And so we get to the heart of the angst. Here it goes, people, the beginning of... well, it's more the middle than the end, but it's still gonna be one heck of a ride.
Thank you to all those who have left feedback on this story: kokoronagomu, Emi Violet, Leina, donhisiewen, chizuru, t42n24t2, Inuchron, geckohawaii, broomclosetkink, skenshingumi, thebestIcan, and OffCenterFold.
Also, because I haven't done it in a while: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin. Or the awseome song Hallelujah, as performed by Kate Voegele. That song, along with The Band Perry's If I Die Young can be considered background music for the next few chapters. And if those tidbits are spoilerish for you, clearly my foreshadowing skills need work.
Please, enjoy!
Hiko led him into the house, pausing long enough to grab both of them cups of coffee. His face was very grim, and Kenny had an awful sense of foreboding. What was going on?
They went to a wing of the castle Kenny hadn't been in before, a quiet and empty set of rooms. They paused before a pair of tall, closed mahogany doors.
"Now she's fragile," Nielson said. "I'm not going to sugar coat it for you. She's very sick—dying. She doesn't have long left, so you're not to upset her or disturb her. If she's asleep we're going to turn around and walk right back out. Do you understand?"
"Who?" Kenny asked, his gut twisting into knots. "Who is she?"
Hiko's features softened fractionally, into something that might have been compassion, and he said, "Tabitha. Tomoe."
Kenny felt frozen, rooted to the fleur-de-lis carpet. His breath was coming faster, and the hallway seemed to be spinning.
Tomoe?
A thousand images and memories assaulted him: a blood-stained umbrella, the line of a woman's wrist with the sleeve of her kimono drawn back, a diary in fine handwriting, the scent of hakubaiko, a breathy moan in the dark….
His nails bit into the skin of his palms as he tried to ground himself. Time running out… dying…
Dying? His Tomoe?
No! Not again!
Taking a few deep breaths that didn't seem to get him enough air, Kenny said, "How? What happened?"
"About a year ago I diagnosed her with terminal liver cancer," Hiko said. "It probably metastasized from her gallbladder. It's nearly impossible to find before the disease is incurable. At that time I gave her ten months."
"No," Kenny breathed.
"I'm afraid so," Hiko said. His voice was not unkind. "It happens sometimes when people are very ill. They hang on until the person they're waiting for can let them go."
Horrified, Kenny stared at him, throat too thick to speak.
"Do you want to see her?" Hiko asked like there was some kind of question.
Does the earth want to see the sky?
Kenny put his hand on the door latch and pushed it down.
The scene on the other side was heart wrenching. The room was full of diagnostic equipment, like an all-too-familiar hospital cubicle, but it was open, bright and airy. A large bed with a lilac patchwork quilt took up most of the area across from the door, under a tall east-facing window. Occupying the bed was a young woman, quietly reading a book.
She was paler, to be sure, and much too thin, and her hair was very short, framing a face with deep-sunken, bruised eyes; but she was there, gloriously alive with that same sweet, faint, melancholy smile on her mouth. It was Tomoe.
Tomoe. He mouthed her name, unable to speak it, unable to believe she was alive.
Somehow, though, she heard it. Her face lifted from the book (a thick, well-worn volume of leather) and her eyes lit on him.
He was pretty sure his heart stopped.
Her lips curved into a true smile, and the book dropped from her hands into her lap. Her arms lifted in a gesture of welcome, limp and shaking, but potent just the same, and her eyes lit up.
"Kenshin!"
And he buried his face in her breast, in her hug, and didn't care who or what he was, only that she was here and safe in his arms. "Kenshin, darling, I'm so glad…" she stroked his hair, then looked over his head. "Uncle Seijuro… thank you."
Hiko nodded. "I'll leave you two alone for a while." The door shut behind him with a click.
"I'm so glad you're here." Tomoe said.
"I wish I'd have come sooner," Kenshin said. "I could have been here—"
Tomoe shook her head, silky black bob swinging. "I told Uncle Seijuro not to tell you, and he agreed. You were in so much pain already… you didn't need my problems too."
He drew back, eyes blurring as he grasped her hand. The skin was so, so thin, like parchment paper, and as easy to tear. "But there's so much I want to tell you," he said desperately. "I need you."
Her hand came up to stroke his hair again, and the gesture was achingly familiar. "I have a little time left, love. It'll be alright. Shhh, darling, don't cry."
"Okay," he took a deep breath and swiped at his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I mean, I don't want—"
"I know," she said. "There is so much to say, I hardly know where to begin…"
"Start with yourself," Kenshin said. "Shishou… Shishou said you were sick?"
"Yes," Tomoe said. "I was diagnosed eleven and a half months ago. The cancer has moved to my stomach, my brain, and my lungs. But I'm not in any pain!" She assured him, seeing his horrified expression. "Uncle Seijuro makes sure of that."
"Isn't there anything we can do?" Kenshin asked. "Chemo, radiation, something?"
"It's spread too far," Tomoe said, angelically calm. That unbearable calm was beginning to make Kenshin feel a little frantic. "I have… a week, maybe a few days. Any drugs strong enough to kill the cancerous cells would kill all my other cells too."
"Oh," Kenshin said.
"Let's talk about something else," Tomoe said. "I'm tired, and there are things you need to understand."
Kenshin nodded. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her more pain.
"Oh, dear one…" she sighed. "Uncle Seijuro told me you were having problems adjusting." Her fingers traced over his cheekbones, light as a butterfly's wing. "You're so thin. You look almost as hollow as you did when you worked for Katsura."
Mutely, Kenshin nodded.
"Those dreams you're having do not mean you're insane," Tomoe said. "They're memories of the lives we've lived before. We all have them: me, Aoshi, Misao, Sano, Megumi, Yahiko, Uncle Seijuro… but most of us know that they are real. We had help with the hard times, and friends to support us. You didn't have any that. And of course, when you're dreaming, it doesn't seem like a dream at all."
"Does it ever stop?" Kenshin asked.
"According to Uncle Seijuro, most of us will have the majority of our former memories by the time we are twenty-one," Tomoe said. "Of course, some memories are closer than others. We think it has something to do with age. You're what, sixteen now? That means Ikedaya, Otsu, the Yaminobu, and your time as a free swordsman, right?"
Again, Kenshin nodded.
Tomoe coughed. "I'm sorry, could you get me a cup of water?"
Kenshin spotted a pitcher on the bedside cabinet and poured her a cup of something pale pink. Hands trembling, Tomoe took the plastic between both hands and took a few tiny sips. "Thank you," she said, setting the cup aside. Again Kenshin was struck by the appearance of her hands, how emaciated and bruised and elegant they were.
A warm smile lit her face. "I've missed you, you know."
Her head bobbed, and Kenshin realized she could hardly keep her eyes open. "You can go to sleep now, if you need to," he said. "I don't mind."
"Come closer," she said softly. "I haven't waited eight years for you to be stuck in a chair! Sit with me."
"But Shishou—"
"He won't tell me no on something as little as this," Tomoe said.
Oh so carefully, as tenderly as he could to avoid hurting her, Kenshin settled himself into the bed behind her, letting her sit between his legs. Kenshin wrapped his arms around her, noting with concern the clammy chill of her skin against his. Tomoe sighed and rested her head against his chest.
In the later days of their marriage, after the first bloom of lonely love had ripened into deeper trust, they had often sat like this, usually on cool autumn evenings as a pre- or postlude to lovemaking. They had shared warmth and companionship, and now it brought to Kenshin an indescribable sense of comfort. Gently, he pulled the quilt up over her skeletal shoulders.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice almost gone. "You should try to rest with me. When we wake, we'll talk."
"Whatever you want," Kenshin said. He leaned down almost unconsciously to breathe the scent of her hair—it was still hakubaiko.
Kenshin slept better than he had in years, and dreamed fleetingly of a happier time, in a little house in Otsu.
"They've been talking for hours," Sano complained, "And why're we stuck with waiter duty?"
Aoshi resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Sano," he said shortly, "If your beloved had only days to live, would you waste time eating?"
"Well," Sano shifted guiltily, "Guess not."
"And neither of them should be going without meals," Aoshi said. "Himura especially."
"Yeah, I know." Sano said. He lowered his voice, because they were nearing the door to Tomoe's room. "How do you think he'll take it?"
"Remember Rakinunmura?"
"Yeah?"
"Much, much worse."
Aoshi pushed the door open, interrupting the sound of soft laughter. Tomoe looked up with shining eyes, her countenance happier than Aoshi had ever seen her.
"Aoshi-kun!" she said. "Come in. We were just remembering some misadventures."
"Sounds like fun," Aoshi said, and set the tray of food Beth had bid him carry up on the little side table. As he did so, he thought he saw a little flash of irritation in Himura's eyes.
Jealous, are we? Aoshi thought. Well, I wouldn't want to share her either, if she were mine. Just remember, Himura, that you're not the only one having to sit back and watch her die.
"You guys need anything?" Sano asked. "I mean, I know you can send Kenshin to get whatever, but if you want I can go."
"I think we're good," Tomoe said. "I'll call you if we do, though. Promise."
Sano looked ready to stay and visit, so Aoshi said, "Alright. We'll be leaving, then." He sent a sharp glare the rooster-head's way to make sure he got the message.
They deserve every minute they've got.
"This looks pretty good," Kenshin said, lifting the cover from Tomoe's food. "There's soup, and a smoothie. Are you hungry?"
"Not really," Tomoe said. "Uncle Seijuro says it's a side effect of my pain medication. But he always wants me to eat, so…"
With a shrug, she delicately lifted her spoon.
Beth had sent bread and cheese and salad with Kenshin's tomato soup, but he was less interested in it than in talking to Tomoe.
"Those ballet slippers, up there on the wall—are they yours?"
"Yes," Tomoe said. "Eat your lunch and I'll tell you the story."
Obediently Kenshin took a nibble of bread.
"I decided I wanted to be a ballerina when I was six or seven years old, shortly after Uncle Seijuro acquired my guardianship," she paused for a bite of soup. "He warned me when he hired the teacher that if I chose to take lessons, I was going to have to stick with it. I had no idea that he'd take the threat so seriously!" She laughed, then coughed a bit. "After a couple weeks of practice, the novelty had worn off and I wanted to quit. He wouldn't let me.
"I cried, threw fits, sulked…" she grinned at Kenshin's shocked expression. "I'm told it's quite common in children of that age. Even the ones who grow up to be well-behaved." She took a sip of her smoothie. "He wasn't impressed, though—in fact it irritated him very much."
"Shishou, irritated?" Kenshin said. "Shocking."
"Very," Tomoe agreed solemnly. "Finally one day he took me aside in his office. I still remember that conversation.
"'I want to tell you a story,' he said, 'About a very ungrateful little girl who was given dance lessons and didn't want them.' I absolutely loved stories, so I was hanging on his every word. 'This little girl, though,' he said, 'Is really a princess in disguise.'"
Kenshin snickered.
"What's so funny?" Tomoe asked.
"I just can't imagine my master being that nice," Kenshin said. "When I was training he would have smacked me with his katana and told me to grow up."
"He's mellowed a lot, I guess." Tomoe said. "Anyway, he told me, 'The princess is waiting for a very special prince.' He described you in very flattering and unrealistic detail."
Kenshin laughed out loud at that, and Tomoe smiled back, blushing faintly. "Yes, well, at the time I was very taken with my redheaded prince in shining silver armor."
He shook his head, still amused.
"Uncle Seijuro told me that if I wanted my prince to come for me I had to be just as good and accomplished as I could," Tomoe said.
"Sounds like him," Kenshin agreed. "He always liked using guilt."
"True," Tomoe said, "but it did the job. I looked forward to my lessons the way most kids look forward to Christmas. I practiced all the time."
Kenshin smiled, imagining a little Tomoe in a miniature pink tutu.
"For years I wheedled details about you out of him," Tomoe said. "He never much liked to talk about you—I think it bothered him that out of all the kumi he'd gathered, he couldn't find the one that was most important to him."
"Yeah right," Kenshin rolled his eyed. "He was probably just embarrassed. I'm the baka deshi, remember?"
Tomoe gave an inelegant snort. "Don't be ridiculous."
Kenshin chose to let it go. "So where did the shoes come from?" he asked.
"Those," Tomoe said, and a touch of pride entered her voice, "Are the shoes I danced in during my tryouts the day I was accepted to the Russian Ballet Company."
"You were in the Russian Ballet Company?" Kenshin blurted. "You must be really good!"
"Hm," Tomoe said. "I guess. Don't let your soup get cold."
Taking a few bites, Kenshin asked, "Do you miss it?"
"Yes," Tomoe said softly. "Every day. I only quit because of my tumor."
Kenshin was trying to avoid that particular subject, so he asked, "What was your favorite part?"
"Traveling all over Europe was amazing," Tomoe said. "We danced in Moscow, London, Paris, Rome, Madrid, even once in America. And being surrounded by the culture of dance, all those professionals all the time, was an incredible experience. And I learned Russian in the bargain."
She let off a string of incomprehensible syllables.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I wonder about your life," Tomoe said. "About your interests, your childhood… how you got your scar." She traced the line on the left side of his face.
Kenshin shrugged. "It wasn't anything like… like the first time."
The unspoken words loomed between them: When I killed Akira Kiyosato. Kenshin didn't know what to say.
"It was a car accident," he muttered. "Drunk driver. Nobody died."
"Kenshin, I don't blame—"
Kenshin didn't think he could bear the pity in her eyes. "I'm sorry!" he burst out. "I didn't know you loved him, I was stupid, I didn't know! I didn't even want to kill him! I'm sorry, and I don't know how to make it better."
Tomoe didn't seem to know what to do; she was taken aback by his outburst. "Kenshin," she said. "I… I did… blame you. At first. But it was war, and you did what you what you had to do. He would have killed you if you hadn't been better."
Kenshin was taken aback. He'd honestly never thought of that.
"The past is gone," Tomoe said. "It can't hurt us anymore."
Kenshin shook his head. "It's not gone. I see it every night. I've watched you die every night for the last year."
"Oh…" Tomoe reached out and took his hand, her wasted fingers tightening on his. "I hoped when you read my journal you would understand. I was trying to save you."
"Why?" Kenshin asked raggedly. "I killed the man you loved. I… I killed you."
"I'd already lived through the death of the man I loved once," Tomoe said. "I was selfish. I couldn't stand to do it again."
Kenshin scrubbed his hands over his face. "Selfish? I don't think that word applies when you die to save someone else."
"Maybe," Tomoe said. "But you've always been so much stronger than I. You did what I could not—you lived instead of just existing. Which is why I should tell you…" she took a deep fortifying breath. "I have a DNR."
"A what?" Kenshin asked blankly. "Is that another disease?"
"No," Tomoe shook her head. "It's a legal document; stands for 'do not resuscitate' order. It means that when I stop breathing and my heart stops beating, I don't want CPR or a ventilator. I just want to go in peace."
"I don't understand," Kenshin said, creeping desolation in his heart. "If it'll help you live longer, why not?"
"Because there's no guarantee my mind would survive," Tomoe said. Her fingers plucked unhappily at a loose thread in her sheet. "I could just be an empty, breathing corpse. And it would prolong the pain." An empty look came into her eyes. "I don't think you realize how bad the pain is sometimes."
Kenshin instantly quashed his objections, guilty for upsetting her. Besides, it was already done, wasn't it? Tomoe had made her decision.
"Thanks for telling me," he finally said.
Tomoe's smile was warm, but there was a shadow of unshed tears in her eyes. "Thank you for understanding."
Kenshin nodded mutely, the lump in his throat not permitting him to speak.
After a moment in which they both regained their composure, they changed the subject to safe, mundane things: favorite foods, favorite books, hobbies, movies they'd both seen. It didn't smooth away the hurt, or gloss it over, but they were able to hide from it for a while; at least until Tomoe's voice gave out again.
The sun was setting now, painting the far wall orange; the eastern sky through the window reflected a blurred array of Impressionist color. Kenshin reached over and turned on the bedside lamp; it was getting close enough to twilight that Tomoe's face had fallen into shadow.
"Would you read to me?" She asked hoarsely.
"Sure," Kenshin said, "What do you want?"
"This," Tomoe's fingers brushed a thick book with a brown leather cover, turned soft as butter by years of handling and use. "The twenty-third Psalm, please."
It was a Bible. It took Kenshin a moment to find the right passage—his family wasn't particularly religious. He stumbled a bit over the archaic phrasing as he began to read.
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters.
"He restoreth my soul; and leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou annointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen."
Surreptitiously, Kenshin lifted his head to see what effect the reading had had on her.
Tomoe was fast asleep.
Carefully he set her book aside; it was obviously important to her. Then he curled up in the window seat for what he promised himself was only going to be a short nap.
As he drifted off, one phrase kept running through his head, sending a chill through his blood.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…
The shadow of death….
Kenshin woke to someone shaking his shoulder. His eyes blinked open, and he saw his master, whose face was creased in irritation.
"C'mon, up." Shishou said. "Tomoe-chan has to take some drugs now and she needs her privacy for a while."
Kenshin blinked sleepily and pulled himself to his feet. Beth was bent over Tomoe's bed, with a tray of syringes full of clear and yellow liquids at her elbow.
Tomoe smiled faintly at him. "Go on, sweetheart. It'll only be for a few minutes."
"I'll be right back," he promised.
Hiko snorted and hauled him out by his collar.
Kenshin waited until they were out of the room before he twisted and plucked at Shishou's hand. "I can walk!" He hissed.
"Sure," Shishou smirked and let him go.
Kenshin straightened his clothes irritably. They were scratchy and twisted from being slept in. "Did you need anything?"
"We need to discuss a few things," Shishou said.
"What?" Kenshin asked suspiciously. His stomach twisted in foreboding.
"Did Tomoe tell you about her DNR?" Shishou said.
"Yes," Kenshin said.
"Did she tell you about her prognosis?" Shishou continued.
"Yeah," Kenshin's mouth was dry and cottony. "She said… she only had a couple of weeks to live."
"It's more like three or four days," Shishou said. "She can't really eat or drink, and she has refused IV nutrition. Her liver and kidneys are shot to hell, and she's having seizure activity. She's very sick."
"I understand," Kenshin said tightly.
"But you were always slow on implications," Shishou said. "I'm not cruel enough to force you to stay away—"
"Just try it," Kenshin muttered.
Shishou shot him a sharp look. "But you do need to realize that she needs a lot of rest and help. You don't need to be taking up her time with your own problems. Capice?"
"I would never hurt her," Kenshin vowed. "Never."
"You may not do it on purpose," Shishou said. "But you're going to have to eat and sleep and take care of yourself if you don't want to worry her. I'm going to give you a prescription for a vitamin and a sleeping pill and I expect you to take them, understood?"
Kenshin glared. "Fine," he ground out. "I don't care what you want me to do—I'll do it. I just… want to stay with her."
Shishou nodded. "Then we understand one another. I'll arrange to have a cot put in and your meals sent up."
"—Thank you." Kenshin was startled by the gesture.
The door opened and Beth stuck her head out. "Kenshin, you can come in now. We're done."
Not waiting for further invitation, Kenshin went in and straight to Tomoe's bedside. She was pulling the neck of her hospital gown straight, and Kenshin thought he glimpsed some tubes coming out of her chest, just under her clavicle, but they disappeared under the lilac-patterned white cotton too quickly for him to be sure.
Beth brought breakfast, muesli and sausage for Kenshin and a protein shake for Tomoe. Tomoe used a remote to put on some soft jazz, and for a while they just sat quietly and listened, oddly peaceful.
"Is there anything you miss about the past?" Tomoe asked.
"Not a whole lot," Kenshin confessed. "The simplicity, I guess. People were too busy trying to survive to worry much about superfluous social issues."
Tomoe giggled. "'Superfluous social issues'?"
Kenshin's cheeks flamed. "It's true!"
"You sound like a college professor," she said.
Kenshin rolled his eyes. "Can you imagine me in college?"
Cocking her head, Tomoe looked genuinely concerned. "You don't plan to go?"
"Haven't thought about it much," Kenshin confessed. "I know what I was back in Meiji. I was…" shreds of memory came to him. Laundry, the kitchen, the backwards sword… "Kind of a vigilante housekeeper, I guess. You don't need a college degree for that."
"Who says you have to be the same as you were then?" Tomoe argued. "You could be a photographer, or get a business degree if you wanted. Art history. Anything."
Kenshin shrugged. "I guess."
"What do you want to do?" Tomoe pressed.
"I don't know," Kenshin admitted. "I… I want to help people, I guess."
"Of course you do," Tomoe's voice was already growing raw again. "Sorry," she murmured hoarsely, "But I don't think I can visit much more…"
"I can read to you, if you want," Kenshin offered.
Tomoe nodded wordlessly, and reached for the built-in bookcase beneath her side table. She pulled out a worn, heavily creased paperback.
Kenshin couldn't help but grin as he opened to the first page. She'd picked one of his favorites.
"Concerning Hobbits…."
Kenshin read for the better part of two hours. Tomoe sat with her eyes closed, her hand resting on his knee, to all appearances sound asleep; but whenever he paused she would open her eyes and give him a soft, reassuring smile.
He stopped occasionally to wet his throat, but had been reading for the better part of two hours when he felt her shaking his knee.
Thinking she was trying to get his attention, Kenshin glanced up, a smile on his lips as he prepared to offer an amusing commentary on the last paragraph.
Tomoe's eyes were rolled back in her head so that only the whites showed, and her back was arched off the bed like a bow. She was trembling, and her mouth worked spasmodically. She was turning an ugly shade of blue.
Frozen for half an instant, Kenshin stared, paralyzed, then he stumbled over to the call button Beth had shown him last night. He punched it, saw the little green light come on, and gabbled, "Beth, help! Something's wrong with Tomoe—I think she's not breathing!"
"I'm coming!" The intercom went off.
Kenshin knelt helplessly beside Tomoe, her shaking growing more pronounced. Every muscle in her body was extended, skin stretched so tightly over knuckles it was sure to break, the tendons in her neck standing out like ropes.
Beth burst through the door, took in the situation at a glance, and went to the little medication cabinet. "Hold her head," she directed. "Don't try to keep her still, just protect her head from banging into anything!"
Kenshin scrambled up to Tomoe's head, gently cradling her jaw in his palm. Beth grabbed four pre-filled syringes and yanked down the neck of Tomoe's gown, exposing two lines that went into her chest above her breast. She expertly pushed all four in rapid order; Tomoe's painful shakes began to lessen and quiet after the administration of the third, and an instant later she took a shallow, rattling breath, and a tinge of flesh-color came back into her ivory-blue cheeks.
"It was a seizure," Beth said, fixing the neck of Tomoe's gown and smoothing her sweat-damp bangs back from her forehead. "She'll probably sleep for a while now."
"What… what happened?" Kenshin asked, his mouth dry. "Is it something I did?"
"Oh, no." Beth sat heavily on Tomoe's bed. "It's the tumor in her brain—it's pressing on the nerves and making them go off in ways they shouldn't. There's nothing we can do, other than the Valium I just gave her."
"Does this happen a lot?" Kenshin asked. He'd never felt so helpless before in his life, and the sight of her pain had brought back ugly memories.
"More and more often," Beth sighed. "Up to two or three times a day, now."
"Does it…" Kenshin swallowed hard. "Does it hurt?"
"She doesn't even remember it, usually." Beth said. "Small blessings."
Small. Right. Kenshin thought bitterly.
"Why don't you go get a shower and change clothes?" Beth said. When Kenshin opened his mouth to protest, she said, "I'll call Aoshi to come and sit with her, okay?"
Kenshin took the fastest shower of his life, brushed his teeth, and pulled on the very first thing that came to hand. He sprinted all the way back to Tomoe's room, terrified of missing something.
The sickroom, however, was just as he had left it. Aoshi was sitting on a stool at Tomoe's side, hands clasped and head bowed. Kenshin sank heavily into the chair opposite him, and for a time they were both quiet.
"Do you plan to stay for a while?" Kenshin finally asked.
Aoshi glanced up, and Kenshin saw a mirror for his own pain in distant green eyes. "She is like a sister to me," he said finally. "I would like to stay with her, yes."
And they were silent again.
