Disclaimer: Simple – Rurouni Kenshin? Not mine. This fic? You betcha.
Without Words
4-Sticks and Stones
Keep it short and simple, that was the first rule any journalist learned.
Okina certainly did.
"I am not your grandfather," he had said.
The words were as blunt as any knife, cutting through her better than any weapon ever could. Did she feel hurt? Shocked? Angry? Misao couldn't name all the different emotions that ran through her in the precious heartbeats that passed since Okina's confession.
Facts first.
Feelings later.
Breathe, Misao. In. Out. Then she reached for the best defense she had – a question. In this case, it was much better than the kunais that she used to practice with when she was younger. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" To her ears, her tone was cool and professional, betraying nothing of the intense feelings that occupied every nerve of her being. "Was everything you told me a lie? That my parents died when I only three? That you were the only family I had?" This time, her emotions were threatening to break through, making her voice crack on the very last word.
"Misao-chan," Okina said softly. "I love you as if you were my own flesh and blood. When your father placed you in my care, I never expected that it would be a permanent arrangement." He looked around at the deserted apartment lobby. "I didn't plan it like this, you know. I wanted to take you for a short walk to the--"
"Please spare me the unnecessary details, Jiya," she interrupted hotly, brushing back the tears that snaked down her cheeks. She wanted to lash out at him. She wanted to take every inch of anger and throw it back, wondering how far she would have to go to hurt him as he had hurt her.
Okina sighed. "Yes, it's true your parents died when you were young – your mother during childbirth and your father… well, your father's death was mainly why I chose not to tell you the truth earlier. You know I'm your legal guardian. You don't have any living relatives left."
I don't even have you, Misao thought. Somehow the pain of being alone became bearable when she had friends like Kaoru and Kenshin, and a grandfather like Okina. But now he was telling her that he was never hers in the first place.
"Your father entrusted you to me because he was in a dangerous position," Okina continued. "Just how dangerous we didn't find out until it was too late. He was a journalist, like us. So many people wanted to see him dead. In the end there were so many suspects and not enough evidence that the police gave up trying. And then there I was – a middle-aged bachelor who lost a good friend, raising a little girl on his own. I moved here to Tokyo and brought you with me, hoping that we could start anew. I promised myself that I wouldn't tell you until I felt you were ready. I vowed on his grave that I'd do it the day you turned twenty. But I just kept putting it off because I didn't know how… I hope you can forgive me, Misao."
"Is that even my real name? Misao?" she asked. The word sounded suddenly foreign to her ears, as if it now belonged to someone else, and she was a different person, faceless, nameless.
Okina nodded. When he faced her, Misao finally realized that his admission had pained him, too. "You are my Misao-chan," he said softly, in soft broken syllables, "and nothing can take that away from us."
A sob escaped from her throat. The man before her now was the man who had patiently taught her kempo when she was just an overeager seven-year old. He was the man who had wiped her tears when she scratched herself with her own kunai. He had comforted her through stormy nights, understanding that behind her tough façade, she was just a little girl.
Moments ago, she cried before of the life she had never known. She cried now because she had ever doubted him.
As she let Okina engulf her in his embrace, Misao could only think of one other question. "How… How did my father die?"
Okina held her tighter, as if his arms alone had the power to lessen the sting of his words. "He was shot twice. In Kyoto."
Misao could only stare through the glass doors of her apartment building, watching the colors blur into one hazy mass until every tint and hue was unrecognizable. Then she heard it, the unmistakable patter against the cement sidewalk. First a light drizzle, before pummeling relentlessly onto the ground.
It was raining.
***
It had been raining in Kyoto ever since he arrived, and it was ruining his plans. Heaven forbid that he run around demanding retribution in a sopping wet trenchcoat. And to think that he had made arrangement for this trip a long time ago. He had gotten hold of a small apartment – nothing too fancy but not too shabby either – and even rented a car from one of Hannya's uncles. But most of all, he came prepared to battle demons he thought he had defeated a long time ago.
This day hadn't been any different. It had been fairly sunny when he had taken his black Subaru to visit a colleague at the University of Kyoto, under the pretense of checking out research. In truth, Aoshi had taken the opportunity to check out if he was being tailed.
He was.
It was a white Mitsubishi, no plates, heavy tint. It had noticed it parked a few meters away from his apartment the first day he was there. He had had his suspicions, but he ignored it for lack of damning proof. He hadn't seen it in the next two days, and it wasn't until today that he had gotten the chance to lure it into the open.
He had seen it next at the University, then at the coffee shop where he had stopped by for a short drink. Aoshi never took his eyes off it as it drove past slowly.
Shishio wasn't taking any chances. Neither was he.
He felt for the gun hidden inside his coat. He wasn't too crazy over it, preferring the kodachi he had used when he was younger. But it could do the job just as well – clean and swift.
"More coffee?" a voice at his side asked, and he turned to see the young waitress beaming at him.
"No thanks," he replied, turning his eyes back to the crowded street, just in time to see the Mitsubishi's taillights disappear around a corner.
Time to go. Aoshi paid his bill and left.
But it had started raining again, and the streets of Kyoto had turned slick at the light evening shower. Aoshi didn't take his chances; he didn't know who could be waiting for him here. Maybe it was a mistake trying to come back, especially when he didn't know whom to trust. So he drove through the busy streets, always always in the light.
And there it was again.
Aoshi picked up the speed, weaving his car in and out of lanes. But the Mitsubishi behind him wasn't taking any chances either; it crept closer with every second.
He shook his head almost imperceptibly. Shishio was getting rather paranoid if he wanted to take him out this soon.
Time to ride.
Aoshi raced through the streets, not caring whether the traffic police would catch up to them sooner or later. The Mitsubishi had the same idea, steadily cutting the distance between them.
Aoshi floored it.
He hadn't felt this wild and carefree in a long time. As Aoshi led the other car to narrower roads and darker alleys, he wasn't at all concerned about staying alive. He knew wasn't going to be brought down so easily. If he wanted it to end, he could just stop his car and confront the other driver, and that would be it. But it felt good to be behind the wheel like this. Later he would stop toying around and get down to business, but for right now --
Then a figure ran out in front of him.
Aoshi's reflexes went into overdrive as he slammed on the brakes and veered the car away. But the side of Subaru still hit the target, and the girl – he could see that now – was knocked back. Aoshi was out of the vehicle in a split second, ignoring the frantic sounds around him. Ignoring the protesting squeal of wheels that told him the Mitsubishi had turned around and sped away.
He scooped her off the ground, cradling her in his arms.
The face was pale and tired. But he recognized it in a heartbeat, as quickly as her eyelids shut over her flashing blue eyes. There was no way he could forget those eyes.
"Misao," he breathed. What have I done?
***
"This way please," someone said as he carried Misao's unconscious body into the hospital. A stretcher appeared before him, and before he knew it, two orderlies were already wheeling her away.
He brought her to a hospital because frankly, he didn't know what else to do with her. He had laid her across his backseat, keeping one eye on the road and another on her. She looked so different since he had last seen her, a little older somehow.
"Wait," he protested, a little too late. If he could, he would just follow Misao into the emergency room. There shouldn't be anything wrong with her now, should there? Maybe a few scratches and bruises, but certainly nothing serious. They'd be out of there in no time.
Aoshi frowned. Since when did he start thinking about him and Misao as a we?
"Sir?" A nurse addressed him politely. "Are you family? We'll need you to answer some forms."
He shook his head. "I'm… I'm just a friend. I knew her from somewhere."
***
The day had been long, the night even longer. Aoshi had been in more strenuous situations before, but nothing this exciting since he moved to Tokyo. But while his body felt the strain of the day's incidents, his mind was still as sharp as ever.
He climbed the last flight of stairs that led to his apartment room.
The door was open. It was just a small crack, but he noticed it right away. He wasn't going to go down without a fight. Aoshi drew his gun and leveled it at the figure waiting for him when he burst into the room.
He heard a faint giggle. "Oh, Aoshi," a woman's voice pierced the night. "You always took everything so seriously."
She stepped into the pale moonlight that slipped through the window. But even without that action, Aoshi had no doubt as to whom it was.
"Yumi," he said.
"Is that all you're going to say to me, anata?"
End of Chapter 4: Sticks and Stones
Author's Notes: Gomenasai, minna-san, if this chapter was a little late. I'll try to write quicker next time, but hopefully, without disappointing you with the quality of my work. Thank you to everyone for reading (and reviewing!) and a special thank you to Mara for all her help. I hope I can answer most of your immediate questions with the next chapter, so stay tuned!
About the title: I usually don't explain titles, but someone pointed out that it might be a little too obscure. A little hint then. Sticks and stones may hurt my bones but words can never hurt me. And in this chapter, guess how many people were broken? This show was brought to you by the letter S and D and by the number 0. Ooops, wrong program.
