Standard
Disclaimers Apply.
Part
6 - Words
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"Arigato
minna-san! Thank you for everything," Misao cried, waving enthusiastically from
a window of the steaming train. Her oceanic eyes were no longer frozen by
confusion, but warm and gleaming bright with fervor. It took Okon her all to
stop Misao from falling out.
"Oi!
Weasel girl! Make sure you take care of yourself and try not to forget anything
else this time okay?!" Sano teased, "'Cos the next time you try to kill someone
innocent, I might not be there to stop ya!"
"Yeah!"
Yahiko the brat, quipped in, not knowing what to say himself, being bad at
goodbyes. He was going to miss her. Although the first few weeks with her were
awkward, she had managed to acclimatize herself rather well with her
surroundings. And it was even more fun when she started remembering and
responding to his sardonic remarks. Not to mention, painful, sometimes.
"Come
visit, okay? It would be nice having a greedy chicken head and a loudmouthed
little brat constantly climbing on each other's necks around," Misao joked,
unable to stop her eyes from leaking.
"Thank
you so much for taking care of our Misao all this time and please, do visit us
when you can! You are all always welcomed in the Aioya." Okon added.
"You're
not thinking of inviting the chicken head as well, right? 'Cos he'd only finish
up all the food and sake supply without contributing to a single thing!" Yahiko
sarcastically commented, instigating a bokken to painfully land on his head. "Ittai!"
"Yahiko!
I won't stand you badmouthing your elders like that!" Kaoru muttered
defensively. She had definitely been a tat nicer to Sano these days, much to
the annoyance of Yahiko. Deciding to ignore the fuming teen, she chose to turn
her attention to Okon instead, "Okon, please take care of her!"
"I
will. Don't worry," Okon smiled sympathetically.
"Misao,
I want you to know that you will always be received in open arms here. If there's
anything, anything at all which I can help, or even if I can't for all that
matters, don't hesitate to find me, okay?" Kaoru squeezed Misao's hand
reassuringly, her eyes no drier than Misao's.
"Aw
shucks, women…" Yahiko shrugged, looking away, secretively wiping a lone
moisture from his own eye.
Kenshin
smirked knowingly, amused by the tough exterior his little friend was
displaying. "Please send our best regards to everyone in Aioya, de gozaru. We'll
visit when we can, perhaps when little Kenji's a little bigger!" Kenshin
reflected, smiling, violet eyes glowing softly with fatherly warmth as he
looked on at the tiny sleeping bundle cradled in his arms.
"I
will, Himura! I will! Goodbye Minna-san! And thank you for everything!" Misao
replied, starting her frenzied waving once again.
The
horn of the steam-powered train was fortuitously sounded. It was time. At long
last, after seven long months, Makimachi Misao was finally going home.
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It
is dawn. He could not sleep last night. Hell, he hasn't been sleeping well
since the day she left them. Left him. His head throbbed painfully with
millions of what ifs.
What
if she's changed? What if she's forgotten about them? About him? What if she's
found a better life? Found a better person to be with? … And love? … What if she's stopped loving
him? … What if … she hates him? …
-Misao's coming home today-
And
he was scared. Shinomori Aoshi was scared.
-What a laugh. -
He
turned from his side, lying on his back now, arms folded neatly behind his
head, pillowing, his eyes, slowly taking in every intricate detail adorning the
room. This room, it's not his. It's hers. But in her long absence, he had
unwittingly turned it into his own asylum, an escape from his poignant
nightmares, manifesting it like a temple, like a shrine. His temple, his
shrine.
Every
little detail in this room emits her essence, warmth that is uniquely hers. The
extra kunai kit that lay upon the desk, gets the same priority as the ruby
bristled hairbrush and the two yellowing paper cranes that were once white.
Reminding him dourly, that she was a child no more, that just like the paper
cranes had yellowed with age, she too had quietly grown up into a competent and
resilient leader.
Her
sharpened kunais, worn with practice, and the high pile of dog-eared fighting
manuals, showed through her diehard determination to be treated as a serious
ninja, an equal. The resplendent hairbrush, a book of quixotic poetries and a
lonely silver kimono that stood hung on its stand in all its glory, evidences
of a blossoming woman, beautiful, forgiving and loving. He was ashamed of
himself to have missed them, those clues. Regret, remorse, compunction filled
his empty void full. But no more, not this time.
-Misao is coming home today-
And
this time, he is going to be there.
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As
she entered the vicinity of the Aoiya, she held her breath. She remembered
being here before and she felt totally at ease with her new surroundings. She
smiled evenly, surprised herself. Carelessly, she skipped down the familiar
path back to the building. Back to a place she once called home.
As
she reached the door, she stiffly froze. Okon nudged her companionably in her
side, urging her to make the push and go in, encouraging. Misao inhaled deeply,
shoulders raised exaggeratedly, then, uncertainly turned the knob.
He
was watching her intently, even before the moment she entered the house. He was
going down the stairs when he had caught sense of her ki. He solidified on the
spot still, wanting to catch her response when she first sees him, his own
beating organ racing wildly beneath his chest. Then, there was the eye contact.
And he held her bright sapphire orbs captive of his own aquamarine ones.
It
was -him-. The man that had
listlessly haunted her dreams. Plaguing her thoughts day and night, night and
day. The one who made her feel so much and yet hurt her terribly so.
Misao
stood rooted to the ground as he advanced nearer, slowly, deliberately, as
sleek as a hungry lion on a prowl, his gaze never wavering. He stopped short of
a foot between them, leaving her with just enough room to breathe. His eyes,
once cold, now thawed considerably, probed expectantly into her depths,
seeking. Of what, one can only guess at. It was hard to tell. Especially with
him.
He
waited patiently for her to react. But she only stared back blankly at him,
unblinking, uncertain, fearful. She looked so vulnerable then, so fragile, that
his heart ached with the desire to touch her, hold her close, comfort and
assure her, and to protect her from all harm's way. Forever.
They
were encapsulated in stillness, as though the world was made solely for the
anticipation of this moment, their reunion, arising the feeling of surrealism.
Time, it seemed, had stopped moving, together with their hearts.
He
needed to know. He needed to know if she is staying. And he needed to know now.
No longer able to take the awkward silence that had quietly established between
them, he spoke, quiet voice husky with choked emotions, "Okaerinasai."
She
blinked, once, twice, before his words finally got through and settled fully in
her head. It seemed like an eternity of contemplation, when, dubiously, like a
cat wanting fish but afraid if getting its paws wet, she chose to answer albeit
feelings of insecurity. "Tadaima," she whispered softly but audible enough for
him to hear her.
Relief
washed him anew, like winter's snow, leaving him spring fresh, cleansed. He was
maddeningly elated. Delirious with unearthly joy he never thought was possible
to achieve. Finally, she has returned. Back home. Back to him.
Such
was the power of words.
So
relieved was he that he decided to give in to his heart's growing urges. He
embraced her, held her close to his heart. He held her tight, impulsively,
possessively, like there was no tomorrow, forgetting to breathe. Forgetting
that she too needed to breathe.
Waves
of emotions rioted within her, eventful memories clashed and banged
mercilessly. What she already knew, she doubted, what she just remembered;
memories that were rekindled, she could not believe. She let him hold her a
while longer, basking in the feel of sunny warm sensation her now eclipsing
heart was experiencing at this moment.
And
then it occurred to her. Abruptly, she pulled away from his strong arms, her
mind, in a painful daze.
-Could it be? Masaka! No, it
can't be!!
-
Feeling
her knees weakening, her lips parted to form words, but failing, her eyes grew
wide, too horrified to believe. Then, as she regained a semblance of control,
she voiced her troubling conclusion. Shakily and fearfully, she burrowed deeper
into his eyes and croaked, "J…j… Jiya?"
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TBC??? Owari??
Brought to you by the evils of insomnia…
Thanks for reading.