Author's Note: I don't know whether I should apologize or not.
I want to, only because I keep getting NEW ideas, which slows down the older stories, but the more I have going on in my brain, the more I need to get it out, so it keeps me going on all of them.
I tried to push this one down. I really did. I told myself, "I have too much going on right now. Three unfinished fics? God only knows how many unfinished stories. A business? A wedding in 6 months? A toddler? Some sort of social life? Don't do it."
But you see, this is was the only thing on my mind for the past two weeks. Taking that as a sign that until I got this at least started, everything else would be standing still, I gave in. Not to mention, I'm really addicted to this fandom/era. I can't seem to let it go.
So here I am, fic #4. I think maybe I don't need to feel guilty about it, that maybe secretly someone was waiting for something more to read and look forward to. And maybe, just maybe this time around I can make you all like Katsura as much as I do. :3
Probably not.
In any case, thanks for hanging out, all, and enjoy my take on the popular subject that is forbidden romance.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs
Also, blah blah blah I'm changing history because I can. Same old same old.
Fine Lines
Chapter 01
On a fair day just on the tail end of summer, a carriage rolled through the streets of Kyoto. It went unnoticed by many, as there were many people of respectable income who traveled this way. With the times as they were, there were even more people entering and leaving the city than usual and the citizens had grown quite accustomed to the vehicles.
Inside the carriage sat a young woman, just having reached her twenty-third year, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, and shifting her feet impatiently. It had been two and a half days since she had left her home town of Hagi and she was tired, stiff, and bored. There were only so many times one could read the same few books and carriage rides did not lend themselves to good penmanship in the event (no matter how unlikely) she might feel up to writing a bit of poetry.
"Just a few more minutes, Shousha," she whispered to herself, tapping the tips of her fingers against themselves, "we're almost there."
She wasn't sure if they were near their destination, but she certainly hoped so. Actually, she didn't care. She had made up her mind that if the horses didn't stop by the time she had counted to three hundred, she would halt them herself and walk the rest of the way.
Luckily, she only had to count to one hundred eighty-four before the wheels halted and the driver shuffled down to open the door.
"Yamata-san," he said politely, extending a hand to assist her.
She ignored him and hopped down, though his disapproving sniff did not go unnoticed by her. Turning to him, she raised her chin.
"I am perfectly capable of handling myself Hoji," she told him with narrowed eyes, "even in this filthy, noisy city."
Unappreciative of her ever present assertiveness, Hoji stiffened. He would be glad to transfer her over to the man sent to meet her and be on his way. Six years of service was six years too long.
"Please recall that it was your choice to come here, madam," he said with a politely edgy tone.
Balling her tiny hands into fists, the petite woman flashed her eyes at him. "You are dismissed."
He studied her for a moment. His orders had been clear: Stay by her side until trusted man arrives. There was no reason for him to ignore that command, except for the fact that technically, he was under direct order of Shousha herself. If she were to dismiss him, well, he couldn't very well say no.
"Very well madam," he said with a smile and a bow, "I pray that your time in Kyoto is well worth it."
"Yeah," she scoffed in return as he climbed up onto the carriage, "I bet you do."
Left alone at what seemed to be the cusp of the marketplace, Yamata Shousha found herself in an unfortunate situation. She had dismissed her only servant and had absolutely no idea who the trusted man to meet her was. There were a vast number of people on the streets this morning and one little woman standing with one bag filled with possessions didn't exactly stand out.
Sighing, she turned around in a circle, taking in the street, before crouching, using the balls of her feet to support her weight. Several pieces of straw littered the ground and she picked one up, doodling idly in the dirt. She had told herself she would have gladly walked to her destination, but for all her skill in navigating, she had never been to this city and didn't know where her destination was.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she muttered. Of all the foolish choices she had made in her life, this may have been top three at least.
After several minutes of pondering, and a few more minutes of drawing what was, in her opinion, quite an impressive self portrait (as far as lines in dirt went), she decided to head down towards the marketplace. Surely someone would know where she ought to go.
As she stood, dusting off her knees, she felt a small body collide with her own. The faint jingle of coins was heard and as she watched the dirty little boy make away with a triumphant smile, she felt her stomach drop.
She had been robbed.
Refusing to let this city get the best of her in her very first hour, she picked up her bag, clutched it to her chest, and tore after him, screaming.
"Get back here you little rat!" she cried, allowing adrenaline to carry her through the crowd, "I'll knock your teeth out!"
The street urchin was fast, much faster than she, but she kept running. She was far from the meeting point by now, but missing a trusted man was the least of her worries. All the wealth she had was portable, and much of it was in that purse. She wouldn't survive without it.
As the two of them zig zagged through the crowds, no one paid them any mind. No one tried to stop the boy and no one put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Miss, it's alright, I'll help you."
Except one man.
Okita Soushi had been on an errand. It was a simple errand; he was running low on his his favourite soap. He rather enjoyed taking trips to market and found himself doing so more often than he had to. There was something refreshing about the hustle and bustle of people's daily lives, something pleasing about the atmosphere.
There were, of course, always disruptions.
He saw them coming, the small pickpocket and the brave young woman who was so determined to stop him. He anticipated their movements, and when he smiled and stretched out his arm, the young thief's forehead slapped against his open palm and he fell to the ground, whining and rubbing the sore spot.
"I apologize for the bruise you may have in the morning," he said laughing as he bent to retrieve the purse, "but any man who dares steal from a lady deserves a bit of pain."
Shousha arrived then, using one hand on a merchant's cart to steady herself as she gasped for breath.
"Th-thank-thank you," she huffed, "thank you so much."
Okita handed her the silk pouch, but let his smile fade slightly. "You are lucky, miss, but you should know better than to have your money where it can easily be taken, These are desperate times, you know."
Put off by his audacity to reprimand her, Shousha straightened. "No, I did not know how desperate the times are," she bit off, "I didn't expect this city to be so uncivilized."
Surprised by her tone and quick tongue, Okita's eyes widened in surprise and then he laughed. "Forgive me. I did not realize you are a guest in our city."
She relaxed, stuffing the purse into her bag. "It's alright," she said, "I'm just having a terrible day."
"I imagine," he said, nodding solemnly before peering around," but, if you are visiting, you must have an escort of some sort, yes? I don't believe you would be here fending for yourself."
"I've come to live with my brother," she said, "and he had sent someone to meet me, but then I was robbed."
Taking her gently by the elbow, Okita nudged her to take a few steps backwards as a team of horses plowed through the street.
"Most people these days are looking to leave Kyoto," he told her, "why have you come to stay?" She sent him a curious look and he added hastily, "If you don't mind me asking."
"My husband passed on to the next life last week," she said absently, scanning the crowd for a familiar face, "his family looks upon me unkindly, the temperamental pricks that they are, so I am seeking refuge with the only family I have left."
This surprised him and he took in her appearance. Just as week after her husband's death and she wore not the black of a woman in mourning, nor the white obi of a widow sworn never to remarry. No, this incredibly bold and strange woman was dressed in a fabulously glittering red and gold furisode, its long sleeves fluttering in the morning breeze, silently daring anyone to speak out against them.
"Is there something wrong?" she asked, her large chocolate eyes snapping his own from his daze. She was close. Too close for propriety's standards.
Okita furrowed his brows, though he did his best to force out a smile, "My apologies, madam, but you, er, you don't look like a widow," he said, stepping back from her slightly. She didn't appear to be a married woman suffering loss, but a forceful maiden on the prowl.
"Oh," she said, looking down at her clothes and letting out a horrifyingly cheeky chuckle, "well that's because I'm much better off this way."
"I beg your pardon?"
Had she no respect for the dead?
"I see no reason to honor a man who hadn't seen a sober day in his life," she told him, crossing her arms, "The useless piece of shit poisoned himself, he did. Like I said, I'm better off without him."
Okita let out a ragged breath. He had no business knowing that much about her. He wasn't even sure he had wanted to know that much. What he did know, however, was that she was like no woman he had ever seen, met, or heard of. Her thoughts were so far removed from the norm, her words practiced, yet formed from an independent mind. She clearly had no regard for what others thought of her, cursing as she did, and if she was willing to hunt down a pickpocket on her own instead of turning to a man to help her in her plight, he imagined she must be quite capable of many other strange skills.
The idea was terrifying.
"Well," he said quietly. "I am glad that I was able to help you this morning, but I must be going."
"Oh please wait!" she cried, grabbing a fistful of his brilliant blue and white haori as he turned to leave. He turned to her and she released him, stepping back and sending him an apologetic look.
"You're the only kind face I've seen in quite some time," she admitted softly. Okita couldn't imagine why.
"I do wish you the best," he told her, "A woman such as yourself shouldn't have much trouble here at all."
"How can I thank you?" she asked, "for helping me?"
It was then that he saw her. As she licked her bottom lip anxiously, he could see the slightly rapid rise and fall of her chest noting her nervous-perhaps on the verge of panicked-state. Despite her opulent clothing, she wore no adornments in her hair, no rouge on her lips or powder on her face. He saw no jewels, silver, or gold.
Her eyes were wide and he wasn't sure if it was because of fear, or nature. He hoped it was the latter. They were quite pretty. The hair that she tied at the nape of her neck was the color of ink and there was a portion that cascaded down at an angle to frame her slightly tanned face.
She was an interesting sight to behold and Okita wondered just where it was that she came from. He had a thought to ask, but decided against it, not wanting to breach any more social standards than she already had.
"There is no need to thank me," he said with a grin, "meeting you is enough in itself. You're quite unique."
A small dusting of pink erupted on her cheeks then and she opened her mouth to sputter something in retaliation, but a hand on her shoulder halted her thoughts.
"There you are," came a gruff voice. "I've been looking for you."
A tall man turned her body and led her away from the shop she had been standing in front of. She twisted her body slightly, craning her neck to keep eye contact with the man she had been speaking with.
"I'm not hard to find," Okita called out to her, raising his sleeve slightly, noting his colors. He wasn't sure why he had told her that; he knew that a woman like her wouldn't bring anything but trouble into his life, but there had been a small voice inside his head that begged to know more about the strange flamboyant widow.
Shousha looked up at the man who had so quickly ushered her from Okita's side and her face broke out into a grin.
"Shinsaku!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands, "I didn't know you were in Kyoto!"
Takasugi Shinsaku looked down at her with a lopsided grin. "I'm not normally here," he said, pulling her into an abandoned alley, "but it's not everyday a Yamata drinks himself to death now, is it?"
Shousha laughed as they traveled through the winding back roads of the city. "You have no idea how much of a relief it is to be here," she told him, "and now I get to see you!"
"I'll be gone tomorrow," he said in turn, "my business lies at home."
"In Hagi?" she asked.
"Nearby," he replied.
Shousha fell silent, understanding that he had little desire to speak of his duties with her. She didn't mind; she hated talk of war regardless of which side was being supported. She had no wish to enter the world of revolution and even less interest in the politics that surrounded it.
"That man you were speaking with," Takasugi started, "he's trouble. You'll do well to keep away from him."
"Trouble?" she questioned, straightening, "what sort of trouble? I'm trouble too, you know."
Halting, he stared her down, large frame towering over her tiny one. "Real trouble, Shousha. It's best you don't mention your little interlude to your brother. I doubt he would find it amusing."
She steeled her jaw and challenged him with her eyes. In all her years of knowing this man, he had never once tried to dissuade her from anything. Why start now?
"I mean it, Shousha. Keep away from him."
They began to walk again and after a few minutes, Shousha mumbled under her breath.
"He was handsome."
Takasugi's fierce grip on her upper arm told her the conversation was over.
It wasn't long afterwards that they stood before the gate of a modest house set back against the forest. It was a private place, quiet and well kept. The neighbors were farther away than most, but not so far that she would feel in any way isolated.
"Here were are," he said, brandishing out an arm with a flourish.
"It's pretty," she said quietly.
"Smaller than you're used to, I assume."
Shousha shook her head. "I won't miss that big house. I think I'll like this one very much."
He smiled. "I'll leave you then."
"You aren't coming inside?"
"No," he said, "I've got other business to take care of before I leave. Please give my regards to your brother."
She nodded and watched him round the corner before stepping into the courtyard of her new home. Slipping off her geta at the entryway, she stepped up into the house.
"I'm home," she called out shakily. She didn't know why she was nervous. She had sent a request to flee here immediately following her husband's death and he had responded just as quickly, welcoming, no, urging her to find safety in his home. Despite knowing that, it had been six years since she had laid eyes on her elder brother. Six years since she had felt the warmth of his embrace, something he spared for very few.
Six years since she had been in the presence of her best friend.
"Shousha?"
There was the sliding of a door, the footsteps of a man and then, as she dropped her belongings to the floor, he appeared.
"Kogoro!" She cried, launching herself towards him. He caught her with ease, pulling her tightly against him and even though his smile was slight, she knew that he was happy too.
She didn't move for several moments, soaking up the feeling of being so close to him. For the six years she had been married, no one had offered her comfort in her times of trial and tribulation. Kogoro had been away fighting his war and she had no friends to speak of. No friends that her husband had allowed her to see. The letters he sent were the only solace she had. Those letters, the words that she had read over and over again each day, seemed so paltry in comparison to his presence.
"Your journey was comfortable?" he asked, pulling back to look at her.
"It was awful," she pouted.
"Of course it was," he replied affectionately. "I can't imagine you sitting still for more than half an hour."
She nodded in agreement and he observed her silently. While it was often said that Katsura Kogoro was a ruthless man, a revolutionary to be reckoned with (and he wouldn't argue with any of these claims), it was also said by those (generally female) who knew him on a personal level that he was a kind and gentle sort of man, calm and reserved. No one knew this to be truer than his younger sister.
She had grown, he observed. Not physically; she was doomed to a small frame forever, but her face was different. She was as haughty and defiant as she had been growing up, but there was something new there.
A mask.
He supposed a bad marriage would do that to a woman. He wouldn't know personally as their parents had been agreeable with each other and he had yet to marry. He had suspected that she might be hiding something from him when the tone of her missives became less jovial and more absent, blank, and slightly cryptic. His suspicions rose considerably when she practically begged to live with him.
Truthfully, he hadn't wanted her to come. It wasn't because he didn't want to see her. There was no being, dead or alive, that he missed more than his sister. He didn't want her in Kyoto for fear of what might happen to her. Of all the men sought after for execution, he was the most desired. Anyone connected to him was in immediate danger at every hour.
Against his better judgement, he had agreed to let her come. There was a feeling in his gut that told him she needed him. She had admitted it, but there was something she wasn't telling him, a secret she had yet to reveal.
"Look at me, Shousha," he instructed.
With a smile, she turned to him, having been taking in the modest house. He caught her chin gently, looking at her face intensely before turning her head to one side, then the other.
"Kogoro, what are you doing?" she asked, furrowing her brows as he tilted her chin upwards.
"Looking," he murmured.
"Looking at what?" she asked. He released her face and laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing slightly before using his thumbs to put pressure on her collarbone.
"Looking for," he amended.
"Looking for wha- ow!"
With a pained yelp, Shousha slapped his hand away from where it had been on her back, just under her left shoulder blade.
"That hurt Kogoro!"
He had been right. "Sit," he ordered, tying back his sleeves.
"Why?" she challenged, resisting the urge to pat the stinging sensation on her back.
"Sit."
She did as she was told, crossing her arms and steeling her jaw. Some reunion. She hadn't been in his home for more than fifteen minutes and he had turned the mood sour. As much as she loved him, she wasn't fond of his ability to do that.
He knelt behind her and before she could stop him, he gripped her collar gently and began to peel her kimono from her body.
"Kogoro what are you doing?" she screeched, desperately scrambling to cover herself. A calming hand on her shoulder kept her rooted to the floor and when she felt the silk pool around her waist, she bit down on her lip. drawing blood.
There was a layer of bandages wrapped around her torso. She wasn't athletic. A woman of her standing had no reason binding her breasts and he knew that. He also knew that it wasn't her breasts that she was binding. She squeezed her eyes tight while he undid the knot and unwound her wrappings.
A curse slipped through his lips and he pulled back his hands.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered.
"I thought I could handle it myself," she replied shakily, trembling.
Katsura stared at the sight before him, his baby sister's back marred by welts and scars. Most of them had healed over and would soon become nothing more than an imperfection on her once soft skin. Just below her shoulders, however, was a giant mass of blisters, surrounded by a layer of dried blood. He knew this wound.
Regret washed over him. He had made the match between Shousha and Yamata Mori. Mori had been a man of status. It seemed only right that he give his sister away to a man who could forever keep her living comfortably. But Katsura had only been twenty-two when he had agreed to the union. He was young, and he was naive. The next year they had married and he had left Hagi under the assumption that he had done good.
There were men that drank. There were men that beat their wives. There were men that did both. It was well known. Katsura had no doubt that if Mori had been the type of man to simply beat a woman, Shousha would have been able to hold her own. As children he had taught her how to throw, and perfect, a series of punches should she ever feel the need to protect herself from such a situation.
He had not been able to teach her to defend herself against hot wax.
"I'll change these," he said softly, rising to get the appropriate materials for tending to her wounds.
When he returned, Shousha struck conversation.
"What is Kyoto like?" she asked, being sure to keep cheer in her voice. He husband was dead and she was with Kogoro now. Nothing could hurt her.
"It's dangerous," he told her truthfully as he began to clean the burns, "but there are many wonderful things to see. The festivals are particularly exciting."
"Will I be able to explore?"
"If you are careful. You must be very careful at all times, Shousha. Simply uttering my name could be your death sentence."
She swallowed hard. "But I thought you said you were in the favor of the people."
Katsura nodded even though she couldn't see. "We are, but we cannot afford to be so arrogant as to assume we can trust anyone."
She didn't say anything as he began bandaging her up again, wrapping the soft cotton around her body. She flinched every time the cloth touched her, but was thankful for his gentle touch, much unlike the harsh, scolding treatment the servants of Yamata House had given her.
He pulled her kimono back up over her shoulders and gave her obi a small straightening.
"There's something you need to know before you step foot out of this house," he said, arranging the basket of medical supplies. "The Shinsengumi control this city. They seem to think they are the law and all those who defy them suffer greatly."
Shousha tilted her head. "The Shinsengumi?"
"The men in blue," he clarified. "If you see them Shousha, hide. They will not spare you simply because you are a woman. They are our greatest and most dangerous enemy here. "
Okita's face flashed through her mind then, that cheery boyish grin tugging at the blue of his haori. Surely he couldn't have meant him.
"Are they really so terrifying?" she asked.
For a moment, Katsura's eyes flashed, but then they softened again and he put two hands on her upper arms. "Hide, Shousha. I have lost many to the Miburo. I won't lose you too."
She nodded then, because she couldn't think of any other way to respond.
xxxx
Author's Note: Yikes, that was sort of a heavy beginning. Let me just say that is is weird writing from a Choshu standpoint. It is even weirder writing Katsura as a doting brother. It was also weird writing Takasugi at all because I always sort of think of him as "that other guy with tuberculosis". I always wanted to use him somewhere, but don't have enough of a feel for him as a character, so I don't. He probably won't be back for that reason.
Thanks for reading; hope to hear from you soon! :D
