A/N: Many, many thanks for people who subscribed (story alert'd this). And thank you very much to people who listed this as their favorite story, thank you very much to people who listed me as their favorite author. I hope I won't bring you down that much...
As for the story, I want to write something different for Kenshin x Tomoe. Too many ficts centered on the angst, sadness and pain between those two, so why don't I try to do something else? So here it is, reviews are much appreciated~ I just can't sleep without publishing this first.
Word count: 1000 something. Errr... too long for a drabble?
Challenge #2:
Love
She opened her eyes in a brief moment upon hearing the sounds of night wind's gusts. Like devil's whispers of temptation that turned the heels of world's most chaste saint, the cold air of the snowy mountain of Otsu forbade her to go back to the dream island.
She glanced at the wooden hearth that stood just in the center of the house, only to find that the fire had died since God knew when. The Ice Queen's alluring invitations of coldness almost succeeded to send her down on the futon again, but in front of a man whose name was meant an assured death and terror, the invitations were nothing but a child's whine.
The courier of the Pale Horse was now sitting near the cabinet. His head bowed deeply like a meditating man. He kept his sword steady, lying vertically against his chest, ready to be unsheathed whenever needed. Smooth, fine red streaks tied up neatly in a high ponytail waving loosely across his right shoulder. His eyes were closed and he did not move even an inch.
She darted her glance to him; a young man whom she regarded as a boy only trapped in a very nasty situation and… a very decent swordsman, that he was. A protector at daylight, an assassin at night, and a boy when he was all alone by himself.
A protector at daylight.
Her deep, mysterious black eyes were gazing sharply to the mirror she kept in a drawer on their small cabinet. He brought it for her when they were out to the city as man and wife; however it was not the first time he showed her how gallant he actually was.
He brought her a mirror before her asking for it. However deceitful their marriage was, he did his part as a 'husband' nicely. He cut the firewood for her. He cultivated their small garden and let her sow the seeds. He took her below an umbrella when she insisted on inspecting their garden on a rainy day.
He knew that she had a dagger with her yet let her keep it.
People said he was a manslayer, a man whose name made children stopped crying, a man who guaranteed your last day on Earth by the time you saw him coming, a man who would tell you that the Death said hi when he called your name in a quiet street of Kyoto during the night.
But he let her live. He protected her…
"It's so cold tonight," she thought to herself as she tightened the blanket around her body. He slept in his dark blue gi as always, but seeing him tonight, she knew that something was not right.
Something…
Silently, she approached him. He did not know that she actually enjoyed watching him in a distance as he slept; enjoying his fiery red hair that followed a crimson moon in the bloody streets of Kyoto, enjoying his delicate jaw line and firm lips.
And how could a manslayer be this enchanting…
She loved watching him sleep because it was the only time he looked peaceful and undisturbed. The only time he was so honest to himself that reminded her that he should not belong here, with the patriots. He should be doing something else, somewhere peaceful, a place that full of love, trust and support…
She unconsciously touched his scar. How long that it had been there? Who did it? Who would have wounded the infamous manslayer whose sword swings rivaled those of the gods? And why did the scar always bleed when he killed?
He took many lives, and to him the grudges should be addressed.
She was so pensive with her thoughts—did the victims know that the delicate assassin was also nothing but a victim? You could not really be angry to someone who was also trapped in a nasty situation, being used and exploited by other higher men for the sake of something else, something that would always welcome a hot, open debate. Men were willing to die for ideals, and served him as his sheath, delivering blows of questions she hoped would bring his sanity back.
Now that he was 'sane' enough to listen, what would she do?
"Ah hrrrr."
The sound of his delirium made her gasp. She closed her eyes, readying herself to feel the sense of a sword pointed to her neck, harsh and deadly, just like back then at Kohagi-ya. She was ready to feel his palm pushed her body down like before, a push that shattered the previously well-arranged books.
She waited… waited, waited, waited…
Nothing happened.
She opened her eyes again, and much to her surprise, he was still fast asleep.
"I fall asleep is the only fear I have."
The red-headed agent of death's piercing words haunted her head. Now that he still slept…
Does it mean… he… finally…
Her hand traveled to his head. Gently, she brushed those fine red streaks he had. If only he could see her expression at that time. If only…
"Mmmmhrrr. Tomoe," he mumbled.
She let his head slid down on her lap, followed by his body down on the tatami. With unchanged gentleness, she cupped his left cheek when the scar resided and brushed his hair with her right hand, in a very dear manner as if comforting someone who had more than enough trouble for a day.
"Sleep tight… Anata," she said softly while covering his body with his black haori.
Yes, be this my karma. To fall for a man who murdered my fiancé…
But come what may; tomorrow shall wait.
Suddenly the Ice Queen's invitations were not so tempting anymore. And the sounds of night wind's gusts? She could care less for she was back to the dream land now.
Glossary: Anata - means you but Japanese women also use this to address their husbands. Like 'Dear' or 'Darling' in English.
