"Go away." Just let me curl up in a miserable ball. I rolled over and buried my face on the mattress.
He didn't go away. Instead, I felt myself being lifted off the bed again, as he pulled me onto his lap and held me and patted my back, while I snuffled all over him. The storm of tears continued for a while as I poured out my fear and frustration onto his shoulder. His fingers were soft in my hair, slowly untangling it, lifting away the pieces that had gotten stuck to my face.
Eventually, I ran out of energy (and possibly out of tears), but felt too wrung out to move. He kept his arms tight around me, as the sobs subsided and all that was left was the sound of our breathing and my occasional whimpery hiccups.
Finally my misery gave way to awareness. I should really move. "Sorry. You're probably going to get a leg cramp."
"I imagine so," Mitsuhide agreed easily but didn't let me go "Do you feel you can explain what is going on without turning on the waterworks again?" Oddly, his teasing tone made me feel slightly better. At least he was still treating me like me.
"I don't know who I am anymore." My words burst out as quickly as the tears that had come before.
"Brat, that was one of the first things I checked when you opened your eyes. You were confused but even then you were aware of your identity." He shifted us both so that he could lean back against the wall and keep his grip on me.
"I don't know what I am. If I can no longer climb and run without feeling sick, then what can I do? I even get dizzy when I read. If I can't do what it is that makes me me then." Adding to all that were the dreams I had been having about things that hadn't happened but felt as real as any memory.
"As I pointed out moments ago, it has been barely a week since you injured yourself." He brushed his fingers over a yellowing bruise on my am. "If that has yet to heal, then why do you expect that this-" he rested his palm on my forehead, "will be any faster to recover."
"That makes sense when you say it." I looked down at my arm. "Then it gets all mixed up when I start thinking about it. Or when I feel about it."
"Perhaps that's also part of your injury. That..." he paused as if looking for a word, "unusual healer Shojumaru found, claimed that you might be confused and emotional for a little while and that the more you could rest, the sooner you would recover. Therefore, rest is what you must do."
"Thank you." To my horror, I felt myself wanting to cry again. Knowing that there was a physical reason for my emotions was a relief, but it didn't turn them off. I took a deep breath, hoping to prevent another, as Mitsuhide had put it, show of 'waterworks,' then it hit me that I'd been sitting in his lap for the past twenty minutes. More embarrassing was that I wanted to stay there. I scooted off. "Sorry. Even if I'm not too heavy, I'm sure my hair stinks."
Sho had helped me bathe earlier today but she'd been too worried about getting my injury wet to wash my hair. I forced out my best self-deprecating 'silly me' laugh. "Probably it was just the smell of my hair that set me off."
"Dear me, we can't have that. Thankfully, it is certainly something I can assist with." He got to his feet, and I'm sure I heard one of his joints crack in relief.
"You're going to help me wash my hair?" The thought of Mitsuhide playing hair stylist... well it did not compute.
"Dear me, did your injury also affect your hearing? That would be unfortunate." He bowed, theatrically (or, sarcastically… with Mitsuhide, it amounted to the same, I think), then whisked himself out of the room.
A little while later he returned with the full tea kettle, two buckets and a bundle of cloth. He repeated the trek and returned with two more buckets, these filled with cooler water. Then he efficiently arranged everything on the writing desk, and before I knew it, I was kneeling with my head in the improvised sink, while Mitsuhide washed my hair as skillfully as any professional beautician.
All he needed would be to start gossiping about the cast of some reality show, and he could find a job in any fine salon. Although the idea of him doing so made me want-
"What are you finding so amusing?"
-to giggle.
He scrubbed something with a faint woodsy scent into my hair, his movements careful around the wound on my temple. "You do realize this is a singular occurrence."
Since I couldn't explain… there was no Sengoku era equivalent to hairstylist, I simply said, "I am just happy for it to be clean again." I really hoped that when I had landed in the street, I hadn't landed in anything worse than mud, but the mud was bad enough. I closed my eyes and allowed due vibration of his fingers on my scalp to relax me. He was clearly being extremely gentle because of my injury. Too gentle in fact. I understood that he did not want to jar me further, but if he could just press his fingertips in a bit more…? "If you want, you can scrub a little more forcefully. It's fine."
"Dear me, are you telling me to go harder?" He made an amused humming noise. "I will make a note of that for our future."
"You may keep an entire library full of such notes, but they'll only gather dust." As the words flew out of my mouth, I realized I had missed our snarky exchanges. My sarcasm had been automatic. But deep down, I wondered what it would be like if he were to let loose all of his exquisite tortures up on me. Something told me that it would be highly enjoyable. Mitsuhide was clearly good with his hands.
"No knowledge is ever wasted." He switched buckets to rinse the suds out. "One never knows when a piece of information will suddenly become handy."
"Whereas some information ends up languishing as a footnote," I sighed as the warm water streamed across my head.
"Some people prefer reading the footnotes. They can be the most interesting portions of history." He wrapped my head in a dry cloth.
My experience with how outsiders viewed "Kaya" didn't make the life of a 'footnote' sound particularly worthwhile. Though being someone's main story had never featured much in my daydreams, I knew it was still preferable to being a footnote. And when I reminded myself that Mitsuhide was in love with Mai… well, all I would ever be to him was a footnote.
"My my, it appears I have gotten you rather wet." Mitsuhide ran his finger around the collar of my kimono, which had become splashed during the wash. He gave me one of those taunting smirks just daring me to comment on his double entendre.
"Don't quit your day job.'' I found my hand towel and tried to blot out the worst of it.
"Perhaps you might want to charge into a new night robe, such as this one." He handed me a neatly folded square of turquoise silk.
When I unfolded it, it was revealed to be a simple yukata made from the fabric I had admired that day at Shojumaru's warehouse. "I thought you were having this made into a haori for yourself?"
"One key thing about the art of disguise. You should always keep with you one item that makes you feel like yourself." He held the garment up to my face and looked at me for a long moment, until I felt hot under his gaze. "Yoshimoto was correct. Jewel tones do suit you."
There were a thousand questions I wanted to ask him. When had he arranged this – had he always been intending to give this to me, even from that first day we had appeared in disguise as 'Kaya' and 'Kyubei'? The day I had been injured in the accident? More importantly, what thing did Mitsuhide keep with him that reminded him of his essential the self, a self I was beginning to think was far more complicated than I had imagined.
But before I had formed even one word, he'd simply tapped his fingers over his lips and then slipped out of the room.
In the sudden quiet, I changed into the yukata. The material was cool. Soft under my fingers. Wearing it felt like a comforting embrace.
The seventh thing I hate about Mitsuhide - he keeps doing nice things for me.
Within a few more days, the concussion symptoms had abated enough to allow me to resume daily life. I hadn't tried to climb anything, but looking out the window no longer made me feel dizzy. Hiko came by a few times and brought me a gift of a pretty fan as a thank-you for saving him. He even showed off his juggling skills, and to my complete astonishment, Mitsuhide brought out his flute and provided a little light musical accompaniment.
The tune was familiar. It sounded like … he had been the source of the music I had heard when I had been unconscious. It hadn't been a dream.
Later, once Sho and Hiko had gone back to their home for the night, and Mitsuhide and I were eating our respective meals I asked him about the music. "I didn't know you could play the flute."
"I did live a long and varied life prior to you crashing into it." Before I could point out that he had been the one to seek me out, he continued. "I often masquerade as an entertainer, much as your father has done, and yes before you ask, he and I did once work together, and no, I will not tell you that story. Having performance skills such as music and dance is handy in those situations."
True enough. That hadn't been where I was going with my questions though. "The first night I was injured. I don't recall much, but I do recall hearing a flute. That was you, wasn't it?"
He inclined his head. "The healer mentioned you might find it soothing."
"Where is this healer now? Did he not come back after the first time?" It was strange to hear about a doctor who popped in once but didn't come back to check on a patient. Maybe he had needed to be sent for.
"From what Shojumaru has told me, the man is brilliant but rarely sober." As if to illustrate the point, Mitsuhide poured himself a cup of tea, rather than breaking out his sake. "As long as you appeared to be incrementally improving, I thought it not necessary to further test his sobriety."
Huh. Well anyway. "Thank you for the music then. I did hear it, and it was soothing."
I cleaned up my dishes, and as Mitsuhide appeared to be finished with his bowl of glop, I washed his as well and boiled more water for tea. He watched me in silence, and I didn't feel any further inclination to make conversation. When I returned to the table with the tea, though, it seemed like the silence had turned into awkwardness.
Since my injury, had he had to put aside his investigation to care for me? Hopefully that was not the case. "Brat, if you have something you want to know, just ask, I would hate for you to reinjure yourself thinking as hard as you seem to be." He brushed his hand across my forehead.
"Well. It's… have you been able to do anything about Shojumaru, er, Motonari? Or did my accident force you to stop everything?" I might have been extorted into working for him, but having done so, I was still determined to be useful.
"I have, and your injury has not delayed anything in the slightest, as we would always be waiting for the Oda fleet to catch up to us." Perhaps to be companionable, took the pot of boiling water, and rather expertly prepared the tea. He's a terrible cook, but he makes decent tea. "The pieces are nearly in place."
I waited for further enlightenment, but he said no more. "And...?"
"You would be advised to drink that while it is still warm." I must have looked sulky because he added, "It's best if you don't know the details, but trust me, your participation will be crucial. Now, brat, do you think you've healed enough to join me in a game of shogi? You did mention that Aki has taught you the rules, yes?"
My first thought was, yes, you know I play because we have played. I had a distinct memory of facing Mitsuhide across a shogi board... except it wasn't true. It must have been another of those oddly realistic dreams. Mitsuhide and I had never played shogi with each other. "Yes – he and I played often."
"Good. Do not think I will go lightly on you because of your injury." He got up and motioned me to follow him.
"I would be annoyed if you did." I picked up my tea and hurried after him.
"I imagined that would be the case." He surprised me by bypassing his private office and climbing up the stairs to his bedroom.
"Are we playing in here?" Why? Danger Will Robinson! My brain suddenly flashed back to the kiss we'd shared before my accident.
He smiled at me as if he knew where my mind went. But instead of teasing, he simply patted the open futon. "It is more comfortable. You may rest your injuries in between turns. I have not missed the way you are rubbing your neck. It will do neither of us any good if you overstrain and set your recovery back." Left unsaid, but clearly part of the subtext is that he would likely notice if that happened, and probably send me off to bed like an overtired child.
Well, that was considerate. He could simply have ordered me back to my room to sleep, but it seemed he was willing to be entertaining tonight. Hopefully whatever it was he was planning would play out soon, because injury or not, I was feeling a bit stir crazy. Likely he's noticed that as well. "If I win, will you tell me what the plan is?"
"I will not." He handed me a small vial. When I opened it, I saw it contained the minty stuff he'd put on when I still had a severe headache. "Use this if the pain returns, unless you prefer I apply it for you."
Huh. He was trying to distract me, it seemed. "If I win, may I have Aki's letter? And I can put this on by myself."
"Pity. I thought you enjoyed that massage." He gave me one of those devilish smirks.
I had. It was not the point. "My father's letter."
"And if I win? What will you do for me if I win? Perhaps I should be the one asking for you to massage oil onto me." He tapped his finger on his lips in an exaggerated thinking it over pose. I knew he was only doing that to call attention to his lips, so I scowled at him. "No? Hm, allow me to propose this, then. If you should manage to defeat me," his tone made that sound like he considered that highly unlikely, "then I will return your father's letter to you. If I win, you shall teach me this code."
Hm. Earlier this summer, back when I was still in disguise in Azuchi, Mitsuhide had beaten Aki in a game of shogi (although Aki had hinted to me that he'd allowed that to happen). So, Mitsuhide was at least as good, if not a better player than Aki. I, on the other hand could rarely best my father at the game. Honesty compelled me to admit, at least to myself, that I was unlikely to win. "For every piece of mine that you capture, if I lose, I will give you one symbol of the code." Mitsuhide would need at least fifteen symbols decoded in order to break the entire code. More if I gave him the lesser used symbols or ones he probably could figure out on his own anyway. '"But if I win, I get the whole letter back."
"Fair enough." He nodded, then we began the game in earnest...
It took less than an hour for him to win.
I buried my face on my arms. "Ugh. That was embarrassing." Granted, there had been a pretty slim path to victory. But I'd not even gotten onto that path.
"Don't despair. You are not the worst player I've run across." My face was still hidden, but I heard the clink of tiles. "You gave up nine tiles."
"I know. I kept count." I sat up and cast a depressed scan over the game board trying to figure out where I went wrong. The opening, probably.
"That is why you lost. You were so certain you could not win, that your strategy was solely to limit loss. Had you played to win, you might have managed it. Remember that." He tapped my forehead, a semi-caress that had become familiar to me by now. "Sometimes only a daring risk is the key to victory." He pushed a writing desk over to me. "The code key please."
I carefully transcribed the code to nine symbols figuring that what he intended to do was use those and my letter to figure out the rest of Aki's code. With that in mind, I gave him letters that would be in the greeting and the signature. I mean he likely would have been able to decode the greeting anyway. I handed Mitsuhide the paper. I didn't grin triumphantly (although I thought about it).
As he glanced over the list, he rubbed his chin. "Well played, Brat." He gave a theatrical sigh. "I see I will have a task breaking the rest of it" He rattled the bag with the tiles. "Shall we play again?" Before I could protest that I refused to give him more of Aki's code, he added, "No stakes. Strictly for diversion and education. I intend to make an expert of you in this."
How long does he think it was going to take to find his friends anyway?
We couldn't keep these disguises going forever. Nor did I want to live with him indefinitely. But that night, after losing another game (one where I did come closer to winning, to be sure), I went back to my room, wrapped myself in that turquoise yukata, and realized there was a tiny part of me that privately admitted that Mitsuhide wasn't that awful to be around. Almost companionable, even when he was teasing me. I could get used to him.
But, for my sanity, it turned out that our interlude playing house was about to come to an end, and it would end with my betrayal.