The clothier said something witty and Tae responded, covering her mouth in a ladylike titter. They both glanced over at Kaoru. She started, wracking her brain to try and remember what they had been talking about. No luck; her mind was thoroughly elsewhere.

She smiled in appreciation of whatever had been said and, thank heaven, that was enough. They resumed their happy banter, and Kaoru lapsed again into her own thoughts.

It was two days before her wedding and Kaoru was supposed to be happy. She was supposed to be a ball of fluttering nerves, giggling and anxious and sparkling with joy. Not afraid – not really.

But she was afraid, because something was wrong – something was haunting Kenshin, disrupting his sleep and weighing down his shoulders until he slouched (and Kenshin never slouched, never) and he wouldn't talk to her about it. And maybe she shouldn't have been surprised by that … no, she did have the right, every right in the world. He was her betrothed. If he couldn't share his burdens with her, then –

Her fingers clenched in her gown.

She'd known who she was marrying. Kenshin was a very private sort of person, too private sometimes; she'd always known that there would be things in his life, memories and old wounds that she would never get to see, secrets that he would never share, and that was fine. None of those things mattered, not anymore: he was here and he was hers and that was the only thing she cared about. But there was – had always been – a difference between when he chose not to share something and when he hid something, and the latter… had never meant anything good.

Simply choosing not to share was one thing. But hiding something from her, keeping her away from some old bit of darkness that was rearing up to strike at his heels, that was –he wasn't trusting her, not even enough to say this is something I have to deal with myself. And she thought they'd moved past that, months ago when Enishi had surged out from the darkness and put them all in danger, when Kenshin had gathered them and said that they had the right to know what this was all about –

Maybe she'd been fooling herself. Maybe that was the price – for all his sweetness, for all his love, he would always look at her and see someone to be protected, cherished like a doll on a shelf. Not a partner. Not an equal.

Kaoru bit her lip idly, turning her cup of lukewarm tea in her hands. The liquid swirled one way as she moved the cup another. Like her and Kenshin. So much a part of each other, now – she couldn't imagine her world without him, and she had to believe that he felt the same way – defining each other, but not quite meeting. Not quite in harmony.

Maybe that was just the way things were going to be.

She could live with that, right? Kenshin was – beautiful, and perfect, and everything she'd ever wanted and most women put up with far worse than a husband who lapsed, now and again, into distracted brooding. She was spoiled, that was what it was. Expecting too much of him. He was only a man, after all.

Anyway, he'd given his word that he wouldn't leave her again. That was enough. That was all she needed.

"…Kaoru?" Tae was looking at her quizzically. Kaoru flushed, suddenly aware that both Tae and Mr. Yamano were staring at her.

"Sorry." Kaoru put down her cup. "I didn't catch that…?"

"Penny for your thoughts?" Mr. Yamano said knowingly, an arch glint in his eyes. Kaoru flushed, knowing that he'd misunderstood the situation and equally uncertain how to get herself out of it.

"Don't tease, Mr. Yamano." Tae giggled. "Our Kaoru's very shy, you know."

"A few butterflies in the stomach are perfectly normal," the clothier responded, nodding sagely. "I've never seen a bride without them, not once in my twenty years. There's nothing to be concerned with." His voice was very kind, and that made Kaoru's blush worst. "I'm sure Mr. Himura is a fine man."

"He is," she blurted out, unable to stand it any longer. "And I'm not nervous, exactly – "

But he's not sleeping, and I know he's having nightmares again, and he's not talking to me about it, and every time I try to ask what's wrong he puts me off with that smile and some act of kindness and a don't-worry-Kaoru and –

And that wasn't what she wanted from their marriage. She wanted to be his wife, his partner – not Miss-Kaoru-who-must-be-protected.

" – it's just, well, it's…"

That I'm probably expecting too much, she thought quietly, and something leaden settled in her stomach. She, of all people, knew how imperfect he was.

"It's a big change," Tae said, leaning over to pat Kaoru on the hand. "But don't worry! Anyone can see how much he cares about you. You're very lucky."

"…yes," Kaoru finished lately. "I am. Very lucky."

And greedy, to ask for more when she'd already been given so much. A fiancé who loved her, who loved her school, who would never dream of telling her to quit her life's calling. A good man, a kind man who saw nothing wrong with her sweaty tomboy ways or her violent temper, her unwomanly impatience. She'd thought that she might never marry: that if she did – if she could find no student worthy of adoption (or willing to be adopted; Yahiko, too, was the last of his line) to carry on the school – then she would have to find some youngest son of a poor family, someone willing to marry into the Kamiya and shed his name for hers, and she knew how difficult those marriages could be, especially when she had no direct male relatives to back her if he thought himself unmanned by the conceit.

She was very, very lucky. And she had to remember that, and let Kenshin have his fits of distance. It was what a proper wife would do.

When they stepped out of the clothier's shop, blinking in the bright spring sunlight, Mr. Hiko was waiting for them. Kaoru wasn't surprised. Kenshin may not have expected his teacher to reply to their invitation, much less actually show up; she knew better. There was a certain weight in the way Kenshin viewed him, a view distorted by their strange, bittersweet history. Old resentments, ancient guilts, and if Kenshin had asked Kaoru would have told him that of course their relationship was difficult, of course their conversations were strained.

They were, after all, father and son. An old story, and one that no family seemed to tire of telling.

He asked his he could steal a moment of her time with the same remote look that he'd worn nearly a year ago, when she'd stumbled up to his small cabin with her heart in her throat and her tongue frozen numb behind clenched teeth as Kenshin had walked past her without even a nod.

I know you're acquainted with Kenshin, but why are you here?

She'd had no answer, then, at least not one that she could give. To see Kenshin had been all that she could muster, all that seemed important, and she'd wondered if this hard man could possibly care, could ever see that it was more than sentiment driving her.

He'd hidden his eyes behind his bangs before responding. Just like Kenshin, she'd thought, and begun to understand.

She'd told him then that she believed in second chances, and she still believed in them now. And what did it matter if Kenshin sometimes grew distant and cool, if sometimes he had nightmares and didn't dare to share them? It was a small price to pay, really, for all that he'd brought into her life – joy and love and – and fulfillment in a way she'd never thought was possible, not for her. Not for Koushijiro's wild daughter, boy-in-a-kimono, a once-cute novelty who'd overstayed her welcome.

Her jaw ached.

"Of course," she said, with a bright smile. "There's a tea shop nearby, if you'd like."

"No, thank you." He nodded towards a bench set under a blossoming cherry tree. Kenshin had been right, after all – the blossoms had come just in time for the wedding, a graceful riot of delicate pinks. "This shouldn't take too long."

Tae went on to their next appointment, promising to make Kaoru's excuses for her. Sometimes Kaoru thought that Tae was more excited about the wedding than she was – but then again, she and Tae had been in the same boat when it came to marital prospects. Despite the change in era, women of business and property were still suspect, still something not-quite-right, and that had been one of the things that had formed their friendship. Two women against the world, holding to what was theirs and willing to sacrifice a future husband and family to do so.

Except Kaoru had found a way around it, and that gave Tae a reason to hope there might be someone out there for her who wouldn't balk at her independence. Kaoru hoped that it was true. Tae was lonely, though she never showed it, and she deserved happiness.

Kaoru settled next to Mr. Hiko on the bench, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Mr. Hiko braced his arms against his knees, his shoulders relaxing in what could have been a sigh, deeply suppressed.

"I wanted to thank you," he rumbled, after a long pause to watch the blossoms waver in the wind.

"Thank me?" Kaoru glanced over at him. His eyes were fixed on the blossoms; there was a weariness bordering on regret in his face, the sense of someone putting down a cherished burden.

He snorted. "You know perfectly well. You saved that idiot's life," he said bluntly. "If you hadn't taken him in, he'd never have found any peace. For that, I owe you."

Then he looked her over, assessing her with a glance. "Something's troubling you."

His gaze was heavy and calm against her skin, calculating, and she slumped a little under the weight of it.

"It's the idiot, isn't it?" Mr. Hiko said. "What has he done this time?"

"Nothing." She couldn't stop the slight, ironic twist of her mouth.

Nothing, except wake her with a strangled scream that had sent her lurching out of bed, grabbing her sleeping robe tight around her. She'd found him stumbling towards her room, his eyes blearily and dazed with sleep and nearly fallen with the force of his grip when he'd flung his arms around her, holding her as if he thought she might vanish.

And then he didn't tell her why. She saw the hollow pits under his eyes growing darker, his skin growing paler with lack of sleep, and still he would not tell her why, and she.. tried to ask. But he made it so hard – he was so good at deflecting, distracting, finding something else to do, some important chore –

He didn't want her to know. Didn't want her involved.

He never did.

Why is he even bothering to marry me, then? she thought, before she could quash it: the thing she'd circled around, not daring to touch, afraid of what she might see if she drew it into the light. Why marry her, if he wouldn't let her share his burdens? If he couldn't even talk to her about something as wretchedly simple as a bad dream…?

"He never did have much sense," Mr. Hiko rumbled, and let out a hoary sigh like an ancient lion. "The nightmares… when did they start?"

"What?" Kaoru turned to face him, startled. How did he – ?

"I know my apprentice," he cut in. "He's been sleeping badly, and he doesn't look nearly content enough for me to think you've been anticipating the wedding."

He smirked a little at her strangled, indignant noise.

"Besides, I've already spoken to him about it. But I want to hear, from you – how long?"

"…a week or so." Her eyes narrowed. "And what do you mean, you've already spoken to him?"

"Just as I said. What did you think we discussed, pottery?" He raised a sarcastic brow at her. "The last thing I need is for that idiot to show up and demand to move back in. He's your problem now, and I intend to see that he stays that way."

"Is that so?" She crossed her arm. "In that case, you shouldn't be interfering, should you?"

"Consider it a wedding gift," he responded. "I'm saving you time, girl. Now tell me why you let it drag on this long."

His tone was casual, flippant even, as though he was inquiring after nothing of any particular importance and – after a week of Kenshin's withdrawal, of her own fears, of worrying despite all reason that he didn't truly want the marry her, or that their marriage would be something cold and distant –

She snapped her head around and glared at him.

"Let it?" she demanded. "What was I supposed to do, beat it out of him?"

"Why not?" He gave her a sardonic grin. "You know how thick that idiot's head is."

"Because – " she started to say, and then stopped herself.

Because that was what she had always done. Held back. Waited for him.

I don't care about people's pasts.

And she didn't. But it would be nice if, sometimes, he would just let her in a little bit farther –

A selfish thing to want, when he'd already bent so far for her.

"Because?" Mr. Hiko watched her with a dark, careful gaze.

"Because he should tell me himself!" she finished finally, crossing her arms. "If it's something he really wants me to know – "

"As if that idiot would." Mr. Hiko snorted. "Listen to me, girl."

His eyes were suddenly very serious.

"There is nothing that Kenshin fears more in this life than losing you." Mr. Hiko returned his attention to the wavering blossoms, tracing them as they fell in unknowable patterns from the twisted branches high above their heads. "Perhaps he's never said it, but you should know how he feels by now."

I do, she wanted to protest, but something in his face stopped her.

"He asked you to be his wife. You accepted. Do you understand what that means?"

The remaining petals shivered in the breeze, sunlight refracting through them into spears of brilliant white tipped with rainbow. Kaoru turned her face to the warmth, her fingers gripping the edge of the bench.

"…it means he'll stay," she said finally. "He won't go wandering off again."

"Won't he?" There was nothing arch or wry in his face now, only a remote kind of focus, as if he was instructing her – and maybe he was, she realized, with an odd lurch of her stomach. He was the closest thing to a father that Kenshin had, after all.

"Might a husband not choose to travel far from his wife, for whatever reason?"

A street vendor called. Kaoru did not let herself shiver.

"…yes. But I wouldn't let him," she said, fiercely. "I'd come after him, like I did in Kyoto – I won't let him leave again, I won't let his past take him – "

"Then why did you hesitate to speak to him?" Mr. Hiko looked curiously at her, almost bored, the side of his face propped against one fist. "You knew he hadn't been sleeping."

"That was different – "

"How?"

Kaoru had no answer. For a long moment there was only silence between them, punctuated by the vendors' calls, by the rustling of the leaves and the blossoms. The quiet chatter from the tea shop.

Half of me is angry. The other half is somewhat… relieved.

Relieved. Such a strange thing to say – not happy to see her. Relieved. As if a burden had been lessened, when really she'd only added to his burdens, chasing him halfway across Japan, into the middle of terrible danger and intrigue – providing his enemies with a target, one they'd been only too happy to exploit –

Miss Kaoru. He'd smiled at her, sitting there in the dojo as they all ate lunch, the first true smile of his she'd seen since that morning on the bridge, that morning when Enishi had delivered the news of his vengeance. I'd like some more, as well.

Are you unhurt?

The first thing he'd asked, after that horrible battle, blood soaking from his wounds to the sand below.

Are you unhurt?

And then he'd collapsed in her arms, a soft exclamation slipping from his lips, as if he had every right to be there.

"…It's not different at all, is it?" Kaoru said, at long last. Mr. Hiko gave a quick, bare smile.

"It took the idiot twice as long to figure out what he'd done wrong," he said, approvingly. "I knew he'd chosen well in you."

When Kenshin told her about the nightmares on his own, she wasn't exactly surprised; Mr. Hiko often had that effect. She only held him close and told him that she was real, that she wasn't going anywhere, and that seemed to be enough.

The morning afterwards, she asked him if he'd slept well.

No nightmares?

He shook his head.

Some, but they were only dreams.