A quick shot of how much 'Catch Me' is changing

[nagia]

Misao watched the sun set over her ninth day in Tokyo. The planet was still visible in the distance, a blue-green marble in the sky, but the other moons hadn't yet risen. Some of them had been up throughout the day and were setting over other cities, but others—

Well, there was one, just beginning to rise. It was milk-white, a paler coin in a pale violet sky.

Misao watched it, watched dark shapes fly across its face. There were plenty of black silhouettes drifting across the sky, most of them probably ships. A few of them, though, were something else. She watched what looked like scalloped wings and shuddered at the thought.

The new government had done bad things, like completely eradicate old social classes to make a brand new mess. Then there had been the sword ban—a completely ass-brained idea, even Okina had said so more than once, and Okina had been determined never to criticize the new government too loudly.

It had also done good things, like arm all the Anti-Oni Bases with jets, which were legally required to do flyovers and patrol civilized airspace. That had a better shot at keeping the flying oni out of everyone's hair than anything the Shogunate had tried.

She settled onto the engawa, adjusted the wrist ring of her gauntlets. The summer heat had penetrated even the shaded rooms, so she might as well enjoy the sunset with some cool green tea.

Kaoru and Yahiko were going at it in the courtyard. They'd traded in their swords for bokken and were viciously chasing each other through the grass and dust. For all intents and purposes, the Assistant Master of the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu wanted to brain her student.

Considering the force of Yahiko's swings, the feeling was entirely mutual.

Megumi tucked herself in beside her. The older woman's pale face was turned toward Kaoru's and Yahiko's attempts to kill each other with mostly nonlethal weapons, but her dark, glistening eyes were watching Misao.

Misao cracked a grin, picked up her chawan in both hands and took a sip. The thin green tea somehow managed to taste just the right side of too bitter and too sweet. "Shouldn't you be torturing your precious Ken-san?"

Megumi cast a glance at him. Her lips were pouty and full. They quirked downwards just a tad before the expression smoothed itself away. "There's a reason I'm sitting here and not over there."

"Don't feel like getting beaned in the face with a lead-tipped piece of wood?" Misao raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smile.

Megumi's response was a chilly look. "I want to make sure you aren't with them."

"I'm here because I've got a deal going with…" She looked up, searched the courtyard until she found him, then pointed at Sano. He seemed oblivious to the attention. "That idiot over there. Why are you here?"

"Why, because Ken-san deserves to be in better hands than some sweaty girl's." Megumi covered her mouth with her hand and chuckled.

Misao felt her eyebrow twitch. That sweaty girl was smart, strong, apparently ruthless in a fight, and had yet to kick Megumi's crazy, troublemaking ass out. All in all, she was shaping up to be a better person than Megumi.

She didn't answer immediately, though. Instead, she watched the lead tip of Kaoru's bokken crack into Yahiko's shoulder, causing him to drop his weapon. It thumped against the top of his head in a lovetap, letting him know the fight was over.

Misao looked at Megumi out of the corner of her eye. "Look, maybe you're not from this moon, but around here, sane people would be grateful to Kamiya Kaoru. If you're running from the Oniwabanshuu, you're not going to bring her anything but trouble."

Megumi tossed her head, her eyes narrowing. The amused glint in her eyes changed to an angry gleam. The other woman might have been intentionally blind to common courtesy and the danger she was putting a bunch of people in, but she did, apparently, know how to smolder.

"If you want help so badly, you're going to have to start giving us some answers. But you've been sandbagging us on purpose for seventy-two straight hours."

Megumi looked away.

"If you had your head on straight, I'd be the least of your problems. The thing you need to be worried about is whether Kaoru's going to decide that she doesn't want to get dead and that she wants you out of her dojo. So if I were you, I'd make a little effort."

But Megumi wasn't going to listen. She leaned in a little closer, her lips parting just a little wider than normal. "Just tell me you're not one of them. Not one of their Okashira's little spies."

"I'm not spying for him," Misao said.

So Aoshi-sama was around, she thought. She breathed in deep, tried to throw away the hurt, tried to live in the now. She couldn't do anything about his choices. But did he have to make such an obviously bad one?

She closed her eyes.

When she opened them, the dojo's gate was wide open. Kaoru tossed away her bokken and drew her sword on the man who was coming through the gate.

Hyottoko, she realized. He liked to call himself The Great Hyottoko. She'd mimicked him to his face, once, and he'd simply laughed.

Across the courtyard, Sanosuke was uncurling from his relaxed position. He stood slowly, deliberately. The way he moved into a fighting stance—no movement out of place, no hint of fear—was fitting for a smuggler-gladiator.

What to do, what to do?

There was only one thing she could do. Misao drew her knives, mentally charted the swiftest course to get between Sano and Hyottoko.

"No." Megumi's voice was a bare whisper. "Please no."

Two different instincts warred inside her. She couldn't just walk away from someone who was that scared, that desperate. But she couldn't help her, either.

Misao turned, gave Megumi a little push. "Go inside and put your back to a corner."

Megumi made a strangled noise in her throat, but after a moment she clambered onto the engawa and slid open one of the shoji doors. The door hissed closed behind her.

Misao thrust two of the kunai into her gauntlets and ran. Her braid smacked against her thighs as she ducked and wove, skidding to a stop in front of Sano with her arms in front of her face.

Hyottoko pointed at the door Megumi had gone through, flashing signs almost too quickly for Misao to follow. Apparently, his sign language had grown in her absence. He drew an ending line and then jerked his head in an emphatic nod.

His tired eyes looked alive, for once not drooping closed.

Misao pushed one foot back, steadying into a defensive position.

Sano tilted his head to one side. "Anybody know what he's saying?"

"It's an old wartime sign language," Himura murmured. He slowly moved his hand to his sword's sheath, resting his thumb under the hilt guard. "He's here for Megumi-dono. Yahiko, if you would?"

Misao watched from the corner of her eye as Yahiko headed toward the dojo, stopping to pull a sword out from under the engawa. He drew it even before he headed inside. Kaoru moved to protect her student, standing at the door. She made for a beautiful sentinel, with a drawn blade reflecting sunset in her hands even as the darkening sky cast her half in shadow.

Hyottoko's eyes gleamed. He pointed to Sano, then jerked his fingers in an instantly recognizable gesture: Come here.

"You want me, huh?" She could hear him crack his knuckles behind her.

"Sano, wait, please! I'm supposed to be keeping you out of the hospital!" And out of prison and out of the morgue, but the LEOs wouldn't be showing up anytime soon and Hyottoko wouldn't kill anyone in front of her unless he had to.

Recognition flickered across Hyottoko's face. He lingered over drawing a torch from his belt. His eyes never left hers.

Sano's hand gripped her shoulder. She turned to look up at him.

His expression was almost peaceful. He wasn't smiling, but it was still obvious that he wasn't a gladiator for lack of any other way to leave the moon. He genuinely enjoyed the fight.

"Don't worry. I'm not the one who's going to end up in the hospital." Sano thumbed his nose.

Hyottoko stamped a foot. The ground shook. When they all turned to look at him, he crossed his arms over his chest and inclined his head.

"Men," Misao muttered.

Sano moved forward. He darted around her before she could intercept, fist raised in what would be a hell of a right hook if it connected.

Hyottoko wasn't always particularly nimble. He was faster than his size suggested he would be, but moving all that weight around quickly wasn't easy for him. Especially with the napalm tank he carried on his back.

He made no effort to dodge Sano's blow.

Himura watched them, eyes narrowed. "Why isn't he moving?"

A quick flick of Hyottoko's wrist lit the torch in his hand.

The napalm tank made a hissing sound. Jelly sprayed from his mask, clung to the ground, to blades of grass.

There was no way to get out of the way in time. Sano flung himself to one side, but the napalm clung to his right arm. He hissed in pain, voice going hoarse as he growled words Misao had never heard used so fervently, one bandaged hand slapping at the sticky embers.

Like that was going to work. Misao took one look at him and dashed into the dojo, hauled the little fire extinguisher down from its place by the first aid kit. She sprinted to Sano's side, pulled the extinguisher's tab.

"Don't breathe this in," she said, hosing his arm down with it.

The extinguisher hissed. A powdery white smoke poured from the nose, covering his arm. The embers fizzed and died out and Misao brushed the sticky gobbets of gasoline from his arm.

"Yeeow," Sano hissed. "That burns, that burns!"

The skin was going red, where it wasn't blistered and charred. It was the most revolting smell she'd ever encountered, all smoky and almost sweet.

Even as she wanted to help him, Misao refused to feel any sympathy. "Don't go charging at him again."

Himura tilted his head. He was calculating something, Misao could see. The katana slid free of its sheath even as he moved in front of Hyottoko, dust rising from the ground beneath his feet.

"I will be your opponent." There was an edge in his mild voice. Listening to it was like taking a sip of warm, comforting tea and finding a human finger in the chawan.

Hyottoko tilted his head. The message he signed with a few quick gestures was short, bordered on rude.

"Burns don't worry me in the least, that they do not."

Hyottoko tilted his head as if puzzled, then jerked his finger in that come here gesture again.

Himura didn't move. His gaze slid to Sano, who was gritting his teeth against the pain of the burns on his arm. His grip on his sword tightened for a moment.

Himura was angry, she realized. He was angry, and he wasn't saying a word about it, wasn't blustering or grandstanding. The fight wasn't important because Hyottoko had made it personal or even because he particularly wanted to win.

The fight was important because Sano was hurt, Kaoru and Yahiko were at risk, and Megumi was counting on them.

Hyottoko squared himself against Himura, threw his shoulders back. He was probably adjusting the tank he was carrying.

Fire and jelly spurted from the mask's mouth. It was like some sort of hideously destructive vomit.

Only Himura wasn't in pain. None of the jellied gasoline even touched him. He spun the sword by the very base of its hilt in a clockwise motion, almost too fast for her to see. The movement somehow turned aside the napalm.

Himura could break physics?

No, not quite. Some of the jelly stuck to the katana. She could see the sword heat up in spots. Embers flared, died, fell in a shower of sparks. It was half frightening and half awe-inspiring. Beautiful.

Sano rushed forward again. He dodged around the spurt of fire, swerved around Himura and his amazing flame retardant katana, and struck the tank with his left fist. The metal made an awful crunch, screeching as it gave underneath his gauntlet.

"Oh, not good," she said, was saying just as Sano grabbed the tube in one hand and yanked. He must have pulled hard, or twisted just right, because he managed to get one of the tubes out.

Napalm went everywhere. Neither stupid nor suicidal, Hyottoko immediately snuffed his torch — tossing it far away — and shrugged the tank off, throwing that away from him, too. Without warning, without slowing, he stopped moving at all.

Something was wrong with him. He began pulling at the mask, tugging fiercely. He was making noises that she could hear above the snapping of the flames that still burned on the ground. Finally, the mask came free, taking some of the skin near his mouth with it.

He bent at the waist, vomited something thick and black. Napalm, she realized. He was lucky it hadn't been ignited, but still. The noises he made were pure pain, agonized and agonizing to hear.

And he was bleeding from the corner of his jaw, she realized, where the mask had cut him.

The instinct to move forward, to make sure he was all right, rose up like a tidal wave. Every jangling nerve told her to help him. She even took a step toward Hyottoko, unsure what to do but sure she had to do something.

Sano let his breath hiss through his teeth. She whirled, took a step toward him. He was on the ground, clutching his apparently useless right arm. His expression had gone tight from pain.

The dojo door slid open, nudged by someone's toe. There was a long, long moment of silence and watchfulness before Yahiko came out. His sword was naked in his hand, its empty sheath still slung along his back.

Megumi followed him, settling a pair of glasses over her eyes. She was carrying a first aid kit in one hand.

Her expression turned cross. "You used a fire extinguisher on someone in contact with napalm? Genius! Let's add skin irritation to third degree burns, I'm sure—"

She stopped talking when she got closer. Despite the kimono, despite the labcoat, she lunged forward. It wasn't long before she had Sano's arm in her hands.

Her expression changed from worry to frustration to confusion, relief, and back again. "I can fix this. I can fix this."

"Megumi-dono?" Kenshin sheathed his sword and turned to regard them, looking baffled. "You should be inside, I believe you should."

"I know a little first aid," Megumi replied, as if that explained why she'd abandoned the relative safety of the dojo.

"Make it quick. Kenshin's right," Yahiko said. His grip on his sword kept shifting, as if he were on edge.

It wasn't like Misao could blame him. She looked around, listening as closely as she could. Oniwabanshuu didn't fight alone. Where one was, there were sure to be others—especially since Beshimi had failed to drag Megumi back the first time. Beshimi had to be here somewhere, and maybe Shikijou or Hannya.

Megumi opened her first aid kit. "Have you had a nanite inoculation?"

"Yeah, when I was a kid."

"How many years ago?"

Sano gave her a look that was partially dubious and mostly confused. "At least ten?"

"As long as it was within the last twenty years, this should be fine." She was removing a sequence of vials filled with clear fluid and a syringe gun with a needle that might have inoculated a horse.

Himura gave her a hard look. "Nanite therapy?"

Megumi only gave him a passing glance, opting instead to pull an aerosol can from within the bag. Sano hissed at the sting of whatever she was spraying on his arm.

Misao heard footsteps as somebody flung himself forward. She turned around, took a half step toward Yahiko as he moved in front of Megumi, his arms swinging the sword out and up.

One poison dart caught the flat of Yahiko's sword, fell harmlessly to the dirt.

The other sank into flesh with a sick tearing sound.

Yahiko gave a faint cry. It was loud in her ears, impossibly loud against the sudden stillness, the sudden silence everywhere else.

Sano reached up, steadying the boy by placing one splayed hand on his back.

Himura went still. Not the harsh, edgy stiffness of an angry cat, but the smooth, liquid relaxation of the ocean as it dragged a swimmer under. The coiled, curling tension of ocean-folk preparing to strike.

What followed was a blur of red and white and green, fire-colored hair whipping to one side while a maroon gi flowed the opposite way. Someone small and scaled tried to stream by him.

Against anyone else, it might have worked.

The sword swung out in a river of silver, hard and fast. A sickening crunch echoed and Beshimi faltered, dropping to one knee. The sword flashed again. Flesh and scales gave way under the edge.

Hyottoko made a keening sound low in his throat. He heaved himself to his feet, lumbered forward to clap one large hand against Beshimi's bleeding shoulder wound.

In the distance, something made a thrimming sound. After that, things went chaotic.

Misao caught a glimpse of Megumi sweeping a reeling Yahiko off his feet and toward the house. In the next instant, she saw red hair sweeping toward dull white duraplas while perma-steel claws clashed with a sword.

She planted herself between Sano and the chaos, her kunai crossed in front of her.

But neither combatant went near her or Sano. They were focused entirely on each other.

Himura staggered backward, sliding through sand and grass with one outstretched hand digging into the dirt. The momentum of his fall didn't stop until he was halfway across the courtyard. He didn't cry out, gave no sign that he was in pain save the ginger way he stood and then touched his fingers to his bloodied lip. He gripped his chin in one hand, jerked his wrist one way and turned his head the other. The crack and pop of a joint being forced back into position filled the courtyard.

Hannya took a step back in his surprise. He pulled his hands toward his face, claws forming a defensive position. But the way he moved was stiff, unsteady. After a moment, he bowed and picked Beshimi up by the scruff of his neck.

Misao could hear the faint metallic clicks as Hannya carefully adjusted his grip on the smaller onmitsu.

"The Oniwabanshuu will give you time to tend your dead," Hannya said. The sheen on his mask radiated tension. This was a ceasefire, not a truce.

Himura hadn't said a word, but now his eyes narrowed. "If you're giving up so easily, I wonder what you meant to accomplish, I do."

Hannya said nothing. The texture of his silence was questioning, angrily so.

Sano rose to his feet in one smooth movement that ended only when he was in an offensive stance, cracking the knuckles of his left hand by curling it into a fist and pressing it against his thigh. His right arm stayed limp. "Aw, you can't be leaving just yet! We were just getting—"

How Hyottoko managed to silence Sano with just a single rude gesture—which he immediately downgraded at Hannya's sudden radiating of irritation—Misao wasn't sure, but he stopped talking.

"Explain yourselves," Himura said one last time, his tone dangerously quiet.

"We owe no further courtesy to an enemy."

Hannya looked over to her. Misao sheathed her blades on instinct, her spine going stiff.

In response, Hannya inclined his head, his mask's horns tilting. He gave her a bow that might have been smooth, if she hadn't seen the way he hesitated before straightening. Then he turned away, shifting his grip on Beshimi once more.

As quickly and suddenly as they had arrived, the Edo Castle Oniwabanshuu left.

Himura turned to look at her. His eyes looked hard in the murky shadows and half-light of nightfall, even if the upward curve of his bloodied mouth was gentle.

"I think we need to talk, Misao-dono, that I do," he murmured.

Misao nodded. She wanted to say that she could explain, but how was she supposed to explain that the Edo Castle Oniwabanshuu were her family? Especially when she was onmitsu too?