A/N- Hiya people, thank you for the reviews. I'm glad to have your input
since I'm still a little new with Rurouni Kenshin. Speaking of such, I'm
not entirely sure what viewing/funeral customs are for the RK timeline, so
if it doesn't seem accurate, please bear with me. Thanks again and enjoy!
Chapter 3- The Clouds Begin to Clear
A viewing for Misao was held at the Himura Household the next day, as rain continued to pour, drenching Tokyo and its inhabitants. Aoshi, in his clouded thoughts, didn't know if this was good or bad. Misao, as a child, hated the rain and would cry whenever she so much as saw the sky cloud over. But then again, perhaps this meant the gods themselves were weeping.
........
He recalled every bit of the gathering as if he was still there. Yahiko and Tsubame came forward first and gazed at her still form as it lay in the small casket. Tsubame was quick to turn and weep into the teen's shoulder, her sobs muffled in his kimono. If Aoshi had cared, he would have been surprised to see that Yahiko was tearing up as well. Megumi came next, keeping her distance from the forlorn widower, as if afraid he was mad at her. Perhaps she thought he blamed her for Misao's death. Anyway, she placed her hand on the cold, hard wood lining her. She whispered something, but Aoshi didn't care to listen.
However, he did feel something as Kenshin and Kaoru approached his dead wife: jealousy. There they stood, holding each other by the hand for strength. Kaoru drew in a shallow gasp before almost collapsing into his arms. Kenshin closed his eyes away from the casket to lead her gently away. Aoshi remembered that feeling of the one he loved beside him. Now, he would never be able to experience that again. He could never smile down at her sparkling face, listen to her sweet laughter, or feel her hand wrapped in his own. Those days were gone and he would have to try and move on.
However, he did have to say goodbye for the last time. As he strode quietly over to the casket, the others were quick to leave. Grateful of their understanding, he stood over where his wife lay. "Beautiful even in death." he remarked, but that instant soft smile was short-lived as tears began to brim his lids. With an agonized gasp, he slipped to his knees over her, allowing his emotions to flood him once more. But she didn't react this time. No hand reached up and brushed away the tears with those feather-like fingers. There was no gentle smile or radiant eyes to comfort him, to let him know it was all right. No, she just lay there in her white kimono, arms crossed over her chest.
At long last, he recovered enough to lean forward, planting a shaky kiss on her cold forehead. Then he sat back in a kneeling position. "I'll never forget you dear Misao." he swore. "You'll always be with me."
Even as she lay there in the wooden casket, she seemed to be shrinking from his view, becoming further away. She truly was leaving him, bound for the heavens. Sighing, Aoshi got up to his feet, clasped his hands together in a quick prayer, and left the room.
.......
Aoshi moved slowly down the hall now, his steps barely audible against the wooden floor. He could sense that what he sought was directly ahead, beyond the next door. Yes, the ki he felt was indeed part of him. And part of Misao.
Carefully, stealthily, he pushed through the door and made his way into the dark room, leaving the door slightly ajar. A small futon lined with wood was what he found. He approached faster, rather anxious to see.
There he lay, beside the Himuras' 1-year-old son Kenji, who was snoring softly and grasping at the air all the while.
Aoshi reached into the makeshift cradle, gathering the newborn up and slowly drawing him into his arms. He frowned, unable to even see if he was holding the baby correctly. So he exited the room, closed the door behind him, and carried the sleeping child out into the moonlit garden. He found a bench beneath a large tree and sat down there, resting his back against the trunk. It was here, under the moon, which he gazed at his son.
Genichi continued to sleep, his tiny head leaning on the crook of Aoshi's arm. The man found himself in awe over the child's appearance. Even in infancy, he could see the resemblance of himself and Misao. His hair, although very short at the moment, was jet black, sticking out wildly around his head. Aoshi wondered if Genichi's hair would have the same purple glow as his mother's. That would be nice.
Otherwise, he had his father's face, already rather long and thin. Hopefully, he had his mother's smile.
Just then, Genichi stirred, making soft gurgling noises as his eyes cracked open. Luckily, Aoshi was experienced with holding children, having looked after Misao since she was practically Genichi's age. But no crying came as their eyes met for the first time.
"Those eyes." Aoshi murmured, awestruck. They were those of his wife, the color of the ocean, a type of dark blue with a hint of gray and a swirl of green. They were those same beautiful, sparkling eyes, molded to the face of a boy.
Genichi blinked up at the man holding him, looking puzzled and surprised at the same time. Aoshi felt a smile tug at his lips. This was his son; the most precious gift Misao could ever give him. He brought the child closer to him, but carefully since he was so fragile. "Hello, Genichi." he greeted, amazed at how easily the gentle words came from his mouth. "I am your papa."
Genichi made a small noise in the back of his throat. "Yes," Aoshi thought to himself. "You are my son, Genichi."
He looked up at the sky, somewhat at ease now that he had Genichi with him under that huge tree in the garden. Strange how he'd failed to realize earlier, that the rain had long since cleared away and the moon and stars shined through.
Aoshi closed his eyes, a feeling of warmth washing over him. "I have him, Misao." He thought. "I have him and I won't let him go."
Chapter 3- The Clouds Begin to Clear
A viewing for Misao was held at the Himura Household the next day, as rain continued to pour, drenching Tokyo and its inhabitants. Aoshi, in his clouded thoughts, didn't know if this was good or bad. Misao, as a child, hated the rain and would cry whenever she so much as saw the sky cloud over. But then again, perhaps this meant the gods themselves were weeping.
........
He recalled every bit of the gathering as if he was still there. Yahiko and Tsubame came forward first and gazed at her still form as it lay in the small casket. Tsubame was quick to turn and weep into the teen's shoulder, her sobs muffled in his kimono. If Aoshi had cared, he would have been surprised to see that Yahiko was tearing up as well. Megumi came next, keeping her distance from the forlorn widower, as if afraid he was mad at her. Perhaps she thought he blamed her for Misao's death. Anyway, she placed her hand on the cold, hard wood lining her. She whispered something, but Aoshi didn't care to listen.
However, he did feel something as Kenshin and Kaoru approached his dead wife: jealousy. There they stood, holding each other by the hand for strength. Kaoru drew in a shallow gasp before almost collapsing into his arms. Kenshin closed his eyes away from the casket to lead her gently away. Aoshi remembered that feeling of the one he loved beside him. Now, he would never be able to experience that again. He could never smile down at her sparkling face, listen to her sweet laughter, or feel her hand wrapped in his own. Those days were gone and he would have to try and move on.
However, he did have to say goodbye for the last time. As he strode quietly over to the casket, the others were quick to leave. Grateful of their understanding, he stood over where his wife lay. "Beautiful even in death." he remarked, but that instant soft smile was short-lived as tears began to brim his lids. With an agonized gasp, he slipped to his knees over her, allowing his emotions to flood him once more. But she didn't react this time. No hand reached up and brushed away the tears with those feather-like fingers. There was no gentle smile or radiant eyes to comfort him, to let him know it was all right. No, she just lay there in her white kimono, arms crossed over her chest.
At long last, he recovered enough to lean forward, planting a shaky kiss on her cold forehead. Then he sat back in a kneeling position. "I'll never forget you dear Misao." he swore. "You'll always be with me."
Even as she lay there in the wooden casket, she seemed to be shrinking from his view, becoming further away. She truly was leaving him, bound for the heavens. Sighing, Aoshi got up to his feet, clasped his hands together in a quick prayer, and left the room.
.......
Aoshi moved slowly down the hall now, his steps barely audible against the wooden floor. He could sense that what he sought was directly ahead, beyond the next door. Yes, the ki he felt was indeed part of him. And part of Misao.
Carefully, stealthily, he pushed through the door and made his way into the dark room, leaving the door slightly ajar. A small futon lined with wood was what he found. He approached faster, rather anxious to see.
There he lay, beside the Himuras' 1-year-old son Kenji, who was snoring softly and grasping at the air all the while.
Aoshi reached into the makeshift cradle, gathering the newborn up and slowly drawing him into his arms. He frowned, unable to even see if he was holding the baby correctly. So he exited the room, closed the door behind him, and carried the sleeping child out into the moonlit garden. He found a bench beneath a large tree and sat down there, resting his back against the trunk. It was here, under the moon, which he gazed at his son.
Genichi continued to sleep, his tiny head leaning on the crook of Aoshi's arm. The man found himself in awe over the child's appearance. Even in infancy, he could see the resemblance of himself and Misao. His hair, although very short at the moment, was jet black, sticking out wildly around his head. Aoshi wondered if Genichi's hair would have the same purple glow as his mother's. That would be nice.
Otherwise, he had his father's face, already rather long and thin. Hopefully, he had his mother's smile.
Just then, Genichi stirred, making soft gurgling noises as his eyes cracked open. Luckily, Aoshi was experienced with holding children, having looked after Misao since she was practically Genichi's age. But no crying came as their eyes met for the first time.
"Those eyes." Aoshi murmured, awestruck. They were those of his wife, the color of the ocean, a type of dark blue with a hint of gray and a swirl of green. They were those same beautiful, sparkling eyes, molded to the face of a boy.
Genichi blinked up at the man holding him, looking puzzled and surprised at the same time. Aoshi felt a smile tug at his lips. This was his son; the most precious gift Misao could ever give him. He brought the child closer to him, but carefully since he was so fragile. "Hello, Genichi." he greeted, amazed at how easily the gentle words came from his mouth. "I am your papa."
Genichi made a small noise in the back of his throat. "Yes," Aoshi thought to himself. "You are my son, Genichi."
He looked up at the sky, somewhat at ease now that he had Genichi with him under that huge tree in the garden. Strange how he'd failed to realize earlier, that the rain had long since cleared away and the moon and stars shined through.
Aoshi closed his eyes, a feeling of warmth washing over him. "I have him, Misao." He thought. "I have him and I won't let him go."
