Blurbs: In the bloom of Cherry Blossom under the sun of spring, Seta Soujirou escorts a child to the Kamiya Dojo, life is about to get very interesting, and not necessarily in a bad way.
Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin and subsequent characters belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki. Steal my characters without my permission and die
Timeline: Spring, 1882—Meiji year 13; PostJinchuu (No, I don't know when the Meiji year starts or whatnot, this is just estimated through the birth dates)
Beta: Khori Bannefin and Bloodedwyngs
06: Finding Their Feet on Dry Land
"You came."
He watched her with half amusement, half trepidation. Their history wasn't the best, after all. But her bluntness was surprising as it was terrifying; and she really was too calm for comfort. "Have you been waiting?" He answered in kind.
Her father watched them in utter confusion, not understanding their exchange. He could only imagine what they look like to their surroundings, two children, four and nine in age, conversing in all seriousness with a familiarity that didn't make sense—no one knew that they have met before, after all.
Confusing a sight as they were, if their surroundings knew what they really talked about, there would have been much more alarm.
What she had really said was: Have you come to kill me?
What he had replied in turn was: Are you waiting to kill me?
He studied the girl, peering deep into her dark blue eyes. She wasn't even angry, how uncanny. He once thought he had seen everything—or almost, but it seemed that the world was set on proving him wrong. She didn't even seem to be anything other than accepting—not resigned, but understanding—and seemed as uncaring that he might end her life.
He was surprised to find that it dismayed him.
She was right, he came to kill her, but at that moment he would have given everything up to make sure she lives on.
"I come." He said gently, "to tell you a story, I think you will find it useful." They were, if nothing else, one of a kind. He could guide her, and help make her life bearable. Until they have to make their decision, he would protect her. That loneliness, they could be there for each other—it was never as bad when there's someone else to be lonely with.
She had watched him carefully as he had studied her, but stepped forward and gave him her hand. He took it in his, and awkwardly gave it a light squeeze, unsure if he meant to reassure, or whatnot.
Hand in hand, they went to her confused father.
It took Yahiko and a week's worth of lunch bribery to find out just what had been going on; and when the descendant of Tokyo Samurai finally finished telling his tale, both Sanosuke and Kenshin sat dazed on the engawa.
It all made a terrible, but believable sense. The change of clothing, the pervasive sadness in her eyes, the way she sometimes stops and stares into the distance. She had a man to mourn and a son not at her side. She must have married young—but that wasn't really an anomaly in their time.
Kaoru-dono had spoken to them both about Soujirou's continuing presence in the dojo somewhat firmly, and they had promised her they would both be on their best behaviour. Kenshin, however, resolved to help Soujirou in any way he could after hearing Kaoru-dono's explanation on just why she wanted him to stay with them—even considering that he was another mouth to feed on her already tight budget.
Kaoru-dono had given him a second chance, now Kenshin was determined to see someone else had a fair chance at the redemption she had promised this ex-hitokiri.
In the meanwhile Keiji was a sweet, sweet boy, and seeing the way Soujirou watched him in utter adoration made Kenshin wonder about the reportedly dead father. Was he anything like his son? Sweet, understanding, always eager to lend a hand? He wasn't sure for a few moments if he would like this boy—the reminder that his landlady had belonged to another man, maybe still belonged to the man even beyond the grave—but a few words and some conversation had told him that it was quite impossible to hate the little boy.
Yahiko sings the boy praises. It was so very out of character that Keiji's swordsmanship must have been something special indeed, despite his age—Yahiko very rarely praises anyone; he shows his admiration in other ways. As did Soujirou, who put the boy on a pedestal—though Kenshin suspected that Soujirou was somewhat biased when it came to Keiji. But he supposed it was simply another reason why he should befriend the boy instead of antagonizing him.
Besides, it was kind of entertaining watching Yahiko and Sano belatedly watching their usually dirty language around the wide-eyed child. He wondered what Megumi-dono would think when she stopped by.
Chores would take a bit of reassignment. Soujirou was like Kenshin; they pay their tenancy by doing chores around the dojo. And in addition it seems the young man had planned to help Kaoru-dono on giving lessons both in the Kamiya dojo and wherever she taught outside. Keiji insisted on doing the simpler chores, and Kaoru-dono approved of the plan, so he would probably be assigned some of the smaller tasks.
When Sano asked Kaoru-dono why she didn't simply make Soujirou pay rent, she airily pointed out that Sano himself was a freeloader who didn't do anything worth paying a meal for—at least Soujirou did chores, and he could cook when Kenshin was away.
Kenshin tried very hard not to laugh at the offended look on Sano's face. He was only partially successful.
Soujirou, for his part, worked around Kenshin and Sano with a wary disposition which contrasted heavily with the ease by which he interacted with Yahiko, Keiji, and Kaoru-dono; he still called her Kamiya-san, but there was so much warmth that it almost didn't matter.
It wasn't only politeness; and it puzzled Kenshin that Soujirou would treat Kaoru-dono with respect one treats an elder—when he should only be about her age. It almost didn't make sense, until he sat back and thought about her behaviours.
Always before, his view of her was coloured by the girl he had first met in the dark streets of Tokyo, chasing after the fake Battousai, and the girl he had first come to live with. He had been upset when her liveliness subdued, and perhaps it had coloured the way he looked at her, until he realized, just lately, that there wasn't really anything to be upset about.
Kaoru-dono didn't act her age—she acted at least twice of it. Forcing himself to look at her without the memory colouring his eyes, he had to admit that he saw not a nineteen-year-old girl, but a middle-aged woman—a bit past her prime, but so very beautiful it didn't matter. This was she, the strong, unique woman with more spine than anyone he had ever met.
Soujirou never knew that more immature version of the woman Kenshin fell in love with, and suspected that he never really asked either. Keeping that in mind, it was possible that the young man had thought that she was either Kenshin's age or older. Kaoru-dono treated him like he was younger, as well.
Kenshin suspected, privately, that Soujirou worshipped Kaoru-dono and the ground she walks on. Well, so does he, though maybe in a different way.
And in the private recesses of the ex-hitokiri's mind, he can at least admit to himself that he still wanted her very much.
Perhaps—twice thinking her completely out of his grasp—even more.
In the morning, the kitchen usually belongs solely to Kenshin. Kaoru knew she could have warned Soujirou of it—their new addition had taken it on himself to make sure that she and Keiji would always be greeted with steaming tea and warm breakfast whenever they come back from their morning run—but she knew that if she did, Soujirou would have retreated somewhere and be miserable, and while Kenshin wanted to help the young man, he was very awful in reaching out first, and if he knew he would retreat somewhere and be miserable.
So she simply made sure that Soujirou would come into the kitchen not knowing Kenshin would be there, and made sure that Kenshin had no knowledge that Soujirou would be there too. Once inside, neither would be able to leave without seeming rude or cowardly.
And both men had their pride, if nothing else. So she was reasonably sure that they wouldn't run away from each other.
It might have been too soon, but she knew either this issue gets itself resolved between the two, or Soujirou would promptly run away from the dojo.
At least, no matter how this kitchen thing turned out to be, no one will be able to accuse her of not even trying.
All the ice of winter had melted this far in the spring, but the morning was chilly, cold nipping at exposed skin. Despite the chill, Kenshin was up and about in the kitchen, cheerfully preparing breakfast. Once upon a time he would go into the task with surly disaffection—until he realized just how helpful menial tasks really were to a mind prone to torture its' self.
Kenshin and his mind, memory, and imagination were rarely in the best of relationships. Household chores gave him something to do, and as much as anyone calls him 'girly' because of it, he was thankful for them.
He had a feeling that Kaoru-dono was the only one who really understood, and for that understanding, he was thankful—because she really was the only one whose opinion really mattered. He was also thankful to that fuzzy face in his fever-hazed memory that taught him about it all in the first place—if only he could find out just who it was.
Rice was first, miso was second, and no one was usually awake to bother him at that stage, and so it was to Kenshin's surprise when the kitchen door slid open and a half-asleep, bleary-eyed Soujirou padded in with a yawn.
Registering his presence, Soujirou's guard was immediately up, and the ever-present—fake, Kaoru-dono told him—smile slammed down so abruptly on his face Kenshin just had to blink. They stood, eyeing each other awkwardly.
"Good morning, Himura-san. Is there… anything I can do to help?" Soujirou ventured quietly.
Gathering himself, Kenshin cast his eyes about, and they landed on the vegetables. Perfect. "Good morning, Soujirou. This one needs the vegetables sliced, that he does, if you please."
He watched, almost with amusement, as the young man's expression turned from wary to flabbergasted, the smile dropping. If he was mean, Kenshin probably would have laughed, but he firmly told himself he wasn't mean, and not to be, so he calmly and resolutely pasted his rurouni smile and returned to his miso.
Hesitantly, Soujirou moved into the kitchen and the cutting board, the bewilderment in his ki so clear it was still tempting Kenshin to laugh.
But he had once shown the same bewilderment when Kaoru-dono had found out who he was and didn't as much as bat an eye, asking for dinner. So who was he to make fun of the younger man, really?
He never liked the phrase 'pot calling the kettle black' anyway.
The morning and the kitchen was Kenshin's personal space. But now that Soujirou was here, he was willing to share. Kenshin had had help when Soujirou hadn't, even if that help consisted of an overbearing teacher, a woman who was originally intent on killing him, and a fuzzy face in his memory—until he found Kaoru-dono, that goddess of a woman, who reminded him that maybe what he had fought for wasn't a complete loss.
From the corner of his eyes he observed Soujirou cutting the vegetable into perfect slices, gaze intent. Kenshin had said to Kaoru-dono once that if circumstances had been different, he and Soujirou might have been friends.
The circumstances were different now. And maybe, what he had dimly wondered about could come into being. Noting that the miso was ready, he removed the pot from the fire and put it aside, then took some bowls for Soujirou to put the sliced vegetables into.
Soujirou's eyes darted to his face when he approached with the bowls, and nodded silently as Kenshin put them beside the cutting board. Kenshin, for his part, retreated two steps back and regarded the young man, clearly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and he smiled gently. "Please relax, Soujirou, this one was just wondering if Kaoru-dono had you taking up kitchen duty in the first or the second day—she had this one doing it the first day he started boarding here."
The young man's eyes widened, then he ventured tentatively, putting aside the vegetables he had cut into the bowls, "She did? I… we figured out the second day I stayed here that considering I am a marginally better cook among the three of us…"
"That you might as well take charge of the kitchen," Kenshin finished, smiling widely. "That was what happened to this one, as well, that it did."
Kenshin's admission prompted a startled chuckle from the young man. "Did she know…" he didn't seem to be able to finish the question. Kenshin might have kept quiet and waited, but he decided to take pity.
"Who this one was?" he finished. "This one was never quite sure. But this one knows that it didn't bother Kaoru-dono very much—if at all—when she realized who this one was, that it didn't."
Soujirou was quiet for a while, "Doesn't she know that habit isn't… exactly safe?"
"Perhaps if it was anyone else, it would not be a safe habit." Kenshin chuckled, "But Kaoru-dono has excellent taste in people, that she does, and she has a way to make things work, very frequently, for her. This one is sure that you had noticed that yourself."
"Aa," Soujirou mused, "she does, at that. Do you know, Saitou-san barely mentioned me in the times he had been here with his wife?"
Kenshin couldn't help it anymore; he laughed, long and hard, bewildering the young man further.
Soujirou blinked at the laughing ex-hitokiri. Did he just say something funny?
Himura-san's wariness of his presence lasted barely into the evening. After that, the redhead was frank and open with him, quite honestly welcoming his presence there. And different with Kamiya-san or Yahiko and Keiji, this was the man that Soujirou had tried to kill, more than once. Who had known the frailty of his emotional armour, and had shattered it when they fought the last time.
This man was as willing as the rest to trust him, and Soujirou had never been more puzzled in his life.
People always say that once bitten, one would be twice shy. That didn't seem to apply to the inhabitants of this small dojo. Was it the unorthodox background, he wondered, or simply the base of their character?
Nevertheless, like the American says, one should not look at a gift horse in the mouth. Soujirou was thankful for the chance they had given him, and confusing as it was, he would try not to question it as much as trying to make it work.
"This one—" Himura-san had finally gathered his bearing. "This one wasn't laughing at you, he promises. This one had always found it uncanny how that Saitou and Kaoru-dono could ever become friends, that they were, at some obscure level."
Soujirou thought that it wasn't so much strange as it was uncommon. Kamiya-san and Saitou-san were both powerful personalities in their own right, and somehow there was a similarity to them, a central characteristic that they wouldn't be 'them' without.
That characteristic allowed them to be friends despite their differences. And to both of them, that was all that really mattered. It was a friendship that would never interfere in their line of duties, but at the same time, it was a friendship that line of duty would never interrupt.
They could be enemies and they would still be friends.
As Himura-san returned to his miso, Soujirou contemplated the hand of friendship the older man had extended to him, and considered what friendship it could be. The morning had warmed slightly from when he woke up and stumbled blearily into the kitchen. Himura-san hadn't kicked him out of the kitchen, and, it seemed, didn't mind his presence there.
The two of them, he thought, will prepare many breakfasts there, and he was just fine with the notion.
He also had a sneaking suspicion that Kamiya-san had deliberately put the two of them there. He must thank her later.
The morning was showing sign of turning into a beautiful day, mild weather, chirping bird. But black clouds descended over mother and son as the mother brooded on what she had discovered her son doing behind his caretakers' back.
Kaoru turned disapproving eyes toward the boy running beside her. Orgulla hadn't said anything, and Kaoru suspected that she didn't know about it. "How long have you been using the time-stretch dimension?"
Keiji didn't answer her and kept his gaze away. Kaoru pushed down her temper, reining in the impulse to implode, because to do so would make her a hypocrite. She, too, had not managed to resist using the anomaly—yes, she had been as stupid once, and so she knew he had done it.
Biting back a sigh, she turned her attention back to the path they were running on, studying the dirt track and uneven hillocks.
The time-stretch dimension allowed a person to tread a space between the blink of an instance to the next, and stretch a minute to equal an hour without the person within it aging any faster than the real-time speed. The use of it had allowed more hours of practice than what should ever be possible; there were only so many hours in a day, after all. While in real time Keiji had only been learning swordsmanship for half a year, with the time-stretch dimension it was entirely possible that his actual learning experience was really somewhere between two to three years instead. Knowing that, Keiji's rapid improvement made sense.
She would have told Yahiko about it to stop the other child from worrying how long he could keep ahead of Keiji, because when it comes down to it Keiji really was cheating a bit. But Yahiko had no spirit-talent, and so Kaoru was obliged to keep her mouth shut.
The problem with time-stretch dimensions were that they can be extremely unstable, and if a person were any less trained in the flow and knowledge of magic, the result can be fatal. That was why it was generally prohibited for juniors to use the time-stretch without senior supervision.
She had in her early days been enough of a fool to try it unsupervised—luckily for her, Kazuomi had found out early and kept a tab on her. And unlike her, Kazu had the right to lecture—he hadn't, as Hisui-sama had testified, been so stupid as to risk his life like that. On the other hand, she knew it probably didn't matter very much if he had. Kazu and his magic was at a level of synchronization that the rest of them could only dream of—he could probably ride the wave of time half-asleep.
"Don't," she ordered mildly, her eyes trained on the lightening dawn, "do it when nobody's watching you. Life is perilous as it is; to lose you to a training accident will be just stupid."
"Hai," mildly sheepish assent; he would obey, but Kaoru thought with much exasperation that it shouldn't have happened in the first place. Irrationally, a part of her felt a bit of pride—for someone Keiji's age to be able to even mildly manipulate the space-time continuum… And she was quite certain nobody had thought to teach him. And to think that the boy had managed to get away with it so long without getting caught…
A promise of talent, and despite herself, and knowing that she hadn't been joking when she told Yahiko that whoever performed the duty of rinsing away Keiji's previous life had done a botched job, Kaoru felt a spark of anticipation—what could she teach him, and how would he learn it?
Orgulla would be horrified when she finds out just what Keiji had been sneaking into under her very nose—Kaoru really couldn't blame her, Orgulla was always busy, after all.
Keiji always was very alike to Kazu, despite the attitude, and for a long time she had been slightly curious if the boy had actually inherited anything from her side. Nevertheless, she despairingly wondered why, of all things he could have inherited from her did he end up with her hotheadedness?
At the very least, Keiji had so far displayed a level-headedness that would probably be enough to counter that temper. And of course, she was counting on the boy to be enough like his father that temper wouldn't matter very much…
Kazu and her both had a temper, but they also each have attributes that reins it in; Kazu had his tendency to exploit every little thing, and his willingness to pull all kinds of tricks that necessitates him never charging blindly, or hastily, into anything; Kaoru had her coldly analytical mind and her ability to disassociate herself from her emotions, her anger almost always subsiding before they flare.
Strong, uncontrolled emotions were dangerous for them, so they wound themselves in and in and in, burying themselves under discipline of ice, stone and metal. Burying their emotions under cold reasoning and facts. Reining in their heart and impulses under adamantine chains of frigid control.
It was a way to keep themselves sane, in the end, as much as an effort to maintain proper decorum.
In fact, it's more to keep themselves sane, because neither of them really cared about the world's notion of proper decorum.
She restrained a snort and let the corner of her lips curl into a smile. Five minutes with Kazu will illustrate the point quite clearly, no doubt.
Soujirou barely managed to put down the bowls before a cheerful Keiji bounced into the room and proceed to pounce on him, laughing breathlessly and singing good morning, prompting him into laughter as well.
He wrestled good-naturedly with the boy as Himura-san padded into the room, smiling at the sight of them while carefully making his way across with the pot of miso soup. Keiji yelped a good morning in the middle of the playful wrestling, for which Himura-san responded with a quiet chuckle.
Then Kamiya-san entered at a more sedate pace, her warm voice washing over the room like honey. Himura-san seemed to have promptly forgotten everything as he turned to greet her back, as if in a slight daze, before he managed to catch a hold of himself.
Soujirou felt Keiji's attention perk and noticed the frown that made its way briefly across that young face before it fell back into playfulness and proceeded to tickle him. In the midst of his laughter, Soujirou pondered.
Keiji and Kamiya-san were, in the end, more different than similar, and knowing what he found out about them sometimes made him wonder if it was wise to let them in so close to him so quickly.
But in all truth, Soujirou had as much choice in letting them in as he had a choice on which side of the world the sun was going to rise from—despite reasons, he trusted them, probably more than he should, and he could only hope he wouldn't come to regret it.
When Keiji had finally let up and they both got to their feet, Soujirou turned and greeted Kamiya-san, discreetly thanking her for making him and Himura-san talk. She promptly raised an eyebrow and pretended not to know anything, but smiled a small smile that he could not read.
Kamiya-san confuses him as much as she helps, and he wondered if he would continue to be baffled by her until he was old and grey. But she was patient with him, like helping a baby learning to walk, gently guiding, and subtly letting him know of the wonders of the world he was previously unaware of.
In high contrast to her subtleties and quiet, unreadable façade, she was as honest as they come—seeming to resent every deception while understanding the reason for them. Always careful as to what she says and implies, her silences full of implication; she does her best to never mislead, while still taking care to betray nothing.
Keiji, he had learned, had less compunction to deceive.
Nevertheless, to be fair, Soujirou knew as well that there was a reason, or reasons, for the deliberate misconception, reasons he was not privy to. Despite that, Soujirou trusted Keiji to be as honest as he dared to, and it seemed, at times, that the boy detests the necessity as much as his mother does. Those times were fleeting, but they were definitely there.
It should have alarmed him, the ease by which they snuck into his affection and under his guard, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. He had come to depend on their presence so much he knew he risked crippling himself emotionally if ever…
He had his share of nightmares and sleepless nights, and when he was slowly sinking under the weight of the dead staring at him, either or both mother and son would inevitably find him or he would seek them, and he would sit quietly in their presence and let it banish the darkness from his mind.
All this in less than a week, if it was a psychological warfare, Soujirou was very, very screwed.
He still couldn't bring himself to care; it was the first time he knew he had something close to a mother and a little brother, and come what may, he wouldn't give away this happy period for anything.
Himura-san's reaction concerning Kamiya-san, however, puzzled Soujirou at the same level, if not slightly more. The mood of the older man's ki swirled in contradiction, creating a confusing myriad shifting landscape Soujirou could not hope to follow. What he could identify told him that the older man was either divided in how he sees Kamiya-san, or hadn't quite decided yet—respect, possessiveness, protectiveness, hunger, worship; everything underscored by love, desire, and a chokingly pervasive sense of unworthiness.
Dividing rice into equal portion to each bowl, Soujirou absently wondered what Kamiya-san thought of Himura-san—she couldn't have not known, because if she could see Soujirou's ki, she could certainly see Himura-san's.
As he counted the chopsticks, he banished away the thoughts.
Curiosity aside, it was between Himura-san and Kamiya-san, and no one else—certainly not him.
When Sanosuke arrived to mooch breakfast, he cautiously greeted the Tenken, who just as cautiously greeted him back.
He had debated not coming for breakfast that day, wanting to take some time to think things over and decide where everything stands. Nevertheless, he didn't want them to think he was afraid or something like that, so he came anyway.
Yahiko wouldn't have let him live it down if the brat ever thought that Sano was afraid of anything.
Well, anything except an angry Jou-chan, that was.
Sanosuke paused in the act of cutting a bit of fish. Well, he really couldn't call Kaoru Jou-chan anymore, could he?
"Oku-san(1)."
The rest of the table froze in a variety of poses that would have gotten him laughing. Kaoru recovered quickly, though, put down the soup bowl and folded her hands on her lap. "What, Sano?" She must've realized that he was talking about her—pretty obvious anyway, considering that she was the only woman present.
"Oku-san." Sano declared. "I can't very well call you Jou-chan anymore, ne? 'Cause it'd be pretty inaccurate to do so," he paused, "Oku-san," testing the sound, he tentatively rolled it in his mouth, then nodded. "Yeah, like that, I think."
"Sano," she replied with something like exasperation. "I have a name; you can use that instead."
He grinned impudently, "Eh, what's the fun in that?" That problem settled, he returned to the fish. From the corner of his eyes he spotted the Tenken trying to hold back a laugh.
Sanosuke swallowed a smirk. Maybe he didn't need to think too much about it—he wasn't dumb, but he knew that thinking wasn't his thing, most of the time. Now that he thought of it, the Tenken shouldn't be too far away from his teenage years, either.
He'd drag the guy to the gambling den or the bar later—the best way to know someone is over sake and the thrill of the dice.
And if Soujirou had Kenshin's aptitude with the dice, it wouldn't hurt his pocket.
Much.
"Himeccha, don't worry about it."
She blinked at him, "Himeccha, me?"
"Who else?" He had laughed, and she tapped him on the side with her fist.
She crossed her arms, "If I'm a princess then what are you?"
"Your most loyal retainer of course." He had laughed again as she playfully chased him across the yard, before settling down next to the basket of laundry. "Now let me do my chores."
"Only if you let me help," she commanded imperiously, drawing herself up and lifting her chin in an arrogant tilt.
His laughter returned, "Your wish is my command, Himeccha."
She smiled.
The parting frosts,
cries of baby sparrow (are)
lamenting the end of spring.
Author Note:
-And here's one of the reason for Keiji's… um… unrealistic strength; he certainly ain't going to do it unsupervised any longer, and his mother would certainly take his advance over her other student(s) with a bit of chagrin. Keiji is not a good boy (snerks) But then, neither was Kaoru a good girl. Still, considering that she uses it far longer than Keiji had, how many years had she accumulated? Combined with the time she spent in the time-stretch, who will be older, her or Kenshin?
-So, who could it be, the faint outline of the person in Kenshin's memory? I sense my muses working in that direction... I really AM suicidal
-The flashbacks, if anyone's wondering, were really done in random orders without any real reference to the rest of the chapters. They could have been meaningful; alas I'm not skilled enough a writer, so they were merely glimpses of the past.
1 Oku-san---Madame/Mrs