Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic

Rurouni Kenshin & Samurai X Original Japanese Version © N.Watsuki/Shueisha * Fuji-TV * SME Visual Works Inc. * Sony Pictures Entertainment

All Fanfics created by Chiruken (me) were written for the sole purpose of shared entertainment and not intended for publication or sale.

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The Hitokiri Returns

by Chiruken

Chapter 2

~2000~

Saito slammed the door to his office closed with a well-placed kick, reaching to the side to flick the familiar black switch set in a battered and scratched chrome plate located conveniently just inside the battered and well-used door, illuminating his office with the flickering light from a bare sixty watt bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling and tossed his jacket carelessly over the back of his favorite chair, shoving his keys into his pocket automatically as he crossed the room, stepping around the familiar clutter with practiced ease. Though it hadn’t exactly been a waste of time, his ‘visit’ with Kenshin Myoujin hadn’t been what he’d call satisfying. He didn’t like the smaller man and his superior attitude. Saito scowled and dropped onto the well-used sofa in the corner of his office with a groan, ignoring the uncomfortable poking of the springs jabbing into his nether regions. Someday I gotta replace this thing... It was a distant thought as he leaned back, arms spread along the back of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other with the ankle resting on his knee comfortably as he stared up at the ceiling sightlessly while contemplating his new client. Maybe ‘superior’ wasn’t the right way of putting it. Whatever it was about the younger man, it was irritating. Sitting upright again, he allowed his eyes to roam over the familiar room with a half smile, remembering how neat Kenshin’s office had been. He’d probably have a fit if he saw my office… He chuckled at the thought.

He shifted until he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, breath emerging on a sigh as he allowed his muscles to relax for the first time since his new client’s phone call earlier that evening. It was funny, though. Kenshin Myoujin kind of reminded him of himself at that age…arrogant and so sure of himself he couldn’t possibly take a fall. The young man was about to get a rude awakening if the police got a hold of his sakabatou. He’d fall so hard and far that he’d never get up again and his family’s money and influence wouldn’t be worth a damn. If it came down to that, nothing would save him. It was amazing what ten years had taught him. He shook his head and forced the uneasy thoughts aside. He didn’t want to feel any sort of affinity with the arrogant history professor. Saito sighed in resignation. He didn’t like him, but he couldn’t let him take the blame for something he obviously didn’t do. He stood and grabbed his phone off his desk, punching the call return. An instant later he was counting rings.

It was answered on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Scratch what I said earlier, Myoujin. Keep that sakabatou under wraps for the time bein’.” He dropped again onto the worn sofa, wincing at the protesting groan of the weary springs as he bounced up again with a grimace and sat again, this time in a different spot…one devoid of exposed springs. Tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he shifted and searched his pockets for his cigarettes.

“Mr. Saito?” He frowned at the odd note in the other’s voice. “Um…I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem now.”

“What are you talking about?” He pulled the pack out of his back pocket with a scowl. He hated flattened cigarettes…almost as much as he hated arrogant smart asses like Kenshin Myoujin. He smirked at the thought. He wondered what the other man would say if he knew how Saito regarded him. With an inner shrug, he acknowledged that he could care less what his conceited client thought one way or the other.

“It’s gone again.”

The words were uttered flatly, devoid of any emotion. It took a moment for the meaning of the statement to sink in and penetrate Saito’s inner thoughts. When understanding dawned, Saito dropped the phone and scrambled to pick it up again, cursing the whole time with an amazing show of uncharacteristic imagination as he dropped his cigarettes in his haste to retrieve the telephone, loose tobacco spilling from the pack and littering the scuffed hardwood floor. Juggling the two items he popped back up and hastily pressed the phone to his ear again, using his foot to brush the dry tobacco into concealment under the sofa automatically. “What?! It’s…gone?” The words emerged on an incredulous shout as he surged to his feet again to pace around the tight and cluttered confines of his office, raking his hand through his hair in agitation, before sitting again perched on the edge of the sofa fingering the crushed cigarette package in a rare show of nerves stretched beyond endurance. Kenshin Myoujin had a disturbing effect on his normally tightly controlled reactions and he didn’t like it one little bit. It made him want to do some serious physical violence to the short history professor.

“You don’t have to shout. Yes, it’s gone. It must have happened while I was in the shower. What do I do now?”

“First…don’t panic.” Saito sighed and leaned forward when he dropped his matches, uncomfortably aware that Kenshin’s tone didn’t reveal any of the characteristic signs of panic setting in. If anything, he sounded almost bored. He shook his head, understanding the younger man’s reaction better than he’d like to. Poor bastard’s in shock. He was annoying, yes…but he was still a client and therefore throttling him was definitely out of the question. Especially in light of his current mental state. He thought with a grimace. He new it would be bad form to further push his buttons when he was so close to the edge to begin with. “Have you considered that maybe you should keep it locked up?” His tone betrayed his understanding and momentary feelings of compassion. He settled the telephone between his ear and shoulder again and gingerly rubbed his temple where he felt the beginnings of a tension headache forming.

“The thought has occurred to me recently. But that does nothing to help me now!” Saito winced at the unmistakable alarm creeping into the other man’s tone, a startling contrast to his previous calm. “What if it’s being used to kill again? That sakabatou was created as a weapon of peace…intended to protect without killing. It must be found!” He could almost see Kenshin pacing around his office in agitation as his unmistakable panic grew.

Saito shook his head with a silent sigh of resignation. Kenshin Myoujin wasn’t about to relax, but he definitely had to get his priorities straightened out and fast. Ideals were all well and good just as long as they didn’t get in the way of reality. “Look, whether it was meant for peace, hope and charity or not is a moot point, Myoujin. It’s being used as a murder weapon and that’s definitely not good. Finding whoever is taking it should be the top priority here.” He stuck a bent and flattened cigarette in his mouth and tore a single match free of its resting place in the book. He paused for a moment to place the mangled cigarette between his lips before striking the sulphur head against the striking strip. “Any signs of forced entry?” He spoke around the filter before touching the flaming match to the tip of the cigarette, the acrid scent of the burning match-head drifting up into his nostrils. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the familiar scent.

“Like broken windows?” Saito rolled his eyes and inhaled deeply, and then slowly exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling. “Smashed doors? What exactly should I be looking for, here, Mr. Saito?”

“All of the above and then some. The guy had to get in somehow, right?” He sighed and stood, patting his pockets in a quick search for his keys. “Look, don’t touch anything. I’m coming over and I’ll check it out, all right?”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever. Don’t touch anything…got it.” The line went abruptly dead.

Saito shook his head and grabbed his jacket as he tossed the telephone onto the sofa, watching it bounce once before sliding to a rest next to the threadbare armrest farthest from him. “Moron.”

***

Saito studied the large double doors with a scowl and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, taking note of how solid they appeared from the exterior. Nothing. Not a scratch, mark or splinter marring the scuff-free wooden surface. Even the metal scuff plates were devoid of marks, the muted light cast by the street lamps lining the street at regular intervals reflected in the highly polished surface at the base of the double doors. Obviously the front door hadn’t been used to break in. He raised his hand to knock, eyes straying to the sign written in Asian calligraphy. What I wouldn’t do to know what exactly that says…maybe I should bring Jii-san by to check it out… He abandoned the thought almost as soon as it formed. He didn’t want his grandfather anywhere near Kenshin Myoujin…it would be too embarrassing to listen to him complain about how untraditional his ungrateful grandson was. He was certain Myoujin would be more than sympathetic towards the old man. Probably talk to him in Japanese and earn a few extra brownie points… “Can I open the door now, Mr. Saito?” He blinked at the muffled, but distinct question, jarred out of his sarcastic and uncharitable thoughts by the timely interruption.

“Uh…yeah.” He lowered his hand as the door swung open. “How’d you do that?” He frowned down at his client, taking in his pale countenance and anxious expression.

“I’m psychic, didn’t you know?” Saito scowled at the sarcasm in the other man’s tone, his good feelings towards him winking out of existence in an instant in the face of his obvious sardonic attitude. “It’s called security cameras, Mr. Saito.”

“Security…” He began only to bite back the rest of his statement with a forceful curse as he reached out and grabbed the smaller man by the front of his shirt and shoved him into the wall, using his foot to slam the door closed with enough force it rattled against the jamb, the brass door-knocker clanking twice. “Did you say security cameras, Myoujin?” He stared hard into his startled blue gaze. Kenshin nodded quickly. “So…if you have security cameras, why didn’t you mention it earlier?”

“It…uh…slipped my mind. Saito…could you put me down, please?” Saito lifted his lip in a blatant snarl and shook his client roughly, hoping that he rattled some intelligence into his obviously empty head.

“You are such a moron.” He released the other man abruptly. “Why don’t you show me the tapes now?”

“I’d love to…but they’re gone, too.” Kenshin straightened his clothes with an irritated scowl. “Did you have to pick me up by my shirt, Saito?”

“I could’ve used your neck.” He looked around the dim interior. “For God’s sake, turn on some lights. I can’t see a thing in the dark.”

“You’re not a very likeable guy, are you?” He turned and opened a panel, revealing a row of switches.

“I’m not here to win popularity contests, Myoujin.” Saito blinked in the sudden brightness. “What kind of doujou is this?”

“It’s my house, Mr. Saito…not an actual doujou, though it does have a training hall.”

“Why would you live in a neighbourhood like this?” It seemed odd that a man with as much money as Kenshin Myoujin had would choose to live in such a rough area.

“I like the ambiance.” Saito scowled at him irritably. “It’s close to the campus where I teach, Saito. I’m in walking distance…which means I don’t have to worry about parking.”

“Oh.” Saito shrugged and turned away. “All right, where’s the back door?” Without answering, Kenshin led him through the house…which looked more like an old warehouse to him…to the back. Saito studied the door with a frown. “Do you lock your doors, Myoujin?”

“Of course I do. Despite your obvious low opinion of my level of intelligence, I’m not an idiot.”

Saito snorted derisively. “Any other ways to get in here?”

“The windows on the second floor…but they’re barred.” So much for his idea. He frowned thoughtfully. Locked doors and barred windows…no signs of forced entry. Security cameras and missing tapes. It was beginning to sound rather suspicious to him.

“Does anyone else have the key?”

“Aside from my father?” Saito nodded. “Not that I know of. Why?”

Saito shrugged and leaned back against the wall to study the smaller man. “So…have you chosen a good lawyer yet?”

“I’m not amused, Saito. I need help, not bad jokes.” Kenshin raked a hand through his wet hair. Saito frowned. So…he’d been honest about something at least.

“I need the truth, not elaborate lies. You better start leveling with me, Myoujin, or you’re gong to be locked away for a very long time.”

“I gave you the truth, Saito. Do you honestly believe anyone would be stupid enough to make up such a ridiculous story?” Kenshin turned away and began pacing. “I told you before that I didn’t do it. Why won’t you believe me?”

“I believe that your technique wasn’t the one used to kill those women. I believe that you’re a smart ass without the brains to think up an elaborate plan like this. And I believe you’re a moron for not leveling with me. But…I know you aren’t telling me everything.” He folded his arms across his chest and leveled a direct stare at the smaller man. “I suggest starting at the beginning and not leaving any details out this time.”

Kenshin sighed and shook his head. “All right, all right. Do you want a drink, Mr. Saito?”

“Coffee. Black.” He followed him to the kitchen. Saito looked around with a scowl. “You don’t spend a lot of time here, do you?” It was kind of creepy how clean the kitchen was. He made a mental note to never invite the smaller man into his home. By the looks of things the homey clutter he enjoyed would probably send Kenshin Myoujin over the deep end.

“I don’t know how to answer that.” Saito blinked and stared as Kenshin opened and closed cupboard doors, withdrawing a spotless coffee maker, can of coffee, and a filter. “I don’t go out much, it that’s what you mean, but I don’t spend all my time in here.” Saito watched in fascination as Kenshin meticulously measured exact portions of coffee. “Strong?”

“Huh?”

“Do you like your coffee to be strong enough to melt your spoon or do you have a normal stomach?”

“Uh…normal I think.” The smaller man carefully closed the coffee can and placed it back in the cupboard before turning to the sink. He isn’t normal. Saito thought dazedly as Kenshin filled the pot and poured it into the reservoir on the coffee maker, and then turned back to the sink to wipe it dry, pausing to lift the pot again to wipe its bottom as well as the shiny clean hot plate beneath it before replacing the pot once again.

“You said black, right?” He turned and caught Saito’s stunned expression. “Is something wrong?”

He shook himself and quickly nodded. “Hell yes. Are you some kind of neat freak?”

Kenshin shrugged and retrieved a cup. “I like things to be clean and orderly, Mr. Saito.”

Saito frowned thoughtfully. “I see. So the blood on the sakabatou must’ve driven you nuts, huh?”

“It isn’t good for the blade to sit like that without cleaning it. It’ll rust.” He gestured to the table. “Have a seat. The coffee’ll be a minute.” He pulled out a chair and perched on the edge of it. “And yes, it was difficult to remember to not clean it.”

“I imagine it would’ve been.” He sat slowly and pulled a note pad from his jacket along with his highlighter. He really had to remember to buy pens in the morning. “How about you begin by telling me when the sakabatou first went missing, all right?”

“Would you like a pen, Mr. Saito?” He looked up and scowled at Kenshin’s amused expression. “Or do you prefer fluorescent pink?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” The other man shrugged with a grin, clearly amused by the situation. “Fine. A pen would be nice.”

“I thought so.” He stood and crossed to the counter, opening a drawer. “Any preference for colour?”

Saito gritted his teeth. “No.” He answered flatly. “You don’t have a lot of friends, do you, Myoujin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He tossed the pen onto the table.

“I can’t think of anyone who’d like your sarcastic attitude.” He smirked at the younger man’s annoyed expression. “A little close to home, huh?”

“Think whatever you want, Saito.” He turned his back on Saito. “Coffee’s ready.”

“You do realize the police will investigate your background thoroughly…including your social relationships.” Kenshin paused in the act of pouring coffee, shoulders stiff. “You know how it is. They’ll bring in a psychologist or a profiler…call it whatever you want…and they’ll pick you apart piece by piece and put you together again like a human jigsaw puzzle. Any discrepancies in your personality and you’re sunk…of course, I’ve never heard of anyone being convicted and locked up for being an asshole.”

Kenshin set the mug on the counter with a bang, leaning forward, shoulders shaking. Saito studied him in mild surprise, wondering if he was about to see the infamous Myoujin temper whispered about around town. A moment later, Kenshin gasped and tuned to face Saito again, doubling over with laughter. “That’s real mature, Saito. I thought name calling was usually left behind in grade school.” He straightened slowly, blue eyes reflecting his amusement. Or are they blue? Saito frowned slightly. Now that he got a good look under decent lighting, he could’ve sworn the younger man’s eyes weren’t just an ordinary blue…but more like a soft violet colour. Shaking his head imperceptibly, Saito pushed the odd thought from his mind. Who cares what colour his eyes are? He’s an ass…though the ladies probably don’t care… He focused on his client again. “You’re one to talk, you know. I doubt you’ll receive any awards for being Mr. Congeniality anytime soon.”

“So you’re saying I’m right?”

Kenshin shook his head with a grin. “I prefer solitude, but I do have friends…not that it’s any of your business, Saito.” He set the mug on the table in front of Saito.

“I suggest you start taking this seriously, Myoujin. If you don’t you just might find yourself laughing your way to prison.” The younger man sobered instantly. “Much better.” Saito turned his attention back to his notepad. “All right. Let’s try this again. When did the sakabatou first go missing?”

“Two months ago.” Saito made a quick note and looked up expectantly. “It was returned two days later, cleaned of course.” Saito nodded and wrote the information down. “A couple of weeks later it happened again, the same as before. It’s been like that for two months until a couple of days ago when my sakabatou came back with blood on the blade. Now, two days later, it’s gone again.”

“How many times, exactly, did it go missing?” This was the clincher in his theory. Depending on the answer, he could have the break he needed, or he’d be blown out of the water.

“Including this time?” Saito nodded and leaned forward. “Five times.”

“Five?” He repeated, barely containing his excitement. This was it. To date there’d been four murders involving women with what Saito had recognized as a katana blade’s wounding pattern. Kenshin nodded slowly, leaning away from him. “Well, well…now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Uh…where, exactly, would that be?”

“If I’m right…and it looks like I am…there’ll be another murder tonight.”

Kenshin paled. “And this is…good?” He sounded appalled. “Saito…someone could die tonight…by my sakabatou…”

“Yes…but look at it this way. Now we know it wasn’t you…right?” He leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head with a satisfied smirk.

“I know it wasn’t me, you pompous jerk!” Kenshin stood and began pacing around the kitchen. “You’re missing the point entirely. If the killer is targeting women, then another innocent woman will die tonight. My sakabatou will take another life. It has to be stopped, Saito!”

“Sit down, Myoujin. I’m not happy about another woman being murdered, but at least we’re getting closer to stopping this. We know the killer is using your sakabatou. He takes it…and returns it. That means it’ll come back.”

“I’m sure the woman who dies tonight will appreciate your logic.” He sighed and sat again. “Can I see those photographs again?”

“Sure. Why?” Saito pulled the envelope out of his pocket and tossed it on the table in front of his client.

Kenshin set the photo’s on the table in front of himself and frowned thoughtfully before removing all the pictures except for the four taken of the victims faces. “Did you notice anything strange about these women, Saito?”

He scowled and leaned forward. “No. Should I have?”

“They all look alike…well…kind of. Black hair, blue eyes…young, pretty. They’re all very similar…and probably built the same, too.” He pulled out the other photographs again. “I’m not sure…but…” He frowned, studying each picture closely. “They all look to be…um…small.”

“Small? Give me those.” He snatched the photos and scowled at them. “You mean short, right?”

“Being of a similar height disadvantage, I prefer vertically challenged, Mr. Saito.”

Saito looked up quickly. “Whatever. Short is short.” He set the pictures on the table again. “So…he’s after short, pretty, young, blue-eyed, black-haired women. That doesn’t really help, you know.”

“I thought it did.” He sighed and leaned back again, closing his eyes. Saito frowned. Kenshin Myoujin was uncannily familiar, though to the best of his knowledge they’d never met before. Suddenly he straightened and smacked a palm to his forehead. “Oh…oh…I’m such an idiot!” He jumped to his feet.

“No arguments from here.” Saito muttered under his breath, silently adding crazy to his assessment.

“Wait here…I’ll be right back.” He turned for the door. “No, on second thought…come with me…and bring the photo’s.”

Saito scowled and stood, gathering the photographs. “Now what? Do you just happen to have an album stashed away somewhere detailing all the women around here matching these ones?”

“No…and save the sarcasm.” Saito followed him up the stairs to the second floor. “In here, Saito.” He turned into a door off to the side.

Saito looked around himself with a frown. “Your bedroom?” Kenshin nodded and jumped onto the bed, reaching up to a photograph hanging on the wall. “What’s that?” He moved closer, watching as the younger man brushed his fingers over the glass.

“This was a photograph taken in Yokohama in 1877, Mr. Saito.” He stepped off the bed and landed lightly beside Saito. He pointed to a young boy in the old photograph. “Myoujin Yahiko, my great-grandfather…adding three more greats to that. He was ten years old when this was taken.”

“So?” Saito scowled irritably. “I don’t have time to take a stroll down memory lane with you.” He ignored the jolt of impossible recognition he felt when he looked at the boy in the photo.

Kenshin moved his hand, revealing a pretty young girl in a slightly rumpled kimono. “This is Kamiya Kaoru…” Saito grabbed the framed picture and stared at the smiling girl in shock. He knew her…it wasn’t possible, but Saito knew her. But even more shocking was the uncanny resemblance she had to the recent murder victims.

His eyes moved to a tall man dressed in white. He pointed. “Who’s this?” Something within the recesses of his mind whispered ‘ahou’. He shook his head, not understanding what the word meant, but recognizing it as something his grandfather had said frequently.

“Sagara Sanosuke.”

Slowly, his eyes moved to the final figure in the 123 year old photograph. He stared at the smiling young man in disbelief. Except for the crossed scars on his left cheek, longer hair and Japanese attire, he could’ve sworn he was looking at Kenshin Myoujin. He cleared his throat before attempting to speak. “And who is this?” Somehow, deep down, he knew the answer already as that same voice whispered in his mind ‘Battousai’.

“Himura Kenshin…the man you called Hitokiri Battousai, Mr. Saito.”

“Battousai…” Saito repeated numbly. Despite the cheerful smile on the young man’s face, Saito saw clearly a deep sadness and weariness in his expression. He swallowed and looked away from the disturbing photograph. He studied his companion for a moment, and then held the framed picture up, eyes moving from the man identified as Hitokiri Battousai to Kenshin Myoujin and back again. “You…um…you kinda look like him, you know.”

“Do I?” Kenshin shrugged and turned to the bed. “Pass me the photo’s of the murdered women.” Saito did so automatically. It was a striking resemblance that Kenshin Myoujin bore to Himura Kenshin. He wondered if he’d been named for the man in the picture. He stared at the photograph, his pulse thudding almost painfully when he noticed the katana at his side. Could it be possible that this was the same weapon he’d seen earlier? “Uh…Saito…are you all right?”

“Never better.” He answered dully.

“Maybe you should sit down…you look a little pale. Dimly Saito was aware of the younger man producing a chair and slowly he sat, never once taking his eyes from the photograph. “Saito…do you need some orange juice or something?”

He blinked and looked up at his client. “No, why?”

“You looked about ready to pass out. Are you diabetic?”

Saito scowled. “No, I’m not diabetic.” He stood and dropped the photograph onto the bed. He shook off his odd feeling of déjà vu and turned to face the smaller man. “All right, the victims might resemble that Kamiya girl.” He paused and blinked in surprise. “Kamiya…as in Kamiya Kasshin?”

Kenshin nodded. “She was the last Kamiya to train an apprentice in her family’s techniques. She died before she could pass it along to anyone else. The last apprentice was Myoujin Yahiko.”

Saito turned back to the bed and stared at the girl in the picture. “No children?”

“Never married. She died three years after this photograph was taken.”

Saito grabbled the picture again. “Tell me, Myoujin, how did she die?”

“She was murdered, Mr. Saito. I don’t know the details. They were never documented.”

Saito stared at Himura Kenshin in silence for a moment before tapping his finger on his image. “And him? What happened to Himura Kenshin?”

“He died a few weeks after Miss Kamiya.”

Saito looked up slowly and studied the smaller man intently. “This might sound odd, but by any chance…was it suicide?”

Kenshin took a quick step back. “How did you know that?”

Saito set the picture down again. “I’d like to say it was a lucky guess…but I can’t. I don’t know how I know.”

**To Be Continued…**