Hiko frowned at the hushed sound of voices carrying through his window on the morning breeze. Company was coming. Visitors to his tiny cottage were rare, and unexpected guests usually meant unwelcome trouble. Leaving his current project unfinished on the table, he rose to his feet to push the curtain away from the door. This could prove amusing, he thought, the distant figures resolving themselves into his baka deshi and the woman who had followed him to Kyoto once before. His gaze lightened and his face hardened; he was pleased to see the young man alive and well, but by no means was he willing to show it.
The woman was wearing a formal kimono, the blue in it a match for the color of his baka deshi's kimono. A subtle declaration of ownership, Hiko observed, her doing or his? He smirked, suspecting that her hand had been in the choosing, but that Kenshin hadn't protested over much. Wise choice, baka deshi. The two made a striking couple; in this if nothing else his pupil was fortunate. Letting the curtain fall closed behind him he stepped outside, standing with his arms crossed over his chest as he waited.
"Is that your shishuu?" Kiriko whispered, peeking around Kenshin's hakama leg as they slowly made their way across Hiko's clearing, "The giant?"
Her father laughed, soft and low in his throat, reaching behind him to ruffle her hair. "Yes. Hiko Seijuurou, thirteenth master of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu."
She nodded against his leg, still holding tightly to the material of his hakama. "He's big." The man waiting outside the cottage was the largest person she'd ever seen -- taller and broader of shoulder than even Sano-niichan. After observing him quietly for another moment she asked, "Why does he have wings?"
This time it was her mother who laughed, the delighted sound escaping an otherwise straight face. "Wings, Kiriko-chan?"
"Those white things that go like this," she briefly released Kenshin's pant leg to wave her arms in a billowing motion, mimicking the way Hiko's cloak moved in the wind. "Aren't they wings?"
Before either parent could answer another voice interrupted, deep and authoritative and demanding to know: "Aren't what wings?"
Startled, Kiriko looked up . . . up . . . up into the face of her winged giant, a face made all the more frightening by the expression of mild annoyance it wore. "Kyaa!" she screamed, darting back behind her father.
Hiko's lips twitched with suppressed amusement as the soft-voiced sprite with his student's eyes hid her face in her father's hakama. The little thing couldn't be much more than two years old, her ebon tresses marking her as her mother's child just as her eyes showed her paternity.
"Good morning, shishou," Kenshin greeted him, bowing slightly. "Please allow this unworthy one the honor of introducing his wife, Himura Kaoru--" he paused as Kaoru bowed politely, "and daughter, Himura Kiriko." Kiriko bravely peeked out from behind Kenshin, only to gasp and duck out of sight again when she caught the giant watching her.
Hiko nodded slightly in acknowledgment. "What do you want this time?" The words were gruff to cover softer emotion; unexpected pride and a strange sense of release -- freedom from worry he would never have admitted to feeling -- filling the almost-father at the sight of his almost-son's family. Time and past my ungrateful pupil paid his respects.
Kenshin blinked at his master's brusque question. "Oro?"
"Don't 'oro' me." Simply to goad the younger man, Hiko allowed feigned irritation to creep into his voice. "Last time you wanted training and protection for your friends. What is it this time?" He forced his grin into a frown, knowing the reason for the visit was nothing more than the visit itself, the chance to present him with this picture of familial completion. The woman's doing again.
Kiriko's hands twisted into fists in the white material of Kenshin's hakama. The giant was scary, but she didn't like the way he talked to her father. Bad! Bad! she silently scolded.
"Can't I just come for a visit?"
"Baka deshi, when a student pays a visit to his master it's customary to bring a gift, not more mouths to feed."
Violet eyes widened in shock, then narrowed as Kiriko glared upwards at Hiko. Although she didn't know what a deshi was, baka didn't confuse her at all . . . and stupid was something she was certain her father was not. "No, no, no!" she whispered, the words far too muffled and indistinct to carry to either man.
"Hiko-san," Kaoru interrupted, stepping forward before Kenshin could voice whatever argument he held ready, "I thought maybe you could find a use for this . . . ?"
Recognizing the familiar shape of the pottery jar she held, the thirteenth master of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu allowed a genuinely pleased smile to curve his mouth. "At least your woman knows how to behave properly, baka deshi," he conceded, reaching out to take the proffered sake. Any words of thanks he might have extended were drowned out by Kiriko's piping protest.
"'Kaachan says it's not nice to call names!" she announced, anger and offended pride helping her find her courage. "'Touchan is 'touchan! Not baka deshi!"
So the shy little sprite can speak after all . . . and what a fiery little thing she is. Standing in her father's protective shadow, one hand still holding tightly to his pant leg, Kiriko was certainly less than threatening; and yet . . . the set of her jaw was both determined and familiar. Anger is her key, just as it was Kenshin's, Hiko thought, delighted in spite of himself. Wondering what else would provoke a reaction, he looked down his nose at the tiny girl. "Little one, your father was my baka deshi long before you were born."
"No!!" Kiriko argued, stomping her foot, "'Touchan is not stupid!"
"Kiriko-chan--" Kaoru began soothingly, ruefully wishing she'd anticipated this particular problem. Children never liked to hear their parents ridiculed, and Kiriko could hardly be expected to understand the relationship Kenshin had with his shishou.
Unwilling to be placated, bouncing up and down in childish distress, Kiriko shook her head. "He's not!" she all but wailed, "He's not, he's not!" She felt her father's hand in her hair, gently reassuring. "Not not not not not!"
"Baka deshi, can't you make her stop that?" Torn between amusement and reluctant remorse, Hiko settled for growling at his one-time student.
Kenshin cocked his head to the side, touched by Kiriko's defense and amused by his master's response. "I think she'll stop if you apologize."
Hiko snorted. "Apologize to a toddler for something I've been doing for years?" Now thoroughly annoyed -- at himself, at Kenshin, and at Kiriko -- he surprised everyone by reaching out and picking her up.
Kiriko's breath caught in her throat as she found her feet suddenly dangling so far off the ground, her anger disintegrating in the face of fear. Instinctively she reached out, little hands clasping and unclasping imploringly on air; far less reluctant that he seemed, Hiko adjusted his hold to cuddle her close. For an instant, the look in her eyes reminded him sharply of his first meeting with her father -- not because of a similarity of expression, but because of the disparity. Shinta had been accustomed to fear, to sorrow so pervasive it had become numbing. Kiriko's fright was fleeting even in the brief moment of its existence, dispelled as easily as it was conceived, somehow bordering on laughter rather than tears. While Hiko still could not condone Kenshin's long ago choice to join the Ishin revolution, the younger man's reasons were clear in the little one's face. He wouldn't steal that from either of them -- not her trusting nature, not Kenshin's assurance that something good had come from his actions as the Ishin shadow assassin -- when the price paid was already far too high. Arrogant he might be, quick-witted and sharp-tongued; but given to cruelty he was not.
Blithely unaware of her giant's reflective thoughts, Kiriko tangled one tiny hand in Hiko's long hair, the other tightly grasping a fold of his cloak. Fear gave way to curiousity almost as rapidly as anger had changed to fright, and her little fingers soon set out on an exploration: tugging gently at the dark strands that were almost as silky as her father's, discovering that the white material spread over his shoulders was soft like her kimono, not leathery like the dragon wings it resembled. Lifting the edge of his mantle to peek underneath, her eyes went wide again at the sight of all the welts and bulges rippling across his chest. Poor thing, she thought, carefully patting the material back into place, lower lip trembling sympathetically, poor giant-san.
Charmed by her antics despite himself, Hiko watched as the little one bravely reached out to touch his cloak's high collar. He struggled against a grin as her comment about wings came back to him, realization close on its heels. A moment later he noticed his baka deshi's delighted -- almost gleeful -- expression, and rapidly transformed his features into a disgusted frown. Did they honestly think that he, Hiko Seijuurou, thirteenth master of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu, was susceptible to children? "Baka deshi," he growled in a scathing tone, "I've seen far too much to be convinced of the rightness of the world by one small child."
Kenshin met his shishou's gaze steadily, violet eyes guileless, feigning innocent misunderstanding in the way that had always set Hiko's teeth on edge . . . every one of the handful of times the younger man had used it.
"Don't look at me like that. You know exactly what I mean." One broad finger was leveled at Kaoru as his voice rose into a high, faintly mocking falsetto. "She's thinking 'Oh, Hiko-san's really just a big, sweet, soft-heart!' and you-" the finger shifted to point at Kenshin, Hiko's voice returning to the lower register, "are thinking how amusing it is to see your shishou in your daughter's pocket." He shook his head disdainfully, never noticing that Kiriko was taking in every word. "Baka deshi--"
Kaoru bit her lip to keep from giggling as Kiriko clapped both hands over Hiko's mouth, successfully putting a stop to whatever biting comment he'd been about to make. "No no no!" the little girl scolded, leaning in close, "Kiriko told you! 'T'sn't nice to call names!"
Glaring at Kenshin and Kaoru, Hiko pried the little fingers away from his lips. "Bak-"
"Nooooooo!" Kiriko cried again, her hands immediately returning to cover his mouth. No longer awed by his height or frightened by his tone, she could sense in Hiko a grudgingly affectionate amusement -- like a parent who knew he should be angry yet found himself somehow unable, feigning displeasure to cover his lapse. Hiko's fierce expression didn't fool Kiriko in the slightest, no more than her mother's or father's ever had. Giggling, she pinched his lips together as he pursed them in annoyance.
Gently pulling her hands away from his face, Hiko assessed his tiny adversary. It was nearly impossible to be angry with her, yet his sense of self almost demanded it: no one got the better of Hiko Seijuurou, least of all a toddler. On the other hand, trying to intimidate a child made him appear both cruel and foolish . . . and her failure to be intimidated only served to compound the problem. His mouth twisted wryly: I like her. "Little one, do you know who I am?" he demanded, deciding to try for stern rather than intimidating.
The dark head bobbed up and down emphatically. "'Touchan's shishuu."
One sardonic eyebrow arched in question. "Shishou, koneko," Kenshin hastily corrected, "it's shishou."
Kiriko nodded again, her violet eyes bright and attentive. "Shishuu," she repeated.
Hazel eyes light with amusement, Hiko let it pass. "Do you know what a shishou is?" he asked. She shook her head, her little face solemn but curious. "It means I'm the man who taught your father everything he knows . . . and quite a few things he promptly forgot."
Kiriko considered this as Kenshin yelped a startled protest. There were some things that 'touchan did that she just couldn't imagine the giant attempting. "Did you teach 'touchan to do the laundry?"
If Hiko was surprised by the question he didn't let it show. "Yes."
"Only because you were too cheap to pay the washer-woman!" Kenshin argued, "And all you did was tell me to do it, you didn't teach me at all!"
Ignoring her father and idly chewing on one baby finger, Kiriko thought about it some more. "Did you teach him how to cook?"
Hiko nodded, his eyes twinkling with suppressed merriment. "I even shared my own okaasan's recipe for miso soup."
"It was Matsuoka-san's recipe," Kenshin muttered hotly, "and the only advice you had was: 'this is a spoon, this is a pot, here's the tofu, try not to burn anything.'"
"Those are important things to know when you set out to cook," his master agreed. "There's no sense pouting about it, ba . . ." halfway through the word he changed his mind, eyeing Kiriko's indignant little face, " . . .deshi. I taught you everything a man should know. I even explained the facts of life to you as if you were my own son."
"That's right, Kenshin," Kaoru chimed in cheerfully, her voice artificially sweet. "All that useful information about women and their curves and their obi." She smiled fiercely at Hiko, one hand resting on her hip as if to draw attention to the complicated arrangement around her waist.
He wasn't discomfitted in the slightest. "You see? Even your woman agrees with me." Kaoru huffed indignantly at this assessment, prompting a low chuckle. "I did my best with him, jou-chan. Any remaining flaws are purely his own."
Oblivious to the undertones in the adults' voices, Kiriko had been fitting things together, puzzling out a question that seemed terribly important. As her mother stood at a loss for words, the little girl reached out and tugged at Hiko's cloak. "Is a shishuu like a 'touchan?"
Kenshin froze, his eyes wide and startled as they fixed on Kiriko's face. Beside him Kaoru smiled slightly, her bearing full of a fierce and puzzling satisfaction. Why?
Clever little tanuki. Hiko hadn't missed Kenshin's reaction to the little one's question, the flash of dread and anticipation. His mouth curved as he inclined his head in the smallest of bows. The woman knew what his answer was going to be, even if Kenshin himself did not. Still . . . nothing should be too easy. "Not usually," he answered, smirking as Kaoru's hand fisted angrily, "but in this case, little one, a shishou is very much like a 'touchan."
"Oro?!" Uncertain he'd heard correctly, Kenshin could only stare as his daughter threw her arms around his shishou's neck, crowing in delight. He felt Kaoru's hand come to rest on his arm, a gentle I-told-you-so for a conversation he didn't remember having. Hesitant still, his smile finally broke free as Kiriko began pressing sloppy baby-kisses all over his shishou's face.
"Oi! What's all this? Stop that!" Try as he might to prevent it, Hiko's tone betrayed his acceptance of the childish display of affection, even if his words did not.
"I think she's welcoming you to the family," Kaoru answered, wryly arching an eyebrow much as Hiko himself was wont, "Hiko-ojiichan."
And Kenshin burst out laughing, as for the first time in his recollection someone managed to surprise his master.
Not wishing to intrude on Kenshin and Hiko's conversation, Kaoru took Kiriko for a walk, letting the small girl explore the edges of the clearing under her watchful eye. The two men settled themselves on the log in front of Hiko's kiln, passing the now-open sake jug between them.
"I thought you no longer had a taste for it," Hiko remarked.
The younger man paused, violet gaze resting on his wife and daughter, watching as Kaoru bent down to better hear Kiriko's chatter. "It's different now." Warmer, sweeter; distilled sunshine instead of collected blood and tears.
"Yes." Looking at Kenshin with eyes that saw more than most, Hiko knew that his student had found the balance he'd lacked even after mastering the ougi. Self-worth countered self-recrimination; two sweet, nearly identical faces constantly reminding him that whatever he'd done and whoever he'd been, Kenshin was who he was now. Centered and at peace, closer to accepting the harsher, unforgiving side of himself. Hiko let his gaze shift back to mother and daughter as Kiriko set off at a run, little legs and feet unsteady in the undergrowth. The Battousai will know how to protect them when the rurouni's strength is gone.
Quiet words broke into his thoughts, their tone solemn. "Kaoru was furious when she learned how I came to join the Ishinshishi." Kenshin's eyes closed briefly, shoulders tensing with remembered anxiety, relaxing again with remembered release. "She would never have asked, which somehow made it all the more important that she should know." Know the boy he'd been, the shell he'd become. His voice fell to a whisper, "She cried for me."
"I thought she was furious," Hiko commented drily, refusing to be drawn into regretful memory.
Kenshin smiled, "Yes. She was furious . . ." he paused to drink deeply from the proffered sake jug, then finished, ". . . with you, not me."
The older man snorted, aggravated. "Me? For teaching you I suppose. For molding the nightmare." Corking the sake with a quick, agitated movement, he pretended not to see the way his former student winced at his bluntness. "I taught you to protect, to use mind and body and spirit in that endeavor. If I molded you, it was through too much compassion." One large hand fisted on his knee, the knuckles white with remembered tension, remembered pain. "When you left, there was little I could do to stop you. Certainly nothing she would've found acceptable." Hiko'd never admitted how difficult it had been to trade his pupil's life for some unknown samurai's -- never admitted to anyone that he'd made that choice at all. At the time, Kenshin hadn't been willing to listen to reasons and wherefores, and their disagreement had worn away any respect the boy had held for his shishou's authority. The only way to stop the young fool would have been by katana . . . and knowing Kenshin's stubbornness to be nearly a match for his own, he'd realized that the exchange would have been final. Forced to choose between letting the young idiot leave or letting him die, Hiko had recognized his own weakness. "Baka," he muttered, disgusted with both himself and his companion.
"Yes." Eyes closed, his voice a little sad, Kenshin still managed to smile. "Kaoru realized that, too . . . she just didn't want to admit it. She needed someone to blame so that I would stop blaming myself." Blue eyes wet with sweet tears, watching as he touched the rounded curve of her stomach with wonder and delight, sensing the little one so clearly he could almost see her. "I'm not sure exactly when she conceded the point, only that it was while she was pregnant with Kiriko." His smile turned wry as he opened his eyes and concluded, "Now she just wants to take you to task for your obi analogy."
Smirking even as he struggled to sound annoyed, Hiko explained the obvious: "You weren't supposed to tell her."
Kenshin merely shrugged, remembering how much fun it had been getting her riled up about it in the first place. "Just watch that you don't get within arm's reach. She has no scruples about pulling hair or pinching ears to make her point."
Hiko neglected to comment when his sarcastically raised eyebrow only encouraged the younger man's humor. Master and former student settled back into silence for a time, enjoying the sunlight and the company; allowing the things that had been left too long unsaid to work their way to the surface. As before, Kenshin was the first to speak. "You told me once that you didn't teach me Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu to make me miserable. I knew that -- I've always known it, even when I struggled with what you had to teach, even when I wore the madness of the hitokiri like a shroud. However . . . I didn't learn what gifts you'd given me until much, much later." A splash followed by bubbling, childish laughter carried from the far side of Hiko's kiln, lighting Kenshin's grave face with a brief smile. "I can feel them, see them; their ki is brighter than candle flame on a dark night, somehow touching and keeping me safe even as I would them." He raised his head to watch as Kaoru approached with Kiriko bundled in her arms, the little girl's white tabi stained a tell-tale mud-brown, one sandal dangling precariously from her toes while the other was held much more firmly in her mother's hand. "I've never thanked you for anything you taught me . . . but for this, I do."
"Don't thank me for something in which I had no part." Hiko shook his head, uncomfortable with Kenshin's gratitude, a little in awe of the skill at which his former student hinted. "I taught you to use ken-ki, nothing more."
"Does it really matter?" Kenshin countered, raising his eyes to Kaoru's face as her footsteps came to a stop beside them. "However I use the ability, you are the one who taught it to me." He smiled, taking in Kiriko's mud-splattered hem; Kaoru now held both of the little girl's sandals, Kiriko having kicked the second one free as they crossed the clearing. "She found a puddle I see."
Kaoru rolled her eyes, giving a long-suffering sigh as she set a giggling Kiriko back on her soggy feet. The little girl immediately trotted over to Hiko, scrambling up onto his knee. "Hiko-jiichan, are you hungry?"
Her father's shishou knew a leading question when he heard one. "Yes. Your otouchan and I were just discussing that very thing." He winked at Kaoru as he told the blatant lie, and it was only with effort that she managed to frown reprovingly back at him. "He offered to catch fish for our lunch . . . how does that sound?"
"Oro?"
"Waiii! Fish fish fish fish fish . . . !" Greeting the suggestion with unabashed enthusiasm, Kiriko's seemingly endless chant collapsed into more of her bell-like laughter as Hiko's large palm came to cover her mouth. Allowing himself a wide, self-satisfied grin, he turned to his one-time pupil.
"The fishing pole is in the corner beside the stove."
Kenshin's impromptu fishing trip proved a success, and within a few hours the little group dined on grilled fish and warm rice. Afterwards -- her tummy comfortably full, her body worn out from the excitement of the morning -- Kiriko climbed up into Hiko's lap, falling asleep with her head nestled in the crook of his arm. Although he pretended annoyance, Kaoru recognized the tenderness in his gaze and noticed the careful softening of his voice and tone so as not to wake the little girl. "Perhaps we'd better think about returning to the Aoiya," she suggested ruefully, reluctant to disturb either child or man.
Equally reluctant Kenshin quietly agreed; as it was, the sun would be little more an auburn smudge against the sky by the time they returned to Kyoto.
"So now that she's quiet you're finally going to leave me alone?" Knowing he wasn't fooling anyone, Hiko still saw no reason to appear soft. "If I'd known that was all I had to do to make you leave, I would've fed her something right after you got here!" Cradling the sleeping child in his arms, he passed her to her mother. "Go on, maybe I can recover some of the day now!"
Not bothering to hide her smile, Kaoru bowed her thanks for Hiko's hospitality. "We're leaving Kyoto tomorrow, Hiko-ojiichan," she offered, "so you don't have to worry we'll bother you again."
"At least, not right away," Kenshin added, mischief twinkling in his violet eyes.
Hiko glared in response. "Better yearly visits than daily ones," he growled, but his expression was tinged with disappointment when it fell on Kiriko's sleeping face. "What time are you leaving tomorrow?"
"Our train leaves at eleven," Kaoru answered, gently rubbing Kiriko's back. Blinking sleepily the little girl yawned, then waved bye-bye as she snuggled her head down on her mother's shoulder.
Her father's shishou resisted the urge to wave back. "Well . . . don't be expecting anyone to see you off!" he called after them. His ungrateful pupil raised a hand in acknowledgment, and Hiko was certain he heard Kaoru's laughter ring out in response. Torn between false outrage and the unfamiliar sensation of sheepishness, he found himself smiling. When he settled himself in front of the project he'd been working on that morning, his thoughts were of little girls and baby smiles and suitable presents to coax the second from the first.
"Misao-dono? Have you seen Kaoru?" Misao looked up from feeding a rosy-cheeked and cheerful Kiriko to see Kenshin standing in the doorway wearing a worried expression. "She was giving Kiriko her bath this morning when I left to check on our tickets, but nobody seems to know where she is now."
Misao smiled, marveling again at how Kenshin and Kaoru could spend so much time worrying about each other -- as if neither could fend for his or herself. "It's alright, she--"
"'kaachan said she had to go see someone, 'touchan!" Kiriko interrupted, trying to speak while keeping her mouth open in anticipation of the next bite. "Kiriko and Misao-neechan are s'posed to tell you she'll meet us at the train station." Her message delivered, she stretched her jaw open as wide as it would go, looking more like a hungry little bird than a hungry little girl.
"Not so wide, Kiriko-chan!" Misao laughed, deftly slipping the next mouthful of rice between the little girl's lips, "I promise I won't miss!" Turning back to Kenshin she nodded confirmation of Kiriko's message. "Kaoru said her errand wouldn't take too long, and for you not to worry." The smile he returned wasn't convincing in the slightest: anyone could see worrying was precisely what he was doing. "Himura . . ."
Shaking his head he stepped into the room, kneeling beside her to take over breakfast duty. "It's all right Misao-dono. I suspect I know where she is."
"But you shouldn't let it upset you!"
He sighed a little at that -- softly, sadly. "It only upsets me because it makes her unhappy."
"'Touchan? Is 'kaachan sad?" Violet eyes so very like his own looked up at him, the little face mirroring his expression.
For an instant he considered the easy answer, but truth always suited them better. "Yes. I think so."
Her little brows drew together in worried confusion for a moment, then lifted as she smiled at him. "'Touchan fix it," she stated with certainty.
Kenshin's shoulders slumped a little as he reached out to ruffle her hair. "I wish I could, koneko . . . I wish I could."
What do I say? Kaoru knelt, her hands pressed gently together palm-to-palm, her head bent in a respectful, prayerful pose. Now that I'm here . . . what do I say? Her thoughts seemed to jump and scatter, nervous and skittish as frightened birds, and nothing that occurred to her seemed appropriate. Why then, did I come? What was so pressing that I should make him worry? For he would be worrying, his violet eyes shadowed with sorrow and misplaced guilt. It wasn't his fault -- there was no blame in the fact that he had loved before when she had not; Kenshin had said his goodbyes . . . her own insecurity was the problem.
"She has no right to judge you." The deep masculine voice was familiar, even if its gentle tone was not. Raising her head, Kaoru found Hiko watching her with a steady and unexpectedly sympathetic gaze.
Embarrassed, her temper sparked at his intrusion. "Whatever I have to say to Tomoe-san is nothing that should concern you, Hiko-san." Closing her eyes, she made an effort to appear calm. "I'm not worried about being judged." Conscience pricked as the words passed her lips. I am, I am . . .
A low chuckle accompanied the sound of footsteps moving closer. "Yes, and my baka deshi isn't the father of your child." Kaoru bit her lip, frustrated that she was so easily read, and wary of saying anything that would give away more of her thoughts. "If you weren't seeking acceptance of some sort, you wouldn't be here." A handful of heartbeats passed in silence, during which Kaoru could feel him assessing her in that slow, insolent way he had; braced for his mockery, she was all the more unprepared for the understanding in his voice when next he spoke. "Kenshin doesn't seem to find you lacking, jou-chan. Why should you?"
"But-!" the plaintive exclamation was startled from her, unthinking and needy. Whatever else she might have said was bitten back fiercely as she glared up at him, daring him to respond to her reflexive protest. He stared calmly back, the tense stillness broken only by the soft sound of a breeze tugging at his cloak. "But . . ." she repeated, dropping her gaze from his as her hair blew across her face, hiding her strained features and flushed cheeks from sight, "but, Tomoe-san was so . . . traditional." Spreading her hands in front of her in an a gesture intended to encompass all her short-comings, Kaoru put as much meaning as she could into the one word explanation. The other woman had been trained and refined and readied for marriage; taught how to cook and how to manage the household -- even what to expect and how to react in the marriage bed. Kaoru had been raised without a mother's guidance, without benefit of the gentler arts, and her abilities fell far short of what was expected from a Japanese wife. She couldn't manage to produce a meal even with Misao's expert help! Did she disappoint her rurouni? Kenshin never complained, but his kindness would never have permitted him to willingly hurt her feelings. In the absence of any other scale, Tomoe had become the standard against which she measured herself, her memory seeming to watch Kaoru as disapprovingly as the most hostile of in-laws.
Hiko snorted, conveying a wealth of censure with the small sound. "I know of no tradition which expects a wife to judge her husband's every move and motive, nor one which directs her to discover weaknesses to exploit, opportunities to betray his trust." The words were stark and uncompromising, bitterly blunt. "She came to him with no thought but to harm a young man whose heart was too generous and forgiving to see how he was being used and misled. When he was teetering on the edge of madness, torn between the horror of his actions and the purity of his goal, she would have pushed him over more willingly than hold him back." His dark gaze gentled as he focused on Kaoru's startled expression. "When one has never had the warmth of reality, even the pretense of family and its commonplace patterns will be comforting and welcome. Yours is a far more traditional marriage than theirs ever pretended to be, despite how her heart might have warmed in the time they were together." He nodded at the gravestone with its fresh offering of flowers, "If that one had any right to judge how you care for him, she'd be forced to admit you're more what he needs than she could ever have been." Generous and forgiving, possessing a gentleness inside that was a match for Kenshin's own, and the warmth to express it freely. The young woman stared back at him -- blue eyes big as teacups -- and his anger dissipated as quickly as it had come, replaced by a chiding amusement. "What? Did you think I knew so little of my baka deshi's life after he left to join the Ishinshishi?" His smile was wry, his dark eyes sad as he shook his head, "I know more than Kenshin guesses; if the Hitokiri Battousai were truly the monster he sometimes imagines, the rurouni would not have survived to meet you in Tokyo."
Kaoru blinked, surprised more by this confession than by Hiko's opinion of Tomoe. She'd long suspected that Kenshin painted himself with a brush more stained than his actions deserved, the color driven by his conscience rather than actual truth. Demo . . . Her brows drew together as she considered the disparity between Hiko's depiction and her own conceived image of Kenshin's former life. Though his shishou's words were far more blunt than those Kenshin himself had used, the relationship he described was not so very different from the one her rurouni had hinted at and glossed over, saying only that he'd learned what happiness was during their time together. The same kindness that protects my feelings . . . wouldn't he seek to protect Tomoe-san's memory, too? She'd taken Kenshin's reassurances lightly, thinking them simply sweet words containing little truth -- and loving him all the more for it -- without ever realizing that the same could be true when he spoke of Tomoe. Perhaps . . . perhaps it would be all right to believe . . .
"Jou-chan, I had hoped my only student's woman would prove somewhat smarter than he . . . don't dash my hopes now." Kaoru blinked again, shaken from her musings by Hiko's jovially sarcastic comment. "Anyone with a bit of sense can see it doesn't matter to him whether or not you can cook, or if you make a mess of the tea ceremony, or if you have no idea what to do with a fan."
She nodded, even as her face clouded again. "But . . ." it was almost a whisper, "I care." Because Tomoe had known, and a wife should know . . . but mostly because she wanted to see the look on Kenshin's face when she managed it.
Exhaling a long, exasperated sigh that might have fooled her before she'd seen him with Kiriko, Hiko offered her his hand to help her to her feet. "Then learn. Kenshin's miso was the most caustic thing I'd ever eaten in my life . . . until I tried his kinpira." Her skeptical expression prompted another of his deep-voiced laughs. "I'm not lying, jou-chan. If he could learn to cook for a critic like me, surely you can manage it for a critic like him."
Kaoru wrinkled her nose at his teasing, briefly contemplated mentioning Yahiko, then decided that agreeing with the one person who had ever encouraged her to try was probably a wise move. "Thank you."
Broad shoulders shrugged off her thanks as he gently reminded her of her reason for being there, "Have you said what you came to say?"
"No . . . but I didn't really know what I wanted to tell her until now." She looked down at Tomoe's marker again as he moved away, finding that she could smile this time. I promise . . . The vow was wordless, crafted more of emotion than thought. Everything in her heart would have to be enough.
"If you don't hurry you'll miss your train!" Hiko called, his impatience feigned if his concern was not.
"Hai! I'm coming!" Her geta pattered a clacking rhythm on the road as she hurried to join him at the edge of the cemetery. "Ne, Hiko-san," she commented, following a few steps behind him as he escorted her to the train station, "Kenshin told me you hardly ever come into Kyoto proper. Did you come just to see us off?" She was delighted when the question seemed to prompt a spate of embarrassed fidgeting on his part, even though his answer was typical of his accustomed confidence.
"Give up my morning to wave at the lot of you as you board one of those noisy monstrosities? Hardly!"
"Mmm." Blue eyes glistening with humor, she nodded sagely. "I thought not. You just came for Kiriko-chan, ne?"
Caught by surprise and without one of his snappy responses, Hiko opened and closed his mouth a few times in amazement. "No," he began as she watched him with an air of innocent curiosity, "I came to buy--"
"No?" Raising her eyebrows in feigned surprise, Kaoru looked him up and down as if searching for something. "Hiko-san," she scolded, "don't tell me you forgot to bring her a present!" Hazel eyes slid guiltily toward the netsuke on his belt -- from which hung a small, brightly hued box -- then narrowed suspiciously as she giggled.
"'kaaaaaachaaaaan!"
"Wait, Kiriko-chan!"
Laughing delightedly as her oniichan pelted after her, Kiriko all but knocked Kaoru off her feet as she latched onto her mother from behind, little arms wrapping tightly around her legs in an exuberant hug. "Told you it was 'kaachan!" she crowed as Yahiko jogged to a halt beside them.
"Yes," the tall youth agreed, resting his hands on his knees and bending down to her level, "but, what if it hadn't been?"
She leaned toward him, too, still clinging tightly to her mother's kimono. "But it was."
He crouched down a little further, brows lowered in an attempt to look serious. "But what if it wasn't?"
"But it was!" Kiriko stretched up on her tiptoes, bringing herself nose to nose with him. "It really and truly was!"
"Give it up, Yahiko," Kaoru laughed, "she's too little to understand worrying over what might have been." He grunted in reply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Poor protective oniichan," she commiserated teasingly as Kiriko finally let her go, running over to bestow a similarly energetic greeting on Hiko. Yahiko rolled his eyes at her in response, wisely deciding to hold his tongue; after bickering with Misao for almost three days straight, he'd had his fill of women who could outsmart him.
"'kaachaaaaan! Hiko-jiichan says to tell 'touchan to hurry or we'll miss the train!" Perched on her ojiichan's shoulders, Kiriko delivered this dire prediction in a worried voice. Kenshin hadn't joined in the mad dash down the road, his sandals beating a much slower rhythm against the packed dirt of the road as he approached, and the little girl obviously believed the slight delay was cause for concern.
"It's alright, koneko," he reassured her, his eyes carefully assessing Kaoru as she looped her arm through his in wordless welcome, "we have plenty of time."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Kiriko smiled, satisfied that her father knew best. "'Touchan says we have time," she told Hiko in a loud whisper, leaning down to make sure he heard her.
"Thank you little one," he responded, winking at Kaoru. "What would I do without you to tell me these things?"
Kenshin's prediction proved correct, their little group arriving at the train station with ample time to spare. Hiko was the only one there to see them off, his large frame winning them room to breathe among the jostling crowd. Never comfortable with drawn out goodbyes, Kaoru had said her farewells before leaving the Aoiya that morning, Kenshin and the others following suit -- Misao and Okina could be quite emotional when people they loved had plans to leave, even if it was only a temporary parting. Subject to some of that same discomfort, Yahiko volunteered to find their seats when it came time to board, bolting up the stairs and out of sight almost before the conductor had finished giving the okay.
"Time to say goodbye, koneko," Kenshin told her, reaching up to take Kiriko from his master's shoulders.
"Nooooo!" she protested, grasping a handful of Hiko's hair and holding on, "Hiko-jiichan daisuki!" She tugged fiercely on the long black strands she held as Kenshin plucked her from her perch, reluctantly letting go when it became apparent her tactic wasn't going to work. Hiko bore the pulling stoically, pretending not to wince in pain. The tiny girl's chin trembled as her father set her back on her feet, her bottom lip poking out in a pitiful little pout. "Sayonara," she mumbled when prompted, her expression mutinous and disappointed.
Hiko chuckled slightly, kneeling down as he pulled the brightly-hued box Kaoru had noticed before from its place on his belt. "Maa maa, little one . . . with that face you're making, I don't know if you deserve this." He shook the box gently, producing a familiar-sounding rattle.
"Kaichin?" Kiriko asked, her pout fading at the prospect of presents. Maybe goodbyes weren't so bad after all.
"Come open it and see."
Another shake produced another rattle, coaxing her closer. "Daijoubu?" At his nod she reached out gingerly, holding her breath as she removed the paper lid. Inside was a selection of tiny sweets, fashioned in a variety of shapes. The little seagulls even had sesame seeds for eyes! "What are they?" she asked, whispering as if fearful the dainty things would break if she spoke too loudly.
"Kaichin wagashi," her mother answered, bending down to peek in the box still cupped in Hiko's hands. "Jellies. They're only made in the Spring."
Wide eyed and hopeful, Kiriko looked at Hiko. "Can Kiriko try one?"
Tender emotion flickered briefly across his features. "Yes."
After careful consideration she selected a plum blossom, bouncing up and down in delight as its sweetness melted on her tongue. "Oishii!" she cried, throwing her arms around Hiko's neck she hugged him for all she was worth, "Arigatou, Hiko-jiichan!!" His dark eyes softened as he hesitantly embraced her in return, holding her carefully, the way men who have no experience with children often do.
"That's enough now, Kiriko-chan," Kaoru told them as the conductor shouted again for passengers to board the train. She helped the fumbling little fingers to put the lid back on the box of kaichin, reflecting ruefully that a fondness for puddles might be preferable to a new penchant for making noise. "We're going to have a terrible time persuading her not to shake that box," she groaned reproachfully as Kiriko ran to show her new treasure to Kenshin.
"Giving her presents that you hate for her to have is part of an ojiichan's job," Hiko retorted, grinning. "Or didn't you know?"
Heaving an exasperated sigh she briefly considered lecturing him on his attitude, then conceded -- at least to herself -- that it would be a waste of time and energy. She settled for a good strong yank on the hair Kiriko had already tried to remove, and a one-word warning: "Behave". His scalp was still smarting when she stepped in close to embraced him warmly, whispering both a goodbye and a thank you before letting him go. "Don't be too long," she warned Kenshin, taking Kiriko's hand in hers, "we'll be waiting."
Both men watched as mother and daughter boarded the train, Hiko chuckling softly when Kiriko stopped at the top of the stairs to wave goodbye one last time. "You're luckier than you deserve to be, baka deshi."
The younger man nodded agreement almost impatiently, needing to know that Kaoru was as content as she seemed far more than he needed simple truths explained to him. "Shishou, Kaoru--"
"I like her," there was a note of respect in Hiko's voice that Kenshin had heard before on very few occasions, "I have since the moment I learned she'd followed you here all the way from Tokyo." He glanced sidelong at his student, "I taught you the ougi for her sake at least as much as your own." Although Kenshin had never considered it before, it wasn't hard to believe: Hiko had been adamant in his refusal until Kaoru had appeared in his doorway. "You needed her, yet had convinced yourself that you couldn't have her as long as there was a chance the Battousai would awaken." There would always be that chance, and Hiko spared a moment's thought to wonder if Kenshin knew it. "She was the reason you'd come back . . . and after realizing that, I couldn't send you away empty-handed." The older man's gaze suddenly sharpened, focusing on the younger man's face and glowering for all the world like a protective father. "Take care of her. Take care of them both." It was the closest he would ever come to telling Kenshin to take care of himself.
"Yes . . . but, is she-"
Hiko interrupted with a swift shake of his head. "She's fine . . . she just needed someone to tell her so. It's hard living in a memory's shadow. A woman like that deserves to be first."
Kenshin blinked, confused despite himself. "She is." First in his heart, first in his thoughts.
"Then make sure she knows it," his shishou answered, his voice losing its patient tone. Grimacing in near pain at his former student's lack of insight, Hiko gestured at the waiting train. "Hurry up before they come looking for you." The departure whistle sounded even as he spoke, a shrill, sharp warning before the train began to move.
Sighing as he realized Hiko had been as forthcoming as he intended to be, and that he had no more time to pry, Kenshin said the only thing there was left to say: "Be well, shishou."
Watching as the slender, flame-haired figure darted through the thinning crowd and up the few short steps, Hiko quietly returned the favor. "Be well, Kenshin."
He'd already turned to leave when the piping voice cried his name, calling him back. "Hiko-jiichaaaaan!" A moment's odd panic gave way to a rush of amused relief as he spotted Kiriko waving from the train. "Hiko-jiichan! 'Kaachan says to tell you that fall is the best time to visit, and that if you come in October . . ." her little face scrunched in thought, obviously trying to remember what Kaoru had told her. Another cheerful face appeared in the window for a moment, and Kiriko's expression relaxed enough to show her dimples as her mother whispered the part she'd forgotten. "If you come in October, she's fairly safe with rice!"
Shaking his head at the two of them, laughing a little, he waved them off, feeling only a little foolish when he realized what he was doing. Smitten with a two-year old and her mother. Well . . . at least he could understand the little one, and her mother was quite definitely Kenshin's problem.
Hiko-ojiichan.
If pressed, he'd have been forced to admit he was quite taken with it.
Index of Japanese terms:
Author's notes, questions, comments, and random babbling
Sekihara Tae
tae@sekihara.dreamhost.com
Teaser: July 19, 1999
Revised: August 29, 1999
Completed January 11, 2000