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A few moments earlier...
With a final sniffle, Misao rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. The rough cloth seemed strangely comforting as it made contact with her soft skin. Misao rubbed harder, trying to concentrate on what she was doing. But images of Sayuri and Aoshi in an embrace haunted her and with a shaky sigh, she pushed herself off her futon where she had been lying for the past thirty minutes. She touched her face gingerly, wincing at the soreness. 'Non-stop crying would do that to you,' she thought wryly. "Gods, when will I ever learn?," Misao muttered to herself, hoping somehow to talk herself out of her funk. "Ever since I've known Aoshi, all I did was cry buckets of tears and hope and hope and hope... and get disappointed all the time. Fine. I got tired of that. And then I somehow found a--a-- backbone, hoping to somehow evolve into a strong independent woman in the future whose happiness wouldn't depend on a guy who speaks in monosyllables. Yeah, right." Misao snorted sarcastically as she tugged her unruly braid loose. She shook her head vigorously, her long dark hair falling to her waist. She brushed a few wayward strands from her face, her eyes darkening as she continued her tirade. " What a laugh. That was the biggest joke of all." A tear fell. And then another. Misao brushed them away impatiently as she searched for a clean sash. The previous one lay coiled on the futon, soiled with tears. She found one and yanked it carelessly from her pile of clothes. "And what am I doing now? Bawling my eyes out just 'coz I found him with--with," she tied her sash around her waist jerkily "--*that* woman. Gods, I'm such an idiot. And it's all my fault!" She tightened the sash as she thought about that. "Hell, no. It's his fault, too! Why do I have to take all the blame? That *jerk* is at the bottom of all these. He's so dense. He's totally clueless. And how could he fall in love with someone like *her*?!" Misao ignored the inner voice which kept nagging her, 'why not?' For now, she preferred to be angry. In her opinion, she's done enough crying. "My entire life is such a mess, mess, mess, MESS!" Her voice ended in a plaintive wail. "How pathetic can you get?"
Misao suddenly doubled over in a fit of coughing. 'Too much crying,' she thought as she rubbed her raw throat, her eyes watering. The room tilted crazily in her tired vision. She shook her head, trying clear it. "Water," she muttered. "I need water." She made her way to the door unsteadily, suppressing the need to simply bury herself in the comforting softness of her futon in self-pity, knowing it would get her nowhere. Misao slid the door open noisily, feeling a small amount of satisfaction when she heard it slam into place. Her unbound hair swayed in response. Misao remembered that she had forgotten to braid it again. Damn. She bowed her head, gathering the dark strands into her nape with her left hand as her right groped for the piece of twine she always kept in her pocket.
"Misao."
The deep masculine voice startled her. Misao froze in place, knowing who it was. 'Why now?' she asked herself in anguish. She knew she was in no conditionn to face him.
"Misao..." This time the voice was more gentle, more insistent.
For a moment, Misao was tempted to run to her room. She quelled the impulse, sighing inwardly. She heard the implacable firmness in his voice, felt that there was no escaping him and whatever it was he wanted to say. She raised her head reluctantly, her hand slowly releasing her hair, letting it flow loose about her shoulders. "Aoshi-sama."
His eyes flickered briefly as he looked at her, noting the pale face, the blue eyes red-rimmed from obvious weeping. Why? he wondered. He forced his thoughts back to the issue at hand. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted. His voice betrayed none of his inner musings. It was as calm and cool as ever. "I have to talk to you," he said.
She stared at him, trying to see his expression, but he kept his face in shadow. What did she expect, anyway? She assumed the blank neutral expression which came so easily, so naturally, to her now. Well, she thought bitterly, she had a good teacher. "Why?" she returned just as coolly.
Aoshi studied her for a few moments longer, trying to identify the changes which were so obviously there but which somehow he, because of his preoccupation with guarding his own feelings, failed to see. He saw Misao beginning to edge away from him. "Okina told me you haven't been feeling well," he spoke abruptly.
"Oh yes?" Misao risked another glance at Aoshi and looked away when she saw his face. He might just as well be talking about the weather with all the concern he showed. She took another step back and smiled a false bright smile somewhere in his general direction. "You know how Jiya worries about the smallest things. I was just--uh--thinking about some other stuff..." her voice trailed off.
"Yes?" Aoshi prodded her, taking a step forward. Misao backed away hurriedly.
"Just stuff," she answered vaguely. 'Keep smiling,' she told herself. 'Don't let him get too close.' Aloud she said, "As you can see I'm fine. Nothing's wrong. Really." She felt that her face was going to crack as she stretched the smile to breaking point.
"I see," he said calmly as he took another step forward. "But you've been crying," he pointed out, his gaze sweeping over her face.
Misao tucked her hair under her ears ineffectually as she thought wildly of an answer for that one. "I--I--" she stammered.
"Why were you crying, Misao?" Aoshi asked.
Misao felt a surge of panic. 'He mustn't know!' she screamed silently. "I--I--" she began and then, deciding to turn the tables on him, retorted, "Why do you ask?"
Aoshi's gaze didn't waver. "It's pretty obvious."
"No," Misao said. "What I meant was, why are you asking me all these?" She held her breath as she waited for his answer. There was a pause, a tangible aura of reluctance, and with a sinking heart, Misao knew. Okina or probably even Omasu or Okon must have forced him to this. He didn't really want to talk to her. She felt a wave of humiliation come over her as she thought about what Okina or Omasu or Okon must have said to convince him to do this. Probably that she was pining away for him, or even that she was suicidal because of him. Maybe even Sayuri was involved. She could just imagine the scene, could hear the refined voice as it beseeched charmingly. Poor little Misao. You're not just going to leave her like that, are you, Aoshi-sama? She's just a child. His sense of honor was too strong to allow him to ignore what the others pushed on him as his 'responsibility' and 'obligation.' Her. So they still looked on her as a kid, not seeing her decision to resolve everything on her own worth respecting. And Aoshi...she can take it if he came to her in anger. Or even in guilt. Or with his usual indifference. But never in pity. She didn't want that. She wanted to come to her in lo-- Misao felt the tears rise in her eyes. She breathed deeply, trying to control herself. No way was she going to cry in front of him. She searched wildly for something, anything, to hold herself together. She found it in anger. And pride.
"I--" Aoshi began but Misao cut him off.
"Don't bother, Aoshi-sama," she said coldly. "I know Okina put you up to this. There's no need to concern yourself. I'm OK."
Aoshi stopped his advance abruptly. Something flashed in his eyes again. Guilt? Embarassment? Misao's lips twisted slightly. So she was right, after all, she reflected bitterly.
"Misao," Aoshi said carefully. "That's not--"
"Are you going to say it's not true?" Misao asked rudely. "Because if you do, I won't believe you because we both know that's a lie."
"It's not entirely true, no," Aoshi replied quietly. "But--"
Misao laughed hollowly, "I knew it. Look, there's no need to make excuses. I understand. After all, it's not like your attitude's anything new, right?"
Aoshi went still. "What do you mean?" he asked, a hard edge creeping into his voice.
"I mean, it's not like you cared," Misao continued tauntingly. "I've always been a sort of-irritation to you anyway. You've never wanted to involve yourself in my life. And now, well, I guess it's the same thing."
He looked at her for a long moment. "Misao, *you* told me you didn't want me in your life," he finally murmured quietly.
Misao's heart stopped. What was he saying? Was he referring to the day she--But what about Sayuri? Trembling inwardly, she met his steady gaze with her own. "Aoshi-sama--"
There was a deafening boom as the doors of the Aoiya flew open. Misao and Aoshi threw themselves to the floor instinctively. An instant later, a couple of shuriken flew past them with deadly accuracy. At Aoshi's nod, both he and Misao rolled away from each other just as another spate of shuriken shot out, this time embedding themselves on the floor.
Misao brought herself onto a kneeling position, seeing Aoshi do the same. She grasped her kunai in a ready stance. A blur of movement to her right caught her attention. Swiftly, she threw one of her knives in that direction, launching herself into the air as she did so. The knife hit the wall with a solid thunk but the blur had disappeared. Misao landed gracefully on her feet, drew the knife out, and blocked the spinning kick which nearly caught her on the head. She winced at the force of the blow. Damn. In a quick motion, Misao bent down and swept her opponent's feet who fell crashing to the floor. Another flash of movement. Misao released her knives and cursed as she missed her mark. These guys were fast. There was a rush behind her. Misao rammed her elbow back forcefully. She smiled as she heard the sound of cracking ribs. She spun around quickly and had the breath knocked out of her as her opponent slammed his fist into her stomach. She barely managed to block the punch directed at her face before a kick landed on her back. Misao fell to the floor, doubling over in pain. She gritted her teeth, trying to stay in focus. She rolled away as the flashing steel of a katana swept down on her. She glimpsed her kunai out of the corner of her eye. Somewhere to her right. Gotta get them somehow. She calculated the distance quickly as her black-suited opponent raised his katana for a final thrust. Ignoring the pain on her back, Misao gained enough leverage to kick at her opponent's wrist and, taking advantage of his muttered imprecation of pain, she quickly flipped backwards towards her kunai. She grabbed her knives and ducked as a whirl of black spun towards her. Misao slashed and heard the sound of tearing cloth. She backed away quickly, intent on widening her aim and had her arm wrenched from behind her. Misao felt her eyes watering from the excruciating pain. She raised her free hand and twisted abruptly to stab at her attacker's forearm. Sensing her intentions, her opponent moved his hold down her arm and Misao felt the warm gush of blood as the knife sliced down her flesh. Snarling, she yanked harder on her captured arm, nearly tearing it from her opponent's grasp. Suddenly she was grabbed in a headlock. Misao struggled ineffectually as she was raised from the floor and felt the arm around her neck tightening. She gasped, trying frantically to breathe, unable to break out of her position. Her vision began to dim.
Aoshi unsheathed his kodachi, coolly gauging the quality of his opponents who circled him slowly. Idly, he wondered who they were, as their black masks hiding their faces. But they were young, that much he could sense, from their stance and limber footwork. He waited for the strike. It came with incredible speed, flashes of steel glinting in the sunlight. Yes, they were fast. And good. Aoshi sidestepped neatly as the tip of a katana nearly sliced his shoulder. He blocked the incoming thrusts, barely moving from his stance, his face impassive as he noted detachedly the form and duration of the attack, mechanically making minute adjustments to his defense. His style was one which did not necessitate a lot of movement on his part but which entails considerable flexibility and reach on the part of his opponent if he is to get close. Aoshi parried and dodged silently, his attackers just as quiet as they pursued him. Aoshi's eyes narrowed. Ninjas. And expertly-trained ones, too. Another rush of speed and then they broke away, paused in position, and began to attack from different directions. Barely flicking his wrist, Aoshi deflected all the blows and noted the unusual lightness of the force of their attacks. It was as if they were consciously tempering their strength, as if they were merely testing him. Aoshi quirked his eyebrow at that. As his opponents moved towards him again, he shifted his stance and flipped his kodachi over in his hands, ready to counter-strike. He sprang forward, automatically dodging and blocking even as he slashed precisely, hitting his opponents who fell writhing on the floor. With a final thrust, he caught the last ninja on the chest with painful force. The ninja collapsed with all the others. Aoshi glanced around and saw Okon and Omasu and the rest of the Oniwabanshuu taking out the remaining ninjas. He surveyed his downed opponents, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he wondered about their purpose in coming here. They *were* good, dangerous certainly, even exceptional, but of a caliber which the Oniwabanshuu can handle, admittedly with an exertion of effort...Aoshi froze at that. What about--
"MISAO!!!" Okon suddenly screamed.
Oh god. Aoshi spun around and saw Misao being dangled in the air by one particularly large ninja, one of a heavier build than the rest. Aoshi leapt towards them in a blur of motion. Okon and Omasu watched, frightened, as there was a tremendous crash and piles of wood from the floor flew up from where Misao and her captor stood. When the rubble cleared, Aoshi was standing off to one side, holding Misao to him by the waist, his kodachi pointed menacingly. The remaining ninja lay on the floor, passed out. A reddish stain pooled on the floor, coming from his back. Okon and Omasu gasped and stared at Aoshi who was already bending over Misao.
Misao groaned as she tried to sit up, feeling like she's been spun around and around. She coughed as she took in huge lungfuls of air, her system protesting at the overload. She felt a hand pat her back and she looked up blearily, expecting to see Okon or Omasu or even Okina. Instead she saw a pair of blue eyes staring gravely at her. "Aoshi-sama?" she croaked out.
"Are you all right?" he asked her. Was that concern on his voice?
"I--" she began and coughed again. His arm tightened around her. Misao flushed and tried to move away, "I'm--uh--I'm--" She felt Aoshi tense. "What the--"
"Misao!" Omasu cried out as she saw the dark shape hovering over the couple, the glint of flashing steel, the deliberate thrust towards Misao's unprotected back... She ran forward, knowing desperately she would never get there in time. And there was no way Aoshi could block that blow...
In a flash, Aoshi crushed Misao to his chest. "Aoshi-sama...?" she began, her voice muffled in his shirt. She felt herself being lifted up, spun around, rolled over so that her back lay on the wooden floor. She breathed shallowly, her eyes closed, her heart pounding frantically as she wondered what was wrong. Suddenly she heard the sound of sword slicing flesh as Aoshi buried his face on her neck, heard his moan of pain. No. Her eyes flew open terrifed and saw the dark figure fall, blood spurting from his chest. She saw Sayuri standing grimly behind him, her face white in fury, her katana drawn.
With shaking hands, Misao pushed at Aoshi's shoulders, shuddering as she felt the sticky wetness of his blood. "Aoshi-sama..." she whispered desperately. Carefully, she pushed him off her and placed one arm around his broad back, trying to support his sagging weight. His kodachi fell from his limp hand as Misao cradled him to her. She gasped in horror when she saw his wound. It was deep. Already he was losing a lot of blood. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that he was still breathing. His face was pale with a faint sheen of perspiration. "Aoshi-sama..." she whispered again, placing a trembling hand on his cheek.
"Aoshi!" Sayuri screamed. She threw away her katana as she ran towards them. She collapsed on her knees in front of Aoshi's prone figure. She wasn't too late, she can't be too late...She brushed Misao's hand away as she cradled Aoshi's head on her lap, tears streaming down her beautiful face.
Misao watched her weep as she called out Aoshi's name over and over again. She realized then that Sayuri really did love Aoshi. With all her heart. Numbly, Misao raised her hands which were red from blood. She stared at them for a long moment. His blood. Her hands were red from *his* blood. And then she acknowledged that she also loved him. With all her heart. It was something she had always known and was foolish enough to deny. A drop of moisture fell on her hand. And then another. Through blurry eyes, she watched the red substance swirl in a river of salty liquid. Or maybe she was all the more foolish because she loved him. Still. Misao looked at Sayuri. "Sayuri-san..." she murmured.
Sayuri glared at her and Misao recoiled when she saw the venom in her green eyes. "It was your fault," she hissed at Misao. "It was your fault Aoshi-sama got hurt."
"I--no--" Misao shook her head weakly. "I didn't mean--"
"It was your fault!" Sayuri all but screamed at her.
Misao stared at her, horrified. "I--I--"
Okina suddenly burst into the room, "What the hell--" he shouted as he surveyed the damage around him. His eyes widened when he saw Aoshi. He quickly moved towards the group. "Aoshi!"
"Jiya," Misao said brokenly. She looked like she was in shock. "Jiya..."
"Misao--" Okina began and stopped when a tall Western-suited stranger stepped into the room through the debris. "Who are you?!" Okina demanded.
The stranger regarded him coldly, "Don't you know?"
"I don't--"
His dark eyes swept lazily around the room, taking in Aoshi's prone form, Sayuri's weeping figure, before alighting on Misao. She was sitting on the floor, her hair flowing around her face, blue eyes blank. Aoshi lay across her lap. She held him with one arm but her left hand lay limply on the floor, red with blood. He stared at Misao for a long moment.
Okina's eyes narrowed when the man didn't answer him. "I say again," he growled threateningly. "Who are you?"
The stranger met his eyes mockingly, "I am Hara Yoshiyuuki."
"H-Hara?" Okina stuttered, his face growing pale.
Hara Yoshiyuuki bowed to him with exaggerated politeness. "The son of Hara Kenji. Your old associate, Okina-sama." He raised his head, a smile curving his lips. "I have to collect on some, shall we say, old debts?"
Misao started at that. 'Old debts?' She glanced at Okina.
The old man stood trembling, his eyes never leaving Hara's. Okon approached him, concerned, but he waved her away. "Go and see to Aoshi's wounds," he muttered. "And take Misao and Sayuri with you." He turned to Hara and said gruffly, "All right. You come with me and then we shall talk."
Hara bowed again, "Of course." He followed Okina but stopped in front of Misao and Sayuri. "I must apologize," he said smoothly. "My associates were rather--rough. I can assure you I didn't mean for this to happen."
Sayuri glared at him, "Oh yes? Then you'll forgive us if we returned the greeting--" she looked around the room deliberately where his men lay, "--in the spirit it was given?"
Hara smiled, "No. I would have done all these myself to them if I had known what would happen. You did what was right." He smiled at Misao lingeringly before he left.
Okon watched him go with narrow eyes, deciding she didn't trust him in the least bit. Omasu came up to her and she motioned at Aoshi. Omasu nodded. Okon knelt down in front of Sayuri and said gently, "We must bring Aoshi-sama to his room." She looked at Misao, "Misao-chan..."
Misao nodded at her in a daze as she loosened her hold on Aoshi. Okon motioned to one of the male onlookers who came at once. She instructed him softly on what to do as he hoisted Aoshi carefully in his arms. She led the way to Aoshi's room, Sayuri clinging on her hand. Okon looked back at Misao who still sat on the blood-stained floor with concern.
"Misao-chan..." Omasu whispered. She knelt beside the silent girl and noted the scratches and bruises on her face. Omasu gasped when she saw that Misao's arm was bleeding. "Misao-chan, you're hurt!"
Misao didn't answer. Omasu's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Misao-chan..." she murmured. Slowly she helped Misao up to a standing position. The girl did not resist. Omasu placed an arm around her shoulders and steered her towards her room, "Come on, Misao-chan. Let me see to your wounds, OK?" She led Misao forward step by step. "You're going to be all right, Misao," she whispered soothingly.
"Omasu," Misao said softly as she leaned onto her.
"Yes?" Omasu asked gently.
"Is--Is--" Misao drew in a shaky breath. "Is Aoshi-sama going to be all right, too?"
Omasu's eyes darkened in sympathy. She held the girl tighter, "Of course, Misao-chan. Of course."
Misao sagged against her wearily, "Of course," she repeated.
1. Sorry if the fight scene didn't come off well. I wrote that part tongue- -in-cheek. I absolutely have no idea about fighting styles and all. If you have any corrections (meaning if something physically impossible occured), please e-mail me so I can revise that part ^^
2. You must be wondering where the hell is the plot. I'm working on it! ^_^ Actually, there is a plot. It's just, y'know, a budding plot. I'm gonna have to, uh, help it bloom. ^^