From: "Tin Mandigma" Of Love and Honor by Tin Mandigma ------------------------------------------------------ This is a Rurouni Kenshin-inspired fanfic written entirely for entertainment purposes only. Standard disclaimers apply. ------------------------------------------------------ Prelude to Part 3 (Losses) *Previous parts at http://www.angelfire.com/tn/Scaramouche/loh.html NOTE: The events outlined here happened a few years before OLH ^_^ All purely imaginary, of course, since I basically created my own version of Oniwabanshuu history (which is *very* much at odds with Watsuki-sama's narrative) to suit the story's purposes. Everything started out so beautifully. Okina raised his hand hesitantly to tap against the dark wooden door, its gloomy structure made even more forbidding by the coldness of the dank hallway. His clenched fist touched the hard surface silently and he swore under his breath. Could he do this? *Should* he do this? The sound of harsh sobbing drifted through the unyielding wood in waves of hurt anguish, constricting the heart with its almost-inaudibility. Okina flinched, his fingers curling upwards from his flattened palm to rest fully against the vast expanse of wood. Something abruptly rebounded against the closed door from the inside and he jerked in surprise. And then another came. And another, hitting the wood with painful precision. Okina's gaze darkened and his hand fell to his side. He took a step back. He shouldn't. He couldn't. Not now. And, his hand tightened on the loose cloth of his robe, not here. He abruptly wheeled around, his steps faltering but firm as he walked away. Somewhere, in another dim hallway, someone else was crying behind closed doors. And, he looked back mournfully, a closed heart. Vignette: Endless To have and not to hold So hot yet so cold My heart is in your hand And yet you never stand Close enough for me to have my way To love but not to keep To laugh but not to weep You're to have Not to hold To look at but not see To kiss but never be The object of your desire I'm walking on a wire And there's no one at all To break my fall -Madonna "to have and not to hold" from the album "Ray of Light" (1998) Okina watched the rain slither in small brilliant drops down the bleak landscape from the shelter of the front porch. His fascinated gaze traced the pale brown earth of the garden as it grew darker with each spattering drop, looking for connections faster than the heavens can provide. But the rain was always one step ahead of him, clicking each tiny piece into place with awkward simultaneity, deluging his vision and then his mind in a bewildering rush, until the puzzle was complete and the earth taunted him with its liquid-blanketed completeness. He gave a rueful smile. Human beings always try to outpace their frailties; they want to correct their mistakes before they even happen. And he certainly was no exception to the rule. No one was. And yet, he reflected with rare wistfulness, what would it feel like to rush forward in one's own speed, without thought of invisible traps, without fear of failing invisible stardards? Dangerous, perhaps. But oh so exhilarating. He sighed, his eyes dimming with remembrance. Once, only once in his entire life, had he ever allowed himself to experience such recklessness, such carefree intensity, such open defiance. And such freedom. Of mind, spirit and heart. The sound of raised voices, loud despite the strong roar of the heavily-falling rain, startled him. He cocked his head to listen, only to lower it dejectedly as the words drifting coldly in the air registered on his mind, chilling him more than afternoon storms ever could. Okina sighed. It had been like this for the past few days already and he was beginning to wonder with a dull ache when it would stop. When *they* would stop. The door suddenly burst open and he turned, half in resignation, half in dread. The lines on his face creased deeper when he beheld Aoshi standing in the doorway, blue eyes narrowed, dark hair falling on his forehead in ominous waves. He acknowledged Okina with a curt nod as he closed the door behind him with steady fingers. And then, with deliberate detachment, "I need to talk to you." Okina watched him silently. The boy returned his stare defiantly, his posture deceptively calm. But Okina could sense the barely- leashed emotion quivering in the other's aura and he sighed inwardly, wondering how a person could change so much in the space of a few years. And Aoshi had changed. The transformation had been subtle at first. Aoshi had become more silent, more introspective, more solitary over the past year or so but Okina had never really noticed just how *much*. Until... The door flew open once again and Okina flinched. "Why did you walk away from me?!" The indignant young voice, raised in a strident wail, resonated with perfect clarity in the open porch despite the harsh almost deafening pounding of the rain. Aoshi tensed, the action almost imperceptible in itself, but the increasing heaviness in the atmosphere was more than enough warning for Okina that the situation was poised to take a more volatile turn. Carefully, he turned towards the door again, forcing a smile on his lips as he did so. "Now, Misao..." The glittering blue gaze swung to him in response, the fury flickering in its depths causing him to stiffen warily. She didn't speak. Indeed, to Okina, she looked even afraid to do so as if the act of speech itself would mean the ultimate destruction of her already frayed composure. 'Barely nine years old and already I can see her anger,' Okina thought sadly as he studied her, the child who was like a daughter to him, whom he loved as his own since infancy, as he also loved Aoshi. But she, too, had changed, perhaps even more than Aoshi had and the effect was no less shocking in her case. When her father died... Okina's eyes darkened. Misao had always been an 'alive' child, one who burned with tremendous intensity and vitality for living, but her love for life had also been tempered with infinite respect for it. To Okina, she was his little fire-maker, his beacon of light. But... Since the death of her father, that fire in her had blazed even brighter, almost as if she couldn't contain it any longer, and where it had drawn before, it now consumed. Alive, she still was, but she was also angry. An angry hurt child. And, Okina mused helplessly, the one person who could save her now, the one whom he instinctively felt was not so much the cause of her anger as the reason behind it, was also caught in a destructive path of his own, the nature of which even he, Okina, was unaware of. 'Frailties,' he thought wearily, 'not only outpace. They also capture. And enslave. My poor children... Just when you need each other the most..." He watched. He waited. But he couldn't think of anything to say except, "Please calm down--" She didn't even hear him. All her attention was focused on Aoshi. "How could you forget something as important as that?" she snapped accusingly. Aoshi looked up sharply then and Okina felt a pang of something akin to fear when he saw the expression on the boy's pale face. "Wait--" he began helplessly but Aoshi was already speaking. "I didn't forget," Aoshi said, his voice cold, but Okina could sense the fury behind every word. Aoshi's gaze was focused on Misao, his eyes a dangerous pale grey, glinting with an odd mixture of anger and--Okina paled, sickened at what he saw. Instinctively, he reached out, "Aoshi, no..." "What do you mean?" Misa asked shakily. "You promised me you would come... How could you--" "I just didn't want to go, that's all," Aoshi replied indifferently. Misao turned white at his words but Aoshi went on, seemingly oblivious to her distress. "It seemed a waste of time. I have more important things to do than to accompany you to some recital..." "Shut up!" Misao screamed. "You *knew* how important that recital was to me! We talked about it weeks ago!" "I didn't have any choice in the matter," Aoshi snapped. "In the first place, I never wanted to be your escort. Okina *asked* me to accompany you and--" "And you said YES!" Misao cut him off, shoulders shaking, eyes glistening with tears. "I waited for you last night. Waited and waited and waited," she said, her voice hoarse. "You could ask Okon and Omasu how--" "Spare me that," Aoshi said coldly. "Your whining bores me." Okina stared at him in shock, wondering how he could look so detached and yet seem so cruel. And yet *be* so cruel, Okina amended painfully as he watched Misao's face pale with anguish and bewildered hurt. "I'm not..." she uttered shakily. "How could you say--how could you--" Aoshi's own face was shuttered, rigid. "Why don't you just grow up, Misao?" Okina stepped forward, his hands trembling, reaching out to draw Misao to him, to somehow comfort her however inadequately. But she fended him off, her movements jerky, but her eyes, painfully large and bright in her elfin face, never left Aoshi's. She shot a glance at Okina then and he shook his head. "Misao, please, let's stop this," he said pleadingly. But, again, she ignored him. "Who are you to talk?" she hissed furiously at Aoshi. "To ask a child to grow up... Hah," she jeered. "Are you trying to be funny, Aoshi-sama?" Aoshi didn't respond, looked bored. "No," Misao continued coldly. "I think you're just being pathetic." Still no response. "I'm still a child, after all," Misao said, pirouetting mockingly across the floor. Her gaze snapped a vivid blue as she came face to face with Aoshi who looked back at her expressionlessly. "But you are a man," she ended simply. "And yet," she enunciated the words precisely, "you__have__no__heart." She stared up at him, her lips curving slightly. "Which one of us is worse?" A spasm contorted Aoshi's implacable features and, for a dreadful moment, Okina thought Aoshi was going to hit her. Instead, he took a step back, drawing in his breath sharply, his fists clenched tightly on his side. "Do you honestly think I care?" he retorted coolly, his tone almost conversational. And, somehow, that was the worst part of all. Okina turned to Misao, fearful of what he would see, and he recoiled when he caught a glimpse of her face, eerily visible in the pale half-light. She looked like such a child. And then, "I hate you," she said softly, tears streaking her pale cheeks. "I hate you." She turned abruptly, away from him, away from them, her small steps echoing with forlorn strength on the floor. Okina heard a shaky sound behind him and he looked back to see Aoshi standing like a dark statue, face shadowed, lips terrifyingly pale. Okina felt unexplicable tears rise to his eyes. "Aoshi," he sighed. "Okina," Aoshi said, his voice cracking. "What's happening to me? To Misao? What's happening to us?" But Okina stared at him wordlessly, helpless to grope for answers to the naked vulnerability he saw in Aoshi. The moment passed and then Aoshi turned away from him with a convulsive movement, striding out into the steadily-falling drizzle. And still he stood there. End of Vignette NOTES: Just in case, Misao's father died when she was around eight years old (well, in my story, at least ^^;;.) I thought that that particular event must have had pretty drastic consequences and this is what I came up with. I hope I didn't distort her character too much but I figured that, well, there's a dark side to everything ^_^;; More explanations in the next vignette (yes, they're not stand-alone stories.) Thank you! --------------------------- ONElist Sponsor ---------------------------- The planet's eCenter for health & well-being. PlanetRX. Click Here ------------------------------------------------------------------------