Author's Note: Been a while since I've done anything RK. Funny how I fall back on it when my own life gets in turmoil. Here's another bit of fluff for your entertainment and my therapy.

Veil

Her eyes were dimming. Each time she came to him in the temple, he found that he could no longer see the thoughts behind the crystal blue of her gaze. She continued to try and make a conversation but the music in her voice had begun to dull. He couldn't recall when he first noticed the change but once he had, he found that he could no longer sit in meditation whenever she came near. He watched her from the slightest crack of his eyelids.

"I brought your tea, Aoshi-sama." She set a steaming cup in front of him. "I almost brought barley tea in this heat, but thought that it would be best to stay with routine."

Did he sense a trace of bitterness in her words?

"Summer is just a month away and all signs say that it will be unusually fierce." She gathered the clay teapot on her tray, her actions telling him that this trip would be one of her short visits. It was another more frequent change in behavior that he had noticed. He only nodded.

"I brought an umbrella – it is going to rain."

The hot tea soothed his dry throat even as the heavy air pressed down on him. He had heard the muted growls in the distance. Late spring rain was usually quick and torrential. Like her temper, he mused. He had seen less of that as well.

She sighed, an inaudible puff of air that he only noticed because he listened for it. With a rustle of silk, she closed the temple door behind her. He examined the teacup she had left behind, reflecting upon its pale blue iris against a deep green glaze. Over the last three years he had been able to read her spirit of the day in the cup she set before him. Again, the last couple of months he found himself puzzling over the single blue and green cup that she now handed him every day.

He uncrossed his legs and stood. One window of the temple overlooked the path to the Aoiya and he watched her small figure gracefully cross the grass.

She had taken to wearing traditional kimonos yet untraditionally wore them in the muted colors of a married woman. Today she had chosen a deep blue kimono with a lavender obi. Her hair no longer swung wildly in a thick braid, but coiled quietly at the nape of her neck.

She shunned all the attentions of the young men who had taken to eating regularly at the Aoiya. He had seen her demurely bow to their hints of courtship and quickly retreat to the kitchen. The other members of the family had tried to scold her into "giving them a chance" to which she responded by pointing out close-cut observations as to each man's weakness against which they could not argue. When she was forced from the kitchen he silently traced her activities to the Oniwaban office. She still kept tabs on all of the clan's affairs although with Okina's improved health he had taken over much of the network's paperwork. It had never been one of her favorite responsibilities though she had been willing to hold on to her position as Okashira. It was another thing she had hidden from him – her withdrawal as leader. Okina had come to him one evening and told him of her decision.

"Misao has returned the title of Okashira to me."

He had only sipped the lukewarm tea sitting on the low table in his room as the elder ninja knelt stiffly at the door.

Okina stroked his beard. "I have no problem passing that name on to its original owner – if you will grant me one favor." He smiled soberly. "You will stay behind the desk."

After a long tense pause, he had answered, "I cannot accept."

Sharp brown eyes closed in what may have been disappointment but he did not care. Okina only nodded and stood. They had not discussed the matter further.

The sky rumbled its intention.

He picked up the umbrella and bowed farewell to the statue of the serene Buddha. The moment he stepped out onto the pathway, the clouds dumped their load. He almost expected a screech ahead of him, followed by the pattering of feet fading away. Instead, he came around a bend in the trail through a patch of bamboo and paused.

She had her own umbrella propped against her left shoulder, the paper blocking him from her view. He watched her through the veil of raindrops. Thinking that she was unobserved, she stretched out her hand, catching the water out of the air, letting it pool in her palm. The dark blue silk of her kimono faded to near-black under the steady downfall. He watched the droplets trickle down her wrist and vanish behind the curtain of clothing. She stood poised for a moment beneath the sheltering umbrella, and then dropped it abruptly in the falling rain. It pattered steadily onto her upturned face, plastering her hair in black threads against her pale skin. Eyes closed, she held both hands out before her, upturned to the deluge.

He could not draw his eyes from her figure, slim and defiant against nature. The picture of sad determination gave him a moment of clarity he had never found in meditation. She would forever stand there in soul; alone and battered by the elements of her own passionate spirit. She stood there by choice – he knew now that it was her way of standing vigil next to him in his own self-punishment. Yet she still reached forward.

Her hands trembled and began to fall. Her eyes opened and she started to laugh at herself. He found himself moving toward her, ignoring the immediate chill of rain on his shoulders when he dropped his own umbrella. At the sound of his footsteps on the wet ground, she turned. Surprise wiped away the strange shadow that had been shielding her thoughts from him. He caught her hands in his and held her even as he felt her start to move away. In that instant she was both the innocent child he had taken care of and the difficult yet alluring woman she had become. He could not resist the combination and found himself drawing her hands to his face.

"Aoshi-sama?" Her voice trembled.

Her eyes were still clear and wide, the questions in them as easily and beautifully read as calligraphy. He answered them by pressing his lips to her fingers.

"Misao, you have been hiding from me."

A slight frown crossed her face, the veil being drawn once again. "I haven't. I only work in the Aoiya or in the office."

He gave a minuscule shake of his head. "I've seen doors close behind your eyes."

She tried to look away, a flush in her cheeks. Tugging lightly at her trapped hands, she answered delicately, "They were open for too long."

He let her pull one hand away, but kept a firm grasp on the other. Annoyed, she gave a sharper pull. "You never responded, even though you knew that I was waiting for you." She yanked again. "You only meditate, you have no more interest in the Oniwaban."

He tightened his hold. "And neither, it seems, do you."

The fight left her in an instant. Refusing to look at him, she began trying to methodically peel his fingers from her wrist while saying, "I kept the Oniwaban alive through the past three years. The restaurant is doing well and the Meiji government still needs information that organizations like our own can provide. Okina has recovered, and I am no longer the most suitable person to lead."

He pulled her one step closer, ignoring her efforts. "As decided by whom?"

"By myself."

The wet grass was slick beneath tabi-covered feet. She gave one more irritated twist of her wrist and lost her footing. He caught her, an arm around her waist. He expected her to blush, but her only reaction was to push away once more.

"Misao."

She froze, small hands clenched in fists. "Okashira."

The word caught him off guard. "That is not my title."

"It could be. I know Okina offered it to you. If you are here now, finally talking to me, then you can rightfully return to the head of the Oniwaban."

"I do not want it."

Emotionless blue eyes met his and she slowly let the tension leave her small frame. "I do not want you to hold me. I do not want you as you are now."

The dead tones in her voice struck him to the core. She had truly given up. He had waited too long; been willingly blind to the point where he had pushed her beyond what he thought would be her endless optimism.

He was about to lose any hope of true redemption.

"Misao," He released her hand. "What I want is not a place as Okashira. What you want is for your Okashira to return. I cannot do that."

Her eyes closed and he sensed her pulling herself away from his words. His fingers shook as he touched her face. "I cannot be Okashira, I can only be a broken, sinful man not worthy of forgiveness."

Hurt blue eyes gathered tears and rain. Her small fingers crept up to rest against his on her cheek. "Aoshi-sama, I still offered forgiveness. You would not take it."

He pressed his forehead against hers, partially shielding her from the elements with his greater size.

"May I take it now?"

His spirit lifted at the sight of her veil washing away with the renewed hope of the girl he had cared for, and the woman he loved.

The End