Echoes Of One's Past

Disclaimer: The characters of Rurouni Kenshin do not belong to me. I am just borrowing them for my own little circus of thoughts. In no way is my depiction of their thoughts and actions reflecting those in the series, though I did my best in an imitation of them. However, secondary characters, villains, and lackeys are of my own making.

Author's Notes: This is my first time [third time re- writing a RK fic, so I hope everyone will be lenient on their judging of this. I tried my best to retain characters to their personalities, and I'm sorry if any one of them might sound a bit off (especially after putting down Kenshin for 5 years). Also, I hope those who enjoyed my RK X-mas Carols may enjoy this as well. Anyhow, on with the story!

EDIT: Revised and partially rewritten September 24, 2007. The other chapters will be continually revised/placed up over the course of the following months. It's a thing way overdue.

Prologue

"Hey, haul that box over to the other end! Those don't belong with these boxes," an unidentified voice shouted loudly across the night air and above the din of the dozen working men. From the other side of the Ragnarok, another voice rose over the clamor as well, this one shrieking impatiently for the laborers to speed up their movements.

Stood apart from the others, an individual watched the bustle with a bored attitude plastered to his young face. This person was part of, yet detached from the rest of the twenty or so men, most of which were walking back and forth on the wooden planks that linked the ship's lower opening to the wooden docks. He alone was immobile as he leaned against the lamppost with his arms crossed casually over his chest. The soft summer wind rustled his crown of dark hair with a gentle hand and teased the frayed edges of his well-worn robe. All in all, it was a fine night. The breeze kept him company and the sky was undisturbed by clouds such that it remained clear for stargazing.

Had he not been low on cash, he would never have given this place a second glance. The workers were just unloading crates of ancient tea leaves from the merchant trader, an unlikely venture for someone to waste time attacking. A friend had suggested this job for him, and he had to admit, it did come with a fair amount of salary for one night. The only set back was its lack of activity, but he could handle a little boredom if it meant an instant income of cash. Money was money, and pay was pay, so here he was, watching the perimeters like a tired watch dog in case anyone decided to disturb the night's peace.

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Unnoticed in another corner of the harbor, the Metropolitan Tokyo police force observed the activity with adept attention. Ten of them pooled hidden in the darkness, blended against the shadows between the cargo houses by their deep blue uniforms. Across the wharf nearby, a similar group was stationed, identically hidden in the shadows but for hiding between two anchoring ships.

They were here on a job as well, concurrent to the guarding of the shipment but on distinctively mismatching ends. Just a few short days ago, the local chief received an anonymous tip about a large shipment of opium scheduled to arrive tonight. The message was verified and earlier on this same day, roughly an hour prior to sunset, a massive foreign trader sailed in with her flags blowing wildly. Guided by the light of the city, she had docked at port 67 where she had been left alone. Until midnight, until now. Once the moon shone brightly above the sleeping city, the men who owned her finally began unloading her flanks. The police watched as men crawled out from her like so many gnats out of woodwork and set to work under the dim guidance of hanging lamps. Boxes upon boxes were brought up from her interior hold and one by one they were loaded onto wagons with smooth precision.

The task to arrest and confiscate the illegal substance was handed down from the superintendent to the inspector who further gave it to the underling assistant inspector; whom at the moment monitored the shipment with the police group stationed by the storage houses. He was a tall man, standing out taller than the rest of the force. Dressed as all his other comrades were, he wore the customary navy blue uniform, buttoned up, on top of a thin black top. A uniform supplied hat enshrouded the rest of his face with shadows that the cargo houses had not provided and white gloves concealed the sword calluses which littered across his hands, both left and right. Like a small part of the police force, a blade ordained his left belt, labeling him as part of the chosen group to wear a sword in the peaceful Meiji era. Nothing of which established him as the mission's leader was worn, but he commanded an air of power that few argued, even if they were unaware that he was the director of the raid.

It was a clever time for doing such shady business, he had to admit as he watched the workers haul heavy crates in pairs down weathered planks to the dock. The harbors were open for work during all hours of the day and hence no one would suspect people working so late at night. Yet conveniently, at night there would only be half the amount of people busying the area, and half the number of witness. If the police had not been tipped off in the first place, he had to wonder if they would ever catch this shipment. How many had went by unnoticed in the past?

"It's time," he said before dropping a half burnt cigarette from his gloved fingers. The dot of red spiraled down like its smoke tendrils to the ground, glowing with its lambent orange until it was crushed beneath the leather black sole of his boot. As if that was the awaited signal for the other end of the harbor, the second hidden force began their movements as well. Both sides progressed at the same time, rushing out onto the concrete platform to arrest the criminals.

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One minute he was leaning against the lamppost staring at the stars above, and the next thing he knew, they were under attack. Somebody really bothered to steal away boxes of tea!? Prior to being employed, the man in charge did warn him that the tea leaves in the shipment were "rare and expensive", but he had laid those cautions under a paranoid merchant's banter. He never thought someone was really stupid enough to waste time on tea! It was only leaves after all!

The sentry on the boat seemed to have noticed they were under attack the same time he had, and shouted a warning loud enough for the whole area. Chaos erupted on the echoes of those words, creating even more confusion in the darkness of the crowded harbor.

Two groups of people, he quickly noticed, roughly ten on each side. Even as he took in the details, the place was becoming quickly filled with activity as both the attackers and defenders brought out weapons. He thought he saw the rushing opposition brandishing weapons of the longer sort. Staffs? Swords? There were reflections of light on a few, so there must be at least some swords.

Sagara Sanosuke smiled confidently as he pushed himself back from the lamppost. Even without the circle of light, his white robe with the Aku character still stood out like a beacon in the night's darkness. The wind blew again, this time playful with the ends of his red headband, marking him brightly for all those rushing men to see. "You'll have to get past me first!" Smashing his bandaged right fist into his open left hand, Sano grinned at the oncoming men. It was too dark to identify them clearly, these troublemakers who all wore a similar set of dark clothing that may or may not have been a uniform.

A familiar bell rang at the back of his mind like an irritating itch but Sano waved it off with another smash of his hands together. If he could not remember it, it was likely unimportant. There were other more significant details to worry about.

Like the first attacker coming at him with his long staff held high above his head, positioning it to as if to club down on Sano's head. At least, that was probably what the man intended to do, but when the wooden weapon came down, instead of contacting upon his crest of unkempt brown hair, Sano suddenly pulled his arm up. There was a loud snapping noise as the unbending staff came down on his forearm and the thin weapon splintered. Wood chips rained down on both of them, covering the immediate area with small pieces of broken timber. In between the time it took for his attacker to realize what had happened and try to act on it, Sano's left fist jutted out in a solid punch in retaliation. He felt it land somewhere in his opponent's midsection and backed it with enough strength to send the man hurling through several stacked boxes. "Ha!" The first victory was his!

The second and third attackers met with similar fates. The first one ended up with his staff and nose broken seeing they both stood in the path of his fists, and the second was disarmed of his western saber in a matter of seconds. With his forearm, he had managed to knock the first swing of the blade aside and followed through by breaking his opponent's arm with a downward elbow on the man's arm joint. Both attackers, wounded and disarmed, retreated back after that, each respectively clutching to their own injury.

Adrenaline pumped through Sano's veins as his fist connected with the body of another attacker. Warm flesh gave way beneath his hard punch and a sickening crack of a bone breaking from impact echoed almost as loudly as the man's ensuing scream. "Bring it on!"

By then, Sano was once more wrapped in the heat of battle like he had in the past. The fight was a renaissance of the old days when he, as Zanza, had fought people for money. Those days were really not all that long ago. Only three months had passed since the life and death battle between Kenshin and Shishio, and, in these hundred odd days, the train of their lives had returned more or less to the track it had traveled down before the whole crisis occurred. He still lived in his old shack and continued to mooch free food and borrow money, basically resigning himself to living the life away from his Zanza alter ego. It was boring, but he had vowed to a promise to himself and he would stick by it without reverting to the street gangster. He just never thought that the job would get this interesting. Sano turned just in time to uppercut the most currently attacking man.

"Take care of the others. I'll handle this ahou."

The voice coming from behind him quickly shook Sano of his reminiscences. There was only one man who ever called him an idiot in such self confident and annoying tones, and that one man had been dead for three months. He saw the place go up in flames and even went back afterwards to check, perhaps with some misplaced hope of finding the missing man. That poor bastard was so lost amongst the rubble that used to be Shishio's fortress that not even half a sword was left behind for the street fighter to find. That was as good enough a reason as any to explain why the voice he heard now could not be that bastard's, although it does not explain who it could be.

To that answer, there was one easy way to find out. With a speed that would have impressed even Kenshin, Sano spun on his padded soles at a breakneck pace to confront the owner of the arrogant voice. Even though he knew it was not humanly possible for the dead to return, he knew that, past ghosts returning in dreams aside, but he still could not help but expect the impudent man who he associated with that tone. So with those contradicting feelings, Sano was not more than slightly startled when he found himself staring face to face with a ghost.

Or who perfectly should be a ghost, but was standing there nonetheless, complete from the provoking half smirk down to black booted feet.

Sharp amber eyes stared back at him from behind a long angular face framed with four front spidery bangs. As impeccable in that police uniform as ever before, Saitou Hajime was standing in front of Sano with one gloved hand resting on the black uniform belt and the other hanging by his side. A haughty smirk blazoned from that annoyingly serious face while the officer casually -casually!- ran uncaring eyes over him.

The surprised ex-gangster had trouble believing what his eyes told him. Saitou, that bastard, was alive. Unbidden memories of the last fight blazed across the recesses of Sano's mind: a whole arena falling to flamed pieces, explosions which assaulted the ears so hard he thought he was going to be deaf for life, the sickening sweet smell of roasted human flesh. The sheets of flames shooting up from the depths beneath them were such an untamable force that even Sano had wondered if they would join the mummy's fate after all. Thus when Saitou got separated by the chasm of a collapsed bridge, how could he have expected him to survive that incinerating flare? How could he expect anyone to?

But apparently this man had. He had escaped from the destruction of Shishio's fortress while sustaining two heavy wounds to his legs. The man does not even look scarred, and proves himself infallible by standing before Sano once more with his mocking smirk still in place.

Slowly Sano returned from his self induced shock. It probably amused the bastard to think that he had actually believed the Miburo had died for three months. He still did not know how Saitou had survived through those hellish flames, he was doubtful that anyone human could survive through those hellish flames, so if anything, the street fighter could not be blamed for his lack of faith.

The reaction time was slow, but when all was taken in and accepted, there quickly followed the exclamation. "You're alive!"

That unbending smirk did not change and Sano felt his surprise quickly succumbing to anger. For three whole months, he had thought that the arrogant bastard was dead. Dead! And during the first few weeks, he had even stuck around the damage area and mourned for the man in his own way. Now, all of a sudden, the son of a bitch just walks in and dares to call him a moron? It certainly proved how much of an arrogant bastard Saitou Hajime really was, as if Sano had not known that. It also made him want to punch the man's face, hard, very, very hard.

Against such people, Sano was only too glad to allow his rage to goad him into attacking. Not even pausing to think why would Saitou be here in the first place, the ex-gangster attacked. He felt flesh twist beneath his left fist as it collided with the cocky man's face. However, no one was more surprised than himself was when not a second later, Sano found himself landing crudely on his back from a well placed return punch.

"Teme!" He cursed loudly as soon as the wind returned to his lungs. Just how did the bastard get that punch in? Saitou had once berated him for his lack of defense, but after those lengthy battles before and during the fight with Shishio, one would have thought that some sort of defending mechanism would have naturally developed. Not to mention, Sano was certain his blow landed squarely across that angular jaw, then how had the bastard managed to get back at him so quickly?

The cool amber eyes continued to watch him as he tried to scramble back onto his feet. For a moment, Sano thought that this marked the end of the battle, the wolf would stand back and silently gloat like he always did. Except before the thought even completed itself, white gloved hands reached out and grabbed him by the lapels of his open robe and succeeding a strong heave, Saitou hauled him to his feet again. Sano was still too surprised by the haul to respond, and when the harsh lock on both of his wrists came, he only too late repossessed the idea to fight back. Only the bastard was twisting him roughly around already and had his arms immobilized in a shoulder dislocating hold. Normally, if someone tried to hold him down this way, he would have easily broken free with a laugh. However, Saitou obviously knew what he was capable of with his stamina and strength and had chosen to neutralize him properly.

"Yeoch! Hey, watch it!" Struggling proved as futile as his earlier punch, and Sano just ended up with both shoulders aching their displeasure. One last pull nearly dislocated his right arm and that was when he decided it might not be such a bad idea to just go along for the moment. Anyhow, they had been allies -more like cooperating enemies now that Sano thought about it- during the government's crisis with Shishio, so Saitou couldn't be all that bad. There was also the point that he was a police officer, although that did very little to reassure the street fighter of what the man was doing bending his arms back like that.

In fact, it suddenly occurred to him that something was very wrong. Trying to twist his head around to look catch a glimpse at the man behind him, he winced immediately when Saitou responded by pushing him into a forward walk. "Just what the hell are you doing?!"

"Ahou ga, what does it look like? I'm apprehending you for smuggling opium and resisting arrest," came the reply in that overbearing and pitiless voice, but one would be crazy to expect pity from a wolf.

"WHAT?"

Just to explain some basic Japanese used.

Aku - the kanji for 'Evil'. RuroKen fans should already recognize this as Sanosuke's signature character that he wore on his back, but I'll cover it here anyway.

ahou (ga) - a crude way of saying moron or idiot. Also known as Saitou's signature line in reference to Sano.

Miburo - a nickname procured by the Shinsengumi, taking on the meaning as "wolves of Mibu".

teme - a very vulgar way of saying 'you', equivalent on the level of swearing.