SAITOH

It had been stated numerous times in the many parenting books that he had read, most of which were written by blithering ass-hats who Saitoh strongly suspected lacked the mental acuity to successfully rear a cockroach to maturity, to say nothing of a small human being, that children were a joy, a delight and a profound blessing.

(What they also uniformly failed to mention is that they can be a royal pain in the ass as well…)

"Daddy said he likes you." Saitoh raised an eyebrow, not at Tokio, since she clearly was aware of his objective as far as her long-term familial viability stood, making out this morning like two horny adolescents being but one example, but at his younger son.

(The boy is too open) His youngest son had always been. Unlike Tsutomu, who was more akin to him in personality and caution, Tsuyoshi was every bit his mother, with the exception of his amber eyes. Like Yaso, his youngest son was sociable, friendly and very extroverted, going out of his way to try and create bonds with everything and nearly everyone. He was naturally kind, instinctively caring, just like his mother had been.

(I need to curtail these impulses. Correct this flaw in his personality before it becomes even more of a liability than it already is). Saitoh's face was unreadable as he watched and listened with approval as Tsutomu chided his younger blabbermouth of a brother and Tokio adroitly redirected the little chatterbox away from things said during bath time, focusing instead on the color selection of pajamas.

(I wonder if she learned this skill in court?) Saitoh suspected so, she was, after all a very good lawyer and lawyers (the good ones, at least) were by nature, masters of communication, but wondered at how someone who had a professional history of being able to savage someone on the witness stand with the finesse of a finely honed blade, could also proficiently redirect in a manner that was not only sincere, as children were better than any truth serums on the market when it came to detecting bullshit, but also extraordinarily effective.

This he approved of. Hell, other than her proclivity for being dangerously idealistic and not carrying enough high caliber fire power 24/7, he couldn't think of anything he didn't approve of when it came to the lawyer. The fact that she WAS a lawyer and still managed to make his hear skip a beat without warning testified to just how extraordinary Tokio was. She was strong, intelligent, lethal if needs be and with support and training, she would eventually acquire the necessary skill set to have a higher than average chance of reaching retirement age in the hot mess that was New Meiji.

(But will my son?)

The faintest hint of worry and perhaps sadness passed over his narrow face as Tsuyoshi cheerfully bade Tokio good-night. While Tsutomu inherently was more suited to life in this city, and the larger world that was no better, his youngest was far too much like his mother had been, a bright sun that refused to hide behind storm clouds. Yaso's death had nearly driven him mad with grief. The loss of one of his children would be, Saitoh knew, a critical blow that he would never recover from.

"Good-night Takagi-san, please stay safe," Tsutomu said, his inflection warmer than normal. There was no hint, however, of a smile on the older boy's face though, only concern that he was not yet old enough to keep carefully banked, lest it threaten to expose him before those who would use it to their advantage. All predators used every weakness of an opponent to their advantage.

Always.

Saitoh blinked, suddenly torn from his somber observations, when he felt Tokio's eyes on him…or…rather his soggy knees before she looked up at him, her dark eyes sparking with humor, her mouth curved into a grin so infectious that he couldn't help but try and return something akin to a small smile and remove all traces of paternal worries and weariness. Whether he was successful or not, he couldn't say.

"Boys, it's time for bed," he said, turning his attention back to his offspring. Trying to tap down on his concern, a concern that was becoming magnified in light of his new position at work, he intentionally softened his tone to something a bit warmer than the usual dry, commanding bark. "You did well helping with dinner and finishing your homework. Thank you."

"Are you going to tell us a story, tonight?" Tsuyoshi asked brightly, hopefully. "I want to hear more about the princess!"

"Father has things to do this evening." Tsutomu said quietly, his eyes narrowing at he stared into his father's face and whatever he was able to glean from it. The boy then glanced over to where Tokio was standing and his expression became pinched, worried and sad, the warmth in the child's eyes and voice becoming haunted as he stared hard and long at the dark-haired woman. "He needs to keep Moth…" the child blinked, as if he'd been shocked, shook his head a little and then tried again, confusion now replacing the fear on his still developing features, his eyes still locked on Tokio's. "He needs to keep Takagi-san safe. Very safe."

"Tsutomu," Saitoh put his hand on his eldest son's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. "It will be all right." The look, however, that his son gave him, a mixture of hope, fear and a damning lack of trust was a sharp punch to his gut. (He heard his mother being murdered, kept his brother quiet so the same wouldn't happen to both of them. He knows damn well how utterly and completely I failed to watch over our family). There was no defense to these fears and doubts that his son held for him, no explanations about duty that would suffice a failing of such magnitude.

Uncharacteristically, Saitoh gave Tsutomu's shoulder another squeeze, one that lingered, an awkward attempt at an impossible apology. "Together, we'll do our best to all stay well and safe," he said quietly. "I'm confident that if we work as a team, all of us," Saitoh glanced over at Tokio, and hoped he wasn't being presumptuous continued, "we'll be successful in this endeavor."

"We're going to be a team?" Tsuyoshi chirped, eyes becoming so bright with excitement and hope that it nearly hurt to look at them. "Like a baseball team?" He motioned excitedly to Tokio, his childish hands mimicking the action of swinging a bat. "We all love baseball, even father!"

"Something like that, yes." Saitoh said, "We'll discuss this at a later time."

"Do we get to wear hats?" Tsuyoshi was chirping again.

"Go to bed." Saitoh put an end to the bounce-chirps. When Tsuyoshi tried to argue, he gave the small boy a look that temporarily ended the discussion, but clearly not the hope for matching hats in the irrepressible child. "Now."

Tsutomu raised a think eyebrow at his father as he took his brother (who appeared to be silently planning some sort of baseball inspired mutiny) by the arm and began leading him down the hall towards their bedrooms. Saitoh returned the gesture as he watched the boys walk down the hallway and disappear into their rooms, unaware that the wolf and his cub were near mirrors of each other and nodded slightly.

Once he heard the door to the boy's bedroom close, he slowly walked over to where Tokio was standing. She was silent and had witnessed the exchange with his boys without interruption but her eyes…those bright eyes (not the eyes of a blinding sun, but the eyes of a wise and watchful predator, one who was more than capable of defending herself and those she called her own) those eyes of hers were not silent, not by a long shot and Saitoh found himself, whether due to weariness, worry or the fact that they'd only found each other again a few days ago, unable to decipher the coded language that moved across her delicate features as if a master cryptographer had etched them personally on her visage.

(She is no fool, this woman, my wife) Saitoh didn't bother trying to fill up emptiness with banal chatter or useless, drivel. In their previous lives, so much of what he did was kept from her, so many actions left unsaid, though from time to time she was forced to clean up the mess, which usually involved catching him in her arms, half dead from infected wounds. (She neither asked for nor ever received an explanation for why I'd been away from home from so long or what had transpired) That was the way of the world so many years ago, a time when a man's silence and an alias was enough to keep his wife safe and his children whole.

(But this is not then and I am not who I once was…)

Somberly, but gently, he reached for her, pulling her close. (And neither is she…) The situation they were facing, already dire, had exponentially become more dangerous in the past 24 hours and unless they worked together, not only for their own survival for that of the two children who'd just gone to bed, Saitoh knew as surely as he knew the five batting averages for all the players of the New Meiji Tigers, that failure of the terminal variety would occur.

Whether it came for him, or her, or his boys who were still suffering the loss of their mother and abandonment of their father, it would come. The black hair on his nape bristled and the most primitive part of his brain wanted to snarl with fury at this fore knowledge and take his mate and cubs and hide them away where they'd never be found.

(Ahou – no such place exists)

"Tokio…" he began, unaccustomed to being in such a damn vulnerable position, yet determined to move past his discomfort and bring her into his confidences and plans. "I require…" he stopped and tried again. "I would ask, if you are willing for you help."

TOKIO

Tokio couldn't help but think that the Major probably raised an eyebrow when he heard his youngest blurt out that he liked her. Although she was currently facing away from him, she knew he was there. It was all she could do to keep a straight face. She could surely imagine what her former husband thought about his son revealing something so personal. The Hajime from Meiji 1 had been an extremely private person, rarely, if ever, sharing anything about his work-life or feelings with her when they were married. Of course he would share his opinions back in those days, but there is a difference between feelings and opinions. There was no reason to believe that the Hajiime from this era was any different.

From what she had witnessed this evening Tsuyoshi was spontaneous and open. So it really shouldn't be surprising that he repeated something, that in his child's mind, seemed such a happy thing. It warmed her heart that Hajime would share what he thought of her with his sons. After the very pleasant morning she and the Major had before he was called into work, she knew the child's statement to be true and then some.

Tokio knew with a sobering clarity that in this new age a slip of the tongue that revealed something so personal to the wrong person could result in death and destruction. It made her think about how quickly the truth about what she was really doing at the DOJ was discovered. It had been only a matter of a few weeks. The revelation of that sensitive information resulted in both of them nearly losing their lives yesterday.

Even Tsutomu realized his brother's gaff and tried to silence him, although unsuccessfully.

It was so sad to think that even young children had to be cautioned about what they said and to whom they said it. Instilling a level of fear in a child was sometimes necessary for the safety of the child and their family. She wished things were different, but this was one of the cruel realities of New Meiji life.

Thinking about what happened yesterday only reminded her of what an extraordinary protector, provider and secure anchor her husband had been for her during their married life. There were so many times during their exile in a frozen land that he had suffered and gone without, so she could have an extra thread bare blanket or a larger portion of food. She literally owed him her life. But he hadn't been able to protect Yaso in this era. To him it had to mean that he had failed his family. Her heart was heavy with sorrow about that; it ached for him. Duty to his country and to his family were the two most important things for him when he was her husband. Keeping the whole family safe was the most important part of his duty to their family in those days.

All she did was nod in response to the weak, weary smile he gave her when he noticed her smiling widely, staring at the soggy fabric clinging to his knees. She could tell he was tired, so she appreciated his response to her attempt at lightening the mood a bit.

Tokio wondered how her former husband could even stay on his feet after almost being blown to smithereens yesterday and then spending all last night doing paperwork, not sleeping. He always did seem to have strength and stamina without limit back in Meiji 1. She always thought that he must be able to sleep on his feet. Oh. Last night. How embarrassing for her to have a flashback from the past and tell him to leave the paperwork he was doing and come to bed. Her cheeks flamed at the memory, wishing she hadn't been able to recall that she actually said those words to him in her sleepy state of mind. Her subconscious had to be stuck in Meiji 1 last night, especially with those resurfaced memories of the loss of their first child. .

When the Major announced, "Boys, it's time for bed," turning his attention back to his offspring, Tokio raised herself from the couch to stand, her sore knee protesting the movement. But she wanted to be a small part of this bedtime routine tonight, even if it was just being a silent observer.

Tokio listened intently, watching the way the Major settled his boys in for the night. She had witnessed and been a participant in many such moments at a time that only felt a heartbeat ago, but in actuality was almost 200 years before. .She could not help but notice Tsutomu's worried expression and almost haunted voice as he spoke about his father's need to keep her safe, very safe. Her heart clenched when Tsutomu's eyes fixed on her face as he almost blurted out a word that had been so precious to her ears an era ago. Could it be that this child was having flashbacks to his life in Meiji 1 when he was... her... oldest son, not someone else's?

The way things were going in this crazy world, it would not be out of the realm of possibility for him to start having memories, too. Look what had happened to her. She'd started recovering memories, and it only began few a days ago, and did it happen fast, so fast she hadn't even had time to process most of it. She would really need to keep an eye on Tsutomu and watch for anything that might indicate that he did, indeed, have some memories bubbling up from their past as mother and son. Hajime had to notice what the boy almost said, too. This was something that they would need to talk about when they were alone.

Nothing escaped her notice: the discussion about her safety, the talk about working as a team...Tokio smiled broadly when Tsuyoshi just assumed it was going to be like a baseball team...there was no doubt about what that child liked...and the two, not one, squeezes on the shoulder that Hajime gave Tsutomu, in addition to telling him that things would be alright. (She hoped so for all their sakes, but mostly for the boys.) For Hajime to do that meant that Tsutomu needed some serious reassurance. He was old enough to understand danger. He'd protected his little brother as their mother was losing her life courtesy of a less than scumbag that held a grudge against their father. Tokio had read the reports.

The patter of feet, the closing of doors, meant that the mission of getting the boys to bed was accomplished. Being a mother, she'd always tucked them in until they got to the age where they refused her that motherly pleasure. In their culture in those days things were more formal, especially as the children aged and became familiar with the social norms of those times.

He turned to look at her in silence, expression somber. She wished she could read his mind, but of course she couldn't. So many years ago there had not been the need for idle chatter between them. They were comfortable with a companionable silence. But this was now, not then. Neither were quite the same as before, but she knew that the essence of who they had been did survive the centuries. This was something that she desperately needed to believe was true.

He stepped near her, drawing her to him gently, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She slipped her arms around his waist in response and rested the side of her face on his chest. He had to be tired. He needed to follow his boys to his own room down the hall and rest. But he was warm and she wanted to hear his heart beat.

"Tokio"

She didn't move her head when he softly said her name, but her breath did catch when she heard what he said next.

"I require…" he stopped and tried again. "I would ask, if you are willing for your help."

She knew that for him to ask for her help had to take a lot, especially when she was nearly a stranger to him in this era. This man was proud, capable and used to doing things himself when she was married to him. She knew he still was. For him to ask this of her had to be hard for him, but it meant the world to her. She would help him however she could, regardless of the era, regardless of the cost. . In the past she had kept his household in good order, raised his children In this era, once again as in the past, she owed her life to him.

Tokio nodded her head against him, "You know I will..."

She reflected on his words...'I require'...how many times did he come home in Meiji 1 and begin with those words when he needed something from her. This was different...'I would ask, if you are willing for your help'. The way he expressed it was a bit awkward, but he had opened himself to her, and she knew what he meant. Yes, her former husband had changed and it was a welcome change. It made her feel she would be sharing a part of his life, a part that was often hidden from her all those years ago.

SAITOH

"You know I will."

Saitoh closed his eyes for a moment and nodded slightly, his arms tightening around the slender woman in his arms. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of recalling earlier in the day, when they'd both first woken and had, for the first time, been able to enjoy a welcome, long delayed measure of intimacy. (Was it only this morning?) It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Memories, some comprised of this morning, some of mornings centuries past merged, blossomed and spread like blood did on a clean entry wound to the chest, expanding outward, saturating everything in crimson. Memories of her waking in his arms, her grey eyes fluttering open and like a perfectly shot arrow, always seeking out and finding his. In some of the memories she was young, a bride who still blushed as she moved against him, in others, she was a much older woman, her jet-black hair turned silver. Regardless of age, she had always been so damn pretty.

These initial memories, spreading through his mind like spilt blood, were good ones. Her laugh, echoing over the centuries was still the same. Warm. Loving - always the antithesis the violent, cruel world he existed in. Her smile too, had not changed over time, though in this reality, he was graced with it more easily than before.

(And her body) A sly smirk appeared like a spot of sun peaking out from behind a dark storm cloud. This morning, after boldly confirming what they both already knew, that they had been married and had ferociously loved each other and raised a family together, Tokio's response, while less experienced was no less passionate affirmation of his own desires. As before, she'd fit him so well, as if they'd been fashioned and forged from the same bar of steel. After three years of celibacy and hundreds of years apart, he'd desperately wanted to have her, to listen to her cry out in pleasure as he lost himself inside her, just as he had so many times before in that previous life. A damn phone call had likely prevented that from happening.

(Thank the Gods for that damn phone call…)

The smirk faded – became a painful snarl.

The memories this time were of the nature of exit wounds. Messy. Violent. Devastating. Exit wounds always left more trauma than entry wounds.

Always.

Now the memories in his mind were filled with splinters of bone and brain and were sharp, sharper than the coppery taste of blood. Tokio crying out as she miscarried their firstborn, her emaciated frame shaking from the shock and loss of their child. The night before, which now, seemed far more immediate than the pleasures of this morning, she'd nearly died. Nearly died because he'd been too fucking stupid to keep her safe. He could see her upturned, bloody face, cheeks stained with soot, her mouth open, lips going blue, heart faltering…

Something awful broke inside him, memories that he'd struggled for three years to keep contained, exit wounds that had had so nearly killed him exploded out like shrapnel. (I failed to protect her, just like….)

(Just like….)

The memories came, unstoppable, horrifying in their clarity.

He was running, sprinting through his home. Okita was calling his name, Yaso's name, calling out for his children, children that Okita loved as if they were his own. Furniture was overthrown, signs of a break-in, of a struggle present. The back door was ajar. He nearly ripped it off its hinges as he ran out into the back yard.

Starlight. A swing set. Spring flowers. A discarded toy sword, one that Okita had given Tsutomu for his birthday was lying in the grass that needed mowing.

Blood.
Blood.
Blood.

Gods…

She'd led them away from the house, away from their children. He saw her legs first, sticking out from behind the garage, both bent at unnatural angles. One foot still had a sock on it. The other was bare, the toes bloody, hiding the toe polish she was fond of.

In his memory, Saitoh stumbled then as he rounded the corner. He kept his tools there. There were two kites he had promised to make for the boys, but work kept getting in the way of him being able to finish them.

There was blood.

So.
Much.
Blood

(Yaso)

Falling on his knees, his body no longer to stay up and process what he was seeing, Saitoh slipped and fell on the slippery blood-soaked lawn. Unable to walk, speak, do anything but stare in horror, he crawled over to where his wife was lying. Dying. A hideously analytical part of his mind registered that her torn underwear was close by and that the hem of her butter yellow dress was up around her waist where it shouldn't be.

Clumsy from shock, ignoring the rules and procedures of maintaining evidence and the scene of a crime, he reached for his wife and pulled her against him. She was so little. So small. Her head fell back, her bruised, unseeing brown eyes unfixed, the blood on her cheeks cut through by a path of tears. He heard her take a small breath. Shudder once and then become absolutely still. It was only after the paramedics had taken the body away that he realized that he'd done nothing, not even CPR to try and save her because he'd known it was too late. He'd been too late.

So broken.

Unable to keep silent, Saitoh groaned. It was a short, mean sound, the type a man makes when he's in terrible pain but can't afford to scream. The embrace, initially tender, became ferocious as he yanked her up against him, pulling her off the ground, her sock clad little feet dangling. One hand, no longer steady reached up, split knuckles grazing the vertebrae of her fragile neck before finding purchase in her soft, black hair. He could smell her, the hint of cherry blossoms gone, but sweet nevertheless. He inhaled. Her face was tucked against the crook of his shoulder. He wanted to kiss her. Devour her. Love her. Keep her safe.

She hugged him back, tightly, trying to comfort as she always had. Trying to catch him when he fell. And for a small space of time, the time it took Saitoh to acknowledge how badly he had failed and how high the possibility was that unless he was dreadfully careful, he'd fail again, he let her.

TOKIO

She could feel the Major nod in response to what she said as his arms slipped from her shoulders to rest on her lower back, giving her the most intense embrace that she could ever remember receiving both in this life and in the past they shared so many years ago. She wished she could read his mind.

He'd taken the brunt of the physical trauma yesterday during the explosion in order to keep her safe. He didn't sleep all night last night. Then there was that press conference today. What a mess the New Meiji police force found themselves in after that farce of a raid that was done solely for the news cameras but resulted in the death of many. Now he was in charge of the department. She didn't even want to think about all the lawsuits that would be filed. She didn't even want to think about how busy the DOJ would be because it would give her another headache to do so.

How could one person survive all of that? His strength, stamina, and will to move forward always amazed her when they were married. Yes, he was strong, but he was also human and at some point even her wolf had to have a limit to how much he could take. She wondered how close to that limit he was.

The past 24 hrs had been one of the most stressful, intense times of her life, almost if not, as stressful as what both of them had experienced in Tonami. Both of their lives had been at serious risk back then. She felt that it was only by divine intervention that both of them survived their experiences in Tonami and in the parking garage yesterday. She vaguely remembered slipping back in time yesterday and having what she could term as a 'near death' experience now that she thought about it.

Tonami, the Sunshine Cafe incident, and the attack in the DOJ garage were the only traumas they'd shared. She knew there was another trauma in his life and it was infinitely more terrorizing and devastating than anything the two of them had in common. It was the loss of Yaso through the most violent, vile attack that could be perpetrated on a another person, especially a woman.

Tokio knew all the details of what Hajime had found that day. She had access to the files and she'd read them, even though the details caused her to feel sick to her stomach. Her heart bled for him, for her precious, wonderful husband who prided himself on being able to complete his duty to his country and his family. But he hadn't been able to protect Yaso. The fact that he'd turned to alcohol to escape himself and entrusted his (their) precious children to his sister for a time told her all she needed to know about how Yaso's murder affected him. The man had to be in unspeakable agony.

As he continued to cling to her, the intensity of his embrace increased, even lifting her from the floor at one point.

He was gripping her like his life depended on it. In return she tightened her hold on him, continuing to press her face to his chest. She was so thankful that she'd found him, that she'd remembered who he was. She told him she would help him and she would even if it meant forfeiting her life for his (our) boys or for him.

The sound that welled from his chest broke her. The stress of what happened over the past 24 hours caught up to her and flowed out when his hand rested on the back of her head and she felt his fingers running through her hair.

There was no way to hold back. She couldn't help it. Even though she scrunched her eye lids together to keep them at bay traitorous tears started dripping down her cheeks and onto his shirt. She loved him then. She knew she loved him now. It killed her to see him like this. It was the first time ever.

SAITOH

(Moron)

Unwilling to release his hold on the woman in his arms, who was now weeping, no thanks to his completely and utter lack of emotional mastery, Saitoh once again pondered how many times his bitchy elder sister must have dropped him on his head as a child.

(Far too many)

He swallowed. Swallowed again. God, his throat was burning, aching for a drink. Saitoh knew he was in some seriously deep shit tonight, in more danger of breaking his promise to his children and Yaso to stay sober than he had been since Okita disappeared. Now, even after a year's sobriety and care, he felt that he was almost at a point where chugging down the bottle of isopropyl alcohol in the medicine cabinet and embracing death or blindness was a strategically sound move.

(Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference)

While Saitoh had grumpily learned to live with the strategical challenges of recovery (sobriety after all, was a battle that took place one day at a time rather than via a complex, multi-layered war plan that spanned years) the part that was hardest for him was the fact that staying sober wasn't something that you did by yourself. For a proud man, a man who had always been able to do whatever he damn well wanted to on his own, having to learn to rely and trust people – even the handful of people he didn't despise, was a tall order for a lone wolf.

He swallowed, grimacing. His throat burned for something. Anything. He tried to recite the AA prayer in his mind again, but it was so difficult. The waves of stress, exhaustion and pain that had started to churn at the Sunshine Café were now a tsunami and he was in danger of drowning. Saitoh felt Tokio shudder against him, her hot tears soaking into his shirt. He wasn't the only one at a breaking point.

(So is she)

That brought him up short, and helped the burning in his throat lessen, just enough to make it manageable again, at least for this moment.

"Yare, yare…" he swallowed again. Normally, when he wasn't being an asshole, which he admitted without a trace of regret, was most of the time, his voice was a deep raspy tone. Now it was a gravelly croak. He bent his head and pressed his lips to the top of Tokio's head. "What a mess we're in." She might have nodded or perhaps it was a sniffle. Clearly, he was out of practice when it came to this sort of thing. He reached up and smoothed her hair with his hand, planting another kiss on her forehead for good measure.

"What a goddamn mess."

He lessened his grip on the woman, but was unwilling to let her go. (Like I could) Despite being a slender woman, she had strong arms and gave as good as she got. He liked that. He liked her.

A sly voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like a cackling Watanabe suggested that an incorrect verb that started with "L" was being used.

Saitoh rolled his eyes and mentally gave the foul mouthed, metallic sounding angel on his shoulder the bird. Nobly, he resisted the urge to snort but even he wasn't dumb enough to do that when a woman was crying. Especially not this one.

"L" words of a positive variety were generally not the Major's forte. Lethal, Lying, lawsuits, lechery, logistics, legality, lacerations, law-breakers – these were words that were more his speed. While he didn't like them, he was fluent in how to deal with them.

His fluency when it came to other words of the "L" variety, especially outside of the context of work and duty, was sadly lacking and had seriously deteriorated since he'd lost Yaso and nearly everyone else who mattered to him.

"Tokio," Saitoh butted her head gently with his nose, forcing her to look up at him. There were tears streaking her cheeks and, to keep from making a sound, she had bit down on her lower lip, leaving the tender skin bruised and tender.

Saitoh frowned and used a thumb to try and erase the evidence of her weeping from her face. In a investigative case, meddling with evidence was a crime. In this case, not meddling with it was even worse. His calloused thumb, wet from wiping her tears away, tried to smooth away the red mark on her mouth from where she'd bit down to keep from crying out. It didn't work. He tried again, more gently this time. His frown deepened.

That wouldn't do.

He was planning on giving her shit for being weepy, but her face, or rather the beauty of it got in the way.

"Dammit to hell and back, Tokio, what am I going to do with you?"

He bent down, twisting his wrist as he did so, so that his hand gently cupped her jaw and tilted her face up even more so that their mouths could meet properly, the gruffness of his words belying the care he took in kissing her.

"Hajime," Saitoh cracked open an eye mid-kiss (which took coordination) and glared at her. "I'm so…"

"Don't," Saitoh warned (or tried to since his mouth was still on hers) "Don't you dare apologize."

"But I…"

"What part of don't are you failing to understand?" He smirked, and with a growl and with a little bite, Saitoh endeavored to make further attempts at apologizing impossible as he picked her up and marched over to the couch, cussing at her in-between kisses.

She might have laughed at a profoundly profane word choice he came up with when he accidentally stepped on a Lego © that was hiding near the edge of the couch. He wasn't sure. Didn't care. (Though he did make a mental note to let the boys have it for not picking up their toys properly. Those damn things hurt to step on!)

Once his foot was Lego © free and he'd managed to get on the couch (there was a ridiculous embroidered duck blanket hanging off the edge) he pulled Tokio down on him and went to work on ensuring that apologies, at least for the rest of the evening, would not be occurring.

"We have things we have to discuss" he said, nipping at the juncture of her neck while their long legs tangled. The poor couch was short and they were not. Oh, well. "Things you won't like to hear," he paused and looked up at her, his eyes becoming more serious for a moment, "things that won't be easy for me to ask," her eyes became sober as well, grey meeting amber and for a second their bodies became still.

Saitoh sighed (something he rarely did) and reached up, cupping her cheek. He could still feel a trace of wetness from her tears but it was drying. That was good. She was good. "But not this evening." He waited for and found acknowledgement from the woman he loved (There, Karen, are you happy?) and then pulled her down against him again, letting the curtain of her hair surround him.

TOKIO

His voice had an uncharacteristic tone to it as he spoke to her before kissing the top of her head, smoothing her hair with his hand, and planting another kiss on her forehead. All were gestures of comfort on his part and she appreciated each of them, greatly.

"What a mess we're in."

She nodded, sniffling, trying to quell the trickle still coming from her eyes. She knew this would not do, not in front of him. She needed to stay strong.

His grip around her was no longer crushing, but he didn't let her go and for that she was grateful.

She only looked up when he bumped her on the top of the head with his nose, wiping her tears with his thumb then trying to soothe her sore lip. She could see his face now and the exhaustion, pain and stress were clearly visible in his features. He was utterly worn out. It broke her heart to see him in this state.

"Dammit to hell and back, Tokio, what am I going to do with you?"

Yes, what was he going to do with her. (Did he sound exasperated with her?) She wasn't his wife any longer, and except for the memories of a past shared over 200 years ago, she was practically a stranger to him. These thoughts sure did not help to stop those tears she was spilling. They were getting his shirt damp to boot.

But when his hand cupped her chin and he bent to kiss her gently on her lips she could not have been more surprised and pleased and full of guilt.

She needed to apologize and she needed to do it now.

"Hajime...;" "I'm so...; "But I..."

Each time she tried to apologize he stopped her. First with a glare, then a warning and finally with an outright declaration, "Don't you dare apologize." But each time he stopped her he punctuated his effort with a kiss, a wonderful kiss. Not as hot and passionate as this morning, but a very satisfying kiss nonetheless. It was the type of kiss meant for soothing, for comforting and they were working their magic. They were making her feel better just as they had a couple of centuries ago when she suffered some mishap or tragedy, whether it be major or minor. She rarely cried back then, but there were times...

"What part of 'don't' are you failing to understand?"

He'd had enough of the apology nonsense, and with a light growl he scooped her up one arm supporting her back and the other under her knees and headed over to the couch alternating kissing her soundly on the lips and cussing her until... he let out a word that made Tokio's ears cringe as his step hitched at exactly the same time.

Did he just step on something? From the way she was being carried she couldn't see.

She bit her lip to stifle a laugh "Hajime," she said with mock disapproval, "watch your mouth, there are children in the house." Hadn't she told him that before when they were married and the boys were small? He just gave her that 'make me' look of his before unceremoniously plopping down on his short couch bringing her with him, trying to settle them in a comfortable position, if that was even possible in this small space.

She made a mental note that should she ever become a permanent resident of his household, this piece of furniture was going to be replaced. They needed a couch that would seat all four of them comfortably.

She looked at him smiling smugly. "Was all that kissing just to shut me up?"

"You said it, I didn't" he replied with a smirk that only he could make. He had been married to her long enough in Meiji 1 to know to avoid answering a question like that directly. He wasn't stupid.

"We have things we have to discuss, he murmured as he paid close attention to her neck.

Then why are you doing what you are doing to distract me was her mind's unspoken response.

. "Things you won't like to hear," he paused looking her in the eyes.

Oh, gads her inner self screamed. He looked so serious. What was he going to tell her. A sense of dread washed over her. But his words didn't match his actions as he again followed each of his admissions with a light kiss on her neck, on her lips.

"Things that won't be easy for me to ask,"

That did it. His last statement was sobering and to tell the truth, everything he was saying was scaring her more than she wanted to admit. It made her wonder if he was going to talk to her about her place or lack there of in his family's future. All movement ceased for a moment. But by the way he had treated her today, she knew that he had some measure of positive feelings toward her. He even admitted it to the boys at bath time tonight. That did not necessarily mean he wanted her as part of his family. He liked her, yes, but was he healed enough from his loss of Yaso to let another woman share his life in this era. Only time would tell.

Cupping her cheek with his hand he added, "But not this evening." With that he pulled her down on him, her hair spreading out like a veil separating them from the rest of the world. She was glad he wasn't going to break the bad news to her tonight. She really didn't want to hear anymore of that. She wanted some peace. Her mind wanted to stop churning even if it were only for a few minutes.

He was slowly and gently moving his hand up and down her bare arm now in another gesture of comfort. The touch of his calloused hand caused memories from long ago to well up in her heart. She lay against him, head on his chest. She was tired and he was comfortable. Just like a big, soft pillow. Even though he was physically fit with a body that was lean and firm, she was still going to think of him as a soft resting place. Tokio giggled to herself, thinking that he most likely would not appreciate being though of in that way.

She guessed that Captain Wantanabe would have her home secure and ready to move in very shortly. Would this be their last time together? If so, she was going to enjoy the comfort and peace it gave her just to be near him while she could. With the two of them in the living room and the boys just down the hall, there could be no repeat of this morning, but maybe ...

Before she could finish her thought and initiate something, she realized that his hand had stilled on her arm. She turned her head to look up at him. and found his eyes closed. He was breathing evenly, peacefully. The look on his face had changed from earlier.

The pain and stress had faded. She was glad.

She really wanted to stay right there, snuggling where she was until morning. That would not be the best for him though. He would probably wake up with a stiff neck. They were kind of scrunched around on this short couch.

She should probably wake him up and send him to his bed so he could stretch out properly, but she knew if she did that, he would probably not go back to sleep. He would most likely work on paperwork for the rest of the night just as he did the night before. There was no way she would allow that to happen.

With regret she carefully extracted herself from his warmth, feeling the loss immediately. She picked up the soft, duck decorated blanket that was thrown over the end of the couch and slowly pulled it over him, right up to his chin, taking care not to wake him. He had always been a light sleeper, but with all the events of the past day he was totally drained. She was so happy that he could finally sleep.

With a sigh she looked down at him. She knew she shouldn't take the risk, but she could not really help herself. She leaned over and gave him a very light kiss on his cheek, whispering in her mind, 'Good night, Hajime'. She then turned out the living room lights and quietly walked down the hall, stopping by the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth before heading to the guest bedroom where she had spent the night before.

To read about what happened after the events in this story see the Gumi Reloaded stories, More Than a Mind Full, Saitoh Tsutomu Reporting for Night Duty and A Conversation At a Crossroad.