Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters
by Akai Kitsune
70: Atama
~*~
Kenshin had
a very hard head.
It wasn't simply his ability to
take the worst of physical abuse - from homicidal assassins to her own vengeful
bokken - and pick himself up afterwards with barely a sweat. It was,
consequentially, his infuriating sense of independence, firm and developed since
his hitokiri days. For a long time, even after his stay at the dojo became
extended whether he liked it or not, he kept mostly to himself, sharing nothing
of himself or his past, as if it didn't matter.
And it didn't, Kaoru had to
honestly admit, unless it was important.
Sometimes it was so important
she almost wished she never had to know.
"The brother of-"
But she had to know,
really, in order to understand him better. She had to know what kind of
experiences he had been through in his past, she she could help support him more
purely in the future.
"- Himura Tomoe -"
Although it didn't change the
fact that some things, she wished she could forget. She wished such things could
be swept beneath the tatami, never to be thought of, never to be brought back in
the dirty, ugly manner in which memories usually return.
"- The wife I killed
-"
She wished she could make
him forget, sometimes.
"... with my own
hands..."
Kaoru often
wondered what might have crossed Kenshin's mind, what thoughts could tug at his
heart enough to make him abandon his training and become an assassin for the
Revolution. He was always very headstrong, but she could scarcely imagine him as
a teenager, the way he had described himself - proud, ignorant, determined to
save the world whether or not it even wanted saving. A foolish brat, Hiko had
called him; a stupid apprentice. It was a stupid decision, Kenshin
agreed, a sad smile on his face when he told her, but it was one that changed
his life forever.
This description puzzled her,
but it also left her curious, wanting more. She wished she could see this
teenaged version of the man she loved, this obstinate, argumentative child he
spoke of as if he were a different person entirely. She wanted to see what
Kenshin had been before the memories of blood, death, and tears had shattered
his innocence. She wanted to see his shy, stammering blushes as his comrades
teased him about his stature, or the woman he brought home one day.
She told him this once; told
him of her secret wish in a quiet voice, with a deep flush across her cheeks. He
was startled, but then she heard his low chuckle, and she looked up to see him
shaking his head.
"Kenshin?"
He smiled at her, apologetic,
and shrugged. "I'm sorry, Kaoru, but I was just surprised that you couldn't see
it..."
"See what?"
she demanded, insistent and more than a little annoyed by his secrecy.
He glanced over to the side,
looking outside, where Yahiko could be seen practicing, a determined look in his
eyes. At fourteen - that awkward age, Kenshin called it, worse than the years
before, when they had first known him - he was slowly becoming intolerable,
rarely listening, always arguing, often disappearing for days at a time, doing
his "own thing" as he explained to them in an impatient voice.
Kaoru's eyes widened in
realization.
"You
understand," Kenshin murmured softly, squeezing her hand. "Do you think you
could have handled two of us?"
She didn't respond; could do
nothing but stare at her student, trying hard to imagine Kenshin acting that
way. No matter how she tried, the image would not come. She supposed it was
something that could only exist in his head, his mind, which was
so open, yet forever closed to her.
"She was too
soft for me."
Kenshin's words - words spoken
at a time when he was feeling a little more open than usual - echoed in her
heart, dwelling on the statement when she was alone, when he was on a mission,
or with Yahiko or Kenji... sometimes even when he lay beside her in that
familiar state of half-sleep that made him awaken at the slightest movement, the
smallest indication of discomfort. She thought upon the choice of terms he gave
to her, puzzling over what it truly meant.
Soft. How was she soft?
Soft hands, hard heart.
Warm hands, cold heart.
Too soft for me.
Then what did that make him?
Hard hands, hard heart? Cold heart?
Cold eyes, cold heart.
'Truly, Kenshin...
you think so badly of yourself, but...'
'... how can you be
so wrong?'
Hard hands, soft head.
Cold eyes, warm heart.
~*~
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