Disclaimer: Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, Viz, LLC, etc. own Rurouni Kenshin. The following is a work of fiction intended only for entertainment and reflects the author's admiration for the remarkable world of our favorite wanderer. Any resemblance to actual historical characters is incidental.

In honor of May 14…


– – – – The Red – – – –

"What is the worth of a crop nurtured by a rain of blood?"

Startled by the softly voiced question, Katsura broke off his conversation with Katakai. The two men, who had been relaxing during this last night of their stay at the inn while idly discussing whether the shogun Yoshimune's actions had indirectly led to the famine of 1733, exchanged puzzled looks before Katsura returned his attention to his youthful hitokiri.

Himura sat crosslegged near his mentor as he always did during Katsura's increasingly rare visits, but this time he kept his head lowered and his gaze fixed upon a torn edge of the tatami on which he sat.

When the silence stretched he repeated in the same monotone, "What is the worth of a crop nurtured by a rain of blood?"

Katsura's eyes narrowed as he scented the faint tang accompanying the soft exhalation.

Is that – saké? Himura doesn't drink. At least, he didn't until about three months back, during my last visit…

His gaze shifted to the still vivid slash that marred Himura's pale golden cheek.

Three months and yet the mark is almost as raw and angry as at the moment when he first returned with it.

He glanced at Katakai and nodded. His henchman bowed and, with a frown at the silent hitokiri, left the room.

Once they were alone Katsura, at a loss for words, sipped his tea. All evening the youth's ki had felt strange and remote although he sat within arm's reach. Katsura had been aware of his growing withdrawal during each visit but this time was the greatest change yet. Himura's was a soul–draining task and the older man regretted having yielded to his advisers' insistence – however well-argued – that he distance himself from his prime hitokiri.

Secrecy, Katsura-san – you are too visible and Battousai must remain in the shadows if he is to be effective at bringing down Tenchu upon the shogunate.

Above all your hands must be clean, Katsura-san! I'izuka is reliable and will be a fine handler.

In place of their previous conversations communication was now almost solely through their black envelopes – carefully sanitized down the chain of command – and the occasional formal written report. Katsura studied the bowed red head. He had hoped that the young man would have forged closer ties with the others, but other than with the carefree I'izuka it had not happened and even I'izuka was kept at some distance. Katsura was not entirely sure how to deal with this chasm in his understanding with the enigmatic youth.

"You knew the farmer's life once, Himura," he said at last, choosing his words with care.

"A long time ago – I had almost forgotten…" The quiet voice trailed away.

"That's all right." Katsura managed to smile naturally. "Though you were a child then you no doubt still remember more than I have learned. I have had to travel in rather humble disguises through the countryside these past months. There is so much different beyond the city limits but learn I must for I have forever set aside my sword. I have found that at times I must look to men such as the farmer for the simple wisdom to guide the Ishin Shishi."

To his relief the youth raised his head to study his mentor.

Carefully, carefully – "Listen to me, Himura. To a certain extent the farmer is at the mercy of the whims of the gods. The quality of the land he must work and the cooperation of the seasons – these are given to him by the heavens. But he is not entirely helpless; a good farmer knows that the value of the crop he does raise will depend on what he puts into it.

"He can plant good seed but if the land is barren and dry even the best seed will not take. The task is even harder when the earth has been allowed to poison itself for many years. But the earth is all-important in what we need to sustain the future and it must be made to accept. It is here that the farmer shows his strength; above all else it is he who must labor to make the soil friable and it as at this time, Himura, when he needs his finest and most faithful tools – strong, steady blades to dig into the stubborn land so that the sun and rain may reach deep within.

"Good tools become as one with the farmer's hand and with care will last many seasons and many crops. A wise farmer knows and plans for this. What he asks in return is simple, Himura – work the land! Through drought or red rain – plunge in and prepare the field with all your will and surely the crop will come in strongly." Katsura's impassioned voice filled the room as he leaned forward, searching his hitokiri's pale eyes.

The youth averted his head and remained posed on his mat for long moments before he rose in his usual graceful amnner. Katsura sensed the other's ki subsiding but it still remained turbulent.

Himura bowed to the older man. "Thank you for your time, Katsura-san." He turned to leave.

Katsura frowned in sudden irritation at how adroitly the stubborn fellow had shielded himself once more. "Himura! Do you understand what I say?"

The young man paused, one slim hand holding the shoji halfway open. What almost sounded like dry amusement threaded his voice as he replied, "I do. Katsura-san, from the experience of one who, as you said, remembers more than what you have learned – the most earnest desires aside, it's only when it is at last time to harvest that can you find out how bitterly the crop lies against the tongue." He bowed again and slipped away.

After he had gone, Katsura Kogoro blew out his breath on a sigh, his brief spurt of irritation evaporating. He pinched the bridge of his nose and then shrugged his shoulders, wincing at the pull of tense muscles. He allowed himself the luxury of a few wistful thoughts of Ikumatsu, wishing his geisha lover was with him and massaging his shoulders with her graceful, skilled hands.

Despite Himura's words he doubted that he had eased the burdens that clearly lay so heavily in the young man's thoughts. Indeed he was certain that his hitokiri had understood his speech – far better than he had intended.

It was one of life's truths: sometimes, however much care the farmer took, even the finest of his tools would break. It was the price to pay for choosing to work a stubborn, hostile field however much the wise farmer prepared for all possibilities. And at season's end, however bitter the taste, at least some bellies would be full.

His prime hitokiri had always been one to comprehend and accept.

With a last roll of his shoulders he rose and crossed to his low desk. Frowning, he opened the drawer and withdrew the folded piece of paper he had secreted within only hours before. Unfolding the thick sheet he studied the untidy, heavily edited scribbling.

A short list, he mused. Such skills as Himura commands are rare enough, and a man strong enough to wield such skills with an honest heart is as rare as a dragon.

He and Takasugi Shinsaku had debated for days as Katsura had considered who else of the Ishin Shishi's best swordsmen could join his prime hitokiri in the shadows. Himura's successes had convinced Katsura that two such deliverers of Tenchu would even more swiftly shatter the shogunate's hold on Kyoto. He tapped his finger thoughtfully upon the last name on the list.

Madness calls to madness, Shinsaku said as he wrote down this name, he thought. You will find him an intriguing one, Kogoro: as strong as Himura and just as clever with words, he is a cannon with a flaw at the core that I have no use for under my command. Ha ha, but as for you – use him until he cracks!

Sighing, Katsura studied the name a moment longer, then refolded the paper and returned it to the drawer. He picked up his cold tea and drank.

Tomorrow he would have to depart the inn. He thought about the upcoming wearisome journey with distaste but he had no choice. He had heard rumblings and he was worried for his home province. Choshu was restless, alliances unsettled. However swiftly he managed to travel he feared events would overwhelm him. And Kyoto herself was seething.

Katsura glanced again at the desk drawer and nodded firmly. He would write the letter to Takasugi tonight before he left the inn, requesting his friend send the promising swordsman to him.

He must never lose sight of the fact that Japan was greater than Kyoto or even Choshu. If things did go drastically wrong, he needed to keep Himura safe until he could be unleashed once more.

He considered that solemn young man and his mind turned to the quiet places he had passed through during his travels; places that were distant and slow to move, where a sore heart might find some solace.

I had almost forgotten… Himura's soft whisper fluttered once more in the silence of the room.

It took a hard man to lead in these uncertain times. But one too hard would only dash himself to pieces against the whims of the heavens. Katsura spread his hands and regarded them thoughtfully. Despite his advisers' insistence he would make sure to be around as much as possible in the next couple months. It was time to do his utmost to keep his best tool from breaking in the first place.

"I think you would like a place away from Kyoto, my young friend," he murmured. "A place to bury your hands in simple dirt, where the nights are quiet and no dark streets lie before you. A safe place, where perhaps you might also find a little peace. I will have to arrange for such a retreat."

A shadow across the shoji drew his attention. "Katsura-san?" Katakai's gravelly voice rumbled from beyond the thin paper panels.

"Enter."

Katakai lumbered in. He cocked a brow at the empty room. "Battousai giving you trouble, Katsura-san?"

Katsura smiled and shook his head. "Of course not, Katakai. We were merely discussing the, ah, hazards of the farming life."

Katakai blinked. "Battousai thinking of taking up farming?" he exclaimed but Katsura only gave a noncommittal smile.

"Himura is a very resourceful fellow."

"Oh," Katakai muttered doubtfully. "Close-mouthed fellow. Nothing like my father – the old man babbled all the time about stuff like that, always crumbling the soil between his fingers and fussing over the feel. What was that he was fond of repeating? 'A touch of frost – the first kiss of the snow – that's what you need to sweeten the earth and tame it'."

Katsura laughed softly. "Wise words from a wise man."

Katakai scratched his head. "He did grow good vegetables." He snorted. "Now much help for right now, though. It's less than a month until Gion and the beginning of summer. Not even Battousai could find his first kiss of the snow during the middle of a warm summer night."


– – – – The White – – – –

A complicated man.

A man who, in public, grinned and spoke persuasive words but betrayed little of himself; yet a man who, in private, smiled and spoke with care but readily surrendered his entirety to her keeping.

Such a complicated man with whom she lived.

Kaoru knew herself to be much simpler. Whether by a swing of fist or bokken, a torrent of tears or heedless hugs, she rarely kept him in doubt as to her moods or what caused them.

His mind, however, roamed along much less straightforward paths and she was never quite sure where his thoughts would take him. They were still too newly married for that although she was happy that since their marriage he brooded less. But however unknown the journey, she always willingly went with him, as far as he would allow her to go; and each journey led to both greater understanding and puzzlement.

His wanderings in thought were subtle. One morning, despite the glory of the fine spring day, Kaoru sensed a deeper introspection than usual as he moved about his chores. Yahiko, intent on a particularly tricky maneuver in the dojo, did not notice the distance behind Kenshin's smile but Kaoru was not fooled. She fretted as he spent nearly half the day at the market, disappearing immediately into the kitchen when he returned with laden baskets.

She chased Yahiko out for the night as soon as she could. The boy resented her peremptory actions and retaliated with a spate of verbal abuse that precipitated a particularly spectacular scuffle between teacher and pupil. But a worried Kaoru was nigh an invincible Kaoru and a surly Yahiko was speedily banished with a few well–placed knocks. Kaoru hurried toward the bath house where her husband had retreated to stoke up the fire. He was not in sight, however, and Kaoru washed as quickly as she could, in her haste forgoing her usual relaxing soak. Her worry was not eased when she returned to the house and Kenshin gently refused her usual help with the dinner preparations.

"Here – let me set the table!"

"No need. This one has everything in hand."

"Are– are you sure, Kenshin?"

"Very sure, Kaoru-dono. Wait until this one calls you."

Kaoru-dono? she wailed silently as she padded to her room. Something was bothering Kenshin. He almost never called her that any more when they were alone except during their rare spats or when he was preoccupied. Busying herself with some stitchwork Kaoru brooded over her husband's odd behavior. She was no closer to a conclusion by the time his quiet voice called her.

When she entered the room she eyed the laden table with some surprise. The dishes had been set out with an exacting eye, and the food had been prepared with even greater care than he usually devoted to the task. She inspected the contents of each dish as she hovered uncertainly, sniffing the tantalizing scents.

Finely sliced daikon, lightly sweetened and sharply fragrant with vinegar; a savory fish broth in which cubes of tofu tumbled alongside a few straw-colored mushrooms while the fish itself lay in a neat white pile in a shallow plate; bowls of gently steaming rice –fancier than their usual fare, prepared simply enough but in slightly unfamiliar ways that reminded her how widely Kenshin had roamed and what different things he had experienced – how many foreigners he must have met and shared a meal with.

The meal smelled so delicious and was so lovely – and so oddly formal and pale against the worn warmth of the table.

"Kenshin?" Her voice betrayed her puzzlement.

"Please sit, Kaoru-dono." He waited until she had knelt by the table before he settled beside her.

Kaoru fidgeted and before he could speak hurried into speech. "It all looks so good, Kenshin. And there's so much! Um, are you – are you marking an occasion?"

Kenshin answered, "Today is a day for memories, Kaoru-dono. On this day, a good man passed and this one's course was set."

Her eyes flew to the calendar on the wall. One swift glance was sufficient and she blushed.

Idiot, idiot, idiot! How could I have forgotten?

She had not, not really. It was simply that, despite being assured of his deep affection, she always avoided acknowledging this date that had caused her such grief. Especially today, the first time they had observed the date as a married couple.

Her conscience twinged. Hard as it was for her, how much worse for Kenshin, who had been forced to face his past and who had suffered terribly for it.

She touched his hand gently. "Kenshin?"

Kenshin had been watching each betraying expression flicker over her face. He said, "Such great hopes we had during Bakumatsu. But when the era actually arrived, so many lost hope during the reality. It was men such as Okubo Tsukamichi who continued to struggle to make real what had been promised."

Kaoru's eyes widened in realization and she glanced down at the table with its arrangement of dishes.

Each dish wears white. Why, Kenshin's dressed our table for mourning!

Kenshin continued, "When Okubo-san was killed by Shishio's man Soujiro, this one understood that there was a real danger that the era would fall once more into fire and ruin and take Japan with it.

"This one did not lie when he told Okubo-san that he looked older and tired. The age had already worn him down, and then his enemies proved to be too much for him. This one could not let his sacrifice be for nothing."

Kaoru's eyes welled with tears, for both the assassinated minister and the grave man before her, even though she found it hard to forgive Okubo for forcing Kenshin to fight again.

"During Bakumatsu this one made it rain blood." The sadness in his voice wrung her heart. "Once on this date this one asked Katsura Kogoro what kind of harvest could be expected from such a spring deluge. This one was very naïve and only understood part of what Katsura-san was trying to say." Kenshin paused and contemplated the dishes. "So this one has prepared food to remember that. Never easy answers."

Kaoru sniffed and scrubbed away her tears. "But why this day? I mean, I would have thought you would choose toward the end of the year –"

Under Kenshin's grave regard she stopped and blushed brightly. "Sorry, sorry! I ­­– I didn't mean –" She floundered to an embarrassed stop and jumped when Kenshin's warm fingers closed about her own.

"Kaoru-dono, this one has many such days to remember, to atone. But those are days only of sorrow. This day is more." He smiled at her puzzled expression.

"This one thought that as long as he continued to wander time would pass him by as the water ignores the stones along the riverbed. And so it did, until this one found this place and realized he was tired of running. The years were spent in atonement but no true forgiveness could be found outside of time. When this one decided to face Shishio he knew both had to cast themselves back into the stream. It was not so pleasant to do so, Kaoru-dono, nor so safe. But it reminded this one that he was only a man, and that a man must exist in his time, with all the bad and good that went with it." He paused and added, "And that was good to remember."

She smiled at him through her tears. "It is also good to remember that to mourn those who have passed is also to celebrate life." She gestured at the food. "Surely here is the other part of the answer that Katsura-san was trying to tell you, about what nurtures the people of Japan in the new era. The earth too forgives, Kenshin," she reminded him softly.

His answering smile warmed her. "Yes, Kaoru-dono, it does. This one will continue to atone for my role but cannot regret the outcome. The harvest offered, which lies on this table – it is both an end and a beginning. A remembrance and a celebration. So on this day, a good man passed from this life –"

"And on this day another good man decided to return to living this life," she interrupted, her minatory glare at odds with the fierce squeezing of her fingers.

Kenshin smiled. "If Kaoru-dono says so. But more importantly…" He closed his eyes.

Kaoru caught her breath and leaned forward in quick concern. "Kenshin? What is it?"

Her husband opened his eyes and smiled at her, his gaze and smile so bright she caught her breath. "More importantly, on this day this one decided to prepare a special meal for you to enjoy in our home. Now, Kaoru, let us eat our supper before it grows cold."

Such a complicated man.