A/N. Sorry for the lack of plot details. I'll explain at the bottom, but you, intelligent and discerning RK fan, should be able to figure it out fairly easily.
Evensongby Mirune Keishiko
As dusk settled on the Kamiya dojo, Megumi padded through the corridors lighting the lamps, studiously ignoring the unease that gnawed at her over these few minutes of her own idleness. She needed this brief time away from her duties to keep her sane; after over two hours in the sickroom with her three charges, she needed to be out in the open. She had seized upon the excuse to light the lamps as evening approached. There was no one left at the dojo to do it instead—Yahiko, who had never had scarlet fever, had been sent away to the Akabeko.
Making the rounds of the dojo also offered her the solitude in which to savor her more pleasant memories. Had it really already been two years that she had stayed in Aizu? Nothing had changed around the place, and it seemed that ghosts would emerge from the gathering shadows at any moment: Ayame-chan and Suzume-chan playing hide-and-seek with Kenshin in the courtyard, Kaoru-chan chasing Yahiko around the house brandishing her bokken, Tsubame-chan helping make dinner in the kitchen, and Sanosuke—
Lingering by the engawa that faced the gate, she leaned for a moment against the post, shut her weary eyes, and sighed.
She had anticipated the resurfacing of those particular memories. She'd known she could not hope to stave them off completely.
But she had not dared to consider just how painfully they would tighten around her heart, even after all this time.
A man at once annoying and intoxicating, crude and ignorant yet insightful and quick to care. She had been both repulsed and fascinated by the fierce, unabashed maleness of him—his perpetual smell of sweat and wood smoke that came from the open cooking fires around his neighborhood, those freely exposed muscles under the tanned skin that felt like sweet, heavy silk beneath her fingertips. The memory of his voice slid through her mind—that low, careless, gravelly drawl of his that used to fill her with such unspoken delight.
Now its imagined echoes were bittersweet.
There had been nights, those years ago, when she had lain in bed wide awake and longing, fingers tightening into the sheets as she struggled against a desire that embarrassed her with its intensity—craving the feel of those long well-muscled arms around her, yearning to find that spot at the base of his throat where his scent would burn hottest and most alive, wondering how he would react if she kissed him, touched him, did to him all the exquisite, secret things she would not allow herself to contemplate for too long. She had known, of course, that they would likely never be—different minds, different hearts, different needs and ambitions—and that had made the longing all the more powerful, all the more desperate.
But then he had left. He had made her choice for her. For that at least, she would perhaps thank him without words for the rest of her life.
And maybe someday—once many years passed and she got far, far away from this dojo and the memories that lurked under its eaves—she would forget at last to think of him entirely.
For now, she permitted herself to wonder where he might be—riding camels in the desert perhaps, or working some gold mine, his muscles rippling beautifully; or maybe even training under a waterfall. Perhaps he was alone, his utterly unfettered spirit enjoying freedom in solitude. Or perhaps he was falling asleep in the arms of some nameless woman, who was holding up his strong, scarred hand to the moonlight and pondering its strangely twisted bones. Perhaps he was smelling her thick, dark, fragrant hair and wishing she were a fox lady instead, with her scent of summer roses light upon his senses.
And Megumi reminded herself to breathe.
Then, smiling very slightly and shaking her head, she turned back, heading to the kitchen where she kept her medicines. The lone tear chilling her cheek she whisked away with her sleeve.
Breaktime was over. It was time to return to work.
owari
A/N. I sincerely apologize for the utter-crap title. It's among the most frustrating things in the world to stare at a finished story for several full minutes trying to decide what to "call" it. I didn't want to "ruin the mood" with too much detail or background, so I'm assuming the basic, necessary plot here is implied well enough: Megumi's been called back to Tokyo after two years in Aizu to take care of the Himuras, who have been afflicted with scarlet fever, an extremely contagious disease to which you're immune once you survive it (hence Yahiko is sent away, and Megumi can stay).
I wrote this several weeks ago right off the top of my head, meaning to insert it at some appropriate point into "Mune no Monogatari". But with me and my fantastic memory—I utterly forgot about it until several chapters and rather-too-late-for-an-appropriate-moment later, when I unearthed it from among my files. Sigh.
But I don't want to totally throw it away either (heh. Can you say "megalomania"?), so I sort of dusted it off and slapped it into some semblance of shape as a oneshot. Maybe if the Muse smiles upon me while I'm writing MnM, an "appropriate point" will magically appear and I'll just smuggle it in. In which case, I don't suppose a "previewing" would hurt. Um, would it? (Too late now, right...?)
With regard to MnM which is an Aoshi/Megumi story: I was originally a Sano/Megumi 'shipper, so in writing MnM I've felt the need to sneak in some notes about that. Only I, um, forgot to put them in. Sigh.
I don't believe the "three charges" need detailing—it doesn't really matter who they are, and it can probably be easily assumed that they're Kaoru, Kenshin, and Kenji. But really, in accordance with MnM, they're really Misao, Kaoru, and Kenji. Umm... it's a long story. 17 chapters long and counting, to be precise.
I do hope you enjoyed. This unabashedly groveling unworthy one would also enjoy some reviews...
(I wish FFnet didn't delete all the smileys. I sound so much more evil and depressed than I actually am! Gomen!!)