[This story is the sequel to the Gumi Reloaded fic, Close Encounters of the Combustible Kind.]

The Day After

Chapter 1 Good Morning

Date: Tuesday, February 7, 2060
Time: Morning to Afternoon
Place: Saitoh Family Residence
Characters: Saitoh, Tokio

Tokio

As Tokio slowly came to life after a sound sleep, she was very aware that her feet were actually hot. Reaching down with one hand, she discovered why. Seems that she was wearing wool socks by the way they felt.

Hmmm. She did vaguely remember telling Hajime to come to bed because her feet were cold. At that point the prosecutor startled. Gads! What had she done? The memory of the flashback she'd had about her miscarriage came flowing back to her as cold and clear as a blue winter sky. That incident was painful beyond words, but it had given Hajime back to her in this life…well not entirely, since they were no longer married, but she did know that they had been married back in Meiji 1.

That was the problem. He was no longer her husband; yet in her sleepy state of mind, she'd actually asked him back to bed. She smiled to herself. It was more of their past life coming to the surface. He'd been doing paperwork again in the middle of the night. She realized that she'd acted reflexively, telling him exactly what she used to tell him all those years ago. There was something both comforting and unsettling to have known someone so well, but so many years ago. She knew so little of his present life. But that didn't matter because he was the same person, granted with different experiences, but his values and sensibilities hadn't changed at all.

Speaking of her former husband, yes, she fully accepted this now. Reliving the horrors of her miscarriage in Tonami did that for her. At least she recognized the truth of the past. She could only hope that in the future they would resume the relationship they'd had all those years ago. But would he be able to let go of Yaso? That was the question.

Still thinking about what she now knew to be the truth, she looked around the room. There he was, legs outstretched, hunched over, his tablet beside him. She took a few moments just to gaze at the man. She had always enjoyed watching him sleep. He seemed so much at peace. But he had to be so uncomfortable. She was thankful he'd stayed in the room with her, but she regretted her selfishness, knowing that it cost him much needed, comfortable rest.

This was a bittersweet time for her. She knew what, rather who, she wanted, but could she have him? Only time would tell. As quietly as she could, disregarding her still aching body, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed up behind him as he sat sleeping in the chair. She blushed as she remembered how they used to wake up in the morning. That activity was quite appropriate back then, but it wouldn't be right now. But she couldn't keep away from him.

She lightly put her hands on his shoulders, kissed the crown of his head, whispering, "Good morning, Hajime."

Saitoh

Saitoh awoke to the soft groan of bedsprings decompressing.

He stiffened, instantly awake, then relaxed a second later when Tokio slipped, cat-like, out of the guest bed, her little feet muffled by a pair of red toed wool stockings.

Curious as to what was compelling such stealthy behavior from the normally upfront prosecuting attorney, he remained where he was, hunched over in the chair he'd fallen asleep in a few hours earlier after he'd written, reviewed and submitted the first round of paperwork on the hours old car bomb case.

The emails had been flying fast and furious all evening, as forensic teams, explosive experts and violent crimes squadrons mobilized and tried to come up with a reasonable explanation as to how an unknown individual or group had managed to bypass multiple redundant security systems and plant five pounds of compound C4 plastic explosives beneath the car of a DOJ Employee. An equally critical side investigation was also underway to find the killer of the officer who'd volunteered for last night's security detail.

It was nothing short of a debacle, and when all was said and done, someone's head would be missing from their shoulders for allowing such a horrendous lapse in security. Karen had already started reviewing data feeds, hoping against hope that she could find some back up camera that hadn't been taken out by the clearly planned power outage. Uramura had texted to see if everyone was all right and vowed to give his full attention to improving employee security. Saitoh suspected that "full support" would translate into an internal memo and an extra round of drinks at the precinct holiday party, but it was better than nothing and one hell of an improvement on what the previous commissioner would have done.

Interestingly enough, Minato had called and left a voice message, one that was surprisingly emotional, in Saitoh's opinion. (As if the old codger had anything to apologize for…) Saitoh had texted the armory master back, called him an emotionally compromised curmudgeon and reminded him that fussing was most unbecoming for an old soldier who was obviously well on his way to age induced senility.

Already evidence was pouring in and being analyzed and for once, the normal cross-departmental infighting that usually stalled or paralyzed an internal investigation was set aside, since everyone who commuted to the DOJ had a vested interest in figuring out what had gone wrong, lest they face a similar fate. The understandable desire not to be blown up in a moderately priced four door could be a great motivator, Saitoh decided, as Tokio crept up behind him on her tip toes. He felt her hands settle softly on his shoulders. A second later, she bent and gently kissed the top of his head.

"Good morning, Hajime."

Recalling her breathy, half-asleep entreaties for him to come to bed, Saitoh decided that a bit of early morning revenge was in order and remained hunched over in the chair as if he was still sound asleep. He wanted to see what lengths she would go to in order to wake him, but more importantly, he needed to feel out her emotional state this morning, to make sure that she was no longer emotionally overwhelmed and distraught.

Tokio

Hm. Now that was interesting, she thought to herself. The mere touch on his shoulders should have wakened him, as would the kiss she'd gently planted on top of his head, not to mention both the sound of her slipping out of bed and her verbal greeting. She'd been married to this man for over 40 years, and in all those years he was a light sleeper, a very light sleeper. She doubted that an almost a 200 year time difference would have changed that.

So that is how he wanted to play, was it? Her former husband did have a sense of humor, and she was sure that he was exercising it right now. Two could participate in little games. The one they'd played almost every morning of their married life came rushing back to her. If she were still married to him, that one would be a definite possibility, but she wasn't, so it wasn't, at least not yet.

What to do she pondered, hands still resting gently on his shoulders. What to do. Slowly her hands slid in towards the base of his neck, stopping there to let her fingers gently work the muscles in an attempt to relax them. They felt like a bunch of knots. No wonder by the way he was hunched over. Sleeping in the chair in such an uncomfortable position was probably doing a number on his lower back, too. In addition, he had to be as stiff and sore as she was this morning due to being flung across the garage and slammed onto its concrete floor.

Eventually, her hands wandered up his neck, her fingers lacing through his very soft hair. So, she hadn't imagined that yesterday. His hair was soft. Events in the parking garage around the time of the bombing were still a bit fuzzy. She startled slightly when she remembered that his hair felt no different than it had during their marriage.

Her finger tips lightly brushed his scalp, sometimes just feathering over it, other times stopping to make little circular patterns. She took in a breath, tensing slightly, wondering just how much he was going to let her get away with before he made his move. Smiling, she bit her lower lip, contemplating if she should do what she was thinking, hoping he wouldn't be upset with her. Words from long ago, 'Tokio, you are a wicked, wicked woman,' rang in her ears.

Sliding her hands back down to his outer shoulders, she dipped her head to where his shoulder met the base of his neck, making sure the spot she chose would be well covered by the collar of his uniform shirt. Her lips gently locked onto a warm piece of his skin, tenderly drawing it into her mouth for a few seconds before letting it go, and then giving the spot a quick kiss. She hoped that the resulting mark would be inconspicuous. If not, well, she was probably in trouble…again.

Saitoh

Breath catching sharply in the back of his throat when he felt Tokio's lips brush up against the warm skin of his neck, Saitoh decided that perhaps he'd underestimated his opponent in this early morning skirmish. Already, he was on the defensive. Bare toes digging into the carpet, he fought against the natural instinct to groan, the raw recoil of pleasure nearly too much to process.

He'd thought to surprise her, to pay her back for unknowingly tempting him.

This morning her intentions were anything but sleepy and accidental, but as deliberate and well executed as a carefully planned police intercept and Saitoh knew that he was seconds away from being read his rights.

Unerringly, she honed into the sensitive juncture between his neck and shoulder, as if she knew exactly where and how he wanted to be touched, and kissed him, open mouthed.

Heat collided violently with pressure and met, coiling hard at the base of his spine as she sucked softly, drawing a small expanse of skin into her mouth and against her hot, wet tongue. He did make a sound then, a harsh moan escaping from tightly clenched teeth. Dammit to hell and back, it couldn't be helped, not after three years and the span of several lifetimes being apart.

She kissed him again and tried to withdraw. Did she think this was over - that he'd silently capitulate after such a sensual barrage? He opened his eyes and glared hotly at her, not even bothering to bank his emotions. Perhaps sensing that he intended to up the ante, she stiffened and tried to take a step back, but it was too late. Between one thundering heartbeat and the next, she was caught, pulled into an embrace that was ferociously possessive, her narrow waist spanned by two calloused but very careful hands.

"Just where do you think you're going?" he growled, drawing her up into the chair with him, so she was facing him, her long flannel pajama clad legs straddling his muscular thighs. It was a tight, but not uncomfortable fit. One of his hands snaked up, finding purchase in her long black hair; the other arm was around her waist, urging her closer.

Brushing her hair back, Saitoh eyed the white, exposed column of her neck with covetous, narrowed eyes, then leaned forward and kissed her softly behind one ear. She sighed. He smiled wickedly and made a motion as if he was going to kiss her again, but caught her ear lobe between his teeth instead and gave it a little nip. She gasped sharply then shuddered and wrapped her arms around his neck. He could feel the tremors move down her back and thighs and was determined to feel more than that by the time he was done teaching her a lesson.

Determined to regain lost territory, he greedily laid siege to her ear, nipping it again and then flicking the soft curvature with his tongue. She shivered and leaned closer, her breasts brushing against his chest. This of course, nearly derailed his retaliatory campaign for the second time that morning. Even sports bra bound, they were profoundly distracting weapons in a devastating feminine arsenal that Saitoh suspected was outlawed under the terms of The Geneva Convention.

"Someone woke up on the right side of the bed," he drawled as he kissed her neck, delighting in the soft, breathy little sounds she was making as he rasped a canine over her pulse point. The tears, sorrow and confusion from last night seemed to be a distant memory. The woman in his arms was confident and not afraid to put her hands and mouth on him, a very welcome development.

"Why is that, I wonder?" He demanded softly, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. The first brush of his lips against hers was soft, the contact light. The second pass was more demanding. She opened her mouth, perhaps with the intent to answer his question. Saitoh, fully on the offensive now, seized the opportunity and intercepted by kissing her soundly, his tongue and lips making any meaningful dialogue a logistical impossibility.

Tokio

'Gottcha,' she smiled to herself as he let out a harsh moan, quite pleased that she could still elicit that response from him even after all the years apart .

The hot glare he gave her as soon as he opened his eyes held a meaning of its own. O…oh…she was in trouble, trouble of the best kind. Fortunately for her, there was no way to escape it when her wolf was involved. All she saw in that amber gaze of his was a promise first made so many years ago that he would give her back as good as she gave him. A little shiver of anticipation slithered down her spine, as she tried to pull away to no avail.

His voice took on that old familiar growling tone that she knew so well.

"Just where do you think you're going?"

Nowhere, she said to herself, absolutely no where. There was no where she would rather be and no one she would rather be with.

In less than the time of a heartbeat she was straddling his lap, gently held in strong arms. By the careful way he handled her she knew he realized that she was still stiff and sore from what happened in the parking garage. He had to be hurting, too, and not just from yesterday. Hadn't he been shot in the thigh at the café? That injury still had to be sensitive and her position on his lap probably wasn't helping. She would try to sit still, if she could manage.

He pulled her closer, one hand in her hair, the other around her waist, kissing her in the sensitive spot he knew resided behind her ear. It was just like in the past. Instead of kissing her again, as she thought, he nipped her ear lobe, hard enough to make her gasp and grab him around the neck, just to let her know that it was his turn to be wicked, wicked Hajime. She would love every minute of it.

It was pure torture of the most pleasant kind as he continued his assault on her ear. She was sure that any female prisoner would gladly reveal all her secrets if he used this sort of interrogation technique. All she could do was press herself closer to him and hang on for the rollercoaster ride he was providing her.

"Someone woke up on the right side of the bed… Why is that, I wonder?"

His ministrations were less ferocious after posing his question, but no less enticing. Kissing her neck once more, he then turned his attention to her mouth, causing a flutter in her stomach. She had missed him so much. His kiss was soft at first, as a prelude to what she was sure would follow.

She opened her mouth slightly, tempted to answer him before realizing the idiocy of that idea, especially when she had him right where she wanted him. Inadvertently, she had given him an opening of which he took full advantage, being the predator that he was. She never minded being his prey and answered his more demanding contact with an intensity of her own that spoke of long buried desires, her fingers reaching to tangle in his soft hair. The man's mouth was incredible. She was glad that the centuries hadn't changed that. With a sigh she parted from him, sitting up, just gazing into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts. The physical desire was still there, but would there be another lifetime commitment from him?

The man was correct as usual. Tokio leaned back to him momentarily, giving him a soft kiss on his mouth before answering, "You always could read me so well, Hajime." She loved the way his name flowed from her lips in a familiar caress. The attorney beamed at her former husband. He was right, she did get out of the bed on the right side this morning, the familiar way he talked to her just made her feel even better. She was happy, joyfully so.

The last two days had been stressful beyond belief, but she would do it all over again in a heartbeat, because the end result was the recognition that she had a past life, a very wonderful past life as Hajime's wife.

"I remember the past. I know without a doubt that we were married in Meiji 1; I'm not confused about that any longer."

She couldn't help but kiss the man, again, this time long and deep. It was as simple as that. She wasn't plagued by random images any longer. They were merely memories of a long forgotten past.

It was far too early in their renewed acquaintance to know whether their relationship would ever be fully restored. Neither of them was married, now, nor were they in any sort of relationship with another person. That was something positive. She had a feeling that she would never marry, unless it was to this man. If he didn't want that, she would stay by his side, being the best friend a man could ever have.

Breaking away from his lips, she smiled at him, a grateful look in her gray eyes, "You remembered that I could never sleep when my feet were cold," she told him, wiggling her toes in the red-toed wool socks. "Thanks for taking care of me last night. I wish I could have returned the favor, but I was too beat up. I imagine that you were, too, but you were always the stronger one," she told him, tenderly, her voice laced with emotion, memories of a sad, cold Tonami night replaying in her mind.

Saitoh

"You always could read me so well, Hajime."

That tone, the familiar, intimate way she said his name …

Like a hunter that was closing in on his quarry, Saitoh leaned forward a little in the chair, the muscles in this thighs and arms coiling with a sudden, hungry sort of anticipation. Tokio was speaking in past tense terms, not present or future, to describe his ability to read her like a well written forensics report, a grammatical preference that Saitoh suspected was anything but accidental.

"I remember the past. I know without a doubt that we were married in Meiji 1; I'm not confused about that any longer."

"Is that a fact?" Saitoh casually asked as he deliberately caressed her cheek and jaw, his fingers sliding down along the graceful line of her neck, until the calloused pads of his fingers slipped barely beneath the neckline of his worn, black t-shirt she'd slept in and softly stroked the pale skin that covered her delicate clavicle.

Well kissed lips upturned, Tokio looked directly at him, her storm colored eyes shining with a breathtaking mixture of joy, sincerity and self-awareness and nodded.

"Took you long enough," Saitoh taunted the attorney, rolling his eyes as if she was some sort of dawdler who'd taken her sweet time figuring out who she really was to him.

Her retaliation to his teasing was incendiary, the sweet heated taste of her open mouth and hot tongue as it pushed past his lips, searing him to the bone. She was burning him, her desire scouring clean the dark, scarred shadows in his heart and mind.

(I found you…)

Saitoh growled possessively and pulled her against him. Hands on her hips, fingers splayed hard against her ass, his kisses were ravenous, hard and demanding, and revealing as nothing else could, how deeply he had been affected by her admission, how deeply he wanted this woman who had been…and by damn would once again be…his wife.

(You found me…)

Slowly, the tone of the embrace became less heated and hard, the moans amid tangled tongues and mouths softened became almost tender. A reunion, centuries delayed, played out quietly in the spare bedroom.

"You remembered that I could never sleep when my feet were cold…"

Saitoh nodded. He remembered this and many other aspects of the woman in his arms.

She wiggled her sock covered toes, eliciting a rare, quiet laugh from him.

"You're a reprehensible tease, " he growled as he leaned forward in the chair, nipping and then kissing her partially exposed shoulder.

And then she thanked him for caring for her the night before, apologizing that she'd been unable to reciprocate.

"Moron," muttered softly, the soft kisses he placed on her bare skin taking the sting out of the rebuke. "You were there at the cafe, weren't you?" When he'd been burnt and bleeding to death, she'd ruthlessly blown a man's brains out, then pulled smoking armor from his body, bandaged his wounds and held him against her.

Gently, Saitoh put one hand on her lower stomach, over her womb. That loss, the death of their firstborn had haunted the Tokio of his memory for the rest of her life. He'd been unable to ever find a way to assuage her grief and guilt. Perhaps in this life, he would do better. Perspective after all, had its advantages.

"There was another time, when you cared for me thusly," he pointed out, appealing to her logical mind, "I somehow managed to make it home after a terrible battle, but fell from my horse at our gate, the injuries to my legs too severe to allow me to stay in the saddle. You ran out and somehow managed to help carry me into the house before I passed out from fever and blood loss."

Infection had set in the deep lacerations that crisscrossed his thighs. Even now, he could recall the pungent scent of infection, smoke and dried blood and remember the choking, gasping sound he'd made when she had to clean out and then cauterize the necrotic skin. Fighting against an unseen adversary, his wife had refused to give up, despite the harrowing odds.

"I would have died without your care, Tokio," he said seriously, not one to speak lightly of such things. "Then and now." Annoyed that she so easily discounted her worth, he lightly flicked her forehead with his finger. "So quit fussing. It's terribly unbecoming."

Saitoh gave her a sly, wicked smile, and added, "You know, there are better things that you can do with that mouth of yours rather than apologizing…." He leaned over and gave her a thoughtful, thorough demonstration of what he had in mind.

Tokio

When she apologized that she'd been in no shape to care for him last night, he rebuked her in that gentle way of his that was reserved for her alone, before reminding her that she'd been in the café right when he'd needed her. She was sure that no one else on this earth, who had earned a reprimand from him, would be granted such a tempered tone of voice.

The attorney smiled. Their married life had been one of reciprocity, each helping the other as best they could during their individual times of need. Tokio couldn't help but remember the grief she'd felt as he'd taken his last breath wrapped in her arms. All lives must come to an end; theirs in the first Meiji era was no different. But when his allotted time was over, both of them had lived very full and rewarding lives. Her last five years were spent in Tsutomu's household, doting on all of her grandchildren, and helping her daughter-in-law, Midori, as best she could. But she didn't go a day without out missing Hajime, terribly so. The attorney had no idea what caused the current reunion between the two of them, but whatever it was, she was beyond grateful that it happened.

His soft kisses on her bare shoulder were distracting her in the best of ways. Tokio's seemingly calm and cheerful demeanor when she woke this morning was only a result of having come to terms with the fact that she and Hajime were married in the past. The joy she felt at finding him, and knowing that what he told her was true, helped her suppress the stress she still felt because of the two attempts on her life. In the past he had been her rock, supporting her through life's traumas. It was no different now. Even though he was no longer her husband, she still needed his solid, steady support to keep her emotions in check and on an even keel. She felt better both physically and emotionally, but she was far from being healed.

As if he read her mind, he covered her stomach with his warm hand. Reflexively, she responded by resting both of hers on his. His gesture told her that he had also relived that sad event in Tonami, just as she had. He knew it was a burden that she carried with her throughout her lifetime. But it was that memory that jerked her into believing and accepting their shared past. Perhaps in this life he could help her overcome the guilt she still felt about what happened on a winter day all those years ago.

Then he reminded her of a time in the past when she had been the one to save his life. As he recounted the events, ones that she also now remembered quite clearly, she laid her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Closing her eyes, she pressed herself closer to him, clinging to him as images assaulted her. She had almost lost him that time. But she fought for him, not giving up, regardless of how it hurt her to cause him such pain. But if she hadn't cleaned and cauterized those wounds, he would surely have died.

Hearing a horse in the courtyard, she'd come running out of the house to find Hajime on the ground near their front gate, bleeding, unable to move. He smelled like smoke, every inch of him covered in soot. It was only the adrenaline rush that enabled her to drag him into the house and peel off what was left of his tattered clothing. At that point she was sure that life as a member of the Tokyo MPD was far more dangerous than being a Shinsengumi captain.

The wounds to his thighs were so terribly infected that she'd gagged at the smell. It was all she could do to keep from getting sick when she thoroughly cleaned them, getting out every spec of dead and infected flesh. She'd then taken her tanto, the one he'd given her on their wedding day, heated it in the kitchen fire and applied it to each wound in turn, searing away any remnants of infection and sealing off the bleeding. In her memory the sounds he'd made in response to the agonizing pain were as clear as they were that day. Each time she caused him pain, she felt like she was stabbing herself.

In retrospect the symbolism of using the tanto he'd given her did not escape her. He'd given it to her to use to save her life...but she'd used it to save his...and back then he was her life, her whole life.

It was only the light flick of his finger on her forehead and his command to quit fussing that brought her mind back to the present, snapping her out of her gruesome memories, and back to more pleasant pursuits.

"You know, there are better things that you can do with that mouth of yours rather than apologizing…."

He was right of course. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, so thankful that he'd survived his life threatening ordeals in both the present and past eras. He then proceeded to give her a demonstration of exactly what he had in mind.

It was as if he knew that she'd relived another trauma from their past, because he gently kissed the top of her head and her forehead, before tenderly capturing her mouth, caressing it lightly with his own. She knew he was trying to sooth her, using his lips to coax her away from her unsettling thoughts. As her husband, he always knew what she needed, and she was glad that his sense of that had not changed one bit over the centuries.

She slipped her hands around his neck again, her fingers moving to play with his hair as she sweetly responded to him, for the moment letting go of all that was troubling her. His hands were around her, resting on her back just above her waist. Shifting in his lap, as she continued to kiss him, she supposed that she should exercise a bit of restraint since they were no longer married. But she didn't want to. She wanted to recapture what they had together all those years ago. She felt his calloused hands under her t-shirt, gently massaging her lower back, leaving little tendrils of heat in their wake. Slow and deliberate, intense and passionate. There was no other way to describe the way he possessed her mouth.

Saitoh

Tokio sighed and kissed him softly.

Muscles that had become tense with memory slowly began to relax beneath his hands.

While he'd brought up the example of her attending to a life threatening injury to illustrate that she was as strong and capable as any man, based on her sobering reaction, he suspected her thoughts had centered on the fact he'd suffered as a result of her ministrations. Saitoh idly wondered how she'd respond if he told her that the memory of her ruthlessly cutting away skin and muscle and using the fire heated tanto he'd given her on their wedding day as a weapon against infection, was one of his favorite recollections of their past life together.

(Best wait for that particular bit of disclosure…) he smirked, his mouth twisting into an ironic curve as he kissed her.

Yes, it was best to focus on the rather appealing task at hand. His plan to distract her, rather hastily implemented when he'd watched the joy and contentment in her eyes become dim with remembered suffering, was slowly but surely soothing the woman, who despite her ferocity in a courtroom, was in possession of a very tender heart. And while he normally had little patience for people afflicted with such a coronary condition, for her, he was willing to make an exception to his usual modus operandi and not only tolerate her tender ways, but quietly encourage and cultivate her penchant for kindness.

He wanted her to retain this emotional skill set, not because of personal preference (though he vastly preferred someone with Tokio's pleasant temperament to that of a 24 carat bitch like his sister) but for the sake of two little boys, who desperately needed to experience the comfort that could only come from a loving and openly affectionate parent. There was far too little laughter and happiness in his home, and despite his concerted efforts to be better; he was not by any stretch of anyone's imagination, a warm and demonstrative man.

He was, however, very patient.

Or was trying to be…

Saitoh's breath caught in the back of his throat when Tokio ardently embraced him, her narrow hips rocking slightly into his. He swore, the coarse exclamation muffled by her mouth and then pulled her tightly against his body.

Wicked. She was wicked; he told her this in between kisses as his body threatened mutiny against his self-imposed restraint. Eyes burning with need, he caught her unrepentant bottom lip with his teeth and bit down softly on the velvety soft skin. When she gasped with surprise, he plunged his tongue into the hot, welcome wetness of her mouth in a gesture that was unmistakably carnal and undeniably possessive.

(Mine)

No man had ever touched her like this. No man ever would. In this aspect, the modern day would mirror the past. He'd first take the arms, and then the life of anyone who dared try.

Tokio moaned against his mouth, the raw need in her voice as sexy a sound as he'd ever heard, and tugged at the bottom of his t-shirt. His hands thought that this was a terribly brilliant, long-overdue idea and moved to make the same motion, albeit in the opposite direction towards the annoying faded flannel barrier of her pajama bottoms.

RING RING RING

Saitoh's shirt was halfway off before he realized that the loud ringing sound in his ears, was not in fact, the rapid movement of all the blood in his brain down to another more southern region of his anatomy.

RING RING RING

Saitoh swore and reached for his phone that was on the desk. It was 5:25 in the morning. Someone had either died, or was going to.

5:47 AM Saitoh Residence (Garage)

Someone was going to die all right.

Saitoh balefully stared at the steering wheel of his sedan.

Not one to pray for patience, courage or fortitude (those attributes came without any divine intervention, thank you very much) Saitoh was muttering a profanity laden benediction, one where he beseeched whatever God listened to the prayers of ill-tempered police officers with murder on their minds, for the good sense to hide bodies of two morons who were seriously overdue for a reunion with their creators.

Umagoe's intercept was scheduled to begin at 7:00 AM. Saitoh knew it was no coincidence that the twit had waited to begin the intercept until all of the major news stations had begun live morning coverage. The fact that his boss, Sr. Superintendent Uramura, had weakly caved in to the young captain's demands that the raid on the suspect from the Sunshine Café be covered by the press put him in equally bad standing on Saitoh's Shit List. ©

Saitoh pressed the button that opened the garage door. Being winter, it was still quite dark outside. Most people were in bed. HE wanted to be in bed. He wanted to be in bed (or in a chair, or on the floor, or against the wall – he wasn't picky) with the woman that he was leaving behind this morning.

Duty called however, and he was compelled to answer.

Her response to the early morning call had been encouraging. No grumping, or questioning, she'd accepted that he had to leave. He glanced down at the thermos of coffee she'd prepared for him while he took a quick (and very cold) shower. He wasn't sure what he appreciated more, the strong, black coffee that she'd made, or the kiss and sweet good-bye that had accompanied it.

Saitoh backed out of the garage, then closed it and re-entered the security codes so that Tokio remained safe and secure while he was gone. Despite her rather frisky behavior this morning, he knew that she was in pain, struggling to make sense of the attacks and that she needed rest before trying to return to work. He needed to inspect her office and make sure it was safe before she set foot inside it.

Not looking forward to having to watch the televised intercept in Uramura's overstuffed office for a fucking minute more than he had to, Saitoh pulled out of the driveway and headed back towards the chaos that was New Meiji.

To follow the action for Saitoh Hajime, please read the Gumi Reloaded fic, New Meiji Metropolitan PD Press Conference. The next chapters in this current story, The Day After, describe Tokio's thoughts and activities while Hajime is away at work.

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