Subject: [kffdisc] "Through the Looking Glass" (K&K ^^) Date: Mon, 19 Apr 1999 02:00:27 PDT From: "Tin Mandigma" Reply-To: kffdisc@onelist.com To: kffdisc@onelist.com From: "Tin Mandigma" Hello, minna! ^_^ First of all, let me say that I'm actually beginning to emphatize with--if not actually love--Tomoe (not more than Kaoru and Misao, of course. I adore them ^^). Love all your 'fics, no exceptions ^__^ You make her come--alive and I used to think that nothing short of a miracle of could do that (well, of course, she met Kenshin but that's a different matter altogether ^_^). Nice job, minna! ^__^ Anyway, here's another K&K oneshot (talk about an abrupt change of topic ^_^) which is probably gonna sound OT because of the 'fic challenge. But I'm having a stream of bad luck now so I guess I better post this before my computer decides to take another vacation without me ^_^ Comments, as always, will be greatly appreciated. Domo! :) Through A Looking Glass by Tin Mandigma --------------------------------------- This is a Rurouni Kenshin-inspired fanfic written entirely for entertainment purposes only. Standard disclaimers apply. --------------------------------------- NOTE: This story takes place shortly before that fateful encounter with Enishi. Relatively spoiler free, though. Except for the last part ^_^ I watch her as she makes her way through the early dinner crowd at the Akabeko. The atmosphere of the restaurant is lazily charming, desultory almost, the restful symmetry of its teak-panelled ceiling and rough-hewn walls thrown into sharp relief by the droning hum of voices raised in subdued chatter and the cheerful murmurs of its proprietress as she bustled from table to table. I feel relaxed, much more than I have ever been for years, and this sense of well-being escalated to almost drunken contentment when I caught my first glimpse of her. Has it been so long? I think wistfully even as my lips curve in a welcoming smile when I saw the flash of recognition in her own gaze. Time does fly fast and when you finally catch up with it, you look around in surprised wonder when you see its unmistakable imprint on your life. Things age, dust, decay. People grow older, change, they move on. How has time treated her? I wonder. I remember the playmate of my childhood days, the little dark-haired girl with the intense blue eyes and the infectious laughter and such burning enthusiasm for life one hesitates to approach her for fear of being consumed by that intensity. Has that fire been tempered by the years? Or has it blazed brighter than ever? She is coming nearer and my breath catches in my throat. Time has left its mark, true, but its hands have been gentle, careful, shaping her being in exquisite detail like a beloved work of art. Hair falling in swathes of midnight black, caressing her delicate neck like a jealous shadowy lover. Slim figure draped beautifully in a kimono in rich magenta and dark blue seamlessly intertwined in a subdued tapestry of flowing color, complementing her eyes. Aaahh...those eyes. Such a devastating blue, stormy sea and heavenly skies all at the same time. As a child, those eyes have always held a wealth of meanings--innocence, mischief, wonder, trust, vulnerability, laughter and underlying it all was a deep abiding kindness. She must be the gentlest person I know. And the most fearless, bursting through where I dared not tread. You can see her in her eyes. And now those eyes are crinkling at the corners, gleaming like crystal beneath dark lashes. She is smiling at me, holding out her supple white hands in greeting. "Daiki," she murmurs and her voice washes over me like rich honey. "Kaoru," I return as I reach out also, drawing her gently to me, half-afraid that at my touch she will dissolve like fragile glass. "Thank you for coming." "I couldn't pass up the chance to see one of my old friends," she responds, a trace of mischief coloring her voice at the word 'old.' I grimace readily, more than willing to lapse in our childhood banter, "Still no respect for your elders, huh?" She laughs and shakes her head at me, "I do not think that applies to you." I refrain from breaking out into a paean of delight when I heard her laugh. Gods, she is so much more than I expected. So much more. I inhale her fragrance as she takes her seat in front of me and I almost close my eyes at that fresh clean scent. Careful, Daiki. Get a grip. With an effort, I steer the conversation into more conventional channels. "How are you?" I ask. I catch a faint trace of something I can't define flicker in her eyes chased by a more visible shadow of hesitation. I lean forward instinctively. "Fine, I've--I'm fine," she answers and the look is gone. She laughs lightly again and I am left wondering at her lapse. At the catch in her voice. She seems to be--and yet not quite-- lying. I frown inwardly. I remember the time when she will never willingly tell a lie and as I note the faint reluctance in her face, I know that that is still somehow true. Somehow. What happened? I ask myself. "And you?" I hear her say. This time it is I who force a smile on my lips as I utter a meaningless murmur, concentrating on watching her, noting the changes which I so casually swept away at first glance and am only delving into with more care now. They are only small glitches, yes, slight creases at finely-honed edges, but to someone who has seen who she was and has kept an image in his heart for years of who she can--and will--be, they are glaring in their clarity. And so I study her. The pale almost waxen cheeks. The slightly trembling chin. The slender fingers tapping restlessly on the table. The tension fizzling off her body in barely perceptible bursts. Sighing inwardly, I look at her eyes, trying to penetrate that wall of blue calm and see what is brewing in the mind and heart beneath. At that moment, a family of four walk in. The young husband has an arm around his wife who is carrying a small toddler in her arms. A little boy, no more than four or five years old perhaps, clings to the hand of the man. I watch as they seat themselves close to each other at the table the owner pointed them to. The boy is giggling as he releases his father's hand to wrap his own around the latter's neck. The mother murmurs at them, a reprimand perhaps, judging from the mischievous look her husband shoots at her, but the smile on her lips belies her reproach. It is a contented smile, a peaceful smile. The smile of someone whose world is defined by fixed constants--the presence of her loved ones. Her life. I hear a sigh from the other end of the table and I know that I am not the only one witnessing the scene, taking it apart and piecing it together again like a lovely puzzle. She turns to me then, a small smile of her own lingering on her lips, her eyes undimmed and I gasp inwardly as I finally understand the flicker which darkened them earlier like clouds hovering before a thunderstorm. I can see her feelings reflected in them now, as clear as if they lie frozen in glass mirrors. Sadness. Her eyes are sad. And it is not the shallow sadness of one who is experiencing a brief pang of loss born of wishes unfulfilled. It is the sadness of one who has suffered the heart-wrenching loss of wishes never made. It is the sadness of one who has seen too much of what others have also lost. It is the sadness of one who faces loss constantly in her life and accepts both its ephemerality and permanence with an unflinching courage bordering between hopeless despair and desperate hope. The sadness of one who has been forced to grow up. And something more... I feel her image within me start to crack into tiny heartbroken pieces. As a child, she had a hard time understanding the fact that life is not an unbroken wheel of miracles and novelties and simple truths. That life is more like a series of ragged lines which never run a smooth course. That, more often than not, the only claim life has on monotony is failure, deceit, faith torn open like a festering wound. Of these I had been aware, painfully so when my parents died, but with the superiority born of childhood, I'd believed that I can determine my course, that I can smooth my line and point it to the direction I want. But the passing of the years have shattered that certainty and I find myself chasing its fragments in a frantic attempt to put it all back together and hope that somewhere in my search, I will discover myself. Have her lines, too, been broken? I wonder if I have spoken that thought aloud because she is shifting listlessly in her seat, eyes searching the room alertly. I catch the words 'my friend' and 'he's late.' He? I perk up and I sit straighter in my seat. She must have seen the question in my gaze because she turns to me, shaking her head slightly, a smile curving her lips. "I was telling you about him, Daiki!" She raises an eyebrow in mild accusation. "You weren't listening, were you?" I shrug, pleading guilty to the charge, and she rolls her eyes at me in mock- anger. I grin, marveling at how she can easily tug my emotions to different directions all at once. It has been like this since we were children, only it seems to have been magnified a hundred times now. Dangerous. "So tell me about him now," I murmur. "Well, he lives in the dojo..." I stiffen. He--what?! "Kaoru--" She waves off my protests with an impatient hand. "Cut it off, Daiki. He--he saved my life..." Her eyes soften and her voice drops to a gentle reflective murmur. "He was-- he is--" she stuttered a bit,"--a wanderer... He had nowhere else to go. I took him in." "Why?" I question abruptly. The murmur becomes a sigh. "I owe him that much." I don't think she realizes just how much she gave away by that single sentence. Her voice assumed a wistful longing, her shoulders slumped, her eyes closed for a split second, lashes fluttering to half- mast. I strive to be casual. "Kaoru," I ask carefully. "Is he your--" I swallow as I find myself unable to complete the sentence. "You know..." She pauses, her fingers tapping the table in one final staccato burst, her head tilting to one side as she considers my near-question--hesitation, uncertainty and, yes, poignant desire shimmering in her eyes. She takes a deep breath. "What do you mean by the 'you know?'" I sigh. "'You know' meaning lovers," I say calmly, looking her in the eye. A blush creeps up her neck and rises steadily to her cheeks but her gaze does not waver from mine as she studies me intently with the mirror of her own emotions. Another long pause and then, "And 'lovers' meaning?" She knows exactly what I mean. I can see it in her face. But she does not answer the question. The man himself enters the room. I know because the air between us suddenly freezes in one supreme moment of tension and then congeals in dizzying waves of near- tangible awareness. I see Kaoru gasp, her mouth widening into one of those electrifying carefree smiles I remember from my childhood, eyes gleaming in instant wakefulness, hand half- raised from the table. I do not turn in my seat to watch him. Instead I watch *her*, wanting to see him in her eyes, hoping to find the truth she will neither confirm nor deny. And it is there. In all its startling clarity. I relax against my seat, powerless to stop the waves of envy which flow through my entire being, unable to I sense his presence. He is drawing nearer...nearer... "Kenshin," she whispers, favoring him with that bright sweet smile of hers. I sense him take an indrawn breath, betraying his surprise, and I wonder if she does not smile for him often. But then, I reflect, she can smile that way all the time and I will not tire of it. If I, a person who has not seen her for years, can still be drawn so powerfully by its pull, can, in fact, be nudged and pushed with blind willingness to the edge of obssessive fascination, then surely this man for whom she holds such a depth of feeling, whom she *loves* will not feel its impact any less? The sigh teeters to a shaky gasp. The impact is obviously greater. A man in love. I turn my head to look at him and I smile automatically in tight greeting. The smile freezes on my face when I find myself relflected in deep pools of purple and a feeling of deja vu overwhelms me. She is there in his eyes. His gaze narrows on me, betraying his wariness, and then a mask of polite rigidity sweeps over his features as he bows formally. I lower my head in return and it is then that I notice the sword strapped to his side. I glance up sharply but there is no hint of disquiet on his face. Nor, I turn to look, is one on hers. She returns my stare expressionlessly, only a faint shadow of something dark-- fear? regret?--staining its unyielding surface. He sits down. I catch the look they give each other as he settles down beside her, the ripple of questions and reassuring replies passing between them like two halves of a song. I am beginning to understand. He speaks. He is very polite, courteous, calm. She listens to him closely, smiling every so often, tucking one strand of hair behind an ear when he turns to look at her, her eyes glinting very brightly beneath the fall of her lashes. And then she takes her turn speaking and he does the same routine. Same concentrated attention, same gentle laughter in his voice when he interrupts her to make a point, same intensity blazing forth from his own eyes. I do not doubt that they can sit beside each other for the entire night and never tire of enacting this ritual over and over again, almost as if through each repetition they can can somehow bring time and memory together and make myth reality. They talk now in quiet murmurs, their voices not quite low enough to exclude me from their conversation and yet not loud enough to invite me to join in either. I don't mind. They are an absorbing study. I observe them narrowly, noting the carefully maintained distance between them, a distance which a casual onlooker will dismiss as the not-so-near closeness between two friends, a distance which, from the vantage point of one who has the advantage of proximity, seems more like a forced isolation erected by two people clutching at flimsy barriers to ward off stronger walls. They say each other's names often, punctuating every phrase, every sentence with "Kaoru-dono" and "Kenshin." I wonder idly why he calls her "Kaoru-dono." The formality seems all wrong, especially when it falls from his lips in a tone of gentle and intimate endearment. The way he says her name affects her greatly, I think as I watch yet another shadow pass on her face, but in a totally different way than from that which he probably intended. An accident in subtlety. Or is it? He himself does not seem to be aware of how much he gives away with each breath of her name. Does he know that his lips curve upward when he says her name, that his voice catches, drops, caresses as the syllables trail in the air like tinkling glass, that his gaze follows their langorous movements to her in unfaltering surety? He catches me looking at them. He returns my stare evenly as if daring me to delve deeper than where I have already gone. But a constraining film of unfamiliarity hides his being from mine, as uncertainty has hidden hers. Beneath the detached and polite demeanor of the stranger, I sense the weariness of one who finds nothing "Kenshin?" And the mask is lifting, the curtains dissolve like thin gauze. Do they realize the futility of hiding from each other when a single word, the faintest touch, coming from one will be enough to draw the other out in the open? "Yes, Kaoru-dono?" he asks, his gaze flickering and, at that moment, I see her in his eyes as blue and purple come together in perfect union, feelings trascending the barriers of space and afraid hearts to merge into one. All in his eyes. Their eyes. And I know that the sadness I saw earlier in her gaze was not hers alone. Nor was it theirs. No. The sadness was his. A painful lump in my throat forms as the pieces finally fall into place. Ah, Kaoru. To realize that there is no greater tragedy in life than the reality that however hard you try, love can never be enough to chase shadows away. Does she also know that there is no greater love than when you keep trying despite this? She laughs at something he says and the sound was vibrant, alive, precious like quicksilver. I think she knows. They are smiling at me, murmuring goodbyes. They are leaving? I smile as I put down my barely touched bowl of rice, shaking my head at Kaoru's teasing remark about my lack of appetite. I stand up with them but she waves me back to my seat and tells me to finish my dinner. She leans down to me, embraces me lightly, and I close my eyes, inhaling her clean scent, indulging for this one time thoughts which I have to push down when next I meet her. "Goodbye, Dai-chan," she whispers and I blink away the unexpected moisture which rose in my eyes at the familiar pet name. "I'll see you, Kaoru-kun," I whisper back and I sense her smile in my hair. He stands off to one side, watching us closely. I raise my head and return his gaze from her shoulder and he smiles. A tentative smile filled with recognition, understanding, apology and--sadness. I smile back, hoping that my message reaches him, breaks through the limits imposed by a few minutes' worth of acquaintance. Give her a--chance. He nods slowly, his eyes gleaming with a soft light. He needs it. They both do. She pulls away from me and I let her go reluctantly, knowing that she is not mine to keep. She gives my hand one last squeeze and then reaches out with the other to take his which is already outstretched. He bows to me formally, her hand securely clasped in his, and then it is his turn to murmur, "Goodbye, Daiki-san. And thank you." I bow back, unable to say anything. They walk together to the doorway of the restaurant, pausing for a few moments to exchange words with the owner, and then they look back at me. I remember how she looked when she first came in. A burst of golden light encased in velvet shadows, fire flickering at the advent of night. Now as she stands beside him, that fire seems to burn within in a rich muted glow, light striking glass, reflecting off each other in poignant clarity and undimmed brilliance. So much promise. A week later, I learn that she is dead. NOTES: OK ^_^ I know that I probably overstated Daiki's case in several parts but I really tend to wax sentimental most of the time. I dunno. Too many frustrations in life, I guess. Just my take on the K&K relationship from another's POV. I wrote this helter-skelter (thinks about "A Road Less Travelled"-->thanks for the proofreading, Chelsea-san ^__^) so typos are probably having a field day. Domo! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Start a new hobby. Meet a new friend. http://www.ONElist.com ONElist: The leading provider of free e-mail list services!