Author's Note: The real Saito Hajime was a notoriously heavy drinker; in fact, liquor caused the gastric ulcers that ultimately killed him. And I'm sorry I'd done a vanishing act for so long— please just don't hate me too much after this chapter.

---

Chapter Twenty-Three

He saw the shadows flickering on the rice paper of the shoji, before he heard the low voice calling him. He had been awake for a while now, sitting up on the futon, legs pulled up and back resting against the wall in the room Mrs. Takagi had wrested from Tokio to give to him. It opened into the garden, and the door was opened partially so that he could see the sunlight on the ground and flowers.

"It's all right— you can come in."

"Good morning," said Tokio softly, slipping in. "I remembered you were an early riser."

Saito nodded, trying to smile. Simultaneously, he was bodily shoving the last night out of his mind.

"You should really get your clothes back on," she went on, looking around the room. His luggage was still packed and waiting in a corner near the near-empty bureau; her room was as neat and un-lived-in as always. "That is, if you're going to catch the train to Kyoto today. It's in an hour and half."

Momentarily Saito glanced up — caught the pensive thoughtfulness on her face. He knew then that he would have to leave. "I suppose I have little choice," he conceded. "I'll be roasted by my superiors, if I stay away any longer from work; some policeman I am. Some protector of the country."

"Don't say that," admonished Tokio. "It's my turn to make breakfast; it'll be the leaving feast for a hero." She went over and dragged the back door open wider, to let in the sun and the garden view. "I love this room," she added absently. "And I do hope you'll come back to visit us again…"

His throat choked.

"That's a lousy thing to hope for … most people hope for dreams like gold and riches; they don't waste their hopes on certainties."

---

The train rolled to a juddering halt in the station at Kyoto, and stretching his legs as he promptly got up from the uncomfortable slatted wooden seat, Saito silently joined the long file of people making their way out. There was no one (thankfully) waiting for him at the station, and heaving up his bags, he set off for the long walk home. The snow was disappearing all around the city, and lingered on the branches, colouring the trees.

He stopped once at the post office, to be smiled at by the post mistress and be told there was nothing new for him, except the one he'd received just before leaving Kyoto. He nodded once, not knowing what he had expected, and made a last stop at the nearby tobacco store. The walk home seemed shorter after that, with the feel of a cigarette between his fingers, and the memory he succeeded quite well in pushing to the back of the darkness of his mind.

When he finally reached his house, he was only slightly worn out, more by the prospect of the days to come than the exertion itself. He had only closed the gate behind him—

"Inspector Fujita!"

Saito winced, cursed, and dropped his bags before slowly, deliberately turning around.

A man of no impressive height was leaning over the gate, a sparkle in his eyes, a handkerchief stuffed in one fist; the other hand was waving.

"You," growled Saito, barely hiding the sheer gladness of seeing a friendly face like Okita Souji's. "I forgot that you even existed."

"Sure you did," said Okita cheerfully, leaning down to unlatch the gate. "Been gone longer than I thought you'd be, though," he added. "How's Housho?"

Saito looked at him with narrowed eyes. "What does it matter to you?"

"The fellow's in love. With you."

"Hnf. He's doing excellently— better than I would have liked, but there you have it."

"How's Tokio?" asked Okita, jumping the gun. He received a cold look that left him unfazed. He merely arched his eyebrows questioningly, and flashed his most appealing smile. Saito cracked.

He jerked his head at the house, and started back towards it. "In there first."

Once within the privacy of the walls of his own home, and out of earshot of the wind, Saito took his time opening his windows to allow ventilation, and ceremoniously dumped his bags in his room. Okita stared around the drawing room curiously, following him into the kitchen. "Sake, please," he said at once, and Saito shot him a funny glance.

---

It had been a quick breakfast, gulped down with little time to spare, and with Tokio carrying one of the bags, Saito had hurriedly left the Takagis with a quick farewell, adding to Nami that she should convey his goodbye to Reiji Housho. Her eyebrows had shot up, and her eyes flashed, but Tokio grabbed him by the hand and dragged him out of the house before he and her sister could start enjoying themselves.

The train had reached the station earlier than expected that cold, crisp morning.

"We'll have to walk," said Tokio decisively, as the two of them emerged into the main road. "No jinrikisha's going to take two of us and rock-heavy luggage all the way to the station at seven in the morning."

So it had been a silent, determined, cross-city dash, weaving their way through crowded streets and loopy alleyway shortcuts that Tokio alone seemed confident of. She was wearing her sister's kimono, hiked up much higher so as to allow her to move more freely. Saito had wisely chosen not to mention his surprise that she was accompanying him.

---

"You know," he said suddenly, looking up to catch Okita in the eye, sake jug lifted halfway to his lips. "I just realized— for all of Takagi Nami's declarations, it's really her sister who's the modernist in the family."

"And the mother?" teased Okita.

Saito barely suppressed the shudder.

---

The train was still waiting patiently in the station when they ran in; even Saito was winded, and Tokio reflexively dropped the bag she was holding, gasping for breath. He ducked down and snatched it up again. "Thank you," he said, trying to look up at her, as he clutched his knees, the stitch in his side making it hard to talk. She simply waved him off, not in a better position herself.

"Excuse me!" she called out to a passer-by, but before the man could ignore her and keep on walking, Saito shot out and collared him, effectually holding him in place, while an embarrassed Tokio hurriedly asked:

"Do you when the next train to Kyoto leaves?"

The man cast a nervous glance sideways at the malevolence Saito was exuding, and snuck a look at the station clock. "In twenty minutes. I-I recommend boarding right now."

Saito released his handhold, the man hurried off. "Well, there you have it."

"Yes," she said with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. "With plenty of thanks to you. And with any luck, the people of this town will hopefully recognise me as the woman going around with the demon king."

---

"So she went with you as far as the train?" said Okita. "Did she board it?"

Saito did not reply for a moment, and Okita looked at him. Those tiger-like amber eyes were empty; Hajime had not even heard him.

---

Tokio helped him carry a bag, while he carted the other and his wrapped sword, weaving in between the people boarding the train and the orderlies. They squeezed through the aisles awkwardly, hampered by the baggage, until they found Saito's berth. When everything had been deposited, Tokio shot him a smile and made to leave.

"See you, Hajime— write to me."

"Tokio— can you wait a second?"

She halted, her hand gripping the edge of the berth as she was about to round the corner. It was his voice that arrested her, and it was her hand that snagged his attention: the knuckles had gone white.

"W-what?"

Her teeth pressed into her lip; resolutely she stared up the aisle, towards the door leading out of the carriage, constantly being banged open and closed. Ten — fifteen? — minutes for the train to leave. His voice was not shaking anymore, but her other hand was.

"Come home with me. Please."

---

He's persistent, thought Okita, at last flicking his gaze away from the glazed nothingness of Saito's taut face. Persistent in self-torture, in going about so much in so many wrong ways. Wish he was just as persistent in not making the mistakes in the first place.

---

She jerked away from him like she'd been electrocuted. Disbelief in her eyes, no words on her quivering, red lips.

"H-Hajime—"

Blank, impassive stare meeting hers flatly. Beseeching underneath. She'd seen this before. She'd felt this before. Not anymore, she thought passionately. I want it to stop.

That was all she could say.

"Stop."

The surprise flashed across his face, mingled with hurt that vanished as soon as it appeared.

"Why do you insist on this," she said slowly, "when we both know we are best at not raking up the past? What's over is also what's forgotten, Hajime."

There was no tinged regret in her voice, only coldness. Anger.

He said brusquely, "Then what's wrong with starting again?"

"Nothing. But this is not how I want to restart."

"Then how do you?"

For a minute, she seemed speechless; her eyes swiftly searched his face, looking for what he didn't offer her. For a long moment, she seemed to making her choices. Then she laughed.

It was soft, mirthless, and white-hot with rage.

"You arrogant, selfish swine," she whispered. "Do you know, Hajime," she spat out his name, "you may be the only man on earth to me, but you aren't the only one there is."

She didn't even look back as she swept away from him, surrounded by leaping flames as she tumbled out of the furnace. She simply kept walking, fighting back every urge to turn around, and only when the door to the carriage banged closed, did she stop to catch her breath. She looked out at the station, knowing he was back inside, perhaps sitting on his berth now, one hand on his sword for familiar comfort.

Still time before the train left.

Safely, she jumped down from the train, the cold, lonely journey home ahead of her.

---

The sake spilled over the rim of the dish, his hand frozen in mid-air. "Oh," was all Okita could muster to say, his voice a precarious whisper.

---

The dawn clouds cast flickering shadows on the lake Reiji Housho was staring down into, breaking his silent contemplation to turn around and greet Nami Takagi. She stood a little away, chin lifted, staring at him.

"I ran away," she said.