Plot bunnies. You know them well. I randomly thought of this while editing another fic. It's short, so I hope you enjoy it. Just a little Kenshin overview.

Disclaimer: Anything and everything you see in this fic does not belong to me.


Kenshin walked down the dojo corridor as he carried the crisply folded laundry to Kaoru and his room. Further down was Yahiko's room, and he heard voices whispering from there.

"He couldn't have been more than fourteen when he first started fighting," Yahiko said in a low voice.

"He was just a kid. How could he have married Tomoe-san at only fifteen or so?" Tsubame's high, melodious voice carried down the hall to where Kenshin stood.

He shuffled forward into view of Yahiko's open shoji. The two teenagers caught sight of Kenshin standing there and quieted. Kenshin looked the two of them over silently, watching their guilty expressions flinch under his gaze. He said nothing and continued walking until his footsteps faded from earshot.

Tsubame and Yahiko spoke nothing more about Kenshin

Kenshin reached his and Kaoru's room.He squatted down to separate the neat piles of Kaoru's kimonos.

Eight. The age he was when his parents had died of cholera. He couldn't even remember their faces. Only their voices, high and mystic, light and chiding. The spinning red top.

Ten. When bandits had attacked their band of slave wagons. When Kasumi, Akane and Sakura had died protecting him. When Hiko had found him. And the next month when he had begun to learn swordsmanship.

Thirteen was the age he was when he left Hiko and his teachings in search of a place to help people. He had ended up becoming an assassin instead, and loosing the meaning of what he was searching for. Helping people and killing them became the same thing.

Fifteen. He was fifteen when he had married Tomoe. He couldn't actually remember ever legally marrying her, but when a man and a woman of separate genes lived together in one house, they were married. He remembered Tomoe clearly each day. She never slipped away. Sometimes he could hardly remember Katsura's face back then, but Tomoe always came back. He dark hair, her large, dark eyes, silently surveying everything. She had just been a lost little girl, closed to the world and caught up in the winds of those times. She had been just like him. Fifteen was an important year for him.

He was sixteen when she died. When she had fallen, no, jumped in front of him. When his sword had pierced her through and through and her heart's blood leaked out. The pain never lessened, he had just become more willing to live on.

He hadn't stopped fighting until almost five years after that. And then he ahd simply sheathed his sword and left. He would never kill again. Twenty was the age he had left his past behind him to become what he was now. The rurouni.

And he was thirty when he had given up that persona. He was too attached to the dojo, to his friends. To Kaoru and her sweetness. Her loyalty. They fulfilled him in a way he never had been before.

Thirty-one. He was thirty-one now. Thirty-one and married again, to the girl who would never stop caring for him. To the girl he would never leave.

Kaoru walked in to find Kenshin arranging piles of clothing. She smiled and brushed a few of his fiery red bangs away from his eyes. She loved his eyes. She slid a cool hand on his back, and in return he looked up and stroked her full, pregnant belly.

They kissed softly.

"Tell me when you are done reminiscing and we can go in for lunch," she said to him, her blue eyes smiling as she looked at her husband.

"Hai," he smiled back. Thirty-one and he was happy. He kissed Kaoru's round belly, blessing the baby inside. "Koishii, you need to make sure you are eating enough protein for the baby."

"Mou," Kaoru sighed and heaved herself back to her feet. "Kenshin, will you ever stop worrying?"

"Perhaps, Kaoru," he answered, following her out the door. "Perhaps next year."

Like I said, completely random one-shot. Oh well. I sort of liked the idea.