Chapter 29. Of hate, forgiveness and survival
In the following days, Kenshin came to wake more often and for longer periods of time. His healing was slow going, even with Midori-san's expert care… but for Tomoe, he struggled.
The children were worried for him and wanted him to get better, but their enthusiasm was very tiresome. Frankly, Kenshin couldn't even muster the energy to tell them off. Midori-san seemed to notice and kept her children away from his corner of the house. However, this didn't mean that he was allowed to brood in silence; if Midori-san wasn't at his bedside, then it was her husband, Kichirou, keeping him company, telling jokes and funny anecdotes from their everyday lives.
Kenshin didn't want to hear of their happiness, or see them enjoying their family meal. He didn't want to notice the sun rising and setting... that despite his world having been overturned, the rest of the world steadily kept on going.
It would have been far easier to close his eyes and fall into an eternal sleep.
And yet, Tomoe had given her life to save his… and no matter how tempting it was to follow after her, he couldn't spit on her sacrifice.
So Kenshin ate, drank, and rested.
In his better moments, he could admit – if only to himself – that he was grateful for his neighbors' help. They had found him on death's door, carried him back, fetched the village doctor, and even now, they were scarily intent on nursing him back to health. More importantly, they had done their best for Tomoe, too. While he had been sick, they had brought back her body, prepared her for funeral rites, and burned her as was proper.
Even if he hadn't been able to say goodbye to her, Kenshin knew she had been looked after just as well as he had been.
And for that, he would be ever grateful.
Midori-san had even saved Tomoe's shawl for him to remember her by. He could appreciate the thought, even if seeing it made the pit of his stomach lurch with guilt and his heart ache with a terrible longing. But then again, the shawl was a tangible reminder of why he had to survive, to struggle with his pain… alone.
Or, as alone as an unnatural freak like him could ever be.
Ever since he woke up, Kenta had become restless on its side of the wall. It was anxiously trying to comfort him, offer any help it could. Kenshin kept rebuffing its efforts; he didn't want any comfort or help. For his failure to protect Tomoe, for killing the person he cared for most in the entire world – he deserved every bit of his pain.
Some days later, the village doctor came to check on his wounds. For some reason, the old man was surprised that Kenshin was not only awake, but coherent. However, when he asked the doctor about it, the doctor explained that he had been unconscious for days and they had doubts about whether he would ever wake properly, or retain all his mental faculties.
Truthfully, Kenshin didn't know what to think of that. While dying didn't phase him... being robbed of his mind was different. The very thought brought chills to his skin.
However, the doctor assured him that it wasn't something to stress about. After all, he had woken up and he hadn't noticed anything strange, had he? The doctor then proceeded to remove the stitches from a couple of the smaller wounds in Kenshin's back and arms. The large claw wounds in his shoulders were left alone, as the stitches were all that was holding the slowly healing strips of skin and scabbed-over gouges together. The doctor washed the wound carefully, poking around it, trying to find signs of pus or blood-rot. Thankfully, it seemed that the fever had burned away any infection.
When it came to his lesser injuries, namely the frostbite in his fingers and toes, well… quite a bit of skin had died and been rubbed off, along with all of his hard-won callouses. However, under the bandages his fingers seemed alright. Nastily red and raw for sure, but fully functional. If he kept them clean and wrapped up, they would recover in time.
It was the fourteenth day of the new year, a full fortnight since Tomoe's death, until Kenshin was finally well enough to sit up and eat breakfast under his own strength. The meal was simple miso and rice, bland but easy enough to stomach, and it was a major step up from the terrible gruel Midori-san had fed him to treat his anemia. For some reason, though, it felt wrong to eat such good, basic food. The taste was far too similar to the delicious dishes Tomoe had cooked and he didn't deserve any enjoyment, not anymore.
He just… wanted to get home, to lick his wounds in peace, and find out why this had happened. Why had Tomoe gone into that accursed forest in the first place? As he lay there, awake but unable to move or do anything other than stare at the ceiling, Kenshin had run through his hazy memories time and time again – the more he thought, tried to figure out her motivations, her reasons… the less he understood.
His own failures were the most at fault, of that Kenshin was acutely aware. But still, it kept haunting him; if she had never left that morning… If she had told him what she knew, could things have gone differently?
Originally, he had assumed the bastards had taken her brother and she had left to bargain for Enishi's life. But given what Midori-san had told him, Enishi had followed him to the forest under his own free will and disappeared afterwards. So obviously, there was something he was missing, a critical piece of the puzzle that would align all the rest.
Perhaps it was useless, this late in the chain of events, but he just… he needed to find out, to understand how it had all gone so horribly wrong.
So Kenshin thanked them, the gruff Midori-san, her jovial husband Kichirou, and bade his farewells. The kids were especially saddened to see him go. The tenacious Ichirou and his brave brother Noburou managed to hold their composure admirably, but Aimi-chan burst into tears, wailing loudly that she didn't want him to leave.
Kenshin wasn't surprised.
However, he didn't have any joy left, not even a hint of a smile, with which to comfort her. The best he managed was a solemn nod, before he turned and left without looking back.
Tomoe's ashes under his arm, dressed in his stained and shabbily patched clothes, mere rags that only a beggar would wear, he trudged down the snow-trodden path. Tomoe's shawl was wrapped around his neck for warmth. Both of his swords sat in his sash, hitting his shins as he limped forward awkwardly, careful of his raw and aching toes.
If anyone had come across him on the road, he wouldn't have been surprised if they had sidestepped him in distaste.
He was a mess and he knew it.
Just this morning, he had seen his reflection in his tea… and seen the new decoration on his face, the scabbed cut running across the old scar on his left cheek.
Gingerly, he raised his hand to caress it.
Tomoe had cut it with her last strength. It was the last gift she had given him, a reminder of his failures.
How very fitting; two of his most horrific failures bound together and etched on his face for the rest of his life.
It was almost ironic.
He had tried to save that young man, but in doing so he had only bolstered the man's fighting spirit up to the point that he had no other choice but to kill him. Worse, he had even failed to give him a clean death. And now, his mistakes had lead to Tomoe's death. The one person he loved more than life itself had died by his own two hands. And what a painful death it had been…
The wet, lurching sound as she had struggled to breathe had followed him into his nightmares. Even now, the memory was fresh – like it had happened hours ago, instead of weeks.
Kenshin sniffled, reaching to wipe his nose with his sleeve.
The frosty air made him shiver, seeping into his flesh through his ragged clothes and needling his raw skin. Every step he took seemed to disagree with his barely healed wounds, pulling on his stitches painfully.
It didn't matter.
He just… needed to get answers.
Their house was cold and empty, which suited Kenshin just fine. Absentmindedly, he gathered the firewood from the basket next to the door and started a fire. With his bandaged hands, it took some doing to get a proper spark from the flint, but when it was done… for a moment, he just sat there, trying to gather his bearings.
Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids and he yawned, reflexively covering his mouth with his hand. It was ridiculous how weak he was. Walking just a couple of miles had made him ready to pass out and sleep for a week.
Wind blowing in from the window slits startled him awake, flipping the pages of the diary left open on the table.
That diary… Kenshin stared at it blankly for a moment.
Why was it here? Of all her possessions, Tomoe had valued it the most. She had written in it frequently, and even when wasn't writing in it, the book was never far from her. He couldn't even count how many times he had seen her holding it.
To be perfectly honest, while he had been curious at times… he had never even considered breaking her trust and violating her privacy by reading it.
...But she wrote something in it right after Enishi's visit, didn't she?
Kenshin looked aside, clenching his hands into fists, torn by his need to know and his loyalty to her memory. He knew she hadn't wanted him to read her diary. She had always kept it close or covered it, so that he wouldn't see anything even by accident.
Yet there it was now, laying open on the desk, its pages flapping gently in the wind.
Why?
As stiff as an old man, Kenshin clambered to his feet. The answers he needed, the missing pieces of the puzzle – the best chance he had for finding out why she had left alone was in that book.
And… she was dead.
He needed to know why.
For the first time, he trailed his fingers on the tightly bound paper, feeling how the edges were worn soft from her touch. Even now, he remembered vividly how she always carried this diary in her kimono folds, just over her bosom.
The mental image made his heart ache.
To remember her so, to see her beautiful and serene visage in front of his mind's eye, to feel her kindness, her caring heart and core of inner strength, which he had always leaned on… it was like he had been transported into heaven.
Kenshin wanted to cry, but he couldn't.
He was empty.
It felt like sacrilege to open her diary, so he opened it from the end, leafing through empty pages for the last entry. He wouldn't read more than he needed to... and there is was, the last day of the year:
Enishi came to visit us today. I was surprised to see him, but also glad, for I have missed him dearly. He told me worrying news; like me, he left home a year ago. He refused to tell me who had been looking after him for all that time, but when he told me that "Tenchuu is finally coming for Battousai," I knew. It's those men. They won't let me leave their grasp. Enishi relayed their message, telling me to come and meet them in a mountain cabin on the day of the New Year.
What should I do?
Those men caught my foolish, blind little brother in their web. They have lured him to their side, taking advantage of his stubbornly childish way of seeing the world only in black and white. What has he been told? Is it the same tale I heard, about evil, cruel men that needed to be brought to justice?
I tried to push him to return to Edo, to abandon his empty revenge. That rage was mine, not his… I should have known it wouldn't work. Like always, Enishi refused to listen to reason and left in anger.
How can I save him?
No matter what I hoped, those men won't let me go. Why? Why can't they see he is no longer a threat? It has been so long. He is a different man now! And yet, they came for him still. They hold my foolish little brother as a hostage to secure my loyalty. What can I do?
Kenshin didn't know what to think, this was all too confusing. Her words didn't solve the mystery, they only gave him more questions! Nothing in this made sense. Who were those men? Assassins for sure, but what else? Secure her loyalty? Had Tomoe known them?
Should I read more? Kenshin hesitated, clutching the diary in his hands. It felt wrong to invade her private thoughts, but…
Slowly, he turned the page backwards, but instead of an conventional entry, there was a torn piece of paper slipped in between the pages – a letter?
Kenshin,
Please, forgive me.
I must leave you. I left this diary with you so that you could seek understanding of my actions. Those men won't let me go, nor will they relinquish their hold on Enishi, not before I tell them of your weaknesses. Fear not, it won't be the truth. I shall try my best to lead them astray. I don't know if it will work… but it's the only chance we have.
Even without me, you can survive. You must survive.
Kenshin, you are my second love. I hated you, but now I love you, the killer and the gentle soul – sword and heart in one shell.
You will kill again.
I know you won't do it out of your own desire, but to protect, to save many more than you will slay.
I forgive you.
Your wife,
Tomoe.
It was hard to breathe after reading those stark words. Kenshin gasped softly, squeezing his eyes shut. He had known that she loved him, he hadn't had any doubts about that. But to read it on paper, right now… it hurt. Especially those last words: "I forgive you."
Forgiveness…
I killed her!
He didn't deserve her forgiveness, not any bit of it! But still she had saved him, time and time again. She had given him back his sanity, brought back his happiness, the ability to find joy in simple things. She had even given him a new resolution for why he should keep fighting… and now, she forgave him?
Kenshin hiccupped softly. Gods, it hurt so much, but he couldn't cry. He wanted to, but he had no tears left.
Never, ever had he felt so unworthy of her love.
He was tainted by blood, a miserable failure of a man. Weak. He hadn't been even be able to keep his word to her. How could she have loved him so? What had she seen in him? Why would she forgive him?
Why had she hated him?
Why had those bastards had a hold on her? What had happened?
He was so confused! But she had given him her diary so that he could seek understanding, and so he leafed his way back to the beginning. It had been a fool's hope that he could understand her reasons based only on the very last entry. No, all it had given him were a thousand more questions.
So he read about her time in Edo, long entries detailing her daily life, her hopes, joys, and worries. She had been the only woman in a household of men for the longest time. After her mother's death, her father had become distant and buried himself in his work. In his place, his colleagues' wives and other women among their family friends had taken her under their wing, instructed her on how to behave as was expected of a young lady from a good house. Their disapproving frowns, high expectations, and constant disappointment over her slightest failures had pushed her to grow into her calm, reserved manners.
She had cared for her baby brother almost like he was her child. She had taken pride in him, in his successes and joys.
Kenshin smiled sadly, gently stroking the diary's pages. It was like she was right next to him when he read her smooth and cultured handwriting. He had never known these things about her, but everything she had written was so like her – a direct view into the past she had always hesitated to show him.
And somehow, even though he hadn't known these things… it hadn't mattered. He had still seen her gentleness and strength, her inner struggles and loneliness, and the sheer beauty of her soul. Everything that was her, he had already seen just by watching her and spending time by her side.
He read further, wanting to savor this sweet respite from the agony of reality.
He read of the small joys she had found in her daily routine. He read of her love for her family, how she had learned to cook to connect again with her distant father. He learned of her longing to be ordinary, how she struggled to fit in the narrow place she had been given… and then, he read of her happiness when she had been chosen for marriage.
It was an arranged match, like most marriages among those in her social class were.
Her fiance was a gentle and hardworking young man she had known since childhood. Akira was his name and he was the second son of their family friends. Although their parents had arranged their wedding date for the coming summer, that hadn't stopped Akira from courting her with gifts, sweet letters, poems, and many chaste visits, and she had loved him for it.
For those few fleeting months, this mysterious, unknown Akira had been the center of her life… but she hadn't known how to express her feelings.
Kenshin sighed, pausing to tiredly rub his face. He couldn't even feel jealous anymore. How could he? If she had been so happy, if she had gained the acceptance for which she had yearned… what did it matter that her feelings had been directed towards another man? It was enough to know that there had been someone to stand by her side and bring her happiness. Maybe it would have been better if things had stayed that way – if she had never met him.
Almost compelled, Kenshin continued reading, but instead of the romance he expected… he found worries and heartbreak. Despite her best tries, Tomoe hadn't been able to muster the smiles and laughter Akira had hoped to see from her, and so, when he had heard that the Kyoto Mimawarigumi were recruiting young samurai of rank, Akira had left his fiancee behind and gone to seek achievement in battle.
Unlike the Shinsengumi, the Kyoto Mimawarigumi consisted only of samurai of good status and name. The troop was posh, all strut and show, focused mainly on protecting the wealthy. Frankly, Kenshin hadn't ever thought much of them, but he had crossed blades with them often enough…
Tomoe had wanted to stop Akira. She had wanted to tell him that he was good enough for her even if he didn't have anything other than his swordsmanship, now that his elder brother was set to inherit his father's clinic. He hadn't listened to her. He had said that before he could be her husband, he needed to have something of his own, something that would make her proud of him.
Then, on the fourth day of the fourth month:
Today, we received word that Kiyosato Akira has been killed in duty. Though I can hardly believe it, I am filled with regret that I couldn't stop him from leaving.
"Kiyosato Akira," Kenshin rasped the syllables out loud, shivers of unease racing down his spine. The name of her fiance… it sounded terribly familiar. He rubbed his brow with his palm, struggling to remember.
He had definitely heard that name before, but where?
Kiyosato Akira, of the Kyoto Mimawarigumi…
The realization struck like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky, sudden and violent. Kenshin's eyes shot open as he remembered the young man who had refused to die because he needed to marry his sweetheart. Even when his guts had been spilling on the street, he had struggled desperately to reach for his sword, gurgling those familiar syllables…
"To... mo... e."
That man, who had been his greatest failure before her… had been Kiyosato Akira. Tomoe's fiance.
"It was me," Kenshin whispered softly, his hand cradling the scar that hadn't wanted to heal. "I stole Tomoe's happiness."
That was why Tomoe had written that she had hated him. That was why she had abandoned her family and come to Kyoto. That was why she had been in contact with those Shogunate assassins. She had truly hated him and wished him dead. Every bit of her pain and loneliness and terrible grief, it was all because of him… and she had forgiven him?
Kenshin was so lost in his shocked realization, that he didn't notice the presence nearing him or the sound of a door sliding open. It was the soft-spoken remark that pulled him out of his guilt. "Your misfortune in killing her fiance. Her misfortune in falling in love with you. It was just two pieces of bad luck."
That voice! That presence, but it can't be… Kenshin turned to look over his shoulder in a daze, only to see the last person he expected gracing his doorstep.
It is him.
But why is he here?
And why now?
And most importantly, how could he tell the man he respected and had sworn to follow through thick and thin, who he hadn't seen in over half a year and had presumed missing…to get the fuck out of his house?
Kenshin didn't want to see anyone. Not now, not when he was feeling like this. He looked aside and swallowed dryly, closing her diary.
"It's not your fault," Katsura-san murmured gently. "I heard all about it."
His ever-present anger sparked into a full, burning rage inside him. How dare he say this wasn't my fault? How dare he try to offer me any consolation? No one has the right to say those words! No one! Not when they don't know the depth of my failures! And for that flickering moment, Kenshin wanted to scream, grab his sword and throw it, unleash his rage and extinguish the misspent compassion in his leader's gaze, turn that trust into gut-wrenching fear and hate.
One by one, Kenshin straightened his tense fingers that were clenching her diary, before exhaling slowly. Then he nodded, just once.
Katsura-san took it as an invitation and stepped inside. "I have already sent someone after the traitor."
A traitor? Kenshin blinked, the final piece of the puzzle aligning at last. Yes, of course. Of course there had been someone else. If the Shogunate's assassins had known where he and Tomoe had escaped in the aftermath of the Great Kyoto fire, they wouldn't have waited this long. No, they had needed to find out about Otsu from someone in the Ishin Shishi…
"It was Iizuka," Katsura said solemnly, his voice full of regret. "He sold you out to Bakufu's Yaminobu. They were afraid of you and wanted to remove the worst threats in Kyoto; you, me, and all the influence I had garnered. Without us, the organized rebel movement fell apart."
So that's why she left. That's why she thought it was a fight that couldn't be won… Tomoe had known those men would come for them no matter what they did. She hadn't seen any way out of the trap and still, she had tried to mislead them with lies.
Kenshin bowed his head, staring at the diary in his bandaged hands.
He had trusted Iizuka, hadn't ever suspected a thing. He would have been blissfully ignorant to the danger no matter how those men would have chosen to attack. What if they had chosen to come when the kids were visiting? What if they had attacked when he was tipsy from sake, good food, and playfully relaxed in his wife's arms?
...We never had any chance, did we?
Fury churned inside him, heavy and deep, dragging forth emotions from the dark corners of his heart. He wanted to shout, rave… kill. The spirit rattled against the wall, ready to surge to his side and rain hell on their enemies.
No, we never had any chance at all.
The sliver of peace and normal life that we were granted – it was just a dream, nothing more. Kenshin's heart skipped a beat, and he shook, tense as a bowstring drawn to the snapping point. If he didn't do something, anything, he would break from this pressure. His eyes found his sword leaning innocuously against the wall...
No, focus! Do you think she would want you to lose it now?
Katsura-san didn't seem to notice his difficulties; instead, he merely stood there in the middle of the room, looking at him with that grating compassion in his eyes. "Iizuka will pay for his crimes. I sent my new man after him. The traitor will get his due."
Kenshin forced himself to let out the breath he was holding.
He couldn't afford to think of her now. Not when Katsura-san was here. Later, he would have time to deal with his raging emotions. Later, he resolved.
Somehow, he didn't know how, he managed to climb to his feet and recall the polite niceties she had so patiently taught him. So he bowed and invited Katsura-san to sit just like any other guest, took a moment to find the tea things from the cupboard. His leader had come a long way just for this meeting, the least he could do was to swallow his bile and try his best to focus on the present.
All through the polite routine, Katsura-san kept looking at him oddly. The pity in his eyes felt like salt on Kenshin's wounds.
Kenshin knew he was miserable sight, he didn't need the fact to be ground in!
So he prompted, "A new man?"
"Yes," Katsura-san nodded amiably. "An accomplished swordsman. Shishio Makoto is his name. He was very convincing and undeniably strong with the sword, so I was glad to recruit him. We desperately need strong swordsmen right now."
"Shishio Makoto…" Kenshin frowned. He had never heard that name before.
"Yes… his origins and techniques are unknown. He's dangerous, but his skills are on a par with yours," Katsura-san explained. He paused for a moment, before adding, "It's been decided that he will conduct the assassinations from now on."
Kenshin wasn't entirely sure how to react to that statement. Though he had been good at it, he hated assassinations. As such, it was a relief that he wasn't required to kill people in cold blood anymore… but where did that leave him? He hesitated, "So, I'm being retired?"
"No, you must continue to wield your sword for us. Each day, the Bakufu's forces are hunting down Ishin Shishi and our supporters in the capital. If no one stands up to them, the total destruction of the rebel movement is inevitable." Katsura-san's gaze turned hard as a steel. "Himura, you must protect the Ishin Shishi as a mobile attacker. It's cruel of me to ask this of you, but there is no one else I can ask to do this. I want you to make your heart bloodthirsty… and wield the sword that soars through the heavens."
So there it was, at last.
A clear command.
…I should have known. Kenshin sighed, idly caressing her diary, before looking up to meet that calculating gaze. He knew what he was being asked. He knew now all the heartbreak and misery it would bring him. He knew that there were no heroes in the terrible shadow war that Katsura-san planned to unleash in Kyoto for the dream of a new era.
Even then, the only question that mattered was: could he put aside his pain and kill for this man once more?
Kido pensively stroked the rim of the inelegant, cheap tea cup in his hands. When he had first laid eyes on the boy, and seen what had become of him during these difficult months, he had been appalled. Dressed in rags, covered in bandages and healing bruises, Kenshin looked like nothing more than a broken shadow of the naive, determined boy he had recruited in Choshuu a bit over a year ago.
It had stung, to know he was responsible for this kind of destruction to a person.
Then the boy had looked up and met his eyes… and for the first time, Kido had seen sheer, unequaled hate in those pale eyes. It had only served to twist the knife in his own sore wounds, because even then that hate wasn't directed at him, or anyone – it was an aimless emotion stirred up by the tragedy and betrayal that Kenshin and the girl had suffered.
In that moment, Kido had been sure that his trip had been for nothing. Apologies and goodbyes had been on his lips, when somehow the boy – no, the man in front of him had swallowed that overwhelming emotion and welcomed him into his home. To do such a thing, now, after all that he had been through… it had to take an incredible strength of will, and right then, Kido had known that Himura Kenshin was not broken. Suffering, yes. Obviously. But despite everything, he knew that Kenshin could endure all this pain and grief.
And that was something Kido could respect.
He had liked the young, naive, idealistic boy he had met in the Kiheitai. He had found the boy's wishes for the future and reasons for fighting admirable, but now he realized that he respected this man. There was no doubt about it, he could still lean on Kenshin and his skill with the legendary Hiten Mitsurugi.
It was an unexpected relief. They desperately needed strong fighters for the cause.
The Bakufu had gathered many strong names to their side. Names like Hijikata, Saito, Okita, and many others had brought fame which endeared the Bakufu to the public, turning the tide of opinion against the rebels. The Shinsengumi and Mimawarigumi were now heroes who protected the people in the streets, not the distrusted, dangerous madmen they were once seen as.
For the Ishin Shishi to succeed, they would need a legend of their own within their ranks. A legend, which would sow fear in the hearts of their enemies and bolster the morale of their men. They needed to appear strong, to garner the support they needed for the revolution to succeed.
And unlike any other Choshuu swordsman… Hitokiri Battousai's name was still whispered in Kyoto. If they could turn that faceless and widely feared name into something more, the Ishin Shishi could take back the Capital and restore the rebel's ill reputation. So Kido made his offer and waited.
The wait turned into a long, tense silence.
Kenshin didn't even look up at him, he just stared at the book he held in his hands.
Kido wasn't sure what to think about it. Should he give Kenshin some time to think it through? Yes, perhaps that would be reasonable. Kenshin was grieving and honestly, he looked like he should still be in his sick bed. With some hesitation, Kido picked up his sword and rose, excusing himself. "I will come back tomorrow. Think on it."
"I understand," a soft voice rasped behind his back.
Kido tensed, "Himura…"
Tucking the book inside his kimono folds, Kenshin awkwardly climbed to his feet and made his way to the window to stare outside. "If I abandon the sword now, all the lives I have taken will be for nothing," Kenshin said, his tone dry and scratchy from disuse. "Tomoe taught me the many small happinesses that people live for. Until there can be an age lit up by those small happiness, I will wield my sword. But when the new age comes… at that time… "
Kido nodded slowly, "You will throw away your sword?"
"I don't know. But I will never kill again. Never… again," Kenshin swore softly, his words striking as deep as an oath sworn in blood.
It made Kido's stomach lurch with guilt and all of a sudden, he remembered what his friend had said to him back during that memorable night in Hagi. Takasugi had claimed that he was going to destroy Kenshin's life if he took him to Kyoto. And damn it all, he was right. The evidence was right there before his very eyes. He should have seen then that the legendary sword of Hiten Mitsurugi wasn't meant to destroy the old age, but to protect the new.
"I will wait for you in Kyoto," Kido said quietly. "Take your time to put your affairs in order."
He left without looking back.
After all, there was much to do and regrets wouldn't help anyone. This was just another mistake in the long list of failures to his name. There would be many more, before this was over. The Ishin Shishi needed Kenshin. He knew that and so would others. For a man like him, there was no place for useless sentimentality.
So Kido lifted his chin and walked forward, his head held high.
Kenshin felt Katsura-san's presence leave. He didn't know what to think, what to feel; it was all too much and he was so tired and empty.
To be perfectly truthful, he needed to really consider what do about Katsura-san's offer.
It would be difficult to become what they wanted. He would have to kill more and more, not only certain, pre-selected targets, but everyone who the Ishin Shishi needed protection from. Given that Kyoto was firmly under the Bakufu's control, this meant the Shinsengumi, Mimawarigumi and any other troops that posed a threat: skilled, experienced fighters moving in squadrons.
Yet… in a way, it was almost a relief.
Assassinations had always been difficult. Not in skill, no – attacking in ambush had made most fights very short. However, to see a man or a group of men, decide whether they were targets and then cut them all down without hesitation, it had eaten away at his heart.
Every. Single. Time.
This, well… if he understood correctly, Katsura-san just needed him to fight. There would be more opponents, but if he appeared strong enough, maybe he could do as Master had done at times? Drive them away with the mere threat of fighting and give them a chance to rescue themselves, to give up and run.
Perhaps this new role would be a step closer to the teachings of Hiten Mitsurugi?
Kenshin had always known he would return to the Ishin Shishi. Even Tomoe had known it and accepted it. He still wanted to bring forth the new era. He still believed in Katsura-san…. and Tomoe, in her last letter, she had written that he must survive to fulfill that dream.
If he didn't go, if he abandoned the sword now, then all the lives he had already taken would have been for nothing.
It was a crossroads of sorts, one that he knew would change his life.
But after hearing of Iizuka's betrayal…Kenshin was angry, angry enough that he didn't want anything to do with the Bakufu or the Ishin Shishi. It didn't help that he knew now that he could do his part just by helping out the people without joining the rebellion. Tomoe had taught him that. However, he had pledged his sword to Katsura-san and Tomoe had accepted that, understood why he was willing to lay down his heart and soul for the cause.
...And if she, too, had thought that a better world, a new era was a cause worth fighting for, he would fight. No matter how much it hurt.
Kenshin couldn't say how long he stood there, staring out the window. The cold air kept flowing in through the window slits and the lazy heat from the fire pit wasn't enough to warm up the house. He knew he needed to bar the window, add more wood to the fire before it ran out, and then, "put his affairs in order" like Katsura-san had said.
He sighed.
All these emotions were exhausting. He felt wrung out by them, almost dry… empty. He was aching in body and soul. But he was needed in Kyoto.
It was getting too late to leave tonight; the sun was already setting and it would be a day's walk to the Capital. The whole day's walk, if not more, given how difficult and tiring it was to walk with his injuries.
So for tonight, it would be better to rest… to go through their possessions for what he wanted to take with him and make something to eat, Kenshin noted dispassionately as his stomach grumbled. Most of the last week that he had spent convalescing at Midori-san and Kichirou's house, he had been eating the most disgusting sludge known to man: broth made of peas, blood, and liver to treat his blood loss. He didn't have the ingredients to try to concoct anything similar now, as the house was just as Tomoe and he had left it on that fateful day.
No! Don't think about it now! Kenshin scowled and took a deep breath, reaching to stroke her diary through his kimono folds, where he had secured it against his heart.
Then he started putting a dinner together.
It was a bizarre experience. While he knew how to cook and he knew exactly where everything was stored, he had never once prepared a meal in this house. Tomoe had always done it, it had been her duty and joy. Even now, he could see her touch everywhere around him, in the neat way the ingredients, tools, pans, and bowls had been stored, in the logic of their placement – everything reminded him of her. But somehow, he managed to get the rice boiling, added some dried fish and their own field's vegetables to the boiling water to soften up. It would do. It wasn't exactly a fancy meal, but it was what he could easily prepare from the food they had set aside, just in case they were snowed in.
Eating the bland mush felt wrong. In this house, every meal had been a delight.
It was just a little thing, but all the wrongness was adding up and forcing him to notice it. How everything was just a little bit off kilter, not just in this house, but everywhere, now that Tomoe was not there by his side.
If only he could cry, to let out his hurt…
Kenshin sighed softly and rubbed his eyes. He knew he needed to check his injuries now that the house was warm enough to undress. Reluctantly, he slipped out of his sleeves and methodically unwound the bandages around his torso. The deeper wounds in his shoulders hadn't opened during his trek home, and the stitches had held up well enough. He grimaced, noting how the healing skin had grown around the yarn. It was well past time to remove them. However, it wasn't like he could do such a thing alone, least of all to the long cuts in his back...
I need to find another damn doctor in Kyoto, don't I?
It felt disgusting to wrap the stained bandages around the wounds, but he didn't have better replacements. Besides, if he hadn't died yet from infection, fever, and his bout of unconsciousness, how likely was he to die now? The wounds would keep till later.
So for now, what he needed was warm clothes, some travel food, and a blanket just in case he needed to sit down and rest midway. Thick socks and mittens too, Kenshin noted wryly; if his raw and hurting fingers and toes froze again, he could really lose them.
Rummaging through their drawers and chest in search of everything he needed felt wrong, no matter how necessary. It was dark outside when he was done. However, his travel bundle was already getting somewhat large and heavy, and he still needed to decide what other things he should take.
Tomoe's ashes, shawl, and her diary, definitely – those he wouldn't leave for any reason. After all, he needed to arrange a gravesite for her at a proper Buddhist temple in Kyoto. She deserved a good spot where she could be remembered.
But the rest? Those decisions were more difficult. Tomoe's clothes, her embroidery kit, the mirror he had bought her, the comb she had used to brush his hair…
Kenshin bit his lip, trailing his fingers on the comb. On a whim, he shoved it into his travel bundle. She had liked his hair. Maybe he could learn to look after it better, keep it long and neat for her sake.
But the thing was, there were so many things that she had liked, that she had used to make this modest little house her own. Everything, absolutely everything here reminded him of her and he couldn't take all of this with him. Even if he hired a carriage, it simply wasn't practical to keep them all. Kyoto was a turbulent city and under Katsura-san's command, he would have to move on a moment's notice, travel light.
So what should he do?
Kenshin wandered around the house, deep in thought. He kept touching things, remembering happier times. Here they had shared those nights of passion, here they had bathed each other, here they had shared sake, here they had simply sat together, relaxing in each other's company…
It was almost soothing.
Until he opened his eyes to see nothing but shadows and empty spaces, because she was not there anymore.
Sometime later, he came across an old thing he hadn't needed for months – Kasumi's top. At the sight of it, Kenta rattled against the wall separating them, but Kenshin pointedly ignored it, wanting to be left alone.
The top was as it had always been, a simple wooden toy. A remembrance. He had used it as a way to remember why he fought, but now… it didn't mean anything to him anymore. He fought for Tomoe, for the small happinesses that she had taught him to appreciate, and he had her diary to remember her by. What use would he have anymore for one old toy?
Nothing, that's what.
It was a child's toy… and he was not a child anymore.
On the impulse, without stopping to think, Kenshin threw it into the flames of the fire pit. The dry wood blackened slowly, before starting to burn.
Good.
The fire was cleansing. It would burn away all the memories, both the bad and the good. Besides, hadn't his resolve to fight in the revolution been born in fire?
Yes. That's right.
The flames danced and Kenshin sat down to watch them.
Inevitably, his thoughts wandered back to Tomoe. He took her diary from his kimono folds and opened it, leafing through the pages. He still couldn't understand why she had chosen to forgive him, why she had placed her faith in him and sacrificed herself to save him. But in her letter, she had written… oh, yes, there it was again: You will kill again, my love. You won't do it out of your own desire, but to protect, to save many more than you slay. I forgive you.
How could she say that?
How could she see so far?
Idly, he let his eyes wander over her handwriting, turning the pages and reading, trying to see what she had seen in him. Even when they had first met, he had been nothing but a sad, broken mockery of a man, unworthy of her attention.
But reading her view on events – oh gods, it hurt, it hurt so much.
She had written of her hate, her desire for revenge, and how it had given her the strength to travel from Edo to Kyoto. It had taken her several weeks to travel those 350 miles without supplies, without money. She had had to work hard at every little village she had stopped in for food, drink, and shelter. At times, she had even had to beg, abandon all her pride just to keep going. And when she had finally made it to Kyoto, she had wandered the streets for days, looking for news and rumors… until she stumbled across a man in black, who had given her a way to get close to Akira's killer, the terrible murderer Hitokiri Battousai.
It hadn't been an accident that she had been in that bar that night. No, from the very beginning she had known who he was... but his actions had perplexed her. She hadn't expected him to defend her from those harassing brutes. And when she had followed him and seen him kill that assassin, she had been sure he would kill her, that it was all over.
But when he hadn't, she had followed him around, watching him, all the while becoming increasingly confounded – because in her eyes, he had been a child given a sword to wield, not the terrible murderer she expected. A child can't be a killer, least of all this kind-hearted, shy, and awkward boy, she had written. Their discussions and arguments had led her to question her hate, until she could see past her grudge and first impressions to his strength, idealism, kindness, and hope for a better world.
It felt like he was reading her observations on another person, on someone decent and worthy of respect.
And then, in the Great Kyoto fire, after the Ikeda-ya and the Hamaguri gate rebellion, she had realized she loved him.
So it was then for her, too...
Something was squeezing his throat, blocking his ability to breathe. Oh gods, he loved her. So much.
But he continued to read, despite the hurt.
In Otsu, she had forgotten about the revenge, the plots, betrayals, and hate, and decided to live in the present – in their small paradise. She had hoped it would never end. He read of their forays into intimacy, how she had loved every single time, even that embarrassing and awkward first kiss. He read how she had hoped that they could share even more, grow closer… sleep together truly, not separated by their private fears and ghosts. How she had fallen deeper and deeper in love, how they had healed each other, until she, too, learned to smile.
It's so true.
A hiccup rose up from his chest and Kenshin blinked dazedly. He couldn't see. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and wondered why it became wet.
...And still, despite our happiness, those bastards in black came for us.
If not for that traitor Iizuka… Anger stirred in his veins again. Kenshin gritted his teeth, wanted to hit something.
But if she had…
No!
No matter what, the Yaminobu would have come for us.
If those bastards hadn't let go of their mission after half a year's respite, they were never going to. Men like them, they were like blood hounds, unrelenting and cruel in their chase.
But could I have protected her, if she hadn't left? If they had chosen to attack us in our house?
Kenshin took a deep breath and let it go slowly, staring blindly at the ceiling. He knew it was useless to second guess her choices. She hadn't known of his abilities, or the the extent to which those men had used her. She had done her best, trying to protect him and her little brother.
And to be honest, even he hadn't known there was a place like the Forest of Barriers. It had been an elaborate trap, carefully planned to stack the odds against him.
Yet the worst failures of all were his own. He had failed her that day in so many ways. He should have told her the truth, convinced her to trust him more… or at least, made sure not to strike blindly during that last, desperate charge.
In that cursed forest, he hadn't thought. The same anger that burned in his veins now, had fueled him then, and in his fury, he had been stupid, vicious, and cruel. He had left himself wide open not once, but several times, fighting recklessly. He had allowed the bastards to run circles around him and lead him head first into their dirty tricks.
In that cursed forest, he had been over-confident and stupid.
That day, he had made every mistake that he could have. He hadn't been a student worthy of Hiten Mitsurugi and even worse… he had become someone that Tomoe would have hated. She had despised the thought of the cold-blooded murderer Hitokiri Battousai, who had robbed her of her happiness. And in that forest, he had become worse than any of the rumors in Kyoto had ever painted him to be.
Kenshin felt ashamed.
In his anger, in his fury, not only he had failed to protect her… he had become something she would have hated.
He was a failure, a disappointment… utterly unworthy of her regard.
And he had killed her.
The ki stirred like a thunder storm all around him as Kenta rattled itself against the wall that separated them, stroking and prodding, desperately trying to reach him, and for the first time since he had awoken in his sick bed, Kenshin allowed it to.
With Kenta… he was numb and cold. When it was at his side, he could think, push aside his emotions, his anger, grief and pain.
In that cursed forest, he had made so many mistake because he hadn't been able to think, he had been too angry to realize it. And now that he would return to the madness of the rebellion in Kyoto, he would have to kill again. He would have to kill and kill and kill.
She wouldn't have liked it, but she had understood – it was for the new era, so that all the sacrifices made for it wouldn't be for nothing.
For the longest time, during the terrible, dark months that he had been falling into madness, trying to become Hitokiri Battousai, Kenta had been wanting to join him. He hadn't allowed it then, because he had needed the comfort it offered to ward off his loneliness.
He had been a child.
A weak child, who desperately needed someone to lean on.
With Tomoe, he had grown as a person. He hadn't just leaned on her strength, he had learned from it. She had been everything to him and he had loved her so much. But before her, there had been the spirit, Kenta.
It felt horrible to realize, but during these past few months he had grown up. He hadn't needed Kenta anymore. He had avoided thinking of Kenta, because he had Tomoe.
Kenta had been his closest and most trusted friend, his only friend for all these years. But somehow, he had grown past his need for its company.
Even before he had met Tomoe, he had hardly talked with Kenta.
He didn't even know if he could anymore... or if he wanted to.
The realization twisted his gut; he truly was despicable. No only had he killed his most important person with his own two hands, he had discarded his best friend, too.
Anger. Fury. 'Alone.'
The mixture of emotions and words sent his way struck him by surprise. Kenshin gasped, trying to make sense of them.
Kenta didn't wait, but sent him a memory of the moment when he had found the map to the forest and the rage that had awoken in him – and how Kenta had stirred from its sleep and rushed to help him, only to be pushed aside.
That's…
'Together. Not alone.'
Kenshin swallowed dryly, finally realizing what Kenta had been trying to make him understand all this time. It was part of him now. He didn't need it as a separate being.
…I don't deserve anyone's love or loyalty anymore.
His self-deprecating thought raised distinct disapproval from the spirit, and it rubbed against the wall, in the petting comfort feel motion, and Kenshin tried to smile weakly, utterly overwhelmed by the sheer love it sent his way.
I have been really selfish, haven't I?
Kenta wanted to be part of the whole, not a separate fragment lurking behind the wall. Besides, all the successes they had gained, in their training and with ki, in their many battles…all those had been because they were a team.
Alone… he had failed.
Alone, he had tried to save Tomoe and instead, ended up being saved by her. Alone, he had killed her. With his own two hands, he had killed her.
If Kenta had been with him, maybe they could have saved her. If not for his stupidity and selfishness, Tomoe could still be alive.
Slowly, carefully, Kenshin felt the wall between him and Kenta and realized that it wasn't a wall, not really. It was just something blocking the spirit from joining with his ki. Gritting his teeth together, Kenshin started to pull apart the last pieces holding the wall together. It was a small and frail construct, a remnant… and yes, there was the hole he had dug through it back when he had been a child.
The emotions and flickers of memory that formed the wall… Kenshin didn't even stop to feel them. They wouldn't help him, not anymore.
And then, when there was nothing left but the last few dregs, nothing left to hide behind, he retreated to his side and left himself wide open.
Kenta surged over the border.
It was cold, so cold, and it was far too much at once… like air blown into a child's paper balloon, and it filled him, stretching him to his limit and beyond and oh gods, it hurt. But it was nothing compared to the knowledge that he had killed Tomoe, the one whom he loved the most, with his own two hands. He had LOVED her and he had killed her with his failure, selfishness, stupidity, weakness, and arrogance.
He really was nothing.
But now…
He was numb.
And no longer was he two pieces of a whole, but only this one.
Betaed by Animaniacal-laughter in 13.05.2016.
