Kenshin rubbed his hands together and blew on them to keep them warm. The temperature had dropped since the few hours when he'd left Megumi-- and he'd left his jacket with that other woman in the diner. He wondered how she was. He wondered who she was, for that matter, but he didn't expect to find out. He sighed and shifted his weight on the concrete stoop.

There was Megumi, too. Should he have left her? They thought she was dead. She had said so herself. So maybe it was for the best. He obviously couldn't protect her. He remembered the blast, the sight of her face, the screams that tore through her ravaged body as it viciously fought for life. He closed his eyes. Stupid. He'd been stupid. Taking that tablet. What the hell had he been thinking? Even...even if she had never come, the police would have come after him, wanted to kill him and one of them would have to die.

(Or would they? Are you not strong enough to not kill anymore? Where are your precious ideals now? A hitokiri is a hitokiri until the day he dies)

Kenshin looked at the house across the street. A small knot of women were crying. A mother, perhaps. Two sisters, or maybe a sister and a wife. Two men, one a brother or close friend, sitting on the edge of the couch. A father wiping his eyes. All for Fujimori. Fujimori Umagoe. He repeated the name in his head over and over. The first house he had found (gut sickeningly easily). He had so much pleasure in the kill. He had been out of his mind in METAL, if not then, then soon. They would only suffer. Or would they have? Could he have convinced him? And even if he couldn't, was it better that he die now in some raid that should have gone well? Was their hurt really worth it?

Kenshin could have let himself die. He could have and no one would know...until the coroners dragged his body in. Until the government found out. Got their hands on HIMURA. Maybe even fixed him like Megumi. He shuddered. Wiped his mind. An empty doll. He had seen some of those. The last resort. The final measure. He couldn't allow his strength to fall into their hands but what should he do?

The father looked across the street and seemed to be squinting at Kenshin. Or perhaps not. It was difficult to tell but there was no fear that he could feel. The curtains rolled closed, blocking their agony. Kenshin stood and moved across the street to slip a card into their mailbox. An apology. A foolish little Sorry for your loss. It was paltry. Stupid. That a piece of cardboard would make any difference. Would give Umagoe back to his family.

Kenshin forced himself to walk again, the wind cutting through his hoody. Maybe he should leave the city. And leave it to the AMP heads that not even the police could fight without nearly killing themselves in the process. Maybe he should not kill them. But anyone could use a gun. Even if he crippled them-- and even if they were sent to jail they could make more contacts inside that would make it worse. For every one who could change their lives, an equal number could become worse. More innocents would die. By his hand. By someone elses.

Damnit. He didn't know what to do!

A phone rang, a faint plaintive sound. Salamander he thought with a weary resignation. His mother. Sister. Wife for all he knew. Child. He pulled the grey phone out and was surprised to find it silent. His own phone then. Megumi? No. She didn't have a phone, did she? He dug the pink magenta phone out and a shock gripped the back of his neck.

Shishou

A wave of something swept over him, making him feel weak. He sat on the edge of the sidewalk and stared at the number. Shishou. How had he even gotten this number? It took a moment for Kenshin to remember. The other night. Listening to his voice. Calling him endlessly. Why had he done that? And why was Shishou calling now? Did he know? Had he seen the news? Had he put it together? Was he calling to berate him? To call him a fool and an idiot? To disown him for being the same? Kenshin wrapped an arm around his stomach. He would deserve it. He would deserve that and more. For everything he'd done. For everything he'd been stupid enough to do.

He should answer it.

Shishou would give up. (No he won't)

He deserved it. All of it. No matter how harsh. No matter how cutting. He deserved it. Trying to keep his hand from shaking, Kenshin flipped open the cell and pressed it to his ear.

"Hello." He had meant to sound normal. Direct. But his voice was soft. Shishou would know. Shishou always knew. I'm sorry.