He heard the faint shout, taken up by others, and glanced behind him. Too close, now; close enough to see set jaws and hands curled around sword hilts. Kenshin gauged the distance between them and knew he would have a fight on his hands within minutes. Yamashita broke into a run towards the bridge ahead, a staggering and uneven gait fuelled by desperation. He followed close behind, keeping at Yamashita's back, turning briefly to direct a cold stare down at the squad as he drew his sword. He would present a more alluring target, he knew. Honour demanded that they retrieve or kill Tsuji Yamashita, but he was the hitokiri Battousai- and he had spent a year murdering men they knew and respected.

He turned, planting his free hand between Yamashita's shoulder blades to give him a fierce shove. "Keep moving, no matter what."

"But—"

"If you can make it to the other side, you'll be safe from the Shinsengumi," Kenshin explained tersely, pushing him further onto the bridge. "Here, you'll only get in my way. Go."

Yamashita's only response was to give a sharp nod, fingers fisting over the support ropes to keep himself upright as he moved out over the river. Kenshin spun again, facing the oncoming squad, his eyes alighting on the face of the man leading them. Saito Hajime—the wolf. Likely, the one captain tenacious enough to pursue a deserter into the bitterness of this winter.

Saito met his gaze and grinned. Fierce, a warrior's bloodlust. There had never been a clear winner in all their bouts in Kyoto. Doubtless the wolf thought them cornered now. Kenshin intended to prove him wrong. He waited the space of thirty seconds, then backed onto the bridge himself, footing sure despite the slippery wood beneath him. Snow and damp had done much to make the bridge treacherous at best, but he was in his element out here in the wilderness and had trained in worse places. He doubted the Shinsengumi had the same luxury.

They slowed as they neared the bridge, not stupid. The bridge created a bottleneck; they could only attack one, two at a time. Three, if they were exceptionally coordinated, maybe. In the end, the only person to approach was Saito, slowed now to a saunter as he reached out a hand to touch one of the ropes, feet a scant inch away from the wooden boards.

Behind him, there was a scrape and a grunt close to panic as Yamashita slid. Kenshin forced himself not to look.

"Pointless," Saito said. "I could cut the supports from here and you'd both fall to your deaths."

"But you won't," Kenshin said evenly.

Saito grinned. "No." The two shinsen behind him drew swords, flanking the wolf. It wasn't even a matter of pride, Kenshin knew; Saito would want a body to prove his traitor was dead. Dragging the river was a feat beyond anyone at this time of year. "Of course, I could have you shot instead. You make a fine target."

But you won't.

Kenshin narrowed his eyes. Lifted his own blade.

Nothing more was said. Saito held his gaze as the two flanking him charged past onto the bridge. They kept their feet surprisingly well; he parried the first attack, still giving ground until he reached the midpoint of the long span. Saito's squad were good men, and he admitted to himself after a moment that he'd been arrogant and misjudged their skill in these conditions. It didn't matter. All he needed to do was buy time. If he didn't have the skill to defeat them all here, at the very least, all he had to do was keep them moving past him. Long enough for Yamashita to make it to the relative safety of the other side.

He fought them two, three at once; narrowly missed being skewered as his foot slid on the icy wood, diverted an attack to slice through the rope on one side, causing the entire bridge to sway, one man to lose balance and drop. He heard a faint yelp as Yamashita fumbled and clung to the supports that still held.

Come on. Move. There was only so long he could delay. He blocked another attack, and another, trying to keep his own footing on the icy bridge as it yawed sideways; one man against a crowd, and he cursed as a man all but vaulted past him. He heard a cry of triumph and a panicked yelp in response, and Kenshin bared his teeth. He flung his left arm out. The wakizashi went flying, scoring a puncturing hit against the lone fool who'd had the audacity to try for Yamashita first, and the man fell at the boy's feet.

The boy who was staring back at him, shocked, and Kenshin snarled at him, trying to spur him on. "I said go!"

Yamashita scrabbled backward and then caught at the support again, hauling himself away. Saito finally reached him, and the fight turned from struggling to desperate. Saito's gaze flicked from the hitokiri to his real target, and Kenshin smiled grimly. He knew, just from watching the wolf, when Yamashita finally found sure ground and stumbled off the bridge. Ducked beneath Saito's angrier thrust and kicked out instead, catching him in the gut and buying space as Saito stumbled back, braced by his surviving men.

Kenshin immediately whirled, swinging the katana in a wide and brutal arc down on the other side, biting through rope and support alike. He considered just running, then. But the easiest way to stop all pursuit of Yamashita was also the quickest. Kenshin stepped back, swung his sword up and met Saito's gaze, the other's eyes widening as he realised too late.

His next strike swept viciously through the ice-slicked planks at their feet, and they

-o0o-

fell beneath the torrent, blinding and freezing, a force so cold that it shocked the air from his lungs despite himself; knocked him from his feet and upended the world. The sword, he'd sheathed just in time, and he kept a deathgrip on it, trying to push upward and find the blue sky again, tried to keep himself from being buried. Flailing like a drowning cat. Hiko's sharply amused judgment, echoing in his mind, and he focused on that rather than let panic set in. Another flash of thought as he fell, and one starkly bleak and hilarious at the same time, in that the snow might sweep him all the way back to the bridge, falling back into the river. The chance of him surviving such a fall- the irony, though, of ending up exactly where he'd started-

Then his shoulder hit hard, implacable rock, and the avalanche crushed him against it, before pulling away and slamming him against another, and he felt something in his chest give, and Kenshin abruptly lost his fight as his head cracked against stone. The sky vanished and the snow

dragged him under and he fought his way out from the scrabbling hands, and he wasn't sure if the man clawing at him was doing so out of bloody-minded determination or panic. He caught at a splintered plank in the water, still dragging on the rope, and used it as a guide to pull himself to the surface, aiming one brutal foot to the struggling man's face. It was a stark death he'd condemned them to in the name of duty. More bodies to an ever-growing list, and he refused to think on it, instead focused on keeping his head above water, pulling ahead of the others as much as he could. He'd trained in these conditions, swam in conditions almost as harsh; the cold swim was one he could endure more than the wolves. Even so, by the time he dragged himself from the water, drenched and shivering and alone-

-o0o-

He was exhausted.

Kenshin opened his eyes to darkness.

He was numb enough the pain was mercifully dulled; the snow compacted around him made for an ironic support to the injuries he'd sustained, given it was also going to kill him. Sooner rather than later. At the last, he'd lost his sword after all, both hands cupped around his face in an instinctive gesture he didn't quite remember doing, but wasn't surprised by. A tiny pocket of air in his hands; the ability to breathe, however painfully, for just a little longer.

In the tranquil grip of the snow, buried however deep, it wasn't a comfort. Nobody was going to dig him out. All he'd done was give himself a handful of minutes to stare death in the face. He tried pushing against the snow just once, stopped as his ribs immediately screamed in protest, and he clenched his teeth against the pain until it subsided. He was effectively entombed and going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. Kenshin closed his eyes again. He'd exhausted all the options. Hadn't he?

I tried.

He hadn't intended this end for himself. With no other choice, maybe it was all right to just let go.

-o0o-

The air wouldn't last long before it began to poison him instead. He wondered how it would feel. Painful? Would he panic at the last? He felt a distant flicker of curiosity more than dread, and wondered how badly injured he was. Maybe the snow was a merciful alternative to being pulled from its grip and feeling the agony of his ribs and shoulder. His head didn't hurt; maybe he hadn't hit it that hard. He could taste blood at the back of his throat. Real this time, not imagined.

It didn't matter.

He wondered if the boy had survived the avalanche. If he'd survived Saito. And then, he thought with a grimace, if he'd survived both the boy was likely to die anyway, all alone out here a treacherous pass. Kenshin would have been better served if he'd turned on his heel and taken shelter behind the rocks, not sprinted back up the pass on such a fool's errand.

If he'd tried to hide, maybe the boy wouldn't have fired the gun a second time.

Maybe.

Life was full of maybes. He usually didn't have the luxury of considering them. Maybe he should have been ruthless and cut Yamashita loose, abandoned him to the Shinsengumi. Maybe he should have indulged in the temptation to slip away from Saito instead of seeking retribution on a group of deserters. It wasn't as if the family would be any less dead. Maybe he should have turned down the job from the very start; Katsura would have allowed him, given the time of year.

He was going to break his promise. Had already broken it, in fact; by breaking the bridge and stranding himself along with Saito so far off course, there was no way he'd have made it back in time. The one assurance he'd given that didn't really matter, in the end. He'd only given it to ease Katsura's guilt.

Katsura would never know what had happened to him, and he felt a moment of chagrin. If Yamashita made it to Choshu territory, he would at least be able to tell Katsura the bridge went down. And then, Yamashita's information was a lie. He couldn't imagine Katsura killing the boy out of hand, but Katsura would hold him responsible for the death of his hitokiri. Others would hear, might not be so lenient.

The idea made him try again; he dipped his head cautiously, catching a tiny snip of cloth from his haori between his teeth, drawing it in to act as the flimsiest of wedges. Pushed against the snow with his fists. Agony sang through his chest, down his spine, and drew a muffled howl from within as his fists became claws instead, scrabbling at the snow. It wasn't helping. Then his hand found unexpected give, shot out into fresh, frigid air-

He rode that image for a long time, hauling himself from the snow and taking a sweet breath, and for a long moment nothing hurt. Painless? He knew, then, that it wasn't real; a realisation that killed the dream, as he opened his eyes to the dark again. Blacked out from the pain, maybe a few seconds- he wasn't having difficulty breathing yet.

It had been nice, though. Just a few moments.

He braced his hand against the snow again, too worn to try again. Had he imagined all of it?

-o0o-

He was still breathing, but he was under no illusions, now. The air had turned fetid, nothing but the air from his own lungs cycling back. Nothing hurt at all, his body frozen, and he knew he was slipping. That his lungs strained to catch breath now- the most discomfort he could feel, and he supposed as endings went, it was more merciful than he'd expected. Time alone to make peace with his thoughts. He'd tried once more, pushing at the snow, but it was a light, listless touch- the snow felt odd under his hands. Maybe he'd managed to move it after all that first time, for all the good it did him. Maybe he was just imagining things.

You're giving up?

A familiar voice from within, but not his own. Kenshin smiled weakly in the dark. Of course such recrimination would come in her words. His mind playing tricks on him, he thought vaguely. It would be nice, though, if she came to see him off at the last. He'd dreamed of her doing so often enough. He nearly said her name out loud; kept his mouth shut, some survival instinct still futilely trying to preserve air that was all but gone. There were small bursts of colour behind his eyelids now; like watching his own private fireworks. Too starved for air, then. It wasn't a bad way to go out.

-o0o-

The colours bled into each other, and abruptly turned white. Kenshin opened his eyes and saw snow.

-o0o-

Blinding. Falling from the sky thick enough to obscure much of the wintry landscape around him, but he recognised it nonetheless. He was on a winding path through a forest, the mountain ahead. Somewhere behind him was the farmhouse. A memory. But the snow was not cold, and he wondered, then, if this was a kindness wrought at the last. If he turned his back to the mountain, went back to the cottage, would he find her waiting for him? To drift off forever on a peaceful moment?

You know better than that.

There was someone on the path ahead of him. Tall, dark hair whipping in the wind, and Kenshin swallowed against the desire to cry. It wasn't real. And yet-

"You came after all," he murmured. Put one foot in front of the other, trudging up the mountain. Yet the further he went, the more difficult it became; his feet sank lower into the snow, breath becoming laboured, and she was always the same distance ahead. Was she punishing him?

Do you really think that?

He reached out for her, even as he sunk to his waist.

"Tomoe-"

-o0o-

Dark again. The pressure on his chest felt immense. And he heard her, soft and sad, imagined he felt her fingertips touch his face.

You were so close.

I'm sorry, he wanted to say, but he hadn't the breath. He tried to reach out, hand meeting snow. His eyes burned.

She was long dead. In days, it would be a year. He hadn't even managed to live a year without- couldn't keep his-

-o0o-

"You were so close," she said to him reproachfully, brushing her hair back from her face; pale, splashes of blood on her cheek. And so, so close. He could almost touch her if he reached out. He didn't have the right. The snow around them was blinding, kicked up into flurries by the wind. He didn't feel the cold.

Perhaps that meant he'd crossed the threshold. Kenshin swallowed against the lump in his throat. It still hurt to breathe, and it was long moments before he could summon enough air to apologise.

"I'm-"

"Shh."

"I tried," he said. "I'm-"

"This isn't what you promised me." Her eyes were sad, hands folded in front of her in a way that was painfully familiar. "This is not what I wanted. Can't you try? Can't you remember?"

The sky behind her was starbursts of colour, and his eyes burned, heat in his gaze, tears sliding down his cheeks as he closed them. Remember what? What good would it do now he was dead? Or still in the throes of dying. He was trapped. There was nothing that he could do.

"It's..." He paused, gathering the last shreds of his energy. "It's more peaceful."

"You know better than this."

Kenshin closed his eyes. Opened them again after too long, stared as the colour of her shawl bled into the dizzying white around them. She was frowning now; at least, he thought she was, leaning forward to mouth something the wind whipped away from him, and he shook his head. "I can't-"

"Remember,"she said again, her voice right by his ear, and he started. "You know better than this. You promised. Remember the-"

-o0o-

She was gone, and he put a hand out as if to trace where she'd been. The dark confines stopped him, of course, and his fingers splayed against snow, pushing at it with no real strength. Remember what? His mind was playing tricks on him. It wasn't a case of needing to remember, surely; how could he forget?

You know better than this.

He swallowed. Was reminded, with some tired fondness and guilt, of Hiko saying those exact words to him long ago, on one of his many misadventures during his first winter on the mountain. The thing is, he hadn't, not really; had been new and fresh and young, and Hiko's accusations of knowing better usually came before the man sat down to teach Kenshin himself the lessons of surviving such harsh conditions without aid. How to avoid cold leeching away your body heat. How to survive a storm. How to hunt rabbits. How to buy time if you fall into a snow drift and can't get out.

"If you're too deep, it won't much matter what you do," Hiko had said carelessly, taking a long swig of his ever-present sake. "And if you're not too deep- well, it still won't matter. Nobody can find you once you're buried unless they saw you go down, and even then it's luck. You're better off just trying to dig yourself out and hoping for the best."

"How do you know how deep you are?"

He tried to draw in another breath and choked on it, eyes wide in the dark. Scrabbled at the snow above. Braced himself against it. Pushed. Something gave in his chest, and the last of his breath rattled out of him, too stripped to give voice to the agony. But-

"Snow is heavy once there's more than a foot or two. The further down you are-"

He ignored the pain this time, pushed with both hands even as icy slush pelted down across his face and into his mouth as his carefully carved out space collapsed inward. He hadn't imagined all of it before, surely-

"-the harder it will get. Too far down, I doubt you'll be able to shift it at all. May as well give up and cry."

-the snow had given under his hands-

-o0o-

Beloved.

Nothing hurt. His face was too cold, snow shifting under his collar, behind his ears, down his throat. She was the most beautiful woman he'd seen in his life; she leaned toward him, hand extended, long and elegant fingers beckoning.

Come to me.

He pushed forward through the storm and reached for her, and her fingers closed on his wrist.

-o0o-

-o0o-

-o0o-

The grip was rough and bruising, and gone almost immediately, and he blinked against sudden blinding light; the glare of the sky above, the snow still drifting down around him, cold against cold against cold, and she loomed above him, a smudge of blue and white with an expression of distaste as he flopped onto his side, hacking and shuddering as all his hurts began to seize in the wind. But still, he found the strength to smile at her, voice hoarse as he finally drew in air.

"Tomoe-"

The expression twisted into outright disgust, and she shoved him with her foot, wiping her hands as if freeing herself from his touch. And finally, she spoke, looming over him, with thin scorn; voice hard, and long-suffering, and not a woman at all.

"Moron," Saito said.

SURPRISE!

/flings chapter and runs

(No but seriously. It turns out if you crawl through a chapter eking out a paragraph every month or so, you do eventually get there.)