Usual disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively. FF is non-profit, meant for entertainment only and can be archived anywhere, just let me know where. Please send no flames, I'm sensitive. But for all other comments you may contact me through the review button, alright. All right.
ּ
ּ
ּ
ּ
ּ ּ ּ
ּ
ּ
ּ
ּ
CHAPTER FOUR: As Shadows Move
Kenshin stirred. Blinking past a haze of slumber to find himself in the middle of the dojo's hall kneeling on the spot . . . he'd found her. Once, when he'd thought his eyes could be trusted; more so than the shattered remnants of his heart—and he'd abandoned her, to whatever kinds of fate. He'd abandoned her when she needed him. And though he'd gone for her, eventually, cried and fought and bled for her to be returned to him, he still couldn't help but wonder—what kind of protector that made him? What kind of man did that make him if he couldn't even . . . protect your woman? He shook his head, struggling past the bitter anger threatening to choke him, he shook his head. Knowing it was useless—to think of what he could have done, if he had known. If only he had known what she meant to him. He wouldn't have broken so easily.
If he had known then what the realization would cost him. He wouldn't have drawn back. He wouldn't have crumpled helplessly on the floor and sobbed as his senses splintered—as pain and regret consumed him whole. NO. He would have turned back. In every sense of the word, he would have turned back and killed him, then and there. That perhaps, might've even been for the best—returning to what he'd been, since despite regret, he'd at least been free of the shackles guilt had placed upon his rurouni self. And how different then might it all have been if regret hadn't ruled him the way it did.
Sighing, he closed his eyes. Banishing the demons with the next breath that left his lungs, slowly as he exhaled, letting his thoughts drift away. Little by little, as he went through the motions of measured breathing, a reminder still that no matter what his age, his shishou probably still knew best. Not that he'd ever tell him that, the man was arrogant enough, he thought. Smiling slightly as he rose to stand, stretching tired muscles as he headed out the door, down the familiar path and around the bend as he headed towards his room. Wondering still what he should, now that Sano had gone . . .
His steps slowed as he neared the end of the hall. Catching the soft sounds of unrest and familiar calling of his name as he stopped, just outside her room—he didn't wonder why he didn't call her name or gently rasp on the wooden frame, or anything close for that matter to make his presence known, what he did do, was slide the shoji open. Come in the rest of the way and pause at the side of her bed. Silent for a moment as he watched her sleep, thinking and yet trying not to as he wondered what she dreamt. What had prompted her to call him; as she turned and spoke his name, he knelt down besides her. Curious, as he had not been since . . .
He couldn't remember. But neither could he admit that he might, given time—he brushed the thought aside. Refocusing his attentions on her instead; as he pulled her blankets back up to her shoulders, he couldn't help but gaze at her sleeping face, the softening of her expression as she slept, so still and peaceful, so beautiful, she made his heart ache. Longing for what he saw, could feel and breathe and taste; in dreams, where his other nature had ceased to rest, he loved her. The way he knew she deserved, without the echoes of his past or the shadows of his future, interfering, as he loved her; without regret, without thought or mind of consequence—so that for those few moments, before his dreams distorted and he knew of nothing else but the overwhelming sense of happiness her presence brought him, the peace her laughter drew or the fervor her touch incited—he knew a love as pure and kind as the woman he was in love with. Untainted by what he'd done. By what he sometimes wished, he hadn't done. To be worthy of that love; oh what he wouldn't give, for the chance.
For her—"To be mine."
His hands retracted, sadly, shaking his head as he breathed an exasperated breath. Wondering, for the millionth time, what the hell was wrong with him? It wasn't like he didn't know. He did, he knew better than to this. Indulging in such moments of wistfulness; he hadn't done this since . . . since after they'd come back. When he was still too afraid, fearing someone else might take her as she slept. He hadn't been able to let go. Not of his fears or the anger, or the slowly poising hate he'd developed towards someone he'd once thought deserved to take his life. For what he'd done, he had thought it only fair. A life for a life—how utterly ignorant though, for him, to think it was his death he'd been after. Oh, he'd wanted his life, it'd just never occurred to him, to think that his life had anything more to do than with his dying.
He'd never imagined that his life could be encompassed in the soul of another or that his joy would derive from the laughter of that other, that his happiness once again, rested in the palms of the woman he'd unknowingly come to love—was a realization, he hadn't been ready for. After so many years, of tears and pain and regret—how could he have known that in that small flicker of emotion he'd always felt around her, had thought of as devotion and gratitude, for all her warmth and kindness—there lay a greater truth.
How could he have known, if he'd never once been able to see, as others saw. That in the contradiction of his actions, his mask, revealed its flaws. Exposing more than just his anger, when he realized, it was because of him, that she'd been taken. Time after time, it was because of him—because of whom he'd been and who he was, she was constantly in danger. And though he could fix that, by one of two ways, he knew, the rurouni part of him wouldn't be convinced until the next time they were attacked. And by then, it might all be too late.
Just the same—he knew, he couldn't act without probable cause. "Not if sessha is to remain with you Kaoru-dono." Gently, moving her bangs aside, he whispered, "And that he does." More than anything sessha wants, sessha needs to be with you—no matter how wrong that may be.
΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅
'So when it rains; it really does pour,' he thought. Shaking water out of his hair, as he set his bokken by the door and turned, half-carrying, half-dragging the bottom part of his hakama. Cursing, under his breath, as he slowly made his way. Wondering, why of all the stupid things he'd ever done, he'd ever thought following Kenshin around, could ever be a smart one.
"I mean, he must have known I was there all along." There wasn't much of anything, one could do that he wouldn't notice. Of that, Yahiko was sure. No matter what his state-of-mind. Kenshin never missed much.
Which is why this was all so difficult to understand. Following Kenshin around had been nothing but a waste of time. Proving useless and irrelevant. Although strange, the way he'd walked out into the training hall. He hadn't really done much of anything there other than kneel there for several hours. Quite and still, as he often was. Only different, in a way hard to describe. His whole demeanor, especially as of late, was difficult to convey. Still, he couldn't help but wonder—were he anybody else and were they never to have met, from afar at least, he'd have said that the man he now saw, was brooding.
Though after all he'd been through—shouldn't that be the least bit expected. Kenshin, whatever he once may have been, was fragile at heart. And though, he never might have believed it, had he not seen it first hand. He never would have understood how easily the rurouni could succumb to the turmoil within his heart.
Thinking about it now, only made it worse he realized, since in the end—"I don't know, what I'm gonna to do?" He needed Sano to talk this over with. Kaoru despite everything, always got real scary when she thought anyone had even half a bad thought about Kenshin. What was she going to do when she found out The Yokohama Newspaper was blaming him for this murder. He still hadn't told her and he debated whether that should even be an option. "I mean—" was there even a real need for it. The rurouni, had after all, done nothing wrong. And as far as he knew, the police would have to question him first.
Whatever their feelings about him now, he imagined the government would have to get involved if it looked like Kenshin was going to get into some real trouble. For all he'd done for them; ridding them of Enishi and Shishio. And helping them win the Bakumatsu, didn't they own him like a million favors for that. Shouldn't they be willing to overlook him anything.
If he needed it—"I mean . . . what are the odds that nut job really did see Kenshin light the fire." It'd been dark and the guy had already admitted to having a couple of drinks. "And he never actually saw his face." He just assumed it was the legendary hitokiri because of his long hair and sword. "And couldn't that just be any disgruntle samurai." He knew several people who fit that description. So maybe, he thought, turning into the kitchen and smacking into—
"Yahiko?"
He eeped, he couldn't help it. He'd been too lost in thought to wonder where he'd gone or what had become of him after he'd entered the house. Even so, being startled like this still made him more than a bit angry. How did he ever hope to become Tokyo's best Samurai if he constantly kept getting caught of guard. Of course this was Kenshin and the former hitokiri had a tendency of creeping up on people but still.
"Yahiko . . . why are you wet?"
"Oh—" he considered telling him the truth because: well, Kenshin being Kenshin would always know when he lied . . . but even so . . . how could he ask what he wanted to know, without seeming so damn dishonestand untrusting. For all he'd done, for him and Kaoru, how could he now ask him something so—implausible.
"You should change, that you should, before Kaoru-dono comes inside."
Maybe . . . he thought, looking closely at the rurouni, watching him look around at all the water he'd dragged in . . . maybe, he'll understand.
Sighing, almost dejectedly, Kenshin shook his head. "Go on ahead . . . Yahiko, sessha will take care of this, that he will." Smiling, his rurouni smile. Kenshin felt confusion cloud his eyes as he watched, Yahiko's expression turn from a look of solemn reflection to one of sudden dismay. Since for the life of him . . .
"It'll be all right." Yahiko realized, because whether Kenshin did it or not—should never have been the question. Kenshin was a rurouni and as peaceful as they come. He never, ever would have met or meet a confrontation in the ways of a normal man. And that, is something he never should have forgotten. More importantly, he was family and what he did . . . or may have done, whatever that might mean, is something none of them had any right to judge.
"Yahiko?"
He shook his head, clearing the heavy burden of his previous thoughts before meeting the soft purple gaze, concerned now, because of him and his lack of response. So that whatever he'd been meaning to say, died before it began. And all he could say, for the guilt building in his chest is—"I'm sorry." For forgetting, for not trusting—for being too young to understand that sometimes, even someone like Kenshin needed—
"Yahiko, are you all right?"
"Yeah," looking down at the floor. He said, "It's nothing, I just—thanks Kenshin."
After a moment, when no answer came, he looked up at the silent man. Who's face, had grown uncharacteristically blank. With eyes, as dark as gems, filled with such intensity, it made the hairs on his arms stand on end. Kenshin knew. No-two-ways about it. He always knew when someone lied. But this—this was the first time he'd ever felt how much it truly bothered him.
"I—"
"Should go . . . that you should. Kaoru-dono is coming and sessha needs to clean this before she tries to—" Feeling, the corners of his mouth turn-up. He waved the boy away. "Sessha will take care of it, just go."
Yahiko moved away, though not before casting him a fleeting glance, more confused now than when he'd first walked in. Since he just—he couldn't understand. How could Kenshin look so much like himself and yet sound so . . .
He suddenly stopped.
He'd only ever heard his voice like that once. Before, when Saitou had come—"But Kenshin's not . . ." He couldn't have been—out there in the kitchen, that was the rurouni they all knew. He'd been worried about Kaoru finding the kitchen in such a mess. So, "It couldn't have been him." It just couldn't. He only ever came out when there was danger. And since Enishi, there'd been no need for him whatsoever.
"I must have just imagined it," he thought. Being so paranoid with the whole, newspaper thing and all. "I must have not heard right." He was sure that's all it was. Cause there was no way in hell, Battousai would ever be caught doing something so . . . so, womanly.
Despite Kaoru's assurance that Kenshin was still Kenshin, when he got like that—he couldn't quite agree. He was too different, for one not to notice. That it was more than just the color of his eyes that changed when he became like that. It was everything. From the way he viewed the world to what he heartily believed. And though, somewhere deep down there might have been a common thread of joint belief—when he became like that, it was like the rurouni part they all knew . . . had never been. As though the mask had finally dropped away and what they saw, is all there'd ever been.
It scared him—yeah, but it worried him more. While the rurouni was sworn to protect and defend, he had no idea if Battousai even felt the same. He'd tried to kill Saitou, after all. Despite his vow to never kill again, he'd tried to slice him open. Not because of his taunting or baiting, but because of the threat he'd originally presented. Offering to kill Kaoru was never a good idea. And to suggest it—well, he just assumed it safer not to. If Saitou was any sort of indication on how he'd treated his enemies before . . . well, they'd probably never even see the killing blow.
΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅
In the silence of the room, as he quietly drank his tea, Yahiko wondered about Sano; where he'd gone and why he'd suddenly left as he did. With a just note and offer to have his place. He'd never even said good-bye, just that he'd be back and to take care of both him and Kaoru, at least till he got back. Which he thought was kinda weird, specially since he'd never once mentioned Kenshin. Though they all knew he could take care of himself—he guessed, maybe that's why he hadn't bothered. Ahou! He hoped he was all right. Though knowing him, he'd probably already gotten into some sort of fight. He bet anything, he'd end up doing time too, he was just too easy to rile up. They were a lot alike in that way. He guessed, that's one of the reasons they'd gotten along as well as they had.
Sighing, somewhat sadly, he set his cup aside. Regarding Kaoru for the first, as she quietly drank her tea. Contently lost in thought, he assumed since from where he sat, he could see the tiniest smile just behind her cup. Probably thinking about Kenshin—
And on that line of thought, he surrendered previous musings, disturbing the silence around them, as he sought to catch her eye.
"Kaoru."
She started as he called, as though she might have forgotten, he was even there. She looked at him. Blushing profusely, though out of embarrassment or something else, he couldn't tell.
"Yes, Yahiko."
Ok, he thought, so I have her attention; now what am I suppose to say. "I . . ." I can't just blurt out what I know. Or what—I suppose, I know. Lowering his gaze, he thought maybe it be easier if he didn't look at her. "Kaoru . . ."
He couldn't quite figure out how to tell her what he'd heard. And with her gaze, trained on him so steadily . . . He just couldn't think at all. And as his mind blanked, his mouth went off with out his brain. Spurting off last thing he'd ever wanted to ask her.
"Do you ever think about Shigeru?"
The random question, he could tell, caught her completely off guard; as she set her cup aside, a little crease of worry spread across her brow. And though she answered him, he thought she did it all a bit too carefully, as she said, "I think about Toki sometimes. Why?"
He kinda shrugged, not too sure why he'd asked or how it could possibly have anything to do with what he wanted to tell her but, "I think about him . . . sometimes. He was so much like Kenshin. You know?"
She nodded. And he supposed, she did. As she must have seen herself in Toki, the way he kinda saw Shigeru in Kenshin. Or Kenshin in Shigeru, he shook his head, knowing it was one or the other. As he glanced back up, he saw a sort of sadness, clouding her eyes. As she gazed at him, almost expectantly, he thought; she's waiting for me to go on.
"I'm . . . I worry, Kaoru." He couldn't out-right voice why but he figured she must have known. The way this conversation was turning.
"Yahiko—" her frown deepened, for a moment, hesitant to speak. Before continuing, in a stronger, more reassuring voice. She said, "You know it's not exactly, the same don't you. They," she paused, as though searching for the right words. "They shared a kind of bond, yes. Living through similar hardships and struggles, things they had to overcome. But that's about where it ended. Their beliefs, their heart, the way they viewed things—you understand—that's what makes a person so unique. It's what sets them part and ultimately, what keeps one from turning into the other."
When his head tilted. She nodded again, as though understanding, he couldn't quite see. "Alright," pausing. Again, searching for words to express and expels his concerns. She tried again. "Kenshin . . . You know how he feels, don't you? About violence and killing, you understand that to him, it's all a last resort. That if he could, he would settle everything without ever needing that blade . . . he has to carry."
"Kaoru—" He tried to interrupt her, only just realizing, this might be something she'd rather not discuss.
But she shook her head, "I know you looked up to Shigeru, Yahiko. And I know why these similarities might . . . concern you but it's not the same. Kenshin won't kill."
"But if they make him mad?"
"No." She refused to even think it.
"But Battousai—"
"NO!" Flustered, she dropped her gaze, insisting— "He can't. He won't."
And just like that, he understood; the reasons she needed to believe that. She was afraid, but unlike him, her whole concern revolved around his fears. She was afraid he'd kill but only because it would hurt him to break that kind of vow.
"Yahiko?"
He realized he couldn't hold that against her, now could he? It was how she'd been brought up. Her heart and love for others, it's just the way she was. She didn't judge. Not like others, whose eyes were clouded. In her eyes—they were all the same. Weren't they? Its why she took care of them. Why she worked and cried, why she sometimes screamed and nagged them. Why she worried so often. She loved them.
A lot, he realized as he was suddenly enfolded. His face, tightly pressed against her chest, listening to her heart beat as he sniffled. Hiding further into her arms, as a hot salty wetness made it self known and he realized for the first time in many months now, how much he'd really missed her. All those months ago. He'd never even told her how much he cared, how much he loved her.
Tae had said she'd known but did she really? Did she know he didn't mean it when he called her names. "Ka-oru," he tried to lift his face, to tell her now before something or someone could have the chance to take her once again. But she shh'd him. Softly gliding her hands through his hair—just like his mom had used to do—
Before she'd died, he remembered how hard she'd had to try . . . so much like Kaoru . . . Only he'd never given her the chance. Even after she'd showed him the succession technique. He'd remained ungrateful. Just some, little bastard who deserved what he got—loosing the only thing he'd ever known since his own mothers love. How could she stand him. How could she even bear to look at him after how he'd acted.
"Kaoru—" he tried to push her off. Struggling to put some space, if any at all between them but she was stronger than she looked. Forcing his limbs back to his sides almost as soon as he'd begun. Holding him, a captive in her embrace, as she slowly began to rock them. Waiting for him to settle—she did something he did not expect. Resting her chin on top of his head, as she softly began to murmur, crooning against his hair.
Words . . . he didn't so much as hear but rather felt of all she meant. As he nodded, eager to believe her and whatever else that might entail, he sank into her arms. Crying like the child he was. Really wishing he could believe—if for no other reason than to know she'd be alright. He wished . . . whatever else might happen, he wished for Kenshin to always keep her safe.
For all their sakes, he knew Kaoru could never leave them—though only Kenshin seem to understand this. He was sure the rest of everyone felt the same. They'd have to, wouldn't they? After almost loosing her, he didn't think there was anyone among them who could bare to see that happen, not again. Kenshin specially—after all he'd suffered, he knew nothing short of death itself, would ever keep him from being there when she needed him. Not ever again. As he had heard him promise a sleeping Kaoru once—
Will there be a repeat of what happened . . . that day. I swear . . . that happiness you almost lost. In all this violence . . . I will protect it, Kaoru. I will protect it . . .
And he had known, of course, the instant he'd opened his mouth he had know who it was. Promising her not just protection in that statement but a devotion greater than all his life. And as he'd expected, almost from the very start, the hitokiri had turned his head, looking straight through the shoji to where he hid. Pinpointing his location, with such exact precision, there was no doubt, he'd been seen.
Not that it'd even mattered though. As he had left him there alone to continue watching over her. He remembered thinking only that he wasn't even the littlest afraid. If anything, he had thought a pissed off Kenshin would do better at keeping her safe than the mild non-threatening rurouni ever had. Not because he couldn't . . . exactly. It's just . . . every time he remembered Kaoru's body, pinned to that wall. He just couldn't help but wonder; had it been Battousai all along—would that white-haired freak have even had the chance to do what he did.
΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅΅
At times—when in the low, failing light of day. As the sun just begins to set—his eyes, could almost seem to darken. Filling with such emotion, he's forced to turn away—separating feelings from actions. As he'd had to sometime before—ages ago now, from when he'd first had had to learn; that to complete a specific task . . . sometimes detachment . . . was all there was. A simple means to an end, if that's all it'd really meant.
Then—or now—as he watched a play of shadows filling up the grounds, he thought it kind of odd, that one place could look so much like another. It just felt strange, though familiar in reminiscent sort of way . . . like before . . . only better, because he knew this was his home. Whatever other place . . . was probably better off forgotten.
As he settled back, watching the darkening skies, wondering if there'd be rain or if the sun would merely set—he heard her sigh. Much to his surprise, he realized he had failed to sense her. Not that it mattered. But surely—had they been somewhere else . . . anywhere else, it could have meant either of their lives.
"Koishii?" He had to be more careful. Months in hiding, shouldn't have made him this distracted. If anything, the small break away, should have made him all the sharper. He should have felt her coming—
"Kenshin?"
His eyes narrowed, despite his promise not to do it so very often. He just couldn't seem to help it, he was to used to hiding behind his anger to simply just stop only a few days after. Even if she had asked him to—"What is it?"
The words had come out harsher than he'd expected. And from the way her eyes had suddenly started to glisten, he thought she'd surely start to cry. But no—
"Kenshin-baka."
As her fist connect with his face, he realized he really should have seen that coming. She'd never been one to let him get away with such behavior, so honestly, what did he expect. "Kaoru?" He knew he couldn't chide her, she was too used to getting her own way, for anything he now said to even get through to her. Either way, it's not as if she hadn't slapped him once or twice before. If anything, with the frequency she dispersed them, he thought he'd soon become immune.
"Koishii," she blushed at the endearment, still a bit embarrassed by that particular aspect of their relationship. She turned her face away, flushing furiously as she did, so that he had a pretty good idea why. "What is it?" His voice, now more amused than anything, only served to make her color heighten, as she turned back around. Trying really, really hard to glare at him.
He smiled. And watched amazedly as that was all it took for her to waver in her resolve. For the amusement on his behalf to turn into a silent kind of wonder, as he watched the dark look of anger melt from her striking jewel like eyes.
"Ano . . ."
He thought it nothing if not comforting—to watch her expressions reveal so much of what she thought.
"I . . ."
Looked so shy, he thought; with her face slightly turned and her eyes perceptibly cast on her lap. She looked beautiful. Even more than when he made—
"Kenshin!"
He met her gaze, maybe with a bit too much. As she colored. He decided, that perhaps, he did enjoy her being a little mad. The way her eyes flashed and her ki spiked . . . he really shouldn't enjoy that little thrill, it gave him. To feel her intentions and know she couldn't act on them . . . He really was a bastard, wasn't he.
"Aa."
With the mask back in place, he knew she was a bit too put out, to try and guess what he might have thought. As she squared her shoulders, unintentionally drawing his gaze, he saw her smile. Making him wonder, just how much of him she really thought she knew.
"Anta please, I've been meaning to tell you for days now . . . I just . . . I didn't know how to tell you."
The hesitance in her tone, would not have been enough of a cause for worry, if her gaze had not also been withdraw. "Koishii?" He was no longer playing, as he watched her eyes scrunch, in denial of the forming tears—
"I want to leave here."
"What—" to hell, that'd been the last thing he'd expected. But—"why?"
"I . . ."
He cupped her face, holding her still as he looked into her eyes. "Why?"
The moment she closed her eyes, he knew she'd lie. "I . . ." she trailed off. As though thinking, of something he might actually believe. "I don't . . ." She shook her head. "I don't want you to go."
He let her go, unable to decided if she lied to him or not.
"Kenshin?"
He shook his head, drawing further and further away from her.
"Please," she made a grab for his hand, only to have him step further back. "Kenshin, please. You can't leave me."
Of course he looked at her, the hesitant way she continued to speak his name—he knew there was something wrong. But he couldn't know it if she didn't tell him. Didn't she understand that.
"Himura."
He turned around, giving his back to the house and her as he met a young boys gaze.
"This just came for you, sir."
The envelope being extended, was black. The color of duty and shadows and the hollow way his heart felt at hearing her sob behind him. As he took it. But what else could he do. He had sworn to this. It was his job. It's what he did. Why was she trying to keep him from something she knew he had to do.
"Kenshin—"
"No." He didn't want to argue before leaving. "I'll be back later, all right we'll talk when I come back." As he stepped into the house, retrieving the mishiyuki he would need. He thought he heard her mumble—though it sounded muffled and incoherent, even with his great sense of hearing. He stepped back out, dressed in what he needed and with his daisho at his side. As he took a moment to look at her, wondering if she'd fine—before deciding he really shouldn't stall at all. The longer he took in completing this assignment, the longer it would be for him to return. And that, he thought, could only make things worse.
As he was leaving, glancing briefly over his shoulder and back to the porch, he saw the young boy had taken up his seat. Very, very close to Kaoru, as he wiped the remnant of her tears away, so careful and with such tenderness—Kenshin stopped.
Listening to what they spoke. Almost didn't matter, as he walked back towards where they sat however, he had the distinct impression, he hadn't been listening at all. As the boy repeated his statement though—"Onee-sama, please don't be sad. It doesn't matter if he's gone. I'll never leave you. I swear."
"Won't you smile, onee-sama. Wouldn't you smile for me, now."
And that, made his blood run cold. As it finally registered, who it was. "Enishi." His sword was out and piercing before he could think twice about it. As she screamed, and tried to shield him though, Kenshin could only watch in horror as the blade pierced her instead. As Enishi took off running, screaming or what could've been him sobbing, he couldn't tell. He couldn't hear him, even from as close as he'd run away. He couldn't hear him swearing to make him pay. All he could see was, Kaoru. The confusion and hurt in her gaze, the anger which then replaced it and the hateful way she refused to look at him again.
He didn't understand. And as her eyes finally closed and Enishi ran away. All he had was this guilt and fear, an anger so great . . . he could have lay waste to an entire nation and still, they wouldn't understand the meaning of pain. Enishi. If nothing else mattered then . . .there was no reason for him to live—as he ran off into the forest, blindly seeking the reason for his grief. He failed to miss a block set out in front of him. As he tripped and cut his hand . . . Kenshin came awake, somewhere in the forest and with blood slowly dripping from his hands.
ּ
ּ
ּ
ּ
ּ
ּ
ּ ּ ּ
ּ
ּ
ּ
ּ
ּ
ּ
Well, as you can all see I'm back and this is the latest of chapters . . . in my collection and probably for a while too since I'm going to spend the rest of my time updating the other stories. Provided my post form last night took that is and the new chapter looks as it should. With all the right spaces and divisions and such. So, I'm crossing my fingers. In the meantime, let's get back to the story, yes.
Small Notes: From the beginning . . .
Starting with the title of our chapter, we notice the reference made to shadows and darkness, all subtle hints for which the hitokiri more than anyone else is so often known for. More so, as of recent, since The Kunii House made the mistake of printing up a particular article involving the hitokiri and a certain kendo-instructor they've dubbed his woman.
While this chapter, excludes mention of it, you should still be kind of wary. While it has not become a big deal--yet, it should make you wonder. Who wrote that particular little bit of info. And why?
If everything around them, is simply happening out of coincidence then what do the reports of missing people have to do with Kenshin. More importantly, why is he so concerned?
Even at his worst and most defeated, Kenshin was never one for paranoia. Though that can no longer be discounted, since it becomes a symptom among people who rarely eat and worse, among those who rarely sleep. In this instance, Kenshin becomes prime suspect. Cause how many times have seen him sleep--if each chapter accounts for a day in our count down to the anniversary of Enishi's Jinchuu--how many times, have you read he's slept? Not many, would be my guess. Since every time he does manage to finally fall asleep, he is terrorized by nightmares. And abruptly starts awake, most often, before the sun has even had a chance to rise--and too repeatedly before he's even had an hours worth of rest.
As fatigue begins to weigh more and more heavily upon his tired mind, his mood decidedly alters. Shifting to adjust more than to adapt to his current state of mind. Something which should be noted. As well as the fact that this, mostly tends to happen when he's too tired to even notice. Not that others don't. As both Sano and Yahiko have been privy to some of the more, deliberately hidden behavior. You have to wonder though--and perhaps, can't even help but think, that some part of Kenshin--no matter how tired, is still very much aware and extra cautious that she doesn't see anything that might upset her.
That, in itself would attribute to her insistence that Kenshin, no matter what his state of mind, is still just Kenshin. Normally, this much would be true. But as the days move forward, the statement becomes more than less likely. It becomes irrelevant, as Kenshin's behavior shifts more and more from what we know, to what we've only seen tiny glimpses off.
His behavior in the dream, is a direct testament of that. In there, he's neither the hitokiri nor the rurouni—exactly but more of something in between. This correlation between the two; it becomes irrefutable when the shift is finally observed. The jump from caring to angry, to suspicious and then outright dangerous; refusing to hesitate when he sees no other reason.
Though his mind twists the desire to kill Enishi, he still refuses to let it be. If for no other reason, if has nothing else to loose, he wishes the death of Enishi to be the last thing he ever does. Even in sleep—he can't let go of that. He will never be able to let go of that. And that perhaps, is where the problem lies.
Well, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. Though I apologize for leaving you on such a spot, I hope you guys understand that just couldn't be helped. I have so many stories to update. That it'll probably at least a month before you see another chapter. At least you're forewarned right.
Thanks for reading. And please, don't forget to review.