誠 | to become the real thing

Harsh words, things Hijikata had not uttered to Saitou before. His own lips parted before clamping firmly shut, thinning to a line. No, Hijikata was not dead. That didn’t mean the threat of losing him had passed, however. It was evident that he was still unwell, weakened, hurting. It pained Saitou more than even the guilt that still refused to let go of him, spectral claws sunken deeply into his ribs, spreading tendrils of regret and worry along his nerves.

The vice commander paused for breath, and that was when Saitou realized he could feel Hijikata’s fingers shaking, his hold seeming to tighten reflexively before he pulled his hands away. A cold note of quiet panic bloomed in the middle of Saitou’s chest. His eyes tightened at the corners, his stare shifting as he watched Hijikata lie back down, cobalt gaze tracing his pain-edged movements, the strain standing out in his jaw and neck. Yet he continued to speak, and so Saitou’s attention switched back towards Hijikata’s face.

Surprise stole quietly over the captain, rippling across his features. Someone…valuable. Was this truly how Hijikata saw him? As something  – no, someone – worth risking his own safety over? A solemn emotion Saitou could not name washed over him then, forcing him into motion. He reached for the half-dry rag, dunking it in the water again. Shifting closer to Hijikata, he gently dabbed the cool, damp cloth against the vice commander’s brow, silently erasing his perspiration. As he did so, the words repeated themselves in Saitou’s mind, spreading a thick quietness over him. He held the cloth against Hijikata’s forehead for a moment, tracing over the other man’s features with his gaze. He did not want to be someone that Hijikata would concern himself over, yet to know he cared about him in at least some small way…

Saitou removed the cloth from Hijikata’s forehead, and dropped it back in the bucket. Pivoting to face the vice commander fully once again, Saitou had every intention of checking his bandages when he suddenly felt that same, heavy emotion press down on him more harshly. His hand moved automatically, his expression remaining unchanged even as his own feelings threatened to choke him. He took a gentle hold of Hijikata’s hand and lifted it, closing his eyes as he leaned his lips against Hijikata’s blunt knuckles. “I will remain here, should you need anything,” Saitou exhaled against his skin, his thumb absently stroking Hijikata’s hand as he released the limb. 

For some reason, the thought amused him. He gazed up into the sea of unreadable cobalt as the captain bent to brush a damp cloth over his forehead. Who was he kidding? He acted rashly and he would always do so, until his dying breath. But if he could at least alleviate the guilt so evidently plaguing Saitou, it would also ease the guilt plaguing his own conscience. Or so he hoped.

Hijikata’s tumultuous thoughts had stolen over him until he realized the captain had taken his hand and spoken, gazing up at him with a glimmer of curiosity in his tired eyes. Light pink dusted the swordsman’s pale cheeks as he turned away, and Hijikata found it terribly—endearing? But what did it mean? The vice commander’s heart thumped against his chest as if trying to break free.

He reached a hand up to touch the captain’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the faint splash of pink heat. He could sweep all of this away later, if he found that he had read the captain all wrong and disturbed him by mistake—but he wanted to take a chance, the way Saitou had seemed to.  

“I didn’t want this to be you,” his voice creaked in an unintentional whisper, blood rushing distractingly in his ears. “Long as it’s me here, it’s fine. I’ll live.”

Brushing his hand along the captain’s neck he gently, silently urged him to lean closer. Although he wanted to raise his voice above a whisper, he found that he couldn’t, that the strength just wasn’t in him to do so. So he urged him closer, their gazes locked with emotions hidden carefully behind them, lips quivering with hesitance mere centimeters apart. “Saitou, I—“

“Saitou, is Hijikata awake? May I enter?” Dr. Matsumoto’s concerned voice from the other side of the shoji.

Chizuru falls into pace with the patrol group, adjusting her strides to be in time with Hijikata’s. He catches her gaze, violet hues stern and commanding, giving her a small start. “­A-Ah… hai. He told me to look for Matsumoto-sensei in Kyoto if ran into any problems. But he was away the day I arrived,” she says softly, taking cue of his low tone and guarded glances toward the men. “Do you think he would be back by now? Maybe we should check.”

As they continue down the patrol route her eyes wander here and there, peering into alley ways and shops as they pass, searching for something, anything, that might possibly be a lead to finding her father. Soon they approach a familiar street, she recognizes it immediately as the one where the Matsumoto clinic is located. Suddenly she hears a voice softly calling her name. She glances at the rest of the party, however it seems no one else had heard it. She feels an odd sensation, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling, as if she is being watched and she snaps her gaze in the direction of the stare so see a figure retreating into a dark alley. “Did you? Did you hear that?” her says softly, uncertain if it was only her imagination.

He allows the matter to roll around his mind as they patrol in silence, coming to a decision as they approach the street where the doctor’s office resides. The vice commander opens his mouth to speak, yet Chizuru speaks first, uncertainty in her voice. Her gaze is fixed upon an empty alley nearby, and Hijikata follows it, seeing nothing yet feeling a ghostly chill leap up his spine. 

“It could’ve been someone spying on us. Be on your guard,” he replies, scanning over the alley once more before turning back to the road ahead, “If you see anything else, say something.”

Hell’s Gate…. Heaven’s Gate….

It didn’t matter… the same result happened all over the world.  

He was asleep when it happened, one day a bubbly, happy go lucky art student, the next… emotionless contractor…. 

RA-374…Okita Souji.

Freelancing as an assasin for hire for some time now, he had finally found himself “gainfully employed” long term for an anti-government organization only known as “The Org.”  It was his first day, and he pulled his sleeves down walking into the facility, being guided by a woman in heels, looking more like a office lady than an operative for a group of revolutionaries.

He didn’t say anything to her, merely walking behind, taking in everything around him.  It was a very nice office.  You never would guess there’d be an anti-government agency in an office building next to the parliament.  

He was led into an office where a man was sitting, nonchalantly looking out the window.

“Hijikata-san,” the woman called out.  “I have the contractor here…”

He stepped forward, givng a soft bow.  “Okita Souji…. code name: Tsurugi…. reporting.”

A feminine voice called to him from the corridor before coming closer, and Hijikata turned to see the new contractor had arrived. He nodded in appreciation to the woman, but didn’t bother to stand and greet the newcomer.

“Take a seat,” he demanded more than requested, shifting his gaze to the building again. “I’m your Watcher. You’ll call me oni on the field.” He withheld telling the young man his real name, at least for now. It would be risky to trust a stranger with it.

The young man had already been hired for the position, albeit conditionally, but the Watcher was tasked with further questioning. Security measure or mere annoyance; it depended on who you asked. “That building over there is employing people like you, probably for better pay,” he said, pointing out the parliament building peeking through the window. “But you’re here. Why?” His gaze narrowed upon the young man, ready to analyze for any small mistake.

Once again, their eyes met, and conflicting emotions flurried within Saitou’s chest. Relief that Hijikata was awake and alive was dimmed by a sharp, shadowy guilt.

 “I know you would’ve stepped in if you could.”

The words shot a pang into Saitou. A deep ache sank heavily into the pit of his stomach. No, he thought, bitterness seeping into his mind. That was precisely the problem. He had focused completely on himself in the fight, not sparing so much as a single thought towards Hijikata until he caught a glimpse of him, torn up and bloody. He had been selfish, he had been careless, and the only one paying the price for that was the very person Saitou wanted to keep safe. He would do anything for the vice commander, without a whisper of hesitation; and yet, in such a desperate moment, a moment when his aid should have been given, Saitou had simply left Hijikata to his own fate.

“The patrol was mine,” Saitou began, forcing himself to keep his gaze steadily set upon Hijikata. “I was the one who received the information about the alleged exchange. I failed to properly look into the matter.” You never should have gone with me. They had walked into a trap – alone – because Saitou hadn’t felt there was time to take the proper steps he should have, because he had assumed the matter was something he would be able to keep under control.

Violet eyes reopened, brows furrowed further with grief. Frustration overcame him; Saitou would never stop blaming himself. He won’t ever see the situation the way the vice commander saw it; that’s just who Saitou was. He was selfless to the point that the vice commander could put a bullet through his own head and the captain would still say he was the one who pulled the trigger. It was upsetting.

Hijikata forced himself to sit upright, pushing himself up rather quickly to avoid agonizing slowly over the pain. The stinging wounds tore through him and he clasped his eyes shut, an involuntary grunt in agony escaping through his clenched teeth. He clutched at the seeping wounds, as if in a vain attempt to smother them. Bursts of light popped behind his eyelids, and he felt like he was swaying slightly despite being relatively still. Finally he could open his eyes again, breathing raggedly as a sweat broke out on his brow. It was much easier to deal with the sudden strike of pain than agonize over sitting up slowly, and risk Saitou pushing him to lay down again.

He fought against himself, against the body that was crumbling beyond his will. The vice commander gripped the captain’s shoulders tightly, glaring deeply into his startled cobalt eyes. “Shut up,” he said raggedly, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of him. “I’m not fucking dead yet. Almost lost me, but you didn’t. I don’t give a damn if it was your patrol or not, I made the mistake. I’m not going to die and no one has to take the blame but me. Now if you’re done with your damn pity party…” The swordsman struggled to finish his sentence, staring now in grief at his trembling hands.

    Swift is the movement, yet purpose of such motions was not intent to fight nor kill. Instead to submit and deliver an apology. Lowest and most submissive of gesture; down on both knees, hands pressed down with the deep bow of his head with forehead near to touching the wooden floor. Even towards Itou would Horikawa commit to an act. 

     “Please forgive them both—!” While he too is tensed with a form of anger towards said swords for having lost control, especially towards their very own superiors who are in the position of receiving respect. Therefore, he does not meet the eye of the swords who has caused offense one after the other. “Punishment will be received and I personally will reprimand for my own mistake of not having stopped them sooner.”

Hijikata was surprised to see his young blade bowing in apology for a mistake that wasn’t his to bear. “This isn’t your problem, Horikawa,” the vice commander reassured sternly, placing a hand on the wakizashi’s shoulder. “Those two have to account for their own actions. I know you would’ve stopped them if you could.” 

      No. It wasn’t his authority the sword was questioning. That was undeniable and true. Though, Izuminokami was a soul after the man himself. And their similarity would not have him backing down so easily. He wasn’t questioning Hijikata’s authority. But Toshizou himself was not one to take something like this so lightly.

      “I’m questioning on what grounds.” His words were pointed, yet surprisingly calm. The screaming match hadn’t started yet. However, they might have only been a few steps away.

As much as she hated to think it, the word paternal came to mind.

Impossible, Hiiragi doesn’t have a son…

And yet, through all of this, she could feel his eyes on her, distrusting her. She had had no intentions of seducing him when they had first met; rather, they seduced each other. Sweet nothings and longing looks was apparently all it took.

The long and the short of it was, she didn’t answer. Instead, her eyes bored into the vice commander, as Nagi-sama’s eyes bored into her. Slipping her hands into her sleeves, she felt the blades, pressed flatly against her arm, and was reassured.

“On what grounds?” he repeated the question with a scoff, the demon’s glare directed now at his Izumi. “On the grounds that I’m the vice commander of the Shinsengumi, and we have ways of finding out who our enemies are. You of all should know this, Izumi.” 

They had arrived in Osaka just a few days prior when they had decided that they were going to handle the men they were looking for tonight. They had decided that splitting up would be the best way to cover more ground and find what they seeked. 

Sannan had believed that the wanted men were hiding in this particular area. They had been reported being seen there several times in the last two months, which would mean they weren’t going to leave Osaka anytime soon. They wanted to make sure they did not get away before they were able to apprehend them. 

“Hijikata-kun. We will still need to be cautious here. We do not know the area as well as we would like, but it is our only option to stop them here.” the colonel remarked as they came to their starting point of the building they were to infiltrate. 

He nodded in agreement to the colonel’s concerns. “We have a general lay of the building that Yamazaki mapped out for us, though. Long as we’ve got our asses covered at every exit, we should have them cornered,” he spoke quietly to avoid raising suspicion from within the inn.

Hijikata ensured the men were all in their rightful positions, and turned to give Sannan the final nod. He pushed open the entrance, a handful of their men filing in quickly behind them. The innkeeper was startled, looking horrified at the swordsmen who suddenly charged in. A few men ran upstairs to find the targets, and Hijikata stopped to speak with the innkeeper.

Hijikata wasn’t his mater. He couldn’t hold a candle to someone like Okita. And as the vice commander turned to go, Kashuu settled his hands on his hips in a display that showed he felt like he’d won. “No, no problems here.” He chimed at the retreating back.

Though his eyes narrowed as they followed the human’s gaze. “The same goes to you. I’ll show you what I’m made of first thing tonight. Then you won’t have any more doubts or questions about me.” He wouldn’t admit that the idea of having a patrol so quickly after his arrival unnerved him. It was like being thrown into a lake as a child and being told to swim or drown. Despite his nonchalance and haughty attitude, the weight of his newfound responsibilities rested noticeably on his shoulders.

Patrol began late that night, for the sole reason of avoiding any run-ins with civilians should things get messy. It was bound to get messy; executing a man hunt under the guise of an average patrol rarely ended simply for them, and the last thing they needed were a bunch of civilians getting in the way.

Hijikata remained in the back, following the troops and glancing around carefully as they began to stray from their usual patrol route. There luckily wasn’t anyone around to notice. His gaze drifted ahead to Kashuu, and silently hoped this self-assured blade would listen to orders when things get serious.

It’s been fifty years since then…

Maybe I feel strongly about this, but all I can think is that the people who lived were the ones who could’ve laid down their lives at any time, while the people who shouldn’t have died, all got killed.

The gods and buddhas must be some stubborn folks, eh?

By the way, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about what happened to Yoshimura Kan'ichirō, would you? –wait, no. Don’t tell me. I won’t listen. If I get any unexpected sequels, I’m liable to lose my bearings near the end of my life’s final act.

Since there isn’t anyone left who means to kill me, I at least want to sit upright in my toko-no-ma and await the person who comes to escort me to the underworld. Like a warrior.

Who will it be that comes to greet me that day? Will it be Kondō? Will it be Okita or Nagakura? No, no, it’ll be Hijikata, who was so good at keeping tabs on things. He always was an honest man to the last.

After we escaped from Osaka to Edo, we got thoroughly trounced once again at the Battle of Kōshū. We pretty much went in knowing we’d lose. Kondō himself　had lost his motivation. After one of the Goryōeshi survivors shot him in the right shoulder, he lost his sword arm, and Kondō Isami was finished. Kondō, the Tennen Rishin-ryū teacher who’d been a matchless swordsman, was just an average samurai without his sword arm. I think he, more than anyone, understood that.

Kondō was captured at Nagareyama by the imperial army and executed. Okita died of tuberculosis. Harada joined the Shōgitai at Ueno and died in battle. The only people who survived the Restoration were myself and Nagakura. The people who’d run things since the Shieikan days all died.

What? You want to know why I parted company with Hijikata and went to Aizu?

It’s because we had a difference of opinion, is all. Hijikata had a death wish. He earnestly wanted to find a place to die, like a samurai. I asked him if it wasn’t proper for us, then, to die at the head of the Aizu lord’s army, since we owed the lord a great debt of gratitude for many years.

But Hijikata would not comply.

an elderly Saitō Hajime (as written in the novel Mibugishiden vol. 2, p. 75), reminiscing about the last time he saw Hijikata Toshizō, just before the Battle of Aizu. (via sparrowdreams)

@uncloudedblade @shinsennotoshi