The days between Sano's leaving the clinic and Tokio's being judged healthy enough to do the same had been too convenient an opportunity of having the house entirely to themselves to pass up. It gave rise to a sort of game whose object was to see exactly how loud and profane Sano could become when properly encouraged, with bonus points awarded if Saitou too was inspired to any significant volume or colorful language. The irony of being able to enjoy a sort of honeymoon with his new lover thanks to the absence of his fully-consenting wife did not escape Saitou; it was a good deal more welcome than the other ironies he'd been suffering over the past few months.

Sano had been pleasurably eager to, as he'd put it, satisfy his curiosity about loving another man, a topic whose finer points Saitou was more than happy to teach. Even more gratifying, perhaps, was Sano's developing habit of being at Saitou's house whenever Saitou was -- regardless of whether they were likely to have sex. Not that Saitou was particularly worried that Sano's interest in him was merely physical (given Sano's lack of experience in that area), but Saitou's own more-than-physical interest in Sano caused him to look for signs of similar feelings in Sano sooner and more covetously than he otherwise might have. And Sano's undiscriminating presence, Saitou thought, was such a sign.

By the time Tokio returned home, Sano was already so accustomed to dropping by whenever he felt like it and often staying all night that it would have been pointless to attempt breaking him of the habit. Tokio's cooking provided an additional draw, and Saitou had to try not to be jealous at this division of incentive. When he could keep his jealousy under control, it was unexpectedly pleasant to have both Sano and Tokio around at once; there was a feeling of camaraderie among them that he hadn't experienced since his days in the Shinsengumi and that he had never thought to recapture. In fact, Sano was more of a friend than any lover Saitou had ever had -- perhaps because they argued more than he had with any previous lover, perhaps because of their simultaneous business arrangement -- and Saitou was certain this was a good sign.

It was the aforementioned business arrangement that kept his thoughts on the practicality of Sano's habits. Being madly infatuated with the boy didn't blind Saitou to his potential continued usefulness, nor to the effect a perceived alteration in their relationship could have on that usefulness. He'd been long aware that Sano might have only a single use as a double agent, but didn't want to accept that expediency until he had to. So he tried to keep their interactions as subtle and quiet as he could. Given Sano's loud and straightforward tendencies, this endeavor was about as successful as could be expected.

Admittedly it was an exercise in self-control not to encourage Sano to spend every moment of every day with him without reference to anything as unromantic as spywork. Saitou didn't think he'd ever been this taken with someone this early in a relationship. Even considering the time he'd spent already interested before the "relationship" had actually begun, still he felt himself to be at a far more advanced state of infatuation than was usual.

He wondered if Sano was aware of the extent to which his carefree energy and intensity -- not to mention his unbelievable body -- had captivated Saitou. Did he notice that Saitou couldn't give him just a brief kiss, was compelled to come back for a longer one whenever he attempted it? Could he tell that when he was around, Saitou was pulled as if by gravity toward him and could hardly stand to remain as far away as the other side of a small table? Might he not guess, from Saitou's looks and gestures, to what extent he was on the officer's mind? Considering how clueless he'd been about this sort of thing for the last two months... probably not.

At times Saitou wanted to tell him, but knew it could only lead to an argument if he said he thought it was strange how much he liked his lover. Not that it bothered him, particularly, to argue with Sano... but somehow it wasn't a topic he felt like bringing up just yet. They had plenty to talk -- and argue -- about as it was. It was fascinating how Sano could turn even the most trivial topic into a conversation and usually a debate. For all Sano lacked common sense, he certainly was able to make the most unexpected things interesting.

As a matter of fact, Saitou would go so far as to say he made life interesting. But not out loud. Not just yet.

Sano was becoming gradually accustomed to the feeling of arms around him as he slept -- less cuddly, more possessive, and a good deal stronger than any that had held him thus in the past -- and had also gotten used to Saitou's face being one of the first things he saw on many mornings, if not throughout all of his dreams. This morning, however, his first sight on waking was a little disconcerting.

They were at his place, as they often had been of late since Tokio had expressed her desire not to know the details of what went on between them at night. This wasn't a problem at all, since the knowledge that Tokio could hear them through the wall was all kinds of awkward for Sano; beyond that, Saitou had proven from the very beginning that he didn't need a nice bed in a nice house in a nice neighborhood to turn Sano's reality upside-down. But this morning, as Sano lifted his heavy lids and took the first deep breath of the day, his eyes met a scene that he'd seen once before: a haphazard clutter of blue, black, and white on his floor, with a certain kanji coincidentally draped over his table making a tacit statement or perhaps asking a question.

Disconcerting it was... but nothing more. Sano had not regretted thus far, nor did he think he would ever regret, the choice he had made to break his own vow and accept Saitou physically as his lover. It might have been a little discouraging to realize he'd been wrong in that resolution and right in abandoning it, but the satisfaction he felt on a daily basis at having this interesting person so close to him erased any such emotion. And at the moment he could only feel a growing sense of vindication and happiness at a sight that might otherwise have been remonstrative. He could even have spoken a retort out loud to that ambivalent kanji, but thought it might be a little embarrassing explaining these particular thoughts to Saitou.

The latter must have realized Sano was awake, for he tightened his previously-lax arm across the young man's chest and pressed his lips to the back of Sano's neck. His good morning, however, was typical of that greeting from that source: "You need a bath."

"Only if you're gonna come with," Sano replied, stretching. It was more like writhing, actually, and its purpose was mostly to enjoy the sensation of his bare flesh rubbing all along Saitou's. He did feel a little dirty, but there might have been more than one reason for that.

Saitou made a noise that seemed to express interest in the proposal, but what he said as he stripped away their blanket and sat up was, "Maybe if I didn't have work to do."

Sano always received a sort of jolt at seeing Saitou like this: naked, relaxed, and so good-looking it made his blood race... it came as almost a shock just how attractive the man was to him. At the moment he was torn between simply staring and the new, compelling mental image of bathing together. He wasn't sure how it had happened that a couple of weeks had passed without their trying that particular activity. To that end, "I'll wait for you, then," he said.

"I might consider that flattering," Saitou remarked as he began picking pieces of his uniform from among Sano's clothing across the floor, "if I didn't think it was only an excuse to put off bathing."

Sano frowned, the enjoyable daydream slipping, and broke off what was a real stretch this time in order to sit up and direct the expression at his lover. "Why the hell would I want to make 'an excuse to put off bathing?'"

The movement by which Saitou insinuated shoulders and chest into his shirt was something like a shrug. "I have no idea why you dislike bathing, but it's evident that you do."

"What are you trying to say?" demanded Sano. "You think I smell bad or something?"

"I would be in a position to know," Saitou pointed out.

Now Sano was glaring outright. "All right, for your information--" He lifted an arm and bent to sniff at the area beneath it-- "I smell the same as I always do."

Saitou just gave him a mild look of raised brows.

"Hey!" protested Sano. "Don't you dare say I always smell bad!"

"No, just often enough to convince me it's your preferred state." Saitou was now fastening the last buttons of his jacket and adjusting the collar, looking completely unperturbed by Sano's outrage.

Sano jumped up and turned away. "God, you jerk! And here I was just thinking nice shit about you, too."

"Unfortunately," Saitou smirked -- Sano could hear the smirk -- "that doesn't really change anything." He also seemed discernably curious, though.

Well, Sano was not going to tell him a damn thing. "Go off to your non-smelly police friends, then," he said.

Saitou gave a brief, sardonic laugh, startling Sano slightly with his proximity (sneaky bastard), and slipped an arm around Sano's bare chest. "I will." His other hand squeezed one of Sano's buttocks briefly as he added, "Take a bath."

With a very undignified startled sound, Sano spun in time to see Saitou slipping out the door. He stuck his tongue out in that direction as the latter closed, then turned again, arms folded. Take a bath, indeed!

What he really wanted was some breakfast, so, as soon as his irritation had mostly faded, he dropped his huffy pose and went to see if he had any food. He doubted it, but couldn't be entirely certain, given how distracted he'd been recently.

He'd barely begun the search, however, when a knock at the door made him snort and roll his eyes. There was no way in hell he was going to satisfy Saitou's curiosity -- otherwise known, in this case, as his vanity -- until Saitou had taken back his rude comments... or at least not until tonight. It wasn't tonight yet, and Sano didn't think Saitou had come back to retract his remarks, so he didn't bother looking for a way to put his nice thoughts into words as he moved toward the door. What he might have given some thought to was the fact that he was utterly naked... but since for some reason he never considered it might be someone other than his lover, this did not occur to him.

As he opened the door, his first thought was, Oh, of course, Saitou wouldn't knock... But after that he had no very coherent thought for some time.

Because his visitor was Tousaku. And that meant... that meant... surely that meant...

The smith looked just as he had the last time he'd been here, and at the sight of the long sleek hair and unassuming face Sano's heart gave an excited jump and started to send the blood pounding through his veins at an accelerated pace.

After a long, breathless pause, Sano reached out and took the man by the shoulders, meaning to ask... but found that in his extreme excitement he couldn't yet actually say anything. Still, he was so happy to see the smith he could have hugged him.

But for some reason Tousaku wasn't saying anything either, and actually looked rather agitated. The latter, from what Sano remembered of him, wasn't atypical -- but the former was. That couldn't mean bad news, could it?? That something had gone wrong... some terrible accident had occurred and Sano would never see his zanbatou again?!? Sano knew this was unlikely, but why didn't Tousaku say something? He was just standing there staring and... was he blushing?

"Oh!" Sano released him abruptly and drew back. "Oh, sorry; hang on; come in."

Tousaku cleared his throat more nervously than Sano had ever heard anyone do, but evidently his professional enthusiasm was stronger than his embarrassment. He closed the door behind him as he entered, and began talking without needing to be prompted as Sano got dressed.

"It's finished, Zanza-san! It's finished! Joyo and I worked all night on the last of it because we were so excited to get it done!"

Even through his own similar emotion Sano couldn't help wondering whether Joyo had really shared his boss's excitement. Not that Sano was inclined to object to Tousaku overworking his assistant for the zanbatou's sake.

"I remembered-- mm, that is, I apologize for showing up here so early again, but I thought you'd want to know as soon as it was finished."

"Hell yeah I do!" replied Sano energetically. "You coulda shown up in the middle of the night and I'd..." He trailed off, remembering what he'd been doing in the middle of the night, and gave a brief, embarrassed laugh. Still, the sentiment was genuine even if the words weren't precisely correct.

"You'll want to come and collect it immediately?" Tousaku speculated eagerly.

"God, yes!" By now Sano was mostly dressed and was attempting to find the rest of the money with which he was to pay the smith for this most admirable task.

"I'm so glad to have had the opportunity to work on a weapon like this," Tousaku said in the very tone he might have used if Sano had done him a lifesaving favor rather than entered into a typical business arrangement with him. He then went on to enumerate the reasons it was such a pleasure and a privilege to have worked on Sano's sword. Sano listened affably, for he couldn't help being rather fond of the smith, but admittedly he was paying less attention to Tousaku's words than to his own happily expectant thoughts.

It had been so long... so long since he'd held his beloved weapon in his hands, felt the texture of the heavy wooden haft or the weight of the blade. He remembered the feeling of it shorn in two right in his hands and the shock that experience had given him. If Saitou hadn't provided for the sword's repair thereafter, Sano might still be angry at him for its destruction.

God, that had been a present, hadn't it?? Saitou had been practically courting him and Sano had been completely oblivious. He would have a word or two (and perhaps an accompanying gesture or two) for the cop next time he saw him.

There was, Tokio thought, a streak of vanity in everyone, and many a woman far less pretty than she was in whom it was yet unreprehensible. What was the point of having beauty, after all, if you couldn't revel in it now and then?

She didn't have much need or opportunity to dress up -- or for women's clothing in general -- but she hadn't lost the knack, she felt, of doing it damn well when the occasion arose. Her arm still hurt a good deal when used in certain ways, and wasn't exactly pleasant to look at, but the scarring was hidden under a flowery sleeve, and as for the loss of grace caused by the pain and damage to her muscles and nerves... well, admittedly there was nothing to be done about that, but such a little discontentment could hardly spoil her prospects for the evening.

Adjusting the ornament in her hair, she smiled at herself in the mirror before leaving the room. In the kitchen, she found Sano and Hajime arguing over the best way to prepare yudofu. Sano glanced up at her and promptly dropped the pan he was holding. His startled exclamation, "Oh, my god!" didn't seem entirely candid to her, but he was evidently impressed.

Tokio gave a smile of satisfaction, affecting to smooth out the front of her pristine kimono.

"Sano, stop looking at my wife like that," Hajime said with the same threatening irritation he might have used if he'd meant it the way most husbands would.

"I'm pleased to see you two taking so much initiative," she grinned, and proceeded to explain the only proper way to make yudofu.

Sano, who did not appear terribly eager to get to work following her instructions (she had a feeling her menfolks would end up at a restaurant tonight, when all was said and done), asked, "So what've you and Katsu got planned?"

"Just dinner," she replied, quickly aborting with a wince her attempt at indicating the casualness of the night's design with a shrug.

"A dinner date?" said Hajime, giving her a very cynical look. "How conventional of you."

"Well, excuse me for trying to get into a normal relationship with someone," she replied archly.

"Normal?" Hajime's left eyebrow was very high on his forehead.

"Go right ahead and start with that," she admonished, having expected and prepared for something like this. "I certainly won't have any comments to make about any of your relationships."

Hajime smirked, but as he said nothing she assumed she'd won that one.

"Have fun!" Sano called as she turned and left the room. Before she was out of earshot she heard him say to Hajime, "Now I'm dying to know what kinda comments she would have made." She grinned to herself. See if you can get out of that one, anata.

They'd agreed that for Tsukioka to show up at her home and escort her anywhere would be unwise. Though she was not too concerned about being thought shamefully faithless by anyone that was paying attention and not familiar with the domestic situation, having her assignation start at the door of her own house seemed going a bit too far. So she was to take a cab to the restaurant of choice and meet him there. And as she stepped into the carriage, she glanced back at the house with a grin. Maybe her date would allow for the pleasure of more parties than only those directly involved.

Tsukioka's particular brand of unobtrusiveness, a certain easy homogeny with his surroundings that made the clear but subtle statement, Don't mind me; I'm supposed to be here, rather drew her eyes to him than otherwise. She didn't think he could look out of place anywhere. Normally she probably wouldn't consider this attractive, especially -- though it was certainly suited to both her profession and his -- but in him it just seemed so appropriate that she couldn't help but find it so. The contented smile she gave him as he handed her out of the cab was in response to this and more.

"Good evening," greeted he.

"Sano stared at me just like that," she replied complacently. "I don't know why everyone's so surprised."

"Surprised?" he echoed with a raised eyebrow. "Nobody who's ever drawn you could be surprised."

She mimicked and surpassed his elevation of brow. "'Drawn?'"

"Yes. Quite a few times, actually." His smile often had a moroseness to it, she'd noticed, which could hopefully be dispensed with in time. In this instance she thought he was not entirely pleased with himself and his response to her greeting; indeed, she had been fishing for a much more interesting remark. But she didn't like the darkness that often haunted his eyes even at happy moments, so she seized his arm with a chuckle and pulled him toward the restaurant.

While Tokio was quite fond of cooking, she was not particularly analytical of the culinary efforts of others -- and thus could enjoy a meal at just about any establishment if she was hungry or in good company. Tonight she was both, not to mention very naturally pleased to be waited upon as a change from trying to force Hajime to eat enough or Zanza not to eat too much, and she found the food perfectly satisfactory.

The conversation was excellent too. She'd known it would be -- Tsukioka had visited her sickbed often enough to prove it beforehand -- but tonight he seemed to be taking special pains to entertain her with energetic discussion. They talked about her health and police work, his art and newspaper, and a number of vaguely related topics in between, and the time seemed to fly.

As they were enjoying sake (a very modest amount) and dessert, the pensive scrutiny Tsukioka had been giving Tokio off and on all evening seemed to reach a sort of crisis in a prolonged, thoughtful stare.

"What is it?" she wondered.

He searched his pockets briefly, and she was not so much surprised as amused and charmed when he pulled out a grease pen and a somewhat crumpled fold of paper. This he gave a skeptical look as if marveling that it had come from his pocket, then smoothed out as best he could on the table with the attitude that it was better than nothing.

"A single eye," he began, easily sketching one as he spoke, "is attractive first in its shape -- perfect circles aren't common in nature -- and second in contrast -- the whites against the blacks, the softness of the skin and lashes against the preciseness of the iris and pupil and reflected light."

Tokio, bemused by this lecture and impressed with his sketching abilities, did nothing but smile when he looked up at her seriously and then back down. "Two eyes," he continued, "attract us by their symmetry and synchronization of movement" -- here he added accordingly to the diagram -- "and discrepancies everybody has that prevent perfect similarity." He fell silent as he put a few finishing touches on his drawing.

She waited almost patiently for the moral, which she expected once he set aside his pen and looked up at her again; but, finding him studying her carefully and altogether wordlessly, she prompted, "And?"

He shook his head. "I know all of this, but I still can't say exactly why your eyes are so beautiful."

The lead-up and subsequent scrutiny had rendered this almost totally predictable, but the perfect tranquility with which he delivered so shameless and contrived a compliment gave it a feeling of gravity that threatened to make her blush in spite of everything. And she was by no means ungratified. He'd certainly made up for his missed opportunity earlier.

"I'm not the artist here," she replied with a fair amount of flippancy, "so I couldn't tell you. But," she went on, falling into mimicry of his deadpan as she seized the grease pen and paper, "I would like to further consult with you on the subject."

To his elegant little drawing she very clumsily added a highly absurd-looking figure. "What would be the artistic appeal," she inquired in the same overly-serious manner, "of three eyes?" and showed him her handiwork.

He struggled for solemnity to match hers as he answered, "Triadic composition."

"Of course," she nodded wisely, as if she knew exactly what he was talking about, retrieving the utensils again and continuing her terrible scribbling. She could hardly keep countenance as she displayed it to him once more and asked, "And what about horns?"

"Those are horns?" was his immediate outburst, at which she could no longer forebear laughing. His facetious earnestness likewise dissolving, he laughed along with her as he commented, "I would have thought it was noodles coming from the temples."

She looked again and, still nearly overcome with mirth, had to agree. "But come on," she insisted, "What would be the artistic appeal of horns?"

"For that I think you would have to ask an oni artist."

"Are there oni artists?"

"Somebody has to draw their shunga," he nodded knowingly.

At this moment their waitress returned and, finding them drawing on a piece of crumpled paper in a mood not dissimilar to that of giddy children staying up later than they should, smiled tolerantly at them and asked if they needed more sake.

"No, no, thank you," Tokio replied. She couldn't help remembering what had happened the last time she and a male companion had drunk too much sake together, and, though she was mostly over the awkwardness of that encounter, she wasn't entirely done regretting it. This time she was going to do things right.

Though these thoughts had affected her mood, they had in no way downcast her, and she turned back to Tsukioka with a smile. He was watching her again with that serious expression that would almost have appeared mournful if not for the levity of the moment. But Tokio's cheerful remark, intended to replace the sparkle that had moments before inhabited his dark eyes, was checked the next instant by the clearly-audible outbreak or approach of some kind of riotous activity outside. Feet pounded, voices shouted, steel rang. And if the sound of police whistles hadn't been enough to rouse Tokio to curiosity and the determination immediately to go and see what was happening, the single word "Battousai" that rose above the rest of the clamor certainly would have.