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Tanabata Jasmine: Chapter 22 - Desperation

by Nekotsuki ::: 19.Nov.2004

The knowledge that he'd been oblivious not only to the arrival of food, but Bayushi's entrance to the room, kept Kenshin on his feet long after the man had left again. Tilting his head backward to rest gently against the wall, he pressed cool fingers to the heat in his temples and softly cursed his luck. Foolish of him not to think this might happen; illness aside, a loss of awareness was the one thing he could not afford, given the circumstances.

The sky was dark outside. He had no idea what time it was. He'd dozed off in the early afternoon, by vague recollection. The extended hours of sleep had conspired to make his body ache more than it had when he'd allowed himself to drift. The lantern, left behind, cast a dim glow across the room that was still bright enough to hurt his eyes.

It could be worse. Given the relative clearness of his mind, his fever seemed mild enough, although he knew it would likely worsen over the next day. Bayushi's indecision at least granted him a small reprieve, provided he could trust that he wouldn't change his mind again once he'd had longer to think on it. In the meantime, Kenshin would take the man's advice.

The last meal he could recall having was the rice that had come with Senzo's drugged water. That had been ... four days ago? He wasn't sure. With the concussion and the further damage Yamato had done to his collarbone, hunger had been a distant third on his list of discomforts. He didn't feel particularly hungry now, although certainly lack of food would be a major contributor to his light-headedness.

Eventually, he drew himself upright, away from the support of the wall, and crossed the room unsteadily on bare feet to kneel by the bowl on the floor. Rice, again; a cold, congealed mass that had obviously been there for hours. He smiled ruefully. The smell alone was enough to cause his stomach to clench in protest. He ate anyway, using his fingers in absence of any eating utensils, giving each bite time to settle before he tried another. Not the most dignified way to eat, but he was hardly in a position to complain.

He managed to force down most of the bowl's contents in this fashion, before he heard the sound of steady footsteps approaching the door.

He knew who it was before he heard the voice, in quiet conference with the guards. Even with senses dulled by fever, he could feel his ki, riddled with hostility. Kenshin rose to his feet warily, bowl in hand, and fought the dizziness that came with standing as his mind raced. Bayushi had changed his mind, or Yamato was here without the older man's knowledge; either way, there was no mistaking his intent.

The guards were more doubting. Their words were too soft for him to catch, but the irritated response was distinct enough. "Then go and ask him yourself." And then, a few moments later: "You'll let me in now. I'll wait to act until your return."

Kenshin took a step backward as the door was unlocked, and met Yamato's gaze as he pushed the door open, stepping into the room with a deliberate tread. One of the guards stood framed in the doorway behind him, glancing first at the officer, and then over his shoulder to Kenshin with a dubious look on his face. The other guard was nowhere to be seen.

"Battousai." Yamato smiled thinly. "You look unwell."

Kenshin narrowed his eyes at the mocking tone. "Does Bayushi know why you're here?" He dropped his gaze from the officer's face to his left hand, hanging loose by his side and curled around the grip of a pistol, and fought back the urge to swear as his heart sank. Bayushi's sword he might have stood a slight chance of defending himself against – but a bullet?

"He does, as a matter of fact," Yamato replied in pleasant tones, following his gaze. He tightened his grip on the gun and gave a half-shrug. "I suppose you could consider this cowardly. I would call it common sense. No man with a shred of intelligence would allow you to get anywhere near a sword." His voice sharpened, aimed at the man behind him. "You can go. I want to speak to him alone."

The guard glanced at them both once more, and closed the door quietly, leaving them alone. Kenshin wondered for a moment why he looked so nervous, and then realised the other guard must have gone to confirm Bayushi's decision. Yamato's visit was unexpected, then. He supposed that explained why the officer had yet to threaten him with the gun, let alone fire; a reassurance to the guards that he would wait. That, at least, was an advantage. His fingers tightened on the bowl in his hand.

"I'm quite impressed," Yamato continued, more softly. "You've run rings around Bayushi. I would think, given enough time, you might have been able to persuade him to let you live. A minor chance, but nevertheless."

"One you can't afford." He was thinking fast, now. One guard was gone, but it changed little; even if he managed to get past Yamato, he'd have no strength left to deal with anyone else. His options were limited. "Why is that?"

"I'm surprised Bayushi hasn't told you." Yamato raised an eyebrow. "It's very simple. You are surely aware of the impact you've had every time you've become involved in a conflict. You were one of the deciding factors in the Bakumatsu ... and Okubo was honest enough to know that in order to stop Shishio Makoto, he would need you on side. Do you realise how much power you carry, merely by those two facts?"

At Kenshin's silence, he continued. "I suspect you do, on some level, or you would not be so accepting of the government's reliance on you. You ran into difficulty when you fought Shishio-sama, but you fought him on your terms and won. I ... am not half the man he was." He smiled. "In order for my goals to survive your interference, I'm afraid I have to cheat."

Practicality. Yamato had plans; had bargained with Bayushi to receive assistance in carrying out those plans, in exchange for handing Kenshin over to be killed – an execution that he desired himself.

Yamato won on both counts, provided Bayushi actually intended to kill him.

"Bayushi's indecision was something you weren't expecting," Kenshin said, evenly.

"Correct." The smile dropped from Yamato's face. "Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if he's changed his mind again in this short time. I won't allow him the opportunity."

And with no further warning than that, he swung the gun up.

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They travelled as quickly as they could without forsaking stealth, skirting the side of the main house, taking note of the presence of guards as they went. There were men patrolling the grounds, in pairs, enough that getting into a confrontation would be unwise. Thus far they were oblivious to the presence of two ninja weaving their way through the trees.

Misao had to admit: if it wasn't for the urgency of their search for Kenshin, she might even have been enjoying herself. The two of them together, under the night sky ... never mind that after that first brief glance they'd shared, Aoshi hadn't looked back at her once; not to see if she was following, or had run into difficulty. Which, again, could be taken for lack of care – but she knew him down to the soles of his boots.

If Aoshi wasn't constantly checking on her, it meant he trusted her to be efficient. And he certainly hadn't objected to her accompanying him. His calm acceptance of her demand an hour earlier had left her grinning almost all the way here; a welcome distraction from worried thoughts about a certain rurouni.

A certain rurouni who's never gonna live this down, she thought idly. Provided, of course, that they could find him – and that all of Aoshi's dire predictions were false. She frowned at the thought, and focused her gaze on the man ahead ... and noticed he had stopped, one gloved hand resting on the bark of a tree, staring sharply ahead. Misao crept up to his side, peering around him in an attempt to discover what had attracted his attention.

There were two smaller, L-shaped buildings to the rear, modestly built from plain timber, separated from the main house by an expanse of lawn. She supposed someone as wealthy as Bayushi would have separate accommodation for his staff – but this, in itself, wouldn't have given Aoshi pause at all. She scanned the grass separating the buildings, and spotted him – one lone guard, fast-paced, crossing the grounds toward the house. He moved with an almost nervous air, the tense set to his shoulders noticeable even from the trees.

"Something's going on," she whispered.

"Aa." His voice was barely audible. She glanced up at him, and saw the mask of concentration as his eyes tracked the man almost predatorily. Aoshi blinked once, and then began to step away from the cover of the trees, face blank.

Misao followed quietly behind. She understood perfectly. If something was happening here tonight, it would almost certainly involve Kenshin. Which meant the man before them stood an excellent chance of knowing where he was – and he was alone, which made him a far easier target. More efficient than searching every room they came across, and faster to boot.

They never had the chance to ask him.

Before they'd crossed even half the distance, the crack of a gunshot rang out across the clearing. Ahead of her, Aoshi drew to a halt at the sound; Misao ducked instinctively, looking around wildly for whoever had fired. But the shot wasn't repeated, and neither of them was hurt.

Aoshi swore very softly, and she glanced up at him. His gaze was on the guard, and for a moment she thought they'd been discovered – and then she realised the guard himself had turned, staring back at one of the buildings with a look of surprise. Nobody had fired on them at all. But then what...?

Her eyes widened. "Himura!"

And that was a mistake—

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"Kenshin!"

Yahiko snatched at the sleeve of Kaoru's gi as the echo of the shot faded away, shaking her slightly as the colour drained from her face. "Don't be stupid! You don't know that had anything to do with him!"

"Aoshi and Misao," Sano said, staring up at the top of the wall. "Think they've been made?"

As if in response, a cry went up within, heard faintly from their position. An alert had been sounded.

"That's your answer," Yahiko said – and blinked, startled, as Sano reached down to haul him up by his gi. "Sanosuke!?"

"Hang on." Sano swung his arms up fast. Yahiko barely managed to hold in his yelp as he went flying. By reflex, his hands shot out to latch onto the edge of the wall, feet scraping at the stone as he regained his equilibrium and pulled himself up.

He turned to glare downward. "Sano!"

"Quit complaining," the tall man shot back tersely, taking the weapons from Kaoru's arms and holding them up. "It's faster this way. Unless you really want to sit this whole thing out?"

Point. Yahiko snatched the sakabatou and bokken from his hands and thrust a hand down to help Kaoru onto the wall as Sano lifted her up to him. "Not a chance."

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His aim was perfect.

The bowl cracked, and then broke into pieces at the force of its impact with Yamato's face. He reeled back with a faint cry, the pistol wrenched inadvertently upward even as his finger tightened on the trigger in reflex. Kenshin was already moving, twisting his body to the side in a desperate attempt to avoid the path of the bullet as he fired.

The shot in the enclosed room was deafening. He felt the faint sting of its near miss along the outer curve of his right shoulder, and had no time to savour the relief that flashed through him. Before Yamato could reorient himself and bring the gun again to bear, Kenshin slammed his left shoulder into the man's chest and sent them both crashing to the ground amidst a tumbling cascade of shattered china and rice.

The impact sent a jolt through him, flaring the pain of his broken collarbone to almost unbearable heights, and he fought for control as vertigo washed over him. He could feel the man beneath him struggling to draw breath; the fall had apparently knocked the air from his lungs. Good. He felt no remorse for the uncharitable thought, and instead twisted slightly, snaked out his good arm and went for the gun.

His hand closed on the barrel as the door flew open to admit the remaining guard. Whatever the man yelled into the room was lost to Kenshin as the man beneath him suddenly shifted, snarled in fury and smashed a hand into his right shoulder, fingers stabbing into flesh in a crushing grip. The world went white. He heard a strangled scream and knew it for his own, as Yamato rolled, slamming him into the ground.

"You little bastard," Yamato hissed, and yanked the gun away from his slack fingers. Kenshin curled on his side as the man let him go, hand wrapped protectively around his shoulder as he clenched his teeth with the effort of keeping silent. Yamato stood up, heaving in air, reeling slightly on his feet.

"Yamato-san, stop." The guard's tone was urgent. "You can't. Not until Bayushi—"

"Self defense," Yamato interrupted, voice hitching. "He attacked me. I shot at him."

"And you've stopped him," was the determined reply. "Please, Yamato-san, I must ask you to wait. You assured us you would."

Kenshin shifted on the ground and rolled limply onto his back, fighting to bring his breath under control. His eyes sought out Yamato, standing by his feet. The man's face was bleeding freely from two places. Absurdly, there was rice stuck to his cheek. The gun in his hand had swung up again, to point not at Kenshin, but the startled looking guard. His voice was quiet velvet, a contradiction to the obvious fury in his expression. "Feel free to run and complain."

Mistake.

The guard, after one disbelieving look, spat an obscenity and backed through the doorway carefully, before turning and running down the hall. Yamato offered a curt smile as the footsteps faded away, and turned his gaze back to Kenshin.

"You'll lose your alliance if you're not careful." His voice was thin, stripped by the shattering pain of his shoulder.

Yamato responded by aiming a vicious kick at his legs. "I lose nothing," he snarled, face flush with anger. "I have permission to be here. What one guard says—"

Kenshin snapped a foot out straight and drove his heel into Yamato's knee as hard as he could. The brief flash of surprise on the man's face would have been comical if not for the circumstances. He gave a pained cry of his own as his knee gave, and pitched to the ground as Kenshin rolled to avoid his fall.

He forced himself up and flung his arm out to snatch at Yamato's wrist, wrenching it aside as he raised the gun to fire, sending his shot wide. The sudden movement sent the world spinning again, and his fingers slid up to wrap around the gun itself as he concentrated blindly on stopping the officer from firing on him again.

Both on their knees, they fought for control of the weapon. With only one good arm, what strength he had draining away fast, Kenshin knew it was a battle he would eventually lose if he didn't find a way to even the odds. A fist smashed into his cheek, snapping his head backward. His vision blurred out, but he retained his grip through the rain of blows that followed, rolling his weight to push down across Yamato's arm, toppling them both to the ground.

Balanced across his left side, with the arm trapped beneath him, he had a chance. Kenshin gritted his teeth and slammed Yamato's hand into the ground as hard as he could, crushing it between the hard metal of the gun and the floor. Twice. A third time, as Yamato gasped curses and knotted his free hand in Kenshin's hair, yanking backward painfully in an attempt to stop him.

On the fourth impact the gun twisted free as Yamato's damaged fingers finally loosened, leaving Kenshin with the weapon grasped awkwardly in his hand. A small victory; he wondered if he'd just managed to delay the inevitable. His strength was all but gone. He clenched his fingers on the gun as Yamato uttered an odd sound, caught somewhere between fury and laughter, and shoved him forward, slamming his head roughly into the floor.

Pain. He fought to keep from passing out, lying face down on the ground, left arm half twisted beneath him. His right arm, untended in the fight, a mass of hurt curled loosely on the ground beside him. He didn't let go of the gun. He was vaguely surprised when Yamato made no move to retrieve it, but instead settled for extricating his arm from beneath his exhausted body and rising to his knees. His other hand was still locked firmly in his tangled hair, holding him down. When the officer spoke, he sounded wearily amused.

"There's more than one way to kill you, Battousai," he said. "The gun would have been a faster death. I suppose it's useless to a man with a vow such as yours. Keep it." He chuckled unevenly. "But I do commend your effort – for someone so injured, you fight like a wildcat. It seems I managed to underestimate you after all."

Kenshin kept silent, and concentrated on trying to blink the spots from his eyes. There were shards of china pricking uncomfortably into his stomach. His vision doubled, and then drew back into clarity, focusing on a dark shape to his right. The water pitcher, left with the rice. Knocked on its side at some point during the scuffle, spilling most of its contents to soak into the timber floor. Close. His fingers closed on the rim.

This is going to hurt.

The sound of the belt knife being unsheathed seemed very far away.

"Foolish of me," the officer continued softly. The hand tightened in his hair, and he was hauled back hard enough to lift his chest from the ground. A faint sound escaped him at the added stress, hissing between clenched teeth as Yamato pulled his head back, exposing his throat. His intentions were plain.

This—

He forced a knee beneath his weight and twisted as he flung his left arm out, backhanded. The butt of the pistol, still clenched in his hand, swung in an arc destined to connect with Yamato's jaw. Would have done so, if Yamato hadn't expected him to try it. The hold on his hair loosened as the officer shot a hand up to protect himself, fingers catching his wrist in a crushing grip and pulling it past him in an attempt to yank him off balance. Kenshin let him succeed, giving in to the tug, twisting around with the momentum to swing his right arm up—

--is going to HURT—

With a yell equal parts anger and stubborn determination, he smashed the water pitcher into the side of Yamato's head with all the strength he could muster.

Please, be enough—

His last sight, before the agony drove him past reasoned thought, was Yamato's surprised expression as the officer slowly toppled backward.

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It took a great deal of effort to open his eyes again.

He was lying across Yamato's legs. He raised his head, blinking. The world took entirely too long to come into focus.

Kenshin got to his knees, breathing unsteadily, and raised a hand to his shoulder, cringing at the needling pain running through the arm. He wondered if he'd done more damage; he didn't have time for a proper inspection. The guards, perhaps with Bayushi, would be back shortly. Yamato could awaken at any time.

Yamato had been confident enough – foolish enough – to send both guards away. He was grateful for that. For all the man's talk of refusing to underestimate him, the officer had done so from the start, allowing his malice to cloud his judgement. The door was open. He could walk free.

From the room, at least.

He picked up the gun, not willing to leave it within Yamato's reach, and stood with difficulty. He leaned against the wall for as long as he dared to steady himself; nearly slid down it again as vertigo threatened to drag him back to his knees. He almost laughed. He was certainly in no condition to deal with anyone else – and yet staying here, with Yamato, would be a clear death sentence. Any indecision Bayushi might feel over killing him would vanish once he realised Kenshin, despite serious handicap, had managed to incapacitate an armed police officer.

He waited until the dizziness subsided to manageable levels before he edged his way out through the door, pausing long enough to draw it closed and shoot the bolt home, locking Yamato inside.

Then, one foot in front of the other, he moved down the empty corridor in the opposite direction from the guard's exit.

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