Ayame walked toward her clinic in silence. The sun had not yet risen fully, Tokyo was still shrouded in darkness. Few people were on the streets, only merchants setting up shop for the day or drunks who had fallen asleep against buildings and hadn't roused themselves yet.
When she had rolled herself off of her futon two hours earlier with a groan she had found herself immediately recalling the day before and whom she had seen at the Kamiya Dojo. Yutarou's handsome form of today did not match up with her memories. He had been skinny, short in stature and the angles of his face had been sharp. Now the angles had softened into a pleasing and gentle face that had almost made Ayame forget herself. For a split second she had even forgotten to feel guilty about the man she had married...
Ayame stopped short at the front of her clinic, debating with herself on whether to wake the sleeping man who blocked her doorway nicely or to simply kick him in the gut. His face was hidden under his arm, his body curled up like a sleeping cat. She peeked underneath to get a look at his face, just to make sure he wasn't someone she knew.
"Benjiro!" she seethed, lifting her foot and stomping on his hand. A terrible shrieking came from his huddled form and he jumped to his feet. He balled his throbbing hand into a fist and stared at it in horror.
"By the Gods! You're evil, Ayame-san!" he screamed, drawing the attention of the few people on the street. When they saw who he was they disregarded him, used to his many outbursts.
"How many times must I tell you not to bother me? Unless you're on the brink of death, I'll not tolerate your presence here," she said harshly, sitting on the wooden porch to remove her wooden geta. Her movements were slow and deliberate, enjoying Benjiro's dramatics. Benjiro gaped at her, as if this were the first time he had heard her say such a thing to him.
"Ayame-san, the great female doctor of Tokyo, you would turn away a sick man like me? A man who has no family to care for him and no warm futon to sleep on?"
"You've tried that one on me before and it didn't work then. What makes you think I'll buy it now?" Ayame replied, even as she ushered the great oaf inside and gestured for him to sit down.
"But I am ill! My head is pounding and I feel like I'm going to vomit—"
"Ill? You had too much to drink last night, as always. Perhaps the pain in your hand will clear your head a bit," she said, extracting an envelope of tea she kept just for him from her cabinet. She heard him groan and looked back to see him holding his head, his eyes closed tightly against the pain. Ayame hid her smile and made sure when she turned back that her face was convincingly stern.
"Say what you like, Ayame-san. Berate me, insult me and stomp on my hand. Just make this damnable headache go away!" he moaned, dramatically flopping his too-thin form onto the floor.
"Ohayou!" sounded an overly cheerful voice from the entrance. Ayame's young assistant walked into the clinic, carrying a heavy bundle but smiling ear-to-ear.
"Ohayou, Machi-chan," Ayame nodded to the young girl. Although her cheerful demeanor sometimes confounded Ayame, she found the young girl to be a worthy assistant. Not only was she punctual and knowledgeable, she was also very passionate about medicine.
"Ayame-san, I brought you a late gift for your birthday. It is from my family and I," Machi said, bowing and presenting the bundle to Ayame. Ayame stared at Machi, confused again by the girl's generosity and overall nice personality. Ayame reached out slowly to accept the tightly wrapped gift. The fabric that covered it was a pale pink color.
"Machi-chan, you know I don't like for anyone to make anything of my birthday. Tell your mother that she's not to stick her nose into my affairs," Ayame said, scowling. Machi laughed at this and slapped Ayame's arm playfully.
Ayame hid her smile with a grimace as she gently unwrapped her birthday gift. Underneath the layer of fabric she found more fabric. This time it was a beautiful crimson. When she displayed the whole thing, she found it was a beautiful kimono, the likes of which she had never owned.
Ayame did not look at Machi. She knew the girl would see the unshed tears in her brown eyes. Machi seemed to know and laid a gentle hand on Ayame's shoulder.
"I know it's very elaborate, but my family thought you deserved this. They wanted to thank you for giving me a job here and buying herbs from them for your medicines. If not for you, they wouldn't be able to afford something like this," Machi explained, wiping a stray tear from her own eye.
Ayame did not consider herself to be charitable. She only lived her life in a way she thought her grandfather would approve of. Buying herbs from the desolate Arakawa family five years ago seemed to be a calculated business move to her. They were willing to sell them cheaply, and they were of a fine quality. It had nothing to do with the dirt smudged children that ran about the front yard, playing with a medium-sized dog. It had absolutely nothing to do with the little twelve-year-old girl who had sat with her mother across from Ayame and asked a thousand questions about doctors and healing.
And it certainly had had nothing to do with the fact that the girl resembled Suzume-chan.
"That's very pretty. How much did it cost?" Benjiro piped up, reaching to touch the soft fabric. Ayame jerked it away from him and shot him a deadly glare. Machi only giggled. At the sound of it, Benjiro groaned and held his still-aching head in his hands.
Yutarou walked absently through Tokyo, evoking memories of his childhood that he hadn't allowed himself to think about for some time.
The streets of London and New York City did not compare to this. This wonderful city of his homeland that held more charm than any theatre or café in the world was more interesting. The numerous women he had courted did not compare to the beauty of the women he saw hurrying by him, their dark hair shining in the sunlight and their kimonos hugging them perfectly. Although he found foreign beauty exciting and wild, this beauty was comforting and far sexier.
The image of Ayame-chan's beautifully matured face floated before his vision. Thinking it a figment of his imagination he shook his head subtly only to discover that it wasn't a figment at all. Ayame was not ten feet away from him, walking into Genzai's old clinic. She hadn't seemed to notice him, however. He would have to fix that. Yutarou certainly wasn't used to going unnoticed.
He followed her inside the clinic and found a certain degree of pandemonium. Patients sat in the front room, nursing various wounds and illnesses. A young girl scurried about organizing it all and trying to decide who was in direr need of help than others.
The girl spotted him when he entered and blushed red. He smiled slightly, for he was very aware of how handsome he was to women. She rushed over to him.
"Pardon me..?" she started, looking at him expectantly. Yutarou took a moment to realize what the silent question she was asking was.
"Oh! Please excuse me. I am Tsukayama Yutarou," he said, giving her his most charming smile. Her blush seemed to deepen and she bowed. "I am Arakawa Machi."
"I hate to take up your precious time, Arakawa-san. I am not ill or injured. I've actually come to call on an old friend of mine. Inoue Ayame is here, isn't she?" he asked, glancing over Machi's shoulder and hoping to catch sight of the woman.
"I'm terribly sorry, Tsukayama-san. The doctor is very busy at the moment, as you can see. Inoue-san does not accept visitors while she is helping patients," Machi explained in a tone of voice that showed she regretted informing him of this. Yutarou smiled winningly and bowed deeply.
"I understand completely. Please tell her I was looking for her and if she so wishes, she can find me at the Kamiya Dojo," Yutarou said politely, brushing imaginary lint off of his fine Western suit. The girl mumbled that she would and hurried off again to escort a patient to a back room. Yutarou assumed that Ayame was back there waiting. He hoped that she had heard him and knew who he was.
He liked to think that she did.