From: "Tin Mandigma" Hi! ^_^ Tin here. A couple of stuff before I get to my main agenda, minna *cough* 1. Thank you so much to those who responded to my questions! ^_^ Jan-san, the link you gave me really helped and so did Sid-san's letter :) Also, thanks to Sakka-chan (is it for "To Be or Not To Be" ^_~ *does a really bad imitation of a coy smile*), Eliz-san ^_^ and Ashley for sharing your thoughts on Kenshin speaking, er, English ;) Arigato, minna-san! ^_^ 2. Thanks also to those who commented on OLH 12 :) I'm sorry if I wasn't able to respond sooner but I have Internet problems -_-;; (namely, the tiny very important detail of access to it) compounded with a busy schedule at school. But thank you, thank you, thank you, especially to those who mailed me privately (Ruri-chan! ^_^) and to Rissa (you keep me going, girl! ^_^) And thus, we come to the subject of this e-mail... 3. Here's the first half of OLH 13 ^_^ Nope, Part 13 isn't the ending because of my inability to gauge the length of scenes -_-;; but we're getting there. Major angst-fest here since I just came from a major angst-experience (i.e., brooding on the intricacies of Muslim historigraphy which consists of full-length tomes dotted with names the length of the Great Wall) so if it's too convoluted and all, please do not hesitate to tell me so ^_^;; BTW, while we're on the subject (Heh. Constant exposure to the wonderful world of uni can have some pretty drastic effects on one's general level of stuffiness), I noticed that most of the mail I received with regard to OLH dealt with Sayuri and Hara. I didn't expect them to be such, well, ambivalent characters! ^_^ Some people say they like Sayuri (or that they symphatize with her) while some haven't been as *cough* kind. As for Hara, same polarity of sentiment applies: half say they like him and all, half want to kill him off ^^;; Actually, I named him after a Japanese professor on whom a close friend of mine had (has? ^_~) a crush. The poor guy. Anyway... In retrospect, I didn't really expect this since OLH was (or is?) a basically *un*planned 'fic, meaning I intended to dash off with seven or so parts and then disappear. Misao gives up on Aoshi, Aoshi meets another woman, enter another guy, jealousy all around, and then bang! get 'em together, kiss and make-up. Sayuri and Hara were supposed to be minor characters appearing on and off when they were needed (or something) and I only had this vague conception of what (or who) they would and should be. As the story progressed, however, I found myself problematizing them more and more (maybe so I could make up for the somewhat weak plot, I focused on characterization ^^.) Thus, from a rather hazy starting-point, I began to 'make' more and more of those two. So I guess I shouldn't wonder about the ambivalence since they were ambivalent from the very beginning, right? But it's definitely not intentional on my part (the ambivalence, I mean) ^_^ All the same, I was surprised, if a little amused at how everything turned out. Argh! Enough with the babbling ^_^ And on with the 'fic... Of Love and Honor by Tin Mandigma -------------------------------------------------- This is a Rurouni Kenshin-inspired fanfic written entirely for entertainment purposes only. Standard disclaimers apply. -------------------------------------------------- This story is dedicated to my friend Rex, one of the sweetest people I've ever met in the whole effing world. Here's to forever, pare ^__^ WARNING: Tin had just finished reviewing for a horrible horrible history exam when she wrote this. Since she'd just been treated to a full-length completely annotated version of the Muqqadimah by Ibn Khaldun, her mind is currently swimming in a puddle of vagueness and hopeless confusion. To clear it somewhat, she decided to write this part. You can guess the rest ^_^;;; VERY ROUGH DRAFT. Did this in one sitting. Part 13a: Threads Breaking Aoshi walked slowly, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, unmindful of the puddles of mud and grimy water which pocketed the streets. Children traipsed about him in gleeful play, uncaring as he was of the passing carriages which sped by with bump-wracked monotony. One particularly ungainly conveyance tripped on a huge rock which lay blissfully on the middle of the street and, with the shouts and curses of its passengers in the background, tilted sideways with painful indecision, its huge wheels nearly running him down the sidewalk. Aoshi dodged out of the way instinctively, listening absently to the muttered imprecation of the driver as the carriage finally heaved into position and stumbled past him like a tottering old woman before disappearing down the next bend. He stared after it blankly, wishing suddenly that he had not been so careful, if only to rid himself of the desolation which had wrapped him securely in its grasp since he'd left Hara's house. He loved her. And then...what? And then nothing. He should at least have celebrated in its novelty. But it wasn't even a new emotion. He knew that now. And yet was that all there was to it? Odd. How could he love her and not feel anything else? Did knowledge of love numb a person into apathy? Or was love itself an emptying emotion, like a wound which drained a person of one's life blood; hardening, deadening? He smiled mirthlessly. Not so strange then, if he thought about it in that way. He remembered her sadness, the bitterness which clouded her eyes on the day she told him that she needed more than he could ever give her; that she needed someone who would smile for her, laugh with her, talk to her, share in her life and let her share in his. Someone who would love her. But that someone wasn't him, could never be him. He didn't even have a heart. His eyes darkened. Odd. How memories could wound when you least need them to! Would she believe him now if he told her that what love he could give had been embodied in the depths of his solitude? That in And he loved. Gods, he loved. And she would never know how much. She never did understand how much. Aoshi made an abrupt turn into a dark alleyway, leaning blindly against the sagging moist walls as he tried to think in the damp darkness. But yet again, all he could see was nothingness. Save for an image of her, trapped in a corner of Okina's study, her face flickering in subdued snatches of light and shadow as she looked up at him with eyes which no storm could dim. Save for an image of her in his arms, so small and fragile, and yet filling him so completely, like ocean swell, tangy, invigorating, hopelessly bittersweet. Save for an image of her dressed in white; turning away from him to take the hand of another. And then... Nothing. Aoshi tipped his head up and stared at the desolate grayness of the sky which stretched to the far horizon without even a wisp of a cloud cutting through its empty path. Nothing, he repeated to himself silently, dully. And, for once, he was glad. Sayuri stood at the front porch of the Aoiya, staring with blank eyes at the open gate which swung heavily into the deserted streets. Twice Okon had come up to her and asked her in a gentle worried voice to come inside. Twice she had refused with a silent shake of the head. She would wait for him, she said the second time, if only to alleviate the anxiety she saw in Okon's eyes. The gate had creaked a warning then, startling them both, and she had turned with a smile in her eyes and a greeting on her lips. But both smile and words died in a frozen instant as an unfamiliar old man emerged from the dim entranceway and trudged slowly towards them, causing Okon to emit a startled gasp and she to turn away in hollow disappointment. She'd felt the old man looking at her as he walked past, led by Okon into the inner reaches of the Aoiya; and then later, still, as he made his way back to the gate, carefully avoiding the puddles of rain water which had collected on the deluged ground. She'd wondered absently what the man wanted but time was a master which needed to be watched constantly and words would distract, would tend to linger and hinder its passing. There were just some things she couldn't miss. But the seconds stretched into minutes and the minutes into hours and the hours into early evening and He didn't come. Maybe she should have talked to the old man, after all. Dimly she heard the soft hesitant patter of footsteps shuffling ever so slowly towards the door leading out to the porch and she sighed in mingled dread and numbed expectation. Maybe Okon had gotten tired of waiting for her wait. And who could blame her? Time had no patience for monotonous patterns, not when fate dictated the existence of repetitions. Maybe next time, he would come. But it could take forever for all she knew. A fine drizzle began to fall and she held her hand out, watching as thin streams of moisture followed the lines of her upturned palm. Behind her, the door scraped gently against the moist floor as it opened slowly but she didn't turn around. She would wait. And wait. And wait. She closed her eyes, feeling strangely soothed by the cooling trickle of water on her hand. The door's journey came to an abrupt screeching stop. She smiled in her pseudo-sleep, absurdly glad of the litte respite, of the chance to stretch this moment a bit longer. But no reverie could remain unbroken. The sound of water sloshing against earth, wood and leather startled her and her hand trembled in the rain, disturbing the moisture pooled at the crevice of her palm. She opened her eyes slowly, afraid of being confronted again by the bleak visage of a rainy twilight. And she understood then that even time got tired of beginning eternities. One must start somewhere. He was coming. With slow halting strides, slower and more halting than the old man's. With clothes streaked with mud and rain and tears. With the look of one destroyed by countless afternoon storms and harsh rain and confusing twilight and endless waiting. She stared at him for a long moment, her mind whirling in a daze of shock and horror at his appearance. He paused in front of her, gazing at her with tired eyes and her paralysis snapped with a trembling sob. She snatched her hand away from the rain, intent on capturing his with it, as she stumbled out of the front porch towards him. The rain released her quickly, willing to clothe her body along with her hand. He watched her draw near with a broken murmur, "Sayuri-san..." She put up a shaking hand on his cold cheek. "What happened?" she whispered. He flinched slightly. She nearly took her hand away as a pang of bitterness assailed her. He didn't need to tell her, after all. She knew. But she loved him. And so she tried again. "Aoshi-sama, I have been so worried..." She waited with a sense of dread expectation and hurt impatience for his answer. 'Hurry!' she thought desperately, certain that this moment was ending and that time would strike them both with another infinitely more painful eternity. The door slid open completely and she froze. Not so soon. She heard Aoshi catch his breath. Instinctively, she placed her other hand on his shoulder and gasped in alarm when he nearly collapsed against her. "What--" she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "Sayuri? Aoshi?" Okina's voice vibrated with concern and faint fear. "What's wrong?" Biting her lip, she looked over her shoulder, back to the porch, and her grip tightened on Aoshi. Okina stood at the spot she had vacated a few moments ago, watching them worriedly. Beside him stood Okon and Omasu, their worry as evident as Okina's, their sadness even more so. And behind them, framed in the doorway, stood Misao, dressed in a resplendent kimono done in shades of magenta and muted gold, watching them. Just watching them. Sayuri averted her gaze dully, suddenly finding the other girl's scrutiny--unbearable almost. She looked at Aoshi instead and she wanted to weep. Why the need to confront an illusion when the reality of what she wanted to see was in his eyes? The girl standing so quietly behind her was a sham, a mere reflection. Her heart and her soul were in Aoshi's eyes. Aoshi took a shuddering breath and then he stepped away, gracefully removing himself from her loose embrace. She didn't resist, knowing with a pang of hopelessness that this moment wasn't hers to claim. "I'm all right, Okina," Aoshi said calmly and Sayuri nearly laughed, buoyed by the bitterness which flooded her at his words. 'No. No, you're not all right, Aoshi. Why don't you just say it? In front of me. In front of her.' But *she* was still there, in his eyes, watching him as he did her. Sayuri felt faint, trapped in a claustrophobic whirl of mixed emotions and uncertain questions streaking through the air like tiny whirlwinds, tearing at her with wet claws. The tension mounted to screaming point. Okina must have felt it too. "Misao is going to Hara-san's house for dinner," he said slowly. Aoshi stilled, the movement encompassing Sayuri in its dangerous rigidity. She stiffened in response, her heart pounding, as she waited... But Aoshi just nodded quietly, his face carefully blank. Another broken moment. Sayuri didn't move as he slowly walked towards the porch, away from her. But she'd caught a glimpse of eyes as he brushed past her and the empty opaqueness which shrouded his gaze as it met hers for a brief instant was more than enough reason for her to stay where she was. Besides, she didn't want to turn around; didn't want to look. She heard his footstep fall solidly on the waiting wood of the porch and she saw him in her mind's eyes, walking, walking, walking; past Okina, past Okon, past Omasu, towards the door where *she* was waiting. There was a perceptible pause and she could almost see him standing in front of that elegant figure; devouring that small pale face with blank unseeing eyes; whispering words in his mind which dry lips cannot utter. Time flowed on mercilessly. The door closed. The rain fell on, caressing her cheeks, entwined with her tears. Time would weave another thread. She saw a carriage halt in the street outside. "Goodbye, Jiya," another voice said; and it sounded so sad, so tired. Sayuri sensed another's presence draw near, come closer, walk past; felt another's gaze on her and the pull was just too strong this time for her to resist. Misao stared at her for a long moment, the expression on her face inscrutable and yet so very vulnerable, too. She looked different, hollow, like a delicate glass case clothed in inviting splashes of color but with no light shining from within. "Sayuri-san, I--" she bit her lip, blue eyes pensive, glimmering with tears. Or was it the rain? But all Sayuri saw was Aoshi's eyes, Aoshi's tears, Aoshi standing silently with the rain pelting him like small silver knives of liquid. She felt her own vision blur. Maybe it was just as well. "Please take care of him for me." Somehow that shouldn't have surprised her. But it did. 'How,' she asked herself numbly, 'could I have not expected that?' 'Because you never wanted to,' something inside her whispered. She watched as Misao turned away from her in a whirl of soft silk; didn't move as the other girl made her way to the waiting carriage, looking smaller and smaller with every heavy step she took until she was finally swallowed by the waiting carriage which closed with an ominous click. And she realized. He had walked away from her all over again. Okina paused outside Aoshi's room tiredly. He raised his hand to knock and paused when he realized he didn't know what to say. He almost turned away, feeling oddly out of his depth, as if the large encroaching walls had somehow robbed him of his control, rendering him uncertain. And that was the problem with him; he knew that now. Okina sighed. He'd always waited for the words to come at their own pace. He never had enough strength to summon them himself. Aoshi was much like him in that respect, he mused. Both of them were slaves to the very control which they clung to so tenaciously. But he and Aoshi differed on one important thing. He kept words at bay because he recognized their destructive power when used carelessly. But Aoshi did so simply because he didn't know how to use them. What he didn't seem to understand was that his silence was even more destructive. Okina didn't know what really happened between Aoshi and Misao to lead to such a painful turn of events. Hara himself wasn't the problem, Okina realized that now. If things had been--normal, he would have dealt with the man at his own pace, with his own methods. Everything that was happening now, he decided wearily, would have been unnecessary. Nor could the entire issue be traced to Sayuri though her presence certainly seemed to have worsened the situation. And he wasn't blind. He knew why. And yet... No, Okina decided. The problem lay with Aoshi *and* Misao. And while he would have preferred not to interfere, he knew that he had to do *something*. Anything. And so he knocked. Once, twice. There was no answer. Okina's lips thinned. If his answer wouldn't come to him, then he would *get* his answer. He opened the door with a forceful jerk only to stop short in the doorway when he saw Aoshi lying stretched out on the futon, arms extended sideways, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Okina drew in his breath sharply. He had never seen Aoshi like this, not even the deaths of Haanya, Beshimi and Hyokotto. Not even during another stormy afternoon like this one when he found Aoshi, still a boy slumped in the streets, his eyes wide and vacant, blood dripping from his hands, bodies littered around him and held closely in his arms... Okina hurriedly pushed the memory away and tried to concentrate on the present which was horribly worse than he'd ever imagined. Much worse. Come on, he urged himself. Say something. But only a single word came to his aid. "Aoshi..." And then he stopped. But Aoshi didn't seem to mind. "Leave me alone, Okina," he said coldly, so coldly Okina flinched. But he stood his ground. "I want--" Okina paused and took another deep breath. "I mean, may I--may I talk to you?" he stammered. It was a good start. Or so he thought. "I don't want to talk to you," Aoshi responded in that same flat tone. "You have to talk to someone, Aoshi," Okina said gently. Aoshi turned his head towards him then and Okina felt a small glimmer of hope when he saw those cool blue eyes flash. With anger, maybe, but it was better than nothing at all. Much better. "No," Aoshi snapped. Or was it? Temper broke in unannounced. Okina's eyes narrowed in irritation. "You're acting like a spoiled brat!" he snapped back. "Like a child who's lost his favorite toy!" As soon as the words came out, he wanted to will them back. Okina watched Aoshi's features turn blank, mask-like, and he suddenly remembered just what it was he hated most about words. They were irrevocable. Aoshi looked away. "Maybe I have," he said distantly, indifferently. But Okina caught a glimpse of the anguish in his eyes and the hand which he brought up to his forehead was shaking visibly. Okina tried again, buoyed over by a surge of remorse. "I'm sorry," he offered falteringly even as he cursed himself silently. "But Aoshi--" Aoshi didn't answer. Instead he turned his head away from Okina again, the frigid deliberateness of the action chilling in its finality. All at once, Okina wished he didn't apologize as he felt his already tenuous hold on his patience began to snap inch by angry inch. Sometimes, words needed to sting to make their presence felt. And, gods, were they clamoring for release now. What harm will it do to unleash them? None, the word cut through in Okina's mind like a whiplash. He strode over to the futon, reached down to grab Aoshi's collar and hauled him to a sitting position. Aoshi didn't react, didn't even bother to fight back and the last vestige of Okina's composure crumbled like frail bamboo swept away by a long-repressed wind. And at that moment, the words just came, eagerly, like little children running toward his outstretched hand for support. Okina embraced them completely. "Listen to me, you fool!" he snarled. "You have no right to lie and moan there like you've just lost everything important to you when it's all your own damn fault! Do you hear me? YOUR fault!" He still wasn't getting through to him. Okina gritted his teeth as he shook Aoshi harder. "You," he bit out furiously, "made mistakes. I'm not denying that. *You* shouldn't deny that. But you can't go on making mistakes forever and believe me, you're going to regret what you're doing to yourself and to Misao right now more than you'll ever think possible!" The mention of Misao's name seemed to awaken something in him. Aoshi's head snapped up. "Shut up," he whispered hoarsely. But this time, it was Okina who was too far gone. "Do you know what that girl is going through, Aoshi? Do you understand her pain, how much she has given up just so *you* could be happy?' He took a deep trembling breath, his mind in turmoil but his next words were clear, oh so clear to him now, and saying them made him feel some sort of perverse glee. "Do you even have the slightest idea of how much she loves YOU?!" he shouted. He would have gone on but Aoshi's voice cut through his anger with quiet sadness which shut him up more effectively than a storm of heated invective. "Do you?" Aoshi asked simply, looking directly at Okina for the first time and Okina stopped abruptly, his mouth going dry at the expression on the other's face. Anguish. Guilt. Regret. Oh dear gods, what have I done? He sensed Aoshi waiting for his answer, saw the blue eyes narrow with something like desperation when he could only stare helplessly back and, for a moment, he foundered in panic, seeing the walls close in on him again. Not now, he begged silently. Please. But no words floated in the air to come to his opened lips. None emerged from the sudden blankness of his mind. He swallowed nervously, hoping irrationally that liquid on his parched throat would summon the words like a dam lifted from flood waters. But there was no water, no words. Only a great barren place. And yet something waved at him tantalizingly from the shelter of his memories and when he recognized it, he recoiled in mingled fear and fascination. He retreated cautiously back into the landscape of the present but the memory pursued him, screaming after him in betrayal and confusion and anguished certainty. But was it right? Was it true? Was it time? Don't say it, Okina. The price is too high. Don't say it. He flinched as a barrage of emotions he thought he'd put to rest long ago assailed him again as image and consciousness caught up with him, forced him to remember, accused him of cowardice when he knew what he needed say from the time he followed Aoshi into this room. But if he told him now, what difference would it make? None...? I'm sorry, Aoshi. There. He had found his words. Steeling himself against the pale tortured face so near his, he opened his mouth to say them. But, for the first time in a long long while, his heart spoke first for him. He locked it away again instinctively, back to the sanctuary of silence, but then he realized with a sense of resignation and acceptance that he needed to let it go. For *them* if not for himself. Especially now. "Yes," he said quietly as he loosened his grasp on Aoshi. "I know." "I--" Aoshi swallowed. "Okina..." He shook his head gently. Other words will come later, in a freer moment; let remnants of words hidden for so long suffice for the present. "There was a girl. So many years ago," he sighed, his eyes dimming with reminiscence. "She was beautiful. Very kind and gentle; everything I could ever hope for. I fell in love with her." He smiled a little. "It was just too easy, you know?" his voice dropped, a tinge of bitterness darknening its gentle cadence. "But, fool that I was, I couldn't find the courage to tell her. I always thought I had time and, besides, I wasn't sure if she felt the same way. Oh, she was always smiling, always sweet. But then she was like that to everyone. And somehow that made it harder for me..." Okina looked away. He didn't know it would be this painful. Still. All these years and he still couldn't forget. Fresh wounds never heal; they exist in pattern after pattern of scars, tearing at the slightest sign of regret and unguarded disillusionment. Like now. "I wanted her to love me back, Aoshi. I couldn't bring myself to just go ahead and tell her I love her without being sure that I wouldn't fall flat on my face or that she'd reject me." He paused. "It hurts when you love a person. I know that, Aoshi." Aoshi lowered his eyes. "Okina..." he began. "And it hurts even more when the person you love doesn't love you back. But there is an even deeper wound," Okina drew in his breath shakily. "It hurts *most* when that special person loved you back. And you never knew." He smiled bitterly when he saw shocked comprehension dawn slowly in Aoshi's face. 'Yes,' he thought. 'We are not that different, after all.' "And I knew only too late. When I did, she was married to my best friend... and she was dying." Aoshi's eyes widened. "You can't mean..." "Kimiko," Okina said softly. "Sayuri's mother." Kimiko. An image of a laughing young girl flitted in his mind's eye for a moment and he blinked away sudden tears. "Aoshi, I lost my chance of happiness with her because I thought that love should be something certain, something--forever. You've been through so much but you can't go on punishing yourself hoping that you could somehow prove yourself worthy or something. Love does not demand perfection, Aoshi. Not a perfect time, not a perfect place, not a perfect person. Its perfection lies in itself; love is the perfect feeling. Do not throw it away just because you're looking for something else," he whispered. Silence. Okina sighed as he watched Aoshi who was staring out into the open window, head averted warily, dark hair falling to obscure his profile. Okina's hand fell limply to his side from the other's shoulder and he stepped back, wondering with renewed fear if he had allowed his own walls to cave in on another. He turned away abruptly when Aoshi suddenly spoke: "Okina... Thank you," and this time, his voice held no censure, no cold bitterness. Only warmth. And heartbreaking honesty. He sounded so young. Okina's throat constricted and he nodded wordlessly, unable to respond and, for once, uncaring that he couldn't find the right words. Aoshi nodded back, a slight smile curving his lips. He understood. Okina walked slowly back to the door and at the doorway, he paused and looked back. Aoshi was still standing in the middle of the room. But he seemed different now, thoughtful, instropective, without the potent destructiveness Okina had sensed with frightening intensity a few moments ago. He had done what he could. The rest was up to Aoshi. And to Misao. He stepped out into the hallway, feeling as if a heavy burden had been lifted off his shoulders. He thought about Kimiko then, of the love he'd never had and ended up trying to forget he'd ever felt. But now... He sighed wistfully, a rueful smile curving his lips. At least he'd *finally* realized one other important thing which he'd neglected for so long. Words hurt. But they can also heal. It was a comforting thought. NOTES: Oh boy... Cut it short again because I want to know if this part is going the way it should be -_-;; With loving thanks to my dearest roommate for providing me with enough inspiration (and quotes!) to last ten more OLHs ^^;; Next half: Misao/Hara Aoshi/Sayuri Aoshi/Misao And, no, it won't end yet. Part 14 will be the conclusion not Part 13 -_-;; *sigh* --------------------------- ONElist Sponsor ---------------------------- Having difficulty getting "in synch" with list members? http://www.onelist.com Try ONElist's Shared Calendar to organize events, meetings and more! ------------------------------------------------------------------------