Title: Not So Far: Reflection

Author: tir-synni

Disclaimer: Can’t draw or speak Japanese without brutally butchering it. I’ll let you take it from there.

Author Notes: Request fic! Hope it meets your hopes.

Warning: Shounen-ai, slight angst, slight fluff.

Addy: [email protected]

Rating: PG

Beta: As always, the wonderful Malfoy-hima (unoccupied Malfoy–guess what’s *she’s* thinking.)

            I often find myself carrying people. Yahiko, for one. When a kid keeps jumping on your head and biting down, you carry him a lot. Usually, it’s running around in circles, doing my damnedest to get the little brat off, but I’m still carrying him. Sometimes, I even find myself carrying Kenshin, when the fool is being too damned stubborn to admit maybe he should stop and rest.

            I wish that was the case this time.

            He’s amazingly light in my arms as I carry him back to the dojo. His long, red hair, loose from its ponytail, trails down my shoulder where his head is rested. It’s so long it goes past *my* waist. Kenshin himself is as limp as his hair. He hasn’t moved since his collapse.

            I hold him closer to me, stepping over a fallen tree. I think it’s the same tree I punched earlier. I don’t care. One boneless arm sways with the movement, slipping off his stomach where I had placed it earlier. I ignore that, too. I try, anyway. That slender arm is a lot harder to ignore than any symbol of my anger.

            I know, like Kenshin must have known earlier when he ran off, that the others cannot see him like this. Yahiko . . . he wouldn’t understand. He looks at Kenshin, and he sees the noble Rurouni. To him, Kenshin represents a great ideal. Never straying from his peaceful path, Kenshin did not need blood and death to solve problems. It’s Yahiko’s goal to one day be like Kenshin, a warrior that promotes peace.

            The little miss . . . She’s a bigger problem. She sees Kenshin as the love of her life, her soulmate. To Kaoru, Kenshin is the perfect husband. He is one of the few males who does not care about her unfeminine ways. He’s gentle, cleans house, cooks for her . . . Most importantly, Kenshin supports her ideal of pacifism. Probably since the first day she met him, she’s seen him as the ideal mate. I’m positive she’s determined to marry him, and she believes Kenshin loves her as much as she loves him.

            Unfortunately, when she sees him, all she sees is the Rurouni. She utterly denies that the Battousai is a part of Kenshin. The little miss claims that the Battousai isn’t really Kenshin, speaking of Battousai like he’s a demon that possesses Kenshin. The Battousai is just as much a part of Kenshin as the Rurouni is.

            And . . . I’m just beginning to realize that, too.

            The little miss would never be able to stand Kenshin as anything less than her perfect Rurouni. And she would make him feel guilty for having that breakdown, when I think it’s something he’s been needin’ for a long time. As much as I know Kaoru feels for Kenshin, I don’t think she could ever truly love him, not all of him. And that’s why she would push him farther into his shell.

            Taking care not to look at Kenshin’s still form, I pull him a little closer to my chest. The dojo is in sight. I don’t know where Kaoru and Yahiko are, but Kenshin isn’t the only one with talent for sneaking around. I’ll get Kenshin inside without them noticing. I won’t let Kenshin down over something this important.

            I prop Kenshin up so he’s nuzzling my neck. His face is hot against my skin, the tears not yet dry. I ignore it. If I start thinking about it now, I might lose my nerve. After Kenshin is safe in bed and bandaged, I’ll worry about it.

            Ah, just where I thought she would be. Drooling on the porch, fast asleep. It usually isn’t very hard to sneak past the little miss. Now where is Yahiko? I didn’t think Yahiko would run off with his idol missing. And I didn’t think he would leave *Kaoru* in this condition. So where is the little brat?

            Oh, screw it. I carry Kenshin to his bed and lay him gently on his futon. I frown as I notice it’s totally untouched. Against my will, my eyes travel to the corner of the room. Then my eyes trail back to Kenshin’s untouched futon. How often does he sleep here? I wonder.

            “I heard,” I whisper, brushing Kenshin’s hair out of his face, “that fighters in the war rarely slept in futons. They slept crouched in corners, with their weaponry in their hands. That way, they would always be ready if they were attacked.” Surprisingly, Kenshin remains still after I touch his face. Well, I guess if he slept through me carrying him, he would sleep through that. “The war’s been over for ten years, Kenshin. Are you still fighting it?”

            Kenshin sleeps through my question, too. Besides his flushed cheeks, he’s pale, paler than usual. I reach over to touch his cheeks again, but I jerk my hand back. Just because he’s not for Kaoru, it doesn’t mean he’s for me, either. I scowl and settle back on my heels. This was what I wanted, right? I wanted to see behind his perfect shell. I *still* want to see behind his perfect shell. I want to see his eyes glowing with happiness, not shining with tears or blank. I want to see his lips curved in a true smile, not twisted like earlier. And I want to be able to tell him all this! I want to be able to tell him my hopes with the same . . . same *eloquence* that he spouts his beliefs of pacifism. But I know I would fuck it up and he would give me that damned Rurouni smile and continue with his chores. Dammit!

            And . . . damn Kenshin, anyway, for still being so damned beautiful.

            I reach out to touch him again and jerk away. Actions always spoke louder than words. I’ll show him. I’ll show him there’s more than swords and blood out there. I’ll show him there’s more to life, just like he’s shown me and Yahiko and the little miss.

            My eyes narrow. I’ll show him there was more to his past than guilt and shame, and maybe that’ll convince him there’s more in his future than atonement.

~~~~~

            When I come back, I’m not surprised to see Kenshin humming cheerfully in the kitchen, a sharp knife dancing swiftly along a wood board. Different vegetables, all sliced in small squares, fall carelessly into a bowl before Kenshin finishes and turns to me. I hide a cringe at the bright Rurouni smile. “Good morning, Sano!” he chirps cheerfully.

            Huh. So *that’s* the way he wants to play it.

            “Mornin’, Kenshin,” I drawl lazily. “Good night?”

            He doesn’t even flinch. “Sessha fell a little behind on chores,” he sighs. “Kaoru-dono forgave Sessha, though.” Absently, Kenshin’s slight hands work quickly on breakfast. Already, it smells better than anything the little miss could make. “She’s untying Yahiko now. He was a little excitable yesterday.”

            Ah, so that’s what happened to the shrimp. Probably wanted to go after Kenshin and the little miss disagreed. She always wins.

            Kenshin quiets, just like he always does, I notice. Not wanting to bother anyone with his own words, no matter how important they are. He stares expectantly at me with his gentle Rurouni eyes. This is generally where I pick up the conversation and babble about my day. Sorry, Kenshin. No-go today.

            “Where did you learn how to cook this?” I ask instead, laying my hand carefully beside the cutting board. He doesn’t notice, instead staring inquisitively at me. I’m pretty sure he didn’t cook while he was a slave. I shouldn’t bring up any bad memories with this question.

            Kenshin hesitates. He finishes up with the small breakfast as he thinks to himself, and I stare into his slightly glazed violet eyes. Heh. He looks better with that expression than he does with his Rurouni smile.

            “Um . . . when I lived with my master,” Kenshin offers, carrying the food out. I help, listening attentively to every word. “He . . . Shishou was a terrible cook.”

            It’s one of the few times I hear him say anything remotely insulting about someone, and I can’t help but laugh. It’s loud and harsh, nothing compared to Kenshin’s light laughs, but judging by the light in his violet eyes, he appreciates it.

            I ignore the others during breakfast, devouring my meal quickly. I learn what I need to. Kaoru fell completely for whatever excuse Kenshin offered, if he had even needed to offer one. She simply stares at him with adoring eyes. I’ll admit, the little miss has a backbone, but she’s going to need a hell of a lot more than that to be what Kenshin needs. He’s more than just the Rurouni! I want to scream at her. But she’ll never see.

            Yahiko . . . he’s smiling at Kenshin, but the little brat’s eyes are sharp on Kenshin’s face. Yahiko may hero-worship Kenshin, but his time on the street has taught him to be more realistic than the little miss. Besides, he’s a protective brat when it comes to those he loves. If only he was a little older. . . .

            After breakfast, Kaoru looks like she wants to scold me for being so anti-social during the meal, but Yahiko successfully distracts her. I still hear his call of “*Old hag!*”as I follow a quietly amused Kenshin into the kitchen. If Kenshin notices me, he gives no sign as he places the dishes into the sink. He turns to grab the cutting board and freezes. I hold my breath.

            “Sano. . . .” Kenshin whispers, reaching out. The spinning top seems so large in his small hands.

            I don’t say a word. I remember the soft light in his eyes as he once recalled the spinning top of his youth, a warm bottle of sake between us and a full moon above us. Soon before the death of his beloved wife, Tomoe, the spinning top had been lost forever. I see his eyes soften with old grief as he recalls that, but it doesn’t erase the small smile from his lips. He turns to me and smiles, and I see the pain in his eyes, but also the gentle delight and fond remembrance.

            Maybe . . . maybe I am enough for Kenshin after all.