A/N. Rated PG (Perfectly Gorgeous/Petrifyingly Goggle-worthy/Powerfully Gripping/etc.) for a few scenes of heinous, unabashed drooling over bishounen. (Oh yeah, some Pretty Grisly angst too.) You have been warned. Pass the Kleenex.
glossary:
onna no baka = lit. "silly/stupid woman"
kitsune-onna = lit. "fox-lady"; if you can't tell who this is you are hereby sentenced to at least fifty hours of watching the RK anime/reading the manga. Enjoy every moment, please.
-jisan = suffix denoting an uncle or uncle-type relationship
gaijin = foreigner(s)
tantou = essentially, a dagger or knife (though unlike a knife, intended particularly for cutting up human beings)
iya = "no", less formal; usually, but not exclusively, used by males
Sumanai yo. = I am very sorry.
Mune no Monogatari
by Mirune Keishiko
Three: An Ordinary Life
Megumi eyed herself critically in the long mirror, smoothing the silken folds of her wine-colored gown and trying in vain to adjust the bodice so that it did not reveal quite so much of her pale skin. When she finally looked up from her struggles with the corset, she found to her frustration that several wisps had escaped the elegant braids she had toiled over for the past hour.
She had just picked up her hairbrush to comb it all out and start over when there came a knocking at the door of her small house. Startled, she dropped the brush; it clattered noisily onto her desk.
Onna no baka. It's just Shinomori. Shaking her head, she took one last glance at her reflection, frowned at the fine wayward strands before rustling through the corridor toward the door, trying not to think that that was precisely why she was so nervous.
She had not seen Aoshi since they had parted ways late the previous afternoon in the street outside the hospital—he had, of course, walked her back to work. Just before goodbyes were said, he had held out his hand. For a moment she had stared at him in confusion, and then realized he was returning her neglected kanzashi.
In a split second she had made the decision she had been ruminating on during the entire walk back to the hospital. She too retrieved something from her sleeve, and held it out to him. This time it was he who glanced down at her, brows very faintly knit over blue eyes slightly wider than usual.
Pleasure and pride had flowed through her in warm currents: She doubted many were able to completely confound him so.
"I invited myself along to your lunch, but I certainly won't allow you to pay my way." Giving him her sweetest smile had been a lot easier than she'd expected.
And seeing hesitation mar, very briefly, the accustomed intensity of his gaze, she had permitted herself a soft laugh. Then, greatly daring—had he felt how her fingers had trembled against his? how her blood had beat wildly in her wrist?—she had grasped the hands that hung idly at his side, brought them together, and placed within them the small, daintily wrapped box.
At the way he had blinked down at the present, the utterly disarmed, almost rurouni-like look in his startled eyes, she had felt two powerful urges struggle within her: the urge to laugh hysterically, and the urge to run away. Instantly quelling both, she had instead given him another quiet smile and a bow. "Please accept my apologies for my earlier behavior. I have been unkind, Shinomori-san."
The words had been unnecessary, she had realized almost as soon as she had spoken them; in response, a ghost of a smile flitted across his mouth. He had swiftly hidden the box in some pocket of his white coat and returned her bow.
"I'm sorry to keep you further," faltered Megumi, feeling suddenly uncertain of herself, "but..."
She trailed off, feeling as though his cold eyes were raking her over. "Takani-san—you, better than others, know I make very bad company for an evening's festivities."
"Oh." Well, you didn't have to cut me off, at least. Feeling all-too-familiar annoyance sear her cheeks, Megumi half turned away.
"...However, should you desire protection on an evening's journey across town by yourself, I am at your service."
She had caught her breath and glanced back at him. He had surprised her, this time. He stood straight and proud as ever in the street, gazing directly at her with eyes veiled by gracefully falling hair. Afternoon sunlight had bronzed his handsome, impassive features, highlighted the odd bulge of her little gift in his coat.
Megumi had smiled then, and she smiled now as she hurried to the door as quickly as she could in the long, heavy skirts that caught at her feet and the corset that constrained her every breath.
It had all been so strange, the previous afternoon's events—he so oblique in his statements, she so unconventionally forward in her actions. He could've just asked if I wanted him to escort me, she mused as she paused to make sure her earrings hadn't fallen off and her gloves were properly buttoned.
But even as she amused herself with her imaginary complaint, she knew—he had not wished to burden her with the awkwardness of having to reject such an offer, if she had found it unattractive. And she had instinctively known that they knew each other too well for her to act the demure, deferential, perpetually indirect traditional woman she pretended to be with every other man she knew in town.
Shaking her head in dismay at how far her thoughts had wandered, she opened the door and treated herself to a feast of beauty.
Later that night, lying in bed running through the events of the day as she habitually did, she realized he had not been wearing anything entirely unusual—a black suit, a slim black silk tie, shiny black shoes, cream-colored gloves. In fact, the only thing that had been remarkable about his appearance was the conspicuous absence of his huge white coat.
That, and the fact that with twilight's purple shadows gathering around him, the warm light from the lamp over the door gleaming softly in his hair and well pressed evening jacket, and glimmering only faintly in the midnight eyes that were gazing straight at her, he looked heartbreakingly gorgeous.
"Shinomori-san." With her bodice's failure to properly cover her body, she imagined her pounding heartbeat to be all the more horribly audible. Smoothing over her awe with a hastily fabricated smile, she bowed. "You appear to have misplaced your coat."
Times like these, Megumi realized she couldn't blame anyone for calling her "kitsune-onna"...
She caught herself with a start. Now where had that come from, when he had been nowhere in her life for nearly two years?
"I left it at the inn." Aoshi returned the bow; Megumi eyed him keenly and wondered if it were merely a trick of the light, or he were truly blushing. "The evening is uncommonly humid."
She quickly returned her mind to the present. "Yes, summer does seem to be coming early this year. I had no opportunity to tell you earlier, but Hiroshi-jisan sent a carriage here for us. It should be arriving shortly; I hope you don't mind waiting."
She had drawn him inside as she had spoken, and now slid shut the door behind him. When she turned back to him, an offer of tea on her lips, she found him watching her closely, as though trying to understand something he had yet to completely identify.
She turned her head quickly, as much to hide a faint smile as to escape the heady gaze of those keen eyes. So odd—once captor and captive, now merely guest and hostess—almost, though not quite, an ordinary pair of friends.
"Some tea, Shinomori-san, while you wait?"
He glanced at her sharply, as though he too had been momentarily lost in divergent thoughts. Then he shook his head. "Thank you, no, Takani-san." He paused. "I do believe the carriage is arriving already."
"Eh?" Sure enough, as she strained to listen, the unmistakable rumble of heavy metal-clad wheels carried very faintly to Megumi's ears.
It seemed the Oniwabanshuu-trained hearing was still as sharp as ever.
She shook her head, smiling ruefully. And she had just been thinking how naturally they seemed to fall into their places in this little, ordinary scene—as though they really were just another man and just another woman, caught up in the mundane excitement of preparations for a dinner party, on a balmy summer evening sweet with the fragrance of roses…
Onna no baka.
"I'll just be a moment to get my things, Shinomori-san."
Aoshi was nodding, already slipping soundlessly out the door to meet the carriage. Megumi gathered her skirts in her hands and rustled her way back through the dimly lit house, trying without success to suppress the sad smile twisting her painted lips.
Amid the dancing and the eating and the chatting, the toasts and jokes and nonsensical little flirtations, the attentive American doctors and the hospitable Sanadas and the various other guests, Megumi had very little time or energy for thinking for much of the rest of the evening. Sanada Hiroshi had commandeered Aoshi soon after he had arrived, and though it was with a sinking feeling that Megumi had seen him vanish into the parlor with many of the gentlemen for a lively discussion of politics, she was pleasantly surprised to find him, some time later, calmly holding his own in the conversation while the other men listened and puffed reflectively on their cigarettes. Reassured, therefore—though exactly on what count, Megumi decided not to say—she went on to wholeheartedly rejoin the merriment.
She was sitting by herself in a relatively quiet corner, resting after a lively polka with an Austrian whose bristly blond beard had very nearly caused her to sneeze several times, when she noticed that the parlor was discharging its contents into the spacious ballroom—no doubt on the cue of Sanada Hiroshi uncorking a second bottle of champagne. A head of shiny black hair she glimpsed competing with the tallest of the gaijin; within moments she wished she had let her hair down for the evening after all, for now she had nothing in which to hide her sudden smile of inexplicable pride.
Due to her best efforts, the smile was well tucked away by the time Aoshi approached, a tall flute of champagne in his hand.
"You're not having any, Shinomori-san?" And Megumi nodded her thanks as she accepted the drink.
He shook his head as he leaned against the wall beside her chair. "Consider me overly patriotic, but I would prefer sake. Supposing I actually drank it."
"I hope you are enjoying yourself." Megumi eyed him over the brim of her glass.
He shrugged. "It has been a while since I was last in this kind of situation. I have taken the opportunity to hone certain skills."
Megumi laughed—her kitsune laugh, soft but rich and deep. Ordinarily she would have noticed the sharp, knowing look her Aoi-basan sent her way from across the room, but for now she was smiling teasingly at Aoshi and feeling the heat of the liquor pool comfortably in her stomach. "Shinomori-san. You make a dinner party sound like a training session."
"It has served as something of the kind," he replied evenly. But Megumi, gazing at him closely, thought she saw a flash of amusement in the shaded blue eyes.
"At any rate, your training"—her tone was sarcastic; she rose to her feet with a smirk for his benefit, still clutching the half filled flute—"in the gentlemanly arts seems to have been well enough accomplished. Not that this particular attention is all that necessary," she added as he followed her through heavy brocade curtains out onto a small, semicircular balcony.
As she leaned against the wrought iron railing, drawing deep breaths of the cooler night air while taking care not to soil or crumple her dress, he gazed up at the star-flecked sky. "As the common owner of a restaurant in the new era, I find business expedited by some knowledge of foreign cultures. The Aoiya must keep up with the times."
Megumi glanced at him, then drained her flute. "Shinomori-san. I don't mean to insult you, but you do seem to find life a bit less heavy upon your shoulders these days. Or has peaceful country living simply dulled my wits?"
She aimed at him a lopsided smile—and lifted an eyebrow in amazement as something appeared to tug, for the briefest of moments, at the corners of his mouth. She blinked, wondering if she had only imagined it. But somehow, ironically, his unperturbed tone and ice-smooth voice told her she had not.
"It does not appear to me that your wits have dulled at all, Takani-san. You may, therefore, be correct."
He stepped closer to her, close enough for her to smell him—a faint, heated scent of skin and fragrant wood, wreathed near-imperceptibly in cigarette smoke. Lightly he laid his hand above hers upon the empty glass she held, as if to take it.
But she stood absolutely still, delicate fingers tightening instinctively around the fragile flute as she stared up at him with blank, horror-filled eyes.
That smell, the heat of his body, looming over her, dwarfing her with its power... Nothing had changed. She was still there—in the cold, impersonal richness of one of Takeda's rooms—and he was standing over her, scorching her with his nearness, his hand poised above hers as she raised her tantou for the strike that should have killed, Goddamnit had to kill Kanryuu, cold soulless eyes boring through every tiny paltry hope in her soul, mocking her despair, paralyzing her with an incalculable fear that he did not care, none of them did, they simply did not care what happened to her...
Gasping for a haggard breath Megumi staggered backward, clutched at the cold iron railing behind her for dear life, watched numbly as he caught the falling flute with the same effortless grace with which he had twisted the blade out of her ignorant, inexperienced hands, so long ago but still not long enough...
"Get away from me," she choked out as he straightened, the champagne glass sparkling in his hand.
He made no move toward or away from her as she stumbled over to the heavy curtains through which they had entered the balcony. Suddenly the space between them was terrifyingly tiny, the brocade drapes seemed impenetrable, and as Megumi glanced fearfully back at Aoshi, the wide, shadowed expanse of the Sanada lawns spread out far below seemed to taunt her with her own aloneness.
Megumi pushed frantically through the curtains, trying to find the gap that was suddenly eluding her. She caught sight of Aoshi catching up to her in two great strides, his great height blotting out the moonlight. Dimly she was aware of her own hoarse cries of "Iya!" when he caught hold of her wrists with one large hand and, ignoring her struggles, pressed the other to her mouth.
She bit him without stopping to think; only when pain flickered across his features and she tasted the metallic tang of blood on her tongue did her senses return. Breathing heavily, she forced herself to stand still, to struggle no more. Her hair—ah, those thick, intricate braids she had so carefully made!—had come loose, and she hid her face gratefully in the softly falling tresses.
He released her then, and as he stepped away she glimpsed blood on his glove.
"Takani-san."
She nodded but did not turn to face him; she would not until she had regained control of herself. Instead she practically buried herself in the thick curtains, wrapping her arms around her trembling body. But the tears would not end—they streamed fast and hot and silent from her eyes without ceasing, as she had not allowed them to do for two years.
She only stopped crying out of surprise—when something soft and thick was suddenly, gently draped around her—and she wrapped Aoshi's coat around herself, sniffling miserably. It still smelled like him, was still warm from his body, but at least he was no longer immediately near her.
When at last she felt strong enough to face him again, she found him standing motionlessly on the other side of the small balcony, leaning back against the railing in his thin shirt—as far away from her as was possible without actually leaving. With his head bowed, his hair fell forward, concealing his eyes and the rest of his face from view.
"Shinomori-san." She cursed her own hoarseness, but knew it couldn't be helped. She cleared her throat, willing her voice to cool and harden. "Sumanai yo."
"There is no need for your apologies, Takani-san." He bowed to her, took one step, then another toward her, very slowly. Stopping still over a foot away from her as the small space permitted, he pulled aside the curtain to show the gap Megumi had so blindly sought. "I'm sure you wish to return to the party now."
She gave a soft, tired huff of low laughter. "I can't go back there looking like this. I'll have to freshen up."
"Then I will leave you alone."
Eyes still well shadowed, he moved to step back into the house from the balcony.
"No," she said quickly. He stopped but did not turn back. She fidgeted with the buttons of her glove. "Shino— Aoshi-san. I would be glad if you did not leave me by myself for a while longer."
"I do not think that would benefit you as much as you might think. I shall find Tsukimi-san—"
"Aoshi-san, don't presume to know what will benefit me better than I myself."
Calm, but not cold; irritation, rationality, a lingering sorrow and unease, even a hint of weary amusement—he found her low, musical voice fascinating in its richness. Without another word he stepped back into the balcony, but paused a moment to secure the curtain so that half was gathered to one side, letting light, noise, music from the ballroom filter through.
"You're injured." Feeling somewhat refreshed by the cool breeze that now fanned her flushed cheeks, Megumi turned toward him, arming herself with her well-accustomed doctor's air. When he failed to meet her brisk gaze, she lowered it to his wounded hand instead. "Mou, I didn't know my teeth could cut through leather..."
"It is nothing. I have survived far worse." Abruptly Aoshi stuffed both hands deep into his pockets.
She sighed. Any other time she would have had the energy to argue him into submission—but not tonight. Not now.
Silently she shrugged out of his coat, folded it neatly, and offered it back to him. He took it without a word and put it on.
"Aoshi-san..."
His name—so recently, suddenly changed in the vague hope that something else would change with it—left her lips in a whisper.
He shook his head. "If all you have are apologies, then I do not accept them. I have my own to make"—he paused—"Takani-san."
She gave a short, dark laugh at that. "Nor do I accept your apologies, Aoshi-san. It's just..." She sighed. "It's just that something I've long wanted to simply leave behind seems to still be at my heels after all, despite all my efforts."
He made no response. She glanced at him; shadows and hair still obscured his face, but somehow she knew he was watching her.
She looked away and walked over to the parted curtain. Leaning against the thick draperies, she gazed wistfully at the brightly lit ballroom. The first strains of a quiet waltz drifted to them from the hired musicians in the far corner; men and women, black and brown and yellow hair, in soft-colored clothing and glittering jewelry, lined up with laughter and banter for one of the last dances of the evening.
"This is my life now, Aoshi-san," said Megumi softly, watching as the pairs took the first, circling steps for an exchange of courteous bows. "This is what Aizu means to me. These kind, happy people who know me as no one other than a Takani, worthy descendant of an honored line. Who see only my skill that saves lives and not the hands once stained with opium and blood. Who love me for my father's knowledge and my mother's breeding, my brothers' courage. Who could never imagine the horror I suffered for so long in the past."
She was weeping again.
"This is the life I'm living now, and I love it. I want to forget all that destroyed and defiled me in Tokyo. I've started over here, and people accept me. People have built this great world around the last of the Takani clan—part truth and part myth and part absolute lie. It allows me to serve them, to touch them without fear that they will find the scent of poppy on my fingers."
Gritting her teeth, forcing herself to stop crying, she dabbed at the last traces of her tears with a handkerchief. She continued to stare at the softly lit ballroom, though she had long since stopped tracking the graceful movements, the muted colors, the flash of smiles and jewels.
"I will not see this taken away from me again. I will not allow this peace to be destroyed. I will fight, with tooth and nail if need be, to keep this new life that has been granted me. I will not allow it to be poisoned by any pain, any sorrow, any powerlessness that went before." Her low, steely voice changed slightly. "Surely you understand... Aoshi-san."
He moved then, for the first time since she had returned his coat; he approached her, slowly, gaze set upon her pale, taut face as though expecting rejection at any moment. But she resolutely avoided looking at him, until he stood just before her. And then she raised her face to his, her cinnamon eyes clear and bright and hard. He met them evenly.
"I understand, Takani-san."
She looked away again silently, hating, with a voiceless, aching passion, that cold, smooth, perfectly measured voice that raised fine hairs in its wake.
"But then I am sure you also understand... that to cut off a part of yourself, no matter how heavy it is or painful, is to exist as less than whole, as incomplete, as forever weak and vulnerable and empty."
Still she said nothing, though her brows furrowed deeply over closed eyes.
"Feel free to inform me at once when you feel the need to leave. I shall be waiting in the front gardens."
Her eyes snapped open at that—was that his gloved hand, a feather-light touch upon her tearstained cheek?
But then he was gone, slipping past her through the curtains with hardly a rustle of brocade or a whisper of wind to mark his passing. Refusing to watch him go, she heard instead the faint clicking of his heels against the marble floor as he left.
For what seemed like hours, she stood there, half hidden in the curtains, eyes shut to the world, feeling still—despite the burning in her cheeks—the light, momentary brush of his fingertips against her face.
He, too, had trembled.
~ tsuzuku ~
A/N. Kyaaa~ (flops over in a dead faint: a mix of empathetic trepidation, oxygen deprivation (holding her breath while she typed), and good ol' exhaustion (the darn roosters are crowing, it's 3:42 AM).)
I usually set my chapters at five pages, but this one overflowed to seven. But I'm sure you nice people know exactly that feeling of looking over what you just scribbled, and being utterly helpless about cutting it at any point—knowing absolutely that it mustn't be changed. Yare yare. ^.^
I hope you got caught up in reading this as I did while writing it. (Or maybe I'm just really suffering sleep deprivation.) According to what semblance of an outline I've got so far, I planned this sort of scene from the beginning—only it kind of morphed into a self-sufficient life form and headed off in a direction all its own. Hope the angst is all right—I fear I may have overdone it. After all, I've got such discriminating clientele to please. ^.^
The gift Megumi gave Aoshi should—if I don't lose my head again and forget entirely—have its own place in a chapter sometime soon.
I initially didn't want to do Yet Another Dinner Party Chapter where Megumi and Aoshi Scope Each Other Out—it's so been done, with only so many varying degrees of cleverness and originality, in the movies and tv and romance novels and, yes, fan fiction. But well... c'mon, we just all wanna see Megumi-chan looking pretty in a real ball gown, don't we?
Trivial note about said gown ("wine-colored"). In the Kaden is a really nice image of Megumi in a bluish-purple period dress, so of course I wanted to put that in—but eriesalia-dono got dibs, so. Oh well, the more fancy dresses, the happier we'll all be... ^.^
suki-dono: Uh-oh… uhh… no, in my head, the Sanadas here are not related to the Sanada ninjas. (slaps forehead) Looks like this unworthy one completely forgot all about that arc near the end of the anime… @.@ Gomen, gomen! In truth, I was scrabbling for a name so I named them after Sanada Mitsuki in Dual! Parallel Trouble Adventure. This name is turning out to be way too popular…
Off (very definitely, this time) to my four-day seminar then. Please be so kind as to submit a good, juicy review... It should help to kick my ff-writer's butt back into action once I return. Alrightey? ^.^ (Chobits-Sumomo style) Doumo arigatou gozaima~su! (waves little pink hanky)