Notes: Here's my second fic! –is excited- This was originally intended to be a one-shot but I decided I wanted to put more into it so now its long. Hopefully not too long. There isn't much AxM at the beginning, but it will come, I promise.

Just so you don't get confused, Misao is 18, Omasu (24) and Okon (21) are sisters and Misao's cousins, and Aoshi (23) is living with them. You'll find out more when you read.

xxXxxCHAPTER 1xxXxx

The phone rang. Eighteen-year-old Misao rolled over in bed and pulled her blanket over her ears, hoping to muffle the sound. The phone rang a second time, piercing right through the fabric to the girl's sleep-clouded ears. Misao sat up irritably, rubbing her eyes. She glowered at the digital clock on her night table, the neon green digits showing 3:37am. The phone was still ringing.

"Omasuuuuuuu!" Misao called, her voice a bit raspy from sleep. She staggered to the door and yanked it open. "Omasu! Answer the damn phone!" She waited, counting the seconds. The phone didn't ring again. Satisfied, she retreated into her room and sank gratefully back into bed.

She had just about fallen asleep again when a ragged cry came to her ears. She curled up in a ball and pulled her pillow over her head, trying to block it out. The door beside hers banged open and Okon's slippered feet shuffled hurriedly down the hall. Then everything was silent.

Misao's eyes shot open in the dark. She tensed as apprehension filled her without warning or reason. Her stomach clenched into a quivering knot. She couldn't breathe. Throwing the pillow off her head with a gasp, Misao sat straight up in bed. She felt cold. Something was wrong.

As she got out of bed for the second time, Misao felt goosebumps prickle over her arms. Looking around her messy room, she grabbed a carelessly discarded sweater off a pile and pulled it on over her thin nightgown. Then she located her fluffy slippers, the ones with the kitties on them, and slipped her feet into them. She walked to the door slowly, her eyes fixed on the thin line of light outlining the dark shape of her bedroom door. All manner of scenarios flashed through her mind, from horror movies to sci-fi novels, from stalkers to serial killers. Clenching her fist, she opened the door.

Squinting against the sudden light of the hallway, Misao stumbled a bit as she headed down the hall. She could hear the sound of quiet sobbing. Oh no, she thought, quickening her steps. A door opened behind her, and she knew without looking that it was the one right at the end of the hall. Somebody fell into step behind her. She cast a glance over her shoulder, her blue eyes flashing with all her jumbled up emotions.

Shinomori Aoshi was almost two heads taller than the petite Misao. Five years older than her at 23 years old, he had been a constant in her life since she was a small child. In fact, she could hardly remember a time when he had not been there, either taking care of her when she was younger or just being a mysterious and alluring presence. The girl smiled in spite of herself at the memory of looking up into those azure eyes, warming slightly, just for her. Come to think of it, she had never found out how he came to be living with them, just that he was not part of their family.

As she grew older, they had become more and more distant to each other. Misao had always thought he was more than a little good-looking, but any feelings for him had long been passed off as childhood infatuation and pushed to the back of her mind. Just last year, she had broken up with the kind, smiling Soujiro, a boy who had been her classmate since middle school. Shinomori Aoshi was just too distant, mysterious, and silent for Misao's preference, no matter how hot he was.

"So…you heard it too?" Misao asked as the two of them reached the top of the stairs. She was surprised to hear her voice trembling ever so slightly. She turned to look at her former guardian and caretaker, and caught his slight nod. "I wonder…" Misao bit her lip and stopped. Shaking her head, she turned and started down the stairs.

On the first step down, Misao froze. Aoshi had caught her hand in his, squeezing it gently. Misao's other hand gripped the wooden banister tightly; she could feel the edges digging into her palm. What did this mean? For a few years now, the two of them had shared nothing but polite greetings and --- mostly on Misao's part --- a few smiles.

Before her unexpected blush could warm her chilled limbs, Aoshi released her hand. Misao turned to look at him and saw a strange expression in his eyes. Refocusing her mind, with a bit of effort, she led the way down the stairs.

Once downstairs, Misao hurtled into the living room, following the sounds of ragged sobbing. Omasu was in a crumpled heap on the floor, her shoulders shuddering violently as she cried. The table beside her was covered with paper and books; Omasu had just started her final year of law school. Misao could see Okon just putting down the phone in the kitchen.

Both girls were kneeling beside Omasu trying to calm her down when Aoshi walked into the room, his face looking as though it were carved from stone. Misao noted that he still had that odd look in his eyes. Long strides took him to Omasu's side in seconds. The two girls beside her drew away slightly as he half-knelt before Omasu. Taking her chin with his fingers, he lifted her tear-stained face and looked into her eyes. Omasu visibly relaxed and her sobs ceased. Closing her eyes with a deep sigh, she slumped into Okon's waiting arms as Aoshi released her.

Standing up to his full height, the tall man headed into the kitchen. Misao glanced after him and saw him take a box out of the cupboard; Jiya's favorite tea. Aoshi normally never drank that kind but Misao didn't have time to wonder because Okon murmured her name.

"Come on, lets all get off the floor," Okon put her arm around her sister and helped her up. Misao followed them to the couch and sat down on the other side of Omasu. They sat in a tense silence for a while, the only sound being those of Aoshi preparing tea in the kitchen.

Twenty-one year old Okon had just finished a college course in accounting last year. Her long hair was still messy from sleep and hung about her face, framing tear-filled brown eyes. Her twenty-four year old sister's eyes were identical to hers but were red from crying and shadowed by lack of sleep. Omasu was a diligent worker and brilliant student, looking to graduate this year as a lawyer.

"Jiya…" Omasu spoke for the first time. Her voice was too calm, and sounded hollow. "He's gone."

"He passed away about half an hour ago," Okon finished quietly, with a worried glance for Misao. Her cousin stared at her in shock, as if unable to interpret her words.

No way…Misao let out a breath that she did not know she had been holding. He was just sick; he was supposed to get better. As a feeling of numbness spread through her body, she flopped back on the couch. Tilting her head back against the soft cushions, Misao drew a shaky breath. She closed her eyes, but the tears leaked through anyway.

"Here"

Misao wiped her sleeve across her wet eyes and accepted the cup of hot tea that Aoshi handed her. Taking a sip, she sighed.

"You ok, Misao-chan?" Okon's voice floated through a bleary haze. She felt herself nod. Jiya had always bounced her on his knee when she was a little girl. He always laughed when she pulled at his short beard.

"They told me how he died. Lung cancer is a terrible thing," Okon was saying. Jiya always smelled like mothballs and jasmine flowers. "It----perhaps it's best if I didn't tell you. Unless…you want to know? It's your choice Misao."

Jiya liked lilies and pink ribbons. Misao had always worn one in her hair-----just for him----before she turned 12 and decided she was too old. "Mmm…" she made a non-committal sound for Okon's sake. Jiya had always like Classical music too.

"The hospital said-------it must have been painful for him." Okon's voice was shaking. Misao could remember when he had taken her and her two cousins to see La Boheme when she was still too young to understand it. She had been six, Okon nine, and Omasu 12.

"He spent the entire night before he died----struggling to breath. He tried to talk, to tell them something, but nobody could make out what he was saying. And then he just-----" Okon's voice choked off as she burst into tears.

"-----Shuddered and died." Omasu finished bleakly, appearing already beyond tears. Jiya liked to paint. He enjoyed Impressionist art, and they always joked that it was because his eyes were so bad everything seemed blurry and vague anyways. Misao could hear her Omasu and Okon comforting each other. Aoshi was kneeling on the floor in front of them with his own cup of tea.

"Are you even listening, Misao?" Okon sounded close to hysteria, "What's wrong with you! Aren't you upset that he's gone? Jiya's dead, Misao! And he's never coming home from that damn hospital! Don't you care?" Omasu's tears had returned and she sobbed as she clutched at Okon's arm, trying to keep her from attacking their cousin.

How dare they, Misao's mind cleared all of a sudden and everything rushed in on her. Omasu's grip slipped and Okon lunged at Misao in a frenzy of grief and frustration. With a cry, Misao leaped off the couch, tumbling to the floor beside Aoshi. She could feel the tea she had spilled seeping through her nightgown, burning her skin. Jerking her leg away, she watched the wet spot on the floor grow bigger and bigger. Okon was picking herself up and appeared to be getting ready for a second attack.

That was it. Misao's numbness shattered like glass and she gave a scream as reality engulfed her and her tears came hard and fast. Leaping to her feet, she hurled herself out of the room and stumbled blindly up the stairs. She fell twice, bruising her knees. She couldn't feel the pain though, and she burst into her own room, slamming the door shut.

Once inside, Misao threw herself onto her bed and cried. She could hear her own blood roaring in her ears. Rolling off the bed, she hit the floor with a crash, relishing the physical pain that did little to balance the pain inside her. Jiya had always liked eating sweets and Omasu used to continuously lecture him about his dental health.

She was suffocating. Her room was too hot and she couldn't breathe. Her head spinning, Misao ripped her sweater off and threw it on the ground. Jiya had been a skilled surgeon in his youth. It was still stifling. Misao crossed the room and flung her window open.

Cool night air rushed in, drying the sweat and tears on her face. Jiya had been a chain smoker too, using cigarettes as a way to relieve stress. A dog barked somewhere in the neighborhood. Jiya's addiction had taken his wife, a grandmother Misao and Okon had never known. Omasu described her as a plump, smiling woman with curly hair.

The moon was full, casting a chilly blue hue over everything. Jiya liked to lie out in the yard and watch the stars. Sometimes, he would catch butterflies for Misao and her cousin. Even Omasu wasn't too old for that. The wind picked up, raising goose bumps on Misao's bare arms. Closing her window-----the room was cool now-----Misao turned and, after tossing a t-shirt and belt onto her bead behind her, plunked down on her chair.

Tears that had been temporarily banished returned, softer now. Misao reached down and picked up a teddy bear that had fallen with her earlier. Hugging it to her chest, she buried her face in the furry head and wept brokenly. Jiya had quit smoking as soon as his wife was diagnosed with lung cancer from second-hand smoke. It was too late. Misao could remember the day when her weeping grandfather had taken her in his arms and whispered, "You have her eyes, child. She lives on."

Her bedroom door opened softly. Misao didn't lift her head, thinking that it was probably one of her cousins; Omasu or Okon probably wanted to comfort her. She was wrong. A warm hand came to rest on her head, ruffling her hair; a familiar gesture from her childhood. Firmly but gently, Misao's head was tilted up until she was looking into Aoshi's eyes.

When teary ocean-blue eyes locked with icy blue-green ones, Misao let out a gasp. This is what Omasu saw, Misao realized. In the tall man's eyes, there was the calm serenity of one who had looked at fate and accepted without a word. However, underneath the unruffled surface, something was hastily gathering up shreds of loss and anguish to hide them away.

Misao remembered how Aoshi had taken her hand earlier, before they went downstairs. Now she understood. He had known all along. She stopped crying and sank into a mute acceptance.

"Good," Aoshi murmured in a low voice, "Please don't cry any more, Misao. I…I could hardly bear it." Misao couldn't help staring at him. Those words held more emotion that she had seen him express in the past few months. All put together. Times ten. His normally stoic face softened into something that hinted of sorrow and desolation. For an instant, Misao could have sworn that Aoshi's eyes had been seeking consolation and comfort, even as he brushed the tears from her cheeks. Before she could confirm her suspicions, the stony mask returned and Aoshi dropped his hand.

Letting out a long breath, Misao numbly picked her hairbrush out of a pile of other things on her desk and began teasing the tangles out of her long hair. It was a repetitive task, helping keep her mind clear. To her surprise, Aoshi began to pick up her discarded clothing off the floor and furniture where they were scattered. Perhaps he, too, needed a tedious task to occupy his hands and clear his mind. Misao watched as he folded her shirts and jeans, feeling faintly amused when her Hello Kitty bra fell out of a pile of shirts. Aoshi placed it off to one side, as if not knowing what to do with it.

"I watched my family die," Aoshi surprised Misao-----for about the fifth time that evening-----by speaking first. "My mother took her last breath in my arms. She had a weak heart; it ran in the family and orphaned her at twelve years old. My father threw himself off our tenth-floor apartment balcony two weeks after her funeral." Misao saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. Aoshi put down the shirt he had been folding and clenched his fists.

"I was the middle child of three," Aoshi continued, not noticing Misao's shocked but sympathetic eyes. "Hannya was three years older than me, and Beshimi two years younger. When my father died, I was six and Hannya was nine. I was holding Beshimi's hand during the funeral. He didn't even cry, but Hannya did. They covered up the casket too, because they didn't want us to see Father's body."

Misao held back a gasp at this. She had never known about Aoshi's past, because it always seemed inappropriate to ask. She finished brushing her hair, and curled it up to form a messy bun at the back of her head. Her clock read 4:56am.

"My father had made arrangements for the three of us to be taken care of by his best friend---your father." Aoshi seated himself on Misao's bed. He was now facing her, but he seemed to stare right through her. "When we came to this house, we were alone and scared. Makimachi-san and his wife were very kind to us. You were just a baby then. I remember the first time I saw your eyes---" His voice broke off.

"Hannya-kun…I remember him," Misao suddenly said. "And Beshimi-kun too." She smiled to herself, musing. Then her face fell. "There were two others. I can't remember their faces now."

"Shikijo and Hyottoko," Aoshi told her tersely, "Hannya's classmates. The five of us were always together. And I am the only one still alive today."

Misao's lip trembled. Long forgotten memories from her childhood came flooding back. She opened her mouth to say something, but Aoshi stood up abruptly. He patted her head rather absently, as if she were still a kid.

"Get some sleep. Will you go to school tomorrow?" Seeing her nod, he continued, "I'll come and wake you up. You can eat breakfast in the car; I'll drive you." Before Misao could respond, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Dazedly, Misao moved the neat piles of clothes Aoshi had created and lay down on her bed. Suddenly realizing how tired she was, Misao closed her weary eyes and curled up in a little ball to sleep.

xxxXxxx

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin storyline and characters belong to Watsuki-san. Standard disclaimers apply

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