Author's Note: Updated February 24, 2013. Since starting this fic, Sorachi came through big-time and wrote a Katsura/Ikumatsu arc. Without giving any spoilers for non-manga readers, I'll say that a) it was awesome but b) in the general Sorachi ship pattern, nothing was more than hinted at, so I don't have to change the story, other than a few words here and there. The one major change would be that this fic must happen after Hijikata and Okita watch a re-run of that Katsura interview, not directly after.

Chapter One: It's Not Terrorist. It's Young Noble of Fury.

Yes, his distinguishing feature is his long hair. His annoying long hair. He carries his Nmaibo bar around the whole day saying it's his trump card. His sense of humour, you can say, is a relic from a past generation. He makes you angry even if you just talk to him for a minute. The moment you see this man, call the police.

Click. Hijikata hit the remote.

"I thought that was a very entertaining program, Hijikata-san," commented Okita. "It's a shame you didn't get a cameo, but I think I stole my scenes."

Hijikata ignored him. An idea had been forming in his mind from the opening minutes of the re-run, and now, he was ready to test it.

"That ramen place," he growled. "Katsura goes there a lot, doesn't he?"

"Tsk, your memory's already failing you, Vice-Commander? You had Yamazaki eating all his meals there for a week. Remember how that went down?"

"There's no such thing as a ramen allergy." He bit down hard on his cigarette. "That idiot was skiving off to play badminton."

"Oh yes, Vice-Commander. The anaphylactic shock was a particularly expert piece of play-acting."

Hijikata waved that away. "The woman there, what was her name again?"

"Ikumatsu."

"She checked out all right, didn't she?"

"Clean as a whistle. Her husband was killed by the Jouishishi. Left a touch of bad feeling."

"But she knows who Katsura is," Hijikata objected. "That interview made that clear."

"She might have picked it up from all the times I've burst into her shop shouting, "Die Katsura!" I think she feels sorry for him."

Hijikata considered the idea and spat. "Sorry for that bastard? What exactly is there to pity Katsura Kotarou for? He does whatever the hell he pleases, whenever the hell he pleases, and his brainless followers keep him fed and clothed and well-stocked with grenades."

"Nevertheless, Vice-Commander, if we arrested everyone who felt sorry for Katsura, Kabuki-chou would be a ghost town."

"Hmm... Okita? Isn't Yorozuya out of town?'

Okita nodded. "They got a job out in the boonies. Were you thinking of joining them for your sick leave?"

"Sick leave?"

The TV remote exploded.

Around noon the next day, Okita Sougo sauntered into the Hokutoshinken shop and ordered a bowl of ramen, which he ate leisurely, apparently wrapped up in his own thoughts. When he'd finished eating, he walked over to the counter to thank the proprietor for the excellent meal. Ikumatsu didn't expect him to offer to pay. Okita never did. Shinsengumi discount, he called it.

"You're always welcome, Captain," she told him, smiling as she did for all her customers.

Okita walked towards the door, then suddenly turned around. "Do you know," he said pleasantly, "I nearly forgot what I was here for? Ikumatsu-san, I'm bringing you in to Headquarters for questioning regarding your relationship with the terrorist Katsura Kotarou."

His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. Dazedly, she wondered where he'd stowed his bazooka.

"You'll come along quietly, yes?" From his left pocket, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

She'd been expecting this. Ever since the day she'd realized that the bedraggled bleeding man who'd climbed on to her roof was Joui leader Katsura Kotarou. But time had worn on, and other than some basic questions from an obvious spy, the Shinsengumi had taken no notice of her. Until now.

She was always calm in emergencies. So she stayed calm now, even though her heart was pounding wildly.

"Those aren't necessary, Okita-san," she told him quietly, as she walked out from behind the counter.

"Oh I think they are," he said, a glint appearing in his reddish-brown eyes. With practiced ease, he spun her around and cuffed her hands behind her.

"I'm not resisting," she reminded him. She'd heard stories about the Shinsengumi's first captain, and she could all too easily imagine how an interrogation session with him might go.

He smirked. "You're no fun, are you?"

Ikumatsu supressed an urge to vomit.

Hijikata raised an eyebrow when Okita came back with the woman. Blindfolded and hands cuffed behind her back? He wished Kondou was here to see this. It would be Exhibit A in his argument that Okita was a complete pyscho-case.

"Don't tell me," he greeted Okita. "She put up a big fight and you only just escaped with your life."

Okita was unabashed. "It's like you say, Hijikata-san, never take extra risks. All the TV people were out. Someone must have tipped them off. I think they got some good shots of us escorting her to the car."

That was cleverly done, Okita, Hijikata thought. But aloud he said. "You can take the blindfold and handcuffs off. This isn't some sleazy Kabukichou club."

Okita obeyed, and Hijikata found himself looking into the pale face of Ikumatsu.

It was just as he recalled, a very ordinary face. Perhaps Katsura found it beautiful. Perhaps not. Either way, he was fairly sure she'd work as the bait for this trap. He greeted her politely and invited her to sit.

"I should offer you some refreshments," he told her, sitting down opposite her. "Okita-kun, you'll get us some tea."

"As you wish, Vice-Commander," replied Okita with a pleasant smile that signalled his fury. Okita knew his job too well to upset an interrogation, but Hijikata resolved not to drink any of the tea Okita brought him.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" He began lighting up without waiting for an answer.

"N . . . No," Ikumatsu stammered.

Time to test his hunch.

"Katsura must really trust you to have done that interview in your restaurant a while back."

"I didn't know he was planning that," she said. "He showed up with the camera crew without any warning." She sounded genuinely irritated, he noted.

"You don't deny knowing him."

"I don't. What would be the point? You've had spies dogging me for months. But you can think what you like, I'm not a Joui supporter!" Her voice was trembling but she sat with her back completely erect, looking him straight in the face.

"Are you Katsura's lover?"

That got a reaction. Her white face flushed red. "No. I' m not."

Hijikata congratulated himself on his perception. He was on the right track, all right. "But you wish you were?" he asked her.

"That's not how it is!"

"How is it then?"

"I don't think Katsura-san thinks . . . about such things. But he's kind and he wants to protect people. Even when he can't."

"Well then, we'll wait here for him to come protect you, shall we?"

For a second, he thought she was going to faint. Then she was launching herself at him, her fist aiming at his jaw. Despite his surprise, he easily caught her arm and tackled her to the floor.

"You stupid girl," he hissed. "Stop struggling or I'll break your wrist."

The screen slid open. It was Okita with the tea. "You got started without me, Hijikata-san?"

"Where are the bloody handcuffs?" panted Hijikata. Ikumatsu was still trying to break free. The woman was about as easy to hold still as a kitten. Weak but all wriggly.

Okita just stood and watched. "Hijikata-san, how can she drink the tea with her hands cuffed?"

"Give them to me, you idiot!"

"I suppose we could hold the cup to her lips," said Okita seriously. He reluctantly pulled out the cuffs. "By the way, Vice-Commander, if Katsura kills you, can I have your sword?"

"Hand me another explosive, Elizabeth."

YOU'VE USED THEM ALL, read Elizabeth's sign.

"Are you sure? I distinctly remember packing twelve this morning."

YOU USED ONE ON THAT SQUAD CAR, REMEMBER?

"Ah, yes." Katsura stared unhappily at the piece of art in front of him. "What do you think this is meant to be, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth flapped her arms. She was probably shrugging, Katsura decided.

"It's a tower of sake bottles," Katsura continued. "I thought it might be a representation of the Terminal, but the proportions are all wrong."

DID YOU CHECK THE EXHIBIT NOTES?

"They weren't any help." He contemplated 'Untitled' seriously. "I suppose I could just push this one over."

"Stop where you are!" Two security guards burst into the room.

In one swift movement, Katsura pushed down on his detonator and aimed a kick at the Tower of Sake.

Throughout the Special Exhibit Hall of the Great Edo Art Museum, eleven modern art installations exploded.

"Decadent Amanto Art Has No Place Among The Treasures Of Our Great Culture!" shouted Katsura "Let Edo Know -" A sake bottle hit his head and he blacked out.

When Katsura awoke, he was lying on a futon in a dim room. Kneeling beside the bed was one of his most trusted subordinates, and after a second's reflection, he identified the place as as one of his hide-outs: a cellar under a tailor's shop.

"What happened?" groaned Katsura.

"You lost consciousness when you were injured," the man explained. "Elizabeth carried you here."

"Thank you, Eliz . . . Where is Elizabeth?"

"Ah . . ."

"Tell me."

"You need to rest, Katsura-san. You've got a bad bump on your head."

Katsura sat up, feeling his head. "I've had worse," he declared. "Tell Me Now."

"The Shinsengumi arrested an acquaintance of yours," the man said. "Elizabeth's gone to scout out their Headquarters."

"An acquaintance? Who?"

"The woman who owns that ramen place."

Katsura shot out of bed. "My sword! Where's my sword?"

"Your head!"

Katsura ran his hands through his hair. "I'm not bleeding. I'm fine. My sword. You must give me my sword!"

"Katsura-san, this is a trap! They want you to come to them!"

Katsura lunged at him.

"Your sword is in the chest, Katsura-san!" the man gulped. "Let me come with you."

Katsura scrambled to the chest. "You can't help me there. Get me a motorcyle. Park it two blocks south of the Shinsengumi Headquarters, and leave the key in the ignition." He pulled out his long and short swords and slid them into his belt. Then he sprang up the stairs out of the cellar.

A moment later he was back. "Two helmets!" he ordered.