Author Notes: I'm really, really sorry for the amount of time it's taken to get this out, and though I don't blame you for not believing this, it honestly wasn't my fault. See, I had most of this written … all the way to chapter 16, with only a couple more to go … and I was in full flow, you know … and then … I'm not quite sure how it happened, and why it happened, but all my MS Word files got wiped … And, well, after that I just couldn't force myself to write the same thing all over again, and its taken me two months to resign myself to redoing this – trying to keep the basics the same and the writing totally different, 'cause I didn't even remember what was supposed to happen in this chapter, and I'm beyond rewriting the very same thing – where's the fun in that?

Basically, I'm really sorry.

~*~

I was waiting on a different story.

Kaoru's younger brother was the most bloody rebellious teenager she'd ever met, especially considering he wasn't even a teenager. Having met Megumi and Kaoru and Tsubame, and even Himura – one of Kaoru's freeloaders – Misao'd thought that Yahiko couldn't be quite as bad as Kaoru made out.

Apparently, he was.

"So," she said.

He glared, banged his heels against the table legs, and continued pretending to be deaf.

"So," she tried again, kicking her own legs as she sat on the tabletop.

He gripped the wooden staff he held and swung it around threateningly. She had visions of her head being crushed like a watermelon beneath it.

She tried a third time. "So. Do you – uh – like Misselthwaite Manor?"

At least he spoke. "No."

"No?"

"No."

"You don't think it's – um – nice and spacious? And set in a really nice place? And not all that dank and depressing after all?"

"No."

As a rule, she wasn't the type who sat around with people and attempted to make friends, but hey, there was never a new face to see in the manor, and Yahiko was Kaoru's ten-year-old brother and she always seemed to get along pretty well with boys of that age – whether she herself was five or sixteen.

"Do you go to school?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

Okay, this was getting redundant. She scratched her head and kicked her heels some more, accidentally banging them against his and getting the glare of death in return. "Why the hell not?" she said. Slight swearing generally broke the ice. So did gutting people with her kunai.

He looked a little uncomfortable now, and glanced around shiftily before saying, "Kaoru can't afford it."

"Oh," she said. "That's great."

He glanced at her as if he suddenly saw chocolate pouring out of her ears. "Yeah. It is."

"Wish Ao – Shinomori-san couldn't afford governesses either. But no, I have to sit through five hours of lecturing every single day … just get off on weekends, like now, and trust him to leave for France so I can't even go and complain about the timings …"

The boy smirked, spiky hair standing up even straighter. "I don't have to do nothing all day."

It was great that he was talking, but this one-up-manship was something she didn't like at all. "That's exactly what I used to do for all these months," she said, paused, then clarified, "Nothing, I mean. I did nothing."

"I still do nothing," pointed out Yahiko, with awful truth.

That one she really couldn't beat, so she snapped, "I spent many more years doing nothing than you did, you brat."

"Oh, don't worry, weasel girl, Kaoru'll never be able to afford for me to do anything, so I'll spend the rest of my life without any studying, and you can't ever beat that, 'cause you already are studying."

"W-weasel girl?! How dare – "

"You called me 'brat'!"

"You are a brat! You're way too obnoxious for a ten-year-old – "

"Well, you do look like a weasel! Especially with all your hair braided back like that – what is with that sniveling look? My sisters are always doing it."

"Had a peek at your own hair lately? Looks like a frozen porcupine's sittin' on your head – "

"You seen Sanosuke? Streetfighter type, one of our boarders – not that they pay, 'cause Sano thinks just living there's stressful enough, but – seen him? Now that's hair to see."

Distracted from the criticism of her own hair, which was a little tightly pulled back today – she'd tied it wet, and so none of the usual haphazard locks fell around her face – she said, "Nah. Seen Himura – thought maybe his hair was fake or something … any ideas?"

Yahiko chortled. "Fake? Kenshin's hair? God, no! All the smiles and general stupidity, yeah, less than skin deep, but the hair – not at all." There was a pause. "He's a lot like Mr. Shinomori, Kenshin."

She blinked. "Didn't see much of Himura, but he was definitely not like Aoshi-sama!"

He waved a hand vaguely, the staff whizzing past her nose and making her jerk backwards quickly. "Well, they're both not – there – you know, when they're talking to you. Like Shinomori's all cold and cut-off and do-my-bidding-or-die, and Kenshin's all smiley and idiotic and that's not who they are at all, not really … and God you must be really thick not to get what I meant."

"Didn't think you were deep enough to ever think of anything like that."

"Shouldn't've said it – it's not like you're capable of actually understanding it, weasel girl – "

"Shinomori's on his way – think maybe you two should clear out," said a new voice.

"Don't call me that, you little freak – "

"Weasel girl, weasel girl, weasel – "

"Hey! Yahiko! And – uh – the girl with him! Shinomori's back, on his way up, don't think he'd be very happy to see you two sitting on one of his sidetables right here in the middle of the hall. So scram."

She turned around to look at the source of the voice and was confronted with mud-spattered clothing and chocolate-brown eyes. "Who're you?" she said suspiciously.

"Name's Sanosuke – Kaoru's freeloader?"

"Oh yeah …"

"You're Shinomori's ward, aren't you? Thought you'd be a little taller – less weaselly – well, come on, get out of here. He's going to have a fit if he catches you here, Yahiko," he added, leaning forward towards the boy. "And don't know much about how Shinomori treats you, girl, but it'd be no more than the preservation of your innocent mind if you got out of here too."

She blinked. "Less weaselly – ?"

Sanosuke grabbed Yahiko by the back of his collar and started carrying him, kicking and screaming, towards the kitchens, turning his head to call over his shoulder, "It's the hair!"

Kunai. That's what she wanted. Wanted her kunai, wanted to saw that idiot's rooster-like mop off, wanted to gut him like a fish … She reached around for something, anything, to throw at Sanosuke's retreating back, her hand coming in contact with the smooth surface of a glass vase. Her fingers closed around it; she lifted it up, face contorted in a snarl, taking aim, ready to throw –

"That cost quite a bit of money, Misao."

It was like the proverbial bucket of cold water had just been upended over her head. She made a strangled noise that sounded horribly like, "Eeep," and let go of the vase immediately. Let go in midair. It hurtled towards the ground, and she saw his hand stretch out in unbelievable slow-motion and catch it inches from the carpeted floor.

"Eep," she said again.

He straightened and set it back on the table on which she was sitting. She wanted to jump off immediately, but for that she'd have to scoot away from the vase and risk banging into him as he leaned over her, or just slide off right there and risk knocking the vase down again. So she sat. Sat and blushed.

He adjusted the vase a little, looked caught between amusement and annoyance – as far as he ever looked caught between anything. She knew it was her cue to talk – to apologise – to explain – but her mouth refused to form any words.

"Don't sit on the table," he said.

Visions of Sanosuke smirking flashed through her head, jerking her brain into coherency. "I – I'm really sorry, honestly I am, but it wasn't my fault, not really – it was that Yahiko – he's such a brat – and – and Sanosuke – !"

"I fail to see what Yahiko being a brat has to do with you sitting on the table."

"Argh!" she said, banging her heels against the table legs and almost upsetting the vase again. "Not the sitting, the vase – the vase throwing …" She petered off suddenly, gulping. "I – I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to … it just happened … and it probably wouldn't've broken anyway, ne?" she finished hopefully, eyes wide.

She thought he sighed. "It's made of glass, Misao. Of course it would have."

"H-Hai …" she said, unconscious of her lapse.

There was a pause, in which he just stood there in front of her, and she sat there on the table, her back inches from the wall, her mind searching for something to say, wondering why he just didn't leave and hoping desperately that he wouldn't.

"S-So," she managed, after a while. "You're – uh – back."

He didn't say anything. She kicked herself mentally – that remark really didn't deserve a response. She went on, cheeks hot, "As in, back. Early. You're back early. Why?" She stopped for a second, thought about how that sounded, and amended quickly, "Not that I don't want you to be back early – 'cause I do, really, it's just – how come?"

"My work was finished," he said.

Obviously, she thought to herself. And suddenly she realised that her brain was still not working fast enough, and he really didn't need to be standing all that close anymore, and the proper thing for her to do would be to lean back a little – but, God, she didn't want to move away at all –

"Right. Yeah. Of course. I'll talk to you later, then? 'Cause, you know, I have things to do – governesses to talk to – of course, it's the weekend, so she's not here, but there's always the – uh – possibility … and I really need to talk to you about the timings, by the way – "

"Later, then," he agreed, thankfully cutting her off. She thought maybe his eyes smiled, but she could never be sure – cool grey and glinting, as usual … but maybe he was amused? Maybe he wasn't angry? Maybe he felt – something?

He nodded at her and continued up the stairs, shedding his travelling coat as he went. And she sat there next to the painted vase and wondered whether he'd ever stop making her feel embarrassed. And … well, she had no words for what else he made her feel.

Sanosuke was different. Like Himura, Kaoru's other freeloader, was different. They were both differently different, that was all, but different nonetheless.

She couldn't really pin it down. It wasn't because they were both Japanese and stuck out a mile in the middle of a crowded street, or because of Himura's strange scar and the sword that hung at his side. It wasn't because of Sanosuke's blood-red bandana or Himura's long hair. There was just something else about them, the way there was something about Aoshi – Yahiko was so right – that was different.

She liked Sanosuke, though. He wasn't up at the manor much – she'd only seen him that one time – but when he was he seemed more at home than she did. She walked in on him much later in the kitchen, gnawing on a leg of mutton, feet up on the stone countertop opposite. Omasu and Okon, who'd lectured her incessantly about the wrongness of having her feet higher than foodstuffs whenever she'd tried something like this, hovered around him, giggling, pouring him mugs of ale and loading his plate with roast potatoes.

She hadn't ever seen an expression of disgust equal to the one which adorned Yahiko's face as he sat next to Sanosuke.

Noticing her, Yahiko nudged him and said in a disgruntled voice, "Look. Weasel girl's still alive. Shinomori caught her, and she's still alive."

Sano looked up, raised an eyebrow, and shrugged. "Favouritism," he mumbled.

"Gah!" said Yahiko, sounding scarily like Kaoru.

Maneuvering his tongue around a mouthful of potato, Sanosuke said, "Jus' savin' your skin, Yahiko-chan. Shinomori would've had you cut, quar'ered, and hanged if he saw you five feet from his precious vases, yeah?" The last bit was directed at Okon and Omasu, who nodded in unison. Yahiko rolled his eyes and muttered something nobody could quite catch.

She talked to both of them for hours – at least for as long as it took Kaoru and Tsubame to work their way through the entire mansion. She found out that Kenshin and Sanosuke had left Japan together, for reasons that got lost in stuffed mouthfuls of meat and vegetable. She learnt that Yahiko had a 'thing' for Tsubame and that Sano had a far greater 'thing' for Megumi. She found out that her own 'thing' was painfully transparent to them both.

She heard about Kenshin and Kaoru, about their special brand of angst and unhappiness, about the days of laundry and laughter and the nights of loneliness and worry. She heard about Japan, heard about sakura trees and nausea-inducing ships, reminisced about snowfall in Kyoto. She spoke Japanese, pure and undiluted, after so very long, and it was so nice to hear it from another mouth again, to hear Sanosuke talk about the most mundane things in her language, and God, she never knew she missed it so much … there was something about Japanese, something that just couldn't be expressed, couldn't be conveyed, in English, at least not to her.

And she extracted an invitation to Kaoru's from them, and a promise to give her a tour of the town – a far better trip than the few shops she passed by when they went down for dresses and cloth. And when they left –

"See ya, weasel girl – "

"So long, Roosterhead!"

 – she carried with her the memory of warm brown eyes and spiky hair, and that strange cared-for feeling she used to have back home, with Jiya – but not quite. This weird, uncomplicated feeling of being liked. Unforced. Not tolerated because she was a ward, or because it was a duty to serve her – but just for her. Because Sano and Yahiko didn't have to talk to her, didn't have to take her around town, but they did, and they would.

Because Aoshi-sama had to endure her, and Omasu and Okon had to be nice to her.

And who knew whether it was real?

"Aoshi-sama?"

"Hm?"

"Are you busy?"

"Yes."

"I – I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For the vase."

"Ah."

"That didn't sound good."

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"No, it didn't sound good."

"Y-Yeah … and about that day, before you left. Sorry for – uh – dripping snow all over your carpet – and – and not letting you speak – and – yeah …"

"Ah."

"That didn't sound good either."

"No."

"What, no?"

"No, it didn't."

She suddenly broke out in a grin, her nervously twisting fingers coming to rest on her lap. He gave her his Smile Look, the one which allowed the room to be cheery and blue-grey to be a warm colour instead of dead and cold. No change in his expression, but that didn't bother her. She liked him as he was, wouldn't want him to start singing when he was happy or shouting when he wasn't. Not that she wouldn't mind a smile, now and then …

"And, you know, the governess? She's not so bad."

And there was the look she loved, the one where his eyes crinkled that tiny little bit, the look which made her think that this was it, this was the day – made her think that the smile she was after was just about to break out any minute.

"Is that so?" he said.

"Uh-huh," she said emphatically. "But could we have – fewer – hours in a day? Because this is way too much, it's illegal, I think, can't possibly be allowed – "

"Don't you spend just – five hours?"

"Just? That's my entire day! I mean, it gets dark by four – it's winter, hello – and it's really not fair … Can't we just cut back on one hour? Please?"

He shook his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. She wondered vaguely why he didn't get it chopped off. She would hate it if he did that, but it was what practicality demanded … "No."

"But why?"

"The longer you spend studying, the less time you spend throwing priceless Chinese vases around."

She reddened, both in anger and – was that teasing? – embarrassment. "Hey, I didn't know it was a priceless Chinese vase!"

He just looked at her, and she spluttered and said, "Not that that makes it okay to throw it, I know, I'm not saying that, and I said I was sorry, and I am, and – please can we make it four hours a day?"

"No."

She left seething, hating everything about him – his stubbornness, his stupid hair, his dumb blank face … loving the quirk of his eyebrow, the planes of his face, the way his hair fell into his eyes …

She wasn't really up to analyzing the contradictions, thank you very much.

~*~