Mune no Monogatari
by Mirune Keishiko
Epilogue
Part Five: Reading Ki
He had blown it.
He had had one chance to bring her back with him, one chance to tell him how badly he'd fallen apart in his concern for her, one chance to make amends for his chaotic behavior...
...and instead, he'd practically insulted her to her face for being herself—independent, free-spirited, focused, ambitious. He'd managed to manipulate these noble qualities into sounding like irresponsibility and selfishness. Which was absurd, since those qualities were largely the reason he had always held her in such high regard in the first place.
And then pride, stupid pride had hardened over his helter-skelter feelings, making him leave the hotel where she was now staying with that gaijin, even after he had heard—with his well-trained ears—the beginnings of a sob.
Oh, and a whisper. "Aoshi, you moron..."
He supposed he deserved it.
She wasn't supposed to hang on to him, after all. That was exactly what he wanted for her, wasn't it? That she should go off to Europe looking forward to everything that lay ahead? That she would strip the burden of a demon like him from her spirit and free herself for the thousand other, better, more normal men that waited for her to illuminate their dreary lives?
She was undoubtedly furious with him now, gathering the tatters of her self-respect and swearing him off forever. She had no use for needy, jealous, irrationally emotional berserkers turning her own best traits against her. He supposed that was good, then; he had actually managed to accomplish his objective.
Finding a replacement would likely be easy, as well as entertaining. After all, if she could attract so many admirers within less than a week of staying in Tokyo, three years would undoubtedly find her practically shoveling them off her doorstep...
Aoshi wanted to throw his teacup and smash it on something, but first, it was part of Kaoru's treasured tea set, and second, he'd had quite enough of acting on emotional impulses as it was.
He settled for staring out his window at the leaden sky, which was still pouring rain, and longing half-heartedly for sleep. It was around one in the morning.
"What are you doing still awake?"
He threw this none too graciously at Misao, who, he sensed now, was standing just outside his door.
She entered with a tray. "I could ask the same of you," she said lightly, taking a seat next to him on the tatami. "I got a little hungry."
She held out a plate of mochi to him with a smile. The fragrance of fresh tea wafted to Aoshi's nose from a pot on her tray.
He shook his head silently at the offered treats and resumed staring dully out the window as she refilled his cup.
"You haven't even had dinner yet, Aoshi-sama. Just get some anytime you feel like it." She placed the dish between them with elaborate care. She paused, then, "Did you find her?" she asked, more quietly.
Aoshi closed his eyes. "Yes."
"Where is she? Is she safe?"
He chose to answer the second question. "Yes."
"You know, you look like shit."
"Thank you, Misao"—he opened his eyes with a silent sigh—"that will be all."
Misao grinned. Just a shadow of her old, gamine grin, but a grin nonetheless. "Jiya sent me to do a whole bunch of errands over here," she said, setting down her cup, "but the main point was really to give you this."
She drew a small box from an inner pocket and laid it in front of him. Aoshi, hardly in a mood to be entertained, gave the little black thing a cursory glance.
Then he frowned, and picked it up.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Misao smiled wistfully. "We all just want you to be happy, Aoshi-sama."
Aoshi looked away, away from the suspicious glimmer in her ocean eyes, and opened the little Western-style box. Inside, fire and ice flashed from a golden ring.
"And of course, Jiya is not about to be left behind by modern fashions," sighed Misao in mock scorn.
The gems twinkled shyly in the weak lamplight.
He knew what it meant, of course. And Megumi would too. She would love such a beautiful ring. It would suit her perfectly—she had such delicate hands. Women loved pretty things like that. And as for men... Men would see those brilliant jewels flashing against her fair skin, that slim band around her finger, and would know that she was marked, would know she was his and his alone, for no other man to touch...
Numb with shock—and that happened very rarely indeed—Aoshi snapped the box shut, put it down, and pushed it away, back toward Misao. He put his head in his hands.
"Leave, Misao. I wish to be alone."
Misao blinked in surprise. "What's wrong, Aoshi-sama?"
"You shouldn't call me that anymore." His voice was muffled through his fingers, but no less icy than usual.
She felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment. "You're right... I probably shouldn't." Calmly she poured herself another cup of tea, noting without remark that Aoshi had barely touched his. "But I'm not going to just leave you to wallow in your misery some more, either."
He ignored her. He supposed he had plenty of experience at that—simply staring straight ahead and ignoring her.
"Will you quit ignoring me?" She rolled her eyes. "C'mon"—she tried a more coaxing tone—"tell me what's wrong, Aoshi. Maybe I can help."
"No."
Misao blinked. This was the first time in her life Aoshi had refused her anything so flatly. "What do you mean, no?"
"I mean no, Misao." Let it go. Let it go. For your sake...
She frowned and put down her cup before she broke it in her fist. "What, you think I can't handle it?"
Yes.
"You think I'm still too young? Still a child? You think I wouldn't understand?" When Aoshi still made no response, she clenched her fists, longing to hit him. "Answer me, Aoshi. Are you still trying to protect me? Well, I don't need that!"
Still he was silent. Tears burned in Misao's eyes. Abruptly she turned from him, faced the window as he did, curling up to hug her knees to her chest.
"I didn't want to come back here, you know," she said, petulantly. "I was pretty tired from all that walking and... no, I didn't want to see you anytime soon. I thought Jiya was crazy. To get back from Tokyo and then to have that damned ring waved in my face... I thought I would go mad. I didn't even use my kunai on him. I was that upset.
"But Jiya... He wouldn't give me a moment to myself. He said I'd have a lot of time to mope when I traveled back to Tokyo. He said that loving someone meant wanting them to be happy. Even if it wasn't with me." She smiled bitterly. "He asked me then if I'd ever really, truly, loved you. Like I'd always said I did."
Aoshi lifted his head at that, stared at Misao, her shoulders slumped, her thin fingers fidgeting with the end of her braid. Her cheek was streaked with tears, but a small, grim smile played around her mouth. She stared straight ahead, not meeting his gaze.
"Do you really love her?" said Misao softly.
"More than I believe I can take," he said, not at all humorous.
"I bet you yelled at her when you found her." A half-smile tugged at Misao's mouth.
She knew him too well. "Yes, you could say that."
Her smile broadened. "But she was okay?"
"She was... safe. Someone was looking after her. She did try to come home but she failed to make it in time..." With every word he felt remorse twist further, deeper into his own soul. "I said some things to her to which I... neglected to give proper consideration first."
Misao shrugged. "So you lost your temper. Happens to everybody. Especially to Megumi-san," she said as an afterthought, chuckling. "She'll understand. So you two can kiss and make up—not that I really want to see that—and you still have a few days to yourselves before she leaves..."
"I regret the effort you have made in vain, Misao, but you can take that back to Okina."
Misao stopped. She stared at him. He seemed in earnest. Aoshi was, once again, staring dully out the window at the rain.
"You can't mean that, Aoshi."
"..." Aoshi took a perfunctory sip from his stone-cold tea.
"I can't believe it! You idiot!" Misao screeched, instinctively punching him.
To her amazement and horror, the punch actually connected. Aoshi made neither movement nor response, not even a grunt, as her fist solidly landed in his cheek.
Misao was more affected than he was.
"Ohmygosh! I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" Frantically babbling, she examined the bruise on his cheek. Already an angry purple color was coalescing on his skin. "Aoshi-sama, please forgive me! I didn't think... I didn't... well, I didn't think you wouldn't block it!"
Aoshi merely sighed and muttered something that sounded like "Sit down and let me explain."
Promptly Misao took her seat again, kneeling daintily before him with impeccable posture, determined to behave if it killed her. Mournully she noted that the swelling over his cheekbone had begun.
"She has attracted considerable attention in society, and not solely for her professional talent." Well, that was one way to put it. "It is attention she naturally enjoys, to a certain reasonable extent, and I believe it is something she should have liberty to explore as fully as possible. Much has happened in the past few months; I cannot underestimate what can possibly happen in three years. I intend to allow her complete freedom to pursue what interests she may develop in the time to come."
And that, Aoshi realized with in a kind of hollow surprise, was that.
Misao sat beside him in silence, eyes downcast and hidden in the sweep of her hair, absent-mindedly turning the little teacup around and around in her hands. Aoshi watched her wordlessly.
He started to berate himself. He had taken Misao at her word... but really, it had only been a month since they had had that talk in the dojo. Only a month since he had finally, unequivocally, told her that the affection she had sought was not his to give. From ten years of patience and admiration and love, she had painstakingly woven a much-cherished dream—and he had taken that dream in his battle-coarsened hands and broken it.
Surely four scant weeks were not enough to heal such a wound. Aoshi braced himself, half expecting tears to start falling any minute...
But the eyes she raised to him were clear and untroubled. "So what does Megumi-san think about all of this?" Misao asked pensively, tilting her head to one side like an inquisitive bird.
Aoshi blinked. "I... don't know yet."
Misao frowned. "You don't know? You haven't asked her?"
Suddenly Aoshi felt very, very ridiculous.
Misao slapped a hand to her forehead. "She has absolutely no idea this is what you're thinking, has she?" Putting her hands on her hips, she glared at him like an indignant nanny. "Has it ever occurred to you, Aoshi-sama, that you don't have to do all the thinking for the both of you?"
Ah, thought Aoshi with intense concentration, as though this were the most important and mind-bogglingly fascinating fact in the world, the rain seems to be easing up.
"How about—'Megumi,'" Misao intoned beside him in what sounded ominously like a near-perfect Aoshi imitation, "'just in case you're wondering, even though I don't even know if you are and that totally scares me, and that just indicates how much of a doofus I am when it comes to dealing with my emotions, I have no intention to propose marriage to you whether you like it or not, because I want you free to find other men who aren't obsessive, territorial control freaks like me, even though I love you insanely and it's pretty obvious to everyone else that you love me too'?"
She tumbled over on the mat convulsing with laughter at her own joke. Aoshi sipped serenely at his tea, refusing to honor her humor with so much as a glare.
Okay, so she was annoyingly accurate. He would give her that, at least.
"Yare yare," sighed Misao, grinning wildly and picking herself up, dabbing at her teary eyes with her sleeve. "Aoshi-sama, you are incorrigible. I'm going to bed. Thanks for the chat; I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did."
Getting up, she kissed him on his bruised cheek with unexpected tenderness. He blinked.
I love you, Aoshi-sama.
She left the pot of tea and the plate of mochi there by his side.
And I'll never stop calling you that, either.
Many minutes had passed after Misao had left before Aoshi thought to put down the little box he clutched tightly in his fist. His cheek still stung from Misao's punch, but her light, chaste kiss made the pain seem worlds away.
He picked up a piece of mochi and began to eat, shaking his head ruefully.
He was smiling.
tsuzuku
A/N. I was threshing out this chapter in my head and I suddenly remembered Death and Dream from Neil Gaiman's Sandman. Especially from #8, "The Sound of Her Wings." I'm not really trying that hard to pull it off in that particular way, but it rather fits, don't you think? Moody-broody Morpheus does seem to have some things in common with our Icicle Boy. And of course, Misao is as perky as they come.
Just a few more chapters to go...
This is a much crazier ending than the one I originally wrote. Sigh. I'm not sure if this is right. But would you say that after all the general gloom and doom of this long story, this is not as terrible as I think it is?Ü
...so I guess I'm asking you, kind reader, to please review and tell me if this is good or bad, or could be better. And not just because I'm a review ho, either.Ü You're all my betas, in a manner of speaking! beams I might not immediately go back and fix these things, but I'm pretty sure I'll be doing that sometime. Gotta do it properly, and all that.
Sniffly hugs of thanks to eriesalia, conspirator (whew! such heavyweights! I bow before thee!Ü), kindred spirits ladie shinomori and ak0 who know the value of drama (hee hee), devil who has taken the time and effort to read and review despite her well-articulated contrary views, yvonne and sueb262 who are simply delightful, Larissa Hyuga and AzaleaFaye who are always so very kind, lawless whose brevity, the soul of wit, has made me smile, and Ak who honors me with a compliment I myself have paid to those greats who have gone before me.Ü