Past to Present
By Kitsune no Alz
He was never one to believe in full moons, either in the fashion of countless mystics across Japan or even give the full moon credence for special significance, other than that it cast a great deal of light and illumed even the most unfortunate swordsman during a nighttime battle. The moon was as impartial as the sun, and yet gentler in its manner than its harsh, brighter sibling.
But although he refused to attribute any symbolism to the celestial orb, it was once a month on the night of the full moon that he went outside at midnight to kneel in the grass and pause, for a moment, to reflect on the past.
His entire life had been driven by an urge to protect others. Perhaps, he speculated, this was because he had been unable to save his own parents from the devastating and deadly grip of disease...and if not that, then it was at the very least born of watching bandits slay the young women who interposed their bodies and their lives between them and him in a desperate attempt to save him. Watching the helpless fall beneath a flashing sword—feeling the tears of hope and despair patter on his face like warm rain—smelling in the air the heavy pervasive scent of innocent blood...
It was a lifelong pursuit. From death to death to the sword to death and now finally to life, all in the name of protection. He knelt on the damp grass and watched the moon and the thousands of stars glittering cold in the sky. His breath puffed in the air, silvery and ephemeral. It was getting chilly out; he should have taken a scarf or a blanket with him when he went out to think. The cold was distracting him. Frost whitened the sharp edges of each individual grass blade, so that when he shifted his position a little the movement was accompanied by a series of crisp staccato snaps and crunches as each blade broke.
Dwelling on the past did not make it better, he realized, but the past was there to be learned from, and so he considered this his monthly meditation rather than brooding.
Still, the cold...
...at least it wasn't snowing. He watched his breath plume out before him and was struck by a sudden moment of vertigo and disorientation, static whiteness filling his eyes and static white noise his ears, much as when the bombs had exploded and his ears had bled from deep inside. His breath sharpened and the puffs grew thinner and more streamer-like. In his mind's eye, he saw the snowy ground twist nauseatingly in front of him as he walked, the earth refusing to stay still for his staggering feet. His shoulder was shot through with red agony from the dart he had yanked out and cast aside, his back contrasting it with a different sort of pain, deeper and more muscular, from where the claws had gouged and bitten deep into him. The blood running down his skin was the only warmth he felt.
A flash of white, a blur of crushed blood-colored camellia petals, a soft voice telling him everything was all right and the garden would soon be planted and they could travel again to town for supplies...
A flash of red, a trail of scarlet, an arc of crimson led by an arc of silver, the thick heavy sound of flesh splitting...
A welling welt of pain marking down his cheek, crossing the first and already bleeding, a finale to the injury already there inflicted...
A gentle, kind, loving smile until the end.
Tomoe.
She had protected and sacrificed herself for him, he who had thought he was protecting her.
He sighed and closed his eyes, hands placed laxly on his white hakama. He no longer had to fight from clenching his hands nor fight a savage twist of grief in his heart at the thought of her name. Tomoe was his wife, he had loved her and she was dead; he had killed her; and he had come with time to accept that fact, as well as the fact that his love for her went past life and into death.
The biting cold faded once more to a more bearable early spring chill. A breeze stirred his hair. As with the moon, he was not inclined to be fanciful, but it seemed to him that the wind whispered in her voice, wordless and distant, but still her voice. It brought him a sense of comfort still and had, years ago, brought him also a faint sense of consolation, as though the wind was her arms enfolding him and holding him close.
Footsteps—a slow, awkward clack of geta across stone, and then the crunching of the wooden sandals across the frozen grass—broke him from his reverie.
"Kenshin? Are you all right?"
He glanced over his shoulder. She picked her way toward him with small careful steps, a woven blue blanket over her shoulders and with her hair bound into its nightly braid. In her hands was another blanket, this one folded.
"I'm fine. I just...couldn't sleep."
"Ah," she nodded wisely, entirely ignorant but well-meaning. "I couldn't sleep either. I got up for a walk and I saw you sitting out here..." she trailed off, cocking her head and regarding him with concerned, curious eyes. She shook out the blanket she carried and wrapped it around his shoulders, tucking the ends in to make sure he was covered. "Are you certain you're all right?"
Her face was startled when his hand touched hers, still lingering on the blanket; he'd caught her a little off-guard. He offered her a smile, and while it was a small one, it was also gentle and from the heart.
"Yes, Kaoru-dono. I'm certain that I'm all right."