Title: Different Lives
Author: tir-synni

A/N: A little note mentioned in the beautiful RK yaoi story He Who Chases Demons, written by Kentaro, was the inspiration for this fic. Very simply, the note stated that there was an excellent chance Kenshin would have ended up with Sanosuke if he had met him first. This fic explores that from a blatantly biased perspective.

Beta: *offers almond-coated pocky to Arete*

Addy: relisprince(at)hotmail(dot)com

Chapter I: Beautiful Strangers

              When he was young, he had been bought for the sole purpose of being sold again. When a little Shinta had heard this, among the mocking jeers of the slavers and the pitying murmurs of the slaves, he had not understood. In the fields, Shinta’s tiny hands had worked as hard as any other slave. He had walked alongside the others, his small feet gaining the familiar calluses of the road. He was a slave, lived as a slave, and worked as a slave. He identified himself as a slave and saw nothing that separated him from the others.
              Yet, sometimes at night, the slavers would pull Shinta away from the other slaves. A soothing balm would be rubbed into his pale skin, especially into his roughening palms and feet. His flesh would glisten in the moonlight like dew on lily petals. The protective calluses would fade, leaving only vulnerable, soft skin. They would take his fiery hair, so different from the other slaves’, and brush it until it shone. At the end, the slavers would tilt his face into the light and wipe it clean with water and lotions. Finished, they would step away and observe the quiet, naked, shivering boy on the futon. When Shinta dressed again and returned to the other slaves, the raucous laughter of his masters still rang in his ears. Still, even after this ritual, Shinta had not understood.
              Then they started for Edo.
              Shinta had heard Misses Sakura, Akane, and Kaumi one night. He was not supposed to hear them. He had known that then, and the man who was formerly called Shinta knew it even more clearly than his child counterpart. A mere accident, he had claimed before, a statement now viewed with aged cynicism. The trio’s conversation had been hushed and fevered, held in the darkness away from the torches and campfire. Shinta had walked over to them with benign intentions, to inquire if they were thirsty, no more, and their voices had carried. They spoke of what their little Shinta could expect in Edo. They spoke frantically of his ethereal beauty and exotic coloring. They moaned of his inevitable fate and estimated life span. Years later, a gift his mind had gracefully departed to him, he could not remember which of the three had offered, but one’s voice had trembled as she suggested saving him from that nightmare. The others had refused. Perhaps that fate was not for him. Perhaps the gods would want someone as special as him for another destiny.
              They had been right.
              But many like those slave-traders still existed, even in the supposedly gracious Meiji Era, who only saw his “ethereal beauty” and “exotic coloring.” Again, lust—whether for his body or the money they could claim from selling his body—would arise, and his virtue would be challenged.

              However . . . Himura Kenshin was not as helpless as Shinta had been.

              “Hey, pretty one, what are you doing walking all alone?”

              The mocking voice carried easily through the sun-lit alley. Two small feet paused, a crimson head tilted in seeming confusion. “Oro?” Kenshin greeted the voice, a soft, placid smile curving his lips. Bemused violet eyes hid a quickly calculating mind, but no one ever knew that.

              At the entrance of the alley, three grunts stood, each by no means remarkable. Kenshin did not have to turn around to know two more stood behind him. How inane. He had been struggling to avoid such confrontations since arriving in Tokyo. He supposed at least one was inevitable. He truly did not mind . . . much. It would be easy to deal with these arrogant children.

              As Kenshin casually reviewed the least bothersome way to deal with the muscle-bound gang, one man stepped forward. Idly, Kenshin noted the unusual blue eyes in the man’s dark face. Such differences in street gangs either created scapegoats or leaders. Judging by the strut, the blue-eyed man was the leader of this particular group.

              “Beautiful,” Blue-Eyes drawled. He openly appraised Kenshin. Kenshin shifted as to offer the man the best view, at the same time balancing himself. Blue-Eyes nodded in seeming approval of his actions before pausing on Kenshin’s distinctive cross scars. By the considering life of his bushy brows, the redhead’s face still passed muster. He ran his eyes over Kenshin’s thin frame, and Kenshin noted the man’s experience as Blue-Eyes visibly dissected Kenshin’s unflattering pink garb to find the “treasure within.” Again, Blue-Eyes paused, this time at Kenshin’s waist. Kenshin’s reverse-blade sword was easily brushed aside. Perhaps he could not believe the petite stranger could wield such a weapon? A familiar case of naivety that the years after the war had encouraged. He dismissed Kenshin’s blade as a threat. He dismissed Kenshin as a threat. Recognizing the final piece to an easy victory, Kenshin smiled cheerfully at the stranger.

              “Thank you very much,” Kenshin chirped, bowing humbly. “Your pardons but this one continues on. It has been very nice meeting you.”

              Blank violet eyes noting the rising triumph in Blue-Eyes’ face, Kenshin turned around and smiled at the two goons approaching from the other side of the alley. Unblinking, he heard the other three stomp behind him. None of them felt any need to try to hide themselves from the petite redhead, and Kenshin doubted that any of them were intelligent enough to figure out how.

              “I don’t think so.” One of the duo in front of him, the most muscular of the group. The words thickly struggled for coherence from his deep, hoarse voice. Idly, Kenshin wondered about his chances of finding a cheap noodle dish close to the alley. “We . . . want to have some fun with you first.”

              Kenshin graced him with a pleasant smile. “Oro?” he inquired sweetly. His reverse-blade sword hung heavily at his waist.

              “So lovely.” A new voice. Kenshin decided against telling him that some honey would clear up that rasp of his. “I wonder if you taste as good as you look.”

              They were all in range. He would offer some warning, despite already knowing their response and then—

              Wait! Who was that? That aura . . . a fighter!

              Only Kenshin did not jump when the new voice rang out. “Don’t you punks have anything better to do than pick on people weaker than you?”

              Kenshin obligingly turned with the rest to face the newcomer. Kenshin curiously tilted his head, drinking in the sight of a tall, muscled brunet posing dramatically at the mouth of the alley. Normally, the pose itself would raise Kenshin’s doubts, but the younger man’s fighting spirit drew Kenshin. There was no scent of blood, but the swordsman knew that that was not a predecessor to strength. Kenshin studied the stranger, even as the men around him stiffened defensively.

              Could this be . . . the one. . . ?

xoxoxox

              Sagara Sanosuke looked on, amused at the scene. He knew this gang: a small-time group trying to be big boys in the bad streets of Tokyo. He snorted. And it took all five of them to corner a tiny redhead in a secluded alley. Sano only had to look at the redhead once to know what they were striving for. The redhead’s clothes were too old and worn for them to be trying for money, unless they were dumber than Sano thought. A sword scabbard hung from the man’s side, but Sano guessed it was more for appearance than actual use. Someone that dainty couldn’t possibly be a swordsman, so they weren’t after him for a challenge.

              However . . . Even Sanosuke’s attention was captured by those long crimson tresses, casually thrown in a low ponytail. Twin scars sliced one smooth, pale cheek, carving an X, but the cross seemed to enhance rather than mar his exquisite beauty. The redhead’s small, delicate figure, complemented by his small hands and feet, entranced Sano. Yep. Sanosuke knew what these punks wanted. These goons—Sano wrinkled his nose in distaste—were just looking for a fuck.

              “Why don’t you assholes try for something that’ll give you more of a challenge?” Sano purred, diverting his attention back to the gang. All five tensed but showed no signs of collaborating, planning, or even reaching for a weapon. Amateurs. Weaklings. No challenge here but perhaps their numbers would provide some cheap entertainment. In anticipation, Sano cracked his knuckles. “Like me.”

              Amidst the rising tension, the redhead tilted his head curiously and looked around. All the while, a strange, blank, cheerful smile played on surprisingly lush lips. “Oro?” he offered, seemingly oblivious of the five thugs surrounding him.

              Must be a little dim, Sano thought. Maybe his family is providing for him, or maybe he is a prostitute. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t deserve to be gang-raped.

              “You just stay there, little one,” Sano called to the beauty. “I’ll take care of these goons.”

              That brilliant, if blank smile flashed his way; the redhead’s eyes hid under red bangs, so Sano had no idea what the man was thinking, if he was even thinking at all. If the stranger had time to respond, perhaps Sano might have found out, but one thug with odd blue eyes let out a roar and plunged forward. The rest took that as their cue and charged. Sano smirked.

              “Time for fun,” he breathed.

              The blue-eyed thug practically ran into Sano’s fist. Blood gushed from his nose, spraying another thug before the blue-eyed punk collapsed to the ground. The second one dropped just as quickly, eyes barely starting to widen in surprise at how quickly his “leader” was defeated.

              For the first time, the remaining three realized something was wrong and paused. Sano smirked at them. Even then, they didn’t try to work together as a team. There was no obvious plan. The trio simply bounced on the balls of their feet and glanced warily at each other and Sanosuke. He bared his teeth at them in a mockery of a smile. Within five minutes, they joined their comrades in the dirt.

              With a disgusted grunt, Sano kicked the blue-eyed thug in the thigh. “Not even a challenge,” he scorned, a part of him lamenting the fact. Even with their numbers, he had not bruised his knuckles. Weaklings, all.

              Snorting, Sano looked away from the defeated gang . . . and blinked in surprise when he noticed the redhead still standing silently in the same spot. “You’re still here?” he asked. “I thought you would run as soon as the battle started.” Perhaps he is a little dim, after all.

              The stranger smiled sweetly at him and bowed. “You asked this one to stay here, that you did,” he reminded Sano softly. “And this one had to thank you for you help. It was kind of you to stop and help.” He bowed again. “Your pardons.”

              Sano blinked. The stranger’s odd politeness struck a chord in him, and he hastily pushed the feeling away. Right. Didn’t expect him to listen. But he might have also seen a client or somethin’, too. Sano couldn’t help but frown at the thought. Hope not. He’ll be disappointed if he’s waitin’ for that.

              “I just wanted a fight, that’s all,” Sano dismissed. “I thought they would give me a challenge.” He glared at the leader, now whimpering pathetically at his feet, and gave him another kick. “They couldn’t even give me that.”

              The redhead bowed deeply. He’s so fuckin’ formal! Sano thought in fascination.

              “Thank you very much. I hope you find your challenge soon.” Bowing again, the beautiful stranger turned on his heel and began walking out of the alley.

              Nope. Not a slut after all. Just dumb. Sano frowned, looking at the scarred stranger’s retreating form. In another couple steps, he would be swallowed up by Tokyo’s busy streets. How old is he? He doesn’t look that old. What the hell is someone like that walking alone for, anyway? He’ll be attacked again. I can’t let someone like that walk around as an easy target.

              Satisfied with his own logic, Sano stepped over the faintly moaning bodies. “Hey!” he shouted, jogging forward. His long legs easily cut the distance between himself and the now still redhead.

              As Sano came abreast the stranger, the redhead twisted to face him. “Oro?” he inquired. The most beautiful eyes Sano had ever seen gazed at him from under long lashes, and Sano’s breath caught. Before this stranger, he had never seen eyes that shade. A gentle violet, like he had seen on flowers.

              “You shouldn’t be walking the streets alone,” Sano declared, slouching beside the blinking man. “Where’s your home? I’ll walk you there.”

              The redhead’s lovely smile never faltered. “Your pardons, that is not necessary. This one will be all right.” Another bow. “This one is a wanderer, a swordsman traveling with no destination. This one is used to walking alone.”

              Sano blinked, his mind struggling to digest the new info. “A wanderer?”

              “Yes,” the scarred man confirmed. “Thank you very much for your offer, however.” He nodded respectfully at Sano before turning and walking once more.

              For a long moment—that was actually only a couple of seconds—Sano gaped at the beauty’s back. The long, silky red hair swayed gently with each step, covering the unflattering kimono. That kimono only seemed to emphasize his elfin stature, making him seem painfully tiny in Sano’s eyes. How could one such as he survive long enough to be a wanderer? He couldn’t really think that sword was going to scare people off. No one would believe he could use it!

              “Hey!” Sano called again, jogging to the redhead’s side once more. This time, the stranger did not stop, only blinked curiously at Sanosuke.

              “Oro?” he inquired gently, walking out of the alley and into the street. Amidst the bustling population, the stranger seemed even slighter. To Sano’s feverish mind, it seemed like a good gust of wind could blow him away.

              “Well, I’m at least walking you out of here,” Sano declared roughly. “This is a dangerous place.” Definitely not meant for someone like you!

              “Pardon but you needn’t bother—" the stranger began, but Sano waved him away.

              “I don’t mind.” Sano winked at him. “Sagara Sanosuke.”

              The redhead smiled sweetly at him. “Himura Kenshin. That is my name . . . today.”