Chapter 6: Blind and Waiting

Misao glided across the dance hall like a soaring shadow, except that she shone as radiantly as any nocturnal beacon by the sea. She was the object of many men's admiration, with her dramatically painted scarlet lips and wide ocean-bathed eyes. Aoshi let his eyes rake over her figure with guarded approval, watching as she twirled in her partner's arms. Unsurprisingly, her next partner was the poised Dr. Bretton, whose eyes had been on her since she had stepped into his mansion. She was floating on the dance floor in an exquisite creation of dark mauve silk, her normally plaited hair washing over her bare back like an abundant fountain of ink, held back only by the jade hair clip she had worn on their first morning in Nagoya. Her eyes glittered; it was clear she was having the time of her life, effortlessly falling into the position of Hanabusa Meiko as she swayed in the gentleman's arms. After the opening dance, Aoshi withdrew to the furthest end of the ballroom, talking tersely but courteously to a circle of ladies, impeccable in his black suit and polished shoes. He wore a midnight blue shirt under the coat, which brought out the light in his eyes, the color in his skin. It seemed that Misao was not the only one impressed by his features—when the formal introductions and greetings had been exchanged, Aoshi found himself surrounded by a considerable number of ladies, which left Misao watching him with barely contained amusement. It wasn't long before she found herself surrounded by a crowd of her own—that is, until Dr. Bretton had whisked her away down the ballroom.

"What are you thinking about, Miss Meiko?"

Misao looked up, startled out of her thoughts, expecting to see Aoshi, but she saw Dr. Bretton instead, "Nothing really," she answered in lightly accented English, "I just was thinking about how good this party was turning out."
            Mr. Bretton smiled at her as he good-naturedly pointed out her error, "You mean 'well' instead of 'good', right Miss Meiko?"

Misao flushed: "Oh, sorry."

"No, it's quite alright—you speak English well for a second language."

Misao arched an eyebrow delicately, "Actually, it's my fourth language."

It was Mr. Bretton's turn to give her a startled look, although his looked faintly more dignified and closed off compared to hers, "Oh, really? I am sorry for my assumption. Pray, could you tell me which ones you know?"

Misao cursed inwardly: damn her wayward tongue! Pasting a smile on her face, she answered composedly, "In order of fluency, I can speak Japanese, Mandarin, French and English." Actually, that was a bit of a fib—she was still brushing up her conversational skills in Mandarin, and she was by no means fluent in English, as her partner had so kindly pointed out to her but a minute before.

"French? Well, you should visit me often, Miss—I have a shelf full of French classics that I wouldn't know for the life of me to understand. It would be a great honor if you would come and translate them for me."

Misao nodded her head in apparent gratitude as she murmured, "I would be most delighted to". Not.

He smirked, satisfied with her answer as he looked away at Aoshi, his eyes calculating as he thought, Well, Ayo, I have your wife in my clutches. I wonder what you would do about it—she seems ripe for the taking, probably one of those doe-eyed innocents the Japanese guard with their lives. It will be… entertaining to have her for a while.

Misao inhaled shortly; they were dancing much too closely for comfort. She threw a quick glance over his shoulder, catching Soujirou's eye as she pleaded with him to liberate her from the foreigner whose eyes devoured her. The former Tenken was dressed impeccably in formal Japanese attire, his easy smile making him the subject of interest amongst many of the younger ladies. He had been entertaining some young geishas when he caught Misao's muted message, excusing himself amiably as he walked over to his associate at the end of the waltz intently, "I believe that the waltz is over, Bretton-san." Bowing respectfully to the Britton, he offered his hand to Misao, "And if I may ask this lady to another dance?"

Bretton let Misao go reluctantly, giving Soujirou a sharp look as he let her hand go, his eyes shifting around the room before they rested on something. Whatever he saw made him smile suddenly and deviously. Misao and Soujirou looked over to what had caught their host's glance, only to be greeted with the sight of Aoshi gazing upon the three of them with a woman hanging on his arm. Misao turned casually and gave Hanabusa a fixed smile and a graceful bow that did not betray her tension, "I thank you for the waltz." And for the opportunity to squeeze information out of you like a sponge. She then turned her back to the man and gave Soujirou a hard look, which prompted him to start dancing, carrying her away from the foreigner, and from Aoshi.

Aoshi returned the foreigner's smirk with a steady gaze after he had watched Seta Soujirou whisk Misao away in his arms. He knew how scandalous he appeared in their eyes, and he had seen the masked hurt in Misao's expression, no matter how minute the look she had given him. He gave Bretton a small dip of his head before he turned with his lady companion and walked out of the dining room. He gazed downwards to meet the lady's eye with a sheen of contempt. She was no lady; in fact, she had practically offered herself to him. Aoshi had immediately known she was a geisha by looking at her ostentatiously colored kimono. She looked up at him with a seductive gleam in her eyes, her face artfully painted as she fluttered her eyelashes at him and murmured, "Hanabusa-sama, would you like to spend more time to…get to know me better?"

            Aoshi gritted his teeth together. Natsuko, the lady geisha, was apparently the okami of an okiya that Bretton was known to visit. It was necessary for him to establish a connection, but he was repulsed with the brazen attitude of the woman. He turned to her with a cool look, "Perhaps, when the timing seems more… discreet."

            At this response, Natsuko smiled archly, simpering, "Oh, indeed. I had quite forgotten that Hanabusa-sama is married. Forgive my lack of discretion. I will leave." She bowed respectfully and turned to leave, but not before taking a business card out of the bosom of her dress and handing it to him with a beguiling wink. Aoshi frowned when he took the card—it was warm from her body heat. He utterly disapproved with the shamelessness of the okami and could barely return her bow politely before he left her, walking stiffly to the refreshments table. His eyes searched for Misao—he found her talking openly with Seta Soujirou, his hand resting on her shoulder as the two of them bent their heads together in hushed conversation. Aoshi suppressed a groan: at times like these, he wished that he had not vowed abstinence from spirits, because he felt like he could go for a good dose of cognac.

            "Worn out already from all the gaiety, Hanabusa-san?"

            Aoshi turned around slowly, his face impassive as he registered his host, "Not yet."

            Dr. Bretton's eyes were lowered—he was looking at the wine glass in his hand before he brought his eyes to meet his guest's: "Would you care for some wine?"

            "No, thank you. I do not drink."

            The Briton smiled languorously, "Ah, what a pity. You are," he said as he swirled the claret liquid lazily with a twist of his hand, "missing out on one of life's simple pleasures." Aoshi merely bowed, but his senses were alerted: Bretton was not one to waste words idly.

            "Can your wife drink?"

Aoshi froze; the question seemed harmless enough if it had come from any other's mouth, but Aoshi immediately grasped the hidden intention behind the question the cunning doctor had placed. Aoshi let his eyes rest on his, a slight challenge blazing it its azure depths: "She can, but she chooses when and what she drinks."

The sound of low laughter filled the ballroom as Aoshi watched his host laugh with a blank countenance that hid a blazing heart. The red-haired man was not quite finished with the subject, however: "And what is your opinion of women who drink?"

"I tend not to give other women much thought."

Dr. Bretton smiled contentedly—he was dealing with a clever, clever man. One who could possibly rival his own craftiness. He lifted his glass in mock tribute to his tall guest before he withdrew. Enough toying with Hanabusa; he was content to merely watch him from the shadows for the time being.

Both of them entered the carriage in the dark, silent and unyielding in their frustration and anger. Misao kept opening and shutting the delicate purse in her hands as Aoshi looked out of the carriage stonily, remembering of the sight of Misao so open with other men, which rested uneasily on his mind. Was their progress of the morning to be undone by a mere night on the job? When the carriage pulled up by the mansion's entranceway, Misao did not wait for Aoshi to open the carriage door for her and opened it herself, jumping out with an empty expression. She had not taken more than a few steps toward the door before she felt Aoshi's hand clamp onto her slender arm, holding her back forcefully: "We have to talk."
            The petite kunoichi exhaled jaggedly before responding wearily, "Can't we leave it for tomorrow?"

"It must be tonight." His eyes flashed explicitly; all the emotions he had repressed during the party emerging at the surface as Misao averted her gaze.

"Very well, Ayo-san." Misao then pried his fingers off her arm calmly and walked onwards, her solitary figure looking vulnerable and infinitely small in front of the large doors. Aoshi looked no less lonely as he stood immobile by the dark coach, his dark features blending into the midnight twilight.

"I did not approve of how obvious you made it for others to see that Seta Soujirou is one of our acquaintances."

Misao's eyes narrowed even as she saw the logic behind his statement. So he had seen her talk to Soujirou-kun, what of it? He had just saved her from getting in a rather too intimate situation with Dr. Bretton on the dance floor and had kept up the farce and composure of the situation well when he had taken her to dance, not letting her muddle over the sight of another woman hanging off Aoshi's arm, her gloved hand resting against his broad chest. That witch, Misao fumed inwardly as she glared at Aoshi, and it's all thanks to Soujirou-kun that I know who she is, so I can stick her with my kunai. Besides her apparent carelessness in being seen talking rather closely with Soujirou, she thought she had delivered a good performance—so what the hell was Aoshi mad about? Soujirou-kun hadn't said anything suspicious; he had just answered her question about the lady-companion Aoshi had "met". It turned out she was a suspicious character as well, and she wouldn't be surprised if she had staked out Aoshi as her prey under Bretton's orders; she was, after all, the okami of the doctor's well-known okiya on the other side of town. Misao brought her pale hand to the bedpost and drummed her fingernails on it, her willowy form nearly dwarfed in contrast to the large canopy bed she sat agitatedly against. She opened her mouth to say something when Aoshi's low voice articulated, "I will not permit you to act in a provocative manner; it brings more distrustful eyes to us when our operation should be done in utter secrecy."

Misao's eyes resembled piercing, blue sapphires as she opened her mouth to retort vehemently, "I should say likewise to you! How am I supposed to follow your example in a decent manner?" The possibility that Aoshi was jealous of the attention she had bestowed upon other men did not please her in the least—his manner relayed the message that if jealousy was indeed the stimulus for his hurtful words, then he wasn't quite ready to trust her.

The normally stoic man betrayed tumultuous emotions as he clenched his fists and stood over the seated woman, his eyes cold and menacing. Misao returned his gaze with fire of her own, steady under his wintry anger. He hovered over her for what seemed to be a lingering moment, but then he turned abruptly and headed for the bathroom, his deep voice resonating in her ears, "It is tiring to argue with you. Fine, you'll have your way; we will maintain an appearance of modesty—the both of us—in the company of others."

Misao swung her legs onto the bed angrily, bristling at her comprehension of his words. Enough, she told herself harshly, this is quite enough. What can a woman do in a world made for men? She knew what Aoshi had implied—it was much less noticeable for men to trifle with other women, but women who had such affairs were unheard of. Sliding under the covers swiftly, she covered her head with her pillow and wondered when sleep would befall her.

She could not sleep. Turning for what seemed the umpteenth time, Misao let out a noiseless sigh before getting up softly, careful not to awaken the man by her side as her feet stepped soundlessly on the polished, wooden floor of their room. She walked towards the curtained balcony, the coldness of the floor seeping through her barefeet as she approached the sliding door. She opened the curtains noiselessly and looked up at the moon with a blank expression and hungry eyes. She felt that the night was not enough—she could drink up the moon and dine on all the stars, yet her heart would not be satiated. Only in the solitude of the night did she give in, letting tortured, muted drops of sadness spring to her eyes. So close, and yet so far—her moon and she.

Aoshi awoke suddenly, without explanation. He automatically brought an arm to his side and turned with alarm when he registered that the spot beside him on the bed was empty. He gazed around the room to find the missing occupant of his bed and found that she was standing before the balcony, her back to him as she gazed up at the endless night sky. He got up silently, his eyes intent on the immobile figure enveloped by the night, looking for fine tremors, weakness or any sign of physical grievance. He observed that she stood remarkably still and when he had almost reached her side, he saw her eyes peering up to the sky, glassy and full, her cheeks stained with the trail of her tears. Aoshi let out a low, bitter sigh, and at the slight disturbance, Misao turned around shakily, her eyes untamed and impossibly deep in the night. She registered the man by her side and then composed herself at once, her expression of natural anguish repressed by his unwanted presence, her countenance blank.  The fair young woman tucked the hair behind her ear tiredly, her shoulders stiffening when she sensed that Aoshi was going to step even closer to her, invading her private space. She fixed her gaze at the garden below shrouded by the night. Aoshi kept the silence, his impassive eyes surveying their surroundings. Suddenly, Misao relaxed and then said softly, "I used to do this when I was younger—wake up in the middle of the night and look over Jiya's garden." His eyes settled on the slender face of the ninja in front of him, wan yet so lovely. He awaited her next words in stony, unyielding silence, closing his eyes once he heard her voice once more, relieved, "I think there was a point in which I did that nearly every night: this watching and waiting." Aoshi's eyes opened slowly—oh, he knew too well who she had waited for. Misao turned to face him, her face vulnerably open and still so strong: "And now, after nearly five years…" her voice broke off into a throaty whisper, "I find that I'm still waiting."

            She heard him exhale sharply and refused to turn and meet his eyes. Suddenly, she felt his hard grip on her arm and felt him forcefully turn her so she would face him, his eyes seething and dark in their aggravation. Misao gave him a blank stare even as she repressed the urge to cringe slightly; in his anger, he was quite formidable. Still, she stood her ground, even jutting her chin out all the more slightly to give him an arch look. His breathing grew uneven as he muttered in a low, uneven voice, "Can you not see?"

She blinked suddenly, her expressionless charade evaporating when she noted the extent of his turmoil. She attempted to back away so that she could keep her composure, but she found that she had already backed up so far that she was straining against the glass door and that one of Aoshi's arms still had a grip on hers even as the other one came to rest precariously close to her head. Misao's expression darkened as well as doubt began to override her features, but she kept her voice free of all emotions as she murmured in response, "How can I not see?" Suddenly, she was mad, as furious as he was: "How can you not see?" she said heatedly, "Blind for all these years…" She brought her free arm rapidly to pry his grip off her arm, but he anticipated her move and held back her wrist so that she had both arms pinned. Misao opened her mouth to protest, her eyes flashing until she saw his face hovering but a few inches from hers, his warm breath fanning over her lips, "Can you not see that I am tired of waiting, tired of watching you wait?" And before she could even register the full implications of his words, she felt his lips crash against hers and then she lost all rational thought.

"Aoshi, next time if you want to, we could use the bed. I find that the floor is a little too cold." Aoshi looked down at the disheveled woman by his side, not betraying any emotion even at hearing the quiet, wry humor of her last words. Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms and dumped her on the bed by his side. Aoshi would not return her smile. Misao winced slightly—it seemed like lovemaking did not solve their misgivings, contrary to what they would have liked to believe when they had given in to their frustrations but a while ago. All it had done was calm them down a bit; an idea she found to be paradoxically amusing.

The kunoichi sighed before bringing a gentle hand to rest on her lover's shoulder, her voice shaky and genuine: "I apologize."

The Okashira turned to meet the slender woman's solemn eyes with an equally serious expression, his eyes firm and chin characteristically obdurate as he looked over her with gravity. He held her gaze for an interminable and indefinite moment, then reached over and began to run the back of his hand against her unruly hair. It felt like fine strands of silk, like liquid strands of polished ebony. While his hand stroked her hair, Aoshi leaned over and whispered huskily, "I am sorry, too." With his words, Misao shivered faintly, but then turned slowly around, a smile barely apparent on her features as she whispered back, "I'm glad."

Aoshi blinked once in bemusement, "Glad?"

Misao nodded, her smile growing as she took in his confusion, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, "I'm glad that you know how to say you're sorry, Aoshi…" She then breathed out airily, her slender figure straightening as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. "Would you," she added, her face unexpectedly taking on an air of charming earnestness, "like to start things anew?"

She then stuck her hand out without a sign of a grudge and with open loveliness and smiled uncertainly at the somber man by her side. Aoshi sat very still for a moment, so still that Misao began to doubt her actions when he gave her a minute smile and took her hand firmly. She felt her heart leap with joy. He proceeded to yank her onto his lap. She then felt her heart skip a beat. Misao involuntarily blushed and stammered, "N-nani?"

Aoshi leaned over her face, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "From now on," he murmured, "this is where you belong."

Author's response:

Thought x Crime: Thank you very much for a critical review. I esteem those the most—they are the ones that help me improve in my writing, and although I disagree with your comment on the window metaphor thing, I do appreciate your feedback very much.

The Black Gryphon/Kodachi&kunai: Yes, Sou-kun will have a bigger role, especially in the climax

Thanks for reviewing this story! Again, constructive comments are greatly appreciated!