Title: Wanderer
Author: Tekli
Rating: K
Genre: Romance/Angst
Pairings: Kenshin/Kaoru
Warnings: Implausibility, irrationality, and insanity. (Not really, so much. I just like how that prefix assimilates.)
Spoilers: For the beginning of the Kyoto arc; very teensy tiny spoilers for the end of the manga
Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, nor do I claim to. I am making no money off of this. I'm just a pathetic fangirl.
My brother's version of the disclaimer: This one does not own Kenshin, Kaoru, her mother, Yahiko, Kyoto, Kaoru's Dojo, the phrase "oro" or anything else having to do with Kenshin. This includes spongecake suckas! (Shoo lawyers! Shoo!)
When Kaoru was four, her mother made her two dolls for her birthday.
The first doll had been sewn to look like Kaoru herself. It had big blue buttons for eyes, rebellious bangs, and a high ponytail, even a miniature version of her favorite kimono, deep pink with white and purple flowers. Her mother smiled as Kaoru leaped to her and hugged her as tightly a four-year-old could.
"Ah, but there's another, Kaoru-chan," her mother had exclaimed, laughing mischievously. The second was handed to Kaoru, who studied it, puzzled, before inquiring:
"Kaachan, why does he have red hair? Is he a demon?"
"No, he's not a demon. Just a silly foreigner, dressing up as a samurai."
She poked the silly foreigner where his nose would have been. "He forgot his second sword."
"Foreigners are silly," her mother responded sagely. "Especially this one."
"Or maybe," Kaoru beamed, "he uses tousan's sword style, and he doesn't need another sword!"
If she had been looking at him at the time, she would have noticed that her father gave a rare, true smile, one she loved so much, at the knowledge that his daughter would continue the family name in spirit, if not title, and, above all, that he had been able to instill such love in her.
"Maybe," her mother continued. "And he loves Japan so much that he stays here and learns from your father, so he can protect it."
Kaoru brushed the doll's bangs out of its face and made a face. "He doesn't look like much of a swordsman, though."
When she played with her, Kaoru always called the doll like her 'Kaoru-chan.' She never did so in front of her parents, though, as she didn't want to confuse them with another Kaoru-chan, especially since they looked so much alike.
She didn't know what to call the swordsman, because she didn't know any foreigner names. Well, she knew one—-Ka-te-ri-n—-but that was a girl's name, and even though the play-samurai was very pretty, he didn't deserve the injustice of a girly name.
She experimented with names for a while until she found one that fit: Wanderer. Who else but a wanderer would so happily leave his home to come protect a strange country?
She didn't call him this in front of her parents, though, because she didn't want them to think she wanted him to leave.
When Kaoru was seventeen, her real little red-headed 'samurai' wandered away. She had long since forgotten Kaoru-chan and Wanderer; even before her mother had died, she had been leaning in the direction of kendo, of Kamiya Kasshin-Ryuu, of a decidedly not feminine lifestyle in which dolls were no longer necessary.
But as Kaoru lay there, stunned by her abrupt comprehension of the definition of 'rurouni,' her memory had free reign, and decided to go back to a day when she packed Kaoru-chan in a box with Wanderer in the shed. A special box, but a box nonetheless, perfect for storing a part of her life which she didn't particularly want but didn't particularly want to throw away, either.
That night, after Yahiko's snores had invaded her isolation, she got up. Slowly, ponderously, on her knees, then on her feet, and out the door, quietly, as not to wake up her student, taking off her tabi, tiptoeing out to the shed, emory guiding her steps. She found the box quickly, removed the dolls and made her way back to the dojo, stopping for only one other thing—a needle and red thread.
Kaoru might not have been the paradigm of femininity, but she hadn't run a dojo on her own for so long without being able to sew. She threaded the needle and set to work. It wasn't an exceptionally hard task, even in the dark—-just stitching a straight line.
Or in this case… two lines.
Intersecting each other.
On Wanderer's cheek.
Somehow her mother had known, and Kaoru realized that she always had, too.
She propped the two up against the wall and stared at them. Finally noticing the single sword on Wanderer's side, she was immensely, unreasonably glad that she couldn't draw it. Who knew what would be concealed in the sheath…
Kaoru drifted in and out of sleep that night, waking up frequently, vision dazzled by fireflies. She always sought out the dolls, remnants of not only Kenshin but her mother and her father and everyone else she had lost…
She prayed inwardly each time, begging the gods, begging her parents, begging Wanderer to bring Kenshin back, or at least, perhaps, let her see past the blind spots of so many piercing fireflies.
When Kaoru was twenty-two, she and her husband were expecting their first child, and as much as she hated to admit it, they both knew that the budget of the dojo would be stretched quite thin with a new member of the family.
It was this knowledge that led them to the shed in search of any baby-related items they might not have to buy.
Once again Kaoru had forgotten the existence of Kaoru-chan and Wanderer. This time, however, it wouldn't be Kenshin's absence, but his presence that triggered the memory.
"Oro?"
She responded without looking. "What is it, Kenshin?"
"Ah… koishii… why does this doll have red hair?" Obviously, the last thing on his mind, given the other details, but Kenshin was the diplomatic one. She responded automatically.
"Because he's a foreigner."
"And the sword…?"
"He's trying to be a samurai."
"Only one?"
"Foreigners are silly. Especially this one." Then she remembered. "But perhaps… he doesn't need another sword," she added, hoping he got the message. "Maybe he doesn't really want to be a samurai."
Kenshin was silent for a long, still moment.
"His scar?"
This she couldn't answer immediately. "He hurt himself with his sword. Not on purpose, of course, but…"
He considered that for a moment. "Why did a foreigner leave his home to be a swordsman here?"
Kaoru grinned. "He just wanted to help."
And if she had been looking at the time, she would have noticed that Kenshin gave a rare, true smile, one she loved so much, at the idea that, even in the midst of war, a child could be raised to have such love, and above all, that he, though unworthy, might have the chance to raise his--their--child in the same manner.
Author's Note: (Ah, Kenshin-sama, never getting Kaoru's point... on purpose or otherwise. ;-) Ah well, at least he's happy. ) Wow, this was weird. I was rereading volume 8 of the manga when I noticed little plushie-doll-things of Kenshin and Kaoru in the background of the dojo. (If you want to see them, they're on page 60, in the top right hand corner, or here: http/img. I have no idea why they're in there. Maybe Watsuki got bored. Maybe one of his assistants got bored. Maybe I'm hallucinating, though I doubt that, considering my brother saw them, too. Maybe they're just little Easter Eggs, like the X-wings in the Coruscant chase scene in Episode II. (No, I'm not a nerd, where'd you get that idea?) Anyway, I saw the little dolls and thought: "Ah, how cute! Kaoru keeps dolls in her dojo." Then I looked a little closer. "Hey, that doll has Kaoru's hair... and the other one... has non-black hair and a sword. Kenshin?" Even closer. "Eeek! The cross-shaped scar! Kenshin is the most adorable plushie-thing ever!" Really, he is. dreamy sigh My sadistic muse, who has been ignoring me for the past month or two, decided to let me write something... well, dragged me around and beat me a little to get me to write this. I came up with the idea while in the shower the night I noticed it (the shower is the only place I can think creatively) and wrote it that night and the next morning. I think this is the longest fanfic I've finished, which is kind of sad...
Anyway, this reflects one of the things that bug me most about my writing. My beginnings. I mean, by the end, I tend to have a good pace going, and everything just flows, in writing and reading (I hope!), but I can never write beginnings that don't sound awkward. I don't know why, and I've tried to get this to sound better, but I can't, and it's driving me insane. Grr.
The parallel between Kenshin and Kaoru's father was at least partially inspired by Akai Kitsune's incredible 'Kendo No Go,' on the basis that I loved the idea too much to leave it alone. The phrase 'a special box, but a box nonetheless' was practically lifted from Legendary Frog's hilarious Resident Evil flash animation. ("A hot zombie, but a zombie nonetheless.") May these two immensely talented people please forgive me. The English name is Katherine, as transliterated as best I can. Buwahahahah. Let's hear it for really off-the-wall self-insertions. Kudos to my little brother, who "beta-ed" it (aka, read it, tormented me for a while: "it's crap, everything you write is crap, don't post it. delete it. now," then admitted he was joking and wrote the lovely extra disclaimer for me. Tekli's Little Brother: Two monkeys, ten minutes.
Anyway, thanks for reading! Reviews are lovely, but please don't feel obligated. Tekli appreciates questions, but then again, she also appreciates praise... not that her ego needs it.