Notes: Written in the same continuity as the first 'Last Episode' segment in Gintama 150. AKA: The one that wasn't Evangelion or a Magical Girl anime.
Could and Might Have
In the dark, it was impossible to tell what woke him. Katsura lay there, ears straining, listening to the faint sounds of Edo around him, the murmuring pulse of Kabuki-cho's back-streets which never quite slept. The faint rustle of fabric and the scrape of a match being struck drew his attention a moment before light flared into being for a brief scant second, silhouetting an all too familiar figure before it died again, leaving only the barest of glows from a pipe, bobbing in the darkness.
Katsura's hand swept out from beneath the covers, looking in vain for the sword that usually lay an easy arm's length away, a feeling of dread washing over him as Takasugi's laugh filled the small room. "Looking for this?" Steel scraped from a scabbard and bare feet padded across the tatami, the sharp smell of smoke growing closer a moment before his ex-comrade's face became visible in the gloom, single eye staring fixedly as Katsura pushed himself upright, hair in disarray. A faint sliver of moonlight leaking in through a gap in the shuttered window illuminated the cold length of his own sword for an instant as it swept towards him, stopping centimeters from his chest.
"What do you want?" He'd been tracking the Kiheitai's activities for some time now, had noted no significant increase in hostilities by the faction, and was now left wondering if he had missed something.
Takasugi laughed again and moved closer, shifting so that the blade pressed instead against his throat, causing Katsura to lean backwards in an attempt to avoid the sword's razor edge. "Is it wrong of me to want to catch up with an old friend?" The sword was withdrawn swiftly, only to be embedded in the floor next to the futon, the hand that had been holding it a minute before moving to trail fingers along Katsura's throat.
"We're far from friends," the other samurai snapped, one hand clutching the front of his yukata closed. "Why are you here?"
Takasugi stared at him for a long moment before pulling away, face curling in disgust. There was a sudden burst of movement, the briefest of struggles before Katsura fell back onto the floor, the world gone white around the edges as he fought vainly against sudden, all consuming pain. Embers from Takasugi's pipe ate away at the tatami, a tiny burst of light in the darkness.
Takasugi leaned forward, watching pain twist Katsura's features as he pressed down on the tanto now lodged firmly in the man's chest, smiled as his former comrade tried to breathe, only to choke on blood. "I came to tell you the party's starting, Zura." He reached out, fingers skimming the dying man's face in an intimate gesture. In the distance, something exploded, destroying the night's calm and filling the air with the sound of sirens. "It's a shame you won't get to see it."