JAPANESE TERMS Hitokiri - shadow assassin (Kenshin and Soujiro are both former Hitokiri) Battousai - swordmaster (Kenshin's former nickname) Rurouni - wandering samurai (Kenshin is now a rurouni) Katana - sword Sakaba - a sword with the blade on the inside edge of the curve instead of the outside (used to defend instead of kill) Tenken - heavenly sword (Soujiro's former nickname)

The rain poured down, running in chilling rivulets down his neck. His shirt was already soaked through, and stray locks of hair were plastered to his face. He trudged on. This wasn't the worst he had walked through. A Rurouni spent his life travelling, and it seemed to him that much of that was done under the blazing sun or in torrential storms.

He wondered yet again how far it was to the nearest inn, sighing a soft breath as he stared down at the mud-stained cuffs of his pants. When the rain had begun, he had gambled that it would be less distance to continue on to the next one than return to the last. He was beginning to regret that decision. He pressed on.

Lost in thought, he suddenly became aware of a small, prickling sensation tugging at the edges of his mind, followed a split second later by the distinct sound of the scrape of steel. Without thought, his sakaba sword was drawn from its sheath and he spun, blade upraised, to meet the katana that was arcing down towards him with a ringing metallic kiss.

And then he focussed on his opponent. It was a boy, dressed in sky blue, with dark hair and long lashes, and a sweet smile dancing on his lips. A familiar smile. A deadly smile.

"Soujiro."

"Himura-san! I am pleased you remember me." Soujiro beamed as he sheathed his sword and ducked a quick bow.

Warily, Kenshin slid the sakabato back into its scabbard at his hip, making no reply.

"I am sorry if I surprised you. I confess I wanted to see whether you had kept your skills as sharp as they were when we last met. I should not have doubted you, Himura-san." Soujiro seemed pleased at the discovery.

"And would you have cut me down, had I not drawn my sword?" Kenshin's words were even, without any trace of accusation or anger.

"Of course not." Soujiro's tone was cheerful. "I would much rather speak with you than kill you. Himura-san, there is an inn not far up the road. Would you accompany me there? I really would like to speak with you, and it is not so pleasant standing here in the rain."

Kenshin paused for a moment before nodding agreement. "Very well."

Soujiro fell into step beside him as they walked, silently tracking through the mud. He still couldn't read the boy at all, couldn't see deeper the perpetual smile and sparkling eyes. But beneath, he knew Soujiro harboured a pain as intense as any Kenshin had ever known. Had Soujiro learnt to deal with it? Or was he still as volatile as Kenshin had once been?

The last time they had met, Soujiro had nearly killed him. The speed of Soujiro's technique exceeded even his own, and if it had not been for Soujiro's erratic state of mind, Kenshin might well have succumbed. Would it have made a difference to the boy, hands already so bloodied?

After the battle was ended, Kenshin had tried to show Soujiro that there was a different path that he could take, if he was willing. But he couldn't do anything more than show him the way. It was up to Soujiro to take the first steps along it.

Side by side the two Hitokiri walked, strides matched. Silent, neither letting any hint of their thoughts show in expression or posture, both acutely aware of the presence of the other at their side. And both tensed for danger.

They reached the inn without event. The woman that greeted them did so with polite words but a cold tone, glancing with obvious disapproval at their katana. Apologetically, Kenshin asked if she might spare a table for two, and perhaps some tea to warm them.

She relented a little when she observed that both were shivering and dripping, and settled them at a table close to the fire. Soujiro shook his head, water droplets flying in every direction from his shaggy hair, and Kenshin had to fight a smile at the puppy-like image it presented. This wasn't someone he could afford to let his guard down around, even for a moment.

Both men remained silent as the steaming tea was served. Kenshin wondered what it was that Soujiro wanted to speak to him about, but the boy in blue seemed in no hurry to begin the conversation, and for the time being, Kenshin was content to let the warmth seep into his fingers as he cradled the cup in his palms, chasing away the chill.

He took the opportunity to look Soujiro over. Soujiro's clothes were worn and travel-stained, but there was no sign of blood or any rents that may have been made by a bladed weapon. That was promising.

The silence dragged on, and Kenshin was reminded uncomfortably of the standoff that he and Soujiro had had, swords drawn, each waiting for the other to attack. He had been unable to read Soujiro then, just as he was now, and it felt strange to be the one at a loss.

Finally, Kenshin was the first to speak. "Soujiro. How have you fared, these last few years?"

Soujiro tilted his head, smile never wavering. "Is that your way of asking if I am still Hitokiri?"

For a short time, Kenshin said nothing, staring into the depths of his cup, and then he raised his gaze to meet that of the boy who sat across from him. Blue eyes locked with blue eyes. "Are you?"

Something flickered across Soujiro's face, present for just a moment, before the smile returned once more. A sign, such a small sign, but the first evidence Kenshin had seen that Soujiro was not the man he had been. It gave him hope.

"I ... have not killed."

For the first time, Kenshin broke into a smile of his own, a genuine warmth in his tone. "I am pleased to hear that."

Soujiro tilted his head again. "But neither have I defended. I may be a wanderer, but I am not a Rurouni like you, Himura-san."

"Not everyone who wields a sword must become Rurouni." Kenshin's voice was soft. "What have you been doing, on your travels?"

"Watching."

"Watching?"

"Just ... watching. Watching people. Trying to understand how it is that sometimes the strong perish and the weak live on."

Kenshin looked at Soujiro sharply, startled to hear Shishio's words twisted in such a way. From the first, Shishio had taught Soujiro the mantra: 'The strong survive. The weak die.' The boy had believed in Shishio, and had used his belief to become the fastest assassin that Kenshin had ever known.

"Sometimes, the strong protect the weak. Sometimes the strong believe that the weak are worth dying for." Echoes of the past, Kenshin thought as he spoke, of words his master had given to him, of words he in turn had said to Soujiro, even as they had fought, blade upon blade. Soujiro's cry had been burnt into his memory, a brand of pain.

"Mmmm." The young man made no further response, seemingly lost in contemplation. Kenshin was unable to read any further than the polite, amiable exterior, the faint smile. Once, he had been told that there was nothing behind that vacant smile but emptiness, but he knew better. The emotions were disconnected, warped, but certainly present.

He took another sip of his tea, the liquid bitter on his tongue. "Soujiro, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Delicate brows raised in confusion.

"When we were fighting, at Shishio's temple, you asked me why I didn't protect you, when you were a child. I would have, if I had have been there. Soujiro, I wish I could have been there, to spare you what you went through."

Silence, as Soujiro stared at Kenshin, his expression that of frozen happiness.

Kenshin remembered back to the instant Soujiro had snapped, had lost the seemingly unshakeable control. Soujiro had screamed, clutching at his head and bashing his fists against the floor as his mind had struggled to resolve the conflict with him. It was the only time he had seen any expression other than the facade of joy.

"Soujiro ... you don't have to smile any more."

Wide blue eyes stared at him for a moment, as if uncomprehending. And then slowly, ever so slowly, the smile faded from Soujiro's face, to be replaced with a look of bewilderment.

The teacup rattled as Soujiro's hands began to shake. Gently, Kenshin reached out and placed his hands over the top of Soujiro's smaller fingers, holding them there firmly to prevent the tea from spilling over.

For a moment, Soujiro stared at him in shock, and then he jerked his hands from beneath Kenshin's with such force that the teacup went spinning through the air, shattering on impact with the wall.

Kenshin blinked. "I am sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Soujiro rose to his feet unsteadily, hands wringing together as though they had been burnt by the gentle touch. Kenshin watched him with compassion in his eyes.

"Has no-one ever touched you with kindness?" Kenshin's voice was gentle, filled with empathy. "Not even Shishio?"

"Shishio-sama... " For a moment Soujiro seemed locked in the past, eyes unfocussed. Then his voice roughened, as he returned to the present. "Shishio-sama taught me to fight. The strong need no comfort, and the weak are only food for the strong."

"Oh, Soujiro... that's not how it has to be..." Shishio's cruel words echoed in Soujiro's sweet tones pierced Kenshin as if they were blades. His heart bled for the child that Soujiro had been, but he forced himself not to put his sympathy aside. He knew Soujiro was not yet ready to accept it. "Please... sit." He gestured to the cushion Soujiro had abandoned.

Reluctantly, Soujiro sunk to his knees, returning Kenshin's gaze with the remains of defiance in his eyes. Silently, Kenshin prayed that Soujiro could hold onto that defiance. It meant he was thinking, and feeling, not merely spouting the ideas and words Shishio had drummed into him.

"I haven't yet made my decision." Soujiro took a deep breath, as if trying to regain his composure, a slender had brushing away the locks that had fallen over his face. "I am still observing. I once believed Shishio's way was right, but he was defeated, and died, because of his weakness. And you defeated me, yet you told me that this does not necessarily make you right, simply because you are stronger."

Kenshin nodded, pleased the boy had kept his words to think on, even if he had not yet come to believe them.

"I think that I must continue my journey, and watch those that survive, and those that falter, and see how this comes to pass."

"You will never find what you seek if you keep yourself distant."

"Keep myself distant? Do you mean, from people? But I am near people all the time."

"Yes, but did you learn to fight by simply being near Shishio and watching him swing his sword?" Kenshin tried another tack.

Soujiro peered at him as if unsure where this questioning was leading. "Of course not. I had to practice, just as you did."

Kenshin nodded, satisfied. "Similarly, you can't learn about life by simply watching others go about theirs. You have to _live_ life, be a part of it."

Soujiro blinked at him uncertainly, reaching up to tuck another escaped wisp of hair behind his ear.

Kenshin sighed, and dropped his gaze into his cup. "When I was Hitokiri I kept myself separate from other people. I saw no need to become involved with them, I was there simply to fight for the cause. It wasn't until I was forced to flee the city and live a simple life as a merchant farmer that I became aware of the people around me. I didn't really understand until then _what_ it was I was fighting for."

"I have no wish to become a farmer." Soujiro appeared puzzled.

Kenshin smiled at him gently. "Farming is not for everyone. What I am trying to show you is that life is people. You can't learn about life if you simply watch, from a distance. You have to be with people, be amongst them. Talk with them. Touch them. And let them touch you."

For a moment, emotions warred across Soujiro's face. Fear, combined with... longing? And then his brows furrowed in a scowl as he jumped to his feet once more.

"I... I don't think you understand me at all." The protest was brittle, panicked.

Kenshin rose slowly to his feet as well. "Don't I?" He asked, eyes glinting as he peered through the red locks that fell over his face, suddenly deadly serious. "Are you going to tell me that you enjoy this loneliness? That you enjoyed being hitokiri, only getting close to the people you knew you would have to kill?"

Soujiro said nothing, but Kenshin saw how white his knuckles were, of the hand now clutching his katana hilt. "I'm strong... I survived..."

"Surviving is not enough. I want you to live!"

They stared at each other, their worlds narrowed to the depths of the other's eyes, locked in a battle of wills.

"There will be no swords drawn in my inn!" The innkeeper woman startled them both as she scowled at them in turn. Kenshin stared at her blankly for a moment, before realising his hand was also on his sakaba hilt. Hand on his sword... Soujiro's pale, frightened face... suddenly the pieces fell into place.

He dropped his hand to his side as he bowed an apology to the innkeeper. "I am sorry, we wish to bring you no trouble. I think perhaps we need some air."

Soujiro and the innkeeper both gave him incredulous glances, as outside the rain continued to splash down. But Kenshin pressed a few coins firmly into the woman's hand for the tea and then padded softly to the door, turning back to make sure Soujiro was following him.

Soujiro paused, uncertain, not understanding what Kenshin was doing, still feeling raw from the emotions which had been unlocked within him. Strange and infuriating that it was Kenshin, Kenshin yet again, who had made him feel this way.

There was something about Kenshin, so mild and unassuming, tattered and mudstained, and yet so vivid and warm. Soujiro wanted nothing to do with the man who had up-ended his life. And yet for some unfathomable reason, he felt himself drawn to the Rurouni, despite himself, like a moth to the flame.

Sullenly, he followed Kenshin out into the rain.

Kenshin led him down the road at an easy pace, Soujiro having no trouble catching up. Kenshin appeared to be brooding on something, but Soujiro wasn't entirely certain about what. Kenshin was an enigma, seemingly so simple, all emotions on the surface, and yet, sometimes he seemed to have more depth than anyone Soujiro had ever known.

Soujiro matched Kenshin stride for stride. His stockinged feet were wet, and the sandal straps chaffed at his ankle. But it was an irritation easily ignored, pain was nothing to him. He was in complete control, he told himself, and folded his hands together in front of him, to try and stop them shaking.

Kenshin stopped suddenly, and Soujiro turned to peer sideways at the Rurouni with a quizzical smile.

"This will do." Kenshin stepped off the path, heading to a small clearing, beneath a coppice of trees. Soujiro followed, still puzzled, treading lightly over the sodden loam. As he approached, Kenshin turned, setting his feet in a familiar stance. Reacting within an eyeblink, Soujiro's hand flew to his hilt, springing into an attacking posture of his own.

"Himura-san?" Soujiro tilted his head slightly. But he didn't move to strike.

Kenshin locked eyes with the young man standing opposite him. The rain and travel dust had washed all colour from his clothes, turning them a nondescript grey. In the rain that drizzled through the treetops, he looked like a slender, ethereal ghost, save for the almost unnatural brightness of his sapphire gaze.

"Draw your sword, Tenken no Soujiro."

Kenshin was pleased to see that Soujiro actually flinched at the mention of his old nickname. Soujiro of the Heavenly Sword. Once the deadliest of the Jupon Gatana.

"Why? Have you changed your mind, do you wish to finish our fight, Hitokiri Battousai?" Soujiro's mouth was set in a tight smile, his tone defensive.

Kenshin looked grim as Soujiro countered with his own former nickname. "The Hitokiri Battousai is dead. I am merely a Rurouni, and I have no wish to fight." There was weariness in Kenshin's voice, underlaid with steely resolve. "Draw your sword." But still he made no move to draw his own.

Soujiro's expression betrayed his confusion. "I don't understand... what do you want from me?"

"I want to help you." Kenshin said, the kindness in his eyes frightening Soujiro infinitely more than the hand poised over his blade.

"I don't need any help." Defiant still, chin rising another fraction.

"Don't you? Then let me come closer." Kenshin took a step forwards, watching Soujiro intently, observing every nuance of his reaction.

Panic swept across Soujiro's face, and his body tensed further, as if poised on the edge of flight. "Why?"

"Because I want to show you that it's all right to trust." Kenshin stepped closer. Another step. Closing the distance until there was less than an arm's length between them. Soujiro held himself as tight as a coiled spring.

"What are you doing?" The cracks in Soujiro's calm façade deepened.

Kenshin lifted the hand from the sword at his waist, and reached out. Soujiro's eyes flickered down then back to Kenshin's face. And then the fingers brushed across his exposed wrist, light as a feather's touch. Soujiro jerked his arm away and stumbled backwards, awkwardly, for someone who usually moved with a cat's grace.

Kenshin's eyes were almost grey with sorrow. "That's it, isn't it? You can't let anyone get close unless they have a sword in their hand."

Soujiro stared at him, fright metamorphosing into the embers of anger, and Kenshin realised he had finally found the spark that might ignite Soujiro into action.

"If they have a weapon, then you feel safe, because you know you can draw your sword and fight back. But if they are unarmed, you feel vulnerable, because you have no way to guard against their words, their touch, except with a smile."

"You... don't know... you can't know..."

"Can't I? Perhaps I can. I know that you're afraid, and I know that you can't go on like this. Please, let me help you..." Again Kenshin reached towards the slender, trembling figure, who shrank away, left arm upraised as if to ward Kenshin off.

"You're wrong! You're wrong about me!" Soujiro's voice was still shaking, but with as much fire as fear now. His delicate hand tightened around his hilt, then loosened, then gripped again.

For the third time Kenshin reached out, and again Soujiro sprang back. But this time he landed balanced on the balls of his feet, sword drawn from its sheathe with a hiss.

Kenshin lowered his head, a veil of red obscuring his face. He knew it would come to this, had known it since he'd seen the evidence of Soujiro's terror at the inn. But still he wished desperately that he didn't have to do it, that Soujiro would let down his barriers of his own free will.

Kenshin knew that his words had planted the seeds of doubt in the desolate garden that had been made of Soujiro's mind. But they couldn't grow and flourish, until the last of the choking weeds of fear were gone. They were so firmly entrenched, however, that the only way to do that was to burn them, to raze the field to the ground in one brutal sweep.

His head snapped up and he lunged forwards, hair a streak of flame behind him, eyes bright. Soujiro met the strike with less thought than it took to breathe.

Blade held against blade for a moment, the rain sending a thin stream of water down the bladed edge of the sakaba sword. Defiant blue eyes locked with Kenshin's.

And then, as quickly as he had moved to join the fight, Soujiro retreated, a wraith-child fading back into the mists.

Kenshin held his ground, focussed upon the shadowy blur as it moved between the trees. He knew he couldn't outmanoeuvre Soujiro. He had to wait until the boy returned to him. Time seemed to distort, with no sound but that of the endless rain.

Like a bolt from the heavens, Soujiro descended upon him. Kenshin's blade flew up, sweeping Soujiro's aside, but his lithe attacker flowed with it, ducking beneath Kenshin's guard. A lifetime of learned reflexes saved him, as he twisted away, the blade slicing through nothing more substantial than his sleeve.

This time Soujiro didn't move back into the trees. He simply stood, a handful of paces across the clearing, staring at Kenshin with head slightly tilted and a seemingly satisfied smile.

Kenshin fingered the clean edges of the rent, amidst the older fraying tears and mendings of his sleeve. It was a warning, he knew. Soujiro had lost none of his skill, and would not hesitate to hurt him. Perhaps kill him, if he pushed things too far. But it was a risk he was willing to take.

Kenshin let his hand fall back to his side. "I'm sorry, Soujiro. I'm sorry I have to do this, and I'm so sorry that I wasn't there."

"Stop saying that!" Soujiro shifted his weight from one foot to the other in agitation. The point of his sword hovered unsteadily.

"Nobody should have to endure what was done to you."

"I won't listen!" Soujiro shrieked.

"Soujiro--"

"No!!!" Soujiro flew across the ground between them. Kenshin couldn't even see his feet touch the ground, and could only barely follow the grey blur as it winged towards him. But he didn't need to see to know where Soujiro would strike, and he held his sword low until the very last second, when he brought it up to angle across his body.

The swords met over his heart.

Kenshin could feel the shock of impact run through him, down to his soles, as their blades rang against each other, and locked yet again. They held there, a frozen tableau, neither willing to yield or retreat. Kenshin could feel the tremblings of exertion that the effort cost Soujiro, and his own body was taut with the force he used to lock his arms in place.

And then slowly, ever so slowly, he let his stance falter, weaken. The swords inched towards him, the bright edges of both blades facing him.

... To be continued!