As tempting as it was to go with Hikaru's suggestion of "Regrets and Regurgitation," somehow I 't bring myself to. ;)p This is my first not-weirdly-AU not-lemon Aoshi/Misao fic, so forgive any...uh...trespasses?
My submission for the Shinobi Love ML January Challenge.
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Unforgettable
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"What would you like for your birthday, Aoshi-sama? Name anything, anything at all and I'll get it for you!"
"I want to be alone."
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It was dark in her room, though the lights were still burning brightly in most of the Aoiya, long after the occupants should have gone to bed. Misao, in her room at the very end of the hall, sat on her futon, knees pulled up, arms folded across them hiding her face where she pressed it against her cold skin. She could hear the voices down the hall, knew the sounds of the footsteps going back and forth, up and down the stairs.
She also knew this fuss was entirely her fault. And they weren't going to let her forget it anytime soon. That is, if they didn't kill her in her sleep after this whole mess.
A soft tapping at her door, and Omasu's voice drifted in.
"Misao-chan, I need a favor."
The little ninja didn't move or answer, and the tapping came again.
"Misao-chan, please!"
Again, no response.
"Mi-sa-o-chan!" The older woman threw the sliding door open, and Misao flinched just a little. "We all need to be helping take care of this situation!"
Misao finally raised her head, looking past Omasu's form down the bright hallway. Kuro stood at the top of the stairs, holding a pile of futons and sheets. Shiro was standing in the hall grimacing, taking off the top half of his work uniform. Okon's voice was muffled, but she was clearly in another room. And outside that room stood Okina, shaking his head.
"In all my years, I've never seen anyone throw up that much."
Omasu knelt down in front of Misao.
"Misao-chan, please...we need someone to start the wash before Aoshi-sama uses up all the clean bedding."
And Misao wished with all her might that she would die right at that moment.
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"Alone? It's a shame, but that would be what he'd ask for."
Misao watched as Omasu washed the rice for the restaurant, her back to the young Okashira.
"Don't you think he was just, I dunno, shy about saying something?"
"Misao-chan, use your pretty head. He never wants anything. He never asks for anything."
"Last year, he-"
"He said 'get me something I need.' And what did you do? You got him a tie. A Westerner's tie."
"I thought he'd look good in a tie."
"He needs a suit to go with the tie! Do you think Aoshi-sama owns a Western suit?"
"Maybe he'll get one? And then he'll have a nice purple tie to-"
"Misao-chan."Omasu turned, placing her hands on her hips in a manner that said made Misao roll her eyes. "You are eighteen years old. You should know better than to try to encourage Aoshi to change his ways or give him something he has no use for."
"Well like I said, I thought-"
"She was thinking again? That never turns out well." Okon grinned, pushing past the curtain from the main restaurant. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun, tasteful ornaments holding it back. Her kimono was simple but sharp. She always looked so beautiful, even working. Misao scowled and looked away.
"Shut up, Okon."
"Are you still muttering about Aoshi's birthday?"
"I want to do something special for him!"
"Oh right, that'll turn out great. What was it you got him last year?"
"A tie." Omasu answered, starting the fire for the rice. "The look on his face..."
"Yeah, that was definitely 'something he needed .' If you ask me-"she sat down across from Misao.
"-And I didn't." Misao suggested.
"What Aoshi really needs is a good, hard tumble."
The younger girl couldn't help blushing and turned away even further. Omasu giggled.
"Aoshi needs someone to take the reins from him and show him the what-for. He needs to be ridden hard and put away wet."
"Okon!"
She held up her hands defensively.
"Well that's what I think he needs. I'm sure Misao-chan would have no trouble obliging that."
Misao's braid frizzled as she turned the perfectly naughty, perfectly desirable, perfectly impossible idea around in her head. Sure, she and Aoshi were getting closer, much closer, and any day now he was bound to at least hold her hand, if not confess his undying love. If she were to put moves on him, would he possibly-
"But this year he didn't ask for 'something he needed,' Okon." Omasu's voice interrupted her delicious thoughts.
"Oh? What's he want, then?"
"He wants to be alone."
"Awwwwww." Okon reached across the table and tugged Misao's braid, getting her hand slapped away immediately. "No wonder you're so pissy. Of course he wants to be alone. He'd rather be left alone every single day but you barge in on him, or you take him his tea..."
"He likes that."
"...Or you ask him silly questions, or...whatever. Misao," the waitress looked at her evenly. "For the love of Hiko, would you please, on his birthday, just do what he asks and leave him alone?"
"But he can't want to be alone all day!" She smacked her palm on the table. "It's his birthday, don't you think he would want SOMEONE to do SOMETHING?"
"Mi-" They began together.
"We're all he has, dammit, and he probably doesn't want to cause any trouble and that's why he wants to be left alone, but I'm sure he'd really, really appreciate it if he at least came home to...to...a nice dinner or something!" A pause, a blink, a flash of insight. "THAT'S IT! Dinner! I'll make him dinner! I'll leave him alone all day, and then he'll come back for dinner and it'll be...it'll be everything he loves! He'll be so grateful!" And in her mind, grateful might also entail a kiss or three and an invitation to his room for the night...
"She really lives in her own world, doesn't she." Omasu sighed.
"It's probably pretty scary in there." Okon stood up.
Misao was now practically talking to herself, so the two women took the opportunity to slip out before she could snag them with-
"-And you'll help me, won't...you...?"
Misao found herself talking to an empty kitchen and she snorted in disgust. She lived with such jerks. But now at least she had the perfect plan. Dinner, Aoshi would like that. If she did it all by herself, so much more the romance, especially if she dressed up nicely and served it to him, like Okon did for the patrons of the restaurant. And perhaps after that he'd like to see her undressed...
Pulling her thoughts to a halt before they got too far into the zone where she'd be staring dumbly out the window and drooling on herself, she set to work on making a list of everything Aoshi might potentially want in a birthday dinner.
And at his place in the temple, Aoshi sneezed.
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Dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit...
It made a perfect mantra as she chopped the onions.
Dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit...
Kuro had bumped into something, and it had started a fire. It was put out quickly, of course, but the smoke had gotten into her throat and made it feel scratchy, her hair was falling in her eyes, and she'd been relegated to the least warm corner of the kitchen to do her "extraneous" work. It was hard to chop evenly when your hands were shaking.
Dammit dammit dammit dammit DAMMIT!
If that didn't suck enough, she'd also woken up later than she'd wanted, and missed the best deals at the market. It was a particularly unfortunate winter, with sleet and freezing days clogging up the roads and ruining the fields, so there weren't many good pickings in general, but what was left was now more expensive than ever. And since this was her present for Aoshi, she was paying for it out of her own pocket - which certainly was not very deep. Aoshi was extremely lucky he wasn't ending up with a dinner composed of rice porridge and mud.
And Okon and Omasu, Kuro and Shiro, even Okina, all of them were in her way. It was like they'd conspired to all be in the kitchen at the same time, talking loudly, cackling, griping, and it was making her crazy. Didn't they know she was doing something exceedingly important, an act of pure love? Didn't they know she had a time limit? Aoshi usually came home around five, when it got dark, and she wanted everything laid out when he came. And on top of all the cooking, she needed to take a bath, get dressed, put her hair up, steal some makeup from Okon and Omasu's room... she had a busy day and everyone was determined to mess it up.
Not this time, she swore to herself, grabbing another onion. This year will be it. This will be a birthday Aoshi-sama is gonna remember for a damn long time.
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At four o'clock, simmering things were left to simmer, boiling things were turned down, the kitchen was cleaned and Misao started her bath. She scrubbed until her hands, already chapped from the cold wind and water, bled on the stone and then she scrubbed more. She rinsed her hair and soaped it until it squeaked, and rung it out so thoroughly she thought she might accidentally pull it off her head.
Once that was done, she sprinted into the house, swiping some lip-paint and other powders from the harpies' room, and sat down in front of her little mirror, mimicking the techniques they'd taught her on a lark many years ago. When she was made up to her liking - highlights, not too bold, Aoshi wouldn't go for that- she tied up her hair in a bun like Okon's, put in her two hair-sticks, then slipped into her very nicest kimono. The obi took several tries to tie right, but the bow on the back was a cheat - it was fully formed and tied on with a string, so at least that would cover up any mistakes.
By four forty-five, the table was laid out, and she was starting the water for the tea - it finished just in the nick of time. Whipping together his favorite green tea, she placed it all on a tray, and took her spot near the door he would come in.
"Happy BIRTHDAY, Aoshi-sama!" Misao practiced as the minutes ticked down. "HAPPY birthday, AOSHI-sama. Happy birthDAY, Aoshi-saMA."
Five o'clock arrived right on time. But no Aoshi.
So he was running a little late, maybe he'd lost track of time.
Five ten.
A little more late than usual for Aoshi, but no big deal.
Five thirty.
The roadways were awfully slick, he was probably being extra careful walking home.
Six.
Okay, not cool.
Six-thirty.
What the hell was going on with him today?!
Seven.
He'd better have a damn good reason for being this late.
Seven forty-five.
Maybe he was dead?
Eight thirty.
No, she'd know if he was dead.
Nine twenty.
Maybe he was hurt. Misao cracked her neck to one side, thinking that he'd better be really badly hurt if it was taking him so long, then immediately admonished herself for thinking such a thought.
Ten.
She couldn't kneel much longer. She had to go to the bathroom, she couldn't feel her feet, her mouth was dry, she was plain tired.
But at ten nineteen, the door finally slid open-
"Happy bir-"
-and Aoshi nearly tripped over her.
"Misao, don't sit in the doorway," was all he said as he slipped off his shoes and walked past her.
Her eyes were wide, her mouth frozen open mid-way through the word. What the...did he just...but her hair! Scrambling to her feet and nearly upsetting the teapot herself, Misao hurried after him.
"Aoshi-sama, where have you been all this time!"
"Out."he said shortly. "I told you I wanted to be alone." He was heading for the kitchen, probably to make his own tea, and there was no way she could cut him off in time. Just beyond the curtain, he stopped.
"Misao, what is this?"
Squeezing past him, she stood by her handy work, trying to ignore the fact that the candles she'd lit had all but gone out, covering everything with wax. That and oh, everything was probably ice cold.
"I, uh, happy birthday....Aoshi-sama. I made you dinner."
The words didn't seem to process, and he stared at her as if she'd started speaking Greek.
"What?"
"I said I made you dinner."
"Why?"
"It's your birthday, silly! I told you I'd get you anything-"
"And I said I wanted to be alone. I got that. It was enough."
"Yes, but..." she groped for something, anything. "I thought perhaps that once you were done being alone, you'd like to come home to a nice dinner..."
"I already ate."
The words hit her like a sucker punch, and she had to take a deep breath to keep from screaming.
"You..."
"Already ate. I appreciate the thought."
And then he stepped past her to the stove and lit it, turning his back to her, to all her hard work.
Misao shook. She clenched her hands and it wouldn't stop. This wasn't just shivering from the draft, no, this was anger, in full force.
"A-Aoshi-sama...have you...even...noticed...what I'm wearing?"
He turned, looking at her in his usually blase fashion. He might as well have been looking at a blank wall for all his face betrayed.
"Did Okon and Omasu put you up to this?"
"NO!"
"That's not your style, Misao. You shouldn't dress like that, it's unbecoming."
That was about where she lost it.
She cleared the distance in three steps, grabbed the fold of his yukata, dragged him down, and slapped him hard across the face. And then again with the returning backhand just for good measure.
"Shinomori Aoshi, I HATE YOU!"
And Aoshi just stood there as she ran out of the kitchen, all the way up to her room where she threw herself on the futon and willed herself not to cry even as the tears came in torrents. Why did she bother? Why did she even bother?
When her sobs had quieted, she heard mumbled voices from downstairs. A few minutes later, Omasu cracked open her door.
"Misao-chan...Aoshi-sama found a new appetite."
Misao bit back bitter, angry, mean words, and managed a thank-you. Omasu widened the space in the door, putting her hand on the frame.
"Anyone a mile away could have seen how sorry he was, Misao-chan."
She shut the door and was gone, and though Misao tried not to hope, she found herself tugging her sheets, waiting for the sounds of someone coming up the stairs. She was on the brink of sleep when....
The third stair from the top creaked...
Footfalls soft in the hall...her heart began to pound.
They passed Aoshi's room...her breathing quickened.
They passed the closet...she sat up.
They passed Okon and Omasu's room...she dried her eyes.
They were a few feet from her door, when suddenly they were heading the other way very, very quickly. Blinking, Misao stood up and went to her door, opening it on the dim hallway in time to see Aoshi bent over and hear something hugely unpleasant.
Okon and Okina, coming upstairs at that moment, paused at the other end of the hall.
"Well that's just disgusting." the woman muttered. "I'd better go get something to clean that up."
"Really, Aoshi." Okina clucked.
Misao slammed her door.
-------
The first streaks of dawn were creeping across Aoshi's ceiling, and they might as well have spelled out "How does it feel to be twenty-eight, asshole?" God, pretty terrible, in every sense of the word. He was dazed, dehydrated, half-way delusional, and a whole bunch of other...alliterated words he couldn't quite...think of...fuck. This was undoubtedly the worst birthday of his entire life, and they had generally been sorry affairs.
Sure, he'd gotten his one request out of Misao - he'd been left alone. But he hadn't actually believed she would comply with it so completely. As the day dragged on, he became very lonely. He'd told her to leave him alone expecting that she wouldn't be able to contain herself, anticipating that she'd come see him, that she'd bring him a smile and some strange present, that she'd keep him company. He liked that, just knowing she was there. Except for once in her life, Misao had followed through on a direct request. She hadn't come to see him. It was his birthday and she honestly hadn't come to see him.
On top of feeling lonely and indignant, he'd also begun to feel cold. Definitely cold. Kyoto Januarys were not often so bitter, and he'd come to the temple unprepared. Determined to not let his age dull him, he stuck it out, but it was very clear that he had a fever by the time he finally rose to leave.
But fate hadn't allowed him to go home and go to bed. Fate had put Okina in his path. Hoping to help his dear granddaughter by buying her time, Okina did his best to waylay Aoshi. Of course that backfired. All too thrilled to drag Aoshi to his favorite bars and geisha halls, he had completely lost track of time among the nubile young woman who laughed at his dirty jokes. For his part, feeling less than rational, and cold everywhere but in his head, Aoshi went along, and he'd let himself be talked into one glass of warm sake.
Ohhh, bad idea.
Feverish, irrational Aoshi was soon replaced by terribly drunk Aoshi, and terribly drunk Aoshi was in no state to tell Okina to take him home or to tell the women to stop pouring the booze. The other details were foggy, but by the time he felt close to being cognizant again, Okina was sitting across from him at a soba shop, telling him some ridiculous, downright stupid story, and he was nauseous. That was when he'd gotten up and headed home, miserable, tired, irate, and just...very unhappy with how everything had turned out. He had so been expecting Misao to show up and she hadn't, he was feverish, vomitious, cold and bitter, and that mess made trying to process her greeting in the doorway virtually impossible.
She was dressed up very nicely, kept persisting on reminding him of his birthday, his stupid birthday, his birthday that he'd had some kind of expectations for, none of which had happened... So when she asked him how she looked, his disappointment, irritation, and illness compelled him to said the sharpest thing he could think of, just to make it all stop. The resulting slap had done wonders to clear his head, but the lecture that quickly followed from the other two women of the house did nothing for his stomach. It was clear to all of them that Misao had gone to all this trouble, so he should at least eat some of it.
And because by then he was beginning to process the lengths that Misao had gone to, why she hadn't come to see him, and above all because he felt guilty for insulting her... he did.
Too bad about that whole fish-sitting-out-all-day thing.
All in all, a fabulous end to the day. He even got to end it the same way six more times. That was a hoot. He didn't really remember much else that happened, except that someone had been in charge of holding his hair back and wiping off his face, and then he'd fallen asleep.
Could it have been Misao?
No, wait, she hated him.
Aoshi ran his hand through his hair and sighed.
How does it feel to be twenty-eight, asshole?
He decided it felt like he should go back to sleep. So he did.
-------
The restaurant was closed for the day.
Misao woke up around noon, and she seemed to be the only one up besides Kuro. Everyone else, exhausted, was let alone until they ordained it time to rise. Spending an entire night dealing with a food poisoned Aoshi had been no one's idea of a good time, and Misao could hardly blame them for not wanting to get up. She'd helped Omasu with the wash, but the older woman had eventually sent her to bed with some kind words while she stayed up with Shiro and scrubbed.
Running her finger around the edge of her empty teacup, Misao mulled over the fact that everyone else -except her stupid Jiya- had done more to help her mess than she had. Okon especially had been the hero of the night. The only one who could was strong-stomached enough to be in the same room as Aoshi, she had been in charge of getting and taking out the buckets after making sure he'd aimed right, holding his hair back, staying up after he'd fallen asleep to make sure he didn't choke. She had been the brave one.
It should have been me, thought Misao. I should have been the one taking care of him.
In her mind, she saw herself holding Aoshi's head in her lap, his blue eyes fixed on hers.
"Thank you for staying with me while I puked my guts out," he would have said.
Misao groaned and banged her head on the table. The scenario was about as romantic as giving someone a rotten melon and saying "Darling, you're like an old shoe."
So much for that.
There had also been that part where she'd hit him and said she hated him.
It was a winner of an evening all around.
But now she was at a loss as to what to do, or what to feel. Aoshi had desperately hurt her feelings, and she was terribly angry... but she'd also poisoned him and not been with him in his hour -or five hours- of need. It seemed as though they'd both conspired to ruin his birthday, and as much as she wanted to tell herself that maybe she still hated him for calling her best kimono "unbecoming," she was deathly afraid that he might now hate her for making him so ill.
What an awful mess.
There was the sound of someone yawning, and the Okashira looked up to see Omasu, wearing Shiro's coat, come into the kitchen.
"Good afternoon, Misao-chan."
"Mmf."
"Oh come on now. Everything ended up all right. Aoshi-sama will recover and everything will be just fine."
"I nearly killed him. Happy birthday, have some food poisoning."
"Well at the very least," Omasu grabbed her own teacup, "It might have made him think about how poorly he treated you last night. And it'll teach him to come home on time."
"That's really the message I wanted to send, too. The next time you're late, you'll barf until you see your toes come up."
"Misao-chan, that's disgusting."
"Nng."
The older woman sighed and sat down next to her, taking her hand.
"Misao-chan, it wasn't your fault. Aoshi-sama was already ill. Okon and I demanded that he eat. We're as much to blame as you are."
"It doesn't change anything that happened." It doesn't change that he thinks I'm not pretty, or that I told him I hate him.
"No, it doesn't, but..."
"But?"
"If you'd like to patch things up, why not make him dinner tonight?"
Misao wondered if perhaps Omasu's head had fallen off.
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By evening, Aoshi felt well enough to do something other than just lie in bed feeling awful. Now he'd moved on to feeling mildly bad and reading shockingly boring scouting reports. Being an onmitsu could be so frightfully dull, sometimes he wished he was an innkeeper instead. Or something. At this point, he wouldn't have minded being a hermit in a cave, anything to not have to deal with-
"Aoshi-sama?"
A lesser man might have jumped or given a shout. Aoshi settled for quickly and accurately judging how fast he could get to the window and how far the jump from it would be before raising his eyes.
"Misao."
Tension mounted, tension of all kinds. There had always been a current of sexual frustration between them, combined with their deep affection, unique friendship, and mutually as-yet unrequited love. But now there was a new feeling, that moment of not knowing where to say "I'm sorry," "I love you," or "I hope it tasted better on the way down."
Someone had to say something.
Anything.
But where to start?
Misao decided to let the object she'd brought speak for her, so pushed it forward. It was a tray, with a cup of tea and a bowl of rice porridge, pickled plum half buried in the soupy-mush.
"For your stomach."she mumbled.
The man blinked, then carefully reached forward, picking up the tea cup and cradling it.
"Thank you."his voice was soft.
Another few moments of silence passed. Aoshi sipped his tea, then set it down, reaching for the bowl and starting on the porridge.
"Did you make this?"he finally asked, starting Misao out of her reverie.
"Yeah."
"You're a very good cook, Misao."
She laughed weakly.
"I have evidence to the contrary."
Aoshi picked his way around how to respond to that. If he committed another one of his verbal faux-pas again, she might use more than her hand to show her displeasure. So he cleared his throat and offered "Your cooking wasn't the only thing that made me sick."
Wait, that came out wrong. His fever-addled brain quickly tried to come up with a way to amend it, but she was already talking.
"I'm sorry, was it the way I was dressed, too? Being that it was so...unbecoming."
The break in her voice was evident; Aoshi's shoulders sagged with the weight of his guilt. He stared hard into the porridge, because to look at her was to see those bright eyes full of tears again, and she'd already cried for him too much. But this was a wound he needed to fix with his own hand.
Or he could still jump out the-no. No, the matter would be settled now.
"Misao, what I meant by unbecoming was-"
"Ugly?" Sniffle. "Hideous?" Snort. "Vomit-inducing?" It was hard to tell if the sound that followed that was a strangled sob or a choked laugh.
Aoshi couldn't take much more of this. Taking a deep breath, he set the bowl down, turned, and took her hands, looking down at how small they were in his own, how delicate.
"What I meant was that it did not become you because it played at something you are not." He dared to raise his eyes, and found her looking straight at him, stoic but with a quivering lip betraying her heart. "You are not a geisha girl, nor are you Okon. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"That my best kimono isn't even worthy of whores?"
Restraining a scream, he gripped her hands harder.
"I prefer it when you dress as yourself, Misao. I would rather you be who you are, and not change yourself for me."
She didn't respond.
"Are you listening?"
"...yes."
"Then do you understand?"
"I understand that..."she swallowed hard. "You want me to stay what I am to you, some stupid little kid who worships you. But I'm not that anymore, Aoshi-sama. I'm a woman now, and I love you, and I..." Misao trailed off. Yes, she'd said the obvious, something they both knew, but now, given free reign as words...god, the power they had! "I love you."she said it again, stronger. "I love you and I wanted to do something special for you, but you said I couldn't buy you anything, so I thought if I made you a special dinner and dressed up you would finally understand what I've been trying to say...and do...all this time."
He let go of her hands then, and cupped her face, kissing her softly, tenderly on the forehead, then on her nose, and then brushing his long bangs against hers.
"Misao I have never wanted you to be different, to be anything more or less than you are. You, yourself, is what I want, without any fancy wrappings. Just you as you are, right this moment."
Tears slid down her damp cheeks again, but this time Aoshi caught them, held them as he held her. And moments passed in a new silence, a comforting warm silence.
But a silence nonetheless.
It had to be broken again, with something new, advancing them even one step farther. And so Aoshi took initiative once again, and said:
"I got sick because of a fever, because I let Okina give me a drink, because I ate what I shouldn't have when I shouldn't have. Had I been home earlier and less ill, it would have been a lovely dinner."
Misao stopped looking at him lovingly, and instead gave him a look of distress.
"You were supposed to kiss me then, not tell me why you were throwing up."
Again, that urge to scream.
"...I thought you might want to be assured it was not your fault and that I was grateful that you-"
"Yeah, but...Aoshi-sama, you ruined the moment. I mean, I'm glad and all, but I was really hoping that-"
The silence had been preferable, he decided, and so he complied and did kiss her, softly at first, then deeper, harder with more of himself, more of his heart, more of his mouth in general.
And then Misao pulled back.
"On second thought, you taste kind of..."she made a face as she tried to think of the word.
Aoshi stared at her, then lay down, rolled over and pulled the covers of his futon up over his head.
"Remember that thing I said about being alone?"
-------
Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Okon and Omasu turned to each other.
"I think everything will be all right now."Omasu smiled.
"Was that ever in doubt?"
"No, but... Misao-chan's ego was a little on the edge there for a while. It sounds like Aoshi-sama took care of that."
"I think he's taking care of a lot more, if you ask me."
" Misao-chan is right, Okon, you're so awful. Aoshi-sama has been terribly ill, do you think he'd want to do that right now? Goodness..." Omasu turned and headed back to the kitchen while Okon remained looking upwards to the second floor. "We've got to get started for tomorrow and-"
"Omasu, why have you been wearing Shiro's coat all day?"
The other woman froze.
"I...uh...my...er...my house coat is in the laundry and..."
Okon sized her up, looked up the stairs again, then grinned and made for the kitchen.
"And you say I'm the awful one."
-------
"For your next birthday, Aoshi-sama, I'll be the one holding your hair back."
"...I really hope it doesn't come to that."
End.