Author's Note: I hope I don't disappoint. Please accept my apologies.
Disclaimer: RK is not mine.
chap. 16 - puddles
Sanosuke cursed loudly.
He had heard her labored breathing, he had felt her clammy skin, and he knew what effect his story -- his truth -- would have on her. Meant to have on her.
She had fallen, and Sanosuke listened with frantic ears for the sounds of her footsteps.
She had let out what he thought was a whimper, before taking off.
His mind went blank. Then...I have to go after her.
Now, scrambling on his feet, he groped about him, feeling for the doorway he knew she had passed moments before.
He paused, feeling the rough wood of the wall bite into his fingertips. An unfamiliar ground lay before him, and he listened for her disappearing footsteps.
The trickle of rain...
A crash of thunder...
An echoing...thump...stomp.
There.
He pinpointed her steps, his mind wild with thoughts.
I have to find her... That was the first thought. But...then what?... His mind told him to find her first, then worry later.
He took a step -- a blind one. And another, and another. Painful seconds later, he heard the stomp of rain grow louder and knew he had reached the entrance -- the door that would lead him closer to her. Hopefully.
Without stopping, he felt through the door. Immediately, he gasped. The pouring rain fell on him in icy sheets, chilling him to the bone and knocking his senses cold. He could feel his thin shirt stick to his wet skin, his once-spiky hair now matting close to the nape of his neck.
His ears erupted with the sound of the rain, hitting the dirt like heavy weights, sloshing about in the mud that encased his feet.
He opened his mouth, felt the taste of rainwater and salt -- his tears? -- and let out one yell:
"Megumi!"
The name was drowned in the abrupt cackle of thunder, but reverberated in his mind.
He held his hands out in front of him -- he had no idea where he was or what was in front of him...and he didn't care.
"Listen," he bellowed, not sure if she was there, not sure if she was listening, "I screwed up. But when you told me you made opium again, I lost it. I gave up my freedom for you, and for what?! Nothing. You did what you always said you wouldn't."
He shivered. There was the trickle of rain again, but nothing more.
The sound of thunder came bursting through the sky, shaking his entire being...though he was positive that he wasn't just shaking because of the cold.
He sighed, almost sure that he was talking to an empty street. "I just...I don't want this anymore. I'm tired of being angry. I'm tired of your anger. I want it to go back to how it was, though I know it probably can't."
Again, all that greeted him was the sound of rain, pouring, dumping, leaving behind water that weighed his body down with burdens he couldn't stand to carry. Lightning struck, and he felt its malice; thunder boomed, and he sensed its cruelty pulsing through his body. The wind howled violently, enveloping his being in a cold blanket. In the dark sky, clouds were painted with tears of blood that cast a dark shadow that refused to be illuminated by sun, a harbinger of joy. There he stood, alone, allowing sorrows to wash over his soul and melt him, take him away to some place that would rob all of his senses blind.
And he laughed. He laughed at the ridiculousness of his helplessness. What more could he utter? What more could leave his lips, his body, his heart before someone was satisfied? He laughed until he was sure he could cry, cry bloody tears that would spill down his face, cascade down his body until it was overwhelmed by the rain.
And then a warmth. A hope. That spread its arms around his cold, heartbeatless neck and drowned him in its simplicity. He could not see her: this hope that shared his awareness of the bloody puddles they stood in. But he could feel the heat that was so different from the cold he knew.
He heard the wind whisper It's okay, I'm tired too, before resigning to the comfort that once was. The rain fell, fast and hard, but washed all that blood away, pulling the crimson into cracks and crevices of the mud, seeping below and burying the hurt, the pain, the lies, the secrets, the I love you's, the mistakes, the regrets. Crisp, clean, light, sun was nowhere near, but yet, hope was still present.
Somewhere.
It was a warm embrace. It wasn't filled with anger or lust or regrets -- it was just. An embrace.
The rain was deafening. He gently pulled away, his wet shirt clinging to his cold skin as he wrapped his arm around her. She let him and slowly led him back inside.
The change was immediate, as a warm blast of air greeted them and painted their cheeks pink. He felt the cold rain fall off of him like waterfalls, gathering at his feet and leaving behind small, clean puddles in the cracks of the wooden floor. Thunder boomed outside, but they remained oblivious to the sound, walking through her small house to the room where he had been spending his days recovering.
She pulled him to his futon, his wet clothes and self and all, seating him so he knew where he was. He could not see her face, but knew that she was calmer than she had ever been in the past days.
She sat next to him, and he could feel her weight being added to his futon, her wet kimono seeping water into the sheets.
"You cold?" he asked, whispering the words softly and gently, careful not to break the mood.
"A little. You should get out of those wet clothes; it's unhealthy, with you recovering and all." He could hear the doctor in her speaking.
He reached over, his arm dangling in midair at first, finding its own way towards her. He found her tangled, drenched hair and began to comb through her tussles, feeling her wet, but warm neck as he brushed against her skin.
"You're not exactly going to stay healthy when you're that wet, either."
"Then let me help you."
Something lingered at the back of her mind, but she ignored it as she took his hand that was on her cheek and returned it to his side. She pulled herself closer to him, finding the delicate folds in his soaking, thin gi and unfolding them past his shoulder blades so that his chest lay bare and chilled to her. Goosebumps crawled on his skin, adjusting to the abrupt change in temperature.
He conceded, hesitant, but allowed her to pull his arms out of the sleeves. Droplets of rainwater remained on his skin, clinging to his warmth.
"Let me see you," he whispered gently, feeling air rush past his toned arms as he reached for her, cupping her face in his palms. With his thumbs, he felt her neat eyebrows, her expressive eyes, her chilled nose, her curved chin, her lips... He reached lower and spread his fingers over her neck like a swan would unfurl its wings. Pushing aside her collar, he felt for a soaked knot, pulling the soggy threads apart.
"You're probably not strong enough for this sort of activity," she murmured, only half-serious as her kimono fell to her waist.
"Screw that."
She smiled; he could feel her lips turn upward and her cheeks flush. He was blind, but he could find her smooth skin and pull her body into his arms. He had no vision, but he had never seen her so clearly.
Reaching up with supple fingers, he found her lips, then lowered his own mouth on hers in a moist, passionate, forgiving kiss.
They were falling...
Sanosuke entered his slumber contentedly, with the muffled rain pounding against the walls of Megumi's home. His breath was steady, though unaware of the dreams swarming in the back of his mind...
Fumes of war trapped his senses, and Hoji had to fight the nauseating sensation swimming in his stomach. Atop a fit and gorgeous brown crossbred horse, he galloped as fast as his unsteady mind would allow him to. With Giichi just at his tail, he did not know how much further he could go until the man would catch up with him.
But he was determined, and Hoji would not allow his withdrawal to affect him.
In no time, he felt that he had shaken off Giichi and steadied his grip, hearing the booms of cannons in the distance, knowing that he was so close.
His hand involuntarily flew to his swollen left cheek. The skin beneath his touch was tender and bruised from where Sanosuke had punched him He knew he was disregarding orders, but he did not care. Sanosuke could thank him later.
Delayingly, he halted his horse, feeling the clunks of the horse's hooves slow. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead, and his heated skin felt clammy as he paused, fighting the migraine and leaning his forehead against the animal's neck.
Gathering his senses, he jolted to life, jumping from the horse's haunches and landing on his feet, if not unsteadily. The sounds of war sent adrenaline rushing through his blood, captivating his attention. He stood for a moment on the pier, gazing at the scene before him, suddenly knowing that China was losing...and that She would lose in the end.
He sighed, but he knew that he had set out to the River for a reason.
He checked his pouch that was slung loosely around his waist, tied carelessly because of his hurry to escape Giichi's watch. Feeling for his numerous weapons, he took one last breath before crossing the dock. He intended to find a way to the battle, and he couldn't believe his luck when he found a Chinese junk towards the end.
The wooden boat was filled with Chinese officers, swaying in the precarious waters. Men shouted orders above the ruckus of the War, hustling here and there to prepare to set off towards the chaos.
The man that Hoji supposed was in charge, a man with a strong build and a tiny line of a mustache, spotted Hoji and pointed at him, yelling almost distractedly in hurried Cantonese,
"You! Get on the damn boat, soldier! We're about to take off!"
Hoji stood in a moment of astonishment, not believing his ridiculous luck. Gathering himself, he jostled towards the junk, jumping the wooden rail. When Hoji felt his feet contact with the boat's floor, he knew instantly why the moronic man in charge had thought he was a soldier -- with the introduction of firearms, most Chinese soldiers disregarded the uniform and instead wore peasant's clothing. In fact, the men running around in front of him merely wore thin garments, stained already with gunpowder and the scent of War.
Okay, just ignore that aku on my back, Hoji thought. By now, he knew that he was still a wanted criminal (innocent or not), and the Chinese character on his back would throw his cover.
Running towards the edge of the junk, he felt a wave of nausea and fought the urge to faint. Leaning heavily on the rail, he felt the sharpened wood cut into his arm. The river swirled in his vision, and he told himself to focus, to push away the fatigue and weariness.
Looking up, he swore he saw Giichi in the distance, staring back at him in horrid amazement.
But just as Hoji caught the man's eye, the junk began to float away, its destination the black clouds of the battle before them.
They were so close, and Hoji could feel the vibrations of the cannon as it let loose. The junk dipped and dived with the violent waves, and he felt a gruesome taste retch at the back of his throat. Leaning against the railing once more, he tipped his head over in midair and let the white-hot liquid seep between his teeth.
"Sea sick?" a curious voice asked.
Hoji kept his head overboard, gathering his thoughts and his stomach. He spit out the remnants of his stomach and tilted upwards, nodding groggily at the soldier who had regarded Hoji with concern.
"Sure, fine." Hoji was in no mood to talk. His body was tense and eager to get on with the battle. Anything would drive away the sickening feeling in his body.
The soldier nodded understandingly. In an instant, however, a look of terror crossed the soldier's face as he stepped forwards towards Hoji, knocking him downwards and yelling,
"Get down!"
Hoji felt his breath knocked out of him as he felt the impact of the boat's hard floor against his chest. His vision swirled, and he was fighting nausea again. Hoji understood why the soldier had pushed him down -- a cannonball came flying through the air and landed squarely in the middle of the Chinese junk, crashing through the wooden boards easily.
Hoji and the man were thrown against the wall of the railings, with planks of wood catapulting through the air, dust and soot swarming the air in clouds of dust and grime. Hoji felt a thin layer of the gunpowder coat his skin and spit out the metallic taste seeping into his lips.
In one brief moment, Hoji suddenly realized the boat was falling apart. Cracks formed in the boards near him, and he could feel the junk sinking abnormally towards an angle. Nails that had once held the Chinese junk together were now upended, and Hoji knew he had to get off the sinking boat, fast.
"Hey, you can get off me now!" Hoji cried, shaking the soldier off of his back, "We have to get outta here!"
The man did not respond and instead fell to a heap at Hoji's feet, limp.
The sick feeling in his stomach returned, as he realized the soldier had just saved his life -- embedded in his back were several sharp pieces of rubble that had been blown to shards by the cannonball. The man had no breath, no pulse, and Hoji took a moment to mutter a thanks before jumping from the remains of the drowning ship with skilled agility.
In the air, he dug through his pouch, finding a dagger with a thin wire tied to its end. Taking careful aim, he threw the dagger, the sharp point finding its mark in the high sails of a British ship.
Hoji landed and caught his breath in his hiding place. The world spun while adrenaline pulsed through his veins, and he did his best to ignore the cravings building up in his mind.
He looked below him and saw the Britains running around, the noise deafening, the feeling incomparable. He squinted through the thick fog of smoke and residue of the cannons, finding a place to land.
He found one.
Without hesitating, without thinking, and without regrets, he plunged into the very depths of hell -- headfirst.
He landed.
His dagger found its place without his mind even having to think. He pulled out his throwing stars, sending them through the air, knocking his opponents down -- keeping them down. He flipped, his mind spinning, caught his balance, and contacted his kick with ease, sending the Britain onto his back unconscious, with Hoji still atop him, fighting off numerous others.
His eyes scanned his surroundings and did a doubletake when he spotted someone very familiar to him -- Matashi.
"Matashi!" he yelled over the booms of cannons, fighting his way towards his friend. Matashi spun around, his eyes widening uncharacteristically at the sight of Hoji.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" he boomed in response, his two long katanas frozen in midair.
Hoji reached him and staggered, trying to keep his balance although he knew he would not be able to maintain consciousness for much longer.
"Don't stop fighting on my account!" Hoji bellowed, plunging a dagger into his opponent. Matashi seemed to regain his composure as he sliced his victim down.
"Captain's gonna kill you when he sees you!" Matashi conversed, artfully dodging an attack before taking the offensive and cutting the poor Britain down.
"You're not going to tell him!" Hoji huffed as an answer, "Besides..." He paused, "I don't think I'm gonna make it through this one."
Matashi either was not surprised to hear this or chose to pretend not to hear Hoji.
It was then that Hoji took his first hit. His mind had blacked out momentarily, and he reacted too slowly to avoid the gunshot that pierced his left shoulder. Fire erupted on his skin, and he could feel blood oozing -- his blood.
"Agh!" Hoji grunted, grasping his shoulder in reflex.
The man who had shot at him began to charge towards Hoji, before being stopped abruptly by Matashi.
"Thanks," Hoji muttered, not looking at Matashi.
Matashi remained silent and continued to fight.
Suddenly, Hoji realized it was not a Brit who had charged at him with a gun -- the man was Chinese.
"What the hell?!" Hoji yelled in realization.
"We're wanted men," Matashi responded knowingly, "They must've realized it just now and acted upon orders by higher-ups."
"We can't fight Brits and our own!" Hoji cried in frustration, "Damn this to hell!"
Distracted and careless, Hoji did not detect the bullet whizzing straight towards the right side of his chest. The shot contacted painfully. Hoji's ears were pounding blood, raging thoughts thundering through his head.
With one determined yell, Hoji got to his feet, swaying, bringing down a Britain.
"Matashi!" came a voice, and Hoji looked up -- it was Meng who had called his comrade's name.
Matashi did not respond, but looked in Meng's direction, briefly acknowledging his fellow's cry.
"Matashi!" Meng repeated, "We gotta get outta here! The Captain's hurt real bad, and we don't got a chance! Retreat, dammit! We did all we could, but with the Chinese army attacking us too, we'll all be killed!"
Matashi remained silent, and continued to fight, sweat layering his skin, slipping from his face in droplets.
"Matashi!"
"GO THEN!" Matashi bellowed angrily, and Hoji lost sight of the fighter as he disappeared among the many faces of the battle. Meng, too, was gone.
Hoji's every limb was on fire -- he was alone now. Matashi had left him, Meng had not noticed him, and the Captain had been knocked out.
He breathed unevenly, fighting the swimming images floating in his vision. A Brit charged at him, brandishing a sabre. Hoji fought to order his body to move. He couldn't. The blade cut through his abdomen, and his body caught fire with unbearable pain.
He gasped, the white-hot feeling seeping throughout his entire body. He crumpled to the ground then and there, the Britain hovering over him.
His eyelids flickered groggily. The Brit pulled out a revolver, cocking it menacingly and firing it at Hoji's chest.
Time slowed.
Hoji heard the bang.
Heard the crack as the bullet penetrated his skin.
Felt the boiling pain.
Blood rose to his mouth, and he parted his lips, letting the warm liquid trickle down his chin.
The Britain ran off, presuming Hoji done for.
Laying in a puddle of his own crimson blood, Hoji's body ached all over, and he closed his eyes, mulling the situation over. The world around him was surreal -- felt surreal -- every bit of it was crazy, simply unreal. The sounds of war engulfed him, suffocated him in a blanket he could not escape -- he was drowning. His body shook violently -- from the effects of the war, from the effects of the withdrawal of the drug. He fought for breath, his lungs were on fire, and he simply could not feel his body any longer.
This was his repentance.
This is how he would pay for his foolishness.
His surroundings began to sink away, began to ebb away into a muffled background that no longer existed.
No regrets...that was how he would leave...maybe the Captian, in time, would come to forgive him...
His mind whirled, then calmed, finding its place in the darkness that had now enveloped him.
He breathed slowly, slower, and then...
...he simply...
let go.
Sanosuke woke with a start, his eyes flaring open in one startled wave. Only darkness greeted him, of course, but the images of the dream were implanted in his mind's eye.
He trembled slightly, and he could imagine Megumi sleeping next to him, stirring maybe, but closing her eyes tighter as she kept on slumbering.
He brought a clammy hand up to his face, which was covered with beads of cold sweat. Bringing his index finger up to his right eye, he felt the corner of his eyelid and lifted his hand away. His finger was wet.
It took him a moment to realize he was crying.