Author's Note:

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

Changes in Friendship

Chapter Twenty Five

The rain that fell from the sky was heavy. It thundered on the rooftops and splashed against the umbrellas of those brave enough to venture into its downward path. Okita was one such soul and when he entered a small shop in the middle of the city, he brushed the rain from his shoulders.

A middle aged man came out from a back room, wiping his his dusty hands on his grimy hakama.

"Help you?"

Okita looked up, clearing his throat. "Are you Nobu?"

The shopkeeper looked at him wearily. "That depends on who's asking." Though his words were firm and strong, his voice lacked the robust vibrato of a man sure of himself. Okita knew why. This man was a Choshu supporter. He had a strong fear and distaste for the Shinsengumi.

"Hiroto sent me," Okita said softly.

Nobu looked up sharply. What business did she have speaking with this sort of man?

"If you would," the captain said, pulling out an envelope, "have Omiro deliver this to Katsura."

Gritting his teeth, the older man steeled his gaze. "I won't be involved in trouble."

"It's not trouble," he replied gently, "It's just a letter. You may read it if you like." Nobu snatched the missive from the young captain's hands as he added, nearly inaudibly, "for his new bride."

Reading the letter, Nobu nodded and tucked it away. "and Hiroto-chan?"

"I have no qualms with her," Okita said simply, placing some money on the counter and turning, "or your nephew."

When he stepped back outside, any spot on him that may have dried became instantly soaked again. The umbrella he had brought offered him little sanctuary from the water, but he carried it anyway. It had been difficult to reject Tokio's insistence. She'd changed since she's married just a week ago, and now that he saw less of her, he was glad for her new wife-like behavior.

He had thought that as time went on, he'd have been able to continue on, to forget, no, accept the loss of his beloved. It was once said that it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Clearly that person had not been speaking from experience.

It was fair to say that he was being harsh on himself, expecting to be healed from a wound not yet a month old, but he couldn't help it. He was conflicted. Consumed by grief, yet trained to put sorrow behind him, if he allowed himself to feel it at all.

This was difficult for Okita. He knew that for the sake of his position, he had to keep his mind clear and look only to the future, being sure to free himself of any distractions. On the other hand, he was a sensitive man who wasn't afraid of his own emotions. It was only recently that he had discovered being in love, but even if he hadn't, Shousha had been by his side his entire life. How could he dismiss her so easily?

He felt guilty, missing her so badly. He supposed she would be happy, knowing that he was grieving, but she wouldn't have any way of knowing how he felt. She could assume, but assuming never got anyone anywhere. Missing her was selfish. He missed her because he wanted to be with her, because he felt lonely without her to talk to or scold. Mourning, he realized, was a completely self satisfying action.

But it couldn't be helped.

Not ready to go home just yet, he took a turn down a less familiar street. He had half a mind to pull the umbrella closed and just let the rain melt him away. A bench up ahead, however, pulled him from his self-pitying thoughts.

A woman sat there, clothes soaked, raven hair dripping. There was no one else around this steadily darkening evening, and there was nothing that covered her from the rain. She was shivering, and he hurried over, arm outstretched to protect her from the weather.

"Miss! Miss are you alright?"

She ignored him, face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking as she sobbed. He stood there for a moment, holding the umbrella over her head. When she made no move to acknowledge him, he sat next to her.

"I know how you feel," he said quietly.

She hiccuped, and he watched the shaking of her shoulders. He knew those shoulders. He knew the tiny curve of that back and the jet color of that hair.

He wanted to touch her. He wanted to pull her close and kiss the top of her head. I'm here, he'd say, I'm here and I won't leave you. But he couldn't. His body wouldn't move. He could feel the rain on his shoulders, soaking through his clothes and sliding down his back. He knew that wherever the sun was behind all the clouds, it was steadily setting and night was taking over. What he didn't know, was why she was here, alone, and why, even though she was sitting underneath his umbrella, the rain still poured over her head.

"Shousha we should go," he said softly, "you'll be sick if you stay out here any longer."

Again, she ignored him and when he finally gathered the nerve to lift his hand to her, a small voice called out next to him.

"Who are you talking to, mister?"

He turned, his gaze meeting that of a young boy, holding the hand of what appeared to be his little sister. Okita blinked for a second, then turned back to the bench. Beside him, where he had been so certain she had been sitting, was nothing but a puddle. No one was sitting next to him, taking refuge beneath his parasol, and judging by the amount of water that had gathered, no one had been there for quite some time.

He sighed, smiling at the children before him. "I must be getting old," he told them, moving his arm to shield them from the rain instead. "Where are your parents?"

These children did not look like orphans. Though soaked through, they were clean, and had enough meat on their bones to indicate that they were well fed. Their eyes were bright and alert, not sunken and dark like those of a street urchin.

"Mama is at home," the boy, hardly more than six years old, told him, "she is crying, like the sky."

"Why is she crying?" he asked. It wasn't any of his business, but if her children had been wandering around in the rain, perhaps something horrible had happened.

"It's because of the Battou-man," the little girl said, squeezing her brother's hand, "that's what mama said."

The boy nodded. "Papa isn't coming home anymore. That's why mama is like the sky."

As he watched their sad faces turn towards the ground, Okita felt his heart break. They were far too young to have lost their father, and now it seemed that they didn't have much of a mother either, if she was so consumed by her sorrow as to allow her children to run off. Or perhaps she hadn't noticed.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. Both of their little heads snapped up and their eyes looked at him hopefully. He smiled at them and stood, scooping up the little girl in one arm, and taking the boy's hand in his other. Gleefully, the little girl held the umbrella over them.

"I know of a place where we can get good food," he told them, "and you'll be able to dry off. We don't want you to become sick now, do we?"

They shook their heads and Okita started down the road. Saitou wouldn't be too keen on having so many guests for dinner, but luckily for all of them, it was Tokio who had the final say in matters of the home. She would never turn away starving children.

After they ate, he would leave them to sleep and head towards their mother. If their father had been slain by the Battousai, there was a good chance that he had been one of their own. Okita wasn't sure. So many of them died it was becoming difficult to keep track anymore. At the very least, the wife of the late soldier deserved his condolences. She should also know that her children were safe for the night.

"What happens if we meet the Battou-man, mister?" the little girl asked, hugging his neck.

Okita let out a small chuckle. He had always hoped to run into the Battousai, though tonight was one night that he would much rather not wield his weapon.

"I will protect you both, I promise."

"You have the same clothes as papa did," her brother said, looking up at the captain, "I bet you are a great swordsman. My papa was amazing."

He smiled at this, squeezing the boy's hand slightly in reassurance. "I am sure that he was."

xxxx

Looking out her window into the sheet of water that fell outside, Shousha decided that she was through with being married. It wasn't that she had been for it in the first place, but for three weeks she had been the target of untrue rumors, nasty looks, and more often than not, had been completely ignored by her husband.

She wasn't entirely sure why this made her angry. She wanted him to leave her alone, and he did. He only spoke to her when necessary, and as he always attended business with the other men, was very rarely in her presence throughout the day.

One person who hadn't left her alone, however, was Katsura's little woman, Ikumatsu. She had taken it upon herself to, as she phrased it, 'understand Shousha and help her adapt to life among revolutionary men'. Katsura had gladly agreed to this, wanting nothing more than the weight of the wife off his back, so long as Ikumatsu used extra caution when Shousha took ill.

Shousha did not agree with this plan of action.

"I don't need friends," she had told the geisha one day over a reluctant spot of tea. "and I most certainly don't need you."

But for all her politeness and grace, the woman was quite adamant. "I believe we will come to grow together as friends once you realize that I hold no ill intentions towards you."

That was why, despite the rain, Shousha was preparing to run away. She had tried to run before, but as her door was guarded at all times and so was the gate, she never managed to get far. This time, she was going to leave from above.

As she leaned out into the rain, she shielded her eyes, not that it did much good. The water was thick and the fog that rose from every surface impeded her vision even more. Even still, she was sure she could make the jump from her window to the next roof in the compound. She had to.

Standing on the ledge, she pulled her tabi from her feet. She'd have to do this barefoot if she expected any results. With one quick breath and her eyes squeezed shut, she jumped.

The landing wasn't nearly as bad as she thought it would have been, though she did twist her ankle slightly. She nursed it for a few seconds, then sat down, catching her breath and grinning. She had done it. She had escaped her room.

She didn't know where they were, but she was sure that if she could only manage to make it over the gate and onto the street, she would eventually find something familiar to guide her.

Just as she was about to continue on with her trek, a figure appeared in her window. Ikumatsu.

"Shousha, dear!" she called out, "what are you doing up there?"

The rain was too heavy and falling too quickly for her to hear the delicate woman's small voice and while it would have been very easy to ignore the sounds that came drifting through the wind, when Ikumatsu hoisted herself up onto the window herself, Shousha's heart quickened.

"Are you crazy?" she shouted back, "You'll break your neck!"

Shousha wasn't as tough or as agile as her friend Tokio, but she knew well enough how to climb a wall and how to travel by rooftop. She had, after all, grown up in the company of boys. The same could not be said for the fragile flower hanging out her window. Not only had she been raised and trained to be proper at all times, but her elaborate state of dress most certainly did not make for hopping around.

As annoyed as she was with the woman, Ikumatsu was kind, motherly even, and Shousha didn't want to see her get hurt. With a groan, she headed back towards the main house of the inn.

"Get back inside, Ikumatsu," she barked, "and leave me alone!"

Ikumatsu studied the woman before her, hair plastered to the sides of her face, clothing four shades darker than it originally was, and her lips beginning to change from pink to orchid as the iciness of the rain began to set in. She would get very sick very quickly if she didn't come inside.

The geisha wasn't entirely sure why she was standing barefoot on a ledge, with nothing holding her up from the ground but impeccable balance and a wooden beam. The wind whipped through her, threatening that perfect posture, and daring her to come forth.

She had been trying to decipher the mystery that was Yamata Shousha and the harder she tried, the more she was beginning to realize that she wasn't a mystery at all. Her motives were simple, her actions plain, and the few emotions that coursed through her veins were that of a woman scorned. Hell hath no fury, and all.

But Shousha was full of fury. She simply needed to re-direct it.

"If you don't come back inside, I'm coming out there to get you."

Shousha laughed at this. "Come on out then," she said, crouching and crossing her arms, "though I doubt you could make it."

That was when Ikumatsu did something she would never forget.

She jumped.

Shousha let out a cry, scurrying back as her husband's lover made the brave leap from window to roof. A part of her was surprised, but mostly she was afraid that her taunting may have very well led to something disastrous. It hadn't, and as Ikumatsu's fingertips caught the fringe of the shingles, Shousha let out a deep breath.

"I can't believe you really jumped," she said, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, watching her dangle.

"Oh please, help me up."

"It's hard isn't it?" Shousha sneered, "hanging by a thread in an unfamiliar space with none of your friends around to help you. If you let go, you might die, but if you hold on, someone might come around to save you."

Ikumatsu could feel her makeup washing away, and her hair falling out of it's elaborate coiffure, but she hardly paid any attention to that. Her kimono weighed too much and now that it was steadily becoming laden with water, her delicate fingers were offering little support for the rest of her. She doubted she would die if she fell, but she'd be hurt badly.

"I can't hold on much longer," she gasped.

Shousha bent down, whispering into her ear, "neither can I."

Just then, Katsura appeared below and neither woman would be quick to forget the expression that came over his face. He stood frozen for a few seconds, horrified and angry, before resuming his default composure and positioning himself underneath Ikumatsu.

"Let go, darling," he called up to her, "I'll catch you."

Shousha smirked. "You got lucky."

When she was safely in his arms, Ikumatsu allowed herself to breathe again. He set her down gently and tilted her face towards his.

"What thoughts could have possibly been running through your head?"

She smiled, lowering her lashes, "I'm not sure what came over me, but I did not want her to be out here alone."

Closing his eyes, Katsura began to count, allowing the numbers to take over his mind and calm his thoughts.

"Please go inside. See that you change your clothing. I will prepare an escort for you to return home safely."

She nodded and did as she told her. Once she was out of his sight, he allowed his irritation to show through.

"And you!" he said fiercely, pointing a finger at his wife, "get down here. You'll catch a cold."

"I won't come down even if you send the Battousai up here!" she screamed, "I'm through with this place!"

"You will come down here right this instant."

"Or you'll what?" she challenged, "come up here and get me yourself?"

It was then that Katsura's patience had come to an end.

"Fine!" he shouted, throwing up his hands, "If you want to act like a child, go ahead. Run away or stay up there and drown! I don't care anymore."

It was childish of him, but enough was enough.

Shousha should have felt victorious. There should have been a wide toothy grin that spread across her face and she should have jumped to her feet and ran.

But she didn't.

Despite getting her way, she felt exactly as he described her. Childish. Petulant and immature. All the motivation she had washed away as she crouched down on the roof and allowed the rainwater to run over her body while she stared out into the dusk.

How had her life come to this, she wondered. Twenty-three, married to a man she didn't understand, aching for the one she loved, and sitting barefoot on a roof in the freezing rain, feeling like a complete ass.

She didn't know what to do, or where to go from here. He had granted her freedom in his anger, but now that she had made a scene, there was no doubt he had men patrolling the perimeter, waiting. She also knew that unless she was within five minutes of the dojo, she wouldn't make it there alive.

The water hung heavy on her hair and clothing. Her toes were stinging from the cold and her head was beginning to pound from the chattering of her teeth. If she were going to escape, she'd have to run. Exerting herself to that extent would be too much on her body and she would most likely cough herself into oblivion or lose consciousness on the empty roads, perhaps both.

She contemplated this for a while. On one hand, she was desperate to go home. But on the other, she lacked a warrior's 'succeed or die trying' attitude. She didn't understand the purpose of self sacrifice. What good would dying on the streets do? It wouldn't do her any, and it certainly wouldn't ease Soushi's troubled mind.

That was why, nearly an hour later, she thrust open the door to the room she shared with Katsura. Slamming it shut, she crossed her arms.

"Are you happy?" she snapped.

He was seated with a tray before him, writing. A few candles burned next to him, a mirage of warmth.

"I will not play these games with you, Shousha," he said simply, not bothering to look at her. "I have neither the patience nor the desire."

"You don't have the desire to do anything that might throw off your perfect schedule, do you?"

The speed at which he moved frightened her. Within an instant he spun her around and with a few quick pulls, her obi fell to the ground. In one quick yank, her kimono followed suit and she couldn't even conjure up the thought to scream. She didn't have enough feeling in her feet to scurry away, so she squeezed her eyes closed, covered her bare chest with her arms, and waited for the punishment of masculine fury she knew she was about to receive.

Except, it never happened.

In one fluid movement, before he even could have had the chance to look at her properly, a large blanket was draped over her.

"You'll freeze to death in those clothes," he murmured, sitting back down. "you should warm up before you get dressed again."

Pulling the quilt around her shivering body, she turned her head, looking at him. He was already refocused on his work.

"I hate you," she hissed, her pride getting the better of her, regardless of the words of thanks at the tip of her tongue.

"So you've said."

She turned completely, staring him down. "You don't seem all that affected by it."

"No," he agreed, "I suppose I'm not. Though, tell me one thing, Shousha. Why do you hate me so much?"

"You know why," she replied coldly.

To this, he put down his brush and placed his chin on his fist. "No. I don't. I do understand a part of your resentment towards me. We have discussed this and I do not seek your understanding nor do I expect your forgiveness. What I would really like to know, is why you hate me. Not my choices, me."

She backed away slightly, observing him cautiously. "You're a patriot," she replied, "Choshu trash with pathetic ideals and stupid dreams of an era that could never be."

Katsura raised an eyebrow. "That is a harsh accusation, my dear."

"It's true," she spat.

He smiled thoughtfully. "Perhaps we can rectify this then. Please, tell me: which of my, as you say, pathetic ideals do you not agree with? I am more than willing to come to neutral grounds with you. Shall we engage ourselves in a debate?"

Shousha raised her chin, "What does it matter? I hate you and you hate me."

It was then that Katsura realized something very important. "You have no idea what is happening, do you?" he asked, wide eyed and slightly disbelieving.

Her face said it all. She had been fed gossip, lies, and bits and pieces of news, but she was completely oblivious to any of the political details of the war between him and the Shogunate. She was defending a world that she didn't know anything about, and retaliating against an unknown change. Foolish woman.

"I know enough," she retorted, "I know that you are leading rebels to destroy our government."

"That isn't it at all," he told her, searching her face.

"It doesn't matter!" she screeched, "You are disgusting! I am ashamed to be here!"

"Then tell me this," he clipped, growing steadily more irritated with her naive devotion to the Shinsengumi, "do you even know why you dislike me? Or am I simply a man who has the misfortune of opposing Okita Soushi?"

Her breath caught and as she stared at him fearfully, he knew he had won.

"That's what I thought."

"You-"

"Ignorance is dangerous, Shousha," he interrupted sharply, "but blind loyalty is completely useless."

"I'm not useless," she protested weakly, lip trembling as she hugged the warm blanket around her, "am I?"

Katsura shifted his weight, sighing and returning to his work. "Politically, you are biased and uneducated so I can not seek your insight. Emotionally, you are invested in another man. Domestically, I don't trust you could cook anything worth eating. Sexually, you don't exist, and physically, you are dying before my eyes. What use could I have for you?"

Unable to ignore the sting of his bitter, yet true words, Shousha silently dressed herself in her sleepwear. It was early still, but she had reason enough to turn in soon. Wanting distraction, she sat by the window, sliding it open just enough for her to look out into the rain that she had so foolishly sat in. The chill was still in her bones and she hugged her knees to her chest, reaching for the blanket.

"I'm tired of being useless," she said quietly.

Interest piqued, Katsura looked her way. "I beg your pardon?"

"I've always been someone's problem, someone's burden," she replied, staring out the window, "My parents always told me I was a stain on the family. It never bothered me because I had Soushi. He always protected me from their words or from the kids with nasty things to say. Even when he started his training, he always took on my battles for me, even the ones I started. Sometimes I think that's the reason he left without telling me. I think he needed to be free."

Katsura remained quiet for a moment, appreciating her willingness to share a little bit of her with him.

"I believe he kept you ignorant for your own sake," he told her softly.

"That's what he told me," she said, "but even still, when I found him again, I promised myself that it would be different. I would repay him for all his years of comfort, patience, and guidance. I was going to protect him.

"I've never killed a person, so I don't know what it's like, but I've lived with enough men to know what it does to their spirits and their souls. I never wanted Soushi to end up like them. I wanted him to be smiling forever. I was going to bear his burden instead of being his burden. But then..."

She rested her chin on her knees, squeezing back her tears. Gently, Katsura came up beside her, curious.

"But then?"

She sighed shakily, "...I got sick."

Understanding, he nodded. They sat together in a comfortable silence for a while, both staring out into the night. He didn't know what it was like to feel useless; he had always been a leader, even as a child. It also surprised him that she felt this way. He had assumed her to be a spoiled, selfish brat who thought herself entitled to the world. While it was true that she was indeed spoiled, and bratty more often than not, her insecurities were genuine.

"I don't hate you," he told her, putting his forearms up on his raised knees.

She looked over to him, misty eyed. "What?"

"You said I hated you," he clarified, "I don't. I find you immature, ill mannered, infuriating, and you often make me frustrated and resentful. But I do not hate you."

And for the first time since she had come to be in this place, Shousha felt comforted.

xxxx