C&C is both craved and appreciated.  :-)


Chrysalis

A Rurouni Kenshin Shortfic
by Krista Perry



~*~

	It's hard to wake up and realize that you are a cold-blooded 
murderer.

	Cold-blooded.  That's the way it has to be, when you kill 
someone.  Lots of someones.  You have to be dead yourself, in a sense, 
so that all those deaths can't touch you.  You have to be soulless.  So 
that, after you wipe the blood from your sword and wash your scarlet-
stained hands, you can continue.  And you can sleep peacefully in the 
relief of oblivion, undisturbed by the razor-sharp blade of remorse 
that can kill, if not your body, then your sanity in an infinitely less- 
merciful manner than the deaths you've inflicted on others...

	But the soul can't really die, I've discovered.  It can only 
sleep, suspended in an icy cocoon, waiting to be reborn in all its 
terrible raw beauty; waiting for an unwitting spark to wake it and set 
it free so it can rage up, white hot, out of its frozen confines, 
burning through the numbness and...

	Damn.  My hands are shaking.  I come to myself again, surging out 
of my dark inner depths to feel the warm sun on my back, the soft, 
grass beneath my knees...  I quickly grab a rice bowl and plunge it 
into the bucket of warm soapy water with the rest of the dishes and 
wash fervently, hoping that Kaoru is too absorbed in helping Yahiko 
with his kendo practice to notice my momentary lapse...

	She notices, of course.  She doesn't let me get away with much, 
if she can help it.  I shouldn't be thinking about this, in front of 
her where I might slip.  Especially since I know that, no matter what 
she's occupied with, she's always watching me out of the corner of her 
eye, keeping track of me on some level, as if afraid I might vanish 
without her constant vigilance keeping me safely rooted here to her 
dojo.

	But sometimes, all the mental discipline in the world can't keep 
the memories away... though I've found that washing dishes helps.  So
does cooking.

	Kaoru leaves Yahiko to his exercises, and comes over to me.  
"Kenshin?"

	I look up, wide-eyed and innocent.  "Yes, Kaoru-dono?"  Her eye 
barely twitches at that.  She's never asked me to stop calling her by 
the honorific, but I can tell that she doesn't like the distance that 
it puts between us.

	I don't like it either, I think.  But I also think that I...  I...

	I don't know what I think.

	"Is something wrong?  You look distracted."  Her concern melts 
into a sudden scowl.  "Has someone challenged you, is that it?"  At the 
thought, she's suddenly livid, and I'm not sure if she's angry with me, 
or with the supposed challenger.  For a moment, I wonder if she's going 
to pound me on the head again, but she refrains, merely clenching her 
fists instead.  "You're not thinking of sneaking off on another duel 
without letting us know about it, are you?  Who is it this time?  
Yakuza?  Some weird government faction?"

	That brings Yahiko over in a flash.  He holds his practice sword 
so that its blunted tip is almost right between my eyes.  "Ha, Kenshin, 
don't hold out on me, I want to come too!  You saw me practicing, I'm 
ready!  Who is it?  I'll kick his ass!"
	
	"Oro?" I respond helplessly, pulling my now-steady hands out of 
the dishwater, holding them up palm outward to ward off their 
suspicions.  "What are you talking about ?"

	Kaoru blinks, and Yahiko lowers the practice sword, childish 
disappointment flashing in his eyes.  "Isn't there going to be a 
fight?"

	I smile.  "No, there's not."

	Yahiko turns and scuffs his foot against the ground.  "Damn, it's 
been too quiet around here lately!" 

	Kaoru nods, still eyeing me with open suspicion.  "Well, if it's 
not a challenge, then what's wrong?  You were over here looking as if 
you'd been struck by lightning."

	I shrug, still smiling.  "Oro...  Everything's fine, Kaoru-domo."  
I say it in a way that communicates, without being offensive, that I've 
said all I'm going to say on the subject.

	"Well, if you're sure..."

	I assure her that everything is fine, and she reluctantly wanders 
back to the practice area, where she immediately puts Yahiko back to 
work on his katas.

	I watch him practice for a moment.  He's good.  Focused, and 
determined -- a rare quality in a boy his age...

	Sometimes, I can almost remember what it was like back when I was 
a boy, without a single drop of shed blood on my conscience.  Full of 
idealism, ready to change the world... and too willing to kill my own 
soul for the sake of what I considered a greater cause.  A new era for 
Japan, free of the violence that was the signature of the Warring 
States; an era free of the "might makes right" mentality, where 
ordinary people wouldn't have to live in fear.

	I liked that dream, even then.

	Once the decision was made, it was easy.  I buried my own soul 
far from the reaches of any human feeling.  I became, no longer human, 
but merely a tool.  The instinctive will behind the sword and nothing 
more.  No love, no hate, no desire.  Just Hitokiri.  Manslayer.  A tool 
of perfect accuracy, weilded by the new government to forcibly eliminate 
the old, barbaric social order, and get the job done as swiftly and 
efficiently as possible. 

	I fully expected, in the beginning, to die for the cause.  I 
certainly didn't expect to be such an *effective* weapon.

	I often wonder what cruel twist of fate, what laughing kami, 
bestowed me with such deadly talent.

	I think that if I had known then that I was going to survive 
beyond my usefulness as a tool -- that I would be required to actually 
*live* in the glorious new Meiji era that my sword had carved out of 
flesh and blood -- I would have thought twice about my decision.

	Maybe.

	I don't know.

	All I know is that my soul is now awake.  It's awake and burning.  
The shattered remains of its frozen chrysalis lie in the dark depths of 
my mind, never melting, always there to remind me.  And my sleep is no 
longer the obliviousness of the dead, but rather, full of slack faces.  
Wide, lifeless eyes.  And rivers of blood.

	I will never kill again.  That is the oath I took when my 
awakening soul left me shivering, retching and weeping over the body of 
a man whose name I didn't even know.

	But now, even after ten years of trying to atone, of using my 
skills to protect and serve rather than destroy... and as my dreams 
remain filled with the countless accusing faces of the dead...  I often 
wonder with despair if it will ever be enough.

	"Ken-niisan!  Ken-niisan!"  A tugging on my sleeve calls my 
attention to Suzume-chan, Kaoru's youngest adopted sister, looking up 
at me with wide hopeful eyes.  "Come play with us!"

	"Yes, come play!"  Ayame is now tugging at my other sleeve, 
pulling me away from the sudsy water.

	Their laugher is contagious, and I follow them, only too willing 
to escape my own company.

	I lose myself it their latest game, basking in their warm 
youthful exuberance, and feeling, with mixed emotions, their absolute 
trust in me.  I can feel Kaoru watching me as well; can almost sense 
her smile.  And Yahiko, too, pausing in his practice to wonder with idle 
curiosity once again why the strongest warrior he knows so often plays 
with children.

	I hope he never has to know.



~The End~



Notes:
This fic is dedicated to Avatar, who just sent me episodes 1-28 of 
Rurouni Kenshin.  I have a new favorite anime!  ^_^

As for where this fic came from... well, it just came out.  I couldn't 
help it.