In Err, My Suffering
Part III
Misao stared at the ceiling. The floor had been cold against her back at first, but it had warmed as she laid there.
He was gone.
Aoshi.
He had left almost ten minutes ago. She hadn't moved since.
Her body was both satisfied and aching all at the same time. The tiny space between her legs was wet and tender. She rubbed her thighs together, not sure if she liked the slick, sliding feeling or if it just made her feel dirty.
She heaved a heavy sigh and sat up, still feeling his hands on her hips, moving underneath her, inside her.
She smiled lazily.
But he'd left.
He'd pressed kisses along every inch of her skin he could reach and then quietly left her.
He hadn't said two words to her, just gone.
Shinomori Aoshi, the man she loved.
Shinomori Aoshi, the man with a head full of rocks, she though dismally. She wanted to curse him and smack him a good one, but of course she wouldn't. He probably deserved it. Even so, she got the kind of feeling from him that maybe he simply didn't know what to do. Aoshi always felt to her like he was stumbling along blind and she couldn't bring herself to hold him accountable for that. It was always felt to her that he was doing the best he knew how, worrying and doubting and blaming himself along the way.
She sat up and absently pulled on her robe. The hall was quiet, it was still early evening, there hadn't even been dinner yet. With a frown and a head full of jumbled Aoshi thoughts, she headed for the bath house. She wasn't even halfway to the stairs before an arm shot of the dark and yanked her into a side room. She yelped, trying to yank her arm back from her would-be snatcher. Or, maybe he was a snatcher, he had pulled her into the room successfully.
She expected to see Aoshi.
He didn't disappoint, there he was. Hand still wrapped around her arm.
"Could you let go?" she asked, feeling a bit uncertain about seeing him so soon.
His room was dark with only moonlight shining through the open window. Despite the low light, she could see the expression on his face well enough to know something was about to happen.
Something she wasn't necessarily guaranteed to like.
"Misao..."
If he said one word about being guilty or what they did was wrong, she'd slap him silly.
"Don't say anything," she warned.
He stepped back from her. "I cannot say nothing."
"Okay, fine. Go ahead, but I just know you're going to say something stupid and make me angry." She crossed her arms and waited, feeling a little bit childish, like she was waiting for a scolding she knew was inevitable.
He turned his back to her and after a few moments he turned to face her once more. Silence stretched long and tight and ended in Misao's patience snapping. She cleared her throat.
"Can we do this tomorrow?"
He didn't say anything.
"Cause... um... no offense or anything," she felt her discomfort grow. "I kinda want a bath."
She opened her mouth to tell him why, but then, of course, he already knew so...
"Tomorrow then," he said and his voice crisp and... dismissing.
She let it go, too eager to get away.
The wind blew slightly, fluttering, rustling. He stood so straight, tall and proud. He was more beautiful than she remembered. Far more beautiful.
This man who had been her guardian...
Why?
Why couldn't some brotherly, fatherly feelings well up in her? Why couldn't she feel for him the way she was feeling for the others at the Aoiya? Why couldn't she regard him like she did Shiro or Kuro?
Why?
He turned, his body perfectly fine tuned for battle. His eyes were dark, a deep pitch, a pit, a coal black night... A shudder took hold of her shoulders and swept down her spine.
"Aoshi-sama?"
Her voice was a whisper, a plea on the wind, but he only stared at her impassively. The eyes of one far-away or disengaged. She meant nothing, she thought, staring into those eyes. The tremble shook her body harder as he moved, the foreign coat shifting around his frame elegantly. His movements were smooth and his body sleek as he glided toward her. She couldn't see an ounce of blood upon his person, not one speck.
Had the battle with Okina meant so little?
Had he become so adept at slaughtering people that he could avoid the spray of blood?
She swallowed hard as he neared, one step and then another. He raised a hand and she felt the rough pads of his fingertips against her face. The trembling wouldn't stop. She stared, their eyes meeting, blue... just blue.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of silver. Her mouth fell open as it pierced through her, shiny metal dulled with the sheen of blood through her chest.
She choked staring at the piece of kodachi poking out the material of her uniform.
She looked up, her eyes meeting his... Those dark pools.
The pools that promised death.
"Ao..shi... saama..." she mouthed the words, but her voice was already dead. She never felt the ground as she impacted with it.
Misao woke, jolted awake, her breath choppy. She sat up shakily, not quite able to stop the quivering of her limbs or the pounding of her heart. Numbly, she slipped from her room. Another midnight stroll, another walk alone, another night peering into the darkness and seeing only Aoshi's eyes.
The eyes that held death, the eyes of one who's soul was being eaten alive, corrupted, stained, tainted..
She heard movement in the kitchen and headed in that direction. She stood in the doorway and watched as Aoshi moved around. She would've expected tea, but it wasn't, just a little plate of pastries. Was he hungry at this hour?
She stepped into the room and he showed no signs of having seen her. When she sat at the table with him he just pushed the plate toward her in offering. She accepted and nibbled on a piece of sweet cake as she stared at him.
His eyes were clear and colored,
not darkened with death. He looked like the man who appeared
in her early memories, albeit older.
She opened her mouth to speak and
trailed off. "A-"
He didn't look up. "What?" The tone was soft, low, but held sort of a gruffness to it at the same time.
"Would you... let me do something?"
At that, he did look up.
"Do something?"
She nodded. "I want..." she trailed off, feeling awkward.
He didn't press, he waited.
"I want to... Can... I'm not sure how to say it."
"Direct is best," he advised, still staring at her.
He looked tired, she noted. Like he hadn't slept enough the previous few nights.
"Can I touch you?"
He didn't look surprised, but he didn't immediately answer. After several strained moments of silence, he did.
"Touch me, how?"
She frowned. "Like... Well... not like that..." she blushed slightly. "I mean... You never let me touch you. Just normally."
He raised his eyes again, she couldn't remember them moving away, but she hadn't been staring at him directly.
He reached and touched the same calloused fingertips from the dream to her face and she trembled. She couldn't stop the trembling. The movement was soft, a faint touch, a gentle circling with the pads of his fingers. But then he stood up and stared down at her.
His eyes weren't dark - they were clear, but burdened. Weighed with guilt and sadness...
"You're afraid of me, Misao."
The tone was soft, mournful. He didn't take anything off the plate, he just turned and walked out of the room.
AN: I will finish this. So I thought I ought to post part of it. It ends at chapter 5, if you were curious.