#engineer mc

Where Yuki cried openly at the funeral, Kenshin was stoic and impassive as ice, only the tight clench of his hand around his second wife’s hand betraying him. Sasuke Sarutobi was appointed to the empty slot a week later. It was a good fit. The former bodyguard was quiet and polite enough to evade faux pas, but strong enough to win over Kenshin’s utilitarian facade, and the wheels of time moved on. 

They sold the little one room townhouse for a larger one. Rose even moved in with them, for a time, until her own son was born: Shingen Takeda. He was a redhead like his father. 

As for their own child, Gin Toyotomi-Akechi (they’d gotten into a bit of an argument about whether or not to name him ‘Nobunaga’, which was shut down when she pointed out that ‘Nobunaga Toyotomi-Akechi’ was a mouthful) grew like a weed. He was five when she became pregnant again with Saburo, their second son. And--last of all, when Gin was already fifteen and Saburo ten--Kaito Nobunaga Toyotomi-Akechi (they relented) was born, an eerie echo of both his fathers. 

“I think you had yourself a chimera child,” Ieyasu remarked, doing a check up on the two year old. He was a frequent sight at the house; his four children, Masamune’s daughter, and the junior Yukimura and Shingen (and Shingen’s half-sister) were forever emerging in the front lawn and begging to play. “That’s rare.”

“What is that, exactly?” Hideyoshi hovered anxiously. “It’s nothing, I hope?”

Masamune grinned. “Hideyoshi, you’re gonna go grey faster if you worry like that.”

Ieyasu brushed him off with a scowl. “We aren’t certain. The best theory we have so far is that it started as twins, but the eggs merged together.”

Kaito stared at Ieyasu with huge gold eyes. “Does that mean I’m a cabbage?”

“A what?” Ieyasu softened at the child. 

“A cabbage! Shingen said that cabbages are people who eat other people--”

“That’s a cannibal, a cabbage is a vegetable.” The blonde corrected gently. “And no. You’re not. Also, someone needs to talk to that child.”

They were in their late thirties and early fourties now, and Mitsuhide wondered where he’d ever gotten so lucky.

Their house filled with the chaos of three growing boys and a million different machines, all prototypes of their mother’s. The Nine kept them all busy, but god if he didn’t give everything in him to their family. He nestled alongside her on the porch, his knees stacked with hers and the gentle brush of her thumb insistent over his knuckles.

She chuckled softly, resting her head onto his shoulder. “Can you ‘see’ Hideyoshi out there?”

“No. I think he’s beyond my sight. What’s happening?”

“Mmmm.” He knew that sound. She pulled in closer to him, the hum of her arousal nearly vibrating off her skin. He loved how attractive they were to her still. He never doubted, not for a moment, that she was as in love with the two of them now as she’d ever been. “He’s wrestling the boys. Gin kind of has him in a headlock, and Saburo is trying to pull his arms down. He’s holding on to Kaito to keep him from getting hurt. You know how he is.”

He chuckled and wound his fingers between hers. “I do. Do you want me to call him inside with us?”

“Oh?” She played coy, but he heard the tease. “Whatever for, love?”

“I don’t need my eyes to read you. I think we could all be doing a bit of wrestling ourselves.”

The giggle was music to his ears. He nuzzled his nose into her neck and listened to her laugh, her hands running through his shoulder length hair. God. He was so, so, so very lucky. He wished that all would have the same fortune he had. 

“What’s going on here?” Hideyoshi emerged panting.

“Nothing much--currently. We could rectify that, if you get Gin to watch the other two and grant us three some time alone.”

“Oh--Oh!” He heard Hideyoshi’s blush. “Ahem. Uh. Yeah. Absolutely. Hang on, I’ll--I’ll be right behind you two.”

“Oh, I know you will be.”

“Mitsuhide.” 

He restrained a genuine laugh and followed her inside. 

---

Eighteen years after the incident at the Well, it finally opened to them. 

Yukimura and Masamune inspected it first before returning to the others. Even then they didn’t exactly provide a report. “Hideyoshi?”

“Yeah?” He answered uncertainly. 

“Could your wife come with us?”

“No.” All those ancient fears of whatever lay under the city reared their ugly head. “Absolutely not.”

“Hide--”

“No!”

“I promise it’s wo--”

Mitsuhide clamped a hand over Hideyoshi’s shoulder. “Why?”

“There’s... shit, I don’t know how to explain this. Yuki?”

The other man squinted at Masamune as if he had three heads. “What makes you think I’m better at this? It looks up her alley is all. It’s not dangerous or anything--we’re pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure?” Hideyoshi barely kept his tongue in check. Fortunately, Mitsuhide intervened. 

“That’s fine, so long as we go with her.”

---

She, Hideyoshi, Mitsuhide, Yukimura and Sasuke all descended beneath the well one at a time. Hideyoshi squinted down the long, damp pathway each way, crinkling his nose. “When was this made?”

“Judging by the stonework? I’d say that this was a construction contemporary with the oldest of our structures in the City.” Sasuke cleared his throat. “Approximately the same time, I’d imagine.”

“Thanks for the translation, Encyclopedia.” Yukimura scoffed, rolling his eyes at his best friend. “Come on. Follow me.”

Further and further into the dark they crept. Yukimura lit a lamp, but it cast a feeble glow. Hideyoshi wrapped his wife protectively beside him (and she cast him an amused stare but allowed it regardless), and finally they found the item in question: another lamp, with a single fraying wire beside it. 

“Here.” Yuki tapped his flame to it, and--

SsnnnnnsnAP! A ghastly sizzling sparked off the tip of the wire and crackled along. Bit by bit, the hallway before them burst into life, weak lamps struggling in the dim yellow glow. She gasped with shock. 

“What happened?” Mitsuhide asked. 

“Uh--” She hesitated. “Apparently the residents down here figured out how to formulate some kind of electric lighting system. It is bad, but it works.”

“Fascinating.”

“The lighting appears to be wired in afterward.” Sasuke shoved his glasses up his nose. “Interesting.”

“Right.” Yuki coughed. “Well, it only stays on for so long. The lights get dimmer and then start going out, and we’d really like to clear this place once and for all. I don’t suppose you can figure out a way to fix it?”

“Fix it?” She echoed, her eyes lighting up. “I’d love to. This would be incredible to study.”

“Are you sure...?” Hideyoshi cautioned. An uncertain fear lurked in his throat. “Especially given the past of it...”

“I know. I won’t be down here alone.” She smiled and pet his hands. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll be just fine.”

---

The month passed slowly. Bit by bit, she restructured and rewired the lamps, changing out their filaments, discovering their secrets, illuminating the lost pathways under the city with greater clarity. Sasuke, for his part, did his best to research its uses and came up blank. 

“Damn,” Kenshin muttered, rapping his fingers across the table. “Ishida would have been very useful for this.”

“I know,” Nobunaga agreed. His black hair was shot with silver now. “But it is what it is.”

Hideyoshi visited down there as often as he could. She was delighted; he saw it in the way she handled the artifacts, prodded them for information and learned what the ancients knew. He almost warmed to it too, except for--

On one of his days off, he was in the kitchen, getting ready to come visit her in the well, when his front door slammed open.

“Hideyoshi!” Ieyasu screamed. 

He was already halfway to his sword. “What happened?!”

“Just--just come on!”

They sprinted toward the alleyway. Masamune staggered out of the narrow opening first, what looked like grease coating his hands. Next came Nobunaga and Kenshin, both of their arms supporting her between them. Hideyoshi grabbed hold of her and checked every inch of her, blacking his hands with the viscous liquid sticking to his skin. 

“Are you alright--are you--what happened--?”

Mitsuhide emerged last of all, his mouth grim set, the black substance streaking down his face and through his ghost-white hair. Over his shoulder he dragged a figure so bloody and ragged he barely recognized him: Yukimura. 

---

It was a while before Yukimura stabilized and she was coherent enough to explain what happened. Mitsuhide, for his part, knew nothing. All he understood was they were under attack and then--and then Yukimura crumpled, and he couldn’t see but he knew well enough that his wife was down there, so he just threw all of his magical arts in a massive cone and hoped it did the trick. Presumably it had. The longer they scrubbed away the tar-like substance, the more obvious it was that it wasn’t just any liquid. 

“I think,” she managed shakily, “I think that was abandoned for a reason.”

Kenshin settled in by her knee. Hideyoshi almost snapped, but reason held firm and he just rubbed her arms, stilling her. “What happened?”

“So--” She inhaled deep, stabilizing breaths. “We got to the underground palace. It has--it’s really beautiful, you know? Really beautiful. Obsidian walls, fantastic carvings--Um, anyway--” Another breath. “I was up in the rigging, changing out some of the lighting, and then there were... shadows.”

“Shadows?” Kenshin echoed. “Of something?”

“No. Just... just shadows. Nothing else.”

Sasuke paused. “This... might be crazy, but do you think the lower levels were both lit and abandoned because this was known?”

“Rabid, killing shadows?” Nobunaga questioned. “This isn’t like anything we’ve heard of before.”

“I can take a look into the Royal Collection for any mentions.”

“Please do.”

“So--so what, then?” Hideyoshi managed shakily. “So we just close it back up then, right? Can it not live in the light, whatever it is?”

He knew before they said anything that it was a foolish hope. She pinched her nose between her fingers and inhaled. 

“I don’t know, honey,” she answered. “I don’t know. There was plenty of light when they attacked.”

“Then we have a potential threat on our hands.” Kenshin swept coolly up from his chair. “If light kept it at bay this long, we will have to discover a way to intensify it. Can you do that, Princess?”

“I can definitely try and figure something out.”

“No!” Hideyoshi snapped. “No! She might’ve died! Yukimura nearly died!”

“I agree,” Mitsuhide added, “This could’ve gone very poorly--”

But the flash of Kenshin and Nobunaga’s eyes stilled them both. It didn’t need to be said. The unspoken reminder of the Invasion swirled between them, and the ghastly silence settled uncomfortably. 

But this morning was unique. A rumble of something against his chest roused him first, and then came the familiar ritual with his eyes. What the devil was that? He stroked his fingertips gently downward and explored the topography of this strange new land. There was the softened ridge of her shoulder. He felt the cool drape of her hair in his fingertips, working his knuckles through it, following the river over the valley of her waist. And there--there was the offending rumble. Hideyoshi emitted a soft snore again, rolling his head to the side. Mitsuhide nearly laughed. Instead he just cupped his hand around the man’s cheek and felt the sound with his own hands. It vibrated off his skin and up his arm.

And the weight was… comfortable. When was the last time he woke up with someone else, let alone two? The question took him back far enough that he stopped trying to remember and settled instead for nuzzling his mouth down into the cold silk of her scalp, resigning himself to the melody of breath and the calming cry of sea birds outside the window.

Mitsuhide was well acquainted with his own feelings. He’d been alone with them often enough to really dig in, to crush them and use them and manipulate them to his whims. In the fragile stillness of the morning, he allowed himself to really feel them. No one was awake to watch the run of thoughts on his face. Pensive and uncertain, he walked his fingertips featherlight down the length of her arm and Hideyoshi’s neck, relishing the weight of them on his ribs despite himself.

They deserved more than this. Didn’t they? He was only half-surprised at lumping Hideyoshi in with that particular train of thought. In retrospect it wasn’t that unexpected. Not that he’d spent much time courting the company of men, exactly, but he’d never shunned the advance either. Either one suited his purposes from time to time.

But he wasn’t using them--not for services he couldn’t get elsewhere, at least--and that part had him thinking more than anything.

Hideyoshi snored again, jolting him from his thoughts. That time he did laugh. His chest jostled her enough that she stirred in his arms, rolling against him and settling her mouth against the curve of his arm.

“Mitsuhide?” She murmured sleepily, and he wondered if he’d ever heard anything better in his life. He found the curve of her cheek with his thumb and worked his hand over her face, memorizing every curve and line. Her nose had a slight ridge, only upturned the tiniest bit at the end. Her mouth was full and small (which was a trend on her in general, it seemed), her jaw soft. Without prompting, she planted a kiss into his palm and his heart surged so hard it caught his breath in the crossfire.

“Hush, little mouse,” he managed. “Comfortable?”

“Mhmmm.”

Now Hideyoshi grunted awake. His awakening was far less graceful. A snort; the familiar inhale of someone who wasn’t quite sure where he was and a long stretch. Mitsuhide imagined he’d been sleeping in that distinct Hideyoshi way: arms crossed tight over his chest, head rocked back as if he were still the bandit sleeping against a tree. “Huh?”

“You hush too,” Mitsuhide snickered, his laugh jostling her head once more. Apparently that felt funny, because she giggled too. “You’re warming my legs nicely down there.”

“Hng.” Hideyoshi grunted and made to move, but Mitsuhide worked a languid hand through the other man’s hair and he stilled again, dropping his head back onto her waist. “That’s not fair. I’ve got PT.”

“Kenshin can come and get you himself. I’m quite content being here. As for fairness, I didn’t even realize you had a thing about your hair, my friend.”

Heat radiated clear up through Hideyoshi’s scalp and Mitsuhide tried not to laugh again, utterly failing. She twisted and tried to bury her smile into the cushions, but now it caught to Hideyoshi, the familiar puff of breath he always released when grinning despite himself floating in the air. “And you’ve got a thing for people laying on you. I guess fair is fair.”

“Do I? Do I have a thing?”

“I don’t know, Mitsuhide, you’ve got two people putting your legs to sleep, no doubt.”

But the three of them lay there a long while yet, stretching in turns and waking with gentle slowness. Mitsuhide wrapped one arm over her hip and the free hand through Hideyoshi’s hair, wondering if it was half bad that he only had the touch of them to luxuriate in.

---

The three of them walked the cobblestone streets to the library. Hideyoshi carried the braille machine in his arms, its weight barely anything to him--especially with all the wild thoughts circling his mind.

What did last night mean? What did all that fond caressing mean? Was that just Mitsuhide being classic Mitsuhide, or was that something genuine? Had he overstepped his bounds with the half-awake Princess, or was she as unphased by it as she seemed? She blushed easier now. Was that good or bad? Was this going to be a reoccurring thing, or had it been a one off? If it was--

“Hideyoshi?”

He blinked at the hand in his face. She peered intently at him, her head cocked. “Are you okay?”

“Me? I’m just fine. Did you need something?”

“I asked if it was heavy. I can carry it a little.”

“Heavy?” He repeated, realizing he sounded less like a person and more like a parrot. “Oh, no, it’s not really heavy at all. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of making you carry it.”

Mitsunari was alone in the library today. He glanced up at the trio as they entered, a sweet smile on his face. “Hello!”

“Where are the glasses?” Hideyoshi asked, realizing all at once that the silver-haired man wasn’t wearing them. “Does the ocean suddenly have perfect vision?”

“Apparently!” Mitsunari grinned so wide that it made his eyes crinkle into little crescent moons. “I wouldn’t have guessed it myself. Maybe it’s less about being the ocean and more about coming back, but I don’t have any particular evidence either way.”

“See, this is why this whole ‘magic’ business completely throws me.”

Mitsuhide snickered and set his staff on the table, scooting it on his own toward the shelving for space. Hideyoshi almost went to help, but a gentle eyebrow raise from the Bookkeeper stilled him. The crash he feared never came; instead, Mitsuhide stopped just short of a collision, clapping his hands matter-of-factly. “Shall we?” “We shall!” Mitsunari flipped open a book, searching through the pages until he found something in particular. “And in fact, I think you’ll like what I’ve got in store today.”

“Oh? What is that?”

“Would you mind terribly if I didn’t tell you until after?”

Hideyoshi wondered for a long moment if he ought to press the issue, but Mitsuhide just shrugged. “I’m in your hands.”

“Aren’t you too tall for that?” The Bookkeeper quipped, realizing a second too late what she’d said. Her whole face turned a bright pink, but Mitsuhide laughed out loud.

“Such as it is. Shall we?” ---

Truthfully, he was a little anxious at not knowing exactly what he was doing. The bones of it felt the same: feeling his will inch through his body, taking charge of each muscle, the center of him surging like the glow of a lightning storm. Mitsunari guided him expertly through a world he didn’t quite understand with his words alone. All the sound of the library fell away, the familiar footing of ground lost to him.

It felt like infinity.

He’d been blind before, but it was so much worse now. Never before had he been so unseated. The urge to scream welled up in his throat, to reach out, to take something solid to moor him in this alien world. He wanted a hand. Desperate for a measure of comfort, Mitsuhide dug into the well of his memory and conjured the weight of her head on his ribs, Hideyoshi’s body draped over his legs, the ghost of a breeze over his face, the swell of his heart--

And then it was all over. Mitsuhide felt the floor beneath him again and he staggered, dropping to his knees and heaving. He felt Hideyoshi and her run to him--

Wait.

“Hold.” Mitsuhide waved his hand and they both stopped only feet from him. How did he know that? Curious and calm again, he reached out with his mind and groped along the floor, the table, the books in neat ridges along the shelving--

“I know where things are,” he gasped. “I know where everything is.”

“Uh…” Hideyoshi paused, then lifted his hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Four. Your left hand, specifically.”

A pause. Mitsunari knelt by his side and pat his back. “Are you alright? I know that couldn’t be pleasant--”

“Great.” Mitsuhide croaked, fastening that smile on his mouth. “I know where everything is. I’m bloody fantastic.”

“I’m behind you,” Hideyoshi muttered. “How did you know how many fingers? Can you physically see?”

“No.” He struggled to his feet and brushed himself off. “Hideyoshi, draw your sword.”

“What!?”

Mitsuhide reached to the side and stole Mitsunari’s with a long shnnk, raising it to a battle-ready stance. “I’m serious.”

“You’re--I--Mitsuhide.”

“If you don’t draw it, then this’ll hurt.”

The Bookkeeper gasped and dashed back against the table. Hideyoshi barely managed to parry the blow, the crash of steel on steel ringing through the library. Mitsuhide laughed with reckless abandon.

“I saw that,” he managed, “I saw that!”

Hideyoshi dropped his sword and closed the gap, wrapping him in a tight hug. Mitsuhide accepted it and they stood there a long while, rocking back and forth in the middle of the library, and for the first time in an eternity, Mitsuhide wondered if he might cry.

---

Kenshin put him through his paces with such gusto that Hideyoshi nearly ate his lip off with anxiety. Mitsuhide had never been their most stellar swordsman (though Mitsunari was always worse, despite their best efforts), but even with months off practice, he held his own. Every swipe, swing, thrust and riposte he anticipated, meeting the onslaught with a passable defense.

“You won’t die,” Kenshin pronounced at last. “Which is improved.”

Mitsuhide’s familiar smirk was a glory to behold. “Generous as always with your compliments.”

Masamune snorted. “Well, fuck. Hit me up with some of this magic bullshit.”

Yuki scowled. “I still don’t like it. Are there drawbacks?”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” Mitsuhide twirled the sword experimentally in his hands. “Mitsunari expects I’ll have terrific migraines from time to time, but we will have to see in the long run.”

“Is it reversible?”

“That I can’t say. For now, it works. That’s all I’m concerned with. I am the test subject, after all.”

Hideyoshi almost missed helping Mitsuhide navigate the world. It was bewildering to see him walk blind through the kitchen as easily as could be. There was plenty he still couldn’t do--anything flat still threw him through a loop. He was as reliant on his braille as ever.

“I can see the shape of things, not the texture or color or what have you. Even that is a little fuzzy. I have to focus.” Mitsuhide stretched in the library, playing his hand experimentally over the bookshelf a bit at a time. “And I still won’t be able to shoot. I can’t ‘see’ but a certain distance out.”

The Bookkeeper smoothed her satin skirts, settled in her desk chair. “And these… these migraines. How often do you think they’ll happen? How bad will they be? That would be a real drawback in a serious situation.”

“I’ve worked through some very severe circumstances before.” Easily as could be, Mitsuhide caught a chair under the lip and dragged it up beside hers to sit. “I can’t imagine a migraine that would put me out of commission so readily.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t worry.”

Mitsuhide grinned and teased his fingers under her chin. “Little Mouse, you don’t need to worry about me so much. You’ll start getting Hideyoshi’s eyebrow wrinkle.”

All at once, Hideyoshi realized he was wearing that exact expression. “I mean, you can’t blame us for being interested in your well being.”

Apparently their Kitsune had nothing to say to that. He just paused, cocking his head ever so slightly. “We shall see, won’t we?”

Despite Mitsuhide’s confidence, Hideyoshi still settled into the library with them. He wasn’t as invested in reading as the other man, so he watched the Bookkeeper and learned his way around her blueprints, slowly getting the hang of the drafts and measurements. Afternoon passed into night. Content with her progress on the braille machine’s final draft, she settled onto the couch beside Mitsuhide with a book, and Hideyoshi decided to occupy himself with cleaning his sword.

“So,” Mitsuhide asked at last, his low voice soft in the library. “I’m assuming we’re not all going to form a puddle again tonight?”

Silence reigned again. Hideyoshi and the Bookkeeper exchanged glances, a creeping blush overtaking both of them.

“I mean,” she started.

“Well--”

They both fell quiet and tried again at the same time.

“I didn’t--”

“If you were suggesting--”

Mitsuhide grinned like the devil and the Bookkeeper dipped her face into her hands, too embarrassed to continue. He teased a hand through her hair. “I’m only asking because I was rather fond of the setup.”

“I--” She took a deep breath and blurted out the rest of her sentence as one run-on. “I’m very self conscious because I think I like both of you and I don’t know what to do about that and it makes me think there is something wrong with me.”

Well, there it was. Hideyoshi wondered if saying nothing or everything was safer. Throat dry as the desert, he looked at Mitsuhide and imagined what it would be like to admit it.

“Let’s say I feel much the same about that sentiment,” Mitsuhide crooned. Hideyoshi waited for his face to light on fire (which it didn’t, and he frankly wasn’t sure if the distraction might have saved him). “If that were the case, Hideyoshi, then might you be on board?”

“Yes,” he managed. “Yeah. Probably.”

And that curling smile emerged. “Then let’s figure the rest out later. For tonight, I’m content just to have a few accomplices in a good night’s sleep.”

---

Mitsuhide woke in what he assumed to be the middle of the night. No birds disturbed the sweet ocean air. The icy chill of the northern wind struck to the core of him, but her head on his shoulder and Hideyoshi on his other warmed him enough. If it were a dream, it was good enough for now.

Silent and gentle, he worked his thumb over Hideyoshi’s cheek. The other man roused ever so slightly.

“Mitsuhide?” He croaked. “You need something?”

“No. I was just awake.”

“Are you sure you don’t need anything? You feel a little cold.”

A surge of affection took hold of him. He tapped a hand under Hideyoshi’s chin and guided him forward, half-expecting a fight or protest. None came. Instead he felt the warmth of lips against his, a brush of breath over his chin, the staccato shock of a man in the middle of a kiss and unsure what else to do aside from enjoy it.

“Nothing,” Mitsuhide murmured. “Nothing else.”

She stirred on his other shoulder. Obligingly, Mitsuhide combed a hand over her head and she tilted her face back. The same desire swelled inside him, and he planted a kiss on her forehead, nose, and mouth. She hummed against him and it felt so sweet that he caught the edge of her lip between his teeth, relishing the shiver of her spine.

“That was nice to wake to,” she sighed, settling back down on his chest.

A pause. No doubt Hideyoshi wasn’t expecting that. “Do I look that nervous?”

“Nothing looks nervous to me anymore.”

Hideyoshi managed a thin laugh at that. “Ass.”

He picked through his clothing in silence (and that had gotten much easier. He didn’t need any help with the buckles and buttons now, easing his way into his uniform with practiced hands) and met Hideyoshi at the door. As if on cue, the other man adjusted his blindfold to smooth out the wrinkles.

“Am I suitable for the public, dear?” Mitsuhide crooned, the snaky grin on his lips.

Hideyoshi just coughed. “Alright. Let’s go and find your bookseller.”

The sun only gently brushed over him. Was it overcast? Mitsuhide reached out his hand and tried to decide, waving it back and forth. It didn’t feel too moist in the air, so no doubt it really was just a few clouds--or early. “What time is it?”

“Barely eight.”

“Ah. Is it sunny?”

“Overcast.”

Despite himself, Mitsuhide laughed. “I was correct, then. I’ll take my victory. Shall we?”

Hideyoshi tried to guide him through the marketplace by hand, but he rapped his cane against the other man’s boots to make a point and he stopped trying. The scent of fresh bread circled around them. A misty wind swept in from the ocean and he licked his lips, relishing the tang of salt that forever lingered in the City. On habit, he picked around the fruit stall and selected an orange, paying for it and going back on his way.

“That was… You did really well with that.” Hideyoshi commented. “Pretty smooth.”

Mitsuhide grinned and slicked back his long hair, realizing at the last second that he couldn’t wink. He settled for shooting a sly glance in the other man’s direction. “I’ve always been smooth.”

Hideyoshi just groaned.

At last they reached the bookstall. Almost immediately he heard the swish and turn of thick satin skirts, her little patter of footsteps as she came to him and settled her arms on his elbows. She hadn’t even spoken before he heard the smile in her voice. Oh, he could get used to that. “Good morning! You’re by early.”

“Miss me, little mouse?”

She was close enough that he felt the radiating heat of her cheeks. “And who is with you today?”

“Oh, forgive me.” Hideyoshi bowed by the sound of it. “Hideyoshi Toyotomi.”

A slight pause. “The Hideyoshi Toyotomi?”

“Err… yes.” Hideyoshi was blushing, too. Mitsuhide didn’t need eyes to know that. “Were you not… aware of who Mitsuhide is?”

Come to think of it, he’d never given the little bookseller his name, had he? He felt her grip tighten on his elbows. “You’re Mitsuhide Akechi?”

“Oh, and here I thought you knew all that.” In fairness, he’d never made a habit of announcing who he was in the past. Made it easier to sneak around the City and eavesdrop on unsavory conversations. Snickering, he ran his thumb over her cheek. “Never mind all that. I came by to ask a little favor of you.”

She hadn’t quite recovered herself, but she rubbed his arm agreeably nonetheless. “Alright. Alright. What do you need? A particular book?”

“Not quite. I need a braille translator. You do all that yourself for me here, right?”

“I…” A pause. “Yes. I do, though it isn’t perfect--”

“I’ve found your work flawless. Would you be interested in doing a little help for me? I’d consider it a personal favor, but we would also compensate you for your time.”

“Oh, um--sure! Is it more book-related stuff?”

He grinned and laced his arm through hers. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in locking up shop for a bit and coming to find out?”

“Mitsuhide, could you not make that sound creepy?” Hideyoshi cut in, worrying as usual. “We need someone to translate a large number of volumes into braille for him. It’s not an easy job, but it is one we need filled.”

A pause. She clearly thought about it before he felt her nod. “Alright. Sure. Um. Let me just lock up for a moment.”

---

They entered the Royal Library to find Mitsunari chasing the Queen around a table, both of them laughing hysterically. Mitsuhide grinned and paused in the doorway, listening to the patter of their feet. “Did I come in to a stampede?”

“Hideyoshi! Mitsuhide!” The Queen laughed and dashed behind them, clinging to their shirts. “Save me!”

Mitsunari just stopped in his tracks, panting softly after the exertion. Mitsuhide laughed outright and reached for his friend, finding his chest with his palm. “And here I thought your stamina might have gotten better.”

“I don’t think you know what kind of stamina I have?” Mitsunari answered, confused.

“Mitsunari,” Hideyoshi stammered, “We don’t--why--”

“What?”

“Our dear, sweet rosebud is as oblivious as ever.” Mitsuhide snickered. “At any rate, I’m here for tutelage in your fine hands. I suppose we can talk about your stamina afterward, should the good Queen want to--”

“Oh my God, please, let’s change the subject.” Her Highness sounded mortified. “Mitsuhide, you were the one who wanted the training?”

“I volunteered, yes.”

A long moment of silence.

“Um,” Mitsunari paused, clearly considering his words. “Well, the reading might be a little… interesting.”

At this point, the bookkeeper stepped forward, her skirts rustling around her ankles. “Your Highness, I’m so sorry to interrupt. I’ve been recruited to transform the books into braille versions for him.”

“Oh! Huh.” Another moment. The Queen sighed lightly. “That’s very work intensive.”

“I’d love to figure it out.”

At that, Mitsunari clapped his hands together. “Alright! It’s settled. We’ll give it a shot.”

--- Watching the training terrified Hideyoshi.

They cleared the main study table from the center of the library, creating as much space as possible--which also meant there wasn’t much for Mitsuhide to triangulate his position with. Hideyoshi tried to soothe himself with the knowledge that Mitsunari and the Queen would never let him endanger himself--but still. What if the floor was uneven? Surely being in the dark about your positioning was nerve wracking.

Fortunately, he had other things to distract himself with.

The Bookkeeper had set up a little platform on the side table and was squinting at some of the volumes, a small hole punch held in her hand. It took him a moment to understand what she was doing. Had she been hand punching the braille this whole time? How much time had she invested in making the stall more accessible?

“Excuse me,” he murmured, tapping her shoulder. “Can I help you with that?”

“Mmmm?” She blinked up at him before smiling. It was a sweet, pretty little smile. Hideyoshi found himself very fond of it. “No, no. Unfortunately there’s not much you can do. I’m just… I’m just trying to discover the best way to do this.”

“It looks time intensive.”

“It is.” She sighed at that, rubbing her fingertips down the old volume’s thin pages. “Monumentally so.”

The old fears that this just wasn’t possible surfaced in his mind. As one, they watched Mitsunari putting that iron staff in Mitsuhide’s hands, watched the white-haired man trace his palms up and down it to better understand the weight of it.

“You know what?” The Bookseller said at last. “I’ve got a thought. Would you mind helping me with something, Sir Toyotomi?”

“Err, Hideyoshi is fine. And certainly.”

--- The something was a large box of tools and metal. He carried it obligingly back to the library with her, making small talk the whole way. Her favorite color was red. They both came from the same small village out in the southern forests, which was odd. She’d only moved to the City after the Invasion.

“An odd time to come, don’t you think?” He asked, readjusting his hold on the box.

“That’s what my mother said,” she laughed, her giggle soft and pearly.

“That’s not the first time I’ve been compared to someone’s mother.”

“Oh nooo.” But they both cracked up anyway at that. “Well, I understood it wasn’t going to be the most, you know, put-together after all that happened, but…”

He watched her bright eyes flicker over the far-off ocean. Something familiar sparked in her gaze. It wasn’t so unlike the way that Mitsuhide used to watch the world, a keen inner world coloring the shape of things around her.

“I don’t know,” she said at last. “I thought after everything that happened, maybe people would need a bit of another world to escape into. Books are good for that. I’m not gifted at much else.”

That turned out to be a lie. She was terribly gifted. Hideyoshi watched as she took the box of small metal bits and bobs, forming what looked first like a casing, then formulated small, long levers that connected to a central device. He sat by, fascinated in turns by her intricate engineering and Mitsuhide’s intense focus in Mitsunari’s tutelage.

“What are you doing?” He asked at last, enchanted.

The Bookkeeper looked at him from her comically large magnifying glasses. “I’m making a machine.”

“A machine?” He gawked. “For…?”

“I’m… I’m trying to think up a faster way to do this.” And then she flipped over the small tray she’d been working on, setting it onto the casing. A series of buttons laid out on it, each marked with an individual character. “My thought is this: if I could just press a button for the letter and have the corresponding braille character stamp onto a page, then I could do this much faster.”

“That’s brilliant.” Where the hell had this woman come from? Hideyoshi just stared in disbelief. “I’d have never thought of that.”

She flushed bright pink, twirling the screwdriver in her fingers. “I’m just trying to do my best.”

Admiration surged in him. Without meaning to, he reached out and took her hand. “Thank you.”

“Whatever for?”

“For doing this for him.”

He watched her lower her eyes, her gaze flickering over to Mitsuhide. They both watched as he furrowed his brow in concentration, stretching out his hand--and a tiny flame emerged from the tip of his fingers. And oh, oh, the expression on his face was radiance itself. After all those long months seeing a stranger, there he was. There was Mitsuhide, in all of his sharp and predatory and brilliant glory, buoyed by success.

“I don’t need thanks,” the Bookseller murmured. “I’m rather fond of him, as it happens.”

Me too, thought Hideyoshi. Me too.

---

By the end of the lesson, Mitsuhide was sweaty and worn out, his muscles screaming for a stretch and a hot bath--and despite all that, he was so happy he felt fit to explode. He’d done it. He’d done it. Strung together with adrenaline and the taste of normalcy, he slipped in the direction he heard Hideyoshi and the Bookseller in, wrapping his arms around someone’s shoulders. It felt like Hideyoshi.

“I do believe the ocean is receding. Must be low tide.”

Mitsunari laughed at the joke over the Queen’s groan. Hideyoshi shifted and Mitsuhide knew he was rolling his eyes. How good it was to feel their reactions still.

“Mitsuhide, if you would?” Her sweet voice caught his ear. “I just want you to read something for me and see if it is legible.”

“Mm?” Had she spent all of her time here punching out the braille? That must have taken forever. Obligingly, he slipped to her side, ignoring that Hideyoshi braced his elbow as if he might fall. “Do tell. I’m all ears… or fingertips, as it were.”

Into his hand she pressed… a whole book. He frowned and gripped it tighter. There was no way. “Is this the original book?”

“No, it’s the translation.”

Bewildered, he flipped open the first page and ran his hands along the thick pages. He could read it. There it was, in the staccato ridges, the valleys of language itself rising and falling against his skin. He paused in disbelief.

“How did you do this?”

“She made a machine,” Hideyoshi told him. “It’s this brilliant thing.”

“Show me it.”

They reached for his hands at the same time. Without meaning to, he snorted, feeling them both fumble over who would show him what. “You know, I like both of you quite a lot. I’ve two hands. No need to fight over me.”

“Alright then,” Hideyoshi managed, his voice strained with embarrassment. “Here you go.”

Cool metal met his hands. He danced his fingers between the pedals, pressing a few experimentally. “You did this all in the space of time I was training?”

“Well, I had bits and pieces laying around, so not all of it…”

“She’s being modest,” Hideyoshi interjected. “It was insane.”

“Mmm,” he sighed, trailing a hand over hers. “I thought you were a special one.”

Stammering, she managed a simple, “Th-thank you.”

“Hideyoshi, listen to that little mouse.”

“I’m not a m-mouse!”

But he just grinned and placated her with a kiss to her hand. “Of course you aren’t. I am most thankful for you.” ---

They saw her off to her house and walked back together. The sky lanced with sharp streaks of orange and purple and red, a horizon so infinite that Hideyoshi couldn’t conceive of the end of it. He wished for the faintest second that Mitsuhide could see it, too--but then he glanced over at his friend and saw how his long white hair reflected each thread of that infinite rainbow, catching an entire world on its own.

“Hideyoshi?” Mitsuhide finally started. “This blindfold is miserable. Am I unpresentable without it?”

“Hmm?”

“It catches sweat. I’m not fond of that.”

“Oh. Well, try it out. I’ll tell you if it’s really as bad as your normal face.”

Mitsuhide snickered at that and reached behind his head, undoing the silk tie. It slipped away and Hideyoshi wondered that they’d ever thought to put it on him at all. His white eyelashes rested like frost on those angular cheekbones, the eyelids hollower, but still smooth nonetheless.

“It’s just fine,” Hideyoshi reassured him. “You look just fine.”

“Good.” A ghost of a smile flirted with Mitsuhide’s mouth; he straightened and sighed deeply. “That woman really is something else, isn’t she?”

That bewildering mix of jealousy surged in him; for the first time, Hideyoshi wasn’t sure who he was jealous of. “She is.”

“Mm.”