Chapter 3 The Past Interferes with the Present

Tokio

Together they made the long walk down one more level to the shooting range where Saitoh programmed two shooting simulations. Tokio was still trying to wrap her mind around what had happened when the two of them were enclosed in the blue-white light. She knew instinctively that something had truly shifted between them. The memory of the way he smiled at her would stay in her heart for a lifetime.

Captain Saitoh then took some ear protectors and clear poly carbon glasses off a shelf, handing them to her. As she settled the hearing protection over her ears and slipped on the glasses, she thought of all that she had learned over the years about guns and shooting.

Tokio never forgot the words of Ray Chapman, the first combat pistol world champion. Chapman said, "Shooting well is simple; it just isn't easy." Once she'd read those words, their truth stuck with her.

Shooting really did sound like quite a simple procedure. If the gun is aimed at the target, and the trigger is pressed, and the shot is released without moving the gun, then the bullet will strike the mark. Yes, it seemed simple, but there was much more to it than that, and it had been quite some time since the attorney had done any formal target practice.

As she gathered her thoughts, the things she learned from her father came back to her mind. She knew that handguns were the most difficult firearm to shoot successfully, because there was less to hang on to. The radius between the front and rear sight was shorter than that of a rifle, meaning a greater chance of human error when aiming. These days, laser sights took care of the aim, if your gun had one. Tokio's new ones didn't. A handgun also had no third locking point on the shoulder, like you had with a long gun's butt stock.

Tokio mentally reviewed the shooter's check list that her father, Takagi Kojuurou, had impressed on her so many years ago, when he first taught her how to handle a gun. She was twelve then. He was a newly elected official in Aizu. There was constant worry due to the political climate at the time, that the Takagi family would be targeted because of her father's anti-corruption policies. He and his family needed to learn how to protect themselves. Everyone, including her mother, over much objection, learned how to shoot. Her father told her that shooting was like constructing a building; you started from the bottom up. There were five things to remember: the need for a strong stance, a high hand grasp, a hard grip, a front sight, and a smooth rearward roll of the trigger.

The attorney knew she needed to take a front stance just as if she was practicing karate. Her lower body would need to form a pyramidal base, a sort of triangle with depth. She was right handed and planned on shooting two-handed, so she wanted her hips at a 45-degree angle in relation to the target with her left leg forward and her right leg back. Then she would be properly balanced forward and back, and from left to right. She knew that this stance would make it easier to hold the gun on target, often the difference between life and death. She might need to have the captain help her get in the correct position the first few times.

In a rapid fire situation, her shoulders would need to be forward to get her body weight in behind the gun to help control recoil. She kept thinking of her father's words, 'Nose over Toes, Tokio', to remember this point.

What was that about the hand hold? Oh yes, the higher the hand, the lower the bore axis which meant much better control of muzzle jump and less movement of the pistol upon recoil. Semiautomatics were supposed to be shot using a high hand grip, making it easier to press the trigger straight back as each shot was made. Tokio remembered that if her hand was placed too low on the handle, a straight rearward pressure on the trigger tended to pull the muzzle down, placing the shot low, causing a miss to the target. She would need to focus on that when using the small semi-automatic the captain gave her today.

Semi-autos, like the one Saitoh told her to keep in her purse as a last resort, were designed to operate as the slide moved against the abutment of a firmly held frame. A low grasp allowed the muzzle to whipsaw upward from recoil, as the mechanism automatically cycled, diverting momentum from the slide through the frame. The slide could then run out of momentum before it completed its work, causing the pistol to jam. A jammed side-arm usually spelled death for its user.

The tighter a gun was held, the less it kicked and jumped. The less kick and jump; the more efficient the shot. Kojuurou taught his daughter to hold the firearm as tightly as possible even to the point that hand tremors set in. Some people called this a 'crush grip.'

Her father told her that the sights needed to be kept straight in line. If the sights were in line, and the hand quivered, the sights would quiver in the center of the target. When the shot broke, the bullet would strike the center. Once hit, the target would neither know nor care that the shooter quivered before the projectile was discharged.

'The consistency of grasp is the key to consistent accuracy,' those were her father's wise words. Shooting was a multi-tasking exercise that gave a person a lot to think about. Stress levels could change during shooting, and the consistency of a person's grasp could change, too. Her father told her there were only two ways to grasp the pistol with uniformity. One was to hold it with virtually no pressure at all, which gave poor control of recoil. The other was to hold it as hard as you could for each and every shot. The last way was the way that Tokio learned to shoot.

Holding a pistol with maximum grip strength makes it less likely that the firearm will be knocked or snatched from your hand while in a combat situation. In addition, it is the ultimate cure for a hand gunner's malady known as 'milking.'

'Milking,' a term meaning the movement a made by a hand as it milks a cow's udder, occurs when the index finger closes on the trigger and the other fingers sympathetically close with it, changing the grasp and pulling the sights off target. This usually pulls the shot low and to the side of the intended destination.

If all fingers, except the index finger, are closed as tightly as possible around the gun, the tight grip hyper-flexes the fingers so they can't tighten any more, even when the trigger is pulled. This eliminates the milking action, which can distort the accuracy of the shot.

Tokio remembered there were many ways to position the thumb. Some shooters learned to shoot with the thumb high, resting on the manual safety. Others preferred to point the thumb straight at the target. The straight thumb position seemed to align the hand in a way that allowed the index finger its straightest rearward movement. With powerful guns, curling the thumb down to add grasping strength and enhance control was a useful technique. A lot depended on how the gun fit the hand. The controls were a factor, too. With a conventional double action auto that had the safety catch mounted on the slide, it was good to have the thumb where it could push the lever into the 'fire' position, and confirm that it was in the correct position.

Kojuuro told his daughter that contacting the trigger at the crease of the distal joint of the finger, the spot old time revolver masters called 'the power crease,' gave a person much more leverage and therefore more control. This was particularly true on guns that had long and/or heavy trigger pulls. A lot depended on hand size and shape in relation to gun size and shape.

Usually, the gun's front sight was centered in the notch of the rear sight with an equal amount of light on either side, the top of the front sight being level with the top of the rear sight. Tokio was told that human vision being what it is, a person can't focus on the sights and the target at the same time. There was no way to focus on both the front and the rear sights at the same time, either. Once the target had been identified as something that needed to be shot, the primary focus goes to the front sight, the aiming indicator. Kojirou told Tokio that the way to lock the handgun's projectile onto the target was by focusing on its front sight.

She remembered that failing to properly focus on the front sight was a widespread problem among shooters. Her father's words hammered in her head, 'Watch the front sight hard. Apply your primary visual focus there. Look at it until you can see every little scratch in the machining on its surface. If it has a dot on it, focus on it until the dot looks like a basket ball. Then you will see your shot groups tighten as if by magic.' That was exactly what the prosecutor had done at the café yesterday to put the slug through the center of the AMP user's forehead.

Takagi also taught his daughter to remember the prime directive: once the gun was aimed at the target, the trigger must be pulled in a way that does not pull the muzzle off target before the shot is fired. This means that the trigger must come straight back.

The goal is a smooth, even, uninterrupted pull. The best way to do that, Kojuurou told Tokio, was to think of the motion as 'rolling the trigger,' because that described the smooth, consistent, uniform pressure that must be applied. Although you didn't want the shot itself to truly be a surprise, you did want the exact instant of the shot to surprise you, so you didn't anticipate it and convulsively jerk the shot off target. Tokio's mind was on overload. There was just too much to remember technique wise. Even though she had concentrated on her aim yesterday, she suspected that her shot was accurate because of luck.

The best way to master the trigger pull, once you knew what it was supposed to be, was to practice it over and over. Dry-fire, or 'clicking' the empty gun, was the best way to practice. The position of the sights when the gun went 'click' told the shooter whether the shot would have been on target or not. The more dry repetitions performed, the more the proper trigger pull would be ingrained into a person's mind and body to the point where it could be done perfectly in an emergency situation without consciously thinking about the details.

All of her father's lessons and bits of wisdom crowded together in her mind. She hardly knew where to start. She could just go and aim at the targets the captain had set up. But she felt she should at least practice her stance and she needed to get used to the feel of the trigger mechanisms on these new guns of hers by doing some dry-firing. After all, Tokio had no experience with the new, high powered type of automatic gun that the captain had chosen for her.

When she was just learning to shoot, her father helped her. He instructed her to take a strong stance, had her grasp the gun firmly, holding it on target. Next he told her to barely touch the trigger with her index finger and then to let that finger go limp. Kojuurou then placed his gun hand over her small one, his trigger finger over hers, letting his finger press hers straight back against the trigger. After several repetitions of this Tokio felt what it was like to make the perfect shot.

The second step of practice had the two of them pulling the trigger together at the same pace. During the third step, her father let Tokio's finger pull the trigger with his trigger finger lightly touching hers to monitor its progress. Finally, Kojuurou sat back and watched his daughter perform by herself, only correcting her when necessary.

The sound from Captain Saitoh's laser sight drew her away from her memories and her mental review. She looked at him, his weapon in hand, safety off, laser sight humming.

"Ready?" he asked.

The vest clad Tokio, her bare arms beginning to get a mild case of goose bumps, spoke clearly to the man beside her, "No, Captain Saitoh, I'm sorry; I'm not ready yet. It has been a very long time since I've had any formal target practice, so I'm not sure that I'll be able to execute the correct technique." She bit her bottom lip, trying to find the words for her next request, "Would you mind helping me with my stance, so I can be properly positioned, and then with some dry-firing of this automatic? I've never used a gun of this caliber before, and I would like to get the feel of the trigger before I use any live ammunition."

(All of the shooting techniques paraphrased in this post are from 'How to Shoot a Handgun Accurately' by Massad Ayoob .)

Saitoh

"Of course," Saitoh nodded, flicking off the laser sight with his thumb and depositing the handgun back in the holster on his hip. He then took of the ear and eye protectors and set them aside on the table where Takagi had put her purse and blouse. He waited until Takagi had done the same and had emptied her weapon of live ammunition.

He watched her carefully, noticed a slight hesitation while working the clip, and no hesitation at all handling the rounds. (She's unsure about the caliber of the gun, not about handling a weapon in and of itself…she's already proven her capabilities in that regard) He'd reviewed the coroner's report of the man she'd killed and examined both the entry and exit wounds, noting that the head shot had been less than a quarter inch off dead (all puns intended) center of the man's forehead without any mean angle of deviation, an impressive shot considering she'd been firing a high caliber weapon, in the dark, and at a distance of nearly fifteen feet. It has been a neat, technical shot.

Saitoh looked at the woman and suspected that her shooting technique would be equally technical, precise and absolutely by the book, which suited him just fine. Saitoh had precious little patience for psychologists, counselors (school counselors in particular), head shrinks and the twits in HR that kept trying to give all the employees personality tests and social categorizations. (Give someone a gun, watch them shoot at a target for an hour or two and that's all the profiling you need.) Hasty people shot in a hasty manner, with little thought to aim, stance and posture. Anal-retentive bean counters wasted time measuring and calculating and fiddling with any knob they could get their fingers on. Those with anger issues or performance anxiety fired off rounds too quickly while those who lacked confidence dawdled and delayed for fear of making a mistake.

(And then there are the people who should not be let anywhere near anything more dangerous than a slightly bent teaspoon)

Saitoh had encountered damaged souls coming into the department, men and women whose psyche's had been corrupted and corroded for a multitude of reasons that a background check may not have picked up on. They tended to be excellent shots and took careful, deliberate aim at their targets. It was only when they fired the weapon that their true intent was revealed through their emotions. Pleasure, nearly sexual in its intensity, dark satisfaction and a hunger for more, was usually what they silently broadcasted as round after round tore through targets. There was a desire to maim, to rend, to completely and utterly destroy the target. Often the shooter would aim repeatedly at one part of the body, the head, the heart or the groin region and blow it away.

If Saitoh picked up on said emotions, he'd do a careful background check on the individual, one that went back to childhood. More often than not, a carefully hidden history of violence was revealed, usually with the new officer being a victim in some way, shape or form. These officers who found such savage delight in shooting never made it past the probationary period on his squadron, he made sure of it. A few were able to get transfers to a different group (Squadron 2 was led by such a man and had several officers that fell into this category), but most left on their own accord, eager to get away from their asshole of a Captain.

"Let me see your shooting stance," Saitoh said quietly, his expression intense as he watched her move into position. She was right handed (he was a southpaw) and preferred a two handed approach, which was wise, considering the higher caliber of weapon she'd be using. Her stance was strong and her body position nearly perfect.

Circling the woman, he came to stand close behind her. "Your stance is excellent, but needs to be adjusted to compensate for the higher caliber. He placed his hands on her lower back, "tilt your hips forward about five degrees," he felt the subtle but important shift in balance and shifted his grip up, higher until his hands were on her slender shoulders. They were cold. Without thinking, he rubbed them slightly, transferring heat from his hands to the chilled skin. "Your shoulders are too far back. Please move them forward a little…think nose over toes," He gave her shoulders a little squeeze when her positioning was perfect. "Yes, that's it. This will help with the greater recoil."

He then put his hands back on her waist, motioning for her to bend slightly, and then straighten, ensuring that her center of balance was spot on. "Pivot to the right. Now to the left." Saitoh felt the muscles tighten and relax as she shifted her aim in both directions, and forced himself (or at least try very hard) not to notice the curves beneath his hands. "The targets you'll need to worry about will be anything but static, Takagi-san. This positioning will allow you to move more rapidly without sacrificing your aim. We'll work on this later."

Saitoh moved into position, slightly behind and to the side of the woman. "Let's do some dry-firing now, get you used to this new piece." He was thankful she was tall (perfect in fact) and that his lanky frame didn't completely overwhelm hers as he reached placing his hand over Takagi's, his trigger finger sliding atop hers. He aimed carefully, then exhaled and timing the shot to the beat of his heart, pulled the trigger straight back.

"Feel the difference in recoil?" he asked quietly, as he fired the weapon again…and again and again for several silent minutes, each pull even and steady. This was critical, that she develop proper muscle memory, so that in a life or death situation, her body would know what to do and would already be responding before conscious thought kicked in. (She needs every advantage she can get…) Saitoh frowned, the faint stirrings of anger igniting at the mere idea of Takagi being forced to kill, lest she be killed. He stepped closer, instinctively trying to shield the woman.

"Together now," he said gruffly, forcing his thoughts away from horrible "what-if" scenarios. There was no place for conjecture, only room for here and now. He felt Takagi's finger find firmer purchase on the trigger, he met the pressure with a little of his own and in tandem they fired the gun. "Good," he nodded, "adjust your aim slightly to compensate for the added weight of the weapon."

For several more minutes, they worked together, moving in perfect unison. Takagi was doing well. He could feel her confidence increase along with her accuracy. Saitoh carefully began to transfer the primary firing to the woman, his grip becoming looser while hers became firmer. Finally, he moved to slide his hand away from the weapon, his finger sliding slowly down Takagi's as he began to withdraw.

Saitoh bit the inside of his cheek when Takagi responded, adjusting her stance and grip, the motion causing her backside to brush up again his front. He couldn't fault her, she was a natural at this and her positioning was absolutely perfect for the task at hand. His body agreed with this assessment. Ignoring stirrings of an entirely different nature, Saitoh refocused on the task at hand and went for another tandem pull, and then another, not wanting to cause any undue disruption.

He felt a fine tremor move up Takagi's back and down her arm. She adjusted her stance. So did he, trying to compensate for the slight change in her arm's angle. Their hips touched. Saitoh's grip on the gun tightened. He heard a gasp and wasn't sure if it came from him, from her or both of them.

(Get a grip, Moron!) He thought, furiously.

The problem was that he did have a grip, his bare hand and arm tight against Takagi's. Another tremor ran through her body, this one stronger than the first two. He tried to steady her by putting one arm around her waist, a maneuver that was not uncommon when teaching marksmanship with a smaller shooter. She stiffened for a second, and then relaxed suddenly, the steel in her spine becoming supple as she settled against him.

Saitoh's heart skipped a beat, then gave up beating entirely, preferring instead to do a fine impersonation of a jackhammer on AMP, when he caught the faintest hint of perfume in the air. (Hells Bells) His grip on her waist tightened while his grip on the gun began to go lax.

"Gun down," he rasped, sliding his hand away from the gun's trigger and Takagi's finger. "We need to take a break," (Before something other than a gun goes off…) He glanced down at Takagi's face and wondered if it mirrored his own, "as it's clear that neither of us could hit the side of a damn city bus in our current state."

She was going to apologize. Saitoh shook his head, beating her to it. "Don't," he said, his voice surprisingly compassionate, "you've done nothing wrong." He took a step away, letting his hand fall to his side. "Neither have I, aside from letting that perfume you're wearing distract me."

He gave her a sly, appreciative smile, "It suits you."

Saitoh let Takagi ponder on the merits of cherry blossom scented olfactory offerings while he took his gun and checked the laser sights on it and prepped it for live firing while waiting for her to load hers. "You're ready to try live rounds," he said once both were armed and wearing the requisite protective gear. He motioned for her to come stand by him, allowing her to choose the proximity. A masculine part of him was pleased when she stepped close, despite the fact that her face was still flushed, her cheeks as pink as the blossoms of her perfume.

(She's nervous….) he realized with a pang. (I can't have that.) From a practical standpoint, it would interfere with her shooting. From a personal standpoint, it was imperative that she understand that she had nothing to fear from him, that he was and would always put her needs first.

"Give me your hand," he reached for her, quietly adding (for her and her alone) a "please," When her hand was in his, he turned his hand over so that her fingers were resting on the pulse point at the juncture of his wrist and arm. He mirrored the action, so that they could feel each other's pulse.

"Your heart is racing," he commented, knowing that she could feel that his was not exactly sedate either, "let's get things slowed down, shall we?" (In more ways than one…) He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, his pulse, her pulse and her breathing patterns.

"You want to fire a gun at the low point of an exhalation, in-between heart beats," he said, forcing his breathing to become slow and even. After a minute he felt his pulse start to decrease. Takagi's did as well. "Find a pattern that you feel comfortable with." He didn't open his eyes, but continued to focus, using the technique that Okita had taught him many years ago to help improve his accuracy in marksmanship (and to help control his damnable temper).

He felt, more than heard Takagi's breathing become slow and relaxed. He matched her rhythm, and as another minute or two passed, his heart began to match hers, her pulse point beating in perfect time with his. Once again in tandem, Saitoh waited a few moments more, then opened his eyes and looked down at the woman standing before him.

She was no longer blushing, but was still breathtakingly beautiful.

"Let me know when you're ready," He said patiently, ready to give her as much time as she needed.

Tokio

Tokio wasn't used to using such a powerful side arm, so she was relieved when the Captain agreed to help her dry-fire her new automatic to imprint the proper feel of it in her mind. She knew that eventually, the weapon would need to be used by reflex only, without a conscious thought, if it was going to keep her alive. Both of them removed the protective headwear, and emptied their clips. She faltered slightly as she removed the rounds from hers, not ever having used this model before. She couldn't help but notice that he was watching her, most likely to assess her skills, she thought. He'd only seen her fire at a target once, and that had been what Tokio would term, 'a lucky shot'.

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 heart 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.

"Let me know when you're ready."

It was time to focus on the task at hand, target practice. It was time to let go of unfinished business from the past and leave it for later.

After donning their protective headgear and loading live amo, the Captain quickly typed some commands into the console, and two separate digital displays flickered to life. Clearing her mind of everything except what Saitoh, and her father had told her about firing a side arm, she took her stance, her body remembering the now automatic pull pattern of the trigger, the one imprinted in her mind by the in unison pulls of the trigger when his hand covered hers. He turned to her and nodded. With a slight nod of her forehead towards him, she then took the first shot, commencing her practice session.

The attorney had never done any shooting with such realistic target simulations. The captain wasn't kidding when he said they would be anything but static. The digital scenarios perfectly mimicked what an officer would find in the field, even going so far as to have a child pop up and run in front of the intended target just as he was about to be shot. Tokio managed to redirect her gun to miss the kid, but barely, it had been too close for her taste. She would need to concentrate a little harder the next time. She knew that there were many distractions in real life situations, such as the one at the diner yesterday. At the moment there was just one distraction in the room with her. The targets paled in the face of having to concentrate when images of him kept popping up and unnerving her.

When the attorney finished her own simulation -she only scored 91%, not bad she thought for a first try with a new high caliber weapon- she removed her protective headgear and silently watched the man beside her finish his course. Tokio was awestruck. His moves were so smooth, yet precise and swift. It was like watching quicksilver in motion. He never missed a beat, defeating one challenge after another, deftly maneuvering around any innocent bystander the program injected into the action. When he finished, the shooting simulation screen went blank a moment before flashing a perfect score of 100%. She was not surprised in the least. The man was lethal. Woe to anyone who got in his way. She was sure that he would quickly meet out justice to any type of evil that crossed his path, or threatened those he'd taken an oath to protect.

She suddenly was aware of her hands, and the wafer-thin medi-burn gloves that covered them. They were supposed to come off tonight; it took two hands to remove them. There was no one at home to help her. She considered stopping by Bakufu Burgers to see if Tae could take them off for her, but if she couldn't contact the woman by phone, she wouldn't know which of the restaurants her friend would be working at tonight.

Saitoh

The barrel of Saitoh's new gun glowed from the heat of the discharged rounds. He frowned, looking at the simulation score, finding no comfort in the accuracy rating.

"Commander Watanabe is going to need to program a new simulator that is a better representation of the speed that we were up against yesterday," he said in a matter of fact tone as he walked over to the SIMUL console, comparing the speed of the simulation with the impossibly rapid movement of a certain red haired waiter from the day before and finding it contemptibly lacking. (How can I expect to teach my officers how to target objects that can't be visually tracked?) While he and a few other members of the force were able, somehow, to find and focus on emotional signatures, most officers lacked the strange talent and had to rely on human senses that were becoming obsolete. "You met her, I think? At the café?"

When Takagi nodded, Saitoh added, "Karen is an exceptional officer and a trustworthy individual." There was in his mind, no higher praise. "In light of recent events, she has offered to assist you in securing acceptable home security and communication systems. I would advise you to take her up on her offer and refrain from sending / receiving any sensitive information from your home until you're absolutely sure that everything is secure."

This was another part of his offer of protection, a component that Watanabe herself had volunteered for, claiming that she owed Takagi a favor for saving his sorry hide the day before. It was the way his squad operated, each member looking out for each other. Watanabe handled cyber security, he oversaw physical training and weapons procurement, Hondo led the effort to protect family members of high visibility / undercover employees while Yamaguchi, a tender hearted young woman who also happened to be a ridiculously adept sniper, was tasked with providing first line support and assistance to the families when they all failed and an officer was killed or maimed in the line of duty. It was a decidedly non-formal arrangement, but it kept people alive and had resulted in Saitoh's squadron having the lowest mortality rates for five years running.

(Karen knows that I….) he snuck a glance over at Takagi. She was looking down at her burn bandages, her expression unreadable in the low light of the firing range. He looked at her little hands, her fingers that were still burned and painful. It made his heart ache to know that she'd already suffered harm on his behalf. (…she knows that I care for the woman and am determined to keep her safe at all costs) He inwardly smirked, wondering how Karen would react if she knew the true depth of his feelings where the prosecuting attorney was concerned. (Hell, she'd never let Takagi out of her sight…)

Saitoh wisely didn't mention that if he had his way, he wouldn't let her out of his sight, either. Leaving her to fend for herself went contrary to his instincts and going contrary to his instincts had always proven to be a very bad idea.

(Idiot – what else can be done at this point in time?)

While the idea of picking her up over his shoulder and squirreling her away in a safe location until he was able to hunt down and destroy anyone who intended her harm held an undeniable degree of appeal, it was also impractical, illegal and would probably scare the pants off the poor woman.

For an instant, an image of the lovely woman sans trousers, wearing nothing more than a smile and some of that elusive perfume popped into his head. Saitoh inwardly smacked himself (twice for good measure) and forced the rather creative but inappropriate visual image back down where it belonged, thankful that his shooting partner wasn't a mind reader. (Apparently I'll be taking a cold shower this evening…) he thought as he punched in a retrieval command and carefully studied the ballistics report on Takagi's simulation.

Saitoh encrypted and sent Takagi an email with her test results, one that a cracker would be hard pressed to open.

"There isn't an alarm or communications company in the city that doesn't have syndicate ties. DOJ Employee Intel gets sold within days of a hiring or transfer and sold to the highest bidder, despite HR's 'best efforts' to prevent the practice," He sneered, his opinion as to HR's actual interest in controlling critical data loss apparent, and scrolled down, reading over the ballistic analysis with a practiced eye. "It goes without saying that the data set for the sister of Takagi Morinosuke, and a prosecutor with one of the highest conviction rates in the country was eagerly anticipated."

His expression became hard and predatory, the sort of look that in another age, would have precipitated a beheading or disemboweling. "This morning we were able to track down the clerk who compromised your information, along with the records of thirty-six other employees. We've been tracking her for a month, trying to get enough evidence to make an arrest. Unfortunately, she's the niece of a finance minister and was only removed from her position." Saitoh shook his head, his frustration palpable. He'd pushed hard to have her arrested, but powerful family connections had given the duplicitous little shit the near equivalent of diplomatic immunity.

"Hopefully we'll have better luck apprehending the morons she sold the information to," he hated losing quarry, especially due to something as moronic as politics. "We lost a judge this week, and an officer and his partner the week before. Something has to give…and by damn it's not going to be us."

Saitoh exhaled wearily, then turned away from the terminal and walked over to where Takagi was standing. "In the meantime," he began, turning the conversation to something more pleasant, namely how well she'd be able to shoot and kill an aggressor, "you're pulling a little to the left, which is to be expected considering the new caliber of weapon. Your stance and technique are damn near perfect. Your accuracy rates are good, for a prosecuting attorney who works in Yokohama, but are not quiet lethal enough for New Meiji. This will be corrected. I'll help you."

Saitoh reached out and brushed back an errant lock of hair that had gotten caught on her armor. "Before long you'll be able to hand a tactical officer his ass on the firing range," he promised, a pleased smirk starting to form at the thought of the slender attorney outshooting some of the media hungry windbags that he worked with. He let his hand linger in her hair for a moment, lightly rubbing an inky strand between his thumb and forefinger. Her hair was soft. Shiny. He wondered if the tresses still smelled the same as in his memories, a beguiling mixture of the scent of her body, flower blossoms and black Aizu pine needles.

He was half tempted to lean over and verify his suspicious, but that would likely lead to other inquires, namely whether her lips were soft, her tongue warm and her taste…

The lights flickered, flared and then went dark. Saitoh frowned and immediately took a step closer to the woman. Emergency lights flickered on, bathing both he and Takagi in blood red light. This was strange. There were generators in the building that should have guaranteed a steady supply of power. Just as suddenly, the emergency lights failed all together. Plunged into darkness, he put an arm around Takagi and brought her up against him, then reached into a pocket on his trousers and pulled out a small halogen hand light, turning it on with a soft click.

Saitoh kept waiting to hear alarms going off, but nothing happened and they remained in the dark for a minute, perhaps two. Finally, there was a single claxon that sounded somewhere up a level and a couple of seconds later, regular lights kicked back on as if nothing had gone awry. The simulator computer automatically rebooted.

Saitoh looked up at the lights, his expression almost as dark as it had just been. "That was interesting," he dryly commented, clearly curious as to what had caused the strange power fluctuations. Takagi shifted against him.

(Speaking of interesting power fluctuations….)

His arm was still around her and as the power had failed, he'd pulled her into what could well be considered an embrace. She'd moved as well, placing one of her hands on his bare shoulder, her fingers covering the partially faded military tattoo that he'd foolishly woken up with after a night of drinking with his company. He was grateful that the company mascot had been a ravening wolf (he'd always been rather partial to the beasts for some reason) and that he'd not come crawling back to base with a tattoo of Tinkerbelle on his ass.

Saitoh looked down at the woman. He could feel that her bandaged hands were chilled, and detected soft shudders moving through her body. He frowned a little, unsure what to make of it. "You're trembling," he pointed out, as he clicked the hand lamp off and put it away, the bluntness of his words at odds with the tender way he covered her bandaged hand with his much warmer one. "It is because you're cold, or because I'm holding you?" His hand around her waist, however, stayed put as he waited for her answer.

Tokio

The attorney was dismayed to learn that the current firing range simulations didn't truly approximate the speed that the attackers used yesterday, during the blood bath at the diner. It was hard enough for her to keep up with what popped up on the screen today. She dreaded what her scores would look like with a motion enhanced version. She knew she had no choice, though. To not practice at the speeds used by the drugged thugs on the street was a sure death sentence for any officer of the law, or prosecuting attorney.

Tokio listened carefully to what the captain said about Commander Wantanabe, happy to learn the identity of another trustworthy individual. Her brother, Mori, told her they were few and far between here in New Meiji. It never hurt to know who you could turn to when the chips were in the gutter. By this time Tokio was confident that any officers in Saitoh's squadron would be beyond reproach. The prosecutor only barely remembered the woman from the café. She had been so distracted yesterday, not only by what happened inside the building, but also by what happened inside her head.

It was obvious that Captain Saitoh realized yesterday that the hit on the diner was to claim Tokio's life, he as much as told her that on the way to the armory today. The fact that Wantanabe offered to put a safety plan in place for her, only confirmed it. Tokio was mildly curious as to why Wantanabe would offer to do something for a complete stranger. Perhaps the Captain asked for a volunteer, and she was it. Tokio supposed that keeping DOJ personnel safe was a part of Saitoh's job description. However, that now familiar little voice in her head reminded her that his warnings to her about wearing her new body armor seemed to come from a more personal concern, than from duty alone.

She wondered if that 'personal concern' had anything to do with the wife business he talked about earlier. She also wondered about his intent for the future. He did tell her that he would not ask anything of her, that she wasn't completely willing to give him, and that his intentions towards her would always be honorable. She pondered his words, knowing that they could hold several different meanings, one being that, past wife or not, he wouldn't touch her, and he hadn't, not really. But to her their occasional physical contact seemed a little more than just accidental or platonic. Perhaps she was reading more into it than the situation warranted. She hoped she wasn't. She hoped that he was showing at least a mild interest in her, because she really did want to get to know him better, regardless of whether it led anywhere or not.

But what *was* she willing to give him; that was the question. At this point did she even know? Not entirely, she answered to herself. Sighing, she realized that, unlike any other, she would not have to worry about him being put in danger because of her job. She dated, but she wasn't what one would call 'forward' with men. But being around him seemed so comfortable, so normal, so right.

A cold knot formed in her stomach as he revealed how her personal information had been compromised by a DOJ employee. She also noted with dismay that he knew about her trial conviction record, something that was supposed to be kept a secret, so she could take this low profile job and not draw any attention to herself. So much for her brother's brilliant plans to keep his personal spy undercover.

Tokio's jaw clenched when she learned that the little snitch, who released the sensitive personal information for so many people, got away with it without consequence due to her uncle's government position. Things like that made the attorney angry, very angry. Her whole career to this point was to make people who did that kind of evil pay the proper price for endangering the lives of innocents.

Her voice took on a hard edge, her grey eyes glinting like steel, as she looked at Saitoh, "I will get her. I don't care who she is related to. I will find some way to hold her accountable for her actions." Even if I have to put a hit out on her myself, she thought. Of course she wouldn't, but no one could prevent her from wishing that she could.

She paid attention to his critique of her shooting. She'd have to watch that pulling to the left business. No wonder she only scored in the low nineties. Tokio nodded in agreement at his offer to help her gain more accuracy, not surprised that he was still willing to help her, since he had promised to do all he could to help her stay safe.

His fingers in her hair brought a soft light to her eyes, making her wonder just what was going through the man's head at the moment. That little voice in her mind answered her question, 'you *know* very well what is going through Hajime's mind when he looks at you like that and starts playing with your hair.'

The events of the day were already bordering on the bizarre when the firing range lights blinked out. Instinctively, she reached for the one person she *knew* would protect her. Tokio had latched onto one of the tall officer's shoulders with a death-like grip, burying her forehead in his armor covered chest, trembling like a leaf, as a reassuring arm slipped around her waist and pulled her tightly against him. The leftover stress from yesterday, that she had been bravely suppressing, finally bubbled to the surface.

"You're trembling," he pointed out.

"I know," she responded, her voice a mere whisper.

"It is because you're cold, or because I'm holding you?"

"To be honest, Captain Saitoh," Tokio began, her voice a little stronger but trembling slightly, "I think it's a little of both. I'm still a bit on-edge after what happened at the diner yesterday. The memory chills me to the bone, so when the lights went out I guess I panicked a little and over reacted. I'm sorry and…well," she hesitated as though she was considering her words carefully.

"I am so confused" she admitted. "I only met you 24 hrs ago, but I feel like I know you. I feel safe with you. When you touch me, it feels so normal; it feels right and it scares me. I have never been forward with a man before, but when you let go of me, it feels like I have lost something very precious to me." She was sure that he would think she was crazy for saying something like that. She *had* to be crazy to admit these things to him, when she'd just met him. Where were these ideas coming from?

Tokio could not help but continue to blurt out what was on her mind, as she was enveloped in the safety of his one arm embrace. "While we have been down here practicing, I've had a lot of things stream through my head. None are very clear, but I know that I can no longer think of them as just some random thoughts without meaning. I ….when you told me we had been…" Tokio stopped short, not sure where she intended to go with this conversation, but relieved that he still had a hold on her. Her forehead did not move from where it rested on his chest. Her breathing became ragged when she felt a soft pressure on the top of her head.

Saitoh leaned down, gently resting his chin on the crown of her head. Her arm slipped off his shoulder, only to reposition itself, along with its mate, around his waist. In response he added his other arm to the embrace, pulling her even closer. Her head still tucked gently beneath his chin, the two stood, unmoving, not wanting to break the moment.

Eventually, Tokio starting talking again, her voice soft but steady. She needed to start at the beginning, "Ever since I met you yesterday, I've been having some strange feelings. I've also been having…" she paused. No, they weren't really memories; it was more like, "…fleeting images run through my mind. Originally, I thought they were just some random nonsense, but now I think there may be more to them. I was wondering…about what you said earlier in your office," surely he would figure out what she was talking about, "Do you think this -whatever it is that is happening to me- could be related to…to….what you….what you said about us?"

Something was going on here, and it had nothing to do with drugs. If she wasn't crazy, what was the explanation, because everything in this world, in Tokio's opinion, had rhyme and reason to it.

Saitoh

If someone had told Saitoh Hajime that he'd be spending part of his evening ten stories below ground, shirtless with an attorney in his arms, he would have slapped the person silly and then dragged them off for a full TOX panel.

And yet here he was. Yare, Yare…Reality was stranger than fiction, it seemed.

(Okita would have an aneurism from laughing so hard…) Saitoh thought rather peevishly, wondering for the hundredth time where his old partner had disappeared to. Realistically, he knew that his best friend was probably dead, yet another casualty in the undeclared war for New Meiji. Never one for watching from the sidelines, Okita had understood before most that they were in the midst of a battle, one that was being waged for the heart and soul of a society and had, with sunny, almost obnoxious optimism that at times set Saitoh's cynical teeth on edge, done everything he could to ensure that the right side of the grinding conflict was victorious.

In the months and weeks leading up to his disappearance, Okita had fought ferociously to keep one heart and soul in particular from falling through the cracks, a heart that was broken and soul that was shaken off its very foundations. (I hated him for it…wished he'd leave me the hell alone and let me finish what I'd started during the war…) It was Okita who came to pick him up for work, made him eat, drove him home after finding him holed up by himself in some seedy bar, held his head and kept his airway clear when he was passed out so he didn't aspirate on vomit that stank of hard liquor and despair.

The last time he'd spoken to his friend, it had been in terrible anger. Okita had tried to introduce him to a woman, a kind faced nurse who'd lost her husband the year before in a traffic accident, perhaps hoping that the company of another might help take the edge off his grief and anger. It had been an unfortunate miscalculation on his friend's part, one that had resulted in the nurse driving off in tears after Saitoh had verbally savaged her, and two men, two old friends fighting.

(You told me I needed to move on with my life) Saitoh recalled, (I threatened to take yours from you for daring to suggest that anyone could replace Yaso…) The thought at the time had been nothing short of blasphemous and had triggered Saitoh's white hot temper. Things were said that shouldn't have been on both sides and the two men parted ways, their friendship nearly as battered as their bruised knuckles.

(You were right, Okita) Saitoh conceded the battle to his missing friend, never so glad as to be on the losing side of an argument. (It is time…past time…I move on) Not from Yaso's memory. He understood that now, sobriety and the struggle of raising two children alone having refined his thought processes on the matter. And while it was too soon for him to understand how things would ultimately play out with Takagi, he already knew that she was a force for good in his life, that she was already bringing out a side of him rarely seen by others, an aspect of himself that he'd given up for lost until he'd stopped into a café for a badly needed cup of coffee and reacquainted himself with a singularly remarkable woman.

(First things first however…)

"I am so confused…I only met you 24 hours ago, but I feel like I know you. I feel safe with you. When you touch me, it feels so normal; it feels right and it scares me. I have never been forward with a man before, but when you let go of me, it feels like I have lost something very precious to me."

Understanding a thing or two about losing something….someone precious, Saitoh leaned down, resting his chin on the ink black crown of the Takagi's head, closing his eyes in relief as the well-remembered (and keenly missed) scent of pine needles and blossoms washed over him. She was trembling against him, her emotions crashing and breaking like white capped waves against a rugged, rocky coastline.

He drew her closer, not wanting her to be cold or afraid. (She is sadly no stranger to either of these things…) Without warning, a razor sharp memory of her blossomed in the back of his mind. He could see her pulling a threadbare kimono tight around her slender frame, stumbling in deep snow, her face wan and thin from a lack of food and exposure. This memory was followed by a more recent recollection of her clinging to him in the diner, her eyes wide with horror as she watched men slaughtered.

"There are many things and people in New Meiji that you should be wary and uncertain of, Takagi-san," He said softly, yet seriously, lightly brushing his lips against the crown of her hair. It was an unconscious action, a long forgotten habit that kicked in at the mere idea of her being distressed. "I am not one of them. I would rather die than see you come to harm." Considering the promise he'd given her and in light of her precarious position within the DOJ, his words were not empty.

His stoic heart skipped a beat when Takagi embraced him. (I'll be damned…) It did feel natural, surprisingly so. Testing this theory, he mirrored her, taking what she wordlessly offered and bringing her close. Ignoring a snide voice in the back of his mind (that sounded vaguely like his older sister) that he was being moronically sentimental; he savored the sensation of holding someone and being held. Three years was a long time to be without such comfort, even if you were a mal-tempered, chain smoking asshole.

He listed as she spoke of strange feelings, of experiencing fleeting images that he knew she was reluctant to call memories. He could tell that she was still struggling to make sense of a surreal situation, of a bond and a connection with him that defied conventional logic. He didn't blame her. He was also struggling with long buried emotions. Her self-doubt and propensity to apologize for putting her hands on him would have to stop, however.

"Do you think this, whatever it is that is happening to me, could be related to what you said about us?"

Saitoh pulled away just a little, so he could look carefully into her eyes. Men and women had wilted under his penetrating gaze, but she to her credit held steady. He could see confusion, hope, fear and desire in her gaze, but no hint of prevarication. He had always been wary of lawyers, mindful that a smart attorney could weave believable stories out of falsehoods and leave gaping wounds that he'd be hard pressed to duplicate with an automatic firearm. He saw no trace of that in this woman, no sign of her being anything but absolutely honest with him.

This was critical. Her life and eventually his, if she chose to walk beside him, would depend on such candor.

"You already know the answer to your question, Takagi-san," he said, his deep voice echoing slightly in the nearly empty shooting range, "but have not yet reconciled yourself to that knowledge." Never one to mince words he continued, "You're an intelligent woman and based on your case history, a formidable attorney."

His expression darkened with predatory satisfaction as he recalled the ruthless gleam in her steely eyes as she'd vowed to bring the woman, who'd compromised the safety of so many DOJ employees, to justice. She had a vicious streak in her, one that mirrored his own, and allowed her to face down powerful, dangerous criminals without batting her pretty eyelashes, "Cross examine yourself in this matter, the way you would a witness on the stand. Question this connection we share, examine what evidence is available to you. I am confident that you will find it…that you will find us….able to withstand the scrutiny."

While his words were professional and detached, the way his arms tightened around her slender waist and pulled her tight against him were anything but clinical. He could feel her heart beating like a drum beneath her body armor and was sure she could sense that his heartbeat had synched itself with hers.

"In my office I shared a theory. Test it. Test me. Look for and expose any weakness of thinking, any flaw that you can find. There is too much on the line for both of us not to be thorough." He didn't want her to be frightened and filled with doubt. Not where he was concerned. It was imperative that she understood his motives, that he was as honest with her as she had been with him. "Once you have come to an awareness of the truth, pursue it relentlessly, leaving no room for regret and doubt."

For a moment, he allowed his expression to become completely unguarded, for her to clearly see the ferocious regard and desire he held for her person, and perhaps if she was perceptive, catch a glimpse of the hope and relief he felt at having finally found her. "I will give you the time you need and the safety you require to come to an understanding. So relax, and quit apologizing for being too forward."

He gave her a crooked, sly grin, his eyes glinting with banked amusement at the notion he'd ever complain if she put her hands on him, "I'm not easily offended and I don't bite…much."

Tokio

His lips softly caressing her hair and his confession that he 'would rather die' than see her come to harm caused her heart to admit that, yes, she already knew the answer to her question. All these strange things were most definitely connected to what he said in his office about a past that she had shared with him. But he was right –as he always was- that she had not reconciled herself to what she desperately wanted to be the truth. He always did know you better than you knew yourself, that little voice reminded her.

"Cross examine yourself…the way you would a witness on the stand. Question this connection we share, examine what evidence is available to you…I shared a theory. Test it. Test me…expose any weakness of thinking, any flaw that you can find…Once you have come to an awareness of the truth, pursue it relentlessly…"

Tokio, being Tokio, her mind always took the paths named logic and reason. To accept his theory as truth she needed to question, to review, and to make sense of something that seemed totally unbelievable by human standards. But his arms tightening around her gave her the strength she needed to examine, to understand and to conclude. She felt like he had faith in her. She felt that he was confident that she would find him at the end of her journey. In her heart she wanted nothing but that.

Her eyes widened at his unguarded expression, knowing that he was showing a part of himself that he rarely, if ever, showed another living soul. His countenance seemed to be laced with desire, hope and relief, all at the same time. His words were ringing in her ears, especially the part about how she should 'quit apologizing for being too forward' with him. The little voice in her head was telling her that there was no way –from his point of view- that she could be too forward with him, because he would accept all that she was willing to give and more. This thought was both comforting and unsettling. He may have been married in this life, but she hadn't been. Dealing with a serious, and most likely intimate relationship, was going to take some getting used to on her part, if that is where this path of discovery led them. His words telling her that he would give her the time she needed to come to an understanding reassured her that he would never push her into something she was not ready to pursue.

Her face flushed when he quipped that he 'didn't bite…much'. She almost raised a hand to rub at a spot at the base of her neck that all of a sudden felt sensitive. She needed to push these particular thoughts about him out of her mind right now, because putting his theory to the test was the most important task at the moment. He was right, there was too much at stake for both of them not to be thorough.

He wanted her to be relentless, did he? She would be. She would actually be ruthless and demand that he give her answers. If he wanted her to test him, he had better be ready, because that was exactly what she planned to do.

His invitation could not be clearer. The man practically challenged her to put both of them on the witness stand and examine any information that was available. At least she wouldn't have to have him sworn in, she mused to herself. The attorney had no doubt that Captain Saitoh would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

So what did she want to hear? Did she want some corroborating evidence? Yes, she did. There was only one other person on this earth who could verify that these 'things', 'visions', 'happenings' or whatever label she chose to use, were actually memories from a past life they shared. He was standing there holding her, telling her to pursue the truth, to cross examine until she was satisfied. She would. Cocooned in his warm embrace she felt safe, she felt like she belonged, and she felt that she could do anything she set her mind on doing.

Although he pulled back a little so they could speak, he didn't let go of her. "So you won't mind if I ask you about some of these things that have been destroying my rational though for last 24 hours?" If what he said about them being married in the past were true, he should be able to shed light on what she was beginning to suspect were incomplete memories of events in that life.

"I will assume for sake of argument, that the woman, who has appeared in these mental apparitions of mine, is me."

Looking directly at him, she began her inquiry, "In these visions I've seen someone's hands; I suspect that they are yours, if your theory about us is correct. I have felt them on my shoulders giving me a little squeeze to let me know that what I did was appreciated. Is that something you used to do to me?"

She continued, "There was also a time when I think I was worried about a feverish child. One of your hands covered one of mine, squeezing it in assurance that all would be well."

Tokio decided she wasn't going to reveal to him that she knew those hands had taken a husband's prerogative, as far as where they roamed. That was too much to reveal at this stage of the investigation, and it would only distract her from her current line of questioning. But earlier she was struck by the thought that they'd been where only a husband dared to tread. On top of that, when he readjusted her underwear, it felt like he'd done it to her many times before. It felt so normal, so natural, and it really didn't embarrass her when it certainly should have.

Then there was that 'hands playing with her hair business,' she figured she would ask about this one. "You liked to play with my hair didn't you? And it always, or usually, led to something else, didn't it?" But did she want to know where it led? The feelings associated with his fingers lacing through her long, black hair were very warm and pleasant, but there was no other clear memory associated with it.

The prosecutor was gradually coming to terms that these were bits and pieces, shreds really, of something long hidden deep in her mind. Yesterday in the diner, Tokio foolishly wondered what it would be like to be Saitoh's wife. Having such a thought about a total stranger completely unnerved her at the time, especially when a little voice echoed fleetingly in her mind, 'You already are…" This was another thing that she wasn't quite ready to reveal to him.

She then proceeded to relate another image, "I think I was in Tonami at the time, and I must have spent too much time out in the snow because my toes were freezing; they felt almost cold enough to be frost bitten. A pair of hands rubbed my feet to warm them. What do you know about that?" she questioned in a very matter of fact way.

She wasn't finished yet. There were things from yesterday that she needed to express. That was when all of this very strange business started. She even remembered calling him, Hajime, when she had absolutely no idea what his name was, having only laid eyes on him no more than a half an hour before. If that didn't indicate some sort of familiarity with him, nothing would.

"Yesterday in the diner I saw you dressed in blue and white with a top knot, carrying a katana. You were Shinsengumi, during the Bakumatsu, weren't you?" she blurted out. It wasn't until today that she had connected the dots to realize that little fact.

"I also knew that it was hopeless to try to talk you out of doing anything dangerous at the diner, because you were so bound by duty that you had no choice but to act accordingly."

"Another odd thing was, that yesterday, I obeyed you without question, something that I never do, not even with my father or brother." No, she was always giving people the 5th degree wanting to know the 'whys' and 'hows' of every request. But that was not the case with Captain Saitoh in the cafe. She did exactly what he said, as though she was a member of his squad, 'or an obedient Meiji era wife', that little voice chimed in.

She had pelted him with a lot, but he was the only corroborating witness to all that had passed between them. If his theory was correct, she knew that he would have an answer or further explanation for all that she had peppered him with, because he seemed to remember more than she did about their shared life.

"One more thing from yesterday," her voice trembled slightly, "I was afraid of losing you again, because the last time I did, I had to spend six years without you." She had no clue what that was about; she truly hoped that he did.

With a smirk on her lips and playful look in her grey eyes, she couldn't resist adding something else before she finished, "Under what circumstances did I refer to you as an 'ornery old wolf'? Did I do it very often?" Perhaps the man would dance around the answer to this one. What man wants to admit that his wife gets so exasperated with him that she would say something like *that*? Gads…Was she already thinking in terms of being *his* wife? It was much too soon for that, and she knew it.

Not breaking eye contact, she gave him an expectant look, wondering what he would say about everything she had just dumped on him. With her arms still around his waist, she couldn't help but think of him as her anchor and a bridge between the past and the present.

Saitoh

"I will assume for sake of argument, that the woman, who has appeared in these mental apparitions of mine, is me."

Saitoh snorted; amused at how the woman's demeanor had done a 180 in less than the time it had taken her to unload her list of questions. Gone was the trembling, wide eyed innocent who'd softly gasped when he'd brushed his lips against the crown of her head and clung to him like her life depended on it during the power outage. That Tokio had been sublimated by another, a woman whose eyes were defiant, the shade akin to tempered steel. She was direct in her communication and almost aggressive in her line of questioning. Saitoh was hard pressed to recall the last time a woman had been this direct with him in matters of a personal nature.

Strange thing was…he liked it.

(I only have myself to blame…) he thought, fascinated with the wildly different facets of this woman's personality. (I told her to test this theory and test me, and by damn she's doing just that…) While the modest and shy woman with beguiling perfume reminded him strongly of the woman in his memories, there were aspects of the sharp minded attorney, a degree of toughness and ruthless determination that also brought up echoes of the past in his mind.

The woman who had been his wife had kept a family safe and sound when he was gone (and his memories suggested that he'd been gone often and for long periods of time), faced down dangers and endured great hardships. She'd been no slouch where courage had been concerned.

Takagi was no slouch in her line of questioning either. His eyebrows lifted at a couple of the questions, wondering if the woman really wanted to hear the answers. A few of the questions, the one about him playing with her hair and the last two in particular would be especially difficult for him to answer.

"Gods, woman…you don't do anything by half, do you?" he drawled, the side of his mouth curling slightly. He pulled away from her and motioned towards the bench on the back wall. He sat down beside her and leaned back against the cold wall, stretching his long legs out in front of him and thought carefully for a minute or two.

"I do have memories of having my hands on your shoulder. In many of them I am wearing white gloves, almost like the ones I wear when wearing my formal police uniform," Saitoh offered, glancing down at his large hands, then over at Takagi's bandaged ones.

He thought about her comment about a child being feverish, scowling with concentration. "I remember buying ice…blocks of ice that were packed tightly in sawdust….and bringing them home. You chipped the ice with a pick and made a compress. The boys, all three of them were sick, had some sort of red rash on their faces, chests and backs." He frowned wondering what sort of disease had befallen their children, then had to remind himself that they didn't have children together.

Saitoh turned slightly so he could face Takagi. "I find it interesting that you are able to associate a memory with a location or a title. I have no such talent." What he could recall with perfect clarity however were minute details associated with the event.

"Yet, this is a memory I can recall well. Your kimono was dark blue, nearly black and soaked through with ice and snow." His expression became stark as the recently recalled memory resurfaced. "The tips of your toes were white and waxy and when I tried to restore circulation you cried out in pain. I wrapped you in a threadbare blanket and my haori, but you were still so cold." There was another sorrow associated with this memory, but one that was still hidden from him.

He then told her of Okita's assertion that both he and his missing partner had been part of that infamous policing force, answering the question that she brought up earlier in his office as he described memories of watching the shorter man helplessly coughing up blood that leaked through his pale fingers and stained the snow covered ground scarlet.

Saitoh was smart enough to steer clear of her comment about wifely obedience, stating that expected behaviors in the past were not necessarily needed in the present. He did admit however, that she'd been wise to follow his instructions and if he ever spoke to her in such tone, that there was a reason for it and she'd do well to listen. As for the part about duty, he didn't need to tell her that some aspects of a man's life remained constant, no matter how many years or lifetimes passed and was pleased that she was somehow already aware of this fact.

"I may offend you with my next answer, Takagi-san, but you did ask the question and I would not have you hold me in contempt for not responding truthfully," Saitoh warned his voice dry and sardonic. "There are very few instances in my memories where your hair is unbound…and we are not engaged in some sort of intimate activity."

The night before, after he'd woken up hunched over on the floor in his boys room, covered by a fluffy duck blanket of all strange things, Saitoh had wandered, still half asleep back to his room and had crashed, face down on the futon. Despite being in desperate need of sleep, his rest for the remainder of the night had been anything but restful. He'd dreamt of the woman sitting beside him, of unfastening her hair with his hands and pulling her down beside him on a futon lit only by a flickering candle lit lantern. In his dream, a winter storm had raged outside, battering the wooden structure with ferocious wind. They'd paid the weather no mind, he and his wife, for they had the means and the motive to help each other stay warm.

"You have no recollection of this, do you?" He said, not unkindly, though he was surprised and a trifle dismayed that those most private of memories, proof positive in his mind at how compatible they truly were, had been denied to her. "They will come in time and will be I suspect a comfort to you as they are to me. But perhaps this is for the best. Given your background, I think having to carry the weight of such remembrances could prove initially unsettling to you, especially now, when we are still learning about each other."

He reached out and took one of her hands in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Saitoh could tell she was nervous and while her question had technically led to this conversation, it wouldn't do to have her worrying about this aspect of their past or potentially future relationship. "I have no expectations of you in this regard and the promise I made in my office about accepting only what you freely give to me still holds and always will, so be at peace."

This left the last two questions, the two recollections that Saitoh honestly had no desire to dwell upon. It was his duty however to properly disclose certain facts about himself and perhaps this was the vehicle by which to engage in proper due diligence.

"I also am aware that my life ended before yours. I remember you sitting beside me. We were old, our boys grown with families and children of their own." He looked over at the pretty woman, superimposing the memory of her softly lined face and snow white hair on her still youthful features.

"I was dying of some sort of malignancy in my stomach." He could remember coughing up blood the color of pitch, of a terrible burning pain that threatened to consume him from the inside out. "The doctors said it was due to excessive drinking. You stayed with me, trying to ease my pain, day after day, night after night until the fire and blood moved up into my throat…" He grimaced at the memory and could almost taste the bile and blood and sense how painful it had been during those last few agonizing days of life.

Unbidden his free hand went to his throat. "You never left my side and my last memories are of you, of your arms around me as I struggled to breathe." It was eerie, recalling one's own demise. Saitoh knew he'd died painfully and slowly and that his passing had been heart wrenching for his wife.

Unable to completely banish the memory of dying due to a lifetime of drinking, he looked down at the floor, his expression becoming hard…haunted. "I drank heavily back then and when under the influence of liquor, was not an agreeable individual to be around." A sudden desire to drink sake filled his mouth. He had to swallow and set the ache aside. "Drinking made me violent and ill-tempered, and while I can honestly say that I have no memory of laying a hand on you in anger, there were times that I did not treat you with the respect and kindness that was due. You got in the habit of calling me an ornery old wolf when I behaved thusly."

Saitoh was not in the habit of giving anyone explanations for his behavior, nor was he well versed with exposing his own shortcomings to another human being. (I have to do this…) His honor and her honesty up to this point demanded nothing less. He tightened his jaw until he could almost hear the enamel cracking and forced himself to continue speaking.

"I have heard that those who do not learn from the mistakes of the past are condemned to repeat them. This is a true statement; and is unfortunately applicable in my own life. I was young when I was drafted and found that liquor dulled certain difficult aspects of military life. After the war was over and I had joined the police force, I continued to imbibe, though never to dangerous excess."

Saitoh stood up and walked over to the table that held the protective eyewear and picked up his folded shirt. "That changed after…." He scowled and slipped on his shirt, his voice becoming rough and raw with loss, "…after Yaso passed away. I lacked the skills to cope with her death and the manner in which she was killed and began drinking heavily." Saitoh buttoned up his shirt. "I nearly died from alcohol poisoning after one of the men who raped and murdered my wife was released on a legal technicality during his trial. Okita found me, unconscious and locked up in my office and got me to a hospital before my heart stopped. My children went to live with my sister. They needed stability and support and at the time, I was too ill to be of any use to either of them."

Saitoh turned and leaned against the table, the weight of regret pushing hard against his resolve. "I have very few regrets as far as my conduct goes, Takagi-san, but this is one mistake that I will carry for the rest of my life."

He sounded angry. He was angry at himself.

"While I will not make excuses for my behavior, or diminish the dreadful impact that my addiction had on myself and my family, I would have you know that I am trying to make amends, am active in AA and have been sober for a little over a year. I have never retreated from a battle, never considered turning my back on a fight and refuse to let this weakness define me any more than it already has."

Saitoh carefully tucked in his shirt over his armor and adjusted his hostlers and belt then picked up Takagi's holster, purse and delicate blouse and carried them over to where she was sitting and offered them to her.

"This is not the sort of information a man wants to share with a woman he's attracted to and admires, but you need to be aware of that I have a serious liability, one that you would do well to consider before we get any closer than we already are."

Tokio

"No, I don't do anything half way," she responded emphatically, but with a little smile, thinking that he should have known that if he'd been her husband.

She followed him over to the bench and plopped down beside him, scooting over a little so she was tucked in next to him, taking advantage of the heat that seemed to roll off of him. Now that she wasn't moving around shooting, or wrapped in his embrace, her bare arms were becoming chilled. She still felt compelled to be as close to him as possible, but at least now she wasn't continually asking herself why. She waited patiently for him to respond to everything that she had quizzed him about, wondering how much he was willing to share with her.

His mentioning holding her shoulders with white-gloved hands, gloves similar to the ones he currently wore with his dress uniform, jogged her mind. She knew something else about those white gloves, but the memory of what it was refused to surface; she furrowed her brow in frustration.

She told him sincerely that she appreciated him filling in her memory gaps of the events she related to him. He confirmed again that they did have three boys. That is what she first thought when her secretary told her about the Saitoh family tragedy. She wondered if his children with Yaso looked anything like the boys they'd had together. Would she recognize them by sight, or perhaps by the feelings that they would rekindle in her? The thought of having been a mother, even so long ago, was daunting, due to the responsibility it involved.

It was interesting to her that she could put a place to her memories, while he could not. "But you were always good with details; it was why you were so good at your job at the TMPD," she blurted out without thinking. She felt that there was more to that day in Tonami, when he'd tried to warm her shivering body. To her it was associated with great pain, both physical and emotional. "I can't help but think that there was something more to that day in the cold. I think it was something that affected both of us deeply, but right now I have no clue what it could be," the attorney confessed to him.

After hearing what he said about Okita's illness during the Bakumatsu she told Saitoh that she had seen a vision of blood on his partner when he first mentioned the man this afternoon in his office. She also knew that she had warm regard for the short, master swordsman, that he had been an important friend to both of them. She wished that she could meet Okita in this life.

She agreed with Saitoh that times had changed. Women were no longer property to be lorded over by their husbands. However, Tokio knew that a caring husband wanted only what was best for his wife and that there were times when it was best to just listen and obey for the sake of safety. He reminded her of this important fact when he told her that she had been wise to follow the instructions that he gave at the diner, telling her that if he ever spoke to her in such a tone, there was a reason for it and she would do well to listen. She knew she would.

She sat up a little straighter when he asserted that she might be offended by his next revelation. She hoped that he would be candid with her, regardless of the subject matter, and he did not disappoint, revealing the information without mincing words. At least now she knew where playing with her unbound hair led. Well, what did she expect? They certainly would have engaged in those sorts of activities, during the course of a normal married life.

"You have no recollection of this, do you?"

"No, I'm sorry I don't, not yet anyway," she said, a slight blush ghosting across her cheeks. Perhaps it was better she didn't remember the intimate encounters of their past until they knew each other better in the present. "But I do like to be close to you and I like it when you hold me. Maybe touching my hair will help me remember…," she trailed off, hesitating a moment before adding, "…and I miss you when we are apart." How idiotic a feeling towards a man you've known for a whole 24 hours, she thought to herself. His hand scooped up hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze as he reminded her, again, of his honorable intentions. She trusted his promise not to push her, but she knew that *if* he still had feelings for her, it wouldn't be easy for him. Did he feel more than just a responsibility that stemmed from his sense of duty? It was too early to ask that question. But she really did want to know how he felt about her now.

Tokio nodded in understanding, knowing how difficult it had to be for him to tell her these things that she had asked. So that was it. He passed away six years before she did. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought about how he suffered during his last days. She now remembered that Midori, her daughter-in-law, had been there to help her. They removed the phlegm from his mouth as he coughed it up. It broke her heart to see him struggle with his illness. "But you were strong and stoic to the end. You left this world in seiza," she reminded him, "with me sitting behind you, my arms around you, holding you until you took your last breath." Tokio looked stricken, bringing her free hand over to join the one of hers he was holding. She felt so lost and hopeless when he was no longer by her side her. If not for living with her oldest son, and being surrounded by his five or six children, she wasn't able to recall exactly how many grandchildren there were, she would have found a way to follow her husband to the afterlife.

The attorney sensed that the most difficult admissions were yet to come. His face took on a haunted look that frightened her, when he spoke of his heavy drinking during the first Meiji era, confessing that under the influence of alcohol, he was ill-tempered, disagreeable and sometimes violent. But he was correct; he never, ever laid a hand on her. Yes, sometimes it did seem that she would be crushed by his attitude when he was under the influence, but she always managed to bring him back to his old self, eventually.

She had a confession of her own to make now that she was able to remember. "During those times when you drank, I was frustrated with you and the way you acted. You are right; you never laid a hand on me in anger in our entire married life. I don't know how I know that, but I do." The little voice piped up that he had laid a hand on her plenty of times, but only because he wanted to please her. "I'm sorry, I never should have called you an ornery old wolf, regardless of how you acted, because I knew that it wasn't you, it was the sake talking." She lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper, "and I know I loved you back then, very much, and that is not something to say to someone you love."

"I have heard that those who do not learn from the mistakes of the past are condemned to repeat them."

She shivered against him, almost dreading what he would tell her next after she just admitted to how she felt about him all those years ago. Would he tell her that their first marriage was a mistake, because of his alcohol induced bouts of nastiness? Would he tell her that he wouldn't subject her to his bad temper in this lifetime? She was still holding one of his hands in both of hers when he stood and walked away from her, leaving a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Leaning on a nearby table for support, he began speaking about his use of alcohol in this era, and why it became a problem. Her heart ached for him. In this life she had not suffered; in this life he had lost almost everything. She listened in anguished silence, wanting nothing more than to comfort and support him, to erase the hurt in his heart and mind. When this honest, honorable man before her admitted to carrying this one mistake of his for the rest of his life, she could not hold back the tears that trickled down her cheeks. He admitted the horrible impact his addiction had on his family, and how he was trying to stay sober. She knew he was a fighter, and she had no doubt that he would ultimately win this battle he was fighting with himself.

"This is not the sort of information a man wants to share with a woman he's attracted to and admires, but you need to be aware that I have a serious liability, one that you would do well to consider before we get any closer than we already are."

Rising up to meet him as he approached her, she took the things he offered and set them down on the bench where she'd been sitting. She knew what it cost a man like Saitoh to admit to anyone that he had lost control and submitted to a personal weakness. She slipped her arms around his waist and drew herself close to him, resting her cheek against his chest, listening to his steady heart beat. "Thank you for sharing all of this with me. I can hardly imagine how difficult this episode of your life has been for you." The loss of Yaso, the woman he loved dearly, in such a brutal manner; drowning himself in alcohol as a result; and giving up his children to the care of his sister –that witch, her mind interjected- would have killed a lesser man.

"Thank you for being so honest with me. You have no idea what it means to me to be taken into your confidence, but I already knew most of this," she stopped speaking a moment to look into his eyes. "This morning, my secretary told me about how you turned to the bottle after what happened to Yaso-san, and she told me a 'rumor' about what Okita-san did for you, too, but I know that she was only disguising the truth out of respect for you."

"I have considered what you did to try to cope with your family tragedy, and I don't think of it as a liability. I think of it as a life challenge, something that I would be honored to help you with if you would allow me."

She had to turn away from him then, because the little trail of tears welling from her eyes would soon become a river if she didn't get a grip on herself. It hurt her so much to know that such severe pain and anguish had plagued him in this lifetime.

Stepping over to the bench, she silently grabbed her shoulder holster and fastened it over her body armor before donning her blouse. Tokio left it loose at the bottom, so she would have easy access to her side arm. She wasn't ready to face him yet. Although she felt completely drained emotionally, she knew that the path of discovery that they were walking was no mistake, and was very necessary. She took comfort in the fact that he was attracted to her and admired her. Creation had to know that she felt the same way about him. Could attraction and admiration blossom into something more? Only time would tell.

Glancing down at her gloved hands, she let out a sigh. It was time to take these things off, but she needed help. She sniffed a couple of times to clear her nose, wishing that she'd put a hanky in her pocket this morning, then she wiped the back of her hand over her eyes to erase the signs of her weakness before speaking. She still didn't trust herself to keep her composure, so she kept her back to him as she spoke.

"My medi-burn gloves are supposed to come off today. It takes two hands to get them off, and since I live alone there is no one there to help me. Would you mind removing them for me, now that we are finished with our target session?"

As an afterthought she added, "By the way, who is Tsutomu?" It was the name she whispered in that vision she had.

Saitoh

"Thank you for being so honest with me. You have no idea what it means to me to be taken into your confidence, but I already knew most of this…"

Caught off guard by her candor, Saitoh couldn't quite school his expression and his eyes widened. The fact that she'd done her due diligence and had investigated his background didn't come as a surprise. One did not obtain the highest conviction records in Yokohama by taking anyone or anything at face value. It was the realization that she'd done her research and was here of her own volition, with her arms around his waist and her head resting against his heart that was so unexpected.

Not being the most merciful of individuals, he was unaccustomed to be on the receiving end of that particular emotion and for several unpleasant seconds, he wondered if mere pity was prompting the attorney to say what she did, a concept that was incredibly repellent to the proud man.

"I have considered what you did to try to cope with your family tragedy, and I don't think of it as a liability. I think of it as a life challenge, something that I would be honored to help you with if you would allow me."

Saitoh wasn't sure if she was crazy or a candidate for sainthood. (Perhaps both) he mused, a faint, half-forgotten overheard conversation from long ago between a weasel girl and a laundry obsessed swordsman coming to mind.

Words failed him and he stared down at her as if he'd lost the facility for thought and speech in one fell blow. Katsu, the last woman who'd been made aware of his alcoholism, had never forgiven him for the mistakes he'd made, nor would she permit him to forget the damage he'd caused his entire family. Saitoh had never held her hatred against her, believing her reactions to be fair and understandable, considering the circumstances. The gulf between his sister's furious condemnation and Takagi's calm, sober acceptance was immeasurable and humbling.

And then she turned away from him, as if she was ashamed of her tears or was afraid that he'd think less of her for having a tender heart where he was concerned. While Saitoh would never admit it outright, nothing could be further from the truth. There was no dishonor in being decent and kind.

Even with her back turned, He knew she was crying. He could hear gasps, saw her slender back shudder with the emotions she fought to control. An echoing ache registered in his heart, when she tried to stifle a sob and as she slid her holster over her thin shoulders and silently slipped on her blouse. He found the juxtaposition of the delicate, feminine fabric concealing a high powered automatic weapon and military grade armor to be ironic, though not nearly as ironic as the fact that despite his promise to keep this woman from harm, she was in pain and weeping...and yet, he could not bring himself to approach her. He yearned to comfort her, but he was sorely out of practice after three years.

Eventually, she gained a measure of control and sighed, sniffled and tried to wipe her eyes with the back of her bandaged hands. She'd suffered harm for his sake, and was still in pain; he could feel her distress as surely as he could smell the salt of her tears. This of course was absolutely unacceptable. He had a duty to protect her…and a deep seated desire to ensure that the only tears she ever shed going forward were ones grounded in happiness rather than sorrow.

"My medi-burn gloves are supposed to come off today. It takes two hands to get them off, and since I live alone there is no one there to help me. Would you mind removing them for me, now that we are finished with our target session?"

"Aa," Saitoh turned her round to face him, not wanting to have a discussion with the back of her pretty head. He registered that she lived alone, a fact that both pleased and concerned him. "First things first, however," he said seriously as he reached up and carefully erased the remaining evidence of her weeping with a gentle swipe of his fingers. Her skin was soft, cool and pale; contrasting sharply with the heat of his body, calloused hands and skin that even in the winter was darkened from being exposed to the sun while on patrol.

Her eyes dry, his hands moved on, following the trail of wetness that travelled along the soft contours of her cheek and jawbone, the way a canine would follow a trail of blood. "I won't accept your apology for calling me on ornery old wolf," he grumbled, the cautious, almost tender touches belying his gruff tone. "I was an obnoxious pain in the ass when I drank, and am still an unpleasant, ornery man most of the time and will no doubt continue to frustrate you to no end."

Saitoh looked down at the woman, amber eyes darkening with emotions he would not hazard to name as he drank in the blessed familiarity of her features. "Some things never change, apparently." His acerbic words applied to far more than his pissy attitude. She was still beautiful, still kind, and still brave enough to risk walking beside him, despite his weaknesses. His regard for her had also remained strong and constant. With every touch, with every passing minute, the past he'd shared with this woman was blending fluidly with the present, making him feel like they were simply picking up where they'd left off so many years before and were continuing on their journey.

Saitoh realized that he was in danger of waxing poetic (Takagi had this strange effect on him) so he kept his damn mouth shut lest he say something idiotic and focused instead on complying with her request for assistance with her burn gloves. He reached down and took her hands, one after the other, and carefully peeled the burn gloves back, exposing her healed flesh.

"Move your fingers, a little," he said, massaging the previously compressed flesh of her palms and wrists until the skin was a healthy shade of pink. "Is there any residual pain or numbness?" There were a few blisters that were in the final stages of healing and while the burn gloves had done their job and prevented deep tissue scarring, it was plain to see her timely intervention on his behalf at the diner had come at a price.

"I don't recall whether I had the opportunity to properly thank you for saving my life yesterday," Saitoh said quietly as he brought her hand up and placed a soft kiss on the ridge of her knuckles. He had a hazy memory of something similar happening at the diner, but was unsure if he'd been awake or dreaming. He let his lips linger against her cool skin for a second and then reluctantly pulled away.

As he moved back, Takagi moved forward, much to his surprise. Her expression for an instant was absolutely inscrutable, and then the apples of her cheeks took a little more color right before she wrapped her arms around his neck and, rising up on her toes, kissed him softly on the cheek.

The gentle, almost hesitant endearment infused him at once with such raw emotion that he nearly shuddered in response. He felt himself closing his eyes, his arms instinctively encircling her waist rather than risk having her pull away from him. The feel of her mouth against his skin was electric, sending a shiver running down the length of his spine. He opened his eyes and looked at her. Pressed up against him, she was blushing now, but her arms were still around his neck, an action that Saitoh chose to interpret as an invitation.

(I'll take only what is freely given) That kiss had been and as far as he was concerned, one good turn deserved another.

He leaned down, but only a little, his eyes locked on hers. He swore he could hear her heart beating like a signal drum beneath her body armor. She swallowed nervously, but her grey eyes were anything but wary and her hands around his neck pulled him down towards her slightly upturned mouth.

Being a reasonable man, he met her halfway.

As far as kisses went, this one was chaste. He kept his mouth closed and the pressure light. Her response was innocent, yet unbelievably arousing, the sweet taste and the perfect fit of her lips against his causing an avalanche of memories, of another first kiss with this woman to pour out into his mind.

When he pulled away, she was still looking up at him, her mouth slightly agape, and her cheeks flushing beautifully.

Despite the fact his own breathing was none too steady; he gave the woman a roughish grin.

"It's getting late. Let me walk you to your car," he offered his deep voice slightly husky as he offered Takagi his arm.

Tokio

Tokio silently took the arm Saitoh offered, tucked in close to him, and walked beside him towards the parking garage where she had left her car. Her heart was bursting with emotion and her mind was filled with the vision of another very tender first kiss shared with this incredible man, whom she now held dear for a second lifetime.

Tonight her body had acted on its own again, as it did in the diner, obviously knowing what she wanted and needed far better than her conscious mind did. That was why she'd slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek, willingly giving him an invitation to reciprocate. And he did, much to her pleasure and delight.

The contact of his soft, gentle lips on hers added depth and strength to the connection she felt to him, the connection that started –no, resumed, that little voice said- in the café, during the gun battle. His kiss was not demanding, but it brought back long buried sensations, and an ache for something more.

Her tears tonight were shed for him, for the personal hardships he'd had to endure in this life, for her desire to help him in any way she could. The memory of his hand softly wiping those tears away, tenderly drying her face, would stay with her forever. She was so grateful she found him, so hopeful that they might be able to pick up where they left off all those years ago to travel down life's path together, once again.

Her mind was filled with the melody and bits and pieces of lyrics from an ancient song, which seemed to sum up what had just happened between them and totally voiced what she was feeling right now.

I kissed you…then it happened…I knew that you felt it too…by the look in your eyes…everything I want, I have, when I hold you tight. The magic when your lips are close to mine will last forever until the end of time

She had to hold back a light laugh, because she knew exactly what he would say – after he rolled his eyes- if she shared this thought with him, which of course she had no intention of doing. She was sure that he would say something like, 'Tokio, your womanly hormones are overcoming your common sense again.' And Tokio? Well, she didn't care if she was being moronically sappy, because at the moment the joy she felt was beyond words.

She turned her head slightly to look up at him, at the face the depths of her being had never forgotten, regardless of the passing years. Still confident that they were moving in the right direction down that path of discovery, she was very anxious to reach their final destination.

To see what happens next please read the sequel to this story. It is called "Close Encounters of the Combustable Kind". "Close Encounters" follows Saitoh and Tokio after they leave the shooting range.