Part IV ~ Thunder in the Night
Chapter 1 ~ The Gathering Storm
She couldn't get her hand to stop shaking.
Misao gritted her teeth in frustration as the telephone receiver slid for the third time from her trembling, useless fingers. Focus, Misao. Focus, or you'll never be able to call Kenshin.
Kenshin.
She couldn't remember a time in her life when she had been more terrified to pick up the phone, or when she had quailed at the thought of facing her cousin's sweet, gentle husband. Because she knew that he, too, wore a mask ~ and the strength it concealed rivaled anything that Aoshi was capable of.
But now it was her duty to let him know. That his wife and unborn child were presently in the emergency room, fighting for their lives. That they had been attacked on the street by a couple of nameless gangsters. That she had failed to protect them.
She had failed.
Misao stood with her head bowed before the hospital phone, hands fisted tightly at her sides, and forced herself to stop shaking. Her guilt and nervousness were luxuries she did not deserve to indulge in; she had far more pressing things to do. Digging her nails so hard into her palms that they cut painfully into flesh, she ignored the discomfort and concentrated on stopping the tremors. Soon, her hands were perfectly still.
With calm and steely determination, Misao dialed the number of Kenshin's cell phone.
He came in at a dead run, red hair flashing behind him as he deftly pushed aside anyone standing in his way in the narrow hospital corridor. Without hurting them, of course. Even when his own were threatened, Kenshin could never hurt a soul.
Which, Misao reflected bitterly, was much more than could be said for herself. She stood up to intercept him, suppressing a startled wince as he gripped her shoulders hard and silently demanded answers with desperate eyes. His face held the raw, naked terror of a man poised on the brink of losing his entire world; it was so unlike the kind, peaceful expression of the normal Kenshin that she almost turned her eyes away. But she forced herself to look at him with a level, open gaze ~ this witnessing of pain, caused by herself, was part of her punishment.
"She's—they're—in the emergency room right now." She made her voice clear, crisp, professional. "The doctors are doing everything they can to save the baby."
This, too, I must bear. Her eyes steady as Kenshin's face contorted in an agonized mixture of hope and despair, as his violet eyes suddenly burned amber and ruthless and his right hand tightened reflexively around an invisible sword handle. She reached out instinctively to clutch at it, heedless of the pain lancing up her arm and the blood seeping out from her still untended wounds.
"No." She stayed firm in the face of his amber-eyed rage. "They're behind bars now and not worth your attention. She needs you now, more than anyone else in the world." Her voice softened as his body relaxed and the violet returned to his eyes. "Go to her, Kenshin. Kaoru needs you. They both need you."
And when he turned away towards the emergency room, her heart cried out silently the words she had been too ashamed to speak. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Even now, they were utterly inadequate to the monstrosity of her failure. She had no claim to his forgiveness ~ how could she keep Kenshin away from his family for even a second, to give herself the satisfaction of an apology? She had forfeited that right when she'd let Kaoru fall into the abyss of pain.
Suddenly feeling sick and dizzy, Misao dropped heavily into the uncomfortable waiting chair and fought off the waves of nausea. She couldn't leave until…until…until she knew. Her eyes were still achingly dry; her warrior's mask remained firmly in place ~ whatever comes to pass, she would be ready for it. She would be there to absorb the pain.
The artificially bright, coldly impartial fluorescent lights shone down unfeelingly upon the solitary figure in the hospital waiting room. They did not hesitate to remind her that she was alone.
The young doctor rushed out through the emergency room doors, the thrill of victory enveloping him in a golden halo that made his eyes spark. He was yet naïve and innocent enough to delight in small triumphs, and he knew exactly who needed to hear his news. The girl with the sad eyes. His boyish face beamed happily as he bounded towards her, eager to bring back the smile that he knew belonged to her rightful nature.
"They're safe!"
Relief washed over her with the force of a tidal wave, almost sinking her completely. She struggled to keep from bursting into grateful tears, choosing to smile instead. For one pure moment she felt nothing but joy and gratitude ~ they blazed with such force from her countenance that the young man felt as if he were watching the sun rise.
"Thank you," she breathed, as her face sparkled like a dewdrop in sudden sunshine. Years later, when the then-famous physician began to write his memoirs, he would choose this moment as the most inspirational point of his entire career, when he truly understood the meaning of the reply that would follow.
"It's my job." He placed a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. "You don't have to worry anymore. They're both safe now."
His caring expression suddenly turned to one of alarm when she began to sway unsteadily on her feet. "Miss Makimachi? Are you alright?"
She held tight to his arms for support and waited for the world to right itself again. Breathing deeply, she managed a reassuring nod, but couldn't help wincing when he grabbed her shoulders again. Noting her discomfort, the doctor released her immediately, for the first time taking in her battered appearance and noting with sudden horror that his right hand was covered with blood.
"Miss Makimachi! Your arm!" He held it with gentle but firm fingers and balked at the extent of the damage done by the gangster's knife. "We have to get this stitched up right away," he declared in a tone that accepted no opposition.
His satisfaction at her compliance, and preoccupation with her injuries, made him forget to check her eyes.
She wondered if all hospital corridors were meant to incite loneliness and despair. The bleak colors of the walls, the harsh fluorescent lighting, the smell of death and suffering, permeated the space around her and pressed down chokingly upon her spirit. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to escape this place, and she quickened her steps towards the elevator.
Somewhere in this maze of corridors, she knew, hope and gladness shone like a warm beacon of light. She had stood just outside the circle of its glow when she'd looked into Kaoru's room, just to make sure that she was alright. The sight of the little family within, with its sweet dreams of the future, was too intensely private to intrude upon, and had left her full of shame and guilt. She had almost destroyed those precious dreams.
Misao was not a pessimist by nature, but at that moment all her past failures and mistakes were parading before her in an endless gruesome parade. One by one they mocked and taunted her ~ grotesque, distorted names and faces echoed back a chorus of wrongs, misunderstandings, and worst of all, hurt that she herself had inflicted. She no longer had the strength to fight back.
Blind to her surroundings, Misao stumbled brokenly towards the great steel doors at the end of her path. They opened silently as she reached them. Aoshi stood just within.
Time stood frozen for the space of a heartbeat, then he reached for her. She shrank back like a wounded creature, instinctively fearing his touch. Yet her countenance remained empty and blank, while his, ironically, was stricken and fearful.
"Misao!" His voice held panic that it had never allowed before. She flinched as if she had been struck, and turned her head away.
In one glance he took in the entire state of her body, eyes missing nothing ~ not the deep hand-shaped bruise on her cheek, not the large bandage on her arm through which crimson was already beginning to seep, not the way she cradled her wounded arm against her unhurt side, not the unnatural stillness of her body as it tried to control pain beyond its limits. A veil of scarlet fury descended over his vision as he felt bloodlust so strong that it hurt not to succumb to it. But he couldn't, not yet, not while Misao teetered on the edge of insanity like a blossom about to fall.
He forced his fists to unclench, the fury to retreat from his eyes and his body. It would only frighten her away. At this moment any sign of anger would only deepen her misery.
Keeping his eyes fixed upon Misao's frozen, unseeing stare, willing the warmth in his to melt the ice in hers, he took a soundless step forward. Then another, and another, until he stood close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. Close enough to envelop her tattered spirit in the comforting shelter of his own. Gently, so tenderly that he trembled, he lifted his hands to cup her cold face, immobile as spun glass.
"Come back, Misao," he pleaded in a whisper. "Come back."
And like she had done as a child, he bent down to kiss the hurt away. Soft as the touch of butterfly wings, his lips brushed over her forehead, her eyelashes, her cheeks, the corners of her mouth. Each brief caress was a promise of protection, an assurance of forgiveness, an offer of himself.
Finally, as her eyes fluttered closed, he kissed her lips.
Come back, Misao. Come back.
Her body shuddered once, hard, and then she fell into his arms with a surrender so complete that it left him stunned with sweet agony. He held her as hard as he dared, lifting her exhausted body to cradle in his arms with infinite care. Then he turned into the elevator and took her home.
She cried silent tears in her sleep, the rest of her body still and unmoving in his bed. He held her and murmured soothingly in her ear until she relaxed against him, lured to sleep himself by her deepening breaths. But the tears continued to flow in wet tracks down her cheeks.
In the morning she was gone.
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