“Saitou? What are you doing here, de gozaru ka?”
“Oh?” wondered the officer with heavy sarcasm, “wasn’t I invited?”
Himura cleared his throat.
With a roll of eyes Saitou explained, “The police chief asked me to patrol around the dojo to make sure this party of yours isn’t disturbed.”
Now Himura looked skeptical.
“I did remind him that with the kind of people you and that girl were likely to invite, the only danger would be from each other… but he insisted.”
With a slight smile Himura nodded his understanding. “The chief of police is very attentive.”
Saitou rolled his eyes again.
“Well, you’re welcome to come inside if you want.”
Saitou raised an eyebrow. “So I am invited.”
“And I’m sure you’re as pleased to know that as Kaoru-dono will be.”
“No need to alarm her,” Saitou replied dryly. “I won’t be coming inside.”
Himura, who’d already assumed as much, just nodded and smiled as he turned back toward the door; Saitou began his ‘patrol,’ looking forward to an exceptionally dull night.
Contrary to his avowal, however, the temptation to enter at least the grounds was after not too long acute, for he found that traversing the streets around the Kamiya dojo was about the most boring thing he’d ever done. It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if there had been any point to it other than that the chief of police had a hopeless crush on Himura; as it was, even the headache he must acquire from the presence of those within would be better than this monotony. He let himself through the main doors.
Patrolling the inside of the wall was at first just as boring as the outside, but eventually the party spilled from the building and there was at least something to watch. Saitou was actually fairly surprised at the presence of certain of the guests; those that noticed him were surprised at his presence as well. And given the caliber of some of them, about a third of those attending must be aware of his shadow-prowling vigil. Let them find out from Himura why he was here, though, if they were curious.
He didn’t think he could stomach drawing close enough to catch any of their conversations — though some of them, any that included the Oniwaban chibi in particular, reached his ears anyway — but at least watching kept the tediousness from driving him mad. Some of it was even faintly amusing. He had to reflect, for instance, as he observed the looks that the tanuki was constantly throwing Himura, that if such a girl had been giving him that treatment, he would probably actually have been somewhat scared.
The truly frightening thing about these glances, though, was that the rurouni appeared to enjoy them. In which case he was being remarkably slow about things… How long had he been living here, and no progress between them? Of course, all of the members of this pitiable group had been single for a very long while, it seemed. Obviously this wasn’t a topic that would normally make the least bit of difference to Saitou, but at the moment he was just that bored. And, really, it was a little sad how relationship-challenged this group appeared to be. That Sagara boy, for instance, who was currently entertaining a small cluster of friends with a gesture-filled anecdote… shouldn’t he have snagged that doctor woman by now?
Well, the pointy-eared medic, for all her manhandling ability, was not strong enough for someone like Sagara. The boy would be better off with Himura himself… except that the redhead was so short and annoying and enamored of an even more obnoxious girl. The latter might actually have been a decent match for the doctor, but she also wouldn’t do for the roosterhead.
Shinomori might be a good option… or perhaps not… even if Super Angstman could escape the jealous clutches of the Shrieking Sidekick, there was no way Sagara could long put up with someone that dull. The Okashira might do well for Himura, though. And the weasel might match Sagara’s energy fairly closely, but the boy definitely didn’t have the patience it would require to tolerate her for any great length. Saitou didn’t think anyone did. It might be amusing to watch someone try, though: the kenkaya or — sudden thought, even better — Chou. How long would the weasel last once the broomhead snapped? And what kind of damage would she inflict on him before he killed her?
Come to think of it, Chou himself might not be the worst choice for Sagara. Well, if the stupid phallic-symbol-collector had the stamina for more than a two-day relationship and an attitude focused just a little more outward, that is. And maybe a better hairstyle.
So perhaps it wasn’t such a surprise that Sagara didn’t have anyone, when there seemed to be something that unsuited each of them for him. But for some reason Saitou kept thinking there was somebody around that was suited for him… somebody so obvious it was actually a little difficult to figure out who it was… who was he missing? He looked around at the remainder of the party guests.
Of course there was always Himura’s eccentric master with the odd taste in clothing… Saitou wasn’t overly familiar with that person, but from the little he’d seen so far it seemed that the caped giant was in love with himself to the point where bringing somebody else in would make it a threesome and someone was bound to get jealous, possibly the man himself.
Sagara’s quiet friend with the long hair was probably the one Saitou was thinking of. The officer didn’t know much about him either, other than what he did for a living (and otherwise), but… it still didn’t seem right. The man always looked so gloomy… that wouldn’t do for Sagara. Not in a romantic sense, anyway. It might for Shinomori, though…
This was no use. A question whose answer eluded him so completely was almost worse than the boredom it was supposed to replace. And yet nothing else would occupy his mind. Well, there was that restaurateur… Sagara was fond of a good meal, of course, but there wasn’t much to Sekihara beyond business; she probably wouldn’t be able to hold his attention anywhere but at a dinner table.
And then there was that overdressed boy-girl that was supposed to be in England… Saitou wouldn’t even have considered him, but he was running out of choices; still, it was obvious offhand that Honjou wouldn’t do: Sagara might look decent with a woman prettier than he was, but never with a man. Maybe the psychotic Tenken was a better former-Juppongatana candidate… but, no, the last thing Sagara needed was somebody that compliant; Seta’s smiles would only egg Sagara on in every one of his foolish behaviors.
There had to be someone else. Why did it seem that the answer was there, but barely beyond his reach? The most annoying part was that it didn’t matter… it was just something to keep him from boredom… it shouldn’t be this frustrating…
Eventually, after what felt like several ages, the party began to break up, and goodbyes were said to those not staying at the dojo. Saitou was fairly sure his presence was even less required at this point than it had been before, and gladly slipped away for home before the guests really began to leave.
The question about Sagara, and the conviction that he was forgetting someone, bothered him still, but that was fading along with the overriding need to stave off boredom. And once he stopped thinking about it all together, the answer was sure to come to him.
Actually, considering that it had to do with that perverse roosterhead, it was likely to strike him at the least convenient moment possible — just when he’d fallen asleep, or some such.
Stupid boy was troublesome like that, even when he wasn’t around.
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This story is included in the Saitou/Sano Collection 2 ebook.