Author's Note: Thanks for giving this little fic a shot! I know its not what most people want, but I just have to get it out! Haha
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs
Between Right and Wrong .02
"I'm so happy you were able to come out on such short notice!"
Saitou Tokio was beaming across the table at her friends and her husband Hajime was rolling his eyes. It was the fourth time in two weeks that she had dragged him to a suit and tie restaurant and the last time she had lamented over such a craving, it had been the Harada family, Sanosuke and Masa that had joined them.
Shousha laughed it off. "Ah, well, we're always available, you know that."
"Oh that's not true," Tokio protested, "you've been going off to Tokyo so much lately. I never know when you're home."
With a snort, Shousha wagged her finger at her. "Tokio, my brother is getting married. Of course I'm going to be there to oversee the wedding plans."
"You mean to plan the entire affair yourself," corrected Saitou.
She smiled. "Of course. He is my brother."
Okita threw his wife a rather sour look. He had no desire to be a part of this planning, but she absolutely refused to leave him home alone, so he was forced to travel with her. He didn't mind it so much; he loved seeing his mother and sisters so frequently, and he did think the bride was lovely, but sitting through one dinner with Katsura Kogoro was difficult enough. Three in a row every few weeks was killing him.
"Does Sou have a girlfriend yet?" Tokio asked. She asked this every time she saw them, which was roughly five out of the seven days of the week.
Okita grinned, "I was able to get him to admit that Misao-chan was pretty. Maybe we'll see some movement on that front soon."
Shousha sighed, "Oh they're just like us!" she said, wiggling in her seat.
"Lord I hope not," mumbled Saitou, earning him a reprimanding swat from his wife.
Saitou's phone buzzed and he checked it discreetly under the table before sighing. Tokio looked at him in question, and when he inhaled and slipped it into his pocket, her face fell.
"I've got to go," he said, then he nodded to Okita, "you too."
Okita furrowed his brow, "I'm not on call tonight."
"Don't worry," Tokio said, placing a loving hand on Saitou's arm, "Shou and I will catch a cab."
Shousha leaned forward into her wine glass. "Or we can go with them," she offered cheekily. It would be a grand adventure for them; the two artists hardly ever got to experience real police work.
The men looked to each other. They only had one vehicle at the moment. The Okitas had driven over to the Saitou household and they had carpooled from there. If it were a single homicide, they'd be done relatively quickly. There was no reason their wives couldn't just wait in the car.
The women had taken to the backseat, two ridiculous minds putting together all sorts of scenarios they could be coming up to.
"A call girl," suggested Tokio.
"A drug dealer who stiffed the wrong guy," Shousha decided.
"It's most likely a random act of violence, ladies," Okita cut in, "a mugging gone wrong, perhaps. It happens often."
"Oh you're no fun," Tokio pouted, "what happened to when you used to scheme with us?"
But Okita was in no mood for scheming. He had been requested, but he hadn't been paged. Both Hijikata and Kondo were sticklers for policy and routine when it came to work. Why wouldn't he have record of being requested?
When they pulled up to the scene, Tokio let out a small 'oh no'.
"I hope it wasn't a student," she whispered to Shousha, who was also losing sight of the entertainment in her husband's job. They were at a high school. Soujiro's school.
They pulled up closer, finding an ambulance, three squad cars, and even Hijikata's vehicle. Forensics were there, but word hadn't yet reached the press.
Just before Saitou moved to park, Okita let out an expletive so loud and so vulgar that the women jumped in the back seat, as did Saitou, who slammed on the brakes. But Okita hadn't waited for the car to stop. He was already barreling towards the scene. Letting out a curse of his own, Saitou scanned the bodies.
"Oh fuck," he whispered, then cleared his throat, "stay in the car, ladies."
"But—"
"Stay in the car, Tokio."
Shousha, however, was trembling. Not knowing what to do, Saitou turned in his seat and grabbed her hand. It was a gesture in reassurance, but he knew her. She had seen what Okita had seen and there was little he would be able to do to stop her hysteria.
Wrenching herself free, she nearly kicked open her door and burst from the car. At the same time, he exited, and, taking a few long strides to catch her, took hold of her wrist, pulling her back.
"Go back," he told her sternly, "we'll figure it out."
"Is that Soujiro?" she asked, pushing on his chest and craning her neck, eyes wild, "oh my God is that my little boy?"
He didn't need to answer. They both knew. Seated on a bench, handcuffed and guarded, was Soujiro. His eyes were downcast and he wasn't moving. There was blood on his school uniform and when Okita stepped towards him, he flinched.
"NO!" she screamed, voice cracking. Harada Sanosuke arrived then, and Saitou charged him with the task of keeping Shousha in check. He needed to information, to find out exactly what had transpired here that would leave Soujiro under arrest. Surely he had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. He was a good kid. A little shaky like his mother, and too carefree like his father, but overall, a worthy son.
A good kid.
He located Hijikata, standing over the bloodied body of what looked like a delinquent student. The bullet wounds were the work of a perfect marksman. One between the eyes, one in the heart, another had blasted away the skull by his temple. Lastly, blood pooled around his groin and neither man had to question the shot.
"What happened?"
Hijikata didn't look up, but blinked slowly, as if the answer was obvious. "We have a homicide on our hands, inspector. We have the perpetrator in custody. There's little else to be said."
Saitou wasn't satisfied. "You honestly think Soujiro killed this kid?"
"Do you believe he didn't?"
The golden eyed wolf inhaled deeply and turned to the bench where Okita stood, ashen, and then to Shousha, desperately fighting Harada's hold, and screaming with crackling desperation, her voice rivaling any of the sirens present.
"He's not a criminal!" she cried, "he's not a killer! He's my son! My little boy!"
Each time she wailed, Soujiro grimaced. Each time, his face lit up in a twitchy smile as if he were finding some secret happy place. If he displayed a positive expression, he'd be invincible.
"There is evidence?"
Hijikata turned his steely emerald eyes up to his subordinate. "I'm afraid so. Too much of it."
Leaving the body, Hijikata made his way to his car. From a box on the hood, he lifted up a bag containing a handgun and Saitou blanched. It was Okita's. There was no mistaking it.
"We had to pry it from his hand," he said quietly. Stoic and oftentimes demonic, even Hijikata wasn't immune to the situation. Admitting Soujiro's guilt gutted him.
"And these—" he held up Okita's keys, "he stole his father's car."
"Last—" the third bag contained a kitchen knife, "—the courts will not overlook this. You and I both know the conclusions that will be drawn."
Saitou swallowed. Of course he knew the conclusions that would be drawn.
"Is there anything that might give him a chance?"
Hijikata's blank stare may have been unnerving to some, but Saitou was accustomed to it. It didn't mean good things or bad, he simply had to wait for the answer.
Reaching into the box, Hijikata pulled out another bag of evidence. "There is one thing."
Saitou accepted the bag, turning it over in his hands and furrowing his brow. He looked up, scanning the scene and his eyes came to rest on Misao. She was hunched over, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She wasn't crying, but like everyone else, she wasn't right.
"The Shinomori girl," Hijikata said quietly. "I've already spoken to her."
Shuddering inwardly, Saitou dropped the bag into the box, and rubbed his fingers together uneasily. Panties. That was their evidence that might save Soujiro.
He sighed. "A crime of passion then."
"He saved that girl."
While Saitou agreed that there was a very good chance that the only reason Soujiro had left the house tonight was to save his girlfriend, there was so much leveled against him, that detail seemed so small in comparison. His victim had been a classmate. A student. A child. And Soujiro didn't have a history of mental stability.
His mind was spinning; he stepped away, and towards Soujiro. Okita didn't look like he'd be conscious for much longer, though from shock or sickness, Saitou couldn't decipher. Shousha was still screaming.
Her grief was beyond his capacity now and she was on the ground, makeup mixing with tears as they ran in muddy streaks down her face. Her hair, done up in a sleek french knot for dinner, was sticking up in odd places, half of it hanging off her shoulder, pins scattered on the pavement around her. Her throat was raw and her voice cracked and rasped as she begged the police to release her son. Harada stood next to her. She was weakened and couldn't fight him any longer, but she still screamed on.
"Saitou-san?" It was a lower ranking officer, a uni, asking about the evidence.
"Log it," he snapped, "check with forensics for anything else."
Tokio had come out of the car, but knew better than to advance on the scene in her condition. She stood in the open door, knuckles white from gripping the metal.
"Make sure this doesn't reach the press," he added, raising his voice over the sirens.
Shinomori Aoshi had arrived, pulling his sister close to him. It was an action he spared for very few.
"Yes sir."
Shousha was still howling.
Give me back my son! He's not a killer! He's my son! He's my son!
Generally calm and rational, Saitou's irritation tipped.
"And someone get me a fucking Xanax!"
A paramedic hurried over with the tablets and he shoved them at Harada. "Make sure she takes these. Shove them down her throat if you have to."
He'd have one of these doctors prescribe her a stronger sedative. If he could at least get her to sleep, they might be able to think come morning.
Okita still hadn't said a word to his son. He stood before him, not six inches away, but he was unable to come up with a single comment. Disappointment hit him before anger did. Then regret, and self blame. Soujiro didn't speak at first either. The heavy weight of his father's silence was slicing him slowly with precision as each second ticked by.
When he saw Aoshi coming, he wasn't afraid. When Misao fell into his arms, she sobbed into his long white trench coat. Soujiro had never seen her cry.
"He saved me, Aoshi. Soujiro saved my life."
Aoshi didn't say anything, but laid his hand atop her head.
Turning back to his father, Soujiro licked his bottom lip. He tasted blood and he shivered. "Dad..."
Okita's mouth was set in a thin line that didn't suit him. "What," he started, "were you thinking?"
"Dad, she called me for help. I was scared."
Closing his eyes, Okita inhaled deeply. "Why didn't you call the police? Why didn't you call me?"
Soujiro looked to the two burly police officers standing next to him. Okita understood, but showed no sign of sympathy.
"Anything you say to me is off the record Okita Soujiro. I am your father."
Even still, Soujiro didn't want to explain himself. It didn't matter what he said here. His father was furious; there would be no reasoning with him. Not that, he supposed, he could reason himself out of murder.
"I wasn't thinking," he said quietly, "I just... seeing him touching her... he was going to kill her, dad. She was going to die."
"We have the law for a reason. The law is meant to be followed, not adjusted to our own sense of right and wrong."
Soujiro licked his lips. "I—I don't know what's right and wrong. I can't tell the difference."
"Yes," said Okita, sounding far too much like Saitou for chills not to claw their way up the boy's spine, "that much is clear."
"I thought I could handle it," he admitted, "he's been bullying me since I was seven. I thought I was immune and—"
This was news to Okita and it surprised him. How had he kept silent for nine years? Why had he kept silent for nine years? He wanted to ask, to find out what secret cross his son had been carrying. It wasn't the right place, but he asked anyway.
Soujiro repeated himself. "I thought I could handle it. I didn't want to bother you with something like a bully. I didn't want to burden you."
"You didn't want to burden me." Okita's words were slow and careful, almost disbelieving. Soujiro looked at his mother, and when she reached out for him, he straightened up, and smiled at her, silently telling her everything would be alright.
Would everything be alright? It wasn't likely. From the way his father was starting down at him, arms crossed in silent fury, he doubted that he was about to start pulling strings for him. Soujiro hadn't expected to come out of this clean, and he was willing to admit that when he had arrived at the school with a pistol in his hand, repercussions were the furthest thing from his mind. He had no thoughts of being caught or not being caught. He wasn't thinking about his father's position or his mother's sanity.
All that mattered was Misao.
"I didn't want you to get involved," he offered, "he was just a punk."
When Okita spoke next, Soujiro's smile faded. He wasn't able to use it against his father and never had to. When they were together, he was free to be exactly who he was, without worry.
"I couldn't be anymore involved than I am right now."
Biting his lip, Soujiro closed his eyes and waited.
"My gun," he started, in a deadly even tone, "has become a murder weapon. My government issued handgun, a tool I wield to protect the citizens of our city, has been used to end the life of a student. Do you have any idea what this means?"
Okita didn't wait for his son to answer.
"What do you think the courts will say? What do you think will become of my job? Of my position? They'll take this evidence and wonder why I had left it in such an accessible place, why I allowed it to fall into the hands of someone like you."
Someone like you.
His fathers words echoed in Soujiro's head and slashed at his heart. Never before had he been considered anything less than normal, dangerous, or in any other way a deviation from society. He knew that Okita was simply speaking out of anger, but the pain it brought forth caused his lips to tip up and a small laugh to come forth.
"Don't do that," Okita scolded, giving Soujiro's cheeks a couple small, yet reprimanding smacks, "people will think you're crazy."
"You already do," he replied miserably.
Okita sighed and avoided the topic, gesturing to Shousha who was now clinging to Harada's forearms and desperately trying to explain to him that Soujiro was a good boy.
"Soujiro. The day I became your father I asked one thing of you."
"To ensure mother's happiness," he whispered in reply. He knew it. He never forgot it.
Okita's face fell as he watched his wife crumble before them. "Look at her, Soujiro," he said softly, "look at what you've done to her."
Soujiro grit his teeth. What else was he supposed to have done? Let his best friend die? Let her be tortured? Raped? Body thrown at his doorstep?
His imagination went on and he began to feel an ache in his shoulders from the handcuffs. He couldn't explain himself here. He couldn't express what he wanted to say, so he'd accept it. He was going to jail and as much as that scared him, he thought perhaps it would be a much better place to sleep tonight than his house.
Saitou appeared before him, but despite his prickly nature, he seemed much calmer than his father, as if he had been caught shoplifting, not killing.
"I'm going home," said Okita, brushing past Saitou who nodded, and not saying another word to his son.
When the wolf turned his steely gaze to him, Soujiro straightened again, but didn't bother with a grin. Instead, he waited for the older man to speak first.
"Put him in a holding cell," he told the two guards, his voice a booming authority, "we'll deal with him tomorrow."
"But—"
Saitou leveled his gaze to the subordinate who was words away from protesting his orders. "He is a minor. I will deal with him in the morning."
Unable to protest, the two men hoisted Soujiro to his feet and pushed him towards their cruiser.
"Wait!"
It was Misao.
Coming out from beneath her brother's coat, she dashed forward, thrusting her arms out for the officers to stop. Without waiting for them to do so, she flung her arms around Soujiro's neck, burying her face in his shoulder. He smiled into her hair and when she pulled away, she planted two hands on his cheeks and kissed him.
Aoshi raised a curious brow.
"I won't let them keep you!" she hissed, "I'll bust you out myself if I have to."
Hand on her shoulder, Saitou eased her back and Soujiro continued his march to captivity.
"I'll keep kicking ass until you're free!" she shouted, "I won't let them keep you!"
Everyone believed her.
xxxx
At the Okita household, Shousha had exhausted herself. Dependent upon the medication she had been drowning herself in, she was passed out on her bed, dead to everything except her dreams. She had a history of drug abuse at times of loss and Tokio had taken it upon herself to make sure her friend kept within the appropriate guidelines of the prescription.
Give or take.
Okita sat at the kitchen counter with his head in his arms, and Saitou was beside him, offering up his rationale.
"Where did I go wrong?" Okita wondered, lifting his head and staring at his hands. "How did I fuck up this badly?"
He should never haven taken his gun off. He should have gone back for it once the dog was safe inside. But he hadn't. He hadn't because he had no reason to believe his son would be in his car. He hadn't because his son never showed the slightest bit of violent tendencies. He hadn't because he never considered things might go badly.
Saitou sighed, wishing he had stopped for liquor. Beer, at least. This house was completely devoid of alcohol at the request of Soujiro ten years ago.
"You didn't fuck up," he said, pulling out a cigarette and sliding it between his lips, reaching for a match, "You just aren't perfect. It's called fatherhood and I welcome you to it."
Okita watched his friend strike the match and pursed his lips. "None of your children are murderers."
Saitou shook out the flame and took a drag, turning his head to exhale. "Neither of my boys has the quick thinking it would take to save a life either."
With his oldest being only eight years old, this was a point Okita couldn't argue.
"I know that his intentions were good," he admitted, "but it was wrong. It was so wrong."
"Was it?"
Okita narrowed his eyes. "We are men of the law, Hajime. Don't try to justify his crime."
Saitou shrugged, and stood, pulling open a drawer and retrieving the small bowl he often used as an ashtray. "Sou, when your father died, what was the code we vowed to live by?"
"Justice," came Okita's resolute answer. "A swift death to evil."
Returning to his seat, Saitou held his cigarette between his fingers and gave his tired friend a once-over. When Okita said nothing, the wolf turned his gaze to the wall, where dozens of family photos were framed.
"You and I weren't cut out for the vigilante life."
Okita bristled, but Saitou cut in before he could speak.
"A swift death to evil, that is what I believe in," he said harshly. Then, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, he added quietly, "I don't care how."
Still, Okita wasn't convinced. Perhaps it wasn't so much the crime, but the fact that his own son, his pride, the joy of his entire being, had taken a life. The scared little boy that he had saved from a lifetime of solitude, had done what he, a professional, couldn't imagine doing.
If it had been a simple crime of passion, a panicked move to save his friend, then he could dismiss it as an accident and implore the courts to do the same. But how could he? Soujiro had shot that boy four times. Four perfect shots. It didn't matter which of the three fatal wounds had killed him first, his son had fired again, and again. He knew his aim was impeccable. What need would he have had to shoot a second, third, fourth time?
The truth was that Soujiro wasn't healed. He wasn't miraculously cured of his demons, and that Okita had been unable to see that nearly killed him. Or perhaps it wasn't that he hadn't seen it, but that he hadn't wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that he had become super dad. If he fooled himself into thinking that his son was just the same as everyone else, they could be happy.
What a selfish choice he had made. What a fool he had been. His own wife, an adult, battled her past every day. He had lived it beside her. If she couldn't shed it, why had he thought a child would have been changed so quickly?
"Okita."
Coming out of his self-pitying musings, Okita rubbed his face. "What."
Saitou dropped the edge in his voice, and put down his smoke. "Shinomori's sister is alive because of your son. Don't overlook that."
"Still," said Okita, sighing and lowering his head back onto the counter, "I could have taught him better."
xxxx
Author's Notes: Next chapter we'll see exactly what transpired and also, just how crazy Shousha is, which is always a good time. I really plan to tip the scale with her here.
Writing angry!Okita was a real challenge since we never actually see him angry, and I don't think I've reached that point with him in any of my other fics.
Tell me your thoughts! :D