Standard disclaimers apply. Hope you enjoy.
Wake
by Sigel Phoenix
"Yahiko? It is you, after all."
She shouldn't have remembered so clearly, what she'd said. So often, she spoke without really thinking, just wanting to express herself. It was about the communication, not the words.
But these words ... she remembered them exactly. They seemed heavy in her mind, now, though she'd spoken them flippantly. "What are you doing here?" she'd said. Ready for a glib response to her light question.
And only then had she thought to ask, "What's wrong? Did something happen?"
Looking back, she should have realized. Kaoru's letter, the one that had spoken of Kenshin's dead wife, her brother, and, most importantly, asked Misao to bring Himura Tomoe's diary ... there was fear in there, real fear. Kaoru knew Yukishiro Enishi would hurt them. Why hadn't she known something had to be very wrong, if Yahiko was alone like that?
He didn't say anything, when he saw them. Not even when she asked, "Where are the others?"
Or, "Where's Kaoru-san?"
Instead, he just turned, a look of intense pain on his face, and led them silently back to the dojo -- something about the building emanated dead instead of just asleep -- and opened the door, and there. There it was. Her shrine.
"No."
She'd felt very small, then; all of a sudden, the way you feel when something so horrific happens that it renders all your previous worries -- and, by extension, you -- insignificant.
She didn't even look at Aoshi, then; just as all ordinary problems seemed infinitely tiny, so did any ordinary comforts become inadequate. It was only when she read the relentless despair in Yahiko's voice that she found something to cling to, a purpose to which she could anchor her floundering little form among the sudden storm. Always a person of action, to do meant to be; it was like when they protected Kyoto against Shishio. It was a way of erasing herself and becoming pure energy in order to never have to pause and think.
But once the resolve was found and the plans were made, the fact remained that it was night, and nothing could really be done. With vows to retrieve Kenshin and make Enishi repent, and in so doing avenge Kaoru, they adjourned, ostensibly, for sleep.
Eventually she heard the noises that indicated Yahiko had headed to the dojo to practice. Aoshi she had seen walking in the direction of the guest rooms. She had not actually looked him in the eyes since they had arrived at Kaoru's home.
As for Misao, she was now in the courtyard, sitting atop the boarded-up well, hearing the wood tremble with her sobbing. The one knee she hugged to her body was slick with tears; her ankle, where she gripped it, was warm. Her other leg was cool and almost numbed by lack of circulation and the early autumn air. Her thoughts were jumbled; she didn't grieve in words, only flashed images in her mind of what could no longer be. Any of their plans to visit each other; anything that could have happened between Kaoru and Kenshin; any hopes that they could have deepened their short-lived friendship and truly known each other.
She found words, occasionally. What she had said to Yahiko echoed over and over in her mind. Other words, ones she didn't really think about, escaped through voice. She let them, because they justified the noise of her formless sobs.
Everything else was quiet. Nothing moved. There was a slight shifting of the shadows behind her. It could have been clouds against the moon. But it wasn't.
It could have been the wind, but it wasn't. Capricious movements of air, perhaps through some loose boards as it sailed high to imitate a human voice moaning ... But Aoshi knew better, with ears trained long ago to service not only a ninja guard of Edo Castle, but also to identify the soft crying of a scared little girl in the night. And he could make out the choked, whispered words:
"You said we would have fun together ... You said you would wait for me ... Kaoru-san ..."
They floated through the shoji behind him, trembling as her body shook with sobs. Or perhaps it was shivering.
He had not comforted Misao in her grief since her childhood, after the death of her grandfather and last blood relation. Even after his return, he left her largely alone as she mourned their four friends; in a way he was only just beginning his grieving for them, himself. And neither of them wanted to discuss with each other how they grieved for Aoshi himself.
He stood. Through the shoji, he watched Misao's small shadows among the other shadows, as gradually her sobs turned dry and quieted to sniffling. Long after the night turned silent once more, he slid open the door. She knew that he had heard her crying. But he knew she wouldn't say anything.
"You should --" Aoshi stopped, amended, "It's cold. Please come inside."
Misao turned to him and smiled. "It's all right. I just couldn't sleep -- I think I'll stay outside a little bit longer."
He unfurled the blanket in his hands and made his way across the porch. Surprised, she wordlessly helped him drape it over her shoulders.
Blinking reddened eyes at him, she said softly, "Thank you."
He met her gaze, not saying anything; but by his presence he offered her the opportunity to speak, to avail herself of whatever burdens she chose to. It was all he could think of to do for her, really.
After several moments, she spoke. "Do you think we can beat Yukishiro Enishi?" She pulled the blanket more securely around her form, then looked back up at him. "Himura was badly wounded, and even without that I don't know how he'll hold up, and anyway Yukishiro might not even pay attention to Tomoe-san's diary ..."
"It's not in my place to speculate. Whether or not the Battousai is in a condition to fight is only known to him. But if anything can awaken Yukishiro Enishi from his obsession, it would be the honest words from the very object of that obsession." He glanced down at her, seeing her silent nod. A part of her, he imagined, had hoped for an easy reassurance, some tangible comfort. It was an unusual quality, in contrast to the typical Oniwabanshuu realism. Misao had never seen war; despite her threats, never taken a life -- in a way the blood-pure, idealistic girl seemed more suited to Kamiya Kasshin Ryuu.
Yet, even as an Oniwabanshuu, he could not fault her for her tenacious hold of hope, or desire for comfort. "He has faced such odds before, and prevailed," he said quietly.
"But then he had Kaoru-san to come back to," she replied, just as quietly. It was only then that a soft sniff escaped, and she quickly brushed her hand across her eyes.
They both hated for him to see her cry, though for different reasons. However, he would rather she recognize and deal with her grief than suppress it -- in a person like Misao, such denial was even more dangerous than normal. "You can cry if you want to."
She shook her head, squaring her jaw. Moonlight flashed sliver in her tear-filled eyes. "No, I shouldn't," she stated determinedly. "I'm crying for Kaoru-san, not myself. If it were just me, I could ... but I know Kaoru-san's watching, and she wouldn't want me crying, she would want me doing something." With a soft sigh, she added, shoulders slumped, "I just keep thinking about everything she's going to miss, everything she won't be able to do ... and with Himura, too. And ... I feel like giving up."
Aoshi studied her profile for a moment, then turned his gaze to where hers was directed. "You're wrong. Those tears are for yourself." He saw her turn sharply to face him out of the corner of his eyes, and explained, "Your grief is as much for your own loss as for Kamiya Kaoru or the Battousai. You are thinking about what she will miss in your life; or perhaps simply what she will miss in her life that you would have liked to do yourself. Seeing her gone brings to mind all you hope for but could still have taken away. By mourning what she has been deprived of, you are, by extension mourning your own lost opportunity." That was the essence of such grief; there was no point in romanticizing it.
She was angry. He knew she would be. His tone by itself would cut deeply; in seeking to draw her out of self-pity or lugubrious sentimentalism, his voice carried no charitable softness. The words were by no means comforting; their truth was bitter salt in the wound.
Misao was on her feet, throwing the blanket down. "How can you say such horrible things?" she demanded. "As if it's wrong for me to grieve, like I'm being selfish for feeling sad --" She broke off as her voice shook; fresh tears were in her eyes.
Aoshi felt a pang of regret at the betrayed expression on her face. She was accustomed to his neutral manner of dealing with affairs, but he should have known that under the circumstances she wouldn't be receptive to such an attitude. "I did not mean it that way," he said apologetically. "But what I said was the truth. What you fear is overwhelming your thoughts. It's more practical to recognize that --"
"Damn what's practical!" He saw her hand twitch; she wanted to hit him. "Why does it matter what you think I'm feeling? Don't you even care that Kaoru-san is dead!?"
Aoshi was silent. The peace of the night reasserted itself after Misao's outburst; though Yahiko had probably heard them, or at least woken up if he had been asleep. "You shouldn't have to ask that," he said finally, quietly.
"No, I shouldn't," she repeated, anger still in her voice. He couldn't blame her.
"I respected her. She stood up to me when I threatened the lives of her and the others at the Aoiya; yet weeks later she welcomed me as an ally and friend. I do regret her death, and I'm sorry if it seemed otherwise."
Misao sighed and flopped back onto the boarded-up well, the fury drained out of her. An admittance that he was not its true target. "I know. I just ..." She looked up at him then, her clear blue eyes no longer defiant, but imploring. "With Himura around, and you coming back, it seemed like nothing could go wrong anymore. I guess you're right; I am sad for myself. But not because I'm afraid of what will happen to me, but because it isn't fair. You and Himura ... I always thought you guys could fix anything."
He didn't know what to say to that. Such overwhelming trust -- coupled with such bitter disappointment. 'Sorry' didn't seem like the right thing to say, nor did it seem like his place to say it. He regretted he could not tell her how much he admired her ability to hope; it would only be painful for her to hear, now.
Misao was no longer crying, yet her form seemed to radiate a deeper grief than before. Aoshi knelt beside the well so that he was on her level. He pulled her against his chest, wishing he could think of more to do for her. She turned toward him, wrapping both arms around his neck and holding onto him in a desperate embrace. He could feel her sadness, as if it were flowing into his larger frame.
There should not exist this much grief. For Misao; for Kamiya Kaoru, an innocent woman caught in a madman's vengeance; for the Battousai, who was nearly killed with the pain ... He opened his eyes, took in the ghostly emptiness of the Kamiya Dojo. No, it isn't fair. Not at all.
He pressed a hand to the back of her head, laying her forehead on his shoulder; but she suddenly stiffened and pulled away.
"I'm despicable."
Stepping back from the well, Misao picked up the blanket, crumpling it in her hands. "My friend was killed, and I'm thinking about -- about -- you." She refused to look at him, turning instead to face the house.
"I didn't mean it that way." Odd, how he was repeating himself; but this time, at least, she wasn't upset -- not with him, anyway. And yet, he could not say only that.
"... I know," she replied, finally looking at him and attempting a small smile. But the uneasiness remained on her face.
"Now would not be the time." He felt her eyes on him, asking -- for once, silently -- for explanation. He pretended not to notice, continuing, "See if you can go to sleep now, if you are feeling better."
Misao nodded, and headed toward the house. She paused when she was beside him, not turning her head, and said quickly, "Um, thank you. For ..." She hesitated, and he watched her profile. "It did -- it made me feel better. And I'm going to be strong. For Kaoru-san." Facing him then, her smile was more successful this time. "I know I shouldn't stop living, and I won't."
Aoshi nodded, and she continued walking, stepping up onto the porch.
"I wish she could be here, though."
He could hear the uncertainty in her voice, the threat of defeat. But he sensed the inaudible hope, as well, the intrinsic and inextricable part of her nature. Even as an Oniwabanshuu.
The idea seemed to burrow itself in his mind, so that when he heard her footsteps stop and her soft voice ask, "Aoshi-sama, is it going to be okay?" he surprised them both by saying, "Yes."
He turned to face her, and her eyes widened to see the determination in his gaze. The wheels in his head were turning madly, but he gave no answer to her confused look. He didn't want to fill her mind with speculations, not yet; he was an Oniwabanshuu, after all, and needed to be realistic.
But that didn't have to mean he could not hope.