SHADOWS OF RED
by Hime-kou

Author's notes: Sorry about the delay! Once again, the Sears tower planted its enormous bulk in front of my path. Nearly squashed Sachiko, that it did. I'm hoping that you'll enjoy this chapter though, late as it is. I wrote it extra long too. Sachiko's changing...can you tell? And now I've been wondering at how long this fanfic will be. I'm at twelve chapters and they haven't even gotten through one week yet. My. I'm sorry!

Disclaimer: Disclaim Ruroken, that I do. Not mine.

Chapter 10-Peacock and Housewife

She stirred lazily, the bright stream of sunlight flooding her face and turning the backs of her eyelids red. Carelessly, she flung an arm over her eyes and stretched, tangling the blanket covering her.

And bolted upwards, hair snapping and dark eyes suddenly wide open.

The sunlight?

Sure enough, the golden light flowed into the neat room, turning one wall into a mask of pure gold. Sachiko shook her head angrily. It wasn't like her to sleep past the hour of sunrise—nightmares usually woke her up far earlier than that.

She stepped out of the mess of blanket. It seemed as if the hour was still early, for the light was the gold of early sunrise. She knew it would fade soon, and the sun's usual harsh glare of white light would resume.

She discarded her sleeping yukata and donned yet another kimono that waited at the foot of her futon. It was accompanied by a white juban.

Damn that serving woman, she thought with renewed anger. Just because I'm a woman, she expects me to be the same as her. Like hell I'm going to be some meek, subservient woman. I'm a hitokiri.

But in actuality, the kimono's silk felt rather good, sleek and soft against her skin. As she slid it on, the smooth silk caught on the calluses from her sword. I guess I'm not meant to wear this. All the more reason not to, she thought bitterly.

Yet it was a beautiful kimono, worthy of a princess. It was made of black silk, with bright red sakura blossoms falling in graceful arcs against the black background. The vibrant blossoms stood out vividly from the inky silk; hundreds of little round petals, as crimson as human blood.

Sachiko wondered at the symbolism, then decided it fit well with her. Fingers remembered times when she still wore kimonos, even if her mind did not. Swiftly, they folded the fabric over and tied the simple rose-colored obi in the back.

She felt as if she had shed her skin, shed her identity. Last night didn't count of course. She had just come from an assignment and hadn't had the time to contemplate her clothing too much.

Now, it was almost as if the sword that accompanied her always didn't exist. This girl in a kimono couldn't be Sachiko the hitokiri. Silk was much too refined a fabric for a killer to wear.

Yet as she turned to leave the room, her side felt empty from the unaccustomed space. The comforting weight of her sword was missing, and it seemed to create an empty space in her heart.

With a sigh, she trudged back and swept up her katana. Feeling more complete, yet strangely nervous, she left her room.

She hadn't gone two steps when her stomach rumbled. Immediately, she glanced around, oddly embarrassed by such an unladylike sound. Then she dismissed the thought, disgusted with herself.

She knew she made an odd picture, her long black hair unbound and wild, dressed in a kimono fit for court, clutching a katana like a nursemaid's hand. She probably looked like a creature of nightmares. A magpie in peacocks feathers. No, she corrected herself. A hawk in peacock's feathers.

Her stomach rumbled again, more urgently. She hadn't eaten since yesterday, she recalled. Almost as soon as the thought flew from her mind, a delicious smell drifted past her nose. Cursing the gods for torturing her so, Sachiko followed the scent until it took her to the kitchen. She pushed aside the tapestry that covered the door and nearly fell over backwards in surprise.

As it was, she clapped her hands to her mouth dropping her katana with a painful bang, and tripped over the tiles on the floor.

The scene was so absurd, so out of context that she stared in complete bewilderment at first. And he glared at her, ears red.

Battousai chopping turnips. Chopping…turnips.

Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, beheading poor turnips with a marvelous efficiency. Steel flashed, the board thudded, and the turnips lost their heads. Hiss, thunk, hiss, thunk, went Battousai's kitchen knife. Briefly, Sachiko's utterly stunned mind produced the coherent thought, he'd make a wonderful housewife.

And still he sent death glares at her that should have pinned her to the ground, dead as the turnips he sliced. His ears burned brighter.

Then the most terrible thing happened.

She laughed.

He hated it. Oh, how he hated it. Embarrassment. And he didn't even know why! He knew his ears were bright red.

Even a hitokiri has his--or her--moments. And this was a rather spectacular one of his.

She rocked back and forth, laughing, the sound coming out choked and slightly rusty. Tears streamed down her eyes, wide open and guileless in mirth. He briefly took a moment to watch her with her guard down. He even stopped killing the turnips (he knew he was killing them. No sane person ever chopped that hard).

Her customary hakama and gi had been traded for a stunning kimono. It looked strange on her, but lent her an air of grace and feminity. Her ki was totally unguarded at the moment, and he sensed only surprise at herself, at him, and hilarity at the scene. She looked much younger than she had before. Perhapsthe same age as him,fifteen,and definitely not over seventeen. Her thick black hair tumbled over her shoulders, slightly tangled and obviously missing grace.

She was still laughing, but the laughter had died down. Abruptly, she stopped, as if realizing just what she had been doing. He continued glaring at her.

"Ah...sorry," came the abrupt words. He watched as she picked herself up and dashed the last tears of mirth from her eyes. It rather bothered him to see the carefree girl taken away and the shielded, cold-eyed, controlled hitokiri come back. Though, he wasn't one to judge. After all, he was just as cold-eyed and shielded, he knew.

It wasn't like he could laugh. The deaths...early in his years working for Katsura and the Chosu, he had come to painful terms with his role in the Bakumatsu. No matter the pain he inflicted, no matter the pain piercing his heart and soul, he would bear it. He would bear it in atonement of his sins and in honor of those he killed. He wondered when the last time he laughed, truly, freely, laughed, had been. And he couldn't remember.

However, that didn't stop him from being embarrassed.

Uncomfortable silence grew, broken only by rhythmic chopping. The girl hadn't left the kitchen, he knew. Discomfited, he watched the turnip pile lessen.

This was usual for him.Before, he had helped the woman who housed the Chosu employees, often chopping wood and hauling water. It helped him, in truth, to ease his heart and his soul. He'd expected to do something in this house too.

The quiet stretched and tension grew. His tongue seemed momentarily disconnected from his brain, and his brain seemed on temporary leave too. He wasn't normally this slow, but nothing came easily to mind. He took a quick glance at her, and saw her biting her lip. Her knuckles were white from gripping her katana.

"Oh, thank you Battousai-san." The quiet words broke the silence, snapping the tension in the air. The serving woman came hurrying from the back, carrying a basket of rice and a small container. She had obviously come from the market. As she put the items onto the wooden counters, she noticed Sachiko.

"Ah...onna hitokiri-san, I see you are up too. Would you be as willing as to fetch me some water? Battousai-san has been extremely helpful, but I must keep him chopping." And so saying, she swept the bucket, miraculously in her hands, to Sachiko.Without even seeming to consider Sachiko's own thoughts, the diminuitive woman gave her a gentle push towards the back door. She followed the stunned assassin outside and proceeded to lead her towards the well.

This wasn't the same garden Sachiko had sat in last night. This was the working quarter, sparsely populated by vegetation, and containing a stone well in the furthest corner of the walled inyard. The woman guided Sachiko towards the well, speaking quietly as she went.

"I never knew that Battousai-san would do such a thing...he was bringing in wood from the woodpile outside. Such a gentleman..." she murmured demurely. Sachiko ground her teeth. This woman, this perfect woman, was getting on her nerves.

"Onna hitokiri-san, please--"

Sachiko snapped, "Don't call me that!" She swung around to face the woman, who seemed, if anything, surprised. No fear, no apology.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, though she looked anything but that. "If you would perhaps give your name..." her voice trailed off gracefully. Sachiko felt young, dirty, rude, and clumsy. Embarrassment washed through her, only feeding to her anger.

"Sachiko. That's my name. And...and I hate wearing kimonos!" She set the pail down with a thud, knowing she was acting like a spoiled child, yet unease and resentment and perhaps a tinge of envy rubbed her every wrong way possible.

Almost immediately, she felt ashamed of herself. The serving woman was regarding her with non-judging, clear, and now slightly apologetic eyes. Compassionate eyes. Understanding eyes. Strong eyes, the eyes of an understand older sibling.

"I'm truly sorry, Sachiko-san. I merely thought the kimono would look beautiful on you."

Sachiko cringed. She knew the truth when she heard it. She felt sorry for yelling at the woman and felt the urge to apologize. She also felt a strange attachment to the older woman--as if they were family, and close. Strange...everything since coming to this house was strange. Everything since meeting Battousai was strange.

She picked up the bucket again and made her way towards the well. As she did, she called over her shoulder to the woman.

"I'm sorry for yelling.What's your name?"

The serving woman's face showed true surprise at the question.

"Miyuki. Takahashi Miyuki."

Sachiko turned and bowed. "Thank you, Miyuki-san."

THANK GOODNESS! I've actually had this on the computer for a day or two just never got around to actually editing and finishing it. Sachiko and Battousai start on the way to becoming easy around each other...and I had to introduce a new character, somewhat like Megumi. I wasn't actually planning to write about Miyuki but somehow I felt that the story needed her. It writes itself. I am merely the puppet which it toys with.

Things of interest and vocab

1. Obi...the sash/belt that ties a kimono. (Actually, Sachiko's kimono should have an obi that's really hard to tie and maybe even require someone to help her, but I made our hitokiri girl self-sufficient) A formal obi is usually 4 meters long and 60 centimeters wide. It's actually made up of two belts, the koshi-himo and date-jime.

2. Choshu...did I mention this already? One of the powerful provinces controlled by daimyo that rose up against the Tokugawa Shogunate. Satsuma was the other one. Choshu and Satsuma didn't always get along, and they even ended up fighting each other at one point of time during the bakumatsu.

3. Bakumatsu...the ending period of the Tokugawa Shogunate. I'm not really sure if the Boshin War (1868-1869, war between the shogunate and pro-imperialists) is during the Bakumatsu or after it, or whatnot. I'm sorry!

4. Onna hitokiri-san...mangled Japanese for "woman hitokiri" or female hitokiri, plus -san for added respect. Just in case said female hitokiri looses her temper and decides that her sword's sharpness must be tested.

5. Miyuki...this means deep snow. I thought this would be appropriate, since she seems so cool and collected. Seemed.

Thank you (SO MUCH!) for reading! Would you review if you would be so kind?