A/N. May 2005: Inexplicably, FFnet has mixed up the chapters. This is just a repost.
Mune no Monogatari
by Mirune Keishiko
Fourteen: Fascination
The motley green scents of various herbs swirled around Misao as she sat down silently beside Kaoru, ignoring the older girl's shocked glance. Then it was musk and wood smoke that filled her senses, in a familiarity that brought tears she tried to hide, as Aoshi knelt down to place the tray of food before her.
"Leave cleanup to me later. We cannot have you suffer a relapse for overexertion."
He rose to his feet with hardly a glance at her, and Misao wondered why, after these years of his cold silences and his colder voice, she still hated it when he acted so distantly toward her.
He took a step toward the door, then paused and laid a hand on her shoulder. She cringed at his touch.
"Your duty now is to recuperate. I trust you will not forget your responsibilities this time, Misao."
His voice caressing her ear, low and soft, sent currents of heat through her, even as the chill of his voice and of his subtle, unmistakable reprimand settled like lead in the pit of her already unsteady stomach. The soft breeze from his quick and soundless closing of the door behind him stirred the fragrance of miso into the steam-heavy air.
Three pairs of eyes fell on her, black and purple and blue unanimous in their sympathy, if varying in their understanding. Refusing to meet their gaze, she fixed her eyes instead on the bowl of soup in front of her. Picking up her spoon, she began to eat, determined to ignore the strange taste of medicinal roots, cursing the cold, heavy feeling in her gut.
She'd be damned now if she didn't finish her food as ordered.
After a moment's hesitation, Yahiko started enthusiastically in on his food. Sounds from Kenshin and Kaoru's direction—as Misao still would not raise her head to look at them—told her they, too, had begun their meal.
Kenji, napping in Kaoru's arms, began to fuss and stir; his mother uncovered the bowl of medicinal tea that was his dose for the day, and the intense, pungent smell of dried ingredients burned in Misao's nose. Kaoru picked up the bowl, murmuring to him soothingly. As if sensing the strong, unpleasant flavors he was about to be fed, Kenji screwed up his face and began to sputter in protest, flailing against his mother's embrace.
"I'm sorry," said Misao quietly, smiling sadly despite herself at Kenji's piteous antics. "It's because of me that he has to drink that stuff."
"Of course it's not because of you." Kaoru frowned good-naturedly at Misao as she deftly silenced Kenji with a spoonful of medicine. "Really, Misao, I thought you'd gotten over that already."
Misao caught Kenshin's smiling glance her way. "There have been worse mistakes, Misao-dono—and graver consequences."
Misao's answering smile was small, but infinitely grateful.
"'Sides, don't you think eating that crap's for the next two weeks is penance enough?" asked Yahiko, with a disgusted glance toward the foul-smelling bowl of murky, mud-colored herbal soup Kenshin had prepared for the invalids of the house, per onna-sensei's orders.
He had a point. Misao stirred the hazy soup with a cautious chopstick, watching with a kind of horrified fascination as the shadowy, jagged hulks of animal bones and plant parts moved sluggishly beneath the surface.
"And Megumi was here to take care of everyone, so all's well that ends well, ne?" And Kaoru smiled at Misao as she swirled a spoon in a pot of honey for Kenji to suck on, to chase away the aftertaste of his medicine.
Megumi-san...
Misao looked down at her bowl, glad for the way her bangs fell forward to hide the smile that was slipping.
When she had found Aoshi's room empty, it had occurred to her to check Megumi's—and an instant later had realized how appallingly natural it seemed to look for him there.
He had not left her side since she had taken ill.
And so she had hesitated outside Megumi's door, and in the meantime overheard her own name, in low, feminine, melodic tones; she had been unable to either continue inside or leave, as though paralyzed—by guilt, anxiety, or simple curiosity, she wasn't sure. She had listened to the soft voices within, and then known instinctively that it was something she wasn't meant to do.
Not that they had spoken of very personal matters. Aoshi and Megumi said barely four sentences to each other in the short time Misao had stood outside. But Oniwabanshuu hearing was nothing if not keen, and the nuances of breath, of tone, of the tremors of quick thought and carefully restrained emotion brought home to Misao the sudden, unassailable knowledge of intuition.
If at first she had hesitated to enter out of uncertainty, she then hesitated out of dread.
A dread that dissolved swiftly into chill, clammy disappointment when he opened the door and faced her with those mirrorlike eyes, brushed aside her meek apologies, spoken to her with that too-familiar distance in his voice. When, mere moments before, she had heard him clearly through the paper walls between them—speaking with Megumi, his tones had been warm and gentle; patient instead of brusque, pensive, unhurried, almost intimate, instead of coolly detached.
"There is no peace to be had but here."
Misao could not remember the last time he had sounded so... sincere... with her.
Let's face it. Suppressing a glum sigh, she sipped the milk Megumi had prescribed. Megumi-san would never recklessly endanger other people the way I did.
Determined not to balk at her medication, she took a spoonful of soup, braving its mysterious stench with unpinched nose. If she'd been in my place, she probably wouldn't have left the Aoiya at all—she'd probably have just stayed and kept working, the way she did when Himura left the dojo, without saying goodbye.
Crunching deliberately on something that felt like mushroom, she glanced at Kenji, who was burping contentedly in Kaoru's arms. Kaoru caught her eye and smiled.
My foolishness almost cost an innocent life.
"You want to hold him for a while? Kenshin won't stop hovering until I finish my food." And shooting Kenshin a pointed look, Kaoru held out to Misao a quietly babbling Kenji.
The former rurouni grinned sheepishly, scratching his head. "But, Kaoru, Megumi-dono said—"
"All right already! I'm eating, right?" mumbled Kaoru irritably, before taking a mouthful of bitter soup.
Yahiko rolled his eyes. "Wish you two'd just save it for the bedroom..."
Kaoru flushed a bright red. "You just wait till I get my sword arm back, Yahiko-chan," she growled, glowering at him from over her bowl.
Kenshin sweatdropped and smiled helplessly. "Oro..."
"Shao," stated Kenji in peeved tones, tugging on Misao's braid.
"Yep," agreed Misao, nodding solemnly at him. "Looks like things are getting back to normal around here, all right."
Grinning, Misao turned away slightly, to shield Kenji from the fresh wave of bickering between his mother and adoptive older brother. As the baby stirred restlessly in her arms, she soothingly patted his back, stroking his downy head where it was cushioned against her shoulder.
Briefly her hand lingered on the tiny forehead, and she unconsciously held her breath in apprehension—but his fever was truly gone, and in her relief she held him all the closer.
Never again. She pressed a soundless kiss to Kenji's cheek. Never again, little one. Your Misao-basan won't ever let you down again.
"A lot of unexpected things have certainly happened, Misao-dono." Kenshin's mild voice broke into her thoughts. She looked up to see him smiling at her innocently from over his rice bowl—apparently having given up trying to mediate between the two Kamiya Kasshin Ryuu combatants. "But now that things—as you say—are getting back to normal, this unworthy one hopes you haven't forgotten the reason you were here in the first place, that he does."
Misao sighed, smiled, and said nothing.
And in sheer, utter surprise, Kaoru and Yahiko fell silent.
Misao dutifully stayed in bed for the next four days, meekly drained every bowl of soup and every cup of medicinal tea that was set before her, even though she longed to get back on her feet and jump-start the blood that had slackened in her veins, and even though by the third afternoon Megumi pronounced her, with obvious satisfaction, well enough to walk around the dojo.
Aoshi rarely said anything to her, except to make what she felt were bland, perfunctory inquiries as to her recovery. She responded as blandly and perfunctorily as she could, but she suspected—from the quick, dismissive movements of his eyes, the stiffness in his voice and body whenever he approached her—that all her true, confused feelings shone in her eyes every time they spoke.
But—as she told herself firmly—Makimachi Misao was nothing if not a quick learner. And sometimes, there was an altogether different darkness in his eyes, a strange tightness in his face when he looked at her, that made her wonder if she had finally become able to mask her real feelings in front of him.
She whiled away the warm, humid, often rainy hours talking with the Himuras and playing with Kenji. When she really did run out of other things to do, she agreed to play shogi with Yahiko, who, on one listless drizzly afternoon, decided to channel his frustration at not being able to visit the Akabeko into a sudden, unholy passion for the game.
"But I thought you hated shogi," Misao had said, puzzled, when he first dragged an old shogi board out of the storage shed onto the engawa and abruptly challenged her to a game.
"Takes too long and makes my head ache just watchin' it," Yahiko had answered promptly, setting out the pieces.
"If you're that bored, you should clean the tatami then. It's summer, after all." And Kaoru looked up from where she was folding paper for Kenji, blue eyes gleaming with a most sinister light.
A growling Yahiko would have gnawed on her head, but then he remembered that she was still recovering, and hastily backed off with a last disgruntled look. "Actually, it was Kenshin who gave me the idea. He mentioned something the other day about how samurai used to play shogi all the time and stuff."
"So?" Misao plunked herself down in front of the shogi board, inspecting the intricately carved wooden pieces with interest.
Yahiko frowned at her as though she were the biggest idiot he'd ever met. "So," he said, so slowly and patiently her fingers burned for her kunai, "I'm going to learn how to play this game, and I'm going to master it"—a note of pride swelled in his voice—"because the descendant of Tokyo samurai should be as good with his wits as with his sword."
"That's not a bad idea, Yahiko." Kenshin padded onto the engawa with a tray of tea. Misao wrinkled her nose at the all too familiar, unpleasant smell wafting from the teapot. "They do say shogi is an excellent way to learn and develop strategy. I'm sure it would help you in your training."
"If nothing else, it'll teach that brat to stay still and shut up," grumbled Kaoru, reaching for a cup.
"Yeah, but no matter how much medicine you drink, you'll never get your face fixed," muttered Yahiko.
"Maybe you could learn shogi too, Misao-dono," said Kenshin loudly, stepping between the two and delicately snatching the cup from Kaoru's hands before she could use it to inflict major damage on her student. "It's be a great way to still your mind and quiet your body. Especially since we'll be quarantined here for another few weeks."
Perhaps he had said it thus on purpose, perhaps not. At any rate, something sparked in Misao's eyes.
And so, as the days wore on in an alternating haze of moist heavy heat and soft gray rain, Yahiko and Misao became a fixture on the engawa with the shogi board between them, the hours inching past in much the same way their pieces did from square to square. They stopped only for meals and rest—and the chores Kaoru refused to let Yahiko escape; otherwise, they played on day after quiet day, and when their enthusiasm seemed in danger of palling, Kenshin took care to introduce some variations that soon had the players glued once again to the board.
Kenji often sat and watched, in the drowsy early afternoons when his mother napped and his father kept vigil at her side. He would watch silently until his eyelids drooped—only to be rudely reawakened by a chorus of self-congratulatory cheers and wild allegations of cheating. Soon, however, even Kenji was sleeping blissfully through the sudden fits of noise that marked the end of each game.
So busy was Misao with her new hobby that she no longer took notice of Aoshi's coming and goings—or at least, rarely made it seem as though she did. As the three convalescents steadily improved, Megumi left the dojo more freely—now to visit another patient's house, then to meet with colleagues in town. Often Aoshi accompanied her on her trips into the city, as it was on the way to the temple; he would then meet her on the way home, and they would arrive together. If Misao paid this fact any particular attention, even Kenshin—who watched her as he quietly did everyone in that little sovereignty—could hardly say.
"You're sure?" asked Megumi, lifting her eyebrows at the former rurouni, one night after dinner when they chanced upon each other on the moonlit engawa. "Shogi is all well and good, but it can't possibly be more interesting than her Aoshi-sama. I don't think the fever reached her head, but I could be mistaken."
At her cool, dry tones, Kenshin smiled. "At any rate, she barely turns her head the few times he's around; and sometimes when he returns from the temple, she seems too engrossed in the game to even greet him."
"You've always been too kind, Ken-san." Megumi pursed her lips in a wry smile. "She's doing her best to ignore the poor man. But you males are notoriously dense"—idly twirling a deep violet iris in her hands, she seemed blithely unaware of Kenshin's hurt glance—"and though Aoshi-san is certainly an... exceptional specimen, I doubt that he is not fooled." A cinnamon gaze flickered toward him. "So how has he been reacting?"
"This unworthy one would think he knows far less of that than you do."
Purple eyes blinked at her innocently from the shadows. Sniffing, Megumi flipped her hair over her shoulder, hoping the sudden movement and the dim light would hide the blood that she knew was heating her cheeks.
"Even if Aoshi-san were to walk with me from sunup to sundown, Ken-san, he would likely only speak a total of ten minutes."
Her tone was light, ironic, faintly bitter. Kenshin said nothing, merely gazed around at the quiet evening that cloaked the dojo in cicada wings and moonbeams.
The shogi board sat alone and unlit in its accustomed corner; Kaoru had finally forbidden Yahiko from playing after dinner, ordering him to practice his kata instead. Without an opponent, Misao reluctantly abandoned the board at night, usually amusing herself by chatting girlishly with Kaoru.
Megumi turned away slightly, curling a tendril of gleaming hair around one slender finger. "Besides," she said more briskly, "I don't bring up personal matters with him. We walk together on the way home only a short distance."
"Indeed." Kenshin, certain his smile was well obscured by the darkness, made a bow. "Well, it's been another long day, Megumi-dono. If you don't mind, I will be going on ahead to bed. Oyasumi nasai."
"Oyasumi, Ken-san," said Megumi affectionately, patting his arm.
She wandered the halls for a little while longer, putting out unnecessary lamps and ensuring that the rest were kept safely. Not without surprise, she found that her footsteps were nearly silent—something she had unconsciously picked up from Aoshi, perhaps? A blind person meeting that man on the road, she suspected, would not hear him approach. Tabi-covered feet noiseless on wood, busy with all sorts of thoughts, she wandered one brightly lit corridor, weary but restless. The iris tucked into her yukata sweetened the heavy-hanging air with its small, wild perfume.
"...You mustn't remember what you came here for in the first place, ne?"
Kaoru's soft, earnest voice, audible through the paper walls in the hush of night, slowed her pace. Megumi turned her head, wondering dazedly if she were being addressed.
"...Of course not. It's just a matter of time now."
Misao sounded unusually subdued.
"It won't be easy, Misao-chan. And—I'm sorry, but... it seems very uncertain to me now. Like it could turn one way or the other."
Megumi frowned at herself, shook her head vigorously. A kitsune she might have been, but she wasn't about to start listening at unsuspecting people's doors. She moved on, but not quickly enough to escape the last scrap of quiet, confiding talk, a last, unmistakable tone of determination and bright, long-lost confidence.
"Looking for Aoshi-sama all this time has taught me never to give up. So I won't. I know now what I'm fighting for—and we Oniwabanshuu never like to lose."
tsuzuku
A/N. I hope this was fine... . One major reason for this horribly long delay was I kept revising and revising, making more and more notes, writing and deleting and writing again and getting very little sleep, but really getting nowhere fast. Work seems to badly dampen what little writing fire I accumulate in my veins.
Anyway... the rest of my blabbering apologies for the delay may be found, in (only somewhat) condensed form, on my blog... so I'll do you too-kind readers a favor and move on to... the credits! Yayy! . Now that FFnet is allegedly cracking down on kilometric notes, I'll try to keep it short. Ish.
Happy gratitude to the new reviewers—warms my heart every time I'm able to touch other people even through such a "humble" genre as fanfic, so thankyouthankyou to lark, fallen (I'm so sorry for that false alarm of an Author Alert!), and XDOC. Special thanks to dumdeedum, who even dropped by my site and signed my benighted guestbook and surprised me very pleasantly indeed. I love Kyris's fic too...has it been updated yet? .
To Shimizu Hitomi and Rissi-Sama who took the time and bother to review not just once but twice—my particular thanks. . mij—Well, you already know how much I struggle with Misao's characterization, so please forgive me for this long delay in updates... Kichi-chan—Thanks for cutting me that slack, but be careful, I might just take you at your word. . eriesalia-sama, no need to apologize! And again, thank you for that reassurance on my blog. PackLeaderT, short but sweet—and very much appreciated, always.