Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ First Moments ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

Wow folks, I've gotten a lot of feedback on this story. Thanks for that. I appreciate everyone who has given me little pointers on Kenshin's character. Believe me, there is a reason why everything is happening the way it is. Please read on, and continue to review.

'He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.'

Friedrich Nietzsche

Chapter 2

He stood in the darkness watching her back until the darkness swallowed her slim figure down the hall. Sheepishly, Kenshin rubbed at the back of his neck, willing away the tension that had been building there. The tight knot finally relaxed, and he set about putting away the remains of dinner.

From its place on the tray, slivers of the ruined chopstick glinted up at him before their unceremonious disposal into the compost pile outside. After making sure that all bowls were emptied of their contents, Kenshin found he was unwilling to let go of his dinner dish.

Remains of rain clouds filtered out the moonlight, casting a pale glow over the dojo inner courtyard. There was just enough light for the red-haired man to trace the hairline cracks where his fingers had clutched the ceramic. Did I do that? He wondered. It didn't seem possible, but then he remembered the look in Kaoru's eyes and the bruised flesh of her wrist. With a sigh, he tossed the bowl into the heap; kicking some scraps over to hide it from Kaoru's wrath should she ever find he was breaking her dishes.

Chores completed, he did one last patrol around the perimeter of the Kamiya dojo, and then trudged back to his room. Once inside, he quietly slid the door shut, and crossed the floor to the welcoming futon. The sleeping yukata lay neatly spread over the covers, and he shrugged out of the familiar gi. There was a slight crackle behind him, and the rurouni whirled, instantly on the offensive but there was no attacker. He chuckled lightly as the lone candle sputtered once more in protest as another drop of rain leaked down through the ceiling to join its mates in a small puddle on the floor.

The roof needs to be fixed, that it does. Perhaps he could start tomorrow, right after he returned from the market with the week's groceries. Curiously, he approached the candle and bent to pick it up. From a different spot in the roof, another drop of rain plopped down to land squarely on the left shoulder of the dirty gi he carried. Kenshin stared at it, transfixed. In the weak light, the drop grew darker until it resembled a single drop of blood. Of course, it was never more than one. A smug voice spoke up in his mind.

Kenshin closed his eyes, trying to will away the memories that clamored for his attention. One fought its way to the top of his consciousness, and the strength of it turned his knees to jelly. He collapsed to the floor and gave into the hopelessness of the memory.

It had been raining. The Battousai normally didn't care about the weather, as long as it didn't interfere with his assignment. This rain felt different. It soaked through to his skin as the hitokiri crouched in a tree, waiting for the coach carrying his target to pass by.

With his heightened senses, the clopping of the horses' hooves was as hard to miss as the nose on his face. Within minutes, the carriage was right under him, and the golden-eyed man dropped down lightly to land on the roof.

What followed was a typical one-sided fight. His orders had been to kill a man called Road Runner and anyone in his company. The man had somehow sold precious information about a shipment of gold to the wrong people, and now his life was forfeit. It didn't really matter anyway, because the Road Runner's bodyguards were less than worthy adversaries.

Only a few moments passed before the muddy road around the carriage was littered with corpses. The Battousai allowed himself a moment to watch his enemies' blood run with the rainwater before he turned to the pathetic weasel cowering inside the coach. The horses were long gone, as was the driver, and there was nowhere to run. His ears picked up the sound of someone weeping in terror as he approached the door, but nothing prepared the hardened hitokiri for the sight that greeted him inside.

Curled up in a far corner was a young girl. Two thick black braids hung down, conflicting with the beige pattern of her kimono. Narrowing his golden eyes, the Battousai estimated her to be perhaps ten or eleven years old. Nothing more than a child, and definitely not the man he had been sent to kill.

"Are you the one they call the Road Runner?" The question was futile, but it still escaped his lips. At the sound of his voice, the small figure cringed and shook her head, trying to bury herself further into the cushions. Cautiously, he stepped into the interior, mentally cursing whoever had gotten the information wrong. This would not do at all. The girl had most likely seen his face, and there was no way she could live. No witnesses as to the face of the feared Hitokiri Battousai meant he could go as he pleased without being recognized.

Sensing his movement, the girl uncurled with a shuddery gasp and shifted to face him. Her face was puffy from crying, and fat tears continued to roll down her cheeks. "Are you here to kill me?" She questioned. He nodded once, and they stared at each other. After a pause, she spoke without any hint of the former fear in her voice. "Very well then."

She pushed her way across the cushions and waved him aside in a very adult sort of way. The Battousai gazed at her curiously, but backed up. There was nowhere she could run, and having to clean blood out of his clothes was a distasteful chore. Her delicate sandals made a squishing sound as the girl stepped down onto the muddy road. Her braids swung back and forth as she glanced at the fallen guards' bodies. "My father would have been most displeased." The girl sniffed in a lady-like way, and a handkerchief appeared out of one her sleeves with which she wiped at her face. Once satisfied that all traces of her tears were gone, she turned to face the hitokiri. "Thank you for allowing me these last moments." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I will die with honor."

Intrigued in spite of himself, the Battousai regarded her. The freezing rain made the light kimono cling to her form, and telltale shivers wracked her thin body. She stared back at him defiantly before dropping her eyes to the katana at his side. He drew the powerful blade out and held it at his side, allowing the rain to run down its length in rivulets before disappearing into the ground.

"Are you the Road Runner?" He asked again. She shook her head, wet braids flinging water droplets to either side. "He is my father." Her trembling hands came together in front of her. They clenched so tightly together that the knuckles appeared stark white against her pallid skin. "I was sent as his decoy." It was impossible to miss the bitterness in her tone as she dropped her eyes down to the ground. The Battousai once again cursed this assignment, and all those whose deaths were required to bring about the new era.

He stood indecisively. There was no way the girl could live. He repeated the phrase silently as he pondered his options. Enemies whispered that the Hitokiri Battousai was a monster of the purest kind, devoid of emotion or compassion. In battle, that was true. But out here…he closed his golden eyes and raised his head to feel the cold rain as it pounded mercilessly down on his face. "Very well."

The girl stared at him, all pretense of calm gone. He could practically smell the fear emanating from her as they locked eyes across the distance between them. "You will still die." She swallowed nervously and glanced around at the empty road behind him. "It will be quick. Your actions have proven you to be honorable, and you will die as such." When she turned back to him, her face was completely blank. He covered the distance to where she stood. "First, tell me your name."

In spite of herself, the girl looked surprised. "Fuyou Ibara." She stammered. He nodded. "Your death will help to bring about a peaceful era. Take comfort in that." She smiled sadly at him, and knelt down in the muddy road. "I'm ready." Hands clasped in her lap, the girl bowed her head. The sword swung once, and the body swayed a moment before collapsing into the mud.

The Battousai wiped the blade clean with a piece of cloth, and sheathed it at his side. An unfamiliar urge made him reach out, and turn the body facing up. In death, the girl looked peaceful, as if she was only sleeping. His fingers were almost numb with the cold, but the red-haired man untied his gi and folded the garment over her face and upper body. "I will remember you." The words seemed foreign coming out of his mouth, but with a start he realized that they were true.

He took one last look over the road full of bodies before the cold was too much on his bare chest and back. With a deep sigh, the Hitokiri Battousai made sure the katana at his side was thoroughly secured before disappearing back into the cold woods.

Kenshin Himura, the simple wandering rurouni came back from the harsh memories of his past with a jolt. He felt wetness on his face and realized that it wasn't rain but tears. With a terrible sort of wonder, he brushed at the moisture and looked at his fingers. It was so easy to close his eyes and remember them slick with blood as he stood knee-deep in a field of death.

Twelve years…it has been that long and I can still remember her face. His head tilted back and he let the tears flow. Twelve years was a long time to mourn the death of an almost-total stranger, but he never forgot his promise to her this exact date so many years ago. She would have been older than Kaoru by now: alive, happy…maybe with a family of her own.

Fighting off fatigue and the growing cold, the rurouni finally dragged himself over to his futon in order to reach the sleeping yukata. He quickly changed, discarding his dirty garments for the soft sleeping clothes. In the moonlight that drifted through the thin walls of his room, the futon looked wonderful. As soon as he took a step towards it, the same sniveling voice in the back of his head piped up. Not tonight you don't. It lectured. Remember your promise, Wanderer.

"You're right." Kenshin whispered into the darkness. He crossed the room to pick up his sword. Its weight seemed heavier tonight, but knowing this blade could never kill was a strange comfort. He pulled it over to the corner with him and slid down the wall into a comfortable position on the floor. After a moment of rearranging his limbs, the red-haired rurouni tucked the sheathed sword into its familiar position at his right side. That night, he closed his eyes and dreamed of the rain.