Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Altered Perceptions ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimer - I do not own Rurouni Kenshin.

 

 

Altering Perceptions

 

Shinomori Aoshi was a man guided by his perceptions. As a shinobi, he relied on them. Keen senses and his deductive intellect kept him alive and kept the Oniwabanshuu functioning seamlessly and secretly. He was deft, talented even, at assessing a new situation, calculating enemy positions, and dispatching whatever actions were necessary to complete the objective. No one could match his mission skills.

 

However, even with the most skilled can be lulled by the familiar. Sometimes change, great or slight, is the only way to alter ones perceptions.

 

~*~

 

Kaoru's safe return to Tokyo meant that they could return to Kyoto, after the requisite week to help the former manslayer and shinandai recover. While it was pleasant to see Misao's exuberance at helping their friends, there was plenty of business to catch up on back at the Aoiya. Aoshi had no doubt that Okina was keeping a lid on most of their current operations, but the landscape for the Oniwabanshuu was always changing.

 

And then there was the problem with Misao.

 

Aoshi sighed a little internally as he watched the sway and bounce of the teen's braid. She bounded along the path in front of him, animatedly discussing recent events.

 

Misao still insisted that she was Okashira. Even though he had found what peace he could and had returned to life at the Aoiya, she would not relinquish the title. He admitted that she was very good at the more superficial tasks of keeping the streets of Kyoto safe for its citizens. She was well liked by the populace, and those who knew of her role went to great lengths to assist her.

 

However, she was too young to be able to handle the deeper spying work the Oniwabanshuu did for the government. Which is precisely why Okina had kept her out of it. Aoshi doubted the genki teen knew those operations existed in the Oniwabanshuu's current incarnation.

 

It's not that she was a bad shinobi. In fact, Aoshi was reasonably impressed with her actions during the recent incident in Tokyo. Her kunai skills in particular had grown since he'd last paid attention. Her acrobatics were also improving, more precise than before. She was gradually throwing off the awkwardness of adolescence and gaining some grace.

 

He'd have to figure out a way to take back the reins of the organization with her support. It was ironic that she treated her “Aoshi-sama” with such deference and adoration, but still would not listen to his wishes if they were contrary to her opinions. He admitted that her headstrong nature was endearing; she would never back down from a challenge that he or anyone else presented to her.

 

But there was no way she was ready for the full responsibility that the title Okashira commanded. He had figure out some safe role for her to play. He would not put her in danger for anything. She was just too young.

 

Aoshi responded automatically to one of Misao's questions as Kyoto came into view. It was best to live in the moment for now. Responsibility would come soon enough.

 

~*~

 

Six months passed quietly before the attempt on Misao's life.

 

She managed the visible affairs of the Oniwabanshuu under the subtle eye of Okina, and Aoshi handled the spying operations. Somehow Misao had become aware that he did `side jobs,' but after an energetic set of questioning, she gave up trying to get the details. His stoic face was famous for keeping secrets.

 

She'd gotten quieter for a while after that incident, choosing not to engage him much. She did not seem angry to Aoshi, and it was not affecting her work, so he did not pursue it. Besides, he would not answer her questions about the missions, so what was there to discuss?

 

The morning of that awful day, Aoshi went downstairs to train, as he always did. The strain of the most recent set of missions was settling into his shoulders, so he was looking forward to working them out. It was a delicate operation, keeping tabs on a too-ambitions yakuza gang. Aoshi's operative had nearly been discovered, and matters had to be taken into his own hands.

 

He subtly rolled his neck as he walked down the hallway to the training room, pausing when he felt a familiar aura within. A glance through the barely parted shoji confirmed his senses.

 

Misao was moving through an elaborate kata, her legs long in the indecent outfit she always wore. It didn't even phase him anymore, considering how the small ninja garment had woven itself into his image of everything Misao.

 

He took a moment to admire her precise movements, the chaotic yet controlled flash of limbs. There were some small improvements to be made, but not many. If he planned on placing her on the front lines, it would be time to increase her training.

 

Once she landed on her feet after a particularly impressive flip, he opened the door quietly to make his presence known. Her sunny smile landed on his, somewhat dimmed from their recent disagreement.

 

“Good morning, Aoshi-sama.”

 

“Good morning,” he responded calmly, placing a cloth and weapons down and proceeding to stretch. He felt her eyes on his form as he extended long limbs out in fluid movements. He also sensed the anticipation in her aura as she fidgeted a little behind him.

 

“What is it, Misao.”

 

He had plenty of work today, and did not want her hovering with questions she couldn't voice. He planted his steady gaze on her large brown eyes. She looked down for a moment at her clasped hands, then met his eyes again.

 

“I've decided to trust you,” she blurted a little, flushing at his upraised eyebrow. “I mean, with the jobs you and Jiya won't tell me about. I trust it's something good for the Oniwabanshuu, or you'd never take it on.”

 

Aoshi wasn't sure what to do with her statement. Filing it away, he nodded in response, satisfied that she would leave it alone and let him work. Perhaps he wouldn't need to take the title from her after all.

 

Misao watched him for a few more moments as he warmed up, and then left. Aoshi looked at the shoji as it slid closed. Something about her demeanor pricked at him, but nothing stuck. Setting it aside for now, he started in on his training.

 

Later that day, Aoshi looked up from his paperwork at the light knocking on his door. Expecting Misao, he was surprised to see Okon entering with his afternoon tea. The young woman smiled at his inquiring look.

 

“Misao went into town today. She said she had some business to attend to.”

 

Aoshi nodded, and Okon withdrew, leaving the steaming tea behind. His brow furrowed slightly as he inhaled the fragrant scent. He looked forward to their afternoon tea since Misao started bringing it to him at the temple. Shaking his head to clear his unease, he returned to his paperwork. The tea sat largely untouched.

 

At some point later, Okina shuffled in and settled himself at the table. He puffed his pipe solemnly as he glanced at Aoshi's reports.

 

“How much longer?” Okina asked, indicating the yakuza report.

 

“A few more days, and the police will move in. Most of the evidence has been gathered, but the government insisted on waiting to get as many of them as possible.”

 

Okina smoked silently for a few moments.

 

“You don't agree.”

 

Aoshi was not surprised at how well the old shinobi knew him.

 

“They are dangerous, and should be taken out quickly.”

 

Okina grunted in affirmation. Aoshi resumed writing, pausing minutes later and regarding the old man. Okina returned his gaze steadily.

 

“You really should train her.”

 

Aoshi looked away, sighing heavily.

 

“There is no need.”

 

“Even if you protect her, she is still associated with the Oniwabanshuu. You can't be there all the time.”

 

“She is a child,” Aoshi responded coldly.

 

Okina looked at him, something unreadable in his gaze.

 

“No, she's not.”

 

Dark eyes held ice blue for a long moment.

 

“Why do you really want to protect her, Aoshi? Aren't your reasons a little selfish?”

 

Aoshi looked at him, stunned. The man's words cut through him like a blade. He returned to his paperwork.

 

“She's too young,” he muttered finally.

 

Okina seemed poised to respond, when Shiro opened the shoji in a rush.

 

“Aoshi-san, this came just now. I didn't recognize the messenger.”

 

Aoshi took the folded packet, eyes narrowing dangerously at the yakuza symbol on the outside. He opened it, and paled.

 

Nestled inside the folded rice paper was the bound end of Misao's braid. Just a few inches, but enough to be recognizable. He moved it aside with trembling fingers to read the kanji beneath.

 

`Your pretty leader is dead. Stay out of our way, and no further harm shall come.'

 

Aoshi's entire world went still. Okina's words echoed ominously in his mind as he stared unseeing at the page.

 

`You really should train her.'

 

`Why do you really want to protect her, Aoshi?'

 

`You can't be there all the time.'

 

Not again. He couldn't lose someone else he was responsible for.

 

Especially not her.

 

Okina's firm hand on his wrist shook him out of his stupor. He realized he was crushing the edge of the paper. He released the message, but held on to the precious hair.

 

Okina inhaled sharply at the message. He turned to Aoshi, catching what was held in his fist.

 

“What are your orders, Okashira?”

 

Aoshi's insides wrenched at the title. He shoved everything down, letting his professional demeanor take over. The building rage inside fueled his motions, causing a slight jerk when he abruptly stood.

 

“Find her.”

 

~*~

 

His kodachi were cleaned of blood, the red haze diminishing from his vision as he sped back to the Aoiya. The yakuza died quickly, shuddering in horror as the ice-man approached. He doubted that he got all of them, but there was enough loss to seriously damage their operation. He desperately wanted to kill the leader, but instead delivered him bound and bloody to the police headquarters. There was still a duty to perform, lest the Oniwabanshuu be branded as outlaws.

 

As the rage diminished, that duty tasted bitter in his mouth. A cold emptiness settled in his stomach, a numbness that he had hoped to never feel again. He recovered from the weight of guilt that was settling on his shoulders once, but without her glow, he did not know if he could do so again.

 

The feelings were shoved aside again as familiar gates approached. Shiro and Omasu were standing outside in full uniform. They turned to greet him in the dim evening. Their downcast expressions told him everything he needed to know about the success of their search.

 

“Kuro and Okon are still checking their sectors. We've turned up nothing yet.”

 

“Continue looking.”

 

“Did you get any information from the gang?”

 

Aoshi shook his head. He hadn't given them much chance to respond. Even the leader stubbornly refused to enlighten him to Misao's fate, especially when he figured out Aoshi wasn't going to kill him. The evil sneer on the man's face did nothing to cool his rage.

 

He was about to issue further orders when he sensed movement from the corner of his eye. His senses immediately went to high alert. Turning towards the motion, he caught sight of a small figure a block away, slumped against a wall leading from the alley. His breath caught as a weak but familiar aura touched the edge of his senses.

 

“Misao,” he murmured.

 

Feet barely touched the ground as Aoshi rushed to her side. He caught her before she could slide to the ground. His eyes flicked over her form, noting the raw wrists, torn clothes, and bruises on her fair skin. She was soaking wet, hair a long tangled mess. What troubled him most were the long wet bloodstains on her uniform.

 

The inspection took barely a second before he gently lifted her and moved as quickly as he could towards the Aoiya without jarring her. Omasu and Shiro jumped into action, fetching medical supplies and readying Misao's room for her.

 

“Aoshi. . .sama.”

 

A weak pull on his top brought his attention down to her pale face.

 

“I. . . told them . . . nothing.”

 

His gut clenched.

 

“Save your strength,” he commanded, voice rough.

 

Misao smiled, then slipped into unconsciousness.

 

~*~

 

 

He'd been shooed from her room as Omasu treated her wounds, joined shortly thereafter by Okon. He trusted their medical abilities, but he paced impatiently as they worked. Finally, he went down into the yard to practice, thoughts spinning. Okina came down more than an hour later to brief him on her condition.

 

They had captured her, beaten her, and when she couldn't answer their questions, they stabbed her and threw her into the river. Aoshi figured it was sheer determination and years of conditioning that kept her alive.

 

Two days had passed, and she'd been in and out of consciousness. She was eating, but still weak. The others took turns by her bedside, but he buried himself in work to hide from the guilt. He couldn't bear to see her wan smiles or her pale form lying on the futon. It just reminded him of how close he'd come to losing someone else.

 

Okina's words still haunted him. Why did he single out Misao for protection? Yes, she was young and innocent. But she was skilled. Apparently she'd severely injured five of her captors before they subdued her. Considering her level of training, that was impressive.

 

He protected everyone, didn't he? He trusted their skills, and they trusted his leadership. That lesson of trust he so painfully learned from Hanya and the others still rested uncomfortably on his heart. But a true leader had to deal with the consequences of leadership, and in the Oniwabanshuu, that meant asking his people to risk their lives.

 

Somehow, that seemed too much to ask of Misao. That light of hers should not be diminished by the dangers of being a shinobi. He was convinced she chose this because it was the only thing she knew.

 

`I've decided to trust you Aoshi-sama.'

 

Aoshi rested his head on his hands. Sleep had been elusive since the attack, so he spent his time at his desk, working as much as possible. A glance at the sky out the window told him it was very early in the morning.

 

Soft sounds from the kitchen below drew his attention. Who would be up at this hour?

 

He crept down the stairs silently, body tense. Rounding the corner, his blue eyes widened in surprise.

 

Misao stood at the counter, brewing a pot of tea. One lantern on the table covered the whole room with a soft golden glow. Her long hair hung loose around her pale face and ran in gleaming strands down her back. What gave him the most pause was the simple yukata that she wore, hugging her gentle curves in its soft white confines. When she turned to him and smiled warmly, his breath caught in his chest.

 

She was beautiful. And as the yukata proved, she was definitely not a child.

 

“Will you join me, Aoshi-sama?” she said, soft voice sounding loud in the morning quiet.

 

He could only nod, and took the teapot from her hands. She smiled gratefully, and sat slowly at the low table. He joined her, pouring the tea before settling back to observe her.

 

She sipped the tea carefully, white hands curling gracefully around the porcelain cup. They sat in silence, him drinking in her almost ethereal visage. How had he missed this? Emotions battled under his cool visage.

 

A slight noise of pain from her drew him out of his contemplations. Misao was reaching back to pull her heavy hair back from her face, wincing at the movements. Aoshi placed a hand on her shoulder, and she dropped her hands, smiling ruefully.

 

“I can't braid it myself still. It pulls on the stitches in my back.”

 

He cleared his throat a little.

 

“I like it down.”

 

He was as surprised as she looked at his response. She blushed prettily and looked down.

 

“It's a bit hard to manage, but I'm glad.”

 

They sat in quiet for a bit longer while her blush receded.

 

“May I help?”

 

She looked at him, eyes wide, and then nodded. He shifted so he knelt behind her, grasping the thick mass of hair and gently pulling it between his fingers. It felt like silk, and slipped heavily across his skin. Misao shivered slightly at the motions, and he began slowly weaving the braid together.

 

Another moment passed, the only noise the soft shuff of her hair between his deft hands.

 

“Aoshi-sama?” He hummed in response. “Was your mission successful?”

 

He paused.

 

“What?”

 

“Did what happened to me jeopardize your mission?”

 

How could she ask such a thing?

 

“No,” he choked out stiffly. “It merely hastened the conclusion.”

 

He felt rather than heard her sigh.

 

“Good. The most important thing is that the Oniwabanshuu was not compromised.”

 

He froze, fingers tightening on her heavy strands.

 

No.

 

Misao squeaked lightly as Aoshi's strong arms circled around her smaller form and pulled her back against his chest. He buried his head in her neck, the unfinished braid loosening between them. Her scent of linen and sakura filled his nose, calming his pounding heart.

 

“Aoshi-sama?” Her voice was hesitant, questioning.

 

“You're wrong,” he whispered.

 

“What?”

 

He inhaled again, letting her smell wash over him.

 

“The most important thing is that you are safe.”

 

Her small hands reached up and clasped his arms from below, squeezing gently. He sighed into her neck, holding her as close as he dared without hurting her.

 

“Promise me you'll let me protect you.”

 

He felt the movement of her cheek against his face, indicating a smile. She gently turned in his embrace, deep blue eyes meeting his pale ones.

 

“Only if you promise to help me protect myself.”

 

His eyes softened at her request. Her stubborn nature was present even now.

 

He nodded, and she smiled warmly. His heart warmed from the light in her eyes, and he settled her against his chest again.

 

They sat together for a long time, until the new day began.