hanagami = a kind of traditional Japanese tissue paper (Tokugawa-era Kleenex, anyone?)
Mune no Monogatari
by Mirune Keishiko
Eleven: Heartsick
Gods, she was cold. She could barely feel her fingers and toes. Doubled up shivering beneath her two blankets, the slightest movement of air against what little skin she could not cover sent currents of unbearable frost through her body.
And yet she was hot, too—so hot that she hated to blink for the burning behind her eyelids, so hot her own exhalations seemed to sear her flesh. She moved restlessly underneath her covers, longing to throw them off and relieve the horrid sweaty warmth trapped around her legs, knowing that fresh chills would only swamp her the moment she did.
Her fingers twisted into the sheets for a moment as she struggled to swallow, winced at the shock of pain radiating from her throat as she did. Then it was a fearful, desperate struggle to breathe again—fighting the viscous fluid that had begun to build up once again, everywhere in her air passages, it seemed; her nostrils flared, her hands curled into fists as she fought for one precious breath after another. She needed the medicine again—gods only knew how long it had been since that old doctor had given it to her—but first she had to ask for it, if she could only gather the strength to speak.
And then there was that horrid, queasy feeling again, surging unexpected and unwelcome inside her. She dug her nails into the futon, trying to will away the nausea. Himura was busy enough with Kaoru-san and Kenji-chan, she was too weak to turn her head to look but he was probably across the room fussing over them. She'd rather not draw his already overtasked attention to her too, if she could help it, and anyway that was something she had no right to do...
Aoshi-sama.
Was she dreaming? Had the fever reached her brain and caused hallucinations? He was standing at the foot of the bed, looking away from her—so close damn it so close, if she could just reach out and touch him, make him look at her, turn toward her those beautiful eyes, those cold and sorrowful eyes...
Sweat beaded on her temples. He swam in her vision as she struggled in vain to reach for him. Misao heard a tiny, helpless whimper and realized belatedly that it had been hers; Aoshi would not look at her.
But of course he wouldn't. Aoshi-sama... this is all my fault. She nearly cried out in frustration as her tears only choked her further. I'm so, so sorry...
She woke in a terror, flailing wildly as she fought for breath through the sticky, noxious fluid that had pooled again at the back of her throat, almost drowning her.
A cool, soft hand burned and soothed her forehead at the same time.
"Misao-chan. It's me, Megumi." Something large and soft was stuffed beneath her head, raising it high. "Take it easy. You'll be fine."
"Megu... Megumi-san," she rasped. The fluid caught at her voice, smothered part of it; but it was less bothersome now that she was half sitting up.
"Save your breath for breathing. Rest easy now. I'll take care of you."
Misao nearly sobbed in relief as she felt the familiar cool, rounded rim of a spoon touch her lips. Shutting hot and weary eyes, she gulped down the medicine eagerly, hardly noticing its black, bitter taste, knowing only that it would soon cause the fluids that so stifled her to recede.
"I'll be back in a few minutes, Misao-chan; I've to see to the others. But Aoshi-san is here, and he'll watch you while I'm gone."
Despite everything else her body was suffering, her heart leaped at the name. Misao felt a slight smile painfully curve her cracked lips. Aoshi-sama...
But apprehension and shame were quick to follow the impulse of happiness. Fighting tears she knew would only impede her breathing further, Misao forced her eyes open to find Aoshi sitting down by her bed, turning shadowed midnight eyes to her.
Such cold, sorrowful eyes. She remembered them too well.
"A...oshi...sama..."
"Quiet now, Misao."
Involuntarily her eyes fluttered shut as his hand came near. The light touch of his fingers as he carefully brushed her sweat-damp hair from her face sent thrills through her; she gladly welcomed them after the previous torrents of unnatural cold and heat.
He's here. He's here. He's here! He'll make everything better...
He always did. He was like that, always making sure everything went well no matter what. Even when other people failed him. Even when they disobeyed his direct orders...
"I'm... so sorry... Aoshi-sama."
"There will be no talk for now. Only rest and quiet."
She heard his cold, impassive voice through a haze of weakness and pain, and her Okashira's words silenced her the way the doctor's hadn't.
He was angry with her. Had she been well enough, she would have trembled with fear. But now she merely fell meekly silent.
He was angry with her, as she had expected—as she deserved. But he was also worried. Healing first, before discipline. It both consoled her and frightened her.
She longed to reach out and touch him—he was so close, and the feel of his cool skin against her feverish hands would be unutterable comfort. Fighting the stagnancy in her muscles, hoping against hope, Misao strained to lift her arm toward him.
But he was not even looking at her.
She drifted off into a fitful sleep, seeing before her dark unhappy eyes burning into her aching heart.
The humid summer night was already thick upon the dojo when, bearing a tray laden with bottles and boxes, she entered the sickroom to find Kenshin sponging Kaoru with the warm alkaline solution she had instructed him to use. For a moment she stood still by the door—watching him, blind to all else, hardly daring to breathe.
This was why she had come.
Not so much Oguni-sensei, not just the need for more doctors or more supplies—it had been the thought of Kenshin that had brought her here, had sustained her through all the bone-jarring hours of a tempestuous ride along uneven roads.
The thought of his dim, heavy eyes, the once clear blue-violet now veiled in worry.
His hands were steady and sure as he slid the wet sponge across her pale skin, his touch gentle as he turned her this way and that, moved her blankets so that she would not be immodestly exposed. He said nothing as he passed the sponge over her flushed face and neck, brushed away across her pillow the strands of sweat-damp hair. When Kaoru murmured something plaintive and incoherent, he lowered his head close to hers, whispering a reassurance Megumi could not hear, did not feel she had a right to hear.
Beside him, Kenji slept quietly in his own bed, his shallow, labored breathing evident in the quick rise and fall of his chest and the pained expression twisting his small face. When Kaoru had quieted again Kenshin turned to his own son, with the calloused hands of a legendary swordsman tenderly sponging the child's thin arms.
She blinked away her mounting tears and strode forward briskly. This was, after all, what she had come to try to save.
"Aoshi-san—" She beckoned to the man who sat silently against the wall on the other side of the room, where Misao lay in her own sickbed. Kenshin also approached at her gesture. Setting the tray on a desk in a corner of the room, she began picking up the neatly labeled bottles and containers one by one, showing their contents to her silent audience.
So different, yet so alike—gazes ice blue and deep violet settled on her with unerring focus, and she drew a quick, deep breath to steady herself before them. Though she had had to prove herself before much more critical colleagues many times before, these were two men she respected and, yes, loved too much to allow herself to fail the quiet trust in their eyes.
"The good news is that there's little doubt Misao-chan or Kaoru-chan will recover well and quickly—they're both very strong and healthy adults, they only have the mild form, and they're already quite stable. Oguni-sensei saw to their preliminary treatment very well, of course. Every hour they have to take a teaspoonful of this. You can see that I've labeled it as such. For their sore throats, make them gargle with this one at least every two hours. Ken-san, you should keep up the sponge baths: once at sunrise and again at sunset. Aoshi-san, if you would prefer that I do it with Misao-chan, I really wouldn't mind."
Had circumstances been less grim, she would have laughed out loud at the frown that flickered near-imperceptibly across his face.
"The fever won't abate very soon, I'm afraid. But if regular care is maintained, there's no reason for them to still be ill by the end of the week." Quickly she ran through the sequence of the disease that would last over several days: the start and spread of the skin eruptions, the possibility of aggravation of the throat infection, the eventual fading of the fever and the peeling of the skin.
"In the meantime"—she met their gazes directly—"no one is to enter or leave the grounds; I've already put up a sign outside. This quarantine may need to remain in place up to two or three months—it all depends on how quickly they heal. I will have to entrust most of the daily care of these two women to you both, but leave all the other duties to me. Oguni-sensei has placed me in charge of this dojo for the meantime. I don't intend to let him or anyone else down."
She wondered, even as the words left her mouth, whether she was trying to comfort them or herself.
"Ken-san, I must tell you now that my chief concern is Kenji-chan."
As Aoshi discreetly retired to his side of the room, Kenshin lifted tortured eyes to her. It was at moments like these that Megumi was deeply grateful for having become a doctor—and acutely felt the weight of the responsibilities that lay on her shoulders.
Ken-san, I will not fail you.
"I won't lie to you." I can't lie to you. She wondered, briefly and irrelevantly, if he was remembering now how he had lost his family to cholera so many years ago. Finding herself suddenly uncomfortable beneath his somber gaze, she moved to where Kenji was starting to fuss in his sleep. After a long, silent moment rubbing the chilled little body idly, she finally raised her gaze to his.
"It's considerably rare that infants as young as he is should catch this disease. However, when they do, the prognosis isn't"—she hesitated—"always good. There's a risk of the infection spreading from his upper air tracts into his lungs, or into his kidneys, or to his heart, or all of these in combination. We must do everything possible to keep the infection from reaching his heart or—"
His slender frame seemed to crumple before her eyes; as she reached for him without thinking, she felt tears break at last from her tight control, stream hot and heedless down her cheeks. Kenshin was trembling and stiff in her arms as she held him close—not quite sure who between them needed the solace more, or for whom she was weeping.
After another few moments, she had mastered herself again, and so seemed he; the grim, wild glint in Kenshin's eyes faded back into dull patience, he unclenched his fists. She dabbed at her tears with a piece of sterilized hanagami from deep within her sleeve, drawing deep, measured breaths to calm herself.
"If we take proper care of Kenji-chan, he should be recovering well in four or five days' time. I know you will help me attend to him, so I see no reason to fear," she said, trying to smile at him, finding that the endeavor came easier when he appeared to be comforted by her words.
He was single-mindedly attentive as she brought out her jars and bottles, explaining the use and purpose of each herb and chemical, the need for their application, the terrible complications they helped prevent. She tried to be brief without sacrificing substance, but could not fail to see the great fatigue taut in his face, across his stiffly held shoulders, further dimming his eyes.
Megumi cursed herself for not noticing earlier. After all, he had been taking care of these three invalids for over twenty-four hours all by himself...
"Take a quarter-hour bath now," she said abruptly. Kenshin's head snapped up in sudden attention; he had been inspecting with interest the bottles of dried leaves and powdered roots. Megumi relaxed with an effort, managed a small smile. "Make it as hot as you can bear," she added, more mildly. Turning briefly back to her medicine chest, she extended to him a small lacquered box and a small vial of clear, thin liquid. "Soap up thoroughly with this, and add about a teaspoon of this to the hot water. They're both antiseptics. Put your used clothing in the lidded bucket by the door. And then I must ask you"—she pressed his hand in wordless apology for this further imposition—"to prepare some clear soup for Kaoru-chan and Misao-chan, and something heavy for Aoshi-san. He hasn't eaten well in too long," with a sidelong glance at the man under discussion, who she did not doubt was hearing her every word quite clearly.
"Nor have you, Megumi-dono." Kenshin smiled at her gently as he rose to his feet. "This unworthy one is grateful."
She shook her head slowly, mouthed the words to her reply even though he had already left and would no longer hear.
"No, Kenshin. This unworthy one is grateful."
Across the room, Misao shifted in her bed. "M... Megumi-san?"
"Yes, Misao-chan?" Pausing by Kaoru first to reassure herself that breathing and pulse appeared relatively normal, she made her way to where the girl lay staring up at her, ocean eyes seeming larger than ever in the pallor of her thin face.
"There's something I need to tell you," whispered Misao, clearing her throat with obvious pain. Megumi, kneeling by her bed and feeling her forehead, saw the blue eyes dart nervously toward the silent man seated on the other side of her futon.
Megumi looked up. "Aoshi-san, I must ask you to leave..."
"No," she rasped hastily, clutching weakly at Megumi's sleeve. Though her gaze lingered on Aoshi, she quickly glanced back at Megumi when he turned toward her. "He should stay. He should hear this."
"Misao-chan, if this can wait..." Irritation flashed through Megumi, highlighting her weariness; she bit back the hot words on her tongue.
Misao shook her head feebly. "Just—just that—"
Her eyes filled suddenly with tears. Concerned, Megumi helped her sit up to try to ease the congestion that threatened to result.
In the evening hush, Misao's frail whisper seemed to echo through the room.
"When I arrived here first I... I went to the docks to see... about a boat to Sendai. I wanted to know if"—another surreptitious dart of her fever-bright eyes—"Aoshi-sama had taken such a boat. There was an American ship docking, they were shouting something from the deck but I couldn't hear, and I pushed closer to find out—and they were unloading these people..." She shuddered. Aoshi moved to tuck the blankets more closely around her, but a wild glance from her stilled his hands. "I didn't understand then—they started clearing us off the pier, putting up these ropes, and I went on to the dojo—but now... now I'm afraid..."
Megumi stared at her, stunned. Dimly she was aware that Aoshi, too, was looking at the sick girl on the bed, realization dawning sad and hollow in his face.
Misao started to cry.
"I'm so sorry..."
Waves of pain visibly racked her thin body with the effort of emotion; her dry lips parted to bare gritted teeth, agonized gurgles came from her afflicted throat.
"Stop that." With a gentleness that belied her stern tone despite herself, Megumi wiped away her tears, held a tissue to her nose so she could blow into it. "There's nothing to be done about it now. You can't be so sure that you brought it here, anyway, Misao-chan." It was a good thing forcing smiles was nothing new to her. "Kaoru-chan had students trooping in and out of here everyday. It's equally likely that they brought it in. We'll never know for sure."
Choking back another sob, Misao peered up at her in mute misery. Then she glanced over fearfully at Aoshi, who had turned his face away.
At the fresh wretchedness that crumpled her small, pretty face, Megumi sighed. The edges of a slowly gathering anger bit cold into her heart.
"Misao-chan." She struggled to keep the chill from her even, measured tones. "You've always hated being called the weasel girl. Show us the genki spirit you've never lost at even the saddest of moments and get better as soon as you can, all right?"
Chastened, Misao for a moment could only stare at her. Megumi stared calmly back.
And then a small, tired smile loosened her set mouth, and Misao looked away, visibly relieved and humbled at the same time.
"Hai, Megumi-san."
"Good girl." Checking another sigh, Megumi stood up and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
From his seat Aoshi made neither movement nor sound, but he could sense that Megumi did not leave. Instead the doctor sagged against the wall outside, let slip a few soundless tears, clenched her fist in a fury he could feel radiating from her in a sudden, silent, explosive surge of ki.
Then she whirled and walked swiftly down the corridor toward the kitchen, where she kept her medicines.
He leaned back against the wall, feeling Misao's apprehensive eyes tracking his every move, and said nothing.
~ tsuzuku ~
A/N. Sterilized hanagami? On the one hand, it makes sense to me and I imagine that it was possible, but on the other hand I just think it sounds a bit strange... ^.^;
What I'm depicting in this story is Scarlatina anginosa, a "medium" form of scarlet fever (midway between a mild form, Scarlatina simplex, and a severe form, Scarlatina maligna). I'm approximating turn-of-the-century medical instruments, treatments, and practices as best I can imagine them and support them with Internet research. (I have to say, researching on something as horrible as scarlet fever is really depressing. =.= But not half as depressing as writing about it. With Kenshin's poor little kid, too. _) What's interesting is that I found this whole bunch of medical documents on scarlet fever written as far back (so far) as 1898, so I'm reasonably assured that what I've shown so far is on track, at least.
Sorry to let you kind readers down with my lack of originality, but really the idea for scarlet fever came from that handy-dandy mid-19th century novel Little Women by Louisa May Alcott—where Beth, of course, suffers a bout of scarlet fever. It doesn't specify in the book, but from the descriptions of the symptoms it looks like Beth also suffered Scarlatina anginosa. (I was going to do cholera instead, but then I found out cholera can kill in as few as 24 hours, and that wasn't going to fit my timeline. ^.^; Oh well, literary expediency!)
I haven't found any records of scarlet fever breaking out in Japan. But my rationale is, Japan opened itself to the world during the Meiji era, and by 1880 ports like Yokohama and Tokyo were busy with foreigners going in and out. With a temperate climate roughly equivalent to that in some US and European areas where scarlet fever did rampage, it couldn't have been unlikely that such diseases jumped continents and oceans.
This unworthy one is very very grateful to all those who reviewed, too! ^.^
eriesalia-sama: oooh, sorry, sorry, sorry. I do like to tease, if and when I can. A bit surprising (and hypocritical?) since I myself hate being teased in real life. But hey, I'm sure a little thrill just adds to the flavor of this humble piece, eh?
ChiisaiLammy: mmm, I do like sensual, myself! I figured the previous chapter was my last chance for some snooky before the heavy stuff came charging in. And thank you for the ego-stroking (heh-heh), because I also harbor a special quiet loathing for conventional romance stories. (Myself I prefer a lot of angsty groveling first... or did you already notice? ^.^;)
dumdeedum: Glad you like the details! I'm a very details-oriented person, so it's really affirming that my efforts are appreciated. This unworthy one writes to serve.
PackLeaderT: thank you! *scratches head* Actually, I quite enjoyed it myself... ^.^
mij: you sweet person you! Well, I'm a Psych major fiercely devoted to her course, so I suppose it's only right that I should be so obsessed with humanity. Nyarhar.
This unworthy author pauses to flap a fan in front of Shimizu Hitomi and frantically wave smelling salts under her nose. Since this does not seem to work, maybe something more compelling... Aoshi's gloves? A jar of his hair gel??
Rissi-Sama: Really now, I have to admit, that last chapter was tailored specifically for you (and eriesalia-sama, who was starting to sound depressed and rather menacing ^.^;). Glad you liked the kiss—you asked for it, you got it! ^.^
nuke-grrl: Aha, there's the rub ne? On the one hand, a kiss. On the other hand, sleep. On the one hand, a kiss!!! Heh-heh. I like the way you think. ^.^ And thank you so much for your kind praise. Actually I was rereading the thing (after I'd posted it... as usual) and I did find a few things to nitpick... but (as usual) I'm a bit lazy about revising and reposting... so unless you get on my ass about it, I'm afraid that chapter will have to be that bit imperfect, I'm afraid. Gomen!
conspirator: *blushes* You are too nice. I can only hope. ^.^ (Aoshi: ...)
cheryl: Ha ha! "My gulay" ba??? My God, I never dreamed I'd find another person on FFnet who actually shared my habit for saying that silly little all-purpose exclamation. Omygulay! Glad you're grinning like hell... I was too! ^.^
And so, and so. On to the next! (whenever I put it up!)