Author's Note: You've all been waiting so patiently, and I've been squirming in my seat, waiting for this. So here it is.
It's also sort of funny to remember that once upon a time, Saitou was in his twenties.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs
The Arrangement - 14
Saitou Hajime sat in a stiff leather chair in front of a desk piled high with papers awaiting the signature of a man too important to find the time to do so. This wasn't his office. If it were, he would be behind the desk, scribbling away and barking orders at his secretary, sending the poor woman into a panic every six minutes and thirteen seconds.
If this were his office, there would be no photographs smiling up at him from the desk, or laughing behind his back. The wall would have one clock, not twelve, and there would most certainly not be any useless trinkets from his travels.
But this was not his office. His office was down the hall, nestled between the booming chaos of movie posters and rock concerts that was Harada's, and the classical and culturally rich art gallery that was Hijikata's.
The room he was sitting in at the moment, belonged to his boss, the ruthless killer, and mastermind behind all of their plans and goals, the severely disorganized family man with laughing crow's feet. Kondo Isami.
As he sat there awaiting Kondo's arrival, he contemplated why he had been called in to begin with. Busy juggling the bank, the Shinsengumi, and the remains of Tokugawa, he barely had time for their morning meetings, never mind a private chat. It wasn't likely that Saitou was in some sort of trouble; he followed their codes, did as commanded, and never made a complaint. His marksmanship was impeccable and his numbers were steadily rising.
"Ah, Saitou!"
The man in question looked to the doorway where Kondo stood with a cup of coffee and a half eaten calzone. He strolled in, looking desperately for a place to put down his lunch, settling on a stack of papers and mumbling that he'd have the secretary run off more copies later.
"Kondo-sama," Saitou greeted.
"You've been hard at work, as usual."
"I do what I can for our cause, sir," he replied.
Kondo smiled, pulling out a folder from a drawer in the filing cabinet to his left. "Hard at play too, I saw. The girl on your arm last night was quite pretty."
Saitou stiffened. "Beauty has no use when it is not accompanied by intelligence," he said sharply, "last night was an act of charity."
"Ah," his leader replied with understanding, "so it seems that your father is still using you as a bribe."
Saitou's hands folded in his lap, but he didn't respond. He didn't have to. It was well known that his father made false promises of marriage to win the favor of companies he sought. Not being a member of the Tokugawa himself, his son being a leader of the Shinsengumi was leverage enough.
"That is not why I've called you here today," Kondo went on, pushing back the executive chair and lowering himself into it. "I have a mission for you."
Saitou sat back in surprise. Missions were discussed as a group.
"You are most likely aware that Okita returns today with his new bride. There is something, however, that until recently, I had dismissed."
The golden eyed man remained silent, allowing him to continue.
"His youngest sister is also with him," Kondo said, leveling his gaze.
"The Takagi girl?"
Kondo's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Though Takagi blood may course through her veins, she is just as much an Okita as the rest of them."
"My apologies, sir," Saitou replied smoothly.
Nodding, Kondo sat back. "She will be attending university here in the city. She is studying to be a cardiovascular surgeon, if I'm not mistaken."
Letting out a low whistle, Saitou reached for a cigarette. "That kid, a surgeon?"
"Don't you dare light that, and yes. She's grown since the last time you saw her I imagine, and she is very dedicated to her studies.
"How does this involve me?"
"She'll need protection," Kondo replied, leaning forward. "Okita's love for his sisters is no secret and Katsura is a smart enemy. I believe that if he aims for devastation, he would begin with her."
Saitou put the cigarette to his mouth, enjoying the flavor the the tobacco against his tongue. "Is this school of hers unsafe?"
"The school is very well protected," Kondo replied, "and that is why I don't trust it. Katsura knows what he's doing. He will strike simply because we believe her to be safe."
That was a point that couldn't be argued.
"I've arranged for everything. You're no stranger to undercover work, so I believe this should be quite simple." he paused, handing him the folder, "You've been enrolled in the master's program for accounting. There is your class schedule, your student ID, and behind it, a copy of her information, along with the key and combination to her dormitory, should you need to use it."
"And the security?"
Kondo raised an eyebrow. "As usual, there are several inches of clearance. You should have no issue."
Saitou nodded, tucking the folder under his arm. "I'll have to be adjusting my hours here then, I presume?"
"Nonsense. As you have no dealings with the public, we have set it up so you can work from school. A man of your intelligence has little need to sit in class and actually listen."
A ghost of a smile graced his lips then and he stood. 'Thank you Kondo-sama."
Kondo picked up his calzone as he leaned back in his chair. "Best hurry along, Saitou. Little Tokio arrives in," he stopped, checking his watch, "thirty five minutes."
Saitou had never moved so quickly. It was lucky for him that he was a man who was always prepared and had a black shirt, dress boots, and a disassembled gun in the closet in his office at all times. He had learned to keep this handy, as it was often that he was sent on missions with little notice.
He arrived at the university with little time to spare, and headed towards Tokio's dormitory building. It was a co-ed building and with all the hustle and bustle of students moving into them, he had no issue getting in.
A woman walked by, a beautiful creature, and his eyes followed her silently as she made her way past him and down the hall. There was a chilling confidence in her posture but wondrous curiosity in her large, observing eyes that swept her surroundings.
Though Saitou didn't dally much with women, not interested in the distraction they often posed, he was a twenty-four year old male and did very much enjoy looking at the jewels of the opposite sex, should a worthy specimen pass him by.
Returning to the task at hand, he opened up his folder, scanning the information for Tokio's room. He'd find a place to wait up there, and observe her from a casual distance. He walked towards the elevator, slightly disappointed that the small beauty had chosen the stairs, but shrugged it off and made his ascent.
College dormitories were strange places, but of all he buildings he had seen, this one was the most opulent. Tokio must have grown into quite the princess, he mused, if mommy had spent the small fortune that was room and board here.
Taking a seat on a lightly padded bench, with Tokio's dorm in clear sight, he opened the folder again, reaching for her ID. The heavy door to the stairs thudded open and Saitou's jaw dropped.
It couldn't be.
Looking frantically from the ID to the gorgeous woman from the lobby, he looked for any sign that the two were not the same. How could it have been that the frizzy haired, pimple faced, scrawny thirteen year old girl that called herself Okita's sister had grown into such a-
No. It didn't matter. As he had stated before, beauty meant nothing without intelligence. She may have been accepted into the pre-med program because of her wealth, but she would be tested, and without the proper marks, she'd be kicked out. There was no need for him to get upset about it.
Even though he had been assigned as her secret protector from any trick that Katsura might have up his sleeve, a different sort of defensive feeling began to rise up in his chest. If she had become such a beautiful girl, there was no doubt that she would have many boys tripping over themselves to gain her affections.
But there were some boys that weren't so mushy and weren't so stupid. There were some boys, especially at this age, that would do most anything to coerce a naive foreigner into their beds. As Okita was Saitou's best friend, his wingman back in their own college days, he had a duty, by the laws of brotherhood, to protect the little sister from exactly that.
Saitou suddenly realized that as far as Tokio was concerned, Choshu threats were the least of his worries.
xxxx
Okita and Shousha stood outside of the mammoth skyscraper that was his apartment building. The bellboy had taken up their things and the driver had rolled away with a cheery congratulations, leaving the two of them alone. Even Tokio was already gone, settling into her new university.
With a soft inhale, Okita reached for her hand, and to his surprise, she welcomed him.
"Are you nervous?" he asked, feeling her fingers tighten around his own.
"I'll be okay," she breathed.
"We can move if you don't like it," he told her, guiding her inside, "and you should know that I've arranged for Ta-chan to be dropped off tomorrow. He's been in the good care of Harada-san."
She nodded, smiling slightly. She missed that dog more than words could say.
The apartment building was nothing like the one she had shared with Katsura. This resembled a hotel, with doormen, concierge, lobby, and all sorts of maps and directions leading to things such as swimming pools, banquet halls, and fitness centers. Katsura's building had been stark, housing six giant open floor plans with industrial warehouse doors.
As the mirrored elevator opened to the twenty-third floor, Shousha felt significantly out of place. She could feel her husband's confidence, his routine. This was his life, and now it was also hers. He understood his place in the world of the wealthy and he took it up with pride. He knew he was deserving of the marble hall they stepped onto, but accepted it quietly while she inwardly dragged her heels.
"Hey, Mr. Okita!"
Okita paused, key just before its lock, and smiled at a tall brown haired man, hanging out of the door next to theirs.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ashford!"
Jeremy Ashford, an honest, yet sometimes too curious young man with a mind for investments, gave a wave to Shousha and then looked back to Okita.
"I didn't know you had a girlfriend."
To this, Okita smiled gently. "She isn't my girlfriend, Mr. Ashford, she's my wife."
Jeremy gasped at that and then laughed, "No way! So that's where you've been. Off getting yourself hitched, huh?" he then looked to Shousha and gave her a thumbs up. "You got yourself a good man, Mrs. Okita. A real good man."
Shousha looked up to Okita, "What is he saying?"
Okita gave a small chuckle, "Mr. Ashford, I'm afraid Shousha doesn't speak very much English."
With a hand held up in apology, he receded back into his own home. "Congratulations then. I'll see you later."
"He was just congratulating us," Okita told Shousha as he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
"Are all Americans that nosy?" she asked, placing her purse on the black marble of the kitchen counter.
"I've made many friends, Shou-chan," he replied, "they are only making conversation."
She nodded and began to take in her new home. It was warm, and inviting, despite its decided lack in anything that could have been labeled as 'decor'. The woods were dark and masculine, but the walls were light, tan with a warm tone. The rooms, from what she could see, were large, but not vast or overwhelming. Everything was simply comfortable.
"Like I said, we can move if you don't like it."
"No," she whispered, "this is good."
A smile broke out on his face and he dropped her hand, holding up a finger and darting out of sight. When he returned, he was carrying a gift.
"I got you something!" he said proudly.
Eyes widening, Shousha pulled out one of the high bar stools at the counter. He set it down before her, grinning from ear to eat and motioning for her to open it.
When the wrapping fell away, she sat back and looked at him.
"A computer?"
It was a strange gift to receive, especially since she didn't use them very much. Social networking didn't interest her and whatever research she needed to do was usually best done at art libraries.
"Let me explain," he said, leaning over to open the top of the notebook and entering a password at the login screen. "Through several of my contacts, I've arranged it so that all of your parents correspondence is tracked inside of Yamata Corp. Any information regarding future investments or trades is then sent directly to a program we've had installed onto this computer. E-mails will come through as exact copies and all phone conversations have been recorded and will be converted into an mp3 file for your listening pleasure. You will also possess all phone numbers that have been used in any Yamata transaction."
Shousha stared at the screen before her, blinking with two unread messages. She had not expected him to take her desire to destroy Yamata Corp so seriously, yet he had.
"I thought this might make it easier for you to continue with your work, even overseas."
"I don't know what to say."
"Well," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I do have one more surprise. Come with me."
He took her hand again, pulling her gently off the stool, and led her down the hallway, stopping before a closed door.
"Open it."
With a suspicious sideways glance, she turned the knob, and pushed it open. When she stepped inside, her breath caught. Unable to stop herself, she brought her hands up over her mouth, and squeezed her eyes closed. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't.
"The room dimensions are a little different," Okita said softly, coming up beside her, "and I didn't have a lot of time, but I thought this might make you feel a bit more at home."
Shousha was speechless. Standing in an exact replica of her own studio, she couldn't come up with a single remark. Everything had been moved from Tokyo to here. Her couches, her plants, even the various CD cases that had been scattered around. Everything was in its place. And in the center of it all, was the painting she had begun after cooking him breakfast.
"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head, "why would you do this?"
Okita bit down on his lip, "I'm sorry. I thought this would make you smile."
Shousha let out a breath of air. "I want to smile, but the rest of me wants to cry."
Though he had never experienced it himself, he understood her conflict. She was grateful to him, even if she wouldn't ever say so. It wasn't because she was too proud, but because as she had said, she didn't understand. He doubted anyone had gone to any lengths to do anything truly meaningful for her and she didn't know how to respond.
"You can cry if you want to," he said gently, placing one hand carefully on her elbow, "I'll be here."
She pulled away sharply, wiping her eyes and spinning to face him. "I'm not some weepy little girl, you know," she bit off, causing him to smile.
"I know that, Shou-chan," he laughed, reaching behind the easel to where he had made sure the movers had placed a bottle of wine and two glasses.
"Shall we celebrate?" he asked.
Shousha looked at him flatly and he shook his head, pouring the deep burgundy liquor into the wide mouthed glass.
"I have no intention of getting you drunk," he told her with a small chuckle, "drunk sex isn't any fun."
Calming, Shousha accepted the glass with a raised brow, and lowered herself onto her very favourite stool, thankful that it, of all things, had arrived unharmed.
"You admit to having had drunken sex?" she asked, interested, "you don't seem the type."
Happy that her edginess was disappearing, he pulled over a shorter stool and sat facing her, cheeks warming a bit. She always did seem most interested in things that flustered him.
"Once," he replied, "in college."
"Any juicy details?"
He gave her a look that clearly said no, but when the corner of her mouth turned up in a feline grin, he sighed.
"No," he said, laughing behind his glass.
Taking a sip, Shousha grinned at him in return. "You're shy, aren't you?"
Okita lowered his wine, tilting his head. "Shy?"
"You don't like to talk about intimacy," she pointed out.
With a roll of his eyes, he leaned forward. "It is not the subject matter, Shou-chan, it's your approach. You always seem to catch me off guard."
Tapping her toes against the bottom rung of her stool, she smiled wickedly, "That's because you're shy."
"I am not shy," he protested.
It didn't matter whether he was or wasn't shy. She realized in this moment that she didn't care. She enjoyed watching his eyes widen in surprise and his cheeks flush with heat because of the things that she said. He may have flustered easily, but he was fun to fluster. Best of all, he didn't mind her teasing. He rose to the opportunity, as if he wanted to give her the chance to find amusement at his expense.
As the minutes turned into hours, the sun set below the horizon and when the moon rose high in the night sky, there were three empty wine bottles littering the floor of Shousha's new studio.
Lounging on one of the couches, Okita's feet were resting on the arm and Shousha had perched herself on the back, using his bent knees as a footstool. There was a light haze of pink across his cheeks, but as he had not had any more than three glasses and held his liquor very well, he felt only the slight dizziness of inebriation.
The same could not be said for his wife, who, without noticing, had poured herself the better half of the last two bottles and was now giggling like a fool, unable to keep steady.
"Do you hate me, Shousha?" he asked, arm draped over his eyes, "I don't want you to hate me."
"What?" she asked, staring at him and squinting her eyes, trying to bring him into focus.
Pushing himself into an upright position, Okita tucked his knees in and knelt up to rest his arms on her lap.
"You always tell me that you hate me," he muttered, "and I don't-"
He was stopped by her hands on the side of his head, though he had no doubt she had aimed for his his cheeks.
"No," she whispered, sliding down the leather to kneel at his level, "no, no no. I don't."
He smiled, "I'm glad."
"You know," she said, bringing her face close to his and using her thumbs to explore the soft skin that covered his cheekbones, "you're actually really cute."
"You're drunk," he countered, "and by your own fault."
She nodded, a toothy grin spreading across her features. "I know."
Okita wasn't sure if she knew just how intoxicated she was. Though it had taken her several hours, she had ingested quite a bit of alcohol and knowing that she wasn't much of a drinker, he doubted she would remember much of their conversations tomorrow morning.
"I wanted to kiss you, Sou."
Face still in her grip, he looked at her questioningly.
"The night before our wedding," she said, "I wanted you."
Pulling back, he lowered her hands and stood. "I think it's time you went to bed, Shou-chan."
Her tone was becoming steadily more sultry and her gaze was flicking from his face to his belt buckle. If there was one risk he was never going to take, it would be this one. Where it was true that bridges were being crossed and new roads built, she still harbored a terrifyingly unpredictable temper and a rationale too irrational to deal with sober, never mind under the influence.
Planting her feet on the floor, she rose and gave him a once over, followed by a cheeky grin.
"Will you be coming with me?"
The alcohol coursed through his blood, whipping through his body and settling in at the most inconvenient place. As both desire and inebriation teased his judgement, he felt his slacks tighten around his groin and his head became filled with wild fantasies about what this new wife of his may or may not be willing to do to (or rather, with) him while in their shared state of disarray.
His strong sense of honor and morality pulled through, however, and though when he scooped her up into his arms, he contemplated bringing her back down to the couch, he steeled his nerves and brought her to bed, placing her gently on the mattress with a hurried peck on the cheek before leaving the bedroom and locking the door behind him.
If he couldn't get in, he wouldn't do anything foolish.
Hopping into the shower, being sure not to allow himself even the slightest bit of warm water, he sighed and leaned up against the tiled wall. Alcoholic beverages were hereby banned from the Okita household. As much as his testosterone enjoyed the effects, his heart disagreed. He had no desire to win her body with cheap tricks and he wanted even less for her to offer herself up like a desperate gutter slut.
She would be herself in the morning and even if he was met with anger and fury, he would accept that over her behavior tonight.
Cleansed of both the day and his impure thoughts, he stepped out, rubbing a towel over his hair before patting the rest of him dry and wrapping it around his waist. His cheerfulness had returned, but when he arrived at his bedroom, hand around the locked doorknob, he let his forehead fall against the wood with a 'thud'.
He had been in such a hurry to save Shousha from himself that he hadn't thought to bring clothes to the shower with him.
"Shousha?" he called out, knocking on the door. There was no reply, but this was expected. He imagined she had been about ready to pass out. His wallet was also in there, so he had no use of his credit cards and for all his special skills in stealth and crime, lock picking was not among them.
Cold and naked, he sighed.
Morning was going to be awkward.
xxxx