Chapter Two: Sweets for the Sweet

A/N: I don't know the origin of the "Misao brings Aoshi his tea in the temple every day" paradigm so common in A/M fic, but I thought it'd be fun to do something different. Though events in the manga lead me to believe Misao relinquishes the title of okashira back to Aoshi post-Kyoto Arc, here I'm writing as though she remained in the position.

I'm sure this is the tamest thing I've ever written.

Disclaimer: I do not own any any of the characters used in my fanfiction, nor profit from my work.


Misao snorted in her sleep, garnering a faceful of paper and not enough air. The sensation of being smothered woke her up with a start, and she lifted her head, gazing blankly around the okashira's office. Despite the depth of her slumber, the room was still lit by generous afternoon sunlight spilling in through the window, and she felt momentarily ashamed.

A loud sigh escaped her lips, sounding more dramatic than she intended. In these days of relative peace, okashira entailed far more paperwork than after-dark espionage, most of it frustratingly time-sensitive. She had stayed up late the night before, caught a couple sparse hours of sleep, and then returned to her desk right after breakfast. Stressed, Misao had wolfed down her lunch and then gotten sleepy poring over endless mission and finance reports, and the last thing she remembered was wondering why the Aoiya was so damn quiet on what would usually be a lively summer afternoon.

With a grimace, she noticed the ink on the papers she'd passed out on was blurred. There were undoubtedly matching black smudges on her forehead, cheeks, and chin. How dignified. Making a face at the sheaf of documents, she turned in her chair to look for something fresh to write on. Annoyingly, the stack seemed to be buried under a pile of old papers, dusty office implements and, peculiarly, a little patchwork doll in the form of a black cat. Misao gave it an utterly blank look before turning back around, and nearly falling out of her chair.

The object of her irritation, the stack of marred papers, was gone, replaced by a polished lacquer tray. On top, a blue-green lacquerware teapot she didn't recognize sat next to a matching teacup, full of gently steaming golden liquid. As a little breeze drifted in from the open window, the scent of jasmine tickled her nose. Glancing up, she saw that the door to her office was closed, just as she'd left it when she came in.

Misao blinked. In addition to the tea, a little plate held a neat stack of little cakes, each frosted in pink and topped with a little white rose. Only one cake was green, bare of confectionary adornment. Curious, she reached for it first. Biting into it, her nose and tastebuds were teased by the pleasantly bitter grassiness of matcha.

Puzzled, Misao sipped her tea. Like any ninja, she slept lightly, and every sense was honed to a razor-sharp edge. Who, even among the Oniwabanshuu, could have snuck in and silently left a tea tray while she was merely turned around, not even sleeping any longer? Maybe Jiya, but he was getting old, and on pretty summer days he preferred to chase young girls around town.

She froze, mouth full of strawberry cake.

In the candlelit dimness of the temple, a ghost of a smile was obscured by the ever-changing shadows and raven-black hair.