Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Mail Order Bride

Chapter Six: Finale

By: omni82

"Aoshi," Kaoru repeated, scrambling to her feet. She blushed, smoothing her skirt down and trying to straighten her hair.

"Kaoru," he acknowledged with a nod.

He was dressed immaculately in a neatly pressed ebony suit, looking smooth, cultivated, and wildly out of place in the rustic beauty of their setting. He was a walking shadow, drawing all light into a beautiful, black onyx pool. Everything about him was perfect, just as she had remembered, from the way he pant leg fold in a crisply ironed crease, to the way all of the dirt and dust of life seemed to actually flee the shining black of his boot.

Aoshi ran a long, elegant hand through his raven hair in a gesture of practiced habit. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, in the beginning of one of those rare, secret smiles, which had first made her love him. Kaoru blushed, and felt herself start to smile back, before she remembered the man he'd been when she left.

He noted the way she smoothed her face into an expression of contempt, but merely gave a cheerful wink.

"And you must be Kenshin," he said smoothly, stretching his hand out.

Kenshin looked at his hand, but did not move.

"It appears," he said instead, "That you have a great advantage over me, because I have no idea who you are."

Aoshi simply laughed again, the smooth, easy laugh he used with senior doctors or society men, meant to put them at ease and make them trust in his sincerity.

"My apologies. My name is Aoshi. Your wife had a preexisting contract to marry me, and now I've come to collect."

***

Kenshin watched the way the deep crimson blush seemed to me creeping down Kaoru's neck every time Aoshi looked at her, and began to get an uneasy, familiar feeling in his shoulders. Back in the war, whenever he had seen the black lumbering cannon creep over a ridge, surrounded by a host of silent, big-eyed southern boys, he would get the same feeling. The muscles around his spine would bunch together, and the back of his neck would go white with tension, just before he sounded a charge.

A battle would be preferable right now.

They were sitting in his common room, calmly eating lunch, and discussing the disposal of his wife. Aoshi had given the rough, golden timbered room a single look, but merely commented, "How nice," before sitting down in the most comfortable chair.

He took the seat across from him, and he didn't fail to notice that Kaoru had sat next to Aoshi, rather than him. The small, irrationally jealous part of his mind stirred.

"So," Aoshi concluded, with a winning smile, "I've realized my mistake, and I'm willing to take both Yahiko and Kaoru with me, if, of course, you'll consent to have your marriage annulled."

Kaoru stirred at his side, but Aoshi, merely smiled and patted her hand.

Kenshin stared down at the floor, memorizing the scuff in his leather boot, remaining silent. He thought of battle and again devoutly wished to be there instead. The splatter of blood, the scream of the dying man next to him, as he charged, stepping on the dead and dying in a rush of fear and adrenaline - that was something real, something tangible he could fight. Here there was only a far too reasonable man, with his smooth, unctuous voice, and the unreadable look in Kaoru's eyes.

"I . . . I need time to think about it," he temporized.

Aoshi nodded, that same, affable smile never slipping.

"Of course, though . . ." his eyes darted toward Kaoru. "I would be willing to . . . compensate you, if that's a concern."

"And how much, exactly, do you think my wife is worth?" he asked, dryly.

Aoshi leaned forward and murmured a sum. Kenshin swallowed, impressed despite himself. That was more money than he'd see in ten years, living on the prairie. Aoshi's azure eyes darkened into dark swirling pools and for a moment held him.

"Just think about it."

A thump broke the silence. Both of the men looked up, startled. Kaoru stood in the center of the room, her chair fallen by her side. Her legs were braced slightly apart, and her arms were folded under her breasts. Her own dark eyes were flashing and she just looked at them. Then she turned and left.

Kenshin's eyes followed her slender, retreating figure, and shook his head.

"Ah, women," Aoshi sighed. "Just like horses. The finer the flank, the more high strung." And with that elegant analogy, he stood up, and followed her out.

***

Kaoru burst into a run, as soon, as she was out of sight. The sharp, dry blades of grass cut at her legs, leaving a little red lattice of welts, but she didn't care. An indefinable mixture of emotions coursed through her, and frankly, she didn't know whether she wanted to smack the smug expressions off their faces, respectability be damned, burst into tears, or throw herself on the ground and start kicking her heels and screaming like a brat in a temper tantrum. The last actually seemed the most tempting right now.

She didn't hear the footsteps until he was right on top of her. A big, warm hand enclosed her wrist and spun her around. There was only a moment to register that it was Aoshi not, as she'd hoped, Kenshin, before his lips were pressed against hers in an urgency he'd never shown back in Boston.

His warm lips moved against hers and she felt his breath swirl madly within her lungs. The warm moisture of his taste filled her mouth, and all she could feel was the soft movement of his tongue. His hands were clutched around her waist, and for a moment, all she wanted to do was melt into his arms.

He finally broke off, but didn't let go of her. A small, sweet smile was playing on his lips, and he brushed the tip of his long white finger against her cheek.

"Kaoru, sweetheart," he murmured into her hair. "Come home. I can make this all go away. Come home with me, and I'll take care of you, always."

It was so tempting, to just give all of this up, and go away, to have someone she could depend on, always. All those years with Aoshi - they couldn't be a mistake, could they?

But then she remembered the look on his face when she'd left him that day; angry, like a man cheated out of something he owned. Oh, it was flattering and seductive that he came all of this way to bring her home, but had he ever once even asked her if she wanted to come "home"? No, he'd just barged in with the easy self-assurance of a man who was coming to reclaim a lost bride, and tried to buy her from her husband. Kenshin, who had always been kind, who had worried about her honor who - she realized, in a flash of insight, hadn't been disgusted with her, but himself. Kenshin had been thinking about her fear, alone in this wilderness, and thought he had taken advantage of her.

She almost laughed in relief, but a look at Aoshi's earnest blue eyes stilled it in her throat.

"No, Aoshi," she said gently. "I can't. I am home."

His lips twisted and, cool, implacable Aoshi, who had always been serene, went completely out of control.

***

Aoshi stared at this insolent, beautiful bitch in front of him and something snapped. He was laughing at him, he knew it, under those long lashes, she saw a man who had lost, and she was laughing at him.

His hand shot out and clenched around her throat. Her eyes snapped open, and hands stretched out in supplication, clawing in wordless terror at his hands, her cries cutting off. He squeezed, feeling her soft throat start to close, and crumple, under the inexorable pressure of his hands.

He threw her off of him in a convulsive motion, sending her crashing on the ground in a disoriented heap, coughing, heaving dry air. Her legs spread out, bare and tangled, as she dragged herself to her knees and began crawling away from him. He slammed a thick heel on her hand, making her sag to the ground with a whimper of pain, and a dull crack.

When she looked up, he saw real terror in her eyes, and smiled. He wanted, he needed, to see her shrink back, and sob at his laugh, sob until there were no sounds left, just the music of his own staccato breathing and her flesh ringing dully beneath his fists into the open air.

***

Kenshin's looked at the rippling grass, where Aoshi had just retreated. There was something wrong about the whole situation. Now that he wasn't under his gaze, he felt uneasy. The man was just too . . . perfect.

He stood up and began following him, for no particular easy. He stalked through the grass, hidden, and easily following his trail.

The pair raised out of the clearing, like a Tower of Babel, Poseidon's trident erupting from a calm sea. Kaoru was in his arms, melted against his shoulder, and he was running a finger along her jaw, murmuring something into her hair.

So. That was that. Kenshin turned and started back toward the house, trying to tell himself he should be relieved. No more uncertainties, no more guilt. She had been the one to betray him; his hands were clean. He could accept his thirty pieces of silver, with no guilt, and move on.

But as he walked, a terrible anger began building in him, and he bit his lip. His shoulders began to stiffen again and he longed to hurl something at the pair, to spit on them and their money and damn their new life to the coldest, darkest hell.

He half turned, and looked at the pair, tempted turn back and curse them all, but froze.

Kaoru was crumpled on the ground, clutching her hand, and looking up at Aoshi with true fear. He was hurling his fist at her over and over, and still his face was not anything Kenshin would call sane.

He began sprinting through the grass, making no pretense at stealth anymore, flashing into the scene with an enraged scream, and punching Aoshi before he had any time to react. His fist connected with a satisfying crack. Before Aoshi had time to recover, Kenshin was on him again swinging -not wildly, no- but with each punch as deliberately controlled as the crack of a whip.

Aoshi backed up, until he tripped over Kaoru, and swore. He grabbed her and hauled her roughly to her feet, using her as a sort of impromptu shield against Kenshin. His left arm was wrapped around her neck, but in his right hand, he held a gun.

"I'm willing to call this a draw," he said slowly, dangerously. "Let me take Kaoru, and I won't hurt her."

Kenshin made a polite noise of disbelief, quirking an eyebrow upward at the sight of her bruised and purpled face.

"I mean it," Aoshi said. "I've put a lot of work in, trying to get her back. There were those bandits I hired, to attack the next farm over, so she'd want to go home with me. They couldn't attack here, naturally - you can't trust scum like that to keep off of a beautiful woman. I'm a successful man. I need a beautiful wife."

"Well why don't you buy another one," Kaoru snarled, her voice hoarse and strained. "Because this one isn't coming home with you."

That look of rage twisted Aoshi's face again, but before he could move, a single shot rang out, and a look of surprise crossed his eyes, then he slumped over. Kenshin flew to Kaoru's side, pulling her out of Aoshi's arms, as his body convulsed, clutching her throat.

She sagged in to his arms, burying her head against his chest and sobbing inarticulately. Standing behind the body was Saitou, with Tokio leaning against his arm, both oddly detached and dispassionate.

"Slay evil instantly," he said, sliding his gun back into his holster. His eyes narrowed, and he said with a little more force, "No one hurts my wife."

Kenshin nodded in thanks and turned his attention back to his wife, who was shivering convulsively.

"Kenshin," she whispered. "I thought I was going to die, without ever seeing you again... I love you. I don't care about anything, not what I'm supposed to be, not the thirty days, your wife. When the bells resonate all I hear is us."

Kenshin stroked her soft hair, and whispered soothing words to her. Bells? She was obviously going into shock, incoherent. Still . . .

"But how did you know about my wife?"

"Sanosuke told me," came the muffled reply.

"And... It doesn't bother you?'

"No. She's a part of you, and I'll take you however you are. Whole, hurting, even in love with a dead woman. It doesn't matter."

"Kaoru . . ." He kissed the top of her head, fervently. "I love you."

I love you . . . The words echoed, carried on the golden laughter of the wind. As he held his wife, her shivering began to stop. That moment was hardly more than a spark in time, lingering wistfully as the soft strains of a flute carried on a breeze. The amber fields rippled with the wind, surrounding them in all direction with unwavering light. Above them was an endless azure sky, with lacy, white clouds dappling its flawless surface. All of it would fade - the clouds would melt away, and the sky would fade to a dark rose, then the deep black of night. Winter would come and the two would grow old, and die. One day, all that would be left from the history of their upheavals would be two twin graves, abandoned, forgotten, and trampled by the unforgiving elements.

Yet, even on that day, her words would linger, remembered by the earth itself. And he knew that no matter what happened in his life, all that mattered was once, today, his wife had loved him. This moment would never die.

"I love you," he repeated in a litany. "I love you."

It was enough.

Not to Be Continued…