Explanations and Explorations
Apr. 16th, 2012 03:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saitoh_hajime posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
gumi_reloadedTime: Late Afternoon - Early Evening
Location: New Meiji Department of Justice (Police Wing, Armory, Shooting Range)
Characters, NPC, Saitoh, Tokio
“YOU HAVE ACCESSED THE NEW MEIJI POLICE DEPARTMENT ANSWERING SYSTEM. PLEASE LISTEN TO THE FOLLOWING OPTIONS BEFORE MAKING YOUR SELECTION.”
Saitoh took an impatient drag on his cigarette and listened.
“TO CHANGE YOUR PERSONAL GREETING, PLEASE PRESS 1. TO LISTEN TO YOUR PERSONAL GREETING, PLEASE PRESS 2. TO FORWARD CALLS, PLEASE PRESS 3. TO ACCEPT FORWARDED CALLS, PLEASE PRESS 4. TO FORWARD A CALL TO A FORWARDED NUMBER, PLEASE PRESS 5.”
Saitoh swore, and tried to resist the urge to throw his office phone out the window, wishing that they would stop changing the options every few weeks.
“TO CHANGE YOUR RINGTONE, PLEASE PRESS 6, TO LISTEN TO AVAILABLE RING TONES, PLEASE PRESS 7. TO REQUEST A CUSTOM RING TONE FOR ALL FORWARDED CALLS PLEASE PRESS 8”
Exhaling smoke out of his nostrils in a murderous sounding snort, Saitoh slammed the phone down onto the charger with enough force that his terminal and desk shook.
“Yorimoto!”
Saitoh’s new secretary jumped in his seat, knocked over a picture of his mother and her passel of pugs, and then tried to give his commanding officer a smart, manly sort of salute. “Yes, Saitoh-sama!” Newly promoted from the office accounting pool, Yorimoto Katsume was a twitchy little ferret of a man, one whom Saitoh suspected had an unholy fixation with fountain pens. “How may I provide you with assistance, Sir!”
(Holy freaking hell…) Saitoh gave his newest secretary a long measured look. “What is the prompt on the automated phone system so I can listen to my messages?”
“That’s easy, Sir! It’s option 18. Would you like me to assist you in button pressing, Saitoh-sama?” Yorimoto said hopefully, eager to prove his worth.
“No.” Saitoh pinched the bridge of his narrow nose and prayed for patience, since his preferred course of action, that being strangling his secretary and shoving the body where the sun didn’t shine was generally speaking, frowned upon.
“Oh,” Yorimoto’s face fell. “Well, if you have any trouble, please know that you can safely rely on me to provide you with timely assistance.”
Saitoh pinched harder, reminding himself that slaying evil instantly was not applicable to the mentally deficient, no matter how annoying they might be, “I will keep that in mind.”
“Oh, and if you are wondering about that voicemail you received fifteen minutes ago, the transcript is on your desk.”
Saitoh glanced down at his desk and saw that there was in fact, a memo near his cigarette ash covered keyboard. (Unlike most people, he preferred typing rather than relying on voice recognition software) He frowned (due mostly to the smiley face stamp that was by Yorimoto’s name) and began reading.
MEMO:
To: Captain H. Saitoh
From: Office Secretary K. Yorimoto (recently promoted)
Subject: Voicemail from O. Murakami, DOJ (13:35:05)
Dear Captain Saitoh-sama,
Here is the transcript of a voicemail you received from one O. Murakami. Please review and let me know if you need any further assistance in this, or any other matter.
With the most profound respect that you could ever imagine,
K. Yorimoto ^__^
Start Message
“Hello, this is a message for Captain Saitoh-san. This is Oharu Murakami. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I was the secretary to the late Fujita Hiroshi? Yes, well… I am now working for Takagi Tokio, Assistant Prosecuting Attorney. She asked me to call and let you know that she will be stopping by your office to return an item that you lent her the other day and that you should anticipate her arrival no later than 15:30….
Saitoh-san, I heard about your injuries sustained in the line of duty. I hope that you will make a speedy recovery and that your boys, bless their hearts, are safe and well. If you have any questions, or can’t speak with Takagi-san during this time, please call me directly or send an email so that I can reschedule.
Warmest Regards,
O. Murakami”
End Message.
.
no subject
Date: 2012-05-06 10:41 pm (UTC)It didn’t surprise her that he wanted to check her stance first. That was always step one, the ‘foundation’, as her father called it. Saitoh showed her how to adjust her balance to compensate for the higher caliber, moving her hips, her shoulders, her waist, even repeating the ‘nose over toes’ comment, so often said by Kojuurou, until he was satisfied she was centered and could handle the recoil .
His hands left familiar little sensations everywhere they’d made contact with her body, making it very difficult for her to concentrate on his words, especially when he rubbed her cold arms. ‘Don’t stop’ her mind pleaded when he pulled away to give her shoulders a little squeeze to let her know that she was doing well. ‘Remember, he always does that to let you know how much he appreciates you,’ that little voice inside her echoed.
He talked about non-static targets, moving rapidly without sacrificing her aim before he slid into position behind her. Captain Saitoh then reached down to position his hand over hers so they could begin dry-firing her new automatic, his shirtless arm brushing against her bare arm, leaving a trail of goose-bumps in its wake. If that weren’t bad enough, he kept his arm pressed against hers. She knew he needed to do what he was doing. It was really no different than dry-firing with her father, except her father was not Captain Saitoh, a man who elicited –she finally realized- long buried, but good, feelings. The moment their hands made contact, even though she was wearing the ultra thin burn gloves, she could feel his warmth, his strength.
Her mind began to flood with a collage of fleeting images, and she felt that energy again. The static electricity that wasn’t; the force that drew her towards him, rather than pushing her away, as a strong dose of static electricity was wont to do. If the fleeting images were not from another time and another place, they were surely a product of her over active, lush imagination. Tokio was sure that if she wasn’t already mad –‘mad about him?’ her mind questioned- it was only a matter of time.
His trigger finger atop hers, the session started. ‘Do I feel the recoil?’ she asked herself, only to reply that, no, she didn’t, but she *was* seeing something in response to the hand that now covered hers. It was a woman, her hand resting on a very swollen belly, trying to negotiate some steep stone steps down to a house, a house in the Bunkyo Ward, she was surprised to realize. A hand, she was sure it was the same one that now guided her trigger finger, helped the woman steady herself, leading her safely down the stairwell to the house.
She felt him exhale before pulling his finger straight back again, pressing her trigger finger along with his against the trigger. He stepped even closer, almost as if he were trying to shield her from some unknown threat. Her finger made firmer contact with the trigger the next time, as they fired as one. For several minutes they worked together moving in perfect unison. She was getting better at this, she felt more confident, she was more accurate, and she felt his body heat more keenly.
Images continued to stream through her mind, as the Captain continued moving their fingers together against the trigger of her automatic. There was a hand covering hers, giving it a little squeeze of assurance when she fretted about a sick child. There were two strong hands trying to warm her toes almost frozen from too much outdoor exposure on a cold Tonami winter day.
In each case, she was sure that the hands she saw were the same ones that touched her now at this moment.
Then she stepped back, brushing against him, a tremor moving through her at the contact. She quickly adjusted her stance only to bump into his hip this time, causing her to let out a gasp and tremble a little more, which caused Saitoh to increase his grip on her gun. Not only did his grip on her hand increase, but his arm slipped around her waist in an attempt to steady her. This movement made her stiffen momentarily before relaxing suddenly, and settling against him as she was slammed with yet another fleeting thought, this time it was one which totally unnerved her.
*She knew* -*She just knew* -Those hands of his had been on places that only a husband dare venture. Her heart quickened. Her face flushed. She tensed again, trying to forget that she was leaning back, pressed against his firm chest, but not wanting to move from where she had involuntarily settled, either. So she held her breath trying to focus on the present, and not on the warm restless feelings that were beginning to stir. She hoped Captain Saitoh couldn’t read her mind. She would die of embarrassment if that were the case.
Just before he spoke, his grip on her waist tightened, stirring more unrecognized feelings, while his grip on the gun began to relax.
“Gun down…We need to take a break,” his raspy voice let out.
‘Did he feel it, too?’ She asked herself.
“As it’s clear that neither of us could hit the side of a damn city bus in our current state.”
With horror she realized that, yes, she had been that obvious about what she was feeling towards him. Even though he must have sensed her state of mind, knowing what she was thinking, he silenced her words of apology as they began to slip from her lips. As soon as he stepped away from her, creating a distance between them, she regretted the loss. All she really wanted to do, much to her surprise, was to close the distance between them, slip her arms around *his* waist, and pull him to her and not let go for the rest of her life. Being that she was never the aggressor where men were concerned, she was mortified by her thoughts.
He reassured her that she had done nothing wrong, as far as he was concerned, attributing his distraction to the scent of her perfume. She’d never before had a man affected by the way she smelled. When he told her it suited her, she was thankful that she’d purchased it when she was shopping with her friend, Tae, earlier that day. For a reason, that totally escaped her, she had been drawn to the fragrance of sakura while at the department store. Knowing that he liked the aroma, made her want to wear it again…for him, just to please him, she realized. She now fully accepted that there were too many images in her mind for them to be random and without reason or purpose.
Announcing they were ready to try live rounds, he motioned for her to come to him. She was drawn like a child to their favorite candy, her face still fully flushed, her heart beating an erratic rhythm in her chest.
“Give me your hand….please,” he requested. She complied, as she always had when he asked something of her. Her hand gently in his, he turned his over so her fingers rested above the pulse point of his wrist. He mirrored the action so he could feel the blood flowing through her veins.
“Your heart is racing…”
Yes, I know, she wanted to tell him. She had the urge to ask him if he knew why that was so, but she was afraid of where that answer might lead them. As they stood there together in the semi-dark room, feelings…for him…long pushed to the far recesses of her mind were now pushing forward, seeking the light of a new life…‘a new life for both of you’, that little inner voice trailed.
“Let’s get things slowed down, shall we?”
But she didn’t want to slow things down, not now that she was starting to understand…about him…about them. She knew that there was a natural conclusion for the two of them, but right now it escaped her mind.
He was talking about guns again and firing between heart beats. ‘Yes, you moron, that is why you are here’ she told herself. You are here for target practice not to explore your emotions…
She knew he was trying to steady her breathing, making it more even, along with her pulse, but that traitorous heart of hers refused to slow down. He invited her to find a pattern that she was comfortable with. Throughout his explanation, she was acutely aware of the feel of his pulse beneath her fingers, beckoning her to match his heat beat, and breathing. Eventually, her breathing began match his.
Taking a very deep breath and exhaling slowly through her parted lips, she knew that this wasn’t the first time she had breathed in sync with this man. She could feel it. It must have been something resurfacing from the past he said they’d shared together.
The images were foggy, but she knew that her lower body had been in excruciating, repeating, stabbing pain, like someone was reaching in, and trying to pull her insides out. That was the only way to describe it. He held her from behind, her back pressed against his comforting chest. She could feel his heart beating; she was aware of each breath he took. He had taken her arms, gently rubbing them, whispering in her ear, making her focus only on him, making her shut out everything but his breathing, his heartbeat. He set the pace, she followed. He continued breathing with her, calming her, as those long forgotten waves of pain washed over her before halting abruptly with the cry of an infant…’Tsutomu’ a little voice called to her before trailing away.
There was also a glimpse of something else, but this time the rhythm of breathing was not the only rhythm they shared. The breaths were heavy, almost labored, but she couldn’t figure out the cause. All she knew was that this breathing was connected to something wonderful, something that she missed very much. But she couldn’t quite figure it out. What was this missing something?
As difficult as it was, due to the unbidden resurfacing of memories, she did manage to slow both her heart rate and breathing, relaxing just a little, but only because she had wiped that last memory from her conscious mind. She had the feeling that, whatever she thought she was missing, was something that would never lower her heart beat, or her rate of breathing.