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She brushed her dark hair away from her face with a trembling hand as she searched for a clean cup at the kitchen cupboard where Okon kept all the dining utensils. Luckily no one was around. She was unsettled enough as it is. She could do without Okon's or Omasu's fussing over her appearance. And, she had to admit, her appearance was not exactly 'glowing.' She knew her cheeks were pinched and pale from lack of sleep. And her eyes-well, she would certainly qualify as a 'weasel girl' now. She smiled wryly as she trudged back to the dining room. If Yahiko and Sano were here, they'd be on a roll.
Misao slumped carelessly on the tatami matted-floor. She reached eagerly for the pot of tea Okon always kept filled and hot on top of the table. She inhaled the delicious scent of the fragrant brew with anticipation, her spirits lifting a little at the thought of doing something-uncomplicated for a change. 'Good old Okon,' Misao thought, pouring the tea with care. She watched the green liquid slowly fill her cup, cascading smoothly over the fine contours.
A thin wisp of steam rose gently in the air, tickling Misao's nose. The tea *was* hot. She brushed the smoky layer with two fingers and smiled as it ignored her interference only to evaporate quickly in the cold air.
'If only problems could just as easily fade away,' she thought wistfully. Misao sighed, the smile disappearing from her face. Suddenly the morning didn't seem so calm anymore as her restlessness began to push its way to the surface once again.
Her thoughts drifted to Aoshi. He would be awake by now, probably meditating, and Sayuri was probably with him--"Oh darn it," she muttered irritatedly. "Not so early in the morning. She grasped her cup, determined to start the day right. 'I'm making my own problems. Gotta stop doing this to myself. Forget Aoshi. Forget Aoshi. Forget--'
The cup landed on the table with a thunk. Misao stared at her tea, hoping to find some consolation at the transparent liquid. What the heck does it take to denounce love? Was it some final momentous act or a series of events over a period of time, drifting slowly into place like pieces of a puzzle. She rather thought it was the latter. Being pushed to the edge inch by painful inch until you can take no more. And Aoshi certainly tried her limits. She'd given him up as a hopeless case for cryin' out loud. Maybe this is some sort of relapse or something, a phase she would gradually get through. And yet, the thought gnawed at her, why did she feel like she was back at the starting line?
"Ohayo, Misao-chan."
Misao jerked her head in surprise, "Oh. Ohayo, Omasu."
Omasu settled down beside her, holding her own cup. Misao quickly poured her tea. Omasu smiled at her and was troubled when the girl could only force a smile in return. She had been standing in front of Misao for at least five minutes but Misao didn't even appear to notice her presence. And Misao was usually so sharp about things like that. Omasu's eyes narrowed slightly as she noted the drawn and haggard expression on Misao's usually happy face. Even her dark hair had lost its luster. It hung limply from the usual braid like the tail of a sick cat. Omasu sighed inwardly but decided to hold her tongue, at least for the moment. Instead she said gently, "Your tea must be cold."
Fully expecting Omasu to let loose a barrage of motherly reminders as soon as she saw her, Misao was somewhat surprised at the remark. Reacting automatically, she lifted her cup to her lips and sipped the tea hesitantly. It was lukewarm. She placed it back on the table with a grimace "You're right," she replied.
"Aren't you going to refill it?" Omasu asked in the same tone.
"Uh, no, I guess," Misao answered, looking away from Omasu's probing gaze. She picked up her cup and moved to stand. "Look I'll just take this back to the kitchen--"
"Misao--" Omasu started to say and stopped abruptly as Sayuri entered the room.
Misao tensed, her hand reflexively clenching into a fist. A wave of bitterness surged over her as she regarded the girl. She noted the elegant kimono, the carefully arranged auburn hair. Sayuri was a tall woman, slim and willowy, but it was her face which was her most striking feature. Delicate and heart-shaped, it downplayed her apparent strength, creating an impression of fragility. Luminous green eyes returned Misao's stare defiantly, almost haughtily, before moving on and immediately softening at Omasu's.
"Ohayo, Omasu-san." There was a pause as the green gaze flickered briefly at Misao. "Ohayo, Misao-san," Sayuri said indifferently, making it sound effectively like an afterthought. Misao's eyes narrowed, her fist tightening. Omasu looked at her alarmed. Almost immediately, however, Misao relaxed. "Ohayo, Sayuri-san," she returned evenly, bowing slightly at the other girl.
Sayuri barely acknowledged the greeting. She turned to Omasu. "I was wondering if I could perhaps bring Aoshi-sama some tea? Could you spare us a pot? Please?" She smiled at Omasu.
"Of course," Omasu answered, smiling back. She shot a glance at Misao who still stood unmoving by the table. "Of course," she repeated as she moved to stand up. Sayuri rested a hand on her shoulder.
"No, please, I'll get it. Is it in the kitchen?" At Omasu's affirmative nod, Sayuri smiled. "Arigato, Omasu-san." She glanced at Misao, her lips curving slightly. "I must go. Aoshi-sama will be waiting for me," she sighed. "Tea without company is boring, don't you think? Aoshi-sama and I-we enjoy each other's company. Good conversation makes for good tea, ne?" she winked at Omasu who sat with a slightly stupefied expression on her face before turning in a whirl of graceful silk.
Omasu waited until Sayuri was out of sight before venturing to speak. "Misao-chan..." When Misao didn't answer, she peered at her worriedly, "Misao-chan..."
Misao stared at the smooth polished floor, a faint flush staining her cheeks. From anger, shame--she didn't know. For a minute there, she had been tempted to tell Sayuri to her face that it was she, Misao, who brought Aoshi's tea. It was she who kept him company. But when it came to the part about *enjoying* the company, the words died on her lips. Sayuri had her there and she knew it. Misao shut her eyes briefly, fighting the sudden urge to cry.
"Misao-chan..." Omasu's voice was almost frightened.
Misao opened her eyes suddenly, surprised that she'd totally forgotten Omasu. She smiled at the older woman, inwardly berating herself for worrying her. "Daijobou," she said reassuringly.
Omasu clutched the table, her worry increasing at that oh-so-calm tone. She had expected Misao to throw one of her usual fits of temper or at least have a good cry. Misao was usually so open with her feelings, her heart on her sleeve for all the world to see. But now--
Misao held up her cup, "I'll wash this, OK?" She smiled again at Omasu. "I'll be at my room if you need me. Ja." She turned to go.
The un-Misaoness of her attitude finally got to Omasy. Misao was holding something back and it was obviously hurting her. Okina had told them to give Misao time to sort out whatever was troubling her but this was too much. Misao was drawing away from them and ignoring her pain wasn't the answer. Why, she was even worse than Aoshi! Omasu's brow furrowed. Speaking of whom... "It's Aoshi, isn't it?"
Misao stopped abruptly but she didn't turn around. "Nani?"
Omasu sighed exasperatedly. "Misao-chan, regardless of what you might think, I'm not blind. You've been avoiding Aoshi-sama for the past few weeks now. I don't know why but it's obviously not doing you any good," she said, her tone faintly accusatory. "It's not like you to be so--so--" Omasu shook her head. "Misao, please tell me what's wrong."
The girl was silent for such a long time that Omasu was afraid she was just going to walk away. At last Misao spoke, her voice tired, "Omasu, please. I know you mean well but there's nothing to explain. I'm avoiding Aoshi-sama because I--"
"--suddenly realized you're not in love with him?" Omasu raised one brow skeptically. "Misao, I understand you're confused but I see no reason--"
"That's not true!" Misao countered heatedly. She finally turned to Omasu, blue eyes flashing. Omasu sat back, gratified at the faint spark of emotion. At least Misao had not totally lost her spirit.
"Really?" Omasu continued calmly. "Then what's wrong? What is the problem, Misao? I mean the fact that your feelings for Aoshi-sama--"
"Don't even say it," Misao cut her off. "I know what you're gonna tell me and I don't want to hear it. My feelings for Aoshi-sama. You think that because I've stopped--going after him means that what I feel--felt--feel," Misao flushed and she turned away before continuing, "for him was not--real or love or whatever so there's really no need for me to take it so--seriously right now. But you're wrong, Omasu!"
"Why?" Omasu asked. "Why am I wrong, Misao-chan?" Suddenly, it hit her. Her eyes widened in realization and in sympathy, "Is it because of--Sayuri-san?"
"No!" Misao said vehemently. "I mean I--I--" she stammered, feeling hopelessly confused, "I don't know..."
"Misao-chan," Omasu stood up, intent on reaching for her but Misao shrank from her touch.
"I'm sorry, Omasu," Misao said softly. "Just leave it alone, please. I don't really want to talk about it." She shrugged helplessly, "I need some time to sort out my feelings and--"
"But Misao--"
Misao shook her head and smiled sadly at her friend, "Please. I have to think this over." The last sentence was a silent plea for understanding which Omasu didn't have the heart to ignore. Besides Misao was so stubborn. When she made up her mind about something, there was no stopping her. Omasu sighed deeply before lowering her head in assent, "All right."
Misao's lips curved faintly, "Arigato."
Omasu watched her leave with misgivings. She bit her lip worriedly. Maybe it was time to have another talk with Okina.
Sayuri walked slowly, enjoying the calm stillness of the morning. She held the tea tray carefully, afraid to jar it even in the slightest way. It would not do for the tea she so meticulously prepared to spill because of her clumsiness. Aoshi would be wanting something hot. She smiled to herself dreamily, looking forward at the prospect of doing him service, however small. She felt content, at peace, whenever she was with Aoshi. And he certainly gave no hint that he didn't feel the same way too. Of course it would be better if he would be more explicit about his feelings but she knew his reticence about--things like that and she had come to accept that. After all, there was no need to speak or to act overtly when one can enjoy things as they are. No need to dig deeper when what you want was right in front of you already. And Aoshi had what she wanted. Everything she'd ever wanted.
She was the daughter of a rich and powerful man, a lady carefully raised in the sheltered confines of her father's sprawling mansion. Luxury was but one of the things she took for granted. Of course she behaved in the way one would expect of women of her class. She had been an obedient daughter, subservient to her father's will ever since childhood. She was graceful, elegant, poised, taught the fine arts of the nobility from the moment she could walk. Lady Sayuri. Her lips twitched faintly. Only in learning the art of fighting did she deviate and, to the surprise of a lot of people, this she did with her father's blessing. He was her first teacher. Afterwards, as she grew up she trained with the best warriors of Japan, old connections of her father from the time of the Restoration. And she was a natural fighter, flexible, adept at handling weapons, an expert in ninjitsu. Everyone had thought that she was again merely complying with her father's wishes as she always did. They didn't know the depth of satisfaction she took from fighting. No one did. It was something she kept to herself, afraid of being found out, afraid of shaming her father. For how could she tell anyone that living the life of 'Lady Sayuri' was something she loathed with all her being? At first, she was aware of a vague feeling of discontent but this she ignored, berating herself for the 'inappropriateness' of her thoughts. But it just wouldn't go away and one day everything just burst forth in one huge wave and she was powerless to stop it. Not, she thought later, that she didn't want to.
It happened when she was thirteen. She was walking at the family garden when a shuriken suddenly landed on her path. Reflexively, she jumped back, a snarl on her lips as she looked around, wondering who had gotten through the tight security of the estate. And then she saw *him*. Gods, he was handsome, was Ichiro. Black hair, soulful brown eyes. He walked towards her, apologizing all the way. It was an accident, he said. An accident. She'd been prepared to let loose a virulent speech when suddenly he smiled. She'd stopped, unable to resist the utter magnetism of that smile. And then he asked her name. She stared at him, wondering why she suddenly felt light-headed, hot, feverish. She saw a glint come into his eyes, a sudden surge of feeling which she understood later to be desire and felt an answering warmth within her. And as she murmured breathlessly, "Sayuri," she knew she was lost.
She met him again after that. Again and again and again, consuming the passion which threatened to overwhelm them both. She desperately wanted to feel wicked, guilty, shameless for daring to consort with a mere bodyguard, a servant! And yet she didn't and knew an exhilaration of freedom at the realization. Outwardly, she acted as she always did, the very model of convention. After Ichiro, there were others, nameless men, faceless men. Later, she met Kenji, a drug dealer and it was he who showed her another way in her feverish search for freedom and happiness. Opium. And, gods, was she happy, ecstatic almost. Gods, was she free in her escape from her boring life. At first she savored it, yearned for it at every possible moment. And yet, as time passed, she became conscious of a hollowness within her. Again she ignored it but it grew and grew until it threatened to choke her. But she didn't understand what it was she needed. She craved opium all the more because she felt it could feel the chasm inside. But it didn't and for the first time in her life, she felt despair. It wasn't until her father, alarmed at her deteriorating health, brought her to the Aoiya, to his old friend Okina in the hope of raising her spirits, that she knew with implacable certainty what she wanted. She knew as soon as she saw Aoshi. Peace.
The calm detachedness of his manner attracted her helplessly from the first for it spoke of a strength of will she never had. And his eyes...they beckoned her with their untroubled depths. He always seemed so far away, so focused on something she couldn't see, above and beyond the frivolities of day-to-day living, untouched by the shallowness of life. He was everything she had always wanted to be. He was perfect. And she needed him desperately. He was the balm to her aching soul. He filled the horrible emptiness. She loved him. With him, she felt peace.
And yet did he love her? 'Of course,' Sayuri told herself. He needed her too. They needed each other. He to complete her, give her certainty. And she to protect that peace, to protect Aoshi from those who would destroy him. Especially from Misao...She frowned, feeling a sudden surge of-hatred for the girl. She knew as soon as she saw her that she too felt something for Aoshi. She'd remarked on this to Okon who had told her laughingly that Misao had always been devoted to Aoshi. But Sayuri felt that Misao could never be right for Aoshi. She was too flighty, too shallow, too ignorant. She would drag Aoshi down to her depths if she should ever have that sort of influence over him that love would inevitably engender.
That love...No, Aoshi didn't love Misao. He couldn't. Still Sayuri couldn't shake off her doubts. Sometimes, she caught flickers of an emotion she couldn't define when she mentioned Misao's name. And she couldn't miss the-anticipation on his face whenever she brought him tea. At first, she thought the anticipation was for her but when his face would immediately assume its blank calmness as soon as he saw her, she'd felt the gnawing conviction that he was actually disappointed because she wasn't--Her lips tightened. For some reason of her own, Misao was staying away from Aoshi. She, Sayuri, would see to it that she stay away. And as for Aoshi, she convinced herself that everything was for his own good. She saw the faint lines of-- pain on his face whenever she would study him closely and which he himself probably didn't even notice and she felt alarmed, knowing instinctively its cause. Could she bear the fact that the man she loved would dirty himself by one who represented everything she detested?
No. A thousand times no. She walked faster, heedless now of the cups clattering in the tray, until she reached Aoshi's room. Breathless, she stood at the doorway, gazing at him hungrily. He was sitting cross-legged at the floor, his eyes closed, the very picture of tranquillity and inner calm. She felt peace wash over her but there was a tormenting uncertainty too. She stepped forward and called out quietly, "Aoshi-sama..." She waited for him to turn his head, to open his eyes, saw the momentary flicker of hope, watched it fade as he looked at her and said, "Sayuri-san..." the cool voice almost wistful, those eyes piercing her, through her, behind her, for someone who wasn't there...
She collapsed on the floor with a sob, the hot tears scalding her eyes and her face. She cried openly, babbling words of anger, despair, loneliness. There was a pause from the other side of the room. Hesitation. And then she felt him rise. Moments later, he was beside her. She held her breath and gasped as she felt the warmth of his fingers against her cheek as he asked her gently what was wrong. Triumph flickered within her as she threw her arms around his neck, pushing her face against his chest. He went still and then slowly grasped her arms. She tightened her hold on him. She loved him. She would do anything, anything, to keep him.
Misao stood, stupefied, as she stared at the sobbing Sayuri for a long moment. Slowly, her gaze moved with anguished reluctance towards the man who held her with apparent tenderness. Aoshi. She felt numb, drained. 'What was she doing here?' she thought painfully. 'You wanted to talk to Aoshi,' came the answer. 'To see how he was, to bring him tea...' She choked on that, suddenly feeling suffocated with the hysteria of it all. This is what you get from wandering aimlessly all over the Aoiya. She should have known she would end up here. She backed slowly from the room, answers bombarding her, outnumbering the questions. And yet there was really only one answer and it screamed at her.
'I don't need you,' she screamed back. 'I don't need this...' She forced herself to turn away from *them*. She wanted desperately to walk away. 'Move' she ordered herself. 'Move!' But she felt her head swiveling, her eyes seeking... Aoshi looked up. Misao froze. They stared at each other, both unwilling to break the impasse. Misao felt her lips curve into a smile at Aoshi as if she didn't have a care in the world. He didn't smile back. Misao took one step back, then another, and another, the smile never leaving her face. Finally she was in the hallway, walking slowly, her face pale, her eyes blank. She smiled at Okina whom she passed by, nodding mechanically at whatever it was he was telling her as she moved on. She smiled at Okon and Omasu who stood at the end of the corridor, watching her worriedly. She kept on smiling until she reached her room. Only then did the tears fall.