Disclaimer: RK and its characters are property of Watsuki Nobuhiro. The story idea is my own.

Pairings: Enishi/Misao, Sano/Misao, Soujirou/Misao, Kenshin/Kaoru, possibly others.

~~denotes shifts in time, **denotes shifts in character perspective, ‘(and italics) denotes thoughts

Sano’s POV.

~*Desecration*~

Chapter 1: Envy

I watch with narrowed eyes as that asshole saunters down the hallway, his hair gleaming like burnished silver in the bright overhead lighting. That man is one of the most arrogant bastards I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. His very walk sets my teeth on edge.

Misao is still seemingly frozen in place, her jade eyes wide with the look of a frantic animal. A smear of scarlet blood mars her snow white skin, and I can’t seem to tear my gaze away. It looks so stark, so ghastly in comparison to the flawless alabaster of her flesh. I’ve seen her covered in blood and grime on missions, her clothes tattered, clutching her weapons in slender hands as adrenaline pumped through her small form, but somehow this tiny stain looks more dastardly than any other wound I have ever seen inflicted. The reason, which comes to my mind even as Kenshin steps forward, extending a hand slowly toward Misao as if in fear of startling her, is because he caused it. She had been wounded by his hand—yet again.

It feels like I have watched him harm her for all of my life. During our academy days, their competition had been so fierce it wasn’t surprising to see them get into full out fights at least once a week. It surprised me, really. That sort of rivalry wasn’t often seen between men and women. It’s not like how it is between men, always trying to outdo one another, to prove who is stronger, smarter, has the bigger dick, whatever. I admit that I am guilty of this. I love the rush that comes with fighting someone and coming out the victor. Maybe it seems trivial, but I have always been a fighter, it’s been my only way to prove my self-worth. My entire body makes me as deadly as any of the powerful weapons we have on this base. I have honed my skills into something beatific and exceedingly dangerous, and it has taken me years to get to this level.

But their fights--those battles of flashing weapons, gritted teeth, and spattered blood--have always seemed to be about something more. My mind could never quite wrap around the meaning behind it all. The way they looked at each other was filled with a nearly palpable tension. I had always assumed it was loathing, in its purest, deadliest form. After watching that brutal kiss, though, I am beginning to wonder if my assumption was extremely off-target.

In past years, Misao has never allowed anyone to breach the barriers she has constructed around herself. She hides all of her emotions behind false cheer and a warm smile, but any horny teenage cadet who ever misconstrued that stunning smile for flirtation and tried to cross the line has always found himself downed by a swift and thorough ass kicking. I mean, the girl can fight. She moves with cat-like grace, rapid and deadly, and she never shows even the slightest flicker of remorse. Seeing her like this, her normal teasing grin lost amidst a slightly panicked expression, is discomfiting to say the least.

“Misao?” I hear Kenshin ask cautiously, his small hand settling gently on her forearm.

She flinches away from him as if he had struck her, jade eyes snapping into focus, her expression suddenly losing all of its confused fear. 

Kenshin hesitates. I can practically see the wheels turning in his head, weighing the situation carefully. He has always had a remarkable way of handling people. He should have been a psychiatrist, not a soldier. Sometimes he has a gentleness about him that seems almost feminine. If I hadn’t seen with my own eyes exactly what he could become, the way his eyes would flare yellow with the very fires of hell, the lethalness of those deceptively delicate-looking hands, I would never have guessed him to be a fighter. Perhaps a school teacher or something that required a lot of patience and the ability to control your temper in even the most trying of circumstances. He is always the voice of calm wisdom in our battles, the center of our storm. He is the glue that holds us together.

Though their ranks are equal, I know that even Misao looks up to him. In fact, she is closer to him than she is to any of us, even Kaoru, who has been her best friend since we first entered the academy. Misao and Kenshin have developed a sort of kinship and he dotes on her like an older brother would his younger sister. Their relationship has always sparked a tiny twinge of jealousy within me. Not because I wish to have that sort of relationship with her, but because of the mere fact that Kenshin has a close relationship with her. She and I are friends. I mean, we have known each other for years and we have always been on the same team, but she still seems so far away from me, like an unreachable star that you yearn to touch because of its brilliance but you can never quite reach. I know none of her secrets. She doesn’t consider me a confidant of any sort. All that I see is the surface, the sunshine persona she shows the world, even if I know instinctively that there is much more to her than that.

I know that beneath her hyper exterior, good humor, and restless energy, there is a frightened and confused young girl. There is a girl who can show fear, show disappointment, show doubt. I saw that girl in her eyes a moment ago, but now they are bright with forced cheer and a strained smile is playing about her sultry mouth. The girl is gone and the petite woman that stands before us is once more all professionalism. She reaches up a pale hand to swipe across her mouth and meticulously straightens her uniform jacket with slender fingers.

“Are…Are you all right?” Kenshin finally inquires, his violet orbs mirroring my own feelings, which are roiling and seething beneath the surface of my skin. He likes Yukishiro even less than I do. It’s just that he hides it almost effortlessly behind a veneer of politeness.

I have never had any control over my emotions or my temper. I am known for flying off the handle and letting my mouth run far ahead of my brain. There have been a few times my brashness and hotheadedness could have gotten me into a dangerous predicament had Kenshin not been around to stall the impending explosion with a few carefully chosen words and his naturally placating nature. Now that I think about it, he has saved my ass too many times for me to even count.

“I’m fine,” Misao murmurs as she reaches up to run elegant fingers through her close-cropped ebony locks. I remember when her hair was long, extending past her waist in a glorious waterfall of black silk. Now it is short, styled into a pixie haircut. It suits her smallness and her fine bone structure, but I do admit that I miss its old length. Well, mostly I miss the aching desire I often had to bury my fingers in its soft abundance and kiss her senseless. Don’t get me wrong, I still want to kiss her. In fact, I want it so badly that sometimes it’s all I can think about. But there was something decidedly sexy about those long, shining tresses. I had often imagined how they would look spread over white satin sheets or draped across my chest, and the thought alone is enough to cause my body to warm slightly, a flicker of lust washing through me.

A sudden thought comes to me, and I blink at its strangeness. She had cut her hair days after Yukishiro was sent to prison. I had always brushed it off as some sort of impulsive whim, but now I am not so sure. Something is gnawing at me, scratching at the back of my mind like the whisper of an insect moving across my skin. There had been times, so many times we suspected…but…it couldn’t have been. I mean, there was nothing going on between them.

But…

But what about the kiss, the possessive way Yukishiro had been gripping her, the complete submission in her gaze, which seems to go so strongly against her nature? Why the hell had Yukishiro been touching her? And why does it all feel so familiar? It felt almost like watching a film whose name I couldn’t place. All I can remember is the complete and utter rage that filled me. If Kenshin hadn’t been there, I would have attempted to pound Yukishiro’s face into the ground, even if I might have gotten killed in the process.

That bastard had no right to touch her. No right—especially after all the shit that has gone down in the past. But, at the same time, neither do I. I have no right to touch her, kiss her. Hell, I probably don’t have any right to get angry over the very thought of another man laying a finger on her. Still, that doesn’t prevent me from doing so. I do it because I love her. I always have. My heart was gone the moment I laid eyes on her, a painfully thin waif of a girl, standing rigid beside her step-father only days after his transfer to our base and her acceptance into the academy.

I think it was her eyes that caught me. They were so green, the color of leaves backlit by sunlight. In contrast with her hair and ivory skin, they stood out like liquid emeralds. I could not, for the life of me, tear my gaze away from them. She stared back at me, chin up, and then her step-father had left her with us and she finally smiled. I swear, my heart must have dropped to my ankles. Years later I realized that my pre-adolescent mind had experienced what romantics like to call ‘love at first sight’.

Her relationships with Kenshin and Kaoru had formed instantly. Our acquaintance was rather gradual. I think she could sense my attraction to her, even if she could not fully comprehend it. All I know is that her presence turned me into a complete klutz, and I often had to struggle to form a coherent sentence around her without blushing to the roots of my hair. I can’t even remember all the times I made a complete ass of myself in front of her. After a while, it had become almost a joke to the group, and I had learned to laugh away my humiliation even if inwardly I was hurt by the fact that my clumsiness was the only reason she ever paid me any attention.

Our team had been created immediately afterwards, a group of opposites that came together to form a nearly undefeatable entity. Megumi was our healer, Misao our leader, Kenshin her second-in-command, I was our strength, Aoshi our cool intelligence, and Kaoru our determination. We excelled beyond all of the set standards, and Kenshin was practically revered as a god for his uncanny fighting ability. No one on the base could offer him any sort of competition, save Misao’s step-father. But everything changed the following year.

It was the year he came. I knew the moment I saw him that he would be trouble. Call it a premonition, call it a gut instinct, call it what you will. All I know is that the odd gleam in his eyes, teetering on the precipice of sanity, chilled me to the very bone. But the events that came afterward were something that none of us could have predicted. He definitely offered Kenshin competition. In fact, they have yet to best one another to this very day. But the target for all of his spite, all of his jeers and mockery, was the person we would have least suspected.

Even their first meeting had ended badly. I could tell that Misao disliked him instantly. Hell, nearly everyone did. He acted like a conceited prick with a massive chip on his shoulder, and his laugh was fucking insane. It made me want to punch him in face, or wrap my fingers around his neck and choke him until his skin turned blue and he could emit nothing more than a pathetic wheeze. Perhaps it was their positions that forced them into that mutual enmity. I often wonder if things would have been different had Kenshin been chosen leader of our team instead of Misao. Would the rivalry he and Yukishiro shared have been as deep and burning as the hostility between Yukishiro and Misao?

I guess I will never know. Misao was appointed leader by our commanders, as was Yukishiro, to an opposing, if equally dangerous, team. Out of all of us, I think she is best suited for the role. Her cheer and optimism have kept us motivated in even the worst of times. She is quick on her feet, her mind is sharp, and she seems to view things in a different light than the rest of us. She sees hope where we see none, possibility where we see defeat. Yukishiro was given the position due to his cunning and calculating intelligence. He led his team efficiently, if somewhat recklessly.

Over time, as their competition escalated, Yukishiro began to grow wilder, the delicate balance in his eyes shifting towards madness. He grew sloppy, constantly allowing his team to enter the line of fire. His saving grace was that he never failed a mission. He got the job done, no matter what the cost. For that reason, they never demoted him. I often wonder if they would have, had they known what would eventually happen. And now he is here, on parole from prison, re-applying for the program. They would have to be crazy to let him back in. It would be absolutely absurd.

But Yukishiro is a master at the art of persuasion, and I know all too well that our commanders would love nothing more than to have him back within their grasp. Beside Kenshin, no other officer or cadet on this base can come near his skill level. Their fighting styles are completely opposite, as if made to counter one another, but Yukishiro is twice as ruthless. He never holds anything back. That thought worries me slightly. In a fight against a fellow officer, Kenshin, who could fell an enemy in less than a fraction of a second, would hesitate and agonize. Yukishiro, on the other hand, would show no mercy. In a no holds barred fight to the death, I fear that Yukishiro just might have the upper hand.

I snap out of my musings as I hear Kenshin speaking once more.

“The Commander wishes to see you,” he states quietly, and Misao’s shoulders tense imperceptibly. Only someone like me, who has studied every single one of her movements and expressions down to the tiniest, minute detail, would notice the slight shift in her posture.

“Understood,” she murmurs, smoothing down her jacket once more. “I’ll see you both at dinner.”

All I can do is nod dully as she brushes past me, moving with her usually bouncy stride.

I turn to watch her, distractedly admiring the switch of her slim hips, my brow furrowing in concern.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kenshin glance at me worriedly. Misao had mentioned nothing of Yukishiro. Had we not watched part of their encounter, I might have believed he had never been there. He held her painfully by the throat while he kissed her so savagely he drew blood, and after recovering from her initial shock, she had pretending everything was perfectly normal. It was almost as if…almost as if she were accustomed to that sort of treatment.

A chill sweeps through me as she finally vanishes from sight. I keep my gaze averted from Kenshin’s probing amethyst orbs. He sees too much. This is something stronger than I have ever felt. It freezes the very blood in my veins and makes my heart pound fiercely.

Unconsciously, my hands curl into fists at my sides, and I sigh shakily as I resist the urge to huddle on the ground and wrap my arms around myself to ward away the icy fingers that seem to be snaking over my skin.

I haven’t felt this way since I was a child, and even then it was nothing compared to this.

This is raw, undiluted. It is the eerie feeling that causes children to whimper for their parents in the middle of the night. It is what makes your heart race and your breath catch.

It is fear.

TBC…

Well, I changed the summary a little to better reflect the full extent of the plot behind this fic. My plot bunny is still bouncing away, so let’s see if I can catch it and make this a good story.

Thanks for reading! Please review and tell me what you think so far!

~Midori^_~