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
Six
The wood was as dry as bone.
Sitting on the rickety old porch, Yahiko shrugged. It didn't matter. Despite the fact rain lasted the whole previous night, the wooden house was completely dry. The fact that they could sit on it contented him, as did the breeze that blew occasionally to complement the cloud-chased sun's gentle warmth.
Shirodachi herself had been waiting for him there when he arrived, standing before her house silently as he lumbered towards her. Lumber it was; he could barely stand on his two feet out of extreme sleepiness. He couldn't understand why, though. He had slept well last night, calm, dreamless, and deep, but had awakened that morning with bone-seated weariness that chained him to his futon. Kaoru was concerned, naturally--though not as concerned about his health as she was about vituperating for answers about last night-- but he had given her no time to fuss about it.
In the Akabeko, it had been a different matter. No matter how hard he had tried to glue his eyelids in place, tried to avoid drifting off on his feet, Tsubame noticed--he couldn't exactly run away from her, especially not after she had just told him yes! Even the memory of that gave him a jolt of excitement, as well as a little nervousness. Anyhow, he was still ashamed of himself for failing to conceal his fatigue, as much as feeling it in the first place. It was quite comparable to his embarrassment over Tsubame's attention. The other workers of the restaurant were wary enough of his temper and smitten enough by Tsubame's innocence not to openly discuss and exchange various commentaries. Enough hushed remarks reached the poor boy's ears, however, that told him they were overheard in the kitchen earlier. His red ears must have alerted his co-workers of their conspicuousness, and they stopped all talk totally. Just a few surreptitious glances his and Tsubame's way and a forced back smile here and there were all that had been. The adults could have been ignoring the two adolescents' existence for all's worth , but for some reason that had somehow incensed Yahiko further. Of course, he had to admit that Tsubame's soulful eyes looking at him--though slightly reproachful--gave him the oddest feelings in his stomach, and ironically made the humiliation worth living through. His protests against her ministrations and offers of help had all seemed to die down as soon as they came because she was just too sweet and too adorable and too guileless and…
Anyhow, when he arrived a few minutes ago, Shirodachi had walked towards him, greeted him, and commented on his early trek home.
"I missed practiced again," Yahiko had answered. "I went to work early, and Tae-san sent me home."
Well, it was true. Tae did send him home. He didn't have to tell Shirodachi that he had been sent home because everybody thought he was sick, so he didn't.
"Come, Yahiko-kun," Shirodachi had then said with smile. "Sit, I shall get tea."
And that's how he found himself sitting on her porch, idly wondering how the wood dried so fast, even with the sun's half-hearted attempt to shine that morning.
Presently, Shirodachi was gliding back with a tray full of ceramics. Yahiko stood up politely (politely???) and took the tray from her. She bowed solemnly and sat down on one of the cushions.
"You wouldn't be offended if I didn't offer a full formal tea ceremony, ne Yahiko-kun?" Shirodachi asked. "I don't believe I have all the proper materials available."
"Oh no," said Yahiko quickly. "Do you want me to make a run for it?"
He was startled by her bemused expression. "Pardon me, but would you please rephrase that question?"
"I'll get what you need from the dojo. I know where Kaoru keeps the tea things at home. She won't mind."
"Ah… No need for such exertion, Yahiko-kun. " She chuckled quietly, her voice dipping down unexpectedly. "I should have foreseen such enthusiasm for the finer aspects of living from one such as your self. Truly, you have exhibited well the nobility of your lineage and upbringing. "
"Er…" Yahiko's ears reddened a little. "Actually… that's all right." Actually, Yahiko had never appreciated the whole business. He never got the chance before. Years ago, his mother had been too busy earning their living to actually teach him. As for Kaoru… Well, Kaoru could keep her rib-poking spatula to herself! Of course, had it been Kenshin who had tried to teach him how to go about the tea ceremony, Yahiko wouldn't have been as rude and would have forgone the pukey-green-barf-tea-powder-for-fat-hags comments.
"Nonetheless, please accept my most heartfelt apologies," Shirodachi replied sincerely, bowing low from her waist. "Please rest assured that the hospitality and welcome my roof offer extends well beyond the meager accommodations I, unfortunately, can only manage as of now."
Yahiko would have gulped, but instead just decided to agree with her. "Okay. Um, thanks." It was much simpler that way.
Shirodachi then poured him tea; she was very graceful with it, he noticed. One of her deft hands carefully lifted the teapot, while the other neatly drew away the long, draping cuffs of her sleeves. Tsubame, he thought, was graceful like that, too, though the Akabeko was usually too chaotic for such choreographed movements. In fact, Yahiko was starting to think he should have insisted he didn't want a tea ceremony at all--even as semblance of it--because he now felt like he was in one, and it was making him very nervous.
After a while, Shirodachi cocked her head to one side and spoke, "You don't like tea, Yahiko-kun?"
"Eh?" Yahiko said, roused from his thoughts. He looked down at his still full cup and drank from it deeply to appease her. "I do. I mean, it's okay. I mean, it's not like I'm Aoshi who practically lives on it."
"Aoshi?"
"Aoshi's a family friend," explained the boy. "Sort of."
"Oh, I see. He is samurai then? A lord perhaps?"
Yahiko couldn't help but give her an odd look. "I guess, he might have been of the warrior class. Doesn't really matter now, you know. But yeah." He snorted. "You could almost think that, the way them folks call him 'Aoshi-sama'."
"Then he is a lord?"
"I don't know about that." Yahiko scratched his head. "Haven't been exactly born yet those days. Maybe I'd ask Misao--or somebody saner--when they come here."
"They? Is she who is called Megumi with them as well?"
"Oh, right. I've told her about you."
"Not her whole tale, Yahiko-kun. Only that her lover, this man named Sagara, left her bereft."
Yahiko, at least, had the decency to feel and look sheepish. "Er… Not exactly."
Shirodachi's dark eyes widened. "Then it was she who has broken his confidence and heart? Did she bed another man in his stead?"
Yahiko sweatdropped. "Never mind."
After a while, the girl's eyes began to wander. She became silent for a long time. Yahiko had begun to think he had bored or offended her or something when she spoke in an even, measured tone.
"Is Megumi-dono a mage?" she asked.
"Mage?" Yahiko blinked.
"Hai. A woman of magic and mystical powers. You speak of her with awe and deference."
Awe and deference? Yahiko blinked again. "No, she heals people. She's a doctor."
"A healer, I see. Is she in Kyoto as well?"
"Aizu, actually. She's supposed to be coming over this summer, but I don't really know what now. Last time she wrote, there's a heat wave over there, and her patients' been flooding in."
"The heat sickness," Shirodachi murmured.
There was something in her voice that captured his attention and made him abandon his scrutiny of the newly polished and mended landing. The voice was… reminiscent, as were Shirodachi's dark eyes, focused faraway. She looked different, too, from the last time he saw her, Yahiko now realized. The faded flower print of her flesh-colored kimono made her seem less formal than yesterday, as did her plain obi .(If only she didn't open her mouth to spout long convoluted sentences.) Her long, dark hair was simply tied back to keep away from her face. Today, at least, she seemed healthier, fresher. Of course, her seeming grotesque emancipation the first time they met could have been a mere product of his overactive imagination.
After a while, Shirodachi opened her thin salmon-colored lips. "A long time ago," she said. "There was once a summer when the air shimmered, as if bewitched, and smothered the people of our village with heat sickness. The brook where oniisan always caught the trout we eat for supper in sweltering summer evenings was all gone, all the water sucked dry by the greedy earth. The plants would not come out either. They died in the little seeds that enclosed them, were baked in the furnace-like depths of the cracked soil. Those that did emerge were limp and sickly--for not even the wind came to fan anybody relief--and they rotted away to stringy rubbish. And yet, otousan…. Otousan did not care. He did not care at all. Not even when the man came.
"Man?" Yahiko had been listening closely to her every word, rapt.
"Man, yes. The smelly man. The man who reeks of red rust and rotten teeth. He comes with his great knife and barges into our house. Not even oneesan could screech or yowl at him like she does to me."
"Che," Yahiko said darkly. "So even in your place there are those pieces of trash who call themselves samurai."
Shirodachi paused. If it was possible, her dark eyes became darker still, as did her pale oval face. After a while, she nodded slowly. "It may be as you have said. He also carried the same smell as otousan. It is the smell of that drink. For that drink, he'd walk a hundred ri, carry many a bushel of grain.
"I see." Yahiko did see. He knew all about how some people lost control f their appetite for alcohol, how some used sake to drown out problems, to drain away their lives. It was the same as opium, Megumi once said.
"For his master, the stinky man said. He does it for his master."
"Like some sort of daimyo?" Yahiko said incredulously. "Lady, where has those guys been for the last ten years? There's no such thing anymore nowadays. They can't harass your family like that. Besides, swords are forbidden by law."
"Oh yes, sword is what that big knife is called." Shirodachi's eyes were back to that glazed, far-looking expression. "I remember now. But what I would always remember is his weasel grin. Always." She shook her head. "Never mind."
"Weasel grin?" Yahiko nervously forced a little laugh; he recognized her wish to shift the flow of conversation. "You know what? I know a weasel. A weasel girl, actually. Her name's Misao and she's from Kyoto. Her family owns an inn, the Aoiya."
Then again, perhaps it was he who wished to change the topic. There was something... A growing ominousness. As if pursing her line of thoughts would lead to a vortex of sort that would suck him past a point of no return.
"An inn?" Shirodachi looked at him closely– and he almost gasped. Brown. So her eyes weren't black after all, but a deep dark chocolate brown. "What kind of an inn?"
Yahiko thought for a while, then shrugged, not quite understanding the question. "A regular one, I suppose. You know, like a place people can stay in for a night or maybe a week. Misao would probably advertise or something. Like I said, she might come here with Aoshi this summer."
"Tell me. Is she entertaining, this Misao-dono?" There was an almost guarded tinge in her voice, something oddly resembling jealousy.
Yahiko was confused. "Well, I suppose, a weasel girl is funny enough. She's more useful with other things though like physical stuff. Strong kick, right leg dominant. Needs a little work on her roundhouse."
"Misao-dono is not a mere geisha then? She is of service to this Aoshi?"
"Er, no." Yahiko tied not to stare at Shirodachi, but that didn't stop the red from spreading across his face. He thought he vaguely understood the part about being more than a geisha--and being of service to Aoshi-- but decided to give a safe answer. "I think Misao's just a waitress or something," he muttered. "I'm not sure if Aoshi actually runs the Aoiya. If I ask, he's as likely to speak as his kodachi."
"This man carries a sword? A nobleman in the least, surely."
"Well… Er, I guess he came from the samurai class, like me." Yahiko scratched his head. "Like I said, doesn't really matter."
"Aa. Indeed, no. Many of the upper class has fallen to depravation, while others merely paid gold for the right to cradle a katana in their dirty hands."
Yahiko couldn't find anything to add to that so, for a while, they sat in companionable silence. He had gotten a little used to her various oddities, even in those few hours he had spent with her. Her stories tended to be vague at times, but there was always a sort of charm about them. They were very interesting, and he hoped she was thinking up a new one to tell him.
After a while, Shirodachi sipped from her cup. She set it down before her and leaned back slightly with an arm behind her pressing against the floor for support.
"Geisha's are interesting people, Yahiko-kun. Did you know that?"
"Erm…" Yahiko looked at her as if caught off guard. "I've never met one. So, I guess… I suppose so."
"They are. Tsubame-dono. Your friend. She is talented, yes? In the arts and manners?"
"Yeah?"
"You have piqued my interest. Will you tell me about her?" she asked almost shyly. "Please?"
Yahiko smiled uncomfortably. How was he supposed to talk about a girl anyway? And wasn't that considered impolite? It was all right, he supposed. The girl was Tsubame, anyway, and she wouldn't mind. His smile widened a bit.
Tsubame, then. And so, he quickly warmed to his subject.
~~~~~
The first drop of rain, but fell
And plunged down the earth.
Kaoru nibbled on her lower lip as she scrutinized her work; something about it was… off. It couldn't be her handwriting, she decided. She was quite fair in calligraphy--very good when compared with her husband and his chicken-scrawled hand. There was something else in that haiku that inspired in her a feeling of uneasiness, of a certain displacement of something. Perhaps, it could be attributed to the haiku itself, to its form and content, and to the person who originally penned it.
The author's identity was another mystery surrounding that piece of writing Kaoru read off from inside that shack in the woods. That was all she could remember--all else was an aggregation of blurry images. Those memories were crucial, somehow important, and yet her mind refused to relinquish anything, insisting adamantly that those events were useless, a waste of time and effort. Remembering was fighting her self.
What events? she thought to herself sourly.
What events indeed? It just happened this noon, before Kenshin's perfect rehash of the cauldron of sukiyaki she ruined yesterday. He did not even comment on how he met her in the woods after she sneaked out again. She almost wished he'd say I-told-you-so outright just to get a reaction. Nothing resembling blame could be seen in his expression, even as he watched her weakly (but sincerely) praise his cooking, about to constantly about to nod off over the table all through out lunch. It was unfair, that silent treatment, making her think that he was right, that she was the criminal taking advantage of his affable just and benevolent mercy.
Still, she felt so tired. It was only natural, she reasoned, after traveling to and from the pier on foot--not to mention staying up late last night to wait for both husband and student! However, she expected her endurance to last, considering she was an athlete. After all, how could she demand all out effort from Yahiko and her other students if she herself couldn't give the same? She did fear exhibiting such weakness--always had--not only because of pride, but also because she knew that he also needed her strength, that it was not only her. She was very tired, that she can accept, but despite feeling so beat up, she wouldn't take a nap. Or rather, she couldn't. She couldn't fall asleep, so she just took up her brush and doodled. Now, every single part of her body felt ready to fall off any second, but the brush remained in her hands, and her dry eyes focused on her work.
She shook her head.
"I'm fine ," she said aloud. "I feel fine."
~
Kenshin threw out his tub of soapy water, watched it turn gritty, pick up dust, and slowly spread, darkening the dry soil. Confident that they would dry before sundown, he watched the day's laundry flutter playfully, teasingly pulled by the silvery cool touch of the light breeze to fly off to some exotic faraway place. Surprisingly, his undergarments clung tenaciously to the bamboo pole, resisting wanderlust admirably. Now, while Kenshin didn't believe a man's head--or heart--belonged in his pants, the thought still made him somehow proud of his old, worn fundoshi. That's an odd notion, granted, but at least he wouldn't have to chase after flying garments, only to have them soiled by a nasty flop on the earth when abandoned by the frivolous wind.
Setting aside his flippant notions, he sighed and went in search for his wife. He found her working on her calligraphy, something he wouldn't dream of doing. She was staring at the paper, seemingly very taken by her work. Her pensive expression amused him at first. But then, he saw her shake her head and tell her herself that she was fine, as if needing convincing herself.
Which meant she wasn't fine.
"Are you sure?" he asked softly, then. "That you are?"
She sighed and looked up at his patched up hakama, and up to his contemplative face. He actually foresaw her succeeding actions, honest--just not their strength! In mock rage, she threw her entire upper body weight at him, clasping his legs to her in a ferocious attack.
"Baka!" she shrieked.
That cost him his balance, and he tottered, uttering his favorite all-purpose nonsense syllable. People always gave the one-time assassin a look of disgust whenever he tried to learn swimming in air, but he really couldn't help it! No man would be able to help falling, right? Hitokiri Battousai was truly and sincerely on his way down to a nice graceful splat on his face.
Kaoru rolled her eyes. "Oooh, you are so not falling," she huffed, firmly pulling him upright. "See?"
Being returned to his feet and balance didn't assuage Kenshin's rising panic, though. Briefly, consternation passed his face. He quickly replaced the expression with a benevolent, (hopefully) placating smile. A winding apology would only make her angrier, he realized, and decided to deliver the truth swiftly and concisely.
"Ano…" His determination to confess didn't stop his hesitancy, though. "Er… Kaoru-dono? I'm really, really sorry. And erm… I just want to tell you honestly that I truly didn't do it on purpose."
Kaoru blinked. "Eeeeh?"
"Erm… Maa, maa." He cringed and pointed at the paper.
He should have dried his sudsy hands first, as any nitwit with an eighth of his brain mass would have figured out. He really should have. But then, when he came to take a peek at her, he had intended not to be detected. Anyhow, there they were.
Wet flecks, darkening circles gradually spreading outward, dotted her work. The black ink was even starting to run in some places, making her lettering spidery and faint--splotchy. The characters she had lovingly brushed, those words they represent seem to waver and quiver as the diluted black bled into the grainy texture of the medium. Perfection was reduced; the ideal was diminished. It was… It was ruined.
Nobody could really blame the infamous Himura Battousai for feeling very afraid at that moment. Very afraid.
"Kaoru," he said seriously--bravely. "I really am sorry I ruined your work. It was an accident. I'm afraid you'd have to redo it again , and sessha wouldn't really be able to help much."
"Are you kidding?" she breathed. "It's perfect."
Kenshin frowned, finally paying enough attention to the words he read off the ruined art. Yes. Perhaps, 'perfect' was the word best fit to describe it. Perfect. It was a perfectly beautiful piece of art fed hate, sorrow, regret, and maybe even all the horrors of the world.
To his surprise, she pulled him down to her, blue eyes dancing with intensity. They were bright orbs, bright with interest and intrigue--and a hunger. A certain hunger.
"Kenshin," she said in the same hushed voice. "Tell me. Come on. Tell me what you see."
He couldn't deny her that simple thing. Yet his instincts screamed for him to stop. But what harm could a piece of poetry cause? He stared at the calligraphy, too, and delved deep into it. The droplets of water in the paper, coalescing, moving towards each other, rushed at him in an inexorable wave of nostalgia.
Regrets. Regrets of one too late. The haiku did not simply describe the prosaic death of a leaf in autumn; that haiku was written of drought, of an emptiness inside that threatened to kill. Regrets of one too late--and of one too soon.
"Regrets of one too late," she said. "And too soon…"
He didn't realize he had spoken aloud.
"Yes." She seemed to be chewing on the words with her little white teeth. "Such pain."
Such pain, yes.
She turned to look at him, her blue eyes now more subdued but still boring into him. "Talk to me," she said, her voice almost ethereal. "Talk to me, Kenshin."
"…of one who tried so hard." He couldn't still his tongue and could do nothing but continue to take out his heart. "Of one who waited so long and failed to catch the chance. It."
Her breathing caught. She crept closer, her large eyes looming closer as if meaning to swallow him. And yes. If he could only, he'd throw himself to drown in them. "Tell me more. Tell me more of what you see."
All he could do was shoot her an anguished glance. "A leaf, like every other living thing, needs water. Then drought comes. This leaf tries so hard to still its wanting, waits long, so long, for its much-needed sustenance.
"But then time saps its life away, slowly, bit by bit. Finally, water comes; it comes and the leaf joyously meets it with its last breath. But, oh, too soon! Too soon the leaf jumped. Too late the water came. And I…
" I remember. I too was too soon, and too late. Too soon for she might have accomplished her intentions and slip away in time. Too late. I stopped too late. Might have missed her with my vindictive blade. Regrets are all they are, but regrets as true as the earth."
Kaoru's eyes reflected his as she pleaded with him. "Kami-sama," she whispered. "It's just a poem. Stop."
But he couldn't stop. Those words have invaded his mind, flowed into his soul to transform into powerful, inexplicable emotions and back again as his own words. She made him start, and now he couldn't stop. He kept her prisoner with his haunted eyes of pale purple bordering on blue, blue of bruised unliving skin. "And you… I saw you. When I saw you there with that blade… i-in … And I swear I tried, tried so hard to get to you… reach you. But--"
"Stop."
"That, as well. I stopped too soon. I fell too soon. Too soon? Yes. So close. We were so close, yet I was too late then. I failed to catch you, and I fell with you. Did you know that? I did. I fell, and there were regrets again. Regrets as hard as the solid ground. There's also pain." He laughed horribly. "There's always pain. Of course, I deserved it. But not you. Not the innocents. Fate is never kind to its tools. It takes a certain ruthlessness to achieve something important. But sooner or later the price comes. There are worse things than one's own pain…"
Kaoru's full-armed slap hit him in the face. "Stop it!" she screamed hoarsely. "Stop hurting yourself like this. Please! It didn't happen. I'm alive and well and breathing. You know that! I swear. Please. Stop it. Enough is enough. It's just a haiku. Stop it..."
Her tirade--not to mention her bit of muscle-flexing--sent him reeling back to his senses. Kenshin blinked. What was he saying? What--Kaoru. She was hurting, too, hurting with him. She hurt for him. How could he do that? How could he say those things? How could he show such raw emotions he had always been careful to sieve for her? The consequences of his loosened tongue left him slack-jawed.
Kenshin started out of it, hearing his wife gasp. His eyes darted to her in time to see her hand, red as the smarting, throbbing imprint on his face, shoot to her mouth in shock. "I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I didn't mean to hit you! I mean, well I did, but-- Mou! Just…"
A frown had replaced the stupefied look on his face; Kenshin forced that off his face as well, and replaced it with what he hoped was comforting benignity. "No, no," he insisted. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things to upset you. Crazy things, honestly. I don't know what came over me." He forced a chuckle. "Must be symptoms of the senility Saitou warned about that comes with domesticity. "
The gaze she returned was deeply troubled. "If your memories of me are that painful--that malevolent!-- maybe Enishi's Jinchuu did succeed, " she murmured. "If your so-called failures haunt you like this."
"Dearest, no." Kenshin drew a hand down her face uneasily. "Tomoe." He sighed. "You know I loved her." He took her hand, placing it over his heart. "She'll always stay here, and I'm afraid I'll always carry the guilt of her death."
"It is not a sin to love," Kaoru said sternly. Her visage was quite severe, but he knew she was on the verge of tears. "Never be sorry for that."
"I know," he answered softly. "That's why I didn't say sorry."
"Good," she said with vehement satisfaction.
"I'll always carry the guilt. She may have forgiven me; it isn't as easy for me to do. But see? Time heals all wounds. Scars remain, but wounds are numbed sooner or later, dulled into something you learn to live with. Goodness knows I've hurt so long--the emptiness may even be worse. But not anymore. You're here. You know that."
"This is not about Tomoe-san," replied Kaoru with a sigh. "I know your grief. I may not know it, feel it the way you do, but I know it exists. I accept." She let her hand hover one of his scars, her fingers brushing subtly against his skin--"She's part of you. I know I can't erase your pain."-- and a single tear managed to evade the clutch of her control. "Ka-kami-sama… And to think I was supposed to…"
"Kaoru…" He wrung the hand he held, brought it to his mouth, and kissed it tenderly. She thought she was supposed to… To what? There were too many words to fill that blank. She was too much in his life--and all he could do was hold her as she sobbed quietly.
"Are you all right?" he asked as her tears tapered.
She nodded, but he allowed a few more moments of silence to pass before speaking. He stared at the offending piece instead. How could a cryptic bunch of words squeeze out his hidden thoughts and feelings, coax them out, and magnify them? How could it inspire such pain, trigger the resurfacing of memories and emotions he kept carefully bundled in his subconscious as much as possible, and worse, transform them into words--albeit broken and barely coherent--that he spoke and harmed her with? That piece reeked of maleficence… of cloaked evil.
Kenshin had to check himself when he realized he was actually scowling at the insufferable thing. He felt a little foolish doing so. Years of experience taught him never to dismiss anything, especially not on appearance, and his gut became his trusted comrade as well as his wits; instinct and the knowledge etched by practice into his very bones and muscles kept him alive all this time. Still, it was stupid to label a piece of literature as some gospel of the devil. Besides, it wasn't as if Basho or those other great poets wrote the poem. Kaoru wasn't sophisticated enough a writer to inlay such meaning deliberately. And yet accidents--some accidental art comes from the spirit, the soul. Kaoru… Where did it come from?
He fought down a shudder and instead spoke comfort to his wife. "Honestly, I was just carried away by the mood." He smiled shyly. "You didn't know your husband had a penchant for literature, didn't you? Well, he doesn't. But he's not that ignorant not to notice that it is quite good. Disturbing, though."
Kaoru shook her head. "No. I didn't write it. I saw it somewhere. It's not that remarkable, really, but it does have literary merits. It bothers me, too." She smiled weakly. "I'm a little dramatic these days, you know," she added by way of apology.
Kenshin managed to keep a frown from returning to his face. "I see. Where?"
"In Yahiko's old hut, I guess."
"Are you sure you didn't write it?" he teased, resolved to keep the conversation light. "Your yellow cotton kimono was stained with ink. In fact, I only managed to rub off the stains this afternoon--after soaking it since yesterday. It's fairly incriminating evidence."
Her reaction, he was sure, had nothing to do with the lameness of his attempted joke, but he resolved to restrain his own reactions, abiding his time till she told him everything.
~
Blank ink.
That's what he said. Black ink.
Images flashed in her head, and she remembered. There was the haiku and that aged paper. There was that ink pot hurtling through empty space, slowly, slowly oscillating midair. In her mind, she saw that tiny ceramic explode upon contact with the wooden floor, its form--almost fluid in that thousandth of a second it hovered a hair's breadth from the ground--bursting into a slithering mass of ebon glob. There it was, that creature, crawling up her legs like some predatory insect, taking its time, but slowly progressing up, up, up… She could feel its cold touch! It was alive, she knew then--still. It was climbing for her baby. Her baby-!
"--ru! Kaoru! Are you okay, Kaoru?"
Nonesense! Another image of the haiku rose in her mind. It was untouched; not even the sheet of dust covering the yellowed paper had been distrubed.
"Kaoru?"
Get a grip!
"I'm okay." The tremulous smile she gave seemed to appease him slightly. "I'm just… I'm sorry about staining my dress. I spilled ink on it the other day. It was only an accident. I promise."
"Maa, maa," Kenshin replied with aplomb. "I'm sure you didn't mean it. Frankly, I'd be quite put out with you, though, if you purposely did pour ink on your kimono." He turned a mournful face towards her. "Surely, Kaoru-dono is at least a little concerned about sessha's hands scrubbing so hard de gozaru ka?"
At any other time, she might have laughed at that. The notion of Kenshin thinking along the lines of anything resembling vanity struck her as hilarious, but the dark mood was sill wrapped about her. Still, she found his cheerfulness--if merely an act, done very well--and good mood infectious that she almost forgot that bout of emotional honesty he showed when he was shown the haiku. Almost.
"Oh my!" Kaoru said in mock shock. "I can't believe you found me out, Kenshin. You see--" She leaned closer, conspiratorially. "--I've always been jealous of your milky white skin. I so wanted to ruin it out of spite."
Kenshin smiled at her. "If only Kaoru-dono had said so earlier, sessha would have done it himself de gozaru."
She laughed quietly. "Baka ne."
"Only…" Kenshin continued. "Aren't all these calluses enough?" He raised his hands, palms open, for her to see.
"I dunno." She grinned wolfishly. "I rather like them. Especially when they're on me."
Kenshin laughed. "That's better."
She stuck her tongue out, slightly pink. "Quit manipulating me into decking out praises on you, mister."
"No, really. " His expression became more serious. "I was beginning to wonder where you got such sad words. Forgive me but…. I'm glad you didn't write the haiku."
"Yes, " she said softly. "I found them in that shack. It was just lying there."
"Speaking of the shack, what were you doing there this morning?"
"Oh, that. I was just--" she stopped, suddenly remembering what exactly brought her there. "That's right! I've completely forgotten." She hoisted herself up with a groan. "Be right back."
"Kaoru?" She could hear him following her as she raced excitedly to their room. "What is it?"
"You'll see." Hurriedly, she threw open the door to their bedroom and fell upon her things to rummage through them. "Found it!" she cried triumphantly, shaking the piece of paper in front of his nose. "Surprise!"
Grinning, she watched as he took her surprise. "So, shall I go pack for you?" she asked, almost breathless in anticipation.
He looked at it for a while, an unreadable expression on his face. Finally he spoke. "Kaoru," he said quietly. "This is a ticket to Kyoto."
"Yes, I know." Though a little puzzled, she remained unfazed. She moderated her grin a bit. "It's for a steamship. Remember that train to Yokohama? No-- um,, Shishio's Rengoku? Like that. Without the weapons, naturally. It'll get you to Kyoto more quickly." She nibbled on her lip thoughtfully. "I'm not sure how long exactly, though."
His silence still told her nothing. Briefly, he closed his eyes and focused them on her when he opened them. "Kaoru," he started. "You know, I truly appreciate this."
Kaoru allowed the lingering smile on her face to widen. "I had some hope you will, my husband."
Kenshin merely opened his arms to her in reply, retaining his somber expression. She stared at him for a few moments. Something was wrong.
"Kenshin?"
He sighed, went to her himself, and held her tight briefly. "Kaoru. Thank you, truly." He held at her length and smiled sadly. "And I'm sorry."
There was a long silence.
"Can you please show me the way to the dispatcher's office? There's been a mistake."
"Actually, there's none. I'm not going. I didn't buy mine, since I knew you wouldn't want me traveling in my condition."
"Exactly. I'd exchange this for a later date when we can go together."
It took a full minute for her jaw to work. "You don't seem to understand. It's not everyday you can get your hands on a passage like that. It's my gift to you."
"Yes, and I'm really sorry to have wasted your effort. We can go on a regular trip later, see the countryside. And the hot springs sound nice, don't you think?"
"What?" She veritably squeaked; she couldn't believe what she was hearing! "Look. I know you're worried about me. That's why I got you a round trip ticket, see? You can pay your respects to Tomoe-san, visit Aoyia, and even your Shishou, then come back home, all in a few days. Can't you see?"
Kenshin sighed again. It was beginning to irritate her. "Yes, dear, but that's not the point. Tomoe can--"
"This is not about Tomoe-san," said Kaoru incredulously. "Well, it is, but…. I mean, you haven't had your yearly visit yet--you really should have gone New Year-- and Bon's a fitting time and all. You can still catch the festival in Kyoto and I can't. I do want to go, I do. I want to make sure you won't be a baka, and do all the forms and rituals all wrong. But I'm not going to let me stop you from going."
Kenshin shook his head-- why was he acting as if she's the one who was exasperating!? "You're not restricting me in any way, Kaoru. It's my decision to make. Tomoe would--"
"This is not about Tomoe!" Kaoru exploded. "This is about you and your worrying. Nothing's going to happen to me, okay? I'll be fine. You'll only be gone a few days. There's Yahiko, and Genzai-sensei, and the neighbors. They'll all polish and tend to poor fragile Kaoru in her crystal glass case, atop her marble pedestal. If you want, I'll even ask Tsubame over. I'll be fine."
He did not answer.
Kaoru huffed. "You're being irrational. The baby won't come until over a month."
Silence.
"Please?" she asked quietly.
Kenshin finally spoke.
"Kaoru," he said. "You gave me this as a gift, of your own free will. Therefore, it is mine now, mine to use as I please. Am I correct?"
Kaoru stood still and stared at him for a long time.
"Do as you wish," she answered, her words sheathed with smooth ice.
Kenshin nodded gravely and left.
To be continued...
Edited: 092803, 23:31:33
Uploaded: 1:14 AM 11/30/2003
Notes:
I have issues with this chapter. Really serious issues. -__- Oh well.
Oneesan is 'sister,' oniisan is 'brother,' otousan is 'father,' and okaasan is 'mother.' Did I forget anything else? Sorry.
To watermelon: You know what? I've been waiting for some fics to be updated for literally years! (I'm still hoping, even though some of my favorites seem to have been abandoned already T-T) ^^; I can at least promise that won't happen with this fic.
Child ghosts. I think there's something sad about them because they've never live their lives and they can only live in this earth as shadows of what they could have been.
Oh well. Till next chapter.
To all: thanks for your time.=)
