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Hajime and Tokio: Chapter 17 - Of Butterflies and Duels

by Angrybee ::: 30.Nov.2003

"Happiness is a butterfly, which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you."

--Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1804 - 1864

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

Kenshin sat, leaning against the wall of the dojo's practice room, a green gi draped across his knees. Green. It was the color of leaves, grass, of growth, really. He fingered the scar in his cheek absently as he stared at the opposite wall. The past. How easy it was to be wrapped up in the past. Even with the best intentions, with the gentlest heart, being so singularly focused could drive a man, or woman, to insanity.

He'd known, almost instantly, that Saitou Tokio didn't really want to hurt anyone. But, she had become blind to everything around her merely through her need for resolution. It made Kenshin briefly wonder if he, too, had been focusing too decidedly on just one thing, blocking out other possibilities.

And then there was Saitou Hajime to consider. Even though he lived every moment by the ideals of the Shinsengumi, he didn't appear to be mired in the past. He was constantly looking to the future, to a better Japan. Not to mention building himself a family. Which definitely was, Kenshin had to admit, decidedly disturbing.

Ten years of wandering. But, was it wandering, or just running? It felt more like the latter. Running from himself, running from the hoards who wanted revenge, running from what the new Meiji government wanted of him, running from connections to anyone or anything.

And then he'd come to the dojo. And, briefly, he felt like he could stop running. But, in reality, maybe he hadn't stopped that journey after all. Because, like Tokio, he'd never truly been able to accept the death of someone he loved so dearly. Certainly, Tomoe had changed him, changed his outlook, given him hope. But, there was a difference between atoning for what he had done, and becoming stuck in the sadness of it.

"Kenshin?" Kaoru murmured, slipping past the half-open door, "Oh, there you are."

"Did you need something of Sessha, Kaoru-dono?"

"No, I..." Kaoru stepped inside and pulled the shoji closed. "I was just wondering where you went off to. You looked strange after Tokio-san left. Is everything alright?"

Kenshin hesitated. His first instinct was to tell her, of course, that everything was fine. His usual response. But, wouldn't that just be more running? No. That needed to come to an end. "Sessha was thinking of Tokio-dono and Enishi."

"Mm? I still can't believe that Tokio-san tried to kill you. Or herself. Or whatever. I still don't understand it all. Yet, I'm glad that she is doing better now. I think she'll make a great mother."

Kenshin looked momentarily surprised, "You do?"

"Well, yes, Kenshin. Don't you?"

The rurouni had a stumped look which bested any of Sanosuke's. "Well, I..."

Kaoru chuckled lightly as she knelt near Kenshin and picked up the sleeve of the green gi in his lap, turning it over in her hands to inspect the stitching. "Of course. She had to love her parents an awful lot to hold on to all that pain for so long. So, I know they were very good to her, and that she will pass that on to her own child."

Kaoru's eyes widened as she felt a hand on top of her own. Lavender orbs were searching hers with sudden lightness of spirit, an expression she'd never really seen in Kenshin before. "Kaoru-dono, sometimes you say things quite wise beyond your years, that you do." Yes. Just like Tomoe. He had loved her deeply, and held on to the sadness of her passing for far too long. He could still love her, still cherish that time, and the gift she gave, but without becoming stuck in the quicksand of sadness. But, it was time to pass on the love that Tomoe had given him.

"Mou, Kenshin, you have the weirdest look in your face..."

As Kaoru felt the hand atop hers curl around her fingers and clasp tightly, her breath caught in her throat. "Kaoru-dono..." His voice turned remarkably soft, quivering and trembling like a butterfly newly emerged from its cocoon. "Sessha wishes to make a visit to Kyoto next spring, to Tomoe's grave. Sessha would very much like his former wife to meet his new wife. So, what I am asking is, will you go with me, Kaoru-dono, to Kyoto?"

"Kenshin are you...asking...me to...?"

"Yes. In the spring."

And then Himura Kenshin was soundly glomped by the tightest Kamiya Kaoru hug -ever-.

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

Well, that was all fine and dandy for the residents of the dojo. But, back at the Saitou house, things weren't looking quite as good.

"Oh -shit-!" Chou's voice called, "Boss! Come quick. It's 'Kita-san. He's fallen off the fuckin' roof!"

Saitou leapt off the engawa and made his way around the side of the house before Tokio could even take three steps. There, laying sprawled in the sparse grass of winter, two barely conscious forms moaned as the full impact of their collision began to set into their nerves. Clay roof tiles, many of which were now broken, arranged themselves haphazardly across the scene.

Eiji rolled onto his side, groaning as the few tiles on top of him fell into the dirt. The boy's head shot up a second later as his eyes focused, "Unnnnnnnn. O...ki...ta...san?"

Saitou bent near the other figure, the one which was not moving of its own accord. Okita's head lay planted face down in the dirt. One of his arms remained unseen underneath his body, the other jutted to his side, grasping a torn section of Eiji's gi.

Eiji coughed slightly, trying desperately to recover from becoming winded. As Tokio finally arrived, her hands flew to her neck at the sight of her ruined backyard and the two people recovering from what appeared to be a disaster. "Eiji-chan! Are you alright?"

"Yeah, but, I don't think Okita-san... He saved me. The bundle of roof tiles slipped, I guess. But, Okita-san jumped off the roof and pushed me out of the way before..."

Saitou grabbed his oldest friend by his shoulders and carefully turned the small man over. Okita's face, covered in dirt, reacted with an uncharacteristic grimace of agony. Deep brown eyes opened, but refused to focus on anything in particular, and instead twice rolled upwards, as if Okita's body were trying to let the man slip into unconsciousness. Finally, Okita bit down on the inside of his cheek and let out a ragged hiss.

"Okita? Okita? Can you hear me?"

The stern tenor of her husband's deep voice drew Tokio's attention away from Eiji. "Is he...?"

Okita's lips moved slightly, and Saitou bent forward in an attempt to catch what his friend was saying.

"Hn. No, Okita, I do not." Saitou replied, pulling himself back up, but seeming mildly relieved.

"What did he say, Hajime?"

"He said, 'I don't suppose you have any sake, Saitou-kun, because I would really appreciate some right about now.' Damn idiot has to make a joke of every damn thing."

Okita winced and spoke again, this time mildly more audible. "My arm. I am fairly certain...it is broken."

Saitou snorted as his face became guardedly unreadable. The older man's eyes closed for a second as his jaw locked, "Goddamnit, Okita."

"Hai, hai," the other replied, acknowledging what his friend was thinking. Okita's eyes darted towards the side where Tokio attempted to look down at him over her jutting stomach. "Tokio-san, I may be in need of a doctor."

"Yes, of course. Eiji?"

Eiji rolled his eyes and looked up to the roof where Chou had been silently watching the proceedings. "Oi! Chou! Get a doctor or something."

"Yeah," Chou replied, jumping off the roof without much trouble, the tails of his long coat flapping against the air. As he shoved his hands in the pockets and headed towards the front gate he murmured, "Fuckin' moron. Now I gotta do the roof all by m'self. And Naoya's gonna yell at me for not savin' his stupid ass. Shit. Goddamnit. Fuckity fuck fuck..."

The string of expletives lasted all the way to the doctor's house.

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

The streets of Tokyo's market district stood remarkably empty that morning. Perhaps the growing chill in the air had made the residents of the city more likely to stay home, reveling in the warmth of blankets and stoves. Perhaps it was an anomaly, a mere coincidence caused by the patterns of buying and selling. Or perhaps even the normal, everyday residents of Japan could sense the danger that lurked on the very roads they so often took for granted.

Shigekazu peered over the edge of the warehouse roof, watching the street below with a mix of boredom and even more intense boredom. His free hand held a short metal spike which he used to pick his rotted teeth, or what remained of them. Maybe he could get some new teeth. Money could buy anything these days, really. That was the premise by which Shigekazu lived his life. You get money. You spend money. You get more money. A life cycle of acquisition and loss. He had quite a few theories on the matter, and he tended to spout them vociferously, much to his compatriots' dismay, whenever drunk.

Which was often.

"Where -is- everyone today?" Shigekazu whined to a pigeon that had alighted on the roof. "I'm about to fucking give up and go home. My luck is off today. I can feel it."

The pigeon cooed and fluttered its wings disinterestedly in response. Coincidentally, the pigeon had a theory on life, too. It was pretty sure that it had been a bodhisattva in a previous incarnation. But, since it was a pigeon, it couldn't relay any of its knowledge, wisdom, or teachings to the wayward vessels of mankind. This made the pigeon irritable. Very irritable.

"Well, lookee here." The man perched on the roof removed the implement from his teeth and pushed himself forward to get a better view. On the street below, an old woman walked along slowly, using a long stick to assist her journey. "She's got nice clothes. Bet she's loaded, eh?"

The pigeon pecked at the roof and wondered what the next life held.

Shigekazu grunted, and with one swift movement, propelled himself over the side. He landed in front of the woman easily, holding out his spike towards her neck as he made his best effort to seem threatening.

The old woman stood still. Very still. And this unnerved Shigekazu. Usually women this old would faint, or at the very least scream. But this one just raised a grey-haired eyebrow and sighed in annoyance.

"Yes? May I help you?"

"I'll take your bag there, lady. And any jewelry you have, too."

"So ka?" She slumped against her staff and looked at the man before her, "Are times so desperate that you must rob old women?"

"Huh?" Shigekazu leaned forward, pressing the spike against the collar of the woman's kimono. "I got a knife, lady, so hurry up. Gimme your bag."

"Hmmmm?" The woman furrowed her brow, causing the corner of her eye to become dense with lines and wrinkles. "I must recommend against that. It would not be the best idea."

"What? You're fucking batty." Shigekazu swiped at the woman's hand in an attempt to pull the bag away. "Oh, I get it, you're senile. Well, its none of my business. But, I'll drink a toast to your health with the money I steal from you, I promise."

Shigekazu finally succeeded in ripping the bag from the woman's hand. With a laugh of victory, he turned and sped down the street, leaving the old lady standing in the middle of the road. He ducked into the first alley he came across, slowing down to a less exhausting pace.

"What a stupid old bitch," Shigekazu muttered, plopping down cross-legged in the dirt. "Well, whatever. Lets see if she had anything of value."

The bandit pulled open the bag, thrusting his greedy hand inside to pull out object after object. "Hn. A comb. A hair scarf. Map of Tokyo. OW! Fuck. Sewing needles. And...say...what's this, now?"

Shigekazu pulled out the last item in the bag, a black lacquered box no bigger than his fist. The outside of the container had been intricately carved, depicting tiny bees in perpetual flight. "This'll fetch a pretty price," the bandit said with a chuckle, prying open the lid.

"Fucking...shit," Shigekazu exclaimed in awe.

For inside, on a tiny pillow, lay a gold nugget as large as his thumb.

"Is this for fucking real? Can't be real." The bandit pulled out his prize and held it up to the sky, watching the light reflect off the polished stone. One second later, he popped it in his mouth, biting the metal with all of his might to validate its worth. As he pulled it back out, he found that his teeth marks were, indeed, visible.

"I can't believe this. Gold. That bitch was carrying gold."

A fluttering noise in the alleyway caused Shigekazu to press himself more tightly against the shadowed wall. He curled his fist around the gold nugget as his breathing became shallow. Slowly, the man looked up and found a bored looking pigeon pecking fruitlessly at the ground.

"Heh. Gave me a scare there, birdie."

"Keroo," the pigeon replied.

Shigekazu laughed and pushed himself up, deciding that he had better cash in his earnings as quickly as possible. That old bitch may have been senile, but she was just the type to go running to the damn police.

The bandit got about halfway to a standing position when he suddenly felt...very...very...ill. His stomach contorted in immense pain, forcing Shigekazu onto his knees. The world around him began to throb, pressing in against his senses as he coughed against his will.

"What the..."

As Shigekazu fell to the ground, his body beginning to spasm with the rapid onslaught of death, the gold nugget fell from his dirty fingers and went rolling down the alleyway. There, a previously hidden figure bent and picked it up before striding nonchalantly towards the dying man.

The last thing that Shigekazu would ever see would be an old woman with a staff standing over him, clicking her tongue lightly as she sighed.

"I told you it was a bad idea. But, greed deafens ears to good advice, doesn't it? Well. You deserve what you have received. That nugget was coated with just about the most painful poison my clan makes. Go now, and meet the denizens of Hell. Tell them that Okashira Iyoko of the Hachinisasareru sent you."

As Iyoko picked up her bag and placed the items back inside, the pigeon waddled across the alley and hopped onto the dead man's face.

Once there, it proceeded to relieve itself, indicating that it, too, had an opinion about the matter.

"Come, come, Yei-chan," Iyoko murmured, heading back down the alley. "We must find Meiko."

The pigeon flapped its wings, taking brief flight only to land on the old woman's shoulder.

"This is why I hate cities, Yei-chan."

"Keroo," the pigeon replied, heartily agreeing.

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

"Oh, Souji, you gave us such a scare," Tokio whispered, carefully curling Okita's uninjured hand around a cup of hot tea. His other arm, now in a sling, hung uselessly in front of his chest.

"I'm sorry, Tokio," Okita said, smiling widely, painlessly, like an opium smoker. He sipped his tea carefully before adding, "I did not mean to worry you."

"Well, at least Eiji-chan is alright." Tokio pulled the blanket she'd had Eiji bring outside around Okita's shoulders. "Your arm. Is it in terrible pain, Souji-kun?"

"Yes. Dreadful." The fact, however, did not seem to dislodge the smile from his face.

"Won't you take something for the pain? I could go get..."

"No," Okita interrupted, his voice suddenly shockingly firm. Putting his cup down, he placed his hand on top of Tokio's. "You've been up and down too much today already. I've had worse pain, Tokio, I can assure you. But if something were to happen to you or your child because of my injury, that would be a hurt I could not bear. Besides, I want...I want to feel this pain, this wound. It is important."

The weight of these words startled Tokio into silence. How like her husband he sounded, just now. 'Oh Souji,' Tokio thought, 'Just when I think I know you, you prove otherwise. You always let us believe that we are taking care of you, when, truly, you are the one who watches over us all. What is it, in your soul, that makes you want this pain? I wish I knew what goes through your mind, my friend. I wish I knew.'

Across the yard, Saitou Hajime leaned against the fence, puffing annoyedly on a cigarette as he watched his wife tend to their injured friend on the engawa. Beside him, Eiji took up a similar position, though, being a bit too young to smoke, he busied himself instead by scribbling in the dirt with a long stick.

"Fujita-san?"

"Aa?"

"So, um, what did Okita-san -really- say to you? Because I know he didn't ask about sake."

Saitou looked down at the little boy by his side, slightly amazed that the kid had deduced the lie. Raising the cigarette to his lips, Saitou took a quick puff before replying, "He asked if I thought we'd be going into battle anytime soon."

"Huh?"

"He used to ask that during the war, when he was ill." Saitou closed his eyes, unwilling to look at Okita any longer. 'Though, at that time,' Saitou added mentally, 'He was seeking the opposite answer.'

Eiji shifted his weight. Adults could be so confusing. There weren't any battles around here, at least none that he knew of. "Man, that guy can be weird. Look at him over there. He just got wounded, but he's smiling like he just won a free trip to Yokohama."

"Aa. He's happy."

"But, why?" Eiji asked, exasperated.

Saitou tossed his cigarette to the ground and watched the embers eat away at the remainder of paper and tobacco. Life was so short, dissolving time like a burning cigarette, one intoxicating breath after another.

"Because his arm is fractured in five places. His sword arm. He'll never fight again. Not as the swordsman he once was."

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

One Month Later:

Saitou walked home through the first flurried snowflakes of the January afternoon. He found himself in a particularly odd mood. Eight months since the beginning of the Shishio Makoto affair, and the government still held. Japan had -not- fallen to absolute chaos. And while the Meiji government and its allies still proved as corrupt as ever, they weren't currently doing anything besides the most minimal acts of petty politicking. Nothing, in particular, which required his immediate attention.

Yukishiro Enishi's organization, too, had been disbanded. It left a power vacuum in the underworld which appeared to have various contenders squabbling amongst themselves for the scraps. Well, in-fighting in the criminal element, to Saitou's mind, brought only the good result of more dead criminals. But eventually, he knew, someone would seize the power. When that time came, Saitou Hajime would definitely be ready.

Though Japan, for the moment, was settled enough to not require his unrelenting vigilance, Saitou's current mental state remained disturbed. The re-frozen rains from earlier in the day crackled beneath his feet as Saitou warmed his lungs with a cigarette, and his mind with the thought of what awaited him at the end of his journey. Tokio.

The mere thought made him pick up his pace.

And yet, there was something irritating about the way she invaded his thoughts now. Before, he'd always been able to place his wife and homelife to the back of his mind when working. Not forgotten, certainly. But, he had found it a useless distraction to spend his time in daydreams and fantasy. These things were for frivolous men, men who needed nothing more in their lives than a paycheck and a warm female body in their beds. Even the romantics were dubious sorts, prone to flights of fancy and unable to remain constant and virtuous within their hearts.

Tokio, herself, Saitou knew, would agree to his ways. There was no need to deviate from his path, no need to split his focus by thinking constantly of her. She would not leave, nor would she somehow be affected by his mere thought of her. So, to this end, he placed his wife aside, and did his duty by the whole of the nation.

She would be waiting, always, for when he returned home. And she would require neither his smile, nor his reassurance of her worth. They both knew what they meant to one another. There was no need to fuss over the subject.

But now, now the distraction assaulted him constantly. He'd find himself staring at a random piece of paperwork, just staring, having long since lost his place. Or, he'd realize that Chou had been babbling at him for quite a while, and have no idea what the sword collector had been saying.

Tokio. Such a long time now. They had been first married when she was barely sixteen. Was it yesterday or an aeon ago? He couldn't tell. But, there was a time when no one waited for him. A time when no one cared what sort of man he was, had been, or would be. He'd never been lonely, even while alone, never yearned for company in his quest. But now that he had it, Saitou wasn't quite certain he could go back to the way things were before.

Sixteen. And now she was, what, nearly twenty-five? Would she make it to see a quarter of a century? And if she didn't, he'd have no one to blame but himself. He'd have killed her, just as certainly as Himura Battousai killed the Yukishiro girl all those years ago. Certainly, the wound would have taken almost a decade to claim her life, but it was his fault nonetheless.

That would be a guilt that would not be able to be avoided. Even the strongest man could not survive killing the woman he loved with his mind fully in tact.

After that, what would there be? That question surrounded itself in a fugue of darkness. How could he mourn her and do injustice to her life through sadness? No. That would not even be possible. So, after Tokio, all that remained was a bleak road, stretching forever onward, with no one following behind, and no one waiting at the end.

No. He understood now. He fought for Japan, but unless Tokio stood by his side, the concept only presented itself in abstract. For, what was Japan if you had no one to tie you to it? A lone wolf could gnash his teeth at the world, powerful and unchecked. But, it was the leader of the wolf pack who struck the most fear into the hearts of men. He had more to protect than just his own life and ideals. He had to protect the pack.

One month. It could be possible that, in one month's time, there would no longer be a pack to protect.

How could he not want to be with her now?

These thoughts swam through the brain of the man known to his enemies as the Wolf of Mibu as he approached the gate of his house. He hesitated, only for a moment, before entering.

Every time now, any day now, he knew that he might arrive home to someone waiting on his porch. Waiting to give him the bad news.

But, thankfully, today the porch stood empty.

Tokio, herself, he knew, would not greet him at the door. She remained confined mostly to her bed, either sitting with the assistance of a pile of blankets at her back, or laying down fully. Standing caused the weight within her womb to press far too much on her old injury, making walking painful and difficult. Well, at least she didn't complain -too- much anymore about her loss of mobility. And she had little to worry about, with Naoya caring for the shop. Eiji had proven incredibly helpful in assisting her during the day. Okita, too, visited whenever possible, though his arm remained in a sling, and he apparently had some sort of major project in the works which kept him unceasingly busy.

"Fujita-san," Eiji said, appearing from around the side of the house, carrying a bundle of wood. "You're back fairly early, ne?"

"Aa. There's a holiday."

"Oh." Eiji looked a bit confused, but shrugged. Seemed to be a lot more holidays around these parts than back in his village. Not that he much minded, really. "Anyway, I'm going to try to make tea. Not that stuff Auntie Tokio makes, but real country tea like we had back in my village."

The boy was unceasingly industrious. Saitou supposed that free time in Shingetsu hadn't existed to any meaningful extent. If he wasn't making kites, or playing with the other children, he was doing some sort of house chore, or running errands for Tokio. Well, it was probably lighter work than plowing and tending fields.

Saitou stepped onto the engawa and removed his shoes. "And Tokio?"

"She's in your room. She slept some today. When she woke up, she wasn't looking too good, but then she got a letter and ate some dumplings that Naoya brought by, and seems to be better now."

"Hn."

Saitou stepped inside his house, followed by Eiji who wandered off to the kitchen to work on whatever small town concoction he had in mind. After putting away his things, Saitou made his way to the back bedroom.

Tokio proved to be a most amusing sight. She lay upright against her stack of blankets, sleeping with her head tilted against her shoulder, babbling nonsensically to herself in inaudible tones. Her hands sat on either side of her body, one holding a folded piece of paper, the other still clutching chopsticks, as if she had fallen asleep while still trying to finish off the last two dumplings still residing in the nearby lacquered bowl. At her feet, the absurdly fat form of their cat, Snowflake, lay curled, purring happily.

Saitou chuckled, and leaned down to remove the chopsticks and the bowl, placing them aside. Returning, he knelt beside his wife, and gently attempted to re-position her head to a less painful angle.

But, apparently, the movement jarred his wife somehow, for as he turned her head, he heard Tokio distinctly whisper, "Through power of will, voice, and spirit, reclaim ye, oh my daughter, the Akumu of the wayward."

This, of course, mildly startled Saitou. Tokio had always talked in her sleep, but she'd never actually -said- anything cognizant before. He leaned forward to see if he could catch any more, going so far as to practically place his ear at her lips. In doing so, he splayed his hand lightly on her round stomach, absently checking to make certain that, well, everything was as it should be.

"Hajime?"

Saitou pulled his head backwards to find his wife blinking her eyes awake. She peered at him, trying to deduce what was going on without having to ask.

"You were talking in your sleep."

Tokio brought her hand up to set it on top of the strong one laying against her stomach. "You say I always do."

"Aa, but this time I heard you."

"Oh? Did I say anything of note?"

"No," Saitou lied, peering into his wife's eyes with unwavering confidence, "Just nonsense." He stroked her stomach gently, and despite the bizarre words which had just come from Tokio's dream world, felt suddenly more at ease. "Eiji said you did not look well earlier."

Tokio nodded, leaning further back into the blankets, "Yes. But it passed. Something I ate, I suspect."

"Aa. Perhaps." This seemed likely. Tokio had been eating more meat than she had in years, craving it constantly. However, her body did not seem to agree with it, being unused to processing such foods as rapidly as she had been intaking them.

Tokio looked around the room, noting the level of light. "You're home early. Nothing is wrong, I hope?"

'Ah. Then she doesn't remember. She never does.' Saitou leaned against the blankets, turning his head to press his still-cold nose against Tokio's neck. "Yes, Tokio. The police station burned down, killing everyone inside. I only escaped using Chou's charred corpse as a shield."

A faint smile appeared on Tokio's face. Despite her amusement, however, she whispered, "I do so hope our child inherits my sense of humor, rather than yours."

"That would prove quite a tragedy for the bairn."

No response came to this provocation. Instead, Tokio's fingers ran down the length of her husband's, examining the cool flesh covering strong knuckles and the hardness of well kempt fingernails. "I've had a letter from Kozue and Kume. She's had another baby. A daughter."

"Of course she has." Saitou rolled his eyes. Catching Tokio's slender fingers between his own, he continued, "I'll read it later. Right now, you need to bathe before it gets much colder."

"Hajime, are you implying that I smell bad?"

"While that isn't the point, I will have you know that you do, indeed, smell like the chicken in those dumplings."

"Good," Tokio whispered pulling her hand away from her midsection, "Then I know I am safe from your prying lips."

Tokio placed her hands against the ground in an attempt to push herself up, wincing slightly at the effort. Her husband's hands quickly found themselves at her wrists, removing them from the floor.

"No. Stay."

"But...the bath..."

Saitou pulled at the blankets covering Tokio, bringing them up around her shoulders. "Just stay. There is ice on the ground. As clumsy as you are now, you're certain to slip. Besides, how exactly do you suppose to stoke the fire?"

"Eiji can.."

"The boy has other things to do than look after you all the time." Saitou stood, giving his wife a hard glare, daring her to contradict further. Seeing that she would not, he turned and headed out the door.

He returned minutes later, having already devised his plan. As Tokio watched him, silently but concerned, Saitou pulled one of the blankets from behind Tokio's head and put it atop the ones already covering her. Leaning close to her face, he murmured, "Put your hands around my neck, Tokio."

"Why?"

"Don't be daft, woman. It's so I can pick you up."

Now, it was Tokio's turn to glare. "No, Hajime, just help me stand. I can walk."

Saitou rocked back onto his haunches and regarded his wife with a prohibitively cool expression, "Don't do this, Tokio. I'm not in the mood to tend wounds from you slipping on the ice, nor do any of us have time to care for you if the chill makes you sick. Besides, your life is not the only one at stake here."

Tokio could only stare at her hands. Eventually, she nodded, and despite the shame in her lidded eyes, Tokio raised her arms obediently, wrapping them around her husband's sturdy neck. He slid his hand beneath her, and lifted her without much effort, wrapping the blankets more soundly around her body as he made his way to the shoji.

"This is humiliating," Tokio whispered, closing her eyes so as not to have to look at her husband's face.

Saitou pushed the shoji open with his foot and made his way through the house as he replied, "I've carried you before, Tokio. Numerous times. You didn't complain then."

"That was different, Hajime. You either couldn't wake me or..."

Saitou smirked, knowing exactly what Tokio was thinking about. So, maybe he did have a penchant for occasionally throwing his wife over his shoulder and dragging her to the bedroom. What of it?

Tokio, for her part, pressed her face against her husband's shoulder as they emerged into the bitter December afternoon, warming herself not only by his body heat, but with the familiar tangy smell of smoke. The heavy blankets rustled as they moved, slipping from Tokio's feet to reveal naked toes and ankles.

As for Saitou, he felt strangely weak in the knees, a feeling which he seemed only able to combat by pulling Tokio's body even closer. He'd always been a man with a good sense of instinct. It allowed him to predict his enemies' moves, to know when danger lurked nearby, to sense potential among the rank and file under his command. But today, instinct gripped him like never before, igniting some latent feral nature, the burning need to protect one's mate.

And he hated it.

Right now, he knew, he'd do possibly anything in defense of Tokio. Before, of course, he would have never willingly allowed her to come to harm. But now...

He was not in control of their destinies. And Saitou Hajime was not a man who relished a lack of control.

Once inside the bath, Saitou set Tokio delicately on a small wooden bench against the wall. Steam permeated the air, creating a dewy haze that stuck to everything that moved through it. As Saitou knelt to help her disentangle herself from the blankets, Tokio thought of another time he'd carried her to the bathhouse.

She'd been drunk on that day. And she'd spit at him and cursed.

'I've never been a very good wife to him, have I? But, he is such an independent man. The little which I do is so meaningless. Mend his clothes, keep his house, try to keep him eating. Even keeping my eye on the goings on in the market place, I know, is just something he allows me to do to placate me. If I could...just...bear this child. If I could just become a mother to his children, then maybe I will have done something special, for once, for him.'

"Tokio, lean forward, so I can help you remove your yukata."

"No, Hajime, I..." But before she finished her statement, she bit her bottom lip, forcing herself not to argue. That look in his eyes, it wasn't anger, or annoyance, just genuine care. It was an expression, she knew, that would be given to no one else.

After that, Saitou met no resistance, and soon after had his wife undressed. He took a brief moment to regard the amazing changes in her body. The swell of her stomach, lined at its base with an angry sword scar. Her breasts which had grown large in preparation for motherhood. Even her face, now glistening from the steam, had gone from lean to full. This woman, his wife, glowed and radiated life, but at the same time, he knew, fought every moment against immense pain.

Saitou combated the very brief and irrational desire to kneel before her and beg forgiveness for some unknown crime.

No, he knew exactly -which- crime.

'This is becoming ridiculous. If it doesn't stop soon... I need control. This is no way for a man's mind to be. I must focus. But, what can I do? How can I not know what to do? I always know. I must know..'

Saitou lifted his wife once again, and re-positioned her to where he could assist her in soaping and rinsing her body with a bucket of water. For the most part, Tokio remained silent, allowing her husband to run his able fingers over the most generally unseen sections of her skin. Her head bobbed forward, and her shoulders relaxed, as the warmth of the water and the caress of strong hands eased the day's pains. Finally, Tokio whispered, "Hajime, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that I've never been a good wife. That I always end up a burden to you."

She had expected some sort of crude retort, a firm voice telling her to stop feeling sorry for herself, or a mild insult which would, strangely, leave her feeling better afterward. But, this time, her husband only said, "No, Tokio. You're wrong. It has never been a burden to have you as my wife."

Tokio felt arms wrap around her and raise her once again, this time lowering her into the heated bath. As the deliciously warm water engulfed her frame, Tokio sighed and positioned herself, the buoyancy allowing her a greater breadth of movement. Her muscles began to relax almost instantly. Tokio leaned back and watched the ceiling, listening to her husband move around the bathhouse.

"Too hot, Tokio?"

"No it's..." Tokio's eyes shot wide open as her breath caught. "Ohhh."

Saitou spun around, the towel he had been using to dry his hands falling to the floor. "What?"

"No, no, nothing just..." Tokio reached into the water to press her hand against her stomach, "It seems I am not the only one enjoying the bath."

Saitou narrowed his eyes as Tokio motioned him over. Taking his newly dried hand, she pulled it into the water and positioned it over the spot.

The unborn child proceeded to kick.

"Of course. He's a fighter," Saitou declared.

"Like his father."

"No, like his mother."

Releasing her husband's hand, Tokio smiled gently, chiding her husband, "Might be a girl, Hajime. What would you do then?"

"Aa. Perhaps. Doesn't matter. A brat is a brat."

Tokio chuckled silently as her husband remained kneeling by the tub. He watched the mirth play across her cheeks, shaking her gently, creating ripples in the water. Happiness came so much easier to her these days. Removing his hand from the water, Saitou ran his wet fingers along the edge of her face, for the first time in his life, dumbfounded.

"Happy anniversary, Hajime."

Well.

She remembered, after all.

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

Sanosuke and Yahiko sat on the edge of the engawa, both shoveling food into their mouths, and both looking at each other in complete surprise. Behind them, Megumi watched in complete disgust, deciding that she would definitely -not- help them out if they got stomachaches.

"Are you sure Jou-chan made these cakes?" Sanosuke asked for the third time.

"I told you already, yeah, she made them this morning."

Sanosuke picked another one out of the basket and held it on his palm, examining it with a critical eye. "That can't be right. That just...can't be right." Stuffing the entire thing into his mouth, he chewed only briefly before stating, "But, they're so good."

"I know! That's what I've been trying to tell you. Something is just freakin' weird around here. Like, yesterday, Kaoru went to the market. But, the strange part is, she didn't leave -any- chores for me to do. She just said, 'Have a good day today, Yahiko', and left. And then Kenshin was doing laundry, and he started -humming-. HUMMING, Sano, HUMMING."

"It's surely," Sano replied, taking another cake, "An omen. Sign of the apocalypse or some shit."

Megumi, who had been watching Yahiko and Sano stuff food into their mouths, rolled her eyes. 'That idiot is so superstitious and gullible. He'd probably believe me if I told him that chewing on fishbones causes impotence.' A second later, Megumi got a devious look in her eye as she began to formulate her plan.

In the yard, Kaoru was practicing the more advanced kata of the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu. Kenshin, for once, was not -washing- the laundry. He was, in fact, taking it down from the clothesline, folding it, and putting it into a basket.

When he wasn't sneaking peaks at Kaoru, of course.

They had decided to become married in the spring, but had not yet told their friends. No need to endure an entire season of jibes and wisecracks. Afterwards, they would travel to Kyoto and visit Tomoe's grave. Kaoru had wanted to visit the grave beforehand, but after some discussion, they both thought it best to be married in Tokyo, a city symbolizing Kenshin's new life, rather than the city which held so many bad memories.

'What a fine day,' Kenshin thought to himself, 'Remarkably warm for this late into winter. This afternoon, it might be nice to ask Kaoru-dono if she'd like to walk to the river and watch the paper boat races that the children hold, or perhaps...."

Kenshin's train of thought was interrupted by the sudden realization of someone's rapid approach. 'Not a warrior's ki, but...definite distress.' As Kenshin moved away from the laundry, his hand already on the hilt of the sakabatou, the front gate flew open, and a wild-eyed, sweat-drenched Mishima Eiji appeared.

"Eiji-chan?" Kaoru asked, stopping in the midst of one of her moves. "Are you alright?"

The boy seemed about ready to collapse, leaning against the door frame as he gasped giant mouthfuls of air. His gaze darted from one figure to another until he finally found the composure to speak. "Megumi-sensei! Himura-san! All of you. You have to come right away."

"What is it, Eiji?"

"Gensai-sensei says...it's Auntie Tokio...her baby..." Eiji ran up and grabbed the sleeve of Kenshin's gi, tugging the man in an attempt to pull him towards the street, "And Fujita-san is...there's...no time to explain. Please...I don't know how much longer...please...we have to hurry..."

The urgency in Eiji's voice motivated everyone to head for the front gate. Within moments, the entire party was heading down the streets of Tokyo towards Taito street.

They arrived minutes later at the normal-looking house, plaintively marked "Fujita". The bizarreness of the fact that Saitou lived in a regular neighborhood, in a simple middle-class house mildly stunned Sanosuke, who stood staring at the kanji of the assumed last name while Eiji slid open the gate.

The six people who filed into the yard that morning were privy to a most frightening sight. Four uniformed police officers were holding back a struggling Saitou Hajime near the westernmost fence. The man's hair, usually slicked back, had become wild during the battle, falling around his determined face like sharp blades of black. Blood, seemingly not his own, tainted the man's gloves and left a smudge on his left cheek. And he was, quite literally, howling.

In front of him, Sawagejou Chou stood, two swords drawn, next to a rather ragged looking Okita Souji. The shorter of the pair was holding his sword in his left hand, his other arm being in a sling. Both men were trying to speak to Saitou, Chou in rather terse terms, and Okita far more soothingly.

"Saitou-kun, please be calm. They will do their best..."

"Boss, shit, come on, you're going to hurt someone. Fuck, you've already injured Shinzui.."

Eiji tugged at the Megumi's sleeve. "Megumi-sensei, you have to come inside. Naoya and Gensai-sensei are already..."

As the boy and the fox-doctor started across the yard, a horrible, ear-splitting sound broke through the yard, causing everyone to instantly stop in their tracks.

It was a scream, a bloodcurdling, soul-rending, scream of pain.

"Tokio!" Saitou yelled, a renewed vigor, and their momentary distraction, allowing him to throw off the officers.

As Saitou drew his sword, Eiji's eyes widened. "Megumi-sensei, hurry. Hurry. Run."

Megumi did as commanded, Saitou's gaze never leaving her as she sped up the steps of the engawa. "Don't you -dare-, woman!"

His charge towards Megumi was blocked by Okita, who parried with obvious difficulty.

As Megumi disappeared into the house, Okita tried reason once again, pushing his sword backwards against Saitou's in an attempt to remain standing. His feet, planted slightly apart, created ruts in the ground as Saitou slowly pushed him backwards. "Please, Saitou-kun. This isn't right. You have to trust in the doctors now..."

But the effect of Okita's words was immediately nullified by another scream, this one choked with the singular word: "Hajime!"

Kaoru put her fingers to her lips in shock, as she looked from Saitou to Kenshin. "That...can't be...Tokio-san? Can it?"

Chou, who had been standing closest to the newcomers, nodded. "Aa. It's her alright. And every time she screams, he gets more fuckin' violent."

The pressure of Saitou's sword against his proved too much for Okita. The small man slipped backwards, rolling away from the battle expertly, or what would have been expertly, if he were able to use both arms.

"Don't get in my way again, Okita," Saitou hissed.

Okita momentarily stunned, it was Chou's turn to step in and attempt to keep the peace.

"Look, boss, ain't no reason to be actin' like a maniac. I know ya don't like doctors. Fuck, I'm not too fond of 'em m'self..."

Through grit teeth, Saitou stated, "They're killing her."

"Boss, I don't think that..."

Chou was never given a chance to finish his statement. In a flurry of movement, Saitou exacted a move which left the sword collector short two katanas. Both went flying into the air, one landing in the grass, the other coming to a stop only inches from Okita's head as it plunged, tip down, into the ground.

Chou, of course, wasn't phased, and quickly drew another sword.

"Himura-san," Eiji begged, tugging on the man's green gi, "Please. Please help."

"What?" Sanosuke looked at the boy, incredulous at the request. "This has nothing to do with us. You can't expect Kenshin to get involved just because that psycho cop can't control himself."

"Yeah, why should Kenshin have to put himself in danger?" Yahiko scrunched up his face as he put his fisted hands on his hips.

Kaoru looked from her friends to the two men facing off in the yard, and then to the house. "Because if he gets inside, he may hurt them. Gensai-sensei, Megumi-san, and Naoya-san. And, even if he doesn't, he may try to keep them from helping Tokio-san."

"Well, why can't they just fucking arrest him?" Sano picked up the nearest police officer by his collar and shook the man senseless. "Why are you so goddamn useless? This is so fucking typical of Meiji lapdogs. Put that asshole in jail, already."

Kenshin, who had been quietly observing the events, finally spoke. "Sano, please put the officer down. Sessha will help, that I will. We can't let Saitou get inside the house."

As another of Chou's swords went flying, Kenshin drew the sakabatou, trying desperately to push any doubts from his mind. Certainly, he had become more adept in the Hiten Misturugi Ryu during his recent battles. On the other hand, the strength in his body was, as Megumi-dono had pointed out, slipping daily. Of course, he didn't currently want to hurt Saitou, and certainly not to kill him, just to hold him off long enough... But, was the man before him even the Saitou Hajime he knew? No. And that meant this battle would be terribly unpredictable.

Kenshin needed a plan. Unfortunately, unlike Saitou, he was not really much for plans. Deep introspection and insights into the souls of others, yes. Strategy, no.

"I don't get this," Sano mumbled, kicking his foot in the dirt. "This is stupid. If the tables were turned, and it were -Kenshin- who was putting people in danger, Saitou wouldn't just stop him, he'd probably kill him."

Eiji gave Sano what could only be termed a 'death glare'. "You talk too much, you know that? You think you know an awful lot about Fujita-san, just because you've maybe fought him a few times. But, you don't really know anything about him. He and Auntie Tokio took me into their home. Except maybe my parents, they've been kinder to me than any people have ever been. But, that's not something you would see, is it? That's not something you would know, because you are so focused on hating them just because they think different from you."

Sanosuke shrugged with a mighty harrumph and thrust his hands into his pockets. "I know he's an insufferable bastard, there's no debating that."

"Yeah? Well, look in the mirror, moron."

"Please, you two, this isn't the time." Kaoru placed herself between Eiji and Sanosuke, effectively ending the argument. "We need to be thinking about Kenshin."

The man in question, Himura Kenshin, had stepped into the yard. Chou, now out of swords for the moment, fell back to help Okita up and pull him out of the way. Kenshin regarded his opponent, probing the searing metal ki, one so very different from the usual crisp and cutting spirit of the man he had come to know through so many battles.

Unfortunately, he couldn't tell -exactly- how badly Saitou Hajime had lost it. Did the man know where he was? What he was doing? And would he, with this strange passionate fury on his side, be more dangerous, or less?

"Battousai."

"Saitou."

"Out of my way. This does not concern you."

"No."

"I will enter my house. I do not mind stepping over your dead body to do so."

Reason with him. That was Kenshin's first instinct. Saitou Hajime was, if nothing else, a rational man. But, if Okita, his own best friend, had been unable to convince him to become calm, it seemed unlikely that his direst enemy would be able to do so.

Kenshin's eyes flickered with a sudden idea. It was crazy, but then, Saitou appeared to currently be insane, so it might work. "Fine. Then let this be our final fight. I formally challenge you, Saitou Hajime, Former Captain of the Third Squad of the Shinsengumi, to an honorable duel before the witnesses gathered here. Do you accept?"

"I haven't time for these games, Battousai. Remove yourself from my path, and subsequently, from my yard." However, Saitou's gaze darted briefly towards Okita, who was leaning on Chou for support as the two made their way towards the others gathered near the gate.

"No. I stand by my challenge, that I do. Either accept, or live your life in dishonor for refusing my request."

"Idiot," Saitou mumbled, drawing himself up to his full height. "I do not have to accept invitations to private duels. It is part of the Shinsengumi code. Besides, the man I want to fight, and will fight, is not currently present today. That is the man from whom I will accept a request for a duel."

Kenshin fingered the hilt of the sakabatou delicately as he formed his response. "I suppose you may be right, Saitou. The man I have fought, and to whom I issued that challenge, is not here today either. Perhaps you should..."

This may have proven a useful tactic, indeed, if a howling scream of agony from inside the house hadn't cut off Kenshin's words.

The grip on Saitou's katana tightened as his shoulders became painfully rigid. Though his blood-smeared face continued to exhibit little to no emotion, Kenshin could feel Saitou's ki become molten.

"Battousai. MOVE!"

"You just said there is no one here by that name, Saitou. Have you changed your mind?"

At that moment, something in Saitou's mind clicked. He -had- always called the man before him, 'Battousai', hadn't he? And why not? He still contained an element of that man. Saitou had seen it when they dueled in the Kamiya dojo. So, what was the sense in waiting for that man to fully appear?

Unlike Shinomori, he didn't care about Himura's strength. The man could be as weak as a kitten in his current form, as long as he could stand and hold a sword, it didn't matter. Saitou had certainly cut down weaker men. Besides, the rurouni wasn't an innocent, he wasn't even -real-, no more real than Fujita Goro. The danger within had never diminished.

And, if that were true, then he was a threat to Japan. Not just to Japan, but to everything -in- Japan that meant something to Saitou. His subordinates. His friends. And most of all, his family. Tokio. And the child who, right now, was tearing his wife apart.

"For once, you are right, Battousai. If an apple is known to be rotten on the inside, one does not spare it simply because the skin shines a brilliant and unmarred red. I will slice away that illusory coating, until all that is left is the blackened and worm-infested core you try so desperately to hide. I will strike you down. If my child and my wife should survive this ordeal, I would be remiss to allow them to live in a world that contains you as well."

Saitou pulled his left foot back behind his right, and squared his left shoulder as he leveled his katana at Kenshin. Gatotsu stance. A move both men knew well, one through practice, and one through having it used on him so many times.

"I hope Himura-san knows what he is doing." Eiji whispered, stepping next to Chou and Okita.

Okita grimaced slightly as he attempted to re-position his wounded arm within its sling. "Don't worry, Eiji-chan." But, in fact, Okita looked -quite- worried, himself. Mentally, he beseeched every spirit he could, a silent prayer that his best friend wouldn't do something he'd regret. But, would he regret it? 'I certainly wouldn't,' Okita thought, 'I would do exactly the same thing. Every time I hear poor Tokio scream, my heart breaks. I can barely keep -myself- from running into that house. As long as Himura keeps Saitou-kun distracted, perhaps the doctors will have a chance.'

Kenshin, seeing the other man crouch into his most famous stance, knew he couldn't parry with a battoujutsu. Speed and strength were of no consequence against it. Saitou, while both strong and fast, relied exclusively on neither of these. His trump card was strategy. Cleverness. Kenshin would have to outthink the Wolf of Mibu. He pulled the sakabatou up, holding it at a simple forward angle, straight in front of him.

"What's he doing? That's..."

Kaoru finished Yahiko's statement, "The first stance of the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu. He must realize that Saitou knows the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu stances far too well..."

As another scream cut through the air, Saitou lunged forward, leading off with his right foot. His furious charge at Kenshin caused deep canyons to form in the ground behind him. But, as Saitou approached, the instant before his shoulder would have snapped to complete the deadly gatotsu, Kenshin jumped backwards. It was a risky move, one that was predicated on the hope that Saitou had already committed his strength to the final thrust. If he had not, and had deduced Kenshin's strategy, he would merely correct his move by taking an extra step.

But, Kenshin's planning was rewarded as he saw Saitou's left shoulder come forward. From the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu stance, it was easy to parry as Saitou instinctually moved into the gatotsu's rightward slash.

Metal hit metal, and the two men ended up face to face, their swords crossed.

Teeth grit, and eyes aglow with fury from being duped, Saitou hissed, "Hn. Interesting move, Battousai. Stupid, but interesting. You realize that won't work more than once?"

"Aa," was Kenshin's only reply. Unfortunately, he hadn't been in possession of enough time to think much ahead of avoiding the gatotsu. With both hands committed to keeping Saitou's katana from flying at his shoulder, there wasn't much to do but wait for the man's next move.

He didn't have to wait long. In a move that defied logic, Saitou turned his hand. The repositioning of his katana caused the dull edge of the sakabatou to slide down the length of the unnamed sword. As Kenshin, due to gravity, rocked forward, Saitou leaned his head back briefly and then brought it forward ferociously, headbutting the other man hard enough to send him flying backwards.

Kenshin landed in a crouched position, the sakabatou still in front of him. One tiny line of blood dripped down his face from the outside of his left eyebrow, where the force of Saitou's hit had caused a break in the delicate skin. Wiping at this with the back of his free hand, Kenshin slowly pulled himself back up to a standing position.

In an instant, the two men were flying at each other again, Saitou first, and Kenshin only a second behind. Blades collided with renewed vigor. Saitou struck first at Kenshin's right hip, only to find himself parried by a downward angled sakabatou. With a howl, Saitou pushed the sakabatou over the rurouni's head, but then withdrew his katana to spin quickly on his left foot to try for Kenshin's shoulder.

Again, parried.

Saitou pulled up his foot and pushed it into Kenshin's stomach, not so much to kick the other man, but to push him away. Kenshin, expecting this, turned at the waist, causing Saitou's foot to slip.

Saitou, awkwardly correcting for this misstep, was at a momentary disadvantage, or so Kenshin thought. The rurouni brought his left hand downwards quickly, grabbing ahold of the sakabatou's sheath in an attempt to flip it upwards to strike Saitou on the chin.

But, Saitou had other plans. With only one hand now parrying the blow at his shoulder, Kenshin's grip on the sakabatou was lessened. And, as close as the two men were to each other, it was easy for Saitou to grab ahold of Kenshin's wrist with -his- off hand. He used the move he had so often used on Tokio, forcing her to drop his cigarettes, or even her knives, a joint lock between the thumb and forefinger. As the sakabatou fell from Kenshin's grasp, Saitou swung downwards with his katana to meet the iron sheath of the sakabatou.

And then something happened that stunned everyone, even Saitou.

He sheared the iron sheath in half.

'That's fucking impossible,' thought Sanosuke.

'That's fucking incredible,' thought Chou.

It was a fluke. Something that neither man could have re-created in a thousand years of trying. Perhaps the iron had become infinitesimally cracked through years of battle. Perhaps Saitou had hit it at -exactly- the correct angle. In either case, having not expected for his blow to move -through- the sheath, Saitou was left doubled at the waist, his knees bent, looking at ground and at the hollow iron tube which now rested there.

Kenshin, while startled, was far more concerned about the fact that he was now disarmed. He rolled quickly to the side, picking up the prone sakabatou.

Both men turned at the same time. Kenshin, still on the ground, angled the sakabatou upwards. Saitou, crouching, angled his katana downwards.

They were left with Saitou's arm extended, the tip of his katana at Kenshin's forehead. And Kenshin, his arm bent, had the sakabatou at Saitou's gut.

"Oh no," Kaoru pressed her face into Sanosuke's shoulder. "Oh, Kenshin, no..."

It was true. Kenshin had no move but to thrust forward, slicing the other man through the stomach. But, if he did, Saitou would surely fall forward, killing Kenshin instantly as the katana sliced through his brain.

"You have no choice, Battousai. Do what you are meant to do." Although Saitou's untamed hair fell into his face, Kenshin could see the feral clarity that shone in his eyes. Saitou would not doubt this, he did not fear this. Even in his insane fury, he held fast to the code of the samurai. This death, to him, would be honorable, justified, and without regret. He believed it necessary. It was his promise, to Japan, to the Shinsengumi, to the people in his life.

Saitou could not change what he had decided any more than Kenshin could break his promise to not kill.

"My name, Saitou, is Himura Kenshin. And you know, very well, that I will not kill you."

Saitou pressed forward, allowing the sakabatou at his gut to tear through the fabric of his black undershirt. At the same time, the point of his katana pressed more firmly into Kenshin's temple, creating a line of blood that dripped into the rurouni's hairline. "I have always told Tokio that a suicide without reason is devoid of sanity. Thankfully, mine will be quite meaningful."

Kenshin tried to dig his elbow into the dirt, hoping to pull the sakabatou farther from Saitou's stomach. "And who, exactly, will explain that to Tokio-san?"

"She'll understand." With those words, Saitou reared back slightly, ready to impale himself on the other man's blade in order to destroy his longtime nemesis. No one in the entire yard even breathed, even blinked, as what seemed like minutes passed in the span of only a butterfly's heartbeat.

"BOTH OF YOU STOP IT, THIS INSTANT!"

The voice, high but gritty, came from the porch. Both men, without moving their heads, moved their gaze in the direction of the engawa.

Someone was always interrupting their duel these days.

This time, it was Meshibe Naoya, who stood, looking royally pissed (and definitely not -peeved-). "What in the hell do you think you are doing, Fujita-san? This is absolutely no sort of example to set for your new son."

Son?

A son!

Saitou, apparently forgetting Himura almost instantly, stood up to his full height. His sword arm hung limply at his side while he stared at the rat-girl, attempting to process what she had just said.

A son? A boy? But...

The katana slipped from Saitou's hand as he raced up the steps and caught Naoya by her shoulders. "Tokio, Naoya. What about Tokio?"

Naoya, temporarily stunned by the crushing grip on her shoulders, didn't say anything for a moment. It was just enough of a pause for Saitou to know that his worst fears had come to pass. Tokio was gone. Just gone. The wife he'd never sought, but who had though time become his companion, his shadow, his lover, had died in agonizing pain. And he hadn't been there. To tell her how sorry he was...to hold her hand...to tell her how glad he was, how proud, to have been married to such a woman. Alone. He'd promised she'd never be alone...and now...

What was there now? Nothing. Not sadness. Not anger. Just an emptiness, like a chasm, that stretched on for eternity. A bottomless pit into which a man is thrown, blind and alone, condemned to never again be able to make sense of the world. Tokio. Was. Just. Gone.

"Feh, Fujita-san, don't look at me like that. Tokio-san is going to be alright." Naoya said, wiggling her shoulders from his grasp, "And that fucking hurts, by the way. Geez, you're such a brute."

"Then," Saitou turned his back to everyone in the yard, keeping them from seeing the look of relief that washed over his face, "Tokio is fine?"

"Yes. The birth was very, very difficult. But, the doctors say that, as long as she rests for a few weeks, she'll heal just fine. She's sleeping now, but you can go in and see her, if you want."

"Aa."

As he stepped towards the engawa, he heard another voice from the yard. "Saitou!"

Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Saitou saw Kenshin standing next to the fallen katana. The small rurouni reached into his green gi and removed a small wad of white cloth. This he tossed towards Saitou, who caught it mid-air. "Your face. You shouldn't let Tokio-san see it all bloody."

Saitou raised one eyebrow as he caught the cloth. His head bent, almost imperceptibly, in a nod of recognition, a miniature display of respect. "Next time, Himura. Don't think this is at an end. Our duel is yet to be finished."

"Of course," Kenshin replied, "Next time, I won't have to go easy on you, just because your wife is in labor, that I won't."

Saitou responded to this with a snort and slid open the shoji, disappearing into his house in search of his wife and his child.

"Aw fuck," Sanosuke moaned, "Now he's got a son."

"Scary," Yahiko agreed, "Very, very scary."

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

Saitou found himself in desperate need of a cigarette. In fact, he really couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to smoke so badly. Of course he couldn't, no, he wouldn't smoke here. No, not here.

By the dimness of the room, he could tell that the sun had already begun to set outside. How long he had been kneeling here, he found himself uncertain. Minutes? Hours? Unknown. Some time ago, however, Gensai-sensei had left to retrieve his granddaughters from a neighbor's house. The fox doctor, too, had left the room, but had said she was going to stay for a few hours until they could be certain that Tokio's condition was as stable as it seemed.

Tokio. She lay before him on the futon, sweat grown cold sticking to her face, her hair a mess, her skin sallow from the afternoon's ordeal. She looked, to Saitou's mind, angelic.

And, at her side, their child, wrapped in blankets, glowing pink with life, slept just as soundly.

A deep sleeper, just like his mother.

So small. Hajime wasn't certain that children were supposed to -be- that small, were they? The smallest he could remember was Kozue and Kume's daughter Fujiko, and Fujiko had been much larger. But, then, Kume was much more healthy and robust than Tokio.

The baby boy's ocean blue eyes opened slightly, and he looked around the room in silence. He moved his arms a bit as his mouth formed the small "O" of a sleepy yawn which ended in a tiny squeak.

A boy. A son. -His- son. His son was -looking- at him. Definitely.

And, after a moment, Saitou realized that it made him more proud than any battle he'd ever fought, than any enemy he'd ever defeated. No wonder men would fight and die to protect their families. He knew he would do the same.

Something soft and warm curled around Saitou's fingers. He looked up to find Tokio awake, the smallest of smiles gracing her lips. She squeezed his hand as best she could.

And then, she said, quite audibly:

"Hajime."

Had he been injured? He'd felt this way before, when injured. Like vines had grown from his stomach to his throat, and had suddenly sprouted thorns. Like he was being torn apart from the inside by a thousand tiny spikes. But that, that had been the realization of death. This, he knew, was the realization of life.

"Hajime?"

Her voice. He'd never heard her voice before. So elegant. So smooth and sonorous. Like it had never even been gone.

If ever there were a time when Saitou Hajime considered weeping, it was at this moment.

Then, in a perfect imitation of her husband, Tokio said, "Hajime, you look like shit."

Well, there went -that- moment.

"Must you curse in front of our son?"

Tokio's smile widened considerably as she attempted to lift her head to see the child at her side. But, Saitou was already there, pressing her back down gently with his free hand. "No, Kitty, you must try not to move too much. You will heal, but only with rest."

"I wish to see him, Hajime."

"Aa, alright." Saitou pried his hand from Tokio's and reached forward to lift the bundle at her side, taking care to support the babe's head. He was so light, lighter even than Snowflake. Saitou crooked his arm to lean the child against it. Was this right? Yes. It seemed correct.

Tokio couldn't help but laugh at how intently her husband was looking at the child in his arms, his brows furrowed with the same intense concentration he used to plan battles and manipulate criminals.

As Saitou brushed his hand down the child's bare arm, he found himself surprised as a tiny fist opened and caught his finger, squeezing it tightly. Such soft warmth, wrapped around one strong finger.

"He's got a good grip. Left handed, too."

"Yes, Hajime," Tokio said, trying not to giggle, "But, lets do wait to put a sword in his hands until he can walk, hm?"

Saitou turned his head to scowl lightly at his wife, but returned immediately to looking at his son. He was captivating. Saitou Hajime wasn't a man to often harp on aesthetics or beauty, but his son was, in fact, quite beautiful.

"I like that," Tokio said quietly, watching her husband's amazement. "Father and son."

"He needs a name, Tokio."

"Shall I think of one?"

"Hn," Saitou turned to place the child in his mother's waiting arms, "Like you named the horse and the cat? I don't think so, Tokio."

As Tokio rearranged the child in her arms, letting his head rest against her heart, she said, "Then what would you like to name him, Hajime?"

"Tsutomu. Fujita Tsutomu. It is a good, strong name."

"Yes," Tokio agreed, "I like that. And you, little kochou?"

The child replied by sticking its thumb in its mouth and sucking quietly.

"Then, I believe, it is agreed."

Saitou watched his wife and their child in silence for a few moments, and then bent down to kiss Tokio lightly on the forehead. His fingers caressed her face, and even this gentle touch seemed to cause Tokio's eyes to flutter closed, the soothing presence pulling her once again towards sleep.

"You did a good job today, Kitty. I'm proud of you."

"Are you...happy...Hajime?"

"Aa," he replied, pulling the blankets up to cover the child and its mother, "You rest and get well. Don't give me a reason to become angry. I'd hate to have to strike you in your condition."

"Yes, Hajime," Tokio replied obediently, her eyes closing. As she fell back asleep, the smile slid from her face. Her lips began to move, once again forming words no ears would hear. Saitou stood and made his way to the door.

Looking back on mother and child, Saitou let out an amused grunt.

He'd never strike her in anger. Not in a million years.

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

In the courtyard of the Fujita house on Taito street, an impromptu party had broken out in light of the evening's apparent truce. Sake had mysteriously appeared, and while everyone blamed Sano and Chou, it was, in fact, Okita who had produced the alcoholic beverages. He'd retrieved it from his house sometime during the interim, feeling fairly certain that the others would enjoy it far more than he had.

Everyone was delighted to find out that both mother and child had made it through the ordeal, even Sanosuke, who finally grunted, "Well, I guess that's not so bad," and proceeded to drink to the child's health. Several times. Chou matched every gulp with a devious grin, not to be outdone by 'that stupid lightweight rooster-head'.

Yahiko and Eiji stood off to the side, with Yahiko proudly displaying his kata for Eiji, and Eiji proudly displaying his well-tended winter garden for Yahiko. Eventually, both boys ended up on the engawa, cramming food into their mouths as fast as Naoya and Kaoru could make it.

"I thought you said she was a bad cook, Yahiko."

"She -was-. I guess she finally figured out that you can't depend on the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu to cook rice."

Megumi spent her time between the engawa and the back rooms, occasionally leaving the party to either check on Tokio and Tsutomu, or check to make sure that Naoya and Kaoru weren't burning down the kitchen.

Saitou Hajime looked...well, like Saitou Hajime. He spent most of the time leaning against the fence, one foot bent at the knee, watching everyone move around his yard with a menacing scowl. However, he did have one hand slipped rather nonchalantly into his pocket, and he had, apparently, forsaken cigarettes for the afternoon in favor of some pungent smelling foreign cigars. And, just occasionally, when no one was looking his direction, he -might- just have chuckled at Sano and Chou's eternal arguing.

It was sometime later that night, long after the stars had appeared, that Okita Souji walked into the back yard to find Himura Kenshin sitting on the woodpile, looking up at the sky.

"Himura-san, mind if I join you?"

Kenshin shook his head, and moved over slightly to allow Okita to take a seat. Okita did so, and produced a small flask of sake and two small bowls. He poured one for himself, and handed to other to the rurouni. "The stars, hm? One must wonder if they despise their fate. Once born, they can never be anything else, never change. It seems cruel that the cosmos never gives them any choice in the matter. At least, as men, we have the ability to control our own destinies."

"Do you think so, Okita-san? I have never known if that is the truth, I have not. Perhaps it would be better to be as the stars. To be fixed into place, to follow forever a pre-designated path and purpose. Change often seems to bring such confusion, doubt, and regret, that it does."

"No, Himura-san," Okita replied, taking a small sip of his sake, "It is a weak heart that brings confusion, doubt, and regret. Or, perhaps, it is a strong heart that lives through them."

Kenshin smiled sadly as he, too, sipped his sake. "Are we so very changed, Okita-san?"

"Who knows? I never feel that I am the same man, one day to the next. Every day is a struggle between who I should be, who I would like to be, and who I merely can be. It is one reason I have always liked Saitou-san. He is very like the stars, I think, unchanging, and therefore, never doubting or regretting who he is."

Kenshin held out his bowl to allow Okita to pour more. "Do you regret what you did during the Bakumatsu, Okita-san?"

"Do you?"

Kenshin closed his eyes as he withdraw his cup and cradled it in his lap. "Always."

"No. I never do." Okita reached down to place the bottle of sake by his dangling feet. "Regret would mean I felt I should not have fought those men. It would deny not only what I did, but what they did as well. They fought hard, and with honor, as did I. I have to believe that they are proud to have fought with such strength and vigilance, and I must be proud to have fought them. That they should die, while I did not, is of little consequence to the truth of the matter. We were men who fought for our beliefs. How can I regret that?"

"I see." Kenshin smirked a bit as he looked again at the stars, "I'm glad to have not known you during the Bakumatsu, Okita-san, that I am. I'm fairly certain that you could convince a man that killing his own mother was the right thing to do."

Okita smiled as he brought a finger to his lips and tapped them several times in mock thought, "Let me see. I might have done that once or twice, yes. But, you know, it was always necessary, always for the good of the country. We Shinsengumi couldn't have random women hanging around, trying to feed us delicious stew, you know. I think it is in the code somewhere. Right between deserters committing seppuku, and fighting to the death if your Captain is mortally wounded. Yes, I remember quite plainly. No stew."

Okita laughed at his own joke, while Kenshin just looked at him and blinked. They were -all- crazy. Tokio. Saitou. Okita, too.

"Oh, come on, Himura-san, you should laugh more. I assure you, it is quite cleansing for the soul."

Kenshin permitted himself a polite chuckle, and returned to drinking his sake, hoping that the bitter liquid would help fight the effects of the confusion of having such a intimate conversation with one of his former enemies.

"Himura-san?"

"Aa?"

"I wanted to thank you, for today, for what you did." Okita turned to look at the other man, smiling quite genuinely. "I should have been the one. But, I...my fighting days are over. I apologize that you were drawn into it. I hope you will not hold it ill against Saitou-san. It may seem strange to you, but he loves Tokio-san dearly. He just couldn't stand to hear her in pain."

Glancing from his reflection in the bowl of sake to the man sitting next to him, Kenshin said something that startled the ineffable Okita Souji.

"And you? You love Tokio too, don't you, Okita-san?"

Okita's head dipped forward, his short bangs shading his eyes. He took a deep breath, one which he released very slowly. "That question is highly inappropriate, Himura-san."

"I see," Kenshin replied, pushing himself down off the stack of wood. "My apologies, Okita-san. I thank you for the sake, that I do."

As Kenshin began to walk away, Okita's voice, low and trembling, stopped him. "I love them both, Himura-san, deeply and truly. But, he is my best friend. And she is his wife. It is not my place to ever come between them. I value their happiness, and I would be a cruel and greedy man to steal from that well. I know it is wrong of me to have such thoughts, to crave either of them in such a way, and I fight against my mind daily. That is why, I am hoping, that the end of Okita Souji the swordsman, means the beginning of a new sort of happiness. One that mends a broken heart."

Kenshin looked back over his shoulder, smiling at the man who resembled him so perfectly in stature, if not in disposition. He smiled at Okita, nodding lightly as he said, "I wish you luck, Okita-san, that I do."

Yes. Change. He'd undergone it too, with a flip of a sword and ten years of wandering. Yet, happiness proved illusive, and broken hearts, even with the best intentions, never healed as good as new. Still, one couldn't stop searching, one couldn't stop hoping, and one should -never- stop trying. With this in mind, Himura Kenshin wandered once again, but this time, only as far as the Fujita family kitchen.

Once there, he half-drunkenly helped Kaoru clean the dishes.

And he might have even kissed her.

But, who is to say? There weren't any witnesses, because Naoya, at that moment, was in the side yard speaking to Chou.

Actually, she was -yelling- at Chou.

And she'd just stomped on his foot.

"What's yer problem, rat-girl? All I said was that your cooking isn't as good as Tokio-san's."

"You can be so dumb sometimes!" Naoya crossed her arms and scowled up at the tall man. "And you smell like sake. Ugh. Get away from me."

"Yeah? You say 'get away', but your eyes are looking at me like 'kiss me'."

"Are not."

"Are so."

"Brute."

"Wench."

"Foul-mouthed, foul-smelling, son-of-a-hairy-ape."

"Dirty-minded, bad-tempered, skinny-legged-rat-girl. Marry me."

Naoya, who was just about to slam her wooden geta down on Chou's foot once more, just looked up and blinked. "Huh?"

"Yeah, you heard me. Lets get married. Yer sixteen now, and almost seventeen, right? I figure if I don't ask ya first, someone else will, and I'll have missed my chance."

"You IDIOT!" Naoya declared, bringing her foot down so hard that Chou was pretty sure several of his toes might be broken. "You can't ask a girl to marry you that way. And you certainly can't ask her while you're drunk."

Naoya spun around, fully prepared to storm off, but she found herself being spun -back- around by the gloved hand of Sawagejou Chou.

"So, Naoya, are ya sayin' that if I ask ya proper, you might say yes?"

"Maybe."

"And if I kiss you proper, you might kiss me back?"

"Well, I never said..."

Chou didn't wait for the rest of the answer. He merely pulled Naoya forward by his grasp on her upper arm, and kissed her...extremely proper.

And, as much as she wanted to be contrary, just for argument's sake, Naoya gave in and kissed him back.

As they parted, both looking a bit dizzy, Naoya said, "Um...I...better go and...uh...check on the kitchen now."

Grinning deviously, Chou squinted and replied, "Need help?"

"No! I mean...no, thank you."

Naoya giggled, well, it was more like a small hiccough, as she ran towards the engawa, looking back over her shoulder twice before she slipped inside the house.

Chou leaned back against the fence, a stupid smile plastered across his face, a smile which fell the instant he realized he was being watched.

"Not a word, roosterhead, not a goddamn word."

Sanosuke appeared from behind a nearby tree, holding a jug of sake, his free arm wrapped around his stomach which hurt from laughing. "So...fucking...pathetic..."

"Yeah? Well, at least I got a girl!"

"A -rat- girl."

"Shut up!"

"Make me!"

"Aw, fuck it. Pass the sake. I'm too drunk to pummel ya."

"Loser."

"Idiot."

They continued to trade insults and share sake long into the night. No one knows who passed out first, but both men would contend, until the ends of their lives, that it was the other man who had the lower tolerance..

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

"Oh, they were very good girls today, Gensai-sensei. It is always a delight to have them over."

The doctor smiled as Ayame and Suzume ran wildly from a back room and grabbed his hands, each chattering brightly about what they had done while he was away. As he thanked his neighbor once again for looking after his grand-daughters, she asked, "Oh, Gensai-sensei, what did Tokio-san have? A boy? Or a girl?"

"A boy. A very healthy baby boy."

"How wonderful. Well, see you again next time."

The doctor nodded and headed towards the gate, Ayame and Suzume in tow.

The woman slid the shoji closed, and turned to her left. After a brief walk, she opened another door and entered a small room where an immaculate tea had been set by the old woman who now sat silently, looking down at the table.

"A boy?" Iyoko asked.

"I'm afraid so, Okashira," Meiko replied, kneeling across the table to take her tea. "Are you displeased?"

"No. Merely surprised."

Meiko watched as Iyoko poured her own tea from a different container. Even across the table, Meiko could smell the caustic bitterness of the dark liquid in Iyoko's cup. Shiyuri tea. Made from the poisonous lily with heart-shaped leaves. Iyoko drank it daily, her resistance to the poison having been built up over years and years of careful intake.

"Has Yei-chan returned?" Meiko asked.

"No, but it doesn't matter. Keisuke will not accept our terms. She's already issued her challenge, and is too headstrong to retract it." Iyoko looked down at her aging reflection in the brown liquid, "She knows I am too old to fight her, as strong as she has become. And, with Nakenashi at her side, she's even more formidable."

"That girl was a horrible mistake, Okashira."

"Yes. It is as they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions."

"Well," Meiko said as she balanced her teacup on the end of one finger, deep in thought, "What now?"

"We wait for Yei-chan. We continue negotiations. And, soon, very soon, I must see my granddaughter."

"Do you really think Tokio knows the Final Secret of the Fourth Akumu?"

"I can only hope, Meiko. I can only hope."