Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters
by Akai Kitsune
52: Scar
~*~
Kaoru
remembered how she had wondered at the origin of Hitokiri
Battousai's legendary scars. She had readily admitted that she
didn't care about people's pasts - and it was the truth, since
she didn't need to know - but the curiousity, the intrigue
was still there. She ever asked Kenshin, and she suspected that
it was a secret for a very good reason. Sometimes she wished he
trusted her enough to tell her.
But it wasn't about trust,
really. They were like an old blanket to a child; protective, a
secret, sentimental and unspoken, to hold as his own from the
rest of the world. No one seemed to know where the scars had come
from and it made him seem that much more mysterious, that much
more deadly.
She knew that
the cross-shaped scar marring his left cheek was not the only
mark he bore; it was simply the one he was known for. On the rare
occasions she saw him in any state of undress - whether his gi
was removed for the doctor, or that one, troublesome incident in
the hot springs - she couldn't help but notice the broken
discolourations scattered across his body, her eyes lingering on
the thin, faded lines when she was certain he wasn't watching
her. The curiousity had increased, seeing each one: the three
marks across his back - not matched by the front, thanks to
Aoshi's blade - the large, jagged circles in each shoulder, and,
beneath the right, a smaller dot of white on pale pink flesh.
There were many others - far too many to list, to count, she
thought with great pain - but none darker and more prominent than
the two, crisscrossing signs against his face.
Sanosuke's words, spoken to him
first by Megumi, weighed heavily in her heart.
"... if
someone attaches strong feelings to a sword wound, as long as he
carries those feelings, the scar will not fade..."
When Kenshin
finally revealed to his small, closely-knit circle of friends the
origin of these scars, Kaoru understood why he had waited until
it was absolutely necessary. Such a story - showing, in such
great and gory detail, his job as a hitokiri to be much darker
and difficult than they had ever imagined - must have been
painful to tell, even to relive, and he must have been worried
about how their opinions of him would change. He always thought
the worst of them - or rather, the worst of himself.
Kaoru wasn't sure which idea she
enjoyed less. Both were so intolerable, so very wrong.
He was learning, though. Slowly,
bit by bit, with the aid of those he trusted, relied upon, loved,
he was learning.
~*~
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