Chapter 2
Aoshi left the next day. Misao was confined to her futon for the next day so she could recover, thus leaving her without a chance to bid farewell to her beloved Aoshi-sama. Misao was distraught—it had been so many years since she had last seen him! It seemed cruel to be offered only a glimpse of her idol and savior, only to have him taken away from her in the end. Many wet sobs and bitter thoughts enveloped her that night, only for her to find that her hope and cheerfulness were revived through the discovery of a gift left inside her bedside slippers.
"Kunai," she breathed giddily, "he gave me a set of real kunai! Sugoi!" Conveniently forgetting that she was ordered to stay in bed for another day, Misao trotted off to the dojo to try out her new present.
As his men rode in silence, Aoshi fingered a kunai he kept hidden in his coat's pocket; the set came in numbers of ten, but Aoshi took one of them as a keepsake of Misao. It was true that he had left without seeing her another time, but he was sure that his gift would console her. What he didn't consider was that he had left a part of his heart behind along with the kunai.
He heard the sounds of her footsteps from across the yard. They were heavy and well paced; the additional weight of the tea tray made Misao's light amble more solid and steady. The crunching of grass and gravel as well as the clinking of tea accessories personalized the actions of the incoming young woman, and they were all that he needed to erase his earlier doubts.
The door opened suddenly. Misao didn't knock on her first tea visit, and she wasn't going to start now. A swirl of brilliant colors temporarily blinded Aoshi. The vibrant green of the grass and shrubs, the light bark of the trees, and the indigo of her onmitsu uniform seeped into Aoshi's mind as he blinked owlishly. It was always like that—her arrival brought light and a blazing energy that never failed to surprise him.
Misao's head was bent as she leaned over to take her shoes off, and as she straightened herself up to face him, he saw a flash of white. Aoshi began to wonder why she was so silent: surely she would have already greeted him and mentioned her upcoming visit to Tokyo in the next instant. Taking a set of white papers from the firm grip of her lips, Misao simply said, "Here." He recognized the seals on the papers and let his gaze follow her white fingers that were clamped onto the papers, then lifted his eyes up the length of her arm to her open, eager and expectant face, and immediately grasped what she was offering. These were Oniwabanshuu file papers that only the Okashira was entitled to see. He looked at her apprehensively: was he devoted enough to try again? He closed his eyes wearily; he had meditated in the temple for nearly two years already, with no answers in sight and had obtained less peace of mind than blankness and aversion to the past. Perhaps his happiness and peace lay not in quiet and solitary atonement, but with others. He opened his eyes and looked upon Misao's countenance. Despite her thin, pursed lips and the slight tremble of her extended arm, her eyes shone effulgently. The faith and love she had in him blazed clearer than any other message her body could give.
He was insecure no longer; he had a purpose and the love and consideration of others to support him. He reached out without hesitation and took the papers from her with a firm hand and an equally firm expression. The smile she rewarded him with for his decision nearly took his breath away. It was not on account of its intensity, or its usual cheerful sauciness, but because of its gentle pride. He had never lacked respect from others; sometimes, he was even the subject of fear. But never since the days he had spent with his fallen comrades had he seen an expression of such strong pride in him, although the face of its bearer was tender.
The swift purposefulness of her hands broke the spell her smile had cast unwittingly cast on him. She had her head bowed down, her concentration centered on the pouring of tea. After handing a cup respectfully to her Okashira, Misao sat back on her heels and sipped her own tea quietly. The silence was agreeable—no words were necessary for the two to appreciate each other's company, and each was wrapped up in his or her own thoughts at the moment.
Misao applauded her courage. She had always seen her position as temporary, and expected Aoshi-sama to take it from her once he had returned. When he hadn't, she puzzled over the matter for as long as she spent time doing the actual paperwork. She had vaguely concluded he wouldn't claim his leadership again because he was unsure of his self and felt guilt for having once led his companions astray, but she couldn't be sure; analyzing Aoshi-sama was no small task.
Aoshi was held the cup up to his mouth and kept hold of the papers under the pretense of reading them, but he was really examining the marks Misao had left on the paper with her lips and teeth. The slight moisture on the paper and the indent of her small teeth left him slightly amused and also slightly puzzled. He knew she had carried the papers with her in such an informal matter because she was impatient to have her tea and couldn't be bothered with another trip back to the Aoiya. What he couldn't understand was how a simple sign she had left behind on the paper could make him feel so uncertain around her—really, it was often the other way around.
"Aoshi…sama?" Oh no… it was really only a small lapse; a second in time, but had she really almost referred to him with familiarity? Such audacity! She blushed at the thought, before plowing onward. "A-ano, Aoshi-sama, I'll be leaving tomorrow, so I'll have to tell you which cases are the most recent, and which of the addressed men are still within contact. Will you come by the office tomorrow to let me give you the files?" And say goodbye?, her mind added immediately.
"Yes."
Misao smiled again as she gathered the cups and accessories and put the on the tray, "Arigatou, Aoshi-sama! I'll see you at dinner!" With that, she firmly grasped the tray with both hands, lifted it with painstaking care, and left the temple, her braid swishing rhythmically to the pace of her steps.