Author's Notes: So I've been avoiding Okita's mother's name for quite some time now and the more screen time I give her, the more difficult it is for me to do so. I couldn't find her name anywhere in his Wiki or other place, so I gave her something horrifyingly generic. Forgive me ;_;

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

The Arrangement - 10

When Okita arrived at Shousha's apartment the next morning, he was surprised to see her awake, dressed, and waiting for him. Had he not known any better, he would have imagined she had changed her mind about this whole arrangement.

That couldn't have been, however, for when she saw him, an emptiness filled her eyes. Not wanting to set her off, he greeted her with a sunny smile, but she only raised her brow.

"Why are you so cheerful?" she asked, grabbing her purse from the counter. She frowned. It was white leather, almost out of season. She'd have to get another soon.

He laughed, extending out his hand to her, in which he held a rather delicious looking treat. "Should I not be cheerful?"

"It's nine-thirty," she muttered, "-and what the hell is this?"

"It's a parfait! There's the cutest little cafe right down the-"

"I know where the cafe is!" she bit off, irritatedly throwing open a drawer and pulling out a spoon.

"I've already had three coffees," he added.

Shousha looked up at him bitterly before sweeping out of the apartment, parfait in hand. "Let's get this day over with."

The Okita house was bustling with activity in preparation for the wedding celebration that would take place the next day and as Soushi led her down the winding halls to his mother's office, Shousha felt a choking fear slither up her throat.

It was suddenly very real before her. Every scent that wafted through the house, every servant carrying large vases of flowers; it was all a reminder that today was the last day of whatever she had left of the life she knew.

"I don't think I can do this," she said, stopping. Her stomach was churning.

Okita turned to look at her. She was deathly pale, with a slight tinge of green.

"Are you alright?" he asked, putting a tender hand on her elbow. When she didn't resist, he guided her into the nearest room, the dining room, and sat her down at the table. "Do you need some water?"

Groaning, she put her elbows up on the table, shoving her face into her hands and shaking her head. "I need my life back."

Okita looked around the room and inched his way over to the sideboard where a water decanter was always at the ready. Thank heavens for servants.

"Drink this," he said, offering her the glass once he had filled it. "You'll feel better, I promise."

"Does it ever bother you?" she asked, her voice muffled by her hands.

"Does what bother me?" he questioned in reply, perching himself up on the table next to her arms.

"Not having any control. I mean, this is your life too. I'm pretty sure you never planned on marrying someone you didn't know."

Okita pondered that for a minute. He hadn't taken the time to actually think about the fact that he didn't know her. He had met her, liked her, and that was that. It only seemed logical that he would spend the rest of his life getting to know her.

His sisters and his mother were set on the idea of falling in love before getting married, but as he had never considered marriage before, he only assumed that he would fall in love someday too. Being so busy fighting for the memory of his father, the notion often slipped his mind.

Having been put in the situation that he was currently in, he was rolling with the punches (sometimes quite literally) and had every intention of falling in love with Shousha eventually. It couldn't be that hard.

"I don't mind it so much," he said truthfully, reclining back on his palms, "Every day will be a new adventure."

Shousha lifted her head and he gave her a smile.

"Now I'm going to make a phone call. My mother will be down shortly to whisk you away into the world of womanly things."

Narrowing her eyes, Shousha sat back. "Like what?"

Okita scooted off the table and pulled out his phone. "Who knows? Manicures, pedicures, lunches at salad bars. . .shopping for lingerie-"

"WHAT?"

He gave her a humorous look. "You really haven't seen much of my mother. She's not nearly the lady she appears to be."

With a thumbs up, he strolled from the room, scrolling through his contacts. Once he was out of earshot, he pressed the call button and waited.

"You're up early, Okita," came the calm voice of Hijikata on the other end, "it is not yet noon where you are."

Laughing off cool jab at his sleeping habits, he leaned up against the wall. "There is a lot to do, Hijikata-san."

"Then what can I do for you? I imagine my phone did not ring at eight o'clock in the evening for a chat."

Straight to the point, as always.

"There are two things, actually," Okita began, ducking into a servant's hallway. He wasn't going to take any chances. "Firstly, for the next two days I will be unarmed. I have an overly suspicious sister and a rather violent and unpredictable fiancée."

"I will provide you with appropriate protection," Hijikata said simply.

"And secondly, Hijikata-san, does Tokugawa have men inside Yamata Corp.?"

"You know they do."

Okita nodded to himself. Of course. Tokugawa were everywhere. "Do we?"

There was a slight pause on the other line and Okita knew the hesitation was curiosity. Hijikata didn't need to think about where he had placed his men. He knew everything at all times. What he was wondering was why Okita wanted to know if the Shinsengumi had infiltrated Yamata Corp.

"Why do you ask?"

So they didn't.

"Can we get someone in there?" he asked, a little bit more hurriedly than he intended. "Employee or hacker, it makes no difference to me."

"What are your intentions, Okita?" Hijikata's tone edged on warning.

"It's not for me," he replied quickly. "It's for Shousha. A wedding gift, if you would."

"Enlighten me."

Okita looked around the empty passageway for a few seconds, straining his ears for any hint of persons coming. He was still alone.

"Yamata Corp. has recently fallen victim to a rather unfortunate scheme. All of their efforts to expand have been swept from beneath them, and re-sold under contract that the buyer have no dealings with them no matter what the price."

When Hijikata didn't respond, Okita went on, "I'm rather proud to say that Shousha concocted this system and I promised to help her continue in exchange for her compliance with this marriage."

"Don't waste your time, Okita."

"It's not my time," he said, "and aside from providing her with the information she needs, I have no intention of taking part in the destruction of her parents. It's not my battle to fight."

Hijikata let out a small sigh. "What is it that you need?"

Okita grinned. "Being in New York, Shousha will not have access to the information regarding Yamata's next move. All I need is someone who can forward all plans to her via e-mail. She can handle the rest. She's done it many times."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," Hijikata mused, "I'll make a few phone calls and see what I can do."

"Thank you very much."

"Oh, and Okita?"

"Yes, Hijikata-san?"

"Do not ever interrupt me on a date again."

The call ended there and Okita pulled his phone from his ear and stared at it. Hijikata? On a date? He was always so invested in their work that everyone had assumed the man to be asexual. To think that he had any sort of romantic life was a complete shock. He lived his life on a very strict and specific schedule. Were his women scheduled too?

To this, Okita let out several snorts of laughter. He was tempted to call up Harada and get the details. Harada knew everything about Hijikata; they were practically brothers, despite their opposing personalities.

He opted not to, however. He needed to focus on whatever it was that his mother would want him to do to prepare for the wedding the next day. He only hoped it didn't involve a haircut.

xxxx

Sitting in a car with the refined lady of the Okita household was unnerving to say the least. It wasn't that Shousha was afraid of her, but her constant reassuring glances and maternal smiles were putting her on edge. This woman didn't seem to be bothered by her moody silence at all. Instead, she was trying to soothe it.

"You have beautiful hair," she commented.

Shousha jumped, absently pulling her braid over her shoulder. "It's just black," she mumbled in return.

"Do you always wear it that way?"

"Uh, yeah. Most of the time." Such casual conversation was throwing her off. She didn't want to keep her guard up completely; she had no intentions of acting rudely towards this woman, but she was uncomfortable with her presence.

"Such a shame," the older woman sighed, "It must look lovely loose."

"Okita-san-"

"Please," she said gently, placing her hand on Shousha's, "Call me Hana."

Hana. Such an ordinary name. Simple. Nothing at all like the woman it belonged to. Then again, it was unfair to judge a person's name. She had been named Shousha. It wasn't a common name; she had never met another, and it's meanings were vast. This could have been the root of her identity crisis, but she seemed to think it was just a nasty coincidence.

There was no doubt her parents had named her after elegance and propriety in hopes that she would be exactly as they imagined. The way she had turned out, however, was not at all to their liking and if they had ever chosen her name for grace, they wouldn't admit it. They did, however, constantly berate her with another meaning, gloating about how they had named her appropriately.

A casualty.

That's what she was. A stain on the family. They'd never let her forget it.

"Alright then," she said, redirecting her thoughts to her future mother-in-law. "Hana-san, I do not think about my hair often."

"Let me see your hands."

Confused, Shousha complied and Hana clucked her tongue as she observed her palms.

"Your skin is rough, isn't it?"

"I am an artist, Hana-san," she replied quietly. She had never cared about her skin before. Her face was free of blemishes and the complexion, if a bit darker than current fashion approved of, was even. She never had to worry about makeup (except on special occasions) and normally just slapped on some moisturizer if her hands had been washed excessively.

It might have seemed strange, but Shousha liked when her hands were dry and cracked. It meant she was being productive.

"So you are," Hana said, turning her left hand over to admire the ring Soushi had given her. "It's beautiful."

Shousha sucked in a breath. She had meant to take it off. She had agreed to marry the man, but she wasn't ready to show it.

"He-he proposed last night," she said turning her head to look out the window.

Though she couldn't see it, she knew Hana was smiling gently, the same way her son did. "And you said yes. How romantic."

"There's nothing romantic about it," Shousha bit off before letting out a small apology.

Hana studied her for a few moments and then carefully, she spoke.

"My marriage was arranged as well."

"I thought you were in love with your husband," Shousha murmured, her chin resting against her free palm. "That what everyone always said." That was what she had heard, from what little she knew about the Okita family. Mr & Mrs. were madly in love.

"I was very much in love with my husband, yes," she confirmed with a smile. When Shousha turned to her, curiosity in her eyes, she sat back against her seat.

"I was in my first year at university when my parents announced my engagement to a man I didn't know. I had never had a boyfriend, though I did have a small crush on my history professor."

"You didn't fight it?" Shousha wondered, "how could you just accept something like that?"

Hana let out a giggle. "My dear, back then it was unheard of to go against your parents' wishes. Even now you've caused quite a stir in society by doing so."

Yes, she had.

"I hadn't seen him," she went on, "but the next day a dozen roses were delivered to my dormitory with a letter introducing himself. For the next year and a half I received a letter and a gift from my Katsujiro every single day. We never had the chance to meet, but as we conversed through the mail, I knew that I would be happy."

Shousha stared at the woman next to her. "You fell in love with him over letters?"

"Very much so. He was incredibly funny, always beginning with a joke. I couldn't wait for my wedding day so that he would finally be able to hold me in his arms."

"That's so sweet," Shousha said softly, smiling.

A soft blush rose up in the older woman's cheeks and Shousha felt a strange sadness developing in her gut. Okita spoke so highly of his father and his mother was clearly still in love with him, yet he had been murdered in cold blood not yet three years ago. How was it that such a good family had someone they loved and admired taken away, when her family, the monsters that they were, thrived?

It was all so unfair.

"He was a good man, Shousha, and so is my son."

Shousha licked her lips nervously. "I know he is, but. . ."

Hana understood. "It is a big change."

"Yes." It was a big change. Too big of a change.

"If I may offer some advice, my dear?"

Shousha raised a brow.

"Allow him to think he is funny."

Hana laughed at the startled confusion that graced her daughter-in-law's face.

"Just laugh at his jokes," she said kindly, "every one, no matter how cheesy or terrible. Even if he forgets the punch line."

"I don't understand what that has to do with marriage, Hana-san," Shousha said, furrowing her brows.

Hana's face became maternal again and she smiled kindly. "Laughter is quite catching, dear. You will soon find yourself laughing at his antics not out of habit, but because you genuinely enjoy his presence."

Shousha's jaw dropped. Of all the words of wisdom she could have given on married life, she wanted her to laugh?

"W-what about trust and fidelity? Or, or money and duties. . ." Shousha's voice trailed off as Hana patted her cheek affectionately.

"Laugh first, my dear. Everything else will fall into place."

xxxx

When Hana and Shousha spilled into Okita house around four in the afternoon, they had bonded considerably. She was easy to like, much like Soushi, and Shousha found something strangely comforting in the woman's presence.

They hadn't spoken at all about the wedding after the first car ride. Hana had decided not to tread on that ground as Shousha looked as if she might have burst into tears at any moment. Shousha just didn't want to think about it.

So they had spent the day shopping and pampering themselves. It might not have been productive (aside from the manicure Shousha had reluctantly agreed to), but it had been enjoyable. Hana had treated her like a daughter and in turn, Shousha had opened up a bit, even forgetting about her broken heart for a while.

Even when Okita came nearly bouncing down the hall to meet them and take their bags, she didn't shrink back or glower.

"Welcome back, ladies," he said cheerfully, piling bags upon bags onto his surprisingly strong arms. He turned to Shousha and gave her a wink, "My mother didn't give you too much trouble, did she?"

Unable to force out a frown, she allowed her lips to maintain the half-smile that had been on her face for the better half of the trip.

"It was a fun day," she said, "and don't be stupid. Let me carry some of that."

He skirted out of her way as she reached to snatch up a couple of the parcels and when he sauntered down the hall, she followed after him, leaving his mother smiling gently.

"Really," Shousha protested, "You don't have to take it all."

Okita nudged open the door to his room. "Is anything breakable?"

"Wha- uh, no why-"

"Good," he murmured, releasing his arms and sending all the bags tumbling across his bed in a crushing avalanche of plastic, paper, and tissue. Shousha stared at the pile and reached for a hint of red fabric that had spilled out of it's container. She pulled it free and held it up before her.

"Do you like it?" she asked as she pressed it up against her body. It was an evening dress, a cute little number, inspired by the wiggle dresses of Europe in the nineteen fifties. "I bought it for dinner tonight."

Okita blinked a few times, surprised that she was asking his opinion, and had done so quite casually. She seemed to realize this error too and with a huff, turned away from him to admire the frock in the tall mirror that hung on the wall.

"It's bold," he said, leaning over slightly to catch her face in the mirror's reflection.

"So?" she challenged, "your Mibu shirt is pretty damn bold."

"I'm saying I like bold," he amended with a grin. "It's like you're fearless."

Shousha frowned as she fingered the hem of her dress. Most people did assume she was fearless, but that wasn't the case. She was bold and uncouth, but never fearless. In fact, she had never been more afraid in her entire life.

"Where are we eating?" she asked, changing the subject and tossing the dress back onto the bed.

Okita looked up at her. "Mother didn't tell you? We're dining at Yamata house."

She froze, squinting her eyes in a threatening glare. "You'd best be joking."

"I wouldn't ever lie to you," he said, though that alone held little truth. "It won't be so bad. They just want to make sure everyone is accounted for. It's just dinner."

Shousha crossed her arms. "With my parents nothing is just anything. I can't go there. I won't go there."

After his success over the past two days, Okita felt himself losing what thin connection he had with her.

"It will be alright, Shousha."

"No! I won't let them see me this way!" She looked down at the ring on her hand and moved to pull it off. "I won't let them see they've won!"

With lightning speed, Okita stood and clasped his hand over both of hers, stopping her from removing the token of his commitment.

"Please don't take it off," he pleaded, "because I have a plan."

She was tense, he could feel her nerves going crazy. It was probably that if he kept his hands on her any longer she would explode and try to fight him physically, but he had to at least try to have her hear him out.

"A plan." Her voice was doubtful and becoming shaky.

"Yes," he replied earnestly, chocolate eyes bearing into her own. "I want you to pretend that you love me."

"What?" She wrenched herself from his grip and stepped back, reaching for the ring again. "I would never do such an idiotic thing. Is this some sort of stupid game to you? Do you think it's funny that I'm on the losing end?"

"I don't think it's funny at all. I'm being serious."

With a couple deep breaths, she stared at him.

"Think of it, Shousha. What are they expecting tonight? What are they going to do to you?"

Her eyes darted around the room as she clenched her ring finger. Why couldn't she bring herself to take the damn thing off?

"I don't know, probably shove it in my face that I'm trapped."

He nodded. "And what about me? What do you think they'll tell me?"

Shousha took another breath and began to chew on her lips. The New York wind had chapped them. She'd have to remember to buy lip balm.

"Uh. . I don't know, maybe explain how unfortunate your life will be with me."

With a smile, he bounced over to her, catching her off guard and putting his hands on either side of her face. It was a risky move, but he was well trained. He needed to shock her to break down the walls she built.

"Don't you see, Shousha? They thrive on your misery!"

"I know that!" she snapped, nervous that he had his hands on her.

"Then why not take away all their ammunition?"

Something clicked in her brain then, and when she put her fingers up around his wrists, she pulled his hands down slowly.

"You want me to pretend to be happy."

"Just for the next two days. Once tomorrow is over, you can hate me again."

Shousha inhaled again. It was a good idea. It wouldn't change anything, but at the very least, Kanako and Mori would be stripped of their satisfaction. If she could pretend to be an excited bride, if she could convince them they had helped her, she would be yet another step ahead of them.

Soushi was keeping his end of the bargain.

"I've never acted before," she said quietly. "and we'd have to come up with a good story. They know me too well to believe just anything."

Okita could hear the excitement in her voice and he exhaled secretly as he backed up and plopped himself back down on the bed. He was done invading her space for now. She was complying thusfar.

"Well, how did it happen?"

Shousha sent him a desperate look and he began to think.

"Maybe," he began, "we bumped into each other at the coffee shop. I wasn't looking at where I was going and I spilled an iced mocha on your favourite blouse. When we were both fumbling to clean it up, you realized who I was and we knew it was fate."

Finishing up his fantasy, he looked to his intended with a hopeful grin, but the smile faded when he saw her staring at him with a rather disgusted expression.

"Okita, that is the cheesiest, most cliche story I have ever heard in my life. It's like you took it straight from the back of a DVD."

He laughed at this. Creative writing wasn't his strong point. It didn't seem to be hers either because whenever it seemed that she had an idea, she'd shake her head and dismiss it.

"You know, you really should start calling me Soushi," he told her, "Or Sou or darling or, anything other than Okita. That's what they call me at work."

She sighed inwardly at this. She didn't like the idea of addressing him as if she had any sort of personal connection to him, but he was right. Not only would it be unconvincing for a lovesick bride to be referring to her husband by his surname (sans honorific), but even in everyday life, once they were married, it would be awkward sounding.

"We met again at my art gallery," she said decidedly.

"Which we did," he agreed.

"And you asked to speak to me in private. We went onto the balcony and you asked if I would meet you for breakfast the next morning."

"I don't eat breakfast."

"My parents don't know that," she said with a shake of her head. "We met for breakfast at a small diner and then. . . and then what happened?"

He thought for a moment. "And then we left."

"We just left?"

"Hold on, hold on," he said, eyes brightening as a thought came to him. "You were leaving because you weren't convinced that you had any reason to marry me."

"Which I don't."

"But before you could turn, I grabbed your hand-"

"And you pulled me to you-"

"And I kissed you."

"And you kissed me!"

They were close. Too close. He was holding her hands and she was smiling. Why was she smiling? It was a romantic theory, a classic move, predictable, but still believable. But that was all it was. A theory. A story. Make believe. Then why was she blushing?

The thrill of their deception shone brightly in Shousha's eyes and in her smile. Okita regarded this happily. She hadn't yet realized their proximity. He had stood some time ago and as he stood there holding her hands and taking in her smile, he felt the overwhelming urge to do exactly what they were about to pretend they had done months ago.

"What happened after that?" she whispered.

"We. . ." Did it matter what they did after that? They were here now, about to be married. Happily married. He reached up to caress her cheek, but she slapped him away.

"What are you doing?"

Damn. He'd gone too far.

"We don't start with the lovey dovey shit until we get to Yamata house, you got that?"

Okita gave himself a little shake to clear his mind. Never before had he been so lost in the mere presence of a woman. It was a scary feeling. His mind had been completely blank; he had acted not of his own accord, but by the will of his body. It seemed there was to be a new test of his self control.

If he had been so tempted by her when she was doing nothing more than standing before him, what on Earth was he going to do when they shared a bed? He decided not to think on the matter.

"After the kiss," she said, crossing her arms, "we fell in love, but we can work out the details over dinner, depending on how far the units decide to pry."

He nodded and reached for her dress. "Well then my leading lady," he said, holding it out to her. "You should get into costume. Our show is about to start."

She snatched the garment from his fingers and, gathering up several other bags, stormed out of the room. It was getting increasingly more difficult not to like him and that was not helping sort out the chaos that was her life.

When the door slammed behind her, Okita let himself fall back onto his bed, covering his eyes with his hands. Dinner tonight had the potential to be a complete success, or a horrifying disaster. Together they would be testing her parents, but more than that, he planned to test her.

If for a day and a half she could pretend to love him, maybe by the end of them, she could at least find him agreeable, or, dare he hope for it, likable. If that didn't work, the results from his phone call earlier that morning would be sure to lift her spirits.

Raising his hand to the ceiling, Okita examined his ring finger, bare, but for only another day. It was then that a rather crushing thought swept its way into his mind. He excelled at numbers and customer service. He was unmatched in combat and social graces. But he was getting married tomorrow. He was about to be a husband.

With a sigh, his hand fell against his forehead. Of all the challenges that he had been presented in his life, this one was the most terrifying. It wasn't the thought of being with Shousha forever. It wasn't even having to be monogamous or (eventually) a father that was suddenly setting his thought askew.

For the first time in his life, the great Okita Soushi had no idea what he was doing.

xxxx

Author's Notes: I wanted to put the dinner scene in this chapter but then as usual my fingers sort of just took off and now it's super long and at risk of having a chapter with 6k words (and taking even longer to get up), I figured I'll just push that over to the next one.

It's going to be a lot of fun, that's for sure. :D

Merry Christmas, all!