S'sA: Sorry for the long wait. I've been struggling with depression lately. Nothing major, just stuck in limbo, you know? At least I've got my anime and manga. I don't know what I'd do without that.
Disclaimer: Why do I bother with these things, anyway? I don't own RuroKen.
Warnings: Aoshi-abuse and violence in this one, people! I don't condone drinking or drugs. There is implied sex. I urge you not to commit suicide, because I don't condone that either.
"I had to find you/
tell you I need you/
tell you I set you apart/"
Coldplay, The Scientist
Misao's scream brought the tall ninja to her side in an instant. Aoshi instinctively knew the blood covering her hands was not her own, yet he calmly took out a flashlight from the inside of his trenchcoat and checked her for injuries anyway. A slight bruise from where she fell was all.
He swept the conical beam of yellow light over the walls and floor. Blood was spattered everywhere. It still dripped in some places, giving the place an eerie resemblance to an old-time horror movie.
Misao lay in a deep puddle of the sticky substance. She shuddered and tried to hunch in on herself, trying to close her eyes to the reality of her situation.
Aoshi coolly surveyed the mess. He noted the bright crimson splashes, about chest high on the walls, and decided they were probably caused by gunshot wounds. Puddles like the one Misao fell in dotted the tile floor. He narrowed his eyes. There was too much blood, enough to have emptied a person and a half.
He backtracked their steps, taking care this time to notice the faint marks of a scuffle located there. He frowned ever so slightly. With this much blood, there should be bodies.
He paused his long strides beside the sobbing heap on the floor. "Makimachi-san. Find a lightswitch."
"H-h-h-hai, Aoshi-sama." She swallowed, choking back the dry, heaving sobs that racked her body. She pulled herself up by gripping the material of his sleeve. He patiently stood while she clung to his arm, evidently still in shock from the night's events. "I can stand on my own now. Domo arigato, Aoshi-sama," she said.
He nodded as she released his sleeve. He beamed the light once more down the blood-spattered corridor. Aoshi stepped carefully, sweeping the ray of yellow brightness before him, dispassionately searching for any survivors.
Misao steeled her nerves as she slid her hand along the slimy wall and closed her eyes and tried to be brave when her fingers brushed a wet patch that she knew was not water.
Makimachi Misao never considered herself a coward. She never flinched at the sight of blood and gore like the other girls she'd been friends with during her childhood. When they watched old horror movies the other girls would gasp and scream. Not Makimachi Misao, she was too brave and too proud for that.
She bit back a cry when her finger found the switch and light flooded the passage. Aoshi knelt beside a ragged, still figure in the distance and the walls were flecked with blood and sweat and Misao felt cold horror cascade down her spine like a sheet of ice.
Numbly she ran to the crouched figure of her bodyguard and the body he silently examined. As she bent over Aoshi's shoulder, Misao noticed the young man's chest rising and falling spasmodically.
"Aoshi-sama! He's alive!" she cried, nearly in hysterics.
"Yes," he answered callously.
"Can't we do anything?!" she choked.
"No. He's lost too much blood," Aoshi replied tonelessly, not even bothering to look at her.
Misao felt angry tears of frustration gather in the corner of her eyes at his carelessness, his coldness, and her utter inability to help. Her hands were shaking as she fumbled for her cell phone in her purse.
"No ambulances."
The sound of her slap against his cheek rang through the hall like a gunshot. He didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. And somehow that made it so much worse.
Misao dropped to her knees on the other side of the body, her head bowed and her dark hair shading her expression. Her eyes wandered to the young man's face and a fresh wave of nausea churned in her stomach as she recognized his features. Okita-san?! Yes, it surely was; she knew him even through the blood that was pumping sluggishly out of the wounds that rent his body.
A single droplet of salty fluid escaped her eye and she dialed Tokio's number dazedly. No ambulances, she thought sadly. I know. Shinsengumi dealings are so god-damn secret they can't even call an ambulance when it would save the life of one of their own. Too much publicity. No, Shinsengumi people have Shinsengumi doctors, but I have only one number. She was drained, defeated. Tokio-san didn't answer her phone so Misao left her message in a dry, cracked voice.
Please hurry, Tokio-san. I don't know what to do. Okita-san's hand was lying limp and bloody and pale on the floor by her knee. She took it between her trembling fingers and held it tightly, as if she was his lifeline and last connection to this world.
He stirred and the painful rhythm of his shallow breathing increased. He coughed wetly and blood bubbled from his lips. Misao and Aoshi could hear the fluid slosh sickeningly in his lungs. He struggled to sit but Misao, inwardly marveling at his strength but knowing the motion could be fatal, placed her hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.
She didn't notice Aoshi's eyes on her; she was so occupied with Okita.
Takagi Tokio was breathless despite all her training by the time she reached the labyrinth of twisting passages that was the bowels of the Shinsengumi's building. Misao's message ran through her head like a broken record and her heart raced faster than her feet.
She'd already called Hajime, Takani Megumi-san, Kondou-sama, and Hijikata-sama. No one else needed to know, not yet.
She didn't dare stop to catch her breath. Tokio had run all the way from the hospital to the Shinsengumi building, a distance of nearly three miles.
A sick feeling settled in her stomach at the thought of Okita, lying alone and bleeding on the cold floor. She knew in her heart and mind that there was nothing she or anyone else could do. Misao had made that clear enough; Aoshi had said so, and Aoshi was a very capable judge. And Okita wanted to die.
She slowed to a purposeful walk as she approached their corridor, intending to present a dignified front.
Despite Misao's protests, Okita had managed to sit upright. Aoshi sat immobile, neither helping nor hindering the young captain's efforts. He was unable to speak, but he gestured almost desperately for her to hand him his wakizashi, lying discarded in the darkness a few yards away. She bit her lip and complied. After all, he was a warrior, and didn't they frequently wish to hold their weapons as they died?
Her expression quickly turned to horror as he stabbed himself swiftly in the left side of the gut and his face contorted with pain. He jerked it across, making a horizontal slit. Before he could complete the movement and the vertical cut, his eyes rose to meet Aoshi's stoic glance and the older ninja nodded imperceptibly.
Aoshi's kodachi whipped out from beneath his trenchcoat and cleanly decapitated the dying captain. Blood spurted warmly from his severed neck as his body hit the floor for the last time with a light thump. Misao's body bucked involuntarily and bile rose in her throat at the image of his head rolling to a halt a few feet away from her. His eyes were wide and glassy and filmed over in death. Her eyes flew to Aoshi-sama who was calmly wiping the perfect blade of his kodachi on a cloth he had produced from somewhere, most likely from one of the seemingly endless pockets of his trenchcoat.
Her rage and disgust exploded from her throat in the form of a wordless yell. She struggled to her feet and staggered to where Aoshi was still evenly kneeling, looking as cool and tranquil as ice.
Ice can be broken, right? The first slap left her hand stinging and she could tell it would leave a bruise. The second drew blood from his lip. Then she fisted her hand and struck him again and again and he made no move to stop her.
It was intoxicating, this blind and wild rage she found herself in. She punched him harder. How could he see all this and feel nothing? She mentally screamed. You can feel, I've seen it! Say something! Anything! The slim silver rings adorning her fingers were drawing more blood now. Her hands were smeared with it. She kept uncontrollably beating him, uncaring as to whether her blows fell on his broad shoulders or the sides of his head.
He caught her fists between his hands. She struggled violently but he was firm - she was unnaturally strong for her small size and any more blows to his head would give him a concussion.
She kicked him fiercely, the fire of her grief and fury over the night's events fueling her further. He continued to hold her fists as sharp pains landed on his sides and legs. Misao was screaming soundlessly now, and tears mingled with sweat and blood and made salty trails down her cheeks. She hated herself even as the physical action lifted her high beyond earthly torture.
She jerked backwards in an attempt to free her hands from his grasp. When he failed to comply, she leaned down and bit him sharply. He winced and let go. Her fist swung up to catch him underneath his right eye before someone was pulling at her shoulders, tugging her gently, repeating her name, over and over.
Misao felt herself go limp and numb. She allowed herself to lie peacefully in the arms of the person, tears still running freely down her cheeks. She tilted her head back to see the face of her 'rescuer': Tokio-san. She was staring grimly at the scene, taking in all the gory details as she rocked Misao gently.
Misao forced herself to stand.
"Lie back down, Makimachi-san," Tokio commanded her softly. "You'll be sick." And we don't want you going mad on us again, she mentally added.
Misao stubbornly shook her head.
"Makimachi-san! Please, the doctor will be here any moment." Tokio again took hold of the younger woman's shoulders and skillfully maneuvered her back down.
"No!" Misao cried hoarsely, driven by an unknown force of the making of her own mind.
Tokio sighed and pressed her fingers deftly on the special point on the back of Misao's neck. She collapsed without a sound.
"Have Takani-san look at those cuts when she gets here. Then take Makimachi-san back to her home and let her rest," Tokio bid Aoshi as she tipped the limp girl into his arms.
"Hai, Tokio-san."
(Earlier, Across the City)
Takani Megumi woke sweaty and tangled in her sheets with the sweet taste of her dream lingering in her mouth. Heat rushed to her face at the memory, momentarily driving from her mind the ring that was the cause of her awakening. She moistened her fingers lightly with her tongue in contemplation.
The ring from her cell phone was back again, and this time it seemed to carry a note of urgency that Megumi could not ignore. She untangled herself from the bed sheets and made her way softly to the dresser, unmindful of the chilly night air against her skin.
It rang again, shattering the stillness of her apartment. "I'm coming," she muttered to herself and held it against her ear. "Moshi-moshi?"
"Takani-san, it's Tokio. I apologize for calling this early in the morning, but you need to come to headquarters." Tokio sounded breathless, as if she was running.
Morning?She glanced at the clock. "How soon?" she asked. Do I have time to take a shower…?
"As quickly as possible," Tokio answered almost at once. She added, "It's an emergency."
"Very well, Tokio-san. I will be there as soon as I can."
"Domo arigato, and goodbye." Tokio hung up with a tiny click, and the empty signal buzzed in Megumi's ear. A thought occurred to her suddenly and she headed out to the living room.
She felt her way through the darkness to the bundled figure snoring gently on the couch. She shook his shoulder delicately, calling, "Sanosuke, Sanosuke, wake up!"
A barely conscious moan from the mop of spiky brown hair protruding from the tightly wrapped blanket.
Louder. "Sagara Sanosuke! Wake up!"
"What is it, Megitsune?" he mumbled blearily. "It can't be morning yet…"
She shook her head in exasperation. "No, it's not morning. I got a call from work, and I need to go."
His eyes lingered briefly on the swell of her breasts, visible over the tight laces of her camisole. "Dressed like that?" he grinned cheekily, already half awake.
"Baka!" She smacked him and made a mental note to wear her bathrobe next time. "Go back to sleep, tori-atama," she sighed. "I probably won't be here in the morning, so let yourself out."
"Whatever. 'Night, Megitsune." He closed his eyes and feigned snores.
She snorted softly. "'Night, rooster-head." She disappeared into her bedroom briefly, then slipped back through the living room (in her lab uniform) on her way out. The door clicked shut behind her as she left.
Sanosuke sighed and realized he probably wouldn't be able to sleep again that morning. He stumbled into the kitchen, where, if he remembered correctly, there should be a few swallows left in the wine bottle.
(Later)
"Megumi-san, would you please do he autopsy yourself?" Tokio asked distractedly as she orchestrated the cleanup. Samples and photographs had already been sent to the lab, and all that was left to do was mop up the mess.
Megumi looked up from cleaning the cuts on Aoshi's face. "Tokio-san," she frowned, "that's hardly my area of expertise…"
"But you are qualified, neh?" interrupted Tokio, although she knew it was rude.
Megumi looked down. "Hai," she said, glancing at the covered stretcher. Homicide was nasty business, even if the actual death had been a suicide.
Ah, suicide! Sweet relief for the life-weary! But, she reminded herself, only for the bravest. And you are not brave, are you, Megumi? her inner voice sneered. She brushed it off. It was her duty to live, and death was not her privilege.
"Takani-san?"
Megumi looked down at the sound of Aoshi's voice and realized she was still holding his head. "Gomen nasai," she said, and quickly moved on to the girl in his arms. The man unsettled her, for some reason.
She appeared to be unhurt, though covered in blood and filth. Nothing a good bath wouldn't cure. She tried to move her. Aoshi's grip tightened around her shoulders.
"She's fine," he said emotionlessly.
Megumi drew back. "Suit yourself." She made her way over to Tokio, who was without seeming to watching Saitou, Kondou, and Hijikata.
"Tokio-san, is there anything else I can do?"
Tokio smiled wearily at her. "No, get some rest if you want."
"I would prefer to begin the autopsy now," she said, wanting to get the unpleasant business over with.
"That would be fine, Megumi-san."
"Thank you, Tokio-san, but you should get some rest also; you look like you need it."
The woman laughed dryly. "I suppose I look a nightmare. All-nighters do that to you, sometimes. Thank you, Megumi-san. My work's almost done here."
Sucky way to end a chapter, I know. But I thought it was getting too long and boring. We don't want bored readers, do we, precious? I will address any complaints about OOCness for this chapter, 'cause they're probably well-founded. Before you throw me in a shallow ditch in a side of the road for Misao's character, remember that she's under a lot of stress (especially as this all happened in one night) and has lived a very sheltered life so she's not been exposed to violence before. And I will say that Megumi and Sano's characters are very difficult for me to write.
Seppuku: I will explain this for all of you that don't know what it is. It is the ritual suicide of samurai, and a tradition that dates back to the feudal era. (They don't still do this…) It literally means, "split the belly" or something along those lines. The samurai uses his wakizashi to spill his guts out. As you might imagine, this is very painful, and to save a man the shame of showing pain, there is commonly another samurai to act as a 'second.' The second decapitates the samurai as soon as the cut is made, and thus honor is preserved. The entire purpose of seppuku is to regain honor. Women samurai could commit seppuku as well, but they did this by slitting their throats.
Thank you:
spirit demon
weasel1029
len
prexus
Digital Siren
Darkmoon0829
indigochipmunk