___chapter two point five [[pensive]]
She took a breath, trying to relax and steady herself, but to no avail. Her breath was still shaky, and she was sure that her voice would come out in sobs if she tried to speak. But who would she speak to? There was no one here.
Except him.
Tomoe wondered why she hadn't left yet. Her brother probably already had all of Japan on a search party for her, and yet she stayed. She stayed in the house tainted with the pain and anguish of the young shadow assassin, Himura Battousai.
She had heard his name many times before, her brother being part of underground organization. Just the other day, a co-worker was gossiping to her about him. She held no fancy for the silly rumors of frivolous women, but she found this legendary Hitokiri interesting.
"He's the strongest Imperialist ever," Enishi had told her absentmindedly. "None of his victims have been left alive. He says he delivers 'tenchuu', some heaven's justice crap." He had laughed, sinking back into his seat. "He doesn't allow any witnesses, and he says what he's doing will save Japan."
"All he's doing is killing." Tomoe had muttered quietly, before Enishi tilted her chin up and looked her in the face.
"We all kill now. It's the Revolution. You know what that means? It's time for Japan to become a new country, built upon the bodies of the dead."
"A country… built upon the bodies of the dead…" She whispered softly. The words were cruel, and yet she spoke them with such gentleness it was as if she were talking about little children going out to play on new fallen snow.
Fixing her hair, she looked outside. The sun had just started rise, and night was fading. She always rose early, she liked the peacefulness before the busy day begun. Stepping outside, some night air whipped her hair playfully. Sighing softly, she leaned against the wall lightly.
How exhausted she was. She felt so drained of her energy, even though she hadn't done anything strenuous in the past few days. Her eyes were dry, drained of all their tears. As she leaned against the wall, she wondered what would've happened if Kiyosato had never been confronted by Battousai. They'd probably be at home, just rising from a peaceful night of slumber. Their wedding ceremony would be very soon; flowers and euphoria would be everywhere. Her brother would come and bless them well, and they'd get to live happy lives together…
But she was still here.
Thinking of how things could've been hurt her more than his death, perhaps. Death was final, might-have-beens always hold doubt. Perhaps there was another way. Maybe this could've been different. All of these questions made her head spin, and she felt like sitting down. Instead, she walked back into the house, leaving the door open to let some fresh morning air in.
She puzzled herself. She wanted to return to her brother and cry all her tears, anger, and sadness with him, but she couldn't leave. Whenever Battousai left, Tomoe would pick up what scant things she had on her at the time and almost leave the house. She found that she always returned, no matter how hard she tried to leave. She was drawn to this place. It wasn't appealing in any way whatsoever. The walls were peeling, the house stunk, and the appliances haven't been used for a very long time.
Why did she even bother to take care of the house for this murderer? It's not like she was his woman. In fact, he had killed her fiancé. He hadn't spoken a word to her, but then again, she never said anything either.
She wanted to leave so desperately, but at the same time, she wanted to stay. She had questions that she knew would go unanswered, and the restless feeling in her bosom grew. A strange curiosity had begun to develop in her.
"I want to know… more about him." She decided finally, before nearly making a face. Him! Him, of all people! He would probably kill her next; maybe he brings all of his victims home for a week or two before slaughtering them…
How confusing.
Walking throughout the house, she stopped at the room she knew Battousai was sleeping in. Curiosity getting the better of her, she slowly opened the door, expecting a death glare from him. The reaction she received… wasn't quite what she expected.
He was sprawled across the floor, futon untouched. He held his sword close to him, but was laid out in such a position that she knew would hurt when he woke up. The hand that wasn't clutching on to the sword as if the world would end was still moving, as if he were reaching for something he couldn't get to. The look on his face of anguish and determination startled her; it was hard to believe he was sleep. It looked as if he were having a nightmare, tossing and turning… reaching and reaching for something he couldn't get to.
Her previous feelings of restlessness and remorse faded away as she walked up to him. She peered into his face, contorted with torment. "He's still a child..." She mused, looking at his soft, young features. Her eyes fell to his sword. "How could they make a child kill?" She sighed, and put her slender cool hand on his.
He stopped struggling.
[a/n: Another half chapter! ^o^ I mentioned that I made Tomoe a little too cold and mean in the previous chapters… well, I really like her, so I tried to make her seem a little better. She's not that cold, she's just not as open or loud as people like Kaoru and Misao! It's easy to like them, they're so lively and cheerful, but Tomoe… you gotta dig deep, ya know? Sheesh, it sounds like I actually know her in real life… -__-" But anyways… gotta go! =D And I'm so happy, this fic is turning out exactly like I planned. Hope it stays that way. Love, Midori!]