CAPTAIN MISERABLE FINDS THE GREENER GRASS IS AN ENTRY IN THE ALTERNATE REALITY AND ROMANCE/WAFF CATEGORIES OF THE RUROUNI KENSHIN READER'S CHOICE AWARDS!
There. Now that I have your attention….
Yes, my friends, I have the best readers EVER. A group of you decided this story was good enough to be entered in the RKRC, and I'm humbled by the compliment. Like, A LOT, you guys. Seriously.
So before we continue with our tale, I'd like to (again) thank Negotiatrix, who I discovered was behind the nomination. (After whining about it on my LJ…and they say that doesn't work—ha!) I'd also like to (again) thank older woman for nominating my Sano-centric fic "Gray" in the one-shot category; of all the RK fics I've written, I love this one best, and it makes me so incredibly happy to find that someone thought enough of it to nominate it.
All of this means I've been spazzing out more than usual, naturally. I've also been dying to share this with those of you who hadn't already heard (see why I tell you guys you should be checking my LJ?), but since FF(dot)net frowns on non-chapter…chapters…I didn't want to post a note and then have it erased, or have them go all Inquisition on my ass. So I've been waiting since May 5th to tell you guys this.
(Also, I need to write faster and not procrastinate so damn much. Oh well.)
As of right now, I'm not sure exactly when voting will begin, just that it will be some time after July 31 (in other words, after today). Checking the Meiji Tales website—www(dot)meijitales(dot)com, and then clicking on "RKRC"—will yield much faster answers to this question than waiting for easily-distracted-by-shiny-things me would.
So I'm really excited and nervous (and sorry this took so freakin' long), and once voting starts, I'll probably sound a lot crazier (fair warning, right?).
Oh, right: I'm not quite done answering reviews, because the Internet gods didn't like me from the evening of the 26th to the evening of the 27th, or thereabouts, and that put me behind on that (as did finishing this chapter to post today). I'll try to finish that before the next chapter. And if I don't, well, I guess you guys are used to that by now.
Ah, yes, one more thing: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
Disclaimer: Like I really need to be reminded of that lamentable fact….
Words To Watch Out For:
None that I could find.
More Of A Note Than Anything:
Age of consent: this varies between 13 and 17 in Japan, depending on the prefecture. So I decided to ignore that and go with 18, because it suits my purposes better than randomly picking an age between 13 and 17.
Captain Miserable Finds the Greener Grass
XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX
Chapter Thirty-Six: Take Two
XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX
She was living with a child.
And it wasn't Eiji.
Tokio crossed her eyes, exasperated and unable to think of a better way of expressing that than by crossing her eyes and making herself look incredibly moronic. But it was either that, or do nothing, and the latter simply wasn't an option.
She'd known Saitou was going to balk at the idea of going to her parents' house for dinner, but she hadn't expected him to be so damn whiny about it. Or as whiny as he could get, anyway.
Which was surprisingly whiny, actually.
In all truth, she hadn't thought it was a good idea either, but she hadn't had the heart to tell her mother so when she'd met the older woman for lunch yesterday. She'd been surprised to find her father there as well; when her mother had called to ask for a lunch date, Tokio had been under the impression that it would just be the two of them. Still, she'd been happy to see Kojuro all the same. Now that they were speaking to each other again, and things were pretty much back to normal between them, a considerable weight had been lifted from Tokio's shoulders.
She'd been even more surprised to learn that aside from seeing her and catching up, the luncheon's purpose had been to ask her to bring Saitou to the house for dinner.
"And Eiji-kun too," Katsuko added. "Papa says he's a very thoughtful little boy."
Eiji and Kojuro had gotten along famously the night the three of them had eaten out. At first, there'd been some tension between the two that she didn't quite understand, but her father's gruff attitude, so similar to Saitou's when Eiji had first come to live with them and he'd uneasily tried to make the boy feel welcome, had won Eiji over and by the end of the night they'd been enjoying each others' company.
"He's not so bad," Eiji told her later when they were riding the elevator up after Kojuro had walked them to Saitou's building. "He's like what I thought a grandpa's supposed to be like."
Tokio had readily agreed to bring Eiji with her, but she'd been less enthusiastic about bringing Saitou. No one argued with Katsuko, though, when she had her mind set on something, and by the end of the luncheon with her parents, Tokio had agreed to be at the house, her boys in tow, six o'clock sharp two days from then.
Eiji had been intrigued by the idea, and was curious about her mother, so he was no problem, not that she'd been anticipating one. But Saitou was going to be an uphill battle all the way.
"Are you fucking crazy?!"
Tokio sighed wearily.
Sometimes she hated being right.
"Hajime," she said, with patience she didn't actually have, "look, I know you've got some doubts—"
"Some doubts? Are you serious, woman?! He'll try to fucking kill me the minute I walk through the door!"
"Oh he will not, stupid," she snapped.
"His track record says otherwise," he snapped back.
She glared at him.
"Why would he try to kill you when he asked you to come?" she demanded.
"Oh bullshit, that was your mother all the way," he replied with a snort.
Tokio briefly entertained the thought of strangling him with her bare hands.
"Hajime—" she began.
"Every time he sees me he tries to kick my fucking head off!"
"He didn't try to when you went to the precinct!" she exploded, stamping her foot. "Why are you being such a baby, you asshole?!"
He sent her an incredulous look.
"I'm sorry, did you completely block out what happened the last time I had dinner with your parents?"
"Would you really be surprised if the answer was yes?" she asked flatly, glaring at him, arms crossed over her chest.
A pause.
"Okay, fine, I'll give you that one." he muttered with obvious distaste. "But still—come on, Tokio, you can't be serious. This is begging for a repetition."
"No it isn't," she said.
"The hell it isn't."
Okay. This was getting them nowhere.
"All right Hajime," she said abruptly. "I didn't want to do this, but you've left me no choice—you're going to dinner at my parents', or I'm cutting you off."
He stared at her in silence for a long moment.
"You're bluffing," he said finally, expression unreadable.
"You think so?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I went two years without having sex—I can do it again."
He eyed her, obviously weighing the pros and cons of calling her bluff, and Tokio was irritated with him for making her use it in the first place. She didn't like blackmailing someone unless she didn't really like them all that much, and despite his less desirable traits, she liked Saitou very very much. She also didn't feel like not sleeping with him—she'd very quickly gotten used to one of them initiating sex, and she didn't look forward to that ending, even for a short while. Idly, she supposed Saitou had turned her into a sex addict, because she'd never been concerned over it before.
"Tch—fine," he muttered at long last, eyeing her balefully.
"Oh stop," she said, rolling her eyes. "Geez—act like I'm asking you to quit smoking."
"Feh. Rather do that than eat dinner with your old man, it'd be easier," he shot back.
"I'll make it up to you," she assured.
"Damn right you will."
Tokio sighed, but decided not to push the issue, since she'd gotten what she'd wanted.
"You wanna eat now?" she asked instead.
"Food's here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't know, but Sae might," she replied, walking over to the door and opening it to stick her head out. "Sae? Is lunch here yet?"
"Not yet Tokio-san," Sae replied, not looking up from her monitor, fingers flying over the keyboard, "but the attorneys have arrived and Enishi-san and Tomoe-san took them into the conference room. I was just going to call you—Enishi-san just now told me."
"Okay, don't worry about it," Tokio said with a nod. "When should lunch get here?"
"Within fifteen minutes."
"All right then."
Tokio leaned back into her office and shut the door, then leaned against it, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Not yet, but it should be here in fifteen," she told him.
He grunted from where he sat before her desk. "So I heard. You gotta go to the conference room?"
"Yeah," she replied, frowning. "The lawyers have news for us."
"Good or bad?"
"They didn't say."
"Bad, then."
She smiled in exasperated amusement.
"Thanks for the input, Sunshine."
"Oi, I call it like I see it," he said with a shrug. "Anyway, with lawyers, the odds are in favor of it being bad news."
She snorted and straightened, then walked over to him and tugged on his coat lapel.
"Come on, let's go."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Let's?" he repeated. "Aren't you gonna have a meeting?"
"Yeah, but I invited you to have lunch here with me today, and you're coming too," she said, tugging his lapel again. "So let's go. Besides, you were the officer in charge of the investigation, and you were there when we found out the katana was the Shinuchi. Mifune-sensei's been wanting to talk to you about that. He's already spoken to Udou-san."
"Oh I'm sure that was a productive conversation," Saitou said sarcastically, rolling his eyes, as he straightened from the chair.
Tokio elected not to say anything, and instead carefully smoothed down the lapel she'd been tugging at. Then she looked him over and nodded in satisfaction.
"You sure it's all right if I sit in on your meeting?" he asked idly, hands in his pockets.
"I'm the boss for now," she replied, leaning up on tiptoe to kiss him. "So yes, it's all right if you sit in on our meeting."
He shrugged.
"Okay Boss Lady," he replied, and she grinned.
"You sound like Okita-san," she teased, and his face promptly darkened.
"Sometimes I hate you," he told her.
"Lies," she shot back breezily, walking to the door.
"Yeah right," he muttered, following.
They walked into the conference room just as Enishi and Tomoe (who'd come back to work full time that week) were settling the lawyers in. Kamatari was still missing, so Tokio sent Sae to haul his ass to the conference room before greeting the lawyers and introducing Saitou. The older of the two, Mifune Toshirou, the museum's legal counsel, immediately began asking Saitou about the day the Shinuchi had been discovered. Tokio left Saitou to deal with the gentleman while she consulted Enishi and Tomoe, hoping against hope that they'd managed to get the reason behind the visit out of the lawyers. She was visibly disappointed when they said their every attempt at getting information had been stonewalled.
Kamatari breezed in and Tokio lectured him on being late:
"It's called being fashionably late, Tokio-chan," the effeminate man replied unapologetically.
"No, it's called looking for a new job," Tokio shot back, one eyebrow raised, annoyance on her face.
Kamatari sniffed, then sent Saitou a dark look.
"I blame you," he informed the policeman.
"Thanks, I'm always appreciative when people acknowledge my work," Saitou returned with a smirk.
"Plebeian," Kamatari muttered.
Sae announced that lunch was here, and she and Enishi's secretary (another new girl—Enishi's bad temper and abrupt nature ensured that he went through secretaries like Saitou went through cigarettes) made sure everyone got their food before leaving the group to their business.
"So then, Mifune-sensei," Tokio began, hands clasped on the table top before her. "You said you had some news for us when we spoke on the phone yesterday."
Mifune inclined his head, then cleared his throat.
"Yes," he said. "I met with the representatives of the city of Kyoto last week—we were not the only ones with a great many things going on at once," he added with a faint smile that faded a few seconds later. "The short of it is that the city intends to challenge our claim to the Shinuchi. And quite frankly, things look to be in their favor, unless I can find the gentleman who donated the Shinuchi to the museum."
"Will he make a difference?" Tomoe asked, looking worried.
Mifune nodded.
"The gentleman is a direct descendant of Arai Shakkuu."
The room was quiet for a long time, everyone staring at Mifune in shock.
"Are you serious?" Tokio asked finally, incredulous.
"Very, Takagi-san," Mifune replied.
"And you guys're sure?" Enishi asked.
"That's something that's easy to find out, if you have the proper means," Saitou said, lips pursed. "And from what I understand, you have that in spades."
Mifune smiled faintly and inclined his head.
"Saitou-san is correct," was all he said.
"So where is this man?" Tomoe asked.
"That's the problem, Kiyosato-san," Mifune's associate, a man named Ito, said. "We haven't been able to locate him. His last known address is no good—he hasn't been there for a decade."
Tokio sent Enishi a worried look, one that he returned.
This was not good. This was very not good. There was no way the museum was financially stable enough at this point to meet Kyoto's challenge to their claim on the Shinuchi. They still hadn't recouped enough money for something like that—the accounts were still in the red, though it wasn't as bad as it had been a month ago. The loans and the donation from the historical society had helped pay for the new security system and the new lighting system (which together had cost them a small fortune), and it had helped pay the first installment on the new cases, but it wasn't enough to cover the cost of the new promotions campaign Tomoe had had to draw up. It wasn't enough to cover the renovations either, and until the insurance company coughed up the money the terms of their contract with them denoted, about the only saving grace there was that Anji was a phenomenal human being and was pretty much working for free at this point, coming in on his off days and working until well into the wee hours of the morning by himself to help them along as much as possible. Enishi and Kamatari had started helping him after hours, and guilt was making Tokio very seriously consider joining them.
All of their money was tied up in the museum. There was nothing left for filing a suit and fighting what would be, without doubt, a very intense legal battle. Even if Mifune worked pro bono, things wouldn't be any better for them—if they lost the claim, they'd be stuck paying the city's legal fees, and they'd either fall further into debt or go completely bankrupt.
"Give me the name," Saitou said, absently tapping his fingers on the table top. "I have ways of finding people who can't or don't want to be found."
Mifune raised his eyebrow.
"That doesn't sound quite legal, Saitou-san," he mildly remarked.
Saitou smiled lazily.
"You're entitled to your opinion, Mifune-sensei," he replied noncommittally.
"It's all right, Mifune-sensei," Tokio assured. "Don't worry—Saitou-san's quite trust-worthy."
"Hn," was Mifune's opinion of that statement, but he nevertheless slid a folder over to the police inspector.
Saitou flipped the folder open and reviewed the contents, then shut it and set it aside.
Lunch began then, and they discussed their options. Mifune and Ito both offered them their services pro bono, and Tokio smiled and accepted, though that didn't keep her from shooting Enishi another worried look.
At lunch's end, Tokio, Enishi, Tomoe, Kamatari, and Saitou saw the lawyers off, and as soon as they had disappeared down the stairs, Tokio sagged back against Saitou, who slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her back more comfortably against him.
"Well that was awful," she said dismally.
"It wasn't that bad," Kamatari chided, but he didn't sound convinced by his own words.
"Yeah right," Enishi muttered, scowling, hands in the pockets of his slacks. "We're in the shit if Kyoto wins custody."
No one said anything for a long while, and then Tomoe coughed politely.
"Saitou-san? What do you suppose the odds are that you can find the gentleman who donated the…katana?" she asked; no one but them and Sae knew about the Shinuchi, and Tokio intended to keep it that way until they knew if they were keeping the Shinuchi or not.
"I'll have his information to your lawyers tomorrow morning," Saitou said nonchalantly, watching the lawyers drive off as he absently rubbed Tokio's belly with one hand, his other in his pocket.
"Tomorrow?!" Tokio, Tomoe, Enishi and Kamatari repeated, surprised.
"That quick?" Kamatari asked.
"Bull!" Enishi said incredulously.
"But how is that possible?" Tomoe asked.
"I know a guy," Saitou said with a shrug.
Tokio frowned, wondering who Saitou was talking about, before it occurred to her that Okita used to be a hacker back in their department days. At that, she was immediately relieved—if Okita was the one looking for Arai Shakkuu's descendant, they had nothing to worry about.
Kamatari went to collect his design plans from the conference room, and Tomoe and Enishi walked off together, leaving Saitou and Tokio alone in the lobby.
"You were talking about Okita-san, weren't you?" she asked.
"Yeah." He gently patted her stomach. "He's a retard, but finding information's one thing he does well."
She nodded, then tilted her head back to look up at him.
"Are you going to leave soon?"
"Now, actually," he said.
She wrinkled her nose and sighed.
"Oh well," she muttered. "Thank you for having lunch with me."
He smirked.
"You're welcome," he replied, giving her stomach another pat. "Oi, don't worry, okay? We'll find your donor and you guys'll keep it."
"I really hope so," she said. "We could use the boost to our credibility, after the break-in."
"You'll get it," he said confidently, and she smiled.
"Ah, so this is why I keep you around," she teased, reaching up and looping her arms around his neck; he stooped down a little so she could reach.
"You're a cruel woman, Chiisai," he informed her, kissing the top of her head.
"Says the Big Bad Wolf of Bunkyo," she shot back, and he grinned.
"Takes one to know one," he said, and she laughed.
"Get out of here, jerk face," she said, still smiling.
"Gonna be home early?" he asked.
"Yeah," she assured.
"All right." He rose and she let go of him. "I'll see you later then."
"'Kay—have a good one."
"You too."
She kissed his cheek, and he kissed her forehead and then he strolled out of the museum as if he didn't have a care in the world, and she watched him until she couldn't see him anymore, a small smile on her face.
He was a creep and a jerk and a crank and neurotic, but he had his moments.
XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX
"You can't hit him, Hajime."
"What if he hits me first?"
"He won't."
"But what if he did?"
"He won't."
"But what if he did?"
"If you keep acting obnoxious he won't have to," she snapped with a speaking look in his direction.
He glared at her but didn't say anything else—or rather, he didn't say anything else at a volume that she could hear.
Eiji looked back and forth at them and decided adults were weird.
Or maybe it was just these two. He wasn't sure yet whether or not his theory was applicable to adults in general or if his guardians were special like that.
The evening had gotten off to an interesting start; the second he had arrived at the museum, Tokio-oba had foisted her work off on Enishi-san (who hadn't been the least bit shy about telling Tokio-oba and everyone within a block of the museum what he thought about that) and they'd gone home to get cleaned up and dressed up for dinner at her parents' house. They'd gotten there just as Hajime-oji was unlocking the door, and Tokio-oba had said that was lucky. Hajime-oji had had a sour look on his face that Eiji took to mean he didn't agree.
The older man wasn't dumb enough to say so out loud, though.
So they'd all taken turns in the bath room and then gotten dressed, Tokio-oba telling him and Hajime-oji what to wear. It had been an odd and bittersweet experience for Eiji—his mother had picked out his clothing for him for the first day of school, or for special occasions, and Tokio-oba's doing it for him now reminded him of those days and underscored how much life had changed since then. But he only felt a little twinge, like a sore muscle moved too far in one direction too soon. It was even a little nice: Tokio-oba ironed his shirt for him in her and Hajime-oji's room and let him watch, and told him that he had to be careful to fold his trousers just so when they came home later, so that the crease in the legs would stay crisp and sharp. He wasn't keen on wearing a tie, but he also knew it wasn't an argument he could win, so he didn't bother, just looped the tie around his neck to wait for Hajime-oji to help him. He'd been trying to watch how the older man tied his tie, but he couldn't make any sense of the process; his guardian's hands moved too fast and executed these bizarre moves, and the result was a Windsor knot that looked like the handiwork of someone who dressed up stars for the red carpet.
He'd been hard pressed not to laugh when Tokio-oba had pointed to Hajime-oji's suit where it hung on the closet door and said,
"I already picked out what you're wearing."
The look on the older man's face had been priceless, and Eiji had had to leave the room when he snorted and Hajime-oji shot him a killing look that promised retribution (it had come when he'd gotten his tie tied—Eiji was completely convinced that if not for Tokio-oba's presence in the room, he'd have been strangled with his tie).
He and his guardian were then unceremoniously booted out of the bedroom, and Tokio-oba got dressed while he challenged the man to a game on his PS2 and got his ass handed to him, to his complete and total shock.
"What?" Hajime-oji asked, when Eiji had stared at him, eyes about to roll out of his head.
"You're not supposed to be that good!" Eiji replied, outraged—it had taken him forever to get that far! How in the hell had he done that?!
Hajime-oji smirked.
"Blame Souji, brat," he said. "You can only hang around a geek as big as him for so long before it starts to infect you too."
"You guys suck!" Eiji whined. "You're old, you're not supposed to be good at video games!"
Hajime-oji snorted and whapped the back of his head in an almost affectionate manner.
"Shut up," he ordered. "Bitching won't make you get better, ahou."
"You guys still suck."
"Life sucks—get a helmet."
Tokio-oba had appeared then, in a dress Eiji had never seen before (and he was pretty familiar with the clothing in her and Hajime-oji's closet, since she had a habit of forgetting things and sending him into the closet to go hunting for them).
Now. Tokio-oba, in Eiji's expert opinion, thank you very much, always looked pretty. He had yet to see her not looking pretty (mornings didn't count—no one looked pretty first thing in the morning). In fact, Eiji was exceedingly smug about Tokio-oba; she was the prettiest "mom" in his entire class (this maybe had something to do with the fact that she was also the youngest "mom," but whatever, he wasn't splitting hairs or anything). He had been very proud to show her off at the assembly, when she and Hajime-oji had attended to see him get an award. He'd been proud to show Hajime-oji off too, but for a different reason—Hajime-oji was the scariest "dad" in his class, hands down, no contest. His friends had been thoroughly terrified of the man, and Eiji had enjoyed every minute of it, because he'd won the bet about whose dad was scarier (so Hajime-oji wasn't his dad per se, but again—he wasn't splitting hairs or anything).
But back to Tokio-oba. She was the prettiest "mom" in his class, also hands down, no contest. And because he had the prettiest "mom" in his entire class, he hadn't minded when she'd kissed him in front of his peers and gotten lipstick on his cheek and then wiped it off.
But tonight…Tokio-oba had out done herself.
When he and Hajime-oji saw her, both of them stared in surprised silence, and it took her a moment to notice, because she was fighting with the clasp of her bracelet. She didn't realize it was unnaturally quiet in the apartment until she let out a rather ferocious growl of irritation and looked up at Hajime-oji, frowning:
"Hajime, could you please do this stupid…what?" she asked, staring right back at them, blinking.
Eiji glanced at Hajime-oji, wondering if he should let his guardian answer, then decided that might not happen for a while when he noticed Hajime-oji didn't look quite like he was paying attention—if Eiji hadn't known better, he'd have thought the older man had been stunned speechless.
"You look pretty, Tokio-oba," he said finally, unable to entirely keep the surprised appreciation out of his voice. "Even prettier than usual."
She immediately beamed at him.
"Thank you, sweetheart," she said cheerfully. "You look handsome yourself."
He grinned back at her, then asked,
"I could do your bracelet for you, if you want."
"I'd appreciate it, since someone seems to be in la-la-land," she replied with an amused look in Hajime-oji's direction.
That "accusation" had gotten Hajime-oji's attention:
"I am not in la-la-land," he said, sounding a tad offended, and Eiji wrinkled his nose; it sounded weird to hear Hajime-oji say "la-la-land."
"Uh-huh," was Tokio-oba's reply, and she sent Eiji a mischievous wink that had him grinning as he bent over her wrist to fasten the clasp of her bracelet.
Once he had, he stepped back and waited for Hajime-oji, who was now awake, to say something. To his surprise, his guardian did nothing more than eye Tokio-oba's attire very intently, before asking,
"Ready?"
"Uh-huh," she replied. "I just need my purse and we can go."
"Brat," Hajime-oji said, rising, "go grab Tokio's purse."
"I can do that," Tokio-oba said, but Hajime-oji only glanced at Eiji and said,
"So can he."
The look on the older man's face suggested that Eiji comply, so he did, turning and walking into the bedroom and grabbing Tokio-oba's purse—her "going-out" one, which was smaller than her everyday one—and started for the door again, but paused when he heard Hajime-oji's voice, sounding very appreciative and amused.
"My baby looks good."
Eiji made a face; oh great, they were being gross, again. Geez. No wonder he'd been sent in there.
So he waited a few seconds, because he hated walking in on them when they were being gross and because Hajime-oji always got really annoyed when he did. Eiji silently thought that was totally Hajime-oji's fault; if he'd just close the door a little more often or something, Eiji wouldn't be traumatized like that all the time (okay, so he wasn't, but it was still gross). The boy had figured out that when the door to his guardians' door was shut, there was a reason for it, and as he had absolutely no desire to know what that reason was, he always stayed away until the door was open again.
He didn't leave the room until Tokio-oba asked what he was doing, whereupon he hopped off the bed—where he'd plopped down to wait until it was clear—and sauntered out of the room with her purse in hand.
"Nothin'," he said with a shrug, holding out her purse. "Here's your purse, Tokio-oba."
"All right, let's blow," Hajime-oji said, hand on the small of Tokio-oba's back, ushering her to the door.
"You're in a hurry," Tokio-oba observed, sounding surprised.
"I just wanna get this over with," Hajime-oji replied, and got whacked in the shoulder with Tokio-oba's going-out purse.
Eiji fed and shut Hachi up in the bath room while they were out (Hajime-oji was weird about letting Hachi run around the apartment when no one was home), and then they walked to the station and took the train to Nerima Ward, and then walked to Tokio-oba's parent's. Hajime-oji took the street side, while Eiji and Tokio-oba walked hand-in-hand on the inside.
"Mama's just dying to meet you," she told him.
"How come?" he asked curious, and beginning to get a little nervous without entirely knowing why; really, it was just Tokio-oba's mom. And as nice as Tokio-oba was, how bad could her mom be?
"I think mostly curiosity," Tokio-oba replied. "Plus, I'm sure Papa said a whole bunch of nice things about you."
At that, Eiji grinned; he'd been all set to dislike—even hate—Kojuro-san for making Tokio-oba so sad all the time, but the old man had won him over. He hadn't treated Eiji like a little kid. He'd been treated like a man.
"Now that your elder brother's gone, it's up to you to carry on the family name," Kojuro-san had added.
Plus, with those craggy features and rough voice, Kojuro-san looked and sounded like what Eiji had always thought a grandfather should, and it was hard to dislike a man who so perfectly exemplified that.
They arrived at the house soon enough, a nice home in a good neighborhood, and were met at the door by Morinusuke, whose appearance immediately made Eiji's nerves settle.
He and Tokio-oba's little brother had gotten along very well from their first meeting, finding common ground in video games and the MPD, which Eiji wanted to join when he got old enough, just like Brother had.
"Hey Eiji-kun!" Morinusuke immediately said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Mama said you'd be coming tonight."
"Yo," the boy replied, grinning.
"Hey Sis, Saitou-san," Morinusuke said, leaning down to kiss Tokio-oba's cheek and send Hajime-oji a respectful nod, both of which were returned. "Come on in—Papa's in the living room."
"And Mama?" Tokio-oba asked.
"Feh—kitchen, of course," Morinusuke replied with a grin. "Where else would she be when we've got company over?"
"I'm not company you little creep," Tokio-oba shot back, swatting his arm.
"Duh—Eiji-kun's company," Morinusuke said, rolling his eyes. "You're just family."
He then ducked so that Tokio-oba's attempt to swat him again failed.
They left their shoes on the rack in the entry, were outfitted with slippers, and then followed Morinusuke to the living room. Kojuro-san was indeed already there, seated on a zanbuton and waiting patiently.
"Hi Kojuro-san," Eiji immediately said, smiling, when he saw the old man.
Kojuro-san smiled faintly at him and bobbed his head ever so slightly.
"Hello Eiji-kun. How have you been?"
"Real good, sir."
"'Very good,'" Hajime-oji corrected, tapping the top of his head lightly with his knuckles.
"Right, very good, I mean," Eiji repeated with a nod.
Kojuro-san nodded as well.
"I'm pleased to hear that," he said, then looked at Hajime-oji, who had a hand on the top of Eiji's head. "Saitou," he said shortly.
"Takagi," Hajime-oji said, voice just as clipped.
"Still alive, eh?"
"So sorry to disappoint you," Hajime-oji replied, not sounding the least bit sorry.
"Oh I'm sure," was Kojuro-san's dryly drawled response.
"First round's over," Tokio-oba cut in, sending both men disapproving looks. "First, and last. Behave, you two."
Both grumbled out a sort of affirmative reply that Eiji couldn't make out at all, and then Tokio-oba stepped forward and went to her father.
Eiji thought it was nothing short of amazing, the way Kojuro-san's expression changed when he looked at Tokio-oba; gone were the grave eyes and serious mouth, replaced by a warmth that made Kojuro-san look even more like Eiji's ideal grandfather.
"Hello Papa," Tokio-oba said, kissing her father's forehead.
"Hello Tokioko," Kojuro-san said, voice affectionate.
Morinusuke showed him and Hajime-oji to their seats while Tokio-oba talked to her father, and just as Eiji was wondering where Tokio-oba's mom was, a small, very well-dressed woman appeared in the doorway with a tray in hand and huge smile on her face.
Eiji's jaw dropped—it was like looking at an older Tokio-oba! Her hair was shorter, in a bob favored by a lot of Japanese mothers and housewives (and more than a few of the mothers of his classmates), and her nails were well-manicured, and her clothing was more matronly, but other than that…there stood Tokio-oba.
"Hello everyone!" she cheerfully greeted. "It's so nice to see you again, Hajime-san. How have you been?"
"Just fine, Katsuko-san," Hajime-oji said immediately, and he actually sounded pleasant—not fake-pleasant the way he sometimes did right before he really whacked Eiji good for something or another, but real-pleasant, like he meant it. "You?"
"Absolutely wonderful," Katsuko-san replied. Her smile widened, something Eiji hadn't thought possible. "And I'm even better now that you've arrived."
Hajime-oji returned her smile with (a genuine!) one of his own.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and when Eiji looked around to see who it was, found Tokio-oba at his side. She winked at him and nudged him forward with a murmured,
"Why don't you introduce yourself to Mama, Eiji?"
"Uh…sure," he replied, and hesitantly made his way towards Katsuko-san, who had set the tray down and was passing out cups of steaming tea. At his approach, she paused.
"Uh…hi," Eiji said uncertainly. "I'm Mishima Eiji."
He bowed very low, and then paused mid-rise when a hand suddenly touched his shoulder. He looked up to find Katsuko-san smiling at him.
"No need to be so formal, Eiji-chan," she said cheerfully.
Eiji was barely able to keep from wrinkling his nose—Eiji-chan?
"Mama," Morinusuke said, frowning. "Eiji-kun's not a baby—he's ten, you know."
"Oh, my mistake," Katsuko-san returned, looking sheepish. "My apologies, Eiji-kun."
"'S okay," Eiji decided to say, unable to stay offended at someone who reminded him so much of one of his two favorite people in the world.
"I'm Katsuko, Tokio and Morinusuke's mother, but you already knew that." she said.
Eiji wasn't sure what the proper response to that was, so he nodded.
"Yes ma'am."
"Oh no—you call me Grandmother, young man," Katsuko-san said fondly, and that was about the moment Hajime-oji choked, audibly, on his tea.
Eiji was the only one who noticed the evilly amused look on Kojuro-san's face; Tokio-oba and Katsuko-san were fussing over the still-choking Hajime-oji, and Morinusuke was doubled over and laughing silently, shoulders shaking.
Dinner wasn't eventful, unless one counted the snarky barbs and evil eyes Hajime-oji and Kojuro-san threw at each other. Eiji didn't pay too much attention to all that—Katsuko-san's cooking was much more interesting. He didn't even feel at all bad about preferring it to Tokio-oba's cooking, and he decided that he was totally fine with calling her "Grandmother" if it meant he'd get to come back for more food in the near future. He said as much to Katsuko-san, who laughed and ruffled his hair gently and said,
"I'd love to have you again, Eiji-kun, it'd be my pleasure."
They retired to the living room after dinner, and Katsuko-san provided cookies and green tea, then brought out a photo album (or ten) to show Hajime-oji. Eiji had a load of fun seeing pictures of Tokio-oba as a little girl. She was always smiling and always cute and girly—in other words, she hadn't really changed much.
He didn't understand why Tokio-oba looked so embarrassed, though.
He also enjoyed seeing photos of Morinusuke and Sada, who he had yet to meet. He'd spoken with her on the phone a few times, and had decided he liked her. Hajime-oji said she was a total freak, but Eiji supposed that those artist types were supposed to be a little freaky, or else they wouldn't be artist types.
Plus she called him "E-man," which was goofy and dumb, but he liked it; he'd never had a nickname before.
But when Morinusuke nudged him and subtly pointed out the PlayStation 3 hooked up to the TV in the living room, Eiji lost interest in the photos.
"Yo, Sis," Morinusuke asked, sending Eiji a wink. "It all right if Eiji plays a game with me? On the PS3?"
"Knock yourself out," Hajime-oji said; he was clearly enjoying looking through the photos, nearly as much as Tokio-oba wasn't.
That was all the encouragement they needed: the two immediately set themselves up in front of the TV, controllers in hand, to play a round of Virtua Fighter 5, Eiji with a neat stack of cookies on a napkin beside him. Kojuro-san quit his intent perusal of Katsuko-san, Tokio-oba and Hajime-oji to watch Eiji and Morinusuke play, which surprised the boy.
"You like these kinda things, Kojuro-san?" he asked.
"No," Kojuro-san replied. "I think they're a terrible waste of time. But I can't deny that the detail on some of these games is impressive," he admitted, and Eiji grinned.
"For real," the boy agreed.
It quickly became apparent to Eiji that Morinusuke hadn't racked up a lot of time with this particular game. Eiji had been lucky enough to become friendly with a boy in his class—friendly enough that he'd been over to the boy's house several times, and played with him on his PS3. So Eiji was familiar with the game system, and knew enough about this particular game to figure out the best method for winning a match with the character of his choice.
He felt redeemed when he wiped the floor with Morinusuke—even Kojuro-san was impressed.
"I believe the term 'sudden death' applies here," the old man observed, one eyebrow raised in surprise.
"I ain't done yet," Morinusuke said stubbornly. "Let's go, kiddo."
"Sure," Eiji returned with a shrug.
So they played again, with similar results in less time. And then again and again and again, with Eiji beating Morinusuke faster and faster each time.
The allure of pwning Morinusuke's butt wore off soon enough, and after the fifteenth beat down, Eiji set his controller down, rose and stretched and said,
"Yeah, I'm done, Morinusuke."
The young man's jaw dropped.
"What?" he asked, incredulous. "No way! Come on, man, one more game."
"Naw, I'm gettin' kinda tired of it," Eiji said diplomatically.
"Aw come on!" Morinusuke replied, frowning. "One more! I'll totally beat you this time, I know it!"
"I don't think so," Eiji said. "I think I'm just gonna get some more cookies."
"You should quit now, Morinusuke," Kojuro-san dryly advised. "Quite frankly, the boy's showing you a mercy in not continuing."
"I'll totally beat him this time!"
"I highly doubt that," was his father's ruthlessly honest opinion, and Eiji winced.
Morinusuke, on the other hand, wasn't fazed in the slightest:
"Geez Papa, way to show your confidence in your son," he muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Morinusuke, Eiji-kun has won fifteen of fifteen matches. Winning one game out of sixteen is not a very impressive ratio."
"But I'd still win one," Morinusuke pointed out, and Kojuro-san sighed and shook his head.
"Never mind," he muttered. "I forgot that logic has no place in this household."
Eiji, in the meantime, had slipped back over to where Katsuko-san, Tokio-oba and Hajime-oji were sitting. The photo albums had long since been set aside, and Katsuko-san was currently telling Hajime-oji a story—and from the look on Tokio-oba's face, it was not only a story about her, but also a story concerning one of her less-than-stellar moments.
Hajime-oji, being Hajime-oji, was absolutely loving it, of course.
"…was so serious about it, too!" Katsuko-san was saying, laughing. "We thought it was so cute—I have a video of her doing it somewhere—"
"No you don't!" Tokio-oba blurted, eyes wide and horrified.
"What video?" Eiji asked, plopping down next to Tokio-oba, who groaned and hung her head.
"A video of Tokio calling birds," Katsuko-san said cheerfully.
Eiji's brow wrinkled.
"Tokio-oba used to call birds?" he asked, and Tokio-oba groaned louder.
"Well, not exactly," Katsuko-san said with a chuckle. "You see, when Tokio was a little girl—I'd say around three or so—"
"Oh gods, not again," Tokio-oba moaned, shoulders hunching.
"—she used to try to call birds. Actually, she used to try to call eagles. She had something of a fixation with eagles, I don't know why. Anyway, any time she'd see a bird in the sky, she'd say, "Eagle!" and then she'd let out a shriek. The first time she did it, she scared me half to death—I thought she was being murdered! But when I asked her what she was doing, she said she was calling her eagle friend."
Eiji bit his lips to keep from laughing—oh man. No wonder Tokio-oba looked so miserable: Hajime-oji was never going to let her live that down.
"Oh," he said finally, when he was sure he wouldn't laugh. "I see."
"Traitor," Tokio-oba huffed under her breath.
"He just knows a good story when he hears one," Hajime-oji said, grinning that grin of his that made other people piss themselves.
"Oi!"
The group looked over at Morinusuke, and found him eyeing them with displeasure. Or rather, a specific one of them:
"Eiji. Come on, man."
"Oh he doesn't want to," Katsuko-san said, waving her hand. "And really, Morinusuke, I believe you've played enough."
"Nuh-uh—not 'til I beat him."
Hajime-oji raised an eyebrow.
"You got owned by a ten-year-old?" he asked wryly.
"Pwned," Eiji corrected, and Hajime-oji whistled, then reached over and ruffled his hair.
"Damn, Morinusuke," he said, amused. "That's sad."
"Fifteen times," Eiji said, not quite able to keep from gloating, not when Hajime-oji looked so impressed.
"Ooo," Tokio-oba said, wincing sympathetically. "That's a pain that's gonna linger."
"Heard that," Hajime-oji murmured, sending Eiji an amused grin that the boy returned ten-fold.
"Yeah yeah yeah," Morinusuke said shortly, waving the commentary off. "Whatever—let's go, kid. You owe me a rematch."
"So he can annihilate you for the sixteenth time?" Hajime-oji asked dryly, eyebrow twitching upwards again.
"I'll win this time," Morinusuke said confidently. "Come on Eiji, one more time."
"That's what you said last time," Eiji said, wanting to avoid playing again against Morinusuke because he was pretty sure he'd just win again, and at this point, it wasn't really fun anymore. "And the time before that and the time before that and the time before that—"
"But I know I will this time!"
"You said that last time too," Eiji replied. "And the time before that, and the time before that and the time before that—"
"I mean it this time, though!"
"Which is the same thing you said last time, and the time before that and the time before that and the time before that—"
"I'm detecting a pattern here," Hajime-oji said to Tokio-oba quietly, leaning over.
"Well, that is what they pay you for," she replied.
Morinusuke finally decided he'd defended his position more than adequately:
"Get back over here you little cheat—I want a rematch!"
Eiji snorted.
"Feh—you must be tired of living." he said, complete with the sneer he'd learned to mimic from Hajime-oji; he hadn't wanted to do this, but them was fightin' words right there.
Tokio-oba promptly burst out laughing.
"'You must be tired of living'?" she repeated, still laughing. "Eiji, where in the world did you hear that?"
"From Hajime-oji," Eiji replied, wondering what was so funny. "He says it all the time."
"Since when?" Tokio-oba asked, dabbing at her eyes.
"Since always."
"I've never heard him say that."
"Well, I guess you never got him cranky enough—he's always sayin' it to Okita-san an' them. An' me, sometimes. Mostly when we're doin' my language drills."
Tokio-oba looked over at Hajime-oji, who returned her gaze looking utterly unconcerned.
"Yes?" he drawled.
"'You must be tired of living'?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.
"When idiots persist in pissing me off, that's the only conclusion I can come to," Hajime-oji replied placidly.
Tokio-oba looked like she was going to start laughing again.
"You are not well, you know that?" she asked.
He shrugged, and she started laughing, and Eiji cocked his head and decided that maybe, just maybe, he'd figured it out.
It wasn't adults in general who were weird, it was just those two.
XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX
It was with incredible, excruciating relief that Saitou threw himself down on his bed that night upon arriving home.
The evening had not quite been the Apocalypse that he'd been expecting, but it hadn't been a child's bedtime fairy tale, either.
Especially not the part where he and Kojuro had spent "quality time" together.
That had been Katsuko's inspired idea, and Saitou liked the woman plenty, but he was starting to think she was at least half as screwy as his old man. Tokio had looked extremely nervous at her mother's suggestion that Kojuro and Saitou have a sit out in the backyard, just the two of them, but she didn't say a word. Morinusuke had been careful to make eye contact with no one, and Eiji had just seemed confused by the sudden gloom that hung over the room at such a seemingly innocuous suggestion.
Kojuro ended it when he rose and said, looking none too happy,
"Well come on then."
What had followed was the most intense face-off of Saitou's entire life.
They walked out to the patio, and after shutting the door, Kojuro gestured for Saitou to take a seat.
"No thanks, I'm good," he'd said, wondering how many bodies the old man had buried in his backyard over the years (fine, he was paranoid, but he also knew that Kojuro was fully capable).
Kojuro shrugged and seated himself on one of the chairs.
"Fine," he replied, getting comfortable. "Stand for all I care."
"I though you were supposed to be making nice, Takagi," Saitou sardonically said.
Kojuro snorted derisively.
"'Making nice'," he muttered. "I'd sooner leap in front of a train. No, delinquent, this isn't where we make up and become the best of friends. This is where I humor my wife and we pretend we can stand each other for longer than a millisecond. It helps if you keep your mouth shut, incidentally."
"Feh," was Saitou's view on the matter.
Hostile silence lay between them for some time, and then Saitou dryly inquired,
"Not that it really makes a difference, old man, but what's your problem with me?"
"You mean aside from the fact that you're an uncouth hooligan?"
"Sticks and stones, geezer."
Kojuro sent him an ugly look.
"Don't forget that this geezer can whip your insolent hide."
"When his arthritis lets him," Saitou taunted.
Kojuro smiled unpleasantly.
"That the best you can do?" he asked. "You may be a wolf, boy, but demon beats wolf any day. Or do you need another demonstration?"
Saitou snorted but didn't reply or in any way call the elder man's bluff, and Kojuro grunted.
"So, it does think—wonders never cease," he said dryly, and Saitou glared at him.
"What's your problem?" he snapped. "I never even saw you until the night you tried to lop my balls off."
"You have no idea how much I regret not doing that when I had the chance," Kojuro matter-of-factly informed him.
"Asshole."
"Sticks and stones, dumb ass."
That was the moment Saitou decided he could have really, honestly liked Kojuro, if only the older man weren't a homicidal maniac out for his blood.
Other than that tiny, minute detail, it would've been great.
"So what? You hate my guts 'cause you think I'm a delinquent?"
"No, I know you're a delinquent—by the way, if you do an unauthorized search on my family ever again I'm going to skin you and make coin purses out of you." Kojuro eyed one very stunned Saitou out of the corner of his eye critically. "You look like you'd yield a good hundred and fifty, if I was sparing."
Saitou stared at him, eyes wide, then demanded,
"How the fuck do you know about that?!"
Kojuro sent him a flat look.
"So much for thinking you had a brain and used it on occasion," he muttered. "What does she see in that empty head?"
"Shut up asshole!" Saitou snarled. "How the fuck did you find out about that?!"
"I have my methods," Kojuro said, sounding as if that should have been obvious. "Or are you actually stupid enough to believe that I've been an officer of the MPD for nearly thirty years and never made a single contact or built up a network within the department?"
"But," Saitou protested, shocked—far too shocked to feign calm. "That's—that's classified information!"
"Indeed—as are my family's records," Kojuro shot back, voice hard.
Saitou's mouth snapped shut; to a certain extent, Kojuro was right. The only records available to the MPD without restriction were arrest records. But in addition to arrest records, Saitou had accessed personal, detailed records in the government database that only someone at Police Inspector or higher could access, and even then only with the express, written-and-signed-and-stamped-in-triplicate consent of the head of national security.
Kojuro snorted.
"You must've been born yesterday, boy," he muttered. "How do you think I've survived as long as I have? Had as successful a career as I have? You don't get ahead without a network of people you can trust, either within the government or outside of it—even as softheaded as you are, nine…I'm sorry, ten years with the MPD ought to have taught you that by now, if nothing else."
"How do you know how long I've been with the MPD?" Saitou demanded, suddenly paranoid and nervous—at all costs, Kojuro could not find out about what Saitou had been doing prior to working with the MPD. The old man was tough, no denying that, but the government was tougher…and not inclined to overlook a leak, however small.
"Your record with the MPD is fair game with the proper clearance," Kojuro informed him as if Saitou should have known that already (he did, but paranoia had a funny way of turning him into a complete and total retard at times, and this was one of them). The old man shot him a flat, unfriendly look. "And unlike some people who don't have that clearance, I do."
Saitou managed to keep from snapping back that he had a level of clearance Kojuro could only dream about; telling Tokio about his past with the government was one thing—telling Kojuro was quite another.
Plus he doubted it would improve the old man's opinion of him any. In fact, odds were good that revealing that information would just make Saitou's already impressively deep grave several hundred feet deeper, and he was a believer in the recommendation to "Stop while you're ahead."
Not that he was ahead by any stretch of the imagination, but it was still good advice and still applied.
Sort of.
…Oh whatever.
The two men eyed each other in silence for some time, quite hostile and vaguely calculating.
"So what else?" Saitou asked finally. "I'm a delinquent because I sneak into records I ought to keep out of?"
"Not simply because you have no respect for authority," Kojuro replied. "You've garnered yourself quite the mythos in Kabuki-cho for brawling and drinking."
"I'm not a drunk," Saitou immediately said.
"And a very good thing you aren't—you have enough vices already," Kojuro returned, and Saitou sent him an ugly look. "No, I'm referring to your little penchant for drinking and then starting bar brawls."
"Drink in Kabuki-cho often, do you?" Saitou asked with a sneer, a little uncomfortable now, because Kojuro was more than justified in what he was saying.
"Oh, I don't need to—eventually your exploits make the rounds of the MPD," was the dry reply. "And if even half the stories are true, you're still as much a delinquent, just not as fight-crazy."
"How'd you figure that?"
"You obviously lack control," Kojuro immediately said.
"Oh bullshit," Saitou snapped.
Kojuro didn't look impressed.
"You don't think so?" he challenged mildly.
"So I get a little touchy when I drink, so what?" Saitou threw back.
"So you act in a manner disgraceful for a man of your age," Kojuro snapped. "Knocking someone on his ass is a lousy way of settling things—and yes, idiot, I'm aware of the fact that I've started fights with you twice," he added darkly when Saitou opened his mouth to say as much.
"At least you're honest about your hypocrisy," Saitou decided. Pause. "Asshole," he added as an afterthought.
"The first time I only wanted to see if the rumors were true," Kojuro said.
"What about the second time?"
"That was completely justified," was the reply.
Saitou raised an eyebrow.
"In what universe?"
Kojuro sent him a frigidly irate look.
"You touched my little girl," he said, voice chilling.
Saitou supposed he could appreciate that outlook, even if he still didn't think he should have been attacked the way he had. Maybe the day he had a daughter, that would change.
"All right, Pot," Saitou said, deciding to leave that one alone, "so why can't Kettle knock the shit out of people with impunity?"
Kojuro let out a short, sarcastic bark of laughter.
"Who said I've escaped with impunity?" he replied with a dark smirk. "Or did you think I was popular around here for my treatment of the likes of you?" Kojuro's eyes narrowed as he considered Saitou. "Hn. Then again, taking into account the absolutely stunning mental prowess you've been demonstrating this evening—"
"Knock it off bastard," Saitou snapped, knowing he shouldn't let the old man get to him but unable to ignore the slight against him.
"No one ever said I had to be nice," Kojuro mildly pointed out. "I just can't hit you. Anything else goes."
"Tokio asked you to try to be friendly," Saitou replied through gritted teeth.
"Yes, she did," Kojuro dryly agreed, one eyebrow raised. "And by asking me to try, she allowed me the option of not being friendly."
"How does your wife stand you?" Saitou muttered irritably, though he had to grudgingly admit that the old man had a point.
"I happen to like my wife," Kojuro returned. "You, on the other hand…."
Saitou sent him a nasty look; Kojuro raised an eyebrow in challenge.
"I'd get used to me if I was you," Saitou said in a cold, quiet tone. "Because I intend to stick around. You can't scare me the way you scared off all those other little boys, old man."
Kojuro watched him with a placid expression on his face.
"It's 'I were'," he said finally, and Saitou was so thrown off he stared at the old man in open confusion.
"What?" he asked finally.
"It's 'I were' not 'I was'," Kojuro said blandly, going back to considering his backyard in the dark. "Your threats might be more effective if you spoke properly."
Saitou bristled and would have pounced on the man and strangled him if Eiji hadn't opened the door at that moment and said,
"Oi, Hajime-oji, Tokio-oba says we oughta get goin'."
"Fine," Saitou said tautly. "I was getting tired of this anyway."
In truth, he wanted to both shred Kojuro into itty bitty little pieces that no one would ever be able to find, and tear out his own hair and scream. This man was maddening, infuriating (how else did you describe someone who debated the semantics of the word "try" with you?), and made Saitou want to kill something—preferably him. He'd never been so frustrated in his life, not even when dealing with Okita at his most irritating. Always before he'd been able to find some way of winning, but by the gods—he didn't see how he could win against Kojuro.
It was most likely that sense of frustration that made him say, before going back inside with Eiji,
"I was serious—I'm not going anywhere."
"Hn," was Kojuro's response, and he didn't look over at him. "We'll certainly see how well you keep that vow, won't we?"
Son of a bitch didn't even let him have the last word.
They'd said their good-byes and walked back to the train station with Eiji between them, cheerfully recounting each one of his sixteen wins against Morinusuke blow-by-blow. Tokio had politely listened and encouraged him; Saitou had only been half-listening, still pissed off and irritated by his stand-off with Kojuro, troubled by the vague feeling that somehow or another, he'd come out the loser in that encounter.
Now that he was home, he felt vaguely better, if only because the fact that he was home meant this heinous evening was over with and he'd survived.
Perhaps not with all his pride intact, but he'd survived.
"Tired?" Tokio asked, entering the room, in the process of taking off her earrings.
"Yes," he said shortly, closing his eyes, head pillowed on his arms.
"So change and go to bed—you'll wrinkle your suit."
"Let the damn thing get wrinkled," he muttered, "not like I give a shit."
"Obviously," she said archly. Pause. "I suppose things didn't exactly go well with Papa?"
"Oh no, that went just dandy," he sarcastically said. "In fact, I think he's really looking forward to eating my liver, now."
She sighed and plopped down on the bed next to him.
"Would it make you feel better if I told you he won't hate you forever?" she asked, laying her head on his chest.
"Not particularly, since that won't happen until he drops dead, or I do, which ever comes first."
She sighed again.
"Okay, what if I told you I was really happy with you for not letting Papa goad you into a fight?" she tried.
"I guess," he said finally, willing to try to get into a more pleasant frame of mind when she was trying so hard to help.
"Gee, thanks," she said, poking him in the side, and he smirked faintly, able to see her rolling her eyes in his head.
"I do try," he replied, smirk widening when he heard her mumble uncharitable things about him under her breath as she got up.
He listened to her move around for a little while, not really paying attention; the familiar sounds of her going about her business lulled him into a complacent mood, somewhere between aware and not.
"Oi," she called, "you asleep over there?"
"No," he murmured. "Gettin' there, though."
"You should change," she said, in that tone of voice that implied that if he didn't he'd be sorry later.
Feh—then I'll be sorry, then, he thought.
"Oh well," he said instead, knowing she wouldn't take as much affront to that as she would to "Feh—then I'll be sorry, then."
He heard her pad over to the bed, felt it dip when she got on it, but didn't move or open his eyes. He was vaguely curious, wondering what she was doing—now he sort of wished he'd been paying more attention to all the sounds she'd been making earlier—but not interested enough to open his eyes. Besides, he'd find out soon enough, so he elected to just wait and see.
That resolve was sorely tested when she straddled his hips.
I like where this is going, he decided, suddenly really happy he'd had to put up with Kojuro tonight—looked like he was about to be rewarded.
"Hajime," she murmured.
"Hn," he grunted in feigned nonchalance.
"Look at me for a second."
He lazily cracked one eye open…and was blinded by a flash of light.
"The hell?" he asked, blinking. "What'd you do, crazy?"
"Took your picture," she said cheerfully, eyes on the display of her digital camera. She smiled in satisfaction. "Perfect."
"You blinded me, woman," he muttered, taking a hand out from behind his head to rub his eyes.
"Well, you're so weird about taking pictures," she said mildly.
"So you blinded me?"
"No, I surprised you," she corrected loftily, "I hate your fake smile—you can tell it's fake."
"That's why you call it a fake smile," he replied, still trying to blink the spots away.
"Oh shut up," she said, flopping down on the bed next to him and showing him the display. "Look. You came out good."
He took the camera and looked and supposed he had—not that he could really tell with a bunch of green spots dancing around all over his line of vision.
"What's with the sudden need to blind me?" he asked, looking back at her.
She rolled her eyes at him, but didn't rise to the bait, instead shrugging, and then reaching up to play with his hair.
"Just wanted a picture of you, you cranky old man," she replied with a smirk no doubt modeled after his. "So I can show you off when people ask."
Her answer—that "cranky old man" bit aside—pleased him immensely.
"Oh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do people ask about me often?"
"Not really, but I could always show you off anyway," she said, and he chuckled and slid an arm around her.
"All right, I approve the blinding," he said, and she let out a snort of laughter and hugged him.
"Jerk," she murmured affectionately.
"Mm—I love it when you talk dirty."
She sent him one of those looks she kept in reserve especially for moments like this—this one was the "You're-not-nearly-as-funny-as-you-think-you-are-ahou" one—then let out a small noise of surprise and sat up.
"I forgot, I've got something for you," she said, hopping off the bed.
"Does it involve you being naked at all?"
"No, Pervert."
He sighed and stacked his arms behind his head again, still disappointed despite having been expecting that answer.
She dug through her purse, fished out her wallet, dug through that and then found whatever it was she'd been looking for, apparently, because she shut her wallet, dropped it back into her purse and flounced back to the bed. To his pleasant surprise, she straddled his hips again—he could totally get used to that.
"This is for you, to put in your wallet, so that when people ask you about your fantastic, awesome girlfriend, you can show them." she primly instructed, making him grin.
She presented him with the photograph, and he accepted it and took one look at it and laughed.
She was wearing the hooker boots with what appeared to be the original costume, and if it was, she hadn't been kidding when she'd said wearing it would get her arrested for indecent exposure: the skirt was barely there, and could barely be called a skirt, really. The top was just as nonexistent, covering only what was strictly necessary with as little material as possible, and if he hadn't already known from…ahem, personal…experience, he'd have been surprised by how toned she was; she had the body of someone who'd been training diligently in a martial art of some kind for years, and even now, more than a year after she'd stopped going, there wasn't much of a difference (he suspected she found time to practice, somehow).
Her hair was darker and longer in the photo, which made him wonder if it was actually hers or a wig, and he couldn't tell for sure, because she was wearing a lot of makeup, but she looked a lot younger in it than she did now. She was also striking a rather risqué pose (Damn Chiisai, didn't think you had it in you, he thought in real amusement), and Saitou knew he was going to be keeping the photo to himself.
"How long ago was this?" he asked, grinning.
She smiled, shrugging.
"Oh, I guess…ten years ago, or thereabouts? Kamatari got it into his head to throw a Halloween party because he liked the idea of dressing up, and we picked out each other's costumes."
"What did he go as?" Saitou asked, already grinning, knowing he was going to enjoy it.
And his Chiisai did not disappoint:
"James Bond," she said with a mischievous grin.
"You had him in a tuxedo?" Saitou asked, laughing. "He must've been pissed!"
"He hated me the whole night," she agreed, looking pleased with herself. "Especially since I kept sending girls over his way the whole night, telling them he was available and wasn't he just dashing in his tux?"
"You're evil." he said, still laughing.
"I wasn't going to just let him dress me up like a hooker and get away with it," she said mildly.
"Naturally," he said, still chuckling. He eyed the photo, then smirked up at her. "Though I think I'll have to thank him."
She rolled her eyes.
"Pervert," she muttered.
"Absolutely," he agreed, running a hand up and down her thigh, very glad that she hadn't changed out of her dress yet. "So you're how old here?"
"Six months shy of eighteen," she said.
"Jailbait, huh?" he mused. "You're lucky I didn't know you then—no way I would have left you alone."
"You were married," she archly reminded him.
"Hooker boots make a man do strange things," he matter-of-factly replied, and she laughed.
"You're a sick man, ahou," she teased, leaning over and kissing him.
He set the photo aside and dragged her down on top of him, quite enjoying having her there. And she seemed content to be there, at least for a while. Because after a few minutes, she asked,
"Hajime?"
"Hm?"
"If I asked you a serious question, would you answer honestly?"
He paused, not liking the sudden turn of the evening. He quickly went over everything he'd done in the last 24 hours, wondering if he'd done something he shouldn't have, but couldn't come up with anything.
"Yeah," he said warily; just because he couldn't remember didn't mean something hadn't happened.
"If we had met then, would you have really tried to pick me up?"
Huh. Not quite what he'd been expecting.
Then again, she was good at throwing him curve balls.
…Oh gods, he was starting to sound like Okita, that baseball-obsessed freak.
"Yeah," he said after a short, surprised pause.
"Really?" she asked, looking a little troubled by his honesty.
"Yeah."
"Would you have told me you were married?"
"Nope."
She watched him, obviously not knowing what to make of his answers. He decided to explain himself, even though part of him thought this was a dumb conversation that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, because they hadn't met when she was 17, they'd met when she was 19.
"Look, Chiisai," he began, "part of the secret to keeping me happy is not nagging me too much. Unfortunately for me, Yaso either couldn't figure that out or didn't care, so when I came home or called home, I had to listen to her bitch about all the things that needed to be done. Yeah, she didn't know what was going on and what I was doing, but still. It was never, 'Oh I'm so happy you're here'—it was more like 'Fix the leaky faucet in the kitchen that's been driving me crazy for the past three months, you lazy asshole,' and I don't respond very well to that particular form of persuasion. The fact that she could have asked her brothers for help with half of the shit she wanted me to do when I got home didn't really help. I mean, usually that kinda shit woulda pissed me off, but when I went home, I didn't wanna be dickin' around with faucets and stuck closet doors and light bulbs in weird places that needed changing. I had one week to be home with her, and she wanted me to do a bunch of shit that she could have done herself if she were just a little more independent, or have gotten one of her asshole brothers to do, since they thought the sun shined outta her ass. And for some reason the fact that I only got one week at home every six months, and then every three, didn't seem to get through to her.
"So absolutely, I would've tried to pick you up in a heartbeat. Because you were—and still are—hot as hell, and you wouldn't have wanted me to fix a leaky faucet, which would have been huge points in your favor, by the way."
"Did you cheat on her?" Tokio asked quietly.
"No," he said patiently, "I didn't meet you until later, remember?"
"I'm being serious."
"So am I." he replied. "The opportunity never presented itself, all right?"
She looked dubious, and he sighed.
"Look, Tokio, it's really easy to keep me happy. Just keep doing what you've been doing, and you'll never be able to get rid of me."
She eyed him.
"Yeah?" she asked finally.
"Yeah."
"Hm," she decided on after a few moments of eyeing him.
"Don't tell me I'm in trouble for being honest," he said incredulously.
"You aren't," she assured. "One more question, okay?"
"Shoot."
"Did you love her?"
…This night just got more and more interesting, honestly.
"Okay babe, go with me on this one…I don't think I would've married her if I hated her guts."
"That doesn't answer the question," she pointed out.
"Sure it does," he said, and he wasn't being deliberately obtuse because when it came to things like marriage, he didn't believe in shit like "the middle ground."
He was an extremist like that.
And, you know, in other ways too.
"You don't have to love someone to marry them," she said.
He raised one eyebrow in disbelief.
"Okay, where are you getting your definition from?" he asked.
"I'm serious, Hajime."
"So am I. Who the hell told you that? 'Cause they have some seriously fucked up priorities. I mean…fuck, I'm cynical, but not that cynical."
She smiled faintly.
"So you loved her?"
"Yes, woman," he said impatiently.
"Did she know that?"
"Well she ought to have," he muttered. "Not like I hid it or anything."
Her smile widened.
"Did you ever think that maybe she wasn't as good at reading you as I am?" she asked.
"I know she wasn't, or she would've figured out that I didn't wanna get into stupid fights over the laundry with her," he said, and she stared at him.
"You guys used to fight about the laundry?" she asked after a moment.
"Sometimes," he hedged.
She sighed.
"You know, it isn't all her fault," she said, playing with his hair again.
"Are you defending my ex-wife?" he asked after a moment, not sure he'd heard correctly—in fact, he wasn't entirely sure he was really awake.
Had he fallen asleep and this was all just some tremendously insane dream he was having?
"I guess I am," she said after thinking it over.
"Why?"
She shrugged.
"I have the advantage of knowing things about you that she didn't," she replied. She sent him an amused look. "Plus, I don't think you're ready to be completely fair."
"See what you say when you've been nagged at for six years," he muttered churlishly.
"You're like a little kid," she said, nuzzling his cheek. "Except instead of remembering every good thing that ever happened to you while you were married to Yaso-san, you remember all the bad things."
"There aren't a lot of good things to remember," he said, then thought about that, surprised he'd said it.
"That's sad," she decided, smoothing his hair back.
He was inclined to agree.
"Know whose fault that is?" she asked.
"Mine?" he guessed, and she smiled and leaned her cheek against her fist.
"No," she said, an oddly fond look on her face. "At least, not completely. Because you should have told her you weren't happy sooner, and she should have done the same thing. You can't very well work things out between you if neither one of you broaches the subject, now can you?"
"No."
"Good boy." she cooed, pinching his cheek the way his aunt used to when he was a kid…wait a minute, she still did that.
"Oi."
"Hm?"
"What the hell's the point of getting marriage counseling now about something that's been over for almost eight years?"
"History repeats itself if you aren't careful," she said mysteriously.
"Tokio, you always tell me when I piss you off," he said in exasperation.
"I know," she said, "and you do the same. I just thought I'd remind you about that, that's all."
"Did you smoke some really good pot?" he asked suspiciously.
She closed her eyes and sighed, smiling in amused exasperation.
"Just say 'Yes Tokio'."
He considered her, then decided it was easier to just do what she wanted (he could always trick her into getting a drug test done if this bizarre behavior continued).
"Yes Tokio," he obediently repeated.
"Thank you," she said, opening her eyes. "Now I think we should go to sleep."
"Sleep, or sleep?"
She shook her head.
"I'm seriously starting to wonder if that's normal, Hajime."
"You like it."
"Hm…yeah," she decided, and he grinned.
"All right Chiisai, bedtime," he said, hooking a finger into her collar. "Outta the dress."
"You're a pervy old man," she informed him.
"Just say 'Yes Hajime'," he instructed, and she laughed.
"Yes Hajime."
"Now that's more like it."
A thought occurred and he grinned:
"Oi, Tokio."
"Hm?"
"If I asked real nice, would you call some of your eagle friends?"
To which her response was to grab her pillow and try to smother him with it.
Not that he minded—after all, her "eagle friends" were a shit ton more embarrassing for her than his being accused of being a pervert was for him.
XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX
Preview of Chpt 37: And Then, There Was Light…
"We're gonna die," Enishi muttered sourly, hands shoved into his pockets.
"Well," Kamatari said brightly, smoothing down the front of his chic suit, "at the very least, we'll go out looking fabulous."
Tokio, Enishi and Tomoe glared at him.
"What?" he asked, blinking.
"You're not helping," they said in flat, emphatic unison.
---
"I might as well turn in my letter of resignation," Tokio mumbled.
Saitou eyed her, one eyebrow raised.
"Well aren't you a barrel of sunshine and rainbows tonight," he dryly remarked.
---
Tokio stared at them in a manner that, she was sure, made her look catatonic.
Or, possibly, mentally deficient—she couldn't quite figure out which was correct right that moment, not with Handel's Hallelujah chorus currently playing through her head.
---
"So I guess this means no letter of resignation?" he dryly asked, and she sighed.
"You legitimately freak out over something once, and never hear the end of it," she muttered.
He laughed:
"Once? Chiisai, you need some ginkgo biloba."