling from the response as awkwardly as a dead branch from a tree. There was something absurd about the image, that of her quiet, gentle father and the Hitokiri Battousai transposed into one. 'But I could see him as a father.' And the thought, floating unbidden through her head, seeped down into her body, and despite the oppressive heat, she shivered.

"Well...?" A hint of boyish impatience bubbled up through in his voice, and he blinked. And suddenly, for a brief moment he wasn't the Ishin hitokiri, wasn't the murderer of her fiancé and killer of countless others. He wasn't a lethal shadow stalking the Kyoto streets soundlessly at night. He was only a young man, tired, hot, and irritated.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then." She stared into his eyes, those deep amber spheres that took in everything and let nothing escape. Everything, almost. Then, with a slight nod she turned and began walking, slowly, one foot in front of the other down the road, dust swirling into the air behind her. She didn't know where she'd go. There were places.... if one was willing.

"Wait--" He didn't move, didn't reach out as another might have done in his place, but it was enough, and she turned. "Wait."

*end of story*