From the Desk of Scilja:

Enough with the fluffy happy sap! As much as we all love that tingly feeling, I have decided to take on the darker side of the border. Say hello to angst!

DISCLAIMER: The idea and characters of Rurouni Kenshin are the property of Watsuki Nobuhiro.

Carnal Fragility

by Scilja

If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one…

One – Penumbra

The heat of the night prickled, drawing out feverish sweat through pores, every inch of skin imprinted with a burning sheen. Limbs punished already mused sheets and dark tresses flayed about restlessly. Indistinct noises murmured unconsciously as the mind took on a path of its own.

Crimson pool seeped through crevices.

Smudged prints of feet and hands littered the scenery.

Clashing of steel against steel resonated mercilessly…

Strangled cries left unheard.

Eyes shut, heads turned away.

Teeth clenched, rivulets of tears stained faces.

For better…for worse…

For life…for death…

For past…for future…

…Ba…ku…mat…su…

My body bolted upright from the mattress, chest heaving rapidly in desperate gulps of air. Eyes stung from distress, the blanket fisted tightly in trembling hands. The burning pricks against my already fevered skin and ragged breathing were the only things that welcomed my awakening.

I reached behind me for the tea kettle and empty cup, pouring a hefty amount into the container. Although not its usual warmth, the cold liquid made its familiar strong, heavy path down my throat. I welcomed the familiar ache that bloomed in my chest. The heels of my palms ground against bleary eyes as I managed to choke back a sob. On routine, my parched lips chanted a familiar mantra in hopes to calm my jittery nerves. What almost felt like hours later, my spent body flopped back down on the futon. Feebly, I could only close my lids at the lingering intensity of the nightmare.

This was not a first. In fact, it was one of many nights. Ever since my father had left, haunting images replaced his absence. I am not one to speak of the problems in my life especially when you have a family like I do. You do not want to put any more pain into their already torn pasts. So I keep it in this small room, under this ceiling, and right in my heart.

But the fact is that no matter how many times the throes of the past crawled into my dreams, the terror and dismay was freshly overwhelming. Despite the fact that Japan was headed into a new period, the Meiji era, the haunting of the bloody battle that resulted for it still very much remained.

There wasn't always a bright sunbeam that shone down on Japan. There were also gloomy days enraptured by dark clouds that hovered up above. The country had gained more but it had also lost more. Families were broken down; the deaths of husbands, sons, brothers, nephews, uncles, cousins who fought in the war, never to return. The struggle to survive the grating economy was a hard impact on the people. Memories of the murky battles lay imprinted behind the eyes of every man, woman, and child.

The Bakumatsu. The battle for ground between the Ishin Shishi and Tokugawa Shogunate. The fate of the country rested on the outcome. But with it, several rebellions went up against the ideals of the two main parties. Many chose the path of their own and died for their sad decision. There were victories and then there were losses.

The after effects of the warfare brought negative and positive outcomes. The current days were certainly less taut and people were slowly becoming more at ease to move on forward. Though it was a difficult struggle to survive until every dawn of day, any who looked for hope put forth their best efforts. But sometimes, those efforts lead to their graves.

It was from the revolution that father decided to take up kenjutsu, drilling the concept of using the sword as a form of protection rather than killing. The Kamiya Kasshin Ryuu. The sword-art that rejected the idea of Satsujin-ken – the sword that gives death – for Katsujin-ken – the sword that gives life. If such an idea were to present itself in the rage of war they would have been bombarded with endless insults and mockery. But now, in the new era, such concepts were possible.

Contrary to his and my own beliefs, I housed a previous assassin of the Bakumatsu whose ideal nowhere near touched mine. Hitokiri Battousai of the Ishin Shishi. A black envelope called him to seal the end of the name within its folds. He hid. He ran. He found. He killed. Swiftly. Silently. Without a trace.

Hard to believe that the man now lived under the same roof as me. His persona was far from the deadly slayer. In its place, a passive man who wandered the streets of Tokyo and bumped into a seventeen year old. He held a constant façade of calmness and a character of simplicity that lead many to doubt if he really was the infamous killer of the night, regardless of the renowned traits of red hair and scarred cheek Battousai was acquainted for.

It was still hard for many to adjust to the new age. The transition was yet too difficult to make. And like me, many are still frequently visited by the haunting of the past. But I accepted it. I had to go on. This smile I put on, this perky attitude, this skip in my step, is all part of my personal strive to move forward. I will continue to keep secret the pain for a brighter tomorrow.

Long minutes passed of staring at the ceiling when a light rapping interrupted my train of thoughts.

"Kaoru-dono?" a familiar voice drifted through the bamboo shoji.

Perhaps it was time that I got up. "Yes?"

"Ah, good, you are awake," I could feel him smile behind the sheer wall that separated us. "Breakfast is ready for you, de gozaru."

"Thank you, Kenshin, I will be right there."

Himura Kenshin pulled back the sleeves of his gi and tied it around his back to prevent staining the fabric. He bent down to open the lower cupboards. "What would you like this morning, Kaoru-dono?"

I eyed the pot boiling on the stove where the miso had already started, "Rice balls and a side dish of fish would do fine."

The corners of his lips quirked up and red locks bobbed as he nodded, "Good, you can help me make the rice balls."

Eyes widened, "Kenshin! Do you know who you just asked to cook? The Burnt-crisp Wonder?"

He chuckled, "I know you aren't that bad of a cook, Kaoru-dono. Besides, I would like your accompaniment this morning."

This man was a mystery to me. Predictable was not one of his traits. One time he could be doing something and the next completely knock me off tracks. My lips curved in a playful grin before I too proceeded to roll my sleeves, "Mou, Kenshin, you sly, cunning man."

He cocked his head to the side, "Ah, so I am."

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'll keep that in mind, Kaoru-dono," he pressed a roundly-formed rice ball into my palm, "here, it already has meat inside, just wrap it up."

"Yes, sir!" I said with such vigor that prompted a laugh from him.

Though it took a few trials to the idea of wrapping into a triangular shape, the rice balls were complete. Of couse, Kenshin's creation stood in perfection. I took pride that mine had improved from bulgy to firm.

"You are getting better, de gozaru," he said from stirring the soup.

My eyes rolled at that, "Quit teasing me, Kenshin."

"Teasing?" he feigned innocence and adorned a grin that sent shivers down my spine. "Who said anything about teasing?"

That earned him a playful smack on the arm, "It will take decades for me to surpass you in culinary!" This game we play may not be much, but I owe it to getting to know more of Kenshin in this natural mood without being encompassed by anger, pain, burden, or misery. Arms crossed, I mumbled, "It's got to be a sword skill."

He tapped the underside of my chin lightheartedly, "Actually, I prefer watching you in battle than cook. It's more exciting than waiting for water to heat."

Even for having been living together for two years Kenshin still had a way of making the warmth in my belly tingle. I quickly composed myself from near blushing and moved to retrieve a tray, "Nice shot, Kenshin, soon enough women will be throwing themselves over you," I batted my eyelashes prettily.

He chuckled as he placed some food and utensils on the tray, "I try, de gozaru. Now breakfast is ready. Thank you for your help, Kaoru-dono."

"Glad to be of service," I left the kitchen with a smile then seated at the table. Looking at the empty spot next to me, I frowned at a certain student's lack of discipline of being an early riser.

I watched him from afar. It was decided that the best way to observe a person was to look at them when they least expect it. It was not prying but silent assessment. Knowing Kenshin's sharp senses, eventually I would be caught. Until then, I allowed myself the risk.

The red-head hummed a nameless tune. His knife chopped a rhythm on a radish while steam hissed from a nearby pot. He looked so calm, so worry-free, certainly not the face of a hitokiri. Occasionally a faint crease appeared on his brow.

This was Kenshin. And as much as he did, the hitokiri continued to live inside him, because after all, it was him.

There were times where Kenshin had invented a guise so different from his part that it posed as a significant question. He had divulged his past of being a hitokiri at the time of Enishi's revenge. What was odd, though, was why he desperately wanted to cage his history as if he was disgusted with himself.

Was it that harsh? Was he that self-loathing? How had he been influence so that caused him to never look back again?

His purpose was to seek redemption and atonement, a chance to live in the era without the blood. Yet, for having been with him for nearly two years, I still didn't know who he really was.

Kenshin was extremely cautious about everything no matter how subtle he wanted to appear. Letting him go on as if I didn't sense anything was part of my soundless way of figuring out the man himself. He was an intelligent man when he spoke, but it was what he did not say that I wanted to hear the most.

The story behind battle scars was haunting. Scars generally do go away, but the ones that stay the longest were said to have a severe impact on the bearer. For as long as he carried the mark of "X" on his cheek he would forever carry the wound of his past. I was given a glimpse of Battousai himself during the battle with an old acquaintance, the third captain of the Shinsen-gumi squad, Saitoh Hajime.

It was then that I received an insight of the Bakumatsu. If it was anything like the duel between the two men, the period could be summed up to be ruthless, unforgiving, unyielding, and vindictive. The good-natured manner of Kenshin was wiped off by a flick of a steel blade, rising in his stead an amber-eyed warrior who acted without holding anything back. Try as I might to call him, my frantic pleas fell on deaf ears.

Who they saw now was not the legendary hitokiri. He was a cook, a laundry washer, a friend, a role model, an ordinary man. But I knew that beneath it all, Kenshin was not just a typical man.

Who are you, Himura Kenshin?

"Kaoru-dono, would you like more miso?"

My cheeks tinged with a rosy pink when I realized that Kenshin had caught me staring at him. I fidgeted nervously in my seat and cast a side glance away from his gaze, "N-no, Kenshin, I'm fine, thank you." In haste to lessen further humiliation, I stood and made ready to relieve the used platter, "I think I'm going to prepare for training now. I appreciate the breakfast, Kenshin."

I was startled when a hand came on top of mine and I looked up to see Kenshin smiling. That speed of his was going to knock me senseless one of these days, "Leave the dishes to me, Kaoru-dono."

With a nod, I thanked him once more before departing to the dojo hall.

Hot.

The perfect word to describe the night. Not to mention roasting, boiling, sizzling. Take your pick. Everything seemed to be engulfed by heat waves.

My irritable groan resounded and the blankets were kicked to the far corner of the room. That did little to help the situation because I found the futon to be stiff and terribly uncomfortable. I was bold enough to open the back door to release the heated air but it only increased the temperature. Tonight was a night that did not accommodate for a restful sleep.

Thank god I had the privacy of my own room otherwise the others would drop their jaws at seeing their little Tanuki in a yukata too short for modesty's sake.

"Mou, this is unbelievable," I rose from the futon and went into the bathroom.

I sighed in pleasure at the contact of cold water against my face. I then walked to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water and drank thirstily to quench my dry throat.

The floor creaked with every step I made back to my room, reminding me of the age of this house. The setting looked eerily mysterious, but I was used to the house's odds and ends. In times like these, when the moon was covered by black clouds, even the shadows appeared sinister.

My feet halted when I felt an odd stir pass through me. My back suddenly felt completely vulnerable. I spun around and crouched into an offensive stance. No one was in the dark hallway. I breathed a sigh of relief but that was a mistake too soon when an invisible shadow sent me paralyzed with fear. I turned swiftly to the other direction. Nothing. With a mute groan, I shook my head, 'Must have been something in that water.'

Opening the shoji, a loud thud caught my attention and I whipped my head around once again in attempt to find the source of the noise. My heart stilled when a series of scratching sounds followed. I stepped back out into the hallway and the noises increased in volume. I moved in front of Yahiko's room, hearing only snores from the boy. Eyes widened upon realization, I dashed to the room next to his and frantically pulled open the shoji door.

The blankets and pillow had been thrown halfway across the room. The sheets rumpled to an extent. Apparently, tonight was one of the rare nights Kenshin had chosen to sleep on the futon rather than habitually against a wall.

The moaning came from Kenshin whose face held an expression of agony. His arms bunched the futon harshly while beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. His body turned this way and that, his breathing choppy and irregular.

"Kenshin!" I whispered frantically and knelt by his side. I reached out to touch him and nearly screamed when his hand shot out and made a vice-like grip around my wrist. I bit my lip to prevent from crying out at the strength, "Kenshin, please wake up."

I couldn't hold back a gasp when his arm locked around my waist and pulled me roughly against his body. Right then and there, I was given a close view of the angled creases in his brow and the occasional clenching of his closed lids and teeth.

This was post-war in all its cruel glory. Gone was the carefree façade replaced with the agony of the past that would haunt him through physical and mental torture. I brushed back the damp bangs off his face and caressed his cheek, trying to soothe whatever troubled him.

A hoarse sound came from his lips and Kenshin began to thrash slightly. "Kenshin!" I cried, solely focused on the man before me, "Wake up, Kenshin, wake up!" I prodded his shoulders, "Kenshin!"

I was hurtled to the side when an unknown force sprung him up to a sitting position. My gaze hurriedly sought his face where his eyes lay opened, glazed over and unblinking, but there was no familiarity in their amethyst depths. He was still in the middle of his nightmare.

I scrambled back to his trembling form and embraced him tight enough to feel the pounding of my heart against his fevered chest, "Kenshin, it's enough," I hushed, pleaded, prayed to Kami-sama, "it's alright. Please, Kenshin, please…"

That was all it took for him to slump against me as his breathing and heartbeat gradually resumed its normal pace. The moonlight streaming on our bodies, I continued to hold him close and began to rock back and forth, 'Thank god…' my hand smoothed the back of his head, eyes closing in quiet relief, 'thank god.'

Minutes passed until I unwove my arms from his sleeping form and slowly eased him back down on the futon. The steady rise and fall of his chest told me he was asleep.

With a deep exhale, I glimpsed at his features, free of troubled misery, finally serene. My fingers trailed across his scarred cheek, following the vivid outline of the cross. 'Is this how every night is for you? That you keep your pain to yourself and during the day it's a whole new character?'

How sickenly ironic that he shared the same situation as I.

The man on the futon paid no heed to my thoughts. I sat back helplessly in the dark, watching him for a while longer until I was certain he was going to be fine. With a secret kiss on his forehead, I stood up and returned to my own quarters.

Only then did I feel something wet against my cheek. A lone tear slid down my face and I blinked back the threatening wave of tears. I wiped my eyes dry and collapsed unto the futon. The entire ordeal left me both confused and exhausted. Never had I seen Kenshin this way. No. Of course not. Because Kenshin was that selfless to keep the pain to himself.

It was no surprise to me that Kenshin would occasionally revert back into the past. I came from a line of sword fighting so the psychological aspects that followed were not news. There were suicides, attempted murder, hallucinations, and troubled conscience that affected several swordsmen after their battle days. Living the life after the war was one of the hardest endeavors a swordsman could do.

Nonetheless, Kenshin boldly chose that path for atonement for his previous sins. And my family, as odd as they were, was the closest I ever came to having one. We shared laughter, sorrow, anger, a welcoming aura of comfort and understanding. To see Kenshin endure the hardships through his own was like a knife jabbing at my heart.

Muddled emotions coursed through me: hurt, concern, incomprehension, and most of all, anger. I was frustrated with myself for not having been able to be with him when he needed it. Then I realized that I had been the same way, hiding my own problems from the others. Why should I tell them of something that I've been able to keep at bay for years? They were coping with the tanuki enough as it is.

Mine was trivial compared to the long trails of suffering Kenshin had endured. All he sought for was a sense of peace from his past deeds. His was an ongoing battle of the soul. Physically, I could offer him an embrace or greet with the smile and a wave. But it was mainly his spirit that needed healing.

Kenshin always had a way of reaching out to people. It was time I helped him.

I jolted awake for the second time that night. I groggily forced myself awake. Was I hearing things? I peered outside and noticed the rustling of the branches on the tree. The howling of the wind provided a suffice answer to my worries and I fell back to sleep.

It wasn't long before I reopened my eyes. It happened again. There was no mistaking it. There was something strange going on. I was in no state to fight if there was a thief or unwelcomed visitor since the night's previous events had drained most of my energy. So I lay immobile on the bed, anticipating for the next act.

Dread fell upon me when I heard my name spoken in a grating tone. I did not attempt to move my head to view my surroundings. I was petrified. Part of me wanted to scream but somehow my voice was blocked.

Laughter rang in my ears, though it was hard to tell whether it was masculine or feminine. My heart thudded loudly against its caged chest. This was no familiar laughter. Yahiko's was loud and jovial, Sanosuke's was boisterous, Megumi's was tittered, and Kenshin's was heartfelt. The anonymous laugh sounded empty.

My laugh would be empty considering I am not of the flesh.

I came fully alert and got to my knees. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, giving me enough drive to reach for a bokken, "Who's there?"

Feisty, are we?

For a moment I thought I had gone insane. I couldn't be hearing voices. I shouldn't. Nevertheless, my curiosity overcame my fear. "Show yourself!"

I'm afraid that's impossible.

"Why is that?"

I'm dead.

For a short while no action or words were made. I lowered the bokken and croaked in disbelief, "Ghost?"

If you'd prefer that term for me.

This was it. I had gone over the brink of sanity. Nightly terrors have finally caught up with me. I was prepared to laugh in hilarity or scream, but I just didn't know which to do first.

You doubt me.

"I doubt myself." And hear I am talking to no-one. I am crazy.

Here.

I swallowed a surprised yelp when the candle in my room miraculously lit on fire.

Proof that you're not imagining things.

I forced my knees not to buckle and bit back the rising wave of dizziness. "Who are you?" My grip on the weapon tightened, "What are you doing here?"

I'm a ghost, like you said, and I'm here to help you.

"Help me? I don't remember asking for any help."

You still doubt me.

I blinked.

Is that so? What about Himura Kenshin?

Even with Kenshin's changed ways, it was disgusting to find there are those who just can't accept his strive for redemption. Determination welled inside me that this was another attempt to hurt the swordsman either for their own selfish revenge or for claim of power. I posed for an attack and sneered through grit teeth, "What do you want with Kenshin?"

Actually, I should be asking you that.

"What?"

Because ghosts cannot communicate bodily, ghosts respond to conscious thoughts. And your thoughts struck me. You say you want to know more about him?

"What does that have to do with you?"

I can give you the window to his soul. I can show you things that he wouldn't budge to show others. I can tell you of the man Himura Kenshin came to be. Isn't that what you want to know?

A heavy silence engulfed the room.

Ah, so you do want to know. There are many questions that burden your mind. I can give the answers to them.

My eyes narrowed in suspicion, "How are you able to do this?"

I can still get in contact with the physical world because souls live among there, the only difference is they have a physical body.

"Why are you doing this?"

Why not?

"Because ghosts don't just come around and offer insight of a person."

No, they don't, so consider yourself lucky.

The offer was tempting. Despite the growing strength of our relationship, I knew it would take years for Kenshin to really open up to me. He insisted that they best not know of the past, having this inane idea that it would put them in jeopardy. But here was a chance practically given to me to get to really know him. It would be a great step.

"Won't that be intrusion?"

Intrusion if I let him know that I am peeking into his soul. He is not going to know about any of it.

I paused. If I was going to be insane, might as well take advantage of it. "Will he get hurt?"

Like I said, girl, I am a ghost. How can I hurt him? Now, what is your response?

I stared at the wall across the room, a mere separation of my room from Kenshin's. The earlier torment of his nightmare barreled in my mind. The pain, the covered persona, the loneliness. Kenshin was not going to suffer anymore.

"I accept."

TBC…