A Fist of Iron (In a Velvet Glove)

Saitoh sighed inwardly as he looked at the clock from his vantage in his comfortably overstuffed chair. Five o'clock, time to head to work. He smirked slightly at the thought of work. If he failed to show up one day, the entire police force would most likely fall apart, and Japan swiftly over run by various villains, attempting to follow in the great footsteps of ShiShiO Makoto. Either that, or it would be over run with lunatics. Saitoh chuckled softly at that thought, idly imagining his country taken over by Nihonto-wielding psychotics, all of them perfect clones of Enishi.

"Not while I'm around…" He chuckled again and stood up with a small amount of effort, prying himself from the all-encompassing comfort of his easy chair, moving as silently as possible. His wife, his Tokio, was in the next room, the kitchen of their home. She'd been complaining more and more about his nightly absences, caused when work called, and was becoming increasingly more ingenious in her attempts to keep him home and to herself.

Carefully, his eyes set on his katana, which was leaned against the wall opposite from him, Saitoh took a step forward.

The floorboard squeaked, very loudly, and he bit back a curse.

That particular floorboard had not squeaked yesterday.

Yes, Tokio had become much more ingenious with each passing day. He could almost imagine her prying up that floor board the night before, after he had left for work, and repositioning it slightly, so that it would squeak when stepped on. Saitoh smiled despite himself. Ah, his Tokio. Beautiful, sweet, gentle, loving, but best of all, cunning. The perfect mate for a wolf.

"Hajime? Are you going somewhere?" Tokio's voice floated from the kitchen, as smooth as butter and sweet as sugar.

Saitoh grimaced at the tone of her voice. Everything she did made it more and more difficult for him to leave…and he really loved her voice when she sounded so sweet. "Shnookums, I have to go to work now."

Tokio popped into the kitchen doorway as if by magic, wiping her hands on a cloth. "But Hajime…It's been so long since we've…spent the night. I'm getting lonely."

"I'm sorry, but they need me." Saitoh gritted his teeth, and manfully pushed all thoughts of anything but duty to his country out of his mind. He had been working nights for quite some time…so it wasn't altogether easy to think of other things.

"But I need you more."

With a shake of his head, he reached for his gloves, sitting on a small table by his katana. "We can't keep having this argument every night, sweetums. I'm needed. It's my duty."

There was a long silence, and for a moment, Saitoh began to believe that he'd won this battle without much of a fight.

A faint sniffle cam from the doorway of the kitchen, and Saitoh winced. Tokio knew he couldn't stand seeing her cry. She was resorting to dirty tactics.

He turned toward her while drawing on his gloves, steeling himself. Tears were slowly traveling down her cheeks, leaving glistening tracks. "Oh, honey, don't cry…"

"How can I not cry? You're never home, and every night I work so hard to make you a delicious dinner that you never eat because you have to leave. I'm beginning to feel like I don't have a husband!"

He winced again, that comment hitting a little too close to home. "I just have to finish straightening everything out with the government, it won't be that much longer." He turned away, picking up his katana and reaching for his hat.

"You always say that, but it never ends. The government can take care of itself for one night!"

"I wouldn't be so sure of that." Setting his hat on his head, he reached for the door.

There was a moment of silence, and once more, he thought he'd won this round.

Not true. With a heavy sigh, Tokio turned, the floor echoing her soft footsteps. "Then once more, I'm left alone. I'll take the pot of kake soba I made for you and give it to the neighbors."

Saitoh's hand hesitated. He couldn't stop himself. Deep down in his subconscious a voice screamed 'It's a trap! It's a trap! Don't do it!' but he couldn't help it. "Did you say kake soba, shnookums?"

"Yes." Her voice was still convincingly choked with tears, but Saitoh could almost hear a note of triumph.

"Kake soba…that means…" Saitoh licked his lips in anticipation.

"Yes, Hajime. I made you favorite desert to go along with it." The note of triumph almost sang.

'Fool! Fool!' Thought Hajime. But he ignored his subconscious, now caught totally by his wife, having swallowed the hook. "You mean those little cakes?"

"Yes, the ones with the cream filling and the little smiley faces made with frosting."

Dirty tactics indeed. It was irresistible. He couldn't help himself. He set down his katana, pulled off his gloves, and took off his hat. "Perhaps this once, Japan can run itself for one night without me." He admitted. He turned to see Tokio's beautiful face. He smiled at her. "And you know how those little cakes make me feel, don't you, shnookums?"

Tokio smirked imperceptibly, hearing a song of victory in her mind. "Yes. I do, Hajime." She held out her hand to her husband.

Saitoh took her delicate hand, and allowed her to lead him into the kitchen.