Disclaimer: This is a Rurouni Kenshin-inspired fanfiction. The characters of Rurouni Kenshin

belong to Watsuki Nobuhiro, Shounen Jump, and Sony and others that should be mentioned but

weren't.

FLORI-DONO'S NOTES: Oh well, here's a Rurouni Kenshin fanfiction written by a good friend of

mine. To tell you the truth, I find her works better than mine. But of course, we have

different writing styles and she uses deeper words. Anyway, read this, it's good!

BEFORE THE DAY IS DONE by Ans

He it is, the innermost one, who awakens my beingwith his deep hidden touches.

He it is who puts his enchantment upon 

these eyes and joyfully plays on the chords of my 

heart in varied cadence of pleasure and pain.

He it is who weaves the web of this maya

in evanescent hues of gold and silver, blue and

green, and lets peep out through the folds his feet,

at whose touch I forget myself.

Days come and ages pass, and it is ever he

who moves my heart in many a name, in many a

guise, in many a rapture of joy and of sorrow.

-Rabindranath Tagore

It was more than she ever hoped for, vastly more than she ever

dreamed for herself. Yet it was like a dream where she was deep in

slumber but conscious of every detail, every motion, every breath

that she took. Yes, conscious even of his presence -- his

overwhelming presence that drowns all else and rises to consume. In

all its seeming madness, she was sanely aware of the bond that held

her to the power that is Shishio.

She woke up that night with a start. Her eyes at once tried to

focus on her surroundings that at first appeared unfamiliar. 'Where

am I?' Blinking, rolling her eyes to every direction, her mind

slowly registered the results of her perusal. 'Aa,' she thought. 'I

am home.' Turning her head a little to the right, she saw the

painting on the wall featuring a waterfall cascading down a

magnificent mountain. At the foot of the peak was a pagoda wherein

a lone woman stood looking forlornly out the window. The woman was

wearing a dazzling blue kimono with streaks of silver at the hem.

With a sigh she wondered again -- as she had countless times before

-- why someone so beautiful could look so lonely. 'What could she

be thinking? Who could be the object of such longing?' For a minute

there her ebony eyes moistened with a fleeting thought. The single

tear threatened to course down her cheeks. And just as swiftly the

wetness was gone and she gave a slight smirk. 'Probably lost her

rich, balding danna!' she joked to herself.

A low grunt from her left caused her body to tense and her skin to

shiver. All at once she was again overly aware of his scent, his

heat, making her shiver all the more. It wasn't that she was

surprised; not for a moment could she possibly forget that he was

there beside her. It wasn't that she was frightened either; never,

for it was not her way to be scared of a mere man. Ay, Kami-sama

knows that she's had her fill of men; and they've had their fill of

her. No, it was something else that made her form tingle in the

warm air. Slowly shifting her weight to face him, she was greeted

by a mass of wound dressing. The cloth had yellowed through the

years and had thinned considerably, exposing some amount of flesh

-- or what's left of it. 

In a rush, the memories came hurtling back.

When she first met him, she had not noticed the bandages. He was

wearing a long, brown, tattered coat and a wide-brimmed hat that

left his whole body concealed and betrayed nothing. "Looking for a

wild time, mister?" she had asked almost mechanically, at the same

time exposing a creamy shoulder and seductively licking her

green-colored lips. How many nights and times she had done this,

she had lost count. Flirting came naturally now and she knew that

she could bring any man to his knees, make him beg for her company,

all for a price. And what a price she once demanded when she was

new to the business. After all, she wouldn't settle for so little

when the whole male population of Kyoto lusted after her. But

seasons have gone, taking youth in their arms. No longer was she

the pretty, little Yumi whom everyone desired. A few lines have

adorned her brow and the youthful glow she once exuded has been

extinguished. When she met him she was then only a harlot in all

the vulgar facts of the word. She needed the money to survive, and

he looked like someone who could spare some for a night.

Thinking his silence for compliance, she had moved to cup the back

of his head and kiss his lips. But he had held her back with one

word. "No," he growled in the most chilling voice she had ever

heard. She should have been frightened, but she wasn't. She had no

idea who he was and what he had done. "Oh," she answered teasingly,

"Is that how you want to play it? You resist and I. attack?" Moving

even closer, she started to part his coat. And what she had seen

shocked her beyond all description. Her small mouth formed an O as

her eyes pored over the man. His burnt body was wrapped in soiled

bandages and looked so frail and rickety; like an old hermit who'll

probably fall with a gust of wind. She would find out much later on

that he was actually stronger than ten men put together. But that

night all she saw was a seriously deformed man who unexpectedly

touched what pity she had left. 

When she was through studying him with widened eyes, he reverently

reached for his hat and took it off. She hadn't cared about the

dressing that left his whole face covered. She hadn't cared for the

clumps of hair that stuck disgustingly out of it either. What she

encountered there were the most amazing eyes she had ever seen.

Their hue defied any category for they seemed to glow with all the

colors of the night. They spoke volumes, those eyes. They were the

only part of him that was not heinously ravaged by the fire. In the

moonlight, they flickered like dancing fireflies for one moment

then flashed like clashing swords the next. Standing there with her

shawl slipping from her shoulders, she had decided that she could

spend forever staring at those eyes. She had decided, without

thought, that she would discover and cherish the stories those eyes

would tell. To those eyes, she had surrendered her heart.

Oh, memories. the things you could do to a woman's heart! Even then

she knew that she would never leave him. He need not have said a

word for her to follow him. Even on that night, as they lay

together like man and wife, he need not have said anything for her

to want to stay in his arms. And yet. And yet there was some part

of her that wanted him to speak. Some part deep inside her wanted

him to caress her lovingly as his lips whispered tender words in

her ear. Some part of her wanted to feel. his love.

'But does he love me?' she asked herself. She knew he was not the

type to express his feelings. He was an assassin, and assassins

don't feel. For if they did, they would not be able to bear the

burden of ending someone's life. He could not feel. And yet. When

he kissed her sometimes, she swore he was trying to tell her

something. When he held her, it seemed he did so as if he never

wanted to let her go -- as if he was trying to make up for what he

could not say out loud. For the longest time she had fooled herself

into thinking that she meant the most to him. 

But then when he's making plans for destroying Himura Battousai,

his eyes betrayed the cold, unfeeling exterior. He loved it! He

reveled in the thought of obliterating his archenemy. It was his

life, killing and getting back at his oppressors. In those moments,

he looked so engrossed and so. in love with the thought of revenge.

And she knew, as much as it hurt to admit it, that she was not

first in his heart -- had never been and never will be. He was a

swordsman first above all else. She was never a part of his plan.

She was just for show. a decoration of some sort. She was not a

seasoned fighter, and fighting was the only thing he really cared

about. What it all boiled down to was that she was just there to

satisfy his masculine whims. 

And the tears that had threatened to flow just a moment ago took

its course -- through the slits of her eyes, down her cheeks, and

finally ending in a mass of bandages beside her head. Everything,

it seemed, ended with him and for him, even her tears. But the

surprising fact was she didn't hate him for it. In truth she was

glad for it because she could give him something that no one else

can. She could cry for him and no one can take that away. He may

not know it, but it was enough for her. 

* * * * * * * * * *

She was crying again, he knew. So many nights he'd felt her tears

soak his back and he had tightly closed his eyes pretending to

sleep. So many nights he'd wanted to brush her tears away with the

back of his wounded hand but his mind drifted to drown out her

sobs. So many nights he'd wanted to give in, but the thought of

tomorrow would again restrain him and keep him still. Tomorrow

there would be strategies to plan, officials to get rid of, minions

to train, and Battousai to consider. All tomorrows bring him closer

to Himura's door and satisfaction for this was enough to get him

through the night.

And yet. In the middle of his reverie when he would suddenly become

aware of Yumi's breathing, he would forget himself. His cunning

mind would be barraged by irrational images of a life where he was

not scarred, where he was with her. anxious for what the future

would bring. It was a life where he could be happy. and she was

there. It was a life where he was never betrayed.

And this thought would take him back to the present and to what he

set out to do. Only when his savage betrayers are wiped off from

the face of the earth could he be truly happy. Only when he has

avenged his fate could he be allowed to hope. Only when the world

proclaims his name -- in fear and in praise -- could he rest. He

was Shishio. and he deserved to be known. 'No one can come in the

way of my master plan, not the whole of Japan, not the Meiji

government, not Battousai himself! Soon the whole country will be

covered in bandages to hide the wounds I shall inflict. And I will

not be alone in this state.' This vision kept him alive.

But he heard her crying again and felt her tears once more. Yumi.

He knew she wanted him to love her. He knew she wanted him to be

all the things a lover should be. He knew too that despite

everything, she loved him. It was enough for her to steal some

moments with him. And yes, he knew she deserved more.

Looking down, he saw her trying desperately to hide her face in his

chest. Her hair had come free of the deadly clip she usually wore.

Now it spread freely on her shoulders, on him, and on the pillow.

She looked so vulnerable at that instant that he wasn't able to

stop himself. He put his hand on her hair and stroked it gently to

ease her sobs. His right hand slid through their smooth and

lustrous length while his left reached over and caressed her cheek.

She went still, unsure of the reality of his movements.

'Shishio-sama is . comforting me.' The thought was enough to make

her coil away and run. The sensation of his fingers on her hair, on

her cheeks, was so new and unexpected. She had dreamed about it for

so long and now that it was actually happening, she could not allow

herself the joy. She knew it would not last long. It would only

hurt more if she let herself bask in its sweetness, only for him to

stop and push her away again. 'Baka! Stop it and let him leave you

to your misery,' a small voice inside her scolded. Slowly, her

crying abated but she could not bring herself to face him just yet.

She was ashamed for showing so much and wanting much more. She

pressed her face to his chest.

'She's hurting,' he thought. Why should you care, something at the

back of his mind taunted him. She's a whore and she's only good for

one thing. And yet he had the overwhelming urge to take away her

pain and make her smile. He wanted her to be happy for once in his

arms. They had been through a lot. When he had nightmares that

flames were ravaging his body once again, her voice carried him

through it and her hands roused him from sleep. When he had been

furious for no reason at all and he hit her, she struggled all the

more to calm him down. Tonight. will be different.

Tilting her chin with his fingers, he forced her to look at him.

"Look at me, Yumi," he coaxed. His voice was curiously not menacing

and managed to sound kind. She looked at his eyes, those eyes that

she had promised to fathom and to understand. Realizing that she

was not able to do those after all this time, that she was not able

to share in their stories as she had wanted, her own eyes began to

water with fresh tears.

Seeing it, he felt a sharp blow inside. 'No,' he vowed to himself.

'Not tonight.' He kissed her eyes softly, drying her tears.

Achingly, his lips moved down her damp cheeks, licking the wetness

away. Finally they rested on her yielding mouth and his tongue

forced its way in. He tasted her, as he had never done before. He

relished the sweetness of her tongue and the saltiness of her

tears. He probed deeply, wanting the exchange to never end as she

kissed him back. He could not hold back now.

Breaking the smoldering kiss, he whispered with all his heart,

"Yumi, tears have no place here tonight. Tonight will be yours.

Tonight you are first. Tomorrow will take care of itself." And with

that he claimed her lips once again, forgetting -- at least for the

night -- all the tomorrows yet to come. 

Let me give my all to him, before I am asked,

Whom the world offers its all.

When I came to him for my gifts, I was not

afraid;

And I will not fear, when I come

to him to give up what I have.

Hasten, my heart, and spend yourself in love,

Before the day is done.

-Rabindranath Tagore