Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Altered Perceptions ❯ Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin

 

Altering Perceptions

 

Chapter 3

 

“What do you mean that's it?!”

 

Misao was leaning forward, fist clenched where it had pounded the edge of his desk. Her eyes flashed, something more powerful than irritation growing in her gaze.

 

“I meant what I said,” Aoshi replied, remaining cool as usual, afternoon cup of tea cradled carefully in his grasp. He was not particularly surprised by her outburst. He watched in detached fascination as her knuckles turned white.

 

“So you're saying,” she said, voice tight, “that after I spent the last thirty minutes telling you the main figures I'm following and why, all you have to tell me is that your `surveillance is inconclusive?'” The last part was almost mocking in tone, causing his eyes to narrow just slightly.

 

“Correct.”

 

Misao sighed exasperatedly. For some reason that sound grated on his nerves.

 

“The whole reason we agreed to share information, or so I thought, was so that our separate but related operations wouldn't interfere with each other.”

 

Aoshi nodded, irritation growing behind his cool exterior at her tone.

 

“Then why aren't you sharing? How does `surveillance is inconclusive' help me?” She paused for a moment, peering intently at him. “Part of the purpose of this is to keep all operatives safe.”

 

There was no mistaking the meaning in her tone. Aoshi found himself clenching his teeth as his ire rose. He knew exactly why they were `sharing,' and almost resented the stab of guilt her statement elicited. He forced himself to sip his tea, loosening his jaw.

 

This was the second `session' the two of them had tried. The first one, a day after he helped her with her operation, went smoothly. Misao had briefed him on the basics of her current ventures, of which there were many. Nothing urgent, just a few fires to put out here and there, along with the careful maintenance of her information network. He spoke very generally about tracking down the remnants of the yakuza gang, but without many specifics. While he did not intend to betray the trust of their agreement, there was nothing he wanted to share as of yet. The men were too dangerous for her to know about.

 

It was now three weeks later, and while he had more information, he was still hesitant. Old habits died hard, and in his mind, there wasn't much that could be helpful. His work hadn't even been that fruitful. Just disparate threads of information that had only partially materialized.

 

“I doubt what little information I have will be useful.”

 

She leaned forward, ire, challenge and anger in her gaze.

 

“Try me. One name.”

 

Aoshi felt his emotions rise to match hers, something long dormant stirring beneath. He beat down all the rogue feelings, berating himself for being baited by her. Searching through his memory, he selected a name she wasn't likely to encounter. This particular gang member of unknown ranking had been nowhere to be found since Aoshi thinned their ranks.

 

“Suzuki Ichiro.”

 

Misao sat back, face pensive. Aoshi smirked inwardly at the prolonged silence.

 

“Skinny, bald, scar from the base of his right ear to his collarbone?”

 

Aoshi couldn't help the blank look of surprise that flicked through his eyes. He had only seen the man once, and he'd gone below the radar.

 

“He's been going by Taro, hanging out in the far west residential district. Doesn't come out much except to visit a certain whore nearby in a fairly well-known house of ladies.” She seemed to catch the raised eyebrow and shrugged. “It's near the edge of one of my areas. I need to know all sorts of people.”

 

“Where?”

 

She eyed him shrewdly. He found that caused his irritation to return in earnest.

 

“I'll let you know if I see him again.”

 

He ground his teeth, something about her manner setting him off. The teacup creaked in his hand has his grip tightened.

 

“Tell me now.”

 

He saw her anger rekindle like a spark to tinder. She stood abruptly, obviously holding back. The tension crackled back into the room as if it had never dissipated, sparks firing between their stubborn gazes.

 

“Sorry, Aoshi-sama, my surveillance is inconclusive.” She turned on her heel, snapping the shoji closed with an echoing clack.

 

It took several moments after her noisy departure for him to repress the urge to throw the teacup against the wall.

 

~*~

 

Two hours of paperwork, snapping at Okina and firing off messages to his operatives did nothing to cool his mood. Anger swirled beneath the surface of his still gaze, furrowed brow and tense form the only indications of his turmoil.

 

Dammit, she could be utterly infuriating. The whining and bickering `arguments' they'd had when she was younger didn't nearly have the cut and barb of their recent clashes. She was so stubborn, passionate about defending her work and proving her worth.

 

Aoshi ignored the obvious familiarity of her actions. It didn't matter if he had the same traits. It was his job to protect her.

 

`Only if you promise to help me protect myself.'

 

He sighed slow and long through his nose, bringing one hand to rub the pressure building there. The conflict between the Misao in his mind and the Misao he was forced to recognize wasn't going well. He couldn't simply let her out into the very real dangers of their work unprotected. There were some things he refused to willingly expose her to, despite her brushes with them. It wasn't so much his pride, but his fear of losing another person near him.

 

Their growing quiet moments of closeness exacerbated his conflict. They had spent a few evenings since her actions at the pottery shop sitting out on the engawa bordering the garden. Sometimes she would talk quietly, sometimes his hand would encompass hers, and sometimes they would just sit, enjoying the peace of each other's company. Those moments brought an ocean of calm to his senses, replaced by a nagging anxiety when they were over.

 

Aoshi began inking one last missive for the afternoon, instructing one of his better observers to keep an eye out for Suzuki “Taro” Ichiro. He included the sparse information Misao had tossed at him, trusting it would be enough for surveillance. Remembering her words and tone banked his ire.

 

`That's enough.'

 

Aoshi placed the brush down firmly on the desk. He had to work some of this out in the dojo, or it would be an ongoing detriment to his concentration.

 

It took only a moment for him to shed his heavy fall kimono and slip into his comfortable training uniform. The mental armor that accompanied these clothes caged his emotions, placing them aside while he found the right frame of mind to hone his skills. There was some rattling of the bars while her words floated through his body, eliciting some rather possessive and protective instincts. Years of training forced those back, and a few meditative breaths in the quiet of his room brought him back in focus.

 

Feeling more in control of himself, Aoshi left his room and moved silently down the stairs. The bustle of the Aoiya's afternoon crowd assisted his motions, but he was rewarded by Okon's slight jump as he appeared at the base of the stairwell. He nodded in her direction, and proceeded towards the dojo.

 

As he approached, Misao's ki flared lightly from behind the closed doors. He could tell she was working on masking it, but his senses were too sharp for her to go undetected. Sighing, he hoped she would vacate the dojo area soon after his arrival. His irritation flared behind his careful walls with her presence.

 

He opened the door silently, and was struck still by the sight in front of him.

 

The doors leading to the side yard had been slid completely open, bright afternoon light framing the dojo and outlining its occupant in sharp relief. Misao moved like electricity; energized yet flowing, limbs reaching out sharply in strikes and smoothly in connecting motions. The sunlight outlined her long limbs, damp with beaded perspiration despite the cool of the day. The clinging, short training outfit she wore left little to the imagination. A small part of him mused why he hadn't noticed how womanly she looked even in this everyday garment.

 

She landed from one of her trademark flips, toes reaching the ground lightly as if she was suspended by wires. Her eyes turned to meet his, bright from her exertions. Aoshi started internally as something in her gaze awoke a deep stirring within him. That connection lasted only a moment before her eyes narrowed, the irritation from earlier filling the deep blue depths. She turned away sharply, moving towards a small pile of her things at the far wall.

 

Aoshi masked the rise of his own ire, struggling internally to push down every emotion that look had elicited. He refused to recognize them, and locked them down tighter in preparation for training. Finally moving from his spot in the doorway, he went to the opposite wall, placing his towel and training items on the polished floor.

 

The air thickened in the dojo, reminiscent of the atmosphere in his office that morning. Something about her presence got in-between the cracks in his calm, pervading his senses. Irritated, he took a deep breath through his nose and let it out as he began to stretch.

 

Misao pointedly ignored him and began a series of punches and jabs at the training dummy in the corner. He couldn't help but watch her motions, noting the arc and curve of her movements, and the power where she struck. Happy to have a diversion from his own thoughts, he clinically observed her power and motions. It was obvious to him that she had improved, but the way she powered her strokes spoke to many hours working with a dummy, and not sparring with a partner. Her movements, while strong, bordered on formulaic.

 

He did say he would train her. Perhaps swinging at him would rid her of her anger, and relieve some of his tension as a result.

 

“Misao,” he said in his level tone.

 

She ignored him.

 

He straightened, and called to her again, a little louder.

 

“Misao.”

 

Her strikes hit the dummy harder, puffs of dust emanating from each impact.

 

He grit his teeth, and his tone hardened.

 

“Misao.”

 

She spun towards him.

 

“What!”

 

Her fury, powerful before, was magnificent now. Every inch of her seemed to stand on edge, her shielding blown away by her emotions. He took a second before responding, drinking in the sight.

 

“Your strikes are lacking.”

 

If possible, she tensed further.

 

“Well, excuse me for not being up to your standards.”

 

“That is not the point of my comment.”

 

“What then?”

 

He grit his teeth, willing himself to be patient.

 

“You have sparred more with a dummy than a partner. Your movements are predictable and lack control in force.”

 

Her brows furrowed, and he noted that she still had a hard time accepting criticism.

 

“What would you suggest, that I hit you?”

 

He couldn't help the corner of his mouth picking up just slightly.

 

“If you can.”

 

Misao launched herself at him in a delightful flurry of angry limbs. Her scent washed over him as he deftly dodged her motions, sakura and sweat a heady combination to his senses. He found his anger diminished, excitement growing at the pleasure of sparring. Her increased skill only added to the interest. While he was not yet challenged by her moves, she was giving him a good workout with her speed.

 

One graceful foot whistled towards his jaw. He caught it easily, holding it firm for a second.

 

“I said nothing about kicks.”

 

She growled at him lowly, jerking a little at the awkward angle.

 

“You're right, you didn't,” she shot back, and twisted out of his hold.

 

Misao jumped back, sending him a smoldering glare, and attacked again. Her braid flew in arcing motions as her body ducked and danced around his. Aoshi continued to dodge, studying her moves. She was relying on a fairly limited pattern of strikes that he recognized from her favorite kata.

 

He began catching her strikes and releasing just after impact, gauging her power while increasing her anger. She definitely hit harder as he goaded her, and he found the match more and more stimulating.

 

“Dammit, Aoshi, what the hell are you doing?”

 

He barely registered the lack of honorific as he took in her panting form. The perspiration was running down her face, tempting trails drifting from her temple, to her neck and lower. He shook himself a little inside to answer her question.

 

“Stop relying on kata for your strike pattern. It reduces your power and makes you predictable.”

 

She renewed her attack, and Aoshi saw her focusing on breaking up her patterns. Her speed had slowed, but the strikes followed through better. He dodged around strike after strike, dissatisfied that her speed had not picked up again. He blocked her fist swinging towards his midsection, using her momentum to toss her towards the far side of the dojo. She skidded to a halt using both feet and one hand on the floor. The position afforded him a nice view of her bound chest.

 

“Focus on reading my movements. You are thinking too hard on what strike to use.” The comment came out harshly, fueled by his renewed irritation at her still-predictable movements.

 

Misao straightened swiftly, eyes flashing hotly at him.

 

“Then stop dodging and give me something to read!” She tossed her braid over her shoulder, and smirked. “Unless you need more time to investigate my movements in order to strike.”

 

Aoshi knew her taunt bore no truth, and knew she was aware of that as well. However, his cool defenses had been badly battered by her today, and he was not about to back down.

 

“Fine.”

 

They clashed with vigor then, movements a flurry of blocks and dodges. Aoshi kept her on edge, changing his strikes often, using his height and speed to his advantage. He obviously held back on his power; the hits he did land more like slaps and knocks than strikes and punches. He darkly noted that this incensed her further, as his hands and forearms began to sting just slightly from the repeated force of her blows.

 

Misao growled low again, and pushed away into a defensive posture.

 

“Stop playing with me!”

 

“Prove that I should take you seriously,” he responded. “You have yet to land a hit.”

 

She ran at him, and Aoshi recognized the beginning of one of her favorite flying kicks. He lowered his body defensively, ready to block the head strike when it came.

 

Inches from his body, she dropped to the ground and swung her other leg up. In his heated state, he did not expect the change in movement. Her foot swung towards him, clocking him solidly on the side of his jaw. The force and shock turned his head, hand reaching to the floor to steady his form.

 

She hit him. And it hurt.

 

Misao's laughter brought him out of his stunned state. She stood near him, chest heaving with exertion, hands on her hips and smirking.

 

“Ha! I did it! Now you have to take me seriously.”

 

Something snapped.

 

Fury, frustration, and something deeper rose from the pits of Aoshi's hidden self. Faster than a blink, he had grabbed her by her arms, pinning them behind her with one hand, and swung her against the wall behind them. He panted as his gaze bore into her now startled orbs.

 

He lowered his face to within inches of hers, free hand gripping the hair behind her head. Her scent, the feeling of her body breathing heavily under his weight, and the silky dampness of her skin under his hand was intoxicating.

 

“Is this serious enough, Misao?” he said darkly, voice low with emotion.

 

Misao opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. Her tiny pink tongue darted out to her lips, and she swallowed thickly.

 

“A-aoshi. . .”

 

The layers of surprise, fear and something more passionate broke the last thread that held him back. Aoshi closed the distance between them, chasing the taste of those emotions with his lips. She gasped a little as he pressed his full body into hers, and he took advantage of her parted lips to taste her more fully.

 

If her smell was intoxicating, her taste was pure heaven. Sweet, salty, and a tang of the energy that fired through her every movement. He couldn't get enough, and swept his tongue through her warm mouth to drink in every drop.

 

Her tongue rising to tangle with his, mimicking his movements, almost undid him entirely. He turned her head, deepening the kiss to plunder her warm cavern more completely. He released her wrists to press his palm against her back, and was rewarded by the feeling of her little hands clutching at his gi.

 

They broke apart at the same time, needing to breathe. Aoshi stared panting at her, heat stirring in his groin at the hazy passion in her eyes. His upper hand slid down her back, joining the other to span her waist.

 

He was about to kiss her again, when footsteps approached the dojo door. He pulled back quickly, reluctant to release her delightful heat from his arms. The rattling door revealed Okina, looking mischievous as usual.

 

“Ah, there you are Misao-chan. Okon is looking for you. Something about being late to help with the dinner rush.”

 

If the old man noticed the deep flush on her face, he did not say anything.

 

“Tell her I'll be there in a minute.” Misao's voice shook just a little, and she headed on slightly unsteady feet to retrieve her things. She refused to look at Aoshi as she left the room hurriedly.

 

Aoshi sighed and went to gather his things as well, half-irritated and half-thankful for the interruption. He surreptitiously adjusted his partial erection, willing it to go down.

 

She felt perfect in his embrace, and he could have easily taken her in the dojo. But she didn't deserve to be steamrolled by his emotions. He didn't think she would hate him further for this, but the things he thought he could always rely on in their interactions were shifting like sand beneath his feet.

 

He needed time to get his bearings.

 

Okina wisely said nothing as Aoshi, cool visage in place once more, walked past him out of the dojo.

 

 

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I greatly appreciate your comments. Chapter 4 should be out soon, as my muse is already jumping up and down about it in my head.