The spring breeze struck and darted and drifted like a playful wall of cherry scent. Pink petals got stuck in Misao's hair – and wound up complementing the kimono and hakama she'd worn; funny that – and dusted along Aoshi-sama's suit. Aoshi-sama didn't move to brush them off, though Misao ran her fingers through her ponytail to comb the blossoms out.
The dishes Yahiko-kun brought from the Akabeko didn't really compare to what she and Shiro and Kuro whipped up most nights at the Aoi-ya, but they looked tasty enough. The yakitori especially made her mouth water. Or maybe her mouth was watering because she was going to be sick. It had been really hard to tell the last few weeks.
Pity Yahiko-kun had only brought sake. She'd corner the boy later and see if he'd done it on purpose or if he'd just plain forgotten about Aoshi-sama.
Megumi insisted on pouring the sake for everyone, laughing fondly at the way Kaoru-san rolled her eyes. She offered a cup to Aoshi-sama, but he shook his head once, declining.
"We don't drink," Misao said, carefully setting a few slices of ginger on her plate.
"Uhm," Tsubame said. "Yahiko-san and I also brought tea."
Misao had a feeling that what Tsubame really meant was that she had brought the tea and Yahiko had wanted to hurry to Mount Ueno. But she didn't point it out. She just gratefully accepted the teapot and poured tea for Aoshi-sama and herself.
She managed to get the tea down and keep it there. Smiling broadly at the way Kenji tried to catch floating cherry blossoms helped her to swallow every time her roiling belly tried to visit. The ginger helped, too. She had a feeling she'd need some for the train ride back to Kyoto.
Conversation was light and easy. Megumi hadn't really kept in touch with Misao, but Kaoru-san wrote to the Aoi-ya all the time. Himura scribbled little extra notes onto her letters, usually in handwriting so bad she had to enlist Kuro's help making sense of it.
Even after five years, it was still like family. Even Aoshi-sama seemed at ease.
Misao looked up at the trees, suddenly reminded of other spring afternoons.
Kenji startled them all with a shrill toddler squeal, the kind that could destroy eardrums. He had stumbled all the way to the base of a tree and was now banging his chubby little hands against the bark. "Up, up, up," he demanded of them all.
Yahiko made a sour face. "It's time to eat, Kenji. We'll climb later."
"Up," Kenji wailed. Then he scrunched his tiny face and began to cry. He was a tiny wisp of a short thing, but he had lungs like a pearl diver.
Misao almost put her hands over her ears.
Yahiko grumbled and surged to his feet. But even after he stalked over to Kenji and scooped him up, the damage was done. Kenji shrieked like he was in pain, long enough that she almost expected his face to change colors.
Aoshi-sama stood and crossed over to them. He held his arms out for Kenji, who mirrored the gesture instantly.
Yahiko sighed mightily and handed him over. For his part, Kenji tangled a fist in Aoshi-sama's bangs and stopped crying. He seemed to be studying Aoshi-sama, as if unsure of what Aoshi-sama even was, or maybe expecting him to suddenly make all the trees climbable and all the grown ups forget about eating or looking at the flowers.
Kenji said, "Up."
Aoshi-sama carefully pulled his hair away from Kenji's hand, then lifted Kenji up over his head for a moment.
Kenji made a shrill noise, but he was smiling.
Aoshi-sama pressed a finger to his lips and lifted him again, then settled the toddler on his hip and made his way back to the rest of them. He sat back down and propped Kenji in his lap.
Misao couldn't help but smile at the way Kenji stared at everyone from Aoshi-sama's lap. His eyes were wide and almost startled – and grew wider when Misao leaned in to tickle him a little. He squealed and squirmed.
"Huh," Yahiko said. "He actually likes you guys. He never likes strangers."
"Maybe you should move closer to Tokyo," Kaoru-san said, smiling and lacing her fingers in Himura's. "You'd obviously be great babysitters."
Aoshi-sama's eyes narrowed for a moment before he said, "We are here once a season. It's best we spend the rest of the year in Kyoto."
"We're needed there," Misao added. "I don't think Jiya would ever forgive us if we up and left." Although if he kept nagging them about when he would get to hear the pitter-patter of little feet in the Aoi-ya's halls…
Well. He nagged Aoshi-sama more than he nagged her.
"I expect he would not, that I do." Himura smiled and squeezed Kaoru-san's hand. "I understand you are both quite busy, but it would be nice to see you often as we once did, that it would."
"It'd be nice to see you guys more often, too," Misao said.
The rest of the afternoon slipped past in a springy haze. Aoshi-sama kept Kenji entertained with simple sleight-of-hand, catching cherry blossoms to palm and then re-produce from behind Kenji's ear or nowhere at all. Megumi and Kaoru-san kept her abreast of the news in Tokyo, while Misao described some of the prettier new fashions she'd seen on the streets of Kyoto.
Such as, for example, wealthy, dainty housewives wearing colorful hakama.
Kaoru-san accepted a cup of tea Himura poured for her and asked with a conspiratory wink, "So when are you two getting married?"
Next to her, Aoshi-sama went stiff for a moment. Misao rolled her eyes.
"We are married, Kaoru-san."
"You didn't invite me to the wedding." Like I invited you to mine, Kaoru-san didn't say but Misao heard anyway.
"It wasn't much of a wedding."
Aoshi-sama studiously returned his attention to Kenji and the cherry blossoms.
"Tae-san got a letter from Sae-san all about how you were getting married and there were guests just pouring into town from all over a whole season before the wedding even happened. Don't tell me it wasn't much of a wedding."
"That was business," Misao said, and that seemed to end the conversation. For now, at least. Until Misao could get Aoshi-sama to agree to a second, much less expensive and more private ceremony, she had no doubt that this would be sort of a point of contention between them.
An hour or so later, the afternoon turned from sweetly brisk to outright cold, and not even Aoshi-sama's inexplicable charm could keep Kenji from growing fussy. Misao, Tsubame, and Megumi helped Karou-san pack up the picnic while Yahiko tried to keep Kenji occupied.
Misao hurried away from Aoshi-sama to catch Megumi as they all left. She could feel Aoshi-sama's eyes on her as she gently touched Megumi's arm to catch her attention.
"Megumi-san," she said, trying to keep her voice low. "I hate to ask you to act as a doctor when you're just visiting friends. But can I see you a little later this week?"
Megumi looked intently at her. After a moment, she gave Misao a sharp and yet encouraging smile. "Well, if you must, you must. Come by Gensai's clinic in the afternoon sometime."
It didn't compare to Kyoto – nothing could ever compare to her beautiful, beautiful hometown – but Tokyo really was pretty in spring: the sunlight glittered on the tiled roofs, the trees and flowers were all in first bloom. The entire city was a rainbow riot of color. Everywhere she looked she saw green and pink – or blue, or violet, or red and orange. Misao took her time wandering the streets, just enjoying the fresh sunshine and the sights.
But even her slow feet had to carry her to her destination eventually.
Misao pulled open the door to Gensai's clinic, leaving her shoes by the door.
Megumi was in one of the front rooms, drinking a cup of tea. When she caught sight of Misao, she set the tea cup down and stood. A faintly amused smile quirked along her lips.
Misao pointed. "You think you know what this is about."
"Well, yes. A married woman asks to see a female friend who happens to be a doctor, privately, about a medical issue? Either you've developed a suspicious rash you don't want Shinomori to see, or…"
"I do not have any suspicious rashes!"
Megumi laughed. "I didn't really think you did. Come on back. I'll need to examine you and ask intrusive questions. I've warmed the room up, at least."
The exam room was definitely warm. Misao saw a low bench or table – probably to lay patients out on – and a few clean linens, some buckets and other instruments.
Megumi strode into the room with a confident, measured pace. "Well, let's get started. Off with it all."
"Everything?!"
"Everything. That's why the room is warm." Megumi clapped her hands together. "Hurry up! We have places to go after this, you know."
Misao sighed and untied her hakama – a deep green with white vines and pink flowers painted trailing up the sides – stepping out of it before unwinding her obi and shrugging out of her kimono. She pulled aside the sarashi and folded everything neatly, or at least so it would be quick to get back into.
Megumi's eyes trailed down her form and landed on the slight roundness near the bottom of her abdomen. It wasn't a fattening stomach.
"This what you thought I was asking you about, right? I mean, it's probably either a tumor or –"
Megumi held up a hand. "When were your last courses?"
Oh boy. Misao shrugged. That didn't impress Megumi – seriously, that was a scary, scary look – and so she started counting back on her fingers. "Four, five months ago?"
"There is no way you're five months along." Megumi stopped, considering. "Before they stopped completely, were they… regular?"
"Not really," Misao admitted. "Omasu said my mother's skipped around a lot, too."
"Well, it could be the fact that you weigh less than a bird. Or an irregular cycle may just run in your mother's family." Megumi tapped a finger against her lip, thinking. "Any other symptoms?"
"I've been more tired than usual. Kind of moody. Feel queasy all the time, especially around fish."
Megumi nodded, then raised an eyebrow. Clearly she remembered that Misao usually handled the sushi or sashimi with any meal at the Aoi-ya.
Misao gave a sheepish smile. "Yeah. Poor Shiro's had to take over all the fish prep back home. I can't even help Himura with it tonight."
"I assume you're eating a lot of ginger?"
"Yep."
"Any soreness, tenderness, pain?"
Misao poked the side of one of her breasts and winced. "Up here. I'm lucky Aoshi-sama isn't really –"
"Stop. Stop right there." Megumi closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I didn't need to hear that."
"Sorry."
"I'll forgive you. But no more details like that, please. There are things I really do not need to imagine." Megumi placed two fingers on the bump, poking and prodding.
The poking and prodding went on a long time, and wasn't just limited to her skin. Misao breathed out through her nose and forced herself not to jerk away. At last, Megumi washed her hands in a little basin and turned to Misao. "I think we both know what I'm about to say."
"So I'm…? I mean… You're sure? I can be sure?"
"You'll want to find a good midwife in Kyoto. I wish I could volunteer, but..." Megumi trailed off. There were new laws about midwives and physicians. Megumi couldn't qualify as the former, and her license as the latter was tenuous.
Not to mention her practice was here in Tokyo.
"I'd start eating meat and drinking milk. If you get cravings for weird food, go ahead. It probably can't hurt. If you get cravings for anything that isn't food, don't eat it."
"I could actually crave something that isn't food?"
"Oh yes. I didn't train as a midwife, but I've heard all the stories. Chalk's popular. So is dirt."
"Well, dirt's pretty harmless, isn't it?" Misao felt a wicked smile curl along her mouth.
"If it isn't food," Megumi said again, this time in a severe tone, "don't eat it."
Misao didn't really think the warning had to be that severe. She couldn't see herself – especially not herself as a very pregnant woman - bending down to shove handfuls of dirt in her mouth. What on earth could make it seem tasty?
"All right," she said. "I promise I won't eat anything that isn't food."
"Good." Megumi waved her hands toward Misao's clothes. "Go ahead and get dressed. We might as well walk to the dojo together, hm?"
"Might as well," Misao agreed.
The news didn't really strike home until she was walking to the dojo. Megumi took tiny, graceful steps, not really bothering to hurry to keep up with Misao's longer strides. Still, Misao never entirely outpaced Megumi.
And it hit her. She had to stop moving, had to look away from the streets around her. With child. She was with child. This was actually happening; it wasn't a dream, wasn't some castle in the sky she'd spun as a girl to keep herself occupied.
She was going to have to tell Aoshi-sama soon. He'd been kind enough not to draw attention to the changes, apparently content to let her confirm it on her own without stressing either of them about it. For a moment, Misao was a little giddy: not only was she Aoshi-sama's wife, she was going to be the mother of his child.
This was huge. A whole new life, a whole new set of responsibilities, a whole new form of joy –
Aoshi-sama was leaning outside the Kamiya dojo's gate. He straightened as they drew near. His gaze flicked over both of them, then rested heavily on Misao. She felt trapped by his eyes, clear and perfect, contrasting with the ink black of his bangs.
She couldn't stop the smile that warmed her face, not that she would have tried. "Aoshi-sama."
"Misao," he said in the soft tone – like his mouth was lingering over the word – that made her shiver. After half a heartbeat, he added a brusque, perfunctory, "Takani."
He suspected. She could see it in the heat in his eyes.
Misao's smile widened. "Aoshi-sama. Were you waiting long?"
"No. Not long."
"Good." She stood just a little way away from him, turned to look up at him. She hardly noticed Megumi push past her to make her way inside. She was too entranced by the way Aoshi-sama was looking back at her.
He definitely suspected. But he didn't seem nervous – well, not very nervous – or upset. He'd probably see it as good news. Probably.
"Aoshi-sama, we should talk a little later tonight. It's kind of serious."
"Aa," he said.
And then they went in. Dinner happened. It started the moment Himura set the last plates on the table and went on until well after sundown. But for Misao, it passed in a fog: what she said, what anyone else said, what she ate… She knew she was participating. She knew she probably even seemed like herself. But none of it penetrated, none of it struck her the way that one sudden new fact did.
In the end, she found herself sitting at a near-deserted table, watching the moon rise over the darkened courtyard. Kaoru-san and Kenji were gone. Yahiko knelt outside, near the the basin by the well, and methodically dunked and scrubbed something. Dishes, she guessed.
Someone placed a hand on her shoulder. Misao half jumped, instinctively tensing until she realized that she recognized the heartbeat of the man behind her.
"Aoshi-sama?"
"Aa," he said. His tone was bland, patient, but she thought she heard some kind of an edge to it. Anticipation, maybe? Worry about why and how his wife had suddenly gone mixed up and moon-brained?
"Time for us to go, I guess. I think I must have been sleeping with my eyes open."
Aoshi-sama didn't dignify that with a response, though his expression softened again.
She and Aoshi-sama stopped at the door to pull on heavier outer layers. The days were brisk and balmy, but nights could still be chilly.
Aoshi-sama had been kind enough to bring her haori, tucked away in his enormous coat by some piece of ninja magic, or perhaps just his ability to be ultra-prepared. The day had been so warm when she'd left the Yuri-ya that she hadn't thought to take it.
Misao smiled at him as they made their way through Tokyo's darkened streets. It was a good thing they didn't pass many people on their way back to the Yuri-ya. Aoshi-sama tensed every time the street failed to be empty and tensed more if anyone passed too close to them.
"The crime in this town can't be worse than Kyoto," she murmured to him, just a few blocks from their inn.
"I have fewer connections here."
Misao cocked her head. True, the Yuri-ya was only a year or so old, and the visible staff were all younger agents with out-of-town accents. Of course it hadn't made all the inroads into Tokyo's criminal underworld that Aoshi-sama would like. But he'd said he didn't have connections, when he'd lived here for years.
After a moment, as if sensing her question, he murmured, "Street criminals die quickly. Those who would remember me have either died or moved up."
Other women might not have found that open allusion to an intimidating criminal past endearing. And Misao wasn't exactly overjoyed about the man in whose employ Aoshi-sama had spent most of that past. But he was so determined to use his stature in Japan's many and sundry shadow worlds to keep the street vermin away from them – when they both knew that vermin approached them at their peril.
And that was downright sweet, in a paranoid ninja way. Sweet enough that she felt warm and fuzzy all the way back to the Yuri-ya. If Aoshi-sama had any idea what she was thinking, he didn't mention it. Not even to remind her that paranoid ninja sweetness was still dangerous and came from a side of the soul he'd rather she never experienced.
The Yuri-ya staff made a point of not recognizing them as anything but relatively frequent patrons, at least during business hours. So when she and Aoshi-sama stepped through the door and slipped their shoes off, they were greeted with polite disinterest. Just the way Aoshi-sama liked it.
They made their way up to their room, still ignoring and ignored by the staff. Misao shut the door to their surprisingly spacious room behind her, shucked her haori, and smiled.
"You know, I've got this feeling," she murmured, maybe a litle sing-song.
Aoshi-sama tucked his coat away, then stripped his woolen socks, business jacket, and tie. He turned to her and raised an eyebrow.
"That maybe they gave us the best room in the house?"
"You haven't explored them all?"
"Aoshi-sama! Go inspecting every room in a ryokan I don't run?" She feigned a scandalized tone, then smiled helplessly. "Please don't tell me this is some sort of courtesy they're extending."
"More a practicality," he replied. "Love matches amongst the Oniwabanshuu are rare."
In other words, the Yuri-ya staff were expecting them to carry on without regard for noise.
"They gave us this room so we wouldn't disturb other guests? Seriously?" Misao tilted her head and looked up at Aoshi-sama, considering.
He pounced first. It wasn't exactly rare for him – he'd never pretended disinterest, not even when they'd been working out the complications of a too-public, too-impersonal wedding – but still worth note. She twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
Later, Misao curled her ankle over Aoshi-sama's to hook a blanket. She used her foot to draw it up over his knee and pillowed her head on his chest. They hadn't made it to bed, though they'd sort of been close. If she counted the fact that they'd landed just shy of the futon with their feet at its bottom edge.
Aoshi-sama grabbed the blanket and dragged it up over her shoulder. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back to the floor, all his strength seemingly spent by the effort.
She wasn't fooled. Maybe other men would be completely exhausted, but sex seemed to reawaken Aoshi-sama's thoughts. And if his mind was abuzz, he was perfectly capable of telling exhaustion to go take a nap.
"You missed me today."
"Aa," he said, voice drowsy.
"You remember I said we needed to talk?"
"Aa."
Misao shifted so she could see his eyes. They weren't dull or heavy-lidded. In fact, judging by the intelligent glint to them, he was wide awake and alert.
"You're pretending to be tired and I have important news," she murmured.
He lolled his head and raised an eyebrow without bothering to open his eyes. He really could be impossible, sometimes.
Well, if he was going to be stubborn about it...
"Aoshi-sama, I'm pregnant."
His eyes shot open.