Harvest
Chapter 51: Exorcism
In which Tomoe explains Kenshin's situation to him.
By the time they'd reached the cabin, she barely registered where she was. Her mind a fog, she remembered the pause at the river, where with gentle fingertips he unwound the soaked wrap and rinsed both it and the open wound in the cool water and re-wrapped her leg with the wet cloth. It immediately showed a spreading line of red along its length. The next thing she remembered was arriving home, and struggling to get undressed.
He helped her into her yukata, and then settled her onto the futon. During the rest of that day, and through that first night, he kept a fire burning, and woke her with cups of broth and tea, and she slept like the dead.
By the next evening, she felt a little better, and raised herself on one palm. He came over to help her up, or so she thought, but he instead did something quick and perplexing with her elbow, and she found herself horizontal again. "Please stay down," he said.
"No." She struggled up again. "I want to sit up. Just for a minute, please." It took a lot of breath to get all that out.
He thought that over. "Wait. I'll make some tea, and we can sit on the porch."
That was fine with her. This little exertion had left her winded, and she was glad to rest before trying her strength against the journey out the door.
She could hear him pouring the water, the two tiny taps as he set the bowls on the tray. He didn't bother to avoid that place where the tatami always creaked, and then he was back squatting at her side. "The tea is ready." He searched her face. "Are you sure you want to do this? You are still weak—"
She was most certain that she wanted to do this. Sitting up would be good for her. Her mother had often warned her against the dangers of too much lying down when recovering from sickness and injury. And for this, she needed him seeing her as an equal, not an invalid.
Night was creeping over the top of the mountain, and stars flickered in the sky to the east. Autumn's shorter days and longer nights had already prompted them to bring out the extra quilts, and the garden was carpeted with crisp leaves, red, yellow, brown.
After helping her onto the porch, he went back inside and brought out a quilt. He settled it around her shoulders and tucked it under her legs. She sighed into its instant flush of warmth.
"How are you feeling?"
"This is nice." She clutched the quilt closer around her. "The warmth eases the pain."
"Do not overtax yourself." He handed over her bowl of tea, and took up his own. In the lulling quiet, he turned his face to the sky, and she could tell he was allowing his thoughts to wander. She watched a tendril of steam work its way through the hair around his face, and the sight tugged at her heart.
Now. "Kenshin." That got his attention. She had never called him that.
He turned toward her quickly, almost spilling his tea. "Yes? What is it? Do you need to lie down?" He set down his bowl and began to rise.
"No." She put a calming hand on his arm. "No, I'm fine. But I do have something to say to you." She set down her own bowl. "Something important."
She shifted to face him a little more. She held her hands very calmly in her lap beneath the enveloping quilt. "That day. That day in the clearing. When I watched you." He sat back a little, and his whole body stilled. "When I was hurt, you—" She raised her chin to look him directly in the face. "You were upset."
"Of course." His stillness became tension.
"Yes. 'Of course.' Certainly, 'of course.' Any person with a heart would be upset by something like that."
He took up his bowl again and sipped, hiding his face.
"May I ask you something?"
He didn't look up. "Yes."
"What are you?"
That made him look up. " 'What' am—? I don't understand."
"I mean, when you think of your purpose in the world—"
Oh. That's easy. "I am a patriot." A pause, then, quietly, "I… used to be a patriot."
She was mindful of their last heavy conversation. If she were not to scare him silent this time, she would need to put him at his ease. Gently, then. " 'Used to be'?"
He didn't answer, only looked down at his tea, no longer steaming. In these first days of the changing season, tea cooled quickly. It was almost time to switch to the winter mugs.
"Well, then, what are you now?"
She saw his fingers tighten around the bowl, the tips turning white, the tendons in his hand straining. She waited. She wouldn't press, but she was sure he would never explore this on his own. And he must. If he were to live, he must.
An owl shrieked its night call, the one heard after a kill. "A murderer." His voice was calm enough, but the note of bitterness in it made her throat tighten.
She reached out her fingers to his tense hand, and gently moved it down to the tray. He released the bowl obediently. His fingertips retained deep creases from its sharp rim.
"It's true that you have made yourself an assassin, a slayer of men." At the pained look on his face, she corrected herself, "A slayer of evil. Yes. But a man who kills must first kill his own heart. He must deny his humanity. To do that work, you cannot afford to have a heart." She longed to embrace him, as she used to do Enishi when she soothed a scraped knee, or helped him to understand a playmate's harsh words. When they grieved together over their mother.
But she feared derailing her message, and so she only leaned a little closer and traced two fingertips along his scar, hidden behind the barrier of his hair. He didn't pull away. He didn't even flinch. "That is the one thing you have failed at. You still have your heart, and compassion runs deep within it." She covered his scar with her palm. "You must stop this. You must give it up."
He pulled away from her hand, and his face hardened, but she did not believe it. "It is killing you. Your heart is killing you." She stepped through her next words. "This life will drive you mad. It will turn you into a demon." She put a hand on his arm. "And you are not meant to be a demon."
He squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. He shook his head. "No." His voice was rough, and he continued with finality. "No. There is nothing else for me. It is who I am."
"I can't believe that. But even if that were true, what you are doing now is damaging both yourself and your cause. You are not protecting anyone's happiness." She pulled his head down to touch his forehead with hers. She whispered, "It will destroy you."
