Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Life Is Killing Me ❯ Life Is Killing Me ( Chapter 1 )

A/N: Well, here's another oneshot from me. In all honesty, this almost didn't even get written. I've had this idea in my head for damn near three years: it's been cast aside, deleted, and re-written more than any single piece of writing my computer has ever had the frustrating pleasure to witness in its past four years of service. This is probably also one of the only fics I will ever write that regards Seisouhen (seriously, I've read bad fanfiction more IC than that depressing swill) I was going for something simple, straight-forward, romantic, and beautifully tragic. Also, I wanted to expand on the strength and honest ambition of a character who I really don't think gets enough credit in that department all the time. That said, hope you enjoy my brain sweat, though I guess it's more of a tearjerker technically.

 

Disclaimer: *points to website address* Need I say more?

 

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Life Is Killing Me

 

By Kenkaya

 

 

Megumi plunged her hands into almost painfully warm water, fingernails grazing the copper bottom of a shallow wash basin. Groping for the soap dish blindly, she quickly fell into the methodical routine of washing her hands. Candlelight flickered shamelessly from the other room (the sun having long since set) sending a dim orange glow to dance with the shadows across her worn features. The small flame flared, a deep golden color, and Megumi caught her reflection in the mirror above for the briefest of moments.

 

Narrow cinnamon brown eyes thinned, trying in vain to make sense of the dark fuzzy mass before her, only to give up when the light failed; tracing her face by memory in the looking glass instead. As she squinted at her silhouette Megumi thought (not for the first time) that maybe she should look into getting a pair of spectacles. But no, that would mean giving in: admitting defeat in the face of the one foe she was utterly helpless against---

 

Time.

 

The lady doctor sighed and shifted her gaze downward, into darkness. Sight was the last vestige Megumi had of her youth. The battle with her hair had already been lost, as witnessed by strands of grey marring once pristine ebony. And she'd never forget the morning she woke to find spider webs had etched themselves finely along the corners of her eyes and mouth. The turn of the twentieth century had finally arrived and middle-age caught up to the once vivacious fox along with it.

 

Naturally, she had been distressed. No one wanted to be reminded that they were mortal; that someday their body would wear out and die just like everyone else. Such sentiments were nothing new to Megumi, the old and dying being a large percentage of her clientele, but never had she been forced to apply them to herself before. Frustrated and at a loss for anything else to do, the aging healer threw herself into the humble clinic she ran. The excess workload stained her hair a deeper shade of grey. Frequent all-nighters outlined themselves across her face. A slight tremor emerged in her right hand and while the involuntary movement wasn't debilitating in any way, delicate stitching had become a chore. More and more often, the good doctor found herself unloading more difficult cases than she would have liked on her assistants for the sole reason they could provide better care. One by one, time seemed to be striping away everything about herself Megumi once took pride in.

 

A cough, underlined by wet hacking, broke the morbid silence.

 

Megumi blinked as the soap slipped between her fingers, sloshing water over the sides, and attempted to shake her head free of those thoughts. She was pretty sure, glancing back at the partially closed shoji, what exactly had made her so self-conscious as of late. It wasn't until now, staring at her matured features in a dark mirror, that Megumi realized what she had become.

 

A spinster.

 

Another series of wrenching coughs snapped the doctor back to attention. Quickly drying her hands, Megumi threw aside the used towel and rushed back to her patient's side.

 

The old style shoji opened on a threadbare room with wood paneled floor. Slowly, she made her way to the center where a single cot lay, illuminated by a solitary candle. Boards creaked ominously beneath padded feet; this section of the clinic being part of the original structure and hardly used nowadays. Megumi would have loved nothing more than to offer him the western comforts available in the crowded main building, but (she thought with a sardonic smile) these accommodations were much more fitting for them. Two lovers lost in a sea of time and regret.

 

A low groan escaped cracked lips as she knelt on the ground beside his feverish body. Removing the warm washcloth from his forehead, she grabbed a fresh one from the small tub beside his pallet. The invalid tossed as his caretaker leaned over to place the cool rag, another moan issuing from his throat. Heartstrings tugged painfully as she lifted her tired gaze, watery cinnamon sweeping over the once strong, muscular youth. Now, seeing his tan face flushed with illness, russet strands lank and slick with sweat; a sorrow stirred in Megumi she hadn't felt in what seemed forever. Not since watching Kenshin and Kaoru deteriorate seven years ago.

 

She bit her lower lip, chewed almost to the point of bloody, as unwanted memories assaulted her. Megumi remembered examining Kenshin long ago, seeing the beginnings of disease and knowing there was no way she could stop his journey. He would continue following his purpose until he wasted away.

 

Then Kaoru, purposefully contracting the selfsame illness from her husband in order to share his pain. They were both found in a sakura field with their arms wrapped tight around each other. One with a smile on his face, the other with tear tracks down her cheeks.

 

A choked sob escaped unbidden.

 

Megumi couldn't save them. Not the man she once believed held her heart. Not the woman who became the sister she never had. And now, another was being taken from her in the same way.

 

She knew the moment he was carried into her clinic the other day by several men, apparently having fainted dead away in the middle of the road. He was smiling, parched lips lined scarlet, and Megumi knew. He had come here to die.

 

She started when he actually opened his eyes, a perfect sandy brown, if one ignored the misted look to them. He didn't even focus on her, just grab for the rusted rag resting near the futon on his left. He turned on his side and hacked. Though the man had covered both his nose and mouth, Megumi could still hear the wet sound behind each harsh cough. When he pulled away she could see fresh blood staining the rag. He was getting worse.

 

“Megumi,” he called in a hoarse whisper.

 

“Are you in pain?” she asked in a gentle voice, mustering every ounce of acting skill she had. Instinctively, a pale hand reached for the mortar by the tub, willing to do anything to ease his discomfort. She had long since stopped heeding the proper dosage of drugs.

 

But the proud fighter shook his head weakly and closed heavy lids. Within moments, his breath slowed to a low, uneven wheeze. He was asleep again.

 

Relief washed over Megumi as she slumped forward, finally allowing the hopelessness to flit briefly across her face. Watching his deceptive slumber, she lost herself in the knowledge that there was nothing more she could do. The candle wick popped, signaling the passage of an hour, and Megumi jerked back to awareness.

 

“I should get a new one,” she thought aloud upon noticing how low the wax had burned. The doctor rose slowly, failing to avoid the pins from her stiffened legs, and habitually brushed her blue smock before turning to leave the room. She spared one fleeting glance back at the man on the pallet; then the rice paper shut between them.

 

The halls were dark and quiet as she made her way to the main building. Not surprising, considering the late hour; still, Megumi was grateful. The last thing she wanted was to run into one of her other patients or worse, her assistants. They were well-intentioned, but the weary woman wasn't sure she could bear to stand through a full status report in her state.

 

The wood paneling gave off a polished shine as she cautiously opened the Western-style door to the newer wing. Sharp cinnamon eyes deftly scanned the deserted corridor until she felt confident enough to step out, clicking the door shut softly behind her. Here, gas lamps were lit at regular intervals down the plaster walls. She walked along the lighted path, whitewashed walls and glossy oak floor a far cry from the sanded wood and rice paper screens of the old clinic. A caustic twitch worked its way up the corners of her mouth. Despite the many hours she'd put into this place, the atmosphere still felt unmistakably foreign to her.

 

A breath Megumi didn't even realize she was holding released in one long sigh when she reached the storage cabinet without incident. She first pulled a pair of white tapers from the depths then, on second thought, grabbed some more painkiller and fresh cloths.

 

She had just begun the long trek back when she unexpectedly paused in front of the kitchens. The doctor knew they always kept a pot of broth over the fire for overnight patients and she toyed with the idea of bringing hers a bowl. The warm liquid might help ease his stomachaches, besides she brooded, he looked so horribly thin.

 

The kitchen was small, paved with smooth grey stone and practical to a fault. Directly across from the doorway, on a cask iron stove, sat a huge, lidded cauldron over low embers; stacks of mismatched wooden bowls set neatly on the brick ledge nearby. Megumi closed the short distance quickly. Grabbing a small bowl, she lifted the heavy top carefully and began ladling the thin stock.

 

“Are you serious?!”

 

Megumi started at the sudden exclamation, nearly dropping her ladle onto the hard, granite floor. Cautiously, cinnamon brown turned a nervous glance to the left.

 

“As the day I was born,” replied a second, deeper voice.

 

Her eyes stopped, backtracking slightly before finally coming to rest on the dining room entrance. The door was open ajar, allowing a small stream of light along with two distinct voices to float through. She recognized them immediately.

 

“Wow, I just can't believe Michiko-san would leave you like that!”

 

The older woman smiled, picturing her assistant, Yanagi-kun's, incredulous expression with ease. He would be leaning forward: open palms planted firmly on the table, innocent green eyes wide with disbelief, large rim glasses perched on his long, thin nose enhancing the effect. She could just imagine stray strands of brown hair falling across his face, the messy mop above sticking every which way for lack of caring.

 

“I can believe it,” a rich baritone sighed, followed by the sound of chair legs scrapping against stone. “She's engaged to Shun now, Hanabishi's son.”

 

“Hanabishi? The merchant?!” Yanagi interjected on cue.

 

“Yep, Michiko's gonna marry him and all the money that comes with daddy's business. Rich bastard.”

 

Megumi didn't have to try hard to envision Kimura's sharp, chiseled features; his handsome face marred by an ever present frown. From the harsh noise earlier, she knew he was leaning back casually in his chair, long arms most likely draped over the back. Her second assistant was definitely a wily figure, with narrow grey eyes constantly staring into space and long black hair slicked back in a hanging ponytail. The dry sarcasm apparent in the man's voice spoke volumes for his personality.

 

“That seems pretty shallow of Michiko-san,” Yanagi commented, shaking Megumi out of her revere. “To dump you just because Hanabishi-san's family has money. I thought she really liked you!”

 

“Whether she liked me or not has nothing to do with it. Women are always looking for the better, brighter future and Shun could easily provide. Me? I'm a self-made man working at some charity clinic for beans. What could I possibly do for a woman?”

 

“B--- but,” the bug-eyed boy stuttered. “We do so much good here, Kimura-kun! How could Michiko-san not see that?!”

 

Megumi finally pulled herself away from their conversation, already feeling the extra weight of depression on her shoulders. Eavesdropping on someone else's relationship problems was the last thing the aging doctor needed right now. She continued spooning broth, setting down the ladle to replace the lid when she was done. The melancholy lady had just turned to leave with her burden when she heard her name through the door.

 

“Come to think of it, I haven't seen much of Takani-sensei for the past couple days. I've never known her to leave the clinic for so long. I hope she's alright.”

 

“Aw, come off it, Yanagi! The old woman's finally out of our hair! Just sit back and enjoy it while it lasts.”

 

“But it's so unlike her! Takani-sensei is such a selfless person, working at all hours of the day for the sake of others--- even taking in patients no one else will. You've worked with her longer than me--- surely you're at least a little bit worried.”

 

Dread suddenly began to fill Megumi. She knew at that moment that she was about to hear something she desperately didn't want to, yet her legs remained mysteriously frozen in place. Somewhere nearby, she was certain, a vindictive kami was laughing maniacally.

 

“Are you kidding?” Kimura snorted. “Takani-sensei's the worst example of her kind. I've never met a woman as cold as that one. She's not generous, she's a workaholic!”

 

An emotion colder than ice washed over her, ending in a violent crash at the pit of her stomach. Megumi had faced-down mountains of criticism in the past; especially being a woman in a typically male dominated field, but Kimura's words cut much deeper than any other curse sent her way.

 

“You don't really mean that do you, Kimura-kun?” Yanagi gasped, coming immediately to Megumi's rescue. “What about everything she's done for us? Never asking questions when we need days off, inviting us over for dinner if we're feeling down, bringing homemade dumplings for everybody on New Year's. How can you call her cold?”

 

The young assistant's defense warmed Megumi's heart and melted the frosty chains holding down her feet. She moved quickly, eager to escape Kimura's ominous response. She had almost reached the door when his scathing voice hit her ears.

 

“Oh, sure, she's nice enough on the surface--- but have you ever seen her get close to anyone? No lovers, no real friends, she's got a wall set up higher than anybody I know.”

 

Finally, the doorway was a mere arms length away. Megumi rushed through without hesitation, pushing her salvation quietly shut behind her. But the final click came too late to bar the steel-eyed man's final words.

 

“No wonder nobody married that frigid nag.”

 

The middle-age doctor wasted no time: she hurried down the hall as fast as her bundled arms would allow, frantically hoping neither party noticed her hasty departure. Instinct alone guided Megumi down the dim corridors; concentration focused on sharp words plunging into a currant of emotions already straining against the dam her defenses had built. Her feet suddenly stopped, sending reality crashing back. The entrance to the ancient clinic loomed before her: the final gate to sanctuary.

 

The doorway between old and new shut out the gas glow, bathing the woman inside natural darkness. Megumi's knees crumpled and she slid slowly down to the floor. Kimura's last sentence rung through her mind, pounding against imaginary eardrums until the doctor could almost swear he was standing right besides her uttering the poisonous phrase.

 

Was she really so cold?

 

Megumi gently placed her cargo down on the floorboards, curling weakened knees to her chest in a gesture of comfort. Time replayed itself before her weary eyes, but a different light seemed to taint all her memories.

 

Kenshin and Kaoru had been family. Yahiko was just as dear to her. She had been genuinely happy returning to Tokyo a few years earlier to help deliver his and Tsubame's first child. She wasn't quite sure how to label her feelings toward the rooster anymore, but she definitely cared a great deal for him. How many other physicians would have put up with the abuse of fixing his hand so many times?

 

As if beckoned, she could suddenly hear his voice, strong and brazen like it use to be. He materialized before her: right hand held high to display the bloodied bandages she herself had so carefully wrapped. A brisk command escaped his hard-edged mouth (he never asked nicely for treatment as she recalled) but the good doctor never minded; that was just Sanosuke's way. She turned to face him and her response given then made the older woman's heart sink.

 

“I already told you! I don't have medicine to cure stupidity!”

 

Oh, she had taken him in, like she always did, but small details couldn't belittle the harsh words dealt. Tears threatened again. She refused to let them spill. Seemed old habits died hard, she mused bitterly.

 

A doctor had to be strong for their patients. Growing up with an entire family who practiced the trade, such values were ingrained in Megumi's psyche from childhood. After the great fire swept through Aizu, leaving a young girl alone amidst the ashes, Megumi grew to further appreciate the true nature of strength. She had lost everything. Only the dream of studying medicine, finding her family, and becoming a healer they could be proud of kept the bereft teen going back then.

 

The path had been hard without her influential family's support too. Megumi remembered vividly how her first attempts at apprenticeship had ceremoniously been shot down. Her later requests blatantly ignored. The ambitious youth ended up being forced to the big city for a position, her hometown's less than positive reaction following in wake like a bad omen.

 

“Silly girl. She'll find out soon enough--- women are too weak to be doctors.”

 

“It won't last long--- just you watch! She'll take pity on one of her patients, fall in love with the poor sap and run away with him. They're such fickle creatures, you know.”

 

“Honestly! The nerve of that girl! I give her one month before she realizes her foolishness and comes running back home!”

 

“I say she'll end up in a scandalous affair with her mentor and ruin the man's career! There's just something twisted about a woman with ideas like that one.”

 

And for a while their words rang true. The resulting fiasco with Kanryu nearly destroyed all hope of accomplishing her dream. She'd be dead now, had Sanosuke not grabbed the dagger ready to pierce her heart; had Kenshin not given her a purpose through his message of atonement. She would still be lost in guilt too if Kaoru hadn't introduced her to Gensai-sensei, the old man who would become her guide. Looking back, the doctor realized how much she truly owed her second family. Without them, she would have never come as far as she had.

 

A distant thump of flesh on wood stirred Megumi out of the past. Concern deepening the lines on her face, she hastily gathered her items and rose (disregarding the expected complaint from her knees) before heading to her patient's room.

 

The shoji slid open to reveal a sorry sight.

 

The man lay twisted atop disarrayed bed sheets, limbs flailing in the throes of night terror. Damp brown hair clung in tendrils to a clammy face as teeth grit in pain. He strained his neck back and banged his head against the floor, the sound a much louder echo of what Megumi heard in the hall.

 

She immediately rushed to his side. Pushing aside everything but the herbs she brought, Megumi grabbed the mortar and began grinding frantically. His body continued to contort as she measured the coarse powder with folded squares of paper; the doctor knew she'd have to restrain him somehow to administer medicine. She wasn't looking forward to it.

 

He thrashed wildly, giving the woman the opening she needed. Careful not to jar his weakened body too roughly, she threw her weight on his chest. A slender boned hand reached up to pry his jaws apart with practiced technique. Megumi distantly registered the sharp pang as his fist connected solidly with her ribs, but brushed the sensation aside as secondary to the task at hand. Small white paper clutched in her trembling hand, she lifted the contents and (finally) poured it down his throat. She instantly fell back with a huge sigh of relief, wincing at the fading throb on her side. With the initial trial over and done, the doctor readied herself safely out of arm's range; her ordeal was far from over.

 

She sat quietly, waiting for his dreams to calm, cursing the unrelenting nightmares with almost as much passion as she did the sickness eating away his lungs. He writhed again, sweat beaded on his brow, a weak cough escaping occasionally, but nothing more. He whimpered something Megumi immediately recognized as her name. After that, the fevered movement ceased.

 

The man lay still at last; sticky hair, soaked robe and labored breath the only remaining signs of his struggle. Megumi felt a sudden wave of nausea but made no move to run to the washroom. She remembered the phantom ailment well from her green days; how the bile churned violently in her stomach the first couple times she witnessed an incurable patient's slow death.

 

Decades had hardened the queasy reflex, yet now she could hardly bear to watch as the once proud man deteriorated before her eyes. He of all people didn't deserve to go like this. He should have gone down in battle, filled with the noble strength she remembered so fondly. Or in bed as an old man surrounded by grandchildren. That was the ideal ending, wasn't it? She wished him anything but the agonizing death he faced now. She yearned with all her might to just close her mind off from the whole mess, but her lids refused to shut. Deep down, she knew she had to witness this to the end. It was destiny; only a doctor would be so ill-fated, helpless as the ones she loved most died right in front of her.

 

“Why? First Ken-san, then Kaoru. Now you. Why?!” Megumi demanded. She pounded her clenched fist weakly against hardwood floor, disregarding the professional strength she'd spent so many years preserving. Somehow, it didn't seem important anymore.

 

“Oi, Fox.”

 

Megumi's heart jumped painfully, only to lodge deep in her throat. Sandy brown locked with her dull cinnamon and time froze for the second time since their tragic reunion.

 

“You're awake,” the woman gave a genuine smile. Common sense told her the man wasn't coherent (impossible with the level of drugs in his system) but for the first time in days, he was looking at instead of through her. His brow creased suddenly, prompting Megumi to assume he was in pain. Stained lips parted and, much to her surprise, he spoke.

 

“You don' look soo good. Tired.”

 

His words were slightly slurred, the last syllable fading out as a mumbled whisper. Still, the ex-gangster proved much more lucid than he should have been.

 

“That's because I've been taking care of you, silly,” she admonished, falling back on old habits. His blatant observation had struck a devastating chord within the doctor. Inner defenses rose unconsciously, triggering the vital mask she'd nearly discarded earlier.

 

“'See,” he murmured. “Guess 'm pretty messed up, aren' I?”

 

“That's quite an understatement,” Megumi snorted, voice laced with cynicism. Still, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't quite hide the gentleness underlying her harsh words.

 

“Tha' bad, huh?”

 

Something intangible, already chipped and weakened from years of abuse, finally cracked inside Megumi. The tone of his garbled words resonated through the stuffy air. So matter-of-fact. So final.

 

The perfect facade Megumi spent her whole life sculpting had crumbled away in seconds over one man's resignation to die.

 

“P--- please,” she wanted to cursed her wavering tongue. “Don't talk like that. You should be looking forward to life. Not here,” long peppered strands swished across rippled vision as she shook her head. Even now, she refused to cry but nothing could stop her from venting bottled despair. “Anywhere but here,” she ended with a forlorn whisper.

 

“Stu'pid fox. I chose to come `ere.”

 

“Why?” the question plagued her mind. She knew he'd come deliberately to Aizu at the prospect of facing his own death; that much was blatantly clear. What remained a mystery was why he had decided on her hometown in the first place. He had been a traveling man and seen a great deal of the world. What did Aizu have to offer that no where else could?

 

“Didn' want to die `lone. `Ere. With you.”

 

A moment passed before the woman noticed her lungs aching for air. A long ignored part of her heart told Megumi that she wanted to hear those words above all others, while the dominate half routinely cast the warm swell aside. It was at that moment, when the familiarity of rising emotion and squashing reaction finally dawned on her, Megumi came to terms with her shortcomings on love. She had hesitated, pushed him away, and even her deep seeded regret proved insufficient to turn down the accusing finger pointed in her mind's eye.

 

“Oh, you dumb rooster,” she released on a quaking breath. “Whatever made you want to die with a coldhearted bitch like me?”

 

“No.”

 

Waterlogged eyes snapped up at the firm command. The man's sandy orbs held none of their expected haze, his rough mouth pressed in a hard, thin line. Memories of his tough side weren't nearly enough to prepare her for the sheer power of intimidation radiating off his expression. He had survived lone teen years on the backstreets of Tokyo with that glare. Megumi suddenly found herself thinking how horrible a childhood he must have lived to earn such piercing eyes.

 

“You,” he started back up with the same demanding tone. “YOU don' talk like that. Takani Megumi doesn' talk down about herself. She's prouder--- strong'er than tha'.”

 

The fighter's voice seemed to fail him suddenly as heavy lids shut resolutely over swirling brown. A light sheen on his face exhibited exhaustion. Still, determined as ever, he opened clouded pools and tilted his head slightly to stare directly at her.

 

“That's wha' I love `bout her.”

 

“Sanosuke,” Megumi choked, unsure how to respond. Emotions (more than she could possibly name) spun around her head in a veritable maelstrom. His unadulterated confession, though twenty years too late, left her floored: completely speechless. She could do nothing in the aftermath except raise an unsteady hand to stroke his flushed cheek affectionately. Nothing except lean over his prone figure, ignoring all the nasty little thoughts condemning her actions. She would not let them hinder her this time. Megumi steeled herself, gazing into his sandy eyes for affirmation, and, with firm resolve, fell forward to press her lips against his.

 

The kiss was anything but perfect. Megumi tasted the bitter residue of illness swiftly followed by the copper tang of blood. His mouth moved slightly beneath hers, eager but spent. She found herself putted more force behind the caress to make up for his lacking and felt rewarded when he lifted a hand weakly to tangle through her grey-streaked hair.

 

After a third eternity, his last reins on endurance snapped. Puffs of warm, sour air rolled across the woman's tongue. They finally broke apart as Sanosuke initiated another hacking battle for breath. Megumi, unwilling to give-up his touch after being denied for so long, placed his head gingerly on her lap; contented at the moment with simply running her fingers down the man's temples soothingly until his coughs subsided.

 

“We really were stupid, Sanosuke, ne?” she mused aloud once he quieted. “I don't think I've ever met anyone as brave and impulsive as you. And me? Well, you'd think someone with my brains would've at least been smart enough to do something! It's amazing when you think about it, that neither of us said anything back then.”

 

“Yea',” the invalid mumbled, just enough of a response to let her know she had been heard.

 

“Things sure would have been different if we had,” Megumi sighed as a pseudo-nostalgic look overcame her. “I know--- you were wanted by the police. You wouldn't have been able to stay no matter what back then. But there was nothing for me here: no long-lost family. I've been alone all this time. Maybe--- maybe I should have gone with you. Yes, I could have become a traveling doctor, helping people along the way while you explored the world.”

 

“Tha' woold've been nice,” Sanosuke smiled contently as his eyes closed for the very last time.

 

“And I'd always be by your side: walking where you walk, seeing what you see, fixing your hand every time you stupidly ruined it in a fight. I'd probably make sure to yell at you for good measure too. Just like old times. And we'd always be together, not alone. Never alone.”

 

Megumi cradled his head against her breast, tears held back for far too long streaming down her weathered face as she continued to dream. She held him close, just like that, until he died.

 

 

`Death is nothing, nor life either, for that matter. To die, to sleep, to pass into nothingness, what does it matter? Everything is an illusion.'

-Mata Hari

 

 

Megumi gazed down at the fresh grave before her with a blank expression. Tears seemed to fail as the cold reality of his death finally hit her, leaving behind a hollow numbness deep within her chest. She briefly recalled visiting Kenshin and Kaoru's graves long ago, but the grief she suffered then was completely transcended by what she felt now: completely and utterly empty. Like her heart had just given up.

 

The service had been nice she supposed, albeit a small one. Yahiko and Tsubame managed to rush over from Tokyo in time (much to her surprise); young Shinya in tow with signs of another child already on the way. The man she had watched swing a shinai as a boy and proudly declare himself “son of samurai” held his wife as she cried throughout the short funeral. At least one of their ragtag group got a happy ending, Megumi thought with a genuine smile. Inside she seethed with jealousy.

 

The bereft woman had been left alone for hours now, her sorrow evident even if her eyes were dry and unseeing. Behind her cinnamon brown, she saw a life that was much happier: much more fulfilled. A life where her most joyous memories of the man she stood before weren't the old, faded afterimages of youth. Where she held him and loved him the way she was never able to. She wanted to cry at her own foolishness again but found only an empty well to draw from.

 

“There's nothing left,” she whispered softly, speaking for the first time since early morning. “Oh, god, Sano. I'm just so tired.”

 

Megumi's vision shifted momentarily to the plot of earth beside him where, someday, she would be buried. A wide smirk alighted the woman's features. She fondly remembered the shocked reaction when her offer to lay Sanosuke's remains on her family's land registered with the small townsfolk. But she was the last Takani, the line would die with her, so there was no need to save space for future generations. No one argued at the seemingly generous gesture of allowing an old friend with no family connections a place to rest. At least Megumi drew some small comfort in the fact she'd be beside him in the end.

 

“Funny isn't it?” she questioned the newly packed dirt. “I never got to be by your side in life, but I will in death. It's just too ironic. I almost want to laugh at fate but I'm afraid I'll start crying if I do. I--- I don't think I'd be able to stop if that happened.”

 

A chill wind blew past almost on cue, sweeping up the woman's streaked hair and ruffling her black silk sleeves. She ignored the sharp bite left in her bones by the cold. For some reason, her body still felt unusually warm. She couldn't decide whether to hug her coat tighter or peel the damn thing off.

 

“Everything hurts now, Sano. My body, my heart--- my soul. I just want it to end--- but I won't do that. You taught me that much when you grabbed the dagger back then. But now I don't need weapon. I finally realize that I never really needed one.”

 

Megumi turned to go, acknowledging the sun dipped low in the sky, and stumbled. Her brain pulsed; an unnatural heat washing over as her bones dissolved into jelly. The irritating scratch she'd nursed in her throat the past couple days broke through with a vengeful series of coughs that wracked her entire frame. Vision swimming, she raised her pounding head after the fit ended and took another fumbling step.

 

Everything was blurry save one figure standing straight ahead. He stood firm, feet planted wide apart, and filled with youthful energy like she remembered him best. His brown hair was spiky and stuck up straight; swept back by the ever-present red bandana. Long white coat billowing dramatically behind him, Sanosuke tossed Megumi a cocky grin before extending his bandaged right hand forward. The woman smiled. Attempting another shaky step her knees buckled. Desperately, she threw herself into his arms as she lost footing but fell short. Always just short. The ground rushed at her and the world faded to black. Before she passed out, the aged fox uttered five final words under her breath.

 

“This life--- its killing me.”

 

Megumi collapsed in a disheveled heap with pale face and ruddy cheeks. She lay unconscious on the graveyard soil for nearly an hour until a worried Yahiko found her by lantern light; lips stained blood red as her lungs released another fatal cough.

 

Owari

(The End)