Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters
by Akai Kitsune
51: Garden
~*~
Kenshin was
unusually gifted with plants, as well as swords. He never offered
where he gained the skills he used to cultivate the Kamiya dojo's
little vegetable garden, and Kaoru never really thought it was
important enough to ask. Their food thrived, and it pleased him
greatly, so she didn't question him.
There were flowers in the
garden, too, growing wildly from the time of her mother's death
to Kenshin's arrival, when he had immediately taken it upon
himself to make the place beautiful again. Sanosuke had once
commented at how prissy that sounded. kenshin merely responded,
his voice mild, with the question of how the street fighter's
longhouse smelled. That had shut him up.
The flowers blossomed handsomely
under Kenshin's care, earning Kaoru's respect once again. He had
smiled and waved aside her praise, crediting it to luck and a
practiced hand. She wondered how and where a swordsman of his
caliber would learn to work with plants.
Eventually
she learned that he had been, in his childhood and even briefly
in his days as a hitokiri, a farmer. He explained vaguely of his
miniscule role in aiding his father in the fields as much as he
could, though at eight years old, there was little he could do.
He was quick to learn, he admitted, and he held onto any skills
he gained. It had been years since he had a real garden to care
for, and he was forced to concede that he was grateful for the
chance to renew and apply his knowledge, especially if it was to
help her. She flushed at the idea; too kind, always too kind.
When Kenji
was old enough, curiousity led him to Kenshin's side in the
garden, watching his father as he hunched over the plants,
digging, watering, testing for maturity or defects, his eyes
scrutinizing each blooming flower, each fattening vegetable.
Kenji always wanted to help, and
though he was too young, and clumsy, and usually did more damage
than aid, Kenshin had not the heart or the desire to refuse him.
She liked to watch them as they fumbled in the dirt together,
Kenji giggling and playful, Kenshin patient and gentle, his voice
guiding them through the year's plantation, carefully molding the
garden, even as he molded their family closer, roots growing
deeper into the ground, intertwining like vines, or fingers,
curving around the hand of another. Smalls hands, she remembered.
Soft hands.
Like a child.
~*~
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