Chapter 19
Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea.
He died in an unfamiliar place, and my happiness vanished with him. I was not smart enough to keep him close so that my happiness would never leave. But it was my fault. It was my fault, because I never told him how much I loved him as he was. If I'd only had the courage then...The more I thought about it, the more I felt I had to hate someone...anyone...or I would go insane. So I plotted with others to bring about your destruction. I am that kind of woman.
And yet...you say...you say you will protect me.
He traveled to Kyoto to impress me, because I made him think he needed to be more than he was.
When he died...I knew that I had lost everything that I had ever wanted. He was murdered because I was too foolish to understand something so simple. I hated you so that I would not turn that hatred inward. I tried hard to hate you enough to make me take your life in revenge.
But I...
My heart has changed like the seasons. Just as you have changed from an assassin to a husband.
Last year, you caused my heart to close itself off from the world. Now it has become full again. I tell myself that I have no right to be happy with the man who killed my love, even if he is the man who taught me to love again.
But Kiyosato died thinking I did not love him enough, and I will not make that mistake again.
The heart can forget tragedy when it is replaced with such deep devotion.
The greatest tragedy is that I cannot give these thoughts to you with my voice. I can only write them.
My love for you will not be enough to change the consequences of your actions.
You once destroyed my only happiness. But now you have given me a new hope.
Farewell. Farewell to you, my second love.
She loved him.
She loved him.
She loved him.
Enishi clutches the aged journal in his hands, fighting back tears of despair and anger. It has taken him nearly two days to read the entire book; two days in which storms have pounded his island and the group that came to save their friend has been forced to stay in his mansion. They are here now, these people who would take her away from Enishi; but he cannot think or care about that now. His onee-sama's last entry lashes out at him, the words running in circles around his comprehension as he struggles to make sense of what he has learned.
She loved him.
No. There has been a mistake. This is not his onee-sama's journal. It is a forgery, that is the only explanation. This is all a lie orchestrated by that damn Okashira to distract him.
And yet -
And yet...this is his onee-sama's handwriting. He would recognize it anywhere. This is her writing; these are her words writing on this paper that is both tearstained and bloodstained. Onee-sama wrote this. And that means...
That means onee-sama really did love the Battousai.
That means onee-sama really did die to protect the Battousai.
It wasn't murder; it was suicidal sacrifice.
Blood and snow and the smell of white plums. Purple and white and the spreading stain of scarlet.
The Battousai slicing through onee-sama as though she were butter.
Onee-sama's blood staining the Battousai's hands as he holds her in his arms while she dies.
Enishi flings the journal away from him with a cry of anguish, sending it skidding into a corner of his office. In an instant he bolts from the room, not caring if any of his unwanted house guests see him; running blindly with no destination even as he races out of his mansion. He wants to outrun the terrible thing he has finally realized. He wants to outrun the vision of onee-sama's body in the Battousai's arms as he weeps over her. He wants to outrun the crushing sense of lonliness that threatens to consume him.
He finds himself on the beach, the sand still stained with the blood of Heishin and his four bodyguards. It is raining heavily, and the sea stretched out before him is rolling and tossing angrily. The row boat on the beach is in danger of being washed away, but Enishi does not care. He fists his hands into his white hair and screams and screams and screams until his voice gives out on him, and then he stands there with his mouth gaping in silence as lightning cuts a jagged path across the the skies and thunder pounds against his eardrums. His nerves pulse and bulge just underneath the skin, and every drop of rain is like a thousand icy needles piercing him. The wind pounds at him; he staggers, drops to his knees in the wet sand as the storm rages around him.
He realizes that he is screaming again, bashing his fists into the sand and screaming for his onee-sama. Why did she leave him? Why did she throw her life away for the Battousai? Why could she not have lived for Enishi, when Enishi loved her so much and needed her more than anything else in the world? Why wasn't he good enough for her love?
Why, why, why?
Enishi is weeping now, weeping as he pounds his fists into the ground harder and harder until the skin over his knuckles breaks and bleeds. Weeping as his screams die and depression creeps into the edges of his soul. Weeping as he realizes that the last fifteen years of his life have been lived for the sole purpose of avenging onee-sama's death, and there had never been anything to avenge in the first place. Weeping as he realizes that his life is meaningless.
He is alone.
He is alone, without a purpose, and without a single person in the entire world who cares for him.
I wish I were dead. I wish I had died as a child in Shanghai.
Onee-sama. Tell me what I should do now. Tell me what to do!
He flinches violently when arms wrap around him from behind. Hurting, angry, Enishi jerks from those arms and whirls.
Zetsumei Kurohyou is kneeling there in the sand, her body and clothing soaked with rain. Her arms are still outstretched, as though to pull him back into her embrace. Her emerald eyes make him flinch again, so filled are they with pain and understanding.
She speaks, and Enishi has to strain to hear her voice over the crash of thunder as lightning lights up the sky.
"You told me two nights ago not to pull away. You asked me to sit where I was and accept your comfort. I did so. Please do the same for me now."
"She loved him!" Enishi blurts, yanking his fists inward to cross his arms over his chest. He wants so badly to do as she says, to fall into her arms and weep until he runs out of tears. He aches to be held by her, to recieve her comfort. But it would be pity, wouldn't it? Pity that caused her to seek him out, to offer that comfort in the first place? He doesn't want her pity. How can she ever understand even a fraction of what Enishi is going through?
There is a long pause, broken only by the sounds of the pouring rain and the rumble of thunder overhead. There is much water on the woman's face, and he wonders if all of it is from the rain. She shifts towards him; one hand gently brushes over one clenched fist.
"He loves her."
He loves her. Loves, not loved as in past tense. He loves her. Onee-sama has been dead for fifteen years, and Battousai...
He loves her.
And then Enishi understands how this woman can offer him comfort for this terrible pain that is eating at his insides. Zetsumei Kurohyou loves the Battousai - and she thinks that the Battousai still loves onee-sama, even after all this time.
She feels the same as I do. She is hurting the same as I am. This isn't pity; this is sympathy. She understands exactly how I feel, because she has felt the same way before. She feels the same way now.
His arms shoot out and he grabs her, yanking her to his chest and burying his face in her sopping wet hair. He wraps his arms tightly around her as the sobs begin again, clutching her to him; afraid she will leave him too if he lets her go. He holds onto her as tight as he can and cries like a babe.
He barely registers when her body - which went rigid when he grabbed her - relaxes slightly. He shakes harder when her arms move to embrace him loosely, one around his back while the other goes higher so that she might run her fingers through his hair. Even soaked to the bone from the rain, Enishi feels as though warmth is radiating off of this woman to soothe him as best she can. He clutches her tighter and cries harder.
"Please don't leave me!" Enishi eventually begs, digging his fingers into the back of the woman's gi. "Please don't leave me alone again! Please don't!"
He has only a moment to remember that he shouldn't be begging her for anything in Chinese, which of course she might not know, before she speaks again.
"I will not go anywhere for the moment," she replies in flawless Chinese. "But when the storm passes I will return to Tokyo with the others."
Enishi stiffens, dread at the thought of losing her pumping adrenaline into his veins. Terrified at the prospect of being abandoned once again, Enishi moves his hold to her upper arms and shakes her roughly.
"No!" he shouts at her over the renewed rumble of thunder. "No! You can't leave me! I will not let you leave me!"
"I do not require your permission." That statement contains a clear warning, a caution; Enishi ignores it as if he never heard her, because she is his and he needs her and he will not let her go ever.
"I won't let you go!" Enishi is frantic, scared of losing her when she understands and can help him and she just wants to leave? "I need you to help me! You have to stay here! I need you! I don't have anyone in the world but you!"
She merely looks at him with those green eyes of hers, silently refusing his demands and warning him not to try threatening her. He doesn't. He tries hurting her instead.
"You would go back to him?" he scoffs, his grip on her arms tightening until he can feel his blunt nails break through her sleeve to cut into her skin. "He doesn't care about you! He left you here at my mercy! He will never care for you as much as he cares for my onee-sama; and you would go back to him anyway? Have you no pride?"
Her eyes flash at him, and then the world blurs around him. When it settles, Enishi is on his stomach, his face pressing hard into the wet sand, his arms twisted painfully high behind his back. Zetsumei Kurohyou straddles his hips from behind, her hold on him unbreakable and her mouth very, very close to his pierced ear.
"I go back to collect my belongings," she tells him, and her voice is as dead as it was that day when she calmly butchered Heishin and his men. "I do not go back for him. I am aware that your precious sister will always possess his heart. I will hate her for that until the day I die. I wish I had killed her the first day I saw her. She ruined my life all those years ago, ruined his life, and ruined yours. And you have ruined the life I have built with him. I will hate you for that until the day I die. Your wretched family has taken everything from me, and I curse the day I first heard the name of Yukishiro."
And just as suddenly as she appeared, she is gone; and he is alone on the beach with his sorrow and his rage.
Sano practically glued himself to Midori's side the morning after the storm. He knew she'd been out in it for awhile the day before, and he was worried she might be sick or something. Hell, she had an open wound on her thigh! What the hell had she been doing out there anyway?
She was real quiet, too. She didn't say anything when the cops showed up; or when that white-haired bastard was rowed up to the ship in chains, clutching his sister's diary; or when their little group had been rowed out to the same ship, and they had set sail for Tokyo. Once they'd gotten on board the ship, Midori had made a beeline for an out of the way little spot on the deck. Sano had followed her and plopped down right next to her, occassionally glaring at passing sailors or policemen to make sure they didn't try to bother his aibou. He was doing them a favor, really; it was pretty obvious that Midori wasn't in the mood for lots of questions, and she'd do a lot worse than just glare if somebody was stupid enough to pester her.
She had taken his left hand in hers as soon as he'd sat down beside her; she didn't let go for the entire trip.
The others were scattered around the deck, too. Aoshi and his little weasel had staked out a spot by the mast; Jou-chan, the foxlady, and the brat were on the opposite rail - where Yahiko frequently emptied his stomach. Saito had disappeared earlier; he was probably guarding the white-haired bastard.
It wasn't until they were docking at the harbor in Tokyo that Midori even started talking. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze to make sure she had his attention; when he looked at her, she said, "I need a favor."
"Sure, aibou. Name it and I'll see what I can do."
"I want you to take me to him. As soon as we disembark. Just you; I don't want the others to go with us."
Sano hesitated. He didn't want to see him. If he saw him, there was a large possibility that Sano would lose his temper. Because how dare Kenshin not help Yahiko when the kid was being beaten to death; how dare Kenshin not do everything in his power to save Midori from that white-haired bastard when little Tsubame told him she was still alive? Midori fucking loved Kenshin, and this was how her love was repaid? By a giant pity-party and abandonment? What bullshit.
The hand that had been clutching his for the entire fucking boat-ride squeezed again.
"Please."
Well, shit. Apparently, Sano was going to be escorting Midori to Rakuninmura so she could see the shell that was Kenshin.
"Sure, aibou. Whatever you want."
Even if he'd rather swallow acid, to be honest.
Saito idly puffed on his cigarett, his yellow eyes watching the slumped form currently occupying the ship's only cell - the brig, if he recalled the terminaligy correctly. The young man hadn't moved or made a sound since Saito's men had locked the cell door behind them; the prisoner had been in the exact same slumped position, with that tattered old book clutched in his hands as though it were treasure of some sort.
If the former wolf of Mibu had a heart, he might have felt sorry for the pathetic figure who was Enishi Yukishiro.
Possibly.
Then again, the brat had been the cause for an obscene amount of paperwork for Saito - more of which awaited the officer once Yukishiro was safely in jail. There was only so much of it Saito would be able to push off onto that broomheaded moron Chou before he threw a fit. That was the problem with allowing his subordinates to grow spines: they rebelled at doing his paperwork that much faster, forcing him to be that much more intimidating as he squashed them. Yukishiro was just one walking, talking headache waiting to happen. Saito was amazed the youma had lasted so long around the man without losing what was left of her mind; it was truly admirable.
However...
Saito was a former captain of the Shinsengumi. As such, he followed his own personal code of justice: that of Aku Soku Zan. The pathetic young man who sat huddled in the cell before him was not worthy of such justice. He was little more than a beaten animal.
Which is why, once the ship finally docked in Tokyo, Saito had no trouble unlocking Yukishiro's cell; uncuffing the shackles from Yukishiro's wrists and ankles; returning Yukishiro's nihontou to it's rightful owner; and then walking out of the depths of the ship without so much as a twinge to his conscience. Enishi Yukishiro had recently learnt that his purpose in life was meaningless; his weapons organization in China had been abandoned; and his second-in-command had been butchered by the youma. He was not a threat to the country of Japan, whatever the fools who ran the Meiji might have thought to the contrary. Even as he watched the youma disappear with that rooster-headed moron, knowing that they were going to the Battousai and that Yukishiro had jumped ship to follow them, Saito couldn't be bothered to care. The youma could take care of herself, the rooster could use a good thrashing, and the Battousai...
Well.
The Battousai's well-being was neither a priority, nor was it a concern of one Hajime Saito. That was just the way things were.
"You sure you want to do this alone?"
Midori nodded once, forcing herself to release Sanosuke's hand. She did not want him to go to Kenshin with her. She could feel the rage coming off of her friend in waves; she knew that if he went with her to Kenshin, the thread upon which his temper was dangling would snap. In spite of everything, Midori still did not want to see anyone strike at Kenshin.
She wanted answers.
She needed answers.
She did not want or need a brawl.
"Wait for me here?" She could not seem to raise her voice above a whisper.
"I'm not goin' anywhere."
She nodded once more in thanks, and then she moved away.
Midori had heard of this place before, of course. She had heard of this haven for those who could not or would not find their own place in the new era of Meiji. She had always scorned the people that populated the Rakuninmura: if she, a dead woman, could live in the era of Meiji, then anyone should be able to do so. Only weaklings and those who did not care to live ran to hide in the Rakuninmura.
And now...
"Oi."
Midori paused. In front of her stood four men in ragged, filthy clothing. All of them carried a club of one kind or the other. All of them were staring at her as though they did not know what to make of her.
"Who're you, woman?" one of them asked roughly.
"What're you doing here?" another spat. "This isn't any place for you, lady. Turn around and go home."
"I am looking for someone," Midori murmured, ignoring their words as though they had not spoken. "A man with -"
"Oi, lady, we said get lost. You shouldn't be here. Go home."
She paused again, pushed down the urge to hurt the man who had interrupted her. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. "A man with red hair and a cross-shaped scar on his cheek. Do you know where this man is?"
The four in front of her exchanged looks between each other. The only one to have so far remained silent, a tall man with a patch over one eye, stepped forward slightly.
"You talking about the samurai?" he questioned, an annoyed look on his face. "That guy's had several people come here trying to talk him out of this place. Don't waste your time, lady. You should just turn around and go home."
He was still here. She would see him.
Midori calmly skirted around the group of men and walked onwards, determinded to continue her search.
So many people here; so many empty eyes following her as she searched. So many empty shells who had given up all hope and resigned themselves to waist away in this trash heap. And to think that the man who had brought light and warmth to her life was here somewhere, wallowing in his own misery and leaving her to whatever fate might befall her...it sickened her. It infuriated her. Kenshin had told her time and again that he loved her; he had seemed content and willing to spend the rest of his life with her. He had asked her to marry him.
So where in the seven hells had he been when she needed him?
A slight pressure upon her head had Midori stopping in her tracks even as the sound of birdsong filled the air. Perturbed, Midori carefully reached up and extracted a small yellow mass of feathers from her hair, eyeing the creature as it continued to chirp happily in her loose grasp.
"Konnichi wa! I see my friend likes you, okami. Are you new around here?"
Weary green eyes turned to the source of the voice. An old man was bouncing up to her from the left, several more small yellow birds flittering around him like a moving halo. He was dressed in ragged clothing, covered in dirt, wearing cracked glasses and a sadly patched old hat. He was smiling - almost beaming at her - revealing many missing teeth behind his long white mustache. His knotted white beard nearly dragged the ground as he bounced up to her.
"I do not intend to stay here," Midori responded, releasing the bird she held and watching as it flew to join it's brethren in their circular flight around the old one's head. "I am looking for someone."
"Oh I see! Come to visit a friend, have you? That's great! It's always nice to have friends come to visit!"
"This is not a social visit. Can you tell me where I can find a man with red hair and a cross-shaped scar on his left cheek?"
The smile fell from the old man's face with alarming speed. His whole demeanor seemed to droop; the happy-go-lucky atmosphere that had previously radiated from him dimmed into something more serious.
"You are here to see Samurai-san, then?" he asked, voice quiet and completely devoid of the cheer that had been dripping from his words just moments before. Midori nodded once, and the old man let out a tired sigh.
"Okami, I have to say that I do not know if seeing him would be a good idea. He is...not the same, I would think, as the man you remember. He has not had much to eat or drink since coming to live with us; we think he is trying to die. His body is wasting away and he is allowing that to happen. With his condition, it might be a shock for you to see what -"
"I do not care what he looks like," Midori interrupted harshly. "I am aware that Himura would not be taking adequate care of himself. I am aware that he will look like shit and likely will be extremely ill. But you are wrong if you think that changes the fact that I will tear this dump apart if I must to find him, old man. Show me where he is or stay out of my way."
The old man bowed his head slightly. "As you wish."
She had left him. The phantom that once stood with her back to him was gone.
Dull purple eyes stared unseeingly at the ground.
Maybe now he could finally follow his real kabu to the afterlife. Maybe his delusion was gone because he would be with the real thing soon.
"Himura."
He could hear her voice now, calling his name from wherever her spirit waited for him. Did she know how he longed to join her? Did she long for him as he did for her?
"Himura."
He wanted to answer her, but he knew that she would not hear him. She was dead.
Abruptly a foot flashed into his line of vision and buried itself into his stomach. Before he had time to do more than register the pain, a small hand was wrapping itself around his upper arm and jerked him to his feet. As soon as he was standing the hand let go, drew back as it balled itself into a fist, and smashed into his scarred cheek with enough force to send him toppling again. He tasted blood in his mouth from having his cheek ground so harshly against his teeth.
"Do not dare ignore me, you fucking bastard."
...that voice...her voice...
Slowly, wearily, Kenshin Himura lifted his head to lock eyes with the woman standing over his huddled form.
He had to be hallucinating; that was the only logical explanation for what he was seeing. She could not possibly be standing there before him. She was dead. He had seen her body sitting pinned to the wall of the dojo, seen her blood splattered on the floors and the gods-awful copy of his scar carved into her beautiful face. He had seen the total emptiness in her cat-like green eyes, felt the chill of her lifeless skin.
His precious kabu, his beautiful Midori, was dead.
She was not standing over him, dirty and thin with large black rings under her dull green eyes, body shaking for unknown reasons as she glowered at him.
He had to be hallucinating.
The hallucination's face clouded over in a mixure of confusion and worry; it knelt before him, eyes on his face.
"Why do you just sit there?" it demanded angrily, wrapping trembling arms around it's own torso. "Must I beat the words you should be saying from you, Himura? Do you simply not give a shit anymore? About me? About the others? About anything? Are you just going to stay here and die, when I have come here to you in spite of your abandonment of me? Why didn't you come for me, you fucking bastard? When you were told that I lived, why did you not come for me?"
Lived? His kabu had not lived; she was dead. He had seen and touched her body in the aftermath of her murder. She was dead, gone forever to a place he could not follow.
The hallucination was suddenly much, much closer to him. In a blink one of it's hands shot out and clamped down around Kenshin's throat, squeezing hard enough to compress the windpipe and causing Kenshin to gag.
"Answer me, damn you! Why didn't you come for me? You would have moved the stars if you could have saved your precious Yukishiro bitch! You would have turned the world upon its head to save her! Why not with me? Why did you abandon me to the mercies of Enishi, after everything I have done and given up for you?"
Had he been inclined to answer, Kenshin would have been prevented from doing so by the tight grip upon his throat. A fist bashed into his face again, causing stars to explode in his vision even as the now weeping phantom struck him again and again. How was this even possible? Was the pain real because this creature hurting him was a figment of his own imagination? Or was the pain real because...because...
The fist aiming for his face was caught in a weary hand. Using his other hand to pry the fingers from around his neck as his assailiant sat sobbing in front of him, Kenshin tentatively breathed out, "Kabu?"
Pain lanced across her face. She jerked her hands from his grip, clamping them over her ears as she violently shook her head in denial.
"DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME THAT AGAIN! NOT AFTER ABANDONING ME AS YOU DID! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT, FUCKING BASTARD!"
It was her. She was real. She was alive.
She was alive.
Kenshin was on her in an instant. In the time it takes one to blink, Kenshin had Midori wrapped in a vice-like hug; her body was pressed tightly against his chest while he buried his face into her dirt-streaked hair. He felt her flinch, felt her begin to pull away from him, but he refused to let go of her. His kabu was alive, she was here, and she was in his arms. He had no intention of ever letting her go, ever.
And then he was hitting the ground, his sakabatou out of his reach; his kabu was shouting something, she was turned away from him and she was shouting, and another voice was speaking to her in a tone of devoted affection.
"Go away. Leave me alone, you bastard! You have done enough to me, while I have done nothing to you that makes me deserving of this pain! What more do you want from me, Yukishiro? What?"
Ice invaded Kenshin's innards. Yukishiro? Enishi was here? Kenshin struggled to get up, tried to force his wasted body to move. He needed to get his kabu out of here, now. What if Enishi hurt her? What if he took her away from Kenshin again? No, he wouldn't let that happen! He refused to lose her again, no!
"I won't hurt you." That quiet, loving voice spoke again; Kenshin wondered wildly who in the world was talking to his kabu like that. Would the speaker protect her from Enishi? Would they keep her safe?
"Ka...bu..." he rasped, his arms quivering as he attempted to push himself up. A frustrated huff was heard from Midori; she turned and came to him, grabbing his upper arm in a bruising grip and jerking him to his feet.
"Shut up, Himura. Yukishiro, if you do not get out of my way I will relieve you of your arms. Go away, stay here, return to China; I do not care what you do, as long as I never have to see your face again."
Enishi was standing right in front of them, clutching his nihontou in one hand and a tattered book in the other.
Kenshin immediately - if shakily - wrapped his arms around Midori, spun them both on the spot, and presented his back to Enishi as he tried his damndest to insure that he had as much of Midori's body blocked by his own as possible.
"Don't hurt her," he croaked, barely loud enough for his own ears. "Please. Just kill me. Don't hurt her."
"If you touch him, I will gut you," Midori snarled. "I will play with your intestines while you die."
"I won't touch him."
As soon as those words were spoken, Midori was pulling out of his grasp and Kenshin found himself being half-led, half-dragged past the man who was his brother-in-law. The man who had come so close to killing him weeks ago. The man who Kenshin thought had killed his precious kabu.
The man who made no move whatsoever to touch either Kenshin or Midori as they passed him, and who had just spoken to Midori in a tone one would use when speaking to one's lover.
"Kabu," Kenshin whispered, stumbling along beside the woman he loved on his tired, weak legs. "Kabu, please, I do not understand. I...I saw you...you were dead. You were so cold...there was so much blood...how are you alive now?"
"Perhaps if you had paid attention to what Tsubame-chan told you when Yahiko-chan was being beaten to death by the man whose hand you cut off, you would know the answer to that question," she informed him coldly, her tone making his heart plunge into his stomach even as goosebumps erupted upon his skin. "But no, you were too busy wallowing. You disgust me, Battousai. Save your questions for one of the other friends you abandoned. As for right now, you can do me a favor and shut up."
Kenshin flinched, his faded lavender eyes widening as he stared, horrified, at his kabu's profile.
She...she had called him Battousai...but she had not called him that in well over a year...not since right after they were first reunited...
So why...
Why...
Oh, gods.
No.
A/N: This chapter was like a computerized personification of evil. It branded me and made me it's complete, total little bitch. I've rewritten it a hundred times and if it were a sentinent being I would take unholy pleasure in making it suffer horrible pain.
Please review.