A/N: I'd just like to clear up some confusion. The dream was not a memory. It was just a standard 'blurring images and metaphors' nightmare. I know Kenshin did not kill Hiko (God forbid!) I have been a Kenshin fan for QUITE some time and have read translations of the manga, watched all 95 anime episodes subtitled, and watched the OVA's (including the infamous Seisouhen. Was I the only one cracking up at how OUT OF CHARACTER that was?! Sony should be punished for releasing that. It's only redeeming qualities were the animation and the Enishi fight, which should have been longer.) I hope by now I know what I'm talking about. As for Kaoru replacing Tomoe, that will tend to happen in an A/U with Kaoru in the Bakumatsu. And while I have no particular fondness for the frigid android not programmed for facial expression (just needed to get that out of my system,) I don't completely ignore her or paint her in a negative light. Anyway, thanks for the support and feel free to criticize away.
Disclaimer: If I owned Kenshin, I would have sued Sony for Seisouhen, screwing up the potential the Shimabara arc had, and not animating the Jinchuu arc. Come on, people! Big hint!
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Chapter 3: White Plum
By Kenkaya
Kaoru entered the bar. She had a long day.
Loud, rancorous song filled the stuffy room. She ordered and sat by the door, reveling in the small wisp of fresh air that accompanied each new addition to the chaos. Her mind was a jumble.
She subconsciously raised a hand to the faded wound he gave her. The other girls noticed the morning she came down, bandaged. Making up some story about falling and injuring her neck, she went about her duties, ignoring the skeptical whispers that seemed to fill the empty silence.
He was dying, a simple wooden top his only link to sanity.
Why did he save her?
A gust of chilled wind tousled her raven locks. Pondering sapphire met somber ebony as the enchantingly beautiful woman entered. Her gaze was haunting, speaking of untold tragedy. Her hair was pitch, curving to frame her pale features. A plain white kimono only accented her elegance. In her wake, she left the distilled scent of white plum.
The woman who smelled of white plum sat at the table behind Kaoru, ordering chilled sake. From the exclamations of amazement, the woman downed her drink impressively.
"Hey, woman, have a drink with us?"
The woman ignored the two roughnecks with silent dignity.
"Hey, have a drink with us! We're Aizu patriots! Drinking with us's the least you could do to thank us!"
"We risk our lives for the common people!"
"Aizu's on the Bafuku side, ahou!" a random patron shouted.
"What was that?!"
Kaoru shook her head in disgust, "Mou!" she slammed her palms against the table as she stood. "Can't a woman drink in peace anymore!"
"Who are you?"
She frowned, "None of your goddamn business." Of all the skills she learned among the Ishin Shishi, her broadened vocabulary was one she rarely indulged in.
"Wanna drink too, jou-chan?" a drunk inquired, lifting his nearly empty bottle with a lopsided grin. Revulsion swept over her. She'd fended off sober men more reputable then these!
"No, thank you," she responded with an exagerated polite nod. "And I don't think the lady is much interested either."
"Are you sure?" one of the drunks purred. She answered with a defiant glare. The woman who smelled of white plum stared at her, a glint of inquisitiveness amid the somber ebony her only reaction.
"When a woman says no, she damn well means it!"
"I don't see a woman, I see a pretty little girl without her daddy," the drunk stroked her sleeve with his fingertips.
"Pervert!" she cried as she slapped his hand away.
"You little bitch!" the man roared, poised to draw the katana at his hip.
"Draw your blade and I will be forced to draw mine," a soft voice called from the corner.
"Kenshin," she breathed, recognizing him immediately.
He calmly set his sake down, feral amber glowering.
"Let me give you some advice. The violence is only going to get worse. Kyoto is no place for false patriots."
Her assailant, wasted as he was, registered a short, skinny red-haired boy. He stepped to the challenge.
"Just who do you think you are, boy? Can you even draw that sword of yours?" he sniggered. "Looks a little heavy to."
"Tetsu, back off," another drunk, with focused eyes, yelped.
"Aw, can't I have a little fun with the midget?"
Kenshin uttered a bestial growl.
"Back the fuck off!"
"Alright, 'right," the drunk mumbled.
"Get out of here you frauds!" another yelled.
"Run back to the mud hole you came from!"
The two roughnecks exited the bar, grumbling. Kenshin threw his payment on the table and left shortly afterwards.
She glanced at his retreating back before turning to the woman who smelled of white plum. The woman was watching him, intensely.
"Ano. sorry about the fuss," she apologized. "Mou! I just can't stand men like that!"
The women observed her clinically. Her sorrowful eyes bared the only emotion on her being.
"Ano. my name's Kaoru," she said nervously. "Do you know Kenshin?"
The woman stared at the vibrant young girl before her.
"You mean the young man who helped us, Kaoru-san," she finally spoke. "I do not know him. My name is Yukishiro Tomoe."
"Oh, I see. Well, I need to get back to work. Nice meeting you Tomoe-san."
"Farewell, Kaoru-san."
She left her bill on the table and headed back toward the inn.
The evening seemed peaceful, void of the familiar metallic gore. She sighed in annoyance as a couple raindrops spattered against her face. A damp breeze played with her high ponytail when she heard a scream ahead. She stopped. She survived nearly a year in Kyoto by avoiding such noises. Another cry.
Wait! That sounded like Kenshin!
She ran forward, letting her feet carry her where they willed.
But he didn't get a black envelope today. Did he?
Her mind was a daze. Her heart was pounding. As such, she didn't notice the ghostly figure that followed through the rain, leaving a trail of white plum.
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Kenshin groaned, rubbing his temples against a tension headache. Men like that never got to him before.
Before, they hadn't touched her.
He no longer shied from the complete truth in his mind. He cared for Kaoru. She was innocent, full of life, never cowering from his presence. She also cried. She hid her emotional turmoil, shelving the burden, to release the pain where it would remain hers alone. Despite these factors, she was strong. She fought against Iizuka to preserve her dignity and stood up to armed men in bars to guard another's. She was selfless.
He would protect her with his life.
Movement. He was being watched. Sliding effortlessly into the shadows, he heard a blood-curling shriek. One of the drunks from the bar (the one who touched her!) ran into the open street, calling for help and begging for mercy. He didn't flinch as the blade impaled the man, a pool of crimson congealing in the clotted dirt beneath the fresh corpse. He felt a sadistic smile creep up.
"Hitokiri Battousai," the masked assassin called, stepping from his element. He was large, wielding two blades connected by a long chain.
"What is this?"
They were both hitokiri; shadow assassins. Destined to a life as secrets and half-cooked rumors. History would forget their pain; the future would never know their triumphs. What was the point of introductions?
Rain began to fall.
"Don't play innocent with me. I've been waiting for you and I will have your life."
Without warning the man threw the twin swords forward. Battousai leapt, dodging the blades easily. Only quick reflexes saved him from strangulation as the chain wrapped around his neck and hastily thrust fist. He cried out. His opponent smirked. Battousai's lips twitched. Jumping off an adjacent wall, the assassin reached to thrust both blades into his prey. Battousai had other ideas. He twisted, using the chain to pull his aggressor off balance. The man spun around and pulled the twin swords back in defense. Battousai wretched as the man braced himself against another wall. Same old tricks. The katana sliced through the assassins gut, neatly cutting him in half. Intrails fell to the ground with a sickening thunk. Blood sprayed upward, baptizing the young hitokiri in sticky ocher.
A gasp. He turned, panting, poised for the next kill. She stood there, drenched in blood, sapphire eyes wide.
"I--- I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know I wasn't supposed to see." He barely caught the subdued phrase. He heard the katana clatter to the ground. His hands were numb, stained.
Her yellow kimono was ruined. Crimson droplets cascaded down her raven locks and ivory face. The faint scent of jasmine that always seemed to embrace her was lost amidst the metallic stench. Her eyelashes were heavy with the thick substance.
He had bathed her in his sins.
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Kaoru arrived just in time to see a large assassin charging Kenshin with two blades. A chain wrapped around his throat and raised fist. She almost called out to him when he twisted, knocked the assassin off balance and swiftly sliced him through the middle.
Red washed over her. She stared at him through blood coated eyelashes, and said the first thing she could think of; a painful memory, standing in warm, summer rain, letting the pure liquid wash over her body as Keisuke enveloped her in his arms. A whispered apology she didn't understand until too late. A broken promise to protect her eyes from the plight of war and rain of bloodshed. Warm pressure on her lips.
"I--- I'm sorry. I know I wasn't supposed to see."
Kenshin stared in shock. His katana fell from limp hands. They faced each other.
"What are you doing here?!" Kenshin finally snapped.
"I was afraid," she whispered.
"Then you should have run away."
"I'm sorry, I was just afraid."
The two stood there, cool droplets obscuring the distance between them. Tainted mud swirled beneath their sandaled feet, reflecting the condition of both souls.
"I need to bathe," she said after a long pause, attention turned to her soiled kimono. "And so do you."
He nodded, understanding perfectly. Silently taking her hand, he picked up his sword and led her towards a dark alley.
"Kenshin, what are you---"
"We can't be seen in these clothes."
She held her breath as he expertly led her from one shadow to the next, walking under overhangs when he could to shield them from the rain. Soon lost in the maze of backstreets, her mind focused on the young red-head before her. She didn't understand.
I knew he was a hitokiri. I've seen him walk in late with blood-stained clothes. He couldn't have reacted just because I saw him kill. Was he concerned? Is that possible?
"Here," he said, breaking her out of her daze. They had reached the inn. "Go bathe and get some sleep. Forget what you saw tonight."
He rushed up the stairs to his room.
"You need to wash too."
"Later," he called in mid-step.
"You can't just neglect yourself like this! What if you start smelling like blood all the time?"
He was silent.
"Kenshin?"
"Nothing. I'll come down later."
"Kenshin," she scolded lightly.
She heard an exasperated sigh, "I will."
She smiled, "good."
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Kenshin shook his head as he heard Kaoru enter the bathhouse. Kami, the way she berated him you'd think they were married. Married? He pushed the thought away before it could develop further.
He slid the shoji shut behind him and settled by the window.
She saw me kill a man. I wanted to protect her. Now she's washing the gore off her body, a ritual I've done countless times. What if she was just a second sooner? What if the assassin noticed?
Hands cradling his sore head, his mind lingered on her words.
"You can't neglect yourself like this. What if you start smelling like blood all the time?"
But I always smell like blood. It soaks into my skin, my pores, saturating my very essence. She can't see that? Is she so forgiving? So loving? No. She'll find someone more suited to her. Someone who's not a killer. Someone who'll survive. Maybe that man she's looking for.
But he didn't want her to be with anyone else.
He remembered the top. He pulled it out, examining the wood's grainy surface. The inanimate object didn't seem quite so alive.
"Don't be foolish," he muttered to himself before leaning back and steeling himself for frenzied dreams.
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Kaoru stared at the pink rivulets running down her arms. Her thoughts were far away.
She knew she loved him. She tried to convince herself he was nothing but a cold-blooded killer; she couldn't. All she wanted was to stay by his side.
But, does he love me?
And what about her mission? Keisuke's departure played in her mind over and over relentlessly; the rain, the whisper, and the kiss. Her first kiss.
He left to fight for the Shogunate, breaking her heart. What she once saw as love, she now realized was infatuation. She knew Keisuke since childhood; she hung off his arm, called him 'nii-chan,' cheered as he became her father's top student. He was the first man to shower her with affection.
She thought she knew Keisuke. How could he leave them? Her? Without hesitation she packed and followed, against better judgment and her father's orders.
I love Kenshin. I still want to find Keisuke, but for father's sake. He was like a son to him. Keisuke is my brother, now. Nothing more.
She blinked. The water ran clear. She stood. Embarrassed, she realized she didn't bring a change of clothes and slipped back into the polluted kimono. She walked inside.
"Kenshin?" she called, tapping on his shoji. She slid it open, disregarding modesty. She found him in his soiled blue gi, dosing by the window.
"What?"
She jumped, "Don't scare me like that! I thought you were sleeping."
"I was."
Guilt emerged, soon replaced by uncouth anger.
"Kenshin! What are you doing sleeping in those clothes?! You told me you would wash yourself!" she walked up and felt the edge of his sleeve. "It's still wet too! You'll get sick! If I hadn't come up here, you'd still be sleeping! Promise me you'll go down there and wash up right now!"
"Why?"
"Eh?"
"Why do you care?" his voice was low, but she would have heard that demanding tone in a crowded street.
"Well, I--- idiot, because I care!"
"Why?"
"What do you mean, 'why?'"
"Why do you care?"
"I know that. I meant why do you need to know--- I--- can't really answer your question as it is."
"Nevermind," he mumbled. "I'll go bathe."
He rose from his position by the window, brushing by her. He didn't comment on the kimono she still wore.
Does he love me?