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Midnight's Secret Madness	By : westernink Category: Rurouni Kenshin > General Views: 3805 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Midnight's Secret Madness
- 1
Midnight�s Secret Madness

1 of 1

Disclaimer:� I do not own RK.� I do not own �Ava Adore�.��

Summary:� Promises broken, meetings in the dark.� Sometimes there's no going back.

Note:�
Mass italics equals flashback.

There�s a lot of repetitiveness here,
it�s purposely done, which should be obvious.

Directly inspired by �Ava Adore� by
the Smashing Pumpkins, no song lyrics used in this fic.

Credits:� �Ava Adore� selection chosen by Kettering.�

*�� *�� *�� *

�� Evening
hung thick.

�� Shadows
clung to everything; darkness was a cold, chilling film cast over Kyoto.

�� The
streets of the city were empty, filled only with those seeking danger or
excitement.� The run-down brothel
district still churned with people looking for things to do, men seeking a
partner, women seeking money, the rest just seeking something to keep them
occupied.

�� The
Aoiya sat on a street that was clogged with people in
daylight hours.� Now nothing stirred in
front of the Inn & Restaurant.

�� The
doors were closed, the front shudders pulled tight.� No light flickered from the front windows; no
wind rattled the loose roof tiles.�

�� Gloom
hung over the place like the thick stench of death, the dirty claws dug deep
into the once bouncy restaurant.

�� The
occupants within had gathered into a back room.�
Oil lamps burned bright late into the night, the scent of sake permeated
the air, tainting every room and drifting outward toward the street.

�� The
sounds of singing, loud, and out of tune was just audible from the front door.

��

�� A
figure, singular, stood there alone among the darkness.� Gleaming, watchful eyes analyzed every aspect
of the building, watching every front entrance and exit.� He leaned against the thin porch post across
the street, his broad figure hidden by the shadows.� The lamps were spread wide and far between,
casting warm circles in the streets around their bases.

�� The
noise inside clanged loud before quieting and then repeating.� A repetitive cycle that
labored the ears and taxed one's sanity.

He waited.

*�� *�� *�� *

�� "Jiya... don't you think you've had enough to drink yet?"

�� She
pulled at the cloth on his shoulder, but he just grabbed her by the wrist,
throwing an arm about her waist, continuing to sing.

�� The
others joined in, chorusing loudly.

�� Misao frowned slightly and extricated herself from the
chaotic mess.

�� It
would be another hour still before she could begin anything, cleaning up, and
so on.�

�� She
sat down a few feet away and watched the others sway on their feet, singing
loudly, enjoying the night.

�� Every
Saturday night they did this, partied, getting lost in their sake bottles.

�� She
sighed softly.

�� It
had been almost three years since she had last seen or heard from Himura Kenshin and Kamiya Kaoru and the rest of the Tokyo group.

�� After
Himura had failed to deliver on his promise of
returning Aoshi-sama to her and returned to the Aoiya almost beyond repair, relations had sort of broken
down.

�� She
couldn't fault him, he wasn't to blame.

�� It
was Aoshi-sama's fault.

�� It
was Aoshi-sama who turned to the dark seeking
vengeance.

�� It
was Aoshi-sama who wandered still a dim path,
defeated, and broken.

�� It
was Aoshi-sama who burned with fiery passions,
wandering the country seeking something elusive.

�� It
was Aoshi-sama...�

�� She
hung her head as she watched her family all but riot over the last sip of
alcohol.

�� It
took nearly two hours for the party to wind down.

�� One
knew the end was near when the singing became dangerously slurred and the
frenzied dancing became choppy swaying motions.

�� She
watched them drop off one by one, all falling into dead, alcohol induced sleep.

�� When
the last, Omasu, passed out, Misao
stood.� She extinguished the candles in
the room with practiced ease and maneuvered around their bodies as she headed
for the door.

�� Her
bed seemed a welcome distraction, but she would not see it for hours yet.

�� She
headed upstairs and quickly changed from her uniform into a plain yukata, tying it as quickly and as neatly as she could with
trembling fingers.

�� He
was waiting...

�� And
she didn't want to go.

*�� *�� *�� *

�� The
sound of human movement was distinct to his ears and he straightened from his
slumped position.

�� The
party within had died.� He'd listened and
waited.

�� The
door finally slid open, the old wooden tracks being fussy as she fought with
it.� The door had been replaced recently,
but the new one was an extra that had been stored in one of the back
rooms.� He recognized it.

�� It
swelled when the rains struck it making it a struggle to open and close.��

�� A
wind kicked to life as she stepped out sending a cloud of dust rolling over the
little porch way as she turned back to close the door.

�� She
tucked a piece of hair behind her ear as she turned away from her childhood
home.�� Big, cautious eyes peered around
the shadows and he moved back, further into the darkness.� Her eyes skipped over him without seeing, she
would always be a baby ninja.

��

�� Her
tiny, sandaled feet turned away from the streets that led toward the city
center.� Instead, she began heading off
toward the lower, brothel district.� The only place in the city where life still blossomed, where
laughter sounded, where danger lurked in darkened corners.

�� He
followed.

�� She
was not anyone he knew.� She was a
stranger to him.� She was an acquaintance
of younger years.

�� He
was the babysitter long departed, an old friend, and old enemy, and old love, a
current love, a current fear, a current enemy...

�� He
was many things...

�� Many
undesirable things...

�� He
was all and nothing.

�� She
stopped at a corner, avoiding the street lamp.�
Quick eyes peered about; one hand clenched the front of her yukata as though to hold it closed.� With nimble steps, she turned the corner.

*�� *�� *�� *

�� True
smiles visited her rarely.� She bounced
and smiled and played, but her heart was blackened.�

�� It
wasn't time that had stolen her innocence.

�� It
wasn't a bitter lifetime of pining away or unrequited love.

�� It
was betrayal, and blood, and death...

�� It
was something she'd thought was love...

�� She
had once fancied herself in love.�
Believed it, dreamed of it, fantasized about it... It had been the
inspiration of her days...

�� Thoughts of glittering western ball rooms or the grand ladies
dresses or even learning how to do such strangely interesting things like that
dance, the "waltz".

�� She
knew now such things would never happen.�
She'd never get any of her old dreams and she had no dreams anymore.

�� No
fantasies except maybe a single nights sleep with no
dreams at all.

�� How
long had it been?

�� Three
years?

�� She
sighed and glanced further about.

��

�� She
tired of Saturday nights.� She was coming
to loathe them.� She hated having learnt
to subtly encourage the drunken parties.�
She hated making sure the number of sake bottles was high before
Saturday evenings, always at a precise number guaranteed to have them all
passed out upon the floor.� She had very
cleverly wormed her way into doing inventory, it hadn't been easy work.

�� She hated sitting there in the room,
pretending to scold them or partying with them just to make sure they all
passed out.�

�� Every last one.

�� She
hated sneaking out into the night and leaving her family.

�� She
hated herself more.

�� She
could hear her heartbeat, the quick thudding of it in her chest and she slowed,
not liking the feel of it.� She wished it
would go from her, to leave her in peace.

�� Yet
it beat on, oblivious of her suffering...

��

�� It
wasn't the feel of it, or maybe even the sound.

�� It
was the reminder.

�� Blood...

�� That
was something she hated more than anything else.

��

�� Blood.

�� Everything
had started with blood, the spill of it.

�� She
knew the smell, the feel, the scent of it...

�� She
knew the taste of it.

�� She
knew the taste of other people's blood.

�� She'd
felt it smeared against her skin by calloused fingers.

�� She'd
felt lips covered it in against her own.

�� It
was all an accident.

�� A tragic accident.

�� Something
she'd thought once was miraculous and amazing was really a tragedy.�

�� A
disaster, a certain brand of hell.

�� It
would never let her go.

��

��

�� He
would never let her go.

*�� *�� *�� *

�� Aoshi stepped away from the building, leaping up in one
smooth movement to skirt atop a stone wall.�
She walked ahead of him still, now no longer peering about the darkness
like a frightened mouse, but with all the observance of her surroundings as a rock.

�� She
kept her eyes toward the ground, staring at the space in front of her as though
following a trail.

�� When
she came to an abrupt stop, her head snapping up, he stopped.

�� What
had caused her to falter?�

�� This
was not the place�

�� He
listened, staring ahead, searching for the cause of her distress.

�� When
she shifted, stepping back half a pace, he saw the gleam of light, a momentary
flash.

�� Heh, there you are, bitch.�
We been waiting for you.��

�� A
man stepped forth, he was big and rounded.�
Two swords hung from his waist, his feet were sandaled, his feet spread shoulder's width apart.�

�� Misao appeared frightened as more men stepped from the
trees, three� four of them.

�� Aoshi watched with interest as they glowered at her, but
their bodies were relaxed.� He knew the
frame of mind well, 'she's just a woman', 'she is no
threat'.

�� There
was a soft, whispering sound as the head man drew one of his swords and pointed
it downward toward the ground, letting it hang in his hand.

��

�� A
thousand twisted scenarios spun in Aoshi�s head as he
contemplated how Misao knew this
men.

�� And yet�

�� She
appeared not to want to fight as he would expect of her, but as though she
wished to flee.�

To turn on her
heel and flee like a little bunny�

�� Where�s
that man of yours, bitch?� Nobody to save you, eh?�

�� He
leered at her, raising one thick eyebrow upward in question.�� He motioned, with the hand holding the
sword, and two of his men approached from the left.

�� Grab
the girl, let�s have some fun.� We�ll teach
that bastard not to mess with us.�

��

�No�� Aoshi
heard her murmur, voice soft, full of horror.

�� He
smirked and leapt down, approaching the group.�

The men moved around behind her, each
grabbing a small arm.� Her captors held her
tight, but she didn�t struggle.� Her face
had gone pale�

�� She�s
kinda cold, boss��

�� We�ll
warm her,� the man promised, raising his sword to rest it at the base of her
neck.� �You saw what he did to her,
didn�t you, boy?�

�� Misao trembled, casting her eyes about frantically.

�� Aoshi neared, creeping along the outer edges of the
party.� She was looking for him, wasn't
she?

�� The
man pressed and a bead of blood rose up as he drew the sword back.�� His thin lips pulled back into a smile that
faltered when he saw her eyes widen and her lips part in horror, her eyes
trained behind him.

�� She
mouthed something he couldn�t decipher and turned to look just as the blade
fell.

�� Blood
rained.

*�� *�� *�� *

��

�� He
wasn�t coming back.

�� Misao hung her head sadly as she retreated from the room
watching as the others fussed over Himura.

�� He
wasn�t coming back.

��

�� Tears
stung her eyes, her throat burned.

�� The
back door couldn�t be close enough.� The
walk seemed endless.

�� She
stared ahead emptily.

�� He
wasn�t�

�� Himura had broken his promise and she couldn�t even stomp
in and yell about it.

�� She
couldn�t�

�� She
couldn�t do anything except slink away like a kicked puppy.

�� She
couldn�t do anything� and he wasn�t coming back.

��

�� She
retreated to the back porch.

�� The
tears gathering in her eyes fell, burning her cheeks.� He�d promised her.� He�d looked her right in the face and told
her he would bring him back here and yet�

�� He�d
returned empty handed.

�� He�d
returned a broken down man.

�� He�d
returned without Aoshi.

�� She
stepped down into the dirt.� Okina�s garden spread over the back section of the yard,
but she saw nothing of it.� She walked on
numbly.

�� Where
was he?

�� Was
he okay?

�� Was
he alive?

Was he gone?

Had Himura
reneged on the promise entirely and killed him as Jiya
had wanted?

��

��

�� Was
the man with darkened eyes and a blackened heart, dead?

�� Was
the man she adored now only a memory?

�� A
body upon the ground cooling, decaying�

�� A
handful of dust in the wind�

��

�� The
street was quiet as she walked, trying to stifle her choked sobbing.� She didn�t want to cry.� She didn�t want him gone.

�� She
felt like a little girl again, being told that Aoshi-sama
was going away��

�� Jiya had told her it was �for a little while�, and so she�d
waited.�

�� She�d
waited by the window every night for months and, eventually, she realized he wasn�t coming back.� That�s when the tears had become the worst.

�� Without
looking up, she knew where she was going.

�� She
was going back to the meeting house where Aoshi had
fought Okina.�

�� Where
her nearest would-be relative had nearly been
murdered; the day that colored her world red and black.

�� Her
mind wandered to places faraway while she walked as she tried to put him out of
her head.� She didn�t want to think about
anything ever again.� She reached the
little hut in the forest area quickly.�
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the door and her entire body
tingled with fear and dread by the time she had slid it open.

�� Darkness
hid the contents of the room.� She
skimmed the room with her reddened eyes about, but saw no threats.�� She didn�t care what lurked there.� She stepped within, leaving the door open, a
gaping hole into the night.

�� The
room had a smell to it.

�� It
made goose bumps rise along her arms and legs and a chill slide down her
spine.� It was a quick jolt of awareness
and displeasure.� Earlier, there had been
time only to collect Jiya�

�� The
blood�

�� It
still remained on the floor.

�� Smelling
and thickening and drying�

�� She
couldn�t see it, but she knew it was there all the same.

�� Her
knees knocked as she became unsteady and fell to the floor just beyond the
doorway.

�� More
tears pricked her eyes and ran over.�

�� Even
still, she couldn�t give up.� If he was
dead, maybe she could bring him home for burial.� If he was alive�
She�d continue to look for him.

�� She
couldn�t give up.

�� She
sat there, her shoulders hunched, her� body bent forward, sobbing
softly.�� She hadn�t even stayed to hear
his excuse.� No doubt Sanosuke
could�ve relayed it to her, but� she�d just run off.� Not even thinking about it, just moving,
thinking, hurting�

�� Sanosuke�

�� Maybe�

�� Maybe,
Aoshi-sama was coming later!

�� Maybe�

�� She�d
run without thinking, assuming the worst, but� It might not be that bad.

�� She
shot to her feet, her shakiness only a memory and whirled around, slamming the
old door closed as she went.� She took
off through the trees, headed back to the Aoiya.� The streets into town were dark but familiar
and she stormed through them, panting away, excitement burning in her chest.

�� He
could be coming back!

�� Words
couldn�t describe her elation at having the opportunity to see him again!� To� to� just be with him, near him.�

�� She
was two streets away from her home when she heard a commotion.� She stopped and peered down a dark street,
squinting, trying to see the darkened figures in the horizon.� There was muffled voices.� She crept closer, curious.

�� It
was some kind of drunken fight, she realized, as the voices became clearer, the
voices slurred together.

�� Come
on man, you want some with me?� Eh?�

�� Just
some bar thug, it seemed.� Probably
nothing more than a bar fight.� Should she interfere?� Who was the thug fighting with?

�� 

�� Whoever
it was, he was tall and that was about all she could tell.� Other than the fact he wasn�t saying
anything.

�� Sick of you little punks getting in my way.�

�� She
heard the sound of a sheath dropping and saw a glint of light off a blade.

�� Maybe
she should save the other guy?� She
didn�t want to see some innocent bystander, obviously too scared to talk, get
cut up in the streets.� That would be a
violation of the Oniwabanshuu code.� She felt obligated to help.

�� She
slipped her kunai into her fingers.��

�� Hey, punk!�

�� The
man turned around and she could see him a little better.� He was older, probably near forty.� There was a short sword in his hand.

�� Civilians
are not permitted to carry swords,� she informed him primly.�

�� Obviously
he wasn�t concerned about the law, she thought sourly.

�� Eh?� Girl?� You want some, too, bitch?� he snarled,
before charging.�

�� His
feet were sure and his footsteps steady enough to permit stable movement.� The sword swung wide and she was able to
easily dodge the clumsy arc.

�� She
couldn�t help herself.� She was excited
about the prospect of seeing Aoshi-sama again, and
feeling happy and hopeful.

�� She
laughed.

�� Her
opponent was enraged.� She heard him
growl and he charged again.�

�� She
let loose her kunai and several caught him, piercing through his arms.� She rarely aimed for a person�s trunk unless
she thought she was in trouble.

�� He
howled in pain, tossing his head up as he screamed, but no one would come.

�� No
one, unless they were stupid or drunk, wandered the streets of Kyoto at night.� She didn�t count herself among either group
because she sometimes did it just to rough up the locals and practice her
fighting.� She had found practicing with
the others at the dojo was useless to her.�
They were always afraid they�d hurt her, as ridiculous as that was.

�� But,
still yet, he straightened, he didn�t even yank the small blades out, he just
ran at her again with the sword accusingly as he spat threats to cut her open
and spread her body across the street in pieces.

�� She
just dodged, playing with him.

�� She
could smell his blood in the air.�

�� The
more she�d started staying out and fighting with people and injures were had,
the more she came to recognize it.� It
wasn�t something immediate, it had taken her a long time to discern the scent
of blood in the air and it normally took a great deal of blood.

�� The
bystander that she�d forgotten abruptly reappeared in front of her.�

�� Misao.�

�� Her
name fell like a brick from his mouth and she recoiled, her back slamming into
the wall of the building just behind her.�

�� Impossible.

�� It
was Aoshi.

�� Time
stopped and sound whirled like a tornado around her head.� She didn�t see him shift, but she heard a
gasp, a sound of pain, gurgling, liquid�

�� Then a thump.

�� Aoshi turned and the drunken man �

�� Her
eyes widened as she realized it was a sword.�
A sword through the man�s chest.� He was holding onto the blade as though he
had thrust it in his own chest.�

�� Aoshi drew it back quickly and the man grunted a moan of
pain.� Aoshi
arced the blade forward, in a long, diagonal slashing motion and blood flew
toward her, spattering her.� She couldn�t
see it, but she knew what it was, she could feel it impact her clothes, her
legs, in tiny little droplets.

�� One against her cheek.

�� His
name formed and died in her mouth.

�� Couldn�t
be�

�� This
man couldn�t be�

�� Aoshi paused, sparing the dying man a glance before
thrusting the blade down through the man�s chest again.� She heard the sounds of organs being skewed
and flattened herself against the wall as the man gushed blood onto the
ground.� His breathing was now a wheezing
sound, pained, wet.�

�� Was
he breathing up his own blood?

�� Maybe
he was drowning in it...?

�� She
covered her mouth with her hands, feeling nauseous.�

He left the blade there, embedded
into the man upon the ground before straightening and moving toward her.� She tried to draw back as he reached one
large hand toward her face.�

Who was this?

He had Aoshi�s
face, but surely this couldn�t be him!

He pressed one fingertip against her
cheek roughly, and then drew it downward, smearing it all the way down toward
the curve of her jaw.

He seemed to draw back and she
released a sigh, thinking he was going, at least moving away.� Instead, he turned his hand, shifting the
direction of his palm up.� The rough,
calloused fingertip was pressed against the seam of her lips, hard, and it
popped into her mouth.

She cringed, squeezing her eye shut
as he forced his finger into her mouth, rubbing it against the surface of her
tongue.

He leaned down and she opened her
eyes, terrified, but he just stared at her a moment before pulling his finger
out of her mouth.� He left the taste of
salt and dirt and blood upon her tongue and she wanted to vomit.

Her head swam with confusion.� In the midst of all she realized one thing, Sanosuke would have no good news for her.

He curled his hand about her jaw and
turned her face up to him again.� �Stained, Misao.�

�� Even
his voice was rough in the darkness.�

�� When
he moved again, the sound of his rustling clothes seemed loud and ominous.� He drew nearer, his face to hers.� He turned her head to the side and she winced
as she felt him touch his tongue to her cheek, just above her jaw line, licking
her.� Up and up, licking the blood he�s
smeared upon her face up toward her eye where he drew back.

�� I�ll
have you stained.�

�� He
moved away completely, dropping all connection between them.� The man on the ground was still.� Sometime in the midst of the interlude, he
had ceased breathing.� Aoshi yanked the sword from the man�s chest crudely and
knelt, drying the blade upon the man�s clothes.

�� Misao felt her stomach pitch.

�� She
ran.

*�� *�� *�� *

�� The
clearing at the edge of town was bad news.�
It was a wide area where carriage roads diverged, a huge triangular mess
of muddy road.� No streetlights burned,
illuminating the normally congested pathway, only the still quiet of night.

�� The
scent of extinguished fire, a hint of smoke, lingered in the air.� The crude torches carried by the fallen men
had died out beneath the dirt heaped upon them.�

�� Misao knelt upon the ground, packing the end of another torch
beneath the ground, anything to keep her hands busy.

�� Anything
not to be where she was�

�� Anything
not to have to look�

�� But
she could smell it� She could all but taste it in the air.

�� Worse
still was the silence.�

�� An
ill foreboding feeling that held her captive.

�� She
continued to pack dirt over the torch.�
She didn�t want anything to happen, she didn�t want to see any fires or�

�� A
set of hands descended upon her shoulders and her breath caught.� She gasped as though trying to keep her head
above water, her heart pounded in her chest, thudding in her ears.� Her vision darkened in panic.

�� The
hands clenched and one dropped to her arm, grasping and pulling her onto her
feet.

�� She
spun around and tried to turn away, but couldn�t quite manage and instead fell
onto the ground.� She thumped hard
against another body and she felt the man�s breath forced out of his chest as
her weight dropped onto him.� He heaved
for another breath as he lay beneath her, bleeding out.

�� He
saw nothing of it, Aoshi saw only her.�� He watched her with eerie stillness, as
though he were a predator about to sink his teeth into a quivering prey, but
waiting to see yet if the prey would try to run.

�� Misao just lifted herself up awkwardly, crawling off the
man.

�� Another
Saturday night, another kimono ruined.�
She could feel the warm seepage of blood through her clothing, settling
against her skin

�� She
scrambled backward, and he didn�t try to stop her.� He watched and she swallowed, trying to wet
her mouth.

�� More
sacrifices for our love, Misao?�� His voice was thick and gritty sounding, but
it held a deep, sardonic edge.� The word
�love� was almost spat discharged with a venomous bite.�

�� No��
she murmured.

�� She
hadn�t meant to, but it didn�t matter. �No matter how she tried to get there, no
matter what route she took or how many roads she avoided� Someone always died.

�� Someone
always died because she couldn�t tell him �no�.�
Because she loved him too much to turn her back on the monster that he�d
become.� So she let it go, she came every
Saturday, she came and someone died and he�

�� He
stepped forward and knelt at her feet.�
She saw him dip his hand, but she didn�t need to see it to know what he
was doing.� Moments later he touched his
soiled fingers to her lips, spreading blood over her mouth before leaning over
her.

�� His
kiss was ravenous.

�� It was the most intoxicating thing she�d never
known, and yet, it terrified her completely.��
Her lips surrendered beneath his as he drew her nearer, his arms folding
about her tiny frame, tightening, closing her in.

�� She
gasped for breath when he drew away from her, only to guide his bloodied
fingers back to her mouth, sliding between her lips.

�� His
eyes were dark, perfect jewels of darkness, glittering in the night, darkened
with lust.

�� She
sucked his finger deeper, sliding her tongue against it, drinking in his
desire, his want of her.�

�� She
was lost.

*�� *�� *�� *

�� It
was the smell that drew her.� The heavy, alcoholic tint in the air.� It seeped through every section of the
downstairs before it floated up, beneath her door and into her room.

�� Sake.

�� The
dull sound that she had completely tuned out became louder as she reached the
bottom stair.� A party seemed to be in
full swing in the next room.

�� She
hadn�t been invited?

�� She
marched for the door and yanked it open, startling the occupants.� Kuro and Shiro were standing next to one another, an arm over each
other�s shoulders.�

�� Misao!�

�� Shiro hiccupped and Omasu and Okon giggled.

�� Okina grinned, sipping another cup of sake.� �Come, my pretty... Join your Jiya for a little sip and then off to bed with you young
lady.�

�� He
pulled on his little bow and laughed.

�� Misao frowned.

�� What
were they doing?

�� Where
did all this sake come from?�

�� It
was far more than the usual stock the restaurant carried.�

�� -Many-
more.

�� Omasu and Okon whispered and
giggled as Shiro and Kuro
began to sing again.

�� A gift, my dear.� Ah,
yes, this came for you�� Okina held up a little slip of paper and she went forward
to take it, but he pulled it back, struggling up onto his feet.� �My precious Misao
has an admirer�� he crooned, unfolding the paper.

�� Please
accept my humble offerings to your family, Makimachi-san,
and meet me at the Shirobeko at 7.�

��

�� Seven?

�� What
time is it?� Misao asked.

�� 8:30,�
Okina replied.�
�You�ve kept your admirer waiting too long.� Go, go�!�
Off with you, my child.� Run, run
to him!� Bring home some puppies!�

�� Puppies?�

�� She
couldn�t even get the word out of his mouth before he shoved her out the front
door and closed it in her face.

�� She
shook her head in sheer astonishment.�
The entire lot of them was inane, she thought.� ��

The night was quiet and still and
reminded her of the last time she�d been alone outside by herself during the evening
hours.� Ever since the fateful encounter
with Aoshi, she�d been keeping indoors after sun
down.�

�� The
memory was fresh in her memory.� She
dreaded the night hours.� Whenever she
closed her eyes, she saw his face, his dark glittering eyes.

�� She
leaned back against the front door, listening to them party within.� She wanted to go back, to seek solace in her
room where she couldn�t remember the feel of his finger in her mouth, the taste
of blood on her lips.

�� No,
that was wrong.� She remembered even
there, but there she had her bed, her closet to crawl into.� There she could hide and pretend he couldn't
find here.� There she could delude
herself into thinking she was safe.

�� Each
time she thought of it, she grimaced and trembled.

��

�� She
sighed.

�� She
wasn�t about to go meet some lame admirer who sent her �sake-.� Half the time she didn�t even like sake, it
depended on her mood.

�� She
turned to head about the side of the building, unlatching the little fence door
and slipping into the side garden.� Okina�s grounds were small, but they flourished under his
care.� There was a small strip of
greenery at the side that circled around to the back where the pond was set up
in the far corner.

�� She
stepped inside and slid the door closed behind her, making sure it was fully
closed.� She smiled.� She could just sneak in the back door and she
was home free.

�� Just
what was that business about puppies anyway?

�� She
turned back, about to head for the back door when she felt a hand close around
her elbow.

�� Large.

�� She
whipped around, startled, bringing her other hand around to punch her
unexpected attacker, but her fist was caught and she was slammed forward
against the side of the building.

�� She
gasped as she recognized�
the man in front of her.�
His silhouette was familiar.� She
knew it at once.� Her gasp was mangled.

�� Aoshi-sama!�

�� He
brought his hands up, pressing his palms against her cheeks, and she could feel
the wetness, the smell of him.

�� Dropping
one hand, he smeared it against her bottom lip and dropped his head.� She attempted to turn away, but he reached
and held her fast, tilting her chin up.�
Their lips met hard.

�� She
struggled, and he pulled back.� Her mouth
tasted coppery and metallic, like licking a rusty sword.��

�� He
stared at her, his hands still.

�� She
gazed up at the man she once loved.� What
of her love now?� As she met his eyes,
dangerously darkened pools that sought only death and destruction, did she
still love him?

�� His
hands slid to her waist and she felt the sash at her waist loosen.� The ends fell and tickled the back of her
legs.� He tucked two flingers beneath the
bow and pulled it away.

�� Misao gasped.

�� Did
she want this?

�� Ties
came undone and cloth rustled against itself as he fumbled with her
clothes.� They loosed and pooled at her
feet leaving her to tremble against the wall, crowded there quivering.

�� His
hands were everywhere.� His mouth was
open against her shoulder, his teeth against her skin as he mauled her.� His fingers slipped between her legs and she
gasped as the feeling wasn't what she thought it would be.� She clenched her eyes closed, confused,
afraid at the feeling, afraid of the sensations he was stirring.

�� Stepping
back, his hands fell away from her and instead he reached for her by the waist
and lifted her.� He pulled her thighs up,
one by one as he steadied her, wrapping them at his hips.

�� She
panted softly, trying to stem her panic.

�� This
wasn't...

�� He
didn't want to...

�� He
watched him undo the clasps at his own waist.

�� Oh
no�

�� He
did want to.

*�� *�� *�� *

�� It was so long ago, she thought, as his hands pulled clumsily at
her clothing in an effort to rid her of it.�
Aoshi-sama always seemed so patient, so
perfect.�

�� In
practice, in reality, he was rapacious; he was impatient and quick to
irritation.� He had little time for
others, barely time for her.� Everything
was a rush, a race to finish, a race that ended
nowhere but in his parting from her.� She
would be left breathless and sore and wet.�
A wetness that was mostly his between her thighs.

�� He
made her ache, for hours after she left she could feel him.� Tonight would be no different, all such
nights were the same.� Exciting
and painful and thrilling.

�� She
turned her head as he leaned forward, kissing along her neck, his teeth
snapping against her skin roughly.� The
marks would be ugly in the daylight, she had never liked him biting her, but
she dared not open her mouth

�� Dared
not speak�

�� Dared
not disrupt this little interlude, this strange fantasy, this off reality�

�� She
gasped as she felt herself being lifted up and then down, down quickly,
swooping down.� Her back came to rest
upon the ground; it was cool even through her yukata
which now hung limply off her arms.

�� The whole night had a chill to it, she could
feel the peaked tip of her nipples, tight and erect as though waiting for his
mouth to close over them.� She sighed
when she did, expectant, relieved.

�� Relieved
she was enough�

�� Relieved
his mouth was so hot�

�� Relieved
that something had touched the aching points�

��

He moaned against her skin, the same
humming, pleasing tone.� She loved when
he did it, his mouth wet and soft.

�� Her
feet were cold against the ground.

�� He
raised his head, his eyes meeting hers, they glittered in the dark.

�� It�s
time now.�

�� Huh?

�� He�d
never spoken to her after he�d undressed her.�
It had always been a point of the night where coherent speech was
checked and guttural sounds took over.

�� She
gaped in astonishment.� �Time for what?�

�� She
was afraid, afraid of the intensity with which he stared at her.� It made her shoulders tremble, her mouth dry,
and the peaks of her breasts harder.

�� His
ability to affect her body astonished her, even when he didn�t touch her.� His voice did wicked things; make her tingle
in places that she had only discovered tingled when he touched them.

�� She
sighed softly, her top row of teeth snapping down on her lip as she felt his
hand slid between her thighs, his palm against the interior face.�

�� She
felt him kneel between her legs, she loved the feel of
him there, hovering over her.�

�� She
loved his narrow hips, the way he fit just so against her and inside her.

�� He
was perfect.

�� He
leaned down and flicked his tongue against her ear.� �You ready for me?�

�� He�d
never asked that before.��

�� She
felt herself nodding.

�� She
throbbed, she could feel it deep inside, a pulse, a contraction of inner
muscles, she could even feel a slickness between her
own thighs.� It was rare, rare of her to
be wet before he entered her.�

��

�� It
was the same every time.� She could feel
him, the bulbous flesh against her own, thick and hard and soft and the way it
pushed against her.� She gasped and
shifted her hips as it touched her, she was never sure if she wanted away from
it or closer to it.�

�� He
pressed and it pressed, her narrow opening stretched and he pushed harder,
sliding in slow.

�� Always
slow, never fast, despite his impatience.��

�� Fast
came later.

�� In
slow, he pushed, further and further, following her interior contours.

�� He
made her feel full and small; it always felt so tight with him inside.

�� He
leaned back.� He grabbed the dead man�s
wrist and she tried to move, but his hips pressed hers down.� He dragged the man closer, a dagger slid from
his pocket into his hand.� She closed her
eyes and waited.

�� The
liquid was warm as it trickled against her chest.

�� The
experience wasn�t new.�

�� He
leaned down and flicked his tongue against her torso, beneath her breasts, at
the center of her ribs.

�� He
lifted up and rocked his hips forward against what she could only call the back
of her insides.� He always banged inside
against her, the force uncomfortable.

�� Slow
and gentle at first, she thought.

�� He
held himself up, his palms in the dirt, blood against her chest, the night was
cold.�

�� He
was mostly dressed, his garments parted only enough for him to be inside her.

�� He
was always selfish that way.

�� Always.

�� Never
giving, only taking.

�� He
took from her.

�� He
rocked forward again; it felt good but not wonderful.� It didn�t feel the way it felt when he
touched her higher.

�� He
did so rarely.

�� Rarely,
did he go out of his way to ease her, to pleasure her, but never did she
hesitate to come to him.

�� She
trembled as his cock slid in a different way, her body shook.� He stared at her, his face set in
concentration, his eyebrows drawn down in concentration.

�� He
sat back, trailing his hands down her sides before he hoisted her up in his
lap.

�� Her
legs always felt different around his waist when she was sitting up then when
she was lying down.� She reached up and
hooked her arms around his heck, stretching. �He leaned down, his hands curving around her
hips.� She arched her hips and moved the
way she knew he liked.� The blood would
smear against his clothes, but he didn�t seem to care.� He guided her, moved her, and helped her,
groaning softly, his breath hot against her ear.

�� He
seldom spoke.

�� When
he moved one hand from her hip, she was surprised.� Shocked further when she
felt his fingertips slide against the lips of her sex, slowly, tentatively
almost.

�� She
gasped sharply as he pressed right and pleasure shot up her spine.� She gripped him harder, gasping out his
name.� Her response seemed to please him
as he did it again and again.� She
quickened the pace of her hips, slamming her body against his and she felt his
teeth again at her neck, nipping her.

�� Now,
it seemed, it was no longer an irritation.�
She didn�t care about the marks, she only wanted more.

�� More and more and endlessly more.

�� She
reached the peak of pleasure and tensed her muscles all coiling tight.� His hands, both returned to her hips,
tightened moving her up and down.

�� Up
and down and up and down.�

�� She
moved at his will as though boneless, all but oblivious for several moments.

�� She
could always tell when he was close.� The
entire feel of him against her shifted, seemed to tighten, his hands
especially.� Often times she had little
bruises directly over her hips bones where his fingers had pressed, mashing her
skin between his hands and her bone.� She
spent so much time trying to hide all the marks.

�� He
groaned, jerking her on him, against him.�
Within her, he spilled his seed.�

�� Again
and again she had known this, experienced it, felt how it wet her.

�� He
drew away slowly, his hands sliding not away, but against her skin.� Up and down her hips and then up to press his
palms against her breasts.�

�� Aoshi-sama?�

�� This,
too, was unusual.

�� It�s
time.�

�� Time?

�� Her
heart quickened.

�� He
slid her off his lap.� �Dress yourself.�

�� She
hurried to do so, feeling uneasy with his stare.� What was it time for?

�� What is it?� she asked.�

�� She
doubted he�d answer.

�� He
answered one out of every six questions she asked, maybe even less than
that.�

Maybe one out of
ten.

Maybe one out of
twenty.

�� She
quickly slid back into her yukata, merely having to
retie her sash about her waist.� The
garment was wet at the sleeve and the back and across the abdomen with large
patches of blood.� He had once stated he
thought she was amongst her most beautiful moments when she was clothed in
bloodied garments.� She had turned away
at the time, even now she didn�t understand his state
of mind or how to handle it.

�� It
never really got easier.

�� He
just seemed to get worse.

�� The
thing, however, that made her pause, that truly made her afraid was the
possibility of pregnancy. �She could
handle him, of that she was certain, but what if they had a baby?� What then?

�� He
was already walking away.� She didn�t
scramble to catch up, she continued to look around the ground for the kunai
she�d had with her that she�d dropped.

�� She
spotted one of the four and reached for it.�
Had the other three gotten buried when she was trying to put out the
torch?� The last thing either of them
needed, her especially, was for the police to spot
them.

�� Aoshi-sama was a wanted man now.� A murderer, a criminal, she knew the Kyoto police were looking
for him, even if they didn�t know it was Aoshi-sama
they sought.� She knew.

�� Was
it only a matter of time before he was discovered?� How many more midnight interludes would they
have before their glass house shattered?

�� How
many more close calls could she handle?�
How many more until the axe fell?

�� She
sighed, almost ready to give up when she spotted
another.

�� She
couldn�t leave her kunai here.

�� She
never should�ve brought them, she thought as she frantically searched for the
other two.�

�� She
patted the ground, searching about, she found nothing.� Aoshi-sama was gone
now, completely out of sight.

�� She
sighed heavily.

�� Perhaps
she wouldn�t find out what time it was after all, or whatever he�d meant by that.

�� Just
as she made to pull herself up onto her feet she heard movement.�

�� Panic
seized her until she recognized the tall form of Aoshi-sama
behind her as he pressed close.� He
brought one hand forward and from it fell her two missing kunai.� They toppled to the ground at her feet.

�� He
leaned forward and down toward her ear.�

�� You�ll
always be a baby ninja,� he murmured.

�� She
wanted to growl at him and argue, offended as she was at the remark, but he
tipped her head back and claimed her lips and she surrendered the argument.

�� She
loved when he kissed her.�

�� Her
skin fused with warmth.

�� He
teased and coaxed and lured, his tongue sliding just between her lips before he
drew back from her completely.

�� He
stepped away and leaned down, scooping up her kunai.�

�� Let�s
go now.� We need to move before sunrise.�

�� She
blinked.

�� M-move before sunrise?

�� He�
he was taking her with him?!

�� She
was torn between terror and elation.�

�� Aoshi-sama wanted her to go with him!� She wouldn�t be left alone this time.� This time she�d be right there with him.

�� But�

�� But
this time, Aoshi-sama wasn�t in his right mind
anymore.� He just� he wasn�t the same.

�� What�
what should she do?

�� Aoshi-sama� w-where are we going?�

�� He
turned away from her and began walking.� She
understood the message, go with him or stay behind, he wasn�t going to try to
talk her into it.

�� Does
it matter?� he finally responded, his voice just barely making the journey back
to her ears.

�� She
dashed forward without thought.

�� The
Aoiya�

�� The
Aoiya was her nest, and no one stayed in the nest
forever.� She had to� to� fly?

�� She
walked after him, her feet and nose cold.

�� Where
they were going, she couldn�t say.

�� What
happened in the future, she didn't care.

�� She
paused briefly and blew a kiss letting it drift on the wind.� In some silly way, she hoped it reached the Aoiya.

��

�� Childhood
was over.

�� Adulthood
seemed an inadequate word to describe this new stage of life.

��

�� "Misao."� His voice was terse and commanding.� He expected her to follow and she turned to
trot along after him.

�� No,
"adulthood" would not do.

�� This
was madness.

�� It
was hers and his, and she would embrace it as long as she had to embrace him.

��

�� She
hurried to catch up to him walking at his side.�
He reached to take her hand and she smiled.

�� This
was their madness.
- 1
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Midnight's Secret Madness