For War is Kind ~ Chapter 10

 

Aoshi was still trying to clean the last of the blood from his face as he returned to the Aoi-Ya. It was late, but he had slid through lightless back alleys without falter or hesitation, without even needing to glance back to know that his comrades were behind him. The cuffs of his Oniwaban uniform were soaked with crimson, and the hair at his temples was dyed red, stiff so it feathered delicately away from his face.

It had been a while since they had needed to do something like this; he had forgotten how good it felt. The weight of a blade in his hand, the hiss of steel against steel. Afterwards, he felt only as heavy as the blood that weighed down his clothing, as though that was the only thing holding him here anymore.

There was a raw friction burn between his right thumb and index finger from gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly, but other than that he was unhurt. There was nothing that could hurt him.

Dismissing his agents with a wave of his hand, Aoshi returned to the room he and Sagara had been sharing - unofficially - for the past two weeks. He was surprised to find it empty, but he didn't worry. He leaned his kodachi in the corner, and started for the far cabinet. The smell of slaughter would probably cling to him for a while, but for now a change of clothes would be enough. With a length of white cloth, he began to clean the blood methodically from his hands.

Behind him, the panel slid quietly open, and Aoshi glanced up briefly. His eyes thinned a little, almost pleasantly. There was something about returning to find Sagara here that... was ruined when he looked at him that way.

"Aoshi...?"

"I'm fine," he said briskly as he cleaned the blood from his face. "It's not mine, after all."

"I know," Sagara snorted. He snatched the cloth from his hand and began to wipe away the spots he had missed. "I know you're fine."

And yet he didn't seem very convinced of that. Aoshi reached up to bat the man's hand away; all this mothering felt too close and cramped after the bloodshed of the past hour. But at the moment they touched, Sagara's eyes flew wide and the distance between them fell away as he jerked Aoshi forward into an embrace.

Aoshi gasped silently. "What's the matter?" he asked, neither accepting nor rejecting the arms around his shoulders. "You should have seen us, Sagara. We were amazing tonight."

"You sound... so proud when you say that." Sagara's voice wavered a little, but he only tightened his grip as though he expected Aoshi to slip away, no matter how tightly he held him. "What happened?"

Aoshi shifted a little. "It wasn't anything important," he said evenly. Sagara would still be sensitive about things like this, he realized distantly. Well. He would just have to deal with it. "We were hired to take out a small faction in the east district." His eyes thinned. "They couldn't even touch us."

"Hired?" Sagara echoed numbly. His arms slid away from Aoshi's shoulders, falling limply at his sides. He had been hired... It didn't seem right, somehow. Didn't seem like the Aoshi he had come to care for these past few weeks. Even if he knew the man's business, had known since they met, it didn't make the truth any less unsettling. "At least you're all right." He forced a thin smile. "That's all that matters."

"Of course I'm all right. Do you really think there's anyone left in this era that can hurt the Oniwaban Ninja?" He stepped away, stripping off his blood soaked shirt and letting it fall to the floor. "At least we're still fighting. And I won't complain about the money."

Sagara flinched at the wet slap of fabric hitting the ground. He pressed a hand over his mouth, color draining from his face as the metallic smell of blood touched his senses. "Aoshi," he whispered. "The war is over..."

"And?" Aoshi hesitated a moment, then slipped out of his pants as well, tugging on a clean yukata. "The war may be over, but there have always been ninja. And there always will be, if I have anything to do with it." He faced Sagara at last, and paused. One eyebrow peaked as he tried to decipher the expression that twisted his face. "What's the matter? You're pale." He came forward, touching his cheek lightly. "You're not worried about me, are you?" He found the thought amusing, and oddly a bit reassuring.

"That's not it..." Sagara murmured, turning his head slightly to escape Aoshi's touch. His fingertips felt damp, as though they were still stained with blood, leaving faint spots of scarlet on his skin. "I'm sorry. Maybe I don't understand. Why..." He swallowed hard, sliding a hand back through his hair; is fingers curled nervously at the nape of his neck. "Why anyone would want to fight when he doesn't have to. I know it's not a threat to you. But... all those people..."

Aoshi let his hand fall, backing away a step. He shook his head. "You really don't understand, do you? I do have to fight." He turned away sharply, and returned to the cabinet against the wall. He rose a moment later with a vial of oil and fresh cloth and retrieved his sword, weighting it slightly in his hand as he said, "It's what we are. It's all we're good at."

"That's a lie," Sagara murmured. He backed off a step, as though Aoshi intended the blade for him.

"You think so?" Aoshi glanced at him briefly, carelessly, and then knelt, balancing the sword in his lap. With the ease of many evenings spent engaged this way, he spilled some of the oil onto the, and began to clean the blood from it.

"Yes! Aoshi..." But his voice felt heavy in his throat, and Sagara couldn't find all the words he'd meant to say. He pressed two trembling fingers to his lips, seeking them there, but he couldn't speak to Aoshi like this, not when he was treating the blade in his hands with such care. "Forgive me," he whispered. "I shouldn't have said anything." He turned away abruptly. "I'm glad you're safe. I'll leave you alone to get cleaned up."

"Sagara," Aoshi said sharply without looking up from his work. "Don't be so naïve. I know you knew this all before now. It's what I am. And more than that, it's the last thing I can do for my men. They have nothing else, and neither do I. You understand that."

"I... I don't," Sagara admitted numbly. "I know that you only want to take care of them, but how can you? Like this...?"

This time, Aoshi did glance up. "I guess you really don't understand. But that's not really my problem, is it?" Later, Sagara would come to accept it. As they all had. "But you don't need to worry about me; I can take care of myself. And as for the people we kill..." He hesitated a moment. "Don't worry about them, either. If it wasn't us, it would be someone else. There's nothing you can do about that."

Sagara's hands twitched into fists at his side, and he forced them to relax again before he spoke. He wasn't angry. He couldn't be angry because he had known this was going to happen. He must have known. He just hadn't anticipated how close to the bone it was going to feel when it did, but with each word it felt like old wounds were being torn open. Each careless glance from Aoshi's eyes seemed to speak volumes, seemed to say... they had all died for nothing. "That's not the point," he hissed, and his eyes flashed in the dim light. "How dare you? How dare you say things like that now?"

Aoshi looked up, admittedly stunned. He'd never heard Sagara talk like that before. "Like what?" He set his sword aside, pushing to his feet. "It's the truth and you know it. What's gotten into you?"

"You have no right to be so damn casual." Sagara turned slightly away so he wouldn't have to see the look in Aoshi's eyes. "You murdered them. And all you can say is there's nothing you can do?"

Aoshi's eyes narrowed poisonously. "If they had been stronger, I wouldn't have killed them, would I?"

The floor seemed to drop right out from under him. He lashed out, catching Aoshi on the jaw with an open-handed blow. His head turned sharply with it, his lips parting a little in shock. "No, I suppose you wouldn't have." Raking his hair back with one hand, Sagara turned to go.

Aoshi touched a hand softly to his cheek; the skin was hot beneath his fingertips. There would be a bruise there in the morning, more condemning than even the blood on his hands had been. He was baffled, knew only that he was alone here now. Alone...

"Sagara...?" He lifted his head, found the space before him empty, the panel still a little ajar, the sounds of footsteps in the hall, retreating. He cursed softly, and gave chase. "Sagara... Sagara, wait!"

He caught him by the shoulder, turning the man to face him. "What the hell's going on?"

"Don't touch me!" Sagara snapped, slapping his hand away.

Aoshi withdrew, breath catching. "You said you liked me, didn't you?" he demanded. "Well... this is a part of me, too. You've always know that, so don't act so self-righteous now."

"That's not it." The hand that he had struck him with was cradled against his chest, and Sagara held it tightly as though to prevent it from doing more damage. "That's..." He sighed weakly. "I just thought I wouldn't have to see things like this any more. I... don't like to fight, Aoshi. I don't like knowing how easy it is to end a person's life. I don't like knowing what they died for. Money or ideals... nothing really matters because it's all so insignificant when you have to see their eyes right before you bring the blade down." He lifted a hand to the bridge of his nose. "Maybe you can't understand, but..."

Aoshi watched him calmly. "Do you really think you have any right to say that now?" he asked. "You fought as well. You must have had your reasons. For peace, wasn't it? Everything for the good of Japan?"

"Shut up," Sagara whispered.

"And didn't it feel good?" Aoshi continued, as though having not heard. "Every one of those Imperialist bastards you put in the ground was another obstacle you cleared aside. Every lie you willingly told, a stone to pave your path." He reached out, as though to pull the man back to him. "We're almost the same you know," he said gently. "Only I've never claimed to have some higher ideal. I've never been so hypocritical, Sagara."

Sagara leapt back as Aoshi touched him. He looked up, and his eyes were those of an animal ensnared, knowing the end was near... "And I was wrong. Do you think a day goes by when I don't realize all over again how wrong I was? When I don't think... the only reason I lived was because death would have been too easy?" His eyes widened, and he reached out with a trembling hand, touching Aoshi's cheek. "Oh, God, you don't want to be where I am."

Aoshi snorted disdainfully, tilting his chin back a little to escape Sagara's touch. "I see. But there really is nothing I can do about it. I'm in too good a mood tonight to let you ruin it, so I guess it's up to you to deal with." He turned and started back toward their room.

Sagara's eyes narrowed a little as he watched Aoshi's retreat. Cold as ice... Had he expected anything else? He sighed quietly, and when he looked down at his hands, was surprised to find them shaking a little. Tugging them into the sleeves of his yukata, he made for the side door of the inn.

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