Epilogue

"Where from?" Saito snapped at the officer who had quietly placed a package on his desk. He had a stack of paper work to do added to the fact that it had been a very disagreeable day, and did not want to go through the hassle of tackling a mystery box that he could just as easily ask one of his men to open for him.

"From Marseilles, in France," came the quick reply. The younger man bowed and instantly excused himself from the stark office.

Saito put down his pen, careful not to upset the inkpot. It would not do to agitate himself even more than he already was. Honing one's gatotsu skills in the police station was not a very healthy practise, after all. He passed his eyes over the small, Manila paper-wrapped bundle. France. It had been some time since the troupe left, and he had not heard of them since autumn. He undid the strings, lifting out a very familiar puzzle box. As he did so, a page of closely written Japanese fluttered onto his desk.

Dear Lieutenant Fujita,

Forgive me for not having been able to properly thank you for the flowers you have sent through Himura-san. I would like to do that now. Clara has been instructing me in Japanese so that I may write to you, and this letter does make me feel so accomplished! It is the little I can do to repay you for your kindness.

Your country is constantly in my thoughts. It reminds me of the time I spent there, of the friends I made...and of you. I trust that everyone is well. There will be no more opportunity for us to meet again, in this life, or in the next, but I hope this letter will help keep me in your memory.

I write to thank you, and also to say sayonara. By the time this letter reaches you, I am gone and buried. Yet while I was with you, you made me think that I could live forever, that if I just fought very hard, I would win. And I did. Thank you, Monsieur.

This will be a very short letter, but before it is concluded, I suppose I must explain why I sent you the puzzle box you taught me to solve. I had finally done as you did, and out popped the lid. I wanted to show you sooner, but circumstances did not allow, so I thought I could wait until now.

Once again, I thank you for all that you have done. I am forever indebted to you,

Corinne.

The box was still there on the table, waiting to be opened. It didn't take long before Saito was upon it, going through the remembered motions until a small pop exposed its secret inner space. Inside was a dried rose in half-bloom, the pink of its crisp petals still there. He shut it again and barely knowing what he was doing, grabbed the parcel and escaped the police station with barely a passable excuse.

His mind emptied the moment he shut himself inside his house. Strange when he found that he had never again gotten used to the silence of his empty abode, subconsciously thinking that one day, he'd return home and hear her hurrying down the steps to greet him. His eyes travelled to the neat little dining room in the far corner, and he realized with a pang that the wooden tub in the sink would never be used for washing muddy dresses and ink-stained uniforms again.

In agonizingly slow motions Saito entered his house proper, noticing for the first time in months the absence of tiny wooden clogs and beat-up pink satin dancing shoes in the foyer. As the stairs creaked under his weight, he thought of the mornings spent untangling long, tangled hair, but just could not be thankful that he need never go through the ordeal again.

The quiet sliding of the shoji door was a little reassuring. She will be here, for sure, he told himself, but her old room was bare except for a writing table set in the middle of the area. His writing table, he had to remind himself.

Standing alone, blankly staring at the four walls of his room, he wondered where she could have run off. She wasn't at the dojo, nor was she at home. She wasn't even on the street near the sweet shop the last time he checked. Finally he sat down. Engulfed in stupefaction, a sudden blow of numbness hit him. He felt something that can only be called remorse, an emotion he had never before encountered.

"So. She'll never be here again."

Somehow, saying it out loud just made it all seem so painfully real, so much of something that had to be dealt with. He bowed his head and sighed, thinking of his poor little self and his poor little house that never more was to be filled with laughter and the candid prattling of pure nonsense.

Gone forever.

But through his distress, he failed to notice the cherry trees blooming outside, the street musician cranking up lively tunes as little children danced around their mothers, and the babies laughing at the world and all its caprices. He thought only of the heaviness that weighed him down, unsure when it will be lifted, or if it ever will be. A gust of wind sent a blossom floating into the chamber, settling before the man and making him start in surprise. He picked it up and glanced out towards its source. That little voice he never understood in life, he did now in death.

I never really left.

A/N: We have come to the end of this short and sorry tale. All the same, please leave a review, if that's not too much of a bother. I'll make this short, so as not to wreck the mood and all. Oh, disclaimer: This is the end already. Everybody should know by now that Ruroni Kenshin/ Samurai X can never belong to me...oh, how sad...

For the last time (in this story, anyway, so those who found my A/N annoying, don't rejoice yet!),

Tibbits. Signing out.