Dreams I Dreamt Instead
By Fujifunmum
Chapter 14: Awakenings
"Kaoru!"
"Kaoru!"
"Listen, you ugly old hag!"
"What? What did you just call me?" Kaoru turned with a vengeance and stomped over to where Yahiko stood with his hands on his hips, yelling at her.
"Kaoru, we have students this morning. What is your problem? All you're doing is watching out the doorway. At least keep your students on your side of the dojo so my students don't get hit with their bokkens. My students are just little kids with shinais, they could get hurt."
"Yahiko, take over my class for this morning, please. I have something I must do. It just won't wait." And with that, she was out the back of the dojo through the kitchen before Yahiko could even call her an old hag again to her face.
She couldn't concentrate on the class this morning. Not after what Misao had told her about Kenji. And Kenshin had refused to let her punish him. She just couldn't let it be. Matters were too unsettled in her mind to be left alone. She knew Misao had told the truth, and yet, she could not believe it.
So she watched, hidden from Kenji's view. She knew she could not hope to hide her ki from Kenshin. She only hoped that as she watched from the dojo that Kenshin would not suspect her spying. Now that she had moved to the back of the kitchen, where she could spy without disturbing the classes in the dojo, she knew Kenshin would feel her presence. At least he would not be alarmed since he would also know that she was near and unharmed. Hopefully he wouldn't suspect what she was up to.
Kaoru sighed. Who was she kidding, anyway? Kenshin probably already knew exactly why she was here. So why wasn't he stopping her?
Then she felt anger. He was humoring her because he hoped she was pregnant. They weren't sure yet, but they were very hopeful. Her rurouni would allow her a lot of latitude as long as he knew she was safe and close to him. Even if she was spying on their only child.
Her ire dissipated when she suddenly realized that she wasn't paying enough attention to the scene in front of her. There, as Kenshin stood behind the freshly washed laundry, only his feet showing behind the spotless whites of their under kimonos, flecks of brown were showing up on the surfaces facing her, facing away from her husband, who was oblivious to Kenji's actions. Or was he?
Kenji kicked his little feet and filled his little hands with the dirtiest stones and mud he could find. Then he purposefully and with as much malice as could be attributed to one his age, tossed the dirt and stones at his father's clean laundry. When he got as close as he dared to where Kenshin stood, he scampered off towards the washtub itself. Sitting his little self as close as possible, he proceeded to scoop as much dirt and as many stones into the tub as fast as he could.
Kenshin had told her not to punish him, but seeing his defiance and deliberate actions against the father who loved him so dearly drove her over the edge. She stomped over to the washtub, parked her fisted hands on her hips, and glared down at her beloved son. Kenji didn't flinch under her gaze; he'd never seen it directed at him before. He couldn't believe that his mother could actually be angry with him. There was nothing in his prior experience to suggest it was even possible.
Kaoru was about to speak, or rather yell at Kenji for the first time in his short life when she caught a glimpse of her husband's face in her peripheral vision. The sadness on his face welled up through his violet eyes as he waited to see what she would do. The sadness sapped her anger and made her realize that if she yelled at Kenji, those baby blue eyes would blame Kenshin's violet ones.
"Kenji, there you are!" Kaoru exclaimed, schooling her face to its usual smile for her firstborn child. "I've been looking for you and Daddy. I thought we would play a game if you were finished with the laundry. Are you finished?"
"Yes, Mommy!" Kenji sat there with mud and stones in his guilty little hands and brightly smiled at his mother.
"No, I can see there is still a little to do. First we'll clean up your hands." Kaoru gently knelt next to Kenji and cleaned his hands in the laundry tub. "Next, you can help me refill this washtub with clean water so we can help Daddy finish up. Then we'll all play a game, OK?"
Kenji nodded his smiling head as he helped his mom empty and then refill the washtub. Kenshin watched his wife from the safety behind his white line, thankful that she hadn't punished Kenji, but curious as to what she intended next.
"I think it's time you had a washtub that was Kenji-sized. One you could fill on your own." She and Kenji walked hand in hand to the storage room and found an old wooden bucket that was the right size for his little clean hands to carry and fill from the well. They took the bucket back, filled it and set it next to Kenshin's usual workspace. They both sat down on the porch floor, kicking their legs in unison over the edge as they talked. "Now, when Daddy is washing the big pieces of clothes, you can wash the smaller ones, like…..Kenji's tabi!" And she grabbed Kenji's toes through his tabi, tickling his feet and hugging him with her other arm to make sure he didn't tumble off the porch.
When their giggling subsided, Kenji agreed that he could wash his socks in his very own washtub. He wasn't overly excited about it, but if his mom wanted it, he'd do it.
"And there's something else you can do to help Daddy, Kenji, so we can all finish working earlier."
"What Mommy?" Kenji looked up at Kaoru with those wide-open innocent blue eyes, ready to do just about anything for Mommy.
"Sometimes, when Daddy has everything washed and hung up, somebody walks by and somehow some dirt gets on Daddy's clean laundry. I'm sure they don't do it on purpose, but it makes a lot more work for your Father, so will you take your bucket and walk along his line of laundry and wash out any mud or dirt that's there? Then your Dad won't have to wash it all over again."
"Will you help me, Mommy?" Kaoru looked over his head to see Kenshin peeking around the wash at her, smiling.
"Of course! Today, you and I will do it together and tomorrow you can watch and be sure that no one splashes any mud, then there will be less to do."
While Kenji dragged his bucket over to the kimonos, Kaoru went behind the line of wash to whisper in Kenshin's ear. "As Sanosuke said Kenshin, it's a start, but we have a lot of work to do with this one. But we can do it. I will help him see you as I do." Kenshin rolled his eyes at her. "Well, maybe not just as I do, but as the Father who loves him."
As she turned to go help their little one with the clean up, she turned back to scold her husband. "Keep him busy washing tabi and other smaller articles. Even if you have to do them over while he's napping, it will keep the little pest from making more work for you. He's supposed to be helping you." Then she ran back to Kenshin's side to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before she turned her attention back to their son. "If you're not careful, you'll have two of them ganging up on you soon!"
Misao woke up both wide-eyed and confused. She was staring at a wall with a window across from the bed, the light of late morning or maybe even early afternoon casting shadows on the floor in front of her. It was not her bed. It was not her room. Then she felt the warmth at her back and the arm carelessly flung across her waist. Yes, it was her room. Now. She smiled and looked down at Sano's arm. She was tucked in next to him, warm and protected. This somehow felt very familiar, and yet she had never slept like this before; not with anyone. Her smile grew and she giggled softly, their position gave a whole new meaning to having 'bad' on your back.
At the soft sound of the giggle, Sano's arm tightened around her and she felt the warmth of his breath on her neck and he leaned into her to nuzzle and kiss her on the nape of her neck. There were other, more urgent indicators behind her that Sanosuke was fully awake.
"I like my new room."
"It's a package deal, missy." He murmured in her ear, nibbling on her earlobe just a bit.
"Oh? And just what's included in the 'package'?"
"This week's special includes five kisses,… two hugs,… and an extra special treat to be chosen at random by the proprietor ( that's you) in appreciation for the performance above and beyond the belief of all females in Tokyo prefecture by the current occupant – your very own bedmate." Sano delivered the weekly specials to Misao as he spoke these endearments into her ear.
Misao giggled and snuggled into his arms right up until the point where she realized that the shadows she was looking at on the floor were indeed afternoon shadows. Sanosuke had to hold her tightly to keep her from leaping up out of his grasp.
"Sano! Let me go! Oh My God, it must be late afternoon tomorrow; I mean today. We've been up here since early yesterday afternoon – who has been taking care of the Inn? The Crane is our responsibility! Oh, No! How could I let this happen…" Misao finally stopped rambling, struggling and her voice broke as she began to get even more upset. She was incredulous that she could have let down her clan like this. The Crane was too new to be left unattended for even five minutes, let alone the amount of time she and Sano had been….had been…had been….she struggled to find just the right word, but it came to her suddenly. Immersed. They had been totally immersed in each other and hadn't given any thought to anything outside of this room. Maybe that was all right for other lovers, but not for the Okashira of the Oniwabanshuu!
"It's OK, Misao. Settle down." Sano kept her tightly wrapped in his arms and nuzzled her face and neck to try to calm her down.
"How can it be OK? This is terrible! I've let everyone down…."
"Not everyone," Sano smiled against her neck and she quieted a little, so he continued.
"I'm your Chief of Security, remember? It's my job to take care of everything to keep you secure, and by the way I think a little show of appreciation for the exceedingly fine job I am doing would be in order right about now."
"What the hell are you talking about Sano? My security has nothing to do with this, I'm letting down my clan if no one is minding the Crane while I've been…while we've been…"
"What? We've been what?" Sano was wearing his usual smug smile as Misao's anxiety climbed to new heights.
"Busy."
"Busy?"
"Sano, please," Misao's voice broke. "Everyone in Kyoto is depending on me. On us. We can't let them down like this…"
Sano had had it with the turn this was taking. He tightened his hold around her and began speaking directly into her closest ear, feeling the tension leave her slight form as he spoke.
"I sent to Kyoto for Akoto, Makiko and the kids. They arrived yesterday just before Kenshin and Kaoru got here and I had already asked Akoto to look after things for a while. Everything's fine or Akoto would have come to find me. It's not like I'm hiding. Maybe you are, but I'm right here in my room, easy to find, and if there was a problem, I'd know about it." Sano's earlier light mood was vanishing quickly as Misao craned her head around so she could see his face.
"You did that without telling me? I'm the Okashira, I'm supposed to know this stuff!"
"Yes, and I'm your Chief of Security, among other things, and it's my job to keep you safe. Part of keeping you safe means that we have enough help here for you to get enough rest and relaxation." A small smile and a raised eyebrow returned as he continued, "You should be telling me what a good job I'm doing, keeping you 'relaxed' and all."
Misao opened her mouth to speak, but it was difficult to argue with the truth. She felt more 'relaxed' than she had in years, maybe since Jinchuu ended and her disappointment began with her return to Kyoto. She closed her mouth and her eyes and snuggled back into Sanosuke's waiting arms. She felt warm and protected and safe. It was a feeling that she wanted to savor for a long time.
"Oh."
"So as I was saying, the room is a package deal. If you want the room, you have to want me to."
"I love the room."
"Then you have to love me."
"You drive a hard bargain. OK. I love you, too."
Sano was shocked. He hadn't really expected Misao to declare her feelings without more persuasion. He turned her in his arms so he could look directly into her face, and more importantly, her eyes.
"What did you just say, woman?"
"I said I love you, Sagara Sanosuke. I hadn't thought I would ever love anyone again, but it's true. And I am not one to hide my feelings."
"Yes, you never were one to hide how you were feeling. It was always written all over your beautiful eyes and your equally beautiful face." Sano gently stroked the lines of her cheekbones as he spoke. He captured a couple of loose tendrils of her long, silky hair and wound them around his fingers. He kissed her forehead and began kissing his way down to her waiting lips. Just before he reached his goal, Misao spoke again.
"And this time, I can't be shy about asking for your feelings, either. Tell me how you feel, Sano, I need to hear it from you before my heart is lost again."
"Your heart isn't lost, missy, it's safe in the keeping of your Chief of Security. The Chief of Security of the Okashira of the Oniwabanshuu. And the 'Badest' man in Japan, who's in love with the most beautiful woman he has ever seen."
Aoshi again entered the small but serviceable kitchen. He was about to refill their teacups when his observant eyes alighted on the canister resting on the farthest corner of the counter against the wall. It reminded him of a mizusashi he had once seen, long ago. That gave him an idea and he quickly sharpened his visual examination of the kitchen with a new goal in mind. Choosing a closed shelf as the most likely place for the chaji* (tea ceremony) utensils, he found what he was searching for immediately, pausing briefly to admire the beautiful texture of their fabric coverings. He retrieved a simply decorated but beautiful tray from another shelf and arranged the utensils and other ingredients according to his custom and preference. Not the usual tana*, but it was a more than adequate substitute. It had been many years since he had performed this ceremony, or been the recipient, but it was a well-cultivated talent he was certain he retained. A slight flicker of remembrance showed in his eyes. He had improvised on other, less prepared occasions; he would be well able to accommodate what he needed now.
Assembling the items brought him to a peaceful moment he had not felt in years, not even within the depths of his meditations. The careful placement of the cherished items in the time honored fashion brought with it a rhythm of place and purpose he had not felt for years. It brought also the visions of the many tea ceremonies he had attended in the past. Important political ceremonies to bind new agreements between warring clans, ceremonies of brotherhood between the elite of the omitsu, ceremonies with beloved and lost comrades. Some of the bonds cemented with the most elaborate of ceremonies had been illusory at best, a fleeting attempt at combinations of ninja clans that were not destined to last. Some of the bonds cemented with simple and impromptu ceremonies served the Oniwabanshuu to this day.
In addition, a seemingly endless parade of beautiful practitioners of the art attempting to beguile or understand him, or at least to capture his attention flickered through his consciousness. Always he had enjoyed the tradition of the ceremony. Gratefully had he accepted the gifts offered along with the tea, and never had he yielded his affections.
The tea ceremony had served many purposes over the years. Not the least of its charms was the ability to communicate the feelings and desires of the participants without the necessity of open or harsh declaration. Subtlety was its most enduring method of communication. And the advantages of such subtle communication between the peaceful solace and quiet beauty of the familiar forms of the ceremony were not to be underestimated.
His intelligence told him hers was a match for it. His newfound feelings told him he could communicate them with clarity and subtlety to this woman. A woman who possessed the simple utensils and beautiful fabric casings laid out before him would understand each movement without fail.
Megumi spent the time alone by the fire calming her nerves and restoring her composure, her mask of sharp-eyed wit. She hesitated to put it on yet again; the raw wounds of her past were masked by it, but never healed. Was there no salve that would allow the past to recede at last?
Finally, she wondered if Aoshi had decided to leave without telling her. He had been gone too long and her kitchen was too small to get lost in it. The tea preparations had been readily available and out in plain sight, so what was keeping Aoshi with the tea he had ostensibly gone to retrieve?
Just as she was about to go look for him, she heard his very soft footsteps behind her. He carried a tray and made his way around her to kneel across from her with precision and grace. The heavy tray rested lightly in his keeping, yet she could tell there was more in store for her than just another cup of tea.
Slowly and carefully, he rested the tray at his side and began to arrange the utensils by tradition and his preferred usage. Fortunately, there was a convenient place for the mizusashi*, so he could keep the water by the fire. He placed the water there to keep it hot enough, took a final accounting of the preparations, and began.
Megumi rarely looked surprised. She nearly always covered it with sophistication, wit or humor. Now, as Aoshi raised his striking eyes to hers, she was beyond surprised. She was shocked. The Okashira of the Oniwabanshuu, a genius prodigy of a spy, the defender of Edo Castle, the former nemesis of Battousai, and her former keeper was preparing to serve her tea. And he intended to do it in the most formal and traditional ceremony she could imagine in a private home without the formal and customary preparation.
Her shock deepened as his eyes held hers for a long intimate moment. He then proceeded to execute the most formal, most deliberate, and most respectful bow she had ever seen him deliver. It conveyed the most important of messages to her. It spoke to her of the fire that still burned behind those brilliant blue eyes.
She too bowed low in response, how could she not? And found in the familiar responses, the peaceful aura that surrounded the knowledge of what was about to begin, was a peacefulness in herself she had not known still existed.
And so it began, the long and silent speech of Shinomori Aoshi to Takani Megumi.
The graceful movements of his long fingers and artful hands bespoke of his knowledge and love of the tradition. She could almost see the sweep of the sleeves of his kimono falling gracefully aside to allow for his movements as he began. Each gesture of his hand illustrated his expertise in the execution of these movements; equal to or exceeding his expertise with his kodachi. Wearing his western clothes did not detract from the beauty of the movements; rather they emphasized his vibrancy, showing the long lines of his stature in a way that was hidden in the beauty of a kimono. He did not alter his movements, leaving her the pleasure of seeing the precise placement of gesture accommodating the flow of garments that weren't there. It was functional and beautiful with the traditional flow of the kimono sleeve, without it, it was a sensual ballet, mesmerizing her with its play and potential.
His eyes rarely left her face, seeking and gauging her responses as he performed the simplest of acts. Seeing her own cherished items in his adept hands deepened her appreciation of the ritual. How often had she held these same items with care, executed these same movements in private? Sharing them with Aoshi was an unexpected juxtaposition of fate and fortitude she had not expected to see in her lifetime. She had already benefited from one miracle at the hands of Ken-san and Sanosuke. Was she entitled to yet another?
Small simple movements began the ritual, lulling the host and guest into a syncopation of sympathy. Even in this, the role reversal underlined the subtle messages being played out on the familiar stage. He was the host in her house. She was the guest receiving his hospitality.
Even the smallest part of the elaborately choreographed event brought a calmness and peace to each of them. Their awareness was heightened. The peace between them grew, while their sensitivity to the other's actions and reactions was augmented by their depth of understanding of their past and the as yet unspecified path to their future. The silence only added to the intimacy of the moment, bolstering the meditative nature of the familiar movements.
There was no point in speed. There was no benefit to measuring time. The stillness of the process encouraged a stillness of the heart and a fulfillment of the soul. The ritual fed their personal spirits, joining them in the closeness of the process.
When Aoshi reached for the fukusa* to cleanse the chawan* and chashaku*, his customary and practiced hand faltered. The heartfelt movements of care, one heart to another, replaced it. His fingers entwined in the fine silk caressed the exterior of the chawan, the receptacle she would use to bring the tea to her lips, with the utmost care and concern. His touch against the ceramic took her breath away. His grasp on the bowl was so light that it was only his fine balance that kept it within his hands. His progress to the rim was slow, deliberate and coaxing. He polished the rim with great care and concern, as if by melding the fine closely woven silk with his fingers he could mend any imperfection of the ceramic edge, making it worthy of her lips.
When he finally eased the fukusa into the bowl, it was with excruciating slowness. His fingers seemed to introduce the individual fibers of the silk to the grains of sand within the clay, both benefiting from his touch. Not once during this portion of the ritual, did his eyes depart the home they had found with hers. Even as he gently held, folded and refolded the fukusa, the ritual began to speak of other, more personal desires.
Once the chawan was completely readied for her, he turned his attentions to the chashaku. Megumi surpressed an audible gasp when he brought the same care to the bamboo utensil. The slight graceful tip used to scoop the tea received his lavish attention, but the length of the long handle nearly vibrated under his long smooth strokes. Again the fukusa became the focus of his attention, as he left the well used silk in the delicately folded shape of her kimono; carefully folded and smoothed to obscure its previous use, left only as an ornament to their ritual.
As Megumi watched the fire in his eyes move from smoldering to flaming embers, she mused on his level of concentration and meditation. If the host's careful handling of the fakusa was the measure, then Aoshi's many years of meditation hadn't been fruitless.
The ritual continued, as did the intensity of the connection between the eyes of the host and the guest. External tensions eased in the very significant silence, and the long ago breach between them was healed. The healing peace continued as Aoshi reached the point in the ritual where the tea bowl was prepared and ready for her, his guest.
Aoshi's long fingers wrapped around the chawan, treating it as the precious object it both was and represented. As he extended the fruits of his ritual's labors to Megumi, she trembled. She accepted his offer with the ritualistic bow, a deeply felt sincere smile wafting briefly across her face. She admired the bowl; as well known to her as her own features, yet new somehow. And turned it in her hands as customary before savoring the taste of the tea. Had she ever tasted tea this delectable? Had she ever felt this peaceful? Perhaps before the loss of her family. Her eyes closed in appreciation of the moment.
Reluctantly, she raised her lips from the bowl, but before she could pause to wipe the edge of the bowl as customary under the ritual, Aoshi's long fingers gracefully retrieved the bowl from her hands. Again, his eyes held hers as he carefully turned the bowl to drink from the exact same place on the edge of the rim.
Aoshi had sought to touch her soul that he might mend her enough to touch her body. He had not anticipated the pleasure his own soul felt in reaching out to mend another.
At last he spoke.
"Tell me, Megumi, how you found the strength to rebuild your life after Kanryuu's abuse?"
"Ken-san."
"Battousai?"
"No, Ken-san." Her eyes were insistent. At this moment, in its deep intimacy, it was important to be clear about the message and the person who gave it. "You left me my knife, which was a kindness at the time, and I thank you for it. But Ken-san, the former Hitokiri Battousai, told me I couldn't bring back the people I'd killed with my own death. He urged me to become a doctor, to use my strength to save the hurt and the sick." Megumi paused, then continued haltingly. "What did Kenshin tell you at Shishio's?"
A fleeting pain crossed Aoshi's face as he recalled the advice he had only partially taken. "He told me I had made my fallen comrades into evil spirits who were haunting my soul. He told me that time had stopped for me at Kanryuu's, but that the time to awaken was upon me."
Aoshi examined the details of Megumi's fair countenance before continuing. "Time moved forward for me, but did not resume. Even Jinchuu, which should have brought me back, was ineffective. I went back to Kyoto, reburied my friends, and withdrew. I thought at the time that it was a temporary respite. But temporary turned into long years of meditation. Meditation which hid me from my life."
"What happened with Misao?"
"I withdrew from everyone, including Misao. If I had returned to life then, we might have been happy. But I deluded myself into thinking that meditation was my complete calling in life. And after the picnic at Mount Ueno last spring Misao asked me to resume the Okashira position. I refused and told her I didn't love or need her or anyone else. Another error."
"So you came here to enlist my aid in winning her back from Sanosuke?"
"Foolishly."
"And now?"
"And now. I do not intend to leave."
A new panic settled over Megumi. She had lost track of the time in the seduction of the very unexpected arrival of Aoshi and the beauty and peace of the chaji. Now she was frantic. "Leave! You must leave, and now, before he comes…" She turned her head, she could no longer bear the fire in his eyes.
Aoshi had been naive about this woman's lack of protection once before, he was not about to repeat such an error. "Tell me who. I will not leave you unprotected again."
Slowly, Megumi raised her left arm up over her head. The folds of her voluminous silk kimono sleeve pooled gently at her shoulder. The lighter silk of her pale pink under kimono slipped more slowing down the line of her arm, gently revealing alabaster skin to Aoshi, inch by inch. Finally, as the lighter material wafted below her elbow, she bent back her forearm, gracefully extending her hand to the back of her neck. There was a small black symbol permanently embedded on the underside of her upper arm.
"Yakuza," said Aoshi.
Author's Notes:
BRIEF Tea Ceremony notes: (You will need to delete the spaces in the url's, FF deletes direct links.)
Go here for a good description: http: //www. tokujo. ac.jp /Tanaka/ WWW97/ Hello6/ tomomi. html and here:
http :// www. Holymtn .com/ tea/ Japanesetea. htm
Chaji – Tea Ceremony
Mizusashi – receptacle that holds hot water. Picture here
http ://www. tokujo. ac. jp/ Tanaka/ WWW97/ Hello6/ Photo/ mizusashi .JPG
Tana – stand to hold Tea Ceremony utensils
Chasen – tea whisk – used to mix the tea
Chakin – tea cloth – used to dry the Chawan - usually white linen
Chashaku – tea scoop (usually a long bamboo with a small spoon shape at one end) Picture here: http ://www. Tokujo .ac .jp /Tanaka /WWW97 /Hello6 /Photo /chashaku. JPG
Chawan – tea bowl (tea cup) Picture here:
http: // www. tokujo. ac. jp / Tanaka / WWW97 /Hello6 /Photo /chawan. JPG
Fukusa – cloth to cleanse Chawan (tea bowl) and Chashaku (tea scoop) usually silk
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