A/N. May 2005: Inexplicably, FFnet has mixed up the chapters. This is a repost, with some very hasty editing.

Mune no Monogatari

by Mirune Keishiko

Fifteen: Yume wo Mamoru Senshi

Dawn settled dank and motionless on the dojo in a shroud of gray as Megumi finished tying on her obi. Shrugging into her smock, she fastened the ties at her shoulders and sat down at her desk to comb her hair and bind it into its customary knot. She had a long day of work ahead of her.

Yawning, fondly imagining a cup of strong, steaming tea in her hands, she slid open the door and stepped out into the corridor.

She stopped dead in her tracks on seeing the familiar, hulking figure sitting ramrod straight and motionless just outside her door, glossy black hair falling across his face.

He appeared to be sleeping—though Megumi had to wave her hand in front of his face several times to convince herself that he was truly unconscious. Even then, she glanced constantly at him as she hovered indecisively around him, torn between waking him up and leaving him be; she half expected to find his eyes fixed upon her again at any moment, in that intense, unnerving way he had of staring people down. She would not be surprised if feigning deep slumber was one of the genius onmitsu's skills.

But Aoshi stayed silent and inert against the wall, his head only slightly bowed and his shoulders only slightly slumped, the rest of his body still as straight and tense as in waking. Megumi caught the near-imperceptible rise and gentle fall of his chest, the momentary swish of his bangs with a silent, restful breath.

She smiled at her own massive sense of relief. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Aoshi was still human, after all.

After another uncertain moment, she went back into her room and soon reappeared. She was careful to step lightly, but he did not move as she knelt beside him, her blanket in her hands. Though he would undoubtedly be stiff and sore upon waking, she would see that he were at least spared the early morning cold.

This close to him, mere inches from the solid warmth of his body, his scent of musk and spicy cedar wood washed over her in heady waves. She steeled herself against the impulse to nestle against his side, immerse herself in the familiar, intriguing smell that was him. She had done quite enough of that, she remembered with a wry smile, not too long ago in the cozy confines of a carriage.

And other things, too, perhaps—if it hadn't all been a dream. Heat rose to her cheeks and she looked studiously away from the sensuous curve of his mouth, focusing instead on shaking out the blanket she had folded on putting away her futon.

As the blanket brushed against his shoulders, a frown fluttered over his brow.

Then a cry escaped her lips as he seized her arm and twisted it swiftly, painfully behind her back, pinning her other hand with the same hand, the other tightening around her throat; and she had a fevered glimpse of hazy blue eyes before she was released so abruptly she lost her balance and stumbled. Staring at him in numb surprise, she would have fallen to the floor, had he not caught her lightning-quick by the shoulder and arm.

"Forgive me." His normally icebound tones were ragged, uneven. Dimly Megumi marveled that she could hear him above the pounding of her heart. "I thought..."

"You were dreaming." Megumi drew a deep, slow, shaky breath to try to quiet herself, to still her trembling hands. But his grasp lingered on her—no longer tight and threatening, but instead careful, solicitous.

"Forgive me," he repeated. His heavy, warm touch seemed to sear her skin through the fabric, cutting through what little focus Megumi could regain; his shadowed gaze upon her had much the same effect. "I was... keeping watch..."

"That's okay." Megumi nervously smoothed out the wrinkles in her smock. "I know you like to keep your promises."

She tried to smile up at him as if she felt not the slightest bit disturbed, though her face seemed unwilling to follow her instructions; meaning to push him away, she laid a hand on his chest—lightly, fearing another outburst.

But his eyes darkened, and a shadow seemed to fall across his face as he glanced down at her fingers, splayed dangerously close to the deep-tanned skin exposed by his yukata. Feeling new flame surge in her face, Megumi hastily lowered her hand and her gaze, just as a soft, worried voice came calling from around the corner.

"Megumi-san? Are you all right? I heard you cry out—"

And Aoshi's quick step backward came a split second too late as Misao hurried into sight at the end of the hall.

"Oh!" Cheeks below wide ocean eyes turned a deep red, and inanely Megumi wondered which one of them was blushing the harder. Misao quickly turned away, Kenji blinking curious violet eyes over her shoulder at the other two. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know—"

"There's nothing to know," interrupted Megumi with a short laugh so obviously counterfeit she cringed inwardly. "Just a little misunderstanding, that's all."

She whirled on her heel, away from Aoshi. Was he blushing too? Or was he looking utterly indifferent, faintly bored, as he usually did? She'd be damned, though, if she were going to look and see for herself. Surreptitiously touching cool strands of hair to her hot cheeks, she walked briskly into her room and caught up her kit of instruments with a jerk of her still-aching arm.

She paused in the doorway, not daring to look at him. He was standing at the edge of the corridor and gazing out at the slowly brightening sky. Misao had disappeared.

"You'd better get some sleep," she said softly. "My professional advice."

Without waiting for a response—were he inclined to give her one at all—she stepped out of the room. She did not see him stoop to pick up the fallen blanket and slowly, thoughtfully fold it, breathing of its faint trace of rose-scented skin.

She saw Misao in the courtyard, rocking Kenji on her arm and playing a bamboo whistle to amuse him. Apprehension went through Megumi as she remembered what she had overheard only the night before.

"I know now what I'm fighting for, and the Oniwabanshuu never like to lose."

Carefully Megumi molded her mouth into a pleasant smile as she came near. Misao glanced up at her, smiling hesitantly in return.

"You're up awfully early, aren't you?" asked Megumi mildly, as though meeting her for the first time that day. Placing a light hand on the younger girl's arm, she guided Misao over to a seat on the engawa, as Kenji, frowning in concentration, fumbled to hold the bamboo whistle in his small hands.

"Kenji-chan was trying to wake up his okaachan, but I figured Kaoru-san needed all the sleep she could get. So I took him out for some air. I was awake anyhow." Settling Kenji in her lap, she cuddled him absent-mindedly as Megumi checked her over with her stethoscope.

"You've been watching him all night?" Megumi gave Misao a kind look as she gently felt her throat for any swelling.

"Himura's been hovering, but even he finally conked out about an hour ago—heh, that tickles," she giggled as Megumi prodded around her waist.

"Better a tickle than an ache. Nothing left of your sore throat? Are you putting on that ointment like I told you?"

"Yup! Sometimes all the peeling sort of itches though." And Misao made a face.

"That's normal. It looks like it won't last much longer anyway; you're almost fully healed. Now I expect you to know better than to scratch." Megumi eyed her sternly, and was much gratified by her meek nod.

Her brief examination of Kenji brought a smile to her face—or perhaps it was his clumsy huffing and puffing as he tried in vain to get the whistle to make a sound, even as she felt and prodded his thin body—as she tucked her kit of tools back in her sleeve. "You both are recovering well. But I thought Aoshi-san told you to rest," she added with a raised eyebrow, taking the whistle-preoccupied baby into her arms.

Misao grinned sheepishly, but protested, "I wasn't about to let Kenji-chan wake up Kaoru-san when she and Himura are already so worn out."

"They do need the rest." As Kenji wriggled restlessly in her embrace, Megumi shot Misao a glance. "But so do you, even now."

The girl bit her lip, looking rebellious. "But there wasn't anyone else—Yahiko is still asleep..." She stared out at the sky, leaden gray fading into a watery, indistinct blue. "And I owe it to him," she added, more quietly.

Megumi smiled and said nothing, watching the sky reflect in the deeper blue-green of her companion's eyes. Reparation sought for the most innocent of mistakes was something she could understand. She bent over Kenji, who had apparently forgotten about the frustratingly silent whistle and was now entertaining himself by twining his little fingers into the ties of Megumi's smock.

"I hope you're all right after this morning," said Misao suddenly, her earlier gravity replaced by her usual perkiness. "Aoshi-sama tends to strike first, then think, when he gets woken up from a really deep sleep." She grinned at Megumi. "It's pretty scary the first time, but you get used to it."

Megumi smiled, looked away, wished she had let her hair down so that she could hide her hot face in it. "You know him well, don't you?"

"As well as he lets me."

Her voice was low, her tone pained, but also patient—filled with a quiet, infinite gentleness that startled Megumi and reminded her, not unpleasantly, of Kenshin. She glanced quickly at Misao, but the girl was no longer looking at her; instead she was beaming down at Kenji, who had tired of Megumi's ribbons and now slobbered contentedly on the bushy end of Misao's long braid.

Megumi ran her fingers through Kenji's sparse, silky hair, an act which seemed to delight him no end. "I never did remember to ask, Misao-chan—but is he why you came to be here?"

Faintly pink, staring fixedly down at her lap, Misao nodded. "That's why he was so mad at me," she said with a small, embarrassed laugh. "I was supposed to stay in Kyoto."

Now that was something she hadn't known. Megumi blinked. "He left you behind?"

Misao smiled weakly. "An extended business trip, he said. Okina didn't want me to go either. But I had to. I was just so tired..." Sea-colored eyes pleaded with cinnamon. "...of questions that still had no answers."

Megumi stared back, brow furrowing slightly at the fair face upturned to hers. For a moment she could only muse wryly that Aoshi had said nothing to her of running away from Misao.

"I don't suppose I can blame you," she answered at last. With a wry smile that echoed Misao's, she began to lightly bounce Kenji in her lap, thinking back to a certain roosterhead whom she had not been able to chase, even if she had wanted to. "We all like a little closure in our lives, don't we, Kenji-chan?" And Megumi lifted the baby to beam in his face, eliciting soft, affectionate babble. "I hope you don't you grow up to be as dense as every other man on the face of the planet," she said sternly.

Misao laughed, scooting closer to tickle Kenji breathless. "Or as stubborn."

"Help me make breakfast?" At Misao's ready nod, Megumi stood up, settling a gurgling Kenji securely on her arm. "Forgive me for prying, Misao-chan, but it seems odd to me now that you should be avoiding him when you came all this way precisely to find answers." She glanced at the shorter girl beside her as they made their way to the kitchen.

Misao smiled ruefully. "I have to admit, it didn't hit me just how I'd completely disobeyed his orders until he was glaring in my face. But I think that's fine now," she concluded breezily, picking up the buckets to fill them at the well. "Aoshi-sama doesn't stay mad too long—at least not with me." She gave Megumi a wink before she stepped out.

"I envy your confidence in him," said Megumi dryly when Misao returned, lean muscles flexing in her arms as she set down the brimming buckets.

"I spent the last two years getting to know him. So much effort can't be wasted." Sheepish pride shone in Misao's tones as she sifted rice into a pot. "The problem with Aoshi-sama is that he still thinks he's not worthy. After two years of meditation, he's still stuck on that same old theme!" Frowning, she slammed the pot onto the brazier with more force than necessary.

Megumi wasn't sure whether she found her unconsciously maternal frustration amusing or disturbing. She turned her face away, busying herself over the kettle of water she was setting to boil.

"Not worthy?" she asked lightly, when her voice was back under control.

"Oh, you know, that old self-pitying crap." Her words contrasted sharply with her gentle tones. "He's not worthy—of friendship, of being among other people. Of love." Megumi wondered if she were blushing, but since Misao was stooping to revive the wood fire, she couldn't see. "Okina told me about it once, a long time ago. His guess is that Aoshi still can't get over the fact that he betrayed the Oniwabanshuu. That's why he was always at the temple—trying to get away from all of us.

"For the longest time, I decided to just leave him alone." Straightening as the first flames flickered to life, Misao wiped her arm across her sweat-beaded brow. "But I see now it wasn't quite the right thing to do. You were right, Megumi-san." She smiled at Megumi, apparently oblivious to the smudge of ashes across one cheek. "Guys are hopelessly dense."

Megumi forced herself to concentrate on the fish she was cleaning. "So what do you intend to do now, if I may ask?"

Misao, who was getting out a jar of pickled vegetables, paused. Surprised by her sudden silence, Megumi glanced back at her over her shoulder. Misao's earlier merry smile had softened to a quieter, more private one.

"Convince him." With a sudden effort, she bent her strength upon the jar, breaking the wax seal. "I'm not sure yet just how, but I'll do what I have to—make him open his eyes, when all this time he's been trying so hard not to see what's right there in front of him." Grinning as though the thought gave her fresh comfort, she began placing pickles into small dishes. "Reassure him that this is nothing to run away from, nothing to deny himself of. That he's got nothing to fear."

After a moment, Megumi could smile again. Rinsing her hands of blood and scales, then wiping them on a towel, she walked over to Misao.

"He really does have nothing to fear, if you love him so well," she said quietly.

Misao beamed triumphantly. "See? You get it."

Megumi had to laugh. And Misao laughed with her.

In his room, as the first morning rays spread pale and lackluster across the tatami, Aoshi sneezed. His last thought before he fell asleep was the regretful memory of a thick, well-worn blanket that smelled, very faintly, of summer roses and warm skin.

tsuzuku

A/N. Well, I didn't want to let eriesalia-sama of all people down, so here's the promised other installment. Thank goodness for a three-day weekend! tears of happiness

Bottomless gratitude, as ever, to all who so promptly reviewed the last chapter, and so very thoughtfully mentioned their (lost) reviews to the one before, too: ChiisaiLammy (you are always so kind to me), Cherie Dee (hope your arm is fine!), and akisakura (this isn't quite "flirting," is it? But like you, I was starting to miss the old, fun "tension" between these two). fallen, I do try to "recognize" people, as you put it, as often as I can...just that FFnet's Eye is upon those with overly blabbery Author's Notes these days, like, um, me. Kichi-chan, thanks for the reassurances, I always need them rather badly. My poor little website, which I fear has not been updated in far too long, is at www geocities com/lapuente/ hitomi-dono, mij-dono, did I weasel too obviously out of a wild catfight here? Ack, I'm too much of a coward. Hm, you're right; I forgot about go too. Appreciated the info, anyhow! Rissi-Sama, I hope you hang on for a while yet...and uh, why do you call him "Aoshi-one"? Just curious...

P.S. Just for anyone's information—the title literally means "warrior who protects the dream." It's adapted from a line from Misao's character theme, "Ice Blue Eyes".

As always, thank you all so very much for reading. And reviewing. coughhintcough I am grateful!