The air was warm with late summer, a crisp hint of fall teasing the senses with the promise of the winter to come. Kenshin gazed idly out at the courtyard, looking at everything and nothing, and tried to think of what to say.
Dear Makoto, he began.
You say that we must have our own territory, our own government, and that if it is not granted then we will only be enslaved again. I acknowledge the truth in your words – how can I not, with the laws that are even now before the Diet? – and I am ever supportive of your efforts on behalf of our shared cause. But I wonder how you intend to do this thing without another war, which I know that neither you nor I desire. And I wonder, once it is accomplished, if it can be accomplished, how you intend this nation to be governed. Will only freedmen be permitted a place in government? If so, how does that differ from the previous situation? And if not, how does that differ from the current one? Or will you permit only freedmen as citizens – and in that case, what of those who already inhabit the land you choose? For there is no uninhabited place in Japan large enough to support a nation, and I doubt that a foreign country would take kindly to a mob of Japanese freedmen arriving on their shores.
Laughter split the still air. Kenshin looked up from his letter and smiled to see Mariko racing across the yard, her short legs pumping as Yutaro gave chase. His hakama was strapped to her shoulders, flying out behind her like a banner, and Kenshin couldn't help laughing at the frustration on the young man's face.
"Why, you little – "
"Now, now," Kenshin called out. "She doesn't mean any harm."
"Yeah, but – " Yutaro huffed in frustration and gave up, sitting cross-legged on the dirt. "Jeez. Fine. I can wait her out."
Kenshin smiled at that and went back to writing, keeping half an eye on the students. Yutaro began to smile himself, watching her clamber up the old maple tree that stood just inside the dojo gates: after a little while he got up again and helped her. She shrieked with joy, a delighted smile creasing the faded slave-mark on her cheek.
Forgive me if I do not grasp all the shades of your proposal, but it strikes me that a nation such as you propose must be defined by an unceasing attachment to slavery, rather than freedom from it. For if it is to be a 'freedman's country,' then those within it must think of themselves always as freedmen, and never as men. And I cannot help but feel that if I were to live such a life I would lose a great part of myself; I would feel far more enslaved by such a society than I do here, surrounded by good-hearted people – freeborn and freed alike – who seek only to live in peace with one another.
My words are harsh. Forgive me for them. But I beg you, old friend, to understand that when you tell me that my choices undermine the cause of liberty my very soul rebels. Of what use is a revolution that does not end, that merely slogs on generation after generation, two sides in eternal conflict? I have known bondage and I have known freedom. I have known war and I have known peace. And I tell you: in both cases, I prefer the latter. I was barely reborn into the world as a living, thinking being when I marched to war, and I know that I sometimes seem quite young to you, but I am nearly thirty and have spent half my life in the deepest bondage. I do not have so very many seasons left in this world, and now that I can choose, I choose to spend them here, in this place where I was freed. Where I have friendship and kinship, and work to plant the seeds of a hopeful future. I see from your words that you think me selfish, abandoning the cause before the war is truly won, and perhaps I am. But is not selfishness the very opposite of slavery? Why did we fight to be free, if not for the right to pursue our selfish desires?
Mariko slipped. Yutaro caught her around the waist, huffing at her weight, and she grinned up at him with perfect ease. His answering smile was rueful and resigned, his unmarked face bearing the indignity lightly. Once she was on her feet again she permitted him to remove her improvised cloak, then clung to his leg and buried her face in it. Sighing, he picked her up and swung her onto his shoulders. She clung to him like a monkey, fearless and safe.
The two wandered off for parts unknown. Kenshin watched them go, and the bright day was brighter for it.
Speaking of the pursuit of selfish desires, the dojo is all aflutter with the news of tournament to be held a month from now. It will be the first in Tokyo to welcome freed and freeborn alike, and therefore the first one in which the Kamiya Kasshin may participate. Other sword-schools that accept freedmen have chosen to simply send only freeborn students to represent them in local tourneys, but Kaoru of course refuses to discriminate against her students in that way. They will be judged by their skill alone or not at all, she informed the other swordmasters, and she has kept the Kasshin out of the circuit as a consequence. So this is quite an occasion! Yahiko will be competing, of course, along with Yutaro, Mayumi, Daisuke and Akiko. And I will not tell you which of them is freed and which are freeborn; if you would send your well-wishes, send them to all her students.
Kenshin's pen faltered. It had been nearly a year since his return, and Kaoru still kept him at a distance. She wasn't unkind – it wasn't her nature – but the easy closeness he'd dreamed of and the affection that he'd read in her letters was gone as if it had never been. And maybe it hadn't. Maybe he had been wrong.
Maybe it had only ever been kindness, and his dreams had only ever been that.
Biting his lip, he pushed the thought away.
As for Kaoru, the tournament is not meant for swordmasters or teachers, only students, so she will only participate in some opening exhibitions.
I wish you would not judge her quite so harshly, Makoto. She did not seek out the position that found herself in, nor did she exploit it when it came to her. She has worked as hard as any of us to make a new world, and in her own way she is quite as uncompromising as you. I wish you would come to Tokyo; I miss you, and I think that if you only met her and saw what she and I are building here you would find many of your fears relieved. You and Yumi both – I know travel is difficult in wintertime, but surely things are not so busy that you cannot visit in the spring?
"Mr. Himura?"
Kenshin looked up again. Soujiro was standing at the edge of the porch, an empty basket under his arms.
"I was going to start on dinner. What do you think I should pick?"
"Oh." Kenshin thought for a moment. "The cucumbers, maybe? Anything but squash, really. Yahiko swears that if we eat any more of it we're going to turn into squashes, and I don't disagree."
"But there's so much of it!" The corners of Soujiro's eyes crinkled in his habitual grin. A true one, Kenshin knew; he'd known the boy too long to be fooled by his false smiles. It was an old habit, smiling in the face of pain, and it brought Soujiro comfort. Therefore it went unremarked, for all it sometimes led to misunderstandings.
There was no one in Japan who did not bear scars, after all.
"Maybe we can sell some at market," Kenshin suggested, thinking over the last month's income. "It might not fetch much, but everything helps. I'll talk to – no, you should talk to Kaoru about it. Or Yahiko, if you can't catch up with her."
"All right."
Soujiro adjusted his burden and moved on. Kenshin sighed and went back to his letter, determined to end on a cheerful note.
You will be pleased to know that Soujiro has arrived safely. I am honored that he has chosen to entrust himself to the Kasshin school, and even more so that you gave your blessing. I take it as a sign that you still have some faith in me, at least.
I tease too much, old friend. I know the depths of your faith. I also know how much you worry, with or without reason.
Enough of this. Our young competitors have been training at all hour, on top of their regular classes and chores. I'm amazed they find the time to sleep! One can hardly walk across the yard without tripping over someone practicing their sword-swings, and Mrs. Nakamura – you will remember her from my earlier letters – has begun sewing new uniforms for our representatives. If this goes well, it will be an almighty boon to the school and with any luck will draw in more students. Which will please Yahiko. He hopes that in a few years' time there might be enough students to warrant founding a second dojo, which he hopes to run. He has the heart for it, heaven knows, and I have no doubt he'll gain the full measure of necessary skill by the time it's feasible. As for myself – well, you know too well by now how much Kaoru's happiness means to me, but more than that I pray that the Kasshin will grow in honor and reputation, and that its philosophy – the sword the protects, the blade that sustains – might spread ever further. It is a noble school, and a noble dream. Even my own teacher admitted as much, though he'll deny it to his dying day.
My best wishes are with you, always.
Ever your friend,
Kenshin Himura
Kenshin folded the letter and sealed it, stretching as he stood with the envelope in hand. His letter wasn't the only one waiting to be mailed; he'd grab the others and go down to the post office himself. The sooner they got underway, the sooner they'd reach their destination.
It was the work of only a few minutes to gather the letters from their writers, exchanging a few words of thanks and think-nothing-of-it. Mrs. Nakamura was writing to her sister in Kyoto. Mr. Tamaka had an ongoing correspondence with a foreigner who had come to aid in the war effort. None of the children had anyone to write to – not yet – which left only…
Kenshin hesitated before he knocked on the training hall door. Kaoru hadn't been in the house, which meant that she would be here. If she was home at all. She hadn't always been, lately; she had been going out early and staying out late, coming home only for lessons and eating at the clinic or the Akabeko. And when she was at home she was distant and distracted, absent even in her smiles. The only times that she did seem fully herself was when she taught, and even then there was a certain reservation.
He didn't remember her being that way, before. But – he hadn't been entirely himself.
Maybe he'd been wrong.
"Come in," Kaoru called from inside the hall. Kenshin opened the door, bowing his reverence to the sacred space.
"Kenshin." Kaoru greeted him with small nod. "Can I help you?"
He slid the door open a bit further. "I'm making a run down to the post office before dinner. Do you need anything mailed?"
"No, not right now. Thank you for offering, though."
She said it with perfect courtesy, polite and smiling, and her eyes were shuttered as they always were when she looked at him. He paused, wanting to say more and not knowing how. It wasn't as if he hadn't tried, so many times. Too many times. Awkward, fumbling conversations that started in emptiness and went nowhere as the words that he'd committed so easily to paper shriveled on his tongue and died unspoken.
Kaoru looked at him, unblinking.
"Is there anything else?"
"…no," he said. "That's all. See you at dinner."
Another nod. She went back to her meditations. Kenshin closed the door, sighing, and headed towards town.
She probably wouldn't be at dinner tonight.
The post office was near closing and crowded with people. Kenshin smiled as he entered, hiding the sudden shriek of worry in his bones at the closeness and lack of easy exits. Some of his neighbors smiled in greeting. Others frowned and looked away, but not before their eyes skidded nervously over the brand on his cheek. Many freedmen and women chose to cover theirs with cosmetics, while a few – a very few – enhanced them with accessories. Kenshin did neither. He let it be, deep and faded, a reminder of what he no longer was. And that he had no reason to be ashamed.
The man behind the counter greeted him politely when he stepped up, faltering when he caught sight of Kenshin's marked cheek. His smile did not fade – he was too professional for that, the habits of courtesy towards paying customers too ingrained – but there was a stretched quality in it, as though he were only a second away from baring his teeth.
Kenshin ignored it and laid his letters on the counter. The employee took them with deliberate grace and told him the price. Kenshin paid it, ignoring the faint strain of skepticism in the man's voice. Many freed slaves were poor, and that wasn't their fault, but he couldn't blame the man for putting his shop's needs first.
The counterman made a show of inspecting each coin for flaws and forgeries, one that no other customer had been subjected to. Kenshin's jaw tensed; he kept his breathing even, determined not to be upset. There was little point, after all. No one would look kindly on him for causing a scene.
Coins inspected to his satisfaction, the man took the letters and handed them to his assistant, who shot Kenshin an apologetic look as he spirited them off to be mailed. Kenshin nodded, gifting the youngster a genuine smile.
There were still people in Japan who believed in the old ways, who would believe in them until their dying day, and there wasn't much to be done about it either. After all, they hadn't been old for very long. Only six years had passed since the start of the war, not even a generation. It was important not to expect too much.
And they wouldn't matter, in the long run. However many people clung to the past in fear, there would always be as many and more racing forward to see what the future held.
That mattered. That was worth holding on to.
So he left the post office with a light heart and his head held high. At least until he got home and saw the training hall standing open and Kaoru's shoes gone from the entryway.
As he'd thought. She wouldn't be home for dinner.
The memorial park was the only place Kaoru found any peace, these days.
There was a terrible irony to it: this lush green park, with its hydrangeas and creeping wisteria (but not roses, never roses) fed by the blood of soldiers and slaves, was the one place in the city where the constant tension in her bones eased, if only for a little while. The landscape echoed with the memory of gunfire and the quiet murmurs of visitors paying their respects, and it soothed her to know that something remembered what had passed here. Even if the world forgot, replanted the ground and covered the wounds with water and tall trees, the land remembered. Someone had to.
The new government had flooded the old slave pens and stocked the ensuing pond with carp and lily pads. Turtles sunned themselves on artistically-placed rocks, silent and serene; irises bloomed along the edges in riots of yellow-flecked purple and if people whispered that on moonless nights you could hear the cries of the dead echoing from the cool depths then that was only right. Water would purify the place, in time. She had to believe. Water would make it clean again.
There were too many named and nameless dead to give them graves, so the city had erected a small gravestone in the heart of what had once been the manor's foundations. It was granite, polished smooth and mirror-bright, and had no inscription. No one needed to be told who it was for. At first it had been piled high with grave-offerings, nearly buried under flowers and incense and small round oranges. These days, though, the tide of blood-guilt had stemmed somewhat. Only a few discreet sacrifices remained.
She had brought flowers too, in the early days. Daisies and peonies. Never roses.
Now she brought only herself.
There was a place at the edge of the water where she liked to go. A maple tree stood tall at her back, casting the green waters black with its shadow, and the carp roiled around the great boulder where she sat and sometimes fed them. Other times she only sat, silent, and watched the surface ripple in the quick, teasing breezes that were all the tall stone walls surrounding the place would admit. They'd kept the walls and the breach blown in them, shattered stone scorched black with powder. Kaoru wasn't sure why, exactly, when the city had tried so hard to erase the rest. But she preferred it.
She'd brought a few riceballs on the walk down, a poor substitute for the dinner she was missing. Most of them were going to the fish. She didn't have much of an appetite, these days.
A bright orange monster – as long as her arm and nearly twice as thick – flashed subtle gold in the shadows as it bullied its way through the frenzy, snapping up more than its share. Shenearly smiled.
"Greedy things, aren't they?"
Kaoru nearly dropped her dinner entirely. She whipped her head around, one hand coming down hard on the rock to brace herself. It scraped against her palm, not quite drawing blood.
"I'm sorry," said that man behind her, with apparent sincerity. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"It's all right." She said it automatically, shifting around on her knees to face him. The stone caught and tore at her skirts. "I wasn't paying attention. Can I help you?"
Not that help was owed, but the habits of a lifetime were hard to break.
The man studied her for a moment. She studied him right back. He was tall and slender, neatly dressed in the European fashion, though his features showed him to be Japanese. Except for his eyes, which were blue: almost too blue, glinting like a knife blade behind tinted glasses. And his hair. It was short, tidy, and white as sun-bleached bone, clipped high above his ears. A tailored suit-jacket rested on his shoulders.
"I was having some trouble finding the memorial," he said finally. "Would you be so kind as to point me in the right direction?"
"Oh. Yes." Kaoru got to her feet. "Let me show you, actually. It can be a little hard to find."
The whole park was a memorial, of sorts, but when people asked for the memorial they meant the blank and polished headstone. She noticed as she stood that he held a bucket in one hand, slightly hidden behind his back. The end of a dipper rested against the rim, next to a bundle of chrysanthemums.
Too many people had been taken by the slave trade, before and after the war, and many of them were unknown, unnamed, buried without rite or ritual. That was why the headstone had no name. He would not be the first to mourn there for someone who had no other grave.
"This way."
She started down the path, and he followed.
The man gave her a nod and murmured thanks before he knelt to pay his respects to the unmarked stone. And she should have left then, but she didn't; she couldn't say why, except that it didn't seem right. So she waited.
He prayed for a long time before he poured a dipperful of water over the stone, reverently, as if washing a body for cremation. The same reverence lingered as he took the chrysanthemums and scattered them carefully over the small steps at the foot of the stone, clasping his hands together one last time when he was done. Then he stood.
"Thank you," he said, simply.
"It's no trouble." And then, her curiosity overcoming her, "May I ask…?"
He was well-dressed, probably well-off, and few of those who came to pay tribute these days were. In the beginning all sorts had come by both to ease their consciences and in honest grief, but since the end of the war most of the visitors had been freedmen or women mourning some lost friend or relative, and the poverty that too many of them lived in was etched in their faces.
There was none of that strain in his. There were lines of thought and focus, stress wrinkling the skin between his eyes, but none of that haggard worry. And he had no slave-brand, at least none that she could see – though she supposed that his long sleeves could conceal a pleasure-house tattoo.
He raised an eyebrow; an apology sprang unspoken to her lips as he inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her question.
"My sister."
"I'm sorry." She nodded once, not quite a bow, in recognition of his loss.
"And you?"
A fair question. She colored slightly, not certain how to respond.
"…no one." No dead, at least. "I was here," she said, a little too quickly. "In the first battle. When Kanryu was killed."
It had been easier to hold to that fiction than explain why they had let Kanryu flee, or her conviction that Mr. Hiko had ended him afterwards. That he had been defeated that morning, in that dank stone cellar, and the death of his body had been only an afterthought.
"Ah." Now he gave her another assessing look, something dawning in his eyes – as if he was putting something together. "May I ask your name?"
"Kaoru." She stifled the sudden, inexplicable urge to lie. Something in the way he was looking at her… "Kaoru Kamiya."
"Of the Kamiya Kasshin?"
She nodded. He blinked, slowly, like a cat who'd just seen something of interest moving in the underbrush.
"I've heard your name before." He extended his hand, then seemed to catch himself and bowed instead. "Forgive my rudeness. My name is Enishi Yukishiro."
Kaoru bowed back. "A pleasure to meet you."
It was automatic and unfelt. She thought he smirked, but it was gone too quickly for her to be sure. His name was familiar, somehow: she couldn't quite place it. It carried bad memories.
"I think I've heard your name, too. Have we met…?"
The wind rustled in the trees, whispering. For a moment his face went completely blank. Then he shrugged, as if it was nothing.
"I occupy a minor position in the new government. Perhaps I was mentioned in a news article. Much like yourself." His voice was pointed.
Kaoru couldn't quite suppress a wince. She hadn't known, when the young woman from the freedman's paper had come by, how seriously her statements would be taken. So she'd told the truth – but no, that wasn't fair. She would have said the same things even if she had known that it would matter to so many people. And in hindsight, she should have known. She had been there, at the end that had been the beginning. She had borne witness: she had been, in her own small way, important to the changing of the tide. Maybe she just hadn't wanted to face it.
It wouldn't be the first time, after all.
"I didn't say anything that wasn't true," she said finally, raising her chin a little. "The freedmen and women of Japan had everything taken from them. It isn't enough to just give them their freedom. We have to help them find their way in society, too, otherwise nothing's really changed."
Another strange flash that was almost a smirk, a quirk of the lips that vanished before she could take it in.
"I don't disagree," he said, mildly enough, and bowed again. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Kamiya, but I was only stopping by for a moment on my way to attend to some other business. If you'll excuse me?"
"Of course." She bowed her farewell. "I hope your business goes well."
An easy script, ingrained courtesy. Nothing to be concerned about. So why did she feel so dizzy?
"As do I," he said gravely, and left.
She was very careful not to watch him go.
Yahiko was good at not noticing things.
When he'd been on the streets he hadn't noticed the wan, scared look in young girls' faces as they were led away by much older men, because he was samurai and the son of samurai (and always would be, no matter how far he fell; that was the whole point of the thing) and if he'd noticed then he would have had to do something about it, and he was little more than skin and bones himself so what could he do?
He hadn't noticed how much of his dishonorable earnings had found its way into his masters' pockets (always much, much more than they had agreed on, leaving him barely enough to survive on so that he'd have to buy a meal on credit, add to the debt that he never quite managed to pay) because if he had then he'd have had to do something about it, and he was so small.
He hadn't noticed the children much younger than himself begging in the streets, because what could he do except give them what he had, the shame and the risk of thievery for men who did not care if you lived or died and sold you into living death when you slipped up too many times, and maybe that was better than the gutter but how could he live knowing that he'd done that do them and how could he live giving away any of the not-nearly-enough that he had?
Now that he was older, he didn't notice the subtle sneers when he walked into a dojo, wearing his thief-marks openly. He didn't notice how visiting freeborn students would hit a little too hard, push a little too far when he set them against his students and those students had scars on their faces. He didn't notice the sudden rise in whispers when Kaoru visited the Akabeko, and he didn't notice the flashes of offended rage in unmarked faces doing menial labor when freedmen in fine clothing walked by, and he definitely didn't notice the way Kaoru's back stiffened when Kenshin spoke to her, or the confusion and loss in Kenshin's eyes.
Yahiko was good at not noticing things. Especially things he couldn't do anything about. Or wouldn't. He was never sure – it was either cowardice or common sense. He wanted it to be common sense, but he'd seen with his own eyes the price that justice demanded. Saw it still, in Kaoru's weary glances and slumped shoulders, in the students' aching shyness or trembling defiance.
Maybe he was just too afraid to pay it.
But the fact remained; he was good at not noticing things, and one of the things he was careful not to notice, these days, was how often Kaoru was away. She never missed a lesson, never shirked her responsibilities, so what could he say about it?
What could he do, except carry on?
"Senior?"
Yahiko blinked, startled out of his reverie, and looked down. Buntaro was tugging at his pants, an angry frown creasing his mouth as he struggled not to cry.
"What's wrong?" He bent down, bringing himself closer to the little boy's level.
"Ball went up!" Buntaro's lower lip trembled.
"That so?" It was easy to translate his concern, especially when Yahiko glanced up and saw a bright paper ball caught in the branches of one of the twin cherry trees on the dojo grounds. "Well, let's see what we can do about that."
Buntaro held close to his leg as Yahiko sauntered over to the tree, hands in his pockets, and contemplated the situation. It wasn't stuck that high, but this particular tree was harder to climb than the old maple or its twin on the other side of the grounds, and Buntaro was a timid little runt. He was getting stronger every day, but apparently the tree had been a bit much for him: fresh scrapes marked the trunk where he'd tried, without any success, the clamber up the trunk and get it down.
"Bit high up, isn't it?" Yahiko said, mindful of the boy's dignity. Buntaro swallowed and sniffed, nodding his head. "Good thing I'm so tall, huh?"
Yahiko took his wooden sword off his back and extended it up towards where the paper ball trembled in light breeze. A quick, careful flick and it was loose, floating down to Buntaro's waiting hands. The boy caught it, a trembling smile breaking through the stormclouds on his face.
"There we go," Yahiko said. "Ball went up, ball came down."
"Thank you!" Buntaro grinned up at him, gap-toothed and gummy, then scampered off on some urgent child's errand. Hopefully one that didn't involve getting anything else caught in trees. Yahiko watched him go, sucking in a breath when he tripped and fell over some invisible obstacle. But Buntaro picked himself without further tears and pelted around the corner of the house, out of sight. Yahiko relaxed.
"Yahiko?"
Yahiko turned to see Kenshin standing on the porch.
"Yeah?"
"Have you see Kaoru?" There was that worry in Kenshin's eyes, the worry that Yahiko was so careful not to notice. What could he do about it, if he did? He'd been an outsider to their bond. Everyone had. Whatever secret it was that had Kaoru so edgy, whatever strange intimacy had passed between them when Kenshin had been not fully himself… it wasn't anything he'd been privy to.
There was nothing he could do.
"No." Yahiko shook his head. "Sorry."
"Oh." Kenshin seemed to sigh. "It's going to be time for dinner, soon."
"Yeah," Yahiko said, marking the sun where it stood. "Look, she'll probably go to the Akabeko or something," he said, knowing it for a lie. Kaoru never went there without company these days. The whispers upset her too much. "Maybe Tae sent Tsubame up to ask her over."
Kenshin gave him a look, knowing it for a lie. If Tsubame had come over, even on an errand, Yahiko would have seen her and there would be no maybe about it.
"I'm sure it's something like that," Kenshin said vaguely, accepting the falsehood and the spirit in which it was told. It wasn't as if there was anything he could do about it, either. They were equally helpless in this; the more they'd tried, the more tight-locked Kaoru had become. So now they didn't try.
There was nothing they could do.
"Want me to start rounding up the kids?" Yahiko offered, somewhat feebly. Kenshin shook his head.
"I'll do it. Soujiro might need some help, though."
"Got it." Yahiko nodded and headed for the kitchens.
Kaoru didn't come back until after sunset, just before full dark. The shadows had stretched long and elastic by the time Yahiko saw her slip through the gates with a vague sense of furtive shame, like a cat who knows that it's been gone too long and the family is worried.
"Evening," he said, though he should have ignored her. Let her late arrival go, as he had so many times previously – as he and Kenshin both had. "Welcome back."
Kaoru stopped.
"…I'm home," she said, too softly.
"You missed dinner, but I think there's some leftovers keeping warm." It was hard to keep anger from tinging his voice, so he didn't try. "The kids missed you."
"I ate at the Akabeko," she lied. She'd gotten good at lying, much better than she'd been six years ago, but Yahiko knew her. She could no more fool him than he could her. "Have they gone to bed already?"
"Yeah." He shifted, shrugging his bamboo sword into a more comfortable position. "You'll have to see them tomorrow, at lessons."
"I thought you did the morning classes on Fridays?"
"Something came up." Nothing had – but he was angry, angry that she was missing, angry that she was pulling away and he didn't want to be. This was all he could do.
"And we can't skip lessons, not so close to the tournament. Yes, I understand."
"All right, then." And then, a bit too slowly. "Thanks."
She inclined her head. "Is there anything else I should know about?"
Kenshin is worried, he wanted to say. I'm worried. Tae's worried, Tsubame's worried, the doc's worried Everyone is. Do you really think we haven't noticed? That we don't care? Why won't you talk to us?
"No," he said, because there was nothing else to say. "That's all."
"Good night, then."
"Night."
And that was that. She walked into the house without further word or acknowledgement and Yahiko sighed, turning towards the well to rinse himself off before bed –
"Good evening," Kenshin said quietly. Yahiko turned back and saw what he'd known he would see: Kenshin standing on the porch and Kaoru frozen just at the steps, her shoes halfway off her feet.
After a too-long moment, she finished sliding out of them and stepped up on to the porch. Kenshin gave way, responding to her movements with practiced ease. Yahiko saw her fists clench tight, just for a moment.
"I was just heading to bed," she said, when the silence became too much to bear. Kenshin swallowed.
"Yes. Of course." He stepped back further. "Sleep well."
"And you."
Then Kaoru was gone. Kenshin looked helplessly at Yahiko. Yahiko looked back. There was nothing he could say, not it's not your fault because maybe it was. Kaoru had been better before Kenshin had come back. Not quite as she was before the war, but better. And he couldn't say it is your fault because that would be cruel and wrong to say, because this was Kenshin's home, too – Kaoru had promised – and because it didn't make sense.
Nothing made sense anymore. Like a dream where everything is just a little bit off, a few shades to the left of normal.
Kenshin looked helplessly at him. Yahiko returned the look, and a whole ocean of conversation passed between them. They'd had it so many times thst they didn't need words anymore.
"…night, Kenshin."
"Good night, Yahiko."
And that was that. Another day done, he thought, shivering under a deluge of water, still cool from the well. Another day just like every day since Kenshin had returned, full of Kaoru's secrets and the smothering, silent tension that could almost, if you weren't looking hard enough, be mistaken for peace.
Sooner or later, something was going to give.
When Yahiko slept that night, he dreamed of stormclouds building.