AUTHOR'S NOTE: WAHHHHHHHH! IT'S DONE IT'S DONE IT'S DONE!

After neglecting this thing for nearly 2 months, I've finally finished Chapter 11! -cheers- So Souzou got his chapter last time, and now it's Okita's turn! That's why it took me so long—as much as I adore Okita, I always seem to have problems writing his sections and chapters.

In case you've been wondering what I've been up to since my last update, you can read my profile or my LJ.

The scene at the end of this chapter is, in no way shape or form, shounen-ai/yaoi. It may seem like it to you, and I've tried my best to make that clear in the story, but IT'S NOT. So don't make it out to be, got it?

I must, however, warn you of the mild shounen-ai contained in this story.

Responded ages ago to a review by elinviel. If you read this fic, PLEASE leave me a review! I'm begging…

Chapter 11

"Here," she said softly, offering Aoshi his kodachi hilt-first. He nodded silently and took the weapon.

Across the room, Sagara was helping Okita remove his Shinsengumi uniform in favor of one more like Mieko's. He had found the clothes, similar to the attire he wore beneath his sleeveless coat, amidst the Sekihou's extra stores. The blue-slashed sleeves disappeared neatly as Sagara expertly folded the uniform. Okita had the feeling of a weight being lifted from his shoulders, as the Captain of the First Unit disappeared and someone new emerged.

Silence pervaded the room and wrapped the four warriors in its tender grasp. Mieko had silently cleaned up after dinner and removed her kimono and obi, carefully hiding away her youthful femininity and shrouding herself in darkness. She was now making the routine check of her suntetsu, stashing them neatly on her body. Sagara had only removed his patterned overcoat of the Sekihou and replaced white gloves with black, but he, too, remained quiet and contemplative. Aoshi hadn't needed to change; he sat moodily below one of the windows, gazing out into the night sky and the quarter moon.

"Ready?" she asked quietly, eyes already gone, following the path that they would take tonight towards Aizu, as if trying to discern the future. It would be a long, multi-day journey, and their spare, daytime traveling clothes were bundled into small packs that they would carry. They had agreed to travel through the forest at night, and stay in the cities and towns by day when possible. She had already shouldered her kimono-pack, and was standing anxiously by the door.

Sagara stood, handed Okita his bundle of commonplace clothing, and hefted his katana. After strapping them to his waist securely, he moved to stand with Mieko, back to Aoshi and Okita. With a quick, careless toss of his head, Aoshi had stood and was beside Mieko. Okita nodded, and moved to join them. His eyes dark and serious, Sagara stepped forward and pushed the door open, prepared to lead them down the path and through the dark forest.


It had been an agonizing week for Okita, one he couldn't even let Saitou, Harada, or Toshizou into. He knew, instinctively, what Saitou would say anyway if asked.

"Aku. Soku. Zan."

So easy for Saitou! And yet… Okita felt it would be true for him too. Saitou would kill anyone—anyone—even fellow Shinsengumi, if they ever proved "evil." Shogunate supporters who caused disturbances and worked in the shadows… not a problem for Saitou.

But Okita! He had always had some kind of thin loyalty to the Shogunate—it was, after all, the way he had been brought up. Unlike Sagara, he was true blood samurai, gifted with the title by birth and ancestry. He'd spent his life living up to that honorable code, to make himself into the picture of good grace and honor. The arising Meiji government could only take that away from him and his family. They promised equality for all people, the tearing down of barriers in society. While Okita admired the goal of equality, and the idealism of men like Sagara, he could not help but wonder what would happen if the structure of society were entirely dismantled.

He'd struggled with himself for many long hours, blocking out Harada, refusing to see Toshizou, even ignoring Saitou, his roommate. Quiet meditation in his room and in the garden of the Shinsengumi dojo had done very little to ease his troubled mind. In the end, they'd always ended with him wondering if he was a bad person for not honoring the goals of equality that the Meiji promised.

But surely… men like Saitou, Harada, Nagakura, Toshizou, Kondou… men of the Shinsengumi—they could not all be bad. They were all more than good swords (or in Harada's case, spear) men—they were good men, Okita knew, deep in his heart. They fought for goals equally as pure as Sagara's fight for equality, and they always fought with honor.

And if the code of the Shinsengumi could condone what Mieko and Sagara asked of him, then there was no reason why he could not do it.


The first night's travel was easy. They picked their way through the forest, Mieko expertly leading and Aoshi bringing up the rear. Though the four together could not travel nearly as quickly as Mieko or Aoshi alone, they made good time and found themselves a comfortable place to stay during the day. The grove they picked out reminded them of the grove where the safe-house was, only smaller, and with a small creek running along one of its edges.

Sagara instantly unrolled his pack to reveal the set of blankets and the small tent he'd brought along. Mieko and Aoshi marveled at his economy at packing (his pack had been just slightly bigger than either of theirs) and foresight. Wordlessly, Sagara set up the tent against a tree beside the river and passed a blanket out to each of the others.

"So thoughtful!" Okita chirped happily. "You're such an onii-chan!"

Sagara froze, half-bent over at the creek washing his hands and face. Mieko watched him guardedly, eyes narrowed, trying to gauge the extent of his reaction. Slowly, Sagara stood, wiped his hands and face carefully on a towel, then strode silently past Okita into the forest. Mieko suspected that he wouldn't go far, but he was clearly hurt. Her heart ached a little at the knowledge, and she turned slowly to the shocked Okita and Aoshi.

"What… what happened?" Okita asked softly, scared by the reaction his flippant comment had produced.

Mieko sighed quietly and motioned the two closer to her. "Please… just don't mention things like that again. It's… hard for him to hear." She shook her head helplessly. "It hurts to be reminded of the past."

Okita's eyes widened, and Aoshi nodded in sympathy. He understood what it was to have a past you wanted to put behind you, forever, never to dig up or delve into ever again. Sometimes, the little village in the valley came back to haunt him at night, the lights of his house shining in his dreams, his mother's gentle laughter filling his ears, his father's firm hands showing him how to plant seeds, his older brother and his wife indulging him with sweets and special trips into town… Aoshi shook his head quickly to clear his mind, trying to listen to what Mieko was saying.

"…three younger brothers and two younger sisters," Mieko said softly, wringing her hands in her lap. A big family. Like mine, she thought to herself. "He was always looking out for them… He was supposed to be there for them when his father was gone, you know, if something were to happen. He was supposed to get married, start his own family, help his younger siblings out when they wanted to start themselves in the world. I don't know everything, of course. I just think… you reminded him of what he left behind. The good things that he left behind. He still feels like he betrayed his younger brothers and sisters when he left."

"But to be true to himself… is that not worth the sacrifice?" Okita asked softly.

"Would you do it?" she challenged him softly. "Would you have the strength to leave everything behind like that?" Suddenly, her face softened and she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Okita-san, I didn't mean that. I just… I understand what he feels."

"No, Mieko-san, you are right," Okita said gently, clasping her hands in his. "It takes a very strong, very brave person to put their ideals before their loved ones. I respect Sagara-san for his decision, and admire the strength with which he pursues his dreams for Japan."

Mieko smiled at the older man, who constantly surprised her with his youthfulness and wisdom. "I know, I'm sorry…" she laughed slightly. "I just thought you should know. I'm sure he understands that you didn't know, and you didn't mean anything by it when you said it."

"I do," Sagara's voice floated across the grove, and the three turned to look at him. He strode quietly over and sat down beside Mieko, facing Okita and Aoshi.

"I'm sorry I reacted like that. I've been telling Mieko about myself over the past few weeks, and it dug up old memories I thought I'd put behind me. I've been thinking about them a lot, and your comment just… it just reminded me, that's all."

"Sometimes it's all right to admit when something hurts inside," Aoshi said quietly. Then, in his characteristic way, he turned on his heel and moved out of earshot to the creek.

Silence fell over the other three. Finally, Mieko stood and walked away, murmuring something about finding food to feed them. Okita and Sagara sat silently beside each other, contemplating the blue sky, singing birds, and green grass. Sagara remembered a day nearly ten years before when he'd taken his little sisters Eiko and Rieko to play in a field of flowers near the manor. Oh, how they'd laughed and danced amidst the colorful summer blooms! They'd reminded a young Sagara of the spirits that were supposed to live in nature—tiny slips of girls with long, flowing ebony hair and long, thin fingers that carelessly caressed the silky petals. He remembered how they'd run up to him, trailing the sweet scent of the flowers, and pulled him running through the field. The field had seemed endless, stretching into forever, stretching into tomorrow and the next day and the next and the next, each as beautiful and perfect as this one. How peaceful, how easy, how beautiful life had been then…

Okita was also thinking of his past, now that the others had mentioned it. He'd been an only child, but he, too, could remember a day like the one Sagara thought of—a day so much like this one. He'd been but a little boy, even before he began his swords training. His mother and father had taken him out to the seashore on an outing while visiting Edo. They'd walked so far to find a quiet, empty beach… his father had been carrying a box containing a secret for Okita on his back, and Okita had gamely offered to carry the large basket his mother held. Not surprisingly, the eight-year-old Okita had quickly relinquished the heavy load to his mother early in the walk. When they'd reached the beach, his mother unpacked a lunch… Okita could still smell the sharp scent of pickled daikon, the rich, familiar smell of gohan shaped into musubi, the tart taste of the umeboshi buried in the center of the musubi. Then his father had opened the box, revealing a mid-sized tako, and Okita danced in circles around him… He had smiled and clapped with glee as his father set it up. The two had run down the beach together, the colorful tako trailing along in the sky behind them, and Okita remembered the sensation of flying…

Lost in memory, Okita sadly stood and put a comforting hand on Sagara's shoulder. "I wish I knew what it was to be a brother," he whispered, then walked away, gazing at the soft white clouds filtering the sun's light.


Mieko knelt silently beside Aoshi, taking the small twigs that he offered her in an attempt to build a small fire. They added twigs slowly, watching the pale orange flame lick at the dry wood. When the fire was strong enough to burn whole branches, Mieko set about making gohan in the small pot Sagara had thoughtfully brought along. Aoshi continued to tend the to fire, watching the young girl beside him.

Once the rice was covered and cooking, Mieko drew her knees up to her chest and sat watching Aoshi with her bright amber eyes. He shifted uncomfortably and looked away. She sighed softly and made up her mind to say something.

"Anou… Aoshi-san," she asked tentatively. She wasn't as familiar with Aoshi as she was with Okita or Souzou, so she was reluctant to refer to or converse with him comfortably.

He looked up questioningly. "Hai?"

She flushed, realizing that she really had nothing to say. She just wanted to pry Aoshi out of his shell… "How did you become Okashira?"

He studied her for a moment, considering the question. Then he shrugged. "I don't know, really. They just called me in one day and said, 'Here, take it, it's yours. Do what you will, protect Edo Castle.'"

"I meant… surely there were other men, other onmitsu and hitokiri who had been with the Oniwabanshu longer. Why weren't they chosen?"

"They were going to chose someone else. Someone older, more powerful—a more experienced onmitsu than I could probably ever hope to be. A man called Okina. He thought that it was time for a younger generation to determine the fate of the Oniwabanshu, though, so he recommended me. I don't know why… what possessed him to do it. He volunteered to be the Okashira of intelligence in Kyoto, and that's who I've been getting my information from."

Mieko smiled. If Aoshi didn't trust her, he wouldn't have revealed so much about his sources and the onmitsu Okina. The feeling of trust comforted her, made her feel that forming strong bonds with Aoshi, the seeming lone wolf, wouldn't be so difficult after all.

"You must have impressed him with your skill."

Aoshi shook his head. "I doubt it. I think I impressed him more with my potential."

She considered his analysis for a moment, then nodded. "I would agree with that, partially. You are very talented now… I saw you fight at Hanayama, and I've been training with you ever since. But you are right, in that you could be much stronger. With the shortened reach of the kodachi, you can control a fight. But you need more power than the kodachi offers."

"I know. That's why I wanted to learn from you."

Mieko looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

"The training we do now is like a dream come true… almost. I tracked you to Hanayama for two reasons. One, I wanted you to join the Oniwabanshu as a hitokiri and onmitsu. Two, after watching you fight, I really did want to learn from you. And then when we made this pact… Pretty soon, I didn't even care about you joining us—I just wanted to be able to learn from you."

"I'm flattered," she said quietly. "Although… I never thought of myself as much of a teacher. I didn't think anyone would want to learn from me."

"Why not? If people knew how good you were, they would be begging to learn hand-to-hand combat from you."

She snorted. "I never let anyone see what I can do in the shadows. And quite frankly, no one really cares. You, Souzou, and Soushi are the only ones besides my shishio. When people see my face, Aoshi, they don't think about fighting or killing or anything unwholesome or gruesome. Most of the time, people want me to teach their daughters dance, or poetry, or ikebana, or tea serving. They think that I'm just another of Lord Kawami's lady servants, trained in the arts of being female and being his damn entertainment. As if I could ever allow another woman to slip so low against her will," she snapped bitterly. Aoshi sensed her anger and put a calming hand over her clenched fists.

"Calm down, Mieko-san. You know none of us think of you like that—"

"—Can't speak for the rest of Kyoto, though—"

"—but you don't care about the rest of Kyoto, do you?"

"I wish I could say no, but what choice do I have? I can't interact with the three of you all the time, I can't always be me. Sometimes I have to be Sakaki Mieko, especially around other people… People who don't understand me. The rest of Kyoto doesn't understand me."

Aoshi was silent. He could offer her no words of wisdom, and wished that Okita were there. "Indeed… sometimes, we must forget who we truly are for the sake of those who cannot see us that way."

With that said, he leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes, effectively ending the conversation. Mieko studied him from beneath lidded eyes as she, too, dozed off, curled in a protective ball near his feet. The truth of Aoshi's final words stung her, hard, and she needed sleep to take away the bite.


They traveled in silence that night, each one lost in their own thoughts, thrown back many years into their pasts. Images flitted through their minds, sounds dimly crowded their ears, smells assailed their noses and memory took over them. Nevertheless, they made good progress, and the next morning found them settled down comfortably in the forest. Mieko and Aoshi were asleep, Mieko curled around with her pack as a pillow and Aoshi leaning against a tree, his pack in his lap. Sagara unrolled his blanket and laid it out on the ground as Okita took his and wrapped it around his shoulders. Sagara stretched out comfortably and was preparing to doze as well when Okita stopped him.

"Sagara-san?"

"What is it, Okita-san? Do you not want the first watch? I'll take it then," Sagara offered quickly, sitting upright and stifling a yawn.

"Iie, iie, that's not why I… I just… I mean…" For the first time Sagara saw his comrade at a loss for words. Okita sighed and stared down at his folded hands, then snuck a glance at his companion, who was now propped up on his elbows.

"I've… been thinking about it, this past week. I wasn't sure… if I could go through with it. It's easy enough to promise yourself to 'Aku, Soku, Zan' when you're surrounded by others… but another thing entirely to carry it contrary to how you normally would. I guess…" Okita shook his head ruefully. "I'm afraid I've confused you."

"Not at all," Sagara said easily. "I understand what you mean. It's easy for you to live by the Shinsengumi motto when you're surrounded by other Shinsengumi, but it's completely different when you're going against the norms of the Shinsengumi—fighting against the Shogun, rather than for him."

Okita nodded. "I didn't know what to do, at first… I thought all week about it—I even pushed away my normal acquaintances because I needed to be alone to think. But then…"

"You decided to come with us," Sagara finished quietly.

"Yes. It was one of the hardest decisions I've had to make in a long time," Okita murmured softly. Sagara wisely stayed silent and waited for the other man to finish.

"May I tell you something?"

"Of course," Sagara assured him, nodding in the growing daylight. Okita noticed how the light shrouded the other man, and wondered if he, too, would be allowed to bask in such holiness.

"I joined the Shinsengumi at its founding, I was there when it happened. I'd been training for years with them by then, so it was no surprise that I joined and was made Captain of the First Unit. But before that… My family's samurai, I told you that. I lived on a manor in the valleys outside of Edo. It was a ways away, though; taking a trip took us two days by foot and an hour by carriage. We didn't go very often anyways, since the manor was large and my parents were always busy. My father ran the farms, made sure everything was running smoothly and such… my mother ran the household, and both of them were always attending the Shogun and his vassals.

"I'm an only child, so I got everything. My parents spoiled me a little, I suppose, making sure that I was happy. But they also trained me well to serve the Shogun, just as they did. I won't go into the details of that; it's rather boring, and I'm sure you went through the same thing as well. Maybe your family was different—I don't know many samurai families supporting the Revolution, so I can't speak for them. But I know my family was outraged when things first began to change. I was still young, you know—well, you would know, we're the same age…" he trailed off, realizing he was rambling a bit. Sagara knew the signs of nervousness well. Whatever Okita had to tell him, he wasn't sure how Sagara would react but he wanted a favorable response.

"Go on," he urged gently, shifting a little but never letting his gaze waver from Okita's dark eyes.

"Well… Oh, I don't know where I'm going, Sagara. I just… I wanted to talk to someone, that's all." Sagara knew that "wasn't all."

"You're lying," he said quietly. "You don't become Shinsengumi for no reason, Okita. Every one of those men has a deep personal reason for being there. If it were simply loyalty, you'd be just a normal samurai defending the Shogun, not part of Kyoto's elite police force. The Shinsengumi are good, Okita, but they are the most targeted by the Ishin Shishi. Look at how many men have fallen to the Hitokiri Battousai! Trust me: men who do not want to be there aren't. It's the same with the Sekihou."

Okita looked down and sighed. "I suppose you're right…" he said, thinking of Toshizou and Saitou and Harada.

"If you don't want to tell me now, Okita, it's all right. In fact, I may not ever need to know. I trust you and your motives. I can deal with whatever's in your past that haunts you. We all have ghosts, Okita, and most of the time we're the only ones that can see them." With that, Sagara reached over and gripped Okita's shoulder in a gesture of comfort, then lay down on his bedroll.

"Chaos…" Okita whispered, so that Sagara barely heard him. He propped himself up on an elbow and twisted his torso around so he could see Okita over his shoulder. The other man was staring at the ground unflinchingly. His body, voice, and eyes seemed drained, weary, emotionless. Concerned, Sagara sat up again and moved a little closer to Okita, so that they were only an arm's length away.

"What about it?" Sagara asked breathlessly, waiting for Okita to continue.

"Kyoto has become engulfed in chaos," Okita murmured, still not looking at Sagara. Sagara nodded his assent, and, after a moment, Okita continued. "People killing each other, innocents getting caught in the middle…" he trailed off, and his fingers curled slightly into his pants, twisting the dark material.

"They came, one day… I was only thirteen, I'd just started to get really, truly good at fighting. But I'd never been tested in battle. It wasn't time for that yet, I suppose… I don't know if it was my shishiou, or my parents, or maybe even me. It was summer. I remember because it was hot, and sticky, and I'd been out working in the forest. Maybe it was even a day off for the workers. Maybe that's why there wasn't a warning."

Sagara's eyes narrowed, and he reached out to Okita. Okita caught sight of the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head slowly to meet the gesture. Sagara found his hand gently cupping Okita's face, and he felt the wet, salty streaks beneath his calloused fingers. Okita looked up at his friend, eyes glistening in the dawn light.

"They killed my parents," he whispered, and Sagara felt the cool, tiny beads of pain spill onto his fingers. He pressed ever so slightly against Okita's cheek in comfort, and let him continue.

"I came back in the afternoon… it was late, sunset. The sky was so beautiful. So many pinks and purples and reds and oranges all spread across the sky, like the goddesses had laid out their summer kimonos and the silks fell on top of each other, one after the other. I was walking back from my work in the woods when I smelled the smoke. It wasn't cooking smoke, heavy with the herbs and spices and richness of supper, calling one home to warmth and safety. It was different—thick, dark, heavy with wood and a scent I could not identify.

It was the smell of blood," he whispered, eyes shut tightly, tears flowing steadily down his face, catching themselves between Sagara's fingers as he restrained himself from pulling away in horror. "It was the smell of blood, and of pain, and of hate and chaos and fear and sorrow and mortality but most of all—most of all!—it was the smell of burning flesh."

Okita was shivering, small, thin body racked by violent spasms of concealed grief. He rocked his body back and forth, and Sagara never moved his hand. Several sobs escaped in harsh, choking sounds, and that was when Okita turned to Sagara and buried his face in his shoulder. Surprised, Sagara let him stay there, gingerly wrapping his arms around the other man's shuddering shoulders.

"By the time I got there it was over. There was nothing I could do. Nothing I could do," Okita ground out the words viciously, emphasizing them by roughly gripping Sagara's shoulders. "I ended up being one of the best swordsmen in Japan, but on that one day I couldn't do anything," he sobbed. "I don't remember what I was thinking as I walked through my ruined village, past the smoking buildings and the mangled bodies on the ground. Maybe I thought somehow my parents had escaped alive. My father was a good swordsman; he wouldn't have left himself unguarded…

When I got to the house, I must've realized it. It's foolish to think that I was naïve enough to not realize it." Okita's voice was cold, distant, dead, and he sat numbly in Sagara's loose embrace. "Everything was burned, broken… The servants were all dead, even their rooms ransacked. Of course everything of my parents' was gone. Everything valuable was gone. And why not? There was no one left to need them, no one left to care about them, no one left to own them.

I must've… I must've known," Okita's voice was pleading, begging now, asking Sagara for confirmation of his actions. "How could I not have? But then why… why did I go looking anyway? Did I need to see them? Did I need to make sure they were gone, or did I just need to pay them my final respects? I don't know. I don't know why I kept going, why I went to the second floor to my family's private rooms. I don't know why I walked into my parents' room, pushing aside the broken screens and the torn paper.

But there they were… together. Together until the very end. My father was holding my mother in his arms. He was covered in blood—he died with his sword in his right hand, just like I thought he would. My mother was naked. I didn't understand at the time… it was a few years before I understood what happened there. I don't know what killed them. Maybe it was a sword or a knife, maybe it was because a vital organ was pierced or from loss of blood, or maybe they were so afraid or so ashamed they just let it happen. Those things do that to you—fear and shame—because we're too afraid to face the aftermath. They take away our power over our future, over ourselves, over who we are and what we do. They make us into something we're not, give us stories and lives and ideas that are not ours, tell us what to think and what to do. And they almost always win… if we let them fight with their strongest weapons, if it is not those things to which we raise our swords, then there is no point in fighting at all."

Okita fell silent in Sagara's arms, leaning against him weakly. Sagara didn't know what to say. What does one say to someone who has just bared their soul to you, told you their deepest and darkest and most painful memories? Sagara knew without it being said that those memories, that anger and fear and despair, was what dictated Okita's life with the Shinsengumi. Instead of looking for the right words, he gently hugged Okita and let him continue crying.


Okita would fall into a deep sleep, and would wake with a start and an embarrassed cry. Sagara would wake too, but would find nothing embarrassing or compromising about the situation. Instead, he would gently hug the other man around the shoulders and squeeze his shoulder, then would stand and walk to his own bedroll. Okita would not watch him go, but would stare off into the now fully risen midday sun. He would know that what just passed between the two of them bound them forever as friends and confidantes, and that their relationship would be nothing like any other he was in. It was not the love he felt for Toshizou, no, but it was not the friendship he felt for Saitou and Harada. It was somewhere in between… a type of love that Okita had never been exposed to and so had never understood. One who had felt it might define it as the love between brothers.

But Okita had no siblings, and so the feeling in his chest remained unnamed, as it put down roots and twined its way through his body, filling him with a warmth and security and understanding he had not known since he came to Kyoto.