Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Autumn Leavings ❯ Autumn Leavings ( Chapter 1 )

A/N: Yep, another angsty oneshot by me. Let me start off by saying I don't hate Aoshi. I'm not in love with him, but he kicks major ass in a fight so I can't hate him. This idea began as an exercise writing in first person (I tend to lean toward limited third person mostly) and as a character I'm not the most comfortable writing. I spent more time than I'd like to admit trying to get into Aoshi's head, even down to making notes on how I believe he'd think. I pictured him as being logic and detail oriented to a fault but still blind to what he really doesn't want to see, especially concerning himself and his emotions. Hope I pulled it off semi-convincingly.

 

Disclaimer: *glances at website address and looks at crappy pay stub nearby on desk* Isn't it obvious?

 

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Autumn Leavings

 

By Kenkaya

 

 

To say I was shocked would be an understatement.

 

The Aoiya had always represented a safe haven to me (though I spent many years outside its walls.) Even after I committed the ultimate betrayal over a fool's errand, the inn still housed my late childhood; still conjured images of family. There was Okina, mentor and senior; my men, who were brothers in every way but blood; and of course little Misao, a smiling girl that could practically light up any day. Who loved me unconditionally and (I assumed) always would.

 

I can't say exactly when I fell in love with the vivacious child that used to squeal excitedly while I folded paper cranes. It was a truth I remained blissfully unaware of until too late. The cheerful “Ohayo!” she chirped every morning, tea tray in hand, became a constant; her incessant babble filling the calm and quiet that was my accursed life. Misao was always there. Even the times she couldn't be, she always returned with animated stories to pervade the empty air of my shrine.

 

It happened in the modest garden that lay between the Aoiya and my humble temple. One could hardly call the plot fancy; there weren't many flowers and the shrubbery was rather dull, but it offered peace. The cut gravel paths and wide-open land especially helped to put a veteran onimitsu at ease. Paranoia is a flaw I grudgingly admit, though it has saved my life more than once.

 

The sky was bright blue that day, not a cloud in sight. Misao liked that kind of weather so it came as no surprise when I spotted her outdoors, long black braid swaying in the gentle wind. Nor was I fazed to notice our recent young guest accompanying her.

 

They strolled casually at a distance, neither taking notice of my position. Their conversation seemed amicable enough; Misao carrying on with her multifaceted expressions and lively gestures, our guest with his omni-present smile. My eyes narrowed unconsciously as I observed them, focus riveted on the boy beside her. Purely out of habit, I scanned the boy's ki, prodding for any intent of violence or malice. I found none.

 

Relief flooded me, as it always did back then when I reassured myself the youth meant no harm. Of course, nearly a week had passed since Misao returned with him in tow, leaving plenty of time for any true colors that might have lurked beneath the exterior to surface. Still, I had never been one to throw caution to the wind.

 

The others had no idea. To them he was just the mild-mannered boy who followed Misao home. He certainly looked the part of charming vagabond then; short brown hair cropped neatly, large eyes of wide blue, and clothes shabby but well-maintained. The girls took to pampering him immediately and Okina had great fun teasing Misao over meals. Naturally, the girl had blushed at implications that they were lovers, but I (in my naiveté) merely registered the reaction as customary and dismissed it. I had been much more concerned over the identity of our newcomer at the time.

 

I had to be careful then. I knew who he was and, from a few wary glances directed my way, I figured Misao did as well. The other Oniwabanshu obviously didn't recognize the name when he introduced himself, but I have too much regard for Okina to believe him completely ignorant.

 

Only for the sake of Misao did I keep my peace at all during that first dinner. After all, he had been introduced as a friend and anxiety rolled off her ki in waves the entire evening. Obviously she feared a confrontation, so, in spite of better judgment, I did not indulge my impulses.

 

Still, her apprehension couldn't prevent me from interrogating him later that night, in the privacy of his borrowed room. Over and over, he assured me his killing days were done. He and Misao had run into each other at a roadside inn. Complete coincidence. Even now, I recall his words back then, so honest and filled with missed hints.

 

“I promise you, Shinomori-san, my only wish now is to live a simple life. I've spent almost four years traveling the country and all I want right now is rest. I don't expect you to trust me--- Misao is a very generous, open girl and her faith in my reformation alone is enough to both shock and fill me with gratitude.”

 

I didn't question him again, but Seta Soujirou was right about one thing: he wasn't trusted.

 

So I paused in the shadow of a lone tree that day, watching them with spying eyes. My view was clear, yet I couldn't catch a single word they said. Every fiber of my being itched to move closer. Only onimitsu training kept me at bay; deep down I felt a desperate need to stay out of sight and one quick scan confirmed there was no way to accomplish both.

 

They stopped and I leaned forward instinctively. Seta continued to speak, mouth no longer set in that incessant smile, though his eyes shimmered with an emotion vaguely familiar. Misao's expression proved strangely unreadable. A rare muscle tick formed above my right brow; ears tingled maddeningly as they tried in vain to grasp the Tenken's words.

 

Suddenly Misao burst out in light-hearted laughter, the last, lingering notes floating along the breeze to my makeshift recess. I could hear the ringing tone of her voice, followed by the low lull of Seta's response, still the content alluded me.

 

An abrupt slap of shame hit me in that moment. I, former leader of the Oniwabanshu (The mantle of okashira had yet to fully resettle on my shoulders, though I had forsaken my old quest. Misao still settled petty matters in my “absence,” but I had made no effort to relieve her of the duty. She was never in any danger and I honestly believe she enjoyed these helpful gestures.) was watching the pair before me like a--- a common busybody. Seta clearly had no intention of hurting the girl and she certainly seemed happy enough in his company. Why should I concern myself with their private discussions? The very action seemed like a betrayal of Misao's trust.

 

Having come to that conclusion, I turned to continue my previous venture, leaving the young woman and her companion behind me. As if compelled by fate, I looked back once more to give a final, parting glance.

 

Just in time to see Seta wrap his arms around Misao and kiss her.

 

Every muscle in my body froze. Words failed me. Several seconds passed before my lungs found the energy to work again. The initial shock wore off only to be replaced by uncouth anger.

 

That bastard! How dare he take advantage of her!

 

It took me almost a minute to notice Misao was hugging him back, eyes closed lightly as she returned the gesture with fervor. Almost a minute to grasp the idea of Misao kissing someone else. Rage melted into horror as realization crashed over my body like a sheet of ice, coming to rest in a large block at the pit of my stomach.

 

They broke apart. She placed her head under his chin, blue-green orbs sparkling, a lazy smile adorning her lips. He smiled as well, but this time I could catch the dimples seeping into his eyes. He pulled back slightly (she pouted a bit at the movement) and leaned forward. His mouth was mere inches from the shell of her ear.

 

I fled, unable to take the sight. I still don't know to this day how I managed enough caution to remain undetected. My mind was in absolute turmoil. I needed to stop and think. I needed the safe haven of my temple.

 

The shoji slid shut softly behind me. Taking a deep breath of the quiet air, I thanked these walls for the solitude they offered me. No sooner had I attempted to clear my head when self-induced fury hit. Hard.

 

How did this happen?! How could Misao fall for someone? And a known killer at that! Nevermind he swore to have put that life behind him. Was I expected to just take this sitting down?!

 

My thoughts continued in that vein until sense finally won against the tirade of emotions plaguing me. Anger slowly defused into depression. I hardly consider myself a slave to passion (such a character flaw can be fatal in my profession) but that certainly had been a humbling experience.

 

Hadn't I myself been a killer at one point? Misao had not once witnessed Seta take a life. Meanwhile, I've done the unforgivable: cutting down the man she fondly called “grandfather” before her very eyes in pursuit of some mad revenge. Still, she cried joyful tears at my return. An image materialized in my mind's eye of Misao running down the street to me after the fight with Shishio, crystalline drops flying from her blue-green orbs. She forgave me without a second thought but the deed remained done. Was I really any better than the former Tenken?

 

Still, what could possibly possess Misao to choose a man like him? The girl was probably the most honest human being I've ever come across in my life, she deserved so much better. I, myself, had blatantly ignored her obvious advances with that thought in mind.

 

Fondly, I recalled the morning after my return. I had retreated to the temple just before dawn, unable to face the others just yet, especially Okina. Meditation had been one of the early skills taught to me alongside ninjutsu and I'd fallen into the state of deep relaxation with practiced ease. As I centered myself, a burning question jumped to the fore of my mind.

 

How long should I remain here?

 

A small voice encouraged me to stay. I could find peace here and perhaps one day come to terms with my jaded past. Like Himura. There was no room in this Meiji era for a warrior like me anyway. I should settle down.

 

However, a larger part whispered words of contempt. How could I expect the Oniwabanshu to take me back after what I've committed? Having turned my back on everything they once stood for, could I really go back? I may have been young, but I was still a relic of an older time ten years past. The expression of absolute horror on Misao's face as I ruthlessly slashed Okina flashed by, followed by the accusing glare of my own buried conscience. My decision certainly seemed made for me.

 

The scrape of wood against wood sounded an alert as the shoji slid open behind me. Even before her soft footsteps hit the polished floor, I recognized the ki. Strong yet innocent, devoid of blood taint.

 

“Jiya said you might be here.” I turned to acknowledge the musical tone and was immediately ensnared by her cheerful air. She lifted the tray in her hands with a playful cock of her head, smiling brilliantly as she did so. “Look, I brought you some breakfast.”

 

I nodded curtly in response, averting my eyes from her intense light. She set the food tray beside me and glanced almost expectedly at me. A heavy silence hung between us. Finally, when it became painfully apparent I had nothing to say, she rose. Disappointment saturated her ki and I had to suppress the urge to open my mouth, but what words could I offer the young girl? She paused suddenly at the door, spinning around to bore her oceanic gaze on my back.

 

“I just wanted to let you know that I'm really glad you came home, Aoshi-sama. I really missed you. We all did.”

 

The shoji shut audibly at her parting phrase. Misao would never know how much her words affected me back then.

 

On that train, a horrible thought occurred to me. She never knew.

 

Not once had I outwardly displayed my feelings for Misao. I had shown genuine concern for her: tagging along to Tokyo when signs of potential danger surfaced and involving myself in the fight against Enishi's men at her upset over Kamiya-san. In all matters, her safety came above my own. But love comes in many forms and what I offered could be interpreted as no more than brotherly.

 

I had adeptly convinced myself to be content with our current relationship. The unheeded half of my heart warned me she would move on. That I would lose my chance. Still, I argued further. Seeing her happy would bring me nothing but joy, even if it was by the side of a better man. Who could have imagined love hurt so much?

 

That was the exact moment I realized--- I truly loved Misao.

 

The sensation of caring so completely about another person both terrified and elated me. The earth appeared to fall out beneath me as the wind built up around my feet. I felt unworthy. I felt blessed.

 

The memory of Misao kissing Seta Soujirou seared itself inside my hard blue eyes. Proceeded by the image of him kissing her back. Of him loving her back.

 

More than ever, I felt a fool right then.

 

Owari

(The End)