Major spoilers for the Memory Arc. Read at your own risk! And disclaimer: I don't own Kenshin, this isn't for money, etc.

furimasu
part 1
by aishiteru

Your tears fall, hot on my face, and smell like blood, Himura. You're crying...Tears don't belong on your face, beloved, your smile is so open...You should smile more often...I struggle to open my eyes; for you I'll smile, because the pain is distant, and what matters are your tears.

It's better this way...so please don't cry, my darling.

Don't cry...please don't cry.

"Tomoe..." Your voice breaks, and you hold me closer. Hold me, beloved, I'm so cold.

Tomoe...Yes, that is my name. Yukishiro Tomoe.

My story begins in May 25th, 1855. The day that my brother, Yukishiro Enishi was born, and the day that my mother, Yukishiro Tomomichi, died. The day where everything changed. My life before that is only a brief haze of memories, mainly of my mother; the fragile scent of white plum that swirled around her, the quiet brush of her fingers against my cheek, and the long sweep of her black hair. Even more rarely, her smile. Mother's smiles were precious; she only smiled when she was truly happy, and her smile was never a lie. It is better that way, she told me. Save your smiles for the people you love, Tomoe.

She smiled when she died.

It was May, Spring. The sakura were in their full glory, and mother was in her final stages of pregnancy. I was going to have a little brother, hopefully, but I didn't quite know what to make of it. Life was happy, with mother and father, although we lived simply. What would another person do? Where would they fit in?

That day it rained, a soft spring rain that would make things grow as if by magic. We were all sitting in the living room, underneath a blanket, warmth surrounding our legs and feet. Mother was mending one of father's gi, when she gave a low cry, and fell to her side. Father ran to her, then told me to go get the midwife. I fled, out into the cool spring rain, the sound of mother's soft cry ringing in my ears.

Please don't die, mother. Don't leave me.

The midwife understood my quiet panicked words instantly, and came right away. It's strange; I only have flashes of memory; the rain soaked dark narrow streets, the warmth and light as the midwife opened her door, and then coming back home to the smell of blood, and mother's quiet agonized cries. Mother was always quiet in everything she did. Everything was so abrupt. I had to help, while Father paced around in agony outside, running his hands through his hair. Our peaceful home was changed into a nightmare, the fire where I was boiling water and washing bandages, and soaking cloth in cool water to press against mother's head, while the midwife told her to bear down, and breathe deep. Didn't she see that Mother was already doing her best?

It was eternity, and I couldn't help her at all.

All too soon, there was a faint squalling cry, and the midwife carried something away to the warm water I had prepared, where she washed it. I knelt by mother, by the blood soaked sheets we had placed underneath her, and took her hand. We didn't say anything; we didn't need to. That was the way we were; everything she had to say, she told me with her eyes. And at the last moment, she squeezed my hand, and smiled.

I wanted to cry, to tell her that I couldn't take care of everyone without her, that she had to live. But my mask was in place, and instead, I lied to her. I smiled, and kept on holding her hand, even after she was dead.

It was a long time before I could bring myself to smile again.

I don't know how long I knelt there by my mother, but finally I rose. The midwife wordlessly handed me my baby brother, now well wrapped up. He was sleeping the first time I saw him, and in his sleep he was scowling, small face wrinkled up. Perhaps he dreamt of being inside my mother, and of being warm and safe.

Warm and safe...the way I never would be again. For a moment I resented him with all my heart, this ugly little creature, with it's tender red skin, and wild tufts of hair. Resented him to the point of hatred. Because of this thing, my mother, my life, my happiness had been taken away. All his fault.

Perhaps in my anger I squeezed him too tightly, for he woke up. I don't know why, but when he saw me, he smiled, the smile he only used when he was with me. His small hand came out, and stroked me lightly on the cheek. I realized then, that this baby was all that I had left of my mother.

I was eight years old that day.

The next weeks were...difficult. My mother's funeral is only another blur in my memory, the smell of incense and the familiar form of the neighborhood temple. After that, it was all Enishi. The only reason I did not fall apart was learning how to take care of Enishi and my father. Father...I have never had one clear memory of father. He was always there, yet not there, often absent on business, unknown to me. I love father; he was always kind and helped me, unlike many of other fathers, yet at the same time he was distant. Like the sun, warm, yet far away. He was there when I needed him, and that was enough.

Enishi became the center of my life. My days were filled with cleaning, cooking and playing with him. Mother had already taught me much, and the neighborhood women filled in the rest, coming into our house in a circuit to help our family. But after a while, I liked it better when they were absent. They did not belong in our family. Our family was Father, Enishi and me. It was wrong when they tried to feed Enishi, change him, bathe him. It was wrong when they tried to mother me. They were kind, but they were not my mother. Mother was dead. They didn't seem to understand that no one could replace her.

I think it was maybe half a year later when I first met Kiyosato Akira. Of course, I had known of him, knew his mother, had seen him occasionally in the streets, playing with all the town children. But that life for me had ended the day Enishi was born, and I had only rarely played the games they seemed to adore. That day...I passed them on the way to the river, carrying my heavy basket of laundry, Enishi strapped safely to my back. They ran on, kicking up clouds of dust, brandishing sticks, and yelling. I looked past them, and for the first time, I felt...alone. They were all so carefree, with nothing else to do, whereas I....I still had to finish cleaning the dishes from lunch, and pick up the tofu for dinner.

As I knelt by the river, washing, my brother quietly dozing in the long grass, I stared at my broken reflection, and wondered what the other children thought of me. Did they even think of me at all? Even before Enishi, I had no real close friends that others seemed to find so easily. I was too quiet, too strange, for such an intimate thing as friendship.

So self-centered of me, to think only of myself. Because of my carelessness, Enishi could have died that day. Sometime, he had woken up, and crawled to bank of the river. And of course, inevitably, he fell in. I snatched at him frantically, but missed, even as I cried out in fear. Such a loud cry...I can still hear the blood drumming in my ears, and the rush of pain that flooded through me at the thought that I might lose my little brother.

But before I could dive in, and most likely drown myself, someone else jumped in, and pulled Enishi out of the water. He was my age, and exactly the same height, and our eyes met as he smiled a little embarrassedly, and handed me an unhappy screaming baby. "I think he's okay," he said gently, and I realized part of the reason Enishi was crying so loudly was because I was holding him too tightly.

"Thank you..." was all I was able to say. The recent fear still coursed too quickly through me for me to think of anything else. He shrugged like it was nothing. I turned away, and began picking up my laundry and folding the heavy wet fabrics and putting them into my basket. It was only half done...but right now it was more important to take Enishi home and dry him off. I stopped to strap Enishi to my back again, but before I could pick up the laundry basket, he had already done it.

"Your father's Yukishiro Oibore-san, right?" he asked politely. "I'm Kiyosato Akira. It's nice to meet you."

Always, just like my father, Kiyosato-sama was polite. But not in distant way; Kiyosato had such kind eyes, you could see he tried his best to make sure you were comfortable with him. He was such a thoughtful person; after that day, he would quietly come around to my house everyday, and help me with my chores. Cutting wood, which my father did not always have time to do. Hauling water from the well. Even helping me clean, which as a boy, was really beneath his dignity. He didn't have to, but he did. I often wondered why, but finally realized he simply did it, because it was in his nature to be kind. It was so much easier, with his help, and quiet words, and his open smile. Akira smiled often, yet somehow, it wasn't a lie. I can still see him on the day that we met, soaking wet, his thick black hair straggling out of it's high ponytail, yet he still smiled at me, and helped me carry my laundry home.

Enishi was one, two, three, five, seven, nine years old. I didn't understand him...I didn't understand how a boy as sweet as he could be, could be so violent with other children. Usually, he was polite enough, in his own rough boyish way, but when someone rubbed him wrong, he...It frightened me.

But I could never be afraid of him. Not of the boy who brought me flowers everyday, no matter what the season was, or what the weather was like. Not of the boy who ran after me, carried the basket for our groceries, although it was almost half the size of him. Not of the boy who called me "Nee-chan," and whom I had raised.

I could never be afraid of him, because if I asked him to do anything at all, he would do it. I could never be afraid of him, because he loved me too much. But I didn't realize how much he needed me...until the day Akira and I were engaged.

We were walking by the river; the same river we had met at. He was quiet that day, and I looked at him curiously. Normally he engaged me in talk of things we enjoyed, books and local doings. Unlike most men, and like my father who had taught me how to write, Kiyosato treated me as his equal in intellect, even sometimes his superior. I didn't know how unusual that was. I didn't know how lucky I was, until I lost him.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I?

I fingered the rich textured blue purple length of silk I had draped over my arms. It had been my mother's; something I only vaguely remembered her wearing at festivals. Father had given it to me last birthday. I had worn it ever since, that and the white plum perfume I had begun wearing four years ago when I first became a woman. It was late, and I wondered why Kiyosato-san had requested my company. The sun was about set, a rich red, like a ripe cherry in the skies, partially masked by pink streamers of clouds. Enishi would be getting hungry, and I still had to cook the rice. Akira had caught me preparing dinner.

I was about to say something, when he turned, and captured my hands between his. He was grip was gentle; as if he thought I was so fragile I would shatter if he held me harder. We had both grown since we were children, and the top of my head only reached his eyes. I tilted my head slightly, to look at him directly. He was...blushing?

"Tomoe," he said in a great rush. "I've known you since we were children, and from the first time I saw you, I...I fell in love with you. I want to be with you always, even though...I...really have nothing to offer except myself. Will...Will you consent to be my wife? I-I realize you'll need some time to think this over, and you don't have to answer soon, just please think-"

He stopped, because I had placed one finger against his lips. "Akira-san," was all I said. And then, I could feel the tears in my eyes, I was so happy. I could feel myself beginning to smile, as I ducked my head away to wipe away those silly tears, and compose myself. "I...I would gladly consent to be your wife. It..it is an honour I have only dreamed of."

The smile that rushed over his face was the most joyful expression I have ever seen. He let out a whoop, and spun around, his arms wide, then once again clasped my hands in his, and brought them up to his lips. By this time, I was blushing, and then he laughed, and took me home.

He had dinner with us that night. We had spoken of many things on the way home, where we would have our wedding, what we do after, and how we would live. The second son of a samurai, Akira was neither a great scholar, nor a skilled warrior. But I had faith that he would provide for us; he tried his best in everything, and his best was usually very good. It was hardly difficult for samurai to find work; there was great up rest in the capital at the moment, and all of Japan was potentially dangerous. The entire country was on the brink of war. But I didn't want him to fight. I didn't want to lost him to some pointless battle.

We announced our engagement over dinner. Father merely smiled, and made some comment to the effect what had taken us so long. Kiyosato and I laughed, and our hands were entwined under the table, although that it was difficult and ungainly to eat. But my brother...my Enishi was silent, until Akira told him that he would always be welcome in our home.

Enishi went as white as a sheet, and asked me if I would be leaving home, his eyes begging me to say no. But I could never lie to him, and I told him, no, not straight away, or even soon, but someday Akira and I would be making our own home. Then I pulled away from Akira, and touched my brother's face gently. For the first time ever, he flinched away from my touch and stared at me with wide and confused eyes. Then he leapt to his feet, and ran out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him. "Enishi!" I called after him. But he did not come back, and when I left to find him, he did not come out, but hid himself away from me.

We finished dinner in silence, and while Akira and my father talked and made plans, and joked about me and Akira, and about how slow we had been, I did not speak, and I did not smile.

Author's Note: Phew, I feel exhausted! Like it? Hate it? This is partly inspired off "The Snow Raven," by Krista Perry, so if you've read that, you can probably tell. I really like Tomoe, I think she's really...I don't know, her story was just too tragic. I thought I'd flesh it out a little, and make it good and depressing. "The Snow Raven" only deals with her present with Kenshin, and it hasn't been updated for ages. *pouts*. I haven't seen any fics dealing with Tomoe and Kiyosato, so I thought I would do it, and also her relationship with Enishi, since I just read the Jinchuu arc. "Furimasu" means "to fall" for rain and snow only. There's so much rain and snow imagery in the Memory Arc, quite possibly my favourite arc in Kenshin, that I thought it would be an alright title for this fic. I'm sorry if Kiyosato seemed a bit mushy, but I couldn't help it. He's just so cute and open about how much he loves Tomoe in the manga, so I don't think he's too OOC. Please tell me if you think Tomoe is OOC, it's really hard writing from her perspective, she's so deep, and quiet. Please, review! PLEASE!!!! I need feedback! And yes, I know I'm supposed to finish my other Kenshin fic, but...uh...*scratches head*. I really will finish "forgotten" but I wrote a few paragraphs of the next chapter and got badly stuck. Kenshin is currently in a fishpond. Ehehehe.....Alright, I'll shut up now. Sorry! (Please review.) Ick, I read it again, and it seems to abrupt, and short sentenced...Urhg..*chokes in disgust at her own writing*