Tin's Of Love And Honor

Part Six: Points of No Return

This is a Rurouni Kenshin-inspired fanfic done entirely for entertainment purposes only. Standard disclaimers apply.

   Okina's hand trembled as his eyes skimmed over the characters neatly printed on the fine parchment. Hara watched him impassively as he stood in front of the old man, his hands clasped behind his back.
   "You are sure about this?" Okina asked abruptly, shifting his gaze over to Hara.
   Hara inclined his head. "Yes, Okina-sama. It is time."
    Okina carefully folded the piece of paper and placed it inside his robe. "But surely there are other ways--" he began.
   Hara cut him off. "There are. But my father was very specific about this. Before he died, he told me that you will follow through with the contract you made with him."
   Okina looked away. "It was a long time ago," he murmured.
   Hara didn't respond. Okina turned to him and regarded him narrowly. "I signed that agreement with your father--it's true, I've never denied it-- but you must know that circumstances have rendered me unable to follow through with the conditions associated with it."
   "That is not my problem," Hara said smoothly.
   "As you say," Okina retorted. "But then I'm certain we could work out a more satisfactory agreement between the two of us."
   "That's true," Hara nodded and smoothed his cheek absently. Okina relaxed ever so slightly.
nbsp; "But you did not sign that contract alone," Hara continued, his lips curving in amusement when he saw Okina's reaction.
   "I--I--" Okina stuttered, his face pale.
   "So Okina-sama," Hara murmured, his gaze never leaving the other man. "The contract still holds."
   Okina swallowed visibly, at a loss for words. Reaching out, he placed a shaky hand on Hara's shoulder, "Hara-san, be reasonable about this. As I've mentioned earlier, there are other ways. You only have to ask. I could--"
  nbsp;Hara stepped back as he gently removed Okina's hand from his shoulder. "I am my father's son, Okina-sama," he said coolly. "It is my duty to obey him."
   "And if I refuse to do as you ask--" Okina countered.
   Hara shook his head and laughed lightly, startling the old man. He reached inside the pocket of his suit and took out a cigar. He lit it carefully, cupping his hands around the tip to prevent the flame from going out. With an audible sigh of satisfaction, he brought the cigar to his mouth and inhaled deeply with his eyes closed.
   "Hara-san--" Okina began angrily.
   Hara exhaled slowly and opened his eyes, watching the smoke filter upwards to the ceiling. "There is the matter of honor," he said indifferently.
   Okina reacted as if he'd been punched. He turned away from Hara and rubbed his temples tiredly. "Yes," he answered in a dull voice. "Honor."
   "You are the leader of the Oniwabanshuu," Hara murmured, still gazing at the ceiling. "You know the rules, the code which every man should follow." He paused and took another puff. "To do otherwise would be to invite ruin and scandal on your part. Would you risk that? Would you risk the reputation of the Oniwabanshuu and your personal status just because you willingly choose to break your solemn oath to a friend who helped you in your time of need?"
   "As I said, it was a long time ago," Okina muttered. He began to pace to and fro the room.
   "Time but strengthens a man's resoluteness, not lessens it," Hara responded enigmatically. "Think about the consequences which you would face--"
   Okina stopped his restless pacing abruptly. "Are you threatening me?" he snapped, his eyes gleaming dangerously. "Because if you are--"
   "Of course not, Okina-sama," Hara said suavely. "I have seen for myself what the Oniwabanshuu can do when provoked. I would not dream of threatening you. But you have also witnessed what could happen should this afternoon's events occur again."
   Okina stared at him, "Are you saying--"
   Hara waved his hand negligently. "I can only repeat that I am bound to my father's will. I have my family's honor to consider and I would never compromise that," a hard edge crept into his voice. Suddenly he smiled expansively at Okina who was plainly uncomfortable with the other's mood swings. "Come now, Okina-sama. Please do not be stubborn about this. Besides you yourself are not concerned with my main purpose. I understand your reasons. But your friend--"
   "Hiro is not in Japan," Okina said shortly.
   "But he already effectively gave his consent when he signed the contract along with you," Hara countered softly.
   Okina sighed deeply in frustation. 'It was inevitable, perhaps, that it should come to this,' he thought as he glanced at Hara. 'Hiro, my friend, there is nothing I can do. I know you wanted more for her but...I'm sorry.'
   "Well?"
   "All right," Okina said coldly.
   "Excellent," Hara widened his smile.
   "But I ask you to delay discussions with me on this matter until the day after tomorrow," Okina said. "I have to send word to Hiro that--"
   "I have already done that."
   Okina glared at him, "You what?!"
   "Time is of the essence, Okina-sama," Hara responded, unfazed by the other's consternation. "Besides, letting him know about this was but a basic courtesy on my part. Whether he agrees or not is already beyond me."
   "But--but you don't understand," Okina exclaimed in desperation. "You have to consider what this would do to him. And to the girl. Some more time--"
   "There is no more time," Hara said calmly. "But I shall follow your wishes and come back here the day after tomorrow. We'll work out the details then. I'm sorry but that's the most leeway I can give you." He bowed formally to Okina, cigar still held in one hand. "I must go." He turned to leave.
   At the door, he stopped and looked back at the still stupefied Okina. "Let me be the one to ask questions now, Okina-sama. Is she--" he hesitated "--the dark-haired one?"
   "Huh?" Okina stared at him, wondering what on earth he was playing at now.
   "The dark haired girl. Is she the one named Sayuri?" Hara asked quietly.
   Okina shook his head. "No. That girl was not Sayuri."
   "Ah," Hara murmured reflectively. "I see."
   The door suddenly slid open. Okon stood in the hallway, a tea tray held in her hands. She eyed Hara suspiciously before saying to Okina, "Your tea, Okina-sama."
   "Until the day after tomorrow, then," Hara nodded at Okina, a hint of mockery in his actions. He bowed to the startled Okon and then left, sliding the door shut quietly behind him.
   Okina stood in the middle of the room in a meditative pose, his head bowed in deep thought. He looked tense and unhappy. Okon wondered about what had transpired between him and Hara. "Okina-sama?" she called out softly.
   Okina turned to her tiredly. "Okon..."
   "Yes?"
   "Where is Sayuri?"
   Okon frowned slightly at the question. "She is with Aoshi-sama."
   A painful expression flashed on Okina's face. If he could avoid the coming scene, he would. But there was no other way... He sighed deeply. "Please bring her to me," he requested softly.
   Okon was confused. She opened her mouth to ask why Okina wanted to talk to Sayuri but Okina's countenance did not invite questions. She changed her mind and nodded instead. "Hai, Okina-sama." She placed the tea tray on a nearby table and left the room silently.
   Okina clasped his hands in front of his face. And now came the hard part. He waited.

   Misao winced as Omasu gently wrapped a cloth bandage around her stinging shoulder. Omasu glanced at her worriedly but Misao smiled at her in reassurance though her blue eyes betrayed obvious pain. With a sigh, Omasu bent down to her task. Misao had always healed rapidly and she had a high tolerance for pain and discomfort. But Omasu wasn't worried about physical injuries at this point. She was more troubled about emotional wounds and Misao, Omasu sighed inwardly, certainly showed signs of the above. She was hiding it well, trying to give off the impression that all that she was nursing was superficial hurt. But Omasu sensed that this time the hurt went deeper than that, to a place where not even the most expert medical care could touch it. At some point, the threshold to pain had been crossed and Omasu wondered with a pang if Misao would ever recover. Not even comfort and understanding could provide solace when offered by the wrong people, however dear. Omasu secured the bandage with a final tug, wishing all the while that sorrow could just as easily be soothed.
   Misao flexed her arm experimentally. It felt stiff but the soreness had gone down. "Thanks, Omasu," she said softly to the older woman.
   Omasu nodded and forced a smile. "Would you like something hot?" she queried. "Maybe you should rest first."
   Misao shook her head. She wasn't hurt. Really. She had endured much more than a simple cut to the shoulder and she had survived, hadn't she? Misao tried to ignore the hollow feeling inside her heart which told her that the reason why she couldn't care less about the wound on her shoulder wasn't because of some extraordinary strength or sheer physical endurance on her part. Her soul carried a much heavier burden, after all. Senses were dulled when one is bodily hurt but they were unjustly heightened when the pain inflicted was emotional. And, gods, did she feel! "I want to see Aoshi-sama first," she murmured. Yes, she was a masochist all right. But she needed something to ease the pain and the sight of Aoshi, the knowledge that he was going to be fine, despite the fact that driving herself like this would ultimately lead to her own self-destruction, was something she couldn't deny herself.
   Omasu hesitated. "I don't think that would be a good idea right now, Misao-chan," she said worriedly. "You're in no condition to--"
   "Please, Omasu," Misao said softly.
   Omasu sighed. "All right."
  &bnsp;"Thank you," Misao smiled at her faintly. She stood up carefully and shook her head at Omasu's offer of help. "I can do this, Omasu. Don't worry about me." She made her way to the door slowly but she didn't falter. She turned again to grin at Omasu, "See? I told you I'll be fine."
   Omasu could only nod in response as she watched Misao walk away. She looked down at the soiled cloth she still held in her hands. Red streaks marred its white surface. No amount of washing could totally remove the stain. Omasu folded the cloth carefully so that she couldn't see the blood, unwilling to face what it implied. As she stared at the pristine linen, she thought about Misao and her parting words as she left. "But I don't want you to be just fine, Misao-chan," Omasu whispered. "I want you to be happy, too. And that's something I'm not sure you can ever reassure me of."

   Sayuri made her way slowly to Okina's room. While a part of her wondered detachedly about what it was Okina wanted to talk to her about, another dwelled on Aoshi--and Misao. Why couldn't he just leave the girl alone? He was almost killed because of her. Didn't he understand that Misao was a danger to him? That she was someone who would risk his life without second thought, without compulsion, uncaring about the consequences so long as she, Misao, survived? And that was where the answer lies. Misao didn't love Aoshi. She couldn't ever love Aoshi, at least, not in the way Sayuri loved him. Unselfishly. Unconditionally. The love Misao had for Aoshi was an obssessive love, a selfish love. What happened this afternoon was more than enough proof of that. And Aoshi didn't deserve that kind of love. He needed more, wanted more. Aoshi was a very special person, the most important person in the world to Sayuri. How can she entrust him to Misao when by doing so she would risk his loss?
   Sayuri froze when she saw Hara Yoshiyuuki walking towards her, smoking a cigar. Her eyes narrowed and she wished that she had her katana with her. In any case, lack of weapons had never detracted from her fighting style and hand-to-hand combat, though she found it personally distasteful, was certainly an effective means of--self-expression. All she needed now was a little more provocation to break the bastard's bones. The gods know she was provoked enough but revenge would be all the more satisfying if her enemy knew that he had paved the path to his doom.
   Hara stopped in front of her, blocking her path. Sayuri regarded him haughtily as she held herself away from him, the curl of her lips betraying her disdain. Hara didn't appear to notice her show of anger. Instead he stared at her for a long time, cigar clamped on his mouth. Sayuri met his dark eyes through the haze of smoke coldly. His eyes were coal black and very intense. Sayuri felt his gaze linger on her face before moving on to the rest of her body slowly and deliberately. Sayuri flushed in anger at his boldness but she didn't move. She was startled to realize that she couldn't. Hara shifted his gaze back to hers and a smile curved his lips. It was a mocking smile, a--sensual smile. Sayuri tore her gaze away from his, finding herself unable to carry on the staring contest. She looked down at her hands and was shocked to see that they were trembling. She hurriedly hid them in the sleeves of her kimono and strove inwardly for control. What was wrong with her?
&nbs;p  Hara bowed to her slightly but he didn't look away. "My lady," he murmured. The smile was still on his lips.
   Sayuri took a steadying breath and looked back at him. Her tightly controlled features betrayed no hint of unrest but the gleam in those dark eyes told her that he had noticed her discomfiture. Her lips thinned but she didn't speak. Instead she stepped sidewards gracefully as if she heard nothing and walked on. As she passed him, she was shocked when she felt his cold fingers brush her cheek. Outraged, she turned to him, ready to break his neck, when he shook his head and laughed.
&nbs;p  "So..." he said in amusement. "You are not who you pretend to be after all." He quirked his eyebrow at her. When she didn't respond, he reached out to touch her face once more. Sayuri flinched from his searching fingers. He laughed again. "I was afraid that I would end up with a statue. But it seems fate was still kind. What hides behind that intriguing mask, I wonder?" This time his hand made contact with her lips and gently caressed its fullness. "I look forward to knowing you," he paused and then continued mockingly, "Lady Sayuri." With a final brush, he withdrew his hand, gave another bow, and walked away, the heels of his shoes clicking noisily on the wooden floor.
   Sayuri stared at his retreating back, her mouth slightly parted, her pale cheeks flushed with color. Her entire body trembled with anger, shame, confusion, and--she closed her eyes--longing. No. Not with him. Not again. 'Aoshi,' she called out desperately as she felt herself whirl in the familiar spiral of guilt, denial, torment. 'Aoshi, I need you.'

NOTES:

1. Again, sorry if this chapter's kinda vague (is it? ;;). I originally planned to write more but if I did, the entire thing's just gonna blow off into tangents with the way I structured the flow of this chapter. I *swear* that something more concrete'll happen in the next part ^_^
2. I feel like the pacing's too slow but I just can't seem to delete some scenes. Am I focusing too much on character development so that the plot suffers (what?! there's a plot?! oh yeah, what character development?! @@)? Gomen if this is turning out to be boring reading material. I think I'm OC (*sshhhh*). I'm such a stickler for details ;;
3. Next part (in case you still wanna read ^^): The heat intensifies!!! In the figurative sense, of course ^_~

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