A/N: In three words: I'm so sorry.

Scream, "Are we having fun yet?"

Aoshi had said that the library wasn't very big, that it'd be easy enough to navigate. Aoshi had been dead wrong.

Shelves upon shelves of books, stuffed into a deceptively small room with shuttered windows, smelling of dank and dust and cold fireplaces, depressively ordered. She'd been wandering around here for hours, it seemed, squinting at the yellowing labels on the wooden shelves, assuming that there would be no more crooked turnings between the bookcases and always finding another two seconds later.

She hadn't meant to choose today to explore the library, but her governess had called in sick and wasn't coming in from her house in town, so she had the day off. And Aoshi was off on one of his business trips, so she couldn't hang around in his room either. It was the library, then, dark and tomb-like, because it was cold and slushy out in the gardens and she had no spares if her socks got wet.

Shelves on the right wall, he'd said. Well, if she could find the right wall it'd be a start.

Eventually she found a window, encrusted with grime, its latch faulty. She had no idea which wall this window was set in, but it had a nice clean window seat, so she sat down there. Outside she could see Shiro and Kuro clearing mud from the driveway, trying to make an easy pathway for the arrival of Aoshi's carriage later in the day. At the gates, she could make out two dark figures, wrapped in scarves and coats the way everyone was – it was absurdly chilly for March – making their way into the grounds. She wondered who they were, but wasn't really bothered.

It felt strange to sit like this in this dank room, full of moldy books and untold stories. She felt as if she'd entered some other part of the house, almost like the way she used to feel when she entered Aoshi's rooms. Except now Aoshi's rooms didn't feel alien – they belonged to her as much as the grounds, or the kitchen. Not hers, but she was welcome there anyway.

But here, in the library, it was different. This place didn't feel possessed, the way Aoshi's rooms had, initially – possessed by him and all he thought right and fitting – but, in a way, it did. It was occupied, she felt, if not possessed.

She didn't believe in ghosts, or bakemono, or any of that – and she didn't think that right now she was talking about anything supernatural. It was just – a feeling that this room gave her.

Maybe it was the portrait staring down.

Right opposite the window, obscurely hung on the back of the bookshelf opposite this window seat, was a portrait of an Englishwoman, most likely Aoshi's mother. Or grandmother. She couldn't be sure – the woman didn't really resemble Aoshi, but then painting was an inexact art. Hair a dull shade of blonde, eyes blue but set much closer together than Aoshi's – attractive woman, perhaps, but not in this particular portrait.

To Misao, she seemed to have no distinguishing feature, nothing that would make you remember her a few days later. She didn't look tortured, or elated, or distant – she looked straight at the windowsill, polite smile on her face, and there was nothing different about her. Not the way there was something so very different about Aoshi.

And yet … and yet she occupied this room, in her blank grimy sort of way, the way she had probably occupied this house, too.

She remembered the inn back home, with its wide airy windows and colourful shoji. At the floors that glowed when the morning sunlight spilled through. And she thought, more and more, that the way this house was – the way Aoshi was – was perhaps not completely his fault. That he wouldn't be so not there if his mother hadn't been like this, if his dad hadn't left him as a child with as little place in proper society as he had had himself, if this house hadn't been so bloody huge …

She shook her head to snap herself out of her thoughts. If she wasn't careful, this house was going to eat away at her too.

Her scarf had slipped down from the leather covering of the window seat; she bent down to pick it up, ready to leave, and when she straightened there was a man standing in front of her.

She was a girl after all – she screamed.

"Shh," he said, slim finger raised to his lips. "Is Shinomori here?"

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, taking a careful step back. Her calves hit the window seat, and she teetered. Did she remember nothing of her ninja training?

"Is Shinomori here?"

"If you honestly think I'm gonna answer you when I don't have a clue who you are or what you're doing here – "

The man eyed her up and down, brown-yellow eyes and a sneer on his face. "You must be his ward. Younger than I expected."

She climbed backwards onto the window seat, keeping a good three feet between herself and the tall man. Standing up here, she could kick him directly in his face. It would have been more effective to go for his groin, but her position had been all wrong standing in front of him. "If you don't tell me who you are I will make you wish you were never born," she snarled.

The man smirked. She had never seen anyone define a smirk like that. "Girl, if you give me an excuse to hurt you, it will give my life meaning. Now where is Shinomori?"

Her foot caught him on his left cheek, whipped his face around.

When his head snapped back, his eyes were glowing. With – joy? She couldn't be sure. Suddenly, she was actually scared. She had been freaked, of course, when she'd seen this man, but she'd thought there could be a reasonable explanation, and you didn't hit total strangers, of course you didn't, but it was just how she was – and the look in this man's eyes now was just so – dangerous.

He said, "My name is Saitou Hajime."

That sounded familiar. She didn't know why. "And that makes a difference to me because – ?"

His eyes narrowed further, if that was possible. "I've given you my name, ahou. I'm displaying trust."

She snorted. "And I'm displaying friendship," she said, brandishing her foot again.

The man – Saitou – rolled his eyes. "This is the last time. Where is Shinomori?"

"Not here," she said. It seemed a safe enough thing to say. And if worst came to worst, she could simply throw herself backwards, out of this window. Might hurt a horrible lot, but this man wouldn't be able to harm her.

The man shook his head. "The idiot."

"Aoshi-sama is not an idiot – "

She'd totally set herself up for the smirk that he responded with. "Sama?" he said, raising one sardonic eyebrow. "Of course." And then, with just enough stress on the word, "Idiot."

This time her foot missed his face by a good six inches. She lost her balance and landed with an ungainly thud on the library carpet, the breath knocked out of her lungs.

The man smirked again. Honestly, he never stopped smirking. "When will he be back?" he asked.

"I dunno," she answered, face still plastered to the floor.

"Give me a rough estimate," he said.

She picked herself up, glared at him. "I don't know," she said.

The man looked at her for a long second before saying, "Fine. I will wait for him downstairs."

She blinked at him. "Excuse me? You can't just stay here! Go home! I'll tell him you came – he can get in touch with you – "

He didn't bother to answer her. He simply turned and left, his shoes making a sharp tapping sound even against the moldy carpet. She ran after him, skirt held up in one hand, cold air hitting her knees.

"Okon!" she screamed when she reached the top of the stairs, as the man descended ahead of her.

Okon came running out, apron clutched in one hand. "Misao! What's wrong?" she said, clutching a hand to her chest.

"There's a strange man here!" she yelled.

The strange man in question didn't even falter in his stride. He made his way downstairs and sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs in the entrance hall – right next to the table where Misao had almost broken that Chinese vase. That seemed so long ago, somehow.

Okon blinked. "There is?"

Maybe Misao had gone mad. Maybe she was hallucinating. Aoshi must keep stashes of poppies in the library. "Look!" she screamed, pointing at the man's back.

"Oh," said Okon, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Hajime-san, I forgot you hadn't met our ward. Misao, this is Saitou Hajime. He works with Aoshi-sama, sometimes. Saitou-san, this is Makimachi Misao – Aoshi-sama's ward."

"You're saying sorry to him?" she said, incredulous. "I'm the one he scared the shit out of!"

Saitou smirked, predictably, and said nothing.

Okon smiled. "I didn't know you hadn't met him. He's here frequently – I cannot imagine how you've avoided him all these months."

"I hide from her," said Saitou, sarcastic.

Misao wished for her kunai more than she ever had since she'd come to England. "He wants to talk to Aoshi-sama," she ground out, finally. "He refuses to leave."

Okon nodded calmly, turning to go back inside the kitchen. "He is welcome to wait – Aoshi-sama will be back this evening, after all."

"Welcome?" shrieked Misao, as Saitou smirked at the ceiling.

She kept a strict watch from her window, because she wanted to rail at Aoshi about the injustice of this man who was just allowed to walk in while no one bothered to even mention him to her, and she lived here, damn it – but when his carriage did roll in, finally, Saitou walked out to meet it, so that he was already deep in conversation with Aoshi by the time Misao managed to get herself downstairs.

"Mou!" she said, standing in front of that ill-fated vase.

Aoshi turned to look at her, and he didn't smile or even let his eyes crinkle, but she could sense, somehow, that he was glad to see her. She hoped fervently that Saitou couldn't sense that – she didn't know why, but she did. "Good evening, Misao," he said.

"I found this man in the library," she told him.

"Yes, he's told me. I'm sorry I didn't warn you that he would be coming."

"I don't think you knew."

Aoshi looked at her silently for a second. "We will talk later," he said, in the tone that brooked no argument.

"We better," she said threateningly, and stomped up the stairs.

Around ten o'clock, Okon asked her to help carry the dinner trays upstairs for Aoshi-sama and his – she couldn't believe Okon used the word – guest. She really wanted to refuse, but it meant that Okon would have to make two trips while only one of them received food and Misao just knew that Saitou would get it first and she wasn't going to let that happen –

They knocked loudly when they reached Aoshi's door, and the dull murmur of voices from behind the door faded at once. Inside, Saitou was sitting on the chair Misao usually occupied, and there was a closed file lying between them on the desk.

As Okon placed the tray of food in front of Saitou, and Misao positioned hers in front of Aoshi, Saitou said pointedly, "I think you will have to."

Aoshi nodded, eyes on the plate in front of him. "I will."

"Take the girl."

He looked up, and Misao wondered if they were talking about her. Aoshi said, "No."

Okon turned to leave, apparently ignoring this exchange, but Misao played her clumsy card and dropped a fork, and used up a few extra seconds in attempting to pick it up. Saitou said, "You'll have to."

"It's dangerous."

"You think it's safer otherwise?"

There was a pause, then. "I'll see what I can do," said Aoshi finally.

They didn't seem to be saying anything more, so Misao put the fork back in Aoshi's tray and turned to leave. She was almost at the door when she heard his voice call her, turned to hear him saying, "Can you come back in an hour or so, Misao?"

She looked at him, but his expression was unreadable. "Okay," she said, and when he didn't say anything else, she opened the door and walked out.

She came back in exactly an hour, because she really had nothing to do but lie around in her room and wait for time to pass, and imagine all the possible ways she could cause Saitou Hajime pain. Which was terribly entertaining, but without any real weapons at hand, her imagination wasn't working overdrive. And there was the prospect of a real talk with Aoshi looming …

When she knocked and went in he was sitting behind his desk as always, an oil lamp perched on his filing cabinet to light the room. There was no paperwork on the tabletop in front of him; it seemed oddly blank, as if someone had taken everything it had ever held and thrown it in the garbage somewhere, and then wiped it down with turpentine.

Clean slate? she wondered.

"I'm sorry Saitou shocked you," he said immediately, as she sat down. She was glad he didn't say scared. "I did not know he was coming, that is true, but I did suspect he might."

She shrugged. "It's okay. But – thing is, he could've been anybody."

"Omasu wouldn't have let him in if he'd just been anybody."

"I didn't know Omasu let him in. I just thought he was some random man who'd turned up in the library. Which is a dark stinky horrible place, by the way."

Tinge of a smile around his eyes, none on his face. "You didn't find anything you liked?"

She didn't want to disappoint him in some obscure way, so she said, "There was a nice window."

"I see," he said, and he sounded amused.

"There was a portrait, too, except I didn't really like it," she added thoughtfully.

The slight smile hovering around his eyes – around, never in – disappeared. "A portrait?" he said neutrally.

"Yeah." She didn't want to talk to him about it – well, she did, but she didn't think he wanted to talk about it with her. So she changed the subject. "What did Saitou want to talk about then?"

The answer should have been, "It's confidential, Misao." Instead Aoshi looked at her, directly, and said, "He believes I am being stupid."

She snorted. "He told me that."

Aoshi looked slightly surprised – or as surprised as he could ever look. "Did he?"

"He said you were an idiot."

In response, Aoshi smirked. Almost like Saitou himself.

"I hit him."

"You … hit him?"

"Yeah. Kicked, really."

"He let you?"

She was on her feet in an instant. "He did not let me, I bloody well slammed my foot into his face and people don't exactly let you do that – "

He held up a placating hand. "Saitou's a – talented man, a good fighter. If you managed to hit him – that's quite impressive."

She would have liked to swell with pride and take the praise, but she knew – "I caught him off-guard," she admitted honestly. "It didn't work the second time."

"You tried twice?"

She snorted. "'Course."

He inclined his head, ever so slightly. "Of course," he agreed, and he sounded amused. Again. There were a few seconds of silence – not uncomfortable, because his voice had been warm and she felt warm, herself – and then he said, "Misao?"

"Yeah?" she said.

"How would you like to go to London?"

She blinked. "What?"

She knew he disliked repeating himself, and his voice was blank when he said, "Would you like to go to London?"

"Um – I mean – when? How? With you? By myself? Why? I mean – I dunno!"

"A week from now. By – train. With me. For business purposes."

She grinned, but it was shaky. "You want to take me with you on a business trip?" she said, disbelieving.

He didn't say anything.

"Oh," she said. "This is what Saitou was talking about, isn't it? When we gave you dinner."

Eventually, he nodded. "We're very close to shutting down a spy we've been after for years. Except he is equally close to shutting us down as well. I want to beat him to it."

"Except you think he might turn up here while you – beat him to it?"

"If I am not quick enough, yes."

"Which is why you're taking me?"

"If you – " He paused, and this time, just maybe, the smile was in his eyes, not just around them. But she couldn't be sure. " – agree to come."

She grinned. "It's not like I'd kick you in the face," she said.

"You never know," he said wryly.

She laughed. "So – so if I want to stay here, I could be in mortal danger?"

He hesitated, then he said, "Yes."

"Well, then, it's not like I have much choice, do I? I'm not suicidal yet."

The smile had faded from his eyes, and she hoped it would return, but it didn't. He just looked at her, expression unreadable again, but not cold. Not cold at all. After a while he said, "I've known that we were heading for this situation for a while now. But today, when Saitou told me how he managed to come inside unannounced, I actually realized that it – really is not safe here."

"You said yourself that he couldn't have walked in if Omasu hadn't let him."

Aoshi looked away. "Yes, he could."

She understood. If he had wanted to force his way inside, he could have. And Aoshi believed that things were coming to such a pass that people might actually force their way through the doors. It wouldn't be hard at all – they lived so far out from the village, with two other women and a couple of men who only came to the house occasionally – anyone attempting to break into the house would meet no real resistance if Aoshi wasn't here.

"What about Okon and Omasu?" she said.

"If we go to London," he answered, "I'd give them a couple of weeks off, make sure they leave this house. Even if they don't … I doubt they will be harmed."

"And I would be?" she said.

He looked at her, straight into her eyes. There was something there that scared her. When he said, "You are my ward," the words seemed too casual for that look in his eyes.

She thought she was supposed to understand something big here, but she didn't.

"It could be fun," she said musingly, after a pause. "I mean, I've been to London, but I haven't actually seen it. I just caught the train to Yorkshire there, and it was dark and rainy and I couldn't see a thing." She thought for a second, then said, "Not that that's anything new."

He was looking at a point somewhere past her when she looked up, and it was a minute before he said, "All right. Good." He faced her again, then, and his eyes were no longer distant. "I'm glad we decided this without physical violence."

She grinned. "I wouldn't turn down a trip with you," she said artlessly.

There was something dark in his eyes, suddenly, and it occurred to her – vaguely – that she was reading him a little too well today. She didn't understand why a comment like that would upset him – she didn't mean anything deep by it, it was just how it was … but … well, that was just how he was.

A beat of silence, and then she got up with a smile plastered on her face. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Aoshi-sama. We'll leave in a week, right? That means there won't be any lessons after Friday! Ha!" She pushed her chair back and stood up, directing a wave at him.

At the doorway, he said, "Misao."

Hand on the door, she turned. "Mm?"

"Be careful," he said, and she wasn't sure what he was talking about. Only that he was very, very serious.

"'Course," she said, smiling, and shut the door on her way out.


A/N (cont'd): It's been a hell of a long time, I know. I swore to myself, once, that I would not simply write a story because I felt obligated to write it. And I still agree with that – even as I believe that once an incomplete work is out for someone to read, you have a duty to finish it, and you're pretty dumb if you didn't think of losing interest in the very beginning. So … my compromise is this: I write only when I think I can, only when I feel the urge, but with the promise that I have not abandoned this. Ever. Even if it may seem like it.
Again … I'm really sorry. But we're on the wrap-up, now – I gave Saitou a cameo to put me in the writing mode again. You know how that is. Hehe.