Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Collateral Damage ❯ A Better Life ( Chapter 1 )

AN: None of this story has not been obsessively proofread or betaed. I don't have time to do it and if you want to complain about the typos, be my beta!

Series disclaimer for this and all subsequent chapters.: Rurouni Kenshin is the work of Nobuhiro Watsuki. I am only using these characters for entertainment purposes. If you enjoy this, you will probably enjoy Nobuhiro Watsuki's work even more. Go buy it. You'll enjoy it.

Collateral Damage

Chapter 1: A Better Life

Saitou(1879)

Chou sat at his desk grumbling to himself about having to sit in an uncomfortable, western style chair and shooting evil looks at his immediate superior's door. It was only a matter of time until he discovered that he could put his feet up on the desk and tip his chair back to recline in peace and repose until his superior opened the door and caught him. The fact that Saitou preferred to keep his door closed and was too busy to check on his subordinate's behavior would be the final trigger to incite the unavoidable deterioration into the slums of outright slacking of duty.

Saitou didn't even have to look at the door to know this. The lazy scratch of Chou's western pen, the sighs that were becoming more frequent, the uncomfortable shifting about all screamed to him through the closed door that his underling was soon going to make his grand discovery.

He hadn't decided just what he would do when it did happen, but he was already planning on a few surprises. He could slip outside quietly and then sneak up behind the dolt and surprise him, probably causing the buffoon to fall to the floor quite spectacularly. Coordinated movement did seem beyond Chou's capabilities at times, which made his entire career as a self appointed sword hunter seem quite suspicious. It was probably a good thing for Chou that the Battousai had gone soft both in skill and in his head. Another plan was to just yell for Chou to put his feet down and get back to work. It would startle the dimwit, and it would add to his reputation of knowing all and seeing even more.

He finally decided he'd probably do nothing. What was the point? Chou lolling about the office didn't impact anything. He, himself, could probably put his feet up on his desk, lean back in his chair and take a long nap and nothing would really change. Politicians would still be corrupt, hypocritical bastards; crime would still infest the joyous Meji era; left over loonies from the revolution would still occasionally crawl out from beneath their rocks; and he would still be stuck filling out forms.

A once proud free wolf now caged and sold off to the circus to wear an ill-fitting costume while doing stunts to entertain his new masters. When not performing entertaining tricks, he was stuffed back into his kennel to lick his paws and be poked at by morons with sharp sticks. The sticks they used were pens and the pokes were all written neatly on paper that he had to acknowledge, sign, and either file or return. Lucky him, he was even on display in the front window of the police department.

He shook the bitterness out of his head and concentrated on the highly important, not to be ignored, must be done immediately paperwork (poke) for assigning protection to a fat tick of a politician during an upcoming children's party at the English ambassador's residence.

Maybe I should take that nap now and not put it off.

He dully scratched out the required information and put the form into the stack of other highly important, not to be ignored, must be done immediately pokes that he'd already finished. Chou shuffled uneasily about, and Saitou paused listening for the thunk of boots hitting the top of the desk. When it didn't come, he glanced at the clock some thoughtful person had stuck on his wall and made a bet with himself that it would take the moron a half hour to discover the bliss of sprawling in his chair. A few fellow police officers ambled by his window chatting about the latest geisha at that had appeared on the scene and how white her skin was.

Saitou sighed and picked out the next amazingly important, Japan-will-fall-into-flamming-chaos report, a requisition for horses for an annual celebration of a castle sinking into a lake. He glanced at the clock again, looked at the pile of papers he still had to go through, and sighed. Some days just didn't end soon enough, or even worse, ended too soon.

Still, it could be worse. He knew this for a fact. He once arrogantly stated that nothing could tame a wolf. He was amazed that kami hadn't struck him down for the lie. Then again, wasn't that what his entire life had become, a lie? So what was one more on the dung heap of his life? Money couldn't tame a wolf, neither could position, influence, or luxurious goods. No, it took something far more simple, something common to tame a wolf, poverty.

“Hey, captain.” Chou had wrenched himself away from his imminent discovery and was now slouched in his door radiating ineptitude. “It's time for dinner. You want some?”

“No.” He quickly made a few notes for the arrangement of the horses and picked up the next, a lesser secretary to the minister of the department of sanitation wanted someone to escort his wife and six children to Kyoto's cherry blossom festival. The secretary didn't have time to go himself, and it was of vital importance that all six of his children appreciate the blossoms. Saitou looked up to eye the dolt that would be escorting the lovely lady and her offspring.

Chou was idly chewing on his fingernail and ambling back to his desk, having forgotten about closing Saitou's door. Beyond him, the rest of the station was equally lacksiddasical. A group of officers was gathered together around one desk laughing and sipping tea. He would have suspected sake, but after the painful lesson he had dealt out last week, he doubted it. It would take them at least another week, maybe two, before one of them brought sake in to work again. A few officers were slouched dispiritedly at their desks staring out the window, and his immediate superior's door was closed, but Saitou could, with a bit of concentration, hear the soft snores coming from that office. He guessed that it was slightly better than last month when they had raided a corrupt geisha house and his superior had spent two weeks “questioning” various geishas. The grunts, moans, and thumping had made working rather difficult.

He got up and quietly closed the door. He had at least two more hours of paperwork to do. After that, he could go on patrol, staying out until after midnight. He could then return, fill out a few reports about his patrol activities, and if the gods were kind and something interesting happened, he could just fall asleep in his office to begin his day anew tomorrow. If they weren't, he could always find something to do, something that needed investigating, someone that needed to be arrested. He hadn't arrested Sano for a week, and that usually took up the whole night and part of the next day.

He nodded his head and set his plans. With a lighter heart, he went back to his paperwork. He was doing his duty. He was protecting the people of Japan from a dangerous thug. He was keeping the streets safe for honest citizens.

As long as he didn't have to go home and look into Tokio's eyes, everything would be fine.

Tokio(1870)

Tokio watched Saitou. He was squatting in the middle of what should have been a field of green crops, sifting dry dirt through his fingers. It had rained hard during the growing season, destroying the small seedlings before they had a chance to do more than cast a tiny shadow on the earth. Now, there was no rain and no crops.

He didn't say anything to her. He didn't even acknowledge her presence, though she knew he sensed her walking out of the small, tattered shack they now called home and to the edge of the field. He ignored her, as he had for months, too ashamed to even look her in the eye.

Saitou Hajime, captain of the Shinsengumi, who had stood in the presence of the shogun, who fought bravely alongside his men, who was one of the most feared swordsmen in Japan, reduced to a poor farmer living in the most barren, worthless patch of soil the Meji could find. Punishment, they said, for daring to stand against them. Be happy, they said, that we are letting you live. Be content, they said, with the generosity that we are showing by giving you this land.

It wasn't generosity. It was hatred. It was fear. Saitou was an enigma to them. They who replaced their honor with power and traded their swords for Western money could not understand Saitou. The codes that Saitou grew up with were snickered at as quaint, old fashion customs as the Meji dressed in their Western clothing in a vain attempt to get the Westerners to accept them as equals.

“Do you wish for lunch, husband?” Tokio called, hoping that for once he would turn to look at her, give her one of his little smirking smiles, and come in.

He picked up another handful of dirt, crumbling it in his fingers, feeling it shift like lifeless dust against his skin.

Tokio bowed to him, even if he would not turn to see it, and quietly left. She feared to press, to question, to even speak. Her biggest fear was that he'd commit seppuku out of shame, leaving her in this place, alone.

Damn Kurasawa and his lies, his tales of building a strong samurai community where they would keep alive traditions that were even now being trampled on. She knew he'd been lying, but it had given Saitou something besides the darkness of Echigo prison to think of. She doubted that Saitou had believed him either, but what choice did they have with the Meji at their backs with their false smiles and ready guns. Better to nod and meet each smile with one equally false, to thank with humble voices the Meji's generosity, to believe Kurasawa's opium-like dreams and walk into this hell with at least the shreds of dignity that still remained.

Now, they didn't even have those. They had nothing. Even the dilapidated, one room, shack was really Kurasawa's. Not that he was often there. He was too busy building his community of proud samurai. He only showed up for an occasional meal which had to be spread before him with all the gratitude and ceremony of peasants offering tribute to their lord. She would have sent Saitou away, to spare him that humiliation if she could, but he wouldn't leave and she couldn't bring herself to ask, not with Kurasawa's eyes lingering too long on her and his not so subtle hints that he could make her life better.

She didn't want her life better. She just wanted Saitou back.

Research Notes:

Houses: Yes, here I am once again with my research. The house that Saitou and Tokio are in is a peasant house in the most remote part of Japan, excluding Hokkaido. I did look into the minka of Japan, but decided that in that part of Japan and in the conditions that they were placed under, the more common minka wouldn't be available. Oh, if you're wondering, Hiko lives in a minka type house with a central fire pit, stone pilings, and a wood floor. His poor abused door is also rather typical of a minka. The shack has the central fire pit, but has dirt floors, small windows, and a single room for sleeping and working. The door is probably a woven reed mat. If you want to know more, I can highly recommend “Everyday Things in Premodern Japan” by Susan B. Hanley.

Saitou being on display: In one episode, I noticed that Saitou seemed to have an office overlooking the main street. For someone who likes to slink around in dark places, I thought he'd be rather uncomfortable there, which made me start wondering why he'd accept such an office (I'm ignoring the whole weirdness of his back being towards a window).

Before anyone gets upset about the dates. I tried the best I could to find a good timeline for this and after chasing around quite a few different sites, I finally settled on this one. The date for Tokio's part is deliberately a year before the real marriage between Yaso and Saitou, but I already have them married so it isn't like that's going to affect much. If someone does find a site that has more accurate dates, I would love to know. I do like my research to be accurate when I can.

Kurasawa: He probably saved Saitou's life in reality. I am taking a lot of liberties with his character and I acknowledge it right up front. Sorry, big guy.

Tokio calling her husband Saitou: It's an indication of something, not a mistake just as her being called Tokio instead of the diminution of Toki is deliberate as well.