Wow. Uh... been a while? Sorry, sorry! I'm a terrible delinquent. I've been trying to beat myself down and continue writing fics that have been left behind, and Manslayer is among my top priorities. I will do my best to improve, I swear, ;.;
Also, I titled the last chapter wrong. It's supposed to be 9, this is the real chapter 10. I'd fix it but I'm terrified of screwing up the formatting. (You can thank the wonderful webhost for that.)
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Diary of a Manslayer
Akai Kitsune
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10) The Cross I Bear
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When Kenshin heard, by chance one day, Kaoru mourning over her poor, callused hands, he'd paused a moment to consider his own. They were larger than hers, though admittedly not by much; his own calluses were far older, more emphasized from long years of wielding the blade. But he couldn't help but notice how they had waned in recent times. With his sakabatou off in the hands of the somewhat elusive Yahiko, and his swordsmanship skills now limited to casual spars and gentle bokken or shinai practices to keep himself in shape, the worn marks of hard labour and training had begun to soften. It was almost embarrassing, he mused; he already cooked, and cleaned, and did the majority of chores normally appointed to the woman of the household. Now to have softer, more tender hands than his wife...
He never mentioned it to Kaoru, though he suspected she noticed. She noticed a lot of things about him that he didn't want her to.
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He loved those calluses, despite how rough they had made his touch, whatever Kaoru might have said about his gentleness. They were the unseen scars, the shadows of days past. Memoirs of a time long forgotten, though never by him. They were remnants of what he'd done, in darkness and in light.
Scars remained as long as there was malice.
Were his sins unforgivable so long as he held a sword, only now able to fade because he did not?
He wondered about it, gazing at those hands, or Kaoru and her students in the dojo, making scars of their own. But he thought their scars were beautiful; something to be treasured, no misplaced justice tainted with nightmares and blood.
No, theirs were from a battle already won.
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They still fought it, he knew; the dojo had suffered plenty of times, whether from his own faults, his own dark, fierce battles, or from the constant battle of time and dying tradition. Youth these days were too busy enjoying the new Western ideals and fashion, learning trades, turning away from the old ways. It was never enough to make the dojo suffer - his own job did a fine job in picking up whatever expenses the school couldn't handle - but some days the dojo was more empty than it ought to be, the walls covered in fewer nameplates than Kaoru would have liked. There were some seasons where kenjutsu was fashionable, and students flocked to the "woman's dojo", full of curiousity and enthusiasm. Others, all was quiet; their voices echoed through the rice paper, louder than they really were, ethereal, like ghosts of past students who have moved on, lost interest, found some newer, better form of entertainment.
Children these days, he thought idly, though with a wince - he sounded like an old man with words like that - were not interested in long-lasting beliefs, that which could change them for life. They wanted quick satisfaction, skills they could gloat about, discard when not needed. The Kamiya Kasshin style required more dedication than they were willing to give, and it shown clearly by the number of students that stayed year after year - that same small, dwindling number that made Kaoru worry and fret and rant when someone missed more than one lesson in a row. It was a sobering thought, a persistent threat, the idea that the skills you'd developed all your life were viewed to be so useless in the eyes of the world. At least Kenji seemed interested in swordsmanship, despite the fact that his interest was not in the school of his mother, but of his father.
Another sobering thought, Kenshin couldn't help but remind himself; swordsmanship was a strong bait to be dangled before the souls of every boy - or girl, for those strong of heart as Kaoru was - and it was in their nature to seek the greatest of all powers. Unfortunately, those young and inexperienced students who came time after time in the hopes of seeing the supposed Hiten master (wouldn't they like to know, he mused secretly) in his true form, instead of smiling placidly, working on the laundry and changing diapers, were sorely disappointed every time.
They didn't understand that his true form was a family man, that it took a war and ten years of atonement to realize this. They didn't understand, and he truly hoped they never would.
But he wasn't in control of that; as much as it pained him to admit, it wasn't his job to teach them, wasn't his responsibility to show them what to do with their lessons. That was Kaoru, the one more suited, the one who, despite any failures - a word he would never choose himself - was really quite talented at it. She hid behind her doubts, and her fears, and her fretting at every opportunity, but that didn't change the fact that she knew how to reach people without even trying, to give a smile and few choice words that struck the hearts of those listening, and if their ears were truly open to it, she could reach them more proficiently than he himself could.
She lived it, after all; lived every word of her beliefs. He had hidden himself from them all through the war, fled his answers ten years after. He'd run and run and run until she caught him, given that smile and those words and let him live it too, and he'd learned.
We are all her family, he liked to remind himself sometimes, but we are also students, every one of us. And we learn as we live, with her as our guide, holding us together no matter where we are. People liked to say it was he who used to keep them as a group, but he knew the truth. She was the backbone of who they were; losing her would - and had, once - tear them apart, leaving nothing but broken pieces, shattered and tossed to the wind to drift alone. It was a simple truth, albeit a painful one.
And one that I will never let happen again. A promise he made to himself, in his heart, each and every day he woke up with her at his side, stretching and smiling and touching his hand.
Day by day... this is life. I need her in my life because she -is- my life. The family she has given me is the answer to every question my heart can think to ask.
To me, her answer is this - love me, and I will show you the light of the world in everything I do.
And he did, and she did, and it was answer enough. Day by day.
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Again, many thanks to everyone for your support. You make writing worthwhile.
Till next time!