Chapter 2: ghost cat

After their meal, Yahiko chivalrously offered to walk Megumi home, leaving Kenshin and Kaoru with the task of cleaning up the dishes.

Soon they were side-by-side in the kitchen doing just that, sleeves tied up past their elbows and out of the way. "...You going to be all right tonight?" Kaoru asked, noting that Kenshin seemed a little quieter than usual.

"Mhmm, yes, should be," Kenshin affirmed. He realized Kaoru was holding something back, some comment that she didn't want to sound too over-protective by saying. His face softened. "I will let you know if I need anything."

"And if either of you feel the need to, ah, wander away? You'll tell me first?"

He nodded. "I promise." Apparently Kaoru's fear of Kenshin leaving now extended to include a concern for Battousai leaving as well, a notion that Kenshin found deeply humbling.

"All right," Kaoru said with a nod. "In that case, I'll get some sleep. Good night, Kenshin!"

"Goodnight," he repeated back to her, and for the space of a heartbeat, they stood face to face in the kitchen and looked at each other.

The dishes were done, they'd said goodnight, and this was the end of another busy day at the Kamiya dojo. Now it was time for them to go off to their separate rooms as they always did.

And yet, for Kaoru, it felt like there was something more that needed to be done, some step in the routine that they always managed to skip. The tiniest flicker of aggravation appeared in her eyes as she realized she couldn't quite identify what she was waiting for. Deciding to end the little pause between them before it had a chance to sour into awkwardness, Kaoru turned her back, and was then completely oblivious to the way Kenshin smiled at the swish of the indigo ribbon in her hair.

"See you tomorrow then," she said forcefully, and marched herself to her room.

Kenshin watched her leave, his smile leaving with her.

Despite the warmth of Kaoru's indomitable good will, and the lingering brightness of Megumi's curiosity and heat of Yahiko's excitement, the dojo felt much colder to Kenshin that night. Battousai's negative energy was a familiar presence, of course—but it seemed so much stronger now that he was out in the world by himself.

Untying the cord to let his sleeves down, Kenshin blew out the lamp in the kitchen and proceeded through the darkened house to his own room, which was currently occupied by the ghost of his former self.

As he opened the door he began to feel unsettled. Something was wrong. "Excuse me," Kenshin muttered politely, entering.

The futon and yukata that Kaoru had set out had been left untouched. Battousai was crouched in the far corner, a drawn katana in each hand, obviously comparing the blades side-by-side.

The sakabatou's sheath lay empty in the middle of the room. Kenshin's eyes narrowed, and all politeness dropped away from his voice.

"Give it back."

Battousai tossed one of the swords to Kenshin, who caught it instinctively but then nearly dropped it again, because it felt so light in his hand.

"Wrong one," Kenshin said, lowering the blade to a neutral position.

Battousai held the sakabatou up and tilted it so he could see Kenshin's reflection in the steel. "This new one is much better," he murmured. "I haven't used it at all."

"I haven't needed you to," Kenshin said, stepping closer.

"Needed," the ghost repeated, letting the word sink in. He closed his eyes and leaned back into a sitting position against the wall, one leg drawn up. And then with his free hand he held up the sheath for his killing sword, offering it to Kenshin.

Kenshin accepted it and put the deadly katana away.

"It's strange," Kenshin remarked, looking sadly at the dark hilt in his hand, and the slender arc of death attached to it. "This is the one I left behind at Toba-Fushimi. The same one that Jinei found and was killing people with just last year. I never thought I would touch it again. But it feels right to put it to sleep this way." The sword clicked into place with a satisfying note of finality, and Kenshin offered it back to Battousai. "Trade," he said.

Without a word and without looking up, Battousai accepted the sheathed katana, and handed the sakabatou back to its rightful owner.

"Thank you," Kenshin said with a sigh. He retrieved the other sheath and put the backwards blade away, and then sat crossed-legged on the floor, studying his ghost.

"Because I'm not needed," the hitokiri spoke up unexpectedly. "...Is that why you let me go?"

Kenshin shook his head. "I had nothing to do with this. I never would have let you go on purpose. You're part of me."

There was a long silence, and the ghost continued to stare down at nothing.

"I don't know why I'm here," Battousai said at last, voice low, barely above a whisper.

"Well... how did it happen?" Kenshin asked.

"You were cooking and I..." his words trailed off as he thought of how to explain it. "Felt tired. I wanted to sit down so, I just stepped away. Yahiko was there as well and I thought he would be afraid, but, he couldn't see me. I scared the cat, though."

"Cat?" Kenshin asked. "What cat?"

"The ghost cat," Battousai said. "I followed it out to the porch and it grew fainter and fainter as I...turned visible. When Kaoru-dono returned home, the cat went to her but she couldn't see it—but by then, she could see me."

Kenshin looked perplexed. "I had no idea there was a ghost cat here," he confessed, and was then struck by a disturbing thought. "...Are there any other ghosts lingering around?"

Battousai shook his head. "I only saw the cat. It was white."

Kenshin sighed. "So you say you felt tired. Do you think you might be...aah, trying to move on?"

"No," the ghost said plainly, voice soft as night.

"Then, do you think you'll stay?"

Once more the ghost shook his head. "No. I've never felt very permanent."

Kenshin was taken aback. It sounded strange, that word: permanent. But somehow he knew exactly what the boy meant. "I remember that feeling, that it could be over at any moment. Death was always around every corner. I was giving my life, my...soul...for a future I had no hope to see." There was an undertone of surprise in Kenshin's voice, realizing just how different he was now from the killer he had been. The rurouni had made it to the future that Battousai had created; he was living in it every day, and had learned to value his own life again.

"You're going to stay here," Battousai told him, as if making a simple observation about the color of the wall. His voice was flat and quiet, but full of a certainty that Kenshin himself had never openly expressed.

"Yes," Kenshin realized, from the bottom of his heart. "That I will."

Outside, on the porch, the wind chime tinkled.

"Kaoru-dono would like that very much," the ghost remarked, in that same emotionless-yet-certain voice.

"I would like it too," Kenshin said, but then his brow furrowed in concern. "Wouldn't you?"

The ghost looked up at him, and then tilted his head as if listening for the wind chime.

"It's none of my business," Battousai said at last, and Kenshin remembered that feeling too: the reason he had turned down invitations to teahouses and political meetings and every activity that didn't involve the actual execution of his mission.

Kenshin felt sad for the ghost, as he usually felt when thinking of that part of his life. "Well," he said at last, not knowing what else to say to himself. "If you still feel tired, I hope you can get some rest."

Battousai's head tipped forward a little in acknowledgment, and Kenshin stood up to get ready for bed. A few moments later as he was settling down to sleep, Kenshin glanced over to confirm that the little hitokiri hadn't moved at all, except to prop his sword against his shoulder. Sensing no active thoughts, emotions or intentions, Kenshin assumed the ghost had indeed fallen asleep, and thought he might be able to get some sleep himself. But as soon as he closed his eyes, he heard the unmistakable sound:

The top.

Startled, Kenshin looked over at the little wooden toy, spinning on the floor in front of the ghost. As if from the sheer force of Kenshin's surprise at seeing it, it wobbled and fell over into a lazy circle. The ghost picked it up and began winding the string.

"I almost forgot about that," Kenshin admitted.

Battousai cast the top out again, watching with colorless eyes as it spun and spun, seemingly with a life of its own.

"Where did you get that?" Kenshin asked.

"Brought it with me."

Kenshin frowned. "What else did you bring?"

"Nothing. Sword, these clothes. A little money. This." He scooped the toy up, and it continued spinning in his palm. "And one of these." Battousai closed his hand on the top, then reached into the pocket of his sleeve and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

Kenshin recognized it immediately—it was one of the assassination notes they always left with the bodies, stating why the victims had been killed, proclaiming heaven's justice and the revolutionaries' cause.

"Whose name?" Kenshin asked in a low whisper.

Battousai turned it over, looked at it, and didn't answer. Instead, he held it up for Kenshin to see.

"It's blank," Kenshin said, confused.

"Is it?" the ghost muttered listlessly, as if he hadn't been interested enough to notice. He folded it back into his sleeve.

Kenshin was getting a bad feeling about this. Battousai wound the top, and cast it down to spin and spin.

That spinning top had helped Kenshin fall asleep many times in the past. As a child in Hiko's care he didn't sleep much, but he could watch the top spinning until it lulled him almost into a trance. And as a hitokiri he'd found it useful for keeping his energy in check. If his blood was too hot after a kill, or if he was too restless in between missions, the waves of ki roiling off of him would disrupt the top, crashing it. To keep it spinning he had to calm himself, calm himself, focus and be controlled.

But Kenshin had left that little wooden toy behind nearly fourteen years ago and hadn't thought of it since, and its reappearance was now far from comforting. Instead of being a soothing distraction from the horrors of the world, tonight that top was having the opposite effect.

"Can you stop that?" Kenshin asked at last. "It's driving me a little crazy."

"It's keeping me sane," Battousai replied. "It shouldn't bother you."

Kenshin frowned a little. "It's out of place, that's all. It doesn't belong here. I want to...to put it back."

The spinning toy wobbled again and toppled, defeated. Battousai stared at it for a while, mulling over Kenshin's words. "...You want to put me back too," he stated, in another of those plainly-put observations.

As if on cue, Kenshin sensed something that would be the perfect excuse to get out of there. "Aah, Yahiko's home," he said apologetically to the ghost. "I'll go see if he needs anything."

He took the sakabatou with him.

Yahiko did not, in fact, need anything. Kenshin met him as he was just taking off his shoes. "Oi, Kenshin? That you?"

"Any trouble in the streets?" Kenshin asked.

"Nope, all quiet." Yahiko reported, yawning. "It's late! How's your ghost? Still here?"

"Yes. I think he's trying to settle down."

"Nice," Yahiko said, and then looked Kenshin up & down. "How about you? You okay? Can't sleep?"

Kenshin smiled to show there was nothing for Yahiko to worry about.

"I'm fine. I was just going to check on Kaoru-dono."

"Ugh, gross," Yahiko made a face. "Is that what you grown-ups call it these days? Whatever. I'm going to bed. G'night!"

The kid strode off, taking slightly oversized steps, trying hard not to be too obvious about acting bigger than he was. It really was unfair of him to tease Kenshin about checking on Kaoru, since he knew better than anyone just how chaste their relationship was.

Kaoru's father had left two precious things to the world: his kenjutsu style and his daughter.

Himura Battousai had contaminated the reputation of Kamiya Kasshin-ryu, but hopefully Himura Kenshin hadn't damaged Kaoru-dono's personal reputation too badly. Townspeople might gossip about imagined scandal, but Kenshin was always respectful of Kaoru's privacy and stayed out of her personal space. There might have been that one incident with the bath, but he never forgot that he was a guest in her house.

Tonight, though, Kenshin got the sense that Kaoru was having just as much trouble getting to sleep as he was, and there were more important things to care about than what the neighbors might think.

So he went to her room, pausing at the door to announce his presence.

"Mou," came Kaoru's exasperated voice through the wall, before he could speak. "I know that's you, Kenshin. What are you doing creeping about the house?"

"Sorry," he replied automatically. "I couldn't sleep."

Kaoru sighed loudly, and there was the sound of rustling blankets. "I can't sleep either," she admitted. "And Battousai is...?"

"Quiet," Kenshin submitted, since it was true.

"Quiet? Asleep quiet or awake quiet?"

"Not sure. But he was... bothering me a little."

Kaoru's voice switched to concerned disapproval. "Hmm, that's not like you."

It was true; he was usually the last person to be annoyed or flustered by anything. "I guess I haven't been feeling like myself tonight."

There was a pause, and Kenshin suddenly felt a little ridiculous to be talking to a closed door. He turned around, and sat on the floor.

"Are you going to stay out there all night?" Kaoru's voice demanded through the door. "Just come in."

"I'm all right out here, Kaoru-dono," he assured her. "I don't want to intrude."

"You silly—for goodness sakes, sitting on the floor in the hall all night is just as bad as sitting on the porch all night. Come in!"

Seeing no way to refuse, Kenshin obeyed, softly closing the door behind himself. He picked a wall to lean against and sat back down, propping the sakabatou comfortably against his shoulder.

"Now there's a familiar pose," Kaoru remarked.

Kenshin slid his foot out, relaxed his shoulders, and looked to Kaoru for approval.

"That's better," she told him with a smile. "Just dissimilar enough. In appearance, I mean." Even in the relative darkness of the room, Kaoru could tell by his face that he was thinking intently about something. "...Do you want to talk about it?" she offered.

Kenshin let out a breath. "Kaoru-dono," he began carefully, and then abruptly thought of something else. "Say, did you ever have a cat? A white cat?"

She gasped. "Miko-miko!" she exclaimed, and the memory came spilling out in a happy stream. "Yes! When I was very little. I loved that cat! I used to secretly feed her so much of my dinner. When she died I dreamed of her for years and years. I can't believe I never told you about her. She's buried under the maple tree in the yard. How did you know?"

"Battousai said he saw a white cat here."

"Kyaa!" With a sound that was almost a tiny scream, Kaoru sat straight up in bed, hand to her mouth.

Kenshin looked around, half expecting the deceased animal to have made an appearance. But there was no cat anywhere that he could see—only a wide-eyed Kaoru, peering at him in shock. "I just remembered," she said. "When I was sad I would wake up sometimes and see Miko-miko sleeping at my feet, and I told my father about it, and he's the one who convinced me that I had only been dreaming her. But I wasn't dreaming—I was seeing her ghost, wasn't I?"

"So it would seem," Kenshin confirmed.

Kaoru lay back down, thoughtfully gazing at the ceiling. "I don't know if it makes me happy or sad, knowing Miko-miko is still around here as a ghost."

Out on the porch, the wind chime dinged again, punctuating Kaoru's introspection. She glanced at Kenshin and closed her eyes in happy semi-circles. "Listen to me, thinking of an old pet at a time like this," she chastised herself. "When we've got the ghost of the hitokiri Battousai lurking in the house."

"Yes, and I am a little worried," Kenshin told her. "His sword is real, and can cut."

"Doesn't mean he's here to kill people," Kaoru protested. "Maybe he's just here to rest. He said he was tired."

"He has one of the notes, the 'heaven's justice' papers we left with the bodies. But it's blank. I don't know what that means, but it worries me."

"A blank note..." Kaoru mused. "Well, that hardly seems threatening."

Kenshin felt a quiver of frustration. Even after everything she'd seen, everything they'd been through, she was still so naive. She had no idea what it meant, to have Battousai existing as a separate person now.

He kept his voice soft, and tried to warn her. "If that ghost feels like he has to kill someone, I might not be able to stop him."

She thought about that, and looked at Kenshin with eyes like ocean waves, charging the shore with conviction. "I could stop him," she said, believing it. "He'd listen to me. If it came to that, it would be my job to stop him."

Kenshin took a faltering breath. "Oh Kaoru-dono, no," he said, shaking his head. "You don't understand."

It had been the wrong thing to say, he knew.

She was annoyed at him now, and why shouldn't she be? He was worried, distraught, conflicted—completely understandable, after having a conversation with his own ghost. And he was, as always, concerned for her safety—but in this case, it was insane, because she was one thousand percent convinced that Battousai would never hurt her. All together, Kaoru realized, this was not an appropriate time for romantic thoughts, but when was it ever? How many times had she lain awake at night and wished that he would come to her door? Now they were closer than ever, having an intimate conversation in her bedroom in the middle of the night, and yet it wasn't what she wanted at all.

Kaoru rolled onto her side, facing away from him so he couldn't see her scowl. "Listen," she said grumpily. "It's going to be all right. Battousai is welcome here because he's part of you. If he's forgotten that, we'll remind him. We'll get the two of you reconciled again. All right?"

"All right," Kenshin conceded gently. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, feeling the approach of sleep at last. He hoped Kaoru was right, that it would all be okay.

Kaoru also closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, hoping for the very same thing.

to be continued!