Collateral Damage

Chapter 8: Denial

AN: Like always, this hasn't been proofread. Someday, I will have time to get a beta. Really, I will.

Saitou

The day was a beautiful day with clear skies that gleamed deep blue, soft cool winds to cool his brow as he walked through happily clucking chickens, and a benign sun that smiled gently down. Saitou appreciated it. Wearing a scratchy wool uniform was often a trial which necessitated his always wearing a shirt underneath it and often unbuttoning his collar despite the regulations that forbade it, but the weather conspired to make his torment light. Indeed, it was pleasant enough that he had gleefully delegated Chou to the task of talking with the lord of the present estate he was touring and took the more menial task of a site inspection. There was only one problem.

The cherub smiled up from where it had latched onto his leg. "Momma loves Pappa. Pappas should love Mommas."

The other little…angel…that had attached itself to his other leg nodded. "Mommas and Pappas should always love each other."

Their siblings, all three of them danced about him. "That's right. And when things get tough Pappas and Mommas should help each other."

He had hoped to avoid this. For the last five days every single place he had come to had delivered an inspiring message about the strength of family, surviving through hardship with togetherness, and how living through the revolution had brought the families closer than ever as they shared the burdens of healing from tragedies. A few families had even confidentially taken him into their trust by somberly telling about the trials they had endured, which ranged from torture to homelessness to dishonor, and how they had triumphed through togetherness. It had gotten to the point that he would have suspected a divine joke. His life was in shambles and everywhere he went, even the inn keeper and his wife, were nearly singing duets of marital bliss. Unfortunately for him, despite his brave, selfless insistence that Chou have the delight of hearing the tales of tragedy redeemed, he hadn't taken into account being ambushed by the children.

"Pappa was very unhappy, but Momma helped." The left child drooled on his pant leg as its smile grew wider.

He wondered what sex the child was. The round, bowl cut, the shapeless square cut…thing…the child was clothed in, and the round, dirt smudged face gave no clues. The others dressed in the same uniform, right down to the dirt, were similarly sexless.

"Yes, Pappa was lost, but Momma found him." One of the older ones, distinguished only by being bigger, rounder, and slightly less inclined to lisp, nodded gravely at him.

"My condolences on his lack of directional ability." Saitou muttered. "He was definitely wise in marrying someone to correct his short coming."

The child, not entirely sure what he had said, looked a bit confused but nodded good naturedly. "Pappa and Momma are wise."

Saitou grunted noncommittally. The estate, while enjoying pleasant weather was far from well run. The old samurai who owned it had let it run into the ground and his son, Pappa, had spent most of his time apparently trying to populate the world with round children who prattled about the wonders of marital life and ignored the basics of running the estate. The only person that seemed interested was the old retainer who pottered around the house pulling weeds and rubbing his arthritic joints. If money was missing, it probably had disappeared from being misplaced, not stolen.

"Are you a poppa?" One of the children who had thus far been mercifully quiet piped up in a squeaky voice that would guarantee a long life of singleness.

Now, that's a question. Does it count that I am the father of two children and if they even know who I am when they grow up it will be because my wife, who just lately came to her senses enough to leave me, had mercy on my wretched soul and told them about me? Or is it more truthful to say no. I am not a father and never was. A father is a man who helps raise and nurture his children. All I have ever done was impose on my wife's tolerance then run away like a coward before she came to her senses and spat in my face.

"Shhh. " One of the bigger rounder children gave the other a warning glare. "That's not nice. He might not have met a nice Momma to marry." The child gave him a comforting pat on the arm. "I'm sure he'll find one soon."

"Nitsu down the street isn't married." The squeaky one supplied. "She's nice. She'd make a nice momma."

"Nah," her bigger sibling shook his head, "he should go see Amane in the next village. All the boys say she's really friendly. I heard them talking."

One of the children that were attached to him drooled on his leg. The other seemed to be losing interest in being a uniform accessory and was eyeing his sword. The rest of the children seemed ready to chose sides in the Nitsu-Amane debate and watched in interest as their siblings squared off to see which girl would make him a better wife.

Saitou looked around at the beautiful day and sighed. If he was lucky, he would be able to drag this assignment out for another week before he had to head back to Tokyo where no one waited for him to come home.

Tokio

Tokio lumbered down the road after Kenshin. She knew that she wasn't actually lumbering, but she felt she was. Half of her was surprised that Kenshin wasn't yelling at people to make way for the large load coming through. As it was, she rubbed her back which was aching, and forced herself to plod along at a faster pace.

"Tokio-dono," Kenshin blinked back at her with wide violet eyes, "should we pick up the paper first or the glue?"

Tokio lumbered the last few steps up to him and paused to fully appreciate not walking. Now, if there was only a place where she, her aching back, and swollen feet could spend a hour or so appreciating things, she would dedicate her soul to the merciful god that bequeathed that hour of contemplation on her. Instead, she calculated the distance to the shop at the end of the street that had the glue and the stand that sold paper.

"Why don't you pick up the glue while I fetch the paper." She figured she'd save about twelve minutes and a minimum of forty paces if she split the task up.

Kenshin looked worried, no doubt contemplating her lumbering and the likelihood that she'd go into labor if left alone for more than a minute. There seemed to be a growing concern among the males of the Kamiya Dojo that she would burst if left alone and unattended. Despite the far more knowledgeable and calm assessment by their doctor friend Megumi that she was weeks away from that event, the looks of startled anxiety if she so much as claimed she didn't want another cup of tea told her that in their masculine minds, she was precariously perched on the edge of an event they all desperately didn't want to have anything to do with.

"No, no, this one will fetch both." Kenshin looked around hurriedly to find a place, anyplace where she could sit and concentrate on holding off motherhood for the few perilous minutes he'd be gone.

If you were that concerned, why did you need to take me along with you? Tokio shook her head and started towards the paper stall. "Let's get the paper and we will discuss that."

The rurouni persona that Kenshin had adopted was very cute, she decided, but he took it to extremes. While it kept Karou and Yahiko soothed that the dreaded Batousai wandered around their lives with wide, innocent eyes and cluelessly orroing about odd things, she had few doubts that under that mask was the battle trained soldier she'd heard of and secretly had lost sleep thinking about during the nights Saitiou and his pack of wolves had patrolled Kyoto's streets. However, when he blinked so dimwittedly at her, she silently understood what drove Saitou to want to take a sword to him.

As Kenshin dithered, gesturing towards a shady bench under the eves of a fan seller, she made her heavy way to the paper seller. Now that she was here, she wanted to make sure she got the correct paper. The last time she was in town, she had noticed a paper that had the most exquisite texture to it. It had been beautifully white with a faint pattern of un-ryuu ghosting through its pristine background. Even if her feet swelled, she could at least be crippled as she appreciated the beauty of her new windows and doors.

"Tokio-dono should sit and rest." Kenshin was nearly begging and wringing his hands as he looked longingly between her and the shady bench. "Getting tired is not good, that it is not!"

"Once I get the paper, I will sit down and rest while you get the glue." Tokio felt a moment of pure triumph as she reached the paper seller.

The paper wasn't on the shelf she had previously spotted it, so she waved over the merchant. "Do you have any more of the white un-ryu paper?"

As she and the man began talking, Kenshin eyed her suspiciously for signs of motherhood. "Tokio-dono will go sit after she buys paper?"

"I promise." Indeed, she would kill any poor soul between her and the bench.

Kenshin took a step away, assessed that nothing dire happened, then nodded. "Tokio-dono only needs to call and…"

"TRAITOR!" An angry voice yelled causing peaceful shoppers to startle.

With an almost patient sigh, Kenshin smile apologetically at Tokio. "This will only take a moment. Please remember to sit down after you buy the paper."

"Flith!" A large man was striding towards them. "How dare you show your face among honest people?"

"Complete sentences." Kenshin murmured. "Must write this down."

The man drew a sword and as the crowd scattered out of his way, he rushed towards where Kenshin and Tokio stood.

"Die!"

"So much for complete sentences." Kenshin took a deep breath and timing his attack knocked the man cold then watched in private satisfaction as the other collapsed into the letter ku. He'd been practicing and was pleased with the overall effect. He glanced up from under his bangs to where Tokio stood, hoping she hadn't noticed what really alarmed him about the attack. The man had been looking at her, not him when he had raised his sword.

"Tokio-dono is unhurt?" Kenshin gave her s sheepish smile. "Sadly, this happens quite a bit. Last week, I had three."

"Three?" Tokio stared down at the man then shook her head.

"Tokio-dono, this will take some time to straighten out." Kenshin nodded towards the bench as a police whistle sounded nearby. "Perhaps your feet would like a rest while this man is taken away."

"Of course." She waddled towards the bench. "Please, don't hurry on my account. My feet will thank you."

A group of officers ran into the square as she settled down. They hardly seemed surprised as they efficiently hoisted the unconscious man up and one officer pulled out a pencil and a note pad with practiced ease as he located Kenshin. The red head with equal skill promptly started stating facts that the officer would need to know.

The dreaded Batousai indeed was practiced in handling these minor details. Tokio would have smiled, but she had also lived through the revolution and while she might not have stalked the street armed with a weapon fighting for one side or the other, she had learned in those dark days to always watch an attacker's eyes. They always gave away where the strike would be directed. Despite Kenshin's excuse, she had seen that she had been the target. That man's eyes had been locked to hers as he had raised his sword and rushed forward. It had only been an quirk of fate that Kenshin had been standing next to her when he had. She had been the traitorous filth that should not be walking amongst the populace of Tokyo, not Kenshin. It didn't take much to remember Sano's surprised face as the wasp nest fell, or the sudden crash of tiles hitting the ground where seconds before she had been standing. Duty or not, it was time that Saitou came home.

Saitou 1871

It was nearly begging. Only the trappings of the small pile of vegetables and small table that he'd scrounged from a trash heap at the edge of town covered him with the veneer of being a merchant. His clothes were in rags, his produce was low quality, and he was thin, dirty, and probably smelled. With each kindly smiling, pitying customer that bought his produce, he bowed gratefully and thanked them with words that only reinforced his station. Thank you for helping this unworthy one. Thank you, master.

When the day was done and darkness would cover him, he would raid trash bins around the market, collecting the discards that the other merchants would deem too old, too bruised, or too rotten to sell so that he would have something to sell the next day. In a week, if he was lucky and the town allowed him to stay that long, he would move to the next town and continue. Perhaps in a month or two, he would have earned enough to buy rice enough to see Tokio through the winter.

An old lady with palsied hands picked up a diakon from his pile. "This one, if you will."

"Of course, mistress." Saitou bowed as her servant handed him a coin. "Do you want me to wrap that?"

He had a few pieces of paper he had lucked into the night before to add a further layer of patina to his begging.

"No, no." She shook her head, handing the radish to her servant who put it in a basket. "We are quite prepared."

She gave him a kindly smile and turned away.

"Mistress, your change." Saitou held out a few small coins.

The old woman kept walking, already gesturing to another spot in the market.

"Thank you, mistress. May your next life reflect your kindness in this one." Saitou bowed to her back.

He pocketed the coins and settled back to wait. The day dragged onwards slowly. The other merchants ignored him for the most part, though the ones nearest him frowned. He guessed that they would explain to him soon that his kind weren't welcome in their town. His kind should not remind them that the Meji era was hardly the time of peace and prosperity they had been promised. His kind should remain hidden, silent, and grateful that prosperity had come to Japan on the wings of the glorious revolution.

He looked warily around the crowd as shouting broke out. A few patrons looked around, interested in the noise, but quickly went back to their shopping. Another round of shouting revealed a group of young men, drunk and merry, playfully roughing each other along the street.

Saitou watched them carefully as they turned a corner and tumbled out of sight. His own squad in the Shinsengumi had been like that on their free time. Tumbling through the streets of Kyoto like puppies, they would go from bar to gambling den to tea house leaving a trail of laughter and minor mayhem behind them. When they had come back to headquarters, he'd frown at them like a disapproving parent and they'd lower their heads, snickering and poking each other despite his promise of running the liquor out of them the next day.

And he did it too, just to hear their unrepentant moans and muffled complaints. They knew the next time they were free they would be out drinking again, and they knew he would be once again waiting for them when they got back. It was their ritual, their game, their way to achieve a bit of normalcy in the center of chaos. A way to ignore what was becoming more and more clear as the revolution wore on. After all, how bad could bad be if they still went out to drink and play? How bad could it be if the worse punishment meted out was a day of patrolling?

Was it wrong that he was glad they hadn't survived to find out just how bad it really was? They had died with dignity, with honor. They died fighting for things they had believed in to the moment a sword or a bullet had ended their lives.

A few people wandered in his direction, so he pulled himself out of his past. "Vegetables. Vegetables. Fresh vegetables for your table."

The people looked at him, at his filthy hands and face, his poor clothes, his cast off stock and walked away. The other merchants near him muttered loudly about him driving off customers. He hunkered back down to wait. Perhaps he should gather what he could tonight and by tomorrow morning he'd be in the next town. With a bit of luck, he might find a stream to wash himself and his gleanings from the garbage in. Maybe in the next town, he'd make more money. Just a bit more, that was all he needed and he could go home.

He wanted to go home nearly as much as he feared it. If he was home, he was with Tokio. She was all he had. His only reason for all he did. For her, he sat on this street peddling garbage and grinding even the memory of his pride into the ground to accept charity. For her, he would travel through the night to the next village to earn a few more small coins so she could have food this winter. For her, he would bargain for the most rice he could carry on his back and hurry home. For her, he would push aside his half eaten food this winter so she could have more. And for her, next spring, he would once again try to be a farmer on land that would never support them with its poor soil. It was all he could do, and now, all he really wanted to do.

But she'd leave. He was sure of it. One day, he would come home and she'd be gone. She'd leave behind the filthy shack they called home, the small graves of the still born children that lined up behind their home, the ramshackle village full of starving desperate people, and him, her failed husband. She would return to Aisu where her father would pamper her with fine foods, dress her in the finest silk, and surround her with every comfort available. In time, her father would find her a new husband who would provide her with all the things he couldn't. She'd be respected, safe. She'd have children to tumble at her feet and cuddle on her lap. She'd spend her days sipping tea with her friends, laughing lightly over things their children did, or sighing fondly about their husbands.

The only thing, he long ago reasoned, that kept her with him was her sense of duty. Only that kept her in his life, but one day, maybe it had even happened, she would realize that whatever duty she had left to him had ended when he had stopped fulfilling his duties as her husband to keep her safe, provide a good home for her, and give her the life she had been born to.

Saitou shoved those thoughts aside with a shake. Enough. Enough. There was no time to be feeling sorry for himself. He had vegetables to sell. He had plans to make. He had to take the measure of his fellow salesmen to see if they would take action today of if he had more time. He had to keep his eyes open for opportunities to make more money. Perhaps he could make enough money to take up for real what he had done once for disguise and become a medicine peddler. It would certainly bring in more money. Perhaps he should not only search for vegetables in the trash but new clothes as well. He'd have to search closer towards the cloth merchants' section for that. He wouldn't be able to reach the next village tonight, but perhaps he'd get there early enough to still get a good spot tomorrow.

Yes, time to focus. He had work to do.

Author's Notes:

I owe you all an explanation. Two years ago this summer, right when my writing slowed down, my mother passed away. That was horrible and I was a mess for a long, long time. Then, when I was just managing to pull myself together, I decided to be all responsible and forward thinking so I went back to school. I am now working two jobs (soon to be three or four) and going to grad school full time. To make my life even happier, I now have computer trouble. This draft (cross my fingers) is probably the fifth draft since two computers ate my other drafts as they crashed. I will not abandon this story! It will just take time.

Poppa and Momma/ Husband and Wife: I know that the correct terms for poppa and momma should be chichi and haha, but I decided to go for the English version. I figured that since I wasn't using the terms for husband and wife, which would have given a bit more depth to the story, I should remain true to my own pattern. In case you are wondering, you can go back through the story and fill in shujin for husband when Tokio addresses or thinks about Saitou and okusan for when Saitou thinks about or talks about Tokio. Shujin is how a wife refers to her own husband, but Saitou always uses okusan which is how one refers to another's wife. He should by rights call her tsuma. Would it annoy or confuse anyone if I used those terms? It's a small point, but a telling one in their relationship. I chose not to use it because it sometimes annoys me when an author uses words that I don't understand and have no desire to learn.

Un-Ryu: Is a pattern of threads in shoji paper that calls to mind clouds in the sky which gives the paper its name Cloud Dragon. It is made of mulberry wood and is quite pretty. I would give you the site, but I've noticed that every time I do this site clips my research. Just go google it and you'll see. Tokio is looking at a nearly pure white version of it. Just go look at the images and find the white one. It's about on page 4 of my search screen.