This fan fiction is based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuke, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and VIZ Comics. This is a non-profit work for entertainment purposes only. Permission was not obtained from the above parties.
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Hajime and Tokio: Chapter 19 - Of Blood and Honey


by Angrybee ::: 20.Dec.2003


Almost two years ago.

Saitou leaned forward, dipping his brush once again in ink. This wasn't the most comfortable position. Despite his distaste in western furniture, a proper desk, and desk chair, did aid in getting paperwork done. And the dim lamplight didn't help, either. Much more light, however, and he'd chance disturbing Tokio. Well, not really, the woman could sleep through anything. And, indeed, right now she was sleeping through one of the worst autumn storms he'd heard in ages.

But, she did need to sleep. Seeing the Hitokiri Battousai, then being kidnapped by that pathetic Ienobu, then losing the baby... Yes, she needed sleep more than she would admit. Of course, she didn't complain, never said a word, and just went about every day as if it were normal. But he could see it, in her eyes, in her actions, how tired she'd become.

Just like earlier that night.

"Hajime, you've not touched the food. Has it become cold?"

"No. It was improperly cooked."

Saitou looked up at his wife. She sat, as usual, diagonal to him at the low table, embroidery in hand. Her own appetite had not yet returned after the second miscarriage, and she went some days subsisting on only a piece or two of fruit. Tokio's face looked sunken to him, though he knew it to be the same face he'd always seen. She'd recover. She always did. For him.

"Improperly cooked? Oh, I..." Tokio's whisper faded into nothingness as she stared down at her sewing. "I see."

He'd smelled the bad food the moment he'd walked in the door. Why he'd actually let her serve it to him, Saitou still didn't know. Had he wanted to spare her the indignity of knowing that at this, too, she had failed? One of the very few things in which she took such unwavering pride? Possibly. Or, possibly, he just very much liked that tiny, overly timid smile she wore whilst serving him.

"Go to bed, Tokio."

"No, I...must clean the..."

"I told you to go to bed, woman. Why must you be so avidly contrary?"

This had, it seemed, convinced his wife to do as he had ordered. She'd been sleeping soundly since early evening. He'd gone, as usual, to practice his kata, but this had been cut short by a fierce rain, and the most practical need to enclose the engawa. Since that time, he had been sitting here, diligently completing paperwork, listening to the storm.

Saitou Hajime was not a man who took pleasure in many complicated things. But, he held lightning in a certain high regard. It was, of course, Okita who had first pointed out the similarities.

"It splits the air without hesitation, all the force of the heavens in one resounding blow. Like your blade, Saitou-san, once lightning has chosen a target, no force known to man can hinder the inevitable."

The smell of lightning, and of rain, seeped into the house, pooling in corners and crevices, puddles of a crackling clean aroma driving away the still lingering scent of the ruined dinner. Beyond the walls, Saitou could hear the thunder, and knew, with each echoing rumble, a brilliant flash of light had lashed out upon the fragile earth.

Kaboom!

Blood. The scent of blood and honey. It took Saitou by surprise, causing him to drop the pile of papers onto the low table and look immediately to his wife. Tokio lay, just as she had all evening, curled on her side upon the futon. But now, even in the low light, he could discern the small rivulet of blood which issued from the corner of her mouth.

Immediately forgetting his evening's tasks, he turned and crawled to her side. Saitou slid one hand underneath her back, pulling her up to a half-sitting position on his lap, resting her head against his chest. It would be most regrettable to have her drown, choking on her own blood.

"Tokio."

When they had first married, nothing he could do would ever wake his wife. She slept constantly in those days, and would only revive of her own accord. At the time, he'd considered it a blessing. Not that Tokio made herself a nuisance, or required his attentions while awake, but it did allow him a certain intangible reprieve to collect his thoughts, especially those regarding the woman who shared his home.

But, in time, he'd found her sleeping patterns to become more normal. He knew not if his presence affected his wife somehow, or if merely living a more scheduled life had changed her circadian rhythms. With this reduction in her need for sleep, he'd discovered she'd wake occasionally on his command, sometimes by his simplest touch. He hoped that tonight would be one of those times.

"Tokio. You've injured yourself. Stop babbling and wake up."

No such luck.

Saitou grabbed the edge of his yukata's sleeve and wiped the corner of his wife's mouth. At his touch, Tokio's lips stopped moving almost immediately. Good. She was awake now. But, why wasn't she opening her eyes?

The answer came as he felt two of his fingers slip into her mouth. The sensitive flesh of their undersides scraped against the ridge of Tokio's teeth, only a second before the moistness of her tongue curled around the captured digits. He grunted at the surprisingly pleasurable sensation. So, that was what she was playing at, was it now?

"You were bleeding," Saitou managed to say, his voice low and gritty. Retrieving his hand, he placed it at the junction of her breasts and ribs, securing his wife upon his lap.

Tokio turned her head to look up at his face, swallowing lightly. "Yes. I fear I've bitten my cheek."

"Nightmares, Kitty?"

"I do not know. I never recall what I see in my dreams."

The lithe woman within his grasp squirmed until she had turned herself to face him. Tokio bent forward, smirking as she ran her lips over her husband's collarbone. He watched, impassively, as honeyed lips caressed exposed skin. Seeking more, Tokio's hands slid along his shoulders, underneath the sleeve of his yukata, dragging the fabric with her movement, until his upper arms were exposed.

"Playful, are you, Kitty?"

"And what do you see when you sleep, Hajime?" Tokio responded, her whisper mirroring the teasing resolve of her actions. "Or does the Wolf of Mibu simply refuse to dream?"

"Hn." Running his thumbs up her spine, he waited just long enough to give her the impression that he would not answer at all. "I dream of a wife who doesn't try to kill me with her cooking."

Tokio, a woman never known to take an insult to her culinary mastery lightly, retaliated by sinking her teeth into her husband's shoulder.

The reaction to this proved immediate. A firm grasp on Tokio's hair pulled her backwards, holding her head immobile as bestial eyes of gold searched her face. "One taste of blood and she becomes rabid, is that it, Kitty? If you hunger so desperately, I assure you, such longings can be fulfilled."

Tokio breathed through parted lips, pulling against his grip on her hair in an attempt to claim a kiss from such an otherwise cruel mouth. But, he allowed so little movement that her lips could only graze their intended target.

Even that minute contact brought searing heat to the back of Saitou's neck. He heard nothing now, no rain, no thunder, just the rhythmic pulse of warm breath that fell against his lips. Damn. After all these years, and she could still have him with so little. Of course, there was absolutely no need for Tokio to know the extent to which she could excite such desires.

"Please, Hajime," came the whispered entreaty, "Will you not kiss me?"

"No."

"I see," Tokio replied, her shoulders becoming rigid as she leaned back, putting distance between his face and hers. "The smell, the taste, of blood. Even though I can no longer sense it, you can, and find yourself repulsed. I apologize. I will leave you be."

Tokio turned, only to have her face caught by a waiting hand which returned it to the former position astride the countenance of her stern husband. His eyes burned with nigh criminal lust, imprisoned only through sheer force of indomitable will.

Ah. So that was what it was. Frankly, Tokio liked her explanation far better than the revelation that her husband pitied her condition, worried that the recent rigors of miscarriage still plagued her body as much as her soul.

His forced restraint only quickened her resolve. What she needed would be given, she only had to convince him that she was well enough to withstand the endeavor. "It is simple, Hajime. I crave your touch. It warms me, feeds me, heals me. Do not deny me this, I beg of you, not for such unfounded worries."

Saitou found it profoundly disturbing how easily his wife had read his hesitation. She would have made an excellent ninja, but she made a far better lover. When she had those svelte legs, creamy as butter, wrapped around his waist, urging him onwards... The way she still, every time, begged for that most exquisite moment with utterly simple words, "Please, Hajime...please...I need...", how could he refuse?

"Aa, but then you sleep, Kitty. I've better things to do than cater to your capricious whims all night." Did he? Surely he did. Wasn't there some paperwork or something?

Now the smirk belonged to Tokio. She ran her tongue lightly along his bottom lip, catching it momentarily between her teeth, before releasing it to reply, "Sleep? It depends upon on your prowess. Can a man fight such battles on an empty stomach?"

"Eh? I do believe the battlefield is already mine, Tokio." He kissed her, letting the sugary taste of her lips cut the coppery taste of blood still lingering beyond. They fell, together, onto the futon, limbs tangling until they were one complicated mass of hard and soft, each furtively seeking more skin, more heat, and utter completion.

The storm raged beyond the walls of the house on Taito street, neither occupant much caring if the whole world suffered a pathetic death by drowning. A sea could rise up, swallowing the whole of the city, a fire could claim every house, a blizzard freeze the lands, but neither humanity nor nature could shake the union of man and wife.

"Next time you come to battle, Tokio, it would behoove you not to wish so desperately to be on the losing side." She lay now, her face pressed into his neck, naked legs intertwined with his own. The scent of blood had long since been replaced with sweeter aromas, ones that always tended to remind him less of war, and more of the growing necessity for a cigarette.

"Was the weaponry lacking, Hajime?"

"The weapons were formidable, but the tactics, Kitty, the tactics were regrettably obvious."

Tokio turned to press her nose against the underside of his jaw. She winced as her stomach growled menacingly, drawing a deep chuckle from the man beneath her body. "Yare, yare, if we're out of food, you could always cook the cat."

"Hajime!" She looked up at him in shock, noting the complete absence of expression. It was highly amusing to Tokio that this was the extent of her husband's ability to look innocent. "You don't eat meat, and I'm afraid Snowflake is not a vegetable."

"So ka? I do believe you have been fooled in this matter. That pet of yours is most definitely less rambunctious than most potatoes." He rolled his wife onto her back, looming over her devilishly. "Besides, I've an acquired taste for the flesh of certain felines."

Tokio smiled, knowing full well she'd fallen all too unwittingly into that particular trap. As he nipped at her ear, she whispered, "Tell me truly, Hajime, what do you see in your dreams?"

"Lightning, Tokio. I dream of lightning, and of storms."

But it was a lie. There was no need to tell his wife that, for many years now, his dreams consisted solely of the smell of honey, the sound of a whispered voice.

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

Rain and rain and rain. It had rained for five days straight. Ienobu sat in a kneeling position on the engawa, listening to the rain, practicing his sewing, just as Iyoko-sama had told him to do. It was an area in which he found himself decidedly lacking. He may have been a kunoichi of the Hachinisasareru in many respects, but he would never have stitches matching Keisuke's. His sempai could make her embroidery work look as if it shimmered metallic in the sunlight. Keisuke, was, in his estimation, just about perfection.

"Mou, Ienobu, you've botched it again," Keisuke muttered, picking up the trailing end of Ienobu's half-made obi and showing where he'd stitched the layers together.

"My apologies, sempai," Ienobu whispered, frowning at his complete failure to once again produce anything of worth. The Hachinisasareru often supplemented their incomes by producing and selling garments of exceptionally fine quality. In addition, sewing passed the time between missions, and forced a sort of meditative calmness while not training. Ienobu, picking out the stitches slowly, hazarded a glance at the garment Keisuke had been making.

A tomesode. Not just -any- tomesode, but one of surpassing elegance. The heavy black silks draped across Keisuke's lap had come directly from China, especially for this purpose. Keisuke's able needle had already mapped out two-thirds of the design at the knee, a forest green dragon, sitting majestically upon pale green clouds.

It was a tomesode that, many years later, -another- crossdresser would find admirable. That man, named Kamatari, would buy the kimono for his current shopping companion, Fujita Tokio.

The tomesode was to be Keisuke's own. In two months time, she would become the wife of an up and coming politician, a spy within his household for the Hachinisasareru.

There was no telling when, or if, she would ever return.

Ienobu hoped that the tomesode would never be finished. He'd entertained the brief thought of spilling tea on the design, thus ruining it. But, no one ever spilled tea within Hachinisasareru headquarters, not when even the least talented among them could balance a teacup on two fingertips.

"I wish it were not raining, sempai. We could go to the forest and gather herbs, just as we did when we were younger."

Yes. In the forest. And then he could tell her, tell her how, since that first day she'd fished him out of the river, he'd loved her. Beg her not to leave. To become no one's wife but his own.

"Ah, but we are too old for such tasks now, Ienobu. Gathering herbs is a chore for the youngest of the Hachinisasareru, no?"

"But, still, it was a chore I enjoyed."

The shoji opened behind the pair. Kiji Meiko appeared, the expression on her face blank, zombie-like. She said nothing as she walked past the two younger ninjas, down the steps and into the cold autumn rain. It took only a few seconds for the woman's thick blue kimono to become completely soaked, the bow of her obi sagging sadly behind her back.

As Meiko shuffled across the yard, murmuring to herself in a language incomprehensible to the pair on the engawa, Ienobu whispered, "Sempai?"

"Leave her be. She's always like this when it rains so hard. She lost her mother in a flood."

"Hmmmmm," Ienobu replied, pressing his lips together, watching as Meiko climbed up onto a fencepost. "A flood? That's sad."

"Yes. I suppose. Iyoko-sama bought her a few years ago from a Chinese circus. Her mother was some sort of performer, an acrobat. I'm told that her father was a Japanese businessman who fell in love the first time he saw Meiko's mother's act. The pair stayed together for some time, but eventually he became bored and returned to Japan. The very next year, the circus had encamped on the banks of the Yellow River, which flooded suddenly one night. Meiko's mother died, but Meiko stayed on with the circus, becoming just as legendary as her mother. I've heard that once, she balanced a platter bearing a hundred teacups on her head while standing atop a ten foot pole."

The ex-circus performer stood up atop the slick fencepost as water dripped from her hair and clothing. Barely the heel of one foot could fit, alone, on the top of the wooden post, but Meiko managed without trouble.

"Ah, the terrible things love will do to a person." This voice came from the open shoji. Both Ienobu and Keisuke turned their heads to see the eagle-like eyes of their Okashira intent on the rain-drenched ninja in the yard. "Love, and the loss of love. Meiko's father's love, so easily forgotten. And Meiko's love for her mother, so easily stolen. That night, the night the banks of the Yellow River flooded, Meiko stood atop one of the metal poles holding up one of the larger tents. All night, and into the morning, standing atop the one pole that had the luck not to be felled by the raging waters, she listened as the voices of those she knew and loved disappeared, one by one, claimed by the blackness. Among them, her mother, screaming her name, over and over, as she searched for a daughter who could not move, for fear of falling."

Meiko looked down at the puddles of water around her, sobbing gently as she called out in her native tongue, begging, pleading with her mother to get to higher ground.

Iyoko merely shook her head slightly and looked down at the pair sitting by the door, "That is what love is, or rather, the loss of it. It is calling out into the darkness as the one you treasure disappears. It has sent more men and women to hell than even the sword. Heed this, my children. A man can be a master of many weapons, but no man can master love."

Iyoko stepped into the rain, quietly making her way across the yard to retrieve the water-logged kunoichi now sobbing atop the fence.

Out of the corner of Ienobu's eye, he watched as Keisuke pressed her thumb into her embroidery needle and drew in a sharp breath. She stuck the wounded finger in her mouth and glanced back Ienobu, her eyes filled with a sadness she had never before exhibited.

"Sempai! Are you..."

Keisuke returned her gaze to her lap, her shoulders slumping. As she pulled her thumb from her mouth, she said, "Don't look at me like that, Ienobu. I can't stand the color of your eyes. So green...no man's eyes should be so green...like a majestic dragon, floating on a sea of tea-colored clouds."

Keisuke fingered the embroidery on the tomesode lightly, the self-same embroidered dragon of her imagination shimmering beneath her wounded thumb.

Ienobu's eyes widened. "Keisuke-kun..."

Keisuke forced a chuckle, adeptly re-threading her needle for the next barrage of stitches. "We should go tomorrow, to the forest, and gather herbs. Mushrooms are best on warm days, after the rain."

Ienobu's tongue grew large and dry within his mouth. Alone. Alone in the forest, surely he would...tell her. He would be unable to stop himself from telling her. But, Iyoko-sama would never let them leave the clan. Not for this. It would be a betrayal of the Hachinisasareru. Death would come before love even began.

"No, sempai. You are right," Ienobu replied, finding his voice once again. "It is a task for the youngest Hachinisasareru. We should train, instead."

Keisuke merely nodded in response, keeping her features stolidly locked into the impassive demureness of a kunoichi.

Iyoko walked quietly past, carrying the slumped form of Kiji Meiko in her arms.

Yes. Love.

The cruelest warrior of them all.

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

Blood. On his clothes, on his sword, in his nostrils, and dripping from his lips.

Okita ran faster, the streets of Kyoto flying past. Tonight. He would have the Hitokiri Battousai tonight. His chest burned, not with illness, but with excitement. Yes, tonight. More than anything, he needed this one, last, glorious battle. His men would fight on, knowing their Captain had gone before them, removing the greatest obstacle from their paths. And Seichii would tell the children, tell them with pride and a smile, of the brother who changed history.

He needed it. He lusted after it, more powerfully than he had ever wanted anything.

Battousai. He was near. Souji could smell...blood, blood turned with age, blood caked onto the other man's very soul.

His feet flew as fast as they could, propelling the small man through the streets like a flood. Okita could no longer hear his own footsteps, only the blood, the blood racing through his body, pounding in his ears, singing a lullaby of death.

The smell of blood. Acrid and metallic, as if it were composed of the same substance as a katana.

"Himura-san!"

He could feel him, in the shadows, just beyond the bamboo wall, the very presence of death itself. "Come, Himura-san. I wish to look upon the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. Let the eyes of the dragon open and gaze into the soul of the virtuous!"

A small figure appeared from around the thin divider that shielded an inn from the street.

The smell of blood.

And honey.

The figure stepped into the light, her sunken face devoid of hope, her long scarf fluttering in the breeze.

"T...Tokio..."

Okita's sword clattered to the ground.

No. This wasn't right. The Bakumatsu was over. He had survived, Battousai had survived. The Meiji Era had dawned, and with it, an end to perpetual war.

Tokio looked up at the sky, her amber eyes searching the night. A whisper washed over Okita, drowning him in sadness and fear. "Ever unchanging. Neither shining brighter with joy, nor dimming in sadness. Immutable nobility. It is the fire within, deep within the stars, which guides all travelers in the night."

"Tokio..." Okita stepped forward, but for every step he took, Tokio seemed to be farther away.

"The ocean is too wide, Souji. I can not cross. I've become lost, and I've no stars to guide my way." Tokio turned away, her graceful steps echoing in his ears. "I can't find Hajime. He said he'd never abandon me on this road but, I can't find him. He wouldn't lie to me, would he Souji?"

"No, Tokio, don't go!" But, it was no use. He couldn't get any closer. The smell of blood, and of honey, grew more and more faint, until Tokio disappeared in the distance.

One last whisper hung in the night air. "Seichii's smile isn't here, either, Souji. You'd best go back."

"TOKIO!"

Okita woke with a start, his senses immediately alert. Around him, in the drive before the newly built University, dusk had fallen. Okita's hands searched the ground. No. They had taken Tokio. The Hachinisasareru woman had...

Souji jumped to his feet. He'd run fast before, during the Bakumatsu. He'd chased the Hitokiri Battousai, a man known for his godlike speed, through the streets of Kyoto.

But he had never run like this.

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

"You're awake. Good."

Saitou immediately attempted to lurch forward, fully intending to grab the tiny ninja by her hair. Unfortunately, the ropes around his hands and torso prevented any more movement than a slight shift of his weight. His shoulder throbbed in pain from where he had pulled the barbed needle from his flesh. More likely, he knew, whatever poisonous agent had coated it, than from the wound itself.

Nakenashi sat a few feet in front of him, her legs crossed, sharpening her twin kodachis on a small black rock. Where they were, Saitou had no clue. The room looked like any other middle-class parlor. The only distinguishing characteristic proved to be a small wall-scroll bearing a short poem about a bumblebee.

"You're in luck. Keisuke-sama says you're not to be killed yet. This Nakenashi will merely have to look forward to such a time. From what Nakenashi understands, you are a swordsman for the police, working for the Meiji, hm? Well, Nakenashi cares not for politics. Politics are what men do between the time when they are raping women, destroying homes, and murdering one another, ne?"

Curling one of his hands on top of the other behind his back, Saitou tested the rope, keeping his eyes locked on Nakenashi's. Oh yes. He'd seen those eyes before. She wasn't even battling her demons, didn't even care how much gore her would seep into her fingertips. Her ki resounded with the lust for death. Yes. He'd seen those eyes. Not on Battousai, who at least fought for a cause, not on Shishio, who wanted power. No. He'd seen those eyes on Tokio, one afternoon, in the shade of a dojo's engawa.

Nakenashi wanted someone to suffer. She craved revenge.

"You are rather vociferous, for an assassin," Saitou muttered between clenched teeth. Hn. Regular rope. Exceptional knotwork, however.

"Mmm?" Nakenashi held one of her kodachis up to the lamplight, inspecting the edge, "You know many assassins, do you, Fujita-san?"

Saitou's long fingers extended behind him. A wooden wall. "Aa. In my time, I have. They tend to have a penchant for dying in my presence."

"Yes. Nakenashi can see that your eyes have witnessed the ends of many souls. Did you make them pay, Fujita-san, pay for sin and for evil?" The girl placed her kodachi on the mat in front of her knees, stroking the flat of the blade with her fingertips, as one might do a cherished pet. "Tell this Nakenashi, does it not feel good to watch bad men die?"

"Hn." Saitou was very, very glad to have a clever wife at this moment. He'd have to think of a way to reward her. But, not another cat. No, that was certain. 'I'll live to see Okita strike an old woman in the face before I'll have another cat.' "Enjoyment or displeasure, these things do not apply. Only those who wish for their own death fall in love with dealing it. And assassins who lust for the smell of blood only wish to rid themselves of the thunderous pulsing of their own black hearts."

"So ka?"

"Aa. So tell me, Nakenashi, why is it that you do not smell of blood?"

Nakenashi looked up from the floor, glaring at her captive with murderous intent. Her nostrils flared as her hand curled around the hilt of her newly-sharpened knife.

"I will tell you why," Saitou continued, wondering exactly where they had put his katana, "Because you bathe and bathe, scrubbing every inch. They die, and for that moment, you enjoy your revenge. But they always leave behind traces of themselves, do they not? On your clothes, your hair, your skin, and even between your thighs."

Yes. He had hit upon it. Nakenashi lunged forward, her kodachi at his throat in blinding speed. Anger poured from her boiling ki as she seethed, words dripping from her lips like acid, "Who are you, who claims to know so much about this Nakenashi?"

Saitou only chuckled, inciting more anger into the girl. "I am exactly what you fear me to be, runt."

"Nakenashi knows not fear. But, Fujita-san will know fear. Yes, yes. When the time comes for Nakenashi to kill his wife. She owes the debt of her life to the Hachinisasareru. To pay for her mother's sins. Yes. This Nakenashi will bring accounting to the life of Fujita Tokio."

Saitou felt the tip of Nakenashi's blade press into his jaw only seconds before the odor of blood, his own, filled the room.

Tokio. If they had him, and required him alive, then at least this faction of the Hachinisasareru hadn't found her yet. Chou had better prove his worth this time.

"Nakenashi! Do step away from that man. We've need of him, for now."

Saitou had felt the presence of the other ninja long before she entered the room. Her ki, like Tokio's, like Ienobu's, seemed more constrained, detached, and missing the intent for bloodthirsty violence. She stood, leaning against the door post, wearing the uniform of the Hachinisasareru. A rather plain looking woman, compared to Ienobu or Nakenashi. The only distinguishing factor proved to be her hair, delicately piled atop her head in an elaborate up-do sporting two tall green-jeweled pins, giving herthe appearance of horns. A pair of fans dangled from her left hip. Weapons, Saitou assumed.

Nakenashi withdrew, and turned, opening her gi away from Saitou to strap the two kodachi to her chest. The girl seemed to take half-nakedness in a room containing two people for granted. But, it did allow him to gauge how impossibly small the girl was. He'd already begun to guess that he'd miscalculated her age, but she truly did appear to be regrettably tiny. Even Battousai, in his first days as a Hitokiri, would have dwarfed the girl. Nonetheless, she didn't look to be malnourished or ill, and her arm and back muscles seemed well developed. "My apologies, Keisuke-sama. Are you in need of this Nakenashi?"

"Yes. We must go to find out if Tokio-san will trade herself, and the secret, for the bit of rubbish sitting before you." Keisuke motioned towards Saitou laconically, all too apathetic towards his existence.

Nakenashi looked over her shoulder as she refastened the tie on her gi. "Do you hear that, Fujita-san? Do you think she'll give herself up?"

Saitou leaned his head against the wall, grimacing only slightly. Surely they would have kept his katana nearby. Nakenashi, at least, would not have discarded such a weapon. "Tokio? Give herself up? That would prove most annoying."

"You are such a funny man, Fujita-san. It will be interesting to examine the inside of your head."

The two left shortly thereafter, leaving their bound captive to his thoughts. They'd done an excellent job with the ropes. Saitou briefly wondered if Tokio's Hachinisasareru training was what allowed her to tie such complicated knots in her obis. Well, in the end, Tokio's obis met their defeat with only slightly less work than the ropes binding his hands.

Saitou shook off the ropes and pulled his arms around in front of him. He flipped the tiny file in his fingers quickly, and set about undoing his legs and feet.

When she'd first sewn the miniature blade into the cuff of his police uniform, he'd informed his wife that her actions bordered on idiotic. Why would -he- ever have need of such things? Damn. How annoying, for Tokio to be right and him to be...

Well, slightly less right.

Nonetheless, he had to admit...he had a very, very clever wife.

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

Okita slowed, only slightly, as he approached the Fujita home. It wouldn't be best to just walk up to the front door. Who knew if there were ninjas inside, hiding their presence from his trained senses? As he halted, a bright object on the ground caught the corner of his eye. There, near the roots of the tree just outside Saitou and Tokio's home, lay a single glove.

A policeman's glove.

Okita, a man generally prone to exceedingly poetic expressions, allowed a few choice expletives to run through his head as he bent to pick up the object. The faint frown on Souji's face grew only more deep as he noticed the tiny stitching just inside the cuff.

No mistake. No other man would have 'Aku Soku Zan' sewn into his gloves.

It was then that Okita heard the piercing cry from beyond the gate. A baby. Tsutomu. Surely, even ninjas would not be so cruel as to...

Not allowing that thought to reach its conclusion, Okita jumped the gate and raced towards the house, hardly even bothering to remember that he lacked a weapon.

The shoji slid open with a bang, revealing, in the room beyond, three familiar figures.

"'Kita-san!"

"Chou?"

"Okita-san!" both Eiji and Naoya exclaimed over the howling of the crying baby. "Where is Tokio-san? Is she with you?"

"No. The ninjas...the Hachinisasareru...they took her..." Okita looked over the room, noting the lack of another individual, "And Saitou-san?"

"Said he went to find you. We were to meet him here, but he ain't returned yet." Chou scratched his head, looking thoroughly confused, "This ain't lookin' so good. Why d'ya think ninjas want Tokio-san? And why in the fucking hell won't that kid shut up?"

"Because he's hungry, you idiot." Naoya shot Chou an angry look for the sixth time that evening. "And before you even ask, no, I don't have what it takes to feed him."

"Give him to me." The voice was Eiji's, and the request came across as strangely confident. Naoya sighed, bending slightly to place the bundle into Eiji's waiting arms. Eiji sat on the floor, rearranging Tsutomu in his lap before slipping the tip of his smallest finger into the baby's mouth. Tsutomu's cries faded into a whimper, as he began to suckle gently on Eiji's finger.

The others in the room were, frankly, astonished.

"How did you know what to do, Eiji-chan?" Naoya asked.

Eiji smiled sadly as he stroked Tsutomu's stomach lightly, "There were a lot of hungry babies in Shingetsu. Please, keep your voices down, if we're lucky, he'll fall back asleep."

The three older people all nodded, sitting down in a tight circle to discuss the day's events. Most of the talking was done by a grim looking Okita, who not only informed them of Tokio's abduction, but also filled Chou and Eiji in on their past dealings with the Hachinisasareru ninjas.

"Are you alright now, Okita-san? Not feeling ill?"

"No, Naoya, I'm only wounded in my soul. How could I fail to protect Tokio-san? This is all my fault, for dragging her half-way across the city whilst she was still healing, for not sensing the ninja in the tree, for being without a weapon." Souji's head slumped forward into his hand. "How will I tell Saitou-kun? If anything happens...to either of them..."

"Oh pish, Okita-san," Naoya pried the small man's hand from his face, and turned her head nigh upside-down in an attempt to get him to look at her. "Fujita-san can take care of himself, whatever happens to him. And, Tokio-san...well...Tokio-san's pretty good at it, too. She survived that puncture in her neck, and fighting Ienobu, and having that baby over there. I mean, shit, she's been married to Fujita-san for almost as long as Eiji's been alive. And that's a pretty daunting accomplishment. I thought you, of all people, would be the last person to give up on your friends. So..." Naoya swung her head back up and crossed her arms over her chest, "...do what Fujita-san always says, 'stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself'."

"She's gotcha there, 'Kita-san," Chou mumbled.

Okita lifted his head, a determined look replacing the defeated one. "Mm? Well..." He laid his hand on Naoya's and braved a smile, "You're right, Naoya. When did you become so wise?"

"I dunno, Okita-san, could be 'round the time I met you."

"Hey!" Chou exclaimed, glaring at Okita's hand, "Am I even in the fuckin' room, or what?"

Naoya's free hand shot out and clamped over the tall man's mouth. "Look, I'll marry you, okay? Just -shut up-."

"Mmmou mmff?" This was muzzled Chou-speak for 'You will?'

Turning her attention back to the situation at hand, Naoya said, "Alright, Okita-san. Do you remember anything? Anything at all that could help us find them?"

"I..." Okita's eyes widened, "Yes! Right before I lost consciousness, I heard Tokio-san say a name. Kiji Meiko."

"Kiji-san? She owns an apothecary across the street from Snowflake Sweets. Do you think she knows where Tokio-san is?"

"Possibly." Okita stood, looking over at Eiji who, along with Tsutomu, had fallen asleep. "I'll go and check it out. Chou, will you stay here and look after everyone?"

Chou, still being stifled by Naoya's hand, merely nodded.

"Wait, Okita-san." Naoya released her fiance's mouth and stood, only to disappear into the back of the house for a moment. She returned, holding a pair of bokkens. "These are Fujita-san's, from when he taught in Osaka, I think. Take them with you. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

Okita nodded and slid the pair of wooden swords into the ties of his hakama. "Why two?"

Naoya shrugged, "More is always better, especially when it comes to swords, isn't that right, Chou?"

The sword collector grinned in agreement. "Fuck yeah."

"Alright." Okita turned, heading for the door. "If I'm not back by morning..."

"You will be. We have faith in you, Okita-san."

Okita disappeared into the night, leaving behind two sleeping boys and a very strange couple in the house on Taito street.

"Did'ya really mean it, Naoya?"

"'Course I did."

"And you ain't sore no more 'bout me wakin' up Tsu-chan?"

"'Course not."

"And if I kiss ya, you ain't gonna slap me or nothin'?"

"'Course I won't."

"Will ya make me dinner, too?"

"Don't press your luck."

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

How long had she been walking? How long was this road? And, above all, where had Hajime gone?

Tokio felt certain that it must be snowing now. Tiny pinpricks of cold coated her hands and assaulted her face. But, she could see no snow. She could see nothing but her breath freezing in the air, a white haze obscuring the even whiter land. Even the sky above seemed to lack any color but the faintest traces of grey, curling between the stark clouds.

Bright. White. Everywhere.

This, she knew, was a nightmare. A nightmare from which she could not wake.

She strained to keep her eyes open, to keep going forward. To hesitate was to fall back into the depths of yet another, more terrifying, vision. The Hachinisasareru teachings of her youth, they assaulted the back of her mind, her mother's voice repeating...over and over...

"Through power of will, voice, and spirit, reclaim ye, oh my daughter, the Akumu of the wayward."

What was it that they wanted? Why wouldn't they just...leave her be?

"Hajime...Hajime...why won't you...wake me...Hajime...?"

And then, in the distance, she saw the blur of a figure walking. The blue of his uniform cut through the blinding whiteness like lightning. Each step, so precise, the square of his shoulders unmistakable, the katana in his hand shimmering a reflection of the snow...

"Hajime!"

He stopped a few feet in front of her, looking extraordinarily cross. "Why are you here, Tokio?"

"I...I can't...awaken."

"No, you -won't- awaken. I didn't realize you were such a goddamn coward."

"But, I..."

Yet, she knew he was correct. Fear prevented her from leaving this dream world. The fear that, upon waking, this time, she wouldn't forget. The fear of what waited in the waking world, the Hachinisasareru, a battle, and the revelation of a truth she'd never wanted to know. Was it true that the mother Tokio had idolized had been haunting her with nightmares since before she could walk?

And the fear of losing her friends, her husband, and her son.

Because she wanted so desperately to live. To see Naoya and Eiji marry. To watch Okita smile once again. To become old with Hajime. To watch Tsutomu grow.

Tokio grinned devilishly into her dream, watching as her husband turned and headed back into the snow, disappearing as his parting words lingered in the air.

"Decide for yourself, Tokio, if you want to return. As you know, I will be waiting."

Decide.

No. She already knew.

She had to go back. Waking...to see...all the happiness she'd cultivated in her garden.

The old woman's voice floated through the air. "What is she saying now, Meiko?"

Tokio could feel the woman's breath against her chin. The kunoichi was leaning close to catch her whispered words.

"I can't make it out, Okashira...she's saying...she's saying..."

Okashira.

Okashira of the Hachinisasareru.

Her...her...own...grandmother.

Tokio's hands clamped around the blanket draped over her body. Well, it worked on Himura Battousai, so why not now?

With a fiercely defiant yell, Tokio's eyes flew open as her hands pulled forward on the fabric, twisting it easily around the surprised ninja's neck. Kiji Meiko found the foot of Fujita Tokio against her chest, pushing her backwards as able hands pulled forward at the ends of the blanket.

Meiko grabbed at the blanket, furtively struggling against the strangulation. Tokio pushed harder, using the leverage to pull herself into a sitting position, and then to stand.

"What I said, Grandmother," Tokio hissed, turning her head to let her vibrant eyes lock on the startled face of Iyoko, "Is that you'd best tell me everything, with due haste. For once in my life, I've run out of patience."

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

Okita had the creeping suspicion that his age had, quite suddenly, made itself known.

His lungs burned from running. His chest heaved with every pant, pleading for respite. Such exertion had never bothered him so acutely before. No. This was age, age and a more sedentary lifestyle than the one he had lived as a youth. Between thoughts of his missing friends, he wondered, once again, about death. Honorable battle seemed harder to come by in this era. And his health had proven to be nigh-perfect since Seichii died. So, what then, what was left but growing old and watching his skills deteriorate one by one?

The city of Tokyo flew past, trees, houses and roads all melting into one continuous blur. Okita Souji was a man inclined to wholeheartedly embrace the concept of 'stopping to smell the roses', but at this point, he left that particular saying by the wayside. He ran faster, pushing his body to its limits, scowling in the face of age.

And then, in the cloud of his mixed thoughts and exhaustion, he felt the all-too-familiar heightening of senses. They'd been moderately adept at hiding themselves, but the pace at which he had been running forced them to concentrate less on obscuring their kis, and more on not being left in the dust. Yes. He was definitely being followed. Quite a significant group, at that. Testing their respective warrior spirits, Okita found that most of them proved to be less than extraordinary. Still, what he would not have considered a hazard during the Bakumatsu would be rather more daunting now.

But, three of his followers piqued his interest. The closest one radiated determination, a haughty certainty only barely shielded by a thin veil of constraint. Behind this warrior, another exuded an even more formidable ki, sickly bloodthirsty, estranged from reality, lusting for battle.

And the last warrior...

If he had not been so worn down from running, Okita would have smirked.

Now, that was a ki he knew all too well.

Okita knew he'd have to make a stand. The best place would be the market square, wide and open. If, as he suspected, most of his pursuers were ninjas, it would leave less room for surprise attacks.

Upon approaching the intended battlefield, Okita's hand curled around the hilt of one of the bokkens. Right hand, nigh useless. Left hand, inept. Well, a swordsman must do his best. In a fight of honor, to protect the innocent, and to redeem himself in his own mind, a samurai must rely on inner strength as much as any skill. He always believed, always, in this truth.

Besides, it wasn't like he was alone in this matter.

Okita spun on his heel mid-stride, gracefully skidding backwards to a halt. If any of his friends had witnessed their gentle-spirited companion at that moment, none would have believed him to be the same man. His mahogany brown hair reflected a deeper, darker tint. Usually jovial eyes now surveyed the landscape with an unwavering crispness, and insurmountable pride. Okita drew a bokken and set himself into an offensive stance, ignoring the aches within his body and the perspiration on his face.

"I will show mercy only to those who leave this field of battle before the fight begins."

From shadows and alleyways, figures began to appear. Tall and short, beautiful and plain, and each dressed in the uniform of the Hachinisasareru.

Save one. The smallest one.

"Yare, yare, Keisuke-sama," the miniature ninja drawled, "Do you suspect that is some sort of man?"

One of the older kunoichi stroked her chin in thought. "Aye. 'Tis a man. 'Twas a useful man. But now, I suspect, 'tis a dead man, mostly."

Nakenashi crossed her arms over her chest, elbows high, withdrawing a pair of kodachi from inside her gi. "The Hachinisasareru thanks you, Okita-san, for informing us of Tokio-san's abduction and leading us to her possible whereabouts. Quite an interesting conversation you had, yes yes, with those strange people residing at the Fujita house. Worry not. Nakenashi will return and kill them all quick-quick, for the Hachinisasareru must cover such possible tracks, ne? No suffering at all for your friends, a clean and expedient death, this is what Nakenashi promises you, for your great service."

"Involving innocents in such a battle is strictly for the basest of warriors. You can not possibly hope to succeed. I will give you one last chance to lay down your weapons, lest you face the most dire of consequences." Okita dug his toes into the dirt slightly, testing his right ankle. Yes. His arms not may not be what they used to be, but a three-point thrust needed the shoulders and legs just as much for power.

A titter rippled through the Hachinisasareru ninjas. After a moment, Keisuke raised one hand to silence the laughter. "Rousing words, little man. Do tell us how you expect to fight seven highly-trained ninjas with that pathetic wooden sword? Seven on one doesn't appear to be decent odds for you."

Okita clicked his tongue loudly. "I doubt you are as formidable as you believe, especially when you can't even calculate the odds correctly. Wouldn't you say, Fujita-san?"

"Aa. On this, I would agree." The man in question appeared from an alleyway directly to the left of Okita, snarling visibly. Okita, noting the other man's lack of a katana, slid the second bokken from his hakama and tossed it to his friend. Saitou caught the wooden sword and thrust it forward, pointing menacingly at Nakenashi. "You have succeeded in invoking my ire, runt. A fairly complicated task, and one I do not take lightly."

Okita glanced at Saitou for a split second, "Ah, Saitou-kun, did she threaten Tokio-san?"

"No, the wench stole my katana."

"I see." Souji chuckled, clicking his tongue yet again, "He does so dote upon his swords. He married the blade long before he ever met Tokio-san, I fear."

Nakenashi ogled Saitou openly, pursing her lips together to hide her confusion at her former captive's sudden appearance. Keisuke, on the other hand, withdrew one of the fans at her hip. It flew open with a snap, covering the kunoichi's lower face. "A sentiment typical of men, is it not? To adore the sword over one's own wife. Harken unto this, ladies, for it is at the hands of men like these that our sisters suffer."

Saitou rolled his eyes whilst Okita stood dumbfounded, trying to remember the last time he intentionally caused suffering to any woman.

"Well, Nakenashi, do you feel up to the task?" Keisuke asked lazily.

"Yes, indeed, Keisuke-sama."

"Then, by all means, ladies, make them pay."

"Eh, ano, Saitou-kun," Okita whispered, wrapping a second hand around the hilt of his bokken. "What, exactly, is the protocol for fighting women?"

"I was going to ask you."

Okita chuckled under his breath. "Knock them out and put them in jail sound decent?"

"Aa. Don't crush any windpipes, Okita."

"Hai, hai."

"I'll take the littlest one. The rest are yours. Watch out for poison."

Okita nodded and returned his focus to the group of ninjas.

The marketplace became remarkably still as the two groups squared off. The clear night sky, full of a round-faced moon, cast the faces of the combatants in starkly shadowed relief. Sudden movement from the nearby apothecary building, a pigeon taking flight, provided the unspoken signal for the battle to begin.

As the groups ran at one another, Tokogoro Keisuke's eyes followed the ascending bird.

"Hmmmm. The old woman. She is here."

With that recognition, the leader of the Kyoto faction of the Hachinisasareru abandoned the fight, and dissolved into the shadows beside the apothecary.

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

"There is no need for violence, Tokio. Release Meiko."

Tokio grit her teeth against the sudden compulsion to release her captive. Instead, she merely loosened her grip slightly. Meiko gasped for air beneath Tokio's foot as color began to return to her nigh blue face.

"Do not play tricks with me, Grandmother. You will tell me to what end you have put me, my friends, and my family, into danger."

The old woman's head lowered, her graying hair shining silver in the candlelight. "Very well, Tokio. Know this, first and foremost, I did not intend to harm you. We hoped that this could be completed, and that you could be returned to your family without further incident."

"I suppose I should start at the very beginning. I was quite a young woman when I came to the Hachinisasareru. Barely sixteen, and already a mother. Your grandfather, my husband, had deserted our family for the arms of another woman. My daughter, Katsuko, and I were welcomed openly into the arms of the clan by the former Okashira, Iyoko the sixth."

"Iyoko-sama was a woman wiser than any I had ever known. She led the clan to amazing heights. It was even said that her particular insights into the Akumu allowed her to dream of the future. I do not know if such claims were true, but I do know that one day she came to me, and told me of a vision she had seen."

"She said that one day, one of the most accomplished of Hachinisasareru would betray the clan all because of love for a man. This betrayal would tear the clan into two pieces, and spell certain destruction for the Hachinisasareru."

"To prevent this, she had created a weapon. Predicated on the teachings of the Akumu, Iyoko the sixth had created what she called 'The Final Secret of the Fourth Akumu'. This Secret, she revealed to me, she had taught to the one kunoichi she believed to be the most virtuous and pure of heart, a young woman she believed would never betray her clan. This knowledge, this skill, would allow the one who knew it to eliminate the threat and return the Hachinisasareru to order."

"In time, the old Iyoko retired, and I became Okashira of the clan. I thought nothing more of her words until the day your mother revealed that she wished to leave the clan to marry your father. I was devastated, for I assumed that what the old Okashira had predicted would come to pass. How I despised your mother then, not only for becoming a threat to the clan, but for leaving me, just as her father had done so many years beforehand."

"But what could I do? She was my daughter. My only daughter."

"It was later that same year when I was summoned to the old Okashira's deathbed. Before she went to the grave, she revealed to me the name of the kunoichi to which she had passed the Final Secret. To my greatest horror I learned that my own daughter was the vessel for that knowledge. The one woman which the old Okashira had assumed would never betray the clan..."

"I was mortified."

"So, I sought out your mother. I demanded that her firstborn daughter be trained in every nuance of the Akumu, and that when she turned thirteen she be given to the clan. It was my hope that, fearing my presence, Katsuko would pass the Final Secret to her daughter, in the hopes of protecting the bairn from my wrath. I had only to then use the daughter to protect the clan by extracting the secret from the child."

"But, as you know, your mother died on that tragic night during the Revolution. We assumed, too, that you had perished. I decided that the old Okashira had been wrong all along. The clan had never been in trouble."

"Of course, I had merely been incorrect about the source of the danger. Many years passed, and I forgot all about the old Okashira's words. And then Keisuke and Ienobu joined us."

"At first I denied it, even to myself. I had warned them both, lectured them against the perils of a kunoichi seeking love. But, the closeness between them grew. I knew it wouldn't be long before Ienobu professed his love to Keisuke, so I tried sending her away, marrying her off to another man. Even this did not work. Ienobu killed the poor bastard. So, I sent Ienobu out of the clan, ostracized him for defying my orders. I promised him that when he calmed down, he could return to his home within the Hachinisasareru."

"Ienobu never returned to us. The last word we received from him was that he had discovered that my granddaughter was alive and residing in Tokyo, and that he had found the man who killed his father. I suppose he challenged that man to battle, and that he did not survive. "

"And with each passing day of his absence, Keisuke's anger with me grew. She never said it outright, but she blamed me for sending Ienobu away. Keisuke decided that my ways of running the clan were too old-fashioned, too mired in tradition, and that, above all, I was destroying the Hachinisasareru from within."

"Keisuke gathered quite a squad of followers underneath her command. It was easy for her, as Master of the Fourth Akumu, to use the power of her voice to sway the lesser kunoichi. Yes, Tokio, you may be able to break my hold over you when I attempt to use the Fourth Akumu, but Keisuke's mastery of that skill is ten times as powerful."

"She adopted a terrifying young woman by the name of Nakenashi into the clan, and forced the aging Master of the Third Akumu to train the child. With that abominable runt at her side, Keisuke has plans to destroy me, to take the title of Okashira for herself, and then to re-unite the Hachinisasareru clan under her power. Once she has done so, the goal of our clan will change. No longer will we be a force for protecting women and children. No, the goal of the Hachinisasareru will be to destroy men."

"Because, as angry as Keisuke is with me for forcing Ienobu to leave, she's infinitely more angry with him for never returning."

"I am too old, Tokio. There is no way I can fight Nakenashi and handle Keisuke. My forte was always the First Akumu, poisons. I know now that this was the danger which the old Okashira predicted. I just want to protect the clan, the clan and the women who have entrusted their lives to my care. So, please, let us put you back to sleep. If your mother entrusted the secret to you, then we will find it. I promise you, after this, the Hachinisasareru will never interfere in your life again."

As Tokio peered down at the woman beneath her foot, her unbound hair fell into her face. Very slowly, Tokio relaxed her grip even more, until Meiko was able to free her head from the looped blanket. Lifting her foot, she allowed the ninja to roll away to safety. "After all you have done, you expect that I would help you? You tortured my mother with your hatred. You denied two lovers, Keisuke and Ienobu, what little happiness they could have gleaned from this world. And what untold dangers have you brought to bare upon my friends and family, merely by bringing us into proximity with this absurd war? No, I will not help you. Go and perish with your clan for your misdeeds."

Meiko rubbed her bruised neck as she pulled herself into a sitting position against the wall. "I'm sorry, Fujita-san, but you do not have a choice. Very soon, Keisuke will send Nakenashi after you. And if she can not have you, she will take out everyone dear to you until you relent. It is most unfortunate, but somehow, Keisuke has learned of Iyoko-sama's plans."

"You...you are both...wretched." Tokio's hands clenched into fists as her eyes burned, alight with fury. A lady should not feel such anger. A lady should be the vision of perfection through calmness, through patience and humility. Tokio briefly wondered if this was what it would be like to be her hot-tempered friend, Naoya. Even in fighting Battousai, Tokio had not experienced such fury. No, that had been a dull ache which she sought to fill with the legendary assassin's blood. This, yes this, felt like being boiled alive. "What makes you think you have the heart to use this gift, this secret concocted by the old Okashira? You..."

"For what it is worth, Tokio, I am truly sorry for the way I treated your mother. She was a fine woman. You should always be proud to be her daughter."

"I do not need your permission to love my mother..." But, Tokio's thought was cut short. A resounding battlecry came from beyond the walls, followed by a tremendous crash. The two arguing women immediately looked to the sliding paper door, where Meiko stood, gazing from the second story engawa into the marketplace below.

"Okashira," Meiko's hushed voice proclaimed with urgency, "A battle. It looks like Keisuke's people. And they are fighting with two men. Okita-san and...a cop. Must be Fujita-san, ne?"

Tokio attempted to hide her smirk as Iyoko joined the other ninja at the shoji.

"Kami-sama," the old woman hissed, "It's Nakenashi. Is your husband an idiot, Tokio? He's going to get slaughtered. Nakenashi's hatred of the police force is nigh legendary."

"My husband knows what he is doing."

"Nonetheless," Iyoko replied, turning to face her granddaughter, "Meiko and I will go down and help fend them off. You stay here, Tokio. We'll finish our conversation later."

Meiko had already retreated to the back doorway, where she retrieved the Okashira's staff and tossed it into Iyoko's waiting hands. Laying her own weapon, a parasol, across her back, the two disappeared out the shoji and down a back staircase without any further words.

Tokio looked down at the blanket which had since dropped from her hands. 'Hajime. You came, after all. In my dreams, as in my life, your words wake me from myself.'

Tokio took a few tentative steps towards the shoji leading to the second-story patio. As her fingers curled delicately around the sliding door, Tokio peeked quietly into the marketplace below. He would be fine, of course. Okita too. She would absolutely not allow herself to even consider an option other than their success. But, what a mess. What a horrid mess. Her grandmother... The corner of Tokio's mouth twitched. Even if her grandmother had meant well, her methods seemed so foreign and cruel.

"Yare, yare, if it isn't Fujita Tokio."

The voice took Tokio by surprise, since it seemed to come from nowhere. A second later, Tokio heard the crisp fluttering of a kimono as Keisuke jumped from the roof of the apothecary onto the patio.

The woman's fan fluttered at her face as the moonlight reflected against the tea-green jewels in her hair. "Iyoko spins a good yarn, does she not? I used to enjoy her tales, in my youth, but now I find them trite."

"You...I remember you. You were the little girl who caught the snake... You're Keisuke."

Keisuke's eyes sparkled as she looked up at the sky. "How a woman delights in being remembered. After all his years with the Hachinisasareru, I thought it was something that Ienobu understood. Nonetheless, let us speak less of me, and more of you. In your conversation with my former mistress, there was one detail upon which you did not deign to speak. So tell me, Tokio. Do you have it? Did your beloved mother teach you the secret we all seek? Tell me. Tell me what you know, Tokio."

Tokio clamped her lips together tightly as the unreasonable urge to spill her heart and soul to Keisuke overtook her tongue. Her hands clamped more tightly around the edge of the shoji, fingers pressing into the wood until ached from the pressure.

"You do know, don't you? Iyoko and Meiko may be too dull to notice, but I can hear how the vibrations of your voice have changed. You remember everything now. Good for you. So, you only have to tell me, Tokio. Tell me how I can defeat those who stand against me. I'll make your grandmother pay for the hurt she caused your mother, for the suffering she inflicted upon us -all-."

As Tokio's teeth bit painfully into her own tongue, her gaze fell upon her husband. His battle with the tiny ninja seemed to be growing fierce. The way he fought, it always astounded her. Never doubting his actions, never hiding or flinching from what needed to be done in order to set things right.

She was no warrior. But, indeed, she needed his words now, his thoughts, his ideals. In order to succeed, in order to finish this, and cast the Hachinisasareru forever from their lives.

Tokio slid the shoji open forcefully, and stepped onto the patio with utter confidence. Now was the time, the time to decide how she, too, wanted to live her life. It was time to stop walking behind Hajime on the journey down the road of life, and to take her place at his side. Together. And without fear.

"Revenge has no place in our battle, Keisuke. For we are women, and women fight not with strength, or for honor, or under any ancient codes. A woman's war, always, is on the battlefield of love. In this world built by men, we are the foundation upon which they stand. And when a woman's heart grows weary or weak, she endangers all that has been built. If you had the faith, the patience, and the pride to wait for Ienobu, to fondly cherish him no matter where he is, you may have been happy in life. But, you allowed yourself to doubt the power of your own love. And, because of it, your world will fall."

Keisuke snorted derisively, holding her fan outstretched in front of her as she approached Tokio. "You sad woman. You've been so long locked in your servitude to the men in your life that you can no longer even see the bars of your prison..."

"No, Keisuke," Tokio replied, looking up at the ever-bright stars, the stars which moved, yet stayed so constant in their paths. Her hands fumbled with the knot on the scarf at her neck. "It was a man who freed me from my prison. But, indeed, it is something I doubt you will ever understand."

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

Saitou was beginning to understand why she called herself "Nakenashi The Ghost".

The girl possessed an admirable ability with the kodachis, certainly, but nothing even remotely close to the skill of someone such as Shinomori Aoshi. No, her unfortunate build made her far too small for much power to exist in her thrusts and blows. She had decent speed, as well, but for someone who had fought against the likes of the Hitokiri Battousai, her speed didn't present itself as formidable.

No, her greatest weapon lay in her size and boundless energy.

Most warriors seemed to fall into the mindset that size equated to power. And while a larger combatant usually could withstand, and deliver, stronger blows, you could not defeat what you could not hit.

Basically, Saitou felt like a giant fruitlessly attempting to strike down a very annoying fly. There just...wasn't anything to hit. Coupled with her Hachinisasareru training in dodging and turning herself into an unidentifiable blur using the vibrations of her voice, trying to land any sort of reasonable blow on the girl seemed absurdly impossible.

He was quite quickly becoming tired. So, maybe he was getting older, and didn't have the limitless energy of a thirteen year old girl. He'd be damned before the runt would get the best of him.

Okita, for his part, seemed to be doing passable at defending against the other ninjas. They had, strangely enough, attacked one at a time. Saitou figured that Hachinisasareru couldn't chance getting in the way of each other's poisoned weapons. But, Okita, too, was beginning to look quite ragged. He kept switching the bokken between his right hand and his left, unable to decide which to favor. In addition, his left leg was bleeding slightly above the knee, from where he had jumped out of the way of an attack and snagged his leg on a jagged piece of wood.

"You're sweating quite profusely, Fujita-san," Nakenashi taunted, "If you give up now, I'll kill you cleanly. Being punctured in the back is a horrid way to die. Did you know? The lungs fill with blood. In the end, the beating of the heart quite literally kills the victim as they slowly suffocate."

Stabbed in the back. That was it. That was how all of Nakenashi's victims had died in Kyoto. Misao had said that every crime scene was accompanied by furious signs of battle. Nakenashi had succeeded by wearing her opponents down enough, until finally, they would try one last strike, she would dodge and slip around them...and then...

Saitou's mind rebelled against the momentary admiration for how truly underhanded the tactic seemed. Devious. Low. Completely dishonorable. And yet, decidedly clever for such a tiny warrior.

Sliding his bokken into his belt, Saitou grimaced. Well, Battousai wouldn't have to know about this. As long as Okita would keep his mouth shut, Himura wouldn't have to ever know.

"Giving up, Fujita-san?" Nakenashi asked, extending her kodachis in front of her, perpendicular to the ground.

"Come at me, Nakenashi. I tire of this battle." Putting his fists in front of him, as if preparing to fight the ninja bare-handed, Saitou sunk his heel into the dirt below. This had to work.

The boundless well of energy which called herself Nakenashi grinned widely. She sprung forward without delay, looking intent on slicing her victim to shreds. But, at the last moment, she leapt into the air, propelling herself over Saitou's head and compacting her small body as she executed a twisting somersault.

She intended on landing behind him, and using her kodachis to puncture his lungs.

But, instead, as Nakenashi's feet touched the ground, she found her midsection being struck by the length of Saitou's bokken. He had used it, while still tucked into his belt, to strike behind his legs, leveraging the blow by pushing outward on the handle.

Just as Battousai was so fond of doing with the sakabatou's sheath.

Nakenashi's kodachis dropped from her hands as she clutched at her side, falling to her knees in the dirt street. Such a tiny person could not withstand being hit more than once or twice.

"This Nakenashi...this Nakenashi has...fallen...to a man?"

Saitou turned on his heel to look down at the little girl. Before she could even think to dive for her kodachis, he kicked them out of the way.

"Tell me, Nakenashi, should I kill you?"

The assassin winced against the pain in her side. "Nakenashi has always known the time would come to pay for her crimes. Such is the way of the world. To take lives is to consent to have yours taken. But, before this one dies, a warrior begs favor of another warrior." Exerting considerable effort to remove her hands from her cracked ribs, Nakenashi pulled her knees together and cupped her hands in front of her chest as one might do to dip water from a stream. "This Nakenashi gave a name to herself, because no one considered her important enough to bestow one upon her. Nakenashi does not wish to go to her grave without being given the honor of a name. So, then, she asks of you, to think highly enough of her ability in battle to grant her the right to possess such, and to hear it spoken before she dies. Would you do this, Fujita-san?"

"Aa," Saitou replied, withdrawing his bokken from the belt. "From now on, you can be known as Jikiri. It means 'great potential'."

"From now on...?"

"Yes, runt, I don't kill women, or children. Even if they are cold-blooded assassins."

"But, what is to become..."

Saitou's bokken struck the side of Nakenashi's head before she could finish her statement. The girl crumpled instantly into an unconscious heap. "I have no compunctions, however, against knocking them out." Saitou looked to the east, noting that Okita had similarly dispatched his opponents, and was now leaning against the frame of the apothecary, breathing heavily.

"Your life now belongs to me, Jikiri."

Okita nodded his approval, and looked as if he was going to say something. But, at that instant, both men noted the two kis flying towards the marketplace from the alleyway beside the apothecary. Okita spun, his bokken flying from his right hand to his left, striking the first opponent soundly on the cheek as she arrived on the scene.

The look on Saitou's face could not be described as the old woman flew, powered by the force of Okita's hit, into the middle of the square.

"Iieee! Iyoko-sama!"

Iyoko, surprisingly agile for her age, used her left hand to avoid a bad fall, springing back into an upright position. She rubbed her cheek lightly, scowling at the man who she'd ostensibly come to rescue. Meiko dodged Okita's follow-up attack and ran to her Okashira's side.

"Okita? Did you just...hit an old woman in the face?"

"Aa, it seems to be so."

Saitou cursed inwardly as he recalled his earlier thoughts. 'I'd live to see Okita strike an old woman in the face before I give Tokio another cat.' Then it was, indeed, to be another damn feline. Goddamnit. Between Tokio, Eiji, Tsutomu, and Snowflake, and the perpetual visits of Okita, Chou and Naoya, his house was turning into a fucking zoo.

"You idiot!" Iyoko railed openly against the diminutive man, "We're here to help you."

Okita slid his bokken back into the ties of his hakama, not bothering to hide the confused look on his face. "But, you're the ones who abducted Tokio-san. Why would you help us?"

"Because you're going to get yourselves..." Iyoko finally realized that all of her fellow Hachinisasareru, including Nakenashi, were laying on the ground, motionless. "By Kami, did you kill them?"

Okita openly laughed at the woman's question, obviously finding it nigh ridiculous. "Kill women? But, that would be..."

"Okita." The smaller man's attention was immediately drawn away from the conversation with Iyoko by the pressing tone in Saitou's voice. Saitou's eyes shifted from right to left as an annoyed grimace hooked his lips. "There were seven when we began."

Okita's eyes widened as he mentally calculated how many opponents he had felled, and then added one for the assassin defeated by Saitou. Six. Only six.

The mystery of the missing ninja solved itself only a split second later, when a section of the second floor railing fell away. In the bright moonlight, the four standing on the road below could make out the two silhouetted women. The end of Tokio's scarf flew through the air like a whip, wrapping around one of Keisuke's wrists in an attempt to pull the ninja off-kilter as she advanced.

"Kuso," Iyoko muttered, allowing Meiko to help her stand, "Keisuke's fans..."

"Iron fans?" Okita asked.

"No. Just normal fans."

Okita's skeptical look betrayed his thoughts. How could a ninja survive any fight to using -that- as a weapon? "What does she expect to do with a pair of normal fans?"

"Keisuke is the Master of the Fourth Akumu. She can use her voice to make almost anyone do exactly what she wants. There is no need for her to withdraw her fans unless...they are able to resist. Your wife must have be very strong-willed, Fujita-san, to have brought Keisuke to this."

Saitou crossed his arms over his chest. "Hn. Not particularly. At least, I've never experienced any trouble making her comply with my wishes. Obviously, that ninja isn't very skilled."

Iyoko rolled her eyes at the realization that her grandson-in-law was, indeed, a complete asshole.

Up above, the battle continued. Keisuke spun, bringing her entangled arm inwards and then shooting it back out to both release herself from capture, and send Tokio flying against the shoji. Tokio landed with a dull smack, denting the fragile sliding door inwards.

"Tell me, Tokio. Tell me what I want to know, and I will let you be. I'll destroy Iyoko for you. Tell me, so that I can gather the Hachinisasareru under my command. With the Final Secret in my grasp, no one can deny my claim to the title of Okashira. Tell me." Keisuke's voice echoed in Tokio's head as she struggled to stand. Resisting the ninja's voice caused an unrelenting pain, a burning that spread through her veins from her heart outwards. It felt much like attempting to hold one's breath underwater for far too long, struggling to remain conscious and in control while the body screamed for reprieve.

Tokio bit into her tongue as hard as possible. Blood filled her mouth, the slippery copper taste causing Tokio to almost gag. Turning her head to spit, Tokio used the back of her sleeve to wipe away the excess. "You...are not fit...to lead. A true commander must...forsake his heart's longings...for the benefit of those who follow. But your heart...is blackened with revenge...and loss."

"What would you know of it? You're nothing more than a silly little housewife who plays at cooking and sewing all day long."

As Tokio wrapped her scarf back around her neck, she replied, "I know Iyoko gave up her own daughter, to allow that daughter to pursue love, when she could have had her killed. I know, too, that she threatened only threatened her daughter to ensure the safety of the women in her care. And I know that she only pushed Ienobu away from you because she was trying to protect both of you, as well as the clan. No matter how misguided her actions were, they were actions of love."

"Enough!" Keisuke lunged forward, her fans outstretched, "No one defies me." The enraged ninja spun as she landed, snapping her fan in front of Tokio's face. Tokio felt certain that Keisuke meant to strike her with the fan, and found herself surprised when the kunoichi pulled her punch at the last second. Instead, Keisuke fluttered the fan up and down, quickly pushing a wafting puff of air into Tokio's face.

"What is...that...supposed to do?" Okita asked, his hands turning white from clutching his bokken. One scream from Tokio, one word from Saitou, and he knew he'd completely lose what little remained of his composure. But, his best friend was just leaning against the doorframe of one of the shops, his arms crossed, smoking a cigarette as if Tokio were entering a baking contest rather than fighting an experienced ninja. Okita felt...extremely...itchy. Oh, so -this- was what it was like to be annoyed. No wonder Saitou-kun was in a bad mood all the time.

"The fans have been soaked in certain oils," Iyoko replied.

"Oils?"

"Agents which cause the mind to grow confused, and the tongue to loosen. In a word, truth serum."

"That would be two words, Iyoko-san." Okita observed.

Iyoko grit her teeth. Yes. Tokio's husband was a bastard, and her little friend was an officious snit. 'Damn men.'

At the same moment, Saitou exhaled a cloud of smoke and ashed his cigarette while thinking a similar thought. 'Damn ninjas.'

Tokio coughed into her hand as the vapors from the oils on Keisuke's fans raced into her lungs. How strange. It smelled like honey. But, at the same time, it made her nasal passages, throat, and lungs, burn as if rubbed raw by sandpaper. Keisuke stepped back, grinning widely as she snapped her fans closed and slipped them into the thin tie crossing her obi.

"It won't be long now," Keisuke declared.

The burning sensation subsided quickly, replaced by a glowing warmth. Tokio felt her lungs expand, heavy with air, as she breathed in deeply. Had air ever tasted this clean before? Had the sky ever shone so brightly? Tokio timidly took a step forward, noting in passing that the whole world appeared to be expanding and contracting, as if the night itself were breathing. And with the living night, Tokio swore she could hear the last restraints on her soul snapping, allowing her very essence to flow out of her fingertips and dance in rhythm with the molten core of Existence and Being.

What was...this?

Her mother's voice echoed in her head. 'Tokio...Tokio...be a proper lady. Proper ladies don't... Oh, Tokio-chan, don't be such a tomboy. Civilized women don't...'

'Show me again, Mama. Show me again.'

'Alright, but you have to promise...'

Keisuke watched as Tokio stumbled forward. "That's it, Tokio. You remember everything. So tell your friend, Keisuke-san. Remember? We played in your mother's garden together. Tell Keisuke your secret. Secrets are made to be shared between friends..."

'There's a snake in the garden, Mama. A big one.'

'Tokio-chan, Kami-sama has given you a voice, but this does not mean you must scream loud enough to alarm the entire neighborhood.'

Keisuke's hand stretched forward, and caught Tokio's chin. Pulling Tokio gently forward, Keisuke lowered her voice to an almost childlike whisper. "We're in the garden now, Tokio. You can tell me the secret."

Tokio forced her eyes closed to keep the world from spinning. Where was this? What was...happening here? No. No, this wasn't right. 'Once Keisuke has the secret...she'll...kill...me.'

"Tell me."

'I want to see them again. Eiji and Tsutomu. Okita, Naoya and Chou. And Hajime...'

"Tell me."

'I want to watch them grow, be a part of happiness without worrying that sadness lurks around the corner. I want to..."

"TELL ME, TOKIO!"

Tokio's eyes suddenly drained of all confusion. In tones darkly sweet, her words sliced through the air, as she leaned towards Keisuke, placing her cheek against the ninja's. "Through power of will, voice and spirit, I reclaim from you, oh wayward one, the Akumu of the Hachinisasareru."

"Nani?"

Keisuke tried to struggle, but it proved to be a bit too late. Tokio had her locked in an embrace. Digging her elbows into Keisuke's back, Tokio raised her hands to her lips...put her fingers into her mouth...

And whistled.

But this wasn't just any whistle. From their closeness, Keisuke could feel the undulating vibrations of Tokio's long-unused vocal cords. The frequency and pitch of the whistle grew and grew, causing Keisuke's head to throb as it blasted into her left ear.

Until finally, it hit a note that the ninja's fragile eardrums couldn't withstand...

And burst them.

As rivulets of blood dripped down Keisuke's jaw and neck, Tokio released her from the tight embrace. "I'm sorry Keisuke."

The ninja's jaw dropped as she clutched at her temples. Droplets of tears formed at the corners of her eyes as she realized the world had grown utterly, and terribly, silent. Her voice cracked as she spoke, "I can't...no...this can't be."

Tokio, herself, seemed to be having trouble standing. She swerved, forward and backwards, as the world continued to puzzle her senses. She released Keisuke and stumbled towards the railing, seeking something to hold onto. She leaned forward, panting deep breaths in an attempt to stave off dizziness.

Keisuke's hands balled into fists at the side of her head. "You...you...BITCH!" She turned, fire in her eyes, and lunged at Tokio.

Unfortunately, Keisuke had failed to realize that the sense of balance also resides in one's ears.

The two women collided, the impact sending them both over the railing. But, while Keisuke kept on going, compelled by force of gravity, until she hit the ground below with a thud, Tokio...

Well, Tokio was in a far worse predicament.

Her scarf had caught on the railing near where the section had earlier fallen away. This left her dangling in the air, hanging by her neck. Tokio kicked fruitlessly in an attempt to find a foothold, while her hands grasped at the length of the scarf. She gasped for air as she struggled against strangulation, her mind screaming one word, and one word alone. 'Hajime!'

With each kick, Tokio could feel the knotted scarf constrict more tightly around her neck. So, this was it. She'd die here, after all. 'Death by hanging, how undignified. Like a common criminal, one so low they aren't even given the honor of death by the blade...'

"Okita. Now."

"Hai."

A kodachi flew threw the air.

Tokio heard the definite sound of fabric ripping.

And then she was falling.

Saitou reached out and plucked his wife out of the air with one hand, as simply as a child might catch a ball. Tokio soon found herself being placed gently on the ground, her husband kneeling next to her, looking pensively irritated as he removed the cigarette from his lips.

"Hajime?"

"Aa?"

"I detest ninjas."

Her husband smirked, ashing his cigarette lazily into the dirt. "As do I, Kitty, as do I."

Tokio fumbled with the remainder of the scarf at her neck, finding it still far too tight. However, in her drugged state, she might as well have been trying to undo the Gordian Knot. Reaching behind himself to retrieve Nakenashi's remaining kodachi, Saitou then pulled Tokio's hands from her neck and used the long knife to cut her free.

"Is everyone...alright...Hajime?"

"Aa. Everyone is fine. And you, Tokio? There is blood on your lips."

"I found it necessary to bite my tongue."

Saitou narrowed his eyes, but even in her drugged state, Tokio could discern the glimmer of amusement far behind his unnerving glare. "Then, I hope you do not expect me to kiss you."

"No, Hajime, because I...I..." Tokio rolled onto her side with a groan. "I...think I'm going to be sick..."

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

"Are you certain, Okita?"

Souji's kind smile had finally returned to his face. Once again, he appeared to be the gentle-natured soul which his friends knew so well. Squatting in the dirt beside the unconscious form of the tiny Hachinisasareru assassin, he nodded at his best friend. "I am very certain. She's only a child. We can't put her in jail. Besides, if Iyoko-san's words are true, much of the blame for her actions rests on the shoulders of Keisuke."

"She may try to kill you." Saitou was kneeling next to one of the other ninjas, carefully binding her hands with rope.

"True, true. It will probably cross her mind. But, ah, don't worry about me, Saitou-kun, am I not the formidable leader who once led the First Troop of the Shinsengumi?"

"Hn," Saitou snorted, "Formidable? Don't put on airs, Okita. You were just -lucky- that when you threw that kodachi it struck the scarf instead of taking Tokio's head off."

"Hai, hai," Okita said, holding his hands up in cheerful defense, "You have me there. But, I'll take a spoonful of luck over a bowl full of regrets any day."

Tokio leaned against the side of the apothecary, sipping the tea Meiko had brewed. Her grandmother stood nearby, leaning against a long staff, a pigeon on her shoulder. Or rather, Tokio was mildly certain it was -really- a pigeon. The drugs from Keisuke's fan seemed to be making her see all sorts of strange things.

"The tea will cut the dizziness and make you sleepy. After a good rest, the effects of the drugs from Keisuke's fans will wear off, and you'll be fine.

"I thank you, Kiji-san," Tokio replied, lifting the cup once again to her lips. After the warm liquid slid down her throat, Tokio bowed her head slightly to add, "And I apologize for trying to strangle you earlier. I've recently found out that it can be quite...painful."

A small smile crossed the ninja's lips as she nodded her forgiveness and slipped back into her shop, leaving Tokio alone with Iyoko. Setting her cup on the ground, Tokio closed her eyes, waiting for the dizziness to dissipate a bit before speaking.

"Grandmother," Tokio said, gathering what little remained of her strength, "We need to talk."

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

"The sun is up, good morning, good morning, the sun is up, time to rise."

The tune played itself over and over in her mind, a voice like warm sake pouring into her ears. Sake, yes, she'd partaken of sake, even at her age. Good for dulling pain. Pain needed to be dulled. Pains like the one in her side, and the throbbing one on the side of her head.

Nakenashi's eyes flew open to find the overly mirthful face of Okita Souji peering down at her.

"Hello!!!" Okita wiggled his fingers in front of the girl's face, causing her to let out a frightened 'eep' and kick her legs frantically in an attempt to scoot away from the cheerful enemy. Okita clicked his tongue as he caught her right ankle and held her in place, "Tsk tsk. No no. No moving around. Your ribs are still setting, Jikiri-chan. The healing process is so important. Just like breakfast!"

Nakenashi's tiny hands clutched the edge of the blanket covering her body as she quickly scanned her surroundings for danger. Hm. A moderately sized one-room house. A small shrine in the easternmost corner, a sword stand in the westernmost corner. The walls contained interesting fissures and patchy water spots, and clumps of moss hung languidly from the ceiling beams. The only other occupant, besides herself, appeared to be the strange little man who was now holding her legs in place.

Very slowly, and exerting considerable effort not to wince at her own movements, Nakenashi slid her hand from her hip to her chest, searching out the weapons usually strapped there. No. No weapons. Bandages, but, no weapons. Panic flooded the tiny assassin's body. Her gaze darted towards the shoji across the room. Escape would be painful, but likely better than whatever lay in store if she stayed.

Because the strange little man holding down her ankles wouldn't stop grinning.

"Eh?" Okita followed the girl's gaze towards the sliding door. "Ohhh. I see. Well, if you'd like to run away, I implore you to have breakfast beforehand. I'm not exactly certain how much food a little girl can eat, so... Say, do you like jam, Jikiri-chan?"

Jikiri. That name. He'd called her that before, too. Jikiri.

The events of the previous night began to percolate back into the small ninja's mind. Capturing...and then fighting...that man. That cop. Fujita-san. It seemed like their battle had lasted forever. No one had ever been able to keep up with her for so long. His bokken moved with such terrifying efficiency. Several times, she thought he could have stuck a vital area, her neck or her chest... The way he handled that bokken, with such extraordinary power, he could have sliced her just as easily as if he'd been wielding a katana. But, he didn't. It was like he was waiting for her to... No, it was like he was toying with her. His eyes, those feral eyes, like a beast cornering its prey, as if he knew all along that he would win. As if, deep within his soul, he had long ago decided never to be afraid of anything.

And then he'd named her 'Jikiri'.

But, how did she go from being executed in the marketplace to -this- place? Where was Keisuke-sama? And above all...

"Jam? Yes? No? Come now, Jikiri-chan, everyone has an opinion on jam. Why, I myself fought in the Great Jam War of seventy-six. Wondrous time, that was, when the jams of the world were liberated and began to roam freely all over the country, spreading their deliciousness far and wide. Don't tell me you are anti-jam, Jikiri-chan. It would, indeed, cause a great sadness within my very soul."

Above all, who was -this- guy? And why was he so damn perky?

"This one..." the girl winced at how tiny her own voice sounded, "...enjoys jam."

"Good!" Okita let go of Jikiri's ankles and turned to open a nearby cabinet. "Let's see. We have berry jam, and bean jam, squash jam, and melon jam. Oh, how delightful, there is still some of Tokio-san's famous raisin jam. Quite tasty, I must say. And look, here's a jar of snake jam."

"Sss...snake jam?" Jikiri scrunched up her face. "There is no such thing!"

"Ah, of course there is." Okita looked over his shoulder and blew a puff of air upwards to remove his bangs from his eyes, "Don't tell me you've never heard of it. No? Well, snake jam it is, then."

The odd man turned back around and sat cross-legged by the futon. By his side sat a covered basket, from which he withdrew several cakes of pressed rice. These he began to coat in the aforementioned jam and, when satisfied, he handed one to Jikiri.

The girl stuck out her hand timidly to snatch the food, keeping her eyes locked on the little man. Souji shrugged and nibbled at his own breakfast, making small mewling sounds of delight with each bite. "S'good, you should try it, Jikiri-chan."

Jikiri peered at the food and then brought it to her nose to sniff at it. What if...what if he...

"It isn't poisoned. Look. See? I'm eating it, too."

Tentatively, the girl took a small bite. It, was, indeed good. But...

"This is just plain red bean jam," Jikiri announced.

"So ka?" Okita looked at his food, poking at it with one finger to remove some of the paste. Sticking his finger in his mouth, he swished the jam around thoughtfully before replying, "Hai, hai, you may be correct. Very clever of you to figure it out. Tasty, nonetheless, ne?"

Jikiri just continued to glare at Okita as she ate. Men. Men were never to be trusted. They always wanted -something-, and more often than not, what they wanted was perverted and revolting. On the other hand, Ienobu-sama had been a man. But, then, he'd also been a kunoichi, so he didn't really count.

"You know, you sleep pretty deeply, for an assassin," Okita observed.

"This one was not sleeping, she was unconscious. There is a difference." Jikiri shoved the last bit of her rice cake into her mouth and chewed. She was, in fact, deliriously hungry. Her body craved replenishment following the intense battle which had robbed her of her youthful energy. She'd need her strength to escape. "This one requires more food, man-san."

"More?" Okita grinned, nodding fervently, "Hai, hai. I shall give you more, but, how shall you pay for it?"

Of course. Payment was the way of the world, was it not? Whatever this man wanted, she'd have to give. No use in trying to flee in this state.

"What do you want for it?" Jikiri asked hesitantly, dreading the answer.

"Let's see. For each one you eat, you have to stay here one extra day. Yes, I think that is fair, don't you?"

Jikiri scowled. Stay here? But, wasn't she a -prisoner-? The little man's whole logic was just -skewed-. Nonetheless, he didn't -seem- dangerous. And if he didn't want perverted things, and wasn't intending on killing her, what was the problem with staying long enough to heal?

"Yes. This one accepts. Give her the food, man-san."

"Certainly!" Okita said, handing over the basket and the jam. Watching the girl greedily eat the basket's contents, he continued, "You know, I was worried for a bit that Fujita-san had been a bit too harsh in knocking you out, but you seem fine now, ne?"

Jikiri made no reply. It was time to get some answers. No, it was time to eat -and- get answers. "Who are you, anyway, man-san?"

"Don't you remember, Jikiri-chan? You followed me from the Fujita house to the marketplace?"

"Huh? No, this one followed that Okita fellow."

Okita's eyebrows crumpled in confusion as he produced another basket of food from behind his back. "Yes, I am Okita Souji."

"No...he was..." Jikiri squinted. This guy -did- somewhat look like the rather frightening warrior who'd helped out Fujita-san. If you took away that cheerful sparkle in his eyes, and removed the smile, and... Jikiri stopped chewing as her eyes grew wide as she realized he was telling the truth. "Are you going to kill this one?"

Okita laughed so hard he almost fell over. Regaining his composure he replied, "No, Jikiri-chan, I'm not planning on it."

"Then what do you want of this one?"

"Well," Okita cocked his head to the side in thought as he tapped his finger to his lips, "I don't want anything in particular. Once you are healed, you may leave, if you wish. I'm not certain where you will go, though."

"To Keisuke-sama's side, of course!"

Okita shook his head. "No, Keisuke-san is in jail. She was defeated by Tokio-san. Iyoko-san is once again Okashira, and she has said that there is no place in the Hachinisasareru for an assassin such as yourself any longer. So, once again, where would you go? Well, if you think of someplace, you can certainly leave, if you wish. But, then again, you could stay."

Jikiri pursed her lips as she thrust her hand into the basket, seeking out more food. Finding none, she looked up at her captor, who as now swinging the second basket in front of her face.

"More food, Jikiri-chan?"

"Yes. More."

"Same deal, then."

Jikiri scowled as she outstretched her hand to take the second basket. Digging in, she asked, "This is true, about Keisuke-sama? The Fujita woman defeated her?"

"Yes. Tokio-san used what Iyoko called 'The Final Secret of the Fourth Akumu'. It was apparently some sort of high pitched whistle coupled with the Hachinisasareru technique of voice modulation. It burst Keisuke-san's eardrums. Apparently, since one's sense of balance is located in the ears, it made Keisuke-san unable to use the graceful dodging and battle techniques of the Hachinisasareru. And, because she needs to be able to hear her own voice to modify the pitch and frequency to make others do her bidding..."

"This one sees," Jikiri whispered, momentarily pausing from eating. "So, the only Hachinisasareru skill left to her is concocting poisons. So that she can..."

"Don't worry, the police are keeping a good eye on her. They won't let her kill herself." Okita smiled softly as he lifted the first basket from the futon. "Afterwards, Tokio-san spoke with Iyoko-san. She told Iyoko that the Hachinisasareru clan could be hers, once again. But, only if Iyoko started making better decisions. Tokio-san said that she was still very angry with Iyoko for what the old woman had done both to Tanagi-san and to Keisuke and Ienobu. But, if Iyoko used the rest of her life to make the world a better place for women and children, if she spent her time atoning for what she had done by giving unrelenting love and help to the kunoichi in her care, then Tokio-san she would not use the Final Secret on her, as well. Iyoko-san promised that she would do her best, and left soon afterwards to return to Hachinisasareru headquarters."

"But, if Keisuke-san is in jail, why isn't this one also in jail?"

Okita leaned back on his hands, looking at the moss-encrusted ceiling. The whimsical cheer dropped from his voice, leaving behind a lingering sadness, "I just thought, you'd maybe like a second chance. You're so young, Jikiri-chan. There is no need to be imprisoned your whole life just because you might have done some horrible things as a child. I'm acquainted with a man, a man who once was an assassin, just like you. And, every day he kills himself with guilt and regret, building his own prison within his mind. He's long held on to a very overwhelming sadness deep inside his soul, just because, for a while, he was a demon." Okita looked down at the girl on the futon, "I just couldn't bear to think of you turning into something like that, of spending every day in jail, reliving the terror of your past with nothing else to occupy your mind."

"Oh." Jikiri knew that his words required more of a response, but she currently couldn't think of anything to say. This whole situation was going to take a while to process. But, she had time. According to her internal tally of how much she had eaten, she had at least eleven days to think about it.

"Fujita-san told the police that the assassin named 'Nakenashi' had been eliminated. So, unless you'd like to make a liar out of the man who spared your life, I'd suggest deep consideration before you decide to slaughter anyone."

Silence permeated the room for some minutes as Jikiri continued to eat. Okita found himself rather surprised how much food could fit inside such a small body. She was just like a little squirrel. Yes. Saitou-san would agree on this, Jikiri was definitely a squirrel-girl. So full of energy, so much vivacious life. Assassins could be good people. Himura turned out alright, even if he was filled with more regret and self-recrimination than anyone in Japan. And this little girl, she'd survived so long on her own, without anyone to guide her, to show her how the world should be, how people should treat one another. Okita knew, he'd been waiting far too long for someone to come into his life and fill the void left by his brother. But, what he really needed, what he'd always wanted, he understood now, wasn't for someone to love -him-, but to give his love, and care, to someone else.

"Okita-san?"

"Yes, Jikiri-chan?"

"Fujita-san isn't really just a cop, is he? And you, you're..." Jikiri scratched the bridge of her nose in thought before lowering her voice, "This one knows your name."

"How is that, Jikiri-chan?"

"Before Mama died, she often spoke of the men who protected Kyoto during the Revolution. The Shinsengumi. She worked in their headquarters as a scullery maid. She said it was the most honorable work she ever had, though it was hard. She talked about the great men who lived and worked there, about the brilliant Hijikata-san, the honorable Kondou-san, the rowdy Harada-san, the fierce and mysterious Saitou-san, and the one she liked best of all, the kind and gentle Okita-san."

Souji thought his heart was about to break. Did people really think of him in such a manner? He racked his mind to remember the person in question. Yes. There had been a little scullery maid. A sweet girl who always seemed to know exactly when to bring him hot tea to soothe his throat and chest. And there had been that one night...when they had both needed someone to hold on to, when they had sought temporary reprieve from the blood and violence of the war. It was the night when they had...when he had...for all intents and purposes...become a man.

Oh, by Kami, that was thirteen years ago.

"She said that Okita-san always smiled at her, even though she was a very lowly worker. He treated Mama like she was a proper lady, and asked her to care for his goldfish when he had to go away for long periods of time. Mama thought it was quite funny for a Captain of the Shinsengumi to be so worried about some little fish. Anyway, after the Revolution, Mama had to leave Kyoto. She went to other cities and villages, but she couldn't give references from her last job, because no one would want to hire someone who worked for the Shinsengumi. So, she couldn't hardly ever find work. Soon after, she had me. This one does not know her Papa's name. The rumors said that my Mama shamed herself for a bag of rice, because she would never tell who my Papa truly was. Well, Mama is gone now. She died of the tuberculosis when this one was nine. But, she always said she owed a great debt to those men who allowed her to live an honorable life for a time."

Jikiri bit her bottom lip a bit as she turned her head to look at Okita. "You're the Okita which Mama knew, aren't you?"

Okita tried not to swallow his own tongue. Instead she just lifted his finger to point to the cabinets behind Jikiri's head. The girl turned her head slowly to peer at the counter behind her back. On a single shelf, there sat three bowls, each one containing a separate goldfish.

Jikiri turned back around, her face expressionless. Far too much information to process all at once. The girl blinked slowly, attempting to grasp the situation. "So then, Fujita-san is...Fujita-san is..."

At that moment, the sliding door at the front of the small house slammed open, revealing the silhouette of a lanky man in a police uniform.

Saitou removed the cigarette from his lips and exhaled, "Fujita-san is still in need of his katana, runt."

"Ah, Saitou-kun!" Okita exclaimed as he clutched his heart as he fell over on his side, faking his own death, "You're trying to kill me. Oh, cruel, cruel world. For me to be killed in such a manner, who would ever believe it?"

"Don't play stupid, Souji, you knew we were here."

"Hai, hai, but it is funnier my way," Souji chided, deftly pushing his conversation with Jikiri to the back of his mind as he sat back up.

Saitou snorted, flicking his cigarette away to step inside. He was followed by several others, a tall woman wearing a scarf and carrying a baby, an even taller man with blonde hair that shot up towards the sky, a short girl wearing a crooked obi carrying several baskets, and a little boy carrying a bouquet of flowers.

"My wife seems to think you need more food, Okita. She's worried that you'll starve the runt."

"No, no, Tokio-san," Okita replied, standing to greet his visitors, "We have it under control. There is no need..."

"Well, if he doesn't want it," Chou declared, "Then I'll take it. Me'n'Eiji didn't get no fuckin' breakfast 'cause Naoya said all the food had to be brought over here."

"You did -too- have breakfast, Chou." Naoya set the baskets onto the floor, "You stole half a fucking pan of..."

Tokio hissed violently through her teeth.

"But, Tokio-san, if Chou curses..."

Tokio raised her eyebrows as she shifted Tsutomu in her arms. The two-month old reached up and yanked at his mother's scarf, causing Tokio's attention to be drawn away from Naoya's violation of etiquette.

"Ano, you're Jikiri-chan, right?" Eiji peered down at the girl, "I brought you some flowers from my garden. I thought they might make you feel a bit better. I'll put them in a vase, if you like. Okita-san, do you have a vase? Oh...I'll just use this."

"Ack, Eiji-chan, no, that's a fishbowl."

"I know, Okita-san, I was just kidding."

Jikiri, formerly the assassin known as 'Nakenashi', attempted to scoot herself away from the ruckus taking place in the one-room house. She'd seen frightening things in her life, gore and bloodshed, hardship and loss, but nothing perplexed her young mind more than the scene unfolding in front of her eyes.

"Who are -these- people, Okita-san?" Jikiri asked, wondering again about the possibility of escape.

Okita, rummaging through a cabinet, stopped momentarily to look over his shoulder at the girl on the futon. "Jikiri-chan, let me introduce you...to my friends."

In Our Next Chapter: How time flies. The long awaited wedding finally takes place. A challenge from Himura Battousai. Saitou embarks on a mission to Hokkaido, and much more. So, please keep an eye out for the second-to-last chapter of 'Hajime and Tokio'!

***Author Notes:

So sorry that this chapter took so long. I took a break somewhere in the middle to write the first two chapters of 'A Sakabatou for Baka Saitou', and then I had a brief bout of writer's block. Well, it wasn't writer's block so much as complete agony at how the chapter was progressing. I'm very glad to be finished.

I'm hoping that the last two chapters will be -much- shorter than this one.

I've been watching old episodes of Ranma 1/2. I tell you, it is quite unnerving to me, to hear the voice of the character 'Tatewaki Kuno'. As you may or may not know, the man who does the voice for that character is Hirotaka Suzuoki, the same man who does the voice of Saitou Hajime in the RK series. Quite strange! I keep waiting for Kuno to exclaim "Aku Soku Zan" and start kicking ass.

***Fan Artwork Contest:

I'm not certain if ff.net will make me take down the Fan Artwork Contest announcement, now that they have proclaimed that "author notes can only be appended to the end of a chapter". If they do, I'll edit this chapter and put the rules here later.

I've received a second entry. Hoorah! It is quite a cute drawing of Naoya done by Misao Mei Mei. If you'd like to see it, hop on over to Haku Baikou's website.

I hope to receive more art now that the school semester is over. But, who knows?

***Chronicle Notes:

Once again, this chapter completely deviates from the established chronicle and from history. The next chapter will bring us back in line with the end of the manga as well as Seisouhen.

This chapter does, however, hark back to things which take place in previous chapters that those who are following this story as it is being written may have forgotten. For instance, the strange tomesode that Kamatari bought Tokio is seen again in this chapter. Tokio hears the words her mother spoke to her in Chapter 15. Tokio also references both things that Okita said to Himura, as well as things that her husband has said in the past. I hope none of it was -too- confusing.

I think I tied up the plot, but since this chapter was so complicated, let me know if I left any holes.

Also, "scullery maids" were more of a European thing, but I am certain you can understand what I mean here. Nakenashi's mother was pretty much the lowest of the staff at Shinsengumi headquarters, doing laundry, washing dishes, cleaning the bath, etc.

According to "bobo3", who has a book of Japanese baby names, "Tsutomu" means: 1. study/work hard, 2. duty, 3. serve/fill a post/work 4. endeavor/diligent.

***Character Notes:

Nakenashi/Jikiri: Well, I think the story explains it fairly well. If you think about it, it makes sense. Okita was a sword prodigy, and so is Nakenashi. Okita is uncommonly small, and so is Nakenashi. Okita had tuberculosis, and strangely, Nakenashi's mother dies of the same (contagious) disease years later. I actually didn't -start- out with the intention that Nakenashi was Okita's daughter. I was just going to have him adopt her like Saitou and Tokio did with Eiji. But, in the end, I think this works out just as well. You may be wondering about Nakenashi's strange speech patterns, especially the fact that she always refers to herself in third person. I think it is Nakenashi's way of separating herself from her actions. I think, also, that it would be reasonable for someone that mostly had to raise themselves, to develop a mode of speaking which fell outside of the norm.

Chou/Naoya: Wow. So many people have told me that they adore this couple. Sorry that they aren't in the chapter much. But, you know, at least she said yes, right?

Okita: What a -trying- chapter for Okita. First he dreams he's still fighting the Revolution. Then he dreams of being unable to reach Tokio, then he realizes she's been kidnapped and Saitou is missing. Then he has to deal with Chou, Naoya, Eiji and Tsutomu. Then he has to RUN to the marketplace and fight some ninjas. Then he adopts an assassin only to discover that she is, quite possibly, his daughter. Poor guy.

Iyoko: I think Iyoko is basically a -good- character who made a LOT of really bad decisions. It is obvious that she -does- care for the women of the Hachinisasareru, so much so that sometimes she does horrible things in order to protect them.

Keisuke: Keisuke's probably an okay person, too. She just goes a bit crazy after Ienobu disappears. Being able to use your voice to make anyone do your bidding would be a pretty strong temptation, I think, for anyone with a grudge.

Saitou: Poor guy. His katana is missing, and he has to give Tokio another cat. I think he could have defeated Nakenashi all along if his intent was to kill her. But, he wore himself out looking for an opening to strike her that wouldn't, at the same time, kill her.

Tokio: Grin. What can I say about Tokio? Well, I think I can say that her past will finally stop haunting her now. And maybe, finally, she can get a good night's sleep.

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