NAGEKU
by Mirune Keishiko


It was a long time before the snow-wet wood caught
fire, but Kenshin refused to leave until he had
utterly destroyed the old man's hut. He felt a certain
grim satisfaction on watching the small orange flames
creep along the wooden beams. Soon the bamboo panels
were sending up curling black smoke. When the growing
fire reached the inside of the hut, where the wood was
dryer and the tatami easily flammable, the flames
raced to engulf the house, and placed within,
Tatsumi's corpse. Turning his back upon the burning
shack, Kenshin slowly walked to the body that
remained.

He knelt down beside it in the snow, stared long and
hard at the pale delicate face, as if to imprint it
upon his memory. He began to arrange the body for
burial - reversed the kimono, folded the cold hands
across the stomach, wrapped her carefully in his
tattered cloak. He, who had known so many corpses in
his life, shuddered violently every time he touched
the cold, lifeless skin, the long dark hair. For long
moments he stared blankly at the body before him.

He tried to pray, but after a few brokenly whispered
words he could not go on. For a long time he knelt
there, alone, oblivious to the cold wet snow that
swirled lightly down to cover him and the body before
him.

Then, softly, he began to cry. His sobs rose to a
harsh, almost hysterical weeping, moaning through the
silent forest. He wrapped his tired arms around
himself as tightly as he could, the knuckles on his
hands turning white. He knew who it was he wished were
holding him, knew she was dead. His shoulders heaved
with his sobs, his slender body shook. Around him the
wind sighed and slowed, as if stopping to pay its
respects to the dead.

"It's better this way..."

She had smiled at him then. His poor beloved wife, one
of the few times she had ever really smiled at him was
when she lay dying in his arms. After he had struck
her. He clenched his fist.

So fitting, he mocked himself. The Hitokiri Battousai
to the very end. So now it seems not even love can
change such a thing...

"So please..."

He could feel her soft hair falling over his arms, its
warmth welcome to his cold-numbed skin. He had touched
her face then, and he tried to remember how it had
felt, so soft and smooth beneath his fingertips. Even
then, even as his cold fingers had tingled with her
warmth, it had been fading, the life seeping out of
her as surely as the blood seeped out of her body.
Hot, bitter tears made spots on his gi.

"Don't cry..."

He screamed then, thrust his tired, aching hands into
the snow that was still red with her blood, raised his
tear-streaked face to the heavens, and screamed.

"TOMOE!!"



It was nearly dawn by the time he finally gathered the
strength and will to move. Kneeling in the cold wet
snow, his many wounds still unattended to, his body
had grown stiff and weak. Kenshin inhaled sharply as
he tried to rise to his feet and staggered, his legs
buckling underneath him. For a moment his head
whirled; he struggled to stay erect. Then, shaking his
head to clear it, he straightened with a sigh and
picked up Tomoe's body.

A proper burial, he thought dully. What she deserves.
After all that I have done, that is the least I can
give her.

For what seemed like hours he plodded through the deep
snow, trying to remember which way led out of Kekkai
Forest. The trees rustled and whispered among
themselves, nursing shadows amidst their bare
branches. Snow had stopped falling, but the wind never
ceased. Soon Kenshin was shivering again, his tired
arms, carrying Tomoe, screaming for relief. But he
would not think of laying his precious burden back
down on the ground.

Somehow he finally reached the outskirts of the
forest. As he saw the pale light filtering through the
treetrunks, he broke into an unconscious, frantic run,
eager to get out of the hellish place. Tomoe's body
felt like a thousand-ton boulder in his arms. He
forged on hurriedly through the knee-deep snow until
his breathing grew ragged and his legs felt like
white-hot fire. Tears of pain, of gladness, of
frustration streamed down his cheeks. Please, please,
please, he prayed to no one in particular, gasping for
breath, let me make it outside...

Bursting past the last creaking, shadowy tree he cried
out wildly, happy to see even the gray, overcast sky
and the feebly shining sun after the terrifying
shadows and uncertainty of the forest. He fell to his
knees, exhausted and worn out. Gently he placed
Tomoe's body, covered with his cloak, upon the
newfallen snow.

Then he collapsed.



How long he lay unconscious in the snow, curled up
like a fetus in his mother's womb, he had no idea. His
body had given out at last. The emotional strain, the
many wounds he had suffered, the blood he had lost,
the bone-freezing cold were too much even for him. He
lay still, floating in the vacant blackness between
waking and sleep.

The thought of going back out into the world horrified
him. The people he would have to face, those who would
come and say sympathetically how sorry they felt, how
if he ever needed anything he was always welcome to
come to them. He would accept their proffered
condolences as gratefully as he could, but he would
know the sour truth that soon they would forget, as
was the way of man. They would forget about Tomoe,
about the beautiful young lady with the starry eyes,
with the quiet, gentle ways and the tragic past, with
the sweet scent of white plum that from now on would
forever burn in his mind. They would forget about him,
who *could not* forget, even if he ever wanted to.
They would go on about their lives as usual, while he
alone mourned.

He would mourn forever.

The wound in his side hurt dully. Vaguely he realized
he was aching all over, throbbing, pulsing soreness;
he felt cold wetness beneath him and wondered if it
were his blood. His ragged clothes had stuck to his
wounds, forming makeshift bandages as the blood
quickly congealed in the cold. He sighed, lying in the
snow that was starting to seem almost warm. Perhaps I
will die now...

It's nicer here, he thought dreamily, here in the
soft, peaceful darkness that swallows me. Not like
that world of blood and violence, of blinding snow and
chilling wind. Why go back? Nothing matters anymore.
Tomoe is dead; the world will go on regardless of me.
What worth am I, who cannot even protect the one
person I care for? Who cares whether I live or die?
What purpose do I serve? Just let me rest. I am so
tired...

Perhaps, if he stayed there long enough, he would wake
up to find it all a dream, all a horrendous nightmare.
Perhaps he would open his eyes to the ceiling of their
little hut in the village, the smells of tea and
breakfast, and Tomoe watching him from the doorway.
Even though her lips would not smile, her eyes
would...

"Good morning, Kenshin." She said it teasingly,
watching him sit up in bed. This was a rare occasion,
when Kenshin awoke later than Tomoe. As habit
compelled him, he was usually up by daybreak.

He smiled at her. She was exceptionally pretty this
morning, it seemed. "I'm just finishing breakfast,"
she said, disappearing into the kitchen as he dressed.

He walked out onto the porch. Everyone had remarked
how odd it was for such a little cottage to have a
porch in the back, but Kenshin merely smiled. He liked
porches. He himself had broken open one of the walls
of the bedroom and built the porch, so that he had a
quiet, peaceful place where he could think or
meditate. The porch faced trees and flowering shrubs.
Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would start a proper
garden.

Tomoe was there again, coaxing him to eat breakfast.
He smiled and allowed himself to be led, as she caught
hold of his sleeve and urged him along, chatting
comfortably. He stared at her in admiration, barely
listening to what she was saying. Her eyes were full
of light and energy, color enhanced her pale cheeks as
she talked about what she would do that day. On
impulse he kissed her on her full, soft lips.

She kissed him back gently, but pulled away sooner
than he would have liked. She placed a finger on his
mouth, whispered "Later" into his ear. He broke into a
broad smile and she went ahead, looking back at him
affectionately over her shoulder.

He followed agreeably into the dining area, where
breakfast was already laid out. Before they could sit
down, however, a gabble of small, cheerful voices
sounded at the door, and hushed as there came polite
knocking. Kenshin smiled; the children were eager to
see him. He opened the door.

Bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, the little children
swarmed around him the moment he stepped out the
doorway. He smiled back, returning their affectionate
greetings. They began tugging at him - on his sleeves,
his hands, whatever piece of him they could reach,
chattering eagerly about the games they would play.
Kenshin was happy to oblige, but he looked back at
Tomoe, who stood in the doorway, watching with merry
eyes.

"Come with us," Kenshin called out to her, smiling.

But she shook her head cheerily. "It's all right. I'll
stay here for now. You go with them. For now, they're
the ones who need you."

The children had halted when Kenshin had, and now they
looked up at him expectantly. One particularly
restless little boy fidgeted as Kenshin insisted to
his wife, "But it won't be the same without you."

"You'll be just fine." And - wonder of wonders - Tomoe
actually smiled. It was a small smile, but it was
genuine, and Kenshin's breath left his body with a
happy sigh.

"Are you sure?" he asked, still hesitant.

She nodded. "I'll have dinner waiting for you when you
get back."

He smiled at her, she smiled back at him, and,
satisfied, Kenshin turned back to the children.
Picking up one little bright-eyed girl who had
difficulty keeping up with them, he sat her on his
shoulders.

"Where to?" he asked the children.

Their only answers were to grin up at him and to tug
even harder on his clothes. Laughing, Kenshin
followed, pulled along by his persistent little
friends. He looked back once, toward the cottage. The
door was shut, but Tomoe could be heard inside,
singing softly as she went about her chores.

The smiling, chattering children led him on, deeper
into the thin, sunlit woods that carpeted the
foothills.




"Is he okay?"

"He's pale!"

"Is he going to die, Minomi-san?"

"I'm still checking. Be quiet for a minute."

The small, anxious voices subsided. Gentle fingers
prodded him here and there, tested the joints and
bones. An audible hissing intake of breath as the gi
was lifted, the cloth sticking to the bloody wounds
beneath. Kenshin struggled to awaken.

"Who..." He opened his eyes, blinking against the
pale, bleak sunlight.

A large man's face hovering over his smiled
soothingly. It took a moment before Kenshin recognized
him as one of the miners in the village and a repeat
customer of his.

"Relax," said the burly man quietly. "You're pretty
beat up. Nothing's broken, so I'll be taking you to
the village doctor myself."

Kenshin nodded wordlessly and shut his eyes, but they
flew open once again in a moment. "Tomoe!" he cried in
alarm, sitting up so fast pain shot through his body
and a groan escaped his lips.

The man's statement was solemn. "She's still where
you put her. Lie still for now." He looked away. "Good
thing you covered her up; it's no fit thing for
children to see."

For there were children around, Kenshin saw now that
he was coming to his senses. A horde of people crowded
around him, the villagers he had befriended and the
children to whom he had been such a treasured
playmate. They watched him with faces shadowed with
anxiety. Kenshin's eyes strayed to one small child in
particular, a little girl with bright eyes, now filled
with tears.

"What are you all doing here?" he asked, turning back
to his friend.

"The children found your house empty and felt
something was wrong. So we all turned out to search
for you, and - here we are. Now, put your arms around
my neck. I'm carrying you."

Kenshin didn't move. "Tomoe."

The man sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, my
friend," he murmured. "I truly am."

Kenshin shook his head impatiently. "I must go to the
temple. Today."

"You're in no condition--"

Kenshin's eyes narrowed. For a moment he forgot all
about himself, his body, about his weakness and
injuries, and rose to his feet, his left hand straying
to the sheath of his sword.

Startled, the man stepped backward. "Kenshin?"

Tomoe, his mind whispered. Tomoe is all that matters.
Kenshin clicked out his sword, his right hand grasped
the hilt... and he staggered. The hot, metallic taste
of blood filled his mouth, something trickled warm and
wet down his chin. He slumped, letting go of his sword
to support himself.

"Easy, easy," called out several voices at once, amid
the rising wail of the children. His vision dimming,
Kenshin felt hands support him, then he was lifted by
strong, muscled arms onto a broad back.

"Karashi, you and Mijiko take the body to the temple,"
a deep voice said quietly. "But tell them to hold the
burial until Kenshin's recuperated. Maybe tomorrow
afternoon."

At that, Kenshin struggled to open his heavy-lidded
eyes in alarm. Tomorrow is too long, he wanted to
protest. Tomoe should be laid to rest right away...

A small hand slipped into his, and, startled, Kenshin
turned his head weakly to see who it was. The little
bright-eyed girl held his hand confidingly, looking up
at him with concern.

It was too much for him. Kenshin closed his eyes with
a sigh, seeing Tomoe smile at him from the doorway,
and let the darkness reclaim him.


--owari--


notes: "nageku" means "regret, grieving, lamentation."
(Grateful acknowledgement to Risu-chan at KFFDISC for her
beautifully made "Toki to ki to koneko kitto..."
story, from which I got this term.)
disclaimer: To the nitpicking lawyers who are
carefully scrutinizing this pathetic little piece, the
characters (and idea) of Tomoe, Kenshin, and the
adorable little chlidren aren't mine. They belong to
Nobuhiro Watsuki and his brilliant artistry, and
Shueisha and Fuji TV and maybe Sony Entertainment
and... well, whoever else owns them. (Not me.) This
isn't making any money, so get rid of that nasty
little gleam in your eyes already.