Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively.

White Friend
~ Melpomene & Shirodachi
Three

The summer heat was testily pushing its limits, the tension evident with the air quivering almost nervously: the effect was the surrounding's surreal quality. The sun was the painting's artist, brushing the colors of the world to run into each other, blurring lines of distinction. Or maybe the sun was getting tired of it all and getting peevish with his work; the fierceness was not so leashed then.

Kaoru fanned herself as she sat despondently in the shade. It wasn't too hot yet, being so early in the day, but her boredom seemed to amplify the discomfort caused by the heat. Kenshin finished all the cleaning and laundering before she even woke up, probably "cheating" with his superhuman speed. He breakfasted with her when she did awaken, and had just left for some odd jobs he took to contribute to the dojo's earnings. Of course, he left her explicit instructions: relax, don't exert yourself. Same old. As if she actually wanted to move in that sluggish sweaty heat.

Even her latest hobby he took away from her. Kaoru had taken up embroidery since that was one thing she wouldn't possibly tire herself physically. She did it to humor him, so that he'll leave her alone. No such luck. The plan misfired when he found her muttering furiously under her breath and crawling for the idiot needle.

"Dear, you don't need to do this," he said sweetly, casually stuffing the sewing materials in his gi. "I can sew any design on any of your clothes."

"But I don't want you to sew them," she answered rather tartly.

"Oh, then I won't."

"Kenshin, I'm doing it for leisure. Doesn't the word mean anything to you?"

"Oh, look. That's the little bird romancing you yesterday." He pointed out the window, and she forgot about the one she was sewing on her sleeping robe.

But yes, she did see that little robin again on the yukata. Its wings were finished, as delicately as she could never manage, and with several crooked stitches set aright.

Himura Kaoru, you are being a lazy self-gratifying pig, she thought. And you're not the only one karma will punish.

"I need exercise," she declared out loud.

With that, she marched to her bedroom, grabbed her parasol, and went out into the yard. She stood for a while, lost in thought. Finally, she shrugged and stepped out the backdoor. She could just take a walk and not worry about having a destination.

She allowed her feet to take control of direction. Her pace was slow, relaxed, but even under paper umbrella, the sun burned fiercely. Muttering to herself about the heat, she looked around the tiny dirt road and caught sight of the trail passing through the woods. It was their shortcut to Akabeko, an alternative to the crowded winding thoroughfare of the prefecture.

The dark green of the conifers was soothing cool to the eyes. It was fairly indicative of how much cooler it would be in there. Gladly, she entered that shady forest, snapping shut her parasol the moment she stepped across the border of light and dark.

She continued to walk, contentedly breathing in the peculiar smell of trees. There was a welcomed silence that met her, as if the wood itself slumbered in the serenity. It was different from the uneasy silence of the dojo, the feeling of emptiness, of forced listlessness. But the forest floor was littered with old needles, and the quietness was accentuated, not marred, by the faint rustling elicited by her every step.

Her thoughts soon swallowed her. She wondered about Megumi -- how her faithful search for her family in Aizu was going, how she managed her booming medical practice, how she, perhaps unwittingly, littered her letters with hints of displeasure on the roosterhead's silence after that single "hello, fox, I'm still alive. that's all" on the back of a sketch of a city called New York.

On to Sanosuke her thoughts flew. Where was the bum anyway? She didn't mind him filching food elsewhere, but his letters were gradually becoming more and more spaced apart. Surely there were mail posts in whatever corner of the world he was in. Some indication that he was still alive was certainly in order.

Last time, he boasted of realizing something profound about all the women across the globe. She struggled on whether that was a good or bad thing, and, of course, what it was all about. Kenshin was uselessly cryptic, only chuckling in amusement over her musings.

In tradition of spontaneous female conspiracy, she thought about her disapproval on Sanosuke's lack of farewell to Megumi all those years ago, something both Tae and Misao shared with her. Of course, there was nothing suspicious between those two except for their endless bickering, but intuition insisted on something amiss. Sexual tension? She kicked that out of her head quickly.

It was Yahiko who called attention to the whole rancid business. He mentioned it on a visit to the doctor's home. Megumi only sniffed nonchalantly and flipped back some of her straight black hair away from her face.

Yahiko. Yahiko and his confusing switch between opposing moods. Yahiko and his embarrassed fussiness and awkward insistence to give her comfort. Yahiko and his cold peevishness, sharp words, and abrupt actions. Yahiko... That brat!

Serenity broken, Kaoru morosely peered around her surroundings. She was considerably far from home, but the trail was still there anyway. Perhaps Tae wouldn't mind a visit.

Exercise, she thought and walked on, going in a quicker pace. Only a little later, she stopped on her tracks, startled by a seeming oddity about the shadows she glimpsed at the right corner of an eye.

What?

She turned and saw the source of the looming polygonal shadow: A shack.

The shack. Of course. The fool boy mentioned something about somebody moving in it. Improbable as it was, she decided to drop in on the new occupants, being their new neighbor and all. But it didn't look like somebody was home. The house was silent and motionless.

She continued to study it as she decided on what to do. The little house was not made of paper and the usual materials but of the heavy dark wood of the very trees in that forest, a rare thing in the area. Perhaps, it was fifteen years old, already -- or older. The wood was mossy and rotting, but it was still a mystery how it stood for such a long time.

Involuntarily, she took a step, nearing the old house. And another before she stopped again; the distinct sound of the leaves underfoot was absent. She looked down.

A gasp caught her throat. Black lines swirled around her feet. They became smudges, and ran into each other like spilled paint. They still danced around her feet. Round and round they went, sucking her into their movements, their vortex. Down, down, down...

Into the darkness.

Into the nothingness.

Into...

Kaoru shivered violently, the sudden cold stabbing her bones. She broke off her hypnotized stare on the singed earth.

A circle of scattered ashes. That was what she has stepped into. Most likely it was from a murai-bi, the welcoming bonfire for the ancestors' homecoming this O-Bon.

But O-Bon starts tomorrow, she thought. Why...? It's too early.

Still that house, she could imagine, would have lots of guests, indeed. Briefly she wondered which was nearer, her house or Tae's. She could run out of there as fast as she could, which was not that quick. And not that pleasant.

A voice floated across her thoughts.

Kaoru-dono, what could you have been rushing for that you're so out of breath?

His imagined admonition broke her train of wild thoughts, and she mentally gave herself a smack.

"Foolishness!" she said aloud.

There she was drifting in the middle of the woods like some ditz. The sudden cold must have been due to the disparity of temperatures in and out of the sun. She mustn't have noticed the difference sooner because of the ditzy spacing-out episode.

She forced rationality into her brain sternly and began to muse. The bonfire should be a week old, or so, fairly indicating that there had been somebody there. But that didn't necessarily prove that they have a new neighbor.

"Hmph! Yahiko no baka," she growled to herself. "Look. It's that simple."

Simple, indeed. Yet, she couldn't make her legs move, and she glared at the house in affront. The house merely looked back at her darkly, not stirring. She, Kaoru, was being bullied by a rickety old house that could probably fall apart if she screamed hard enough.

"Ooooh..." She huffed irritably and resolutely marched up to the silent house. She stopped again as her foot hit the first step up the porch stairs, an unwelcome chill running up her spine at the loud creak. She glared again, but walked on, this time slowly, and the indignant wail of the old boards were muffled into low moans as the aged wood bore her weight.

At the door, she paused, though there was hardly any of it left. The rice paper had probably disintegrated long ago, leaving the skeleton for her to pick through. Half of the frame of the door still stood, as if still expecting to be slid aside. The other half was lying on her path in pieces.

"H-hello?" she called, all the while chiding herself in her mind for not doing so before actually trespassing. "Is anybody home?"

There was no answer. She walked on slowly, squinting to see in that shadowy interior. The shades of gray were at least starting to form shapes. There, at the corner of her eye, she could make out something moving towards her. And footfalls. She heard some indistinct ones.

"Sumimasen," she said in relief, turning towards the figure. "I'm Himura Kaoru, your neighbor. I just stopped by to welcome you. I'm sorry I came in like that. Nobody was at the door and..."

Her voice fell hollow. Silhouettes became clear enough for her to able to tell there was nothing there.

Perhaps, it was because of the sudden light change, she reasoned.

And the footsteps? Or that sound?

It could have been somebody there. And there was a way to confirm it so. She sauntered--or, waddled-- to that direction, jumping in surprise almost immediately when the floorboards squeaked yet again. She paused to take a breath and calmed herself, exhaling deeply.

She froze.

What was that?

What?

That. That white wispy thing that slithered inches from her face. That thing that curled itself into invisibility.

Nonsense.

But she waited, her heart pounding. A moment passed. And another. A heavy uncomfortable sensation resting on her chest dawned upon her-- she was still holding her breath.

Stealthily, she released it. Slowly, slowly, she let it all out her nose, and again appeared the airborne undulating creature. She wanted to scream in exasperation.

It was just your stupid breath!!! she screeched internally. And yet, relief mingled with the indignation, relief. Relief at what? And the emotion was promptly squelched by her bravado.

Into the house's interior she ventured, seeing more and more of the room by dim patches, the gray retreating as she made each step. There was a table in front of her now, there where she had seen movements. The pale white stared at her from below, and she awkwardly bent halfway to peer back.

Rice paper. And calligraphy with such beautiful penmanship. Each stroke seemed laden with meanings -- a piece of art, laden and cryptic.

The leaf leapt to catch
the first drop of rain, but missed
and plunged down the earth.

Having been raised by a swordsman, Kaoru's orientation was not to the arts but rather to the more practical and martial. Haikus usually had obscure double meanings, and those she usually couldn't quite decipher fully, couldn't quite see. Yet, she found something off in the haiku's flow, an imbalance somewhere. She was no poet true, but something felt odd in the poem's structure itself--a lacking, a hanging thought or feeling, an incompleteness.

What?

She knelt, nonetheless drawn by the gorgeous work. It wasn't quite flawless; the light strokes seemed wispy at times, and the full ones were lopsided. That imperfection carried the piece's mystery, its calling to the audience.

Tentatively, she reached out, her hands splayed. Perhaps... perhaps, she can feel what it meant. Perhaps, touch would yield answers.

Soon, she felt the grainy texture of the paper. Lightly, she grazed a character, and the ugly black trail that followed her fingers shocked her as much as the sudden , fleeting flashes of emotions that flickered in her.

Betrayal. Anger. Rage. Sadness. Regret.

It was impossible. She could have sworn the writing was dry, dry as bone. The paper was musty and yellowish. The writing was even faded in areas. In fact, the whole thing must have been quite old. It must have. Then why? Why and how?

Her questions did not remain long in her thoughts. Horrified guilt came to her, and she groped around the poorly lighted vicinity for something, anything that might possibly repair the damage.

There was a brush and a pot of ink. Should she try to fix it? She should. Could she?

It was probably a relic -- she has marred a page of the past! Dozens of accusatory eyes stared at her, demanding. Thus intimidated, her shaky hand moved to lift the brush. She dipped it into the inkwell.

But it was impossible to correct and she knew it -- and so did they.

The disembodied admonishment finally snapped her control, and she bolted. Anything to get out of there. Anything!

She dropped the brush and slammed both hands to the table for support. She pushed herself to her feet quickly enough, but the pressure at one edge sent the table stumbling to its side, hurling the inkpot against her lap. It spilled its contents and fell, and fell...

The darkness splotched. It slithered towards her feet, moving swiftly down, the dark streaks sharply contrasting against her light-colored kimono. Like blood. Like blood stains.

And, more slowly, the blackness crept up her clothing, as well. Those tendrils reached up, up, up. Too near. Much too near her belly. Too near!

Fear overrode her mind, but she was frozen. Again came that sensation of a probing, that feeling of being observed, of being called. But she was frozen, and time stretched, stretched so thinly.

It was coming. It was. Blackness swallowing whiteness. Inexorable.

Coming...

A shattering sound.

Her mind cleared. Her eyes shot to the sound's source, away from the growing stain on her dress. The porcelain pot's hundred pieces lay at her feet. But the sound of its demise echoed in her brain, lingered in that empty room, dispersing it. It.

Run! her mind screamed.

And she did.

~~~~

Yahiko abruptly stopped running and groaned. That Kenshin. Of course, Kaoru was not in any danger. She was probably doing much better than any of them, lying stretched out on a futon for an afternoon nap or else stalking about the compound in utter boredom. It wasn't as if some vengeance-bent crackpot would actually break down the dojo wall and throw a tantrum at not finding Himura Battousai within. Those kind of things just doesn't happen to your average pregnant young woman. Then again, your average pregnant young woman isn't married to a retired celebrity assassin.

The boy forced relaxation into his pace but only succeeded in turning his run into an odd-looking trot, still breathing quickly. If only people delivered instructions more clearly, his life would run much more smoothly. Case in point was the incident a while ago.

Yahiko was going about his work when Kenshin popped up behind his shoulder and spoke: "Ano, Yahiko? I know you're busy, so I'll make this quick. I'll be late this evening, so if you would finish early, could you please go straight home? Only if you can. Domo."

He said it all in one breath and vanished.

Yahiko scowled. Okay, so it wasn't exactly an explicitly-stated command to bark and run home. It wasn't even an order; it was just an innocent request, a mildly, though briskly stated one, made by a man who tended to be calm, and easygoing, and long-winded. Unless...

If it was "unless," Kenshin wouldn't have stopped there. Besides, the man could jam a heart-rending speech into a single word when he deemed it necessary. Kenshin was probably just being his thoughtful --and overprotective, and paranoid-- self. There wasn't going to be a major showdown; a page from history wasn't going to be resurrected again in his backyard or on a duel to the death. And there certainly was not going to be any Tokyo samurai Myoujin Yahiko rushing to the rescue.

At that last thought, guilt stabbed him. Hard. It wasn't fair; he knew that. Of course, he didn't want anything to happen to his teacher and Kenshin. Kenshin didn't deserve any more pain. The man should be let alone to enjoy peace, obscurity, and the puttering over his young wife (not that Yahiko could ever puzzle out what fun was there to derive from such an activity). Kenshin didn't need crazed people demanding a comeuppance, a fight, or worse, an overdue payment of sheer pain and agony. Yahiko was indeed getting tired of the domestic quietness -- but not that tired! He could always piss of Kaoru if ever he gets desperate enough for excitement.

Yeah! Pester and fester! he comforted himself.

Didn't that sound a little half-hearted?

It was still Kenshin's fault, Yahiko maintained, having him running around like that. Tae didn't mind him going home early ( the Akabeko had extra workers that day), but he had wanted to talk to Tsubame. Then there was the woods again. If it weren't for his haste, he wouldn't have taken the shortcut at all. Not that he had any problems with the shortcut.

His neck prickled.

That. That was his problem with the trail. Always, his instincts seem to go crazy in there, telling him that somebody was watching, and yet there wasn't!

It was those damnable trees and their damnable shadow-casting, he figured. The battle of light and dark within that forest seemed to throw suspicion everywhere. Of course, it was much cooler in there compared to outside, so he could be having temperature-induced goose bumps. Anyhow, the dozens of places an attacker could hide was too much to risk to make that trail a time-efficient alternative path. He did owe Kenshin enough prudence to avoid trouble with his past nemesis and to avoid being targeted for bait.

See? It had nothing to do with the shack and the girl with the stare. Nothing at all.

Since when have you been prudent? Kaoru's voice rang in his head.

He sniffed indignantly. I'm always prudent.

But then, he apparently said that last bit aloud; apparently so, for somebody replied.

"Too prudent, perhaps, if I maybe so forward to suggest?" said the familiar voice behind him.

Yahiko gulped (it was merely to relieve thirst), belatedly realizing that he had stopped walking entirely. He knew who owned that voice. It was the girl, the girl with death in her eyes. No, not the violence of a warrior's death glare; indeed, he has seen quite a number, ranging from the Battousai's to his rival's, the Mibu's wolf. It was the absolute stillness of death, the void of the uncertainty that lurks beyond the grave. She with her white face. With her white hands. Those eyes. Those tattered clothes. And those eyes. Her black hair.

Those eyes.

Oh, please don't let it be that creepy girl, he thought hard, not even bothering to feel ashamed. Please, don't let it be her.

But he turned anyway -- and nearly jumped in surprise.

It was the girl, all right. But how different from how he remembered her! Reluctantly, his mind took in the green of the plain kimono she wore, the green of trees only diluted so, perhaps to match the lightness of her pallor; the long draping sleeves proper for an unmarried woman -- a woman!-- and the obi tied well enough to satisfy the fashion sense of Tae and her gaggle of friends. Her lustrous hair was neatly combed, the coiffure held by a single pin of tortoise shell. Her alabaster face was untouched by either blemishes or cosmetics... She was looking at him quizzically, and those dark eyes on him was unsettling. But she was... she was pretty.

Kusoooo! His mind moaned in mortification at the two mental images clashing in his brain. It was just your stupid imagination and you ran! You ran, you cowardly--

"Yahiko-san," she spoke quietly. "Konbanwa."

He was planning to at least greet her back, of course; common courtesy demanded so. His mouth wouldn't work though. Heck, it won't even open, much less create a sound. Thankfully she didn't wait for an answer.

"I am so glad I have chanced catching you pass by. I have been waiting for you."

Her waiting for him? Gods, the girl was still freaking him out, normal appearance or not. It was stupid. Yet, there she was, standing there, waiting for some acknowledgment normal people -- unlike him!-- would give. He was being rude, he realized, and that he already had been so when he ran away from her before. Twice.

Finally, Yahiko mentally smacked himself and unhinged his jaw.

"Good evening, uh, miss," he said. "How can I be of service?"

At least he was being polite as Kaoru had suggested often enough -- he'd die if she ever found out. The girl smiled. It was a rather primped-and- starched smile, very different from the one that flashed in his memory.

The one you imagined, you idiot! his mind growled.

He tried to smile back, and failed, most likely. Maybe his smile was not unlike hers. It certainly felt as weak as hers looked; she was probably still mad at his behavior before.

"I would accept whatever service you would render gladly," she said in that still mysterious voice -- Yahiko felt his hackles rising-- while still keeping the ghost of her smile. "I have found a certain lady's article inside my house. I believe it may belong to your sister."

"Sister?"

"A young women. Her belly is heavy with child, her eyes alive and bluer than the bluest sky."

"Kaoru? She came here?" What he would otherwise consider an insult didn't even register in his mind.

She nodded slowly. "Perhaps it is, this Kaoru-dono," she said. "I am not truly certain if we speak of the same person."

"Well, she fits the description. But I don't think she'd be out of the house at all."

"I see. Thank you for your attention anyway." She bowed deeply. "I take your leave." And she turned to go.

How stiffer could she get? Yahiko nibbled a lip uncertainly. So now what?

"Um, er..." he said.

She turned slightly to cock her head at him. "Yes?"

"I could take a look at it, if you want. I mean, I'm sure I'd be able to tell if it's Kaoru's or not. That thing you found, I mean."

A tentative but much brighter smile broke on her lips. "You will?" she said. "That would surely be of help."

"Er... yeah."

"Come then." She bounded up the steps to her house. The change in her previously lugubrious movements did nothing to ease Yahiko. She was still freaking him out. Remembering Kaoru's remark -- he seemed to be doing so quite often-- about being nervous around all girls at his age, he snorted in contempt. The girl was just upset with him; that's why she was so cold to him earlier. Now, she's the same as she was when they first met temperament wise. Without, of course, the embellishments his imagination added to her appearance.

Furious and ashamed of himself, he followed her into the shack, all the while bracing his prideful self to give an apology.

"Hey, you know about the ah, last time? I'm sorry about running off like that. I was kinda in a hurry and all that so..."

She turned back to him halfway to the door. "Oh that," she said in a rather neutral voice. "No offense taken." Her face was back to its taciturn reserve.

Yahiko shifted. "Uh, urhm.. yeah. That was pretty rude. And I did it twice at that so really-"

A wide smile had crept into her mouth as he was speaking, in amusement, perhaps, at his discomfort. "I did enjoy the omochi," -- she inclined her head slightly -- "Thank you very much."

"You what-? I mean, you're welcome. Consider it a welcome-around-here gift."

That was a start. She had smiled at him. Of course, the smile sent chills down his backbone, but then...

"Are you coming?" she inquired.

"Uh, yeah."

He followed her up the creaking steps and unto the aged landing. Entering immediately was out of the question; the doorway stared back at him challengingly, his one-eyed patch especially malevolent. The wooden frame of one of the doors stood there half-dressed, neatly-cut rice paper stacked nearby to repair that. The other lay half-hidden in the shadows of the house, waiting for its turn.

The girl deftly removed a bowl (in it was a sticky paste of rice) out of the way and turned once again to apologize.

"As you see, I have been trying to fix this house," she said. "I apologize for the inconvenience."

"Er, nothing to 'pologize 'bout," he rushed in mild embarrassment. Kaoru would die to make him as polite as that. Really. Was he wrong in thinking they were of the same age? Even so, the thirteen year old rebel without a cause spoke, though, in seeming haste, a magnanimous offer befitting the Tokyo Samurai he claimed to be. Yes. "I can drop by again tomorrow, ya know? Help you set up and all that. You just moved in, right?"

Now wasn't that an excellent question?

He blundered on at the lack of reply. "And I can help you with repairing your shoji. I just thought-- you were repairing, right?"

Yahiko really wanted to strangle himself for being such a wonderful conversationalist -- if only he wouldn't get knocked out from lack of oxygen before succeeding. She didn't seem to mind (or pretended not to) anyway. Looking elsewhere, she seemed to be considering the suggestions.

"That's very gallant of you," she said hesitantly. "But I-"

"Lady, I insist," Yahiko found himself interrupting.

"Are you certain it would inconvenience you in no way?" she asked almost expectantly. Almost. "Really?"

"Uh, yeah."

She beamed at him. "Thank you very much, Yahiko-kun. And to think I was afraid it might rain tonight, too! All for nothing after all."

There. She had called him Yahiko-kun. Finally! For some reason, that relieved him more than anything else.

"Come, come!" she chirped, now very much transformed. "We still have time for tea."

He entered. It didn't matter how the yawning doorway resembled a hungry phantom's jaws too closely or that the house seemed to want to devour him, swallow him into its mysterious depths. It didn't matter that he didn't even know her name. She called him Yahiko-kun.

"How impolite of me. I'm sorry. I am known as Shirodachi. It completely slipped my mind to introduce myself first."

There. He now had a name to associate with the face. Shirodachi. Her name was Shirodachi.

To be continued...

Edited: 092703, 01:44:37
Reposted: 2:03 PM 10/25/2003

------------------------------ Old Notes Before Reposting: -_-; I didn't want to post this yet. But since I made a mistake in posting and can't delete the wrong chapter by itself, I had to post the new (and correct) chapter.

Yuki-nomori: I'll continue the story, though it'll go slow. ^^; I'm glad you found this interesting. I hope you keep interest too. ^___^ Umi no Yuki: Thanks. I hope this gets more interesting. =)

Shirodachi-chan: Nyahahahaha.. You're introduced now. =( a little bit earlier than planned though. =P Why no one reads this fic is not your fault, baka. And don't say no one. *points up* THEY're readers, ne? XD Everybody who's reading this: Thank you for your time. Bear with me. College is a pain. Questions, comments, complaints, whatever welcome! (er, yup. i think i can bear flames *dead pan* Aku Zoku San) Comments boost our enthusiasm, too, you know? XD XD