Muted Discourse Ch. 7

            An unsettling weight on her lower abdomen woke her up. She soon regretted leaving the soothing blanket of sleep; however, when a potent headache tore at her head and her surroundings came in a haze. Groggy from sleep and queasy from the aftertaste of bitter herbal medicine, Misao shook her head to clear it but fell back on her pillow with a groan—the confounded pounding in her mind and the blur of her surroundings did not improve. Bewildered and pained, Misao lay immobile on her futon, searching for the last recollections she had before her drugged sleep. A searing pain below her stomach and the throbbing ache that gnawed at her ankle soon brought her to full consciousness, even if her fogged vision and racked head didn't improve. The fire… she recalled, Kami-sama! Had Kenji-chan and Himura made it out all right? What had happened? Misao gritted her teeth together—she had to get up and check on the Himuras. Come to think of it, she mused, this doesn't look like the dojo. Where am I? Lifting herself up by her arms, Misao gingerly laid her back against the wall; how much damage had she inflicted upon herself this time? The dark and heavy guttural pain she felt prompted her to moan in irritation. She assumed that a falling beam knocked her out in the fire—Himura must have dug her up from the mess and taken her to Genzai-sensei's. She prodded her bandaged lower front and tried to lift her left leg, both actions resulting in a dizzy state of nauseating pain that made her abort her self inspection promptly. Damn, she cursed silently, I've twisted my ankle and had my gut pierced in the fire. As she gloomily contemplating how long she would be confined to her bed, the door slid open and a recognizable swish of silk and the sway of long ebony hair caught her eye, "Megumi-sensei."

            Megumi acknowledged the scowling visage of the Okashira's protégé with a cool dip of her head and a small smile on her lips, "Misao-chan, has it really been two years since we last saw each other?"

            Misao's frown vanished as a fond smile graced her face, "Yes, it really has. It is a pleasure to see you again." The raven-haired doctor had not changed a bit—her sophisticated poise still emanated from her being, and Misao was sure that her caustic retorts were still sharp with use. However, with the true delight at seeing the doctor came a worried awareness—Megumi only came to Tokyo when her friends were in real trouble. Misao summoned her courage and breathed out deeply, "So, what's your diagnosis on my little dilemma now?"

            Kaoru fidgeted with her hair—Misao had been unconscious for a day and a half. Her wounds didn't seem so serious at a first glance, but the deceptive appearance of her wounds was betrayed by the paleness of Kenshin's countenance when he carried out an unconscious Kenji, only to place him wordlessly on the lawn, bolt back into the raging fire, and silently carry out a limp and battered Misao. She apparently had broken her ankle and cut her stomach, but Kenshin's quiet words had brought Kaoru's breaths to a halt, "Kaoru, send for Megumi-dono immediately." Genzai-sensei served as the doctor for the day while Kaoru, Kenshin, Kenji and Yahiko held their breath and hoped for the best. Kenshin's intuitive anxiety was correct, as usual—Megumi declared that Misao had not only broken her ankle and received a concussion from the falling beam, but she had also pierced her lower abdomen in the fire. The cut bled little, but the unhealthy purple swelling around the wound did not bode well. Kaoru shivered unconsciously, seeking warmth from her husband and keeping a careful eye on her newborn baby girl asleep in Yahiko's arms. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Kenshin, who had enveloped his worn-out wife in his arms, immediately saw what had made her smile so contentedly: Yahiko had been smitten by the baby girl since he first cast his eyes on her.

After he had come back from the Akabeko earlier the day before, Yahiko had been first shocked at the news of the fire, and then worried about Misao, who seemed to be in a critical condition. He had spent most of his afternoon waiting in Genzai-sensei's clinic for any news about Misao and had fallen into a fitful sleep when he felt a firm grip on his hair that rudely pulled him out of his much-needed rest. He awoke with a rumbling groan and snapped one eye open moodily, "Whaddya want?" He found himself looking into pristine, innocent, wide violet eyes.

Kaoru, who had let go of his hair to support her child better with both her arms, smiled proudly, "Myoujin Yahiko, I formally introduce you to Himura Tsuri." Yahiko blinked, unsure of what to do, as Kaoru thrust the baby into his arms. Kaoru sighed exasperatedly, "You hold the baby, Yahiko. Then you coo and sigh over her beauty and compliment her on how much she resembles her mother." Kaoru then amusedly gave Yahiko a long hard look—not a word she said had processed through that thick skull of his—he was already lost in his assessment of the bundle he held in his arms.

Tsuri, he observed carefully, that is a suitable name for this one. The child was pretty; a chubby fair little girl who uncannily resembled busu except for the violet eyes. He fervently hoped that Tsuri-chan hadn't inherited her mother's temper and poor domestic skills. He cleared his throat and tore his gaze away from the small baby, meeting Kaoru's pleased, expectant gaze with a smirk, "Tsuri is a pretty child—it's good for her that she doesn't look like you, busu! Otherwise, she would have to run after short vagabonds and force one to marry her."

Kaoru couldn't believe her ears, "What? And you're supposed to be an adult? You brat! Show some more respect!" And the tirade went on, much to Yahiko's dismay.

When Kenshin had arrived with Kenji on top of his shoulders, the racket had by no means diminished—miraculously, Tsuri-chan had fallen asleep in Yahiko's arms, totally oblivious to the sparked argument her mother and some-what brother were avidly participating in. Kenshin couldn't help but smile at his makeshift family's antics, "Maa, maa, Kaoru and Yahiko! I'm surprised that Tsuri-chan hasn't been awakened by your squabbling!" Kaoru opened her mouth to retort, but then wearily aborted all efforts to fight and nodded, remembering the solemnity of their situation. With the dojo destroyed, a baby to provide for, and her best friend in pain, Kaoru felt overwhelmed by the last day's events. Kenshin had apparently read some of the emotions that crossed over her face, and he attempted to reassure her with calm soothing words, "Misao will pull through this. Now we must go back to the Akabeko and rest—Megumi comes tomorrow at noon." Kaoru nodded absentmindedly as she followed her husband and successor out of the clinic's door. Kenshin halted for a moment, and then said softly, "We should also contact Aoshi-dono first thing in the morning."

A letter was sent, a doctor received, and a patient most anxiously watched over. After having spent most of the morning cleaning the mess at the dojo up, and finding repairmen to reconstruct the building, the Himuras, Yahiko and Tsubame returned to the clinic to check up on Misao and Megumi. Megumi wasn't in the doctor's office, and when they had found Genzai-sensei taking a break with his two granddaughters, he had told them that Megumi was "breaking the news to her as softly as she could". Kenshin and Kaoru exchanged a troubled look: what news?

Misao's ears were ringing. Megumi bit her lip, her dark moist eyes filled with worry and empathy. Misao felt a dull pounding resonate throughout her body, gathering Megumi's words and taking their jumbled meanings together and solving it all out, "My uterus may be damaged or strained—I won't bear children?" Misao's throat was dry and her words had come out slowly, painfully.

Megumi hid her mild surprise with a delicate hand over her faint smile. The onmitsu girl had understood her medical terms even with her current concussion and painful injuries. "She is a sharp one," she noted critically, " and if Aoshi can't see what's in front of him, he'll lose his chance to any other man who has half a brain." She stepped forward, grasped her hand gently and murmured, "There's a fair chance that your uterus is intact. Indeed, it may be that you just have a deep gash that was just a flesh wound, but you have been bleeding internally for a while. I'm telling you all this so you won't be kept in the dark—in case the worst that can happen happens." Misao's bright blue eyes glistened as she nodded at Megumi's words. Megumi sighed, "Misao-chan, if I remember correctly, you are an orphan, right?" Misao could only nod again, tears threatening to overflow. Megumi continued smoothly, "How did your mother pass away?"

Misao swallowed audibly, but her voice rang out surprisingly clear, "She died in childbed—she gave her life up for mine."

            The lady doctor squeezed her patient's hand, "The reason why I asked about your mother was that I had a faint guess about her death, and your words confirmed my thoughts. By your feminine slenderness and petite stature, I could easily presume that you resemble your mother, and that she in turn had found the strains of childbearing difficult, possibly making it be by no means different in your case." Megumi stopped for a while, gathering her breath as she prepared to spell it all out for Misao, "Due to your recent injury at a sensitive area, the history of your immediate family's physical stature as well as your own, I'm sorry to say that it may be difficult, even life-threatening for you to bear children." Misao closed her eyes; tears streaming down her cheeks. She felt Megumi drop her hand, shift over and lightly kiss her on the forehead. With a whispered "Rest well" and the faint rustling of skirts, Megumi was out in a second, leaving Misao to deal with the grave news in solitude.

            Aoshi couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive—Misao hadn't written in weeks. He had been tempted to write to her to check on her and perhaps to hint on the dynamic changes he and the Oniwabanshuu had gone under together, but he knew that Misao would have her hands full with her pregnant friend and Battousai's son. He only hoped that she would come when she said she would, and come in one piece. Aoshi didn't have much time to meditate these days, nor did he have time to delve into how much he missed Misao—Aoshi was busy rebuilding the Oniwabanshuu, so that it would grow and support his own growing and supporting family. Aoshi only held onto the fact that Misao would come in a week or two, and then he could claim her like he had always dreamed he would, hold her as he never dared to before, and never let go. She was, in all belief, only too good for him; but as nobody minds having what is too good for them, he was very steadily earnest in the pursuit of the blessing, and it was not possible that encouragement from her should delay for long. Soft knocking at his door brought him out of his short reflection, and he looked up to see a slender woman's silhouette in the doorway. Misao? He thought bewildered, as he ran a hand through his hair, No, it can't be, she's too tall… Omasu. The onmitsu woman bowed respectfully, waiting for his acknowledgement, "Yes, Omasu?"
            She walked over to him with an arm outstretched, "This came for you just a minute ago, Okashira-san."

            He took the thin envelope from her, noting the address, Himura—no. Aoshi almost forgot that Omasu was still standing awkwardly in his room, "Arigatou, Omasu. You may leave."

            Omasu smiled worriedly, "Hai." She left with a quick bow, wondering what kind of mischief her favorite onmitsu girl had pulled this time.

Aoshi meanwhile ripped the envelope eagerly, eyes devouring the words in a frantic wish to see what Himura had to say about his Misao. Only after reading the letter twice—once in haste, and the second time with deliberate steadiness—did Aoshi drop into his chair, vulnerable and tired. Sickbed—oh how he hated seeing Misao in it—covers that seemed to engulf her frail body, coughs that racked her whole being. No, he thought feverishly, this time it's not sickness, only physical wounds that can be mended. But Aoshi couldn't fight the feeling that he should be by her side—he would go to her first thing in the morning. The grandfather clock chimed five o'clock. He closed his eyes, remembering the charming awkwardness with which she had given her farewell to him on that morning: her fawn-like blue eyes, the gentle curve of her cheek, the innocent parted lips. He would leave at seven the next morning.