Genre

Rating

Spoiler Level

Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters

by Akai Kitsune

12: Silk

~*~

Kaoru owned very few extravagant clothing - she had been never one to impulsively waste her money on things she could rarely afford. She purchased softer, less expensive cotton, although the material was heavier and much warmer than she was comfortable with, particularly in summertime. She chose the tougher, more durable cloths for her training outfits, brushing her hands ever-so-gently across the formal, ceremonial uniforms which were terribly beautiful, and even more outrageously expensive, as if to catch a glimpse of how things would be, if she had more money, and so could indulge in such things.

She had but one fine silk kimono, beautiful and dark blue in colour, scattered with delicately sewn butterflies, that had once belonged to her mother. She never wore it, knowing how easily the world could be turned upside down by her new companions, not that she minded so much anymore. It remained in a trunk, protected from insects and dust and tears, to be brought out and admired, touched by callused hands and cried over - though never directly onto the material - but never worn.

She was content to live in that manner, dressing in plain colours and simple designs, small, repetitive shapes covering the material to soothe the boring nature of a single colour. Her obi was always tied modestly, usually unadorned with the opulent, choice motifs of an expensive seamstress or designer, but rather with the gentle hand of an older, more experienced and less wealthy tailor. It was those sort of clothes she enjoyed; the ones who worked with care, with familiarity, with love. Though simple, they still carried a beauty and an elegance that was envied by all who could understand it's true meaning.
 

Kimonos were one thing; they were often pricy when it came the refined merit they often stood for. But ribbons... she could buy silk ribbons. Her favourite ribbon, one she had carried with her for years before her father died, was blue, indigo blue, the colour of her mother's kimono, having the same silky feeling across her skin when she tied it into her hair.

She had given that ribbon to Kenshin, vehemently demanding that he had better bring it back to her, if he knew what was good for him. She had barely been able to put up that strong front, knowing all the while that her tears would only make him feel guilty, although her anger rarely ever made her feel any better. He had taken a long moment to understand, but when he finally did, he had smiled casually, nodding in agreement, and she had felt the warm rush of relief fill her heart. It had not lasted long, but it had felt very, very good.

Although she wasn't certain whether it had felt better than chasing him through the streets of Tokyo the next morning, waving a bloody, ruined ribbon and ignoring his frantic apologies. She had much more important things on her mind - namely, getting her hands around the neck of one constantly-targeted tenant in her household.
 

One day Kenshin asked her to accompany him while he went shopping, and she accepted easily enough. He surprised her, that afternoon, by taking her to a women's clothing shop and showing her the ribbons - the silk ribbons, beautiful and long and elegant. He told her, a soft, shy smile on his face, to choose a ribbon, any kind or colour at all, to not even look at the price, because it didn't matter. She asked him what it was all about, but when he replied, the smile had disappeared, making her feel slightly sick at her sudden recollection of that day.

"For your blue one," he murmured, eyes dark and pained. "For the one I ruined. I wanted to apologize, because it was your favourite, and you entrusted it to me... all because of the sort of person I am-" She knew what he meant, of course; a rurouni could not be trusted to come home on his own, certainly not when he placed those he knew in danger by doing so. "So... please, just make your choice. This is my payment to you... for everything." He turned away, disappearing from her view and moving closer towards the counter to wait for her.

"Thank you for everything..."

"... and..."

She had closed her eyes against the memory, of his "payment" that time. His embrace, brief as it had been, tore at her soul and made her wonder why she hadn't been able to run after him that time. But there were no ribbons, no stern remarks on how, if he did not return to her, she would never forgive him. There was nothing to hold him to her, nothing to convince him that her home was his home, now, and then, and forever.

She thought he had disappeared from her life forever.

Unconsciously, her hand reached out and fingered a ribbon without design, its colour plain and dark, although the material itself was fair and magnificent to the touch. She held it between her fingers for a long moment, studying the look and feel of it, visualizing it against the smooth ebony of her hair. Finally, smiling amply to herself, she plucked it off the rack and carried it to the counter, wrapping her arm boldly through Kenshin's and delighting in the surprised glance she received in response.

She was a bit startled, although pleasantly, that he neither pulled away or politely asked her to remove herself, but instead returned her smile and fumbled with his folded wallet, one arm restrained by her hand, to pay for the item. She was yet again amazed that he carried enough yen to pay for the item, penniless wanderer as he seemingly was, but he later explained the source of the money. Kyoto, yet again. He was grateful, however, that he had finally earned enough to replace her ruined hair decoration, and told her as much. Somehow, the dangers were long past and far less painful as they had been, now that something good had come of it. She couldn't hold back a smile at his words.

If he was hurt by the fact that she never wore her new ribbon, he did not show it... much. He hid things far too well, but she knew that whenever she left her room, for months after they had returned from their shopping trip, bearing miso, tofu, and an expensive token of repayment, he looked at her, his eyes casting on her hair for merely a flicker - to look, to see, and to dismiss so to avoid her questions - and smile, asking her how she was, and if she had had a good rest, and that he would be starting breakfast in just a few moments. He never asked her why, even though he must have been dying to know, and she ignored what she saw in his eyes those mornings, knowing that someday, if he ever figured everything else out, he would understand.
 

On their wedding day, when at last she took out her mother's silk kimono and wore it, the intricate white butterflies fair and light against the colours that were fairly gleaming against her own pale body, the silk glistening and smooth across her skin, regardless of old calluses. She held herself tightly, imagining his arms around her, feeling the grace and beauty shine through her childishness, her clumsy, boyish actions. She wanted him to see her as a woman that day, as his woman, and that even if she continued to teach and to wield a blade like a boy of the past, she would still be his, always his. She wanted him to see her that day and make an imprint of her image in his heart, in his soul.

On that day, when she approached him in her mother's kimono, her hair tied high and beautiful in a flawless, elegantly expensive ribbon, the colour of dark amethyst, he finally understood why she had never worn it before. He smiled back at her, his eyes glowing with love and some unreadable emotion, and reached out to take her hand, squeezing gently to show her that he knew, that despite all those unhappy mornings where he wondered why, he was grateful for what she had done.

She smiled back, just as brightly, and sent a quick, unvocalized apology to the fine silk clothing which would most likely find itself scattered across the floor that evening. But, to be honest, she had a feeling she wouldn't care either way.

~*~