Sometimes, when I sleep, I cede my body to that other. It happens even to this day. You may have heard me, on occasion, for my consciousness is thrust into waking whenever I fight for control.

In my dreams, I am a spectator. Hands that are mine, arms that are mine; they move with damning surety. And my weapon is a katana. The sakabatou does not belong here. There is no need.

I am a spectator, and yet I am also so aware. With every fatal thrust or killing stroke there is not a flinch or hesitation. I never falter.

Heads fall, bodies are severed at limbs, torsos; in half! The smell is coppery, bitter, acrid, visceral. My hands are covered in it, but this is of no consequence. All stains can be washed away.

In the moment, I am focused on one thing only. The katana is no longer restrained and it takes over. In the dark I know its feel, its exact length and shape, the way it meets air, wind, cloth, tissue and bone with the least resistance. The tsuka moulds to my grip like a second skin and the blade becomes as much a part of me as my evenly beating heart.

A steady pulse, which quickens only with every clean, measured, savage blow. These movements, drilled into me through thousands of repetitions, are like drawing breath. This is the technique's purpose, realised. And in that, there is a chilling satisfaction.

I recoil in horror, willing the body to stop, wishing I did not feel this way. For that other is me. I use my strength, pushing forward with teeth clenched, because there is nothing that can overcome me…

NO!

Every fibre of my being screamed it. My eyes snapped open. My katana was free, and several things inside me fought at once. To finish, to follow through, was the natural reflex.

Yet I brought up my other hand and pushed her away, sending her tumbling to the floor. The sharp edge of the blade bit into my arm guard and I stopped just short of severing my own wrist.

Her scent was all around, tormenting me.

How could you?

It had saved her. I gasped, and the katana wobbled in my grip, which had become loose and greased with sweat. Yet I never dropped the blade.

The possibility of what might have happened flooded through me, and I trembled, unable to choke back deep, heaving breaths. My pulse hammered.

What the hell had I done? Guilt transformed into self-loathing.

"I'm sorry," I choked, unable to look at her. I couldn't bear to see that expression of fear, coming from her. She said nothing, and silence stretched between us, punctuated only by my own rasp as I gulped for air. The folds of my gi clung to my skin, now clammy. I felt as if I were being suffocated.

She would despise me now. It was not what I had intended.

"I bragged that I would never kill a civilian and now look at me." Bitterness had crept into my voice. "If you had come any closer, I would have…"

I couldn't bring myself to say it. It horrified me too much. I shrunk back, unable to bear her scrutiny. My body felt week and limp, the life-force sucked from it.

You have every reason to fear me.

There was a light scuff, the sound of her feet on the tatami, and I was sure she was leaving. But when I looked up, she stood before me, a blue scarf in her hands.

The sight pierced through me. She had seen me, asleep, with the window open. I became aware of the cold morning air; it dried the sweat on my face. She had wanted to cover me, to keep me warm.

I cursed those instincts within me that found danger at every turn. They had already cost me.

Still, she edged closer, her liquid brown gaze meeting mine, revealing no trace of fear. Despite the fact that only moments ago, I had held my blade to her throat. She dropped the scarf into my lap and I stared down at that intense blue, the colour of an iris blossom.

I didn't know what to think. I was bewildered, lost.

What she said then was the last thing I expected.

"Let me stay here for a while." There was something in her voice I had never heard before; I couldn't fathom what it meant. "What you need now is a sheath, to hold back your madness."

She is not afraid of me.

I could not speak. The idea of Tomoe wanting to stay with me was too absurd. But as I looked into her eyes, I believed her. I realised my heart was still beating too fast.

An emotion swept through me; I had never felt this before, but it was something I recognised. It astonished me with its ferocity.

For I knew with certainty that I would give my life for this girl.

"You asked me before whether I would have killed you, had you had a sword." My voice cracked as I spoke, the words low, barely audible. Tomoe's face was smooth and expressionless, belying the intensity of her ki just then. It struck me that she already knew the answer to her question.

"I could never do that. Not to you…" I trailed off, clutching the scarf. My hands no longer trembled.

When I looked up again, she was gone.

Kenshin was doing it again, that thing where he looked down, his eyes masked behind his long fringe. But Kaoru could see the set of his jaw as he talked, and the way that every so often, one of the hands resting in his lap would tense, just slightly.

That was it. Apart from the cadence of his voice, which was laden with years of unspoken feeling, there was no display of emotion.

She had been afraid when he spoke of killing, of the night-visions that still tormented him. She had seen glimpses of darkness in him before, and it had terrified her. His words only served to confirm what she had always known. There was a part of Kenshin that was capable of such things.

It was wrong to think of the Kenshin they knew and this other he spoke of as two separate entities. They were inextricably linked.

That was what had kept him from killing Tomoe.

Kaoru recognised all too well the fierce, protective tone in Kenshin's words as he had come to his conclusion.

I could never do that. Not to you…

But she had caught a different impression when, after that statement, he had paused, his shoulders slumped. He seemed to tremble, and took a moment to compose himself.

Oh, Kenshin.

Was this the echo of a broken promise? This Tomoe… what had she done, to force Kenshin's hand?

Kaoru found herself caught in time, not wanting to hear what he would say next, but needing to. She could not help this feeling of dread, which been growing with every word. And with the doubt came guilt, for her trust had somehow become a fragile thing.

Have I… misjudged you?

Before this night was over, she would truly know the man who sat beside her.

Author's note: Yup, it is definitely exam time again, because what else would I be doing during study week but writing? I'm sorry it's been a long time; I've been doing a bit of overseas travelling and schooling and soforth.

This chapter is also a bit of a shortie, but I felt this particular incident needed to stand alone.

And just to get off topic, I thought I'd share this site: tvtropes. org/ pmwiki/ pmwiki. php/ Main/ RurouniKenshin (remove spaces), which provided me with a bit of entertainment. Ah, the dedication of fans.