Memory's Touch
A RK fanfiction by eriesalia: onigirichan mindspring dot com
Standard disclaimer applies.
She closed her eyes and tried so hard to think of that memory – a young girl's face touched with delight first at the first taste of summer.
Blue eyes lit with happiness --the same color oddly enough as those of the man who had turned them from her to the rocks on the riverbed for the safest and surest places for the horse to step.
But it was hard to think of Misao, when her own head refused to logically overrule the pounding of her heart.
Megumi dimly wondered if he could hear it, even with the wind blowing at their back and the water rushing underneath the hooves of their beast. Not just her heart, but the ache of a sudden loneliness which became more and more obvious to her the longer the ride stretched, the more time she spent nestled against him.
It angered her to feel it – the sudden awareness of something not being quite complete in her life – even though she did not despise anything of the life she had built in Aizu.
Don't be such a weak, foolish, woman as to go to pieces as soon as a man holds you in his arms.
"The rain is getting worse," she spoke suddenly, flatly.
And don't so sound so damned petty either. She almost slapped herself for sounding so moronically childish.
"Is it?" Aoshi turned those cool eyes to her which made her forget the uncomfortable way her kimono clung to her legs and instead think of how she didn't protest after he responded by drawing her even closer to share more of that blasted trenchcoast with her.
She felt danger. Not from him, but because of him. Because he – like Kenshin – had been intricately involved with everything that had changed part of her life the last five years. Because he was threatening to do it again – to mess with the careful life she had built for herself. A life where she was respected, admired, loved – but always distant and always alone.
Her mind betrayed her by telling her that he, impossibly was the only someone other than her saintly Ken-san who could understand her.
"Please," she shivered. "Let's turn back. It's getting worse and you're getting all soaked."
"This kind of water can not kill a man."
No it could not. But it could make him seem more human, plaster that perfectly cool face with those ridiculous bangs of his – and glisten invitingly on his skin, asking to be wiped off with one of the handkerchiefs that she kept hidden away inside her obi.
Don't! Her inner voice screamed loudly as her fingers on her left hand moved slightly towards her obi, so loudly that she had to shut her eyes.
He stiffened. "Megumi?"
Did he hear that?
She forced her voice to sound cool, clipped as her hand withdrew again to the safety of her lap. Instinct kicked in – and words came to her mouth. "If you're soaked to the bone and become ill, neither Okina or Misao will ever forgive me."
She emphasized Misao's name. She emphasized it to remind herself of a reason why nothing could ever, should ever, or would ever happen. A reminder not to just herself – but to him.
As always, he was imperturbable. "Do you know them well enough to speak that?" Aoshi looked ahead, which mysteriously she understood to mean he thought that she did not.
Damn those blue eyes of his. Damn them for not even blinking. . "But--"
"But what of Himura, who gave you over to my keeping? Tell me, since you understand him more than I -- would he forgive me if I failed to deliver on my task?"
She felt her temper rise and then fade. I can never win, can I? Ken-san was the one person whose own judgment she would take above her own. She almost sighed as she answered. "Then, can we at least stop for a while somewhere out of the rain?"
At that, Aoshi did a small and rare thing. He smiled slightly – aware that she had given up on her little scheme. "There is a shelter a short climb up that hill."
He had already stopped and dismounted the horse before it hit her that he had stopped the horse before she had asked the question and given in on her demand to turn back. Her mouth twisted slightly as she considered that he had known this shelter was here while she argued with him.
"Shinomori!" She felt irritated – at the rain, at her inability to reason her way into winning this argument, at him for being right in what he said and for also being ahead of her, and most of all – at herself.
"It's not far," he ignored her weak attempts to struggle and had already taken her gently into his arms to take her off the horse. He tended to the horse -- taking down the bags attached to the saddle and moving it off into the bushes before turning back to her, his one free hand outstretched towards her.
"I can walk." She ignored it and despite the pain, took a step on her own. She would have tossed her head if she could, but the rain had turned the normally silky strands into wet, dead weight on her shoulders.
"Of course," he answered and walked up the gentle slope. "Let me go ahead then."
She hobbled behind him, ignoring pointedly the shelter had tried to offer her under his coat as he moved towards the shelter hidden carefully off in the treeline and under the roof that offered a small area of protection against the wetness outside. She tried very hard to look dignified as she dripped all over the packed dirt floor and looked out the window
"Megumi." He was standing behind her, his fingers resting lightly on her damp sleeve.
"You're right, Shinomori," she suddenly felt nervous as she realized that again that her mind continued to betray her. All this time -- she had sought to avoid being alone with him and now they stood inside a shelter removed from an already poorly traveled course.
A moronic choice. Left alone, one could only think of all the things that could happen.
"We should probably not turn back, it'll be impossible to go back that way anyways with the rain. It'll be dark earlier and we should just press on. We can't really build a fire in here and I'm already soaked and so it's utterly pointless to dawdle here and, and—" And she sneezed. Darkly, she realized that she had been babbling. Second, that now in addition to her own logic failing her – her body was now also conspiring against her.
"It's nothing," she tried to move away, but felt a strange tickling sensation in her nose again. Again her body defied her as she sneezed most ungraciously into the handkerchief she had procured quickly from her obi.
Aoshi Shinomori cleared his throat. "I think you were right to suggest we wait out the rain." His mouth moved slightly in amusement as he saw her start in surprise. "But as for your concerns -- there is some dry wood in the corner and this floor is dirt. And there is tinder in the saddlebags as well as other things which are not pointless or useless."
She realized he meant to build a fire. "How long do we stay here, then?"
"It depends," he answered in his usual infuriating abstract way.
She narrowed her eyes briefly, wondering what that meant. Was it a reference to the rain? Was it a reference to her and his apparent enjoyment over her being out of sorts? Was it some weird plan devised by both him and Kenshin?
He is having fun at my expense, that damned man.
Defiantly she turned back to the open window. "Well, I have nothing to eat in my bags – other than a handful of medicinal herbs and a useless ceramic cup. Tell me, Okashira, since you are so obviously prepared if you have anything to eat or drink? Or are we going to sit here and stare at each other until the rain stops?"
"Only dried mystery rations," he stated in dry, serious tones.
She turned to eye the package that he had taken out and eyed it suspiciously. "It looks like it's a cord of cured leather from one of those foreign merchants."
"It is." He took out another small box. "This is what Okina had the kitchen pack for you."
She might have laughed as it occurred to her that perhaps the man did have a sense of humor. On any other day, perhaps she would have. But with the rain weighing on her, with her arm throbbing oddly, and with all her thoughts and emotions thrown out of sorts – she simply overreacted. "Are you trying to provoke me, Shinomori? Or is there any good reason why today of all days you are constantly putting me into my place?"
She expected him to simply ignore her, but surprisingly, he responded. "Tell me, is it what I say that bothers you so much? Or perhaps it's Himura?"
"Ken-san?" She started, surprised.
"You were worried enough for him to come all this way – and even now you have not said whether or not you learned enough regarding his health." He moved closer, not knowing that it both perturbed her and forced her to speak. "And you have been distracted the entire ride."
Foolish woman. He noticed.
Her face grew redder, this time not in anger, but desperately trying to find some way out of admitting something she did not wish to reveal. "It is still not clear. There is hope, but I can not completely understand what Hiko Seijuro means sometimes. Men are difficult to understand in their vague ways –particularly fighters."
"What did he say?" His eyes were thoughtful, ignorant of the water that dripped through his hair and down his cheek.
Or perhaps he had not.
"Oh-- something like answers are not so easily found," she answered somewhat dismissively, now that she felt the danger had passed.
"I see."
She raised her left hand to wipe at the water that had dripped on her right cheek. "By the way, you're dripping water on to me, Shinomori." Ineffectively.
She nearly jumped when he pressed a cloth to her cheek. "You don't need to do that."
His expression was disturbingly placid. "It has nothing to do with Himura, then.."
"No." She turned away and looked outside, willing the traitorous jumbled thoughts inside her away. I don't like being alone. I don't like to need, to want, to desire – to be weak! . "I don't wish to discuss it. "
He was silent -- perhaps put off by her stubborn refusal to be anything but open with him.
Desperately she looked for something else to occupy him, to push him away and tell him that he was treading dangerous ground that she didn't wish to have tread. The sound of droplets hitting the ground reminded her that she wanted warmth to rid herself of the water that she hated. "Aren't you going to start that fire?"
She felt his hand on his shoulder before he spun her around slowly to look at her closely. "Is that your wish?"
Foolishly, she said nothing as she stared into his blue eyes, as calm and as certain as hers were confused and conflicted.
He bent his head down slightly to hear the words she did not speak. She did not move.
"Ah," he answered in kind as he drew her closer, where she could not escape noticing that he was warm, warmer than any fire he could build in this sorry shelter. "I thought so."
She yielded finally, tilting her head up to receive the kiss that had been impending all along, ignoring the mocking voice in her head and the sound of her world crashing down all around her.
Grumble. The muse was a little weird this particular outing. Perhaps somewhat indulgent and unexpectedly playful. If I regret it in the morning or find some glaring inconsistencies, I shall remove it and edit it into submission. But if you catch it before then – well happy you. :p
