San Akoyagai, Chapter 2

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Chapter 2: Owing the Sea Goddess

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The wild-haired man with the questionable identity stomped across the floor and tore the drawing from a shocked Soujirou's hands. "Give me that." In the process, the upper left hand corner ripped off, leaving Soujirou with a fluttering tag of yellow between his fingertips.

Kenki snarled at the picture in his hands as he turned his back to Soujirou. "You shouldn't have gone poking around, boy. You really shouldn't have done that. Curiosity killed the fish that wanted to know the taste of a glittering hook."

Soujirou leaned back against the cabinets, closing his eyes. Okita. Okita Souji. First Captain of the Shinsengumi. One of the most powerful swordsmen from the Revolution. Shishio-san had told them the captivating tale. A boy no older than Soujirou had become a sword master in the truest sense of the word. He led his men in the Shinsengumi as a genius, a prodigy, a magnificently feared Captain. He was arguably the most deadly blade on the Shogunate side. People said he was even more skilled than Saitou-san, before his health...

Hmm. Didn't he die of disease?

Well, then again, they'd doused Shishio-san in oil and burned him alive. So, stranger men had returned from the grave.

The story had captured Soujirou's imagination so much that Shishio-san had...

"You're him, aren't you? You're the man in the picture. You're Okita Souji."

Okita's shoulders visibly tensed, the muscles in his back becoming like ropes. When was the last time that name had been spoken aloud without the phrase "And now I will kill you" following it?

Now the boy knew. And since the boy knew, he couldn't leave this place. What if he told someone? Just one person, and the rumor would spread. The Meiji Government would come, and along with them, every relative of every man he'd ever killed.

Seta Soujirou could never leave this beach alive.

'Why won't it ever flood?' Okita wondered, 'Why won't the ocean rise and reclaim me? Why can't I die? This is my hell, to go on killing and killing. To be unable to join them, the ones who died bravely and with glory in battle. This is my hell. And now the boy. He looks so much like me, like I was -then-...'

Visions of Soujirou's blood spraying into his face, of Soujirou's innards spilling out onto the beach to mix with sand, flickered through Okita's mind. That smile would slip from Soujirou's face. His eyes would glaze over. His body would fall.

'He looks so much like I did at that age. It will be like killing myself. Like killing my past. Then I really will have nothing to hold onto...anymore.'

"Kenki-san?" Soujirou tilted his head to the other side. "Are you him?"

"Why are you here? What do you want from me?" Okita whirled around. Once again, his ki intrigued Soujirou. It blossomed like a black funnel cloud, a swirling portal to an indeterminate hell. "Who are you? Did they send you? The Meiji government? Hm? Or do you belong to some other faction? Are you an assassin? Eh? Well, what is it, boy?" Okita leaned down, pressing his face close enough to Soujirou's that his hair formed a black curtain enshrouding the pair.

"I'm just a rurouni. My master is dead, and so now I wander."

Damn. With the perpetual smile on the kid's face it was impossible to tell if he was lying or not. "You wander, hm? Why not stay put wherever Kami-sama originally deposited you?"

"I'm..." Just for a moment, Okita thought he saw Soujirou's gaze dart away. "...looking for answers. I guess you could say that I'm on a philosophical journey to find myself."

Slowly, Okita's eyebrows ventured closer and closer together as his eyes became more and more narrow. Then, suddenly, they popped apart as the older man stood up, looped his thumbs into the waist of his pants, and let out a barking guffaw. "You're what, sixteen? A boy your age hasn't even -got- a self to find."

"I'm seventeen, Okita-san."

Okita flinched at the sound of his own name.

"So, it -is- Okita-san, then. And not Kenki-san. I thought so." Soujirou leaned back against the cabinets. Holding his head upright was beginning to make him a bit dizzy. "That makes me feel a bit better. I don't think I could stand it if just -any- swordsman had drawn my blood."

Okita just stared at Soujirou. Seventeen, and he already had either a monsterous ego or some sort of frightening insanity.

"Say, Okita-san, why is it, do you think, that we look so much alike?"

"Punishment from the heavens," Okita mumbled, rolling the picture back into a tube. Probably everybody in Japan had someone else who looked like them. Nature could only come up with so many permutations on the human design. Besides, all gulls looked alike to Okita, and it didn't seem to bother them to resemble every other bird in the flock.

"Ehhhh?"

"Humans tend to look like each other, that's all." No need for the boy to know he had been sent to torture Okita. Letting out a deep sigh, Okita waved towards the far futon. "Go back to bed. You're turning pale."

"No, if you don't mind, I think I will sit here."

Wow. The boy really was turning white. Soujirou's patent smile had drawn downwards into just a thin line upturned at the ends. The color rushed away from his lips. Lips which, in Okita's estimation, seemed to be on the verge of trembling.

"Okita-san? I think...I think I..."

Now Okita was worried. He could finally sense the boy's ki, and it bespoke only one thing. Pain. Before Okita could even move, Soujirou slumped to the side in one violent motion, and vomited.

Sticky streams of goo leaked from Soujirou's lips as he sputtered into the corner, trying to rid his mouth of the last of the foul-tasting mess. Okita slowly lowered himself to his knees beside the boy, peering quizzically and trying desperately not to breathe through his nose.

"You alright, kid?"

Soujirou continued to look down at the gloppy pile of regurgitated lunch, the shadows of the corner shielding his face from sight. "How embarrassing."

"Ah, now," Okita said, the usually brusque tone of his voice suddenly missing, "That isn't much of anything. Back in the hospital, I once threw up on the prettiest nurse in the ward. Right in her face, too. She smelled of bile for an entire week. After that, every time she saw me, she'd turn a visible shade of green. Now -that- is embarrassing."

"No," Soujirou replied. Okita couldn't see his face, but did notice that the kid's right hand had curled into a white-knuckled fist. "It's everything. Everything. A man's not supposed to... I'm strong. I should be able to take care of myself. It's shameful for...it's humiliating to have someone else have to help me. Utterly humiliating."

What a weird kid. "Haven't you ever had anyone take care of you when you were sick or hurt?"

Soujirou finally pulled his head up, exposing the left side to the light. His smile appeared to be an echo, bounced back from a rocky cliff only to return lacking in luster. "No." Soujirou thought about it for a moment and then corrected himself. "Well, maybe, once. But, I can hardly remember anymore. It might have just been something I made up."

Okita scrunched his lips. Of course, countless people would have wanted care for him when -he'd- been ill. So many that he'd pushed them away, hidden his illness long after he should. Helpless in the face of his impending demise, Okita had once lashed out against the world, causing life after life to fall silent on the end of his blade.

"Lots of rice in that," Okita said plainly, motioning towards the quickly cooling vomit.

"Might have been bad." Soujirou recalled that Etsuyo had brought back a new bag of rice from the market. Chihori probably made these from the dregs of the previous bag. Who knows what rot had infected the rice. "I've decided I'm not fond of vomiting, Okita-san."

Okita actually chuckled as he extended a hand to Soujirou, "You know, kid, I'm not familiar with anyone who -is- fond of it." After helping Soujirou back into the futon, Okita tossed him the blanket. "You have to stop trying to die at every junction, it's getting annoying."

"Yeah," Soujirou said. And then he repeated himself in a quieter tone. "Yeah. For me too."

Okita stood over the futon, his thumbs looped into the waist of his pants. "Look, kid. If you're feeling a little better tomorrow, I'll take you to the pier with me. I'll show you how to shuck oysters. It's obvious I can't leave you here. You'll just rummage through my stuff some more."

"Really?"

"Sure."

Sure. Out on the pier. That would be a good place. Let the kid get his fill of the sea air. Let him have fun searching for pearls. And then, afterwards, Okita wouldn't even have to move the body, just sink it. Of course, it wouldn't be as easy as decapitating the kid in his sleep. But...

That boy.

With the way he looked...

It would be like giving the sea back the same body it had saved from ruin all those years ago.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A hospital. Tokyo. Meiji 1.

"Okita-sama! Okita-sama!" Hegi clapped his hands together to get the older man's attention. "Look, look! Breakfast! Breakfast is here!"

Hegi tended to get excited about anything which even showed the slightest hint of positivity. It made the young men very compatible roommates despite the fact that Okita had been a Captain in the Shinsengumi, and Hegi had been a slave.

But, his good-natured outlook on the world had so endeared him to his owners that when Hegi took ill, they'd sent him to this hospital to be looked after by the best doctors in the country. Okita didn't think anyone could -not- like Hegi. Even though he was dying as rapidly as Okita, Hegi seemed to have an inexhaustible lust for appreciating life.

Okita turned away from the window. It was early fall, now, and they'd been told that the children would be having a kite contest in the park sometime today. Both Okita and Hegi had looked forward to watching from their window all week.

After all, they'd made many of the kites.

It was one of the few ways they'd pass the time when they felt well enough to sit up in bed. Making kites. Making toys. Hegi liked to sew dolls for little girls. But the sword calluses on Okita's hands kept him from such delicate work. Instead, he'd carve toy soldiers, and samurai, and cavalry on horses. He'd certainly seen enough of all of them to know the uniforms, not to mention faces, by heart.

"Hai! Breakfast indeed, eh, Hegi? What do you think it is? I'm imagining roast pig with cherry glaze, fresh plums and steamed squash and..."

"Oh, Okita-san, you're such a troublemaker," the white-clad nurse bearing the trays of food chided, "You know it's the exact same rice and miso you get every morning."

"I like Okita-sama's version better," Hegi said with a grin, pushing himself up in the western-style bed with a small grunt. "'Cept I don't think I could eat pig. Back home, my pigs were my best friends. Yup. They're good people, pigs are. Friendlier than a dog, you know?"

The nurse nodded blankly, obviously ready to return to her rounds. She looked from Hegi to Okita. "Do you need help getting back into bed, Okita-san?"

"No," Okita replied. "Being helped into your bed is no way to start a morning. Don't you think, Hegi?" With considerable effort, Okita stood. Changing positions was the worst. That familiar tightening right beneath his sternum would begin, working its way upward and outward until it reached his shoulders. Yes. Standing was bad, but laying down could be hellish. Every part of his torso, from the throat down, throbbed and burned. With great care, and taking only the smallest breaths, Okita lowered himself into the bed without provoking a fit of coughing.

Hegi shot Okita a reassuring grin as the nurse placed the tray of food on the former slave's lap. Okita returned the gesture with sincerity,

After the nurse left, the two young men ate in silence for some time, each stealing longing looks at the window. Finally, poking at a half-eaten rice ball with a chopstick, Hegi asked, "Okita-sama, don't you think this is the best part?"

"What's that, Hegi-kun?"

"Looking forward to something." Hegi, never possessed of refined manners, scratched behind his ear with the chopstick. "It's the best part but..."

The smile on Okita's face dropped slightly. He knew exactly what Hegi was trying to say. The anticipation, the waiting, the excitement, it had kept them both going all week long. Whenever things seemed bad, whenever they coughed until they all but choked on the blood, they had only to think of the kites.

But, in a way, neither of them wanted those kites to appear in the window. Of course, they would both enjoy the spectacle beyond measure. Knowing that they were partially responsible for the fun those children would experience today would bring them both great happiness. And yet, afterwards, there would be such a terribly empty feeling.

The feeling of having nothing else to look forward to for tomorrow.

"You're right about the pigs, though," Okita said, changing the subject abruptly. "I had one once. A runt. Followed me all around the dojo."

"Yeah?"

"I ended up eating him, though. Tasty, tasty." Okita leaned forward conspiratorially, locking his gaze on his startled roommate. "That's how you get it, you know? The illness? It's a pig's curse. If you anger a pig, they use special piggy-piggy magic to make you sick."

Hegi's jaw dropped while his mouth was still full of rice, causing several grains to tumble out onto his loose yakata. Closing his mouth and swallowing hard, he asked, "Is that true?"

Okita grinned. It was probably mean to take advantage of how gullible his roommate was, but then Hegi would always get him back later by telling the bawdiest tales imaginable. It was just Okita's luck to get stuck with a slave whose former mistress had once been an oiran. "Of course it isn't true. The doctors don't know how you get it."

"No, I mean about the pig. Did you really eat him?"

Okita laughed so hard that he began to cough. Quickly grabbing the rag by his bedside, he placed it over his mouth, protecting his food from blood.

"Sorry, Okita-sama," Hegi whispered after Okita's fit finally died down. "I didn't mean to."

Okita waved his hand dismissively. "It's okay, Hegi-kun. I'd rather die laughing."

"Yeah." Hegi's cheeks puffed out a bit as he played with air in his mouth, turning once again to watch the window. "Okita-sama, what will you look forward to, tomorrow?"

Okita didn't even have to think about it. What he wanted, what he craved, was news of his friends. Fighting still continued in some areas, but that was the extent of Okita's knowledge. The hospital had stopped allowing him any information from the outside world months ago, on the policy that anything upsetting might exacerbate his condition. He didn't know who yet lived, if they were fighting, or if they had capitulated. Okita didn't know for whom to root, and for whom to mourn.

All he wanted, what he looked forward to, was news of his compatriots' safety.

No. What he really wanted was to be there with them. Protecting them. Fighting. Killing wasn't pleasant, but Okita would have slaughtered every man in Satsuma to ensure the success of the ideals and goals of the Shinsengumi.

"Something good will come along, Hegi-kun, I'm sure of it."

"Oh, I know." Hegi said, clapping his hands together excitedly, "It's almost autumn. So, the momiji trees in the park should be turning red soon."

Okita nodded his approval and looked down at his handkerchief. Yes. Brilliant red.

Just like the spots of blood littering the fabric.

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Okita just stared listlessly into the darkness, watching the figure in the bed on the other side of the room. Soon the sunrise would wash away the heavy shadows, and the songs of birds would replace the eerie quiet of the night. And, after that, the nurse would bustle in, carrying the breakfast trays, only to discover she needn't have brought but one.

Hegi had died in his sleep during the night.

The sudden absence of his roommate's labored breathing had drawn Okita from his own slumber.

It didn't particularly shock him to see a corpse. He'd seen more than his share. Nonetheless, sadness permeated his body, leaving his muscles sore and his throat tight. Poor Hegi. At least the momiji had turned a brilliant crimson in the past week. Hegi had even charmed one of the nurses to bring him a branch for the vase on his nightstand. He adored the color. It reminded him, he said, of his mistress' finest robes.

Poor Hegi.

Okita shook his head slightly. No news had come. And now he didn't even have Hegi to talk to anymore.

Okita knew there wasn't anything in his own future except to wait for death.

Why wait for it here?

He couldn't die, not yet, not without knowing what happened to his friends.

And if they were still fighting, somewhere, he'd go to that place and fight along side them one last time. That was the way a man, no, a warrior, should die. Not here. Not defeated by his own body.

"Hegi," Okita whispered as he slid his feet onto the floor, "I'm sorry for this."

Okita crossed the room. It took him almost half an hour to get Hegi's body from one bed to the other. Ignoring every spark of pain, Okita toiled as the pre-dawn turned blackness into ever-thinning shades of grey. He switched his own clothes with Hegi's. Carefully copying the slave's bad handwriting, he dashed off a note.

"Sorry I took Okita-sama's things, but now that he'd dead, he won't mind. I'm gonna sell his swords and live like a free man for a as long as I have left. -Hegi."

Quickly placing what few things he had, and what remained of his money, into a sack, Okita slipped the note underneath the door.

Yes. This was the right thing to do. Okita felt more invigorated already.

After opening the window, Okita returned to quickly light the fires, making extra certain to light the area around Hegi's head several times. They had similar builds, but their faces weren't even close in resemblance.

"Goodbye for now, Hegi. I'll see you soon, though. And, I will tell you all about my last adventure."

Feeling strangely light on his feet, Okita made his way out the window and across the hospital yard. At this time of night, no one would see him. And, who would care, if they did? It wasn't like he was escaping from prison.

Okita crossed the bridge over the canal which skirted the eastern edge of the park. Once there, he looked back towards the hospital, watching the rising glow in the window of his former room. When the intensity of the light seemed satisfactory, Okita reached over and pulled the long cord on the fire bell located at the edge of the park, sending crisp peals of reverberated warning into the nearby area.

Well, he wanted to leave, not kill everyone in the hospital. They'd all die soon enough, anyway.

With Hegi taking his place, no one would be looking for a traveling warrior. They'd be seeking an ex-slave concerned with revelry. This was good. If the new Meiji government suspected that Okita had taken off to fight -against- them, they'd track him down in no time.

As he slowly made his way across the park towards a residential area, Okita's plan solidified in his mind. He'd always been a solid tactician. Maybe not as good as Hijikata-san, but then, who was?

First, he'd find new clothes. Something he could fight in, and something which would hide how frail his body had become. He'd brought along his remaining Shinsengumi uniform, but he certainly couldn't wander around in it.

Next, he had to get out of Tokyo.

And lastly, he needed solid information and a hot cup of tea.

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Seven days later.

Okita sat on a rock, listlessly watching the sea. The crinkled dispatches in his hand flapped in the irregular wind blowing over the beach.

He'd been sitting here a while, completely motionless. So long, in fact that sand had begin to take shelter in the wrinkles and folds of his skin and clothing, giving his windward side a dusty white sheen.

Finally, he could hold it no longer. Despite his shallow breaths, the blowing sand invaded Okita's nose, plunging into his throat.

The second before he dissolved into a fit of coughs, Okita released the papers in his hand into the wind. They danced merilly down the beach, performing an erratic ballet as they left him behind. Doubling over in pain, Okita took what shelter he could in the lee of the rock.

After leaving Tokyo, he'd been traveled east for four days. The best, though scant, information he had procured revealed that Hijikata was fighting in Aizu. Knowing that heading straight on the roads from Tokyo to Aizu would send him into the path of Meiji troops, Okita decided to travel through Narita towards the sea. He'd then walk north along the shoreline until he reached Hamadouri, effectively avoiding the enemy.

It had taken him four whole days to reach Narita, a trip he could have made in one, had he been healthy. His body ached from moving, the agony at times so great that Okita had taken to carrying a small stick, so he could bite down on when he felt like moaning, crying, or screaming.

Upon reaching Narita, however, things took a turn for the worse. Okita had been able to make contact with the wife of one of his men. She told the former Captain that he'd been misinformed.

She gave Okita the dispatches and news she'd collected over the past weeks. Those same pieces of paper were now only barely visible in the distance.

Hijikata had been in Aizu, but he'd since left for Hakodate, in Ezo. The distance to the northernmost island of Japan was three times as far as Aizu. Souji knew he couldn't make it that far, no matter how hard he tried, how much pain he denied, how much determination he could muster. His body just couldn't go the distance.

And Kondo-san...

Kondo-san had been captured by the Meiji government. Only a few weeks earlier, he had been executed.

The rest of the Shinsengumi Captains were scattered to the winds. Some had died. Some were missing, and some had returned to their homes. A few of the surviving Shinsengumi had gone with Hijikata to Ezo.

There weren't any battles Okita could reach.

Souji drew his knees up to his chest, pulling himself into a tight ball.

It wasn't like they needed him anyway. The world had continued in the same vein as always, violent and bloody and chaotic, with or without his presence. For every application of 'Aku Soku Zan' he had undertaken, every man he had killed, two more had sprung up as replacements.

All he had wanted was to die with dignity, with honor...with someone who understood his life.

Not alone in the hospital. Not alone.

After Narita, Okita had continued on his journey towards the sea. He couldn't go back to Tokyo. Not now. But, there was no reason to go to Aizu either.

So the sea...

Was it.

Souji slept in the shadow of the large rock, curled into himself like a dying insect.

He dreamt of running. Running through the streets of Kyoto, chasing the Hitokiri Battousai. The feared assassin was fast, but try as he might, he couldn't hide that deadly ki from someone as perceptive as Okita Souji. Himura Battousai. One of only a few which ever got away...

Souji awoke to find the winds had slackened to a cool late-afternoon breeze. Smooth waves tinged with only the faintest of white froth lapped lazily at the shoreline. In the air, gulls soared and dived, competing with one another in an eternal search for the taste of fish.

The sea was it.

He'd been heading east, and he'd continue east.

With a finger, Souji wrote his final haiku in the sand. "Cerulean waves. Surrounding my shoulders like...my old haori." Aside the poem, he laid his swords, deciding it would make a nice picture for the high tide to wash away.

And with that, Okita Souji walked into the sea.

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Heaven had a crackling fire, and smelled distinctly of roasting oysters. How unexpected. Okita had figured on a more ephemeral smell for heaven. Maybe a flower scent, coupled with the sounds of children laughing. But, no. This particular version contained the muttering of an old man.

Okita's eyes popped open to find a most frightening sight. A wrinkled old geezer was speaking to him, and occasionally poking him in the forehead, neck, or cheek with one long, bony finger.

"Yare, yare. Wake ye up, fishboy." The old man grinned, exposing a mouth missing several teeth. "Ah. Good. Didna wish ye to choke on the medicines. Sit up, sit up. What? Can ye not sit up, even? Stunned by my beauty, is you?"

Okita only sputtered unintelligibly, trying to get his bearings on who, what, where...

"The sea coughed ye up. She didna want yer stinkin' bones for the fishies ye see? Yah. Yah. Ye canna make a sacrifice o'yerself to the Sea Goddess when ye got disease in the bones. She don't like it none." The old man bent forward to help Okita sit up. A hiss passed Okita's lips at the movement, and yet, his lungs didn't feel as horrible as they had before. Just a dull ache.

"My...swords..." Okita finally managed the two words as he watched the old man stand and move about what appeared to be a simple fishing hut.

"Aa. Thems be gotten already. See. Here they be." The man motioned towards the katana and wakizashi leaning against the wall. "Bunbu find all yer things, ah? Now..." The old man picked up a clay bowl from among several smaller ones sitting in a semi-circle by the futon. He stirred it with a long ladle before crouching down beside Okita once again. "Now you takes medicine. What? No, don't be scared, fishboy. Bunbu is good sensei. Know best medicines from his Korea homeland, mmm? Drink drink."

Okita took the bowl and raised it to his lips, peering for a moment at his reflection in the murky rust-colored liquid.

Kami-sama. He did look like a skeleton covered in skin.

The thick liquid slid down Okita's throat. It felt like the algae Souji had once slipped on in a stream as a boy, at the same time both spongy and slick. But, it tasted like fire.

Okita succeeded in not gagging, but a few drops of the medicine escaped and rolled down his chin. He wiped these away with the back of his wrist before asking, "What's in it?"

Bunbu laughed, taking the bowl from Okita. "Ye put many thing in life medicine. Red seaweed. Sake. But, always most important, crushed pearl. Pearl, she come to me today wearing midnight gown. This omen she make so I know ye come. Pearl cure everything. Ye will see."

Okita's lips moved from side to side as he watched Bunbu go to turn over some skewered poles of roasting oysters. 'So. I've been rescued by a crazy foreigner,' Okita decided.

"How you like oyster, fishboy?"

"It's...Okita Souji...sir."

"Sokita Sushi?" Bunbu shook his head, "No, ye already give yer name away. Sea Goddess, she not keep ye, but she keep yer name. Ye think up new one. Bunbu, ah, Bunbu make dinner. Bunbu is best cook, even better cook than doctor. Ye will see."

Okita slumped forward, his forehead in his hands. He'd failed. He'd failed to make the Shinsengumi a success. He'd failed to protect his friends and family. He'd even failed at killing himself.

"Fishboy..."

Okita grunted mournfully in response.

"Sea Goddess give ye second chance. Yer life belong to her, now." Bunbu's previous tone of humor and amusement washed away into seriousness. "Ye can not try to take yer own life ne'er again. Ne'er again, hear? Make promise."

"I..." Okita looked up to find the old man holding out a skewer of half-burnt oysters. Bunbu's aged eyes searched Okita's face, full of understanding. Bunbu knew, Okita realized then. Maybe not everything, but the old crab knew enough.

"Make promise as warrior."

"Yes," Okita whispered, taking the offered food, "I promise."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

And that was how Okita Souji, First Captain of the Shinsengumi, became Kenki Sou, pearl farmer in the employ of old Bunbu.

Somehow, Bunbu turned out to be right. Okita never knew if it was the sea water which had filled his lungs, or Bunbu's medicine, or the Sea Goddess herself, but after that day his health quickly returned. The coughing became less and less intense, until one day he realized he couldn't remember when he'd last felt that familiar pain in his lungs.

The friendship which formed between the young man and the old hermit could be termed nothing less than strange. Okita taught Bunbu better Japanese, and Bunbu taught Okita how to live off the sea.

In some ways, Okita liked this odd new life. He'd never been anything else besides a swordsman. It felt good to know that his hands could be used for something besides killing.

He restricted himself to Bunbu's property for many years, fearing that his face would be recognized in the nearby villages. After a while, he no longer missed the companionship of others. The beach became Okita's safe haven from a world which would likely remain hostile to his presence for a very long time.

They'd killed Kondo-san. And, from what Okita had heard by way of Bunbu's inquiries in town, Hijikata-san had died, too. Harada-san had perished during the Ueno wars, and Saitou-san...

Saitou-san had just plain disappeared.

Outside of the oysters...and Bunbu...and the Sea Goddess...

There was nothing in the world which wanted Okita Souji.

And then, one day, they started to appear. Souji had no idea how the young men who sought him out could have possibly known where to find him. Rumors, they said. Whispers of whispers. They came for vengeance and for glory. They came to topple the undefeated Captain of the Shinsengumi to honor the memory of long dead fathers, and uncles, and brothers and sons.

They came by way of the beach, and they left by way of the sea. Body after broken body offered to the Sea Goddess as a reward for the strength she had returned to Okita.

They always, always, fell to his sword,

No matter how much he hoped that someday...

Just maybe...

He'd finally lose.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Meiji 11. Seaside.

Soujirou's bottom lip stuck out a bit as he worked on his current oyster. His legs dangled over the side of the small pier, swinging back and forth, skimming his naked toes across the blue-green water. By his side sat two buckets. The first, filled with freshwater, was for cleaning the oysters. The second was for the discarded oyster meat and liquor, which Okita said they'd use for dinner.

An open metal trap, just one of countless Okita had constructed for raising his oysters, sat at Soujirou's other side, the shelled sea creatures within glistening like nuggets of wet coal.

"We throw away almost nothing," Okita had said, "Shells with large deposits of mother-of-pearl can be sold to decorate hair combs and knife handles. Misshapen pearls well fetch a decent price at an apothecary. And truly round, lustrous ones...well, don't worry. You probably won't find one."

The water rippled beneath the nearly cloudless sky, the surface undulating softly like a bed sheet tossed in the air. Soujirou took a small break from trying to pry open an oyster with the short knife Okita had given him. He scanned the nearby water, watching until Okita emerged further down the shore, near a post where other traps had apparently been tied.

Okita, Soujirou noted, swam as well as a fish. He could stay underwater for a remarkable period of time, emerge for only a breath or two, and then return to his work.

For his part, Soujirou did indeed feel better today. The gash on his head had finally stopped weeping blood and pus, and he could bear the sunlight much better. Nonetheless, he'd borrowed a straw hat from Okita to keep at least a little shade.

Still, his ankle wouldn't bear his weight. He'd sprained it fairly badly, they'd discerned. He wouldn't be performing the Shukuchi anytime soon.

Soujirou returned to his work, trying to hold the closed oysters like Okita had shown him. Twice now, he'd attempted to work the knife into the dip in a shell's hinge only to have the entire oyster slip out of his hand and shoot back into the ocean with a plop.

Nonetheless, the work was vaguely pleasing. It wasn't particularly -rewarding-. But, it didn't involve murdering anyone, so Soujirou found it peaceful enough.

"You can't stab them," Okita's voice said from behind Soujirou. The older man reached up onto the pier and pulled himself out of the water. Like some sort of sullen, dripping wet merman, Okita moved across the pier and pulled his own knife from where he'd tied the sheath on his upper arm. (So he wouldn't lose it while underwater, Soujirou supposed. No wonder Okita only ever wore those green pants. Any additional clothing would weigh him down.) "See? You're not trying to kill them." Okita picked up one of the oysters and easily slid his knife into the joint. With a flick of his wrist, the oyster popped open, exposing the inner muscle to both men. "It's like slipping a katana between a man's ribs, and then turning the blade to break them. Got it?"

Soujirou nodded, smiling brightly. At least Okita used examples he could understand.

"Good, because if you lose any more oysters we're going to have to go without dinner." Okita turned around, apparently intent on fixing a broken trap he'd found earlier. Of course, they weren't really -traps-, but more like cages where Okita stored the young oysters he'd found while diving. He seemed to have some sort of system. These oysters needed another year, those oysters needed three, and still more needed to be turned so that they wouldn't always face the current in the same way.

Could a swordsman, Soujirou wondered, really do this with his life?

Well, at least Okita had a trade. Himura, from what Soujirou understood, cleaned a dojo to pass the time.

Oh right. Himura. Soujirou hadn't told Okita about that yet. He couldn't decide if it would be a good idea to reveal anything about Himura...or Shishio-san. Obviously, Okita had been on the side opposing theirs during the war. So, who knew how he'd take the news.

And the hermit was already grumpy enough.

Oh, well. Maybe tomorrow. For today, Soujirou just wanted to sit on this quiet pier, watch the ocean, look for pearls, and think about his life.

Okita glanced at the boy out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to repair the trap. His knife in hand, he waited for the right moment. He'd lunge, grab the boy's head, and slit his neck. Simple as that. Quick and painless. It was the best he could do for the kid.

"Okita-san?"

Okita palmed his knife and returned to his ruse with the trap. "What?"

"Ano...did you write that poem? That one I saw on the beach? About the ocean?"

What the hell was the kid getting at, now? Okita bit the inside of his cheek and grunted a surly, "Maybe. Why?"

"I only know one poem, but it is about pearls, so I thought maybe you would like to know it."

"Whatever," Okita said, his knife slipping again into his grip as he leaned forward. Now. He had to do it -now-. Much more time in the company of this kid, and he wouldn't...he might lose his nerve...he might...

"Lets see, hm, how does it go?" Soujirou tilted his head back, looking up at the sky. "Dewdrops of sadness, tears fall as I weep. I catch them as they harden, white pearls I shall keep." Soujirou scrunched his face up and returned to poking at the oyster in his hands, "I don't know if it is a good poem or not, but it is the only one I know."

Okita's knife fell from his hand, clattering upon the wooden pier. The wild-haired man's eyes grew wide as he struggled to breathe. He felt his hands tremble as fiercely as the rippling waves.

That poem.

Her favorite poem. Whenever he cried, for any reason, it would be the first thing to spill from her lips.

"Soujirou..."

The Tenken looked over his shoulder, a bit startled that Okita had actually called him by his name instead of "kid" or "boy". "Yes, Okita-san?"

"Soujirou, where did you hear that poem?"

Soujirou rubbed the back of his head good-naturedly as he shrugged. "Its one of the only things I remember about my mother. She died when I was really young, you know."

Okita shuffled forward on his knees and caught Soujirou by his shoulders. "Soujirou. Listen to me. Was her name Miyae?"

A laugh tumbled from Soujirou's lips, "Yeah! That's clever, Okita-san. Her name was Kazenoko Miyae. How did you know?"

Oh god. Of course it was. Why else would they look so alike? How stupid Okita had to be not to figure it out before.

"You alright, Okita-san? You look like you're in pain."

One whispered word fell from Okita's lips. "Soujirou."

"Haaaiiii?" This was creepy, Soujirou decided. He wondered if poetry broke Okita the same way Himura's philosophy had broken -him- on Mt. Hiei.

"No," Okita continued, "Soujirou is my birth name. Not Souji. Soujirou."

"Ohhhh?" Soujirou nodded despite the fact that he -still- didn't understand what Okita was trying to say. "That's strange, isn't it?"

"Damnit, Soujirou. It -would- be strange -if- we didn't have the same mother! Do you get it, now?"

Soujirou blinked as the information sunk into his damaged head. Same mother. Same mother. So that would mean....

Soujirou's oyster tumbled from his hand and rolled off the pier.

"You're my brother?"

As soon as Soujirou said the last word, he found himself being crushed to Okita's chest. "Kami-sama, you're such an incredible idiot."

Squirming a bit, Soujirou asked, "What are you doing, Okita-san?"

"I'm embracing my long lost brother, of course."

From within Okita's arms, Soujirou murmured perplexedly, "Ah, so that's what this is all about. I see."

Above his little brother, Okita closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

He'd just narrowly avoided committing fratricide.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

***In Our Next Chapter: Our two heros undertake a journey to find out what happened to their mother. But, SURPRISE SURPRISE (not), they're being followed! Will Okita start to lighten up? Will Soujirou ever tell him about Himura and Saitou and the rest? Many, many surprises in store for the next chapter of Sen Akoyagai!

***Author Notes:

This chapter was so much fun to write that it only took me two days.

Okay. Historical notes on the Shinsengumi for those who may not know (which is probably very few of you). Kondo was the chief captain of the Shinsengumi, and Hijikata was his Vice Captain. Okita trained in Kondo's dojo and both the men were said to be like older brothers to him. Kondo was killed as stated in the story. Hijikata died while fighting in Hokkaido.

I should also mention that, at the time, in Japan, it was just as common for a woman to take her husband's surname as for her not to do so. HOwever, children -generally- took the surname of their fathers. This is how Okita, Soujirou, and their mother, can all have different names.

***Review Notes:

Thank you to all the reviewers. I didn't think anyone would care for this story at all. It's always a chance reading a new story, I know, so thank you so much for your time and effort in reviewing.

Special thanks to:

Pixie Ayanami: You should go ahead and write yours too! I'd definitely read it!

Ooka-chan: They might just run into the Wolf of Mibu....somewhere down the line.

April-san: You have Spock ears? How cool! Anyway, I hope this explains a little how Okita came to be where...and how...he is. In this story, I've fudged Okita's age a bit. He'd historically be 35, but since he is portrayed as being younger than he probably should have been in RK, I'm making him 32 or 33. I hope that is OK!

MissBehavin: You're a clever one, all figuring out the plot already and everything. Well, hopefully I have a few things left up my sleeve to keep you interested. I hope. Yikes. You mind-reader, you.

Veleda: I always wondered how Shishio could rationalize hanging out with Yumi, who had no fighting skills whatsoever. So, I picked that theory. Anyway, thanks for reviewing, as always!

A Rurouni Kenshin Fan: I've seen it "Sen" and "San". Unfortunately, it is pronounced more like "sun". Romanji isn't an exact science, I guess. I'm so bad at Japanese...

Wistful-Eyes: Really? You didn't guess? I thought everyone would figure it out super quick. I'm glad it wasn't as obvious as I thought. Well, glad you liked the story so far!

Gemini1: Hooray for Okita, ne? Anyway, I hope you like how I insinuated Saizou into the story, teehee. As for PMK, I've only seen up to episode 13, but you taunt me with thoughts of Hijikata reading poetry! ACK!

Nigihayami Haruko: I'm glad to hear it isn't run-of-the-mill. Sometimes those Rurouni Soujirou stories irk me, so I decided to write my own. :D Well, hope this update was quick enough for your tastes! :D :D

Sailor-Earth13, Cherry Delight, slashofdragonblade, EEevee, seta-kun (Okita-power, Okita forever, my friend!)