Crystals of ice formed high in the swirling gray mass of clouds hunched over the Tokyo region, spinning flakes of snow into the wind that drifted in lazy formations onto the city below. Business and the pursuit of pleasure had slowed to a dead crawl, with only the most industrious or foolhardy shouldering their way through the drifts. Merchants huddled over hot sake were cursing amongst themselves, muttering about the unprecedented cold snap that brought any kind of work to a grinding halt, even the vaunted invincibility of the steam engines. It had not snowed thus in Tokyo for over ten years, ran the general consensus. Only idiots were abroad.

One such foolhardy man stomped and kicked his way through snow drifts, his movements more stiff and pronounced with each step. He was tall and reed-slender, a dark blanket clutched around his shoulders, spiky brown hair salted with a dusting of snow. The young man had the build of a fighter and moved with controlled vehemence; if there had been pedestrians in the street they might have scurried out of the path to avoid the look in his eyes.

Sagara Sanosuke shouldered into a tiny, snow-bound corner office, shaking the snow from his bandage-bound boots, dark eyes incredulous. The outer office was typically manned by a clerk who kept the wood-stove burning and was quick to offer a hot cup of tea in winter. Today the fires were cold, as was the dim interior of the outer office. The contrast between expectation and reality made him linger on the threshold, chewing uncertainty.

The strand of long-stemmed grain switched from one corner of his mouth to the other. "Hello? Excuse me?" Sano called loudly. Though the office appeared empty, credulity dictated otherwise -- there was no rest for the wicked, after all.

Eyes traveling further within the cramped set of offices, Sano spotted a faint glow of illumination limning the crack of a door up the hall. He snorted softly. He would have hated to think he'd come in for nothing.

"Excuse me for not knocking," Sano said brusquely, shoving the inner office door open and chafing his hands over his chilled arms. The blanket, which he'd used in lieu of the jacket he didn't own, was tossed to the side to dry itself out on the chair set by the room's sole source of warmth: a tin stove.

"It's snowing." He said the word like an accusation, folding his arms against his bare chest, white jacket with its single concise kanji "Bad" pulled tight around him. He turned his head and spat, depositing the stem of grain in the corner trash can.

Saitoh Hajime barely looked up from the ledger behind his desk. "No one asked you to come," he said calmly, running a gloved finger beside a line of cramped characters.

"You bastard--" Sanosuke bristled for all of an instant, holding up a fist, then he subsided into a pile of simmering resentment, propping his lanky body against the door frame. He could recognize now when Saitoh's attention was fully fixed on something to the exclusion of all else. "Is that any way to greet someone who's been out doing your dirty work for weeks?"

Saitoh continued to ignore him, his keen amber eyes darting over weather-spotted parchment.

It had been a few weeks since Sanosuke had seen the old wolf, and he found himself regretting his impulsive decision to plow his way into the office despite the snow. If this was the kind of reception he could expect -- but Saitoh was that kind of man, difficult and disagreeable. Still, on some level everything he did made sense.

Getting the key to his tricky code of conduct, however, was a work requiring years of experience.

Sagara Sanosuke wanted to make it on his own, yet had found himself accepting Saitoh's deal a matter of months ago. It was to become stronger, he told himself as part of the argument prior to agreement. Under no circumstances could it possibly be to stay close to the old bastard, unless that closeness were to ensure he adhered to his own code. "Sin, Swift, Slay." The point of the Shinsen Gumi creed had been drilled into him before. Saitoh Hajime was a formidable opponent for anyone.

He was an even harsher taskmaster to work for, Sano had discovered quickly in the intervening months. He would have been disappointed were that not the case.

"When it's cold outside, the best thing to do is stay inside," Sano muttered, clutching at his arms, hands shuffing up and down in convulsive movements, fruitlessly seeking to spark warmth in his flesh. "So what am I doing here? It doesn't snow in Tokyo, it doesn't snow in Tokyo..."

"You keep saying that like your annoying mantra will make it stop," Saitoh observed, finally lifting his eyes and pinning the former brawler with one irritated yellow eye. "Why don't you keep hot air in, and shut your mouth?"

"I don't like you," Sano spoke up, his words clear and precise. "But your stupid operations are a source of easy money and besides, it's the best way to keep an eye on the treacherous operations of the Meiji government."

A thin black brow raised. "Is that what you're telling yourself these days?" Saitoh actually sounded amused.

"Gah! Shut up! When you say it like that, it sounds like an excuse!"

"Take it however you like." With that, Saitoh returned his attention to the report.

Sano idled uselessly by the door for a moment, chewing over his anger, then flung himself into the chair beside the door. "I'll wait," he muttered between clenched teeth. "But I won't wait forever. I'm not your dog or your lackey."

What was he, then? Sano's thoughts continued along that track. Working for Saitoh, was he really pursuing his ideals, or was he compromising himself? Ahh, it was too subjective, and he'd never had such a good head on his shoulders to begin with. All he knew was he'd spent over a year abroad and being back, doing this, gave him the sense of joining part in something worth doing again.

After a time the drowsy warmth of the room began to lull Sano into a kind of trance. He leaned back in the chair and allowed his eyes to drift shut.

Whether he dreamed or not after he opened his eyes, he couldn't recall. Something was shaking him, a hand on his shoulder crisp and impersonal. A steaming cup of tea entered his field of vision and Sano grasped at it out of reflex, blinking up at Saitoh as he shook the remnants of sleep from his eyes.

Saitoh's amber eyes were focused on him now, that narrow look of concentration that Sano remembered. That sort of look, he hadn't seen it turned on him many times unless he had done something surprising. Meeting his gaze, Saitoh pulled a different expression, cool and reflective, before the weight of his yellow eyes made Sano look away.

"Since you stayed, you may as well give me your report," Saitoh said calmly.

Sano gritted his teeth. "Means that much to you, huh?" he shot back, then waved a hand over his steaming tea before slurping some down. "Fine, fine...I'd like to think I stayed for a reason."

All Saitoh did, in response, was raise a thin black brow and return to his chair, lifting his own cup of tea to his lips. The tilt of his head, the lingering movement of his lips on the rim of the cup, watching him swallow -- it only served to infuriate Sano more.

Sano cleared his throat. "Well, I did the usual. I took your expense money and went gambling." He said the words with relish, but as was typical Saitoh didn't even twitch a brow. It wasn't so satisfying when it was something he was *supposed* to do. "Togashi's got money, all right. He throws around a lot of it. He claims to be a lender, but he's not backed by any banks so you know what that means. All the guys I talked to confirmed the rumor -- he's got ties to someone in politics and he does their dirty work, but no one's seen the guy."

Leaning back in his chair, Saitoh sparked a cigarette to life. His eyes were inscrutable, the very steadiness in them waiting for Sano to continue.

Sano tried to control the flow of color to his face but there, too, he knew he fought a losing battle. It made him angry because he knew that Saitoh probably had a good idea of who Togashi's backer was, and still kept him in the dark. He wanted Sano to figure it out, or at least, was simply using him for the information he could obtain from the low end. Controlling the surge of wounded pride he had begun to recognize as counter-productive, he continued.

"So he left for Yokohama to take care of his business...ch', I'll bet he's warmer than us right now. Right before he left, he put out word he'd be hiring more toughs. Narita-kun, one of the guys I cozied up to, said he does that every year -- hires local toughs and if they live through his 'assignments,' gives 'em bonuses."

"Hmm." Saitoh took the cigarette from his lip and exhaled a plume of smoke. "Sounds as if you should join his group when he returns."

Sano grinned at him, raising a fist. "Figured you'd say something like that. Of course, I had to come back to get more expense money first."

"You mean freeload," Saitoh corrected, tapping his cigarette at the edge of his tray. "Is that all? It's a shame you're not more useful yet..."

"Why, you..." Sano shot to his feet, forgetting his tea and slopping it over his blanket. "I did exactly what you told me to--"

"For once," Saitoh interjected.

There was a sly glint in the policeman's eyes, and Sano bit off the sharp retort that sprang to his tongue. He was playing right into the old bastard's pace again, and it seemed even time and distance didn't make him any wiser to it.

"At any rate," Sano said, clenching his teeth hard enough to grind, "sorry my head's not good enough to take advantage of the situation. I guess I'm supposed to turn right around and go back now, huh?"

"Don't be stupid," Saitoh replied after an insultingly long pause, while Sano clamped his back teeth together and counted backward from a large number. "You have to eat first, after all."

"Aargh!"

***

On the outskirts of town where the snow blanketed the streets in soft foldings of white, Seta Soujiro had arrived at last. It had been a troublesome journey. Soujiro brushed at his forehead with one hand, dislodging the snow that clung to his bangs, then chafed both hands together. It was cold as he approached Tokyo, a bitter kind of cold that numbed exposed skin. He hadn't felt this kind of cold since his earliest memories, living with his mother in Nagoya.

He wasn't quite sure what he was doing here, but he was sure of one thing: Saitoh Hajime, the secret policeman now known as Fujita Goro, was an inescapable part of the journey he hadn't yet finished.

He shifted, hitching the joined packs over his shoulder and pulling his tattered overcoat, a gift, tighter about his slender body. The weight of the katana at his hip was an automatic accomodation in his stride as he quickened his steps through snowy streets, his feet going numb beneath him. Everything he possessed was a gift of some form or another.

The katana was worse than a gift...it was a burden, one he had not yet decided how to handle.

He could deal mineuchi to his opponents, and beat them down with the reverse edge of his sword...the one thing he knew was that he didn't want to kill. Faced with that choice once more, if the blood began to flow would he be able to stop?

Still, Saitoh's words burned into him in a place that remained unsettled from when Himura had first disturbed it.

Enough time had passed since Soujiro had retraced his steps to Nagoya. He knew now that he couldn't profess to know what he wanted for his life -- and traveling like a vagabond was not the answer. That had been Himura Kenshin's path, the way of the rurouni. For Soujiro, that path had only raised more troubling questions. So Seta Soujiro would go to the city, and find out what Saitoh had really intended with his offer.

White flakes spiraled down from the sky unlike any precipitation Soujiro had known. He had no point of reference for this thick fall of snow, feeling as if he were adrift on a sheet of ice and surrounded by fog. He had stopped twice for directions, because each street looked the same.

What would he say, when he saw the man again?

Coming to a stop outside a corner office, windows dark and blank like dead eyes, Soujiro focused on the wooden placard that was nailed beside the door. Regional office, outlying district of ---, and a number. Surely, it was empty on a day like this; he should have known. Soujiro's breath huffed on the icy air. He had arrived at the address that Saitoh had given him, such a long time ago the memory felt more like a dream.

There had been a hazy night, when he with a wounded mind had turned to Saitoh's offered comfort...if it had been that and not pure desire that had driven the man between his thighs. Soujiro's cheeks, already red with cold, burned hotter. He wasn't here for that, and surely Saitoh would not mistake his intentions.

He realized after a moment his hand had dropped to a natural resting position on the katana at his waist, and Soujiro hastily removed it. He crept forward on numb toes to peer through the heavy plate window beside the door.

Before he reached it, though, the door burst open with startling vigor and Soujiro scrambled back to avoid getting beaten in the face. He stood and blinked guilelessly at a sight he hardly would have expected in this, of all places.

Sagara Sanosuke hauled himself short on the threshold, his dark brown eyes moving over Soujiro in jerks. Understanding blossomed on his face. He flung out a finger. "Y-you!"

Though Soujiro's startlement was every bit as sharp, and if he weren't so reserved he might have performed the same action, he began to laugh.

Sagara reddened, but opened the door wider as he sized up Soujiro in a glance. "Come in, get your frozen blue-butt boy ass in here...that is, if you don't want to die of cold."

"Aren't you going to ask me what I'm doing here, Sagara-san?"

"Sano's good enough for me," the taller man answered, casting another glance over his shoulder. Now that Sano was past his initial startlement, Soujiro found the tall brawler's gaze to be quite keen, almost shrewd. There was a calculation that simply hadn't been there the last time Soujiro had seen him, attached to Himura's side. "I don't need to ask. If you're here, it's for the same wolf-eyed bastard who dragged me into this racket."

Soujiro blinked once more, scrunching his eyes to mere slits, and followed Sano in out of the cold.

***

"Ah," Saitoh said, looking up from his desk and the neat precision of files laid before him as Sano led the smiling tensai into his office. His gaze went straight past Sano this time.

"Ah?" Sano repeated, emotion teetering between anger and indignance. So he was right, Saitoh *had* been expecting the boy. Saitoh had a way of using people, and Sano tried never to forget it. Still, the thought that Sano might one day no longer be considered useful...

Sano entertained no illusions that he was special in any way to the sharp-eyed secret policeman. Even so, there had been an almost comforting regularity to the occasional brusque interventions of the man. While one or two might have been coincidence, Sano knew that Saitoh had sought him out deliberately.

This sudden arrival of the boy-swordsman threw Sano off-balance. Seta Soujiro would never show up here without Saitoh's recruiting...not when the last place he'd been headed was north, outrunning the collapse of Shishio's empire and the prospect of capture like his fellow Ten Swords.

The boy was taller, older, a blade of beauty thin and refined. Sano put his finger on the source of disquiet. Soujiro wasn't a boy any longer, and he still moved with gathered grace, his eyes deceptively guileless.

He wasn't a boy, Sano acknowledged, but he was not yet a man.

What place did Saitoh intend for him? It naturally followed that if Fujita-san had invited the tensai to this particular set of offices, he already had a purpose for him -- and it was covert.

Soujiro's quiet, decisive voice derailed Sano's train of thought.

"I'm through with running," he said calmly to Saitoh, as if it were part of an ongoing conversation, or so simple a greeting.

Saitoh's amber eyes gleamed. "Welcome back," he said coolly, and brought forth a fresh cigarette. "You're either early, or late. It's in the middle of a storm and there's not much to do today."

"I'm glad to see the snow," Soujiro said thoughtfully, "but I hadn't remembered the cold. It's inconvenient."

"Hn," Saitoh said, looking him over. "Come back when it's not snowing."

"Oh," Soujiro said, and blinked. He then added politely, "I'm sorry for intruding. Well, then--" He turned as if he would, indeed, leave the office in his shabby, threadbare coat, double pack thrown over his shoulder. It obviously possessed all his worldly goods.

Sano forgot he was a bystander, and opened his mouth. "Are you kidding? He's a bum, just look at him -- he's got less money than I do, and he wouldn't survive this weather."

Soujiro's head turned and the suddenly eerie glint in his eyes reminded Sano of tales about oni or possession. "I can take care of myself."

"Then take him with you," Saitoh interrupted. "You were on your way toward food and drink anyhow, weren't you?"

Sano seethed, biting down on his lip and tasting the tang of metal. He had played neatly into Saitoh's trap, as always. "Don't have enough money," he muttered sullenly. As the plan had been to wait until Saitoh got there, hence ensuring the arrival of someone who would pay, that much was true.

Saitoh expelled a hissing sigh, dark brows drawing together in a formidable frown. "You really did spend all the expense money," he stated, opening a drawer. "As always, you don't look toward the future..."

"You TOLD me to--"

"Following orders is a commendable skill, but developing independent thought is necessary for survival," Saitoh said thoughtfully, flicking his cigarette. "It's a pity you seem incapable of developing independent thought."

"Why, you--"

"Of course," Saitoh added blandly, "I'd have to kill you if you embezzled from me, so I suppose it's for the best. This should take care of you, and Seta-kun as well." He tossed a small, jingling purse at Sano's head; reflexively Sano grasped it and glared.

Sano turned an eye on the purse and weighed it in his hand, then grinned.

"Not the red-light district," Saitoh added, turning a look on Sano that possessed no humor when he saw the former brawler's eyes light up. "Take him to that inn we've used before."

Sano clenched his fist around the pouch. "That inn--" he began, not sure if he was complaining or confirming. A half-materialized wisp of fear took up residence within his stomach. *That* inn, the place where Saitoh had taken him for purposes that had nothing to do with police business.

"That inn," Saitoh repeated, stubbing out his cigarette in the tray on his desk.

"Got it," Sano said with a jerk of his head, and turned to face the boy. Seta Soujiro looked up at him with a disturbingly sunny smile. "Let's go, and hurry -- it's cold out there."

Saitoh's eyes were like coals burning into his back as Sano pulled the door shut behind them, afraid for once that he'd understood.

***

The snow skirled over Sagara's shoulders and into Soujiro's face, bringing that same numbing cold he remembered from one afternoon of childhood. He kept his head down and followed the dark-etched 'Bad' on the back of Sagara's jacket.

Following, he was always following other people. He thought of the last time he'd seen Sagara -- in the Chaos Room, his place in the fighting ranks of the Ten Swords. That had been when his troubled mind had caved under the pressure of Himura's reverse-sword.

Comparing now to that time, how far had he traveled?

Sagara led him through the white confusion of snowy Tokyo streets, pressing for some unknown goal. "That inn," Saitoh had said, some point of reference between the two of them. "Come back when it's not snowing." After walking in like that Soujiro felt he had become an intrusion.

Then Sagara turned beside one lighted doorway, giving him a grin only slightly guarded. At that look Soujiro pondered that, for someone whom he'd faced across the boundaries of a room as an enemy, Sagara seemed remarkably easy in his presence.

"It's not like you," Sagara said abruptly.

"Huh?" Soujiro reached up, again, to brush bangs out of his eyes, cold fingers dislodging icy points of snow.

"Wandering around like a lost puppy in the snow, coming to call at Fujita's door...it's not like you," Sagara told him. "You were Shishio's right-hand man, weren't you?"

Soujiro gave him a smile that glimmered between innocence and warning. "Oh, I think you're recalling Hojo-san," he said cheerfully. "I just ran errands, my head wasn't good for anything more complicated."

Brown eyes narrowed in an appraising squint, and Sagara reached without looking to open the door of the inn. "That's what makes you so dangerous," he muttered, seeming to speak to himself. "You seem harmless and then you say things like that."

"Didn't you live off Kamiya-san's goodwill?" Soujiro inquired off-handedly, following him into the inn. "Yet that's not how you're living now."

Sagara glared over his shoulder. "Those are two completely different things."

Soujiro decided not to belabor the point.

A pretty girl greeted them and ushered them to warm seats near the kitchen, using familiar language with Sagara. Her cheeks pinked as Sagara chatted with her casually for a moment and placed an order for sake. She darted swiftly behind cloth flaps into the kitchen area at the end of the exchange. Sagara, seeming oblivious, turned to look at him once more.

"I don't know if you drink sake or not...but it's the fastest way to warm up after a cold day like this one," Sagara told him, leaning back and chafing his hands together.

"I'll try it," Soujiro said cautiously. He still remembered the night in Yukimura-ko, the burning sensation that left him flushed and oddly off-balance. "You seem quite familiar with this place, Sagara-san." His eyes tracked to the cotton flaps that demarcated kitchen from eating areas; they were marked with the characters for the inn's name, Kurobeko.

"Eh, well. It's, er, cheap." Sagara leaned forward suddenly. "And I told you, Sano's good enough for me."

"But--" Soujiro began to protest politely.

Sagara shook his head. "The only real Sagara in my head is Sagara-taichou, and he's been dead for over ten years now."

"Ah," Soujiro said with a blink, and fell silent. Shishio had never instructed him to find out about this young man who had become the wild card that helped bring his revolution to a halt. As a result of that miscalculation, Soujiro found he didn't know what to expect here and now of Sagara Sanosuke.

"Good, sake!" Sano exclaimed, rubbing his hands together again as the serving girl returned to their table. She set down the carafe and two cups, smiled demurely at Sano, and poured for both of them. She took Sano's order for food, and withdrew. "This'll warm you right up, kid."

"I'm not a kid," Soujiro contradicted pleasantly, "anymore than you are."

Sano chuckled, picking up the tiny cup between thumb and forefinger and balancing it. "You still don't know where you're going, do you?" The pointed question threw Soujiro into a minor quandary. How could he answer that? Sano didn't wait for it. "Just the way I was, when I was your age." He tossed back the cup and drained it in one swallow.

"You're not that much older than I am," Soujiro accused, narrowing his eyes.

"Probably not," Sano admitted, and picked up the carafe himself this time, shaking it. He grimaced. "But that time really makes a difference. Should have ordered a jug for myself."

Soujiro glanced at him, startled. He had barely sipped at his first cup and already it had jump-started a fire within him. Sano wasn't too much older, but certainly seemed more mature in some respects...while less so in others.

"Well?" Sano leaned back in his seat. "What do you think?"

"It burns," Soujiro replied frankly.

Sano threw his head back and laughed. "Hahaha! Maybe I'll ask you a little bit later, then."

Soujiro lifted the small cup and took another cautious sip, flushing with Sano's eyes upon him. If the older man thought he was going to go ahead and get drunk...but he'd been right about one thing, it was already warming him >from the chill that swept the streets and numbed his skin. Bad weather for business, or anything that needed to be done outdoors. It was small wonder Saitoh-san had told him to come back when it wasn't snowing. Sano had contradicted that...who was he to speak up on Soujiro's behalf, countermanding Saitoh himself?

"If it's out of character for me to be here, Sano-san, finding you here in Fujita-san's office was the last place I might have expected to see you again," Soujiro said, setting his cup down. He watched with mild apprehension as Sano filled his cup once more.

"Ah, that." The other man's face was dark. "You wouldn't think, huh? No, you wouldn't... Well, even back then he was my rival...and my goal." Sano folded his hands together, elbows resting at the edge of the table.

"Your goal?" Soujiro said, puzzled.

"Aa," Sano replied briefly. "That guy is unbelievably strong. And so I said to myself, I want to beat him!" He held up a fist, and his eyes glinted.

"So," Soujiro said. "Well, that's understandable." He found himself re-thinking the nuances of this young man's relationship with Himura. Certainly Sano possessed great admiration for Himura, but if someone like Saitoh was the goal he wanted to surpass...

"Ha," Sano said, and set his mouth. "He beat the crap out of me, the first two times we fought. And now he..." Sano turned his head.

"He...?" Soujiro prompted.

"Food, ah, good, I'm famished!" Sano said with enthusiasm, greeting the return of the pretty serving girl. "Tell Yae-san I'm grateful for her food, as always."

"I will, Sanosuke-san," the girl said, lowering her head and placing their food before them, then retreating with a blush.

Soujiro looked after her speculatively once more. She was lovely, a girl around his own age, obviously interested in Sano, who was just as obviously oblivious to it. Soujiro himself knew that she was pretty in the same abstract sense he had known Yumi was very lovely, or a scene or painting could be beautiful. Women stirred as much interest to him as the inanimate -- he could appreciate, yet what he knew to be the normal response was lacking. He had already begun to accept what this meant about him, as much as one could without thinking on it too much. It was small wonder Saitoh had been interested in him that way.

Sano hadn't answered directly what he was doing with Saitoh. Combined with these small observations, Soujiro was drawing a very interesting conclusion.

Perhaps...what he was seeing across the table was a mirror of sorts?

"It's good," Soujiro said after a moment, tasting his food.

"Of course it is!" Sano said with relish, plying his chopsticks with dizzying speed. He ate as if he hadn't done so in days, and might any moment snatch up the rice bowl and shove his face into it.

They ate in silence for a time given the default of Sano's enthusiastic feeding frenzy. After a polite pause while Soujiro inhaled the fragrance of food, he found himself falling to it at nearly the same rate. It had, after all, been some time since he'd eaten...perhaps the many days' gap that Sano's eating habits seemed to allude to. During the course of the meal Soujiro found himself sipping at the cup of sake beside him, only to find it replenished. It filled him with the relief of warmth from the cold, and so he did not protest. The food, too, eased an ache within him; he ate greedily, and it was with surprise that Soujiro found himself at last confronted with the remnants of a meal.

Sano sat back with a satisfied sort of air. "Thanks for the food," he mumbled perfunctorily, drained the last of his sake, and belched.

Soujiro laughed outright.

"Ne, Sano," he began, leaning forward -- rather, tipping forward and steadying himself against the table. "So how did you end up in Fujita-san's service, under those circumstances?"

"Eh, well..." Sano's cheeks were a little rosy already, thanks to the sake he'd imbibed, but unless it were Soujiro's imagination he reddened even more. "Long story."

"I have a great deal of time," Soujiro observed, resting his cheek on one hand. "I'm not to come back until the snow stops falling, after all."

Sano waved a hand. "Oh, that...don't take him so literally. He just meant today wasn't a good day...he didn't even have his clerks, everything's shut down because of the weather."

"You know him that well," Soujiro observed, his tone level.

"Yeah, well..." Sano reached for the carafe of sake, seeming to slouch in his seat. "Anyone would pick up something like that, working with that guy a couple of years. He..."

"He...?" Soujiro prompted, his curiosity piqued.

Sano had the expression of one who had tried to bite off words he knew he might regret later. He was caught, though, by Soujiro's expression of interest. "He's hard to read when you first know him," Sano began, looking as if he were chewing on rusty nails, "but even though he's a right bastard, he's fair above anything else. Even if I hate to admit it."

Soujiro gave him a sunny smile. "Fujita-san struck me as that sort of individual," he said calmly. He thought he knew, too, the half-formed thought that Sano had begun to voice. Saitoh was crusty on the outside, cold, imperturbable, walking in the specter of merciless justice always...but there was a side to him that was unexpectedly considerate, as well, though it manifested in subtler expression.

There was a side of him that was unexpectedly passionate, as Soujiro had discovered, and now he with his keen eye was certain that Sano knew that side of Saitoh as well as he, if not more so.

"I'm full," Sano said abruptly, pushing his bowl away from him, laying his chopsticks over it. "And you must be tired. There's rooms above here that Yae-san rents out, but only to a few favored clients. Somehow that old wolf got on the list."

Soujiro looked into his delicate cup and the glimmering sake there. He drained the last of it, feeling it trickle down his throat -- no longer warming but a thread of numbness. A pleasant feeling had kindled in his belly.

"I'm not so tired," Soujiro replied, giving his companion an enigmatic smile.

"Oh?" Sano looked over at him with raised brows. "Should I order more sake, then?"

"I don't know about that," Soujiro demurred. "Still, if you want to...I'd like to learn more about what it's like, working under Fujita-san."

Again, a telling flush warmed Sano's cheeks, there and gone quickly enough that Soujiro could wonder if it were imagination or sake that had put it there. "I'm just one of his people on the street, I know," Sano began, holding up his bandaged fist and looking at it with somber brown eyes. "I know he's got more...like Chou, your old buddy from the Ten Swords."

"It's good to hear he's thriving," Soujiro said, and wondered briefly about the rest. Chou had only been one of those to cut a deal with the Meiji government, something that surely would have made Shishio rant in his fiery grave.

"He'll give you jobs to do," Sano continued, signaling the serving girl and waggling the sake carafe at her in a clear directive. "But he'll leave the means up to you. It's like a goddamned test. From what I can tell, Fujita in his role with the police force is allowed to use whatever he deems necessary to get the job done -- which includes using punks like me on his payroll."

"Oh?" Soujiro interjected.

"Yeah." Sano set his fist on the table, appearing to think about something. "But it's not like he's using me. That's why I came to do this. It's more like he challenges me -- the way I thought Kenshin would challenge me -- to put myself to good use."

Soujiro tipped his head to the side. "I think I understand," he replied, thoughtful. Hadn't Saitoh's words to him been aimed at exactly that? A sword was made for one thing. It was forged to be put to use. For someone of his brilliance to take up a sword he had no intention of using was a waste...

When the serving girl fetched another carafe of sake, Soujiro made the mistake of accepting the cup that Sano poured for him. He was sitting, and so he did not feel more than the slight warmth he remembered from his last encounter with the potent alcohol. They remained seated by the heat of the kitchen for over an hour while Sano regaled him with tales from the deeds he'd done since departing Tokyo the last time -- he told him about his time in Shanghai, in getting lost on his way to the coast after his ship sank, in coming back to find Saitoh telling him quite bluntly he had the choice to join him and be pardoned, or run free and end up in jail.

"The old wolf's always been a bastard," Sano said, upending the last drops of sake into his own mouth and bypassing the cup completely. "I guess you could say he's always looked out for me, though. I mean, I'd be flat broke in the gutter by now, or in some jail cell like Anji, if it weren't for Saitoh."

"Fujita-san," Soujiro corrected quickly. He was leaning against the table for support now.

"Ah, yeah, whatever his name is."

There was a long pause while both of them contemplated their empty cups.

"I think," Soujiro said, with exaggerated precision, "I am quite drunk."

Sano blinked across the table at him. "Lightweight."

"I do weigh less than you," Soujiro agreed cheerfully.

"No, that's not what I--" Sano cut himself off with an aggravated shake of the head. "Eh, forget it. I guess we've got to get you upstairs, then. Not gonna throw up, are you?"

Soujiro considered it. "No." He was relieved. He thought that kind of beginning with a new colleague would leave the worst sort of lasting impression.

The hustle of paying for meals and arranging for a room with Yae-san passed largely in a blurred sort of altered consciousness for Soujiro. He remembered hanging by Sano's side with his arm draped over the former brawler's shoulders; he remembered the plain regularity of the owner's features, her uptilted eyes, and her "Oh my" upon seeing Soujiro, followed by a scolding that made Sano hang his head. After that, though, there was nothing in between listening to Sano make arrangements for a room for three -- that snagged at his bleary consciousness for a moment, the number making him wonder -- and being placed on the cool bedding of a futon.

"It's cold!" Soujiro exclaimed, clutching at the nearest source of warmth. He heard a muffled 'hey!' and looked up, flushing madly as he realized his cheek rubbed against bare skin. Even in winter, Sagara Sanosuke didn't wear more than the 'Bad' jacket and the bandages that corseted his midsection.

Sano was looking at him with a peculiar expression. "You too, huh?" he murmured, his voice oddly rough, and for that instant Soujiro felt transparent as a screen of the thinnest shoji. Fingers traced a path down his cheek. "I guess we're not so different, heh, except you're much prettier than me."

In the half-circle of his arm Soujiro began to struggle, placing a hand against the warmth of naked flesh beside him. "I'm not pretty," he protested, though he had been called *bishounen* before, by Yumi and others.

"You are," Sano told him with a chuckle. "You can't help it."

He pushed for distance now where he had just sought closeness a moment before. Gaining that foothold of objectivity, he looked up and met the candle-shadowed darkness of Sano's eyes.

Perhaps it was the sake; that could always be blamed in these situations. Soujiro knew, though, he had only been approaching drunk one time before this, and the last time he had faced this choice he had given in with his eyes wide open. Sano's grip on him shifted, fingers digging into Soujiro's arms. Perhaps it was the unmistakable look in his eyes, hot, desirous, focused purely on him.

"We're not different in this way, either."

Whatever it was, after those words Soujiro didn't break away, only lifted his face when Sano lowered to kiss him like he would eat him from the mouth and down.

***

For a long moment as Sano looked down into that flushed, candlelight-limned face, he questioned his urges. It wasn't that he was ignorant of what the moment begged; no, for all his youth, he'd had his share of sexual encounters. To draw this kind of connection between himself and this smiling prodigy, though -- a boy he'd been wary of, *angry* at during their last encounter -- that was what gave him pause.

In a way it was also as if he and the Soujiro of now were rivals. That was the point he'd pinned down earlier.

At this particular instant, the only thing he could think of was the Soujiro who had burrowed close to his warmth. *I'm not pretty,* he declared, as if it were an absolute. As Soujiro looked up into his eyes, Sano had the oddest sensation that the boy could read his thoughts, and knew what he was going to do next. Then again, Sano knew he was obvious under the best of circumstances, as Saitoh demonstrated to him repeatedly -- and Soujiro was smarter than he gave himself credit for.

They had both been singled out by Saitoh. That was undoubtedly for the potential the old wolf hoped to extract from both of them, but for this instant, Sano could see what the eyes of his sometime-lover must have seen.

Voice roughening, Sano said aloud, "We're not different in this way, either."

He'd given Soujiro the chance to escape. Now was the time for action.

The kiss he pressed down onto the boy's upturned mouth was like a seal, hot, compulsively binding them together. The lips beneath his were still for so long that Sano began to wonder again if he was making a mistake; the slightest puff of breath strained against his mouth, then he felt Soujiro relax into the kiss, his lips yielding.

Sano had a tight grip on Soujiro's shoulders, and he relaxed this as the boy flowed up against him, his fisted hands pressing against Sano's chest but not to shove him away. He ate slowly at Soujiro's mouth, almost gentle, then kissed him with a rising intensity, his tongue tracing the line of those lips that had parted just barely for him. Still no resistance. Sano pushed his tongue into Soujiro's mouth, all trembling heat, and his hands spread over Soujiro's back, holding delicate shoulder blades in splayed fingers as he took what was offered.

He tasted the lingering flavors of sake and the meal within his mouth, and felt Soujiro's tongue pressing back against his own, inquisitive and eager. At this, Sano growled, tilting Soujiro in his arms until his mouth fit even better and he plundered from this angle, losing himself in this initial test of dominance. He took all the offered secrets of Soujiro's mouth, tongue and teeth clashing, flicking over his gums, holding fast to the lush line of his bottom lip before releasing him at last, panting.

Soujiro's eyes were upturned shadows in the dark room and Sano searched them. There was no trace of a quailing virgin in his arms. Nothing to hold him back. Still...

"I didn't quite expect this," Soujiro murmured, catching his breath, and licked his lips.

"You want me to keep you warm?" Sano muttered back, brief impression of the moment before flickering through his brain. *Cold,* Soujiro had cried, reaching for him. He wondered how often Soujiro, like he, had been forced to sustain himself through the cold.

"You taste like sake," Soujiro said incongruously, one hand reaching up to touch the side of his face.

Sano evaded the caress and bent his head again, taking Soujiro's parted lips. The boy made a startled sound but gave himself up to the kiss again, outstretched hand settling at the base of Sano's neck, holding them together. Sano half-growled again, a satisfied sound, and slid his hands down to take a more secure grip on Soujiro's firm waist.

That single glance had assured him of what he wanted to know. He hadn't asked, but Soujiro wasn't an inexperienced boy -- he knew what Sano was doing and what he himself wanted.

Their lips met again, exploring, testing, and Sano's hands skimmed down the threadbare kimono top Soujiro wore, moved over the stiff crest at the rear of his hakama. Soujiro released a startled sound as Sano's fingers cupped him there, taking each round of his buttocks in hand and squeezing.

"You're...ah...you're very direct!" Soujiro panted against his collarbone, and rubbed a flushed cheek against Sano's skin. His fingers were digging into Sano's stomach muscles now, sliding lower with seemingly unconscious volition.

"You want this, don't you?" was Sano's rejoinder.

Instead of answering in words, Soujiro stretched up to offer his mouth again, laying it on him as a challenge, the feel of his lips sparking Sano's blood.

He flexed his fingers and pulled Soujiro close, making the boy hum in surprise at his close handling. They were already close to supine, kneeling on the futon Sano had intended to tuck Soujiro into with chaste intent, until desire had its say.

With all these tacit permissions given, Sano felt free to push Soujiro to a reclining position on the beddingand do as desire urged him. *Impatient ass,* Saitoh's voice flashed in his ear, giving him a pinprick pause. The old wolf wasn't here right now, though, and his firm orders on tonight's venue -- *that inn* -- was a seal on the proceedings.

Sano froze in the midst of nuzzling Soujiro's bare throat, hands braced on the boy's shoulders again. With this, was he falling into Saitoh's pace again? Had the damned yellow-eyed bastard *planned* for this sort of thing? Successive thoughts followed: it felt too good to care, this was what he wanted, and did it really matter anyhow?

"Sano?" Soujiro murmured, hand still curled at the base of his neck. His shadowed eyes glimmered up at him in the faint light that the corner lamp cast.

He shook his head, pressing his moist lips to Soujiro's throat. The salt of his skin was a welcome contrast to the heady sweetness of the boy's mouth, flavored as it was with the remnants of sake and their meal.

It had been some time since he'd played the seme role in bedplay, which might be one reason he was so eager for it now. With anxious hands and quick, jerky movements he stripped Soujiro of his kimono top, baring more skin for exploration. The boy was shivering beneath him, but when Sano looked up, tongue flickering over one pebbled nipple, Soujiro's face was drawn in lines of anticipation, and there was the pressure of his hand -- it cupped the base of Sano's skull in silent urging.

Lying by candlelight thus, it was hard to believe the boy beneath him was the deadliest thing in the room, swifter than the fastest warrior Sano had known. There might have been something in his eyes, an edge, a hint of that quickening cleverness and a keen awareness of their current situation, sprawled now in rumpled blankets but it was given up to the moment as Sano slid a leg over his body and one hand pressed over trembling stomach muscles. He kissed Soujiro again, fiercely, and the boy took his face in both hands like a lover, passionate, holding him to his mouth as they tangled again.

His questing hand found the knot of Soujiro's obi and undid it with nimble fingers, pressing onward as Soujiro made a soft noise against his mouth. The sound vibrated between them and Sano kissed the boy harder, his tongue a squirm of enthusiasm within that receptive mouth. It felt good...

What his palm found felt even better. He pushed aside the scrap of undergarment and took Soujiro's slender, stiffening cock in hand. Now with his wet mouth Sano tracked down the boy's neck, pressing him into the bedclothes. Soujiro cried out then bit his own lip, trying to stifle the loudness of pleasure.

Part of Sano wanted to encourage those delicious noises; they spurred him on. Practicality won, but he stretched up to lick the bead of coppery-dark blood that welled up on Soujiro's lip. With his grip on the boy's hardness he drew a rhythm from him, causing those delicate-boned hips to slam up against his weight as Soujiro gasped again.

Sano grinned, licked the bottom line of the boy's lip again, and kept him pinned down as he moved to straddle him, hand still moving in maddening beats. *I'll show you impatient, old wolf,* he spoke to the lover who wasn't there. Soujiro was in disarray beneath him, a pretty, erotic picture that could have been a leaf from an inciting shun-ga. The thought was threaded within his consciousness that he wanted to make this good -- not merely for himself but for Soujiro.

"Ahh...ahh..." The boy was panting, trying to thrust up against the weight slung over his legs, one hand fisted at his mouth.

"Like that?" Sano muttered, voice gone hoarse. He bent to Soujiro's exposed chest, fingers still moving insistently over the slender, straining cock wedged between them. The nipple that he took into his mouth was already crinkled up hard and Sano lapped and bit at it, marking him with teeth and the moisture he left behind.

He was already hard from the prospect of seeking what he wanted between Soujiro's slim thighs. It had definitely been too long, he decided, since he'd sought this particular kind of fulfillment.

After lavishing more attention on Soujiro's nipples, hand giving steady incitement to desire the whole while, Sano paused and then reared up, straddling Soujiro's legs, surveying those dilated eyes and the disheveled, panting man-child beneath him.

They'd drawn up no rules for this most unexpected of intimate duels, but Soujiro's eyes were dark and full of silent knowledge as Sano rummaged in a piece of cast-off clothing. Those darkened pools of violet were steady as Sano returned to him, stoppered clay vial held between thumb and forefinger.

Fingers tangled in his bottlebrush hair as he swooped in for the kiss, and Soujiro's lips opened to him once more, feeding on him as greedily as Sano took his mouth again. Once he released that mouth, those fingers tugged gently at his hair, asking.

"Please," Soujiro whispered, and Sano understood.

Moistening his lips needlessly, Sano slid down the length of that fishbelly-pale nudity, stopping here and there to nip at something that enticed him. The sensitive skin at his shoulder, the still-gleaming nub of a nipple, the appealing dip of navel; all fell prey to Sano's wandering teeth. He crawled backwards, lower, chin bumping against insistence that he ignored. His lips moved over the path of sparse, coarse hair that crinkled at the juncture of Soujiro's thighs.

The soft, panting noises that came from Soujiro's mouth roughened; he was trying to quiet his excited breathing.

Sano smirked, nuzzling his way down one tensed thigh. He lay sprawled between Soujiro's legs and took him in hand again, admiring the small but well-proportioned piece that stood up so readily for him. "Like this?" Sano rumbled, gave him a hint of gutter-punk grin, and slid his lips over the head of Soujiro's cock in one long swallowing movement.

Soujiro's thighs writhed beneath him and his sudden cry was startling. He clapped a hand to his mouth, breathing shallow as Sano slid him to the root, backed off, and did it again. And again. And, mercilessly, again. Soujiro's breath rattled between his fingers.

Backing off, Sano grinned happily at Soujiro's inchoate whimpers. He hadn't lost his touch at this.

"Or like this?" Sano asked wickedly, taking the head of that glistening cock between his lips, tongue rasping over the slit. He gathered in the droplets of fluid that had gathered there and swallowed them down. Then, going slow, he worked his way from head to base, mapping the veiny path of the underside of Soujiro's cock. His fingers continued to tweak the head, very gently.

"Sano...please," Soujiro told him, his tone more demanding than supplicant. His thighs hardened like steel beneath Sano's arms.

"Hmm." Sano lifted his head, licking at his lips reflectively. "So I'm not the only one who likes to rush to the main event."

Soujiro's voice throbbed. "Enough teasing."

"Oho." Now Sano smirked. *He* was impatient, was he? But Soujiro was younger than he, if only by a little, and his body clamored louder for release.

With well-oiled fingers Sano reached beneath Soujiro's drawn balls, probing the hidden spaces. Soujiro's breath hitched. Dark eyes watchful, Sano noted that Soujiro bit his lip again as Sano penetrated him there, but made no other sound. He was careful, having been in recent position to appreciate the benefit of being slicked so well, until Soujiro fisted the bedclothes and all but snapped:

"Do it!"

There was a pause while Sano chuckled, easing himself off to the side, shedding the obstruction of his pants. His own cock, ignored since the start, was hard and heavy in his hand with need. He paid it enough attention to ease passage into Soujiro's body, wiping the remainder on his discarded jacket with a careless hand, and smiled almost shyly at the intent, rapt look on Soujiro's face as he caught him looking.

Sano levered Soujiro's legs up with both arms, checked to make certain the boy was comfortable -- he was flexible, oh, yes -- and heeded his body's demand, plowing into a surfeit of blood-warmth that took him in and clamped tight around him.

He groaned and thought he heard Soujiro cry out again; it was, at first, all he could do to drag himself from the welcoming clench of Soujiro's ass. He pushed in again, quick, convulsive, and that simply he established his rhythm. Soujiro moaned as he withdrew, then slammed home again into that tight sheath; the boy attempted to muffle himself again with a fist.

Sano lunged forward, wallowing in him, brushing aside that hand and covering Soujiro's lips roughly with his own. Their bodies fit with awkward grace, shifting each instant as they labored together in the coupling.

At last the steady pressure building explosively in his cock had found focus; Sano gloried in the heat, the tightness as he pumped in and out and watched the play of ecstasy over Soujiro's face. He could tell just by looking when he'd hit that spot; the one that made Soujiro arch and press his mouth up to Sano's in sheer desperation.

"Unngh..." Sano sped up the pace, rocking into Soujiro as his balls urged him on to completion.

Soujiro's hands passed over his sweaty cheeks, contrastingly cool, and locked onto the back of his neck with a firm grip. He was making small noises still, urgent, involuntary, even when Sano strained to seal their mouths together. He rode out Sano's thrusts, cooperating awkwardly to push back in a way that satisfied them both.

Slowing, Sano gave him languourous thrusts, so close to toppling over that sword's edge of climax. He wanted more, though; he wanted to feel the unfettered glide of his cock into Soujiro without the added awkwardness of the long, thin legs flung over his shoulders. Giving him a final kiss, a conquering nip of teeth and tongue, Sano withdrew with a groan.

Soujiro was biting his hand again, stifling a whimper. "Sano..." His scarlet cock bobbed, untouched. Fluid was gathering in the tip again, prelude to what promised a vehement eruption.

"Turn over," Sano said roughly, already urging the boy with his hands.

Clumsy in excitement, Soujiro cooperated with him. Sano adjusted what remained of the boy's clothing, still half hanging on him in their haste, and admired the twin moons of his pert ass for an instant, the shadow of the crease between them, the hollow where traces of leaking moisture beckoned him.

Sano knelt behind him, breathing quickened, excitement thrilling down his pulse. He held his cock there for a moment at the heat of that entrance, then felt Soujiro press back against him with a wriggle of impatience, urgency. With a groan he fed his hard cock into that tight hole again, pressing to the deepest point, sinking in until he could go no further. Soujiro stretched like a cat beneath him, thrusting his bottom securely back against Sano.

Growling at this move, Sano seized the boy's waist in both hands and reared back, withdrawing a thumb's length then ramming in again, plunging back and forth in the most satisfying motion in the world. Sweat ran down his face and he ignored it.

"Feels...good..." The words were drawn from Soujiro's mouth, elongated by pleasure, then a stifled moan followed.

Faster, Sano gave it to him faster, then the frantic pulse of his pelvis slowed, his body seeming to stutter as he reached that precipice again. "So-Soujiro!" He bent over the young man's back, forehead nearly touching Soujiro's disheveled top, cursed, and came.

Still in the throes, Sano groped his way around the boy's hip and pumped his hardness, pleased to find seed already spilling through his fingers. "Come on," he panted, rhythm shivered to pieces in the delicious embrace of Soujiro's body. His words were a counterpoint to his gentle, insistent tugging as he coaxed more from that erupting cock. "Come..."

At last he slumped to a resting position over Soujiro's back, the long day and flush of booze and afterglow of great sex taking their toll on his flesh.

"S-Sano-san..." Soujiro's muffled voice was mortified beneath him.

"Ah, sorry." Slinging an arm around the slender boy, he shifted them both onto their sides, disengaging with a grunt. With a grin for the back of Soujiro's neck, he inquired, "Warm enough now?"

"Mm." Soujiro's quiet sigh was his only answer as he snuggled back against Sano's bulk and, apparently, fell right asleep.

*And now...I'm warm too.* With that thought and the reality of the young man nestled against him, Sano relinquished his hold on consciousness, slipping beneath the coverlet of pleasant dreams.

***

Outside of the Kurobeko in the snow-blanketed streets, thick white flakes still spun in a steady fall from the sky, starlight pinpricks against the night's blackness. A lone figure stalked through the snow, long-legged strides carrying him over the drifts that filled the streets.

The inn was closed, but Saitoh Hajime gained entry despite the late hour. He brushed melting flakes from his dark uniform as the proprietor greeted him with her close-eyed smile, declined the offer of food hastily heated in the kitchen, and made his own way upstairs, still absently calculating the deployment of his agents and other numbers in his head. There was the weather to account for, after all...

Saitoh stopped on the threshold of the room that had been rented, one thin dark brow raising as he took in the tableau: two young men sprawled over one futon, bodies entangled, two blankets thrown over them. Sano, an active sleeper, had dislodged the covering over one leg enough to reveal a line of naked thigh and the very bottom-most curve of his rear.

He smirked, slid the door shut behind him, and began to unbutton his shirt.

"This," he said to the quiet room, stirred only by the breathing of the entwined young men, "is an arrangement that will work out better than I thought."

+end+

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