#req fic

Paisley’s breath starts to hitch and her eyes start to flutter. She looks around to try to find something to sneeze into. Rowan takes Paisley’s hands and guides them under her shirt to the middle of her chest. Rowan nods at Paisley to let her know to use Rowan’s shirt to catch her sneezes.

“Hah-aa-AACHUIEW! AACHUO’OO! Ha-haa-HAHTSHIEW!” Paisley sneezed harshly.

“Goodness! Bless you, darling,” Rowan says and kisses Paisley’s hair.

“Thankg you, bubba. SNF! Snff!” Paisley replies.

“Blow, baby. Get out what you can from those.”

Paisley does blow her nose, messy and wet and hard into her cupped hands that are under Rowan’s shirt.

“There you go, baby, good job,” Rowan soothes.

Rowan guided Paisley’s head out from her chest and tilted Paisley’s head up to face her. Rowan used two fingers to gently massage the sinuses on and around Paisley’s nose.

“Oh, Pais. You feel so stuffed up too. Those poor sinuses.”

Paisley sniffles miserably and groans. “I feel like shit, Ro.”

“I can imagine. I think I know something that may help,” Rowan replies. She’s met with Paisley’s eyes looking up at her, waiting for Rowan to continue. “A nice hot shower would help loosen up all that congestion,” Rowan finishes, and places a kiss to Paisley’s forehead once again.

“Butd I don’td wantd to get upb and shower,” Paisley whines.

“I know, I know. But you have a shower and tub combo. We can sit in the tub instead of stand, I’ll hold you close and the steam will help you feel better. Once we’re done we’ll give you some medicine and go back to bed,” Rowan promises.

Paisley nods reluctantly and Rowan gets out of bed. She waits for Paisley to do the same but Paisley pulls her biggest puppy dog eyes and lifts up her arms.

“Uppy!” Paisley exclaims, a silly smile on her face.

Rowan playfully rolls her eyes but even that can’t hide the fond expression on her face.

“Alright, c’mere, love,” Rowan says, bending down to scoop Paisley up.

Rowan does so with ease and walks to the bathroom with Paisley’s arms around her neck and Paisley’s legs around her waist.

“Little koala,” Rowan teases as she sets Paisley down. Paisley pulls a mock pout and Rowan laughs, softly kissing her cheek.

Rowan turns on the water to warm it up and grabs some handkerchiefs from one of the drawers in the bathroom.

“Whatd are tdhose for?” Paisley questions.

“The hot water and steam will make your nose very runny and probably make you sneeze as well. I wanted to grab something to wipe up your nose and for you to blow into. We both know you can be a bit messy, love. With everything in those sinuses it’ll probably be more so than usual,” Rowan explains.

Rowan smiles at Paisley’s little heyyy and walks over to plant a kiss on her lips.

“Not a bad thing, not a bad thing at all sweetheart. I just wanna make sure that we clean you up,” Rowan says with a kiss to Paisley’s forehead.

Paisley nods and Rowan offers Paisley her hand to lead Paisley to the tub.

“Warm enough?” Rowan asks as Paisley puts her hand under the water.

Paisley nods and Rowan takes that as her cue to start undressing herself so that they can get in. Paisley stands there, but doesn’t start taking off her clothes.

“Paisley, what’s wrong?” Rowan asks, wondering why Paisley is still dressed.

“Wantd you tdo tdake mby clothes off,” Paisley mumbles.

“Huh?” Rowan asks. “Couldn’t hear you, Pais.”

“Wantd you tdo tdake mby clothes off,” Paisley repeats, this time a bit clearer.

“Of course. Anything, sweet girl,” Rowan replies gently. She brings Paisley close for a hug and then pulls away to start undressing her.

Rowan leaves barely there kisses on Paisley’s skin as she goes about undressing her. One to Paisley’s neck before she starts. One to Paisley’s collarbone as she takes off the sweatshirt, one to her tummy as she takes off the tank top. Two to her hip bones when Rowan takes off the pajama shorts, and one to each ankle to make Paisley giggle.

When Rowan stands up Paisley pulls her in for a hug and a firm kiss.

“I lovbe you,” Paisley snuffles as she pulls away.

“I love you too. Let’s get into the shower, yeah?” Rowan prompts, pulling back the shower curtain.

Rowan gets in first and Paisley sits herself right between Rowan’s legs.

“Mmm, my girl,” Rowan coos as she kisses behind Paisley’s ear. Rowan feels Paisley melt under the nickname and smiles to herself before leaving another kiss there.

The effect of the steam and hot water is almost immediate. Paisley starts hitching and her eyebrows furrow together as she’s about to sneeze.

She turns around to face Rowan and starts sneezing into Rowan’s neck.

“Ha’AHISHI’OO! AH-HAH-AHHIISHIEEEW! Ndeed a - a -'' Paisley says through the fit, desperately trying to grab one of the handkerchiefs that Rowan brought. Rowan understands and grabs one for Paisley. She holds it to Paisley’s nose but Paisley takes it from Rowan and cups her hands around it.

“APTCHIISHOO! Ohh. AACHSIEE! Ahh. Oh! Oh! Oh! AHAACHUIEW! ACHIIIEW! Uhh.” Paisley sneezes into the handkerchief. The sneezes are extremely loud and messy and wet, and Rowan can tell just how good Paisley felt by letting those sneezes out by her sighs and the little moans of relief she made after the sneezes.

“God bless you, Paisley Mae!” Rowan exclaims.

Paisley smiles sheepishly up at Rowan after removing the handkerchief from her nose. Rowan can see that Paisley’s nose is still so runny from the steam and grabs another handkerchief to clean Paisley up.

“So messy,” Rowan coos as she fusses over Paisley’s nose.

“Careful,” Paisley warns, “You’re gonna mbake mbe sndeeze again.”

“You may still have some stuff in your sinuses,” Rowan replies. Rowan feels around Paisley’s sinuses and starts massaging like she did earlier. “Oh yeah, still in there. Let’s work on that,” Rowan finishes.

Rowan massages around Paisley’s nose to loosen up the congestion but focuses on the bridge of her nose. Soon enough Paisley’s breath starts to hitch dramatically.

“Ro - Ro! Oh - oh God! Mbess - mbessy! Oh - ah’HAH-AAA’SHOO! AASHIEEW! ACHUUIEW!” Paisley sneezes, straight into Rowan’s chest.

Paisley pauses for a moment. “Done?” Rowan asks. Paisley nods, then shakes her head and sneezes twice more down Rowan’s chest.

“I think that did the trick, you needed that so badly. Bless you so many times, baby bug,” Rowan says once she cleans up Paisley’s nose and her chest. Paisley was right, those were her messiest sneezes that Rowan’s ever seen (which is saying a lot).

Paisley mumbles a thank you into Rowan’s neck when she kisses there. Rowan steps out of the shower first and helps Paisley up. Rowan dries them both off and grabs their clothes.

“Do you want me to dress you?” Rowan asks.

“Would you?” Paisley responds, wearing a very shy smile.

Rowan steps forward and kisses her. “Anything,” she says against Paisley’s lips as she pulls away.

The spy lay dead on the ground, his blood staining the moss a nasty shade of crimson. 

He took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood off of his face and out of his hair. She sank to her knees, staring with glassy eyes at the small knife that had fallen from the dead boy’s hand, that had left a small nick upon her throat, at the gaping wound the sword had left in one fell thrust through his arm to his heart.  

She was covered in blood, too, a spray across her hair and face, and a splatter on her kimono. 

He watched as her expression changed to the one he had braced for, since she had fallen into his arms. 

The subtle tide of shock to horror. It was so clear in the noon day sun that the light seemed to turn caustic on his skin. He walked past her without a word, made no movement to offer her his bloody hand. 

“He--” she whispered with a strangled noise. 

“He was a spy.” He answered, harsh and curt. 

“But... he... I--” She said, trying to speak between the sobs she was swallowing back. 

He had come with his younger brother as assistants to the gardener, and was a clumsy spy, leaving obvious signs of his trespass into Mitsuhide’s room and desk in the form of specks of dark earth or a dried leaf left trapped between two sheets of paper. The younger one had taken off, struggling over the wall upon seeing his brother 

She was smoothing her kimono down again and again as if her hands were moving of their own accord, her shoulders shaking. “Why--” 

“Does it matter? I need to deal with the other one.” 

He was already settling his sword and leaving when he felt her tug on his sleeve. 

“Of course it matters! He’s just a child! Can’t you let him go?” She said, pleading in her shuddering voice. 

He felt an uncharacteristic fury take hold of him as he jerked the fabric out of her hand and looked at her through narrowed eyes. 

“You very nearly just died and yet you stand her begging for that little bastard’s life?” 

“Please, Mitsuhide. Yes. I’m begging you. He can’t be more than twelve. He’s not important.” 

“Don’t think you can ask me for absurd favors just because we’ve shared a bed.” He hissed at her with a cold smile. Better a clean cut now, better to sever their ties than let them die a protracted death by slow poison. Better to let her think he would cut down a child, so she could hate him.

“I know you’re doing what you think has to be done but--” she began, her voice falling off with a quaver, her hands balled into fists at her sides. The fear hadn’t hit her yet. 

“My, what an expression. Is it so unbearable to have your naive illusions shattered this way?” 

She lowered her gaze, face red, stiff and silent. “I...” She whispered, and when she looked up, he saw a fury in her face that matched his own. “Why are you trying to hurt me? I don’t understand--” she cut herself off, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. 

The air reeked of blood, and he heard her fight back a retch. She opened her eyes again, and searched his face. 

“What’s the matter, seamstress? The stars in your eyes look red today.” He said, glib and cold. 

He felt a dull pain somewhere under the current of rage that had him now, at her foolhardy pursuit of him, at the stupidity of children, at the viciousness of whomever had given them such deadly orders, at himself for being too distracted to see the danger she was in and especially at the serene sunlit sky that hung above the depravity of the world with an indifference he hated and envied all at once.  

“Why are you saying these things?” She said, and the hurt in her voice sharpened the edge of his fury at himself. 

“Someone has to make you see the truth. This is how the world is. No amount of pretty wishes will change it.” He snarled, bitterly. 

“I’ve had enough.” She said, her voice thick with anger and pain. 

He gave her a hollow smile to cover the bitter thorn of anguish that she had left under his skin. He gestured silently toward the door and she glided out, shoulders sagging in defeat. 

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly enough, he had caught the boy trying to hide in a copse of trees just outside the town, his trail as clear as a complete lack of experience could make it.

He had confessed nearly as soon as he was dragged into the dungeon, terror in his eyes. Always more of the same, another scheming warlord, another petty power struggle. He had arranged for the boy to be sent to a distant fief after he was satisfied that he had gleaned all of the information there was. Better to be hated by the living than haunted by one more senseless death.

“Were you injured?” Nobunaga asked him with a sharp look after he had finished his report. 

“Not at all.” He replied,  

“But our chatelaine was. That was unusually careless of you.” Nobunaga said, displeasure in his voice. 

“It won’t happen again.” He answered flatly, with a bow. 

“See that it doesn’t.” Nobunaga said with a dismissive gesture. 

He stood in the hallway, hands hanging still and useless, staring at the way to her door. There was nothing for him there, there never had been. The touch her lips, the warmth of her arms, the gentleness in her eyes had never been for him. 

Regret had no purpose, it was the key to a storehouse of misery whose doors he kept firmly closed, and now she had pried them open and peered through into the shadows inside. He turned and went in the opposite direction. 

Ieyasu caught up to him and they walked in tense silence for a few paces. 

“Is she well?” He asked, and felt the weight of a bitter look in reply. 

“Physically? She’s fine.” Ieyasu answered shortly. “She’s too weak to have ever gotten so close to you.” He continued. 

“It won’t happen again.” Mitsuhide murmured, repeating the words like a  charm. “She’s had enough of me.”

“It’s a little late now, even you can’t be that cold.” Ieyasu muttered and glared at him balefully. 

Ieyasu walked on, leaving him to stand alone. He turned back and went to her door, and sat beside it, hands folded in his lap, listening to the muffled sound of voices from within. Dishes rattled and he heard the familiar lilt of Masamune’s voice and was grateful that someone was showing her more care than he could. 

Masamune stepped out after some time and looked down at him where he sat without any judgement on his face, which cut more deeply than a rebuke ever could have. He sighed and shook his head, a touch of sadness on his face as he walked away.

Mitsuhide sat stiffly, listening to the sound of her footsteps and the occasional soft hiss of the burning lamp wicks as night deepened. He sat and in the stillness he let the fear of the day sit across from him so he could look it in the face. He could turn fury to useful ends, but fear was a paralytic numbness that deadened his mind and slowed his hands. He had learned that lesson long ago, and it had served him well, until today.

The silence sat on him like a shroud in the middle of the night, reminding him that he should have left long ago. There was no purpose in keeping watch now. He deserved to feel her absence like a wound. He started at the sound of her crying, quietly at first and then in deep wracking sobs. He stood painfully, unable to stop himself.

He slid her door open silently and went to her in the dark where she sat, head in her hands. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, a sting in his eyes. She lurched in surprise, and then sank into him, her shoulders against his chest. He felt his hands shaking as he kissed the top of her head, choking on the words he should have said and the words he had. 

“Forgive me,” he whispered, hoarse and weak. 

“Always.” She said, her voice raw. 

He breathed a shuddering, ragged breath and she turned in his arms and buried her face in the crook of his neck until the last of her tears were shed. 

“I’m with you. Even if it kills me.” She murmured. “So you don’t have to be cruel when you want to be kind.”