Two Beds and a Coffee Machine Part One: These Two Scents By Clay The girl couldn't be more than three years old. She hovers in front of a noodle shop, large brown eyes darting about, scanning the crowd. She's anxious, afraid, and a tear streaks down her cheek as she hugs her little cloth doll tighter. She's obviously lost. The walls around my heart seem to crumble a little as I watch her. I wonder what kind of parent would be so inattentive as to lose such a beautiful little girl. Two drunken men amble their way across her path and the girl stumbles backwards, hitting the wooden storefront. Another tear finds its way down her pale skin and she starts to cry in earnest now, faint calls for her mother barely heard above the din of the crowd. I should take this girl to the authorities, but even as that thought comes to mind, the two drunks stop and turn towards her. A smile passes between them that does nothing but disturb me and I automatically take a step forward, ready to kill if necessary. After all, whatever their reasons for wanting this little girl, they would be nothing good. One man, the taller one, seems to be the leader. He approaches the child while the other man hangs back, hand posed above a poorly concealed knife. His mouth moves, but the words are whispered and even I cannot make them out. The girl shrinks back in fear. I cannot let this happen, but... but if I do attempt to stop them, I may not be able to stop myself from killing these men. I have been the cause of far too much death in this country, and I swore to myself that I would never kill again. Old habits are hard to break. No child should ever witness violence or death, but my options are fight or walk away, leaving this girl to the mercy of these men. I can feel the fear resonate from her small body and I have no choice. "Walk away." I try to put anger into my eyes, my voice, but emotions are difficult these days. Apparently some of it gets through. The shorter man flinches, the hand at his side wavering. His fear fills the air, mingling with that of the girls. The taller one, however, is unaffected. "Walk away?" He smiles at me as if the very thought is ludicrous. "Maybe you should mind your own business." With a move he likely considers quick, the thrug draws his own poorly concealed weapon and shoves it against my throat. I watch him, almost amused that he thinks his tactics will scare me. He speaks again, "What can you do? That sword is useless in such close range." I'm growing bored of this, so out of slight annoyance and possibly a bit of pride, I clasp the hilt of my reverse blade and draw quickly, shoving the butt deep into his stomach. The knife drops to the dirt and he keels over, holding on to my shoulder for support. I don't want this man touching me. My eyes sweep back to the shorter man. "Take him and go." He seems to be wimpering to himself as he grabs the other's shirt and tugs him away. I watch as they turn to go before finally facing the girl. Her large brown eyes are filled with tears and its obvious she's no less scared of me than the thugs. I can feel a sort of disappointment twist my insides. All I ever wanted was to help people, and now... now children cringe in fear of me. "Are you all right?" I try to make my voice sound friendly; it comes easier than the anger. She stares at me a moment before answering. "Are you a demon?" Of course. What else could I be with blood red hair and amber eyes? "I'm a man." She doesn't seem to believe me, though her voice trembles less with her next question. "Will you hurt me?" "I'd like to protect you." After a moment of hesitation, her voice comes to my ears, soft but steady. "Okay." I take this as my cue to join her, moving to sit against the storefront. She scans the crowd once again and then looks me over. "You'll get dirty." Dirty? "What?" She points to the ground. "You're sitting in the dirt." Her earnesty brings a smile to my lips for the first time in months. "It's okay. I don't mind being dirty." She seems to consider this and, perhaps in an effort not to be shown up, plops down in the dirt beside me, doll still clutched to her chest. She returns my smile. "I can be dirty, too." The next few moments pass in silence and I turn my attention to the passerbys in an attempt to locate someone in distress. Once again I think of the inattentiveness of the parent or gaurdian, the carelessness. It disgusts me that any person would take their own child for granted. The girl sniffles and I turn my attention back to her. Her round cheeks are streaked with tears. She looks at me, catching and holding my gaze with an intensity only a child could possess. "Is Mommy gone forever?" I have no answer for her. "Did she leave you here?" Through soft sobs, she tells her story. She had wandered off in search of toys while her mother was otherwise occupied. The crowd is thick this time of day. She had lost her way quickly and had seen no sign of her mother since. The girl couldn't tell me how long ago that was; she seemed to have little sense of time. I suppose all children do. I suppress a sigh and turn to watch the crowd once again. A parent should be cautious when considering her child and even more so in these circumstances. To so easily misplace a child.... I almost regret having to return the girl. Almost. No matter how inattentive the mother may be, this girl is by far safer here than in my company. I feel as if near ten minutes have passed since we last spoke and I decide it is time to start searching. The girl's wimpers have died away and I turn to see her sleeping quietly, forehead resting on bent knees. I'm not surprised; she had been crying since before I found her. Sadness is exhausting. I bend to lift the girl and my stomach gives a groan of protest. A little food would do us both some good. I reach into my gi to search for my purse. After spilling the coins into my palm, I count that I have enough for a few more sparse meals. I'll need to find work before I leave this city. I should have enough to buy the girl something sweet. The image of her fingers sticky with bean paste comes to mind and I almost find myself smiling again. Before I have the chance, however, I remember that I will never be able to bring life into this world. Death is all I have to give, and besides... no child should be tainted with my blood. I'm being morbid. My training kicks in and I shut out those thoughts, focusing solely on the task at hand. Find food. I lift the girl and lay her head to rest on my shoulder. Her body fits so comfotably in my arms. She is lighter than I imagined and smells faintly of white plum. Her mother's perfume? I bend my head take in more of the scent; the girl must be high class for her mother to wear such a delicate scent. For a moment I try to imagine the woman, but nothing I can imagine seems quite right. All I know for sure is that she's beautiful. I pull myself out of my reverie and begin to walk. There are restaurants and cheap food stalls lined along the streets, teeming with more smells than I could even attempt to identify. The aromas of grilled fish and steamed sweet potatoes hit me the hardest. A ramen cart jostles its way through the crowd in search of fresh business as a soba stand advertises its new Western beef soup less than an arm's length away. I haven't eaten since early this morning, and though the sights and smells are more than tempting, I can't seem to make myself stop and choose. Instead I continue to wander the streets, content to feel the girl's heart beat against my shoulder in time with my own. I turn corner after corner, forgetting the self imposed mission of returning this child to her parents. I find myself watching the people, sharing a grin and a nod with a father purchasing a toy boat for his son. At this moment, this child is mine.... Even if she's not of my flesh and blood, her life is in my hands. It is my responsibility to protect her, to insure that her every moment is one of happiness. I have no idea how long my wanderings last, but in the end, I find myself in front of a small sweets shop not far from where I first found the girl. Hunger has at last taken a hold over my actions and I peruse the pastries at my leisure. Among the sweet bean buns and sticky rice balls I find two dishes of a decandent Chinese custard. The scent of it is slightly heady and it adds to my increasingly good mood. The girl shifts slightly as I move to produce the few coins I need. Her hair brushes my lower jaw and the smell of white plum mixes in with that of the custard. I'll remember these two scents for the rest of my life. "What's happening?" The girl rubs the sleep from her eyes as I lift the wrapped pastries from the counter. Her smile is sweet, eyes bright when I answer. "I found us a snack." The news is followed by an exclamation of joy and two tiny hands groping determinedly for the custard. I find a chuckle rising to my lips. "Not yet. We should find a place to sit first." "Please now? I'm hungry now." It seems I can't stop smiling since I've met this girl. "I know. I'll hurry." Just as I step into the street, the attack begins. It starts with an odd tingle beneath my arm that every so slowly transforms into a horrible sweet itching sensation. From there it balloons outward, skidding down my side and across my shoulder blades. The girl stops tickling me for half a moment. Our eyes meet and she knows she's won. After a terrible attempt at suppressing a laugh, I thrust the wrapped sweets into her hands. Anything to get her to stop. Moments later we are seated against the side of a closed shop, exploring the treats at our own paces. Hers is nearly devoured by the time she turns to speak to me. "That always works on Mommy. Mommy says..." She trails off and I can see tears forming in her eyes. I pass the rest of my custard to her and watch her. She seems to have a hard time swallowing through her tears. I wish I could comfort her, but I could tell her nothing but lies and half truths, which I refuse to do. Besides, the time with my Master never prepared me for the care of a little girl. Once again I find my thoughts returning to this girl's mother. When I had first come across the girl, I had assumed she was ignored by her parents, but in just a short time I could tell this wasn't so. She seemed to care for her mother very much, though most children do. She is comfortable and trusting enough to sleep while being carried. She seems used to sweets and smiles come easily to her lips. And she tickles her mother. That thought makes me smile. If she tickles her mother, than her mother must tickle her as well. Suddenly I'm looking forward to meeting her. But it's getting late -- early spring and the sun is threatening to set. I consider my earlier plan of taking her to the police. And then I can feel her. Her fear and desperation is stronger than anything I've felt in a long time. "I've found your mother." The girl has finished the sweets and stares at me in wonder before standing and calling out to the crowd. I lift her into my arms once again and start off. The mother is a good twenty meters away, but I find her easily. Her back is to me; she's moving back and forth with indecision, and as I approach her, the scent of white plum surrounds me. I lay my hand on her shoulder. "Excuse me, Ma'am...." "Mommy!" It's just as well that the girl acts because I find myself unable to speak. She is beautiful, far more so than I had imagined. Black hair feathers around her smooth, pale cheeks as she fixes her thick lashed eyes on me. For an instant I find myself caught in her deep brown irises before she rips her gaze away to find her daughter. The girl practically jumps out of my arms, and at the same time the mother lunges forward, arms outstretched to pull her daughter close. The woman drops to her knees, head bent into her daughter's soft hair. Through her sobs I can hear her call the girl's name. Sumire, the color violet. I wonder for a moment what the mother's name is, but I realize I'm no longer needed here. Mother and daughter are reunited and it is time for me to move on. I stare a moment longer, locking this memory away to give me purpose as the years pass by. After only three steps, I hear the woman's voice, "Wait," but I do not stop. It is possible that she may want to thank me for the return of her daughter, but I desire no recognition. Besides, it is much more likely that I will be blamed a kidnapper, and to see hate in someone's eyes today would ruin my good mood. "Please, wait," her voice comes to me again. It is soft - once again I imagine her pale skin - and sweet -- not in the way sugar is sweet, but more like the taste of cold river water hitting your lips on a summer afternoon. I continue to walk. No good will come of us speaking. She has her child and will soon forget my existence. A few more steps and I feel a tug at the hem of my hakama. The girl -- Sumire -- is glaring up at me. "Hello." "Mommy said stop." This is puncuated with an angry pout. A moment later Sumire is scooped up by her mother, and as I meet her eyes, I am greeted with an equal amount of anger as well as confusion. The next few minutes are filled with silent contemplation. The muted sounds of people leaving the market fill the back of my mind as the woman looks me over. She takes in my worn clothing, the scar on my cheek, my hair, my eyes. There's a flash as of a sudden revelation and I see recognition in her eyes. Now it comes -- hate or fear. I wait to see which. Neither. I see anger -- so, so much anger, but instead of hate, I see more confusion. "You returned my daughter." What do I say to that? "Yes. Be more careful in the future." I look to the girl, traces of her pout still evident, though her eyes droop with weariness. I can't help but share one last smile wtih her before turning once again to go. And again I feel a tug, this time at my sleeve. The woman is watching me; her eyes have become unreadable. I wait for her to speak. At first she merely watches me, and I can only imagine what she is thinking. Another moment passes and she pulls her hand away from where it still clutches my sleeve, her cheeks going pink with embarassment. She recovers quickly, however. "Where are you going?" Another question I cannot answer; I do not know myself. "Would you please join my family for dinner?" A rare request, though not one I haven't heard before. A free meal is always tempting, but, "I doubt your husband will approve." Her reply is almost instantaneous. "That is not what I asked you." Who is this woman? Her forwardness puts me off, but it also intrigues me. She seems desperate to have my company, which worries me that I'm being set up, but.... My eyes drift to Sumire. She's fallen asleep against her mother's shoulder, her doll hanging limp in her arms. "Very well." The woman nods and I still cannot read her eyes. She turns to start away and then stops and faces me. A slight bow of the head, "My name is Sekimoto Tomoe." A pause. She is waiting for my name, though she obviously knows me. Well. I bow low, a show of respect. "Himura... Himura Kenshin." Chapter 2: A Day in the Life Not a word is spoken as I follow Tomoe through the streets. One corner and another are turned and I see that we are in a fairly high class part of the city. In time, she stops, hesitating a moment in front of an ornate gate. She glances my way and shifts the sleeping form of Sumire before pushing open the door and leading me through the gate, down a short stone path and into the ante room where we both remove our shoes. The shoji on my left side are closed, but to the right I see a small room for the family shrine followed by the eating room. Exiting onto the porch on the other side, I am met with a large garden. Violets and irises surround a carp pond; a buddist statue watches me from the far side. Tomoe has turned to her left and is walking toward the bedrooms. She passes the first room and stops in front of the second, just after the house turns a corner. She opens the door and I see a small room, obviously Sumire's. She places the girl in her futon as I wait outside, and as I wait, the shoji on the far end opens. The woman who steps onto the porch is someone even I would not want to meet on a dark night. Her eyes catch mine; I can see fear, anger, disgust, distrust.... Her eyes narrow, thin lips set in a scowl. Silver hair is pulled back in a severe bun and this woman is tall -- at least half a foot above my own head. "Daughter-in-law?" Her eyes never leave mine. I sense Tomoe stiffen. She finishes tucking Sumire in and hurries onto the porch. After a low bow, she speaks. "Mother-in-law, please forgive me. This man--" "I know who he is." Her eyes burn. A long pause, and her eyes finally flicker to Tomoe. "You sent the groceries ahead. I was worried, but now..." she continues just as Tomoe is about to speak, " I see you've merely been distracted by a man." The last word is spit out. "Mother-in-law, I--" She is silenced with a look. "We'll discuss this later, Tomoe. Prepare dinner." "Yes, Mother-in-law." Without another word, the woman turns and retreats into her room. Tomoe watches her go before heading for the kitchen. "Sekimoto-san?" Her back is to me, shoulders held proudly as she responds,"Would you like me to show you your room?" Do I? I was not under the impression that I was to stay the night here. But... what is it that I want? I want to stay with Sumire. Though.. "May I stay with you?" "Stay with me?" Her voice is soft, confused. I am not sure how to answer. She turns to me and I am once again struck by her beauty. I wish I could read her eyes as they search mine. "I would like that." I follow her to the kitchen. ---- Few words are exchanged as she cooks. I am content to watch her -- a mother, a wife, a woman -- the way she moves; one hand instinctively pulls back her sleeve to protect it as she checks the rice. Seasonings fall from her fingers without hesitation. In a still moment after the salmon had been removed from the grill, she turns to me. A minute passes. "You're so quiet." "Am I bothering you?" Another moment and it hits me how much she's relaxed since the market. "No," she turns back to the rice, "but I wonder what you're thinking." I don't answer. I can't answer. "My brother would sit with me while I cooked. It's comforting." "Watching you is comforting." And she continues to work. --- I am taken to my room to rest before dinner. I hear Tomoe wake Sumire; they need to eat before her husband returns. I understand. The needs of the wife and children must be taken care of so that when the husband returns, the wife may focus solely on him, on serving and pleasing him. How ignorant. As if on cue, the husband arrives. "I'm home." A deep voice, slightly rough. After a moment footfalls approach from the far side of the house. Tomoe's voice can be heard through the shoji to my right, cool and somewhat breathless. "Welcome home, darling." More footfalls passing by my room and another voice. "Tomoe-chan. Dinner." Without hesitation. "Yes, Mother-in-law." After a moment in which the only sound is that of Tomoe leaving, the mother speaks, her voice a harsh whisper. "Your wife has brought home a guest." A long pause where I imagine interesting looks are exchanged. "A man." "What?" His voice is low, but very, very angry. "And not just a man," I detect a smile in her voice. She's been waiting for this. "The assassin Battousai." The silence is painful. More thoughts stagger my mind than I've allowed in such a long time; the force of it is making me nauseous. I'm concerned for Tomoe... for myself... and it hurts. It's a rock, cold and jagged, dug out from deep within the earth and settled in my stomach. The cold seeps into my spine, my ribs. The weight in my stomach makes me want to vomit. I don't want to feel. "That bitch." The stone vanishes as the husband's voice penetrates my body. I'm angry. And relieved. Anger is simple. Anger I can do. "I'll take care of this." Heavy footsteps; my hand goes to my sword. "Asaba." We stop. The mother's voice is ice, stabbing my fire. "We shall discuss this later. In private." Perhaps she has remembered that I am on the other side of the shoji. "We have a guest." --- Introductions are cool and polite; Sekimoto Asaba is a tall man of average builld. His voice, as I ascertained before is quiet and rough. A bottle of sake is shared before Tomoe arrives to serve dinner. Throughout the meal, not a word is spoken to her. She is treated as if an invisible slave and I dare not break the illusion; it isn't my concern. Dinner, while tense, is uneventful. We discuss the weather, the season, the town. Safe topics. Sake slides down the man's throat until his eyes are glazed and the tension abates. Another attempt at idle chatter is made over tea, but I'm not one much for conversation. The most I can muster is a compliment on the meal as well as the house and garden. There is not much more to say and we soon retire. I catch a glimpse of Sumire while I head to my room, and I smile. She starts to smile in return, but her father, looming close, stops her with a look. I can only see his back, but I can see Sumire's eyes. And I see fear. A muttered comment and he disappears into his bedroom. I can feel my eyes narrow and repeat his parting words in my mind. 'Useless girl.' Anger. It comes so easily to me in the presence of this man. I cannot even comprehend the idea of a person being useless, much less this beautiful little girl. My eyes drift back to Sumire, but she's gone, hidden in the darkness of her room. It is only after I am in my own room, door closed, clothes strewn on the floor and pulling on my yukata that I realize my hands are shaking. This is too much. In less than half a day I've experienced more emotions than I have in the last four years. It's too much too soon and I'm scared. And the fact that I'm scared disturbs me. And I can't stop shaking. And I can't handle this. Voices down the hall distract me. I thank them and any deities that may exist; I don't have to think. I can only hear his voice, raised in the heat of anger, and I feel as if this has been going on for a few minutes. "--Helped you?! That bastard murdered Akira-kun!" Muffled replies while I take in this information and I hear a slap before more muffled words eventually rising to "Worthless woman." Angry mutterings as I fight the urge to go for my sword. "No!" Tomoe's voice and I feel my breath leave. "No, please..." The rest is lost as her voice lowers. I sit in silence, waiting, but the argument seems to be over. I suppose I should sleep. I settle against the outer wall and close my eyes. --- I'm awake. The shadow cast by the moonlight streaming through the slats in the upper wall haven't moved; I haven't been alseep for more than a few minutes. Why am I awake? A moment passes as I focus on my surroundings. There is a person moving along the outer porch. Away from me. Toward the kitchen. A light step -- too light to be a man. Too heavy to be a child. Tomoe. Most likely heading to the bathroom. I should sleep. This is not my concern. Instead I find myself exiting onto the porch. My steps are instictively light and swift, and I can barely hear them as I turn the corner of the house. She is leaning against the wall, head resting on bended knees. I am no more than six feet away, but she does not sense me through her tears. Soft cries are muffled in the cloth of her yukata. This is not my concern. I am walking toward her. I don't want to care. I don't want to feel. Feeling hurts. But I can't stop. She looks up and our eyes meet. "Please leave me." I turn, immeasurably grateful. I've been ordered not to care. I turn off the feelings and the pain lifts. "Wait." I stop. Turn back. And watch. Her eyes are cool, but soft as if trying to shut me out and failing. She's too distraught to hide. And I am too confused to resist. Another word is not spoken until I am settled down beside her and we are watching the stars from beneath the overhang of the roof. My eyes are locked on the night sky, and it is hard to think. A warm, sweet smelling body beside me. A cough as she fights to stop her tears. I worry about her. It is not my concern. If I keep telling myself that then the pain will go away. I want to help, but to help is to care and to care is to feel and to feel is to face the horrors of what I've done. I'm not ready for that. A single bright star catches my eye. It is alone, as if the other stars fear to approach its radiance. "Please... go back to sleep." Her voice breaks into my thoughts. Part of me wants to listen. "I can't." She doesn't look up as I collect my thoughts, and my gaze is still locked on that star. "This is my fault. I should not have come." "I invited you." "I should have declined." Out of the corner of my eye I see her shake her head, eyes on the floor. Perhaps she is, like I, considering why we are both so eager to take the blame. I turn to her. "It's not your fault. I am not welcome here, but thank you. I'll be gone before the morning." "Where will you go?" I am no stranger to that question. I ask it myself every morning. Always the same answer. "I don't know." "You have no home?" "No." "No family?" "No." An image of my master flashes across my sight, but I abandoned him so long ago. I would not be welcome. "You're not how I imagined you." Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper and her eyes lift to the stars. After a moment she continues, her voice growing more assured with each word. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors. They say the assassin Battousai is a demon. Eight feet tall with hair as red as blood and eyes that would paralize you in fear. Eyes that would burn to the depths of your soul. They say he has no soul. That he is a ruthless murderer, picking off one man after another with no remorse." Finally she turns to me. "Now that I see you with my own eyes, I can see that the rumors were a bit of exaggeration." A true smile graces her lips. "You're no where near eight feet." It takes me a moment to realize the joke and I smile back at her. She begins to laugh and it is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. And it is infectious. After a moment I find my smile widening and a chuckle bubble up from my throat. Second laters, I am laughing along side her and it feels so good. To just let go, to give in to bliss and not have to worry about what the next moment may bring -- how I've missed this. When my laughter finally subsides, it leaves me feeling warm, content... and something more. It's as if the chains that have been holding me down have broken and crumbled away. From experience I know this feeling will not last. For the moment, at least, I am free. And suddenly very weary. "You have a beautiful smile and an even more beautiful laugh." Her unfathomable eyes are still locked on mine, head tilted to the side in contemplation. "So do you." I watch for a reaction, weighing my next words carefully. She smiles at me and I risk continuing. "I haven't laughed in years. Thank you for that. I wish I could do something for you." A sigh and she cast her eyes downward for a moment before meeting mine again. "Your presence is enough." "The presence of demon?" She watches me, dissaproval or something similar written across her features. I turn away, escaping the depths of her eyes and stand. "I should go to sleep now. As I said, I'll be gone before morning." "Wait." My back is to her and I cannot risk turning around. "We should both sleep." I feel small hands on my back. She slides over to grasp the sleeve of my yukata, tugging gently. Resigned, I turn back. "Thank you." She is close. Her hair brushes over my cheek, her hands resting on my chest. White plum washes over me. A moments hesitation and then soft lips moving over mine in a feather light kiss. And then she is gone. Chapter 3: The Ghost of a Love The cold February sun sets rapidly behind the half formed carcass of the building as I approach Takanawa-san. I had come to work for him less than two weeks earlier. He had seen my hair, my scar and yet said nothing, simply accepted my plea for work, judging me solely on the speed and precision with which I could lay a brick. Now, as the dying sunlight glints red off his black hair, he smiles at me. “Last day, Himura-san?” I nod, and though I cannot return the smile, my countenance softens at his gentle tone. He reaches into his purse and extracts a few coins, all the while shaking his head sadly. “I'd ask you to reconsider one last time, but I know it's pointless.” He holds out one had to drop the coins in mine and pauses. “You're better than half of my men, you know. With all the changes going on you could make a good living in construction.” I nod again and only say, “I'm sorry.” “Yes, well,” he drops the coins in my palm, “if you ever find yourself in Tokyo again, I'll always have work for you.” I've heard as much in at least a dozen other towns and cities and I say honestly, “If I return, I'd be honored to work with you again.” We bow and part ways and I realize this is the first time I've said “if” rather than “when I return,” for I do not think I will step foot in Tokyo for a long, long time. All because of one woman. As I traverse the streets, my subconscious leading me, I can think of nothing but her. I have not seen Sekimoto Tomoe since before I found work and yet she plagues my waking hours and haunts my dreams. I must escape this city and that woman if I wish to keep even the slightest hold on my sanity. I do not consider myself worthy to love, and yet this woman would have me disregard that if not for one thing: she already belongs to another. And though this man knows not the treasure he holds in his hands, both Tomoe and Sumire alike, it is not and will never be my place to take what is rightfully his. It eludes me how little more than a scent and one stolen kiss have tempted me to forgo the series of limitations I had set for myself years ago. I barely know this woman and yet everything she has said and done begs for further knowledge. She embodies a strength and independence that I find strange and slightly off-putting, though I know I could never love a woman who challenged me less. A mystery hides in the depths of her eyes, and I cannot think of anything more wonderful than to spend the rest of my life in the futile attempt to unravel it. And she treats me as a man – not as a hero or a monster – and in all my wanderings, I have never met another like her. My feet stop and I find myself before the same sweets shop I visited with Sumire not three weeks earlier. There's a pang of hunger, and I find myself craving a dish of custard. But I have not the money to spend on such frivolities and decide to move on. A ramen cart had settled down the street and it seems a find place to have my dinner. “Kenshin.” It is not the sound of my name as much as the scent of while plum that stills me. And even as I turn, albeit reluctantly, Tomoe is already apologizing. “Forgive me my rudeness, Himura-san.” And though her beauty strikes me nearly speechless, I cannot help but smile at the absurdity of an apology. I have been called far worse than simply my given name by those far more distant than she. I accept her words with a nod, however, and return the greeting. “Sekimoto-san.” Small hands fidget with the paper-wrapped package she carries, and it is obvious that she does not wish to be forward or offend, and yet she speaks, “Are you well?” Another nod. “And you? I hope my presence at your husband's home caused no problems.” The smallest of smiles graces her lips. “Not so much that you should concern yourself.” Her voice is laced with a bitterness which fades at her next words. “Sumire would like to see you again.” And I her, yet I have no words to express this. “I must say,” she continues after a lengthy pause, “that it surprises me to find you here.” Whether she means Tokyo or this particular street, I have no idea, and I answer her with only, “ I'm leaving tomorrow morning.” “Oh.” She looks down a moment before meeting my steady gaze. “I suppose I should go. I am expected.” “Very well.” “It was a pleasure meeting you, Himura-san.” She bows low, and I tilt my head in response. And as I watch, disappointed, yet knowing this is the way of things, she turns and disappears into the waning crowd. A deep sigh deflates me as I collect my thoughts and then turn and start off again in search of a meal. “Wait.” And I am stilled again by her voice, her scent. “Himura-san, have you had dinner?” A light touch on my sleeve and I turn to find Tomoe again, her eyes uncertain. “Not yet.” “Would you honor me by joining me for a meal?” She gestures to a moderate restaurant across the way. A million excuses die on my lips. Though I know this is wrong, that she could be severely reprimanded for such on action, I cannot bring myself to say no. A traitorous part of my mind reminds me that I do need to eat. Even as I push the looming image of Sekimoto Asaba from my mind, I find myself saying, “Yes.” The waitresses immediately mistake us for married, and we do nothing to shatter the illusion. I am directed to a booth near the back, Tomoe following diligently. As is custom, I take the liberty of ordering for us both. We partake in a simple meal of scorched fish and rice. The snapper delights my senses as she speaks again. “Where will you go?” We have had this conversation before, but now I take the time to consider the question, laying my chopsticks aside. “South.” Though it is not specific, it is the best answer I can give, and it seems to satisfy her, at least for a moment. “Do you plan on spending the rest of your life like this?” Dark eyes bore into my soul. “Traveling, I mean?” I take up my chopsticks again, bring a bit of seasoned rice to my lips as I turn the question over in my mind. “For now.” She nods. “What are you searching for?” This I know. “Redemption.” “You'll never find it.” I almost laugh at this, for I know far better than anyone that my quest is futile. “Redemption.” Her eyes slide across mine to settle on a loose thread of my gi. “Is it all you need?” Of course not, yet I cannot say this. Instead I return her question with on of my own. “What would you have me search for?” “Love,” she replies as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it is, but-- “Is a murderer worthy of love? Is he capable?” And now she looks at me with an altogether different light in her eyes, as if now she finally understands. “Every man is worthy of love.” She can see that I am about to protest and hastily continues, “It is the man who deems himself the least worthy of love that is, in fact, the most deserving. For only a man such as this can love unconditionally, expecting nothing in return. And yet if that love is returned, he will treasure it above all else.” “But who would love a demon?” “There are those who would call you their savior.” “Tainted with the blood of hundreds.” “Not tainted,” she protests, “but wizened.” And I have never seen it in that way. However, “I still cannot see how any honorable woman could love one such as I.” “Then let me show you.” She stands, producing more than enough to pay for both our meals. When I protest, she pushes my concerns away by saying, “A favor from my husband.” She is smiling, tight and almost cruel, and I cannot help but let my dislike for the man direct my actions as I smile and nod in response. And as we exit the restaurant and she turns, asking with her eyes where I will lead us next, her words suddenly hit me. Then let me show you… I am no stranger to women, though what she asks of me is impossible. “You should go home.” She returns my gaze impassively, but I know what she is thinking: And who are you to tell me what I should or should not do? She is right, for I am not her husband, and yet that is exactly why I can let this go no further. I heave a sigh, exasperated by her stubbornness. "Please." She does not move. "I cannot let you do this." She remains solemn as she replies, "Do not concern yourself with what happens to me once you've gone. After tonight you need not think of me again." We both know that is impossible. "You have already gone too far." And now she smiles, "The what more harm can we do?" I shake my head and begin to lead her, my resolve weakened to almost nothing. As we near the inn, I ask, "Why?" "When we are inside." But I will not move until I have an answer. After a moment she recognizes this and turns her gaze away, caught in thought. I follow her gaze to where a city worker lights a street lamp against the oncoming night. Though the hour is late, couples and groups of men still roam the streets. I wonder ho we must appear to them. Finally she speaks. "I am trapped in a marriage I did not want. After the death of my first betrothed," and I start at this, though I not let her see, "I feared I would never again know love. I feared I would never know the touch of a man who loved me. And while I do not know what I feel now, I cannot let you leave without…." I nod, though I am still uncertain. We barely know each other, but I cannot deny that I want her more than I've ever wanted a woman. I turn to her. "You intrigue me." She meets my eyes, a smile on her lips. "I don't believe that I'll ever meet another man like you. Even if this is no more than lust, I'll always regret letting you go without at least this one night." And that decides it. In this moment, I know that it was not her motives I was questioning, but my own. If I inviter her into my bed tonight, I may long for more the rest of my life, but if I do not, I know that I will always regret it. Without another word she takes my hand, and I lead her inside. The women of the inn barely glance up as we travel the hallway, though sly smiles are shared once we pass. Tomoe's hand is warm and incredibly soft in mine; I tighten my fingers around her unconsciously. We reach my room and I hesitate only a moment before sliding the door open. We enter and I find myself at a loss; it had been years since I last knew a woman, and I'm not sure where to begin. I find myself following Tomoe's lead as she seats herself on a cushion by the window. We take a moment to simply watch each other, myself taking in the dark hair framing her face, her eyes so dark they're almost black. I close my eyes and inhale her scent. I've never known anything to be so alluring. Small fingers ghost along my cheek, trace the scar there. Her breath hitches and I open my eyes just as she is pulling away. "I killed him." I say with absolute certainty. She nods once, and her eyes stray once again to my cheek. Suddenly I know. It was the only man who ever marked me. The faceless, determined bodyguard cut down so many years ago. I remember his last word. Tomoe… "I'm sorry," and it's true. It tortures me to think that I could ever cause this beautiful creature pain. But she shakes her head, smiling though her eyes shine with unshed tears. "It's in the past," she murmurs and again lifts her hand to my cheek. "How can you forgive me?" I wonder aloud. Without thought, I cover her hand with my own, stilling her movements as she slides on finger over the slightly raised flesh of the scar. She turns her hand and entangles our fingers, her thumb playing over the calluses on my palm. "How can I not?" And though this answer is far less than satisfactory, her touch is driving all rational thought from my mind, and I cannot question her further. My other hand lifts to her cheek, and she melts against it. The feel of her skin against mine sends thrills of pleasure through my veins. She whispers, "I think this is fate." Her eyes close and a soft sigh escapes her lips. "This was meant to happen." I did not believe in fate until this moment. My lips descend on hers, gentle but insistent. She returns the kiss hungrily, letting go my hand to sweep through my hair, resting, nestled in the soft strands at my nape. My hands slide along her jaw, past her shoulders to envelope her waist and pull her impossibly close. Soft breasts press against my chest, and I gasp into her mouth, overwhelmed. My hands move lower, only to be met by the frustrating knot of her obi. I dare not try to undo it. My lips move against hers as I whisper, "Please." Thankfully she knows exactly what I mean and pulls away to remove not only her obi, but her kimono and lining with practiced ease. As she works I can only watch, amazed at the deftness of those lovely hands. With only these outer layers removed, there is still too much cloth between us, but I am in no hurry. I shake my head as she starts to undo the belt that holds closed her undergarments and move to unfold the futon. This menial task clears my mind. I steal a glance at Tomoe, poised in the moonlight, and wonder again if I can go through with this. My body assures me that, yes, it is willing and able, but I have always prided myself on the control I have over my body. My feelings for this woman after spending less that half a day in her presence confuse me, frighten me. It has been so long since I have let myself care, how can I do so now knowing this moment is fleeting? But as I meet her eyes, I know that Tomoe shares my fear. I beckon her to me. "Kenshin," she whispers as I lay her down beneath me. My hands find the ties at her waist and together we remove the remainder of her clothing. And as I remove mine in turn, I cannot take my eyes off her body. Her breasts swell gently from an intake of breath. Smooth skin like porcelain covers every inch of her arms, legs, and torso. I lower myself to her stomach and breathe in her scent. At the same time, her hands have found me. They toy with the length of my hair, run down my arms and dip to splay across the muscles of my chest and abdomen. A new scent assaults me, ripe and pungent, and I lower myself further to take it in. This new scent is intoxicating, and I am soon drunk with it. My tongue darts out to taste her, rich and tangy, and I am once again reminded of plums. She gasps, muscles tightening as I continue, the softest of whimpers reaches my ears, and my body responds. I lift my head to stare into eyes black with lust, and I simply must have her. I travel the length of her body to find her mouth. This kiss is deep, a plea with lips and tongue for more. And who am I to deny her? Our lovemaking is slow, passion drawn out to an almost painful pace. I move inside her and she arches up to meet me. Our eyes meet, and I am struck by how right, how very perfect this moment is. When it is over, she lies against my chest, my jaw resting against her hair as her breath tickles my skin. She breathes a sigh, and my arm tightens around her waist. Her words echo my thoughts as she says, "I will never see you again." For despite this night, or perhaps because of it, I doubt I shall ever return to this city. I have no words of comfort and thus stay silent. A moment later she lifts herself up, looking out the window. She frowns. "I should go." It is impossibly to tell the time, but the sun has set long ago, the moon high in the night sky, and she will be missed. Her husband and daughter will already be curious as to her whereabouts. I agree that she should go, however…. "Stay." I can't imagine the trouble she would face in the morning, but I do not think I could bear to spend the rest of the night without her. It is an unfair request, though, we both know. I sit up and reach for her clothing… … only to be stilled by her hand over mine. "No," she whispers, lips against my cheek, "I'll stay." "I shouldn't have—" I begin, but she silences me with a kiss. In an instant my arms have found her waist again and all thoughts of husbands and responsibilities are forgotten. The sunlight invades my dreams – dreams of a husband with hair like fire, with soft words and touches. It pulls me into morning, into reality. The sun tells me that it is mid day, the cold blanket that Kenshin is long gone. There is no note, nothing to remind me of him, nothing to hint he was ever here. His presence seems very much a dream now… a dream I will never forget. To be continued…