Mune no Monogatari

by Mirune Keishiko

Epilogue

Part Three: Yield

She always comes home around this time. She is quite firm on that: Her meetings can drag on, she very often receives invitations to evening affairs, and her associates can be quite persistent—but she always finds some way around them, always arrives just in time to help with dinner at the dojo. She says she is making the most of her time left here before leaving. Never let it be said that Takani Megumi let anyone else stand in the way of her decisions.

I, for my part, merely circumvent them.

Of the five days I have watched her walk home along this way, she has never noted my presence. It gives me an odd sense of reassurance to know this. I tell myself it is to protect her, to watch over her, to make sure she stays safe and unmolested... by ruffians she might know, as well as those she doesn't. I ignore the unexpectedly melancholy thought that I will no longer be able to do this for her in those foreign lands, where she may actually need such protection more.

She would never approve of my behavior if she were to find out. But she should already know that I am just as persistent as she is, if not more so, and I do not intend to sit by in idleness while she makes her way across this turbulent city by herself.

The preparations she has needed to make for this journey already take her away from me for most of the day. I will steal what I can of precious time with her. Whether she's aware of it or not.

This afternoon, she seems to be taking her time leaving the embassy. It is one of the newer buildings near the harbor, a solidly built marble masterpiece of contemporary Western architecture that manages to be rather less monstrous than some of the other foreign buildings that have sprung up in this area. The security around this building—politically important, if not quite aesthetically pleasing—is riddled with holes. It is through one such hole that I have made my way over to the hospitable branches of this tree, where I can catch glimpses of silky hair and pale skin through an open window.

Her voice drifts on the breeze. She moves out of sight after a few minutes, probably takes a seat on one of the embroidered sofas in the Ambassador's parlor—this is not her first visit here, nor mine. Thus constrained from watching her, I pass the time by watching the sun set on Tokyo Bay instead. Megumi should be noticing the fading daylight soon, and taking her leave. She pays attention to such things. She doesn't much care for social niceties. She's too smart for that. Too independent. Too driven.

It has been a while since I last had this intensity about me, this focus drawing every thought, every act, every breath almost, every beat of my heart to itself. It used to be the leadership of the Oniwabanshuu. It still is, to some degree—even though the power of that concern over me has begun to wane somewhat, now that others have taken command and many have gone their own way. For a while, it was meditation that aroused this peculiar discipline in me. But one tends to run out of reflections when one is too well isolated from the world. Certainly, ever since I came to know her better, I have had no end of new thoughts, new ideas, new observations.

It is nothing so obvious as her name whispering in my head with the rhythm of my pulse, or some other such nonsense as younger idiots like to say... but now there is always an insistence in my blood, it seems, calling me to her, reminding me of her, never using words or images so much as...

...feelings.

Moments of... desire. Longing. And, ironically, satisfaction. Giving me no other recourse but to dwell on her. Something inside me seems to glow, something warm tightens in my chest, snatching unexpectedly at my breath, and all I can think of is her.

It is an odd sensation, both pleasant and somewhat painful, restful yet disturbing. It fascinates me. I savor every strangely breathless moment, the unusual heat that starts up in me without warning.

I have not felt this way in many, many years—or perhaps I never have.

But for similar reasons I do not trust it. Not entirely. It is beyond my control... and it further displeases me that it even makes me quite uninterested in maintaining control at all. The private thrill of the sudden spark of warmth inside me, the utterly unpremeditated surge of both supreme contentment and immense dissatisfaction whenever she is not at my side—they arrive without regard for reason or logic or schedule, and I know that is part of their delight. Something born of my own intentions could never be so... inordinately pleasing.

Still, there were, after all, extremely sound reasons the Okashira's heart was known as one of ice.

The glassy waters are a dull, gray-blotched red over half an hour later when the embassy's doors open at last. In the lengthening shadows, it is easy to hide myself between shopbuildings on the other side of the street and watch Megumi take her leave of the Ambassador.

She has her usual assortment of eager would-be escorts. I strain to hear their sometimes sleek and polished, sometimes flustered and faltering voices: offering her a snack at one of the new restaurants in town, or a sip or two of exotic tea before she goes home, or, at the very least, a carriage ride; and finally—since she has graciously turned down every one of their proposals—their own humble company on foot across town as she heads home.

On a good day, a motley crew of lawyers, merchants, fellow doctors, or even a naval officer or two might make up such a group of not-so-secret admirers. But today, I see, appears different; one by one the men around Megumi, the Ambassador's friends and associates, leave on their own business after having their company politely declined, until only one is left.

Short reddish hair neatly combed, a fringe of rust-colored beard along strong jaws, a respectable physique filling out the customary black suit, he is, I believe, a textiles producer, in town to conduct business in cottons as well as to observe the local silk industry. Very early thirties, perhaps—or, as Westerners tend to look much older than they actually are, possibly late twenties.

My eyes narrow at the sight of him. He is getting entirely too familiar with her. He has walked Megumi home two afternoons already; he would have made for a third time, except that some emergency came up and he overrode her protestations to drive her home in a carriage instead. His name is James Patrick MacNeill Wilkinson, holding residence for three weeks now at the Higashiya in the Chuo district, and setting sail back to England by the end of this week.

Incidentally, on the Alianora... the same ship Megumi will take.

As they step through the ornate iron gates into the street, he offers her his arm in a grandiose sort of gesture; and after a split second, Megumi takes it, smiling at him equally playfully. My blood boils despite myself, my fingers tighten on the hilt of my kodachi.

This is the first time he has touched her. The first time I have seen her smile at him like that.

I keep my anger in check and follow them along the street, padding across the rooftops as lanterns below flicker to life with the onset of evening. If he thinks he can try anything in the growing crush of people... If he dares touch anything else of her...

But now that I look, Megumi appears to be actually laughing with him—he is talking quickly, with a grin that indicates it must be a joke of some sort—and the shapely white hand on his arm never turns into a fist, so I know there is nothing yet amiss.

So why is my blade already an inch out of its sheath?

And why is the odd little breathlessness not quite so pleasant now?

Damn feelings. They obey absolutely no decent logic. I sheathe the blade and leap across a gap to another rooftop, still watching the strolling pair very, very closely indeed. The walk across town will be long, and too much can happen.

"He calls you 'Lady Megumi'?"

"Oh, but you really mean, 'Okaeri nasai, Megumi-san, I trust your day was pleasant.'" Megumi swept past him, flashing him a sweet smile over her shoulder.

Aoshi emerged from the shadows by the gate to follow her toward the house. "You seem to have taken your time on the way home." I know because I followed your every step, he added mentally.

"Why, yes I did," she says somewhat frostily, not turning to look at him. "Since I'll be leaving already in a few days, I meant to take as many memories with me as I could. Is Ken-san done with dinner? I brought mushi yokan for dessert..."

"Himura is completing his preparations for the meal. And you still haven't answered my question." His blue eyes glittered in the shadows of the eaves.

Megumi sniffed. "You shouldn't have been eavesdropping anyway." She would have walked on, but he moved swiftly to block her path. Elaborately heaving a long-suffering sigh and shaking her head, she reached up to clasp her hands around the back of his neck, smiling up at him patiently. "He overheard Ken-san calling me 'Megumi-dono' the other day and... well, now he understands what it means, but he persists in making it his little game. Now can I go?"

And she pouted up at him, batting her eyelashes, the childlike look on her face so uncharacteristic he might have laughed—but the pucker of her rosy lips, the teasing sparkle in her eyes so tempting that he felt heat bloom deep in his gut instead.

He released her suddenly, making her stumble a little; almost without thinking, he caught hold of her arm to steady her. Suddenly Aoshi felt foolish, and he hated that feeling.

"My, my, is Tsurara-san here getting a little jealous of Mister Wilkinson?" Megumi's fox ears twitched Aoshi's way as she tittered behind her hand. "I suppose I should feel flattered..."

He gritted his teeth, still seeing in his mind's eye the foreigner daring to kiss Megumi's hand before going on his way; Megumi had had the most impish of smiles as she allowed him to do so—almost as if she knew Aoshi was watching, and she reveled in the idea. But then again, he did understand that such was the custom in the foreign countries, and furthermore...

"You are not mine to claim," he said slowly, quietly, as though to himself, and turned away.

"Aren't I?"

The quiet, deadly calm of her voice stopped him in his tracks. Her tone had lost all its playfulness; it had gone from sly to serious, almost sad, in a matter of moments. Not for the first time, Aoshi marveled at the way Megumi's emotions so swiftly changed, surfacing one after another in the space of a breath or a word. By now he had come to learn that it was not so much fickleness as it was her deftly alternating between her various masks and the true feelings that lay beneath.

After a moment, he finally turned to look at her, a question burning on his lips.

But she had already stepped swiftly past him and away, the purity of her face aglow in the early evening moonlight. She vanished into the house, her voice lilting teasingly in response to Kenshin's call for dinner, leaving Aoshi behind in the yard as though she had forgotten about him completely.

Aoshi stood motionless and silent for several long moments. He might never have gone in to dinner—at that moment, the peace and quiet of a perch on the roof seemed more attractive—if he had not sensed Megumi slowly approaching him once again.

He turned, regarded her blankly. Though her shadowed face did not change expression, color rushed to Megumi's cheeks under his frank stare—he wondered if she were angry, or simply irritated or embarrassed. Without a word, lowering her gaze from his at the last moment, she laid a hand on his sleeve.

He took care to shut the partitions to the engawa on their way to the dining hall. The wind was rising fast, the night air thick with rain.

tsuzuku

A/N. Sorry everyone for an unusually short chapter! I wrestled with half a dozen drafts before I settled on this one. Wahh. But I hope this is still acceptable to your discriminating tastes, honored readers! Please await the next installment! beams

My thanks to those who read and reviewed! At those dark moments when I consider giving this fic up for lost, you are the ones who really help bring me back from the edge. Larissa-dono, thank you for patiently responding to each chapter. ladie shinomori flatters me way too much! I'm happy to entertain in my own little way such readers as AzaleaFaye, lawless (whose affnet fics are quite delectable!), Lidens, yvonne, and RAVEN. And to Thief Rikku—haha no need to feel bad! But I can't say I didn't thoroughly enjoy your love-cake either. Thank you!