Sometime in the midst of their conversation, Sanosuke had shifted subtly so that his body was halfway facing Saitou, although his chair remained in its original position by the window. It was a little thing to notice, but Saitou had always been unnaturally sharp.

If Sanosuke was beginning to trust him, it was probably not a very wise choice. But the ahou was not called one for nothing, although Saitou reckoned he had become just a little bit smarter over the years. Perhaps with time and with the right knocks in life, it was even possible to salvage the rest of his stupidity. Disposing of his fifth cigarette, Saitou crossed his arms and looked appraisingly at the subject of curiosity in front of him.

"What?"

"I was just thinking that you've become less stupid."

"You don't know any better way to compliment someone?"

"No."

Sanosuke sighed noisily. "I've traveled, seen some of the world... it changes you," he seemed to think for a bit, then raised one hand as if to make a point. "I was just a boy at nineteen, didn't think anything could beat me down..."

Abruptly he slapped that raised hand on his thigh. "Even you were nineteen once! Surely you were different then," he paused for a moment. "More ah, innocent?"

"I killed a man at nineteen," began Saitou in a conversational tone.

The younger man let out a soft curse.

"After that, I had no choice but to flee from my home. Even my own mother wouldn't call me innocent."

"You've never stopped killing since."

"There is no good without evil. That is the way of the world, and it is a truth your friend the Battousai runs away from."

"It's not Kenshin's duty to rid Japan of evil, just as it isn't yours. He isn't running away, he just chose a different path."

"That's the coward's way."

The insult on his best friend might as well have been an insult on Sanosuke, as he made a move toward Saitou. With the swiftest of motions Saitou grabbed the katana resting beside him. He pointed it at the advancing Sanosuke. Though the weapon was not drawn, the warning was obvious.

Sanosuke stopped then, fists clenched by his sides. "You would kill me too?"

"If you were wearing that stupid shirt from before I would have a reason to. Aku, Soku, Zan."

Saitou smiled grimly at his own wry joke. Sanosuke laughed, a short, harsh sound that just barely acknowledged Saitou's compromise. He returned to his seat. They were back to where they started, balancing precariously on the thin line between friend and foe.

That he chose the killing way was not a decision Saitou would boast of. He had the strength and the skill, so it was only right he used these talents to protect what was good. Ordinary men could live simple lives. Saitou was far from an ordinary man, and to withdraw from the potential of what he could do was the coward's way. It was Battousai's way.

He did not like blood on his hands, but he understood it was what could not be avoided. It was simply necessary that men who stood on the wrong side were slaughtered along the way. The first time he killed a man, he had been utterly shaken, yet he betrayed nothing beyond the sullen mask he wore in front of his family. His samurai father said nothing. His mother showed her distraught in the paleness of her face. The smell of blood did not go away for days. It was easier now. Facing the worst of men, he could even enjoy the killing, for it was the climax in the battle between good and evil.

Tokio always knew when he had killed. He tried his best to clean himself after his work, but the stains of red clung stubbornly to his clothing. As she helped him undress, she would gingerly pick up his sullied clothes and put them away for the washerwoman to collect the next day. She never washed them herself.

In the bathhouse, there would be always be hot water ready. More than a mere bath, this was a ritual purification for him. He had mentioned his observation gently to Tokio, as she scrubbed his skin raw with her usual harsh motions. She had laughed nervously then, avoiding his eyes. He never brought it up again. After he was clean, she was happy to let him hold her. She would wrap her thin arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest. It made him sad. Only Okita had understood him, but his friend was long dead.

"No wonder you're such a cynical bastard," said Sanosuke sourly from the safety of his chair.

Saitou did not know what the ahou was alluding to. The younger man did not say more.

He had not been cynical at nineteen, not at the beginning. With a man's blood on his hands, it was his innocence that was the first to go. Then being witness to the dead man's father, a high-ranking samurai's successful attempt to persecute him changed the way he understood life. The wealthy and powerful could have their way, just as the man he murdered had tried to have his way with his cousin.

Aku, Soku, Zan was an ideal he remained loyal to, but that did not mean he was immune to its ultimate weight. It was as much a punishment on the soul as it brought him gratification. Since his younger days, he had always been unrelenting, much to the consternation of his peers.

Perhaps this was why Sanosuke irked him so, beyond his foolishness. The ahou gave in freely to drink, dice and women, as carefree young men were prone to do. He trusted people, and with that trust came his loyalty. He showed his emotions openly and unabashedly. Being in his presence was a constant reminder of how different Saitou had been at nineteen. Yet Sanosuke's young life had been similarly scarred.

It was not a life a man like Saitou would have chosen, but it did not mean that it was a life he would not have wanted. What had it been then, jealousy or envy? Maybe both. But man makes his own choices in life.

When he stood up and made his way to the window, Sanosuke eyed him warily. Saitou smirked at the ahou's reaction as he leaned against the wall. He reached into his side pocket and pulled out his cigarette case.

"Not too many left," muttered Saitou when he opened the case. He offered the contents to the younger man.

Sanosuke looked bewildered.

"They're not poisoned," said Saitou helpfully.

Realizing the significance of the gesture, Sanosuke stood up quickly until he was at eye level with Saitou. Only then did he take a stick from the case and put it between his lips. Saitou picked out a cigarette too, and then reached for his matches.

Sanosuke coughed a bit at the initial smoke, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth with clumsy fingers. "Never liked these things." He frowned at the burning stick between his fingers, but made no move to discard it.

Saitou nodded, mildly amused. He turned his head to look out the window at the white flakes falling endlessly in the darkness. It was going to be a long night, but it was not going to be a bad night.

~*~

Author's Notes:

I hope I've done justice to the very intriguing character of Saitou. This fic is really about him, even though there is Sano too. Despite their antagonism, or perhaps because of it, those two play each other off very well, and I wanted to delve into that. I think of Saitou as a fair person, which is why he can bring himself to realize the basis of his dislike for the ahou. Yet Saitou being such a mean bastard would never, never say it, although he does let Sano share his precious cigarettes. Just one though.

Well, thanks for reading! Some of what I've written is based on fact about the real Saitou Hajime, but for the most part, it's fiction.

05/05 Thank you Mara for pointing out that the Gatotsu is Saitou's fighting style, not his sword. You're so right.