writetomyheart | [Team Four] Drifting on Snow

This is late, late, late, but I'm glad I wrote it. Ao3 link might be added later, I just don't feel like posting it there for now. Mind the warnings! It's a very depressing story lol

Summary: The aftermath of the Seinan Wars was worse than Saitou could have imagined, taking it's toll on him physically and emotionally.
Author Notes: It’s been a long two years and this type of story has been all I can think of for awhile.
Warnings: Suicidal ideation, aftermath of war
Edit: Ao3 Link

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Before we…”

Someone was talking, voice light and far away. Saitou continued to stare into the snowy garden, drawing in a deep breath as he inhaled from his kiseru.

“Hajime…?”

He was being called, but Saitou couldn’t seem to shake himself loose, gaze focused on nothing. Something hurt, an ache, from his shoulder? Saitou could barely tell, his fingers numbed by the cold.

Perhaps it wasn’t the cold, though, that numbed his hand, was it the injury?

“H-Hajime…” that light, airy voice broke, a sob caught in her throat. It was his wife. She tried not to intrude, Saitou knew that much, but even a strong woman of the previous era could not remain as stone, watching her husband become lifeless.

He sighed and caught sight of her flinch from the corner of his golden eyes. It irritated him more than he knew it should.

“Please…” She sobbed and Saitou finally broke his apathetic gaze into the garden, shifting just enough to look at her. She tried to keep her tears back, but it seemed futile, stains dotting the kimono stretched over her lap as she sat in seiza, outside of his reach.

There was pain, dull, thudding from his left shoulder. A gunshot took him out of the war against Saigo Takamori. Months had passed now, shot in summer and now the New Year was nearly upon them, and still, the pain persisted. His grip was affected, unable to hold a sword with any real purpose. Gatotsu was lost to him and Saitou feared it was permanent.

“H-Hajime… Don’t you care anymore…?”

“No,” there was no hesitation, breathing out the word so easily as he knocked the ashes from his kiseru and set it aside. His wife broke into tears, curved over her knees, tears no doubt staining the tatami as she sobbed. Her carelessness annoyed him, they couldn’t afford to replace the tatami, but he kept his tongue in his head, this time.

Logically, he knew it wasn’t her fault for being so upset at his present state, though knowing something intellectually had not helped him emotionally.

He was distant, he wanted to walk out into the garden, forgoing his geta, letting the snow and mud soak into his white tabi, ruining them. Anything to get away from the distressed woman sobbing.

Saitou let out a shaky breath instead, moving toward her, hoping he could imitate some semblance of a caring, loving husband. Though, he feared such things were beyond him.

Too much had happened.

Too much remained as it had from the previous era.

Why had Saitou bothered to join the Meiji Government and fight in the Seinan Wars? It was their mess to clean up, not his. His duty was done, his side lost, the Shinsengumi had been nearly eradicated, but still he drew breath.

Did he say yes, all those months ago, just to spite Saigo for being so intrinsic in the defeat of the Bakufu? Saitou liked to think he did it for the good of Japan, to spare the people more suffering, but he couldn’t deny there was pleasure to be had in the opportunity to take off Saigo’s head with his own sword.

He wrapped his arms around Tokio’s sobbing shoulders. He should have done the honourable thing a decade ago and committed seppuku. Perhaps he still would, spilling his belly onto the fresh snow.

She reached for him, digging her nails into his thighs as she cried against him. He could scarcely comfort her, his hands on her back and neck, cold and useless. Though, he supposed it was better than nothing.

How many nights had she grabbed at him, digging her nails in, shaking him as he sat and stared into the nothingness? She would sob against his back, her tears soaking through his layers to his skin, and still, Saitou could not budge, as if his soul had been stolen.

Tokio deserved better, a less broken man.

After a time, she fell asleep, her head in his lap and Saitou picked apart the intricate coils of her coiffure until he could run his fingers through her hair. He felt useless, he wanted to smoke, but he remained in seiza, giving his wife the only comfort he was capable of. It wasn’t enough, but it was more than nothing.

Deep down, Saitou knew that he loved her, that he loved her and their son, but those feelings were muted, buried beneath a sea of ennui. Would he get his head above the water, or would he drown…?

Saitou didn’t know, vaguely wishing for alcohol or tobacco, a distraction.

Tokio sobbed in her sleep and Saitou thought that, if for no other reason than her comfort, he could carry her to their futon, laying her down, tugging at her obi and undressing her to her juban before covering her with the futon. Saitou didn’t join her, sitting against the wall with his sword, contemplating and cold.

He would struggle on, just as he always had, through the Bakumatsu, through finding footing in Tonami after the Boshin Wars left his side desolate. He would persist, perhaps even retrain himself should he never regain full function of his left arm.

But for tonight, he would sit and stare into the darkness, letting himself shed tears he couldn’t bear to let Tokio see.

springmaid you're up!