A/N: I am utterly fascinated by what Saitou might have been like at home ( I doubt he was exactly the same person he was in public) , and how Tokio dealt with her husband's absences, and this oneshot was born from that fascination…and from the fact that I decided my time was better spent on this than on one of three essays I have to magically produce from my…(coughs) you get the idea…before July 26. Really gotta work on that procrastination thing….

P.S.: This is based on the Bakumatsu fic I've been working on since January (which, like everything else I've been working on, is currently stalled), and the only reason I'm mentioning this is because I make a couple of references to that fic (which technically doesn't quite exist here yet) in this one. But it's nothing big, so I don't worry about not getting them, it's not important. Yeah. So. There's that. So, assuming you actually read this, I'll shut up now.

Disclaimer: Perhaps in a parallel universe; one may dream….

Words To Watch Out For:

Tadaima: I'm home

Okaeri nasai: Welcome home; said in response to "Tadaima."

Gomen nasai: Forgive me

Anata: here, used as a term of affection for one's husband; means "Dearest"

genkan: entry/foyer/vestibule/et cetera

engawa: a porch-like edifice, but narrower (like, a lot)

Blood

XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX

When he comes home bloody, I know that he's leaving again.

Sometimes the blood is his. Most times, however, it is someone else's. That doesn't bother me as much anymore; I've learned to accept Hajime as he is, and his ruthlessness is part of him. I call him a wolf jokingly, but the fact of the matter is that that's exactly what he is: a born predator.

A month after we were married, he got called away to spy on someone within the government. He was gone for three days, and when he came home, he was bloody. None of it was his. This was the first time he'd come home like this, and I was more than a little concerned. And that was when he explained to me just exactly what it was he did for the government: officially, he was a police officer; unofficially, he gathered intelligence for the new government, a role he was more than qualified for—he'd done the same job for the Shinsengumi, all those years ago.

Two days later, he left home and was gone for four and a half months. When he came back home, he told me he'd been dealing with a corrupt official in Nagasaki who had been heavily involved in smuggling. Of what, he didn't tell me, and I took that to mean he wasn't at liberty to discuss it, so I never asked, and he never told.

A year after we were married, he left home again, to spy on someone else. Hajime has never told me who he's spied on within the government, and I've never pried. I think sometimes that he probably shouldn't even be telling me what he actually does when he's away from home, but he says it's all right, he isn't breaking any rules by telling me everything after the fact. I know that he tells me because he trusts me, and he knows I'd never betray his trust. I've always kept his secrets, and he's kept mine.

In any case, he came home bloody again, and had to leave the next day. He wasn't gone for nearly so long that time, but it was still about a month before I saw him again. This time, he'd been in Yokohama, and he'd been dealing with another smuggling ring, only this one he was apparently able to talk about: the operation had been smuggling young women out of the country.

Seven days before our son Tsutomu was born, he had to go away again, to watch someone else. He came home after three days, the disguise he'd been using wet with his blood, and left that same night.

He was gone two months, and he missed Tsutomu's birth. He never told me, but I could tell that bothered him. My brother and his wife had been with me, and they'd stayed with me until he'd come back home, so I wouldn't be lonely. And while I'm grateful they were there, I have honestly never felt lonelier in my life than I did during that time, with a newborn baby and a truant husband.

This time, he'd been spying on Saigo Takamori. This was the first time he'd disclosed his target's identity to me. There was something suspicious going on, he'd said, but he hadn't been able to find anything particularly damning even after a more thorough reconnaissance, so he'd come home.

And then, two weeks before he left for the Seinan War, he went on a little fact-finding mission for the government, again to spy on Saigo Takamori. When he got back, his uniform was bloody, some of it his, some of it someone else's. This time, he told me, he'd be gone for much longer, because there was a war breaking out. Satsuma was rebelling, with Saigo at its head, and he was going off to help subdue them.

He was gone for seven months. In the whole time we've known each other, this is the second longest time we've been apart; only his year-long imprisonment after the Aizu War was longer. He came back with new scars, too; he'd written me in January, telling me he was all right, when he'd actually been in the hospital at the time, recovering from a wound. I was angry at him for not telling me he'd been hurt, and I stayed angry with him for a week. It was the first time I'd been upset to see him come home.

And now, just months after his return from the Satsuma rebellion, he came home bloody again. I didn't notice the blood until after he'd walked in and said "Tadaima," and I'd replied "Okaeri nasai," and had leaned up to kiss him. I smelled the blood on his clothing then, and stopped, then leaned forward and sniffed his clothes to make sure; he'd been dressed as a medicine peddler, another disguise, which wasn't unusual, exactly, but he usually warned me before he went out to spy on someone.

"You're bloody," I said quietly, not looking up at him, and he sighed and I closed my eyes.

Even though he'd been home for almost seven months, I hadn't seen much of him. He'd been working late and rising early, though I'd made him promise to awaken me before he left so I could at least say good-bye. Sometimes, if he could get away, we'd have lunch together, but that was rare. I knew he probably ate out at one of the thousands of soba stands in Tokyo when he got hungry.

"When are you leaving?" I asked.

"Soon," he replied, and I was surprised by the vagueness of the answer; this was the first time he'd ever come home without knowing when he was going to be leaving.

"They didn't know?" I asked, looking up at him.

"I haven't completed my mission just yet," he admitted. "I can't do anything until he acts."

"Who?"

"Battousai."

I stared up at him with wide eyes.

"Battousai? But he's been missing for years."

"He's here," he told me, looking amused by my reaction. "I've been watching him for the past couple of months."

I frowned at him then.

"You might have said something to me, Hajime."

"Well since I was going to be staying in Tokyo this time, I didn't see the need to," he replied, and I resented the logic in his answer.

"Do you at least know where you're going?"

"Kyoto."

Kyoto. Where the revolution had begun, where we'd first met, and where we'd lost our innocence about the world. I don't think he'd been back to Kyoto since we'd left in 1868.

"Whose blood are you wearing?"

"A friend of Battousai's."

"Were you caught?"

He sent me a very annoyed look.

"Who exactly do you take me for?"

I couldn't help smiling.

"Gomen nasai, Anata." I leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I didn't mean to insult you."

"Feh," he returned under his breath, still annoyed. "I did leave behind some clues for Battousai to ponder over when I engaged his friend."

"Engaged" indeed—he'd picked a fight is what he'd done.

"Hajime," I scolded.

"Don't start, woman," he said immediately, irritated. "I want to get out of this costume already."

So I let him leave the genkan and get cleaned up and changed into his uniform, and then he left to do his duties as a policeman. When he presented himself at the table later that night, Tsutomu's eyes went huge with surprised delight.

"Papa!" he yelped.

That was the first word he'd learned; you have no idea how long it took me to get him to say it so it was understandable.

My husband let our son sit in his lap and talk gibberish, and Hajime nodded and pretended he could understand everything Tsutomu said.

That night, we ate together for the first time in two months, and when I went to bed, he was there; I'd gotten used to going to sleep alone and being awakened by him as he was changing to go to bed.

"Hajime?" I murmured.

"Hm."

"Is it…what is it this time?"

"A man named Shishio Makoto."

"Shishio Makoto."

"He was a hitokiri for the Ishin Shishi during the Bakumatsu, like Battousai. Or rather, he took over Battousai's place in the shadows when Battousai left them to fight off the Shinsengumi. And after the revolution," he said, a distinctly cynical note in his voice, "the new government tried to hide their dirty linen."

He didn't have to explain what he meant.

"He's out for revenge then?"

"Possibly. I don't give a damn about his motives, frankly. He's another lunatic who needs to be dealt with, that's all."

"Where does Battousai-san come in?"

He snorted. "'Battousai-san'?" he asked, and I heard the laughter in his voice.

"Oh shut up and answer the question," I snapped back, flushing. "Obnoxious man."

"Battousai-san," he began, and I hit him in the arm; he grabbed my hand and held it down against his chest, "has been specially requested by Okubo Toshimichi. He thinks Battousai can defeat Shishio."

A ripple of shock went through me and I stopped trying to jerk my hand out from under his.

"Okubo Toshimichi?" I repeated quietly, stunned.

"Aa."

"Dear gods." I paused. "Miburo?"

"Hm."

"How much danger are you in this time?"

He took hold of the hand he'd captured and brought it up to his mouth.

"Not enough for you to worry yourself sick, Tokio." he said quietly against my skin; his breath was warm and his lips were dry.

"Then you'll come home safe?"

"Aa. Don't worry, little Songbird. This Miburo's hard to kill."

He didn't exactly put my mind at ease, but I wasn't as worried as I'd been.

And then he came home bloody three or four days later, after picking another fight, this time with Battousai-san, who was now going by the name Himura Kenshin.

And a week later, Okubo-san was murdered in broad daylight.

Hajime left that same night. He was very grim when he patted Tsutomu's head good-bye. When he said good-bye to me on the engawa, I could tell he was disturbed.

"Miburo?" I took his face in my hands and met his gaze. "Remember, please, that you promised you'd come home safe."

He watched me for a long time in silence, then leaned down and kissed me.

"I'll remember. No worrying."

"No worrying." I murmured, leaning my forehead against his, eyes closed; I hate lying to my husband, but I'd have agreed to anything to keep him happy.

He let me keep him a few minutes longer, then kissed the top of my head and murmured a last good-bye and then walked away without a backward glance, and I sat on the engawa and watched the gate long after he'd gone. Tsutomu came out eventually, rubbing his eyes.

"Papa?" he asked, looking at me.

I smiled sadly, then reached out and pulled him into my lap and snuggled him close.

"Papa's gone away for a while, little one."

"Why?"

"Because…he has to. But he'll come back home soon."

Tsutomu and I sat on the engawa in silence for a few hours more, and he fell asleep while I was holding him. I finally had to go in when my legs and arms started to get tired.

I said good-night and good-bye to my brother and his wife—they'd been the ones to tell me of Okubo-san's murder, and had spent most of the afternoon with me while we all wondered if the world was going mad—put my baby to sleep, then prepared my futon and lay down. Despite all the time I spend alone, I never get used to sleeping alone. To be frank, I hate it. The only reason I don't let Tsutomu sleep in our futon with me is because Hajime would disapprove and say I was making Tsutomu soft. Never mind that our son is only two and a half—a boy is a boy, and no boy of his was going to be a "Mama's Boy."

Since hearing about Okubo-san's death, I'd been uneasy. Hajime had told me that Okubo-san was waiting for Himura-san's answer about the question of Shishio, and that today, May 14th, would have been the day he'd gotten his answer. I'd seen too much of chaos and war during the Bakumatsu to believe Okubo-san's murder was a coincidence, and though Hajime hadn't said anything, I knew he thought the same thing. And suddenly, this mission of his was looking far more dangerous than I'd originally believed.

But I'm a Miburo's wife. I live with three truths: Aku Soku Zan; Gatotsu; and Blood. And as much as I'd like for my life to be different, as much as I'd wish for my husband to be safe, I know that both are impossible. Hajime is Hajime, and I accepted that a long time ago. And in accepting this, I also accepted his three truths.

Now, all I can do is trust Hajime's Aku Soku Zan and Gatotsu, and hope the Blood isn't his.