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Hajime and Tokio: Chapter 12 - Turning the Table

by Angrybee ::: 26.Oct.2003

"Don't worry. Tokio is a capable woman." -Saitou Hajime, Vol. 9, Part 71, Rurouni Kenshin

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

"I will go."

Her husband said nothing to that, nothing at all. But his eyes betrayed the sentiment that his stony visage would refuse to reveal. For once, the burning light of righteousness that found safe harbor from the world's harsh winds of moral complacency seemed to dim and sizzle as if doused by the coming tide. He looked away from Tokio, his eyes turning towards the ceiling in his quest for some unknown element. Strength? Comprehension? Surcease from tedium? Tokio doubted she would ever know.

"I don't want to be your weakness, Hajime. I have never wanted that. And when you look at me as a delicate creature, when you pity me, you deny me all that you have promised. It lowers me. And it does your own values a great disservice. I said I would follow you, wherever your journey must take you. If you carry me the entire way, you'll never reach your destination. Therefore, you must let me go."

Saitou Hajime's gaze met his wife's once again. The central compass of morality upon which he based his decisions seemed to have no true north in this matter. If he was wrong...if she was wrong...both lives would forever be lost, shipwrecked with no hope of the survivors ever reaching the comforts of the shore. But, in the end, they had journeyed together over a thousand oceans, navigated only by the stars of their dual virtues: his unbroken resolve and her deep faith. This time, the tables were turned.

"Aa. I will let you go."

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

Tokio awoke to the deeply pleasant aroma of lemons and the sound of running water.

Lemons? Water?

Pushing herself up, Tokio wobbled slightly. The ground beneath her arms seemed too unstable to be her own futon. Her futon? No. Last night she had not slept in her own house. She had slept in an alleyway on top of rotting fish innards.

Blinking away the haze of sleep, Tokio surveyed her surroundings. She sat atop a western style bed covered with a fine blanket of the deepest green satin. Above her, from a canopy constructed of thick bamboo hung thick sheets of green brocade. Tokio pushed one of the sheets aside cautiously, peering into the room beyond. She found a large room decorated in golden yellows and greens. At one corner sat a writing desk topped with a well-arranged fern. Beside the bed, a large Chinese vase sat next to a tall bookcase, in which a collection of decorative plates had been put on display.

Tokio placed her toes on the ground, wiggling them a bit as if testing the temperature of an unknown body of water. She examined herself next, and finding that she was both still clothed and seemingly uninjured, the nigh-mute woman gathered her courage and stepped off the bed, heading for the door.

"Comment allez-vous, ma cherie?" a friendly voice inquired from the other end of the room.

Tokio spun around, her left hand flying protectively to her throat while her other disappeared into the sleeve of her kimono searching instinctively for the needles hidden in the lining.

A young man dressed in a dark blue gi with white squares on the sleeves sat on a small divan placed against the wall. In his hands, he held a rather thick book which he snapped shut as he stood. Tokio took one step backwards as the man placed the volume on the seat and started towards her.

"I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget to think in the proper language. Books. Have you ever read Madame Bovary? No? Flaubert is an excellent author. Doesn't translate well to Japanese, I'm afraid."

"My sincere apologies," Tokio whispered with thick uncertainty, "But, are we acquainted?"

"No," the younger man said with after emitting nasal giggle, "I don't suppose we are. My name is Honjo. And you must be Tokio, yes?"

"How...how did you know that?"

"Ah. I'm afraid it is embroidered on some of your things in your suitcase. I hope you will not think me terribly rude for having looked through them, but one doesn't often find a well-dressed lady such as yourself sleeping in bins of trash."

Tokio took a better look at the man standing before her. He seemed several years her younger, no older than nineteen or twenty. Although most of his hair had been pulled back into a small ponytail, short bangs at the front framed a decidedly feminine face crowned with sapphire eyes. He smiled confidently, but unlike the creepy Fujita Goro smile of her husband, or the genuine sunshine continually gracing Okita's face, this smile seemed more like the practiced smile of a young gentleman of culture. It played on his face as if requiring no genuine good humor to accompany it, an expert affectation used to easily maneuver through unpleasant social situations. Nonetheless, it contained a spry element, one that wasn't so much good natured as it was crackling with youth.

"Monsieur Flaubert would be sore with me from beyond the grave if I had let such a mystery go unraveled. So I did the most dastardly thing possible. I brought you here and forced you to sleep in a bed. Wicked, ne?" Honjo ended his proclamation by placing two fingers against his cheek and allowing the last syllable of his statements to draw out into a thoughtful hum.

"I'm very appreciative of your kindness, Honjo-san. You must let me reimburse you for your troubles," Tokio replied as she bowed to her host.

The man known to most of his associates as 'Kamatari' pressed his hands together underneath his chin. "Mmmm? Reimburse? No, Tokio-san, I was rather hoping you'd be my victim."

"Victim?" Tokio repeated, her whisper lacking the appropriate amount of alarm.

"Yes. Oh my, yes. I have scientific experiments in the kitchen under the codename 'flapjack' which I shall, most assuredly, torture you with, should you be agreeable. Are you hungry, Tokio-san?"

Tokio quirked one eyebrow in perfect imitation of her husband.

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

Meshibe Naoya spat boyishly as she walked towards Taito street. Might as well get it out of her system now. You couldn't do such things in front of Tokio-san. Oh no. Not if you wanted to avoid a quiet sigh and yet another whispered explanation of ladylike behavior. 'Tokio-san probably never spat at anything in her life. I bet she even refuses to have spit. Even if she does, I bet she doesn't call it 'spit'. Probably calls it 'sparkly lip liquid' or something.'

"Hey!" a woman sweeping the sidewalk exclaimed, barely moving out of the way before being hit with the projectile saliva. "That's gross."

Naoya shrugged as she kept on walking, taking in the sights and sounds of a neighborhood coming to life. A dog barking. A young boy playing with a paper ball. A couple bidding each other goodbye for the day. Not at all like her neighborhood, where morning sounds included old Gokaji-san coughing up her lung, the snoring of the bum who slept in front of their flat, and her mother yelling frantically 'Where's my damned apron, Naoya?"

Naoya headed through the gate to the Saitous' house and meandered up the front walkway. 'Hm. Usually, Tokio-san is loading up the cart by now. Heh heh heh. If -she's- late then she certainly can't say anything about -me- being late.'

"Oi! Tokio-san! We have to get going to get our spot or that kite maker will steal it again!" Naoya exclaimed as she rapped on the bamboo post.

The shoji slid all the way open and Naoya found herself face to face with a snarling Saitou Hajime. A bit surprised, Naoya emitted a minor "eep" and looked the man up and down. He appeared to be missing not only the over-shirt from his police uniform but also one of his obsessively polished shoes.

"She's not here. Go away."

The shoji slid shut with a snap, barely missing taking off Naoya's nose. The confused youth tilted her head to one side as she scratched her elbow in thought. 'What in the fucking hell is that all about?' Deciding she just -had- to know, Naoya pushed the shoji back open and stepped inside.

"What'dya mean she's not here? Where is she, then?" Naoya asked as the tall man slipped on his other shoe.

"Look rat-girl, does that mange covered head of yours understand the meaning and implication of the word 'trespassing'?" Stooping to tie his shoe, he looked up, glaring at the young woman in the same manner he used to frighten delinquent teenagers who took to loitering on the streets.

"No. I don't know what it means." Naoya lied, beginning to meander about the room as if there were a possibility that Tokio might be hiding under the tatami or in one of the cabinets. "Did she go to market or something? We were supposed to make those pastries from Franceland today. E-clears or something."

Saitou began to search around the house, as he had already done three times, for the shirt to his uniform. Naoya followed him as he traveled from room to room, asking question upon question regarding the location of her mentor until he finally slapped his hand against the wall and turned to bark: "She's. Not. Here. Packed her suitcase and left. Got it? Now get lost."

"Huh?" Naoya's face contorted, scrunching up her features in a look somewhere between confusion and disgust. "What did you do now? Oi. Oi! I'm talking to you. What did you do to make her leave?"

Saitou said nothing to this, instead choosing to continue the search for his shirt. 'Where did you put it, Tokio? Goddamnit, my wife is gone for one day and I'm already one of those men who can't even dress himself. How embarrassingly irritating.'

"You had better go find her, Fujita-san. You had better shape up right this instant and go find Tokio-san and apologize to her and get her to come home."

"Why would I do that?" he asked, tossing an old gi across the room as he continued his quest.

"B...because," Naoya exclaimed, utterly incredulous at the question, "Because she's your wife and she could be in trouble or something."

"Ahou. Tokio is perfectly capable of handling herself." Standing up straight again, he reached into his pocket and took out a wad of money which he threw at Naoya, "Look. There's your pay. Now leave."

"Not until you tell me what is going on!" Naoya said threateningly, leaving the money on the ground.

Saitou Hajime decided he had about all he could take of the rat-girl this morning. On top of the fact that half his uniform was missing, he was already late for a meeting to receive information on possibly one of the most important missions he had ever undertaken. The very last thing he wanted to do was have to explain everything to this obnoxious little kid when she probably wouldn't understand it anyway. Hell, she'd probably throw some sort of tantrum about it, and he certainly didn't need that right this minute.

So, his left hand shot out and grabbed Naoya by the ear, dragging her, despite her vociferous protests, through the house and out into the yard.

"It is none of your goddamn business. Didn't my wife teach you not to intrude in other people's affairs? Now leave my property, or I will put you in jail for breaking and entering."

Naoya stamped her feet in a huff as she rubbed her throbbing ear. "You ass! Just for that, I'm not going to tell you where Tokio-san stores your shirts. Hmph!" Turning on her heel, Naoya stormed out of the yard, slamming the gate behind her as loudly as her little hands and immense fury could manage.

Saitou's fingers curled into fists as he suppressed the urge to follow the girl and make her other ear sting just as badly as the first. This whole affair wasn't just infuriating, it was rapidly becoming borderline hellish.

Outside, Naoya grimaced as she continued to coddle her sore ear. 'That guy. Sometimes I think Tokio-san's gotta be crazy. And how could he just be so...uncaring...about Tokio-san? Someone's gotta knock some sense into him. And if I can't do it, then I only know one person who can.'

With a resolute expulsion of air to blow her bangs out of her face, Naoya turned down the street and headed towards Okita's house.

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

"Pancakes, Honjo-san? I'm afraid I've never heard of them." Tokio picked up the circular object on her plate with her chopsticks and peered at it inquisitively.

"Mmmm. Indeed," Kamatari replied, cutting his pancake with a fork after drowning it in syrup. "My old English tutor used to make them. I can never quite get them to the same consistency as he did, though. Interesting fellow, he was. From someplace in the Americas called 'Oh-claw-homer.' Bald as a baby, though. Used to tease him about it relentlessly..."

As Honjo rambled on and on, Tokio gazed out into the elegant courtyard beyond the outdoor dining area where she and her eccentric host now ate. She half expected to see her husband lurking there, watching her from just beyond the immaculately tended garden, slinking in the shadows underneath a tree.

"...Singing something about 'Home, home on the range, where the deer and the envelopes play.' Never did understand that one. Exceptionally queer folk, Americans, don't you think, Tokio-san?" Seeing that his guest seemed more preoccupied with other thoughts he continued in a lower tone. "Tokio-san? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to ramble on like that. I'm just so excited to have someone to talk to, for once. I don't mind so much that my father has to travel and leave me here, usually, but I tend to get so lonely sometimes." Kamatari's eyes sparkled as leaned in closer to Tokio, "But, then, I don't suppose a fine woman such as yourself often finds herself lonely, hm?"

"Actually, Honjo-san," Tokio replied quietly, deciding to give up on the 'pancake' which she now sat back onto her plate, "I often find myself alone. But, it wasn't until a few months ago that I understood the meaning of the word 'loneliness'."

"Well, we must make a pact not to be lonely for the time being, mmmm?"

"Yes, that would be nice." Tokio agreed, looking more than a bit distracted. She stared at his hands. As delicate looking as they were, it would have been hard to miss the calluses.

Noticing Tokio's gaze, Kamatari chuckled. "Father says a young man of society should have training in every area, including kenjutsu. Just in case, you know. Between you and I, I'm not very good."

"My apologies for staring, Honjo-san. It's just that my husband... Well, your hands reminded me of his."

"Oh?" Kamatari replied, his interest obviously peaked. Tilting his head with girlish inquisitiveness he asked, "Is your husband some sort of swordsman?"

"Well. He was. I mean, he is," Tokio felt at a bit of a loss as to how to explain things properly, "He's a policeman, you see. And he has special permission to carry a sword."

"Really? That's quite uncommon these days, hm? He must be very good."

"Sadly, yes. He is very good."

"Sadly?" Kamatari repeated, putting on his best 'confused' face.

"Yes. His immense talent keeps him forever bound to his mistress." Tokio looked out into the courtyard, watching the tiny stream of water meander it's way through a system of fountains and pools, over rocks once smoothed by an even larger body of water. Tokio wondered the stones felt at all displaced in their manmade creek. Then again, rocks were just rocks. No matter where you put them, they remained the same entities, did they not? Perhaps they were even a little relieved not to be forced into obscurity at the bottom of some river.

"His mistress?" Kamatari asked, clicking his tongue slightly. Though, internally he briefly wondered if he'd picked up the right woman. The files said nothing about a mistress. If Saitou didn't trust his wife, she'd probably only have minimal information. And if he didn't love her, she'd be nigh useless if he needed leverage. And what did swordsmanship have to do with some dopey woman, anyway? Nonetheless, Kamatari affected his best concerned demeanor and said softly, "I'm so sorry, Tokio-san."

"No. No. His mistress is named 'Japan', and her sanctity and virtue are always foremost in his mind," Tokio explained, "He would do anything to save her from corruption."

"Is that so?" Kamatari put down his fork and followed Tokio's gaze into the garden. A sudden shiver crept down his spine, a feeling so disconcerting that it almost shook him from his task. It felt as if an intense mass of long repressed emotions had suddenly shot forth from some unknown force, like a geyser or a volcano. Perhaps, Kamatari supposed, he was merely experiencing a great deal of happiness over getting so much information from the woman so easily. Struggling to contain himself, he finally stated, "Your husband must be very proud of this wonderful Meiji government he is helping to create."

Tokio looked away from the courtyard at her host. A small, brave smile which fought an epic battle against the sorrow in her eyes crossed her lips. 'No. He's not overly fond of this Meiji era."

'What would Hajime be doing now?' Tokio wondered, 'Is he thinking of me as I think of him? I do so hope he is eating properly. Well, by now he must be well into his day.'

"I'm sorry Honjo-san. I've been such trouble to you, laying the burdens of my life at your feet."

"It is quite alright, Tokio-san. These things happen. But, I do hope you will feel free to stay with me for a few days. I really wouldn't be able to sleep thinking of you in another trash bin." Kamatari pouted by sticking out his lower lip a bit and proceeded to bat his eyelashes at Tokio.

"Of course, Honjo-san. I certainly could not refuse your hospitality." Once again, Tokio smiled bravely and continued in her whisper, "Now, won't you tell me all about your family? I believe you said your father is in pearl farming, yes?"

"Oh yes, Tokio-san," Kamatari said, stifling his laughter, "If only you could have seen some of the pearl necklaces I have made."

Judging by this woman's air of prudish dignity, Kamatari was ninety-nine percent certain that she would not catch his statement's raunchy double meaning.

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

Plink.

"Okita-san!"

Plink plink.

"Okita-san!!"

Naoya stomped her foot, three seconds from having a total meltdown. She bent down in the gravel drive and scooped up another handful of rocks, ready to throw these, too, at Okita's bedroom window.

She saw the curtains behind the windowpane move a bit, and Okita's face peer at her through the polished glass. Okita held up one finger to indicate that he would be with her shortly, and disappeared.

Naoya dropped the dirty rocks back on the ground and, after wiping her hands on her kimono, proceeded to take up pacing. Even after walking half way across the city, she still felt full of energy. 'Okita-san has to help me out. We have to find Tokio-san and bring her home. If we don't, I'll never become -refined-. And if I don't become refined, how am I supposed to get a nice job? And if I don't get a nice job, how am I going to support mother when she finally gets too old to work at that inn?"

Okita Souji stepped out onto the porch looking more than a bit bedraggled. His hair stuck out at odd angles, and Naoya noticed that underneath eyes lay dark circles. Souji rubbed at his face in a rather childlike manner as he stifled a yawn.

"Okita-san, are you ok? You look fucking awful."

"Thanks Naoya," Okita replied, not even trying to smile for once. "I'm fine. I just...had to work all night."

"I don't like that Okubo-kyo guy if this is how he treats you, Okita-san," Naoya announced, scrunching up her face for the second time that day.

"I'll be okay, my spirited friend." Okita sat down on the steps of Katsu's manor, patiently changing the subject. "Was there something you needed, Naoya?"

"Oh. Right." The next words which came out of Naoya's mouth flew past so quickly that Okita was worried that the young woman might run out of air. "You see, I went to find Tokio-san at her house but she wasn't there and Fujita-san said that she had packed her suitcase and left and I asked him why and he wouldn't tell me and I think there was maybe a fight and Fujita-san won't go look for Tokio-san and she could be in trouble because I don't think he knows where she is and we have to find her and you have to go talk some sense in Fujita-san right away. Wait, she isn't here, is she?"

Okita blinked, trying to process the run-on sentence and the following question into sensible pieces of information. "No," he said slowly, "Tokio is not here, I'm afraid."

"Well? Don't you think you should talk to Fujita-san?"

Okita sighed deeply and shook his head. "No. I don't think that would be productive towards the goal you seek, Naoya."

"But...but, Okita-san..."

"Don't fret, Naoya. I'm certain it will work itself all out in the end, hm? It is unwise to get involved in such things."

Naoya shook her head, as if firmly denying the man's suggestion. "But they are my friends. And...and if anything happens to Tokio-san..."

"Ah. Tokio-san is a very capable woman. I wouldn't worry about her, Naoya," Okita interjected as he leaned his head against one of the columns, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"Strange. That's almost exactly what Fujita-san said," Naoya observed, squatting down beside Okita. "Well, fine. If you aren't going to help me find her, you should go to bed or something. 'Cause I'm not lying, you look like shit."

"I think I will do just that," Okita replied, forcing a smile, "If you wish some breakfast, Seisaka should be in the kitchen."

"No. Forget that. I'm going to find Tokio all by my damn self."

Okita nodded as he stood and walked back inside. "I sincerely wish you the best of luck in your quest, my headstrong little friend. I really do."

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

Tokio glanced around the marketplace out of the corner of her eye. Oh yes, the gossips were already talking. They didn't even have the decency to be subtle about it.

"Tokio-saaaan," one of the shoemakers called, making no effort to hide the accusatory tone in her voice, "Who is this darling young man on your arm, hmmmm?"

Tokio ignored the woman. Such an officious busybody could make up her own explanations, if she wanted. Besides, the day had turned out to have such amazingly pleasant weather, and Honjo seemed to be trying his best to keep the spirit of their excursion light.

"So many people know you here, Tokio-san," Kamatari observed. "Shall we go elsewhere?"

"No. No. Please don't worry about me, Honjo-san. Let's have fun today, shall we?"

"Mmmm," Kamatari replied, "Yes lets!" He clapped his hands together excitedly as he ushered Tokio into a kimono shop. Well, it was never right to mix business and pleasure, but one could, at least, mix business and fashion, could they not?

On the other side of the market, Meshibe Naoya was asking everyone she had ever met if they had seen Fujita Tokio in the last day. Well, she wasn't so much asking as -demanding-. And even without training in weaponry or fighting, a rabid rat could be quite frightening to behold. She'd already been thrown out of three shops for threatening their proprietors with divulging their deepest, darkest, secrets if they didn't spill the beans. Not that Tokio told Naoya all the secrets she had learned about the people in the marketplace, just -most- of the secrets.

"Ohhhh Naoya-chaaaaaan," a vaguely familiar voice called. Naoya looked up to find herself staring in the face of a local shoemaker. "You're looking for Tokio-san, right? Well, I just saw her not two minutes ago down by the kimono shops and..."

Before the woman could tell Naoya the rest of the details, the girl had taken off running in the direction indicated, practically knocking the older woman on her rump.

"Hmph. Ill-mannered ungrateful brat!" the shoemaker decreed.

Naoya wound in and out of the market's patrons, practically tripping around stalls and stumbling over children until she made it to a string of kimono shops that all sat clustered together. Looking around frantically, Naoya finally spotted the tail end of Tokio's long silk scarf pass an open doorway.

"Tokio-san! Tokio-san!" Naoya cried, running into the shop and grabbing her mentor by the arm. "Thank goodness I've found you! I was so worried, and Fujita-san is worried and you have to come home right away!"

Tokio, surprised to see her friend, gasped slightly as she put down a bolt of cloth that she had been holding up to inspect, revealing the man standing by her side.

"Hello, Naoya," Tokio whispered. Then, turning to her companion she said, "Honjo-san, I'd like to introduce you to my friend Naoya."

"Ah, what a sweet little friend you have, Tokio-san. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Naoya-chan," Kamatari pronounced, picking up another bolt of cloth. Certainly Shishio-san wouldn't begrudge him a few little expenses.

Naoya's upper lip curled. Naoya-chan? Sweet little friend? "Who is -this- guy?" She scanned the man from head to toe. 'Kami-sama," Naoya thought, 'Is that a man? Even Okita-san looks more manly than this one. Geez, look at his fingernails. And he wears a bigger ribbon in his hair than I do.'

"Naoya," Tokio whispered pleadingly, "Please remember yourself."

"Huh?"

"Honjo-san is..." Tokio pursed her lips together while trying to form the best explanation for the girl. "He's a friend. And he has been so kind as to allow me to stay with him while...while I... Well, his family is gone from town and he wishes companionship."

"You're staying in this guy's house?" Naoya all but screamed, "Alone?"

Behind the counter, the shop's owner looked on with a great deal of interest. Who wouldn't want to get some dirt on Fujita Tokio? And wasn't her husband a cop? Yes, having blackmail info on a cop's wife was just like a pass to get out of jail for free.

"Well, yes, Naoya, alone. Please, won't you be so kind as to keep your voice down?"

"Tokio-san!" Naoya exclaimed, pulling the cloth that Tokio was now examining from her mentor's hands and throwing it on a nearby table, "Tokio-san, you have to listen. You can't stay alone in a strange man's house. What will people say? What will people think? It just isn't done. No offense, Honjo-san, but she's a married woman. It will completely ruin her reputation."

"Oh, Naoya, please don't be so dramatic," Tokio said, rubbing the end of her scarf in thought. Behind her, Kamatari giggled behind his hand. He'd ruined the reputations of a few women in his time, but never by mere proximity. Saitou Tokio had a pleasant enough face, he supposed, but she wasn't really the sort of exotic beauty that naughty romance stories were written about, now was she? Though, what would be the harm of having a few rolls on the futon with the woman? She could possibly learn something and, from the looks of the state of her marriage, it would probably do her a world of good.

"I'm not being dramatic! Tokio-san, don't you see? And what if Fujita-san finds out? He'll be furious, Tokio-san. I know he doesn't always show it, but I know he loves you dearly and desperately. If he finds out about this guy, Honjo-san or whatever, he's going to kill you both. You know it's true!"

"Naoya, I'm going to ask you to leave this shop, please. You are not displaying a single whit of rationality. Now, no. Please don't frown." Tokio leaned forward to cup her friend's face in her hands, "You may not understand all of this right now, but I assure you, someday you will."

Naoya shook her head to escape Tokio's grasp and stepped backwards towards the door. Her eyes flared with a tsunami of anger, disgust, and betrayal. "Oi, Tokio-san, I understand better than you think." Naoya glanced at Kamatari. Had the girl been carrying a weapon, the scythe-wielding man might have taken a moment's pause to re-consider his current position. However, since she didn't, he merely stuck his tongue out at her while Tokio wasn't looking. "I understand quite well. I understand everything you tried to teach me, well, it was all a lie. You're not a lady. You're a common whore!"

With that pronouncement, Naoya turned on her heel and sped out of the shop, almost tripping over several passersby who had decided to linger outside the doorway in order to eavesdrop on the juicy conversation.

"I'm so sorry, Honjo-san," Tokio whispered, going back to her shopping, "Naoya can be quite...vivacious."

'Vivacious?' Kamatari thought to himself, 'That's a lot like saying that Soujiro might, on a rare occasion, seem cheerful.'

"It is quite alright, Tokio-san. Youth, mmm? It is a most fickle and confusing time of life, ne? Think no more on it. Now, isn't this a lovely piece of cloth here?"

'Still, it is good to know that the man adores his wife, or so the kid thinks, at least. More and more interesting every minute. Who are you, Saitou Hajime, that you would love a woman yet let her leave you? That this kid would consider you a jealous man, yet you would send Tokio into the world alone? Hmm?'

"Oh Tokio-san, look at this elegant tomesode," Kamatari called, "It would be most lovely on you, I think."

Kamatari pulled the long garment from its place on the wall and held it in front of Tokio. The black silk draped the woman's svelte form as Tokio blushed and attempted to shake her head. It was, indeed, a fine garment, finer than any she owned. At the knee, a delicately embroidered green dragon perched on even greener clouds, curling around the length of the skirt. Tokio picked up the hem of the tomesode and gazed at it. She had to admit that even -her- exceptional ability with sewing would not match the infinitesimal stitching on the decoration.

"I could not possibly purchase such a kimono," Tokio whispered in absolute awe. How had the stitching been done? Faint jealousy arose in Tokio's heart. Dropping the cloth, she turned away from Kamatari. 'Is this what it is like for an inferior swordsman to look upon the moves of a more exceptional one, I wonder? What a wretched feeling, this jealousy. Certainly, I have felt it before, when I thought Katsu was one of Hajime's old lovers. But, at that time, I would not allow myself to name such an emotion. How horridly distasteful.'

"Then let me purchase it for you, Tokio-san. Besides, tomorrow I expect an important visitor for dinner, and, I'm afraid, I already know that you have nothing appropriate to wear." Kamatari said. He knew she would have to agree. If he were to have a visitor, then she would have to be dressed as a married woman, or else chance allowing the visiting party to suspect something illicit between the pair.

And, besides, Kamatari wanted to make absolutely certain that when Saitou Hajime arrived tomorrow night, Tokio would be wearing an appropriate symbol of their union.

"I suppose I have no choice in the matter, hm, Honjo-san?"

Kamatari giggled openly as he handed the tomesode to the shop's owner. "Send this to the address on this paper." Leaning in towards the kimono vendor he whispered quietly enough so that Tokio could not hear, "And the blue one over there, as well."

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

Naoya secreted herself as best she could in the alleyway across from the kimono shop. The situation had, indeed, become quite dire.

For the life of her, she couldn't understand what was going on today. Had all of her friends gone completely insane? First, Fujita-san had outright refused to come and bring Tokio home. And then the normally reasonable Okita-san had seemed nigh-apathetic towards their friend's plight. Now Tokio had taken to parading around town with some strange man at her side.

Well, Meshibe Naoya wouldn't let this sort of thing go on! Someone had to set things straight. Someone had to have some sense!

Too bad Katsu-san had passed away. She'd not have stood for this sort of thing, that was for damn sure.

As Tokio and Kamatari exited the kimono shop, Naoya pulled herself from her hiding spot. 'I'll follow them. And then I will find out what is going on and put a stop to it. Obviously, Tokio-san can't be in her right mind at the moment. She's far too delicate a woman to know what she's gotten herself into.'

Naoya crept through the shadows, trailing the pair all the way back to Kamatari's house. Unfortunately for Naoya, she didn't notice the even more stealthy figure that followed behind her.

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

"I thank you for the kimono, Honjo-san. How I shall ever repay you for all your many kindnesses, I do not know," Tokio whispered, patting the man's hand gently. He had offered his crooked arm to her as soon as they left the marketplace. As soon as her skin made contact with his own, Kamatari stopped in the street and peered questioningly at the woman. Keeping their eyes locked, Kamatari's free hand picked up Tokio's fingers gently and turned them over.

Then he looked down.

How had he not noticed the scratches which coated the bottom portion of her palm before?

Tokio pulled her hand away shyly and looked at the ground as she began to walk forward once again. "I fell," she whispered.

"I see," Kamatari replied, doubting that the entire story had been told. He, too, began walking again, noting that the slowly setting sun had brought with it a brusque chill that deepened with every passing minute. Already the birds were beginning to still themselves in their nests, and the crickets of the evening had begun to usurp the silence left by their winged brethren with the discordant songs of the insect world. Kamatari listened to this, along with the duel crunching sounds of his and Tokio's feet upon the road, as he contemplated the odd woman before him.

"Honjo-san," Tokio finally whispered, "Have you ever loved?"

"Hm?" Kamatari squeaked, being shaken from his thoughts too abruptly to form a proper lie. Besides, how could he be untrue to his feelings for Shishio, even now, even during this most important mission? "Yes. But the one I love has a burning desire that must be satisfied, a fantastic dream that must be accomplished, before rest can be had, before we can be together."

'Not to mention his current infatuation with Yumi,' Kamatari added to himself, 'Which is insignificant, and will surely pass.'

"And would you not do anything, anything in your power, including putting yourself in the path of danger, including sacrificing your own life, to help your beloved achieve this goal? This horrible goal which drives them from your side but which, once achieved, will bring them happiness?"

"Anything," Kamatari's voice, now soft with his own deep sadness, replied, "I would do most anything."

"As would I," Tokio whispered, "As would I."

Far behind the pair, Naoya peeked out from behind a rather stoic willow tree and squinted her eyes. 'At least they aren't touching anymore. That's a good sign.' The teenager rubbed at her face as lethargy began to set into her body. It had been a long day, indeed, and she had run all over town. Sleep would be necessary, but tomorrow, yes, definitely tomorrow, she'd come back.

In the shadows of the walls and doorways lining the street, a hidden figure chuckled as he watched the teenager turn away and head home.

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

"How's the boss?" Shinzui asked, half asleep, as he leaned against the wall, still eating his afternoon meal between brief naps. Across the room, Mishima Eiichiro stared out the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Hm? Oh. He's in a foul mood," Eiichiro replied, not turning to look at the man who, Eiichiro knew, would now have bits of rice all over the front of his shirt. What a slob. No wonder Shinzui always got sent on the worst jobs.

"When is he not in a foul mood?" Shinzui said with a shrug, causing several pieces of his breakfast to fall off his shirt and onto the floor. "What is it this time?"

"Didn't you hear about his wife?" Eiichiro hissed, "Have some decency for heaven's sake, man."

"Oh. Right." Shinzui sunk down to the floor, tired of standing. He was an essentially lazy man in life. This made him a decent employee, since he endeavored to do things right the first time, being possessed of an overwhelming loathing for having to do something twice. "If it were me, you know, I wouldn't have let her go. I'd have locked her up in the barn or something."

"That is because you are, by nature, a pig," Eiichiro remarked. "And since any woman who would marry you would also have to be a pig, it makes sense that the both of you would end up in a barn."

Behind the door, Saitou Hajime chuckled. Mishima Eiichiro was definitely a man after his own heart.

And Shinzui. Well, didn't that ahou realize that the door between the antechamber and Saitou's office had been replaced with one specifically designed to allow sound to pass between the two rooms? What a moron.

Saitou leaned forward at his desk, attempting to block out the noisy conversation in the next room, as he stared at the overwhelming amount of paperwork on his desk. Had it been piling up over the past two days? Who knew. That time period seemed, in his mind, to be a complicated blur of events past most comprehension.

Well, at least he had finally found his shirt.

And, thankfully, that rat-girl had the sense to not show up at his house this morning. That would have been most distracting, and he doubted he could go a second round with Naoya and not completely lose his temper. Women. If only they had the common decency to fight with swords.

They fought more dirty than ninjas, in his estimation.

Tokio. She had ninja training. She would be fine. She would be just fine. He had repeated that to himself so many times over the past two days that he suspected if he'd been a monk chanting mantras, he'd be enlightened by now.

"A letter has come for Lieutenant Fujita," a young voice said.

"Hm? This is marked with an old seal of the Bakufu. Where did this come from?" Eiichiro asked the young page, who just shrugged.

Well, I'm not going to give it to him," Shinzui grumbled loudly, "You give it to him, Eiichiro, you're his favorite."

"I'm on watch," Eiichiro stated blankly.

"Someone bring me the goddamn letter!" the irritated voice of Saitou Hajime called from behind the door.

Shinzui scooted into the room and placed the letter on Saitou's desk with a mumbled apology.

The lanky Miburo stared at the letter for a moment and lifted an eyebrow at his inferior, who didn't appear to have the common sense to leave the room. Picking up the envelope, Saitou turned it over several times in his gloved hands, noting the decade old seal, before opening it and pulling out the enclosed missive.

'My dearest Hajime,

Please be present at 17 Fujomori Street this evening at six o'clock. We shall be having dinner with an acquaintance of mine who is most excited to meet you.

Your Loving Wife,

Saitou Tokio."

Saitou's amber eyes narrowed as he crumbled the paper with one hand. Not only did his wife not use such ostentatious calligraphy, she'd never sign her name 'Saitou Tokio'. The person who had sent this letter didn't even bother to try to make it look as if it really came from Tokio. No. They wanted it to be quite obvious that they knew his secrets as well as the whereabouts of his wife.

"What time is it now, Shinzui?"

"Eh? Oh. 'Round four-thirty, I figure."

"Hn," Saitou replied, standing up from his messy desk. Well, he'd just have to finish organizing these papers tomorrow. "I have an engagement. I'll be leaving early."

"Early, Fujita-san?" Shinzui's plump brow furrowed. 'Fujita-san -never- leaves early.'

"Yes. Early. Now, quit standing around in my office like some sort of useless child. I pay you to fight crime and corruption in this city, not gawk and gossip like some prattling hag."

"Yeah, yeah." Shinzui replied, sauntering out of the office with a shrug, "C'mon Eiichiro, lets go get some food. I'm hungry."

"I'm on watch," Eiichiro stated again. "And you just ate."

"What can I say? I'm a pig."

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

"Tokio-san?" Kamatari called through the door, "Are you ready?"

"I shall be in just a few minutes, Honjo-san. My apologies."

"Please meet me in the teahouse beyond the garden. I'd like to show you something before our guest arrives. You know how to find it, yes?"

"Certainly. Thank you, Honjo-san."

A faint smile crossed Kamatari's lips. He really had become quite fond of Saitou Tokio. Perhaps if he could convince Saitou to join the Juppon Gatana, then Tokio could come along as well. They would, after all, need a replacement for Yumi. Someone who could make certain Soujiro's shirts were pressed and assist in keeping headquarters from falling into disarray. And, above all, someone he to which he could talk. A kindred spirit, if you would. And since she doted on her husband, there would be absolutely no competition for the heart of Shishio-san. Maybe this was even Shishio's plan all along. Could it be that he was already tiring of Yumi? How wonderful would that be?

Kamatari stole away from the door and tiptoed down to the teahouse, noting that the sky threatened rain, but seemed unwilling to make good on such a threat. Thank goodness Houji had provided this house. Kamatari clapped his hands together like an excited child. Everything was falling into place.

Inside the darkened room, Kamatari spied the other love of his life, glinting bravely even in the low light. His scythe. This one had been a present from Shishio, a replacement for the much smaller one he had carried as a young boy. And, the attached chain made it ten times as powerful a weapon. Running his fingers lightly over the wood, Kamatari sighed. Oh yes, just as Shishio-san had promised, they would have fun again.

Kamatari quickly prepared the room, setting out the water and the implements for the very interesting tea that would be taking place this evening. Taking a deep breath, he lit one small well-placed lantern and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Yes. Perfect.

Grabbing his scythe, Kamatari secreted himself beside the door. He felt the blood course through his entire body, almost a sexual feeling, like the power of swaying a virgin to your charms. The prospect of victory always made him feel a bit cocky. Kamatari licked his upper lip in amusement at his internal pun.

Of course, wearing a new kimono never hurt his mood. The lovely blue garment he had sent over from the market place fit divinely.

"Honjo-san?" Tokio whispered as she pushed open the door. "Are you here?"

Quite easily, Kamatari threw the chain attached to his scythe around Tokio's neck. He reeled her in like a fish, pulling her backwards as she clawed fruitlessly against the metal constricting around her neck. Her body slammed backwards against his with a thud. Kamatari wrapped an arm around her shoulders from the front to steady the woman as he whispered, "Now, please listen close, Tokio-san. Behave as I dictate, and no harm shall come to anyone, neither you nor your husband. But, if you choose to be belligerent, and make me kill you, please know that it has been my utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance."

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

Saitou pulled the scrap of rice paper from the front door of the house, rolling his eyes slightly at the hurried directives written on it.

"Garden. Teahouse. Come alone."

"Presumptuous, ne?" Saitou murmured to himself as he made his way through the house. Quite a nice dwelling, indeed. A few Western touches, but nothing as overbearingly showy as Katsu's house. Deciding he had a few minutes yet left until this appointment, Saitou stopped in the kitchen and grabbed a plum. Well, his whole schedule had been interrupted because of this. They owed him at least a piece of fruit, if not a limb, just for that.

Stepping out onto the engawa overlooking the enclosed courtyard, Saitou eyed the small building at the very back of the property. Yes. They were both there. Well, fine. He could play this game.

Walking slowly through the garden on the stone path constructed by some loving horticulturist, Saitou fingered the hilt of his katana with one hand while eating the plum with the other. The taste of cool sweetness on his tongue reminded him of one thing and one thing only, the taste of Tokio's skin. And that thought made Saitou Hajime snarl and toss the fruit aside.

"Leave your katana outside, Saitou-san," a youthful voice called from inside the teahouse. "If not for your sake, then for hers."

Silently, Saitou removed the sword at his side and placed it as close to the door as possible. Removing his shoes as well, he entered the building.

Inside, he found three objects sitting in the lantern-lit room. Closest to him sat a round table, upon which had been placed all the necessary implements for a tea ceremony. Behind this, kneeling primly, sat his wife dressed in a dark kimono he had never before seen. A deep purple obi circled her waist, and circling the obi was the giant blade of an oversized scythe. The handle of said scythe was held by its owner, who sat even further behind Tokio, peeking around his wife's form to wiggle a set of fingers girlishly at the newcomer.

"Hi!" Kamatari exclaimed, swaying from side to side a bit as if listening to music, "Won't you sit, Saitou-san?

"Is this woman a friend of yours, Tokio?" Saitou asked his wife, who, at the moment, sat with her hands pressed together in front of scythe's giant blade.

Tokio looked up from her lap, not appearing to be particularly surprised to see the room's newcomer, and whispered, "That is a man, Hajime."

The brief dilation of her husband's pupils would have been missed by most anyone else. Could he, possibly, be amused?

Saitou sat, as directed, across the table from his wife. Briefly examining her with a glance, he decided that, although there was a blade at her waist which could possibly slice her in half at any instant, he appeared otherwise to be fine. Even beneath the long bangs which framed her face, he could tell that her eyes shone with deep defiance. And perhaps, even, a modicum of her own amusement.

"I'm glad you've chosen to join us, Saitou-san. You don't mind if I call you Saitou-san, do you? Good. My name is Honjo Kamatari. I am here to bring a most interesting proposition to you from my employer."

"And your employer would be whom?" Saitou asked, fishing in his pocket for his cigarettes as he sat down opposite from Tokio.

"Ah. His name is not important right now," Kamatari said with a small giggle. "Oh, Tokio-san, won't you make us all some tea?"

Tokio nodded slowly and began to clean out the teacups sitting in front of her. The two men continued to talk as she performed her assigned duty.

"So, what is this proposition?" A match added its mild illumination to the room for an instant as Saitou inhaled.

"Surely, by now, a man such as yourself has heard of the strange occurrences in the south? Such a mystery. What could be happening there? Do you know what it is, Saitou-san?"

"I do not."

Kamatari tilted his head to the side to observe the man across the room. "Then I will tell you. My employer has taken several villages. He is a man of immense power, extraordinary strength. And he has come to put an end to the Meiji era. To restore Japan to her former glory. And you, Saitou Hajime, have been chosen to assist him."

"So ka?" Saitou replied, exhaling smoke, his chiseled features not particularly changing expression. In fact, the Wolf of Mibu seemed downright bored. "Why would I do that?"

"So many reasons. But, where to begin? For starters, you could exact retribution upon those who defeated the Bakufu, who slaughtered your comrades in the Shinsengumi. You could help return Japan to its rightful state, ruled by those who know the value and strength of the bushido code."

Tokio poured water into three cups as the men spoke, making the tea with unfailingly deft fingers. She felt her husband's piercing gaze on her hands as she worked, watchful of her every move.

"Are you saying that your employer intends to start a war?" Saitou asked the kimono wearing scythe wielder.

"A war? Perhaps. War or no war, it is inconsequential. He will do what is necessary to take control of this country. What does it matter to you? Men like you thrive best in times of war, do they not?"

Tokio placed one teacup on the round table and grabbed the edge. She spun the table's top slowly until the cup arrived in front of her husband.

Picking up the teacup, Saitou nodded to his wife and took a sip before continuing the conversation, "Perhaps. But, men have tried before to defeat the Meiji era. Look what happened to Saigo Takamori. What makes your employer think he will succeed where others have failed?"

"All eras come to an end, Saitou-san. It only takes someone who knows where to stick the knife. Even now, plans are being made that will shake this country to its very core. The mere inertia of fate is enough to insure our success. Besides, a man who can take a half-dozen towns without revealing himself to the Meiji government must be someone serious enough, ne?"

Turning slightly, Tokio placed a teacup behind her, moving carefully so as not to impale herself on the scythe's blade nor spill the tea.

"Thank you, Tokio-san," Kamatari said, leaning forward to take the offered cup. He drank deeply, an impish grin crossing his feminine features. "Oh, that is just wonderful, Tokio-san. On a personal note, Saitou-san, I have quite enjoyed getting to know your wife. I do hope that if you join our organization, she'll come along. And just think, should the two of you ever have children, you will have helped bring Japan into a truly magnificent era, one where your sons can hold their heads high and wield their swords without restriction, in the manner befitting true samurai."

"Why does your employer, in particular, feel it necessary to remove the Meiji government?" Saitou asked, ashing into his empty teacup. The Miburo's gaze finally left his wife's hands and moved upwards, taking in the visage of his opponent.

"Tragic story, really," Kamatari said with a sigh, "He once did their bidding, eliminating many obstacles in the path of the establishment of the new era. And how did they repay him? Mmmm? They decided he knew too many of their secrets and tried to kill him. Tsk tsk. Tried but didn't succeed. Such is their downfall. Now those secrets will be used against them to destroy what they have created."

"So, it is revenge he wants?"

"I suppose that is the one way of putting it. Another way is 'Kuni Tori'. A government incapable of killing one man isn't a government deserving to survival, don't you think? And now that man will return to remove the weakness that plagues this country."

"Naruhodo," Saitou replied, sighing slightly. "And if I refuse your invitation?"

Kamatari upturned the cup in his hand and swallowed the rest of the warm liquid. "Please don't do that." Setting the cup by his side, he continued, "Nothing shall happen. I shall leave here. You shall return home with your wife. If you try to follow me, I will kill you, and her. If you don't, in time, the struggle will come here, as well, and you will watch as the Meiji government collapses. Perhaps you will even fight against that collapse. But, in the end, you will fail and become a subject of the new era, or a dead man."

"I have heard such declarations before. And yet, I still continue to be less than dead." Saitou exhaled a cloud of smoke towards Tokio, who winced. Despite the fact that they were deep in negotiations with a possible madman, she still didn't find it proper for him to smoke indoors. "I'm afraid I have to decline."

"That is exceedingly unfortunate," Kamatari replied, pouting more than appropriate for a grown man. "I do hope you will think on my proposition a bit more, Saitou-san. Should you change your mind, I'm certain you're clever enough to figure out how to find us."

"Indeed."

Kamatari opened the shoji directly behind his back and stood, carefully tilting the scythe's blade upward against Tokio's midsection as he did so. Then, with one quick movement, the scythe-wielder pulled his weapon to the side, away from Tokio, and in the same instant, disappeared from view.

Saitou Hajime did not move. He probably could have scrambled to the front shoji, retrieved his katana, and been well on the path towards tracking and killing Kamatari if he so desired.

Or, he could have scooped up his wife under his arm and headed home, offering a few choice insults about the fine mess she had gotten herself into this time, and why was she always being kidnapped by cross-dressers, anyway?

But, he didn't.

Instead, Saitou merely quirked one eyebrow at his wife.

In response, Tokio lifted her fingers to her mouth and sounded the shrillest, most unladylike whistle she could muster.

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

Naoya had been avoiding this trip all day. What would she say to Tokio-san? Surely there were some good words somewhere, locked in her brain. With one curled fist, the young woman knocked on her cranium in an attempt to loosen whatever knowledge might be stored therein.

One foot in front of the other, Naoya made her way to the house she had tracked Tokio and Honjo-san to the previous day. Her thoughts kept her occupied, so occupied, in fact, that she didn't notice the solitary figure standing beneath a tree across the street from the house.

"Naoya-chan, what a surprise to see you here," a familiar voice called as the teenager stepped towards the door. Naoya spun around to see Okita Souji step out from behind an oak tree and cross the road. He smiled gently as he looked up at the sky, "Might get some rain, don't you think?"

"Okita-san?" Naoya questioned, taking in the rather welcome sight of her friend. "But...why...why are you here? And why are you wearing your swords, Okita-san?"

Souji laughed, his whole body shaking with mirth. When he finally stopped, the spry man put a finger to his lips and shifted his eyes from left to right. "Mmmm, Naoya, you didn't really think that Saitou-san would throw Tokio-san out? Or that she would leave him, did you?"

"Huh? I don't get it. What do you mean, Okita-san? I saw Tokio-san yesterday with some man and..."

"Shhh," Okita replied, kneeling down in front of the teenager, "I'm sorry that we didn't tell you, Naoya. There merely wasn't time to explain everything properly, and Tokio thought you might end up putting yourself in danger. Besides, from what I understand, the little scene you caused in the marketplace may have actually helped us by adding to our plan's authenticity."

"Plan? What plan?"

"Well, I suppose it is alright to tell you now," Okita said, glancing back at the house, "Saitou-san and I had noticed that someone had been following all of us around the city over the last few weeks. Watching us. You and Tokio, too. But, we could never find them out, because they always seemed to send subordinates."

A piercing whistle broke through the evening air. Okita shot up, clutching the hilt of his katana with a mischievous smirk. "Oops. I have to run, Naoya. But, you're a clever girl. You'll figure the rest out."

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

"More tea, Hajime?" Tokio whispered.

"Aa," he replied, standing up to retrieve his katana from the porch. When he returned, Tokio was already pouring the water into the small teacups, not looking in the least bit disturbed by recent events. Sitting beside her, he took the offered cup with a sideways glance. "You didn't have any trouble, then?"

"No. Did you?"

Sipping his tea, he replied, "Except for a rather insistent rodent problem, and a wife who puts my shirts in the most ridiculous of places, no."

"And Okita?"

"He's fine. Though a bit tired from chasing you all over town, as am I."

Tokio smiled and gave her husband an accusatory look, "Such complaints. Surely you can not be too worn out from such a simple task."

"Not tired enough to prevent giving you a rather sound beating before I take you home. The trash bin, Kitty? I did not find that amusing. Though your antics with the teacups were humorous. What did you put in Kamatari's tea, anyway?"

"Nothing fatal," Tokio whispered, a sly smile of remembrance touching her lips, "Just something to slow him down a bit. Okita-san will have no problem tracking him."

Tokio put down her tea cup and took her husband's from his hands. Lifting her skirt she crawled onto his lap, straddling his knees as she bit her bottom lip lightly. "What happens now, Hajime?"

"Now we wait for Okita to follow this Kamatari fellow and find out who his employer is."

"That isn't what I meant," Tokio whispered. Her husband's hands, however, seemed to be paying little attention. The white fingertips of his gloves ran over the thick material of her obi. "What happens between us?"

Saitou bent his head forward to touch his lips to his wife's forehead. He doubted, however, that he could stop there. Not after seven months of denying himself her embrace. No one else was in this house, anyway. So, what did it matter?

"Hajime?"

"What do you want now, woman?"

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"No," he replied, pulling her against his torso forcibly. Damned newfangled obi knots. Women did these things on purpose just to infuriate mankind. Tokio lifted one hand to bat at his long, spiked bangs, and then ran her fingers along the ridges and canyons of his face as she regarded him with mock anger.

"Promise me, Hajime," Tokio whispered, pulling his hands away from her obi. "Promise me that you will never again think of me as your weakness. Promise me that you will never treat me as some delicate piece of glass which could shatter at the slightest breeze. I can weather a few cuts and bruises, Hajime. But, I fear I may not survive being too long deprived of your touch."

"Don't be stupid, Tokio. I'm trying to touch you right now."

Saitou caught her dumbfounded lips with his own, reeling in his amazing sensation of her diaphanous skin against his roughness. Tokio leaned into the kiss as she dropped her husband's hands, deciding instead to run her fingers through his thick hair. Pulling off his gloves while his wife's attentions were otherwise occupied, Saitou returned to his combat with the obi, deciding that, one way or another, the damn thing was coming off.

As she pulled away from him, taking a much-needed breath, Tokio whispered, "Ah, now that Honjo-san is gone, you think you can do as you please, do you?"

"I can and I will."

Across the courtyard, Meshibe Naoya stopped in her tracks as she peered through the open shoji of the small teahouse. The appropriately nicknamed "rat-girl" squinted her beady eyes at the scene she found framed by the doorway.

Like some sort of picture in miniature encircled by the garden in the foreground, Naoya watched as 'Tokio-san' and 'Fujita-san' seemed lost in each others' presence, oblivious to the world around them as they alternated between speaking, embracing, and undressing each other. Certainly, she noted, Saitou frowned just as surely as he did on any other day of the week. Still, it didn't seem as if it were a frown of displeasure or anger. It was just his way.

Naoya watched for a few more seconds before turning and heading back towards the entrance of the house. A lady certainly wouldn't spy on a pair of lovers. Most definitely not. But, a lady might just pass through the kitchen on her way out and see if she should find a snack for the long walk home.

'Well, maybe I'm not clever enough to understand the whole thing,' Naoya thought as she ransacked the kitchen, 'But at least those two finally got their goddamn acts together.'

"I think the rat-girl saw us," Saitou blandly informed his wife as she unbuttoned his outer shirt.

"Oh. My reputation is ruined," Tokio replied with false despair, leaning back and pulling her husband on top of her. "So you might as well ravage me."

"Ah, Kitty," he said, throwing her obi aside, "'Ravage' is too subtle a word to express my current intent."

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

Okita Souji stood on the cliff overlooking the pathetically drab village, watching as Honjo Kamatari leaned on his scythe like a staff and slowly made his way through the perimeter fields. It hadn't been in the least bit difficult to follow the kimono-wearing man, not when he left a rather putrid puddle of vomit every few miles. Sicker than a dog, it had taken Kamatari four extra days to make it to the village.

Souji made a mental note to never get on Saitou Tokio's bad side.

As the scythe-wielder disappeared between ramshackle houses, Okita made his way cautiously down the cliff. The journey had been a rather pleasant excursion, barring a day or two of rain, and the ex-Shinsengumi Captain had rather enjoyed being among nature for once.

After Tokio had returned home drunk, from what Okita understood, Saitou had attempted to instill reason into his wife by telling her of the mysterious entity which had been watching them as they moved about the city. Somehow, the pair had decided that Tokio's drunken ramble about Tokyo would make a perfect cover for their plan. Pretending to have been kicked out, she would wander around the city to draw out the enemy. Of course, Saitou and Okita had taken turns trailing her, masking their ki to insure that no harm would come to Tokio. In the end, it was a gamble, but better than waiting for the opposing force to attack on their own time.

And everything had worked out quite well, in Souji's estimation. Few people could out think the strategies of two Shinsengumi captains and a ninja-trained woman with a penchant for poison.

As Okita reached the periphery of the village, he moved northward, staying well within the tree line. It would do no good to be discovered before he had even obtained the necessary information.

Each farm he passed looked bleaker than the last. Most seemed to be tended by the most wretched dregs of humanity, old men and women, or even children. Were there no able bodied men left in the village?

Finally, Okita made his way into a line of bushes as he watched a young boy tirelessly break up rocks on the outskirts of a large field. The child's half-hakama seemed to be in dire need of repair, though his eyes, unlike many Okita had seen, still held some semblance of hope.

"Pardon me," Okita said softly as the boy drew near. "Might I speak to you for a moment?"

The boy made no show of having heard the question, continuing to break rocks as endlessly as before. After a moment, however, he stopped and pulled a bamboo canteen from his side and took a deep gulp of water.

"I don't know who you are, mister," Eiji said between gulps, "But this town doesn't take kindly to strangers. If you don't leave, you're as likely to be killed as the rest."

"I see." Okita replied, shrinking down farther into the bushes, "I'm with the police in Tokyo. I need to know what is going on here. Who is in control of this town?"

"The police in Tokyo?" Eiji asked, leaning on his pickaxe as if taking a short break from the exhausting work. He looked up at the unforgiving sky and sighed deeply. "Do you know my brother? Mishima Eiichiro?"

"Aa," Okita replied. How could he forget the rather stoic gentleman who acted as Saitou's top spy? "I know him."

"Then you take this message to him, mister. Tell him that his home village of Shingetsu is being controlled by a madman named Senkaku, who works for an even madder man named Shishio Makoto."

'Shishio...Makoto...' The name seemed to tug at Okita's mind, as if marked with a special tag of warning.

"I will do that," Okita said, already drawing away from the field, "Stay safe, okay?"

Eiji made no reply. Instead, he merely grabbed his pickaxe and went back to work. The fields had to be tilled and cleared of rocks. Even if you knew nothing would grow, even if the land turned to infertile silt, and the rains never came, you still had to plant the seeds.

After all, that was what hope was all about.