Chapter 11-

Misao coughed and spluttered as water was poured down her throat. She shivered uncontrollably, laying curled up into the corner, cowering as Takara forced the bowl to her trembling lips.

"Again," Takara commanded, shoving the bowl closer so that it knocked against her chattering teeth.

Misao did her best to obey, struggling to calm her uneven breathing. But again, she choked, and the coughs racked her lungs painfully. Letting out a short groan, she leaned into the corner of the wall, turning her head away, closing her eyes against the pain that seared her body, making it burn like fire.

The wound on her leg had ceased to bleed, but it was caked in dried blood and pus. The arrow had pierced the blistered burn and it was already becoming infected. Her calf was unnaturally swollen and hot to the touch. Her entire body raged with fever, but she felt so cold.

Why hadn't Aoshi come to save her? She had heard him shouting…in the ballroom…he had come. But where was he now? Why hadn't he taken her with him? Why had he forgotten her?

Letting the tears slip quietly down her flushed cheeks, she buried her head in her shoulder.

i-i-i

"What are they saying, Daijuro?"

The young Oniwabban shifted uncomfortably, not meeting Aoshi's eyes as he toyed with a piece of leather in his hands. He was quiet, twirling the leather in between his long fingers as he leaned against the wall, facing the valley.

"Daijuro." Aoshi glanced around him. The walls were under his patrol tonight and majority of the division was out of sight, always keeping sharp eyes looking out across the valley. "Tell me."

Sighing, Daijuro threw the leather down. "There are whispers…" He hesitated.

"Go on."

"There are whispers…about you and Takara-kun."

Aoshi held his breath, keeping his composure stony.

"They say that…she has clouded your judgement. They say that on the night the Ikazuchiryu attacked…when you allowed the officer to live…" Daijuro stopped and bit his lip, still looking at the ground.

"And now the officer has escaped," Aoshi finished tonelessly. "They think I should have killed him."

Daijuro nodded. "They say it was Takara-kun that stayed your hand."

Aoshi didn't say anything as he turned and looked out over the valley. The air was

tingling with the promise of snow tonight, bringing a sharp stinging air with it. Tugging his cloak closer around his shoulders, he turned to Daijuro.

"Is there anything else?"

"They say…some say…that…" He took a deep breath. "Some say that you are not fit to be okashira."

Aoshi studied Daijuro closely. "And what do you say?"

Daijuro finally lifted his head, meeting Aoshi's steady gaze with desperate eyes. "I don't know what to think, Aoshi-sama. All I know is, the men are starting to grow restless and suspicious. Ten Oniwabban lay buried in the valley…and they weren't killed by enemy hands. They were killed by yours."

Aoshi closed his eyes momentarily, pushing away the images of their dead faces, their blood pooling on the bamboo floor.

Daijuro took a step towards him, lowering his voice into a whisper. "You have become different, Aoshi-sama. When you see Takara-kun…it's as if the rest of the world fades away. She holds you under her spell. And the okashira of the Oniwabban can be enslaved to no one."

They were both silent for a moment, the whipping wind blowing around them in a sudden furious gust. Aoshi's breath puffed in front of his face. "You've done well, Daijuro," he said, turning away.

"Aoshi-sama, please forgive me if-" The Oniwabban's voice was pleading.

"There is nothing to forgive." He stopped and looked at Daijuro. "You have done what I asked and there is no more to say."

Nodding to the night officer taking his watch, Aoshi turned to make his way to his sleeping quarters, dreading another sleepless night, full of the ghosts that haunted his dreams.

i-i-i

Kenshin watched as Aoshi stirred and murmured incoherent words as he lay face down on the cot. His head was turned towards Kenshin, his cheek pressed against the soft material that covered the narrow cot that seemed to small for his long body. His expression was troubled, and his hands twitched from time to time.

Megumi stood over Aoshi, gently pouring warm cloudy water over the wound on the back of his head. Taking a cloth, she carefully dabbed at it, her forehead furrowed in concentration.

Watching her silently, let Kenshin let his head lean against the wall and he tried to make his body relax. His shoulders and back ached from being tense for so long. He had helped Sano carry Aoshi on the stretcher to Megumi's clinic. They had gone the long way round, avoiding any main roads, until they had arrived at her doorstep. Kaoru and Yahiko had gone to the dojo long before. Sano sat leaning against the wall, his long legs sprawled in front of him, his head falling to his chest as he began to snore softly.

Megumi was readying a sharp needle and thread, pulling the thread through the eye expertly in the pale yellow light of the lantern that hung from the ceiling. Kenshin knew his eyes were wide as she bent over Aoshi and began to slide the needle under his skin, making small stitches to close the wound.

He tried to make himself watch the procedure, forcing his eyes to follow the movement of the needle, but he ended up turning his head away, staring at the ground to hide the grimace on his face.

"What is it?" he heard Megumi murmur.

"Um…nothing," he said with an embarrassed chuckle. "This one does not mind swords, but needles are an entirely different matter."

She laughed softly. "I was wondering why you were looking so pale."

He smiled in spite of himself. "This one will make you miso soup when we get back to the dojo, if you like," he said, changing the subject. "You have done much for us in the past two days, that you have."

She was silent for a moment. "I will tell you, Ken-san, that keeping you and your friends alive is not an easy job. Add some hot tea to that soup offer, and I might forgive you for walking around with a healing poison wound when you're supposed to be taking it easy."

Kenshin's smile widened. "Then tea you shall have."

i-i-i

Black darkness met Aoshi's eyes. He blinked several times, but the blackness remained. His head throbbed with crushing pain, like someone was bashing a club across his skull. He was lying down, a thick blanket covering him. All was totally silent.

Slowly, he turned his head, wincing as he did so. Faint white light shone through an opening in the room and outlined the shadow leaning the wall. Aoshi felt his heart begin to beat furiously, matching the pounding rhythm in his head. He felt for his kodachi, but his belt was empty.

The shadow moved towards him, and Aoshi tried to sit up, but fell back dizzily, colored splotches blinding his vision. The shadow knelt down beside him and Aoshi swung a clenched fist upward, fighting the panic that was rising in his chest.

The shadow's hand caught his wrist in an easy grip. "Aoshi." The shadow had Battousai's quiet voice. "You are safe here, Aoshi. There is nothing to fear."

Aoshi blinked again, this time with weariness. But he didn't want to go back. Back into the whirlwind, where he knew his memories lay in wait for him, ready to tear into his heart once again.

"I don't want to remember," he whispered to himself as he felt the weight of heavy sleep come upon him. He felt his body relaxing, his eyes slowly closing. "I don't want to remember…"

Deep blackness settled over him once again and he remembered.

i-i-i

"You've been avoiding me, Aoshi," Takara's soft voice said behind him.

He didn't turn to her as he stood at the wall, looking across Edo bay. The surf crashed below him, unseen in the deep darkness that covered the night. Thick clouds, again heavy with snow, covered the moon's beams that would have been shining, but were smothered by the heavy weight of the night.

She moved up beside him quietly, gathering her cloak close to her body. They were both still and silent, watching the blackness that yawned out before them for miles.

"Did you dream again?"

He didn't meet her questioning gaze. "Yes."

They were quiet again, the wind whipping between them.

"Were they of the Oniwabbanshu?"

"Yes." He looked down at her squarely, his expression cold. "Yes, Takara, the faces that visited me were of the Oniwabbanshu that I had slain with my own hands. The pale faces of my comrades, my men, staring at me accusingly, screaming for my death in their thin voices. That was who visited my dreams tonight."

He turned his eyes back towards the sea, hating the hurt and concern that lit her gaze.

"I'm sorry," was her faint whispered reply. He winced, hearing the beginning of tears in her voice, forcing his heart to be callous against it, though it rent him in two.

"People are whispering, Takara."

She lowered her head, reaching out to touch the thin layer of snow that encrusted the walls. Her fingers traced a swirling pattern on the ice.

"They say that you hinder my judgment and my leadership."

Her hand stopped.

"Some are saying that I am unfit to be okashira. I let a man live, and now he has escaped. Because you stopped me from killing him."

She was silent beside him, her head still bent low.

"Why?" He looked down at her again, his voice sharp. "Why, Takara?"

"Why what?" she whispered.

"Why did you stop me?"

"I…I don't know."

"Don't you dare lie to me." He turned his body towards her so that he was facing her. She looked up at him slowly, her eyes moist with tears. "Why?"

She bit her pale trembling lips and turned her head away. "He…he said he had a wife and children."

"What does it matter? Many men that you and I have killed had wives and children."

"But hearing him say that…" She sighed, tears choking her voice. "I never used to care. The last words of a man who is going to die are always desperate and I never paid any heed to them. But when he said he had a wife and children…and I saw you…I wondered what it would be like…" Pausing, she hugged her arms around her and looked up into his hard eyes. "I thought of his wife…what she would feel when she found out that he was dead. And I thought of…what I would feel…if you died."

He stared at her for a long moment, the frigid wind beating against them, biting his skin with the cold. She held his gaze, letting tears roll down her cheeks.

"Listen," he said at last, his voice low. He leaned close to her. "There is nothing between us. There can never be anything between us. I never wanted anything between us. Do you understand? Nothing." His voice was quiet and harsh, tinged with the strange icy anger that had gripped him. He knew it was hurting her. He could see the pain in her face. "I am the okashira of the Oniwabbanshu. And I will be enslaved to no one."

Daijuro's words rang through his mind as he took a step back, the bitter cold anger making him numb. He heard Takara let out a sob when he turned his back to her and began to take long, determined strides.

"Aoshi!" she called, her voice strained with weeping.

He stopped. "Do not call me that," he said without looking at her. "I am your okashira. You will address me by my proper title."

He left her, crying on the dark southern walls of Edo castle, trying to convince himself that he had not left part of his heart behind him in her small white hands.

i-i-i

"Where are my kodachi?"

Kenshin paused in the doorway of his room. Aoshi stood, pale and grim faced, his fists clenched at his sides, as if struggling to stay standing.

"You are feeling well?" Kenshin asked as he slowly closed the door behind him.

"I'm going back," Aoshi said shortly, not answering his question. His red-rimmed eyes were hard, lit with pain and desperation. And anger.

Kenshin was quiet for a moment. How many times had his eyes burned the same way Aoshi's did now?

"Misao-dono needs you, that she does," he said finally, leaning over to straighten his tousled futon.

He felt Aoshi's stare and he looked up.

"Do you think me foolish?" Aoshi asked the question softly, his head bent, his face clouded with distress, his stony mask disappearing for a moment.

Kenshin straightened, meeting the other man's eyes squarely. "This one does not think it is foolish to save the ones you love," he said in a firm voice. "No matter what the cost is."

Aoshi slowly nodded and looked away.

"Your kodachi are in the training room," Kenshin said, turning towards the door. He quietly slipped outside and made his way towards the fields, hoping that sword practice would ease the troubled feeling in his heart.

i-i-i

"He left you behind."

Misao groggily opened her swollen eyes, wincing in the light that shone through the window. Takara sat beside her, leaning against the stone wall, her arms wrapped around her knees.

"What?" Misao rasped. She lay huddled in the corner, her arms gathered around her, her whole leg feeling as if it were on fire.

Takara sighed softly and looked at the ground, her eyes tinged with sadness. "We have both made a mistake, Makimachi Misao," she said, her voice quiet. "We have both loved a man who has never loved us back. We give our hearts so willingly, only to have them rejected and forgotten, shattered on the ground like broken glass." She paused for a moment, staring at the wall, her face distant.

Misao blinked the heaviness from her vision as she sat up straighter. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said bitterly, her voice growing stronger.

"Tell me, is there a man you love?"

Misao was taken aback for a moment. "Yes," she said slowly.

"And does he love you in return?"

Misao was quiet. "Yes," she said, her voice soft with uncertainty.

"Has he told you this? Has he ever shown that he loves you?"

Misao turned her head away, refusing to let her tormenter see the tears now in her own eyes.

"As I said," Takara said quietly. "We have both made the same mistake, Misao. Both of us have loved Shinomori Aoshi."