Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin or any of the characters in it. I know, I'm as shocked as you are.

Misao opened her eyes to see the rain heavy grey sky between the green needles of a pine tree. She could feel her long, black hair sticking to the sides of her face and her neck like a cold, wet blanket. Her damp robe was clung to her body, revealing the curves she had to offer. Steady drops of rain pattered down onto the ground, the noise of the falling rain beating against the forest floor having been what had awakened her from her slumber. A rain drop landed on the tip of her small nose and slid down her cheek, like a fallen tear. A bit confused by her surroundings, Misao's long lashes fluttered as she blinked a few times in disbelief. Then a flood of memories came back to her, the hand that had covered her lips and stifled her scream in her bedroom in the darkness of the night and the haunting voice of the young man to whom the hand belonged. It still echoed in her mind. Oyasumi nasai Misao-chan.

Startled, Misao quickly attempted to sit up, but when she tried to put her hands on the ground to support her weight as she sat up, she noticed that her cold, numb hands were bound tightly with a rope in front of her. Her body flopped back to the ground, the motion then causing her form to slip in the mud down the slope of the slight hill she had been lying on. Her body slid a few feet and rolled over once in the mud before she landed at the bottom on her stomach. Misao clenched her eyes shut tightly and cursed silently under her breath at her misfortune. She was wet, and muddy. She wanted nothing more to go home. Misao then opened her eyes and looked up the hill to see where she had fallen from. Just beyond that sat a young man, leaning up against the trunk of the pine tree. He was dressed in a light and royal blue gi and hakama with a wet, grey western shirt that clung to his body. He had mousey brown hair that was slightly damp on top from the rain drops the branches of the tree failed to block. His bangs hung over his face covering his eyes as he slept sitting up, a nihontou clenched in his fingers. He had the adorable face of a sleeping child, so peaceful and innocent, and in seeing that expression, Misao recognized who her captor was immediately. He was the young man from the village outside Kyoto, who had fought Himura and even destroyed his sword just days before, the tenken whose power and speed that had matched, if not exceeded the red headed rurouni's, and the right hand man of the power hungry Shishio Makoto. Seta Soujiro.

Misao's wide eyes tightly closed as she let out a girlish sneeze as the rain drops started to grow in pace and number. Soujiro stirred, opening his eyes sleepily, he blinked a few times before realizing Misao wasn't where he had left her. The tenken stood up, brushing off his clothes as he did so, his behavior very nonchalant and casual. It wasn't like she could have gone far anyways. Soujiro took a few steps down the muddy slope before noticing Misao looking up at him, still tied like he had left her, lying on her stomach, a muddy smudge on her right cheek. She was soaking wet, her long black hair hung limply against the side of her face, her drenched silk robe clinging to her body, revealing her gentle curves. Her pale ivory skin stood in stark contrast to her lips, made red by the cold. Soujiro wore his wide smile as he descended the slope, stopping and kneeling down next to her when he reached her side, getting his sandals muddy. "Gomen ne. The rain must have caught up to us. Shishio-san will be upset if I bring you to him sick," his innocent tone spoke, trying to sooth her. Misao, however, wasn't buying it. "Kisama! Let me go and I'll go easy on you!" she yelled as she struggled to sit up. Soujiro assisted her to a seating position and then proceeded to clean her off with the added assistance of the rain. His own hair was drenched and his clothes clung to his body limply.

Misao, however, continued to prattle on. "Mou! Don't you know who you are kidnapping anyways? I'm Oniwabanshu! When Aoshi-sama comes back and finds out I'm not there, it'll be all over for you. You better start begging me for forgiveness now before he gets here. Or I'm…" Soujiro suddenly cut Misao off with a kiss, his lips pressing against hers, quieting her anger. Misao remained silent in her surprise as a fierce red blush crept across her cheeks. The forest was still, except for the sound of the rain falling on the ground around them. Soujiro wasn't sure why he kissed her, but he lingered there, his lips pressed against hers. He had always associated the rain with sadness, but this rain was different. It was warm like Misao's innocent lips… and he was enjoying this.

Soujiro then stood up, breaking off the kiss. His bangs covered his eyes, shrouding his serious expression from here. Misao, still quite shocked and breathless remained quiet for a moment as she looked up at him. A smile crept across Soujiro's face as the happy mask he wore once more returned. "I always wondered what a kiss would be like," he said, with a satisfied smile on his face. Soujiro then bent down and tucked one hand behind Misao's back and the other beneath her knees as he hoisted her up and held her in his arms. His kiss had produced the desired effect on her; Misao's usual violent and angry attitude was suppressed and quiet. She seemed thoughtful, almost scared. He wondered if he had frightened her. I didn't really mean to scare her that much demo… ah, it doesn't matter anyways. I just need to bring her to Shishio-san in one piece. And with that Soujiro walked off in search of shelter, carrying Misao in his arms.