Mune no Monogatari
by Mirune Keishiko
Seventeen: Wanting
Lightning flashed white through the windows and the very floorboards hummed with thunder beneath her feet as Megumi headed along the corridor to the Himuras' bedroom. She walked past windows rattling with rain to arrive at the door, then excused herself through the papered panes.
At Kenshin's soft response, she slid open the door and entered.
"You should really get some rest," she scolded the red-haired man who sat by his sleeping wife's bed, his finger held fast by Kenji slumbering between them. Kneeling beside Kenshin, lightening her rebuke with a smile, Megumi began stacking the empty dishes of the night's dosages onto a tray.
"I promise to rest if I feel tired, Megumi-dono. As it is, I'm fine, and Kenji-kun"—Kenshin glanced down at his son, who was mumbling fitfully in his sleep—"has yet to grow accustomed to rainstorms."
"He is his mother's son, I see." Fondly Megumi brushed a fingertip across Kenji's cheek. "Then shall I prepare for you some tea, Ken-san? I was just about to make some for myself."
Kenshin's smile was serene. "I would much appreciate that, Megumi-dono. Thank you."
Megumi pulled Kenji's blanket more snugly up around him and, with a last cheerful nod back at his father, left the room.
It was well past midnight after a long day; she had made house calls all morning, and in the afternoon there had been colleagues to meet and career prospects to discuss. And, of course, there had been Aoshi—a full day's worth of turbulent emotions and conflicting impulses all by himself.
Nonetheless, a lightness was palpable in all her movements as she briskly set about preparing tea in the kitchen, and Megumi found herself actually humming, despite the howl and crash of the storm all around the dojo. The feel of Kenji's blanket tingled still in her hands: It might have been thick and luxuriously soft before, but what must have been years of use had worn it down to a rough, meager fabric that contrasted sharply with the infant's satiny skin.
As she measured tea into the pot, she found herself remembering a fleecy blanket she had seen that morning in a shop. Of some sort of imported material thick and rich yet light, it cost a sizable sum—but its lovely shade of blue matched Kenji's eyes.
Megumi smiled to herself over the steaming kettle of water. She could just imagine the glow of pleasure in Kenshin's eyes if he saw his wife exclaiming over such a pretty gift, and Kenji gleefully burying himself in the sumptuous fabric.
It will be the least that I can do. Well pleased with her new idea, Megumi carried the tea tray to the room with a spring in her step.
"You should also be resting, Megumi-dono," said Kenshin mildly as she set down the tray before him.
"I should be, but I haven't been having much better luck than Kenji-chan."
Megumi handed him a full cup. With keen eyes she watched through her bangs, and saw a surprised smile flit over his face.
"A friend of mine in Aizu makes excellent jasmine tea," she murmured. It had always been his favorite.
She sipped from her own cup. Bright and clear and only faintly bitter, the liquid spread quick warmth down her throat and finally pooled in soothing heat in her gut. Watching Kenshin's evident enjoyment out the corner of her eye, she felt an immense satisfaction fill her, responding to his own.
"Thank you." Kenshin cradled his cup close to his body, the warmth undoubtedly welcome in the drab weather.
"I'm glad you enjoy it." She beamed.
They sat together in silence for a while, Megumi kneeling so that she was in the shadows, looking at him over the rim of her fragrant cup. He went on serenely savoring his tea as though oblivious to her gaze on him. From time to time he reached out to softly stroke Kenji's auburn hair; it was a gesture that seemed to quiet the child, as the storm continued to rage outside.
Fatherhood had hardly changed him, it seemed, except perhaps to make him even gentler, kinder, more thoughtful than ever. Though he was in some ways different from the father she herself had known—Takani Ryuusei had been quick to criticize and correct as he had been quick to laugh and praise, while Megumi suspected that softhearted Kenshin would spoil Kenji rotten in no time at all—she had never doubted that he would be good to his children. It had been one of the things that had endeared him to her.
His unfailing consideration for others, the hard-earned wisdom with which he gave counsel only if asked, the quiet, ready protection for friends and strangers alike—to a friendless, orphaned woman adrift in misery for three years, Kenshin had seemed all but an angel. And then, of course, almost as soon as Megumi had fallen in love with him had come the realization that he would never fall in love with her.
She could hardly obstruct the happiness of the one who had made all happiness possible for her. And so she had sent Kaoru to Kyoto, while she stayed behind in the life he had restored to her; she had told Kaoru of her smile that could heal Kenshin where the best of her own efforts could never succeed. And at their wedding, she had consoled herself with the unmistakable radiance in Kenshin's violet eyes, and tried to distract herself with missing the toriatama instead.
Sanosuke had been an odd combination of similarities and differences when compared to Kenshin. Brash where Kenshin was deliberate, hotheaded where Kenshin was deadly calm, nonchalantly foulmouthed where Kenshin was painstakingly polite—after the rurouni, Sano made for a strange focus of Megumi's affections. She had told herself this again and again, when she found herself repeatedly thinking of his voice that was rough yet smooth at the same time, the easy, enviable confidence with which he carried himself, and the way his gruff concern was sparked almost as quickly as his anger.
He had given her no indication that he thought of her the way she did of him. Oh, there had been those odd moments when she caught him watching her out the corner of her eye, or when he made some boneheaded remark that had no other obvious purpose than to annoy her. And he had never hesitated to stop by the clinic to have his hand fixed. She had always wondered then—had let her fingers linger just a few seconds on his rough palm, had searched, for just a few moments longer than absolutely necessary, the handsome face that never could hide anything from anyone.
It was in this very room that she had tended him when Saitou had attacked him at the dojo. To this day she marveled that she had been able to keep her wits about her that time—all she could recall was the ice that rimed her heart and flowed through her veins when Yahiko had arrived with the news.
In the strangest way, she had felt glad that old Genzai-sensei had been unable to attend to Sanosuke instead. Peeling away the blood-soaked clothing, cleaning the horrific hole in his shoulder, sewing and bandaging the skin that was surprisingly smooth for such a hardened warrior had brought to life both nightmares and fantasies, and Megumi had been thankful for her privacy as she fought tears through her work.
But he had never done anything, never said anything that she could clutch to her wildly beating heart in the long, aching nights she had spent awake over him. When Kenshin had been lost to Rakuninmura, Sanosuke had stormed out of town without so much as a last visit; and he had returned only to disappear again soon afterward, seeing only the wide, carefree expanse of the future spread before him, and not the woman he would leave in his past.
She had never quite known whether to thank him or hate him for making the choice for her.
After Kenshin and Sanosuke, not one of Orihara Kiku's spindly-legged, pasty-faced, middle-aged prospects had held the least bit of appeal.
It's really not their fault, mused Megumi, simpering over her tea as she surreptitiously eyed Kenshin through her bangs. The competition is ferocious. She sighed. And totally unattainable.
"I hope everything is all right, Megumi-dono."
Looking her way, Kenshin was solicitous, and slightly unnerved by her staring at him. Megumi chuckled.
"No less than it always is, Ken-san."
She steeled herself, remained calmly smiling as his eyes—suddenly bright and penetrating, no longer quite the harmless rurouni—searched hers.
Then he smiled again, quick, understanding, rueful, and turned back to his wife and child. Megumi let go of a long, deep breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.
No less than it always is.
And though it was well past midnight, though she was physically and emotionally tired from the day's events, though her bed would be heaven-sent solace against the weather's chill, she found herself lingering over her tea. She felt a bone-deep gladness for this peaceful silence she was sharing with one she had never stopped loving, one who would never return her love. There was an odd comfort in something so familiar—this pain that had grown muted with time and custom, like an old wound suffered for so long it had become as intimately part of her as the rest of her body.
Old wounds and all, however, she was not going to let Aoshi inflict a new one.
"I just remembered"—breaking the pause, Kenshin's voice was mild and pleasant as ever—"that time when Aoshi and I had our tea ceremony."
Megumi paused.
"Shortly after that matter with Enishi was settled, was it?" Hiding her face in the fall of her hair as she felt the peace between them slipping away, Megumi stooped to refill his cup and hers with the last of the tea.
Kenshin thanked her with a nod. "Yes. When we left Kyoto after the Shishio affair, he promised that we would drink tea together. Aoshi is not one to take promises lightly," he added, as though it were an afterthought.
Megumi said nothing, swirled the tea in her cup, and watched brown fragments of leaves turn slowly in the bottom. In her mind were etched one promise Aoshi had spoken, and one he had not.
"This woman is under my protection."
The strength in his arms as he had held her, the absolute certainty that darkened his eyes to midnight blue yet made them crystal clear—in that instant he embraced her, sheltered her, reminded her of her true strength that afternoon at her home, she had felt something all too powerful and all too familiar sweep over her. Even as she luxuriated in its reassurance, its inherent threat hardened her heart with fear.
"I really wouldn't know," she said with forced calm, flipping her hair to hide her hot cheeks.
"He is still unlearning what it is to be a leader. A lifetime cannot be undone overnight." Staring down at Kaoru, Kenshin sounded utterly, innocently serious. "But as for what it is to be a warrior—that he will never surrender, and his honor to him is worth infinitely more than his life."
Megumi frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because he probably never will." Kenshin was smiling. "I have yet to fully know him, Megumi-dono, but this at least I understand: He does not speak with those he respects, because he expects them to comprehend without the hindrance of words. Nor does he speak with those he does not respect, because he will not waste his time or energy." He shook his head, still grinning ruefully. "Aoshi is, when all is said and done, an intelligent man."
Megumi remained silent.
"He is certainly much more intelligent than this unworthy one." Chuckling softly, Kenshin stood up, picking up the tray and quelling Megumi's imminent protests with a glance. "I will take care of these, Megumi-dono, and you can go on to bed."
At the new note of quiet authority in his voice, Megumi hid her impertinent smile until he had left. Maybe Kenji wouldn't be quite so spoiled after all.
She slipped silently out of the Himuras' room, noting idly that the lightning and thunder had ceased and that the rain had dwindled to a softer, steadier patter. Though she at first directed her steps toward her room on the other side of the house, she found herself following the corridor in the other direction, determined to make the rounds of the building before she retired. It was a habit she'd come to have, living alone in Aizu—one last circuit of her little house, checking doors, windows, lamps, before she finally went to bed.
Rounding the corner, she frowned. One of the partitions screening the engawa from the rain had been moved aside, making an opening about a foot across. Thinking perhaps Yahiko had forgotten to close it, she strode quickly down the hall toward it. She gripped the panel that had been moved aside, started to tug it shut, but a fresh, cool breeze came wafting in through the opening and stilled her movements.
Only now, standing a few feet away from where the rain continued to fall, did she realize how stuffy the dojo had become with all the partitions shut. Drawing a deep breath of cold, rain-heavy air, she stepped out to feel a few stray droplets spatter chill against her face and found herself smiling.
As a woman of her age and status, playing in the rain had been an indulgence left only reluctantly to childhood memories. And so the smile widened into a grin as she stretched her hand out past the eaves and felt the rain batter her palm in fat, fast drops.
Rivulets of water ran from her hand down along her arm and seeped into the sleeve she sought to hold out of the way. She laughed out loud at the futility of it all and let her sleeve fall from her grasp; soon it was heavy with rain. The cold water upon her bare skin was so refreshing that she took another step, farther out from the shelter of the eaves, until she felt the first fine drops touch her face, course down her chin, trickle through her thick, long hair.
She would have to change again and dry her hair before she went to bed, but—for now—Megumi stretched out her arms in the gray emptiness of the courtyard, upturned her face to the blank sky and the rain that seemed to envelop her in aloneness, deadened and shadowed all else.
She was intimately familiar with solitude. How it freed her to do what she really wanted, whether it was to soak in a tub for hours or to tinker with new concoctions of herbs. How it kept her from being disturbed while she pored over her texts. How its comfort and its private delights palled after a while, when the solitude faded inevitably into loneliness.
She had always used to play in the rain with her brothers.
And she realized her kimono was wet through, and so was her hair; the shifting clouds parted for just a moment, and she was shocked at how low the moon had already sunk on the horizon.
She turned back and found Aoshi standing on the engawa, bearing towels in his arms.
After another moment's hesitation, she went inside. And she said nothing, merely bowed her head and gathered her hair into a sodden handful, while he draped a large towel around her shoulders.
She could not meet his gaze as he guided her, hand low on her back in a force gentle but firm, toward the bathhouse where the tub was full and steaming.
In the doorway, as he made to leave, she spoke quietly.
"I'm sorry, Aoshi-san."
He stopped, but did not face her.
"I never intended for this to happen."
"No, you didn't, Megumi-san." His tone was dry as he slowly turned toward her. "Neither did I."
She blinked, then frowned. She glanced up as he walked back toward her, determined despite his unexpected candor to hold to the resolve that had so hardened her heart earlier that evening.
But before the dark, impenetrable gaze of his blue eyes, all last, confused thoughts of a fresh-faced weasel girl gave way.
"You will catch a cold if you don't bathe and change soon."
Megumi's hands curled into fists, she closed her eyes. "Why do you care?" she whispered, and she surprised herself with the anger, the frustration, the longing in her tones.
He moved then, and instinctively she tilted her face upward to meet his kiss.
Soft, slow, sweet, the press of his lips against hers spread ripples of warmth throughout her body, burning away the gathering chill of her wet clothes. His arm came to wrap possessively around her shoulders; she clutched at his hand, twined her fingers tightly with his.
Too soon, too soon, she felt him pull away. Bereft, yet unable to give voice to her disappointment, she nestled her head in the warm crook under his chin instead; dark with musk, heady with a hint of incense, his familiar scent rushed upon her within the circle of his embrace.
"I made a promise to protect you. And whether you like it or not"—she might have hit him in the face for the smile in his voice, but she felt strangely helpless in his grasp—"whatever I must do, I shall keep it."
A tear slipped free of Megumi's lashes, crept down her cheek; and a watery bubble of a laugh nearly escaped her, in a wave of relief she hadn't known she'd needed for so long.
How can he say so little, yet say all the right things?
And defying the steady gray drone of the rain outside with its richness, the rising steam wreathed them in the fragrance of summer roses.
tsuzuku
Author's Blather. Just take the sorriest, sorriest sorry you can possibly imagine, and multiply that about three thousand times, and that's roughly how sorry I am for this atrociously late update... I only really started writing right after I finished my summer job last Friday, and then everything seemed like garbage, and then I ended up with something pretty different from what I'd planned all along. My Muse better know what she's doing, 'cause sometimes I don't. Heh.
But thank you all for the reviews. Snif. As mij and eriesalia noted, yes, there will only be maybe a half dozen chapters to go, though I've some things still in store for these two. ChiisaiLammy—I'm so sorry Megumi-chan came out so heartless in the previous chapter. Mishandling on my part...sigh. Going to have to go back and fix that... But I'm glad you enjoyed the weird romance all the same! Kichi-chan, I hope the finals went (are going?) well. I also hope I haven't turned you too far into a man-hater... Rissi-Sama, er, thanks for shutting up the evil Rissi. And basically, just thanks! Cherie Dee, how about we get together for a nice drooling session? Shimizu Hitomi, heh (sweatdrop), really I was scrambling for a way to get him there in the first place. But well, to protect the one you love, I guess you'd rather be safe than sorry, ne? fallen, I'm happy you're happy with this little fic. Here's another kiss for swooners like us. Seak, thanks for reading! Yep, to be rather pathetically honest, that's my favorite scene too. Nyarhar. Leila Winters, after your review, I did notice just how dark and serious and thoughtful everything turned... I'm trying to bring back that fun tone, but somehow it refuses to be, um, brought back.
Hope with me that the next installments will come at wonderfully close to the speed of light. Or something. I have a week and a half till school starts and that tends to bode ill for fanfic writing with me...