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Hajime and Tokio: Chapter 3 - Alone in Osaka

by Angrybee

"When I drank sake, I felt like killing people. I've tried to avoid it in the Meiji era." -Saitou Hajime, Episode 28, Rurouni Kenshin

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

Winter came to Osaka, and with it, Tokio found that her husband's mood darkened. Messengers would be less likely to travel in the winter, and so Saitou Hajime had to force himself to be resigned to wait until spring for his next assignment.

Tokio set out the bowls of miso and soba she had prepared for that afternoon's lunch. Her husband had been up since...well, she actually had no clue if he had even slept the night before. Pulling on a heavy coat, Tokio walked around to the back of the house to find Saitou doing the same thing he had been doing all day, chopping wood.

He looked particularly focused on the task, scowling lightly at each piece of wood before he raised the axe and split it in twain. His spidery bangs would bounce slightly with each impact, recoiling from the blow.

"Will you come in for lunch, teishu?" Tokio asked, shivering in the sharp winter air of the afternoon, pulling winding her scarf more tightly around her neck.

"Aa."

Tokio frowned. Although he had answered in the affirmative, her husband showed no signs of stopping his task. He was restless. Extremely restless. He had been for weeks. Tokio couldn't remember the last time she'd made up his futon in the morning. He'd spent hours cutting wood today. The day before, he'd paced, actually paced, from lunch until dinner. And several days before that, when he had come home from work, he'd spent the entire evening punching a nearby tree.

Tokio, on the other hand, enjoyed winter. It represented the decay of everything, a slow drying up of the soul of the land. You could watch death slowly creep over the land, overtaking the plants, the animals, transforming the world into silence. She found herself especially fond of the sound of snow, a sound you could never quite remember until you heard it again. Like listening to the world from underneath a comfy blanket.

"Would you like me to purchase you some gloves this week, teishu? Your fingers..."

"Aa."

Tokio had become somewhat used to her husband's progression of moods. In his normal mood, he was punchy, throwing out quips and hidden insults in a smooth manner. In that frame of mind, he was constantly planning, re-planning, researching. Single-mindedly focused on a goal.

His next mood, she'd first witnessed on the way to Osaka. Snapping at the world, ready to fight anyone who stepped in his path. Irritated at whatever stood in his way. He was still focused on the goal, but annoyed at the obstacles for which he had not planned.

But, this last mood, this one even made Tokio cringe. Hopeless withdrawn brooding. Doing anything to keep his mind off the fact that he had no goal, no focus. The wolf became restless without prey. He wandered around, not seeing anything, the look on his face half-rabid, and half-hollow, as if his own mind were slowly consuming itself.

"The wood is not evil, teishu," Tokio whispered, almost pleading.

"Mind your own damn business, Tokio," Saitou growled, holding up a block of wood as if he were going to throw it at his wife.

Tokio stumbled backwards slightly in the snow, more than a bit surprised. He'd insulted her, sure, many a time. Called her stupid or dull or useless. But, he'd never made any intimation that he might actually strike her in anger.

Saitou narrowed his eyes at his young wife, who simply bowed her head and turned to walk back into the house. The Wolf of Mibu placed the log, the one with which he had threatened her, on the block, and cut it in half.

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

And so things continued, all through the winter. Tokio tried her best to stay out of her husband's way, but at the same time gently coax him not to destroy the house or either of its occupants. Somehow, she avoided the brunt of his temper, and found the strength not to poison his cigarettes.

With spring, Tokio turned seventeen, an occasion marked in the Saitou household by her husband actually thanking her for making dinner. Tokio hoped that news of her husband's new assignment would come soon. Though she had grown used to Osaka, she wasn't sure how much more either of them could take.

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

April, Meiji 4, 1872.

Tokio admired the blossoming trees as she returned home from the marketplace. She'd never had much use for flowers, but the slow shower of blossoms reminded her of the snow. A mockery of snow, but snow nonetheless. For at least snow had the wisdom to melt and disappear, leaving no trace of its existence. But the wind would gather the blossoms into sloping piles beside more permanent structures such as trees and houses. And then, the blossoms would decay, and what once seemed as pure as snow would become a brown mass of sticky detritus.

Tokio thought about the trees, about how lifeless they had looked only a few months previous. She wondered from whence they pulled the strength to turn green again each year. Was there some element in the sun or in the ground which provided the singular bravery to re-emerge? Or did they contain the motivation within themselves, dormant within their roots and bark, merely waiting for the snows to melt.

However, as Tokio walked the path up the hill upon which the house sat, she heard a commotion coming from the courtyard. Breaking into as much of a run as her kimono allowed, Tokio soon arrived to find her husband engaged in a rather heated discussion with a young man in travel-worn clothing.

"Useless cowards." Saitou barked, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. "Why even form a coalition if you aren't going to have the backbone to see it through?"

The unknown man backed slowly away as Saitou slipped underneath the shade of one of the courtyard's many trees.

"How long have they known, Jusai? Eh, how long have they known?"

"Three months, Saitou-san. But they figured now that you are married and settled here in Osaka, you wouldn't mind so much that the group had disbanded," Jusai replied weakly. "They just don't want to fight anymore. This Meiji era..."

"I spit on your Meiji era," Saitou replied, his voice once again becoming cool enough to freeze a lake, "And upon all the foolish men who dishonor Japan just to save their own hides."

Tokio entered the courtyard as quietly as possible, pressing herself against the fence near the gate in a futile attempt to become invisible. She bowed her head and stared at the bucket of tofu in her hands dumbly, wondering if the conversation would lead to bloodshed.

"Perhaps it is time to put away the sword, Saitou-san. There are other things to be thought about in these times."

"Such are eternally the suggestions of those who have strayed from the path of righteousness," Saitou replied, "No matter the era, they cringe when presented with hard decisions."

Jusai's shoulders fell defeatedly, "If that is how you feel..."

"It is. Now get out of my house. Your lack of virtue befouls the air."

For a moment, Jusai looked as if he might say something else. However a slight breeze rustled the tree under which Saitou stood, causing the light to momentarily illuminate the Miburo's yellow eyes which bore a feral warning to the other man. Jusai's eyes widened slightly at the sight, and dejectedly, he turned to leave.

Jusai headed for the gate, stopping only briefly to look over the young woman who had secreted herself against the fence. He gave her a pitying look before disappearing down the path.

"Tokio," Saitou said, his voice like a fingernail running down her back, "Go inside."

Tokio obeyed wordlessly, figuring that her husband would follow behind. But, he didn't. Minutes passed, and Tokio decided to busy herself by beginning to prepare dinner. She'd become used to not knowing if her husband would arrive for dinner, but made food for him anyway. Even if he didn't eat with her, if she left the food where he could find it, sometimes he'd eat it cold sometime during the night.

Minutes turned into hours. Tokio finished her own meal and cleaned the dishes.

As Tokio began to do some mending, a thought gripped her. 'What if he no longer wants me around? Now that it appears I will no longer be useful to assist him in his assignments. I've grown used to being near him. But, I wonder how he thinks of me. As some girl who tends his house, I suppose. Maybe he doesn't think of me much at all. His mind is mostly filled with Japan, and I can understand that. But, for some reason, I do not want to go away from him. He's made my life comfortable, but more than that...I feel entranced. His goal is like a fire that burns so bright it gives weaker beings something to which they can aspire. I want him to show me how to do it. I want to wake up one day and have a reason to look forward to the future. I want him to show me a reason to live.'

And then Tokio made a decision, 'I won't let him send me away. I will stay until I have a fire of my own.'

Tokio nodded slightly at her own resolve, and continued her mending far into the night, deciding to stay up until her husband returned. She would tell him exactly what she had decided.

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

Tokio awoke to a loud crash, the haori she had been mending draped over her lap. The lamp had gone out, and the only light in the room came from moonlight streaming into the now open shoji.

There, framed in the night's glow, stood the famous Wolf of Mibu, over a low table freshly cleaved in half. His drawn sword glinted blue in the night. A usually crisp gi dripped dark puddles of mud onto the previously spotless tatami mat.

Saitou's long hair hung loosely around his shoulders, freed of its ponytail for the first time Tokio could remember. Shocks of wild black obscured his angular face as Saitou lifted his sword once more and destroyed a small table supporting the room's lamp.

Tokio pulled herself tighter against the wall, hoping her husband would not notice her presence in the darkness of the room.

When he ran out of furniture, Saitou turned his attention to the walls, dragging the tip of his sword along the periphery, as if showing them the blade that would soon cause their demise. Tokio watched as her husband crouched, preparing to strike. His left arm pulled backwards as his right stretched forward, aligning his fingers with the tip of the blade.

And then Tokio heard it. It started as a low growl, slowly welling up like an overflowing bath, until it burst. Saitou's howl filled the room, reverberating in Tokio's ears long after it ended. At the same time, he thrust his sword into the wall, piercing through the wooden obstacle with a ferocity that made it tear like paper.

Tokio's heart beat rapidly as the teenager tried desperately to figure out how to escape unnoticed. 'What has happened? Certainly, he was angry when he left, but I didn't think he would be -this- angry. If I can just crawl to the back of the house, I can run to the woods and hide until morning.' Tokio shuddered at the thought. The last time she'd had to hide in the woods had been the night her parents died. The night she'd seen the Hitokiri Battousai. Somehow, this night seemed not altogether different.

"Tokio," Saitou hissed. He'd noticed her. Turning slowly on his heel, the teenager watched as the sharp features of her husband's face slid into view. His eyes. Tokio clutched her sewing to her chest. His eyes were bestial.

As Saitou lunged at his wife, Tokio did the only thing she could. She tossed the garment in her lap in his direction, hoping to confuse him as she scrambled on her hands and knees for the back shoji. Unbeknownst to Tokio, however, Saitou deflected the thrown garment easily with his left hand and continued forward.

Tokio felt a sharp pain at the back of her neck as her body flew upwards. A ragged rasp escaped her lips when her husband pulled her up by her hair and forced her body against the wall. Tokio felt the coolness of the wood against her cheek as her enraged husband's hot breath pounded against her ear.

"Where exactly do you think you were going, -wife-?" Saitou asked, barking the last word in such a way to turn it into an unmistakable insult.

The pungent smell of sake filled Tokio's senses.

"You...you've been drinking..." Tokio whispered in surprise.

Apparently unsatisfied with this answer, Saitou grabbed his wife by the shoulder and spun her around. Tokio looked away. She couldn't stand the expression on her husband's face, a look of overwhelming disgust. A look that betrayed Saitou's knowledge that he could kill her in an instant.

"Aa. I've been drinking," the Miburo drawled, "And now, like any normal Meiji man, I've come home to the comforts of my wife. Have you any comfort for me, eh, -wife-?"

"Please don't do this, teishu," Tokio replied, forcing herself to make her whisper audible. "There's no reason..."

"No reason," He repeated, snarling slightly, "You're exactly right Tokio. This world is devoid of reason. Full of irrational people who say one thing and then do the other. So, why shouldn't I be one of those people, hmm?"

Saitou pressed his body against hers luridly, smashing her into the wall. Tokio squirmed, attempting to wiggle free, but her husband's crushing hold on her upper arm held her firmly in place.

Saitou's other hand raised up to grip Tokio's chin, his fingers digging into her flesh. Tokio's lips parted, forming a voiceless cry of protest as tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

"Yes. The world is full of pain, isn't it, Tokio? Isn't it? Inescapable pain. Isn't that what -you- always say?"

"You...you don't believe that," Tokio pleaded, "You believe...in justice...and honor...and virtue."

"And you believe in death," Saitou hissed, "Why don't I help you find that escape for which you have been so adamantly longing, Tokio? Hmm?"

Tokio coughed slightly, choking on the smell of sake and cigarettes. "No...I..."

The grip on Tokio's chin tightened, "You what? What is it, Tokio? Tell me."

"I...don't..." Tokio felt a tear escape the confines of her eye and fall down her cheek onto the strong hand injuring her chin.

"Don't what?"

"I don't want to die! You made me want to learn why to live!"

All at once, Tokio felt her body crumple beneath her as she slid down the wall into a heap on the floor. Her hands went to her face, shielding herself from further attack. The air filled with the sound of the harried breathing issuing from both parties.

Saitou, having released his wife, now stood a few feet away. After a few minutes, the sound of a cigarette being lit cut through the air. Saitou inhaled deeply as he turned away from his wife and stepped towards the front shoji.

"Go to bed, Tokio," Saitou said as he stepped out onto the porch.

It would be the last time she would see him for almost a year and a half.

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

Tokio, shaking, crawled towards the bedroom. She doubted that she would be able to sleep in her own futon, but where else could she go? She had acquaintances in Osaka from the marketplace, but most of them were officious biddies prone to gossip. If she attempted to sleep in one of the larger cabinets, she'd be in danger if her husband took to destroying more furniture.

Finally, Tokio decided to sleep in the kitchen. It seemed least likely that, even in his drunken state, Saitou would take his sword to the stove.

She slept only fitfully, waking occasionally to listen for signs of her husband's return.

She awoke at dawn, for once, dragging herself into the main room to survey the damage by the morning light. Splinters of wood and bamboo lay strewn across the mat, the wall scarred in several places. Tokio spent the morning salvaging what she could of the room. She hung a wall scroll from the bedroom over the worst tear in the wall, cleaned the tatami mat, and picked up the broken pieces of furniture to be used as firewood later.

This done, Tokio tended to her own wounds. Purple welts had appeared on her chin and shoulder from where her husband had gripped her fragile skin. The young wife bathed, and by noon had satisfied herself that she had done her best to rectify the damages done the previous night.

But, her husband did not return that night. He did not return the next day, either, or the next. Tokio confined herself to the house, not wishing to have the market goers gawk at the visible wounds on her face. Besides, if Saitou returned, she wanted to be present to show him that she didn't harbor any ill will.

Tokio wondered what she should be thinking of the entire situation. Most wives would be furious, others would be despondent. Tokio merely felt confused. She had been scared, certainly, but her husband had remained true to his word. He didn't take advantage of her. And he didn't kill her.

'I suppose he has just gone somewhere to compose himself. To plan. Teishu always makes plans. When he has a definite plan of what will happen next, he will return home and tell me. And then things will return to normal.'

Still, he did not return.

At the end of the week, Tokio was running out of supplies. She'd have to go to the market soon, but thankfully, the marks on her face were disappearing. Tokio rubbed her chin gently as she peered into her small mirror.

And that is when she heard a knock on the front shoji.

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

Saitou Tokio slid the shoji open only about an inch, enough to peer at the young man standing on her porch, but not quite enough to allow him to see her face. The man, boy rather, seemed to be about her own age, maybe a year or two older, with short black hair in a western style. He wore a dark blue gi and lighter blue hakama, both of which seemed a size or two too large on his wiry frame. At his side hung a well-polished bokken.

"May I help you?" Tokio whispered.

"I've uh..." The young man looked around as if trying to find words that might be written in the air, "Uh...um...I've come to ask...uh...about Fujita-sensei."

"He's gone," Tokio replied, watching the boy fidget on her porch.

"Do you know when...ano...when he will be back, that is?" the youth asked.

Tokio didn't reply. She didn't know exactly what to say. Her chest seemed to be constricting. When -would- he be back? She had tried not to think about it too much, choosing simply to trust that he would return soon. 'Maybe...maybe he...has deserted me. He doesn't need me anymore, and he has left me here. Alone. But, why? Why after saving my life and after saving me from the streets...why would he leave now?'

Tokio felt her forehead lean against the barely open shoji. She sunk to her knees, her face pressed against the cool bamboo.

"Eh...uh...lady?" the young man asked as the sliver of Tokio's face disappeared from view and the sound of breathy sobbing reached his ears. "Lady...um...you alright?"

Quietly, the youth slid open the shoji to find Tokio kneeling on the floor, her face in her hands. After a moment, the young man knelt down. And, even though the crying woman was a complete stranger, he gingerly put his arms around her and said quite firmly, "It's going to be okay. My name is Narajirou Kozue, and you don't have to worry anymore."

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

"Thank you for making tea, Narajirou-san," Tokio whispered. "But, I really must apologize...."

"Won't you call me Kozue? It seems...um...strange for sensei's wife to pay me such respect."

Tokio attempted a small smile at the young man sitting in her living room. She watched as he fidgeted nervously with his cup, turning it around and around in his hand. The young woman nodded politely.

"Yes, Kozue. I'm afraid I do not know when my husband will be back. Or even -if- he will be back. He's...you see...he..."

Kozue held up one trembling hand as he looked around the main room which still showed a few signs of disarray. "Tokio-san, obviously there has been some sort of trouble. And um...I would not think to pry in sensei's affairs, not after all he has done for my family. Uh...I understand...um...that with sensei, often secrecy must be guarded to protect his missions."

"Missions?" Tokio almost dropped her tea in surprise. "But, how do you know..."

Kozue chewed on his lower lip for a moment, as if trying to decide if he were getting into a situation that might be over his head. "You see...um...Tokio-san, well, my father was in the Shinsengumi, one of sensei's men. After the Bakumatsu, he couldn't wield a sword anymore, and my family was forced to live...well...it was really bad. When Saitou-san heard about it, he helped my father get a great job as an assistant to a politician. Saitou-san said there should be at least one honorable man in politics. And, because of sensei's help, my father made enough money to send me to the school here in Osaka. So, that is how I know, you see. Because in my family, Saitou-san is known as a great man. Without him, I don't even know if my father would have survived the Bakumatsu."

The young man closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if the explanation had drained him. When Kozue's friendly brown eyes re-opened, he found Tokio staring at him with curiosity.

"When you speak of serious things, Kozue, you hardly ever falter," Tokio whispered.

"Aa," Kozue drawled, reaching up to twiddle a few of his bangs, which Tokio now noticed reminded her of shorter versions of the ones that hung in her husband's face. "Sensei says there might just be a real man inside of me, but the shy clumsy boy on the outside doesn't often let him out. Except, uh, he says it, you know, with more cursing."

"I see," was all Tokio could whisper. She'd never really met anyone who thought so highly of her husband. Certainly, his fellow faculty respected him, as did his various political compatriots. Yet, those people respected him out of fear. But this young man, he seemed to almost idolize Saitou. The thought filled Tokio with a strange feeling, the same feeling she had when she saw Saitou give so much money to the bandits on the road to Osaka. Pride. She was -proud- to be married to such a man. Even if that same man had attacked her in some moment of confusion the previous week. Even if he hardly ever even noticed her presence. Even if he killed men in cold blood.

"Tokio-san?" Kozue asked quietly, "Would you, ano, mind terribly if I, you know, came by every once and a while? I mean, I would consider it a great honor to...um...you know, just help you out if you need anything, while Saitou-san is gone?"

"I don't know that I could pay you for such services," Tokio replied sadly, hoping that her lack of money would not scare off her newfound friend, "But, if you like sweets I could..."

"Do I ever!" Kozue said excitedly, thrusting his arms up in celebration. As he did so, his empty tea-cup flew out of his hand and into the wall behind him, where it promptly burst into several dozen pieces. "Oh no!!!"

As Kozue visibly fought off tears, Tokio reached over to pat the young man on the shoulder. Smiling for the first time in a week, perhaps even in months, Tokio whispered, "I think this room is cursed."

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

True to his word, Kozue came by twice a week to check on Tokio. He chopped wood, helped her carry water, even patched up the hole in the front wall. But, most of all, he provided an interesting distraction from Tokio's constant brooding about her husband's whereabouts.

Kozue, Tokio found, was an altogether different sort of person than she had ever met. Bubbly and nervous, clumsy but dedicated and honest. It seemed the young man didn't have a sly or devious bone in his body. Tokio constantly found herself tending to his cuts and bruises. And for once, Tokio felt her own shyness dissolve in the face of Kozue's overwhelming social ineptitude. She felt like a big sister, almost, caring for the young man who was obviously alone in a city far from his home. A strange turn of events, seeing as how Kozue was the older of the pair.

"Tokio-san! Tokio-san, I....ooof!" Kozue had been running so fast through the courtyard that he failed to notice the shovel on the ground. Again.

Tokio opened the front screen door to find her friend laying head-first in the dirt, again. 'I really should move that shovel.'

"Kozue-chan," Tokio whispered, approaching the prone form with a frown on her face, "Must you run so? Here now, have you hurt yourself?"

The young man flipped over onto his back and pulled at the right sleeve of his gi. "Ahhh, I've torn it. And..." Kozue hissed as his hand found the scrape on his elbow.

"Well," Tokio said, lending her friend a hand to steady himself as he stood up, "Come inside. I'll find the bandages."

Inside, Tokio patched up Kozue's arm and then bade him sit still while she mended the sleeve of his gi. "You came to tell me something, Kozue?"

"Oh yes!" Kozue said excitedly, moving his hands about rapidly while he spoke. Tokio pulled her needle back in time to avoid getting poked. "I came to tell you, I made a perfect mark on my exam. Oh, but, that..um...was probably a silly thing to run about...I'm sorry for the trouble, Tokio-san, see, but I was...ano...so excited."

Kozue babbled on and on, not even noticing until Tokio had grabbed his right wrist to hold it still. "Please be still, Kozue."

"Right. Still. Right." Still for Kozue meant keeping one limb mostly motionless, while some of the others worked overtime fidgeting.

"I'm glad you made a high mark. Your parents will be happy, hm?"

"Yes! And my brothers, too. I have four of them, you know. I'm the youngest."

'Well, that explains a lot,' Tokio mused to herself, imagining there was probably a lot to be nervous about with four larger boys constantly playing pranks on you. "There. That should be mended well enough for now."

"Thank you so much, Tokio-san."

"You're very welcome," Tokio replied quietly as she put away her needle and thread. She turned to face the young man and peered at him inquisitively for a long while, something which obviously unnerved Kozue even more than usual. Kozue squirmed slightly, trying to decide what to say.

"You always have such a serious and sad look, Tokio-san. Sometimes it worries me."

Tokio stood and turned around to find one of her scarves laying in her sewing basket. She could think of no response. Her husband had been missing now for five months. In a few weeks, the leaves would start to turn all the vibrant colors of October. Her evenings were filled with doubt. Should she go look for him? But where? And what if when she found him, he just told her to leave? He may not even be alive anymore. The thought was chilling, but Tokio forced herself to think practically.

'I think I may care for my husband. Even though I know that everything you care for in this world will just end up hurting you. Why, then? Why do I allow myself to wallow in this grief, this torment, tearing myself apart with worry? Have I become some sort of glutton for pain?'

"Tokio-san?"

"I'm sorry, Kozue," Tokio whispered, noticing how even her soundless voice had become hollow, "I'll go make tea."

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

Tokio had taken a job as a cook at a local restaurant. The hours were hard, and the days long, but in the end she made enough money to survive.

'I just need to survive. That's all. That is all a person can hope for in this world,' Tokio thought to herself as she put another blanket on her futon. The nights were cold now. Tokio tried not to think of her husband being somewhere outside. Alone and cold. Not that the Wolf of Mibu, in her estimation, had ever exactly bemoaned being alone.

'I suppose he married me out of some sense of duty. Some way to atone for accidentally stabbing me. I should have seen it then, should have known that I was only complicating his life. I suppose he is free now, free of me, free to be who he is and always will be. The protector of all that is honorable and virtuous...the sword of Japan.'

With that thought, Tokio climbed into her futon and extinguished the lamp. Exhausted from her day's work, she fell fast asleep, unaware that the very man she had just deemed free stood only a few yards away.

Saitou lifted his cigarette to his mouth, the tendrils of smoke mixing with the frost created by his breath in the winter air. It wasn't the first time he'd returned to the house in Osaka since his rather stormy departure. Every time, he expected Tokio to be gone. But, of course, where would she go?

'She's not waiting for me. She just doesn't have anywhere else to run.'

It had been a hard ten months. Saitou wondered if things would have been easier if he hadn't returned to Osaka all those times to check on Tokio. Would his conscience have been more, or less, clear? Had he been distracting himself from his true task by worrying about Tokio, or did worrying about Tokio make him more vehement to achieve his goals?

'Damn it, Okita, you had good advice for everything except women.'

Saitou watched as the lamp in the bedroom went out. About an hour, or roughly three cigarettes and a good deal of annoyed scowling later, Saitou Hajime quietly slid into the front room, walked to the back bedroom, and looked in on his sleeping wife.

He knew he didn't have to worry. Once she fell asleep for the night, Tokio always slept soundly until morning.

Tokio's long black tresses splayed around her like a pool of ink. Her lean face, full of feline elegance, seemed exquisitely expressive as she rambled silently to herself in her sleep. Saitou's gaze trailed over Tokio's trembling lips, down her chin, along her graceful neck so horribly marred by the deep gash that took her voice. Her slightly open yukata revealed a gently shadowed hollow cradled by the sharp angle of a collarbone. She was easily the most captivating creature he'd ever laid eyes on.

Saitou couldn't exactly believe he was looking at his wife in such a manner.

'Wait. You're supposed to look at her that way. She's your wife, ahou.'

But, she wasn't really. Not that way. And certainly not after he'd attacked her. Attacked a -woman-. Cowards attacked women. And even lower than cowards were men who got drunk and attacked women because they were mad at the world. He'd pretty much not have many qualms about running such a man through.

Temper. Always his temper. Every swordsman had a weakness, and he had worked so hard to cover his after that fateful day he had to flee his hometown. He'd strived to become the very visage of calm, cool, collected. The ideals he espoused: fair judgment, honorable combat, quick execution, these things did not allow for one's unrestrained anger to get the better of them.

Saitou eventually left his wife to sleep. But, before leaving the house, he laid a white envelope on the recently replaced table in the front room.

'If you're here the next time, Kitty, I'll assume you might be willing to forgive this wayward wolf.'

And then Saitou Hajime disappeared into the biting February cold.

When Tokio woke the next morning, she would find an envelope on the table on the front room. It was labeled with only the word "Tokio", and inside she found a considerable sum of money.

Tokio felt confused only for a moment, until she realized who would do such a thing. To confirm her theory, Tokio lifted the package to her face.

It smelled of cigarettes.

Tokio smiled. Her husband was alive.

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

After the initial euphoria of realizing her husband still lived wore off, Tokio began to ask herself troubling questions.

'Why didn't he stay? Or at least wake me? Probably because he thought I would be bothersome and ask him when he would return for good. Maybe he thought I would be angry. Or, maybe he just didn't care to speak to me. But, if he didn't care about me at all, he wouldn't have left the money. Well, maybe not. He probably did that out of duty more than any sense of fondness.'

"Tokio-san? Are you alright?" Kozue asked, looking up from the wares they both perused in the marketplace. Tokio had mentioned to Kozue that she merely felt out of sorts because it was her birthday. She knew full well that Kozue would assume that this, combined with the now almost year-long absence of her husband, weighed heavily on her heart.

"Yes. My apologies, Kozue."

So, Kozue had convinced Tokio to come to the market with him. He wanted to buy her a tea set to replace the one he'd ravaged with clumsiness over the past year.

"Celebrating my birthday and replacing my tea set, I somehow don't think these are the only reasons you wished to be in the market today, hm Kozue?"

The young man suddenly became very, very interested in some nearby gourds as he tried desperately not to blush.

Tokio attempted to suppress a minute smile, "Aren't you the clever one, Kozue?" Tokio glanced around the marketplace briefly. "So, which one is she?"

Kozue picked up a gourd and turned it around and around nervously, not saying any word except "Um" or "Uh" for a good minute.

"Does she have a name, at least?" Tokio asked.

Kozue took a deep breath and exhaled it as if releasing heaven itself from his lungs, "Kuwako Kume."

"And have you spoken to her about...?"

"Oh no, Tokio-san. No. No. No. No. No. I mean, she's beautiful, and I am so clumsy and...um...you know how I would mess it up, you see. And um, well, I just want it to, ano, be perfect the first time I speak to her, right? I mean, um, well, how was it that you first spoke to Saitou-san? Wasn't it perfect?"

Tokio's breathy laugh startled the young man so much that he dropped the gourd on to the ground, causing the merchant to yell, "Hey! You'll pay for that!"

As he attempted to placate the merchant by paying for the mishandled produce, Kozue asked, "What is it, Tokio, what, ano, is so funny, then?"

"I met my husband when he accidentally stabbed me," Tokio said between breathy laughs, clutching her stomach. She started laughing so hard, her face turned red, and she gasped for air. Suddenly, the whole situation hit her as incredibly funny. Finding a husband at the end of a sword, dodging his punches in the park, almost killing each other over a chicken dinner.

'Its so funny,' Tokio's mind screamed, 'How didn't I see it before? It is perfect. We're perfect for each other.'

"Tokio-san? Tokio-san, please breathe!" Kozue exclaimed, bending down to fan the woman who now was on her knees. Tokio clutched Kozue's hand as she took deep gasps, the restriction of her obi making breathing difficult.

After Tokio calmed down, Kozue led her to some nearby benches. The young man procured some water from a nearby vendor for Tokio, and sat next to his friend as her composure returned.

"I apologize, Kozue. Thank you," Tokio whispered, now feeling a bit dizzy.

"Um, is that true, what you said before, about sensei, ano, stabbing you?"

Tokio smiled, but her expression turned suddenly hollow as she remembered the day, little more than two years previous, that she had met her husband.

"Yes." Tokio looked around the marketplace. People tended to their daily business, hawking wares, buying supplies, making deals. Women in every color of kimono walked accompanied by men in every color of gi. The springtime air made everyone's step a little lighter, everyone's smile a little wider.

Tokio remembered the quiet spring day she had married. It had been such a perfect day, she realized now. Though at the time, she hadn't really thought too much about the weather. Walking home beside a man she didn't even know, it might as well have been an arranged marriage. But, she knew him now. Not, of course, in the way that most women know their husbands. But, she understood him. She'd only lived with him for a year, and now she'd lived without him for a year.

"Do you think he will ever return to me, Kozue?" Tokio asked, her whisper distant and sad.

"Of course he will, Tokio-san," Kozue replied, patting his friend's hands gently, "Of course he will."

"How do you know?" Tokio replied.

"Faith," Kozue said with a smile, "I have faith that the man who saved my family will return to his Tokio as certainly as the sun rises."

"You have such unbridled optimism, Kozue."

Kozue squeezed his friend's hand gently and gave her his widest, most free smile. "Ah, but, Tokio-san, haven't you heard? Meiji is the era of optimism."

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

August, Meiji 5, 1873.

The night air hung heavily all across Osaka. Oppressive and dank, like an unwanted cloak of wet heat blanketing the city. Tokio had even given up on her sewing to sit listlessly in the front room, fanning herself. Outside, the summer cicadas had even relinquished their constant song, preferring instead to hide deep within the cool burrows of the ground. Not a single breeze lifted a hand to provide a moment's relief to the city, and even the water Tokio brought up from the nearby well seemed lukewarm rather than cool and refreshing.

But, at least the evenings were slightly more cool than the days. Tokio didn't know how much more summer she could take, especially since her job required her to spend most of her time next to the ovens of the restaurant in which she worked.

Tokio stood, her fan in hand, having decided that at least looking at the stars might be more interesting than sitting alone in the sweltering front room of the house. Outside, the heavenly constellations splayed themselves radiantly above the city of Osaka. Tokio gazed at the summer sky, feeling somewhat awed by the cloudless panorama of the distant sparks. The deep blue-black of the moonless nighttime sky mirrored Tokio's mood, but still the eighteen year old woman had to stifle the very childish impulse to see if she could reach up and touch the stars.

Saitou Tokio was shaken from her reverie by the sound of horse hooves approaching at an extremely quick rate. Turning her gaze from the sky just in time, she saw the front gate burst open, cracking one of the hinges. The horse and its rider flew into the courtyard, creating a cloud of dust as they skidded to a halt.

The man on the horse lay low to the saddle, his face practically buried in the steed's mane. He wobbled slightly to the left, then straightened himself, as if summoning the energy to dismount. But, removing himself from the horse proved to be too much. The lanky man poured down the side of the animal, landing crouched in the dirt.

Tokio stepped forward carefully, leaving the safety of the porch to investigate the obviously wounded man who had ended up in her courtyard.

"Are...you...alright...sir?" Tokio whispered, doubting that the man could hear her weak voice from such a distance.

"Tokio..." replied the voice of Saitou Hajime, as the man attempted to push himself up from the ground. Saitou emitted a low growl of pain at the effort and ended up only swearing viciously instead.

Tokio broke out into a run, lifting her kimono to an indecent height. 'It can't be. It...can't be.' She came to a stop in the darkness of the courtyard, kneeling in the dirt beside the wounded man.

"Teishu?"

"Aa," Saitou replied, lifting his head slightly to look into the honey colored eyes of his wife.

"You came back," Tokio whispered, looking at a face stained with dark streaks of blood and mud and Kami-sama knows what else. "Are you...injured badly?" Tokio continued, reaching up to brush her husband's wild mane of hair out of the way to inspect him a bit better.

Saitou caught the young woman's wrist with the hand not supporting his weight. Recalling their last meeting, Tokio jumped at the quick movement, but suppressed the urge to flee. The injured man gently pulled the wrist, and its owner, towards him. He stopped only when he had placed Tokio's hand on his chest above his heart.

Looking up, the penetratingly feral eyes of the Miburo turned distinctly soft for a moment, and then turned piercingly serious. "Yes. I am injured badly, Tokio," Saitou replied, running two fingers over the back of her trembling hand.

In the most quiet and solemn voice Tokio ever heard from her husband, came the question, "Will you allow me to stay?"

Tokio took a deep breath and exhaled as she pressed her cheek to the side of her husband's head, coating her own face with blood, sweat, and grime.

"Of course," Tokio whispered, "Of course." Pulling backwards, she continued, "Can you stand? Let us get you inside."

And that sultry August night, the tall Wolf of Mibu leaned on his wife for support as she carefully guided him back into their house. Only the silent cicadas heard the Miburo ask, "Tokio, are you crying?"

The young wife of Saitou Hajime replied, "Yes, teishu."

"Alright," he replied as they stepped over the threshold. "But, just don't make it a habit."