Mukashi no Koibito

7 : A Battle Lost and Won

Sleep was an elusive temptress tonight. Sanosuke did so want to fall asleep, for physically he was tired enough. It was usually easy to drift off to sleep when he was sated, but tonight was proving to be exceptional. This restlessness was as if he was expecting something to happen, the feeling almost akin to when anticipating an opponent's next strike.

Idly he gazed around the room, having been wide-awake for so long that his eyes were by now used to the darkness. It was a small neat room bearing little embellishments amidst its stark whiteness; there was just a futon, a wardrobe and a small end table, yet there was something elegant in its minimalism. His own room was as bare too, but the effect was altogether different; it just looked sadly lacking.

When he was conscious of it, there was no end to the reminders of how wholly different he and Megumi were. While the fact could just as well separate them, he chose to see it as affirming instead. They were quite wrong for each other, yet together they remained still. He was proud of that. There was something deeply romantic about the whole affair, and it touched the part of him that was still given to quixotic dreaming. Of this he was embarrassed to admit. He was more likely to boast that his relationship with her, regarded with curiosity by outsiders, appealed to his recalcitrant nature.

They had been together from the headiness of early spring till the languorous days of summer's end, and there would be many more seasons to come for the both of them. Propping himself up on one arm, he leaned over the figure beside him and gently tucked her hair over her shoulder. She did not stir. Softly he blew into her ear, because he was bored, and because he could. This time she stirred just a little, a familiar look of annoyance flittering across her serene features briefly. He had to stifle his laughter. Settling back into the futon, he tried again to pursue sleep.

---

Sanosuke was careful to be on time for his appointment with the kitsune-onna, who now attended to the hand he wrecked at Kyoto. She had made him sit on a little stool by the Western-style desk, while she herself had dragged another stool to sit opposite him. Though legitimate, their proximity was alarming. While she wound the bandages with one hand, the other came under his hand to support the wrist. In doing so, her fingers slid under his sleeve, the smooth fingertips pressing against the sensitive underside of his forearm. They were so close that their knees were touching, and fabric was not enough of a barrier when it came to his imagination.

"How is Ken-san? I hope he's not up and about?"

"He's resting," he said, and then to prove to himself that he could sustain a conversation about the man with her, "I think laundry is the last thing he wants to do now."

Her interest in the rurouni was normal. Kenshin happened to be the subject of their discussion. This was nothing to be jealous about. All the jealousy he never thought he had in him had been spent on his closest friend. When he witnessed her put-on coquettishness in front of the older man, a sour taste would come into his mouth. The sourness would slowly distill into a distinctly bitter flavor if he watched them long enough. He imagined it was the taste of unadulterated jealousy, so acrid that it compelled a reflex action. Soon enough, his head would bend down and away from the sight of them.

She looked up at him briefly and smiled at his wry comment, then she bent her head to look at his hand in hers. Her thoughts were still on Kenshin, he could tell by the way that she just stared at the still raw lacerations. Yet her duty was towards him now.

It had been difficult to suppress his feelings, for secrecy rebelled against his nature. He liked people as open as he was, but he was drawn to a woman so purposely reticent as Megumi. He had not known how to cope with his wild emotions, and a way that complimented her character was to practice restraint.

How he felt about her had been complex from the start. He struggled with how from intense dislike he had come to love her, suddenly and without reason. Perhaps the intensity of love and hatred were so much the same that it was only by a name that one was separated from the other.

The Kyoto fight was over. He had come back alive. There were certain things he planned to do with the life he was granted. He had promised himself to be stronger, and honesty was strength in itself. There was no need to rationalize the way he felt about her anymore. Because he felt so deeply, it was true enough.

"Kaoru is probably with him now," he said. "Have you noticed? They've become closer since our return from Kyoto."

She looked up once again, something akin to surprise showing on her features. Her smallish eyes widened somewhat, and her lips parted as if about to protest what he just said.

"Like people in love," he said quickly.

Promptly he bit his tongue in a fit of annoyance at himself. He did not mean to say that; many nights tossing about in his futon until the sheets were crumpled and damp with sweat, in a strained exercise of thinking up the best way to tell her how he felt, all that was wasted now with this unthinking outburst. He had finally come to the conclusion that the best way to tell her, for one so inept with words, was through action. He would find some way to touch her, her hair, her hand, her shoulder, anywhere that was appropriate for the moment, and through that gesture communicate all the frustrated longing he kept inside him.

But what was done was done. He supposed he only spoke the truth, for Kenshin and Kaoru's time was now. The people who were meant to be together were finally together, and in the light of their blossoming love, he and Megumi could begin something too. He just needed to be honest with her. That would be their start, he had decided this the moment when survival from the destruction in Kyoto became eminent.

When he noticed the look on her face, it was one of despondency, clear as day. He had not seen her show any weakness for the longest time. He had expected her to get angry at his brash words; they would argue about it and then start yelling at each other and that would likely be the end of whatever great plans he had for the day.

"I shouldn't have said that."

He would not have bothered with the apology of sorts if she did not look so wounded, for truth was truth, and it was time she realized her 'Ken-san' was Kaoru's 'Kenshin' now, and perhaps had been so from the beginning. No, she must realize it already, but did she accept it?

"I can't stop him from being with who he wants. As long as he's happy," she said sadly.

His injured hand jerked involuntarily, and he grimaced at the pain. The sudden motion seemed to jolt her out of her melancholy, and she quickly recovered the professionalism of her physician self. He tilted his head slightly to see her face, but her expression of detached impassivity betrayed nothing.

So it held strong that love twisted the mind. It did hers, making her think such selflessness was worthy. It did his too, for he had not been as honest as he had promised himself. If he had been truly honest, he would have admitted that it was after all, unacceptable for them to be together. Perhaps it was a matter of pride that he had not allowed himself to acknowledge that. The light of the Kyoto victory had banished the various doubts into the darker recesses of his mind. He felt like he could achieve anything.

Now it did not mean a thing the way he felt about her, because she would not realize it. Her heart still wanted Kenshin, or was it the ideal of Kenshin? The kitsune-onna was the smartest woman he knew, for she was not called that for nothing. Yet she persisted with Kenshin the way a lesser woman would, when he had never once responded to her suggestive teasing.

She was beautiful in a way that could make men ache with yearning, or perhaps it was only stupid men who let their hearts run far, far ahead of reason, and still Kenshin ignored her affection. It was embarrassingly obvious that the rurouni would never care for her.

She confused him. He had not felt like his age in a long time, but now the inexperience of his youth struck him. Only with defeat were all weaknesses revealed; it was a lesson well learnt in the events leading up to Kyoto, but that did not make each experience easier when it came. Today he had lost, and once again the flaws became glaringly clear.

"You'll never be happy if you don't let go of Kenshin."

"I don't need advice from you," she said, a tense edge to her textured voice. "You can barely take care of yourself."

Offended, he wrenched his hand away from her grip, but she clung on stubbornly to the length of bandage from her unfinished work. He tried to make his way out of the clinic when she yanked willfully at that length. He spewed forth a string of angry curses, for it hurt his already vulnerable hand. Blood was beginning to seep through the fresh bandages.

She stood there looking at him, silent reproach in her eyes. Then she cupped his hand in hers, and led him back to where they were before. He followed her. The morning's work would have to be done all over again.

"Of all the people you know, I take care of you the most."

"What kind of doctor makes her patient bleed?"

Arguing with her felt comforting in its familiarity. Her eyes watched his carefully, while her alluringly red mouth set into interesting formations as she protested what he said. Her attention was solely on him, as his was on hers. Sullenly, he wondered if this would be the only way that he could ever express the depth of feeling that was still suppressed within him.

---

The ceiling seemed suddenly fascinating. He stared up at it, not blinking, breathing slowly. The moment he had opened his eyes, all traces of sleep vanished. Now his thoughts were rioting in his head, that the only possible way to quiet them was to stare at the bare ceiling, an expanse of calm white.

The blankness of white only urged those thoughts.

Something had happened in Kyoto; it had been enough for him to realize he loved her. He never told her, for she wanted to be with another. These facts followed each other in a circular fashion, and his mind was trapped in the infinity. Such were his first memories of a life before.

Beside him, Megumi was very real and very much his. Yet for the first time they were together, Sanosuke felt alone.