Mune no Monogatari
by Mirune Keishiko
Sixteen: Fire and Ice
Megumi was not pleased to see him. When she entered the clinic's anteroom following her guests out to the door, her sharp eyes fell immediately on him, and a shadow darkened her face for the breathspace of a thought before she looked blithely away, smiling again as she turned back to her visitors.
The swiftness of the change in her, and the ease with which she hid it, fascinated Aoshi. He had been sitting in the room for the past half hour and had heard her sly, lilting laughter ring out time and again; he had heard her make her characteristically double-sided comments in her devilishly sweet voice, firing both compliments and insults at her young male colleagues with the trademark charm that tended to excite either enchantment or embarrassment—or both—from their kind. To his keen hearing she had given every appearance of enjoying herself among her little captive audience, relishing the witty replies of one debonair doctor and the flustered stammering of a less self-assured young medical student.
And now she ignored him entirely where he sat in a corner angled away from the sunlit window; instead she continued to chat innocently with her guests. The only indication that she was at all aware of his presence was a new and near-imperceptible edge to her deliberately musical voice.
It fascinated him, and unsettled him.
Two could play at that game, however. He said nothing, sitting straight as usual with his eyes shut calmly to the world, until well after the door had slid shut again and the room lapsed into silence. From outside in the street, he could still hear the young doctors and students strolling off into the fading afternoon. They were remarking—with varying degrees of admiration and sincerity—on the onna-sensei's charms.
He was itching to cut the throats of the more malicious young idiots when her voice called him back from his bloodthirsty thoughts. Obviously she had not overheard her guests.
"I apologize for having delayed you. I'll be ready to leave in a few minutes."
And with a last blur of pink kimono and purple smock, she was gone, padding gracefully down the corridor.
Something stirred uneasily within Aoshi, but he kept his peace until she reappeared in the anteroom, bringing her medicine chest. He had long since accepted that she absolutely refused to let him carry the chest for her; and so he rose to greet her with only a slight, characteristically silent bow. She, too, said nothing, her gaze grazing his before drifting calmly away. Without a word they left the clinic and fell smoothly in step along the street.
They had walked homeward together like this several times over the past week, side by side but hardly looking at each other, small feet in clopping geta keeping good pace with long, soundless strides. As had become habit on these slow walks that took care to enjoy the afternoon breeze, Aoshi watched her long hair ripple with the wind out the corner of his eye, admired the sunlight that bronzed her pale cheeks. Though these details hadn't changed over the past several days, something else had—and because he had seldom found it cause for distress with anyone else, it took him a few moments now to realize what it was.
Megumi was not speaking to him.
On days and walks before, she had attempted conversation and had even managed to succeed a few times, eliciting from him responses beyond his usual atonal, monosyllabic ones through playful coyness, honest curiosity, calculated insults, and sometimes all of these at once. In the same way, he had sometimes answered honestly, and sometimes only out of a perverse impulse to beat her at her own game. He had found ample reward for his self-indulgence with the flash of her eyes, the quirk of a shapely brow, the sly or annoyed or sincere reply that told him he had struck home.
But now she kept pace beside him with a studious silence that rivaled his own. Her face was turned away so that he could barely see it, could see only faintly the bright, easy smile that sprang to her face when she greeted a friend or patient along the way—and that just as swiftly left her face when she went on walking with him.
For long minutes he struggled with his surprise and his disquiet—this unfamiliar discomfort at the silence dragging down the air between them. Certainly with other people—with other girls—he thought nothing of two people being together, but ignoring each other almost entirely.
But with every swift, errant glance toward the woman by his side, smiling and greeting just about everyone save himself, he realized that he had never before wanted quite so badly to say something, anything, and earn her response in turn.
But he was used to suppressing his feelings and impulses, after all. Aoshi deliberately glanced away, forced himself to contemplate the elaborate ugliness of an amateurish blend of Western and Japanese architecture that defiled a nearby shop building. Facing the prospect of twenty more minutes of walk, he could resign himself almost entirely to this cold, leaden silence between them, all the rest of the way.
Almost.
"Takani-sensei's skill must indeed be famed if some of Tokyo's most renowned young physicians stay so long in private conversation with her."
He was reminded, now, of exactly why he could not totally resist the urge to speak with her. The surprise in her gaze, the quick raising and then furrowing of her brows that needed no words to convey the shift of her emotions—watching her respond from her heart and not her mind, feelings and thoughts flashing across her face too ephemeral to be masked by her characteristic self-possession, filled him with too strange and warm a satisfaction.
"I see the Okashira has been plying his trade once again," said Megumi coolly, dismissing him with a flick of her eyes.
"There was no need to 'ply my trade,' as you call it." As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a sniff, in fascination he watched the dying sunlight glimmer in the long black locks. "You certainly took your time traveling all across the richer sections of the city in their company, and while I waited at your clinic its intelligence circuit, if you would call it that, was not that difficult to penetrate."
"If you abhor waiting, I have never had any compunctions about going home by myself." She stared straight ahead, as though he was beneath her attention.
Had Aoshi been a more ordinary man, he might have seized her by the wrist, twisted her arm, done something to express the abrupt fury that filled him. But only his voice was different when he spoke again, and only to grow colder and smoother, if that had been at all possible in the first place.
"Unfortunately, I do. As you yourself said, early this morning—I like to keep my word."
"You needn't worry." Her tone was flat, dismissive. "I don't expect anything from you."
Unsure if she meant it as reassurance or offense, Aoshi stared at her, but she kept looking straight ahead, her steps quick and precise on cobblestone.
"There are, however"—she glanced at him for the briefest of moments—"others who do."
The rising wind whipped her hair into fine, writhing tendrils about her face, just barely hiding the sudden spot of color high in her cheek. Soon, the tension between them momentarily forgotten, Megumi was frowning in frustration, glaring impotently at the breeze that wrought such havoc. Without a word Aoshi leaned over and slid the medicine chest out of her grasp, into his own.
He met her gaze evenly for a moment before Megumi looked away, saying nothing. Combing her fingers through restless black strands, she held her long hair in a loose ponytail over her shoulder. She seemed utterly unaware of his staring at her.
If he ran his own hands through her hair, he thought idly, would it feel like cool water, or like the finest silk?
"You have been speaking with Misao."
"I've been speaking with a lot of people, Aoshi-san," she said breezily.
"So I noticed. That was, by the way, the original topic of this conversation before you steered it somewhere else entirely."
Her mouth pursed slightly in her telltale sign of annoyance as she looked away, letting go of her hair to cross her arms against her chest. Smiling inwardly to himself in satisfaction at having at last discomfited the kitsune onna, Aoshi walked on a few more steps before realizing that she was no longer keeping up. Stopping, he glanced back—straight into narrowed cinnamon eyes.
"What?"
"I find it alarming," she said coolly, brushing past him, "that you should be so callous toward one who has loved you so purely for so long."
"Misao—" Aoshi felt the smile bubble up from inside him. Sad and fleeting, it curved his mouth only very faintly, but from the way Megumi's brow furrowed, he knew—too late—that she had seen it and misunderstood.
"So is that how she brings out your hidden smile, Aoshi-san?" She sounded like a doctor now, like a scientist calmly picking apart a specimen under a glass—distant, clinical, businesslike. Aoshi sighed. "You laughing at her? I can understand how someone as cold and unfeeling as yourself would find her innocence amusing—"
"You are mistaken on three counts, sensei." Perhaps she knew that he was closely watching her expressive face through the veil of his bangs, noting every flicker of anger, the familiar hardening of her delicate features into stubbornness. Perhaps she didn't. "First, that I am amused. Second, that it is innocence."
She was frowning again as he continued. "I can only speculate about women's sympathies for one another, but I do know that you are being too generous with her. At her age, it is no longer innocence but mere immaturity."
Swiftly he caught the slap that came arcing toward his face.
"Exactly how heartless a bastard are you, Aoshi?" spat Megumi, trembling.
He wondered if she too realized that she had dropped the formal title. Her skin felt soft and warm, her bony wrist frail in his grasp—he could break her arm if he chose to, with just a small burst of effort and a swift movement of his hands; and she would be helpless against his strength, as he had seen her helpless against that of so many others, in years long past.
"Enough to see and reject the blind denial of reality for what it is." He was no longer really thinking of Misao, he knew; he couldn't, when Megumi was so near. Instead he was telling her what he had come to discover for himself these few years past, in the still, silent temple—what he had thought through so many times, over and over, that he could recite it in his sleep. "Enough to accept that there are some things you can do for others, and some things they can only do for themselves."
She understood then—he saw with relief the change of light and shadow in her eyes, across her face. But she would be stubborn yet, and he was prepared for her.
"She loves you," said Megumi quietly, looking at her feet, "the only way she knows how."
"I love her as well. I am bound to her, and she to me, so inextricably we can hardly understand it, so inexorably we can never escape it." Had she flinched, just now? "Just not in the way she wishes."
He turned away, stepped back to ensure some distance between them before he could no longer control the urge to take her in his arms. "That is the answer she seeks so thoughtlessly. That is the reality she refuses to accept, even though she cannot help but know it, deep in her heart."
Megumi smiled at him grimly. "You were right, at least, about only speculating about women's sympathies. We do not shut out our feelings as easily as do you men. You cannot fault her for acting like any ordinary woman in love, Aoshi-san."
"Misao is no ordinary woman, Megumi-san." He walked on, suddenly wearying of the conversation. It was one he had played out in his head countless times before. "She is Oniwabanshuu. Even she would not deny that. Except that she forgets"—he smiled humorlessly—"that the essence of ninjutsu is realism, above all else." He heard beside him the rustle of cotton and silk as Megumi silently caught up with him. "It's always been one of her greatest challenges, to be realistic."
Her voice was soft. "She's a child." Defense? Simple explanation? Or perhaps even agreement?
He decided only to say, "Aa."
Evening was gathering around them thick and fast; clouds matted across the moon, casting everything in dull gray shadow. Aoshi scented rain in the suddenly stagnant air. They were in the quieter suburban streets now, and the smell of cooking dinner wafted from the warmly lit houses.
"Third?"
He glanced down at her. "The third point?"
"You did, after all, say I was mistaken on three counts." She arched an eyebrow.
He shook his head. "And I thought excessive inquisitiveness was unique to the women of the Aoiya."
"We women are all onmitsu in our own way, Okashira"—her tone danced light over his hearing, mocking him—"living by the knowledge we never cease to gather."
"And spreading it with entirely too much chatter," he muttered.
"Only to make up for stony-faced idiots like yourself who say entirely too little!"
"The third point," he said calmly, "is that I'm cold and unfeeling."
And she quirked an eyebrow his way; her lips lifted in a cool, wry smile. "You aren't?"
"Not quite as much as I'd like."
They both stopped at the same time, by some instinctive, unspoken agreement, at the gate to the dojo. From inside they could hear raised voices—Yahiko and Kaoru's—bickering back and forth in the training hall. A queer, acrid smell from the kitchen meant Kenshin was brewing Megumi's medicines once again. Misao could be heard singing cheerfully throughout the house, as she shut the windows in preparation for the coming rainstorm.
"You seem to so enjoy toying with your prey, don't you, kitsune onna?" he said quietly to Megumi. As he drew closer to her—his voice was low, she wouldn't hear it if she stayed at that distance, he didn't mean for them to hear it inside; he wanted to feel the warmth of her body, he couldn't resist...
As he drew closer to her, he smelled, very faintly, the scent of summer-blooming roses, fresh and bright through the humidity of the evening.
"You let them think they know you inside out, that they have your affections. And then you pounce—"
"—or perhaps more accurately, Aoshi-san," she said sweetly, "I abandon them entirely, for more worthwhile pursuits."
His face was so close to hers now, so close, and he knew both of them had fully intended it that way; he could feel her hot breath on his face, teasing his every nerve. To simply lean in and close the distance between her rosy mouth and his would be too easy.
"I find it alarming"—he bent slightly to breathe his words in her ear—"that you should be so callous toward those whom you give no choice but to love you." He smiled when her eyes fluttered shut as though of their own accord, even as her slender hands clenched into fists half-hidden in her billowing sleeves.
"There is always a choice, Aoshi-san, and it's not up to me to give it or not." Softly, somewhat shakily, she laughed her kitsune laugh. "It isn't everyday I get to see the Oniwabanshuu Okashira jealous."
Jealous?
"I must admit that at last, after two years," he murmured dryly, half to himself, "I begin to admire Misao's perseverance."
Yes.
"I do not wish to help you break her innocent heart." Her mood abruptly darkening, Megumi bowed her head, refused to look at him. "Nor will I settle for only half of yours."
Then her eyes went wide as his hand closed around her arm, grasping firmly but gently through the cloth.
Because—"Then, Megumi, I shall not ask it of you."
--though there is no need to say it—
Her lips were soft and hot and moist against his, and he had missed them, missed them as he had her warmth, her playful smile, the solid comfort of her body against his—and his hunger for the taste that was uniquely hers engulfed him in heat, set fire to his blood as he crushed her to him and kissed her.
—you are mine.
She kissed him eagerly in turn, tongue snaking deftly through his parted lips to sent fresh torrents of flame through him. His hands could find no rest, it seemed—they angled along her jaw, cupped her chin, tangled in her silky hair, slid down the sensuous curve of her back. And they tightened instinctively around her shoulders as she suddenly pulled away.
"Dame," she gasped. As she stepped back awkwardly, turning her face away, her hair flew out in a rich wave of black, smelling of flowers.
He would have followed, but her cold glare brought him up short.
"Men are fit only to be played with." Contempt rimed her words. "Take them too seriously and they will destroy you. Hold on too tightly and they will go."
Over a caustic upward quirk of kiss-swollen mouth, cinnamon eyes glinted mockingly up at him.
"Isn't that so, Shinomori-san?"
And she left him standing outside the gate lost in thought, his small, grim smile lost to the evening shadows, the faint lingering traces of her perfume misting the air. From inside, voice echoing pure and sweet, Misao continued to sing.
tsuzuku
A/N. About the last chapter—I'm so sorry folks about the blatant K/T parallel. Funny thing was, it didn't occur to me just how unoriginal the idea was until I was halfway through writing it. Gah. But I really couldn't resist—first and foremost, it very conveniently highlighted the fact that Aoshi is a warrior to the core (and I'm sure we all agree it's part of what makes him so sexy!), and second, it was just too...y'know... FUN!
Trupana, welcome back! Congratulations on finishing your finals—it can't have been easy! shudder And your interpretation was actually pretty head on. Applause!
ChiisaiLammy, looks like we share the occasional craving for WAFF eh? Always glad to have company on the way to the, er, dentist!
eriesalia-sama, yes, I'm sorry, it is week's end by now, isn't it? I always hope the wait was worth it though... and I hope you're getting a little more insight into Aoshi now. (I know I am... bit by bit...!) Oh, and the chapter title is all your inspiration, by the way.
Rissi-Sama, did I get the carriage action here all right? wink
nuke-grrl, you're too kind as always. Please help me so the flower blooms properly in its own time—sometimes I tend to nip things in the bud. Really.
My dearest mij—ahh, nothing like Tagalog no? I'm glad my Misao characterization was okay. And it's comforting to have one less person asking for a catfight, as I'm a pathologically pacifistic (cowardly) person. Heh.
akisakura-dono, hmm, thanks for reminding me about those three. Where can they have gone...? pats pockets absent-mindedly About the sisters thing—thank you, thank you. I have no sisters but plenty of girl friends, so I hope I got the sister-bonding thing right.
jojobilu, sorry, this update was delayed again. Heh. But I hope this chapter gives you some more insight into Megumi's character. Sorry, I do love to torture her. Sigh.
Hitomi-sama, yeah, looks like something's fishy with the forums...but in the meantime, plenty thanks for dropping by!
PackLeaderT—all I can say is (1) Thank You... and (2) It's really the least I can do for such nice readers and great characters.
Leila Winters, welcome to my story! Fun to hear of the dance—wish I could play those taiko drums too, ha ha! Hope Aoshi isn't coming off too, hm, pedophiliac in here...
Sorry again for the long notes. But (ahem) really, the reader-writer interactivity is one thing that makes FFnet so irreplaceable! Stay tuned for the next installment folks!