Author's Note: And we're back to Aoshi's point of view, which I actually prefer to write. What can I say, I like writing the dark and mysterious male brooding character. =P Favorite song on the cd, so don't be surprised if this chapter was given considerably more effort than the last few.

And to all of the reviews, I just have one thing to say: "!" They inspire me to write more, so please keep them coming.

Chapter Four: My Immortal

I'm so tired of being here

Suppressed by all my childish fears

And if you have to leave

I wish that you would just leave

Because your presence still lingers here

And it won't leave me alone

These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase

Secretly, silently, Aoshi wished the rain would intensify. What was still a light drizzle fell briskly into his hair, sliding down the strands and tracing watery scars down his face. The rain was warm to his icy skin, almost burning… or was that just another trick of his mind? For one so focused on meditation, his mind managed to get the better of him more often than not.

No one would say Shinomori Aoshi was a man lacking in intelligence, for indeed his insight was from years of intense studying and application of his knowledge. Everything he did was pulled from a storage bank, filed neatly and labeled accordingly. "Battle Techniques", "Meditation", "Ritual", "Mannerisms", "Behavior", "Observance". Every thing and every person had their own file, and each file contained hard data gathered by Aoshi's ever-observing eyes and ears.

He reached for the "Misao" file and withdrew several chunks of information from when she was a child. Scanning the numbers, Aoshi realized that they didn't add up. Stepping up to the Aoiya he bore an inwardly puzzled expression for a fleeting moment before it disappeared. The remedies his mind had conjured to treat the current situation with Misao were coming up… invalid. But why? Why are they so useless now?

"Aoshi, I was wondering when you'd arrive."

Suddenly the former Okashira was released from the burden of his thoughts, if only momentarily. Okina stood before him, a gentle expression across his aged features. Aoshi grew cold and restless, forcing himself to stare at the man with enough concentration to prevent particularly looking at him. How can he even speak to me, after what I did? Aoshi's mind hissed and clutched his heart in a frigid grip. Every time he saw the man he instantly felt guilty and wanted to offer an apology, but his mind, ever protective, would not allow it. Somewhere a faint voice whispered, That was the Battousai's entire philosophy. Sins of the past cannot be undone, but they can be replaced. The voice was almost painfully squelched.

"Aoshi?"

Oh. Had he said something? Aoshi had completely missed the previous address, but his expression belied only mild neutrality. "Aa." That would have to serve both sides.

"I asked if you had seen Misao. She's usually the first one in for the evening."

Aoshi thought for a moment, and inwardly he smirked at his own bitter sarcasm. Yes, I've seen her. Thanks to me she's about to kill herself training and if she doesn't do it there, well, her light will die out, regardless. Sure, I've seen her. "Not for some time."

As if on cue, Misao rounded the corner, drenched in sweat, the fingers of her kunai-laden hand flared and tense. Okina gave her a smile that she didn't return, her shoulders squared pointedly as she seemed to make an effort to walk close enough to Aoshi to roughly bump into him. Yet there was no stammered apology; no pretty blush. Aoshi looked down into her eyes beneath the safety of his jet bangs and saw absolutely nothing. She's just exhausted after training, that's all.

"What did you do to her?"

Had he been any other man, Aoshi would have gaped. Okina directed a straightforward yet amused glare toward him. He gave a barely visible shrug of his shoulders in response. "She's acting the child again. I have no part in her fits." Inwardly, he laughed coarsely.

The older man's gazed searched his own, looking for something only he could identify. Apparently, that something went unfound. "Misao has grown up. I'm sure you've heard it out of her own mouth several times. I am reminded daily to stop calling her Misao-chan to her face." He fiddled with the pink bow tied to his beard, as if there was anything innocent about his statement.

Why does he need me to acknowledge such a rhetorical fact? But was it truly rhetorical? Misao had aged, yes, but she was still the same Misao-chan that held small tirades and then let go of them when her attention span had waned. At least, that's what Aoshi's mind willed him to believe, and so it was the standing truth.

Okina sighed when there was no response, placing a hand on Aoshi's shoulder. The younger man tensed, willing the attention away. Why can't any of you see? I will only destroy you… stop offering me what I do not deserve! As if burned by Aoshi's internal, passionate protest, Okina's hand snapped away yet he covered with a jester's smile.

"Come, Aoshi. It's time to eat."

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Aoshi sat alone in his room, the pale moonlight filtering in through a window that looked over the garden in solitary silence. He laid the events of the day upon the table, one by one, inspecting them with grave scrutiny. The morning was nothing of importance, and as such, he skipped to his meditations.

His memories had been particularly painful and unrelenting that day. In his mind he saw them, the four of them, their faces contorted grotesquely in horrific death. All because of him. His closest friends had died because of him, and now his little Misao-chan was dying as well, but in a different way. Somewhere deep inside, tortured sobs resonated upon the walls of Aoshi's soul, yet his mind never allowed them to reach his heart.

A vision of Misao, just as she had looked before running from the temple, flashed through his mind. She appeared so… tormented. So utterly distressed. He had only seen her look so pained once before, when she had learned the truth about what happened to her parents. It was so unlike Misao that it shook him violently, even as a young boy. He vowed never to see it again, and when he made his leave, he had said nothing to her, knowing her distress would be ever-present in his mind.

It haunted him once more. When she was a child, he could fathom that her depression would not linger. But she was a child no longer. Aoshi's mind settled into blissful, tranquil solace and he allowed himself to think, for once, without its guarding walls.

No, Misao was no longer a child. In truth, he was quite impressed by her maturity in handling the Aoiya and her position. But emotionally, she was not built to be the Okashira. And she should not have to be. There is too much beauty within her to cover it in the darkness of such a foreboding position. Aoshi on the other hand had learned from experience that a hardened demeanor could save a man in his position a lot of trouble.

"And yet cause it, as well…" Aoshi mumbled into the darkness of his room.

There was something behind Misao's distress this time, something completely lacking in childlike naivety. Aoshi stood, listening to the sound of his breathing and the gentle wind outside. The rain had stopped for the moment, and he took the time to think. Why was Misao so upset? He had not behaved any differently toward her this day than any other, yet at dinner she had gone out of her way to shun him, making no pleasant conversation with anyone.

Perhaps she was truly hurt. Hurt by what? She knows what I am… she should choose to avoid me if it hurts her. Her words echoed in his head. "All I want is you," he paraphrased for her. Such a mature statement, direct and imploring.

As the breeze crept through the window, lightly sifting through Aoshi's bangs, he gave a troubled sigh. What if she has matured beyond what I had first thought? His mind awoke, scolding him in its mocking tone, sending him into retreat. Yes, Aoshi, what will you do then?

Moments passed in silence as Aoshi willed himself not to think on the subject any further, settling himself upon the futon. As the sound of the leaves rustling in the wind grew dimmer , his hearing was tuned into a familiar sound coming from the hall: a shoji opening softly. Instantly he knew it was Misao's, and with some uncanny intuition, he knew she would not be back that evening. He wanted to leap from his position and stop her, to protect her from harm, but his mind suggested otherwise. You'll only cause more pain. She needs this. Let her go.

"If you must leave then, Misao… leave now, please."

He pushed the ominous thought that she might not be back the next day far from his mind, neither accepting the possibility nor taking recognition of his feelings toward it.