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 III: Long Nights

              Even walking alone down the dark streets of Tokyo, Sano felt no concern about his safety. A fishbone dangling from his lips, he hummed a tuneless song and strutted towards the dojo. He felt wary eyes on himself, but since they were leaving him alone, Sanosuke felt content to leave them alone. Defeating the infamous “Battousai” had done wonders for his reputation; the weak ones left him alone, leaving the stronger ones to seek him out. Normally, this situation would have thrilled Sanosuke, except—

              That wasn’t the Hitokiri Battousai, Sano mused. No way would the legendary assassin go down that quickly.

              Eyes of flame, the legend recalled. A demon from the darkness, flitting out and killing his prey without a sound or motion. The epitome of ruthlessness and death, what all assassins aspire to become.

              A mocking snort interrupted Sano’s humming. If that was all assassins could aspire to, boasting and terrorizing innocent girls, then it was no wonder assassins were in such short demands nowadays. Though that was kinda surprising, too, considering the traitorous weaklings of the Meiji Era—

              Sanosuke cut off that line of thought with a quick shake of his head. If it wasn’t for that bastard, he never would have met the little miss—the first, he thought with a wry smirk, of my strays. Sano had to admit, the fiery young lady intrigued him with her sword that fought for peace—a contradiction in itself—but the mysterious redhead waiting at his home captivated him more.

              Sanosuke spotted the little miss’ home, and he discretely hurried his steps. He’d ask her about the wannabe swordsman. She knew more of that field than him. Maybe she’d have heard something.

              Or at least, Sano thought, she’ll be able to guess why he kept rubbing his hands like that.

              Sanosuke slipped through the dojo’s gates and strolled to the entrance. On both sides of him, he could see evidence of the students who had practiced there earlier that day: a wide variety of footprints, a lost sandal, a small hat. Idly, he wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t stopped that nut when he did. A moment later, the fighter shrugged. Oh well. Old news.

              Stepping over a discarded broom and a pile of dust, Sanosuke called out, “Hey! Anyone home?”

              Once upon a time, Captain Sagara had told a young Sano about large, lumbering creatures who lived to the west of Japan called “elephants”. Sanosuke decided that if those elephants ever chose to stampede, they would sound like the little miss running through the dojo.

              A door slammed open, and Kamiya Kaoru smiled brightly at Sanosuke. “Good evening!” she chirped. “Do you want to come in?”

~~~~~

              The house didn’t take as long to clean as Kenshin thought it would. He supposed nervous energy and experience speeded up what would otherwise be a long and tedious experience. As monotonous as it was, tossing out trash and gathering clothes usually took a decent amount of time to complete. Now Kenshin hovered over a steaming mass of soapy water, diligently cleaning food-encrusted dishes. The repetitive motion helped relax him.

              This one supposes some rest is needed, Kenshin mused, frowning at a chunk of mold the size of his palm. It moved in a motion oddly resembling a wink, and Kenshin shuddered. Hastily, he shoved it back into the hot water. This one has not stopped for a while. Perhaps that is why Sanosuke distracts me so. The former assassin sighed. He’s but a child. No matter how strong he has to be to defeat the fake Battousai, he is still a product of the Meiji Era. A child of peace who does not understand the implications of it. He smiled bitterly to himself. Perhaps I should call him a child of the war then.

              The symbol “evil” tugged at his memory. Sometimes, it was so hard to recall things. It was impossible to banish only particular memories.

              This one’ll remember soon, Kenshin decided, putting the new sparkling plate on the glistening counter. He always remembered in the end.

              Kenshin frowned at one chipped cup and took a dainty sniff. Ugh! Wrinkling his nose, he tossed the cup into the water with a mental reminder to never ask details about Sano’s home and habits.

              Earlier, Sanosuke had told him that he would escort him out of Tokyo in the morning. If Kenshin asked nicely, would Sanosuke allow him to stay? Kenshin mused on the question for a moment. If not, he would reside in the forests outside Tokyo and relax there. If so, he would find out more about Sagara. Simple.

              The water burbled oddly, and Kenshin warily eyed it. Maybe he should have looked at the dishes before putting them in the water. Kenshin cringed.

              “Ororororo. . . .”

~~~~~

              Sanosuke flinched, hearing Kaoru crash around the kitchen. He was hungry, but maybe he should have bought something on the way home and shared with Kenshin. Kenshin was probably hungry, too. Besides, he thought drolly, hearing some distinctly unladylike cursing coming from the kitchen, it’d probably be safer, too.

              Almost immediately after shooing Sano in, Kaoru had offered to make him dinner. Before Sano could answer, the fiery brunette had run off to the other room, muttering to herself. That should have been his first warning. The low wail about “Is this salt? Or is this the salt?” was another good clue. It escalated from there.

              I have to ask her about Kenshin, Sano reminded himself desperately, the smoke snaking along the ceiling beginning to frighten him. She teaches sword-stuff. She has to know other swordsmen. She’ll know more than I do.

              Odd smells emerged from the kitchen, followed by the little miss’ cheerful, if slightly strained, voice: “It’s ready!”

              For some reason, Sano wished the fake Battousai was back.

~~~~~

              If Kenshin thought the dishes were bad, they had nothing on the laundry. Three tries later and he still couldn’t work up a decent lather. The water darkened to a frightening shade of green; the soap suds never had a chance to froth. Shivering, Kenshin dumped out the water beyond the bushes, as not to harm Sano’s plants, and filled up the tub at a nearby stream.

              So many clothes, Kenshin mused, looking ruefully at his own worn clothes. I wonder how many he has. Does he wear these over and over again without washing them?

              Tossing the original batch back into the water for the fourth time, Kenshin resumed scrubbing. Sano’s old supply of soap—ironically found under the earlier moldy plate—was running out. Hopefully, he’d be able to clean at least some clothes before finishing off the soap. While it would be easy to run out and get more, he didn’t know when Sagara would return. After Sanosuke’s generosity, it felt wrong to leave, knowing Sanosuke expected him to stay at the hut.

              The legendary Hitokiri Battousai, Kenshin thought scornfully, the perfect housewife.

              Just thinking about the legends following his time as an assassin made Kenshin nauseous. So much glorified death and blood, all revolving around a naïve, foolish fourteen year old boy. Viciously, Kenshin scrubbed a brown-tinged cloth. He would never understand it.

              And he hated such pathetic thoughts. It Master knew of his whining, he would smack him into the filthy water, shouting mockingly, “Stupid student!” Kenshin cringed. Master always did have an odd fetish with liquids. Constantly drinking one and tossing Kenshin into another.

              The ribbon holding his hair back tickled his neck, refreshing pleasant memories concerning its origins. Concentrating on those memories, Kenshin began humming. He held up a finally clean article of clothing, making sure it didn’t drip on his own clothes. Still humming an old slave song, Kenshin draped the cloth over the counter and reached for the next article of clothing.

              And with his heart in his throat, Kenshin froze.

~~~~

              Sano had to admit, sometime later as he waited for his stomach to settle, that Kaoru was certainly generous with her supplies and time. Most people would be too stingy to waste that much seasoning on a guest. And most people wouldn’t waste so much of their precious time to make sure the food was so thoroughly done.

              Sano coughed, vomit mingling with the taste of burnt, salty fish at the back of his throat. That raccoon is the worst fuckin’ cook I’ve ever known!

              Kaoru peeked out of the door, her pretty face flushed. Sano couldn’t decide if it was out of embarrassment or indignation. Maybe both. “Ah . . . I don’t get to cook that often,” she offered weakly. “But I’m getting better!”

              It was for the best Sano couldn’t speak; he would have lost one of his strays right there.

              Kaoru smiled brightly at him. “I’ll make dinner next time you come over! It’ll be better then.”

              Sano hastily rolled back over on the porch again. “Ugh!”

~~~~~

              Kenshin’s hand shook as he numbly picked up the blood splattered cloth, dropping it into the water. Red sluggishly tinged the water, and Kenshin stared at it, fascinated.

              This one can’t escape it, the former Battousai thought, a chill growing in his bones. Blood . . . blood everywhere. Blood everywhere I touch. Kenshin shuddered, his eyes dilating. He caused the bloody rain. He could smell the salt of it, mingling with copper and white plums.

              A hand smacked his face—hard—knocking Kenshin out of his daze. Blinking, Kenshin stared at his reddened hand. An automatic reaction, more than ten years old, used by a frantic assassin who could not afford to fall into depression, now used by a frantic wanderer who could not afford to fall into flashbacks.

              Taking a swift breath, Kenshin plunged his hands back into the water and resumed scrubbing. If he desired to stay in the home of a fighter, than he’d better get used to it.

~~~~~

              The hot sake was a soothing balm to Sano’s sore throat, and he sighed in satisfaction as he lowered his cup again. Whatever else was said about the little miss, she had good sake.

              Kaoru frowned as she kneeled across from Sanosuke, her cup of tea warming her hands. “You really shouldn’t be drinking alcohol if you’re not feeling well,” she scolded. “You have a really weak constitution.”

              Sano felt his right eye twitch. Bright violet eyes flashed through his mind, and steady hands poured him more sake. “Have you ever heard of a redheaded wandering swordsman?” he asked evenly, swallowing his sake in one gulp.

              Kaoru blinked. “A redheaded wandering swordsman? No. The only swordsmen I know teach in dojo. No swordsmen I know wander. There’s no need for such actions in the Meiji Era.”

              The twitch returned. More sake splashed.

              “He also has an odd habit,” Sano managed, feeling much mellower. “He rubs his hands a lot.”

              Sano, not the most observant person anyway, stood no chance with the sake running through his system of noticing Kaoru stiffening. “How does he rub his hands?’ she asked calmly.

              After yet another cup of sake, Sano lowered his cup and demonstrated, rubbing his hands on his bandages. “He does it like this.”

              Kaoru bit her lip, riveted by the motion of Sano’s hands. “His hands were probably sweaty, a bad condition for a swordsman,” she offered weakly. “Have you seen him use his sword? How old is he?”

              Sano scoffed. “He can’t be that much older than you, and there’s no way in hell a tiny guy like that can use a sword.”

              Kaoru nibbled her lower lip. “All right,” she murmured, and her frowned deepened. “Will you be able to make it home okay? You didn’t drink too much? You can stay here if you want.”

              Sano waved her off and stumbled to his feet. “Nah. Kenshin is waiting for me. The poor guy said he’d wait up for me, and he’s probably exhausted.”

              Kaoru nodded hesitantly. “All right,” she murmured. “She stood up and walked with Sano to the gate. Desp

ite the alcohol he consumed, Sano walked steadily at her side.

              Sano grinned at her. “I’ll see you later. Next time, I’ll bring something over to eat.”

              Kaoru smiled weakly and watched her guardian walk into the darkness, a warning about standing in the dark alone tossed carelessly over his shoulder. When the last echo of his voice faded, Kaoru’s smile fled.

              “He was probably sweaty,” she murmured to herself. “Besides, Sanosuke can take care of himself.”

              Nodding securely to herself, Kaoru walked back into the dojo. Soon the lights went out.

~~~~~

              The light was still on in Sano’s home when he returned. Sano smiled fondly to himself. He recalled, only hours ago, telling Kenshin to stay still in the alley, and despite the fight taking place right in front of him, the petite redhead obediently stayed still. Perhaps the redhead was relaxing on Sano’s futon, or maybe Kenshin was snooping around. Sano chuckled at the thought. He supposed he should have picked up a bit, but at least there was plenty there to l—

              Sano opened his door. His jaw dropped.

              All of his clothes were washed and hanging in various places around the house, drying. His dishes were washed and placed carefully on the counter. His floor was swept, his ceiling dusted. He had a table! Hell, he had a floor! When the hell did that happen?

              Still gaping, Sano turned and saw Kenshin leaning against the wall, his long red bangs hiding his face. His voice was as cheerful as ever. “Good evening.”

              Sano swallowed. “Hi,” he said faintly. He gestured at the newly discovered house. “Did you do this?”

              Kenshin tilted his head, wild hair falling over one shoulder. “Yes, that this one did. Do you mind?”

              After a bit of effort, Sano closed his mouth. He had never seen his house this clean. And Kenshin had done it in only a few hours! And Kenshin was asking if he minded?! Weakly, he shook his head and wondered how to tell the guys. They’d never believe him.

              Through a shroud of hair, Kenshin smiled. Gracefully, he slid down the wall, his blade subtly pushed out of his way. “Goodnight, Sanosuke sir,” Kenshin murmured.

              Sano blinked at him. “Hey, hey! Let me grab you some blankets or somethin’! You can use my futon tonight.”

              Kenshin visibly yawned. “I am fine, thank you.”

              Recovering from tonight’s continual mental abuse, Sano shook his head and stalked over to Kenshin. “No way in hell. You’re my guest, you cleaned my house, you get the blasted futon.”

              Kenshin’s eyes widened comically as Sanosuke scooped him into his strong arms. “Sanosuke sir—“ he yelped.

              Kenshin’s sword clattered painfully against Sano’s knee. Doesn’t he ever take that off? Sano wondered, hiding a cringe. With a flourish, Sano plopped Kenshin onto the futon, carefully positioning the redhead so his sword didn’t stab either of them. The breath exploded from the light young man. Wide violet eyes stared up at Sanosuke.

              Sano couldn’t help but smirk at the sheer dumbfounded look on the redhead’s face. “Stop pouting,” he teased. “You look like no one’s ever done that to you.”

              A silent blink answered. Then, to Sano’s amusement, Kenshin began chuckling. For the first time since Sano had saved him, a true sparkle entered those beautiful eyes.

              “It is not common,” Kenshin admitted. “Where will you sleep?”

              Smirking, Sano shrugged. “I’ll just grab a blanket and lay beside ya.”

              Kenshin smiled and finally moved the blade, though he still placed it close. “That’s fine, Sanosuke sir.”

              Sano returned a moment later, his arms full of blankets, and began unwrapping the bandages from his waist. At Sano’s raised eyebrow, Kenshin obligingly slipped out of his outer clothes.

              “Sano,” Sanosuke corrected, plopping beside Kenshin.

              Kenshin chuckled softly. “Sano,” he agreed.

              Several minutes later, the room was submerged in darkness.

              “Goodnight.”

              “Heh. Goodnight.”