A/N: Okay people, here we are at the dramatic conclusion of Riffs & Canvas! Well, almost the conclusion--but it will be dramatic. I've actually decided to extend this story into 11 chapters. Yes, that's right, there will be an epilogue of sorts. But anyway, on to chapter 10! Oh, and please remember to check out Safer On The Outside. Chapter three is just about done, and I'm really enjoying it! Dramatic, action-y Aoshi/Misao goodness! Back to this story, enjoy!

Disclaimer: No, I don't own anything Rurouni Kenshin, that's three rooms down on the left. I'm the one who owns the Guardian Angel franchise.

Riffs & Canvas

Chapter 10: Father Knows Best

Misao hit the stairs on her back, the wooden step jolting her spine and racking her body with a blossom of pain. She coughed, spurting another mouthful of salty red blood all over the front of her shirt. She felt battered and broken in several places. Her arms were bruised and aching. Her legs were barely moveable. Her face was bleeding from several places. It was times like these that a girl, no matter how strong she was, wished she could faint on command. She wished for darkness, the comforting numb of unconsciousness. Maybe a little part of her wished for death as well, an easy escape from hardship.

She was granted none of those things as the looming shadow of Makimachi fell over her crumbled form. Fear sprang to life within her, causing limbs to spasm in an attempt to escape the falling fist. She looked like a small animal caught in a trap, body still in motion for escape but paralyzed.

"You're just one more goddamn lie!" he shouted, putting all his anger into one swing after another. Resentment, contempt, hatred, all of it welled in him, came out through his hands, was beaten into Misao. The child his wife had never lied into calling his. The child he had suffered to watch grow under his roof, with his name, when he knew her to be the bastard of another.

What surprised him, what made him pause in his tirade was when Misao began to laugh. It began as a small throaty sound, almost like a cough, but grew into a harsher sound as if ripped from her stomach rather than her lungs. Her entire frame shook with it, even as hot tears coursed down her bloody face.

"You…call me a lie?" she coughed, looking up at him with green eyes just a bit dazed.

She's lost her mind, he thought to himself, looking into those eyes. There was no longer any fear, no hesitation or reserve, there wasn't even anger. All there was, deep in the depths of Misao's eyes, was a chilling acceptance. She had made peace with herself. She knew she was going to die.

"I'm no lie," she whispered to him, shifting her body away from him as much as she could while still sprawled across the stairs, the step digging painfully into her lower back. "You are the lie. You who pretend to be something special. You're the one who hides behind that name of love and respect."

"What are you babbling about?" he growled, grabbing her chin and forcing her to meet his steady gaze. Misao stared back evenly.

"Father," she said quietly. "It's just a word."

Ice shattered in his veins as he looked at her. Misao didn't struggle, she just hung like dead weight when he dragged her to her feet. "You are just like her!" he screamed in her face, eyes wide with such memory and emotion. The look of betrayal and jealousy wild on his features. "But like her, you're mine! You belong to me!"

Misao wrapped her hands around the one he had on her throat. Not a tight enough grip to choke her, just to keep her upright. Her eyes burned in his, her cold hands light around his own. She wasn't trying to claw him off, she was just staring at him. It began to frighten him. Where were the screams? The fighting? Where was her usual display of obedience, submission, or fire?

If she could speak, she would have told him to let her go. As it was, she endured his flexing hand on her windpipe and looked back at him blankly. What was the point in fighting him anymore? If she was going to die, she would die with grace and dignity. Misao would not beg her life, she would not cry like a weak thing. She would simply accept her fate, and pray that her face haunt this man until the every last moment of his wretched existence. That would be enough justice for her.

Makimachi, finally confused enough by her silent acceptance, hurled her from him again. Misao, using the little strength left in her arms, stopped herself from colliding with the second floor wall. Instead, she grabbed the banister of the stairs and swung herself around, so that she landed in a semi-crouching position. She couldn't stay upright for long, and fell heavily to one side on the floor, panting hard.

She couldn't seem to find enough air in her lungs, black spots began to blink behind her eyes. Still, she fought off the darkness she once welcomed and began to crawl away from the stairs. Makimachi followed, grabbing the back of her shirt and half-dragging, half-lighting her from the floor, pushed open the door that led to her studio and began to climb.

This was more than Misao could take. The sanctity of her haven was being violated by this foul creature. All the goodness and light of this place seemed to diminish and disappear the second this man stepped over the threshold. Tears welled in Misao's eyes and spilled over. She never really knew why she started weeping then, but it wasn't of fear. It was more of mourning. Knowing that soon, so soon, all of what was her would be gone.

Makimachi promptly dropped her to the floor in a heap and walked toward the wall of her artwork. Savagely, he grabbed papers in his hands and ripped. Drawings flew over his shoulders to float softly to the floor. Curses sprang from his mouth as he destroyed the mural on the wall. "Art! That was her excuse! Had to go to art class, in town, in that loft! Had to see that man and his art!" He yelled loudly, shredding the paper in his hands and throwing it at Misao, who hadn't moved from where she had been dropped.

Misao whimpered slightly when she watched Makimachi rip her drawing of Aoshi to pieces, the one she drew that day in Hiko's office. It had always been her favorite. She was struck then, in that lingering yet fleeting moment, that she wanted to see him one more time, more than anything else in the world. Now her hopes and her drawing lay scattered around her and Misao felt so hollow she was sure the papers would blow through her.

Once all the papers had been torn and crumbled, thrown to the ground, Makimachi grabbed the portrait of Sae. He made a move as if to snap it in half over his knee, but stopped while looking down on it. He snarled, tossing the canvas down beside her. "You can die while looking at your whore of a mother!" he yelled at her as he stalked from the room and down the stairs. Misao, who had barely breathed while laying on the floor of her violated studio, reached out one trembling, bleeding hand to grab the edge of the canvas. She drew the painting to her and rested it next to her body as she closed her eyes. Footsteps were coming back toward her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Aoshi had disappeared from the Aoyia and Okina knew that there was only one place the boy would go. That would be to Misao.

He shook his head slowly, wondering what he should do. If he went after the boy, he knew there was nothing he could do to stop him. If he went to Misao, Makimachi would cut him down before he got within a foot of the girl. There seemed to be only one course of action, so he took it.

Okina's hand closed around the phone, lifting it from the cradle and dialing 911. He waited a moment for the operator to connect to him. "There's a girl being attacked," he said evenly, steadily as he could. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears and his palms were sweaty. If anything happened to Misao, he would never forgive himself, not now. "I need to police."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Aoshi ran down the streets, boots slightly skidding in unseen patches of ice and melting snow. He nearly fell ore times than he could count, but he never slowed down once in his haste. He just ran.

It was the closer he got to Misao's house that the fear really began to grip his stomach. He only started running faster. His breath came in short gasps, white wisps hanging in front of his face for split seconds as he ran past them. He was freeze, inside and out, but all he could think about was Misao, her face bloodied and her body bruised, and it made him forget his own condition.

Finally, miraculously, he came to her street and paused slightly, hands on his knees in an attempt to help him catch his breath. That was when he smelled the first hint of smoke.

He looked up, eyes widening in shock, when he saw the dark clouds begin floating out of the windows from Misao's house. It was on fire. And he knew that Misao was still inside.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Makimachi returned, Misao saw the can of gasoline in his hand. They always kept a small one under the sink, for the grill on the patio in the backyard. He meticulously unscrewed the lid, dousing a few things here and there with the liquid. Soon he moved from her studio and down the stairs. She heard the splashing of wall and carpet as he thinly spread the strong-smelling liquid throughout the house. Her head felt dizzy from the smell, from the bleeding in the pain, but she held on to her senses as best she could.

When he appeared once more, a can of lighter fluid was in his hands. That, he happily upended on the teenage girl laying on the floor. Flammable liquid mixed with the blood already pooled on the wood floor. Misao coughed and winced, whimpering at the burning it brought to her wounds. Makimachi only smiled at her pain, stomping on her ribcage once more for good measure, then turned from the room one last time.

"Goodbye Misao," he commented lighting, like a passing acquaintance or business partner he had just ended arrangements with. It was not the type of goodbye a man would give to the girl who had been his daughter for seventeen years.

Misao wept silently as he walked away. In some small part of her, Misao thought that he might have loved her in the smallest of measurement only because she was his daughter. Or the closest thing he would ever have to a daughter. Some part of her thought that he wouldn't kill her. That he'd beat her and belittle her and control her, but never kill her. Now she knew how truly childish that hope had been.

That's when she smelled the smoke and fire, when the scent of burning cloth and plastic made it's way up the stairs to her nose. Her blood ran cold and her entire frame began to trembling violently. He was burning the house down around her years. He wasn't even going to kill her himself, the cowardly bastard, he would only light the fire.

Misao wanted to scream, to curse and to cry. She wanted many things, got few, and was left aching for more. Her life was a sad story that was often told of teenage dramas on network television, the kind that all the kids at school watched religiously, the ones she had never liked. When a person's life is too close to that of an episode of a badly written drama, it becomes a tasteless mockery of pain. Misao had never wanted pity, barely wanted help. She had always thought that if she worked hard enough, stayed strong enough, she could walk out of this house on her own two feet and be one up on everyone else. She would be twice as strong, ready to make a life on her own steam. That was another of her childish hopes.

Maybe if she had told someone besides Okina. Maybe if she had opened up to Aoshi earlier, or even Hiko. Someone she could tell, to ask for help. Pride, her mother's voice seemed to echo sadly. Pride and fear. That was what kept you silent for so long. Now it doesn't really matter Misao.

"It doesn't really matter," she whispered, hugging the painting to her chest like a lifeline.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Aoshi never knew he could run that fast, but he did. He was up the driveway and reaching for the doorknob before a rational thought form in his head. That thought only came to him because the door opened before he touched it. And Aoshi Shinomori was faced with Makimachi, trying to escape the destruction of his own making.

Seeing him up close for the first time, Aoshi was struck by how small the man was. Aoshi had a good six inches on him. He was also older. Not as old as Okina mine you, but still a man growing older in his years. This was the man that had tormented Misao for so long, the man that left her battered and bruised and scared. This was the man responsible for some much heart-ache to the people he loved.

"Where is she?"

His voice was icier that he meant it to be, tipped with steel and all threat. The older man narrowed his eyes, taking in the boy's appearance slowly, methodically. "You're Okina's boy," was all he said. His voice was like sandpaper and Aoshi loathed the sound of it.

"Where is she?" he repeated, drawing himself up a fraction higher.

"This doesn't concern you, boy," Makimachi drawled, a dangerous light springing to life in his eyes. Aoshi was not intimidated at all. In fact, he was only more enraged that this man thought he could frighten him off like a skittish animal with nothing but a glare.

"I won't ask you again, old man," Aoshi said, his voice colder and harder--if possible. His hands balled into fists, nails digging into his palms.

"How dare you--" Makimachi began to shout, but Aoshi pushed past him then and into the house. He was assaulted by heat and smoke, coughing and looking around as he took another step in. That was when he was attacked from behind.

Makimachi had grabbed a lamp from the nearby table and cracked Aoshi over the head with it, hoping to subdue the boy before he managed to find the girl. If he was found admits the ashes once the house was gone, then Makimachi could add the story of Misao's death. There was only one problem with his plan.

The fact that Aoshi didn't go down when a lamp was shattered over the back of his head. It only pissed him off.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he rounded on Makimachi, fire in his blue eyes. The old man ever even had time to move before Aoshi landed one across the side of his head. He was down for the count with that single swing. Aoshi snorted, disappointed, as he looked down at the man laying across the front step. He had expected more fight in a man who made it a career of tormenting woman.

He shoved those thoughts aside as he raced back into the house. "Misao!" he called out, hoping she could hear him over the crackling of the fire. It looked as though it started in the kitchen and was slowly making it's way to consume the entire first floor. Aoshi narrowly escaped the flames as he took the staircase two at a time. He called her name, checked all the room, but then spotted the trail of blood on the carpet.

Heart in his throat, he followed it down the hall, to the door to her studio. He bounded up, looked around through the thin veil of smoke. He saw her, curled into a ball, laying the middle of the floor, unmoving. Those first spilt seconds, when he saw her, he had truly thought she was dead. Not even her side was moving, to signal breathing, she was absolutely still. It made his blood run cold.

"Misao!" he called, dropping to his knees when he crossed the room to her side. "Misao…" he brushed the hair from her face, seeing the blood and the bruises, smelling the fluid and gasoline all over her room and her clothes. Her skin was cold and her face was pale.

Fingers trembling, he pressed them to her throat, and felt a pulse. With that movement, unfocused green eyes flickered, then opened. She looked around before settling on a blurry shape above her. For a moment, she feared it was Makimachi, back for more. She shrunk into a smaller ball.

"Misao, I'm here," the voice said from above her. She recognized that voice, even if the face was too blurry to make out. She knew by the warm, gentle fingers on her face. Aoshi. She smiled, kind of dazed, blood staining her teeth.

"Hi," she said in a breathy voice.

Aoshi had never been happier to hear her voice, and probably never would be again. At least until the next time she spoke. But as of that moment, he had to get her out. "Misao, the house is burning," he said slowly, rationally, in case she didn't understand.

"I can tell," she said, eyes closed again, but still smiling. "Maybe we…should go."

"You read my mind," he said with a sigh. As gently as he could, Aoshi eased one arm under the back of her knees, and the other circled her shoulders, lifting her from the ground. Misao's body shook for a few moments, she whimpered only once, then she lay against him because she no longer had the energy to even be in pain. He made for the door, but Misao's voice stopped him.

"Do something for me," she whispered close to his ear.

"Anything," he responded quickly.

"Get my snake." He looked at her oddly for a second, half-lidded green eyes staring back. Then he shifted to look at the terrarium. Aoshi looked to the doorway, seeing smoke rising faster now. With a sigh at his own stupidity, he ran across the room and kicked the latch of the tank open. Reaching down, he grabbed the first part of the snake her could find. Misao did the rest, curling the bulk of the beast around herself. Hugging her pet and her painting to her chest, Misao nodded that it was time to go.

A little annoyed at the delay, and more than a little frantic at the enclosing frames, Aoshi raced toward an exit, only to find the entire first floor of the house completely covered in flames. There was no way out down there, only death.

"The deck," Misao said, pointing an unsteady hand toward the back room.

"This is becoming a habit," Aoshi told her, making an attempt at a bad joke. When he got to the door, he wrenched it open with his elbow and walked out on to the deck. He couldn't climb down with Misao in his arms.

"There are stairs…over there," Misao told him and he looked to the left. There was, indeed, a small staircase leading off the deck.

"You couldn't tell me that the first time?" he asked, trying to cop and attitude.

"Too much fun…watching you squirm," she said with a slight laugh that turned into a cough. A fresh mouthful of blood dripped from her mouth and on to his shirt.

"Oh God," he swore breathlessly when he saw it. His steps quickened until he was off the deck and running for the front yard. He got a good distance from the house before laying Misao down again. Undoubtedly some neighbor or another had called the police once seeing the fire. They'd send an ambulance…it would all be okay. It had to be okay.

Misao was breathing hard when Aoshi laid her on the ground, her chest felt heavy even without the added weight of her snake. The black spots were still blinking behind her eyes. Blood was still oozing from her in several places. She was freezing and burning all at once. All she wanted was to sleep now. She was safe, Aoshi was here. She got her wish to see him again. Now she could slip into that welcoming dark without regret.

"Misao," Aoshi said suddenly, seeing her desire for release. "You have to stay awake with me. Come on, keep your eyes open."

Misao focused her eyes on him, trying to drink in the very sight of him, blurry and disheveled and panting. Blue eyes more open than she'd ever seen them. She saw concern in his eyes, over her. There was a time in Misao's life where nothing was sacred, no where was safe, and her life was a sin if she tried to live it. Then she met this boy, and she embraced that beloved reckless abandon that made her feel like a person again. She had lived a life, even if it only had lasted two weeks.

"I'm awake," she replied scathingly, but her eyes were closing.

"Okina told me everything," he said suddenly, trying to rouse her again. "About your mother, and your father."

"Did he now?" She sounded disinterested at best.

"Makimachi isn't your father!" he said vehemently. Like this one revelation could bring her out of whatever place she was going.

"I know," she said, smiling that bloody smile again.

Aoshi was dumbfounded. Okina had said she didn't know! But here she was, laying in the grass like a bloody, broken animal, and she was smiling and saying she knew? "How?" was the only thing he could say.

"I'm not dumb," she said seriously. "Sasuke was in love…with my mother. It…wasn't that hard…to notice his…nose." She had to pause every few words to breathe.

"No, I guess not," Aoshi said. "It's unusually cute." He learned forward enough to kiss the very tip of her nose, brushing back her hair in a painfully gentle gesture. Misao had to swallow hard to keep from crying. No, she really didn't want to die. Not now that she'd found this, found him, found herself. She wanted to live her life once and for all.

"Aoshi," she rasped, looking up at him tearfully, shaking hands clutching at his arm. The black spots were spreading, the pain in her chest growing. Dizziness engulfed her utterly. "Why can't I stay?"

He couldn't answer her because before another word could be said, Misao lost consciousness and went still.

The police arrived then, closely followed by an ambulance and two fire trucks. Everyone went about busily trying to douse the flames and save the surrounding houses. Okina arrived in one of the following police cars. He jumped out and ran to where Aoshi lay with Misao. Then he started screaming at the paramedics to forget about Makimachi--who had regain consciousness and was screaming about arresting Aoshi--and help Misao. They heeded the old man's words, rushing to look her over and shouting that they had to get her to the hospital--and fast--so hefted Misao on to a gurney before wheeling her into the ambulance.

When attempting to get in with her, Aoshi was stopped by a few police officers who eventually had to hold him back as they pulled away. Over the roar of the fire and the shouting of the Mayor, a few of the neighbors timidly came forward after seeing the state Misao was in, and told about the fights and the screams. Three police officers took Makimachi away in cuffs. Aoshi and Okina were taken to the station for questioning of their own, even though Aoshi was now the segregate owner of Seraphim the snake.

Misao was taken to the local hospital and treated for multiple fractures, a severe concussion, and blood loss. She also had a punctured lung that required two hours of surgery to repair. In the end, she was lucky to get out alive. And Misao was, gloriously alive.

A/N: Okay, here we are! The next, and final, chapter will explain everything that happens next. What happens to that bastard Makimachi? Where is Sasuke? What happens to Misao? What happens with Misao and Aoshi's relationship? Oh, what a tangled web I weave, haha! Expect the finale by Friday! Anywho, please review and tell me what you think!

Namiko-Daughter of Sekhmet: I'm glad you like my story! I hope this chapter was up to standards!

SeaBreeze: I thought it put an interesting spin on things, it was my plan from the start. Thanks for reading!

SoT'n'Kenshin: Heh, it's okay. We all get a little cranky when left at a cliffy. I, personally, love the suspense! I thought it would be a cool idea to make her another man's daughter. That way, I can have a legitimate reason for all the abuse--even though abuse is wrong! Here's the next chapter--stick around for the end!

Lali: I'm glad you like it so much! I know, Misao-chan's hair was so long and beautiful *sigh* but I cut it for dramatic effect. I'm really glad you like the story, thanks for reading!

Darkmoon0829: Wow, I'm so happy I was able to move you like that, lol. Here's for a climactic ending--of sorts. Stick around for the end! Thanks!

Allin656: I'm so happy that you like my other works too! This is the most popular story I've ever written actually. See, it's all the Aoshi/Misao fans! One more chapter to go--stick around!

Tiian: Hehe, gave it away did I? Oh well, I still thought I was a clever little wolf demon. Yeah, it's very sad the things that people can get away with because of money and power. Innocents get caught in between. Makimachi is actually, pretty off balance, so in his mind killing Misao would be one less obstacle in his path of greatness. I'm happy that you enjoy my story so. Stick around for the final chapter!

Spirit Demon: Don't be confused. No, Aoshi and Misao are not related at all! That was a comment regarding Aoshi's past--but maybe I should have elaborated better. We still don't know who Aoshi's father is, at all! One chapter left so I hope you read it!

Amimelo: Thanks, I'm glad you like it. Sadly no, I'm, too computer illiterate to have a site.

Silver Hanyou1: Twisted in a good way? Hey, it's a drama! It's supposed to be twisted! I'm happy that you like it though, lol. No need for trout beating, I am not going to kill any of them off--I'm not that cold hearted! There will be fluffiness in the next chapter, so you know.

Len: Lol, you figured out the picture connection. Very good! I'm glad you liked the chapter. Sasuke…we'll find out more about him in the last chapter, so you know. Fear not, the last chapter will be out by Friday. Thanks for your patience!

Susan: Sort of, lol. He didn't actually beat the guy to a bloody pulp, but that's because he needed to find his girlfriend before she became Misao-barbeque. He did get a good shot in there though. I dunno, if Aoshi had gone all 'crap-kicker' on Makimachi, it might have landed the little hottie in jail--and I don't think anyone wants to read a sequel about Aoshi being someone's bitch in prison.

Mariana-chan: We'll find out about Sasuke's whereabouts and everything to do with him in the final chapter. Fear not! I'm glad you were riveted by my latest two chapters. I hope this one was just as good. Thanks for the review and be sure to stick around for the finale on Friday!