Disclaimer: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs
Fine Lines
Chapter 08
The days that followed Hijikata's proposal were awkward ones for both Saitou and Tokio. Though he tried to hide his annoyance, Saitou found himself resenting her existence, as well as his responsibility for her, snapping at her whenever she moved a whisper out of place or, more often than not, refusing to address her existence at all.
Aside from the general awkwardness of being proposed to by Hijikata Toshizo out of the clear blue, Tokio couldn't help but feel that Hajime was angry with her. She knew that his patience was limited, and he set most of it aside for her, but surely she hadn't done anything so terrible as to be ignored for days.
As she climbed up the staircase one afternoon with a steaming bowl of soba, she pondered what he might have been so upset about. She had seen his mood spells before and fallen victim to them on many occasions. None of them, however, had ever felt so directly associated with her.
With a deep breath, she slid open the door, and set his lunch down beside him.
He didn't acknowledge her at all.
She had half expected this, of course. It had been nearly a week. She sighed softly, a light, dejected sound, and folded her hands in her lap.
"What."
Tokio looked up in surprise, her stormy eyes lifting up to his two narrow ones. His brows were knit in irritation and the way he had shoved his face towards hers made her feel like she had been nagging at him for a month without response.
"What?" she echoed with disbelief, "what do you mean, 'what'?"
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"What do I want, Hajime? Who said I wanted anything? I've always sat with you in the afternoon."
He huffed. "You're sitting there sighing like a jilted bride. What is your problem?"
Tokio could feel anger rising in her chest, but she begged herself to contain it. None of her previous outbursts had been appreciated by him and she doubted that screaming at him now would resolve the tension he was putting between them.
"I just want to know what I did to make you so angry," she said, inhaling quietly.
Saitou let out a breath of sardonic air and turned from her. "Who said you've done anything? The world doesn't revolve around you, Tokio. At least mine doesn't."
This was a lie, and he knew it. He wasn't quite ready to admit it, as it put him in a foul mood whenever he considered her and her marriage to, well, anyone.
"I don't expect you to give me all of your attention, you know that," she replied testily, "but you are my best friend. After all the years we've spent together, it seems a little odd that you would suddenly find my presence so repulsive."
Her words pierced him, as did the emotion that choked them. Sighing, he shook his head and relaxed his body.
"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his face, "it's not you."
This appeased her, and he was glad to see relief wash over her face at his lie.
"It's been a bad week," he added stiffly, "and you happened to be here. I apologize for penalizing you for my frustrations. It won't happen again."
"It will," she told him, but smiled when she said, "but as long as I know you're just being you, I don't mind it so much."
This caused him to laugh softly with her. There were precious few who could call him out on his prickly demeanor and not only survive, but entertain him with their declarations. Tokio knew him well, better than most, and even if his acceptance of her was reluctant, he was thankful for her.
Pushing back his writing, he turned to her. He supposed he'd have to hold some sort of conversation with her now.
"Have you given any thought to Hijikata's proposal?"
It was the last thing he wanted to discuss, but having had been so busy ignoring her for a week, it was all he could come up with.
Tokio grimaced. He liked that.
"I haven't seen him since he proposed," she said, bringing her knees up to her chest, "and… oh I don't know, Hajime. I don't want to think about it."
For the first time in their entire friendship, there was a genuine sadness in her eyes while her mouth smiled, then frowned, then tripped up on its own confusion. Together they had always laughed off proposals as if it were a game. She had always known there was someone better than the last and he had confidence that she wouldn't settle for just any old slop with a handsome smile and a heavy purse.
They weren't laughing this time.
How could they? All of the other young men had been lovesick and money hungry. Hijikata was different. All he wanted was a wife. He hadn't chosen Tokio because she was beautiful or wealthy. He had chosen her because she was a good woman who, if they married, would stand strong by his side for the remainder of his days. She was no novelty and he had made that known.
Possibly above all else, Hijikata was a powerful man who did not make impulsive choices, but weighed the good and the bad of everything in his life. The bad was swiftly disposed of, while the good was carefully tended to with icy hands.
Tokio knew he was serious, and she also knew that her choices were quickly running out. Her father was expecting her to marry and bear children. He longed for grandchildren, something he made note of often. At some point she would need to leave his house for another. She was eighteen years old. Surely she shouldn't be dependent on her parents any longer.
"I can't imagine myself as his wife," she sighed, "I don't think he would ever love me. I don't think he can love anyone."
Saitou frowned. He wasn't accustomed to her melancholy demeanor, and he was willing to admit that it made him uncomfortable. Still, her hold on her fairy tale ideals made his skin crawl.
"What is with you and your obsession with love?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning up against the wall. "You have got to let go of it, Tokio."
"Why should I?" she challenged, "who's to say I won't fall in love, or that someone won't fall in love with me?"
Saitou closed his eyes, counting backwards. They had been over this countless times and she refused to budge on the subject.
"Tokio. It just isn't the way of the world. How many love matches do you know of?"
With furrowed brows, she bit down on her lip. "That's exactly why I want it so badly."
She was met with his silence so she looked away from him. "Think of my mother. I don't want to become her."
"Your mother is a good woman," he said gently.
"I know she is," Tokio replied, standing, "but she doesn't love my father. For all of the love he gives to her, for all the affection he pours over her, she doesn't want it. I don't think she's happy with him at all."
Saitou watched as she began to pace the room. "Tokio, you are over thinking. Your parents are good people. They are happy people."
"Hajime-" as she passed him, he reached out and gripped her wrist and she stopped, looking down at his sharp features looking up at her.
"Tokio, stop."
For a moment, while they were watching each other, and wondering what would happen next, Saitou pondered what would happen if he pulled her down to him right this moment. If he kept her arm in his grasp, if he put his other hand on the back of her neck, and drew her closer.
How would she react? She'd spurn him, more likely than not. How dare he act in such a fashion: ignoring her, degrading her for days and then turning around and playing passionate lover. Ha! The audacity of such a man.
But that was exactly what he was. A man. Any sane man could not be in the presence of such a specimen day in and day out and not have at least one naughty thought about her.
Saitou had always prided himself in being immune to her charm. Not that she ever displayed such charm. All the saps that had fallen to their knees had done so only at the mere sight of her. Now, however, while they were on the cusp of being separated forever, he found himself wanting, no, needing her.
It was stupid, thinking that even for a fleeting night she could be his. She was high society, high class. His parents had abandoned him on the streets. She was beautiful. His face was mean. She had an impeccable reputation, free of blemish or blame.
He was a wolf, and his name dripped blood.
"Hajime?"
Her voice, curious and unusually soft pulled him from his self-pity and he realized he was still holding her arm, and she was still allowing it.
"We should go," he said, using her as leverage to pull himself up to a stand, "the sun sets early now."
"Of course," she replied, but then looked to the uneaten soba, "aren't you hungry?"
"I'll be eating dinner at your house tonight," he decided. Seeing her pleasantly surprised face, he shrugged, "your father has requested it."
This wasn't true, of course, but he knew Kojuro well enough to be able to secure himself an invitation to the Takagi dining table. In turn, Tokio did a joyous dance and followed him dutifully out of the room.
"I bet we'll be having the best food tonight! You know how special it is when you eat with us."
"Oh yes," he said dryly, "only the best for a wolf of Mibu."
"Stop it!" she chastised, the anxiety of her proposal melting away as he jested with her, "you're a very important man! Especially to me."
He paused, only momentarily, and though she couldn't see him, bouncing along behind him as she was, he smiled.
And then he frowned.
When she married Hijikata, everything he knew would disappear.
xxxx
"Mmmmm! Let's get something to eat!"
As winter wind whipped through the city and merchants groaned, two lovers huddled together, laughing at secret jokes and whispering tokens of affection while they walked down the streets.
As much as she hated the cold weather, Shousha had no complaints today. Okita had one arm around her shoulders, holding her tightly against his own small frame in an attempt to shield her from the wind.
"I could always get something to eat," he replied with a smile, leading her around a corner.
With the season change bringing ice, snow, and freezing temperatures, their meetings had been reduced to little more than five minute spurts when they arranged to happen upon each other during errands. There were some days, such as this, where they would brave the cold, just to feel the warmth of each others hands, and the comfort of a smile.
Laughing, Okita let his hand slip from her shoulder and seamlessly into her palm where he pulled her into a small restaurant. It was always busy here; they would be able to tuck themselves away quietly and without question.
A waitress greeted them, a skinny thing with large green eyes and long brown hair. Despite the constant bustle, she smiled at him.
"Okita-san!" she greeted him happily with a bow, "welcome! It is always a pleasure to serve you."
Shousha stepped up into the establishment then and the girl let out a small squeak, holding the tray up to her face in disbelief. When she shoved it back down, her gaze wandered to their hands, fingers laced together comfortably.
"Hello Hiroto," Shousha said with a sheepish smile.
Hiroto did a quick scan of the restaurant before ushering the two into the darkest corner she could find. When she spoke again, her tone was that of a harsh whisper.
"Does your brother have any idea what you're doing?"
Okita smiled gently, "Hiroto-chan, please do not worry on our account." He hadn't expected Hiroto to know Shousha, never mind be on relatively friendly terms with her, but this could very well work to their advantage. He, too, was on friendly terms with her. Certainly she would shield them from any disruption.
At Okita's casual request, Hiroto looked at Shousha who cleared her throat and looked down at the menu.
So he didn't know.
This put Hiroto in an awkward position, but as she wasn't the voice of authority over either of them, there was little she could do about it. Instead, she smiled.
"I'm glad for you both."
She left then to fetch some tea, and Shousha smiled across the table. "I can't wait for spring. Our hill will have thawed and we won't have to hide in dark corners anymore."
Hiroto returned with the tea and Okita poured, watching his raven haired beauty as she sat in comfortable silence. He missed her dearly, and also couldn't wait for the weather to break. He didn't like to hide, and he didn't like the cold, but another effect winter had on them was her brother. Because of the weather, he tended to business at home and it was difficult for her to slip away unnoticed, or dawdle on errands. He was lucky to have met with her today; her brother would be attending meetings all day, she had said.
This was slightly disconcerting to Okita. It seemed that as each day passed, he was becoming more and more involved in the work of the revolutionaries. He had voiced his concern once day, but Shousha had only smiled at him and squeezed his hand.
"It seems that way because we are apart," she told him, "he is no more or less active than he has always been."
It was a truth in its entirety. He had always put his entire being into the revolution. It was simply more noticeable now.
Their food arrived and while they ate they talked of dreams of spring, summer, and the end of war. Okita complimented her ribbon (another he had gifted to her) and she poked fun of the way he blushed when he did so.
Then he went silent.
His eyes narrowed and his mouth fell into a straight line. Shousha stopped talking, knowing that he wasn't hearing her. She watched as his eyes followed someone behind her and she swallowed. She had never seen him less than cheerful. Even when she watched him patrol the city he was smiling.
"Don't turn around, Shousha."
The ice in his words scampered up her spine and settled at the base of her neck in a painful, stinging sensation. She could feel her teeth begin to chatter- they did that when she was nervous.
"What's wrong?"
He was alert and focused. This wasn't the man she was so fond of, but a warrior, born and bred.
"It's Katsura."
He must have noticed the spike in her heart beat, or the panic in her ki, because he relaxed his face and reached over, covering her hand with his own.
"It's alright," he cooed, stroking her soft skin with his calloused fingers, "If they see me, I don't want them to know who you are."
She understood his concern. Imagine the imperialists getting their hands on the first captain's woman! The leverage they would have! But they wouldn't have any leverage at all. She belonged with them.
But if it truly was Kogoro behind her (oh gods it was! She could hear his polite laughter.), then it wasn't she that was in danger, but Okita. No doubt she would be in a sort of trouble she could never fathom, but he would be dead.
It was a ghastly image that presented itself in her head. It only took one swing of the Battousai's steel (was he there too?), and the charming captain would be strewn across their lunch table, neck agape, and eyes blank, staring up at her, bleeding so many unspoken words.
She must have been trembling. She must have been crying, because Hiroto was at the table handing her a handkerchief, and Okita had come to her side, holding her against the side of his face while he watched Katsura.
It was a simple lunch date. There were two other men with him, two big time patriots, and two geisha. They hadn't noticed him, not yet, and it didn't seem as if they had any interest in any of the other patrons either. Still, all it took was one look up, one ponder in his direction.
"Go out through the kitchen," whispered Hiroto, nudging the two of them out of the dining area before making a show of greeting Katsura (whom she particularly favored) and his friends.
Okita didn't need to be told again. With a nod of thanks, he whisked Shousha out of the restaurant, unseen by anyone, and into the back alley. A cat mewed in protest at the human intruders, but he didn't notice. Pulling on her arm, he ran through the alleys, the side streets, and the passageways until they couldn't breathe any longer. They were far from the restaurant now. He knew they hadn't been seen, and he knew that no one was after them, but he was unnerved all the same.
Shousha, however, was sobbing.
Pulling his hand up inside the sleeve of his haori, Okita smiled at her gently and lifted her chin, dabbing away at her tears while she hiccuped and clutched his arm.
"I"m sorry," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head, "I was so frightened."
"It's alright," he said, pulling her close. She buried her face in his neck and he felt her hot tears spilling down his collar bone, "I'll never let them hurt you."
"I know," she choked, hands splayed out on his back. How could she tell him that she wasn't afraid for herself? It was his life she feared for.
He let her cry, selfishly savoring their closeness. She was trembling and sputtering nonsense. Her small fingers clenched the fabric at his back, then released it, smoothing it in an awkward, jerky gesture. She apologized.
Closing his eyes, Okita lifted one of his hands, resting it in her hair.
"I could hold you forever," he breathed.
Her breath hitched. Her tears stopped, and she lifted her head, forcing out her voice.
"W-what do you mean?"
With a breath, he stepped back, feet scraping in the snow, and he lifted her chin with two fingers.
"I will never let anyone hurt you again," he said, brown eyes solemn and genuine, "not with words, nor hands or steel."
Shousha's own eyes grew wide at this, and before she could think better of it, she spoke quietly.
"Or wax?"
Okita swallowed hard. She hadn't ever gone into the details of her marriage before. It was a topic they stayed clear of, much like war and politics. She had been screamed at, talked down to, and hit. She had been beaten by rod, and by lash, and now, as a truth was made clear to him, she had been burnt as well. All over a force she couldn't control.
"Nothing," he vowed, "will bring you pain."
He had hoped to win her favor entirely by this. It wasn't an empty promise by any means, and it was not a trick to seduce or to deceive. He meant every word. He was a dreamer, and so was she.
As her smile faded, however, he remembered that jaded dreamers hold skepticism.
"How can you be certain?" she asked, the last shudder resonating through her body.
He nibbled on his lip for a moment, unsure of how to express what he meant. Words were never far from his tongue, but oftentimes they jumbled themselves up and didn't come out quite right. Other times he found himself speaking freely without any thought.
"Because," he said firmly, turning away slightly and balling his hands into confident fists at his side. He was right. He had to be right. "because I believe I am in love with you, Shou-chan."
Shyly he slid his gaze back to her to assess her reaction. Her eyes were wide, and her jaw was slack. There was a heaving in her chest that made him nervous, and fresh tears were pricking at the corner of her eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said, taking a deep breath, "it was forward of me. I shouldn't have said it. It was rude, and presumptuous."
Shousha took a step forward, "Sou…"
He laughed, dismissing himself, "I just couldn't help myself. It seems so silly saying it out loud. I've never said it before. I've never been in love before. I never even had a crush on a girl. Not a real one anyway. Not a real crush, I mean. She was a real girl, of course. I don't think I could see myself with a man, not in the way that I see myself with you-"
Her fingers against his lips stopped his rambling.
"Don't talk, Sou," she whispered, smiling at him as she ran her other hand underneath his haori. It was a relatively chaste gesture, an act of keeping her hand warm perhaps, but it lit him aflame and the willpower it took for him not to groan aloud was record breaking.
When she withdrew her fingers, he wanted to whimper in protest, but when her hands fisted the front of his clothing and pulled him closer, he felt his breath leave him, and when she crushed her mouth against his, in a manner decidedly not chaste, he nearly collapsed.
His senses came back to him quickly, raw testosterone taking charge, and, holding her face in his hands, he kissed her back with all the urgency of a man starved from birth.
"I can't bear the thought of being apart from you," she muttered between kisses, "I feel my heart break each time I watch you leave."
"We are never truly apart," he sighed back to her, tracing the outline of her jaw with his nose, and brushing the other side of her neck with his fingertips, "I carry you wherever I am."
"Everywhere?" she asked, knees weak from his touch, "I am afraid for you to cross my threshold."
"Everywhere," he repeated, nuzzling the junction of her collar, "my heart beats for you. My heart beats because of you."
Shousha basked in this adoration for a moment, smiling against every move he made, suddenly having forgotten how cold it was, or that her life nearly shattered before her eyes not twenty minutes ago. Here, with him, everything was perfect.
"I feel sixteen," she said, giggling when he pulled her into an embrace, resting his chin atop her head.
"Me too," he agreed, "and it is summer, not winter."
"It's strange to think of the mess our world is in right now. I almost don't believe it."
Okita gave her a small squeeze. "how do you mean?"
"Well," she started, "each day rains blood. Our streets are filled with dead men fighting for the new, or to protect the old. Lives are lost, memories are scattered, and homes destroyed.
"You are a vital asset to the shogunate, a protector by duty, and I am bound to the revolution by blood, yet here we are, together, kissing in a dirty alley because we are in love."
It was an observation that couldn't be argued, but in this moment, he hardly cared. She was right. They were together.
And they were in love.
xxxx
Author's Notes: I…guess… Saitou is making headway with his feelings? hahaha
Please leave some feedback! This story has a lot in store for our main four!
