The first manual Saitoh Hajime ever read was regarding the mechanics of throwing a baseball. He’d been six, left handed and frustrated with half-wits who wouldn’t teach him properly and had, with single minded intensity, read and re-read the guide to his favorite sport and then applied what he’d learned into the action of throwing a baseball as fast and accurately as possible. His perseverance and an eidetic memory served him well. Throughout school and into university, his position on the team as the pitcher, one with a superb sense of accuracy and a mean streak a mile wide, was a blessing for his team mates and a curse for opposing teams.
In the army it had been the same. Unlike some officers, like Okita who had volunteered for the service, he’d been drafted and aside from studying akido and kendo for years, lacked any military experience. The remedy for his lack of knowledge had been the same and he’d devoured every scrap and data set of information he could and then methodically applied them to learning how to keep him and his men alive, the mechanics and psychology of strategy, and had mastered the brutal methodology of how to kill, quickly and efficiently.
Fond of very few things, Saitoh had a deep and abiding appreciation for a well written field guide about how to assemble a percussion PED, an in-depth chemistry text about meta-amphetamines or a good manual about the latest handgun model. It made for good reading and was a tried and true way to help his analytical mind make sense of a world that was anything but logical.
Oh, Hajime…
As Tokio threw her arms around his neck, pulling him tight against her and nearly sending them both to the floor (the kitchen chairs were apparently not built to handle the demands of strong, fast moving attorneys) Saitoh wished, and not for the first time, that a comprehensive manual - a good one - with illustrations and everything, existed that could explain the deep mysteries and subtle intricacies of women.
He had no problem with the abnormal psychologies of psychopaths, pyromaniacs and sexual predators. Divining the thoughts and feelings of a well-adapted, intelligent woman who, despite being one of the toughest prosecuting attorneys in the country, was also remarkably kind and tenderhearted, was proving rather tricky.
I am so sorry. Please forgive me.
Being baffled was an unfamiliar experience for him, one that he decided was of the unpleasant variety. Instinctively, he steadied her and in doing so steadied himself. One arm tightened around her waist while the other found purchase at the back of her head, the soft, errant strands of hair that had escaped the hair band tangled in his fingers and he held her close. He could feel the wet, warm evidence of her tears as they saturated his t-shirt. She was crying. He hated it when she did that, especially when the physical evidence suggested he was the cause of her consternation.
Please forgive me for misunderstanding you. I didn't know if you were ready yet, to move past what happened to Yaso-san, so you could devote yourself to someone else...to me. Her voice was so soft, not much more than a whisper against his chest.
And there it was.
Clarity.
Saitoh became very still and her words sank into him, not unlike the tears she’d shed.
I was willing to stay beside you, support you and wait for you no matter how long it took.”
He knew this to be true. It was, and had always been her nature to support him, even when it was damn near impossible. He in turn had always tried to do the same for her, though in times such as this, he had to wonder about the efficacy of this attempts.
What I really want, if you want me to stay with you is to be your wife again. That’s all I ever wanted, Hajime. You are all I ever wanted, then and now.
Saitoh pulled back a little so that he could look at her properly, finally understanding. There was a palpable ghost in the room, though not of a dead woman, a murdered wife he had loved deeply and missed every day. This specter, one that he could feel weighing down on them both, was one born from suffering and grief and uncertainty.
“I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to completely move past what happened,” he said, honestly. “The death of a loved one causes trauma and leaves a scar, no matter how benign the manner of passing may have been. What those fucking bastards did to Yaso…finding her savaged, torn apart the way I did…” He bent down; his forehead was touching hers. “Tokio, it broke me.”
Tucked up tightly against him, Tokio gave a soft cry and shifted, the embrace becoming fierce and protective, as if she was willing to put herself and everything she had to offer on the line for him. Famished, Saitoh took what she offered and pulled her up onto the chair with him. It took a couple of tries and some minor cussing on Saitoh’s part for them to fit. They were tall and long legged. The chair was short and rather inflexible. In the end, they came up with something that worked, her straddling him, their arms around each other, holding on tightly, like their lives depended on it.
There.
This was better.
Saitoh exhaled, finding comfort in the weight of her body against his own. Her heart was beating rapidly against his. The clean scent of her skin and hair overpowered the sharp tang of regret and fear,
“For years, it was all I could do to stay alive, to try and claw some semblance of existence for myself and the boys. You’ve seen the results of that effort.” There was no recrimination in the accounting, which surprised Saitoh. “And, until we met in that damn café, I truly thought that the struggle of living day to day would be the end sum of my existence. You proved me wrong.”
Trying to explain the difference she’d already made in his life was like trying to describe the global movement of tectonic plates in seven words or less. So, he kissed her. Sometimes actions were easier to manage than words. Her lips were soft, tinged with tear-salt. His mouth was, in that moment, not hard and grim, but something else entirely.
When they parted, his heart rate was nearly as fast as hers had been. “As for this ridiculous business of not knowing whether or not I wanted you to say with me…” Saitoh gave her a look, his tone becoming slightly chiding. “I asked you, didn’t I?”
Tokio opened her mouth, as if to respond. Saitoh took this as an excellent opportunity for a preemptive tactical assault and kissed her again. This seal was harder, more possessive. “You’re the first woman I’ve touched in over three years, Tokio...” He leaned back a little so she could see him. There would be no doubt how much she meant to him, no room for second guessing his intentions. His amber eyes were hot, his expression ferocious. “As long as I live, there will be no other.”
A more civilized man wouldn’t have growled before pulling the object of his affections close. Saitoh didn’t care. Ruthlessly, he caught her lips with his and the kiss, open mouthed, breath becoming harsh, was blatant, the desire searing in its clarity. One handed, he reached up and tugged the hair band aside, wanting to feel the dark curtain of her hair fall around them both. His other hand, the one he shot with, was splayed against the small of her back, pulling her close until their hips met. Virginal or not, he knew that Tokio would be able to feel the impact she was having on his body, on him. When it came to this woman, his wife, societal niceties were thrown by the wayside.
“Dammit, woman…” he rasped after a minute or so, getting a breath in before going back to the serious work of kissing her senseless. “…I even gave you my favorite gun."
no subject
In the army it had been the same. Unlike some officers, like Okita who had volunteered for the service, he’d been drafted and aside from studying akido and kendo for years, lacked any military experience. The remedy for his lack of knowledge had been the same and he’d devoured every scrap and data set of information he could and then methodically applied them to learning how to keep him and his men alive, the mechanics and psychology of strategy, and had mastered the brutal methodology of how to kill, quickly and efficiently.
Fond of very few things, Saitoh had a deep and abiding appreciation for a well written field guide about how to assemble a percussion PED, an in-depth chemistry text about meta-amphetamines or a good manual about the latest handgun model. It made for good reading and was a tried and true way to help his analytical mind make sense of a world that was anything but logical.
Oh, Hajime…
As Tokio threw her arms around his neck, pulling him tight against her and nearly sending them both to the floor (the kitchen chairs were apparently not built to handle the demands of strong, fast moving attorneys) Saitoh wished, and not for the first time, that a comprehensive manual - a good one - with illustrations and everything, existed that could explain the deep mysteries and subtle intricacies of women.
He had no problem with the abnormal psychologies of psychopaths, pyromaniacs and sexual predators. Divining the thoughts and feelings of a well-adapted, intelligent woman who, despite being one of the toughest prosecuting attorneys in the country, was also remarkably kind and tenderhearted, was proving rather tricky.
I am so sorry. Please forgive me.
Being baffled was an unfamiliar experience for him, one that he decided was of the unpleasant variety. Instinctively, he steadied her and in doing so steadied himself. One arm tightened around her waist while the other found purchase at the back of her head, the soft, errant strands of hair that had escaped the hair band tangled in his fingers and he held her close. He could feel the wet, warm evidence of her tears as they saturated his t-shirt. She was crying. He hated it when she did that, especially when the physical evidence suggested he was the cause of her consternation.
Please forgive me for misunderstanding you. I didn't know if you were ready yet, to move past what happened to Yaso-san, so you could devote yourself to someone else...to me. Her voice was so soft, not much more than a whisper against his chest.
And there it was.
Clarity.
Saitoh became very still and her words sank into him, not unlike the tears she’d shed.
I was willing to stay beside you, support you and wait for you no matter how long it took.”
He knew this to be true. It was, and had always been her nature to support him, even when it was damn near impossible. He in turn had always tried to do the same for her, though in times such as this, he had to wonder about the efficacy of this attempts.
What I really want, if you want me to stay with you is to be your wife again. That’s all I ever wanted, Hajime. You are all I ever wanted, then and now.
Saitoh pulled back a little so that he could look at her properly, finally understanding. There was a palpable ghost in the room, though not of a dead woman, a murdered wife he had loved deeply and missed every day. This specter, one that he could feel weighing down on them both, was one born from suffering and grief and uncertainty.
“I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to completely move past what happened,” he said, honestly. “The death of a loved one causes trauma and leaves a scar, no matter how benign the manner of passing may have been. What those fucking bastards did to Yaso…finding her savaged, torn apart the way I did…” He bent down; his forehead was touching hers. “Tokio, it broke me.”
Tucked up tightly against him, Tokio gave a soft cry and shifted, the embrace becoming fierce and protective, as if she was willing to put herself and everything she had to offer on the line for him. Famished, Saitoh took what she offered and pulled her up onto the chair with him. It took a couple of tries and some minor cussing on Saitoh’s part for them to fit. They were tall and long legged. The chair was short and rather inflexible. In the end, they came up with something that worked, her straddling him, their arms around each other, holding on tightly, like their lives depended on it.
There.
This was better.
Saitoh exhaled, finding comfort in the weight of her body against his own. Her heart was beating rapidly against his. The clean scent of her skin and hair overpowered the sharp tang of regret and fear,
“For years, it was all I could do to stay alive, to try and claw some semblance of existence for myself and the boys. You’ve seen the results of that effort.” There was no recrimination in the accounting, which surprised Saitoh. “And, until we met in that damn café, I truly thought that the struggle of living day to day would be the end sum of my existence. You proved me wrong.”
Trying to explain the difference she’d already made in his life was like trying to describe the global movement of tectonic plates in seven words or less. So, he kissed her. Sometimes actions were easier to manage than words. Her lips were soft, tinged with tear-salt. His mouth was, in that moment, not hard and grim, but something else entirely.
When they parted, his heart rate was nearly as fast as hers had been. “As for this ridiculous business of not knowing whether or not I wanted you to say with me…” Saitoh gave her a look, his tone becoming slightly chiding. “I asked you, didn’t I?”
Tokio opened her mouth, as if to respond. Saitoh took this as an excellent opportunity for a preemptive tactical assault and kissed her again. This seal was harder, more possessive. “You’re the first woman I’ve touched in over three years, Tokio...” He leaned back a little so she could see him. There would be no doubt how much she meant to him, no room for second guessing his intentions. His amber eyes were hot, his expression ferocious. “As long as I live, there will be no other.”
A more civilized man wouldn’t have growled before pulling the object of his affections close. Saitoh didn’t care. Ruthlessly, he caught her lips with his and the kiss, open mouthed, breath becoming harsh, was blatant, the desire searing in its clarity. One handed, he reached up and tugged the hair band aside, wanting to feel the dark curtain of her hair fall around them both. His other hand, the one he shot with, was splayed against the small of her back, pulling her close until their hips met. Virginal or not, he knew that Tokio would be able to feel the impact she was having on his body, on him. When it came to this woman, his wife, societal niceties were thrown by the wayside.
“Dammit, woman…” he rasped after a minute or so, getting a breath in before going back to the serious work of kissing her senseless. “…I even gave you my favorite gun."