Disclaimer: You know the drill.
Notes: Arigatou gozaimasu to Yoshino-kun for the overview on Tokyo; it was truly more informative than a guidebook. Anata wa umai na hito desu. You kept me from going tempatteru. Thank you also for all the reviews and comments, especially to Mara, for the help on the precious mitochondria. Again, welcome to my home, enjoy yourselves, and leave a note on your way out.
Without Words
2- Mightier Than The Sword
"Shinomori Aoshi, meet...?"
It took a while for Misao to realize that the secretary was waiting expectantly for her reply. Apparently both of them had been waiting for her to speak for quite some time now.
"Makimachi Misao," she quickly supplied. She took a deep breath, using the few precious seconds to compose herself. Genki time. One. Two. Three. "I'm from the Oni Times. It's a pleasure to meet you, Shinomori-san."
He just looked at her with those blue eyes.
The secretary cleared her throat. "Makimachi-san, I'll leave you two alone now. Why don't you make yourself comfortable while I…"
Misao understood why the secretary's voice had trailed off. The only seat in the room was the one behind Shinomori's desk.
"…go ask someone to bring some extra chairs," the woman finished smoothly. She gave them a tight smile then quietly left the room.
Professor Shinomori continued studying her with those blue eyes of his that Misao couldn't help but blush. The man must think she was an organism under a microscope! What was she supposed to do now? Wasn't he going to say anything? Wasn't he even going to ask her to sit down?
She suddenly remembered the tape recorder in her back pocket and took it out. "You don't mind if I tape our conversation, do you?" she asked, as she set it on his table.
"Yes," was his succinct reply.
"Excuse me?" Misao clarified.
"I don't want any record of this conversation aside from your notes," he said.
Misao swallowed her protest with a smile. Her information on the guy told her that the project was under serious scrutiny. Maybe he had good reason to be cautious. Or maybe he was just plain weird. "Okay," she agreed amiably, slipping the recorder into her pocket.
But his reaction only fueled her innate curiosity. Just as she slid the recorder back, she managed to flick the record button on.
Easy does it, she told herself.
She hoped the extra motion had gone unnoticed, and plastered a smile on her face. Then she breathed a silent prayer that she had enough tape to run the entire conversation. The thought made her grin even more. With a man as stingy with his words as this one, she had no doubt that she'd still have plenty of space left.
A knock on the door announced the secretary's return, and she guided a janitor carrying an extra chair. The older woman had the chair placed directly in front of Professor Shinomori's desk. She waited for the others to leave the room before turning back to the professor.
"Please sit," he instructed her. Misao couldn't tell if his words were an invitation or an order, but she followed him nonetheless.
She took out her pen and notebook and prepared to ask her first question.
But just one look at those blue eyes staring from behind the glasses, and her mind was a blank.
"Uhm…" she fumbled, mentally going over her notes in a desperate attempt to find a decent topic.
Misao had never gone through anything like this. She may not be grace under pressure, but she was quick on her feet and quicker with her wit. But now…
What was the name of that project?
And was what her name, for that matter?
***
Aoshi couldn't believe it. This girl had the temerity to call herself a reporter? She couldn't even put together a coherent sentence! But on the outside, his face betrayed no trace of his emotion as he waited for her to begin. It was a skill he had long mastered. As long as he kept his feelings in check, he was in the clear. But just because he didn't show any emotion didn't mean that he never felt any.
Now this girl came walking into his life, all sunshine and smiles, and things weren't so simple anymore.
He had his doubts the minute she strode into the room, with her face lit up like an overeager child, her long black braid whipping about her. She could have passed for a high school student, but Aoshi assumed that she was around twenty-one or twenty-two. At first he thought that this was some temp or editorial intern, sent to do her first assignment. When she introduced herself, it took him a conscious effort to avoid raising his eyebrows. He knew of Makimachi Misao. He had read her articles in the Times. When he was still in Kyoto, his job had been to keep close tabs on the media, and he had taken a particular interest to a new reporter who was covering the Tokyo crime beat. Her news was more than standard stuff. He knew enough of the scene to tell that she kept on bringing up angles that would normally have been forgotten. After all, he'd been part of all that, so many years ago.
But lately she had been reassigned to do features for the weekly supplementary -- and they still contained her trademark hard-hitting and thought-provoking style. His favorite had been an interview she did with an old acquaintance, a man convicted of theft and murder. Aoshi knew Watanabe Udo had been guilty. Makimachi's article had made no excuses for the man's sins, yet Aoshi found himself rethinking his opinion of Watanabe.
He couldn't believe that the woman who had made the tough Watanabe reveal his childish passion for purikura and ice cream sundaes would be the same girl sitting before him today.
***
Misao was still panicking. Just as she was about to launch on a lame opening, she caught sight of Professor Shinomori. His face was expressionless, but in his eyes, Misao could see the slightest hint of amusement and irritation.
Sure, he was one fine specimen of a man. And sure, there wasn't anything about him that blatantly revealed his dislike of her. But Misao could feel it. And no one was going to get away with laughing at Makimachi Misao.
Something clicked.
"Your work with mitochondrial genes, especially your inquiries on the transcription of nuclear and mitochondrial genomes, has earned you the respect of your colleagues. What do you --"
He cut her off in mid-sentence. "Did you understand what you just said?"
She looked up at him, her smile so politely deferential but with eyes faintly challenging. "I understand that your project's goal is to see how expression of those two genomes can be regulated under physiological conditions and ultimately understand the process to see how it can be used in combating certain diseases. Unfortunately there has been a certain faction of the scientific community that continues to question your methods."
"I see."
Misao tried not to grip her pencil too hard. I see? Was that all he could say? "Some sectors wish you were more transparent with your research."
"Some sectors wish to take credit for research that they did not initiate."
"Professional jealousy, then?"
He did not respond.
Misao gave herself a mental shake. This was not the way she wanted the interview to go. She had planned on a light piece on Professor Shinomori, one that focused on the achievements that led to his being the youngest biochemist -- he was only twenty-eight -- to receive a grant from the University. And not just any grant, but one that was rumored to be worth nearly half a million US dollars.
She decided to change tactics. " So when you're not dealing with professional jealousy or redecorating your office, what else do you do with your free time?"
***
Her question floored him.
First she had taken him aback by her grasp of his project's concept. It was remarkable for someone who had no interest in science to be able to sum it up accurately. Next, she had hit it right on the nail -- professional jealousy was one of the topics he had hoped to avoid, yet she had smoothly built up her question, the transition clear and logical that he ought to have expected it. And then, her cheeky dig at his office decoration.
In short, the girl had his number and it was only ten minutes into the interview.
He didn't know whether to laugh or be insulted. He decided on neither, letting no emotion show. "I practice some martial arts now and then."
She smiled, as if that was exactly what she wanted to hear. Didn't she ever get tired of smiling? If he did that, his cheeks would crack in two. "A black belt in judo, an instructor on the use of the kodachi, a master of countless of other styles -- it's amazing for a former member of the famed Kyoto Juppongatana to refer to his skills so lightly."
Aoshi's eyes widened slightly as she mentioned the underworld gang he had left behind. How in the world did she get that information? "You have interesting sources, Makimachi-san. I'd start looking for more reliable ones, if I were you."
"Do you realize that that's the longest thing you've ever said to me?" she pointed out with her mischievous eyes. Then she leaned forward, moving in for the kill. "So what made you leave them?"
He refused to answer. Any response from him would be tantamount to acknowledging her facts -- and he'd rather spend the entire afternoon revealing his entire scientific findings rather than talk about them.
But still she went on, as if expecting his silence. "Then why are you going back?"
Aoshi had had enough. How much did she really know? Any more and the girl wish she had wisely kept her mouth shut. He stood up. "I was under the impression that this interview was about the University's research."
He didn't mean to be harsh and rude -- but he had to be. The girl flinched slightly at his cool tone, but bravely remained in her seat. "Shinomori-san, I write human interest features. I was sent to interview you, not your mitochondria."
He stared at her. She had nerve. Then, for the first time in thirteen years, he found himself blurting out the first thing that came to his mind. "My mitochondria may prove to be more interesting."
She smiled. "I highly doubt that," she said gently.
Aoshi cursed his runaway tongue. But hell, what he wouldn't give to see her smile like that again.
***
Misao was delighted with the way the interview went. Professor Shinomori had gone back to being as tight-lipped as he was during the start of their meeting, but she still managed to get him to talk about his beginnings in science and his current research. He also unbent enough to discuss his early childhood in Kyoto -- if discussion could be defined as a grunted 'yes' or 'no' from the man. When she mentioned his interest in Zen, his eyes lit up briefly before settling back into his cool stare. But Misao had seen that sparkle, and when she pressed on, Professor Shinomori gave in and opened up. Sort of. For someone like him, five uninterrupted sentences -- no prompting, no encouragement -- was opening up. So all in all, things were much better than she had expected.
"Thank you for interview," she told him warmly, as she got up from her seat an hour later. She was hoping that writing it wouldn't be too much of a problem despite all the pauses and silences in the conversation; she had her trusty tape recorder on anyway.
He just stood up and nodded.
"Don't trouble yourself. I'll show myself out," she said, politely backing away. Much as she hated the interview to end, she hated it even more that she might not be able to see him again. "I hope you'll have a safe trip to Kyoto." Then she whirled around and headed for the door.
"Makimachi-san," he called out.
She turned around, surprised at how different her name sounded from his lips. "Call me Misao, please."
"Misao," Shinomori said, walking towards her.
Misao gulped as he closed the distance between them -- very fast. He stopped, standing so close to her that she could smell the faint soap on his skin. To her complete and utter surprise, his left arm went to her waist, almost cradling her.
She blushed deeply. "A-Aoshi," she murmured, dropping all formalities in a split second. He was moving too fast for her tastes, but one look into his ice blue eyes glinting purposefully, and she was lost. She leaned slightly forward, slowly closing her eyes --
-- Only to open them wide a moment later at the sight of Aoshi holding her tape recorder in his hand.
If only the earth would open up and swallow her whole. Misao couldn't believe her irrational display of emotion just seconds earlier. How could she act so unprofessionally? But more importantly, she couldn't believe that Aoshi had noticed that tape recorder in the first place! "Did I leave it on your desk?" she asked in an upbeat tone, as smoothly as she could manage.
He didn't even smile. He took out the tape, and tossed the recorder back to her. "I thought I had made myself clear."
"And yes, that is a great souvenir of our afternoon," she said, still keeping a smile on her face. She couldn't tell what was going on behind those eyes of his. Was he going to sue her for invasion of privacy? Breach of contract? Sexual harassment?
"You know your way out," he said. Then he turned around and walked back to his desk.
Misao heaved a sigh of relief as she slipped out of the office. The man was a complete mystery. Just when she thought she had him figured out, there he was again, dancing out of her line of logic and into the shadows. What was it about the man that had so captivated her, in the short measured silences of the afternoon?
She tossed her braid over her shoulder. Her recorder was lighter than it had been in a long time, mainly because of the loss of the tape. She had to go and buy another one this afternoon.
But there was something else she lost today. Something more. A piece of her anatomy, like maybe, her heart.
***
He closed his eyes. She smelled so good, felt so light in his arms. It had been too long since he held someone that close. But he couldn't allow himself to feel that way for her. He couldn't allow himself to feel anything for her. Not when it was too dangerous.
Not when she was too dangerous.
"Misao," he murmured. She nearly walked away with her tape recorder, and along with it, significant information that he shouldn't have even mentioned in her presence. But she had a way about her. He didn't want to disappoint her, or let her down. If she had gone out that door with the recorder, life was going to get a little more interesting than it already was.
He had to forget her. It's better this way, he consoled himself. Better for everyone involved.
Maybe he'd see her again, a few years from now, when things were different. Maybe she'd still smile at him the same way, with her heart in those clear eyes of hers. And maybe then, his heart wouldn't ache as it did now, as if he had found something he wasn't looking for, but lost it before he even knew he had it.
End of Chapter 2- Mightier Than The Sword
More Notes: Purikura are those little photo stickers. Also, forgive me for taking liberties with Aoshi's and Misao's ages.
