Daughter Figure
Part 2 of 8
Revised June 18, 2011 -1338
Misao stepped into the temple room, precariously balancing the tea tray in her hands. She'd told herself she wasn't bringing him tea anymore, what happened to that vow, she thought bitterly. Here she was again, slave to habit. Or slave, to love, one of the two.
But it wouldn't work, she'd realized, abandoning his tea serving. It had to be gradual, maybe miss a day or two. He would only worry about her if she suddenly started ignoring him. She couldn't deviate from her normal routine, so she'd have to change subtly, although she'd never been good at that. That's part of the reason it would be so hard.
Aoshi-sama was by the window. To her amazement, he was wearing only a pair of black pants covering those long, lean legs. Oh, she thought... Even battle scarred, he was beautiful. His chest and lean, toned arms bearing all his battle scars open to view.
She fought the blush, quickly turning her mind to other things. Idiot man. What was he doing sitting around half naked, tempting her?
'Father figure, father figure, don't forget. Just friends!' she chanted, direly hoping she could pull this off. She could only admire him from afar. Admiring him up close, well that was too much temptation.
Once he saw her, to her disappointment and relief, he pulled on a shirt, covering his scar-covered chest as he turned away from her. She told herself it would make life easier, at least he was being accommodating. Where was his yukata today?
She sat down the tray on a low table, determination flowing through her veins. "Are you ashamed of your scars, Aoshi-sama?" She wasn't sure why she asked or why she thought he might answer. Most days he didn't really say anything. She'd gotten tired of his silences and gone for conversation that didn't require him to actually say anything back.
He came, sitting down in his usual place, crossing his legs. He reached for the small ceramic cup, raising it to his lips. She figured an answer was not forthcoming.
"I'm not ashamed of mine, although it's probably much worse for me to have them, being a girl and all. Omasu says scars are ugly on women but for a guy it's like a battle scar, a source of pride. I haven't had the opportunity to be ashamed of my scars."
He didn't even look up from his tea; his eyes were lowered, before they fluttered closed.
"Ah, sorry. Was that weird? It's just what came to mind when I saw you there."
She stood, walking to the window where he'd been looking out. What did he see out this window? Was there a breath taking view from this window she'd never seen before? Or did he just stare out this window, lost in his thoughts like she'd been lately? Trying to think Aoshi-sama's thoughts after him was impossible; she wondered why she ever tried.
"What kind of scars?"
His voice was unexpected, not even to mention the question. Oh good heavens above, he was asking about her body? This was not the kind of direction their relationship was supposed to be moving in. Why did things never go according to plan?
"Like... where did I get them? Or, where do I have them, or what do they look like? What does that mean?" she asked, confused, turning her back to the window to lean against it. As far as she could tell there was nothing spectacular out there anyway.
"Where did you get them?" He clarified, not so much as shifting from his still position.
"Oh. Well, the normal places I guess. I got one from my shoulder I was. It was dark and I got distracted. Then I got another one the inside of my thigh from some nutcase I met in Tokyo. I've got lots of nicks down my arms and on my hands. Then there's the gash across my side from when the Juppon Gatana guys attacked the Aoiya."
He turned toward her, his eyes tracing down her figure slowly. She felt her reasoning slipping. Don't look at me that way, she silently pleaded.
"When?"
She turned away, unable to bear his gaze, so she looked back out his window. Toward his unremarkable view hoping it would distract her.
"I got most of them while traveling around. My big mouth has gotten me into lots of trouble."
"The man from Tokyo?"
The who who'd tried to get a little too friendly, she thought, a slick feeling sliding down her spine. She never should've said where she had it. That had given too much away and he was too smart to let it go.
She waved it off. "That happened a long time ago."
She didn't want him to see how much hurt she still carried over that incident. The ninja world she grew up in was male dominated to be certain. But she had never known the sheer terror of a man's superior strength before. Misao had been teased often about looking like a little girl but there had been no mistake in the eyes of her attacker that day.
She closed her eyes, blinking away the memory. Yeah, that was enough time at the temple for her today. She was going back to the Aoiya, someone there was sure to distract her from the dark shadows in her memory. It was time to sweep them back to the corners where they belonged.
"I'll catch you later."
He didn't seem surprised about her quick departure, he didn't say anything if he was. She didn't really want to know what he was thinking anyway.
In fact, she was beginning to think that maybe Aoshi-sama and she lived in two totally different worlds. She had, in the last two days, undergone a revolution. She was torturing herself, trying to turn herself into someone she could never truly be again. She was trying to morph her love for Aoshi-sama back into that childish infatuation she'd had so long, and destroying herself in the process.
Misao was a woman, no matter the teasing, and she could never return to being the little girl that idolized a man. When a woman idolized a man… well… that was never going to happen. What was going to happen was… she didn't know that part yet.
She was behaving somewhat unusually. He couldn't imagine exactly what seemed to have her so on edge. One moment she seemed distracted, the next she blushed, and the next over she was glaring at something on the horizon.
He did not pretend to understand what was going on in her head. She didn't seem to want anyone to know anything was wrong with her at all the way she seemed to be struggling to cover it up but she was behaving erratically even for her. He didn't doubt he was somehow involved with Misao's unhappy expressions these days, but he hadn't done anything to cause it. He was behaving as he normally did, she was not.
It seemed a simple matter. He could ask her, but she would deny it. He could ask the others but no one seemed to be reacting any differently toward Misao, nor she to them. Was her problem with him alone?
The mention of her scars surprised him. While before she had gone on with jokes and thoughts of a generally happy nature, now her tone turned dark. The happy girl she was, or had been pretending to be, seemed to have melted quite suddenly into the modern version of Misao who held few traces of her childhood personality or she hadn't over the past two days. Something was certainly troubling her.
He did expect Misao bore some scars from her battles, but he had not consciously thought about marks on her body. Misao did not often enter his thoughts in such a fashion. He simply did not think of Misao bodily.
Misao's reactions to him, in their many forms, had often taken a turn away from the familial relationship they'd once had, but those seemed to have vanished. Abruptly. They seemed, if anything, to be turning back toward that familial relationship once more. In town, she had barely said a word to him; she hadn't reached out to cling to his arm. She hadn't hugged him in almost three days… she hadn't touched him at all and Misao was a tactile person.
He was not upset if Misao was gradually maturing into someone less like what she had been, everyone grew up. Such was a natural progression, but it did not appear her change was natural at all. Her lights had not been on late, but he suspected that she was sleeping very little. Her light step was dragging and her smile flagged.
And then there was speaking with her. Once she'd promised to make him smile and now… had she given up on that goal? Now she spoke of things on a much deeper level. She'd spoken the previous afternoon on the changing of the season and how it often caused her to feel depressed when winter came. The day before that she'd talked of how she thought Okina felt old and unhappy and by pursuing young and pretty girls in an attempt to make him feel younger. She was also upset because she was certain that he would never marry.
He couldn't have been more surprised by her sudden change of attitude had she walked in and slapped him with a cold fish.
So, what was it? What did she want to do by switching objectives so suddenly? Why was she changing into something else? Or, if she were not changing, why was she suddenly trying to relate to him on a level different than one they'd had before?
Was this merely another attempt to gain his attention? Misao had gone through plenty of little phases, but nothing quite so severe. Nothing thus far had caused such a great physical change upon her person or personality.
Had someone said something that had hurt her?
He stood up. No answers would be found here.
He had not intended to violate her privacy. He had not intended to suddenly partake in analysis of her private thoughts without her permission, but what was he supposed to do when they were right in front of his face?
He blinked. The paper was nailed up onto the back wall, a long paper hanging by itself. The kanji was very clear on the page; the message undeniable.
"Outside the windows' view, we weep."
Outside the windows' view, we weep?
He heard her footsteps as she came up the hall about to catch him blatantly tresspassing but he made no attempt to avoid her. He remained where he was, inside her room, staring at her wall. Staring at the line of text on the cloud white paper.
He heard her come up behind him, the slide of the door as the formerly open doorway, was closed.
"You're in my room, Aoshi-sama," she chirped, stating the blatantly obvious.
Of course he was in her room. He had been looking for her.
Had been.
He was no longer sure he wanted to face her just yet. No longer sure of the answers he was seeking or the questions he wanted to ask.
"That's interesting, what is that?" he pointed to the paper on the wall.
"My attempt at being lyrical. The others were really lousy so I tossed them, but that sounded beautiful and sad, so I kept it. Omasu told me everyone has a poetry phase, apparently mine's worn off."
Somehow her explanation seemed unsuitable, but he could not think Misao that quick a thinker to come up with such a cover story. He could not picture her sitting, writing lyrical verses at all. There had to be truth somewhere in that statement, just as he sensed there was something untrue in the same words.
"Was there something you wanted? I just left you at the Temple not so long ago. You're back early, aren't you?"
"I've decided to come back for the day."
"Oh?"
He turned, but she wasn't looking at him. Just as well, he thought, as his eyes darted over her. She was wearing a yukata, one that looked almost identical to the one he was wearing except hers was... clinging. She'd, apparently, just come from the bath. Her hair was wet and stuck to her cheek on one side and her yukata was doing the same at her waist and across her chest. He glanced away.
At least it wasn't transparent.
"You should hang out around the Aoiya a little more, bond with everyone. When you come around everyone gets all shifty and uneasy and that's stupid. Everyone needs to lighten up a little."
He couldn't be wrong about her, could he?
"Is something troubling you, Misao?"
She stopped folding the blanket she'd picked up from the corner by the futon cabinet. She tucked it away absently and slid the door of the cabinet closed.
"A little bit."
So, she was uneasy about something. Good first step. And she had been honest in confessing it.
"What is it?"
To say he expected a denial with the most truthful. That just seemed too easy. Misao was like that, very honest and straightforward. He'd always liked that about her, it made interacting with her easy. She looked up, a small smile on her little lips.
"There's no point in telling you about it since neither of us can change it."
"If … how can something not be changed? It is obviously bothering you."
"There's no need to worry. I'll work it out and everything will be fine. Although telling you to 'not worry' won't work, it never does. You'll worry anyway, needlessly, and so it's all been just a big waste of time. Right?"
He stared at her.
What?
Her discomfort seemed to have vanished. It was something he'd just become aware of since his return to the Aoiya some time ago. After the Battousai-, er, Himura, had brought him back here to her. To Misao.
Her newfound discomfort and tendency to blush in his presence was cute. He quite liked watching her reactions. She had been doing noticeably less of it lately. Was she trying to stop that? Was she trying to tone down what came naturally to her? What that what was different?
"And if I should refuse?"
Her hesitation was clear, as was her expression of confusion. Was she trying to think ahead of him and hadn't prepared for such a response? What was she doing?
"Refuse what? I'm not giving you a choice about something," she sputtered.
"If I should refuse to let the matter go?"
She turned back, now she too was frowning. "It would make me unhappy, Aoshi-sama."
Her voice had almost a childish singsong quality to it.
She moved toward the cabinet. "Um... I should really be getting downstairs since they expect me in the kitchen soon."
He just stared.
"I have to get dressed," she clarified, making a motion to herself. "Which I'll do myself, so if you'll... you know... leave..."
He felt the corner of his mouth perk up in response.
"Leave?"
She nodded. "That was the idea."
She was starting to look a little annoyed, he thought. He wondered how long he could exasperate her and make her eyebrow start to twitch.
Although he loved to tease her when he was feeling in the mood, her attire was really causing his thoughts to turn another direction. He remembered all too clearly her mentioning of scars and the locations thereof on her body. She'd given him a verbal map and he realized, at that moment, he wanted to follow it. He watched her turn away from him, hoping he'd take the hint she'd spelled out for him, and leave.
He, however, had other ideas and approached. It was one thing to hover near her doorway and question her. It was quite another to enter her private domain with thoughts that were anything but familial.
"Misao..." he drawled, his voice low.
He had never practiced seducing women, but it all seemed to come so naturally. He'd learned that lesson young.
He watched her tense. "Yes, Aoshi-sama?"
She was still determined...
"How did a man in Tokyo cut the inside of your thigh?"
"Um..." She turned a glance his direction before hurriedly looking away. "Well... that was... um..."
"To do so, " he continued smoothly. "Your legs would have to have been ... apart..."
She brought a hand to her face, covering her mouth in a move that looked so unbelievably innocent he had force himself to stop lest he reach out and touch her.
"Well, yes, I guess that's right," she agreed, kneeling down to pick something out of a chest. She was still gathering clothes.
"So, what was this man from Tokyo doing between your legs?"
She whirled around looking torn between humiliation and fury. "Don't say it like that and I don't want to talk about this with you so get out of my room!"
"It is true, is it not?"
"No!" she snapped. "You say it like I was meeting my lover or something, that's not what happened."
"Were you looking for me?"
He'd known, discovered later, she'd spent all her free time searching for him. To think she'd been mauled by some city thug while searching for him. He reached for her, snagging her arm as she tried to turn out of the gentle hand he placed on her shoulder. He pulled her to him, crushing her little frame against his chest.
"You're not the only one who's done bad things, Aoshi-sama. That man from Tokyo... He's dead." Her words were muffled, but clear enough to be heard as she spoke.
His eyes widened. Had she...? Had she killed him?
"I just... I didn't mean to... I panicked... I was pressed up against the wall, he had my hands above my head...when he moved to ... fiddle... with his clothes I got one of my hands free and... I didn't even stab him I just... kind of a reflex thing... the kunai I keep at the back of ... I just grabbed it and... he... he... gurgled and...
"It went right through his throat... he was gasping and... I just stood there watching him try to breathe, holding what was left of my clothes... I could... still feel his fingers inside me... and he just died."
It wasn't bad enough the bastard had hurt her; he'd actually touched her? Not just touched, but also invaded her? He was lucky it had been Misao who killed him; it was much less painful than what he, himself, would have done had he gone to track the man down.
"I'm sorry, Aoshi-sama."
"You have every right to defend yourself."
She nodded against his chest.
"You didn't mean to kill him."
"I know I didn't ... but I didn't try to help him either. I just... watched. After he stopped moving, I panicked all over again. I couldn't leave my kunai there... I yanked it out and..."
He pulled her closer. Poor girl. How long had she kept this bad memory locked away afraid to corrupt everyone's perfect image of her?
He gently pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
Again, she apologized to him.
"Do not say such," he replied. "I am not sorry he is dead."
She raised unhappy, tearful eyes. "But-"
"I would kill him for touching you."
She brought a hand up to her face, wiping away her tears, a smile on her lips. "I'm glad but... I don't want you to kill anyone for me, Aoshi-sama, if it can be avoided."
She'd said so, but he would do it anyway if the time came. He stepped away to let her dress on her own, tilting her chin up to him again.
"If it bothers you, come find me."
She'd confided in him what she would tell no one else. He was relieved when her eyes lit with warmth. She leapt at him, her arms curling around his waist.
"Thank you, Aoshi-sama."
She held him a moment and pulled away, making a motion with her hands. "Now off with you, I have to get dressed!"
He nodded and quietly left.
AN: This story was once following a path much like "Decay" by Hikaru. I'm not sure if it does or how much since I have gutted chapter 7 yet again. I will finish it. Determination is the key.