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Hajime and Tokio: Chapter 6 - Ghosts of the Past

by Angrybee

Tokyo. November, Meiji 9.

Tokio stepped out onto the porch of her new home on Taito Street and stretched until her shoulders popped. Living in the city limits took some getting used to, she decided. First and foremost, you couldn't be perverted on the engawa with your husband unless you wanted someone to alert the authorities. Second, everyone knew everyone else's business. Or rather, they would like to think they did. As far as the good people of Taito Street knew, Fujita Goro was a simple policeman, and his quiet wife helped supplement their earnings by selling her crafts in the marketplace.

Of course, the truth lay somewhere beyond that statement. For, Fujita Goro was a simple policeman, a lieutenant inspector with the police force. But the man who wore that mask, Saitou Hajime, was an ex-captain of the Shinsengumi, an excellent swordsman, and an extremely exacting killer. And his wife, though on the surface a quiet, polite, and demure woman, was his most trusted spy.

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

"Does it meet with your approval, Hajime?" Tokio asked quietly as she followed her husband into the small house on Taito street. He had tasked her with finding a place for them to live, since he had started his new job with the police the day after they had arrived in Tokyo. They had been staying at a rather inexpensive inn, and Saitou knew the throng of people that clustered within its walls annoyed his wife at least as much as it did him.

"Aa," he replied. Money wouldn't be a problem at the moment. He had sold the house in Osaka, which would be enough for them to get settled in the new city. Saitou inspected the place while his wife waited in the front room. He was not overly surprised to find that the house contained a rather extensive kitchen, and an enclosed backyard large enough for him to practice his kata unseen by the local residents. If anything, Tokio knew their needs. "It will be suitable."

"I'll have the rest of our things sent from the inn," Tokio whispered as her husband returned to the front room.

"Hn," he snorted, leaning against a wall. Tokio approached her husband timidly. He'd been brooding ever since he had returned from the police station this afternoon. He hadn't even bothered to give her his trademark Fujita Goro smile when he had greeted her, the one that made her cringe and whisper that he was "uniquely disturbed". Of course, Tokio knew, one couldn't simply ask Saitou Hajime what was on his mind. Nor could you demand to be told. Trying to coerce Saitou into doing anything met with resistance, if not a full assault of insults. She had to trust that he would tell her, in his own time.

Thankfully, he appeared to have decided that time was now.

"You must realize, Tokio," he began, "That I have not been asked here to be a mere policeman. The government wants to make use of my abilities and training to handle cases too...unsavory...for the normal police force."

"I had suspected," Tokio whispered as she picked up the sewing basket she carried with her almost everywhere. "Nary a situation is simple when you are involved."

"Life will be much more dangerous for than it was in Osaka. For both of us."

Moving to lean on the wall beside her husband, her shoulder pressed against his arm, Tokio replied, "Living with you has never ceased being dangerous, Hajime." They both stared into empty room. "I know the things that you must do. Did you imagine that I would be afraid?"

"No." Stillness permeated the room before Saitou looked down at his wife. "There are some things I want you to do for me, Tokio."

Tokio looked up at her husband's serious countenance. The way his dark eyebrows pulled at his brow when he was in deep concentration always caused Tokio to wonder that he husband didn't have constant migraines.

"They have given me a small budget to hire informants. The merchant class is growing in power, and many of them lack the slightest scruple against the inexhaustible forms of corruption. I require you to be my eyes and ears in the marketplace."

Tokio only nodded her consent. But, inside, she burned with pride. 'He requires my assistance. Not since we were married the first time has he has asked me to participate in his missions. It must be important to him.' Boldly, Tokio reached out and threaded her fingers through her husband's clutching his hand as they stood together in their new home.

"Yare, there is something else." With his free hand, he reached into the front of his crisp new uniform, pulling out a spiky metal object. "I figured any Kitty needs claws."

Releasing his hand, Tokio took the object. It was a metal contraption, one that seemed vaguely familiar to Tokio, but for what reason, she couldn't say.. A set of metal claws, the kind you slipped over your hand and clasped at the wrist. The user grasped the handle which sat in the palm of her hand, and slashed with the four metal spikes that extended where fingers should be.

"But...I..." Tokio began. She wasn't exactly sure what to think. Weapons like this required strength and skill, definitely not her forte. She'd never been able to land a punch hard enough to exact a bruise. She couldn't even chop her own firewood.

"You'll practice. At the very least you should be able to scratch an attacker's eyes out with those."

Tokio placed the shuko in her sewing basket. As she did so, she spied another object she had placed there. "I have something for you, as well." Taking the starkly white material into her hand she held it out in front of Saitou. "Your gloves."

Hajime narrowed his eyes and glowered at the young woman. 'That little minx. She stole them. This morning when I asked her where they were, she said she hadn't seen them. And I believed her. Damn, you get more sneaky every year, Tokio.'

"Give me those," Saitou said, swiping them from her hands. He'd had to go through his first day with part of his new uniform missing. It had annoyed him to the point of distraction. "Why'd you steal my gloves, eh Tokio?"

"I wanted to embroider something on the lining."

Quirking one eyebrow, Hajime turned the wrist of one of the gloves inside out. On the lining, she had sewn the characters for 'Aku. Soku. Zan.' in perfect tiny black stitches. The other glove bore the words 'For Japan'.

"Hmph," Saitou said, stuffing the gloves into his pocket. "I suppose you think you are clever now."

A secret smirk crossed Tokio's lips, though she said nothing. Instead, she merely slid her hands around his waist and placed her head on his chest. His new uniform was of much stiffer fabric than his gis had been. The western cut of his new clothing made him look like the foreigners she had seen in the marketplace from time to time. No one would ever suspect he used to be one of the deadliest blades of the Shinsengumi.

"No, Hajime, you are the clever one."

'Indeed,' he thought, 'With you working as my spy in the marketplace, I doubt you'll have much time to brood about the tragedy in Osaka.'

"Come on, Kitty," Saitou finally grumbled, steering his wife out the door by a firmly placed hand on the back of her neck. He'd seen a soba stand on his way home, and it seemed a much better option than the grotesque slop they served at the inn. "I want to eat something and not have to worry about being poisoned for once."

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

Tokio swept the engawa as the neighborhood came to life. She stopped several times to yawn or stretch. Getting up early really didn't agree with her. But, it did allow her to make tea for her husband before he left for work. He slept a bit more now than he did when they first met, but not by much. Tokio decided that if one day her husband dropped dead of complete exhaustion, he'd probably come back to life an hour later just to supervise and criticize the digging of his own grave.

'Where is that girl?' Tokio wondered as she mentally added -promptness- to yet another long list of lessons she would need to teach the fourteen year old.

Saitou had brought the scraggly looking girl over one evening without warning. He looked particularly displeased to even be standing next to her, shoving the waifish girl in the direction of his wife and pronouncing, "This is Meshibe Naoya. She's to help you in the market." Then, he turned on his heel and stomped back outside to smoke profusely.

Tokio stared at the girl for quite a while before finally folding up her sewing and motioning for Naoya to sit. Naoya was definitely underfed, dirty, and from what Tokio could construe from the girl's scowl, none too happy to be there.

"Do you cook?" Tokio asked.

"No."

"Can you sew?"

"No."

"Can you read?"

"No. I can't do any of that stuff. So, why don't I just fucking leave before you ask whatever else you are going to ask me. Because I ain't no fucking lady, see?"

Tokio considered this while the girl eyed the door like she was looking for a good time to flee. Naoya had short greasy brown hair that barely fell to her shoulders, and wore a faded greenish yukata that may have been blue at one point. Dirt permeated the girl's appearance, but two things caught Tokio's attention. One, Naoya's fingernails were immaculately kempt, trimmed rather than chewed. And two, she had tried to tie her yukata sash in a current style worn by high society ladies...and had failed miserably, causing the bow to end up lopsided.

"I see," Tokio whispered. "You are no lady. But you would very much like to be."

Naoya's eyes grew wide as she whipped her hands behind her back, "I..."

"Why did you hide your hands, Naoya-chan?"

The youth shifted her weight as her face reflected her discomfort, "Mother always told me you can tell a lady by her hands." Peering at Tokio's lap where the voiceless woman had laid her own hands, Naoya continued, "And mine'r fuckin' dirty."

Tokio chuckled silently as she stood, "Hands can be washed, Naoya-chan. Sewing and cooking can be learned. But, if you want to become a lady, you'd do best to stop cursing, or we shan't get along at all." Tokio extended a hand to the young girl who had bowed her head as if in shame. "Won't you come with me, Naoya-chan? I'd very much appreciate your assistance in the kitchen."

From what Tokio was later able to gather, Meshibe Naoya's mother worked as a maid at a hotel frequented by foreigners. In return for information she might gather on their personal habits or dealings, Saitou had promised to help Meshibe-san's eldest daughter become refined enough to work in a teahouse. Unfortunately, before that, Naoya had worked with her older brother. He was a laborer on the railroads, and since she was six, she had been a water-bearer for the men there.

'No wonder she has the vocabulary of a hardened adventurer drunk on three jugs of sake. Those railroad men are rough,' Tokio thought as she noticed she had all but fallen asleep leaning against her broom.

"Oi, Tokio-san," Naoya called, opening the gate and striding up the shaded walkway. Tokio noticed that Naoya's obi was at least a smidgen less lopsided than the day before, which turned out to be a minor improvement over the previous three weeks' attempts. Naoya noticed and spun around, showing off her obi-tying attempt. "Ya like it? I think your old kimonos look just fu...just smashing on me. Right, Tokio-san?"

"They're a little big. And you're a little late."

"I -know-," Naoya said, "I have to tell you, Tokio-san. I saw that woman lurking outside your gate again this morning. She wandered off when she saw me, so I followed her! Ain't I clever?"

Tokio's eyes narrowed as she leaned her broom against a post. That woman. They'd seen her several times. Watching them from across the street in the marketplace. Leaning against a tree or sitting on a bench as they passed on the way home. Tokio and Naoya dismissed it as coincidence the first few times. But now...now -that woman- had been lurking around the house on Taito street.

The unknown woman wore fine garments, and carried herself with a confident air. Expensive rings adorned her long fingers. And she smoked constantly, always puffing away at a foreign cigarette dangling from a thin ebony cigarette-holder. Tokio guessed her to be in her late thirties, though much more had been hard to discern. The woman always looked away or walked off if Tokio looked directly at her.

Tokio hadn't told her husband. Not yet. She had to know more beforehand. If it turned out to be nothing, Hajime would never let her hear the end of it.

"What did you find out, Naoya-chan?" Tokio asked as she stepped off the engawa and proceeded to help the younger woman hook up the horse to the small cart the pair used for selling their wares.

Naoya grinned, knowing she'd done something important this morning, and hoping that Lady Tokio-san would praise her for her efforts. "She went to a...whore house!"

Tokio clicked her tongue and repeated primly, "A house of ill repute?" Hopefully, her young friend would get the idea that one did not speak of these women as "whores". "How did you know that it was such a place?"

"Tokio-san, ya don't work with the railroad men for eight years and not know that sorta thing. Anyway, d'ya think...I mean she's a little old, but, I guess men like all types, right?"

"You're positively impertinent, Naoya," Tokio whispered as she affixed the straps to the horse.

As Naoya repeated the phrase "positively impertinent" softly to herself several times, Tokio's mind spun. 'A prostitute? One of Aunt Junpei's friends, perhaps? But how would Aunt Junpei know where to find me? I didn't even tell her when we left Nagasaki. And I certainly haven't contacted her since then. She could be one of husband's informants, perhaps. But, then why would she be following Naoya and I?'

As the pair loaded up the cart, Naoya asked quietly, "Oi, Tokio-san. What's 'inpertinet' mean, anyway?"

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

The marketplace. It was the once place Tokio loved being among people. Unlike the scrutiny of a social engagement or the base human functionality of an inn, the marketplace fascinated Saitou Tokio. Here, people dressed their best, they affected different personalities, intricate masks to hide damning secrets and scandalous realities. And Tokio could pierce them all with her keen eye. A decade of nigh-silence had honed her skills of perception on par with her husband. She couldn't sense ki, but she could certainly tell when a woman forced a smile, or when a child stood a little too far away from a parent. Tokio knew what it meant when a food vendor gave a lady a larger portion than any other customer, when the kimono seamstress closed her doors a little early, and when the vendor of wall scrolls and paintings sold items taken from a special hidden shelf underneath his counter. Secrets, the marketplace was a toybox of secrets. And only Saitou Tokio had the key.

"You can buy this beautiful little cake for your sweetheart, mister! One bite, and she'll squeal with delight!" Naoya called out to a particularly well-dressed gentleman.

For all of her lack of manners, refinement and elegance, Meshibe Naoya turned out to have one amazing talent. Salesmanship. Tokio figured the fourteen year old could probably sell a pair of shoes to a legless man.

Plus, she had a very, very healthy voice.

Tokio watched the bustle of people from the corner of her eye as she sewed. The tofu vendor looked a little pale today. Tokio wondered if the girl from the flower shop had finally told him he would soon be a father. Likely. One of the local innkeepers wore a yukata that certainly seemed too small for her. Another row with her husband had ruined her last good one, Tokio supposed.

A young man, even younger than Naoya, weaved his way through the crowd. his spiky black hair remained unmoving even in the late autumn wind. His mustard-colored gi bulked unnaturally at the waist. Tokio smirked. The boy's tanned face looked up as he passed Tokio's stall, brown eyes locking on hers for only an instant. Afterwards, he disappeared into the crowd ahead.

"Naoya," Tokio whispered, "Would you watch the cart for a moment? I'll return shortly."

"Yeah, 'course Tokio-san," Naoya chirped. After her mentor was out of sight, Naoya put her feet up and leaned back on her stool. Someone across the street yelled, "Hey girl. I can see up your kimono!"

Naoya grumbled as she swung her legs back down. "Piss off, fucker!" She forced herself into the constrictive posture Tokio sat in most of the time. Naoya cursed under her breath. "Damn it. Am I learning to be a lady, or a freakin' pretzel?"

Tokio wove through the streets of the markets with ease, stopping occasionally to glance at this or that item that caught her eye. After a few minutes, she found herself in an off-alley, one containing little more than a broken cart and someone's laundry strung on ropes across the narrow passage.

The boy in the yellow gi sat on a pair of wooden steps about halfway down the alley.

"Myojin-san," Tokio whispered as she motioned towards the bulk in his gi. "I see you've done a brisk business this morning." She'd already learned that the boy had a soft spot for flattery and shows of respect.

"Aa. Look, I don't got a lot of time lady, so let me lay it on the line for you." Myojin Yahiko produced a small slip of paper and handed it to Tokio. "The head of the local yakuza is going to be at this address in two weeks."

"I can't promise anything," Tokio replied as she slipped the paper into her sewing basket.

Yahiko glared at the woman. Tokio-san the vendor of sweets and embroidery. She always wore a scarf, and couldn't speak above a whisper. There were all sorts of rumors about how she'd gotten her injury, but Yahiko didn't care much for idle gossip. Where Tokio-san was concerned, the more intriguing mystery to Yahiko was how she knew -everything- that went on in the marketplace. How she found out that he was a pickpocket in the employ of the yakuza confounded him.

"You said you had contacts who could take the local yakuza down," Yahiko said, trying not to whine.

Tokio eyed the end of the alleyway where someone had lingered a bit too long. Fortunately, it was only a little girl bending to pick up a dropped toy. "I do. But, they must be certain of many things before they act." Tokio bowed slightly to the boy and turned to leave. "Good afternoon to you, Myojin-san."

"Wait, Tokio-san. I have something else that might interest you."

Minutes later, Tokio made her way back to the cart and Naoya through the flowing crowds of the marketplace. A tiny smirk tugged at her lips. A good day, indeed. She'd procured extremely useful information from that Yahiko boy. Plus, he had sold her a recipe for an interesting pastry. He'd found it when he'd picked the pocket of a foreign woman. And then, Naoya's information about the strange woman who had been following them. Yes, a good day.

Tokio permitted herself to be mildly pleased. No more, no less. Overconfident egotism was an unappealing trait and one that would never suit her. But, she could not disregard the progress being made. And she -had- vowed Hajime would not regret giving her this assignment.

Lost in her thoughts, Tokio didn't realize the situation at the cart until she was only a few yards away. Naoya stood, her arms boyishly crossed at her chest, her feet planted apart from each other in a protective stance. Her upper lip curled as she locked gazes with the very woman who had been following them around town. The stranger stood at the cart, smoking nonchalantly as she returned the stare.

Tokio approached the cart and put one hand on Naoya's shoulder to calm the girl. "Naoya-chan, won't you go and find us a touch of lunch?"

"You sure, Tokio-san? 'Cause I can..."

"Yes, please, Naoya-chan," Tokio whispered. As the youth stormed off angrily to find food, Tokio turned her attention to the woman who had been stalking them. She definitely didn't look like any of Aunt Junpei's friends. She exuded confidence and disdain for her surroundings. Tokio noted that even though the woman's garments were of extremely fine silk, she wore them in the simplest manner possible, without any extra flourishes to the obi or any decorations in the woman's hair. But, the woman's face intrigued Tokio the most. Long and lean, with defined cheek bones and a strong chin. It had a familiar quality that Tokio struggled to place.

"How may I be of assistance today?" Tokio asked, deciding the best course of action would be feigning ignorance.

The woman took a quick puff from the end of her cigarette holder and ran her hand over some of the embroidered handkerchiefs Tokio had for sale. "You are Saitou Tokio, ne? Wife of Saitou Hajime?"

Tokio's gaze darted around the marketplace quickly. No one had heard. "Fujita Tokio, madame. Though, I believe I may be acquainted with the man of whom you speak."

"Ah," the woman replied, her eyes flickering with understanding, "Yamaguchi Katsu. Perhaps you know of me?"

The name sounded so incredibly familiar. Tokio's mind reeled trying to place it. And how exactly did this Yamaguchi Katsu know about her husband? "I'm afraid I do not."

A look of hurt crossed Katsu's face briefly, only to disappear in the depths of her practiced disdain. The older woman picked up a silk scarf and held it up to the sunlight. "I see. Perhaps you could give Hajime-kun something for me." Katsu slipped a small envelope out of a fold in her obi. Handing it to Tokio she continued, "Tell him not to be late."

Tokio flipped the envelope over several times, trying to discern any extra information about the enclosed missive. By the time she looked back up, Katsu had turned away from the stand. "Ciao, Tokio. Give my very warmest greetings to Hajime." Katsu disappeared into the market crowd with one disaffected wave of her cigarette holder.

By the time Naoya returned with the bowls of noodle soup she had procured, Tokio had worked herself into quite a perturbed state. This, of course, looked hardly different from any other state into which Tokio might work herself, being a woman practiced at hiding her emotions from the world for the sake of propriety. Nonetheless, a trained or familiar eye could easily discover that the usually inscrutable Saitou Tokio had put down her embroidery and glanced uneasily at the nearby sewing basket every few minutes.

Tokio had the definite inkling that she did not want to follow her own train of logic to it's intuitive conclusion. A woman who had been seen returning to a house of ill repute, who had been following Tokio, who not only knew Tokio's husband's real name, but appeared to feel she could address him rather familiarly... Tokio did not appreciate where such thoughts led.

'Of course, Hajime had been in his late twenties by the time I met him. Certainly he had known women, perhaps even carnally, before that time. It would be far too naive of me to think otherwise. In war times, soldiers surely must find their comforts where they can. How can I possibly be jealous of a time before we even met? I shall not. To do so would be far too frivolous. I can not be jealous, I will not sink to such a level, the level of the petty lovers' squabbles that ripple through the marketplace from time to time. And above all, I would not give Hajime that satisfaction.'

"Tokio-san, are you quite alright? You haven't even touched your soup."

"Quite well, Naoya-chan," Tokio whispered, "It is a lovely day, no? One of the last we are likely to have until winter. Perhaps we should pack up and return for now."

Naoya shoveled the rest of her soup into her mouth quickly, stopping only for a moment to ask, "So, what, Fujita-san's gonna get it tonight, eh? I seen my mother do it, you know? You yell at them, point your finger a lot, and then when they finally admit it, boom...kick 'em right in the.."

"Naoya-chan!" Tokio gasped, reaching out to pinch the girl's lips closed. "I dare say I have absolutely no idea what you mean."

After her mouth was finally released, Naoya rubbed the area slightly. Pouting, she replied, "If that is true, Tokio-san, I think I may have a few things that -I- need to teach -you-."

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

Tokio was definitely not waiting impatiently for her husband to get home. Certainly not. She was not that sort of woman. No. Saitou Tokio was going about her chores in the same fashion she did every afternoon. And maybe she -was- scrubbing her husband's yukatas a bit more vigorously than usual, but certainly this did not denote anything out of the ordinary. Or maybe she did briefly wonder exactly how much wood would be needed to bring a bath to a temperature way past boiling, but surely such a thought didn't mean anything important.

Saitou Hajime returned home around the time the sun was setting. He'd stayed late, as he did many days, to pour over reports and documents. In general, he found, most of his efforts turned out to be unnecessary. Tokyo certainly had it's criminal element, but nothing of particular import. Nothing that could match wits or sword with the Wolf of Mibu.

His wife met him in the front room, as usual, taking his jacket quietly. 'Hmm. That little red blush across the bridge of her nose. The brightness of her skin. She looks more radiant than usual today,' he thought, bending down slightly to smell his wife's hair while she engrossed herself in folding the overshirt of his police uniform. 'Which means one of two things. Either she's done something clever, or she's trying very hard to deceive me.'

"Did you have a good day at work, Hajime?" Tokio asked as she disappeared into the kitchen to fetch his dinner.

"Aa," he replied, hiding the suspicion in his voice. She was being far too chipper. It was not altogether uncommon for the pair to not speak more than five or six words to one another in the evenings. "And did you manage to reign in badger-girl?"

He actually didn't care about her answer. Saitou focused on her voice. Even his wife's nigh inaudible whisper carried it's own inflections and nuances. Knowing these, he hoped to be able to deduce her frame of mind and motivations.

Tokio returned holding a lacquer tray bearing soba and cucumber rolls, which she sat in front of her now-seated husband. Though she had eaten earlier, Tokio sat at the table as well, taking an evening tea to keep her husband company. "Naoya-chan? Yes. Naoya has turned out to be quite helpful." Tokio reached into her ever-present sewing basket and produced a slip of paper and a small envelope. Saitou noticed that her whisper changed only subtly as she switched to business mode. "I was able to get a location for that yakuza underboss from the pickpocket I told you about."

"Indeed," was Saitou's only reply as he lifted the slip of paper, scrutinized it, and then tucked it in the breast pocket of his undershirt. 'Ah. So she's proud of herself, that's all. Yare,' Saitou stole a lustful glance at his wife as she daintily sipped her tea, 'I'll just have to thank her later.'

"And..." Tokio's whisper all but dripped with acid, "A woman brought this. She said to give 'Hajime-kun' warmest greetings." Daggers flashing in her eyes, Tokio slid the envelope across the table.

With one swift movement, Saitou lifted the envelope and had it opened. Tokio wondered how he had so cleanly slit it open without using a knife. The amber-eyed man glanced from the unfolded paper pulled from inside the envelope, to Tokio, and back to the paper. Tokio scrutinized her husband. If he was going to reveal anything, it would be now. But, the only emotion which passed his face was a mild look of surprise, followed by a double dose of annoyance.

"A woman, you say?" Saitou asked disaffectedly, "Did she tell you anything else?"

"That her name was Yamaguchi Katsu. That's all." Tokio found herself, for once, unable to look at her husband's eyes. She stared into the murky depths of her tea, swishing it slightly as it grew ever more cold from neglect. "Well, except that Naoya-chan happened to follow the woman..."

"Is that so?"

Tokio's hands shook slightly as she continued, "To a...well...an establishment for ladies of the evening."

Saitou Hajime laughed heartily, almost maniacally for once. The expression on Tokio's face really was quite priceless. His wife's horror couldn't be more amusing. The prudish way she had revealed the information, as if the mere thought of a prostitute would sully her own virtue. This, combined with the jealousy she had tried so diligently to hide, all but brought mirthful tears to his eyes.

'This will be...fun,' Saitou thought, 'Provided she didn't poison my rice.' A brief scene entered the Miburo's mind of him laying prone on the floor, knocked out by some unknown poison. Tokio sat on his chest, her newly procured iron claw inching towards his left eye. 'No. That's ridiculous. She wouldn't dare.' Wiping the image from his mind, he concentrated on the horrified expression on Tokio's face.

"Might I ask why you are laughing, Hajime?" Tokio asked, attempting to look calm as she lifted her already chilly tea to her lips.

"I laugh because the naivete of my wife is thoroughly amusing." Pushing his tray of food away, just to be on the safe side, Saitou reached into the pocket of his undershirt to retrieve his cigarettes. Tokio hated it when he smoked inside, he knew. Glaring at her intently, he lit his cigarette with a match, daring the young woman to contradict his actions. "Don't you realize how very amusing you are, Tokio? Was not your own aunt one of those 'ladies of the evening'? It amazes me how quickly you raise your nose when confronted with the less palatable elements of your past."

"But, I never did anything..." Tokio placed her teacup down on the table a bit too smartly, causing the saucer to clink noisily. Blood rushed from the young woman's face as her posture became ever more strained.

"Never, did you?" Tendrils of smoke curtained the intense glower of the icy man sitting across from Tokio, "Surely, you don't expect me to believe that. Not after you so willingly -gave- yourself to the first man who crossed your path. You wanted out of more than your aunt's home, didn't you, Tokio? You wanted out of her business, too."

Tokio's nostrils flared. Now visibly shuddering with each word, she pronounced, "That is not true, and you know it."

"Do I?" Saitou leaned back on one hand nonchalantly. He had her. One or two more pushes, and his wife might just explode. And everything she kept hidden, locked away inside that demeanor of demure politeness would explode and expose some exquisite molten core of Tokio no one had ever seen. "What is the harm in people thinking you were once such a woman, Tokio? I mean, surely, you are an honorable woman now, married and faithful. What would be the harm in all your little pawns in the marketplace thinking you were once a common whore? One little rumor and...."

Tokio's hand swung before she even realized what she was doing. She had intended to slap him. Perhaps such a reflex lays within all enraged women who find themselves restrained by the bounds of society and the supposed weakness of their gender. Nonetheless, her husband easily blocked the blow, knocking it away with the back of his hand in a dismissive movement.

"Problem, Tokio?" As Tokio withdrew her hand, a hand that was slowly balling into a fist, her husband continued. "Or are you just worried that I only see you as one more in a string of loose women with which I pepper these boring Meiji nights?"

That did it. This time, Tokio knew -exactly- what she was doing. She swung her fist with all of her might, aiming directly for her husband's jaw. She didn't care, at that moment, if he was the Wolf of Mibu, one of the strongest swords of the Shinsengumi, or an expert killer. She only cared that he was her husband, and he would -pay-.

Of course he easily caught her wrist. Saitou held it aloft while putting out his cigarette with his other hand. Tokio struggled as he did so, pulling at her arm by leaning away from her husband.

"Let me go."

"No."

"Yes. Let me go. I tire of your games," Tokio whispered as her husband pulled her forward. She fought against his grip, but in the end could not match his strength. He turned her wrist slightly, locking the joint to give her less leverage. To avoid pain, and ultimately a sprained wrist, Tokio had to move so close to her husband she could feel his breath on her left cheek. "You're hurting me," she whispered.

"You like it," he replied with a growl. "You always have." He dived for her lips, wanting to drink the exquisite jealousy from Tokio's pouting mouth. Her anger, her every hidden emotion, had an intoxicating effect on him, even more so than sake. Except, when he drank Tokio, it wasn't killing with which he became obsessed.

And she was -far- more addictive.

As his tongue ran greedily over his wife's lips, Tokio bucked suddenly, pushing away from him by leveraging her free arm against his shoulder. When he tightened his hold, Tokio's head lunged forward and Saitou had to move his head swiftly to narrowly avoided being bitten.

"Go ahead and struggle, Tokio," he whispered, bringing his lips to her ear, "It will just make it all the more rewarding when you give in."

"Then I will pretend to be dead," Tokio hissed.

"I'm sure you're now beginning to suspect, Tokio," he murmured as his lips trailed possessively over her neck, "I've had worse. Much worse."

Tokio's anger suddenly gave way to her own confusion and dread. "Many...Hajime? Have there been many others? Are there...now...still..." Tokio asked as she felt her neck grow warm and flushed. 'Even when I am angry with him, why can't I resist him? I must. I simply must.' Using her still-twisted arm, Saitou pushed his wife onto her back. Her doubt was irresistible, her timid anger delicious. If he didn't have her, and soon, he might burst into flames and consume everything in his path.

When he didn't answer her questions, Tokio turned her head to stare fearfully at the wall, "Are you...so very unhappy with me?"

Deftly untying her yukata, Hajime replied, "Tokio, if I was, do you really think I would spend my time with other women? I have so many better things to do." Naked flesh exposed to trained fingers, Tokio shivered as her husband traced elaborate designs on her torso with his hand. "You can be so simpleminded."

"You let me think that you..." Tokio winced as her husband's hands grazed a particularly sensitive area, "You bastard..."

"Yare, yare, it curses. What else will it do when angered?"

As she involuntarily arched her back to his touch, Tokio gritted her teeth, "I hate you."

Sweeping his gaze down his wife's prone form, Hajime quirked an eyebrow, "Your body seems to be declaring otherwise. I'll stop torturing you if you just submit, Tokio. You know that."

"Not until you tell me who she is."

"Who?"

"Yamuguchi Katsu," Tokio breathed, exasperated.

Saitou rolled his eyes, "You mean my sister?"

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

They had almost made it to the bedroom. Almost.

Saitou lay half in the hallway, half in the bedroom, the cool wooden floor against his naked back, his warm blooded wife against his torso.

"I can't believe you have a sister," Tokio whispered, entwining her legs with her husband's. "An elder sister. You never told me."

"I suppose it would be too late to mention my older brother, as well."

Tokio ran her fingers over her husband's muscled forearm, "But. I don't understand, Hajime. Why is her name Yamaguchi? If she is married, why did she go to..."

"Kuso, where are my cigarettes?"

"Mmm? Here they are," Tokio replied, scooping up her husband's shirt in the darkness and handing it to him.

"Yare, Tokio, you don't think my real name is Saitou Hajime, do you?"

It took a moment. And then Saitou heard his wife's fist thump against the floorboard, "Don't I know anything about you?"

"Ah, Kitty, you know the important things. You know how much I like it when you..."

"Hajime, please!"

The Wolf of Mibu chuckled as he lit a match. He held it first to his cigarette, then close to his wife's lips for her to blow out. "According to her note, we're invited to dinner. Still, it is hard to say what Katsu really wants. My family and I didn't exactly part on pleasant terms."

"Will you tell me about it, Hajime?" Tokio asked, placing light kisses on her husband's abdomen.

"Aa. I suppose you should know."

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

Yamaguchi Jirou's fist connected with the other fat man's nose, causing a distinct snap. The rotund man squealed in pain as he stumbled towards the entrance, muttering about honor and revenge and bandages. Hands clapped on Jirou's back as the nineteen year old bent back down to take another roll of the die.

"That'll teach old Unjara to cheat, eh Jirou?" one of the many young faces called with glee.

The lanky youth, a spindly and often underestimated boy cracked his knuckles and responded, "Aa."

"Geez, loosen up, Jirou, that's the third guy you've punched tonight."

"If you don't want to be next, Hiro, you'll shut up and get me more sake."

Hiro scratched the back of his head and shrugged. Jirou had been his friend since he could remember, and since he could remember, Jirou had been in a bad mood. Nonetheless, Jirou did have some good qualities. Well, he had some qualities that were not utterly detestable. Probably.

Besides, Jirou's older sister was the fiery and stunning Yamaguchi Katsu. And Hiro also could not remember a time when he was not in love with her. OF course, the only word she had ever said to him was, "Ahou." But, in Hiro's mind, what she really meant was "I find you utterly irresistible. Be mine forever."

As the pair took a break from gambling, they leaned against a far wall, speaking quietly, "You lose much more money, Jirou, and your father will have your head. How much have you lost tonight?"

"Mind your own business, Hiro. Anyway, I always win. I'm not an idiot like the rest of these losers who leave everything to chance." Jirou replied, taking another swig from his jug of sake.

"Do you mean you are going to cheat?"

"Of course not," Jirou grumbled, thumping his friend on the shoulder with the back of his hand, "That would be dishonorable. Don't insult me."

Jirou noted that over the past three months, the establishments in which they had been gambling had become progressively more seedy. He'd wanted to be able to deny that this correlated with the amount of desperation with which he played. But, no longer could the teenager lie to himself. If he didn't win big, and soon, the future looked bleak for the rapidly-failing Yamaguchi family.

Ever since his father had become ill, money had grown scarce for the family. Jirou's elder brother had journeyed to Tokyo to seek his fortune, in the hopes that he might soon return with money to spare. But, that had been almost a half year ago, and the situation had only grown worse with the disappearance of the eldest Yamaguchi son.

If Jirou didn't come up with money for the family soon, his sister would be married off to Fusada Atsuji. Fusada. The name burned in Jirou's mind. Fusada, who had let his first wife burn when their house had caught fire, running from the blaze like a frightened animal. Fusada, whose name stood for every corrupt and underhanded practice that made the merchant class despicable, backstabbing, bribery, even dealing in opium. Fusada, the rat-faced lowlife that had somehow come to own half the village.

Fusada, who just then walked in the door.

Hiro noted that his friend's posture went rigid. Following Jirou's gaze, the shorter of the two boys gasped. Hiro put his hand on his lanky friend's shoulder.

"He's not worth it, Jir-kun."

The young man who would someday become Saitou Hajime handed the jug of sake to his friend.

"Do you love my sister, Hiro?" Jirou asked, reaching up to tighten the binds on his ponytail.

"Yeah, but, that doesn't have anything to do with it. Your father will be angry..."

The noise in the establishment dropped to nothing as Jirou drew his sword and stepped forward, eyes on Fusada. Speaking so that all the other patrons could hear, Jirou continued, "Hiro, if you love my sister, then you will understand why I can not let her, or my family, be dishonored by mingling blood with this lowlife. We are samurais, descended from the greatest of samurais, the loyal men of Harima, the samurai of Lord Asano. All who live within this village know that the Yamaguchi name is sacrosanct! And I would rather be branded an outlaw for my actions than see that name dragged through the mud by this mere merchant of opium!"

The blood of Fusada Atsuji soon dripped down the walls of the gambling house. No man moved to prevent the action, and no man moved to stop the culprit from his escape.

Six hours later, as the sun rose and sent a blush of pink over every doorstep in the tiny southern village, Yamaguchi Jirou hopped down from the massive tree where he and Hiro had played in their youth. Jirou's friend approached with some caution, looking around yet again to make sure he had not been followed.

Holding out a sack, Hiro said, "Hey. I brought you some things. I couldn't get your stuff, that would be too suspicious. But there is a change of clothes and some food. You should probably not stop until you get to Mibu. You know how fast word travels in these villages. My uncle will take you in when you get there."

"How is my family?" Jirou replied, leaning against the aged tree, as he rummaged through the sack.

"Distraught. Your father is going to have to disown you, you know. And your mother won't stop crying..."

"Take care of them for me, Hiro. And Katsu. She's a good woman, even if she does have the family temper."

"Yeah. I will." Hiro closed his eyes to fight back his tears. He'd always been a bit too sentimental for Jirou's taste, but the tall youth ignored it as he slung the bag over his back and started off into the woods. "Be safe, Jirou-kun!"

Without looking back, a steady voice replied, "Ahou. Yamaguchi Jirou is dead."

Three weeks later, a young man by the name of Saitou Hajime appeared in Mibu. He threw a mean punch, and had deadly sword skills. And the look in his eye gave no one cause to doubt that he was a killer.

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

"So, if her name is Yamaguchi Katsu, still, then she must have never married that Hiro boy," Tokio whispered, feeling around on the floor in the dim room to find her yukata. She shivered, but did not know if it was the room or the tale that had caused her skin to grow cold.

"Hn." Saitou found his shirt, the one he had pulled his cigarettes from, and chucked it at his wife. "Katsu always did have her own pigheaded way of doing things."

Tokio sat, straddling her husband's stomach, and pulled the shirt over her head. As the black material slipped over her torso, she asked, "Did it make you afraid, the first man you killed? Do you regret it, Hajime?"

"No. I regret nothing. To regret that act would be to give that man some special place among those it has been my duty to kill. He does not deserve such a pedestal."

"No," Tokio whispered, suppressing a shudder as her husband's cold hands darted underneath the fabric and slid upwards over her ribs. "I didn't suppose you would. Will you go, then, to meet your sister?"

"We will go," Saitou corrected, "There is no reason I, alone, should have to suffer. Now get off of me and go to bed, Tokio. The floor is cold."

Tokio tilted her head to one side, "Oh? My husband is not known to complain."

"Complain? Don't be daft, woman." Strong arms gripped Tokio's waist as she was suddenly rolled onto her back. Tokio sucked air in through her teeth as the icy floor assaulted her arms and legs. "That was not a complaint. It was a warning."

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

Tokio squinted slightly as she looked out the grime covered carriage window. Tokyo looked so completely different rushing past one's eyes in the fading twilight. Hypnotic. One shop, one house, one road blurring into the next. The dazzling coronas of each streetlamp refracted in the imperfections in the window glass, turning into multicolored spokes of light. Tapping her fingernail on the glass, Tokio stifled a yawn.

Saitou watched his wife out of the corner of his eye. He had to admit, she looked quite lovely this evening. Her deep maroon colored kimono offset the creamy luster of her skin. The tiny beads on the fringes of her long beige scarf clacked rhythmically as the carriage drove over the uneven roads, making it almost impossible to keep his mind on the task at hand...figuring out what his sister wanted.

"Don't fall asleep, Tokio."

"I shan't," she replied, leaning back to allow the dusty curtain to fall back over the glass. "Perhaps I should have worn my tomesode. But, I am unsure if that would be proper, since your sister's married state is unknown. It might offend her somehow and I..."

"Tokio, since when do you babble idiotically?"

Tokio shut her mouth and laid her hands in her lap. She'd told herself that it was exactly ridiculous to be nervous. She had no reason to behave erratically, as she did not need Katsu's approval. Tokio had been married to Hajime for six years, and nothing Katsu could say or think would change that. Yet, although she could handle the bustle of the marketplace with ease, impersonal transactions being deceptively simple to navigate, intimate social engagements were not the forte of Saitou Tokio. She tended to grow so shy and withdrawn as to blend in with the decor. This fact had caused her to beg her husband twice, earlier in the day, to leave her behind. He had, quite pointedly, refused.

And on top of it all, she had nothing with which to occupy her hands, no sewing, nothing. It made her almost envy her husband's smoking habit.

The carriage came to a halt only minutes later, and the couple disembarked into the crisp night air. A western-style house stood before them, grand in stature. Saitou only narrowed his eyes and began up the walkway in a determined gait, leaving Tokio to lift her kimono slightly and follow behind him as best she could in her geta.

Katsu met them on the porch. She'd been leaning against a chalky white column, letting wisps of smoke escape the cigarette on the end of her ebony holder. For the first time, Tokio understood why Katsu looked so familiar. She and her brother had the same facial structures, with deep hollows behind their cheekbones, brows pinched in eternal concentration, and strong chins. And they both smoked profusely.

"Katsu," was Saitou's only word of greeting as Tokio finally caught up and came to a stop a few steps behind her husband.

"Little brother! You came." Katsu stepped off the porch and approached her brother. She seemed to glide forward, and Tokio downcast her eyes, confused. If this woman were a prostitute, she certainly comported herself with the utmost grace. "With your predilection towards paranoia at every circumstance, I doubted your appearance."

Ignoring his sister's insult, the Miburo indicated his wife with a nod of his head, "You are acquainted with my wife."

"Barely, Jirou-kun, barely," Katsu replied. She walked towards the other woman confidently. Tokio bowed deeply, only to find her chin being lifted by Katsu's free hand, "You must forgive me, Tokio. I did not mean to frighten you in the marketplace. I only wanted to know what sort of woman would marry that most pigheaded brother of mine."

'Pigheaded,' Tokio thought. 'The same word Hajime used to describe Katsu.' Tokio stifled a smirk as she whispered, "It is an honor to make your acquaintance properly, Yamaguchi-san."

Katsu chuckled sonorously and pronounced, "Ah. Now I see, a kitten in public, a tiger in the bedroom, ne brother?"

Tokio's breath caught in her throat, and she had to cough slightly to regain her composure after such a comment. Nonetheless, her cheeks burned in a furious blush as Katsu patted her on the shoulder. "Alright there, Tokio. Don't let my lack of propriety kill you."

"And where, might I ask, would -your- husband be located, dear sister?" Saitou asked.

"Husband? You must be joking. I have no need for men to care for me, ahou, despite what you may think. After our older brother left and you were forced to flee due to that ridiculous stunt you pulled, who do you think supported our sick father and distraught mother?"

Tokio watched as brother and sister traded scathing insinuations and caustic insults, mildly alarmed by how deeply the similarities between the two ran. Secretly, she hoped Katsu would somehow win. And, indeed, it looked like the elder of the pair was in the lead.

"How does a woman with no husband end up owning such a house, hm Katsu? My wife's assistant followed you to a whorehouse. What shame have you brought upon our family just because you couldn't be bothered to marry a perfectly respectable youth like Hiro?"

Katsu all but cackled, throwing her head back in an appeal to the gods of the sky to stop the painful amusement. "Ahou. You really haven't grown any more perceptive, have you? While I am impressed with that little girl's tracking skills, I am afraid you have the wrong impression. I am a writer, and I write romance novels for women. The ladies of those establishments are some of my best customers."

"You are trying my patience, Katsu. Why did you ask us here?" Saitou asked, tossing a half-smoked cigarette into the gravel for emphasis.

"Not everyone has ulterior motives, brother. I wanted to have dinner with my brother and his wife. And I wanted to introduce you to a boarder of mine who has been very interested to make your acquaintance."

"Very well," the younger of the Yamaguchi siblings replied, "Perhaps you could let us inside instead of being such a remarkably bad hostess."

"Hn," Katsu grunted, turning on her heel to walk towards the front door. "Do come inside, Tokio, won't you? As for you, brother, you can do as you please, including staying here until you rot."

"As if I would allow your influence to corrupt my wife, Katsu." Saitou grumbled, removing his shoes and following the pair of women inside.

Although the house had a western exterior, Katsu's decorations of the inside leaned towards a tasteful blend of many cultures. Tokio suspected the woman traveled a great deal, and wondered if the wanderlust that often took her husband to the far reaches of the country extended to the entirety of the Yamaguchi clan.

"You have a lovely home, Yamaguchi-san," Tokio whispered timidly as they walked.

"Thank you, Tokio. I hope to bring my parents here someday. But they refuse to leave their village. Stubborn, you see. As we all are."

"I am glad to hear they are still well," Tokio replied. Though, she didn't know if she could quite stomach the thought of ever meeting Hajime's parents. Especially not after meeting his temperamental sister.

"Here we are," Katsu declared, indicating a door. "My illustrious boarder." She knocked lightly and asked, "Are you decent in there, O-chan? Won't you come out and accompany us to dinner?"

"Katsu-san," a male voice replied, "Your concerns as to my decency are welcomed, but I know that no man's moral state shall ever rise to your twisted sense of propriety, ne? Nonetheless, as I fear the wrath of a lady mantis shunned, I shall indeed join you for the proposed feast."

When the door opened moments later, Tokio felt as if the air in the room grew thin. Something transpired in the gaze between the newcomer and Saitou that Tokio couldn't grasp. The young woman looked from the handsome young gentleman in the turquoise gi, to her husband, and back again. In the six years of being married to Saitou Hajime, Tokio had never, ever, ever, seen him turn pale like he did at that moment.

The unlit cigarette hanging from Saitou's lips fell to the floor.

Politely, Katsu began, "Little brother, I would like to introduce you to..."

Saitou finished the sentence for Katsu.

"Okita."