Memory's Touch
A RK fanfiction by eriesalia: onigirichan mindspring dot com
Standard disclaimer applies.
Events begin at the Kaden manga epilogue, several years after the end of the Jinchuu arc.
Her eyes followed the movement of the wind in the trees, pretending to only be observing the progress of the white and pink blossoms that had so brilliantly bloomed and yet were slowly dying.
She was looking there, rather than at him.
It was safer to look up there, than at the man who after all these years still unsettled her with his presence.
Aoshi Shinomori sat next to her. Why she did not know -- other than when he and Misao had shown up at their picnic that it had seemed entirely logical that he do so. Even then, she wished it not so. For she was remembering things that were unnerving.
His hand on her wrist. Fingers that had rested on her cheek.
Memories that should have faded.
Memories of his touch.
Granted, they were not memories made under the most pleasant of circumstances. But the passage of time had muted and softened her recollection of those encounters with him.
He had threatened her life once, and only once. And she had no reason to believe he wouldn't deliver on that threat when he had suddenly appeared that spring day at the dojo, and demanded to know the whereabouts of the Battousai. After all, he was the Okashira of the Oniwaban group -- one of the most deadly groups that had fought along side the Tokugawa regime in the Bakumatsu. She could not be blamed for cowering when she should have stood up and fought him, but at least she was not the one to bend, to yield cowardly and tell him of Kenshin's whereabouts despite his threats.
Whether it was courage or that she never had feared death that made her defy him, she did not know..
But in that instant where he had touched her cheek, she had sensed his hesitation. Even if he could have been called almost insane -- he had hesitated. Somewhere buried beneath that anger was the man who had never once laid a finger on her while she had been imprisoned at Kanryuu's Somewhere he was the man who had given her a knife so she could choose her means of living or dying.
That moment of hesitation on his part, the understanding regarding it that came to her later, and Shinomori's assistance to Kenshin in his battle against Shishio were enough for her to be able to tolerate his presence when she briefly saw him in Kyoto. It was his later assistance to Kenshin against Enishi that had allowed her to forgive him. Enough so that she never mentioned what happened that day he had threatened her to any of those in the dojo.
It had remained -- like many of the things that had taken place between them -- a secret.
And now as she saw him again after such a long time, she idly wondered what would have happened that day if Saitou had not made his presence known --had Saitou not shown up and given Shinomori the information he had desired?
Would Aoshi have killed her truly?
She allowed herself to glance his way and puzzled over the mass of memories for a little while longer, before Kenji was placed in her arms.
Megumi was quiet as they all walked back to the dojo, reflecting on life in a way she had not for five years. She paid no heed to Misao and Kaoru, who were predictably loud and cheerful. And she was unaware of just how full Kenshin's hands were with Kenji.
As afternoon moved slowly into dusk, she found herself recalling a night long ago -- when Ayame and Suzume had dragged her down this road to tend to a patient and with Sanosuke grumbling as he followed them to the train station. It had been the last night before Kenshin disappeared; it had been a night that had crushed all of them.
In that same road today, Megumi stumbled.
This time a steady hand caught her. As she murmured her thanks, she was forced to look into his eyes again and remember what had come shortly after. Again -- their encounter in the dojo. She averted her eyes and fought frustration as she realized he was still holding her arm as she continued to walk.
'You're old, Megumi,' she forced herself to laugh in her mind. '--So old that people need to be helping you cross the street.'
And with that, she shook off her reverie and forced herself to become the Megumi that had been the fixture of this dojo five years ago. She cooked, served and teased as mercilessly as she used to, knowing full well that by tomorrow evening she would be on her way back to Aizu and safe from the things that had bothered her. If anyone thought her too silly, she could always blame the sake for that -- as well as for the hug that she had given Yahiko that made him blush furiously and Tsubame blink nervously. That and the heat from the kitchen where she had spent most of her time before dinner.
After Yahiko and Tsubame had left, she had excused herself from the table. The others were tired and deliriously sated. They did not notice anything amiss when she shooed the women away and began clearing the remnants of their dinner on her own.
"I want to do it," she had smiled. And she had truly wanted to do it. For busyness kept the memories at bay.
As did Kenji.
After she had cleared the meal, she played with him, spoiling him really, as the other women bathed and the two men had disappeared to discuss something. Likely Hokkaido. She did not mind not being part of either experience. She had wanted some quiet to herself, for as much as she loved her friends, she had long become used to more solitary habits in her life in Aizu.
She bid Misao and Kaoru a cordial evening before she disappeared into the bathhouse and thought of nothing. Even long after the water had cooled, she lingered there -- emptying herself of the things that had bothered her. By the time she finished, the dojo had grown dark.
Despite that, she chose to sit outside and wait for a warm breeze.
When it came, she closed her eyes and hummed a soft tune, while her fingers untangled her wet hair.
And somewhere later when the tune had ended, she heard the quiet step on the porch and instinctively turned her head.
As she looked up, she found Aoshi towering over her. As she looked into his eyes, she felt a brief moment of confusion and stiffened slightly, in a way that was misunderstood.
"Takani-sensei?" He had crouched down by her now.
Idiotically, she said nothing. She could say nothing—stuck somewhere between now and the past.
When his hand touched her face, she did not shudder or withdraw. She was again powerless.
And more than that -- she was suddenly aware of the tension– of the existence of something undefinable between them now as it had existed then. It was something which neither had ever spoken of before, and which she was now almost certain Saitou had misunderstood when he interrupted the two of them that day six years ago.
"Megumi Takani." He tried again.
Not knowing what else to say, she could only responsd with his name. "Shinomori-san."
"Forgive me," he said.
Forgive. Wasn't it already late for that? "I already have." She managed to choke out. "It need not be said— "
"I'm glad, " he closed his eyes briefly. "But not for the past."
"Then for what?"
"For this." She felt suddenly confused as his hand moved from the side of her face to the back of her head.
And then she felt his hand exert gentle pressure, guiding her mouth to his.
As she tasted his lips, it was then she finally understood. That undefinable tension -- the awkward silences -- she may have respected him, even feared him, but behind all that she had been attracted to him – as he to her.
Her hands were in his hair, and his now around her waist… and in the back of her mind she half heard the laughter of Saitou echoing its amusement at her assessment and at their behavior now as if he were standing there watching them, as he had that day in the dojo. At that, she had to pull away. "No," she stated.
He stood suddenly and turned away, resting his arm on one of the posts that supported the porch. They both had to sit for a moment to think upon what had happened.
Finally he spoke. "I'm sorry. It was inappropriate—"
Inappropriate? She found that phrase almost so overwhelmingly out of character for the man who never did anything he thought inappropriate. But despite that -- she found her fingers catching hold of the back of his yukata. Her mind was foggy, slow to think. "It's not that." The words came out without thought "--Not out here."
As he turned back to her, she saw a sudden light in his eyes – a light that both frightened her and made her blood race. Before she could utter another word, he picked her up and carried her inside the dojo.
This time -- the door was pulled shut.
...
A wise man once stated that memories were nothing more than dreams waiting to be relived … or rewritten.
A pragmatic woman once answered. "Maybe ... or maybe not."
Authors notes (v3): The premise of attraction is a bit odd to consider unless one reads into the manga a bit more carefully. If you visit the URL in my profile and pull up "speculations" you'll see that there are odd nuances to the Aoshi/Megumi dynamic. Most fics don't start with the idea of attraction -- a kiss and something more but end with it. That said, this story isn't all romance. It is the give and take of these personalities that is the interest for me in this fic; that and the theme of misunderstanding and memories, regret and hope. Something hopefully like what MiJ wanted -- a quiet drama.
The core of the story, however, is still Kenshin. He is the reason for all these persons to interact; exactly why is explained in the next two chapters.
This does not belong to the same continuity as the other stories. It is a divergent storyline, whose only similarity is that it begins where the manga ends. Personalities differ slightly -- interactions as well.