Do It Yourself


He wasn’t much surprised that Sagara had absolutely no shame, but he would have expected a former hitokiri to be a little less of an exhibitionist. But ever since those two had admitted their long-repressed feelings for each other (or whatever the case was; Saitou didn’t care enough to pursue), they’d been doing things all over the place regardless of the time of day. Saitou could swear that a shift didn’t go by without his coming across them in some absurd location — bushes or recessed doorways or even mostly unconcealed as long as the street was empty — while he was on patrol.

The truly sad thing was that the rurouni didn’t seem to know what he was doing. Sad, but not particularly shocking: Himura was about the last person in the world Saitou would expect to know how to get the optimal reaction out of a fresh young man. This wasn’t something that would normally occupy the officer’s mind for more than half a derisive minute, but due to the aforementioned exhibitionism, the issue intruded on his consciousness with irritating regularity. One of these times he was going to arrest just Himura and claim it was on charges of being bad at sex.

But much as he would have loved to see their responses to that, he didn’t think it would actually solve the problem. Of course it wasn’t his problem to solve, but half-hearted moans from someone normally as loud and passionate as that boy were almost incitingly irksome.

So that was probably why he found himself at the idiot’s door one evening after having overhead a particularly unenthusiastic-sounding sexual encounter earlier that day. Disliking Himura or liking Sagara really didn’t have much to do with it. Rather, he wasn’t fond of waste, and had always held with that tried and true maxim, If you want something done right…



I love this story because, while it’s almost the shortest piece here, it manages to raise so many amusing questions and ideas. Is Saitou obsessive-compulsive or what, to do something like that with disliking waste and wanting things done right as his only motive(s)? Or maybe he’s in denial and he really does like Sano. And is Sano actually with Kenshin because he likes him, or to get Saitou’s attention in just that way? If the latter, is Kenshin in on the plot or is he being used?

Whatever the case, I’d love to see how Sano will act when he realizes it’s Saitou at his door and exactly what he’s there for. And I can totally picture the brusque way Saitou’s likely to handle the situation. All this extraneous story is what makes a vignette a vignette, of course, and therefore I am rather pleased with myself for this one. I’ve rated it .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Coke Machine


“What are you doing?”

Sano had been so busy kicking the vending machine’s ass, he hadn’t noticed the man’s approach. “Tryin’ to get this damn machine to give me the damn Coke I paid for!” he growled.

“On coke now, are we?”

Sano finally turned to look at the cop, and realized it was the same that had been in and out of his apartment building lately on some drug case: pretty much an arrogant bastard, though they had had a somewhat amusing conversation about potheads and the smell that never really left the side entryway. “Coca-cola, asshole,” Sano replied, and resumed shaking the machine.

Disconcertingly enough, the cop, instead of inhibiting him or questioning him further, just stood there and watched. As soon as Sano noticed himself giving more attention to not paying attention to the man than what he was actually doing, he stopped and turned. “There a problem, officer?”

This guy would have been immediately identifiable as a cop even without the badge, as his eyes were very arresting. “I’m just waiting to see if you can get a drink out of that thing,” he was replying, looking entertained.

“Why?” Sano asked warily.

“Maybe I don’t believe you actually put money in it.”

Sano stuck his tongue out. “Well, maybe I didn’t. What would you do then?”

“I’d have to wrestle you to the ground and search you.”

“For shakin’ a soda machine?” Sano snorted. “And, search me for what?” he added. “You know I don’t do drugs.”

“I’m sure I could think of something to search you for,” the cop smirked.

Sano wasn’t sure why he shivered just then; it wasn’t particularly cold out.

“What’s your name?” the older man said next.

“All that time you were around here and talking to me about shit, you never figured out my name?”

“Do you know mine?” replied the officer coolly.

“Well…”

“Saitou.”

“Sagara,” Sano replied, just a tad surly. “Why?”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“So you are legal.”

“Legal for what?” Sano found himself shivering again.

Saitou shrugged.

Sano was minorly weirded out. “Why are you around here, anyway? Thought you were finished in this crappy neighborhood.”

“I’ve been assigned to this crappy neighborhood. You’ll probably be seeing a lot of me from now on.”

“Best new I’ve heard all night,” Sano said sarcastically.

“I can tell you’re going to be very cooperative.”

“Cooperative with what?”

“My investigations, of course.” Saitou looked him slowly up and down with an expression Sano didn’t quite understand.

He resisted the urge to squirm under that look, which reminded him very much of… well, he didn’t know what. Something that was going to get him. “Are you here to question me, then? Is that why you’re buggin’ me?”

Saitou stepped suddenly forward, still smirking, and reached out his hand. Sano, though of course he didn’t flinch, tried to keep his eyes from widening as the police officer ran just the very tips of his fingers through the younger man’s hair, but this was seriously creepy. It got about a hundred times worse when Saitou, still with that uncannily smug expression, trailed those same fingers down the side of Sano’s face and Sano was struck with the sensation of… kinda liking it.

Yeah, that last part was the weirdest.

He backed away abruptly until he came up against the Coke machine, demanding as he did so, “Are you a total pervert, or what?”

“Yes,” the cop replied calmly.

Well, there was no way Sano was going to stick around for that, despite having maybe enjoyed part of the display of it (or… maybe especially because he had), so he took off across the parking lot — not running; he hadn’t done anything wrong — after informing Saitou, “Well, not me!”

Perverted he might not be, but perverse he certainly was, and he couldn’t help turning when he was some distance off and shouting back defiantly, “And I didn’t put any money in that stupid machine!” Then he took off running, pleased with himself.

He got twenty steps before Saitou was on him.



Elica, upon stumping me in the Quote Guessy Game, requested a Saitou/Sano story, “street rat versus wolf, but in our times,” and thence came this ficlet. It’s quite pointless, possibly the most pointless thing I’ve ever dared to call a story (which is sad when it’s a gift for someone), but whatevs.

I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Rainfall

I’m sitting on the edge of the porch, and with the angle of the wind, the storm is coming down right into my face. Hell, I’m looking up into it, and only closing my eyes when I seriously can’t stand it.

He just got home, I think. I should really go inside to him. Pretty sad when you don’t even welcome your own lover home, isn’t it? But I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to see him. I get like this sometimes… it’ll pass. Sex will help… though that requires me to actually go in there…

He and I have been together for a long time now… ever since Kenshin got married. That same night, actually, was our first time. But he wanted me for a long time before that. Good to see someone has what he wants, I guess. I should add it’s good to have exactly what I need, too… but in this kind of mood, the kind where I’d rather sit out in the rain than go in and pretend any more, I just can’t.

He’s perfect for me. He’s strong, he’s energetic, he’s smart, he’s loyal, he’s good. He keeps me in line and inspires me to be a better person. He always knows exactly the right thing to say to me at any given moment, especially if I’m being stupid or stubborn; he’s unfailingly logical and practical. Sometimes I hate him for that. But I respect him too much to really hate him. I like him too much.

But I don’t love him.

Fuck knows I’ve tried… tried my damnedest to give up, to forget, to move on, to let this be the perfect match it should be, that he wants it to be… but giving up, forgetting, and moving on are a few things I’ve always been particularly bad at. And someone else was there first.

The back door slides open and he steps onto the porch. “What are you doing out here?” he wonders.

I look over at him, and I can’t think of anything to say. I may hate him sometimes, but I would never want to hurt him. Not like that, anyway; not that much; not anymore.

“Sano, are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I finally manage. “Rain’s just a little depressing, is all.”

He rolls his eyes. “Then don’t sit out in it, ahou.” And he gestures for me to come to him.

See what I said? Logical, practical, always knows what to say to me, even if he might not realize the decision he’s telling me to make is about more than just the weather. If the rain’s depressing, don’t sit out in it, ahou: it’s that simple. And I bet it would be just that for him: a decision, and a simple one. If the rain’s depressing, make the choice not to sit out in it, not to be depressed by it. He has that kind of will power. As for me… well, I thought I was strong, but…

“Yeah, you’re right,” I reply, standing up and shaking water from my hair and stepping toward his outstretched hand.

As for me…

I accompany my lover inside.

Even if I don’t sit out in the rain, that doesn’t stop it from falling.



Geez, what a sad story. It’s like the end of He Can Be Taught went horribly wrong. I wrote it because imillien beat me at the Quote-Guessy Game and requested “Sano in relationship with Saitou but not necessary in love with him. Like sometimes we are with people we know are good for us and we respect them but not always in love with them.” I’ve rated this fic .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Wrestling

“I can’t figure out why you’re here,” Sano said as he leaned up against the wall next to Saitou and took a long drink from the jug in his hand. “You don’t like parties, you don’t like any of my friends, you don’t drink…”

Saitou nodded.

“You sure as hell aren’t enjoying standing here against the wall.”

“If you’re asking me to come socialize with you, the answer is no.”

“See, what’s the point coming to a party if you’re not even gonna have fun?” Sano laughed as he pushed off and walked away.

The gold eyes that followed were much steadier than Sano’s tipsy gait.

“I don’t understand you two,” Megumi said, glancing over at the police officer when Sano appeared at her side.

“Nobody much does,” Sano replied with a grin. “Not even me, really. I’m just glad jou-chan finally said it was all right for him to come.”

“Well, most of us do hate him,” the doctor reminded him with a skeptical shake of her head, “and as a consequence think you must be crazy.”

Sano shrugged. “Yeah, well, I am.”

Megumi chuckled. “Why did he come, anyway?”

With another grin, this one somewhat craftier, Sano replied, “Now that I actually do know.”

She waited a moment before demanding impatiently, “Well?”

“Just wait ’till I get drunker… you’ll see.”

She looked briefly over at Saitou again, very curious.

Saitou had watched the exchange meticulously, too far away to hear what was being said that made the doctor keep looking at him like that. It didn’t matter, though, as long as she kept her hands off.

Next Sano wandered over to talk to Kenshin, but the rurouni was not to be tempted into a drinking match any more than Saitou was — he’d learned his lesson already about challenging Sano there. Kenshin did seem to be curious about one thing, however: “Why is Megumi-dono watching you like that?”

Sano laughed. “Ain’t important,” he replied. “What you’sh’d really be worried about,” leaning down and saying softly into Kenshin’s ear, “is why Shinomori’s watchin’ you ‘like that.'”

Kenshin barely managed not to appear too startled or to snap his head around to find out if this was true — which was good, as if he’d done so he probably would have knocked Sano over or at least given him a good solid hair-whip in the face.

Over by the wall, Saitou twitched almost visibly as he saw Sano bend and put his mouth so close to Himura’s ear. But it was over too quickly to think about. Much.

Sano was by now a little too muddle-headed to be quite sure how the arm-wrestling got started. He didn’t usually bother arm-wrestling people, mostly, because his general acquaintance couldn’t beat him, and it was a pointless victory for those that could, as they had already beaten him in more meaningful ways in the past. He thought, in this instance, Kaoru might have had something to do with it, as she was his first opponent. She was also half drunk; sober, even Kaoru must recognize the futility of this venture. But now, red-faced from sake and a consequent, disturbing mixture of determination and pointless anger, she plopped herself down across the table she’d had somebody less inebriated drag in (she wouldn’t be pleased tomorrow that it had been used for such a purpose), pulled her sleeve back, and wiggled her fingers in a manner he thought perhaps was supposed to be challenging.

“C’mon, tori-atama,” she growled.

“You’re on, tanuki,” he growled back. He thought they might have been trading more complicated insults just a bit ago, but couldn’t quite remember.

As the Kamiya girl’s hand curled around Sano’s, Saitou scowled and stood straight, his own hands kept very carefully at his sides by sheer force of will.

Somehow, after soundly besting Kaoru a full five times in a row and sending her ranting over to Kenshin, Sano had succumbed to the glory of the moment (victory was sweeter when drunk) and allowed several other challengers to approach him. They were mostly his friends from around town, graciously invited here tonight by the kenjutsu instructor he’d just triumphed over, and they should have known better, but they were all as intoxicated as he was… which by now was quite a bit. The very first one proved what the trend would be, and at the third they all decided to gang up on him — obviously not realizing that even when they all pushed on the opposing hand, the pressure against his grip didn’t really intensify, and he threw the lot of them just as easily. The table cracked, and somehow it was suddenly an actual wrestling match, five to one.

Saitou watched Sano’s stupid game turn into a good-natured tussle, and that was the last straw. They were on top of him, which was something Saitou couldn’t laugh about the way Sano (and just about anyone else watching) was.

Sano found himself suddenly, unexpectedly (well, not really), expertly extricated from the mini-brawl and pulled to the door before being set upright again. “We’re leaving,” a narrow-eyed and very tense Saitou intoned in his ear.

“But–” Sano began, and was cut off as Saitou opened the door without waiting for his protest and dragged him from the dojo. The last thing he saw before the room and the party were out of his line of vision was Megumi’s grin of understanding.

Saitou basically had to support the roosterhead as they walked; the line of the cop’s jaw suggested he was more than ready for any complaint Sano might have about their hasty exit, but Sano wasn’t actually planning on making one. The night had gone exactly as anticipated: plenty of fun at the party, good sake he hadn’t had to pay for, and adorable jealousy from his boyfriend.

“Y’know, ‘fit bugs you so much, I’n wrestle you too,” he said, and spent the next moment trying to figure out exactly what had happened to the logic of the remark between brain and open air.

Saitou only said, “Hn.” Taking this as a ‘go right ahead,’ Sano jumped on him, and they tumbled down.

The wolf couldn’t really be annoyed at this; it didn’t take much ‘wrestling’ to get the drunken idiot pinned, panting, and disheveled on the ground between his legs, looking up at him with bright eyes from a flushed, grinning, expectant face. Sano knew who he belonged to, after all, and only needed occasional reminding. Saitou smirked; bending and pushing the black and white gi aside, pressing his mouth to his lover’s neck, then shoulder, then collarbone, then chest, he began the customary process of marking his territory.



LadyAmes, when she won the Quote Guessy Game, wanted a possessive Saitou, so for her I wrote this item. I’ve rated it .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Defense

It didn’t even mean what the words supposedly expressed anymore; it hadn’t for a long time.

As he says goodbye, Saitou makes a final subtle appeal for Sano’s attention.


Saitou leaned against the side of the building, his eyes following the young man wandering around the restaurant’s entrance waiting for someone to buy him food. Both the watcher and the freeloader knew someone eventually would.

God knows what he would do if he realized how much I watch him. Even more so if he knew why. Sometimes Saitou liked to pretend he didn’t know why himself. It certainly wasn’t particularly edifying or entertaining… just absurdly riveting. And I still haven’t been able to determine what it is about him…

By chance Sano finally noticed the cop’s presence and, naturally, broke into a scowl. His greeting as he immediately approached was, “Getting kinda sick of running into you.”

He never realizes it’s anything more than coincidence. He doesn’t see through things, doesn’t pick up on things. He just assumes we meet so often because I’m constantly having to deal with his fellow lowlifes. Idiot.

“You won’t have to worry about that from now on,” Saitou told him.

“Good.” After a moment Sano added curiously, “Why?”

Why does conversation with him feel so natural in spite of everything? Despite the fact that Saitou knew how things were, how they must always be. “This is my last day in Tokyo.”

“Oh, great!” Sano grinned. “I won’t have to smell your nasty cigarettes anymore.”

Note he doesn’t ask where I’m going or why. Not that Saitou had expected him to care.

What Sano did ask was, “So what are you doing here? Last case before you leave?”

Actually talking to Sano was worse than simply observing — having him within arm’s length, watching his lips move… Being reminded of exactly how he feels about me. But Saitou wasn’t just going to leave town without a word to him, no matter how the conversation must turn out. “No. I’m here to say goodbye to you.”

“Heh… right.” It was a tone of amusement that did not even approach skepticism. Sano didn’t take him seriously enough to think such a remark was anything but sarcasm.

Maybe it’s because he never takes me seriously. Everything I do is so serious… maybe it’s a change I’m craving.

“Like you could have known I’d be here,” Sano was adding with a laugh.

Sano thought he didn’t stick to a routine, prided himself on doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted to. He was wrong about that, as he was about many things. His days were very much the same, and what he mistook for spontaneity was just a predictable roulette of inane pastimes: he ate the same five meals at the same five restaurants, blew money of mysterious origin at the same five gambling halls, and slept over at the same five friends’ homes. Mathematically, that did allow him quite a few possibilities for each day’s schedule, but still, if Saitou wanted to intercept him, he tended to know where Sano would be at any given moment.

He’d tried not to do that too often, but there had been times he hadn’t been able to help himself.

And there were times he didn’t know what to say. He, Saitou Hajime, didn’t know what to say.

“You awake in there?” Sano wondered mockingly.

Saitou’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at him. Yes, here was an idiot — a waste of oxygen and a beautiful face and body with a history of stupidity, worthless friends, no real ambitions, a pathetic life…

And that’s what I’ve…

He’d given up dwelling on how it defied all reason.

He’d given up on pretty much everything.

“Work on your defense,” he said. It didn’t even mean what the words supposedly expressed anymore; it hadn’t for a long time.

Sano looked annoyed. “Are you gonna start on that again after all this– wait… you really are here to say goodbye to me, aren’t you?”

Saitou nodded and simply held Sano’s eyes. The young man’s face went slightly puzzled, and with that change, the last faint hope Saitou had always secretly harbored for this matter slowly faded and disappeared. If there were anything there, any chance at all, it would not be a blank look. It would be anything but that.

No, don’t worry about working on your defense. Your heart’s impervious, isn’t it?

After a few moments, that terrible expression having gradually changed to one suggesting Sano thought Saitou might have something wrong in the head — and was he ever right about that! — Sano turned away casually. “Well, bye, then!” And with a careless wave of his hand, he headed back to the front of the restaurant to resume his food-seeking vigil.

Saitou watched him until it became too painful. “Goodbye, ahou,” he finally murmured. And good riddance. He was speculating on the sourness of grapes he couldn’t have, and he knew it; he’d been doing it for a long while now, and its effectiveness as a defense mechanism was waning. So, committing meticulously to memory the image of the white-clad figure standing nonchalantly there, hands in pockets and a winning smile on his face, for reference over the remaining years of his life, he turned and walked away.



Dedra won the Quote Guessy Game a second time, and this Saitou/Sano request was a bit more specific than her first one: she wanted Saitou “seemingly hopelessly attracted to/in love with” Sano. Cruel as this seemed, I wrote it. It turned out almost brilliantly ironic and depressing. And it’s good to have a parallel to Distraction Sufficient. Well, almost parallel; as I told Dedra, I draw the line at killing Saitou.

I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Compromise


It was only a routine patrol around a trouble area; it shouldn’t have been so difficult, so life-altering. But every time this particular kid was involved, things just couldn’t go smoothly, couldn’t be normal or easy.

“What are you doing standing around out here at this time of night?” Saitou wondered as he approached, eyeing the young man’s clothing with vague apprehension.

Sano whirled, scowling. “Hey, fuck off, OK? I ain’t doing nothing.”

“It’s my job to be suspicious of scantily clad people standing around on street corners apparently doing nothing. You look like a prostitute.”

“You’re always harassing me,” Sano replied — a little too quickly, Saitou thought, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, fighting off a blush. “I know I’ve always been your favorite street-bum to pick on, but you can even search me — I got nothing on me.”

“You’re loitering.” Saitou did not like the look of that blush.

“Do you see any ‘No Loitering’ signs around here?” demanded Sano.

“There are ‘No Loitering’ laws, you know,” Saitou reminded him.

“Yeah, well…”

“Now, tell me honestly… what are you doing here?”

Sano looked away immediately, the expression on his face more than just embarrassed; it was bitter, ashamed.

“Sanosuke,” Saitou said, very softly and seriously, feeling his heart drop for no reason he could guess at. “Prostitution is only legal in specific parts of town, and this isn’t one of them.”

“I… so, what, you gonna arrest me?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why do you think, jackass?” Despite much of what Saitou said enraging Sano on the best of days, this anger seemed out of place, almost as if Sano were fighting to keep it up. “Gotta make money somehow.”

“And a regular job isn’t good enough for you?” Why, Saitou wondered, did this seem to matter on a level much closer to home than that of abstract social philosophy? Sure, he’d known this kid for a while, had even actually arrested him once, had more often than that let him off a little too easy… but still…

“You think I can live off what they pay at shitty fast food restaurants and mall stores?” Sano growled. “Hell, even those places’ll barely hire me, with my record… anything better’s a million years out of my reach. So I figured it was about time I started using what I got to make some real money; that’s all.” He still hadn’t looked Saitou in the face; it was very evident how he felt about the decision he’d made. And why was that so painful to the police officer?

“Isn’t there anyone…” Saitou knew he would be treading dangerous ground with this. “Don’t you have any friends or family who could help you?”

Sano’s expression darkened visibly. “Would you just fuck off?” he demanded. “Or arrest me already; quit talking my ear off.”

Saitou stifled a sigh and asked professionally, “When did you start this?”

“Tonight.”

“Have you had any clients yet?”

“No. I didn’t know… this wasn’t the best place for it…”

Why should that relieve Saitou so thoroughly? This was absurd. “I’m going to seriously suggest you rethink this. There are better ways to live your life.”

“No way in hell. Not in this city there’s not. Not for people like me. Took me long enough to decide on this in the first place. I ain’t going back now.” It appeared Sano had just revealed more than he’d originally intended; he was looking away and blushing again, seeming almost horrified with himself. “Go ahead and arrest me if you want,” he finished up, a little more quietly. “Won’t change a thing.”

Saitou nodded slowly. “I’m not going to arrest you,” he said, just as softly, “but I think you’re an idiot.” And turning, he started to walk away, more than dissatisfied with the exchange but not sure there was anything more he could do.

“Hey!” Sano retorted in a more animated tone than before. “I may be an idiot and a fucking whore, but at least I’m making my own way.” His voice rose into a shout as Saitou drew further and further from him. “Nobody can say I didn’t take care of myself on my own!”

The officer’s steps slowed almost against his will, his frown deepening and seeming to turn abruptly to stone. It was always that fierce independence, that absolute, uncompromising determination… Still without the full consent of his better judgment, he retraced his path. Sano actually backed up a pace, evidently afraid Saitou had changed his mind and planned to arrest him after all. But Saitou only pulled his wallet from his pocket, extracted a couple of large bills, and held them out with a stiff arm.

Sanosuke’s face darkened. “I don’t want your charity, cop.”

“I’m not offering charity,” Saitou replied in an equally dark tone.

As Sanosuke realized what he meant, reaching up slowly to hold both the money and the hand offering it, he looked into the officer’s face with eyes that seemed, against all odds and expectations, warily hopeful. “You said this is illegal around here,” he whispered.

But Saitou didn’t waver. “Come on,” he said, letting go of the money and turning. “My car’s just around the corner; we can use the back seat.”


When Queen Yokozuna beat me in the Quote-Guessy Game, she requested “Sano a whore; Saitou his first paying customer.”

I’m sure there are plenty of prostitutes that are happy in the profession and their lives. I leave it up to others to write that situation, however, because I have such a hard time imagining it. So this story was sad. I had a sequel planned, and had written some parts of it; let’s see how sad that one would have been, eh?


Tired

The knock was so quiet that Saitou might not have heard it if he hadn’t by chance been walking down the hall past the entry just at that moment. It was a knock made with the fleshy side of the hand rather than the knuckles, as if the hand had simply fallen against the door; it was the kind of knock that wouldn’t admit wanting to be heard. Curious, Saitou went to answer it.

His mouth curved into an instantaneous, surprised frown when he saw who his visitor was, then opened for a greeting that would also be a castigation and dismissal.

It was their standing, silent arrangement that whenever business was bad or Sano was behind on the rent or just needed some extra spending money, he could come to Saitou and Saitou would pay higher than usual rates — whatever Sano asked, really — for his services. But it always started with a phone call, and they usually met somewhere other than either of their residences. Certainly Sano had never before shown up on Saitou’s doorstep entirely without warning.

That he had now was worthy of an irritated remark at the very least. The nature of their relationship was ambiguous, the routine they’d developed paramount to keeping it that way. Sano pulling a stunt like this threatened to turn everything on its ear, and that was even before the practical issues — such as how it looked to the neighbors when a prostitute appeared openly at a cop’s door and the cop let him in.

But something, he noticed as his eyes swept Sano’s figure in a second glance more comprehensive than the first, was wrong. Sano looked thinner, face and body, than the last time Saitou had seen him, and tonight it seemed he hadn’t taken much care in dressing or making himself up. But more than this, it was the screamingly empty eyes that stabbed out from the honest face into Saitou’s heart and changed his intended, “What are you doing here?” to an immediate, “Come in.”

Without a word, Sano obeyed, standing perfectly still in the entry, as Saitou closed the door behind him, after the three steps it had taken him to get inside. Then they waited in silence for several moments, Saitou staring at Sano and Sano seeming to see nothing even of the floor tiles on which his blank gaze was riveted.

“What are you doing here?” Saitou did eventually ask, in a tone much less harsh than he’d originally planned.

“I don’t know,” replied Sano listlessly, and, leaning back against the closed door, let his eyes drift shut.

“Are you all right?” Saitou wondered next.

“Yes… no… I don’t know.” Sano did not open his eyes.

A long silence ensued, in which Saitou watched Sano with growing worry and the younger man continued to stand, motionless and almost limp, against the door, arms slack at his sides and eyes closed.

“I’m tired, Saitou,” Sano finally murmured emotionlessly. “I’m tired of what I do. I’m tired of who I am. I’m tired of being alive.”

This admission — particularly the last — caused Saitou’s heart to clench so tightly that he felt dizzy, stifled.

“Well.” It was a struggle to keep his voice even. “Since you are here, I can–”

And Sano, as if anticipating Saitou’s next word, broke in with his usual protest: “I don’t need your help.” But it was almost a whisper, and lacked even the faintest trace of conviction.

“You need help tonight.” It was a statement that would accept no challenge, and Sano offered none. Nor did he resist as Saitou took him by the shoulders and pulled him upright, then guided him down the hall to his bedroom.

As if Sano were a child exhausted after a long day, Saitou had to encourage and often assist him in every step of the process, trying his hardest throughout — generally unsuccessfully — not to look into the boy’s dead eyes. He bathed him, he wrapped him in a robe, he forced a glass of warm milk down his throat… that Sano didn’t protest this juvenile nightcap or even ask why on earth it should occur to Saitou to give it to him in the first place was almost as worrisome as the other signals.

The first and almost the only indication he gave of being aware of what was going on was when Saitou pulled back the covers of his bed and encouraged Sano in that direction. At this Sano shied back visibly, looking for a moment pathetically panicked. Saitou took a deep breath and said, “You have to sleep somewhere.” If Sano was, as he’d indicated, really tired of his profession, it was no wonder he didn’t want to get into anyone else’s bed… but Saitou was not letting him leave the house in his current condition. “I’ll sleep in the living room.”

Slowly Sano calmed, and his head turned just as slowly toward Saitou; his eyes took on an expression of greater clarity and he said, “No, you don’t have to. Sorry.” Then he looked back at the bed and seemed to go dull again. When Saitou next urged him in that direction, he obeyed with the same weary, childlike obliviousness he’d displayed before.


Geez, it’s already so fucking sad.


He awoke at the same time Sano did, and it only took a moment of brief debate to decide not to let Sano know. So he kept his eyes closed and his breathing even while Sano sat up and pushed the blanket aside in a single startled motion. From the tense, agitated way Sano looked around in movements that swiveled his entire upper body, it was obvious that he did not at first remember where he was.


Sano leaves as quietly as he can so as not to awaken Saitou (who is, of course, aware of the whole thing); he refuses to take the money Saitou left out for him.

Saitou can’t stand this situation, so he pulls some strings and then goes and looks for Sano on street corners where he often works.


“Why the fuck would you show up here in uniform?” Sano hissed, irate and distressed.

“I have an offer for you,” Saitou replied.

Sano scowled. “I don’t need you tonight,” he muttered.

“That’s a debatable point, but it’s not why I’m here.”

Sano kept scowling at him, now suspicious.

“An acquaintance of mine is looking for a construction manager, and he’s promised to hire you — sight unseen — for a living wage.”

Saitou wasn’t about to mention what it had taken to make this arrangement, how close to crooked his interactions with this acquaintance of his would have looked in quite a few lights, or how he felt about compromising for Sano’s sake yet again. Compromising, in this situation, with absolutely no promise of any kind of payout.

Sano’s expression darkened further, and he took a step backward. His face shifted through several visible emotions before he managed to speak. “Why would you do that? I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Not verbally,” Saitou agreed, “but you told me you were tired of what you do.”

“I was drunk,” snapped Sano.

“You were not.” Drunk on unhappiness, perhaps… drunk, even, on despair… but not on alcohol. As if Saitou couldn’t tell.

“Besides, it’s none of your goddamn business!” Despite the anger in Sano’s raised voice, it didn’t seem to be his primary emotion. “So what if I don’t like this? It’s not your job to find me something else! You’re such a fucking know-it-all; you feel like you’ve gotta be in charge of everyone’s life!”

“I’m offering you something you don’t seem willing or able to get for yourself. Of course the choice is yours, but if you’re as intelligent as I believe, you won’t turn this down.”

“What is your fucking problem, exactly? Why the hell can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because I love you, you idiot.”

Tense and astonished silence reigned for nearly a minute, Sano staring up at him with an expression turbulent but otherwise unreadable. Finally, in a tight, haggard tone completely unlike any of his usual he ground back, “Right. That’s what every guy says to his whore.”

“I loved you before you were a whore,” Saitou bit back. “I loved you before I ever touched you. And I’m not telling you this because I want anything from you; I just want you to know why I want to help you. I’m not trying to be in charge of your life. If I thought you were happy doing this, I wouldn’t say a word — but you’re not.”

“Whether I’m happy or not has nothing to do with you.”

It tore Saitou’s heart to hear Sano say this


Saitou was going to agree with him there, had I ever completed that sentence. And after that… I have no idea where this story was going to go. Knowing me, it would probably have been an optimistic-ever-after, but there’s always the possibility Sano would reject Saitou and it would have taken a third story to get them romantically instead of just physically involved. Who knows?

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Two, Five, or Twenty


“So what’d Tokio have to say?” Sano inquired, yawning, as he entered the office. “Same as always?”

“You ask that as if you weren’t listening at the door,” Saitou replied from behind the work he’d resumed once his wife had left.

“Yeah, but you guys were talking kinda quiet; I couldn’t hear everything.” Sano seated himself on the desk, cross-legged, and peered over the papers in Saitou’s hand.

“Yes, same as always.”

“How I’m not good enough for you and she can’t figure out why you’re with me and all that?”

“That’s about right.”

“Hmph.”

Saitou looked up. “What’s wrong? I know you don’t care about her opinion.”

“Nah, what she thinks doesn’t bug me,” Sano confirmed. “What does is the fact that you never stand up for me.”

Saitou smirked slightly. “Do you need me to stand up for you?”

“If I’m not there to defend myself, you could at least say something!”

The smirk grew. “What am I supposed to say? When she points out that I normally prefer intelligent, mature, reasonable men of about my age who have something like a hope of beating me in a fair fight, exactly how am I supposed to respond?”

The roosterhead rolled his eyes. “God, you are such an asshole.”

“I doubt God appreciates that accusation.” The wolf reached up to flick him on the nose before turning his attention back to his work.

“You prick…” Sano snatched the papers away, forcing Saitou to look at him. “You really think I’m a stupid, immature, weak little kid, don’t you?”

Folding his hands and laying them on the desk, Saitou looked placidly into Sano’s face and replied, “Of course.”

“Then she’s right! Why do you keep me around?”

The officer leaned back in his chair, contemplating the young man on his desk for a long period of silence.

“Saitou?”

“You once told me I couldn’t judge you against my own level until you’d had as much time as I’d had to improve,” Saitou finally said thoughtfully. “I’m waiting for that.”

“What?”

The wolf gave a brief laugh at Sano’s bewilderment. “It’s true your mind lacks cultivation, your attitude is childish, your fighting style is laughable, and you’re barely legal,” he said. “But based on what you’ve shown me so far and what I’ve come to know of you, I fully expect to see that all reversed with time. Whether it will be in two years, five years, twenty years… eventually you’re going to be perfect for me, and I feel it’s best to keep you around in anticipation of that.”

“Shit…” Sano’s face was a picture of confused irritation, with perhaps just a little gratification thrown in. “I don’t know whether to be pissed off or really happy with that answer.”

Saitou shrugged. “Do as you please.”

“Fuck, I don’t even know whether I believe any of that,” Sano continued. “How the hell can you think… you really believe I’m gonna be all great in twenty years?”

“Although you’re not entirely unpleasant at the moment, be assured I wouldn’t put up with you if I didn’t.”

Sano rolled his eyes again, but by now the pleasure in his expression had grown (mostly) to overshadow the puzzlement. “You sure have an ass-backwards way of giving a compliment.”

“Thank you.”

Almost wary of the answer Sano wondered next, “So what am I good for now?”

“Sex,” the wolf informed him matter-of-factly.

Sano shook his head. “You just said all that to make sure you get laid tonight, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” the officer admitted, “but that doesn’t make it any less the truth.”

“Bastard…” Sano leaned forward to kiss him. “I don’t know what I see in you.”

“Maybe it will take a few years to surface,” Saitou speculated with another smirk just before their lips met.


Upon beating me at the Quote Guessy Game, Dedra’s nonspecific ficlet request was for something about Saitou and Sano. As I happened to have this idea vaguely in mind at that time, I went with it.

I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


The Changes in Things

Made Jayne wonder what Simon looked like naked, what else he might have hidden under all that frilly stuff.

Jayne notices Simon; River notices Jayne noticing.


Kaylee had warned them beforehand, but it had been a far sight from adequate. The explanation of why she couldn’t wait until they were planetside to remove the thing and turn off the other thing and fix the one thing was the part of the warning had gone right over Jayne’s head, and when she’d said there might be some tossing about, she’d been underexaggerating, so in essentials there hadn’t been a warning.

Jayne obviously wasn’t the only one whose appreciation of the ship’s random pitching was less than perfect; from another part of the boat came Mal’s grumpy-sounding complaint, “Kaylee, aren’t you finished with that yet?” It really was enough to set a man’s nerves all jangling, not knowing when the ground was going to be steady and when it wasn’t. Still, a man also couldn’t help but chuckle at watching an uptight doctor at the other end of the table get splashed all over the face with his own lunch when another violent tremor rocked the kitchen and everything else.

Simon shot him a mild dirty look and mopped the mess first from his skin, then from the table, with a handkerchief. “This is a lost cause,” he murmured, and rose to clear his spot.

“Good thing I chose non-watery stuff,” Jayne grinned, pleased with himself, around a mouth of protein-protein sandwich.

“Yes, what foresight,” Simon replied, heading for the kitchen door.

Scratching at a recently-healed bullet graze on his leg, Jayne inquired, “That like foreplay at all?”

The troublesome itch on his thigh, Simon walking past him at that very moment, and another, especially violent toss of the under-maintenance ship coincided just then; the doctor was thrown right into Jayne’s lap and Jayne nearly out of his chair, the result being that the gunman’s hand was suddenly pinned, palm-up, between his nether regions and Simon’s.

Huh. Maybe he was just going bibbledy, but it sure did seem like Simon had about the damn nicest ass he’d felt for a long while. Which was funny, because Simon was a man and Jayne didn’t much give men a second thought when it came to their asses or other parts not visible in typical moments. Sure, he’d had a thing or two with the odd fellow — who hadn’t? — on those outposts where ready women were scarce or, worse, dirty, but that was necessity, not predisposition.

Still, a nice ass was a nice ass. Jayne’d have thought, if he’d ever given the matter a hair’s worth of consideration, that Simon was too scrawny and didn’t do enough in the way of physical exertions to have much worth considering; maybe it was some kind of doctor specialty. Made Jayne wonder what Simon looked like naked, what else he might have hidden under all that frilly stuff.

He was about to make a comment to that very purpose, but Simon, who’d risen with half an apology and was now eyeing him like he’d suddenly gone green in the jowls, backed out of the kitchen before Jayne could get breath for a single syllable.

Jayne shrugged and went back to his meal. There’d be another time.

“Time is an abstraction, at which we arrive by means of the changes of things,” said River.

Starting halfway out of his seat and then settling again, Jayne growled, “You know, you could warn people when you’re in the room; crazy’s better when I’m prepped for it.”

She stepped into his line of sight, her bare feet just as silent as they’d obviously been when they brought her in here. The ship saw fit to heave again, and River, swaying with it, kept eerie impeccable balance without even needing to grab the table for support. Her next spot of creepiness was to lean over, resting one elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, and stare at him fixedly, thoughtfully.

“What?” wondered Jayne, eyeing her right back. Gorram off-kilter psychic.

She stood straight and turned her head very slowly toward the door Simon had used.

“What?!” Jayne demanded a second time.

“Where will you arrive by means of the changes in things?” she mused. “Where will he?”

“We’re headin’ for Craterside, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

She gave him that narrow-eyed expression that said she didn’t have the patience for… whatever her patched-up brain had conjured this conversation concerned… and, turning, walked silently toward the door. As she passed him, she very pointedly ran a hand over her petite left buttock and cast Jayne an inscrutable look down her nose.

“Simon!” she called as she passed through the doorway out of sight, and Jayne suddenly figured he maybe fathomed her meaning. Looked like it came down to a toss between letting River say it as twist-brained sisterly advice, or saying it himself. And when you put it like that, maybe lunch could wait a spell.

“Hey doc!” he called, getting up. “Deng yi miao!” And a little unsteadily in the midst of the next tremor, he left the kitchen, following the Tams.


Aletsan beat me at the Quote Guessy Game, and requested a Jayne/anyone/Jayne ficlet. So I ventured for the first time into the realm of writing Firefly. I think I hit all the obligatory points: fangirl Chinese, personal and probably inadequate interpretation of River, glossing over even what basic physics I understand, and a half-assed attempt at getting into the space-western voice without losing the finer points of my own narration.

River’s line about time is a quote from some famous physicist or philosopher or philosopher-physicist or something. It fit my needs. And then I had to throw in some (debatable) implication with her that this isn’t just Jayne/Simon, but River/Jayne/Simon.

Anyway, it’s a cute little fic, and definitely not bad for my only Firefly attempt. I’ve rated it . What do you think of it?



One Nightfall

At first it still felt a little odd to be kissing Chou, of all people, but that was only before the grinding started.

Chou and Sano don’t like each other; they just want to have sex. Being forced to endure each other’s company as they attempt to find a place to do the deed makes for an interesting night.


Sano shouldn’t have been surprised at Chou’s presence in the bar; he hadn’t had enough to drink yet to overlook the logic that although he didn’t like Chou, Chou did live in Tokyo too and could show up at any bar he wanted to — but for whatever reason, Sano was surprised. Maybe it was because when he’d eyed the broom-head suspiciously, Chou had said in a mocking tone, “Whatcha starin’ at, tori-atama? You lookin’ to get laid?” Or maybe it was because Sano had then examined Chou’s pleasant slenderness and promising hands and replied casually, “Yeah.” Or it could have been because Chou, instead of laughing, had immediately returned Sano’s appraising scrutiny and said, “Me too.”

Now they were grinning at each other, both frankly surprised and amused at how quickly and easily they’d reached that agreement — possibly the first time they’d ever agreed on anything.

“Let’s go back to my place,” Sano started to say, but halfway through it changed into “Oh, shit” as he remembered why he was out drinking (and recklessly embarking upon a one-night stand with a rival) in the first place. “I got evicted.”

Chou echoed the “Shit,” chewing his lip. “An’ we can’t go to my place ’cause I got four roommates in one tiny rat-hole of an apartment, and” — he lowered his voice as if he were telling an incredibly dirty secret — “they’re all so inta women it’s scary.”

Sano grimaced. Then they looked at each other for several moments, baffled.

He wasn’t about to waste the price of a hotel room just to fuck someone he didn’t like, and he didn’t have the money anyway — he’d been planning on sleeping at the dojo himself, Kenshin’s guest notwithstanding, and… “Hey! We could go to the dojo!”

“That’s kinda kinky,” replied Chou, clearly not thinking much of this suggestion. “You plannin’ on an orgy or what?”

“Kenshin’s weird master’s in town,” Sano explained; “I dunno why. They’re taking him to dinner or something tonight, and the guy drinks like a fucking fish… they’ll be out forever, and when they do get back they’ll all be plastered.”

Chou grinned wickedly. “Le’s go, then.”

They didn’t really feel any need to talk on the way to the dojo; not only was the winter air too frigid for much conversation, they weren’t exactly friends and didn’t really care what was going on in each other’s life.

Sano had long since commandeered a key to the dojo’s outer doors, and he let them in without any trouble. He stopped short, however, forcing Chou to run into him, with an, “Oh!” at the sight of Kenshin in the yard. “Oh. Hey, Kenshin.” He knew that being surprised and at a loss for words made him look incredibly guilty, but there it was.

Kenshin raised an eyebrow. “Hello, Sano.” He looked from Sano’s reddening face to Chou and back, and said nothing more.

Sano cleared his throat. “Where’s the big guy? Thought you were all going out for dinner or something.”

Looking hard-pressed to conceal a sudden smile of understanding, Kenshin replied, “He disappeared hours ago and hasn’t come back. I didn’t think he had any friends in Tokyo, but…” He shrugged in an I’ve-never-really-understood-Hiko-despite-having-lived-with-him-for-seven-years gesture.

“Well, I was just… I mean, I ran into houki-atama here, and…” He could sense Chou’s mirth behind him, and that didn’t make it any easier not to blush.

Kenshin was evidently about to fail similarly in his effort not to smile, when suddenly Kaoru’s voice came floating out of the building: “Kenshin, dinner’s almost ready! Is that Sano I hear out there?”

“Shit, we gotta get out of here,” Sano said in a panic. “If she catches us, she’ll make us both eat.”

“Izzat bad?” Chou wondered, even as Kenshin turned away with a wave and a laugh toward the house.

“Like you would not believe,” Sano insisted, seizing the sword-collector’s gloved hand and pulling him out of the grounds and back into the street. Once the doors were safely closed behind him he gave a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall, only to stand straight again as the plaster was freezing cold. “Now where?” he wondered.

“Well…” Chou said slowly, “there’s Saitou’s house…”

“The fuck…?” It was Sano’s turn not to think much of the suggested locale. “Now who’s thinking kinky shit?”

“He’s got a date tonight.” Chou’s emphasis of the word and significant raise of eyebrow showed how very amusing he found that concept.

Sano guffawed his agreement with that sentiment. “You mean there’s someone in the world old cricket-face doesn’t hate?”

Chou grinned. “Anyway, so he shouldn’t be home…”

“I guess…” Sano agreed, still rather reluctant but unable to think of anyplace else.

Chou proceeded to lead the way; their only conversation this time was a brief query-and-explanation on the quality of Kaoru’s cooking.

Sano had never seen Saitou’s house before, but it was about what he would have expected of the man. He watched in mild admiration as Chou deftly picked the lock and let him inside.

But something was not right. “Hey, why’s there light down there?” He pointed to an open room at the end of the hall.

In alarm, Chou turned from closing the door to look where Sano indicated.

“I can’t think you’d be stupid enough to try to rob me,” came Saitou’s voice, sounding none too happy, from the room in question, “so what are you doing here?”

“Shit,” Chou muttered, and headed in that direction. Very hesitantly, Sano followed.

They found Saitou sitting alone in the room at the end looking more sour even than usual. Sano, who had never seen the officer out of uniform except for that long-ago first time they met, stared at the strangely normal-looking clothes the man was wearing. “Well?” Saitou wondered irritably.

“Thought you’d be out with what’s-‘is-name,” Chou mumbled.

“Well, obviously I’m not,” Saitou said acidly, “and that doesn’t explain what you were doing breaking into my house.”

Chou cleared his throat. “Well…”

Saitou looked up, practically for the first time, glancing at Sano; his expression, if possible, became even more annoyed. “If you ever,” he told Chou, “even consider using my house for that kind of thing again, I will cut your balls off.”

Chou blanched. “Well, we just…”

“Hey,” Sano broke in, completely unable to contain his raging curiosity for even half a moment longer, “so who’s your boyfriend, Saitou?”

Saitou stared at him, his expression not so much angry as incredulous. “I’d tell you it’s none of your business, ahou,” he said at last, “if I weren’t so amazed that you don’t know.”

“Like I keep tabs on your love life,” Sano snorted. “C’mon, who is it?”

With a mirthless laugh Saitou shook his head. “Do you mean to say that for all the time you spend at that dojo with Himura, you’re not aware of the reason his master is in town?”

Chou appeared startled; evidently he also had not connected the circumstances, though his realization was probably the converse of Sano’s.

“Wait… no way…” Sano stared at him, wide-eyed and flabbergasted. “You’re… no way… Hiko is your boyfriend?!”

Saitou merely rolled his eyes.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Why are you still in my house?”

“So, where is he? Kenshin said he’s been gone for hours… you two were supposed to go out tonight, right?” Though he had to wonder what ‘going out’ meant to a pair like that. “What happened, you get in an argument?”

Saitou looked away, and the very great irritation on his face confirmed this guess.

“All right, well, I just have one question and then we’ll let you mope,” Sano asked, making the same attempt that Kenshin had earlier to keep a straight face. “Do you ever suck him off?”

Chou choked, by all appearances nearly going into shock, and his disbelieving look seemed to inquire, ‘Did you really just ask Saitou if…’ No, even the facial expression could not complete that thought.

Saitou’s look was much the same, except that the unfinished half involved less admiration and a lot more potential drawn-out suffering for Sano.

“I just want to know if you can get drunk off his cum.”

Chou seemed about ready to pass out and possibly die.

“Or at least if it tastes like sake…”

Saitou’s hand moved to his sword.

Chou seized Sano’s arms from behind and dragged him a half-step backward. “We’ll jus’ get outta–” he began, but cut himself off as a noise from the front door seized everyone’s attention.

Sano, who was still facing Saitou, couldn’t help but see on the latter’s face something he never would have thought to find there: a pleased, hopeful look as of sudden happy surprise. It flickered only briefly, however, before being replaced by an even more dreadful scowl than before. He had to admit, in that moment, a little sympathy for Saitou — he couldn’t imagine trying to keep up that kind of relationship with Hiko. Putting the shoe on the other foot, though, he really couldn’t imagine trying to keep up that kind of relationship with Saitou, either.

Chou had put on a devious expression that matched the tone in which he now unexpectedly spoke, much more loudly than before: “Di’n’ want you to be lonely, so we thought we’d come see if you wanted any… you know… company for the night.”

“What?!”

Both Sano and Chou turned to face Hiko, who was traversing the hall swiftly from the front door. And if Sano had thought Saitou was good at looking fucking terrifying… He was glad it was mostly Chou at which the caped man’s glare was directed. Still, impressively, Chou managed a tolerable show of disdain as he said, “Oh, it’s you.”

Saitou had risen, murderous eyes also turned toward Chou. Hiko pushed past the two younger men into the room to face the police officer. “Are you in the habit of sharing ‘company’ like this?”

Chou answered before Saitou could say a word. “‘Scuse me,” he drawled in an offended tone, “I was jus’ offerin’ Saitou here a favor he obviously needed.”

Hiko looked Chou over briefly, though more meticulously than before, and snorted. “I thought you had better taste than this,” he remarked to Saitou.

“Of course I do,” Saitou replied, clearly irritated by Chou’s all-too-convincing playact but also a little uncertain as to where it was going.

“Hey, tori-atama here happens to be the best sex in Tokyo,” Chou protested, clapping Sano on the shoulder.

Hiko’s eyes shifted to Sano (who was again trying not to blush), took in every detail of his form from hair-tips to toes, and narrowed dangerously as they lingered about his lower half. He then put himself two steps closer to Saitou, a movement Sano thought was downright possessive — almost frighteningly so — despite the lack of physical contact between them. “You’re one of baka deshi’s friends, aren’t you?”

Sano nodded, not sure what to say.

“And the best sex in Tokyo?”

Sano knew even less what to say to that, but fortunately Chou jumped in with, “You can’t ask him that; how the fuck should he know? You’ll hafta take my word for it.”

“Well,” Hiko replied, his glare becoming closer and closer to lethal with every passing instant, “as far as I know, Saitou doesn’t settle for anything less than the best sex in the world, so unless you think you can provide that, I suggest you leave.”

“God, aren’t we fuckin’ pleased with ourselves,” Chou muttered as he turned away. “C’mon, tori-atama, le’s get outta here.”

Sano didn’t need any urging.

Chou managed to keep from laughing until they were out of Saitou’s yard. “Best sex in the world!” he kept repeating.

Sano couldn’t help joining him. “And he was serious about it, too!” And they wandered aimlessly up the street, still laughing, breathlessly predicting the outcome of that little exchange.

As they eventually calmed down, Sano remarked, “That was really sneaky, you know that?”

“Those big intense warrior-types!” Chou replied with a grin. “All you gotta do is make ’em a little jealous.”

“It was really nice, too,” Sano pursued.

Chou shrugged. “Happier the boss is, less shitty my job is.” But the self-satisfied expression did not leave his face, and Sano couldn’t help but think the con had been less self-serving than Chou implied.

Sano laughed again and then recalled the reason he was still freezing his ass off out here with Chou in the middle of the night. “Hey!” he said. “We could go to the clinic!”

“Could work,” Chou agreed, “long’s we’re quiet.” And he cast a slow look over at Sano, raking his body leisurely with one suggestive eye and unexpectedly making the former kenkaya’s skin tingle.

Shit, Sano thought in amazement, is it just me or did he just suddenly get hot?! Of course Chou had never been unattractive, but also had never called up that kind of reaction in Sano before. Probably because his annoying personality got in the way of any physical admiration.

They hurried toward Gensai’s.

No discernable lights burned in either clinic or house, though this time the prospective couple peered vigilantly at every window for several moments before hopping the gate and making their way across the yard. Chou once again demonstrated the cleverness of his fingers, and soon they were inside a shadowy room examining an uncomfortable-looking patient bed surrounded by equally unpleasant medical items.

“Well,” Sano said, scratching his head, “it’s not the best place in the world, but…”

Chou shrugged, glancing around. When he turned back to Sano, both his eyes were open and narrowed, and his slow smile drew Sano immediately to him. Their lips met and raged against each other, their tongues engaged in a more intense argument than they had ever conducted verbally; at first it still felt a little odd to be kissing Chou, of all people, but that was only before the grinding started.

After not too long, Sano was on the bed half-reclining, sucking on Chou’s neck with force proportionate to how insistently the back of the broom-head’s hand was running over his crotch. “Shit,” Chou said as he heaved himself up to straddle Sano and resume grinding, even harder this time, “why di’n’ I fuck you back in that jail cell?”

“With Saitou watching?” Sano replied, gasping mostly from sensation rather than shock at the idea.

“It’d be worth it,” Chou replied nearly unintelligibly, just before their mouths converged again.

Sano had never given much thought to the subject of Chou’s ass, but was finding it now not only to have a very pleasant texture through the red cloth but also very useful as a tool to increase pressure between their hardening groins. The blonde’s hands were tugging at the wrappings over Sano’s stomach with the interesting feeling of warmed leather against skin, and suddenly the door opened.

There was an extended moment of relative quiet in which Chou and Sano sluggishly shifted their attention from each other’s appendages and oral fluids to the figure in the entry.

“Oh my god…” Megumi murmured, her emotional state impossible for anyone not privy to her thoughts to define.

The young men freed their tongues and attempted somewhat frantically to disentangle, but only ended up on the floor with their limbs even more muddled.

The door closed.

Chou and Sano stared at each other, wide-eyed.

“This room doesn’t have everything I need,” they heard Megumi saying, and though she was doing her best to sound natural, at least Sano couldn’t help but catch the odd tone to her voice. “That one there.” Other voices sounded, worried and quick, and feet pounded toward another room.

“She jus’ covered for us!” Chou marveled.

Sano buried his face in writhing hands. “Oh, shit, I am never, never, never, never, never going to hear the fucking end of this one…”

“C’mon, le’s get the fuck outta here before she comes back.” Chou climbed to his feet and pulled Sano after him. This brought the rooster-head up against him abruptly, and at the contact of their bodies Chou shuddered briefly and added, “Damn shitty bad timing…”

Sano was still too overcome with horror to say anything.

They vacated the room and the property with all possible haste, setting out once again in no particular direction through the frigid night.

Presently, Chou began to laugh.

“It’s not funny!” Sano groaned.

“I won’t say I ain’t pissed,” Chou replied, “but didja see her face?”

“No,” said Sano, curious in spite of himself.

“She couldn’a been more surprised if it’d been Battousai with a harem of monkeys!”

Sano couldn’t help bursting into laughter of his own at this unexpected image. “She musta looked pretty damn surprised, then!” But the amusement could not long overcome the discomfort. “But, shit, man, I wasn’t telling her I only like guys because I think she likes me and I didn’t want to make her feel bad!”

It was Chou’s turn for a surprised laugh. “It was good timin’, then, after all, so you can stop leadin’ her on!”

“I wasn’t leading her on!” Sano protested. “I never did anything to make her think I liked her!”

“Sure, but long as you let her think y’might start to like her one of these days, that’s what we call leadin’ her on.” Chou smacked the back of Sano’s skull lightly as he said this.

Sano gave Chou’s head a blow in return. “Since when do you know so much about this kind of shit?”

“Hey,” Chou replied, jerking a thumb at his chest, “you’re lookin’ at an expert at leadin’ people on! It’s a great game when you’re bored… ‘cept she’s your friend, right?”

“Yeah…”

Chou shrugged. “Better not to fuck with’er head, then.”

They walked on — Sano contemplating Megumi as well as the surprising realization that Chou, in his own bizarre way, had a streak of maturity in him — until all of a sudden the broom-head cried, “Hey!” and pointed excitedly ahead of them.

“What?” Sano wondered in confusion, looking at the row of shops and seeing nothing to merit such an exclamation.

Chou quickened his pace. “That restaurant there… the owner was doin’ drug deals and all sortsa shit out his back door, so we arrested him’n’ shut the place down.”

“So?”

“So… nobody’s gonna be there for days!” Chou threw Sano a leer over his shoulder. “Think a coupla days’ll be long enough for us to get finished?”

Sano mirrored the licentious expression and hurried to catch up.

The lock on this particular door gave Chou a little more trouble than the last two had, and standing still watching was both very cold, motionless in the winter air, and very hot, as Sano pictured being on the receiving end of Chou’s… lock-picking.

Once inside the building, they didn’t waste much time looking around as they had in the clinic, only chose a booth near the far side of the room to crawl into and went at each other’s clothes with determined frenzy.

They hadn’t really established who was going to be on top, but there wasn’t much need to discuss it — Chou’s ungloved, saliva-covered finger in Sano’s ass once the broom-head got the rooster-head’s pants halfway off, coupled with the memory of the lock-picking fantasy of minutes before, were enough to establish the order of things fairly quickly. Sano was moaning into Chou’s neck, trying to figure out the blonde’s somewhat complicated outfit, his hips twitching as Chou ran teasing fingers over his erection. The sword-collector cursed loudly as Sano finally found his way in and skin met skin. He latched onto Sano’s mouth and added a second finger as Sano stroked him hard, and they squirmed in lip-locked ‘silence’ for a few moments.

Suddenly, panting, Sano broke away from the kiss and looked around with a frown. “Is it getting really hot in here?”

“No shit, gorgeous,” Chou murmured before beginning to suck on Sano’s shoulder and giving more concentrated attention to his partner’s lower half.

“Oh, god,” Sano gasped, struggling to hold onto reason and not buck his hips. “Hey,” he whispered, “I think the restaurant’s on fire.”

“I don’t care,” growled the other.

Despite the implied compliment that Chou didn’t mind burning to death as long as Sano’s hand was on his cock, Sano could not be entirely satisfied with this reply. “Chou!” he tried again, giving the shaft in his hand a hard squeeze to get his attention.

“Oh, shit, Sano…” Chou groaned, arching into him.

Sano couldn’t help a heated moment’s reflection that his name, which he didn’t remember ever having heard Chou say before, sounded really nice like that. Still, “You weren’t supposed to enjoy that, asshole,” he hissed, releasing Chou’s member entirely.

No longer being groped, Chou seemed to regain a measure of his senses. “Huh?” Then his eyes widened. “Shit, the fuckin’ room’s on fire!”

“C’mon, let’s go!” Sano urged, not without some irritated disappointment. They scrambled up.

They had no clue whence the fire had come, but it was spreading rapidly; the building was not likely to survive. This fact, the already uncomfortable heat, and the increasingly unbreathable atmosphere induced them not to worry about their disarray of attire until they were safely across the street.

“What the fuck is going on?” Sano complained as he tied his pants. They were still distinctly bulging.

Chou, no less bulging but closer to fully dressed, was looking around with an irate, attentive eye for the answer to that question. “Hey!” he roared suddenly, startling Sano’s attention away from the rising flames, and took off down a nearby side-street. Being about decent by now (at least clothing-wise), Sano followed. It soon became evident what they were doing, but whether Chou thought the three figures they were chasing had something to do with the fire, or whether he was just taking out his frustration on random passersby at being interrupted, was more difficult to determine. Sano had no scruples left, however, once, emerging onto a brighter street, their prey became more visible and the matching kanji on their backs could be read.

“You didn’t say the guy had yakuza enemies,” Sano protested to Chou as they caught up with the strangers.

“Course he had yakuza enemies!” Chou replied as he caught one of the gangsters by the back of his gi and yanked him hard to the ground.

“So you just decided it would be a good idea to go get all off-guard in a place that had yakuza troubles and might get burned down any time??” Sano demanded, seizing the second of the men around the neck and pummeling him in the side.

You weren’t comin’ up with any place!” Chou retorted as he drew a sword and attacked the third man, who’d stopped to support his comrades.

“It was your turn!” Sano yelled as he kicked the legs out from under his struggling opponent and rapped him unconscious.

“Only ’cause your stupid clinic idea fuckin’ sucked!” Chou growled back as one of his enemies hit the ground in a spray of blood.

Sano noted vaguely that there seemed suddenly to be more people involved in this little fight than the original five, but that hardly mattered. “Like yours was any better!” he bellowed as he drove his elbow into someone’s chest.

I di’n’ suggest goin’ somewhere where we might get walked in on by someone who’s got a fuckin’ crush on me!” Chou returned as he whirled to slice three surrounding gangsters at once.

“No, only by the scariest man I know!” Sano cried , kicking someone in the face and punching someone else in the ribs.

“Don’ be such a fuckin’ pussy, tori!”

“Thought you didn’t like women, houki — if I’m such a pussy, why’d you want to fuck me?”

You di’n have to take me seriously!”

“So you just go with anyone who’s willing to have sex with you?”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Always knew you were a fucking slut.”

“Well, then, why’d you want me to fuck you?”

It was at this moment that they realized they were shouting in each other’s faces, quite close together, which seemed to imply that their enemies were either defeated or in retreat. Glancing around, they found this to be true; except for quite a few less-than-sentient figures on the ground, they were alone. There was shouting not far off, apparently in the direction of the burning building; no smoke or flame was visible from here, so perhaps the fire was contained.

They each released the front of the other’s attire and brushed themselves off. Looking back, each gaze falling to immediately to the other’s crotch, they both scowled. The cold and the rush of blood in other directions during the fight had effectively taken care of the bulging. It was far from comfortable.

Chou gave a sigh of defeat. “Le’s go back to the bar,” he said, giving one of the fallen yakuza a frustrated kick.

Sano echoed the sigh, scratching the back of his head, and followed.

“We could jus’ break into random buildings ’til we found someplace empty,” Chou was grumbling as they walked, “but with our luck tonight, I think we might get struck by lightnin’ next. And I gotta be at work in the mornin’ anyway.”

Sano had been just about to suggest that they return to the dojo, wait until everyone there was asleep, and then sneak inside, but Chou’s last complaint shot that idea down and he had no others.

The bar was more crowded than it had been when they’d originally coincided there, and they practically had to fight for space and service. That was fine; they’d been fighting already anyway, and the faint smell of blood that hung about at least Chou warded off most of the smaller ones, letting them drink away what little money they had (and credit they could wrangle) in black, undisturbed silence.

It wasn’t the ending to the night that Sano would have liked, but at first it seemed it might be prove at least to be relatively acceptable. The drinks were good and with that, their moods began slowly to improve.

As if fate really did have something against them, though, there seemed to spread through the room an atmosphere of barely-controlled hormones. When the third couple in a row — male couple — stood to leave together, this one even managing a significant amount of on-their-feet groping before they got out the door, Sano slammed his jug down irritably and rose. “Gonna take a piss,” he grumbled. “Watch my shit.”

Chou acquiesced in a similar tone as Sano headed for the side exit.

Finished with his business and steeling himself for whatever further public displays of affection he would have to witness inside, the rooster-head found his return path unexpectedly blocked by an unfamiliar woman.

“Hey,” she said as she stepped in front of him, “you’re Sagara, right? I’ve been hearing about you ever since I got into town.”

“So?” Sano had very little patience for flirtatious females at this point.

“So, I was just wondering about you and Chou.” She lifted one of the flaps in the doorway and looked briefly inside. “Are you two lovers, or is this just a one-night stand?”

“If you can even call it that,” Sano muttered, though he was a bit curious at this out-of-the-blue question.

“Maybe you don’t need me to warn you after all,” she laughed at his dour expression.

“I’ve known since I met him that he’s a stupid jerk, if that’s what you mean.”

“You probably don’t know the half of it,” she replied with a shake of her head. “My name’s Kamatari; you may have heard of me.”

“Oh!” Sano exclaimed, understanding.

The cross-dresser nodded. “I’ve known Chou for years, and let me tell you, he’s worse than you think. He and I were interested in each other at one point — or so I thought — and when I finally got him over to my place, do you know what he did? He demanded a blow job before anything else! Can you believe it?”

“I can probably manage to,” Sano replied grimly. “What’d he do then?”

“Came and went,” Kamatari sniffed.

“You mean…”

“I never even got to take my clothes off.” Judging by his tone, Kamatari was still somewhat bitter about this experience. “I decided to give him another chance, but I found out that the address he’d given me and claimed was his was actually a smelly fish shop down by the docks; it was creepy.”

During this last addition to the story, Sano took a turn peeking past one of the door flaps, and was not surprised to see Chou deep in serious flirtation with some very drunk-looking guy. “Fuck this,” he muttered, letting the flap fall to. “Shoulda known better in the first place.” Turning, he stalked away from the bar.

“Good night!” Kamatari called after him cheerfully.

Waving a hand without looking, Sano called back, “Thanks for the tip!”

He found himself more angry at these circumstances than was really logical. He’d never liked Chou, and shouldn’t be particularly shocked at hearing such a black account of him. Maybe it was just the coldness of the night and the blueness of his balls talking.

The Kamiya dojo was not a comforting prospect, but slamming the outer door on his way in was slightly and briefly mollifying. It proved to be more trouble than it was worth, though, as Kaoru emerged immediately from within one of the buildings with a cry of, “If you slam my doors like that again, I swear I will booby-trap it, Sanosuke, do you hear me?”

Sano, already making his way toward the room he usually slept in when he freeloaded here, was trying to ignore her.

“Sano!” She was following him. “You can’t just come onto someone’s property and just do whatever you want! Are you listening? Sano!!”

While he couldn’t but appreciate the irony of her admonition, given what he’d spent the last while attempting to do, he really wasn’t in the mood for her screeching lectures at the moment. “Look,” he said, stopping and turning around so abruptly that she nearly ran into him, “I’ve had a shitty night, and I’m already pissed as hell, so maybe you shouldn’t make it worse.”

She was obviously about to retort angrily, but looking into his face seemed to realize that what he said was true, and relented slightly “Well, what happened?” she asked, in a tone still less than entirely friendly but that implied she was giving him a chance.

There was no way Sano was going to elaborate on the events of the night, so all he said was, “Just a really stupid string of bad luck.” Though he had to consider, given what Kamatari had said, that perhaps it had actually been good luck that just didn’t seem like it to his frustrated body.

“Ohhh, you were out gambling, weren’t you?” Kaoru said icily. “You think that’s a good excuse for storming in here and just expecting to be allowed to freeload?”

“I wasn’t–” Sano began, but was cut off as their attention was drawn to the outer doors slamming open as violently as Sano had just closed them.

“Hey!” Kaoru protested.

“Sorry,” Chou replied, scratching his head and looking at the doors in surprise. “Di’n realize they weren’t locked…”

“What are you doing here?” Kaoru demanded next.

“Lookin’ for tori-atama,” Chou replied, pointing.

“Thought you had to be at work in four hours,” Sano said coldly, pointedly.

Kaoru was glancing back and forth between them. “Sanosuke, is he what you’re mad about?”

Chou approached from the doorway. “An’ what was with you just leavin’? Bartender took your sake back, even.”

“You two were drinking together?” Kaoru marveled.

“Looked to me like you’d found someone you liked better,” Sano answered. “Someone who maybe had a room you could go to.”

Kaoru’s eyes widened. “Were you guys going to…” She blushed.

He started it,” Chou protested. “I practically hadda beat his head to get him off!”

“Isn’t that how it’s usually done?” Sano wondered caustically.

“Sano!” Kaoru cried in shock.

“Look, you may’ve decided I’m a slut–” Chou began, annoyed.

You’re the one who said that leading people on’s a great game,” Sano broke in, angry. “Maybe I just got sick of that.”

“Were you leading Sano on?” Kaoru demanded of Chou.

“No!” Chou protested, by now as angry as Sano. “I wasn’t serious about that, you fuckin’ idiot!”

“That’s not what Kamatari said,” Sano retorted.

“Kamatari? In Tokyo?” Kaoru wondered, surprised.

“Oh, fuckin’ shit,” Chou said in exasperation. “All right, hit me — what’d that stupid bitch have to say about me?”

“Seems like you took that ‘stupid bitch’ for a real fun ride once upon a time,” Sano said. “That what you had planned for me too?”

“You guys were going to…” Kaoru blushed even more.

“Whatever he said’s complete bullshit,” Chou sneered. “He’s a fuckin’ cunt who can’t–”

“Yeah, you’re an expert on cunts,” Sano interrupted.

“Would you quit that?” Chou bellowed. “It’s justa fuckin’ word.”

“I find it offensive,” Kaoru sniffed.

Would you stay out of this?!” Sano and Chou shouted at once.

Kaoru’s face darkened, and as she drew herself slowly up like a storm-cloud about to burst, the arguing couple took an inadvertent step back. “No, I will not stay out of this!” she roared at them. “You two can’t just burst into my home, probably ruin my front doors, start a yelling match right in front of me about one of my friends’ love lives, and expect me not to get involved! You’ve probably woken up half the neighborhood, and since you’re on my property I’m probably going to get blamed, and somebody’s got to stop your noise! Besides, I don’t even know what’s going on with you two, and still this situation is so obvious it’s hurting my head to listen to your stupid argument! You two must be the biggest morons in Tokyo, I swear! You really think I can keep from commenting on it? Why don’t you stop playing this idiotic he-said-he-said-he-said game and admit you like each other and just go have sex already and leave the rest of us in peace?!”

A very long silence followed this as the high color slowly faded from Kaoru’s face and she caught her breath, and Sano and Chou avoided looking at each other.

Finally the sword-collector cleared his throat. “What exactly did Kamatari claim I did?”

“Said you ran out on him after he blew you,” Sano replied concisely. “You led him on,” he added.

“Oh, my,” Kaoru said, recovered from her outburst but clearly not accustomed to having blow jobs discussed in front of her.

“Yeah, but did’e tell you why he was givin’ me head in the first place?”

“Said you demanded it before anything else.”

“That’s… rude…” Even Kaoru could see that this was a sexual faux pas.

“Fuckin’ liar!” Chou growled. “He offered, an’ you know why he offered? Because he was puttin’ on a fuckin’ show for fuckin’ Shishio who couldn’ get his own crispy dick up without watchin’ someone else get some first.”

“Eew!” Kaoru said.

Sano, who had actually seen Shishio, had to agree with and surpass that sentiment.

“It was the closest thing to sex that connivin’ little whore ever got outta Shishio, but did he bother tellin’ me first that we were doin’ a live shunga for the boss? Hell, no! Soon’s I realized what was goin’ on… um, and got my rocks off… I got the fuck outta there! Like I wanted to show off my shit like that to Shishio…”

Kaoru, wide-eyed, was nodding.

Sano, similarly disturbed and sympathetic, had by now about relented. The fact that Chou had followed him here, Kaoru’s… advice, and this not-unbelievable revision of Kamatari’s story were enough to have sapped his anger entirely. It didn’t mean he actually liked Chou, though — just that if they had managed to have sex, he wouldn’t be regretting it at this point. “Well, all right,” he said, a little stiffly.

“Yeah, so that’s… what really happened,” Chou replied, in much the same tone. “He’s been pissed at me ever since.”

The next silence was marked by Kaoru looking back and forth between them again, her eyebrows lowering.

“Shouldn’t you get home and go to bed?” Sano said quickly as he saw her face darkening once more. “You never know what mood Saitou’s gonna be in in the morning… if they had another fight, he’ll kill you if you’re late.”

“Or cut my balls off,” Chou agreed.

“And I don’t know that Megumi’d be too happy to treat that.”

“And y’know I’m gonna have all sortsa extra work to do tomorrow ’cause of all that yakuza-fire shit.”

They couldn’t help grinning at each other for a few moments.

“All right.” Chou backed away a few slow steps. Then, “G’night,” he said abruptly, and turned.

“Night,” Sano replied.

Kaoru was swelling again, and Sano was debating whether to grab her and see if he couldn’t cover her mouth with his hand when Chou suddenly stopped and turned back. “Hey, if you ever wanna… come over…” He shrugged. “I live in those shitty apartments behind the police station.”

Kaoru held her fire for the moment, looking wary.

“Thought you said your roommates were…” Sano trailed off.

“They are… I mean, just to hang out…”

“Well, if… sure, why not?”

“Great. See y’round.”

“Yeah, bye.”

And then Chou was really gone.

“Sano!!” Kaoru protested, aghast and angry. “Sano, what is your problem?? I can’t believe you just let him leave like that!”

“Hey, you’re the one who didn’t want him on your property arguing with me,” Sano replied, a little absently. He was smiling. Stretching, he turned and began a languid walk toward the room he’d originally intended to borrow.

“But… you two could have…” She blushed again as she followed him. “I mean, it’s all right if you use one of my rooms every once in a while…”

He grinned over his shoulder at her. “That’s sweet of you, jou-chan, but he and I’ll figure something out; I know where he lives.”

“But, Sano,” she said worriedly, “I don’t think there are apartments behind the police station.”

This had been a momentary concern for Sano as well, given prior intelligence on the subject of Chou’s address. But having walked a mental path in that direction, he found he could actually picture the place; ‘rat-hole’ was too kind a term. “Hey, don’t worry about that,” he told her as he opened the door to where he’d be sleeping tonight — alone — stepped inside, and prepared to close it in her face. “He’s not big — well, yeah, he’s pretty damn big — but he’s not big on leading his friends on.”


This story was inspired by Trick, but whereas the guys in that movie that hooked up for a one-night stand had never met before, here they’ve met plenty of times and simply don’t like each other much. I think it still works pretty well.

I’ve rated this story . What do you think of it?

This story is included in the Rurouni Kenshin Collection ebook.



Death Wish


“Sir? Are you all right?”

He turned with distant surprise toward the sympathetic woman’s voice that had spoken, but couldn’t at first get his eyes to focus on her.

“You’ve been standing there packing those for five minutes,” she explained.

Saitou’s hands paused in the middle of said motion, which he hadn’t realized he’d been doing for so long. Once he’d made the transition from one action to another, it was with automatic if jerky movements that he opened the package, extracted a cigarette, brought it to his lips, and searched for his lighter.

The woman, whom he eventually hazily identified as a member of the janitorial staff cleaning out the ash trays here on the smoking deck, looked at him pityingly, especially at his arms onto which some of the blood must have soaked through his jacket before he’d removed it. After a moment she offered her own lighter, seeing he was absently continuing the search despite his inability to find his (it was in his jacket). “Waiting for someone in surgery?” she guessed quietly.

Dumbly he nodded. The smoke worked to clear his head a little, but not enough for him to attempt a verbal response.

She glanced again at his uniform. “Partner?”

He nodded again, not up to the task of differentiating between types of partners.

“I hope everything goes OK,” she said as she wheeled her cleaning cart around to face the door back inside. “Keep the lighter.”

Saitou was left alone, watching the ambulances come and go but not really seeing them, nor hearing their wailing sirens rising up from below. Presently he tossed what remained of the cigarette into the ash tray and started another.

They hadn’t come in an ambulance. He hadn’t wanted to wait for one when he had a car with a siren right there. It was a breach of protocol, but he didn’t give a damn. That wasn’t the only thing he’d done wrong… a shooting, and he hadn’t pursued… had opened fire in a public parking lot… had barely been coherent enough to relay information to someone in the vicinity…

Justice was one thing. Revenge was one thing. Prevention of further crime was one thing. Saving someone’s life was something entirely above and beyond.

He gave a short, sarcastic laugh as he started his fourth cigarette. Above and beyond justice? Above and beyond the only ideal that had mattered to him his entire life? Guns are loaded with truth, the saying went. He’d never liked it. He still didn’t like it. At least now he’d found an applicable situation, though. The truth here was that the police were coming up very short in this city if somebody in the company of an officer couldn’t cross a parking lot without getting shot.

His hand, he found, was clenched with vicious tightness around the lighter, and he forced it to loosen. Whose lighter was this, anyway? He’d just bought a new one, along with the cigarettes, at the store, before… Well, that one had been black, and this was red.

In the midst of lighting his sixth stick, his hand clenched again inadvertently, and he growled, bending his will to pry it open and reignite the lighter. He sucked hard on the cigarette, but found its soothing quality inferior to some he’d enjoyed in the past.

The idiot had a death wish. That was the only explanation. Wasn’t there some psychologist somewhere with a theory about beautiful people being more reckless? Typically stupid. Somebody beautiful shouldn’t care if some moron he didn’t even know called him a faggot, shouldn’t have to respond to everything said to him, shouldn’t have to turn everything into a confrontation, then a fight… then a shooting… but Saitou should know better by now — much better — than to associate, even indirectly, charm with sense. Because it should have been obvious to anyone familiar with the streets, not to mention that particular neighborhood, cop or otherwise, that those guys were trouble. There were visible bullet holes in their car, for god’s sake.

He accidentally snapped the eighth cigarette between fingers that shouldn’t have been quite so unsteady. Irritated, he pulled out another one.

How absurd, to go through life assuming you were invincible! Though perhaps that attitude was only present in the company of a cop? Saitou thought it was more likely a permanent thing. He took a long, angry drag on the tenth cigarette. What kind of cop was he, anyway, letting someone get shot right in front of him? True, he’d put a few more holes into that wreck of a car as they’d peeled out, but he’d been intending to hit their tires. He couldn’t remember when his aim had been so off.

His aim was still off, and he had to bend and retrieve the half-spent cigarette from wet concrete to deposit it in the ash tray. Then the lighter blew out twice and it was several moments before he got the twelfth one lit.

And what kind of timing was this? It was like some cosmic sense of irony had decided to make a joke of him, of both of them, or like something out of a bad tear-jerker ‘romance’ movie. Did everyone suffer similarly disastrous consequences of important admissions? Or had it only happened here because he’d been so stubborn for so long? He flicked ash from the fourteenth cigarette and it unexpectedly blew right back into his face. Representative of anything? Possibly. But it was a cruel form of punishment for one‘s obstinacy to let the other get shot.

Or maybe it was just a message from the great beyond. He’d given in because he had a weakness for pretty, stupid, adorable people, but maybe he should have held out. Perhaps this was the universe’s way of telling him that, of taking the choice he’d handled badly out of his hands. Except that would have to mean…

The thought was so unexpectedly chilling, the resultant shiver so intense and unexpected, he nearly dropped both the lighter and his sixteenth cigarette. Fumbling just to keep them in his hands, it was a while before he got the thing lit. He didn’t know why that idea was affecting him so much; he didn’t believe in destiny and being guided by the hands of fate. It had been an unfortunate and ironically timed coincidence, nothing more.

“Hey, Saitou…”

Even his own name could hardly gain his attention.

“You’ve been out here the whole time, haven’t you? You’re soaking wet! If you catch a cold or something, Sano’ll be pissed at both of us.”

The name, not to mention the accompanying implication, was enough to bring him ten steps closer to reality. He suddenly recognized just how cold he really was, as well as the sight of the young man standing in front of him, and the fact that by now… by now it must be over. A little more aware of the real cause of his shaking hands, he was able to control them much better than he had before as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray.

“He’s going to be fine,” the long-haired man said as Saitou straightened and looked at him again. “At least, he’s out of immediate danger, and they don’t expect complications.”

“With him there are always complications.” He was surprised at how dark and harsh his voice sounded. Unfamiliar, somehow, as if he hadn’t heard himself speak for a very long time.

The young man — Katsu, that’s who he was, the roommate — smiled, wry and weary. “I don’t understand any of this.” Saitou found himself struggling to hear the words over the pounding in his chest, which sound even overrode the very close-by noise of the lighter striking and flaring up. “You seem like a complete asshole, and that’s basically how Sano’s described you… but he’s been totally obsessed with you since he met you.”

The officer nodded, accepting the unflattering assessment of his personality as well as confirming the history.

“But you wouldn’t have him for the longest time,” continued Katsu, “until you just randomly changed your mind tonight when you ran into him at a gas station on your way home from work… and then — just then — there just happens to be some trigger-happy homophobe waiting outside to shoot him. Am I right so far?”

Saitou nodded again, not bothering to explain that there had been physical involvement for quite some time, and tonight had merely been the first expression of emotional involvement. It came to the same thing — Sano had finally gotten what he wanted, and then this…

“So first I get a string of texts from Sano I can barely read because he’s so happy and excited about you… and then you call me up, cool as cucumber, asking does Sano have medical insurance and can I meet you at the hospital! Almost give me a heart attack, and you’re just calm and disinterested, and then disappear the moment he goes into surgery.”

Saitou wasn’t aware he came across as so very indifferent, but neither was he surprised. He had nothing to say in his own defense.

“And finally.” Katsu shook his head, smiling faintly. “I find you out here, where I guess you’ve been the whole time, still pretending to be a stoic asshole.”

“Pretending?” Saitou echoed, vaguely startled.

“I don’t really know you at all, but it seems to me that getting hypothermia pacing in an ice storm and not even noticing means you’re pretty damn distracted.”

Saitou looked around at the heavy sleet, realizing for the first time it was there. “I would hardly call this an ice storm…”

“Have it your way,” Katsu shrugged. “My point is, you like him enough to worry yourself sick over him, so I just wonder what took you so long.”

Still filled with the same unfocused surprise, Saitou again had no answer.

“He’s in room 354,” Katsu said with a snort that might have been amused and might have been exasperated. “It’s two floors up from here. Be there when he wakes up.”

Saitou thought he nodded, but he didn’t even see Katsu there anymore — only hallways and elevators, and the only thing in his head was a number.

And there in the bed was his stupid boy. There was nothing else — no small and painfully white room with ceiling, walls, and floor; no potted plants to add cheer to the scene; no curtained window providing the slap of frozen rain from outside; no TV near the ceiling to keep the patient from insanity; no worn and comfortable chairs for family members to worry their hearts out in; no IV or heart monitor or folded tray table or even sterile sheets or breathing tubes or anything else at all in the entire world but Sanosuke lying there pale, asleep, alive.

Saitou didn’t think he’d ever remained so utterly still, nor stared at something with such profound fixedness. He felt like he stood in the eye of a huge storm; here there was agonized calm and quiet, but around him everything was spinning and chaotic, and nothing would ever be the same again. How such a simple thing as a sleeping face could have such an effect on him, he was not and would probably never be sure.

Eventually, after how long he could not even begin to guess, he found his way to one of the chairs and continued his intense study of Sano’s visage from there. He felt inexplicably weary, as if he had been the one shot, as if he’d done anything tonight other than pacing. It was illogical and troublesome, and for a while he fought the onslaught of sleep with irritated vigor. Sano’s tranquility was contagious, however, and after a while Saitou gave in.

When he awoke, the young man still lay silent, his breathing as shallow as before. Saitou stretched, rearranged himself in the chair, and started watching once again, almost as if he had never been interrupted. The light had changed, the storm outside had evidently passed during the night, but everything else remained the same.

After an indeterminate while — a clock ticked somewhere in the room, but Saitou’s eyes had never left Sano’s form to locate it — a nurse entered. “Oh, you’re awake,” said she. “We let you stay because you looked so tired, and because the roommate mentioned that Sanosuke would want to talk to you as soon as possible, but normally we only allow family members to sit in the room all night — especially no police officers, because patients don’t need to be questioned right after–”

“I’m not going to question him,” Saitou broke in. “I’m his–” he forced himself not to stumble over the word– “boyfriend.”

“Oh!” The nurse looked surprised and sympathetic. “Well, of course you can stay, then.” She added as she went about whatever business she’d come in to do, “He’s going to be just fine.”

Saitou nodded silently and continued watching Sano, barely noticing when the woman left.

Not long after that (he thought), Sano’s lids finally opened. Despite not seeming to see much more than he had with them closed, at least at first, just this tiny motion on Sano’s part caused Saitou’s deliriously spinning world to come down so abruptly it left him shaking. He was beside the bed before the brown eyes could even come into a half-focused state.

“Oh,” Sano said blearily. “You really are here.”

“Yes,” Saitou replied.

Sano gave a vague smile. “I thought I heard you talking… thought I heard you said you’re my boyfriend.”

“I did.”

The smile, which was remarkably childlike, widened. “Gotta get shot more often, then. Every day. Did I get shot?”

“Yes.”

Sano’s hand emerged slowly from under the blanket and found Saitou’s. “I don’t feel it,” he murmured. The smile turned almost into a grin. “Don’t really feel anything.”

“You will,” Saitou assured him. “It’ll hurt sooner than you want it to.”

“You should kiss me,” Sano mumbled.

Normally Saitou would have refused to kiss someone with a plastic tube up his nose, but at this point he couldn’t deny Sano anything. Still, it was a very brief, gentle kiss.

“Smell like so many cigarettes,” was Sano’s faint statement. “You been chain-smoking again?”

Saitou lifted the mostly crushed package that was still in his other hand and glanced at it. One cigarette remained, and he was surprised it wasn’t crushed as well. Yes, he supposed, he had been chain-smoking. He hadn’t noticed.

“That’s the pack you just bought!” Sano protested with a little more energy. Saitou made no attempt to stop him as he reached out and took it in loose fingers, then threw it weakly across the room. Whether he’d awakened at some point earlier and looked around or by coincidence, it landed somewhat near a small trash can. “You have a death wish, I swear,” he chastised as his hand fell limply to his side and his eyes drifted closed.

“Yes,” Saitou said softly. “We’re a matching pair of suicidal idiots.”

With a dim smile, Sano whispered, “OK, sleep now.”

Saitou kissed Sano’s forehead and stepped away from the bed. He turned and went to the fallen cigarette package, bending and retrieving it. Silently he returned to the chair and sat down to continue his vigil, after decisively tossing the package into the garbage.



This was originally going to be called Twenty Cigarettes, but I liked the “matching pair of suicidal idiots” theme better. I’ve rated this story .

I commissioned Candra to draw a picture for this fic, and I don’t have words for how much I love it:

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Head Injury


It was cold. Very cold, for October. He wouldn’t be surprised if the morning’s frost was more like snow. He looked forward to home and tea and bed. Of course, he always looked forward to those after a particularly long day’s work, but on a night like this any remotely sensible person would be hurrying home. Which was why it wasn’t much of a surprise to find Sagara Sanosuke loafing around in the street appearing not to care that his nose was turning blue. He also looked somewhat drunk.

Saitou debated whether to say something or just walk by. Harassing a drunk was a little too easy, but shots at Sagara were always cheap and he didn’t enjoy them any less. And it had been so long since he’d last had the chance. It was cold out, and he did want to get home… but he couldn’t resist. Maybe it was a little sorry, but Sagara’s seeming helplessness (as always) was just too enticing.

“Apparently you’ve realized how pathetic your life is and decided on a slow suicide.”

This relatively good line seemed to have been a waste of breath, however, as Sagara only turned slowly to fix bleary eyes on Saitou. It seemed he was actually more than merely ‘somewhat’ drunk. Saitou frowned; in this cold, that was dangerous. Typical that the boy could get himself into a life-threatening situation without anyone’s help…

“Saitou?” Sagara was wondering, stepping slowly toward him. “Izzat you?”

Saitou rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

“How much did I…” His face took on a deeply pensive expression. “Since when’re you alive?”

Oh. How irritating. “I talked to Battousai just last week, and it wasn’t the first time since Kyoto… how can you have still been under the impression that I wasn’t alive?”

Sagara seemed confused by the question. “What kinda game’re you playing? The whole place blew up!”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Saitou replied easily, “but I don’t play games.”

Sanosuke staggered a step closer. “Maybe I’m just drunker’n I thought.”

“You probably are, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not dead.”

The roosterhead conceded unexpectedly. “Right. Good to know. What’d’jou want?” Although this answer was (relatively) coherent, it didn’t seem he was keeping very good track of the conversation.

“What I don’t want is to trip over your body on the way to work tomorrow, so I suggest you go home before you freeze to death. I would add that you should also learn some temperance in the future, but I know a hopeless cause when I see one.”

“Go home?” Sanosuke echoed vaguely, seeming not to have caught the rest. “Yeah, I think I live ’round here.”

“No, you don’t.” Saitou sighed as he saw how this was going to turn out. He hadn’t particularly wanted a detour through this kind of weather, but leaving the idiot to wander in this condition would be akin to killing him. Which might be interesting, yes, but then he’d have to come up with a legal excuse for it more watertight than that, as he hadn’t wanted to arrest him because the police station was too long a walk from here, it had just been easier. “Come on.”

It was better proof of Sano’s state than anything yet offered that he followed dutifully, if not at all steadily. “Where we going?” he asked.

“Home,” Saitou replied shortly.

“Why’re you coming home with me?”

Gold eyes rolled again skyward. “Because you’ll never get there on your own.”

“Oh. All right.” Sano had barely made this acquiescence when he retracted it with, “What?! Yes, I will! ‘Mnot that drunk!”

“Yes, you are,” Saitou assured him. “Keep up!”

And though Sano quickened his pace to walk at Saitou’s side, he was still protesting. “Like I need you to show me how to get home.” And at that moment he tripped violently and would have fallen on his face if Saitou had not caught him. “Shit!” Suddenly he sounded more amused than angry as he admitted he’d been wrong: “Guess I really am that drunk.” And if his words weren’t evidence enough, the officer thought, his uncharacteristic mood swings must be.

“You’n let go,” Sano said petulantly. “I can walk without your help.”

Upon Saitou’s compliance, Sano promptly lost his balance and fell. The wolf did not hesitate to laugh as he hauled the idiot to his feet and pulled one arm of Sano’s around his shoulders.

This action appeared to confuse Sano quite a bit; Saitou was beginning to think that, in addition to ordinary drunkenness, Sano had also perhaps taken a blow to the head — simply because the wolf didn’t think anyone could hold the amount of alcohol it would take to confuse him this badly and still be standing, let alone walking. Of course, if anyone could, it would be Sagara Sanosuke.

He wasn’t even entirely sure how or why he knew where Sano lived, but his memory of the location evidently had not failed him; as soon as Sano caught sight of the place, he started groping through his pockets for something — a key, it turned out, which naturally he dropped the moment he extracted. Saitou retrieved it, nearly losing hold of Sano before he got the door unlocked and the young man inside.

There, Sano looked around for a moment in continued confusion before a triumphant expression took his face and he said, “See, toldja I could get here just fine!”

“Yes, you did tell me that,” Saitou agreed. “Now, sit down.”

Sano, still with that bizarre (injured?) air of patient compliance, did as he was told, stumbling over to a worn futon of dubious sanitation and indistinguishable original color and taking a seat thereon.

Saitou looked around for a light source. The sooner he could test his head-injury hypothesis and deal with the situation accordingly, the sooner he could get home. Finding a small and dilapidated lamp, he lit it with his own matches and turned to find Sano watching him (predictably) with confusion in his gaze. He went over to him and knelt down. “Hold still,” he commanded, removing his gloves.

“What’re you doing?” Sano wondered as Saitou reached around to the back of his head and began to search for anything unusual.

Instead of answering the question, Saitou asked, “Do you remember fighting anyone tonight?”

“Uh…” Sano looked puzzled for a moment, as if it took him that long to comprehend the question, then contemplative. Finally he answered, “No.”

Having found no signs the young man was hurt, Saitou nevertheless persisted, “Do you remember falling?”

“Yeah,” Sano replied slowly. “Yeah…”

Saitou’s theory was right, then. He resumed his cautious examination of the thick skull until Sano added, “And then you laughed at me.”

Oh. Saitou scowled. What now? He was no doctor, of course, but he couldn’t think of anything besides certain types of head injuries that would so flummox someone without visible signs such as blood loss or severe pain. Maybe Sano really was just superhumanly drunk. Saitou wasn’t quite satisfied with this explanation, though, and, nudging one edge of Sano’s gi aside, slowly probed his chest looking for other wounds that might not be immediately apparent.

“Shit…” Sano gasped.

Thinking he must have found the problem, inexplicable as that was when Sano’s chest seemed perfectly fine, Saitou looked up into the young man’s face — and Sano leaned forward and kissed him.

Oh. What he’d just been doing could be construed that way, couldn’t it? Especially by someone superhumanly drunk. It opened up a whole new set of unexpected possibilities for the night’s heretofore minimal entertainment, and what with the can of worms that was the ensuing ethical dilemma, Saitou was distracted for several moments and did not bring the kiss to an end.

The decision he came to in those moments was, he thought, impressively unbiased for someone that was avidly (if clumsily) being groped by a hot and willing teenager too drunk, most likely, to remember any of this in the morning. That is, assuming he was ready to go with the drunkenness explanation after all. But, again, Saitou was no doctor, and not qualified to diagnose anything more than drunkenness.

Kissing Sano harder, he pushed him down onto his back on the futon.

***

It was late. Much later than he usually woke up after such an experience. But since this was the mutated mother of all hangovers, that made sense.

But Sano didn’t so much wake up as come to the realization that, despite a host of convincing signs to the contrary, he had not, in fact, died and gone to hell. As greater lucidity filtered in, much like the nearby hellfire light and just as painful, he started vaguely to wonder whether whatever he’d done last night had been worth this. It was quite some time before he had the energy to make even the least persistent attempt at figuring out what that had been. And nothing was coming back to him.

That he was still desperately tired after such a long sleep didn’t seem quite logical, or that his entire body was aching so very much… though, for the second, perhaps he would find a justifying fight in his memory once he recovered it. Eventually, aided by the in-rolling of some clouds to dim the evil sun outside, he started slowly to gather his wits. He found in them no explanation for the unusual amount of exhaustion and soreness, however. There were holes in the story of the night, to be sure, but none of them were large enough to fit a battle and its aftermath into… In fact, he was beginning to be able to piece together which bars he’d been to and after which one he’d headed home. Maybe this was just going to end up as one of those unsolved mysteries of the universe.

He didn’t know how long it took him to get his eyelids up for more than five seconds, but once he managed that, he figured he might as well try to sit up too. And even as he did so, he froze, eyes going wide. Had he…?

Yanking the blanket off in a motion that hurt his vision only because it was so abrupt, he gazed down at himself and the futon and the unmistakable signs, then around the room at his scattered clothing. Yes, it looked like he had.

But… he didn’t recollect leaving with anyone… or even meeting anyone interesting… maybe he’d run into someone on the way home? He couldn’t remember. Whoever it had been, he’d worn Sano completely out. Which made it not only unfair but also a little creepy that he couldn’t place him.

God, did he need a bath…! But there was no way he was getting up just yet. He turned over and buried his face in soft cloth, still trying to recall the details of the encounter. The worst part of not being able to was, what if it had been somebody embarrassing? He’d done his share of sniggering at his friends when they’d gotten too drunk to realize their one-night-stand was the crazy fish-vendor or someone with no eyebrows and buck teeth; now was the shoe on the other foot?

Although, again, he didn’t remember leaving that last bar with anyone. Had there been another bar he couldn’t recall? Otherwise, nobody would know. He hoped. But he wanted to know. How could he show his face around town if he wasn’t sure he hadn’t slept with fish-merchant Dochou-jiisan? Or somebody worse? He gave a muffled groan. No way would he be this tired after a night with crazy Dochou, so at least he didn’t have to worry about that, but he definitely needed to figure out who it had been. Maybe if he thought really hard…

Feelings… the typical ones associated, or… maybe rather better… well, that was promising… of course, he might have been imagining the guy was a good lay because he was too drunk to tell for sure, or it could just be wishful thinking now… He had to remember. He got the impression he’d been more pleased than usual about the arrangement — why? Well, the conviction it had been really good sex was not diminishing, so that would explain that, he supposed…

Saitou?

“Oh, god,” he moaned. “Please tell me I didn’t…”

No such luck. The more he thought about it, the more his weary head was filled with images that would not disperse of Saitou Hajime touching him in ways he never could have imagined.

So. He’d gotten desperately drunk at a friend’s birthday party, hooked up with some random guy on the way home, had wild, fatiguing sex, and pretended very enthusiastically all along it was his dead rival and erstwhile crush. Greeaaat. It didn’t get much more embarrassing than that.

Unless he’d managed to pick up a police officer.

Yeah, that actually would be more embarrassing than just some random guy. And given how convinced his brain seemed to be that it really had been Saitou, he thought it more than likely.

He was never going outside again.

He’d known he liked the unlikeable wolf, but had put it down to the maddening stress of Kyoto, and (he thought) gotten over it when it obviously wasn’t going to go anywhere (due to said wolf’s untimely dissolution). Well, it must have been worse than he’d thought. It figured Saitou could embarrass him even after death.

And how might he have behaved in the company of his anonymous fuck-buddy? What kind of telling things might he have said, or, better yet, cried out at the worst possible moment? And would he hear about it the next time he spent a weekend in jail for brawling? Well, if the stranger had been as drunk as Sano had (proportionally speaking, of course, as few people could actually get as drunk as Sano could), he might never hear about it. But there were just too many possibilities here. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to make any effort at deciding what to do with them until his head hurt a little less.

Until then, it couldn’t do any harm just to lie here with his face in the futon imagining what it might have been like if it had been Saitou.

***

It was not what he’d been expecting. Whatever that had been. True, he had remarked to himself that Sano was unlikely to remember, the next day, what they’d done, but he hadn’t actually thought that would happen. And what other explanation was there for hearing nothing from him in the week that had passed since that night? Sano wasn’t the type to sit back patiently and let things play out; surely if he were fully aware of what had occurred, whatever his reaction, he would have found some way to confront Saitou about it by now. Obviously he didn’t remember.

That would be a little irritating if not for the pleasing recollection that Sano had started it. Even if he didn’t remember, he must still want Saitou, and would inevitably react the same way to a similar situation. Saitou had very easily determined that he wanted Sano again… In fact, it was safe to say he wanted him again every night until further notice. So he planned to go see him as soon as the case he’d just opened was finished and his evenings were a little more free; and then it would be like the first time all over again.

But for a second time, things did not go quite as he’d expected.

As there was obviously nobody home when he found his way to Sano’s apartment, he decided to let himself in and wait. The room was as he remembered it, and he couldn’t help smiling as he removed his shoes and went inside, looking around for the best place to sit to startle the returning Sano.

His attention was caught by a folded sheet of paper laid conspicuously on the table, and he paused to examine it. Slowly a frown grew on his face as he read what was written inside:

Hey, Katsu-

If you’re reading this, means you broke into my place like I figured you would looking for me. I’m all right… got into a bad situation the other night when I was drunk, though, so I’m gonna hang out in Kyoto for a while. If any cops come asking about me, you don’t even know me, all right?

Saitou refolded and replaced the note with frown still in place. Had he misinterpreted so badly? He’d been certain Sano had wanted him, but, looking back, was it so certain Sano had even really recognized him at that point? Just because he had earlier meant nothing. It wasn’t inconceivable the roosterhead had awakened the next day, then remembered and completely understood, and been less pleased in full awareness than he had been the night before.

Of course there was the possibility Sano meant something entirely different by ‘bad situation the other night when I was drunk,’ and the reference to cops was ambiguous as well… but each was also too coincidental for Saitou to ignore.

It seemed, then, he’d gone too far. And what must have been the effect on Sano if, instead of blazing out to kill Saitou for what he’d done, he’d decided to leave town? Saitou could only assume he’d hurt him, which rendered a situation he’d thought simple and pleasant complicated and unfortunate. He wasn’t even sure what to do about it, although he didn’t need to decide just yet as in any event he didn’t have time for a trip to Kyoto until next week.

With a sigh he left the apartment and headed for home.

But, following the trend, things didn’t go quite as he’d expected, for just as he was leaving the neighborhood, whom should he run into but Sano himself.

There was no time to choose words or actions; he turned the corner and there was Sano walking toward him with a travel bag over his shoulder and not the world’s happiest expression on his face. He looked up as Saitou came around the bend, and stopped dead.

“S-Saitou?!” Well, that was odd… Sano didn’t seem angry, but was blushing. Why would he blush if he didn’t remember, but why if he remembered and wasn’t angry had he not approached Saitou about it? “I… thought you were dead…” Sano continued, his tone not much more collected than before.

Now Saitou was very confused.

“If you were alive, you sure as hell coulda said something about it, you know that?”

But if Sano had believed him dead, he obviously couldn’t remember — so, again, why the blush?

“I was just going outta town, but I forgot something at home.” It seemed Sano was not used to, nor comfortable with, Saitou having nothing to say in response to his statements, for he was speaking with the nervous air of one trying to fill an awkward silence. Which was not something Saitou had ever seen him do before, and made this all the more confusing.

“It’s just like you to be dead and not say a fucking word to any of us and then show up at random like this and…”

Saitou was still trying to figure this out.

“…and you’re still not saying a word.” Sano’s face took on a worried look. “Hey, are you all right? You’re not sick, are you? This is a weird neighborhood for you to be in anyway, and usually you’d’ve insulted me by now… Djyou hit your head or something?”

For this there could be no response but laughter.

Sano’s expression was now very concerned, and he stepped forward a little nervously. Raising a hand, moving slowly as if Saitou were a skittish animal, he pressed the back of it to the older man’s forehead, testing against the temperature of his own. “You don’t feel sick,” Sano murmured, moving even closer and sliding the hand around Saitou’s head, presumably searching for injuries.

Well, just because this seemed too good to be true didn’t mean it wasn’t actually happening, so Saitou leaned forward and kissed Sano decisively.

It seemed Sano was as surprised by this as Saitou had been similarly the other night, but the twitch he gave was not violent enough to break the contact. And after a moment, his arms crept around Saitou’s chest and clasped him tightly.

It was a long kiss. Very long and passionate, heating up the frigid night and indicative of what things were going to be like from now on. A nice thought, that. And at last Sano drew away, gasping, a delighted sort of shock on his face. “God damn!” he panted. “You really musta hit your head or something.”

Saitou smirked. “Maybe I did.”

“And that was you the other night, wasn’t it?”

The smirk grew. “Maybe it was.”

“Asshole,” Sano grinned, and kissed him again.

When he had use of his tongue once more, at great length, Saitou asked, “So, going out of town, are you?” He still didn’t quite understand what had been going through Sano’s mind, but he had time now to figure it out.

“Oh, hell, no,” Sano answered. “And leave you acting all weird? You obviously have a serious head injury; I gotta take you home and make sure you’re all right!”

“Well, I’m glad I’m in such capable hands,” Saitou said with friendly dryness.

Sano’s grin expanded. “Come on, then,” he ordered, pulling Saitou by the wrist. “Keep up!”


OH MY GOSH SAITOU REALLY

Ahem. Drunkenness does not equal consent. I’m glad Saitou at least recognizes the possibility of having behaved very inappropriately, but he still doesn’t seem to take it very seriously; and since things worked out in the end, he probably won’t even give it any thought after this. What a rapey story I have written.

Anyway. This was first posted on my twenty-fifth birthday, and, corresponding with that, the story was originally set in September. I eventually recalled, however, that not everyone lives where I live where snow in September isn’t terribly unusual. Even October is pushing it, for Tokyo, but that’s at least a little better.

Also, I had really wanted to have Saitou trip over Sano’s sleeping form on his way out the next morning, but POV and arrangement didn’t allow for it.

I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


And the Moments Drift Like Snow


Three. Hours.

Three hours, consisting each of sixty minutes, for a total of one hundred and eighty, which was ten thousand eight hundred seconds if you wanted to calculate that out — which Saitou didn’t need to, as he’d counted each as it passed. For three long hours he sat in his room, scarcely able to breathe, cold, silent, still, struggling against a deadly pattern of thought from which a brief, inadvertently well timed visit had pulled him for the course of the morning. As he found himself slipping back into it in the afternoon, he fought. Now that he had a weapon with which to combat it, the battle was fierce and attenuated.

Although he wasn’t sure exactly what he would do, he knew survival would be part of it. Now that his world had in some measure regained its wholeness, or at least now that he was seeing things in less of a miserable haze, he wondered for a second time if he’d really been serious about suicide. He believed he had, but didn’t know if even before the visit it would have been right. He didn’t quite know how he felt about anything at this point, and he hated not knowing.

But he had to see him again. It seemed he would be allowed to associate with his ex-lover, and he knew he needed to contact him as soon as possible, if only to prevent himself from going crazy or sinking back into the suicidal mindset. He wasn’t sure how he would make this happen, but he knew he must.

To court Sano before, he’d merely made a point of showing in places the roosterhead went, knowing Sano was interested in him already, counting on the combination of constant proximity and previous desire to do the trick. That wouldn’t work this time, as Himura was still likely — indeed, more likely than ever, and with good reason — to frown upon his seeking Sano’s company.

He didn’t know what to think of Himura. He knew exactly how he felt about him — he hated him, and that wouldn’t be changing any time soon — but wasn’t sure how he should react to the choices that man had made. Naturally he couldn’t be pleased with the seemingly selfish decision to withhold from Sano the entire truth about their relationship — but how much that decision pleased Saitou was not the issue; whether or not it had been the right course was the important thing. Just because Himura had probably jumped at the chance to keep Saitou out of Sano’s heart, in order to attempt to put himself there, didn’t necessarily mean he had the wrong idea about Sano being better off without Saitou in his life.

The officer still wasn’t sure who had informed his former lover of their previous ‘friendship,’ but, given his belief in Kenshin as the mastermind behind the neat deception currently being inflicted on Sano, Saitou had to think that half-lie, like the rest, had had at least its origins with the rurouni. And why? Himura must disapprove, and to give his rival such a second chance… why? Saitou doubted it was out of kindness toward him, but perhaps it had been out of kindness toward Sano. Did he dare hope Sano missed him somehow, perhaps not knowing what he lacked, and that Himura had been driven, eventually, to that carefully curated form of the real story in order to placate him?

More likely it was a reminder from Himura to keep quiet about the truth.

And maybe he’d jumped to a false conclusion anyway in assuming Kenshin wanted Sano. Maybe he’d been thinking too jealously, had misread the looks, had attributed to desire what was merely natural protectiveness. Perhaps the rurouni’s motives were purer than Saitou thought, and his discernment should therefore be lent that much more credence — certainly more than Saitou’s heavily biased judgment. He didn’t know. Normally he would trust his instincts in such a matter, but he found he couldn’t bring himself to rely on his own understanding at the moment. He just couldn’t be sure.

That was what it came down to: he didn’t know that Himura wasn’t entirely correct in the way he was handling this. And as Saitou had turned Sano over to Himura’s care in the one hour when Sano had been unable to care for himself — that is, the one hour when Saitou, as his lover, might have been justified in making decisions on his behalf — he felt he’d waived his right to protest. A lover’s rights would not ordinarily be so lightly repealed, but he’d given up that status as well when he’d put Sano into Kenshin’s arms.

Eventually it seemed best to let Himura have his way — at least temporarily — and to keep up with the deception that catered to Sano’s repression. If Saitou could spend some time with Sano, as it appeared he would be allowed to, he could hopefully, through observation, form a less clouded opinion of the rightness of the situation and plan his actions accordingly.

And meanwhile, at the very least, Sano would still be a part of his life, something he’d feared was impossible. At least he had that to keep him alive.

This same life, he was reflecting in response to a sense of duty that at the moment he found almost painful, was something he should really be getting back to… now he’d decided he was definitely going to be living it.

They rarely questioned his actions at the station. As a matter of fact, though they unfailingly greeted him when he entered and said goodbye when he left and jumped to answer any question he might have or follow any order he might give, few of them there were even willing to look him in the eye. So his return to work, even after so many days’ absence, went unchallenged. Two or three gazes followed him into his office, but nobody said a word.

“Hey, boss, where you been?” Chou greeted him, glancing up from whatever he was doing, which looked to be essentially nothing. “Chief told me to send you his way whenever you showed up.”

Saitou nodded, casting dull eyes around at the room. Rousing himself after several long moments, he asked, “Any progress?”

“Actually, maybe yes,” Chou replied, beginning to dig through a nearby stack of papers.

It was with unexpectedly engaged attention that Saitou stepped forward to see what Chou might have found, and he realized he had subconsciously been steeling himself for a future devoid of all interest consequent upon the loss of Sano. The discovery that he was still intrigued by, still felt a sense of purpose concerning the issues he dealt with in his job was both reassuring and painful. On the one hand, the fire of Aku Soku Zan, whatever color it burned these days, was gratifying and familiar heat. On the other hand, Sano had meant more to him even than that, and it felt like betrayal to be taking comfort in another pleasure, to find something else meaningful, however important it had always been and still was to him.

Eventually, as he started to fall back into the customary pattern of work, Chou’s initial statement — that the chief wanted to speak to him — registered in his mind. This was something he would not so easily have forgotten had he been mentally on top of things, and he wondered how long it would take him to get it together. He wouldn’t lie to himself; it was entirely possible that would never happen.

The police chief was merely suffering from acute curiosity about Saitou’s orders concerning the arsonist. Considering the situation’s less-than-brilliant resolution and Saitou’s disappearance in the midst of the action, this was understandable. With forced composure and fighting off desperate unhappiness Saitou informed him it had been in pursuit of a lead regarding his current case. That was enough for the chief, who knew full well Saitou had duties separate from and often superseding precinct business, and it was also the truth, but Saitou still didn’t like to be reminded of the fact that everything had been his fault.

Moving slowly back to his own office from that unpleasant interview, wherein his conscience had berated him while his superior had not a word of reproof, it occurred to him it would probably be wise to tell Chou at least part of what had happened. With the broom-head’s tendency to run his mouth, Saitou couldn’t count on chance to keep Sano away or the secrets safe. Even if he did decide Sano needed to be told the truth, he wouldn’t want it done haphazardly by Chou.

Then, maybe he just wanted to talk about it with someone. He didn’t like that thought — it made him feel very weak — but he wasn’t going to deny the possibility. And maybe he was weak. He wouldn’t deny that one either.

Weeks were passing with their usual quickness, hastening toward winter, and Sano was dissatisfied with his life. At times he even felt downright unhappy. He supposed this was natural for someone with as large a memory gap as he had, but (also naturally) he didn’t want to accept it at that and just continue placidly living on the border of sorrow.

He’d sensed all along, and far from indistinctly, that there was something his friends weren’t telling him, but his brain had exhausted itself trying to guess what kind of thing it might be. Kenshin had absolutely refused to open up, maneuvering his way out of every conversation on the topic with a slickness Sano would not (but probably should) have expected of him. So continuing to conjecture that this big secret was something of which Kenshin did not approve seemed to be a good line of thinking.

But what could it be? He’d already logically ruled out nearly everything he could come up with. So, since the only thing Kenshin made any overt signs of disapproving was Saitou, Sano assumed the secret pertained to him — or at least that Saitou also knew what it was, and Kenshin worried he might reveal it.

Therefore, sensibly, Sano spent as much time with the police officer as he could.

It was a little amusing and a little disturbing how startled Saitou seemed the first few times Sano showed up — amusing because he’d rarely seen Saitou startled, disturbing because, damn! had he really been sick enough that for someone to see him walking around alive and well could be consistently shocking? Other than that surprise, Saitou didn’t seem to mind Sano randomly appearing at his side at any given time; and that Saitou made no discernable objection stood as fairly convincing evidence they really had been friends before (which Sano at first couldn’t quite bring himself to believe): there was no way the man would put up with Sano’s near-stalking if he regarded him with nothing more than tolerance.

Yet Saitou was different than Sano remembered him. His previous intensity was… not gone, Sano had corrected his initial assessment after a few meetings, but restrained somehow. This, even when Saitou was at work or tossing unusually mild insults in Sano’s direction, left him with something like placidity, even gentleness, that seemed unnatural.

Puzzling and sometimes disconcerting as this must be to Sano, it was yet another sign that they could have been friends. On the other hand, any particular friendliness, which might naturally be expected as typical of such a relationship, seemed likewise withheld. Actually, every aspect of the personality Saitou presented these days felt characterized by restraint.

Was that part of the secret, then? But why would Kenshin disapprove of a restrained Saitou? Of the man Sano remembered — of the stabbing, the offenses, the general lack of respect — perhaps… but with a wolf so subdued, what could be the problem?

Well, the fact was, if Kenshin wasn’t prepared to tell him, in any kind of satisfying detail, why associating with Saitou was unwise, no way in hell would Sano stay away. Beyond his initial motive of hoping to absorb information, he found himself too curious about the alteration that had come over a man he’d always thought the essence of stability.

Besides, after the disbelief in their friendship had at last worn off, he’d come to realize he liked Saitou, changed though he was.



It had never been Saitou’s habit, before, to alter his routine for something as inconsequential as winter weather… but this year, for whatever reason (as if he really didn’t know), he couldn’t stand the cold, and had taken to spending his lunch breaks at an indoor restaurant rather than the open-air stands he usually favored. And somehow Sano had discovered where this was and taken to joining him there not infrequently.

It still made Saitou’s heart pound every time Sano showed up, as if the sight of him were startling, even shocking. And watching him walk casually over to the booth, slide his shoes off, and sit down without ever realizing that his every movement was torment to the watcher, Saitou wondered how long he could last keeping regular company with him. It was a daily struggle not to pour out his entire heart and the protracted story of the past two years to the ignorant young man.

And maybe one of these days he would; he had yet to decide.

At the moment he still leaned toward letting things run their current course, the reason for this being that Sano didn’t seem unhappy. That made it no easier to buy him lunch day after day and try to keep himself from seizing him and declaring he would never let him go again, never let anyone else have him.

“Funny thing…” Sano had obviously noticed something unusual about their interaction. “Most people, when you say you’re friends with ’em, it means you’re nice to each other and shit… but with you, it’s more like you’re just refraining from killing me or something.”

“‘Or something?'” Saitou echoed mildly.

Sano shrugged. “I can’t figure out whether you still hate me and are just pretending not to, or what.”

Saitou struggled to keep the bitterness from his laugh as he wondered, “If I hated you, why would I bother hiding it?” That would make about as much sense as loving you and hiding it.

“Guess this is as nice as you get, then, huh?” speculated Sano in a jovially insulting tone.

“Be careful, or I might decide even that’s too nice.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you! And, hell, at least you don’t treat me like Kenshin does.”

“Oh? How is that?” Saitou hated Himura more than anything else in the world, hated it when Sano brought him up in conversation, hated the very sound of his name… but couldn’t be anything but desperately curious what complaint Sano might have about Kenshin’s treatment of him.

But Sano merely shrugged again. “I can’t figure him out either. He probably just treats me funny because I was so sick.”

Or because he wants you, Saitou suggested silently, grimly. The doubts he’d once entertained about Himura’s intentions toward Sano were by now completely gone; everything Sano had said about the man since that time confirmed this. And it made keeping quiet all the more difficult. Sano was right — Saitou was refraining from killing; it was just that Sano wouldn’t be the victim of choice if he were to let himself go.

What he said aloud was, “I think you like the extra attention.”

“Hell, no! Everyone’s always acting all careful around me, like I might fall apart or something… and they’re all so sorry for me. Losing a couple years’ worth of memory is shit, but I’m not made of fucking glass.”

“I’ve hit you enough times to believe that,” Saitou nodded. “And I’m glad to hear you’re dealing with this better than your friends expect.”

Sano sighed and leaned back, putting his hands behind his head and looking thoughtfully annoyed. “Well, I guess it’s really just Kenshin, actually,” he corrected himself. “And you, of course, but you’re different.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah… Kenshin treats me different than I remember, but you are different than I remember.”

“Am I?” Saitou repeated.

“Yeah… either something happened to you over the last two years that changed you, or I just didn’t know you all that well before.”

“People do change,” Saitou said with some difficulty. If I have, it’s because of you. Although at the moment what Sano was probably sensing was merely Saitou’s struggle to keep up the charade, not the natural metamorphosis of seven hundred and seventy-odd days. “Two years is a long time.”

Kenshin’s the same… I’m pretty much the same…”

“Don’t be too sure. Not on either count.”

“Why do you say that? You think we’ve changed a lot?”

The tone of that question was a little too eager, and it made Saitou pause before answering. Why did it seem Sano was fishing for information? Surely, ever direct as he was, Sano would simply ask if there was something he really wanted to know? Or did he assume Saitou wouldn’t tell him just as Himura wouldn’t tell him? But that would imply he was resorting to guile to get answers — and Saitou doubted that of Sano… at the very least, he would ask directly before attempting to employ artifice. Of course, Saitou could merely be reading him wrong; Sano could really just be eager to hear the answer to that question for its own sake.

Why couldn’t he be certain about anything anymore? Why did he have to question himself at every turn?

Because he’d been certain, so damned perfectly sure of himself, a month and a half ago, and it had cost him everything.

“You’ll have to watch for the changes yourself,” he forced out at last, adding in an attempt to take the focus off his long silence, “if you think you’ve changed enough in the head to recognize them.”

Sano stared at Saitou as he made this statement, wondering… not only did the words remind him only a very little of the Saitou he remembered, they also lacked the vigor that would previously have marked them. Beyond that, something else was missing… what was it?

Saitou raised an eyebrow at Sano’s unbroken gaze and lack of response.

“Oh,” Sano explained, even as he realized what it was, “I think I just figured out why you’re not as good at insulting me as you used to be!”

Saitou’s expression remained quizzical.

“Cutting remarks just don’t have the same edge without you waving a cigarette around as you say them. What happened, djyou quit? Speaking of changing…”

Saitou nodded without offering any explanation.

“Your teeth start to rot out?” Sano prodded.

With only the mildest of scowls Saitou replied shortly, “I don’t like smoke as much as I used to.”

That seemed an odd answer, but instead of pursuing it directly Sano mused, “I wonder about that whole smoking thing… How did it ever get started, anyway? What idiot first decided that breathing smoke was a good idea? It comes from some plant, right? Who picked the plant and thought, ‘I wonder what would happen if I burned this and breathed the smoke!’ Seems fucking idiotic to me. It’s one thing to– what?” He’d looked across the table to find Saitou staring at him with a hint of the same startlement Sano had previously found so entertaining.

Saitou shook his head with a slight smile. “It’s just odd to hear you say that as if you’ve never said it before.”

“When did I say it before?”

Saitou seemed to calculate days in his head before answering, “May of the year before last, I believe. You were trying to argue me into quitting.”

“Did it work?” Sano wondered eagerly. “Is that when you quit?”

“Unfortunately, no.” And again with the lack of explanation.

“But I had you half convinced, right?” Sano grinned, then spoke again before Saitou could even attempt to deny it: “So when did you quit?”

“Recently.”

“You really don’t want to tell me anything about this, do you?”

“Why do you find it so interesting?”

“Well, it’s not the most exciting thing I’ve ever discussed, but it seems like you specifically don’t want to talk about it. You hiding something, or what?”

“Yes, ahou, the dark and scarring secret of the cigarettes.”

Even with the ahou, Sano had to laugh. It wasn’t as if he thought he’d really been following a lead or something with this branch of the conversation.

“It’s one thing to accept a cigarette from someone who tells you, ‘Try this; it’s nice.’ If they’re your friend, you take their word for it and try it, and — if you’re like you — it is nice, and then you can’t stop, and you bug the hell out of your boyfriend with the nasty things forever more. That I can understand. But who the hell goes around burning shit and breathing over the fire?”

“Hn.”

“Seriously! If I went around picking plants and burning them and telling people to breathe the smoke–“

“I have to admit I see your point.”

“–hell, trying to charge people to breathe the smoke — they wouldn’t pay for it, they’d–“

“And having made your point, you can shut up now.”

“–throw me in a fucking asylum! But some guy whenever over in America somewhere–“

“I admit that smoking is one of the stupidest things anyone can do.”

“–instead of people calling him crazy and stupid like he was for thinking — wait, what?”

“Yes, smoking is stupid. Cigarettes are stupid. Much like you rambling on about it when there are so many more interesting things we could be doing.”

“So you admit I’m right?! Does that mean you’ll give them up? Wait…” Sano looked around, not failing to note their solitary state. “What more interesting things?”

Saitou’s answer was to latch his mouth onto Sano’s shoulder — he couldn’t kiss his lips, as this conversation had originally been prompted by the cigarette he’d just been smoking — slide his hands down the young man’s body, and silence him quite effectively, at least on the topic of tobacco.

Saitou sighed quietly, watching Sano chuckle at his remark about the dark and scarring secret and wanting to do here and now just what he’d done back then. How am I supposed to keep this up? he wondered hopelessly. He’d better get around to resolving for certain how he felt about maintaining this secrecy, and quickly.


Saitou had been right: Sano wasn’t the same as he’d been two years ago. Well, that was logical; he should have agreed at the time. But of course he had always to figure things out on his own. He’d realized this one upon coming to recognize a sensation he’d been feeling lately that he’d certainly never felt before the lost time: restlessness for lack of anything to do. This was utterly baffling. As far as he could remember, he liked nothing better than to lie around on someone’s porch all day completely idle, but now he couldn’t stay still for very long, had to have something to keep him occupied.

He could only guess he must have developed something like a work ethic over the past two years and it was plaguing him now. Why this had happened he could not begin to guess. Kenshin had told him Kaoru had compelled him to work to pay at least a semblance of rent to her, and to help with repairs — but had he really come to like it? Become addicted to activity because Kaoru insisted?

Whatever the cause, the result was that he now found himself performing odd grunt jobs around town on a near-daily basis, and more money in his pocket at any given time than he (thought he) was accustomed to. It still puzzled him. Additionally, he couldn’t lounge around the dojo as he had in the past. Either he had to be assisting somebody there with chores or whatnot, or he ended up wandering away in search of something else to do.

This was the case one chilly afternoon when he found himself discontented, within a mere half an hour, with the pastime of restfully drinking tea after having helped Kenshin bring the clean laundry inside.

“You are leaving already?” Kenshin looked up from whatever he was folding.

“Yeah…” Sano stretched his arms and back as he headed out. “I’m gonna go see what Saitou’s up to.”

“Sano, I would like to talk to you about something, if you wouldn’t mind staying.” It sounded more like a command than a request, which was irksome. And Sano believed he knew what Kenshin wanted to talk to him about, too. Again.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you don’t like him or like me hanging out with him… I don’t really need to be lectured about it even more.” Sano waved an irritated hand at Kenshin as his steps toward the door did not slow.

“Sano, I love you.”

That, of course, was enough to halt Sano dead in his tracks.

“I have always loved you.”

“K-Kenshin…” He couldn’t turn. There was simply no way he could look Kenshin in the face, having just heard those words. “Are you serious?”

Of course Kenshin was serious. As if Kenshin would joke about something like that. At least, so Sano interpreted the silence behind him.

“Well…”

He really had to answer this, didn’t he? Not that Kenshin had asked anything outright, but the statement had been as good as a question.

“Look…”

There was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach… almost sick, he thought… he didn’t quite understand it. How was he supposed to say this?

“Kenshin, I’m…”

Kenshin finally spoke again. “Sano, can you love me?” And how could he ask that so calmly?! A question like that, really! shouldn’t sound so damn placid.

“I–” The substance of his answer was obvious — a yes-or-no query laid out for him so neatly like that — but the wording was a bit more difficult if he didn’t want to be a complete asshole about it. Finally he settled for, “I’m sorry, Kenshin.”

He still couldn’t look back, and this silence couldn’t be interpreted as easily as the previous. Had he crushed him? Was Kenshin surprised? Hurt? Sano wasn’t sure he wanted to add guilt to his current discomfort, and therefore turning around must be out of the question. But Kenshin continued to say nothing. What could Sano do? This had been so unexpected and, honestly, unwelcome…

“I’m sorry,” he repeated as he left in a hurry. And he had no real idea where he was going.

This explained very adequately Kenshin’s odd treatment of him lately. Actually, he wondered how he could possibly have failed to consider this a viable answer before. Probably because he would never have wanted to think Kenshin had been in love with him for years and was just now telling him. Well, that Kenshin loved him at all.

And why should that feel so wrong, anyway? It was hardly unnatural for a man to fall in love with his friend… Sano didn’t think so lowly of himself to be amazed it had happened… And it wasn’t as if he was obligated to reciprocate; Kenshin was reasonable, and would certainly understand that his feelings were not returned. It was unfortunate Kenshin must suffer, but such things happened in life… none of this was unusual. So, really, why did it seem so completely inappropriate?

Of course there could be no staying at the dojo after that. It was perfect, just perfect, that Kenshin had said what he had on the day leading to the first intolerably cold night of the year — when Sano couldn’t just find a secluded spot or quiet corner to curl up in, but actually had to locate someplace with a roof and walls and a welcome. And as he was not in the mood to wrack his brains, Saitou’s house seemed most convenient to fill the first two requirements at least.

There was no answer to his knock, but that was just as well: he could explain his freeloading better once he’d warmed up and settled down. And maybe Saitou wasn’t coming home tonight, gone on business or something, and Sano wouldn’t have to worry about explaining at all. It took a few tries to pick the lock, and he was inside.

“Freezing in here too,” he muttered, and why did that seem so sadly appropriate? Fortunately, there was wherewithal on the hearth to build a fire, which he soon had in order; the only thing missing was matches. Sano looked around, puzzled. Matches were not something he would have thought Saitou’s house would be deficient in. But, then, he remembered, the man had quit smoking. Still, matches near the firewood seemed logical, didn’t it?

He went into the next room, the bedroom, and continued his search. This was a nice modern house, for all it was so small, with those fancy self-striking lamps and everything, but there had to be matches somewhere… unless Saitou had gotten rid of all of them to keep himself from lighting cigarettes with them? Sano had heard quitting was difficult, so that explanation could make sense. But there had been signs of a fire on the hearth recently, and, fanciful as Sano was, he didn’t think Saitou had lit it with those burning eyes of his…

He was about to close the standing cabinet that seemed much too large for what appeared to be all the clothing Saitou owned, when his eye caught on something that, though not likely to contain matches, still seized his attention: a small wooden box tucked away at the back of an empty shelf.

Don’t pry, Sano, he was telling himself. It’s absolutely none of your business. But despite the timely manner in which he’d recognized and attempted to discourage his nosy intentions, the box was already open in his hand.

And something was… wrong…

It was merely a pair of matching golden rings. He had never seen them before… that he could remember… but he must have… otherwise what could be so totally riveting, so very nearly appalling, about objects so plain, so insignificant?

Something was definitely wrong. His chest suddenly hurt, and as he stared at his hand and what it contained, a strange feeling very much like despair rushed through him. He didn’t know what was happening, why he was now on his knees clutching the little box so fiercely, or how he could be gripped with such inexplicable anguish, but it frightened and disturbed him and sent shivers throughout his entire body.

He recalled with an abrupt hastening of the already-painful pounding in his heart the gesture he made sometimes and had never previously understood: the twisting motion around one of his fingers, as if he were wearing a ring. A ring like these? Possibly one of these? The latter option didn’t make sense, but otherwise why was he so very worked up?

And at that moment Saitou entered the room.

“What are you…” The semi-irritated tone in which he began faded just before the words failed as he stepped fully inside and went completely still.

The consideration that perhaps Sano was trespassing onto very personal territory and Saitou might now, justifiably, be very upset with him only barely crossed his mind. As he set the box down hurriedly and staggered to his feet, all he knew was that the expression on Saitou’s face — nearly blank but for the hint of something a little like surprise — was somehow… just… unbearable. It rendered a previously uncomfortable scene overwhelmingly unpleasant, all the more so because Sano had no idea why.

Somehow finding movement difficult, Sano stumbled out the door as quickly as he could, gasping as he did so, “I think I’m sick…” This was a plausible excuse for his hasty exit as well as a decent explanation for why he felt so strange and distressed, but he didn’t believe it and wasn’t sure even why he’d said it. Saitou gave neither word nor gesture to stop him.

He broke into a run immediately outside the house, with no idea where he was going, only the determination to outdistance his pain and confusion. When he felt the tears on his face, however, he stopped.

Crying?! Sinking to the ground against some wall near which he found himself, he put his head in his hands. How could he be crying? Wasn’t he a grown man? What was there here to cry about? The last time he could remember having cried was…

But he should really stop looking to his memory to help him make sense of things. Because that’s what this was about, wasn’t it? It had to be: whatever it was he didn’t remember, whatever Kenshin hadn’t told him. Something about Saitou.

From that night on he knew no peace. Whereas before he’d been living merely at the edge of sorrow, now he dwelt in it day after incomprehensible day. Previously his attitude about this had been relatively casual, as if recovering his memories were a game of sorts… now, frustrated and nearly distraught as he thought about that unexpectedly upsetting discovery, he could not treat the matter so lightly.

The Tokyo friends he remembered were gone or nowhere to be found, doubtless drawn away over the last two years by the demands of chance. Kenshin might even have reminded him who had gone where, but at the moment Sano was still pushing thoughts of Kenshin uncomfortably away. He wasn’t even sure where or how he spent the next several nights, since most of his time was devoted to a search of the blackness in his head — a fruitless search. The only thing he could come up with, besides a headache, was the hazy image of a ring on his finger… but was that real memory, or wishful imagination?

When he found himself outside Saitou’s lunch restaurant one day at about the right time, he wondered if his feet didn’t know better than his brain what the next step was. Saitou had never been particularly forthcoming about the issue either, but Sano realized he’d never really asked him very direct or specific questions the way he had Kenshin. Newly hopeful, he went inside.

“I haven’t seen you for a while,” Saitou remarked carefully as Sano slid into the booth across from him.

“I’ve been avoiding everyone,” admitted Sano.

Saitou said nothing, wary, as if waiting for further explanation before he spoke.

“Tell me,” Sano demanded quietly.

“Tell you what?”

“Everything. Everything I don’t know. Everything about those two years I’m missing that nobody thinks I need to know. What’s with those rings? Why did I… freak out… like that, looking at them? And where do you come into all of this?”

Saitou gazed at him very seriously for a long moment, then turned his face away and remarked so softly that he might not have been addressing Sano at all, “I no longer trust myself.” Looking back at his companion, “I can’t tell you,” he said.

The younger man drew breath to protest, but checked his exclamation. If Saitou didn’t trust his own judgment… this was serious. Not that he’d thought it wasn’t, but that revelation did a lot to drive it home. He closed his mouth and frowned.

“What I will tell you,” Saitou said heavily, as if pondering each word before and even as he spoke it, “is this: what you’ve forgotten, you don’t remember because you don’t want to. Nobody but you has the right to decide whether or not you should remember it, but at the same time, nobody but you can recover it. If you really want to remember, you can and you will; I can’t give your memory back to you…” Then, almost as if speaking against his will, he added more quietly and with a touch of bitterness, “…and he can’t keep it from you.”

“You mean Kenshin?”

Saitou looked away again, but did not manage to conceal from Sano the brief flash of absolute hatred that passed across his face.

Sano attempted to puzzle through this out loud. “Obviously there’s something there… something that happened… something really bad… or nobody would mind telling me anything I wanted to know. And you say I’d remember on my own if there wasn’t something like that I wanted to forget.”

Saitou, his eyes still turned from Sano, nodded stiffly.

“And it has something to do with you.”

Saitou stood abruptly. “I won’t play guessing games with you. If you want those two years badly enough to face what has to come with them, you’ll let yourself remember.”

“Dammit, Saitou, you’re just–” But the older man was gone before Sano could finish his sentence, leaving him with a sudden chill in his heart that simultaneously angered and pained him. Why had Saitou turned so cold so suddenly? Why had those last words seemed so harsh? Had Sano been right, then, that whatever the big secret was concerned Saitou, more closely than he’d been speculating all along? And was it true the answer lay within his own mind?

“Bastard,” he muttered as he stood and looked to the door, but the remark held little energy. Glancing back down, he realized with a start that Saitou had left not only in the middle of his soba but without even paying for it. Hoping vaguely that he had enough on him to cover it, Sano wondered what in the world could be so upsetting as to distract that man that much. And once again, as Saitou had suggested, did the answer lie somewhere within reach inside Sano’s head?

He’s probably right, Sano reflected as he paid the bill (by a hair) and left the restaurant. Dismissing as annoying the quieter mental voice that added, He’s usually right, he decided it couldn’t hurt to put Saitou’s theory to the test.

Well… it could hurt. But supposedly ignorance could kill.



And here he was at the dojo again. He hadn’t set foot here in over a week, not since Kenshin’s disconcerting confession, and he wasn’t entirely sure he really wanted to be here now. Something about what Kenshin had said just gave him unpleasant goose-bumps. It was faintly disturbing, having that kind of reaction to your best friend, but Sano had no control over it; feeling vaguely uncomfortable was the best he could do.

Remembering on his own hadn’t worked. Sorry, Saitou, you were wrong, he reflected ruefully as he stared at the dojo’s outer doors, trying to bring himself to open them. He didn’t know what he would or could say to Kenshin to get any more information than he’d ever gotten before, but retrieving the missing pieces of his past had become paramount… he had to crawl free of this growing depression.

He steeled himself and went inside.

Yahiko looked up from where he was raking soggy leaves into a pile, and Sano observed, “You should have done that before it snowed.”

“Yeah, no shit,” the kid grumbled.

“Where’s Kenshin?”

“In his room, I think.”

“Thanks.”

As he made his way toward the aforementioned, Sano tried to figure out what he would say. Kenshin had always resisted him quite expertly before, and Sano didn’t excel at speaking cleverly. Unfortunately, he hadn’t come up with much by the time he knocked.

“Come in, Sano.”

Kenshin sat very still, appearing as if Sano was interrupting him staring at the walls. “Hey, Kenshin,” Sano greeted him a little nervously.

“It’s been a while.” Was it really necessary for Kenshin to gaze at him so steadfastly, so attentively? It was unsettling. The younger man scratched his head as he sat down, already at a loss for words.

“Sano,” Kenshin said quietly, “I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable the last time you were here.”

Sano cleared his throat. “That’s… all right…” A very awkward, wordless moment followed, thickening ice that it was a struggle to break. But eventually Sano managed it. “I wanted to ask you about the last two years.”

“Oh?” Kenshin’s tone seemed guarded.

“Lately… it’s getting really important to me to figure this out, and I feel like there’s some bullshit I really need to get out of the way.”

“What do you mean?” Still that wariness of voice. If Sano had needed any further confirmation of some secret in his past, this would have been enough.

“I didn’t lose my memory because I was sick, did I.”

After a very long silence Kenshin answered softly, “No, you didn’t.”

“Why is everyone lying to me?”

Kenshin’s eyes dropped to the floor as he replied, “Because we all want what is best for you. We thought it would be easier this way.”

“Do you know that’s what’s best for me? You’re a really smart guy, Kenshin, but can you really say what’s best for another person?”

Appearing just slightly uneasy, Kenshin seemed unable to decide how to reply.

Sano went on. “Saitou said… well, suggested… the reason I don’t remember is because something shitty happened at some point and I’m repressing it… and that if I want to remember it, I will.”

“Has Saitou not yet learned his lesson about meddling in your life?” The tone of Kenshin’s voice was quiet and possibly the most bitter Sano had ever heard from him.

“So it is something to do with him. I don’t remember you guys hating each other as much as you do now… what the fuck happened with him? Did he…” But Sano couldn’t come up with a single idea of what Saitou could have done that would be so bad the memory of it would need to be repressed… at least, nothing Saitou would have gotten away with. Or that would result in nothing more than disapproval from Kenshin.

“Sano, I am not going to play guessing games with you. It’s just better you don’t know.”

“Kenshin, that’s not good enough!” Sano jumped to his feet as the anger that had been building this entire time finally broke surface. “Who are you to decide whether or not I should know something that happened in my own fucking past? Is it something so horrible it’s worse than anything any other human has had to deal with in all history? If not, why not just let me deal with it? For once can’t you let me carry my own fucking weight? You don’t have to protect me, you don’t have to feel responsible for me… you don’t… I’m my own person…” Sano was running out of things to say, and Kenshin’s unhappy placidity wasn’t helping.

When the younger man had finally fallen silent, Kenshin said quietly, “There are some things people should not have to bear, and this is one of them. If I can spare you the pain of it, I will. I cannot stand to lose you again.”

“‘Again?'”

Kenshin just shook his head.

“Kenshin!” Sano’s voice was rising despite all his attempts to keep the anger out of it. “Can’t you ever… what, do you think I’m not strong enough? It always comes back to that! Why do you think you’d ‘lose me’ or whatever? How can it be that bad?”

“Sano, the last time you recovered this memory, you tried to kill yourself. I am not going to let that happen again.”

Sano let out a long breath of surprise and irritation, but could think of no further argument and therefore lapsed into several moments’ silence as he stared down at his friend. Could he ever have guessed a time would come when Saitou’s words, Saitou’s treatment of him, would seem more reasonable than Kenshin’s? When Saitou would have more faith in him than Kenshin did? Clearly if he wanted answers, this was not the place to find them. He turned toward the door.

“Sano…” Kenshin began, uncertain and appealing.

Forcing himself to speak calmly again, to spare his friend’s feelings, whatever they were, Sano said, “I’ll see you around.”

“Sano, please trust me,” Kenshin murmured, and he sounded so miserable that Sano had to turn and regard him. And the expression on his friend’s face drained the anger out of him and left him cold. Unfair as his behavior seemed, Kenshin did care about him and really was, probably, trying to spare him pain as best he could. Sano just didn’t want any such efforts, any more than he wanted the affection that prompted them.

“Kenshin, there’s a lot of people in the world, I bet, who’d be glad to let you make this choice for them. But I’m not like that. So if you’re not gonna tell me, I’ll go to someone who will.”

Kenshin’s brows twitched downward, and he looked for a moment as if he might say something very emotional, let something slip, perhaps — no doubt in response to the implication that Sano was going again to talk to Saitou — but eventually did not even open his mouth. This was at first frustrating… but it also gave Sano the beginnings of an idea.

If neither of them will straight-out tell me, he reflected as he left the dojo and the sad-eyed rurouni behind, maybe I can trick it out of one of them…

Saitou seemed the obvious choice. He didn’t disapprove of the general idea of Sano recovering his memory — only insisted Sano do it on his own — and had, of the two men, been easier to deal with lately — especially given Kenshin’s revelation — and more reasonable on the subject. Whether or not Sano could adequately deceive such a man was a matter of question, but he considered it worth an attempt if it meant he could get rid of this damned incessant curiosity and confusion and the pain that came with.

He had to steel himself before approaching, prepare himself for the kind of subterfuge he planned. He didn’t like deliberately lying to his friends; it didn’t seem fair. And the fact that his own situation was also unfair, that Kenshin and others were deliberately lying to him, made things no easier, because Saitou didn’t seem to be a part of that. But what else could he do? This was his last idea.

“Saitou!” he called out to him, running to catch up as Saitou was evidently walking home from work.

“Hello,” was all the other said.

Walking beside him, Sano took a deep breath. “So I was at the dojo earlier…” He let the sentence hang unfinished, knowing Saitou’s hatred of Kenshin and incomprehensible concern with Sano’s memory issue would eat at him until he demanded,

“And?”

“And Kenshin finally told me everything.”

Saitou stopped walking, stiffening where he stood, motionless as a statue, in visible shock. He was silent for so long that Sano was beginning to think he would never speak again, when he finally repeated, “And?” in an unnaturally quiet tone.

“And…” What to say now? It was what he wanted, but why did it seem he had the officer’s attention more completely than he’d ever had it before? Why was this matter so important to Saitou? “I understand now why you didn’t want to tell me,” he finished.

“Do you remember?” Saitou asked.

“I’m getting bits and pieces of it back when I think about things he said,” Sano replied cautiously. “There’s some stuff I still can’t remember, though… Kenshin said I tried to kill myself before, but… was I…” How could he put this to get the most informative answer? “Was I really that weak?”

“Stronger spirits than yours have been broken by an experience like that…” Saitou faced away from him, and his speech was still oddly soft and perhaps even a little uncomfortable. “But I don’t think you would even have considered it if you hadn’t remembered… the way you did.” What was that tone? Guilt? From Saitou? This was so unfathomable it hurt — what part had Saitou played in whatever had happened to Sano?! “Most people have time to deal with something like that, instead of having it overwhelm them all at once.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Sano found himself saying… and although it seemed the perfect next line in the conversation, in response to that guilt, he was surprised to realize that the statement arose more from a desire to… comfort Saitou… than anything else. That was decidedly odd.

“Sano–” Saitou, who had with the word turned suddenly to look at him, cut himself short. And what was that expression on his face? Finally, after studying Sano for several moments, Saitou said in a calmer tone, “What are you going to do now?”

It was a good question. Sano feared that with Saitou looking into his eyes as he was — looking hard, as if searching for something, searching avidly — he wouldn’t be able to lie any more. But still he’d found out so little… only that the spirit-breaking experience he was repressing was something he’d already brought out of repression once before (though Kenshin had said something indicating this as well); that Saitou hypothesized it was the suddenness of his previous recollection of it, not necessarily the memory itself, that had caused his attempt at suicide. And that Saitou really had had something to do with it… or, at least, had been there the first time Sano had remembered? Felt terribly guilty about it in some way..? This was just too confusing. “I need to think,” he finally answered both Saitou and himself. Still a trifle afraid Saitou might detect his deception, he turned as if to walk away as he added, “A lot.”

“Sano…” It was the second time he’d heard Saitou say his name within a few moments, and Saitou never called him by his name. Sano hadn’t thought he would ever find Saitou so emotionally involved in something as the man seemed to be in this… and why was it that when he did get the chance to see so rare an occurrence, he couldn’t understand it no matter how hard he tried?! “Did Himura tell you… all about the last two years?”

Maybe he would, after all, get more information out of this conversation. “Yeah, just about everything,” he replied, glad his back was turned.

“Are you…” Had he ever heard Saitou so uncertain before? He didn’t think so. He wouldn’t have thought it possible. “I…”

“I’m not mad at you,” Sano said again, and although there was nothing he could think of for which he should be mad at Saitou and therefore the statement should logically be meaningless, for some reason he found himself putting his entire soul into the phrase.

“Is that all?”

Why did it feel like the rest of his life was riding on the answer to that question? Why did he have to be caught in the middle of a stupid riddle game nobody would play by the rules? It wasn’t fair. “Like I said,” he finally settled on, “I need to think.”

And why did he feel, then, as if he’d said exactly the wrong thing?

Only impenetrable silence lay behind him, so after a few moments, disappointed and disturbed, he really did walk away.

Without a word, without moving a muscle, Saitou watched him go. He obviously wasn’t welcome during this proposed meditation, so what could he say or do?

Despite how much he liked to attach every possible negative trait he could think of to Himura in his mind, realistically he knew it wasn’t much like the rurouni to back down from his resolve. But he was also perfectly well aware that men did stupid things when they were in love, and Sano had been insistent lately. Sano was always insistent. If he wanted something, it was usually almost completely pointless to try denying him. And when it came down to it, Saitou rarely begrudged any of it, for all he might pretend otherwise.

He couldn’t even smile at that reflection. At another time he might have, but just after Sano had given “I need to think” as his only answer to the question Saitou had clumsily been asking? …he wasn’t sure he would ever smile again. Not so difficult a prospect, really, when his face felt frozen in this blank stare.

Well, Sano had what he wanted now; Saitou only hoped with all his heart it was not more than he could handle. Then, maybe Himura telling him first as a sort of warning precursor to actual memory was the best way to go about it. At least the deception was at an end. But had Sano really been ready for it? Saitou didn’t know. He’d had no faith in his own discernment since that burning building; how could he possibly guess now whether this turn of events was for good or ill?

Gone away to think, Sano was.

And didn’t need Saitou’s company as he did so.

Saitou didn’t want to consider this a sure indication that Sano’s regard for him had not and would not return… but how could he think otherwise? He couldn’t deny he’d had the more-than-occasional daydream about Sano remembering everything, running immediately to his open arms, and staying there for however long it took to recover… but these had never been anything more than fantasies. And the reality was that if Sano had been told, was remembering, and was already avoiding him… how likely was it that he would ever return?

It was over.

Given the intensity of the previous exchange and the emotions he’d felt at Sano’s words, he thought he was taking to the idea remarkably calmly. There was no stabbing sensation in his chest, no overwhelming pressure or any more pain than he was accustomed to feeling day after day.

He supposed a heart could only break once, after all.

It was really over.

He realized he was walking, after a few minutes, but it didn’t seem he was heading home any more. He didn’t know where he was going, but what did it matter? He could be walking straight to Hell, and what difference would it make? He was too numb to care, or to mind the snow that began to gather as it fell onto his slow-moving frame.

Attempting to tell himself it was too early to declare the thing completely done with was futile, as he realized he’d been bracing himself, ever since he’d made the decision to go on living, for the eventuality of Sano’s never coming back; he’d actually, on some level, been expecting it. A pessimist at heart, then? It was what he would previously have called realism or prudence. Now he didn’t know what to think. Only that he felt so cold… so very cold… it seemed natural to have assumed he would never be loved again.

“I just didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

And there he was, stopped short at the edge of the street looking out into a little wood to the spot where Sano had been standing as he’d said those words. So this was where his steps had been directing him. It was no surprise.

His eyes did not see the snow, nor his ears hear the silence. His mind was reliving a far-off day whose effects had now been terminated, and what flesh remained to him was finally turning completely to stone.


What had started as a lie to cover up a lie was about to become truth. This had to end. For some reason Sano could not even begin to guess at, he’d just made things worse with Saitou in his attempt to gain a little more information. It seemed it really was time to think about things — a lot and alone. Every time he went to either Kenshin or Saitou for answers, the entire mess just became more complicated, more confusing, more painful… to the point where he was hurting not only himself but also his friends in the process.

His initial attempt had been far from successful; in fact he’d fallen asleep. But now it seemed that to try again was the only thing left for him to do, besides being a venture he absolutely had to make — because, of all possible motives, he couldn’t stand to let Saitou suffer any longer. Of course Kenshin was suffering as well, but Saitou was obviously central to this thing and his unhappiness weighed heavier on Sano. What memory he did possess found it ironic that he would be searching for something painful in his soul in order to spare Saitou discomfort, but the recollection of that man’s tone and bearing just now would not leave him.

He was right after all, I guess; it really is up to me in the end. Except now I’m not really doing this for myself, am I? He shook his head and looked around. It was snowing, but the day had yet to fade, and everything under the clouds was a dull sort of glowing grey. I’ll find a place and sit down, and I won’t move until I remember, he told himself determinedly. And a nearby stack of crates in an alleyway between two shops seemed as good a place as any. He settled in against the cold wall, wrapped his arms around his chest, and closed his eyes.

The beginning of this process, at least, he’d been over many times, like fingers run across a sealed wound without nearly enough force to break it open again. The last thing he could remember clearly before the gap was Yumi offering to let them leave without any further battle. Her back was to a huge pair of metal doors, and beyond these, memory dissolved. Picturing himself there with a clarity he would fight to retain, he steeled himself and stepped forward through them as they grudgingly parted with the shriek of unoiled metal. He must not fail this time.

His eyes flew open, wide and trembling, his breaths shortened, as he finally remembered.

It was… terrible… so terrible… This was what Kenshin had sought to protect him from, and with good reason. Misery, humiliation, self-abhorrence, hatred of the entire world… it raged out at him from the depths of his mind that were now becoming less black — cold, clawing, his own weakness and pathos, his abject helplessness, nearly crushing him.

Hands clutched each at the opposite arm as he bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut once more, gritting his teeth against the recollection of physical sensations so strong he could swear it was happening all over again. Tears seared their way from beneath his eyelids and fell like crystals into his lap, and he bit back an anguished cry as his entire body shook.

No wonder Kenshin had tried so hard to keep him from recovering this. These feelings were worse, he had to think, than death… making his previous attempt at suicide beautifully understandable. He remembered that now as well, remembered the feeling of the sword in his hands and the sweet promise of oblivion.

Saitou’s sword.

No. He absolutely couldn’t allow himself to fall into that oblivion now. Because he hadn’t done this for himself. Of course he’d wanted to remember, but what had finally opened those doors was his concern for Saitou. If he gave in to despair now, it would make the entire effort, maybe his entire existence, meaningless. Saitou blamed himself — Sano remembered now — because he hadn’t arrived in time, because he’d forced the memory on Sano before, because… because Sano himself had told him it was his fault.

This recollection was a blow, if not equal to the one dealt by Shishio, immediately secondary to it. Had he really… had he really said… A trembling hand crept to his cold face, clenched against it, felt the tears pouring. He could hear his own voice screaming, “You might as well have fucking done it yourself!” Yes, it seemed he really had.

He forced himself to his feet, finding his balance badly off but taking to an immediate run nonetheless. The irregular beat of his pounding steps reminded him of the sound of Shishio’s footfalls as he’d approached… to… and how could Sano believe he was fit for anything other than to be thus used, when he’d said things so unforgivable to Saitou… to a man who’d… who’d loved him so completely?

The overfast and terribly painful pounding of his heart almost dragged him to the ground at that moment, the sense of his own worthlessness threatening to devour him whole. But he pressed onward, seeing before him the expression on Saitou’s face from earlier that had probably been a mirror of what his own must be now.

“I need some compensation for all this trouble I’ve taken to entertain you people.”

No, he could not start reliving it here. It would sap his strength and fell him, curl him up again around his once-shattered fists, and he might just die there in the snow. He had to find Saitou. But–

“If you get back on your knees, I’ll let you enjoy it.”

Concentrating on a different memory — the quiet despair in Saitou’s voice as he agreed with Sano’s wild accusation, “Yes, this is my fault” — he kept moving. As he found himself in Saitou’s neighborhood, his speed increased; he could not reach the man’s house quickly enough, and it didn’t matter if he was panting too hard to speak when he got there.

He burst inside without knocking, not even knowing whether he’d broken the door, stumbling and yelling out Saitou’s name. But in none of the rooms he frantically entered was Saitou to be found.

This house… everything here was familiar now — from the angle of every corner to every worn spot on the floor to every last item in every room. He knew it all, because this had been his home, the place he’d spent nearly two years in peace — in peaceful ignorance, at least — with Saitou, the place where he’d been happier than anywhere else he’d ever lived. But for the moment, without Saitou here, he couldn’t stand it.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

No… oh, god, no…

The minor composure he’d built up in the house shattering, he slipped in the growing snow on the walk outside, but caught himself before he could fall; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to rise again if he did. Think of something else! Just for now…

“Are you… I…”

Saitou…

Back in the street, his desperate eyes searched for any sign of the man, but found nothing. There was no way to tell where he might have gone after the fraudulent conversation that — well Sano knew now — must have hurt him so deeply.

“Sano! Sano!”

Only at a third repetition of his name did he realize someone was calling him, and he skidded to a halt. Turning, he found Kenshin at his side looking as if he’d just run to catch up. The rurouni’s eyes were wide and his face extremely worried. “Sano, what is going on? Are you all right?”

“The thing you are missing… the person you are missing… is Saitou.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Sano, I honestly wish I could say I was. During the last two years, you and Saitou became friends, and you spent a lot of time with him. None of us ever really approved, but…”

“‘Friends?'” Sano whispered, absolutely stunned, as that instance not long after he’d awakened from his ‘illness’ drifted across his mind’s eye. Then a bit louder, “‘Friends?‘”

“Sano, what is wrong?” Kenshin sounded almost desperately concerned.

“Sano, I love you. I have always loved you.”

He understood it all now: the lies from a man he’d thought totally honest, the disapprobation of a friendship that had seemed harmless, the inexplicable and apparently recently-arisen hatred of someone that had never appeared to be more than a rival in combat… the selfishness and glaringly contrasted selflessness of two men that wanted the same thing.

“You absolute bastard,” Sano whispered, rage swelling for the moment above his pain.

Kenshin looked dumbstruck.

“How could you do that to me?” Sano demanded, unable even to raise his voice, so great was the commotion within him. “How could you do that to him? How could you call yourself my friend doing something like that?”

“Sano, do you… did you…”

“Yeah, I remember everything now.” He couldn’t even think of anything more to say to Kenshin; his mind was in too much turmoil, his heart hurting too desperately for much more speech with the man. “I’m just on my way to find Saitou,” he added as he turned away, emphasizing the name almost spitefully.

“Sano!” Kenshin’s voice was harsh, demanding, nearly reminiscent of how he spoke as Battousai. “All that man has ever done is hurt you! If you remember, you should see that! He’s no good for you; if you go back to him now, he’ll–”

Sano had whirled and struck Kenshin in the face with a clenched fist, full force, before he’d even realized what he was doing. Even Kenshin, who saw every blow coming, looked shocked as he staggered back a pace. “Don’t you dare even fucking talk about him,” Sano seethed. “All that man has ever done has been anything and everything that was good for me, unlike some so-called friends or would-be lovers who couldn’t even let me live my own life without trying to play out their own fucking selfish plans.”

Kenshin was absolutely speechless.

“Sano, I love you. I have always loved you.”

“Some love,” Sano growled, disdainful and bitter and utterly crushed, as he turned away again, and the freezing tear tracks on his face doubled as he resumed his run.

Forward movement, after that encounter, was physically difficult; it felt as if he floundered through a waist-deep snow-drift, memory piled upon stinging memory and each demanding to be examined at length.

He remembered Kenshin and Saitou fighting… fighting over him… fighting for his love… a battle that would have been a death-match had Sano not intervened.

He remembered another battle that had been a death-match, on a high and fiery platform on Mt. Hiei, a battle that had taken more than lives.

He remembered every tortured moment of the events just a few months ago, when Saitou had done everything he could to help him, to save him, and had eventually, evidently, given him up for that very purpose.

He remembered falling to the ground onto shattered hands, and Shishio pulling him back up by the hair.

He remembered those rings: how much it had meant to him back then, and that whole glorious day… but the recollection of how happy he’d been only heightened by contrast his current misery.

He remembered Shishio.

He remembered his first confirmation of Saitou’s feelings for him, and what they’d done in that grove… it had been months after Shishio, but still he’d been in so much pain… he’d assumed, back then, that was due to its being his first time, but of course he’d been wrong about everything… Shishio had been there first.

Shishio… Oh, god, he didn’t think he could ever… no, no, never again…

I have to find Saitou! Continually telling himself that was the only thing keeping him going, now not only because of his desperate need to reassure the officer that none of it had been his fault, but also because he feared that, at least until he could get himself together, he might just fall apart without him.

Time seemed to stretch until he could not tell a second from an hour, and his body worked only sluggishly so it felt he moved as slowly as the languidly-falling snow. And his only coherent thought amidst a flaming sea of horrifying images and ghost sensations threatening every moment to overwhelm and destroy him was that he must find Saitou.

And at last, by some miracle of chance or perhaps by the kindness of destiny, he did. The wolf stood very still on a secluded street that ran alongside a little patch of woods. As Sano came to a halt upon sight of him, his blood seemed to start flowing again, and his mind cleared just enough for him to entertain one or two lucid reflections.

Saitou’s figure, his movements, his presence, everything, everything Sano saw and remembered of him, knew about him without having any way of knowing — Sano loved it all. It seemed so natural for him to love him, so nearly primal, he almost couldn’t believe he’d ever forgotten he did. All he wanted now was to be in Saitou’s arms, know he could stay there, to cry out his sorrow until it washed away and have Saitou still with him when it was all over.

But would Saitou forgive him for his deceit? For the pain he’d inflicted in attempting to figure things out, when he could have remembered on his own without that kind of duplicity? Could Saitou still love him, after putting up with months of indifference and carelessness?

It didn’t matter. There were things Sano had to say, regardless of their future together.

“Saitou!” he hailed him, nearly too breathless to form the call. Likewise was his body nearly too exhausted to finish the run to the other man, and he stumbled as he approached.

Saitou, though apparently surprised as he turned toward Sano’s voice, stepped forward and caught him quick as lightning, looking in horror at Sano’s tear-stained face and desperate eyes. “Sano, what’s…”

Regaining his balance, Sano did not step back, but clutched at Saitou’s arms and gasped out, “Saitou, I’m sorry… I’m sorry… it was all a lie… Kenshin never told me anything. I was just trying to get you to talk. I’m sorry.”

The older man’s eyes widened a fraction, and then he frowned. “I told you that you–” he began, apparently with some difficulty.

“But I couldn’t stand it bothering you so much,” Sano interrupted him, plunging on wildly with his explanation, “so I took your advice and forced myself to remember… so I could tell you… make sure you know… that I really don’t blame you… really.” After that, the words just came pouring out; he had to make sure Saitou understood; it was simply imperative. “I know I said I did, but I wasn’t thinking straight; you know I wasn’t thinking straight; you said so yourself, that I wouldn’t have tried suicide if I hadn’t remembered it all at once. I wouldn’t have said any of those horrible things… I would never have fucking hit you. You can’t blame yourself; there was no way you could have known what kind of thing I was repressing… you needed me to remember, and I needed to remember, and I need to remember now and you…” His tone was more desperate than he recalled allowing it to become. “I’m sorry if I sound like a complete idiot, but just… just tell me you’ll stop blaming yourself.”

Saitou was staring at him wordlessly, but his expression now was less inscrutable than it had been in months: he was clearly heartbroken, and at last Sano knew why. And imagining what Saitou must have been going through since their separation… no, he couldn’t even begin to imagine it. But at last he understood the man’s face.

“Please,” he said, very seriously. “It’s the only thing about this I won’t be able to deal with, if you keep thinking it was your fault.”

“You’re… sure you’re remembering what happened to you accurately?” Saitou finally asked with forced calm.

“Yes, I am,” replied Sano. “Don’t worry about that; I’m handling it.”

“You seem to be handling it… very well.” Saitou really couldn’t be blamed for mistrusting Sano this time, but that didn’t make things any less strange and awkward.

“I remember every fucking detail,” Sano insisted. “Do you want me to describe it? He told Houji to take Yumi inside and–”

“All right,” Saitou cut him off, harsh and quiet. “You don’t have to. And you’re… all right?”

“No. Nobody’s all right who gets raped, least not for a while,” Sano answered bluntly. “I feel like crawling into a hole and rotting. But right now it’s more important to me to make sure you don’t feel like any of this is your fault when you’re the only one who was actually looking out for me all along.”

Saitou let his eyes fall shut and nodded slowly, as if finally accepting what Sano was trying to get through to him. But the expression he was still fighting off, that tortured restraint, was just too much for Sano. The younger man’s breath caught as he began, “And– and if you– if you still love me, I–”

There was a half-second’s flash of gold from which every minute shred of restraint had fled as Saitou’s eyes opened, and then Sano was… whole again… held tightly against the man he loved in a heated, possessive, almost crushing embrace that shattered any doubts he might have that everything would, someday, be all right.

“Ahou,” Saitou was growling into his ear. “The moment I stop loving you, I’ll cease to exist.”

Sano buried his face in Saitou’s chest, choking out something he thought might have been an apology before the sobs tore all words from him.

And as the sun set completely and frigid night fell, the healing of two fragmented hearts, reunited in the silent, drifting snow, slowly began.

This story’s not terrible; in fact it gets a . It’s good enough, at least for now, that I keep its abysmal predecessor around so this one can be read properly. You never know when that may change, though.

I had at one point started writing the scene where Saitou tells Chou what’s going on. It turned out not to fit in the story, and never got finished, but I think it’s interesting enough that I’m including it here. I just adore Saitou and Chou as friends.


“What? What?! I thought that guy was tori-atama’s friend! I’d fucking kill someone who did that to me!”

“If you knew he had.”

“Well, you’re gonna tell him, right?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“What do you mean you don’t know yet?! You’re not gonna fucking let Battousai win, are you?”

“It isn’t about him. It’s about what’s best for Sano.”

“How the fuck is that good for him?! How can you be so calm about this?”

“The only reason I brought this up is to let you know that you need to keep out of it.”

“But… but this really pisses me off! It’s a fucking dirty trick! It ain’t right! Don’t just stand there and tell me not to get involved!”

“Do you remember what Sano thought of you in that jail cell in Kyoto two years ago?”

“He didn’t like me much…”

“Well, that’s probably all he remembers of you now. You’re not his friend anymore.”

“But I’m fucking still yours! This… this seriously pisses me the fuck off!”


Also, two bonus versions of the figures from the title pictures:


Breakfast in Bed

“Sano. Sano, wake up.”

“Hmmphnn.”

“Sano!”

“Gthphkawaytstooearly.”

“Sano, wake up now.”

“Rightallrightall right, stop poking me, I’m awake. Shit, man, the sun’s not even up — how can you be?”

“Why do you have to sleep in such absurdly sexual-looking positions?”

“Maybe because I just got done having sex with you four or five times, what, three hours ago? Izzat what you woke me up to say?”

“I’m saying that this is your fault and I cannot be late for work today.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do about it?”

“What do you think, idiot?”

“How much you gonna pay me for it?”

“Don’t talk like a whore.”

“It doesn’t have to be money.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Well, if you don’t want my services, I’ll go back to sleep.”

“Fine, then. I’ll do it myself.”

“Yeah, too bad that’ll take you three times as long.”

“Arguing with you will take four.”

“Well, whatever. Good night. Have fun going into work like that or being late.”

“All right, you idiot, what do you want?”

“Just for you to agree to something.”

“Agree to what?”

“You have to do whatever I want when you get home.”

“And that will be…?”

“I’ll tell you after.”

“Why?”

“Because you won’t like it. Now get over here. Damned horny earlybird cops and their stupimmnnnnm…”

“Sano…”

“Mm?”

“Sano, I love you.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“I love you.”

“Mmm.”

“I love you.”

“Mmmmm.”

“I… uhnnhh…”

“Mmm, well, it’s nice to hear you actually tell me that for once, but don’t think it gets you off the hook for tonight.”

“What do you want?”

“I’ll tell you when you get home. Wouldn’t want it distracting you during your important investigations.”

“Sano–”

“Better get going.”

“Sano!”

“You’re gonna be late!”

“Hn. Fine. Goodbye.”

“Bye! . . . Shit, three I love you‘s! Heh… He musta thought I had something fucking awful planned for him! I’ma have to come up with something really evil to live up to that! Good thing I got all day to think of it…”



I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Closer Even Than That

Childishness. That’s what it was — the childishness and weakness Saitou had always accused him of. Whatever he wanted to think about himself, he had to face the truth: it didn’t matter how hard he tried to be an adult; when it came right down to it, he was just a big, helpless baby who expected — who needed — to be petted and humored and allowed to live the good life at the expense of others. Because really, only a brainless kid would ask something so stupid and expect any kind of likeable answer. You’d think after having been with the guy for a year Sano would know better than to ask that kind of question.

Saitou Hajime didn’t love. He destroyed evil. What exactly had Sano been expecting, anyway? A blood oath?

“Sano, may I ask if you’re all right?”

Sano looked down quickly. It wasn’t that he was unhappy to see Kenshin… he just didn’t like the idea of Kenshin guessing at the self-deprecation going through his head. Kenshin got awfully annoying when he thought you were being too hard on yourself.

“Sano, what is wrong?”

Sano shrugged. “Just that life’s a bitch,” he muttered.

“It can be,” the red-head agreed calmly. “But why do you say so today?”

“Would you ever say you loved your sword?”

“No…” Kenshin’s expression was quizzical. “At least… well, no, I cannot say I would.”

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” The bitterness in Sano’s tone increased with every word. “And do you think someone’s ever gonna love you if they don’t after you’ve been with them for a year?”

Kenshin thought of Kaoru and cleared his throat, not sure what to say.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” Sano leaned his elbow on his knee and his face on his fist, looking simultaneously furious and deeply hurt.

Having by now figured out what this was all about, Kenshin carefully planned what he would say, knowing there were a few ways he could put this that would only anger Sano more. “Even people who have known Saitou for a long time do not always understand him perfectly,” he told his young friend eventually. “Especially when it comes to important matters, I have noticed he likes to get his point across in his own way.”

Sano rubbed absently at the old scar on his shoulder and nodded.

“I would not like to try to interpret anything he said if I thought it might be only half of what he meant,” Kenshin finished, mentally crossing his fingers as he watched Sano digest his words, hoping the statement would push the other in the right direction.

Finally, “He should just say what he fucking means,” Sano grumbled, but the angry and pained notes in his tone were not nearly as sharp. And when presently he jumped up with, “I’ll talk to you later, Kenshin,” and strode out the door, the addressed friend had to breathe a sigh of relief.

*

Pride. That’s what it was — the pride and stubbornness Sano was always complaining about. Whatever he wanted to believe of himself, he had to face the fact: it didn’t matter what his morals or intentions were; when it came to relationships with actual people, he was just a proud old man who expected to have things his way and everyone else to live by his standards. Because really, only a complete jerk would answer a simple, forthright question in such a way that the questioner’s heart would be broken. You’d think after having been with the boy for a year Saitou would know better than to expect Sano to play word-games with him over such an important issue.

Sagara Sanosuke didn’t puzzle through things. He fought them with a straightforward fist. What exactly had Saitou been expecting, anyway? A calm, “Oh, really? How so?”

“Hey, boss, what’s your problem?”

“Go away.”

Chou seated himself on top of Saitou’s desk and peered down at the grumpy expression on the older man’s face. “You have another fight with tori-atama?”

“Worse,” was Saitou’s only reply.

Chou, who adored gossip and by now knew Saitou better than most people would be willing to admit even if they could get that far, just waited.

“The idiot asked me this morning if I love him,” Saitou finally said irritably.

“Well, shit,” Chou laughed, “everyone knows the answer to that.” Not cowed by his boss’s deadly expression at this, he continued, “But I bet you said something all fucking high-and-mighty and he ran off crying.”

Saitou’s eyes flicked away to the right as if he didn’t want to face this accusation; after a long pause he said, “Yes.” Well, Sano hadn’t exactly been crying, but close enough.

Chou had to laugh again.

“I told him that would be like saying I loved my sword,” Saitou protested, wanting sympathy and knowing perfectly well he’d get it from Chou in this instance.

“Well, makes sense to me,” Chou replied, as expected, then added with another chuckle, “but no wonder he didn’t like it!”

Saitou knew that perfectly well too, and only frowned harder.

“But I know how that guy is… gets mad at everything and gets over it just as quick,” Chou continued in a jovial tone that was calculated not to sound like he was giving advice. “When you tell him what you meant, he’ll probably forget he was ever pissed at you.”

Saitou snorted faintly, but it was accompanied by an equally faint smile.

Chou shrugged. “Wish I was that good at bouncing back from shit.” Then glancing smoothly at the clock on the wall and hopping backward off the desk he said, “Well, you don’t pay me to sit around in here all day. Gonna go check out that one warehouse.” And through the door he went, his knowing grin carefully hidden from the pensive officer he left behind.

*

They met at a spot almost exactly halfway between dojo and police station, stopped short, and stared at each other in pregnant silence.

“I didn’t mean–” Saitou began.

“I shouldn’t have–” Sano said at the same time. And they both fell wordless and stared for another wary moment.

And then, “I’m sorry,” they both declared, and by mutual consent were in each other’s arms.

“I was stupid to run off without letting you say anything more,” Sano said.

“Next time I won’t be so cryptic,” Saitou replied, touching his lips to Sano’s temple.

“Well, what did you mean with that stuff about the sword?”

Saitou took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Sano’s hair and smiling slightly before he replied. “In battle, my sword is like a part of myself, and if I were to lose it I would lose everything, perhaps even die. To say I loved it would be strange because it’s closer even than that; it’s so much a part of me, I couldn’t even exist without it.”

Sano’s face and chest were burning at the sound of these words. “And that’s… that’s how you feel about me…?”

Saitou held him tighter so their hearts were beating close in rapid synchronization. “It’s more than that, for you… but I don’t have words for it.”

“Oh, shit,” Sano murmured into his lover’s neck. “Remind me never to run off again before you get to the good stuff.”

“Or I could just give you the good stuff without preamble,” Saitou replied with apologetic fondness.

“Well, let’s go find some of it right now,” Sano suggested, the words accompanied by some nibbling on Saitou’s ear.

“Good idea,” Saitou growled, returning the favor.

And as they drew back out of each other’s arms, Sano’s whispered “I love you” was echoed just as softly by Saitou. Unblinking eyes meeting before they turned to walk home, they shared a smile of perfect understanding.


I’ve rated this story . I wrote it for Midori Natari Himura, so long ago, when she complained there wasn’t enough WAFFy (that was a term we used to use) Saitou & Sano fic.

There’s still someone else’s fic kicking around on the internet that, if it’s not a deliberate knock-off of this one of mine, is a bizarre coincidence of similarity XD

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).