A year in a night.
Dec. 12th, 2006 09:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nebuliaJust tonight wrote a fic. An RK fic, to be precise.
I'm going to post it here before I edit it and FFN it. If anyone reads this thing, I'd love feedback.
Title: Conversations
Summary: "Is it everything you dreamed it would be, when the world was younger and you had everything to lose?" A year in the life of Kamiya Kaoru, who has nothing left to lose. [KK]
September
She supposed that her father had protected her from them. The rumors, that is. Her father was a terrifying man when he wanted to be, and all of Tokyo knew it.
But now that he was dead, she heard them all.
Whore…no dowry…mother ran off…a man in a kimono…
They disgraced her family, her father, herself.
She was sickened.
“Did you know?” she asked his grave, “You must have known. How long had they spoken about us like that?”
The grave was silent.
She should’ve expected that.
October
Students left. Not in droves, but out of the fifteen they had had, there were only ten left.
Along with them went Sakaki-chan, the little girl—just five—the only other girl, whom her father had entrusted to her to teach, just Kaoru. It had been a high honor; Kaoru taught classes, about half of them, actually, but to be the sole instructor of this little girl, the legacy of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu…it had been a great honor.
“We don’t want a shihandai, and only a girl at that, teaching our daughter,” her parents said.
Sakaki-chan cried, but Kaoru was the teacher, and couldn’t do that. Not in front of her students.
Later, she did.
November
She had not been so alone, not for the longest time. She hated it. Those last few months, maybe the last year, her father had been gone often, but he was still there when she needed to talk.
But three and a half months after his death, an ill man collapsed on her doorstep. He was, she learned later, named Kihei, in his forties, deathly poor but fairly kind.
But there was something about him she didn’t trust. She didn’t know why, but her instincts were good, she knew that much.
She just didn’t tell him everything.
He wanted her to move, to sell the dojo.
“Women shouldn’t be fighting with swords,” he said.
Just like everyone else.
Were they right?
December
And then the killings began.
A man, who slashed and ran, leaving a note: Hitokiri Battousai of the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu.
The stupid policemen, those men who had known her, her father had fucking worked with them, known them for years, believed it.
She could do nothing.
January
By the new Western year, 1878, she had no students left and any good-standing she had in the general community was gone.
A few dojos still welcomed her, and the crazy doctor, Oguni-sensei, was always kind, but Kihei urged her to sell and she wouldn’t wouldn’t wouldn’t.
It wasn’t just her legacy; it was her father’s honor.
She felt defiled, even though she’d never been touched. It was a rape of her honor.
She was angry and afraid and the whispers were no longer whispers, but spoken openly, almost to her face.
When the fourth killing happened, she began her nightly patrols, chasing after this Battousai—was he really the Battousai? Something in her said he was too dishonorable—and dragging in thugs that deserved to be in jail.
The night of the ninth killing, she beat up a prospective rapist with such vigor that it was unlikely he would ever walk again.
She cried for hours afterwards, knowing that even though the man still lived, she had not used the sword that protects.
Was she raping her own honor?
February
And then there was him.
She thought, maybe, he would understand and had merely been surprised at her outburst. After all, he was much more than a mere rurouni. And yet, as she observed him, she quickly realized that he felt no honor for what he had done. But regardless, she trusted him more than she had ever trusted anyone; he was her oxymoron, her savior, her wanderer, and though maybe neither of them had realized it, but they must have both known it from day one.
He shunned satsujin-ken as much as she did. He stated a sword was meant to kill, and yet he swore never to take a life again and carried a sword of his own.
He was a walking paradox; a gentle samurai, strong but small, soft and hard, but beautiful. And caring.
This month, he fascinated her. She had never seen hair so bright or eyes so gentle or skills so refined. She watched him save Yahiko with a tenderness she’d never seen in a man, not even her father.
This month, he fascinated her.
She didn’t believe in love at first sight.
March
But his novelty didn’t wear off. And her life wasn’t complete without him.
She was amassing a family. She’d never had a family before. She had her father. But not a family. And suddenly, she was surrounded by people who seemed to need her.
And she was in awe of their strength. Perhaps they needed her, and yet she was aware of the truth.
The truth was she needed them more than they needed her.
It hurt, a little, but then, perhaps she was used to it.
April
The students wouldn’t return, but Yahiko’s diligence—no matter how much he hid it—made up for that more than anything.
Kenshin smiled at her, and Sano gave her a nickname, and, though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone but herself, even Megumi-san had a place in her heart.
On the way home from the market, the day after the Raijuta incident, Kenshin’s fingers brushed hers.
She looked up to his face and found him much closer than he’d been moments before. Blushing furiously, she looked back down.
Kenshin was flushed too, and his fingers brushed hers again.
He was about to move away when she reached out and touched his hand.
Their fingers spoke to each other all the way home.
May
Just when she thought it might work out—she would have another student, in a year or two, and looking ahead was good, Kenshin smiled at her more than ever, Yahiko was advancing with leaps and bounds she hadn’t thought possible—just when she thought it might work out, it all fell apart.
He left, and she suddenly found everything she thought possible gone.
It was Megumi-san who had knocked some sense—literally—into her, and she had followed him to Kyoto.
The relief in his eyes when she got there was worth it.
June
She fought. She won. She broke a couple ribs, but she’d been hurt worse.
Kenshin spent a week unconscious, sleeping in Kaoru and Yahiko’s room because now that Aoshi was back, and Sano was staying, there wasn’t much place else to sleep. They took turns watching him, though Megumi-san was there sometimes, too, but there were always shadows under her eyes.
And then another two weeks in bed, sleeping a lot, dreaming more often, about people Kaoru recognized and people she didn’t, and she wanted to know. He didn’t have to tell her, but he could tell her anything and she wouldn’t hate him. She wanted all of him, past and present and future, and even though their hands had had conversations, he had left.
And hand-conversations were not real, after all.
July
And Kenshin was well and finally they went home, and there was peace, three weeks of it almost, but it was the kind of awkward peace where everyone was happy but Kaoru, at least, knew it couldn’t last.
And yet, it was peace. And their hands were speaking again, but sometimes they spoke too, aloud, and that was even better, warmer.
And then the feelings that something would be wrong became knowledge that something was wrong, and then the day came when the Akabeko exploded and the day came when she found out Kenshin and Sano were lying to her and then the day came when Kenshin spoke of Tomoe-san and Enishi-san.
And that night, Megumi’s words—You’re no replacement for Tomoe-san¬—cut sharper than any blade Kaoru had ever known.
August
She found out later that they did need her.
For some reason, without her, their family fell apart. Sano had left, Kenshin’s heart was dead, Megumi was crying, Yahiko was angry, the dojo wasn’t fixed.
She spent three weeks in limbo, cooking, improving her miso, watching a broken man work out his own sick plans of revenge.
They spent three weeks in hell.
Kaoru returned home, and Megumi’s first words were, “I can’t heal his heart, Kaoru,” and so when he could, they went to Kyoto.
And he took her hand and their fingers were too busy touching to have conversations, so their elbows talked instead.
It might be slow, but it was a start. There was a home waiting in Tokyo, a life she could have, two students who loved the sword more than anything and something she hadn’t seen in a year: hope.
And that was all she needed.
Would love any feedback you're willing to give. Remember, unedited!
nebulia out.
I'm going to post it here before I edit it and FFN it. If anyone reads this thing, I'd love feedback.
Title: Conversations
Summary: "Is it everything you dreamed it would be, when the world was younger and you had everything to lose?" A year in the life of Kamiya Kaoru, who has nothing left to lose. [KK]
September
She supposed that her father had protected her from them. The rumors, that is. Her father was a terrifying man when he wanted to be, and all of Tokyo knew it.
But now that he was dead, she heard them all.
Whore…no dowry…mother ran off…a man in a kimono…
They disgraced her family, her father, herself.
She was sickened.
“Did you know?” she asked his grave, “You must have known. How long had they spoken about us like that?”
The grave was silent.
She should’ve expected that.
October
Students left. Not in droves, but out of the fifteen they had had, there were only ten left.
Along with them went Sakaki-chan, the little girl—just five—the only other girl, whom her father had entrusted to her to teach, just Kaoru. It had been a high honor; Kaoru taught classes, about half of them, actually, but to be the sole instructor of this little girl, the legacy of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu…it had been a great honor.
“We don’t want a shihandai, and only a girl at that, teaching our daughter,” her parents said.
Sakaki-chan cried, but Kaoru was the teacher, and couldn’t do that. Not in front of her students.
Later, she did.
November
She had not been so alone, not for the longest time. She hated it. Those last few months, maybe the last year, her father had been gone often, but he was still there when she needed to talk.
But three and a half months after his death, an ill man collapsed on her doorstep. He was, she learned later, named Kihei, in his forties, deathly poor but fairly kind.
But there was something about him she didn’t trust. She didn’t know why, but her instincts were good, she knew that much.
She just didn’t tell him everything.
He wanted her to move, to sell the dojo.
“Women shouldn’t be fighting with swords,” he said.
Just like everyone else.
Were they right?
December
And then the killings began.
A man, who slashed and ran, leaving a note: Hitokiri Battousai of the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu.
The stupid policemen, those men who had known her, her father had fucking worked with them, known them for years, believed it.
She could do nothing.
January
By the new Western year, 1878, she had no students left and any good-standing she had in the general community was gone.
A few dojos still welcomed her, and the crazy doctor, Oguni-sensei, was always kind, but Kihei urged her to sell and she wouldn’t wouldn’t wouldn’t.
It wasn’t just her legacy; it was her father’s honor.
She felt defiled, even though she’d never been touched. It was a rape of her honor.
She was angry and afraid and the whispers were no longer whispers, but spoken openly, almost to her face.
When the fourth killing happened, she began her nightly patrols, chasing after this Battousai—was he really the Battousai? Something in her said he was too dishonorable—and dragging in thugs that deserved to be in jail.
The night of the ninth killing, she beat up a prospective rapist with such vigor that it was unlikely he would ever walk again.
She cried for hours afterwards, knowing that even though the man still lived, she had not used the sword that protects.
Was she raping her own honor?
February
And then there was him.
She thought, maybe, he would understand and had merely been surprised at her outburst. After all, he was much more than a mere rurouni. And yet, as she observed him, she quickly realized that he felt no honor for what he had done. But regardless, she trusted him more than she had ever trusted anyone; he was her oxymoron, her savior, her wanderer, and though maybe neither of them had realized it, but they must have both known it from day one.
He shunned satsujin-ken as much as she did. He stated a sword was meant to kill, and yet he swore never to take a life again and carried a sword of his own.
He was a walking paradox; a gentle samurai, strong but small, soft and hard, but beautiful. And caring.
This month, he fascinated her. She had never seen hair so bright or eyes so gentle or skills so refined. She watched him save Yahiko with a tenderness she’d never seen in a man, not even her father.
This month, he fascinated her.
She didn’t believe in love at first sight.
March
But his novelty didn’t wear off. And her life wasn’t complete without him.
She was amassing a family. She’d never had a family before. She had her father. But not a family. And suddenly, she was surrounded by people who seemed to need her.
And she was in awe of their strength. Perhaps they needed her, and yet she was aware of the truth.
The truth was she needed them more than they needed her.
It hurt, a little, but then, perhaps she was used to it.
April
The students wouldn’t return, but Yahiko’s diligence—no matter how much he hid it—made up for that more than anything.
Kenshin smiled at her, and Sano gave her a nickname, and, though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone but herself, even Megumi-san had a place in her heart.
On the way home from the market, the day after the Raijuta incident, Kenshin’s fingers brushed hers.
She looked up to his face and found him much closer than he’d been moments before. Blushing furiously, she looked back down.
Kenshin was flushed too, and his fingers brushed hers again.
He was about to move away when she reached out and touched his hand.
Their fingers spoke to each other all the way home.
May
Just when she thought it might work out—she would have another student, in a year or two, and looking ahead was good, Kenshin smiled at her more than ever, Yahiko was advancing with leaps and bounds she hadn’t thought possible—just when she thought it might work out, it all fell apart.
He left, and she suddenly found everything she thought possible gone.
It was Megumi-san who had knocked some sense—literally—into her, and she had followed him to Kyoto.
The relief in his eyes when she got there was worth it.
June
She fought. She won. She broke a couple ribs, but she’d been hurt worse.
Kenshin spent a week unconscious, sleeping in Kaoru and Yahiko’s room because now that Aoshi was back, and Sano was staying, there wasn’t much place else to sleep. They took turns watching him, though Megumi-san was there sometimes, too, but there were always shadows under her eyes.
And then another two weeks in bed, sleeping a lot, dreaming more often, about people Kaoru recognized and people she didn’t, and she wanted to know. He didn’t have to tell her, but he could tell her anything and she wouldn’t hate him. She wanted all of him, past and present and future, and even though their hands had had conversations, he had left.
And hand-conversations were not real, after all.
July
And Kenshin was well and finally they went home, and there was peace, three weeks of it almost, but it was the kind of awkward peace where everyone was happy but Kaoru, at least, knew it couldn’t last.
And yet, it was peace. And their hands were speaking again, but sometimes they spoke too, aloud, and that was even better, warmer.
And then the feelings that something would be wrong became knowledge that something was wrong, and then the day came when the Akabeko exploded and the day came when she found out Kenshin and Sano were lying to her and then the day came when Kenshin spoke of Tomoe-san and Enishi-san.
And that night, Megumi’s words—You’re no replacement for Tomoe-san¬—cut sharper than any blade Kaoru had ever known.
August
She found out later that they did need her.
For some reason, without her, their family fell apart. Sano had left, Kenshin’s heart was dead, Megumi was crying, Yahiko was angry, the dojo wasn’t fixed.
She spent three weeks in limbo, cooking, improving her miso, watching a broken man work out his own sick plans of revenge.
They spent three weeks in hell.
Kaoru returned home, and Megumi’s first words were, “I can’t heal his heart, Kaoru,” and so when he could, they went to Kyoto.
And he took her hand and their fingers were too busy touching to have conversations, so their elbows talked instead.
It might be slow, but it was a start. There was a home waiting in Tokyo, a life she could have, two students who loved the sword more than anything and something she hadn’t seen in a year: hope.
And that was all she needed.
Would love any feedback you're willing to give. Remember, unedited!
nebulia out.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-12-15 01:23 am (UTC)Oh, and sorry I've been such a lamer lately << It's finally Christmas break, so I can chill, and actually do stuff, like radRK fic, and hopefully write some.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-15 03:49 am (UTC)I'm glad you like it! It was one of those things that just popped out and appeared out of nowhere; it was soooo easy to write. I love stuf like that. ^_^
no subject
Date: 2006-12-26 11:29 pm (UTC)