Author's Note: Trying to balance original fiction with fanfiction! Please excuse the mess and if I fall off this ball that's rolling beneath my feet, know that I'll be alright shortly. =P

Luckily I already had this chapter half-written since like, July haha

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 Nine

When Tokio had reported to Okita what had happened in the marketplace, his blood had run cold. When he calmed, she explained to him Shousha's living conditions and he sat back, breathing heavily.

"Was she telling the truth?" he wondered, staring up at Tokio hopefully.

She nodded with a soft smile. "We both know she's a terrible liar."

That was good, he thought. If Katsura did indeed have good intentions towards her, he would protect her from the likes of Iizuka. Okita shuddered inwardly. If she pushed down her pride and asked for help.

The likelihood of that was debatable.

Still, it was a comforting thought that she was not facing the hands of husbandly tyranny each night. That had to count for something.

With this information tucked in the back of his mind, Okita went about his daily business and for two weeks, absolutely nothing changed.

He missed Saitou and Tokio, he realized. While he saw both of them often enough, he was rarely with the two of them at the same time and he hadn't realized how accustomed to their banter he had become. For so long it had been a solid part of his life, and now it was gone.

It was a stupid thing to feel bad about; they were moving on with their lives, they were happy, and he should have left it at that. He was happy for them; he would never deny that, but even Harada had been running around chasing his lady in his spare time and now it seemed that his friends simply did not have time for him.

Loneliness was a new feeling for Okita and he didn't like it very much. It was as if everyone else's lives were plunging ahead at full speed and his was reeling backwards with just as much force.

The one thing he was thankful for was the fact that his consumption had subsided slightly. It was due to the mild weather, he knew this; he had lived through it the previous year. In extreme temperatures, he exerted himself more than he should, but in perfect temperatures his body found a balance and gave him a much needed break.

He should have taken his own advice, he knew. Taking an hour or two to calm down each day would no doubt help him just as much as it had Shousha, but the desire to drive his despair from his mind compelled him to keep busy at all times.

Keeping busy, especially during down time, was not always so easy. When he wasn't teaching, he had, at first, spent hours upon hours honing his own skills. It was exhausting, and unnecessary, but behind a sword, he could clear his mind, focus his body, and numb his thoughts.

This over-exerting had ended rather abruptly one day when Kondo had found him sprawled out, bokken in hand, completely unconscious in the middle of the training hall. It was a miracle it was only Kondo that had seen.

Since then, he had been forbidden to partake in any such activity again. He could train, but for short periods of time, and with a sparring partner. This didn't sit well with Okita and it stung his pride, but he knew that Kondo was right. If he were to have an attack and drop dead in the dojo, what would he have accomplished? What good would all of that extra training had done, if it had been his own swordplay that killed him?

So, with a sigh, he accepted the decree that his higher ups had set for him, and passed his time running errands. It was a completely ridiculous desire of his; he was the first captain, assistant to Hijikata the vice-commander, and he had reduced himself to an errand boy. Naturally, this caused whispers to ripple throughout the entire compound.

For all the questions and rumors that may or may not have flown around, none of them were voiced too loudly. No one dared suggest that he had gone slightly mad in his broken heartedness, and not a single soul was willing to speak out against him when he presented them with his findings for the day, sporting his sickeningly cheerful, yet freakishly hollow grin.

In fact, more than poking fun at him, most men had grown fearful of the first captain, not at all at ease with that twitchy smile or the bitter giggle that come forth in humor. They were all certain he had abandoned his soul completely, and was little more than a bomb who may explode at any sudden movement.

It would be by the grace of the gods if any of them survived.

If Okita was aware (and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that suspicions had reached his ever alert ears), he made no show of it. Every day he would don civilian clothing, and head off to the market, completely at ease with his choices, and blending in with the crowd.

Blending was easily the most important part of these outings. While it was fair to say he could hold his own with more than the average number of attackers, he simply didn't want to. Battles had their time and place. During a mission to purchase soap was not one of them. Additionally, despite his undying loyalty towards the Shogunate, he was willing to admit that he was growing weary of it all.

Swordplay was one thing. Taking lives was another.

Murder, no matter what the cause, became quite tiresome after a while.

The Shinsengumi caught word every now and then of their dignitaries meeting with those in service to the emperor. Naturally those in the highest power wanted to discuss, debate, and come to a logical and diplomatic conclusion without bloodshed, but for those below, peace was just simply not possible. The best they could do at this point was keep order.

And blend.

Sometimes, and all of the Miburo (even Saitou) would agree, being viewed as nothing more than another samurai walking the streets was peaceful enough. The lack of whispers, the absence of scathing looks, it was refreshing, normal.

But Okita was not the only man in the market who intended to blend in that day.

He didn't notice him, not at first, but when he heard the short cry of a familiar female, Okita's attention snapped to a cart not fifteen feet away from the storefront he had been admiring. Though he, too, was in simple attire, there was no mistaking it.

Katsura Kogoro was in the marketplace.

One hundred thoughts ran through Okita's mind at that moment, and none of them were coherent. When his eyes fell upon Shousha, standing behind her husband with a rather sour look on her face, he had to bite down on his lip so hard as to draw blood to keep himself silent.

Silently, he placed the soap back into the wooden bucket from which he had taken it, and slipped into the dark space between two buildings. There wasn't much space here; maybe only slightly more than a foot at most, but it was enough to be comfortable, yet closed in enough to keep him hidden from view.

He couldn't attack, not here in the midst of the crowd of innocents. It was frustrating to say the least, but for the sake of fighting honorably, he was bound to do absolutely nothing but watch.

Watching would be easy. It had been so long since he had seen Shousha's face and even at a distance she had his heart racing. When they moved closer, to the next merchant that lined the street, Okita concentrated on his breathing. He wouldn't let his ki, a combination of excitement, hope, and agony, give him away.

"Kogoro!" Shousha hissed, stamping one of her feet into the ground while her hand rose up to set on her hip. She had put away her silks, Okita noted, as she stood there clothed in delicately embroidered cotton. That was much better for her health anyway.

Katsura turned to her slowly, a reprimanding look in his eye for her having said his name aloud, but his voice (which Okita was glad to be able to decipher now that they were nearer), held no hint of threat.

"Are you too warm?" he asked, "we could sit in the shade if you'd like."

"I am not too warm," she huffed, looking away into the darkness where her love stood. His heart skipped a beat.

"Your condition is extremely delicate," her husband went on cautiously, taking her arm gently, "you should not subject yourself to discomfort."

Tokio had been right. Shousha hadn't lied when she said Katsura was kind to her. Brain conflicting with his heart, Okita had half a mind to feel grateful to the man.

Before he had time to consider his inner thoughts, the woman at the cart spoke up.

"Delicate condition, you say? I've just the right thing for swollen ankles, 'specially in the heat that'll be comin' on soon, you see."

Though Shousha had no idea what swollen ankles had to do with tuberculosis, Katsura stepped in politely, clarifying the situation for both women.

"While your offer is extremely generous, madam, my reference to a delicate condition was not in relation to childbearing."

Oh, Shousha thought, letting her shoulders drop as she turned her toes inward, staring down at them. The term delicate condition would never be used in reference to childbearing. Not for her. She had never considered it until now, but with the state of her health, she would never survive such a delicate condition.

"Sorry then, sir," the woman told him, embarrassed. He may have uttered something along the lines of it is no consequence, and went along with his dealings with her, but Shousha was bored of this outing so she turned away, not listening.

She was thankful he had offered to take her, knowing how fidgety she became in her confinement, but due to the dire circumstances surrounding his mere existence, they hadn't been able to do anything fun. There were no sweets in her belly today, no new kimono on order. She had desperately wanted to attend the theatre, something she hadn't done in years, but even that had been considered an impractical waste of time.

It is too dark, Katsura had pointed out, I can not guarantee your safety.

This had her frowning. Each person they talked to, avoided, or even looked at, was determined by how safe she would be should the events escalate into something dangerous. The same was true of the buildings they entered and the money they exhanged.

He said it often, how he needed her to be protected, but she didn't believe it. Losing a wife one didn't want in the first place really couldn't be counted as too much of a casualty. She certainly wouldn't bat an eye of he died.

Her thoughts traveled to Iizuka and as her arms came across her chest to cover herself, she reconsidered that thought. Katsura could die, just not yet.

Taking a few steps to her left, she stopped at a third merchant's stand, another small cart, this one sporting tiny wooden cages, dangling from every post that the man could jam into the sides of the wagon. Inside, tiny birds of all colours.

From his hiding place, Okita watched her. She was so close to him now he could see her thick sweep of lashes each time she blinked, and the rogue strands of hair that defied their tie and tickled her neck.

She was thin, he observed, thinner than usual. He wondered if she was eating properly. His own weight fluctuated more than it should have, and he often found himself forcing down food when his illness left him with no desire to eat. It seemed she wasn't as aware.

Katsura, however, was, and that was frustrating for Okita. Even if Shousha didn't remember how to properly take care of herself, she was living under the roof of someone who did, and it was quite clear that she was refusing his assistance in the matter.

This made him want to shake her. Many people had gone through great lengths to keep her alive and now she was opting for death.

No. He shouldn't be jumping to such rash conclusions. Putting a hand to his forehead, he sighed. His anxiety was getting the best of him.

"She's fine," he whispered to himself. When did he begin to think so rashly, he wondered.

Once Katsura was through with the merchant a few feet away, he came to stand next to his wife, admiring the birds with her.

"They are quite beautiful," he said, looking down at her unsmiling face.

"They shouldn't be in cages," she replied bitterly, "these birds are not for eating."

"I do believe these animals are meant for companionship," Katsura told her, leaning forward to examine a brilliant orange creature, "would you like one?"

When she didn't answer, he smiled, handed the old man a coin, and pulled one of the cages down, handing it to her.

"You may do whatever you wish with it."

Shousha peered into the cage. The small bird hopped along the bottom, winking it's beady black eyes at her and chattering on in a language she only wished she understood.

"I know," she whispered, sliding the wooden peg from the door, "you don't deserve this life."

Lifting the cage towards the sky, she nudged the small door open with one of her fingers, and watched as the little bundle of orange darted away into the sky.

Katsura watched her passively, keeping his eyes focused on her stony expression. Her face had remained in that position for weeks now, and though they were on pleasant terms with each other, he did wish she would do something other than just stare.

"Are you wishing you could fly?"

Shousha lowered the cage and turned to him. "No," she said, "it would make no difference if I had wings."

At this, he raised a brow. "Is that so? I imagine you would do all sorts of things if you had such a freedom."

"Flight is not freedom," she quipped, flicking her eyes towards the cages beside them, "just another reason to be hunted."

Tossing the cage aside, she turned, and caught a familiar scent. It wafted through the air like baked apples on a cool summer evening and she twisted her neck, searching for the source. When her eyes found the display of soaps, she lowered her shoulders and sighed, letting out a breathy, bitter laugh.

She reached forward, picking up a bar and holding to her nose. Yes, this was it. It smelled of him.

Okita shifted in his hiding place, watching the tears prick at the corner of Shousha's eyes as she relived their memories through the scent of his soap. He moved to back away, and Katsura's eyes snapped to the darkness. Okita froze, but while he kept silent, he knew that he had been discovered. Hand on the hilt of his katana, he prepared for the worst.

Shousha looked up at her husband, his eyes narrowed towards the alley just a few feet away.

"Is there something there?"

Shaking his head of the defensive glare, he gave her a soft smile. "Nothing my dear. Just a dog."

"A dog!" she cried, gripping the soap and taking a few quick steps forward, "I want to see it!"

His hand caught her wrist immediately, stopping her suddenly. She knew now not to fear him, so she turned to him curiously.

"Will it bite?"

"No," he said evenly, returning his stare into the darkness, "It cannot even think without the direction of its master."

"Oh," she replied sadly, "will it wait there all day?"

Ushering her back to his side, Katsura led her away, "There is nothing for it here. It will return home."

xxxx

"I won't tell you nothin'!"

Hijiktaka Toshizo stared down at the red face of a man, hanging by his ankles in the store room of the Shieikan dojo. He was a patriot, a Choshu revolutionary, by the name of Shuntaro Furutaka and recently arrested, fresh for interrogation.

"That is most unfortunate for you," Hijikata said with his silky voice, nodding to Harada Sanosuke who held in his hands two spikes.

"Now hold still," Harada said with a grin as he licked his lips, "you're gonna feel a little pressure."

With a swift stab, he jabbed one of the spikes into the man's heel, taking victory in the scream that resonated throughout the room. Blood trickled down his leg in a downward stream towards his face. He coughed and sputtered as it dripped into his mouth and up his nose.

With the other spike in his hand, Harada glanced over to him. "Whadda ya say?" he asked, "you ready?"

When he was met with silence, he shrugged, and stabbed his other foot. Another scream broke out. Hijikata examined his fingernails.

Stepping back, Harada looked towards his friend, and vice-commander. "Stubborn little bitch, isn't he?"

With very little expression, Hijikata walked away. When he returned, he motioned for Harada to step aside.

At that moment, the door opened slowly, and quietly, not letting any more sun in than was necessary in order for the person to step through, and Okita poked his head inside.

"I hear you're in need of a little bit of help," he said cheerfully, closing the door behind him as he stepped into the cold room. He gave Harada a short wave, then crouched down to address their prisoner.

"What's the matter?" he asked, cocking his head, "don't you wan-"

"Shut up!" the man screamed, twisting this way and that, "I won't say a word! You can't make me!"

In mock surprise, Okita looked up. "He is rather feisty, isn't he?"

"He will talk." As Harada forced the spikes out from his flesh, Hijikata replaced them with candles, no emotion etched into his perfectly placid face.

Okita watched the patriot grit his teeth. Veins popped out on his forehead, and mixed with the blood from his foot wounds. Sweat dripped from his topknot and onto the floor. Okita moved his feet back.

Hijikata lit the candles, and for a short while, all three Shinsengumi officers were quiet, waiting for the wax to reach its melting point and begin to drip its way down Shuntaro's calves.

While Hijikata and Harada each pulled up stools to wait until the man was ready to speak, Okita was far less patient.

"I am in a foul mood today, sir," he told their captive, leaning in close to his dirty face, "and it is in your best interest to cooperate."

With a snarl, Shuntaro spat up at the captain's face. Shocked, Okita put two fingers against the saliva on his cheek. As he stared at the man before him, a smile crept up his face, and the memory of the expression was burned into the revolutionary's mind forever.

Hijikata adjusted the candles.

This time, a cry of agony rang out. Shuntaro's eyes rolled up in the back of his head and Harada struck him with a bokken.

"Hey! Don't you dare pass out on us, you shit."

"Fuck you," came the man's forced whisper, "kill me if you want."

"We can't do that," Okita told him. His smile had faded a bit and he reached into the folds of his haori, pulling out a mint green hair ribbon, "there are people who need you."

"Yeah, like us," said Harada, eagerly anticipating what Okita, quite literally, had up his sleeve.

But Okita said nothing further, silently unfolding the silk. The more it unraveled, the faster Shuntaro's heart beat, the quicker his eyes darted about the room, the more labored his breaths came.

"You're a monster," he hissed, staring wide eyed at the bloodied ribbon.

Okita shrugged. "So they say. But you needn't fret. Your wife is still alive." He smiled cheerfully. "For now."

For a moment, it appeared as if Shuntaro would say something other than curses against the Shinsengumi, but keeping with his resolve, nothing useful came out of his mouth.

"Let her die then!" he cried, "she's better off. Better off in a place without bastards like you!"

Okita laughed then. It was a terrifying sound that bounced off the walls and echoed even in this small space. It was so happy, so carefree, that it sent chills clawing up the spines of everyone present.

Giving Shuntaro's cheek a frighteningly affectionate pat, the first captain stood.

"Don't be ridiculous, Furu-kun," he giggled, "I could never kill a woman."

The prisoner watched as Okita let the ribbon slip from between his fingers and coil up in the pool of his blood. As if it were salvation from a life long dehydration, it soaked up the sticky liquid greedily, gratefully accepting its new crimson shade.

"Also," said Okita, turning and placing a hand on the door, preparing to leave, "your daughter."

Shuntaro's breath caught. Hijikata and Harada watched curiously. There was fear in the man's eyes. Raw, human, paternal fear.

"What have you done to her?"

Okita said nothing at first, allowing the man to come to his own conclusions. When he did speak, he donned a wicked grin, the sort of smile that speaks of a hidden advantage, of inevitable victory.

"She's very pretty."

"YOU BASTARD!" Shuntaro thrashed, screaming profanities both from the physical pain, and the horrifying mental image of the Shogunate's dog preying upon his young daughter, barely entering into her adolescent years.

Harada jumped up, thwacking him again with the wooden sword. "Don't speak unless you've got somethin' useful to say!"

"The Ikedeya!" he screamed, "The Ikedeya, please! Not my girl! Don't touch my girl!"

Okita sighed with relief and gave a small wave to Hijikata as he left. The vice-commander would be able to carry on from there. Shuntaro was broken. They'd get their information.

"That was a bit dramatic."

Okita jumped, slightly startled by Saitou who had been listening by the door.

"Ah, Saitou-san!" he greeted cheerfully, "it worked, didn't it?"

"Where are they?" Saitou didn't think Okita would have actually gone and done any of the things he had implied, not to a woman, and certainly not to a little girl, but even the angular wolf couldn't deny his friend's mental state was questionable on a good day.

"At home, I think," he replied, "they were doing laundry when I happened by this morning."

Saitou nodded.

"Was I convincing?" Okita asked, redirecting the conversation and laughing as he went over the scene in his head. He had never thought to act before, and he wasn't a particularly good liar. He had his honest nature to blame for that.

Saitou slid his gaze over. "I think that much might be obvious."

"Right," he replied, "but would you have believed it?"

"Me?" the corners of his lips turned up, "if you had come to me with a ribbon covered in goat's blood I would say, 'Okita, you must be awfully bored'."

Okita's face fell. "I did ruin one of Shou-chan's ribbons."

"She-" Saitou paused. She won't need it anymore. "She will forgive you," he settled on, thinking better than to take an unnecessary jab at a friend.

"Kyoto will burn!"

They both turned to the storehouse where they could hear the muffled pleas of their captive, and the information he sputtered.

"I want to meet him," Okita said, "the man who makes it rain blood."

Saitou let out an amused chuckle. "And what would you do if you did?"

"I'd fight him, of course." The small captain sent his friend a teasing glance, "do you think I wouldn't survive?"

At this, Saitou was truly entertained. "My apologies. It was a stupid question."

xxxx

Author's Note: Yes I did steal that ending dialogue pretty much straight from the episode. I couldn't help it. It was just such a perfect exchange, I couldn't top it, and I can't envision it not taking place.

Feedback is always appreciated! See you next time, or around one of my other fics :D