MASKS
A Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic
by Peregrine Vision
Chapter 2 - Tempus Fugit
The first death report reached Aoshi before he had even finished preparing for the journey.
He had notified his spies to keep track of anything related to the Kanryuu opium. Oddly enough, the report came not through Aoshi's personal network, but through a pigeon sent by an Oniwabanshuu agent. By happy chance this agent was stationed in a small coastal town called Okada. That was in the Fukushima area, quite close to Aizu. Highly convenient, or at least Aoshi thought so for the first few minutes.
Inconvenience showed up soon enough--Misao insisted on going with him.
* * *
On reflection, perhaps "No, you can't" was not the best thing he could have said. But his usual care with choosing words always broke down around Misao. Either he said nothing at all, or he somehow found the completely wrong thing to say--as in this case.
Misao was understandably furious. "What do you mean, I *can't*?"
Aoshi wondered if it was possible for one to be unconsciously suicidal. "I'm sorry, Misao. I meant to say that a minor situation in a small town does not need the personal attention of the Okashira."
"Aoshi-sama, this is serious!" Misao waved the note, covered in the tiny coded scribble of the agent. "It says someone's died of a new drug, and more have been confirmed as addicted to it! That's hardly *minor*."
"I know," Aoshi said, keeping an even tone. She must not see how urgent he suspected the real situation was. "That's why I'm going myself. I'd like to have you along--"
That soothed her for a moment; her eyes shone and she tried not to smile.
"--but the fact is, I need you here."
The smile faded into a rebellious look. "What about Jiya and the others? We have more people now; we can--"
"You are *Okashira*," Aoshi said, putting heavy emphasis on the title. "You know what that means." He suppressed the urge to sigh. When he was newly Okashira, he had not needed these things explained to him, and he had been much younger that Misao was now.
Misao met his stare defiantly. "I've been Okashira for over ten whole years, Aoshi-sama. I should think they'd do all right if I was absent for a couple of weeks."
Aoshi blinked. Ten years already? He stared at the young woman who glared up at him. She was wearing a kimono like Omasu's, her hair loose around her shoulders--she refused to have it done up like Okon, or even in Omasu's simpler style.
Ten years. He'd been so accustomed to Misao's friendly, spirited face that he'd failed to realize just how much the body around it had changed. He suddenly felt old, the breeze of Misao's presence becoming the cold breath of his impending age.
He turned away from Misao, disliking his morbid thoughts. He was only thirty-six; it wasn't as if he was about to turn to dust. But being Okashira at the age of fifteen had aged him ahead of his time; he always *felt* older, somehow. Certainly much older than Misao.
Misao took his silence as encouragement and pressed her argument. "Besides, what if you need a second? What if you get hurt, or get in trouble? What if you need someone to take a hurt for you?"
"Then you are the last person I could afford to lose," Aoshi cut her off.
She looked distinctly unhappy, but at least she had stopped arguing. He decided to suspend his own rules about personal contact for a moment, and put his hands on her shoulders.
"You are Okashira," he repeated, looking her full in the face. "We need you here. Does the heart leave its accustomed place in the body and go wandering about? Does the brain descend to the belly to see for itself what the stomach is doing?"
Misao held his gaze for a moment, then looked down. A little of the tension left her shoulders. She slanted a brief look up at him.
"What does that make you?" she asked, smiling a little.
So sharp. She had been paying attention after all.
Aoshi allowed himself the indulgence of a small smile in return. Her eyes widened, as they always did whenever he smiled. He touched her cheek, and observed with sadness how she reacted to the touch. They expected such different things of each other.
"I am your sword arm," he said. "I go where I can protect you."
"Aoshi-sama..." Misao whispered. She closed her eyes, her lips parting. Waiting.
The idea startled Aoshi as completely as if she *had* been his daughter. He fought down the sudden onrush of panic. Swallowing, he patted her, a little awkwardly, on the cheek. Her eyes flew open.
There was only a very brief disappointment in her expression before she hugged Aoshi. Hard.
"When are you going?" she mumbled into his chest.
"A...after dinner," he said, a little short of breath. "Best to travel at night."
"Take care," she said, hugging him even more fiercely. Just as he was about to point out that he would very much like his ribs back, thank you, Misao let him go.
Her back was straight as she walked off, her steps small but quick, with none of the pigeon-toed mincing that other girls affected. She was taller now, too. Aoshi sighed, feeling old again. Maybe he could bring her something when he returned. Some little trinket: pretty yet functional. She would like that.
* * *
There was a letter in Megumi's room when she got home from a house call. She felt a rush of pleased surprise when she saw the Tokyo address, and a small nagging guilt that she hadn't written in a while.
She slit the letter open with a pencil. As usual, it was a long letter, three pages or so. Kaoru liked to tell every little detail of every little thing that happened at the Kamiya dojo, as well as her opinions on it, and Ken-san's too, if he ever got a word in edgewise to tell her. Megumi rather liked it.
//Dear Megumi-san,
It's been a while, hasn't it? We all miss your company and were wondering where you were and how you've been.//
Megumi grinned. Subtle, very subtle.
//Kenji is such a prideful little rooster. Remember when I told you Kenshin took my name when we married, so the school could continue? Kenji doesn't object, but he always tells anyone who asks that his name is Himura-Kamiya Kenji. Now he's insisting he be graduated from his small shinai to a proper bokutou. I put my foot down and insisted in return that he wait until he's ten. At least he's not demanding a "real" sword, although the way Yahiko fusses over the sakabatou, he'll be asking us for one of his own soon.
Yutarou-kun is doing very well, as is Yahiko. They both are about equal in skill, since one would rather die than lose to the other in anything. I don't mind--their little contests keep the house clean, the laundry washed, the meals on the table, and the baby happy.
Tomoko is growing so fast! She's not even a year old, but she gets into *everything*. Just the other day I found her sitting in the laundry tub. She must have thought it was her bath, and wondering what all the soap and clothes were doing there. She got a mouthful of soap, and it took Kenshin quite a while to get her to calm down. Good thing she adores him.//
Picturing the scene made Megumi laugh. She could imagine it--a violet-eyed baby with a mess of soft black hair, squalling in the midst of a heap of sodden clothes. Ken-san, taller and broader now, his red hair cut short, soothing the little girl, washing off the soap, all tender "maa"s and startled "oro"s at each new wail.
//Kenshin is well also--thanks to you. I give him his medicine every morning before breakfast and every night before he goes to bed. He's quite grateful for the boys' help, since his bones are definitely showing the strain now. Running makes his knees ache, and he can't do laundry anymore without his wrists cramping. He jokes that he's exchanged his sword skills for predicting the weather, since his old wounds all start complaining every time it's about to rain.//
Beneath the cheerful words Megumi sensed a sadness, a regret for the price Ken-san had had to pay for their peace and happiness. A little while after their marriage, Ken-san had been diagnosed with a bone disease. Over the years his bones would slowly degenerate until he would be rendered practically crippled. Megumi had developed an herbal medicine that would delay the degeneration and keep Ken-san on his feet until he was at least another thirty years older. Fighting, of course, was out of the question. Fortunately Yutarou-kun, Yahiko-kun and the junior Kamiya Kasshin students were there to help...and the peaceful times themselves ensured that there was no great need to fight for anything.
//Everyone at the dojo loves him. After lessons they like to look for him and pester him for stories of all his legendary fights. It warms my heart to see him opening up to the children. He speaks of his past so easily now, and without guilt or pain; although he prefers to tell stories of the lesser fights, the ones where there are no deaths. He's as much a teacher of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu as I am: he speaks to them of the sword that protects, and he does it so gently and with such wisdom that even I like to sit at the back of the room and listen to him. He's really wonderful.//
"Of course he is," Megumi said aloud. She blinked, startled at the sound of her own voice in the quiet room. For a moment she looked around, seeing the empty room with new eyes. She had thought it cozy, but after imagining the noisy, happy Kamiya household, it seemed stark and cold in comparison. Then she laughed a little to herself--how silly she was being!--and read on.
//Something very surprising happened the other day, and that's really what I'm writing to you about. Two new children showed up here. Well, the sister is actually about seventeen, so I shouldn't say "child". The boy is almost thirteen.
They say that a man protected them from some politician's henchmen when they were younger, and told them to come to the Kamiya dojo if they wanted to become strong. They didn't know who he was. But Megumi-san, there was a strange thing about the little boy--he wears a jacket with the kanji "aku" on on the back.//
Megumi recoiled from the letter as though it had burst into flame. She dropped back on her heels as it fell to the floor.
Sagara Sanosuke.
Her heart became an annoyance, a hard, rattling thing in her chest. She clenched her fists.
Sagara Sanosuke.
How long?
How long had it been since she had found out about him? Her feelings had made her uncomfortable; it made no sense to be feeling that gentle uncurling tenderness toward him. It had irritated her, but at the same time she could not have denied it. She had been worried when he was gone. She had been angry when he hurt himself. She had feared for him: for his health, for his ability to land himself in trouble with important people, for his champion stubbornness.
She had almost, almost, begun to love him.
And then she had found out about him and Ken-san.
And *Ken-san*. Of all the people in the world, it had to be Ken-san, the one other person she cared about the most.
Megumi shuddered, remembering the horror of finding out. Remembering the blood on Sanosuke's jacket--Ken-san's blood!--and how they had come to her because they were afraid to go to another doctor. Finding the *other* substance mingled with the blood. Seeing the shame in their eyes, and yet in that shame, how they tried to shelter each other from her stare.
One thing in particular stood out in her mind. She had reached out to slap Sanosuke, as hard as she could. Ken-san had grabbed Sanosuke's hand, drawing him back, and his other arm had barred her way. He had held Sanosuke behind him, and looked up with pleading violet eyes to Megumi.
"Please, Megumi-dono. Please, whatever you do, don't tell Kaoru-dono."
She had realized then that he loved Kaoru in a way that he would never love Sanosuke. Sanosuke had realized it too, the shock and then pain rising in his eyes as he stared down at Ken-san. And that made it worse, somehow. Because Sanosuke had rendered her feelings worthless, only to have his own cast aside. It should have served him right, but it only made Megumi feel doubly insulted.
It had taken a long time to heal the rift. The trouble in Kyoto had helped--it was easier to forget great hurts in the face of greater loss. Ken-san had later confessed to her that after Kyoto, he had broken with Sanosuke. That had helped, too. But they were always a little uncomfortable around each other from then on.
As for Sanosuke, she found herself feeling sympathetic after a while. But she had never really forgiven him, as she had Ken-san.
Megumi clutched at her knees in sudden anger. And then that...! Running away like that--twice! Once when everyone had believed Kaoru was dead, and then again, for more than ten *years* now! Coward!
She grabbed the letter, intending to crumple it, but stopped. Instead she left it on her pillow. Maybe she would read it later, when she went to bed. But right now she needed a long, quiet walk.
-end 2-
Chapter 2 - Tempus Fugit
The first death report reached Aoshi before he had even finished preparing for the journey.
He had notified his spies to keep track of anything related to the Kanryuu opium. Oddly enough, the report came not through Aoshi's personal network, but through a pigeon sent by an Oniwabanshuu agent. By happy chance this agent was stationed in a small coastal town called Okada. That was in the Fukushima area, quite close to Aizu. Highly convenient, or at least Aoshi thought so for the first few minutes.
Inconvenience showed up soon enough--Misao insisted on going with him.
* * *
On reflection, perhaps "No, you can't" was not the best thing he could have said. But his usual care with choosing words always broke down around Misao. Either he said nothing at all, or he somehow found the completely wrong thing to say--as in this case.
Misao was understandably furious. "What do you mean, I *can't*?"
Aoshi wondered if it was possible for one to be unconsciously suicidal. "I'm sorry, Misao. I meant to say that a minor situation in a small town does not need the personal attention of the Okashira."
"Aoshi-sama, this is serious!" Misao waved the note, covered in the tiny coded scribble of the agent. "It says someone's died of a new drug, and more have been confirmed as addicted to it! That's hardly *minor*."
"I know," Aoshi said, keeping an even tone. She must not see how urgent he suspected the real situation was. "That's why I'm going myself. I'd like to have you along--"
That soothed her for a moment; her eyes shone and she tried not to smile.
"--but the fact is, I need you here."
The smile faded into a rebellious look. "What about Jiya and the others? We have more people now; we can--"
"You are *Okashira*," Aoshi said, putting heavy emphasis on the title. "You know what that means." He suppressed the urge to sigh. When he was newly Okashira, he had not needed these things explained to him, and he had been much younger that Misao was now.
Misao met his stare defiantly. "I've been Okashira for over ten whole years, Aoshi-sama. I should think they'd do all right if I was absent for a couple of weeks."
Aoshi blinked. Ten years already? He stared at the young woman who glared up at him. She was wearing a kimono like Omasu's, her hair loose around her shoulders--she refused to have it done up like Okon, or even in Omasu's simpler style.
Ten years. He'd been so accustomed to Misao's friendly, spirited face that he'd failed to realize just how much the body around it had changed. He suddenly felt old, the breeze of Misao's presence becoming the cold breath of his impending age.
He turned away from Misao, disliking his morbid thoughts. He was only thirty-six; it wasn't as if he was about to turn to dust. But being Okashira at the age of fifteen had aged him ahead of his time; he always *felt* older, somehow. Certainly much older than Misao.
Misao took his silence as encouragement and pressed her argument. "Besides, what if you need a second? What if you get hurt, or get in trouble? What if you need someone to take a hurt for you?"
"Then you are the last person I could afford to lose," Aoshi cut her off.
She looked distinctly unhappy, but at least she had stopped arguing. He decided to suspend his own rules about personal contact for a moment, and put his hands on her shoulders.
"You are Okashira," he repeated, looking her full in the face. "We need you here. Does the heart leave its accustomed place in the body and go wandering about? Does the brain descend to the belly to see for itself what the stomach is doing?"
Misao held his gaze for a moment, then looked down. A little of the tension left her shoulders. She slanted a brief look up at him.
"What does that make you?" she asked, smiling a little.
So sharp. She had been paying attention after all.
Aoshi allowed himself the indulgence of a small smile in return. Her eyes widened, as they always did whenever he smiled. He touched her cheek, and observed with sadness how she reacted to the touch. They expected such different things of each other.
"I am your sword arm," he said. "I go where I can protect you."
"Aoshi-sama..." Misao whispered. She closed her eyes, her lips parting. Waiting.
The idea startled Aoshi as completely as if she *had* been his daughter. He fought down the sudden onrush of panic. Swallowing, he patted her, a little awkwardly, on the cheek. Her eyes flew open.
There was only a very brief disappointment in her expression before she hugged Aoshi. Hard.
"When are you going?" she mumbled into his chest.
"A...after dinner," he said, a little short of breath. "Best to travel at night."
"Take care," she said, hugging him even more fiercely. Just as he was about to point out that he would very much like his ribs back, thank you, Misao let him go.
Her back was straight as she walked off, her steps small but quick, with none of the pigeon-toed mincing that other girls affected. She was taller now, too. Aoshi sighed, feeling old again. Maybe he could bring her something when he returned. Some little trinket: pretty yet functional. She would like that.
* * *
There was a letter in Megumi's room when she got home from a house call. She felt a rush of pleased surprise when she saw the Tokyo address, and a small nagging guilt that she hadn't written in a while.
She slit the letter open with a pencil. As usual, it was a long letter, three pages or so. Kaoru liked to tell every little detail of every little thing that happened at the Kamiya dojo, as well as her opinions on it, and Ken-san's too, if he ever got a word in edgewise to tell her. Megumi rather liked it.
//Dear Megumi-san,
It's been a while, hasn't it? We all miss your company and were wondering where you were and how you've been.//
Megumi grinned. Subtle, very subtle.
//Kenji is such a prideful little rooster. Remember when I told you Kenshin took my name when we married, so the school could continue? Kenji doesn't object, but he always tells anyone who asks that his name is Himura-Kamiya Kenji. Now he's insisting he be graduated from his small shinai to a proper bokutou. I put my foot down and insisted in return that he wait until he's ten. At least he's not demanding a "real" sword, although the way Yahiko fusses over the sakabatou, he'll be asking us for one of his own soon.
Yutarou-kun is doing very well, as is Yahiko. They both are about equal in skill, since one would rather die than lose to the other in anything. I don't mind--their little contests keep the house clean, the laundry washed, the meals on the table, and the baby happy.
Tomoko is growing so fast! She's not even a year old, but she gets into *everything*. Just the other day I found her sitting in the laundry tub. She must have thought it was her bath, and wondering what all the soap and clothes were doing there. She got a mouthful of soap, and it took Kenshin quite a while to get her to calm down. Good thing she adores him.//
Picturing the scene made Megumi laugh. She could imagine it--a violet-eyed baby with a mess of soft black hair, squalling in the midst of a heap of sodden clothes. Ken-san, taller and broader now, his red hair cut short, soothing the little girl, washing off the soap, all tender "maa"s and startled "oro"s at each new wail.
//Kenshin is well also--thanks to you. I give him his medicine every morning before breakfast and every night before he goes to bed. He's quite grateful for the boys' help, since his bones are definitely showing the strain now. Running makes his knees ache, and he can't do laundry anymore without his wrists cramping. He jokes that he's exchanged his sword skills for predicting the weather, since his old wounds all start complaining every time it's about to rain.//
Beneath the cheerful words Megumi sensed a sadness, a regret for the price Ken-san had had to pay for their peace and happiness. A little while after their marriage, Ken-san had been diagnosed with a bone disease. Over the years his bones would slowly degenerate until he would be rendered practically crippled. Megumi had developed an herbal medicine that would delay the degeneration and keep Ken-san on his feet until he was at least another thirty years older. Fighting, of course, was out of the question. Fortunately Yutarou-kun, Yahiko-kun and the junior Kamiya Kasshin students were there to help...and the peaceful times themselves ensured that there was no great need to fight for anything.
//Everyone at the dojo loves him. After lessons they like to look for him and pester him for stories of all his legendary fights. It warms my heart to see him opening up to the children. He speaks of his past so easily now, and without guilt or pain; although he prefers to tell stories of the lesser fights, the ones where there are no deaths. He's as much a teacher of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu as I am: he speaks to them of the sword that protects, and he does it so gently and with such wisdom that even I like to sit at the back of the room and listen to him. He's really wonderful.//
"Of course he is," Megumi said aloud. She blinked, startled at the sound of her own voice in the quiet room. For a moment she looked around, seeing the empty room with new eyes. She had thought it cozy, but after imagining the noisy, happy Kamiya household, it seemed stark and cold in comparison. Then she laughed a little to herself--how silly she was being!--and read on.
//Something very surprising happened the other day, and that's really what I'm writing to you about. Two new children showed up here. Well, the sister is actually about seventeen, so I shouldn't say "child". The boy is almost thirteen.
They say that a man protected them from some politician's henchmen when they were younger, and told them to come to the Kamiya dojo if they wanted to become strong. They didn't know who he was. But Megumi-san, there was a strange thing about the little boy--he wears a jacket with the kanji "aku" on on the back.//
Megumi recoiled from the letter as though it had burst into flame. She dropped back on her heels as it fell to the floor.
Sagara Sanosuke.
Her heart became an annoyance, a hard, rattling thing in her chest. She clenched her fists.
Sagara Sanosuke.
How long?
How long had it been since she had found out about him? Her feelings had made her uncomfortable; it made no sense to be feeling that gentle uncurling tenderness toward him. It had irritated her, but at the same time she could not have denied it. She had been worried when he was gone. She had been angry when he hurt himself. She had feared for him: for his health, for his ability to land himself in trouble with important people, for his champion stubbornness.
She had almost, almost, begun to love him.
And then she had found out about him and Ken-san.
And *Ken-san*. Of all the people in the world, it had to be Ken-san, the one other person she cared about the most.
Megumi shuddered, remembering the horror of finding out. Remembering the blood on Sanosuke's jacket--Ken-san's blood!--and how they had come to her because they were afraid to go to another doctor. Finding the *other* substance mingled with the blood. Seeing the shame in their eyes, and yet in that shame, how they tried to shelter each other from her stare.
One thing in particular stood out in her mind. She had reached out to slap Sanosuke, as hard as she could. Ken-san had grabbed Sanosuke's hand, drawing him back, and his other arm had barred her way. He had held Sanosuke behind him, and looked up with pleading violet eyes to Megumi.
"Please, Megumi-dono. Please, whatever you do, don't tell Kaoru-dono."
She had realized then that he loved Kaoru in a way that he would never love Sanosuke. Sanosuke had realized it too, the shock and then pain rising in his eyes as he stared down at Ken-san. And that made it worse, somehow. Because Sanosuke had rendered her feelings worthless, only to have his own cast aside. It should have served him right, but it only made Megumi feel doubly insulted.
It had taken a long time to heal the rift. The trouble in Kyoto had helped--it was easier to forget great hurts in the face of greater loss. Ken-san had later confessed to her that after Kyoto, he had broken with Sanosuke. That had helped, too. But they were always a little uncomfortable around each other from then on.
As for Sanosuke, she found herself feeling sympathetic after a while. But she had never really forgiven him, as she had Ken-san.
Megumi clutched at her knees in sudden anger. And then that...! Running away like that--twice! Once when everyone had believed Kaoru was dead, and then again, for more than ten *years* now! Coward!
She grabbed the letter, intending to crumple it, but stopped. Instead she left it on her pillow. Maybe she would read it later, when she went to bed. But right now she needed a long, quiet walk.
-end 2-