Title: Leaving Author: JC Sun Category: G. And no spoilers because who the hell doesn't know Wolfie's married? Summary: Mr. Wolfie says goodbye to Mrs. Wolfie, and Mrs. Wolfie throws pots and pants at him while reciting the Seven Heavanly Female Virtues. This is not a humor piece. The Fanfiction Author's Prayer. Dear The Powers That Be: Yes, I know they aren't mine, that I'm infringing upon your lawful copyright, but I can't help it. Saitou and Tokio-of-the-faceless-existance belong to Mr. Watsuki. May I someday create characters as interesting or disclaimers as funny as this. * "I will be leaving tomorrow." Her hands move slowly, carefully as she pours tea. It's an old set, inherited from her grandmother and made out of the thinnest, finest porcelain, and two faded blue cranes sport in front of a snow-draped mountain. It's one of the few things that she managed to save from her house when the Shinsengumi burned it. 'For the memories' she had said, although he knows it would fetch a substantial sum from a collector. "It would be useless, I suppose, to ask you where you're going or when--if--you'll be coming back." Such a quiet voice. "I'd come back if I could." Intimacies do not come easily from him, but when they do, there is a smooth quiet finality about the whole thing, as if he was declaring that the sun would come up the following morning. Treatment of his intimacies as anything else irritated him, and she has accepted it by now. After all, she is the same way. Her neighbors call her cold. "Of course. If I had wanted an easy life, I killed myself and have been done with it a long time ago. Take care, will you?" "Of course." "Sometimes, you forget." "I'll remember this time." She lets out a tiny, restrained sigh. Somewhere underneath those massed signals of breeding and etiquette there's real worry, a real fear--not that it would ever be polite or appropriate to express it. "You say that everytime." "I mean it everytime." He doesn't smile, but there's a gentle, amused undertone to his voice. She says nothing, but arranges her kimono underneath her, smoothing the wrinkles out with practiced hands. He notices that there're the veins from heavy housework. She used to take such pride in her smooth white hands-- He lays his own hand on her knee. There's a moment of silence while she sets fragile eggshell cup back on the floor, steadies it when it threatens to tip over. Only then does she slip her hand over his. * end. * You saw that pot fly, right? Man, it's a good thing Wolfie dodged it or else he'd be sojourning with the rest of his buddies from the Bakumatsu. I swear, that Tokio has an arm! Comments to anasile@aol.com