Author's Note: Since Homecoming had a little show of Soujiro/Misao, that really sort of stuck with me.

I've never really written Misao OR Soujiro in their appropriate ages so, uh, bear with me. Trying not to make Soujiro a sixteen year old Okita was not easy, despite the influence he'd clearly have, and their similar personalities to begin with.

Also. Okita as a dad. It never freakin' gets old.

I guess I'll throw in a warning here. There's a lot of f-bombs dropped in this piece. This will be 2-4 chapters in length.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

Between Right and Wrong .01

"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed today, gentlemen."

Sixteen year old Okita Soujiro adjusted the book bag on his shoulders and flashed a smile at the three thugs that stood before him. It was a sunny spring day, just on the cusp of summer and school had just let out. He was not afraid of these punks as they laughed at him, cracking their knuckles, but bored of them today.

The biggest of the three, one Keisuke by name, stepped forward with a daring look, an invitation for a fight. Soujiro wasn't about to accept it; he had little time for something so vulgar as fighting without reason. In front of his classmates, no less.

The truth was, this was routine for him and had been for several years. When he had been adopted into the loving Okita family, he had been nothing short of grateful, but their kindness could only do so much. He was, in fact, a strange creature, a disarming child with nightmarish baggage. No matter how much his new parents loved him, it didn't make fitting in at school any easier.

He had done what they told him to do. Smile and accept his classmates. Be kind to them. Remain polite, and honest. He had already known most of this; it was his main defense mechanism, but one thing that his parents had taught him that he had feared his whole short life was that it was alright to cry. He was allowed to feel sad and frustrated. Emotions need not be cast aside, but embraced, learned, and controlled.

For the most part, he had done well, even if his social progress was much slower than that of his peers. He had made friends and by the time he reached high school, it was safe to say that Okita Soujiro was popular. Girls swooned when he walked by, and the boys always vied for his attention and his approval. His grades were perfect, he excelled at sports, and he always.

Always.

Smiled.

There were, of course, bullies, and since the third grade, this trio of degenerates had made him their prime target. At first it had been silly things. Stolen pencils and upturned desks, but over the years, despite his popularity, things progressed down a road that he blocked off to all except himself, and his antagonists.

"You're just a bunch of pansies, you lame asses!"

And then there was her.

Shinomori Misao was (aside from his parents of course) the best thing to ever enter his life. He had met her his very first day in Kyoto ten years ago, and they had rarely spent a moment apart since. She was the salve to his wounds, the sunlight of his darkness, and the laughter he so desperately wished for when he lay curled up on his coconut shaped bean bag chair, sobbing from the nightmare that had woken him.

It wasn't that his parents weren't good enough; they were. They were wonderful. But they didn't quite understand him the way Misao did. His mother knew his grief the best, having lived it herself, but she was older now, and her memories had faded with the love she had found in his father, but Misao was a kid too. She knew how to speak to his very soul.

She was bold, so very bold when Soujiro himself clung to rationality and logic. He did grow to participate in the kendo club, blowing everyone away with his natural abilities, but Misao was much more aggressive than that. She threw herself into any form of combat there was to learn. He still hadn't learned why this was, but he liked it. He liked it so much he had once referred to her as his "little ninja".

She had pouted and shoved him off the ledge they had been walking on, but he had smiled and the name had stuck.

Over the years she had grown from playmate to competitor to confident, and to protector. And now, as they were both well into adolescence, something new had blossomed between them. Something that brought with it secret smiles and stolen kisses behind the backs of ever watchful older brothers and over excited mothers.

Yes, it was safe to say that Okita Soujiro had fallen in love with her.

"What did you say, little girl?"

Soujiro sighed and put his hand on Misao's shoulder when she bristled and stepped forward. When would these bozos learn?

"They're not worth it," he said, "you know that."

Emerald eyes flashing, Misao was hardly interested in what they were worth. Taking a defensive stance, she bared her teeth.

"Come at me, you wuss!" she screamed, "all of you! I don't care!"

They made no motion to advance on her, instead, they burst out in laughter, like they did every day.

"How pathetic!" one of them sneered, coming up to Soujiro and shoving his shoulder. "Why you gotta always have your girl to fight for you?"

"Yeah!" said the third, "little chicken shit freak!"

But Soujiro smiled at them. "I could destroy the three of you in one move," he explained smoothly, "but I won't."

"Won't 'cause you can't, pretty boy."

"No," he corrected, "I won't because I have little use for such... primitive activities. You have hardly given me a reason to fight you."

He knew what they really wanted. Aside from the fact that they simply didn't like him, they wanted to make him snap. They had leeched onto him when he was young and vulnerable and were determined to crack him now that he was not. And Soujiro knew why.

"Let me pass," he sighed, pushing through the group, his fingers laced with Misao's. If she were late coming home, her brother would ask questions.

"What a fag," scoffed Keisuke, "You think your better than us just because you got rich parents?"

This again.

"Gonna run home to daddy, Sou?"

Soujiro steeled his jaw. He knew what was coming next and no matter how many times he ignored it and no matter how many times he told himself it wasn't important, it still stung.

"He's not even your real dad." the thug turned to his lackeys, "you know that, guys? This little prick's adopted."

The other two laughed, eyes glistening. Misao stiffened beside Soujiro and he squeezed her hand, a silent plea for her to let him deal with it.

"Your real dad's dead, isn't he?" Keisuke asked, circling the pair, "your whore of a mother shot him, isn't that right? You're nothing but a charity case, you know that? The only reason you have any parents is because they felt bad for you."

"Don't be jealous," Soujiro replied sweetly, "if it's money you need, all you need do is ask politely. I have received charity and I'm very happy to give it in return."

At the offensive statement, Keisuke drew back his arm and hurled his fist at Soujiro's face, but when the boy lifted his hand and effortlessly stopped the punch, he gasped in disbelief.

Soujiro smiled at him, "Really," he whispered, "I wouldn't."

"What kind of freak are you?" asked the offender, trying to pull back his arm, but finding it stuck in Soujiro's surprisingly strong grip. "You've got that freaky smile, just like your pig cop father!"

Placidly, Soujiro released his classmate and again, adjusted his book bag. "My father is a great man," he said, narrowing his eyes. He was letting their words get under his skin. He shouldn't have, but he couldn't help it. "You're upset because he put yours in jail."

For a moment, Keisuke was stunned, speechless at the low blow the mysterious black haired boy had just delivered. It was the first time he had ever truly raised to a battle, and it was unnerving how easily the words had flowed out of his mouth. When the couple walked away, he balled his hands into fists.

"You are crazy, you little fuck!" he screamed at Soujiro's back. "Just like your crazy bat-shit fucking mother!"

Fuse lit, Misao threw down her bag and spun on her heel. "You want to say that to our faces you piece of shit?" she demanded. Soujiro sighed and put his arm out, blocking her from moving forward.

"It's not worth it, little ninja, let's go."

"Come here!" she screamed, ignoring him, "come here and I'll crack your skulls open! Come on!"

Keisuke laughed. "Just you wait, little girl. Wait till I get you alone. Then we'll see who's ripping who open."

Soujiro groaned and with a strong hand on her upper arm, bent to retrieve her bag and dragged her down the street, despite her heavy resistance.

"You hear that, Soujiro?!" Keisuke called out before they were gone from his sight, "I'm gonna tear your girl apart!"

Rounding the corner, Soujiro handed Misao her bag, and with a soft exhale, he took hold of her hand again.

"How many times do I have to tell you to just let it go?" he asked, "they're just a bunch of jerks. They'll stop if we ignore them."

Though he played disinterest, Misao had known him long enough to see through the thin veil that fooled everyone else so easily. He had been offended today, hurt even. She could see it now in his eyes, those deep blue oculars that never lied to her, regardless of what his mouth said.

"Yeah well you've been saying that since we were kids and it hasn't stopped yet." Flicking her braid over her shoulder, she shrugged, and tossed him a grin, "besides, maybe I don't feel like protecting you anymore. Maybe you're gonna have to deal with them without me sending them running."

Soujiro chuckled. As ferocious as she could be, her juvenile threats hardly ever sent Keisuke and his gang running. He'd never tell her this, of course. She prided herself in being his protector, even if they both knew he no longer needed it.

"Well it's just high school," he said, "and next year will be the last year of it."

Letting out a huff, Misao swung their arms, squeezing his hand with each swing, "Well whatever. Have you decided what you're going to study yet? Every time I ask you, you just laugh at me."

Soujiro looked over at her. "I don't really know yet. I know dad would like for me to join the police force with him but... I don't think that's really for me. I think maybe I'd like to be a teacher."

Misao raised a brow. "You say you want to get out of high school.. but then you want to go back?"

"Not high school," he laughed, "Elementary. I'd really like to help with kids, you know, like me."

"You're already helping," she pointed out, "Your mom's got all those events."

It was true. Since his adoption, his mother had started multiple charities, events, and programs for abused children. He participated in these regularly, sharing his experience and reaching out to those who needed a helping hand, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to help the kids who were just like him. The kids who never said a word, the kids who acted just fine. The kids who would never be as lucky as he had been.

With a laugh and a smile, he reached behind his head to scratch his neck. "Well I guess I just like kids, that's all."

A block away from her house attached to the restaurant her family owned, he kissed her, and when they spotted her brother's car in the drive, she mouthed, I'll call you, and ducked into the restaurant to begin her shift. With a light fluttering in his stomach, Soujiro turned and headed up the hill to his own house.

He was surprised to see his father's car and as a lead ball of dread dropped into his stomach, he burst into the giant house, threw off his shoes, and tossed his bag on the floor.

"Dad!" he cried out, running through the living room and into the kitchen, "Dad!"

Okita Soushi popped up from behind a counter where he had been looking for a cooking pot and with a raised brow, gave his son a curiously amused look.

Calming himself, Soujiro gave his father a once over, then slowly sat down on a stool at the counter. "Are you feeling alright?"

Okita smiled at him. "I'm fine, Sou. Ta-chan had to be picked up at the vet this afternoon so I took a half day."

Soujiro exhaled in relief. His father was recovering from a near fatal battle with Tuberculosis and both Soujiro and his wife Shousha (along with everyone at the station) were on constant watch for any sign that he might fall ill again. It wasn't fair, and it made Soujiro angry to think that something could have taken away someone who loved him so early and so young.

It had been a shock when the illness had claimed him at the tender age of thirty-two, but despite his gentle nature, Okita was a fighter for what he believed in. Caring for his wife and child was one such thing, and he'd be damned if he died before either of them had the emotional stability to let him go.

Considering both of them, they never would.

So he had come out victorious and was now steadily regaining his health. He was well enough to return to work, and it was rare that he found himself faint. Still, those close to him couldn't help but worry.

When he put on a pot of boiling water, he offered his son some soba and when he sat down to enjoy it, they both smiled.

"So how was school today?"

Soujiro remembered Keisuke and grimaced, but pushed it aside. "It was good. We're starting to plan the art festival."

"Ah, mom will be happy about that."

He smiled, "Misao isn't though. She sucks at art."

Okita watched his son as he retreated up into his head, thinking on the girl for a moment, before a faint dusting of pink appeared on his cheeks.

"So," he said carefully, not knowing quite how to phrase his question. At thirty-three, the age difference between father and teenage son seemed a lot smaller now and they were beginning to border on a friendship over parent and child, but at the same time, he was still his father and didn't want to cross boundaries that Soujiro wasn't yet ready to cross.

"How is your little ninja?"

"The same," he replied, "You know: loud and headstrong with a distinct disregard for her own best interest."

"She's pretty too," Okita offered.

"Yeah," Soujiro replied, biting back a smile. "Yeah, she really is."

"I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable but, have you ever considered dating her? I know all the girls at school are in love with you, but you never bring any of them home."

Soujiro's eyes widened. "Date Misao? I doubt Aoshi-san would approve of that."

But Okita heard what Soujiro's heart said. Of course I've considered it. I only wish her brother would free up her leash.

"Well," said Okita, pulling back their empty bowls, "she's growing up. He'll realize that soon."

Grateful for his father's confidence, Soujiro slid off the stool and made his way back into the foyer to retrieve the bag he had thrown. He had a few tests he ought to be studying for.

"Oh, Sou!"

Poking his head back into the kitchen, he gave Okita a small 'hm?'

"Your mother and I are going out to dinner with uncle Saitou tonight. Apparently Tokio's been craving five star restaurants."

Soujiro snickered, "oh auntie," he sighed affectionately, "it's bad luck to say no to a pregnant lady, so she's quite clever, isn't she?"

Okita laughed with him and with a wave, Soujiro headed upstairs to his bedroom.

Their wolf-dog, Ta-chan was curled up on the floor next to his desk and he leaned down to stroke his ears and examine his side where the vet had removed a cluster of tumors. He was old now, just about the same age as Soujiro, and the cancer that was attacking his body had robbed him of his eyesight. He wasn't able to use the stairs on his own anymore, so Shousha had installed a special lift for him on the staircase. He had taken to sleeping by Soujiro's desk because he couldn't hop onto the bed anymore.

Still, he was a good dog, loyal and happy. Each night, Soujiro helped him up onto the bed. When they slept together, neither of them had nightmares.

Saying a quick prayer over the stitches, Soujiro gave the dog another loving pat, and set himself to his homework.

He bade his parents goodnight when they left, and brought Ta-chan's dinner up into his room. The less walking the poor dog had to do the quicker he would heal.

Once he was through with his homework and studying, he pulled out a plastic box filled with compartments and pulled out various car parts, scaled models of their existing counterparts in the real world. It wasn't the cars that interested him so much, but the meticulousness of piecing together such an intricate model. It was pastime he had done with his father as a child, and had since taken over the operation. What had started out as a bonding activity had turned into his way of gathering his thoughts, sorting out the good from the bad, and weighing the questionable.

His current project was a 2013 Fender Edition Volkswagen Beetle.

Just minutes into his progress, his phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, opening up the text message. It was from his father.

Want to go shooting tomorrow? :)

He smiled and typed back a quick, you know it, and resumed his work.

At a younger age than may have been appropriate, Okita had taken him to the gun range. Many parents were appalled at the decision, and even the psychologist he was seeing twice a week had advised against it. Okita, however, didn't care. The boy had expressed an interest in weapons, so he would honor this interest. He would show the boy how to use them properly, but above all else, how to respect them.

Okita's fear was not that Soujiro would learn to wield a weapon, but that by suppressing this desire, the moment he got his hands on one, he would not know how to use it, and certain chaos would ensue.

To a normal family, this was an irrational fear, but the Okita household was not normal. Okita himself was a high ranking police officer in the homicide department, and Shousha was a pseudo celebrity with a knack for attracting the wrong kind of press. Even his uncle, the straight and narrow Saitou Hajime, one of the best members of the police force, had familial connections with the syndicate.

Okita had confidence that a time would come where either he or Soujiro would need to defend themselves, or their family.

Soujiro liked to go shooting. He had, as had been planned, learned to respect weapons, appreciate them, and understand them. He had shed his initial interest in the power that they held, and now looked upon them as a sport, or an art even. He was also able to unleash the anger that he stored up and suppressed.

With happy thoughts of shooting in his mind, he was looking forward to forgetting Keisuke and his wretched remarks. He had one year left of the torment, and then he'd be free forever.

At half past nine, his phone rang, and when he saw Misao's face on the screen, his heart sped up, and he smiled, sliding his finger across the touch screen to answer the call.

"Hey there, little ninja," he cooed, using his shoulder to keep the phone steady while he applied a thin decal to the car.

There was no answer and he put his tools down, holding his phone out to check the reception. "Misao?"

He could hear scuffling on the other end and tried to make it out. It sounded like an accidental call, but with touchscreen phones, they didn't happen often. Still, he shrugged and was about to hang up when he heard her voice.

"At school," she whispered.

Soujiro laughed, "Little ninja you did not just drunk dial me! Are you out with your friends?"

His laughter was cut short, however, when he heard yelling. Demands.

"He's got a gun!" she hissed, but before he could ask who, she screamed and the call ended.

Normally a quick thinker, Soujiro sat back in shock. What had he just heard? Had it really been Misao? It didn't sound like her. But then again, he couldn't remember a time when she had been scared. He didn't know what scared sounded like.

At school. She was at school. But why? He sat there for a moment, soaking it all in, but when her last words hit him a second time, he stood, knocking over his chair and dashing from his bedroom. He ran down the hall, into his parents bedroom where he flung open their closet and dug behind the spare blankets and pillows on the top shelf. There was a safe there and he pulled it towards himself, entering every combination he could think of. His father's spare gun was inside and he needed it. His own array of weapons were kept at the range and out of his reach.

The safe wouldn't open. No dates would work. No pin numbers, no letter combinations.

"Open!" he screamed, slamming on it with his fist. It didn't comply so he pulled it down and hauled it across the room. It landed against the wall, bursting through the plaster and sending several cracks up the paint, but remaining completely unscathed.

Ignoring it, he thundered down the stairs and into the kitchen. Wrapping the sharpest knife in a towel, he grabbed the keys to the car his parents hadn't taken, and left the house.

He pulled open the driver's side door to his father's sedan and got in, turning the ignition.

"I'm coming, little ninja," he whispered, "I'll be there."

When he pulled open the glovebox to stash his weapon, he found salvation.

Still in the holster, was Okita's gun.

xxxx

Author's Notes: I hope I'm doing an okay job with Soujiro. Considering his influence would be Okita, not Shishio, I wanted to change him accordingly, but at the same time, he's still pretty messed up. So. Hopefully I'm doing okay there.

Like I said, this one will be short, just a few chapters and probably isn't the Sou/Misao romance that you may have had in mind, but please consider my style of storytelling. =P

Feedback would be especially stellar here since this is uncharted territory for me in every aspect! :)