Author's Note: Soujiro is out of his mind. Shousha is out of her mind. I'm out of my mind.

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 .03

When Soujiro had pulled out of the driveway, his mind was little more than flashes of memory and worst case scenarios. He thought his thoughts were in order; they seemed to be as he pulled up to the school, entirely focused on playing prince charming to his damsel in distress.

It wasn't likely he would need to use the gun he had donned on the drive here. He could use it to scare the kidnapper. His confidence behind a weapon alone would be enough to make a man reconsider. He was remarkably like his father in that way, something he prided himself in.

That kid could be a killer, they joked at the gun club. A government assassin.

Okita had tossed them all dissatisfied glances and with a lightly reprimanding tone had assured them his son would make an excellent police officer, should he choose that path.

But now that deadly aura he possessed was something Soujiro was relying on.

It was silent when he stepped out of the car and he was thankful for that. He listened, ears alert, and eyes adjusting to the darkness, trying to pick up any sign of Misao or the person who had taken her. When he approached the gate, a figure moved in the shadows and he froze not out of fear, but defense.

"Look who's here."

Soujiro inhaled sharply. It was Keisuke and sure enough, trapped but struggling with her neck fastened in the crook of his arm, was Misao.

"Let her go," Soujio said evenly, "your quarrel is with me."

"Your quarrel is with me?" Keisuke sneered, laughing, "drop the yuppie speak, Soujiro and come at me like a man."

"You don't want that," he said, the corners of his mouth turning up at his warning. He turned to Misao, "are you alright?"

She nodded and gave him a thumbs up. He reciprocated the motion and when a streetlight popped on, he saw Keisuke's face illuminated in the orange glow. It was a disaster. His nose was bloodied and broken, his left eye swollen shut, and when he spit, there was blood in his saliva. She had put up a good fight, but it was unfortunate for her that Keisuke was still stronger.

No, he wasn't stronger. He was reckless and he was ruthless. Misao studied martial arts, where discipline and respect were rooted in her core. Soujiro rather doubted the thug before him could even define discipline and respect. Misao was graceful and artful in combat.

Keisuke had pulled a gun on her.

Coupled with the fact that the little ninja had only been training a few short years, realistically, she hadn't stood a chance against the boy who had been fighting to survive his entire life.

"Come at me," he repeated, "or else I'll make good on my threat."

"What threat?" Soujiro asked. He'd been threatened so many times he hadn't had the chance to catalogue them all properly.

With a sneer, Keisuke's free hand helped itself to Misao's chest, giving each one of her breasts a squeeze before he clucked his tongue.

"Disappointing."

In a flash, Soujiro whipped out his pistol, cocking it, and aiming directly at Keisuke's forehead. The panic that had shot through Misao's eyes at the perverted touch would remain with him until he died. He couldn't let anything happen to her. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. She was too important to him, too innocent of terror. He wanted her to stay pure forever.

She gnashed her teeth, trying to bite at the arm that kept her firmly in place.

"Let. Her. Go." Soujiro's voice had dropped an octave, his stance ready, prepared to make one shot. His eyes were cold, his jaw was set.

He had taken the bait.

"I knew it," Keisuke scoffed, spitting out some more blood, "I knew you'd snap. Daddy won't love you anymore if you pull that trigger, you know."

"Leave my father out of this," he snapped.

"You're crazy."

"I'm not crazy," Soujiro said with confidence, "I came here to save my best friend. You're the lunatic who baited me by kidnapping her. You're the one who is so obsessed with me."

Triggered by his classmate's assumption, Keisuke reached underneath Misao's skirt and yanked down her panties, punching her in the stomach as she screamed.

"Shut up, you little bitch!" he barked, tossing the underwear away from them.

Soujiro was frozen. This time, it was fear that gripped him. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. He watched the big, dirty and calloused hand snake around her thighs and upwards towards a place she protected above all else and he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger.

Shoot him! His brain screamed. Stop him! Kill him!

But he couldn't.

Keisuke stopped, flashing a bloodied grin. "What's wrong Sou? Dick ain't big enough to pull the trigger? Son of a cop, ain'tcha?"

"S-stop it," he whispered, pleading, "leave her alone."

Where was his courage? His anger, his passion? Why couldn't he summon any of the bravado that had fueled his journey over here? Why wouldn't his feet move? He could at least beat Keisuke with his bare hands, or even use the gun as a blunt object. Why couldn't he just move?

Misao was still trying to catch her breath from the blow that she had received, and stared at him with urgently pleading eyes. Save me, they said. He wanted to. More than anything he wanted to save her. He needed to save her because she had saved him.

"I don't think you want me to let her go," Keisuke said with a sardonic laugh, "I think you're enjoying this. You're a sick fucker, you know that?" he shrugged, sliding his hand up her shirt, "but you know, they say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"Shut up."

"You're just like your old man. He whored his women out too, didn't he? Your mother was a diseased little whore, and your girlfriend is going to be just like her. Since you're not man enough—" he flipped up the back of Misao's skirt. "—I'll go first."

He grinned.

"I think you might enjoy this more than me."

The small hitch in her breath mixed with the raw terror in her eyes broke Soujiro's trance and in one fluid motion, he lowered his aim and pulled the trigger. He watched the bullet sail through the air, marveled at his expertise as it missed her leg by a mere breath, and embedded itself into Keisuke's groin.

He howled, screamed, and collapsed to the ground. Misao hit the pavement, scraping her arms and knees, but crawled away swiftly, allowing Soujiro to pull her into his arms.

"I'm sorry," he breathed into her hair, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," she assured him, "I'm not hurt. I'm not hurt."

He held her as tightly as he held the pistol in his grip, shaking and muttering unending apologies. He should have been faster. He should have been stronger, more responsive. Instead, fear had taken him and he had nearly been too late.

Amidst the agonizing cry of his peer, a gunshot rang out, one that hadn't come from him, and Misao jumped, letting out a scream. He pulled her back, hurriedly looking over her, and when he saw that the bullet had only grazed her arm, he nearly sighed in relief. He could tend to that easily.

"Let's go," he whispered, helping her up, "I'll take care of you and we'll have my dad deal with his guy later."

"Yeah," she agreed, standing on shaking legs, "yeah, let's go."

But Keisuke wasn't through.

"FUCK YOU, SETA!" he screamed, "FUCK YOU!"

Soujiro stopped dead in his tracks. Misao stiffened beside him, feeling the tension rippling through his body.

"I'm not a Seta anymore," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"I know," she said, "You're an Okita, and a damn good one."

Her words went unheard and when he turned, she closed her eyes for a single second, sending up a prayer to whomever might be listening. She turned then, and took a few steps forward, closing her hand around his wrist. They were standing next to the screaming Keisuke. He was curled up with his dirty hands between his legs, shaking, sweating, and cursing them both to their graves.

"I'm not a Seta," Soujiro said, his mouth flicking up and down in an unsteady rhythm of smiling. "I'm an Okita."

"Your mother isn't even an Okita," Keisuke spat, "she's Yamata trash and she always will be. Stop clinging to something you can't have."

"I'm not a Seta."

Breathing heavily, Keisuke looked up at him. "A Seta," he ground out, "until the day you die."

Bang!

With the sharp crack of the gun, his head fell back, smashing against the pavement, a bullet hole between his eyes.

Misao stopped breathing.

"I'm not a Seta," Soujiro repeated, shooting him again, directly in the heart.

"Stop it," she pleaded, tugging on his left arm, "Look at him. He's dead, Sou."

Ignoring her, he crouched down, inadvertently pulling her down with him, and placed the weapon directly at Keisuke's pulseless temple. Misao squeezed her eyes closed, gripping his strong arm with both of her hands and shoved her head into his school jacket. She didn't want to see it. She didn't want to hear it.

But she felt it.

Blood splattered across her arm and her bare legs and she whimpered. She could hear the rattling of Soujiro's breath through his lungs as he remained crouched there, unmoving. She heard his final pained whisper.

"I'm not a Seta."

And then she heard the sirens.

xxxx

Okita hadn't slept.

He had received a phone call from Hijikata early in the morning and with it came both condolences for the circumstances his family was under at the present time and a request that he take a leave of absence while details were sorted out. It didn't sit well with him, but he knew it was for his own protection, so he took it without a fuss.

When he finally managed to pull himself away from the kitchen counter, he made his way up to his bedroom. He was the head of the household. He had to be strong for the frail souls he had vowed to protect. He had failed with his son, but he would not fail with his wife.

She wasn't in bed, which was a sign that she was at least conscious somewhere.

He hoped.

He found her in Soujiro's room, curled up on his bed, clutching a Buzz Lightyear plush to her chest. It had been his favourite when he was younger.

Okita inhaled quietly and swallowed, lowering himself onto the bed and softly stroking her hair.

"Are you alright?"

She opened her eyes, red and swollen, but didn't look at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but her eyes welled up with tears, and she began to sob, squeezing the toy for comfort.

"It's always us," she squeaked, hiccuping and coughing, "why is it always us? Why do terrible things always happen to us?"

He wished he knew. He wished he could disagree. He wished many things, but wishing wouldn't do either of them any good.

"I'm staying home for a couple of weeks," he offered, wiping her cheeks of the tears that continued to roll down, "you don't have to be alone."

She sat up, scooting back and resting against the cerulean wall and threw him a watery smile. "You aren't in trouble, are you?"

He joined her, linking their hands, and resting his head on her shoulder. He was so exhausted.

"I don't know," he told her honestly, "Hijikata-san didn't say much, and I didn't ask."

He let out a small cough and he could feel her tense beneath him. Giving her hand a small squeeze, he assured her that he was fine.

He wouldn't relapse. Not here. Not now.

"We weren't meant to be parents," she said resolutely, "I'm certain of it."

"Don't say that," he chastised, "we're going to get through this together, just like we always have."

She was crying again, and despite their current predicament, her presence was soothing to him and he felt his eyes finally growing heavy.

"I just want to see him again," she whispered shakily, "I just want to talk to him."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Shou," he murmured, moving himself under their arms and resting his head on her thighs. He would sleep here. Finally.

Shousha looked down at her husband and watched him fall asleep. He deserved it. He was always standing strong for her, and for Soujiro. He took on everyone's burdens, sacrificing all of himself in the process. His cheeks were drawn again and she felt her heart break. Seeing him wither before her eyes had been more than she had been able to handle and she knew that she wouldn't be able to endure it again.

Slipping out from beneath him, she covered him in several blankets and as she knelt before him, she kissed his knuckles.

"I'm going to bring him home, Soushi," she promised, a near silent whisper.

Grabbing her purse from its place on the counter, she stole from the house and headed to the station. Unlike her son the night before, she knew she wasn't fit to drive. It was a miracle she arrived unscathed.

Standing at the entrance of the police station, she was shaking and her heart was pounding. Her throat was swelling, telling her she couldn't do it. She couldn't walk through those doors.

Yes, yes she could.

Using her knee as support, she dug through her bag and pulled out an orange bottle of pills. Throwing one back, she nodded. Just one. She just needed one.

To calm her down.

Generally received with warm smiles and high fives, Shousha was met only with sympathetic stares and dropped jaws when she walked into the homicide department. When Saitou saw her, he turned away. He knew why she was here and he wasn't about to stop her. Harada pulled her into an embrace.

"I'm sorry, little miss," he said, his brotherly frame enveloping her tiny body, "Masa and I are rootin' for him, kay?"

She nodded. "I've got to see Kondo-sama."

While she continued her walk, Shinomori Aoshi watched her from his desk. Though he was relatively new on the force, only about two years into homicide, he knew her as well as the rest of the men in the room and he knew that what was about to transpire would be ugly.

He wanted to thank her. He had taken his sister to the hospital after Soujiro had been arrested and the exam revealed that she had not been damaged in any way other than a few bruises she had obtained in her resistance and the small bullet scrape. Aoshi wasn't the sort of man to express his emotions outwardly, but the gratitude he was feeling towards Soujiro at the moment was difficult to measure.

He knew he wasn't the most attentive brother, but that didn't make the love for his sister any less real. That someone had risked their life, reputation, and future to protect her deserved his respect, even if it would come from the other side of prison bars.

The door to Kondo's office closed and he waited. They all waited.

"Kondo-sama."

Chief Inspector Kondo Isami looked up from the paperwork he had been pretending to work on. Once he had caught word that Shousha was in the building, he had been counting the seconds that passed before she would appear before him.

"I know why you're here, Shousha," he sighed, lifting himself up from his chair and closing the blinds. No one else needed to witness the tantrum that was about to unfold.

Emotion began to well up in her throat again and Shousha knew she wasn't ready for this. But she was here and she had to do it.

"I need my boy," she whimpered, "I need him to be home with me."

Mouth set in a firm line, Kondo stared ahead at her. He liked her. He was exceedingly fond of her, but she had demons that were eating her alive and she wasn't strong enough to fight them. It was the demons that he hated.

"Are you sober, Shousha?"

She sniffed and raised her chin defiantly. "For now."

He studied her for a moment, testing her to decipher whether or not she was lying. Finally, he reached out his arm, making a beckoning gesture with his hand.

"Your bag."

Shousha took a step back, challenging him, but decided she'd get nowhere if she didn't cooperate, so with a huff, she tossed the handbag onto his desk. Kondo pulled it towards him, unzipping the main pouch and sifting around for a few seconds before pulling out a prescription bottle.

"Xanax," he noted. Then he pulled out another and added, "Zoloft."

"There's nothing else of interest to you in there," she said, crossing her arms. He didn't respond, but read the labels.

"These aren't prescribed to you."

She shrugged, "I could be interested in worse things."

"These are from Tokyo," he told her, his normally paternal and worn, yet smiling face set in a deep, disappointed frown. "I see your brother is still feeding your destructive habits."

Shousha set her jaw. "They're for anxiety and depression. Hardly detrimental to my health."

He understood why she relied on the pills. She did have an anxiety disorder and according to her medical records, she always had. The medication for anxiety set her into a deep depression and she needed something for balance. For a woman in her position: wealthy, abused, and bored, he understood that there was a level of drug abuse that was socially acceptable. Fashionable, even.

"If prescribed to you," he said forcefully. "If taken as advised by your doctor."

"This isn't about me," she snapped, "I'm here for Soujiro, and I'm not leaving until you release him."

Kondo raised a bushy brow and gestured to the pills on his desk. "Even if I could release him, I don't think you are fit to take him home."

Insult flashed through her features and she bristled. He hated to be so harsh with her, but there were few ways to get through to her when she was in such a panicked state.

"Are you telling me that you don't find me fit to be a mother?"

"You lied on your adoption application, Shousha," he said calmly, "you lied."

"I didn't lie," she said, standing up straight, "they asked me if I had ever been convicted of a felony. I've never been arrested."

"Then you lied to him."

These were underhanded comments, below the belt blows, but he doubted even Okita would disapprove of them. She was an uncontrollable creature when she was frightened and if she wasn't properly tranquilized, she would destroy everything in her path.

"I didn't," she whispered, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, "I never lied to my son."

"He asked you if you took drugs—"

"I didn't!" she screamed, "I was three years clean when we took him home!" She had her hands wrapped around herself and he watched as she made rapid scratching movements at her side. She eyed the bottles. She needed medication.

"Then what happened to you?" he challenged, his deep voice coming above hers in a roar. "Tell me why you sit around in a catatonic state when things don't go your way!"

"STOP IT!"

With her hands over her ears, she collapsed to the ground, screaming. She wasn't a bad person. She wasn't a drug addict. She just didn't know how to deal with... life.

Kneeling beside her, Kondo put a strong arm around her shoulder and offered her a tissue. "Go home, Shousha. The best thing you can do for Soujiro is to go home."

"I'm not leaving, Kondo," she breathed, wiping her eyes and sitting back in a chair by the window, "I won't leave this room without my son."

The chief stood. "This is a matter of the law, Shousha. I will allow the law to deal with it."

"You are the law," she taunted.

"I am a servant of the law," he murmured, settling back at his desk, "nothing more."

"So you won't help me."

"There is nothing to help, you know that. Soujiro committed a crime. I won't show favourtism."

For a few minutes, Shousha sat there with her knuckles against her lips, contemplating his words. He thought she might concede. Perhaps she had taken the proper amount of medication and she was settling into rationality.

Ha.

"You are aware of my family's position in this country," she said lowly, her brown eyes set firmly on his face. "You know how powerful we are."

Returning her gaze, he folded his hands together. "I have confidence you are not trying to blackmail me, Shousha." His tone was set in a deadly warning, but she hardly flinched. Instead, she stood and with two palms firmly on the wooden desktop, she glowered down at him.

"I could destroy everything you've ever worked for," she hissed, "I could have your entire family begging on the streets."

Just as unfazed by her threats as she was by his, he pulled an envelope towards him and slid out some paperwork. "Stop talking, Shousha. You sound like your mother."

In one vicious sweep of her arm, all the contents of the desk crashed to the floor, along with the two pill bottles that rolled along the carpet, stopping at the door. They both looked at them, and when Shousha made no move to retrieve them, he made no scathing comment.

"What if he didn't do it?" she asked, "What if he's innocent?"

There was a hysteria in her voice that Kondo didn't like. "Do not do this to me, Shousha. Do not lose yourself in my office."

"Have you even asked him? Did anyone even ask Soujiro what happened?"

There would be no reasoning with her at this point, so he remained silent, clicking open his pen to attempt the paperwork that he knew he couldn't concentrate on. When he didn't rise to her questions, her shoulders fell.

"Please," she whispered.

It was a plea that nearly broke his heart.

"You don't understand," she went on, still staring at the medication that wasn't hers, "I need him."

The anger and the tension that had so thickly filled the room dissipated and Kondo rubbed his face with his hands. He suddenly felt very old, and too tired to be in this line of work anymore. The range of emotions that had been displayed over this twenty minute period was more vast than anything he had ever experienced before.

She was shaking, and her arms were hugging her torso, her fingernails back to their strange scratching at her blouse.

"I can't lose him," she breathed, her voice trembling as she clawed herself for composure. "I lost my parents' love. I lost a baby. I lost my ability to conceive."

"I know," came the paternal whisper of the man behind the desk.

"Last year, I watched my husband, the only person who had been by my side my entire life, the only person who has ever loved me, fall to his deathbed." As the tears leaked from her eyes and she shuddered as her sobs wracked her shoulders, her voice cracked and squeaked, "Even my dog is dying."

Kondo waited with sympathetic eyes. She wasn't a horrible person, she really wasn't. It wasn't her fault that her dice always landed the opposite of what she called. He didn't find it fair; there were few people that did, but there was a distinct difference between right and wrong, and it was his job to uphold it.

Wasn't it?

"I... I can't lose Soujiro," she whimpered, "I won't survive."

"Shousha.."

She turned, inhaling deeply and picking up one of the trays she had knocked over.

"I know I wasn't the mother he needed me to be when Soushi was sick. I know how selfish I was. But I can be the mother he needs now. He's just a boy, Kondo-sama. He's a hero."

Finally, he put down the pen. "What would you have me do?"

"Destroy the evidence," she suggested, "lose it, I don't care. I'll give you anything, everything you desire for as long as you live."

"There are witnesses, Shousha, you know this," he said, his voice a desperate plea to make her understand.

"I can take care of them," she said, "or Saitou Yuusuke. He jumps at the chance to be of use to my family, to be considered in our good graces."

It was a fact that Kondo couldn't deny. Saitou Yuusuke, a lowly, but wealthy syndicate thug, Saitou Hajime's father, was little more than a dog drooling before the juicy bone that was the Yamata family. He thrived on climbing the social ladder and appearing bigger, and more important than he really was.

"Does the boy have family?"

Kondo was surprised at her earnest, perhaps even compassionate question, and shook his head. "His father's been imprisoned for about eight years now, not that he was ever around when he was on the streets."

"Then I will fund the funeral. It will be proper, and he will have wanted for nothing."

"Someone will want justice," the chief reminded her, "even the lowest of the low have friends."

Shousha shrugged. "Another job for Yuusuke. I imagine his enemies are men your department would love to see behind bars."

Though he wasn't entirely fond of the concept of a back door deal, the image of Okita's face if he should come home to find his wife dead at her own hand was even less appealing. From what he had heard, she'd made several attempts on her life before. When Okita spoke of it, his face became twitchy and nervous, much like that of his son. It never sat right with Kondo.

He picked up the office phone.

"I want you in therapy," he said gruffly, "all three of you."

She nodded and with a heavy sigh, he ordered Soujiro to be brought up from the holding cell he had spent the night in. He set a hefty bail and slipped a figure to Shousha, his budget for the funeral arrangements.

"I'll have hospital paperwork set up for him," he added as she clutched his arms, sputtering thanks through her tears, "keep him at home until the year ends. I don't want to see him enter that school ever again."

He'd have to work hard over the break between school years in order to catch up from the facade of illness, but once he was moved to a new school, he'd have nothing to worry about.

She left the office then and Kondo sat at his desk with a sigh, wondering just when he had become so crooked. His eyes fell then to a photo frame on the floor, one that had toppled over during Shousha's hurricane of emotion and as he picked it up, he saw his two teenage daughters smiling up at him. They were at the beach.

They were good girls, obedient, creative and filled with joy. What would he have done if one of them had been in Misao's shoes last night? Or Soujiro's?

Setting the photo back in its place, he decided that perhaps he wasn't so crooked after all. He was just a parent and he would have done exactly what Shousha had done.

Outside, Shousha was met with curious stares, and the averted eyes of those who were curious, but terrified of her. She hoisted her bag up onto her shoulder, and even though the pills weighed almost nothing, it felt so empty without the medication she toted around day in and day out.

When the door opened and Soujiro stepped in, free of handcuffs, everyone went back to work.

She cried out to him, running over and pulling him close, stroking his hair and crying into his shoulder. In response, he smiled and rubbed her back.

"It's alright," he whispered, "we're going home, okay?"

The drive home was spent in contented silence. Soujiro, happy to be free of prison and the thought of a trial, and Shousha relieved that she had managed to save what was going to be left of her life. They stepped into the house, and even though Soujiro wanted nothing more than to sleep, he took his mother's purse, and put it away on the counter with a grin.

"Where's dad?"

"Sleeping," she replied with a smile, "he was exhausted."

Except Okita wasn't asleep. He had been, for the duration of her trip, but when he heard the car in the drive, he had sat upright. Seeing that Shousha wasn't home, he made his way downstairs. She had gone to see Soujiro. He knew she had. When he reached the landing and saw both his wife and his son in the kitchen, he felt the anger from the previous night rising.

Shousha saw him first and her eyes lit up with joy. "Soushi! I rescued him!"

She was so proud of what she had accomplished and Okita hated himself for resenting her for it. For a moment, he ignored her and with crossed arms, looked towards his son.

Soujiro knew he was still angry. He could sense it. "Dad," he started, "I know... I know I let you down, but—"

"Go upstairs."

The command was simple, sort, and filled with more venom than either of them knew he was capable of. He turned his gaze back to his wife who began to shrink back.

"Aren't you happy?" she asked, her words small and deflated when she saw that he clearly wasn't.

Soujiro backed up, his footsteps silent on the tile before they connected with the decorative rug at the bottom of the stairs. He didn't want to disobey his father, but he didn't want to leave his mentally fragile mother alone either. He knew she wouldn't be hit or screamed at, but he also knew how he would find her after their argument was over.

"What did you do, Shousha? How did you get him here?"

She hated the way he was looking at her. He was disgusted. "Soushi, he doesn't belong there. He's not a criminal!"

"What did you do?"

"Kondo-sama set bail," she replied weakly.

Okita sighed, tugging the elastic out of his hair and snapping it onto his wrist. "After what type of theatrics?" he demanded, shaking out his hair in preparation to return it to its typical tail, mussed by his nap, "screaming? A panic attack? Were you even sober?"

Sousha's eyes flashed and she dug her nails into the flesh of her own arm. "Why does everyone ask me that!" she cried, reaching for her bag and tossing it at him. He made no effort to catch it and the contents spilled before his feet.

"Kondo took them," she hissed, "I had one. One."

He believed her. She was panicky and angry right now. When she was under the influence, she flip flopped between lethargic and giddy, joking at things that weren't funny, and showing no interest in anything that would produce a reaction from someone sane.

"Okay," he said, giving his hair a quick pull to tighten it, "calm down."

"Kondo-sama set bail," she repeated, "it doesn't matter what strings I had to pull or who I had to involve."

From his position crouched on the floor returning her things to her bag, Okita looked up. "Who did you involve?"

"Yuusuke," she muttered.

Any of the calm and understanding he may have gained in the last few minutes crumbled when he heard the name.

"Saitou Yuusuke, Shousha?! You've brought the syndicate into this?" He had expected her to go visit Soujiro. He had expected her to come home a disaster. He had been ready to be her rock.

The fact that she had gone behind his back and entered into a deal with criminals in order to set free a criminal was beyond his comprehension.

She gave him a hopeful smile, "He's our son, Sou. I did what I had to."

"No," he said, brushing past her and pulling his keys off the hook he hung them from, "I won't be a part of this."

"Where are you going?" she asked, gripping his arm, her eyes wild and terrified as she pulled him away from the door.

"I'm going to Tokyo," he said icily, "I need to think."

"No!" she cried, tugging him back, "Don't leave me! Oh God please don't leave me!"

With a firm hand, he pried her fingers from his arm. "I'll say hello to Kogoro for you."

"No!" she screamed, but she fell to her knees when she grasped for his body and was met with nothing but spring air and a slammed front door.

At the top of the stairs, Soujiro watched the display and clutched his knees to his chest, as his mother's desperate begging echoed throughout their home's vaulted ceilings. His face lit up in a hauntingly defensive smile, and as his cheeks began to feel sore at the motion, he felt his entire life collapse around him.

xxxx

Author's Note: I can say with confidence that this is the first of all my pieces ever that makes me genuinely uncomfortable as I write it. I think that's awesome. It makes me feel like all my other fics are filled with mushy happy idyllic scenarios (most of you will disagree, I know) so having something so raw as this has set me in a very happy place indeed.

Angry!Okita really makes me want to cry. I've given up on Misao because I just can't grasp her in an AU scenario, so in future chapter(s?) please excuse her. Shousha, however, is a beast I am exceedingly happy with. She's falling fast off a cliff into a pit of spikes, a risk, I know. Considering her background though, I don't see it as an unrealistic turn of events.

Enough out of me! Tell me your deepest thoughts! :O