A Conversation at a Crossroad

"There are moments in our lives when we find ourselves at a crossroad, afraid, confused, without a road-map. The choices we make in those moments can define the rest of our days. Of course when faced with the unknown, most of us prefer to turn around and go back." –Lucas Scott

Chapter 1

Mood: Indescribable

Music: Daughtry - What About Now

Location: Casa de Saitoh - The Living Room, Guest Room and Kitchen

Date: 8 February

Very Early in the Morning

(The action in this story happens after Saitoh Tsutomu Reporting for Night Duty)

SAITOH

It was habit, a habit ingrained through years of military service, that forced Saitoh up from the darkness and rare peace that a well needed nights rest had graced him with. Blinking slowly, his eyes quickly adjusting to pre-dawn darkness, he stared at the ceiling for a moment, his still injured body in repose.

His mind, no longer gummy with extreme fatigue, was able to clearly, carefully replay every second of the evening before. A battle had been won and a bottle of cooking sake had been left where it belonged, on a shelf at the grocers. He'd given up tactical ground when he capitulated and let the boys have bubbles in their bath rather than being practical and having them wash up as they would normally do.

Though only the ceiling was witness to it, a small smile appeared, making his features less severe as the recollection of making dinner with his family, a real family dinner for the first time in three years played out in his thoughts. The boys had been so helpful in their assigned tasks and he'd been able to assist in preparations that consisted of more than ordering takeout or microwaving some piss poor excuse for a frozen family sized dinner. Tokio, of course, had brilliantly overseen everything, ensuring that for a short window of time, a hurting, fractured family was able to savor the experience of normalcy and peace.

(I wonder if she realizes what a gift last night was?) Knowing Tokio, he doubted it. She was one of those rare individuals who gave of themselves freely, with no thought of what would be given back in return. His life and line of work had taught him that people of such a loving, generous nature were extremely rare and should be protected and cherished.

(I've known three such people in my life and have lost two of them due to my arrogance and stupidity.) Only Tokio remained.

Yaso was dead and in all likelihood Okita had followed her. (If he was alive, he would have found a way to contact me, despite the way we parted.) Saitoh was sure of it. He had few regrets, but his appalling behavior to his friend and partner at what would become their last meeting was one of them.

(Like a fool, I thought that I'd have time to work things out with him.) Any hint of a smile was long gone. He'd made the same mistake with Yaso and the little family they'd created together, assuming that they would always have the luxury of being able to tend to matters domestic once his work was done, that he'd be able to find the time to be a good friend…father…husband. Three years of hell had taught him otherwise.

His throat began to burn again. He let it and forced himself to feel the persistent ache. (Part of sobriety is accepting accountability for my mistakes and trying not to repeat them) He swallowed reflexively and then forced himself to sit up. Stifling a groan, as he tried to straighten out a neck that had spent the night positioned at a very unnatural angle. As he sat up the blanket that had been covering him slipped from his lap, pooling onto the floor. His sharp eyes spotted an errant Lego © on the floor. He'd stepped on it the night before, while carrying Tokio to the couch.

(She told me to watch my mouth, that there were kids in the house) Saitoh thought as he scrubbed his face with a hand, the stubble on his chin scratching. He shook his head, bemused that the censure had been so welcome after years of not having a better half who was willing to keep him in line (or at least try).

Naturally tidy, Saitoh reached down, picked up the blanket and folded it, placing the ridiculous (but warm) covering on the couch and stood up. Fragile, weak beams of light were beginning to cast themselves on the wall in the kitchen. The sun was rising and so must he.

Determined to get coffee going, he padded silently into the kitchen. Muscle memory guided him through the motions of getting a pot started, until the cast of the first rays of morning light caught his attention, prompting him to go to the window and look out, eastward, over the heavily industrialized hills of New Meiji.

A blood red sun was rising, rays warped and weakened by the ever-present air pollution that plagued the city. Even with a good air filtration system working non-stop, detecting the sharp tang of heavy metals, nitrates and other particulate matter was far too easy. Like a drive-by victim bleeding out on the side of a highway, the world around him was dying, just like the city he'd sworn to protect, unable or perhaps no longer willing to adapt to the increasingly brutal demands placed upon it.

Saitoh reached out and placed a scarred hand on the window. Unsurprisingly, no warmth came from the overwhelmed sun, not this early in the morning. While they were reflective, so that no one could look inside and violate the privacy of his home, he was able to look outside and see the world unfold. He didn't like what he saw and hadn't for a long time. As a child he'd been able to go outside and play baseball or ride a bike. Today his children, for their own safety, would be restricted to indoor activities, as they had been for several days in a row.

This was not a world he wanted to live in, to say nothing of leaving his boys to grow up in. Not one for sighing, he dropped his hand away. Bitching about the state of things (even when done internally) was a pointless endeavor, a complete and utter waste of his time.

After checking on the status of the brewing coffee, he turned his attention to other matters, matters that were of a very time sensitive nature and could no longer be delayed. He'd warned Tokio of this the night before and despite all of his shortcomings, he had learned from his mistakes and no longer took the luxury of time for granted.

(There are things we have to discuss, things you won't like to hear, things that won't be easy for me to ask)

He'd seen the unspoken fear and worry in her face. She was a strong woman, but a not a stupid one, not by a long shot. He felt rushed and was certain that she would as well, for things would be broached this morning that would normally not be considered until a man and woman had known each other for months...years...perhaps never at all.

(This will be a pivotal conversation) They were at a crossroads.

After its conclusion, one way or another, the path they were exploring would be forever altered. He'd had two days in her welcome company and was enough of a realist to know that there was no guarantee that there would be any more. That was part of life.

Turning from the kitchen, his jaw tightening with determination, he walked quietly down the hall to where the guest room was. It was a room that had never lived up to its potential, a room that was supposed to have been a nursery for the other children he and Yaso had hoped for. Her death ended that option and so a guest room it became, one that had not been used since Okita had gone missing.

Regardless of how the conversation went, Saitoh was glad that the room had been able to provide a good, honorable person with a measure of shelter and protection. Not wanting to risk waking the boys by knocking, for this was a conversation that they were NOT to be privy to, he carefully opened the door.

The scene that met him made the necessary discussion even harder to contemplate.