Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin isn't mine, as much as I wish it were. .

I haven't written for quite a while! School's crazy right now, so I decided to unwind a bit with a one-shot. It's not my usual minor character centered plot, but whatever. I felt inspired. This is pre-Samurai X/ Jinchuu Arc. Kaoru does not yet know about Tomoe. Please read and review!

Resolution

By Bringer of the Sun

I remember my father once told me that he wanted to name me Haruko, Spring Child. The newly awakened world captivated me as a child. I was forever rushing outside to relish in the fresh rays of sunlight. Even now, I never cease to be amazed by the splendor of each new spring. Standing at the dojo gate, I sense how the cool wind baits the coming warmth. Softly, the wind whispers through my hair, teasing strands out of their severe ponytail before racing off through the courtyard. I hear the telltale rattling of grass and leaves.

Without turning my head, I already know of the tender buds that grace the plum tree in the yard, tiny bursts of green and white on gnarled branches of black and brown that trembled in the breeze.

Without turning my head, I know that you are standing underneath the plum tree, one hand resting almost cautiously against its trunk.

Without turning my head, I know that Yahiko is still asleep in his room, spread-eagle on his futon, probably on top of the covers instead of in them. Tonight he will complain about them, right after making sure that I wasn't the one who cooked dinner, I am sure.

Yo, Buso! You better change the covers soon. I almost died of heat stroke last night!

I feel a smile creep onto my lips. I will yell at him for his tactlessness, perhaps give him a good whack or two with my bokken while he retaliates with more insults and Sano laughs his head off. Yes, that is how dinner will be, normal. Predictable. No unexpected enemies. No surprise attacks. No worries. No danger.

My smile turns wistful. We would be a family tonight, an odd one, but a family nonetheless. Perhaps Megumi, too, would stop by. Dressed in a kimono the color of the pale shoots of grass that line the road, she would join us, taking her seat by you, of course. Then I would spend dinner trying to ignore the deadly aim of her sharp barbs and subtle flirtations. A brush of an arm here, a quick glance there, whatever it is that she does to you, I will know. Despite what most people think, I am aware that she does this deliberately to annoy me. It is for that very reason that I get so angry. I am not so much frustrated by her actions as by my reaction to them because I don't know why I let her get to me. Yahiko insults me all the time after all.

My hands tighten their grip on the railing. Suddenly, I am aware of every callous, every blister, every scar that dots my fingers and palms. I feel the bluntness of my stubby oft-chewed nails. Megumi will stop by tonight and I will spend dinner trying to hide my hands. Her hands are pale and smooth. They make graceful arcs as she gestures in the air and demurely cover her mouth as she laughs. Her nails are naturally long on her slim fingers and neatly trimmed. When she lays her perfect hands on your arm and I will look away, curling my own into my sleeves. My hands slide off the rail and fist by my side, tucked neatly beneath a sheath of worn silk.

I am wearing a pale blue yukata today, one of my older ones and the perfect thickness for fresh spring weather. Self-consciously, I trace its flaws in my mind. The hem is slightly burnt and frayed from one of my many kitchen disasters. A few discolored patches here and there tell the tales of many a clumsy moment. There is a soup stain on one of the shoulders. My eyes flutter to the right sleeve and rested on a particularly dark spot. Biting my lip, I allow my mind to drift back to last spring, to loneliness and silence.

I cursed the dojo's darkness. No matter how many lamps I lit, it always seemed so dark. Shadows flickered against the smooth wooden walls. Really, it was much too large for just one person. All my students had gone home for the day and in their place stood only silence. It was still too early in the year for the company of the evening cicadas. I sighed and set about the task of making a somewhat edible dinner. The knife slipped easily through the silky tofu and hit the cutting board with firm thuds.

Alone. The word echoed in my mind. At 17, most girls my age were already married. They had children, families. Every waking hour they were surrounded by a rush of activity and general chaos and here I was making a dinner for one.

I started violently as the knife bit into my hand. Hissing, I cradled my injured limb in my other hand, surveying the flecks of ivory bone peeking out from the profusely bleeding digit before my rational mind took over. Silently cursing my luck, I wrapped the sleeve of my yukata around my thumb to staunch the flow of blood. The gnawing pain extended beyond my hand to pulsate up and down my arm. Carefully controlling my breathing, I stumbled out of the dojo towards Dr. Gensai's clinic, my dinner all but forgotten.

I absently trace the white scar that encircles my thumb and brush a finger over the discolored sleeve. Really, I am far too careless. The first time you did the laundry, you had grimaced at this particular stain. You knew a bloodstain when you saw one. I was watching that day as you scrubbed and rinsed. That night, you had apologized for not being able to remove the stain.

Sessha tried his best, Kaoru-dono, but the stain will not come out. Perhaps Kaoru-dono would be kind enough one day to share with sessha what caused such a stubborn stain.

I don't believe I've ever met a sillier man. I remember how you did all the laundry last summer, under the shade of the white plum blossoms. Your fingers deftly twisted and smoothed the wet cloths over and over. I'm rather ashamed to admit that you are better at domestic work than I am. I love watching you do laundry. There is no reasonable explanation. Somehow watching the almighty Hitokiri Battousai hanging clothes out to dry calms me. It's such a trivial task.

Sometimes, the wind will blow the petals from the tree and they will land in the washbasin, on your hair. It is those times when I see that look in your eyes, the one I can never fully decipher. It holds the glimmer of deep regret and despair, entwined with the familiar glint of loneliness. Your hands never stop their ministrations on the soiled clothing, but I can tell your mind is no longer in the present. No longer with our little makeshift family. No longer with me.

A hand hesitantly touches my shoulder. Intuitively, I know it is only you, but I still wheel around in surprise, my body set in a defensive stance.

But you merely smiles at me. "Kaoru-dono, it is time for breakfast."

I nod gratefully and walk towards the dojo. I pause at the door when I sense that you do not follow. Turning around, I see you under the plum tree, caressing one of the new buds with that same mysterious look in your eyes. It is on the tip of my tongue to ask you who she is. Who she was. But I do not. I am not yet brave enough to give utterance to those words.

"Kenshin! Aren't you coming?" I ask instead, my voice deceptively cheerful. You nod and we go in.

Taking one last look at the wakening world outside, I make myself a promise. Next Spring, I will smile and dance in the fresh sunlight. Next Spring, I will have a new yukata, one of beautiful, clean moss green and gold. Next Spring, I will ask you what weighs on your heart so heavily, because next spring, I will finally have the courage to know.

FIN

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