Title: Back to the Drawing Board
Summary: It was a tricky bit of goods, this plotting business.
Word Count: 465
Saitou was a man of action. He was the guy who got shit done, whether it was for Hijikata or for his father or for himself. He examined a problem from all angles quickly, deduced the most successful plan of attack and implemented it, with stunningly excellent results nine out of ten times.
Something about Tokio, however, made him fucking useless.
Or maybe stupid was more accurate.
Yeah, "fucking stupid" sounded far more truthful.
In the beginning, he'd spun more fantasies about her than anything else, about ninety percent of which would have gotten him slapped, if not worse, had she ever known about them. But as time had passed, and years had gone by, and Tokio had gradually grown in importance for him, fantasies had turned into plans.
Which would have been fine…only he never implemented a single one of them.
This was not as fine.
None of his plans ever seemed quite right—this was another skill of his, the ability to predict (fairly accurately, as a matter of fact) the probability that the outcome of any given plan would succeed or fail. And all of his various plans concerning Tokio were doomed to failure, and he couldn't understand why that was, until he was walking back to the precinct one day, soba tucked securely under his arm. In his mind he was going back over his conversation with Tokio, and he remembered he'd asked her a question—not too personal in nature, because that might prompt her to ask a question in kind, and he couldn't bring himself to tell her personal things, but it was personal enough—and…not gotten a response. He'd frowned at this realization, wondering why that was, and then remembered that her reply of sorts had led to an argument. One thought led to another, and then Saitou was going back over all the questions he could remember ever asking her (a lot, as it turned out), and finding that he'd never gotten an answer to any of them.
It took a few seconds to come to him, but when it did he was so surprised at how simple but effective her avoidance strategy was that he'd abruptly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk: she threw him off the scent by using his fatal weakness—his love of a good argument with her—against him.
Oh very well played, Chiisai, he thought with approval, even as another part of him was incensed at not having noticed this predilection sooner.
No matter; he'd noticed it, and that was what was important (or so he tried to console himself). Now, he'd have to change his plan of attack accordingly. At that he frowned—easier said than done.
Saitou sighed.
It was a tricky bit of goods, this plotting business.