Author's Note: I got nothin'

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 .04

For three quarters of an hour Soujiro watched his mother sobbing and wailing on the cold tile of the foyer and he couldn't find it in himself to move. For the first time in ten years, he began to doubt the sanity of his parents. He had committed a most grievous sin and instead of blaming him, they were blaming each other.

This wasn't to say either of them were particularly happy with what he'd done. The memory of his mother's pleading at the crime scene wouldn't be quickly forgotten, and Okita had been particularly cold with him, but neither of them had punished him directly.

It didn't make sense to him. Wouldn't it just have been easier for his father to pull the belt from his trousers and give him a solid thrashing? Shousha's fingernails were long and sharp. Certainly she could have slapped him for his wrongdoings. Surely she would have made him bleed.

Instead, she was hurting herself.

He padded down the stairs, quietly, and cautious not to frighten her. Crouching before her, he put a gentle hand on her shoulder and she quieted. The vice grip she had on her own arms subsided and Soujiro grimaced at the ten tiny blood spots on her sleeves from where her fingernails had broken her flesh.

"Come on," he whispered, helping her up and into the living room. Trembling, she lowered herself to the couch and he flicked a nervous smile at her.

"I'll get you a new shirt," he offered, "and some bandages."

Shousha nodded, her face devoid of expression, eyes swollen and cheeks stained with the shiny trail left behind by her tears.

With a careful exhale, Soujiro took the stairs two at a time, making his way down the hall to his parents' bedroom. He stepped into his mother's oversized walk-in closet and pulled a simple black tank top from its hanger, rummaged through the bathroom for some first aid, and returned to the living room.

When she had donned her new shirt, he took her white blouse, holding it in the air for a moment and determining whether or not he could remove the stains himself, but then tossed it onto the stairs, deciding it would be easier for everyone if he just took it to the cleaners.

Shousha scooted over a bit, allowing for her son to sit beside her with his trademark smile of reassurance, and tend to her self inflicted wounds.

"This is stupid," she hissed as he dabbed bacitracin cream around the injury. He didn't look up; if he did, she would lose it. "I should be taking care of you."

"I like taking care of you," he pressed, wrapping a layer of gauze around her arm, "I owe you everything."

"I'm a horrible mother," she confessed, her jaw wobbling and distorting the words that she spoke. Soujiro ripped off a piece of medical tape, praying he'd be able to secure the first bandage before she gave into her emotions.

"You're not," he whispered, "you're the best mother I could have asked for."

She looked up, her mouth desperate to tilt up into a smile of appreciation. Instead, it betrayed her, and as she glanced at her son, she saw only Okita.

"He's not coming back, Soujiro," she whimpered, tears spilling out from her eyes as she did her best to keep her composure, "h-he, he hates us!"

He gathered her into his arms as she collapsed, howling into his shoulder, professing her love for him, and justifying her actions.

I couldn't let you stay there!

You're my little boy!

I love you, Soujiro.

"He'll come back," he told her softly, rubbing her back and concentrating on keeping his own breathing calm, "he won't leave us forever. He's not like that."

But the truth was, Soujiro didn't know if his father was or wasn't like that. He'd never killed someone before, and Shousha had never blackmailed the police to cover it up.

When he finally got her to calm down a bit, she laid down and he turned on the television to an old black and white film. It was a slow moving film, with lazy dialogue and peaceful scenery. He didn't know what it was called off the top of his head, but it chronicled the life of a simple samurai and the soft romance between him and his neighbor's daughter.

In short, it would put her to sleep immediately.

"Everything will be okay," he said as he wrapped her other arm, "I promise."

"I should be taking care of you," she sighed again, curling her knees to her chest.

Soujiro smiled, a genuine smile this time, and as he finished his handiwork, laid a light blanket over her. "But I am just fine."

With a kiss to her forehead, he stole away to the second floor. She'd sleep for a few hours, exhausted from the day, but when she woke up, the real disaster would begin. Leaning over he balcony, he observed her for a moment, then glanced towards the door at the end of the hall, her bedroom. He wondered. He pondered.

He prayed she'd be merciful.

Slipping into his bathroom, he snagged his anti-anxiety medication and made a dash back into his parents' room, entering their bathroom and throwing open the door to the medicine cabinet. Two glaring orange bottles met his vision and he pulled them out, twisting the caps off all three and pouring the contents down the sink.

He hated them, even his own, even when he needed them. Especially when he needed them.

'We don't do drugs' she had told him that day, ten years ago, when they had come to rescue him from that horrible orphanage. And she didn't, not at that time.

But then Okita had gotten sick. He was dying, and something inside of Shousha had snapped. Or perhaps it wasn't that she snapped, so much as went back to what she knew. Soujiro never meant to eavesdrop, but when his uncle Hajime had come to the house one night, he had screamed at her.

You will not turn to this! he had roared, throwing all the pills down the disposal, I will not watch you destroy yourself again!

It was then that Soujiro realized secrets had been kept from him. He also learned that his mother had very little regard for authority, even when it was for her own good, and as her husband's health crumbled, so did her own desire to live.

It was selfish of her, incredibly and unforgivably so, and Soujiro knew that was why she was hurting herself now. She was filled with regret. Any other child might have felt alone with one parent in intensive care and the other, submerged in manufactured catatonia, but he didn't. He wasn't angry with her. Concerned, but not angry. They had saved him, they wanted him. How he could be anything less than grateful?

Even though he couldn't find it in himself to resent his mother, he loathed the pills. He hated coming home and finding her unconscious at the kitchen counter, by her easel, or, once, in her wedding dress.

They did that to her. They made her feel nothing, as if feeling nothing could help.

But it did, he knew it did. Not feeling, turning off human emotion had gotten him through his first six years of life.

Then, this father had survived, recovered, and returned home. His mother smiled again.

Everything was right.

But now it wasn't, and now he was to blame. He couldn't let her become that monster again. He couldn't be responsible.

Taking a permanent marker from the bedside table, he scribbled some notes across the empty bottles, placed them in the cabinet, and closed the door, smiling into the mirror.

Something caught his eye then, something rather unassuming. The laundry hamper was full, so full it didn't close properly. At the top, his father's dress shirt from the night before.

His smile flickered on and off as he reached for the garment, pulling it from the pile and clutching it to his chest.

"He's coming home," he whispered to himself, "he'll come back."

He nibbled on his bottom lip, noticing it was trembling, and staggered out of the bathroom. Emotion washed over him, a familiar feeling, the same emotion he had felt, staring at the monitors in the hospital room, wondering if every second he spent with his beloved father would be his last.

Stumbling across the room, Soujiro ran to the bed, throwing himself onto Okita's side. He gripped the shirt, inhaling the familiar scent. He wondered if he'd ever smell it again. He curled up, hugging it tightly.

Then, he cried.

xxxx

When Okita stepped into his mother's fashionable townhouse located in the heart of Tokyo's elite, he felt a certain comfort wash over him. If anyone could give him advice on how to deal with this situation, it was his mother. A wiser woman he'd never known.

He barely had time to remove his shoes when she came flying out of the dining room, calling out his name. He hadn't called her, how had she known? Had Shousha called her?

At sixty-two, Okita Hana moved with remarkable swiftness. When she saw him, she stopped, sighed, and pressed a hand to her heart, as if relieved that he had made it to her alive.

"Mother," he greeted her softly, stepping up into the house to give her a kiss.

She welcomed him graciously, taking his hand and leading him to her sitting area. Her hands, always busy sewing or arranging flowers, or practicing traditional calligraphy, betrayed her age in a way her face never would. She was aging gracefully, but he knew (even though she would never admit it) much of the youth she still carried in her face could be attributed to a wee bit of plastic surgery.

"I have distressing news," he began as he sat down in an armchair, clasping his hands together, "Soujiro. . ."

"I know," she told him with a small smile, setting out some chocolates to put him at ease. She picked one up with all the grace of the gently bred lady that she was. "Isami called me this afternoon."

Okita sat up straight, and cocked his head. Kondo had called her?

Sensing his confusion, she raised an arched brow, "He was a very good friend of your father's. He's concerned for you and for your family. Is that so unusual?"

He sat back. Perhaps not then.

"Are Shousha and Soujiro visiting with Kogoro, then?"

Okita bristled inwardly, hating that even his mother was on friendly terms with the man. Could he have nothing that didn't involve him?

"No," he replied shortly, "I came alone."

"Ah," she sighed, "then I suppose Hajime has the pleasure of keeping them company."

Shock, regret, and panic began to bubble in Okita expression and Hana reached for another chocolate, carefully.

"Soushi. You don't mean to tell me you've left them. . .alone."

"I was angry."

"Soushi!"

He scratched underneath his ponytail and then gave it a nervous tug. "I was angry," he confessed again, "furious. I needed to get out. Just... to get away from it, from, I don't know, from them, from her."

Hana let out a ragged breath and nodded, posing no judgement, and no reminder of what happened the last time he walked out on Shousha.

"They are in no position to be alone," she told him gently, "though I have far more faith in Soujiro than I do in Shousha."

Okita's mouth turned up a bit at that. "He's probably taking good care of her."

Still, he would call Saitou later.

"I couldn't stay there in that house, Mother. She blackmailed Kondo-sama. She twisted the law to suit her own desires."

"Darling that is the world we live in. Money and status can change any person's past, present, or future."

"It shouldn't be that way," he ground out, "I live my life every single day upholding the very laws that my own wife has tainted."

He was breathing heavily; he was putting too much stress on himself, so Hana cleared her throat, and excused herself to make some tea. When she returned, she handed him a cup and gave his cheek a loving stroke.

"Soushi," she whispered, her eyes reflecting compassion and sorrow, "you were born into privilege, your father and I have done everything we could for you and yet you have been met with nothing but grief. Life has been incredibly unkind to you and it breaks my heart every single day."

Okita sighed and smiled. "Mother please, my troubles are no fault of yours."

"I know," she conceded, "but you see, that is a mother's heart."

He tilted his head in confusion, but before he could open his mouth to preach his independence and capabilities, she cut him off.

"When Shousha used her station to pull strings and bring Soujiro home, she wasn't acting out of petulance or selfishness, darling, but out of love. Love for her child."

Stunned, Okita froze, holding his tea. Was his mother siding with Shousha? He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. The law was the law. Was he the only one who saw that?

"I don't expect you to see that, Soushi. You're too much like your father for your own good sometimes."

"Father would not have approved."

"You're right," she acquiesced, glancing to the side table where her wedding portrait stood framed, "he would have gone about it quite differently, in fact. As I imagine you would have."

"I don't know what I would have done. I hadn't figured it out yet."

Hana chuckled. "I know."

Okita cast her a doubtful glance. "You weren't there, Mother, you don't know."

With a knowing grin, she placed her now empty cup on a small quilted coaster and, clasping her hands in her lap, she sat back.

"You would have kept him imprisoned at the station. You would have pressed for a speedy trial. You would have gone out of your way to find the very best defense attorney in the city, in the country if you had to. You would have watched Soujiro squirm as he learned a very hard lesson in the type of choices he should and shouldn't make. But after all was said and done, he would be acquitted of the charges. You would lecture him, and then you would have coached him through his healing."

Okita blinked.

"Yes. Yes I suppose that's exactly what I would have done."

"Like I said," the elderly woman quipped, "you're too much like your father."

"And what about you?" he asked, "what would you have done?"

Hana looked at him directly, "I would have done exactly as Shousha did. Cut out the middle man. I could never bear to see any of my children in prison, no matter the crime."

Okita thought on this for a moment, then slumped down in a childish petulance. "You weren't there," he repeated, "You've never been through it, so you don't really know."

It shouldn't have, but this amused his mother. He was upset and wasn't quite sure how to deal with the strength of his emotions. He had acted impulsively, thought to seek out answers, and now that the conversation wasn't going his way, he was recoiling. It was time to put him back in his place.

"And do you believe that you have never disappointed me? You were a teenager once too."

"I never killed anyone," he snapped, "and I never covered anything up."

"Really." Her voice was quiet, deadly so, and she picked another chocolate from the box, raising her brow, this time not out of curiosity, but authority.

"So then you have never made a choice with disastrous consequences, not once. Never."

It was as if she had slapped him. His throat was tight and he grit his teeth, grasping for composure. "I spent a great deal of time blaming myself for what happened then," he said harshly, his voice low, "and not a day goes by that I don't regret it."

"Then you should understand what your son will be going through."

Okita swallowed.

"This isn't about you, Soushi. No matter how angry you are, no matter what you think should have happened, Soujiro can't make it alone. You shut everyone out when you were his age, you holed up your heart and you let blame consume you. You nearly let it destroy everything you had worked for."

"It wasn't just me. Shousha—"

She held up her hand. "Shousha will always crumble in adversity. It is her nature. But you are good to her. You are good for her. And Soujiro needs to see that as well. You are an excellent father, Soushi. Don't let yourself think otherwise."

He inhaled sharply and it quivered. His eyes watered and he shut it down. "I'm scared," he admitted, "I'm terrified that this is the beginning, that he'll want more. That, that this will be his life and then I'll lose her because she can't handle losing. . .anything else. "I just. . ." he sighed, and then inhaled again, "I don't know what to do."

Hana rose and planted a gentle kiss on her son's forehead. "Stay here for a few days," she invited, "calm down and forgive yourself so when you return home, you'll be able to forgive them."

"I'll call Hajime," he said, more to himself than anyone else, "I'll make sure they're alright."

She smiled at him. "They'll be alright. You all will."

If only he could believe that.

xxxx

After regaining his composure, Soujiro fed the dog, careful not to wake his mother, then retired to his room where he lay on his bed with a book he couldn't concentrate on. He had tried working on the car that sat unfinished at his desk, but it reminded him too much of his father, so he couldn't even bear to look at it.

He supposed he needn't study for the upcoming test either, as he was now supposed to be ill and thus, couldn't attend school. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep, nor could he focus on anything.

He was anxious, more anxious than he'd ever been in his life, and for the first time, he wondered what it might be like to follow in his mother's footsteps. To take so many chemicals to his system that he died, even just for a few hours. Lifeless in his bed, without dreams, without worry.

But he couldn't. He had done away with the pills and he was more glad for that with each passing minute. He'd never felt this sort of desperation before and it scared him. He was alone, he was confused, and he didn't know how to handle himself, what he had done, or who he was becoming.

There was a light 'thud' at his window then, barely audible. Then another, and another. Rising, he opened the window and looked down. Shining eyes and a bright smile greeted him and Misao held up a box of fruit snacks.

"I was wondering how many of these I'd have to go through before I got your attention."

Soujiro smiled. "You shouldn't be here, little ninja."

"Yeah," she said, closing the box and chucking it upwards, "I know."

He caught the box, happy that it was full, save the one package she had used to seek permission to see him, and leaned out the window, waiting for her to climb up close enough for him to take her hand and pull her inside. It was a method they had used since they were small. Initially she had run to him during the summer, when lightning storms plagued the city, and she desired a distraction from the thunder that boomed overhead.

Now that they were older, and their hormones ran wild, she found he way into his bedroom more frequently. The days of blanket forts became nights cuddled up to a movie, and the play fights melted into urgent kisses, the air electric with the possibility of being discovered.

Tonight, however, she had no intention of being rebellious or sultry. She had no anticipation of his hands in her hair or his lips at her pulse. She only wanted to be with him. She needed to be in his presence, to know he was alright, and to hear him tell her she would be too.

"So," she grunted, tossing her purse over the ledge, then using her elbows to climb into the room, "I heard mama came to the rescue today. Kudos to her; that takes balls."

Soujiro let out a breathy laugh. "That's my mom. She always gets her way."

Misao flopped onto the bed, careful not to hurt Ta-chan, who was sleeping against the wall. "Yeah well, if she didn't, I'd be talking to you through bars."

How could she be so flippant, he wondered. Wasn't she the least bit upset?

"Are you alright?"

It came out quickly, too quickly for him to think whether or not it was a proper question to ask her, but he couldn't help it. He'd put her through something unimaginable. As tough as she was, no one could come through that unscathed.

As his question reached her ears, her smile faded, and the feeble walls she had built up on her journey down the street collapsed. She didn't have to hide here. She could convince her brother and her grandfather that she was simply 'shaken up', but she never had to lie to Soujiro.

"I didn't sleep last night," she told him, swallowing, "I kept seeing his face, I could feel his hands on me, I could. . .you killed him, Sou."

"I know." His voice was dull and unsteady, "I'm sorry."

"Can I stay here tonight?" she asked, "with you?"

His blue eyes widened at the request. "Misao you can't just stay here. Your brother will be furious. My mother will—" as he considered it, he imagined his mother might actually be quite pleased, "—you'll get in trouble."

With a determined sort of pout, She rolled off the bed, braid swinging at the force of her movement. She marched over to the window where he still stood, and stopped before him, hands on her hips.

"I'm not leaving, Okita Soujiro. I won't leave until I feel okay. I won't leave until I know that you're okay."

Raising his hand slightly, he smiled down at her, tracing the outline of her jaw, chuckling. "I'm not okay." It was the first time he'd said it out loud. "I feel completely. . .lost."

"Let's talk about it," she said, spinning from his touch and tearing off the sheets and blankets from his bed. Before he had a chance to protest, she began to work on the makings of a fort, like they had as children. This one was a bit bigger, to better fit them, and when he glanced at the box of snacks and her unusually stuffed bag, he realized she intended to stay from the beginning.

They climbed into their fort and they both lay on their sides, heads propped up in their palms.

"So, what's the matter?" she asked, trying to keep cheer in her voice. It always worked when she was upset and he acted happy. "Mama's not OD-ing again, is she?"

"No, I took them away. I don't think she noticed yet."

This time, Misao's eyes grew. "You took them away? Sou, she's going to be pissed!"

"I don't care," he said resolutely, "I won't let her become a monster again. Not because of me."

She nodded, "what about your pops? Aoshi said they made him take a leave of absence. The whole station is talking about this, yanno."

Soujiro's smile turned upward, but his eyes betrayed him. "He left."

Misao sat up. "He left? Whaddaymean he left?"

He shrugged. "He's gone. I don't know where he went. We came home, and they got into a fight about it and he just. . .walked out."

". . .fuck."

He didn't even care that she cursed.

"Yeah," he agreed. "fuck."

"But," she brushed it off, "he'll come back, right? I mean, he's just gonna take some time to chill out and wrap his head around it."

"See, that's the thing. I don't know if he'll come back. I can't tell. He was so angry."

"He's coming back," she decided, "he's not an asshole."

They sat in silence for a few moments, digesting the news, and after a while, Soujiro relaxed his arm, and laid on the floor, wishing he could find it in him to sleep.

"I don't want you to have nightmares, Misao," he told her. "I don't want you to hurt because of me."

This earned him a shove. "Shut up, dummy," she scolded, "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. Stop it with the regretful hero crap, okay Sou? Just be. . .at least a little bit happy that we're here tonight."

He watched her as she flipped onto her back and crossed her arms behind her head, using them as a pillow.

"Besides," she continued, lowering her voice, "any nightmares I have stop when I'm with you."

She was admitting weakness to him, something she rarely ever did and he was thankful for it. It proved that he wasn't the only one of them who couldn't always hold it together. He doubted she knew how good she was for him, assuming that he knew her well enough to brush it off and wait for her mood to rebound.

"Thank you," he said quietly, sitting up and crossing his legs, like he used to do as a child.

"For what?" she asked with a bitter chuckle, "you're the one who saved me."

His smile was slight as he answered, almost inaudibly, "for being my someone."

Misao paused, frozen in her place, then she turned, and sat up slowly. He hadn't mentioned her being his 'someone' since she had held his hand, his frozen, ice cold hands, in his father's hospital room.

I wouldn't make it through this without you, he had said. My mother was right. Everyone needs a someone.

He had been so desperate then, so unsure of himself, uncomfortable in his own skin, and it broke her heart. The Soujiro she knew was always happy, full of well wishes and good advice. He was confident, a role model.

Yet here he was again, at the bottom of the world as it crumbled on top of him, not knowing whether his family would stay together, and this time, with the blood of another person on his hands. Still, he was trying to be there for her.

Scooting forward, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him forward, guiding his head to rest against her chest. He didn't resist, instead, his arms fell around her waist, hugging her back. He concentrated on her heartbeat, and the way her fingernails grazed the back of his neck as she stroked his hair. He thought about the way she smelled like the tea she served to her customers and her brother who meditated at the shrine behind the house. He thought about her breathing, the way her chest rose and fell in a slow, but steady rhythm that might just put him to sleep.

He focused on her voice that had lost its edge, just for him as she whispered to him.

"I love you, Soujiro."

xxxx

It was late when Shousha finally managed to roll off the couch from her nap. Her arms stung, but she shrugged it off. The lights were off throughout the house and she squinted to look at the clock on the stove as she walked past the kitchen. 11:28. Soujiro would be asleep by now, she imagined, so she made her way up the stairs alone.

It wasn't three minutes into consciousness did her thoughts return to the fight she had with her husband. The image of him pulling himself free of her, and the sound of the front door as it slammed in her face all flashed through her mind and her breath started to come in short spurts. Her heart raced and as the deepest and most pessimistic part of her soul came forth, visions of a courtroom, of paperwork, of divorce nearly crippled her.

She shouldn't have been thinking of it; she didn't know what Soushi was thinking, as he refused to speak to her, but in the panicked state she was occupying, she didn't see how they would make it through. She couldn't shake the way he had looked at her. He was repulsed by her actions. He hated her.

She couldn't feel like this anymore. It was too much.

Stumbling into her bedroom, she dashed into the bathroom and practically tore off the door to the medicine cabinet as she opened it. Amidst the bandages, the headache medicine, cough syrup, and Okita's antibiotics, were her pills. Soujiro's were among them as well and though she didn't recall sneaking his stash in here, she didn't care.

She ripped them from the shelf, but froze. They were empty.

"No."

She popped the top off her anti-anxiety. Nothing. Anti-depressants. Empty. Soujiro's prescription. Gone.

On her way through the hall, she had heard Misao's voice in her son's room. He hadn't taken them, he had disposed of them.

She swallowed and gripped the sink, panting, and gasping for breath.

"Oh Soujiro," she moaned, eyes wild as she shoved her fingers into her hair, "Why? Why would you do this to me!"

She tore from the bathroom, yanking open the drawer to her bedside table, but to no avail. The medication she kept there was what she had brought to the station earlier that day. It had been confiscated.

"Why?" she asked, trembling, "Soujiro why?"

She could barely dial the phone that she managed to pull off the receiver. Her hands shook and her lips quivered. She could hear the blood coursing through her veins. Her throat tightened and when the other line picked up, her hands couldn't even hold the phone steady at her ear.

"Little sister," came the soft, crooning voice of Katsura Kogoro, "how are you, darling?"

"I need help," she pleaded, "please, please help me."

Shousha could almost see him straighten on his couch, removing his reading glasses, brow furrowed in concern for her.

"What's wrong?"

She turned, glancing into the bathroom where she had scattered the three bottles over the counter. There was writing on them she hadn't noticed before. Soujiro's script. Wandering back in, she picked up the first. Her anti-anxiety pills.

"I need—"

You don't need these, it read.

The next bottle was her son's.

Or these.

"Shousha?" Katsura's voice was raised, "Shousha are you alright?"

She was shaking as she reached for the anti-depressants, almost terrified at what it would say. She turned the bottle in her hand, and when she read what he had written, her eyes welled up and she hated herself.

Hug me instead.

"Shousha!"

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she choked back a sob and lifted the phone back to her ear.

"I'm sorry," she said weakly, smiling a wobbly smile, "never mind."

Katsura wasn't convinced. "What's wrong? Should I come over?"

"No," she said, breathing deeply, clutching the bright orange container, "no it's alright. I thought I needed something but. . ."

She could hear him sigh. She heard the delicate voice of his finaceé inquiring about her wellbeing. It was late; she had probably woken her.

When he spoke again, his voice was even and calm, always the contrast to her irrational and emotional outbursts.

"Shou if you need something, please tell me."

"No," she said, sitting down on her bed, "no, it's fine. I'll call you later on this week."

"If you are certain." his voice was doubtful, but she was sure he'd learn the truth through the grapevine eventually.

"Yeah," she sighed, "I'll be okay."

When she hung up the phone, she stared at the bottle in her hands, and even though the urge, the desire, the raw hunger to spiral into oblivion was still there, it didn't hurt, and it didn't control her. She would go downstairs and make herself a cup of hot chocolate. She would bid her son goodnight and tell Misao that yes, she was welcome to stay the night. She would climb into bed and channel surf for a bit, until she streamed her favourite movies. Then, she would fall asleep and when she woke, it would be a new day. It would be a better day.

And she would be a better mother.

xxxx

Author's Note: Whenever I picture Okita being angry, it's always for good reason, but he's also so very childlike that his desire to be just may morph into the need to always be right, so I had fun with mama Okita here :3

I think the next chapter will be the last and I will apologize. I did intend for this to initially be a Sou/Misao fic, buttttt... it ended up being more of a family issues fic than anything else. Whoops.

We will get to see more of Aoshi in the next chapter though. :O I'm exited for it.