Author's Note: Wow, I'm sorry to confuse so many people… ^.^ This is not a one-shot by any means. A few people commented on how sad it was – in truth, it made me sad to write it. And I have to say this: it will get worse before it gets better, but it will get better! I promise. I've never written a pairing fic with an ending that was anything but mush, and I don't plan to start now.

On that note, I didn't expect so many reviews! Thank you, I really appreciate it. Due to the warmth I've received with this fic, here's chapter two, quickly and efficiently. You may have noticed the last chapter was in Misao's third person limited pov… this one is in Aoshi's. For the most part, they alternate, blending with the selected lyrics of each song they represent, so try to think of Aoshi when you read these lyrics, and you'll get a vague idea of what this chapter contains.

Chapter Two: Bring Me To Life

All this time I can't believe I couldn't see

Kept in the dark but you were there in front of me

I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems

Got to open my eyes to everything

Without a thought without a voice without a soul

Don't let me die here there must be something more

Bring me to life

Shinomori Aoshi's eyes flickered open, tearing themselves away from their blissful tranquility. If they were closed, he wouldn't have to face what was there. He wouldn't have to face her; to overcome the tumult of emotions she caused. She was angry; he could feel her shaking though she showed no physical signs of doing so. A faint whisper echoed through his soul, buried underneath an avalanche of regret. Do something. Say something. His gaze focused on something, anything other than hers. He knew if he truly looked at her, that whisper would only grow louder, to a point where he could no longer control it. His ice blue eyes found her hand, tracing the rough, clenched fist she bore.

"Misao."

Please don't do that. I can't stand to watch your frustration. The clarification was left unsaid and he casually drifted his gaze back up to hers, making the mistake of meeting her beautiful eyes. They brimmed with emotion, so much so that he had a difficult time attempting to concentrate and look through her. He couldn't look at her. No. Not enough shelter. She'll see what I really am. Yet he caught the hope in her eyes, the hope that threatened to spill out and engulf him in a warm embrace. You don't really want me. Blood stains my soul – taints my being.

"Yes, Aoshi-sama?"

Aoshi-sama. She had always called him that, with such a fond respect. Her extension was where he gained his insight. There was such a tender recognition in it that he couldn't help but see clearly what all of this was, and what it had always been. She loved him – that was painfully obvious – but she loved him as a leader, as someone to look up to. She revered him more than anyone else, Okina had told him once. That was where her love came from; a child-like infatuation with her protector. But then… when she challenged him with her gaze, that deduction seemed somewhat… wanting. Aoshi couldn't place it, but he wouldn't allow Misao to see the war he was fighting within himself; a war that raged just beyond the harsh veil of his ice blue eyes.

"Your hand."

As fleetingly as it had arrived, light upon wind's gentle tresses, he watched her hope diminish, draining the vibrant color from her face. Pain sliced through his chest. She was hurt. Disappointed. But why? He watched her recoil, as if crawling behind the safety of some unseen shawl, wrapping it around her for protection. But… I am your protector… From underneath the invisible shawl, he heard her speak, her voice a distant sound as he attempted to place a barrier against any onslaught of emotion she could throw at him. It had worked when she was a child. It could work now.

"Why?" That was all her heard. The question seeped through his walls, threatening his tranquility. Why. Why? Her voice was raised and trembling, her breath labored and shaky. The "Why?" pressed at his soul, twisting itself through the windows he had worked so hard to keep closed. His barrier cracked and he heard her last statement in its entirety.

"…all I want is for you to be here, now. Not just a shadow, but you."

That was ridiculous. He was here. He was sitting right in front of her. But even as the thoughts danced through his mind, he knew the last part of her statement to be bitingly true. Just a shadow. That was all he had left. After all of the death, all of the crimson lies and betrayal – all he had left was a shadow. His pride struck from the truthful blow, he muttered a reprimanding falsity.

"Misao, you're acting like a child."

He winced inwardly, knowing she would take that the wrong way. Why had he even said it? Because she is still a child. Aoshi grew confused. Porcelain clanked against a soft metal tray, yet the sound was as much of an echo as his withered soul. He caught Misao standing, straight and dignified, protecting herself from… something. From me. I knew this would happen. One day, you would need to be protected from me… Her pleading gaze interrupted his thoughts, catching him vulnerable. Pain wracked his body as he looked at her; truly looked at her. Every tear she had ever shed found its way across the intense message in her eyes. Gone was his ever-happy Misao-chan, wailing childishly whenever he would leave her. This was something else entirely. This was the pain of maturity. The pain of a broken heart. I did this to her. I've killed her. Not like Hannya and the others; but I've failed her, and it's killed her spirit. But she would heal, wouldn't she? Aoshi suspected he was right about her love being a girlish reverence; he wouldn't allow the alternative to even surface in his mind.

Captivated by his thoughts, Aoshi, though inwardly rattled and damning himself for staining his soul once more, betrayed nothing through his eyes. And that was when she fled. He had never seen her move so swiftly… so tormented… so quick to be rid of him. This is for the best, Misao. Cleanse yourself of me. I can bring nothing but death.

As she left, Aoshi closed his eyes to the world, yet he found no serenity. All he could see was Misao, her features constricted into abysmal depression. She was crying. No, that was not the world for it. She was sobbing violently, pain threatening to overtake her. Why? Aoshi remembered her question, and somewhere, amidst the buried emotions and sincere words, he found what she had asked him. Why can't you see? In his mind, his vision was clouded; stained red with the tainted misery of his past. Yet he found himself wanting to answer her, and slowly the red faded into a more manageable, transparent color. See what, he wondered. What do you want me to see?

As if called from the depths of his soul, Aoshi conjured up a picture of Misao as she truly was. She was staring at him with a strength that struck him at a loss, a determination that shocked him as very few things had before. In his mind, he met her gaze and truly looked into those beautiful sea foam eyes, so open and warm. A comforting warmth spread over him from head to toe and he took in her full image. Her long, silken hair, braided eloquently. Her delicate face, set and full of vitality. Her emotion-filled eyes, enchanting his senses beyond repair. Silently his mind's eye took in the entirety of the true Misao, dressed in a silk kimono. When did she grow up…? The harsh reality hit Aoshi fully, threatening to strangle him. When you were busy not looking…

The Misao in his mind – the Misao he saw when he had blocked out reality – had been a child. The warm, jubilant child he had cared for in his youth. He had completely missed the transformation, and now it was shocking. It was as if he was faced with an entirely new reality. She was no longer a child. But what did that mean? Why did he feel that it changed something?

If Misao has changed so much before my eyes… there must be more I have missed.

Suddenly, he was freezing. His eyes had snapped open, violently, willing him to see; to feel. The warmth had left his body, and he felt completely numb. The haunting message would not let him be. Misao has gone, and so has your light. Trapped by this new concept, he was unprepared for what his eyes focused upon next.

Misao. She lay in the mud, shaking with tears, rain battering her spine; pain battering her soul. Again, his body was wracked with her pain, and this time, a tinge of longing which he could not repress. He wanted to go to her, to shield her from the rain and protect her from the stinging presence of despair. Despair which you caused. The thought held him in place, even as her crying slowed to a visible sniffle and she stood, direct and intent on reaching the Aoiya, not daring to spare a glance behind her; a glance that could have told her so much. Aoshi's eyes conveyed dismal, lonely, emptiness, as if she had taken his very soul as she strode purposefully away from him. Conflict tore at him, yet painfully, regretfully, he pushed aside his own wants, forcing himself to focus on what was best for Misao.

No one needs that much pain, and I have caused hers.

He would not follow her. He would not acknowledge that he felt anything at all. She had to let go of her views of perfection and see the true man. The one that only brings winter… and death. Misao… don't let me murder your spirit. Don't let me taint your soul as I have tainted my own.