Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction ❯ Nenju ❯ XVII. The vast bamboo grove ( Chapter 17 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I don’t own Samurai Champloo or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Fangirl Japanese strikes again! A shaku is roughly equal to a foot, or three and a third shaku to a meter, per Wikipedia. (I suppose I could have just said ‘foot’, but the nerdy part of me —which composes roughly eighty-nine percent of 3Jane — keeps complaining that Fuu wouldn’t be familiar with any English units of measurement.)

Also, my love and utter gratitude to everyone actually reading this monster; I’m in awe of you all, my dears.


Nenju


Fuu finally cornered him when Jin went to bathe in the river.

The ronin’s inner barometer for the correct thing to do at any given time was one of his more endearing qualities, she decided (along with that intensely dry sense of humor he kept to himself, and the way his shoulders moved under the cotton of his kimono as he sharpened his katana; not that she thought about that, much). A pear was always eaten neatly, stem and seeds buried in a shallow hole; their map was always refolded exactly as it had been unfolded; and bathing daily, if water was available to them, was a reflex. She knew Jin liked a bath in the evening — he preferred to meditate when he was clean — but that he wouldn’t turn down what could be his only chance to wash that day, if it was morning rather than night.

Given that there was a river close by, it was only a matter of time before the ronin excused himself.

As Jin set off in the direction of the water’s low murmur, Fuu casually hooked a finger into the Ryukyuan’s sleeve before he could follow.

Mugen looked at her, puzzled, the back of the ronin’s head disappearing from sight.

“I thought we could pack up,” she said. “I know you’re avoiding me, but we could still have this finished by the time Jin gets back.”

He shrugged, and began to stow his things. “Not avoiding you. Just how things’re working out.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Really? So that’s why you’re not letting him out of your sight whenever you’re around me?”

“‘M not,” he said, but without force behind his voice.

Fuu waited, knowing that sooner or later, that silence pouring over him was going to find a crack and start seeping through; the quiet would leave him thinking about whatever it was that had its teeth in his leg, and he’d start talking just to get those thoughts out. It was a little manipulative, but — he never had a problem about doing the same thing to her if he wanted information, she told herself. After all, hadn’t she learned this from the two of them? She crouched and began scooping dirt into the firepit, making sure no live coals remained.

“Dammit,” he muttered.

“Hm?” She kept her eyes on the ground, crumbling the brown loam between her fingers before scattering it carefully.

“Nothing.” Ooh. He was trying hard — whatever was on his mind was something worth knowing.

She made a non-committal noise as she came to stand behind him, brushing the dirt from her hands. She put her hand out to his hair, smoothing the strands between her fingertips. He never did anything to it that she saw, but still it stayed amazingly free of snarls and knots; so, so unfair. She knew it was longer than he liked it, though.

“What’re you doing?” He twisted around to look at her.

“I was wondering if you wanted me to cut your hair a little shorter, while we’re waiting,” she said, virtuously. “You keep running your hands through it like it was bothering you.”

He grunted. “Maybe I was going to let it get real long, you think of that?”

“What, you want to be eight shaku tall? You’d look a little weird, but it’s your hair.” She kept combing her fingers through his hair, waiting.

Mugen sighed and handed her his tanto, shucking off his haori.

The sharp blade made a pleasant scritch sound as it cut through the strands. She was careful not to pull his hair too tightly, just to keep it taut enough for the sharpness of the edge to do most of the work. The cuttings fell around her feet in an untidy pool as she worked; he relaxed a little, enough to allow her to turn his head so she could get at the unruly locks around his ears, but not as much as he normally did when she’d done this in the past. She moved to stand in front of him, leaning in as she snipped at the shaggy fringe. He’d closed his eyes, as was usual, but he’d stopped breathing, which wasn’t. Hm.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” she told him, as she finished up. “Did you hear something?”

“Mmhrm.”

Fuu wiped the tanto clean and set it aside, massaging the bumps and hollows of his skull — she was fluffing his hair to see if she’d missed any stray pieces, if he asked. He wouldn’t, she knew; something about having his head rubbed did something to him, turning him relaxed and contented as a big cat, to the point where she could have shaved him bald and he wouldn’t have done anything more than smile at her. “Anyway, I think Jin can manage to wash himself without help,” she said. “Unless you were going to ask if you could do his back?” She circled around him, looking critically at her work.

He made a rude noise, slumping against her hands as she moved her thumbs in circles behind his ears; much more of this, and she’d have a Ryukyuan puddle on the ground.

“I don’t know that he’d let you,” she continued. “I mean, you two are good friends these days, but still — “

She could feel the muscles in his neck move, as he swallowed. “Oi,” he said, a little drunk on his massage. “Your dad.”

Her father — ? She frowned, and kept silence in what she hoped was an encouraging manner.

“You’re pissed off at him.”

“Because he left us,” she told him, confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Why, though? ‘Cause you missed him?”

She blew out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding, her hands stilled on his shoulders. “I was too little when he left. I didn’t remember enough about him to miss him all that much. He just — things got worse for us after he was gone.”

Mugen nodded. “He should’ve been there.” His voice was flat, expressionless.

“We managed,” she said, and changed the subject. “I think your hair looks even. It’s shorter, anyway.”

He stood, running his hands through his hair. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Fuu brushed loose hair off his back, her fingers slipping over his skin. The texture was intoxicating, the strangest mixture of soft over unyielding muscle and bone; she flattened her palms between his shoulder blades, sliding them toward his waist almost unthinkingly —

He turned and caught her hands in his, pulling them away slowly. “Don’t,” he told her. He let go, stepping away from her as he slid the haori back on.

Well, she felt stupid. “What is wrong with you?” she snapped. “You’re — “ What, she asked herself. Being responsible while I’m groping you? Nice going, Fuu.

He hadn’t gone far, she noticed, even if he was still very pointedly acting as if she wasn’t there —

Frustrated, she reached out and smacked him in the arm.

“Ow!” He whipped around to face her, rubbing the abused limb. “You little bitch! What’d you do that for, goddammit?”

That was a little better, she decided. Not a lot, unfortunately. It was really too bad she hadn’t the faintest idea of what she was going to say to him. “Why are you acting like this?” she blurted out.

He glared at her, those sky-colored eyes angry. “Like what? I don’t know what the hell crawled into your head, but it needs to crawl back out. That shit’s a bad idea.”

What the — where did he get off, lecturing her? “You’re being a jerk!”

“Oh? You’re being a brat.”

Oooh — Furious, she stood in front of him and poked his stomach with her finger, her temper getting the best of her. “Don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m talking to you,” she told him, punctuating her words with sharp little jabs.“I want to know why you two’re treating me like I’m going to run off if there isn’t someone with me all the time. I want to know what you know that I don’t, and don’t try telling me there isn’t something, because I know better than that. And I really want to know why you aren’t talking to me.”

Mugen opened his mouth, and closed it again, looking very dissatisfied.

“Well?” She folded her arms over her chest.

“This is so stupid,” he muttered. “Look. You ever think maybe you’re the one keeping us in the dark?”

She frowned at him. Had they been into the mushrooms again when she wasn’t looking?

He bent slightly, those eyes looking intently into hers. “I know damn well you’re not telling us everything, Fuu,” he said softly. “You’re honest with me, I’m honest with you.”

“What am I not being honest with you about?”

His mouth set in an exasperated line. “For one, I don’t know what’s going on between you and Jin, but it’s a distraction. There’s too much shit in his head already — we need him sharp.”

Now, it was her turn to be speechless, filled with resentment that his opinion of them was so low as to think they’d allow themselves to be distracted, as well as a fiercely sweet joy at the thought that it was possible she could affect the ronin that way. “I — “ she said, and stopped. She’d been ready enough to be distracted by Mugen just then, however, she realized and felt immediately disloyal to Jin. Which — she sat down abruptly.

He sat, as well, apparently not finished with what he had to tell her. “Yeah.”

“Nothing’s going on,” she said; whether for her benefit or his, she wasn’t sure.

He grunted disbelievingly. “Right, whatever. Like there was nothing happening just now?”

She closed her eyes. “Sometimes I’m not sure I even like you all that much,” she told him.

“Hey.” Mugen reached over and tapped his fingertips against her arm; she looked at him. “I’m not telling you that it’s bad. Definitely not telling you that I — “ He paused, thinking, before he said, “ — wouldn’t. But I can’t; that’s different than won’t.”

What — “I don’t understand,” she told him. “Why?”

He exhaled loudly. “Because I can’t. I did enough to you already, all right?”

“You haven’t done anything to me. What are you talking about?”

“Let it go, Fuu,” he warned. Everything about him told her of his reluctance; he sat, crouched into an uncomfortable ball with his hands knotted together and resting on his knees, his breathing shallow. His unhappy eyes were fixed on her warily, as if he expected her to attack him.

“No,” she said, hands balled into fists on her lap. “If you think you did something, I want to know. I’m sick of being blindsided by things you two don’t tell me because you have some stupid idea you need to protect me. I’m not as weak as you think I am.”

“Fuu — “

”So I’m asking you: Mugen, what do you think you did to me?” She kept her voice even with an effort.

There was the courteous snap of twigs underfoot, as Jin announced his return from the river and walked up to them quietly. He’d heard the last few words they’d said to each other, she knew, and she hadn’t missed the peculiar look of gratitude the Ryukyuan had given the ronin, as if — well, she wasn’t sure what Mugen would be grateful to Jin for, but the idea made her even more uneasy.

“What is it?” the ronin asked. His skin looked faintly damp still, and any other time she would have been distracted by the few dark strands tangled into the tie that held his hair back, thinking on how she could make that shining river lie more neatly over his broad shoulders.

Not today, though.

“Jin, shut up,” she said, a small part of her slapping its forehead in disbelief that those words would come out of her mouth. His eyes opened wide, then, but he obediently fell silent, dropping gracefully to the ground as he sat. “Mugen?”

The Ryukyuan’s face was pinched, and for a moment she saw what he would look like as an old man. “In Motomachi,” he said slowly. “Heard you when you were talking to the monk.”

How funny — her chest was filling with hot broken glass, scraping against the sides, making it nearly impossible to breathe — she concentrated on keeping her chest rising and falling, his words lying over her like a skin of ice over water. “Oh.” Her ribs pushed against the constraints of her obi, she’d never quite realized how hard it was to get air in — she was conscious of how they were sitting frozen in place; she stirred herself to ask the question she knew she’d want the answer to, eventually. “Both of you?”

“Yes,” Jin told her.

“I see.” She got to her feet carefully. They stood, awkwardly, the ronin’s hand that wasn’t resting on the katana at his hip curled loosely against his hakama. She didn’t look to see where their eyes were — at that point, nothing could have made her look in their eyes, because what she knew was there would break her completely.

Tiredly, she concentrated on the path, raising her eyes for a second to make sure she was going toward Hiroshima, then focusing on the ground under her feet. She could hear them scrambling behind her, snatching up their packs and hurrying to catch up.

“Fuu — “ She didn’t need to turn to know the hand wrapped around her wrist was Jin’s; she pulled free from his grasp hastily.

“Please don’t,” she told him. “I don’t want either of you right now.”

“Hn.” He dropped back to walk with Mugen. They would only go so far from her and no farther, she knew.

Irrationally, she wondered how far she’d get if she started running.

It was going to be one of those nights she couldn’t sleep, Fuu realized.

They weren’t unfamiliar to her; sleepless nights came about as often as the nights where she did sleep, but wished she didn’t. On the whole, going without sleep was a little better than the nightmares, as grotesque as they were.

Neither of them was sleeping, she knew. Mugen was lying too neatly on his mat, for one — when he slept, he sprawled out, arms and legs bent into seemingly impossible positions — and Jin was lying on the wrong side.

None of them had said much of anything all day, except for calling an infrequent short halt to rest, and choosing a place to make camp for the night.

Careful not to jar the broken glass inside her again, she rolled onto her back. The moon was thin this night, a curved willow leaf of light behind clouds rolling in — oh, rain would make her night complete, she decided. She still felt miserable, but the hours of quiet they’d given her let her settle the fractured pieces; she didn’t want to talk yet, but their combined presence was soothing, as if by being there they could carry some of it for her.

It would have been better still to lie next to one of them, and let his warmth and the regular rise and fall of his chest teach her dreamless sleep again.

She blinked then as a familiar hand came to drape lightly over her ankle, the palm rough and calloused against her skin. If it had been another night, she would have thought Mugen was being restless in his sleep once again; he wasn’t, she knew. The hand lay loosely enough that she could have moved and it would fall to the side, if she wanted.

She let it stay, closing her eyes as the comfort he gave seeped in. She didn’t know if it would be enough, but she could try.

It was quiet the next morning, but at least today she could bear to look them in the eyes. It would be a couple days yet before she felt normal — it had happened before, when she’d come across something that would remind her. She’d needed almost a week that time in Kyoto, when a man with an eyepatch came in one night when she was still rolling dice; that had been right before she’d left for Kasumi. She was getting better, though. She could look at sunflowers now without feeling like she would be sick then and there, which was an enormous advance, she thought.

She found an apple tree as she came back from washing the sleep from her eyes, branches laden with rosy ripe fruit. She smiled; they both liked apples, she knew. She liked the idea of peace offerings, herself.

Jin looked up from the map as she emerged from the forest, his eyes curious as they moved over the sleeve she was using as a makeshift basket. “Fuu,” he said.

“Morning.” She held an apple out to him. “Hungry?”

“Yes, thank you,” he told her, long fingers closing over the fruit. “Where did you find these?”

“There’s a tree, not very far from here,” she said, biting into hers. “I can’t believe they’re ripe already.”

“Ah,” he agreed. “How are you?”

She shrugged, as he began to eat. “I’ve had worse mornings.”

The ronin nodded. “Mm.”

“Where is he?”

“On his way here, I expect. He went into the forest not long after you did.” Jin swallowed a last bite of apple, before taking the core she handed him and burying the remains of their meal neatly. “Fuu.“

She looked up at his face, grave and pale in the thin sunlight.

“I — “

”Jin.” She reached out to give his hand a squeeze. “It wasn’t you.” She could feel another pair of eyes on her, watching —

He gave her a troubled look, his fingers cool and strong in hers. “It should not have happened,” he said.

She pressed his hand gently, before letting it fall and turning to the man behind her. “I have apples,” she told him, as silently Jin bent to roll up his sleeping mat.

“You do, huh?” Mugen kept his hands stuck firmly in his pockets.

“I do.” Fuu tossed a piece of the fruit at him; he caught it reflexively. “See? Not completely helpless.” She regretted the words as soon as they came out, his face clouding over; she’d sounded —

“Yeah.”

“Mugen,” she said. “It’s all right.”

He looked at her, his face wary and unhappy both. “It’s not. How is it all right?”

“You came for me,” she told him, sitting on the ground. “Both of you’re here.”

The Ryukyuan sat next to her, his teeth sinking into the red peel as he thought. “It was my fault,” he said. “They wouldn’t have done anything to you if it wasn’t for me.”

She gave him a look and reached over to flick him in the forehead, causing him to spray apple on the ground in front of him in his surprise. “No, it’s not your fault. It’s their fault. Why are you even saying that?” she said. “And don’t even think about arguing with me. I was there, remember?” Her mouth curved surprisingly into a smile as he watched — a grim smile, but a smile for all that.

He made a small noise that she took as a ‘yeah, but — ‘.

“Some days are good,” she told him. “Other ones aren’t. As far as I know, everyone lives like that. So, if I can manage, you think you can?” She bumped him with her shoulder. “Unless you’re fine with me being much tougher than you are.”

He stopped chewing and swallowed, watching her silently as Jin listened from the other side of the firepit.

“All right,” she said and shrugged. “You’re taking it very well, though, being beaten by a girl.”

His mouth quirked, despite his best effort. “Dumb broad,” he said at last, looking at her affectionately. “You really are.”

She grinned back at him and stuck out her tongue.