Zanza tossed away the crumpled paper in frustration, sending it skittering into a dusty corner under an empty jug. Whirling, putting his back to the offending object, he almost tripped over the sword that stretched from one corner of his floor to another and nearly bisected the room. "What the fuck does he think I am?" he growled, hopping over the zanbatou in irritation to stalk out the door and slam it behind him. As he pounded away from his apartment, neighbors, strangers, children, even animals scattered before him at one glance.

He needed money and he knew it, and it was stupid to get so angry at someone that seemed to be offering him a job, but for the guy to send him a letter full of so many damn kanji...! Wasn't it asking a bit much for a man to be a kickass fighter and well-educated? The traitorous thought that perhaps the real reason it annoyed him so much was that he might actually like to be was banned from his mind as quickly as it sprang up. It wasn't his fault that he didn't have a fancy cushion-ass education; it was the government's fault.

"Oi, Zanza!" Here was Yoita.

"What?" Zanza snarled, not turning.

Yoita, used to the kenkaya's moods, caught up with him and continued without a flinch. "You comin' to Sochi's place tonight?"

"Maybe," Zanza replied grumpily, still thinking about his letter. But after a moment he looked over at his friend thoughtfully. "You own a dictionary?"

Yoita laughed. "Why would I need a dictionary, man?"

"You s'pose any of the other guys have one?"

"Zanza, none of us need a dictionary!" Yoita was chuckling, but looking at him curiously. And admittedly with good reason.

"Well, I need one."

"You decide writing's more fun than fighting, or what?"

"Some guy sent me a letter," Zanza explained in a surly tone. "I think he wants me to fight someone, but I can't read all his kanji!"

Yoita gave one of those nods that people do when they're sympathetic to your misfortunes in general, but don't really feel much for your current dilemma. And given that round-headed Yoita was anything but a fighter, this was understandable. "Why not take it to that guy who runs that free school in your neighborhood?" he suggested, trying to sound helpful and indicating with his thumb the narrow streets they'd just left. "He probably has a dictionary."

Zanza's face lit up. "Shit, why didn't I think of that?" He clapped Yoita on the back, sending him stumbling. "Thanks, man." And with this as his only goodbye, he turned to pelt back up the road toward his apartment.

After retrieving the letter from the dust, smoothing it out, and tripping over his zanbatou again, the kenkaya headed with renewed cheer toward the area where he was fairly sure the man held his little school in his own home. He found the house without much trouble (thanks to the sign on the door), and entered without much thought as to the time of day (thanks to the lack of any such educational experience in his own childhood). As a result, he found himself being stared at upon entry by at least ten little kids, not to mention suddenly a bit nervous.

"Can I help you?" asked a man he recognized from the few times he'd seen him around. He was seated at the head of the room, looking up from the book he'd been reading to pass the time while the children did their work.

"Uhh..." Zanza scratched his head, embarrassed. "Can I talk to you after your, uh, school gets out?"

The older man looked at him quizzically, but with a friendly gleam in his eyes. "Of course. That will be in about an hour, if you want to wait or come back."

"I'll wait outside," Zanza replied, and left the room.

As the sun was warm overhead and the air was calm all around, it wasn't long before he fell fast asleep in a reclining position on the front porch. This made for a rather abrupt awakening when the schoolkids poured out around and over him, some of them screaming for no apparent reason other than the euphoria that arises from a school day's end.

When he was done shielding his face from being stepped on by twenty young, enthusiastic legs, he sat up and took stock.... his gi was a bit dirtier, but other than that he seemed to have escaped without damage. Turning, he found the teacher standing at the door looking down at him with a merry expression.

"Well, young man," that man said when he saw Zanza had noticed him, "what can I do for you?" He moved forward and settled himself on the porch step, looking out after the scattering children.

Pulling the letter from his pocket, "I'm Zanza," he said, not minding at all that there had been no formal introduction between them; he hated that kind of crap. "I'm a kenkaya, and some guy sent me a letter... I think he wants me to fight someone..." He handed the paper, which by now was looking a little the worse for wear, to the teacher. "Problem is, I can't read all his kanji."

The teacher took the letter thoughtfully, although there was a twinkle in the eyes he turned immediately upon it. These took on a somewhat skeptical and even more amused expression as he perused the paper. "Interesting," he commented at one point in apparent surprise. Finally when he was finished, "A rather well-educated man," he murmured.

"Yeah," said Zanza in a surly tone. "I noticed."

"I will read it aloud," the teacher said, with a sidelong glance.

Zanza nodded, trying not to feel any more embarrassed at his own deficiency than he already was, and the older man began.

Having been made acquainted with reports not only of your prodigious physical strength but also of your general desire for combat with opponents of prowess to match your own, for the sake of personal entertainment, I thought to contact you with the proposition of such a conflict. In all honesty I will admit to you that the enemy against whom I would pit you is, in fact, far beyond your level of skill and that it is highly possible you will not emerge from the match alive. However, your aforementioned predisposition towards an interesting fight may yet lead you to agree to participate in this one; certain other details concerning your character with which I have become acquainted also tend toward the idea of your acceptance, and, unless I have been scandalously misinformed regarding your political and moral convictions, I have no doubt of your eagerness to engage the proposed opponent when you are made familiar with his attributes.

As the teacher took a deep breath to continue, Zanza stopped him, rubbing his own head in annoyed confusion. "I don't wanna puzzle through all that," he grumbled. "Can't you just summarize it?"

With a smile that showed he was far from ceasing to be amused just yet, the teacher nodded and skimmed the letter briefly once again before speaking aloud the main points. "He wants to hire you to fight someone who is much more skilled than you are. He thinks you'll accept, despite the danger, because he's heard you like interesting fights and have a certain hatred of the government and deceptive people."

Zanza smiled slightly. "Sounds good so far, though I doubt whoever he's got in mind's really better than me." Still, the prospect of pounding some deceptive government bastard into the ground was a nice one.

"You're very sure of yourself," the teacher commented without condemnation, smiling, "but wait until you hear who it is -- Saitou Hajime. Do you know the name?"

"Of course. Wha, I get to fight him?!" Zanza jumped to his feet and punched his palm in delight. "I've heard that guy was the strongest swordsman in the Shinsengumi!"

The teacher's smile widened. "Enthusiastic as well, I see. Well, the letter-writer says that Saitou Hajime is currently here in Tokyo as a police detective, using the name of Fujita Gorou in order to hide the fact that he's a former Shinsengumi captain working for the Meiji government."

Zanza's brows lowered in irritation. "Yeah, I can see why he'd wanna keep that a secret, the bastard." How could someone join this fucking government after he'd fought against it during the war?!

"The letter-writer seems quite unhappy about it." If the teacher had any particular opinion regarding the government or the concept of such a shift of loyalty, he did not speak or show it. "He's apparently a former Shinsengumi member as well, and resents Saitou's change in alliance."

Perplexity thrust abruptly through the anger that had arisen within Zanza's breast at the very idea of someone joining up with the scummy Meiji after having (presumably) strongly opposed it. "I can see why he'd want someone to take the bastard out, but why me if he doesn't think I can win?"

The teacher glanced over a certain part of the letter and then responded, "He says it's more of a message he wants to send: that Saitou's former companions are on to his trickery and won't stand for it."

With a nod, Zanza reflected for a long moment. "Well, I'm gonna accept for sure..." he said at last. "It sounds like it'll be one hell of a fight. That's all I really care about, but I do need to eat... does he say how I can contact him?"

"He gives an address, and says to go there if you survive the fight, and then he'll pay you whatever you ask."

"Lemme see." Zanza looked over the teacher's shoulder to where the man's finger indicated an address even the kenkaya could read on the far left side of the page. "All right," he said, standing straight again with a grin. "This is gonna be awesome." He had to remind himself not to look forward to it too much just yet, though... he had research to do before he could go charging in, even if it was likely to be the best fight of his life.

Rising as well, the teacher handed the letter back. "Be careful," he said in a friendly tone. "You're an interesting young man, and I'd like to know you better, but Saitou isn't going to be an easy opponent. I met him once or twice during the war, and..." The man shook his head, his smile turning a bit wry. "I don't know if any one person could defeat him in battle."

Zanza's grin turned lopsided as he slapped the man's back in thanks. "Hey, I'll come back around here when I've kicked his ass and tell you all about it, ne?"

"I'll save some sake for it; you'll probably need it."

"Deal. So, what's your name?"

"Sasaki Heihachiro."

"Zanza."

Sasaki raised a brow.

The young man grinned. "Zanbatou Sanosuke," he explained.

"Zanbatou?" Sasaki repeated with a widening of his eyes. "Maybe you'll get somewhere against Saitou after all."

"Sure as hell," Zanza replied confidently, and stepping from the porch with a wave and a casual "Ja!" headed off to find out some things about his new enemy. Look out, Saitou Hajime... Zanza's on his way, and it's time for you to pay for your cowardly behavior!

Saitou rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, trying to alleviate the headache that had developed over the course of the day. Massaging his face wasn't likely to help when the headache had been idiot-induced, but he did it anyway -- as if somehow the motion would get rid of every ridiculous police underling in the station, every petty drug dealer on the streets, and every stupid thug in every bar and slum in Tokyo. He couldn't wait to get home and go to bed, a thing he hadn't done in a couple of days.

He threw down the notes he'd been examining minutely for the hundredth time. There was obviously no way he was going to get anywhere against this guy without more evidence, and his usual spies were being dolts and not coming up with anything. Unless Tokio returned with some new lead, it looked like he'd have to do some investigation on his own; although this would be a pleasant change from the day-in-day-out paperwork approach he'd been using thus far, he didn't look forward to a long trip out of the city just to sit around in bushes spying on some rich foreign-ass-kisser's mansion and businesses.

Locking his work neatly in the file drawer as he always did, he rose from the desk and took up his sword. Stubbing out the cigarette he'd been smoking and flicking it into the ash tray, he switched off the lamp and left the room. The busy station proper beyond seemed shockingly hot this warm spring day, and he hastened out the front door.

There was always at least one idle carriage hanging around outside the police station, Tokyo drivers being well aware of how loath many officers were to walk anywhere. And Saitou supposed it really might be considered a lazy habit, taking a carriage to and from work like that, but at the moment he was so sick of being there he didn't care. Just like most days. So he paid the man and was whisked off toward home.

He tried not to think about this Raihishuu case on the way, but this was difficult as nothing else was jumping to replace it in his mind. Well, there was a topic: the fact that there wasn't anything much else to think about was a good indicator of how boring his life was these days. Work, sleep, work, sleep... when work consisted of small-time busts, the all-mighty pen more often than the much more interesting sword, minor case after meaningless minor case; when sleep was dreamless, brief, and solitary, night after similar night... The most unpredictable and thus most interesting part of his existence at the moment was trying to guess what Tokio would feed him on any given night. He didn't ask for excitement, but he'd certainly had more of it in previous years. He could console himself with the thought that he was dispensing Justice right and left, but that didn't change the fact that he lived an unexciting boxy oblivion of a life.

The carriage slowed, though he knew he wasn't home yet; the driver seemed to be talking with someone outside. A moment later, the door was yanked open and a teasing voice spoke: "Going home so early? Special night planned with the wife?"

"Just get in," he said curtly.

Tokio hopped up to the seat beside him, closing the door behind her as the carriage regained its usual speed, and yawned. She was dressed exactly as he was, in the uniform of a police officer with a tight black shirt beneath the jacket she now casually removed; but where he was only slightly creased from a day spent in a chair, she looked rumpled and dirty from multiple days spent in shrubbery. A traveling bag, appearing equally exhausted in its weary slump toward the floor, sat at her feet. About eight years his junior, her attractive face was still smooth with lingering youth, though the tight bun in which she usually wore her hair hid the latter's smooth, shining length and gave her the appearance of greater age. She turned equally black eyes on him. "So, do you want my report now, or can it wait until we get back to work tomorrow?"

"You should have gone to the station and filed it," he replied.

"I was on my way," she replied with a shrug, "but then I saw you going home already, so I decided to come along and make sure you eat right."

He did not reply to this, as his eating habits were a commonly argued point between them. (He'd been intending to go to bed without supper, but now that was out of the question.) "What did you find out?" he asked instead.

"I thought you didn't want my report now."

"I don't want a report; I just want to hear what you found out."

"Damn, you're grumpy today. Well, you're never going to believe this, but it looks like that Karashi gang belongs entirely to Raihishuu."

One black eyebrow went up in surprise. "Entirely?"

She nodded. "That's why it's so hard to make a dent in his illegal activities -- he lives off those guys. And if we start looking in that direction, I'm sure we'll find more than enough."

He was nodding as well. "Excellent," he murmured slowly.

She grinned. "Was that a compliment aimed at my amazing work, or at the carriage for taking us home?"

"Neither."

"Oh, I suppose you were complimenting yourself on having thought to send me out to spy on him," she tried, grabbing her jacket and bag and slinging both over her shoulder as she climbed from the now-still vehicle.

"No," Saitou replied, exiting behind her.

The carriage rattled away and she looked at him in partially-facetious frustration. "Well, what's excellent, then?"

"Zanza."

"What? The kenkaya?" It seemed she was too tired and eager to get inside to care that his remark wasn't exactly congruous with the general conversation. "How is he excellent?"

"Whether he is or not, he's standing over there," Saitou said, pointing.

Tokio turned to look, and her eyes narrowed. "Why is he in this neighborhood?"

"My guess would be to fight me."

"What?" she yelped. "Why?" They'd been keeping tabs on Zanza since the mercenary had made his first appearance in Tokyo, so she really shouldn't have been surprised that the boy was here -- most fighters-for-hire generally ended up going after former Shinsengumi captains sooner or later -- but sometimes the most irrational things surprised Tokio.

"Yaoku Fumishi's in town," Saitou replied casually, lighting a cigarette as he calmly regarded the approaching figure.

Her brow furrowed. "Are you going to --"

Saitou cut her off. "Yes. Didn't you say something about cooking supper?"

"But..."

"Fifteen minutes," he promised. "Make something good."

"All right, whatever," she said in a surly tone.

Saitou didn't watch her enter the house, but kept his eyes on Zanza. He was appreciating the view: the kenkaya's arm was curled up behind his head, holding down the long object that lay across his shoulders -- no doubt the ridiculous sword from which he took his silly name -- and thus his wantonly wide gi was pulled away from his smooth, rippling chest and slender, cloth-wrapped waist. The face was decent-looking too, from the pouty pale lips to the black-lashed brown eyes; above this was a mass of soft-looking spiky hair of two or three intermingled shades of brown that just begged to have hands run through it.

Overall, the kid was quite a pleasing picture, and Saitou could think of several things he'd rather do with him than fight. His interest wasn't based merely on first impressions, but this was the first time he'd ever really thought about the boy as more than a potential security threat. Of course, it was also the first time he'd ever seen him up close.

Zanza stopped the advance, which was evidently meant to be threatening, at a good combat-distance from Saitou. Fixing the latter with a glare that fitted him well, Zanza exuded a pleasing, if rather raw, fighting ki. "Saitou Hajime, former captain of the Shinsengumi's third unit," he stated in a loud, growling tone, "I've come to pick a fight!"

"So I observed," Saitou replied, puffing calmly on his cigarette and admiring the way the boy's eyes lit up when he was excited. He wondered if... No, that wouldn't do. He pushed the thought aside with an amused upturning of his lips.

"What's so funny?" Zanza demanded.

"You. What makes you think I want to fight you?"

"You'll want to fight me when you find out who sent me." A sly tone that Saitou rather liked crept into Zanza's voice for this, although the boy was still clearly angry -- at what, Saitou couldn't begin to guess. He'd heard, though, that it was this one's usual mental state, so he didn't spend long wondering.

"Yaoku Fumishi?" His own tone was bored.

"So you know, huh?" Zanza's brows lowered. "Well, that won't keep me from trashing you."

Saitou tossed away his cigarette butt and continued to smirk at the young man that was so eager to fight him and that, he was really beginning to think, looked quite delicious -- almost to the point where aesthetic appreciation turns to lust. More proof that nothing was going on in Saitou's life right now. "If you insist," he said. "But before you unveil your precious partner, let's find a better place than the middle of a neighborhood street."

Zanza looked a bit taken aback, perhaps at how much was known about him, but he followed Saitou willingly as the officer led the way around his own house into the woods behind and to a clearing only a few minutes' walk away. The young fool was lucky that Saitou was not given to abuse of power in the name of personal passion; Zanza's attractiveness and ready tailing of a complete stranger to a secluded place combined into quite a temptation.

Once they'd entered the clearing, Saitou moved to its far side and turned, languidly laying a hand on the hilt of his sword. Zanza faced him, waiting until he had Saitou's attention to tear dramatically at the covering of his own weapon so that it fell in shreds to the ground. Laughable as the blade was, it did seem to suit the boy: strong, conspicuous, and sadly in need of honing. The way Zanza's muscles bulged as he gave it a couple of show-off swings was interesting, too.

"If you come at me," Saitou warned casually, "I'm not going to go easy on you." He always wondered at these arrogant young men that came to attack him for money and generally didn't depart with their dignity or combat abilities intact even when Saitou left them their lives. This one, he understood, had a passion for good fights, so it made a bit more sense, but still... it just seemed so suicidal.

"I never asked you to," the mercenary growled, hefting the zanbatou in an arc around his head.

***

Now that Zanza had met the guy, it was more than just anger at a man that had jumped ship and run to the shit government for a high-paying position under a false name. He didn't like the way this Meiji bastard Saitou-Fujita-whatever-he-was looked at him, all calculating as if he were a piece of meat just waiting to be sliced up by the right butcher. He didn't like the way the guy held that damn cigarette in his hand, smoking away as if he weren't about to get his head bashed in by an eighty-pound horse-and-rider-slaying weapon. He didn't like the way the jerk had just smiled casually at him and suggested they go somewhere else as if for a private conversation rather than a battle. He didn't like the way those freaky golden eyes glinted when the sun hit them. And most of all, he didn't like those weird bangs. He was sincerely looking forward to beating this guy into the ground.

There was no definite sign given to begin the battle; Saitou did not appear to be taking Zanza seriously (and wasn't that going to prove a mistake), and made no move toward his weapon. So Zanza gritted his teeth and charged, putting all his strength into the first swing of his zanbatou in Saitou's direction. It felt so good to have the weapon out, to fight with it, the weight of it in his hands shifting with unexpected speed as the blade raced downward and the air rushing by with a hollow-sounding, metallic whistle... What felt better, though, was the expectation that he might actually be decently matched here.

It was obvious that he'd missed even before the sword's impact with the ground sent a mess of soft, dislodged earth flying in all directions. Zanza growled and wrenched the sword back up, looking around for his enemy again. His shouldered weapon spun with him with the sound of rushing metal, and there was Saitou behind him, standing still and smoking as before.

"Draw your sword!" Zanza bellowed, irate, and ran toward the other again, making the movement of his own sword part of his approach in a fluid attack that ended in a horizontal swing. He thought he'd been quick enough, but as the zanbatou swept at Saitou from right to left, the man in blue ducked the intended blow with amazing speed and stood calmly again -- still smoking and not even appearing to notice the rain of little twigs and small branches the great weapon had occasioned around him.

The sound of Zanza's teeth grinding seemed loud in the quiet clearing. The bastard was just like the damn Meiji government he represented: untouchable and annoying as hell. "Draw your fucking sword," Zanza growled.

"Why?" Saitou replied, coolly blowing smoke in his direction. "I'm enjoying watching you."

What the hell did he mean by that? "Are all Meiji cops too cowardly to fight for real, or just the ones who betrayed the Shinsengumi?" A slight flash across the freaky yellow eyes told him he'd scored a hit, as perhaps did the man's response:

"Strong words from an eighteen-year-old."

Zanza knew what Saitou was implying: that he didn't have any right to talk since he'd only been a child during the Bakumatsu. Which meant the cop didn't know quite everything about him. That was good, but it didn't change the fact that conversations like this were painful and always would be. "The guy who hired me doesn't think too good of you either." With this he struck again, faster and harder this time and unexpectedly too. Or so he thought.

"Yaoku always did have more money than sense," Saitou replied from behind him.

Perhaps it was his anger; perhaps it was Saitou's eyes -- whatever it was, a feeling was growing in Zanza's chest that he could not quite describe. But it was huge and excited, and would not be quelled. Something about if Saitou would draw his sword... The fight Zanza had for so long been seeking was at hand, if the other man would just draw! He could feel it: he was at the edge of the battle of a lifetime... but his opponent refused to give him what he wanted.

He had to get Saitou to fight him; he had to. Despite his strong disliking of the man that was based on unshakeable principal, he felt the philosophical side of this confrontation sinking into the background of his mind and the desire for that ultimate battle rising inexorably. But he couldn't so quickly abandon the reason he'd come here in the first place, despite the prospects before him. He spun again, retorting to Saitou's comment with, "I guess your idea of good sense is to abandon everything you fought for back then and join forces with your enemies? You just go with whoever's stronger at the time, don't you?"

He'd been aiming to anger the man, and as another bright flash flared in Saitou's narrowing eyes he felt he'd succeeded. Restraining a dark smile, he leaped forward with another great heave of his sword. And it was with a shiver of anticipation and a sudden rush of adrenaline that he heard the rasp of Saitou's weapon leaving its sheath and felt the rather unexpected clash of sword against sword. He'd never thought someone like a former Shinsengumi captain would be foolish enough to try to meet his zanbatou with a mere katana; maybe he'd made the man angrier than he'd thought.

But it was with even greater surprise that, despite the weight and strength with which he was bearing down, he found himself entirely thrown off. Losing his balance, he staggered away and nearly tripped. His heart was racing, and its excited pounding in his ears was all he could hear; nobody had ever done anything like that to him before. This was going to be one hell of an awesome fight. He quickly found his feet and charged again.

Blow after blow fell and was repelled, the air grew thick with earth tossed up from the churning ground and the noise of ringing collisions, and Zanza was so close, so close to what he sought, the battle he wanted, and Saitou was open on the right. Zanza didn't want it to end, but he couldn't afford not to take that kind of shot. The great sword descended, and would certainly connect this time. But for some reason, a wrenching sound of steel shearing across steel filling his ears, and he found himself staggering forward instead of being stopped by the usual shock of zanbatou driving into the dirt. He fell, stumbling, and inexplicably was unable to regain his balance, as he would normally have done, by pressing his weapon against the ground.

...what just happened...?

His eyes widened in shock as the answer embedded itself deeply in the earth before him with a thud; his startled gaze ran down the haft of his weapon to where the blade had been severed near its point of origin so that only about three inches of metal remained at the end of the wooden grip.

For a moment, he could do nothing but stand still and gape.

His.... zanbatou.... was..... was.....?

"And your idea of sense, it would seem," Saitou remarked, resuming the conversation where they'd left it seemingly hours ago, "is to pick meaningless fights for nothing more than the childish pleasure you take in the battle itself."

As that calm voice spoke, yet again, from behind him, Zanza was filled with a rage surpassing any he'd felt. He rounded on Saitou with a shout. "You just fucking trashed my sword!!"

Saitou gave his own weapon a slight swish, appearing barely to have exerted himself in the previous skirmish. "You were the one who insisted I draw mine. But I was tired of humoring you."

Everything went red in Zanza's eyes at this light, sarcastic statement. Tossing the haft of his beloved and now useless weapon aside, he clenched his fists and charged in again. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get ahold of one of those fucking things?" he cried as his blow hit home.

To his amazement, Saitou stood still and accepted the punch to his high cheekbone, giving not even an indication that he'd been hit. Zanza retreated a few steps, his gaze flitting from the unconcerned face down to his own fist and back. Was something wrong with him? In the past he'd defeated men with just the flick of a finger... but this guy... first he threw off full-strength zanbatou blows, and now... how could anyone be that strong? The kenkaya was beginning to realize just what Sasaki had meant when he'd said he didn't think any one person could defeat Saitou Hajime in battle.

"Yes, they are rather difficult to acquire these days, aren't they?" Saitou was saying in reply to his last statement. "But it's an idiot's weapon to begin with."

It was obvious that Zanza was, in fact, in way over his head, but also that here was an opponent infinitely worth fighting. He was aching with the loss of that battle-heat of a few moments ago, aching with the desire for real, truly intense combat, the desire that had come so close to being fulfilled just now. And besides that, he was still angry -- not only had his precious zanbatou been destroyed, but now Saitou was mocking it, and, through it, him. "I still have a message for you!"

Saitou blocked the next several punches with movements almost too quick to follow, and eventually Zanza fell back again in amazement that was growing every moment along with his annoyance.

"Naruhodo," the police officer said with a short nod. "The rumors were true: you are strong." He smirked. "But that's today, in the Meiji era. In Bakumatsu's Kyoto, these little blows you're throwing now would have been completely meaningless."

"I guess you do still remember something from those days," Zanza spat, preparing for another attack. "I'll have to tell that Yaoku guy."

"There is one thing you can tell him," Saitou replied as he deftly caught Zanza's balled right hand in his own left, knocking the boy's other fist away with his right elbow, and driving his sword smoothly through the kenkaya's shoulder. Zanza cried out in pain and flailed his every limb as he was borne to the ground. Saitou placed a foot on his chest and yanked his weapon free, then stepped back. "You can tell Yaoku Fumishi that a wolf is always a wolf, Shinsengumi or otherwise, and that in this Meiji era I continue to act as I always have by hunting down evil wherever it is found. That there is no better way to do so than as one of the government's own agents, fighting against corruption from within the system itself, you can tell him... if you can get up."

To say that Zanza was surprised would have been a bit off the mark. For one thing, he was too overwhelmingly, blindingly angry to be surprised; for another, he had this amazing pain in his shoulder... But he wasn't defeated yet! He jumped to his feet, one hand squeezed over the bloody wound, and faced his enemy with fire in his eyes. But Saitou had actually sheathed his sword and was walking away. "Wait a second, you fucking bastard!" he screamed. "I'm not finished with you yet!"

"I'm getting bored with this," Saitou replied over his shoulder. "You've delivered your message, and I've given my reply; we have no further business together."

Was it Zanza's imagination, or was there a peculiar tone in his voice through this last statement? He couldn't figure out what it might mean, so he only responded in an inarticulate roar and threw himself after the retreating figure.

The same indifference with which he'd made all of his moves during the last little while marked Saitou's reaction: he turned easily, blocked Zanza's punch, and replied with his own straight into the boy's wounded shoulder. A moment later he followed this up with a gloved palm to the kenkaya's brow, hurling him in one violent motion to the ground again.

Zanza bellowed out his pain as his opponent thus took advantage of the wound already inflicted, but the noise fell to a slight whimper as he hit the dirt hard -- so hard, in fact, that the next moment he found everything fading to black around him.

He'd get the bastard for this, if it was the last thing he ever did.

Tokio glanced over at the clock as her husband entered the house (punctual as always), and shook her head with a smile. The occasions hadn't been numerous, but it wasn't the first time a mercenary had been sent to fight him. He had his old enemies, after all, just as any figure from the Bakumatsu would, but in his case some of these could more accurately be described as old friends with the wrong idea. Like Yaoku, whose name she'd heard Hajime mention from time to time.

She watched him as he removed his jacket and sword the same way he always did and sit down to smoke another cigarette. Nearly finished preparing their supper, she hurried to be done so they could eat, hoping to hear about the fight.

Her husband was entirely silent while they ate -- moreso even than usual -- and eventually she grew annoyed. "Aren't you going to tell me about it?" she demanded.

He gave a slight shrug. "There's nothing to tell."

"Sou ka? You're unusually thoughtful, for such an uneventful fight."

"I destroyed his weapon and knocked him out," he replied briefly, and she knew by his tone that it was all she was likely to get out of him on the subject. But she couldn't help continuing in her annoyance as she cleared up and watched him open a newspaper -- because she could tell he wasn't reading it. He was looking at it, yes, but his eyes weren't moving. What in the world had him so pensive? It took a lot to get him into that kind of mood. She was overwhelmingly curious, but there was nothing she could do; she knew him too well to think that asking would get her anywhere. She'd just have to wait and hope he'd feel like telling her at some point. Well, and she could annoy him in return as revenge.

She sat down beside him and looked over his shoulder at the paper he wasn't reading. "So I suppose he isn't as Evil as his weird outfit claims he is."

He looked over at her briefly, then back to the newspaper, which he shook slightly in indication that he didn't want to talk. "It ought to say 'souzen' on his back," he replied shortly.

She grinned at the idea. "What a shame. If he were Evil, you'd get to kill him."

He said nothing.

She jumped up and seized his sword from where it stood in the corner by the coat-rack. Drawing the weapon, she started to imitate his gatotsu stances, which she knew he hated (mostly because she managed it so well). As she did so she chanted monotonously, "Aku Soku Zan, Aku Soku Zan." It was something she'd become quite practiced at, being annoying. Granted, she liked Hajime too much to annoy him very often, but when she did she was damn good at it.

He rose coolly and folded his paper, and, stepping over to her, seized the sword fluidly from her hand. Bending to retrieve the sheath she'd let fall to the floor, he put the weapon away without a word and left the room.

Tokio shook her head with a smile. Hajime could hide most of what he was thinking and feeling from her, but when he was annoyed she could always tell -- especially when it was because of her. "You going to bed?" she asked.

A noncommittal grunt.

She chased him down the hall. "Kiss me goodnight?"

He pushed her wordlessly toward her own bedroom.

"But it's so cold!" she protested, smiling prettily at him. "Can't I sleep with you?" It had been a while since she'd done this one, but it was not an unfamiliar ritual.

He glared back at her. "I'm not in the mood for your little seduction games," he replied. "Good night." And his bedroom door hid his retreating form from view.

She pouted as she turned toward her own chamber, grumbling silently, Of all the samurai in Japan, I had to marry one who only likes men. And what exactly was his problem tonight, anyway? At least she'd succeeded in irritating him, if only for a few minutes, as punishment for not telling her about the battle with Zanza.

She went to bed.

The matter didn't come up again in any material way for a few days. She was on patrol, a very boring and dull and tedious and not-interesting and generally stupid thing. But there weren't exciting spying assignments in other parts of the country every day, the really intensive investigation on their current major target hadn't started yet, and someone had to patrol the streets of Tokyo.

She couldn't help stopping to glance over the wares of an art vendor she happened to pass (the same one she happened to pass every time she came this way, and whose stand she could never help glancing over), but she tried to make her stint brief. This was difficult, as he seemed to have recently added to his assembled stock a number of works by some top-rate print-maker with whom she was not familiar. One particular piece, a portrait of Hachiro Iba, was very beautiful and very tempting. It was rather sad, she reflected as she gazed longingly at it, that the wife of a famous ex-Shinsen should be thus starry-eyed over some samurai she didn't know, but she had a soft spot -- probably due to the stories she'd managed to extract from her husband during the years they'd been married -- for anyone that had fought with all their heart in the Bakumatsu, especially those that had won fame thereby.

Someone was watching her (being a spy herself, she could generally tell when that was the case), but he wasn't trying to conceal his presence, and as she turned she easily spotted him; it wasn't hard, after all, when he was dressed in all white and had that spiky hair. As he, having noted that she'd observed him, approached her glowering, she could easily see as his apparently-just-washed gi flapped open that he was bandaged beneath.

"Oi, police lady," he growled as he came over to her.

She looked up into his face. "Yes?" she answered politely.

"You work with that bastard --"

She cut him off smoothly before he could say the name. "Fujita? Yes, I'm his partner. My name is Tokio. Was there something you wanted?"

"I want to fight him again," he replied darkly.

"That's hardly something you need to tell me," she laughed. "He's the one in charge."

It seemed that at this point, Zanza couldn't help giving her a brief, scrutinizing sweep of his eyes. "Why the hell would a nice-lookin' girl like you be partner to a jerk like him, anyway?"

"Ah, so you did have a real reason for talking to me."

He blushed. "I mean... I mean, I want to fight him again, but I don't want to have to talk to him again, 'cause he seems like a total prick. So I thought I'd see if you could arrange it, since you seem like a more reasonable person."

He was cute, she decided: a little less urbane than men she was generally interested in, but definitely good-looking. She abandoned her study of the prints and turned fully to face him, smiling broadly. "And what do I get out of it if I do arrange another fight between the two of you?"

"Anou..." He scratched his head.

"You can't think of anything you could do for me?" she teased.

Yes, she reflected as she watched another cute little blush spread over his face in response to her query, she'd been correct. He was easy to read. "Ano..." he said again.

"How about this," she interjected. "I set things up for you, and you take me out sometime."

She could tell he was surprised, but also somewhat pleased. Hajime was probably not going to like this, but she'd never let him stand in her way before... Zanza opened his mouth to answer -- and then suddenly his entire demeanor changed. His brows lowered over his suddenly-widened eyes, his body tensed, and his surprise increased and darkened. She was about to ask what was wrong, but he pushed past her and reached down to seize one of the prints on display at the art stand before which they still stood.

She stared at him as he stared at the paper, trying to discover what had agitated him so much. She could generally read just about anyone's emotions, but the reasons for them were a little harder to figure out. And she couldn't see the subject of the artwork he was examining. She jumped a bit as his silence was abruptly broken with a growled-out demand to the merchant: "Where does he live?"

The man wasn't sure what Zanza meant, and he said so. When the kenkaya stepped forward and seized the front of the merchant's kimono, hauling him up to eye level, the man shot Tokio an appealing glance -- but she could tell that Zanza was not angry, only shocked and almost desperate. "The artist!" the boy was roaring.

"Th-the Dobu Ita rowhouses," the merchant stammered. "But he never sees anyone; I don't know if you can..."

Zanza released him and turned with a dark look. "Oh, he'll see me," he said, and stalked away from them without another word.

With a shake of her head Tokio watched him depart. "A bit flighty, there," she commented softly, and smiled, then turned to pay for the print that had just been made off with (it was either that or arrest Zanza for theft, after all). "What was that picture?"

The man was shaking his head as well, smoothing out the front of his attire and looking slightly annoyed. "Just a portrait of the leader of that Bakumatsu group -- what was it called, the one that claimed it was a government-supported army?"

"The Sekihoutai?" Tokio guessed.

"That's the one," the merchant confirmed. "Don't know why he'd get so worked up about such a picture."

"Nor do I," she said thoughtfully. But I will. And with a nod to the man, she headed up the street in the direction Zanza had gone.

The door opened yet again, and Saitou looked up in mild irritation to see who it was this time. "What are you doing?" he asked as Tokio entered and closed the door behind her.

"Sorry," she replied, smiling, "but I had a run-in with that bishounen you fought the other day."

Saitou raised a brow at her word choice and waited silently for the rest of her explanation as to why she'd abandoned her patrol.

"He wants to fight you again, but that won't be much of a shock. What may surprise you more, though, is what I found out about him."

Saitou wouldn't have admitted it to anyone that might have asked him at that point, but he was quite interested in hearing what she had to say. What could she have found out about Zanza that wasn't generally known? Or was she teasing him? With Tokio it was oftentimes hard to tell, even for someone married to her.

"It appears he was an assistant to Sagara Souzou when he was a kid, and was there when the Sekihoutai was betrayed."

Saitou's brows lowered. That was definitely a surprise, but an explanatory one: if Zanza had been close enough to Sagara Souzou that he'd taken his name (or they might be related; he didn't think that was the case, from what he'd heard, but it would be relatively easy to find out), the betrayal of the Sekihoutai must have been unbelievably traumatic. That was probably the reason the kid was always looking for good fights: how easy it was to lose one's self in the rush of battle, to the point where all cares and emotions were forgotten, Saitou knew quite well (though he did not himself indulge). And obviously anyone that had been thus betrayed by what would eventually become a corrupt and confused government would feel it right to hate the latter, and despise even more someone that had once opposed it and now seemed to have joined its ranks. The kanji on the boy's back might well have something to do with the entire Sekihoutai matter too.

"How did you discover this?" he asked at length.

She told him about the incident with the print, and how she'd followed Zanza to the artist's house and listened to their conversation.

Saitou sat back in his chair and puffed thoughtfully. It seemed a shame to let such a pretty and undeniably strong young man run around without any sort of purpose in life other than to forget a past that he was at the same time carrying scrawled across his back. Saitou had felt the potential in those blows: though he did not bruise, he had a number of tender spots across his arms where Zanza had hit him. With some proper training, the kenkaya could be quite formidable.

"You're planning something," Tokio remarked, "which really doesn't seem appropriate considering the situation."

"The Karashigumi," he said without looking up at her.

"You can't be serious." She knew he was, but she was always making silly exclamations like that anyway.

"Why not?"

"Uh, because he hates you? And he hates the government? And he doesn't seem to have ever held a steady job?"

"That can all be changed," Saitou replied in a businesslike tone, but he was smirking. "Or, more accurately, used for our benefit." (Although he'd work on the first one.) "You need to get back to your patrol."

She frowned. She'd probably been frowning through most of the conversation, actually, but he was only now looking up at her. "I suppose that means you're planning on fighting him again."

"Of course."

"I'll tell him, then. Do you care for any specific time?"

He shook his head.

"All right." She smiled with a slight roll of eyes. "Ja ne."

He nodded, and she closed the door on her way out. But even as he returned to his work, his thoughts began to wander. Not uncontrollably, of course, but enough that it started to irritate him. It was true that he hadn't been interested in anyone in quite some time, but that was no reason to let it get in the way of his job. It was true that he hadn't had a lover for years, but that didn't mean his life had to be entirely disrupted. Just because he had his eye on someone was no cause for irrationality or undue agitation.

Wasn't he the one, though, that had been thinking just the other day how dull his life was? How nothing interesting ever happened to him because of his occupation, how he was so rarely presented with any type of challenge? He couldn't help thinking that Zanza might well change all of that. The boy had a certain aura of excitement about him, of chaos almost. And he was strong, stronger than the average fighter at any rate. Not only that, he seemed (as Tokio had reminded him) to hate Saitou. But Saitou was interested in him, in a professional sense as well as a personal. And wasn't that a challenge?

Finally he decided to indulge. Abandoning his work for the moment, he sat back and allowed himself to consider the possibilities in this situation.

Professionally -- Obviously Zanza would be the perfect one to help them take out the Karashigumi. He was the right kind of person in the right kind of situation in life, and from what Saitou had heard and witnessed first-hand, he wasn't entirely stupid either. The fact that the Karashi were owned by a corrupt politician would probably make the job palatable to the kid, too, if he could get used to the idea of working for the government against the government. Once he was brought to understand what Saitou and Tokio were doing, he would probably be willing to join them, but therein lay the difficulty. It wasn't hard to tell that Zanza was ridiculously stubborn, especially given that he was coming back to fight Saitou again after having been so unquestionably defeated. Well, that fight would be an important one, then: Saitou would have a thing or two to say, and he'd make sure the kid heard it all.

Personally -- He wasn't sure why he was so attracted to an uneducated urchin that named himself after his weapon, wore tacky clothing, and engaged in pointless combat for a living. But he was; having a history of being picky about his lovers made him listen to his instincts when he actually did like someone. And he couldn't deny that the boy looked good. It was likely to be slow work, though, getting Zanza to share his feelings. The self-evident first step was to recruit him in the aforementioned professional sense. After that... for the moment, his plans could only be very vague. But he knew one thing: Zanza would be his. Without question.

Satisfied with these deliberations, he turned his thoughts to the creation of a backup plan in case they couldn't convince Zanza to help them. Not that he intended to fail, but he was a rational man and recognized the possibility that he might. It wasn't likely, of course, but he always had a backup plan. And the Karashigumi needed to be taken out if he was going to get anywhere against Raihishuu, whether or not he was assisted by someone pretty. Well, Tokio was pretty, but of course she was out of the question.

Someone was pounding repeatedly on his head-- er, door, and shining light in his face -- or was that the sun? Before he answered, however, he tried to figure out where the hell he was and why he had a hangover.

Yeah, that's right... Katsu. After the initial surprise at finding each other alive, the two old friends had caught up and trashed-talked the government for a while before going out to get plastered. At least, he'd gotten plastered; he couldn't remember seeing Katsu touch his drink more than twice. And then... how had he reached home? That seemed to be where he was, if the familiar 'hidari' shadow falling over him was any indication. He wasn't sure. And who was knocking so incessantly? Well, it might be Katsu. He attempted to open his eyes more fully and grumbled, "Whaddya want?"

"It's almost noon, Zanza," a voice replied. "Are you going to sleep all day?"

It was someone familiar, but he couldn't quite place... "Go away!"

"I'm authorized to force an entry if you don't let me in."

Zanza sat up and put a hand over his eyes, then crawled over to unlock the door. "You're a damn cheeky woman," he muttered as he returned to his sprawling futon.

"I can be worse," she replied.

"Well, don't go complainin' about the mess in here." He buried his face in his blanket. "'Cause you're the one who'nsisted on coming in."

"Oh, I've seen it before. I brought you home last night."

Well, that was a surprise. "Why? What did I do?"

"Nothing. I just noticed that your friend was having a hard time lugging your huge, drunken self down the street all by himself, and volunteered to help him get you home."

"And he trusted you?" That didn't sound like the Katsu he'd met last night...

"He said you'd mentioned me."

"I... oh." Zanza was glad his face was still hidden in the comforting blanket as he blushed at suddenly recalling his words. Something to the effect of, 'and I might score with this hot police chick...' Time for a subject change. "What's your name again?"

"Tokio," she replied, amused.

"Yeah, tha's right..." But why did it sound so familiar? "Where have I heard that name before?"

"Besides yesterday, when I told you what it was?" she teased.

"Yeah."

"You research your opponents, don't you?"

"Oh, that's right..." Now he remembered coming across it somewhere while he'd been tracking down information about Saitou. He couldn't recall exactly what had been said about her, but he did remember dismissing the reference as unimportant. Why? A partner's name was not something he would usually just casually disregard...

She interrupted his attempt at recollection. "I set up your fight."

"Oh!" The matter was forgotten. "Yousha!" He sat up abruptly, forgetting the delicate state of his eyes and head, and groaned. Returning to his bedding, he asked, "For when?"

"Any evening you want to drop by like you did the other night."

"Good. I'll be sure to kick that bastard's ass this time around."

Tokio laughed. "You know, he really isn't a bastard. Just because he defeated you--"

"It's not that!" He sat up again and looked at her; she seemed to be surrounded by a painful, glowing halo of sunlight. "Do you know who he really is?"

"Of course I do," she replied scornfully.

"Then how can you work with him?" he burst out. "This fucking government is such a load of bullshit -- he was probably one of the best fighters against it during the war -- how could he just switch sides like that!?"

"Why don't you ask him that yourself, next time you see him?"

"You like him."

"Yes."

"Do you love him?"

She raised an eyebrow. "That's a bold question! I might, if he would let me."

"Well, then, why are you letting me fight him?" Zanza was unabashed.

"The first reason is that you don't have even the smallest chance at beating him, so I'm not worried. And the second is that I like you."

Zanza forced himself to ignore the first reason in order to concentrate on the second. With a grin that was also forced (hangovers and grins didn't mix well) he said, "Well, you know, I am kinda sitting here in bed, kinda naked -- kinda -- and..."

"And I'm kinda on-duty," she replied with a mocking smile. "And I need to get back to my patrol." She stood. "I'll drop by some other time and we can arrange something. If," she added as she slid the door open, "you're still alive, that is."

"If I'm still alive," he grumbled after she was gone, returning to the muffling safety of the blanket. "If your partner's still alive after I get through with 'im..." But he had nothing with which to finish the thought, so he trailed off.

It was definitely time to go back to sleep. Stupid police woman; didn't she know the routine? You don't come talk to people after they get drunk. He steadied his breathing and tried to relax, but he just couldn't stop thinking about the situation.

Honestly, he didn't know if he could beat Saitou. The way that man moved, his complete unconcern as he evaded or blocked Zanza's every blow, his amazing endurance when he allowed the kenkaya to hit him... and then the casual manner in which he'd shoved his sword right through Zanza's shoulder... It was almost unreal. A hand crept to the wrapped injury. It had not been anything particularly worrisome; indeed, the doctor he'd grudgingly visited had remarked on how precise a wound it was, having narrowly missed everything major despite its depth (and yet still hurting like all kinds of hell) -- which meant that Saitou had been playing with him even then. No, he wasn't sure if he could win against someone like that. He shivered slightly as he recalled suddenly the gleam in those freaky golden eyes. But it was a shiver of pure excitement.

He'd finally found someone stronger than he was, and he looked forward to their rematch with raging impatience. He tried to tell himself it was because of his anger toward the government and an asshole that would join it after having opposed its formation, but he knew that wasn't true. He had been angry, but on that score he was less certain now than before.

At the time, as he'd been lying on the ground with a fresh puncture in his shoulder, the spoken words hadn't quite registered in his brain, but afterward he'd remembered what Saitou had said during their skirmish -- that he was 'fighting against corruption from within the system itself as one of the government's own agents,' or something of the like. And dutifully Zanza had told Yaoku of this when he'd gone to collect his payment. Yaoku had frowned and said nothing for a moment, and the kenkaya hadn't stayed long to talk; now he almost (only almost) wished he had: he needed a good reason to keep fighting Saitou -- after all, it seemed fairly ridiculous to say that he wanted to do battle just because Saitou was stronger than he was -- and Saitou's apparent betrayal of the Shinsengumi was reason enough for someone like him. Take that away, and what justification did he have in seeking the cop out?

It might have been a lie... Recalling the tone in which the words were spoken, and the peculiar look on his enemy's face at the time, Zanza for some reason could not bring himself to believe that it had been, but still... He had to find out. He wasn't sure why he wanted so desperately to know exactly what Saitou was, but he did. Perhaps it was because of the aforementioned need for a concrete, declarable reason for fighting the man. Or perhaps it was because there was something vaguely irritating about the former Shinsen that the kenkaya could not quite place. Something about the very existence of Saitou Hajime agitated Zanza, and he didn't know why.

Well, he'd just have to see what the bastard had to say when he went over there again -- tonight -- and challenged him a second time.

Tokio slipped through the trees as quickly as she could without being heard, irritated. Leave men alone for two minutes and they did weird things.

She'd known Hajime was likely to give Zanza quite the lecture this time around, considering that her husband was determined to recruit the boy as an operative in the Karashigumi-Raihishuu affair. Having been on the receiving end of enough of his lectures herself, she'd had no desire to hear it -- but she did want to see them fight. She'd never seen Zanza in combat before, and she imagined that in such a state he must look even better than he did when he was just standing around. Also, to her professional credit, she wanted to watch in order to gauge by his emotions how much effort on their part would be needed to convince him to help them out.

So when the men had headed to the same clearing as before to hold their rematch, she'd waited inside as if she were once again going to comply with Hajime's wishes and stay inside; she'd come out a few minutes later, silently and carefully, in order to see what she wanted to see... only to find them gone, apparently deeper into the woods. What were they doing?

In answer to her question, a muffled -- indeed, heard only with difficulty, but seemingly feminine -- scream rose from somewhere ahead of her. Well, that made sense: someone in trouble, specifically someone that sounded so young, would certainly get Hajime's attention, and was probably the only thing that could drag Zanza away from a fight (much as she guessed he'd be likely to deny that). She quickened her pace, taking less care to be quiet.

The belt of trees was rather thick here, separating their neighborhood from another, richer one -- one in which crimes of personal violence and rape, though rarer, still did occur. Another scream sounded, and she adjusted her path slightly. If she'd just come out here a bit earlier, she could have followed the men themselves, but, no, she'd had to be picky...

She found them, led at last by the sounds of scuffling from a narrow opening off to her right. She was too late to be of any assistance: Hajime had already felled one of the men -- though she didn't think he'd killed him -- and Zanza was in the process of knocking the other out with a very vicious-looking uppercut. The hapless victim, apparently a girl in her early or mid teens dressed in a relatively fine-looking kimono, lay on the ground in the middle of things, the trickle of blood from beneath her not boding well.

Hajime had bent and made a brief examination of the girl as Zanza lowered his fist; he shook his head. Tokio slowly let out the breath she'd been holding. She had seen scenes like this more than once; for even the best law enforcement officials, there were always instances when you just couldn't arrive in time. It was painful, but there was nothing to be done for it.

Zanza didn't seem to realize this.

"Motherfucking bastards!" he growled, kicking the unconscious man fiercely. "Chasing a fucking weaponless girl through the fucking woods to do god-knows-what to her, and you fucking kill her when someone comes to fucking help?!"

Tokio shook her head with an inaudible sigh. Zanza was as angry as she'd yet seen him; it didn't surprise her. But this appeared to be in addition to some other very profound emotions. It took her a moment to work through his rage and figure out what they were, but eventually she thought she saw in him a good deal of almost desperate confusion, touched with sorrow and even guilt. She'd never imagined him in such a state, and was immediately severely curious as to how he'd reached it.

She noted that the man Hajime had taken down was still conscious, for his hand was creeping to his side to press against the bleeding wound her husband had occasioned there; his fear was easily apparent, and she didn't blame him for choosing to stay down and relatively still in the face of Zanza's impressive ire.

At that moment, Hajime turned toward her place on concealment and called her name. Not surprised that he'd known of her presence, she stepped out and walked toward him. She veered away, however, and went to Zanza instead, laying a restraining hand on his arm, as she heard what was probably ribs cracking and realized that the kenkaya had not ceased kicking the fallen man. "Stop," she said softly. "He'll get enough of that in jail."

As the fighter turned his head to look at her and she found her eyes meeting his, her conjecture was completely confirmed: although Zanza was feeling irate and helpless about the current situation, his mood was intensified to this violent extreme by a mélange of other emotions that he hadn't apparently expected to be feeling today. What in the world did you say to him, Hajime? She squeezed Zanza's arm comfortingly (pushing aside the totally ill-timed desire to keep squeezing once she felt his amazingly nice muscle), and turned to face her husband for instructions.

Hajime looked grim. "Let's get this trash to the station," he said; "we'll send someone back for the body."

Tokio nodded and moved to the man Zanza had been kicking. She didn't much fancy hauling around unconscious people, but after the treatment he'd just received there was no telling when he might wake up -- if, indeed, he ever did again, she reflected as she looked more closely at him.

"Get up," Hajime was commanding the other man as Tokio began lifting the one in front of her. It was at about that moment that Zanza stalked into the trees and disappeared.

She let the man drop from her arms and started to call out after the retreating warrior, but Hajime cut her off: "Don't. He wants to kill someone, and I want at least one of these bastards alive."

Nodding, she returned to her task.

Of course they did not have to walk all the way to the police station; but despite how very much she wanted to know, even once they were in the carriage she could not bring herself to ask what, exactly, Hajime had said to Zanza to get him so worked up -- having two bound men seated across from you, one of them conscious, frightened, and staring, is not entirely conducive to gossip. Beyond that, she couldn't quite get past the memory of Zanza's heart-wrenchingly angry, horrified face and Hajime's current glower.

The police station at night was not half the chaos it was in daylight, but it was never empty; they had the men celled up quickly enough, and almost entirely wordlessly at that. Both were bandaged first, of course, and the conscious prisoner was not happy -- but then, who would be, in such a situation? Hajime sent two younger officers after the body of the girl, and then went into his own office in search of cigarettes.

She hated it when he didn't tell her what he was thinking. It was a routine of hers, bemoaning the fact that the one person she'd ever met who was guarded enough that she couldn't read him happened to be her partner. Her husband too, though that was secondary. "Aren't you going to question that guy?" she finally asked, after watching him stand thoughtfully by his desk smoking quietly for several minutes. "I assumed that was the reason you wanted 'at least one of these bastards alive.'"

"Something was strange about the whole situation," Hajime replied at last; "It didn't seem like a normal attack on a random girl. I'm going to wait until someone can identify the body."

Tokio was torn between asking for more details and asking what Hajime had said to Zanza, but her husband solved that dilemma for her by adding, "I want you to go see what Zanza is doing."

"Why? What did you do to him?"

Hajime smiled slightly. "I was relatively gentle."

"Yeah, so gentle that he was in a murderous rage when I found you."

"That seems to be his way of dealing with confusion."

"So I noticed. But what exactly happened between you two?"

"I only pointed out the fact that he could be doing much better things with his resources than pointless fighting."

"And I'm sure you did it in your own classic style."

His smile curled into a smirk. "I want you to go find him and see how much longer it will take to get him on our side."

"Should I talk to him?"

"If you think it appropriate."

She nodded. "And you will..."

"I need to wrap up this pleasant little affair, and then I'm going home."

With another nod she headed for the door. "Good evening, then." Even as she departed the police station, she was running through all the places she should look for the kenkaya; she wasn't sure where he was likely to be. She knew all his frequent haunts from research, of course, but where would he go when he was angry? A bar? She hoped not; that would indicate, to her way of thinking at least, that he wanted to forget what he'd heard. She decided to check his apartment first, and headed out in that direction.

Full night had fallen by the time he stopped moving and cast himself on the wooden planks of the dock beside the ruffled starlit water of the bay. The air smelled of fish and sea-salt, but it was a scent he was used to as his own neighborhood wasn't far from here. He hadn't wanted to go home, for his apartment felt claustrophobic and accusing (he wasn't sure how that worked), so he'd bypassed it entirely and come here.

There was hardly anyone about, and as he gazed down into the black ocean lapping against the pilings, he thought he might just sit here all night. He had a lot of things to think about.

Saitou.

It wasn't about Saitou, really, was it? The former Shinsen had made him see the truth, but that truth didn't have anything to do with him. Still, Zanza didn't think anyone else could have said it in quite the same way, and that made all the difference.

He couldn't help going over and over the whole scenario in his head...

Saitou appeared at the door, unsurprised, smoking a cigarette. "Good evening," he said casually.

"Don't 'good evening' me!" Zanza was in no mood for pleasantries, real or feigned, having just awakened and worked himself up on the way over for a really good bout followed by finding out exactly what he wanted to know. "Just get out here and fight."

Saitou smirked, and wordlessly stepped from the house, closing the door behind him and wearing his shoes without another glance at the kenkaya. He then led the way past the building, presumably toward the same clearing where they'd fought before. Upon reaching the place, Zanza felt pleased to find some of his anger returning as he recalled the destruction of the beloved weapon that now lay forlornly in pieces on his apartment floor. Angry was a better way to fight. But even as he fell into a good first stance, Saitou raised a hand.

"Before you charge me and I knock you unconscious again," the cop said languidly, "I want to know why it is you're fighting me when you're not being paid to do so."

"Because..." His anger was rising, and he clutched at it as he made his answer. After all, he couldn't exactly say, I want to fight you because you're likely to kick my ass, and there aren't many people who can do that, but no more could he admit that, I'm fighting you because I want a reason to keep fighting you. So he called upon the only other rational, and still partly true, explanation for his actions: "Because I can't stand you... you all high and mighty and pleased with yourself... you that everyone says couldn't be beaten by any other man in the Shinsengumi... you who supposedly had all these great ideals and morals... How could you be that way -- so that everyone who knew you back then praises you even now -- and then turn around and switch sides?! 'Fighting against corruption,' you say, yeah." He spat the words at his enemy's face, determined to get a response. "Those are some nice words from a guy with your kind of paycheck."

"Hn." Saitou did not seem impressed, and this enraged Zanza further.

"Just admit it!" he shouted. "You're a sellout! The Meiji government bought you, no matter how many pretty words you dress it up in!" Ah, now he was getting somewhere; just as before, a strange flash seemed to pass across Saitou's freaky yellow eyes, and the older man shifted almost imperceptibly. Zanza ranted on. "You fought so hard back then -- I know you did; I talked to all sorts of people, heard all the stories -- and then suddenly you joined with these bastards who take advantage of the weak and throw their power around for their own good... the same men who --"

He stopped himself just in time, aghast at what he had almost revealed. When had he lost control of what he was saying? He'd been trying to bait Saitou, trying to find out the truth, not dragging his own pain into things; that didn't have anything to do with the current situation!

"--who betrayed your mentor?" Saitou finished for him.

Zanza could only stare.

"Don't think I don't know who you are, Sagara Sanosuke," the other man continued easily. "I know about your past, why you live the way you do, what motivates you." He flicked his cigarette away in a sudden movement and looked Zanza in the eye. "Can you say the same for me?"

The kenkaya was completely taken aback. That Saitou knew all of that shouldn't have been a surprise, and yet... yet to hear his name spoken in that tone... confused him, somehow. "What the fuck does that have to do with --"

"Just answer the question!"

The piercing eyes had not withdrawn, and for some reason Zanza had a sneaky feeling that the conversation had shifted without his knowing it to something he hadn't meant it to be. He was supposed to be the one on the offensive here...! He should just attack the bastard and smash this uncomfortable tension apart with a few well-placed blows... but he found he couldn't move. He wanted too badly to know the truth about Saitou. That he still didn't entirely understand why he wanted to know made things all the more disconcerting. "Well, no," he admitted, "but..." But Saitou was staring at him, as if he could see into the depths of Zanza's much-guarded heart. The accusation was plain, and Zanza's anger was beginning to return. "But I know enough about you to know that you're a fucking sellout!"

"All right," Saitou replied, in a tone half amused and half exasperated. "I'll give you that, since you're so adamant about it. I am a sellout: I am a government spy working directly with certain men, such as Oukubo Toshimichi, that I would probably have killed without a second thought during the war; and in what I like to call my off-time I am also a mid-ranking police investigator in whatever precinct happens to surround my current place of residence. A sellout."

Oukubo...?! He'd had no idea that Saitou was that important.

"And let me tell you what that means," the former Shinsen continued, taking a step closer, "since your slow wits don't yet seem to have gotten around the name of my superior: in my position it is my duty and my pride to monitor closely the activities of said Oukubo, as well as many of his political colleagues. If any one of them were to, as you say, take advantage of the weak and throw their power around for their own good, I would kill them. Immediately."

Well, he'd wanted the truth, hadn't he? Perhaps he was foolish, but he was finding that the words thus spoken rang overwhelmingly of truth in his ears; he could not disbelieve. Suddenly he wasn't angry anymore; he couldn't be. As a matter of fact, he was beginning to feel slightly ashamed at being so aggressive and unfriendly toward this man. "I..." He didn't know what to say.

"--need to hear more?" Saitou interjected, still in the businesslike tone that had marked his previous statement. "As a police investigator, my field is the discovery and exposure of corruption among those of high rank. If names like Endarou, Kishitaku, and Iwasaki mean anything to you -- which I doubt -- you may be familiar with some of my recent work. And, yes, in exchange for these services, I receive a regular sum of money from the government."

This was too much. "Endarou... Kishitaku... and Iwasaki...?" The names did mean something to him, for in the time he'd spent in Tokyo, two of these prominent politicians had been assassinated, following which had come to light their extensive involvement with drug and weapons smuggling; the third charged with and executed for similar crimes. He'd celebrated with his friends upon hearing of each instance. And that was all Saitou's work?

"That's how I spend my Meiji era..." the man finished, then delivered the killing blow: "And you?"

"I..." There was nothing he could say, as he was feeling at that moment about as big as a mouse. He was fortunate, for the sake of what was left of his pride at any rate, that a sudden scream interrupted their strange interview -- for he had been, for the first time in his life, about to back out of a fight.

Saitou's meaning was all too clear, and Zanza could not refuse to take it. How did he spend his time? By fighting for money -- and not even for the sake of making a living, but solely in order to forget his own pain. Was this the reason he'd wanted so desperately to know about Saitou Hajime? Because with that knowledge he would finally come to see the pathetic reality of his own life? Did something deep inside him wish to shrug off the lies under which he'd been living, and therefore sought out the light when it finally shone? He didn't know.

But it was about time he faced the facts: that he was the real sellout: by living such a decadent life of mindless violence, he allowed the era to support him just like those corrupt politicians, if in a different manner. By wasting his strength on the pursuit of his own complacency, he was preying on the weak just as much as they did -- if only by being too distracted by his own precious self to notice when they were suffering, just as he'd been too wrapped up in his conversation with Saitou earlier to hear and respond properly to that girl's first scream. And by (for any practical purpose) forgetting all the ideals he'd been taught as a boy and concentrating exclusively on his own insignificant emotions, he dishonored Sagara-taichou perhaps more than the government ever could.

Taichou... What do I do now?

Stop this mockery, that was the first step, stop selfishly wasting his strength. Saitou was strong, after all, and he seemed to be working wonders. Zanza frowned. He couldn't deny that he had in the last few hours developed a completely unforeseen respect for Saitou... more than that, he'd caught from the man's words, like an elusive scent noted for but a moment on a shifting breeze, a sense of purpose, of progress, of real meaning in a world that he'd thought had lost anything remotely resembling. And he had a sudden, overwhelming desire to be part of that, to feel that progress to be his own and not just something admired in someone else. He was realizing how very little purpose he'd had in his own life in the last ten years.

He'd been fighting for so long... fighting the pain in his heart, fighting the memories in his head... he wasn't sure how to live without that. And this added thought that he needed to do something, something concrete and real for the good of the people, just as Sagara-taichou had always taught him, confused him even further. It just wasn't a way of life he understood; all he knew was battle, and pain, and the blissful forgetfulness these things brought.

He raised his head suddenly, looking up at the bright stars above as the obvious answer struck him. I may not know how to live that way, but I know how I can find out. He sighed slightly. Too bad he's such a complete jerk in all other respects. Even his newfound esteem for Saitou didn't make the unpleasant man any friendlier in the kenkaya's eyes. And by now he probably hates me anyway.

Saitou hadn't thought he had anything emotional tied up in the whole affair at the moment, but apparently he'd been wrong. Proving this was the fact that he was lying awake in his bed thinking about it -- and experiencing feelings that he hadn't had in longer than he was willing to admit -- far past the time he would normally have fallen asleep.

It was probably just jealousy, one of those petty things of which he'd always wanted to rid himself but that always came creeping back when he didn't expect it. He was so used to relying on Tokio's almost uncanny ability to read the emotions of others that he occasionally forgot she was unable to read his... of course she didn't know that he was interested in Zanza; how could she? He'd never mentioned it, had in fact acted worse than indifferent toward the boy. So really, it was his own fault that she was chasing after him without a thought that her husband might be jealous.

He had to laugh at the utter idiocy of his predicament. How many men of his inclination, he wondered, had this problem? To envy your own wife because it seemed she had a better chance with the man on whom your sights were set? But then, how many men had a wife like Tokio? She was... an unusual woman. She was talented, intelligent, amusing... attributes that often led Saitou to forgive the arrangement of the marriage all together as Tokio had frequently proven quite useful to him -- not to mention a good friend, the only one he had. Still, the fact remained that she was unorthodox.

And Zanza might just like that, along with those other aforementioned positive qualities that Saitou was at the moment inclined rather to curse than praise. Oh, he'd seen that look between them, when Tokio had come out of the trees and stopped next to the kenkaya. It wasn't an amorous look by any means, but it was a candid one: an indication that Zanza might be willing to open up to Tokio as he might not to anyone else. And Zanza didn't seem the type to confide like that in someone he considered a stranger.

Which was why Saitou had sent Tokio to go to him tonight.

There were times when he despised his own level-headedness. Sending her out there was really the last thing he should have done if he wanted to prevent a relationship between them. He'd known it at the time, and he felt it even more keenly now... she wasn't back yet. If she didn't come back at all tonight, would he dare to ask her how it had gone? Would he want to know the answer? Of course; there was nothing he didn't dare. It was that level-headedness again, as he knew quite well that bringing down a minor criminal empire headed by a corrupt politician was far more important than the interpersonal prospects of a spy. And that this goal currently involved recruiting Zanza to use against the yakuza that was the primary firepower behind said politician's underground endeavors. And that Tokio had a much better chance than he did of winning Zanza over to their cause.

He sighed, staring up at his dark ceiling, unblinking, unmoving. He knew he had been harsh, but there hadn't been any choice... and yet he couldn't help feeling a bit guilty when he recalled the look in the kenkaya's eyes that told him everything he was had suddenly been turned upside-down. Saitou, who had always been so firm in his own convictions, wondered what it must feel like suddenly not to know what to believe or how to live. It was strange, but he actually felt bad about having occasioned that kind of turmoil in another: yet more proof that he was emotionally involved in this far beyond what he'd thought he would become for quite some time.

He might as well just admit that this latest encounter had had the unexpected effect of making him like Zanza not just a little but a good deal more. It was obvious that the boy was capable of impressive moral strength; he seemed to be straining to understand something, to come to terms with the world -- and in the life Saitou led, surrounded by men that put on or cast off morality like a mask at will, this was remarkably refreshing. And whether or not Zanza knew it or lived by it, he apparently did have quite a clear, passionate innate sense of right and wrong, if his reaction to the situation with the girl was any indication. And while passionless good could triumph just as easily over evil, the more intense and emotional good of which it seemed Zanza was capable -- indeed, for which he probably strove without realizing it -- made the younger man all the more attractive to someone like Saitou.

It was about time he came to terms with the fact that if he kept thinking like this, he would, after not too long, be firmly and irrevocably infatuated.

Saitou wasn't really afraid of anything. Either something was inevitable, or it wasn't; there was no use fearing something he could not change, no reason to fear something he could. And yet the thought shook him. Not overly much, but enough that he began to make excuses. I'm too busy, was the prevalent thought. It was true that he'd decided earlier to make Zanza his, but that had been before he'd realized that this slight inclination of his might well turn into something serious. He had time for a fling, but not for a relationship that would involve so many personal resources. That he wasn't a fling type of person, and never really had considered Zanza in those terms in the first place, didn't matter. He just didn't have time for something so taxing as a serious relationship.

You are afraid, something in the back of his mind told him -- and, reasonable man that he was, he replied, Maybe I am. But what to do about it?

He was thinking about this in very one-sided terms, he realized. True, he rarely failed in anything to which he put his mind, but Zanza's heart was far from conquered. Or, to put it more accurately, it was on its way (perhaps) to being conquered by another. What was he going to do about Tokio?

To talk to her would be a farce; he dismissed that without a second thought. To make the whole thing into a contest by vying for Zanza under her nose was something that wouldn't have bothered him had she been anyone else... but he did have a sense of decency, and she was his friend, and someone that hated to see people's emotions played with. Besides, she was capable of making his life hell. To give up on Zanza entirely was at this point not an option; he had thought and planned too much for that. To give up on Zanza for the moment... ...was perhaps the best course of action.

No. Not to 'give up,' per se... he didn't much fancy that phrase. And it wasn't as if he planned on quitting some pervasive behavior; he hadn't exactly made any overtures toward the kid, after all. Yet. But standing back, doing his job the way he always did, and seeing what happened between Zanza and Tokio -- that seemed the best option.

And the more emotional side of his mind immediately piped up with, Even if that means watching her take him for herself? To which his dominant, logical side replied, Even so.

Having resolved that little internal conflict to his relative satisfaction, he attempted once more to sleep. And yet it seemed that, to his emotional side, things hadn't been resolved quite so satisfactorily, for it was still some time before he managed to depart the world of wakefulness, and that little nagging voice in his head kept inquiring most tenaciously just how long he thought he could keep up any kind of show of indifference once Zanza was routinely in front of him -- which, if things went the way they were supposed to, would very soon be the case.

By the time she found him, seated forlornly out on the docks beyond his neighborhood, it was an early hour of the morning, and she wondered if he'd been there all night. As she approached, she could easily see that he was no longer angry or even confused, just... sad. Miserable, almost; lonely.

He marked her footsteps once they started tapping across the pier, for she did not disguise them, and looked over at her. His expression, which was like that of a child who has suddenly had his favorite pastime permanently taken away from him, did not change as he turned his face toward her, but she smiled slightly at him. "Konbanwa," she said softly.

"Yo," he replied tonelessly, and cast his eyes out into the bay once more.

Beside him she asked, "May I?"

"Sure."

She sat. Uncertain as to where his mind was dwelling, she made her best guess to get the conversation started. "One of the hardest things about being with the police is that there're always times when there's nothing you can do -- and you get to see them all."

He nodded but said nothing. She'd been off, then: he wasn't thinking about the situation with the girl after all. "You gonna be all right?"

He frowned. "Saitou really hates me, doesn't he?"

That was a bit unexpected... Kami-sama, Hajime, you really were harsh with him, weren't you? "Not at all," she replied, allowing some of her surprise to sound in her voice.

He looked over at her skeptically. "It sure sounded like it earlier."

"He does think," she said carefully, "that you could be doing better things with your strength."

"Are you going to lecture me like he did?"

"No; he lectures much better than I do. But I would have to agree with him there."

"Well, what else am I supposed to be doing with myself? He told me the kinds of things he does... but I'm not cut out for that kind of stuff..."

"Why not?"

"Hell, I'm not a spy... I'm just a fighter. I bash people's brains in and get paid for it; what kind of good can I do with that?"

She smiled. "I think all you need is some direction. There are plenty of people you could fight in the name of justice, after all..."

Zanza shrugged. "Why bother? He could fight them all better than I could anyway."

With a laugh she allowed this to be true. "Still, you can't let the fact that there are people who are better than you stop you from doing things. If I let that kind of thing bother me, you wouldn't see me in a police uniform doing men's work, because the only thing I'm really good at is cooking."

He was beginning to cheer up, and chuckled at this revelation. "'Zat so?"

She nodded.

With a sigh much less desolate than the last had been, he looked up at the fading stars once again and murmured, "Sometimes I wonder..."

When he did not continue, she finally queried, "Wonder what?"

"I guess you know all about my past too," he said with a sidelong glance.

"Well, not all of it..."

"As much as he does, though?"

"Yeah."

"Well, sometimes I wonder... what Sagara-taichou would want me to do, with the way things've turned out." It seemed he wasn't looking at her on purpose, as if what he was saying were difficult to get through; she wondered how many people ever got to hear the tough kenkaya talk about things like this that were close to his heart.

"The way things have turned out in Japan, or with you?"

"Both," he replied with a shrug. "I don't think he was ever expecting this kinda thing... the way the government is right now, I mean. He really 'spected the war to end the inequality an' the corruption, I think. I don't know what he woulda done if he'd survived and seen what things really became."

"Kept fighting, I'm sure," she responded promptly, "even if it might not have been a physical battle anymore." Then she added, for good measure, "Real heroes never give up."

He stared at her for a moment, somewhat pleased. "You know, that's another thing... you guys both knew that taichou wasn't the bad guy everyone thinks he was..."

"We're spies," she reminded him lightly, though inwardly she was congratulating herself on the success of her verbal tactics, "and Hajime takes orders directly from the national commissioner... so of course he would know something like that."

The kenkaya rested his chin on his drawn-up knees and looked thoughtfully at nothing. "Is it any fun?" he asked at length.

"Being a spy?"

"Yeah, and knowing that you're doing something that's worth doing. I mean, I've been thinking about some things, and realizing I should probably do stuff differently from how I've been doing it. And it's not that I'm afraid of that; I'm not afraid to change, but I am a little worried... is that kind of life any fun? It's not the happiest prospect, thinking that if I change my ways, then if I don't die in the name of Doing Something Good, I'll die of boredom."

Tokio broke into merry laughter. "Sasuga Zanza! Always looking for a good time!"

"I'm serious!" he chided.

As her mirth diminished she replied, "I don't know about fun, but it is interesting... and it keeps you busy." She shrugged. "It's certainly not boring." Then as he pondered her words, she made an amendment. "That's just me, actually. Hajime... I think it's fun for him. You should see how irritated he gets when he doesn't have a big assignment... He does more normal police work then, but his skills are really going to waste there, and he knows it."

Zanza smiled a bit. "I guess that's true. He must still really be into that whole Aku Soku Zan thing that everyone I talked to in Kyoto told me about."

"You would not believe," she laughed. "He lives to destroy evil. It's quite amusing. And impressive, really."

"No wonder he thinks I'm a waste."

Something was evidently changing in Zanza's mood... the sensation of emotional wavering that had previously hovered about him was waning, and a new determination was building up in him -- but to do what? To prove that he was not 'a waste?' That was Tokio's guess, and she thought that if it were truly the case, now would be the perfect moment to plant the ideas she wanted in his head. "I don't think you're a waste..." she remarked in a deliberately thoughtful tone; "as a matter of fact, I was thinking you might actually be able to help me out with something -- help us, that is. Hajime and me."

His glance in her direction was swift and hopeful; whether she'd guessed right or not, he was obviously not averse to what she was suggesting -- making the night a success. "Help you guys?"

"Yeah... you may be just the kind of person we need."

"I dunno if I'd feel comfortable," he said slowly -- hesitantly, as if he didn't want to bring up anything that might make him seem reluctant -- "working for the police."

"And honestly I can't see you in a police uniform," she replied solemnly. Actually, she could picture it, very easily... and what a nice picture it was... Still -- "But that's not really what I have in mind."

"Well, what kind of thing is it?"

She shook her head and lied, "I'd need to talk to Hajime first, and make sure it's all right to give you the information." There, that should keep him interested.

"Oh, come on, tell me!"

Another shake of her head. "I'll tell you if Hajime says it's all right."

"I'll pretend I don't know!"

She grinned. "No."

"It's not something stupid, is it?"

"No," she said again with a laugh.

"Gimme a hint?"

"No!"

When he suddenly grabbed her and pushed her down to the wooden planks of the pier, she had to subdue her initial instinct -- which, of course, was to kick her attacker in the groin, toss him off, throw something sharp at him, and run away -- for this was a variety of assault she rather liked. His demeanor was suddenly playful, but still at a comfortable level (nowhere near the border of seduction), which was exactly where she wanted it. So she just lay flat on her back and continued to grin at the pleasant prospect very close above her eyes -- so close, in fact, that the long chestnut-brown strands of hair that always fell across his face now brushed hers. "Tell me."

"No," she replied, her eyes narrowing but her smile remaining wide.

He bent his head lower, so that their noses were touching and his breath brushed against her lips. "Tell me," he purred; he smelled slightly of sake, and also noodles with tofu.

"No," she whispered.

He angled his face to the right and touched his lips to hers -- making the night a complete success.

Trust her to break up a good moment because they were in 'too public a place' -- only a policewoman would do something like that! Still, his night had gone from bad to good in less than an hour, and he had Tokio (mostly) to thank for it, so he wasn't complaining. Actually, just about the only thing he was doing was needing sleep... by the time he finally found himself heading back to his apartment, it was bright morning -- and the previous day had been unusually taxing, despite the fact that he hadn't actually fought Saitou at all and that Tokio had turned out to be a rather tame kisser.

He'd commented at one point that she smelled a little like cigarettes, and she'd replied that anyone who spent time with Saitou would -- no, Hajime, she called him; he wondered idly what you had to do to be allowed to call that guy by his given name.

"I kissed him once, you know." He thought she said it a little wistfully, and certainly so when she added, "Just once. We were in Okayama, spying on these European guys we'd been following for weeks... their meeting broke up earlier than we'd expected, though, and we couldn't get away..." She laughed. "The place where we were standing... well... you'd only be standing there if you didn't want people to see you. And there are only a couple of reasons why a man and a woman might not want to be seen. So Hajime grabbed me and started kissing me, and the men walked past us snickering and never even got suspicious." With another laugh she shook her head. "It was quite a surprise, but, hey, it was fun."

"Fun?" His laugh was incredulous. "Sounds like kissing an ash-tray to me."

She shrugged. "It kinda was... but it wasn't so bad."

For some reason he couldn't stop thinking about that interesting little story, chuckling to himself, and wondering what someone who smoked would taste like. He tried to picture Saitou kissing Tokio, but something about it seriously didn't look right in his mind. Was he that much into her already, that he got jealous just imagining her kissing someone else? He hadn't thought so before, but maybe he was.

He stepped into his apartment finally, and smiled at the pleasant surprise he found within.

"Ohayou, Sano."

"Yo, Katsu," he replied, but even as he said it his smile began to fade as he suddenly realized that his friend was probably not going to like him joining up in any way, shape, or form with Meiji police. Better not to say anything about it. Not just yet, anyway.

"How did your fight turn out?"

Zanza was a bit startled. "How did you know I was gonna fight him again last night?"

Katsu, who watched his friend with dark eyes as Zanza joined him where he sat cross-legged on the floor, gave a slight shrug as his only answer.

"It didn't happen," Zanza replied, still wondering. "I was talking to him a little, and we were going to fight, but then there were these guys chasing this girl, and we both went to help..."

Katsu nodded his understanding, and just a shade of darkness lifted from his eyes. "I was worried about you," he admitted in that solemn tone of his. "After what you told me the other day, I talked to a few people about him, and I began to fear that he might kill you this time."

Zanza was by now wondering just what 'few people' Katsu was talking about. He'd had to go to Kyoto to dig up enough information on Saitou to satisfy his curiosity, when Yaoku had first hired him -- it seemed Katsu had some much better sources around here than he did. "Well, actually, it turns out that he's not so bad," he replied.

With a frown, Katsu said nothing.

"I'm serious." Zanza marveled that he was suddenly defending Saitou. "Turns out he and his partner -- that woman you met the other night -- are only cops 'cause they're spies whose job it is to watch out for corruption in the government."

"The rumor was true, then... that Saitou was responsible for the downfall of the Yuuju ring and Kishitaku Amarou?"

"Yeah... and some others too... but how the hell do you know that? I thought it was all secret; I think he only told me 'cause I kept trying to fight him!"

"I have many friends." Katsu seemed to be dismissing the question.

"Oh. All right. Well, don't worry about Saitou... he's a good person. A complete jerk, but not a bad guy."

Shaking his head, Katsu was silent for a moment. Then he remarked quietly, "Such a strong man... I wonder that he's not fighting against the government openly rather than just treating the symptoms of this Meiji disease."

Zanza shrugged. "There's only so much one guy can do, ya know. I don't think even ano Saitou could put much of a dent in the government."

"On the contrary, one man -- or a small group -- can make a great difference in any system. With the right tools, even one man could cause enough damage to the Meiji government to bring chaos, and start a new revolution with his example."

Zanza had nothing to say in reply to this, for it made a strange kind of sense... and therefore rendered him a little uneasy. If there were in truth a way to bring about that kind of change, shouldn't it be done immediately?

"Sanosuke," Katsu said suddenly, and Zanza started. Katsu was the first person to call him by his right name for years and years... except for... Saitou had said it once, hadn't he? It felt odd, and surprised him every time he heard it. "What would Sagara-taichou think of these times?"

"I figure he'd hate 'em," Zanza answered slowly, perhaps a bit worried by the intensity in Katsu's tone.

"But don't you believe that he would keep fighting, regardless of how difficult it became?"

"Kept fighting, I'm sure, even if it might not have been a physical battle anymore. Real heroes never give up."

"Yeah, I'm sure he would have." This time his reply was immediate.

Approval was evident in Katsu's next nod, and for a moment another silence fell around them, somewhat troubling still. Finally Zanza, working through things in his mind, asked, "Now just what do you mean by 'with the right tools?' How much chaos are you thinking here?" For it was evident to him that this wasn't just talk to Katsu.

"If any vital government function were brought to a halt, that would be chaos enough. The key is to show the people what can be accomplished if only we stand up to those who oppress us. Once that was in evidence, things would move from there."

Zanza nodded slowly, apprehensive. Katsu was speaking carefully, giving no specifics about whatever he was planning -- why? He couldn't know that Zanza might be joining forces with Saitou and Tokio, could he? After all the other things Katsu somehow knew, it wouldn't be too difficult to believe that he knew about the conversation on the pier as well... But just what was Katsu going to do? It almost seemed as if he were giving Zanza an invitation to be a part of it, but didn't know whether he could really trust him.

The lack of verbal response seemed to derail the conversation, for Katsu stood suddenly. "I can see you're tired," he said. "I'll let you get some sleep."

"All right. I'll come see you tomorrow night, na?"

Katsu paused for a moment, looking intently at Zanza, before nodding and slipping out the door into the steadily-brightening daylight.

Well, that was fun. Zanza sighed, tossed his gi away, and crawled under his blanket. Why did it seem like everyone around him had a point to make, and he was caught in the middle? For now in his mind was the question: if what Katsu said was true, why didn't Saitou do more against the government than just living inside it and doing clean-up work? If what Katsu said was false, then was Katsu heading into disaster with whatever his dark hints suggested he was planning? Zanza felt like he was in the middle of this, being forced to do something either way. Dammit...

He fell asleep.

The look on Tokio's face when she finally found her way into the station the next morning was enough to give Saitou an immediate headache. He didn't want to know why she was smiling so brightly, or why her eyes, although still bearing weary traces of the sleepless night she'd apparently had, sparkled as he'd rarely seen them do before. He didn't want to know, but he was sure to find out... even if he could restrain himself from inquiring about the previous night's activities outside of work, she was sure to tell him. They were friends, after all, though he was having a hard time thinking of them in such terms recently. The worst of it was that, because she was scheduled for a midday patrol shift, he couldn't even berate her for being late. Of course he'd been there since dawn.

"Ohayou!" she said in a tone that was much, much too spirited as she came into his office.

"So there you are," was his only reply.

She was not fazed. Actually, it didn't seem she was wholly paying attention. She'd paused with a slight smirk, leaned toward the door by which she'd just entered, and was listening closely to something. He couldn't hear whatever was amusing her so much in the station proper, and didn't want to, but after a moment she relayed it to him anyway: "They're all speculating on my mood; 'Looks like the man-woman got laid last night,' Jichi-kun just said." And she laughed.

With a raised eyebrow, Saitou couldn't help but ask, "And did you?"

"No," she replied, "but things are certainly heading in that direction." As she turned to regard him, closing the door completely, she added, "You're annoyed, aren't you? But don't worry... that was free time, after I got what we need."

Annoyed wasn't really quite the right term for it, but he'd let her have it. "He'll join us, then?"

"I'm sure he will. I told him that we 'might be able to use him,' but didn't tell him exactly what we need him for... left him curious. I thought it would be better if we both talked to him about the details."

"Yes," Saitou replied dryly, "if you're there, he may not mind me so much."

She smiled. It was an amused smile, not a consoling one; she obviously wasn't picking up on the bitterness in his voice -- which wasn't really a surprise. "He doesn't hate you as much as he did, now that he knows you're not such a horrible traitor as he thought."

While this was rather comforting, it was coming from altogether the wrong person. He just wanted her out, and not even so much because he had other work to do. "I have people to talk to today," he informed her, standing. "We'll go find Zanza tonight."

She nodded, and her face grew a bit more serious. "Anything on that girl's identity?"

"Nothing."

"But word's out, though?"

"Yes. If her dress is any indication of her importance, I expect to hear from someone soon."

Tokio nodded. "One more thing, before you go. I'm a little worried about that friend of Zanza's -- the artist."

"The other Sekihoutai survivor?"

"Yeah, Tsukioka."

"Well, what about him?"

"Zanza was talking to him for a while this morning, after he thought I was gone... that guy's definitely planning something subversive."

"How big?"

"I don't know. I don't think he'll move just yet, because it seems like he wants to include Zanza in it, and he's not sure if he can trust him at the moment because he's seen him with me."

She just had to keep bringing that up, didn't she? "Hn."

"So we don't have to worry about him acting without our knowing it as long as we keep an eye on Zanza..."

"How dangerous is he?"

"From what I've seen, the worst he could do is graffiti -- although that would look pretty nice," she added with a slight laugh. "But from the way he was talking, he's got something else up his sleeves that might be a lot more potent. He doesn't seem much of a warrior, though, so I'm not sure."

Saitou nodded. "Watch him," he ordered as he prepared to leave.

She sighed. "All right. As if I don't have enough to do already."

He had no reply for this, as they were both rather overworked. A few more assistants would be a delightful commodity -- Zanza would help, if he turned out to meet their needs and be entirely trustworthy, but how long would he be willing to do that kind of thing? He wasn't really the steady-job type... They'd have to wait and see.

He was not going to spend the entire day thinking about Zanza. He'd had plenty of that last night, and no matter how annoying Tokio was about whatever had gone on between them at that same time, he had work to do. And the pleasant weather was helping with his headache at any rate.

As he went about his business, a strange feeling was growing on him with every moment. A spy can always tell when someone is tailing him, but this was different. He wasn't superstitious, but if he had been he would have thought that people all over town were talking about him behind his back, and it was causing him an uneasy prickling in his spine. But people all over town had no reason to talk about him behind his back. Even if something he didn't want generally known about himself (such as his real name and history) had been made public, it would still be no reason for this kind of sensation.

There was nothing to be done, however. If he'd felt that someone was actually watching him, it would have been simple to find out who they were and deal with them accordingly... but it wasn't like that. He knew such a thing would aggravate Tokio to no end -- she was such a proficient spy that a helpless and ambiguous situation like this was exactly the kind of thing to make her most annoyed -- and he half wished she were with him just so he could watch her pout. He wondered how Zanza would react. Most likely, Zanza would have no inkling that anything was wrong in the first place; it would be amusing to tell him and see what he'd have to say. For now, Saitou wasn't going to let a bout of apparently unjustified paranoia dictate his actions.

It was mundane business, questioning people. Half of it didn't even seem to be related to the work at hand, no matter how well he knew that it was, and all of it bored him -- whether he wore his polite face or his intimidating face, there was not a single encounter throughout the day that provided him with the least bit of interest. He couldn't help but reflect that it might have been a great deal more entertaining to have Zanza question people under the guise of casual conversation. Zanza's conversational skills didn't seem to be the best, but Saitou knew that when not in a rage the boy could be friendly and winning (yes, indeed, he knew that!) and thus would probably do fairly well on the questioning scene. Well, after tonight, if things went as planned, he'd be able to find out whether that theory was correct.

He stopped at a soba stand, not wanting to return to the station just yet, and ate slowly as the sun went down. None of the reports he'd received since he'd begun to track Zanza's movements in Tokyo six months ago had mentioned what the kid liked to eat, and he wondered...

....he wondered why it was that after so firmly telling himself he was not going to think of Zanza all day he'd managed to do just that almost without even realizing it. Ridiculous infatuation, this; very distracting. He sighed.

And he still couldn't shake the feeling that everyone everywhere knew too much about him, and was discussing it with whoever was beside them as soon as his back was turned.

The evening was warm, not hot, as summer was drawing to a close and the cooler nights were approaching; complete darkness had fallen by the time Hajime returned to the station.

"So there you are," Tokio greeted him cheerfully, with a slight mocking tone as she threw his words from earlier back in his face; "I was beginning to wonder if you'd gotten lost!"

"Any word on the girl?"

"Nothing."

He nodded, but made no answer. He seemed moodier than usual of late, and not in the best of tempers today specifically. But that didn't matter; they were going to go find Zanza, and that was such a nice prospect that she didn't mind her husband's brooding silence.

She'd overheard the kenkaya mention that he was planning to drop in on Tsukioka this evening, so they set out in that direction.

"I've felt like someone was... watching me today," she told him quietly as they traversed the streets. 'Watching' wasn't really an accurate description, but she didn't have time to elaborate on the nearly inexplicable sensation.

"So have I," Hajime nodded, and he seemed to understand what she meant at any rate. "Did you see anyone suspicious?"

"No, patrol was completely normal."

He nodded again with a frown. "This isn't a coincidence, if we've both noticed it."

Tokio agreed. "Just another thing to look out for," she sighed.

The artist's home was dark and quiet, and they decided in brief conference to go to Zanza's and wait there. She did suggest they check some of the fighter's usual haunts to try finding him more quickly, but Hajime was against seeking him out anywhere too public -- especially given the impressions of the day. And so they stayed in the shadows just outside Ruffian's Row and waited.

She'd had her misgivings, fearing they might wait all night, but Zanza appeared after not too long or dull an interim. As always, Tokio was happy to take in the view as he approached: Zanza's figure was so perfect, she didn't know how he made it through a day without being mauled by all sorts of women and even men looking for a good time. It must have been his reputation that saved him. Hajime at her side seemed lost in his own thoughts, and did not make any move to step out and greet the kenkaya. Tokio was about to when a third party appearing unexpectedly did just that.

"Oi, Zanza, hisashiburi." He was an unremarkable-looking man in most respects: mid-twenties, black hair and eyes, casual attire -- except for the tattoo intermittently visible on his left arm that marked him as a member of the Fushibihan, an upstart gang that was taking in more and more Tokyo turf these days. Tokio and Hajime retreated immediately to a safer distance in order to see what this man's business was with their prospective acquisition.

"Yo, Kukuri," Zanza had replied. "I figured you'd show up eventually."

The man Kukuri smiled, his hands in his pockets. "I heard that you --"

But Zanza interrupted him, a little fiercely Tokio thought: "Look, when I said I'd come back when I lost a fight, that was a joke, get it? I never actually meant to come back. Ever." He waved a hand to emphasize the finality of that word.

"Sou da ne..." Kukuri paused, thoughtful and disappointed. "Well, I'd like to see you come back," he said at last, "and I know a lot of the other guys would too. And..." He looked around briefly. The fact that he didn't detect the presence of not one but two scarcely-hidden watchers when he was so carefully checking for them amused Tokio. "Don't tell anyone I said this, but I think Kotono-san would like it too."

Zanza's breath caught. "Kotono..." he repeated, and as his eyes fell to the ground she could see that he was feeling guilty.

"Yeah; she's missed you." Another paranoid glance, and the man's voice dropped to a lower tone. "You were the only one who ever dared to treat her openly like she was worth somethin'."

Zanza was indecisive, but Tokio didn't think he was leaning very strongly toward what Kukuri was suggesting -- only an intense feeling of remorse seemed to be pushing him in that direction. "I'll think about it," he finally said. "But not for any of you losers." And with that he grinned at his former comrade.

The latter relaxed a bit, smiling back. "All right," he said. "I'll talk to you some other time, then." And with a wave he faded away quietly into the darkness of the street.

"So you were actually a member of the Fushibihan," Tokio remarked, remaining hidden but allowing herself to breathe more freely; "I'm impressed."

"'Impressed' wasn't exactly the term I would have used," Hajime added dryly.

Zanza, who had jumped and whirled at her first word, was now glaring at the shadows in her general direction. "Where are you? Don't startle me like that!"

"It's no wonder they want you back," she continued as she and her husband stepped from the blackness into dim visibility. Zanza looked from her to Hajime and back, then kept his eyes on her face for the moment. "It must have been a blow to them when you left, although I suppose they couldn't stop you."

"They've grown stronger in the last six months," her husband corrected her, " but even before that, they probably could have."

"Yeah, they could've," Zanza agreed darkly. "I only got out with Kotono's help."

Tokio didn't like the way Zanza seemed to feel whenever he mentioned that name. "Kotono is...?"

The kenkaya sighed. "She used to be a geisha, until the asshole leader got ahold of her. I'm not sure of the details, but I think he bought her somehow... something about her family or something. Now she's just his personal whore, and he treats her like dirt."

Tokio nodded ruefully; it was not an unfamiliar story.

"Why did you join them in the first place?" Hajime asked.

Zanza frowned, and it seemed that he took the question as an accusation -- probably because Hajime had asked it, belligerent boy. "Hey, I was younger; didn't really understand what kinda stuff they did."

"Sou ka?" Hajime lit a cigarette and stared back at Zanza's defiant face. "You didn't know what organized crime was, then?"

"Well, somehow I thought they were more into just fighting and partying and stuff than the usual gang shit. Once I found out what kind of bastards they really were, you can bet I smashed some faces and got outta there pretty damn quick."

"And you didn't take that Kotono woman with you?" It was the only thing Tokio could think of to say to keep them from arguing; she could sense the tension between them even when their eyes weren't locked.

"I offered." This was definitely a large source of guilt for the fighter; Tokio could practically feel it herself. "She told me not to try an' help her... she said it was more complicated than I knew."

"You know, dealing with yakuza like this is exactly what we're doing right now," she said, thinking it was about time to bring the conversation around to its intended topic.

"I dunno if the police can do anything about this one," Zanza replied glumly.

"But you might be able to," she told him; Hajime at her side had fallen silent again.

"Hey, I doubt if even I could take on all of them at once... and then it probably still wouldn't help her much, since Tonshuu -- the leader -- would just jump into one of his holes, with Kotono, before I could get to him. That's the way they work."

"Tonshuu," Hajime said thoughtfully. "Tonshuu Dairyou?"

"I think so," Zanza replied, scratching his head. "Why?"

Hajime smiled slightly, thoughtfully. "He works for Raihishuu."

Tokio remembered even as he said it. "You're right, he does," she murmured in amazement. "You suppose Raihishuu knows?"

"I doubt it," Hajime replied. "The Fushibihan and the Karashigumi are mortal enemies. But it's possible that he does know, and is playing with both of them."

"Wait, wait, wait." Zanza had raised his hands to his ears and was shaking his head. "You guys're here to talk to me about working with you, right? If you are, then stop confusing the hell outta me."

"Sorry," Tokio laughed softly, quieting her tone even further to continue. "Yes, that's what we're here for. And what we're trying to do right now is to bring down the Karashigumi, because it's the main source of manpower -- not to mention income -- for a politician Raihishuu whom we can't quite prove -- yet -- is worthy of a swift slaying."

Zanza nodded. "All right, thanks. Well, as long as you don't beat me up," he added pointedly in Hajime's direction, "I'll be glad to help you."

"Why would I want to do that?" Hajime asked, his eyes narrowed. "As I recall, it was you who came looking for me."

"Well, I'm the one who's wasting his Meiji era," Zanza retorted almost primly; it seemed he hadn't quite recovered from that comment yet, no matter what had been said since then to assuage the wound. "I would have thought--"

"Because everything you've thought about me so far has been so very accurate," Hajime broke in sarcastically.

While this was quite true, it didn't seem to make Zanza very happy, for he clenched his fists and took an angry step forward. "Hey, I'm--"

This time it was Tokio's turn to interrupt. "Here's a good plan: what if both the Karashi and the Fushibihan thought that you, Zanza, were interested in joining them?"

Zanza immediately picked up her train of thought, and his anger -- which hadn't been all that potent in the first place -- vanished. "Yeah, they sure hate each other. It'd prolly be pretty easy to get 'em to fight."

Tokio nodded. "Exactly. You've already got connections in the Fushibihan, and the Karashi are always looking for strong fighters."

"An' if the fight gets big enough, Tonshuu'll have to show his face... and then you guys can nab 'im, an' Kotono'll have nothing to worry about."

"Hai." She turned to Hajime. "How does that sound?"

He nodded. "But don't move too quickly," was his caution directed at Zanza. "If either group thinks you too eager, they may start investigating you more closely."

"Hey, I know what I'm doing," Zanza protested. "I've lived with enough gangs to know that at least."

"Even if you got into one without know what they were actually about?" Hajime still obviously didn't like that explanation.

Zanza still obviously didn't like Hajime picking at him. "Just never mind that!" he growled.

"Keep your voice down," Hajime murmured.

This got Zanza's attention, and he looked quickly around. "Why, are people watching us?"

"We don't think so," Tokio said. "But we've both felt like someone was... well... talking about us... all day today."

"That's weird," Zanza said softly. "I kinda have too."

"It was probably your Fushibihan friend," Hajime said.

"He's not my friend!"

Hajime smirked. "It was a remarkably stupid thing for you to do, you know -- joining them."

"Oh, like you've never done anything stupid in your entire life."

"Perhaps I have, but what does that have to do with your joining a crime ring?"

"Nothing! But you've got no right to talk to me about that when there's certainly shit in your past too!"

"Maa, boys, let's keep off each other's throats for tonight at least!" They both looked at her as if they'd forgotten she was there, and she gave a little laugh. This was followed by a brief silence in which the rumbling of Zanza's stomach was clearly audible.

"Hey, that reminds me," Zanza said more amiably, if a little embarrassed. "I'm gonna get paid for this, right?"

At Hajime's quoted per-job salary Tokio nearly gaped. No non-police operative made that much; it was unheard of. She knew they were both overworked, and that her husband, if his recent foul mood was any indication, was feeling it even more than she was, but did they really want Zanza working with them that much? Did Hajime have other uses in mind for the kenkaya that he hadn't mentioned yet?

Then of course the silly, perhaps not recognizing the amazing deal he was being offered, had the gall to haggle, and another argument started. She had a feeling this was how things were going to be between the two of them, at least until Hajime was in a better mood and not so ready to retort to everything the pretty boy said -- really, she'd never seen him talk so animatedly with someone before, even if it was mostly insults on his end.

"Argue as you walk," she commanded, leading the way. "I don't think any of us have had supper yet."

The mystery of who had been the source of discontentment for Saitou and Tokio by instigating so much conversation about them was solved the next evening.

Katsu answered Zanza's knock after several moments and gestured him inside. He then resumed his place at the small table in the room's center where he was apparently working on an ink drawing of some sort under a bright lamp. Zanza looked over his shoulder for a bit, but it really meant nothing to him, so he sat down and helped himself to the sake at his friend's side. "Too bad I missed you last night... I was gonna come back later and see if you'd come home, but then I ran into Tokio."

Katsu did not look up at him, but his pen stilled for a moment as he asked quietly, "What exactly is your relationship with her?"

Zanza shrugged. "I've kissed her; that's about it... nothing official, certainly; why?"

"I was worried by what you said about her and Saitou," Katsu replied slowly "--worried that you might be deceived."

Zanza snorted. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, pal..." He really couldn't fault Katsu on that one, though: knowing about but never having actually talked to Saitou and Tokio might well be worrisome to anyone.

"I'm sorry," Katsu said. "You were right."

"Was I?" Of course he was, but how did Katsu know that?

"I've spent the last day gathering information about them both."

A frown crossed the kenkaya's face. "You're that worried about me?" He wanted to be touched or flattered, but he was afraid that this had more to do with Katsu not trusting him -- and whatever he'd been talking about so cryptically yesterday morning.

"I was worried..." Katsu said slowly, as he meticulously sponged the last of the black liquid from his pen with a dry cloth and capped the ink bottle. "But everything you said about them was true." With a shake of the head he added softly, "I just can't understand why they don't do more."

It was too much. Zanza couldn't keep quiet any longer. "All right, man, what is this more you're talking about? You're thinking something weird, and I wanna know what it is."

In answer, the artist stood abruptly. "Sano, look here." And he pulled open the paneled door of an unobtrusive closet behind him.

Zanza got slowly to his feet, staring, and took a step closer. "Katsu... don't tell me that's..."

"Bombs, fashioned using the skills I learned with the Sekihoutai." The casual way in which his friend said it was nearly as mind-boggling as the thought of his having made bombs in the first place.

All Zanza could come up with was, "...why?"

"It's what I was saying yesterday morning... the catalyst we need to bring about the equality we've sought for so long." Katsu shut the door again and resumed his seat, looking up at Zanza as if inviting him to do the same. It seemed they were in for quite the conversation, then.

"Katsu..." Zanza shook his head emphatically as he sat. "A closetful of bombs ain't gonna destroy the government, man!"

Katsu also shook his head. "It doesn't have to. This will merely be the spark that starts the fire... a bright light that the people of Tokyo can see and follow to their destiny." His voice had taken on the same excited tone that Zanza had heard in it the previous day, only now it was more determined.

"What the hell, exactly, are you planning?!" He'd had enough beating around the bush for one day; this was all too philosophical for him.

"I'm going to destroy the Internal Affairs offices. After that, my targets are the military offices and the Bureau of Finance. In the chaos that will create, the new revolution will start. The Meiji government has already been brought to its knees by the Seinan War... It will never rise again."

"Maybe you missed it, Katsu, but the Seinan War was a complete failure!"

"Only because Saigo-tachi were foolish enough to start things down in Kagoshima where they were easily isolated and defeated ...once the battle is brought to the heart of the nation, to Tokyo, the government will not be able to stop it. All the people need is an example, and --"

"Enough with that, I get the whole example idea already. But... if you get caught..."

"Would you suspect a printmaker of doing such a thing, if you were with the police?"

Zanza squirmed. 'If you were with the police' wasn't exactly an inconceivable concept, but apparently even the all-knowing Katsu wasn't aware of that. "But... if you're planning on bringing all this chaos to Tokyo..."

"War is a machine that brings about change and is fueled by death. Mine won't make a difference, once things are under way."

That kind of nobility was all well and good, but Zanza didn't have any desire to lose his friend so soon after he'd found him again. "Katsu..." He didn't really know what to say.

"Well, Sano, will you help me?" Katsu caught his gaze, and the fervor in his eyes was almost maniacal. "Shall we re-form the Sekihoutai, you and I, to usher in the next era?"

"Katsu..." Zanza had been planning on giving him a flat 'no,' but now... the more he thought about it, the more he realized that for several reasons he couldn't be so decisive. First of all, he wasn't entirely sure that Katsu's plan wasn't, in fact, the right thing to do, the right way to go about causing the changes the country needed. Much of what his friend said rang true, and hadn't Zanza just decided that he wanted to make a difference of some kind? In comparison to this grand scheme, the complicated plans of Saitou and Tokio concerning gangs and politicians seemed pointless and unnecessarily roundabout. This might be a much better way to get things done -- he'd always been one for the direct route, after all. The second reason he was leery of giving an immediate negative was that even if he didn't agree with his friend's methods, how could he let Katsu charge into something like this all by himself?

He had to give some kind of answer; Katsu was staring at him expectantly. "I..." He took a deep breath. "I've been thinking lately, about my life... and how I wanna start doing some good for the people like Sagara-taichou would have wanted me to... but I don't know if this is the right thing, man."

Katsu's brow furrowed, but his words were still passionate. "What Sagara-taichou wanted was always the good of Japan... do you think this is the Japan he wished for? The Japan he died for?"

"...no..."

"I'm going to create the Japan he wanted." Katsu's slender artist's hands were clenched in his lap. "In his name and that of the Sekihoutai, I will start a new revolution, one in which you and I can fight at last, and finally attain his dream!" He'd never removed his eyes from Zanza's, and at this moment the light in them seemed to change slightly. "And then she would be freed as well, you know."

"She? ...freed?"

"Your policewoman friend... and also that Saitou -- freed to fight for what they truly believe rather than kept skulking in the shadows of a government they actually hate."

Katsu really had changed his tune about Zanza's new allies, hadn't he? The kenkaya wasn't sure how the artist had 'gathered information about them,' or what exactly he'd learned, but he was apparently convinced that they were not evil. He'd thought Katsu had been humoring him yesterday morning when they'd talked briefly about Saitou, but it seemed that now his statements were genuine. And was what he said true? Did Saitou and Tokio only act the way they did because they felt there was nothing more they could do? Would an example like the one Katsu had in mind free them, as he put it, for more effective work? Zanza did not know. He just didn't know what to make of the entire situation.

"When are you planning to start all of this?" he finally asked.

"Tomorrow night. It will be the new moon, and the offices have fewer guards on Sundays."

Zanza stood up and looked down into his friend's face with a serious expression. "You'll see me again before then," he promised, and departed.

And now everything was falling apart. She just couldn't believe this. Actually, she could believe it... it fit in all too well with the Zanza she was getting to know. But she wasn't going to stand by and let it happen, so she waited for him in plain sight just down the street, with arms folded and a definite frown on her face.

He stared at her as he closed his friend's door, and as he approached, his expression was a mirror of hers. "So you do spy on me." The frustration he'd been fighting during the confusion of the previous conversation was growing into anger, and his hands were clenched at his sides.

"And a good thing too!" she growled, following as he turned sharply from her and began to walk away.

"Nice to know you guys trust me," Zanza replied in the same tone.

Much as she would like to placate him, she didn't want to dance around the real subject with that kind of talk. "Zanza, you can't do this!"

He knew what she meant, and although his initial rage was calming it still didn't seem that he wanted to have this discussion with her. "I can do whatever I damn well please."

"Do you really think it will work?" She quickened her pace to keep up with him.

"He's got some good points..." Zanza's words came out much like a sigh, but the bitterness returned as he looked at her and added, "You're the spy; you heard 'em."

"I thought you had decided to help us..."

Zanza stopped just in front of her and turned, looking very serious although he still seemed entirely uncertain. "Maybe he's right... you an' Saitou are trapped in this whole Meiji thing and you need a big shakeup to get out."

"Zanza, your friend is a single-minded fanatic!" she protested. "He doesn't know what he's talking about when it comes to us. Do you think Hajime and I are cowards?"

The kenkaya sighed, and all of a sudden, predictably, his anger was gone. "Look, Tokio... this and that, here and there... it doesn't make any difference... I've gotta do what I think is right, no matter what you or Saitou or even Katsu says." He turned away from her again. "Sorry... I'll see you when I see you."

Catching his wrist, she tried fruitlessly to take out some of her frustration by squeezing it. "And if we're enemies then?" she demanded. Even as she said the words, she realized how much she'd come to care about this stubborn guy, and just how much she did not want to be his enemy... and perhaps some of that rising emotion sounded in her voice.

"Then here's a goodbye kiss."

That should have been warning enough for her, but somehow finding herself in his arms took her completely by surprise, the kiss even more so -- perhaps because it was so unexpectedly furious. She'd kissed him before, of course, but she got the feeling now, as he attacked her mouth and nearly crushed her with his embrace, that he hadn't been serious then. This was different and almost frightening; it was more intense than she liked, as if he were looking for something that his frenzied soul could feed off of... and she was not enough. It was arousing, but it didn't feel right.

He was walking away before she even knew it was over. "And quit followin' me around!" he called over his shoulder.

Almost in a daze, with a hand covering her lips, she watched his Aku symbol disappear down the street. Her one clear thought was that he couldn't be allowed to go along with the artist's plan, at any cost -- and not because she thought it had a chance of succeeding (she did think so, and it would be a disaster), but because she couldn't bear to see him do something that she was sure he would later regret so much. With a deep breath she spun and headed for the station by the quickest way.

Hajime was not in his office when she arrived there red-faced after running the last half of the trip. She sat down at his desk for a moment to catch her breath, and noticed that he'd left in the middle of something -- which meant he was in the station somewhere. Jumping up again, she went to look for him. This was somewhat annoying, as she wasn't the most popular person in the precinct and few of her co-workers were inclined to volunteer information.

By the nervousness of the guards stationed at the door across from her -- at the far side of the main room, leading to the stairs to the cells -- she could tell that something was going on down there... and as Hajime was generally what caused that kind of uneasiness in the ordinary police, it was probably a good guess that he was interrogating a prisoner. The only prisoners in whom he was likely to be interested at this point were the two men they'd captured the other evening, and only some kind of information on that dead girl was likely to get him in there to talk to them. And interrupting would be utterly pointless, as she couldn't tell him what she needed to in front of anyone and she knew he wouldn't be dragged away from an interrogation for anything less important than a city-wide fire, or perhaps a rash of soba-stand robberies. So she returned to his office to wait.

Seated at his desk, she poked idly at the stack of papers thereon. A brief closer look revealed them to be the last six months' worth of reports from those who had been observing the docks as well as the official registries of every major ship that had come to harbor. Just another pile of information Hajime had to sort through in order to secure concrete evidence against Raihishuu. She knew he hated that.

It wasn't entirely surprising that when her husband finally returned, the sound of his entrance startled her awake. She was awfully tired lately, and probably would continue to be so until the case was closed at least. Still, it was a bit embarrassing -- not that she had time to think about it.

"We've got to stop Zanza," she said as soon as the door closed behind him. "He and his crazy friend are planning to bomb the Internal Affairs offices."

Hajime frowned. "'Bomb' in what sense?"

"Zanza said 'a closetful of bombs,' but I couldn't get any clear idea of how much power Tsukioka actually had. It sounds like it will be more stealthy than frontal assault, though." She wasn't sure how that worked when explosives were involved, but that was the impression she'd gotten.

"Have you talked to Zanza since they made their plans?"

"Yes; he refused to listen. He as good as said he doesn't mind if we're enemies in the future."

"'As good as said?'"

Tokio couldn't entirely keep a blush off her face. "Well, I'll tell you everything." And she gave an account in detail of the conversation between Tsukioka and Zanza, as well as the one between Zanza and herself.

Hajime was still frowning as she finished, but he nodded. "I'll deal with them," he said shortly. "I need you to go back to Raihishuu's mansion."

"What?!" Tokio's heart fell.

"That girl's been identified. She was a servant in his household, and I got the impression that she might have been slightly more than that. But the men who killed her were Karashi -- and remarkably tight-lipped."

"That's a long way for them to have chased her," Tokio mused, still not enjoying the prospect of leaving Hajime to take care of Zanza but curious despite herself. "And to have that kind of man hunt her down... what must she have done?"

"That's what I want you to find out. I'm sending Oburo and Hineshima up there to ask some questions; it'll look like a routine investigation so Raihishuu won't get nervous. I want you there to observe the interview, though, and stay to listen for a day or so in case it's discussed afterwards."

"You know how much I love sneaking around under windows and on balconies," Tokio replied wryly. The truth was, she actually did rather enjoy it when she wasn't nearly exhausted, but in the middle of this business with Zanza and his radically idealistic friend, skulking around Raihishuu's mansion on the outskirts of the far side of Tokyo was the last place she wanted to be.

"Don't be a baby," he told her, then added, "and don't worry about Zanza."

"Right." She smiled sarcastically. "I'll be back in two days, then. Don't be too hard on him."

And Hajime returned her smile, although his was utterly cryptic, and told her, "Only as much as I need to be."

Well, this is the most rotten timing, she was reflecting as she headed home for some hurried preparations. She couldn't decide whether she blamed Raihishuu, Zanza, or Tsukioka most, although after a while she came to the conclusion that she blamed Zanza least. After all, he was the one being pulled back and forth by opposing ideals. Then the other two almost canceled each other out -- Raihishuu who used the government and his position to full advantage, and Tsukioka who would like nothing more than its downfall even if it cost him his life. I suppose that means Raihishuu's really the one to blame, she reflected with a silent laugh at this silly train of thought, but I knew that all along.

She just hoped Hajime could resolve this situation without losing Zanza for them forever.

He was afraid he was scaring his coworkers as he entered the station, as none of them had probably ever seen him smile so continually. And he'd been told (mostly by Tokio) that his smile was rather frightening to begin with. He wondered what their reaction would be if they knew the reason for his good mood.

Admitting that he was almost firmly and irrevocably infatuated wasn't so bad today. Things were looking better now than they had since he'd first met Zanza -- Sano, that is. Throughout their unexpectedly animated supper (or had it been breakfast?) conversation, Sano had mentioned Tokio maybe twice -- and each time only in response to something Saitou had said concerning their work. That was hardly lovestruck behavior.

With a smirk, Saitou imitated his wife as he entered his office, leaning toward the door and listening to the comments made in his wake. "Holy shit, what's his problem?" someone was saying. "Looks like he got laid or something," another suggested. "Well, his butch woman's off on assignment," a third chortled, "so why not?"

Saitou actually laughed at what if he were in a worse mood would be grounds enough to do something really unkind like, oh, threatening them with death and most likely thereby causing them to resign out of fear.

Sitting down at his desk seemed more boring than usual, and yet somehow more tolerable at the same time. Likewise did the work he commenced pass the time at once swiftly and agonizingly dully. It was dull work to begin with, of course, but today it seemed different in certain uninteresting ways. The best way to put it, actually, was that everything seemed to have changed for the better, and he was rediscovering just how boring his job really was. But he was dwelling on the idea far too much; he would get through the day just like he always did.

Thinking about the Raihishuu case and thinking about Sano weren't always mutually exclusive, though, and that may or may not have been a good thing. But surely he could forgive himself the recollection of a conversation that just served to keep things in perspective?

"Hey, I've got a question. Why don't we, or you, or whatever, just take that Raihishuu guy out now and then clean up the gangs and stuff afterwards? Wouldn't it be easier than sneaking around?"

Saitou wondered if Sano could tell just how much he'd love to do that, how his hand almost twitched toward his sword-hilt whenever Raihishuu was brought to mind. "There are a few reasons," he replied. "The first is that Raihishuu's death will be a warning to anyone involved with him, and if the gangs are still active at that time, their leaders may go into hiding when they hear the news. It's also more convenient, specifically when it comes down to the case-review, to deal with all aspects of the problem at the same time, especially since destroying his entire underground operation at once may bring to light other organizations under his control that we're not yet aware of. Then, of course, it's just sensible caution to remove his manpower before going after him personally."

"Well, that all makes sense," Sano said thoughtfully, "but it doesn't exactly answer my question. I mean," he continued quickly so that Saitou wouldn't interrupt, "all that's good stuff in such a complicated mess, but it's not exactly immediate, you know? Every time you mention Raihishuu, you get this freaky look like you wanna go all Aku Soku Zan on someone. How can you stand to wait if you know what's up with that bastard?"

Sano could tell, then. The conversation didn't really allow for a smile at that point, so Saitou kept it inside. At the same time, he still couldn't help sighing a little as he replied, "This is the Meiji, and while things are fundamentally unchanged in what I do and believe, we are no longer at war. Acting in haste or with undue passion would be foolish."

"Shit, you've got more patience than I do," marveled Sano.

"Of that I've been aware since our first meeting," Saitou replied.

"Whaddya mean?" Sano demanded, his smooth, thick brows lowering over his perfectly-shaped eyes.

"If you had any patience," Saitou answered mildly, "you would never have attacked me in anger." Sano looked confused. "I just mean that you might have talked to me first."

"Talked to you?" Sano laughed. "You're a complete jerk! Why would I've done that?"

"Why, indeed?" Saitou murmured. "It would have been far too sensible for you."

Saitou couldn't help but admit that every conversation he had with Sano only helped to reinforce the idea that the boy was too headstrong and foolish for his own good -- and yet Saitou liked him. And maybe those flaws were even part of the reason he did, despite how they annoyed him sometimes.

But this was not productive, work-related thought. He turned his attention back to what he was doing.

Tokio entered his office that evening, weary and dirty as usual after such an assignment. Naturally the first topic of discussion, before even a report was made, would be the events of last night. Actually, she was still closing the door as she began asking. "Well?"

Her presence, while it couldn't exactly dampen his mood, was somewhat irksome, and he found himself, in response to her insistence, perversely unwilling to tell her anything about it -- as if last night were a secret he wanted jealously to guard from her, or as if while she'd been gone a new world had been created between Sano and himself that he wasn't willing to welcome her into. Didn't he just wish that were the case! And hadn't he decided that he was not going to compete with her for him? With an effort he replied casually, "It went very well."

She pouted in frustration. "What went well? What happened? Did you have to fight him again? Is he all right?"

Saitou smirked. "He's fine; I didn't fight him." He was working his way up to telling her, and enjoying her face in the meantime.

"I met Tsukioka on my way in," she said, "so I know you didn't arrest him, but I couldn't exactly ask him what happened."

Saitou frowned. Although Sano hadn't admitted it outright, the kenkaya had obviously been worried about where Tsukioka was going to go from here and how he was going to deal with that choice. "What did he say to you?"

"I asked you first," she replied, tilting her chin stubbornly, and Saitou realized a little late that she'd mentioned Tsukioka on purpose just to get him to open up.

He gave in. "He talked Tsukioka out of it; I watched."

Tokio stared at him. He stared coolly back, silently daring her to make a fool of herself. Tokio could never resist a dare. "Zanza... Zanza talked Tsukioka out of... but I thought they were in the thing together?"

"If he were that stupid, we wouldn't want him working with us," Saitou pointed out.

"But... so he wasn't planning on..." She seemed confused, chagrined, and a little annoyed. "Then what was that enemies talk?" she added softly, as if to herself.

He laughed briefly, though he did sympathize: Tokio could almost always tell during the course of a conversation what someone was planning, and she hated to be wrong -- who could blame her? But no one could be right all the time. She knew this too, and was smiling now. "Well, that's a relief," she admitted, "if it is a surprising one. And it partially explains what Tsukioka said when I talked to him."

"And what was that?"

"He said he thought Zanza was avoiding him, and I assumed that was because the two of them had gotten in trouble. But the rest of it I couldn't make any sense of. Something Zanza said to him, apparently... about 'telling them...'"

"If a single thing Sano said got through to him, we probably don't have to worry about him any longer."

"Sano?" Her tone was light and curious, but she was staring at him again; this time she had a look in her eyes that only appeared when something had occurred to her that she wished she'd thought of earlier -- usually over dinner when she realized she could have made such-and-such to go with the fish or something trivial like that, but this time perhaps a bit more detrimental. Detrimental to what, Saitou was not sure, but he was afraid that maybe it had been a mistake to say Sano's name just then. There was a hard edge to that look, which perhaps even Tokio wouldn't have recognized had she seen it herself: a challenge, a demand.

And Saitou would not meet it. "That is his name."

"Yes," she replied, her voice already indicating the absence of thought backing the statement as her eyes became guarded and pensive. "Yes, that's what Tsukioka calls him."

"Well." Saitou deliberately changed the subject, if only on the conversational level. "What about your report?"

"Yes." Tokio seemed to shake herself mentally, trying to focus. "You were right; she was Raihishuu's resident plaything. And apparently she fled the house when she found out about his shiny new plaything, whose name is Tajiru (though which name that is I couldn't tell). Anyone at the estate who mentioned the matter seemed to find it rather funny, and it seemed obvious that most of them knew what had happened to the girl and who had ordered it, but didn't want to, or didn't need to, say anything openly about it. Raihishuu himself never mentioned it in my hearing, although he did mention the Tajiru woman a couple of times, so I doubt the girl was all that important."

Saitou listened thoughtfully, forcing himself to think this over instead of letting his mind wander back to Sano. Something still didn't seem quite right about it; for some reason it just didn't feel like one of the ordinary crimes committed by corrupt politicians and the corrupt people surrounding them. But there was really nothing to make him think otherwise. Finally he shook his head. "Good to have that out of the way, at least." That was his way of thanking her for her work. "I'm going home." That was his way of asking about her plans for the evening.

She nodded, and the pensive blankness had returned to her eyes. "I'm going to go look for him." She said 'him' a bit hesitantly, as if she'd wanted to say a name but didn't like thinking about names at the moment.

Saitou returned her nod; that was what he'd expected. And as he left his office, not feeling obligated to return a goodnight for her silence, he wondered if things were actually going as well as he'd been thinking.

So... Sano, was it?

She walked silently and pensively through the streets, perfectly invisible with her dark hair and uniform in the shadows. Moving as lithely as a cat, her thoughts turned entirely inward, and not a tense or aggressive wave to be picked up from her, she was one with the darkness, a thread in the night's tapestry; it was doubtful that anyone could have marked her passage. Unfortunately, and rather ironically, this was not a state she could reach on any mission, as the calmly contemplative mindset that let her achieve it could necessarily not be present when she was on her guard and actually concentrating on not being seen or heard.

Sano?

She must be a very great fool. She relied too much on the emotions people displayed and didn't look enough to the things they did in response to those emotions. It generally didn't cause problems, though. If she'd just looked, she might have noticed sooner, this one time when it might.

Why had Hajime continually put up with Zanza if he was so annoyed by him?

Why had he bothered to explain things to Zanza so carefully?

Why had he offered Zanza such a high wage?

Why did he call Zanza Sano?

It seemed obvious enough, but she'd had to be stubborn and delude herself into believing that since she couldn't decipher what her husband was feeling, she must be completely lost when it came to what was going through his head. As if she hadn't known him for seven years. As if there were no other ways to figure out how someone felt. Damn.

What was she going to do about this?

She sighed. There really was nothing to be done, actually. Zanza liked her, obviously didn't like Hajime -- and she'd been there first ...made the first move, anyway. She didn't think she was unselfish enough in any event to make such a sacrifice even for Hajime.

But then, she was thinking of this in very finite terms. She had no romantic understanding with Zanza, and they could veer from the path they were taking at any time... she liked him, but she was far from being in love with him -- and she was fairly sure he felt the same way about her. Things could change one way or another, and she did not plan on feeling guilty.

Well, it was too late for that -- it was guilt that prompted these thoughts in the first place. But the truth of the matter was that what she'd discovered didn't, wouldn't change anything.

It was irritating, though, no matter how typical, that Hajime's feelings had escaped her notice until now.

Zanza was not at home, and she did not feel inclined to wait around for him when there was no telling when he might return; she headed toward his favorite area of town, in particular the sleazy strip of gambling establishments that she knew he liked to frequent. But she was not even near the neighborhood when she came upon him ambling her direction and looking pleased with himself.

"Zanza!" she cried happily, running to him. A little hesitant at first, she was soon given not to worry as his smile and bearing reassured her that he was far from displeased with her.

"Not enemies," he grinned, and pulled her into a hug.

"No; I'm so relieved." He smelled like sake, smoke, and cheap food, and his gi needed washing, but she was suddenly reluctant to let him go. She hoped it had nothing to do with the thought of her husband's predatory eyes.

"Hey, come with me," he insisted, stepping away from her into the street and gesturing with the jug in one hand that she should follow, "and help me drink this sake I won." He was evidently quite satisfied with whatever he'd been doing.

"Won?" she echoed, following him.

"Well, I'll tell you when we get there," he replied with a casual glance around.

"All right." She lowered her voice as she walked along at his side. "I met your friend earlier."

"What friend?" Zanza asked, immediately worried.

"Tsukioka. He's afraid you're avoiding him, so he gave me a message for you." Zanza was all impatience, so she hurried on to appease him. "He said... that you said that 'maybe someone needs to tell them,' and he's decided that he's going to."

Zanza was pensive for a moment, but after not too long he was smiling to himself in relief. "Well, however he plans on doin' that'll be better than the bomb idea."

"Probably," she agreed, matching his smile. "But what does it mean?"

"I'll tell you over sake," he replied, and she nodded, understanding there was more than one subject here that shouldn't be discussed out in the open.

By the time he'd related the whole story, seated at ease beside her on the floor of his little apartment drinking sake from relatively dirty cups (which she guessed he only bothered to use at all because she was there), she felt compelled to apologize to him for her mistrust.

"Hey, we can't all trust each other all the time," he replied jovially.

"But I should have known!" she protested, a little annoyed that he would forgive her in such an offhand manner. There were a couple of things lately that she should have known, actually, and she didn't know if she should be forgiven for them just yet.

"Can't know everything," he answered before emptying his cup again.

"But," she persisted, "if I'd just asked you instead of assuming--" She was cut off as he set down his cup and kissed her.

It wasn't like the uncomfortable kiss he'd given her the other day, and more like the reassuring, playful kisses they'd shared on the pier. It was nice, but it immediately brought back the guilt she'd sworn she wasn't going to feel.

As Zanza had been telling his story, it had slowly become obvious to Tokio that the kenkaya didn't hate Hajime anymore. Well, he'd never really hated him, but at this point he didn't even dislike her husband the way he had before. That was probably where the 'Sano' had come from -- last night's events had changed Zanza's feelings regarding Hajime, encouragement had been given (or at least taken), Hajime had been heartened, and Tokio was confused. Once again she was asking herself, What was she going to do about this? But as she enjoyed the taste of sake in his mouth, she reflected that there was really only one answer to that.

Things would work out.

"Seriously," Zanza said as he pulled away from her, "don't worry about it." And looking into his sparkling eyes inches from her own, she felt that she couldn't disobey him.

She smiled, blushing at their proximity (wondering at the pathos of a non-virginal woman of twenty-five who could spy on samurai without being detected but couldn't keep from blushing like a little girl after brushing lips with a nineteen-year-old fist-fighter), and changed the subject: "Now, what about the sake?" She knew he wanted to tell her anyway.

He grinned, sat back, and poured himself more of the drink in question. "I had a lucky streak!" he announced.

"And you won all of some guy's money, so he had to wager something else," Tokio guessed a little impatiently, holding out her own empty cup toward him. "What's so special about that?"

"Well, that I was in Karashi territory," he replied, spilling a little onto his knee as he poured for her, "and I'm pretty sure the guy I was playin' with was one of 'em."

She made a sound of pleased understanding as she watched the three drops of sake merge and run down his leg onto the floor. "And was he impressed?"

"Yeah... seemed to think I had some magic touch or somethin'."

"You're lucky you were winning then," she teased, sipping her drink. "It might have been counterproductive if you'd lost."

"Well, I was only there to make 'em notice me. It didn't really matter whether I won or lost as long as I was makin' noise."

She returned his steady grin. "You're pretty good at this!"

"'Course I am!" He gulped down his entire cup and poured himself another one immediately.

Tokio kept sipping her own; her head was beginning to feel a little fuzzy, so she wasn't about to drink it as quickly as Zanza was doing. "Of course you are?"

He reached out and traced a little pattern on her upper arm just below the short sleeve of her shirt. "Yeah... taichou always said I could do anything I wanted to 'slong as I tried hard... guess he was right."

Despite the almost absent manner in which he'd touched her, there had been a slight shift in mood as his finger met her skin, and she couldn't help immediately seeing possible dual meanings to what he'd just said. Her smile turned wicked at the thought and she replied, "Yes, he was."

Zanza lifted the jug and drained the last of the sake, then peered disconsolately into the container's empty recesses.

"You can have the rest of mine," Tokio offered.

Accepting with a nod, Zanza took her cup, emptied it, and then set it down on the table. Then they looked at each other for a moment, almost as if wondering what to do next -- or perhaps in a silent, amused exchange asking if they could or should attempt to prevent the inevitable -- before Tokio crawled forward into Zanza's arms and another kiss.

Whether she pushed him or he pulled her, or whether it was just his sake-induced lack of equilibrium aided by her own slightly off-balance state, they were suddenly on the floor, she fully on top of him and their arms around each other with hands busier than they'd been all night (not excluding Zanza's gambling earlier). And whether it was Zanza's foot or Tokio's elbow, or whether it was just an impossible errant gust of wind through the suddenly-warm room, the little table beside them was shaken hard enough to put out the lamp that had been their only source of light. And in the resultant darkness, any number of things could happen, Hajime entirely notwithstanding.

She simply refused to feel guilty about this.

It was far too early to be up, and still Sano's eyes just wouldn't stay closed. But when he opened them, all he could see was a mass of shining black hair scattered in front of his face. He turned onto his back and tried to ignore the pale beginnings of dawn that were gradually filling his apartment, tried yet again to shut his eyes. But it wasn't working.

He raised his arms to be a pillow behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Perhaps it was his conscience that was keeping him awake...

He sighed as he glanced over at her again. He'd enjoyed it, of course; he always enjoyed sex. But he couldn't deny that it hadn't been... well, it hadn't really been satisfying. He didn't want to theorize that something was wrong with Tokio any more than that something was wrong with himself, but it just hadn't been enough for him. Looking back on the experience, it rather seemed that he'd lost interest fairly early, and gone along from there just for her sake. That wasn't why his conscience was bristling, though. The reason he was feeling so guilty didn't have anything to do with whether he'd enjoyed the physical aspects of it; it was that he'd done it at all.

But sleeping with Tokio had been the normal progression of things after flirting with her and kissing her, hadn't it? Sex was something people did... desire for it was a normal instinct, after all, and Sano had indulged ever since he'd been old enough...

No. Zanza had indulged. It had been just another thing that he'd always used to forget his past, erase his pain, even alleviate his boredom. Just another game. And here he was playing it again, after he'd supposedly renounced that kind of sport and started living his life seriously. He knew he wasn't serious about Tokio, and yet he'd done it anyway, played with her like he'd done with others in the past. How was he going to tell her that it couldn't happen again? How was he supposed to work with her after this?

'Course I'd think of all this after... he reflected wryly. Great mess I'm in now...

During this reverie, his eyes had fallen absently on the haphazard clutter of blue, black, and white on his floor, and now they abruptly focused and began to range over her clothes and his bandages until they came to rest on a certain kanji that had somehow draped itself over the edge of the table to stare at him in stark condemnation. He grimaced. He felt empty, dirty.

He hadn't meant to awaken her, but it made sense that she would be a light sleeper, and at the moment just his thoughts were loud. How to interpret the smile she gave him as she sat up and stretched, he did not know.

"Ohayou," she said.

It was sad that he didn't like her like that. She was fun to be with, convenient, and sure-as-hell beautiful. This was the first time he'd seen her with her hair out of its bun, and sitting there with it spilling down over her pale, bare shoulders and past the line of a uniform-tan that was actually rather cute, she looked good enough to eat. For someone else, anyway. Sano, at the moment, would rather just run away.

Her smile had changed, but he didn't understand the new version any better than he had the old. She leaned back on her hands and crossed her legs under the blanket. "I'd volunteer to make tea, but I'm almost afraid to touch that little stove-thing of yours," she said cheerfully. "It looks like it might fall apart and set the apartment on fire."

Sano tried to laugh at the tease -- he was certainly glad of an excuse to look away from her at the stove in question -- but he couldn't make it sound genuine.

"Just trying to lighten the mood a little before we plunge into our serious discussion," Tokio sighed.

Sano blinked. He hadn't meant to look like he wanted one, nor thought he'd betrayed his subject of reflection in any way. "What serious discussion?"

Her smile, he thought, turned a little sad, even if her tone was still light as she replied, "The one we're about to have, obviously."

Sano nodded, attempting to return the smile but having more success returning the sigh. He should have known he couldn't hide anything from a spy -- especially one he'd slept with -- but he'd been hoping for a little more time to figure out how to tell her. Of course, she probably already knew... two people didn't start the morning after sex with a 'serious discussion' unless they were making a momentous change in their relationship -- and as Sano obviously wasn't planning on proposing marriage to her, she must know that any such discussion between them at this point entailed a break-up of sorts. So the problem was not really how to tell her, but what reason to give for it. "The thing is..." he began.

She used the hesitant interval in his words to protest. "Before you say anything else, you must stop looking so guilty. I'm fairly sure we're thinking the same thing, so there's no reason to feel bad about it."

"Are we?" he questioned, surprised.

"That this was a mistake we shouldn't repeat? I think so."

"Y-yeah." He managed a weak smile, of relief perhaps but more of bewilderment. It had never crossed his mind that she might have reached the same conclusion he did -- and he was afraid it didn't speak well for him that he hadn't. "I'm sorry--"

"No apologizing either," she cut him off, shaking a finger. "Like I said, no reason to feel bad."

His smile grew slightly at this as he began to feel a bit more at ease, but he couldn't keep from asking a bit helplessly, "What's left to say, then?"

She pondered, smiling slightly. "I don't know." She sat up straight, crossing her legs and leaning her chin on her hand. "Well, how about this: I'll say what I think, and you see if you have anything to add."

"Sounds good."

"I think," she said slowly, "that you're a great guy, and I'm glad I met you -- and if it took sex to make us see what kind of friends we're supposed to be -- and what kind we're not -- that's all right with me, and I'm not going to regret it."

Sano finally relaxed. While this description of things did not at all meet with the approval of his conscience, it was plausible and he was willing to go along with it for the sake of preserving the friendship she'd mentioned. She didn't need to know the sordid details of his thought processes anyway. "Well, I agree with you," he finally said, more easily than he'd said anything this morning.

She raised an eyebrow. "You agree that you're a great guy?" she teased.

"You sound like Saitou," he snorted.

"Hn," she replied, then added, "So we're not going to hate each other over this?" And despite the fact that she was the one who'd set everything right between them, had come up with the excuse that was going to prevent them from hating each other, there was a kind of nervous supplication that flickered for a moment -- just one moment -- in her eyes as she asked the question. As by pure luck alone he caught this, Sano reflected that in addition to having reached the same conclusion, she was probably also experiencing emotions similar to his own. And he wondered if she bought the 'if it took sex' speech any more than he did, or if it was just going to be their standing silent agreement to leave it at that.

"Course not," he said, struggling to give her a real smile at last if only to reassure her, as well as himself, that what he said was true. And it had to be true. He would make sure it turned out that way even if he had to work every moment for the rest of his life not to hate Tokio. He wasn't certain how one went about repairing a mistake of this sort, but he could begin by ensuring that it didn't get in the way of either of their happiness, or of their friendship. He could only hope he'd be successful in the venture.

"Good," she said, and it was her usual, cheerfully brusque tone once again. She pushed the blanket away, unashamed of her nakedness, and got up, beginning to pick her clothes from among his off the floor. "You should make tea."

Sano figured she was right; not belaboring the issue was probably the best way to resolve it, at least when they were still in the same room together. "Demanding!" he replied in a tone of false annoyance, leaning over to grab his pants. "Don't you need to get to work?"

"Yes, I have things to do -- and so do you. But there's nothing wrong with starting the day out right."

Sano laughed, but did not comment on how they were off on the wrong foot -- or would it be the wrong side of the futon? -- already in that case. Half-clothed, he looked around to see if he even had any tea, or anything to go with it; he was hungry.

Their little, brief breakfast was a struggle, he guessed, for both of them, but a necessary one. If they parted in any awkwardness, it would probably make their next meeting more difficult than if they forced themselves to be friendly and casual and talk about things that were still common between them. At least, that was how he saw it, and the fact that she stayed for half an hour just chatting about work over weak tea seemed to indicate that she agreed. Still, he was unabashedly relieved when she was preparing to depart.

"I'll talk to you later," she was saying as she moved to the entry to put her shoes on.

"Yeah," he nodded, following her.

"Do me a friendly favor?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Sure." He paused in the act of reaching out to open the door for her.

"Kiss me?"

He shook his head in amusement. "Shameless woman."

"Now who sounds like Hajime?"

"Fine, fine," he laughed. "But this is the last time."

"I know that."

He kissed her, as gently as he had last night, and couldn't help feeling as he pulled away that there was something a little unhappy in her eyes. There probably was in his as well -- but whether it was sadness that they weren't meant for each other or guilt neither of them could completely overcome that they'd done this at all, he could not tell. Things were not going to be entirely smooth between them for a while; that much was obvious.

"Ja," she said softly, pulling the door open on her own and hopping outside.

"See ya," he replied, watching her as she stepped briskly away. After a moment she looked back at him -- did not turn, only looked over her shoulder -- and waved.

He returned the gesture and closed the door, then ambled back slowly through the room, picking things up absently. Finally he sat down on the still-warm futon and lay back, hands behind his head and feet propped up on the table, and stared at the ceiling.

Everything had happened so quickly, it seemed: how they'd gotten into things last night and how they'd gotten out of them just now. And when he thought about it, he hadn't really known Tokio all that long, so even in relationship terms it had been quick. Maybe he'd purposefully rushed things... but he didn't know why he would have. He'd never thought of himself as particularly desperate for sex. Which, really, made him feel even worse for having slept with her. But why had he done it, then, really? Was it just what he'd been labeling it before -- a leftover dalliance of Zanza's -- or was there some other reason he didn't understand yet?

He made a vow to himself right then and there: Next time I fuck someone, there's gonna be no question whether it's right or wrong or why I'm doing it, it's gonna be because I love 'em and not for any other reason.

It was funny, he thought, how much thinking he'd been doing since he'd met that woman. Actually, it had mostly started with Saitou, hadn't it? Lots of thinking lately in general, then. And he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

Tokio counted out coins to the solicitous attendant, and with a nearly silent thank-you allowed herself to be directed down the hall to the dressing-room. Steam welled up around her in a sudden rush as a door was opened somewhere, and she briefly closed her eyes and breathed in the good scents of water-splashed tile and soap. She was glad she'd had some money on her; she really didn't want to meet Hajime today before taking a bath.

It was only natural that she should be rather pensive, and she allowed herself the luxury of a demeanor to match. Any time she could possibly get away with it was spent frowning, although what good that would really do she wasn't sure. Get it out of her system, possibly, before she had to go deal with Hajime.

She sighed. Hajime.

Most women would probably agree that if during sex you could think more about your husband than the man with whom you were actually coupling, that was a bad thing. (Or maybe a good thing, if it meant your future fidelity would be shaping up, but that didn't apply here.) Well, her worried questions about how to deal with his interest in Zanza were now answered, anyway, quite conveniently and without any excessive moralization on her part. If only sex answered all of life's questions like that.

It had certainly taught her one very important thing about herself -- or, rather, Zanza had. Every time she'd reacted to any touch of his, be it as simple as a brush of his fingertips or as intimate as part of the final act itself, Zanza had seemed to suck up her moans and gasps as if they contained the very essence of life... he'd fed off her positive response and been charged by it; she could feel it. And it lit up his face and enlivened his actions more than she would have thought possible.

She'd had on previous occasions a sneaking suspicion that Zanza, probably subconsciously, had an inappropriately low opinion of himself, and here was proof. She didn't think he could possibly be aware that one of his motives for sleeping with her had been to boost his own self-confidence; but unless she was very much mistaken, that had been a big part of it.

And she'd been doing just the same thing. She'd only noticed it in herself because she'd seen it in him, but she couldn't bring herself to believe she was imagining things.

She supposed it was only natural. Being rejected by her husband for seven years could probably give even the most confident woman a complex. The real disturbance was in the shock she'd felt at finding she had one. And what was she supposed to do about it? Certainly not seek out people to have sex with in order to feel better about herself. She actually laughed at that idea, and just because she'd unwittingly done it last night didn't make it any less funny -- although she wasn't sure exactly why it was amusing in the first place. Maybe because anything to laugh at was desirable right now when she really felt quite awful about the whole thing.

In all the time she'd known her husband, which actually hadn't been four months longer than the time she'd spent married to him, she'd seen Hajime take interest in a total of three different men, not counting Zanza. Hajime was picky and demanding: none of them had been with him long; and also rather eclectic with what he found attractive: none of them had been at all similar, and Zanza was as different from those three as they'd been from each other. Not that any of them had been unpleasant... they just hadn't been what she would have thought Hajime would appreciate. She'd given up trying to understand it. But when Hajime liked someone, then he liked him -- and very little got in the way of him getting what he wanted when he bothered to think of himself at all. Soba, cigarettes, and lovers...

And she'd brushed that aside for what? A night of self-validation with a guy she didn't love when her own sex life had been at least three times as active as her husband's and was likely to continue so. Real fair, Tokio, real fair. The more she thought about it, the more difficult it was to understand why she'd even done it in the first place. Well, there was the obvious physical attraction, but what was she, a horny teenager?

She scrubbed at her skin almost savagely, as if by the action she might rid herself of the guilt and the confusion and the... and the unexpected unhappiness that was suddenly poking its way into her consciousness. She was not one to brood pointlessly, after all, and even though she couldn't actually wash away what she felt, action was still better than non-action.

This thought was good motivation to finish with her bath more promptly and go find out what Hajime wanted her to do today. Probably patrol, which could prove either helpfully distracting or extremely dull, depending on what district she ended up walking and what kinds of interesting things were or weren't happening there. So, cleaner but with very little more hold on herself than she'd had previous to her bath, and wishing she had a different uniform to wear, she dressed and left the bath-house for the police station.

She had quite a few streets to walk on the way there, but she wasn't sure that would be long enough to compose herself for a meeting with Hajime. She mustn't act any differently than normal around him, couldn't give him any hint of what she'd done. The problem was that she almost felt as if she couldn't recall what normal was, how she should act. How did Tokio Who Had Not Slept With Zanza converse with her husband? She couldn't be entirely sure she remembered. And what if Hajime mentioned Zanza directly?

She sighed. Zanza.

Could she ever look him in the eye again?

She'd worked so hard to come up with anything to say to patch things up before they started leaking too badly. She just couldn't let what had happened last night ruin... well, everything -- their friendship, their job, Hajime's hopes and possibly her relationship with him as well -- as it threatened to do. But that line she'd given Zanza had been complete nonsense, and she knew he hadn't bought it any more than she had.

All right, she had to stop dwelling on this before she got to the station. She did not want to have to come up with one single word of explanation -- and it would require more than just one if she seemed moody to her husband... or, worse, if she blushed for any reason at all.

Drops of water were falling consistently from her bun onto the back of her neck, and as she reached an annoyed hand back to rub the moisture into her skin, she became conscious of a sensation in that same area as if someone behind her had their eyes on her. She veered into a side street without breaking her stride so as to glance in the appropriate direction without turning conspicuously. She did not allow her expression to change in response to what she saw, but even if she had, she wasn't sure what it would have changed to, as she couldn't quite think what to make of this.

She knew from what Zanza had told her last night that his friend Tsukioka was planning to take upon himself the task of educating the people at least of Tokyo about the government and its evils, and that however he intended to do so probably wouldn't involve bombs, but that didn't mean she was entirely sure they could trust the man. And why was he looking at her now?

Granted, he didn't seem to be spying, exactly, as he'd just been standing there... but he certainly had been looking quite fixedly. Zanza had said that the matter of Tsukioka's worry concerning his friend's association with Tokio and Hajime had been resolved, so the man probably wouldn't still be trying to figure out anything about her, right?

But he'd approached her just yesterday...! Twice in twenty-four hours was a little... No, it was just coincidence. Really, it had to be. She had to tell herself this several times, that she'd walked past him as she could possibly have walked past anyone else in the city, to keep from doubling back and going to see what he was up to. He probably wasn't 'up to' anything, really; she was just overly curious and glad of a distraction. And an adequate one it was, for in concentrating on whether or not she was being followed and wondering whether she'd been right to let the matter go, she got herself to the police station in a very decent frame of mind to talk to her husband.

She found him going over the Raihishuu papers again with that I-want-to-slay-Evil look on his face.

"How are we?" she asked.

He was silent for a moment, his eyes stabbing the document he held as if it were the politician himself. Then, "I'd say finished," said he.

She smiled widely. "That's a pleasant surprise! Soo... when is the execution?" She was teasing him with the question, as she knew the event would be concurrent with the finale of the yakuza affair.

He knew her intent and did not answer, which was just as well since his reply might have brought up Zanza.

"So, I suppose that puts me on patrol today," she continued, "or have you dug up something small to play with while we're waiting?"

"I'll check once I'm through with this," he replied. "Come back at one."

She nodded. "By the way, are you working that girl in?"

Hajime shook his head. "Whether Raihishuu drove them to it or not, the blame for that rests with the Tajiru woman."

"That poor girl probably won't ever be avenged, then," Tokio sighed.

Her husband looked up at her with a smirk that was half malicious and half grim. "That depends on whether he's with his new mistress when I go to kill him. And remember that 'that poor girl' was his mistress as well."

"She looked so young, though," Tokio replied softly.

"She was old enough."

"I know, but I always like to assume..." She trailed off into another sigh.

Hajime knew she did, and was silent.

Tokio turned to leave.

"There have been some unarmed disturbances centering around the Ayameie lately; head over that way," Hajime said, belatedly and a little absently.

"The Ayameie?" It was a familiar name, but she could not quite place it.

"It's a brothel in Taitoku-akasen," the man replied shortly, still reading.

"Soouu ka?" She leaned on the desk and grinned at him, eyebrows raised.

He looked up at her and back down at the document in his hand without a word, in a motion that might be considered a rolling of the eyes.

"Ja ne," she laughed, and left him to his paperwork.

He had them in order, and he'd gone through them a dozen times. It was tedious, and at the same time it nearly enraged him to read it over and over again, but when they were dealing with a man's life it paid to be certain. And their file on Raihishuu now contained enough concrete evidence to convict the man on at least three different serious charges.

Saitou was glad, however, that they didn't plan on bringing him to trial. Even if Raihishuu somehow didn't manage to buy his way out of trouble, the mere jail sentence he was likely to receive was too good for him -- and the chances that a rich, powerful, well-friended politician would be executed as he deserved were very slim. As Saitou skimmed once more the carefully-compiled accounts of the 'silencing' of one of Raihishuu's rivals, he could practically smell the blood. Or maybe that was only the scent of his own impatience at the thought of just how much influence that corrupt man had on the fate of the nation.

He knew it was probably a good thing, though, that he could declare the investigation stage of this case complete and commence with the waiting. Some rats, after all, could feel the eyes of even hidden predators, and it would be wise to take the focus off their enemy for a while and let him believe himself to be safe. If Raihishuu were nervous and wary, it would be reflected by the gang or gangs he controlled, making Sano's deception all the more difficult. So patience, as usual, however irritating it would prove, was the next step in the process, and Saitou just had to keep reminding himself that this way they would be doing away with (or at least putting a major dent in) two prominent yakuza as well as the main bastard they were after.

He looked up as there was a knock at his door and a rookie entered with what appeared to be a thick folded note. Saitou took it without a word, then put his files away in the drawer, which he locked, as the kid left. He frowned as he picked up the paper, for the way it was closed was rather tricky. Who would go to so much trouble just folding their message? This was practically origami...

My esteemed former colleague, it began.

Oh. He knew who must have written this.

Little indeed, I am well-aware, may you desire any contact with me...

Yes, that was true.

...consequent on certain recent events orchestrated by my hand which must certainly have proven injurious to your pride if not indeed harmful to your person.

No, that was not the reason.

This, as I will now candidly admit, was a circumstance arising from my own gross misjudgment and excessive haste. Had I but paused for the briefest interim to attempt to afford the matter as much reflection as was logically demanded by the gravity I had in my mind assigned it, I surely without too great an effort would have reached the conclusion that the more honorable and indeed the more logical path was one that led me to question you directly, rather than the rash course I instead pursued.

This was the kind of language he associated with mid-level government officials, not former war-time comrades, and he didn't appreciate having that pleasant nostalgic illusion eroded. That he knew Yaoku could make up for this truly irksome habit with a number of good qualities did not make it less annoying.

Even had my ill-formed beliefs concerning your character been accurate, and my confrontation of you had therefore resulted in my death as a necessary, precautionary silencing of my too-knowing voice, still in that extremity would I have perished with honor unspotted. But, overcome as I was with anger subsequent upon recognizing your face and making quiet and much surprised inquiry about the uniform you wore, I chose the path of indirect violence in engaging the mercenary seemingly best-suited to fight you. Acting thus without procuring more certain information regarding you and your loyalties was unpardonable, and is a growing source of shame in my heart. I feel I can go no longer without seeking to make some reparation, especially as my time in this city draws rapidly to a close.

Good god, there was another page and a half of this.

Though my knowledge of you does not speak of your being a forgiving man in particular, yet I dare to hope that you may see fit to excuse me from malice, though far be it from me to wish to avoid blame, as you were generous enough to spare my rudely unconventional messenger and even to send by him that reply stating that my inferences were incorrect. Moreover, if they are indeed incorrect insofar that you remain as dedicated to justice as once you were, surely you will not deny me the fair opportunity of undoing the damage I have so sadly caused.

He started skimming.

...appeal to that justice previously mentioned... ...if you would favor me... ...make apology face-to-face... ...hear from your own mouth the account... ...additionally, perhaps share some reminiscences of... ...meet me at... ...if it is not your desire to... ...assume that you no longer... ...hold no grudge... ...ever respectfully...

He should have guessed -- no, he should have known that this entire epistle was just a glorified invitation to go out and endure Yaoku's bombast face-to-face elsewhere. He tossed the paper onto the desk and sighed.

The truth was that if Saitou had thought about it before, he would have expected something like this. Yaoku was fanatically elegant and ridiculously verbose, but that was the worst of it, and he would take the insult he believed he'd inflicted on a former comrade very seriously. And really, this was the best time for whatever apology he wanted to make, when Saitou didn't actually have anything pressing to do for the next few hours at least. It was just that he couldn't stand the man. Had never liked him, did not plan to start now, and wanted nothing less than to spend any time in his company 'sharing some reminiscences' or anything of the sort.

The problem was that it really would be in his best interests to get this over with as soon as possible. It was not unlikely that Yaoku was in touch with most or even all of the rest of the former members of the Shinsengumi who were still alive (whatever that number was these days), he always having been the groupie type, and talking this out now could put the whole matter to rest indefinitely among them all.

So Saitou might as well go meet him. It would feel easily as productive as finding a minor case to work on and killing time that way. He just hoped Yaoku didn't annoy him to the point where he snapped and came out with an admission of exactly what he thought of the man.

He glanced down at the time and place listed in the note. He had about twenty minutes before then; at least Yaoku wasted little time. And also to the man's credit, Saitou grudgingly had to admit, the wording (though excessive) was such that if the communication were to fall into someone else's hands, that person would not be able to divine from it Saitou's identity or much else that he would not wish them to know. Provided that person managed to get through the whole thing at all.

Leaving Tokio written instructions to look through the case registry for something they could do for the next little while, in the likely event that Yaoku went on past one o'clock when she was due back here, Saitou pocketed the note and left his office.

The novelty of Sano's new position as a police operative had not yet entirely worn off, and now it dragged him out of his apartment when he might just have gone back to bed not long after Tokio left. Well, he wasn't entirely sure he could have fallen asleep again, and the room had that lingering scent of the night's activities that would only have made him uncomfortable, so staying there awake was intolerable. He left the window open and went out to get some work done, or at least to distract himself from guilty thoughts.

The problem was that the type of people to whom he needed to talk, by whom he needed to let himself be seen, and among whom he needed to be known were generally unavailable at this time of day -- except for the upper management, and he hadn't progressed quite that far yet. He thought about going to see Katsu, but didn't really think that was wise at this point when things were still likely to be a little touchy between them. Tomorrow, maybe.

Why was he suddenly feeling so excessively alone?

Before lunchtime rolled around the summer heat had yet to set in, but it was evidently going to be very fine. The daily afternoon showers would not start up until the end of the week, if he was judging the air right, making this likely to be the perfect kind of afternoon for finding a shady porch somewhere to lie down for a catnap, then perhaps strolling downtown to pick a fight or two -- especially given the fact that he had a slight headache. Too bad he knew he could never pull off the first in his current stirred mental state and had no interest in the second anymore if it was going to be as pointless as it had always been. He stuck his hands in his pockets and slouched.

Not two streets later, though, he happened upon a good idea. It wouldn't help him all that much when it came to the not-thinking-about-Tokio matter, but if he were to go see Saitou now it would probably distract him at least a little bit. He wasn't sure exactly how he'd go about it, as it wouldn't do just to walk into the police station looking for the guy, but he could figure something out. And even though he didn't really have any reason to talk to Saitou, he'd come up with some excuse for that too. Like making a report or something. The point was that Saitou always got him mad and whatnot, and that would serve to take his mind off the things he didn't want to think about.

But he was a little surprised, as he made his way down a pleasant market street on the way to the station, still trying to think up something to get Saitou to come to him without attracting too much attention, to see the man himself sitting there at a soba stand talking with none other than Yaoku Fumishi, the guy who'd hired Zanza to fight Saitou almost a month ago. Sano probably wouldn't have recognized the other ex-Shinsen after having seen him only once before, except for the fact that there just couldn't be two such strikingly handsome forty-year-old men in Tokyo.

For some reason, the scene was a little annoying. It wasn't that Sano rued the results of Yaoku's sending him that letter, or his ensuing involvement with Saitou and Tokio... it just seemed so ridiculous that the man who'd hired him to fight Saitou in order to prove a point was now sitting there chatting away with the officer as pleasant as could be. Well, actually, although Saitou did looked fairly relaxed, he also seemed to have a certain air about him of patient irritation. It just felt stupid. Sano didn't quite know why it bothered him, but there it was.

No way was he going to talk to Saitou now; not with that guy around. Hell, Sano hadn't even understood half the stuff Yaoku'd said back when he'd gone to collect his pay from him; with Saitou there he'd probably be using even longer words. At any rate, Sano ducked away before either of them could see him, and went back the way he'd come through the busy street. It didn't matter; there were surely other things he could do to keep his mind occupied, most of them probably more productive than getting insulted by Saitou while trying to make an unsolicited report.

But still... What a great day this is turning out to be... Not that it started out all that good... Wrong side of the futon indeed...

"Zanza?"

Startled, Sano stopped short and turned. Of all the unexpected voices that could have hailed him, this was one of the most surprising, but not at all unwelcome. "Kotono-san!"

The woman was standing in the doorway of a clothing shop looking around hesitantly. Tucking an escaped bit of wavy hair behind one ear, she asked, "Will you... can you come inside and talk to me a moment?"

"Sure," he replied curiously, stepping with her into the shop and taking the opportunity while she wasn't looking at him to examine her closely. She didn't seem much worse off than she had when he'd last seen her -- no new bruises on her pale face, and she wasn't any thinner -- but she did appear a bit worried, more nervous than usual.

"My escort is across the street," she murmured, gesturing toward the window through which she must have seen Sano as he walked by. She glanced around at the customers in the shop, and, apparently deeming the place busy enough that their private conversation would be relatively safe, continued without any preamble. "I heard someone mention to Tonshuu-sama that you might be coming back."

"I been thinking about it," Sano said in a tone of casual admission. "Got to missing the old days, you know?"

She shook her head. "You... you shouldn't." Although she was evidently trying to speak with conviction, her voice didn't convey it. Actually, it seemed that she was having a very difficult time saying it at all. "Now that you're out, you should... stay free..."

He wished he could tell her the truth, to give her something to look forward to and let her stop worrying, but he didn't dare. He had to act his part, and only hoped it was convincing enough. Gotta tread carefully here for this to make sense, considering how hard I worked to get outta there in the first place. "Hey, don't worry about it," he told her in a tone that he meant to sound easy with a hint of bravado. "I can take care of myself."

"But I'm afraid..." She bit her lip even as it moved into a little, uncertain smile. "I'm afraid you're doing this for me." She blushed as she continued hurriedly, "Because you were always so kind to me... and I was afraid you'd heard about... but you don't need to be..."

As she trailed off, Zanza reflected in rueful annoyance that this woman might have been quite assertive but for the life she'd been forced to lead. Actually, perhaps she had been relatively assertive, if necessarily polite, during her geisha days. It was an outrage that anyone should be in a position where her very character was forced to change for the sake of her survival. Then his mind caught at what she'd said, and he asked, "Heard about what?"

She struggled with a slight frown. "Nothing. What I mean is that you don't need to worry about me."

"No, really, I want to know."

"It's not important! I'm worried about you; don't you see?" And she really was upset. Sano couldn't help but be touched; it had been a long time since anyone had openly shown that kind of concern for him. She calmed a little as she continued. "Kukuri-kun was saying that you've been associating with a police woman, and I'm afraid Tonshuu-sama will think that--"

Sano hadn't really been expecting this, but it was easy to come up with a story fairly quickly. "Oh, don't worry 'bout that... 't's just my girlfriend." And it was good to know that Kukuri was the one assigned to keep an eye on him, as he'd thought might be the case.

Oh. Maybe that hadn't been such a good idea to say, if Kotono's little twitch meant anything. Her hand raised slightly, clenching into a fist, and her eyes widened just the tiniest bit. Sano had often thought idly, in the past, that she might like him, and now he was giving the idea more serious consideration. And the last thing he wanted was to hurt her. At the same time, he had to have a solid story. "Girlfriend?" she was repeating, after that long moment was over, trying with impressive success to sound politely curious rather than unhappy.

Sano figured he'd better give her the rest of it (which he'd just thought of) and get it over with. "Yeah..." He adopted the tone of one who hasn't noticed his conversational companion's lack of interest and is going to chatter away obliviously until he's out of words. "I had a few problems with her partner there for a while... seems he didn't like her running around with someone like me, or he was jealous or somethin' ...but once I convinced 'em both that I'm a law-abiding citizen--" it wasn't much effort to render credible the disdainful laugh he put in at this point-- "he backed off, and now things are just fine.

"It's kindof a pain just 'cause I gotta be so careful about who I talk to and what I do so Tokio doesn't find out, uh, certain things about me, but it's still a good deal 'cause now I'm in their blind eye, you know? And eventually I figure I've gotta hear some nice police secrets too." It was difficult to come up with a conspiratorial grin in the face of Kotono's solemnity, but he thought he managed it rather well.

And his performance seemed to have eased her somewhat, for whatever reason, for finally she brightened again, just a little. "I am sure you know what you're doing," she smiled, "but do be careful. If she finds out that you're trying to get back into the group, after all..."

"Hell, if she finds out I was even a member in the first place, there'd be trouble," Sano said, proud of himself for that line. "But, yeah, I know what I'm doin'. Hey, I'll make a deal with you. You don't worry about me, I won't worry about you." (Since he was lying to her about everything already, he might as well go this far.) "How's that?"

Her smile grew. "I am not entirely sure that's complimentary, Zanza," she replied in the lightest tone she'd used with him yet today, "but I suppose I can close on such a bargain."

Sano grinned. "It's a deal, then."

"I need to go," she said, in her usual quiet, serious tone as the happier moment passed and her gaze flicked out the window again. "I would not want my escort to come looking for me. I suppose now you won't allow me to tell you again to be careful..."

With a shake of his head, Sano replied silently, And I can't tell you not to let anyone kick you around or use you like a broken toy... but, hey, I never could, could I? "Put in a good word with Tonshuu for me, wouldja?" was all he said aloud.

She nodded, and with another little smile and a slight bow of her head turned and made her way out of the shop.

Sano, however, was frowning as soon as her back was to him. The very thought of what that woman's life had been forced to become made his blood boil, and the sooner he got this whole thing done and her out of that terrible situation, the better.

Sano nearly left, thinking his friend wasn't at home, before Katsu answered the door. The artist looked surprised, cast a dark eye out at the rain that was becoming more steady, and exclaimed, "It's going to be pouring within ten minutes -- come inside!"

Sano obeyed with a grunt of thanks, shaking water from his head as he stepped out of his muddy shoes and stood dripping just within the door. "I didn't wake you up, did I?" he asked a little nervously, noting the condition of Katsu's hair and yukata. He still felt somewhat awkward talking to his friend at all, and he tried very hard not to let his gaze go immediately to the closet where last time he'd been here a stash of bombs had been sitting just waiting for someone to do violence with them.

"You did, but only because I was out all night." Trying absently with one hand to calm his tousled locks, Katsu gave him a teasing smile. "Some of us don't sleep until the afternoon unless we have to."

"Out all night?" Sano wondered. "I can go..."

"No, no," his friend said. "I'm glad to see you. Sit. I will warm up some sake." Well, that was a decent welcome, anyway; Katsu must know that with the promise of sake, Sano wasn't likely to leave.

He found a seat at the table, which seemed at least twice as cluttered as it had been the last time he'd visited. He was surprised to find that the mass of papers strewn across it was not a collection of sketches or diagrams or random-looking blots of ink as he'd expected, but covered in writing, not all of it in the same hand. His curiosity was instantly aroused, but he exerted his will power and did not pry. If Katsu decided to trust him after Sano told him the truth, then he'd ask.

"So what is this I hear, that you're trying to get back into the Fushibihan?" Katsu was saying as he rummaged through something across the room.

"Now, hold on," Sano frowned. "You and your hearing stuff. Where did you hear that? I can't think of any way you should be able to know about that already."

"I have a lot of friends who know a lot of things," Katsu replied, in the same dismissive tone he'd used the last time Sano had asked him about this. The words were fairly similar too, but Sano was not buying it this time.

"Lots of contacts, you mean."

"Sano, if you're worried that I'm spying on you, you don't need to be." Katsu had paused in the task of lighting his stove to give Sano a very serious look. An apologetic look, even.

"Hey, spying's fine," Sano hastened to assure him. "Or hearing things, or whatever you want to call it. Whatever you're doin' is fine." This conversation was every bit as uncomfortable as he'd expected, but not from any feeling of accusation in their words -- which was what he'd feared would be the case -- but because they each seemed to have something they were not telling the other, and not everything was clear between them. Sano was glad he had come, for to get this worked out as soon as possible would make him feel better about the world in general.

Katsu had set a demurely small sake bottle to warm over the stove, and was not looking at his friend. "I owe you a lot, Sano," he said calmly.

"Nah," Sano replied automatically. "Though you could tell me what you're up to," he added a little belatedly. "Then we'll call it even."

Katsu was silent for a moment, apparently contemplating this, then smiled and said, "All right." Whether that little smile looked so defeated because he would rather not have told Sano his secret or because he would rather have gone on believing himself indebted to his friend, Sano could not guess.

Katsu was about to speak again when Sano thought better of it. "Oh, but first," he broke in, a little embarrassed, "let me tell you what I'm up to. 'Cause you may not wanna tell me anything after you know."

This brought a skeptical look to the dark-haired man's face. "It cannot be worse than your trying to get back into that yakuza."

"Well, that's part of it," Sano said. "I'm tryin' to get some serious fighting started between the Fushibihan and the Karashigumi. Tryin' to get them to make some bad moves, like public stuff, tryin' to drag the leaders out into the open, that kind of thing." With brows lowered, Katsu was looking fixedly at him, curious, waiting without a word for him to continue. Sano took a deep breath and reminded himself of the resolve he'd made before he came here: that he would be completely honest with his friend even if he feared Katsu might be more than merely unhappy with Sano's choices. "See, the thing is, I'm working for Saitou."

Katsu's expression did not change, and perhaps that was a good thing. It meant, at least, that he wasn't shocked out of his skin or pissed off or anything. Yet. "How long has that been going on?"

"Not long," Sano replied quickly. "Not even two weeks yet. Anyway," he hurried on, "the Karashigumi pretty much belongs to this politician guy--"

"The same one who owns the Retsugon shipping company?" Katsu interrupted darkly with no surprise.

"Shit, if everyone knows, I don't see the point of all the secrecy," Sano grumbled.

"Not everyone knows. Even I thought it was just a rumor, and I don't know his name."

"Well, it's true; it's some big guy named Raihishuu. Saitou and Tokio are working on taking him out, but Saitou wants to get rid of the gang first. So I'm tryin' to set some things up, and I need my old street status again, you know?"

Katsu had looked away, and now appeared incredibly pensive. "Yes," he replied absently, shortly.

The silence, after nearly half a minute, began to grate on Sano's nerves, and he shifted a little and glanced around the room. "So... are you mad at me?" he finally asked.

"Mad at you?" Katsu echoed in surprise.

"Mad that I didn't tell you before... uh, mad that I'm doin' this at all... I dunno..." Sano was scratching the back of his head nervously.

With a brief laugh, Katsu shook his own head. "No, Sano, not at all. Really, I think this is excellent news. When we found each other before, you seemed so... purposeless... I'm glad that you've found something like this to do. And as for not telling me before -- that problem was mine."

Profoundly relieved, Sano broke into a real smile, suddenly feeling a hundred times easier. "Well, sorry anyway."

"You're strong," Katsu said, and that idealistic light Sano had seen a few times before was for some reason starting to glow in his eyes. "You've always been strong. Maybe you can make a difference."

"I hope so," Sano said, wondering if he might not suddenly be playing right into Katsu's lofty dreams. The physical aspects of the recent changes in his life had mostly made him stop dwelling on the philosophical, but he had not forgotten.

There was a long silence as Katsu checked the sake. "As for me..." he began slowly, "I took to heart what you said. That if someone would just tell the people of this era the truth of what goes on in this country and its government, the truth of the influence even one individual can have... I can't tell everyone, and I can't tell everything. But what and whom I can tell, I will."

Katsu's fervor was evident, and by now Sano was wildly curious. But he held his tongue and waited for his friend to get to the point.

"So I'm going to publish a newspaper," the artist finally said.

"Oh!" said Sano as everything suddenly made sense. "Hey, yeah, that is a good way to tell 'em!"

Katsu smiled. "I owe you more than you know for this," he said. "Everyone talks to an unthreatening artist, and I knew that. But I never realized how very much I could learn by simply talking quietly to the right people -- until I found you again and started asking questions about you. It was a kind of test, after that, trying to find information about your police friends, to see just how much I could discover. And I found that as long as I was wording things correctly, I could learn anything I wanted from the people I know and barely even arouse suspicion. Although hardly anyone in this city knows about Saitou, quite a few of them know about the formidable officer Fujita -- and any number of other subjects, as I have been learning lately."

Sano nodded with a slight laugh and an approving nod. "I bet! So, you've got this great set of connections and a perfect cover... when are you starting?"

Katsu gestured to the messy table with the hand holding the sake cups he'd pulled from a small cupboard behind him. "As you can see, I have quite a bit of information ready for my first issue. I have two more people to talk to, and then quite a few hours of compiling and editing in front of me, but after that the printing will not be very difficult. So within the next few days..."

"Hey, you're gonna be careful, right? I mean, printing anti-government stuff and exposés and whatever's gonna make you a wanted man."

"I know," Katsu replied, pouring sake for both of them. He raised his dark, gleaming eyes to meet Sano's. "But it's better this way than as a terrorist, isn't it?"

"Sure as hell," Sano agreed sincerely. He could see that Katsu believed the words he was speaking, and it was a weight of worry off his mind to know the artist no longer had doubts that his previous plan had not been the best way to do what he felt needed to be done.

"And you, in turn, must be careful," Katsu was saying. "I know you can take care of yourself when it comes to fighting, but attempting to con two gangs at once won't be so easy."

"It's not so much conning," Sano said, "as it is just gettin' into both of them and setting up a brawl that the police can crack down on."

"A brawl with the leaders involved?"

"Well, I'm not so sure about that part just yet."

Katsu laughed. "It sounds like a con to me. So be careful."

"Yeah."

"And actually, I may be able to help you. Do you remember the organized fights they used to have in Azabuku two or three years ago?"

"The ones that got banned 'cause too many guys got killed?"

"From what I hear, they have restarted. But the security is much tighter this time so they don't get shut down again. And as far as I know, it's mostly Karashi members participating. They are the power in that part of town, after all."

Sano nodded thoughtfully. "That's a good idea. Thanks, man."

"Any time, Sano," Katsu replied with a smile. "And I mean that. Any time you need information, feel free to ask me."

"Careful," Sano grinned, "or you'll end up a police informant."

"If they're all as pretty as that lady-friend of yours, I might not mind so much."

"Heh... well, they're not." Sano had been afraid that mentioning Tokio to anyone would make him nervous, consequent on the events of a few nights ago, but fortunately he did not find himself in such a predicament now. Which was good, because even with Katsu he didn't feel like discussing those particulars. But he did feel compelled to add, just for the sake of that honesty on which he'd earlier resolved, "An' it didn't really work out with her."

"Really? I'd heard that you and she were a fixed thing."

"Good. That's what people need to think. It's my only excuse for hanging out with police."

Katsu nodded.

The sound of the downpour outside, filling the next silence, made Sano suddenly sit up straight. "Oh, I've gotta go. I forgot!"

"Forgot?"

"Yeah, I got this note yesterday from someone telling me to meet them if it was raining today, and now I'm probably late." His anxiousness to make things smooth again with Katsu had driven it entirely out of his mind.

With a skeptically raised eyebrow the artist remarked, "That sounds shady."

"Sure does. Hopefully it'll be something useful."

"Or maybe just someone wanting to hire you to fight someone."

Sano frowned. "Yeah, that could be it too. Anyway, it's raining, so I'm gonna go." Standing up, he added, "Thanks for the sake."

Katsu nodded. "Be careful, bakayarou."

"You too, bakayarou," Sano returned cheerfully, and headed for the door.

They'd chosen the case that looked the most interesting and time-consuming of all those currently open to them, and although it did promise to remain just as interesting until it was over, the time it was going to consume seemed to be shortening with every new lead Tokio had uncovered in the last few days. The fact that a pretty female officer (an uncommon thing) was capable of getting twice as many answers out of people as a male one who wasn't so pretty (a very common thing) sometimes took the challenge out of these smaller affairs. Not that she had the exact solution to this mystery yet, but she expected to before the sun set.

Yasuyoto, the old man who ran the friendly restaurant across the street from where she waited, knew everyone in the area and was always ready to tell all of them everything that was to be told about one another. In this noble endeavor he was aided by his funny little wife, and one had but to be polite, buy something insignificant, and word things in an amiable and non-threatening enough fashion, to get just about any kind of district gossip from them. This was doubtless the reason that the group of local teenagers for whom Tokio was waiting made the spot their afternoon hangout. These hooligans, all the more docile during the day for being little hell-raisers at night, would probably show up here any time now for their daily snack; once they did, they were sure to be informed with relish by the gossipy restaurateurs that a police officer had been by asking funny questions about them and why were nice young men like them in such trouble? They couldn't discuss their miscreant doings in front of the couple, so they would run, if not all the way back to their hideout, at least to some place where it would be convenient for them to talk and her to eavesdrop -- and then she could discover whether or not they were actually concealing the person around whom this case revolved.

She was quite proud of her costume today. Sometimes with such a cover she had to wash off and redraw the wrinkles on her face two or three times before she got them to look good, but today's old woman had been convincing on the first attempt, and she really felt quite the artist. From anywhere but immediately in front of her, she would not be recognized either as herself or as a younger woman in disguise. Why this plausible grandmother was skulking around an alleyway in the rain with her eyes glued to the restaurant across the street would have been more difficult to explain, but nobody asked because nobody saw her.

Zanza startled her by appearing about forty-five minutes after the rain had, strolling up the street without regarding the elements and headed she did not know where. There was nonchalance in his bearing but purpose in his step, and she wondered what he was doing out and about in this weather -- beyond that, she questioned what coincidence brought him into the part of town where she and Hajime were working; but she didn't spend long on that score as she recalled that Tsukioka's apartment was in the next neighborhood over.

It was the first time she'd seen the kenkaya since their ill-advised activities at the beginning of the week, and she found she couldn't look at him with perfect tranquility even from this far away. Glad she was to be concealed and disguised; she didn't think a conversation with him just now would have been particularly good for her professional frame of mind. She had to talk to him sooner or later, though. And their next meeting would certainly be awkward under any circumstances, but she feared that putting it off much further would only make it worse. Of course she didn't have time this afternoon, and he probably wouldn't this evening, but maybe she should contrive to run into him tomorrow. She wondered, not without a slight pang of various unpleasant feelings, if Hajime had made any progress in the last few days. Much as she wished him luck, she doubted it.

Forcing herself to stop thinking about it, as Zanza was out of sight, she turned her attention back to the restaurant. The volume of rain drumming just above her head and all around was increasing every moment, and still there was no sign of her targets. This did not worry her much; she had other ideas, so it didn't really matter whether they showed up at all today. Actually, that they were suddenly changing their habits just at this particular time probably meant that they were hiding Ichiro, as she believed, or at least knew that someone thought they were, and were up to something else they didn't want to fall under scrutiny.

A tattered umbrella was the next distraction to come into view, and Tokio barely caught a glimpse of the face beneath it before its bearer had ducked into Yasuyoto's. Tsukioka again...? Her mind was instantly host to a riotous debate: this, the third time she'd seen him by chance in a week, couldn't possibly be... but she'd been willing to write off Zanza's presence as a coincidence; why not his? Couldn't a man go out of his home to a nearby restaurant without being supposed to be taking part in some subversive activity? Except that this particular restaurant was run by the best information source in the district. And why not eat out with Zanza, if they had just been together? Well, Zanza obviously had somewhere to be -- but was that of his own volition or because Tsukioka had dismissed him?

She chided herself, she questioned herself, she doubted herself, she lectured herself, but in the end she couldn't help herself. When Tsukioka emerged from the restaurant not ten minutes later, Tokio abandoned completely the wait for the group of young men and followed him instead.

She wanted to trust him, quite sincerely. She didn't like to think that a friend for whom Zanza had exerted so much might be deceiving him -- but, though it was little to the credit of Zanza's discernment that she thought this way, she had seen too many corrupt friendships and known too many idealistic radicals to be entirely convinced, just yet, of Tsukioka's good intentions. She could leave the Ichiro case for now, and if Hajime faulted her on it, she could calmly point out that it was his case too and she hadn't seen him around here today. Of course he was probably doing something important -- because that was all he ever did -- but even so...

Despite the excellent cover provided by the weather, she was making a conscientious effort to remain totally undetected as she followed the artist's progress up the wet, grey street; he gave no sign of being aware of her. Beyond that, he acknowledged none of the few people he passed; he went at no greater speed than a natural walking pace; he did not seem at all nervous; in general, he succeeded in looking absolutely normal and trustworthy. Her misgivings did not lessen because of this, but it was a good sign.

He went into some sort of wholesale paper and ink place and came out with a large package which he shielded more carefully under his umbrella even than his own person; for an artist this was so far unremarkable. After this they approached his neighborhood, and Tokio began to relax. On this little rainy-day outing, at least, it seemed, Tsukioka had no more sinister intentions than a bit of shopping. That was the judgement she was ready to pass, anyway, until the moment Tsukioka recognized with a mostly unobtrusive nod a man who leaned against a building's corner in the shadows and who disappeared the moment after into the alley behind.

Tokio's suspicions were redoubled. That Tsukioka could appear so very unassuming, so perfectly innocent, and still be up to something all along, cast him in even worse light than before. She spent the rest of the distance to his apartment urging herself to be rational. There could be a perfectly acceptable, if not necessarily technically legal, reason for the secrecy of that exchange, perhaps something that fit into his purported new goal of educating the era... but then again, he could also be planning to bomb someone and that man was his new confederate. At this point, she could be sure of nothing, and felt she should probably look into talking to Zanza sooner rather than later.

For the next long while she listened uneasily for any sign of unusual activity from Tsukioka's home, but there was none. Indeed, but for the light that was still unquestionably lit within, she would have thought he had gone to bed, for not a sound reached her over the pattering of the rain. This, for greater concealment, she was enduring without her umbrella, and she was sure that her painted-on wrinkles were horribly smeared at best -- but neither circumstance bothered her greatly.

He certainly was quiet in there! Surely if he were planning something for this evening, he would not be so idle now? It was this thought as well as the gradual slowing of the storm that pulled her from her task. Whatever her suspicious instincts told her, she could not believe Tsukioka was planning any violence tonight -- but to find out the truth of that guess would require her to spy on him probably for the rest of the afternoon at least (which might still be unsuccessful) or to confront him (which would certainly be rash). She needed to talk to Zanza, and she needed to be out of the shadows when the sun reemerged so she could dry off and not catch cold.

Thus, her head full of why's and half-formed distrust, she left the observation of the artist to the failing rain. For now.

The glance that Sano cast around the field as he entered it from the north, coming down the hill that separated this miniature wilderness on that side from the city beyond, was observed acutely by Saitou from his place beside one of the first trees of the little belt of woods at the south end. The boy was appropriately suspicious, ready for anything but battle most of all. Still, though Saitou was not one to encourage pointless excessive paranoia, if the person who had summoned Sano here had intended him harm, the fighter's bravado would have availed him little walking into such a perfect ambush scene. He would have to bring that up; to have the appearance of believing one's self infallible, in Sano's case, was probably wise, actually to believe one's self infallible never so.

The rain was by now coming down so heavily that details were beginning to blur at this distance, and Saitou couldn't with surety make out any further expressions on Sano's face. The boy had advanced into the field several strides and stopped, looking around again and probably not prepared to wait very long. Saitou approached him.

"Oh, it was you?" Sano demanded, half skeptical and half annoyed, when Saitou was close enough to be recognized through the pelting rain. "What's the big idea?"

"I mentioned you needed training," Saitou replied.

Sano gestured with a frown. "In this kind of weather?!"

"Yes; what better cover? Come on." Saitou motioned for the boy to follow.

Sano did not disobey, but was still protesting. "Why not at night or something? Well, yeah, I guess I have stuff to do at night... but... in the rain?"

"Those who are afraid of getting wet tend to stay inside during rainstorms," Saitou said in a mocking tone of patient explanation as he stopped in the dead center of the field and turned. "Beyond that, visibility is bad. For those two reasons, we're less likely to be seen now than at any other time. Do I need to explain why it's better that we're not seen together?"

"All right, all right," Sano grumbled. "You're heartless; you really are. So, uh, what am I learning?"

Saitou was a little surprised that Sano was not objecting in the first place to the very idea of being trained; maybe the kid wasn't as convinced of his own infallibility as Saitou had thought. Good for him. The officer began to unbutton his soaked jacket. "How not to get stabbed and knocked out," he replied with a smirk.

Sano scowled and appeared to be trying to come up with something to say. But the fact that he'd been so thoroughly beaten by Saitou when they'd fought before evidently left him with little defense. Which was quite appropriate, really, given that he had so little in general. The boy settled for mimicking Saitou and stripping his upper half -- which, though he probably didn't know it, was retort enough.

This admiration had crossed the line; it was now definitely lust. With those perfectly-formed shoulders, that smooth and beautifully-tanned skin shifting over taut muscles as the boy shivered slightly in the cool rain; with clear droplets running past prickling nipples and over near-transparent skin-tight wrappings to disappear teasingly into clinging pants, Sano was again lucky that Saitou was not the type to press his advantage.

He didn't realize how long he'd been staring until Sano said, perhaps a little uncomfortably, "What?"

Saitou wondered for an extended moment whether or not to be frank. He wanted to think that there would be little harm in making his interest known, wanted to think that a casual admittance of admiration would not be taken as untoward... but there was still the chance that it would be exactly the wrong thing to say, and above all things he had to be sure that Sano did not desert their cause when they were relying so much on him. And there was still the ambiguous situation with Tokio -- although Saitou could not discover that the two had been in each other's company at all in the last three days, he still wasn't sure how things stood between them. No, no, he couldn't say anything just yet.

But the part of him that was still longing to run his mouth over that rain-drenched chest opposite him, see if it tasted as good as it looked, whispered, He's right; you are heartless... And, "Studying your balance," he lied, pushing that thought away in severe annoyance.

"Why? Somethin' wrong with it?"

"Maybe. Try to attack me."

Sano's face finally turned to a smile as his demeanor went in half an instant from static to vigor, and he growled in a tone surprisingly devoid of anger (for now), "I'll do more than try..."

What followed was a sore trial of temperance. Despite Sano's initial lack of complaint, the kenkaya was not eager to change his fighting style, and had to resist every little thing Saitou tried to show him. However, this was not the true difficulty. Sano's excessive stubbornness, though a little frustrating, was more of a challenge, a game... Saitou's real trial was holding to his resolve of aloofness in a secluded place with a soaked, panting, flushed, increasingly angry young man glaring at him in perfectly unwitting sexiness. No matter what Sano did, it looked good, and only the cool rain kept the heat of their exercise from being troublesome to the unfortunate wolf.

As the force and volume of precipitation began to lessen, Saitou brought the lesson to an end. "You need quite a bit of work still," he told the boy, a little breathless even himself, "so unless you have something else to do, we'll plan to practice here every time it rains."

The fact that Sano didn't immediately protest was hopeful, but the young fighter wasn't exactly jumping at the suggestion, either. "All right," he grumbled, "if you say so. I still don't think I'm all that bad."

"Once you can hold your own against me," Saitou told him with a smirk, "I may agree with that."

Sano stuck out his tongue. God, he obviously just had no idea...

The older man quickly changed the subject. "How close are you to either of our gangs?"

Sano slicked back his wild, wet hair with each hand in succession (unsuccessfully) as he answered: "Well, I've got some people talkin' up lettin' me back in to Tonshuu, so I figure that one won't take much longer. Then once I trash some guys in the fights in Azabuku, the Karashi'll probably be begging me to join."

"Hn." So the Azabuku fights were going again, were they? They'd have to be stopped just as quickly as last time -- as soon as Sano was done with them, anyway. Convenient timing, that. "Just don't get yourself killed in the process," Saitou admonished, though in only a half-serious tone. "Those fights have never been exactly fair, and my wife won't forgive you if you do."

That had been a bid for information about how things were between Sano and Tokio, but its results were completely different than anything Saitou had expected. The boy was staring at him with brows lowered, looking slightly confused as if he hadn't quite heard right. "What did you just say?"

Saitou was a bit puzzled by Sano's expression. "Tokio will never forgive you if you get killed."

Sano's mouth opened once or twice, but no sound came out. Finally it just stayed open. His eyes were equally wide, unblinking. Saitou stared back, still not understanding. It took him several long moments of bafflement to come up with any kind of guess as to why the boy was acting thus, and the only answer he could think of was so implausible that he could not really believe it.

Finally Sano managed to spit out some words as his face turned entirely red. "You an'... but she... I..."

Saitou could find no other outlet for his amazement at this than disbelieving laughter. Sano, apparently chagrinned, angry, and shocked for all he was worth, could do nothing but stand there and continue gaping.

At length Saitou said, "How is it possible you didn't know we were married?"

"Nobody ever..." Sano began spluttering out explanations very fast, still quite red in the face. "Well, I forgot -- I mean, her name -- and when she said -- and she an' I..." His blush deepened and he fell silent.

"Ahou ga," Saitou laughed.

If possible, Sano turned even redder. "Hey, it's not my fault I didn't know!"

"Oh? Whose fault, then? You're lucky we didn't have this conversation before I hired you, because I never would have."

"What?! Jus' because I didn't know Tokio was... was..." He couldn't quite seem to spit the words out.

"You must have learned that when you went to Kyoto before you fought me... and you say you forgot? That's not very promising for a spy."

"But... but.... but you two... why don't you..." Sano was no longer looking at Saitou's face, but away to the side. "You two don't act like..."

Saitou had been amused by this exchange up until now, but he was realizing that Sano's reaction was not exactly a good sign. Why would the boy blush so much and be asking such a question if not from guilt about something that had happened or was happening between him and Tokio? Well, that was not unforeseen. Just unpleasant. At least Saitou no longer had to wonder.

He let Sano go on for a bit, trail off, and look hesitantly up again before he answered concisely: "I don't like women that way."

"Ohh," Sano said, sounding relieved and enlightened.

An awkward silence fell just as the rain stopped entirely.

"Well, I've, uh, got stuff to do," Sano finally said. He looked around for his gi, and did not meet Saitou's eyes again. "Bet you do too." Draping his recovered garment over his shoulder and turning hastily he added, "So, tomorrow, if it's raining, right?"

"Yes," Saitou replied, and watched the boy walk off without any further word of goodbye.

When Sano was out of sight, Saitou found his own discarded jacket and absently reached into its pocket, glad he'd thought to tuck his matches into the water-resistant cigarette packet before the rain had started. For a long time he stood in the long, wet grass as the sun came out and dried his skin, smoking in thoughtful silence.

On the surface, there was no reason he should be as agitated about this as he was. Finding out that a woman you'd slept with was married was certainly an understandably disturbing thing, so a little agitated made sense. Finding out that a woman you'd slept with was married to your boss was even worse... but if you'd found out at the same moment that your boss only liked men and wasn't likely to care that you'd slept with his wife, most of that agitation should be negated, right? And Sano couldn't be upset with Tokio, either, as she'd obviously assumed he'd known all along. So why did this bother him so much?

He felt about ready to pull his hair out. How many things could a person be expected to think about at once? He needed to get to Azabuku and find somebody who knew about the fights so he could get signed up or passworded in or whatever it would take. He needed to find Kukuri or some other Fushibihan loser and see what his status was there. And now he really needed to stop thinking about Tokio and Saitou and why in the world it bugged him so much that they were married.

At first he couldn't decide which item of business he should pursue this evening -- mostly because the aforementioned agitation was preventing, to a certain extent, logical thought on any other subject. Self-evidently, given the fact that the two gangs operated (primarily) out of different districts, he couldn't mess around with both on the same night without cutting things unnecessarily short and probably arousing suspicion -- so which one to play with first? The answer to this was obvious after he'd managed to calm down, remind himself what was important and what was less important, and dry off (although that didn't really have much to do with it): the Fushibihan already knew he wanted back in, whereas the Karashigumi (in general) was probably only vaguely aware of his very existence. He couldn't really concern himself with timing just yet, but even now balancing things out was a good idea. He headed for Azabuku.

Taking special pains not to let it look like he was traversing a premeditated route, he spent the last of the day's light on a careful examination of all the establishments where gang members (the ones who were not busy killing each other or committing less serious crimes and who didn't have respectable second jobs or respectable faces to keep up) were likely to be found at day's end.

Every gang had some kind of mark or sign, naturally, and it was a little annoying that he didn't know the Karashigumi's. The Fushibihan's was a flame-pattern tattoo (which was why he always kept his left forearm covered these days, and a good thing, too), and he was sure the Karashi bore something equally blatant if only he knew what to look for. He couldn't help thinking that if he'd ever bothered to be at all observant, rather than willfully obtuse in his self-absorption, at any time previous, he must have noticed it. The two groups hated each other, after all; he really should know it.

As it was, he was watching the early evening bar-goers with a scowl that was mostly directed at himself for this oversight. Scowling was good; he'd decided that the best way to attract the kind of attention he needed was to go heavy on the tough-guy act and get thrown out of a few places around here for fighting (all right; it wasn't all that much of an act). He'd have to be careful, though, not to seem too menacing. Tokio (Saitou Tokio) would probably never let him hear the end of it if he got arrested during the course of what was essentially police-work; he didn't even like to think what Saitou himself (who was just as married) would have to say about it.

A surprising amount of the time, bars that looked like the scummiest pockmarks on the world's face actually had cleaner noses than their slightly less grimy and run-down fellows -- possibly because they were ideal raiding-places for bored police rookies, and possibly because yakuza types, even the thugs, tended to consider themselves too high-class for them. Therefore, though his own tastes were not so discriminatory as long as the drink was decent and there was an absence of drug-addicts, Sano avoided anything matching that description. By the time it was truly dark, he had a sufficient mental list of the places he thought it worth visiting, and wondered how many of them it was safe to get tossed out of in one night.

The next problem he encountered, immediately inside the first bar, was how not to look like he was expecting someone or keeping an eye on the clientele, just waiting for a good fight. The subtle difference between how he wanted to appear and how he didn't was going to make things difficult. This wouldn't be a problem if he could drink, as that was a bar's purpose, after all, but he was low on money (if a certain married man would hurry up and pay him what he'd promised, things might be different); beyond that, he didn't really think drinking a lot was a good idea when he was trying to be casual, cautious and observant all at the same time (and he wasn't about to start a tab when he wasn't drinking for fun). And maybe he was just being paranoid anyway; he probably seemed natural enough. Still, he couldn't be too careful.

Eventually he decided to go for the brooding-in-a-corner look and keep an eye open for anyone he might be able to insult or be insulted by. Mulling over a single drink was really only convincing in solitude with a grim face, after all. And it wasn't as if he would have any difficulty coming up with a subject to occupy his thoughts.

Might Tokio not have said something to her... husband (thinking of Saitou in such terms was almost impossible) about the thing with Sano? No, she couldn't have. Saitou wouldn't have failed to bring it up, Sano was sure. And she certainly wouldn't say anything now that it was over, would she? There wouldn't be any reason to, if she hadn't said anything yet. Why did Sano care so much, anyway, whether or not Saitou knew about that? The guy was an investigator; he must suspect fairly accurately even if he didn't know, and what difference did it make? Most likely, Sano just didn't like the thought of Saitou teasing him about it... either that or he was worried Saitou might object. Not that Saitou seemed to care much about professionalism...

"Gotta problem, kid?"

He'd become so lost in his thoughts, he'd completely missed the fact that he'd been staring straight at someone for maybe quite a while; now as he came back to his senses, he couldn't even curse himself for losing track as this was exactly what he needed. "It's Zanza, not kid," he replied in a growl, taking in details.

"I don' give a fuck what yer name is," the man replied. He was burly and disgruntled-looking; he might be just the right kind of person for the task at hand. "Jus' keep yer pervert eyes off my ass."

A little startling, that; Sano had really been unaware of the direction of his gaze. However, recovering without a flaw in his glower, "What, you ain't heard of me?" he demanded. "Most guys'd be proud I was checkin' them out, but for someone as ugly as you it'd be more logical to be scared shitless I'm just gonna kick that stupid ass out to the street."

"You lookin' to get killed?" the man snarled, and Sano had to work to keep from grinning at how well this was going. Not so difficult at all, really, putting on a show of this sort.

"Lookin' to trash some cheeky bastard like you, maybe." He stood up abruptly, to see if the man would startle; when the thuggish-looking fool didn't flinch, the pleased Sano added in a slightly louder tone, "I ain't had a good fight in forever."

The man stood as well from his nearby seat. "You little shithead, I'm gonna--" but he was cut off abruptly as another man appeared at his side and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"--head outside for some fresh air," the newcomer said quickly, in a tone that was nervous and supplicating, looking at Sano with wide eyes and signs of a frightened sweat on his brow. "He's not thinkin' straight in here," he explained.

The first man struggled, but the second managed to drag him around and a little way off to talk some sense into him. Disappointed, Sano sat back down as he caught the scared, berating tone saying something like, 'Whaddya mean you ain't heard of Zanza? That fucker could kill you twice in half a second.' Then the voice was receding, accompanied by a furtive backward glance, as the first man finally allowed himself to be led from the building. Smart guy. Well, Sano wouldn't have mangled him too badly, but still, his friend had saved him from a nasty set of bruises.

He fell back into his previous brooding attitude, although he didn't think he'd be at it long; nobody else here was likely to let him provoke them into fighting after that. Still, he supposed that letting his name get tossed around in such a manner must do some good, especially as it seemed that his recent loss to Saitou (who was married) wasn't the talk of the whole town, or at least hadn't had any negative impact on his reputation. Still, as he had never confirmed the presence of any Karashi in the bar, it could take weeks to get Zanza's desire for a good fight into their collective consciousness if it was entirely dependent on gossip.

He drained his drink and left the bar.

He wasn't discouraged, but he was wishing again, as he passed the same two guys (who now stepped hastily into a side-street and sped up as he walked by), that he knew what to look for to recognize Karashigumi members. How could he not know? He'd been among the initiated of their mortal enemies...

He paused outside the next bar and searched his memory; yes, he thought that maybe he was recalling something... an armband, maybe...

But before he could come up with any more details than that, there was a voice in his head. You're lucky we didn't have this conversation before I hired you, because I never would have. Yeah, Saitou would have something similarly nice to say if he knew Sano had forgotten something this important. It had never seemed important during his Fushibihan days, but Saitou would just gloss right over that, wouldn't he? Tokio wouldn't be much help either; she was married to the bastard, after all.

Sano scowled and pushed his way into the shadowy bar, pushing at the same time all such thoughts out of the way. He had work to do: people to intimidate and attention to attract, fights to start and so on.

Now if he could just get the platonic couple in his head to leave him alone and let him do it...

Although he had not expected anything different, Saitou was inexpressibly pleased, the next day, that it was obviously going to be raining by mid-afternoon. Apart from the primary impetus, he really wanted to get away from this Ichiro thing. Tokio, who was obligingly responsible, had made considerable progress despite being preoccupied with something she did not mention -- had Sano berated her on being obscure? -- but this still had to be the stupidest kidnapping case Saitou had ever seen.

He reflected that he was probably fairly preoccupied himself, given that the case didn't require much concentration and he would rather look forward to seeing Sano again and wonder how the boy would react to his... well, much as Saitou had tried to come up with something else to call it, there really was no term for it other than present. He didn't plan to let Sano see it that way, but that was what it was. And perhaps it was foolish to be engaging in that kind of reminiscent-of-courtship ritual, given the situation; but the opportunity, a chance encounter and a fortunate idea, had just been too perfect.

Brushing Tokio off, slightly, as the clouds gathered, he didn't leave her with any clear idea where he was going as he instructed her to spy on the groups of brats they were now about certain were hiding Ichiro. All he really told her was that he'd join her there in the evening, at which point they would most likely, thankfully, be able to wrap up the case. The lack of information and the one-sidedness of the Ichiro work probably annoyed her a great deal, and he couldn't but admit it was rather unfair that she was stuck sneaking around in the rain on history's most boring and pathetic assignment while he got to play with a panting Sano, but such was life and their job.

Sano was waiting for him this time, and had, though the rain had partially obscured it and was working on erasing it entirely, the aspect of one who had just reluctantly dragged himself out of bed. "I hope you're not getting carried away and enjoying yourself too much," Saitou said as he looked him up and down. To which he was inexorably compelled to add to himself, And you would do better not to get carried away in other ways, as he reflected that just-awakened Sano was not at all a bad thing, nor one of which he would mind seeing a good deal more.

Sano yawned, shielding his mouth from rainwater with his hand, shivered, then finally grinned. "Hey, I can't help it if attracting attention turned out to be way the hell more fun than I expected. I got to pound all sorts of guys' asses; was out almost all night."

"Any actual progress, though?"

The grin melted as if the rain had washed it off. "Not really, that I could see. But a shitload of people won't forget me."

"I suppose that's a start."

"Hey, we don't have a deadline or anything, do we?" Sano seemed a little worried as he said this.

"Looking for excuses to drag your feet, are you?"

"No! Just... I dunno how long it's gonna take for me to get into both these groups."

"No, there is no particular deadline. Of course as soon as possible is preferable, but so is thoroughness, as we discussed before. I was only alerted to the fact that Raihishuu needed investigating shortly before you and I first fought, so it hasn't been very long yet."

Sano raised an eyebrow at him. "You still grind your teeth a little when you say his name."

Saitou assumed he meant this in a metaphysical sense, as he was fairly sure he wasn't actually grinding his teeth. "Fortunately, I don't have to deal with him in person just yet," he replied with a wry smile, reaching for the uppermost fastened button on his jacket. "We should get started before the rain stops."

Sano, it seemed, just slightly predictably, didn't much like to have the same admonishment repeated more than once, no matter how much he needed to hear it, and today's training was more frustrating than yesterday's had been because of that; Sano was so stubborn that his troublesome attitude even took Saitou's mind mostly off of how attractive he was, and that was an accomplishment. The boy was not at all an inept learner, but he tried his best. Still, Saitou thought he detected improvement, and that (combined with a wet Sano that even his frustration could not really render unappealing) was encouragement enough.

Still, it wasn't in the most friendly of tones that Saitou said, "Here," holding out the wrapped stack of coins he withdrew from his jacket as he retrieved it once they were finished; "Your pay."

Sano stared at the money for a moment, weighing it in his hand with a suspicious expression, then opened it. "Not that I'm complaining or anything," he commented with a slight laugh, "but this is definitely more than you said."

"The extra has a specific purpose; don't spend it yet."

"What purpose?"

For a long moment Saitou considered just telling him, but decided, as he had earlier, that it would be better as a surprise. "The next thing you can't resist buying."

Sano looked quizzical and bemused. "It sounds like you're giving me pocket money. You realize how many things that might be?"

"You'll know what I mean."

Sano's expression was shifting from puzzled to frustrated. "Just say it, why don't you? You can't just give me money and expect me not to spend it, especially with me going to all these damn bars after stupid Karashi guys."

"We'll call it a test, then," Saitou replied with a smirk, "to see if you have any patience whatsoever."

"Fuck that!" Sano protested. "I'm using all my patience sitting around in bars waiting for someone to notice me!"

"I thought you were enjoying that."

"Just tell me what the money's for!"

"Something that will help your image."

"What... cigarettes?"

Saitou paused in the act of striking a match to light one of the same. "How would that help your image?"

"Well," Sano replied, doing a narrow-eyed mime of taking a drag and flicking away ash, "it certainly does something for yours. I thought you might want me to look like part of the team somehow."

Saitou would very much have liked to inquire more particularly how cigarettes affected the image Sano had of him, but felt it would be imprudent. "Guess again," he said.

"Pansy-ass police gloves?" Sano tried.

"I think it's about time we both got back to work," replied Saitou, who didn't have any good retort in defense of his gloves.

"How'm I supposed to work with all this extra money burning a hole in my pocket?!"

"Don't keep it in your pocket," Saitou suggested, donning his uncomfortably soaked shirt.

"I swear I'll spend it," Sano warned.

"And then you'll feel like the idiot you are when the time comes."

"If it's important, you really should tell me."

There are a few important things I'm not telling you. "It isn't, so much."

"Well, then, what's the harm in me knowing, if it doesn't matter?" Sano's tone was triumphant.

"Impeccable as your logic is," Saitou said dryly, "the importance of the money's object is not the point."

"Well, what is the point?"

"How amusing it is to watch you get frustrated."

"K'sama..."

Saitou smirked and turned away.

"Oi!"

"Until tomorrow."

He could feel Sano's eyes on him all the way up the hill; he liked that feeling.

As predicted, there hadn't been time for Tokio to talk to Zanza that day she'd followed Tsukioka through the rain, and she'd also been unable to track the kenkaya down the next. The amount of effort she'd spent trying was debatable, however; the reason she hadn't run into him yesterday might have been that she hadn't been able to bring herself to pound on his door (when she was fairly sure he was inside asleep) more than that they'd both been busy. She was chiding herself for it, but there it was: she obviously just hadn't been ready yet to talk to him at what she was coming to think of as the scene of the crime. She might have fared better on the street (or anywhere, really, other than Sano's apartment), but that she'd been unable to arrange.

So she remained ignorant and on-edge about Tsukioka's current agenda. Certainly if he'd carried out anything like he'd previously been planning, there would, the next day, have been a newspaper vendor on every corner with the insufferable "Gougai! Gougai!" and something like "Catastrophic bombing at government building! Fires spread!" And of course she'd heard nothing of the sort, or she wouldn't have nearly so much free time. Then when she'd been at the station, she'd kept her ears open for talk of any new cases that might be Tsukioka carrying things out on a smaller scale -- not that she really had any idea what 'smaller scale' would mean to him -- but still nothing.

Obviously, therefore, if he had something in mind, he had not struck yet, and she would prefer to think that this meant he really didn't have anything harmful up his sleeves at all. After all, why would he have exchanged subtle nods with a secretive-looking man if nothing was to happen for days? No, that must have been something much more innocent than she'd been fearing. But still... she just could not leave the matter alone. You didn't ignore head-cold symptoms in someone who'd recently recovered from pneumonia.

Well, when Hajime disappeared yet again that afternoon (and she really must ask him a bit more persistently, next time, what in the world he was up to), she decided that, as she hadn't been able to touch base with Zanza on the subject and she just couldn't stop worrying, it wouldn't be a bad idea to locate the artist and keep an eye on him for a few hours.

It couldn't be a problem, as far as interfering with her own work, as the Ichiro thing was over with (he had, as they'd suspected, been hiding out with his delinquent friends under the guise of having been kidnapped; very messy family situation) and only paperwork remained; she could easily leave that for Hajime. That would probably annoy him a great deal, but he hadn't been much help on the case, after all. But, then, she didn't think he'd found it nearly as interesting as she had (as he didn't consider all the crazy emotions involved anywhere near as fascinating as she did, how could he?)

So, yes, it seemed that spying on Tsukioka for a while was an excellent idea. Hopefully it wouldn't take long either to set her mind at ease about him or to confirm that he was still up to something. Rain was not her favorite setting for spywork, but it wasn't her favorite setting for paperwork either, so this was the lesser of two evils. Which was not to imply that she was the type to invent worries to get out of paperwork; this really did strike her as important. Well, and she knew the paperwork would probably still be waiting for her later anyway, so the worries wouldn't have helped.

There was a surprising amount of coming and going in the artist's neighborhood, considering the weather, and she had to make extensive use of rooftops to get to his apartment unseen. This, of course, meant that she was twice as wet when she arrived as if she'd been down in the narrow streets -- but it was still more entertaining than paperwork. And as she'd thought it best to stop at home first to change into something a little less conspicuous (especially to those who had something to conceal) than a police uniform, she'd whiled away some of the rain-time already anyway; it wouldn't keep up for more than an hour longer, she guessed.

Between the heavy cloud and the thick downpour, the world was dim enough that it was easy to tell there was light inside. Unfortunately, the same rain made it quite impossible to hear anything from within, so she could have no idea, until the sky cleared, what he was doing with that light.

As she waited, crouching on her sloping perch and periodically brushing water from her face, she was reflecting that if Tsukioka were indeed deceiving Zanza it would be one of those clues that the universe is just supremely unfair. After the efforts Zanza had made and was still making to turn his life around, it would be too awful if the long-lost friend with whom he'd just been joyfully reunited were the embodiment of the brutality and impetuosity he was attempting to leave behind. It almost made her angry thinking about it, but not quite; she'd seen such things happen too many times to let it really get to her. But it would be unfortunate.

She shifted on the slick, uncomfortable tiles as someone hurried down the street on the other side trying to get out of the rain. As rooftops went (and in this context she considered herself somewhat of an expert), this one was rather exposed, and she kept checking to the left and right and over her shoulder, glancing at the three other lanes from which she'd determined she might be seen. Logically she didn't think the chances were very great of anyone passing close enough without her hearing their footsteps first, or looking up into the rain at a random rooftop if they did, but her anxiousness for the storm to abate was making her a bit restless.

It did end, of course, and at about the time she'd predicted it would, but the neighborhood did not wait for the skies to dry to become lively again; children emerged to splash in puddles, adults to do outdoor chores or errands or just to enjoy what was left of the day -- so it was some time before Tokio was able to listen at the artist's door long enough to hear anything definitive.

Of course she wanted Tsukioka to be completely innocent -- well, as innocent as any disgruntled radical; a lack of violence was really all she asked -- but by now she also had a perverse half-inclination to hope she would find unpleasant evidence, just to justify sitting around in the rain. And perhaps it was this that kept her from feeling particularly relieved when she found, once again, nothing; the only sound audible from inside was a steady, meticulous scraping noise, as of metal on wood, that for a man who so prolifically produced nishiki-e was again unremarkable.

So still there remained only an ambiguous nod and Tokio's misgivings to condemn him. It was not the first instance she had admonished herself to let it go, to find something more productive to do with her time.

Beyond that, in the interest of honesty with self, she had to face the slowly-dawning realization that perhaps this was all an excuse to have a professional reason to talk to Zanza. That way, their next interview (which her conscience insisted should be as soon as possible and berated her for not yet bringing to pass) would have less opportunity to lapse into awkwardness. (This possibility occurred to her because there was a continual, unbroken train of thought in the back of her head that was phrasing and rephrasing what she was going to say to him when the time came.) While she thought it was actually a rather clever subconscious (or previously subconscious) device, it was still a sorry reason to mistrust a man.

She feared she'd now fallen into one of those situations where it was impossible to put an accurate label on her own motives. Was she here because she really thought she needed to be here, because she truly suspected Tsukioka of something and wanted to protect Zanza from deception; or was she inventing suspicions as part of a selfish agenda only obscurely connected to Tsukioka's guilt or innocence? The best way to resolve such an issue was usually to get away and wait it out, the problem in this situation being that she couldn't just abandon the surveillance until she was satisfied that it truly was unnecessary. But if she was clinging to this needlessly, would she be able to recognize that fact if it were so?

Good god, I'm going crazy, she thought with a laugh at her own folly, and turning away from Tsukioka's apartment hurried away before she could change her maze of a mind. Better let him bomb half the city than keep that up. Which consideration might be a fairly good indication of how seriously she really believed he was likely to do that.

She sneezed. She was afraid she'd spent too much time in the rain over the last few days, which had to be just about as healthy as her silly mental ramblings. It all (besides the cold she was catching) came back to talking to Zanza, to moving past the mistake she'd made with good grace and getting on with life. And if that was the solution to her problem, that was what she planned on doing. She felt like a coward for not having made the resolution before. Well, almost. Everyone was entitled to a few days' stupidity here and there.

The best thing about it was that she got to make two copies each for every heading under which she was filing the report, and "kidnapping," "runaways," "Ichiro Tatsuyo," and the name of each of the five young men in the group made for sixteen times she had to write out the same information. She didn't envy the unfortunates up at the filing office who had to copy it all forty more times to be sent to all the other stations in town. She'd heard that this thorough system of record-keeping was another of the many fine traditions they'd borrowed from Europe; she didn't know how many copies European police officers were expected to make, but she couldn't help thinking that in this matter Japan (or at least Tokyo) might have beaten them at their own game. Only halfway through, she was entertaining vaguely wistful thoughts about Tsukioka's woodblocks.

She had definitely caught a cold, whether as a result of too much time in the rain or inevitably she did not know, and she thought it might not be a bad idea to go to bed early for a change, see if she couldn't sleep it off. But of course there were many hours before that time. Once she was finished writing her textbook on the Ichiro case, she headed with a resolute step for Zanza's apartment. Hajime, who'd somehow talked her into doing all that paperwork in the first place, was already off working on their next little time-killer case, so she didn't even have to explain where she was going.

Hoping she wasn't too early -- it was not yet noon -- she knocked this time quite purposefully on his door. To her surprise, he opened it immediately, looking perfectly alert. Evidently he'd been expecting someone, but just as evidently that was not her.

"Oh," he said, blushing a bit. "Come in."

She knew that to follow her first inclination to stand nervously just inside the door would not be the best way to start the conversation, but her feet and hips and shoulders suddenly seemed a lot wider than usual, and all her movements felt clumsy.

Zanza was not looking at her as he hastily began to speak; it seemed he felt much the same. "I'm expecting Kukuri sometime today with the big guy's final word on me gettin' back in. I couldn't ask him exactly when he'd be coming 'cause I didn't want it to look like I have anything better to do than sit around on my ass waiting for him, but..." He scowled. "I hope he doesn't take all day. What's the weather look like?"

She would have thought that this seemingly irrelevant question was his way of making sure they kept talking without an awkward pause in search of a subject change, but there was some sort of anticipation in his demeanor as he asked that compelled her to answer seriously. "Hot. Dry. We'll probably get more lightning than rain today."

"Yeah, that's what people were saying last night," he grumbled, and why in the world did that bother him so much? Strange...

"Well, that's good news about the gang. What about the other one?"

"I'm trying not to get too impatient," he answered in a tone that indicated a fair lack of success; "I've only been trying to get their attention for less than a week, but still it feels like I should be making better progress than I am. At least so your husband can stop with the looks."

She giggled as he did an imitation (somewhat half-hearted) of Hajime's pensive, doom-promising glower; however, she was just slightly puzzled at the infinitesimally brief change in tone as Zanza said 'your husband.' Was that a good sign for Hajime? It had been too quick, too unexpected; she couldn't read it. "He never stops," she advised; "he just finds someone else to look that way about."

Zanza gave a short laugh of his own. "Course."

"So don't worry; take your time. Sometimes these things take forever, and there's nothing you can do to speed it up without giving yourself away."

The kenkaya nodded in contemplative annoyance. He looked like he wanted to do his part at keeping the conversation from awkwardness, but didn't know what to say next.

She pressed on before the silence could drag, taking over for him, with an account of all the paperwork she'd spent the morning completing. It was no effort to turn this into a heartfelt and rather amusing exchange about the stupidity of the system and what things must be like in Europe, but unfortunately it was short-lived, and again the silence threatened to fall like a noose around her neck.

"So," was her next and last resort, "what is that friend of yours up to?"

"Katsu? He's gonna be publishing a newspaper to educate people about stuff."

"'Stuff?'"

"The evils of the government and what people can do about it and all that, I guess."

She sucked in a breath. "That's dangerous. How is he distributing?"

"You know, I really shoulda asked him that... But I'm trying not to worry too much." As with the impatience, he obviously wasn't avoiding the worry particularly well. "There's not really any safe way for him to do what he wants to do, and this is definitely better than his first idea."

"He seems like a very serious person," Tokio replied with a smile. "If he's calmed down from how he was before -- and I think we all feel violent about the system sometimes -- he'll probably be careful enough." She was recalling the artist's caution in the rain, and her mild conviction came out in her voice stronger even than she felt it.

Zanza seemed relieved.

"Well, I've got to get back to work," she said next, fending off the silence again. "Good luck with whatever his name was."

"Thanks. See ya 'round."

"Ja."

And she had escaped.

Well, it wasn't really fair to think of it like that; it hadn't been that bad. And now that it was over with, her heart felt lighter to an amazing degree. The next thing to do was find Hajime and discuss a few things with him, see if it might be possible then to go home, drink a lot of tea, and read a book in bed in order to fend off the headache that was growing behind her sinuses and promising to become rather serious.

Abandoning professionalism for a bit, she hitched a ride on a cart full of crates to the part of town in which her husband was most likely to be found. And as she sat watching the streets go by and listening to the creaking wheels and the horse's hooves, she smiled.

A newspaper, was it? That explained everything. And Zanza was right; it was a lot better than the first idea. It meant that Tsukioka wasn't betraying Zanza's trust, making the universe one iota closer to fair; didn't need to be kept under surveillance, in the rain or otherwise; might, in fact, even turn out to be very useful to them; and at this moment just made her happy in general, headache or no headache. Especially when she considered that, as she now knew there was no way she could have guessed what he was about, his behavior really had been suspicious enough to warrant her espionage, so she hadn't just been looking for an excuse and all that other nonsense.

She'd have to buy a copy of his first issue, even if that weren't a good idea to begin with on professional grounds.

There was no rain that day -- at least, no more than a moody sprinkling that did nothing for the heat. This was disappointing, but as they'd finally managed to choose a little case that actually required some thought, perhaps it was for the best. That, at least, was what he kept telling himself. And he refused to give any mental berth to the facts that sweat looked different on someone's face than rainwater did, that the flush of exertion in hot weather was often very aesthetically pleasant, that the field they practiced in was unfrequented enough to render the state of the sky irrelevant... It wouldn't do to think about that kind of thing anyway, as Sano wouldn't be showing up, as it wouldn't be raining -- and if it were going to rain, those facts would not apply in the first place.

Tokio was getting sick, so he'd let her go home. She had done most of the work on the Ichiro case (including the paperwork, which counted double), and, it turned out, some unrelated spying on the side, so it was only fair. But this affair he was now making his way through, despite demanding a bit more concentration, was almost as boring as the previous had been, and he would have enjoyed her company. He would have enjoyed Sano's company too, but that was obviously out of the question.

The day never got better: the case remained uninteresting; the one drug dealer's muscle-laden lackey he got to kill couldn't even die like a man; the weather was hot and dry; Tokio was asleep by the time he got home so he had to eat what she'd left for him without conversation; and he went to bed feeling rather disgruntled. And some vague but definitely unfulfilling dream about Sano (lying in the grass wearing blue in searing heat at midnight) did more additional harm than good.

However, as there was clearly going to be rain the next day, that was all forgotten.

Even the paperwork with which he started the morning was tolerable; by the time he got out onto his patrol -- he hadn't done patrol for a while, so there was a sort of semi-novelty to it, and beyond that the long walk allowed him to concentrate on the smell of moisture in the air -- he was ready to admit that to build up a certain level of anticipation was not such a bad thing... absence and fondness and all that...

He was not, at the present time, going to wonder any further about what was or wasn't going on between Sano or Tokio; but he could very comfortably wonder if Sano had discovered the purpose of his gift yet, and what his reaction would be if he had. Saitou assumed that if indeed he had, it would be the first thing he would mention when they met in the afternoon, so there would be no need to ask. As for the reaction... it was bound to be entertaining and possibly very pleasant, whatever it was.

But, "Hey, old man," was all Sano said, very casually, when the downpour-laden afternoon rolled around and found them in their practice field.

"Hello, little boy," Saitou replied with an eyebrow raised.

The little boy had already flung off his gi, and looked like he was trying to be on his guard without looking like he was trying to be on his guard -- and obviously failing, but at least he recognized the need for an attempt. Saitou's gaze was drawn to the scar on Sano's shoulder that he had occasioned not long ago, though long enough for his frame of mind whenever he was in Sano's presence to have made a dramatic shift. The mark was beginning to fade from bright pink to a more natural flesh tone; it would never be entirely invisible, but after not too long it would be overlooked by ignorant eyes distracted by the rest of Sano's enticing upper half.

The kenkaya seemed to be debating whether it would be a better idea to start things or let Saitou attack him first -- and the fact that he was debating meant Saitou was making progress with the restraint he was attempting to hammer into that reluctant skull. Zanza would have attacked first, regardless of the situation, and in this situation there was speech to be had before anyone needed to attack.

"Tokio mentioned you might finally have something to report."

Sano dropped all effort at a defensive stance at these words. That was foolish, which Saitou would have to prove after not too long, but it was interesting to watch the transition in his bearing from combat to conversation, attitudes evidently irreconcilable (for the moment, at least) in the boy's head.

"'Finally?'" Sano was echoing. "Hey, I'm busting my ass here; not my fault the fish aren't biting."

It doesn't look busted to me, Saitou resisted the urge to say aloud, then stopped himself from making, even mentally, a bad pun about biting. "Well?"

"Ch... Kukuri said he was going to come by and talk to me at some point yesterday, but he didn't bother showing up until at least four, and I got bored as hell waiting for him. And then he had Kotono with him, which surprised the shit out of me."

"Why?" Saitou broke in.

"Well... it's complicated. She was happy when I got out before -- like I said, actually, I only got out because she begged Tonshuu to let me -- because she liked me and she was glad someone could escape from the gang shit... so she hasn't been too happy about me trying to get back in. But at the same time I think she really is happy about it because she still likes me and I guess I treat her better than anyone else does. But she keeps telling me that I shouldn't be involved even if all the while she's giving me this look like, 'Oh, please, please come back and be nice to me again!'"

Saitou cocked his head skeptically at Sano's squeaky-voiced imitation. "Does she really sound like that?"

"No. And I shouldn't talk like that anyway, 'cause I feel really sorry for her, but I wish she'd make up her mind about me. Point is, she was there with Kukuri and I couldn't figure out what that might mean, whether it was good or bad or what, but I guess she just wanted to see me or something; I was surprised Tonshuu let her get away for that long with nobody more than Kukuri as escort... usually he sends these four big guys out with to make sure she's safe and also that she doesn't run away."

"You have a very rambling way of making a report."

"Well, excuse me, organized Meiji officer-san, for not conforming to the system. I'll remember to write out five copies of it next time."

This was a fairly decent comeback. "I see Tokio has been complaining about paperwork," Saitou smirked.

"Heh... only a little..." Sano grinned back, and then continued. "So, anyway, Kukuri and Kotono showed up at my door at around four, so I let 'em in and sat 'em down. And the first thing Kukuri asked about was my broken zanbatou in the corner. So I told him that Tokio's bastard partner trashed it when he kicked my ass for sleeping with her."

Saitou did not fail to note, as Sano made this pointed statement, the trace of redness that flashed across the boy's face and attested that it was not entirely fictional; however, the officer was by this time sufficiently prepared for the news -- even if it had not been delivered as such -- that he handled it without much sinking of heart. He didn't respond to the rest of the remark either.

"So hopefully that played into whatever they've heard about me and you and her," Sano went on when it was obvious that Saitou was not going to rise to the bait. "Kotono didn't like hearing it, any more than she liked it the last time I mentioned Tokio, but eventually she's going to have to get the point that I don't like her like that. Poor girl. So then Kukuri got down to business. 'Tonshuu's all right with you coming back,' he started out, and Kotono did this little throat-clearing thing that she's really good at when she wants to interrupt but she's too polite so she just makes everyone look at her and let her talk, and said, 'There's no need to understate; he's very pleased with the idea.' So that's a good thing. And Kukuri said something like about how Tonshuu wants all the muscle he can get because the Karashigumi's getting more ballsy or something -- no shit, genius -- and so he practically jumped at the suggestion. Except he's worried because I tried so hard to get out last time, so he wants to make sure I'm really serious about it this time."

"And they have some sort of re-initiation assignment for you," Saitou guessed.

"Yeah," Sano replied, a little glumly. "There's some merchant guy they want out of their way -- killed or put out of business or harassed into leaving town, or however I want to do it, though I'm pretty sure they expect I'll just kill him. I think they want his property, or he's been a problem to them, or they want to be the only ones dealing whatever he's dealing, or something."

"Probably all of those options," Saitou frowned. This was not unexpected, but might turn out to be a serious roadblock. Getting Sano temporarily involved in gangs was dangerous, but having Sano commit that kind of crime crossed the line into unacceptable. There were a few possibilities he could think of to avoid it; he'd have to see what could be done. "What's the man's name?" he asked. "We'll look into his business in case there's anything illegal about it."

"Shuuri Mijikio."

He'd heard of the man, but knew no specifics. "And when do they want you to get this done?"

"He didn't exactly say, but he kinda implied 'as soon as possible,' and Tonshuu'll probably get impatient and annoyed pretty quick; he's that kind of guy."

Saitou wondered how that kind of guy could possibly last as the leader of such a successful criminal organization, but it wasn't the first time he'd encountered ineptitude, or at least instability, in a position of power that seemed to be retained by luck alone. "I'll see what I can find out."

"Good," Sano said emphatically with an nod, "'cause I really don't wanna go kick some guy's ass just because he's in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Judging that this was the extent of Sano's information at the current moment, Saitou therefore commenced the day's training with a very sudden and clearly unexpected attack. A resultant cry of "Bastard!" from his victim was the last thing either of them said for a while.

Sano was more than a bit disgruntled, at nine o'clock the next morning, to be dragging himself out of bed and toward the door to find out what ignorant heathen was knocking at this ungodly hour. And when he finally got the thing unlocked and open and faced his visitor and the bright light of day, he didn't feel much better as he had not the slightest stirring of recognition for the man without.

The latter did have the decency to look distressed at Sano's obviously just-awakened state. He bowed politely, apologized profusely, and introduced himself humbly. To Sano, however, the name 'Tousaku Younji' meant absolutely nothing, and he couldn't really think of anything to say. Fortunately, this Tousaku had apparently paused with only a fleeting hope that Sano would recognize him, for he added after not too long with what seemed to be customary resignation, "I'm a sword-smith; I specialize in rare and unusual swords and other weapons."

This was enough to seize Sano's interest, despite the fact that Tousaku didn't look like he could be much older than Sano himself; still he wasn't exactly sure what to say. His change of expression must have been encouragement enough, though, for Tousaku sounded heartened as he continued, "I apologize -- again -- but a couple of days ago I was over in -- mm, well, you don't need to hear all the whole story... someone gave me this address and said there was a man here who had a zanbatou -- a real one -- that needed repair."

This time Sano's speechlessness was the product of shock as he realized immediately that the 'someone' who'd given out his address could only have been Saitou, and that this must be the intended image-enhancing purpose of the extra money. How abruptly relieved he was, suddenly, that he hadn't spent it!

The only problem was that Tousaku didn't look much like a sword-smith. True, he seemed bulky enough under his long sleeves that he could easily be sufficiently muscled, but he bore such an air of placidity, of docility, of a lack of confidence, even, that the very idea of strength was somewhat negated -- and Sano had never seen a smith with such, well, pretty features, nor such long hair. Surely the latter must get in the way...

But if Saitou had sent him... Saitou had once referred to the zanbatou as 'an idiot's weapon' -- Sano remembered that statement quite clearly -- and in review of the words that had accompanied the extra money the other day, it seemed the officer was most likely funding the weapon's refurbishment purely for purposes of others' perception rather than combat... but surely, even so, he wouldn't send Sano someone who was incapable of doing the job correctly, would he? Whatever his opinion of the sword was, that didn't seem like Saitou. Therefore faith in Tousaku was probably appropriate. And Sano, who would give quite a lot to have his beloved sword back in his hands in one piece, wanted very much to have faith.

"Is that -- mm, are you Zanza-san?"

The poor man's nervousness, no doubt in response to Sano's continued silence, was enough to remind him that he should probably take part in the conversation at some point. "I am," he replied in a friendly tone, "but never mind the 'san.' Was it some police officer sent you here?"

"Yes, sir. He was once so kind -- mm, he was the investigator on the case when I was having some vandalism problems, and he must have remembered me, because he stopped me in the street and told me. I wasn't sure -- I didn't know if you'd be interested, because he didn't say much about you, but I thought I'd just come to the address and see; please pardon the intrusion."

"Hey, no intrusion at all!" Sano assured the smith. "Actually, I was wondering if I'd ever be able to get the damn thing fixed, because most guys won't even look at it. Guess they don't have the right equipment for something this big, or some shit like that. Or maybe they're scared of me. Anyway, c'mon in."

Tousaku made some appropriate, polite remark as he complied, and then suddenly his demeanor changed completely. Walking a straight and immediate path across the room to the derelict weapon and kneeling at its side as if drawn by some supernatural force, he seemed in those few moments to develop or reveal a discernable ki that was all the more conspicuous for any such having been totally absent only a minute before. Sano shifted in wonder, put immediately though purely instinctively on his guard because of this. Apparently there was something to the guy after all.

"It is," Tousaku was murmuring in excited admiration, and his tone had also altered to one of intense and delighted concentration. "It's not an imitation."

"I didn't know there were imitations," Sano replied, a little surprised, but glad at least that his was the real thing.

"There weren't ever all that many of the real ones," Tousaku went on, though after a bit it began to sound more like a soliloquy than an explanation for Sano's benefit, "because they're so unwieldy, of course, or 'difficult to master' as some would say, so demand was never high -- Kyuunonitsu-sama only made them by request, and if I remember right the number couldn't have been more than ten, but some later -- the big names -- would sometimes forge imitations just to hang up for effect, to impress their customers. But this is an original; you can tell by this, here, though it's a little worn, but I don't know that anyone could imitate that even if they'd dare. Ah, I never thought I'd actually see one of these. It hasn't been much taken care of, has it? -- the poor thing. Well, there can't be that many people around who can maintenance this. I'd do it for free, but I can imagine how some might react, especially if they're fools enough that they wouldn't even look at it. Of course if I fix it, I'll do all the rest too."

He trailed a wistful and reverent finger down the broken edge. "Very unfortunate. It's a nice, clean cut, though. I assume he did this. Come to think of it, he did seem to be left-handed."

A little baffled, Sano confirmed these last statements, rhetorical as they had seemed, and continued to feel invisible as Tousaku then went rambling on and on and examined the zanbatou from all angles. Granted, some of it was interesting, but much of it was nearly unintelligible -- smith talk, Sano supposed. And he felt he could very easily have walked out the door five minutes ago and Tousaku would never have noticed. Despite the man's obvious erudition and Sano's still-present anticipation, the kenkaya couldn't help attaching, in his head, certain unflattering labels to the unfortunate artisan.

Thus it was somewhat startling when Tousaku's fanatical monologue ended abruptly on a quoted price.

"Huh?" Sano had mostly stopped paying attention. "Oh. Yeah." Whether the requested amount was reasonable or not, it very nearly matched the sum Saitou had given him extra; obviously the meeting in the street had included an estimate. "Sure. Sounds great." The excitement that had started to atrophy as Tousaku rambled began to rouse itself again.

Tousaku was beaming. "Excellent! What an experience, a real zanbatou!"

Yeah, you said that already. But Sano didn't bear him any real ill-will; Tousaku's fervor was actually rather cute, and given that it was Sano's most prized possession that had him so aflutter, it was mostly all right.

"Would you like to bring it over now? Mm --" Tousaku bowed again, regaining some of his former bearing -- "I can probably carry it, but I'm not sure, and I assume you want to come along, so to get it to my shop..."

"Sure." Sano began rooting around for the cloth he generally wrapped the thing in and had used to haul it back here after its destruction. Well, he couldn't really consider it destroyed now that it was going to be repaired... and, honestly, he'd probably been too stubborn to think of it thus before -- he had brought it home, after all, instead of just discarding it somewhere...

His excitement was growing as he tailed Tousaku across town with the soon-to-be-whole zanbatou in a sling (actually a very inconvenient way to carry it). He'd never been particularly materialistic, but there were a few items that he cared about -- this and his gi, though that was more easily replaceable -- cared about apparently even more than he'd ever realized he did. It thrilled him to think of having his sword back, despite how rarely he really used it and how much space it took up in his apartment.

Zanza would fight again.

(But only in a literal sense; the namesake and the mind-set didn't necessarily go hand in hand.)

He was ecstatic, and even in the midst of recalling blissfully the sword's heft and balance, the crash of contact, the strain of muscle and adjustment of stance, he was conscious on some level the entire time to whom he owed this sudden joy.

Even before they'd reached the place, the excitement was turning into impatience, and a number of almost childish questions were threatening to burst out of him. Are we almost there? How long will it take? Are you really up to this, if you've never actually seen one before? Where is your shop, again? Will it be done by this afternoon? Sano glanced into the sky; it was going to start raining rather early today, but he didn't think it would clear up too soon. That was good. Are we almost there? Are you really a competent smith? Why haven't I ever heard of you?

The last query was brought up and answered coincidentally on the way when someone greeted Tousaku, "Ohayou gozaimasu, Munesu-san!"

And, "Ohayou!" Tousaku replied without a trace of surprise or confusion.

"Munesu?" Sano repeated curiously, stepping closer to his walking companion to ask when they were past the well-wisher. That was a name he had heard before, several times. "Munesu? Is that your real name?"

Tousaku frowned a bit. "It's the name I was born under," he admitted, and seemed put out.

"So are you related to Munesu Haiiru?"

Tousaku nodded.

If possible, Sano was more excited now than before. "I heard he got paid a shitload to make a whole new set of weapons for the emperor's whole personal guard, or something like that."

"It's true," Tousaku replied, now appearing somewhat dejected. "But very unfortunately, I've had some disagreements with my honored father, and so I've set out to make a name for myself without using his."

Sano was nearly speechless once again. Shit, Saitou got Munesu Haiiru's son to fix my sword... how the hell...

He walked on in a happy daze, restraining himself from questioning the man about the disagreements he'd mentioned as Tousaku was obviously not happy about the situation with his father. Still, he couldn't help asking at last, "So how long d'you think it'll take for this thing?" and rattling the two pieces of metal inside the cloth. His footsteps, he noticed, had become unusually springy.

"I regret to admit that I really can't say," Tousaku replied, brightening incongruously (considering his words) at the reintroduction of a subject he preferred, and launching thereafter into a lecture on the thickness of the steel and some technique thing that Sano didn't even remotely comprehend. The long and short of it was that he really couldn't say. Sano suffered some mild disappointment from this, imagining weeks and weeks without the comforting presence of even a broken zanbatou in the corner, but the promise of a much more comforting whole zanbatou across his floor overrode it almost completely.

Tousaku's shop was far from what Sano would have expected of a Munesu. The area of town, the size of the place, the upkeep -- none of it was in the man's favor. But still the fighter held his tongue. After all, if Tousaku had abandoned the famous family name and struck out independently as a sword-smith, it was quite possible that his business was not flourishing despite whatever skills he might have. And these, with the combined backing of heritage, Saitou's recommendation, and his own fervent desire for this situation to remain as pleasing as it was, Sano could not bring himself to doubt.

After having paid the advance half of the fee at Tousaku's polite request, Sano stood around for a few minutes in a state of agitated and almost irritatingly intense curiosity as the smith and his assistant examined the sword yet again while discussing its history and contemplated process of repair in excited voices. It was painfully clear that nothing interesting would come of Sano's continued presence and observation, and yet he wanted, to a certain extent, just to stand here and wait and watch, perhaps in the hope that Tousaku would exhibit the superhuman powers occasionally attributed to his father and miraculously commence and conclude the job in the next twenty minutes. Beyond that, it felt wrong to leave his precious sword in the hands of a stranger, even one so close to worshipful of it as Tousaku was, and Sano couldn't help feeling a little like a mother watching her child on the doctor's examination table.

It was the faint sound of distant thunder that finally dragged him away. Still morning though it was, the thought of meeting Saitou later and giving him a very hearty thanks -- perhaps the first Sano had ever said to him -- distracted him enough that he was able to make his goodbyes to Tousaku and assistant and exit the little smithy at last. He discovered that he was hungry, too -- noticed it once his nearly dancing steps had taken him out the door, for inside the zanbatou and its prospects erased all such sensations. He was afraid he was going to be thinking of little else for the next few hours at least.

Oh, what he wasn't going to say to Saitou this afternoon... Shit, if he didn't think Saitou might take it the wrong way, he might even hug him, he was so pleased with him and the whole world at the moment. Well... and if that idea weren't just a little weird in the first place.

Shuuri Mijikio was a prosperous seller of cosmetic and hygienic products. This was not particularly promising. Neither was the fact that he seemed to be an unassuming man who did not indulge in excessive luxury or a pseudo-European lifestyle. Therefore, so far, there was a grand total of three facts on which Saitou based his suspicions about the man: first, that a yakuza was after him -- which was non-condemnatory, as they were after everyone eventually; second, that any sort of chemical ware was a good cover for a drug business -- which was too general, as there were quite a few perfectly innocent chemical merchants; and, third, that Saitou would much rather Shuuri were an actual criminal than an innocent bystander -- which was just completely irrelevant, because if the world bent to Saitou's whims, then (among other things) Sano would never have given Tokio a second glance.

He hadn't been able to get much investigation done on the man today -- as it wouldn't do to let anyone know that Shuuri was being investigated, and therefore he would need to go back at a time more convenient for escaping notice -- but he had an irritating feeling this was going to become one of those situations where he personally had to rule a cold-blooded sacrifice necessary to the greater cause. Tokio hated it when he did that, and he had to admit that it wasn't his favorite way to play the game.

He suspected that the morning, and the prediction resultant upon its lack of success, would lead to his questioning, such as he occasionally did, the process by which he was working toward his goals -- and he was right; it overtook him at about lunchtime. So, as he always thought it wise to examine his own methods when the issue arose in his mind, he worked through it along with his soba and ensuing cigarette.

Raihishuu Hatsuro needed to die. Up to his ears in organized crime, bribery, and murder, he used his money and influence to bend government rulings toward the support of himself and any who shared his lifestyle -- that of rich, self-serving, indolent aristocracy -- thereby perpetuating a class system that was as bad as, and possibly much worse than, the one the Meiji sought to replace. In light of this, was it really so important to take out his yakuza at the same time? Might not taking the time to make a larger strike, thereby allowing Raihishuu to keep at all those lovely things he did so well, do more harm than good? Would it really be more difficult to deal with the Karashigumi after Raihishuu's head and shoulders had gone their separate ways? And getting the Fushibihan involved -- wasn't that just unnecessarily time-consuming, and (particularly where Sano was concerned) tempting disaster besides? It would be so simple, so very easy, just to kill Raihishuu now, this afternoon, and then continue with the yakuza business tomorrow.

All that's good stuff in such a complicated mess, but it's not exactly immediate, Sano had at one point protested, and a better summary for Saitou's feelings there was not. Actually, for some reason, all these silent doubts seemed to be spoken by Sano, as if the boy were in his head playing devil's advocate -- or, more likely, as if Saitou had assigned Sano's voice to all of his own impatient and doggedly straightforward impulses. In the midst thus of internal trial and justification, he couldn't help briefly wondering whether this was fair, and deciding with a rather fond smirk that it was.

And it was merely impatience; he knew it was. Ever since Raihishuu's connection with the Karashigumi had come to light, it had been obvious that they all must be dealt with at once. Vermin had a tendency to scatter into irritatingly impregnable holes when the rock under which they were hiding was gone, so it was prudent to remove them in the same motion that took care of the rock. In this case the plan was to coerce a separate nest of vermin to attack the first, thereby driving them all out into the open, and then pick off the big ones and the rock simultaneously -- although perhaps that was taking the metaphor too far...

At any rate, setting the Fushibihan on the Karashi seemed a doubly efficient way of nullifying Raihishuu's street-power. Saitou was neither assigned nor eager to take on all the organized crime rings in Tokyo, but he did have a tendency to come into indirect conflict with the bigger ones on a fairly regular basis -- and therefore could not object to putting a dent in the Fushibihan on the way to cracking open the Karashigumi. And the best way to do it was through someone qualified, by status, reputation, and history, to deal with and manipulate both groups.

So, yes, Raihishuu Hatsuro needed to die. Just not quite yet.

Satisfied at last that he'd been right all along (which was the customary result of his infrequent bouts of self-skepticism), he paid for his lunch and stepped from the cover of the awning under which he'd been seated to a greater cover of cheerfully lowering clouds. He smiled up at them briefly, inhaling the scent of impending rain and wondering whether or not Sano had yet discovered his present. Tousaku's over-enthusiastic weapon-erudition, which Saitou would have called pedantry if the man weren't so perfectly humble, led him to believe it must be soon, if it hadn't happened already. Well, he would find out after not too long, although before that he needed to buy the tea Tokio (still domesticated by a rather nasty cold) had requested, and stop by the station again.

By the time he made it to their field after these errands, it was pouring and Sano was waiting for him. Through this volume of rain, as he rounded the hill into the high, uneven grass, it was difficult to make out the boy's facial expression with exactness, but it didn't take much scrutiny to recognize that it was a happy one. As he drew closer, Sano shifted impatiently, and the details becoming visible on his face and in his demeanor marked him as excited and very pleased. Saitou had to smile, himself, in response to this; he'd never seen Sano looking quite this gleeful. "You talked to him, then?" he asked as he reached him.

Sano just grinned at him for a long moment, and though there were a few better (sadly currently improbable) ways Saitou could think of for him to express his happiness than merely standing and beaming, still that smile was quite rewarding.

"You know, that may be the best present anyone's ever given me," Sano finally said, in a tone that was half facetious and all cheerful.

Good, was Saitou's vehement reflection, while his verbal response was, "Don't get carried away; it's still an absurd weapon."

Sano's grin only widened. "You say that, but you just paid to have it repaired."

Pleased inwardly as much as before, Saitou merely gave a slight shrug and said in an indifferent tone, "Your Zanza image is a useful one at this point, but I doubt it will take you long to get in over your head and get the thing destroyed again."

"Is that a threat?" wondered Sano, sounding unfittingly happy at the prospect.

"I won't waste another fight on it," Saitou declined, "but I'm sure there's someone who'll be willing to cut it in half again."

"Willing, maybe," said Sano, still with nothing but smiles at Saitou's words, "but able? Not likely!" As illustration of his confidence, he mimed slashing his step-up-from-useless sword through the air. He evidently had a good feel for the balance of the thing even when he wasn't holding it, and the way he swung his hips to allow for shifts of imaginary weight was not unpleasant to watch.

Saitou still had to smirk at the performance, however, and shook his head. "You still think you're the strongest fighter in a hundred years, don't you?"

"You don't need to remind me that you can kick my ass," Sano sniffed, "and I'm sure there's some other guys out there who could too... I just ain't met any yet," he finished, grin redoubled.

As dryly as he could say anything in this rain, Saitou replied, "If you improve your skills enough, you'll end up fighting half of them without even looking for them; that's the way it always seems to work."

"So for the moment there's no reason to worry about my zanbatou!" concluded Sano cheerfully.

"Unless someone decides to destroy it as a mercy kill."

"Guess it's safe from you then, since I'm pretty sure you don't have any of that."

"More because I wouldn't want to throw away the money I spent on it."

Sano's face took on a tricky expression. "So if I bring it here after it's fixed, it'll be like an automatic handicap for you."

"Hardly. I'd knock you out and take it away until you promised to behave."

"Hey! I might just kick your ass with it instead!"

Saitou merely raised an eyebrow.

"You know I'm getting better. So if you didn't want to destroy it, you'd have to-- hey, quit rolling your eyes at me!"

"Your level of improvement has less to do with it than the weapon itself. Only an inhumanly strong and skilled fighter could keep that ridiculous sword from being a liability in battle -- and he'd still be better off with only his bare hands."

"Hey," Sano protested, "wait 'til it's fixed and I kick your ass with it to say that kind of thing!"

"I said I wouldn't waste another fight on it, and I told you what I'll do if you show up here with it."

"But wouldn't knocking me out be kinda like throwing away the money you've spent on me?"

"Knocking you out and destroying you are just slightly different things."

"Well, I figure anyone besides me you knocked out would be pretty much destroyed," Sano boasted.

Saitou chuckled, then looked into the sky. "We don't have all day," he remarked as he removed his gloves and brushed aside the excessive amount of rain that had collected on his face during that upward glance, "so I'm afraid we'll have to continue arguing the various tangents of whether your zanbatou is worthy of existence later."

"Oh, is that what we were arguing?" Sano wondered jovially -- and Saitou reveled in the fact that so great was the boy's pleasure at the prospect of his weapon's repair that he could come out of such a debate still grinning.

"I've been investigating Shuuri," the officer continued, and related what little he'd learned.

"Shit," Sano remarked, sounding now a little dejected. "How'm I supposed to harass a guy who's completely innocent?"

"We don't know that yet; I may find out otherwise with more extensive investigation. And at least now if anyone questions your progress, you have some information about him to show that you're working on it. It would be useful if you knew the exact reason they want him out of business, though."

"Dunno if I can find out," Sano said doubtfully, "but I guess I can try. I'll look for Kukuri tomorrow."

"Good. This may not turn out to be pleasant."

Sano smiled wryly. "Is it supposed to?"

"Only in a greater philosophical sense."

"Ah! Like that means anything to a young, hot-blooded fighter like me!" Sano's tone was one of mock dejection, and he adopted an overdone expression of despair.

Saitou shook his head, amused. Sano really was in a good mood. "Enough talk, then," he said. "Let's see what that hot blood can do for you today."

Slamming his fists together with a grin, Sano obviously (as usual) failed to take more than the overt meaning from Saitou's words.

"Thought I told you not to come back in here."

What was it about bartenders that made them so fearless? If Sano really wanted to force the issue -- were really the kind of guy he was pretending to be (had been) -- that little man just wouldn't stand a chance, grim though he was.

"Hey, I don't make trouble if no one else does," Sano replied in a tone of defensive annoyance. And in this particular bar it was fairly true -- the only fights he'd gotten into here had been started by his opponents. Granted, Sano had usually been giving out an unnecessarily unfriendly eye or deliberately listening in on conversations, and then had jumped to the challenge when anyone became remotely combative, but still...

He wasn't actually complaining, though. Such a greeting and exchange at the very moment he walked through the door drew people's attention like nothing else, and established his reputation as a destructive troublemaker immediately with any who might never have seen or heard of him. And now that he was staring down the bartender with a surly glare, he was sure most of if not all the eyes in the room were on him. This was good.

The stocky man was returning his gaze without a flinch; Sano wondered if maybe he had a death wish... or perhaps he was just too accustomed to swaggering, half-drunken bullies who were all noise. Sano wasn't going to be so easily dealt with, however -- but he was impressed by the bartender's (admittedly sour) placidity in matching glances with the much-feared kenkaya Zanza.

"Tairotsu, would you talk some sense into this kid?" the bartender asked in an irritated tone when Sano took a threatening step in his direction. Sano had no idea who Tairotsu was, but judging by the completely confident indifference with which the bartender turned away after this request, it was probably someone in the room who was proficient at talking sense into people.

Oh, it must be this guy -- the one who'd encouraged him out the door those other times after he'd sent his opponent either running or to the ground in a bruised and bloody heap. He was pretty big, but nothing Sano couldn't handle; he did, though, look rather dark and determined as he approached Sano from a shadowy corner. "Take a little walk outside with me, why don't you?" he suggested in a tone that, though relatively polite, indicated he was doing more than just suggesting.

Sano debated whether it would be wiser to stand his ground and react angrily to that implied command, as might be logically expected of Zanza; or to comply with the request, putting on the obligatory surly-and-ready-for-anything show as he went, and do his fighting outside if need be. Half a second's glance at Tairotsu decided him: this man meant business, and Sano would rather take him on outside. Half the bar's patrons would come watch anyway if they started fighting in the street, he was sure, so things would be fine. Therefore, "Lead the way, buddy," he growled.

Tairotsu stopped only a small distance into the dark and narrow street and stood still. Sano stepped out to face him a few paces away, putting himself in a challenging stance. "So what kind of sense are we talking?" he demanded.

"This kind." Sano never even saw the man's hand reach for the gun that was suddenly pointed at his face; Tairotsu was a lot faster than he would have guessed. "We don't put up with people making trouble here. When Rikyou says don't come back, he means don't come back. You got that?"

Having a guy like this working there explained the bartender's complete lack of fear. The funny thing was that now Sano actually wanted to fight the guy -- a real, honest fight, not one for show in pursuit of some other goal. Despite the barrel the kenkaya was almost breathing into, he had to smile. "Yeah, sure," he said, and it came out sounding a little flippant.

Tairotsu evidently didn't appreciate that, as he took a step forward and pushed the mouth of the gun right up against Sano's cheekbone. "I mean it, kid. Whatever kind of fights you want to start on the streets is none of our business, but keep it -- and your ass -- out of our place."

Sano didn't move, and he actually supposed he had Saitou to thank for that: having that end of a pistol in his face pissed him off to no end, and only Saitou's constant admonitions during their afternoon training sessions to consider the efficacy and possible consequences of his actions before he made them kept him from attacking the other man. Struggling to keep calm, "I said yeah," he answered, more seriously this time.

He was tempted to add something in the vein of, Like I give a damn about whether or not I can come into your shitty bar, but with great effort stopped himself. It would be fun and satisfying to try to provoke Tairotsu into showing what he was made of, but it would also be a pure waste of time. Anyone watching (as at least one person was) had already seen Zanza, unflinching and uncowed, answer a man holding a gun to his head, and kicking Tairotsu's ass probably wouldn't impress them any more than that must have. Well, and there was also the matter of self-preservation and the probability of his getting shot before he managed to kick anything. That wouldn't have been such a barrier a month ago, but now he held still.

"Good," Tairotsu grunted, giving the gun a small and unnecessary shove before putting it away as quickly as he'd gotten it out -- Sano thought it went into his sleeve, but couldn't be sure -- and turned to reenter the building.

You're lucky I've got shit to do, Sano growled at him mentally, or I'd fucking take you down.

He wanted to destroy something, to get the anger out of his system; but even as he was turning in search of some object in the street to fulfill this desire, whoever had been standing nearby watching broke into his full awareness by speaking, dampering his annihilative urges. "You've got rocks, man!"

As he turned toward the stranger, Sano made a noise that was half grunt of annoyance and half laugh of agreement. "Bastard," he muttered, in reference to Tairotsu.

"Yeah," the stranger agreed. "He gets all over-protective of Rikyou. Most guys who hang out in there don't half even listen to him anymore when he goes into his fits of Everyone must obey Rikyou... but you ain't been around here much, have you? Anyway don't think I'd stand up to a pistol like that, even knowing the guy!"

Sano took the opportunity, as the man made this enthusiastic set of remarks, to cool down and look the newcomer over. He barely examined the friendly face and unassuming attire, as his eyes were early captured by the narrow band around the man's arm from which dangled like a pendant a small, plain metal disc. Ha! he reflected triumphantly. Contact and figured out the Karashi mark in one.

"You're that kenkaya uhh..." The man struggled in vain for memory, and laughed at his failure.

"Zanza," Sano supplied. "Yeah."

"My name's Kato Yasuo; yoroshiku!" He looked up from his bow with amused concern. "Forgive me if I seem crazy! I've had a little to drink." As Kato smiled, Sano guessed that it had been more than a little.

Smiling back, Sano started strategizing how to get to the topic of fighting. Well, hell, his new companion was drunk -- how much creativity was really necessary? "Wonder if that Tairotsu guy would fight me for real..." he threw out.

Kato gave a drunkenly-exaggerated shrug. "Maybe if you went in there and started insulting Rikyou. They're lovers, y'know."

Sano was a little startled, and looked toward the doors of the establishment. "No shit?"

"Yeah! Funny, isn't it?" To illustrate that it was, Kato laughed, a little too loudly. Then he added philosophically, "Not all lovers are young and beautiful like me." And he nodded wisely.

Sano didn't bother to hide his chuckle. Not liking, however, their continued proximity to the bar, he started walking slowly away from it as he spoke again. "Well, I wouldn't wanna insult some guy's boyfriend for some bullshit reason just to get a good fight. I'll hafta find one somewhere else."

Though the distance between them was not great, Kato decided to run to catch up. This resulted in his losing his balance completely; he laughed as he stumbled into Sano and was subsequently caught and supported by him. "Thanks! Didn't think I was that drunk, but I guess I am."

This is getting me nowhere, Sano reflected as he arranged Kato's arm across his shoulders. One more try, though. "You like to fight?" The answer couldn't be yes; the man's lack of muscle and weight made it an absurd as well as incongruous question -- but hopefully Kato was too drunk to notice or worry about that.

Such was indeed the case. "I'm pretty good with a knife," Kato said in a boastful tone, then immediately laughed and contradicted himself: "Actually I can barely defend myself when I have to! Sometimes when a job goes wrong I end up having to fight, and it's a disaster every time!" More laughter.

Some kind of thief, then, was Sano's unsurprised assessment. Lucky it was me and not a cop he ran into after he got plastered. He was debating now whether or not it was worth bringing up the fights directly. Someone like Kato might well know nothing about them, but it couldn't hurt to ask.

Kato had randomly broken into a surprisingly in-tune, though otherwise largely unintelligible drinking song of some sort, and Sano had to admit that the man would probably make quite a decent sake companion if circumstances allowed. Such a cheerful drunk was always fun to be around. Sano was even half-inclined to join him in the chorus, once he managed to identify the song, but decided against it. Kato trailed off halfway into it anyway and stated matter-of-factly, "Don't remember the rest!"

Struggling not to stumble as the unsteady drunk inadvertently dragged them both in some random direction, Sano laughed. "So," he said, as casually as he could while he adjusted his balance as well as his hold on the other man, "you know anything about those fights in this district I keep hearing about?"

Kato apparently didn't hear him, judging by his sudden halt and request, "Come home with me."

Again Sano struggled not to stumble, partially because of Kato's abrupt stop and partially out of shock at the statement. "Nani?"

"I know I just met you, but..." Sano was suddenly very conscious of how close Kato's face was to his own, mostly because of Kato's efforts to put it closer. "...but..." The man's laugh was distinctly alcohol-scented; doubtless it had been before, but now it was discernibly so. "But you're hot."

"Hey, I..." At another time -- probably when someone else was on the receiving end of Kato's attentions -- Sano might have been as amused with the thief's logic as Kato was, but at the moment he was too extensively arrested with a number of interesting and somewhat uncomfortable thoughts on the subject. "Ano..." The first was a self-reassurance that there was no need to go that far just to get some information. The second was a surprised reaction to the first -- there was no question... of course he didn't need to... why should he have to reassure himself at all? "I need to..." After that came a series of half-formed suppositions or images that were a much more clinical or even positive response to Kato's suggestion than Sano would have expected from himself -- nothing particularly detailed or spectacular, nor anything to suggest that he really had any interest in accepting the man's invitation: just theories on what might happen if for some reason he did.

Apparently Kato interpreted Sano's difficulty formulating a proper statement of rejection as embarrassment or surprise that didn't necessarily signify unwillingness. "C'mon," he persisted; "I'm a lot better in bed than I am with a knife!" And, unsurprisingly, he laughed at his own words.

It wasn't that Sano had never been propositioned by a man before; nor even that he'd never been propositioned by an attractive man before (though the older, creepier ones were much more common) -- it was just that... that... well, Sano really had no idea why he was giving the matter so much thought this time. Still, in the interest of keeping a hold on the first Karashi contact he'd managed to make, he forced himself to acknowledge the startling facts -- yes, he was noticing and freely admitting that Kato was attractive; yes, the idea of going home with a man seemed quite a bit less intolerable than it ever had before; yes, that was unexpected and probably needed to be contemplated at length -- then push them aside for future reference, and get on with things.

Clearing his throat and resuming their walk (mostly to throw Kato off-balance so he'd have to stop trying to kiss Sano or whatever he called what he was currently doing), Sano said, "Maybe some other night. I'm trying to figure out about these fights." And perhaps he stressed the last word a little too much, but, once again, Kato was drunk.

"Oh..." Kato thought hard and ended with a vague and unhelpful gesture, "You'll have to talk to Yamado-kun about that..."

"Yamado-kun?"

"I think I saw him earlier at... at... I don't remember where."

"Somewhere in this district?" Sano's discomfort was eroding his patience.

"Oh, probably..." Kato laughed. "I don't think I've been anywhere else tonight." Sano started naming the bars in the vicinity, as best he could remember; thankfully, Kato stopped him before he ran out of ideas: "Oh, that was it, I think -- Takeuchi-san's place."

Of course it would be the one that's farthest from here, Sano said as he reviewed the area in his mind. Wish I could ditch lover-boy here on the way... And he altered the direction of their steps.

It wasn't the most pleasant walk across Azabuku he'd ever taken. Kato was fairly easily distracted, but always managed to get back around to making advances on Sano eventually -- possibly because, for all Sano wanted to drop him, Kato's ability to walk on his own was a source of great question, and therefore proximity and body heat were a constant reminder to the drunk that he was craving sex. Of course Kato had been walking on his own before, but his condition seemed to be deteriorating -- and was that the natural consequence of his intoxication, or a plot to stay draped across Sano's shoulders? At any rate, Sano had to fend him off several times -- and not always as kindly as he could have -- before they got to the bar where hopefully he would find some answers.

Kato looked around happily as they entered, whether at other patrons who were his friends or just because it was a bar and that pleased him, Sano didn't know. The former must to a certain extent have been the case, as a few of the drinkers in the room examined Sano and the way he was supporting Kato with knowing, amused eyes. This was at the same time annoying and promising -- it would probably help him in his attempt to join the gang if it was generally assumed he was buddying up (in whatever sense) with a Karashi member... but he wasn't, and it was a little irritating to be on the receiving end of all those wise-ass looks when he wasn't actually going to be getting any sex out of the situation.

The thought that he very easily could be, if he were interested, didn't help much.

"So where's this guy?" he prompted Kato.

"What guy?" Kato wondered.

Struggling with frustration, Sano answered with all the calmness he could command, "Yamato-kun?"

"Oh!" Kato scanned the room again. "I don't see him."

With a deep breath, Sano urged himself not to get angry. "Well, where else might he be?" he asked, a little tightly.

Fortunately, Kato either didn't notice Sano's annoyance, or chose to ignore it. "I'll ask Tsukero," he suggested cheerfully, and, unexpectedly leaving Sano's shoulder, made his way across the room with copious aid from architecture and furnishing. The kenkaya sighed a little as he watched; Kato would probably forget why he was going to talk to Tsukero before he got there, and Sano would be left standing in the doorway like an idiot until the drunk remembered.

Oh, even better, Sano reflected as he watched Kato seat himself unceremoniously in the lap of the person he'd been going to question -- a motion which might in part have been caused by lack of balance, but which was protested neither by Kato nor by the man whose arms slipped around the thief's waist as he settled. Was this really at all productive? Kato was probably too drunk and horny to be much good to Sano, and Sano's growing embarrassment didn't exactly abate when the other man looked pointedly in his direction with a question in Kato's ear. Kato, who seemed to have misplaced his intentions toward Sano in his walk across the room -- I could have left and he'd have forgotten me completely -- smiled brightly and waved.

As he took another deep breath, Sano considered his options. He could bolt right now and keep searching on his own for someone who knew about the fights, running the risk both of making some kind of bad impression on the Karashi guys who were present and of Kato trying to follow him... or he could get over his embarrassment, stick this out, and see if Kato might actually make himself useful.

The sudden incongruous thought, I wish Saitou was here, didn't even surprise him. After all, the officer could probably get any information out of people with very little trouble; Sano had never actually watched him question anyone, but he was willing to bet that Kato would take one look at Saitou, sober up, and tell him exactly what he wanted to know. Without any untoward invitations.

Beyond that, Saitou definitely wouldn't let indecision make his decision for him, as Sano had just done. Whether or not he thought bolting was a good plan, that option was closed to him now as Kato was stumbling back across the room toward him, followed by laughter and suggestive comments from his friends.

"Tsukero told me some places he might be," he smiled up at Sano. "We should look for him and then go back to my place."

Sano felt a little ashamed of the deliberately ambiguous nod he made at this point. He then followed the eager Kato out of the bar, watching to make sure the drunk didn't fall as soon as he was beyond the support of the doorframe.

He had a feeling he was in for a long night.

"So did you end up going home with him or not?" Tokio asked breathlessly as Zanza paused in recounting the events of the previous evening.

"Hey, I'm getting there," Zanza remonstrated, though he was grinning and obviously pleased with her impatient reaction. "It took us three more bars to find this Yamado guy, but then when we did find him he took one look at me and told me this place to go to on Saturday and I'd be in; said he'd mention me to some other guys and they'd be expecting me. Actually he seemed really happy to have me... he obviously knew who I was and was all excited and surprised that I wanted in the fights."

Zanza was pleased with himself, but Tokio was impatient. "But Kato! Did you go home with him?"

The kenkaya stuck out his tongue at her. "Why'm I not surprised that's all you care about?"

"It's not all I care about," she insisted, pausing to cough herself nearly to death before she continued. "But I never doubted you'd succeed at getting into the fights--"

"Glad you have so much faith in me," Zanza interjected, pleased.

"--whereas if you tell me you went home with a strange man in the process it will be a complete surprise," she finished.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I did," was his mock-haughty reply.

"You did not," she contradicted the deceit in his tone.

"I did!" protested he. "He passed out after a while and I was hauling his ass around, and I found out from someone where he lived and dragged him there and dumped him."

"Dumped before he even got anywhere," Tokio said with a shake of her head. "Tsk, tsk." She'd intended to say, 'before the sex, even,' but caught herself just in time. The awkwardness between them was decidedly not gone, joviality notwithstanding, and though she had an advantage in that she could fill any difficult silence with a coughing fit that would only be forced for the first half-instant, still there was no need to make things worse if she could avoid it. Especially since it seemed that Zanza was dutifully taking his turn, by visiting her, staving off the rift between them.

Though he also seemed to be here to get a look at the inside of the house, if his constant curious scrutiny of it was any indication. "I still think you should have come at night," she said for the second time as he glanced around again. "I know you were careful, but there's always the chance..."

"Well," Zanza replied, clearing his throat, evidently not entirely sure he should be saying what he was about to say, "my cover story's that you're my girlfriend, so it's good for me to sneak in here sometimes when Saitou's not home, you know?"

Tokio nodded, fighting off a blush.

"Besides, I got stuff to do at night. And you're sick -- it'd be stupid of me to come wake you up."

"I didn't think it would get this bad," she complained. "It should have cleared up by now. I can't stand this coughing." She punctuated this remark by doing just that.

"You want me to make you some tea or soup or something?"

She smiled. "Thank you, but I'm not sure I trust you in my kitchen."

"Fine," he grumbled, though his annoyance was mostly feigned, "see if I ever offer you help again."

Her smile faded as she gave a sigh, half exasperated at the thought that had arisen in her mind, half wistful over the good health she'd been enjoying last week and wished very much would return as soon as possible. "I need to get back into the kitchen myself, actually, because if I don't force Hajime to eat when he gets home, he never does."

"He doesn't eat at all?" Zanza was entertained by this.

"He stops at cheap soba stands for lunch on most days, but that's it." She added pointedly, "You must have noticed how thin he is."

The kenkaya nodded, still amused. "He does seem like the kind of guy who'd think eating was a waste of time," he grinned.

"It's more that he gets so wrapped up in things, he forgets that it's important," Tokio glowered. "It's worst at a time like this, when he has to wait to do something he really wants to do... he tries to distract himself with little cases and whatever else he can find, and distracts himself right out of eating."

"I dunno..." Zanza began uncertainly; it seemed he still thought his waste-of-time theory was better.

"Well, 'distracted' isn't the best word for it," she amended. "It's more like, he's so intent on not thinking about how much he wants to kill Raihishuu, sometimes other things don't get thought about either."

Zanza laughed and shook his head, though he was suddenly more thoughtful than before. "You know him really well," he remarked.

"Of course I do; I am married to him."

"How did that happen, anyway?"

"Spies meet each other," she shrugged, "when they're on the same side and don't have to kill each other, anyway. I'd done all sorts of unofficial spywork for various names in Aizu, my family was rich and mostly dead; he'd just extricated himself from the troubles he had after the war, and was trying to decide what to do next; his family was--" She broke off coughing again, then eventually resumed. "He'd been at odds with his father for years, and... it's complicated. That whole time was a sort of coming-to-terms process between them."

"So your parents all arranged it?"

She pursed her lips, wondering how much elaboration of her family situation would be too much and deciding on any of it. "Only to a certain extent. The man who had the biggest hand in it was Matsudaira-sama, whom we'd both done work for at one time or another, and since he was all for it none of us could say much once the wheels were turning. I didn't object because I saw Hajime as a way out of Aizu and the role that everyone expected me to fall back into since the war was over. Hajime didn't object because, though he didn't admit it until years later, he didn't like not being on speaking terms with his father. And of course because I'm such a good cook."

Zanza grinned. "I'm gonna have to see if that's true sometime. So then where'd you guys go after you got married?"

"First to Kagoshima." Tokio was by now quite pleased with this conversation. For obvious reasons, it wasn't often she had much of a chance to talk about her time with Hajime. Beyond that, she thought there might be more than just objective curiosity to Zanza's question, but that could merely be wishful thinking for Hajime's sake. "But since we officially joined the police, we've been everywhere." She smiled a little grimly, recalling just how difficult it had been to get any police force to take her seriously. "We've spent more time in Tokyo than anywhere else, which is why we bought this house instead of renting some place, but we still move around a lot."

Looking suddenly pensive, Zanza wondered, "Do you have people like me all over the place, then? Guys he's hired to be spies wherever they happen to live?" And was this a subject of concern to him? She was sure she detected some worry in his face and tone. Was that because he wouldn't feel as special once he learned this guess was correct, or for some deeper reason?

"That's right," she confirmed, and added with a grin, "but they're not all guys. He's learned not to underestimate women."

"Good for you," Zanza said, returning her grin. She thought, though, that the worry had not entirely vanished. "But how long do you usually stay in one place?"

"It depends on what Kawaji-san tells him to do, and what kind of rumors are coming out of other parts of the country." She added wryly, "There's always evil to be immediately destroyed somewhere, and Hajime prefers greater concentrations of it. It's more efficient."

Zanza made a hmming sound, now appearing very thoughtful. "Do you ever worry about that?" he asked at length.

"Worry about what?" she wondered.

"About that whole Aku Soku Zan thing. It's so final, you know? What if you don't measure up? What if it's you suddenly that's evil?"

"I don't think anyone can become evil suddenly," she replied quietly, "but, yes, I did worry about that for a long time." She sighed, shaking her head. "Quite early in our marriage, there was a man the local police couldn't find who'd raped several women and murdered one. Hajime and I were tracking him down, and we'd set a trap for him that hadn't been as effective as we'd hoped, and he managed to run all the way to his own home thinking to hide out. Hajime caught up with him and killed him, which was good. What he didn't realize was that the bastard's children were there and watched the whole thing. That wasn't so good.

"Hajime isn't as heartless as he likes people to think, and that was my first proof of it. He didn't say a word about it... but I could tell, like I usually can't when it comes to what's going on in that locked-up head of his, that it bothered him to think that he'd slaughtered two little girls' father right in front of their faces -- because even if it was a rapist and a murderer, it was still their father -- and there was no other choice. That was the really scary part. It wasn't that he regretted killing the guy, or even that he regretted the stolen innocence of the girls... it was that he knew there wasn't any other way. That he had nowhere to go but down this uncomfortable path of Justice, because that's the way he is and he could never change without hating himself. It's not something I've seen him worry about very often -- usually he likes it, actually -- but sometimes even he gets a little overwhelmed by how absolute his own morality is.

"The point is, it was that that started me worrying. I would wake up in the middle of the night sometimes wondering if one of these days it would be me on the end of his sword. I knew I couldn't live like that, afraid of my husband -- afraid of myself, really, of becoming something that would deserve that -- but it was more than a year before I managed to say anything to him about it. I just couldn't bring it up until we'd broken down the awkwardness that was between us, getting used to being married and maybe being friends and everything... So finally I asked him what he would do if I ever became evil. And he just looked at me for a while and finally said, 'I trust that you won't.' He really meant that, too -- that he trusted me, and he always has, ever since. And I think that trust is what helps me to believe in myself and not be afraid anymore: if he thinks I won't fail, I can think so too. And it makes me stronger so I really won't fail."

Zanza was silent for several moments, then said softly, "There can't be many people he trusts like that."

"I may be the only one," she nodded, not without a touch of pride at the idea.

"I've been here way too long," the kenkaya said abruptly. Whether the abruptness was because he really had just remembered his duty or because he wanted to be alone with his thoughts, she could not tell. She wasn't quite sure what to make of this mood of his in the first place. "I'm supposed to be looking for Kukuri today and trying to figure out why Tonshuu wants Shuuri Mikijio out of the way."

Tokio got to her feet as he did, accompanied only by brief hacking -- the cough was better when she was standing up, but then she was also dizzy. "Hajime was out most of the night, I think investigating him."

"Yeah, he said he was going to." Zanza seemed now somewhat distracted. "I'll find out later."

"Will you?" she wondered.

"When I see him this afternoon."

"Are you going to see him this afternoon?" Was that where Hajime had been going every day? To meet Zanza? She suppressed a grin; he might have made more progress than she'd thought, in that case. Which might explain Zanza's current demeanor.

He glanced at her. "Didn't you know we've been practicing every day when it rains?" He was obviously surprised at her ignorance, and the surprise seemed to play into the pensiveness. Her guess was that he found Hajime's not having mentioned their practice sessions to her more than a little strange.

"I do now," she smiled. "You know, I've never seen you fight. I was going to watch the second time you fought him, but then you were interrupted."

"Once you're better, you can come see me get my ass kicked," he replied, though he didn't, as she'd hoped, name the location. Well, it would be easy enough to follow him one of these days when neither of them would be expecting her there.

"You admit that you're getting your ass kicked?" she questioned with a raised brow.

"Would you believe me if I said I was beating him up every day?"

"Of course not."

"No point in lying, then."

They'd wandered to the front door by this time. "Good luck on Shuuri," she said as she opened it for him.

"Thanks, and you get better. Ja."

She continued to smile as she watched him go. Then she closed the door and turned back into the house, already trying to work out a casual way of informing Hajime later that Zanza had been here and apparently thought of almost nothing but him the entire time. Of course, she had introduced the subject and done the most talking, but she didn't plan on mentioning that.

Lifting a match from the box he'd nabbed from Saitou's house yesterday, Sano struck it and watched the flame flare up and then slowly eat away at the stick. He was picturing the fire much, much bigger, and going over his plan.

Relatively corrupt but not worse than average: that's how Saitou had basically described Shuuri after his extensive investigation. Not knowing the guy personally and therefore unable to come up with any sort of grudge against him, Sano had very little enthusiasm for what he was setting out to do. Especially given that, from Kukuri's information, the merchant's major claim to infamy and yakuza disapproval stemmed from a gambling incident into whose details, once Sano understood its general pettiness, he didn't care to inquire.

So it really did come down to what Saitou had told him before -- sometimes this kind of thing, however unpleasant, was necessary.

Sano wasn't sure he could agree.

He'd smashed up property, sure, caused a few fires, damaged people's business in the past... but it had always been at the less responsible end of drunkenness; he didn't know if he could do such a thing coolly and in the full knowledge that it would probably put unrelated innocents in peril of their lives and uproot a family.

Of course he wasn't planning on killing anyone, but there was a warehouse and a decent-sized home that needed to be taken care of; somebody was bound to get hurt even if they didn't die, and beyond that... somebody's home... Any kind of warning was out of the question, and even if he waited until sometime when Shuuri's wife at least was away, it would appear strange to the Fushibihan and probably be recognized as a deliberate move.

The question he should probably be answering, rather than Can I do this?, was, Is this worth it? Because, logically, there wasn't really any doubt in his mind that he was capable both of the deed and compelling himself to perform it. And if he worked it just right, made it flashy and effective and carnage-free, he could get himself into the gang without too much pain of conscience... maybe. He would still be forcing a happy couple and servants out of their home, demolishing a man's business, possibly ruining lives and futures. It was that 'maybe,' therefore, that had him pacing irresolutely in the darkness long after he should have commenced productivity.

Estimating the number of lives that would be bettered and even saved by the downfall of two yakuza -- not to mention the politician that Saitou assured him was personally worse than the lot of them combined -- he couldn't deny the fact that the few he might destroy to achieve this were a price worth paying. But was he really capable of judging so impartially? Because he would still be the one causing the damage, inflicting the pain.

He knew what yakuza did -- he'd been a part of it and witnessed it firsthand -- and beyond that he could see the greater concepts of societal progression that demanded the collapse of organized crime. He believed what Saitou told him about Raihishuu, and understood why that man had to be eradicated. But in the end it didn't really have anything to do with whether or not he could fathom the reasons for what he was planning or even whether he trusted Saitou. The issue was age-old: did the ends justify the means?

It wasn't really a question. He was going to do it. That he was, and how he was, he was well aware, and he wasn't even worried, much, about pulling it off and getting away with it. It was convincing himself not to hate himself for it that was going to be the difficult part.

He couldn't help thinking of the story Tokio had told him the other day about the moral weight her husband bore. He thought this must be at least somewhat of a similar feeling: he knew the benefit of what he was going to do tonight, he knew what progress would be lost if he didn't go through with it, and he'd just been over this all in his head and come to the conclusion that it must be done... but it felt cruel and dirty. Sano had fought dirty before, just never on this scale. And if Saitou lived like that... no wonder he was so irritable.

Somehow, thinking about it in that light, Sano felt a little heartened. However irrational or presumptuous it might be, he was encouraged by the idea of helping to bear the merciless burden even a very little.

When he'd decided he wanted to do something worthwhile as Saitou was, he hadn't been aware of how willing he might be to adopt Saitou's tactics, nor had he ever expected to be standing around where he now stood debating and planning this kind of thing. When he'd told Katsu that Sagara-taichou wouldn't have wanted the people he cared about damning themselves for the sake of creating change, he'd never thought that he would eventually wonder whether he might not be turning his back on his captain by the road he was choosing to walk -- and choosing to walk it regardless.

Which was another part of what made this so difficult that he actually had to steel himself before knocking on the door.

"Hey, Katsu," he said when it opened, "I need your help with something."

Saitou was impressed. He hadn't expected Sano to manage the affair quite so neatly, nor, indeed, to step up so actively and get things done this soon. Actually, he'd fully expected Sano to take him up on the offer he'd made the other day to handle the whole thing for him.

He had long been aware that many of the agents he hired were not as willing to make heartless sacrifices as he was. It was a rare thing, actually, to find someone who could be as heartless as he could without thirsting after blood simply for the sake of it. It didn't much matter, though, as he generally didn't trust the hired spies with the heartless sacrifices anyway. Still, it didn't surprise him when someone he did trust just wasn't up to the task -- and it pleased him now, more than he would have admitted to anyone, that Sano was.

Of course the arson was big news, and had been even before Sano had filled him in on the details. Combining with inside knowledge what investigation had already occurred by the time Saitou came into work the day after the fire, it wasn't even difficult to see exactly how it had been done. And a not-so-casual hint dropped to the police chief that this was a yakuza issue, and as such was not likely to go anywhere until the conclusion of Saitou's current efforts, ensured that further investigation was going to be slow and largely low-priority.

Sano's perspective had been much more interesting than station gossip.

"I got Katsu to help me," the kenkaya shrugged, rainwater hazing over and rolling down his bare shoulders. "He had plenty of gunpowder; stuff makes it really easy to set places on fire." He was looking at the ground, though, and his show of indifference did not hide the fact that he was not pleased with this.

"I hear nobody was killed," Saitou remarked neutrally.

"Yeah, we kinda planned it out as much as we could so that would happen... I didn't think fire was that complicated, but Katsu knows all about how it works with gunpowder, so..." He shrugged again as he trailed off.

It was obvious that there was a lot to Sano's mood, and Saitou wanted very much to pry until he understood it perfectly, but surmised that to do so would close doors rather than open them. Maybe Sano would be more forthcoming with Tokio (or at least she would figure it out on her own), and Saitou could hear it from her. Wasn't that a pleasant thought.

Still, he wasn't entirely going to let the matter drop here and now. "Should I be worried that your friend was willing to help you?"

Sano snorted. "He basically doesn't say no to me." Bitterness was beginning to touch the feigned unconcern of his tone. "But I feel like shit. After all those lines I gave him before to keep him from bombing shit, and now this..."

"They weren't lines," Saitou replied seriously, thinking he understood the boy's frame of mind a bit better after that. "What he was planning then and what you did last night were different things carried out for different reasons with completely different outcomes."

"I keep telling myself that... but I still feel like a damn hypocrite. Especially with the way he kept looking at me. He never actually said anything, but he sure as hell was thinking it."

"He can see the difference as well as you can." Saitou smirked and added deliberately, "Better, probably."

Sano looked up at him for the first time since he'd arrived, and in his face was more than irritation at that very mild insult; it was outright anger, though not necessarily directed at Saitou. "I'm sick of talking about this," he growled; "We fighting today or not?"

"We will be practicing," Saitou corrected, trying not to be annoyed at Sano's predictable withdrawal, "as soon as you tell me whether you've heard from your friends in the Fushibihan since you did the job."

"Yeah," Sano replied impatiently, "I'm in." Then he added at a mutter, "A genuine yakuza bastard."

Saitou was fairly certain he understood Sano's thoughts by now, so he asked nothing more. And when the boy came flying at him with fists clenched, it was clear that what they were doing was 'fighting' and not by any means 'practicing.'

The officer wasn't sure it had been a good idea not to say anything about the boy's recklessness. When Sano fought so irately, his blows were stronger, to be sure, but where his strength was doubled, his effectiveness was halved. It was amazing, actually, that he didn't see it with his own eyes... but, then, who did think clearly when they were that angry? Especially when the anger was a result of the kind of discomfort with self that Sano was evidently suffering?

Saitou would have felt worse about it -- indeed, about the entire encounter and the whole business with Shuuri -- if Sano hadn't obviously felt so much better after their fight. Evidently, having used the latter to work through his frustration regarding the arson, he was not going to dwell on it. Maybe it had been a good thing, then, to let him get it out of his system against an opponent he couldn't actually damage.

And there was just something so... attractive... about him like that: throwing himself so completely into an endeavor, to the point where he'd relinquished all thought and was really, whether he knew it or not, at Saitou's mercy. It wasn't safe (or wouldn't be, in any other company) and it probably wasn't healthy, but the wolf couldn't help deriving a certain amount of pleasure from seeing it. There was a certain amount of exasperation, too, stemming from the idiocy of the attitude, but at the same time...

It had felt a bit like their first fight, holding similar abandon and irate foolhardiness -- was this a sign of regression? That would be childish. Yet Saitou didn't think it had been such. Everybody had moments of anger, after all -- Sano, perhaps, more than others -- and different ways of dealing with it -- Sano's, perhaps, different than most others'...

Was it possible that Saitou was trying to justify his pleasure in the recollection of the boy's eyes and body during the spar merely because he'd so enjoyed the sight of them in that wild state, had to struggle not to envision them in great detail thus energized in a rather different type of physical exertion? Not that he hadn't drawn similar mental parallels before... but if he was starting to make allowances in order to play into those fantasies, that could be as unhealthy for Sano as any of Sano's own actions, especially if training was to continue.

Still, where that training was concerned, it was clear that Sano was learning, and learning by choice. Saitou didn't claim to be an expert on what went on in the kenkaya's head (however much he would like to become one), but he didn't think Zanza would have bothered the least bit with the principles of defense and intelligent combat -- and during that conflict, Sano, even in the midst of his anger and as easily defeated as he'd made himself, had not entirely abandoned the strictures the officer had lately been attempting to drive into him. Surely there was no regression, in that case, and a little lapse in control around someone who wasn't going to take advantage of it could be forgiven this time?

Well, Saitou was tired of debating the matter. He couldn't say that it wasn't important, but at the moment he feared he was over-thinking. This was no doubt because the reports he was supposed to be looking through were so terribly dull. Therefore, already engaging in negligent avoidance as he was, there was nothing to be done for it -- he might as well let himself daydream rather than analyze. His conclusive decision was that, as far as yesterday afternoon was concerned, the memory and prospect of an incautious, irate, gorgeous young man capable of being both cold-hearted and hot-blooded but not planning to dwell on it was not an inappropriate distraction from his paperwork for now.

But it seemed fate had a grudge against him, at least in this matter, for his pleasurable reverie was soon to be interrupted and, as a consequence, abandoned.

"Sumimasen, Fujita-san..."

"Yes?" As the door had begun to open, Saitou had turned studious attention to the reports, and now barely glanced from them to see who had entered.

"I'm sorry about this..." It was quiet little Kosaburou, a rookie who always did exactly what he was told and might have amounted to something otherwise. "It isn't that anybody's sent me... but I felt like I had to..."

Looking up now, Saitou regarded him impassively, feeling a touch of curiosity.

Kosaburou stepped inside and closed the door behind him, which made his visit all the more strange. Saitou continued to watch him carefully, still curious, lighting a cigarette as he waited. Kosaburou straightened, apparently rallying himself for whatever he had to say. "I hope you'll forgive me," he began deferentially; "this is going to seem terribly out of line. It's about your partner." He hesitated for another moment and added, "Your wife?"

Saitou nodded, thinking he knew now where this must be going.

"I'm sorry about this... it's just, it seems whenever you're not around she's with this younger--" He faltered, apparently at this possibly insulting choice of words, and resumed quickly, "this young man, and the other day one of the other guys said he saw him sneaking into your house. I don't know if that's true, or if there's some good reason for it all, but... but I thought you deserved to know."

Saitou took a slow drag, wondering how much nerve it had taken this poor kid to come in here and tell him this -- tell the generally disliked and often feared aloof Fujita something that the junior officers were not only certainly all sniggering about and waiting to see how long it took him to discover, but had probably tried to discourage Kosaburou from telling him if they knew he planned on it. Maybe Kosaburou had more guts than Saitou had given him credit for.

The irritating irony of the boy's would-be revelation did not escape him either. And it was much more than just that Sano's house-call three days ago to the by-now-convalescent Tokio had already been mentioned to him not only by the woman in question but also by Sano himself.

"What did this younger man look like?" he inquired, making sure to keep his tone plausible for the situation. He also made sure to emphasis 'younger' slightly, just because it was amusing to watch Kosaburou squirm.

"Actually, sir, some of the guys have identified him -- it's Zanza, that mercenary."

"And how many of you have actually seen this going on?"

"I saw them together once." Kosaburou's answers were becoming less hesitant now that the conversation was starting to resemble a routine report. "Jichi-kun said he's seen them too; Paakio-kun said the same, and even that he once saw her going into Zanza's apartment, but also that it might have been someone else that time. And it was Tokarouru-san who said he saw Zanza going into your house."

Saitou nodded slowly but said nothing.

"There have been several very disrespectful speculations..."

"I have no doubt of that," Saitou replied. It was about time that Kosaburou took his own speculations out the door. "Do you have anything to add?"

The boy thought for a moment and said, "No, sir."

"That's enough, then."

"Yes, sir." And Kosaburou was gone, leaving Saitou to scowl in peace.

Looked at objectively, this was a good thing. If it was widely assumed that his wife was having an affair with the infamous Zanza, said Zanza would be less likely suspected of working for the cops. It was also an automatic failsafe explanation for spars in the rain, should anyone happen to observe them training. But obviously he couldn't be expected to be pleased by it.

He was by now fairly sure that they really were having an affair, though calling it that under the circumstances seemed inappropriate. Either way, he hadn't wanted to make any specific inquiry that would tell him for certain because it irked him so much to think about it -- absolute knowledge would have completely ruined daydreams such as he'd been entertaining before Kosaburou's entrance, today or any day -- but it seemed a sure thing at this point. Especially if junior officers were braving his office and his reaction because he 'deserved to know.'

It wasn't long before he left the station entirely to find lunch. He knew how this would appear to the disrespectful speculators (as they couldn't know that he was finding lunch, only that he'd left shortly after Kosaburou's 'news'), but he didn't particularly care. He didn't feel like nursing the shattered remains of his good mood over anything but a bowl of soba.

Sano was falling into a routine; indeed, his life was now more organized than it had been in any previous period, not excluding his time with the Sekihoutai and original stint in the Fushibihan. What with attending to the latter from the moment he got up throughout most of the afternoon and evening; heading over to the field, if it rained and he could make it, to spar with Saitou somewhere in the middle of that; then to Azabuku in the late evening through the late-early morning... he had actually decreased impressively the hours of sleep he got each night, something he had always considered a fixed number not to be tampered with. Loafing around on people's porches or ambling through town at twilight looking for someone to buy him a drink were things of a hazy past.

And oddly enough, he didn't think he'd ever been happier. Granted, moment to moment there was frustration and boredom like he'd never before voluntarily put himself through, but somehow the overall routine was working out. True, he wasn't sure how long he could keep it up, but for now it was strangely satisfying.

The Azabuku fights, given their reputation as some of the most brutal entertainment in the city, he was finding to be surprisingly tame. Whether because they were trying to avoid drawing attention or merely because things took a while to get really heated, it was just not nearly as exciting as he'd hoped. There were a few opponents he vaguely looked forward to testing out, assuming they were as tough as they appeared and managed to make it far enough in the elimination to face him, but even these were probably not going to afford all that much amusement. And for the moment he was stuck with the crowd that went down in one shot.

There just had to be somebody strong that he simply hadn't seen yet... he couldn't be present for all the fights, after all -- and when wonder at his early departure was expressed by anyone else (all of whom seemed to assume he had nothing else to do), he usually told them that he had a fight of his own to get to, occasionally that he was unable to sit still for that long, and every once in a while the partial truth that he just wasn't that interested in watching a bunch of low-level losers posing and glowering and taking way too long to knock each other down.

He was a little more interested in watching what seemed to be various yakuza bigwigs who came and went from day to day watching the fights -- but these gentlemen did not yet seem much interested in watching him -- and eyeing mob pseudo-bosses closely without precedent made them unnecessarily nervous. Therefore it fell on his shoulders to attract their attention in a good way, make sure they were indeed watching him. Since he had to assume they saw plenty of strong fighters, he tried to concentrate on being interesting and hoping thus to catch their eye.

More than ever now he wished for his zanbatou, but he'd heard nothing from Tousaku yet. It was an effort not to harass the smith daily; only by reminding himself that Tousaku was likely to be so excited about the completed repair job that he would show up at Sano's door immediately, regardless of the hour of day, did Sano prevent himself from wasting time on repeated inquiry.

Having to allocate his time, or to worry about wasting it, was something he wasn't accustomed to -- but if he didn't spend a certain percentage of the daylight in Tonshuu's presence, the man would complain that Zanza wasn't doing his job, and why ever had he wanted back into the group if he wasn't planning on pulling his weight?

Sano's idea of what that would constitute was very different from Tonshuu's, however. It was obvious that, since the Fushibihan had grown in power and territory and Zanza had grown in strength and fame, the expectations placed on him had altered drastically. Whereas he would have anticipated being used for jobs requiring great strength or fighting ability, he found he was rather a sort of morale-boosting mascot. Whether this was because Tonshuu didn't quite trust him or because he actually thought it was a good plan to have Sano near him but not really doing anything, Sano could not begin to guess. Either way, he couldn't complain... less criminal but closer to Tonshuu was exactly what he needed.

Well, he could complain, and he did -- at least until both Saitou and Tokio told him to stop and even Katsu, rarely as he saw his friend at this time, got a glazed-over look when the subject came up. At any rate, despite the moral issue, Sano would much rather have been out stealing things, trashing places, and offering 'protection' to hapless merchants than sitting by while Tonshuu ate, presided over gambling that Sano wasn't allowed to take part in, ordered some people around, and exchanged dripping false politeness with others... Sano wasn't entirely sure who they all were, as he'd stopped paying attention the first day. Last time he'd been a member... well, the gang had been a lot smaller then, and less well-known, but Sano had most definitely been one of those who was ordered around. He figured the others were probably lesser bosses, merchants, and leaders of other, smaller yakuza with whom Tonshuu had an understanding.

He was generally admired by all the little fish who were privileged to hang around in the building near their boss, and there was one (blissfully monotony-breaking) instance where he got to menace someone who was being disrespectful; these circumstances made him lean more toward the theory that he was actually doing some good (good?) like this, rather than that Tonshuu didn't trust him, but it didn't make the days more interesting.

Every once in a while, he could lessen the boredom by talking to Kotono, but this was rare: not only were her attention and geisha entertainment skills often required in whatever Tonshuu was doing with the people who came in and out all day, it was severely obvious that she liked Sano. It wasn't that he disliked her, by any means, that made this a problem -- it was that the man who owned her was sitting in the same room. And Sano had no chance to communicate the plan to encourage her to put off her advances until she was a free woman.

At first it did seem, though, that she had acquired more freedom than she'd previously enjoyed, as she came and went much more frequently than Sano remembered; eventually he realized, with deep rage, that she'd only become a sort of prize for the important names who complied with Tonshuu's wishes and demands. He recalled, from their meeting in that shop a while back, her mentioning something that she'd been afraid he'd heard about her that had caused him to try to get back into the gang for her sake... this must be it. And he had to admit, he might well have tried for no other reason, had he actually heard that Tonshuu was pimping her out like this.

So on the whole, the time he was spending with the Fushibihan was dull and infuriating. Putting up with such a thing was a completely new experience to him, and as such there was a certain novelty to forcing himself to deal with it, but it couldn't last. He was still holding on, though, hoping that some night he would get properly recruited into the Karashigumi, after which it wouldn't take long (he predicted) to make himself sufficiently popular that when he set up some kind of party, enough of the right people would find their way to it to make this all worthwhile.

Saitou questioned the party idea.

"If we want anybody who's worth anything to be there, that's about the only way to do it," Sano explained, scratching his head, a little nervous as it felt strange defending his plan to the person who was the actual spy in this situation. "If it seems like I'm kissing ass by throwing a party for the big guys, they'll show up just to see what I'm made of. Something else I try an' set up, they'll probably have something better to do unless I'm already in their close circle... but I don't wanna take that long."

And Saitou nodded in a manner suggesting he'd only asked the question to make sure Sano had really thought it through.

He wasn't always able to make it to the field, of course... there were some times when he could easily slip away from Tonshuu, to return later or not as he saw fit, and some days when his presence was evidently required for hour after pointless hour -- it didn't take him long to develop a sense for the dynamic of the afternoon and evening to determine whether or not he could get away that day.

If he could, Saitou was always there waiting for him; if he couldn't... did Saitou just hang around for a while and then leave? Sano had to feel a bit guilty at providing such a spectacular waste of time for the officer, but simultaneously a bit pleased that his training took such a high priority with Saitou. Of course, it could just be that Saitou was anxious to have as close to a daily report as he could manage, considering that Sano might get in with the Karashi and set things up at any time and then they'd have to act quickly to set things up on their end... but for some reason Sano didn't think this was the reason for Saitou's consistence.

The truth was that Saitou was using the afternoon training as a sort of outlet for his frustration. Among the supreme dullness of the cases he'd been dealing with lately, Kawaji hinting but not explicitly saying at their last meeting that Saitou might want to finish up whatever he was working on as soon as possible because there was something somewhat important lined up for him to do next, and the latest word from the political front where Raihishuu did the most damage, the desire to get this whole matter finished had heightened devastatingly. Perhaps, as a result of this, he made the training a little more intense than he should have, was a little too hard on the kenkaya who was already working so faithfully... but Sano, oddly enough, did not protest, so Saitou did not relent. And possibly Sano had his own reasons for enjoying the overly vigorous sparring, given what he'd been complaining about lately.

"These damn fights are so fucking boring," he was saying one day as they prepared to train. "I thought they'd at least be some cheap excitement if there wasn't anyone really good there, but they're not even that."

"Or maybe you just don't enjoy cheap excitement as much as you used to," Saitou remarked.

A flicker of serious contemplation went across Sano's eyes as he murmured with a slight smile, "Maybe I don't." Then, raising his tone he added more flippantly, "Too bad I can't afford the expensive stuff."

Saitou resisted the urge to make a very implicative remark. Even what he did say -- "Hm, don't I pay you enough?" -- had sufficient insinuation to make it almost a satisfying reply, though Sano obviously wasn't going to catch the secondary meaning.

"Hey, I would not object to a raise," the boy grinned, which, with Saitou's mind already in the realm of innuendo, came across a little differently than Sano had intended it. So when Saitou (busy with the thought of raises) made no reply, Sano just shrugged and returned to the previous topic: "But seriously! They've got the back of the building knocked out and changed into this sort of open room where people can watch the fights in the yard from." Sano indicated the placement of these areas with ineloquent hand gestures. "Mostly it's Karashi big guys who don't have anything better to do, and their women. An' half the time, if I'm fighting someone and I'm facing that direction, I don't even look at the person I'm fighting, because it's just too boring -- I'm looking at the people who are watching in case any of them are hot. Not even watching because it might be someone important who could get me into the gang!"

"A very cautious and intelligent way to go about things," Saitou replied dryly, but it wasn't the most energetic sarcasm as he was dwelling on the fact that Sano liked to see if the people watching were hot -- not just the women.

"Hey, you'd be doing the exact same thing."

Saitou raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think so?"

"All right, maybe not the exact same thing... but you'd still be bored as hell."

With a smirk Saitou answered, "Welcome to spywork."

Sano sighed. Then his grimace became determined, and he pounded his fists together. "That case, it's your fault I'm bored, so you getta fix it!" And he charged.

And although Saitou was not dangerously distracted by this unconsciously suggestive invitation, it was a close thing.

So it often went: Sano was flirtatious without even knowing it (to all appearances), and it was absolutely maddening. What made matters worse was that as the days passed, Saitou began to rethink his assessment of the seriousness of the boy's relationship with Tokio. He didn't doubt its existence, but that they were anything more than casual he was beginning to question. One reason for this was the amount of time they didn't spent together; he couldn't believe it was a serious relationship and still maintain a decent opinion of his wife and of Sano while observing how little they were in each other's company.

Another reason came one day quite unexpectedly when he was on his way back to the station from the practice field as the last of the rain was clearing up. He saw Tsukioka in this neighborhood frequently enough that it wasn't a surprise to catch sight of him now engaged (as he often was) in serious conversation with somebody under a ragged umbrella. What was a little more surprising to Saitou was the sight of his wife, half-concealed and yet casual, positioned diagonally across the street where Tsukioka most likely wouldn't see her and evidently watching the artist.

Not wanting to draw undue attention, Saitou turned off early into another lane and wound his way slowly around to where Tokio stood. And looking from her perspective, Tsukioka's current activity still didn't look worthy of this much scrutiny. Even someone who was unaware of Tsukioka's political endeavors, didn't have that as explanation of his behavior, probably would not think twice about his daily pastimes -- or did Tokio know something Saitou didn't?

She hadn't made any sign that she'd noticed his approach, but she had to be aware of his presence. Anyway she didn't seem surprised when he spoke close to her ear: "You don't still consider him to be a threat, do you?"

"Only to my productivity," she sighed, turning with a rueful smile and adding apologetically, "The guy's just too interesting."

Saitou raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Interesting?"

Glancing at the man across the street once more, Tokio shook her head slightly and turned back toward her husband, pulling him further into the alley. "He's smooth," she said. "Nobody refuses to talk to him. He might be very useful."

Saitou couldn't help asking in the same tone he had before, "Useful?" without lowering his brow. This was intriguing. He was misreading the situation very badly if by 'interesting' and 'useful' Tokio didn't mean 'attractive' and 'preoccupying.'

Still, she either refused to understand him or was not understanding herself. "Have you read his paper?"

"The one you keep leaving on the desk? Yes. I haven't neglected to consider him as an information source."

"And you think he's not stable enough," she concluded, giving a short nod that indicated she'd not only thought this would be his response, but had been leaning toward that opinion herself. But, finding him so interesting, she wasn't likely to say that out loud.

"There's no harm in keeping an eye on him, but don't let it get in the way of real work."

And she nodded again, the type that indicated she was aware not only of the sense in this but also that she should already have been doing it.

Then, whether she abruptly realized that she hadn't played her flirtation game with him for quite some time or she really had comprehended his hints about Tsukioka and thought this was the best way to cover up the issue, she suddenly latched onto his bare forearm and smiled up at him with, "How can you say that so coldly after you got lonely and came looking for me through the rain?"

"Business before pleasure," he replied, using her grip on him to steer them both down the alley and hopefully back toward real work. But the sarcasm in his tone was (relatively) jovial; in light of the suspicions that had arisen during this conversation, he could forgive her just about anything right now.

"Mm, and you even took off your jacket for me."

At this he disengaged his arm and lit a cigarette. "And you've never seen that before."

"Well, you've got a romantic look in your eyes, and that makes it completely different than usual."

Saitou rolled the organs in question but couldn't help wondering (besides what, exactly, constituted a 'romantic look' in his case) whether that might not actually be true, given his current pleasant reflections.

In consequence of the latter, over the next few days, he had to wonder why he was still keeping silent. If Tokio liked Tsukioka (and, really, he was more her type than Sano was), it might not take much to get her to call things off with Sano to pursue the more desirable other. And Saitou making moves on the boy might provide exactly the kind of push required. But that was assuming Tokio didn't mean much to Sano and that the wolf's overtures would be well-received in the first place. It seemed a somewhat touchy situation.

Saitou knew the value of caution and evaluation, but he was also eminently familiar with the benefits of taking chances and acting quickly. That he was leaning toward calculating discretion here, he thought, was testimony to how much he really liked Sano -- he wasn't about to make any advance until he could be sure of its outcome. Which was something he hadn't done for anyone in the past, and therefore sobering, almost worrisome. Almost.

Either way, he'd renewed the vow he'd once made to himself (or perhaps to Sano, or just the universe at large), that Sano would be his. He was a patient man.

Tokio was a patient woman, or at least liked to consider herself such, and on a fine night like this it didn't matter so much that nobody had yet appeared to rob this shop and hopefully let fall some clues about who they were and to whom, if anyone, they were connected. And she wasn't entirely surprised that they had not; signs pointed to this business as a potential target, but it could as easily be another on this or any night. Nor was she particularly disappointed. She hadn't chosen this case; rather, the chief had borrowed her for it, and while she thought him an excellent administrator and appreciated his recognition of her skills, she'd never considered him an espionage expert.

She adjusted her position, listening disinterestedly to the sound of footsteps in the street she was beside and above and only glancing briefly at the passerby. This was a nice neighborhood, and fairly empty at this time of night, so he was only the third who'd passed since she'd started this vigil, and, like the previous two, entirely uninteresting. The next one broke the trend.

The clack of geta approaching at a hurried pace caused her to look with a little more attention to the circle of light cast by a nearby street lamp. Presently a woman, a geisha by all appearances, came into view, moving quickly and seeming very agitated. Tokio frowned as she noted that the woman's makeup was badly smeared on both her face and neck, her arms wrapped around herself protectively. In addition, though her movement spoke sufficiently of general grace, her quick walk was yet a trifle unsteady; Tokio thought this was due to how upset she was, though there might have been some physical hurt as well that was from here invisible.

As unfortunate as this situation appeared, the woman didn't seem in need of immediate assistance, and Tokio did not have leisure to offer simple comfort. But then, before the stranger had completely passed, she stumbled, saving herself from complete prostration with both hands on the ground and remaining on her knees for several moments, staring at the earth as if too tired or overcome with emotion to rise. And it was impossible (for a spy) not to note, in the instant when her sleeves flew up around her elbows as she fell, a recognizable flame pattern on her left arm. Suddenly this woman was a good deal more interesting, as it couldn't be anyone other than the very Kotono that Zanza was so anxious to save.

Looking more closely, Tokio reflected that if she hadn't heard the way Zanza talked about this woman, Kotono might be considered potential competition for Hajime: she was remarkably beautiful, and there was something compellingly pitiable about her forlornness there on the ground. Tokio decided to talk to her after all.

"Are you all right?" She spoke once she had left her place of concealment by a hop and two steps, and went to offer her assistance. Kotono started slightly, for of course she hadn't realized anyone was nearby. As Tokio was aware that she was occasionally, ineffectually spied on by what she'd assumed were members of the Fushibihan -- doubtless because they still did not entirely trust Zanza's involvement with her -- she was not surprised to see recognition flash briefly across Kotono's face in the same glance.

"I- I'm fine..." Kotono replied, allowing the other to help her to her feet, then brushing off her fine kimono somewhat futilely. "Thank you."

Up close, Tokio could easily see that where Kotono's makeup was smeared there were bruises growing -- someone seemed to have attempted to strangle her in addition to hitting her in the face a few times. Kotono could evidently tell what Tokio was scrutinizing, and appeared uncomfortable. And it was no wonder a police officer would make her nervous: however unwillingly she was involved, she was still a close member of a yakuza.

"I know this must look unusual," she said in some distress, probably because she hadn't expected to have to explain her situation to a cop, "but there's no need to worry for me; my okami will handle it. A client of mine wanted extra services, so I left him."

"In several pieces, I hope," Tokio murmured darkly, knowing full well how little likely that was to be the case.

Adjusting her clothes as well as her features, Kotono slowly composed herself. "He'd had too much to drink," she explained in a much more level tone than before; "I should not have indulged him."

Given that Zanza's cover story had something to do with being in a good position to hear police secrets, and that therefore Tokio supposedly didn't know anything about his involvement, prior or current, in any gang, it made sense that she shouldn't have any idea who Kotono was either. With this in mind she asked, "Do you have an escort? Anyone from your house?"

"I was alone tonight."

Tokio was not about to point out how improbable that seemed; this encounter was awkward enough for the unfortunate woman without making her struggle to perpetuate a hasty excuse. "Let me walk you back," she offered, knowing it would be declined.

With a deep bow, Kotono thanked her very politely, "but I wouldn't want to inconvenience you -- I'm sure you have a reason for being in this area -- and I'm close already."

If she'd not actually been in the know, Tokio would certainly have pressed the issue. And, really, in Kotono's situation it seemed rather worse to let her walk home alone than it would be for a regular entertainer who'd been thus mistreated; but if she insisted, Kotono would surely just come up with some other excuse to keep a police officer from finding out that she didn't belong to a geisha house at all. So she only looked thoughtfully and then nodded. Still, she couldn't help defending at least a little this somewhat implausible neglect on her part by saying, "I would insist, but you're right: I'm not here by chance; I shouldn't leave my post if you're sure you'll be all right."

"I'm sure," Kotono replied, this time with a faint, grateful smile -- whether more grateful for the sentiment or for the release from scrutiny, Tokio could not guess. "Thank you." And she turned away.

Tokio watched her, wondering bleakly about the exact circumstances that had led to this, until suddenly the other woman stopped.

"Officer." She turned again.

"Yes," Tokio replied, ready to assist.

"You know Zanza-san, I believe?"

"Yes..." She tried not to sound too curious and surprised. "Do you?"

"I met him once," Kotono replied (and Tokio would have seen through that lie even without prior knowledge), "and he helped me out of a bad situation -- very much like this."

"Well," Tokio remarked with a touch of amused dryness that was intended to come across as mild suspicion or even jealousy, "I'm glad to hear that he does something useful with his free time instead of endlessly getting into fights." She laughed a little. Then, realizing this didn't sound much like a lover's observation, added, "Did you have a message for him?"

Kotono shook her head. "I just wanted to know if he's well."

Or how close I really am to him, even at the risk of your alibi? "Perfectly well," Tokio nodded. "I'll give him your compliments, though."

The geisha schooled her own jealousy admirably, Tokio thought, as she again bowed and relayed her thanks. "Good night, officer."

"Good night." This time Kotono really did walk away, and Tokio, once she was gone, resumed her hidden position and probably fruitless vigil.

She'd known from what Zanza had said that Kotono liked him, but now she couldn't but think he didn't comprehend just how much, how much more affectionate gratitude he might be purchasing in liberating her from the Fushibihan. Tokio knew all too well that not every woman could have the man she thought she loved, but still did not envy Zanza the task of breaking a heart that had already suffered so much. But, then, some things became stronger for being broken, and to have survived this far, Kotono must be strong already -- maybe she'd get through this after all; Tokio hoped so.

Furtive noise, a sudden whisper, a careless footfall, brought her all of a sudden out of these thoughts, and her frown turned to a grin. Maybe there would be a robbery here tonight after all; she hoped so.

"You guys either don't know who I am, or think you're a hell of a lot stronger than you are." Sano turned to face the three Karashi guys who'd given him an increasingly unfriendly eye during the fights over the last couple of weeks and tonight were stopping him on the way in with the air of righteously indignant challengers.

It was more than a little irritating that there were only three of them. Had Tokyo forgotten Zanza so quickly? Sure, it had been a while since he'd last been hired for a fight -- mostly because he just wasn't accessible anymore -- but he didn't think it had been long enough for anyone to consider a group of three sufficient to harass him. Though it occurred to him at all once, now that he thought about it, that he'd lost his last paid fight... and hadn't taken another since... and some people had heard about it... and that couldn't possibly look good. Still... only three of them?

"We're strong enough to deal with pigshit Fushibihan bastards like you," one of the big idiots was replying. "You've got some balls, hanging out around here."

Well, Sano had known this couldn't be too long in coming -- and, as such, had decided what to say. "I don't give a shit about your little rivalries; I hang out wherever I want. I ain't a member of anything, but I'll take a job from anyone who finds me a good fight."

"You found one if you keep giving us bullshit," the guy, a sallow, chunky thug, growled. "Kinda funny you keep your arm covered up like that if you ain't a member of nothing -- maybe you've got something to hide there, like a tattoo or something?" His eyes were narrowed and his mouth sneering, and it seemed he thought he was awfully clever for picking up on this. And of course he was absolutely right about Sano hiding a tattoo there -- but that didn't exactly imply shrewdness.

Sano pulled his left sleeve back so the red wrapping was fully visible, and clenched his fist in the air. "I dare ya to try an' find out," he grinned, dark and defiant.

The primary order of business was to disarm the smallest one, who at Sano's provocation had immediately pulled a pistol; the next was to avoid the relatively inexpert sword of the angry-faced second; the third, the spokesman, was clumsy and of little concern, so Sano was then at liberty to pummel them all as quickly or leisurely as he pleased. Finding them not particularly exciting opponents, he didn't drag it out. And just to be an ass, once the three challengers were lying on the ground in various states of semi-consciousness, he picked up the first man's gun and the second's katana and tossed them into a full gutter.

"Guess if that's what you call a good fight where you come from," he muttered as he turned away from them.

The street to the former warehouse yard where the fights took place was a long, dark lane past other stock-yards that presumably were actually used for their declared purpose. The high walls on either side, interrupted at regular intervals by heavy locked gates, gave the street a very narrow feeling despite its being wide enough for wagons full of goods to be unloaded from, and there were few street lamps. It really was about the best setup imaginable for ongoing illegal brutality.

The fights were not exactly unobtrusive, though. Even with the thick walls and gate, Sano could hear the usual cries and cheers as he drew closer, and see the flicker of light on the building sides visible above. All it would take to shut this whole thing down again was the wrong cop (that is, one who couldn't be bribed) to stroll down this street after dark. As usual, the yakuza was walking a fine line, and so far managing to stay out of trouble.

Sano knocked on the inset door in the gate. The slot slid back briefly, revealing a pair of suspicious eyes, then closed again; they never made him say the password anymore. A moment later the way opened and he went inside.

"There you are, Zanza-san!" The little guy who worked the door was always pleased to see him. "The bets keep getting higher and higher!"

Sano had forgotten he was fighting some popular, relatively big-name thug tonight, and some of these losers actually thought the guy had a chance. Hopefully that meant the fight would be something akin to interesting, but Sano wasn't counting on it. It was actually a little annoying that they were making so much money off him when he wasn't having much fun. Of course the point of this wasn't to have fun, and he was already getting paid by Saitou, but even so... "When do I start getting money for this?" he grumbled.

"Next week," the doorman returned cheerfully, "but I thought you were just in this for the fighting?"

"I would be, if there was anyone even half-interesting to fight. What's next week?"

The other let out a surprised laugh that he cut short with the barest hint of a concerned look as he realized he was laughing at a very dangerous person, unthreatening as the conversation seemed. He cleared his throat and elucidated. "Next week's the start of the real fights. That's when the real warriors show up and things get interesting."

"Oh, that explains it." Sano tried to sound enlightened rather than severely annoyed to learn that he'd been taking part in a sort of preliminary all along.

"First day of the serious stuff's my favorite part of the whole thing!" the doorman grinned. "Even Eisatsu-sama shows up to watch then; the place'll be packed!"

Sano's real attention was now caught, but he thought it best to sound only casually interested still. "And he's pretty important, from what I hear, so it must be worth watching then." But the desire to arouse no suspicion notwithstanding, this was something he wanted to be sure of -- so as the doorman nodded emphatically, Sano added, "But still, does someone like that really have time to come to shit like this?"

"Oh, Eisatsu-sama hardly ever misses a night once the real matches start -- and he'd never miss the beginning, especially the first one in three years!" Apparently Sano looked a little more attentive than he should, for the guy added with a sly smile, "Trying to get noticed, are you?"

Unsure whether to deny this casually, admit it conspiratorially, or just look sheepish at being figured out, Sano must at least have managed not to appear too suspect, as what the doorman said next, with another grin, was, "Well, when you're an important bodyguard, don't forget us little guys, ne?"

Sano grinned back, and at that moment there arose a minor uproar from farther into the yard; this was generally the signal of a knockout, which meant Sano was probably up soon against what's-his-name. He turned in that direction; his mind was full of what he'd just learned and possiblities, but he didn't think that was likely to hinder his fighting in the least.

"I'd say maybe Geshou-san might be more fun for you than the rest," was the doorman's goodbye, "but my money's already on you breaking both his legs."

Glancing back at him, "I'll do it just for you," Sano promised.

"I'll buy you a drink."

Yeah, if you're not in jail or dead, replied the kenkaya silently as he moved away. He'd been developing a severe disliking of yakuza people in general lately.

Whatever awoke Saitou did so not necessarily as any present threat, but merely something he might want to look into; so at first he just lay still trying to decipher what it was. Eventually he sat up as he realized there was someone outside, and from there it took only a moment to determine who was sneaking around his house. What Sano was doing there at four in the morning he couldn't be quite as sure, but it wasn't a displeasing thing.

Standing near the back door, he waited to find out if the boy was capable of getting inside; maybe it was a heretofore unknown exhibitionist hidden within him, but he couldn't resist the temptation to retain as he did so the state in which he had emerged from his bedroom to inspect the external noises -- that is, wearing very little.

Lock-picking was something just about everyone who lived on the streets for even a short period of time picked up, but it didn't surprise Saitou at all that Sano was remarkably bad at it. It might be something to work on later, but for now it was just amusing to listen to Sano cursing under his breath as his continued attempts to get the door unlocked were unsuccessful. When the boy might be getting a little too loud for continued secrecy, however, Saitou reached out and flipped the lock open. By Sano's pleased noise, it seemed the kenkaya thought he'd done it himself.

With a smirk, Saitou retreated silently to a corner as Sano eased the door open and moved cautiously inside, shed his shoes, and took three steps onto the floor. Then Saitou was on him, pressing drawn steel to his neck from behind without warning, as if he really didn't know who was sneaking into his house or actually thought it was some kind of threat or some other reason besides wanting to pull Sano against him in the dark when he was half naked.

Yes, it was a cheap thrill.

Sano stiffened, evidently making a commendable effort not to strike at him. "Let go, you paranoid bastard, it's just me," he hissed.

Saitou waited a few more warm and blissful moments concentrating on every curve, hard and soft, of Sano's body against him before complying, smoothing the smile off his face before Sano had a chance to turn and look at him. "That's a good way to get yourself killed," he admonished. "What are you doing here?"

"I just heard something at the fights that I had to come tell you."

"In the middle of the night?" Tokio wondered from the doorway into the hall, causing Sano to stiffen again. They really would have to work on that...

"Yeah. Next week the fights start getting really serious; most of the little guys stop playing, the stakes go up, all that shit. Guy I was talking to says it'll be packed, and I know it'll be mostly Karashi guys. And it seems like Eisatsu's gonna start turning up to watch at that point."

"And you think it's time to move," Tokio concluded intensely. The idea was not exactly unexciting to Saitou either.

Sano nodded. "After I was done fighting today, I checked out around the other side of the yard, and found the way the big guys get in and out -- it's a side door on the warehouse, and it's on a different street where there's a restaurant-bar thing right across from it. I can set up my party there and then it shouldn't take much to get things heated up between them."

"Will Fushibihan members go to a party in Azabuku, though?" Tokio sounded incredulous, and reasonably so. Saitou would have brought this point up, but as Tokio had advanced into the room and was standing closer to them, he wanted to observe the dynamic between her and Sano a little more carefully than he had in the past.

"If I talk it up right." Sano seemed a little worried about this himself. "Pretty sure I know what I'll need to say, but it kinda depends on what mood Tonshuu's in."

Saitou rolled his eyes. The impression he had of the Fushibihan boss from Sano's description was getting worse and worse; it was a wonder the gang hadn't fallen apart on its own by now. He suspected the fact that the man worked (at least nominally) for an influential politician was a large part of the reason it hadn't. "The Fushibihan isn't our primary target, and it's clear by now that Tonshuu personally isn't much of a threat; it won't matter if we take him out along with the rest of them or let him panic and get himself destroyed after the fact."

Sano's brow furrowed. "Yeah, he doesn't seem like the best leader, but the gang does run pretty smooth... I wanna take him out, though, because of Kotono."

Evidently Tokio had been expecting this, for she was nodding. "Hopefully that won't complicate things too much."

"Could she be considered an informant?" Saitou asked.

With a frown, Sano did not answer immediately. He evidently didn't entirely like that idea.

"If she'd be willing to cooperate on that level," Tokio agreed, "we might be able to get some of the witness protection budget for her. We could find a place to keep her safe until Tonshuu was out of the way, however we end up doing that." Briefly she exchanged with her husband a roll of eyes at the thought of the likelihood of getting any of the witness protection budget.

Seeing that Sano still wasn't replying, "We may need to look into that in any case," Saitou said. "The woman is going to be implicated, and it will need at least to appear that she's providing us with something in return for her freedom."

This time Sano looked over at him darkly, as if the suggestion were cruel. "Why? She's innocent."

"This entire affair is going to become very public after we make our move. We can't be seen letting someone just walk away from it without complication."

"But she's innocent," Sano protested heatedly.

"Do you want to put her through a trial to prove that?" Tokio asked mildly.

"But can't we..." The boy's persistence was dogged, but not very profound. "Can't we get her out quietly or something, so she won't be dragged into all the public stuff?"

"Try to think about this logically," Saitou admonished severely. "She's involved whether anyone likes it or not; there is no quiet way out for her. Offering her a deal is our only option if we don't want to run her through the system along with the rest of them, and may be useful to us too."

Sano was still frowning, but appeared to be giving in. "So I'm gonna wanna get her out before... during the fighting?" He pondered. "I guess it depends on how things work out, especially with Tonshuu."

"It also depends on the layout," Tokio pointed out.

"Do we have a recent map of that area?" Saitou asked her.

"It can't be that recent," replied she, dubiously, "and you usually end up taking the good ones to the station anyway. I'll check while you put something on."

Saitou nodded, avoiding giving any indication of being struck by the pointedness of this remark. He did, however, after throwing on the yukata he probably should already have been wearing, take care to approach very quietly the study where Sano was watching Tokio search through the overlarge number of maps they had in a desk drawer. But they weren't saying anything, so he went in.

"This is the best we're going to get tonight, I think," she said as she spread one open for them to look at. Glancing at Sano she added, "You know the area well enough to correct it, though, right?"

Sano scratched his head. "Uh... maybe..."

With a brief and slightly derisive laugh at this that caused Sano to make a rude gesture at him, Saitou joined them looking at the map. The kenkaya began tracing streets with a finger, and Saitou didn't let his mind dwell too firmly on the manner between Tokio and Sano, and how it didn't seem that of a pair of lovers -- not serious ones, anyway. He could be misreading... but, anyway, there was business to think of before he could analyze.

"This here." Sano tapped a spot on the map. "This is where the fights are. This..." He frowned. "Or is it this one..."

"Never read a map before?" Saitou questioned with mild sarcasm.

"So?" wondered Sano gruffly; it wasn't much of a surprise that he really didn't seem to have read a map before, but to the boy it appeared a source of minor embarrassment. "Well, I think it's this one," he added after a moment. "So the way we all come in is this side, and this is where the bosses and shit come in to watch. This here'd be the restaurant I'm thinkin' about. I checked to make sure they're open late... if I can get enough Fushi guys to come to make a difference, I know it won't be hard to get something started with the guys across the street. But I'm still not sure how to keep Kotono from getting involved."

Saitou ran a finger of his own along a street not far from the one in question. "Ippanmei Hon'you's shop is on this street, or used to be."

"Is it?" Tokio asked at the same moment Sano inquired, "Who's that?"

"A merchant who's done some work for us in the past," Saitou answered him. "It's been a while, though; he may not still be there."

"But if he is, his shop would be a perfect place for the woman to wait, if you can get her there."

Sano, staring at the map, nodded. "I'm not sure how I'm gonna get her out right under Tonshuu's nose, but good."

Saitou was growing a little annoyed at how much of this conversation was revolving around the safety of a misplaced geisha, but as yet he did not plan on reminding Sano that Kotono's freedom was not their primary or even secondary objective; Tokio had used the prospect of achieving it, after all, as a selling point when they'd offered Sano the job in the first place. And as long as the aforementioned objectives were met, Sano could rescue the woman if he chose.

Neither this, however, nor Sano's previous flippant attitude about Kotono's feelings for him were enough to keep Saitou from a hint of jealousy. Which was totally stupid and unreasonable, so he tried not to think about it. Though he did have to wonder whether all this talk of another woman to whose welfare Sano was so hard-headedly devoted was having anything like the same effect on Tokio. He did not let his careful scrutiny of their interaction falter.

"You won't have to keep up your cover once the fighting starts," she was reminding Sano; "knock Tonshuu out if you have to."

The young man's face lit up. "Yeah, that's right! So, I get Kotono to that place -- if it's there -- and go back to make sure the fighting doesn't die down... then you guys come in and haul all their asses off."

"I won't," Saitou replied with quiet, genuine satisfaction.

"That's right," Tokio said teasingly, turning to him as if she had just remembered. "That'll be your big night, won't it?" And she smiled like a proud mother at a child's accomplishments. Sano grinned.

"Yes," agreed Saitou evenly. He might have made a more combative reply, but the thought of killing Raihishuu at last, of finally having fixed on a time to do it, was too engrossing.

Sano's grin widened as he looked at Saitou, and the latter would have liked very much to know more particularly what was inspiring it. After a moment, though, Sano turned back to the map. "The other thing I'm worried about is that Eisatsu's gonna wanna run out the other way the second he gets wind of trouble."

Tokio nodded.

Saitou had thought of this too. "As long as we neutralize the powers connected to Raihishuu," he said, "it isn't so important whether Eisatsu lives or dies--"

"Though it'll drive you crazy to leave him alive," Tokio put in cheerfully.

"The crucial thing is to make sure he isn't available to rebuild after this damage is done, or to pick up any of Raihishuu's pieces," he went on without comment on his wife's interjection.

Tokio caught his train of thought. "So even if we don't arrest him on serious enough charges to get him executed -- or even convicted -- it will be fine as long as he's in jail long enough for the Karashigumi and Raihishuu's organization to fall apart."

Saitou nodded. "And without Raihishuu's backing, there won't be anything to rush him out of jail during that period."

"And people die in jail all the time," finished Tokio innocently.

Sano, who'd been following this with a frown, broke in, "So? That still doesn't solve this problem here." He gestured impatiently to the map.

"The point is," Tokio overrode Saitou's equally impatient reply, "we can grab him on any old charge -- loitering or jaywalking or something -- even two streets away. As long as we can arrest him at the same time as the riot, it'll be just as effective as if we caught him actually involved."

Sano nodded his understanding. "Except for the him being still alive and possibly not getting convicted. Got it."

Saitou studied the map. "We'll station men here and here--" he tapped the outlets of the warehouse street -- "and they'll keep quiet until they're needed. In case he gets wind of them and tries to cut through any of these properties out to the next street, we'll put someone there too."

"And if he tries the other way?" Tokio wondered. "We can't have anyone near the riot dedicated to watching for him."

"We'll have to count on the men in that area to keep their eyes open." Saitou refrained from any type of disparaging comment on the idea of counting on their fellow police for anything even remotely subtle.

"And if he holes up in one of the buildings trying to wait it all out?"

"That would undoubtedly be breaking and entering," Saitou smirked, "and though digging him out would be inconvenient, the crime would make him easier to deal with in the long run."

"Zanza, how much do you know about these other properties on this street?"

"Nothing," Sano replied with a shake of his head.

Saitou nodded sharply. "We need specifics on several things before we can make detailed plans." He turned to Sano. "Get your party set up and find out how many of your Fushibihan friends are likely to come."

"I told you," Sano broke in irritably, "they're not my friends."

Saitou disregarded this protest. "Find out the layout of the restaurant and whatever you can about the owner and staff, especially if they have any yakuza connections. You'll also need to verify, if you can, that Eisatsu really is going to be there next week, and what type of entourage he's likely to have. Then we need to know if there are any other potential entrances or exits in the building or yard where the fights are held, and anything you can find out about the other properties on the street."

Sano had at first been listening with dutiful attention, but after not too long (apparently) Saitou's dictatorial tone began to annoy him, and by the time the entire order had been given he was staring incredulously.

"Do you need me to write it down for you?" Saitou asked into the ensuing silence, raising a brow.

"And when do you want all this?" wondered Sano, his tone bordering on outright disbelief.

"We'll talk about it this afternoon."

"You want me to figure out all that shit today?!" Sano yelped.

Tokio's merciless laugh, he thought, was a good sign. "It's not all that much; trust me."

"We'll talk about how long it's going to take you this afternoon," elaborated Saitou, "once you've talked to some of your friends."

"All right, asshole," the boy mumbled, not bothering to respond specifically to the term this time. The wolf smirked.

"We've got a lot to figure out tomorrow too," Tokio said with a slight smile. "We should probably all get to bed while we've still got the chance."

Though it was a good idea, she said it in large part to test her theory. She knew Hajime had been watching her closely, but it had taken her a bit to determine why. "Zanza," she added, "maybe you'd better get some sleep here instead of going back across town tonight." And it seemed she was right; Hajime's eyes flashed over to Zanza, then quickly back in her direction.

The kenkaya, meanwhile, looked a little surprised at the suggestion, and Tokio hoped with some abrupt embarrassment that he didn't think she meant anything untoward by it. He did seem a bit uncertain as he said thoughtfully, "Yeah, that'd probably be a good idea; I can 'sneak out' same as last time."

Hajime's eyes, Tokio noted, again traced their faces and the space between them -- perhaps even more intently than before at 'last time.'

"You can sleep in here, then," she said in a casual tone that denied the existence of any sort of tension among them. "We've got a spare futon you can use; I'll go get it." And she left the room.

Taking her time locating the aforementioned futon and a blanket to go with, Tokio smiled to herself. Hajime, she'd concluded, had been watching them minutely because he didn't know exactly what her relationship with Zanza was these days and he was trying to figure it out. She'd had no idea he was that much in the dark. It made sense, though, given that this was the first time in quite a while he'd observed them together, so this would have been his first chance to see that they didn't act like lovers. Additionally, her lingering embarrassment about the issue had kept her from mentioning the kenkaya in any personal sense, and she sincerely doubted Zanza would have brought it up with Hajime either. It almost made her laugh how among a mere three people, two of them married to each other, there could exist such a tangle of assumption and misconception.

She gave them a good long time alone together, and returned to the study as quietly as she could. But they weren't saying anything, so she went in. Zanza was examining the bookshelf; Hajime was pretending to examine the map, but was in reality staring at Zanza's back. He looked down at the desk the instant Tokio entered; did he actually think she didn't see it? If he was slipping that badly, it meant it was really starting to bother him.

"Here you are," she said briskly, setting down the rolled futon and folded blanket. "This happens to be the coldest room in the house, but you'll probably end up liking it better than your apartment."

Zanza, turning, grinned slightly. "Thanks; you're probably right."

She retreated to the exit. "Don't worry about sleeping as late as you need to; I'm sure we'll be gone long before you want to get up. Just make sure you set the latch on the door so it locks when you close it on your way out."

Hajime seemed to shake himself, though not exactly in a physical sense, and, after rolling the map, picked it up and joined her. "Do you think he can handle that?" he asked, in what she considered a fairly evident attempt to get his thoughts away from wherever they'd been while she was out of the room.

Zanza snorted as Tokio grinned. Then she pointed at the object in her husband's hand. "You're taking that one in too, are you?"

"I'm going to try to find one of the newer ones," Hajime replied.

"And you're taking that one in."

"Yes."

She shook her head. If he would ever make up his mind whether work was meant to be kept at work or at home... but it was no good debating the matter. "Well, good night, Zanza."

"'yasumi," replied he, yawning.

Then, perhaps a little to everyone's surprise, they both looked at Hajime. His stiff "Good night," which he very clearly wouldn't have said but for their sudden attentiveness, made her struggle to keep a straight face, and she thought that the kenkaya really couldn't help but notice the slightly prolonged glance her husband bestowed him before leaving the room.

She turned to Hajime with narrowed eyes as soon as the door was closed. "And you," she said in a very low tone, "come with me."

With a raised brow he followed as she led him up the hallway into the dining room and thence into the kitchen, which was about the farthest point in the house from where Zanza now was. Pausing to make sure the fighter hadn't tailed them for whatever reason she murmured, "I've come to a very startling conclusion about you."

"Oh?" It seemed he wasn't sure whether to be worried or amused by her secretive manner, and he was definitely curious about the nature of her findings.

But of course there was no chance that she was just going to tell him. Such an opportunity to tease her husband didn't come around every day. "I saw that look," she began sternly.

She thought maybe she'd startled him, but all he did was raise an eyebrow. So he was going to try to bluff his way out of it, was he? And it might have worked if this had really been her first indication of his inclination. As it was... "Don't give me that," she glowered. "I saw you pawing him in the living room, too."

Hajime didn't answer at first; she really thought she'd shaken him. But as he stared at her, his face seemed to harden, and what slight indication there had been of what he was feeling faded away. This was something she was well-accustomed to, so she felt no surprise when his next words were, "Stop playing around."

"You caught me," she smiled. Which was, again, no surprise; they'd done too much acting around each other for any ruse to last. "What I really mean is that there's nothing between him and me, and I just noticed you didn't know that."

He was motionless for a moment, then nodded slowly. "No, I didn't know that," he admitted. "I knew it couldn't be serious, but still I thought..."

"Well, there was..." It was an effort not to turn away or try to hide her blush. "But it was a while ago, and I'd been wondering why you hadn't gone after him yet." Hajime looked a little annoyed, and Tokio had to smile. "I see his cover-story rumors that he and I are having an affair worked even better than he thought."

"Who would have guessed he could lie so convincingly?" Hajime wondered dryly.

"You wouldn't have hired him if you didn't think he could lie at least a little convincingly," she reminded him.

Hajime nodded again.

"Would some little-known trivia make you feel better?" she smiled. "He's got a scar on his hip just here." She gestured. "I don't know what it's from, but it's pink and looks like a--"

"Why have I never killed you?" he broke in, clearly very irritated.

"Because I'm adorable," she smirked. "Now, are you going to be all right with him in the house? Not," she added in a bright, hopeful tone, "going to sneak in there and molest him?"

"And risk losing our foothold in the yakuza this close to the end?" he replied somewhat stonily.

"He'll be good for you," frowned she in return; "he knows how to have fun."

"Jumping to conclusions, are we?"

"Yes, I guess it's too much to hope you could ever learn to have fun."

With a roll of eyes, "Next week we'll see," he said.

She knew this was the best she was going to get out of him -- nothing, not even something that was really starting to bother him, could come before the all-important mission -- but she wasn't done teasing him yet. "Well, do I need to sleep in your room tonight to make sure you're a good boy?"

"I think I can manage to behave myself on my own, thank you."

"Yes, that's the problem," she murmured.

Another roll of eyes accompanied his, "Soreja..." and turning from her.

"Oyasumi," she returned, and did not immediately follow him back down the hall.

However much fun it was to give her husband hell, discussions like this sometimes left her feeling a little lonely, and this one was, in a sense, doubly disturbing on that front. There was no remedy for that, of course, so she merely wandered across the room to a window and stared for a while into the quiet early morning. Really, she had no complaint. And it was nice that there was an end in sight for Raihishuu -- though that could, of course, never excite her as much as it did Hajime. At this thought, Tokio smiled again, and, leaving the forlorn window, made her way back to bed. She had a busy day in front of her tomorrow.

Sano woke to a silence much more profound than he was accustomed to and a feeling of displacement that lasted much longer than anything but a hangover could usually account for. The moment he remembered that he'd spent the night at Saitou and Tokio's place, though, he jumped up and threw on his gi.

He wasn't sure what time it was, but, though it was earlier than he really wanted to get up, he doubted either of them would be here. Opening the study door, he stepped into the hallway of a very quiet house, and considered his guess confirmed. He had to grin. Although only once before had he been inside here, somehow, even alone, he didn't feel as out of place as he probably should have. Indeed, he felt remarkably unrestrained and even at home.

Back when the prospect of fighting a cowardly, treacherous former Shinsengumi captain had made him tremble with anger and excitement, if anyone had told him that within a couple of months he would be waking up comfortably and wandering alone in that same man's house, he would have laughed in their face. Now he just wondered if there was any food around here.

But before going into the kitchen to analyze the matter, he couldn't resist satisfying his curiosity about the two rooms he hadn't yet seen. Unsure why he was so curious, he yet felt compelled to take advantage of what was perhaps the only chance he would ever get.

The first chamber was obviously Tokio's; the meticulously neat and yet homelike atmosphere was exactly what he had expected of her. Otherwise uninteresting, however, it soon failed to hold his attention. Into the second he stared a bit longer.

This also was pretty much what he'd anticipated: sparse functionality bearing the lingering scent of cigarettes... but somehow he found it much more engrossing than the previous view, found unexpected and somewhat random questions springing into his head about Saitou's sleeping habits. Would the guy seem less impervious when he was asleep? Less harsh? He was a light sleeper; that was certain; else he would not so easily have apprehended Sano in the attempt at sneaking into the house.

Abruptly he was wondering if Saitou ever had lovers. With the two bedrooms sharing a wall like this, how would they... manage that... exactly? Sano blushed. Obviously, Saitou would go to the other person's place in that event, just like Tokio did. And that was drawing near subjects best left uncontemplated, so he resolutely closed the door to Saitou's bedroom and headed for the kitchen.

The latter, however, proved defiant against even Sano's scrounging genius. Its scrupulously organized contents, more even than Tokio's bedroom, spoke as clearly as the woman herself could that disorder would not be tolerated here. Sano stared for several moments, a little nervously, at the perfect rows of spices and garnishes and whatever else, and retreated. He could find less complicated, less intimidating food on the way to the Fushibihan's hall.

The feeling he got on the way there -- that today's session of meaningless totem-work was going to be even more frustratingly boring than usual -- was quickly proven accurate. Kotono was in and out all afternoon, and when she was around she seemed too tired and dejected for much interesting conversation. And then he got to listen wistfully to the rain outside as he did pretty much nothing inside -- some tension among some of the peons made it obvious that Sano's departure at this point would not be appreciated.

Well, if he wasn't going to be able to report to Saitou today, that just gave him more time to work on the impossible list so he might actually have something to report next time he did see him. Still, sparring with the cop would have been a welcome entertainment and relief. But instead the afternoon dragged on and on, and by the time late evening had Tonshuu finally talking about going home, Sano felt like he would rather have submitted to a severe beating at Saitou's hands than this feeling of having miserably wasted the day.

Once he was free of the posturing nothingness that was yakuza leisure, it was time to go endure the posturing nothingness of the Azabuku fights. It was a shame these were going to be shut down after next week... how maddening to think he'd been putting up with the dull preliminaries all this time only to bring the whole thing to an inglorious halt just as it promised to start living up to the rumors of its former excitement.

It certainly was far from living up to them tonight. Only the confirmation, rather easily-obtained from multiple sources, that Eisatsu always attended the first night when the fights got serious, could console him for the glaring lack of the most minimal excitement in the scene. Even wasting his money eating at the restaurant across the way, chatting up its proprietors, and getting an idea of its layout was more interesting than the two one-hit fights and several roundabout conversations he took part in with the Karashi guys.

Dawn was approaching by the time he headed home, glad to be finished with these insipid dealings (for now) and looking forward to a few hours of sleep that promised to be much more entertaining than the last eighteen hours of whatnot. But this plan was to be interrupted. Fortunately, it was by the very first pleasant interval of the day.

"Sano!"

Recognizing the voice at once, Sano turned with a grin. "Yo!"

"I'm glad I ran into you," said a pleased-looking Katsu. "Are you busy, or can you come join me for a drink at home?"

"Shit, man..." Sano groaned, "don't give me choices like that." He really should go home; he had more work to do tomorrow, and he was cutting short his hours of rest after a limited sleep last night already... but a drink with Katsu sounded very appealing.

"You're always busy lately," agreed Katsu, amused, "but you always want a drink."

After several long and agonizing moments, Sano nodded. "I kinda need to sit down for a bit and just relax," he said, but unfortunately this was pure bullshit to justify the indulgence. He'd had more sitting and relaxing, thanks to Tonshuu, than anyone needed in one lifetime.

Though he refrained from comment, Katsu's knowing smile was enough to show his recognition of the flimsiness of this excuse.

"So how's your project doing?" Sano asked as they turned together and headed in the direction of Katsu's neighborhood, whose proximity was doubtless the reason they'd managed to coincide in the first place.

"Better and better," the other replied with dark pleasure. "Not only are more people interested in buying each one, more people are interested in contributing to each one. Only the other day I was contacted by a former Choushuu samurai who had a lot to say... all of my samurai opinion pieces so far have been from the Tokugawa perspective, so this is an excellent opportunity to round things out."

"I'll have to try and get my hands on it."

"By the way, do you ever have problems reading it?"

From anyone else this question would probably have annoyed Sano. Well, annoyed him more. From Katsu it was a professional inquiry that required an answer. "A couple times I did so far, but mostly not."

His friend nodded as they drew up to his apartment. "I try to keep the language accessible, but I'm sure sometimes I miss things."

Sano shrugged. The truth was, though he did make time to read Katsu's publications, it wasn't with as much enthusiasm as if there had been more free moments in his day-to-day life of late.

The artist, who must easily recognize his friend's state, smiled. "Things on your end are wearing you out, I see."

"A little," admitted Sano. And as soon as they were safely inside with the door closed, he gave a brief synopsis of the situation. "So stay out of Azabuku Wednesday and Thursday," he concluded, "just to be safe."

In the process of preparing the promised sake, Katsu made the expected admonishment of care, which Sano, of course, laughed off. Then, as the artist sat down next to where Sano had sprawled out on the floor and closed his eyes, he made the unexpected, thoughtful comment, "I keep seeing that woman." He was referring, of course, to Tokio, as Sano had just mentioned her.

"And..?" Sano wondered without looking.

"And what?"

There didn't seem to be any reason for the evasiveness of that 'and what?' so Sano sat up and demanded impatiently, "You keep seeing her aaand... I keep seeing her too. What's your point?"

"She's interesting."

Sano was skeptical. "Interesting how?"

"She has this deadly saunter to her walk... as if she knows she's beautiful but isn't going to let you touch her... no, as if she knows she's beautiful but isn't going to let that get in the way of her doing her job... which involves not letting you touch her."

Though he'd definitely had his share of Tokio-admiration, Sano had never noticed this. "I... I guess you're right," he said a little uncertainly, trying to recall the way she walked.

"You wouldn't see it if she wore normal clothing..."

"Yeah..." He supposed Katsu was right, but this was really...

"And she has a perfect nose."

"Katsu, are you..."

"I tried to draw it once," the artist continued absently, "but I couldn't get it right."

Sano was staring. "Man, if you've got a thing for Tokio, you should have said something about it ages ago."

"Sano," Katsu said in a tone that suggested he assumed he was being teased and didn't appreciate it, "there would have been little point to it, as she was just as much married 'ages ago' as she is today."

Recalling his own excessive reflections on that same subject, Sano had to laugh.

Apparently still disliking the perceived teasing, Katsu just glared slightly.

"Saitou likes men," Sano said, deciding not to keep his friend in the dark any longer, for all the fun it could have been to lead him on for a while. "He and Tokio are friends, but not really into the whole husband-wife thing."

Katsu's eyes had widened slightly at the first statement, and by the time Sano stopped speaking his face had taken on that look of guarded elevation that meant he was mulling over an idea he really liked. "Sou ka?" he said quietly.

Sano laughed again. "Toldja you should have said something ages ago. And, shit, man, don't you remember -- I had a thing going with her for a bit."

"I had assumed that when you said it 'didn't work out,' you meant because she was married."

"That almost makes sense," Sano chuckled. "Man, I can't believe this. How long have you been in love with her?"

"'In love' is a very strong term to use for someone I barely know," Katsu said mildly, but Sano thought he was blushing just a little. "But I've admired her for quite some time."

"Well, maybe you are in love," Sano teased, enjoying that slight blush. "I mean, do you know you're not? Have you ever been in love before?"

"Who's to say?" Katsu's voice was fading into that sort of absent, speaking-by-necessity tone that indicated his true reflections were fixedly elsewhere; Sano wouldn't have thought that was possible in the midst of being teased. "When it's over, I usually look back and wonder what I was thinking, but at the time I've thought so, on occasion."

Sano considered this for a moment and then asked on impulse, thinking of Saitou, "Ever with a man?"

"Only taichou," Katsu laughed, brought back to a certain extent from the distant field of his private thoughts. "Why?"

Sano shrugged. "I've just been thinking about it lately. Saitou told me that, about him, and it just... seems weird."

"It's a matter of taste, I suppose," Katsu shrugged. "I've never had part in it myself, but as it's been going on forever I assume it's enjoyable enough."

Katsu's immediate return, after this, to the abstract expression and evidently far-removed contemplation brought Sano's thoughts back to the more important issue. "The other reason you should've said something ages ago," he said pointedly, "is that right now is the worst time ever for you to talk to her about it. 'Cause you are going to talk to her about it, right?"

Katsu maintained his silence for another moment and finally answered calmly, "Yes. Why the worst time ever?"

"Because I bet she won't even think about it until after this whole thing's over. The gang shit and Raihishuu and everything, I mean. Maybe if you'd talked to her two weeks ago it'd be all right, but right now's just too close to the end."

With a nod, Katsu remained silent.

"But Thursday or Friday I expect to see you an' her out together or something, got that?" Sano tried for as authoritative a tone as he could manage, and ended up sounding a bit like Saitou. Well, Saitou rather was his model for good authority these days, though admitting that was a little distasteful.

Following Katsu's submissive smile, quiet settled in the room, each young man lost in thoughts of his own, until Sano suddenly yawned enormously and uncontrollably. "I gotta get going before I drop dead," he groaned.

Pulled yet again a certain distance out of his tight circle of pensiveness, Katsu gave Sano what was almost a smirk. "If people knew that the mighty kenkaya Zanza can be so easily defeated by a little sleep deprivation..."

"I'd still kick their asses," Sano finished, sticking out his tongue as he got to his feet.

The artist also stood, dragging himself fully back to the here and now. "I don't need to tell you again to be careful," he said, "but make sure you don't put off coming to see me once it's over... or I'll print your dark secret and everyone will know how to defeat you."

Sano snorted out a laugh. "How the hell would that help anyone? 'Sleep deprivation' ain't exactly a weapon you can carry around."

"I'm sure you can buy it bottled somewhere," Katsu grinned.

"Good night," Sano replied, returning the expression with a shake of his head.

Saitou, though he had borne his similarly unfulfilling day with greater patience, was a little annoyed that Sano had not bothered to contact him. He was aware that the boy couldn't always make it to their field in the afternoons, but this stage of the proceedings called for a greater level of coordination than they had previously maintained -- some form of contact, even if it was merely to report a complete lack of progress, seemed appropriate. Even Sano must see it that way, surely. Yet Saitou had not heard from him.

Of course there was always the possibility that something had happened to prevent it: that Sano had slipped up, blown his cover, and Saitou would never hear from him again... but somehow he didn't think this was the case. Somehow he didn't think his intense desire to talk to the young man, or his annoyance that he hadn't, was entirely or even mostly professional, either.

Tokio's revelation had been a shock not to his logic, but to his emotions. He'd been making his way toward the same conclusion on his own already, but to have her put it into words, to have it explicitly stated that there was a clear path before him at last, made all the difference. It was no wonder he wanted now to use the new vision she'd given him to take a better look at his object of infatuation. But Sano had never shown up.

Thus it was with understandable impatience that he waited in the field the next day. If Sano did not appear, Saitou really would have to go track him down. Infatuated or not, he couldn't wait any longer for information. And today he was not disappointed, on that score at least.

"Mornin'," Sano greeted him as he approached, hands in pockets, through the wet grass.

"Hardly," Saitou replied.

"Whatever," yawned the younger man. "Might as well be." And he really did look quite tired.

"I hope you have good news to go with those bags under your eyes."

"I have bags?"

Saitou smirked.

"I didn't even do anything fucking tiring yesterday," the boy grumbled.

"What did you do?"

"I figured some shit out." He began to count off points on his fingers. "Unless something big and unexpected happens, Eisatsu'll definitely be there. I'm pretty sure there's no other exit to the property where the fights are besides the two we know about. The guy who runs the restaurant's name's Ourumo, and he seems pretty paranoid about gangs. Probably the Karashi harass him or 'protect' him -- not that it ain't the same thing. The other staff are his family, so they probably have the same attitude. There's a back door and a cellar door that both open into a yard. Uh... what else..."

"Tonshuu?" Saitou suggested.

"Oh, yeah. I haven't had a chance to bring it up yet; I'll try again soon as I get back in there."

Saitou nodded. "And the other properties on the street?"

"Haven't got to that one yet."

"And what about Eisatsu's entourage? I'm sure you can't ask too many questions about him at once; can you find out tonight?"

"Probably." Sano added with another yawn, "If I can stay awake that long..."

Saitou thought this as good as an invitation to wake the boy up, though not quite in the manner he would have preferred. Their spars had continued at the same level of intensity to which they'd abruptly risen when Sano had started being desperately bored with gang activity, Saitou desperately frustrated with not killing Raihishuu; and though it was not perhaps as educational as it would otherwise have been, it was certainly more therapeutic.

They stopped when Sano managed to get in a rather good hit. It wasn't at all to Saitou's specifications, but Sano was extremely pleased with himself. His silly exultations led to what was probably Saitou's worst moment of temptation so far. Sano was not expecting further attack; Saitou could have them on the ground in half an instant, could have his mouth and hands and body all over Sano's before the boy had time to gasp.

Not -- yet -- he had to tell himself harshly. Not until after Wednesday night. He had waited this long; he could wait a few more days.

Sano had become aware of his gaze, but instead of appearing nervous as he had last time, he just grinned. And at this Saitou's resolve nearly snapped. In the face of what he considered encouragement, it was nigh impossible to worry that an overture would be met with refusal and discomfort that would negatively impact their professional relationship at this crucial time. Only the awareness that the positive reaction of which he did not despair would be distracting enough to have an equally negative impact kept him from seizing Sano that moment and kissing him violently.

The boy was wringing out his gi, an action that seemed rather idiotic as the rain had not yet completely stopped, and saying, "Now I gotta go pretend I actually wanna spend more time with Tonshuu."

Saitou nodded. "Find some way to report tomorrow," he ordered, "even if you can't get away in the afternoon."

"Yeah, sure," yawned Sano, slinging his wet garment over his shoulder; as he turned, Saitou watched with some interest the way it slapped against bare skin. He did not trust himself to attempt an impartial goodbye.

In very much the same mood as the first day they'd practiced here, he kept his eyes on the young man until Sano was out of sight, standing still in the dying rain, smoking a cigarette and thinking. But testimony to the organization and dedication of his mind was the fact that it was fairly evenly divided between Sano and the approaching culmination of their efforts, and soon the latter took over his thoughts.

He'd already gotten the police chief's assurance that a team would be available for Tokio's use Wednesday night, but this could be no more than a tentative reservation until Sano had set things up with the yakuza. And of course the one task of Sano's on which Saitou's most heavily depended was one of those he hadn't completed yet. It wasn't the most last-minute-style plan they'd ever employed, and he'd known ever since they'd come up with it that he was likely to end up waiting on Sano to get something finished before he could do his own part... but, though it wasn't going to kill him, he didn't really appreciate another source of impatience.

His biggest worry in this situation, actually, was that word would somehow leak and Eisatsu would avoid the trap. Obviously, then, not letting the men know exactly what they were reserved for Wednesday night was essential. Of course it was habit by now to keep an eye open for spies and traitors within any organization he was a part of, but he didn't work closely with the general police force enough to be sure hadn't missed anyone.

The other concern, less severe but still present, was the issue of leaving Tokio in charge of containing the gang fight. Things would go smoothly if she had her way, but that depended on the others actually following her orders. They generally didn't directly disobey when they knew she was in command, but they had a tendency to obey skeptically and sluggishly. Naturally this frustrated her to no end, but as long as there was no outright defiance she refused to take the issue to a higher authority. Saitou thought this was a situation where pride should defer to expediency, but he was not the one fighting to be taken seriously.

He always hoped a successful venture would change things, but it never did. They would have to see what effect the outcome of Wednesday's venture would have on general loyalty. That, of course, was assuming things went well, on which subject Saitou had his worries to begin with. Not that there was any reason it shouldn't work out. They'd made allowances for any number of possibilities, and though Saitou was well aware that whatever was unexpected had a tendency to appear -- unexpectedly -- and get in the way, it wasn't a particularly complicated plan; they should not have trouble carrying it through. And yet he didn't feel entirely at ease thinking about it. It was that subtle but pervasive sort of worry that wouldn't be dispelled by logic. Was it just because both Tokio and Sano were involved?

He shook his head and looked around for his discarded jacket and shirt. The rain was slackening, and that meant it was definitely time for him to stop standing around.

Whatever the reason for his concern, Wednesday night couldn't come -- and go-- too soon.

It had become a standing joke among the Fushibihan frequenting the hall in the afternoons and evenings that rain made Zanza restless and bloodthirsty. Naturally Sano encouraged this with shrugs and sheepish laughter and made-up accounts of the fights he got into when he went out on his walks through the downpour. That nobody ever suggested in front of him that this behavior was rather bizarre suggested they were sufficiently intimidated, and Sano was satisfied.

Today, however, there was no excuse he could think of for his heightened perturbation after returning from his training with Saitou. So when Kotono remarked on it quietly, Sano had to say the first thing he could think of that would fit his intentions: "I've been a little bored lately."

"Disproving the theory that only boring people become bored," she smiled. "You should ask Tonshuu-sama for something entertaining to do."

The two of them always sat to either side of the boss, just behind him, and this, Sano had found, made it easy for them to carry on a soft conversation whenever Tonshuu's attention was busy elsewhere -- each with an eye on the proceedings, of course, in case the services they were there to provide should be called for.

"I'm thinking of having a party, actually." He glanced around at the others in the room, taking in the details of the dice game going on outside Tonshuu's alcove before continuing. "I found this great restaurant... serves really good kare-raisu." The latter was a favorite of Tonshuu's, and Sano was flat-out lying about the quality of the dish at the restaurant in question.

Kotono smiled again. "I'm sure you've earned some fun after sitting here patiently for so long with only me to talk to."

Sano frowned. He knew he was supposed to turn that into a compliment by contradicting it, but couldn't quite think how to word it. "Don't say stuff like that," was all he came up with.

If she was disappointed at his lack of eloquence, she did not show it, merely went on, "And everyone has been working so hard lately... I'm sure any of our friends would be happy to be included." She always referred to the other gang members as 'our friends...' probably because she preferred not to use more specific terms in reference to the organization in which she was trapped.

"Hell, I'll include anyone who wants to come -- the bigger, the better, right?" He grinned. "I just can't pay for 'em all."

Kotono abruptly left the conversation at this point, as it was growing painfully clear that Tonshuu's limited smoothness was not making a friend of the somewhat haughty, well-dressed man with whom he'd been negotiating, that he needed Kotono to charm the guy into compliance.

Sano couldn't help glowering at the latter as he wondered whether Kotono would end up in the newcomer's bed. He didn't even know who it was -- some representitive of some rich person -- but he was more than sure that whatever truce was being reached couldn't be a good thing, especially if Kotono, as she often did, became the seal on the deal. She played her part exceptionally well, though; her geisha's poise and elegance of expression never faltered, and if the thought of sleeping with this man was distasteful to her, she certainly gave not the slightest hint of it.

After the issue had been resolved -- satisfactorily, Sano thought, though he hadn't been paying attention to anything more than the atmosphere -- Kotono turned back. Only then, catching his eye, did she appear a little embarrassed or unhappy. But all she said was, "That will be helpful," evidently in reference to whatever had just been accomplished.

Sano cleared his throat, struggling not to say what he wanted to say, which would certainly get him in serious trouble. The best way to get Kotono out of this, he reminded himself firmly, was to proceed with the plan. And now that Tonshuu was finished with whatever, the time had come for Sano to try his luck.

"So, kumichou," he began amicably, his eyes sliding gratefully away from Kotono's face toward the boss, "whaddya say to partying with me and some of the guys Wednesday night?"

Tonshuu gave a benevolent and complacent smile. "Turning into a team player at last, Zanza-kun?"

This statement was irritating from beginning to end. Not only did he abhor being called 'Zanza-kun,' the implication that he was 'turning into a team player' with the yakuza was... well, it was technically exactly what he wanted. But that didn't mean he liked it. So he just grinned and shrugged.

And Tonshuu, with that same condescending smile, turned back to his supervision of the room as if Sano's offer had been nothing more than idle conversation.

Even more annoyed, Sano wasn't sure what to say. As he was trying to decide how to carry the point without sounding like it was desperately important, Kotono said mildly, "I would certainly enjoy it."

Tonshuu turned back immediately as if he'd been part of the discussion and taking the matter seriously all along. "Of course it would be delightful to relax for an evening," he said reluctantly, "but you know how busy I am..."

Kotono did not seem to acknowledge this remark, but instead asked Sano, "Where is this splendid kare-raisu restaurant you've found?"

"'Cross town," Sano replied, making very sure to speak as unconcernedly as possible; this was a critical moment. "In Azabuku." When Kotono and Tonshuu both looked surprised, he manufactured an expression of innocent confusion. "What?"

Tonshuu broke into a pleased chuckle. "That's just like you, Zanza-kun, not to care about anyone's territory!"

"Oh!" Sano exclaimed in an enlightened tone. "Yeah, those Karashigumi bastards do hang out around there..." He shrugged. "But they never bother me."

"Of course they don't!" Sano got the feeling that Tonshuu would have clapped him on the back if they'd been arranged properly for it. This was exactly the reaction he'd been seeking -- for the boss to be impressed and pleased with Sano's careless bravado, heartened by his assurance that the Karashi didn't bother him, and to see the entire scheme therefore as a casual and relatively secure way to move in on the other gang's territory.

But, glad as he was of Tonshuu's reaction, Sano couldn't help having his attention drawn more to the quiet, sighing remark Kotono made at about the same moment: "They're businessmen just like we are..."

Sano wanted to sigh as well. Somebody that sympathetic, somebody who saw everyone equally without petty, fabricated borders to differentiate them, should never have gotten involved in yakuza affairs in the first place and needed to get out of them now. But he dragged himself away from such reflections in order to widen his own grin and say, "You know I've always got your back, so you won't mind dropping in, right? I wouldn't wanna keep you from all the shit you've gotta do just to drink with your faithful bodyguard, but maybe just for a little bit..?" And maybe he'd lain it on a little thick there...

Then, in the most disconcerting moment of the conversation, and possibly of Sano's entire time with the Fushibihan, Tonshuu looked from Kotono's face to Sano's, his comfortable smile broadening and his eyes narrowing slightly. "Yes," he said, "I think there might be time to stop by."

Sano couldn't help throwing a glance of his own at the woman, and found that her eyes were sparkling faintly with a degree of happiness he rarely saw there. Turning again, he caught a knowing look on Tonshuu's round face.

This was disturbing. It was no surprise that Tonshuu was aware of Kotono's preference for Sano -- by now everyone must be, after all... what was startling was that he seemed to approve. And whether that was because he thought it would solidify his showman-guard's loyalty to give him a turn with his whore, whether he thought to offer Kotono a rare reward for her abject slavery, or whether perhaps he wanted the two of them to make a false step and betray themselves to his vengeance... Sano was not at all pleased that their union seemed to be expected by their boss.

He was also afraid Kotono would want to take the chance, whatever Tonshuu's reasoning and however dangerous it might be, and Sano was not interested. Beyond that, it was infuriating to think that he might be the latest recipient of the inhumane gift with which Tonshuu seemed to become freer each day but that by right was not his to give. He could only hope that his anger would come across as jealousy, desire for Kotono, or something else remotely useful, and not what it really was.

Tonshuu turned his smile back to the room, and the moment passed. The discomfort, however, did not. Kotono's shining eyes certainly were not calculated to ease him, and the enthusiasm of her conversation for the rest of the evening was downright dangerous, Sano thought, with the boss sitting right there. Tonshuu didn't seem to be paying attention, but perhaps he was just waiting for privacy to remonstrate her for the flirtateous behavior. Well, they would know tomorrow by the state of her face.

Looking at its current state, at the evidence of bruises carefully powdered yet not entirely concealed, he worked to return her smiles. For all he still had to do before then, Wednesday couldn't come quick enough.

They'd been over the plan about a hundred times, at least once with every new development -- with the assurance that a good number of Fushibihan guys were glad to take advantage of Zanza's apparent attempt to suck up to the boss; with the confirmation that they could make use of the merchant Ippanmei's shop; with the incredibly dull information Sano managed to gather about the other warehouse properties near the fights; with the apparently rather laboriously-acquired details on Raihishuu's probable schedule for the day in question; with every damn thing they discussed that week.

Working through details and what-if's, they'd traced threads of possibilities much farther into the future than Sano ever planned for anything. Saitou and Tokio were downright exhaustive, and Sano was getting tired of it. So it was an effort to control his impatience when Saitou insisted on making sure everything was clear one last time Wednesday afternoon before training.

The police team would take their places by nine o'clock, early enough to avoid being sighted by related parties. They would be equipped with a couple of prisoner wagons, also previously concealed, and all the weaponry they were allowed. To avoid information leaking and other unforseen complications (Saitou was not very confident in his police subordinates, Sano had noticed), they would only be briefed just prior to leaving the station, and would go to their positions in the Azabuku streets by diffuse pattern.

Sano would stir up the gangs and get the fighting started at his discretion (Saitou smirked when he used this phrase), then escort Kotono to the shop where she could safely hide out until it was all over; this would be the signal for the police to move in. While Tokio supervised riot containment and arrested yakuza en masse, Sano's task would be to assist in the apprehension of Eisatsu, whose bodyguards, if the rumors were true, might prove to be the most difficult obstacle in this scenario. Since, regardless of the nearly-finished state of this particular case, it didn't seem wise to make it clear that Sano was working with the police, there would be no visible exchange of orders between him and any of the cops. It could be assumed (and, indeed, implied) that his involvement in this affair was just another facet of his relationship with Tokio.

Meanwhile, Saitou, of course, would be across town quietly killing someone he'd wished dead for months. He would meet Tokio at the police station afterward, and the two of them would do all sorts of police stuff, the description of which didn't bear paying attention to, while Sano hung out at their house. It seemed best to Saitou that Sano disappear for at least a few days after this gang mess, for various reasons, and Sano agreed. It meant he got to eat free for that long at any rate, and sample at last the much-celebrated cooking powers of Tokio in doing so.

Finding a little odd Saitou's distance and lack of even a faint teasing remark in response to this jovial anticipation of Sano's, it took the younger man a few moments to realize wh