Chapter 1

It was quite an elaborate ceremony, actually. What the others didn't know was that she took most of the late afternoon setting the whole thing up. The thought-up conversations, the cleaned cups and perfect tea; all were put together in an intricate process that seemed to come carelessly and easily to Misao. The routine never tired her—she always made up for it with her imagination. It was always "one day, we'll tell each other…" or "I'll finally get the courage to say…" but to no avail. Misao seemed content to sit passively by his side and inhale the scent of tea and him.

A year had passed since they had visited the Himuras—no; more like a year and a half. Misao had managed to make time for him and he, in his own way, for her, but their conversation never went beyond the level of greeting or verbal necessities. Still, Misao had been innocently content with her limitations, and had taken whatever he said with unfaltering trust and love. That is, until Misao came back from a visit to the Kaoru's dojo.

The trip seemed harmless in itself: Misao was to spend a month in spring helping Kaoru deliver the baby comfortably, and enjoy her visit at Tokyo while helping the Himuras run the household. Misao could barely contain her happiness, and for the next two weeks before her arranged departure, spread the sparkling mist of happiness and excitement all over the Aoiya. Forgotten were her training sessions with Aoshi-sama, forgotten were her chores in the inn—Misao could only think of the upcoming visit. There was one thing Misao could never forget to do; however, and that was to perform the tea ceremony with him every late afternoon.

The musty incense brought a mildly soporific effect to the solemn young man sitting stoically in the weakly lighted temple. He inhaled deeply, taking in a rush of pine, ginger, and several other unknown spices. She is late today, he thought mildly, the thoughts of inner peace and turmoil far from his mind as he focused his energy on something else, a certain someone, perhaps she has forgotten?

No. She would never forget. Aoshi knew this fact as well as he knew the feel of his kodachi. As well as he knew her. He knew her out of habit, then out of necessity—out of love. He knew when to count his blessings, and in his case, they all came packaged in the form of a petite, vivacious onmitsu girl. He couldn't see when it had started, this love for her. He assumed it came to him the year she had turned thirteen—the year of small pox.

He had left her when she was but five or six years old. He remembered stealing away in the night, feeling mildly guilty for not having said farewell to his former okashira's granddaughter. Not a thought of her flitted through his mind for the next few years; indeed, he was too busy dealing with the temporary jobs and tasks he threw his men and himself into. But a chance letter fell into his hands from one of the local Oniwabanshuu mail stations five winters ago. It had come from Okina-san, and it was written in haste and desperation. Its contents were short and hurried; it was written in the manner of these few words:

Okashira-san,

I hope you and your men are well. There is trouble at home. Small pox has struck the town, and several of our men are stricken by the disease. Misao-chan has taken a severe blow, and she is currently confined to rest, since she has taken the strongest hit from the sickness and is now delirious with fever. Please come back and bring the remedy for the illness for our men, as well as for the town, since the doctors have long run out of medicine. Make haste, the doctors have ordered more medicine, but it may take weeks, and our men need immediate attention.

Godspeed,

Okina

Aoshi remembered reading the letter with growing dread, and then abandoning his task at hand to rush home and save his men. He and the others had arrived in silence, fearing the silence of death. To his relief, they had not lost one man when they arrived at the Aoiya, but Misao was in grave danger. She had not eaten for the last four days, and was pitifully wracked with fever. He had sat by her side after he made sure none of the other men were in immediate
danger, fed or forced down the medicine when necessary, and held her hand throughout the night. After keeping most of the night in vigil, he fell asleep by her side, exhausted and worried. The next three days passed at a rapid pace—there were the townsmen to give medicine to, his men to attend to, and Misao to watch over. He would watch Misao sleep fitfully, call his name out in pain, and battle against the monsters of her sleep in utter solitude. There were rare moments of clarity in which Misao could talk coherently, but she didn't seem to recognize him, and would always insist on seeing "her Aoshi-sama", even when he insisted that he was right by her side. Those few days impacted Aoshi in a manner he couldn't comprehend. His heart lurched whenever she had nightmares, and her cries for him stirred feelings he never knew were there. Remorse for having left her, and sorrow for her pains as he watched the disease storming inside of her.

On the fourth day, Misao woke up quietly to see a large man sleeping by her bedside. His somber features revealed tension that could not be loosened even in sleep, and Misao could but wonder who the stranger was. On closer inspection, Misao thought, Could it be him?", but childishly thrust aside the thought. His hair was too short, and he was way too big to be her idol. With the endearing bravery that often comes gratuitously with childhood, Misao leaned over her bed and began to smooth the stranger's unruly hair. At her touch, the man immediately awoke, and Misao jerked her hand back, blushing at the boldness of her hand and blurted out, "Jiya should've gotten you a bed. Didn't you ask for one?"

The man looked calmly at her before asking in return, "How would it concern you if you were unconscious for a week, and didn't know who I am?"
            Misao gave him a toothy grin that boldly said I-couldn't-care-less-as-to-what-you-think and replied winningly, "You caught me there; I don't care much. But I am curious as to how you got by my bedside. Are you the doctor?"

Aoshi looked at her when an amusing thought passing through his mind: how very like Makimachi-san Misao is. I wonder if her physical speed can match her rapid wit. He shook his head slightly, "No, I am not."

Misao inched forward, scrutinizing his countenance before musing aloud, "Odd, you do seem familiar. Have I seen you
before?"

Aoshi nodded, "I used to change your diapers." And with that, he left the room, leaving a half-mortified, half-doubting Misao behind.
Aoshi-sama?!?