A Conversation At a Crossroads

Chapter 2 - A Morning Surprise

SAITOH

Tsutomu was curled up, deeply asleep and covered with a blanket, his face tucked up against the crook of Tokio's arm. She was also asleep, though sleeping on top of the covers rather than under them. On her side, she was cradling his son, their son, a child they had raised together so many years ago, keeping him warm, keeping him safe.

While her choice in night wear could never be described as fetching - a modest, worn flannel nightgown that clashed terribly with his red, too large socks half dangling from her small feet, the sight of the them both sleeping was one of the most beautiful things his decidedly non-poetic soul had ever witnessed. While his son's expression was that of a child completely at ease, the woman who was watching over him, even in sleep, was protective.

For a moment, he was tempted to let them continue sleeping, wanting nothing more than to simply watch them sleep, but duty demanded he do otherwise.

Quietly, he entered the guest room and knelt down beside the sleeping pair. Careful not to disturb the sleeping boy, he reached out and gently brushed an errant lock of hair way from Tokio's face, exposing her face, half hidden in shadow. (Gods, she's beautiful) She was awake instantly, as he knew she would be, her initial expression of alarm, softening when her eyes met his.

Rather than removing his hand, he let it linger for a moment, savoring the contact of her skin against his. Two days. They'd had two days together. Without thinking, he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, thankfully no longer bruised and sore. The desire to kiss her was nearly overwhelming, but he forced himself not to. It wouldn't be fair to Tokio and he had always tried to be a fair man.

He motioned that he would pick Tsutomu up and she nodded, though he could see she regretted letting the boy go. He regretted it as well, but there was nothing that could be done about it. "Meet me in the kitchen," he whispered so softly that his deep voice was nearly inaudible. She nodded and while her face was a study in control, her grey eyes were stark.

When she'd come to his office to return his sidearm, he'd asked her trust him. He hoped that despite the discussion they needed to have, that trust she'd placed in him would hold out. So much depended on it. On her. Nodding, he stood up, cradling Tsutomu in his arms. The boy was getting heavier, taller, his limbs becoming lanky, whispering of inevitable adolescence. Carefully, Saitoh carried his son into the bedroom that he shared with his younger brother. Laying him down on his bed, Saitoh covered Tsutomu with a light blanket.

Softly, as he had tried to every morning for over a year, once he'd committed himself to sobriety and earning the right to raise his boys on his own, he gently ruffled the boy's hair and whispered that he loved him, then repeated the gesture with his youngest boy. He was careful and quiet enough that the boys never woke up. That had never been the point of this daily habit. It was a reminder of what he was fighting for and that he had so much to make up for.

Saitoh stood up and soundlessly left the room, carefully closing the door behind him so that his discussion with Tokio would remain private.

His walk down the hall seemed like an eternity.

TOKIO

Tokio sensed a gentle brushing motion close to her face. Immediately, her eyes popped open in alert only to be met by the gaze of the Major, who was kneeling beside the bed. His eyes were such a stunning shade of amber, seeming to literally glow in the dimly lit room. She relaxed as soon as it registered in her mind who was paying her such an early morning visit. She assumed it had to be morning by now.

She closed her eyes again, relishing and leaning into the lingering touch of his calloused fingers on her cheek, her lips curving into a soft smile. The Major was dear to her heart, more precious (if one could say that about the wolf) to her than he could ever imagine. A small sigh of contentment escaped her.

He signaled to her that he was going to take Tsutomu away from her. (No Hajime, please not yet, her gray eyes pleaded to her former husband.) She'd just found the boy (their son) and he'd just remembered who she had been to him (his mother). But dutifully she moved over a bit so the Major could uncover the boy from the opposite side of the bed and extract him from her presence. The feeling of loss was acute. What else could she do? She had no right to protest. She was not recognized as Tsutomu's mother in this era.

The careful way Hajime lifted and carried their son did not escape her. He was such a good man, such a good father, in spite of his two year-long lapse into an alcohol laden period of grief. Her eyes followed him as he left the room with Tsutomu in his arms.

"Meet me in the kitchen." It was said in less than a whisper but he knew that she could hear him. She always did.

Oh yes. Please don't remind me.

He had asked her to trust him and she would.

Yawning and stretching as she sat on the edge of the bed, Tokio knew that the time had come to have that discussion with her former husband. He alluded to it last night when they were in the living room. There was no avoiding it now and she dreaded it. He warned her, so it worried her. Nothing he'd said to her then, or now was inaccurate or overstated.

She was thankful that he chose to give her one last night of peaceful sleep before dropping some information that would most likely have her tossing and turning, unable to sleep for days.

She might as well be comfortable for this talk he was going to have with her, so she decided to slip on the well-worn pair of jeans that Captain Wantanabe had the consideration and foresight to include in the clothing she'd brought over from the attorney's residence. A soft blue, mock turtle neck sweater completed her outfit. It was still February and although the Major's house was reasonably warm, wearing that particular sweater gave her a sense of security, the soft material feeling akin to a cocoon. She didn't bother to change her footwear. Somehow, wearing his wool socks, even though too big for her feet, made her feel closer to him and reminded her of his promises to help her and to keep her safe. They still needed to figure out who had put the hit on her, or she wouldn't be around long enough to spend time with his (their) boys, assuming he would let her help him.

She brushed her hair, putting it into a pony tail, before clicking the door open and heading down the hallway to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee laced the air.

He was already seated at the table where the four of them shared last night's evening meal as any family would. Had that only been last night? Time was not being kind to her these days, jumping from the present to the past seamlessly.

Should she sit across from him and face him? Should she sit next to him so she could stare straight ahead and not look at him? No. He deserved her full attention. But she felt the need to be beside him. She could turn to face him, if needed, even if she sat beside him.

She didn't know how much more time she had to spend with the Major and the boys. Captain Watanabe was a very efficient person. Tokio was sure that her home's security system would be upgraded quickly, allowing her to return to her own place very soon. But did she want to? What woman in her right mind would willingly want to abandon her children and husband even though that relationship was forged two hundred years ago and was no longer recognized at this time and place.

SAITOH

Saitoh had almost finished his first cigarette of the morning. The irony of smoking inside on a day that the whole city was on high alert due to severe air pollution was not lost on him and was a quiet reminder of his addiction-prone personality.

Like so many young men serving in the army, he'd picked up smoking as a means of coping with the stress of being in a constant state of war. He took one last drag and held it for a moment, before exhaling the smoke slowly through his nostrils as he crushed the smoldering cigarette butt in an ashtray as he heard Tokio coming down the hallway.

She'd taken longer than expected to meet him, as requested, in the kitchen. When she appeared from around the corner, neatly dressed in blue, her long hair pulled back, her delay made sense. In their very separate ways, they'd prepared as best they were able for a conversation that neither of them wanted to have or were ready for.

While his parents, like him, had been anything but perfect, one of the many good things they'd drilled into his thick skull from a very young age was that when a lady entered a room, you stood up. He did so, automatically and motioned that she sit down at the table, where they'd shared a meal as a family the night before. Going to the coffee maker to pour her a cup of fresh coffee, Saitoh side eyed the woman as she sat down at the table, noting that she'd selected to sit beside him. From a strategic perspective this seemed good. Had she sat across from him as if preparing to cross examine someone dumb enough to get on her radar, that would have shown that she was putting her emotional defenses up.

(Not that I'd blame her if she did…)

Still, she was doing her duty as he was doing his.

Saitoh handed Tokio the steaming cup of coffee and then sat down beside her.

"Tsutomu," he said, "he remembers who are you." It wasn't stated as a question, but a fact. "Who you…who we used to be." His kid was smart and as wary as a three-legged, blind cat in a room full of mousetraps and would have never placed himself in such a vulnerable position unless it was with a member of his family, someone he trusted.

Saitoh took a sip of the coffee. It was decent, hotter than hell and the darkest roast he could find. 10 hours on a slow burn until it resembled asphalt paving would have made it better, but at 06:00 hours, your options were usually limited.

"How's the boy taking it?"