Part V ~ The End of the Dream
Chapter 1 ~ Awakening
I awake light-hearted this morning of spring,
Everywhere round me the singing of birds—
But now I remember the night, the storm,
And I wonder how many blossoms were broken.
~ "A Spring Morning," Chinese poem
In the rain, the city was devoid of light, of hope, of love. In the rain, there was only darkness and sorrow. In the rain, one walked with demons and unnamable fears through a nightmare terrifying in its reality.
They both wandered, lost and alone, in the rain.
Misao stood with the cherry trees by the lake, staring at the petals falling with the rain, their days of splendor already at an end. In the aching loss she felt for their ephemeral beauty was a deeper mourning for the happiness, so vivid yet fleeting, that had touched her own life. Could it only have been days ago that she had stood here with him, had laughed and danced with him? Already this brief warmth that had flared so brilliantly was turning cold, beaten down by the relentless storm that drenched more than just her skin and clothing. The inky blackness seemed to close in with ever more menace, leaving her adrift and abandoned like the sakura petals floating on the surface of the water.
An old, old story came to mind, and in the haze of her own suffering its grief was only too easily recognized. Her fingers trailed down the bark of the sakura tree as she slowly knelt amidst the scattered petals; unmindful of the mud, she dug with trembling hands a shallow trench at the tree's base. Then she gathered the blossoms and buried them in their grave.
And then she wept.
That was how Sanosuke found her. His heart bounded with mingled fear and relief when he saw her kneeling by the cherry tree; the vague feeling of unease that had plagued him all day and drove him to look for her intensified to alarm when she did not stir at his approach.
"Misao." He spoke gently, tentatively, afraid to startle her. His throat tightened when he saw that she was weeping quietly, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if otherwise she would break.
But she did not look startled when she lifted her head at his voice, or when she stood up stiffly to face him. Her expression held nothing at all.
Oh my god.
He dared not try to touch her, not even when recognition crept back into her eyes and he knew that she could see him. She was too fragile for human contact. He could only silently beseech her and wait with a patience he never knew he possessed, all the while aware that he had never been so terrified in his life.
"Sano…" she whispered, her right hand hovering over her chest and closing over empty air. "My…heart…"
She swayed dangerously on her feet, those awful tortured eyes drifting closed and releasing him from their spell. He sprang forward to catch her, breath coming out in a sharp hiss when he felt the fever burning on her skin. The rain was freezing cold, and she was still injured.
But physical wounds were nothing compared to a broken heart.
"Aoshi-niichan!" She ran, as she did every evening, to meet him coming back from practice. Her small eight-year-old feet carried her out of Okina's schoolgates and along the path towards the island, to that corner of the road around which, like magic, he would appear at the end of the day. Usually with cuts and scrapes to be bandaged, of course, but he would be proud of them as the well-won symbols of a hard lesson learned. And, unbeknownst to the others, he would always bring back presents for her, so that the daily speculation of what his next "surprise" would be was an activity of immense enjoyment to the free-spirited girl.
What would Aoshi-niichan bring her today? She couldn't wait to find out. In her reckless hurry she didn't see the branch that lay in her way and tripped badly, falling forward to land with a hard smack on the hard earthen floor.
"Ouch!" She sat up, frowning with childish resentment at her skinned knees and trying not to mind the way they stung. Aoshi-niichan never cried when he was hurt, even when he was bleeding. She had to be strong like him too ~ she couldn't let him see her cry at such a stupid, embarrassing fall. But an injured pride, combined with the stinging from her scrapes, was too much for the sensitive little girl. No matter how hard she tried to hold them back, the tears gathered in her eyes and spilled down her flushed cheeks; and how horrible it was that the more she tried not to cry, the faster they fell!
"Misao-chan!" There he was! And Aoshi-niichan looked so scared ~ she had never seen him scared before. Why did she have to be so clumsy and fall? She didn't want Aoshi-niichan to think she was weak! But she couldn't stop crying.
"Ao-Aoshi-nii…gomen…I-I'm so stu-stupid!"
But Aoshi-niichan didn't look angry or disappointed ~ he was just wiping her tears away, with hands soft and gentle despite their calluses. She was in awe of his sword calluses; when Jiya decided that she was old enough for kunai, she wanted calluses just like his! The tears subsided a little and she watched him tie his favorite handkerchief around the knee that was worse-off. She didn't want to make it dirty ~ it was his favorite! ~ but…she could make him a new one! Her eyes lit up with determination and she forgot her embarrassment.
"Aoshi-niichan, arigatou gozaimasu!"
He laughed at her solemn formality and pulled her to her feet. "You don't need to thank me, Misao-chan. We're always here to help each other, right?"
She nodded eagerly in response. "Always, Aoshi-niichan! I promise!"
He laughed again ~ she loved it when Aoshi-niichan laughed like this, but he never did it in front of the others ~ and handed her a sprig of blush-pink cherry blossoms. She exclaimed in delight, and he knew then that it was well-worth the climb up the old sakura to get the first bloom of the season.
"As long as the sakura shall bloom, Misao-chan, we'll always be here for each other!"
Dusk in Okina's garden, and he was still not home. She shifted impatiently at her spot by the gate, idly playing with her long braid. He always stayed so long at practice now, and there was a restlessness lurking in his eyes that he tried to hide even from her. She desperately wanted to know what was troubling him, but somehow she felt instinctively that she could not question him outright like she did with everything else. There was distance now where none had existed before, and she felt helpless to cross the chasm that separated them. But she couldn't just watch him walk away...he was too much a part of her…they were too much a part of each other…
He appeared silently around the corner, and as always she ran forward with her welcome. And for a moment, as she threw her arms around his neck and felt his smile on her skin, she could forget everything else.
"We'll always be here for each other, right?"
There was a brief pause that stopped her heart, but then she felt him nod against her shoulder and all her doubts were swept away. Aoshi would never leave her…and she, she would stay by his side forever.
She heard the clatter of the blades before anything else. Through the veil of her hair she saw, with astonished recognition, the afternoon sunshine striking the dark surface of the sheathed blades and illuminating them with its molten fire. And the power of memory took hold as she trembled in mingled fear and anticipation of what she knew was to come next.
But memory played her false this time. There was no kiss, no surrender. When she looked up the Aoshi that stood before her was not the Aoshi of eight years ago, but the Aoshi she had said goodbye to in the rain. The Aoshi whose heart she had broken, whose pain was etched in every plane of his pale, pale face, whose eyes held such disbelief and suffering that she knew she could never forget them. And when he spoke, his words were a ghostly echo of the past that twisted the knife in her heart.
"We'll always be together, right?"
Misao woke with a gasp, clutching reflexively at her chest and finding the blanket covering her instead. The covers were heavy and warm, but somehow she still shivered with cold. She sat up slowly, wincing with each movement of her sore muscles, and took in the familiar surroundings of her apartment. It was late afternoon, and evening shadows were already lengthening across the room. She was in her own bed, but she was not alone.
Sano sat dozing in a chair by her side, his upper body leaned forward and his head pillowed on his arms, which rested on the edge of the bed. He looked haggard and worn, with deep shadows under his closed eyes and a frown line marring his forehead. Without thinking she reached forward to smooth it away, her fingers light on his skin.
But his eyes opened at her first touch, and he sat up so quickly that he almost fell off the chair. "Misao! You're awake!" His expression was dark with worry, and he hovered over her protectively. "How are you feeling? Does it hurt anywhere?"
She gave him a weak smile. "I'm fine," she lied. "I've survived worse. How long have I been lying here?"
He saw how tightly she held the covers and wondered what else she was hiding. The fever still had not broken. "Almost three days. You've been running a dangerously high temperature. The doctor's been here twice."
Her eyes widened in amazement. "Three days?! I've missed that much?" She made an impatient gesture and tried to get out of bed, but the slightest movement set the world spinning. Her legs felt weak and useless, her feet numb. Sano's steadying arms seemed to be her only anchor to safety. When she looked up she saw, with some apprehension, the tight grim line of his lips and the turmoil of worry in his face. But his voice when he spoke was still gentle.
"Don't try to move. Your body needs rest."
"But—"
"Don't try to argue with me right now, Makimachi Misao." His brown eyes shone with a light she could not fathom; kneeling in front of her, he touched his forehead softly to hers and continued in a lower voice, "Please, just let me take care of you."
Tears of gratitude and remorse sprung to her eyes, as she whispered back, "Thank you."
"There's never been any need for that between us." He smiled that sweet, wistful smile she loved and helped her settle back into bed. "Now be a good girl and go to sleep."
She murmured in sudden drowsiness, glancing up at him through heavy lashes as she drifted off, "I never knew you could be such a good nurse, Sano."
"Only for you, babe, only for you."
He came silently through the light-flooded forest, to meet her at the old clearing where they practiced. His twin kodachi were slung in a single sheath over his back, and he wore his old uniform. But the only thing she noticed was the absence of shadows from his eyes and the smile that they held only for her.
She grinned at him in open challenge and brandished one of her kunai. He nodded in answer and unsheathed his kodachi. All around them hung the comforting, familiar tension of fair sparring and years of practice such as this. They understood each other completely, knew the routine inside and out ~ but the thrill of it still sang in their blood.
With a cry she threw out her kunai, its aim deadly accurate even if she knew that it would be useless before his kodachi.
But she never heard it hit the ground. His blades fell, instead.
With infinite horror she stared at him, her brain uncomprehending what her eyes beheld. And as the scream of denial echoed behind her soundless lips her sanity shattered and her universe turned to dust.
Her kunai had buried itself in his heart. He had let go of his kodachi without any defense.
Why, why, why? spilled forth in a litany of anguish even as his lifeblood flowed through her useless fingers. She held him cradled in her lap and felt her life ending with every drop of his. His face was wet with her tears, his hands weak as he touched her face and held his palm to her cheek. But his eyes were brilliant blue.
"Misao…Aishiteru." And then the eyes were forever closed and he lay lifeless in her arms.
No! She sat up abruptly in bed, drenched in a cold sweat and shaking uncontrollably. The terror of her dream enclosed her in a chill prison of dread and guilt. No, Aoshi, no! She knew instinctively that the dream was some kind of warning ~ Aoshi must be in terrible danger, or pain, and she needed to see him or she would lose him forever. What had happened between them lost all its meaning in the face of this new, immediate threat; she did not care if he should look upon her with scorn or anger. All she wanted was to see him and make sure he was all right.
Her illness forgotten, her body drawing on some deep reserve of endurance, Misao hastily grabbed a long coat and headed towards the door. When she walked through the living room she saw that Sano was stretched out, sleeping, on the sofa. She paused for a moment at his side, her eyes clouding as she pulled the fallen blanket over him and tucked it around his shoulders.
I'm sorry, Sano. I don't deserve what you do for me.
Then the door was closing quietly, and she was gone.
She walked without hesitation through the darkening streets, with only one purpose in mind. All she needed was to see him again. Nothing else mattered as long as he was safe and well. The fever still raged in her body, but this time it was giving her strength.
His door was closed this time. No matter ~ she rang the doorbell and waited. She would wait forever if she needed to.
But she never dreamed that Takani Megumi would be the one to open the door.
"What do you want?" The taller woman's voice was dripping with scorn, her brows drawn in a fierce frown, her eyes dark and thunderous. In place of the seductive negligee she wore a simple shirt and pants, but somehow in this guise she was infinitely more frightening.
Her shock made it almost impossible to reply. Gone were her self-assurance, her mask of cool indifference, her ability to protect herself from this angry woman. Her strength had abandoned her at the instant of Megumi's appearance; she was suddenly so weak that she could barely stand. But she forced her voice to be steady, though she knew that all her emotions were bare and vulnerable on her face.
"I need to see Aoshi." Even now, it was that simple and that strong.
Megumi's face only darkened in fury, as she stood unmoving in the doorway. "You don't have a right," she ground out between clenched teeth. Her voice burned harsh and unforgiving. "Don't you think you've hurt him enough? Haven't you caused him enough pain for this lifetime? What makes you think you can just waltz back into his life any time you choose to? You forfeited your place in his life when you left him, when you refused his love and broke his heart! You have no right!"
"None, perhaps, except for the right of loving him." And as she spoke she knew that it was the truth. She loved Aoshi, had always loved Aoshi, would never love anyone but Aoshi. From beginning to end, just Aoshi and Misao. That was all she ever needed.
But Megumi no longer seemed angry. In fact, she was smiling ~ a terrifying distorting grin full of malice and scathing pity. "You're too late, Makimachi Misao. He never wants to see you again."
The words lashed across her consciousness like a whip, but she stood firm. "I must see Aoshi." Something in her eyes and voice must have been convincing, for after a short pause Megumi moved aside.
"Then see him. Maybe then you'll understand why he will never see you again." There was a mocking, knowing tone to her words that chilled Misao's blood. What did she mean? What had happened to Aoshi? Trying not to reveal her apprehension, she walked past Megumi into the apartment. But he was not in the living room. She stopped short, confused.
"Try his bedroom." Megumi had walked in after her, and now stood with her arms crossed over her chest.
There was a rising tide of panic now that she tried desperately to control. Her movements were stiff and brittle as she followed Megumi's directions. And then the rest of the world fell away when she saw him.
Aoshi lay sick and agitated in bed, more helpless than Misao had ever seen him. His face was flushed with fever, his body wracked by tremors and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. The blankets were tumbled across his feet, and she watched frozen as his face contorted in grimaces of terrible suffering. She knew what he was feeling, because she was feeling it herself. Every beat of her heart pounded in acute synchrony with his; every sensation he battled assaulted her with twice the force.
"Is this what you mean by loving him?" Megumi asked quietly, her voice stripped of disdain and made powerful by its conviction. She walked forward to kneel by Aoshi's side, drawing up his blankets in the first tender touch she had ever shown Misao. "Is this what you mean by love? Do you have any idea how deeply you have wounded him, how much pain you have caused him by breaking his heart?" A touch of bitterness crept into her voice. "In all the time I have known Aoshi, he has never let anyone in close enough to hurt him. He was always a mystery, always aloof from everyone else. If anyone tried to offer him friendship, or even companionship, she would be politely shoved aside and shut out of the glass cage he lived in. We were all on the outside, looking in, while he simply locked himself away." She looked up at Misao, eyes lit with righteous fire, and slowly stood up. "Now I know why. He did it all for you, because of you. You were the secret pain he was living with all that time, and just when you had led him on enough to think that you cared you break him again. You have power, indeed, power over his entire life. And yet you use that power to hurt him, to make him feel this." She gestured towards the bed. "I ask you again, Miss Makimachi: is this what you mean by love? Is this how you love him?"
Misao felt the wall rise behind her and only then realized that she had been steadily backing away from Megumi's advance. She had nothing to say to Megumi's words; her vision swam with the waves of shame that rose and dizzily rose as each accusation struck her soul with the final ring of truth. There was no defense, no clever arbitrage, against this stranger's prosecution. She knew and accepted her verdict.
"You have no right to say you love Aoshi, because you don't know what love is. You don't know how to love. And you will only hurt him more if you don't give him up, to those of us who would never hurt him and would cherish him above all else." Megumi leaned forward, close enough for Misao to feel the force of her breath. "Because I love him, and I will never let you hurt him again."
As if she had been physically pushed, Misao moved unseeingly past Megumi and towards the front door. Halfway to the threshold she felt Megumi's detaining hand on her arm; she turned woodenly, not caring what other punishments the woman would inflict.
"Here," something soft and white was pressed into her palm. "Aoshi wanted me to give this back to you." She looked down ~ it was the handkerchief she had made for him.
You're too late, Makimachi Misao. He never wants to see you again.
"Don't worry. I'm going to take better care of him than you ever did." And she did not need to see Megumi to read the triumph in her eyes.
Sayonara, Aoshi.
He stirred from a fevered dream, murmuring her name. Was he still dreaming, or could he sense her presence in the room, smell her scent in the air? If she was here—if she was here, then he could tell her again, tell her that he loved her, that he would wait for her forever if he needed to. Of course she was here. She had to have come, she had to know that he was ill, she would never abandon him when he needed her so!
"Misao?" And the woman watching over him promised that he would never say that name again.
"She's not here, Aoshi. She said she never wants to see you again."
Then, for the first time in his life, he let himself cry.
Asleep in spring I did not heed the dawn
Till the birds broke out singing everywhere.
Last night, in the clamour of wind and rain,
How many flowers have fallen
do you suppose?
~ "Spring Dawn" (alternate translation), Chinese poem
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Explanations will come! Thank you for your patience and reviews ~ they give me such determination to continue this story and see it through to the end.
Can anyone tell me why I'm having such trouble with proper spacing in uploading to fanfiction.net? And I can't believe they changed my author name! But, I will always remain ~
Yours, Mikomi