Paris, France 1884
Aoshi walked leisurely through the loud city streets, the sounds of laughter and loud foreign voices piercing his sensitive ears. A sea of varying faces drifted toward him as others came from behind and moved away, he drifted among them with almost childlike curiosity. So many different kinds of people he could not recall ever seeing, men and women with hair colors that covered the entire spectrum from the palest of yellow, red reminiscent of Himura's unusual shade, varying hues of brown and black. Each of them so different, so unlike Japan.
Although one could see the influx of westerners in Tokyo of late building in number, they remained a novelty within Japan for the most part. The gazes of most who passed by him here, which he chose to ignore would indicate that, just like a westerner in Japan, it was a novelty to see an Asian in this country.
Aoshi's steps slowed and finally stopped at the window of one of the many shops that lined the city streets. The people were not the only marked differences; the entire structure of the city, the way the shops were closed off into structures that allowed only a teasing view of what lay within was so unlike the open air markets of Tokyo. Merchants stored their wares behind walls of stone and wood, select items were displayed elegantly behind the glass to those passing by, hoping to catch their attention. It was one such window that caught his attention. A women's shop, he would imagine by the contents displayed in the window; long flowing manes of hair, each separated by color, each held together by a ribbon at the top. Straight, golden brown hair with ringlets, a mass of light red curls and one in particular... a long, black braid.
Could it be? He wondered his heart beginning to pound in his chest as he stared almost mesmerized, then as memories came flooding back, he shook his head. No. He knew without a doubt that it could not.
Kyoto, Japan 1880
Aoshi shifted restlessly where he lay on the futon, wincing at the sharp stab of pain in his shoulder; he much preferred the pain of the wound than those intoxicating drugs that played tricks on his mind, the doctor had prescribed. He was growing uneasy as for the second day a strange sense of something terribly wrong settled over him. He could not put his finger on it but it was as if there were a storm brewing, a ferocious storm, gathering force as it moved along, the Aoiya its destination.
It was still early, yet the sounds of voices, like the quiet rumblings of distant thunder reached his ears. He pulled himself upright and again the pain made him wince but he knew the storm was approaching fast and he had no choice other than to ignore the pain and face it. As if caught in a gale the shoji door thrust open and Okina entered, the storm clouds, thick and heavy, ready to vent their fury entering behind him, filling the room.
"Aoshi!" Okina addressed him and it was like a thunderclap, making him cringe as the old man stepped closer and set a package on the floor next to where he sat on the futon. "She is gone."
Like a statue he sat, cold and lifeless against the storm that unleashed itself upon him, upon them all. His eyes drifted from Okina's to the envelope lying on top of the neatly folded uniform. His name scrawled elegantly across it, like a verdict. Fighting against the raging winds of the storm he reached for the envelope, removing the folded sheet of paper, it wasn't a verdict he realized as he read it, it was a sentencing, his sentence, not to death but something far worse, to life, without her. 'I am sorry. Misao'. He did not think she had used so few words in her life, or been so cruel.
"Do you think she went to the Himura's?" Okina's voice broke through the lashing rain; Aoshi could hear the hope in Okina's voice, the hope that they would survive this storm, that she would come back and save them.
"Iie." Aoshi spoke dully; leaning against the wall, closing his eyes against the pain of the violent storm, knowing that she would not come back to save them and that the destruction of this storm was beyond any they had confronted before. "She is as you say, gone."
"We have to stop her!" He spoke vehemently, refusing to let up against the storm. "We have enough contacts! Certainly we can find her."
"Leave her go Okina." Aoshi whispered. "She does not want us to find her."
"What are you saying? How the hell would you know what she wants?" Okina lashed out, his voice quieting as he continued. "You don't even know her."
"Chigai!" Aoshi unleashed his own fury and in its wake the storm paled. Their eyes met and Okina was clearly shocked at such a display of emotion from his former Okashira. Forcing himself to calm down Aoshi took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "You're wrong Okina, I know her... perhaps better than anyone."
Resigned and sorrowful, Okina left Aoshi's room to tell the others that it was determined she would not be returning to the Aoiya. Although he agreed that she was most likely not planning to go to the Himura's Okina would send word of her disappearance just the same, in hopes that they were wrong and she had gone there, or perhaps that they might see her in Tokyo.
Once again alone in his room Aoshi stared for what seemed like an eternity at the neatly folded blue uniform of the Oniwabanshu. He brushed his fingers over the vibrant purple obi that rest on top, then delved in, burying his fingers deep in the silken fabric, fisting his hand tight not sure if he would ever be able to let go. As he had let her go or rather... as he had pushed her away. He lifted the soft pile of fabric and let it fall onto his lap, his eyes narrowing at the golden ring on the end of a black rope as it slipped free of its hiding place among the silk. His eyes widened in surprise as realization dawned; her hair, she had severed it and left it behind, just as she had him, as she had all of them.
Aoshi lifted the sheet of paper he still held in his right hand, unfolding it to read the brief message yet again. Beautifully simplistic in every sense, just like the storm with its deceitfully calm, white clouds that hid the fury of the storm within them, so did Misao's words hide in them, not fury, something far more destructive... guilt. He knew well the repercussions of letting guilt rule your life and could only hope that she would not allow her own guilt to lead her down a similar path.
In the wake of her departure winter came; like a symbol of her absence the skies remained gray and dreary, just as his life did. As much as he ignored her while she had lived under the same roof and wished for her to leave him in peace, now that she was gone he could find none and six months after Misao had left the Aoiya, Aoshi left as well.
Ironically he went to visit with the Himura's, initially surprised at their invitation he found himself accepting it and actually looking forward to his stay with them. He knew that the Himura's had received word from Misao and although they never spoke of her to him, Aoshi found comfort just being near those who had a connection with her, albeit a limited one, it was still a connection.
The Kamiya dojo, growing in popularity was always busy with students and oddly enough Aoshi didn't seem to mind the lack of solitude, he often observed the student's progress from a quiet corner in the dojo, sometimes grudgingly agreeing to help demonstrate certain steps. Koaru-san was a gentle instructor, an odd mix of fragility and strength, perfect for this peaceful era and he found he could not look at her without thinking of another that was the same.
Although they both insisted that he stay, when he learned that they were expecting a child Aoshi felt that he had intruded upon the Himura's hospitality enough and found his own place. Only a short walk from the dojo where he remained a regular visitor, helping out more with the students as Koaru-san's condition made it impossible for her to continue teaching. Time passed and without realizing it Aoshi had grown close to those at the Kamiya dojo, it surprised him once he realized it, then again, who else but Himura Kenshin could possibly get through the barriers he had erected over the years? Who else indeed...
Aoshi had come to recognize the signs indicating that they had once again heard from Misao, each letter would produce a look of such sympathy from Koaru-san while her husband would simply smile sadly at him and both of them would grow uncharacteristically quiet. Aoshi knew that they would gladly inform him of her well being, of her new life away from him, all he need do was ask, but he refused to broach the subject and they in turn, remained silent. She had moved on, someday he would move on as well.
Paris, France 1884
Misao. He thought as he turned away from the disturbing image of the braid and the memories it evoked. How could I have been so blind?
"Pardon monsieur." Came a whispered apology.
Misao reprimanded herself as she failed to respond; to all intents and purposes this town new her as Hanya, the artist, a man not a woman, a fabrication that she had worked hard to maintain and here she was, forgetting herself. She smiled at the man, nodded and then moved on berating herself further for her lack of concentration; it had been four years after all... and there in lie the problem. It had been four years... and she was weary beyond belief. Not from lack of sleep or over-exertion, no she was weary in her soul, weary from keeping up the guise of being a man. Most of all she was weary from pushing down emotions that should have left her long ago. How she had tried to exercise them from her heart, in her painting she had expressed her feelings again and again, but to no avail and now... she was beaten down by it all.
How she longed for a hint of Japan to ease her loneliness, not Kyoto. No. She was finished with Kyoto and all its darkness but the smells of her homeland, the simple pleasures, like the feel of a silk kimono against your skin, or even more simple... the food. She smiled at the memory of picking nashi from the tree, of preparing tea for... Her smile faded. She could still recall his pale eyes and dark hair with perfect clarity. Yes, she missed Japan, terribly.
France was beautiful in its own way and Paris had offered her a bustling sea of faces that she could shuffle amongst for all this time. Paris had also offered her what Japan could not; a place to become someone else, where she could hide from herself and others should they come looking.
Knowing that Koaru would inform the others that she was well, Misao had written her upon arriving in this land of strangers and their correspondence, although it was slow because of the distance, continued regularly. She had been careful not to single anyone out when mentioning the Aoiya; Koaru however, refused to remain so vague in her letters. Misao was unable to stem her surprise when she'd learned of Aoshi visiting the Himura's and even more so when Koaru mentioned his settling in Tokyo permanently. She now considered him part of the family; a family that was growing in number as she and Kenshin had been blessed with their first child, a boy. Koaru described in great detail the joy that Kenji brought to their lives and how the little boy often got into staring matches with his ojisan until one of them would smile. Kenji lost continuously but Koaru had caught the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of Aoshi's mouth more than once. Misao could not help but smile herself, Aoshi had been a good guardian, infinitely patient and kind, he had made certain her childhood was happy and it was, despite the loss of her parents. She had so many happy memories with him and often in her loneliness she would recall them and feel a little less lonely...
...Seven year old Misao walked along the riverbed, firmly gripping Aoshi's hand as they explored. Every now and then Aoshi would stop, crouch down and pick up a handful of the flat, river rocks. He would then proceed to pick through them; dropping most back onto the ground he would keep a few then stand up, walk several feet and repeat the ritual again. After repeating the act a few more times Misao's curiosity won out and she asked him why he was keeping all the rocks.
"Not all the rocks Misao." He explained calmly as he climbed to his feet and moved on again. "Only those that I like."
This brought on a quiet fit of giggles.
"Demo… Aoshi-sama… all the river rocks look the same." She explained as if she held all the knowledge of the world within her seven-year-old intellect.
"They are not all the same Misao." He stopped and crouched down beside her, opening his hand for her to see the rocks that he had collected and pulling his other hand free of hers he picked up one and held it out to her. "Do you see how this one is dark gray and if you turn it just so..."
He turned the rock in the sunlight and she gasped at the wonder before her, eyes widening at the miracle he was showing her.
"It has stripes!" She whispered in surprise reaching for the rock he held up. She lifted it closer to her face for further inspection, looking back at him sternly, eyebrows creasing in a concentrated frown she placed the rock back in his palm then demanded "How did you do it? How did you get the stripes in the rock?"
"I did not put them there Misao, nature has bestowed this gift." He explained gently handing her another, this one lighter gray and smooth as glass, still shinning even though it was no longer wet. "Each of these rocks may look the same at first but if you stop and take the time, you'll notice that each is very different from the other."
She put that one down and picked up another, holding it up in the light much as he had the first one.
"This one has green swirls in it!" She exclaimed happily, then set it down to retrieve another. "And this one sparkles, ne Aoshi-sama."
"Hai Misao, it does sparkle." He took the rock back as she held it out to him and rose up from his crouched position. She quickly grabbed hold of his empty hand and they resumed their lazy exploration of the riverbed.
Their expedition turned into a much longer event than she could handle and as she began to stumble while they walked, Aoshi, quickly recognized the signs of fatigue. He was forced to drop the stones he'd collected and carry her back to the Aoiya.
She began to cry when he gave up his rocks and was adamant that she was able to walk on her own all the way home. He had insisted that she stop her childish behavior or he would not take her with him the next time he went exploring. She'd quieted immediately although her lip protruded a little further than usual the rest of the way home.
Two days later, with the help of Hanya, Misao returned to the river determined to find, among the thousands that were there, the rocks that he'd been forced to abandon because of her. She brought them home and left them outside his door, wrapped in a scrap of blue silk that Hanya had produced as if by magic...
...You still did not take me with you the next time you went exploring Aoshi-sama. She whispered silently her smile fading as another memory came to the forefront of her mind. You left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye, as well as the other Oniwabanshu who never returned again.
You didn't really return either. She acknowledged silently. Did you Aoshi-sama?