Don't Say it With Flowers!

By Starhopper

Disclaimer: Nope, nu-uh, nothing, natta, zippo, SHIPPOU! (Hee hee, I've got my rhyming dictionary open now )

I sincerely apologize for the length of update between the last chapters. Summer is something I've been looking forward to since my parents drove off and left me in the dust of Ellensburg. Of course, I was there to pursue a higher education, (and I have, I'm technically a junior now by credits and next year is my "sophomore" year) so I didn't mind, but having a mind full of stress for the last nine months was a little too much. So when I returned home and finally got around to redesigning my room like I had planned to the summer before, I took advantage of being at home and enjoying the closeness of family and friends. I'm also getting into shape and yesterday I just braved a ropes course THIRTY-FIVE FEET off the ground in the treetops.

But conquering my fear of falling off of teeny-tiny cables (And I got right back on – thank the gods for the harness) does not deter me from my quest to finish this fic. It's getting there, and thank you all for having faith in me. And now, to all who know and/or love that baka friend of Sano's from back in the good 'ole days of the Sekihoutai and current (at least in the story) editor and creator of his own freedom-fighting underground newspaper, I present to thee:

Tsukioka Katsuhiro . . . because he's cute with that long teal hair of his. ;)

. . . . .

- An Impartial Party

Pursing his lips, the editor had fully intended on whistling a soft tune for only his ears to hear. It was one of those days that just begged for a song. The wind was welcoming, pulling at his mind like a spider at its spun silk. Only the silk was his sheer happiness at being an accomplished young man. Music of any kind could illumine the greater highlights of an afternoon spent pouring over type-settings. Aside from the tension headache beating at the corners of his eyes, the teal-haired twenty-one year old felt surprisingly healthy and fully aware of his young years. Freed from his economical duties, he was now a hungry man about town and looking for something to fill the empty pit growing where his full stomach should be. A song would surely divert his thoughts from partaking in some sake and beef bowls to just enjoying the life he'd created for himself.

That had been the plan until he spotted the melted figure of a woman who, painfully slumped against the wall, would receive his little song as a snide rebuke. Why sing when he could ask her what's wrong or even offer a hand to help? Then again, she could be a drunk, or a prostitute . . . though the robes she wore were those of a woman with some social standing. Maybe a wife of a well-to-do businessman thrown out by a not-so gracious husband?

As he conjectured thoughts about this mysterious woman's identity, the object of his inspection stirred from a dust-choked position in the dirt. Her hair dripped like liquid onyx over her shoulders as she rose to a crouch and upon gently dusting off her hips, cast brilliant cinnamon eyes to the sky. The reveal of such a tearful pout, water-stained porcelain cheeks, and drained complexion was lost to the crowd of passerby. Chatting and running through the streets, the ignorant peasants addressed one another with smiles and struts of how contemporary they were in action. In the corner, the woman invoked everything nostalgic, like she was raising herself in a cloud of mist that had long since dissipated.

The look grabbed a hold of the editor's heart, unwittingly dragging a memory from the backroom of his life-experience. For he had seen such a face in the river. It had only been a fleeting glance, thrown haphazardly as he ran to beat his old friend to the bridge nearly a year ago. That was the night of reconciliation and great planning for the end of the era ran by the Imperialists.

Shaking his head, the young man began his approach with a soft step so as not to startle her. If there was one thing that he remembered about – that – look, it was it had to be wiped off the person's face as quickly as possible before they did something potentially damaging. Either to themselves or their friends.

"Excuse me," skipping up his pace, the editor ran to face her and bending at the waist, he tried to peer directly into her eyes, "Miss?"

At that moment the pieces of the puzzle crashed into place. Her black hair was glazed in a pale chestnut that highlighted the slightly slanted Bristol eyes. A tiny birthmark marked her right cheek, dotting the outer-most 'i' of a potential smile, and drew the eye inadvertently into her gaze. It was a natural call to command, to obey, and most importantly to behave.

Subconsciously he took a step back and prepared to dodge any flailing attacks that might come his way. The doctor had a tendency to act out from her subdued demeanor. Apparently she had taken out a Yakuza or three with just a piece of hard bread. AND she had also sent Sanosuke to the floor with anything-but a girlish slap. Oh yes, he could recall many stories the idiot had related to him about this femme fatale.

Due to this forethought, his manhood remained intact when the woman's dainty knee attempted to make contact. However, the move only sent her stumbling forward into his arms. Countering her weight, he caught her at the shoulders and shook her slightly before she could dig her nails into his neck.

"Takani-sensei," his words were rich with recognition. Sure, he hadn't seen her in nearly six months, but the woman with vixen jaws proved a hard figure to forget. Or argue with. "It's me, Katsu,"

With a violent shake of her head, Megumi tried once more to work her way out of his firm grip. She lifted her hands to his shoulders and tried to push him away from her. Grinding her heel into his toe, the editor soon found himself carrying on a little step-dance with the doctor, she stomping, he evading every furious foot. Without noticing it, Megumi had marched him to the other wall of the alley and slammed Katsu's back against the brick. Along with the breath that left his lungs under the pressure, the admission of "I'm Sano's friend," was forced out.

The name instantly loosened her fingers from bruising his shoulders and Megumi drew back into the shell she'd been rocking in. "Did he send you here?" was all Katsu could make out between the shivers and chattering of her perfect teeth. The signs were completely recognizable. Aside from the sudden outbreak of tremors, the doe-eyed expression completely gave away her total lack of apprehension. This was no fear. She was ready to spring like a cornered animal who had seen a possible escape route between its pursuer's legs.

This was sheer terror.

"San-o-su-ke," the artist approached the name with some trepidation, nodding occasionally to bring her out of whatever nightmare she was living. "Sagara Sanosuke did not send me here. I found you. Are you alright?" Katsu's inner-voice rolled its eyes at that last question. It was obvious that she wasn't.

Slowly righting herself, Megumi regarded the other man impassively as she let the waters of perception raise her to reality's surface. At last she stood straight, back arched and balance steady. When she answered him, her words were soft and chastising. "Of course I'm alright," though the way she tugged on sleeve spoke otherwise. Eyes still darting from her kimono to the ground, she laughed her own admission of, "Katsuhiro-san, what kind of question is that?"

Rubbing his stomach, the Sekihoutai member now placed a smile on his face that could only be described as smug. "It's a question that needs to be asked since you tried to make me flat-footed . . . permanently." Seeing no interest or embarrassment flash over her face, Katsu crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. His eyes went to the space between roof and sky. "Why haven't you told Sano?"

- That - got her attention. Megumi's gaze scored the green over-gi, then burned holes into the writer's yukata worn underneath. If looks could kill, his entire ensemble would be reduced to ashes under her scorching glare, with his bare bones acting as support beams. "How did you - "

"I didn't," he threw a cool glance over at her, "But now I do." Pushing himself off the wall, he approached her. "And because that idiot is a good friend of mine, you're gonna tell me."

"What makes you think I'm going to do anything of the sort?" she jutted her chin in defiance, working her lower jaw in exasperation. "You have no power over me,"

"No man does," Katsu listened to that nagging inner-voice and dove head-first with a gut-instinct. The way she refused to listen to him had alerted him to a very possible reason for her behavior. He'd seen it in women who were reduced to slumming through the underworld. Disgusted with the sex who had abused them, they began to create new relations with their own. Prostitution pleasured not only the men on those occasions. The young, albeit effeminate man could only guess as to why he had gotten through to Megumi so quickly if that were the case. As an afterthought, he added, "Not even me," in a statement that was meant to assure her.

Grabbing at a lock of her hair, Megumi started to inspect the split-ends. It was a habit she'd had ever since she could remember. OR didn't want to remember. Snorting over the fact, she narrowed her eyes, sliding her corneas his way. "Do you want to try?" In fair warning, she cracked the knuckles on the hand that was holding her tresses.

Katsu drew his hands into his sleeves and fingered the last two explosives he kept for emergencies. He couldn't deny that a part of him wanted to take on the challenge, but he also knew that Sanosuke would not be too pleased with a one-armed friend or possibly something worse. Looking her over one more time, he noticed her finger rimmed by a gold band. The pieces of the puzzle suddenly shattered. Friendship was one thing, engagement was quite another.

"I don't think Sano would be too happy if I blew up his fiancée," He reflected her look of astonishment and redirected it to the ring on her finger. "Did you think it would be hard for someone who knows that idiot as well as I do to figure it out?"

Appearing to weigh this thought on her already stress-laden nerves, Megumi nodded and looked back at him with a small smile. It would have been easily missed if not for the tiny sparkles alighting the corner of each eye. She then pulled more hair over her shoulder and cast a critical gaze at the editor.

"Do you think blackmail scares me? Please Katsuhiro-san,"

"I made no such proclamation sensei," His tone was apologetic and sincere, as were his eyes. "I merely stated how much I know,"

"Which is more than you should know," she bluffed haughtily, tossing some strands of hair over her shoulder now that she was done playing with the ends.

"Embarassed of your future husband?"

"No," caught in his conversational current, Megumi whispered: "Not embarrassed, just hopeful for,"

"Ah," Katsu mused, grinning like a fool. That idiot had sure picked the perfect match to lay down a gamble for. Lay all your bets on this one, Higishidani, I couldn't have done any better myself. "You see it too then?"

"What should I see?" her tone was still critical, patiently guarding herself from an attack.

He sat himself on the ground, primitively handing full advantage of height to her as slunk smaller and smaller down the wall. "I mean, you do see his potential then?"

"Of course I do,"

"Then why do you run?" Of course he knew the reason for her fear. Obviously his importance in her life had been entirely unexpected from her end.

"I run because I have no where else to go. I run because I'm wary,"

"Like the Kitsune he calls you," Katsu eyed her from his sunken position, "you truly are a fox."

"He's spoken of me?" try as hard as she might, Megumi couldn't cut out the sly, girlishly-taken tone in her voice. The curiosity and flattery got even the best of her at the worse times.

"Not exactly of you as you stand before me now, but yes. On occasion. You tended to his wounds, I don't think you know how much that means to someone like us."

She snorted derisively. "Tended? I'm a doctor, I didn't start out doing it with the kindest of hearts." Of course, it had spiraled into a friendship, relationship, and soul-extending love. But she had begun with a nice, immaculate patient-doctor standing.

"No, you started with a heart sincerely grateful for keeping it beating." He nodded his head, eying her as she did him without a hanging jaw of disbelief. "Don't look at me like that, he's a braggart when it comes to his personal valor. And saving your life is up there on his short list of lifetime achievements."

Her chin started to quiver, and Katsu quickly coughed before she herself realized how much Sanosuke meant to her past.

"But then again, getting him to wisen up to the adult world is one of yours. Every single one of us who knows that idiot is grateful for what you've done. As I'm sure he's just as grateful for you being there for him." He swallowed and held up his hands in pure innocence. "That's just a friend's perception mind you."

"K - "

"Careful."

Both steady gazes were tossed over to the bristling itachi and the equally distraught Tanuki-girl standing at the alley entrance. This only added to the friction passing between blue, teal, and Bristol eyes.

"Megumi-san, careful," Misao warned once more, before recognition dawned upon Kaoru's face.

"Wait Misao," she hushed her friend's whines as she walked over to kneel in front of the editor. "It's Sano's newspaper friend, Tsukioka Katsuhiro."

"Tori-atama's friend? All the more reason to kunai his ass,"

"Misao-chan!"

"Tori-atama," Megumi repeated his name thoughtfully, paying no attention to her friends' intrusion. Instead, she shook her head and forced a hard stare down Katsu's throat. Pushing Kaoru lightly aside, she came to sit in her place.

"Sensei?" His tone even, Katsu found himself amazed at how he was holding up under many females and their incriminating eyes. Especially this one.

"Thank you for . . . well, just to show you how much I do see in him, watch me run," with a wicked grin, the good doctor swiveled lightly on her heel and flew past Misao and Kaoru.

Silence passed between the threesome before Misao stomped her foot and brandished her kunai.

"OK! Will someone please tell me what's going on? And you, no quick moves," Aiming the tips at Katsu's nose stopped him from getting up or answering any time soon.

. . .

A/N: Thought I'd give you all something to chew on instead of leaving you all salivating for more. It's short, to the point, and I love it. What point you ask? The point of Megumi's past that is more theory than fact, but I uphold it with my admiration for the strength in her character.

Next chapter will get back to the real story, though this chapter is nothing to be idly passed over or sniffed at. It will also feature many exchanges that I feel have long been in the making between new loves, past enemies, and the annoying memories that just won't go away.

Leave a REVIEW if you want more dimension in this writer's fanfiction. Constructive or gushing (both flames and praises) criticisms are always welcome.

Love to all.

Starhopper