A/N: I have no business posting a new story when I'm still working on Captain Miserable and Ugetsu Monogatari, among others.
…oh well.
I've been sitting on this one for a while; those of you who frequent my LJ may remember seeing the second half of Chapter One some time ago. This one is largely episodic, sort of in the same vein as All the Small Things.
One way in which it will differ from my other pursuits is that I will be posting chapters every time I update; this post is a "monster" post of three at once. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever. Boo.
Fraternizing With the Enemy
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Chapter One: Scary Is In the Eye of the Beholder
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No one will ever win the Battle of the Sexes.
There's too much fraternizing with the enemy.
—Henry Kissinger
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He was a man of simple tastes and needs.
The only time he cared about brand names was when it came to his liquor and smokes—if you were going to poison yourself, you ought to at least do it right, he'd always thought. His car was fifteen years too old, but as long as it got him from point A to point B he didn't care. As long as he could immediately identify what he was eating, he happily gorged himself on it. His apartment had one bedroom, a cramped, ugly kitchen and he never had enough hot water, but it was cheap and fairly close to the high school he worked at, so he supposed he couldn't complain (…overly).
Yes, Hajime Saitou was as uncomplicated as they came…in his own mind, anyway.
Currently, the self-proclaimed simple man was irritably chewing on a cigarette. He'd much rather have been smoking the thing, but smoking was prohibited on school grounds, and he had to get his nicotine fix somehow (preferably in a manner which avoided his getting chewed out by the administration…again).
"Discrimination," he muttered sourly.
It seemed like every year, he and his brethren lost more ground to those whiny, selfish, asshole non-smokers. He had no doubt that his habit would one day become too much trouble to indulge in, and he knew that the day he had to quit would be a very dark day indeed.
At least he'd still have booze, anyway.
A polite knock on the door of what was known as "The Cave" (and not always affectionately, especially when his students were the ones talking about it) interrupted his little pity party.
"Yeah," he called, already knowing who it was.
The door opened and a pretty woman with twinkling dark eyes poked her head in, short black hair swinging slightly.
"Hey," she said cheerfully.
"Hey," he replied.
"May I?"
"If you dare."
She smiled and slipped into the room, a brown paper bag in one hand, water bottle in the other.
"So scary," she teased, expression mischievous but tone solemn.
"I have a reputation to protect," he said with a shrug.
"You're a cute, cuddly teddy bear," she said, pulling a chair up to his desk.
"Only for you," he dryly assured, and she chuckled, shaking her head.
Tokio Takagi hadn't been here as long as he had. She was young and new, and he'd taken an immediate liking to her. His coworkers had been honestly surprised by that; he was polite (sort of—"polite" was a relative term, as far as Saitou was concerned), but he preferred to keep his distance from people in general. If included in the odd little event, he made an effort (again, sort of) to be sociable, but he liked his solitude and his coworkers gave him wide berth. So his sudden friendship with the school's newest addition to the English department had stunned more than one person; the principal, a difficult-to-catch-off-guard man named Seijuurou Hiko, had reportedly choked on and then spat out the vodka he was always drinking from his flask when he'd heard about the "odd couple," as they'd been nicknamed by the staff.
The truth was that Tokio wasn't as harmless as she looked. She had a mean streak that rivaled his, and Saitou delighted in the woman's company. She could definitely hold her own against him.
That she was easy on the eyes didn't hurt either.
"How's it been?" she asked, opening her bag and beginning to neatly lay out the contents of her lunch.
"Same old," he said, bored, as he watched her. "You?"
"Dull," she said with a sigh. "They aren't up on their reading."
"You should give 'em a pop quiz," he said idly, as a little container of strawberry yogurt and a plastic spoon joined her sandwich.
"You're just mean," she chided, amused.
"Keeps 'em on their toes," he pointed out.
"No wonder they call you the Wolf—you go for the throat."
He smirked.
"Not always—sometimes I just mess with 'em."
"Mm, I heard about that," she said, a vague note of disapproval in her voice. "Honestly, Hajime. Making all the answers on your last test "B"? That's cruel and unusual."
"There was absolutely nothing wrong with that test," he said mildly.
"They thought it was a mean joke."
His smirk reappeared, more malicious than before.
"It was."
She rolled her eyes and shook her head.
"That sort of thing is against the Constitution, you know."
"You had your chance in college to be a government teacher, little miss English nut," he replied.
"At least I don't put my students to sleep," she taunted.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Wanna bet?"
"Government is way more boring than Chaucer."
"Chaucer can blow me."
"Hajime!"
"I'm not taking it back," he informed her loftily.
"Every other story in The Canterbury Tales is about or includes sex in some form," she retorted. "Now how is that boring?"
He raised an eyebrow and considered her.
"Really?" he asked after a moment.
"Well, just about."
"I don't remember that."
"Oh you poor deprived thing," she deadpanned, and he grinned.
"So Chaucer's dirty, huh?"
"Shakespeare too," she said with a grin.
"Shame on you, corrupting the future of tomorrow," he teased, amused.
"It's a long and storied tradition," she replied, still grinning, as she unwrapped her sandwich.
"I had no idea the world of English was so sordid," he said, slumping down in his chair.
"Much more interesting than discussing the legislative branch of government," she smugly replied.
"Sex scandals," he reminded her mildly.
"You don't talk about that," she accused.
He shrugged.
"Not my fault that the current "legislative branch of government" is so boring."
"Or so good at hiding dirty laundry."
"All comes out in the wash eventually," he returned, and she groaned.
"You're so corny," she said with a sigh.
"Are not."
"Are so."
"Oh nice comeback."
"Just keeping things at a manageable level for you."
"Ow—and you talk about me," he said with an amused chuckle, hands clasped over his stomach.
"Is that gross cigarette hanging out of your mouth your lunch?" she asked before taking a little bite of her sandwich and chewing.
"Yep."
She frowned at him and swallowed.
"Hajime," she said, the disapproval clear in her voice this time.
"I don't need to eat a lot," he said dismissively.
"You're supposed to be eating three meals a day," she began.
"I had breakfast," he protested.
"A cup of black coffee and a cigarette does not constitute breakfast, Hajime," she said flatly.
"How do you know what I had?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I didn't…until a second ago."
…damn.
"…Damn."
She sent him a triumphant, smug smirk.
"That was entrapment," he complained.
She stuck her tongue out at him, then slid the other half of her sandwich over to him.
"This is very Lady and the Tramp," he remarked, nevertheless tossing his soggy cigarette away and accepting the offering.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Should a thirty-six year old man be making that kind of comparison?"
"Hey, I have nieces."
"Uh-huh."
"Feh—no respect."
"Eat," she ordered.
"Yeah yeah yeah."
The truth was that he didn't really mind her forcing her food on him—what sane man would, honestly?—but he didn't purposely not eat so that she'd share her food with him (although he'd have been lying if he'd said the thought hadn't crossed his mind more than once). Most days, he brought something and they ate together, occasionally trading sides.
But Saitou had a tendency towards overkill. He smoked too much and drank too much, didn't eat enough or sleep enough. He'd always been a bit of an extremist in what he did, good or bad, and right now he was leaning heavily in the territory of the latter.
He was stuck in one of his more destructive cycles at present. He spent more time sucking on cigarettes than sucking down food, and he was currently at the mercy of one of those bouts of insomnia that came and went. None of this was really showing up on him just yet. He looked a little gaunter than usual, but only a little; he could see the small changes and differences because he knew what to look for and where.
On the upside, though, he hadn't been behind on his grading in a month and a half.
"So what else is new?" he asked.
She thoughtfully cocked her head and considered the question.
"My sister's getting married," she said finally.
"Oh she tricked that poor slob into agreeing?" he asked with a smirk.
"Ha ha ha," she said dryly. "I bet you'd have more trouble than Tami did."
"Damn—just one after another today, huh?"
"You're asking for it."
"You usually hold back a little." He grinned. "Feeling feisty?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Cornball." she accused.
"What was corny about that?"
"Who says "feisty" anymore?"
"Oh now you're going to analyze my word choice?"
"Maybe," she lazily replied.
"Grammar Nazi."
"Oh—them's fightin' words, Mr. Politick."
He grinned widely.
"Bring it," he taunted, and she smiled evilly at him.
"Just remember," she sing songed, eyes twinkling, "you asked for it…"
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Lunch and his time with Tokio passed far too quickly for Saitou's liking—not that that was unusual—and all too soon, it was back to the daily grind and his persona as the most terrifying human being to ever walk the earth.
His students lived in mortal fear of him, and Saitou wouldn't have had it any other way; he thought Machiavelli had been onto something big—feh, huge—when he'd advocated fear over love for those in power. His tactics were simple and effective: a well-placed glare here, a quietly delivered ultimatum there, and controlling the little hooligans was ridiculously easy. His classroom was every bit a dictatorship, and he was fond of telling his students that the closest to democracy they'd experience in his classroom was when they got to choose whether to write lines, no stopping or pausing allowed, or hold two dictionaries, arms outstretched, for an hour if and when they served their first detention with him—what they did during any other detentions served with him after that was entirely at his discretion (he didn't get too many repeat offenders, incidentally).
Consequently, Saitou had established quite a mythos for himself within the AP classes at the school.
His first class after lunch filtered in, loud but not rowdy. He was inclined to overlook his students' behavior (to a certain point, mind) directly after lunch; they'd just eaten and been obnoxious with their friends, and it always took them some extra time to stop being little retards. Once the bell rang, however, they were on his time, and he started promptly—if you missed anything, well, that was just too damn bad.
He was standing at the door today, arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the door with a bored expression on his face. He didn't usually do that unless he was in the mood to actively hunt for uniform violations rather than just waiting to see if any of his students were dumb enough to test their luck.
A surprisingly large number were under the mistaken notion that he was blind as a bat, apparently.
There was a second, less well-known reason for his occasional station at the door: he had students in common with Tokio, and they sometimes talked about her and her class. Most of it was the usual complaint about too much work that all students voiced. But every now and again, one of them would start talking shit about her. And when he heard the less than complimentary remarks, he dealt swift, brutal punishment to the idiot who'd made them, quickly finding something to use against the unlucky soul. To his delight, it required very little effort on his part most of the time, as they usually handed him the tools to their own destruction.
None of them had made the connection yet, and he had no plans to enlighten them, curious about how long it would take them to figure it out.
He'd made note of eight uniform violations when he heard a familiar voice raised in complaint:
"…so fuckin' unfair, man!"
"I know, I can't believe we got reamed like that."
"Che, for real. What a bitch."
Saitou's eyes narrowed. Chou Sawagejou was the bane of his existence. The senior was lazy, loud and irritating, but the kid didn't set his teeth on edge like Sanosuke Sagara, another indolent senior whose most solemn duty in life was also, apparently, attempting to make Saitou's life as difficult as possible. Mostly, Saitou thought the loud-mouthed blonde he called Broomhead was a generally harmless if exasperating moron.
Broomhead was also one of the students he and Tokio had in common, and the most consistent offender.
Saitou was convinced the moron would never make the connection between his extremely improper bitching about Tokio, and Saitou's making his life miserable.
He waited patiently for Broomhead to sign his death warrant. Happily, he didn't have long to wait:
"Man. Miss T needs a man," Chou said bitterly. "If she got some, maybe she wouldn't be such an uptight bitch—who fuckin' cares about dumbfuck Chaucer?"
Like shooting fish in a barrel, Saitou thought with a faint smirk. Honestly, it's almost not fun—almost.
Chou bid his fellow discontented classmate goodbye (Saitou made note of who it was, and was disappointed upon discovering the kid wasn't one of his—damn), then began for the door. He was nearly there when the bell rang, and the blonde sent Saitou a horrified look. Saitou, in turn, sent Chou a slow, evil grin.
"I'll see you after school for the next two days, Broomhead," he said, positively gleeful inside.
"But the bell just rang!" Chou protested loudly.
"And you're nowhere near your seat," Saitou replied. "Sucks to be you."
"Well why two days?!"
"You're two minutes late."
"What? But the bell just—" Chou broke off as he apparently concluded that Saitou was planning to make his statement a reality. "Oh sh—"
Saitou managed to slam the door shut, and got the added satisfaction of Chou crashing into it. He looked over his shoulder at the clock, then looked out over his giggling class, looking for a trustworthy student.
"Honjou," he said. "Time it—two minutes from the bell. And take roll, we've got a schedule to keep."
"Yes sir," Kamatari Honjou chirped.
Saitou nodded, then looked back at the door. Chou sent him a pitiful look through the window.
"Come on Saitou!" he wailed, knocking on the door.
Saitou only smiled in return.
"No," he said with relish.
Chou groaned and slammed his forehead against the door, and Saitou's smirk widened.
God he loved this job.