Fic: Win or Lose
Title: Win or Lose
Author: fairymage
Rating: G
Fandom: Rurouni Kenshin
Characters: Saitou, Sano
Notes: Written for ghostly_watcher's request back in MAY. Dear gods. Deggy, I apologize now. I've had this idea for a long time, but it just didn't quite come out the way I wanted... Well, nothing I write in Kenshin comes out QUITE the way I want...
He had ways of knowing things. This knowledge, of course, only reasonably spanned the Japanese islands, but that was generally all he really wanted or needed to know. Precisely how he knew that Sagara Sanosuke was no longer in Japan.
He’d had a hunch. If the Battousai was a wanderer, well then… The boy was a voyager. There was a distinct eagerness, a spark, a cockiness that was not suited to settling down. Something distinctly wild and untamed and undomesticated. A rough edge, so to speak. Not one that was going to be smoothed anytime soon. Especially if he continued to keep company like the tanuki.
It was the sign of a boy who grew up too fast.
He had to give the boy credit. He was strong, stronger than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t thought it likely that he could develop that much-but it wasn't impossible. That’s what happened to boys like him. They had their maturity, their worldly knowledge that only a privileged few ever experienced, and the uncut potential beneath. He was strong and brash and utterly idiotic-but he was not without the ability to grow. He had all the idealism and stupidity of youth, but the strength and pain of an adult.
No, he wasn’t giving him more credit than he was due. More than he’d ever say, of course. But the boy knew. They shared that much.
They knew what it was to win and lose. Their visions of it were different, and yet the same. His side had lost the war but he’d come out a kind of victor, alive and working when all of his peers were dead or recluses. The boy’s side had won the war but betrayed him, so that he was alive when his friends were slaughtered.
Life was about winning and losing. Sometimes you were on the side that “won.” Other times, it was just a personal victory. The boy knew that. They were both winners and losers, together.
He could say the same about the Battousai, but it wouldn't make such a good comparison. For starters, the Battousai was too short. At least the boy had a decent amount of height on him.
And so now the boy was abroad. Good. It’d be a good experience, to see the world. On his terms, of course. The idiot wouldn’t have it any other way. Probably couldn’t figure out how to make the proper plans, even if he hadn’t been chased out before being able to do so. But the boy needed something more underneath his belt before he really became a man.
Not that he wasn't already one. He was and he wasn’t. It was just the way it worked. At heart, he was still a boy, and until he realized that he had the makings of an adult in him, he’d always be just a boy and a source of constant irritation and amusement.
On second thought, he’d always be a source of irritation and amusement.
He smirked as he sat back up from his reclined position. He wondered what havoc the idiot would wreck on what country-and what police department.
He lit a cigarette as he threw the paperwork he’d been finishing onto the desk. It had nothing to do with Sagara Sanosuke.
-----
He’d never understood why people complained so endlessly about traveling. Sure, the going was tough, and dirty, and gritty, and in order to get out of that you had to have some money, but hell if he was going to see the world like that. You weren’t seeing anything that way.
Seeing was important. Experiencing was important, he’d always believed that. It was why he respected Kenshin so much.
And that bastard Saitou.
Because they knew. They’d been through it all. And as much as he hated it, he respected them-both of them. No matter what they said. Sure, it pissed him off more than anything to have the former Shinsengumi captain baiting him, scornful and superior, and he didn’t have any business treating Sano like that, but it didn’t change the fact that underneath it all, Sano respected him.
Maybe even more than the actual seeing and experiencing Sano respected the idealism. It took either a very desperate or a very idealistic person to do everything that Saitou had done, and Saitou was, if nothing else, not desperate.
He was too cold and calculating for that, the bastard.
Sano leaned back against the wood of the cart he was riding in. Here he was, far from Japan, and he was wasting his time thinking about that jerk. What was wrong with him? Well, it wasn’t like he had anything better to think about.
Because really, it was fascinating. In a morbid sort of way, of course. Prodding Saitou was like asking to get bit, and yet… Well, what good was it not to poke? You only got any real, genuine reaction out of Saitou by putting your nose where it shouldn’t be.
He really didn’t understand why he was so drawn to the man. Kenshin he understood; Kenshin was the epitome of idealism and strength, gentle and fierce and caring all at the same time. Saitou had no pretenses. Unless it was all a pretense. Entirely possible, but not likely, Sano decided. But that still didn’t answer the question of why his mind was often preoccupied with him.
Why was he, despite it all, so curious? So-well, he’d already admitted it-admiring of him? It didn’t make sense. Even the reasons he gave himself weren’t entirely satisfactory.
It had something to do with that latent idealism. Kenshin… well, Kenshin was almost too good. Sano could never follow his example, not with his flaring temper. If he were any good at analogies, he’d say Kenshin was more like water-cool, calm, collected, punishing by a gentle but pressing force. Sano was more like fire. He burned with a certain indignation, a certain righteousness and passion.
So what was Saitou? It was obviously a question for consideration.
Maybe what was so fascinating was that Saitou was just as idealistic as Kenshin, and yet they couldn’t be more different. Saitou scorned Kenshin, which irritated Sano, but they were, on some level, very much the same.
That must be it. The way Saitou carried himself, the way he knew he was doing right because he was following something he believed in, the way he’d lost the battle but not the war. Stubborn bastard.
Sano grinned and tipped his head back to look at the sky. Yeah, that must be it. Saitou would deny it if he ever asked, but Sano wasn’t that stupid.
Besides, he knew Saitou.
Author: fairymage
Rating: G
Fandom: Rurouni Kenshin
Characters: Saitou, Sano
Notes: Written for ghostly_watcher's request back in MAY. Dear gods. Deggy, I apologize now. I've had this idea for a long time, but it just didn't quite come out the way I wanted... Well, nothing I write in Kenshin comes out QUITE the way I want...
He had ways of knowing things. This knowledge, of course, only reasonably spanned the Japanese islands, but that was generally all he really wanted or needed to know. Precisely how he knew that Sagara Sanosuke was no longer in Japan.
He’d had a hunch. If the Battousai was a wanderer, well then… The boy was a voyager. There was a distinct eagerness, a spark, a cockiness that was not suited to settling down. Something distinctly wild and untamed and undomesticated. A rough edge, so to speak. Not one that was going to be smoothed anytime soon. Especially if he continued to keep company like the tanuki.
It was the sign of a boy who grew up too fast.
He had to give the boy credit. He was strong, stronger than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t thought it likely that he could develop that much-but it wasn't impossible. That’s what happened to boys like him. They had their maturity, their worldly knowledge that only a privileged few ever experienced, and the uncut potential beneath. He was strong and brash and utterly idiotic-but he was not without the ability to grow. He had all the idealism and stupidity of youth, but the strength and pain of an adult.
No, he wasn’t giving him more credit than he was due. More than he’d ever say, of course. But the boy knew. They shared that much.
They knew what it was to win and lose. Their visions of it were different, and yet the same. His side had lost the war but he’d come out a kind of victor, alive and working when all of his peers were dead or recluses. The boy’s side had won the war but betrayed him, so that he was alive when his friends were slaughtered.
Life was about winning and losing. Sometimes you were on the side that “won.” Other times, it was just a personal victory. The boy knew that. They were both winners and losers, together.
He could say the same about the Battousai, but it wouldn't make such a good comparison. For starters, the Battousai was too short. At least the boy had a decent amount of height on him.
And so now the boy was abroad. Good. It’d be a good experience, to see the world. On his terms, of course. The idiot wouldn’t have it any other way. Probably couldn’t figure out how to make the proper plans, even if he hadn’t been chased out before being able to do so. But the boy needed something more underneath his belt before he really became a man.
Not that he wasn't already one. He was and he wasn’t. It was just the way it worked. At heart, he was still a boy, and until he realized that he had the makings of an adult in him, he’d always be just a boy and a source of constant irritation and amusement.
On second thought, he’d always be a source of irritation and amusement.
He smirked as he sat back up from his reclined position. He wondered what havoc the idiot would wreck on what country-and what police department.
He lit a cigarette as he threw the paperwork he’d been finishing onto the desk. It had nothing to do with Sagara Sanosuke.
-----
He’d never understood why people complained so endlessly about traveling. Sure, the going was tough, and dirty, and gritty, and in order to get out of that you had to have some money, but hell if he was going to see the world like that. You weren’t seeing anything that way.
Seeing was important. Experiencing was important, he’d always believed that. It was why he respected Kenshin so much.
And that bastard Saitou.
Because they knew. They’d been through it all. And as much as he hated it, he respected them-both of them. No matter what they said. Sure, it pissed him off more than anything to have the former Shinsengumi captain baiting him, scornful and superior, and he didn’t have any business treating Sano like that, but it didn’t change the fact that underneath it all, Sano respected him.
Maybe even more than the actual seeing and experiencing Sano respected the idealism. It took either a very desperate or a very idealistic person to do everything that Saitou had done, and Saitou was, if nothing else, not desperate.
He was too cold and calculating for that, the bastard.
Sano leaned back against the wood of the cart he was riding in. Here he was, far from Japan, and he was wasting his time thinking about that jerk. What was wrong with him? Well, it wasn’t like he had anything better to think about.
Because really, it was fascinating. In a morbid sort of way, of course. Prodding Saitou was like asking to get bit, and yet… Well, what good was it not to poke? You only got any real, genuine reaction out of Saitou by putting your nose where it shouldn’t be.
He really didn’t understand why he was so drawn to the man. Kenshin he understood; Kenshin was the epitome of idealism and strength, gentle and fierce and caring all at the same time. Saitou had no pretenses. Unless it was all a pretense. Entirely possible, but not likely, Sano decided. But that still didn’t answer the question of why his mind was often preoccupied with him.
Why was he, despite it all, so curious? So-well, he’d already admitted it-admiring of him? It didn’t make sense. Even the reasons he gave himself weren’t entirely satisfactory.
It had something to do with that latent idealism. Kenshin… well, Kenshin was almost too good. Sano could never follow his example, not with his flaring temper. If he were any good at analogies, he’d say Kenshin was more like water-cool, calm, collected, punishing by a gentle but pressing force. Sano was more like fire. He burned with a certain indignation, a certain righteousness and passion.
So what was Saitou? It was obviously a question for consideration.
Maybe what was so fascinating was that Saitou was just as idealistic as Kenshin, and yet they couldn’t be more different. Saitou scorned Kenshin, which irritated Sano, but they were, on some level, very much the same.
That must be it. The way Saitou carried himself, the way he knew he was doing right because he was following something he believed in, the way he’d lost the battle but not the war. Stubborn bastard.
Sano grinned and tipped his head back to look at the sky. Yeah, that must be it. Saitou would deny it if he ever asked, but Sano wasn’t that stupid.
Besides, he knew Saitou.