Author's Note: I was given 11 AU Soujiro/Misao prompts so here I'll gather them all up for you to read at your leisure. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve rights to all OCs.

Pairing: Soujiro x Misao

Prompt: Soulmates

If there was one thing twenty-four year old Seta Soujiro clung to with all of his life, it was that no one could be truly happy. People could think they were happy and they could, of course, fill their lives with material goods and/or experiences that gave a momentary, fleeting euphoria, but to achieve full happiness, a state of eternal bliss, the one thing that humans searched for day in and day out, well, it was bullshit.

This way of thinking was entirely contradictory to the way he lived his life, rarely without a smile, and never, ever hinting that there could have been anything that might have burrowed its way into his heart, feeding and thriving on his very existence, blackening every piece of him that might have had a chance to pass itself off as a normal, functioning human being.

Masked behind a cheerful grin and a silver tongue, Soujiro's heart was completely devoid of everything. He wasn't cruel, perhaps not in a direct sense, nor was he a hateful man. He was simply. . .empty.

It was easy to live this way, he found. Nothing angered him, nothing excited him. There wasn't any risk of falling to his emotions or getting his hopes up only to be let down. He was neutral and completely at peace.

Well. Not completely.

There was but one detail, one small little aspect of his life that bothered him. It confused him. It was akin to hearing a couple notes in passing and spending an eternity trying to remember the song they belonged to.

He could have run from it. Hell he could have easily avoided it. But he didn't. He couldn't, and he also couldn't place why.

So here he was, again, laying on his back on the ledge of the rooftop of his apartment building. His left arm covered his eyes, shielding him from the afternoon sun while his other arm dangled off the ledge, swinging in the air some thirty stories above the busy, bustling streets of Kyoto.

He took a breath, clearing his mind and sure enough, within a couple seconds, an image appeared as it always did when he lay in this spot. It was a face, a face that looked so familiar to him, but at this point he was uncertain if the girl he was seeing looked familiar because he had actually seen her somewhere, or if he recognized her because he seemed to dream her up every day.

"You're going to die."

Though his reverie was broken, Soujiro didn't move. He didn't lift his arm or open his eyes. "No I won't."

He heard a female sigh, followed by tiny footsteps and when he felt a shadow come over his face, he knew that his intruder was leaning over him.

"You'll die if I push you."

He cracked a smile and chuckled, allowing his arm to slide off his vision. "Well I suppose you're right about that."

A foot on his stomach surprised him and his eyes snapped open, locking with hers. And then his breath hitched. He knew those eyes. He saw them every single day, looking into his own in this very spot. They were blue, a hue that matched his own. They were fierce, set with the determination of a young woman who knew little fear.

"You do exist," he breathed.

With a dissatisfied huff, Makimachi Misao lifted her foot, bringing it down upon Soujiro's chest this time. He grunted and grimaced, but made no move to defend himself. In fact, he wasn't doing much of anything but staring.

"Why are you stalking me?" she demanded, her mouth turned down in a deep frown.

With a surprisingly strong grip on her booted ankle, Soujiro lifted her foot from his chest, easing her back and sitting up. With a laugh and a friendly smile, he gave the back of his hair a little scratch.

"I'm not stalking you," he told her earnestly, "but what makes you say that I am?"

Taking a few steps back, Misao eyes him. "Don't lie to me. I see you. I know you're following me!"

"I'm not following you," he repeated. "I swear this is the first time I've ever seen you." He thought on it for a moment and added, "in person, at least."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped, crossing her arms. "You had better start talking because I will not hesitate to smash your pretty boy face in, you creep!"

Soujiro blinked. Who was this girl? She was younger than him he imagined, but not by much. She wasn't wearing a uniform so he supposed if she were still in school, she was a university student. Her long black hair was tied off in a long braid that she flipped over her shoulder, awaiting his defense. It seemed that she wasn't afraid of his supposed stalking, but annoyed.

"Might I ask you a question, Miss?"

Misao pursed her lips, shifting her weight with a hand on her hip. "No."

Soujiro sighed. "Why do you think I'm following you? Where exactly have you seen me before?"

For a moment, her frown faltered and her shoulders dropped. Her face relaxed and she stepped back again.

"I see you everywhere," she breathed, "Getting coffee, on the train, at the bank, at the convenience store, at the park, at crosswalks, in restaurants. I can't spend one day without seeing you somewhere!"

Soujiro thought on this for a moment. While it was true that people with similar schedules and habits would most likely cross paths a few times throughout their lives, his life was hardly scheduled and her list was quite extensive.

"Where was I today?" he asked, his tone teasing as he put his elbows onto his thighs and resting his chin in his hands.

"This morning you bought a steamed bun at the convenience store around eight o'clock. Then you went to the police station at lunchtime. You were on the same train as me after my last class so I decided to follow you to finally confront you."

"It sounds more like you're stalking me," he chortled, taking great enjoyment in her unamused demeanor. She let out a low growl and he sat back on his hands, feeling the wind from the street below. "How long have I been 'following' you?"

She thought for a moment. "Since Christmas. Since the first time I saw you." she nibbled her lip, "at the graveyard."

Soujiro froze. He remembered that night. He'd spent his entire day by the graves of his adoptive parents. While his biological parents had been ruthless and abusive, after narrowly escaping his father's murder-suicide (which stole the life of his drug laden mother and his unborn sibling), eight year old Seta Soujiro had been adopted by a woman who had lived and understood his plight, and her husband, the most noble and honorable man Soujiro would ever know.

But they had been ripped from his side one Christmas Day when he was seventeen. It had been a burglary, a violent one. He knew the man had not only intended to steal the family's valuables, but to murder the occupants of the elaborate estate. To rain down terror upon the happiest day of the year.

He had been helping his father, the cheerful police detective Okita Soushi carry gifts down the stairs. Their family and friends would be arriving soon. They hadn't heard the intruder, but at the crack of the gunshot, both men let the boxes fall from their arms, dashing towards the sound. He remembered finding his mother's body crumpled up in the kitchen, a wooden spoon spilling from her hands and blood soaking up the silver satin of the dress he had bought for her.

Okita had pulled a knife from the block, spinning and scanning the open floor plan for the culprit. With open arms he shielded Soujiro.

"Take what you want!" he called out, "but don't touch my son."

His request was granted, but at the expense of his own life and as Soujiro watched his father fall to the ground, dead before him, the front door opened, and his uncle stepped into the house with his wife and three boys.

Saitou Hajime had been quick. Far quicker than the burglar and, without a chance to take out the family that had quite literally walked in on the murders, he landed on the floor with a quiet thud and a snapped neck. Self defense, Saitou had said plainly, his jaw set and his eyes pushing down the sights before him.

Soujiro had gone to the therapy that had been suggested for him. He'd willingly sat in the hospital for weeks on end, but none of it did him any good. He knew it wouldn't and the truth was, he wasn't entirely certain he wanted it to. He'd watched the murders of yet another set of parents, this time, ones who had actually cherished him, and whom he had loved in return. He didn't want to be healed. He didn't want to forget them. So he locked himself away, adopting his emptiness philosophy and moved on with his life. He studied hard, worked hard, and did nothing more with his success than simply existed.

Yet now she was here. This strange girl from his dreams. Had they truly been crossing paths every day since Christmas?

"My parents are buried there," he said softly.

She gave him a weak smile. "So is my grandfather."

"And I have lunch with my uncle every Thursday. He's an inspector."

"My brother is on the police force," she told him, "I go there to bring him tea because he works so hard he forgets to get it himself."

Soujiro stared at her. "I've been seeing you in my head," he said, the words tumbling out despite his efforts to keep them at bay. "Every day I see your face when I close my eyes."

Misao didn't know what to say to that. She thought back to her day and the days, weeks, months before it. Every time she saw him, no matter what sort of detour or avoidances she took, he was there. But the more she thought, and the more details she was able to recall, he never seemed to notice her. Could it have been that he had truly never laid his eyes upon her until this moment?

"Can I ask you something?" she wondered, crouching onto the ground and picking up a stray piece of wire, drawing invisible pictures on the concrete.

"Of course," he welcomed with a smile.

"Do you believe in soul mates?"

Soujiro laughed. "I beg your pardon?"

"Soul mates," she repeated, standing and stamping her foot, annoyed and embarrassed at his reaction.

"I don't know," he said, smiling up at her, "It sounds a little silly. I think it's a nice concept for romantic books and movies to sell a lot of copies to young fantastical women, but I don't think there's any real truth to it."

He was patronizing her. With a low growl, she crossed her arms. "Don't you think this is weird?" she asked, "You haven't thought for a second that maybe something. . .something bigger is pulling us together?"

Soujiro blinked. "Are you telling me you're in love with me?"

"No!" she cried, breathing heavily and making a small motion with her hands as if she were pushing the idea away. With a deep breath she calmed herself and spoke again. "But what do you feel right now? Honestly. I just want to know."

He paused, concentrating on himself. How was he supposed to answer that? He never felt anything. But then.

Wait.

He raised a hand to his chest, unbuttoning his blue dress shirt and then pressing a palm to the bare skin beneath it. He felt solid. He supposed he always was; he was a human being after all, but there was something inside of him that was there. Something completely intangible, yet warm and heavy, filling up his very being.

"I feel. . ."

She waited, her arms crossed again, an adorable display of impatience.

"I feel like I've been waiting for something," he replied, carefully, staring at his own hands, "Like I've been standing in line, or sitting at the bus stop for. . .forever and now I'm not waiting anymore."

"Me too."

He lifted his head to look at her, and without much of a thought, stood up and took a step towards her. She didn't flinch or back away. She was watching him, but her eyes no longer bore the suspicion of an interrogator, but the curiosity and fascination of a young woman enamored.

"Does this mean you're not going to push me off my apartment building?" he wondered, lifting up the corners of his mouth as he closed the distance between them, encouraging her to uncross her arms, and taking her fingertips in his hands.

"I don't know what it means, but you're too close, you creep," she said, pulling back, but his hold was stronger than her resistance.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked. It was abrupt and while he meant it, he also hadn't meant it. It wasn't like him to go around kissing girls who had accused him of stalking, and then suggested perhaps they were soul mates instead. Then again, he supposed it wasn't like him to go around kissing anyone.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry," he said, releasing her hands. "I'll go home." This day was far too strange. He needed a coffee. And possibly a nap. But perhaps not in that order.

He turned, and he could feel her eyes on him. They were angry again and it sent a chill through his body that he found himself enjoying. She was a cute girl, that he couldn't deny, but from what little tim he had spent with her, he found that while he lacked ambition and drive (a result of naturally excelling at anything he put his hands to), she was made up of passion.

Misao watched him leave. Every step he took the distance between them grew. It didn't matter, she thought to herself, she would see him again tomorrow. Several times, she imagined. Then her thoughts halted. What if she didn't? What if fate had given her these moments, this chance, and by throwing it away, she severed whatever tie she had with this man? What if he was right and there was no such thing as destiny or soul mates? Perhaps it had all been a coincidence. Maybe it would all end.

No. It wouldn't. She wouldn't let it. She had gone too long not knowing and now that she had some semblance of a clue, she wasn't going to pass it up.

Screw it, she bit off to herself, adjusting the purse that hung from her shoulder. With a deep breath she marched towards him, and with a firm grip on his upper arm, spun him around to face her. Not allowing him any time to protest, she grabbed his tie, yanking him forward and crushing her lips against his. She wasn't going to let him go.

Soujiro's body went rigid for a moment, processing her actions, and then he felt electric heat shoot through his veins. His muscles relaxed and his hands found her body, one on the back of her neck, the other cupping her chin. He kissed her in return, tipping her back slightly and tilting his mouth into a grin as she moaned softly against him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his dress shirt.

He didn't know who she was, but he didn't care. She was his now, and there was something inside of him that wanted to give itself entirely to her as well. Whether or not he believed in the idea of souls and mates thereof, there was one thing that he knew with absolute certainty: He wasn't searching any more.

He had heard the notes, and now he knew the song.

And he would never forget the words.

xxxx

Author's Notes: Awww yay! That was fun. It was realy difficult though because I view the idea of soul mates the way Soujiro mentioned so when I got the prompt I was like, "uh... I don't know how to write that." but I hope I did well and you all enjoyed the result of that one! :)