A/n: IMPORTANT SCHEDULING NOTES.
So, I'm in my third year of law school and coming up on exams; furthermore, I'm getting ready for the bar. With that in mind, there will be some changes to the update schedule.
The next update for Invictus will be the weekend of MAY 25th. The next update for Vaster Than Empires will be the weekend of JUNE 1ST.
After that, I will be going on hiatus for my bar exam prep period, and for the test itself. This hiatus will end the weekend of AUGUST 10th. At that point, regular updates for both stories will resume.
I apologize for the disruption and hope you will bear with me. I am not abandoning these stories; this is a planned hiatus with a specific end-date, and I am going on it because I need to prioritize my real life over my fanfiction. Thank you all for your patience during this time.
This message will be reposted in my author's profile.
Also, you should check out my profile to see the new fanart that theDah has created for me. Is very good.
Lord Himura was gone by the time Kaoru woke, off on the shōgun's business, and she was grateful for that. Her head ached as though she was the one who'd been drinking; she hadn't slept until the sun was paling the sky and then she'd only dozed. She struggled into her purloined hakama and shuffled her way into the dojo anyway, yawning hugely.
It was a grey morning, cool and misty. The rainy season had finally come, it seemed, and soon the hydrangeas would be blooming. There were no flowers in Lord Himura's courtyard, only a rock garden and few ornamental pines. She wondered why he'd chosen the arrangement and then realized that he probably hadn't, that he'd probably simply accepted the manor as it was presented to him, and wondered why she was so certain of that.
Then she shook her head, brought the wooden sword down, and began.
The worst of her exhaustion had burned away under the sweat and strain of practice when Tae quietly announced her presence.
"My lady?"
Kaoru completed her swing. "Yes?"
"There is a visitor – the Lady Takani?"
"...so soon?" She walked to the door. "We only met yesterday…"
Tae only raised an eyebrow at her. She knew about the incident at the play, of course; Kaoru had told both her advisors about it. They'd agreed, after some discussion, not to pursue the relationship unless Lady Takani did. Association with a scandal could damage Kaoru's standing, which would affect her ability to maneuver and protect herself but she wanted – needed – information that it seemed the Lady Takani was able and willing to provide. So, if the lady came to call, Kaoru would accept her visit. One could hardly turn away a visitor, after all, not unless they had offered dire insult. It was only seeking Lady Takani out that could be read as her desiring friendship with a shameless woman, and therefore put her in danger.
At least, Kaoru and Shirojo had agreed. Tae had only shrugged and said that Kaoru was determined not to listen to her advice, so what was the point in giving it?
Kaoru sighed, remembering.
"I need to change," she said. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Please convey my apologies for the wait."
Tae bowed and left, and Kaoru went to douse herself with water and change.
Lady Takani was waiting in an outer room, kneeling with her eyes half-closed and her hands cupped loosely around a lacquered box. There was a pot of tea on a tray nearby, untouched.
"Lady Takani," Kaoru said as she entered and bowed. "How pleasant to see you so soon."
Lady Takani's eyes opened quickly, as though startled from thought, and she bowed in response.
"I do hope you'll forgive my forwardness," she said smoothly, "but it seemed appropriate that we speak sooner rather than later. Here." She placed the box carefully between them as Kaoru knelt across from here. "It's only a trifle, I'm afraid…"
"Oh, you're too kind," Kaoru said automatically. Lady Takani lifted the lid to reveal twelve sweets, elegantly crafted in the signs of the zodiac and arranged in the cycle of the years. "They're lovely. I'm honored; it's far too great a gift. Would you care for some tea?"
"If it's not too much trouble," Lady Takani said. Kaoru moved the gift politely aside – it would be rude to pay it further attention – and poured the tea. The other woman took her cup and cradled it in elegant fingers.
"So," she said finally. "I suppose Lady Kame's told you all about me."
"Not really." Apparently they were going to skip most of the courtesies. That was fine; they both knew why they were here, and Kaoru preferred honesty. "Only that there was a scandal. And that you're divorced."
Lady Takani nodded. "That was Sir Ken's influence," she said softly. "If not for him…" And then she laughed a little. "You know, I'm not really sure where to start. Forgive me, Lady Kaoru, but it's not a story I often share."
Kaoru considered her options, half a dozen responses racing through her mind, most of them harsh. There were other answers she could give, softer ones, if she'd wanted Lady Takani for a friend – if she'd liked her at all – but she didn't want to be bosom companions. Lady Takani had approached her, Lady Takani was the one with some kind of message to pass on, so working up the nerve to speak was her own damn responsibility.
Yet Kaoru's voice was gentle when she asked: "Then why are you here?"
"Because Sir Ken is a good man," Lady Takani said, meeting Kaoru's gaze head-on. "And he deserves to be happy. I had thought, once, that perhaps…" She looked down and away. "Well, nevermind."
"A good man..." Kaoru turned the teacup in her hands, watching the liquid swirl. "You do know what the stories say, don't you?"
Lady Takani snorted. "He's as human as you or I, believe me. He bleeds and weakens and breaks bones just like anyone else; he needs food and rest as much as any man – generally more, given how he pushes himself. He's no demon."
Kaoru tilted her head, examining Lady Takani. "Have you ever seen him fight?" she asked, too sweetly, and Lady Takani's eyes shaded into caution.
"No," she said.
"I have." Kaoru took a slow sip of her tea, letting the bitter liquid slide down her throat and wishing, suddenly, that it was something stronger. "The stories don't do it justice."
She remembered: flies buzzing over the dead men and lighting in the sticky rivulets of blood oozing from their wounds. Crawling across their faces, into their mouths and gathering in their open eyes. The flies and the smell, awful and charnel, sickly-sweet with a hint of voided bowels. One of the dead men had eaten just before the attack, and half-digested rice had spilled from his stomach where he fell.
Her hands tightened around her cup, bones creaking. The road had been turned into an abattoir in less time than it had taken her to gasp her shock at seeing Lord Himura truly move. And how he'd moved – terrible and sudden as the lightning, inexorable as the rushing waves.
She knew that Lady Takani was examining her, just as she knew that the hand not gripping her cup was shaking. Outside, a gentle patter of rain began to fall.
"You're afraid of him," Lady Takani said quietly.
"No," Kaoru said, and was surprised to find that it was true. "No," she said again, thinking of his eyes gleaming soft and yearning in the dark, of his mild voice fumbling for words. The surprise and awe in his face when he'd woken, injured, to find her kneeling at his side; the sincerity in his voice whenever he spoke to her. "Not of him – "
She cut herself off, choking on the words. Honesty was one thing, but Lady Takani had no right to this, this intimacy, not on less than an hour's acquaintance.
"Forgive me, Lady Takani," she said formally. "I've interrupted your story."
I'll show you mine, she thought, and let it show in her eyes, but you have to show me yours, first.
Lady Takani blinked for a moment, pulling back as if to refuse; then she smiled a small, bitter smile.
"Fair enough," she said, and Kaoru thought her voice was a little warmer than it had been. "The scandal, then."
And there was warmth there, but a certain menace with it.
"When I was twelve," she began, running a finger along the lip of her cup, "I was betrothed to the son of my father's patron. It was a terribly advantageous match, and I was glad to have my future and my family's fortunes secured."
She took a sip, eyeing Kaoru over the rim. "What more can a woman hope for, after all? My family was elevated by our association with a far greater clan, and my children would bear a proud name. There is no greater happiness," she said deliberately, "than to be of service to one's house."
"Indeed," Kaoru murmured, not without irony.
"We married as soon as I was fourteen," she continued. "He was older than me, so there was no need to wait once I came of age. And for a time – I was happy, you know." Her eyes were grave. "I didn't love him, of course, and he didn't love me, but he was a dutiful husband and provided well for me. I looked forward to giving him his first son, to being a mother."
She closed her eyes for a moment, grief emerging in the lines of her face.
"My first pregnancy was not successful," she said, flatly. "Neither was my second – and that was when the difficulties began. My husband blamed me, you see." There was that quick smile again, twisted and bitter. "I must have been unfaithful, or plotting against him. I must be poisoning his children in the womb out of spite, or perhaps they were killing themselves in shame for their mother's profligate ways. Either way, it was my fault."
Lady Takani's face shifting again, become eerily expressionless as she spoke. As if she was reciting a story that had happened to someone else, long ago.
"His behavior changed. I was confined to my room, with female guards to watch me, and he would come to me nightly whether I willed it or not. As soon as the midwife found that I had conceived, I was restrained to prevent me from doing anything to harm the child."
Her throat worked. Kaoru put her cup down.
"Lady Takani…"
Lady Takani held up her hand. "You should hear it," she said, licking her lips, and her fingers were trembling as faintly as the surface of a pond. "All of it. You must understand what I mean, when I say that your husband saved my life. You must understand – the kind of man I know him to be."
I think I already do, she wanted to say, but it looked like it might kill Lady Takani to leave the story half-untold. So she kept her peace.
"This time, I bore a live child," she said, and her voice became very small. "A son – except." Another pause, a deep breath, and the air around her seemed to draw in. "He was – abnormal. Deformed. Otherwise healthy, but…"
She was far too terribly still, and Kaoru's heart ached for her, for the child she'd borne. It was a uniquely female nightmare: she'd only been a little girl when her mother had carried Ayame and Suzume but she remembered her fear, the endless trips to shrines and temples and careful observation of every small superstition, each minute change in her body. Her father, hovering worried and helpless, and how much more terrible must it have been to go through that after failing twice, with a husband who blamed you for it?
"Lady Takani, please, you don't need to – "
"I ran," Lady Takani said bluntly, talking over Kaoru as if she didn't hear. "I knew as soon as I saw the child that my husband would kill him – would kill me. So I took my child and I ran, away from him, back to my parent's house. They refused to help."
She looked down at her hand, eyes dark.
"I was dishonoring them, failing them. My unsuccessful marriage had brought shame to the family and made things – difficult between my father and his patron. They ordered me to return and repent for my bad behavior. After all," her knuckles were white as she clenched her hand in her gown, "he was my husband. I was his to dispose of. I had left with nothing but the clothes on my back, no dowry for the divorce temple, no way to support myself, and my husband would be looking for me to take vengeance for my treachery. I don't know what I would have done, then – died, probably – if Sir Ken hadn't – if he hadn't happened to be passing by when they were dragging me back to my husband."
"He stopped them," Kaoru said, without meaning to. She could see it, that was the odd thing: the frightened woman clutching her child to her breast as she fought against the hands pushing and pulling her towards the carriage and then suddenly he would be there, standing between the struggle and the palanquin and asking mildly if anything was the matter.
Lady Takani looked up, and her face was indescribable: grief and remembered terror, relief and gratitude. The rain picked up, dancing along the gutters and dancing along the shoji.
"Yes," she said simply, voice trembling. "He stopped them. He listened to my story – he believed me – he convinced my husband to divorce me and let me keep my child. He took me in and helped me start my own life. I was a stranger to him, and he saved me. If not for him, I would be – and my son – "
A pause, and a deep breath, and the passionate edge receded. When she spoke her voice was serene again, but the mirror-surface of her sly eyes had cracked to show a naked, unrequited longing.
"So you see, Lady Himura," she said. "I owe Sir Ken a debt that I can never repay. And he has never asked me to. But the obligation remains: so here I am."
Lady Takani loved him; Kaoru could hear it plainly in the words that she didn't say. She loved him, and he didn't return her feelings, never had, never would and she knew it – and that was why there was no jealousy in her, only poignant resignation.
Sir Ken is a good man, she'd said, eyes aglow with conviction, and he deserves to be happy.
The strange thing, though, was that nothing about the story Lady Takani had told really surprised her.
"What do you want, Lady Takani?" Kaoru asked, her voice still gentle.
"What do I want – ?" Lady Takani almost laughed, a small dry thing more exhale than sound. "To meet you, I suppose. To tell you that the stories about him – they're not true – that he is a good man, and he's only human. I know what you must fear," she said quickly. "I've lived it – and you must understand. He is not that kind of man. He would die, first."
"I know he's not." Kaoru spoke without quite meaning to, again, and didn't realize what she'd said until Lady Takani drew herself up like a rattlesnake about to strike, the hurt in her eyes echoing in the line of her back.
"Then you let me go on – why? For the gossip – ?"
"No!" Kaoru said quickly. "No, it's not that, I – Lady Takani, please, sit down. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. That's not it."
Lady Takani subsided slowly, eyeing her with obvious distaste, and Kaoru shook her head to try and jostle the right words into place.
"I'm not afraid of him," Kaoru said, knowing in her bones that it was true. "Not anymore. I'm afraid – "
What am I afraid of? Because there was fear: even with her absolute certainty that he would never hurt her, even with the strange shivering something she felt when she saw the hunger in his eyes, there was still fear. Just not of him. And yet…
She closed her eyes and breathed deep, drawing air and life into her center. Then she found the words.
"I'm not afraid of him," she said again. "I'm afraid of what he is."
There was a long pause.
"You realize," Lady Takani said, dry as old bones, "that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever."
"Well, excuse me!" Kaoru snapped. "You say that the stories aren't true – but I've seen him fight, Lady Takani, and he is everything the stories say and then some! And at the same time – at the same time, he's the man who rescued you, who's – who's been nothing but kind to me, asked nothing of me at all despite having every right – and how can he be both those people and still be sane? One of them must be a lie!"
The words came out without her permission, without pause for breath or consideration for propriety. There was a crack of thunder outside; the wind threw rain against the roof, rattling the shingles.
"And it can't be the demon, because I've seen him fight, Lady Takani, and he is inhuman. But the other self – that kindness – that's real, too. How can they both be real? How can he be two completely opposite things? How – "
And then, at last, the words ran dry; her throat closed and she sank into herself, hands clenched tight into trembling fists. The silk of her kimono was cool between her fingers and she felt Lady Takani's eyes on her for a long time, regarding her with something that might have been awe, or pity, or both.
"Is he truly that terrible, when he draws his sword?" she asked, finally.
"…yes," she choked out. "Yes. He – it was like a bloody rain," she whispered. "And it happened too quickly to see. They didn't stand a chance."
"Bandits, weren't they?" Her voice was light, calm as if she was inquiring after Kaoru's health.
Kaoru nodded.
"I'm surprised he bothered," Lady Takani said, picking up her cup. "Couldn't the guards have dealt with it?"
"They attacked in two groups," she said vaguely, the steel clash of swords and cries of dying men echoing in her mind. "One went after the packhorses, and the other went for the palanquin – the one I was in, with my sisters. There weren't enough guards there – he ordered mine to help the others and the bearers to run, and then he – "
And then he'd drawn his sword, and made a bloody rain fall. As if the sky had opened up in a brief summer shower, but instead of clear water it was red and hot and stinking.
Her hands were shaking. She looked at them, dimly surprised.
"I see." Lady Takani took a sip of her tea. "He was helping his men."
Don't stray from this spot, he'd said, eyes burning with pale fire. Then later, struggling to keep himself upright with his bloody wound soaking through the bandages, he'd asked her forgiveness. For failing her. For endangering her and her sisters. And promised that it would never happened again…
I don't ever want to hurt or scare you, he'd slurred out to her, just last night. So you have to tell me. If I hurt or scare you. So I can fix it.
Almost begging her.
Please.
"No," and her throat was raw with unshed tears. "He was protecting me." And that, that was why she hadn't been able to kill him, she knew with a sudden and terrible clarity: because for all she'd seen, for all she knew it must mean, that bloody rain had been to keep her safe and she could not repay him with death for trying to protect her.
And it frightened her, that he could – would – do that for her sake.
Lady Takani made a contemplative noise deep in her throat, examining her cup.
"You know," she said idly. "Even when my husband was threatening him – no matter what the provocation – in all the time that he was helping me, he never drew his sword."
Kaoru almost laughed. "Would you have liked that?" she asked sharply. "To watch men slaughtered just to keep you safe?"
"No," Lady Takani snapped back. "Do you think he enjoyed the slaughter?"
His eyes, soft and pleading; the wound soaking through his shirt and his half-sincere assurance that he would see a doctor tomorrow. Today, now. When he hadn't seen one since they'd left the village, and bullet wounds infected so easily…
"No," she said reluctantly. "I don't think he does."
Lady Takani nodded brusquely, in a there-you-have-it sort of way.
"I would suggest, Lady Himura," she said with a certain reserve, "that you have greater faith in your instincts."
"…What?"
"Your instincts," she elaborated, taking another sip. "They're very good. You've certainly figured out more of his character than I'd expected."
"How kind of you to say so," Kaoru muttered, frustration building in her again. This was precisely what she had wanted to avoid, this testing, and suddenly she couldn't stop herself from speaking, again. "You do realize that I don't love him, right? I'm not a threat to you; if you want to seduce him, feel free. You don't need to audition me – "
"He will never love me." Lady Takani said it with such matter-of-fact conviction that Kaoru found herself, yet again, at a loss for words. "He may never love anyone again. But nonetheless, he deserves some happiness. I don't care if you love him, I don't care if you even like him – but I will not have you making him miserable."
"And what exactly would you do to stop me?"
She smirked. "Do you really think I'd tell you? Besides, I don't need to. I can tell from this conversation alone that cruelty isn't in your nature."
Kaoru remembered the deadly weight of the medicine packet in her sleeve, the lukewarm tea against her finger as the poison swirled and then dissolved. She remembered the smell of it, slightly bitter, and the spreading stain in the soil when she'd poured it off the edge of the porch. Her stomach roiled; she'd come so close, and some icy whispering thing still wondered if she had been right to turn away…
"You don't know the first thing about my nature," she whispered, burning hot and cold.
Lady Takani raised a single delicate brow. "Don't I?" she asked, and then continued on. "I know what it is, when your family betrays you, when they sell you into dishonor for their own gain. How deeply the hatred runs; how the despair infects your bones and rots you from the inside. I know how helpless you must feel, and how frightened. I'm sure you've thought of killing him; perhaps you've even made plans to, dutiful daughter that you are. After all, if not for him, Lord Tokugawa might have lost. If not for him, your father might still be alive. And here you are, forced to marry him, to share his bed and raise his children. I am samurai as well, Lady Himura." Her eyes were unaccountably soft. "I understand your shame."
Kaoru swallowed, shaking under Lady Takani's scrutiny. She hadn't felt this dissected since her father had been alive, and it was terrible and freeing all at once to have someone shine a light into the dark places – all the shame and rage and bitter hate, and the terrible image of her father charging into the swirl of steel and cleaving flesh. Her uncle sneering down on her, reminding her of her place – a tool and a toy for men, a vehicle for their ambitions…
"…and what if I'm wrong?" she said finally.
"It does take a certain amount of courage," Lady Takani remarked acerbically, and Kaoru's back stiffened.
There are many ways to be brave.
She raised her head and stared straight into Lady Takani's eyes.
"Are you calling me a coward?" she demanded.
"Are you one?" Lady Takani shot back.
"No," she said, "and forgive me, Lady Takani, but I don't like you."
Lady Takani shrugged. "You don't have to," she said, with a subtle smile. "All you have to do is pay attention."
"Like his first wife did?" Kaoru retorted, and had a sudden feeling of going almost too far. She soldiered on. "What if she took the same risk – trusted her instincts?"
A chill descended over the room.
"That," Lady Takani said, jaw tense, "was different."
"So you know what happened." Kaoru leaned forward, bracing herself lightly against the mats by the tips of her fingers. "Don't you?"
Now it was Lady Takani's turn to stiffen and withdraw. "I – no. Not the – details." She rallied quickly. "But I know it can't be true."
"And how's that?"
"Because of how he looks when he talks about her," Lady Takani said tersely. "Not that he generally does, mind you, but – once or twice, he said things – he still grieves for her, you know, even after all these years."
There was a story in her eyes, and Kaoru realized that she didn't need to ask how Lady Takani knew that Lord Himura still mourned his first wife. It was the same way she knew that Lord Himura didn't return her feelings, and never would.
"And you think that's enough?" Kaoru asked quietly. "Enough to gamble my life on?"
"You're a woman," Lady Takani said. "What choice do you have?"
Kenshin shoved the brim of his hat away from his face, wondering vaguely why he was bothering to wear one. The rain was incessant; it had started mid-morning and refused to let up, and everyone was soaked through to the bone. Even Sano's hair was plastered against his head, and Kenshin hadn't thought anything could make that mess lie flat.
"I gotta say, Kenshin," Sano muttered, wiping futilely at his face with an equally-drenched sleeve, "you must be the only high muckety-muck in Japan who'd actually bother sittin' out here in the rain all evening."
"One hardly had a choice," Kenshin objected, keeping his voice soft. "The shōgun's instructions were to handle the matter personally, after all – and anyway, if the murderer is as skilled a swordsman as the evidence suggests, one could hardly leave the men to handle it alone in good conscience."
"Yeah…" Sano stirred, uneasy. "About that evidence… I dunno if I trust that Hondo guy."
"You've never met Lord Hondo."
"Well, that trained monkey he sent wears too much perfume," Sano grumbled. "An' I don't like the shape of his nose."
"That's a bit unfair, it is." Kenshin couldn't quite stop a snicker from rising in his throat. "Sir Iishido is a loyal samurai, he is, with a fine record of service."
However, he did wear a great deal of perfume. And his nose was remarkably like a strawberry in both shape and color. He'd arrived at Kenshin's manor early that morning with the results of Lord Hondo's aborted investigation and pronounced himself at Kenshin's disposal for the duration. He had been in charge of Lord Hondo's efforts, after all, and was the son of a magistrate; his family had always helped enforce law and order on Lord Hondo's land.
Truthfully, Kenshin didn't particularly like the man – he had an oily, too-gracious way about him – but he needed the help and anyway, it wasn't Iishido's fault that he had such an unpleasant face. His record was sterling, and he served an honorable lord. That was all that should matter.
Sano shifted a little further under the eaves. "Just outta curiosity – how long are ya gonna give this murderer t'show up before you call it off?"
"All night. If he doesn't come, then there's no helping it; but Lord Hondo's investigation indicated that Sir Yoida was the most likely next target."
Sir Yoida was a hereditary vassal of the Tokugawa, as Sir Narita had been. Another loyal head of his small and unambitious clan. Both men had played key roles in Sekigahara, having been trusted with rifle units; other than that and their mutual allegiance to the Tokugawa, they had nothing else linking them together. But Lord Hondo seemed certain, and what did Kenshin know about this sort of work?
"Aw man." Sano forgot to keep his voice down; Kenshin shushed him, and he rolled his eyes. "Can't believe my ass is sittin' out in the rain when I could back at the Lotus Blossom…"
"You didn't need to come," Kenshin pointed out. "That was your own decision."
"What, and let'cha get so sucked into this court bullshit that ya forget which way is up? I don't think so, buddy. Y'need someone to keep your head on straight. Besides," and he cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders to settle into a more comfortable position, "I wanna hear how things went between you and the missus last night."
"Oro..." Kenshin pulled his knee up a little further, staring determinedly at Sir Yoida's manor. Light poured from it, barely penetrating the crushing dark of the overcast night and the endless, thrumming rain. Silhouettes moved from room to room, unhurried, going about the evening's business. "We should really be more concerned with the current affair, that we should."
"Kenshin." Somehow, even with it flat against his skull from the pouring rain, Sano still managed to look meaningfully out from under his mane of hair. "Don't tell me y'went and fucked it up."
"No! Well. That is. One is… not entirely sure," Kenshin said weakly, heat rising in his face. "One's memories are somewhat…"
Sano convulsed with laughter, slamming his hand over his mouth to muffle it. A few chortles spilled out anyway and the retainer posted a few feet away from them looked curiously over. Onishi, that was his name: he had a pack of daughters, and his wife was pregnant with what they both devoutly hoped would be a son. Not that anyone had told Kenshin that; he'd picked it up from listening.
Kenshin waved at him to mind his own business, blushing furiously.
"It's not funny," he muttered furiously, glaring his so-called friend as he spluttered against the side of the building, "and one would think you'd see that – "
"No, it's funny alright." Sano gasped out. "All that fuckin' angst an' drama an' y'were so damn drunk ya forget it all – " He sobered, abruptly. "Unless y'think you mighta' done somethin', y'know…"
"No!" Kenshin said, a little too loudly. Onishi looked over at them again, clearly concerned. Kenshin ignored him, focused on reviewing what little he could remember of last night. He remembered standing outside her room, shoulder throbbing, and the scent of jasmine enveloping him as she opened the door. He'd told her – something… "One would remember such a thing, truly – unless – Sano, how drunk was I?"
Because he remembered two other things, two impossible things: he remembered her laughing, and that he'd run his fingers through her hair and why would he have touched her without her permission if he hadn't –
"Not that drunk," Sano whispered frantically, waving his hands in slightly panicked reassurance. "Shit, there ain't enough sake in Japan t'get ya that drunk – "
"Then why on earth would you bring it up?" Kenshin's eyebrow twitched dangerously.
"I dunno!" Sano rubbed the back of his neck. "Y'just seemed really worked up about it, is all, I thought maybe something bad had happened, shit. Y'are my friend, y'know."
Kenshin forced himself to relax, focusing on the absolute sincerity in Sano's face. Sano was his friend – his first, oldest, truest, only friend – and Sano didn't lie.
And he was on edge, if he was getting angry at Sano for being an insensitive clod. May as well be angry at the sun for rising, or the sea for tasting of salt.
"Sorry," he muttered, his irritation fading. "I'm sorry, Sano. One is – it's difficult."
"Yeah, I kinda got that." Sano punched his shoulder, lightly – we're still good, right? – and Kenshin let him, smiling wryly. Onishi was still staring at them, confusion and surprise written plainly on his face. Kenshin gestured for him to go back to standing watch, a little more sharply this time.
"It can't be that bad, right?" Sano continued. "I mean, she didn't like, try t'poison your tea this mornin' or anything, did she?"
"One wouldn't know," Kenshin said softly. Sano gave him another look, not quite disappointed; mostly just amused.
"Y'left before she woke up, didn'tcha?"
"Yes." Kenshin looked up towards the sky, reluctant, hoping the darkness hid the worst of his blush.
"Too embarrassed, huh?"
"Yes." He'd never been able to hide anything from Sano.
Sano snorted. "Maybe I should play go-between. Whaddya think?"
Kenshin's eyes widened and he choked on air, several horrifying visions playing out in his mind's eye.
"Sano," he squeaked out, "while one appreciates the offer, it is truly, truly beyond the obligations of friendship – "
Then he realized that Sano was snickering, again, and scowled. He was about to respond with some choice commentary on Sano's sense of humor when the shouting began from the other side of the estate. Kenshin snapped to attention, Sano tensing beside him; a second later, they were running, along with the rest of his men.
It was a melee: a mob of ragged men against his retainers, shouts echoing down the street as swords rang against each other like temple bells. The rain had the men fighting half-blind and made footing uncertain; some of the fighters were already down and being trampled underfoot. Sano plunged in without a second thought, barreling towards the thickest part of the brawl. Kenshin hung back for a moment, then pulled his sword from his belt.
He kept it sheathed.
It was too risky, drawing in this crowd. There was the possibility of harming his own men. In battle, he'd always been sent among the enemy without backup or escort, so there was no danger of killing anyone who shared his banner. It wasn't that he didn't trust himself, exactly, but battle and bloodlust could make fools of anyone and even if he did everything right, there was always the chance that someone else would make a critical error.
The men they were fighting bore no crests, he noted clinically. They were trained fighters, and there were a great deal of them – more spilling in from the cross-streets as they fought – and they moved as though they had orders. Yet none of them pressed onwards to the manor proper, almost as if –
"Sano!" he shouted, realizing what was happening. "It's a distraction!"
Sano whipped his head around, nodded, then picked up a large thug and threw him bodily into the manor wall. The scrum parted and Kenshin darted down the opening and over the manor walls, racing for the inner quarters and praying that he wasn't too late.
He was.
As with Sir Narita, there was no sign of a disturbance. Only Sir Yoida's body and the pool of blood seeping from his neck to stain the papers he'd been holding in his hand, the papers that had scattered when he'd toppled to the floor. His legs were still bent; he'd been kneeling at his desk when it happened. No resistance.
Kenshin put his sword away, fingers numb. So. He'd failed.
"Dear!" A woman's voice in the hallway, high and frightened. Sir Yoida's wife, he realized. And he was consumed, suddenly, by one thought: that he couldn't let her see. "Dear, are you alright? Answer me!"
He turned and put out one arm, blocking her way in and hopefully her view of the crime.
"Madame Yoida," he said, as carefully as he could. "Please, m'am, one is certain he would not want you to see – "
Madame Yoida ignored him, panic in her eyes, and pushed past his arm; he pulled her away too late, too late to stop her from seeing, just as he'd been too late to stop her husband's death. She froze in his grip, staring, and fell slowly to her knees.
"…Hayato…" she whispered, her hand covering her mouth. "No. Oh, no…"
"I'm sorry," he said, hating himself for having nothing else to say. "I'm so terribly sorry."
She wrapped her arms around her waist and crumpled, keening. He watched helplessly, his useless hands heavy at his sides.
Sir Yoida's own guards caught up quickly. The chief retainer understood the situation at once and ordered a handful of the guards to escort Madame Yoida away. She went, leaning heavily on her escort, and seemed too old for her years. Kenshin stood quietly to one side as the other guards cleaned the blood from the floor and arranged the body in a more dignified pose. The youngest was sent to alert the corpse-handlers.
Finally the chief retainer bowed deeply to his former master one last time and stood, face still and emotionless as a theatre mask.
"Lord Himura," he said, and his voice was too neutral: like a good samurai, he was hiding what he felt. "Do you require anything?"
Kenshin closed his eyes for a moment. "Were there any probable witnesses?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"No, my lord." The retainer shook his head. "Sir Yoida preferred to keep his private chambers free of guards. Whoever did this penetrated our perimeter without alerting anyone."
"Ah." Kenshin licked his lips, trying to think past the stone in his gut. "Nonetheless, one should wish to question the men on duty tonight. Perhaps there was something…"
He couldn't think of a way to finish the sentence that didn't insult the man's competence.
"Perhaps there was something," he said again, knowing that he was grasping at straws.
"Of course." Nothing in the retainer's face or eyes betrayed what he might be feeling, and Kenshin felt, somehow, that it would be discourteous to read the man's soul at a time like this. "When do you wish to question them, my lord?"
"Tonight, please, if it's at all possible. Before memories fade." He hesitated for a moment, then bowed. "Please – accept one's sympathies for your loss. And my sincere apologies that it was not prevented."
The retainer returned his bow, politely enough. "You are too kind," he said automatically. "If my lord will care to follow me to the usual receiving room, this lowly self will gather the men for questioning."
The sky was grey with an incipient dawn when Kenshin was done. There had been no witnesses, nor had anyone seen anything useful. The few fighters from the mob who had been captured didn't know anything; they were hired muscle, nothing more, and hired by different people at that.
"My lord," Uramura bowed to him. "Should we put them to torture?"
"Wha – no!" Kenshin almost choked. "Your pardon – that is unnecessary, it is. They are not lying, that they're not. One would know," he said firmly. And he wasn't sparing them much – they would still most likely be sent to prison and thence to the execution grounds – but it was all he could do for them.
None of his men were dead, at least. Small mercies: he knew that there were several injuries, one or two of them severe, although he didn't know yet exactly who had been hurt. There hadn't been time to find out, so he'd told Uramura to send for however many doctors were necessary to ensure that the men were properly cared for.
"Lord Himura." Uramura was looking at him. Kenshin blinked at him, then realized that he'd said something.
"Your pardon – again – what did you say?"
"This lowly self only inquired if my lord has any further orders?"
"No…" Kenshin wracked his brain – what was left of it, anyway – trying to think through his bewilderment and the throbbing ache in his left shoulder. He'd never been shot before; it hurt much more than a sword wound, and for some reason he just couldn't ignore it the way he normally did. The pain was slow and dull and insanely present; it hadn't been that bad until the melee, but ever since then it had been a constant ache. Maybe he'd torn the stitches.
"No, one doesn't think there's anything left to be done here, that there's not," he said finally. "Send the men home – and yourself as well, one should think. Only, if you could have copies made of the testimonies taken tonight and see that one is given a set, that would be appreciated, that it would."
"Of course, my lord." Uramura bowed and started to leave. Then he hesitated. "My lord…"
"Yes?" Kenshin forced himself to smile politely, fighting back the urge to clutch at his burning shoulder. "Is something amiss, that is?"
"My lord – although it is not my place – my lord's shoulder – " Worry seemed to darken Uramura's eyes. "It does not seem to be healing well."
You should have a doctor look at it again. Just to be safe. Lady Kaoru's eyes, blue and clear as midnight as she stood in her doorway, the soft glow of the lantern casting her face into stark relief.
"…so one should," he said softly, remembering it again: the fleeting warmth of her skin, and the scent of jasmine clinging to his fingertips. She'd laughed. Something he'd said or done had made her laugh.
He was suddenly exhausted.
"Is the doctor still about?" he asked.
"Yes, my lord."
"Then one will seek his services, before one leaves. That I will."
And then he'd go home, and hope that he wasn't forgetting anything important.
The house was quiet when Kenshin got home; there was a low light burning in the front hall to welcome him, and a sleeping junior maid. He almost padded by her, to avoid disturbing her sleep, and then remembered that she was supposed to be awake to tend to him when he came home. So he made a soft noise instead and woke her just enough to dismiss her to her proper bed, making a note to inform the head maid that he wouldn't need anyone staying up past their bedtimes when business kept him out till an ungodly hour.
His shoulder was still throbbing. He'd meant to see the doctor, he truly had, only the doctor had been busy with the last of the men and his shoulder had started to feel better so it hadn't seemed worth it to bother him. And he'd wanted to go home. Sir Yoida's manor smelled of death and grieving and it was selfish and cruel, but he'd had enough. He wanted to go home, to where the Lady Kaoru was. Where there were laughing children instead of crying women.
Not his children, certainly; not his laughter. But it was enough, really, to be even just on the edge of her life. More than he'd ever thought to have again. And far more than he deserved.
Sano had declined an invitation to stop over at Kenshin's place, claiming that the excess of wealth gave him the creeps. There had been a cold, brooding sense to him when he said it and Kenshin had raised a polite eyebrow and stared until Sano admitted he was going to follow up some of his own leads.
"I don't trust anything about this," he'd said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I don't trust Hondo and I don't trust his monkey and shit, Kenshin, you can see for yourself how much this damn set-up stinks. So I'm gonna look into some things for ya. Unless that's a problem?"
"It's not," Kenshin had responded, blinking back another wave of exhaustion. "Only – be careful, Sano."
"Oh?" It'd been his turn to raise an eyebrow, then. "You startin' to see what's in front'a you?"
"One hardly knows what you're talking about," he'd said, suppressing a yawn, "not at this hour. But if you're implying that there's something unusual about the situation, one knew that as soon as it became clear that the attack was a distraction…"
"Good." Sano's eyes had glinted hard under his nearly-dried hair. The rain had let up slightly towards the dawn, slowing to a gradual, half-hearted drizzle. "Go home t'the missus, then. An' get someone t'look at that shoulder!"
He'd had to shout that last part, because Kenshin was already on his way.
The Lady Kaoru didn't seem to be awake. He hadn't expected her to be; he trod carefully past her suite on the way to the bathhouse, hoping to steal a towel and dry himself off a bit before he went to bed. He'd send for a doctor when he woke up. The shoulder had made it just fine so far, it would make it for another few hours.
He ran into his wife on the way.
She was dressed in practice clothes and sweat was drying on her brow in the cool morning air. So she hadn't been asleep. She'd been training.
"Good morning, honored wife," he said, ducking his head as he passed and trying not to stare. It was hard, though: seeing her like this made him remember when he'd found her in the practice hall, eyes blazing as she struck again and again. He'd wanted her then; he wanted her now, wanted all of her, even if her fire scorched him beyond bearing. "Excuse me…"
"My lord husband – wait."
He turned to face her, plastering a genial smile on his face. "Yes?"
"Your shoulder." She nodded towards it. "You didn't get it looked at, did you?"
Her voice was too firm, betraying her anxiety, and her eyes slid to one side rather than meet his. Her jaw tensed and her throat worked, as though she was trying to speak and not finding the words.
He started to rub his neck, winced, and thought better of it.
"Well, it was a rather busy night, so it was…"
And then she was suddenly in front of him, staring determinedly at the wound, and her hands were reaching towards him and he pulled back, reflexively, because he could feel her and smell her skin – salt-sweat and fading jasmine – and it was too much. His breath caught.
"Let me see," she said quietly, and he forced himself to stillness as she carefully eased back the cloth of his kimono. He thought, vaguely, that he should be doing that himself; but all he could focus on was the drape of her ponytail down her back and the memory of her heated skin against his fingertips.
She sucked in a frightened breath when she saw the wound. He avoided looking at it, or her, staring fixedly over her head and counting the squares on the shoji.
"Honored husband – "
"It's alright, so it is," he said, backing up and pulling his sleeve up over his shoulder. "It will keep."
"It will not," she said sharply, and stared at him for a long moment. Her eyebrows drew down in a look of fierce concentration, but he couldn't begin to guess why; he only knew that she was struggling with something, that some resolution was being made behind her bright blue eyes, and that he had no say in whatever she might ultimately decide. Nor should he.
Then she nodded, once, and pointed to the bathhouse.
"Get in there and sit down," she said briskly. "I'll be back in a minute; someone needs to look at that wound right now."
"That's hardly necessary – " he started to object, heartbeat picking up speed, and she cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"Don't argue, okay?"
She turned on her heel and marched off. He stared after her, poleaxed. His hand fell slowly from where it had been clutching his shirt and he swallowed hard, pulse throbbing in his temples so harshly that it hurt. Because this was – impossible, an impossible thing, that she would act this way, to him, like they were almost friends, as if his health mattered to her –
Impossible. Yes. As impossible as the memory of her laughter, as impossible as his fingers' light touch on her skin.
He went into the bathhouse and settled himself on the bench in the changing room, hardly daring to hope. And for a few minutes, he thought he had been wrong: then he heard her light, careful tread on the steps and his heart leapt into his throat.
She pushed the door open with one hand, carrying a small kit in the other, and knelt on the bench next to him.
"Turn," she ordered. "I need a better look at your shoulder."
He obeyed, completely dazed. She slid his collar down again and he felt cool metal against his skin as she cut through the bandages.
"You have medical training?"
"Some," she said off-handedly, focused on her work. "Enough to get by. Father insisted…"
He winced as she began to peel the cloth away; it was sticking to his skin. She smothered a small cry as it came loose.
"Is it that bad?" he asked, blinking. He didn't smell wound-rot…
"Well, it's not infected," she said, voice carefully even. "But you haven't changed the bandages, have you?"
"…oro…" He had meant to. He distinctly recalled meaning to. But so much had happened… "…no. One's mind was on other things."
"I see," she said grimly, and he studied the wall rather than her face. "This is going to feel a bit strange. Bear with it."
And she began to clear out the bandages that had packed the wound. It hurt – not the worst pain he'd ever felt, but it was a strange kind of pain, a release of pressure that he hadn't realized was there. There was a splat of liquid-heavy cloth on the wooden floor, and then she turned aside and rummaged in her kit. He kept his breathing steady, allowing the pain to become a part of him, simply another obstacle to overcome.
"Don't move," she instructed, giving a small bottle a quick shake. "This might sting a little."
It stung a lot. He didn't move. A few more minutes of poking and prodding and one memorable scrape later and she was done. Then she unwound a long strip of bandages and folded them neatly, preparing to pack and wrap the now-clean wound.
She was gentle; as gentle as she could be given the work she was doing, and he'd had enough wounds treated to know the difference. Her eyes never left her work, even when he finally gathered the courage to look down at her instead of studying the wood grain in the far wall. She looked utterly absorbed in what she was doing, her blue eyes darkened to a shade like the sea at midnight and he thought for one selfish, vertiginous moment that he should kiss her, when she was done; he should take light hold of her elbow as she turned to put the medicines away and thank her, softly, before pressing his lips to hers. That maybe if he did, she would welcome it: she would learn into it, warm and shy, and he would tangle his fingers carefully in her hair.
But it was only a moment before he came to his senses. This kindness – this was enough, that she cared even this much, even if it was only on principle. There was no point in wanting more. He would take what she offered and that was all. It was already more than he was entitled to.
"Thank you," he said when she was done, because he had been raised to have manners. She closed the lid of her kit.
"Go lie down," she said firmly. "You've got bags under your eyes – you need to rest. Don't put any weight on that shoulder. I'll send for a doctor today – and when the maid comes in with your breakfast, you eat it, understand?"
"…yes m'am," he said meekly, entirely chastened under the sheer force of her glare.
"Good." She brushed her hair back over her shoulder. "I'd like to take a bath now, if you don't mind."
As he left the bathhouse, he thought he heard her mutter something about instincts and annoying fox-women with too-clever eyes; but he was tired and his shoulder ached with clean, healing pain, so he didn't wonder any more about it.