Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is copyrighted by their respective owners, of which I am not one.
When Aoshi opened his eyes, the sun was already riding high towards its zenith, streaming through the eastern window to bathe the room with its golden light. From the position of the sun, he could tell it was already mid-morning. He furrowed his brow into a frown; his internal clock must still be off. Of course, no one had stopped by to wake him up.
He lay there for a long moment, gathering his strength, testing his body gingerly before attempting to sit up. Biting back a groan as his muscles pulled and contracted painfully, he carefully rose to an upright position, rested briefly, then climbed the rest of the way to his feet.
It took more energy than he cared to admit, but Aoshi managed to slowly fold the futon up and set it in its usual corner before opening his chest to find something to wear. Every movement drove a fresh wave of pain through his injured shoulder and ribs but he pushed it aside with little thought. He could not think of the pain now. Keep moving, he told himself. So he did.
He ran through his morning ablutions with less finesse than usual, nearly upsetting the bowl of water he used to wash his face clear of sleep. After easing into the clothes he picked out for today, he glanced at the sun again. Damn. It still took him too long to finish his morning routine.
With a loud breath that could suspiciously sound like a sigh – if Aoshi was the type to sigh – he turned to finally leave the room. And caught sight of the cane set in the corner, as if reminding him of his weakness.
Not even Okina used a cane. No way was he going to start now.
Resolutely, Aoshi ignored the walking stick and stepped towards the door. Well, more like shuffled. Grimacing at his lack of grace, he opened the shoji and glanced at the man who was standing next to the door attentively.
The man bowed respectfully. Aoshi merely nodded, his annoyance at his slow start to the morning doubling with the guard. But it wasn't the sentry's fault, he was merely following orders. Aoshi turned and slowly stepped down the stairs, stopping to rest often when he felt out of breath.
On the bottom landing, Omasu poked her head out of the kitchen as she heard the unusually heavy tread on the steps. She frowned upon seeing him lean against the wall gingerly, panting from the exertion. "Aoshi! Should you already be up?"
The kunoichi would have hurried to his side to help him but Aoshi glared at her to keep her distance. "Despite the rumors, I am not on my deathbed, Omasu. You may return to your duties."
Omasu frowned at his curt tone, not so much bothered by it than worried about his condition. "Well, I hope you're not intending to go to the temple right now. The Okashira is in the office, if you want to know. And lunch will be ready soon." With that, she disappeared back into the kitchen.
Okashira. Omasu had used the title, not Misao's name. Which meant official Oniwaban business was about.
Aoshi contemplated the shinobi's deliberate use of the word. Omasu must have known that he wouldn't attempt to leave for the temple until he knew what was going on with Misao. Thus she left without further warning him to be careful of his condition, as everyone seemed to be fond of doing these days.
His expression flickered into another grimace. Was he becoming that predictable in wanting to check to make sure all was well with her?
Predictable or not, his interest was definitely piqued. Aoshi took a deep breath, exhaled, found his center of peace to fight back the ever-present waves of pain, and started the slow trek down the hallway to the Okashira's office.
Behind him, his sentry tagged along silently.
By the time he arrived at the closed shoji, Aoshi was panting again. Pain coursed through his body freely but he ignored it, focusing instead on the words coming through the door. They were slightly muffled, but he leaned forward to listen more intently. Besides, he had always had excellent hearing, which saved his life on more than one occasion.
"The Osaka branch has reported nothing suspicious so far," a male's voice was saying, even gruffer than usual. "The Yokohama branch sends the same message."
A feminine voice answered, sounding slightly disgusted. "What a surprise. We're missing something here, Jiya. We already know they're organized and efficient and there is at least some evidence of corruption within the ranks." A sigh escaped her and Aoshi could imagine her shaking her head in frustration. "Tell all the branch leaders to double their vigilance. Anything – and I mean anything – should be reported to me immediately."
There was a long silence which puzzled Aoshi. Then the shoji opened and Okina leaned forward until his nose was nearly touching the younger man's. "Spying on the Okashira is an offense punishable by death, Aoshi."
Aoshi instantly put distance between them, his stern mask not wavering in face of his former mentor's teasing. "I am well aware of that," he said shortly.
Okina sighed heavily. "You're no fun, especially when you're injured. Come in, then. Maybe Misao can change your surly attitude." He eyed Aoshi speculatively, causing the younger man to stiffen in preparation for the next comment that was inevitably made. "Are you sure you should be hobbling around in your condition?"
Aoshi didn't even bother to justify that question with an answer. "I'd like to see the Okashira now," he said brusquely.
Okina cackled to himself at the not-so-subtle emphasis on the title. He stepped aside to let the younger man through, nodding to the guard who slipped into position outside the door. Turning back to the room, he saw Aoshi already towering over Misao with his spectacular height. Unfortunately, if he was trying to intimidate the young woman, it was wasted. Misao was too busy scribbling something on a scroll to look up.
Of course, she had time to say, "Okina, I'd like to speak with Aoshi-sama alone, please."
Bah. He never got to hear the good stuff. Grumbling to himself, Okina stepped out and shut the door behind him. He glanced at the young guard, trying to remember his name. Was it Gomo? No, that wasn't right. Giro? Gyoro? "Eh, Gyoro," he began.
"Genjo, sir," the young man interrupted.
"Genjo, right. If you hear anything being thrown about, come get me, all right?"
The young shinobi blinked. "Uh, sir?"
"Don't worry about them, just find me." Okina looked at him sternly. "And that is an order, understood?"
Genjo automatically responded to the voice of authority and nearly saluted. "Sir!"
Okina cackled again and left.
Inside the room, Aoshi waited until he could feel Okina's ki moving away from the room. When it was far enough that he didn't need to worry about the old man eavesdropping, he dropped his gaze down to Misao's dark head. She was still concentrating on the scroll in front of her, writing rapidly in bold strokes. The tip of her tongue peered out from the corner of her mouth which distracted Aoshi for a moment. He then shook his head mentally. Focus, he told himself sternly. Out loud, he said, "Misao."
She glanced up at him then, taking a brief inventory of his condition. Her brow furrowed as she took in his unusually pale complexion and unsteady feet but she said nothing about it. It wouldn't do any good, anyway since he ignored the first thousand concerns she had voiced in the weeks past. "Yes?" she asked.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Misao blinked her large cerulean eyes at his question. "What am I doing?" she repeated. "I'm doing my job?"
It was more of a question than a response. Aoshi placed one palm on the desk, more to steady himself than to be intimidating. He hadn't realized how much energy it took to stand upright for so long. "And your job now is to do what?"
She blinked again before setting her brush down carefully across the inkpot and hopping off her seat. Moving away from the desk, Misao took his arm and guided him to sit in the chair she had just vacated. Aoshi considered protesting at the unnecessary care – after all, she was the Okashira, not him. But her face, surprisingly impassive, met his gaze. Gone was the hesitation in her voice, or her usual genki tone. In its place was a stern command. An order.
"Sit."
So he sat.
He noticed the relief immediately. Aoshi could only despair silently at his broken body. A body so weak he couldn't even stand for ten minutes without feeling as though the strength was drained from his body. This was even worse than the time he had fought Battousai in Shishio's hideout.
He would never again take for granted the freedom he used to have.
Misao reached out absently to smooth the fabric of his shirt around his good shoulder. Her gentle touch soothed his racking body, allowing him to breathe through the pain more easily. She noticed the tenseness leave his body and she smiled at him, a smile he hadn't seen in three weeks.It never occurred to him that he could miss them. The bright smile would slowly light up the room and even his shattered soul.
He didn't know he missed them until she had stopped smiling. Instead, a somber look replaced the formerly open expression. She didn't laugh as often, nor did she act as bubbly as she had before. Three weeks ago, the smile and innocent joy was wiped from Misao Makimachi's face. In its stead was a serious, emotionally pain-ridden young woman
Aoshi didn't hate those who injured him. He wasn't happy about it, of course. But he could live with the trials fate threw in his direction. Upon his return back to the Oniwabanshu, he had meditated for a long time before being able to finally accept the capricious winds of change. It was that acceptance that allowed him to finally admit his feelings for Misao and confront whatever would happen in the future.
No, he didn't hate his attackers for nearly killing him.
He hated them for changing his beautiful, happy Misao into an expressionless, stoic Okashira.
Or, as Okina dryly put it, a miniature Aoshi.
"Aoshi-sama?"
He looked at her and noticed the smile disappeared from her face again. She was watching him with those solemn, penetrating eyes that seemed to pierce deep into his soul. As if she could read his thoughts. And more often than he cared to admit, she could. "Misao. What are you doing contacting the other branches of the Oniwabanshu?"
She gave him a funny look, her hand dropping away from his shoulder. Aoshi felt the bereavement almost instantly and had to forcefully quell the urge to grab her hand and place it back exactly where it was before. "I'm trying to gather information, of course. We can't track the rogue ninjas down without it."
"You are going after them?"
This time, exasperation lit her blue eyes. "Of course I am! We can't leave them unpunished and thinking they can attack the former Okashira as they want!"
Her evident impatience didn't mask the flash of pain and anger. No matter how cold she had become, Misao still couldn't manage to conceal all her emotions. Not when she was used to showing and telling everyone around her exactly what she was feeling.
Aoshi was relieved that, at least, hadn't changed. She was harder to read when she tucked away all expression from her face. He briefly wondered if she had felt the same way about him.
Bringing his mind back to the current topic at hand, Aoshi stared down at her. "There is a good chance you will never catch them, Misao. It may be better to use the Oniwaban in other ways instead of focusing solely on this one situation."
Misao returned his gaze without wavering. If anything, her eyes hardened. "Not happening," she said flatly. Turning towards the desk, she shuffled the papers up and began stacking them into neat piles. "I'm not letting them escape punishment, Aoshi-sama, no matter what you say."
Aoshi exhaled slowly, traces of unfamiliar fear beginning to curl within his aching body. Her cold expression, her resolve was a frightening reminder of how he was four years ago. The single-minded determination to meet one goal, no matter what the consequence. Knowing the depth of Misao's feelings for him, Aoshi knew the path to chaos would beckon to her more strongly. A path he himself had walked down once before and nearly died for. A memory he did not relish but nevertheless remembered, to remind him of what was truly important.
But did Misao know that? Aoshi struggled to keep his voice in its usual impassive tone, forced himself to speak as one would to an equal rank. "Revenge should not be your objective, Misao."
She stiffened at his words. He could see it from the tension settling in her shoulders. Without turning around to face him, she said in a low voice, "I know, Aoshi-sama."
Did she really know? Could Misao truly understand that, in the end, revenge was nothing but a pitiful illusion that was cast by oneself? That it would bring her nothing but pain? Aoshi realized the uncertainly of that answer frightened him. It actually scared him. He couldn't let Misao become like him, no matter what happened. "Misao," he said, trying to order his words into something that would make sense. Something, anything to keep her from committing the same mistakes he had.
"What?"
She still didn't turn around. Aoshi stared at her slender back, at the symbol of the Oniwabanshu etched on the back of the black gi she wore. Misao had taken to wearing it in favor of her former navy colored outfit as she took the role of Okashira more seriously. Her change of clothing was an ironic gesture that Aoshi couldn't help but notice. Had all this changed within the last three weeks? She was completely the opposite of what she used to be.
When did Misao lose her ability to laugh?
Aoshi felt his heart wrench at the thought. He didn't want Misao to change. He wanted her as she had always been. The picture of innocence and carefree laughter. The joy of his life and those of the Oniwabanshu.
He slowly reached out to touch her rigid spine. Pain lanced through his heart – physical and emotional – as she jerked under his fingertips. "Misao," he whispered, unable to entirely hide the ache in his voice. He could not – would not – let her walk down the same path as he did.
Misao finally looked over her shoulder, meeting his gaze. The cerulean eyes were hardened into something Aoshi couldn't recognize. Someone he didn't know at all. "I won't change my mind, Aoshi-sama," she said curtly. "These are my orders. I will have them carried out."
With those final words, she left him sitting in the office, awash in pain that was more physical in nature.
Aoshi disappeared into the temple to meditate the rest of the day. He didn't appear for lunch or dinner. Neither did Misao. She had holed herself back in her office once it was devoid of any presence, especially a tall, dark-haired man.
Okina, with his usual uncanny perception, detected something was wrong.
He managed to wrestle some information from Genjo but the poor boy didn't pay much attention to the conversation Misao and Aoshi had earlier. No, he was too busy paying attention, watching out for anyone else trying to attack the couple.
Ah, well, he was young. He'd learn soon enough.
Armed with only sparse information, Okina tracked down the shinobi who relieved Genjo of his sentry duty. In no uncertain terms, he told the new guard to keep an ear out for any conversation the Okashira and her husband might have.
"But, sir," the ninja protested – what was his name again? Hiroshi? Takiji? Mochi?
No, no, that was the dessert they had after dinner. Yum.
"Sir, isn't that … well, invading their privacy?" whatever-his-name was asked, rather scandalized at the old man's order.
Okina scoffed. "We're shinobi. There's no such thing as privacy around here."
Tsushiri or whatever he called himself didn't look convinced.
Okina sighed. "Look, Takeshi …"
"Yoshi, sir."
"Yoshi, right. Look, this is important for the future of our organization. Do you really want to be known as the ninja who brought down the Oniwabanshu?"
Takeshi blanched underneath his pale skin. Okina made a mental note to tell Misao they really needed to step up training if they were all beginning to look like ghosts. Light skin meant not enough physical workouts outside. "N-no, sir!" he stammered.
"Then do your job. Report back to me at the end of your shift," Okina said sternly.
"Yes, sir!"
Okina turned to leave, unable to help himself as a triumphant grin dawned on his face. As easy as taking a shuriken from a baby shinobi, he thought with an evil smirk.
When Misao finally dragged herself out of the office, she was exhausted. Okon had left dinner for her but she didn't have enough energy to return the tray to the kitchen. So she left it there and headed upstairs to her room.
Nodding to the shinobi on guard outside, she slid the shoji open and stepped inside, closing the door behind her quietly. Aoshi was already dressed in his sleeping yukata, facing the wall and meditating. The futon was already spread out and ready for her to collapse in. Misao half-heartedly considered a bath but concluded all she really wanted was to sleep.
Unfortunately, the earlier quarrel she had with Aoshi weighed heavily on her mind, despite her weariness. She sighed softly and changed into her own yukata, keeping quiet so that she wouldn't disturb the meditating figure. But by the time she finished folding her clothes up, she turned around and noticed his gaze focused on her.
The silence stretched for a long moments as they locked eyes with one another. Misao finally looked away, unable to bear the solemn, guarded look in his eyes. "We should sleep," she mumbled. "You need your rest."
Aoshi didn't speak and for a moment Misao thought he wasn't going to. But he finally nodded and said a soft, "Aa."
Misao hated the distance between them but didn't know how to fix it. So she watched Aoshi shift his position and move stiffly towards the futon. She noticed the grimace at every slight move he made, the flare of pain so sharp even he couldn't mask it behind his cool exterior. She found herself trembling in both anger and frustration and sadness as the once graceful man all but tumbled helplessly into bed. Squeezing her eyes shut, Misao tried to block out the image from her mind. It was so unfair he had to suffer so much pain.
A quiet voice reached her, breaking through her thoughts. "Do you find it unbearable to see me now? A cripple?"
Her eyes flew open at the question, gaping at Aoshi in horror. "No! It's not that at all!"
His gaze captured hers in an unwavering stare. "Then what is it, Misao?"
She bit her lip, trying hard to keep her composure. "I … I just don't like seeing you in so much pain. It's just … not fair."
Aoshi considered her words for a moment. "Come here, Misao."
Trepidation surging through her body caused her slight frame to tremble as she obeyed his command. Walking to the edge of the futon, she knelt down and moved closer to his side. Automatically, she inhaled his clean, fresh scent that sent her senses reeling. His closeness had always affected her, leaving her dizzy and breathless. Misao knew her reaction to him was one thing that would never change, no matter how long they were together.
Aoshi reached for her the moment she was close enough and wrapped his arms around her. Drawing her nearer, he bent his head to murmur in her ear. "When you are next to me, Misao, I don't feel the pain at all."
There was a hitch in her breath as she lay unmoving in his arms. "Aoshi-sama," she whispered as she felt his tongue tracing the whorls of her ear. When his lips moved down to her shoulders, she struggled to sit up. "Let me turn down the lamp," she said softly.
He let her go and watched as she doused the light before crawling back to him. They fell into the futon, wrapped in each other and made love for the first time in three weeks.
Afterwards, Misao listened to their breathing in the darkened room. She could hear the reassuring, rhythmic thump of Aoshi's heart as her head half-lay on his chest. His good arm was wrapped around her shoulders, holding her in a satisfyingly possessive grip. Although his breath was, for the first time in a while, easy and soft, she could tell he was still awake.
So she asked the question that had been weighing on her mind. "Aoshi-sama?"
"Aa."
"Are you … hurting anywhere? I mean, after we've … well, you know."
Aoshi could imagine the fiery blush on Misao's face even though they had been married well over a year. That picture alone nearly made him smile. "I'm fine, Misao."
"Good."
There was silence for a long while and just when Aoshi was about to drift off into what he thought might be the best sleep he had in three weeks, Misao spoke again.
"Aoshi-sama?"
"Yes?"
He could literally feel her gathering her courage just before she spoke. "I'm not giving up on the search for those men. They need to be hunted down and executed. Jiya agrees with me on this."
Aoshi stared up at the ceiling, slightly illuminated by the moon's silvery light. Finally, he exhaled and nodded. "Very well, Misao." He paused to frame his next words carefully. "But I will be watching you." He couldn't stop her from walking the fine line between justice and revenge, but he would be damned before he allowed Misao to turn into a soldier of chaos.
He could tell she understood what he meant. "All right," she said softly.
And with that, they finally fell asleep in each others' arms.
AN: See my profile for details pertaining to updates on this story.