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Hajime and Tokio: Chapter 7 - Return of the Sharpest Blade

by Angrybee

As Tokio bent over to pick up the dropped cigarette, Saitou stared at the man in the doorway. Certainly, he looked slightly different. Okita had grown a few inches, and his childlike face had grown a bit more manly. He'd cut his hair, removing his samurai's high ponytail just as Saitou had done. Still, with all the changes, his eyes still shone with the remarkable light and unmistakable charisma that had drawn the lone wolf to become friends with the First Captain of the Shinsengumi.

But, it was impossible. Absolutely and irrevocably impossible. Men did not come back from the dead. Ever. And no amount of wishing, praying, wailing or shouting could change that fact. The dead stayed dead. And Saitou Hajime knew for absolute certain that Okita Souji was dead. He knew, because he had -been- there when the other man died. He knew because it had been -his- wakizashi upon which Okita had committed seppuku to avoid lingering in his diseased state. Okita Souji was dead.

This left two options. Either the man standing in front of him was a ghost. Or Katsu had pulled a very clever trick.

And Saitou Hajime did not believe in ghosts.

"What in the hell is going on here, Katsu?" he demanded. Tokio stepped to her husband's side, noting a tone in his voice that she had really never heard. A slight dissonance of confusion. He had, instinctually, put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Tokio laid her hand gently on his wrist, worried more about Katsu's foreign carpets than whatever might be the object of her husband's disturbed state. Although the man named Okita did not seem, to Tokio, to be much of a threat, she knew that if her husband believed he needed to die, he would die. "Whatever this is," Saitou continued, "I do not find it amusing."

"My apologies, Saitou-san," the smiling man began. Indeed, he did sound exactly like Okita, his voice friendly and gentle, yet commanding respect at the same time. "I'm afraid you have the wrong idea, which I believe is exactly as your sister wished. I am Okita Seichii, twin brother of Okita Souji, with whom I am well aware you were acquainted. I would say that it is a pleasure to meet you, except that we have met several times before."

Saitou said nothing to this for quite a while. He removed his hand from the hilt of his sword, and in the process dislodged his wife's hand as well. After the color had returned to his face, he finally pronounced only two words. "I see."

"Okita-san, this is my brother's wife, Tokio-san." Katsu said by way of introduction. Tokio bowed her head quietly in greeting. Seichii, on the other hand, smiled widely and sincerely.

"Hello, Tokio-san. It is an honor."

"Yare," Katsu declared, "Now that I've had my fun, let us all head to dinner, hm? I am certain that Okita-san would love to regale us all with an explanation." She put her hand on the bent arm of her boarder and headed off down the hallway, "Like most men, his most fanatical love is hearing himself talk."

"This is the part where I pretend to be insulted, is it not, Katsu-san?" Seichii replied, chuckling good-naturedly as they walked down the hall together. "Really, that was most despicable of you, stealing all my gis save for the turquoise one. You know very well it was the color of the Shinsengumi uniform. With a sister like you, who needs enemies?"

Tokio stood very, very still, waiting for her husband to make the first move. There had been many times in her marriage that she'd been unable to read her husband, and there had been a few times she'd completely expected him to kill her, or worse, leave her. But, nothing so sent a chill down Tokio's spine as when Saitou put on his very best Fujita Goro smile, offered his wife his arm, and said, "Come along, Tokio. Dinner is waiting."

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

Katsu seemed not to notice that her brother had started acting strangely. Far more interested in trading witty banter with Seichii, the matron of the group also had her hands full making sure everyone had enough food. Tokio found herself only mildly surprised that Katsu didn't serve any meat. Either the entire Yamaguchi family were vegetarians, or Katsu had made some small concession for her brother's sake that pride prevented her from pointing out.

"As I said, Okita-san does like to hear himself talk, but then, he has such a natural gift with words, that few people ever request his silence. He's even made a career out of it. My illustrious boarder is a political speech writer. When those fat, stupid, greasy politicians need something sleek and elegant to say, they come to Okita-san for the words," Katsu informed Tokio as she offered the younger woman additional rice.

Okita laughed and shook his head. "Katsu-san, you'll give them such a horrible impression of me. I have written a few speeches for politicians, true, but you know my calling is that of a poet." Tokio found she couldn't look away from the smiling man who had so disturbed her husband. His presence glowed like a warm, bright light. Tokio felt as if she had known Okita-san all of her life, as if he were immaculately trustworthy. How could such a guileless laugh hold any dishonesty or malice?

Tokio smiled timidly as she hid her face behind the soup bowl she had lifted to her mouth.

She could have been mistaken, but she believed she saw him smile back.

"You said you would share your tale of how we have met before, Okita-san," Saitou said, still smiling as well.

Seeing the two men smile at one another make Tokio shiver. 'The two smiles are so completely different,' Tokio thought, "Seichii looks so brilliant and confident. And Hajime looks...creepy. But, maybe I only think Hajime's smile is disturbing because I already know it to be fake. But, if Okita-san's smile is fake, then it is the most impenetrable mask and consummate acting I have ever seen. Save for my husband, I can almost always tell when someone is hiding something, if someone is up to something they shouldn't be. But, with Okita-san, I just can't tell."

"Of course, Saitou-san. It would be my pleasure to tell you the whole story."

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

Souji was born seven minutes before me. Seven minutes. In the span of a life, seven minutes isn't much time at all. I often wonder if somehow our mother had moved a different way, if I had been picked up by that first nurse instead of by the second, if somehow by some tiny chance things had been reversed... I wonder if, had I been the older brother, Souji would be here today.

At any rate, from the very first day, Souji was as healthy as any baby could be. And I, well, I caught everything. If even the most minor illness passed through town, I would catch it, and Souji would be spared.

This didn't keep us apart, however. It takes much more than illness to drive a wedge between twins. Since I often was confined to my bed, Souji would bring the outdoors to me. He had this way of standing in a place and memorizing every little detail, even details you shouldn't be able to see. For instance, if he saw a bird's nest up in a tree, he could tell you how many eggs were in it. And nine times out of ten, he would be right. It was really amazing.

So, he would tell me all about the outdoors, and in return, I would tell him all the wonderful stories I had read from my books or made up. We were brothers, we were best friends, we were each other. And I knew I didn't have to worry about being sick, because somehow...somehow I knew that as long as I was, Souji would be well. Souji would be playing outside, and running and laughing. And since we were almost the same person, then, to me, that was a lot like being well, also. If Souji ran, I was running. If Souji climbed a tree, I was also climbing a tree. It may not make any sense, but to understand my story, you have to realize how incredibly deep the bond between twins can be.

Souji used to bring me the first blackberries of spring. In return, I'd steal a few jars of preserves from my mother's pantries and hide them to give them to him in the fall. Or he would catch fireflies in jars for me, and in return, I'd make him origami paper lanterns. We were brothers, but we were also the very best of friends.

One day, shortly after my family moved to Mibu, Souji was "discovered". A gentleman named Kondou Isami found out that Souji had the ability to see and know things beyond normal perception. We were both nine then.

Souji came to me one evening and sat on my futon. I had been writing and had fallen asleep on my writing book. I remember because the ink dried on my face and I had half of a horrible haiku written backwards on my cheek for two whole days.

As I was trying to rub the ink off, Souji said, "I met this man, Sei-chan.

He wants me to come study at his dojo to learn kenjutsu. He is even going to waive most of the costs."

I was so excited for him, and at the same time horribly sad. But, since the dojo was in Mibu, our home town, he promised he would come home to visit as much as he could.

And he did. He came home almost every day. Sometimes he could only stay for a few minutes before having to rush back. Souji told me everything, all about the dojo, the people there, and his lessons. I'd write stories for him to read when he was lonely or sad, and he always asked for more. But, I think most of all, we both liked to think that a piece of me went with him when he returned to the dojo.

"I always carry your stories in the front of my gi, Seichii. I need your words to help make me a strong man."

Those words were possibly the most compassionate thing anyone has ever said to me, because I wanted so desperately to be a help to my big brother.

By the time Souji and I turned twelve, he could defeat almost everyone in the dojo except the master. A few times, my parents even took me to see some of the kendo exhibition matches. However, at that time I was pale and skinny and my head was shaved. No one even realized Souji and I were twins.

Still, just as he promised, Souji kept coming to visit as often as he could. At times I would get a bit less ill, and my parents would let me sit in the garden, which I loved, because Souji would show me all of his great kata. Other times, I would be so sick that I could barely see or hear. But, I always knew when Souji was there, just sitting beside me, smiling for both of us.

Souji found other ways for me to help him. He had Kondou-san let me write up fliers for the dojo when I was well enough. Or paint banners. You don't know how thrilling it is, for a sick boy, to be even the slightest bit helpful to a group of such strong men.

By the age of fifteen, Souji had easily surpassed everyone else in the dojo. He started teaching himself new moves, purifying and perfecting old clumsy ones. But, he often confided in me that he wished he could find someone more at his skill level with which to spar.

Which is why I remember, very clearly, the day you joined the dojo, Saitou-san. Souji rushed home to tell me all about the newcomer who had the most fantastic sword skills he had ever seen. He was so happy, and he swore he would make you his friend, so that he would always have someone strong enough to test his skills against.

When we turned 18, I was more ill than I had ever been in my life. Often times, I couldn't even move from the neck down. None of the doctors could say what was happening to me, and often their "remedies" turned out to only make me even more sick. I felt certain that I would die soon.

And then Souji came. He told me that he had been asked to join this new group that his master had started, a group that would go and protect Kyoto against the growing violence of the times.

I begged. I pleaded. I cried. "Please Souji, please don't go. It is so dangerous in Kyoto. You could get killed."

But, I know now that that real reason I didn't want my brother to leave was a selfish one. I knew I was going to die, and I didn't want to be alone when it happened. I knew that if I could just have Souji there at my side when I left this world, then everything would be alright. Because Souji and I were so close, if I knew he lived on, it would be as if I lived on, too. And knowing that, I could go to my final rest peacefully.

I think Souji sensed what I was trying to tell him, sensed how afraid I was that I would never see him again. I felt him grab my hand. He looked at me and said in such a calm voice:

"You've been so strong all these years, and I don't think you even realize it. It has been so easy for me to do everything I have done, but only because I know it has been so hard for you just to live. Don't worry, Seichii, you're the strongest brother. You won't die here alone."

I knew, right then, that Souji had some control over our destiny that I would never understand.

The next day, he left for Kyoto.

And every day after that, my health returned more and more. By our next birthday, I was completely well for the first time in my life. My parents were ecstatic. For them, my health was a bright spot in an otherwise dreary era. For the Revolution had hit, and war was spreading throughout the area. Though, we knew, nowhere as horribly as in Kyoto.

I wanted desperately to go to Kyoto to find Souji, but my parents forbid it. They said they were afraid that I could relapse into illness at any moment. But, I think they were more afraid they would be risking the life of two sons instead of just one.

We hadn't heard directly from him in months, though we heard through various other sources about the amazing feats of the Shinsengumi.

One day, as I walked home from the building where I had been working transcribing texts for various officials, a young man on a horse approached me. He introduced himself as a messenger of the Shinsengumi of Kyoto, and told me that I needed to gather my things, tell my parents that my brother had sent for me, and leave with him right away. How could I refuse?

En route to Kyoto, the messenger gave me hooded cloak and told me to cover my face. When I asked why, he told me "You look far too much like your brother."

I had never thought that looking like Souji would be a reason to -cover- my face. I was proud to be his twin. But, I did as the messenger asked.

I was taken to Shinsengumi headquarters, and there I met the man I recognized as Kondou Isami. Souji, he said, had become violently ill.

I laughed the first time he said it. "Souji doesn't get ill," I told him.

"I get ill."

But, then I saw the serious look on his face. He wasn't lying. I asked him why I had been sent for, and he related his plan. The Shinsengumi had decided to send Souji to a place with hot springs for a few weeks, in the hopes that the hot water would loosen up and help heal his lungs. Since his illness had been kept a secret from the men, they had decided to ask me if I would pretend to be Souji during that time so that no one would suspect that anything was wrong.

I protested that I had never held a sword in my life. They said that although there would still be some danger, it would be unlikely I'd have to ever draw a sword. The First Company of the Shinsengumi, it would be announced, had been recently overworked and would not be sent out on nighttime assignments for a few weeks.

And then Kondou told me something I will never forget.

"Saitou Hajime will know something is going on. He won't let you fight."

After that, they took me, fully covered of course, to see my brother. You can't imagine how overjoyed, and at the same time heartbroken, I was to be reunited with my brother. He tried to act cheerful, but he kept coughing, giant clots of red peppering the handkerchief he tried to hide from me. Always the big brother, he kept going on and on about how I didn't have to do this, how dangerous it was, and how if I got in trouble I should just run and not worry about damaging his reputation.

And he kept repeating over and over, "I'm so glad you are well now, Seichii. So glad."

They came and took him away a few hours later. Kondou returned after a few minutes with some written instructions and explanations of the inner workings and personalities of the Shinsengumi. I memorized them overnight, and in the morning I became Okita Souji.

The easiest thing to do was to decide how to address people. I didn't know anyone's name, but would address them by their ranks, identifiable through their uniforms. "Captain" or "Soldier" seemed workable enough.

Of course, who would I meet when I walked out of my room but the very person Kondou had mentioned.

You, Saitou-san, you were leaning against a wall with your arms crossed. I thought right then that the whole plan would go down the drain, because you stared at me as though you knew something had happened. I half-expected you to draw your sword and strike me down, and it took everything I had to look you in the eye.

But then you merely snorted and asked, "Not getting enough sleep, Okita? You look like shit. And you smell like horse shit. Have you taken to meditating in the stables?"

I laughed, realizing who you were from my brother's descriptions. Trying to think what my brother might say, I replied, "Who can sleep, Saitou-san, when the glory and magnificence of the world presses against us at every moment, hot and ready like a supple woman?"

"Hn," you replied, still staring at me, but with decidedly less malice. "Let's go to breakfast."

Our combined troops went patrolling the streets of Kyoto that day. Kondou-san had told me to just stand back and let the other men do the work. He said that my brother wouldn't bother with such things, anyway, because they didn't constitute a worthy enough challenge for him. He'd let his men take the glory in such small and manageable battles. It turned out to be easier than I expected. The men seemed eager to impress me, or rather, my brother. It seemed the esteem that I held for Souji could be found reflected in his troops.

But, patrolling during the day was to be the extent of the First Troop's duties until my brother returned. Kondou-san had warned me to keep near to headquarters in the evening, in case my face should be recognized by those forces inimical to the Shinsengumi.

As for you, Saitou-san, you stayed rather close to my side. I couldn't tell if you did this because you and my brother were such good friends, or if you were trying to figure me out. Either way, you never voiced any opinion on either matter, so I decided not to worry about it.

There were a few close calls, but I managed to avoid battle, and no one seemed to say a word about the fact that I never showed up to practice kata or spar with the other men.

Souji returned on the fifteenth night, just as promised. I was so relieved to see him, and he did look much better than he had on the night he left. Late into the night we talked, Souji telling me tales of the Shinsengumi, and I told him about our family and our home.

And we talked about our dream. See, Souji and I had always wanted to open a school together. I thought Souji had forgotten, but he hadn't, he was more passionate about it than ever.

"After the uprising has ended, and order has been restored, there will be so many children without parents, without direction, without a strong sense of virtue. And we can teach them, Seichii. I can teach them budo, and you can teach them academics. We'll mold them to be great men, strong men. Men who will know how to prevent such horrible things from ever happening to our world again."

I could only laugh. "It sounds great, Souji. But orphans don't pay much."

Souji only shrugged, "Well. We have a while to figure out the specifics, Sei-chan."

I didn't ask him about his illness. I couldn't. I couldn't even think about it. When I did, it felt like my own lungs ached, like I could feel his sickness mirrored in my body. I wondered if that was what Souji felt every time he looked at me when I was ill.

I left under cover of night, but not before begging Souji to return home as soon as possible, and to remain safe.

The Shinsengumi asked me to return twice more, once that spring and once the following fall. I am not sure if Souji forbid them for sending for me again, or if they just couldn't spare the time to let him get away anymore. But, my worse fear is that my brother just didn't want me to see how ill he had become. I think he realized that if I did, I would have refused to leave Kyoto again without him.

We heard such horrible stories of the slaughter. Conflicting reports of how well the various sides were doing came every day. Most chilling were the descriptions of the Hitokiri Battousai. I knew after hearing about him that my brother would seek him out to fight him. Even though I had every confidence that Souji's sword skills had no equal, I feared that his illness would slow him down. Not by much, but just enough so that he could be injured or killed.

But, he wasn't.

Word arrived in the first year of Meiji that my brother had been discharged from his duties and removed to a hospital near Edo for treatment. Petrified, my parents immediately asked me to go to him, and when he was well enough, help him to return home.

But, as fast as I could travel, somehow I already knew it was too late. I kept hearing over and over in my head my brother's voice saying, "I'm so glad you are well now, Seichii, so glad you are well."

I drove my horse to the point of exhaustion, and it threw me into the snow a few dozen miles from Tokyo. I kept running and running, faster and faster, faster than I had ever run, faster than I knew I could run. I felt stronger and stronger, like I could rip apart the trees in my path, like I could swim the freezing rivers that stood between me and my brother.

I knew. I knew he was dying. He was dying, and his strength was flowing out of him and into me. I yelled, I shouted, I screamed. "Don't die, Souji! I'll be there soon. Don't die. I won't let you die alone."

I crumbled on the outskirts of Tokyo, unable to go any further. Some kind farmers found me and took me in. Apparently, in my fugue state, I begged them to go into town and check on my brother. They confirmed what I already knew. Souji had died around the same time I had collapsed in the snow.

And the hospital was only seven minutes by foot from the place where I collapsed. Seven minutes. I missed him by only seven minutes. Just like when we were born.

The next few months I can hardly remember. Just that my life seemed like a nightmare. I couldn't feel Souji. It was like one of my eyes had been cut out, like my hearing had gone dim. I had no direction, no purpose. Nothing made any sense to me. All I could think about was how I had failed my brother. How I had let him die alone.

When I later found out that Souji committed seppuku, it shook me out of my daze. I grew angry. I couldn't understand for the longest time why. Why would Souji do that? We were supposed to be together, to build our school, build our lives.

It came to me while I was visiting his grave one day. Something he had said to me the last time we were in Kyoto. "Don't worry, Seichii. You never let illness get the best of you, and I won't let this sickness defeat me, I promise."

And Souji always kept his promises.

After that, I decided that I needed to live my life to the fullest extent I could. Filled with joy and beauty and wonder. Because it was my duty to my brother to live and enjoy life...for the both of us.

Because Souji and I...were like one person, as if we had too strong of a spirit to fit in one body, but not quite enough spirit to power two.

A few years later, I met Katsu-san and she decided she liked my poetry enough to take me under her wing. I've been living here as her boarder ever since.

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

By the end of the story, Saitou had dropped his Fujita Goro smile and merely sat, like his sister, chain-smoking and glaring into indeterminate space. Tokio, on the other hand, had decided, for lack of a better option, to use the edge of her scarf to remove something from the corners of her eyes.

"Your brother sounds like a wonderful man, Okita-san," Tokio whispered, after deciding no one else was going to speak, "I am so very sorry for your loss. But, I must say you tell the story beautifully. I am sure he would be honored."

Katsu exhaled a cloud of smoke with a curled lip of indignation, "I can't believe you bought that story, Tokio. I've written fiction novels that contain less fantasy."

"Don't presume my wife a simpleton, Katsu, just because she has some decorum." Saitou's gaze oozed from his sister to Seichii. "Besides, he's telling the truth."

'That ki,' Saitou mused, 'More than the way he looks, his ki misled me more than anything about him. Bright and gentle, yet with so much confidence, charisma, and vigilance. But stronger than Okita's, without the physical pain that Okita always struggled to cover. Okita's always seemed to be missing something, and I had thought the defect was because of his illness. Damn it, Okita, you should have told me. But you wouldn't, would you have?'

"Okita did mention to me on occasion that he had a younger brother, one whom he intimated had been ill for quite a long time," Hajime added. "And I recall the events in question. I passed off the strangeness in Okita's behavior to his often whimsical nature and the rapidly-changing state of his health, as I am sure both Okita and Kondou-san assumed I would."

"My, my, brother, are you admitting that your keen sense of perception is somehow less than perfect?" Katsu chided as she ashed her long cigarette into a nearby urn.

"Yare, judging by your choices in interior design, dearest sister, it is still infinitely better than yours."

"Why you jackass..." Katsu exclaimed, getting to her feet. "...and after I did you the favor of tracking you down to introduce you to Okita-san here."

"Perhaps this will dissuade you from doing me any favors in the future, Katsu. I am a busy man, and have other things to do besides play witness to your witless humor and egotistical temper tantrums," Hajime returned, sneering through a veil of smoke. He, too, stood, not giving his sister the satisfaction of being able to physically 'look down' on him.

As the conversation devolved into an acid bath of caustic comments between the two siblings, Tokio stared at her hands folded in her lap. 'This is so embarrassing. I should say something to Okita-san, but I doubt he would

be able to hear me over this shouting. And every time I look at him, he is smiling so beatifically that I just forget whatever I might say anyway.'

Thankfully, Okita spoke first. Leaning forward, he asked "Tokio-san, it seems your husband and Katsu-san have a great deal to discuss. Would you, perhaps, like to see Katsu-san's gardens?"

Tokio glanced surreptitiously at her husband, who seemed to be in a sneering contest with his sister. Nodding minutely in response, Tokio didn't choke out the words, "That would be most pleasant," until the pair were already halfway out the door.

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

"It must be quite amazing to live in a house such as this, Okita-san," Tokio whispered as they walked among the manicured hedges. Lamps had been set along the pathways at staggered intervals by some servant, casting an uneven glow on the garden. Elaborate systems of streams and fountains interlaced themselves with the last vestiges of October flora. A wooden gazebo decorated in a hand-carved latticework depicting dragons breathing angular smoke sat on a short pier overlooking a manmade pond. It was to this structure that Okita Seichii led Saitou Tokio, offering her a hand with a genial smile to assist her up the two steep steps.

"Ah yes," Seichii replied, ushering Tokio towards the view of the pond, "Life with Katsu-san brings a spicy vigor to every day. But, in reality, she has a goodness that most people will never comprehend. More than anything, she desires to show all women that they need not be servile, need not be instruments of their husbands' or fathers' whims. She wishes so desperately to inspire them to utilize their own strengths for their own dreams."

"I have never seen a man or a woman able to match wits with Hajime," Tokio conceded. The light of a half moon rippled on the pond in the intermittent breeze, repeatedly shattering into dozens of shards and then re-coalescing with the death of the wind.

"Ah yes. Her fiery wit has earned her quite a few unbecoming nicknames among the critics of her books. Nonetheless, they continue to sell exceedingly well, and women's' groups all over the country clamor to have her speak." Putting his hands on the railing of the gazebo, Seichii stepped up and bent forwards. His body doubled over the wooden divider as he ran his hand through the tall grass below. Immediately, two large objects shot upwards out of the weeds, squawking annoyedly before coming to land further out on the pond.

"Ducks!" Tokio exclaimed in an excited whisper, "I thought they had all gone for the winter. However did you know they were there, Okita-san?"

Returning from his half-flip over the rail, Seichii dusted off his gi with a warm grin, "Would you believe me, Tokio-san, if I said Souji told me?"

"I might," Tokio replied, watching the graceful pair of birds glide over the surface of the water. Her mind thought back to the story told over dinner, the way the two brothers seemed unable to both share health and happiness at the same time. Fearing slightly that her question may be too bold, she nonetheless proceeded, for once putting faith in her estimation of the trustworthiness of the gentleman beside her, "Do you think, Okita-san, that there is a balance of pain and joy in this world? And if we revel or linger too much in one, we are sure to meet an equal measure of the other?"

Seichii thought for a moment, putting his finger to his lips and tapping them as he looked upwards, "Well, Tokio-san, I think if every smile hides the fear that we shall never smile again, then it is not truly a smile at all. And if every laugh obscures a loathing for some unknown punishment we must later endure as payment, then all our laughter will be hollow."

"I'm sorry, Okita-san," Tokio whispered, edging away from the handsome poet slightly. His words had resounded in her mind, challenging her worldview so eloquently that she recoiled both mentally and physically from the situation. "You probably think me terribly morbid. I really shouldn't have been so presumptuous as to..."

"I like your presumptions, Tokio-san. Let us presume ourselves already longtime friends. That way you shall have no recourse but to call me Seichii."

"Yes. I should like that a great deal, Seichii," Tokio replied timidly, "If you do not think it too impertinent."

"I instinctually intimate impertinence is irrational in initiating interesting interpersonal interludes," Seichii opined, his quick alliteration causing Tokio to break into breathy giggles.

"Is there no end to the talents you possess, Seichii?" Tokio whispered, her eyes filling with wonder at the exuberant gentleman before her.

Seichii suddenly took on a grave air, his smile melting into a curt frown.

Taking the young woman's hands in his own, he gazed solemnly into her eyes and spoke, "Yes, Tokio-san. I must admit my greatest imperfection. I am completely unable to look utterly frightening while smoking profusely."

With that, they both broke into a fit of laughter.

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

Katsu opened the ornate wooden door and stepped aside, allowing her brother to enter the room. Entering and pulling the door closed behind her, she walked to opposing wall and pulled open a pair of flowing sheer curtains to reveal the mammoth gardens below. Hajime didn't seem to be impressed. Instead, he turned and examined the shelves and shelves of books lining the walls. He pulled one of the books from its spot, shook a bit of dust off of it rather roughly and thumbed through the pages. Katsu stood, puffing on the end of her cigarette holder for a few minutes before accosting her sibling.

"Well, brother, what do you think?"

"I think your writing is the same as always, Katsu, simpering tripe that appeals to bored housewives and teenage girls with overactive imaginations." Saitou snapped the book shut with one hand and slid it back into its place.

"Yes. I forgot, if it isn't about some bloody historical war or excruciatingly boring battle tactics, you aren't interested," Katsu returned, "On another note, you seem to have procured yourself a lovely wife, at the very least. I'd love to hear the story of how you roped that poor girl into marriage one of these days."

"And have it end up on the pages of one of your novels? I think not." Saitou joined his sister at the window, looking out at the two individuals in the gazebo beyond who seemed to be enjoying each other's company quite a bit. "But yes, Tokio is a fine woman."

"There are no children, though?"

Saitou's face dropped from a scowl to a simple frown as he watched his wife take Seichii's arm to be led on the path back towards the house, "No.

Tokio is unable. We tried, and she miscarried."

Katsu turned her head to look at her brother, her tone for once dropping from caustic to concerned, "I'm sorry, Jirou."

"Hn," Saitou grunted, "And you? Okita-san is your suitor, I suppose?"

"No. I prefer the freedom of my unmarried state. Seichii is merely my prodigy and boarder, and nothing more. I travel often, so it is agreeable to have someone competent to look after the place whilst I am gone."

"So, how did you find me, Katsu?"

The tall woman clicked her fingernails noisily, "I'm fairly certain you knew I lived here. Why didn't you find me?"

As Tokio and Seichii passed underneath the window, Saitou replied, "You know why."

"Because you didn't want me involved in your life, for my own safety."

"Aa," Saitou said. "It was a stupid thing you did...getting involved, Katsu."

Katsu let out a deep sigh as she drew the curtains, "Jir-kun, we may not be twins like Souji and Seichii. We may not even be close. But you are still my little brother, an ass, but my brother nonetheless."

"What is your point?" Saitou asked.

"My point is that if you think my safety is compromised by merely contacting you, I can't imagine the perpetual threat to your wife's life. Are you sure that she might not be better off without you? Are you not just acting selfishly by keeping her in constant danger? From what I have seen, she'd go if you told her to do so."

Saitou glared at his sister, his long bangs striping his face in splinters of shadow. He knew she had a point, but sending Tokio away would be unthinkable. "That is none of your goddamn business, Katsu."

"Fine!" Katsu exclaimed, slamming her hand down on a nearby desk, "You are so damned insufferable. I have no clue how we could be related. Why if I didn't know better..."

Katsu stopped as she heard voices in the hallway, or rather one voice, Seichii's. "A black cat named Snowflake? That is devilish, Tokio-san. I am sure the poor thing has a complex." After a few moments, the young man spoke again, apparently in reply to the voice to quiet to discern, "Cats should be fat. Fat and infinitely lazy, so we can all envy their lifestyle. Who wants to be the cat that has to chase mice all day long?"

The four were reunited in the library. Pleasant conversation flowed for a few minutes, and then Saitou remarked that he and his wife had to be leaving. Katsu and Seichii escorted the Saitous downstairs and saw them into their carriage.

"Thank you for the lovely evening, Katsu-san," Tokio whispered, "You and Okita-san shall have to let me cook for you sometime in return."

"I'd like that, Tokio. Now, you don't be a stranger. Come around and see your sister-in-law anytime, mm? Especially if you need to vent about that stubborn man you married," Katsu cackled and turned around abruptly to return to the house, refusing to say goodbye to her brother.

"Goodbye, Saitou-san, Tokio-san. Have a safe journey home," Seichii called from the porch where he was almost bowled over by Katsu's ferocious retreat into her house.

Tokio exhaled a small breath of relief as the carriage rambled over the streets of Tokyo, transporting them back home. It had been an exhausting evening, filled with surprise and sadness and newfound friends. Her husband sat next to her, his brows furrowed at sharp angles, looking as if his glare might bore a hole into the opposite side of the berth. She knew just by that look that there would be no talking to him this evening without having to bear the barbs and nettles of his scathing wit. So, instead, she merely leaned her head against his shoulder, and fell fast asleep.

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

Saitou Hajime ashed his cigarette onto the barren ground. The last plants of the season had withered and left only the hard packed earth in their wake. He wore a very simple gi and hakama set, and had smudged a bit of dirt on the sleeve earlier for a bit of authenticity. Against his back, hidden beneath the basket labeled "Medicine", his unnamed katana pressed. His two underlings, rather uninteresting officers assigned to employ, loitered under a nearby tree. The three men went characteristically unnoticed in the seedy neighborhood, where tiny scraps of banners once nailed to the trees fluttered in the breeze, and not a single fence seemed to stand straight and unbroken.

The lone wolf displayed one more displeased snarl as he looked at the house in front of him. Something had been rubbing him the wrong way for a few weeks, like an itch in his mind that he couldn't quite soothe. All of Tokyo just smelled wrong, like someone had dumped a load of rotten fish and covered it with a ton of rose petals. Just below the surface, just below where everything seemed normal and functional and correct some foreign entity had begun to eat away at the core. A worm. A worm in the apple.

Underneath his skin, he could feel something trying to burn his blood. Something calling to him, waiting for him, warning him. The air. Every day it seemed a bit harder to breathe easy. His mouth tasted of metal. His eyes stung as if accosted with the soot and ash of a burning city.

The fact that he couldn't place this feeling was...irritating. Exceedingly irritating.

Pushing aside his thoughts, Hajime forced the corners of his mouth to and eyes to upturn in a mockery of polite cheerfulness. His posture slacked only slightly, and he forced his long, quick strides to slow. With only a nod to the other two officers, he approached the door and knocked.

A bulky looking man in an orange gi opened the shoji about a half foot. "Yeah? What do you want?"

"Pardon me, sir, my name is Fujita Goro and I am a medicine salesman. Are you the gentleman of the house?"

Turning his head to call back into the room the man said, "Its just a medicine salesman." A voice from inside replied, "Yeah? Ask him if he has anything for this rash on my foot."

"Eh. Well, come on in, I guess," the burly man said, opening the shoji.

Fujita Goro stepped inside, nodding politely to his host. Inside he found around a dozen men, all in various stages of relaxation, several gambling, and several more leaning against the walls passing a jug of sake back and forth. The place smelled of mold and rotten food. It seemed doubtful that the room had encountered a woman's touch in some time.

As the medicine salesman untied the sashes which held the large basket in place, several of the men all asked him questions at once. "Hey, do you have anything for warts?" "I have this cough that won't go away, whatcha got for that?" "What about something to help you sleep?"

Fujita Goro stood back up, one hand on the lid of the basket, as if he were about to throw it open and reveal his wares, launching into a pre-scripted banter about the quality of the goods. Instead, the corners of his lips slid downwards and his eyes turned from cheerful to diabolical slits containing amber fires. "It would be useless to cure your ailments.

Since you are all going to die very soon."

Several of the men jumped to their feet. Others just simply asked, "What in the hell?"

"The yakuza is contemptible," Saitou declared, "Especially when you corrupt or blackmail children into your service." The ex-captain of the Shinsengumi reached over his shoulder and pulled out the secreted katana.

"You mean he's not a medicine man? Shit, Dojaki, you're an idiot to have let him inside."

"Oh no, I will be curing something today. In that respect I did not lie," Saitou replied, leveling his katana at a cluster of men wielding a mixture of bokkens and swords. "I will be curing the city of Tokyo of your presence."

Blood began to coat the walls of the yakuza hideout like a fresh application of slimy paint. Men fell easily, hardly a match for the Wolf of Mibu. Saitou watched, almost detachedly, as his sword split arms from shoulders, heads from necks, cleaved bodies in twain. He felt careless, not even noticing that his own face and hands had become slick with gore. He just wanted the smell of blood to cover that strange scent that had been bothering him for weeks. He wanted it to soak into his skin and cure the itch that lay just beyond his scratch. Death. Death, somehow, would be the only cure for the strange sickness that had come to settle on his mind like a plague of invisible locusts.

When the last man all but impaled himself on Saitou's sword, the blood-drenched cop headed for the back shoji. He checked the rest of the house but found no other occupants. Likely they had fled only to find his assistants waiting at the front and back door.

Flicking the blood from his sword, Saitou headed to the back yard. One of the officers nodded to him, his eyes growing a bit wide upon realizing the superior officer was completely drenched in blood. The officer's partner sat nearby, holding a plump old man at knifepoint. The old man seemed covered in grime and sweat.

"Where is the boy?" Saitou demanded, not bothering to wipe his face before pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his gi. Tiny pools of blood began to form at the Miburo's feet as the crimson liquid dripped from his hakama.

"What? I don't...look I don't know what you mean...this is a simple gambling house," the old man lied...and badly.

Hajime was silent while lighting his cigarette. He inhaled deeply, watching the man with liquid gold eyes before exhaling a stream of smoke. "Kill him," Saitou said offhandedly to the officer holding the knife.

"No, no, no. Wait...wait. I'll cooperate. What do you want to know?" The old man inched away from the knife, but as his back was against a tree, he was unable to go anywhere and only succeeded in scraping his heels against the trunk.

"You are the yakuza boss for this area of Tokyo," Saitou said, approaching the man. "But now your men are all dead. Now. If I have to repeat myself again, you will suffer the same fate. Where is the boy named Myojin?"

"Myo...Myojin? You mean...Yahiko?" The old man was, by now, shaking violently. One leg of his grey hakama became darker, the odor of urine filling the air. "He...he's gone. Some girl came...and some swordsman. They took Yahiko just a few days ago."

"So ka?" Saitou drawled, "Yare, I suppose we have some time to find out how true that is. We'll be taking you to jail. For now. Other arrangements may have to be made should you run out of useful information."

Saitou stepped back and allowed the officer to make the arrangements to transfer the yakuza boss to police headquarters. The other officer approached the Miburo after a few moments, carrying Saitou's police uniform and a towel. Hajime stepped back inside the house and spent a few moments changing and cleaning himself off. Afterwards, he briefly searched the house for incriminating documents.

Satisfied that nothing else useful could come from the yakuza headquarters, Saitou knocked over a nearby oil lamp and tossed his lit cigarette into the pungent liquid.

As he stood outside watching the building, making sure the fire would burn the entire structure, the expert swordsman crossed his arms. Easy. Too easy. There hadn't been a challenging fight on the horizon for a long time now. He suspected vaguely that the lack of worthy opponents had something to do with his agitated mood. Not that an opponent really need to be worthy. An opponent just needed to die. Still, still, that feeling pricked him, like thorns in his bloodstream.

The peaceful city of Tokyo smelled of war.

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

"Are you certain, Tokio-san, that I am not interrupting your day?" Seichii asked as the pair strolled through the streets of Tokyo. "That young friend of yours uttered quite a few expletives when I dared to draw you away from the marketplace."

"Yes, I must apologize for Naoya-chan. She can be quite...ah, vociferous," Tokio replied, "But, I am glad you came by, Seichii. Might I possibly ask where we are heading?"

Seichii took a deep breath, as if trying to draw the entire world into his lungs. He carried a covered bucket at his side, which he swung back and forth merrily, as if he were still a child rather than a man in his early thirties. "I thought I should enjoy some company whilst exploring the fragrant and glorious springtime."

Tokio's eyebrows shot upwards in a look of both surprise and mild concern.

"I...I..." The young woman laid one timid hand on the wrist of the poet at her side, "Okita-san...Seichii...you do realize that it is autumn, yes?"

"Ah, Tokio-san," the poet sighed, "It need not -be- springtime to -enjoy- springtime."

Okita led Tokio to a deserted park on the outskirts of the city. The autumn colors had even faded away to a uniform orange-brown. Remaining leaves, dry and desiccated in their cycle of death, rattled like bones in the northern breeze. A musty scent, the aroma that Tokio always associated with uselessness, wafted through the grove as detached leaves stirred themselves on the ground.

Seichii pulled a thin blanket from the front of his gi and spread it on the ground. "I've brought lunch, Tokio-san. I hope you'll do me the honor of sharing it with me. If possible, without laughing at my cooking skills."

"How wonderful, Seichii," Tokio exclaimed, the rustling of the dry leaves in the trees mimicking her quiet voice. She kneeled on the blanket, and the poet sat beside her, opening the wooden bucket to reveal it had been packed to the brim with food and two flasks of water. "But tell me, how do you intend to enjoy springtime?"

"Ah, Tokio-san!" Seichii replied, taking a small rice cake and coating it in orange jelly. "It is a most important task, you see, for a poet to use his imagination. Why, if I close my eyes right now, I can hear spring already. Yes. The brook over there, it is filled with the most amazing fish. Every color, red and blue pink and silver. The children are laughing as the young boys tie their pants up, wading into the water to catch the fish. The girls on the shore clap their hands in appreciation until one of the more bold boys splashes them. Their squeals and shouts echo throughout the park."

The poet smiled and took a bite of his rice cake. After a moment, he continued, "And over there, over there stands a tree covered in white blossoms. So heavy with perfumed petals that it seems as if it must ache from bearing the burden of keeping so much ephemeral softness from floating away. Below its branches, a pair of lovers sit, their arms entwined as the world melts from view. They whisper the words that all lovers believe they must be the only people on earth to utter so sincerely. Vows and promises and desires. A butterfly lands on the man's nose just as he is saying he will always protect her. She laughs, and he blushes only for her."

Tokio raptly watched her friend as he spoke. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at her a moment, no, looked into her, seemingly grabbing some essential core long dormant within her chest and coaxing it out of its hibernation. "What else?" Tokio breathed, "What else do you see, Seichii?"

"I see a woman who has been scarred by the world, who has lived through tragedy and learned to smile meekly through pain. A woman with brilliant honey-colored eyes that portray no malice towards any creature. She dances in that field there, dances among the flowers, having thrown off the shackles on her heart. She dances until her scarf flies away in the breeze, to be returned by her children. They join hands and dance in a circle as she raises her lustrous voice towards the heavens and teaches them her favorite song."

Tokio realized she hadn't breathed the entire time Seichii had been speaking. She drew in air slowly, almost worried that the very atmosphere might be so thick as to fill her lungs and drown her. Seichii hadn't looked away from her eyes, not once. Not even in her most hopeful dreams had she ever even dared to permit herself to think about such happiness. "I'm afraid I can't permit myself to imagine that one, Okita-san."

"That is quite alright, Tokio-san. I shall imagine it for you," Seichii replied quietly. He put his hand on top of Tokio's. The young woman could feel that the poet's skin had a silken softness to it, unlike her husbands' hands, which were riddled with tiny scars and thick calluses. "I apologize, Tokio-san, I did not mean to make you sad. I just feel as if

you understand what it is like to forever live in the shadow of someone else. My brother may be dead, but his reputation lives on, perhaps will always live on, into history. I love him, and I carry him with me in more ways than most people will believe, but..."

Tokio turned her hand over and intertwined her fingers with those of her friend. Clutching his hand tightly, she whispered, "I do understand, Seichii. It seems as if there is no chance of happiness for a shadow, only the possibility to forever follow the footsteps of another, more determined being. But, Seichii, you do not need to appear in history books to be a great man."

"I worry daily, Tokio-san, that I waste the gift that my brother gave me," Seichii replied, "That I have not done enough with my life. I do not want to fail him." Okita Seichii looked up at the grey autumn sky, attempting bravely to smile, but giving up with a sigh. His deep brown eyes seemed to be searching the heavens for an answer.

"I worry, too, Seichii. I worry that I will somehow fail my husband. Fail to be strong for him when he needs me, fail to be the kind of woman he is proud and glad to return to after his days." Tokio bit her lip a bit and then whispered, "Look at us, so mournful and worried, when springtime is all around us, ne?"

Seichii laughed brightly, "I'm glad, Tokio, that you can see it too."

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

Entering the dim room, the young serving girl had to blink several times before her eyes adjusted. Only one candle shed any light on the room's occupant, a young man with ribbons of long hair that glinted a deep purple even in the darkness. His eyes, a shocking chartreuse, captured the girl in their gaze one second before a knife flew past her head and embedded itself in the wall.

The girl squeaked as she clutched the shoji with one hand and a crumpled piece of paper with the other.

Snarling, the young man stood and walked past the servant to dig his knife out of the wall. "Well? What do you want?"

"A message from Tokyo, sir."

The purple-haired gentleman grabbed the paper from the girl and grumbled, "Get out." All but stumbling over her own feet, the servant scurried away as quickly as possible.

Pushing his wild purple bangs out of his face, the well-built man returned to sitting near the candle. Holding the paper up to its light, he read for several minutes before crumpling the missive in his fist and tossing it against the opposite wall.

"So. Yamaguchi Katsu has finally contacted her brother. And his wife is none other than Tanagi Tokio. This should be exceedingly interesting."

Green eyes blazing, the man quickly drew his knife across his palm. Watching the blood welling there, he whispered, "I will reject honor, duty, and loyalty until my mission is complete. The Lone Wolf of Mibu will fall by my blade, and Tanagi Tokio will be returned to my master. I swear it."

Turning his hand, the sneering youth allowed droplets of blood to extinguish the candlelight with a hiss.

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

"Perhaps I should return to the market, Seichii. I fear that Naoya-chan may start a street brawl and get the cart overturned," Tokio whispered. They had eaten past the point of fullness, and the laughter they had shared in the meantime threatened to give both of the picnic goers stomachaches.

"Hai!" Seichii said with a smile, "But let me walk you back, at least, Tokio-san. I need to walk off some of this food lest I explode like a festival fireworks display."

The pair returned through the streets of Tokyo, neither seeming to be in any particular rush as they enjoyed the early afternoon weather. They reached the marketplace sometime later. As usual, the square bustled with people, but Tokio noted the crowd wasn't as bad as in the early morning or late afternoon. Most people, she assumed, had gone indoors to find some lunch.

"Naoya-chan," Tokio said, approaching her own cart and the bored-looking fourteen year old. "Did everything go well? Did you get lunch?"

"Yeah," Naoya answered, sitting up straighter as her mentor approached, "I sold most everything on the cart today, Tokio-san. You should leave me in charge more often. But, I didn't get anything to eat and I am fuck all hungry."

Tokio winced at the expletive, though the poet at her side merely laughed and handed Naoya the picnic bucket. "I think there's some food left in there, if you want. Some wonderful jellies that Katsu-san brought back from the south..."

The three stood together, discussing everything from jelly to Tokio's favorite embroidery pattern to Seichii's theories on the unseasonable weather. Tokio sat on her stool, and Okita Seichii leaned against the cart. Naoya, for the most part, shoveled food unceremoniously into her mouth.

Tokio glanced around the marketplace, her empire. Men and women in their autumn colors passed back and forth, ambling from stall to stall, pointing at the wares, calling to each other, haggling with the vendors. The sun dipped behind a cloud for only the span of a sigh, and then returned once again to shine on the merchants and their customers.

Suddenly, Tokio's sewing basket dropped from her grasp and tumbled to the ground, rolling into the lane. Her eyes grew wide as her gaze followed the smiling figure weaving through the marketplace.

"Tokio-san....?" Seichii asked quickly, noting the sudden change in the woman's face, from smiling to stricken.

Tokio clutched at her throat, clawing at her scarf as if it suddenly choked her. The man passing between the stands disappeared briefly behind two tall farmers, and Tokio craned her head to the left.

When he reappeared again, she saw him clearly.

Red hair.

Cross shaped scar.

Tokio's mind flashed. Death. Running. Falling. Bleeding...trying to scream...trying to scream and only tasting blood.

The Hitokiri Battousai walked right past Saitou Tokio's cart.

Tokio's eyes rolled back into her head as she felt herself falling. Falling off her stool. Falling in the woods. Falling into darkness.

In her head, she heard her mother's voice say gently, "You should not wish for too much happiness, Tokio. As women, it is our duty to draw sorrow from the overflowing wells of this world."

And then silence washed over the mind of Saitou Tokio.