He wanted to scream her name to the heavens, to tear his way through the men who he had joked and shared meals alongside until one told him where she had gone. There was nothing Yury wanted more in those first moments than to rip apart the compound that had been a pleasant home to him for months now, to sprint across the once-tranquil gardens and find Galina, pull her into his arms and leave this place forever - in a scarlet trail of Takahiro blood if need be.

But it was the moment he nearly stumbled over the splayed body of a Takahiro henchman, an obvious gunshot wound sprouting like a small crimson blossom in his forehead, that Yury realized whatever was happening at this moment? It had not a single thing to do with his little sister or her dealings with Takahiro Souma. Yury could not know the how, or the why - it simply did not matter. His first and only thought was for Galina who, at this very moment, could be caught in a vise with enemies on all sides.

Yury's amber eyes narrowed as he scanned the compound, every tree and rock and roofline, the Cossack soldier instinctually knowing to take what cover he could before sprinting forward to the next, skirting the walls and the lees of the house as he moved, as swiftly as he dared. There were ten cartridges in the Winchester rifle he carried, a treasured gift from Galina when she returned from America, and Yury knew the Takahiro men well enough by sight - there would be no 'friendly fire' by the exquisitely, ruthlessly trained Cossack.

His lips pulled back over bared teeth, a feral growl in his throat as movement flashed at the edge of his sight, dark blue and swift, crouched and running low over the peaked roofline. Yury never stopped moving as he raised the rifle, noting many things about the intruder: the strange garb of the man above and the deadly assurance with which he moved, his assuredly non-Japanese sword and dagger and rifle, an American-made rifle - and that he was certainly not a member of the Takahiro household - all in the same instant he fired. The assailant dropped silently, toppling over the far side of the roof as Yury cocked the lever-action, ejecting the casing, and chambering another round in one fluid movement. Yury never missed a beat as he sprinted for the lee of the compound's wall.

There were nine cartridges in the Winchester rifle he carried...

**********

Galina fell from Souma’s grip, the sudden agony in her broken ribs a white hot starburst that sucked away her breath. Dark eyes opened to a world that, only seconds before, she never thought to see again. She gasped, coughed as she felt his hand on her throat, Souma’s face coming into focus faster than his voice, or the sense of what he was saying – or even the gunshots and shouts that were far too close, and coming closer.

“What did… I… ?“ her voice was raspy, choked off as she shook her head. She did not understand at all for those first moments, what Souma was saying. Galina could make no sense of the terror or the fury etched on his face, not when he had been so close to finally ending their twisted, tangled rivalry. She could understand triumph, joyous victory even, but not this rage, not this horror.

Another gunshot in the distance, cries of pain and anger and fear wafting like an acrid smoke, and realization finally rushed like the roaring blood in her head.

“No… No!” Galina winced as she snatched at Souma’s wrist, wresting his fingers from her neck almost too easily and rolling away with a small, muffled cry of pain as the cracked edges of broken ribs grated and ground together. She hiked herself to her hands and knees, her head swinging toward Souma. “This is not… No! No, this is not... Not me! Not us… Would not let… Not let this happen… No one hurt. No one dies… “ Some small whisper of a doubt hovered at the back of her thoughts, but...No. No, her father would not do this, not with her here with her brother, still in harm's way.

’Yury…’ Her brother’s face shot like a lightning flash through her thoughts, lifted her to her feet as she recovered the kindjal and the Souma’s dagger. Galina shook her head, using the throbbing ache of her broken cheekbone to snap her out of the fog her pain-addled mind wanted to fall back into again. She would not let it drag her back.

“This is not me, not my people,” she breathed softly, dark eyes flickering through the trees of this small, cultivated forest. Souma was bleeding heavily, too heavily now. Galina could see that. She had always meant for him to be found, long before there had been any permanent damage. But now, in the midst of whatever the hell was happening now during this attack on the Takahiro compound, she could not be so sure…

Galina groaned in the back of her throat, every part of her wanting to sprint from this place, to find her brother – but she could not leave Souma like this. Swiftly she knelt beside him where he remained against the small statue, warily. Galina knew all too well that however injured he might seem, this would likely only make him doubly dangerous.

Slowly she tucked her kindjal back into the folds of her obi. “I have to find my brother, Souma. But please… “ She held her empty hand up, a wordless plea to tell him she meant him no further harm. “Let me bind that quickly, before you bleed to death.”

Galina did not let her thoughts linger on the strange, almost surreal juxtaposition of her desire to help a man who, but for this unexpected reprieve in gunfire, would have gladly killed her seconds before. “I will just cut some strips off – “

A flicker of dark movement, a living shadow rustling like the leaves overhead, and Galina’s head snapped toward the trunk of a nearby tree, to the man garbed in dark blue, his rifle raising to his shoulder.

There was no thought, only instinct as she threw Souma’s knife with an unerring trajectory from where she knelt beside him. The blade was buried to the hilt in the intruder's throat, blue eyes wide with shock, as if he simply could not believe he would drown in his own blood in the next minute. She recognized too that whoever these men were, they were not Russians, not Cossack brothers sent by her father - and the realization both relieved and terrified her in equal measure.

Galina leapt to her feet with a snarl, her dark eyes narrowed as the kindjal appeared in her hand once more. “Souma!” she hissed, “Can you get up – “

She might never know why these men were here, now, or why they wanted the Takahiro clan dead. It did not matter. Another man in dark blue appeared from the forest, his brow furrowed with an undisguised fury as his eyes flicked toward his fallen, still-gurgling comrade. A decision was made somewhere behind those hazel eyes, a sudden start of recognition as he whirled toward the man and woman, raising his Colt revolver, its barrel aimed directly at Souma.

Galina ran. She sprinted those few short yards between herself and this new assailant, a blur of rose and crimson red as she leapt.

The impact of the bullet dropped her mid-flight.

Galina’s chest was on fire. Her vision swam as sky and the canopy of leaves above faded, grew fuzzy about the edges even as the colors began to meld into strange and terrible shapes. Long, nimble fingers wrapped tightly about the hilt of her kindjal. ’God, give me strength. Do not let me fall here. Not now - this cannot be the end! Guide my hand, Lord… In the name of the Father, and the Son, and - “

She moved with a grace not entirely own, rolling up from the ground the very second the shooter tried to take aim once more, launching herself at him. Galina felt nothing, any more than the wind does as it moves through all the corners of the Earth. She thought of nothing at all when she landed atop the shooter, their two bodies falling backward as Galina rode her attacker to the ground. Endless hours of training saw the tendons in his strong arm cleaved by the kindjal’s razor edge before he could shoot her, or bash her skull with the heavy butt of the pistol. It was muscle memory that saw the return stroke bury the blade to its hilt through the tender flesh beneath his jaw, deep into his brain.

Galina tore her blade from his skull and stood with a painful slowness over the dead man. The vitality that animated her attack dissipated like morning fog now she had done all that was needful in this moment, staggering to her feet as she stepped away from the body and turned toward Souma. The once cherry blossom pink kimono was marred with the spreading stain of crimson that continued its slow relentless flow down her chest, toward her belly and the earth below. She could not know there was a bloody twin to that stain that widened and crept down her back.

No matter. She cradled the bloody kindjal to her chest with one hand, a talisman of sorts as she lurched back toward the small statue where she had left Souma only seconds before. Galina managed four, then five faltering steps before the strength leaked from her legs, just as the blood and breath had from her body. The lovely soft grasses rushed up to meet her as she dropped to her knees. Galina hadn’t even the strength to remain upright anymore, the rest of her battered body careening to the ground. She managed to stop her fall for only a moment by the strength of one arm before it too collapsed beneath her, and she crumpled completely to her side.

For a moment Galina smiled through the growing purple welt spreading over her cheek and her eye socket, and she thought how beautiful a green the grass was in this cultivated forest garden. Beautiful, and so very soft, the back of one outstretched hand cradled by the gentle greenery.

Not Galina's doing?

Souma blinked, gripping his arm tightly to himself in an effort to stem the bleeding as he watched his adversary move. The ways he spoke, her reaction, her actions now- She honestly didn't seem to know.

But then, who was it? There had been no shortage of opponents to his work in America, but only Galina had proven tenacious enough to continue to stand in his way. Another clan? Where there any the Takahiro's hadn't subdued or allied with? Had the ruling nobility themselves decided to betray them? But what would bring that on? He couldn't help but feel this might be connected to his actions, still, but what actions? What people?

Was he just being paranoid, in the wake of Galina's revelations?

Souma moved as much as he could, shifting slowly on his knees to keep Galina in sight, questions rising the more time passed. He had nearly killed her- would have killed her- and she was... begging him to believe her? She was... offering to bind his a- Intruder!

Any word he tried to speak was merely a hoarse whisper, but she had noticed the same time he did. As Souma struggled to stand, Galina moved, the fact that she used his knife didn't matter so much as he saw how well she used it. She might have been the one he wanted to kill only moments ago, but even so he could appreciate such a throw. Hard to be mad about witnessing a kill li-

"-Galina!"

Part of his mind wondered why he had ever shouted her name, watching the second intruder raise his pistol and roar a round into Galina's chest. The same part wondered what caused him to try and move, to struggle to his feet even as she struggled with her new opponent. Elsewhere, details of their attackers were recorded in his mind. Elsewhere, concern of his family, of his clan, roared in it's shrinking cage, demanding to be let out. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, fear of his own well-being paced in muttering circles. But it was all so much background, so much white noise.

Galina dominated the fore of his thoughts right now.

Why was she helping him? These intruders were after the Clan, most likely, Galina could easily escape unharmed. He had been trying to kill her, and her him, so why-...

Why had she thrown her weapons away before, and given up?

A confused, questioning Souma Takahiro managed to stumble to Galina as she collapsed to the ground, recent opponent bleeding out on the ground. Even two paces seemed to much, legs caving in just out of arm's reach. Her chest moved, however, even as it bled. a... smile? On her lips?

"W-what..." Even words were hard to speak, let alone taking any action other than trying to stem the blood from his own wounds. "...why?"

Galina did not lift her head from the ground, so much as tilt her chin until she could see Souma, and meet his gaze. Though he was out of arm's reach, Galina's hand still glided over the soft green grasses toward him. She heard Souma speak and, somewhere in the back of her thoughts, she had heard him call her name. She even heard Souma's question, and knew very well this single word encompassed so very many "why's." But even if she wished, Galina simply did not have the breath left in her for them all.

Still, she would try. Breath was precious right now. She would spend hers best she could.

Galina gasped and grimaced, her fingers curling into a tight fist with the agony of the attempt before they unfurled once more, along with the small breath she had taken. "No one... hurt. No one dies... Not Raigo-sama. Not Ai… Not you. A little… A little stolen money. And no one had… To die."

She might never be sure Souma understood what she was telling him, that she was truly answering him the very best she could, trying to share her motives, her reasons that she had not always understand so well herself when it came to Takahiro Souma. But their walk in the gardens after tea was long over, and Galina’s breaths were so shallow. Pained. The time for grand explanations had passed. No matter. Souma was smart – no, brilliant. He was so confused at the moment, so perplexed and unsure, and she could still read that in the set of his jaw, in the curve of his brow.

But Souma would untangle the fuller sense of her words, Galina was sure, when she was gone.

"Hase...kura. Hasekura... Soshitsu,” Galina said, her voice cracking for a moment, barely rising above a whisper. With no small effort of will, she gathered her strength to repeat that name again, to be sure Souma heard her. “Hasekura… Soshitsu. He… He is the lynchpin. If you… Pluck him free… All else in… In the web I built… It unravels just so. He is… A broker. Not… Not a brave man. Probably… Will not have to torture or… Or kill him… Or his family. Just please… Do not hurt Yury. My… My brother. Yury. You will… Let him go, yes?"

Galina let her gaze roam over Souma’s face for a moment longer, somehow managing a small, ephemeral smile before she allowed the dead weight of her eyelids to fall. The pain intertwined with the exhaustion felt like steel chains of hurts that bound her to the ground. Yet even so…

Even so, this was a lovely sight to hold in her mind’s eye, far better than a memory, seeing neither hatred nor indifference in his gaze. Her worldly affairs had been put to some order, and she may have afforded some small shield – she prayed – for her brother. She had divulged as best she could, the very reason she was ever here in his family’s home. In these last moments before she lost herself entirely, Galina finally struck at the heart of Souma’s question, with all the delirious strength and breath she had left in her to give.

"I kissed you once… While you slept... “ she confessed so softly.

“Do you know… Know any stories, Souma?" Galina could feel the frigid cold creeping into her limbs, and she was helpless to stop its advance. She shivered in the warm Spring sunlight. “I do... Do love… Love art… Books too… Reading… Stories. Will you... Tell me... Tell me a... A story, 'fore I... Sleep?"

As Galina talked, Souma somehow managed to move his uninjured arm, pulling the obi from where it secured his robe and instead wrapping it tightly about his bleeding wound. It was a difficult task, one-handed, but it was something for his hand to do, something to try and preserve his life. He went through the motions unfocused, mechanically. As if the act -no matter how important- wasn't actually worth paying attention to.

Of course, compared to what the Russian woman before him was saying... it wasn't.

It all, everything, made sense now. Aspects of Goemon's task to entice Galina aboard the Empress, ones which seemed a little easier than expected of such a family. Her willingness -desire, even?- to simply talk earlier today... and her surrender only moments ago. It was... silly, in a way. Yet at the same time so very... Impressive.

She had wanted to get back at him, show him how he had made her feel, before. Yes, she had said those very words earlier, but now they made sense. Where Souma had been thinking in terms of competition, of a quiet war, she simply wanted him to understand. She had done so much to ingratiate herself to his own family for that, single task. And it had gone so horribly wrong.

He couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all, mirth choking weak and wheezing from paling lips. She had learned so much, but not enough. Not enough to realize what she wanted couldn't happen- not the way she had planned it all. No one dead, no blood spilled, but Souma didn't have a choice. Had she realized that, when she threw her weapons down? Or was that still something else?

"Story? Know... some." Souma didn't bother talking about the name she told him, or of her brother Yury. As it was now, with his family under attack and him in real danger of bleeding out, such concerns seemed far removed. But a story? Yes. Stories were easy, requiring only words, with no need to hasten the pace. He could tell stories until his breath gave out. He might as well. There wasn't much else to do.

"The, Mirror of Matsuyama..." Souma's eyes closed, the tale pictured clearly in his mind as he spoke, voice lapping gently as waves upon the shores. "They say, long ago in remote area of Japan... there was man and his wife, who found blessed with baby daughter..."

It was a tale he knew well, words drifting easily from his lips as the scene played itself over again in his mind. A tale of loving parents and loving children, of a treasure passed from mother to daughter, one that only enforced the bonds of filial care. Even if the family changes, even if a shadow seems to cloud the relationship of parent and child, it is only in passing. A family will always return together, even if not the same as before, the love and care will remain.

Souma believed that to be true, with all his heart. And so he told the story he had so loved to hear as a child, and quietly wondered if Galina might see the same thing he once had... if it wasn't already too late.

No, it was not too late. Not yet. She had simply let Souma's voice carry her like the warm waves of the Caribbean sea she had known once, a couple years ago. Galina had snuck from the old plantation house where she stayed, into the thick, green-scented night to the beach, all alone but for the full moon above. She let the waves lift her up that night while she watched the stars whirl overhead, and imagined this might be what it was like, to rest in a mother's arms.

And now, with Souma's words trickling and pooling into her thoughts, sea water into a tidal pool, Galina would never look to a mirror now, without a thought for the mother she had never known. This was a lovely gift he had given her - if, of course, she lived out the hour.

But this seemed unlikely at the moment, for either she or Souma. Several times during his tale, she had struggled to open her eyes, half-lidded and so unspeakably heavy as they were. Though he bound the deep cuts from her blade with the cloth of his obi, even to her fading sight he had grown far too pale, the timbre of his voice receding like the ebb tide. Her throat closed up, choked with a pain that had nothing to do with the rising bruises from Souma's fingers. She had not meant this for him. She had not meant any of this, for any of them.

Galina did not fancy herself the gentle heroine of Souma's tale. She was neither patient nor good, and she knew this very well. There would be no reward for her defiance of her father, or the subtle betrayals of faith and home and heart she had made for the sake of this one man. She had never looked for one, nor even imagined one could exist, and so she was not disappointed.

But now that Souma's story was ended, the cold came rushing back to her limbs like the howling winter wind. Galina was chilled. She shivered in the Spring sunshine, and wished more than anything in this world that she could see her Papa one more time. She had not been a good daughter. She had not even been a dutiful daughter, but there was nothing she would not give to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders again, to kiss his bearded cheek and hear his deep, booming laughter, the kind that resonated all the way to her toes when he hugged his little Night Wolf so very tightly, easily lifting her up off her feet and swinging her around 'til she was dizzy, as if she weighed no more than an autumn leaf.

A faint flicker of a smile gently upturned the corner of her lips. "Thank you... Souma... " she whispered, that matchless voice now only the wispy, ephemeral ghost of itself, that may not have made it further than the blades of grass before her lips. The fingers wrapped about the hilt of the kindjal she still clutched to her chest, tightened just a little more. A gift from her Papa who, somewhere in this world she knew, must love her still.

"Beautiful... " Her outstretched hand unfurled, fingertips reaching for Souma as she fought to open her eyes one more time. "Won't... Hurt you... "

Galina did not have the breath to return Souma's gift in full, but she could give what measure was still left to her. "Let me... Put pressure... Pressure... Your arm... While I still... Can... "

Whoever these monsters truly were, they were well-armed and ruthless beyond all reckoning, slaughtering anyone of the Takahiro clan or compound they found, man or woman, great or small.

A washerwoman... The young woman that bastard shot was not much more than a maid, and fleeing from the blue-garbed intruder at that. As Yury cleared that high garden wall, he had only a moment to take in the pale green of the cringing woman's kimono, cowering only feet from where he landed. Her small, calloused hands held up before her, a silent plea and a worthless shield - and entirely futile before a bullet.

Yury did not flinch as the hot spatter of her life's blood showered his face, speckled his clothes a foul crimson as the stench of iron and gunpowder struck him like a blow. This little woman whose name he would never know crumpled against the wall, somehow seeming even tinier and more fragile in death. A servant. She had been no one of any grand importance. It was of no matter that she worked for the Takahiro clan - she had likely hurt not a single soul in all her short life.

But innocence did not save her. And Yury saw his sister lying there, a ragged, slowly seeping hole in her lovely face, that matchless voice silenced forever...

The Winchester rifle already slung over his shoulder when he vaulted the wall, one of Yury's hands wrapped about the shashka's sheath, the other about the hilt as he pulled the blade loose, smoothly in one fluid, lethally graceful arc up and down over the intruder's wrist, slicing neatly through flesh and bone long before the man could react to the Cossack warrior seemingly dropped from the heavens above.

The intruder probably screamed, his forearm and hand and pistol dropping to the ground like not much more than a pruned branch. Yury only ever heard his own blood raging in his skull, thundering in his ears in perfect, throbbing time with his fury. The sweep of the shashka's blade returned in a split second, slashing several inches into the deep blue cloth of the shirt, opening ribs and pink flesh to the cool air. One more flash of silver and crimson in the Spring sunlight, and Yury laid his throat open, dropping the man next to his own fallen limb in seconds.

Yury did not stop, not even for a moment. Galina was still nowhere in sight, and nowhere near safe. One booted foot slammed down on the severed wrist at his feet, cooling gloved fingers releasing their grip on the Colt pistol. Yury's amber eyes were wide and wild with a noxious mixture of rage and gut-deep dread as he sprinted toward the one and only place he had yet to search but for the house itself, shashka and pilfered pistol in either hand as the lovingly tended and manicured groves of the furthest garden came into sight.

Daisuke knew where Souma had to be.

After finally returning home, his Boss would have made his way to the furthest gardens as soon as he was done with his familial duties. It was the one space he had designed himself, turned into a refuge within the compound, a place where one could go whenever the need for peaceful solitude arose. How many times had Souma seemed confounded by some challenge before him, only to return from that little garden later, solution in hand? How many times had he been nowhere to be found? Daisuke or Goemon finally tracking him down in that remote corner, sitting calmly beside the statue of his grandfather.

He would have gone there, far from where the attackers started. He wouldn't have heard anything amiss at first, and when the warnings came, he would be separated, alone against an unknown number of deadly assailants.

Souma could handle such odds. But that didn't matter. A fist belonged at the side of the one who would throw it, and nowhere else.

The sounds of struggle rang out as Daisuke slipped out from the latest building to serve as shelter, a sudden cry shouted down by a gun's great roar. High-pitched, familiar... but not Ai. It wasn't important then, the sound was slightly behind him, and to investigate would keep him from finding his boss.

So he pressed forwards, moving swiftly along the walkways and through the gardens, an imposing specter. Feet made little sound whether they came down against wood, earth or stone, taking him down paths far from view of the center compound. Most of the battle seemed concentrated there, now, and it seemed his only company right now were corpses.

A poor omen. He ignored it.

The garden was close, Daisuke dashing to the small clearing with gun and blade drawn, only to freeze stone-still as soon as it came into view. A woman lay bleeding, one hand holding a blade, the other reaching for Souma's own, injured form.

The woman was Galina Demidova.

His grip on both weapons tightened, but Daisuke made no move at first. He couldn't, not with the woman armed so close to his boss. A bullet could move faster than her hand, but it could strike Souma as well... and she would have ample time to move should he try for the safer slash of his blade. Absently, his gaze noted a pair of bodies wearing the same outfits as those he had come across, and Souma's dagger in one of their necks.

Galina and Souma fought them off? But the Demidova's were to stay away from Takahiro business. Her presence here was the height of peril for his Boss, a danger that would be unforgivable to let pass.

But to kill one who had helped defend his Boss was likewise unforgivable. And to risk Souma's life in the process? 'Unforgivable' couldn't begin to describe.

"Boss." Daisuke's voice resounded calmly through the clearing, the man sheathing his blade with deliberate caution as he stepped slowly towards the pair. He needed something, a reaction, an order from Souma, anything to tell him how to act next. "Boss. If you're alive, speak."

~-~

"Should... pressure self."

It was poor English even by Souma's standards, but he was willing to let it pass for now.

No, he didn't believe Galina would hurt him. At this point, he wasn't sure he believed she had ever tried to hurt him, despite her actions in his own country. And to help him while her own wounds still bled? It was the height of foolishness that stabbed at Souma's pride... yet he couldn't help but feel comforted by it, all the same.

He was willing to let that pass for now, as well. No one would know it happened, after all.

Dimly, he noticed Daisuke behind Galina, heard what had to be his Fist's voice calling out to him. Of course, even with the entire compound likely under attack, he would make it here. A far safer refuge than any central structure within the compound, it seemed... even if he did still have a foot in the grave.

"...Lax... Fist." It wasn't much, but Daisuke got the message, Souma nodding slightly to Galina as the larger man moved closer. Hopefully she would understand, would have to understand. No one would need pressure on their wounds if she did not.

"Help... both... wounds... gun... bind..." Was he blinking more than usual? Was that why his vision kept flashing dark? Hard to tell, but Daisuke seemed to understand. The man moved calmly to Souma's side, kneeling just behind his Boss with gun lowered, but still ready. With a quiet look to Galina, he moved his free hand slowly, taking her place in pressuring his Boss' arm... up until something else caught his attention.

"... Daisu...ke-"

"Hold, Boss." Daisuke never bothered to use english, his voice falling cold as his eyes narrowed towards the distance.

"Someone approaches."

Galina's half-lidded gaze met the dark, dangerous eyes of the large, thickly muscled and blood-spattered man in the deep blue kimono, his gun lowered now, the wakizashi sheathed as he took her place, applying pressure to Souma's arm.

She smiled up at him, and let her outstretched hand fall back to the cushion of soft grasses where she lay.

Galina remembered Souma's Voice, Goemon, very, very well. Surely this must be his Fist, Daisuke. If they had ever met face-to-face, she could not recall (though such a great and imposing man would surely be stamped in the remembrance of most anyone whose path he crossed). Even so, she had heard enough of both Fist and Voice during her sojourn in Japan, and surely this could be no other.

Souma's bone-weary words, such as they were, were like the beacon of a lighthouse over storm-tossed seas, and warmed her soul like little else could. But it was enough for Galina in these moments, simply to know he no longer wished her dead. Truly, she did not expect Daisuke to bind her wounds or care for her, not with Souma bleeding out before his very eyes -

Galina heard the warning in Daisuke's voice, her Japanese sufficient at least to understand the gist of what he said as his dark eyes turned back to the path. She held her own breath in anticipation -

Nowhere in his most desolate nightmares, could Yury have imagined such a sight as greeted him now, carnage shattering all pretense of serenity and peace on this cultivated forest floor. Yury did not see the blue-clad bodies lying nearby, all his focus like a razor sharp pick for the three figures before him in this tiny grove. He pulled up short, stunned, blood draining from his face and all breath ripped away from his lungs as he took in the bright Spring-colored gaiety of roses and pinks that had been Galina's kimono, spattered now with crimson and gore. From where he stood, he could see the angry purple welt that spread angry tendrils along the side of her face, into her hair - but that was nothing compared to the crimson stains that ran like tiny streams across her chest, her back, and had seeped her life drop by precious drop into the ground.

That single gaze took in the two men beside her body, the large and heavily-muscled man who still held his pistol, and...

Even pale, bleeding and near unconscious, Yury would have recognized Takahiro Souma anywhere if, for no other reason, than his resemblance to his father. Galina had mentioned this once to him, how uncannily similar they seemed, father and son.

Of course, she had not exaggerated. Not even a little.

"What have you done?" Those English words, agonized and despairing, were not for the enormous, gun-wielding man behind Souma, but for Souma himself. Galina had been punished and exiled from her home, humiliated, shamed, and still she fought their father - and risked the further displeasure of the most dangerous man he had ever known - for this man's life, and for the life of his family.

And this? This was her due, all she had earned? Beaten and shot to death, by the very people she battled to preserve?

"Why? Damn you to hell!" he snarled, anguish and fury in equal measure lacing every word. The blood that covered Yury Demidov? None of it was his own. He could be fast enough if need be and swiftly raised the barrel of his pilfered pistol. "You will never know... Never know! Never be worthy of all she did - "

"Yury! Yury... Stop!" The sound of her voice was soft but insistent, brooking no argument and demanding all his attention, like the furious buzzing of a wasp. Galina could hear her brother's voice, unspeakable relief and absolute terror flooding her heart all at once. But she simply did not have the strength to turn, to meet his face. She did not need to see her brother. Galina heard the mortal intent in his voice like a clarion bell, knew in an instant what he intended - and what power she had left in her was channeled into those small words.

Amber eyes wide and disbelieving, the Cossack warrior lowered his pistol instantly, as if his sister's order held all the weight of a divine command. She was alive. Somehow, Galina still drew breath. Yury took a single step forward, the steady and uncompromising gaze of a soldier falling on the enormous, blood-spattered man steadying Takahiro Souma. He knew very well it was not the honorable son who truly stood between him and his sister, but this great warrior before him.

"Brother... " Galina whispered desperately to Souma, to Daisuke, to whoever might hear and understand. All the color was seeping from her world, even the verdant edges these soft grasses at her lips, all turning to greys as the sounds around her began to recede, to diminish, smothered beneath the stranglehold on consciousness she was swiftly losing. "Brother... My brother... Yury... Please... "

"Daisu...ke... hold. Do...not-"

"I will handle this. Boss." Daisuke shifted to fully face the enraged man who had come into the clearing, revolver half-raised now that Demidova had calmed him... but lowered not a hair more. In his current state, Souma's orders meant little compared to actually keeping him alive. He didn't want this man dead? As long as he didn't raise his weapon again, or impede their escape, that wouldn't be a problem. If he did? Daisuke wouldn't hesitate, and would accept the consequences of Souma's anger when he had recovered.

To see him recovered, would make any disobedience worth it.

"Culprits." Daisuke took his free hand from Souma's arm briefly, jutting it out to point at the cooling corpses nearby, eyes never breaking away from the blood spattered man before him. He held that position for a moment, then two, every motion slow, deliberate, cautious.

"Not with them? Then leave." Finally, he lowered his hand, pointing it instead at the injured Demidova before him. "Take yours, leave. I take mine, leave. No death."

Once more, he lowered his hand, moving it to pressure his Boss' arm yet again. His eyes, however, never wavered. If anything, they grew colder, glare bearing down on the other man, waiting for his decision. It didn't matter, right now, that there were more of the Demidova family about than just the Lady. It didn't matter, right now, what that implied, the danger it meant for Souma. There was danger enough, right now, without the Russian spies.

And they, at least, were a danger that could be dealt with another day.

"Agree, no death. Disagree... She's first." Souma twitched at the words, but Daisuke ignored any protest from his Boss. His life was the important one here, no matter what he said or thought... and his Fist would make sure everyone in the clearing knew that.

"Understood?"

"Da."

Yury did not say another word to the man who threatened his sister's life. He did not have to. It was not as if there was even the least question that he had a choice in the matter. There was no lie in this man's voice. He would - and could - kill Galina long before Yury could do a damned thing to stop him.

The only relief he knew in these moments was the split-second he took to follow the enormous man's gesture, toward two more blue-clad bodies that, it seemed were the remnants of their mutual enemy. Yury nodded, once, as he turned back to Souma's guardian and released the hammer on the pistol with his thumb. Slowly, so very slowly, he tucked the Colt into his belt as he moved, sheathing the shashka as well as he paced warily to his sister's side and knelt beside her.

Galina heard Daisuke's words, but her weary, half-lidded gaze was entirely for Souma. She did not miss his mute protest to his Fist's threat. There was nothing, of course, he could have done to stop the man, but Galina found even this futile effort strangely comforting.

"It is... All... Right... " she whispered, and in this moment Galina could not possibly express all she meant in those simple words. Stay or go, live or die, there was a peace that settled over her like a warm summer rain, a rest she had not known in over a year. "Sayonara,... Souma."

She felt strong yet gentle hands on her face, her shoulder, tenderly yet insistently pulling her gaze from Souma to look up into her brother's face. "Yury... " A faint ghost of a smile greeted him, her beloved big littlest brother, though the worry in those amber eyes hurt her to see.

"I'm here, 'Lina," he said softly in Russian, smiling to hide the wince when he saw the angry purple bruise that was spreading across one eye socket, down her cheek and into her temple. Beneath that, the tell-tale red welts about her slender throat, fingers and thumb had wrapped so tightly, sent a rage snarling through his heart.

Yury only smiled wider.

"I'm going to patch you up 'Lina... Here... Let me have this now... " His gaze returned to Souma's guardian, deliberately, to flag his intent as he carefully, slowly, pulled the kindjal from Galina's white-knuckled grasp.

"Don't... Don't lose... Gift... Papa's... Gift... "

"No 'Lina, no," he reassured his sister with all the tender patience one might have for a very sick child. "I will not lose your kindjal. Hush now, I only need it for a moment and I will keep it safe. I promise."

Swiftly he cut the pale green cord that bound her ivory obi, tucking his sister's blade into his belt beside the pistol before unwrapping, as swiftly as he could, the lengths of the obi from about her waist. The soft white cloth of the nagajuban beneath her rose-colored kimono had been near saturated to crimson across her torso, front and back, and this was no place for Yury to try to assess the extent of her wounds. He had not been the least bit idle while Galina had been in Japan, and he knew where they must go - but they must go now, if it was not too late already.

Yury's jaw set grimly at that thought, and he knew he must attend to more than simply wrapping his sister's gunshot wound. His hands worked swiftly as he spoke, intoning the Lord's Prayer over his sister, contented to see her lips move even if there was no sound, matching his own voice word-for-word.

"Would you like to make confession, 'Lina?" His stomach turned, his throat thick and tight, the words damn near choking him. He was no priest - hell, there could not possibly be anyone further than. But Yury simply could not take the chance...

Galina nodded, just the faintest of movements as she forced her eyelids open once more. "Was... Not... Good daughter... Disobey... Father... " Her breathless voice went on for some moments longer, recalling all her trespasses, great and small that came to her in pieces, wind-blown leave on the currents of a dying mind until her whispers came no more.

"And what of him?" Yury asked gently, his gaze flickering meaningfully toward Souma for a moment. There was no judgment in his question, no condemnation, only the desire to see sister unburdened entirely if she must leave this world.

Galina let her eyes close, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she shook her head almost imperceptibly. "That... Is no... Sin... "

"As you will, 'Lina," Yury said tenderly as he tied off the makeshift bandages about her chest, both hands reaching beneath her body as he lifted her, cradling her to him as if she were not much more than a babe as a pained whimper escaped her throat. For all his loving care, he knew she was slipping further from him with every passing second.

"I... Want... To go... Go... Home, Yury... " she whispered as a single tear wound its slow, torturous way down her ruined cheek, soaking into the cloth of his bloodstained shirt. "I... Want... Want... My Papa... Want Papa... Yury... "

The gentle, heartfelt cry of a lost, hurting little girl tore at her brother, and he grimaced as he bent to kiss her forehead. "Shhhhh... Hush now. I have you 'Lina... "

Yury stood, slowly, obviously of no possible danger to Souma's watchful guardian, his hands full entirely with his dying sister. "I have mine," the Cossack replied, taking a single step back though not yet ready to turn his back on the other warrior. "And we are leaving... "

Daisuke's eyes never strayed from the Russian man as he moved.

He never moved, himself, never flinched where he knelt at Souma's side. He never stopped pressing gently upon his Boss's roughly-bandaged arm, never gave that wound a chance to let more precious blood flow without a fight. He never let go of his pistol, held low in his other hand, barrel to the ground but ready to lift. There was much he didn't do, that he never did, for the entirety of this man's presence within the clearing.

But he did watch. He was ready. Anything this man tried to do, no matter the muttered protests of Souma beside him, Daisuke would be prepared for it. That's what he was: prepared, at the ready, clenched tight and set to be thrown.

And unmoving, unspeaking, ready, he waited. While the man tended to Demidova where she bled, while they spoke quietly together in a tongue he couldn't begin to know. Soon, it became clear that this man wasn't going to threaten Souma in the least, far too concerned with his own. Comforting, but Daisuke didn't relax his vigil.

His did, however, tune out the words spoken between the man and Demidova, ignored the subtle glances and gestures they made. He couldn't understand the words, but it was clearly a private conversation. There was no need to listen, no need to try and understand. He would still watch, make sure nothing changed in their demeanor, but nothing in their words nor quiet movements were considered in his eyes.

Neither would likely notice the difference, being a subtle one clear only to the Fist himself. That didn't matter. He knew the difference. That made it important.

"Good." He spoke, finally, after the man had rose with Demidova in his arms. Now, Daisuke moved, slipping his revolver away and turning to Souma in earnest. Now, he busied himself in rewrapping the simple bandage about his Boss' arm, stripping the obi from his own waist for good measure. Now he worked to bind his Boss' ankle, and raise him carefully to stand, weight fully supported by the Fist's own form.

"We are too." He didn't look back to where the man and Demidova had been, didn't bother to check if they were still there. He had his own work to do, a quiet exit he could reach from here. When Souma was safe, he might re-enter the compound, search for others, help the clan if need be. But smoke was drifting lightly in the breeze, now, the dim cries of battle and cracks of gunfire replaced by something that sounded faintly like... crackling wood.

"...Let's not meet again."

Daisuke whispered the words to an empty garden, as he and the wounded heir of the Takahiro clan fled their dying castle.

Vladivostok, Russia - May 1900

The flames of the many votive candles flickered in the darkness, dancing along the painted plaster walls, were merely the tiniest reflection of the inferno raging within the still, silent form of the woman kneeling in prayer at the altar. The long, leather-gloved fingers intertwined before her did not shake, and her ivory face remained as beatific as the nearby statue of the Virgin, holding her beloved Holy Son so tenderly. Her head bowed, full, shell pink lips moved silently, mouthing ancient prayers with a seeming serenity so profound, none might ever guess the white hot rage seething just beneath the woman's flawless alabaster visage.

Galina had risen an orphan, from what was meant to be her death bed.

Yury did not tell her this while she languished in bed for some three weeks. By the time her brother managed to deliver her to the Japanese physician with the bad gambling habit he befriended, Galina had been no more than a hair’s breadth from the grave. Yet when she was finally stabilized, Yury did as Daisuke had bade and left Tokyo straight away, traveling as far as he dared toward the western coast and the home she had so desperately wished to see again.

Two weeks passed though, before Yury dared take Galina aboard a ship to the Russian port town of Vladivostok, where brother and sister had been anxiously expected for many days. And it was here that Yury suffered in silence, alone with his grief for a week longer until he could be sure the only living family he had left, would not leave him in this mortal world alone.

Until he could be sure, that this news would not finish her off entirely.

The ancestral Demidov home had been razed, no less ruthlessly or thoroughly than the Takahiro compound. Yury was no fool. The near simultaneous attacks in Japan and Russia, the devastation, the coordination: coincidence would beggar credulity.

Eight days ago, Galina finally stood to her own two feet without assistance. And six days ago, she discovered there would never be a chance in this lifetime to tell her Papa how very sorry she was for all she had failed him. She would never tell him with her own lips, how very much she loved him. There would be no grand Christmas and Easter dinners with her elder brothers and their gentle, beautiful wives. There would be no more sparkling laughter during all the wild games of hide-and-seek and tag throughout the keep, trailing and tracking and fleeing from all her precious nieces and nephews. Klara would never again sit before the grand marble fireplace, holding court before all those precious, upturned faces, turned to the loving woman who raised generations of their family, as she wove all the old tales of Baba Yaga and her terrible house, clever princesses saved and noble knights battling impossible odds to their rescue...

’Even Klara, and all the little babes… ‘ Galina moaned deep in the back of her throat, her head falling back for a moment, shutting her eyes tightly against the coming tears. She would not allow them. Not now. Not until the whole world was painted crimson with the blood of those who murdered the innocents…

Two days ago, Baron Yury Demidov boarded the TransSiberian, to return to what remained of their ancestral home. He would rally the support of his Don Cossack brothers, supervise the reconstruction of the Keep, and then mourn the brutal, untimely death of his beloved sister, the very last of his family, who had finally succumb to her mortal injuries.

Today, Galina Demidova – far less dead than would be purported – would board a ship and return to Japan, and make her way once more to Tokyo. She would find what had become of the Takahiro clan, of Raiga and Ai. Of Souma... Somewhere in this world, they had a mutual and deadly enemy, no matter her own deceptions past, intertwined with the machinations of the honored son. Galina would gladly wade through rivers of blood for her vengeance, yet if a single member of the Takahiro family still lived? She did not doubt she would do so alone.

She unfolded herself from where she knelt at the altar, lifting the crucifix from the silver chain about her neck, kissing the cross reverently before allowing it to fall back beneath the lengths of her long, charcoal grey coat. Its ends whirled in a swift, sharp circle as she turned on her booted heel, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of the shashka sheathed on her belt alongside her kindjal, the other wrapped about the strap of the Winchester rifle she shouldered easily.

Galina emerged from the ancient church into a grey, rainy morning. The sound of her boot heels resounded on the stone, echoing along the street as she pulled the black fur shapka over her tightly plaited hair. Only the welcoming nicker of the chestnut stallion tethered beneath a nearby lean-to cracked, even just a little, her stone visage with the merest whisper of a smile.

She bent to kiss the horse’s velvety soft muzzle, her gloved fingers scratching beneath his forelock, just above the near perfect white star. ”It is only a short trip on the water Anatoly, my dear friend. Only a short while before ground is beneath your hooves once more… “

Daisuke returned sometime in the dead of night, body smudged with ash and soot. He stepped quietly into the darkened room, lent to him by the loyal manager of the Ponto-chō Geisha district. A wide-brimmed, straw hat was placed carefully by the doorway, joined by wooden sandals and the stained outer robe of his kimono. Dressed in nothing more than his silken under robe, ivory thread dirtied and blackened, he stepped slowly over to the screened off bed nearby.

Souma was awake, arm and leg wrapped in stained bandages, waiting for him.

"Tell me, Daisuke."

"Yes." No hesitation, Daisuke stepped forwards to kneel before the bed, head bowed. "The compound... is gone. Raised to the ground."

...

"Survivors?"

"Takahiro Ai escaped with a small guard. She was unharmed, and said she would come by tomorrow... She is beyond glad you survived."

... Father?"

"Takahiro Raigo... did not survive."

...

... ...

"Goemon? Did you find him?"

"Goemon... did not survive."

Daisuke didn't move in the wake of Souma's silence, the loyal Fist remaining bowed as the night waned on, until concern finally bested patience. He rose his head, discerning gaze piercing the dimness to lay upon his wounded Boss, laying down with arms crossed over his eyes. His shoulders and chest shook in silence, teeth clenched so that no sound might escape, moonlight glimmering to betray the wetness running down from hidden eyes.

"Daisuke..."

He didn't lower his gaze, not now, but merely answered.

"Yes, Boss?"

"We leave for America as soon as I am able..."

"Yes, Boss."

"If they haven't destroyed what we built there... we'll turn it against them..."

"Yes, Boss."

"We're going to find these men, Daisuke."

"Yes... Boss."

"And we will kill them... Every, last, one."

For the first time since he had seen an old comrade shot within the once-safe walls of the Takahiro compound, Daisuke found his lips curling in a wide smile.

"Understood. Boss."

~-~

Ai visited the next day, and spoke privately with Souma for some time. Daisuke didn't listen in, didn't ask what was said. But he saw the look on Takahiro Ai's face as she left, heard Souma say she would remain in Japan with the survivors of the clan. She had her own task, own responsibilities, own life. It was here, in their homeland.

Souma's was elsewhere, always elsewhere.

A message was sent later than day, and the news that returned was welcome indeed. Souma's network in America was untouched, thriving, and now bent wholly to hunting down the ones who had sought to destroy his clan. He would join them before long, a boat paid off to transport him and Daisuke, quietly, to the states. They would leave in just a few weeks.

And then the hunt would begin in earnest.

There was no real thought, no rational consideration involved where Galina must first head when the passenger ship from Vladivostok landed on the Japanese shore. Her trunk was sent along with a porter to a local hotel she knew catered to visiting Western dignitaries, while Galina herself saddled and outfitted her Russian don stallion Anatoly.

The first hint of the fierce Japanese summer to come was starting to sear away the tender Spring weather, and she had shed the long woolen coat and shapka, eschewing the weighty clothing for an ivory linen blouse tucked neatly into the long, full skirts split like the pants of a man, the bottoms of her well-worn Cossack riding boots peeping from beneath its lengths. The thick leather belt about her waist still sported her sheathed shashka and kindjal, though the Winchester rifle, once a gift to her brother Yury, was strapped to the horse's packs, easily at hand.

Galina wore her thick, dark brown hair pulled ruthlessly from her ivory face, plaited tightly at the nape of her neck. There was nothing of the gentle Western teacher left to be found as the Russian stallion trotted through the Tokyo streets, not a recognizable hint in face or form of the sweetly smiling Shizuka, the gentlewoman who charmed nobleman and criminal and little child alike with her humble, tender and studious ways.

The Cossack woman rode to the grand home where she had once been welcomed with genuine warmth, with open arms, to find nothing now but a burnt out husk. Whatever emotions, whatever thoughts or feelings might have coursed through her at the sight of this once beautiful, vibrant compound turned a charred and solitary shell of itself, were hidden well and deeply behind the alabaster mask of her face.

Galina dismounted and led Anatoly by his reins through the bullet-ridden front entrance of the once-proud Takahiro compound. She had not known, but only guessed, that the assailants would have put the place to the torch. Word from the ancestral Demidov manor said they had done as much to her own home, a far more difficult task considering the stone edifice than the light wood and paper walls of this place.

Gingerly she paced past scorched timber and fallen beams, overgrown and neglected gardens, along bullet-riddled walls. She was grateful that the stench of rot did not greet her - the bodies of the dead had, of course, long-since been removed. Galina had no particular destination in mind as she wandered through the destruction, but she was not surprised in the least when she looked up from the ground, and realized where her feet had brought her.

She wrapped Anatoly's reins about the singed and blacked bough of a dying cherry tree, and carefully entered the once elegant tearoom of the Takahiro clan. The roof of the tearoom had collapsed along with much of the main house, but that did not deter her from her search. She knelt in the soot and blackened timbers, and began to heedlessly push away ash and charcoal until she found -

A shiver ran through her body, a shudder that had not a thing to do with the temperature, as gloved hands lifted a single clay cup from the debris. Swiftly, her deft fingers wiped away the dirt and soot, revealing after some moments the exquisite deep blue that began at the lip of the elegant cup, the singular color blending seamlessly, masterfully into an ebony at its base to rival the night sky above. A long, weary sigh escaped her as she stood, cradling the tea cup in both hands. Galina lovingly wiped away as much filth as she might while she walked from the hollow, blackened shell of the tea room, until the small vessel was as near to clean as she could possibly set to right.

Carefully, so very gently, she set the tea cup on a single wooden beam that somehow remained upright, the glaze still shining prettily in the sunlight. Silently, Galina regarded this single spot of beauty for several long moments before reaching for Anatoly's reins. She left the sad remnants of the Takahiro compound without a single look back.

**********

Horse and rider maneuvered easily through the Tokyo streets she had come to know so well in the past year. Western-style facades nestled easily next to the more traditional Japanese architecture, a melding of the two cultures that should not have seemed right side-by-side, and yet somehow did. Fortunately for Galina, the man she was looking for would be ensconced within one of the more European-styled buildings, his portly frame fit into a neat and well-tailed suit and coat as always, outfitted with an eye to setting his numerous Western clients at ease.

This day, Galina was not in the least interested in setting anyone, anywhere, "at ease." Shashka and kindjal still sheathed at her side, the warrior woman strode into the broker's house, her booted heels resounding on the wooden floors, demanding the attentions of the one man she sought. Several young Japanese women dressed in Western fashion looked up form their work, eyes wide with surprise as Galina Demidova, unrecognizable now as the gentle teacher Shizuka, walked past them without a single word or glance, straight to their boss' office.

Unsurprisingly, not a single one of these women made the least attempt to stop this terrifying woman as she opened the ornate Western door, shutting it with an audible *thunk* behind her.

"Good afternoon, Hasekura Soshitsu," Galina said easily, the unmatched beauty of her voice belying the deadly serious intent beneath her stony demeanor. "How lovely to see you again. It has been so very long, has it not?" Finger by finger, she began to slide the leather riding gloves from her hands, pulling the whole with her teeth as she finished removing them and folding them neatly into one hand.

"Although you must forgive me, of course. As you might imagine, my tolerance for pleasantries at the moment is... Low. I have questions of you that I will ask, and then you will answer, to the very best of your ability - and you will answer rightly. Things between us will not remain... Pleasant otherwise." A tight, toothless smile slid across her lips, the spirit of which never made it to her eyes.

"The Takahiro clan. Did any of them survive the attack on the compound? If so, who? And finally - and most importantly of all: where can I find them now?"

It was quickly becoming a bad time to be a broker.

Oh, things had gone well enough for Hasekura Shoshitsu at first. The constant, inner struggles of nobility within his homeland, coupled with a paradoxical hatred yet need for 'lower' individuals to carry out the dirty work, meant money was always ready to flow into a waiting hand. Hasekura's hands had been out waiting longer than most, the savvy broker securing favor within the Tokyo elite long before the Takahiro clan had shown up.

Ah yes, that clan. Once indistinguishable from every other band of smugglers, gamblers and racketeers, the Takahiro's had somehow managed to elevate themselves into a position that rivaled to dethrone even him! Sure, he had become wealthier than ever since their rise to notoriety, but anyone clever as he could see the future it led to: obsolescence. The Takahiro's expanded their power base with frightening voracity, their influence stretching all the way to America. If they grew larger, who would need a simple broker and his small band of assistants? What use would competition be when the Takahiro's held a monopoly on all shady dealings of the elite? It was all downhill for Hasekura the moment Takahiro Raigo was elevated to Samurai. His only option was to get what he could now, and be ready to bail when the end finally came.

And then, the gods smiled on him.

Shizuka, lovely, devious little Shizuka, a western flower coming to full blossom right before him. She too, had understood the threat of the Takahiro clan. Their growth would bring problems not only to him, but all of Japan, as their ambition grew unchecked. She had a plan, a plan to take them down a peg, to make him the top choice in the eyes of the nobles once more. It required almost nothing on his part, but the gains, the gains were more than he could have ever bargained for. It was the break he had only dreamed would happen.

And then it fell through, burned to ash along with the Takahiro compound and most of that clan. Somehow, Raigo's son had known of his ties. And even bandaged as he had been? Even with the trauma of the fires still visible in the young man's eyes? Propped up on a bed, barely able to move?

Takahiro Souma was, quite honestly, terrifying.

Hasekura had expected to die that night, the mountain of a man Daisuke seeming ready to deliver just that fate. But he had been spared, left alone and untouched, with only two, simple objectives to keep things that way:

Tell no one, not a single soul, where I am. Or that I am alive...

...If you learn anything, anything of American spies or mercenaries, tell me.

He had even offered payment for the second. A generous offer that Hasekura would have been a fool to refuse. So he accepted, eagerly, and returned to his duties. With the Takahiro clan crippled, he could still rise to old heights once more. With luck, he could raise himself above their influence entirely, free himself from the threat of blackmail, or the need to bend to their whims.

And then... and then. Shizuka returned.

Once hailed as a bringer of fortunes, he know saw her for the truth: A living curse visited upon him by some slighted god.

"Shizuka-! Yes, yes, lovely to see you as always..." He tried his best not to shake behind his desk, briefly entertaining the question of how quickly his guards could come to his aid. If he cried out, right now, would they make it in time to save him? All he had to do was try... just to shout...

"The... the Takahiro clan? Well that-... that's rather sensitive right now, understand?" He tried to ignore the sweat beginning to mat the thinning hair upon his head. "Those that are left are... well they're being very quiet. Not easy to find and... well... they're not being very... ah... 'welcoming'... to those from... well, the west."

He shrugged, as if it was out of his hands, hoping beyond hope that he looked more sure than he felt.

"We've had good dealings in the past, Miss Shizuka. But... well, after what happened to the Takahiros... Things are tense in the city, you see? It's not as easy as before, I can't just point at a map and saw 'that's where they are'... well... not for free."

Galina told Souma not a single lie that portentous day in his cultivated forest, while they both bled out on the meticulously manicured lawns. Hasekuro Soshitsu was not a brave man, and some small, cruel part of the spy relished the sheen of sweat that was forming over his forehead and balding pate. Galina rationalized that she had to take some tiny piece of enjoyment from this moment, since gutting this man where he stood was entirely out of the question. He still had his uses after all, as well the sweetest, most good-natured wife whose love he did not deserve in the least, and two young boys who, thankfully, seemed to be taking after their mother in looks.

No, Hasekuro Soshitsu was not a brave man; yet in the same vein, neither was he a stupid one. Galina should have known better than to stride in here with her demands, wearing her true emotions on her proverbial sleeve - that had been quite foolish. Galina. Shizuka. Calm. At this very moment, she had betrayed her namesake in two different languages.

Even so, and fortunately for her, for all Soshitsu's intelligence and shrewd ambition, his naked fear made him equally foolish - yet without the insight to realize this salient fact. Without even realizing what he had done, he had already answered the majority of her questions on the matter of the Takahiro clan - all, of course, but the ones she most truly needed to know. Which two of the trio - father, daughter or son - had survived; and where were they now?

Galina followed the flicker of his gaze toward the backroom door to his office, and guessed his calculation in an instant. "No, you will not have time to call your guards - or at least, not enough time for you to live through the attempt. Your wife is a beautiful woman, and your children a true delight. There is absolutely no reason for me to leave a widow and two orphans behind me when I leave Tokyo." Galina sighed softly, as if oh-so put out by the thought, and then slowly smiled, now the humble, sweetly shy smile of the charming Shizuka as she bowed to the man still sitting behind his desk.

"But you are right, Mr. Hasekuro," she continued as she stood straight once more, the enchantment of her voice calming, soothing music that floated and lingered in the air between them like a rich and heady perfume. "There is tension here, tension in this city, and I fear you and I may have gotten off to a poor start today. This is entirely my fault of course, and I take full responsibility."

And as she spoke, Galina glided across the room,slowly, carefully, laying her gloves on the desk as she moved to stand behind Soshitsu. "You simply have to understand, Mr. Hasekuro," she continued as her strong, slender fingers lay lightly at first on his shoulders, and then began to knead at the knot of muscles she found there through the fabric. "Please understand, that I was right there at the Takahiro compound when they were attacked. I was hurt, you see, and spirited away before I could find out what had become of the clan." The pout in her matchless voice could be heard quite clearly, a small sad ring of hurt as she made a swift shot in the dark, though not entirely without consideration. Yury shared all the information he had gleaned between the two, near-simultaneous attacks after all. "Besides, surely you cannot mean all Westerners are not welcome? You must have meant that Americans are not welcomed in the city at the moment. And I am merely a simple Russian woman after all."

"And yes, of course all our dealings have been good and lucrative, for the both of us," Galina continued as her knowing, practiced fingers pressed just so against the tender muscles at the back of Soshitsu's neck. "How terribly rude of me, to be so selfishly one-sided on this matter! I will gladly, gladly, repay what must have been terrible losses to your brokerage when the Takahiro compound fell. I know very well, there is a substantial sum that remains in the accounts that were to go to my family's estate... "

Galina's voice trailed off as a painful lump threatened to choke her words and close off her throat entirely. Swiftly she closed her eyes, taking a long, calming breath before she could speak again, picking up once more immediately as if for that space of a precious few seconds, nothing at all were amiss. "Yes, there was a great deal left in those accounts, was there not? Before the transfers? Oh, I've no use for it at all you know - I never have had a head for business. Not like you, of course. Why, I could certainly sign over the remainder - a gift, you see. A gift to a man who has been so very kind to a poor foreigner in a strange land."

"And in return? In return all you will ever have to do, is expend no more than a few puffs of your breath, and you will see me no more."

Her fingers gently stroked the short hairs at the back of the man's hairline, ignoring the sweaty wetness there as she considered for a moment[/i all she had gleaned to this point. There was a genuine fear she could feel singing through the very muscles of this man. She was impatient already for answers that, given her own way, she might have carved from this fat little man's pasty flesh. But the fear, it was damn near palpable, and Galina simply had to wonder. There was only one person of the Takahiro clan, who knew this cowardly little money changer even existed.

"Tell me truly, Mr. Hasekuro, because my curiosity is simply boundless on the matter," Galina whispered as she bent down just enough to rest the curve of her chest lightly against his back, the soft skin of her lips barely brushing the tender skin of the man's ear. "Having personally known the company of both men in very close quarters: between Takahiro Souma and his Fist, Daisuke - which of them do you find most terrifying?"

Well it seemed Shizuka was willing to do business, at least.

Her calm, agreeable words were all that kept Hasekura from testing her boast as she advanced. Her swaying stance and soothing tone all that kept Hasekura from demanding she leave as she stepped behind him. Practiced, dexterous fingers danced along the taught muscle of his shoulders and soft flesh of his neck, ministrations that so few customers ever offered.

Not that he could be swayed by such a play. A happily married man such as he -and in such a business as his, no less- could not afford to fall to pleasure. His devotion remained, as always, to his wife and profession. Not that he would demand Shizuka step back, or stop. No, if she wanted to pit her wiles against his, then so be it. He would stand firm, as a man of his stature should.

So he allowed her to tend to his poor back as she pleased, nodding easily to the reasonable offers now gushing from her lips.

Until...

"Wh- Ha-" A shudder ran it's way from the bottom of his feet to the whispy hairs on the very top of his head, Hasekura jumping from his chair to stumble away from Shizuka. Eyes wide, lips trembling, he ran risk of snapping the tip from his own tongue as he tried to force the words out.

"I-i-if you knew already why did you co- Oh, oh ohhh."

He slumped, hands falling, eyes cast away in defeat. A ploy. She had managed to trick him, Hasekura Shoshitsu, of all people! Embarrassing- mortifying! But what could he do? It was all too late, now. He'd said to much, far, far too much.

Maybe Shizuka and Souma could kill each other, before one of them came back for him?

"Fine, you win..." He waved a hand in pitiful surrender, standing away from the desk he should be lording behind instead. "Souma and his Fist are in hiding- I won't dare say where out loud. I'll get someone to lead you there, and you get me the money- okay? Deal?"

Souma and his Fist were in hiding.

No mention of Takahiro Raigo, or Ai, or even Souma's Voice, Goemon, but Galina knew better than to humiliate Hakesura Soshitsu entirely and drag anymore out of him. And so she did not gloat, and there was no smugness in her smile or voice for her titular victory as she quickly and courteously arranged for the monies to be turned over to the broker, pending only her signature the following morning.

This last caveat had not pleased Soshitsu in the least who, in all likelihood, erred on the side of caution and calculated the woman would not emerge alive from this meeting with Souma. But Galina had been immoveable on the point, not trusting the plump, balding and fearful little man as far as she could throw him, to reneg on their deal the moment her money was in his proverbially - and literally - sweaty palms.

And though Soshitsu was almost superstitiously fearful of telling her where Souma was at this moment, Galina was not about to allow his manservant Naoki the luxury of that timidity. The young man, dressed in his Western-style best, gave up the goods easily enough with only the mildest of explanations, that she must of course be prepared for this meeting. He did not even argue when she insisted on returning to her hotel room, to change before they left.

The famous Ponto-chō district was revered throughout the city for its geisha houses and for its various entertainments: visual, theatrical and carnal. It was also not much more than a very narrow and well-traveled street and, if this was where Souma and Daisuke had chosen to hide? Well, she could only surmise Souma had good reason for keeping his survival and location secret, and she would be foolish to bring attention to their tea room sanctuary.

When Galina emerged once more, she far more resembled the Shizuka she had once been, garbed in a deep blue silk kimono wrapped with an obi dyed in a paler shade, her hair loosened and then rearranged with a simple cherry blossom kazanshi, that was, in truth, merely a hair ornament this time. Anatoly remained in the hotel's stable, and the shashka in her locked trunk as well.

Though certainly nobody would fault her, for the kindjal neatly ensconced in her obi, or for the Colt .45 revolver strapped beneath those flowing silks in a hip holster.

Naoki proved to be magnificently competent, likely the reason Soshitsu trusted him with this information and destination in the first place. He arranged for a rickshaw to carry them to the Ponto-chō district, and depositing them both at the end of the long, narrow street. Galina’s arm neatly tucked into Naoki’s, there was precious little to draw too much attention to the Western-dressed Japanese man and the young, kimono-clad lady at his side. And Galina’s natural coloring, the dark brown hair and eyes and pale skin, did not draw any particular gaze her way, particularly not in a place where the matchless, spectacular geisha resided.

The geisha house where Naoki brought her was very like the dozen others along the district's narrow streets: two stories with a balcony along the top story, side-by-side like the British brownstone homes, though these homes were bright painted, festooned with gaily colored lanterns and banners around the masterfully crafted arched entrance. But for all the brilliance and beauty of the geisha house, the first thing to strike Galina when she walked inside was the mouthwatering scent of… Ramen. That simply had to be ramen, pork if she was to guess, and it was a dish Galina had become inordinately fond of this past year. Her belly rumbled, not loud enough to catch anyone’s attention though her cheeks colored nonetheless

Only a few steps within, Naoki nodded to her left with a sly smile, toward the undeniably familiar hulk of a man seated in a room off the way. Chopsticks lifted to his lips, full of noodle and what looked to be a luscious piece of shining meat, Daisuke the Fist was an absolutely unforgettable sight…

Swiftly, Naoki took Galina’s hand, bringing her fingers to his lips for a playful kiss, and then disappeared back out to the street. Galina could only laugh before she turned her attention to Daisuke who, unsurprisingly, did not look the least pleased to be interrupted at his meal – or perhaps the scowl had far more to do with Galina simply being… Well… Galina? She bowed her head to the Fist, her smile wide and so incredibly pleased. Naoki, it seemed, had left something of his playfulness behind with him, and she simply could not help the grin.

“It has been far too long, Daisuke,” she purred softly, every word a warm, impishly mischievous musical note. “And… I do not suppose there is more of that ramen to be found? This day has been long, tiring, and decidedly without sustenance I am afraid.”

Daisuke paused, last few mouthfuls of his meal stewing in the bottom of his bowl as he sat there before Souma's room. The dark, threatening glower that dominated his features lightened not a bit in the wake of Demidova's smile, nor from her shimmering words. The list of people the Fist was happy to see was a small one, and the one of people he'd rather never see again growing longer every day.

Galina had the rare distinction of standing near the top of one of those lists. Which one was likely easy to guess.

But where Demidova was concerned, his hands were tied. Her family had been a thorn in his Boss' side up until the night his home had burned. Before then, he doubted she or her kin would have dared skip so gaily up to him. To do so would have been a declaration of war, one which would have ended in death without the chance of compromise.

Before then, that might have been the case. But Souma -and therefore, his Fist- had more pressing concerns now. And so Daisuke met Demidova's cheerful eyes with his own steady gaze, chopsticks lowering to rest on the edge of his bowl.

"Apologies..." Inclining his head slightly in respect to the woman before him, Daisuke proceeded to down the rest of his bowl in a single, drawn-out slurp. Leaving the now-empty bowl on the ground with his chopsticks, he rose to full height. "No more left."

Eyes never leaving Demidova's own, one hand raised itself to quickly rap against the door behind him, before lowering to push it gently open. To dark to see much beyond the simple mats of the floor, but the faint sound of someone eating could be heard if one listened hard enough.

"Inside. Demidova..." Daisuke's voice rose, and, while it would be hard to notice, the sounds of eating paused. The words were as much for Demidova as they were for his Boss inside, who now knew precisely who was about to enter. "Boss is waiting."

And indeed, Souma would be. Behind a low table positioned in the center of an otherwise-sparse room, the bed he had spent so much time resting in before at his back. His meal remained spread out across the table, though he lowered his own chopsticks in anticipation of his guest. Ramen with pork, white rice, grilled eel, and a clay jar of gently-steaming sake were arrayed before him, a wealthy meal standing at odds with the surroundings.

And Souma himself, in a grey robe of simple cotton, kneeling contently behind it all. Unlike his fist, no suspicious glower hung over his features as he waited for Galina to approach. No, merely patient curiosity, to wonder what brought the woman he had nearly killed -who had nearly killed him- openly approaching his hidden enclave.

Galina paused, for a single moment, as she passed that enormous mountain of a man, Daisuke. She looked up to him from the corner of her dark eyes, a slow smile sidling over her lips. "Honestly Daisuke, until this very moment, I had absolutely no idea you possessed a sense of humor. Will wonders never cease?"

Still hungry but eminently amused, Galina nodded to Daisuke as she slowly walked into Souma's room, slipping off her own sandals by the door. Her smile remained, a soft thing now though, with none of the playfulness that Naoki's presence, or tweaking Daisuke's proverbial nose, had provided. There was too much hurt, too much suffering between them for any jest to last, and Galina still did not yet know the full extent of Souma's hurts.

Galina bowed respectfully to Souma before lowering herself to kneel opposite his meal tray. She was instantly reminded of those few humiliating moments spent on the Empress, and then the tea ceremony in the Takahiro compound, and some small part of her stood in amazement there was no pain to be found in either recollection. Not anymore.

"Konnichiwa, Souma," Galina said softly, her voice not much more than a melodic whisper over the samurai's dinner, "And thank you for speaking me."

Galina folded her hands in her lap delicately, the genuine plea in her dark eyes unhidden and so very easy to read. "I have been back to the compound, and I saw all they did there, the Americans. I should like to know, what happened to Raigo-sama? To Ai? I imagine after all that I did here, it might seem a bold lie to say I genuinely care, but I do. Your family was truly kind to me."

She let those words hang for a moment or two in the air, knowing very well she had precious little right to ask after the Takahiro family, but she still had a small hope that Soshitsu's words had been not much more than poorly understood and spoken English, that perhaps she misunderstood, misheard, that father or sister both may have escaped.