A belated gift for my broski sabina.
This story takes place after episode eight of Reimeiroku, when Hijikata and Sannan return covered in blood from fighting the ronin who used their name to extort money. The prompt was patching each other up.
.*Enough*.
He sat in seiza beside his desk with slumped shoulders and languid posture.
The reflection in the silver-framed looking glass Hijikata held was unsightly, and not just from the augmenting bruise that defiled an ever flawless complexion. His eyes narrowed at their own image, staring beyond the mirror and searching so much further—so much deeper—than that which could be superficially perceived. Fingertips absently raised while he sized up his soul, applying pressure to the wound and drawing out the sensation of pain.
...It stung where he'd been struck, radiated right from the center of his cheek and prickled further and further across sensitive nerves to make the afflicted area seem even larger. And while anyone who wasn't a glutton for punishment would withdraw his hand at this mounting discomfort, Hijikata proceeded to press steadily further.
In truth, it wasn't that he wanted or needed to feel it.
He deserved to.
That the action even hurt at all was unnecessary evidence, and yet it was evidence all the same: of once distant nightmares transforming into harsh, tangible reality. He'd dreamed of this particular horror, of approaching the point of no return, on more occasions than his memory could accurately serve. But all they had been were just that—dreams; figments of anxiety running rampant about his subconscious to jolt him awake with tense muscles and a brow beaded in sweat.
Now, however...
Despite how Hijikata wanted to pull his eyes away, he kept them dutifully trained to his reflection...to the darkening purples and reds serving as actual proof and reminder—of insult and failure, of shame and things that were best left unspoken. Yet no matter his wishes and no matter how well guarded he remained, there his misgivings and inadequacies all were, physically written on his face and exposed to any passing glance tossed in his direction.
His hand let up from further exacerbating the injury and dropped to the tatami with a thud.
This wasn't about him, at least not directly. And that was precisely why the bruise felt more like a raw nerve against cold air.
Whether anything was physically evident or not on Hijikata was moot, as the facts themselves were indisputable either way. The Roshigumi reputation had sunk so far that any kind of refuse could claim it for their own immoral purposes; a band of thugs using their namesake to demand money from merchants hadn't caused anyone to bat a damn eyelash in question—not the merchants themselves, not the people here in Kyoto. It was likely that not even Aizu would doubt the validity of such a story.
And speaking of their sponsoring overlords, how quickly had the news of extortion reached them? Surely, Matsudaira-ko's¹ inner circle was already privy to it at this point. But if more bad news reached the Protector of Kyoto himself, then...
A choppy exhale left Hijikata's lips.
He hadn't bothered removing his haori, still stained in blood that both was and wasn't his own...hadn't bothered removing the hachigane² from his forehead or treating the consequently acquired bumps and scrapes; trifle tasks, each of them, when pitted against an engrossing cocktail of dread and failure. And culpability. ...And remorse.
The list of emotion wavered and wore on and on, but the situation in hindsight was certain. Hijikata should have stopped the ronin, made examples of them, sent a damn clear message. Sannan and he had been outnumbered, yes, but that might have been different if they'd agreed to Kondo's earlier overly cautious suggestion of ramping up patrol numbers. Still, no matter the odds, to fail at protecting the most precious thing of all was...
Disgrace welled further within him, along with the lump in his throat. To fail where it was most dire was unforgivable. Certainly, no one ever wanted to return in defeat, but this was about something infinitely more complicated than wounded pride, or victory or vanquish. What had been at stake was their name and that name, no matter how sullen, was all the Roshigumi had at this point.
Yet, in its simplest form, all it was was a name. If the group became forced to dissolve, everyone in this tight-knit circle of brotherhood could let go and move on with his life—or almost everyone, that was. Surely, the farewells and partings wouldn't be easy, and Hijikata knew that his current anguish could be empathized with at the surface level. However, no one around him would really understand the true depths of it, or why it now consumed him to a point where it was difficult to breathe.
...Except for one, perhaps. Indeed, there was one capable of fathoming it, just as he fathomed all the other ugly and mysterious pieces that Hijikata kept locked up inside himself. And he was the very same individual who would drag that marred name of Roshigumi, of Miburo³, chained to his ankle for the rest of his life should this campaign end in catastrophic failure.
Naturally, this was about the Roshigumi's future—as much as it was about Aizu and Kyoto, about Tokugawa loyalty and the greater good that was the state of this beloved country. However, while the tendrils of guilt rose and entwined about each of these dire components, for Hijikata, the seed was rooted in something much more personal than any one of the aforementioned reasons.
It grew from the very fabric of his essence: from celestial soil comprised of vows and loyalty, of ambition and another feeling so profound he couldn't bear to speak of it openly.
He had referred to it in proxy, though.
"I swear that I'll lift you up and make you this country's most exalted samurai."
But what arrogance, to have made such a promise without any guarantee or secondary plan...
"I won't rest, I won't give up until I see you claim your rightful place as a daimyo."
And what naive hope, what childlike faith, that if he'd only worked hard enough, then Kondo-san could...
Hijikata's teeth clenched.
Kondo-san would...
"Kat-chan, I bet my life on you. We're going to Kyoto. But only if you lead us there. You're the only one who can."
He sucked a deep breath and finally jerked his face away from the offensive image in the glass; studying it any longer was as intolerable as it was agonizing, and the situation was already torturous enough.
Everything that had gone wrong tonight served as a painful reminder of how the Roshigumi's reputation was directly linked to Kondo's. Serizawa acted on his own accord, had created his own infamy and had absolutely nothing to lose—which made protecting their name more dire than ever. Still knowing that, though, Hijikata had somehow allowed this treasure so precious to slip through his fingers like sand in the wind.
He wouldn't be the one to ultimately pay for that carelessness, however. That's what hurt most.
Swallowing hard, he stared across the space of his quarters that had long begun yielding to darkness with the setting sun and wondered.
How much longer could this go on? The rules were put in place to control Serizawa and his lawless faction, but they came too little too late. Damage had already been extensively done by that point and the consequences, exactly like what had occurred this evening, still continued to plague them in the present.
So, how many more chances, how many more miscalculations, how many more blunders could Kondo waltz their way out of with Aizu? How much more dishonor could their name possibly bear until it was beyond salvaging and they were sent back to Edo in disgrace?
...Before Kondo was sent back to Edo in disgrace?
Hijikata's insistence had done nothing except recklessly raise the stakes of someone else's life, someone who was dearer to him than any other. It wasn't as if Kondo needed him for that; he'd already been coined the jewel of Tama before this whole grand scheme took flight, so to even consider his having to face return with dishonor... To think that Hijikata, himself, could be to blame for that...
His forehead met his palm with an unsteady breath. He would fix it, he would fix it all. Hell, he'd kill Serizawa in cold blood if it solved anything. But first and foremost, Hijikata needed to regain his mental bearings and recreate the face he showed to the world, even if that face was currently tarnished from injury.
And as if things couldn't get any worse, that was when the sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears. Familiar footsteps. The kind he'd often be very pleased to hear, but now dreaded.
In a quiet panic, Hijikata's hand jolted to deposit the mirror back into its drawer beside his desk.
Of course, he would come. Of course. But why now? Why so soon? Surely the group which converged on their dramatic return from patrol hadn't disbanded with such haste. Hijikata had used that assumption to his benefit, purposely slipping off while Sannan allowed Yamazaki to treat his wounds and relayed further detail of their encounter to Kondo.
A tightening throat indicated necessity to be alone, to get his emotions under control. Being surrounded by so many observant eyes was perturbing when Hijikata was up against this much mental distress; it'd been imperative to gather his thoughts, and not to mention himself, before he could face anyone properly—especially the man he'd let down most of all.
...especially the man who mattered most.
Hijikata barely had time to smooth out his disheveled attire and rise to his feet before the door slid open without so much an inkling of announcement.
Colors of dusk invaded the inner space immediately, bleeding a jagged strip of light from the entrance to the opposite wall. And there, casting an ominous shadow over that intrusive glow, stood Kondo. The backdrop of sunset obscured the finer details of his features, but Hijikata could clearly make out the clenched jaw and tension in his figure.
"...Toshi." Despite the harshness of his appearance, Kondo's voice betrayed it by falling breathy and reverent. He was concerned.
And upon recognizing it, Hijikata felt an overwhelming sense of shame flood through him. It was to be expected. Still, his cheeks burned with mortification and his mouth parted, but all he could manage to do was avert his gaze.
"Sorry for taking off." The apology left Hijikata quickly, before too much time passed and this exchange became even more awkward. "I was just—"
"—standing around in the dark." Kondo was fast when he wanted to be. The shoji clapped shut after he stepped over the threshold. "I know."
For someone who had no formal experience with the trade, the commander made a damn fine politician. Raising a hand, Hijikata idly ran it through his hair and swallowed. Even as dusk settled within the room again, he still couldn't bring himself to look at the silhouette converging on him. "I needed to clean up. To get myself—"
Hijikata's breath caught mid-excuse and his eyes widened as Kondo lashed out, with heavy palms hitting his shoulders and fingers curling inward to seize. A forceful haul had him stumbling forward and colliding directly with a strong chest, while warm arms immediately wrapped him up.
Hijikata's lungs stilled and his back went ramrod straight. "My uniform," he rasped, pushing against Kondo to put space between them, but found himself only embraced tighter. "There's blood on it, you'll—"
"I know," Kondo stressed. "I don't care."
"You should."
"I do." A beat. "About what's important."
And that was what finally had Hijikata's voice breaking into a soft whine, what had the ice in his veins melting and his tenacious defenses disintegrating to dust. "...Kat-chan." He'd meant to say more afterward, but a soft hush whispered into his ear made Hijikata settle for otherwise, at least in the meantime. His hands lifted and took purchase of Kondo's haori, fingertips flexing into the material while staring across the ever-growing darkness.
"It's gonna be okay," Kondo breathed and nuzzled him. "We'll get through it. I'll take care of it. You don't have to worry."
Hijikata's eyes closed tightly and he held his breath again. Nothing about this was even remotely fair. How had he gone from wayward despairing to the comfort of Kondo's embrace in a matter of seconds?
Though personal risk existed, Hijikata wasn't the individual who had everything on the line here. So why should Kondo be the one soothing him now and saying all the right things? Why was Kondo always the one to clean up all the messes and run around doting on everyone, with warm arms and gentle smiles and kind words?
And he always knew, too, what Hijikata needed to hear and when he needed to hear it, without so much of a tiny verbal clue.
These thoughts kicked him back into form, gave him the slap he needed. "Kat-chan, please." Hijikata began to push away, but stopped before their eyes could meet. "This is—it's my—" A pause, and he finally settled for, "I'm sorry."
Kondo's reply was immediate, and rumbled deep within in his chest. "Don't be."
"You don't even..." Hijikata's chin lifted so they could finally see each other. "You don't even know what the hell I'm tryin' to apologize for."
Pursing his lips, Kondo shook his head. "Doesn't matter." His hands wandered up to undo the white knot of the hachigane and he pulled it free from Hijikata's forehead. "There's no injury to pardon...unless." Kondo licked his lips, and then added softly, "Unless we're talking about this one..." His thumb gently grazed over the bruised cheek and Hijikata turned his face to the side.
"You didn't let Yamazaki-kun treat your wounds."
"Kat-chan." Hijikata's tone was dry and serious as he kept his focus on the shoji—and the conversation on topic. "I really let you down tonight." When he felt Kondo shift, presumably to offer protest, he insisted, "I did." Hijikata's gaze snapped back and with resolve, he shook his head. "But never again."
Kondo remained quiet for several moments, before he relented with a gentle nod. "All right. If that's what you needed to say...but, Toshi..." He hesitated and looked down to the point where their chests touched. "For what it's worth, you never have." The scoff went ignored and then Kondo's attention lifted to his again. "And I know you never will."
Silence permeated the room as the inner corners of Hijikata's brows raised and he simply stared. "How can you just...say that?" he demanded over an incredulous breath. "After tonight when I clearly—how—?"
"Because you always try so hard. You always do so much." Kondo stroked over the uninjured cheek, brushed loose hair away. "And you always, always blame yourself, especially when you're not at fault." He drew Hijikata into another embrace. "It's all enough, Toshi." After remaining like this for several moments, Kondo hugged him just a little tighter. "I promise. You're enough."
At that the air was stolen from Hijikata's lungs once more, and he stared unblinking and stiff over a broad shoulder. Only after withdrawing far enough to press a kiss to his slightly parted lips had Kondo finally released him.
...And before Hijikata could manage crafting any semblance of a coherent reply, which wasn't guaranteed anyway, the topic was immediately switched.
"So, how about this? We get that lamp going to have some light in here. You get out of those clothes." A hand ran down Hijikata's sleeve and gave a tug. "Meanwhile, I'll go find something to treat that bruise of yours. And then..." Kondo's lips twitched upward and almost pleadingly, he asked, "you'll help me come up with a speech filled with valid excuses and lots of praise to deliver to Matsudaira-ko in the morning?"
After a few pensive seconds, Hijikata blinked and his chin fell with a single nod. That reply he'd lamented over not having earlier still hadn't presented itself by this point either. So, with that, they both set off into their respective assigned duties.
The dirtied garments were stripped free like physical manifestations of guilt, leaving Hijikata's body as the blame left his soul—and with each blood-stained piece removed, he felt lighter and lighter.
Certainly, the barrage of negative emotions which engulfed him earlier hadn't disappeared, but his strength rebuilt itself to fight them back into their dark corners. Who had time to brood when Kondo believed in him so strongly, when Kondo needed him in top form now more than ever?
As Hijikata tied fresh hakama about his hips, a kaleidoscope of feelings battled for his attentions but the one that screamed loudest was determination; therefore, that was the inner voice he decided to listen to, when everything else was just...noise.
He was enough, after all.
The straps were given a strong yank.
Roshigumi.
Hijikata would fight to protect this name and all it stood for. He would fight to protect the man it represented. And he would love that man with all he had—love him so much that it would turn him into a daimyo, no matter what the hell happened here in Kyoto or anywhere for that matter.
Just as Hijikata finished smoothing out the clean attire he'd donned, Kondo returned with a towel tossed over his shoulder. A tray with three onigiri and tea had been balanced on a shallow basin, and he shut the shoji with his foot.
"I know you were too busy before to eat, what with hanging out in the dark all alone." Kondo placed dinner on the desk, and Hijikata could hear him trying not to laugh while he spoke. "...so I took the liberty. In any case!" He turned back with a grin. "Lemme tend to that wound, yeah?"
"You know, Serizawa's mouth is never gonna stop if you insist on running around like a servant instead of a commander...Commander."
To that, Hijikata barely heard Kondo mumble in response, but it sounded dangerously close to, "heh, that's my Toshi." An unaffected shrug followed. "Let him." Kondo pulled the cloth off his shoulder and held it out with another soft twitch of his lips.
Hijikata observed the growing smile aimed directly at him until his lashes fell, along with his chin. He could argue further and object, continue to voice complaint and lecture on and on about setting examples. Or, he could boot Kondo out and attempt working through his misgivings alone with a clearer perspective.
But if only for now...if only for this moment...
Hijikata's eyes opened and he relented with a dramatic sigh. "I can't best you, can I?"
They both fell into seiza.
"Not sure about that," Kondo offered, submerging the towel and then wringing it out. "In any case, I prefer you right here. Next to me." He even possessed the gall to look up after that declaration.
Lashes went wide and blush heated cheeks. "Sh...Shut up."
Alas, at Kondo's side was exactly where Hijikata remained.
And when the next morning bathed the world in fresh sunlight, his knees hit the tatami in time with his commander's, directly before Matsudaira Katamori.
"I understand the situation," Matsudaira said with no disapproval or anger in his tone. "Kondo, raise your head. I would give you something. Perhaps it helps."
A scroll was handed to an attendant, and the attendant placed it in Kondo's waiting open palms. When given permission to look, he carefully unraveled it. And there on that paper, in the Protector of Kyoto's own penmanship, was a new name.
Shinsengumi.
The breath left Kondo's chest, and he simply marveled before rolling this invaluable gift back up and clutching it with possession. Lowering his head, his voice was rife with emotion when he promised, "I will defend this name's honor with my life."
And still bowing beside him, Hijikata made a silent vow all on his own—something similar to Kondo's, but also a little deeper than what could be seen at the surface.
Such was his way. That was how he loved. And some might've found that difficult to swallow.
But where it truly mattered...Hijikata's lashes parted and he stole a glance at Kondo. It was enough.
Thank you for reading!
I'm no authority on anything but here are some footnotes, just in case:
¹ -ko: honorific to address people in very high positions of power, like Matsudaira
² Hachigane: metal helmet
³ Miburo: derogatory term for the Roshi/Shinsengumi, mashup of Mibu + ronin