"In The Wolves' Den" by Omasu Oniwaban by The Archivist

Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Disclaimer: I don’t own Rurouni Kenshin characters or plot.

Okita allowed about three seconds to pass between scratching politely at the shoji screen door to let Saitoh know he was there, and pulling the screen open to pop his head in.

When Saitoh saw the look of surprised speculation as Okita took in the fact that he was still in his uniform with the girl draped across his lap, asleep, he decided then and there that he needed to get a lock for his door.

One glare from Saitoh stopped Okita from making any comment. He just stood in the doorway grinning like a lunatic while Saitoh carefully transferred the girl from his lap to the futon. She murmured a little in her sleep, but settled down when he pulled his hands carefully out from under her. As she nestled her face more comfortably against the blue futon, he caught sight of dried blood under her chin. She hadn’t cleaned it, and perhaps wasn’t even aware that it was there. But he’d seen it, and for some reason, it put him in a bad mood.

Okita simply backed out of the doorway, still grinning sunnily as Saitoh came out of his room glaring. Pulling the shoji screen shut behind him, Saitoh jerked his head towards the far end of the temple and led Okita down the porch, lengthening his stride so Okita had to skip to keep up. When he reached the end of the porch, Saitoh crossed his arms, sticking his hands in sleeves and turned to confront the younger captain.

“Did you get anything out of her?” asked Okita. The boy was no longer smiling with his mouth, but his eyes were dancing in a way that told Saitoh he was still amused by the scene in Saitoh’s room.

“Some. Serizawa attacked her mother and burned her home.”

Saitoh was pleased to see that his terse statement made the last of Okita’s merriment flee. He went on to give what few details he’d gleaned from the sobbing girl. Serious now, Okita nodded at intervals, waiting until Saitoh was done. Then he spoke, slowly.

“So, she’s after revenge?”

“No, theft.” Saitoh’s eyes narrowed slightly, remembering the girl’s earlier outburst, and how shocked she’d been that she let a statement slip. “She said something about getting back an item that belonged to her.”

“Serizawa stole a lot of things from a lot of people.” Okita muttered, eyes cast downward. Serizawa’s name still cast a pall on those Shinsengumi members who knew his deeds and his fate. However, Okita couldn’t seem to remain sad for long. He lifted his face and asked the taller captain, “So what’s her name?”

Saitoh was silent for a moment, then muttered a harsh oath under his breath. He knew he was forgetting something. When the girl started talking, he’d just let her words flow out as they came, only prompting her with soft questions whenever she seemed about to stop and give in to the grief that dogged her. It had been such a novel experience, protecting one single individual, holding her literally in his arms, instead of just protecting the massive population of Kyoto as a whole, that he’d forgotten to ask the most vital question of all.

With the large number of Serizawa’s victims, just knowing that the man had attacked the girl’s mother and burned her home, wouldn’t make it any easier to find out her name. Saitoh doubted that the Shinsengumi knew half the things Serizawa had done when he’d used the Shinsengumi name as a shield for his extracurricular activities.

Okita hid a smile. Saitoh saw it and glowered. “Make sure she doesn’t escape. I’m going to take a bath.” He stomped to the edge of the porch and dropped to the ground, suddenly anxious to wash the smell of last night’s smoke and blood off his body. He wished he could wash the problem of the girl away as easily.

o-o-o

Not long ago she’d felt safe and warm. She woke alone on top of the futon in the cold morning air. Saitoh hadn’t covered her. Saitoh had…

Sitting up quickly, she glanced wildly about the room, her gaze stopping at the far wall, on the very spot where (unless she’d dreamt it) she’d poured out her heart and the worst memory of her life to her enemy.

An enemy who had cradled her in his arms and allowed her to cry all over him. She felt herself blushing furiously, and covered her face with her hands. What exactly had she said?

Where was Saitoh? Perhaps he’d tell her. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to understand her words through all her sobbing. She lowered her hands from her face in hope, then slumped her shoulders dispiritedly as her memory came flooding back.

He’d asked questions of her in that calm, measured voice of his, and she’d answered. She remembered how his throat rumbled, his words vibrating against her forehead, which had lain against the crook of his shoulder and neck. She remembered which questions he’d asked too.

He hadn’t asked her name.

What? She ran her memory back over all the questions and realized it was true. While he’d definitely taken advantage of her talkative state, he hadn’t asked the one question that would ruin her and her family’s good name. Such restraint was incredible. She could hardly believe it, yet it was true. He was a Shinsengumi, one of the Wolves of Mibu. Wasn’t he supposed to be ruthless?

She had to find him, to talk to him. Crawling over to the shoji screen, she pulled it open a few inches.

“Ah, you’re awake at last!”

Okita, the Shinsengumi captain, was sitting in seza position at the edge of the porch outside Saitoh’s room. He was dressed in the distinctive blue and white haori coat and dark hakama trousers the Shinsengumi wore as their uniform. His sword lay on the porch parallel to his body next to his side. The sun fell at an angle under the porch and illuminated his face. The smile he turned on her was almost as blinding as its rays.

She stared at him in silence for a moment. How could anyone be so chipper at this hour of the morning? How on earth did his fellow Shinsengumi stand it? She preferred to start her day calmly and quietly, not with this hyperactive cheerfulness.

“Good morning.” She said at last.

Okita’s hand dropped toward his sword and she instinctively tensed up. Not seeming to notice her reaction, Okita reached over the sword and snagged a scrap of cloth lying next to the sword. He lifted it and held it out to her.

“Here,” he said, leaning forward a bit closer so she wouldn’t have to move so far out of the doorway to reach it. “You dropped this before.”

Hesitantly, her hand reached out and grasped the edge of the cloth trailing from his fingers. It was her hair ribbon.

She took it in her hand and stared at it, her eyes suddenly blurring with tears. She swallowed them back.

“Thank you.” She muttered, blinking hard.

“Am I forgiven then?” asked Okita hopefully.

Forcing her mouth into a smile, she willed her tears away. “Yes. I forgive you. You can’t help what you are, I suppose.” She looked down at the material in her hand. Her fingers clenched the ribbon. It had been a gift from her mother. She’d been wearing it the day her mother died. “Any more than I can help what I am.” She whispered softly.

“And that is…?” Okita was still leaning forward. He’d heard her last remark.

She lifted her head up and smiled, genuinely this time. “I’m not going to make it that easy for you.” So, she really hadn’t told Saitoh her name. If she had, Okita wouldn’t be fishing for it now. She glanced past him. “Where is Saitoh-san?”

She glanced back and noticed Okita studying her gently. “You like him don’t you?” he asked, smiling.

Blushing, she straightened her spine. “Of course not!”

Okita’s smile widened. She hurriedly began to pull her hair back, and attempt to tie it with the ribbon, but the tangled mass refused to obey.

“Here.” Okita rose up on his knees and reached into his sleeve to pull out a comb. Instead of giving it to her, however, he walked around on his knees and settled behind her.

The boy then proceeded to gently comb out the tangles in her hair. She blinked in confusion and prepared to wince, but Okita held her hair firmly with one hand so it wouldn’t pull on her scalp as he teased out the snarls with the comb in his other hand. He tied her hair back with the ribbon, and continued to brush out the ponytail.

“How do you know how to…?” she began.

Okita laughed. “I have a sister at home.”

“So that village of yours wasn’t a lie, was it?” Okita had mentioned his sister with a mixture of awe and admiration when he’d told her stories about his family.

“No, sometimes I wish my sister was though – she’s a very scary woman!” Okita said in a laughing voice. He bent his head over her hair to concentrate on a tangle, and she laughed with him.

It was pleasant sitting in the sun allowing someone else to brush her hair. The floorboards vibrated beneath her as the porch reacted to heavy footsteps making their way closer. Okita’s hands faltered on her hair as a shadow fell over her.

She looked up and saw Saitoh glaring down at her.

o-o-o

Saitoh returned from his bath to find Okita sitting on the porch outside of his room with his hands wrapped in the girl’s hair.

Grabbing the girl by the arm, he hauled her to her feet, dragged her around Okita, and shoved her into his room. The last image he had before shoving the shoji screen closed was of Okita, comb still in his hand, staring at Saitoh with his mouth in an ‘O’ of astonishment.

He fought to gather his emotions as he stared at the shoji screen before turning around to face her. What was wrong with him? He returned from the bathhouse down the street to find Okita making her laugh and he’d felt…proprietary? Well, she was his prisoner after all, not Okita’s. This had gone on long enough. The woman was ruining his peace of mind. He’d get the rest of the information he needed from her to make his report, then he’d personally escort her home, and deliver her to her grandfather.

Then he’d indulge himself by delivering to that grandfather a blistering lecture about keeping women at home where they’d be safe and protected. Not that it had done her mother any good. Remembering that contradiction only served to make him angrier.

He whirled around to face her. “Talk.” He snarled at her.

She’d landed on the futon right where he’d aimed her when he pushed her through the doorway.

The girl lifted her chin. “No.”

Saitoh crossed his arms, and remembered Okita mentioning the girl’s preoccupation with her family’s honor.

“Do you have any idea what will happen to your reputation if it becomes known that you spent two nights alone in a compound full of men?” Saitoh was quite pleased with this tactic. Women all wanted to get married. “Talk now so you can go home and get a husband before anyone finds out that you were here.” That ought to get to her.

The girl bit her lip, stricken, and lowered her head. Saitoh’s heart soared in triumph, until he heard her next words.

“I’ll never marry.” She said softly.

“What did you say?” asked Saitoh incredulously. Not get married? What sort of a woman didn’t want to get married?

“I can’t get married. I’m…marred.”

Saitoh’s breath caught in his throat. She didn’t mean…She couldn’t mean that…? If Serizawa had touched her, Saitoh resolved to march down to the cemetery, find Serizawa’s funeral urn, spit in it, then break it to tiny pieces and stomp all over the ashes before laying a curse his grandmother had taught him on Serizawa’s soul. He forced his voice to go low and calm, the way it had the night before, and kept all trace of what he was feeling out of it. “What do you mean?”

Head still down, the girl raised her left hand, and grasped the sleeve covering her right hand. Slowly, she pulled the fabric back toward her armpit, baring her right arm. Then she bent her elbow and raised her right arm so the underside of her forearm was tilted toward him. A broad swath of mottled scar tissue ran across her arm from the tip of the elbow in a band extending about four inches up the arm, terminating right before the bluish veins of her lower wrist.

“There was a support beam that fell on me during the fire. It was burning, and it pinned me to the floor. No man would want a woman who is scarred.” She told him sadly.

Saitoh stared at her in frank astonishment. Was she serious? He leaned down a bit and caught a glimpse of her face. He saw from the shame on her expression and her downcast eyes that she actually believed that nonsense.

“Hmph!” he snorted loudly, allowing his contempt for such foolishness to show in his voice.

It worked, the girl’s head shot up and she stared at him astonishment.

“Call that a scar?” Saitoh sneered at her arm. “I’ll show you scars.” He turned his back to her and raised his hands to his gi top, yanking it down over his shoulders to show her his back. He’d seen it before, in a mirror. He knew full well the number of white bands criss-crossing in layers across his back. “THESE are scars.” he growled.

There wasn’t a sound from the girl. Curious, looked over his shoulder and saw her staring wide-eyed with shock, lips parted in a gasp. Then her arm lowered slowly and her hand reached out hesitantly, as if she wanted to touch his scars to be sure that they were real.

The thought of her fingertips touching his bare back set some interesting and inappropriate thoughts scurrying through his mind. Stamping down on those thoughts furiously, he yanked his top back up over his shoulders and rounded on her, ready to blast her with more words, but she beat him to it.

“Who did that to you?”

Was that…anger in her voice? Saitoh shook off the thought, and answered. “A corrupt Kyoto magistrate. They thought I had some information on the yakuza. That was their excuse anyway. They really just wanted to embarrass bureau chief Kondo by connecting me with the yakuza.” His lip curled in a sneer at the memory.

“You didn’t tell them anything, did you?”

“No.” Saitoh answered, looking at her.

The girl gazed up at him, eyes gleaming with…no, could that be…admiration?

She gestured shyly to the one decoration in the room, his ‘Aku Soku Zan’ wall scroll. “I knew it. I saw that and I just knew you were an honorable man.” As Saitoh watched, flabbergasted, she straightened her spine and pulled her sleeve back down. “I too shall be honorable and protect my family name, as you protected the honor of the Shinsengumi.”

Saitoh felt like beating his head against the wall, but he was made of sterner stuff than that. He wasn’t about to allow a little setback like that distract him. He would try again.

“What about marriage?” he countered. “That puny little scar of yours won’t stop some man from wanting to marry you.”

Now why did that thought make him want to go hunt down and kill the hypothetical prospective bridegroom?

The girl looked at the floor again. “That’s not my only scar.” She confided softly. “The beam fell diagonally across me. My arm kept it off my neck, but it also lay across my stomach and down my side.” She laid her left arm across her torso to show him the path the beam had scored into her, gripping the top of her gi with her fingertips.

She blushed. “I, er, can’t show you like you showed me.”

It was at this incredibly inopportune moment that Okita poked his head in the door, those quick knowing eyes of his going from the blushing girl, her hand tangled in the neckline of her gi, to Saitoh, who was hideously aware of the disheveled neckline of his own hastily yanked up gi.

“Saitoh-san. I thought you should know. Kondo and Hijikata have returned.

END CHAPTER FOUR

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