Title: Not Quite an Ass

Word Count: 710

Summary: In which Saitou redeems himself.

A/N: There's about 6 months worth of time that has passed between this one and "Patience Is a Virtue"—know what that means? It means we're slowly starting to get to the point where Captain Miserable and Small Things start to overlap. Only took me a year and some months….

She was very very late and in a very very foul temper when she arrived at the luncheonette, and not really in the mood to deal with Saitou today.

So of course, Fate and the gods were determined to make her that much more miserable:

"Oi, Chiisai, did you know that there's this new fangled device called a clock?" he asked when she got to the counter, the bag containing his lunch already on the counter in front of him.

Tokio's eyes narrowed—that demented man had stayed to see if she'd show up so he could be obnoxious? If she hadn't already known he was insane, this would have been the nutty icing on his lunatic cake.

He took her narrowed eyes to mean "Oh really?" instead of what they clearly were: "Why don't you drop dead jack ass?"

"Yeah, it's a great invention. It tells you what time it is so you aren't late. You should really invest in one—very handy device, that."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said tautly, slamming her purse onto the counter.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, for which Tokio was very glad; last night had been one of the worst nights of her life, and she didn't care to relive the experience to satisfy his curiosity.

And it had started out so well: the man she'd been seeing exclusively for the last six months had invited her out to dinner, and then they'd gone back to his apartment, and then her father—apparently the most consistently successful abstinence-ensuring weapon the world had ever known—chose that particular time to call her, and when the guy had heard Kojuro's voice he'd freaked out.

Like, a lot.

It turned out the guy, a criminal defense attorney, knew exactly who Kojuro was, having seen him and met with him several times over the course of his thus far short but lucrative career, and was, like all of the men Tokio picked, absolutely terrified of him.

To the point that the man had run from his own home, screaming, into the night.

Tokio didn't need any more proof than that to know that the relationship was now over.

Again.

As usual.

Saitou needled her for a few moments more, though he never got her so annoyed that she really snapped at him, and then he took his leave with a smirk and a dry, "Remember to get that watch I told you about Chiisai."

As soon as he was gone, she turned her attention to Shiori.

"Hi Shiori-san," she said wearily.

"Tokio-san," the older woman replied, her eyes shining in a manner that was decidedly sly and would have made Tokio very suspicious, if she had given a flying damn.

"I'm in a bit of a hurry today," Tokio said. "I got held up with—whatever, it doesn't matter. I feel like—"

"Oh that's okay, I've already got your order," Shiori said blandly, and Tokio paused, mouth opened, and blinked.

"What?" she asked finally.

"I've already got your order," Shiori repeated. "Kuno's finishing it up."

Tokio stared at her.

"But I haven't told you what I wanted yet," she said finally, eyes still wide and confused.

"Saitou-san ordered for you," Shiori informed her with obvious relish and a wide, Cheshire cat grin.

Her very first thought upon hearing that was that newly promoted Assistant Inspector Saitou was a big presumptuous ass and ought to have his knee caps broken for it. Her second thought was more rational (and decidedly less violent): Why in the world would he order for her?

When her order came out, Tokio opened the bag and peeked in and recognized the smell immediately: he'd ordered udon for her. And by some incredible stroke of luck, udon was exactly what she'd been about to order.

"Huh," she said finally, plucking a pair of chopsticks from the bowl and placing them in her bag mechanically.

"He already paid, too," Shiori said, and Tokio nodded and absentmindedly wished her a good day and left the luncheonette, thoughtful.

In the end, though, she smiled and hugged the bag a little closer.

As it turned out, an insufferable police inspector and udon were just the ticket for getting over the "got-your-ass-dumped" blues.